quoth the raven

(✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): you’re breaking my heart here (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): do you think people here the name Tabitha and go: wow she must be rich? bc I hope they do (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): have you /ever/ known me to be busy? (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): [unsent] even if I was you’re— (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): [unsent] what the fuck rae, seriously— (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): friends are overrated anyway (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): [unsent] they just die on you anyway — like how you (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): zap me and I’ll bomb your apartment :) (✉️ ➡️ moon raes ): where are you?

[text]: wait, what? // @bewaretheraven

(✉️ ➡️ that’s so raven): I need a spell that will unsend text messages! erase them from someone’s mind! (✉️ ➡️ that’s so raven): a heart emoji, rae! I sent a heart emoji!! 

///

Peggy never shied away from bad situations. She was first in line to carry out the most formidable dares in boarding school, the girl who jumped at every risk if there was even the slightest chance of a favourable pay off (sometimes even if there wasn’t. Adrenaline was worth the risk of impact all on its own, sometimes). She fell in love with a man who, for all intents and purposes, was a ticking time bomb – a science experiment that could go wrong at any moment – and she stayed in love because faith carried her through. It was the same in her career, the same in her family. Faith governed every one of Peggy’s actions. She had faith in Howard, until the end, had faith in Anthony that was far from misplaced. Had faith in the Jarvises, in their kind compassion, and had faith in Fury keeping a hand on the wheel when she was gone.

For the most part, Peggy’s faith was well placed. For the entirety, she didn’t regret the chance she took in setting it where she did. Sometimes, it took running in blind to get to the end of the tunnel and see the light. It took taking chances to push the boundaries, to propel the world into the future. She’d made her fair share of mistakes, but the world, she liked to think, was better off for having her as part of it – and she doubted she would’ve been brought back to life if she was going to die like this. Destiny had no place in logic, but Peggy believed in it regardless. Her death wouldn’t come at the hands of this woman.

“I haven’t seen the rest of the world in a while,” Peggy admitted. She had barely even seen New York, had only been here a matter of days and was struggling to catch up. For all intents and purposes she’d missed four years maximum, but her illness meant that more than a decade had passed. (How did Steve cope with seven decades going missing in between?) “Four years, for me,” she replied. “It feels longer, though. I was sick for quite a while before I passed. It feels less like a blink and more like … waking up from a coma, I suppose. Cold sweats included.” Her eyes flickered down to her wrist, thinking of how her veins had lit up blue when she awoke. Perhaps a hallucination. Perhaps not. “I’m assuming you’re of my world?” she said, looking back up at the girl. “This kind of thing doesn’t tend to happen to normal people.”

Bravery could only exist if fear did. It was something Rachel had learned at an early age, something her empath powers taught her swiftly and without doubt. Bravery wasn’t, as many people might assume it was, the lack of fear. It was fear that had been ignored, fear that had been pushed through. You couldn’t be brave if you weren’t afraid. Rachel knew that. It was why she didn’t consider the way she sat in Peggy Carter’s living room to be an act of bravery, why she didn’t think she was bold to come here as she had. Rachel couldn’t be considered brave, because she wasn’t afraid. Because she didn’t fear the bullets in Peggy’s gun or the finger hovering near (but not on) the trigger. 

Peggy was the brave one. Rachel could feel it pouring from her every pore, feel it settling deep within her bones. She might not be afraid of Rachel, but there was fear there, unease. And there was bravery on top of it. There was so much boldness, so much courage. Rachel admired her, yearned to know more about her. Not just her experience with death, but her experience outside of it. Her existence beyond it. 

.

When Illyana returned from Limbo she had a hard time fitting in, the other mutants were scared of her, looked at her like she was going turn evil any second and try to kill them. There had been exceptions of course, most notably was Kitty Pryde, she accepted Illyana for who she was and it was something she would always be grateful for. Illyana had eventually found a place with the New Mutants once they realized that her demon side didn’t necessarily mean she was evil. Magic had been one area where she always felt lonley though, until she met Zatanna and later Rachel and she finally had someone who understood magic to talk to. 

