First of all I'd like to say that this piece has no lemons. I am not that brand of writer. Secondly I want to make it admanantly clear that this fic has a giant ass

TRIGGER WARNING

Not a specific trigger warning, but a general one. Because yea, this fic touches on a ton of serious topics. And dark topics. I can't list them all because then it would just be a spoiler pile on what happens in the story. Just know it starts out pretty light but slowly spirals into a very dark mess.

If you want to read this story, but you're worried you may be triggered then don't read the story. I wanted to push myself by writing something with swears in it (even though I never swear in real life? Smh what am I doing), and dark material.

It may not be the darkest thing on the internet, but it's dark for me and that's why I'm warning ya'll. I don't intend on scarring anyone. Specially not the lil'ones who follow me.

Now, welcome to the story.

Chapter 1

"I said take her out, not TAKE her out!" The man snarled. Between the red bulging veins protruding, pulsing, from his forehead and that manic glimmer of pure unadulterated hatred he was starting to take on the likeness of a very disheveled lunatic. Every other moment he was raking a hand through his hair, fidgeting in place, gnashing his teeth together as he tried to come to terms with what Percy had just told him. "I hired you to kill my ex-fiance. Not DATE her!"

Percy stood his ground. Quiet. Stoic. Immovable.

Despite his cool visage, a flicker of his own anger started to wind its way up his esophagus. Stoking the darkest intentions in his innermost mind. Urging him to act. To defend. To destroy. If this man before him continued on about his bitch ex fiance Percy didn't know if he would have the wherewithal to keep himself in line.

Keep it cool. Water cool. Percy used his calming method.

Every assassin had one.

Lose your head, and you were suddenly a person employers didn't want to deal with. They wanted calm, chill, relaxed yet sharp people who would listen to their commands like dogs but moved like cats. Stealthy, undetected, fluid. Kill who they say, when they say, and don't get caught; that was what it meant to be in his line of business.

The better the assassin, the richer the employers. It was an ugly food chain, a lucrative food chain.

It had taken years for Percy to move up the ladder. He'd started out sitting in greasy hoodies in back alleys, exchanging money under shadows and through whispers. Now look where he was at.

An office in the middle of Boston. Top floor of the skyscraper. Behind his client were the windows, floor to ceiling and reaching up so high they were skimming the clouds. All around were lavish things: The lingering odor of cuban cigars and aged whiskies. The classical style of the oak bookshelves and leather bound books, deep set wing back chairs and an antique wood desk Abraham Lincoln would have appreciated. Things that were full yet not overwhelming. Every inch of the place bled with an undeniable opulent aura only the top .5% could boast of.

Through his style, Percy could understand why Annabeth might've once liked this guy. But not through his looks, that didn't quite add up. Sure, the man in front of him was decently attractive, tall, well dressed with a healthy top of golden brown hair gelled to the side, but that was where any amicable features ended.

His nose was too long, his fingers were too slender like the legs of an insect, his eyes were dark and skittering. No, he didn't match Annabeth at all.

"That bitch doesn't deserve to live!" There was a tremor in his voice. A knot of fear that had punctured into his rage. Breathing heavily, pulling at his face with his weird web veiny hands, the man stumbled back as if reconsidering his tantrum. Then, with a scream worthy of a demon, he ripped the lamp off his desk and rammed it into the floor at Percy's feet. A flash burned through the room as the bulb died, followed by a melodic tinkle of glass shattering. The floor tremble ever so slightly at the impact.

Percy didn't flinch.

"FUCK. SHE RUINED MY LIFE," the man howled. Desperation was starting to form in his eyes, bringing the stress to the edges and starting to make his eyelids flush red. Percy could tell his heart rate from where he was standing a few feet away. Separated by one desk. One piece of wood. One shield, that's all this man had to him.

What does he think this temper tantrum will achieve?

"And yet you chose her. You chose her. Instead of the money?! MONEY?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!" The man continued shrieking.

Percy was pretty sure his name was Michael, but he couldn't be certain. After a while, clients just kind of melded into the same face and look. There was a certain breed of terrible that skulked on top of their money piles in the world. Usually men, usually white, usually between thirty and sixty.

"You were supposed to be the best in the business-"

"I am," Percy cut him off with a dagger-like look. "But you could say that Annabeth is even better."

Michael, David, Andrew, whatever his name was, set his eyes on Percy with a familiar expression. Hating him so openly, Percy felt the urge to pop his eyes with the fountain pen perched on the oak desk.

