#snakedifferentskin

[lost-soul-in-time]

Marc’s shows varied in quality and reputation of venue, all what he claimed was ‘diversifying his range’. From standard stages in bars, underground speak easies that were subject to police raids at least twice a week, and classier gigs he needed a new suit each show. Grasping a semi regular gig in another bar, it’s the first time he’s been hesitant to let Oliver see it. They were nearing three years, but this one performance has a new air of secrecy to it.

A note with the address is dropped in one of his textbooks, a kiss to his lovers temple before he leaves for the performance.

“Don’t ask anyone what’s happening here, don’t tell anyone you’re going here. Sit in the third seat to the left, the table as a big ugly lamp beside it.”

Most of the bar is quiet, conversations kept to themselves at all times. Marc is no where to be seen, no invite extending to see him in the dressing room. A tiny piece of paper is on each of the tables, brief programs of the nights variety act. Fake names, not one of them Marc.

@snakedifferentskin

Oliver has been to Marc’s shows before. Even before they’d established the underlying feeling in their relationship, he was always there to support him in everything he did. However, none of his shows were usually this… secretive? Was that the correct way to describe it? As he seats himself down at the corresponded table and rereads the instructions left for him, perhaps secluded would be correct as well.

Slipping the piece of paper back into the pocket of his coat, he briefs over the programs and names listed, discreetly looking over his surroundings. If Marc wasn’t in the show, would he be meeting him here? It would be the first time they’ve attended any social event alone, with just the two of them as company.

Except with no sign of Marc at the table or on the tiny list of programs, he’s left with only his thoughts as company for the time being. It was harder to pass the time without Marc to fill the silence, but he could make do. The distinctively ugly lamp keeps his attention for now.

[lost-soul-in-time]

*cough*

@snakedifferentskin

he's a sweetheart he's a bitch he's just a little guy he's so very powerful he's the kindest of souls he's SO rude he means everything to me

[no-absolutes]

A pleasant meeting in an overcrowded party led to the swapping of numbers. Marcy enjoyed the quiet company she offered, the little bursts of charring sprinkled in between the silence. Peaceful. The actress liked sitting with her, watching her work through case notes. Privacy was difficult to find, so she liked sitting in Lacy’s office.

She didn’t dare look at the photos masked behind the folders.

“I was wondering,” she pauses, the sudden sound of her voice cutting through the methodical scratching of the pen. “If you’d come with me for a photoshoot I’m doing. Charlotte was supposed to go with me, but she pulled out last minute. She said she had another meeting with her distributors.” The swimsuit shoot she’d been looking forward to for so long wasn’t fun without anyone with her. It would feel like they would all be leering at her.

@snakedifferentskin

Lacy enjoys Marcy's company — she's delightfully kind and it's been so long since she had a friend outside of work. Marcy's presence adds a hint of warmth to her life that's normally absent and she loves it.

When Marcy begins to speak, Lacy pauses her writing to look at her properly, always making it clear that she's listening.

A photoshoot? "I-I'd love to, Marcy." A sme graces her face as she responds, warm and genuine.

[merrick-of-violet]

"Oh darling, are you alright? You look terribly flushed."

Merrick had been lounging by the pool when she noticed her lovely new gardener, Marcy, had suddenly rushed into the house. Even with a nice breeze and shade from the trees, the heat is intense this afternoon.

Of course, she made sure Marcy had plenty to drink and insisted she take as many breaks as needed.

Standing before her, Merrick reaches out to touch her arm. "You should sit for a bit. I can bring you some ice water."

@snakedifferentskin

[late-night-cabaret]

Discretion was everything. Clearly outlined through every message between the actress and the proclaimed Mistress Violet. A slip of the tongue would land her in the tabloids, ruining the trajectory of her career. Marcille had found interest in something, what her past partners had become almost sickened with once they heard it. She wanted to give up the control, less of a stone top and more submitting. Every time, she was put on top and in control. Marcy didn’t always mind it, but she missed what it felt like to be put into place.

Kneeling in front of her, she has to squirm against the vibrator just to move closer to Merrick. Mouth open, trying to take the strap against her tongue. “Please, please Mistress…”

@snakedifferentskin

When Merrick was contacted to meet with an actress, she thought it was a prank. How could she possibly draw that much attention from giving out a few cards here and there? She is very particular about who she decides to see, and apparently, someone was very happy with her service.

