NEVERMORE.

indie edgar allan poe.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Dilys Laing, from Walk Through Two Landscapes: Poems; “Venus Petrified,” wr. c. 1949

[irrealiite-blog]

i miss this blog

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leaves behind for poe two (2) flowers.

                         ah... for me? love, love of mine, you shouldn’t have... woven into my heart already are the seeds of your affection, having sprouted their ugly limbs long ago to twine ‘round my ribs. there is a cold possession in the manner in which they bloom and flower, curling their petals outward to hover over my organs as if each are theirs to shield. but for you -- for you... i’ll gladly take them. 

            poe lifts the flowers from his desk with care, in the same manner he would caress lovecraft’s face or card fingers through his (knotted) hair. the hints of a smile come forth upon his lips, just barely reaching the black exhaustion underlining his eyes. it’s been days since he’s slept. (weeks?) these flowers will soon wither and break apart. no amount of care will prevent them giving in to the false sense of security that death so eagerly provides. so shall i, poe surmises to himself in silence; someday, somewhere, i, too, will shut my eyes, and never again will they open. am i so different from them? regardless. 

            fingers carelessly run along the stem of a flower, skin snagging on a thorn and tearing open to draw forth the deep red hidden beneath. it wells, beads, and spills over, down to the center of his palm and past his wrist. and he smiles wider, for it does nothing if not remind poe of his beloved. beautiful, careless, unapologetically vicious. 

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               “-- COME TO ME, MY BEAUTY,” bellowed out into the night air, emphasized by clouds of shuddering breath clinging to the edges of his lips. and with the horrifyingly enthralled shout come the sickening splashes of limbs; of organs, of scraps of meat and skin rendered from the bones they once clung to, dying the dark currents even darker still. should the sea-dwellers, the fish and the crustaceans, approach first, well. all the bigger banquet for his darling. poe stands at the shoreline, blissfully ignorant of the freezing water drenching the ends of his trousers, carelessly seeping into boots and stinging against his skin. 

                         he stands, the perfect depiction of a madman; mane tousled by violent whips of bitter air, eyes wide with pupils blown to the point of eerie, consuming black, cheeks flushed with the thrill of the hunt, the summoning, the lust for his (HIS) love. his fingers, stained, soiled by the innards of corpses, brush along the apples of his cheeks, tracing down over the fine slope of jawline to paint everything a sick, disgusting red. but he pays no mind to the overwhelming scents of iron and meat, too captivated by any and every stir in the long stretch of rippling black before him. 

                                                                                         @extraplanaire

[irrealiite-blog]

Karl: *Puts a front paw on Edgar’s arm*

Edgar: I have been blessed.

Karl: *Puts other front paw on Edgar’s arm*

Edgar: I have been double blessed.

[anotherrpmemeblog]

Sexual Sunday! Send my muse ♒ and a nsfw/sexual question and they have to answer it - whether they want to or not.

[extraplanaire-blog]

just.. settles down into his lap. poe is here, finally, and willing to provide the beast with kisses. "hello. apologies for having been gone so long." one single kiss on the very tip of his nose.

‘Finally’ is rather an understatement, and Lovecraft shall not be swayed out of his pout by mere affection. (Yes he will, but it will take a dose of posturing first.) To Poe’s credit, Lovecraft makes absolutely no move to discourage him as that would not be helpful in the slightest. But instead, he doesn’t move much, staring at Poe with bright purple eyes (meaning he is decidedly awake thanks to this turn of events) and keeping the miffed frown fixed firmly on his face.

           “I missed you,” Lovecraft responds grumpily, without the polite answer of ‘apology accepted’. He did miss Poe, which is disgusting. That requires emotions (outside of ambivalence & anxiety) and sentimentality, both of which are things Lovecraft prefers to avoid.

And yet.

And yet.

Lovecraft moves, finally, relaxing. This fingers card into Poe’s hair, holding his head as Lovecraft lightly kisses his forehead. That’s all, a silent welcome back.

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' did you know, i have loved you. '

                         OH! how his heart has long since yearned to hear those words, despite having heard them once, even twice before. the tone of lovecraft’s voice resounds with an affection foreign perhaps even to himself, and poe… poe rejoices in silence. with bated breath and wide eyes, the little raven reaches up to smooth fingertips along the pale and long expanse of his lover’s cheeks, careful so as to not cut himself on those perfectly sharp and chiseled edges. 

               “– my, my,” he coos, “you’ve struck me head over heels all over again.” 

                         he leans in, lips parted, eyes glazed. 

