Percy Jackson and the Olympians (Male Reader Insert)

Getting Stabbed Really Sucks

Character Information:
(Y/N): Your Name
(L/N): Last Name
(H/C): Hair Color
(E/C): Eye Color
(H/L): Hair Length
(S/C): Skin Color
(F/C): Favorite Color
(F/F): Favorite Food
(F/D): Favorite Drink

Percy's POV

Fortunately, Blackjack was on duty.

I did my best taxicab whistle, and within a few minutes three dark shapes circled out of the sky. They looked like hawks at first, but as they descended I could make out the long galloping legs of pegasi.

Yo, boss. Blackjack landed at a trot, his friend Porkpie and (Y/N)'s friend Peg right behind him. Man, I thought those wind gods were gonna knock us to Pennsylvanian until we said we were with you!

"Thanks for coming," I told him. "Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?"

Peg looked at me like I was an idiot. Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? It just feels right, child.

"Oh."

(Y/N) and Annabeth both gave me questionable looks. I forget that they can't hear the pegasi talking.

So where to, boss? Blackjack asked.

"We need to get to the Williamsburg Bridge," I said.

Blackjack lowered his neck. You're darn right, boss. We flew over it on the way here, and it didn't look good. Hop on!

On the way to the bridge, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. The Minotaur was one of the first monsters I'd ever defeated. Four years ago he'd nearly killed my mother on Half-Blood Hill. I still had nightmares about that.

I'd been hoping he would stay dead for a few centuries, but I should've known my luck wouldn't hold.

We saw the battle before we were close enough to make out incidental fighters. It was well after midnight now, but the bridge blazed with light. Cars were burning. Arcs of fire steamed in both directions as flaming arrows and spears sailed through the air.

We came in for a low pass, and I saw the Apollo campers retreating. They would hide behind cars and snipe at the approaching army, setting off explosive arrows and dropping caltrops in the road, building fiery barricades whenever they could, dragging sleeping drivers out of their cars to get them out of harm's way. But the enemy kept advancing. An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead, their shields locked together, spear tips bristling over the top. An occasional arrow would connect with their snaky trunks, or a neck, or a chink in their armor, and the unlucky snake woman would disintegrate, but most of the Apollo arrows glanced harmlessly off their shield wall. About a hundred more monsters marched behind them.

Hellhounds leaped ahead of the line from time to time. Most were destroyed with arrows, but one got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn't see what happened to him next. I didn't want to know.

"There!" Annabeth called from the back of her pegasus.

Sure enough, in the middle of the invading legion was Old Beefhead himself.

"You're not stealing the Minotaur kill from me this time, Perce!" I heard (Y/N) shout.

The last time I'd seen the Minotaur, he'd been wearing nothing but his tighty whities. I don't know why. Maybe he'd been shaken out of bed to chase me. This time, he was prepared for battle.

From the waist down, he wore standard Greek battle gear—a kiltlike apron of leather and metal flaps, bronze greaves covering his legs, and tightly wrapped leather sandals. His top was all bull—hair and hide and muscle leading to a head so large he should've toppled over just from the weight of his horns. He seemed larger than the last time I'd seen him—ten feet tall at least. A double-bladed axe was strapped to his back, but he was too impatient to use it. As soon as he saw me circling overhead (or sniffed me, more likely, since his eyesight was bad), he bellowed and picked up a white limousine.