#idk how to tag on tumblr

[storsmie]

who else has absolutely NONE of their fanfics saved and is now suffering the consequences..

BECAUSE I AM

someone send help

[basochist]

I tried my hand at animating it and while it's not perfect, it's.. it's here ! I didn't know there was a phobia for the eyes, my bad y'all !

[piecanl]

[silmecicle]

Condifiction doodle dump (all kind of old drawings?? some are older than others)

[riality-check]

Hi!! I bought the wonderful @lazylittledragon’s Steddie dads zine last night, and in that time I’ve read it twice and loved every second of it. One of the panels (for those of you who have the zine, it’s page 42; for those of you who don’t, it’s a panel of Steve and Eddie sitting on a bed, holding each other, while Steve cries and Eddie says “I’ve got you.”) has lived rent fucking free in my brain, and it’s inspired 1k of whatever the hell this is. 

If you haven’t already bought the zine, do it now, it’s so incredibly worth it!! Anyway, bon appetit.

————————————————————————

Steve doesn’t know why he’s freaking out so much. He’s not the one literally growing a person. He’s been pretty much fine this entire time. He’s held Eddie’s hair back when the morning sickness got bad and he’s bought baby clothes and he’s read so much (even though he can’t read for shit) of those little parenting books they have at the library.

Steve has been fine this entire time. He’s pushed back all his anxiety and every other remotely negative emotion because Eddie needs him. Eddie needs all the reassurance and comfort and joy that Steve can give him regarding this kid, and Steve is more than happy to give it. He’s got a nearly infinite supply.

But right now, on this random afternoon in July, everything that Steve has been holding back so carefully is coming to the surface.

In four months or so, he’s going to be a dad. He’s going to have a little, tiny, helpless baby utterly dependent on him for everything.

And Steve knows he’s going to fuck it up.

God. Steve loves this kid so much already. He thinks about who she’s gonna look like more (he hopes it’s Eddie). He sings to her, even when Eddie laughs and tells him to stop. He wonders how much she’ll cry, what her favorite food is going to be, what her first word will be, where she’ll take her first steps. 

He’s so excited to meet her, and he’s so scared, too.

Because love doesn’t prevent people from fucking things up. Steve doesn’t have a single doubt in his mind that he is going to love this kid. But he’s worried that he’s going to make every mistake in the book.

What if he can’t get her to sleep? What if he can’t get her to eat? He doesn’t even know how to change a diaper!

What if he ends up putting his issues on to her? What if he loves her enough to make her resent him for it? 

(Wouldn’t be the first time.)

What if-

There’s a knock on the door. “Steve?”

Shit.

Steve tries to wipe his eyes and steady his voice before he answers, “Yeah.”

It doesn’t quite work.

“Can I come in? You’ve been gone a little while.”

Steve wipes his eyes some more and sucks all the snot he can back up his nose. He hopes Eddie doesn’t notice. “Sure.”

The door opens, and Eddie stands there for a minute, just looking Steve over. He looks good, he always does, even in a plain black sweatshirt and ratty old jeans.

Steve watches in real time as an expression of sympathy takes over his face.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, and yeah, that’s enough for Steve to start crying again.

He curls up and buries his face in his arms and doesn’t look up, not even when Eddie sits next to him on the bed. He puts his arms around him, just holding, and when Steve can feel Eddie’s belly pressed against his leg, he cries harder.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie says.

This is stupid. I’m not the one who should be stressed out.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Eddie asks after a minute. He rubs soothing circles on Steve’s back.

“It’s stupid,” Steve gasps out.

“If you’re crying over it, it’s not stupid,” Eddie says gently.

“It is. I’m not the one doing the work.”

Steve can feel it when Eddie laughs. The gentle shake of his whole body makes Steve stop crying for just a second.

“You’re doing work, Steve.”

“I’m not the one growing a person.”

Eddie pulls back a little and looks at Steve seriously. “Just because you don’t have the parasite doesn’t mean you’re not doing work. You’ve gone shopping and you’ve cooked and you’ve cleaned and you’ve taken care of me. Does that not count as work?”

“No.”

“If we flipped the situation, and I was doing all that, would you still think that?”

Steve hates when Eddie is right.

“You’re allowed to be overwhelmed, Steve.”

