#0ckts

[conngenic]

@0ckts ♥

“What, huh?” It almost fails to register- 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. Not that it was a bad thing, of course; Octavius was a professional man by many standards. Curtis ( as Otto had just called him ) looks up from his work and starts 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. “You might as well call me by my 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 at this point.” Many people tend to default on the nickname- some barely notice that’s a nickname even. But somehow, for whatever reason, Otto has completely maintained the use of 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜 as a name for completely unironic reasons. “A shame I can’t condense the name Otto into anything particularly... right. Otie? No, makes you sound like a fish.”

[osgoblins-a]

                        it had been a conscious decision to leave, even when body ached for the warm embrace of sleep, to stay curled against partner’s side enveloped in sheets a bit too cheap to be his own, but just as comfortable nonetheless. a decision he’d found regret in for a majority of his morning, and became little more than a passing thought as osborn was swept into the mundanity of work. oscorp will not run itself and otto is not the only one who refuses to rest when there is work to be done. 

                           eyes land on octavius and the other’s shoulders fall from tensed position, relief flooding features there is a sort of comfort in seeing him, even if norman won’t admit as much, not even to himself. 

“  you weren’t there when i woke up.  ”

                          he has the decency to feign embarrassment in acknowledgement to what could be considered wrongdoings.    “ you looked peaceful. ”    no joy is taken in admission of guilt, though whether he actually feels as much is debatable.  he does, though it is no deep and all consuming thing, more a sprinkle than a downpour.  blame parents for the idea an osborn can do no wrong and move on from there, you’ll be better for it.    “ i didn’t want to wake you. ”   you’ll get used to it. 

⟢ @0ckts​  ︱ prompted one billon years ago !

[osgoblins-a]

                         he has been hiding,  no, not hiding, that word is filled to the brim with fear, with a little too much caution. it is an oily thing, a lie that echoes in his head.    he has been avoidant.    not for his own safety, not for otto’s, far too selfish for that, and he is not so arrogant as to claim as much, no matter how pretty such lies are. he has been avoidant because there is a little too much intimacy that comes with octavius’ knowing. he keeps back turned, eyes sternly averted, lest the shine of green in iris show, lest the thing beneath his skin show it’s face beneath his own. the danger of shared secrets could be so easily remedied if only norman had the guts to do it.

❛  can you face me?  ❜

                          ( oh, be kind . let him pretend his cowardice is the same as shame. )    

                        norman shifts, discomfort written in body language, this feeling is foreign to the man who had so fit so comfortably in his own skin for so long: not anymore.    he lost such privilege when he was bestowed with something else. to share body and mind with a consciousness that is not your own, it robs you of quite a few things.    “      i don’t know if i can. ”   admittance of cowardice, of weakness. it feels wrong on his tongue, the words pulling from his throat, crawling with too much honesty, with too much fear for him to feel as though they are his own.

⟢ @0ckts​  ︱ prompted one billon years ago ! 

[osgoblins-a]

⚖️ :)

                     STRONG  !   otto specifically is a very special case within the strength category, though it will never confirm as much. a flaw in black and white thinking. otto is considered much the same way peter is, he has the potential for True Strength, to match it in his abilities, it knows he is strong, that he could best it in a fight, but it also knows he has connections, something it can exploit, unspoken weakness it could use if it felt it needed to.   otto is considered strong, but not considered an equal.     though he could very easily move up or down in that regard.  

⟢   the goblin’s unnecessary opinions !

[osgoblins-a]

" it's a bit late to worry about dragging me into your mess, don't you think? "

                              you say that as if you don’t like getting in my mess.    norman snorts, hand covering bandaged side, the goblin cackles somewhere to the right of otto, and norman has to fight the urge to look, loses to instinct and hopes it doesn’t look as though he is averting gaze out of some sort of shame.   “ i’m not worried about dragging you into anything. ”    he protests, trying to feign irritation to cover what little anxiety may lay beneath the surface of features.   he is good at hiding, pretending. masks are his specialty, he collects them, both within reality and metaphor, without thought.

                              “ if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. ”    it is a question well hidden, norman eyes the other for answer, gaze flickering over features in an attempt to read him.  it is reminiscent of the way the moon might look to the ocean, studying the way tide clashes to shore as if it might validate his calling, as if simple movement might be answer enough..

⟢  @0ckts​ ︱ prompted ! 

[roguedallas]

@0ckts:    ❝  i’m not going to hurt you.  ❞

he’s back.    every fiber of your being tenses up at his approach  ( before loosening once more, you’re falling apart at the seams, remember? )  and dulled eyes follows his movements, frayed senses straining for any indication that this will be the time he’s finally lying about his intentions, that the look of disgust on his face is really for you after all,  instead of this stark-white cage.    but just like always his heartrate is normal  ( well, as normal as it can be while walking the halls of the raft — who wouldn’t be stressed in a place like this? )  and there’s a gentleness to his words that few had ever used when speaking to the scorpion.    it’s almost comforting.

❝  i’m not going to hurt you.  ❞

❝  you say that every time you come by, doc,  ❞    yet you find yourself desperately clinging to those words, cracked and bloody fingernails digging into that promise like your life depends on it.    but it does, doesn’t it?    inside these walls you’re nothing more than a rotting corpse, skin crawling as the maggots begin to eat away at you just under the surface.    and soon there’ll only be a husk left.    it’s terrifying, really, feeling so helpless in your own skin.    there’s a pause as he watches the other, gathering the strength needed just to speak, dusky gaze beginning to moisten a bit,    ❝  it’s good to see you again.  ❞