The Hidden Pillar of Olympus (PJO Male Reader Insert)

I Save The Sea-Boy From The Pre-Algebra Teacher

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Look.. I didn't want to be a half-blood.

No kid really has a choice in that matter, but I'm sure I had even less of one. Being raised by Zeus, in the shadows and depths of Olympus, doesn't really allow the luxury of choice.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom, dad, or whatever guardian told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It can be absolutely terrifying. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, horrific ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, Good for you. Read on. I kind of envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages-if you feel something stirring inside-stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Y/N L/N.

I'm thirteen years old. 

I was sent on a task, which up until a few months ago, led me to a private boarding school for 'Troubled Kids' in upstate New York called Yancy Academy.

Why was I at Yancy Academy, you ask?

To Find Zeus' Master Bolt.

I was sent by Zeus to spy on the thief and locate the stolen Master Bolt. And this 'thief' was the son of Poseidon, Percy Jackson.

At least that's what was thought..

But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

You see, things really started going bad last May, when the entire sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan. Twenty-eight mental-case kids, two teachers, plus me on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at Ancient Greek and Roman artifacts.

I had already seen everything in here, So being forced to see it again feels like watching paint dry.. Which I'd rather be doing. 

But at least Mr. Brunner, the Latin teacher, was leading this trip.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged man in a motorized wheelchair. He was thinning on top, had a scruffy beard, and wore a frayed tweed jacket. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class wouldn't put you to sleep.

He's also a freaking centaur, so there's that too. Not that the other kids knew that.

Well except maybe one..

All the way into the city, I watched as Nancy Bobofit, this freckly, redheaded klepto, hit this kid, Grover in the back of the head with chunks of her peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target.

Scrawny. Cries when frustrated. He sticks out like a sore thumb due to being the only one with acne and the start of a wispy beard.

He used crutches and walked funny..

A Satyr.

I could smell it on him.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of her sandwich that stuck to his curly brown hair. And next to the Protector was the Protectee, Percy Jackson. I was sat in the seat across from them.