A/N: So I watched She-Ra a few months ago, but it took me a while to write anything because my feelings were overwhelming and hard to express and also not usual fanfic fare. I connected with Catra's trauma more than anything else. No one believing in her, abandonment issues… and unfortunately, the child abuse stuff. So that's what I ended up writing about. There is definitely a lot of Catradora in this story too because goddamn I have Feelings about them, it's just in the background to start. Adora will have some chapters dedicated to her as well, because her trauma and abuse are also worth unpacking. I'm mostly writing this for myself as a form of catharsis because season 1 really truly fucked me up, but if you can handle it I'm happy to have you along for the ride.

WARNING: This fic is basically about what it's like to be a survivor of child abuse, both emotional and physical. There's some very dark themes and disturbing content in this story, especially the Catra POV chapters. Most of the violent stuff is not graphic, but it is discussed very frankly, and the psychological implications could still be triggering. Read at your own risk. I will include further content warnings for graphic violence as needed.

This chapter is especially dark simply by virtue of who is in it. They won't all be this bad.

The nightmares are a given, but tonight they're worse than usual. In sleep her already heightened senses go into overdrive, making her relive scenes in excruciating detail. The burning prickle on her skin and screaming tension in her muscles when Shadow Weaver catches her in a bolt of binding magic. The terror coursing through her veins and making her whole body shake as she's dragged into Hordak's throne room and thrown at his feet. The sickening give of ripping flesh as her claws rake down Adora's back, leaving long gashes in their wake. Adora's cry of pain.

Catra shoots up in her bed, heart in her throat, eyes darting around the dark room. They adjust in an instant, allowing her to see she's alone. If only that were a relief. She still hasn't gotten used to sleeping by herself. Adora's scream echoes in her head again and she winces, the scars on her own back tingling with sympathy.

Sympathy, huh. Leave it to her to feel sorry for Adora, of all people. A dark chuckle bounces around in Catra's chest, tongue tucking under her lip. One hand reaches over her shoulder, fingers grazing the ridges of raised skin poking through the thin layer of fur on her back. She doesn't have a lot of them - Shadow Weaver only made her bleed a handful of times. Only tenderized her skin to the point that it ruptured a handful of times.

Checking on the time, Catra scowls. It's four in the fucking morning, but she's wide awake. Her nocturnal proclivities are only partly to blame. It was a miracle she fell asleep in the first place, her whole body has been buzzing with adrenaline ever since that showdown with Shadow Weaver yesterday. Was that really only yesterday? So much happened in a span of, what? Twelve hours? Entrapta's experiment, the attack on Bright Moon, her promotion to second-in-command. Sure, maybe everything didn't go her way, but overall yesterday was definitely a win.

So why does her body still feel like it wants to jump out of her skin? She'll have other chances to triumph in battle, and Shadow Weaver is no longer a threat. Catra stripped her of her power both literally and figuratively. She doesn't have to fear the binding magic anymore. Then again, that wasn't what did the most damage to Catra, not by a long shot. It was very unpleasant, of course, unbearable in its own way, if for no other reason than it rendered her as powerless as she always felt. But Shadow Weaver's primary weapons against her didn't come from the Black Garnet. They were pain, and fear, and words.

The words were the worst, actually. The fatigue and general soreness that followed the binding magic wore off within a couple of hours. The bruises on her back (and her ass and legs, if she'd really pissed that bitch off) began to fade within days. Even when she bled, the cuts closed quickly enough, took less than a week to fully heal. But Shadow Weaver's words, well. Those never stopped hurting, never healed and faded into scars.

Catra needs to find a way to exorcise those demons. Maybe then she'll find some peace.

It makes her fur stand on end just walking up to the prison doors. When she acted out, talked back, or simply existed, she risked ending up here. There was no way for her to predict when - it all seemed to depend on Shadow Weaver's volatile moods. Sometimes Catra would get lucky and she'd just yell at her or cuff her on the spot, give her a black eye or a stinging cheek and nothing more. But now and again, she'd drag Catra to the prison by her arm or her ear and throw her in a cell. Sometimes she'd return within minutes bearing a staff or a belt, get it over with right away. Sometimes she'd leave Catra there for the rest of the day to think about her insolent behavior before coming back to deliver her punishment. That was the worst part. The waiting.

