* PRINCESS / POWER

There’s a moment between when he knocks on the window and when it opens, a moment in which Peter’s stomach twists in knots and he begins to question whether or not this is the right idea, but he can’t stop crying, and Adora’s place is the closest, and shit he doesn’t know if he’s bothering her or not and what if she doesn’t want him here, he shouldn’t shoulder all his problems onto her, they’re not her’s to deal with, but he’s SHAKING and he needs SOMEWHERE to go. And then there’s the sound of the window sliding open ( NO GOING BACK NOW ), and Peter locks eyes with Adora, his vision blurred and distorted, but he can clearly make out her worried gaze, and through the ringing in his ears, he hears her say his name. 

And that’s when he falls right into her room, climbing through the window and before he knows it, her arms are tight around him, fingers tangling in his hair and tracing his back, and Peter LET’S GO. 

He’s still wearing his tattered suit, but his fingers slowly let go of the mask clutched in his hand, and it falls to the ground with a soft thud beside his feet. His voice breaks into a fractured sob, head buried in her shoulder, before he lifts it a little. 

“I’m sorry– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to– I don’t wanna just– just come here and– but there was…there was a fire, and I tried, I went in I tried to help but rubble was falling everywhere and I didn’t know what to do and it was messing up my senses and– and I couldn’t stop thinking about when I almost got crushed but I got a little girl out and then– and then I heard somebody DIED and I didn’t stop it– I didn’ stop it Adora, and it was just TOO MUCH INPUT and I didn’t know where else to go so I came here and I’m s o r r y-”

           The young hero’s burden finally collapses. 

He can’t help the way his grip grows tighter, head hanging as he tries fails to hide wetness of his cheeks and the reddish color that rims his eyes. He didn’t mean for this to happen.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄  𝐈𝐒  𝐀  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐃  𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐓𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆.  he  is  the  warm  fireplace  on  a  frigid  night,  the  sweet  -  sour  lemonade  on  a  sweaty  summer  day.  there  is  something  in  his  hurt  that  attracts  darkness.  deep,  heavy,  unforgiving,  darkness.  his  blame  is  painful,  judgmental,  towards  no  one  but  himself.

he  places  his  life  in  the  hands  of  a  jury  consisting  of  nothing  and  no  one  but  his  worst  fears.  they  do  their  job,  they  find  him  guiltyguiltyguilty.  here,  adora  is  separate.  her  own  jury,  her  own  judgment,  unprejudiced  towards  peter’s  mistakes  in  a  way  that  he  can  never  be. 

please  stop  blaming  yourself,  peter.  please  stop  hurting.  you  do  not  deserve  it.  you  are  good.  peter,  you  are  so  good.  good  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  better  than  me.  and  this  is  not  your  fault.  you  are  doing  your  best  and  that  is  enough.  please,  pete,  be  easy  on  yourself.

so  many  words  unspoken,  laying  over  the  tip  of  her  tongue  ready  to  spill.  adora  is  walls  up,  defenses  out,  unable  to  be  who  she  wants  to  be  and  say  what  she  wants  to  say.

“  peter  ...  ”  lips  pause,  take  in  a  well  needed  breath.  “  peter,  you  can’t  ...  ”  frustrated  noise  leaves  her  tongue,  all  the  words  she  wants  to  say  overloading  her  system.  body  pulls  away  from  his,  eyes  carefully  scanning  over  every  aspect  of  his  features.  clickclickclick.  the  seconds  pass  by,  pink  lips  gently  press  to  his  temple.  “  you’re  safe,  pete.  ”  blue  eyes  lock  in  with  his.

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