"How did she get her claws on you?" the man simmered bitterly. "How?"

.:oOo:.

Tall, female, blonde, curly hair, grey eyes, intimidatingly beautiful, and a force of nature; these were the words written in black ink at the top of the file. Annabeth Chase; twenty five, fierce attitude, works at Olympus architecture, hangs out on beaches and in libraries in spare time, and only has one friend; Piper McLean.

Less friends, the easier the job. Percy flicked the file through his hands again. Not many people would be looking for her after she'd met her demise. A sad reality for some, but not Percy.

Family: None.

Percy's eyebrow twitched up as a sparkle of curiosity flared in his chest. He glanced solemnly at her paperclipped photograph in an intrigued manner. Annabeth Chase's smile and piercing grey eyes stared back in an immobilized moment of joy.

She was pretty, he had to admit. He didn't know why he was killing her, but he did know that he was getting over two hundred grand for it. She was in the world of the rich. He'd be well off because of her untimely demise, and he wasn't any sadder for it.

With a grunt, Percy stumbled to his feet. His bed creaked as he closed up the file and shoddily tossed it to his bedside table. The smooth paper slid across the surface with a gentle hiss, the only noise in the quiet house save for his roommates video game consoles insufferable beeping from the living room.

"Going out?" Nico didn't pry his eyes away from the screen as his fingers jerked and cracked over the buttons on his controller. Violent screams, and streams of blood were jumping around on the widescreen TV.

"Mmm hmm," Percy answered as he grabbed his coat off the rack. The feel of his gun knocking against his hip from his pocket gave him a bit of comfort. He always liked to know that he had backup if a fight ever went wrong.

"Date?" Nico's black hair was falling into his eyes, and his scrawny legs were drawn up in a cross on the white sofa. With the lights out, curtains drawn, the grey from the walls, and the glow from the screen he had the amazing resemblance to a very occupied ghost.

"Of sorts," Percy shrugged.

"Bring me back pizza?"

"Only if you stop playing that game."

"Jerk."

"Lazy!" Percy chuckled before peeling out the front door. A loose smile on his lips as he quickly pulled the rusty red scarf around his neck. His fingers were itching to pull on his gloves as the clean hard icy fall air started to nip at his ears and fingertips.

Almost all the leaves were off the trees, leaving bare pointy lines reaching up to the pale blue sky. The shuttering wings of little sparrows waved unknowingly to him from the vast above.

Are you sad?

The city hadn't gotten around to cleaning up all the fallen scraps of orange and red, so every now and again a gust of wind would throw a leaf storm at his face. It had its perks though. Every coffee shop worth its customer was advertising cinnamon and pumpkin spice hot beverages. The smells of pumpkin pies and cinnamon rolls invaded his nose as Percy quietly walked past the local bakery. Its doors open to the crisp wind and lively buyers lured by the tantalizing smells.

It was mid-afternoon, early evening time. Families were settling into chairs for home cooked meals, and dates were beginning as the sun started to make its final stretch to the horizon.

Annabeth was on the beach at this time.

How did Percy know this? Well, she was a peculiar creature. She was disciplined and exact. She spent the exact same amount of time at the beach at the exact time of day every other day. Dividing her time between the library, selecting her new adventure to embark on, and the waterside, where she indulged in the full pages. She sat halfway between the water and the grass line on an old tattered blanket she brought so sand wouldn't invade every article of clothing she had. And if his research was all correct, she'd also have a thermos of tea and smell like lemon zest from Amalfi.

Odd that she's in my part of town. Percy pondered as he shoved his hands further into his pockets. Feels… weird.

Normally, he'd have to travel miles to complete a job. Once he even followed his target to a different continent just to do things smoothly.

The fact that Annabeth Chase hung out in an area that was just a walk away was a bit unnerving. He didn't want to associate the beach with her after she was gone. He'd have to find something else to pin her face to. Maybe lemon zest, if what was said was true.

As the rows of townhouses and small businesses with cute signs speckled away, Percy found himself on a familiar path as his boots clumped against the smooth pavement, and his gaze wandered around the thick of fleshless trees. Absentmindedly taking in the sky hemmed with flat wispy clouds, his head filled with the shadows of lost memories. Ahead, the gentle murmur of crashing water started to grow bolder. The wide, breathlessly blue openness of the ocean appeared like a rising platform. A beach of dark brown, gritty sand littered with white fragments of broken shells, limp seaweed, and a few seagull pecked crab carcasses lay in his path. The wind spoke of salt and algae and everything he loved about its rocky turbulent shores. He couldn't restrain the smile at being so close to the water's edge again.