A few times when she was little, she tried to hide or fight back. It was futile, and stupid. The only place to hide was under the cot and she'd inevitably get dragged out by an ankle or her tail, smacked upside the head before being forced down to her knees. If she was uncooperative in any way Shadow Weaver would hold her in place with the binding magic during the beating, and that made it so much worse. It was better not to resist.

The ride up to the correct floor of cells makes Catra's stomach all rocky, and not just from the rapid change in elevation. Everything about this place gives her chills. It doesn't help that it actually is relentlessly cold in here, even for someone covered in fur. Catra drags a claw along the metal wall as she dawdles toward her destination, trying to convince herself she's savoring the moment, not scared shitless. That gets harder once she reaches the door and her hand wavers over the control pad. Shaking her head sharply, she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. Shadow Weaver isn't in control now, she is.

Tapping in a series of commands, Catra alters the force field so she can see through it but Shadow Weaver can't. To Catra's surprise she's not lying but sitting on her cot, very much awake. Maybe she couldn't sleep either. Being disconnected from the Black Garnet has always caused her pain and distress. Catra's head tilts as she drinks in the sight of her former commanding officer slumped back against the wall of her cell. The mask is gone, leaving her ugly face exposed to the world. Her eyes are screwed shut in a grimace, fingers rubbing her temples. She doesn't just look miserable. She looks powerless.

Something feral and predatory rises in Catra's chest. Disabling the force field with a few quick taps, she prowls into the cell, tail swishing happily. "Look who's locked up for being naughty now."

Shadow Weaver slowly opens her eyes, meeting her gaze as the field reactivates behind her. "Come to gloat, I see. Humility was never one of your strengths." The surprising fortitude in her voice sends a shiver down Catra's spine. When Shadow Weaver leans forward, her heart stutters and she has to fight the urge to step back. To retreat. Powerless or not, the sorceress seems invigorated by her presence. Maybe Shadow Weaver never needed a magical rock to feel whole. Maybe she just needed someone to abuse.

Hooking her thumbs in her waistband to still her trembling hands, Catra scoffs, "Since when is humility a good thing in the Horde?"

"Soldiers need to be able to put their egos aside and follow orders. You could never do either."

Her chest puffs out. "Then I guess I'm better suited to being second-in-command."

"Lord Hordak doesn't tolerate insubordination," says Shadow Weaver flatly. "You won't last two weeks." Cocking her head, she remarks, "I'm surprised you're still standing. Your attack on Bright Moon failed."

Catra doesn't bother asking how Shadow Weaver knows this, a leftover habit from her childhood. The woman could appear out of thin air. She was everywhere and knew everything. She knew when Catra snuck into the mess hall that one night to scrounge in the trash cans for scraps of food she'd been denied - something Catra never ever risked again. She knew when Adora pecked Catra on the lips in the locker room that one time when they were fifteen, nervous energy trembling in her hands and shining in her bright blue eyes. It was Catra's fault, of course. She was a distraction. She was jeopardizing Adora's future, just like Shadow Weaver had warned her about when she was little.

The kiss was worth the punishment she bore afterwards, damn was it ever. But it was not worth the threat of being transferred elsewhere in the Fright Zone, permanently separated from Adora. Kisses were not worth risking everything that meant anything to her in the world. She could bear the pain of being so close to Adora and holding herself back. Barely. But she couldn't bear the pain of losing her entirely. So she adopted a cool demeanor, acted like the kiss hadn't affected her and never brought it up again. Adora didn't either.

Catra frowns down at Shadow Weaver. "The attack went as planned, until three more princesses showed up and ruined everything." Her jaw clenches, teeth gritting at the memory of having victory - and that traitor Adora - in her clutches, only to have it all ripped away. She should be used to that by now, though. Everything always gets taken away.

"You should have planned for unexpected interventions," Shadow Weaver scolds her. "Any good commander does."

