CURRENTLY BEING EDITED

( About Cassie )

Oh, Cassie. Let’s talk about costumes.

You conjure a pair of jeans, don an armored blouse or collegiate sweater, and occasionally drop the bracers. There’s a colloquial charm in your street-ready threads but are they appropriate dress for superheroics?

Consider your predecessor’s clothes: when she was in the Teen Titans, Donna Troy’s costume was a wonder of economic, elegant design, truly a heroine’s costume. Her current starry suit ain’t half bad, either.

We’ll spare you an all-red get-up; you tried that and, I must agree, it didn’t always work. Also, we must control the blue, lest we mistake you for Supergirl, and temper the star motif, lest you remind us of Stargirl. How about a new ‘do, too?

Just try it on your next couple of adventures, Cassie. Should it fail to wow friends and foes alike, we’ll try something else.

Fondly,
Jonathan McNulty


----------------------


Dear Jonathan;

Oh boy. 10-4; I totally love it when civilians try to give heroes fashion advice.

You worked your way around this one, but I'll bring it up: a lot of people blame Superboy for kick-starting this "street ready" costume thing and ask if it's really appropriate for superheroes to wear. It's really funny, because I was in jeans and t-shirts long before Superboy was; other than those spandex shorts on my first costume, my first (and to date, only) actual spandex outfit was the all-red get-up you don't think worked. I've been doing it for six years, and people have been complaining about it ever since. Until I started wearing the black zip-up and the red pants towards the end of Young Justice, I made just about every worst-dressed list ever.

I'd ask why I got bitched at all the time about this, but I think we all know why Superboy "started a trend" and I'm "charming but inappropriate." What's so wrong with wanting to wear something comfortable, not so revealing, and more durable? Jeans look good scuffed up and torn –– they even sell them that way sometimes. Spandex looks grubby and tacky when torn up, not to mention what's happened to most female heroines at least once... to be blunt, inconveniently-placed tears suck. As the icing on the cake... touch velcro once in spandex and the entire thing's ruined.

I don't know about you, but I get really annoyed when I have to get a new costume made for me every time I go out and fight. Sponsors don't like it either –– and conveniently, they DO like that Wonder Girl knock-off jeans sell like hot cakes.

And I know what you're saying –– that doesn't really invalidate your criticism. It's still jeans and a shirt. But calling Donna's costume a wonder (ha ha, by the way, as if we haven't heard that a zillion times) and truly a heroine's costume... not to be crude, but are you sure you aren't distracted by the neckline? I love Donna, but I'll strangle myself with my own lasso before I wind up with a neckline that dips to my navel. Or that necklace –– you're practically asking to get whacked in the teeth or choked with it. And what is a "heroine's costume" anyway?

But really, I'm here to save your behind when some ugly thing is about to step on you. When the frame of your car is collapsing and there's a foot three inches from your head and bearing straight down, do you really want to bitch about my choice in pants?

Also, it's Wonder Girl to you.

Shove it,
Wonder Girl

The lights go out and they cuddle.

Cassie wiggles into a comfortable position, and a strong arm encircles her waist and pulls her even closer. She can feel Kon’s breath on the top of her head and she lets out a mumbled noise of content, snuggled against his chest. One of his hands settles on her stomach and slides up to her ribs, and she puts her hand over his.

She closes her eyes.

Right now, this is all she wants.

Cassie doesn’t have many friends at high school. They tried, at one point, to be her friends, but that kind of thing doesn’t work out. Cassie doubts them, one by one, for the things they say, and do, and think. Girls don’t want to be friends with Cassie Sandsmark, they want to be friends with Wonder Girl. Boys don’t want to date Cassie Sandsmark, they want to date Wonder Girl. When it turns out Wonder Girl isn’t what they’re going to get, they turn.

If she didn’t have genuine friends like Greta, or Cissie, or the Teen Titans, she would have minded a lot more.

Cassie thinks about this in gym class, waiting to be picked for volleyball.