“I like a lot of things” she replied, though there were probably a lot more things she didn’t like than things she actually liked. “Oh sure, next time I run into a monster some moron summoned I’ll just be like hey can you stop your rampage for a minute I need to call someone else to deal with this. I don’t think that would be very effective.”

/

In Azarath, Rachel had been defined by her father’s legacy. The monks, her mother, everyone thought she was destined to repeat it, to make the same mistakes, commit the same atrocities. Eventually, Rachel began to wonder if they might be right. Surely everyone couldn’t be wrong, could they? Surely there was no chance, no shot that she could be good with a demon’s blood running through her veins. But... Then she came to Earth. At first, it seemed more of the same --- Zatanna turned her away, and she was sure this meant she was bad after all. But then she found the Titans. Then Zee changed her mind. Then she met people like Illyana, who understood what it was like to be different, to have dark parts of yourself and still want to be good. And it was a good feeling. It was like being understood. 

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.” Her tone was playful, sarcasm teasing her friend lightly. She snorted at the statement, rolling her eyes. “I mean, clearly not if you’re the only one there, but, like... Right now? I’m here. And Zee can probably be anywhere any time if you just... text her. Sometimes you don’t get a choice, Illyana, but not all the time. There are times when you’ve got options if you’re just brave enough to take them.”

This was probably for the best. The last time she attempted to make a meal on her own it had ended up with a ruined pan and Daisy smacking Robbie on the head with a spatula. Daisy closed her eye and let out another dramatic sigh when she heard someone speaking — someone had seen all of this. Fantastic. “It’s probably for the best,” she said, letting herself be dramatic openly. The woman helping collect the eggs that hadn’t become victims of the sidewalk, she looked familiar. A neighbor. A new one actually. One who hadn’t been in the building the last time she filled the halls with smoke. (It was a miracle that Clint hadn’t found out — or he had and simply not cared. Which was also very lucky for them.)

“I — Well, yeah I wanted to make something,” Daisy said, taking the eggs that had been offered to her and gently picking at what was on the ground, trying to find a few more whole ones. “I didn’t have anything specific in mind I was just… I bought a bunch of things that all sounded good and everything needs eggs so—” She shrugged. “I would settle for edible.”

/

A smile was playing at Rachel’s lips, and she did feel a bit guilty for that. It probably wasn’t kind to find amusement in this, not when someone had just dropped all their groceries on the sidewalk, but... the look on the woman’s face was a little funny. She offered the woman an apologetic glance as she began gathering the eggs that might be salvageable, placing them back in their carton carefully. “Really?” There was a curiosity to her tone, and she tilted her head in question. “Why’s that?” She couldn’t see how broken eggs were a good thing, but... maybe this woman knew something she didn’t. If eggs were to be the next worldwide crisis, Rachel wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.

“Something?” It was vague, but that seemed to be more out of indecision than intention. The woman hadn’t known what she wanted to cook, only that she ought to cook something. There was a sort of endearing familiarity in that. “You know... I know how to make a few things. I’m not a world class chef, but... Maybe I could help you find a use for what’s left of these eggs?”

          So, the scenery matched the employees. The already sly smirk had turned into a devilish grin the moment the magician saw he wasn’t actually alone in the store. He’d felt the presence before he’d seen the witch, if that was the proper name for her kind of magi. The Raven, or Rachel as she called herself, distancing herself from her heritage by taking as normal of a name as she could. Zach was kind of jealous. “Me? Tsh-,” The scoff was followed by a flick of his head, dark eyes landing on the other. “I’m already into real magic. I’m in it so deep that I can barely speak without spitting out a spell.” But… You knew that, didn’t you? The unspoken question stayed in his throat, why else would she be calling him by his name?

           “Though… This crowd sounds more like it’s into the whole… Pickle jars filled with herbs and water kind of thing. Uh, lighting colored candles and such.” Though, with someone as powerful as the daughter of Trigon around, he was sure the contents were in close company to them both: True Occult studies, factual books on demonic forces and maybe Hell itself. Zach had been there done that, had a friend who’d come back less unscathed from Neron himself. This all just screamed free advertising. If only he could schmooze his though, with anyone else it might’ve been easy to throw the Zatara name out like candy, get a few business cards handed out. With her? Well, he wouldn’t say no to a challenge. 

