#roy harper arsenal

[gothamite-rambler]

Red Robin and Signal were on a stakeout mission with Arsenal (Roy Harper). The night was slow, so Duke and Tim started chatting about anime. Duke was a huge fan and made it clear that slander against anime would not be tolerated.

Signal and Red Robin had been discussing Fullmetal Alchemist for the past twenty minutes after an hour of tedious surveillance, watching a building from a distance and waiting for the signal to strike.

Arsenal sat on the ground with his bow resting on his lap, contemplating whether he should have informed the sitter about Lian wanting a glass of water before bed.

Signal: I'm telling you, Edward should’ve killed that man. What he did to his daughter and dog was messed up. The man did this twice, mind you. Edward should’ve shoved that medal down his throat. Why did Scar get the kill?

Red Robin: Because Elric knew it would be wrong.

Signal (incensed): He turned his daughter into a Chimera! He did the same to his wife! None of them deserved that, but the father deserved to choke on that medal!

Red Robin (shrugging): That doesn’t mean he can react with murder. Elric knew he would regret it.

Signal (dismissive): See, if that was me—without the Signal persona—I would've done it!

As the two heroes continued to debate, Arsenal interrupted.

Arsenal: Edward killing the man would've felt like a hollow victory. He would’ve struggled even more with giving his chimera daughter a mercy killing. Scar showed regret too, but I believe he knew it had to be done. Plus, I like Scar, so I might be a little biased, but I stand by it.

Signal and Red Robin went silent, staring at Arsenal, surprised by the archer's take.

Signal (whispering): He watches anime?

Arsenal (overhearing them): I did a lot as a kid. Then, when I was a year into recovery, I rewatched Sailor Moon and went from there.

Signal: Subs or dubs?

Arsenal: Subtitles, since I know Japanese. Dubs if I'm multitasking.

Signal: That’s a good answer. Alright, shounen vs. seinen?

Arsenal (texting on his phone): Shounen. It’s cliché, but Dragon Ball still holds up. Except for the movie. That doesn’t count as a good movie, though.

Signal: Exactly!

Signal smacked Red Robin on the arm, repeating the word.

Red Robin: I said I didn’t hate the movie as much as you; that doesn’t mean I liked it.

Signal (suspicious): Mm-hm. Oh, I got one that’s Dragon Ball-related. Vegeta in the Buu saga—

Arsenal: The only one who knew what he was doing. Gohan constantly pissed me off.

Signal: My ninja! That’s what I’m talking about!

Signal high-fived Arsenal while the archer was busy texting the sitter for an update on whether his daughter was in bed.

Signal: I like him. He’s cool with me. Unlike you, saying One Piece is peak anime and that Boruto is good.

Arsenal (offended): Oh God!

Batman (shouting through all the communication devices): FOCUS!

Red Robin: If you just treat it like it’s its own thing—

Signal: We will talk about this later.

[sabgotcaged]

arseanal🔥

[iydiamartinx]

DROWNING IN THE DARK

Pairing: Roy Harper x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.6k synopsis: You come home to find Roy spiralling into the darkness a/n: it's angsty and read the warnings! warnings: reference to addiction, depression, abandonment, dark themes

The apartment was dark when you walked in. Instantly, you could feel something was off. Heavy. Dense. Drenched in silence so thick it nearly swallowed your breath the moment you stepped inside.

You found him in the corner of the living room.

Hunched over, elbows digging into his knees, fingers trembling where they clutched the edge of the couch. His jaw was locked tight, but it did nothing to conceal the tremor running through his shoulders. His cybernetic arm gave a sudden twitch, the soft whir of its mechanics barely audible beneath the shallow, uneven rhythm of his breathing. Outside, the city lights pulsed against the window, casting fractured reflections across the metal where skin used to be.

“Roy?” you called gently.

He didn’t look up.

You took a step closer. “Roy? What’s wrong?” Then another. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

You stopped just beside him, lowering your voice. “You’re lying.”

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “What gave it away? The radiant joy pouring off me—or the fact that I’ve been sitting here for three damn hours, thinking about every stupid decision I’ve ever made?”

Your heart clenched. “What’s going on?”

“I want it,” he said, eyes flashing up at you, wild and broken. “God, I want it so bad. I don’t even know if I want the high or the numbness more. Anything that’ll shut up the noise.”

You stayed still. Let him spill what was bothering him.

“My head won’t stop,” he bit out, dragging both hands down his face. “I haven’t slept. I can’t eat. I feel like I’m crawling in my own skin. Everything itches. Everything aches. And I keep thinking—just one hit. One. Just enough to take the edge off.”