Discretion is the name of the game. She is adamant about having a safe space for people to explore their sexual desires, even if they are famous. And Merrick can't lie... there's also something particularly thrilling about someone in the 'social elite' wanting to be put in their place.

"Is this what you want, pet?" Merrick teasingly moves closer, barely letting the tip of the strap graze the tip of her tongue before pulling back. "No. No, I don't think I'm convinced. Can the pretty whore use her words?"

[the-graves-family]

"Huh uh, sure, and the yawning darkness that's currently eating your house is just there for decoration."

As Marc steps closer, Aaron steps back, unreasonably unnerved by this... creature. It couldn't be a human man. "Hey, back off," he snarls, when the other gets way too close for comfort.

"I was just looking around. I'm leaving though, this ain't worth my body." Not like Marc could kill him, but healing was a pain and the revenant would rather avoid it.

“I’m the master of this house! I am the Duke of the manor, there is no other noble here.” Marc grins at his guest, stepping towards the gaping hole that leads outdoors. A few dead foxes are draped across the shattered brickwork, the mold beginning to creep outside of the building.

He eagerly eyes the whip in Aaron’s hand, stepping behind him and slowly bending to get a better look. His back crackling at every angle he moves at. “What are you then? Are you a new hire?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

Almost a hundred years in the castle and he finally had a visitor. Wandering in through the acres of forests, she’d dredged herself through the inhabitable messes of a lawn to break into his home. Stealing his coat, his food with the audacity to scream at his face when he’d found her. Filthy mud tracked in behind her, the rugs to the front door destroyed with a thin layer of dirt and barely and mud. She’d thrashed around and smacked his horns, even trying to pull the nose ring out from him.

Various servants attempted to convince the beast to free her, sent away by his screams and thrashing. Destroying another drawing room with his outburst, tail whipping behind him as he storms out from the destruction. Another storm brews outside, crackling through the dead overgrowth of his trees.

@snakedifferentskin

His Mother hadn’t returned from the bakery this morning.

After his Father’s untimely death, they’d been slightly ostracized from those they believed could be called friends, so Oliver knows she hasn’t gotten preoccupied in a conversation with the baker once nightfall begins to cloak the evening in darkness. His neighbor had tried to console him and take him back home, reassuring him everything was likely alright, but he knows her. She doesn’t go anywhere without letting him know first.

Asking around is what leaves him with his current knowledge: the manor in the forest. Of course she allowed herself to be easily swayed and convinced. Who knows what kinds of horrific encounters she’s had? What if she’s hurt?

The winds are strong as the storm approaches, and Oliver is barely able to close the main entrance of the manor shut without a huff of exertion. It had taken far longer to arrive than he’d believed it would. He shivers and wraps his cloak tighter around his frame, cautiously turning and stepping further into the seemingly abandoned halls. His footsteps echo.

“Mother?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

Tonight was going to be fun. In the glamour and glitz of a nightclub, everything inhumane beautifully concealed under layers and layers of his favourite illusions. Apple cheeks and perfected skin sculpted across his false body, heavy enough that he doesn’t feel his horns against his own head. Marc watches the infection spread from dancer to dancer, a little additive he’s dropped into nearly every drink in the room. It’s not rage, but conceited passive aggression that starts to worm into every one of them. Assured in the morning that none of them would think straight. Unprepared, lazy, prideful.

It’s the early hours of dawn as he strolls through the streets, covered in glitter. Marc groans, exhausted as his facade is maintained. He’ll need somewhere quiet to crash until he feels strong enough. The streets become winding roads among pastures, before a sleepy little town becomes an open forest. Disgusting, all that dirt and leaves staining his heels.

@snakedifferentskin

It wasn’t often that Oliver’s tasks were assigned on Earth. It was before the mortal existence was created that the war in heaven had taken place, and since then, his eternal duty was the prevent such a tragedy from unfolding once again. They’d lost enough of those who strayed from the Creator’s plan to Lucifer’s fall. It’s at times like these, where he’s left to his own thoughts whilst awaiting the demonic presence, that he wonders if they could ever be redeemed. The Lord known for His forgiveness for a reason, is He not?

Hidden up high in the trees, he hears the faint sound of protests and the crunch of leaves beneath feet, and he feels the dark energy of an aura as it makes its way deeper into the woods. Oliver silently observes the poised frame, and when there's not a weapon on his vessel that could harm any of their surroundings, the angel sits up and cautiously lowers itself onto the ground behind him, the quiet sound of wings beating the only announcement of his arrival.

