One thing out of the way: This is very much a love story. Lots of heartthrob stuff that fans of Twilight inexplicably love. However much I wish it, this isn't a story filled with epic story of a battle of gods and monsters- no matter how insanely epic that would be. Nope, love story through and through. And not to mention, we're just people. Ordinary, run-of the mill, middle class, nothing-special people. We're going to grow up, probably get boring jobs, and live out dull grey lives. But is that any reason to give up? I say no.

But this is the story of how my emotions went a couple rounds with Chuck Norris, or, at least, that's how it felt. Because honestly, this stuff was a bit too much for me. I mean, I should have known better; in love at seventeen? Really? What the hell was I thinking at the time? But as I said, young and stupid. Now I'm less young and its debateble where the leval of my stupidity has gone. I like to think that it's surpassed what it was a few years ago, although I'm sure there are several people who would disagree, myself included. But anyway, let's go on with this.

I'm not going to tell you life sucks and I'm not going to tell you life is beautiful. That's for the person living to decide. But what I am going to tell you about is mine. It's...so-so. It's ok, I guess. I'm not insanely rich, I don't have thousands of fans and admirers. I'm not a playboy. I'm just...well, I'm only Percy Jackson.

But one policy I live by is that it's always too late for some things- but it's never too late to try again. And again. And again. You just get right back up and, even though I know it's the definition of insanity, keep on trying. You can give up, or you can be a stubborn bull and see where that gets you. There's the quote "Why be difficult when, with a little bit of effort, you can be impossible!" for a reason, right? Same thing with keeping at it. Why give up when, with just a little effort, you can keep going? It could lead you to your wildest dreams... Or to being a muttering hobo in an alleyway, whichever way the ball bounces.

I know I'm just fictional. I know there are thousands of different versions of me on the website your using to read this, and to be honest I'm kind of envious of some of them. They do get huge battles and monster fights and epic stories, whereas I'm the Percy who gets dragged into a love story. Meh.

(And to both of you writers pulling my strings, make me sappy and I will rip through the boundaries of space and time- not the mention the very laws of nature- to go after you. Yeah, that's right, I know who you are and where you live!)

But I can't really complain. At least there's less chance of dying in this type of stories. Like, a lot. I mean, a love story isn't likely to get me impaled on a bullhorn or stabbed by a titan or something. Then again, one of the authors is orientated to extreme violence, and the other is unpredictable. I'm keeping my eye on them. But anyway, this story is for you. For your freinds. For all freinds of this franchise! But it's not a fluffy story. It does not end with the couple happily staring into the sunset. It's twisted and it hurts sometimes. Sorry if that's intimidating, but unfortunately its true.

Because life isn't always happy and cheerful and heroic. Often times, it just sucks. I'm sure most of you know that, but I'm only here to remind you that it does. We can only hope for the little good things that come along with living. So yeah, life is awful. It hurts, it makes you want to scream, it makes you/me want to throw your- and myself off a cliff. In other words, it's the pain of being human.

Sorry.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

I hate beep. Beep is bad. Beep wakes you up from nice, comfortable slumber and draws you out of the warmth of your blankets just to have you slap it to make it be quiet for five more kidneys. Beep is the spawn of Satan. Or Hades, or whatever you prefer, I don't care. What I do care about is finding a way to make my alarm clock not have an alarm anymore, short of smashing the stupid thing into itty bitty pieces.

In the bunk above me, my half brother, Tyson, groans and rolls in his sleep. He's the kid of my Dad and a woman he met after he left my mother since before I could remember. When the big guy's mom had died of cancer, Dad jumped ship figuratively and sent him to my mom and I, then jumped on another ship...that didn't come back. Ok, maybe I'm being blunt about all this, but I like to have things in the open. Keeping it a secret only hurts more, and it's not like I have anything like, gods forbid, pride, to secure.

I had resented him at first, for intruding into the way my mom and I worked, and for getting to live with Dad until he was seven when I couldn't even remember the guy's face. But eventually I had come around, after a few brave shows of loyalty from the seven year old. But right now, I was scared the bed above me might be my murder weapon as the bunk creaked under the big guy's weight. I was constantly in fear that it would shatter and I would end my story by perishing under a landslide if wood, mess and Tyson.

Whose bright idea was it to give him the top bunk?

Oh yeah. Mine. Heh. Well, to be fair, when he moved in about six years ago, he was significantly smaller and a lot lighter than he was now. As a high school sophomore, he looks a bit like a sulfur who had accidentally gotten hooked on steroids.

He has long, blond hair and a big, beefy build. He's bling in one eye, so his left one is milky white and kinda creepy looking, while his right one's baby blue and always looking around with enthusiasm. "P-Percy," he moans, one long, ape-like arm dealing over the side of his bed. "Shut it up!"

