#for gluten i mean. hes surprisingly tolerant in all other ways

[newttxt]

lulaw bodyswap (or, the exquisite humiliation of trafalgar law) for @strawhattery's birthday!

bonus: the original toilet humor gag that ended up on the chopping block

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:💀 PERSEPHONE: QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD, GODDESS OF SPRING, THE DEAD, THE UNDERWORLD, GRAIN, AND NATURE 💐 (PART 2)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is PART 2 of the Persephone Demigod Headcanons. Due to the size limit of Tumblr, I had to split the entire work into two. [LINK TO PART 1 HERE] Hi everyone! It took me a bit to figure it out but here's what everyone has been waiting for! Persephone is just 1 out of the 4 works I have planned and written for, and these works will be categorized as the MISCELLANEOUS GODS due to not the fact these gods are minor or anything, but because I did mention this in an ask before and it's easier to think about due to the canon PJO worldbuilding. These works will be a bit more loose since I'm taking a shot in the wild so hopefully you guys like it. Thanks for reading!!

You can summon the dead as much as the children of Hades, but there’s a keypoint where you can reanimate, revive the dead under some certain circumstances: like bringing back life to dead flowers by imparting your own power, but they're still destined to die because that is the cycle of nature after all. With living beings, it’s much more different the more complex and messier it gets. Animals are sort of allowed, but human beings? That’s a big no-no. It is the quickest and most instantaneous way to make Hades incinerate you on the spot, or make the earth swallow you beneath your feet. He already did that to Aslepius, who was so good at medicine he could revive the dead. You may be Persephone’s child and Hades’ may be lenient with you, but you’re still bound to the sacred mortal laws like everything.  Even if you can’t revive (human) life, don’t even think of trying. 

Don’t be surprised if you are more in tune and affected by seasonal changes. Given how Persephone is connected with the changing of seasons, you have Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer aspects. What each season means to you will depend on from when you were born and furthering back from it. The children of Hecate are a good support group for this and normalise it. 

You can’t be gluten free or allergic to pollen. If you were, you aren’t now once you’re claimed. Not under Persephone’s (and Demeter’s) watch. It’ll literally go against everything that is them. You’ll also have a great love of mint, particularly munching on mint leaves. You don’t know why until you learn about the story of Minthe; a nymph that Hades pursued before Persephone faced her wrath. 

Between Demeter and Persephone,, you’re going to eat so much grains; particularly whole wheat. Even if you’re not a big fan of it, you’re conditioned to eat it and tolerate it. If you don’t eat whole wheat or whole grains every so often, you’ll feel something is missing from your diet and you’ll be craving it bitterly. 

I think being a child of Persephone makes you an exception to seeing your godly parent due to some loophole. You’re kind of obligated to go visit Persephone for the Winter and Spring equinox; in Winter, you’ll also have to meet Hades. On the plus side, the Winter visits allows you and Hades to get to know one another and minimizes any animosity the Lord of the Underworld may have towards you. You’ll also get to know Nico, Hazel, and possibly any other children of Hades/Pluto along the way with the Winter Equinox visits. 

Surprisingly, Mr. D gives some sympathy and help coming to terms with the whole unusual birth thing. Anytime you have a panic or existential crisis, Mr. D is there waiting with a can of diet coke waiting for you. Chiron may also be there for those sessions if so required. 

Cabin wise at Camp Half-Blood will have to erect a Persephone cabin/temple now you’re here. In the early beginning, you’re going between the Demeter cabin or the Hades cabin until they build a cabin. The reason it’s taking so long because with Persephone, it is also prompting a possible Amphitrite cabin also along the way just to be fair because Hera has her already, then there’s Persephone, and then that also leaves the last of the Big Three’s Wives: Amphitrite. It’s less on the building part that is the problem, but the future ramifications that everyone is debating and preparing for; a storm that has yet to come.

