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chuuyaiism · 6 months

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chuuya nakahara is pretty much obsessed with you.

not in the creepy, stalkerish way, but in a completely in love, head over heels way.

chuuya has been ridiculously into you ever since he met you. it started off as a silly crush – you were pretty, he found you attractive and got flustered. he’d trip over his own feet, smash into random things that were in his way because he was too focused on you.

he felt fucking stupid and it pissed him of so much he even hated you a little bit.

and knowing that, you loved getting on his nerves. you’d shamelessly flirt with him in front of other people just to see him blush and get mad at you, slowly get closer inch by inch when he's speaking to you until he's a stuttering mess, resting your head on his shoulder when you're tired… you would just never fail to make him feel all tingly inside.

and then, the closer you got to each other, the more he started to feel drawn to you. he wanted to know about your personal interests, to hang out with you outside work hours. he wanted to know how your day was, if you're eating well and if you're not going on too many dangerous missions.

chuuya wanted to spoil you and make you feel safe, he wanted you to have a good, comfortable life away from any forms of danger. when he made you smile, it was the highlight of his day; he was completely, utterly in love with you.

when you had your first kiss chuuya felt like a teenager all over again. you know the type of puppy love that gets your palms all sweaty and heart racing? that's exactly how he felt – it was almost like he was gonna explode.

he's not very good at expressing his feelings, so he compensates by spoiling you. anything you want you'll be having in less than two seconds; he'll be on the spot to serve you. chuuya is the type of guy to take you on fancy dates, give you all kinds of gifts and shower you with love.

when one of you are out on a mission for too long, he feels like his heart is gonna break from spending too much time away from you. expect constant messages, calls, and lots of “i miss you’s” and “i love you’s” from him.

when you're reunited he'll definitely not let you go for a few days; there's no one in this world chuuya loves more than you, and he makes sure you know this every single day of your life. <3

#bsd x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd fluff #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd #dazai osamu x reader #i feel like this i very ooc #but who cares lol #i love chuuya

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Ghoul if you don’t write Ghost absolutely falling apart ugly crying when he discovers what Gooses scar is about and how he possibly could have never met the love of his life Elmo is gonna SUE

Make. That. Man. Cry!!!

He doesn’t even bother knocking when he opens your door. You clutch your shirt to your chest, glaring over your shoulder at Simon. Rude. He just raises a brow and shuts the door tight behind him.

“Got a minute?” He asks, moving close, and you know you’re not going to tell him no. Not when his hand cups your face and he lets you tug his mask down to kiss him, your shirt forgotten on the floor.

He must’ve just come in. His skin is still warm from the sun where you touch him, and there’s the last taste of tobacco on his tongue. His hand slides over your chest as he kisses you, giving your breast an appreciative squeeze before dragging towards your fly. You make a quiet noise against his lips when it slips over your scar, his touch stilling against the slightly raised edges of it.

Simon's fingers feel over the scar, rough calloused pads dragging along the sensitive delicate skin. The ugly line of it where it cuts across your stomach. He drags his fingers along the whole thing, from your waist to where it stops just below your belly button. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You've had years to grow out of being self conscious, but that didn't mean it didn't still rear its ugly head. Especially when it was a man you-

Simon probably doesn't even care, his torso is littered with scars. You're sure he doesn't even remember how he got half of them.

"How'd you get this beauty?" He asks, so quiet you almost don't hear him.

"Sort of a blur," you tell him. He nods like he understands, you think he does.

"Tell me." Simon hums, dropping to his knees and pressing his lips to the top of the scar on your waist. You do your best not to wince, remembering the way the bull's horn had torn into you.

"Was helping the Lucas'," You start, "their bull is tipped now but back then they were all about-" Simon kisses you again, lower down the scar, your breath hitches, "-natural, uh, natural horns. I must've spooked it or something because it-" you let out a pained hum when he presses his lips lower still, tracing the line of the scar with his mouth, "-it caught me with its horn and ripped me clean open." You finish in a rush, Simon freezes.