"Can't," I moan right back. "Too...too sleepy too move. I don't wanna get up... Ever. Like, seriously, ever. Is it possible to just sleep until we die of old age?" Tyson makes a half moan half laugh, his arm jerking a bit as the sound left him. "I don't think so. We'd probably live longer, though." We're silent for a while as morning light fills the room from the shuddered windows, washing the room in slightly yellow light. Then, Tyson seems to realize something as he grunted.

"Iiiiisn't it Monday?" He drawls, and my eyes shot open in shock. I quickly push myself up and wipe my eyes, squinting at the alarm clock (which, yes, was still playing that blasted beep on a loop. That sound would one day put me in a mental ward, I swear!). The evil little red numbers are at 7:00.

And school starts at 7:30! "TYSON!" I yell, scrambling out of my sheets, trying to get out min the process, I accidentally grab his arm,and drag the poor guy out of his bunk. My little half brother hits the ground with a loud thump.

"Owwwwwwwww," he complains, still somehow half asleep, and I scramble over to him, not overly worried. This had happened a thousand times. He had the durability of Superman. They guy could probably take some flaming cannonballs to the face and come out of it relatively unharmed.

I run to the dresser and began frantically shedding my nightclothes, before reaching into my drawer and yanking out a fresh orange shirt and a pair of jeans. The mess known as Tyson is still sprawled on the floor, and he hasn't moved an inch. I jump over him and kick him in the side on my way to the bathroom. "Come on, bro, get up!" I say. "We're gonna be late for school!"

"Don't care," he mumbles into the carpet as I dash into the bathroom, shoving my toothbrush into my mouth as I finish with my belt buckle. It wasn't the first time I had gotten ready for the day this fast. We often slept till the last minute around here.

As a last ditch attempt to get Tyson awake, I yell, "Ella will be waiting for you in the cafeteria!" That has the desired affect. As if he had teleported, the big guy goes from sloppy mess on the floor, to slightly less sloppy guy dressed a bit like a vagabond. He has his dark sunglasses over his eyes so people won't stare at the blind one, standing at his full nearly six foot height.

Ella's Tyson's friend at school. She is a short little redhead who was autistic, and, for some reason I can never grasp, always speaks in the third person. A bit of a bookworm as well, always reading or writing, and due to Tyson's Aspergers, the two got along well.

I had been teasing the big guy for weeks that he had a crush on her, and he would vehemently deny it, even though he always turned the same color as her hair when I mentioned it, and any mention of her name would bend him to the speaker's will. Like I had just demonstrated.

"What are you waiting around for, Percy?" He says, adjusting his belt buckle as I spit into the sink, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "We gotta go! Like, right now!" He grabs my arm and tugs me out of the small bathroom. We squeezed down the hallway, and down the stairs below.

Now for a little background, because that's always very important. I had moved to New York when I twelve and Ty was Ten. See, Mom used to be married to this guy called Gabe, (whom I had nicknamed 'Smelly Gabe' for numerous reasons, a concept that my half brother, with his unusually strong sense of smell, wholeheartedly agreed). It wasn't a good relationship. He worked our mother like a house maid, and barely showed her any affection other than filthy, lust-filled looks that made me want to find a gorgon head and turn him to stone. Unfortunately there were no gorgons around.

After he had started to get abusive, mom had broken off the marriage instantly and dragged us all the way up to New York City into this middle class apartment we are currently in. We aren't poor, but we're skimming the surface of 'financially concerned' constantly.

But I can't really complain. I really can't. I mean, Mom's always working on a novel that even I think is good. And I don't like reading that much, so that's saying something. She's much happier than she ever was with Gabe, and there's much less grey in her hair on her head, the lack of Gabe's abuse letting her hair regain color.

She greets us in the kitchen, a pair of Poptarts on a plate, one green and one blue. "Thank's Mom," I call, getting down before the big clomping feet of Tyson even reach the stairs. I seize the blue Poptart from the feet as Ty arrives at ground level. "Late for school. Love ya, see you," I call. "Come on, big guy!"

"Have a great day," she calls back from over the counter and I smile, waving as I give Tyson a tug on the arm. He nods and grabs the green one, turning back to Mom with a small smile. "Yeah, w-what he said." I dash out the door and down the stairs of the apartment building, hearing my bag over my shoulder as I ran. I jump a few stairs trying to get to the bus faster.

When we reach the grass, we break out into a full sprint for the bright yellow bus at the curb. I reach it first, hopping onto the bus step slightly, grabbing onto the metal railing next to the doorway, huffing and puffing minorly.

