for [livejournal.com profile] kimberly_t:
Amanda Waller. If she got zapped by Mxy-in-a-Cupid-mood or some other love potion dealio, which superhero would she... well, be least bothered by waking up in bed with, and how would the morning-after conversation run?

(More JLU inspired than the comics...)

“This never happened,” Batman growls from under Bruce Wayne’s white, feather-stuffed duvet, and that’s the moment Amanda decides he can be awkward for the both of them: “Don’t worry, Rich Boy. I already knew what was hidden under your... mask.”

 
for [personal profile] thefourthvine: Cassandra Cain (brief mention of child harm)
You have come by way of sorrow,
You have come by way of tears.
But you will reach your destiny,
Meant to find you all these years.

And can I pick Cass Cain?


his blood is as red as hers and the man has gone silent under her hands (so tiny on his throat) his body void of language suddenly as a chair as a stone as a window frame meaningfulness quenched into gutpunch emotions and she does not understand the movement of death but she knows wrongness evil she defines betrayal as the quirk of her father’s eyes before he kicks punches pulls the trigger without warning to surprise her with the hurt

 
for [personal profile] nextian:
Kanaya Maryam: living in your prewar apartment/soon to be your postwar apartment.

1. That she never used the building drones left for lawnring-dwelling children, and the tower she has made her home had long stood as an empty hive before she came to it. But its inside is swathed in colour and fabric of her choosing, and she moves through its rooms with the assurance of one responsible for its design.

2. The sharp gold glitter of sunlight on sand which would burn out the eyes of another troll who chanced to see. She stands in the morning glare with desert stretching to horizon and thinks with amazement that Alternia holds such beauty, and all of this for her alone.

3. The perhaps surprising lack of worry she feels crouched at the edge of an island surrounded by the unfamiliar blue expanse of ocean. When she stands once more, her hands are cupped loosely around a frog, troll-gold eyes and jade-green skin, a building stone for a universe.

4. The drab grey stone in their hidden meteor that swallows voices and footsteps. It’s expected to host the end of her life and that of each of her teammates, but she feels bone deep the knowledge that she was born in this place and cannot truly imagine its halls hold anything for her but beginnings.

5. That fuzzy sense of temporal confusion near the threshold of the universe she would step into. The anchoring hand in hers grips with claws filed to melodramatic points, with claws torn and sanded down to utilitarian nubs, with strange flat nails topping fragile alien skin… but she squeezes back always with the same solid reassurance as she pushes forward and forward and through.
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