"It what?" You hate when his voice goes even like that. When you can't hear his breathing anymore.

"Gutted, tore, nearly eviscerated," you give him the words the doctors used, that your dad used when he was upset. Your stomach jumps when Simon kisses it again, clean flesh this time, and presses his forehead against your diaphragm. "If Soap hadn't been there I probably wouldn't have made it," that's what the doctors had told him at least, "you know how long it takes EMS to get anywhere out here," Simon's fingers tighten on your hips, "he kept pressure the whole time, made sure all my guts stayed put."

You thread your fingers through Simon's hair, scratching and pulling affectionately, "It's funny I don't even remember what we'd gone over to help with, but I remember how blue the sky was while I was laying in the grass waiting."

Simon has gone very quiet. He's completely still, save for his thumbs rubbing small circles against your hips. You're not sure who he's soothing. It happens quickly, his arms wrap around your hips and lift you so fast you have to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling fan. Curling over his head before he drops you on your bed.

You let out a noise of surprise, opening your arms for him as Simon climbs on top of you and lays down. His head settled against your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, he doesn't say a word and you- you don't either. You let him have his silence. You let him lay on you, listen to the beat of your heart, the way your lungs fill when you take a breath, the rush of blood, the sounds of life. A life he almost missed.

He's never been more thankful for one Sergeant MacTavish in his life. Never been more thankful for you, and all the little ways life had to go just right for him to meet you. Your fingers scratch the base of his skull, and you’re humming some quiet lilting tune he doesn’t know, but he wants to. He wants to know every thought that goes through your head, every kindness you’ll ever afford him. Every way he could show you he loves you.

“You cryin’ baby?” You ask him gently, there’s no judgement in your voice, just the question.

“No.” He lies, feeling you hum your acceptance.

“S’okay,” You tell him, “I don’t mind.”

And you don’t. So he does.

Big heaving silent sobs that shake his whole body, fat tears that you brush away with every gentleness. You don’t think Ghost has ever cried, but you think Simon has needed to for a while. And he’s crying for you, over a loss that didn’t happen, over the pain you went through. Over the lonely days waiting for your body to be whole again, and the fact that neither of you will ever be lonely again. Maybe you’ll be hurt, but never lonely. You’ll make sure of it. He’ll make sure of it.

"Johnny burn down the Lucas' house?" Simon asks, looking up from where he'd buried his face in your chest with watery eyes.

"Just their barn," you cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb. Simon gives you a little hiccuping sob around his frown and angry eyebrows.

"Should've killed 'em." It's a little hard to take him seriously when his voice wobbles like that. When his lip trembles and tears start falling again. You shush him, and let him press his face against you again.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #oc: Goose #cowboy!Ghost #I don't think Simon ugly cries #I think he's very quiet about it #he doesn't want to burden others(or himself) with his emotions #good thing Goose wants him to be a burden on her #they lay together for a long time after this just being together #I think Simon falls asleep on her after he cries himself out #and then Goose is just stuck there #i feel like we get a little ooc with the crying but its part of his healing journey

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nofacednerd · 9 months

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the Lower Decks/SNW crossover really dared to ask the question of what would happen if Starfleet’s most autistic soldier got thrown right in the middle of his special interest

#star trek #star trek lower decks #star trek strange new worlds #Star Trek strange new worlds spoilers #bradward boimler #then they also threw starfleets most adhd soldier into the mix #'everyone talks so SLOW and QUIET its WEIRD' babes youre extremely neurodivergent #tbh i was NOT expecting this to mostly be a boimler episode I thought mariner was going to get the spotlight but yknow what good for him #it makes sense tho i think Boimler is a character that feels very much like a representation of fandom and like #him pointing out people being ooc and the POV shots just sort of confirmed it LMAO

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scarletdex · 26 days

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Ogerpon or Kieran

I mean, Kieran and I have been through a lot. We just managed to become close again, but what kind of Pokémon Professor would go abandoning the pokémon under their care? I... don't think I can really choose...