If there’s a Child of Hera when you’ve arrived and been claimed or during your time at camp, you’re both automatically sticking with each other in solidarity based on the whole impossible child scenario, and children of Queens. You’re also both talking with each other and being discussed with is there going to be a chance of a demigod child of Amphitrite in the future. (though very unlikely at the moment due to the fact she is Nereids, and there hasn’t been any evidence that she has any interest in mortal men*) 

You’re guided to Camp Halfblood and chaperoned by your step sibling and son of Hades, Nico di Angelo. You have had 3 to 6 months to get to know him, and him knowing, coming to terms, and being quickly forced to acclimate to your existence. With a favour from Hades and a gently enforced command by Persephone, he was to accompany you to Camp Halfblood. It was less because of the threat of monsters, with the company you’re keeping, but more so as “emotional and physical support”. Seeing as you couldn’t be accompanied by the Lampades, the nymphs of the Underworld, Nico was the best next option (read: Nico is being told to accompany you in a political move to solidify your position and enforce your presence). 

When you get claimed, you come on the cusp of Winter and Spring. The bare naked trees that are covered with snow disappear as yellow-green bright leaves begin to take over the branches with flower buds blossoming. The snow melts away into water, seeping into the earth below you, with fuzzy grass peeking out. It carpets underneath you with flowers sprouting underneath you, the first flowers of spring of Crocus, Snowdrops, Daffodils, with the appearance of butterflies and robins fluttering around you. 

Two birds drop down to put a crown of thorns, twisting around to resemble a deer’s horns, setting upon your head, menacing as the winter light casts a menacing shadow, before the claim of Persephone of the Pomegranate appears, glowing brightly. The crown begins to sprout flowers along with the bare trees and plantations into your favourite flowers.

Everyone looks at you in changing confusion, fear, awe, and then disbelief and realisation. You see some people’s eyes, their auras distinct as they look at Nico for answers who sighs before steps forward and clear his throat, his scratchy throat sounding like bare branches rubbing against each other yet loud like a tree falling in a quiet forest.  “I, Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades, present the child of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, Goddess of the Dead, Grains, Spring, and Nature. Hail (F/n) (L/n), their eminence of the seasons.”

Silence takes over like the winter wind before everyone screams with uproar, with minor voices yelling “NOT AGAIN”.

[PART 1 TO PERSEPHONE DEMIGOD HEADCANONS HERE]

[lilsherlockian1975]

She Does Now

This is for @mizjoely  simply because I felt like giving her a fic! Anyhoo, it’s T rated for one or two bad words. Post TFP a touch of angst but love abounds! It’s also posted here on AO3 and here on FF.net. Enjoy~Lil~

"Okay Sherlock, I'm here, on my day off, what do you need?" Molly said as she tossed her jacket on the chair next to her and sat across from the detective. It had been an odd request, to say the least, when Sherlock had phoned (not sent a text) and asked her to join him at Screaming Beans, her second favourite coffee shop, but she hadn't hesitated to meet him.

"Here." He pushed a large latte towards her before picking up his own mug and taking a drink. "How's our goddaughter?"

Small talk, really? Another oddity. "Amazing, perfect, beautiful. But I might be biased," she replied with a smile then took a small sip of her drink. She had been sitting with Rosie when he'd phoned. Saturday mornings were designated 'girl time' for her and her goddaughter. "So, what's this all about? John? He seems to be doing much better if that's what you wanted to…"

"No," he interrupted. "This has nothing to do with John."

That's when she noticed the contemplative expression on the detective's face. He looked like he sometimes did when he was working out the last bits of a case. She'd seen that face many times in the lab and morgue. Something about this seemed personal, however. "Sherlock, whatever it is, you know you can talk to me, right?"

Turning his focus on her, he stared like he was trying to figure something out, but didn't speak.

"Is it your sister? Have you just visited her lately?" Molly asked, trying to pry the information out of the man.

He shook his head. "No. No, it's not Eurus."