His breathing grew harsher, chest rising fast, voice thinning to something hoarse and desperate.

“But I know it won’t stop there,” he said. “It never does. I’ll fall. I always fall. And then what? What happens to Lian if I disappear down that hole again?”

You stepped forward, slowly, arms outstretched—but he shot to his feet before you could touch him, pacing like he was being hunted by his own shadow.

The cybernetic arm flexed again, stiff and unnatural, whirring with movement that didn’t feel like him.

“I look at this fucking thing—” He lifted it as if the very sight repulsed him, as if it didn’t belong to him at all—“and I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s not mine. It doesn’t feel like me. It’s just a constant reminder of how badly I fucked everything up. Of everything I’ve lost.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, tugging at the strands like he could claw the frustration out of his skull.

“Oliver left. My arm’s gone. My life’s a fucking disaster,” he rasped, each word scraped raw. “And I’m just supposed to… cope?”

His voice cracked on the last word—sharp and bitter.

“I needed him,” he whispered. “After everything I went through, after everything I did to claw my way back—he still left. Walked away. Didn’t even look back.”

He turned to face you then, hands clenched, knuckles white.

“You know what that felt like? Like I wasn’t worth the trouble. Like I broke, and he decided I wasn’t shiny enough to keep anymore.”

Your breath caught.

“I gave him everything,” he said, voice breaking under the weight of it. “Believed in him more than I ever believed in myself. I saw him as family. And he left. He left when I needed him most. And now…”

He swallowed hard, like it hurt.

“Now I’m terrified I’ll do that to her. To my daughter.”

His voice fractured on that last word. Daughter. It sounded sacred. Like it was the last thing tethering him to whatever goodness was left inside him.

You didn’t hesitate this time.

You crossed the room and gently placed your hands on either side of his face. He tried to look away, but you held firm.

“You’re still here,” you whispered. “That means something.”

Roy trembled under your touch. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Yes, you are,” you said firmly. “Because no matter how bad the craving feels, you still haven’t used. No matter how bad it’s hurting. You haven’t given in. That’s strength, Roy.”

One of your hands trailed down to stroke his metal arm.

He looked down at the metal limb and your touch in despair. “I can’t feel it. Not really. And when I do, it’s like it’s not mine. It reminds me every second of what I lost. Every mistake. Every fucking thing I can’t take back.”

Your voice softened. “It saved your life.”

He looked up at you again, eyes glassy and burning red at the corners. “But at what cost?”

You dropped to your knees in front of him, one hand still cupping his face. Your thumb brushing his cheek. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t lean into you either. Not yet.

“You’re here,” you whispered. “You’re alive. You’re fighting. That’s more than most people could do, Roy. That’s more than you think you’re doing.”

His throat worked. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” He whispered quietly in admittance.

“I know,” you murmured. “But you’re not alone.”

He shook his head, harsh and almost childlike. “I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” you said firmly. “I chose to be here. I choose you.”

The silence between you stretched. It thrummed with everything unsaid, with the war still raging behind his eyes and the steadiness you refused to let go of.

Roy’s gaze dropped. “You say that now,” he muttered. “But what happens when I fall apart again? When it gets worse?”

You didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

“Then I’ll sit on the bathroom floor with you at two in the morning and remind you to breathe,” you said softly. “I’ll hold your hand when your hands won’t stop shaking. I’ll fight the goddamn ghosts with you if I have to, Roy. You don’t scare me.”

He blinked fast, jaw tightening. “You should be scared.”

“No,” you said, and your voice didn’t waver. “What scares me is the thought of you doing this alone.”

That made him freeze. The tension in his shoulders locked up, like your words had found a part of him too raw to touch.

“I don’t know how to be okay,” he whispered. “I don’t even know what that looks like anymore.”

You leaned your forehead against his, gentle and steady. “Then we figure it out. Together. One day at a time. One hour, if we have to.”

His face finally crumpled.

Like he’d been holding himself together with thread and hope, and both had finally snapped. A ragged sound tore from his throat and he reached for you—not with the cybernetic arm, but with the other, pulling you into his lap like he was drowning and you were the only thing tethering him to shore.

You wrapped your arms around him instantly, guiding his head to your chest as his body began to tremble.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand running through his hair, the other rubbing slow circles into his back. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”

His breathing hitched against your collarbone. You pressed a kiss to his temple. Then another to his cheek. “You are not your addiction,” you told him gently. “You are not broken.”

He let out a soft, choked sound.

