"Hope," Adora sighs, glancing above herself as though the clouds would rain down a much-needed reprieve for her. Acidic, that rain would have to be to reach her, considering that she stands in a gilded palace at only the fifth floor of an astounding eight layers belonging to the the extravagant keep.
She ponders for a moment before deciding that it would be completely, undeniably worth it. Tackling her troublesome twins to safety would be easy with her athletic bulk, and perhaps it would render her current task obsolete. After-all, then the ball would have to be cancelled, wouldn't it? And most importantly for her high-strung mind, Hope would cease whining.
But, that thought makes her stomach wriggle in discomfort, not unlike the sensation from the first few times she had been made to spar with the other children in the Horde and she had been confronted with the malice in their eyes and the ruthless resentment in their blows towards the so-called 'golden' girl.
With a start she carefully masks - a skill from her Horde days that has served her well since gaping like a goldfish doesn't really sell the whole Princess of Eternia deal very well, she realises that the ball being halted would bother her past that her friends had put so much effort into preparation for the grand occasion. She realises that- that oh, she wants this.
Her first time at the annual princess ball, a yearly gathering of the young rulers across Etheria supposedly to upkeep political relations, had been unusual in the worst way.
She could not stand in the shadows and sulk for her power was a glittering gold rod screaming for people to come to speak with her. They had been friendly, but she had been out of her depth, lost in the face of social rules and etiquette she had never needed to learn.
People had wanted a perfect woman, smooth and smiling at all the right times and saying a dozen fanciful words amounting to the same thing. She had tried, had done that to the best of her ability, but the eyes upon her - they had pricked her skin terribly.
She could not dance, either. She had never been taught such a skill, it being deemed useless for a soldier of the Horde who was never once supposed to see an ounce of luxury past what she was expected to steal for her higher-ups. Her feet had fumbled often in their steps, eliciting small, guilty gasps from her pitying dance partners.
Worst of all, she had met Catra once again on unfriendly terms. The two of them had danced together, Catra leading seamlessly, and her breath had caught in her throat, her heart pounding furiously at the the threat to the people and to her friends and to her happiness grinning smugly at her. Her back had shuddered underneath a heavy touch as though her skin had been slicked with slime, a painful pounding in her ears over-powering the jubilant noises of string instruments and stamping feet and yet, despite the cold grip of terror, she had not thought up a clever strategy or considered compromises to stave off violence. Instead, the single thought that had wrestled its way into prominence had been, Where did Catra learn that?
Catra had been graceful as is her habit in all she does, deft in her steps, intimate in her hold. Compared to Adora, Catra was… she was the epitome of femininity, even in her crumpled suit. She was lithe and quick, occupying the space she lead them in to like she owned it, like it had always been her right, like it was not Frosta's home, like it was not a symbol of perseverance and prosperity to the people she was helping subjugate.
Never before had Adora felt so- felt so betrayed.
How could Catra- whilst she could not?
Nowhere in the Horde would you find two girls quite like Adora and Catra. They were a pair, forced together by chance of having the same mentor, the same mother.
Together. It was always them together, even when Catra was having a strop and not anywhere to be found, even when Adora was busy trailing the older recruits with earnestness drawing her eyes forward and away from the gir at her side, even under the cover of night when the other kids lay sleeping but Shadow Weaver's private reprimands kept the two up far more than any of the light snoring.
Twins, that's what they had been, but the descriptor feels unmistakable wrong. They have never been anything like the easy familiarity and peace she has found with Adam. Their silences had been fraught with tension, their bickering a touch more truthfully sour than either would admit, their sisterhood one exactly as the Horde had raised them to be - begrudging.
Mirrors, that would be better Adora decides. Catra and she had been mirrors, until one day Catra had stood aside as innocents had their homes destroyed, their lands stolen and their lives taken, and proclaimed that none of it matter at all. Then, the mirrors had cracked, darkness distorting the views until Adora realised they were nothing alike at all.