"Okay, but..." she was going to ask more questions, but suddenly his face changed from thoughtful to determined.

"You didn't know," he said.

I didn't know? Oh, my God… "Sherlock, are you high?"

He waved his hand and shook his head. "I'm clean, Molly. I promise. But something dawned on me this morning and I've been thinking about it ever since."

"What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, he picked up his coffee cup and drained the last of it. "It occurred to me that if you didn't know that, which I realised before, then you must not know everything else either."

Molly steadied herself; it was going to be one of those conversations. The ones where Sherlock seemed to know exactly what was going on, but she'd have to piece it together like a puzzle (or incredibly complex differential equation). Usually, when he was in the midst of one of these broken rambling discussions (using that word lightly, because her input was rarely needed) he was buried in a case; just working out the final component that would solidify his deduction. This was clearly different.

"Sherlock," she said, drawing his focus once again. "Do you want a refill?" She hoped that she could give him a moment to work out what he was trying to say.

"Please. And see if they have a decent looking muffin."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Blueberry?"

"Chocolate. Something chocolate."

Definitely not a case. She took her time walking to the front of the shop trying to shake the feeling of foreboding that was looming in the back of mind. "Coffee and two of these," she instructed, pointing to the decadent looking chocolate muffins behind the glass. "Do they have nuts in them?" She hated nuts. Well, not all nuts. Almonds were okay and she could tolerate the occasional pistachio, but...

"No," the ginger teenager behind the counter answered. "But they're not gluten free.

"O-kay. Um, I have no issue with gluten. How much?"

"Oh, that bloke in the coat opened a tab."

"He what?"

"I know. Weird, that one. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Said that he'd be here for a while and would need… what did he call it? Oh right, fuel! Needed to fuel himself." He suddenly looked embarrassed. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to insult your boyfriend."

Molly laughed. "He's not my boyfriend and he's not weird." He handed her the coffee. "Well, he is a bit odd, I suppose. Just different. Incredibly smart, really. And..." She huffed. "Never mind. Can I have my muffins?"

The ginger had been holding them while she tried to define Sherlock's personality. It really was a lost cause.

"Sorry, madam," he said, his voice squeaking as he finally relinquished his hold on the pastry.

I hate getting madam'd, she thought as she made her way back to Sherlock. "Chocolate muffin. No nuts and plenty of gluten."

He wrinkled his nose at her joke, but let it pass. "You don't know about when I was shot," he said as soon as she sat down.

"If you're talking about Mary…"

"I'm not." He exhaled deeply. "I'm talking about what happened after I was shot. Just after, seconds after. I…" Reaching for the sugar, he cocked his head and looked at Molly for the first time since she sat back down. "I really didn't tell you this?"

"Tell me what?"

"That you were there, in my mind. You, Molly, were there with me." He added the sugar to his cup and waited for her reaction.

"What was I doing?" she asked, not sure what he was trying to tell her.

"I immediately went to my mind palace, trying to… I was panicking, a little. You slapped me. Though that happened a bit later."

"Not hard to imagine."

"You told me how to fall." He smirked. "You're always there when I fall, Molly."

"Oh, she was in front of you," Molly said, instantly working out where Mary must have been standing. God, I can't even believe how casually we're talking about the fact that our friend shot him... "So considering the location of the bullet, if you'd have fallen forward…"

"It would have meant my death, most likely, yes. But you talked me through it."

She laughed, a little. All this talk about his near death (not to mention Mary Watson) was making her uncomfortable. "But it wasn't me, Sherlock, it was you. You had that knowledge, you knew how to fall."

"But don't you see? When I needed someone, someone to make me focus and help me remember… it was you my mind turned to."

"Sure, all right. Was I the only one there? Was John there too?"

He got a sheepish look on his face, a very odd look on Sherlock. "No. Not John."

For a man who loved the sound of his own voice, it was suddenly like pulling teeth to get him to talk. "Who else?"

He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said," he started, a bit loudly. "Anderson." That part came out in a softer. "And my brother and a dog."