You would think that an athletic girl with super strength, super speed, flight and warrior training would be first pick for teams in a high school gym class, on the schoolyard equivalent of the battlefield, but she isn’t.

She’s dead last, or close to it. She watches the girls on her team sigh and roll their eyes. Cassie knows every last one of them is lamenting the fact that they’ll have to put up with Cassie Sandsmark on their team. Cassie Sandsmark, who puts no effort into the game, but puts no effort into hiding what she can do. Endless potential, zero application.

“I guess I’m stuck with Wonder Girl,” one team leader sighs, rudely, and the teacher doesn’t reprimand her.

Teachers don’t like her much, either, and it happens too often to keep up with. Cassie does her own policing, anyway.

“It’s Cassie, Hillary.”

“Whatever,” Hillary snorts, “you’ll still just stand there staring into the distance.”

Cassie ignores her. She walks over to her new team, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Hillary’s eyes follow her every step, and Cassie still ignores her. It’s not worth it to take bait when she knows it’ll just lead to trouble. Hillary waits, and waits, and waits, and then, to Cassie’s great frustration, the teacher excuses herself to step out and talk to another teacher.

Hillary turns on her. Every head turns to watch the two of them.

“So what is it, Wonder Girl?” Hillary sneers, “I saw you on the news last night. Running around in that slutty little spandex get-up, tossing around cars and wrangling loose elephants and stuff. If you can do all that shit, why can’t you score one lousy point in gym class?”

Cassie glances at Hillary, but doesn’t say a thing. Not yet.

“What, not even going to answer me? Too good for that or something?”

Cassie’s eyes narrow, and she sinks as far as replying. “If I actually tried, I’d kick all of your asses, one-on-thirty, and no one would be happy that way, either. So why bother?”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. But would it kill you to do something useful? If you actually played sports, Elias School would win every championship in the country. We’d be on top. You know how long it’s been since Elias won anything but fucking archery?”

“But it wouldn’t be fair,” Cassie says, trying to keep her voice level. “And you better damn appreciate what Cissie does for this school.”

“Who cares?” Hillary shoots back, ignoring the point about Cissie.

“I care,” Cassie says, “and other schools do. And maybe I don’t have time for your stupid volleyball or field hockey games. If you hadn’t noticed, last night I helped save a city from rampaging animals and a virus outbreak. If you think winning some high school competition is more important than that, you need to sort out your priorities.”

Hillary’s riled. She steps forward, and seems to circle Cassie, but she doesn’t get close. Cassie turns, just slightly, to keep her eyes on the other girl, and she sees some girls in the crowd getting restless.

“I just don’t like losing,” Hillary sneers.

Cassie gets sharp.

“Then maybe you should practice more.”

Hillary might have slapped any other girl, but not Cassie. Definitely not Cassie. Under that hostility, the teasing, the criticism, the name calling, Cassie knows that Hillary is afraid of her and wouldn’t dare.

“Whatever,” Hillary says, “Wonder Bitch.”

Cassie takes one step forward, and Hillary holds her ground. On the second, however, she steps back, albeit with her chin held high.

“What are you going to do?” Hillary sneers. “Beat me into a pulp? Punch me through a wall?”

“No,” Cassie says, bluntly, “But I’m sick of this. So you know what, Hillary?”

Hillary hesitates, and Cassie could commend her bravery as she replies, confidently, “What?”

“I could do this––” Cassie says, and she grabs Hillary by the front of the shirt. Her fingers wind into the white cotton of the girl’s gym shirt, and Cassie hoists her up.

A couple things happen at once. First, the other girls flinch, prematurely, and step back like it’s them being seized. Hillary gasps and grabs onto Cassie’s wrist so she doesn’t choke, having not expected Cassie to actually do something. The teacher comes back.

“CASSIE SANDSMARK, LET GO OF THAT GIRL,” the teacher roars, and Cassie lets go, none-too-gently. Hillary lands in a heap on the floor. Everyone turns to face the teacher, who continues, angrily, “Just WHAT do you think you’re doing?”