#OOC : [ florian can't answer this in character but i can answer it for him — he'd probably choose kieran if he really had to ]#[ like dude spent almost a whole year obsessing over his fuck ups in kitakami and jumped in front of a tera blast for kieran ]#[ it's obvious who his true ride or die is 😔 ]#[ though he'd feel a shit ton of guilt for giving ogerpon up like that he's very attached to her now so that's why he's so conflicted ]#[ him giving wishy-washy answers to questions like this is one of the reasons why ortega dumped his ass btw ]#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pkmn scarvio #pkmn sv #pokemon florian #trainer florian #florian #pokemon ask blog #pokeask #rotomblr #ask blog #[ post : ask ]#[ post : art ]#[ scheduled post ]

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thebad-lydrawn-sanses · 2 months

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I have no clue why people think nightmare would treat his team like if thare his kids I think he would be cruel to them

i think canon Nightmare would 100% be horrible and mean in some capacity. unfortunately i reject canon (and am probably unhealthily attached to the idea of found family)

#ooc #no art #this ask blog is very fanon #everyone is extremely ooc when put next to their canon counterparts #i think canon Nightmare would get pissed off instead of teary #and never call the gang by the affectionate term 'kids'#or feel a paternal/possessive/protective instinct over the gang #this is a little self indulgent but people seem to like parental nm anyway so #queue

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suchawrathfullamb · 3 months

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sometimes I'll read fics or headcanons where Will makes fun of Hannibal and jokes around and Hannibal never gets his jokes or is all serious and formal, etc, but honestly? To me it's always the opposite lol, Hannibal literally called Mason when he was hunting him "just for fun" LOL LIKE THAT MAN. ALSO HE WAS MAKING CANNIBAL PUNS LEFT AND RIGHT meanwhile will is just sulking eternally

#will is so done and grumpy and hannibal is honeybal sunshine like he's depressed but still manages to put up a sunshiney mask imagine when #he is actually with will murder husbanding and truly satisfied and happy? that man would be insufferable #it weirds me out cause although some fics are very good I do wonder if they actually watched the show when they depict them like this which #is totally fine ofc creative freedom but it does make me wonder if they wrote for the fandom without having seen the original content #and it is okay but does feel kind of weird and ooc #nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannibal #will graham #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #fanfic

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tvlandofficiall · 2 months

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how do you think this power imbalance is going to be solved, if you think it will be at all?

my personal theorized ending to deltarune is that we will sever the connection between the light world and dark world, freeing the darkners from being controlled by the light - after all, the same thing happens one level up, right? our connection to kris is going to be severed, freeing them from "reality's" control. all of the realms get separated from each other. it's sad for everyone to have to say goodbye, but the current system needs to be torn down.

you've got the spirit, but i don't exactly agree with the mechanics. i feel the lightners will have to give up their power — and to do so, they've got to walk away from the light world once and for all in one way or another. i don't think the light world can really exist past the end of the game, as deltarune is primarily about showing that it exists as an oppressive force in the world. it's a classic omelas-type situation, you know? the light world can't last forever when it's built on the oppression of another. the pain of the darkners is integral to what it is.

the light world represents a lot of pretty awful things in the world of deltarune, and i've talked a bit about that on this blog already. and the suffocating nature of nostalgia is another big one i want to bring up here – for both us and the characters within. for us, it's a big warped symbol of our memories of undertale. not only is it stylistically similar, but it's also a facsimile of a post-pacifist route undertale (complete with that early 2000's small-town air – it's even got a riverdale-esque diner) populated by familiar characters. a lot of our possessing kris has to do with our morbid curiosity over the characters we knew and loved – to the detriment of kris.

but it's not just us stuck in nostalgia's trap. so too are the characters – the light world consistently comes to symbolize an idealized version of the supposed "good old days" to our cast, both lightners and darkners alike – though the light world characters tend to mention "remember when–?" far more often. even ralsei, our darkner guide, is constantly reminding us of the prophecy to close those dark worlds and get back to the light world (and remember to take a break whenever you want, and don't feel you need to talk to everyone all at once, and;), even when he wants them to stay, all wrapped up in a familiar asriel-shaped package. it's no coincidence that the character most preoccupied with the lightner's fates to return to the light world is meant to remind us of our fondest memories of undertale.