“You’re allowed to feel this. You’re allowed to hate what happened. But you don’t have to face it alone.”

You kissed his hair. “I love you,” you said, lips brushing his skin with each word. “All of you. The scars. The rage. The metal. Every part of you.”

His head was still buried against your chest when you felt the tears soak through your shirt—quiet, shame-filled things that didn’t come with sobs, only shuddered breaths and a muffled exhale.

“I can call Jason,” you said softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “He’s with Lian. He’d want to know you’re—”

“No,” Roy rasped, the word sharp but not cruel. Just… scared.

You hesitated.

“He’s with Lian,” he murmured, quieter now. “She’s probably laughing her head off at whatever stupid voice he’s using to read to her right now. He deserves that. She deserves that. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You wouldn’t ruin it, Roy—”

“I would,” he said, finally lifting his head to look at you, eyes raw and rimmed red. “Jay’s already done enough. I can’t keep being his problem. I’m his best friend, not his fucking burden.”

Your heart cracked open at the words.

“You’re not a burden. Not to him. Not to me. Not to anyone who loves you.”

He swallowed hard, the words barely sinking in.

“I’ll still tell him later,” you added gently. “Not to worry him. Just so he knows. But right now, he’s got her, and I’ve got you.”

Roy let out a shaky breath, like he was holding onto too many things at once—shame, guilt, fear—and he didn’t know where to put them.

You kissed his forehead. Then his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough for him to feel it. Real. Steady.

“You’re allowed to need help,” you whispered. “You don’t always have to be the strong one. You don’t always have to be okay.”

His eyes fluttered shut. His shoulders dropped the smallest degree.

“You’re allowed to fall apart,” you said, your voice no more than a breath. “Just don’t do it alone.”

Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease. His breathing evened out. His grip loosened—not from pushing you away, but from finally letting go.

You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, now calmer, less stormy.

“I love you,” you whispered again, and kissed him—softly, slowly, like an anchor against the pull of the void.

When you pulled back, his eyes were closed. And for the first time that night, there was peace in his expression.

He whispered, barely audible, “Don’t let go.”

You tightened your arms around him.

“Never.”

[cinnamongrl2006]

Can you please right some smut for dilf roy harper. He's so under appreciated

Roy Harper x Babysitter!Reader ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ mdni (18+)˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆

warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, age gap, alcohol consumption, mentions of past alcohol and substance abuse.

a/n: Wanted to post this yesterday or the day before that, but what do you know, I went out with friends and spent all day sleeping and terribly hungover. Also, omg, this is sooo long I'm actually so sorry!!

You had been working as a babysitter for Roy Harper for a couple of months, though it felt more accurate to call yourself a live in au pair. Endless nights and days were spent caring for his daughter, Lian, when he was traveling for work. He said he worked in security, you assumed he worked venues all over the country, but you never really asked.

────୨ৎ────

You saw him when he got home, tired but dressed in clean clothes, his hair tousled—he must have showered before arriving. An overnight bag was slung over his shoulder, and you noticed his bruised arm and bandaged hands. But you didn't mention it; instead, you looked up at him and offered a warm smile of welcome.

“She didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?” he asked, following you into the house.

You took his bag from his shoulder and helped him put it away as he settled on a stool in the kitchen. The overhead lights cast shadows over his chiseled face, and his red hair gleamed like fire.

“No, no. She’s a really sweet girl.” You met his gaze as you spoke, and for a brief moment, your heart stopped when he smiled at you, dimples dancing on his cheeks and creases forming at the edges of his eyes.

“I’m glad you think that.” He nodded, a playful smile dancing on his lips as he turned to pull a couple of bills from his pocket. “This should take care of it.” He slid the cash across the kitchen counter to you, his fingers grazing yours, and for a brief moment, that touch felt charged, the air thick with unspoken possibilities.

But he couldn’t—no, he was much older than you, and you had so sweetly offered to take care of his daughter when you saw them around town. You liked Lian—you liked everyone in your neighborhood, really, and everyone liked you, too. You were such a sweetheart, with your skirts and dresses that billowed in the wind, so flowy that on breezy days, if he stood just right, he could catch a tantalizing glimpse of your panties— stop. He suppressed a groan and readjusted himself, his pants growing tighter over his crotch.

You noticed the way he shifted, the tension in the air thickening as his eyes lingered on you longer than usual. Your heart raced at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he found you as attractive as you found him.

"Thank you, mr. Harper." A playful smile crept across your lips, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes dance over him, daring him to make the first move. 