Cassie lifts her chin.

“I was going to stick her on the ceiling. I’m sick of being treated like this, and since the faculty does nothing, I thought it was high time I did something myself.”

“Office, now,” the teacher orders.

“Gladly,” Cassie replies, and stalks off.

She just stares down at him, smiling, and glossy sheets of blonde hair fall from behind her shoulders and frame her face. Kon’s fingers trace the shape of her cheek, and re-tuck a few blonde locks behind her ear, and then cups her face in one big palm.

Cassie reaches up to place her hand over his at the same time as Kon sits up more. She shifts on his lap, captures his mouth with his, and his other hand slides up her side. He tries to maneuver her over so he can roll her onto her back at the same time as she goes to take off his shirt. They break apart to arrange themselves and figure out what they’re doing, and as they get things together, Kon sees that tears are slipping down Cassie’s cheeks.

“Cass,” he starts, concerned, brushing one away.

“No, no,” she says, quickly. She smiles. “Happy tears. These are happy tears.”

Things are perfect.

Cassie makes sure the camp is battened down for the night, and then climbs the outside of the tower. Without her powers, it’s a bit of a job, but using the uneven rocks and the window ledges and frames, she can get as far as the second story and take a seat there. It gives her a good view of the land ahead of her; the castle is a tiny speck in the background.

She looks down, eying the sleeping bags and making sure they’re mostly filled. The ones that don’t have bodies elsewhere, on patrol. It’s safe.

Five people have been slaughtered since she was put in charge of the evacuation, and four of them are people who refused to go with her. While Reno beats himself up for letting them stay, Cassie wonders if she should have put more effort into forcing them to go.

Her first real job in Paradisa, her first real leadership position since the invasion with Young Justice and all the young superheroes all those years ago, and four stubborn idiots who refused to go with them were now dead, when she could have just picked them up and forced them out.

Up where no one can see her, Cassie reaches a hand to her face and wipes away a few tears, wondering if she should be the one doing this. Booster Gold and Wally West are dead. The flashbacks to Young Justice and what broke it up are coming hard, and fast.

Things are bad.

Fighting.

That’s what Cassie’s damn good at, and one tends to like the things they do well.

She may not be an Amazon by bloodline, heritage, or upbringing, but she has become one by intense training and experience. Few women have the luxury of being welcomed into the Amazons' fold, and fewer succeed there as she has. As a skinny little blonde in a sea of tall, shapely raven- and chestnut-haired beauties, “privilege” doesn’t even begin to cover it –– and despite the differences, Cassie stands amongst them as an equal, perfectly capable of living up to them, even surpassing them.

... Most of the time, anyway.

Cassie comes to a rolling stop, bouncing off the ground and sliding a rough twenty feet before stopping on her stomach.

“Son of a,” she breathes, as she hefts herself up. There’s no time to stop and access damage; if she’s broken a bone, she’ll know in the next few seconds. She gets her shoulders up, gets a foot on the ground, and then she’s up again in a flash, dirtied but not down.

She looks up at her opponent and scoffs. “Did you really think one punch would work?”

Judging by the flabbergasted look on the beast’s face, yes, he did. He really did.

“No, but two might,” Cassie shoots back.

And so it does.

This is how it’s supposed to be.

Cassie wakes up every morning to messy hair and bright blue eyes. It’s chilly in the mornings, in the castle, so she snuggles deeper in the blankets, nestling up closer to her very naked boyfriend. He’s always warm, and his arms are always open for her.

Whoever gathers up the willpower to get out of bed first jumps in the shower. If the other manages to gather up their own in time, they join the first before the end. Under a steady stream of hot water, they kiss, and Cassie wipes a dribble of soap from Kon’s forehead so it doesn’t get in his eyes.

When they hop out, they brush their teeth, Cassie wearing his bathrobe (which he’s worn maybe once since he got it) and Kon in his boxers, playfully arguing for counter space. They could ask the castle for a second sink, but that would take the fun out of it.

