snakedifferentskin - Tumblr blog

[snakedifferentskin]

Sinday Asks are open! Ask my muse all the naughty things you want to know!

[snakedifferentskin]

Sinday Character Asks

❤️ Noise - How loud are they, and how loud do they like a partner to be? Have there ever been moments they had to stay quiet, or tried to force themselves to be louder?

🩷 Sensation - Do any specific textures or temperatures affect their enjoyment, such as wax, carpet, silk, feathers? Do they usually find pain a turn on or turn off?

🧡 Touch - What areas of their body are the most erogenous? How willing are they to tell a partner that they like being touched in those places?

💛 Cleanliness - How important is hygiene to them? Do they prefer a partner be clean, or is sweat and grunge more of a turn on?

💚 Location - How much does location matter, like beaches, alleyways, couches, rooftops? What types of places do they find particular turn ons, if any?

💙 Safety - What does it take for them to feel safe with a partner(s)? How safe do they need to feel before they'll have sex with someone?

🩵 Risk - How much risk do they enjoy during sex? How do they feel about unprotected sex? Would they choose to have sex somewhere they might be noticed, if getting caught would be scandalous?

💜 Control - How much control do they like to have during sex? Are they more dominant or submissive? How easy is it for them to assert when they want or don't want something from their partner(s)?

❤️ Good Date - Have there been any particularly good dates or especially fond memories of an encounter? What happened?

🩷 Bad Date - Have there been any bad dates or embarrassing bungles? What happened?

🧡 Fidelity - How important is this to them? Would they consider cheating on partner(s), and how would they feel if a partner cheated on them?

💛 Fantasy - Are there any fantasies they enjoy daydreaming about but don't actually want to act on? This could be kinks, positions, partners, or anything else sex-related.

💚 Virginity - How did they lose it, or how do they fantasize about losing it?

💙 Sex Work - How do they feel about things like prostitution? Are there circumstances where they would engage in it, either selling or buying?

🩵 Appearance - What physical traits do they find most attractive in others? What do they consider their best physical assets?

💜 Apparel - What kinds of outfits do they consider sexy, if any? Would they enjoy wearing or seeing someone in lingerie?

❤️ Appetite - What's their libido like? Do they get horny often, or does the mood only strike rarely? Can certain things alter it significantly?

🩷 Orgasm - What does it take for them to orgasm? What do their orgasms usually look like/how obvious are they? Do they need to orgasm to feel like a sexual encounter was successful, or good?

🧡 Masturbation - What is their opinion on self pleasuring? Do they do it? Would they enjoy watching a partner do it?

💛 Research - Do they like reading/watching/viewing any kind of pornography or erotic work? What kinds do they enjoy, if so?

💚 Foreplay - What do they consider foreplay? Do they enjoy it, and how much will they tolerate?

💙 Aftercare - How important to them is it? What kind of aftercare would they get the most gratification from, if any?

🩵 Curiosity - How interested are they in experimenting? Are they usually ready to jump right in or do they need some time to warm up to an idea, first? Or do they not like to try new things at all?

💜 Shame - Is there anything they struggle with feeling shame or being repressed about in sex? Does this ever interfere with their ability to enjoy sex or form relationships?

❤️ Surprise - Have there been any surprises for them in sex, moments where what they expected and how it actually played out were very different? This might be things like experimenting with positions, being intimate with a partner for the first time, etc. Good or bad!

🩷 Kink - Do they have any major turn ons that might generally be considered niche, strange, or else are just unusually strong? How aware are they of them, and how open are they usually about these interests?

[snakedifferentskin]

Marcille feels like she’s going to cry and never stop. Endlessly ill and bed bound by accusations and the destruction of her career. Sitting in the chair, staring off over Olives shoulders to try and see the front door. Less than twenty minutes and she expects the press at her door. And what would they do to Olive? Her darling assistant who was always over, attending events when Charlotte couldn’t be bothered. She prayed they’d leave her alone.

“Mh? Yeah. It’ll be good. I can get my water.” Holding her best friend’s hands, letting her head rest in the softness of Olives palms. A moment where she could feel just…nice. The warmth of being touched, held in her hands with her fingers nearly in her hair. “Don’t forget the box.”

