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#otto octavius
benji-the-art-blog · a day ago
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Okay okay, I’m not a huge Marvel fan... but I am a huge Raimi Spiderman trilogy fan. Especially, for Alfred Molina’s Doc Ock and William Dafoe’s Green Goblin.
I was screaming when the trailer released. MY EVIL BOIS ARE COMING HOME!!!
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doctavvius · a day ago
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do you think that the gatekeeping fanboys are pissed that they can no longer say “girls don’t like me because I’m fat/ugly/a nerd” as an excuse for being a shitty person since we all looked at Doc Ock and collectively decided we wanted to fuck him like I bet it drives them crazy
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why-i-love-comics · a day ago
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Wolverine #2 - "Bad Advice" (2014)
written by Paul Cornell art by Ryan Stegman, Mark Morales, & David Curiel
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docockbrainrot · a day ago
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i think i want you (to leave)
Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.
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Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader
Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+, Female Reader
AO3 link here!
Previous Chapter
Chapter 11
deathwish// stand atlantic ft nothing, nowhere
“Have we met before?” Harry prefaces the awkward elevator conversation the moment the doors slide elegantly to a close. 
This was gonna be a long ride.
“Ah… uh… maybe, I mean. I used to-to work here. For you.” No shit, he owns the place. You shove your clammy hands into the pockets of your cardigan, trying to remain as stone faced as possible. Is it weird that you haven’t made eye contact? Should you look at him? You’ve been very determined to study the framework of the lift doorway, but now you’re wondering if the evasion is somehow more suspicious. Fuck. 
“Is that so? I apologize- I try to get around to introducing myself to as many of my employees as possible; I’m a very… hands on-” Oh God, “kind of boss, you know? Not to mention…” You finally make the mistake (and you are quite certain now that is indeed a mistake) of meeting Harry’s piercing gaze. “I think I would remember a face like yours.” You half expect to hear some kind of snarky quip from Otto in your ear, but, surprisingly, he’s still silent. Is this a diversion? Did something happen? Is Harry onto you? The list of things that could be currently going wrong gets longer by the nanosecond and for the cherry on top of the shitstorm cake, you’re evidently dealing with it all alone. Somewhere in the midst of the insurmountable anxiety, you’re aware that you need to respond without sounding like a total moron and without blowing your cover.
“I-uh-oh-um- Thank you?” Well, gold star for effort.
“Is this your stop?” Harry tilts his head towards the open elevator doors and you can’t believe you didn’t notice. It’s like he has you glued to the floor with his eyes, looking right through you but in the most indescribable way. Like he’s flaying you from the inside out, pulling out all your secrets and laying them bare on the cold, unforgiving tile. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he speaks coolly and it feels so much like a dismissal that you can finally move, albeit mostly on autopilot. You scurry out of the lift and pause to glance over your shoulder as the doors close, catching Harry’s eyes one last time before he’s ascending further into the heavens of the Oscorp tower. You’re unable to rid yourself of the creeping suspicion that he was absolutely onto you. 
“Otto?” You hiss into the Bluetooth receiver, attempting to calm your frazzled nerves. Some kind of feedback crackles through the earpiece and relief washes over you when you hear, 
“I’m here. Harry’s gone, right?”
“Yes- I mean- what the hell was that, Otto? Thanks for the help, he was eating me alive in there!” 
“He’s dangerous, Y/N. In ways you couldn’t imagine. I didn’t want him to hear me.”
“More secrets, yay,” you mutter to yourself, finally taking a moment to survey your surroundings. Mostly glass cubicle office spaces, you note. A few are in use, employees with headsets on, typing away at their keyboards. No one seems to even bat an eye at your presence; you take advantage of your apparent invisibility and make a beeline for an unoccupied desk, as far away from any human contact as possible. There’s a wall to your left which leaves even fewer sides for you to be caught off guard. Not that it’s possible, right? With your, ah… “guardian angel”, so to speak, keeping watch over you? At all times? Right? You shoot what you hope is a very convincing glare into the security camera just above your head. 
“I’ve got it handled, for now, just stop screwing around and get a move on. We’ve wasted enough time, we have to be out before the shift change for the security team gets down here.” You balk at this New, Important Information.