Kon doesn’t even comb his hair, while Cassie fusses to make hers behave. That’s why she kept it short, she reminds him, because it wasn’t so much work. He says she’s gorgeous whether she’s rocking it to her knees or shaved bald. Cassie rolls her eyes with a smile, and continues to wear it long.

They get dressed, superhero costumes first, civilian clothes second. As Cassie’s metallic reds disappear under jeans and a hoodie, Kon buttons a dress shirt over the red ‘S’. To no one’s surprise, he gives up on the dress shirt before they even leave the room, shucking it to the floor for the ghosts to deal with. Cassie teases him about the glasses. Kon quips that if Clark doesn’t have to wear them, he doesn’t have to, either.

Cassie laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

Downstairs is where they have breakfast, usually cooking it themselves before settling in the dining room. Sometimes they are joined by friends or family; some mornings there’s Donna, or Claire, or Clark, for any number of the Titans or Justice League members. Some mornings, it’s just the two of them, and on those mornings, they’re a bit mushier. Sharing pancakes, making a mess with the whipped cream, brazenly flirting.

And then it’s off to whatever they’re doing for the day: maybe Cassie heads to the library to get some history book to read, or Kon heads to the pool for a swim, or they do both together. They go about their days, coming and going as they please. Sometimes they meet for lunch and dinner and sometimes they don’t meet up again until later.

Regardless of that, the days always end the same: a “hey, I’m here” as they walk in the door to their room, the usual chitchat and alonetime. On weekend nights they catch a movie, on certain weekdays they go to kick back on the beach or take a ski trip. They while away the hours, just talking, until it’s time to hit the hay.

Kon flops down on bed and Cassie crawls overtop of him, or sometimes, he scoops her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. Sometimes it’s her pushing him down, or him pushing her, and other times, it’s just one taking the other’s hand and leading the way. They laugh, they gasp, they moan. It feels good.

And then, every night, they drift off into slumber together, nestled together in a sweaty mess, happy and loved and glad they have each other.



But, as always, Cassie wakes up alone. The room is still empty, save for the bare furniture, and her clothes folded neatly on the desk. It’s Kon’s room... or it was. At some point, she would have liked for it to be hers, too.

It’s how it’s supposed to be, but that’s not how it is.

She sighs, hugging the pillow tighter.

It’s a nice dream, but that’s all it is.

A week before now.

"I want to be trained. I don't care how much I have to bug you for it. I need it."

She'd been clutching the journal like she wanted to rip it in half when she had said it. Her heart was in her throat. She was angry, upset. Cassie had spent the entire day in Kon's bed, and upon realizing what they'd done, she'd decided that she couldn't, just couldn't, let Prime sit unthreatened for a second longer.

She wanted Prime dead, dead by HER hands, and the power she needed to do it was at her disposal. Ares was here. He was the only one who could offer this.

And then his reply had come out of the journal, exasperated, and then he agreed. He agreed.

On the condition that she impressed him.




Two days before now.

Murder.

The entire castle was put on edge. Cassie had been sleeping when the first few murders had gone down, but by time she was awake and alert to what was going on, the castle was already battening down into a state of apprehension and vigilance.

The Peace Patrol was absent, but the real peace patrol, the assorted group of people from assorted worlds and assorted backgrounds, was doing a better job in its stead. The Justice League was getting into position. Despite a conflict with Batman, Superman and the rest of the League were ready to get a handle on the situation.

Cassie had glanced between her motley crew: Kon, Robin, Jaime.

She wished she could do more, but she couldn't. Not until she got a new team assembled. If Robin wasn't interested in leading, she'd do it herself. She was fully capable of it and she knew it.

But for now, there was a murderer on the loose.



One day before now.

She hadn't yet figured out how to show off to the god of war that didn't involve slaughter or destruction, but she still needed SOMETHING bold and brash, leading to this genius idea:

"Just fight me. I swear I'll show you that you didn't pick me for nothing."