You had tried to keep things professional for the past few months, not daring to say a word about how you noticed his lingering gaze and touches—how he'd squeeze your waist and press his hips against your ass when he walked past you in the kitchen, muttering something about there not being enough space. But now, with the air thick with unspoken feelings, Lian asleep just down the hall, the lights dim except for the soft glow of the overhead lamp above the kitchen table, and silences stretching long as your eyes roamed each other hungrily, you wanted him to notice.

Roy, perched on a stool, caught the intensity in your gaze. A playful smirk spread across his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, calling me Mr. Harper now, huh?” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I didn’t realize we were keeping it so formal."

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, the way he leaned into the playful banter. “I thought it suited the situation,” you replied, your heart racing as you took a step closer, the distance between you charged with anticipation.

He tilted his head, a look of mock contemplation crossing his face. “I think ‘Roy’ is much more fitting for what’s happening right now,” he said, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "don't 'cha, sweetheart?"

Oh, he'd noticed alright.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes drifting over his tattooed arms and the way his hands flexed over the counter. They were strong and capable, and the sight sent a current of warmth straight to your lower stomach.

Roy took a moment before he stood from the stool, stretching slightly as he straightened up, “I need a drink. Want one?”

“Sure,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. He walked towards the fridge, the muscles in his back flexing with each movement, and you felt your heart rate pick up.

As he rummaged through the fridge, you took a moment to admire him, your gaze tracing the lines of his silhouette.

"What do you want?" He turned to look at you, your cheeks flushed when he caught you staring.

"Whatever you have is fine." You brushed him off with a flick of your hand.

"I've got anything you want, beautiful. Try me." He grinned.

"What a generous bartender you are," you smiled back, "really, whatever you drink is fine."

"Well, I aim to please." His eyes shined with mischief under the refrigerator lights. He straightened up, closed the door and walked over to you with two beer bottles in hand, one of them with a different label. You never asked about it, but the whole neighborhood knew, really, that he'd had issues before.

"Is that your way of flirting with me?" You asked, taking the drink from him, now standing before you, so close you could feel the warmth from his body.

He chuckled, sighed, "maybe. Is it working? I think it is."

He was right, it was. Your body thrummed with need, your skin tingled at his closeness. His eyes were so bright, so welcoming. His hands wrapped around your waist, fingers grazing the hem of your top.

“Yeah, it’s definitely working,” you breathed, your heart racing as you took a step closer, closing the small gap between you.

With a sudden burst of courage, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. As you pressed closer, deepening the kiss, you felt him respond, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer.

You could feel the warmth of his body enveloping you, grounding you in the moment.

He held your waist tightly, teeth and tongue against your mouth as he led you to his bedroom, one hand on your waist, one hand on the back of your neck.

You stumbled through the hallway until, eventually, he laid you on the bed. He stood over you, hands on your thighs rubbing soothing circles. His fingers hovered over the button on your jeans for a second before he asked "Wanna take these off for me, sweetheart?"

The words caught on your throat and only a breathy whine came out, you nodded eagerly. Roy tapped your thigh with his hand, prompting you to look him in the eyes.

"Use your words, beautiful. I wanna hear your voice."

"Yes. Yes we can—uh...we can take them off." Your voice shook with anticipation, your skin was red and hot all over, need ran through your veins like electricity.

"Good, okay,"

Roy's hands made quick work of taking off your jeans the second you gave him the go ahead, tugging the fabric down your legs and tossing it aside. He slowly kissed his way up your legs, your hands tangled in his hair, brushing strands away from his eyes.

His hands wandered up your stomach, fingers gently exploring the soft curve of your waist beneath your shirt. With a teasing slowness, he pushed the fabric upward, giving you the chance to pause, to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t.

You sat up slightly and peeled off your shirt, throwing it somewhere on the ground before you pulled him in for a kiss—light and giggly, teeth clashing against teeth as you both smiled.

His hands were on your breasts the moment you unclasped your bra, lips chasing behind them. You let out a soft moan when his hand moved to your waist and his tongue ran over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

"Shh, shh, need you to be quiet. Wouldn't want Lian to wake up, now, would we?"

You shook your head, "No. 'm sorry."

"That's okay, sweet girl." He brushed your bangs out of your face and kissed you again as his other hand left your breast and traveled lower, down your stomach. He broke off the kiss, pausing at the hem of your panties for a second and toying with the bow on it, waiting for your approval. When you kissed him again in response, his hand dipped under the waistband and down to your slit.

You made a point of keeping your mouth shut, your volume down, as one of his fingers traced your cunt. He kissed your clit over your panties and smiled up at you. The wet patch that stuck to your folds made your urgency clear to him, but he didn't give in easily.