"So I had good company, then?"

"Molly, you're missing the point…"

"And what is the point, Sherlock? Why are we talking about all of this?"

"It wasn't the last time!" he said, a little more forcefully.

"I've been in your mind palace since the shooting?"

"And before. There've been...other...times." He shook his head. "But they don't matter. On the plane, you were there. You were a pathologist, in Victorian London."

"When you were high? When you nearly overdosed?" she asked, interested in what he was telling her, yet once again, hating the circumstances. "Not many female doctors in the 1800's, if my history's right."

"You were a man."

"Of course." She took a large bite of her muffin to keep the grimace off her face.

"No, I mean, you were you, but disguised as a man. John thought I didn't know, but of course, I knew. I created you."

"And you made me... a man?" Comforting.

"Only because you had to be. How else could I still have you as my pathologist?"

"Right."

"Also, you hated me and were part of a murderous plot."

"I was a murderer?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that. But, yes, you played your part."

Cleaning her hands off on a napkin, she said, "As fascinating as this all is, I'm not sure why you're telling me now."

"Anderson."

"Aaand we're back to Anderson."

"He had a theory. Did he ever tell you?"

"A theory? A theory about what?"

"He didn't believe that I was dead. He had my jump from Barts all worked out." He studied her for a moment. "You really don't know about this one, do you?"

Molly sighed. "No, Sherlock. Strangely enough, Phillip Anderson and I don't spend a great deal of time chatting. What was his theory?"

"It was surprisingly close to the facts. Oh, it was fanciful and overly dramatic. But he was convinced that you were involved."

"Hmmm," she hummed. "All right, colour me impressed."

"He said I used a bungee…"

"A bungee? And how would John have not seen a bungee?"

"Well, he's still an idiot." He laughed. "But he theorised that I crashed through a window…"

"Which John would have heard."

"...the window that you were watching from, no less - and… and…"

"And what?"

"I dusted the broken glass out of my hair then took you in my arms and kissed you... passionately."

Molly stared at the man across the table. Then she stared some more. How exactly was she supposed to respond to that?

"Molly, are you with me?" Sherlock asked.

"Ah, yeah."

"See, I thought you knew about all of this. And until that day, I thought you knew…" He sighed, obviously frustrated.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, Molly asked, "You thought that you had told me? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes!"

"Why would you think that?"

Focusing on his half empty coffee cup, he looked almost embarrassed. "We had a conversation. This conversation, for the most part, in my head." He glanced up, briefly, then added. "But there's more."

"What, Sherlock, what else did you tell me?"

He licked his lips as he sat back in his chair. "I thought that you knew..." Running a hand through his hair, he said, "When we talked, when I told you all of this, you seemed to already be aware…"

"I already knew about telling you how to fall and that I was a murderous crossdresser?" she asked, thinking she was finally getting to the bottom of...whatever this was.

"No, the other thing."

She sighed. "Anderson's theory?" With an eyeroll and another bite of muffin she said, "Why would I care what…"

"No, Molly, the other thing. The important thing." He looked hurt and guilty.

Molly tried, she really tried to understand what the hell he could be talking about, but she simply could not figure it out. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the other thing is."

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes, put his fingers to his temples and mumbled under his breath. He opened his eyes, looking a bit more collected and said, "When I asked you to say the release code…"

"Stop!" She held up a hand. "Release code? Sherlock, this may be another perceived conversation."

"Didn't John tell you about Sherrinford?"

As uncomfortable as the shooting and Anderson's theory had been to discuss, this was not a topic she was in the mood to rehash. "No, Sherlock, he didn't. Actually, he said that I needed to ask you about it myself. Then I told him to bugger off."

