#slitgraves

[mikaels-son]

@slitgraves replied to your post: i thought about making a multimuse to play around...

Mr darcy? From pride and prejudice?

fuck. yes. all manners and profound silence...

[picqucry-blog]

“ i’m RELIABLY informed of movement in the south-eastern states of salemers, it would appear that a re-banding is on the horizon. while presently in such INFANTILE stages they hold no threat, I want continued surveillance and a minor percentage of your force prepared to intervene should they learn to walk. ---- yet I remain confident that they will try to run before they can stand, to our advantage. ”

♛. STARTER CALL ( ACCEPTING. ) @slitgraves.

[anabioun]

( CONTINUED ) --- @slitgraves

the being was greatly taken aback by that offer. he had rather expected graves to match his rudeness, in the best case scenario; he was not at all prepared to be invited in for tea like some common guest. he stared down in mute silence for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then nodded very slowly. “ very well, if that is your wish. ”

[vicemirrored-a]

‘ i tried to save you, but you didn’t want to be saved. you just wanted someone to suffer with you. ’

GRAVE SENTENCES. || ( ACCEPTING. )

he knows that graves, in part, is right: jekyll never wanted to be SAVED. he’d revelled in this sick situation of his own making. he had taken pleasure — ardent, disgusting pleasure — in his own capability to change his form and get away with whatever he wanted. to an outside observer, it no doubt would appear that jekyll is at hyde’s mercy, but that’s never been so: this has all been voluntary, and ‘ hyde ’ is nothing but a cloak jekyll dons and uses to serve his own ends. 

who’s the real monster? the part of him that’s incapable of having a conscience at all — or the part of him that can and SHOULD have a conscience, but chooses not to?

jekyll bends forward, sets his elbows on the desk, and cradles his aching head in his hands, unwilling to look at graves. he can picture the headlines now. every wizarding newspaper, from london to hong kong, will drag his name through the mud for this; the whole world will know of the mad potionmaker, the man who transfigured himself to get away with torture, the respected citizen turned MURDERER. 

          “ —i never meant for it to go this far. ”

[exnihilus]

@slitgraves

                          his ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ — how could mister graves not tell him of his birthday ? 

      it’s been mere hours since he stumbled upon the note and already he finds himself in a panic. after everything graves has done for him, he deserves the world served on a silver platter, yet, a boy without income, without purpose, without anything to call his own but the skin and bones that make him up — he won’t be able to live with himself if he is empty handed. he’s trying to think of something the man doesn’t already have, something he wants, when he’s spotted walking down the sidewalk. had graves gotten out early today? it can’t be. he’s never gotten out early. 

       he nearly has a ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ when he’s approached, visibly jumping and taking a step back ( ʜᴇ’s ɪɴ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʙᴇ, ʜᴇ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʜᴏʀᴇs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ) but he looks up to graves from the top of his eyes. he can’t lie. he’s a terrible liar. 

                       “ ..... did they let you go home early today ? ”

[salemscn-blog]

          ❝  I was born sick. But I love it.                            Command me to be well... ❞

Requested by: @slitgraves (for the au we’ve been working on starting) 

RE: (this meme)

[picqucry-blog]

soft suds envelop flesh as the subtle curve of her knee dips beneath the water, before reappearing, a gentle wave of warm water washing over exposed crevices of flesh. eyes remain shut as the familiar track of his feathlight footsteps make their way across tiles, from her silence hearing the depth of breathing so known to her. her chin dips, drawing ends of hair into the soapy water, lips curving into a smile as she eases her position in the bathtub, further exposing herself to him as she rolls out the aches of her spine, the tension at her shoulders.

“ i’d offer for you to join me, but there’s cooking to be done and I cannot see you starve in my own home. — i’d be such an inhospitable host. ”

♛. RANDOM STARTER (@slitgraves)

[exnihilus]

Percival.

           his eyes are tired, so, so very tired. it’s exhausting even when the beast takes control, wearing his body as thin as the wind he becomes. an ethereal mass, lost in a void of unmistakable black magic, sometimes visible to the human eye as a leaking, dripping, ᴅɪsɢᴜsᴛɪɴɢ darkness. black bits flutter through the air like ashes around them, weightless as if bits of paper caught in a breeze, though animated, vanishing from sight where more appear. 

      the obscurus has begun to felt like a sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʙᴇɪɴɢ as he’s grown older. a beast with sharp claws and a voice of nails scratching on a wall, of unforgiving, relentless ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ. it represents everything that has made it become, the pain of his repressions, the suffering of his abuse, it feeds off of the emotion and uses him as a host to enact its terrible, terrible reign. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴜɴɴᴇʟ ʜᴇʀᴇ, only darkness, but in the darkness he can see a man. the obscurus is only beginning to form, vision only slightly clouded as he looks upon graves, the color of his gray eyes starting their turn to white. his emotions have betrayed him and caused a stir, putting both of them ( ʙᴜᴛ ᴍᴏsᴛ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛʟʏ, ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇs ) in danger. 

       eyelashes flutter closed as a warm touch contrasts his pale, freezing skin. his body is convulsing as he shakes, the uncontrollable monster ripping him apart from the inside out and causing him to rattle. though he trembles he presses his cheek into percival’s hand, nose tucking into his palm, nuzzling what feels so familiar, so good, what takes him away from the nightmare. 

             ʜᴇ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇs ʜɪᴍ. ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪᴛ. ʜᴇ believes ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪᴛ.

                          ( ʟɪᴇ̠̯̯̜̯͖͈s,̮̗̩ ̞̼ʟ̼̺̻̬̪͔͇ɪ̦̗͍ᴇ͇̹̝̬s̘̹̖̼̜̦, ͓̱̱ᴍɪs͔͙͕̞̣ͅᴛ̠̗͉ᴇ͕͈ʀ̣̣̫͙͖ ɢ͓̝̼̦ʀ͈͚̜͍̦ᴀ̳̗̩̟̫ͅᴠ̠̘͔̗ᴇ̮̱͓̝̲͙s.̙̮ ̤ᴡ͇̱͔ʜ̹̠̖̩ʏ̻̩͓͔̤ ͇͎̞͔̬̜ᴅ͚̜̜̲̝ͅᴏ̖̤ ̹ʏ̮̘̘͈̮̮ᴏ̪ᴜ̬̱̪̠͚͖ ̼̖͖̳ʟ̠̣̙̻̩̳ɪ̝̲͕ᴇ̮̮͔͍ ̻͓ᴛ̩̳̩ᴏ̬̟̙̻̹̞ ͔̩̞̯̺͇͖ʜ̬̦̥̲̰ɪ̻̳ᴍ ? )

        when his eyes open, they are pure white, hardly a remnant of his iris left, if any. the boy reaches a hand forward and allows his fingertips to make contact with graves’ skin ( ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴡᴀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ) as if to make sure he is really there. the pain has reached a plateau that credence tells himself he can bear even if only to show graves, to prove to him ( ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟꜰ ) that he can survive this agony. he has done it before, he has learned to tear himself away from it ( ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ʜɪs ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ ) and to give himself in: but is it truly ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ? 

          “ it hurts —— ”  his voice chokes beneath the shadows, touch ever-so-slowly falling from caressing graves’ cheek and lips, eyelids flickering against the obvious battle going on beneath his skin. he’s silent for some time, shoulders hunching and body moving closer to graves, and the entire mass of ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ shifts closer, beginning to engulf their embrace. it is careful not to touch graves, though it seems like a leashed animal, snapping close and drifting away without making contact. 

                                                                  “ i won’t let it hurt you. ”