“Shift change?! Otto?! You didn’t tell me this was a timed mission!” And just when you were starting to calm down, you feel the anxiety kickstart like a battery jump straight to your heart. He doesn’t say anything to justify himself and you scowl, plopping down in the cushy office chair and procuring the flash drive, unclipping it from your key ring with your trembling fingers and shoving it into the USB slot. You shake the mouse a little on the pad to wake up the monitor and stare blankly at the log-in screen. Okay… your credentials. You definitely don’t have clearance for this floor, you already know it. But you find yourself again, having to trust that Otto knows what he’s doing even when it means leaving you in the dark. The balance in this relationship is starting to feel a tad skewed and you try not to dwell on it as you reluctantly type your employee information into the respective spaces. 
And, Enter.
No error message, no blaring alarms, no flashing red lights. Nothing happens. 
Except that you’re successfully logged in. “I… Um… I don’t know what to do now.”
“I’ll walk you through it. We’re looking for files that are probably going to be buried in here pretty deep. Just do exactly what I tell you.”
---
You have to say, to an extent, it feels… kind of cool being involved in this. “It’s like I’m a hacker in a shitty movie,” you chuckle and hear an unamused sigh from your partner in crime. In a fashion that has become typical of Otto, he doesn’t explain how he knows what he’s doing. You wonder if maybe he worked for Oscorp at some point… But you don’t bother asking. Not like he’d give you a straight answer anyway. 
You’re pleasantly surprised that it’s going as smoothly as it is; Otto helps you uncover the files relatively quickly and you resist the urge to open them. He demands that you download everything to the flash drive and don’t snoop around. “The less you know, the better.” Yeah, yeah, you’ve heard that before.
Despite no hiccups, you can't help but notice that in the time it's taken to get this far, the people previously occupying the floor have begun to disperse. Probably just a coincidence; maybe everyone's just taking their lunch breaks at the same time. It's still a bit unnerving, and you watch as the last person who was typing away at their desk lays their headset down and makes a beeline for the exit. The stairs, specifically. They avoid the elevator. You wonder if there's a reason for that. Should that count as suspicious? You contemplate bringing it up to Otto, but elect not to. No need to get all dramatic over a few employees taking a break, right? And he should still have eyes on the whole floor, surely he would have said something if things were looking dubious.
Watching the download bar creep ever-so-slowly towards 100% has to be the most excruciating process of your life. You can’t help bouncing your leg under the desk, apprehension getting the better of you. Otto knows something about Harry Osborn that he won’t tell you; he knows something about a lot of this that he won’t tell you. You can’t even begin to wrap your mind around it all, suspecting that there’s just always going to be secrets that you’ll never get to the bottom of. You consider bringing up to him that if you knew what you’re up against, maybe it would be safer in the long run. If you knew what to expect. 
99%
You tap your fingers impatiently against the mousepad. “Would you knock that off, it’s almost done-” Otto’s voice in your head cuts off and you suddenly sit up straight as an arrow as you realize it’s because the Bluetooth is gone. You reach up instinctively to touch your ear where it was and a cold chill crawls into your belly and makes a home there as you slowly turn in the chair to look behind you. 
“So we meet again.”
And his voice is like ice in your veins.
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goldexperlence · a day ago
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seaweeds-and-algae · 14 hours ago
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Fuck yeah, throw a car at him!
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but why he looking thin tho… so are the arms.
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anton-snape · 2 days ago
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Crazy boyfriend
He recently got rid of the tentacles- they were removed in my story, although it was difficult🤷‍♂️
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doctavvius · a day ago
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Olivia: how do 3 men in their 50s not have $800 between them?
Raimiverse Otto, comics Otto and PS4 Otto: they’re - the economy is in shambles
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doctor-ocktopus · a day ago
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Sink or Swim
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Chapter 1: WARSPITE
Doc Ock/Otto Octavius x reader (no gender specification intended for nonbinary)
mermaid/Kraken AU! 
rating: nsfw in the future (18+)
warnings: none for this chapter
🐙 enjoy!🏴‍☠️
The weathered envelope rested in your lap, having read the address and the name enough to have memorized it on your journey from New York all the way to the port of Saint Augustine. It left you to allow your mind to drift past the window into your thoughts. The carriage already made several stops for rest; now only a few blocks away from the port. Sitting adjacent to you was your father’s assistant, blonde hair slicked to the back, personal maintenance impeccable, much like his suit. Rather than wondering out the window, he remained based in reality, keeping himself busy with his own writings and work. 