"Why are you still dressed, that's unfair!" You protested, voice shaky, breathy. Your lips were swollen and your cheeks flushed and Roy swore he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

"You're very demanding, you know that?" He chuckled as he took his hoodie, then his shirt off.

"I work with children." You shrugged, tugging him closer by the belt loops of his pants, your hands working to undo the buttons and tugging at the zipper until he pulled them down his thighs and off his legs.

He laughed and leaned over you again, kissing your lips softly while pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them aside. His fingers dipped inside your wetness, thrusting in and out a few times.

He kissed you once more, this time with more fervor, swallowing your keens and moans. When he pulled away, he shushed you gently, bringing his slick fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean before trailing down your stomach again.

He kissed his way down to your center, his hands held your thighs open as he lapped at your wet cunt. He ground his hips against the edge of the bed, his cock throbbed, wet with precum, at the sight of you. He didn't stop working his tongue inside you, not when your legs shook at his sides, not when your hands pulled at his auburn hair so tightly it burnt at his scalp; he only stopped when he felt your breathing pick up, and you came on his tongue with a soft moan of his name.

He sat up and peeled off his boxers, while he eyed you, legs spread and eyes hazy, so pretty for him.

He kissed you again as he pushed his cock inside you, you both groaned at the intrusion, breathy.

"I'll go slow, okay?" He cradled the side of your head in his hand.

"I'm fine, just— One second...gotta adjust." You breathed out.

Jason pushed in slowly, cursing when your cunt fluttered around him and your lips found his jaw.

"Fuck— You're- You're so tight," He held your hips with a bruising grip as he bottomed out. "Just relax, baby, I've got you."

You knew he was fully aware of what he was doing. Being older and more experienced, he was gentle, caressing your face and kissing your cheeks. He didn’t just call you beautiful; he made you feel it, too.

His thrusts were slow and deep, picking up a rhythm once you got used to his size. His hands moved from your hips to your legs, putting them on his shoulders. He smiled when you moaned and muttered a whiny "Fuck, 'm sorry—".

You had to bite his shoulder to stifle a moan as he pressed his hand against your lower stomach, feeling the bulge his cock was making. Your nails left red little trails down his shoulders and back.

"Just like that, good girl." He congratulated your silence with a kiss, thrusting in harder and faster, drawing you closer to the edge with a hand snaking down between your bodies to play with your clit.

Your breathing was more ragged, pussy fluttering around him like you'd never let him go. Your back arched into him as your second orgasm hit you.

Roy's thrusts got messier, his rhythm faltering as he fucked you through your release chasing his own. He came with a groan falling limp over your body and rolling off of you quickly. He sighed, one arm over his eyes the other on his chest as if that was going to steady his breathing. "I'll get you cleaned up in a second,"

You hummed and curled up against him. "I'll leave now, don't want Lian to see me here and be confused."

He chuckled, "Yeah. She likes you."

"I know."

"No, I mean she likes you for me." He sat up in the bed and left to the bathroom to clean himself up. He came back with a wet towel and sank down to his knees to wipe you clean. He kissed your ankled and knees, your inner thighs and your stomach.

"So, what do you think of that?" He spoke again.

"I uh...I think—" You spoke nervously.

"Let me rephrase, would you want to do this again sometime? After a proper date, preferably." He climbed up your body and settled beside you.

"Yes, yes, definitely." You curled up against him, your head resting on his chest.

"Cool, cool, okay." He kissed your hairline, "Five minutes and you go?"

"Five minutes and I'm out of here," You looked up at him, kissing his cheek.

You weren't going to be out of there in five minutes, you could only hope to sneak out before Lian woke up in the morning.

────୨ৎ────

[straywayne]

Nothing to say....

Reference/Idea

[fishyfcuk]

the outsiders 2003 #11

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Was I supposed to be easy? (is this supposed to be love?)

damn your love, damn your lies - series masterlist here

pairing: roy harper x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)

length: 1.7k

genre: fluff, tiny tiny hint of angst

warnings: idk it's flirty and there's tension, there's allusion to a class divide / financial divide between the two of them, I think I cracked open roy's head and looked inside his brain with this one, whoops

a/n: guys guys guys this is the origin story this is how they met

"Excuse me, sir, would you mind showing me your ticket?"

"My…?" Roy realizes sort of immediately that he'd chosen a horrible hiding spot. Slipping in through an open door to get away from whoever was trailing him had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he hadn't paid enough attention to where he was stumbling into.

"Your ticket. This is a closed event."