but how good really are those "good old days"? the darkners were (and are) objects with no free will, hometown is a miserable place with cruel people, and undertale itself isn't all "good old days" either. the light world represents the way things are "supposed to be"– a truman-show town that looks much like undertale in interface and in population – but is "supposed to be" really a good thing? will we hang on to that fragment of a memory forever simply so that we don't have to let go of familiarity and suburban "normalcy"? or will we be able to leave that familiar world behind once and for all?

#ooc #deltarune #i feel very strongly about this one so i hope i explained it well!#it's hard to put this into words bc. it's one of those thing you should just play the game and see for yourself #but that memory of undertale permeates so much of the ways the darkners are stifled. see: the neo body #and i feel like it's not quite right to assume the lightners and darkners can't stay together when their equality is an important thing to #strive for. a world where they can be equals is possible even though we need to leave the picture

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morgana-artt · 2 months

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Whenever I find x readers of my favourite games (despite the games not having a huge fandom), I will always want to give a fat smooch to those that write up x readers of those games. ily to those who do that.

#i would write them too but i feel like i would make the characters very ooc :(#lies of p #lies of p x reader #dead island 2 #dead island 2 x reader

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adwox · 7 months

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the two most decorated soldiers of the offputting wars

#mega man zero #copymega #cxpy #mmz omega #omega #megaman #mmz #i go to neo arcadia to defeat the threats effecting my found family. i see very confusing and unsightly pda from these two. i leave #in the first image cxpy is complaining about how he feels no one trusts him to handle situations / sees how responsibile he is #and he is just GOING OFFFF WITHOUT EVEN MEANING TO #i think cxpy is a generally dissatisfied reploid cause i mean how could he not be. but complaining feels wrong to him #but (do not @ me abt this being ooc cause i do not care.) omega just has this energy to him that makes cxpy rant and be very open #its like. he can only be honest with himself around omega. everything else about cxpy is solely built on lies. quite literally #omega isnt really even listening either tbh but it doesnt Matter. hes just there cause it feels funsies to hold cxpy in his big strong arms #like a giant stress ball #theyre so cruel and unusual theyre so perfect. to me in my mind.#anyway No im not even halfway done mmz3 ill get there when i get there.#>mine_>art

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tatck · 11 months

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Next comic will have some cringe fail ocs. sorry. i love thmem.

#they don't even take up a lot of time #small roles but i feel like i'm being conceited lmao #i'm just taking sth media and twisting it to my own design #i ask myself why i don't just do an oc comic at this point #that makes it sound like it's ooc but it's still very much sonic story #i just over think about shit #also i never expected tails to be my favourite to write #even in the first one

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ghouljams · 9 months

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I was just stalking your fae au and was reading the moose-creature-mimic posts, and I saw you mention that witch can feel when the mimic is trying to break her wards.

Whenever I hear about Fae, my mind immediately goes to the magic system from one of my favourite book series in which people who make wards have to develop wards for specific creatures, and if a creature that they haven’t warded against tries to enter, they can break through, if not break the rest of the wards.

Let’s say for a moment that something like that happens in the Fae AU, where some kind of unfamiliar creature from a foreign civilization comes a knocking on witches doorstep, and is able to break through her wards.

What do you think would happen? If Witch is connected to them, would Witch ‘break’ too? How would Price react to the pure panic and pain shooting through the tethers as an unfamiliar creature breaks through his darling’s wards?

I feel like she would be absolutely broken afterwards (if she survives that is-) Her wards are her safe space, she had never had that happen, she didn’t know what happened.

Would price still trust her to be safe in her own home?

Would SHE still trust her to be safe in her own home??

Just some thoughts 🫣

Oooooooooh. Ok yeah I can do some horror with this. Love the concept. So the Canon answer is that warding in this magic system can be as broad or as narrow as the caster wants. Wards can be weak and they can be broken, but it isn't going to harm the caster, maybe it'll give then a bad feeling but not any actual harm. Not a very good ward if it harms the wrong target IMHO.