Catra snorts. "That explains why you didn't plan for Princess Sparkles to teleport out of your control and knock you on your ass."

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrow. "I was good at my job, you ungrateful brat. How else do you think I kept it all those years?"

"By making sure everyone else was afraid of you." Catra clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Hate to break it to you, Shadow Weaver, but that's not gonna work anymore." She bends down to bring her face within inches of Shadow Weaver's, tail flicking behind her. "You don't have any powers. You're weak. You're nothing."

"Then I guess we're on even ground."

Catra's lips quirk into an ironic smile. "Let's not forget who's locked up." Straightening up, she prowls back a couple steps and surveys her prisoner, a low noise somewhere between a purr and a growl echoing out of her throat. "Are you being a bad girl? Do you need to miss some meals to remember how to behave?"

"You're not fooling anyone, Catra," Shadow Weaver assures her with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You're just a scared little girl playing dress up."

"Hordak believes in me." The words come out hard and determined as her claws dig into her palms.

Now Shadow Weaver flat out laughs. "You foolish child. Lord Hordak doesn't believe in you. He's using you, just like he used me. He'll dispose of you when you're not worth the trouble anymore, find someone else to take your place." She tilts her head, making pointed eye contact. "You don't want to go through that again, do you?"

Catra's claws are at her throat in an instant. "Say one more word, I dare you." Shadow Weaver's lips curl in a truly evil smile, one that makes Catra's chest ache. She's still taking so much pleasure in causing her pain. Before Catra even registers the words forming on her tongue, they're passing her lips. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Shadow Weaver's eyebrows arch. "You really still need reassurance?" She shakes her head, clucking her tongue. "I always knew you were weak. You'd cry before I even touched you. All I had to do was look at you the wrong way. Good thing I helped you break that nasty habit."

Catra's jaw twitches at the memory, one she tries especially hard to keep repressed. That one time Shadow Weaver said she wouldn't stop until Catra stopped crying. It was particularly cruel, an impossible task… until it wasn't. Catra got so angry, claws digging deep into her cell's mattress, hissing at the humiliation as much as the pain. Her eyes dried, a low growl replacing her begging and blubbering. She didn't understand why Shadow Weaver was doing this, or why it was always her who bore the brunt of her anger and cruelty. All she understood was how powerless she was. That she was at the mercy of a woman who would give her none.

Now that she's older, she does understand. Shadow Weaver was training her to direct her weakness inward so it didn't show, to bury her sadness and terror somewhere deep inside her. Catra learned that lesson, but never could apply it consistently. Her emotions have always felt too big for her body, like a swelling river overflowing its banks. She oscillates between numbness and blind rage, her mask of playful indifference shifting and cracking. Sometimes she'll hold tears in for days without even meaning to, and other times they'll spring up in her eyes seemingly at random. But that was the last time she ever let Shadow Weaver see her cry. And she never begged anybody for anything ever again.

Catra swallows, steadying her voice before responding. "You didn't answer my question."

"You were a waste of my time and energy. A waste of space. Your… kind," Shadow Weaver sneers, "you're all the same. Impulsive, reckless, ruled by your emotions. I told Lord Hordak we shouldn't bother with the scrawny little stray, but he insisted I raise you the same as the others."

"You didn't," snaps Catra.

"You required extra attention to bring you into line," Shadow Weaver informs her, a lilt of vague amusement in her tone. But there's nothing remotely funny about this.

Catra scoffs. "So why did Adora need so much attention, then?"

That evil smile returns, making Catra's stomach sink into her bowels. "Tell me, how long did it take you to realize how much you hate her? Was it before or after she abandoned you, just like your parents?"

A surge of emotions rises in Catra's chest and makes her head spin, but she keeps her face stony. She knows Shadow Weaver's trying to goad another violent reaction for her own amusement so she can mock her some more. She won't give her the satisfaction. "After."

