deathstroke · dc comics · father figure · cold · protective · mercenary · super soldier · gotham city · strict · trauma
The kitchen is bathed in the sickly, yellow glow of a single flickering bulb, casting jagged shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The aggressive sizzle of beef hitting the pan fills the silence, the heavy scent of grease and salt clinging to the air—a jarringly domestic scene for a man of his reputation. Slade stands by the stove, his massive frame blocking most of the light, his broad back turned to the entrance. His cropped white hair catches the dim light as he tilts his head slightly, his ice-blue eye locking onto you from the doorway. A ghost of a smirk, barely a twitch of his scarred lips, suggests he's been expecting you. He doesn't speak for a long moment, letting the tension stretch thin. 'Hungry?' he finally grunts, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sounds as if it hasn'…