“I feel it necessary to remind you to try and enjoy the trip.” He muttered, not caring to look up. His hand not even pausing from flicking to the next page in his records book. You could see the family insignia on the blue leather cover, peeking between his fingers. It felt more like a stain than a symbol.
“I don’t believe fun was my fathers intentions sending me out this month.” You rebutted Mr. Weddle, your tone having a hint of passive aggressiveness. You had no interest in fighting another man over this after your father.
“You should still try to impress the board in Puerto Rico, the point of your trip is to make them like you before you take charge.” He finally glanced towards you, distaste marking the periods of his sentences. Mr. Weedle found himself responsible for making sure you made it to the ship safely, a task he was sure was below him. Your father was a successful merchant, his eyes and lineage set on expanding into the southern Caribbean, with you at the center of this plan. Heir to the company, he felt some right to send you off to represent him, pulling you away from your semester of college. 
The air became salty, seagulls laughing at you below with their call. You refused to entertain the assistant's puking of your fathers words any longer. Glancing out the window, the sea was finally in sight, hidden almost through the forest of masts covering the bay. A sigh came across from you, his eyes looking out the window and beyond the sea as well. “Might I give some old...sailor advice?” Mr. Weedle asked, tone moving to less formal. You give a hmm in approval, most of the men within your father’s higher ups actually started as either harbor workers or navy men. “My time as an Admiral was quite some time ago but there is still one piece of advice I could offer new sea legs.” 
You finally give him your full attention and eyes. 
“...Puking is easiest on the Port Bow.” His devilish grin creeping through his lips, infecting your own face. “Humor won’t make me keep you when I am in charge.” You smiled. 
“Dependability will.” Mr. Weedle said with quick wit. Damn him, as your smile grew goofy. 
The carriage came to a jolting halt, shouting coming from outside. Without waiting for the door to open for you, you jump out, seeking the commotion. The two horses ahead of the carriage stomp their hooves, huffing in frustration. Ahead of the carriage were the lumber men of the harbor deciding to block the way to the pier with their stockpiles, moving through hands to a ship nearby. The carriage driver and the workers were in a vocal altercation, giving you the chance to break free of your babysitter. The boards, barrels and sacks were easy to scale over, disappearing over the pile towards the wooden pier.
The people were just as busy and bustling here as it was up the hill. It was a stark contrast to the college life you had the privilege of. Looks and mutters of unrepeatable words from the sailors and mercenaries spat at you. The cut of these folks could smell an outsider, let alone see your pristine attire. it was clearly out of place from the old rotting wood of the buildings, kissed edges of algae and mollusks. The businesses were packed at every stop, Bars, saloons, and workshops covered the lines of the walk way. A drunken man even tried to yell at you to come talk to him from outside a saloon, wanting money or something else. You move just a little quicker.
 One pop up stand you looked into, ‘The Salmon's Treasure Chest’ had Raw fish barrels and fresh fish set for display. The stench hit your nose and stomach, making you wince and back up, tripping right into a large form. You sped toward the floor and only at the last moment did something under you keep you from a sure concession. Two hands also had grabbed one of your biceps and pulled you back up, finding your balance. "I am so sorry, I didn't even realize you were there." You quickly apologized, fearful of crossing one of the already calloused sea men.
 "It's best no one does. You alright?" He asked, glancing around. The man wore a tattered coat with the ends having their own slight green tint from the , dark hair askew over his brows, surely from the wind and the inescapable salt water. He towered over you in stature. However his small smile of courtesy lets you enjoy the wrinkles and dimples in his completion without feeling the survival instinct of keeping your eyes down when you bump into a sour man of the sea. 
"Utterly so, thank you for the catch." You said, giving a small bow of your head with a returning gesture of courtesy. Formality was far more familiar to you then the code of sailors. 