He smiled. "Of course you did." After a moment he started in. He told her about his sister, her visit whilst he was high, the drone and explosion at Baker Street. She knew about the explosion, but not the details and had gotten only bits and pieces about his sister. For her part, she'd been waiting for Sherlock to come to her and fill in the blanks, and bring up (or never bring up) the things they'd both said. He told her about going to Sherrinford, and all the games Eurus made him play. Molly wasn't a coward and she knew that this whole thing had to be dealt with at some point, but that didn't mean she was enjoying it or what was coming next.

"Then we were in a room with a coffin." The pained look on his face nearly broke her heart. "It was yours."

She nodded, almost expecting those to be the next words.

"There wasn't a name, just three words etched on the plaque."

"The release code," she confirmed.

"I had to get you to say it or…"

"I'd be killed."

"She said your flat was set to blow up in three minutes and the only way to stop it was to get you to say...that."

"Your sister sounds like a real treat, Sherlock."

"You have no idea."

Clearly, there was more that he wasn't telling her, but she tried to focus on the matter at hand. "I'm glad you finally told me, but what does this have to do with your mind palace and Anderson and…"

"You asked me to say it first. You asked me to say it as if I'd never said it before."

She sucked in a breath. No doubt the look on her face was pure shock because he spoke again quickly.

"It took me until today, this morning, to realise that the first time I said those words to you, it was in my mind. Then I realised that we'd never had the conversation about all the times you've been in my mind palace. I hadn't actually told you, the real you. See? You didn't know."

Still stunned silent, Molly just waited for him to continue.

"I know what John and Mycroft thought, well, Mycroft might have figured it out, but John certainly didn't. He never quite gets…"

"Sherlock!"

"Sorry. I was tired of playing her games and...and then she made us expose ourselves, like that… Then I realised, whilst she was taunting me, that you had had no idea. You didn't know. It was brand new information. But it wasn't, it shouldn't have been. It took me until today to figure out the rest. I've been a bit… preoccupied." He paused, licking his lips and taking a deep breath. "John didn't understand. He thought I lied. He thought I was upset for hurting you. But that wasn't it. It was..." he trailed off, looking very uncomfortable.

"What happened next, Sherlock?" He didn't answer, so she pressed further, "What happened next?"

"I may have lost my composure, a bit."

"Lost your…"

He suddenly looked angry. "Complicated little emotions, she called them. As if it all meant nothing! Some kind of experiment to see how far she could push me before I snapped!" he growled, his voice rising.

Molly looked around the café, other patrons were starting to stare. Reaching across the table, she closed both of her hands around one of his. "Calm down, Sherlock. It's over."

"Is it? Now we're having this conversation, like this," he emphasised the last two words with frustration while motioning between the two of them. "Instead of ignoring it like we have for years. It worked for us, Molly. It always worked for us."

Still holding onto one of his hands, perhaps a little harder than she should have, she asked, "What worked for us?"

"You see, in my head, you'd never returned the sentiment. I knew, Molly, I knew how you felt. But I couldn't make you say the words, even in my mind. I honestly didn't think you ever would. You just looked at me and smiled. Never actually said it." He paused. "Feeling something and admitting it outloud is very different. Don't you see?"

She could not disagree with him on that point. Having actually spoken the words to the man himself had been one of the most painful moments of her life.

"I suppose that's why I told you in my mind. It was safe there, and we wouldn't have to face it all and...

"And what?"

He ignored her question. "But sometimes I spend too much time in my own head and things get muddled with reality. Though, it might have happened after Mary died and I was… using."

She didn't realise that she was crying until a white linen handkerchief was inches away from her face.

Several more moments passed until Sherlock finally said, "Molly?"

"You don't want to face it," she said, realising that even if he did actually love her (mind still in the process of being blown over that revelation), he'd just admitted for all intent and purposes, that he didn't want to love her.

"Well," she said as she picked up her jacket. "This has been… interesting, confusing and the bits about your sister, frankly disturbing. But I really need…" She stood up.

Sherlock, quick as lightning, stood and reached for her wrist. "Where are you going?"

She swallowed. "I'm not sure what else there is to say, Sherlock."