Steve sniffles. “You need me, though.”

“I do,” Eddie says. “I’m always going to need you. But you’re allowed to need me, too, okay?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I know.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“I know!” Steve insists with a wet laugh.

“Okay,” Eddie smiles, and it’s the kind of smile Steve always wants to be the reason for. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna fuck this up.”

Eddie snorts. “So am I. You’re not special.”

“No, like,” Steve struggles for the words. “I’ve never been around kids-”

“Neither have I.”

“-and I don’t even know how to do basic shit-”

“That’s why Joyce is teaching us.”

Steve gives Eddie a look. “I know you’re trying to be reassuring, but can you let me finish?”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie mimes zipping his mouth closed.

It’s stupid little things like that that make Steve wonder how he got so lucky.

“I’m worried,” Steve swallows. “I’m worried that I’m gonna fuck up this kid enough to be just like me.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together. “Steve. You are nothing like your parents.”

“I know! I know that. I have no doubt about loving this kid. I’m just afraid that - I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay not to know.”

“I’m so afraid that I’m going to be overbearing and end up suffocating her,” Steve whispers.

Eddie stares at him for a good, long moment. Finally, he says, “Are you worried about loving her too much?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Steve mutters.

Eddie takes his face in his hands and looks him dead in the eyes. “Not stupid.”

Eddie kisses him, soft and sweet and slow, and Steve kisses him back just as soft, just as sweet, and just as slow.

“You make me feel like the luckiest man on earth every single day,” Eddie says, Steve’s face still in his hands. “This kid is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.”

Steve can’t help it; he starts crying again. Eddie wraps his arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he says again.

[its-your-favorite-boy]

drawings of my friends in an avatar au im working on

[bluehairedphase]

we're getting heartstopper, red white and royal blue (although idk if it looks that good..), barbie, asteroid city! the lgbtqs are having a great summer i must say

[bia25art]

Just Luz and Amity being cuties after everything they went through.

What do u think of it, comment bellow.

And honestelly please like it or something i took more than 12 hours to do this

[shinufeathers]

Posting this one separate from the dump because i love it too much for it to get burried

[storsmie]

I’m currently having withdrawal symptoms..

I’m shaking and sobbing so violently bc Ao3 is down

[cutiecattr]

How would you guys feel about a mer. Reader x sun an moon fan fic ?

Its always been sun and moon as the mers but i feel like it would be intriguing to switch it around I have some concepts worked on and ill be posting them soon but heres a little sample

It was a very stormy morning, for some that would be a problem but for you, your gracious sleek pearlescent black tail and white fins cut through the water like its first instinct. Your heart is set on a plan. When it's a storm as ferocious as this one is, the machine buckets above NEVER linger in the water, giving you the perfect chance to swim closer to the island without being spotted. You understand it's dangerous, everything about the surface is. you figured that out the hard way. Even still you're set on one thing, to go to the island's local cove in search of the massive meals of fish lingering within the cove's walls.Thanks to the storm above the water has a distinct colder chill to it than normal but even still the water has a buttery smooth feel to it that allows you to swiftly glide through it with ease. The storm caused the once bright reef full of color to turn into a big dark rainbow. amongst the dark colors of the stormy water you kinda stand out. Even with your black tail it's not very helpful that the rest of your body is illuminated in a white glow. The further down your tail you go the brighter the glow illuminating between your fins is, but at the base of the black tail you are met with a strangely skin-like color/texture. Your hair tightly following the rhythm of your movements. Even so you need to keep tucking it with your sharp almost claw like fingers behind your ears.

You move smooth and quick not wasting a moment to get to the cove along the edge of the islands coast

As you closer approach your destination you notice the storm cooling down

“This is a bad idea”

[paprikamahomes]

Yeah

[onemillionfish]

fish on log👍

[episteme-agape]

Pavlovian Response (WC/DC Fic)

AN - in honor of ao3 being down, I'm going to start cross posting some of my works in hopes that it appeases the itch I have while the server is off at war.

Dick was paralyzed. 

He shouldn’t have been. He knew how to handle the situation. You case the environment, picking out what can help and what can hinder. Next, he should analyze who is most likely to shoot and who is the ringleader. Dick was trained; he’d done this countless times in his Nightwing and Robin persona. And yet, here he was paralyzed with dread gripping his arms, his stomach, his chest, restraining him from making any movement.