"I don't - I -"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir," the security guard says pointedly, and when she reaches out to grab onto his arm, Roy feels something fizzing in his brain. 

But he's not Arsenal here, he thinks. A quick look down at his dark hoodie and tattered sneakers proves that. Here he's just a man, caught unawares and cornered like an animal for the second time that day.

"Oh, there you are," a sharp voice cuts through the din of Roy's mind, and when he blinks at the person standing in front of him he wonders, just briefly, if he's having some sort of episode. He wonders if maybe he's dead and angels really do exist. "You're late."

"No, I -"

"I'm so sorry," the security guard holds up her hands and takes a step back. "I hadn't realized he was with you. My apologies, I -"

"You were doing your job," you respond easily, waiving a manicured hand with glittering silver and crystal rings. "Just a bit too well, is all. No harm done."

Roy thinks idly, as the security guard slinks away, that he's not sure what someone like you is doing speaking to someone like him. You sway back on your feet a bit to look him up and down, tapping a nail thoughtfully against your lower lip as your bespoke, designer sleeve slips up your arm a bit, and Roy just stares.

"You're not here to steal any of the pieces, are you? You're doing an awful job of it."

"I… beg your pardon?" Roy says dully, but when you arch a brow at him he finally - finally has the wherewithal to look around. It's a gallery, he realizes, the walls dripping with million-dollar art and the floor swarming with people in tailored suits and glittering dresses.

"No, I was just… getting in from the rain," Roy continues. He doesn't mention who else was in the rain, of course. Can't even begin to explain his twisted double life and the target that it paints on his back. It's just the rain. He's just hiding from the rain.

"So it seems," you respond dryly, your eyes flickering to the wet spot on the floor from his rain-soaked clothes. "Champagne?"

"I don't know you," he blurts out, staring at the way a server with a tray of shimmering champagne flutes appears before you can even turn to ask for one. Roy wonders, sort of panicked, if you're someone important - if he's going to see a photo of you and someone like Bruce Wayne plastered across a headline somewhere in the morning. He wonders -

But then you're holding out your hand to him, giving him your name as you expertly balance two champagne flutes in the grip of your other hand. 

"I'm Roy," he responds finally, taking your hand in his, wincing internally as his calloused fingers meet your smooth skin. 

"Well, Roy… won't you walk with me? I haven't been through the whole gallery yet." He blinks at that, then, reeling and off balance in a way that people normally can't tip him, and he can't seem to stop himself from taking the champagne flute from your waiting hand.

"Why did you pretend to know me?" he asks in a rushed breath, stepping after you as you wind through the mass of patrons pointing and gawking at the showcase of art.

"Because you looked like you needed help," you respond simply, stopping in front of a massive, looming painting. "And because this was shaping up to be a rather boring night before you came in - what do you think of this?"

"I looked like I needed help?" is Roy's only response, and when you turn to blink at him, he feels a bit like a child in need of a shadow to hide in - a bit like he's lost and he needs someone's footsteps to follow. He's not sure when the last time someone helped him like that was. He's not sure why the whole thing makes him so woozy, either. "It's… modern."

"Not a fan of modern art?" you respond easily. "That's probably for the best. This one's already sold, anyway. Come on."

"Is that really why you helped me?" Roy asks as he trails after you, trying to ignore the stares he's getting from the other people surrounding you - the looks of confusion and bewilderment at the juxtaposition between the two of you. "Just - it's that easy? Just like that?"

"Does there need to be another reason?" you ask in response, halting in front of another painting and turning on your heel to look up at him. Something's narrowed in your gaze, Roy realizes, something sharp and focused, and he feels a bit like he's stepped into something new. Your posture's still tall and relaxed, your hand swirling your champagne delicately as you look at him with a soft, wide-eyed face that he knows he's supposed to trust.

But he's familiar, he remembers, with wolves in sheep's clothing - and he knows when he's being lied to.

"There doesn't need to be," he responds easily, and he finds that the champagne flute in his own hand sits there a bit more comfortably. "But there is, I think."

"Clever one, aren't you?" Your grin is sharp as you look at him before turning to face the art once more. "Having someone thrown out on opening night is the sort of headline that I'm not too fond of. I don't like public displays like that. I don't want eyes drawn to the wrong sort of thing."

"What are you, the curator?" Roy quips back, and he shifts on his feet as he feels the playing field even out just a bit more. "Am I the wrong sort of thing?"

"No, you're not. I wouldn't want anyone hauled out like that."

"You didn't answer my first question."

