#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!!

[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:

[duckprintspress]

A Year with Duck Prints Press: Our 2024 Publications

We’ve had a busy year at Duck Prints Press – we published two anthologies, a novella, a novel, and moved many other projects along. All except our most recent, A Truth Universally Acknowledged, are available from our webstore and from many other retail and library sources. 46 short stories also debuted to our Patreon as new releases exclusively available to our backers, bringing the total number of titles available to our Patrons up to 94 stories. Many of our past titles are now available in print (instead of digital-only), including about half the short stories on our webpage (zines only sold when we vend in person, currently!) and our four novelettes (which can all be purchased online). And we didn’t only create books – our Mythical Creature Pride pins and stickers were a flagship art project for the year, and we’ve released 5 monthly art pieces exclusive to our Patrons. Basically: we’ve had an awesome year, made a ton of amazing stuff, and we’re so so glad that y’all have been along with us for the ride.

-

Aether Beyond the Binary

How would Earth look if the very atoms around us were suffused with magical aether? How would our lives be different if this aether was discovered last year, or last century, or last millennia? How might the people who lived with this magic explore their gender identities? These are the questions we posed to the 17 authors who contributed to Aether Beyond the Binary. Their inventive answers comprise this must-not-miss collection about magical realms, adventures and mysteries, new chances and well-earned endings, and characters as gender-diverse as the worlds they inhabit.

-

Hockey Bois by A. L. Heard

Nick Porter has always loved hockey. Ever since he can remember, it’s been his favorite thing in the world. It’s too bad he never learned to play, he’d tell himself, but it was too late to do it now. Adults don’t just magically learn to skate and join a hockey team. That’d be ridiculous.

Except maybe they do? On a whim, he decides to sign up for an adult  beginner’s class. He learns to skate, joins a team, and meets a really hot teammate… and it’s pretty much a disaster from there on out.

-

Many Hands: An Anthology of Polyamorous Erotica

For those who love their short stories spicy, we’re delighted to bring you Duck Prints Press’s debut explicit anthology Many Hands: An Anthology of Polyamorous Erotica. In this collection of brand-new stories, we celebrate many flavors of polyamory. Orgy? Yes please! Ménage à trois? C’est magnifique! Foursomes and moresomes? Delighted to attend! We asked our contributors to blow our minds with their fun combinations, unusual settings, favorite trope usage, and (of course) super sexy smut—and they didn’t disappoint. From a vampire free-for-all to a heartfelt reunion, from surprise soulmates to enemies-to-lovers, this collection has polyamory in lots of scrumptious varieties that lovers of erotica won’t want to miss!

-

Scrap Metal Angel by Nicola Kapron

Reality, tiny and fragile, is cut off from the sea of chaos and nightmares that surrounds it by seven Gates. One of them is open—and has been since the Stone Age. Through that opening, strange creatures and energies slip through. Some are malevolent. None are harmless. And all of them must be kept a secret.

Every hidden magical world needs a shadowy clean-up crew. Adrian Somer is a Gatekeeper, sworn to protect the cosmic Gates, to defend reality from the unknown entities that exist beyond them, and to help those whose lives are affected by magic.

When a grieving sorceress starts punching holes in reality to try and resurrect her murdered fiancé, Adrian must turn to a ghost from his past in order to save the city, and perhaps the world—even if that means digging up someone he thought was safely buried: the twin brother he killed eight years ago.

-

A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” With this third installment in our “Queer Fanworks Inspired By…” anthology series, we set out to explore the truth by which we at Duck Prints Press live: that a classic work without a single canonically queer character must be in want of a very LGBTQIA+ makeover! “A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice,'” with 21 short stories and 20 full-page color artworks, is just that. 38 creators have contributed to this project, drawing inspiration from Pride and Prejudice’s characters and story to create delightful, thoughtful, intriguing, and (of course) very queer fanworks and Pride and Prejudice-inspired original works. For this collection, we encouraged our creators to focus on Sapphic/wlw relationships and/or transgender and genderqueer interpretations for their inspiration, though those are definitely not the only types of queer we’ve fit into this diverse collection.

Happy New Year, everyone! We wish you the best for 2025!

[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.

[faunastanza]

Toyle of all characters lol. If it was done by someone on the inside they could have some insight that us non-discord plebes are missing, I should look into it.

Everything I've heard about them is terrible! According to that one zine maker, they'd last for like 12 hour stints at a time! By Glip's own accounts and from other people who played with them, they had a tendency to of course blow up at people for whatever reason who'd get ganged up on by everyone else and forced out, and apparently you had to seriously consider everyone's feelings and analyze your own feelings at all times or you'd RUIN EVERYTHING FOR EVERYONE!! Add in the whole "we're your therapists now" vibe to discussions in the discord, treating fictional RP characters like real people, and Glip's incredible emotional fragility and tendency to lash out and it's just a nightmare scenario all around. The pressure sounds unbearable! I don't understand what the appeal is to others. I always think of that one insane frame from Circlet of the Sun when the RPs come up.

You'd think if you have massive control issues you wouldn't try to organize RPs with bunches of other people since that's probably the least controllable thing possible. The whole thing is bizarre to me. If there's a way to do RP wrong this has to be it. I do wish someone on the inside would summarize what happens in them though, I'm not going in there.

[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.