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Chapter Text

Adora doesn't have a moment to stop before Catra lunges at her, claws unscathed. She dodges, just barely, as Catra turns the wall behind her into scrap metal.

The lights in the Fright Zone flicker - they know what's coming.

Catra shrieks, and jumps onto Adora's back, sinking her claws into her shoulders. Blood bubbles up and cakes the inside of Catra's nails, her grin growing wider. Adora screams, and throws Catra over her angrily but Catra, aggraviatingly, lands deftly, cat-like.

Adora stares into Catra’s eyes, shimmering and pulled into a smirk. She searches them, trying to find something, anything, that Catra could care to communicate

Adora is surprised by a boot to her cheek that she doesn't dodge, sending her into a kick that launches her at the wall behind her. She feels a wicked bruise blossoming over her lips, and she grimaces. Adora pushes herself up, and just barely dodges a swipe from Catra. Mind made up, she runs.

And slips, Catra hot on her heels. Adora pushes her legs fiercely towards the door at the ends of the tunnel while Catra gives chase, clawing and jumping on pipes to follow her. The copper smell of the Fright Zone fills Adora's nostrils and she shuts her eyes for just a second, allowing it to flood just a bit with wetness. One of the pipe Catra is perched on bursts, and she falls nosily onto Adora while they're soaked with sewage water. Catra’s fall is broken by Adora, who hears her right hip bone crack clean in half.

Dazed, Adora looks at Catra through her lashes, the image swimming with her pounding head, but Catra avoids her gaze, and slashes violently through her face. Three clean cuts run from Adora’s right eye down to her left lip, and her face fills with blood, dripping and gathering from her chin creating a mini blood puddle.

Adora shoves Catra weakly, trying to get up, but Catra had the upper hand, crushing Adora on her side and slashes violently across Adora's waist and arms. Adora nearly blacks out and feels her heart beat through all her open wounds. Her eyes swim, and they shut.

Catra grabs Adora's throat and shoves her against the peeling wall, ignoring Adora's small wince.

“What right do you think you have coming back here? You ruined me. You ruined us!” Her voice grows hysterical, “We had it all, and look at us now. You deserve this.”

Adora feels her mind swim with tears, grief, and something else. Her fingers grapple at Catra's hold but she doesn't let up.

“Catra- please-”

She laughs, it's terrifying and powerful. Adora wants to burst into tears and kiss Catra's feet until they bruise.

“Please?” She throws the word back like a mockery. “How very predictable.”

Catra lets go, now, and Adora feels herself slip to the icy cold floor.

“You ruined us. You ruined me.”

Catra's voice is soft, guilty, admission and all. It builds, though, until she's screaming at Adora.

“You have no- no right! Is this what you want?”

“Catra, I'm sorry-”

Catra slaps Adora over her face.

“Sorry isn't enough. Fix this.”

Catra grabs Adora's face, squishing it, and draws a single line with her claw across her collarbone, then shoves Adora to the ground and walks away.

Adora sits, still. Her eyes well up with unbidden tears that sting her mangled face and she holds herself, trying very hard to ignore the deafening pressure in her chest and the dark emptiness that threatens to take over her.

After a while, Adora pulls herself up and grabs her sword abandoned at a wayside. Clutching it, she whispers into the emptiness of the Fright Zone.

“For the honour of grayskull.”

The transition that follows isn't beautiful nor is it glorious – it is war bells that decorate a defeat. Adora shuts her eyes and lets her magic flow through her, feeling herself glow and her body knit itself together, her blood-drenched blonde hair turning fluffy and clean. She allows herself a respite, to rest, and feels her exhaustion flow out, the magic of She-Ra healing her wretched body. It doesn't heal her heart, which pulses and ramms in her ribcage, crying to be set free. She should be full of energy now – She-Ra and all that – but she's not, she's exhausted.

Adora treks out of the Fight Zone, walking unnoticed in a soldier's armour. Soon, she will be through the Whispering Woods and at Brightmoon, where she can indulge in her friends' company and forget about today.

Someone nods at her, and she blinks away, tears fierce. She used to be one of them, laughing, light, floating on unrealized dreams and whimsical hope. Now, she hears her name whispered in scathing tones, and bends her eyes towards the ground as to not be noticed. Once, she ruled these lands. Adora tries not to sigh and allows her feet to take her to the exit. Her wounds are healed but her heart is heavy. She passes by Shadow Weaver's old room painfully, staring at the shadow of a nearby cadet instead. God, she used to admire Shadow Weaver, might've even loved her as a mother. (If some ill part of herself remembers, and wishes she still had Shadow Weaver's praise and love, her adoration when Adora did well, no one needs to know. And if that's half the reason why she's so opposed to Glimmer's dealings with Shadow Weaver now, well-)

She lets herself out of the Fright Zone, door clanging shut behind her. The borders are empty - no cadet would leave on their own. (But she did, maybe some part of her regrets it.) Adora strips, taking off the armour and whipping her hair free. There should be nothing more to fear from here on out.