It was supposed to be simple. The white collar crime unit was never supposed to see action, but here they were in the middle of a trade off. Of course it couldn’t be between two gangs either; the missed the information of the League of Assassins buying Nth metal from one of Luthor’s vaguely connected and extremely shady shell companies. 

The most ridiculous part in Dick’s opinion was that they were never even supposed to be close to Nth metal to begin with. It was a tip about foraged bonds that led them to this warehouse where Neal, Jones, Peter, and Diana were all tied up and about to be “disposed of.” 

Counting the small blessings, it was a miracle that Dick was able to keep his cover. If he had an opening, if he had the ability to actually move, he would have taken it. Anything, even blowing the Caffrey cover, would be worth keeping Nth metal from the bloody hands of the League of Assassins. Dick visibly trembled at the mere thought of what Ra’s Al-Ghul could be planning.

But here he was, stuck with no options to get any traction for any tactical maneuvers. If he hadn’t been with the rest of the white collar unit, Dick might have been able to defend himself when the men first started pouring out of the windows, but Caffrey wouldn’t have. Not truly understanding the gravity of the situation until well tied up, Dick hadn’t even considered blowing Caffrey for what they thought was an overzealous group of bond forgers. Boy, could they not have been more wrong.

“I don’t care if they are from the FBI. I don’t care if they were the president himself! Kill them off.” Lady Shiva’s shrill voice brought Dick’s attention back to the present. Both groups hadn’t wanted to do the actual deed of killing themselves. The League thought it below their status and Luthor’s men didn’t want the blood of agents on their hands.

Dick just hoped it would end soon. He had heard of Seligman’s dogs in the psychology study for helplessness. How once they reached a certain point of not being able to escape, they simply laid down and took the pain. When he had first heard the theory, he thought it impossible. Thought that there was always a way for someone to escape, to fight back, or at the very least something they could try. 

The dogs were right.

Between the group of 12 League assassins and Lady Shiva herself, Dick would have had a hard time fighting to begin with. Including the factors of no equipment and civilians, even Nightwing would have called for backup. Dick had already tried to get out of the knots, but they held strong at every attempt, growing tighter as he struggled. If there was one thing that the League was, it was proficient. And right now, Dick was choking, both physically and metaphorically, on their proficiency.

The angry voices picked up in volume again, arguing over his own death, but Dick couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the words themselves. Either way, this only ended up with him dead. He had no panic button and even if he did no one could have gotten there in time to break them out.

Diana bumped against his shoulder, sending him a look of concern. 

Of course, Dick had dropped the Caffrey mask. He was sure it looked unusual to the group, seeing him without the illusions and smokescreens he so often put up as Neal. His standard smile was gone, instead an analyzing and critical frown as he thought his way around the situation just one more time. 

His latest attempt at freedom proved futile. 

Peter glanced back and opened his mouth as though to communicate something, but Dick let his vision blur a little more, dropping Peter from his focus. The last thing he heard was Lady Shiva recommending they just call in a mercenary.

He shifted to try to take pressure off of his bad knee, igniting pain on his side. Dick was sure the blood loss was contributing to his lack of presence in the present. He had just barely gotten back out to patrolling the previous night, with a little help from Babs and Tim for the tracking data, and it had gone over as well as it does whenever a vigilante makes a reappearance on the scene after a break – pretty badly. 

He had more bruises and cuts than he had gotten in a long time from one patrol, but it had been worth it. Even while he hiked his way around town in the stuffy van with the team he had considered the slight pain worth the cost of flying again. As he sat on the ground debating his fate, Dick would have given up that one night to feel like he was at his prime and could have a fighting chance. Instead he slipped further down into the haze when footsteps drew closer and closer to the agents.

He felt a hand grab his chin, tilting his head up to look at the person, but his attention was attracted to a vaguely familiar colored blur in the back. He could hear angry voices, one of which sounded like Peter. He could see the face in front of him moving, making sounds that were lost on his buzzing ears. His eyes flickered to movement as a knife was raised up.

He felt a splash of warm fluid on his face and let his eyes fall closed.

