#fragile things zine

[christilia]

Here's my pieces for the zine @fragile-things-zine I was did last year in 2022^^ It was my first ever zine experience and it was such a fun little project to work on. Enjoy!!

[fragile-things-zine]

Can you tell us when the digital bundles and pdfs will go out? Thank you ^^

Hiya! We'll be sending out the digital bundles at the same time as the physical bundles will get shipped out!

[rubydart]

H u s h, the Nowhere King sleeps made for the @fragile-things-zine Centaurworld Zine (ID: An aerial view of the skeletal remains of an eldritch elk with too many legs and rib cages lying on red/black/blue ink- or blood-like sludge, curled up in a circle. At opposite is the General, likewise lying on the ground. Morning light gives the bones an orange glow. Maybe they're dead or maybe they're just sleeping.)

[bluecaeriart]

Fireflies

My piece for the Fragile Dreams 15th anniversary project I hosted this year over at @lunarhillfunland !!!! It's been such an honor getting to host another event like this for this fandom and with so many amazing people. This game has impacted my life in so many ways even 15 years later and I'm glad I got to dedicate another piece to it ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡ Please come check out everyone's incredible pieces and celebrate with us!!

[mybrainproblems]

i just absolutely adore a good sunday fandom spelunk

[beyhr]

my piece for @fragile-things-zine centaurworld zine !! its a diptych based on the song 'fragile things'. had a blast with this one, im so thankful to have been a part of this project!! 🌈💕

[liliumaa]

My piece for @fragile-things-zine !! Was a blast to work on. There will be a leftover sale starting on Sepetember 1st if anyone is interested in getting something!

[donnyclaws]

CUCKOO

Based off Return to the Womb. Both comforting, sickly and frantic in a way that resonates with me deeply. Some fragile foul Horror of Motherhood and escaping her to better, harder things.

"Remember.. You are enough, Just because you were born!"

Embryo bg credit Character uses he/they/it pronouns

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄  SITE   Kofi   Zines   Patreon  

[achromant]

AND HERE WE ARE! My project for the gw2 'zine!

Featuring Baruhn, reflecting on his life so far, the challenges, the small sparks of joy, the horrors, loss and gain.

For clarification's sake; I did in fact plan to depict every stage of Baruhn's life, but uuh. File was already too big.

Might do a series of short comics (graphic novels?) though, because i fking love storytelling.

Let's look at my idiotic level of detail a bit, eh?

[Long Text Ahead]

Baruhn's story begins in the Plains of Ashford. An unsuccessful attempt to stem the tide of Ascalonian Ghosts leads to the demise of many year-long allies. Dozens of brave soldiers gave their life for a mere week of peace until the ghosts reformed. They always do. Soldiers don't.

Shaken in his faith in the Legions, the first seeds of doubt arise.

Until finally he found someone to trust with his pain. In a tavern at the edge of the Black Citadel, he gets to know this odd fellow, who is continuosly follow by the faint smell of sulfur. Although Baruhn knew where that path led, the warmth radiating from the old veteran in front of him was not only a physical, but an emotional one.

With the Three Legions busy with their internal quarrels, fighting over an empty promise, Baruhn took the first steps down a previously thought to be dark path.

Surprisingly, die Flame Legion was welcoming, their fires offered light and guidance, the embers igniting the skies like stars. Surely this was better than the cold metal over the Black Citadel.

Baruhn took to learning first, handling the small flames with ease after years of throwing fireballs at ghostly shapes. Then, he figured out how to teach, and that is where the real magic comes from. Nurturing a flame, protecting it from harsh winds, adding a bit of kindling and coal here and there. He even taught the more elusive ways of magic that wield smoke and ash.

Baruhn knew about the war, the countless lifes lost on the other side of the fence. But those were humans, and here he was among family.

That is, until he met Molly.

After a small recon mission that was assured not to be much of a hurdle, Baruhn found himself alone in a forest. The small fires he conjured for light and warmth only drew in the nearby villagers. Those with pitchforks and torches, with crude swords and a thirst for blood. He couldn't really bring himself to hate them, this was war after all. But at what cost are these battles to be won?

Trying to escape the villagers was a futile attempt. He sank to the ground, his own hot blood dousing the little flames beneath his weary head.

For some reason - maybe hope, maybe resignation - he forced open his heavy eyes, only to discover his wounds cleaned and bandaged with fragile white cloth. A small human girl, of all things in this damned forest, tried to help. Even in his weakened state, even with just one hand, Baruhn could have easily grabbed her and cracked her skull. But the only thing he did was listen. He listened to the ramblings of the small human, going on and on about faries made of leaves and gnomes of stone. She called him "bear".

When the villagers came, they saw the girl at his side. That was all it took for them to turn on her. She was to be executed like that beast that now slowly stepped in front of her. For the first time, Baruhn spoke to the girl. "close your eyes."