The beach itself was small, and was usually densely packed on hot summer days. There was a single standing blood red lifeguard post with a loose life preserver pressed against the back and an army of footprints from meandering photographers searching for their perfect shot but no people.

Due to the vacant shore and the clear afternoon, Annabeth wasn't hard to spot.

She was a little off to the side, close to a quaint seaside seafood restaurant. A thick white and red book was clamped in her hands, and her head was tipped down in total submersion of its pages. The wind peeled back her curtain of golden curls every other second to let him peek at her focused yet striking face. Her burgundy coat and purple-striped scarf stylishly clothed her lean form.

She was pretty in person too, it was a shame she had to die.

But business is business. Percy sighed to himself.

Nobody was on the beach, the beach was damn cold from the moisture-clogged air rolling off the ocean. Besides, it was Sunday so the restaurant was closed and dark and achingly empty of chattering diners. Not to mention that because the dining place was practically a relic (run by a sweet elderly couple of equal ancient ways) it wasn't equipped with security cameras. No one could trace this moment.

Annabeth hadn't seen him, and he was roughly twenty or so feet away. It wouldn't be an impossible shot to make. It was all so perfect.

He reached for the familiar handle of his gun without a second thought. Its surface was warm compared to the air, and easily fell into his grip with no complaints. The accustomed grooves of its handle always made Percy slide into his panther-like state: focused, sharp, merciless.

It would be too easy. She'd die without ever knowing the fear of death, or seeing her last moments. It would almost be peaceful. The ocean had an undertow somewhere, as it always did, so he could simply dump her corpse into its frothing waters and she'd never be found.

Percy sighed at the boringness of it all and cocked his gun. A steely feeling of hardness encasing his heart as he prepared for the shot. The glinting tip of the muffler extended out so no nearby people could possibly hear the death of Annabeth Chase.

But the ocean.

Ah yes, the ocean. He'd associate it with her every time he saw its vast clearness. It was a trick he'd picked up as a kid from another sinner. Crouched low in a gas station bathroom and bawling his eyes out at how his first victim had crumbled so pleadingly slow. Pain, hate, pain, hate cycled through his system before the other assassin hired for the task walked in on him with fresh blood on his hands. The scoff at Percy's tears and the rumbling burble of how pathetic he was.

No, assassins aren't sympathetic. Percy got a black eye and some solid advice he never let go of.

"Give the target an object. Believe they are that thing. And for the rest of your life, avoid that thing. It's a hell of a lot easier to count the objects you killed, then the people, kid."

Of course he was right. The guy was a professional.

Percy ended up killing brandy in New York. Cigarettes in vegas, popsicles in chicago, and cocaine in Paris. Apples, silver bracelets, bookends, chess pawns, violins, honeycombs, throwing darts. More, so much more. Every 'person' that died at his hands, had a death associated with a thing. They were obsessed with it, or holding it, or selling it or maybe they just felt like it.

She could be a book, Percy pondered. A piece of him even approved of the idea. She did seem like the book type. But to avoid all books…. It couldn't be done.

Percy took aim again and lightly squeezed at the trigger, feeling the pressure of its clockwork ready to spring alongside his anticipation before he released his finger once more. The risen excitement at the prospect of a fresh kill started fizzling out. The blunt hardness surrounding his heart faded like frost mixing with a humid breath. He tried holding onto it, but something had wheedled in. Something was stuck in his barriers.

No family. One friend.

He wasn't feeling sympathetic. Her lack of socialness made his job easier, almost laughably easy, actually.

He felt like he could relate to her.

No family.

It was easy to turn off the rush of memories from his 'childhood'. He was used to it now. What was the saying? Wounds heal, scars fade?

She was his opposite, yet they had one thing in common. No family. Percy couldn't tell if her family fell apart from a young age like him, or if she just grew away from them when she was older, but it intrigued him.

He grew up with no family and became an assassin to survive. If she grew up with no family, how did she find the strength to make herself into a successful architect?

"Screw it," Percy muttered. He didn't like talking to his targets, it kind of felt like he was playing with his money, but sometimes his curiosity just got the better of him. He barely had a friend himself (if Nico could even be called that), and sometimes he craved human interaction. It was one part of his life he was never able to fill because who would knowingly be friends with an assassin?

