Sup? So, I looked in the PJO OC fanfiction on here a week or two ago... to say the least I now want to pop out my own eyeballs with a spork. Now, I'm not saying that all of the stories were shit or anything. Some are pretty good. But they were pretty much the same. I'm not kidding. Oh, don't get me wrong, there's a lot that is different, but when I see ten fics where Percy has a twin sister who's more powerful than him? Or a female OC character who happens to be a half-blood and has a another character fall for her almost instantly, or a OC character who is the kid of one of the Big Three, or is a part of the prophecy and is the kid of a god/goddess and is really strong, or when the OC character is in a relationship with a character right off the bat, or shit like that?

It makes me want to slam my head against the wall.

I mean, really?

For the ones who keep doing creative things, please, don't stop. For the ones who decide to make a new story instead of doing the same thing as everyone else, keep doing what you're doing. I'm begging you, please, you're the only ones who makes stuff I can stand reading.

For the rest of you? Don't do the same thing that has been done a hundred times before and say "Oh, it's been done before, but this is my version. There's a little twist in it!" just don't. You can make something amazing if you just stop doing what has been done before. You can't learn anything new, can't make something beautiful if you're just copying something that has been done before almost to the letter. This is FanFiction, we can make the characters go insane and do whatever we want. We can mess with the timeline, destroy events, create characters to make it even better. We can change everything.

But only if we stop trying to make people like our stuff and instead focus on what we want to read. If you want to read something that has already been done, then go find it and read it. Do something that no one else has before. Make it beautiful, amazing, and have it encourage others to make their own. Please.

If anything in this is cliche, then tell me. Rage and spit at me if you want, just tell me.

(This is on my Tumblr as well, so if you see it know that I'm the one who put it there, thank you.)

I don't own Percy Jackson.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians. A amazing story series about prophecies, Gods, adventure, and with a bit of romance weaved in. I was your usual teen; average grades in everything but P.E. and Business Law, oldest child in a family of four, had awesome friends, sneaked out at night and went to parties, and didn't really enjoy reading.

God, I hated reading.

But, then, one day in class I had, shockingly, finished my work and was incredibly bored out of my mind. My phone was dead and I had nothing to do, so I went over to the self in the back of class that held a few books. I really thought at the time that I would regret even touching one book. And there, sitting right at eye level, was it. Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

It wasn't the first book, no, it was the third book in the series. I didn't really care, it wasn't like I was going to enjoy reading the thing, right? Surprisingly, I did. I had managed to reach the middle of the book before the class had ended. With that, I started to read more. I didn't like a lot of stuff, but I was reading. And enjoying it.

For awhile I thought that I was sick or something.

I didn't read. That was pretty much fact.

But I started to love reading, certain things of course.

I bought the books, I read them cover to cover over and over again. I even researched more about Greek Gods (Which helped a lot in my Mythology and Folklore class). I didn't believe in anything the books said, of course, and never did anything that would scream 'I'M A PJO FAN!' either. I didn't say 'Oh Gods' or 'What the Hades' or anything like that. I wasn't a crazy fan that wished to be in the books, make out with the characters, or declare my undying loyalty to the books.

I just liked the story.

That was all.

I'm pretty normal overall. I flirt with girls and hit on guys. I fall asleep in class and act like a clown. I spray painted my collage's rival's mascot and threw parties. I stay up at night and try to finish my homework and wake up late to my job.

I'm pretty normal. And my name is John Novak.

"Dean Handal! Get up or we'll be late!"

I jerked and fell out of bed with a yelp, crashing painfully onto the floor. My blankets were twisted around my torso and legs, my face was pressed into the hardwood and I groaned. Slowly I wiggled out of the mess of blankets and stood up. I stretched until my back cracked and popped and I sighed in relief. I glanced at my alarm clock and choked.

Spinning on my heel I wailed in anguish, "Foock! I'm gonna be late!"

Err... my name was John Novak. It's not anymore. As you can see... or can you? I don't actually know... meh.

Now, I'm sure that a lot of you are wondering what the hell is going on and I'm going to tell you the amazing tale of why my name isn't John Novak and is, instead, Dean Handal.