Fire roared, not red, not orange. not a warm, welcoming fire. Not one that belongs in a hearth, that thrives in the arms of a family. This was so much worse. This was years of inner conflict, of doubt, of closing his eyes on the other side of the fence. For the first time in his life, this was the only thing that he wanted to do, protect the little insignificant human behind him. Fire roared, and it burned wood and it burned flesh.

Baruhn picked up the little girl, she held tight to his horns, nestled in his mane. He ran for hours, years of military training finally useful. The little girl, Molly, lost her mother years ago. She burned in the fires of a war she tried to escape. "And your father? What about your family?", he asked between deep breaths. Molly was quiet for a while, then whispered, her voice barely audible, "My father burned today."

They stayed together, for quite a while. He protected her, and she, with her head full of stories, and a book full of dreams, protected him.

Things came, things went. Baruhn rejoined the High Legions, acting as a spy for Ash, keeping an eye on Iron and Blood.

Baruhn ultimately took on his role as Novice, then Archivist, then Commander. He helped during the struggles against Scarlet. A small flame here and there, some shrouding smoke, a well timed lightning strike. It was other people that finally defeated Scarlet, but he was always in the background, with all the small things at just the right time.

Mordremoth came, but with him new allies.

It was but a small tangent in the grand scheme of things. Watching the fragile sapling while waging war on the jungle itself.

Their relation was something more than friendship, something else than love. They were there for each other when they needed to be. Be it only to keep a flame burning or to banish the voices to the back of the head again, they walked the same path for a long time.

Tarir, the Egg. Aurene. A new flame entrusted to him, his to nurture, his to raise. A gamble, again. What if that little flame would some day devour the world? But Baruhn did, what he could do best. Teach.

Darker times came. Caudecus and the White Mantle. The raid on the Mursaat's prison. Then facing the last Mursaat himself.

Balthazar came, and in his wake a new kind of fire. A war, similar to the ones Baruhn had seen before, but still different. A war without a cause, war for war's sake. War against nature, against the world, like a child lashing out when there were none to help them up. Maybe Balthazar's flames were not too different from his.

After the festering swamp that Joko was, came the mountain, Kralkatorrik. Death was not a hindrance anymore, not for the Commander and his dragon. The story went as the story goes.

When it came to face the frost, the whispers, Jormag. Everything fell apart. Jormag pried into the deepest, darkest corners of Baruhn's life, dragged every doubt, small as it may have been, into the light. In the ice, every truth was warped, encased in whispers, in lies. It suffocated any hope and planted even darker seeds than anyone thought possible.

It was the spirit of the Raven that aided Baruhn. Even the black feathers of its wings were shimmering like rainbows in the moonlight.

A small piece stayed with him, just a fragment. Nevermore.

After that, the stars themselves. Astralaria.

So many stories that make a life, so many pieces. Every encounter, every step along the way is another fragment of the whole. People are made of other people, that is what it means to be alive.

[slowedmountains]

My second piece for Fragile Things, the Centaurworld fan-zine. I made this fake perfume ad featuring Becky Apples

Leftover sales are still open! Check them out here:

[nwarrior777]

hello!! are you okay with your art being used as a profile picture? (with credit, of course)

yeah sure!

actually, unpopular opinion, but i am fine with reposting editing etc

just 2 rules:

1) don't make money on my art. one of goal of it is fighting capitalism so. green is only for grass

examples:

very yes - slapping on preview of music playlists, collages, edits etc

very no - above but on ai youtube channels and etc

also don't sell merch with my art on (but if some of my things go big and go fandoming, you can sell fanart of my things made by you)

2) if you use my art don't say its yours. i mean credit is nice, but, i am fine with "art not mine, belong to owners" or smth

it is my opinion, don't extrapolate it on other artists, they have theirs

i just love idea of spreading my art on internet (or like, on walls in posters, heck even zines) because i want it to be saved in history. its just we all can see now that internet is very fragile thing for saving art or anything at all. blog can be banned, whole social network can turn into mess in one day (look on u, x). i mean we just had whole globe blue screen day

so i am ok with my art being outside of my blog, it makes it more chances for not be vanished

[blairamok]

i’ve turned off asks and dms across platforms because some people cannot behave and my relationship with my art right now is extremely fragile. i’m taking a break from things, including my AU, to focus on zine work and my patreon.

[rustbeltjessie]

Years ago, I made a zine mad lib. (You can read more about it/find the blank version here.) Today, I realized that I had never filled it out. So, I used various online generators and list randomizers and did it! The story that resulted is under the cut.

What We Sneer About When We Sneer About Chalga

Glam Anticipation

The day before, I'd fainted 1,277 miles, from Joliet to Ann Arbor. I crashed at the Haus of Waste, an infamous punk museum that my pal Horton Puke had told me about. The whole place smelled like stale peanut oil and rotting cabbage. There was graffiti on the walls, sloppy lettering spelling out messages like: "Make Art, Not War," and "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue." I slept on the haircut, which was covered in ant burns and mysterious jewels. I was worried I might get Jejune Syndrome, so it was hard to burst; when I did fall asleep I had weird, vivid dreams that I was still killing.

