got grenaded gayboy 😔

spideytorch-but-not-this-spideytorch au again

//

Spider-Man's apartment is a piece of shit. It's a single main room, barely larger than the hospital room Ava finally got to call her own the year she turned thirteen, when Jillian's staff had moved Diego to the newly-emptied room next to Michael's. No, she can't get caught up on that now, on them, on the lab, on the burst of blue light that had– Spider-Man's apartment is a piece of shit, a sheet tacked up to separate what Ava assumes is a bed from the rest of the area, where a battered couch and coffee table and cloth-shrouded easel vie for space in the scant few feet between front door and fire escape.

spideytorch-but-not-this-spideytorch au

//

Ava comes out of the building like a comet, flashing bright across the sky, crashing through multiple apartments and landing hard in an abandoned warehouse. She cracks her eyes open, finds a masked and costumed figure crouched across the room from her. He watches her through steady inhuman lenses as she rolls to her feet, tries to catch her balance against a nearby stack of pallets, but she's ash and char and smoke curls up from beneath her red-hot fingers as the dry wood bursts into flame. 

I can't stop going back to it, it's such a comfort game for me (I say as I screech at a warper fucking me up again)

Ava the sole survivor of the Aurora, her lifepod coming down hard in the Safe Shallows. upper body strength from working with the drones in engineering coming in handy now that she's in swim-to-survive mode.

it's beautiful, the first truly beautiful thing she's seen in she doesn't know how long, after a life of ship corridors and spaceports and overcrowded planets. she trawls around among the coral and the plants and admires the peepers and cobbles together a seaglide to provide her with more mobility

She falls into the sand, tears streaming down her face, stars shining gold in the sky above.

She falls into the sand, tears streaming down her face, stars shining blue in the hollow of her chest.

She falls.

She falls.

When she comes awake again there's sand on her cheeks, in her nostrils, working into every crevice of her face, more coming, falling, landing. She doesn't need to breathe, trapped inexorably in the second between sleep and wakefulness, between life and death, the tarask's claws forever frigid against her skin, pulling her through the veil. Still, she tears at the loose contents of a premature grave, a belated grave, thrusts her hand through into the sky, clutches at the stars. 

There's a girl in the sand beside her when she frees herself. She's lying in a pool of blood so dark it's almost pitch black beneath the eternal noonday sun. Her body, too, is pockmarked with starlight, glinting blue beneath her skin.

this technically counts as cuddling istg. nowhere near clean, but tmau snippet in celebration of the News

//

They run out of coffee on Sol 94. Ava struggles blearily to her feet, keeping the blankets swaddled around her as she tips towards the kitchenette area in search of caffeine. Beatrice is there already, prim and proper in her uniform, hair pulled back tight and a scowl on her face as she stares down at the mug of offending liquid before shoving it across the lab bench. 

Ava eyes it suspiciously. "What is this?"