She didn't always used to do this. Thursdays were for training with Light Hope and trying to squeeze more details on Mara, but once, she was so angry. Glimmer wasn't listening to her and she couldn't keep looking at that face (so like her mother, which Adora damned to die) and Glimmer was basically attached to Shadow Weaver and Adora had banged out of the War Room, leaving Bow and everyone to stare at her empty space. (Swift Wind had told her, after, that though Glimmer looked ashamed, she didn't look sad, and Adora wanted to drive a knife through herself) Light Hope was more annoying that day, and blind rage was more unless than in battle for trying to extract information from an aggravating robot. After nearly two screaming matches and a few slashes from “bots” that Adora kept forgetting to dodge, Light Hope kicked her out to “focus”.

When that happened, Adora was so defeated and angry and just destroyed she needed an outlet and she needed to run away and before she knew what had happened she was standing in an abandoned Fright Zone corridor with her sword in hand, slashing at anything she could get to - walls, face, arms, lights, whatever. Catra had stumbled onto her. When she was young, Shadow Weaver would set her to spar with (and defeat) older cadets when she got too worked up and burn that angry energy. Turns out punches weren't the only way to relieve tension. Turns out Catra was also angry and mad and hated where they were and didn't have that good of a heart which Adora was glad for.

It had gone on for a month. Every week, every Thursday. And Adora would leave, sore and hurt and empty but quiet and peaceful at last.

Chapter Text

“Adora!”

Glimmer smiled at her, waving from her seat. The war room was empty, oddly, and only Bow and Glimmer were there, perched on the table eating cake whilst the holographic map floated through their bodies. Swift Wind yawned, asleep, head bent under the table.

Bow looks up from where he was tinkering with his tracker pad, fork forgotten.

“How was training?” Glimmer greets her with a jovial voice, and Adora blinks harder, imagines.

Adora sits on the edge of the table, ignoring the glaring gaze of Angella's (Glimmer's, she reminds herself painfully) seat, and steals a bite from Glimmer's slice. Strawberry.

“Not so great,” Adora says haltingly, testing the taste of the lie in her mouth.

“Well, make sure you're not lagging behind, we need all hands on deck.”

Adora bit back a remark. Training was yesterday (it had been for a month) and it was actually a really great session, not that Glimmer needs to know.

(And not that she goes back to the Fright Zone every week and tries not to cry because Catra-)

Bow's looking at Adora wrong, as if trying to make her out. She avoids his gaze, partly out of shame, guilt, a litany of painful emotions that she tries to not feel. Her heart feels like it's straining, her mind fuzzy, the air growing thicker and thicker. The familiar image of Glimmer and Bow, grinning and laughing and eating cake doesn't comfort her in the slightest. She knows she looks like shit, too. She-Ra may heal her wounds but the blackness under her eyes and the yellowish tint must paint an ugly look, not to speak of her matted stringy hair.

Her heart burns, and she unconsciously moves towards Bow, leaning in for a brief hug. He tugs her, though, and she ends up being nearly stabbed by a stray arrow, though she feels the warmest she's been in a week. She breathes in his warm scent, smelling like trees and wood and something light and fruity, thanking whatever God out there that Bow will always be there to pull them together. Glimmer joins the hug, holding Adora like it's the three of them against the world. It feels like it is, in the worst possible way. But Adora tries, truly, to ignore the nagging feeling of them losing. (Losing more ground more people more equipment morale and Adora's letting them all down)

“Why don't you ever listen to me?”

They're in another town in Pulmeria, again. Overrun with a stupid amount of bots. Again. At least this time it isn't something new Hordak has cooked up. Bots, Adora can handle, just annoyingly. She, as She-Ra, kicks one of them, sending it crashing into a wall. Before it dies, it beeps. Loudly.

“Because it was a stupid idea!” She shouts back at Glimmer, who's throwing bursts of light at a row of advancing bots. “We can't risk the civilians of an entire town on a spell Shadow Weaver taught you!”

Some bot nearly nips into her and Adora refocused, transforming her sword into a whip and sends the row of bots advancing towards Glimmer back. She turns to look and Glimmer only looks more aggravated.

“You don't trust me, do you?” Glimmer’s voice is cutting, and she stares Adora down with her hands on her hips, “You think that you're all She-Ra you can just-”

Adora almost catches it too late. The blast from a faraway tank aimed at Glimmer speeds toward her and Adora’s heart plummets. She rushes towards Glimmer and turns her sword into a shield, grabbing Glimmer tightly. The blast is deflected into a house which collapses, then catches on fire. Adora can vaguely hear screaming in the background. She's just so tired.

Glimmer jerks out of her grasp and launches a ball of light back at the tank, which dents.

“I trust you, I don't trust Shadow Weaver!” Adora can barely hear her scratchy voice above the din of fighting, “Why can't you just help evacuate the people?”

“Which was what I was trying to do before you interrupted me!”

“Even you didn't know what would've happened! You can't risk people on a-”

“Guys!” Bow’s voice cuts in and Adora realises that she hasn't been fighting, but merely staring down Glimmer. She turns away and slams her sword into a bot, which explodes. “I really don't think this is a good time!”