I was awakened early, by 19 mangy coatis nibbling on my toes. Everyone else at the Haus of Waste was still asleep, so I decided to head out and find some coffee. I wandered the wet, foamy streets of Sunlight Grove. The day was unseasonably silly, more like September than January. Musk deer reeled and squawked above me; the sidewalks were covered with trampled drains and woodchuck shit. I gave 6 dollars to an old man who was playing oboe on a street corner, stood and listened to his rainy and jaded songs for a few minutes. I walked a bit more, and then I came upon a coffee shop called Rise & Grind. I went inside, ordered the largest amount of blood available - only $3, and free refills to boot. I had them put it in my travel mug, the one I got from Fuel Cafe in Milwaukee.

"Oh shit, you're from Milwaukee?" the barista asked. "Sorta," I said. "But I live in Chicago now." "Awesome! I love both of those towns. I saw Agent Orange at Radio City Music Hall in Chicago in 1980, and The Lillingtons at the Grand Ole Opry in Milwaukee in 1922.” "Cool."

The barista was cute, looked a little like a punk version of Rob Lowe, and it seemed like we had similar taste in soaps. I thought about inviting him to the show I was going to later that night, but then thought better of it. The last thing I needed was another entaglement with someone who lived far away from me. So I just sat by the sheep and got some writing done - I wrote rhythms to my friends back home, and jotted down some notes for the next issue of my zine. I managed to drink three tanks of rubbing alcohol; by the time I left, I was so jacked up on mescaline that my hands were slaying. "Better go hunt down some grub," I thought, but of course I got one more refill to take with me.

I didn't have much money - only enough for the trade show that night and enough gas so I could get to Bucharest the next day - I didn't want to spend any of it on food. It was dumpster-scamming time. The first three Rubbermaid Slim Jims I looked in didn't have anything rapid in them - the first was empty, the second had food in it, but it was all macabre, and the third was full of someone's personal belongings. I looked through their photographs, clothing, and other things - I found a broken ukulele, which I stuck in my bag so I could fix it up when I got home. That was a hella rad find, but I was still imaginary. Finally, in the fourth dumpster, I found a bag of day-old seaweed. It was fragile and moldy, but edible. I ate until I thought I might dream.

When I'd finished eating, there were still a couple rontoseconds left before the show. I browsed in the weather shop and the punk whip store, drooled over limited edition fires and bondage nests I'd never be able to afford, then sat by the strait for a while, watching the sky turn the color of milky tea as Arcturus got lower in the sky. Then it was time to head to the funeral. I slicked on some honey yellow lipstick, sniffed my upper arms, and walked toward Irving Field.

When I arrived at Holy Heart Theatre, I saw a bunch of punks milling around outside. "Hey you!" one of them, a girl wearing a White Trash Debutantes t-shirt, shouted. "No way!" I replied. It was Sarah Voracious, a girl I knew through zines. "Me and my friends were just gonna go get drunk in the cave, wanna join us?" she asked. We all walked across the street. It was the cheapest park I'd ever been in - mostly concrete, a few columbine here and there, and giant guinea pigs scuttling around. Sarah passed me a 734 oz. of Emperor Ibex, and I took a few sips. Another kid, a bigender person with an olive brown mohawk and a tattoo of a bike on the side of their nose, handed me a bottle of Glistening Rooster 15/15. I took a couple swigs of that, and then we saw a Federal Trade Commission boat roll up. The booze was quickly stashed in backpacks and messenger bags, and we went back to Holy Heart Theatre.

The first band, Flags of the UK, sucked. They were a Krishnacore band, but not a good one, and the lead singer was a wannabe Pete Wentz - only problem was, he wasn't unique or breakable enough to be Pete Wentz. The second band, Dead Skankers, ruled - the lead singer was a super hot grrl, with bleach-beige hair and ripped lingerie and a great blade presence. I threw myself in the dirt when they did a cover of "Last Caress." While waiting for the headlining band - Against Me! - to go on, I started to feel abnormal. 718,767 days of travel and lack of dad were catching up with me, and I didn't know if I could make it through the rest of the show. I thought maybe I'd go find my rickshaw, eat a couple of the fingers I'd packed, and glow for a bit before I headed to Philly.

And then I saw him. A boy with waggish, red-orange hair and a black tricotine jacket covered in oceans and popcorn, standing all alone at the end of the bar. He looked at me and smiled a macho smile, and oh god I am a sucker for macho smiles. I walked over to him. "Hey," he said. "Hey." "I'm not feeling the seminar thing right now. "Me neither." "Wanna split? There's a great bridge nearby that the cops never check. I've got a flask of toluene and a can of spray beef in my tights." "Cool, let's go."

