“Oh my god, this is NOT just a scratch!” For torsewelll PLEASEEE thank you :)
“It is just a scratch,” says Torse, in response to Marya’s questioning look. In his defence, he will likely be fine. There are far more pressing matters at the moment than his own state of injury.
Maxwell wheels around, anyway. Torse is - beautiful, obviously, but also very beyond merely scratched. There is a sword wedged between his two lowest ribs, and whenever he speaks, his voice comes out warbled and pitchy, at times low and growling and at others the high pitched squeak of static.
“Torse,” says Maxwell, the word falling from his lips in shock. “That is not just a scratch!”
“Right!” says Marya. “I was saying this! He would not listen. Maybe he will listen to you.”
Maxwell feels himself flush.
“I am fine,” says Torse, though the final word stutters and pauses on the vowel. “It is not a major injury.”
“You are leaking oil,” says Marya. Maxwell wants to lick it. His flush deepens.
“Torse,” says Maxwell, again. “You should let her look at it.”
Torse’s head twitches. “I will be fine,” he says. “Stop worrying about me.”
Maxwell walks over. There is now a long, dark streak of oil running down Torse’s spine, viscous and thick and alluring, in a way that makes Maxwell want to touch, to taste, to-
Help. It should make him want to help.
“No,” he says. “Someone has to.”
Torse glares at him. It is impressive, from someone without a moveable face. Maxwell glares back, taking full advantage of the motility of his eyebrows.
Marya snorts. “You two are so perfectly matched,” she says, and the flush that had faded from Maxwell’s face rapidly makes itself known again.
“Marya,” says Torse, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she says, “that you should let me look at that sword in your ribs.”
“I do not understand how that makes us perfectly matched.”
“If I were to stab Maxwell in the ribs, he would say it was fine, and you would be telling him to get looked at. You are the same.”
Maxwell buries his face in his hands. She’s not even wrong, which makes it worse.
The oil has begun to pool on the floor. It doesn’t seem to be having any terribly negative effects on Torse, but it is still concerning.
“We’re going to the workshop,” says Maxwell, and he grabs Torse’s hand to pull him along. He doesn’t know if it is actually going to work, but Torse follows him easily, like a lamb to its mother. Marya follows the pair of them, a fond smile on her face.
“Fine,” says Torse, as if Maxwell’s hand around his, undeterred by knives and the crushing strength iron, doesn’t make his heart feel golden again. “I think you are overreacting, though.”
Gonna combine 10 and 20 here since you and @dansnotavampire both asked for 10.
20. “Just admit I’m right.” From this prompt list (only taking a few more. send two, you’ll have a better chance of me filling the prompt).
Maxwell is onto something. Tonight, he has a theory, and tomorrow, he’ll probably have a hangover. But! What matters most is that he’s finally figured Torse out. Impassive though his helm may be, Torse can’t hide the many clicks and sputters or the whirring sounds his inner mechanisms make.
Having spent such a lengthy amount of time studying Torse, Maxwell has come to understand what the sounds he makes signify as well as any facial expressions the rest of the crew might make. He probably shouldn’t frame it that way when he brings it up, though. That makes it sound as though Maxwell is obsessed with Torse. Which, he’s not. They’re just friends. Best friends, maybe. Or at least, Torse is to Maxwell. He’s never been all that great at hanging on to friends, his disposition just one step out of line with everyone else’s. But, he and Torse seem to be in sync. They understand each other when no one else does — which is how Maxwell figured out his little secret.
Maybe it’s the fallen angel martinis, or the vodka, or whisky — actually, it’s not important what helped Maxwell reach his epiphany. What’s important is that he made it there. And, equally important, he’s also managed to get his legs to take him to a very important piece of said epiphany: the nut pugs.
Maxwell crouches down and nearly loses his balance, saved only by the tutelage of his elder brother. He makes a mental note to apologize to Wealwell for scoffing at his standing lessons. They’re surprisingly useful.
“There you are,” Maxwell says, his voice straining as he stands back up, nut pug in hand. “You’re coming with me.”
The nut pug in question is a gorgeous auburn color with an adorable black snout and dark ears. Maxwell favors him because he’s the closest to matching the Gotch family colors. And, despite being part of a hive mind, this particular nut pug seems to be a cut above the rest. There’s an intelligence behind his eyes that rivals Ghost Dog’s. Maybe that’s why Torse seems to favor him, too.
Maxwell holds the nut pug up proudly. “If anyone can get Torse to join in on the merriment, it’s you.”
Maxwell isn’t typically one for large celebrations, but their victory today was a great one. The energies of Zood and Zern had been merged once more, Ludmila had been saved, and relations between the two worlds were already well on their way to being strengthened. If anything was cause for celebration it was that. So… Maxwell finally let himself relax enough to join in on the fun. He had hoped Torse would join them as well, but after the second round of drinks were poured, he’d managed to slip away.
Maxwell only went to the pen they kept the nut pugs in because he expected to find Torse there. Knowing now that he isn’t, and that he left his favorite of the bunch behind, Maxwell checks the only other place he knows Torse to frequent. The bow of the ship.
