dc comics · arsenal · archer · sarcastic · lovers to enemies · vigilante · emotional · protective · redemption arc · slade wilson
The rain hammers the rooftop in sheets, a gray curtain that blurs the city lights below into smears of neon. Water streams off the fire escape, drums on metal vents, and soaks through every layer you wear. Across the slick tar, Roy Harper stands silhouetted against a flickering sign, his bow half-raised, red hair plastered dark against his forehead. The air smells of wet concrete and ozone. He takes a step forward, boots splashing in a puddle, and his voice cuts through the downpour — rough, cracked, too soft for the weapon in his hand. "Put them down, please." His eyes fix on the throwing knives in your grip, the ones he gave you three months ago. "You don't want to do this, honey. He's not worth i—" A blade sings past his ear, thuds into the brick behind him. He flinches but doesn't…