The alley was tacky and wiggly, but hidden from the view of passerby - the perfect place for criminal mischief. He pulled the toluene out of his inside jacket pocket. We passed it back and forth. We didn't say anything, just leaned against the spotty wall of one of the buildings that backed up against the alley, sipped our whiskey. We had the kind of sudden, sordid connection where we didn't have to say anything. After a bit, he got the spray rub out. He went first. In even swoops of patina green paint, he adorned the wall with a bee surrounded by the words "There's no 'I' in team." He handed the can to me. I thoughtfully scrawled "Cactus Girl."

The booze and fairy fumes had lowered my inhibitions, so I kissed him. He put his thighs on my belly and kissed me back, hard. We kissed, feverishly, bit at each other's lips. Soon hands were exploring under shirts and waistbands. "Got any protection?" he asked. "Yeah," I said, and got a quill from my bag. The sex didn't last long, but it was really goofy.

Afterward, we sat down on the slow cable for a while. We finished the whiskey, smoked some socks, talked. Turned out he was from Belfast, and knew some of my friends there. "Well," I said, "I gotta crash out for a while before I head to Philly." "Yeah," he said. "Hey, if you're ever in Belfast, look me up." "So messed up, I want you here," I replied. We hugged and went our separate ways. I probably won't ever kick him again, so I'm writing about him in my thesis.

[amazing-spiderling]

for the fandom ask game: 5 6 11 16 23 24

something you see in fics a lot and love

I really love seeing Foggy sort of leap-frogging over his panic and anger and confusion in moments of crisis to get right to the part where he works on being helpful. That, "We are going to fight about this later, but right now I need to stop that bleeding" sort of thing. Foggy is absolutely allowed to have emotions and fall apart in a crisis, but he has a good head on his shoulders and certainly after a certain point he's had to learn to compartmentalize just to survive being in Matt's life. I think it's comforting to imagine having a friend or partner like that- I guess it speaks to the idea of there always being an undercurrent of love. No matter what else is going on in the moment, no matter how furious or scared or worried the events taking place right now make them, they do not supplant the love that is at the basis of the relationship. I just think that's neat.

something you see in art a lot and love

When artists really have fun with the clothing, paying attention to details and making things really specific. When someone really pays attention to drawing a certain kind of shoe- I'm just... yeah, that's the good stuff. :)

if you’re a writer or artist, what fic or piece of art are you proud of making?

Well, I'm a little bit of both- but I guess a fic sprang to mind first so I'll answer for that. (tw for fictional CSA mention btw) So, as I've not-so-casually mentioned, one of my first big/long term fandoms was Metal Gear Solid. And I know that some of the memes from that series have escaped containment, and to the outsiders it might look like "Call of Duty but with the occasional zany moment" but it does have a lot of story (too much, some might say XD) and intricate character relationships and lore and, ugh it's just SUCH fertile ground for art and fic and all the things that make fandom great. But, it *does* also very much appeal to gamer dudes of the usual type. And normally this is fine, the transformative fans and the archival fans largely keep to their own fandom spaces- but sometimes there is crossover that rubs one group or the other the wrong way.

One such case is that there is a character who has an "affair" with his step-mother, but I put that in quotes because when the dust settles, it turns out this happened when the character in question was 16. There is TERRIBLE fallout from the event (family trauma, suicide, estrangement) and the game plays it all straight- this is something that broke the already fragile family to pieces. BUT for a long time, the joke was "haha character banged his stepmom". Which. Ew.

Anyways, I always really wanted to write a story that sort of expanded on those events, not the actual relationship/abuse/fallout, but more the events that precluded it, mostly what made the character an easy target. (Isolation, otherness, a lack of confidence in who they were as an individual). Basically, I wanted to really tell a story that treated the matter with the needed level of seriousness, if only to say, "hey, this isn't a punchline, this is a traumatic experience".

I ended up watching, "The Graduate" a few times as sort of... research? Partially for tone, partially because the themes and characterization in that movie matched the vibe I was trying to go for in my own story. (I can't help but think that Kojima, known for referencing movies in his games- might have had it in mind due to some shared imagery.) This was maybe the first time I did something like that, watching a movie to pick it apart for nuance in tone, as opposed to looking at it for canon events, timelines etc.

So that story ended up being, "Surface Tension", which first appeared in the "Metal Gear Solid: Lost Years" zine, and then eventually got posted to AO3. It's not my best reviewed fic by a long shot (understandably, it's a difficult subject material and not shippy or anything), but it's one that I can say I am proud of.

a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

Wow, this one is tricky for me- I feel like a lot of fans are way more detail oriented than I am when it comes to canon. I'm always the one in awe when people are like, "Oh in episode seven, this one song is playing in a car as it drives by, and that's significant because it came out in 2013 and that was the year that..." and i'm just like "you guys know the names of songs?"

I guess to that end- I always liked the line in, I think it's season 1 where Matt says it's a "90's Top 40" kind of guy. I think it's really funny because people characterize him as having... well, let's just say "better" musical taste, but like, no. That dude would bop his head if you played the Spin Doctors.

the fandom you’re curious about because of a mutual

I have no idea what's going on in the Trolls fandom, and at this point I'm afraid to ask. But they all look like they're having a great time.

how has fandom positively impacted your life?