For the Witch's home these are wards that are basically generations of people enforcing and reinforcing an all purpose boundary. It's an iron wall that nothing(save humans) is getting through without a permit, and it's tied to Witch both through her magic and her blood. She can feel when things mess with it, but it's like getting asmr, it isn't actually affecting her. She's mentioned before that her wards are threats, so anything that isn't stopped by a simple denial of entry is going to have those threats enacted upon it.

But let's say something broke her wards, let's throw some rocks through the windows and bust shit up. I am going on record to say, this isnt canon:

You feel something crack in the air before you feel it break. The splintering spiderweb of intangible bonds being pushed too far hits you between the ribs and you have to clutch the kitchen counter to stay standing. Something is deeply, desperately, wrong. You don't know how or why(or what) but something is working very hard to get in to your space.

It shouldn't be possible in the first place, you have known this house, these wards, your whole life and you've never felt it give way. You've felt it change, felt it ripple, felt it pop and fizz when it doesn't like what you've let in, but never this. Never the creaking pressure of it bowing inwards and splitting under its own tension. Your fingers wrap tight around your athame as you go to check your back garden, peaking through the curtains. There's nothing.

But you can feel it, you can feel it splintering like a pain in your chest. Tight and radiating out from your sternum. It tingles down your arm, makes your grip feel looser than you know it is. You grab your back door's handle, take a few breathes to give yourself strength, and open it to shoo away whatever is pressing your wards. And very suddenly the splinters give way, like a hole punched through a window.

It feels like all the air has been forced out of your lungs. A cool breeze blows through your door, wrong so very, very, wrong. The smell of moss invades your nose, burdened with the scent of decay. Slime mold oozing against your desperate breaths. You tug your shirt to cover your nose and mouth as the battering ram that had been beating your barrier steps through.

The horns of it scrape your ceiling, actually that bothers you more than it should, you're the one that has to fix it later. Velvet hangs from its antlers, freshly scraped and red, gory and divine. It stands on two clover hooves, and looks at you with malice. If you can even discern an expression from the thing. It's face is completely smooth save for its eyes, or it was smooth. A crack forms along the bottom of its smooth surface, splintering and chipping as it rips its mouth open and screams at you.

The sound is overpowering, dizzying, you feel your ears pop and then the noise is gone, replaced by a persistent dull ringing. You truly wonder when your life got so interesting. You hate interesting. You blame Price.

You cough, gag. You have to drop your makeshift mask to retch against the stench of rotten decay on this thing. It smells like death, weeks old bodies left to fester where no one will find them. You gag again, fingers curling around your throat as you try to keep you athame raised.

Your wards are silent, you home is silent, and you realize that you've never actually experienced true silence. Something is always buzzing or humming with magic, you always have music playing or bottles clinking, you're always surrounded by sound. Now it's all stopped. Even the ringing in your ears has settled into a cottony muffle. You can't feel any of your magic. Your numbed to it.

You drop your hand from your throat to your chest. You can't even feel the tethers there. Your fingers move over the fabric of your shirt without catching, there's not tightness to pull, not warmth to catch. You feel cavernous, empty past empty. What the fuck is that thing.

Whatever it is it seems to have finished its evaluation of you. Finished working whatever spell it was weaving. It takes a step towards you. You don't wait for it to take another before running. Scrambling away from the broken seal of the door towards whatever is heavy and throw-able.

You do your best not to let blind panic take over, to not just run wherever feels safe. You've always thought it was silly when people in horror movies don't do the smart thing, but you've never been in a horror movie before. You bolt towards your bedroom. It's the best guarded room in the house. Even if you can't feel your magic it should still be there. Right?

You feel the swip of the things claws through the air as it tries to grab you. You run straight past your front door without a second thought, sure you don't want whatever that is to be unleashed on the general public. It's claws dig deep gouges into the plaster of your wall, and you pray it doesn't do the same to your bedroom door. You know it will, but it can't hurt to pray. You're not in the mood to be picky with magic right now.