Dick heard vague sounds. People were screaming as though they were both far away and right now to him. He felt a warmness spread along his hands where they were resting on the ground.

Between one breath and the next, the screams stopped. He knew he had to look up, but he couldn’t. Dick tried to suck in measured breaths, but they only got thready and quick. He didn’t know what was happening and he couldn’t figure it out.

A hand reached out and brushed against his face, smearing the drops. Dick couldn’t help but lean into the touch. The gloves were familiar and foreign at the same time. Touching him, but too far away to truly grasp. Something pistoned him up against a hard chestplate and sliced through his bonds, letting his arms fall limply to his side.

“You’re okay, little bird.”

The words reverberated through Dick’s chest and he couldn’t help but lean into the armor more.

A chuckle jostled him gently as the arms hiked him closer and tighter. Dick relaxed into the hold.

“Take your time. You’re safe now.”

Safe sounded good. He felt protected, enveloped in the armored grasp. Dick’s breathing slowly regulated itself out and his senses started filtering back in.

He smelled the sharp scent of blood, tasted the coppery liquid within his mouth. He could hear the silence and sense the tension all around, as though a livewire was about to be set off.

He could feel the steady heartbeat beneath his cheek, the slow and careful breaths that were exaggerated surely for his sake. Dick cracked his eyes open to see orange and black and buried himself in further.

Slade’s breath huffed against his face, “Are you back with me, little bird?”

Dick managed a nod, not wanting to fully leave the safe arms he was in. He managed to press in a little further, nestling into the mercenary.

“I think your unit wants to talk to you.” 

Oh shit. 

Dick wasn’t in Bludhaven, he wasn’t even in Gotham. Many things he could explain away to the white collar unit. He can handle guns? Sure, he just doesn’t like them. He knows too much information about a subject? Did a con regarding it once. Neal Caffrey knows self-defense? Took a class once to get close to a target.

Nothing was plausible as to why he was seeking shelter and protection from Deathstroke, a mercenary that had a red alert from multiple heads of multiple governments.

Dick allowed himself one more moment tucked safely against Slade before he pushed gently against the chest plate, bringing himself up onto his own legs. Slade’s hands hovered around his arms as he straightened to take his own weight, ready to catch him the second they faltered.

He took a few seconds to look around the room and see the desecration and death that Deathstroke had left behind before he turned to his old team.

Various looks of horror stared back at him. Diana even managed to look a tad bit queasy as well. In the end, it was Peter who broke the silence with a barely muttered, “W-What?”

Slade let out an amused huff and Dick could only imagine the smirk he was bearing with pride, which did nothing to lessen the glares shot his way. 

“Surprise?” Even with all the effort that Dick put into making it sound like Caffrey, the word came out weak and timid. Peter’s face scrunched up further and he could practically feel Slade laughing at his back.

Peter glanced around the room, eyes latching onto his service weapon and looked as though he was going to make a break for it. Dick tensed at the movement, causing Slade to tap his shoulder once in recognition before standing directly in Peter’s eyesight.

“Hello, Agent Burke,” His voice was low and gravelly, fully in the Deathstroke persona. “I wouldn’t make any movements. You’ve already disappointed me with your care of Neal, do not give me a reason to take it out against you.” 

While Dick couldn’t see the smirk, he could hear the amused tilt in Slade’s voice and moved to interfere before Peter could say or do anything Slade considered threatening. His leg stuttered underneath him, still tingling from his extended stay on the ground. An arm reached out to haul him back upwards and against a firm chest, disrupting the quickly approaching ground.

Diana hissed a breath inwards, daring to raise her voice at the mercenary, “Let him go, Deathstroke. Neal hasn’t done anything to you.”

Slade tilted his head, “Hasn’t he? I’m not sure you know what you’re talking about.”

Dick’s head thumped against Deathstroke’s armored chestplate as he refused to engage in the frustrating, headache inducing conversation. Moving one hand from its position on his shoulder, Slade ran a glove through Dick’s hair. 

A strangled sound came from where the agents were sitting, but Dick tuned them out and pushed upwards into the comforting hand. It was a well known action in his family, they considered it a pavlovian response: run your hands through Dick’s hair and get a much calmer and relaxed person. Dick would swear to everyone that it was a cure-all – headache? Injury? Emotional distress? It would fix it all.