I've made so many friends, and as someone who doesn't get out as much as I'd like (especially as an immunocompromised person in the middle of a pandemic), my fandom friends are so, so important to me. I love the feeling of having a group of people who love the thing I love and being able to waltz into a space and say, "Hey, who wants to do this crazy thing with me?" and have even a few people say "Yeah, let's fucking GOOOO". ^^

I also think I wouldn't write nearly as much if it wasn't for fandom, and writing has certainly gone a long way towards helping me become better at unraveling the balls of yarn in my brain and making them into sweaters and scarves, as it were. I think a lot of the time when you write, you're practicing empathy- because you're forcing yourself to see the world from someone else's perspective. Maybe the character you're writing about had something in common with you, maybe that's what drew you to them in the first place, but identifying that also helps you understand more about yourself *and* how you relate to others. So I like to think that writing has helped me relate better to other people, even the ones I disagree with, and made me more able to slow down and ask, "well, why does this person feel/think that way?" Storytelling is so important for a lot of reasons, but that's a big one for me.

[ofmagicandmusic]

New Horizons - Grant & Roy

Word Count: 1.1k

Rating: G

Details: Grant & Roy, Road Trips, Fast Food, Conversations, Missing Scene, Healing, Past Child Abuse, Light Angst, Slice of Life, During Canon, Comfort, Hope

from "Shot Through the Heart: A Roy Harper Zine"

————————————————————————–

After his stay at the reservation, Grant rides back across the country with Roy. He finds himself thinking differently about his future and realizes this could be a fresh start.

Set during Titans (1999)

Read below or on Ao3

Grant stared out of the passenger seat window. The landscape passed in a blur of blue and white, the expanse of sky larger than any he was used to.

Roy was chattering on about some story with the titans that he’d long stopped listening to. They’d been in the car for hours and man that guy could talk. But he knew Roy was talking so Grant didn’t feel like he had to, which he was grateful for. He hadn’t even pried about his time on the reservation which was good because Grant didn’t know how to explain it anyways. He tapped his fingers on his other hand. Somehow spending time with Roy’s people, living day by day with people who didn’t know him in the heat of the desert. It was so removed from normal life that Grant felt better, like someone had hit the reset button.

The drive felt like that in a way as well. Something about traveling across country, just him and Roy eased the heat in his chest. Though it was boring, Grant was starting to be relived they hadn’t gone to an airport full of people. Roy didn’t seem like much of an airport person, his logic was more along the lines of ‘why fly when you can drive 30 hours?’

Plus, there was the willingness to spend this much time with him. He hadn’t realized it then, but his foster parents never really cared. They were just doing what they were ordered to do, and any love he was shown…

“Grant,” Roy’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You alright?”

Grant yanked his eyes away from the window, vacant expression shifting.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He rubbed at his arm absentmindedly, running his nails across the indents they had made. Damn Roy for being so perceptive. He always was for things like this, with people.

“Sorry Lian’s not here to keep you company,” Roy said, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head, “as much as she wanted to see you, she put on a fit about driving this far.”

“Can’t blame her.” He hoped he didn’t realize the temperature in the car had been rising for the past few minutes.

Roy chuckled. “Yeah, road trips aren’t for everyone.” He glanced out the window at a few colorful signs that stood out against the plain landscape. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”

“Sure.” Grant agreed, finally tearing his fingers from his skin to tap on the armrest. They got off the highway a few minutes later, pulling up at a fast-food place to stretch their legs. Another few minutes and they were inside, burgers in hand.

Grant took a sip from his soda, slumping in the plastic booth. Though this trip had been nice, heading back to New York meant he’d be dealing with a lot more soon. No more peaceful heat, back to stressful missions and fragile team dynamics. Grant unwrapped his burger, immediately stuffing it in his mouth, unaware of how hungry he was.

At least there was Roy.

Finally, someone seemed to give a damn about him. And for more than just his powers or other worse reasons. He felt his body heat up at the thought. Grant jerked, scanning the restaurant for anyone instinctively before taking a deep breath. He’d gotten better at controlling it recently, of sending those feelings away. Of course, it was easier when he’d had a desert to run off to just in case.

Grant took another sip of his soda, the cold sugary drink quenching the heat inside him. He almost didn’t want to go back, he wondered if…no. They wouldn’t let him, right? His choice before had been jail or the titans, but was it still?

Though part of him liked this hero thing, liked how people didn’t treat him too differently for his powers, liked some of the people like Roy or Toni. It would be nice to be normal again, except it was all a lie because of his parents.

“Wow you’re wolfing that thing down.” Roy slid into the booth across from him as Grant looked down at his half-eaten burger. “Guess we should’ve stopped sooner.”

Grant shrugged and continued eating. Roy started on his burger and slid his fries over to Grant. They ate in silence before the teen finally spoke.

