invocation
Jan. 12th, 2020 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysTitle: Invocation
Rating: PG
Series: Marvel/DC crossover (Raven/Peter Parker/Dick Grayson)
Wordcount: 464
Summary: That world left Raven few reasons to believe in prayer, but nights like this bring an old one to her lips, patched and mended and mouthed to the silent dark.
Remarks: Sometimes an ot3 is three friends, their favourite comic book characters, and the agreement they'd be rather cute together, actually. Set in a timeline where Raven died and went to hell, but made it back.
Raven wakes silently, a soundless gasp, eyes flying open to darkness and a hummingbird heartbeat fluttering in her chest.
The images are painted through the boundless space between her and the ceiling. Rubble and ruin. Acrid smoke and sour rot. Curling up on a waterlogged mattress in a four-storey hotel razed to one, charred skeletons stacked in the foyer, tears sinking pointlessly into the stained and stinking fabric that frays apart beneath her clutching fingers.
World-ender at the end of the world, praying to dead ears.
Please let there be someone else out there. Please let there be something else. Please, please don’t leave me here alone-
She draws breath again, open-mouthed and hitching, and the arm at her waist tightens.
It’s an unconscious thing, she knows, when she turns her head to see Peter still sleeping - heavily and defiantly, as always. His face is mostly obscured by the pillow he’s burrowed in, but there’s the pinch of a frown drawing those dark brows down; it eases when she presses a thumb to the crinkle, a cool feather touch against warm skin. His arm is a bracing weight slung over her like a seatbelt, the steady beat of his pulse there against her hand when she lays it over his wrist.
The rustle of sheets and movement against her other side is more purposeful, and when she moves her gaze that way, Dick catches it. His eyes are a bright glitter in the light from the city beyond the window - and she can hear it now, her heartbeat slowing to let that faint thrum of ceaseless, scurrying life filter through again - his curls flattened and falling over his forehead.
He hums his question, mostly asleep but willing to wake, and she answers with a short shake of her head, closed eyes, quick exhale. The next noise is softer, sympathetic, and the bed dips as he shifts closer, the brush of fingers gentle against her hairline before the arm curls and she moves to meet it, lifting her head and resettling into the crook of his shoulder, warm musk in her nose and warm breath ghosting across her face. She closes her eyes tighter, tucks in.
Peter mutters a little, meaningless, his aura hazy and soft in dreaming as it so rarely is when awake, and Dick huffs a soft sigh as if in agreement, already fading. They are solid bulwarks against the haunting of her own mind, objects where she is shadow, tying her to the world that lives and loves instead of the world that burned.
That world left Raven few reasons to believe in prayer, but nights like this bring an old one to her lips, patched and mended and mouthed to the silent dark.
Leave me here.
Leave me with this.
Rating: PG
Series: Marvel/DC crossover (Raven/Peter Parker/Dick Grayson)
Wordcount: 464
Summary: That world left Raven few reasons to believe in prayer, but nights like this bring an old one to her lips, patched and mended and mouthed to the silent dark.
Remarks: Sometimes an ot3 is three friends, their favourite comic book characters, and the agreement they'd be rather cute together, actually. Set in a timeline where Raven died and went to hell, but made it back.
Raven wakes silently, a soundless gasp, eyes flying open to darkness and a hummingbird heartbeat fluttering in her chest.
The images are painted through the boundless space between her and the ceiling. Rubble and ruin. Acrid smoke and sour rot. Curling up on a waterlogged mattress in a four-storey hotel razed to one, charred skeletons stacked in the foyer, tears sinking pointlessly into the stained and stinking fabric that frays apart beneath her clutching fingers.
World-ender at the end of the world, praying to dead ears.
Please let there be someone else out there. Please let there be something else. Please, please don’t leave me here alone-
She draws breath again, open-mouthed and hitching, and the arm at her waist tightens.
It’s an unconscious thing, she knows, when she turns her head to see Peter still sleeping - heavily and defiantly, as always. His face is mostly obscured by the pillow he’s burrowed in, but there’s the pinch of a frown drawing those dark brows down; it eases when she presses a thumb to the crinkle, a cool feather touch against warm skin. His arm is a bracing weight slung over her like a seatbelt, the steady beat of his pulse there against her hand when she lays it over his wrist.
The rustle of sheets and movement against her other side is more purposeful, and when she moves her gaze that way, Dick catches it. His eyes are a bright glitter in the light from the city beyond the window - and she can hear it now, her heartbeat slowing to let that faint thrum of ceaseless, scurrying life filter through again - his curls flattened and falling over his forehead.
He hums his question, mostly asleep but willing to wake, and she answers with a short shake of her head, closed eyes, quick exhale. The next noise is softer, sympathetic, and the bed dips as he shifts closer, the brush of fingers gentle against her hairline before the arm curls and she moves to meet it, lifting her head and resettling into the crook of his shoulder, warm musk in her nose and warm breath ghosting across her face. She closes her eyes tighter, tucks in.
Peter mutters a little, meaningless, his aura hazy and soft in dreaming as it so rarely is when awake, and Dick huffs a soft sigh as if in agreement, already fading. They are solid bulwarks against the haunting of her own mind, objects where she is shadow, tying her to the world that lives and loves instead of the world that burned.
That world left Raven few reasons to believe in prayer, but nights like this bring an old one to her lips, patched and mended and mouthed to the silent dark.
Leave me here.
Leave me with this.