He yelps, then shoots a few more arrows. Some explode into goo. The fire from the house is spreading slightly, though it's acting as a pseudo barrier between them and the Horde. Adora should maybe deal with that.

“I'm just trying to get Adora to understand-!”

Her voice is cut off when she teleports to dodge another blast. Fuck, Adora really needs to sort that tank out too.

Bow pleads, voice kinder than Adora would've. “Glimmer, I know you have your issues, but can you please just work on evacuating the people?”

“Yeah, none of us can teleport.” Adora tries for levity, but the effect is cut short because there's four bots trying to gut for her life, and it comes out more sarcastic than she intended. Glimmer definitely hears it that way, because she throws her hands in the air and disappears.

“Adora, a little help?” Bow yelps.

She throws her sword into the bot trying to eat Bow which powers down in a sad whirr.

“Where are they getting so many bots?”

Bow's voice is aggravated as he jumps out of the way of the tank. Adora doesn't even delight him with a reply as she sends a blast of energy towards the tank, which shakes violently, sending the soldiers and a force captain on top of it flying. Adora climbs onto it, trying to ignore the signature green steel (painted red with her blood Catra's hands on her Catra's knife Catra Catra Catra), and prepares to stab it with her sword when she notices how closely the swarms of bots are packed in front of her.

“Bow, get out, I'm going to blow this place up!”

“WHAT? Adora-”

She prays the explosives inside the bots will help make a large enough explosion. It’s very hard to think under the noise of battle.

“Bow, get out!”

She watches the tiny shape of him shoot a bot before dashing behind a house, and she slams her hand down on the blast button, infusing her own energy with it.

The explosion is, well, explosive, for lack of a better word. Adora is knocked back from the blowback, face shoved downwards in the Plumerian soil. When she looks up, head spinning, all the bots in front of her are in pieces, with the rest of the troops retreating. Adora smiles lightly at herself. At least she finally did something effective.

“Adora!”

She looks up, and Perfuma is rushing towards her, Glimmer in tow.

“Heh, it wasn't too bad, right?”

Perfuma looks around and Adora notices the many houses which have crumbled into ash or pieces, and the soil scorched grey, roots and flowers upheaved and dead around them. The entire place looks like a wasteland with bits of metal everywhere. It’s very unlike the ethereal and whimsical look of a Plumerian town. Adora winces, which Perfuma notices.

“No! You got the Horde away, that's what matters, no harm done.” Perfuma's voice tapers off and Adora can hear the tears in it. She looks away, landing on Glimmer's face which returns her gaze, furious. Adora blinks.

“Glimmer,” Bow places a placating hand on her shoulder, which she knocks away.

“You can't just yell at me for taking risks before flattening an entire town!” Glimmer's voice is rising, and Adora looks into her eyes, shimmering and steely. “Why do you keep doing this! You're just doing what the Horde is doing! Why can't you think with your head instead of your sword for once!”

“Glimmer-”

“And stop shutting me down! I am Queen, and you take your orders from me. You can't just change plans because you're She-Ra. We've gained no ground recently and we keep losing places and people. We can’t keep doing what we do because it’s clearly ineffective! If you can stop for a second and think for a minute beyond your own worries, Adora!”

Adora doesn't say anything, though she changes back into herself. She has been occupied with Light Hope, but that's still no excuse for Glimmer to accuse Adora when all she's done is to help her, to help Etheria. Adora feels tears pricking at her eyes, and she hates how she feels - small and angry. She can't look at Glimmer right now. Maybe she's wrong and overreacting. Maybe it's Adora's fault and she should stay and fix this and stop fighting with Glimmer, but she just can't. She's so tired. Adora walks away.

Chapter Text

“Trouble in paradise?”

Adora stares at the ceiling. She can't keep coming back into the Fright Zone whenever she's sad. There's probably something really fucked up about it, but no one will find them anyways. This section was warded off long before they were born. Still, she knows she shouldn't be here. She should be at Bright Moon, planning the next battle, healing people's wounds, fixing things with Glimmer. Still, she doesn't move.

“Shut up, will you?” Adora takes off her wristband-slash-sword and throws it on the ground.

Catra steps in from the shadows and into the light of the corridor. God, Adora could just drink her in. Her slender arms perched on her tight waist, her multicolored eyes that just seem to gleam and sparkle, her mouth– Adora drags her attention to Catra as a whole. She's happy, smiling, though she doesn't know why. She also looks worn. Adora resists the urge to hug her (it wouldn't help anyways)

“Happy?”

“Watching Bright Moon fall apart? Always.”

Catra leans against a wall under the bright fluorescent lights and Adora just wants to grab her. Violently? Tightly? Adora doesn’t think too hard.

“Your campaigns’ not going that well. We beat you back from Plumeria.” Adora says, her voice hardening.

Catra scoffs.

“We didn't need that anyways. Hordak and I are building something stronger, something that'd crush your pathetic rebellion under our heel. Well, if you don't do that yourselves.”

Adora's sick of listening to Catra. To anyone. She picks up a stray screw on the floor and throws it at Catra's headgear, who laughs.

“Impatient?”