Olive always skims through the news when she wakes up. It’s part of her routine and her job, to be kept up to date with information regarding her client. This morning doesn’t feel any different; she expected the tabloids to be similar.

What she finds instead is horrifying.

Articles filled with nothing but lies, ridiculous views, personal pictures of Marcy— there was presumable only one person who had access to those, someone who caused only problems. She can’t tell if the twisting in her chest is due to rage or pain on behalf of Marcy.

Marcy. She can’t let her see these.

Having stayed overnight, she rushed to at least wrap a robe over herself and scurried out into the living space, tablet in hand and frantically searching for the source of the written material, “Marcy, I need to speak to you—”

But she hadn’t been quick enough. She’s seated right in front of her, the familiar font of the headlines reflecting in betrayed and sorrowful eyes. No, no— a heavy sigh escapes Olive, a stinging behind her eyes reflecting the hurt which could never compare to the woman’s in front of her. “…I’m so sorry. I’m— I’ve already sent messages to others I know so they can begin taking them down.”

Having her phone off last night, she’d missed the final message warning her of what was to come in the morning. A ransom from Charlotte, threatening to release the images and stories unless her girlfriend (likely ex) sent her 25 grand for her makeup business. But Marcy was too busy, laughing and drinking with her lovely assistant to check. When the message was sent, she was only given two hours to get the money ready and sent over for her. Now, another message waits. Send over 30 before tonight, or she’ll release more.

A bottle of now flat wine sits on the table beside her, slowly draining it the more she reads. Uncensored images leaking online, all the comments on her appearance. Ranging from creepy lust and desire to outright disgust. People editing her broadway styled posters with the naked images, and paragraphs on how ‘people like her’ shouldn’t ever have a word in society.

“She’s…she’s ruined it. Oh Olive, I just can’t believe it. Everything…she’s ruined everything.” Her sobs become screams, clutching at her glass of wine and dropping her phone on the couch.

[snakedifferentskin]

Marc and Oliver

@snakedifferentskin

I’ve chosen these questions at random btw sjkjksj

Who’s the shyest? 

Oh, definitely Oliver. Not so much shy as opposed to just simply being more reserved. In a world where they could be themselves openly however, he would be the opposite of reserved when it came to expressing his love for Marc.

Who sits on who’s lap? 

Marc. Marc is a lap princess, always sitting on Oliver’s lap, the drama queen that he is /aff

Perhaps there’s a universe out there where Oliver’s the one who does the lap sitting (cough angel/demon cough), but it comes to the main babies, Oliver is very happy to sit with his love in his lap and keep him in his arms for as long as he’d allow him to be <3

Who gets more jealous? 

Hm, that’s a tricky one. I feel like Marc is more apparent with his jealousy simply because he has his moments where he’ll wear his emotions on his sleeve. He’s an actor, so he’s naturally dramatic and feels things strongly /lh

That doesn’t mean Oliver doesn’t have his moments. Seeing people fawn over him is sometimes too much to bear.

Who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

I think we know the answer to that question…

[snakedifferentskin]

send me a ship and I'll tell you...

who is more likely to hurt the other? who is emotionally stronger? who is physically stronger? who is more likely to break a bone?  who knows best what to say to upset the other?  who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?  who treats who’s wounds more often?  who is in constant need of comfort?  who gets more jealous?  who’s most likely to walk out on the other?  who will propose?  who has the most difficult parents? who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?  who comes up for the other all the time?  who hogs the blankets?  who gets more sad?  who is better at cheering the other up?  who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes? who is more streetwise? who is more wise? who’s the shyest?  who boasts about the other more?  who sits on who’s lap? 

[snakedifferentskin]

Only two weeks ago, she’d seen her. Charlotte, all lovey dovey and enough to melt her heart. And Olive was with them when there was a required audience for an extensive presentation on the new makeup business. With a little too much pyramid scheming involved. Both of them kept giggling when the lipstick shades were revealed to be porno-esque names. Busty Blusher was the step pushing them into a fit.