Genius, Cassie. Genius.

He'd said she could have the edge. It was her choice when and where they fought, and she'd spring it on him whenever she was ready. "Don't keep me waiting too long," he had said.

She had plans. Big plans. Especially now that Diana was no longer in the castle: she still had to be careful, but Diana finding out and schooling her ass for making deals with Ares was no longer the top threat. Now she was just hiding from Tim and Kon, and, to an extent, Wally and Claire. Travis Touchdown? She was sure he didn't care that much.

What did anyone else know about her problems, or about Greek gods and her connection to them?

Cassie felt she had this thing down.

She'd just wait until the murder to wrap up, and then she'd make her move.





Now.

Unfortunately, Ares doesn't wait.

Cassie should have seen it coming, but she was incorrect in assuming Ares wasn't interested enough to take the offense on her. Very incorrect.

She learns this the second Ares appears, standing over her, and she's forced to raise her wrists and hold off a brutal assault by his sword. He doesn't even let her get up off the couch.

At least the temporary shock on his face is enough to make being taken off guard feel a little less embarrassing. He didn't realize she'd be more than a mouthy teenager. He doesn't know she's an Amazon, or that she's got more up her sleeves than talk. All he has to work with are assumptions.

But still: the difference between the Ares she knows from the present and the Ares she's fighting now, thousands of years in the past, is not such a huge difference that she has no trouble taking the advantage. He's not as powerful as he is in her time, but he's still powerful.

He's the God of War.

Cassie indulges in a bit of banter before things get serious. At one point she has him pinned on the floor, punching away, but at another point, she's hurled into a wall. Another point has her rushing him through the wall, but yet another has her being held up by her throat, struggling to get free.

At the very least, she can prove she is as much bite as she was bark, and that she isn't going to give up. Even when she's getting hit, even when she's on the ground, Wonder Girl does not give up.

She strikes him with Zeus' lightning, as he's wrapped up in his own gift to her.

Victory hers, for now.


After some talk and being challenged to defeating Callisto to prove her worth as a champion, but still hopeful that he'd see enough benefit in their fight to keep his word, Cassie returns to her room and bandages herself up, and curls up in bed to wait for her body to recover. Thank Ares, she reminds herself, for providing regeneration and extraordinary resilience along with the strength and speed she'd been blessed with.

Ares takes just as much as he gives, and she is supposed to know that.

Oh no, LOVE STYLES TEST. AHSDKJASD AHHAHAHHA.

( This is pretty embarrassing.  )

Take The Love Styles Test at HelloQuizzy

[Word Prompt: Justify.]


Here’s the scene:

In the most beautiful setting in the universe, the Infinite Fortress of Paradisa, in a garden that blooms with the most spectacular flora that anyone will ever have the pleasure of seeing in their lives, Cassandra Sandsmark (or Wonder Girl) meets the person she hates most in the world and tells him that she’s going to kill him if he so much as looks at Kon funny.

When she says it, Prime just grins. It’s that brash attitude, the way his eyebrows dip in a malice that doesn’t match up with his mouth, and the way he says it that bothers Cassie to the point of wanting to just shove him to the ground, fix her hands around his neck, and throttle him herself.

“Right,” he says. “I’m so afraid, Wonder Girl.”

She pauses, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw might break, and her knuckles turn white from the grip she has on her lariat. Prime just stands there, with that insufferably cocky attitude, and Cassie dreams of knocking his teeth out with her bare hands. Crushing his face so he bleeds. Breaking his wrists. Reaming him with something sharp and forged by gods. She doesn’t think she’s a violent person but god, this is righteous.

That white-hot rage is the most intense thing she’s ever felt. Paradisa doesn’t match this atmosphere; pink petals catch on the air, a fawn gambols through a patch of white-blossomed clovers, and birds sing on the air. It interrupts the mood but it doesn’t dampen it.

“Better be,” she manages, furiously.