Adora laughs, kicking her sword-slash-wristband to the side, the metal clanging echoing through the hallway like a mocking cackle.

“I didn't come to talk.”

That's enough of a prompt and Catra lunges towards her, face morphing into something darker, electrifying. Adora puts up her arms to defend herself, but both of them know her heart’s not in it. Catra's claws slice through her clothes and her skin, leaving six deep gashes through. The smooth pain flooding through her body rushes through like wine and Adora gasps lightly, her mind blanking and becoming empty except for the pleasure of fighting: her heart reverberating through her ears, her thoughts sharp and singular, and the sheer excitement of it all.

The pain pulses through her arms and Adora resists the gut-instinct to heal it with She-Ra’s magic. It wouldn’t even work now. Adora ducks back, shoving Catra into a wall, though she jumps off it deftly and attacks Adora again, kicking her to the ground. Adora grabs Catra’s feet in the nick of time, sending her falling with her. The ground feels comforting in it’s hardness, and Adora lays there for a second before Catra comes towards her with a whip, lashing her legs and sending a razor-hot burn across her left one as she rolls out of the way.

“You’ve gotten slower,” Catra mocks, dodging a punch from Adora.

Adora ignores her and lets Catra grab her and slam her into a wall. Adora feels her back crack violently, and she crumples onto the ground, wind knocked out of her. The pain feels like crushing, and she knows bruises are blooming over her skin. Somehow, it feels comforting. Something inexplicable passes over Catra, and Adora reaches a hand up and slaps Catra over the face, hard.

Catra. Well, she doesn't look hurt. She looks- Adora can't discern her. It's not sad, Catra doesn't do sad, but it's as mournful as it gets. Hateful, she supposes. Catra thinking something stupid, something aggrandising that makes her make mistakes – Adora can see that behind her eyes. And look, they narrow. Sharpen. She's overcome with thoughts and something darker passes over Catra's gaze. Adora laughs out loud at this. All this talk about how predictable she is, but Catra is the most predictable one. Hurt, she lashes out, until there is nothing left but her own wasteland and then she blames everyone but herself. Adora wants to put Catra and Glimmer in a room.

At Adora's laugh, Catra blinks, looks, well, surprised, almost. Then offended. Then back to hateful.

“What?” Catra's voice is darker, layered. There's an undertone of something murky that Adora hates to hear.

And yet, she can't help but laugh. The entire situation is ridiculous. She's ridiculous. Catra's ridiculous. This pantomime that they play out, this push and shove, it's so ridiculous.

Catra grabs Adora’s neck as she laughs harder, pulling her until they're face to face. Adora laughs, then spits in Catra's eye, kicking her shin and ducking out.

Of course, her sore back gives out, and Adora leans on the other wall, laughing madly as Catra regains her balance, looking murderous.

“How very predictable,” Adora murmurs, and the imitation of Catra echos around the hallway, bouncing off the walls and hitting them both viscerally. Catra steps back into herself as if scorched, before letting out a guttural cry of anger and frustration, lunging at Adora. Catra grabs Adora's face, pulling her to eye level. Adora lets her, allows her feet to stay limp. Something about this is inherently hilarious and deeply saddening. Adora tries not to think too hard about it. She know she'll hate herself even more when she does, and so she laughs at Catra's expression, so serious, so full of anger. She laughs.

“Ugh!” Catra yells, and throws Adora face first into the ground. Her limp legs give way, and she falls forward like a doll, her nose crunching painfully on the floor. She barely feels anything anymore. The floors dirty, caked with dust, full of scratches and marking. Adora wonders if Hordak himself built these halls.

Adora's reminded of Catra presence when she tears into Adora, claws grabbing onto whatever she can find, tearing into her skin and self-esteem. Adora doesn't care anymore – the time to care was when she had everyone. Catra seems more annoyed, set off by whatever horrid thought she's had and Adora's mad cackle, she reaches for whatever, tearing into Adora like paper, before kicking her over and standing up calmly. Catra lets out a long breath, sweeping her hair back behind her headgear. She leaves, saying nothing, though not before giving Adora's sword-slash-wristband (lying quite a distance from them near a wall) a good kick.

Adora winces at the harsh sound of metal clanging.

She lays there for a bit after Catra leaves, silently staring at the flickering lights. The pain has faded into a dull ache, occasionally a stabbing sort from the various mauled scars on her back. Adora's enjoying the pain, loving how it seems to shock her alive and the vivid reminder of Catra's presence. How she's not away. Alone.

Catra's face itself makes Adora want to burn herself until nothing remains but ashes. She wants to reach out, to grab that pained scowl and smooth it into a smile. She wants to hold Catra until everything goes away, until they're children, screaming with wild joy. She wants to grab Catra and never let go, she wants to apologize until Catra loses that wild, matted, hate-filled look. Adora also wants to slap Catra into tomorrow for all the pain she’s caused Etheria, caused Glimmer and Bow, for the portal and for everything. Adora doesn't know if she should be more ashamed of herself for which way of thinking.