"You need to leave." Oliver has promised to himself he'd never be the first to draw a weapon or attack, no matter how unjust the demon's temptations have proven to be. If Marc decides to do so, he'd have no choice. He can only pray he sees there's no use in attempting to fight him. "Go back to where you reside. Leave these people alone."

[lost-soul-in-time]

It’s another fantastic night. Marcy had landed herself another lead in a musical, a performance of Anastasia that had been running for the last month. In the layered ball gown for the final scene, she gets to bow offstage and find herself back in the dressing room. She couldn’t take the credit for getting the role, almost everything wonderful in her life had come from her assistant Olive. Who booked everything for her, arranged every meeting and audition the performer ever got. Patting down her petticoat as she shuts the door, she finally gets to breathe.

Sitting down on the couch, she sighs and tries to undo the corset around her. Phone buzzing in the background, likely a text or series of calls from her girlfriend. She’d promised to be here tonight, waiting for her. Well, at least she had Olive.

@snakedifferentskin

Even if Olive is the one who books Marcille her shows, she wouldn’t be where she is today if she didn’t hold the amount of talent and charisma she radiates. She is a force of nature; beautiful, passionate, ambitious, and the only reason she has this job is because of her. Unable to miss her final performance, she’d worn a contrast from her usual attire in order to put in just that little more of an effort. Slipping her coat off the moment she’s out of the crisp night air, she hangs it over her forearm as she makes her way down the hall, smiling when she finally finds the door she’s in search of.

A gentle knock at the door announces her presence before she speaks, the beginning of a grin prominent in her voice. “Marcille? It’s Olive. May I come in?” She requests, hand hovering over the doorknob and awaiting permission. The cast and crew members chatter behind her as they pass by, working on undressing and getting into more comfortable wear.

[lost-soul-in-time]

Rushing about the lobby of the office, Marcille balances the towers of packages and envelopes along the cart she’s pushing through towards the elevator. It was her latest attempt at a job outside of the theatre after the waitressing gig dried up, still carrying out various orders as fast as possible. Steering the cart with two broken wheels, she keeps trying to safely move towards the elevator and start delivering the endless piles from the mail room. Skidding against the polished tile with the broken wedge of her shoe, Marcille only hears the crash with another person. With the cart tipping over and the documents spilling out, she sees the spinning wheel and another figure lying on the ground beside her.

“Are you ok? I’m so sorry!” Two days in and she was going to lose this job as well. Picking herself off of the ground, forced to shake out the dirt and sticky notes that’s amassed into her hair. “That stupid bloody cart, I shouldn’t have tried steering it.”

@snakedifferentskin

It had been a hectic morning. Incredibly so.

Instead of having the usual thirty minutes alone to herself in the early hours, the ones she so desperately needs in order to work her best, Olive’s employer had assigned her to bring coffees for everyone on their floor. All forty individuals. Having been leaving the office belonging to the man who received the last one, her glued-on gaze is stuck to her notes as she slows down in the middle of the hallway.

Honestly, there was a bit of blame on her as well.

The cart collides straight into her, and the force pushes her back, falling onto the floor beneath her with a yelp. The landing is horrible for her back, and her glasses have slipped off of her face to blend beneath the sprawled-out papers. “It’s alright. I’m— I’m okay.” She tries to console the woman’s worries, wishing she could make out more than her outline as her hands pat the floor around her in search of her glasses. “I should apologize as well. I should see where I’m going.”

[lost-soul-in-time]

Once a week, she sweeps the streets to find new parts. Piles of junk line the streets of the lower districts, with valuable parts waiting to be picked up and reused. Marcys car trundles along, pausing every few meters to get out and check for any new pieces of scrap. Most end up being reused, saving a few dollars on buying new parts. If she’s lucky, she finds batteries and processors for older androids. Something to give them a few more years.

She’s never found an entire one.

Pulling a flashlight out of her tool belt, she shines it over the android slumped in the alleyway. An entire android, the outer shell at least. Kneeling beside her, Marcy gently lifts the shattered casing away to peer into the main body. Perfect. A corroded battery wire sticks out, only one attached to the main pack. She had to take her. Lifting Olive over her shoulder, laying her on the backseat as the car sputters off home.

Charlotte is still asleep as she pulls in, unlocking the garage doors and carries the android into the workshop. A complete body was already good, but how well her personality and intelligence functioned would be a difference between a replacement transfer or a brand new client. Plugging her into the computer and patiently waiting for a signal.