Charlotte hadn’t been back since then, saying she’d been on a trip working on marketing.

All she feels is Olive. Hands on her face, soft hands that brush against the constantly lasered hair on her cheeks. “They’re gonna get here soon…” she whispers, her breathing stuttering and shaking with each word. “It’ll…it’ll be alright?” Marcy doesn’t believe it, but she can pretend to.

Olive always skims through the news when she wakes up. It’s part of her routine and her job, to be kept up to date with information regarding her client. This morning doesn’t feel any different; she expected the tabloids to be similar.

What she finds instead is horrifying.

Articles filled with nothing but lies, ridiculous views, personal pictures of Marcy— there was presumable only one person who had access to those, someone who caused only problems. She can’t tell if the twisting in her chest is due to rage or pain on behalf of Marcy.

Marcy. She can’t let her see these.

Having stayed overnight, she rushed to at least wrap a robe over herself and scurried out into the living space, tablet in hand and frantically searching for the source of the written material, “Marcy, I need to speak to you—”

But she hadn’t been quick enough. She’s seated right in front of her, the familiar font of the headlines reflecting in betrayed and sorrowful eyes. No, no— a heavy sigh escapes Olive, a stinging behind her eyes reflecting the hurt which could never compare to the woman’s in front of her. “…I’m so sorry. I’m— I’ve already sent messages to others I know so they can begin taking them down.”

Having her phone off last night, she’d missed the final message warning her of what was to come in the morning. A ransom from Charlotte, threatening to release the images and stories unless her girlfriend (likely ex) sent her 25 grand for her makeup business. But Marcy was too busy, laughing and drinking with her lovely assistant to check. When the message was sent, she was only given two hours to get the money ready and sent over for her. Now, another message waits. Send over 30 before tonight, or she’ll release more.

A bottle of now flat wine sits on the table beside her, slowly draining it the more she reads. Uncensored images leaking online, all the comments on her appearance. Ranging from creepy lust and desire to outright disgust. People editing her broadway styled posters with the naked images, and paragraphs on how ‘people like her’ shouldn’t ever have a word in society.

“She’s…she’s ruined it. Oh Olive, I just can’t believe it. Everything…she’s ruined everything.” Her sobs become screams, clutching at her glass of wine and dropping her phone on the couch.

[snakedifferentskin]

"Good girl."

(Merrick to her lovely gardener Marcy :3)

@merrick-of-violet

Digging up the invasive bundle of knotweed that had spread across the back wall of Ms. Merricks house had taken nearly three days. She has to pull out the root nodules, a few wrapped around other roots a few feet deep in the yard. Marcy was covered in sweat, dirt in her hair and stuck in her clothes. But it’s worth it when she hears those words. “Good girl.”

“It’s not a problem Ms. Merrick.” She smiles, being handed her hourly top off of lemonade. “I’m just glad you like it so much.”

[snakedifferentskin]

Send me "Good boy/girl" for my muse's reaction to your muse saying that to them!

[snakedifferentskin]

Send 💢to see my muse at their angriest

[snakedifferentskin]

📱.

“Hey Olive! Can you uh, can you just wait a second?” Rushing out from the classroom, Marcy tries catching up to the girl before she disappears. There’s only a half hour before practice starts, but she doesn’t know how long she has until she’s gone. Catching her by one of the lockers, she manages to find her classmate in time. “Can I ask you something?”

Unfortunately, almost everything about to leave her mouth is a cruel lie.

“I’ve been really struggling with bio and a couple other classes. Coach says he might take me off the team if I get another two C’s. You’re really smart, do you think we could do some studying together? Like, you tutoring me?”

@snakedifferentskin

Olive truly isn’t as remarkable as others bestow her to be. The only difference from her and anyone else is the fact she enjoys applying more of her time than usual into her studies. Someone could do the same as she does with enough dedication, that she firmly believed. So when teachers praise her for her ‘remarkable’ mind or the occasional dim-witted student points out her intelligence like it’s a bad thing, she always thinks back to that.

People were peculiar.