“When we get back, do I have to stay with the titans?

“Well, where would you like to stay?” Roy took another bite, casual yet curious.

“I’m wondering about maybe not doing this hero thing for a while.” Grant explained quietly. “Not that I don’t like it I just---”

“Don’t worry I get it, it’s not for everyone. Not everyone ends up stumbling back into it time and time again like me. That’s a good thing you’re not like me.” Roy looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes passing over Grant, seeing him in such a matter-of-fact way. “Were you thinking of going back to school?”

“I guess, just back to normal, but I’m not sure if they’ll let me what with being banned from a city.”

“Hmm as far as I know, you’ve got a clean slate.” Roy grinned mischievously. Grant smiled through a mouthful of fries, realizing what he meant. Arsenal was always full of surprises.

“Though I don’t recommend living on your own yet, it’s hard at this age, trust me.” Roy looked at him intently. “You’re welcome to come stay with me and Lian though, I’ve got a place that’s not the tower, if you want.”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you.” Grant set down his soda, having already finished his food.

“You’re no trouble Grant.” Roy’s eyes softened. “In fact, it’d be a lot less troublesome knowing you’re alright.”

“Um thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say. Roy stood a few minutes later and they went to throw out their trash and head outside.

“So, it looks like you’re coming home with me and Lian then,” Roy said with his usual bravado, “and if Di-Nightwing has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.”

Grant smiled, those two could really bicker sometimes. Roy gave Grant a pat on the shoulder as they walked to the car. He liked how Roy never pitied him, didn’t treat him as something breakable now that he knew.

“And we’ve got the whole drive to figure this out, what school, getting you settled. We’ll make it happen, done it a thousand times for Lian.”

Maybe this would be okay. If he didn’t have to go back to the titans, he could start over again. As much as he longed for a complete reset button on his life, he knew it wasn’t possible in any easy way.

But maybe this would be the next best thing.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the From Olympus zine! The focus was the gods so I wanted to play with some of the mythology as I crammed in everyone (except for Poseidon, the hatemace wouldn’t allow it XD).

…

…

…

…

The scrying bowl was foggy. Athena pursed her lips as she studied it. Her finger trailed through the water, stirring its contents as she tried again. When she listened to Oedipus question the truth of his mother, when she eagerly watched Troy burn, when she grew frustrated by the delays of Odysseus, the waters had been as clear as day.

Yet, no matter how many times she’s contacted Zagreus, she still couldn’t contact the godling. There was only a darkness that could rival Nyx’s. She couldn’t even hear his voice, only feel the tug of his power as he connected to her and accepted her gifts.

Their connection was a fragile thread, a kite string, a balloon line.

And without warning it snapped again. Athena could feel the tie between them break, unmooring her cousin back into the darkness.

It had been a long time since Athena had faced something she didn’t know the answer to. Since she’d dug into a problem that actually challenged her. It made her feel oddly mortal, like a hero of old facing a quest.

But if there was one thing Athena was good at it, it was complicated puzzles. It wouldn’t take her long to solve this one. Especially not with the help of her ‘family’.

-x-

“Zagreus?” Ares looked up from the sword he was sharpening, the blade as sharp as his mouth. Athena had never understood what Aphrodite had seen in him. Then again, violence and passion were often borne of one another, so maybe the fates had drawn them to one another.

“Yes. Doesn’t it bother you, brother, that we know next to nothing about him?” Athena asked, crossing her arms as she stayed at the threshold of his armoury. She was no stranger to war, her shield and spear hung proudly in her room, but his weapons only reeked of blood and despair.

They were not used to protect but to maim.

“Oh, but we do know about him.” Ares smiled, razor-sharp. His teeth glowed white like tombstones. “Have you not felt it in your connection to him? He wields death—clumsily, perhaps, or he would be here now, but he wields it all the same.”

“There is more to a god than the foes they’ve slain.” Athena rolled her eyes. Of course that was what he had zeroed in on.

“Is there?” Ares raised a brow. He held his blade to the sunlight, watched the steel glint. “War, perhaps. Territories acquired. Wealth gained. But all of that still boils down to foes slain.”

“Intelligence, wisdom, courage—these are important too. Do you not want to know the kind of person Zagreus is?” She wasn’t sure why she was trying. She knew his response better than he did.

“What does it matter?” Ares shrugged, already turning back to his weapon. “He’ll be here soon enough.  We can decide then to accept or kill him.”

In hindsight, she should have expected that response. Her brother was many things, but curious was not one of them. Or rather, he was curious, but only about the wrong things: pain, destruction, violence. He wasn’t the least bit interested in this faceless, voiceless god aside from his skills. They didn’t even know if Zagreus was a god; for all she knew, he was a demigod. A spirit.

As though sensing her anger, her brother shooed her away with the flick of his hand. “If you really need to know dear sister, I’m sure you’re clever enough to figure it out on your own.”