He melted into the hand as he always did, once again feeling the amused chuckle more than hearing it.

“I believe that your C.I. needs some time off.” Slade reached downwards and efficiently sliced through the tracking anklet with barely a flash of metal. “I’m intending to give him one. I do not think you need me to explain what will occur if you attempt to follow?”

Peter gave a timid shake of his head in acknowledgment and Slade was off, picking up the exhausted and still slightly dissociating bird, carrying him outside the building. The car he already had waiting outside was ready to move and they were inside Slade’s New York safehouse even before surveillance showed FBI agents flooding the warehouse and finding Dick’s white collar unit.

Chapter Two

The next few hours were a blur of motion.

Dick could remember vague points: resting against a person, being half-carried into a car, then carried into an apartment, and finally resting on a coarse, unbroken-in couch.

He continued to let himself drift off into the haze where nothing could or had ever happened. If he tried hard enough, the safehouse blurred until its details were indistinguishable and he could imagine he was back at the Manor.

Hands, rough but gentle, grabbed his and curled them around a mug. The heat shocked some feeling back in, sharpened the world for a moment before it started to phase itself back out. Dick caught one eye staring at him, pinched in concern. Just as his eyes began to unfocus, the other hands came back, moving the mug up. He could hear words being said, but they were as though spoken in another language, completely lost on the rushing in his ears.

A hot, in all senses of the word, liquid scorched his lips, then tongue, then throat. Dick blinked a few times, fingers tightening around the handle while the other hands reached up to place the lip of the mug against his lips again.

A few sips later and Dick was crashing back down into his body.

Slade blinked, or winked, at him once, twice, and then pulled his hands off, carefully hovering if the mug were to drop itself.

They both looked at the other, measuring, for a moment. “Is this spiced hot chocolate?”

“Yes.” Slade was as dismissive as usual. “Are you back with me, kid?” If he thought about it for a moment, Slade’s tone was much too emotional for him to discern. He chose to let that thought drift away.

Dick nodded. 

“Good.” Slade stood and walked out of Dick’s line of sight. He thought for a second to track his movements, but a light twist of his head left Dick holding back a groan and closing his eyes. He could hear the clearly enunciated steps announcing Slade’s arrival back into the room regardless.

A ruthless hand gripped his chin while the other rested on his forehead and Dick almost leaned into the touch that he had been starved of while in the Caffrey alias, but one finger cruelly reached down and pulled his eyelid up, allowing his pupil to be assaulted with a penlight.

Dick sucked in a breath and the eyelid was let go with a pat on his head like he was a well behaving dog.

“A concussion. You really can never do something half-heartedly, can you, Little Bird?”

He gave a noncommittal noise in protest.

“You didn’t hit your head today, I checked.” There was a pause like Slade was measuring the merits of pushing his point. Dick inclined his head slightly, giving the older man nonverbal permission to push. Slade would have continued regardless, but at least the permission would give him the appearance of Dick being a willing patient. “I saw Nightwing make an appearance last night. It was the first time you went out in your night outfit for a while. Are there any other residual injuries I should know about, Little Bird?”

Although phrased as a question, it was spoken as a challenge. Now was the time for Dick to choose his crossroads: complying with Slade and his battery of assessments for physical wellness or dragging his feet until Slade forces him to sit for his battery of assessments for physical wellness.

“Probably,” Dick cleared his throat, “I got banged up a little bit while out last night.” Slade started moving around, placing the massive first aid kit on the table. “Nothing permanent, nothing too bad. Just a lot of scrapes and bruises.”

“Like the goose egg on your head and its concussion?” Dick took a second to spare a look of exasperation to the words Slade dripped in sarcasm.

“All in all, it wasn’t that bad.”

He got a grunt in response and both stayed in a comfortable silence as Slade went through all his necessary check ups.

By the time Slade was satisfied he wasn’t hiding anymore injuries, Dick was sure he was seconds away from passing out from exhaustion. The pain, which had been ebbing and flowing through a range of motion and strength tests, had reached an all high. He took the pills offered from a gun calloused hand and quickly downed them.

“I forgot you take those without water.” Slade’s amusement only led Dick to feel more pulled down to the depths of sleep. Evidently, he wasn’t too mad and that meant he could relax.