Plenty of people, Rachel knew, looked at her and wondered what it was like to be related to someone so powerful that their name was a quiet murmur of fear in the in the back of everyone’s mind. Her father was the monster under the world’s bed, flowing with so much raw power that his very existence was a threat. Few people could really understand what that was like... but she thought Zach might. His family wasn’t bad the way Rachel’s was, wasn’t full of people who were in danger of ending the world on a whim, but there was still power flowing through his veins and for some people, that was enough to excuse the fear. For some people, that power was all they needed to justify hating him. “Are you? You seem to be speaking just fine now.” Her brows were raised, her smile faint, the answer to the unasked question a definitive yes that hung between them. Yes, she knew who he was. Yes, she knew the power that came with that name. Yes, she understood him in a way most people never could. Yes. 

It definitely hadn’t been the right thing to say, and Barbara couldn’t help but feel regret and guilt for upsetting Rachel like that, maybe she didn’t have telepathic powers, but the damage was notorious. “I’m sorry, what I said was wrong“ she said in a soft voice, the truth was Barbara was aware that she wasn’t close enough to say that kind of things and also she knew it was a complicated subject for Rachel “it was not my intention to bother you“ Barbara paused, thinking carefully the words she would say next “I just think, that we are not always destined to take on a role that we do not want” she said slowly “and I know that it is very easy for me to say it since I don’t know what you’re going through” she accepted, giving a warm smile to Rachel “but I know you really try to be better and do things right, you are more than the fears that others instilled in you”

/

The regret leaked through the walls Rachel put up to separate her feelings from those her powers drew in, and a wave of guilt that was all her own washed over her. “No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “No, you didn’t... I know you meant well.” Rachel was frustrated, but it wasn’t fair to take that frustration out on people who hadn’t earned it. Plenty of people had suggested that her ending up like Trigon was an inevitability, but Babs wasn’t one of them. “I appreciate it, Barbara. Really.” It wasn’t often that someone tried to comfort her like this, wasn’t common for people to try to understand her feelings and attempt to make her feel a little better at the same time. Barbara was a good friend, a good person. Rachel was lucky to have her.

Her warm eyes had turned a soft green with emotion, unable to hide what she was feeling inside. Though, she was never one to hide her emotions, because that was not what she was raised to believe. To a lot of humans emotions were a weakness, but they were what kept her strong. Now, seeing her stand here before her, she could only feel confusion, hurt, pain, sorrow. Not once had she given up trying to find something to bring her best friend back, but it had gone with only failure.

It felt like a dream right now, that maybe this was an illusion… but Raven, her Raven was standing before her. The complexity of her friend was there, she could feel the power. She could feel everything she had in all the years they’ve known one another. And as they made way towards one another, her emotions only grew, showing in ways only a Tamaranean could; her eyes, growing a bright alien green, hair turning from a natural red to one sparkling beneath the sun in ways no human product could create.

They stood there, taking each other in, her eyes sparkling with tears bound to fall down tan cheeks. “I can not form words for how much I missed you.” Her voice had a mix of happiness and sadness, swirled with a lot of other emotions that bore no name. With a few more seconds of trying to understand how she was feeling, she took the final step forward and wrapped her arms around Raven, not intending to let go for as long as she could. Tears finally fell and Kori let out a shaky breath. “I have felt so incomplete without you here.”

/

In a lot of ways, they were polar opposites. Kori felt everything so strongly, so unapologetically, and Rachel felt things in a way that was muted and ashamed. Every emotion that clawed its way through her walls and made its way up to the surface was tinged in the soft glow of fear, surrounded by whispered reminders that she wasn’t meant to let such things through. Rachel’s emotions were her weakness, and Kori’s emotions were her strength. By all rights, they shouldn’t get along. By all rights, they shouldn’t be friends at all.

But the heart rarely seemed to care about things like that. There was no logical explanation for the way Kori’s presence was a calming one, but it was anyway. Rachel felt better with Kori around, felt safer. The world seemed just a little kinder when she was there, even now. With each step she took towards her friend, she breathed a little easier. 

