When you first see her, you remember your father's funeral pyre, smoke rising into the night as the body of King Micah of Bright Moon burned away. Your mother's face was still like a pool of magic undisturbed, and the flames flickered against the creases in her face. You were young then and didn't understand why he had to go. Queen Angella looked a thousand years older in your eyes, and you worried for her.
Adora is resilient like your mom staring into the flames, but she was a Horde soldier and at first you can't forgive that, because they've taken almost everything from you. They took friends, family…
She didn't know. She didn't know, and months later in your room after you've recharged your magic after a particularly intense battle against the Horde, you lay on your bed with the downy insides that swallow you up and make you feel warm and cozy, counting the dots on your ceiling and you think about Adora. Like you always do. She's… unlike anyone you've ever met. That's not a lot of people, despite being the heir to a throne, and a rebellion, and also a defunct Princess Alliance. Adora was so, so, so ready to give up on everything she'd ever known. You weren't used to that kind of heel face turn, especially from a Horde soldier of all people. In your eyes, people were always one way or another and nothing ever changed. Change was bad. Change was the Horde invading Etheria. Change was Bow going to a party with someone other than you. Change was an 8 foot tall butch disaster falling into your life.
Your cheeks warm as you flip over onto your stomach, legs slicing through the air lazily as you continue thinking about the tall blonde who dominates your life now. First there was only Bow and you thought that was okay. You loved him for a while when you were smaller but crushes sometimes drift away on the wind like the sparkles you leave behind when you teleport, and that's okay. You were a proud part of the Best Friend Duo for Life. He caught you when you fell, comforted you when you felt sad about your dad. You got his arrows while he was teaching himself how to shoot, and never pushed to know about his past. It worked. Then here comes a crazy sword, and a weird prophecy, and an already tall girl getting taller, and your mind drifts, wondering exactly how tall She-Ra could actually get…
Shaking the thought away from the forefront of your consciousness, you rest your head on your hands, looking down at the floor. Better to not indulge the idea of climbing She-Ra like a tree to kiss her… Bad Glimmer. You know better, you chide yourself, groaning loudly in the silence of your room as your lips ache at the idea. Keeping your feelings tucked away in the back of your heart locked away in a tiny little cage is hard. You are a touchy-feely person; without cuddles you die. Scratch that, you will die. And Adora is an excellent cuddler, as you found out the second night she snuck into your room, silent and not at all clumsy like the dork she is usually. You woke up with warmth all over you as well as a strong arm, and the ghost of her breath against the nape of your neck, and you tried not to shiver from the way her body felt against yours, hard and rough edges against your curves and softness.
The warmth and security of the blonde at first light should've been illegal, because there's no way in the Fright Zone you deserve it. You're reckless and irrational, you get mad easily and refuse to see things from the other point of view. You cut your hair in a rage one day after the Horde had captured another stronghold under your supervision, and you were just so full of self-loathing and general grief over the lives lost that you just took your rosy curls and—
It'd had taken another hour to get it to look right. Your mother had questioned you about the sudden change in appearance, but embarrassed, you'd ran fingers through it and replied, "It was just time for a new look."
The rest was history. At least until now, anyway. The crystals on your ceiling tremble ever so slightly as Adora knocks and then eases the door open tentatively, poking her head around the corner. "Glimmer?"
Your heart goes to pounding as you poke your head out from over the side of your bed. "Up here."
Adora climbs the stairs leading up to your bed, the ones you'd put back after being unable to reach it during the whole glitching thing. With every movement she winces, and after making it all the way up, she collapses onto the plush of the mattress, something that brings the smallest of smiles to your lips, a phantom of amusement. Time could change a person. The newly defected Adora would've sat down rigidly and stated her business, but this Adora was letting her herself relax. This was the one you had to teach about horses and other animals, and how you couldn't eat candles or drink their wax even though they smelled like oranges or sticks of cinnamon, or how to play catch without knocking someone out (the knot on Bow's head was almost gone). You love this Adora, the one who thought horses were the best thing to walk Etheria and the one who had a bigger appetite than the captain of the guard and three of her officers (that had been a sight to behold, seeing the former soldier out-eat four full grown guards).
Adora raises her head from the sheets and looks at you, pouting. Your heart skips a beat, the blue of her eyes deeper than the oceans Mermista holds domain over, and fuck, it almost sounds like it's going to beat out of your chest, thumping away like the sound of hits on a punching bag. "My scars are aching…" Her cheeks go rosy as she looks away, a few strands of hair escaping from her pinned bang and hovering over her eye. "C-Can you do that… thing… with your magic?" she asks hopefully, sky blue eyes returning to your own purple.
You nod slowly, and up and over comes Adora's shirt as she sits up, wincing all the while. You don't have the best hearing, but you can definitely hear the smallest of whimpers coming from your friend as her bare back is revealed to you and her bindings fall away, ancient nicks and scrapes as well as eight jagged lines mar the slightly tanned skin of the warrior. Your eyebrows knit together as a ball of hatred forms in the pit of your belly, white-hot and ready to explode. You're vaguely aware of the feelings of protectiveness over the older girl, and without thinking you trace your fingers over the largest scar, skin raised and off white where new skin had replaced the old.
Catra. The name rolls off your mind's tongue like acid and you want to spit, you want to make her pay for marring this beautiful girl. The healers couldn't completely stop the scarring, and every time she comes to you for help with the pain, you have to bite back the venom in your spirit, from marching straight to the Fright Zone and giving the cat-girl a taste of her own medicine. She's vindictive and manipulative and perfect for the Horde, and had no problem scarring her old friend.