Dick flopped his head backwards, closing his eyes. He felt a hand gently pick up his head and adjust it so that it was leaning against Slade’s chest. He could feel the steady heartbeat and the measured breaths. The consistency allowed him to relax completely, letting go of the tension he was holding in his shoulders, his knees, and his too shallow breaths.

They stayed together for a moment, Dick appreciating the ability to finally be his clingy self again. Neal never would have been comfortable with long periods of touch, but, as it was something Dick considered a necessity, he was more than willing to melt into the older mercenary.

Right as the soft tendrils of sleep were pulling him down, Slade’s rumble broke him back into the surface of consciousness. “What happened?” There was a moment of silence. “You don’t choke like that, Dick. I only came because I was in the area. If some other mercenary had arrived–”

“I know.” Dick was well aware of how close he had gotten to death.

“You were completely dissociated. You weren’t quipping, you weren’t fighting. Our industry doesn’t allow mistakes like that.”

“I know, Slade. I was undercover, I just couldn’t think my way out. If I had left the agents, they would have died. I wasn’t at top performance and when they first showed up I couldn’t do anything to jeopardize the cover. We didn’t think it would be the League showing up. Our unit isn’t supposed to see action. It was just���It was just the perfect circumstances.”

Silence stretched for a few moments, Dick becoming tenser as every second passed. He could practically feel Slade thinking through his next words and his next actions. The silence was suffocating, giving Dick the time he never had before to fully spiral, leading all of his thoughts down a whirlpool of what could have happened and how he failed and how someone could have died because of his own–

“I can hear you thinking.” The words jostled Dick enough to bump Slade on the chest. He immediately started to pull away, his regulated breathing quickly falling to shallow huffs, but Slade reached out to gently tug him back against his chest. “Just breathe, Little Bird. Nothing happened this time. You need to be more careful, more observant, but you can deal with that after a bit of sleep. When was the last time you got a full night’s rest?”

“I don’t know,” Exhaustion was slowing his tongue down, the slow patterned breaths and ridiculously low heart rate beating from Slade into his own body, pulling the after effects of adrenaline well out of his system.

A huff of disappointment almost caused him to open his eyes, but a hand started threading through his hair again and he surrendered to the comfort. “Do you want to stay at my safehouse or go back to yours?”

Dick appreciated the choice. It was obvious Slade wasn’t going to leave him alone, but at least there was a return of some power, however meager it might be. 

“Mine.” It was fortunate Slade had sensitive hearing, otherwise the word would have been lost, but the grunt in acknowledgement and rustling around proved he had been loud enough. To go to his house was an obvious choice. The last Peter and the team had seen him, he was functionally unconscious and carried out by a mercenary. Peter was sure to be panicking, but at least would have the good enough sense to check his apartment before placing him on the wanted list. At least now he would be able to have the opportunity to communicate his safety with Peter. Everything else, including the surely blown cover, could be covered once his ribs didn’t ache, his bruises were a thing of the past, the fuzzy feelings of a dissociative episode were gone, and his concussion was on the mend. 

The soft noises Slade was producing as he gathered up the medical equipment and cleaned up the apartment lulled Dick further. He felt himself drifting off into the limbo space between sleep and awakeness. 

He was gently awoken when the sudden change in elevation became apparent. As he thrashed for a moment, Slade tightened his grip. “You’re safe, Little Bird. We’re going to your house. Go back to resting.”

If he was a little more aware, Dick was sure he would be a little embarrassed at pressing into a mercenary, but he wasn’t. The lack of human contact that had been catching up to him was blissfully at peace once again and he couldn’t complain. Dick let the tendrils of sleep that had been torn off slowly reclaim his senses, falling asleep in the surety of his safety.

Chapter Three

Peter needed to knock on the door. He had already traveled all the way to the apartment, he just needed to work up the energy to bring his hand up. One gentle tap, maybe two. Then he did his rightful duty as a supervisory agent and he could go back to avoiding this whole mess. 

Sure, Peter liked Neal. He thought he was, for the most part, a good guy. He might have had his own quirks and might have been a criminal but he was nice. He cared for the people around him and made everyone’s day better at the office. Peter couldn’t possibly leave him with a mercenary without putting the barebones of a search in, no matter what the higher ups said that they were able to authorize. Everyone was simply scared of Deathstroke to take any action. Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t petrified as well.