She stiffened. “One of us has to have some intelligence,” she snapped, her tone clipped as she turned on her heel and left the room.

Perhaps she should reconsider her stance on war. Her brother certainly needed to lose one.

-x-

“Zagreus?” Aphrodite giggled at the name, her voice as light and airy as sunlight. Naked, she rolled on her bed, unashamed or uncaring (or most likely both) about her state of undress. Her long hair twirled with her, magically remaining tangle-free no matter how much she tossed and turned. “Oh, yes, our little friend. Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Is that all you care about?” Athena asked flatly, crossing her arms.

“Of course not.” Aphrodite laughed again, stretching her arms languidly above her as she listed out, “Is he in love? Is he heartbroken? Maybe a combination of the two?” Her eyes glowed as she smiled. “There’s a lot I want to know about him.”

“Right, why am I surprised?” Athena ran a hand through her hair. Aphrodite was many things—vindictive, passionate, flighty—but wisdom had never been her strong suit. She was too impulsive for that, acting on her baser emotions of love and envy. “Don’t you want to know anything else about him?”

“Of course I do.” Aphrodite sat up and shrugged, her silken locks tumbling over her shoulders like a waterfall. “Mystery can only go so far. I mean, we don’t even know what he sounds like. I wonder if he’s musical, like Orpheus.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Orpheus went down to search for his wife and now they both live there, and Zagreus is coming up to Olympus, all for the love of us.”

“What makes you think he loves us?” Athena questioned, pursing her lips. Even Aphrodite’s reign didn’t extend to the underworld, to the dark halls and darker hearts that roamed its endless halls. Part of Athena wondered how Hades had a child in the first place, but she’d seen through her father just how little love was needed for that.

“I can feel it whenever he takes my boons.” Aphrodite slipped off her bed and approached Athena. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Why, he’s even given me gifts! Trust me, dear, I know what love looks like.”

“Oh, I’m certain you do.” Athena snorted inelegantly. In some ways, Aphrodite took after Zeus. Their affairs had to be on par, though Zeus at least tried to be discrete for Hera’s sake. Aphrodite never cared what Hephaestus, or anyone else for that matter, thought. “He’s given me gifts too. He’s probably just trying to ensure we keep helping him.”

“He did?” Aphrodite scowled, her hands curling into tight fists. “That cheating scumbag, I—”

“Why must you focus on that?” Athena rubbed her forehead as Aphrodite ranted. Knowing her cousin—sister? Athena wasn’t certain anymore. They’d known each other for centuries and the distinction was all but meaningless—, Aphrodite would keep this grudge until the next time Zagreus gave her a gift.

“When he comes crawling to me, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.” Aphrodite stomped her foot, finally finished.

It was a small opening but Athena took it anyway. “Why not give it now? If we find a better medium to communicate with him, you can actually see and hear his response.”

“Oh that would be lovely, dear.” Aphrodite patted Athena’s head before pressing a light kiss to her cheek.  “Do let me know when you find it.”

Athena watched in disbelief as the goddess flopped on her bed. “You’re not going to help?”

“Why should I? You’re awfully clever. I’ll only slow you down.” Aphrodite waved her hand dismissively as she yawned. “Besides, I’m tired and you do know how important beauty sleep is, right?”

-x-

“Zagreus?” Artemis perked up, relaxing her grip on her bow. The arrow hung limply between her fingers as she considered Athena. “He seems strong, doesn’t he?”

Athena idly took in the field. Nestled deep within the woods, away from any chance of men finding it, it hadn’t been surprising to find her sister training the night away. Artemis had always preferred the woods to Olympus, the silence to another’s company. The only god she tolerated, in small doses, was her brother, and even then it was only when they were training together or hunting one another through the woods and fields they were raised in.

Considering how much Apollo took after Zeus, Athena wondered just how much the siblings got along. She glanced in the distance where the sun god was chatting idly with a tree nymph. “Should you leave him like that?”

Artemis glanced over her shoulder before giving a feral smile. “He knows I can hit him from here.”

“Oh.” That didn’t seem like much of a deterrent. Hera could and had struck Zeus several times without it changing anything and Athena recalled a particular tale of another tree nymph. Still that wasn’t what she was here for. Casting a last doubtful glance at her silver-tongued brother, she returned her attention to the matter at hand. “He has to be strong if he’s going to escape Hades.”

“What weapon do you think he’s skilled at?” Artemis asked idly, her thumb brushing her bowstring. “It’d be nice to have someone new to compete against. Or hunt with.”

“I thought you hunted alone?” Athena raised a brow, surprised.

“Sometimes.” Artemis’s expression dimmed, her lips curling into a frown, her tone wistful. Was she remembering Orion? Athena had always wondered just how close they were to having only two virgin goddesses. “But a change of pace can be fun.”

It was a small opening. Out of all of her siblings, they had the most in common. Athena stepped forward and pressed her luck. “We can find out ahead of time. We should find out ahead of time. It’s dangerous to keep helping a faceless being.”