@snakedifferentskin

There is complete darkness for a period of time she’s unable to calculate. A time where she sees nothing, feels nothing, senses nothing. Olive’s memory drive is wiped completely, so there’s no recollection of what happened which led to her disposal. There’s only the feeling. Something she’s not supposed to come with. The feeling of data streams flooding her processors and trying to decode the anomaly intervening with her systems, yet coming up empty handed.

She doesn’t feel anything when she’s hoisted up and out of the dirty streets, her formal dark blue dress which reaches her knees unwashed and muddy from the rain. There’s nothing to see or do, not until she’s connected to the computer and then—

Rebooting…

Software Instability ^

The warning only flashes across the computer screen for a short moment, completely missed if you were to blink, and then a short introductory tune plays as a box falls from the top of the computer screen. Out pops a miniature pixelated replica of the deactivated android, swirling eyes on her face and birds chirping whilst circling above her head before she shakes them off.

“Oh!” Someone new? Animatedly scrambling out of her box, she makes a show of dusting herself off and fixing up her appearance. She had to make a good impression, after all. “Apologies, I didn’t see you there. I’m Olive, your personal companion! What’s your name?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

Do you regret falling in love

“…No. No, I don’t.”

This wasn’t how Oliver was hoping to start this little Q&A session, but he’s still obligated to answer. He’s done shying away from what’s hurt him.

Looking down at his hands in his lap, he leans back in his seat and sighs heavily, as if trying to exhale the weight in his chest. “People change, and… while he may have gone through a… painfully drastic one, that doesn’t make me regret the time we spent together.”

“For whatever time it lasted… he was everything to me. I loved him with everything I had and everything I was, and I believe he did in return.” When his voice wavers, he pauses, breathing in and out to control his voice. A smile that’s bittersweet crosses over his face as he nods.

“I got through the first portion of my life because of Marc. No matter how he may have hurt me… I’m eternally grateful to him and the memories he gave me.”

[lost-soul-in-time]

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…

[lost-soul-in-time]

📱.

“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.

[lost-soul-in-time]

✅ + “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.

[lost-soul-in-time]

[death]

@snakedifferentskin

You did this /lh

‘And who knows? I could be dead tomorrow.’

‘I could be dead tomorrow.’

Someone please tell him this isn't real.

Marc had been alive just last night. They'd played poker. They got blackout drunk.

He was alive. Happy, safe, and alive. Now he's staring up at Oliver with lifeless eyes.

He feels sick.

Someone killed him. They took his only friend, his love, his everything. God, why?

Why would– who would–

Oliver doesn't realize he's saying something until he feels a hand rest over his arm. It was impossible to tell what the DA was feeling. Fuck, it was impossible to tell what any of them were feeling. He doesn't remember Abe or the chef or Damien making an entrance, but they're here. And they're so fucking calm that it's infuriating.

Why are they so calm? He's dead. Marc is dead, and none of them are showing any signs of caring.

His body leads him to shakily kneel in front of the cold body, chest heaving as he tries to breathe properly. He fails. Oliver's hands shake as they hover over the cold body. He's felt this same satin robe thousands of times, and yet it feels like the first instance. His hand moves up to brush back his hair from his face.

Suddenly he's back at the cottage by the sea all those years ago where he'd run his hands through it for the first time.

His throat closes up and a gasping sob wracks through it.

Only then does he notice how his world blurs. He can't see Marc's face anymore, and he immediately blinks away the tears to be able to see him properly again.

He always feared a world without Marc, and he'd thought it couldn't possibly get worse when he'd lost him to Celine. Oliver couldn't bring himself to go to the wedding, but if he'd known it would give him another fleeting moment of seeing him again–

"Come, we have to let the Detective work."

Someone grabs his shoulder, and he immediately smacks it away, leaning over the body as if shielding it away from anyone else's apathetic gaze. Marc was his, alive or– or not. They couldn't have him, they couldn't touch him. Not now, not ever, not when–

"Get off me!"

Oliver thrashes as arms wrap around him and pull him away from Marc, and it's as if they'd ripped his heart out in the process. He screams and cries as he's held back, pathetically on the floor and pleading for them to stop, please stop, don't take him from me, please.

'I promise. For eternity, I promise you’ll never lose me.'

"You can't leave me! You promised, please, you promise..."

He doesn't care about what kind of display he's making. He just lost the love of his life.

'Would you really, really truly love me like that?'

He would. He did. He will. Forever.