She turns on her heel and takes off, so high she disappears into the clouds, leaving the beautiful garden behind.

[Write about what you'd cook for an enemy.]

    Cassie smears butter across the bottom of the hot pan, and watches it bubble and froth immediately. For a few moments she watches it sizzle, and then she breaks an egg and slips it in. It cooks. Cassie stares at it.

    “You know what happened the morning before the fight?” she says. She runs the spatula around the edge of the pan, and breaks the yolk up. Little yellow rivulets run everywhere, and she chases them around with the spatula, beating them in with the rest.

    There’s no reply to her question, so she answers it herself, carefully.

    “I woke up in the barn. You know. The Kent barn,” she explains, setting down the spatula and crossing the floor to the fridge. She pulls out a carton of orange juice, and carries it over to the cupboards to get a glass. “I fell asleep the night before in Conner’s t-shirt. Conner and I had to make a late run somewhere after we...”

    She pauses, and glances over her shoulder at the boy. The turn back to the task at hand is just as quick. Cassie puts the glass down on the counter with a bit more force than really necessary, and she pours out some orange juice.

    “After we made love.”

    There’s never any shame in making love.

    “Mr. and Mrs. Kent caught us in the morning, when Kon was being loud. But they were cool about it. Invited me in for breakfast, didn’t ask the tough questions. Really nice people, even during the apocalypse.”

    She goes back to the eggs as the toast pops. The bacon’s almost finished, too. As she scrambles up the eggs a bit more, she continues.

    “We had eggs.”

    She dumps the eggs onto a plate, and carefully picks out a few strands of bacon, not wanting to get splashed with boiling grease. She takes the toast from the toaster and places it on the plate.

    “Bacon. Toast.”

    Cassie picks up the plate and the glass, and sets it down in front of him, neatly. The gesture is almost apathetic, and there’s a hollow quality to her voice when she steps back. Her hands curl into fists as she stares at the plate.

    “Last time things were ever lighthearted, or good. Last time we ate together,” she says.  "It was a good last time together. If he'd been killed in the first fight, we never would have had that, and the world wouldn't have been saved. He saved the world because he was still around to do it."

Her voice slips into a calm anger, and her eyes water, but she doesn't cry. This is just wrath.

“So here’s to you, Prime. Rot in hell.”

[For paradisa, prompted by this snippet at the meeting.]





Cassie can admit it hurts.

She shifts her weight to one foot, leans a bit against the edge of the table, and rakes her teeth over the inside of her lip. In one hand she holds an empty bottle of soda, and her other arm is across her stomach, in that weird, insecure way. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

Her eyes are on Kon and Batgirl and she can’t seem to look away, even if she keeps telling herself to mind her own business.

Kon makes faces at Batgirl, faces Cassie had gotten used to being privy to. Lips puckered, leaning in for a kiss, all attention on his girl. Cassie may not have Batgirl’s ability to read body language like an open book, but she can find the main points.

They like being close.

Cassie knows it and watches them like a hawk, fingers curling a bit tighter around the neck of the bottle. She recalls the crisp air at the top of the Tower, the cement warmed by the sun. She recalls Kon leaning back on one hand and gesturing her to relax with the other. She recalls laying her head on his lap and staring up at those brilliant blue eyes, and feeling like she could tell him anything. It’s a masochistic thought and she doesn’t care.

Kon sweeps up Batgirl into his arms. Cassie feels the bottle crack under her fingers, a few perfect lightning streak marks appearing. She glances at it, sets her jaw, and doesn’t want to look up at the two again. She just can’t.

When Booster Gold and Blue Beetle II come over to the snacks table to get something, she scoots out of the way, excusing herself, and drops the cracked bottle in the recycling bin.

She’ll step out for a bit, she thinks, as she closes the door to the Lux behind her. Take a walk. Get some fresh air. Sit down somewhere quiet and think until the actual meeting starts.

Cassie wonders just how long she’s going to keep this up.