The chances of Neal even being in his apartment after the kidnapping were slim to none.Peter was just hoping that they knew each other and Deathstroke wouldn’t have killed his CI. If this was the way that Neal got discharged and released-- being carried off in the arms of a mercenary-- it could have been worse. 

After the length of discussions and interviews and reports, Peter had finally been released from the office. He could lie and say that Neal’s apartment was on his way home, but realistically it was just that he needed to put his mind at rest. While at the office, he couldn’t help but stare at the cleanly cut off ankle monitor. Deathstroke had the skills to do whatever he wanted to Neal. His Neal. It was his duty as his commanding agent to keep him safe and Peter failed. 

He finally raised his hand and knocked on the door. There were a few seconds of silence where Peter debated just turning and running, pretending that this never happened and breaking the terrible news to El sooner rather than later. She would be upset that he didn’t call her to tell her what happened, but at least then she would actually know.

The lock clicking startled a jolt out of Peter. He leaned forward in excitement, fear, hope, pain.

The door swung open to show a massive man. One piercing blue eye looked Peter up and down, his eyebrow arcing. “What do you want?”

His voice was rough and hardened, immediately sending a tremor down Peter’s spine.

The man’s lips curled upwards, his eye following the movement with hardly restrained glee.

“Um,” Peter had lost all degree of verbal proficiency. “Um, is Neal – is Neal home?” His smirk widened at the trembling in Peter’s voice.

“Tell me.” He leaned in closer to Peter, dropping the smirk for a dangerous glint, causing him to take a reflexive step backwards, “Why should I tell you? Hmm? Why should I not just k–”

“Slade!” 

The voice calling from deep inside the apartment was familiar in the best way. The man, Slade, abruptly straightened away from Peter.

“Are you sure you want to let him in?” His voice was strong and commanding, but at no louder volume than before. “I don’t think someone like-”

“Yes.” Neal sounded exasperated, but largely alright.

Slade stepped aside and opened the door. He didn’t stop looming, but gave Peter the space to walk inside Neal’s apartment. He did so cautiously, trying to keep at least one eye on the strange man, but quickly lost all self control when he saw Neal on the couch.

He hurried over, only stopping a few feet away when a warning tone came from behind him.

Neal shot a glance at the silver-haired menace as he walked past Peter to lounge confidently in a chair, keeping Peter and Neal both within eyesight and a quick grasping distance. Everything about his presence put Peter on edge, but the important thing was that Neal was alive.

“Neal, are you alright? We were all so worried after that mercenary took you away.” The spat out word resulted with another flick of a smirk. 

Peter was really starting to get unnerved by the guy.

“I’m alright, Peter. Thanks for checking up on me.” Neal was reassuring, but he let the silence hold, clearly not giving up much more information. Peter decided to push a little more.

“How did you know him? You seemed like you knew him. You relaxed with him around.” Neal looked more and more sheepish as Peter kept on talking. “He’s dangerous, Neal. Very dangerous. Please tell me that you know that. Or at least now that you know it, you’ll stay away. Deathstroke is a contract killer. It makes me, and the rest of the team, worried for your safety and life.”

While he watched Neal for the most part, as each statement came out he could see Slade lounging with a growing air of superiority, of power. Peter was practically choking on it.

“Peter…” Neal sounded more hesitant than Peter had ever heard him before, trailing off before his statement was finished with eyes pinched together.

“No.” The man interrupted again, this time amusement lacing through his tone, “The agent has a point, Neal. Fraternizing with a deadly mercenary is dangerous business. Didn’t your father warn you against playing with dangerous things?” 

Neal shot another glare to Slade. “Thank you for caring, Peter. But I am truly alright. Slade is keeping an eye on me and my injuries–”

Peter’s mind went blank. He couldn’t remember Neal getting stabbed or punched or shot but the whole afternoon was chaotic. He couldn’t believe he would miss something so important.

“How badly were you injured? I didn’t see you get hit? Neal, you need to go to the hospital. I don’t care who that man is, you need proper care.” Peter’s words were spilling out, frantic, only cut off when a growling like sound emerged from Slade.