Until Adora had realised that she, she with her magical sword and conflicted mind and a creeping horror cloaking memories of their mother, was without a doubt, faulty.
She was not from here, she was raised amongst an occupying force and her blood denoted her to be from the brother-planet of the one she had considered home, of the one she had shaped her understanding of herself, her roles and her responsibilities around.
Then, the question came, loud and insistent, one with the darkness, overwhelming each lonely night as she discarded the alter-ego of She-Ra, who is Adora?
Firstly, she had been Force Captain Adora of the Horde, she had been saving the people of Etheria from the simple lives they had lived and helping bring the planet into a new age, one of prosperity for all, or so she had believed.
Next, she had been She-Ra, hero of Etheria, fighting to protect her people, Etheria's people, from the occupying power sullying their lands with bloody conflict, conquering their homes and raising their children to carry on a legacy of destruction, fighting to redeem herself and all of the children of Etheria tricked into harming their perseverant home.
Then, then she was…?
She was foreign, and she was different, and no-one would quite understand. She was on the tight-rope between two cultures, two worlds, and she knew neither of them truly.
She had no claim to either of them. She was raised in Etheria, and she was raised by the occupying power in the land. She was born of Eternia in Eternos, and never once had she took step on the planet nor partook in any of its customs.
Somehow, that has all begun to feel okay now, though. She belongs to both and that is fine, she had found herself as she helped forge peace across the land. Her brother had accepted her, enveloping her in a strong bear-hug and laughing delightedly as she took the initiative to lift him up, mirth in their shared, suspiciously watery eyes.
Everyone, her friends, her family, her cute, rogue, shyly sentimental pirate, had washed her hands of the blood from the mirror shards, and she had found the strength within her to breathe properly for the first time since stepping out of her suffocating bubble.
It is not re-doing the past, but it is making new memories now that she is on Etheria in time for the prom for the first time since then.
She wants to attend, wants to dance like how Sea Hawk had taught her beneath the stars on his rocking boat, wants to be pulled into a tangle of enthusiastic limbs by Glimmer, wants to fudge up sometimes with the clumsy Perfuma and giggle together over their errors and the lovely couples.
Imagining dancing in the loose style of Sea Hawk's people with her son bumping into her skirts and shining with his joy and her husband carrying their precious daughter atop his shoulders with uproarious, untamed laughter, imagining being pulled aside to a balcony by her husband so he can whisper exactly how dazzling he believes her to be lowly into her ear as their friends fuss over the twins, it's beautiful.
"C'mon Hope, we're doing this," Adora says, plastering on her 'Hero Voice' as Sea Hawk and their kids have taken to calling it. Honour perks up from where he had been slumped over, reacting automatically to even the barest iota of authority. Teela had trained her nephew well.
She chuckles, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair which he speedily dodges. He mutters - tone still a practiced respectful - about the spray in his hair and all the time it took to style it, patting down non-existent loose strands. He looks exactly like his father with his care for appearance and she fights the urge to squish his chubby cheeks.
Honour, filial and surrendered to the whims of the women in his life as he has proven to be countless times, has already changed into his formal wear.
He sports a long rebel-red tunic once belonging to her that Adora adjusts to not slip over one shoulder on his young frame as well as loose trousers of the same colour. There is simple rich brown embroidery crawling shortly upwards from the sleeve-cuffs which Sea Hawk had purposely stitched to be reminiscent of Eternia's starry skies one night when they had both been feeling homesick. His only jewellery is a subtle pearl necklace dipping beneath his top, a treasured find by his paternal grandfather Falcon.
Hope looks between the two of them warily, shifting on her feet. She bites her lip and twists her hands in her night dress once more before slackening her grip totally. Her arms fall to the side, her fists clenched tight, but she asks in a small voice, "But, but what about Papa?"
"Papa? What does Papa have to do with this?" Adora responds.
Hope harrumphs then, nose flaring in a fit of temper, "He's not here!"
Adora remains confused, kneeling to reach her daughter's eye-level, "Love?"
