Thinking about how Camp Half Blood is named after the campers/demigods whereas Camp Jupiter is named after a god (and the shittiest one, at that)
And how in HOO Percy notes (specifically Son of Neptune) that the Greeks fight in a more individualistic style whereas the Romans rely on strength in numbers
And I can't help but think it's bc the Greek demigods are trained to think about themselves as a person (thanks Chiron) whereas the Romans are trained to think of what's best for the group/the gods
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“Can't remember when we walked past the O.R. sign!
(sur-ger-y!)
Can't remember passing out with her hand in mine!
(my-my-mind!!!!)
I remember waking up with my mind repaired.
(A-OK! ^^)
I remember when I realized, she wasn't there...”
Amnesia was her name….. is. so. horrifically. sadly fitting for these two in literally every single line. And I’m gonna NEED ALL OF U GUYS TO GO LISTEN TO IT NOW OK… THIS ISNT A DRILL GO GO GO GO!!!
Anyway… uhh. the fact Betty “blessed” this guy to like. An eternally long lifespan w THIS FUCKED UP OF A MENTAL STATE IS SO SCREWED UP GHGH- Like poor Simon god damn…! u kno he’d rather just keep on not sorting out his baggage and trauma forever too cuz it’d be too complicated… too much… force him to admit things about himself and about BETTY that he really really doesn’t want to… better to just leave it all unexamined.. pack it all into lil boxes so he can just try to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist… HE GOTTA LIVE FOREVER W IT THO… *ME BANGING ON SIMONS DOOR AT 3 IN THE MORNING*: “SIMON U GOTTA ACCEPT URSELF!!!! LOVE URSELF!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE N ACCEPT EVEN THE “BAD” PARTS OF URSELF!!!! SIMON PLEASE!!!!! SIMON EVEN PPL WHO LOVE YOU AND WHO YOU LOVE CAN HURT YOU!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE IT!!! ACKNOWLEDGE THE HURT AND ACKNOWLEDGE UR FEELINGS!!!! AND URSELF!!!!! SIMON!!!!” anyway… gGHGH YEA, SRRY. SIMON PETRIKOVS MENTAL ILLNESSES MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IM GONNA EXPLODE. ANYWAY HAVE SOME ART. W a bunch of diff versions cuz I’m indecisive!
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“I take it that you’re Plaisance?” Harry asked, pulling out his slightly-damp ledger from the safety of his coat. Kim didn’t know how he failed to notice before, but a piece of toilet paper was clinging to the back of the ledger for dear life. His fingers itched to pull it off. “Plaisance Pontier, Annette’s mother?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Her voice took on a quivering quality, looking between Kim and Harry from behind her cat eyed glasses uncertainly. “Did something happen? I don’t want any trouble, officers. I’m just a simple businesswoman running a bookshop! I don’t want any bad publicity going on around here…”
“No, no trouble at all,” Harry reassured with a slight laugh, hunching his shoulders with a grimacing grin. “It’s just—well. Let us introduce ourselves. I’m Para-Natural Detective Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau from the Para-Normal Investigations Bureau. This is my partner.” He gave Kim a nod and a smile. “Para-Natural Officer Jimothy Kimothy.”
What the fuck was happening?
Plaisance gave pause, squinting between them suspiciously, fingers fiddling with the medallion hanging from around her neck. “The… Para-Normal Investigations Bureau? I’ve never… heard of such a division in the RCM before.”
“It’s not a part of the RCM, ma’am—the Para-Normal Investigations Bureau is a separate entity that works the underground of Revachol to resolve para-natural disturbances that threaten Revachol’s livelihood. If Revachol is the body we all live within, then we are her antibodies.”
Having some fun writing the Doomed Commercial Area for my fanfic, A Toast To The Pigs--a Martinaise retelling where Harry wakes up in #1 Whirling-in-Rags with his memory in-tact and still has to work with Kim to solve the case. Check it out if that's of interest to you! Typical Disco Elysium themes and warnings are to be expected.
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Yall are going to kill me for the next two cbf!soap parts
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i heard we are becoming… hole 🕳
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you can count on me!
[image id: a drawing of toya aoyagi in an all-white outfit with orange and blue splatters. he skids across a splash of blue paint as he aims with his airbrush. his smile peaks over his gas mask as he pulls it down.]
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born to stand at smokey 1920s jazz bars with velveteen lounge chairs and good music while looking mildly mysterious in a slutty suit that only slightly gives away my position in the criminal underworld
forced to exist in the age of thirty second music snippets
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