"You're angry."

"I'm just... " She shrugged. "What was the point of telling me all of this? I mean… why?"

"Because… because it's true." His face was awash with emotions: hurt, hope, fear and most of all, vulnerability.

Molly opened her mouth to try to respond, but how? How was she supposed to respond to that? He had just dumped a shedload of information on her, culminating with his sort of confession of love, and she was supposed to what? Be happy? Ecstatic? Slap the hell out of him again?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she pulled her hand free. "The way I see it, we're at the same place as we were thirty minutes ago. The only exception being that I'm now aware that you may feel the same way about me as I do you. But there's a caveat, isn't' there?" With a bitter laugh, she added, "You don't want to feel this way."

"I didn't say that."

She smiled sadly and said, "Yes you did. And trust me, I know the feeling." Then she walked out of the shop.

Molly hit the pavement and turned left, not really caring where she went as long as it was away from Sherlock Holmes. How dare he? She had purposefully (and very nearly successfully) pushed away that phone call and what it all meant for three solid weeks. Telling herself that he had his reasons and piecing together the events from what John and Mrs. Hudson had told her. Now she had to think about the reality of those words and Sherlock's ambivalence toward his own feelings. The bastard was right; it was better not knowing.

Her love wasn't unrequited, it was completely unwanted. This is so much worse. He could return it, but he'd chose to ignore it. And for how long? Just how long had he known?

She kept walking, arms wrapped around her middle like she was holding in her emotions with the appendages until she looked up and realised that she had walked right into a dead end. "Fuck!" Turning, with every intention of going back out to the main street and finding a new route, she found the very person she was trying to avoid standing about three meters away. She stood her ground, not moving.

Hands in his pockets, he appeared much more composed than he'd been in the coffee shop. It seemed they'd switched places, emotionally speaking. "I wasn't finished," he said, his voice calm and steady.

"I was. That's why I left. For future reference, when someone practically runs away from you, it's a subtle hint that they don't want to be in your presence."

"You're wrong. I never said that I didn't want to love you, Molly." He stepped a little closer. "I told you in my mind palace, remember?"

"You never told me!"

"But I thought I did. And you didn't say it back." He looked almost impassive but there was a hint of something more there. "Even though I knew how you felt, I couldn't make you say it."

"Why does that matter?"

Shaking his head. "Until Sherrinford, until my sister made us say it, I thought… I- I just knew…"

"What did you know?!"

"That you didn't want to love me, Molly!" he yelled, his composure slipping once again.

"What?"

"You tried to move on. And I don't blame you, I gave you no indication that I wanted… anything more from us. But I genuinely thought that you were happier this way. I thought I was too late. I thought that love wasn't enough." He walked forward. "Is it?"

Molly shook her head. "I don't know."

"I don't either." He huffed a small laugh. "I don't know anything about this sort of thing."

"Jesus. We're hopeless." She laughed.

"I have no idea where to begin," he admitted. "But…"

"But what?"

"I love you," he whispered. "And if that's enough, if you want to love me…"

Molly stared at him. He was hurting, that was for sure. She had learned a lot about Sherlock Holmes in the last seven years and she knew when he dropped the shields and let himself feel. He didn't do it often. The real question was could she trust him, this emotionally stunted addict, this beautiful, brilliant man, with her heart? He loved her and she actually believed him. But was that enough?

"Molly?"

Of course, it was.

"Don't break me, Sherlock," she pleaded. "I want you, but I don't want…"

"I'll do my best, Molly. Promise." He stepped closer. "May I hold you? I've never done that outside my mind palace."

She smiled and nodded. Sherlock's arms enveloped her, holding her close, burying his face in her neck.

After a couple of minutes, Molly said, "Ah, Sherlock? What else have we done in your mind palace?"

He pulled back and cupped her face with his hands. "It'd be much more enjoyable to show you," he said before lowering his face and kissing her sweetly. 

Thanks for reading! ~Lil~