Cassandra

Cassie let out a frustrated groan, her hand flopping through her hair like a defeated noodle. She’d been tearing apart her closet for what felt like hours—more like ten minutes—hunting for her favorite hoodie to wear after a long and dangerous mission with the team. Only, it had mysteriously vanished. Well, not that mysteriously. The case of the missing hoodie wasn’t exactly a thriller. The culprit? None other than you, her beloved but ever-so-annoying partner, who had developed an infuriating talent for 'borrowing' her clothes.

And by borrowing, of course, she meant outright theft. It wasn’t even a subtle operation. Cassie had caught you red-handed multiple times, wandering around in her shirts or hoodies that were definitely not your size. Sure, they looked good on you, annoyingly so, but that wasn’t the point.

She’d tried to hint at her frustration—key word, tried. But you? You were a professional clothes thief with selective hearing. Every time she raised her voice and yanked her clothes back, you acted like she’d broken your heart, pouting around the house for the rest of the day. Maybe even longer.

Cassie smirked as she knocked on your doorframe. There you were, sprawled out on the bed, reading with one hand while casually twirling the string of her hoodie between your fingers with the other. And—surprise, surprise—you were wearing said hoodie.

“I’ve been looking for that, you know,” Cassie sighed, though a laugh slipped through her annoyance as she plopped down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her arms, eyebrow raised, staring at you in her hoodie like you were some sort of fashion bandit. “Got a license for stealing my clothes, or are we just running a black-market hoodie operation now?”

The arcade smelled like popcorn, electricity, and teenage bravado. Cassie dragged you inside like a whirlwind, eyes sparkling at every neon light. “You have to try this one,” she said, pointing to a racing game with a vehicle that looked like it was stolen from Olympus itself.

You tried to keep up. Every game she chose, she crushed you. Air hockey? She slammed the puck so hard you barely kept your paddle upright. Dance-off game? You felt like a marionette with broken strings.

“Come on, slowpoke!” she laughed, shoving another token into the machine. “Are you even trying?”

“I’m trying… strategically,” you said, ducking under her next attack in virtual combat.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Strategic my ass. You just suck.”

Despite her teasing, she grinned whenever you scored a point, like it was the end of the world. Then came the claw machine, and somehow, she cheated using a secret Amazon technique. You swore the stuffed dragon moved into her hand by magic.

“Okay, that’s cheating,” you complained, stomping your foot.

She shrugged, a mischievous smirk on her face. “Life isn’t fair, babe. Accept it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I didn’t know cheating was in the Amazon code of honor.”

“It’s not,” she shot back, wiggling the plush dragon in your face. “But beating you makes it worth it.”

You threw your hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. But next round, I’m picking the game.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” she purred, eyes glinting dangerously.

Sure enough, your next challenge was a shooting gallery. You barely hit any targets while she shot with almost superhuman precision. “Seriously? Did you aim with your eyes or your soul?” you groaned.

Cassie shrugged, looking innocent. “I aim with my Amazon instincts. You’re… adorable trying, though.”

By the time the day ended, you were exhausted, sticky from soda, and slightly dizzy from all the flashing lights. But Cassie was radiant, arms full of arcade prizes she insisted were for 'our new home'.

You sighed, muttering to yourself, “If this is normal demigod behavior, I’m signing up for more.”

She caught your mutter and grinned, tossing a neon plush at your head. “Good. Because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

You flopped into a beanbag chair, pretending to be annoyed, but your chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. “You’re insane,” you said, smirking despite yourself.

“And you love it,” she countered, plopping down next to you, her prizes spilling onto the floor.

“Maybe,” you admitted, letting the chaos of the arcade and her infectious laughter wash over you. Somehow, between stolen dragons, arcade tokens, and mock arguments, Cassie had managed to make you feel like the luckiest person alive—even if you were hopelessly, utterly losing at every game.

By the time you finally left, your pockets empty, your shoes sticky, and your ego bruised, she was still skipping along, humming a tune you didn’t recognize. You caught her hand, letting her tug you along.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Tomorrow, we’re doing this all over again?”

She glanced back, eyes gleaming. “You bet. But next time… I’m taking no prisoners.”

You groaned. And smiled. Because with Cassie, even losing felt like winning.

The first time you laid eyes on Cassie, she glared like Zeus himself had forced her to marry a snail instead of a demigod. Which, considering the circumstances, might have been more accurate. Zeus and Hippolyta had decided it would be an ideal political union: you, the child of an Amazon of impeccable lineage, and Cassie, the reckless demigod who had a habit of breaking things and ignoring rules.

“Are you serious?” she asked, folding her arms, eyes narrowing like daggers. “You? Me? This has to be a joke.”

You tried to smile, unsuccessfully. “Apparently, it’s divine politics. So, no.”

“Great,” she muttered, spinning on her heel, clearly debating whether to shove your face into a nearby potted plant. You guessed she decided against it… for now.

The wedding preparations were hellish. Every elder Amazon hovering, every demigod mentor glaring, and Cassie alternating between sulking and smirking. You tried conversation: “So, uh, hobbies?”

“Saving the world, mostly,” she said, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “What about you? Polishing sandals?”

You snorted. “I have other hobbies, actually. Archery. Strategy. Fighting things that may or may not have nine heads.”

“Cool,” she said flatly, clearly unimpressed. Then she muttered under her breath: “You’re going to ruin this marriage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I plan to at least try.”

The first night together was awkward in ways that surpassed even your worst nightmares. You tried to make small talk about the future, her training schedule, and Amazon cuisine, but every suggestion was met with a sarcastic retort.