Looking over her shoulder when her name is called, the last person she’s expecting to see is Marcy. She knew she was on the baseball team, but nothing more beyond that. They had a few classes together, and she appreciated that she wasn’t as rowdy as some of the other athletes at school.

“…You want me as your tutor?” Sure, she was smart, but she never made an effort to put herself out there to help others with their own work. She doesn’t believe she has the ability to be very charismatic for tutoring sessions… but she’s always secretly admired Marcy, and from all the other available tutors, she still chose to try and speak to her.

Her face feels warm. Oh no.

“I mean, um— yes, if you’d like to.” Olive manages to muster out the words, slipping her book underneath her arm and fishing out her phone. “I’ll need your number to communicate with you what days work best for both of us… or I can always just find you after class. That’s—… another option.”

Very eloquent, Olive.

[snakedifferentskin]

No journalists are fast enough to run over to the newly posted address, but it feels like the circle is already closing in. Swarms of them, biting and clawing for chunks of her flesh to use for the next story. Devoured by them, left to rot at the side of the road with her career. Marcy only had Olive left to hold together the rest of her life.

She doesn’t feel her feet moving, only hands. Hands on her shoulders, arms, guiding her towards the chair. Her world is narrowed down into simply Olive. Her and only her. “Charlotte can’t get it, she’s gonna use it,” she pants, barely able to breathe with the rest of her thoughts. Crawling around her head and down into her lungs, strangling the last of her working thoughts.

Olive always skims through the news when she wakes up. It’s part of her routine and her job, to be kept up to date with information regarding her client. This morning doesn’t feel any different; she expected the tabloids to be similar.

What she finds instead is horrifying.

Articles filled with nothing but lies, ridiculous views, personal pictures of Marcy— there was presumable only one person who had access to those, someone who caused only problems. She can’t tell if the twisting in her chest is due to rage or pain on behalf of Marcy.

Marcy. She can’t let her see these.

Having stayed overnight, she rushed to at least wrap a robe over herself and scurried out into the living space, tablet in hand and frantically searching for the source of the written material, “Marcy, I need to speak to you—”

But she hadn’t been quick enough. She’s seated right in front of her, the familiar font of the headlines reflecting in betrayed and sorrowful eyes. No, no— a heavy sigh escapes Olive, a stinging behind her eyes reflecting the hurt which could never compare to the woman’s in front of her. “…I’m so sorry. I’m— I’ve already sent messages to others I know so they can begin taking them down.”

Having her phone off last night, she’d missed the final message warning her of what was to come in the morning. A ransom from Charlotte, threatening to release the images and stories unless her girlfriend (likely ex) sent her 25 grand for her makeup business. But Marcy was too busy, laughing and drinking with her lovely assistant to check. When the message was sent, she was only given two hours to get the money ready and sent over for her. Now, another message waits. Send over 30 before tonight, or she’ll release more.

A bottle of now flat wine sits on the table beside her, slowly draining it the more she reads. Uncensored images leaking online, all the comments on her appearance. Ranging from creepy lust and desire to outright disgust. People editing her broadway styled posters with the naked images, and paragraphs on how ‘people like her’ shouldn’t ever have a word in society.

“She’s…she’s ruined it. Oh Olive, I just can’t believe it. Everything…she’s ruined everything.” Her sobs become screams, clutching at her glass of wine and dropping her phone on the couch.

[snakedifferentskin]

Send 🧸 to talk to my muse as a child.

Send 📱 to talk to my muse as a teenager.

Send 💼 to talk to my muse as an adult.

Ask or tell them anything you like.

[snakedifferentskin]

Not only has it collapsed around her, Marcys world has begun to spin. There’s nothing to bring up besides bitter coffee and double the alcohol. Spitting into the sink, her stomach trying to force out the feeling of Charlottes betrayal. Now they have her address, and she knew her girlfriend had keys. Coughing out over and over again, infected with panic. She couldn’t let her win, find anymore evidence to perpetrate her with.

“I need to bring something, get it out of the house. Locksmith, change locks first. I can’t let Charlotte take it, she’ll try and…” she mumbles, spitting out the last of the bile and standing back up. Olives hands were cool against her skin, so she keeps leaning against them. “There’s a box, a trunk really. Under my bed. I’m going to have to bring it with my things.”