"You didn't drink your champagne," you retort easily, still staring up at the painting. The spotlight on it bounces shadows onto your face and Roy finds himself looking at you more than anything around him that has a goldleaf plaque attached to it. 

"This one's better," he says quietly, watching as you arch a brow in interest.

"Oh, is it?"

"Yes," he says easily, and he watches your grip tighten on your champagne flute ever so slightly. "This one actually makes you feel something."

"Not all art has to make you feel something," you point out in response. "Sometimes it's just about being good enough to look at." Roy can't help but frown at that, looking away from you finally to follow your gaze toward the painting.

"I don't think so," he says slowly. "I think there's a bit more to it all than that."

"That's why you're not invited to these things," you respond icily, and he's sure that his laugh is too loud and too brash for a place like this. But you don't flinch at it, don't glare or shush him. You just cock your head to the side and look up at him like he's something new, like he's dazzling in some sort of way that makes you want to hear the sound again. 

"You should have this one, then," you say eventually, blinking back whatever emotions have begun to crawl up your throat. Roy shoots you a smile that has you sniffing indignantly and turning to look back at the painting. He leans forward and squints at the price on the plaque rather dramatically.

"Yea… maybe next time," he says good-naturedly, but you just huff out a breath.

"Consider it a gift - from the artist," you push. He lets you, just a bit.

"There are no artist names, by the way. What's the point of selling overpriced art if you're not even gloating about it? You should get someone to fix that."

"I'm not the curator," you respond politely.

"Uh huh," Roy says in response, rocking back on his heels.

"And everyone here knows my name, anyway. There's no need for me to plaster it all over the walls." He freezes at that, watching as you hold your empty champagne flute out and a server with a tray appears before he can even blink. "I prefer not to gloat about it, if I'm honest."

"This… is your art?" Roy says dumbly.

"It is," you confirm easily, tilting your chin up a bit like you've won some sort of game.

"You're… good."

"I thought you didn't like modern art?"

"Opinions change," he says easily, taking a step toward you. "People can be persuaded."

"Sure," you respond as you step back. "If you're easy." When Roy grins at your words you match him with a frown.

"Easy? No. Maybe you just need a good, hard -"

"I'll have security kick you out -"

"Challenge… is what I was going to say," Roy holds up his hands in surrender, a huff of breath leaving him as his near-empty champagne flute is plucked out of his grip by a passing server. Your responding giggle, he finds, is enough to make it all seem a little easier.

"I've had enough challenges," you say lowly. "I'm not sure I'm interested in another."

"Then let me be easy," he offers - like it's nothing, like it's simple.

"Oh, but where's the fun in that?"

"Ok," he laughs. "Will you show me the rest of the gallery, at least? Maybe it'll give you enough time to decide what you want."

"I know what I want," you quip back. "But I can't tell you everything. That would be it too -"

"Easy?"

"Yes…" you sigh, tilting your head back to look up at him and narrow your eyes. "We wouldn't want this to be easy, would we?"

[marvelsgirl616]

high school au with bully!kal-el and nerd!roy

[sleepylion]

Little Idea

OK.So Jason finds this baby in a lab and they're a clone of Bruce/Batman and he raises them as his own they have his surname and everything the baby is also raised by Koriand'r(Starfire) and Roy Harper(Arsenal) they consider Lian(Roy's daughter)their older sister(they have a 4 year gap)the baby has no idea that they are a clone of Batman they were a rather late talker that it caused their three guardians to worry that he wouldn't but when he did owe he never shut up he was a massive chatterbox would talk your ear off if you let him would call Bruce Grandpa when he eventually meets him at around 5 which later turned into Gramps as he got older called Starfire "RiRi" once as a baby and the name stuck ever since used to call Roy "RoRo"(as in yo-yo) but stopped after reaching a certain point calls Lian "LiLi" but he rarely if ever calls her that anymore Roy was the go to parent for PTA meetings

It's this meme

[puppiesandnightlock]

okay idk if someone has alr made a post abt but i like just realized that jason roy and lian have all died at some point

you could say theres a history of...death in the family.

[livingtobethevillain]

Okay so ive continued to think A LOT about red hood!lian. With that being said. Everyone knows that if you get too invested in a character youll give them lore. So naturally I gave her some trauma for some flavor.

(CW; gun violence, school shooting, hostage situation, implied murder/death of minor characters)

Imagine this:

Lian is at school when the men with guns invade and round everybody up into the gym. Lian is sitting quietly with the other hostages. Dutifully going through the breathing exercises that her dad taught her. Curled up with the other kids but also desperately trying to get some of the younger softer ones to quiet down and stop crying so loud. She knows how this goes. No matter how much her dad tries to shield her from the ugliness of the world she knows what happens if you draw attention in these situations. Unfortunately shes proven right.

