All that power she's so proud of has done is turn Catra into someone unrecognizable. This isn't you, Adora thinks, but it is her. It will always be her--and Adora, some hero that she is, can't save her from it. Can't even save the person most important to her in the world. Has to let her go, again; has to stop her, and she will, she knows she will, because she isn't alone the way Catra is. She knows that love has to win over hate, when the alternative is too awful to even consider. The prospect of Catra ruling over Etheria is somehow worse than Hordak, the latter's militant pragmatism replaced by pure, vengeful malice.
If she dies, she'll die knowing she did everything she could to save people, not to hurt them. That she at least tried. She's the Princess of Power, but her true strength doesn't come from her Runestone, it comes from her friends; just like it came from Catra back in the Horde, when Adora would have done anything to keep her safe. Still would, if Catra would just give her something, anything, to have hope in.
Adora's sure another attack is coming when she feels Catra move--knows she's just as deadly with her feet as her hands--and braces herself to accept the pain as her pants tear. She'll stagger out of here on bleeding legs if she has to, make bandages from what's left of her jacket and focus on surviving until she can find the others again. Stupid, to come here without some way to communicate with them, but she had nowhere to hide anything on her body, and she thought she could handle Catra. Lesson learned in that particular regard.
See, what Catra actually does is worse. Worse because it's unfamiliar, and what Adora's been aching for without realizing, without the words to call it or the experience to understand. If she didn't have her soldier's focus--wasn't treating this like a fight already--she'd crumble the way Catra wants her to, take the given inch and beg for a mile. She doesn't. Her eyes roll back in her head as they flutter closed with a moan, but her body takes over, navigating on autopilot, like she does in Light Hope's simulations whenever her mind wanders elsewhere; except her mind isn't wandering, it's right here, trapped under Catra's claws, the same way as the rest of her.
"No," she mumbles dazedly, rutting against Catra's thigh; breathing the words into Catra's bare chest, over her heart. There's no need to look around, when the only thing that matters right now, good or bad, is Catra. "Not everything."
Because no matter what happens, she'll never have She-Ra, or Adora. It's selfish, and stupid, to pretend Catra wants her the same way Adora is starting to realize she once wanted Catra, but she allows herself a moment to pretend that Catra's thigh between her legs is driven by want instead of just a need to destroy her, to possess her, along with everything else. Adora's only special because she's She-Ra, a thorn in Catra's side she's never been able to rid herself of. Otherwise, she'd be just another Rebellion soldier, not important at all to Catra, or to anyone.
What she's doing to Catra now, letting Catra do to her, isn't for either of their sakes, even if it should be entirely for the two of them, away from the world--but it's for Etheria that Adora ignores the blood pounding in her ears, the pleasure that makes the bouncing of her leg morph into uncontrollable spasms, her foot slamming back onto the ground before she loses the strength to keep Catra aloft. It's for the Rebellion that she fills her mouth with Catra's fur and skin again, scrapes at it with her teeth, presses her tongue against the closest peak, sucks hard enough to bruise. And it's for what they can never have that she clutches onto the base of Catra's tail like a lifeline, wanting to hold some part of her one last time.
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If she dies, she'll die knowing she did everything she could to save people, not to hurt them. That she at least tried. She's the Princess of Power, but her true strength doesn't come from her Runestone, it comes from her friends; just like it came from Catra back in the Horde, when Adora would have done anything to keep her safe. Still would, if Catra would just give her something, anything, to have hope in.
Adora's sure another attack is coming when she feels Catra move--knows she's just as deadly with her feet as her hands--and braces herself to accept the pain as her pants tear. She'll stagger out of here on bleeding legs if she has to, make bandages from what's left of her jacket and focus on surviving until she can find the others again. Stupid, to come here without some way to communicate with them, but she had nowhere to hide anything on her body, and she thought she could handle Catra. Lesson learned in that particular regard.
See, what Catra actually does is worse. Worse because it's unfamiliar, and what Adora's been aching for without realizing, without the words to call it or the experience to understand. If she didn't have her soldier's focus--wasn't treating this like a fight already--she'd crumble the way Catra wants her to, take the given inch and beg for a mile. She doesn't. Her eyes roll back in her head as they flutter closed with a moan, but her body takes over, navigating on autopilot, like she does in Light Hope's simulations whenever her mind wanders elsewhere; except her mind isn't wandering, it's right here, trapped under Catra's claws, the same way as the rest of her.
"No," she mumbles dazedly, rutting against Catra's thigh; breathing the words into Catra's bare chest, over her heart. There's no need to look around, when the only thing that matters right now, good or bad, is Catra. "Not everything."
Because no matter what happens, she'll never have She-Ra, or Adora. It's selfish, and stupid, to pretend Catra wants her the same way Adora is starting to realize she once wanted Catra, but she allows herself a moment to pretend that Catra's thigh between her legs is driven by want instead of just a need to destroy her, to possess her, along with everything else. Adora's only special because she's She-Ra, a thorn in Catra's side she's never been able to rid herself of. Otherwise, she'd be just another Rebellion soldier, not important at all to Catra, or to anyone.
What she's doing to Catra now, letting Catra do to her, isn't for either of their sakes, even if it should be entirely for the two of them, away from the world--but it's for Etheria that Adora ignores the blood pounding in her ears, the pleasure that makes the bouncing of her leg morph into uncontrollable spasms, her foot slamming back onto the ground before she loses the strength to keep Catra aloft. It's for the Rebellion that she fills her mouth with Catra's fur and skin again, scrapes at it with her teeth, presses her tongue against the closest peak, sucks hard enough to bruise. And it's for what they can never have that she clutches onto the base of Catra's tail like a lifeline, wanting to hold some part of her one last time.