meditative and really feeling the age gap between me and most of pjo fandom
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Clone
~
Danny has heard about Superman's dislike for his clone,
Dead men do tell tales.
Danny grows angry with Superman,
There he was showing hate to his clone, his flesh, his blood,
Conner wasn't in the wrong,
He was just a child
He didn't ask to be created this way.
Danny hated Clark Kent
More and more with each story he heard from the ghosts around him, Danny knew what it was like to be cloned to feel that violation of his person, but he could never hate Ellie,
His clone
His cousin
His sister
His daughter
His family
She was precious to him and her being a clone would never lower the amount of love he held towards her.
So to see this hero, this adult, not give two shits about Conner?
Oh that burned
So he decided to do something about it, If Superman didn't want Conner then he would take him, show him the love and care that should have been his from the very beginning from what should have been his own family.
Danny could teach him more about Krypton than Superman could ever wish to know, show him his birthright.
~
Danny & Ellie on their way to surprise adopt Conner: "New family, new family~!"
Connor: "Why do I feel like something very important is going to happen?"
~
Superman feeling like he's being followed
The Krypton ghosts following him around being disappointed in him, and going back to the King to tell him all the things he's done.
~
The Justice League summoning King Phantom
Danny takes one look at Superman and is ready to give him the beating of his life
Danny: "You want a deal? Sure! In return for it I want 20 minutes alone with Supes over there, no reason why!
~
Danny seeing Superman after another ghost told him how bad he's been treating Conner:
~
Just an Idea
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something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.
not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.
you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.
but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.
you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.
but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.
you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.
you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?
you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.
you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!
you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"
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one who had dreams of being a hero
This comic is based on Story 3, which speaks of his hobby of ice fishing originating from the days he'd go out with his father on the ice, 'accompanied by his father's unending tales of adventure,' and dream of being the protagonist.
Nowadays, he keeps up the hobby, though only as a method of training... and it seems he fishes alone.
I thought a lot about fairytales and stories told to children -- how they are used to impart lessons and shape a child's growing sense of morality.
I think these stories were Childe's father telling him what kind of man he hoped his son would become.
In Story 5, 'his father had no choice but to hand his beloved son over for conscription into the Fatui' in an attempt to discipline his temper, but was disappointed when Childe continued ascending the ranks, further and further from the gentle boy he was..
His father named him after the hero Ajax. Is he still disappointed in the path Childe has taken? Does he still see his son in the man he sees before him? Does Childe feel in himself the chasm between who he dreamed of becoming and who he is now?
It's interesting, that fairytales should often have a very strict good/evil morality. Childe professes he has no use for such things, and will gladly become a mindless weapon so long as he can continue honing himself for battle. And yet, has he truly given up on being human?
For a Harbinger, Childe is oddly principled, preferring straightforward battles without deceit. He retains a sort of moral code, reluctant to involve those who are defenseless in his plans.
And of course, he deeply cherishes his family. What sort of weapon has a family? Why does he cling so desperately to this identity as a defender of childhood dreams, of being his sister Tonia's knight?
Perhaps his own dream of being a hero died long ago, but a part of him still recognizes the tragedy of it and maybe... in some way, is still trying.
This is somewhat of a companion piece to my Scara comic "one who has given up on being saved". Childe, unable to live up to his childhood ideals of heroism, and Scara, whose pleas for help went unanswered.
A failed hero, and someone who never had one.
ARGHH yknow it drives me nuts. I haven't known peace since I started thinking about it.
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