Bad End of the World

Blood On Our Hands

Adora

Adora's dreams started out as nothing but warm, wonderful memories. Her limbs were entangled with Catra's, and they were making love, over and over again. There were gasps and groans of pleasure all around, and Adora's heart had never felt more full.

But then, without warning, her dreams shifted to nightmares, and war. She saw rivers of blood, smelled a tinge of iron in the air, and heard the sound of cracking bone, echoing all around. She was She Ra again, tall, strong, and dangerous. And she was furious. She strode around the battlefield, killing anything and everything that came near her, or near Catra. She ripped and tore, pulled people apart as though they were nothing, like they were made of paper, and so very easy to shred.

"Adora, why are you doing this?"

It was Kyle. He looked so small now, standing beneath her. But he was with the rest of them, the horde, the ones out to get them, the ones trying to stop them from finally having some chance of a life together. And so in one quick motion, Adora reached her massive hand out, grabbed the top of his head, and squeezed tightly.

"No!" Adora jolted upright, and found herself covered head to toe in sweat. She patted her hands up and down her body, relieved to find it was normal, just her regular five foot five, fairly muscular build. She checked the front and back of her hands, looking for the hot, fleshy mess she'd felt just moments ago.

"Are you okay?" Catra asked, resting her hands on Adora's shoulders. "Was it a nightmare?"

Adora nodded mutely, still reeling from the dream. It had felt so real, and as though that uncontrollable rage had been a part of her. In fact it felt just like the white-hot fury she'd experienced while corrupted... and maybe that's all it was - a memory. Adora certainly hoped so.

"Hey. Come here," said Catra. She pulled her into a soft embrace and cocooned them both into the blanket. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Adora wrapped her arms around Catra's bare, soft-furred form, feeling the chill inside of her thaw out, just a little. "No... I'm okay."

But she wasn't okay. Even with the blanket and Catra's warm arms wrapped around her, she still felt a deep, cold chill in her gut. The adrenaline of yesterday's escape had kept her focused, and making love to Catra had been the most wonderful thing she'd ever experienced in her life. Both of those things had kept her so preoccupied that she hadn't had time to think about how she'd shoved that blade through Shadow Weaver's chest. But now, she had time. And the harsh reality of it all was seeping into her bones.

Catra pulled away, and stroked her hand against Adora's cheek. "When did you last eat? You look pale."

"Uh... well, I was sick, so technically... yesterday morning? I'm not hungry, though."

"Of course you're not," Catra said, rolling her eyes. "It's called shock, idiot. But you're going to eat anyway, because we'll have to move soon."

Catra crawled away and rummaged through her bag, her firm, bare ass on full view, and Adora suddenly became very distracted from her inner turmoil. She felt a warm twinge between her legs at the sight, and swallowed thickly, her cheeks burning.

Then Catra turned around, and bared her fangs into a sharp grin.

"Hah, pervert," she chuckled, the tip of her tail quivering as she headed back to their shared mats. She threw a few bars and two bottles of water on top of the blanket, then crawled back under it, nestling comfortably beside Adora.

"Hmm. It was a nice view," Adora admitted, kissing Catra's cheek. She unwrapped and chewed at the first ration, despite it tasting of sandpaper, then drank half her bottle of water.