Sea Hawk is not here, he is fetching Glimmer, Bow and their massive, tiny entourage so that they'll all enter as one. Adora knows this, Hope knows this, they all know this, so the problem is…?
At that moment, her son approaches from behind, wide eyes fixed upon his sister, and presses in to Adora's side. He is warm and comforting, a constant little flame, flickering steadily like the rocking motion of his father's ships. It has an otherworldly soothing quality, that lull both father and son share, and she cherishes it just the same as her daugeht's brilliant sea-storm, the same as the dizzying winds that swoop in her mind.
"Ma," Honour says slowly in a matter-of-fact manner copied from Teela certainly, "It's her braids. She won't dress otherwise."
She turns to her son, keeping both her children in her line of sight still, and hums softly for him to continue.
"Papa always does her braids, always," her little boy says with a silly severity to the words.
"Is that so?" Adora barely restrains her giggles, bringing one mouth to cover how her lips press together in a thin upwards curve.
Hope's cheeks flush slightly, embarrassment just barely visible on her bronze skin. She splutters, hiking up her skirts once again as if to make herself more imposing. Finally, Adora freely laughs, gesturing for the little gremlin to come closer.
Her children press into her warm embrace, and she wraps her arms around them like a makeshift shield.
"Mum, we're squished!" squeals Hope, pushing further into Adora's shoulder anyways, smile a welcome indent against Adora's skin.
"Sure, squirt?"
"Yes! Yes," her girl calls, and then, "Papa! Save us!"
Startled, Adora scoops her children up slightly, turning them around ans an group and adjusting their positions to see Sea Hawk leaning against the doorframe. Squinted in clear amusement, his deer-brown eyes gaze into hers before roving across the ruddy faces of their little ones.
"I'm sorry, I don't know you," he says to their pleading daughter, stroking the scruff on his chin playfully. His long fingers exaggerate the motion, sliding through the air ridiculously, "My little Hope is supposed to be dressed up right now. Do you know where she has gone?"
Said Hope huffs in protest, flinging herself out of Adora's grip and darting to her father's legs with only a distracted pat goodbye to her mother's knee. Honour dislodges more sedately, grasping onto Adora's hand sweetly whilst she lethargically rises.
"It's me, Papa! I'm Hope!" She exclaims, her red hair cascading furiously as she shakes her head.
Sea Hawk hums thoughtfully before deciding, "No. It can't be. My Hope always listens to her mother," with a swish of his head to turn the other way, his own red hair bright against the pale walls of their rooms. It works as expected, their daughter's cheeks puffing outwards, before the girl runs to the divider to change herself, a miniature flurry of motion as always.
"Okay! Okay! I'm getting changed!," Hope declares frantically whilst her shadow can be observed discarding her dress and pulling on new layers clumsily.
Sea Hawk and Adora share a private glance and break instantly. Adora bends in two, hands resting on her solid knees as she wheezes quietly. She looks upwards to her husband, only to find him not there. He lays on the floor, an arm around their son, as he tears up.
She cocks her eyebrow at him, miming brushing off dirt and flicks her hair for the extra measure, gasping in mock offence as Honour looks at his childish parents judgingly, "C'mere, Honour," she calls, "Your father is such a bad influence on me, is he not?"
"I'd never laugh so un-princessly. It was so peaceful before."
Honour toddles over obligingly, giving her a dubious luck that she ignores by busying herself with adjusting his tunic. He hadn't said a word about it to his father, and she realises how much her kids love them for Sea Hawk had been gone for only a half hour maximum and yet the rube evidently missed him greatly, enough to sacrifice their opinions of propriety. It sparks a warm flush in her, confirming that they're doing something right.
Alone but seemingly happy drinking in the sight of them, Sea Hawk looks to her properly and smiles softly for a moment. Then, Honour fidgets, their little picture gone and she notices her husband's lips twitching, opening, moving wordlessly. It takes her a moment to understand, but he's pointing at the divider and chanting over and over, 'Just like you,' as if it's the peak of comedy.