“So now you care?” A playful but dangerous tilt was present. “You didn’t protect Neal while he was actively captured, but now you care? You are lucky I am allowing you to even be in the apartment right now. You should thank Neal for his kindness. If it were up to me, you would never see him again. You are supposed to be the leader, the man in charge, and you left your agents in danger. I am well qualified to look after Neal. Much more so than you.”

The impassioned and clinical words struck a nerve. They were a threat and a promise at the same time. Peter was sure that Neal was safe in Slade’s presence, but there was a distinct level of unsurety of whether Peter should leave Neal with him. The man clearly had some issues. 

Peter took a glance at Neal and, seeing his conflicted look, decided to stand up against the old man. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am a federal agent. Neal is under my protection. In fact, I believe that you should leave right now. The tension that you are creating with your posturing is no doubt bad for Neal’s recovery. Your word that you are qualified does not mean anything to me. Neal went through a terrible ordeal, including being kidnapped by a contract killer. He needs to have proper medical attention, not your word.”

Slade had only gotten more and more amused as Peter talked, which only angered Peter more. He was a well respected federal agent. This man needed to learn his place and let him get Neal the help that he needed. Unless he was able to pull out a license for medical practice, Peter was taking Neal to the hospital.

His eye never left Peter as he spoke to Neal, “He’s got a bit of fire, doesn’t he, little bird?”

“Yeah, when provoked.” The words were harsh and pointed, Peter just couldn’t figure out what the dynamic between the two men was. It was definitely unique to say the least. 

Slade let out a responding hum and stood up to his full height, towering over Peter. It took all he could not to curve inwards a little. By the uptick of Slade’s lips, he guessed the aborted movement was noticed. 

He stepped his way up into Peter’s personal space. “If you think you can take better care of the bird, go ahead.” The words were deep and quiet. Peter was sure he was the only one who could hear them, but Neal let out an exasperated groan that could only be in response.

Slade crossed the room in four powerful, long, strides. He drew Peter’s attention as he walked. “I must warn you,” his voice carried across the room as he messed with a covered mass on the table, “I am very protective of what I consider to be mine – in one fashion or another. That boy that you see in front of you, the boy that you let get injured tonight, is something I consider as mine. A part of my family. You see, you would have had better luck had you run into the boy’s father, or even his brothers, but,” The tarp was pulled away, Peter could barely make out another mass colored orange and black as it was lifted enunciating his words.

“I don’t give second chances.”

Slade turned around, eye intently focused on Peter. His first thought was to retort that threatening a federal agent was an arrestable crime. His second was that they would never find his body.

Slade was holding the Deathstroke armor chestplate up, clearly drinking in every look of terror as it passed across Peter’s face. The puzzle pieces clicked together. The reason why he felt confident enough that Neal’s injuries were taken care of, how he knew exactly what had gone on, why he was so critical of Peter. Why Neal seemed so much more relaxed than he had been in the years that Peter had seen him.

He gulped down a breath of air, jolting when Neal’s admonishing tone rose from behind him. “Slade, you know better than to threaten federal agents. Peter was just trying his best.”

Slade gave a growling hum in response. “Either way, little bird, I think it’s time for Peter to get home. You need your next dosage and a lot of rest.”

Peter could hear the dismissal clear as day. A part of him wanted to stay with Neal, make sure that he was alright and he would stay alive, even in his absence. The more logical part was telling him to run out the door. Should Deathstroke choose to kill Neal there was close to nothing Peter could do to stop him. It was better just to try to appease the crazy murderer and bring it up to Neal later.

Yeah, that was what Peter was going to do. Bring it up later. When none of them were in the same room as a contract mercenary who had killed tens of people that day alone.

He rushed through a goodbye to Neal, hardly registering the words falling out of his mouth. The rest passed by in a blur, only really seeing life as clear again when he was well on the road and on his way back home. 

Peter found himself, yet again, longing for the days before he ever met Neal Caffrey. Then again, usually that statement regarded a robbery gone wrong or a skill he should never have known. Not one of the FBI’s most wanted and an ordered do-not-interact-memo-on mercenary in Neal’s living room. He couldn’t wait to retire.

[warfpea]

I made this soooonggg