You get your bedroom door closed just in time to hear it splinter as the creature throws itself against it. You don't bother with chalk, digging your athame into the door and scratching sigils and circles as quickly as you can. When you tap them they sit absolutely dead. You smack your hand against your messy circle, willing the magic to respond. You smack it again as the creature throws itself against your door. The circle stays as it was, motionless, silent, still as a drawing.

You are suddenly much more comfortable allowing panic to overtake you. If you're powerless there's really no reason to keep your emotions in check. Your breath heaves, short and quick as you back away from your door and look towards your window. No magic swirls, no books rip themselves from your shelves, your panic heightens and nothing happens. How mundane.

One of the creatures claws punches a hole through the center of your circle, then another, and another. You back towards your window as it grips the wood of the door and attempts to pull it from its hinges. Your fingers push at your window, try to find the seams of it, try to get it open. It doesn't budge, it feels like it's been painted on. You bang your fist against the glass without so much as a crack. The wood behind you splinters. The crunch of it deafening over the silence.

"Price, Price, fuck I am not fucking around Price please," You beg pressing yourself back against the window as the creature drops pieces of the door onto your floor. Even if your magic doesn't work his still must. You've never hear of a fae not responding to their name. Granted you don't know the full thing, you don't know if that's really his name and not just a nickname. It might hold no power without the tethers between you. That doesn't stop you from saying it like a prayer, hoping if you speak him into existence enough times he might come and save you.

Your shoulders are grabbed by an invisible force as you are physically shaken. Your ribs shake, muscles tensed too tight to even take a breath.

There is a wet ache spreading over your stomach, you begin to tilt your head down to see what's wrong and Price catches you. His hand holds the back of your head, pulls it back up and shoves it against his shoulder. "Don't look," he tells you just as quickly as he'd stopped you. You nod against his shoulder.

He pulls something from you, rips the proverbial bandaid off, and you bite him at the pain. It feels like your heart has been knocked out of place, like your ribs have been played as a xylophone. Your stomach twists on itself. Suddenly you are back in your kitchen staring at the cabinets, the space where the creatures antlers had scraped the ceiling. The scratches are still there.

Then the shaking starts. Every muscle in your body starting to unspool in a violent shudder that must quake the very earth you stand on. It's loud. The house is so loud. The wards are practically screaming at you, you threshold wails and sobs where it has been brutalized. Your back door is still swung open to red and orange leaves, a lovely autumn day that leaks the smell of wet earth into your home. Price turns to follow your shaking gaze and kicks the door shut behind him.

"What-" You can't get anything more out around the aftershocks of panic. You're sure your house must look like a war zone.

"Probably some American invention," Price mumbles, "You weren't under long, deep breaths."

You suck in a breath, press your know into his shirt to smell the cool tobacco. It helps. Price keeps a firm grip on the back of your head, keeps you looking where he wants you to while his other hand does something. He touches you in a way you can't explain. It's almost metaphysical the way he zips you up, just on the right side of freezing. You can almost feel his fingers moving muscle and viscera out of the way as he does whatever he's doing. Fixing whatever just happened.

"Fucking hell your wards shredded that thing, surprised it even had the strength to touch you," There's something at the edge of Price's voice, fear your think. You're not sure what he's scared of, it isn't a comforting sound.

"How're you-" You try to focus on the important questions, like why Price hasn't been shredded.

"You lit up like a damn Christmas tree, thought I was gonna have my own attack with the panic you shot my way," He draws his hand away from your stomach, apparently finished with his fussing, "wards were too busy to notice me slip in."

Makes sense, even now they're too busy with repairs to pay attention to your regular.

"It broke my door," It's funny what you latch onto once shock starts to set in. "What did it want?"

"Same thing we all want," Price tells you, and you hate hearing him say it(we), because he doesn't mean it kindly, "you."