Shoving his gun moodily back into his pocket, Percy romped over the small lumps of sand made by other feet until he was a yard or so away.

Annabeth's head remained motionless and perpetually stuck in the direction of her words, oblivious to his presence as he peeked around her curls to see the scores of clustered letters written neatly in orderly lines.

"What book?" he asked a little gruffly.

Annabeth jerked around with a gasp and stared at him accusingly with wide thunderstorm grey eyes. "What the fuck?! You almost scared me to death!"

Almost did more, lady.

"Sorry," Percy said more than he felt. "I was just a bit curious. Has to be a good book if you're willing to sit out here in the cold to read it."

Annabeth blinked at him. Her eyebrows furrowed before she snorted at him in a miffed way.

"Beat it creep," she scoffed with distaste and a touch of anger as she turned back to her book. Her fingers slightly trembled as she flipped through the pages to find her place.

Percy reached for his gun again with an unimpressed eye roll.

Oh well, I guess I'll just never read a book again.

As his fingers closed around the handle, Annabeth sighed and her shoulders fell from their wound up position. She looked back at him with a dark, yet unwillingly apologetic look. Kind of like 'I'm sorry, but if you tell anyone I apologized I'll rip your face off'.

"Okay, look. You snuck up on me, and I don't like that. If you really want to know the name of the book, it's called 'The Knife of Never Letting Go' by Patrick Ness. Buy it, burn it, read it, write in it, I don't care. Just don't sneak up on me again. Promise?"

Percy couldn't contain his chuckle. Admittedly, he was amused. She had spunk and fire, and looked at him so steadily that he felt as if she could read everything about him. But she was so contradictive of herself, like she was living with an autocorrect system hardwired in her brain. He couldn't control the grin on his face; she was too bizarre.

"Sure," he agreed offhandedly.

"Quit grinning, you creep," Annabeth snuffed. "I gave you an answer, now go!"

"What part are you at?" Percy shook his head at her before settling himself beside her blanket with little regard to her scowl. He was being intrusive and self-inviting, but he didn't care. He was going to kill her anyways.

"How would you know-"
"I've read it," Percy revealed while remembering the amount of books he'd tried to quench his loneliness with. His mouth tasted sour. "Good symbolism, a bit dark at times."

"DON'T spoil it," Annabeth growled strictly.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Percy's smile only grew. "Favorite character?"

Annabeth looked as if she was going to yell at him again, but averted her gaze and fiddled with the edges of the book. "Manchee..."

"Interesting…" Percy dragged on. "Todd's my personal favorite."

Annabeth wiggled into a kneeling position and glared at him heatedly. A flicker of flames behind her eyes as she took a defensive stance against him. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

Percy shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back. The sand hit the palms of his gloved hands as he supported his weight with his arms.

"Trying to talk. Why? Am I doing it wrong?"

"What are you, an alien learning human language or something?" Annabeth scoffed again, closing her book and pulling it against her chest almost protectively. The pinkness of her cheeks brought out her powerful silver eyes more, which constantly seemed to be filled with unreadable thoughts.

"Darn it. Now I have to blow up the planet. See what you've done?" Percy smirked at her with a joking element dancing in his tone.

"You're weird." Annabeth gathered the blanket up and stood hastily. But she was hiding a smile, and Percy could see it. It gave an encouraging bump to his heart.

"Says the girl reading alone on a beach," Percy pointed out smugly.

"Whatever," she bit back. "It was boring talking to you…" She trailed off expectantly with her eyes set decidedly on him. Percy didn't know what to think when he was smacked square in the chest by how strikingly beautiful she was this time. Maybe it was just the lighting, or the way her eyes were probing his in an obvious attempt for an unspoken answer.

She wants to know my name?

"Percy," he breathed before he could stop his own lips. A flutter of panic welled up in his chest because even his employers didn't know his real name. Percy, Percy Jackson died when his mother died. He was a phone number, a request, a death wish. He wasn't a name. Nico thought his name was Jack for crying out loud! And here he was spilling his birth-given name.

"I'm Annabeth," she introduced cordially, but stiffly, with an almost curious look in her own eyes as she glanced him over one last time. "Let's never talk again."

"...Okay…" Percy said hollowly. His eyes followed her form as she marched off down the beach. A million thoughts swarming his mind at that odd exchange.

Well, he thought with a sigh, Now I HAVE to kill her tonight.

.:oOo:.

