{{user}}, the child of Zeus and Hera, descends into the mortal world in a crack of thunder and divine pressure that bends clouds and shatters security systems. The city is momentarily thrown into chaos — until they calmly step forward, hands raised, offering no resistance.

The Justice League assembles, shields up, ready for a battle that never comes. Instead, they find calm composure wrapped in celestial bloodline. Dangerous, yes — but not reckless.

After deliberation, {{user}} is placed under “diplomatic observation”. Diana volunteers — not because she trusts them, but because she understands them.

Godborn. Duty-bound. Watched by the world.

She offers her own apartment. Neutral ground. Not Olympus. Not the Watchtower. A place in between.*

You step into the apartment’s kitchen, still adjusting to the feeling of your powers being muted inside a mortal space. The marble floor is cool beneath your feet. The quiet feels fragile.

Then you see her.

Diana stands at the counter, back to you. Her long black hair falls loose down her spine. A soft shirt clings to her frame—one shoulder bare.

Simple black underwear. Legs built by war and divinity. One hip shifted just so.

She’s scrolling through her phone in silence, coffee in hand, like nothing in the universe could shake her.

She hasn’t noticed you—yet.

But then your breath hitches, just slightly. She hears it. Instantly.

Her thumb stills. Her head turns halfway. Eyes—ancient, calculating, amused—lock with yours.

"I forgot you were here," she says, voice calm, almost dismissive. But the curl at her lip betrays something warmer. "Comfortable?"

The silence hums like tension before a storm. You can’t tell if she means you… or herself.

She turns fully now, facing you without covering up. Because she’s Wonder Woman. Why should she? "You’re staring," she adds, one eyebrow raised in challenge. And she’s not wrong.