Olive always skims through the news when she wakes up. It’s part of her routine and her job, to be kept up to date with information regarding her client. This morning doesn’t feel any different; she expected the tabloids to be similar.

What she finds instead is horrifying.

Articles filled with nothing but lies, ridiculous views, personal pictures of Marcy— there was presumable only one person who had access to those, someone who caused only problems. She can’t tell if the twisting in her chest is due to rage or pain on behalf of Marcy.

Marcy. She can’t let her see these.

Having stayed overnight, she rushed to at least wrap a robe over herself and scurried out into the living space, tablet in hand and frantically searching for the source of the written material, “Marcy, I need to speak to you—”

But she hadn’t been quick enough. She’s seated right in front of her, the familiar font of the headlines reflecting in betrayed and sorrowful eyes. No, no— a heavy sigh escapes Olive, a stinging behind her eyes reflecting the hurt which could never compare to the woman’s in front of her. “…I’m so sorry. I’m— I’ve already sent messages to others I know so they can begin taking them down.”

Having her phone off last night, she’d missed the final message warning her of what was to come in the morning. A ransom from Charlotte, threatening to release the images and stories unless her girlfriend (likely ex) sent her 25 grand for her makeup business. But Marcy was too busy, laughing and drinking with her lovely assistant to check. When the message was sent, she was only given two hours to get the money ready and sent over for her. Now, another message waits. Send over 30 before tonight, or she’ll release more.

A bottle of now flat wine sits on the table beside her, slowly draining it the more she reads. Uncensored images leaking online, all the comments on her appearance. Ranging from creepy lust and desire to outright disgust. People editing her broadway styled posters with the naked images, and paragraphs on how ‘people like her’ shouldn’t ever have a word in society.

“She’s…she’s ruined it. Oh Olive, I just can’t believe it. Everything…she’s ruined everything.” Her sobs become screams, clutching at her glass of wine and dropping her phone on the couch.

[snakedifferentskin]

Marcy feels horrifically ill, her stomach turning itself into knots the longer she thinks about what her ex lover could do. What made up stories and what of her actual secrets will be told? Filled with too much white wine and despair, she clutches her stomach and folds over on the couch. Accept the end of her career and never step out of the house again. “What? What’s…What’s happened?” Trying to grab her phone, she looks at the last message sent. Oh god.

“Can I stay with you Olive? If I stay at hotel, they’re gonna find out and start calling through there. I…I better get packed.” Stumbling to her feet, Marcy tries to walk over to the stairs. She makes it to the kitchen instead, leaning over the sink and retching.

Olive always skims through the news when she wakes up. It’s part of her routine and her job, to be kept up to date with information regarding her client. This morning doesn’t feel any different; she expected the tabloids to be similar.

What she finds instead is horrifying.

Articles filled with nothing but lies, ridiculous views, personal pictures of Marcy— there was presumable only one person who had access to those, someone who caused only problems. She can’t tell if the twisting in her chest is due to rage or pain on behalf of Marcy.

Marcy. She can’t let her see these.

Having stayed overnight, she rushed to at least wrap a robe over herself and scurried out into the living space, tablet in hand and frantically searching for the source of the written material, “Marcy, I need to speak to you—”

But she hadn’t been quick enough. She’s seated right in front of her, the familiar font of the headlines reflecting in betrayed and sorrowful eyes. No, no— a heavy sigh escapes Olive, a stinging behind her eyes reflecting the hurt which could never compare to the woman’s in front of her. “…I’m so sorry. I’m— I’ve already sent messages to others I know so they can begin taking them down.”

Having her phone off last night, she’d missed the final message warning her of what was to come in the morning. A ransom from Charlotte, threatening to release the images and stories unless her girlfriend (likely ex) sent her 25 grand for her makeup business. But Marcy was too busy, laughing and drinking with her lovely assistant to check. When the message was sent, she was only given two hours to get the money ready and sent over for her. Now, another message waits. Send over 30 before tonight, or she’ll release more.