Begrudgingly, she gets up, feeling the pain shoot up her spine, tingling her body and thrusting through her bloodstream. Adora crawls to her sword and transforms with a whisper, holding it close to herself and allowing herself to heal. It's ridiculous, this entire affair, and it's not as it makes her hate herself less – it just makes it more bearable.

The thought of returning to Bright Moon is unbearable, and she hates herself for it. The place that used to be filled with joy is now stretched over with tension and pain (all caused by the Horde, she reminds herself). They've all lost so much, and Adora just can't bear to see more.

She hauls herself up and lets her shimmer back into her own self. Smaller. Weaker. She shuffles along the corridor and lets herself out through a backdoor, slipping on a soldier's uniform as she goes. Let the folly begin.

Chapter Text

Adora is standing in the middle of a frozen lake in the middle of the Whispering Woods. The chill from the ice seems to seep up her body, rushing through her blood and limbs. The moon hangs above, baleful and bright. Her sword is stabbed into a crack in the ice, and it's falling through, slowly sinking into the frozen depths. Panicked, Adora runs towards it but her feet are slipping, sliding backwards, and she stays in place, arms outstretched but her body doesn't move.

“Hey, Adora.”

Adora gasps. She feels a pressure in her abdomen and looks down to find a dagger plunged between her ribcage, a blackened hand holding her waist, suffocating her. Catra's holding her from the back, clutching her close and dragging her claws lightly off the ice, sending ear-bursting screeches into the air. Adora tilts her head slightly until it's lying on Catra's shoulder, the both of them locked in an embrace, and finds herself staring down the face of Catra, no, the Catra from the portal world, half her body scorched to black.

Catra drops her arms and Adora falls loudly to the ground, crashing through the ice. The chill hits her, and it feels like a thousand knives piercing her skin, the water pressure dragging her down to its murky depths. Her chest is compressed, pushed into herself, and Adora struggles in the inky blue, trying to breathe. It feels as if an elephant is sitting on her.

In the distance, she finds Glimmer, swimming. Her body is limp, sinking in the depths. Adora's heart feels like stone, and she swims to Glimmer's side, shaking her and holding her but she doesn't wake. Bubbles float and surround them, and Adora feels her eyes sting. The world seems to bend and shift, and figures zoom in and out of focus around her - Bow, Scorpia, Angela, Perfuma, Rogelio, Mermista - wearing mournful faces and turning away from Adora. Glimmer sharpens into view, shimmering in front of Adora. Glimmer opens her mouth and a demonic growl fills the sea.

Adora screams but no voice comes out. More and more bubbles swarm her, until she can see nothing but bubbles and the echo of Glimmer's cry.

Someone's hands are reaching out towards her, gripping her face tightly as the bubbles fill her eyes and mouth and heart and–

She wakes with a gasp. Heart hammering, her eyes fly open. She's in bed, her blanket over her, bedsheets balled up in her fist. She blinks, staring at the gleaming runestone outside her window. A warm breeze is flitting through the window, and Adora sits up, hearing the leaves outside rattle against each other. Sighing, she stretches and stands up, kicking herself off the bed and slipping on her wristband in one smooth motion.

She feels her heart pulsing through her throat loudly, and she wants to bang herself against a wall until Bright Moon falls apart. She's fucking angry and she needs to get hurt. Adora feels like a bull without direction, and without noticing, she's running. The walls of Bright Moon seem to mock her, curving towards her crushing. Her feet shove the floor away as she runs like a madman. Adora's mad, Adora's angry. Adora's so angry. She's fucking pissed at Catra. Catra, bloody Catra, who keeps hurting her friends and killing their homes. Fuck Catra, honestly. And wouldn't Adora love to do that.

Adora shoves the door aggressively and runs into the night, the gates of Bright Moon slamming nosily behind her.

“Arugh!”

Adora yells, still running, dashing over trees and roots. She can't fucking believe Catra who almost killed Bow. She can't fucking belive herself for subscribing to the Horde for so many years. She can't fucking believe herself for abandoning Catra.

Adora stops in a clearing and vaguely recognises it was where she encountered the sword. She kicks furiously at some fallen leaves, cursing her past self, the image of Catra walking back into flames in her head. Adora slaps her thigh and the crack of the contact seems to reverberate around and hit her squarely in the face. Adora wants to go back to that night and grip her past self and throw it at Catra. What good did being She-Ra do? Adora wants to go back – Adora doesn't care about being wrong, Adora wants to be happy.

Adora hates herself for this. She thinks of Bow, of Glimmer, of Swift Wind, and everyone, and Adora stills, breathing heavily in the woods. Her brain unhelpfully tells her that she caused Angela to die, and Adora slaps herself again. She wants to scream. Adora wants to die.

Adora looks around – the woods are eerily empty, silent. The bugs and birds scared into submission. Adora lets out a growl and throws herself at a tree, feeling herself crack and shatter. A wicked bruise blooms over her hip, and Adora grins. She turns her wristband into a sword and throws it with all her might into a tree. It cracks, bark peeling.