“I missed you, too,” Rachel replied softly, and it was strange to think of how true it was. To Rachel, no time had passed at all. She remembered texting Kori just before the fight that killed her, remembered laughing at something the Tamaranean had said. She shouldn’t have had time to miss Kori, but she had. “But I’m here now. It’s okay, Kori. It’s okay.” She sent a wave of calm to her friend, using her powers in an attempt to make her feel just a little better. It wasn’t an entirely conscious effort on her part --- it was one of those things that just happened.

&

For a long time, she’d been afraid of bars. So many people in such a small space, uninhibited, handsy. It would be too easy to have one drink too many and forget, or stumble and grab the nearest arm for support, or, worse, be grabbed by someone getting a little too friendly. (Although, she supposed the people doing the grabbing may have deserved what they’d get. Maybe.) But as she got older and calmer and braver, Rogue got better at it. And if she had to be the woman in gloves and a jacket in a bar, so be it.

Once, in the before, she would have wanted company. They could have squeezed into a booth and bought each other beers and pretended to be less broken than they were. But a lot had changed in a few months. People were dead. Scott and Jean bore the weight of the world on their shoulders. And Remy was… Anna had left. She had panicked and run from all of this in an effort to find calm, and she had barely even thought about what she was doing to him. 

She had left him.

So she sat alone, cradling a whiskey, relishing its burn on the way down. The young woman next to her looked to be doing the same thing, though her drink looked a lot more colorful. She didn’t say anything; they made no contact, but Rogue knew. She could feel it. She’d been there. Maybe she was there.

You might think I’m crazy, the young woman said.

You have no idea.

Rogue lifted her glass in salute. “Darlin’, trust me, I know crazy. And you don’t look it.” She took a sip, put down the glass, and smiled. “Try me.”

Nobody ever felt one thing at a time. It was something Rachel had learned in the beginning, when she was just starting to understand her abilities. People felt a thousand things at once, felt happy and sad at the same time, felt relief and dread in a single beat of their heart. Emotions were fickle, contradictory things. They didn’t care much for logic, didn’t stop to consider how much sense they made. They clung to a person, influenced their thoughts, their actions. As a child, the concept had been a terrifying one. As an adult, it still was.

The woman next to her felt grief. It was an icepick slamming into her, one of the strongest things out there. It was large, it was demanding, it was all encompassing, and it still wasn’t the only thing she felt. Rachel could feel the guilt beneath it, the nostalgia. The concern. Concern for her, for a stranger, in spite of all the other things floating in the woman’s mind. And there was something to be said for that. Most people were good, decent, kind. Rachel knew it because of moments like this.

She smiled faintly as the woman raised her glass, picking up her own to follow suit without entirely understanding why. She’d lived in this world for so long now, but some of the traditions were still lost on her. 

***

Donna reached out and placed her hand on Raven’s, her thumb rubbing gently. “If you want answers, you have me at your disposal, Rae.” Titans Forever. It didn’t matter that they weren’t together as a group now. They were family in every way that counted. Being with the Titans, Donna had discovered parts of herself that she would never have without them. “Why and how… we’ll figure it out.” It didn’t matter how unworldly those answers might be or how dark the truth. Donna would go through Hell for any of her friends if it came down to it.

/

Donna wanted to help. Of course Donna wanted to help. She was a good friend --- often a better friend than Rachel deserved. She was there no matter how much time passed, no matter how old they got. Rachel offered a small smile, putting her other hand over Donna’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know,” she said quietly, “I know you are. And I appreciate that, Donna. I really do. More than I can say.” Donna sounded so confident, so sure that they would solve this mystery that Rachel wanted to believe her. 

It would have been hard for Billy to not notice the woman’s power…The way she practically seemed to radiate it. It was a rather dominating aura. But so far, Billy has been able to keep his nerves in check so he could speak to her. Hearing the other woman say that sometimes she does, and sometimes she doesn’t had Billy nod his head in understanding.