Cleverly, her boy slips in-between them before it can dissolve into a wrestle, not that she is that insensible of-course, and speaks up, "Hope needs you to do her hair, Papa."
Adora's eyebrows are raised challengingly, a clear and provocative, 'This is not over.' He only looks more amused, and the urge to tackle him grows.
"Oh?" Sea Hawk replies with a kind glint to his eyes, like the moon against the night sky, "Would you like to try, Honour? You've become really good from our practice."
Honour wavers, looking to his mother for permission, before nodding once sharply and moving to join his sister - now struggling with her jacket but stubbornly not inviting help - behind the divider.
Adora stands then, moving in to her husband's space. Sea Hawk greets her easily with a chaste kiss to the lips, pulling pack gently to inform her that he'd left Glimmer and Bow to wait a moment in the sitting room.
Adora trails her hands down his sides, sighing, "We better join them then, once the kids are done."
"A good thing that our little Honour does braids well if granted a quarter hour or so," he responds mischievously, peering up at her from under his lashes and somehow managing to look like an innocent, small kid seeking her approval despite his hulking height.
A knot in the back of her chest loosens at the levity, and by how he massages the very spot, he had noticed. She groans appreciatively into his touch, arching her back and pulling at his shoulders to draw him closer.
Sea Hawk for once, though she cannot say much without becoming hypocritical, is not wearing his favourite, short navy-blue jacket. And she enjoys it very much, she does, but the change now is welcome for he instead wears a white tunic, which he would not normally dare without coverage due to the untameable nature of the ocean, with a deep v-neck showing off his bronze, chiselled chest.
It makes her feel as though she has been lit aflame by him as he captivates her wholly, though he proudly adorns ocean blues and is undeniably of the sea with his attire. She, more-so, resembles the sun with the daring red and the molten gold that she wears.
Distantly, she wonders if the sun had been similarly enamoured with Icarus as she with the man in her arms. Can any other's love feel as intense as the white-hot fire she feels for this one?
Her hand lifts upwards, tracing his scarlet-stained lips before her finger pads press against her own softly. Has the colour spread to hers from his chaste kiss? Would people see the same shade on their lips and know? For some reason, despite that their relationship is public, it is enticing. People could not possibly know the depths of their love for one another, not when she has not yet found the bottom of it all either, but this snippet could feed a few gossiping mouths.
Her lips twist upwards.
Cockily, Adora leans back and asks, a hand ghosting over his chest, "Are those for me?" It is for pride, and the satisfaction of seeing the smallest amount of playful frustration in his eyes, that she enunciated her words properly and banished the breathless quality that threatened to emerge.
White.
For innocence, for purity, for virginity
Bronze.
He flaunts his skin, the exact opposite of modest, the exact opposite of innocent. His virginity is in tatters, has been taken, has been given.
Red.
Her colour. Hers, not She-Ra's. Hers.
He is hers.
"Are those for me?" Sea Hawk's response deliberately ducks beneath the question, echoing her words as through entranced while he removes one hand from cradling her face to guide her arm upwards with a gentle grip. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to her wrist, just before the pearl bracelets he's lovingly crafted for her begin to stack up on her arms, a nod to him, to the connection they share, to them.
She's had enough, she decides suddenly. She's always been one better-suited to action. Adora crashes into him, hooking her arms around his neck and kissing his confession out of enthusiastic lips.
He is hers.
Hope and Honor emerge from behind the divider shortly after, her deep red hair braided neatly and a proud, shy smile adorning his face. They link hands with their parents, and they are theirs.
A unit of four, a family, they go to greet Glimmer and Bow and their little gremlins, branches of their little network of relatives and friends and loved ones, and Adora and Sea Hawk avoid Glimmer's knowing smirk at the sight of their crimson lips with their own teases of her numerous brood.
Sedately, they stroll to the grand hall with arms intertwined. The air is crisp in Frosta's realm, and Adora inhales deeply, happily. Already, she knows that this princess prom is shaping up to be a night that overshadows any unkind memories.