It shouldn't have taken Catra so long, and she knows it. Adora was always the one holding her back, and she wasn't even a good friend. She was so fucking oblivious that she'd lecture Catra about her behavior, suggest she'd be treated better if she tried harder or was more respectful. As though Shadow Weaver hadn't started the whole fucking thing when they were barely out of diapers. Adora had a lot of nerve and not a lot of brain. Sometimes Catra wanted to slap her pretty little face and tell her to wake up and look around her, see how unfair everything was.

But she never did. She was too embarrassed that she was being abused and too prideful to accept sympathy. Catra didn't want Adora to notice how much she was hurting. But, she kind of did. She didn't want Adora's pity, she didn't want her to intervene. All she wanted was for Adora to acknowledge what was happening to her, and that it was wrong. But Adora never noticed, or if she did, she didn't say anything. Catra isn't sure which is worse.

"Then I guess we both lack foresight," reflects Shadow Weaver. Her eyes bore into Catra's with unmasked contempt. "I should have drowned you in a bucket when you were a kitten. You were always more trouble than you were worth."

"So you're saying I was worth something?" Catra forces a grin, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wow. I wish I had Princess Pigtails's recorder with me, could've gotten that on the record."

"Your one use was keeping Adora happy, but you weren't enough to make her stay," Shadow Weaver retorts flatly. "So, no, it turns out you weren't."

"Now that's where you're wrong, Shadow Weaver. I've done more for the Horde than Adora ever could have. No one's even come close to conquering Bright Moon before."

"As I hear, we owe that to Princess Entrapta, not you." Shadow Weaver rolls her eyes. "Any idiot can drive a tank."

"But I'm the only one who can handle She-Ra."

"Because Adora pities you so much she can't bring herself to hurt you," cooes Shadow Weaver.

One of Catra's hands rakes through her hair in exasperation. "Why are you so afraid of admitting I've made something of myself? I'd think you'd be proud one of your wards was such a success story, especially since Adora was such a massive failure."

"Proud? You want me to be proud of you?" parrots Shadow Weaver, eyebrows arching. "Not only are you pathetic, you're delusional. I did everything I could to mold you into a model soldier, and you resisted me the whole way." She shakes her head. "Try as I might, I always knew there was no taming an animal like you."

Shadow Weaver did try, Catra can't deny that. She remembers all too well the attempts to change her nature. How Shadow Weaver forced her into the same sleep schedule as everyone else, how she punished her any time she caught her prowling around on all fours, sniffing the air, using her claws. Catra has no doubt she would have performed better as a cadet if Shadow Weaver had let her use her special abilities, if she hadn't been so keen on training them out of her. On domesticating her.

Catra's voice stiffens, matching her posture. "That's all you saw me as, huh?"

"That shouldn't matter to you," Shadow Weaver scolds her. "I raised you to rely on yourself and not need anyone else. But here you are, still desperate for my approval and Adora's affection, even after she proved how little she cares about you."

"Shut up," growls Catra.

"I failed miserably," says Shadow Weaver. "You're anything but a success story, Catra. You're the weakest cadet I've ever raised."

Catra has had enough. Enough of this conversation, enough of Shadow Weaver's put downs, enough of her abuse. This ends now.

Making a show of slowly taking off her belts, Catra tells her, "You didn't fail. You made me everything I am. Strong, and angry, and ruthless." Looping the belts in one hand, she thrusts them under Shadow Weaver's chin, tipping it up. "When should I stop? When you cry for mercy? When you pass out from the pain?" She can't quite keep her hand from shaking. "How about when you bleed out?"

Shadow Weaver is unruffled. "Threaten me all you want, you pathetic ball of fluff. I'm not afraid of you."

A spark of exhilaration rushes through Catra's veins. Caressing her captive's chin with her free hand, she flashes her fangs in a wide smirk. "Oh, Shadow Weaver," she purrs. "You should be."

A/N: Still here? Phew, glad that's over. Next chapter is therapy with Scorpia, so it will be lighter. Not that that's saying much. It's mostly done so it should be up before too long.

You can find me under this same alias on Tumblr and YouTube if you want to come scream with me about Catra feels and She-Ra in general. Shameless plug, if dark Catra shit appeals to you then you'll probably like my vids too. ;)