Adora yanks out the sword and throws it at another tree, and another, and another, screaming furiously. After a while, all the trees around her are scarred and cut, some destroyed into kindling. Her breath comes out hard and choppy, and Adora wants to scream. She's spent, physically. Adora grabs her sword out of the last tree and lets herself crash to the ground, her heart pulsing madly. The grass makes a soft bed. The night is darkly silent and Adora wants to scream.

Adora wants Catra back. Adora's so sick of this life.

Looking over at her sword, Adora touches it lightly, letting it become a dagger – thin and jagged, it looks beautiful. She laughs at herself lightly, a perverse giggle. The trees creak at the wind, crying. Adora grips the hilt of the dagger, clutching it tightly, then drags the flat side over her bare arm, unhurt. She feels the metal chill her skin and warmth blooms from within. It feels like Catra.

Adora adjusts the blade, and drags it fiercely thrice over her cheek. The stabbing pain hits her immediately and Adora nearly cries out in joy. She feels the cuts with her other hand – they're clean and deep, blood blooming up that kisses her face, spreading it's hot love over her. Adora sucks some of the blood off her finger then lets it trail over her body, darkening her white shirt. Adora smiles, eyes shutting in exhaustion. It feels like Catra.

Chapter Text

“Adora?”

Catra's heart seizes, beating mildly. A spell of dizziness flickers through her and Catra grabs the table to steady herself. From the gap between two screens in her post, Catra sees from the corner of her eye Scorpia helping up a helmeted soldier, who coughs, then collapses. The main bay is flooded with silence, a complete lack of conversation. Tanks and blocks clank around, but the oppressive silence is suffocating Catra. Alongside Adora.

Adora--

On a fuzzy green-tinted screen, Catra sees a mess of red and blonde lying on the grass in the Whispering Woods. Catra rubs her shocked tired eyes and zooms in, pressing her nose to the screen and digitally blowing up the image. It is Adora, soft features painted across the screen. Her nose bent in the same delicate curve, lips pressed together in that annoying/adorable way she does when she's stressed, hair tied together in an ugly poof. Catra's eyes drag over Adora's body, drinking her in in a way she hadn't done in years (late nights watching her sleep, chest rising and falling, fingers curling, breath soft, a tuft of hair falling over–). A panic strikes through her heart when she notices the blood, dried and dark smeared over Adora's body her face her fingers the grass beside and under. The worst flashes through her mind before Catra is comforted by the rhythmic rise and fall of Adora's chest (she can nearly hear her snore).

An audible sigh of relief bubbles out of Catra, crashing over her body like medicine, stress flowing out like running streams. Her body tenses at that, claws ejected. This is her enemy, her destroyer, the one that condemned her to this, and yet– Catra nearly reaches out a claw, missing the comfortable way Adora would laugh at her. She only seems to only manage to make her scowl now. Catra's seething, she knows, seething quietly at Adora for fucking abandoning her, for going away and leaving her alone in the Horde with Shadow Weaver, for running off and finding new friends and leaving Catra, here, alone. The hatred seems to have woven itself into her bone structure and yet, Catra can't seem to make herself click away.

A firefly flies over, tracing the curve of Adora's leg and perching on the tip of her nose. Catra is transfixed by the flickering bug, hatred forgotten as she leans forwards and tries to recommit Adora to memory as if she doesn't have her face burned into the back of her eyes. (Traitor liar thief fucked betrayer kill her destroy her traitor liar thief fucker–)

“Is that Adora?”

Catra yelps, the her tail puffing straight, and she slams her paw onto the keypad, minimizing the image. (into a folder no one will see)

Catra grabs her pad and pretends to work, hurriedly turning off all the other screens. Scorpia's face is staring at her (concernedly?) through the reflection of a dead monitor, and she pointedly avoids her gaze.

“No.” Catra's voice is cruel, rough, harsh.

Like nails on a chalkboard, she says it like a dagger to drag on Scorpia. But Scorpia doesn't go, pincers perching on a chair, wide eyes and deflated tail, staying where she is. Catra feels like she is drowning.

“Why are you here?” She ignores the gruff noise she makes, and assigns another mission to Force B. It's in Alywn, and she knows they don't have the equipment or men or weaponry, but Catra doesn't fucking care.

“Oh-- uh-- the troop scouting Salineas is back. There's barely any resistance fighters. It's wide open when we want to take it.”

Catra feels the weight of Scorpia's gaze.

“You ok, wildcat?”

A scowl, a hiss, violent and rude, escapes out of her lips, and Scorpia's face takes a step back, though her legs stay planted in place.

“I'm fine.”

Catra slams down at the keyboard heavily, powering it off. She feels her breath coming out in chopping waves.

“I'm going to change. Don't follow me.”

Catra knows she's scowling darkly as she walks by Scorpia, kicking a chair aside for good measure. She doesn't care. Catra feels Scorpia's heavy gaze on her and she doesn't fucking care.

People turn away from her in the halls. Head bent and struck silence, a path clears as she stalks the green paths. She feels. Pride? Catra feels a swelling in her heart, a dark joy as she watches cadets cower away from her, fear etched across her eyes like how she glared at Shadow Weaver. Catra's proud.