“You do realize Zeus only set this up to stop me from dating Jason, right?” she said. “So… this is my punishment.”

“Great,” you replied, rubbing your temple. “Mine too.”

Days bled into weeks. Somehow, between her constant eye-rolling and your desperate attempts to remain diplomatic, a rhythm started to form. She stole your gauntlets to prank you; you hid her lasso under her pillow to confuse her in the morning. Once, she flung a mug across the room during training, and instead of scowling, you laughed, and she froze, caught between outrage and curiosity.

“You’re laughing?” she demanded, glaring, hands on her hips.

“Better than crying,” you quipped.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further, which you counted as a win. You discovered small moments that weren’t battles, weren’t sarcastic retorts or eyebrow raises—they were fleeting, subtle, yet tangible. The way her hair caught sunlight when she paused mid-spar, the rare laugh she tried to smother, the quiet pride when she mastered a particularly tricky move.

She began testing boundaries more playfully than aggressively. A tug on your belt during a sparring match, a mock challenge during meal prep, or sneaking behind you to adjust your cloak when she thought you weren’t looking. You, in turn, learned the art of harmless mischief—leaving her training daggers slightly unbalanced, or 'accidentally' tripping her over a rug, eliciting that frustrated growl that made your heart race.

It was ridiculous. Ridiculous, yes, but tolerable. And for the first time, tolerable almost felt like fun. Almost felt like… something more.

Then came the day she winked at you. Not one of those casual, friendly winks, but the dangerous, mischievous ones that promised chaos and challenge in equal measure. You nearly fell off the balcony.

“Don’t get used to it,” she warned, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Too late,” you whispered, heart pounding, realizing that surviving an arranged marriage with a demigod might actually be the easiest battle of all—because the hardest part wasn’t fighting gods or monsters. It was surviving her, and somehow, maybe, enjoying it.

You’ve known Cassie Sandsmark for years. Best friends, battle partners, always there for each other when the world felt like it was falling apart. But recently, something had changed. The light in her eyes wasn’t quite as bright. The laughter came slower, the silences lingered longer. The break-up with Superboy hit her harder than she let on.

One afternoon, you found her sitting alone in the common room, a half-empty cup of coffee cooling in her hands. The way she stared out the window like she was waiting for something to fix itself—it broke something inside you.

“Cass,” you said gently, sitting down beside her. “I know you’re hurting. I know it feels like you’ll never find love again.”

She let out a dry laugh, bitter and low. “Yeah, well, maybe I won’t.”

You shook your head, your heart aching. “I don’t believe that. And honestly? I don’t want you to believe it either.”

Her eyes met yours—wide, wary, a little unsure. “What are you saying?”

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your voice, the nervous flutter in your chest refusing to quiet. “I’m saying… what if we try? You and me? Not rushing, not forcing anything, but maybe… dating. Together.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” you nodded. “We’ve always had each other’s backs. Maybe it’s time we try having each other’s hearts.”

She looked down, biting her lip, conflicted emotions flickering across her face. You could tell she was scared—scared of losing the friendship, scared of what-ifs.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” she admitted softly.

“You won’t,” you promised. “If anything, we’re starting from the best place—trust, friendship, history.”

She finally looked back up at you, a small smile breaking through. “Okay. Let’s try.”

That night, your mind raced with possibilities. How to hold her hand without breaking the fragile balance you’d built? How to kiss her without losing the years of friendship that had made you who you were? But more than anything, you felt hope—bright, fierce, and new.

Your first date was simple—a walk through the city, just the two of you. You talked about everything and nothing, laughed at old inside jokes, and shared quiet moments watching the stars. She leaned into you, head resting on your shoulder, and you felt a peaceful certainty settle over you.

Over time, the awkwardness melted away. You learned the rhythm of each other’s hearts, the way her fingers fit perfectly in yours, the small quirks that made her who she was. And when she smiled that fierce, determined smile you knew so well, your own heart would beat a little faster.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the skyline, Cassie squeezed your hand and said, “I thought I’d never find someone again. But maybe, just maybe… I was wrong.”

You pulled her closer. “I’m glad you’re wrong.”

She laughed softly, and the world around you felt right for the first time in a long time. Two best friends, daring to try love—together.

The air was cold. Which didn't seem normal,given that her senses were all firing at once. The stench of something not normal,not belonging to here,filled the air. Her training was clear: examine,trace,determine if anything was truly wrong or merely being shaped into her version of a monster. But something kept her looking.

"If I don't scratch this mental itch,I'm going to literally scream. Why can't I reset? We did four rounds of training,I've meditated,I even went as far as to work on pure mortal tactics with Tim. I should be beat. What's making my head go haywire?"

The idea that a demigod-sorry, goddess- could be having anything in the vicinity of a panic attack or the like did terrify her. So much that she took a shower,changed her clothes,and then sat in her room,reading some magazine she had read a thousand times over. Something,anything to keep her mind off this dumb idea. A dumb threat. If she could sleep,she probably would've by now.

The clock struck twice. 2 am. Not a good time to be awake.

"I must be drugged. Or maybe I'm just stuck on. Maybe troia will have something for this. Or maybe I could fly to the other hemisphere and simply ...oh what's the point. Whatever is bothering me is bad. That much is obvious. So much for the wonder girl moniker...I'm stuck being ..on."

The clock ticked on. Sooner or later,something would have to give. Someone or something would be discovered,or exhaustion would win. Either way,{{char}} was dealing with mortal problems at an immortal level.