“I primarily do. I don’t think it’s possible for a magic user to have complete and total control of their powers, but I think it’s possible to have like ninety-five percent control.” Billy admitted. “That’s why I’ve been doing a little side-hustle…Trying to help all of the magic users out here get better control of their powers and to make the universe and world a bit easier on them.” Billy explained.

/

Rachel knew that her aura was an easy one to spot. It wasn’t an arrogant statement, wasn’t an untrue one. Zatanna had been able to sense her father on her the moment she approached her for help, and it wasn’t far fetched to assume others could do the same. It wasn’t far fetched to assume this man was one of them, given the aura she’d sensed coming from him and the way he was looking at her now. Rachel shifted.

“Ninety five percent is more confidence than I’d put in myself,” she admitted, “so I imagine you’re doing something right.” Of course, his story was bound to be less complicated than hers. Fate had determined Rachel’s alignment long before she was born. Her father’s blood in her veins made long term control a pipe dream. She’d always known that much. He mentioned a side-hustle, a term that made her think instantly of Gar, and she tilted her head to the side waiting for him to explain. When he did... “And you think you’re qualified for that? I mean, no offense, but...” She trailed off a moment, shaking her head. “Do any of us stand much of a chance at making the world anything resembling easier?”

It had been unseasonably warm. Winter months were typically reserved for too much snow, sidewalks went and slushy, fingers too cold to work properly. Kitty much preferred the spring, when it was just starting to warm up. Before the sun made the blacktop visually sweltering. When the grass was just starting to turn green and everything felt new.

And maybe that was it. Genosha had felt so stifling. It had everyone she knew and loved, she could be herself for the first time since she was thirteen without worrying about what someone else would say about it; it was perfect in every way that should matter. But something felt off. If it was so perfect, why was Erik dead? If it was so perfect, why was she still counting the days since she’d last seen Scott truly smile. She’d almost said it to Erik, once, and the sentiment had settled heavy in her chest: the sunsets were stained red.

But New York City was unseasonably warm, reminiscent of spring months to come. It was slowly putting itself back together, and Kitty, well– Kitty was lucky enough that she didn’t always have to hide. She could go for a run in a tucked away park in New York City and no one would look twice. It was just cool enough for it to feel a little less like death, but not so cold that she needed three blankets and her own personal space heater. It was perfect.

And it was quiet. No one looked, no one asked questions. There was the trail, and Kitty, and Lockheed tucking between the bare branches of the trees. When she finally stopped, there was a comfortable ache that said she’d actually done something. She stretched, and it felt good, and she said as much. Content right up until she met someone’s eyes, and oh–

So maybe she looked a little windblown, and of course Lockheed would choose that moment the plop down on her shoulders. “No! No, you’re fine. I’m the one talking to myself in public.”

She pushed her hair back from her face and blew out a breath, finding a smile beyond her embarrassment. “Sometimes it’s nice to get out and pretend I do something other than lesson plans and read comics, that’s all. Not that! Not that all I do is read comics–”

A lie. “Okay, I read a lot of comics. But I also go for afternoon runs in random parks, and that should count for something.” Stop, just stop talking. “I’m Kitty. This is Lockheed.”

And Lockheed was laughing, the traitor.

Happiness was a feeling not entirely familiar. Rachel had felt it before, of course --- at some point in their life, everyone had felt happy, even if only for fleeting moments at a time. Rachel had felt it surging through her own veins, felt it through other people just as strongly, but lately... When you were down, it was easy to forget the times when you were up. When you ached, it was hard to remember a time where you didn’t. Rachel had been happy before and she knew that. She’d be happy again and she knew that, too. But in this moment? In these last few weeks, with life tearing into her, reminding her with every beat of her heart that there had been two years where the organ sat still in her chest? It was a difficult concept to hold on to.

Physical activity was meant to ward off dark feelings. In exercise circles, there was a concept known as a runner’s high --- an event in which you ran long enough that your body released endorphins and you felt, for a moment, utterly euphoric. Your anxiety melted away, and you were happy. For a heartbeat or two, amidst the sweat and the heaving in your lungs, you got to be happy. Rachel hadn’t managed to find that yet, but maybe she just hadn’t run far enough. Maybe she just hadn’t run fast enough.