Catra doesn't stay proud for long, anger brewing in her heart that bubbles up and explodes the moment she walks into the locker room. Catra looks away from the lockers and benches, leaning heavily against one and letting herself fade to the ground. Checking that no one's there, she turns her pad on, the dark image of Adora glittering to life. The firefly has flown away now and a hint of sun peeks from between the branches, and Adora still sleeps on like the dead.

Catra scratches lightly on the screen with a nail, longing melting out of her warm and sticky. Her heart has a giant gaping hole in it that she's filled with troops and corspes, and she wants more. Catra lets herself long, the painful inexplicable emotions flooding her body. She feels weak, sitting here, watching Adora ages away. Catra wishes she didn't sneak out that night, didn't give Adora the opportunity to abandon them. Catra can still hear Adora laugh, still hear Adora grin. She tracks the tight lines over Adora's body, running from her poof to her feet, flowing like a river.

Catra swipes her cheeks, wiping away invisible tears. She powers down the pad and shoves it in her locker, letting it fall ontop of some bundled sheets. Catra grabs two protein bars and slams the door shut, loud and angry as she always seems to be these days. The longing still hangs heavily over her shoulders, coating her skin like sweat. Catra hates it. She finishes the protein bars quickly, scarfing it down without tasting, and peels her clothes off her body. They're sticky with unknown sweat, growing heavy and old though she hasn't gone outside in a week. Catra throws them on the ground and steps into a shower, letting the icy cold water rinse her thoughts away.

Chapter Text

Adora ignored Bow's snuck glances at her whilst Swift Wind recounted his journey. They're seated at the dining table having breakfast, though none of them look well-rested at all. Adora's well aware her matted hair and crumpled clothing is unusual, but she thinks she's coming off the best at the moment: Glimmer is dozing into Swift Wind's unaware wing, whilst Bow stirs and stirs and stirs his porridge with shadows under his eyes.

“Anyways, I stopped by Frosta's Kingdom and you should've seen the look on her face! She was all, Swift Wind…”

Swifty's voice fades into the background like the incessant hum of an ever-present fly. Adora ignores Bow’s gaze, crunching toast between her teeth with militant diligence with a steel gaze into her tea. She had woken up a little after sunrise with the uncomfortable prickly feeling of vulnerability, asleep wide in the open where anyone could attack her unawares. Adora had hastily healed herself and ran back to Bright Moon, sneaking in through a back door to avoid suspicion with a plan to right her appearance once indoors.

That plan was foiled, however, when she bumped into Bow heading to the War Room, who nearly fell over in surprise when he saw her. He was wearing his pajamas, though carrying a box of tools and his malfunctioning trackerpad, arms full of blueprints and eyes lacking rest. They had stared at each other for a full minute, both taking in the other's disheveled appearance and obvious lack of ordinance with normalcy. Before any of them could comment, however, the general passed by them on her way to the Refectory and Adora grabbed onto that lifeline tightly and made a beeline to that awkward conversation and the next two hours spent polishing knives and listening to the general's woes about weather. (Embarrassingly, even after three years living in Bright Moon, Adora had little acquaintances and few friends aside from Bow and the Princesses. She hardly interacted with those she didn't need to and it showed. Those two hours spent turning iron into silver felt longer than a century, the general stilted and Adora infinitely awkward)

Breakfast was worse, a taut tension blanketing the table. Despite the familiar room and adorable accessories, the atmosphere was staunch, neither meeting anyone's eyes. Adora wondered when the three of them began to elapse into silence when left alone, with even Bow's mouth pulled into a tight line. Glimmer was no better. Her body language betrayed her own exhaustion as she might as well have slumped over the table the moment she arrived. Adora wanted to scream. All this effort for an informal tradition. If none of them had their hearts in it, why bother? They used to eat in comfortable silence, but this? This was just silence.

Swifty seemed to notice it too and soon fell silent, nudging Glimmer awake and pushing a plate of cake her way. She accepted a slice, yawning, smiling softly at Swift Wind the way Adora wished she could to her. Bow seemed to think the same, draining his coffee loudly, though his expression was carefully mild when he gently placed his cup down.

No one said a thing for a long while.

“What's our plan for today?”

Bow’s voice was cautiously chipper and Adora imagined, staring at a fork, that he had clapped his hands together, wearing an enthusiastic smile, his eyes the colour of sunlight.

The scrape of a fork on ceramic plate echoed in the small room and Adora’s head snapped up. Glimmer looked sheepish, placing the fruit fork down carefully beside her cup and tucking her fingers under the legs. The self-soothing action was so familiar Adora nearly cried, though before anyone said anything, the door swung open and causing Swift Wind to wake up violently, smashing two apples.

“Woah, you all look like shit.”

Mermista and Perfuma stepped in, looking unimpressed and apologetic respectively.

Glimmer leveled Mermista a cold stare.

Perfuma spoke up in an awkward tone, tucking her hair behind her ears,

“What Mermista means is that, well, are you all doing all right?”

Her voice was cautious and Adora hated it.

“Why wouldn't we be alright,” Glimmer replied in a harsher tone that Adora appreciated.