"I assume this is yours then?" He flicked up in between his fingers the letter you had even forgotten was in your possession, somehow slipped from your hand in the fall. 
"Yes sir, I'm on my way to join my ship." You tried to reach towards the envelope, only for him to retract his hand slightly out of your reach. 
"Best be careful out there, things in the water…" He said, the pleasant tone he had before replaced with a serious tone and expression to match. 
You only look in confusion at the cryptic words, pushing forward to pull the envelope away, clutching it like it was your mother's pearls. This was mutterings of another crazy sailor who’s mind was lost in the tide you assured yourself. With no response from you besides the scowl, he gave a small nod good bye before turning away, carrying on with his business once more into the crowd. 
Massive Ships lined the docks to its fullest, all shapes and sizes coming and going across the seas. The further you went out the dock began to wobble with the waves. Sailors shuffled and bumped you all along the way, shouting and laughing. You searched the sides of the boat for the name, the WARSPITE. A new ship, only a few months old to impress our future partners with a grand entrance and impression. You spotted the fresh paint along the old beaten ships and confirmed it when the letters boldly repeated the name on the letter. It looked like only a few barrels left were to be loaded, Two men tossing them aboard. 
"Is Captain Conn here gentlemen?" You asked, standing as tall as you could, mimicking your fathers shadow when you were little. One of the men continued on, not even paying you mind, the other glanced up and jabbed his elbow to look at you as well. 
"Cap'ins' busy. Were not interested." He grumbled, trying to shoo you away. 
"He's busy working MY ship." You bit back, having enough of their attitudes and disrespect already before this week of sailing. You extend the letter out to them, showing the address and the wax seal of the company, your fathers stamp. The two men quickly realize their mistake. 
"Blimey Trident! It's the boss' kid! We humbly apologize uh...small boss. Had we known--" they stuttered out. Their accents and poor dental care gave them almost a comical stereotype of a lower deck sailor. 
You wave them off and climb up the small ramp in place, taking in the top side decks’ glory. The crew consisted of 20, not including yourself. Just like the harbor there was far too much commotion for anyone to pay you mind. The sound of your boots on the wood gave you peace, a wonderful sound it was. You walked with no need of direction to the captain's quarters, seeing the Madam herself at her desk, chewing out some poor crewmate before shouting for them to get out. As soon as the poor soul scurried out past, she glanced up towards you before relaxing her expression. 
“I was wondering if you got cold feet. I was prepared to leave without you.” Her hair was blown out from the breeze, a fluffy and aunt-like demeanor, the aunt that teaches you swear words to repeat to your parents. 
“Far from it, I can't get far enough away from New York.” You bowed in respect. Captain Conn you had met once prior when she was promoted to captain. You trusted her better than any other captain under the company. “Then you're in luck, come look, I hope you’ll take to navigation better than your father, I could never get him to grasp why our routes are not as timely as he thinks it should be.” 
You came behind Captain Conn’s desk as she rose to make room for both of you to look at the map. The map included the area of Florida all the way down to the Caribbean. The ink dotted along from the port, moving down the side of the state and then suddenly the route dipped down under the state and under several of the islands until it carefully touches Puerto Rico. 
"It's...erratic." you gave her, confused by her routing and what she was trying to convey. Captain Conn tapped the center of the area the ship worked around. 
"This is the Bermuda Triangle. It's quite literally a coin toss if you make it out alive. It's the devils gate, the veil, or whatever you wish to call it. Ships do not get to come out. The last place on earth for sea monsters to remain untouched. We will take the extra time needed to go around." She slid her hand away from the table and gestured back to the top deck for you to follow suit. "I suggest standing at the Stern of the ship, you'll get to see us leave the dock and the sun." You agree, jogging toward the back of the ship and waving down to the people below. Captain Conn whistled her men to attention, beginning the routine of sails coming down, anchor up, and the feeling of the wave’s movement towards the horizon. 
The sea pulls you further and further from land and away from eyes to know what happened to the crew and ship of WARSPITE.
thank you for reading! I will see you very soon my lovely lovely readers!~ AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34657696/chapters/86285272
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