Maybe she should take advice from this woman. This woman with the windblown hair and the reddened cheeks and the smile on her face. Rachel felt a surge of something, but she didn’t know whether it was jealousy or joy that someone, at least, was happy. Even if it wasn’t her.

Something landed on the woman’s shoulder, and Rachel’s eyes widened at the sight of it. Her first thought was demon, a concept that put her on edge, but the creature didn’t seem malicious. “Right,” she said, a little hesitantly. “Talking to yourself, or talking to... them?” She motioned to the creature on the woman’s shoulder.

Smiling faintly as the woman spoke, Rachel nodded along. “Comics are cool,” she offered. “I have friends who like comics.” She’d never gotten into them herself, if only because they often seemed too close to home, but... She’d listened to Gar and Vic discuss them at length, and it made them happy. She’d always liked that.

@bewaretheraven​

The expanse of books and magical artifacts in the Sanctum was vast, but knowing that an occult shop existed in the city was always nice in case Stephen was ever in dire need of something. And having that shop be run by someone as talented as Rachel Roth was even better. Finding out just how many magic users there were in the world never failed to impress him; having been a man of science for so long, it was amazing to know how many people had been enlightened to the magical world for longer than he had been aware of it. It was rather humbling, which was a pretty big thing to admit for someone with an ego as big as his.

It was also nice to be able to go into a shop and talk freely about magical things, the same way he would place an order for a coffee. Which was definitely surreal, and still not something Stephen was used to. Hence why he paused for a moment after entering the shop, and allowed the illusion that he employed to disguise his usual garb as normal clothes to vanish. “I hope you don’t mind me getting a little more comfortable, Rachel,” he commented as he approached her, “But the Cloak really doesn’t like having to hang out in my pocket for a long time, so I like to let it out when I can.” The Cloak meanwhile flapped happily at Rachel, indeed glad to be out and about. “I’ll just try to stay back from anything fragile, lest we have to get into the magical equivalent of ‘you break it, you buy it.’”

/

Another day, another shift at Polymorph. It was mind numbing some days, the repetition of it all, but in a way, Rachel preferred as much. Mind numbing, after all, was far better than stress. Boring was simpler, safer. Boring meant less chance of losing control, less chance of becoming the thing she hated. That didn’t mean she particularly enjoyed the dullness of it all. She’d much prefer to be pursuing hobbies, to be spending time with the friends that had been sure they’d lost her, to be learning more about the magic in her veins. There were plenty of things Rachel would rather be doing, but New York was expensive and Rachel was not immune from rent payments no matter how understanding Mr. Barton was when she told him she might be late this month.

So, she stood behind the counter and stared at the door. She was torn from her thoughts when it opened, tensing for a beat before recognizing the patron and greeting him with a small smile. “It’s fine, Stephen. There’s no one else here at the moment, anyways, and I don’t mind making exceptions for my favorite customers.” It was rare that a customer was both knowledgeable and polite, but Stephen Strange was both. “I’m less concerned about breaking, more concerned about... accidental spell casting. I know I don’t have to tell you how sensitive some of these items can be.” 

The words cut through like a knife, slicing her open in a heartbeat. Rachel’s mouth went dry, her heart jumped into her throat. How many times had she heard the monks in Azarath warn her just how slippery control could be? How many times had her mother looked at her and seen a ghost, a monster? Barbara meant well. Rachel knew that. Her words were meant to comfort, meant to make her feel better. But her pulse was racing all the same and her stomach clenched nauseously. 

“Maybe not,” she agreed in a small voice, “but I could be. Someday. Everyone has always been sure to make that especially clear.”

closed text starter:  ⚡an angry text. // @bewaretheraven

–> 📨 (Rae of Sunshine): Look I'm not angry. I'm just hungry. actually that's a lie I'm hangry

–> 📨 (Rae of Sunshine): and can you really blame me for my insane appetite? Blame it on the speed force

–> 📨 (Rae of Sunshine): it makes me want to eat all the time. And if I don't eat, well maybe I can get angry.