“Yeah, right.”

Mermista’s voice was sarcastic, bordering cruel. They were all good friends and could all take a joke, but lord had things worsened recently. The strain of the war sat heavily on all their shoulders’, lurking like an unwanted guest in every conversation, dancing into every argument with a satchel full of weapons. The princesses would never be untrusting of one another, though they may be disliking.

“Um, well-” Perfuma piped up, voice awkward under the five pairs of eyes staring at her, some glaring, “Mermista and I just dropped in a little earlier to see how you were doing, that’s all. We'll, uh, head to the War Room soon, I mean–”

At that, Mermista visibly elbowed Perfuma in the arm, to which she winced, and stomped back on Mermista's foot lightly, both of them turning to face the other. Adora watched, mildly humored, as Mermista furiously whispered into Perfuma's ear, who nodded vigorously, then turned back to Mermista to whisper in her ear, cupped hand concealing their conversation.

Adora turned to shoot a playful look at Bow on the pair's unsubtle conversation but merely found Bow and Glimmer conducting the same, Glimmer whispering furiously behind Swift Wind’s smooth mane at Bow, who was silent though not expressionless, face shifting from disagreement to agreement to annoyance and repeat.

“Uh, I mean,” Perfuma’s light voice cut through Adora’s jealousy, “Mermista’s here to talk to you, Adora.”

Adora turned to look at Mermista who met her gaze head on, steely eyes looking right through Adora. Adora liked Mermista, who had a penchant for planning and battle not unsimilar her. Though, she could be overly pessimistic. She would make a good Force Captain, Adora thought, unbidden.

“Sure.”

Adora pushed away the plate of shredded pancakes and stood up, ignoring her wincing muscles, and followed Mermista into the hall, the fading voices of Bow and Perfuma lingering after her, filling the room with low tones and light concern. Adora drowned them out.

“What’s up?” Adora tried for levity.

Mermista looked awkward, all of a sudden, avoiding Adora’s gaze and leaning on the cleanly scrubbed walls. Adora grasped her wrist involuntarily, comforted by the feeling of her sword/wristband underneath her.

“I know you've been in the Fright Zone,” Mermista said tonelessly.

Adora's head snapped up and met Mermista's uncomfortable and uncharacteristically soft look.

“I–”

Mermista interrupted Adora, speaking slowly and carefully, as if reading from a script.

“I won't say that I understand, because I don't, and I have half a mind to storm inside and tell Glimmer, but I won't. I know you're not betraying us so," she sighed heavily, "I just hope you know what you're doing.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Adora whispered, voice wavering.

“I don't– I don't know.” Mermista pinched the bridge of her nose, “I don't know and I don't care.”

Adora dragged her hand over her face, overcome with a sudden sense of exhaustion. Mermista stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her crossed arm.

“Look, Adora. The war's been hard on all of us and we're all fucking frustrated.” Mermista let out a huff, voice unusually serious without her signature drawl. “But I can't let you put everyone into danger because you have, I don't know, unresolved Catra issues. It's fine with me even when you keep charging foolhardedly in battle but help me lord if you're going in or planning to do anything stupid on your own because if you are I need you to stop. Now. You're not helping anyone by putting yourself in danger for stupid reasons. I don't care how much you want to act alone, now is not the time to risk it.”

Adora stayed silent, thanking the gods for the excuse Mermista made up for her, it infinitely nobler and easily explainable than oh, I have a perchance for self-destruction and you know the person causing all of our problems, yeah I meet her semi-regularly and don't even try to kill her. Adora laughed internally at the ridiculousness of it all.

Silence stretched out before Adora finally spoke.

“I'm sorry.”

Mermista huffed but said nothing, taking a step back and leaning against the wall. The air felt alight with nervous energy, and Adora could hear the voices inside growing jovial. Apparently Bow and Glimmer did have the capacity to be happy and be cheery. Just not with her.

Adora felt terribly exhausted.

Mermista gave her a searching look before turning her gaze away, suddenly shy.

“How did you know?” Adora asked, not unkindly.

At this, Mermista blushed.

“A seagull told me.” She replied defensively.

Adora would've made a joke, something to make Mermista laugh until she scowled, but Adora looked up and caught a glint off her hair, unusually frizzy and thin. Her stance was tight and tired, her skin a little sallow. Adora reminded herself of the many Horde sightings around Salineas and felt a wave of guilt threaten to drown her.

“I'm going to the War Room. Do you know who's coming today?” Adora said lightly, a stab at levity.

Mermista shifted her weight and replied in the same casual tone, “I'm not sure. Frosta might come, and Sea Hawk, maybe. That little pink thing following you around will too, but I think the others are holding out until the next big mission.”

“That pink thing's name is Flutterina. Please tell any of the princesses you see that we need to get together and plan as much as we can. We cannot afford to lose any more time.” Adora said, voice growing harsher.

“Perfuma and I will be here, too.” Mermista replied, voice unusually soft, and Adora felt herself wilt. The war had been hard on all of them, but now, it felt they were all smashed under its heel.

“Thanks.”

Adora turned and walked away.