Maisie Kline didn't want to be a half-blood...but she is.
So you might as well read her story.
percy jackson x femoc 🩵
tlt: ✅
tsom: ✅
ttc: ✅
tbol:in progress
tlo:...
-cover art from @samdoesart on instagram
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mythologically speaking, if there's anything Percy hated worse than trios of old ladies, it's bulls. Last summer, he and Maisie fought the Minotaur on top of Half-Blood Hill. This time, there were two bulls. And not just regular bulls—bronze ones the size of elephants. And even that wasn't bad enough. Naturally they had to breathe fire, too.
As soon as the four exited the taxi, the Gray Sisters peeled out, heading back to New York, where life was safer. They didn't even wait for their extra three-drachma payment. They just left them on the side of the road, Annabeth with nothing but her backpack and knife, Tyson and Percy still in their burned-up tie-dyed gym clothes, and Maisie still in her overalls, that she was planning on throwing out later, considering a slimy eyeball had been sitting on pant leg a few moments ago.
"Oh, man," said Annabeth, looking at the battle raging on the hill.
The most worrisome thing wasn't the bulls themselves. It was that the beats were ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. Which shouldn't have been possible. The camp's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the metal bulls were doing it anyway.
One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" A girl's voice—gruff and familiar.
"That's Clarisse," Maisie said. "Come on, we have to help her."
The daughter of Ares' fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls charged. The grass was burning in huge swathes around the pine tree. One hero screamed and waved his arms as he ran in circles, the horse-hair plume on his helmet blazing like a fiery Mohawk. Clarisse's own armor was charred. She was fighting with a broken spear shaft, the other end embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder.
Percy uncapped his ballpoint pen. It shimmered, growing longer and heavier until he held the bronze sword, Anaklusmos, in his hands. "Tyson, stay here. I don't want you taking any more chances."
"No!" Annabeth said. "We need him."
Percy gave her a look. "He's mortal. He got lucky before, but he can't—"
"Percy, do you know what those are up there? The Colchis bulls, made by Hephaestus himself. We can't fight them without Medea's Sunscreen SPF 50,000. We'll get burned to a—"
Maisie already took off up the hill, holding Nox.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Percy told Annabeth, "but I'm not going to let Tyson get fried."
"But—"
"Tyson, stay back." Percy raised his sword. "I'm going in."
Tyson tried to protest, but Percy was already running up the hill after Maisie.
Clarisse was yelling at her patrol, trying to get them into phalanx formation. It was a good idea. The few who were listening lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, locking their shields to form an ox-hide-and-bronze wall, their spears bristling over the top like porcupine quills.