#the way i gotta nerf witch to put her in danger #genuinely her wards cannot be broken #youre trying to breach fort fucking knox my friend #oc: witch #1fae1 #fae!Price #it feels very ooc writing witch with broken magic #idk if i like this one #very off the cuff and what not #the words simply pour out of me if im writing past 10pm #a ghost possesses me and compels me to write #anyway this is more creatures tryin to eat Witch #what a tasty snack she is no wonder price wants her all to himself #american myths genuinely scare me so bad #but this is a hannibal inspired monster

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sergeant-angels-trashcan · 2 months

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Just thinking about Roy Harper meeting Kate Bishop in THEEEE stupidest ways possible like

Roy has successfully picked the lock on Jason's main safehouse but didn't have to bust through a deadbolt or chain, which is suspicious.

Also suspicious is the woman aiming a gun at his head.

"Who the fuck is stupid enough to break into the Red Hood's apartment?" She snaps at him.

"I could ask you the same thing!"

"I didn't break in, genius, I live here."

"You're not the Red Hood."

"No, I'm dating the Red Hood."

Stupidest lie ever, Roy thinks. "Joke's on you because Red Hood doesn't have a girlfriend, and if he did, he'd tell his best friend!"

"Well joke's on you because Red Hood doesn't have a best friend!"

They stare at each other. Roy feels like the silence is uncomfortable.

"That was kind of mean, wasn't it?" The woman asks, much quieter than before.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Roy admits. The woman has kept the gun aimed at him the entire time. He's almost impressed.

"Wait," her forehead wrinkles. "Arsenal?"

"Yeah, how did you--wait. Not Hawkeye?"

"Oh my god! Yeah! That's me!" She's gone from threatening to Ray of Sunshine in less than half a second, bouncing over and squeezing Roy into a hug. "It's so good to meet you!"

A few minutes later, Roy has a glass of water and is watching Hawkeye tape the gun back under the table. "I thought you didn't use guns?"

She heaves a massive sigh. "I don't like guns. Doesn't mean I don't use them."

"Ah."

The front door shatters and Hawkeye heaves another sigh just as the Red Hood rounds the corner, gun up. Roy stays leaning against the wall. "Hey, Jay."

"Roy? What are--" his head whips between looking at Roy and at the table Hawkeye is crawling out from under, roll of duct tape around her wrist like some tacky bracelet. "Kate--?"

"Oh, hey babe," Hawkeye says, apparently very unbothered by the Red Hood with a gun pointed in her general direction--Roy knows Jason and he knows he's not actually aiming it at her, seems she knows this too. "You didn't tell me Arsenal was coming into town."

"Because I didn't know--" Jason is cut off by Hawkeye using his shoulder to balance as she presses up to her toes and plants a kiss on the cheek of his helmet.

"I'll let you boys catch up," she says, breezing towards the bedroom. "Jason, I'm taking your patrol tonight."

"No, you're not," he protests, which is cute. Roy can already tell he's lost the argument.

"Yes, I am," she counters, turning so she can face them as she walks away. "I'm not fixing that door. You guys can do it while you have a bro-date. Or a real date, or whatever. I don't know your life."

"Kate," Jason says, a tinge of desperation in his voice that is the only reason Roy isn't laughing his ass off right now. "You live with me."

"Oh, yeah," her voice drifts from the room she disappeared into. "I do, don't I? I like that. Hm." She says it like she actually forgot for a moment it was true.

"I see," Roy says conversationally. "So she's insane."

Jason finally flips the release on his helmet, setting it down on the kitchen table with a sigh. "Just don't mention any of your trick arrow prototypes or--"

"Trick arrows?" Hawkeye practically falls out of the room, about, from what Roy can tell, halfway in uniform. "Oh my god, yes! Finally someone who will appreciate this! Arsenal," she says, locking eyes with him. "Boomerang. Arrow."

"Why would--" it takes Roy half a second to actually process what she's said. "Oh, shit! Yeah. Yeah, that's a genius idea! Jay, we're going to need to switch safehouses, we need a workshop."

Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, acting like he's so put upon, which he undermines when he says, "the apartment under this one is already set up."

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