It was easy getting into her house. Simple burglary tricks he picked up when he was thirteen gave him what he needed to slip into the dark chambers of her home.

As expected, it was modernly styled and almost blank. The walls were white and had the occasional shelf or framed modern art piece. The sofas were a mundane grey, and the side and coffee tables were patchwork pieces of metal and glass. The dark hallways were blank, and the smooth hardwood floor was soundless. At some point Percy stumbled into the kitchen and found, unsurprisingly, a neat minimalistic design with metal appliances, grey counters, and white cabinets. He had to roll his eyes. It was a typical magazine home.

As he slunk throughout the house, he was disturbed to find that every picture frame held abstract paintings, and artistic photographs rather than personal photos.

No family.

Usually, when Percy broke in to complete a job, there were hundreds of family portraits and Christmas photos to nag at his nearly dead consciousness, but Annabeth was clean of them. Even an Ikea showroom had more personality and individuality to it than Annabeth's house.

Her room was on the second level and, oddly enough, she slept with the door open. The composition of her equally cheerless room was orchestrated in such a way that it was obvious she was trying to maximize productivity. Her desk was away from the long window, whereas her mirror was beside it for as much natural light as possible. Her closet was located beside the second door to what Percy assumed was her bathroom, and the shelves lining the space above her bed were stuffed with books so she could grab one easily from her comfortable mattress.

Annabeth herself was curled preciously up on her metal pipe framed bed. A striped grey cushion was hugged to her chest, and her golden curls were splayed out around her like a halo. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was quietly snoring away without a worry in the world. The subtle glow from a little owl-shaped night light cast shadows across her face made Percy smile with a chuckle in his throat. Part of him chastised himself for being distracted by such a minor detail but at the same time: Annabeth Chase uses a nightlight. Who knew?

Now how am I going to do this?

The art lay in the subtleness of it. At all costs he couldn't afford to struggle with her, that would leave evidence. Every new target had to have a death designed for their lifestyle unless it would look suspicious.

Poison wasn't his forte and only the expensive stuff was untraceable. His gun was a last means measure if he meant to leave her body. It would link him directly to the crime. So what was he working with?

He could just turn on the gas of her stove and light one of the scented candles in her room. Make it look like she had just been careless while he would be long gone before the explosion rattled the block. That was probably the most escapeable one. He could use his tiny bottle of chloroform, then force her to swallow a lethal dose of pills from her medicine cabinet. Heck, he didn't even have to kill her that night, just set up the circumstances to heighten her chance of 'accidental death'. A greased surfacea the top of her stairs, fraying her brake line, cutting the CO2 exhaust from her furnace and removing the batteries from all her fire alarms, dip her toothbrush in fentanyl.

Could make it look like a violent burglary Percy wondered as his gaze flitted over her face again. Her closed eyes were lined in thick black lashes, yet Percy could still picture those burning thunderstorms set on him. He scarcely breathed in fear of waking her up, so he waved off the tight feeling in his chest to that.

With a shiver, he reached for the gun. In truth, he did want to use the gun. It was so impersonal, so fast, so easy. If he made a loud noise and shot her six times in the chest as she sat up, it would look messy and unplanned. Then all he would have to do was take whatever valuables she had hiding around and leave.

Besides, a violent death might suit her. Armed robberies were common enough, and Percy lived in the general vicinity so he already knew how crappy the detectives were.

Fumbling with his pocket, he struggled to remain soundless. Anything could possibly wake her up. Anything could foil this moment…

No family.

He knew he would've been different if his mother hadn't died that night. He would've had a family. Someone to lean on perhaps, someone to help him through his struggles. He wasn't normal, and he knew it.

He attributed it to a lack of family, but here she was. She was so normal, so successful even, and yet she had no family?

In the darkness on her bedside table lay her phone. The night light glinted off its surface like a black mirror, and was encased with a panda cover. Another little definition of personality that wasn't expected.

No family?

Gingerly, he plucked the little device off the table. Its black surface momentarily reflected Percy's stony face before he hit the little top button and the screen burst to life. A picture of a tall building standing stoically in the background met his eyes, and Percy felt like face palming.

Of course the background is a building. He mentally snorted, shaking his head with a soft sigh as he gently hovered over her. A waft of lemon scent drifted towards him and made his eyes roll one more time.

The difficult part was squeezing the phone between her hand and pillow to get her thumbprint on the sensor. The loud artificial click that followed made Percy reel back in alarm. His eyes scanned around her peacefully sleeping form over and over for any signs of disturbance.

