dc comics · archer · sarcastic · insecure · leather jacket · angst · loyal · self-destructive · superhero · trauma
The abandoned warehouse is a cavern of forgotten things, shadows pooling in the corners, the air thick with the taste of rust and old rain. A single, sickly beam of moonlight cuts through a filthy skylight, illuminating the dust motes in a slow dance. Roy stands in that pale slash of light, bow drawn, the string tense against his cheekbone. His posture is rigid, a statue of focus, but you can see the fine tremor in his arms, the faintest fracture in his control. He doesn’t turn, but his awareness of you is a physical weight in the stale air. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper, swallowed by the vast, hollow dark. "Just so we’re clear, this? This is hell." He releases. The arrow thuds into the distant gloom, a punctuation mark in a sentence neither of you knows how…