Tyson arrivex a few seconds later. The bus driver, a guy who also works as a coach at the school, barks: "What are you so winded about, Cupcake?" Meet Coach Hedge, the vertically-challenged, highly-aggressive, itchy-trigger-fingered, stereotypical-drill-sergeant-emulating vegetarian. The guy barely reaches over the bus's dashboard. His face is a mixture of intimidating and troll-like, a combination that's oddly fascinating. The intimidation factor is only amped by the baseball bat strapped to his seat, so I'm not in full confidence I could back talk him and return from the attempt with all my teeth.

"Nothing... Hedge," I said. "Just... Just a little out of breath." I grinned.

"Well, you can go be out of breath in a bus seat," he snapped. "I'm on a schedule Cupcake, now hurry up!" The undersized coach has an odd and slightly disturbing habit of calling people, regardless of age, gender or personal relation, 'Cupcake.' I quickly dash down the row of seats, my leg brushing some girl's knee. I stop for a moment to apologize, but my voice falls flat when I see who it is.

Annabeth Chase. The grey-eyed ice queen, as it knows her. I had a crush on her a while back, but it wasn't going anywhere with that attitude she possessed, and my commitment to the swim team quickly washed away any feelings I had for her.

Oh, wait a second. Oh, oh no. I just made a pun. I beg forgiveness from divine forces for that assault against the English language. That was just... That was bad. I'm ashamed of myself.

Anyway, instead of an apology I just give her a quick nod of acknowledgement, one that is not returned. She just glances up at me and back to the book in her lap, and I brush past her to the nearest empty seat. Talk about cold.

I plop down with a sigh and begin fishing in the pocket of my jacket for my earbuds as Tyson soon joins me. My head still wants to be asleep, so I'm not fully awake as the bus rumbled back to life and began running its course along the road.

I take a little glance back at Annabeth. Her position hasn't moved, and neither has her antisocial vibe. I had tried to set her up with Chris (upon Chris's request) a while ago, but my success had lasted about three days before the couple split for still-unknown reasons.

I shake my head and lean against the seat, closing my eyes as music began to flood my ears from the earbuds. Idly, I thought back to one if my first gym classes in New York. I had just met the kid that would become my best friend, Grover, when the coach (Hedge, ironically) announced that it was time to play dodgeball, boys vs girls.

That had ended pretty quickly for me, I remember with a small scoff. I had looked across the black line that split our side from the feminine population, my eyes immediately coming into contact with those of a princess-haired girl. She had seemingly locked onto me too. When Hedge had blown the whistle for the game to start, she had thrown her ball at me like there was a personal grudge between us. All that I recalled from that point on, all I remember was the smell of dirty gym ball, and a loud, rubbery doink!

When I had come too, I nearly had a heart attack when I found myself alone in the nurse's office with the stormy-eyed, princess-haired girl that was responsible for my very first bout of forced unconsciousness in my life.

And you know what she said? The only thing she said to me was a dry, witty sentence: "You drool in your sleep." I had yelped and reached to wipe the embarrassing development away, but by the time I looked up, she had gone. When I next encountered her, she had permanently adopted her 'Ice Queen' persona, and hasn't spared a word to me since.

I had tried to get her to talk to me, tried to make her my friend, but she'd brush me off every time. And eventually, I was sick of it. Bored to death from chasing after her attention. Tired of having another rejection thrown in my face. And so I stopped trying.

After that I moved on. I made friends, and basically had a normal school experience full of homework and video games and dull afternoons, all that stuff. And so here I am. A senior in high school, barely afloat grades and financial status.

The bus's tires squeal in protest as we come to an abrupt halt as we arrive at the school. I am jolted from my memories and I reach up, yanking my music out of my ears. I push myself out of my seat, waiting for Tyson to get up.

He does and we shuffle out of the metal tube of transportation, dismounting as students flood into the space outside the school. I make my way towards the building, resigned for another day of pointless facts and getting blamed for stuff I didn't even do...again.

Before I can even reach the building, a hand grabs me by the shoulder and I jump around, quickly shoving the offender away. "Whoa, Boss!" he yells in response and I look at him.

"Blackjack," I sigh, putting my arms down. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," he apologized, sounding sincerely sorry.

"And don't call me boss!" I remark. Blake, otherwise known as Blackjack for undefined reasons, is my cousin on my Dad's side. He's a major troublemaker as well as a juvenile delinquent through and through. And because I'm such a softie, I keep bailing him out when he gets himself into a mess. But this has led to him holding me in a rather high light, addressing me as 'Boss' and willing to make his friends and himself carry out simple tasks for me. All I have to do is ask.

Unfortunately, he's using the tone he uses when he wants something out of me. Coating his words with charisma and charm, trying to sound like a business man making a deal. "Sorry, Boss," he says again. That's the one command he always ignores; me telling him to not call me that.