One of the louder ones gets yanked away and thrown to the ground. Lian can't help the way she tries to jump up to help (she is her father's daughter after all) but she gets pushed down ruthlessly by one of the attackers. Her friend sits shaking at the feet of one of the men who is yelling and gesturing wildly with the gun in his hand.

Lian takes multiple deep breaths and looks up at the guy who pushed her down. The guy has his back turned, he's jeering and laughing at the horrific scene in front of them. children's lives are in danger and hes laughing.

lians eyes flick down to the unsecured gun at the man's hip and lian doesnt give herself a moment to hesitate. Her teacher follows her line of sight and desperately tries to reach out, but before her teacher can grasp onto her lian is lunging forward and snatching the gun from the man's holster.

The man whips around and steps back at the child pointing his own weapon at him. Lian stands there, breathing shakily and trembling but she feels her resolve harden upon taking all of the wide eyes laying on her shoulders. She knows her dad is a hero. He doesn't know she knows but nonetheless. It's her turn.

"Give her back" she whispers. "...What?"All eyes are on her. Lian grits her teeth and her grip on the gun steadies. It's just like those times uncle Jay took her down to the shooting range...only if the targets were living breathing human beings.

Lians face twists and she forces away tears of frustration. No. These weren't human beings. They were the scum of the earth that uncle Jay and dad always scowled at when the news came on.

"Put my friend back in the group. Or else I'll shoot." If lian had half a mind to she wouldve been proud of how steady her voice was.

Silence.

The attackers look at each other and the one holding her friend scoffs and dares to point his weapon at the little girl on the ground.

He doesnt believe her. He doesnt see how serious she is. That was his last mistake.

"You wouldn't da-"

BANG

The guy drops and then it's chaos. Lian doesn't think. She shuts down and suddenly she's dragging her friend back and into Her teachers arms and she's shooting off as many rounds as she can into any threat who gets too close. She doesn't feel the bullets that are fired back at her. The ones that barely miss and the ones that cut and sink into her skin.

She stays on guard well after the guys scatter upon hearing someone shout about "bats" and whoever else. And it isn't until she whips around to point the gun at her own father that she finally snaps out of it and drops the gun like it's burned her.

Suddenly she can't stop crying and all she can see is the bodies litering the floor. Her dad surges forward and cradles her in his arms rocking back and forth and telling her "its okay. It's okay honey, I'm so proud of you. It's okay you can rest"

[gothamite-rambler]

Lian screamed happily with her arms spread out wide as she raced toward her grandfather and hugged him tightly.

Lian (staring up at Green Arrow): I love you grandpa!

Lian closed her eyes, keeping her happy smile. Green Arrow covered his mouth, basking in the fuzzy feeling of grandfather adoration.

Green Arrow: I love you too, Li-Li.

Lian: Did you miss me? Did grammy miss me?

Green Arrow: We both missed that sweet face. Hey, Batman, you jealous yet?

Batman (green with jealousy): No. Having grandkids isn't that important!

Batman smacked Nightwing and Red Robin on their arms, making the men wince.

Batman: You two could have kids at this point! You're not getting any younger.

Red Robin (rubbing his arm): I'm working on it. Convincing Bernard to adopt or have an alien baby isn't easy.

Nightwing: And Star and I aren't ready for kids, we're still young and beautiful. Ask Jason to have some, he's grumpy like you.

Batman: Hm... Arsenal can you—

Arsenal (cutting him off): Regardless of my sexual orientation, I am not dating your son. I have discussed this with him. For so many reasons, mostly because he is my friend and not my type.

Batman (shocked): NOT YOUR TYPE?!

Red Robin and Nightwing laughed, walking off to avoid Batman's dad glare seeing as they agreed with Arsenal.

Green Arrow (carrying Lian as the little girl giggled): Yes, his standards are higher than that. I'm proud of you, son, and proud of Lian for being so cute.

Lian (happy): I'm cute!

Arsenal: And I got an 'atta boy'. This is a good day, I'm glad I brought Lian.

[jamjjamm]

Roy Harper aka ARSENAL

[cinnamongrl2006]

Sorry for taking so long to upload the Roy fic, I went out with friends and was sooo hungover yesterday I spent the entire day sleeping lol

[straywayne]

I just needed to draw them together

SpeedPaint and Sketch

[fishyfcuk]

the outsiders 2003 #23