#octaviusphd

[spidroins]

@octaviusphd : [ TXT: Peter Parker ] I suppose I misunderstood the "Vibe".

[ SMS ] OTTO OCTAVIUS : i mean, accidental miscommunication with a giant cephalopod wasn’t on my schedule for the day.

[ SMS ] OTTO OCTAVIUS : but tone over text can be a tricky one can’t it.

[ SMS ] OTTO OCTAVIUS : so shoot.

[ SMS ] OTTO OCTAVIUS : you’re not actually out to discuss biophysics with me are you?

[mutene]

👀 LMAO

          does my muse finds yours hot.

“ for a homo sapien. ”

[zenigatakeibu]

@octaviusphd 📂 starter.

⚖️ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙿𝚄𝚁𝚂𝚄𝙸𝚃 𝙱𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚃 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝙸𝚃, 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙲𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙲𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙴. It sprints, down on all fours. Huge shoulders bulk above a snarling head, eyes amber-glowing pits, piercing the darkness like reflectors. Those legs– thick as tree trunks, with five inch claws to boot– propel it through the subway at breakneck speed. It skids into walls with nearly every turn, reckless in its bloodthirst.

       Were it capable of critical thought, it may have found the man funny, the way he scampers… It’s never seen anything quite like him before. But he smells like the surface– smells like 𝙼𝙴𝙰𝚃. Drool flies from its mouth at the mere thought of tearing into whatever it can get a bite of first: calf, forearm, shoulder. It yearns for the gruesome echo of broken bone as ribs cave beneath the force of a well-aimed pounce, teasing out 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼 before the lungs give, too.

       The chase is what excites it most, though... This pumping of muscle, of blood and breath. It bares its teeth, panting, now at a full gallop, footfalls echoing back in a terrifying sort of rhythm. These winding tunnels are etched into its memory like scars; it could run them backwards, blind, even. It’s not a matter of if it’ll catch him, 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽.

       -- But a sudden burst of light blurs its vision, forcing it to an abrupt halt. 𝚁𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶, beneath its paws, making its whiskers twitch... A train. Distant enough but closing in fast, approaching the subway platform just ahead-- the subway platform its prey just leapt onto. There’s a decision to be made here. It doesn’t think twice about pushing on. The tunnels open up, now lit with clicking fluorescents. Past the turnstiles is fresh night air: a park-- the park, its hunting grounds. Onlookers watch in horror as the weretiger barrels onward, still, fangs glinting in the streetlights-- ❝ 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙷! ❞

[babydxhl]

i should be, but i'm not angry at all.

there is a rio grande in heaven sentence starters | still accepting.

"It's the sedatives."

Mary's voice is dull, bored, sullen as she stares across the cell block promenade and into the cell opposite, her vision marred by scratched Plexiglas and loose strands of her own hair. Curled up on the painted concrete floor, she draws up her knee and settles her chin on it; her fingertips fiddle with the tiny holes dotted uniform along the tongue of one white canvas shoe, where once there had been laces.

It is only because they're both new in — not fresh meat, never, but still with the smell of the city proper clinging to them — that the two of them are neighbours at all. Arkham's inmates spend the first three days of their admission in the same little block, doped to the eyeballs by varying degrees, acclimatising like the fish in a restaurant window tank. Notable exceptions aside.

Otherwise she might never have ever laid eyes on him.

"Should be, want to be," she continues after a moment, shrugging. "Can't though." A grin curls the corner of her mouth, showing shining little teeth. "Not allowed to be mad." She stretches the word out. Sing-song. Maaaaad. Something about this man reminds her of Arnold Wesker, of Jervis Tetch — of men in the asylum stripped of all the things that made them themselves, and therefore made toothless inside its walls.

"What should you be angry about?"

[whampow]

i get the sense you're not being challenged enough. [for bea!]

dark dive prompts.

The ghost of a chilled breath appears behind their helmet as they open their mouth, lips and tongue struggling to find just the right place to be. Even so, Beatrix tries to vocalize. “In-,” they start, holding out the consonant as they struggle to parse through the word, “intel… intellect.” It’s spat out, not the word they wanted. Intellectually had so many syllables that it felt near impossible to speak. A heavy huff follows suit as their posture stiffens, clearly agitated at themself.

“You mean my smarts?” They try again, slower, trying to get every word out in a proper answer. Sure, Otto probably grasped what they were trying to say, but Beatrix was one to attempt to correct and assert themself even if understanding was achieved. It gave them a sense of control and agency. There’s a low mechanical hum from the cryo-suit that punctuates their inquiry, sending coolant throughout it.

They find themself squinting at him with a sort of challenging curiosity, heavy feet adjusting their stance to avoid going too off kilter—or perhaps it was nervous energy. “Or my goals? How so?” They prod in short bursts, wanting to understand his mindset.

[vitrumbra-a]

Now this. Was the worst idea. Not only was this guy asking them to control their powers--as if that was something easy to do in the first place...but also to ONLY manipulate the light itself--of a pretty big area, mind you--and hopefully not accidentally mess up anyone's physical.

Just...cause a little blackout. It's not like they're taking away the power of anything, just the light itself. Can't turn on a lightbulb if the light itself is gone.

" um- you're not gonna be able to see either, if i do this- is that- okay?? "

They turn their head slightly and frown. Araceae was going to kill them if he found out about this...just, don't let him find out! And hope he doesn't think 'hm, this feels awfully familiar.' Well they guess that's the good thing about light, a human eye can't see without it. Taro had already removed their gloves. Sparkling iridescence almost dancing along the crystals and their skin, practically begging to be utilized. How were they even supposed to...do this! The most they had done was a room, but an entire building and everything around it. Would it just...go back to normal after they stopped?

Hope so.

" nobody is going to be able to see. "

@octaviusphd // continued from here

[zenigatakeibu]

@octaviusphd said: nonverbal prompt: read + comb :-)

NONVERBAL PROMPTS.

🐯 THE BED IS warm, Otto even warmer... They've gotten used to this, to having someone else to love. A comfortable routine of hugs and kisses that hadn't taken long to fall into at all. Sometimes Zenigata wonders what he'd done to deserve someone as tender as Otto. He thinks about him often, even when they're together-- thinks about the pink of his lips: a soft, hopeful color.

Fingers tease through Zenigata's hair and he sighs into the sheets, already half asleep. He can hear the actuators chirrup somewhere as he shifts closer to the man at his side. (If three's company, what does that make six?) ❝ Don't forget to turn th' light off when you're done this time. You have a habit of falling asleep mid-chapter, you know. ❞

[arachnidiots-a]

@octaviusphd  :   SAID  "you’re brilliant, but sometimes you get in your own way."  TO  PETER  PARKER

“oh.” peter’s still processing the compliment and the observation from the other. it has him stuck in his tracks, mouth opening, head tilting and face scrunching slightly. “uh,” a hand raises— it’s something between a shrug and a meaningless gesture. “… thank you and noted?”