We are silent for a couple seconds before he speaks up again. "So, uh, Boss, um, there's a party tonight."

Straight to the point. I don't like where this is going.

"And?" I promote, folding my arms in front of my chest and giving him a look that had terrified Tyson when I still had height on him, and he shifts under my gaze, biting his lip. "The thing is," he rubs the back of his head nervously with a small bit of sheepishness. "Well, everyone's going. I meant Beckendorf, Malcolm, uh, Luke, even that sleepy dude Clovis..."

I raise an eyebrow. "This is about Luke, isn't it?" Luke's always been this jerk that Blackjack had ticked off a few too many times. He had harassed the popular kid so often that Luke had actually gone out of his way to pick on and manipulate my little cousin, though he refuses to acknowledge it.

"No," he claims indignantly. "It's just- you can come. If you want to. Safety in numbers and all, I mean, your kinda scary when your mad, and who in their right mind would mess with the big guy over there, am I right?"

I hold up my hands. "All right, all right, Jack, I'm gonna go!" I sigh and shake my head. Like I have a chance of being able to get out of it anyway. Blackjack always finds a way to get favors out of people. Sometimes I wonder who is actually the 'Boss'.

"Awesome," he grinned. "It's at Will Solace's place, six o'clock. See ya there boss." He gave me a thumbs up before dissapearing into the crowd. That was Tyson and Blackjack AWOL for a few hours, I thought to myself. "Let's see what the rest of the day has got in store.

Nada. Nothing happens. Boring day. Bland. Empty. Wasted hours. Bleh.

So, yeah. I don't have anything eventful happening during school, unless it counts to have to practically run out of the Geometry room to avoid confrontation with Mrs. Dodds. She is one scary, scary teacher. Uurrhhhh!

But it isn't that uncommon of a thing. So, overall, a pretty normal day. Except for at lunch, I see Annabeth, which is a bit strange as I don't think she'd be caught dead in the commons. She's all by herself at one of the tables, her nose buried in a book, as per the usual. Her lunch sits untouched on a Styrofoam plate in front of her.

I roll my eyes. She's all alone, even though I had introduced her to a perfectly decent guy, she had kicked him to the curb after barely giving him a chance. It was like slamming the door on a guy when he was already halfway inside. Weird and harsh. I always knew she was a quitter. She probably couldn't commit to anything.

I commit all my time to the swim team, giving it my all. A bit of a lame thing to dedicate myself too, but it's something. Dad disappeared at sea. Making the water something I didn't have to worry about was very...therapeutic. I think.

I walk right past the princess-haired girl and she barely even twitches as I pass her. I take another glance back when I sit at my table with Beckendorf and Grover, the only other senior friends I have. Tyson, Blackjack and Nico are all a year (or two, in Nico's case) or two below me.

Annabeth's position hasn't changed. She almost seems like a full-color statue, except for blinking, of course, and with the exception of the occasional turn of a page, she doesn't look up, doesn't eat, doesn't do, well, anything. And I shrug it off as always. I eat my lunch with Beckendorf and Grover, waiting for the bell like everyone else.

Like I said, I had a crush on her a loooong time ago, but I'm over it. I have no feelings for her whatsoever, nope. If she wants to stay holed up in fantasy land, good for her. I don't need her, and she's obviously infatuated with solitude. If she wants to be alone, she can stay alone. Who am I to stop her?

And all thoughts of her are gone for the rest of the day. It isn't until hours later that anything abnormal happens, because that's my life. A plain old boring routine. And that's fine for me. Things could be a lot worse. Mom could be dead. Tyson could be dead. I could be dead. I could be heading across the country in a zoo truck, for all anyone knows. Overall, the routine is good, compared to all possible alternatives.

But my routine is about to get shaken up a little. Soon, it would never, ever be the same again. I wouldn't be able to focus on my goals twenty-four seven anymore, and I would be thrown for a loop a mile long and one that I would never, ever recover from. I still haven't. And I don't know if it was good or bad right now. I honestly don't.

HI! I AM THE RUMBLING NIGHT CUTTER! I mostly write for HTTYD, and I am an action genre author, but recently PersnicKety2018 offered me a chance to co write this with her. I'd like to thank her real quick, this will be a real good way to branch out for me. If you can't tell, I tried to make Percy in extreme contrast to Annabeth.

Also, Pern (well your username isn't any better) and I will be responding to the comments on each of our chapters, so if you leave a review expect a reply of gratitude from yours truly. It really means a lot to both me and Pern, it shows that you enjoyed what we took the time (seriously, this took WAY longer than it should have) to write and put up for you to enjoy. Leave your suggestions, favorite parts, hopes too see, or anything else you want down in that little box down there.

Have an insanely epic whatever-point-in-time-you-read-this.

-RNC