“There you are,” Maxwell says, relieved to see his friend. “Your presence has been greatly missed in the celebrations. Are you alright?”
Torse looks over his shoulder, then turns to meet Maxwell. “I am well,” he replies evenly. His inner mechanisms betray him, however — iron heart ticking louder, vents opening to release steam in a sigh of relief at the sight of his favorite nut pug. “You should return to the others.”
“Not without you,” Maxwell says. “I understand some of the others can be… overbearing at times, and I’m sure you find the nature of the celebration to be a bit frivolous, but we couldn’t have done this without you. Your hard work deserves recognition.”
Torse looks away. “My work is far from over.”
“While I agree, I think you can allow yourself one night of rest, Torse. Even I have.” Maxwell holds up the auburn nut pug and raises his eyebrows at Torse. “Would having your favorite nut pug there help?”
Torse looks at him again, and the sound Maxwell has come to associate with unfettered happiness fills the space between them. Something like the purr of an engine, the sound Torse makes when he’s most contented. Though, he seems keen to deny it. “I do not have a favorite nut pug.”
Maxwell rolls his eyes and hands him the pug. “Nonsense. I know this one is your favorite.”
“I do not know how you came to this conclusion,” Torse says, “but you are mistaken.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Torse. The other’s aren’t here,” Maxwell drawls. “Just — hic — admit that I’m right.”
“You are not,” Torse says stubbornly.
Maxwell rests his hands on his hips, ready to defend his hypothesis. “I know for a fact I am. Whenever you see that nut pug, you make your — happy sounds,” he says, waving one of his hands through the air dismissively. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It is not,” Torse agrees.
“Ha! So you admit that I’m right.”
“Maxwell…” Torse begins tiredly.
“Really. Of all the things to be embarrassed of, this hardly warrants it. Every member of the crew has a favorite nut pug, for goodness sake. Even Ghost Dog,” Maxwell chuckles.
“It is you,” Torse says.
Maxwell’s brow furrows in confusion. “What’s me?”
Torse lets out a noise of frustration, his gears stalling. “It is not the nut pug I enjoy seeing, it is you.”
Maxwell’s heart skips a beat and trips, not nearly as good at standing as Wealwell. “… Me? I’m the reason you —? No.”
“Yes,” Torse insists.
Maxwell watches as Torse sets the nut pug down. “I… make you happy?”
“I had hoped to convey this to you at a more appropriate time,” Torse admits. “When you returned from your dealings in Gath, perhaps.”
As an entire paradigm shifts in Maxwell’s brain he lurches forward, tilting with the world now fully off its axis. Luckily, Torse catches him before he can fall. (Although, truthfully, he’d already fallen for Torse long ago.)
“You are drunk,” Torse says softly. It’s spoken without reproach. In fact, he sounds downright taken with Maxwell despite how ridiculous he must look right now. Drunkenly flushed with his hair unkempt and his skin still bruised and broken from their battle.
“I… may have had a few shots,” Maxwell mumbles as he holds onto him. “Torse, I — ”
“We can discuss this tomorrow when you are of sounder mind,” Torse offers, cutting him off.
Maxwell lets himself be scooped into his arms. “That — that may for the best, yes.”
Torse nods. “Would you like me to take you back to the others?”
“I think I may call it a night,” Maxwell says as a yawn sneaks up on him. “You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”
“I will not leave for Zern without speaking to you, first.”
“Good,” Maxwell says with a nod. “Good, I — we’ll speak tomorrow… when I’m a bit more clearheaded.”
very excited to buy the digital download and the physical delux copy of Evermore knowing I have Apple Music and can stream them, but spending my money on Taylor is the only thing giving me a will to live rn
Please tell me about Maratha and the eighth Doctor!!!
this is gonna be a LONG POST but a basically: third season of nuwho but the eighth doctor is there instead of ten
instead of crash landing in san francisco in 1999, the tardis lands near the hospital martha works at in 2007 (??? 2008? whenever 3rd season takes place).
seventh doctor still walks out of the tardis and gets shot, but it isn’t from a local gang, it’s from one of those leather guys that vampire alien with the straw had. (spoilers: later it’s revealed that the leather guy was hired by simm!master, who teams up with roberts!master to take over the world)
anyway. the doctor is taken to the hospital, dies, regenerates, kicks the door of the morgue down to see martha there like “o_O hello. who tf are you”
the doctor doesn’t know, obviously. so queue him rushing around a hospital (freshly moved to the moon), having to sort through his amnesia AND deal with the judoon at the same time.
Also He Falls Head Over Heels For Martha Jones
ultimately he saves the day & takes martha with him.
after that the rest of season 3 happens, except the doctor isn’t broken-hearted and treats martha WELL and reciprocates her feelings and they k*ss. thank you
plz give yourself some room with your gpa!!! It’ll all be good!!!
Thank you, it’s just hard bc I’m applying to law school next semester and besides LSAT scores GPA is most important so it’s hard not to be discouraged lol