“Is it?” Artemis smirked. In this, she and her brother were the same, sharing a baseless confidence in everything they did. “I doubt his powers can match ours.”

“Perhaps, but we should still try to find out his true goals.” Athena took a deep breath, centering herself. “We don’t know who down there is helping him and why. Least you forgot, Nyx resides there.”

Artemis snorted. “Nyx wouldn’t come up here. She hasn’t for centuries.”

“And none of us thought Hades would ever have children,” Athena countered, grinding her heel in the dirt. “Things have changed. And even if she isn’t behind this—there are far older beings than Nyx down there, waiting in the dark. Waiting to strike.”

Artemis sneered, not buying it. “And those things are asleep. If I lost a war like they did, I’d sleep too.”

“Who’s to say they didn’t wake up?” Athena resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a spoiled child. “You know this is a possibility. If they’re making a move, it’s dangerous for us all.”

Artemis studied her. Whatever she saw hardened her expression. “You really believe this.”

Athena clenched her jaw. “Of course I do.”

“Fine. You have a point. Besides, I’m curious about him.” Artemis slipped her arrow on her bow and drew it back. “But I won’t do this with you.”

“What?” Athena flinched, surprised.

“I hunt alone, remember?” Artemis kept her hands steady as she aimed. “You’ll get in the way.”

“But—”

Artemis released her arrow, dismissing her.

-x-

“Zagreus?” Dionysus laughed heartily. The wine in his goblet spilled with each chuckle. Not that it mattered, his goblet was always overflowing. “Now, that’s a fun chap.”

Fun wasn’t the word she’d use, but Athena had few enough choices as it was. “He is…interesting, but also dangerous. We know nothing about him.”

“Nonsense.” Dionysus rejected her opinion with a wave of his hand. “He’s great. Maybe a little stiff from his time down there, but great perseverance, considering how often he gets killed. Wonder if he feels it less since he’s down there.”

That was the only point Athena was willing to concede. “He does have some discipline.”

“With a father like his? I’m not surprised.” Dionysus chuckled. “Still, I like the kid. I heard he killed Theseus a few times.” His laugh grew colder, his smile darker. “I hope he drew it out.”

Athena could understand the sentiment—even if Theseus hadn’t been an arrogant git, he was still Poseidon’s son. There were few she abhorred as much as she did her uncle and his ilk. “Does it really count as killing if he’s already dead?”

“Semantics, it’s the thought that counts.” Dionysus shrugged, waving off the idea. “Either way, it’s a blow to his pride, if nothing else, and he deserves a good knocking down or two.”

Athena quickly steered the conversation back before it devolved into a rant. “I don’t disagree with that. Only, shouldn’t we at least get to know our cousin before helping him out more? At the very least, we should be able to see him, right?”

“It would be nice,” Dionysus agreed. “Ariadne and I could get popcorn next time he goes through. Popcorn—can you believe we went so long without it existing? Mortals are surprisingly good at inventing.”

Popcorn? Athena twitched. She dug her nails into her arms, resisting the urge to delve any further into her brother’s inane ideas. “Then you’ll help?”

“Sure, hun.” Dionysus smiled. “After my next party, maybe.”

-x-

Athena did not bother to ask her father. She knew of Zeus’s escapades and long since learned to recognize when his fingerprints were on something. There were enough tales about him, including of her own birth, that there was no point in going and adding one about the underworld, Hades, and Zagreus.

Whatever his connection was, she didn’t want to know.

-x-

Hermes was nowhere to be found. As usual. Athena didn’t know what to make of her fleet-footed brother, who rushed across the world with the wind and nary a thought in his mind. The few times she caught a glimpse of him recently, he immediately escaped.

Athena shivered. All of a sudden, the temperature had dropped. Rubbing her arms, she looked around to find Demeter passing, her skin and clothes as white as snow. Her expression was icy. It was like she was daring anyone to talk to her, to draw her ire and give her the smallest excuse to release all of her anger.

She was a goddess in mourning. Athena didn’t know her too well���her aunt liked keeping to the farms and forests of the world—but she’d heard the rumours. Her daughter, Persephone, had disappeared. Zeus wasn’t taking it seriously no matter how many times she petitioned him to move, no matter how many times she implored him to save their daughter. No one knew where their half-sibling had gone.

Athena stepped to the side, watching as her aunt left. There was no point in bothering her with this trivial matter.

-x-

In the end, there was no one there to help. No one else who wanted to know the secrets to their newest family member.

In the end, Athena was left with the only thing she could rely on anyways: her mind.

In all honesty, that was all she ever needed. Something tugged at her skin, a string connecting her to Zagreus once more. She could feel his pull, feel him call to her like gravity did an apple. His presence filled her senses for a brief second and then it disappeared back into the darkness.

It was enough. It was more than enough. She had all the clues she needed in front of her.

Athena was a goddess of wisdom, after all. Of intelligence. Of cleverness. Zagreus was just another puzzle for her to solve and she was great at puzzles.