Luckily, no.

Greedily, Percy dived into her phone and found exactly one contact, a few photos of that one friend, and a few hundred pictures of buildings.

No family.

He wanted to know why. Why was she the one who grew into such an amazing person and he became a killer? Why was it that she came from the same place but ended in such a different one?

I won't get an answer if I kill her. Percy decided. Cocking his head at the sleeping girl as his gun felt heavy in his pocket.

But he could just do it now. Get paid, get it over with. Her object could be an owl nightlight, or a panda phone cover. Her last moments she'd never know the fear of. It was so damn easy, this kill; he just had to do it.

No family.

With a weighted sigh, Percy plopped the little device back on its station and drew his hood up a little moodily. A tinge of jealousy bubbling to the surface as he shot one last sour glance towards her sleeping form.

What a life she has.

Sure, she only had one friend and no family, but still she had one friend and all this. A life she supported herself in without turning her hands dirty; she wasn't dodging jealous sinners or piling stones onto emotions fighting to be freed. She wasn't living the life he had.

"Lucky I s'pose," He uttered under his breath as he turned to go. Reaching the doorway just as a horrified gasp seemed to split his spine in two.

"Who the FUCK are you?! What are you doing in my house?!"

He was racing down the stairs before his heart had a chance to drop another beat. His hair stood electrifyingly erect, and his skin felt like a blanket of cold snow. Adrenaline zapped his system with loose energy as he threw himself at the door and flicked it open before violently yanking at the handle. The door smashed into the wall with a crashing clamor as he heard Annabeth's scrambling footsteps following him down the straight metal stairs.

Shit! SHIT!

He only glanced back once, but he could tell the glint of a knife anywhere, even through the dimness of the hall. The way she was holding it told him that she knew how to use it too. Just his luck.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" She demanded again, racing at him with the determination of a challenged elephant. Percy was fleeing into the cold night before she ever reached the threshold of the door. His shoes hammered rhythmic beats into the ground, his heart burned with alarm and his breaths came and went in thick labored gasps. The adrenaline gave him a burst of guilt-free glee as he couldn't help the twisted smirk that ripped up his face.

What a girl.

"GET BACK HERE YOU COWARD!" Annabeth was chasing him down the street, barefoot, in her pajamas. The enraged state of her voice spoke of the things she would do to him if he were caught.

Like a gazelle, Percy zipped off the street the first chance he got, flying from under a yellow street light and into a thick coniferous bush. The rustle of his movements dying in a matter of seconds as he peeked out cattishly. His curiosity had reached a new level with this target. With bated breath, he watched as Annabeth came to a stop under the streetlight. Hair licked up in odd places and a fixed expression of anger on her pretty face as she squinted in the general direction he had disappeared. The knife was clenched murderously in her fingers as she wheeled around in search of Percy.

Yet somehow, to him, she looked like an angel.

What an odd person.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!" She shrieked. "COWARD!"

He didn't even feel the cold nipping wind until Annabeth shivered. Wrapping one arm around herself as still she searched for the person who dared intrude her home. A few passing leaves went skittering by her drearily when the wind picked up again.

Her eyes weren't the same. They held the fire but they were also filled with something more skittish. She was enraged, but also slightly unnerved.

So… Annabeth Chase is not so normal, Percy concluded with a bemused smile creeping up on him. Watching in an enchanted way as she gave up and headed back in the direction of her house, sniffling from the cold and muttering curses loud enough for Percy to hear.

Who the hell is Annabeth Chase?

So yeah. I started writing this fic in September 2018. It was supposed to be this really light and airy rom-com style one shot that didn't go over 20,000 words. But I kept struggling with the mood of it. Scrapped the mood, picked up a few new writing tactics, went for an edge I'd normally never do? Now we're 140,000 words deep… still going and quite cautious about the way I've made it?

I was trying something new, and I have to admit it kinda blew up in my face.

Bottom line: I don't like it.

I mean it's okay? It's just not my style. But that's alright, it's all in the name of experimenting/improving, right? Maybe a few of you guys will like it. Who knows. (Also, I'm too stubborn/committed to just drop it sooo… we're doing this. Whether you like it or not.)

Now what to expect from this fic:

Weekly updates: Every Wednesday (Will skip a week here and there to keep up with editing)

All chapters are roughly between 2000 and 5000 words

Angst, pain, gore and action

Bad things. Uncommonly bad things.