You weren't ashamed to admit to Bow that you hated her guts, and he'd seen for himself that day when you'd nearly used a fistful of magic on her stupid smug face. He'd seen sense and stopped you, but that day had cut deep. The wheels of war never stopped turning though, no matter how hurt the soldiers were. You soldiered on like you always did, like everyone did.
You soldier on and you swallow your rage, tracing the ridges and valleys of Adora's skin, pulling some magic from within you and stretching it to both hands before pressing your palms lightly to the small of her back. The warrior sits up sharply, shuddering for a second before sighing deeply and relaxing, your magic threading through her nerves and slowly drawing the pain out. Closing your eyes, you move your hands up at a snail's pace, breathing quietly. Adora's breath hitches as you get towards her shoulder blades, the place where the cuts went the deepest, the place that requires finesse. Catra had been a few centimeters from the warrior's spine, and any closer could've been catastrophic (pun not intended).
You were lucky to have figured this aspect of your powers out. Sometimes all that glitters might actually be gold, or however that saying went. It took a lot out of you, but threading the sinews and muscles and the cells of the wounded was satisfying. It felt like slotting puzzle pieces into place; like solving a advanced equation your tutor used to give you. It was rewarding, bringing life back to a being inching towards death.
And there were perks like this. You will your gay little heart to still as you run your magic through and throughout the warrior, the intimacy of the procedure bringing heat to your cheeks each time your traitorous subconscious brings it back around for another pass. Usually you can control the feelings, but today is just not your day apparently. Adora gets a little too close by leaning into your touch and suddenly your heart is beating a little too quickly, your cheeks are a little too warm and your magic fades as you scoot back, covering your face with your hands in an effort to maybe stop being such a fucking disaster--
"Glimmer?" The bed shifts as Adora turns around curiously. Her calloused hand wraps itself gently around your wrist, tugging softly. Your chest aches with the care she takes with you, as if you're a priceless piece of art. You can't handle it, it's too much, like sensory overload.
Quick. Make an excuse.
"I-I just need a second," you stutter out in a higher pitch than your voice already is. "Magic is h-hard to control. M-Makes me tired." And you curse your voice for quivering at the moment you need it to maybe not do that. You're a phenomenal liar, and a near perfect escape artist (as long as Shadow Weaver is nowhere in the vicinity). So why do this now?
Somehow you school your face into one that would win you a cutthroat game of poker, and you look past Adora. Looking right at that girl at the current moment would be like trying to stare into the fucking sun.
A few golden strands join the others in covering Adora's forehead as she replaces her bindings slowly. She turns to you, all grace and beauty and understanding. "We can stop for now; most of the stiffness is gone." She rolls her shoulders and you swear light erupts behind your eyes as her muscles ripple. You lick your lips unconsciously, mouth dry as you realize you were supposed to be looking elsewhere, anywhere but at the sun.
How dare the sun be this friggin buff. Your body makes evasive maneuvers to avoid potential lesbian armageddon.
You flop back into the plush mattressness with a groan, losing your will to live instantly as you throw an arm over your face. There's no escape, you decide. You're totally gonna die by way of hot dorky warrior goddess. No use even running.
She's persistent beyond reason. The same hand pries your arm up and away. You can't even find it in you to fight her gentle pulls, to run. Fate has it out for you, you decide, eyes locking onto her blue in the first bit of courage you've had since she walked her butt in here.
"Do..." She pauses and looks to the side, searching for the words, eyebrows knitted together in that way she does as she thinks. "Do my scars, t-the ones on my back... do they bother you?" Adora looks back at you and you decide to be honest.
"Of course..." You let your arm fall completely onto the bed. "Scars were wounds once. And I... I don't want to see you hurt. The ones Catra gave you, they ache nearly around the clock for some reason... and it sucks to see you in pain even if it's just you bumping your toe on something."
You take her free hand, the one not propping her up and you rub a finger over the callouses on her hand. The strength in her hands, the power. You wonder offhandedly how easily she could crush a fruit.
Her face softens, and her hand wraps around yours, bringing your eyes back to hers. "Getting hurt is an inevitability, princess. You know that." You can't read the emotion in her eyes, which isn't exactly a first, but Adora of the Rebellion isn't exactly known for her poker face.
You shiver at the way she says princess. It's just a title for you, but the way Adora says it... Bad Glimmer.
"I know... but it's you," you admit finally.
"What about me?" Confusion paints her features.
"You're the hope of the Rebellion. Before you came, we would run and defend and lose ground to the Horde. Now we actually have a shot at winning. The Princess Alliance is stronger than before and I've never seen everyone so fired up and inspired." You smile brightly, hope and passion and joy bubbling up inside you. "You even inspire me," you add quietly, sitting up and looking at your hands, pooled in your lap, smile fading into the silence as Adora processes your word vomit.
The comforter bunches up around your knees as she scoots closer, and you look up at her through your eyelashes, waiting. "There's... a lot on me right now. I don't even particularly feel like I deserve to be in this position, to be She-Ra, but..." There it is. Her touch, she grabs your hand again. "...hearing you say that makes me want to do my best. To be my best."
You want to reply, but the way she's looking at you right now makes your brain short circuit. The moment is pregnant as your eyes lock, azure into lavender and suddenly you lean forward just a centimeter without thinking. Adora closes the distance between you but you can't see it because when you close your eyes and her lips touch yours, explosions that shine brighter than stars light up behind your eyes and in your chest and fucking finally, you think as her palms draw you in.
It doesn't even matter that she has no Etherian idea how to kiss, because her lips are so soft and you feel like you can die in peace now. She's so strong but holds you so gently as you scoot closer and encircle your arms around her neck.
And when you finally come up for air, you're both breathless, and you laugh, foreheads pressed together as you pant and grin like idiots.
There's still a war to win. Still Catra to beat, still trauma to work out. But you're here. With her. You're alive. And there's hope.