i think one of the things the pjo show has understood the best so far is specifically the isolation and insecurities that come with being neurodivergent, and how it reflects onto percy. the book touches on it a lot, but i think rick really wanted to push percy's own internal struggles more obviously to the forefront for the show.
Percy references again and again how inattentive and zoned out he is constantly, and how he blames himself for being stuck in his own world. He feels crazy and misjudged by everyone around him just for having what everyone else presumes is a very active imagination, hyperactivity, and a brain that works differently. and when people do acknowledge his differences, even attempting to spin them positively to him, like Sally and "Mr. Brunner," it only makes him feel worse, because again the only thing they can tell him is that he's "special," inherently other, something he's come to associate with being an embarrassing and shameful thing, with Nancy calling him "special" as an insult. I've seen "special" thrown at nd kids as an insult by their peers over and over again since I was little. So Percy can't help but believe it's a negative thing, no matter what the adults that do support him in his life try to tell him, because it's been internalized that he's just different in a way that's bad and inferior, and that that there's a reason he's lonely and troubled and delinquent. Even if it was a positive thing, like Sally and "Mr. Brunner" insist to him, he feels inherently isolated and confused and wrong in the mortal world for being different, and like there's nothing that can change that or make him normal.
We see Percy break down in front of Sally after being expelled about how he's terrified something's irrevocably wrong inside him now. And his immediate reaction of rage and confusion when the only thing she can tell him, once again, is that he's special. And I think that is really going to resonate with a generation of nd people who've experienced these types of scenarios.
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i don't know if this'll make sense but there’s something so poignant about Bell Hells being guests in every space they occupy and having really nowhere to truly retreat to is what I think is going to metaphorically kill them in the end. I mean, dealing with the immense loss of their friend and all they have to go back to is a war encampment with beds offered to them that anyone else could occupy really drives it in
M9 had 1 physical home and 1 mobile home they were able to bunker down in for needed rest and recuperation. plus a couple cities that became complete safe havens for them. Vox Machina had an entire keep gifted to them and then when that got destroyed they upgraded to entire city of Whitestone as their main hub. Not to mention they were allowed an entire year they could live freely for themselves after the terrible heinous shit went down before the more terrible heinous shit started up. there was something so important to these two groups about having a home together that allowed them time to grow together
The hells are a bunch of wayward souls who were all eager to leave their initial homes behind for one reason or another but forgot to find a home together along the way so all they have left to fall back on is “the mission”. something something their growing strength and knowledge of the world only alienates them to it more if they aren't allowed a place to rest and process
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it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.
it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.
so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?
or is it the fingers in his hair?
he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.
you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.
he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.
his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.
as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.
a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.
he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.
even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.
your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.
his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.
he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.
he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.
and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.
you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.
he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?
no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.
it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.
he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.
turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—
a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.
seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.
his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.
his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.
you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.
don't stop.
+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right
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more clone^2
snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--
Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--
All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton
Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--
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Snippet 22: clone meet clone
Ellie, dramatically: Danny!
Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!
Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!
Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!
Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything
Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]
Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?
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Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny
Ellie:...hey Danny
Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm
Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?
Danny:
Ellie:...its a fair question
Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.
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Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)
(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)
Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet
Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,
Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.
Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head
Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing
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Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)
Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:
Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--
Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*
Ember:
Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice
Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*
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Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)
Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing
Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees
Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?
Sam: probably
Danny: hm.
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Snippet 27: digging up cold case
Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....
Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)
Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along
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Snippet 28: sparring
Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting
Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.
Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.
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Snippet 29: daytime surprise
Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...
Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?
Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to
Phantom: *flips him off instead*
Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom
Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!
Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.
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Snippet 30: guilt
Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn
Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:
Damian: can i....
Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm
Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry
Danny: hm... I forgive you
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