I was about twenty-nine, almost thirty, and I died.

What? It's true! I died, nothing more to really say. What? You want proof? Don't you know it's rude to ask the dead that? ...You're lucky that I like you guys.

Alright, so, as I said before. I was nearly thirty and finally had my life together. I had well-paying job, a nice house, and the most adorable turtle in the world. His name was Blane. It was normal day, the sun was out, there were a few clouds in the sky, and my neighbor threw what looked like onions at me. I ducked and he screamed something about vampires. Just a normal day.

I slipped into my old, beaten Honda and pulled out of the driveway. I was hoping to get a new car later this week. I had to go along a bridge that was over a highway to get to work. The traffic was shitty as usual, so the car didn't move all that much and when my poor, old Honda trembled I blinked in surprise. The car rocked again and screams started up. My eyes went wide with horror as I realized what was happening.

An earthquake.

There were people already getting out of their cars and running, some stayed inside and I absently noticed a older woman sitting in her car praying. The bridge ahead was starting to break apart and tumble down to the highway below, my grip on the steering wheel tightened. All of the air in my lungs left with a whoosh and I tried to think about what I still wanted to do, what I was leaving behind, who I was leaving behind.

Except... my life was good. I did so much already with my life, more than a lot of other people have. Logically, me dying wouldn't really do anything. I already did what I was suppose to do in life, I had no real reason to still be here. I was always a side character and for the first time in my life I felt ready. I felt ready to die.

I relaxed.

But... I really didn't want to die. I wanted to see the stars and the sun. I wanted to sing so off-key that the birds flee. I wanted to swim and run and dance and live.

I wanted to live.

I wanted to live.

I wanted to live.

I wanted to live.

I was going to live.

.

.

.

My car crushed another's truck and I was buried underneath a ton of rubble. My legs had been crushed and half of my chest had collapsed. I died from choking on my own blood with tears running down my face.

And then I screamed.

So, yeah, that's how I died. How I'm alive now? I have no idea. But, the thing is, I woke up.

I woke up.

I was being held and I could faintly feel a hand on my ass. With some trouble I tilted my head back to see that it was man holding me. And who had his hand on my ass. The guy was huge and was wearing what looked like a doctor's mask. He started to shift me and I starting to become even more aware of the guy's hand.

'Hey, dude, I just woke up from a really bad event. Do you mind taking your hand the fuck off my ass? Yeah, thanks.' I thought a bit irritated, 'Like, jeez, I know that I'm awesomely awesome and pretty attractive, but waiting until I'm better would be easier for the both of us.'

The hand disappeared for a second and I silently sighed in relief. Then the guy slapped my rear hard. I cried out in surprise and slight pain.

Goddammit. That fucking hurt.

I was wrapped in a soft blanket and the man who slapped my ass spoke, "Congratulations, Miss Handal, it's a healthy baby boy."

Wait, what?

So, yeah. That's pretty much what happened. I'm still not sure what made me come back to life, admittedly in a body that wasn't my own, but still.

It wasn't Rebirth. No, Rebirth is when one is reborn into a body, but the 'soul' was different, it wasn't the same thing. It's when one is brought back over and over again, slowly changing until it's nothing like the first time they went through Rebirth. It couldn't be Reincarnation either. At the least, I hope it isn't. Maybe I just jumped over into another world or something.

I don't know.

And I'm really not asking too many questions about it either.

I was alive and that's all that mattered right now.

Though, I did wish that whatever/whoever decided to stick me here brought my turtle Blane with me. I guess I shouldn't piss off whatever/whoever brought me here by asking for my turtle, but still. I loved that little dude.

Heh, I could be crying over the fact that I wasn't going to see my family again. That I never got the chance to ask that waitress girl out like I planned. I could be asking to be brought back home or have my loved ones come here. But no, I whining about that fact that my pet turtle wasn't here with me. Wow, I sure do have my priorities in place, don't I?

Anyway, where was I before? Oh yes.

"Foock! I'm gonna be late!"