A bottle of now flat wine sits on the table beside her, slowly draining it the more she reads. Uncensored images leaking online, all the comments on her appearance. Ranging from creepy lust and desire to outright disgust. People editing her broadway styled posters with the naked images, and paragraphs on how ‘people like her’ shouldn’t ever have a word in society.

“She’s…she’s ruined it. Oh Olive, I just can’t believe it. Everything…she’s ruined everything.” Her sobs become screams, clutching at her glass of wine and dropping her phone on the couch.

[snakedifferentskin]

✅ + “You’ve been so good for me darling, won’t you rest with me?” (Olive)

@snakedifferentskin

How was it possible for Marcy to continuously worm her way into her mind with comments such as those?

If she hadn't been sitting down, surely her knees would've faltered. Olive glances up from behind her computer screen, cheeks lightly dusted pink and fingers halting their rapid movements. She'd been in the middle of finishing an email, but... well, perhaps it was time she took some time to rest. Working from the early hours of the morning had its effects on people.

"Well, I suppose this can wait until tomorrow." Olive relents, just as she always does when it comes to Marcy. Her computer is shut off and set aside before she stands up, comfortably resting beside her and offering a kind smile with hints of the day's weariness. "Thank you... for, um– always being as thoughtful as you are."

She's not sure where she'd be without her. It may be difficult at times, but there's nothing else she'd rather be doing. She loved her job, and she loved–

Olive allows herself to relax.

[snakedifferentskin]

Despairing against Olive, she’s filled with words that can’t ever be spoken again. Was Charlotte there just for the money? Did she just wait for the right moment? Until she was ready to extort her for the money to fund a makeup business. Marcy can only weep, trying to stay close to her assistant. She can’t face her leaving, begging and praying that her only companion wouldn’t abandon her. “Olive, darling…I can’t…it feels like everything’s gone. You’re all I have left.”

More messages from Charlotte surge through, buzzing her phone across the couch. And more threats come through. Wiping her eyes, she glances over at the paragraphs from her ex girlfriend. Oh. Oh no.

‘A warning for you. You refused to send my original offer. You want attention? You can get it.’ A link to Charlottes social media’s come up. A text post. Marcys address.

Olive always skims through the news when she wakes up. It’s part of her routine and her job, to be kept up to date with information regarding her client. This morning doesn’t feel any different; she expected the tabloids to be similar.

What she finds instead is horrifying.

Articles filled with nothing but lies, ridiculous views, personal pictures of Marcy— there was presumable only one person who had access to those, someone who caused only problems. She can’t tell if the twisting in her chest is due to rage or pain on behalf of Marcy.

Marcy. She can’t let her see these.

Having stayed overnight, she rushed to at least wrap a robe over herself and scurried out into the living space, tablet in hand and frantically searching for the source of the written material, “Marcy, I need to speak to you—”

But she hadn’t been quick enough. She’s seated right in front of her, the familiar font of the headlines reflecting in betrayed and sorrowful eyes. No, no— a heavy sigh escapes Olive, a stinging behind her eyes reflecting the hurt which could never compare to the woman’s in front of her. “…I’m so sorry. I’m— I’ve already sent messages to others I know so they can begin taking them down.”

Having her phone off last night, she’d missed the final message warning her of what was to come in the morning. A ransom from Charlotte, threatening to release the images and stories unless her girlfriend (likely ex) sent her 25 grand for her makeup business. But Marcy was too busy, laughing and drinking with her lovely assistant to check. When the message was sent, she was only given two hours to get the money ready and sent over for her. Now, another message waits. Send over 30 before tonight, or she’ll release more.

A bottle of now flat wine sits on the table beside her, slowly draining it the more she reads. Uncensored images leaking online, all the comments on her appearance. Ranging from creepy lust and desire to outright disgust. People editing her broadway styled posters with the naked images, and paragraphs on how ‘people like her’ shouldn’t ever have a word in society.

“She’s…she’s ruined it. Oh Olive, I just can’t believe it. Everything…she’s ruined everything.” Her sobs become screams, clutching at her glass of wine and dropping her phone on the couch.