               “did you know i would, in turn, bring this world to ruin for you? there is little about you i don’t love. your hair, black as the atlantic ‘neath the glow of the moon. your eyes, deeper than the deepest chasm perhaps even beyond hell’s layers. and, oh, your voice… how it cuts me to the very bone. i have ached all my life since the moment i was aware enough to form memories, and i ached even when you first took me into your cold embrace. even now, i ache. but this pain you bestow unto me is so bittersweet, so delicious, i… i can’t help how greedy i get. but you would know all about greed,” he pauses, coaxing lovecraft low enough to graze a kiss to his lips, “wouldn’t you?” 

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                         from the mattress he rises -- shaky and visibly weak, dark patches drawn and expanding beneath his eyes, dragging down into the tops of thin, pallid cheeks. his stomach tightens and grumbles its demands for nourishment, but he has no real appetite, and grimaces at even the thought of anything touching his tongue. (ah. he forgot why he’s gotten up to begin with.) a moment, two, and he moves forth with all the speed of a sloth, drawing the blanket up around his shoulders and shuffling quietly through the cool dark of his room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen - where he pauses only to fill karl’s food bowl, replace the water in the other, and give the little bandit at least some attention. scratches around the ears, mostly. short-lived, though, as he’s making his way back to collapse onto the bed wordlessly, and stare out into the nothingness before him. 

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Lovecraft: How are u


Poe: Gay thanks for asking

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💽 :3c

Gay || Accepting

i. Chapel || Nicole Dollanganger 

he cuts into our palms, drops our blood into the lake // we pray to the wax bride and her violet, varicose veins 

ii. The Great Below || Nine Inch Nails 

i descend from grace in arms of undertow // i will take my place in the great below 

iii. Black Damask || Motionless in White 

hail elegance as we revel in the lust of pure destruction // i am yours, like the stillness of a corpse 

iv. Howl || Florence & The Machine 

my blood is singing with your voice, i want to pour it out 

v. Magdalena || A Perfect Circle 

i’d sell my soul, my self-esteem a dollar at a time // for one chance, one kiss, one taste of you

vi. Under your Skin || Aesthetic Perfection 

i’ve been patient for too long // i just can’t wait to get under your skin 

vii. Until it Sleeps || Metallica 

so tear me open, pour me out // there’s things inside that scream and shout 

viii. Lovesong || The Cure 

however far away, i will always love you 

ix. Closer || Nine Inch Nails 

you can have my absence of faith // you can have my everything 

x. Every Planet we Reach is Dead || Gorillaz 

i love you // but what are we going to do? 

[startshxtwithme]

Send me a 💿 and I'll make a playlist for your muse!

Send me 💽 and I’ll make a playlist for both of our muses!

[extraplanaire-blog]

it's about that time of night to invade a certain squid's personal space. hope he doesn't mind this particular little raven sliding right over his lap, belly down, ass up, coy grin stretching lips. "feel how lusciously soft these are." in reference, of course, to the undergarments. nothing else. certainly not the smooth complexion of bare thighs.

He only minds a little, Poe’s appearance across him dragging Lovecraft out of sleep.

Lovecraft blinks, gathering himself before looking down at Poe who is, as per usual, up to something and attempting to seduce him. Hm. Lovecraft is unsure if he has the energy to go along with this. (Unfortunate.)

But he can make some attempt to oblige Poe. A hand goes to Poe’s hip– raven’s right, his underwear is indeed soft. But Lovecraft’s objective is slightly different. Other hand pulls Poe up, Lovecraft prodding at him until Poe’s sitting up on Lovecraft’s lap and Lovecraft can slump his head against Poe’s shoulder, bare skin nicely warm and smelling faintly of something sharp, as Poe tends to. He snakes an arm around Poe, keeping him in place while Lovecraft absently fiddles with Poe’s waistband.

“I suppose you want me to – hmn.” His voice fades off to murmurs against Poe’s shoulder before he gives up entirely and just hums. A shift of his head and… Lovecraft’s fallen asleep again, arm still around Poe’s stomach and the motion of thumb against Poe’s hip slowing to a halt. Poe could definitely wriggle out of Lovecraft’s grip if he wanted to, but sadly Lovecraft is completely gone.

Better luck next time.

[irrealiite-blog]

callirem:

                                   Such poetic words bring a faint rosy dust to soft cheeks, the corners of his lips twitching skyward. Nobody’s ever said anything so  b e a u t i f u l  to him, whether it’s true or not. Which, in John’s opinion, it’s not necessarily. Although the words bring a warmth, they make him happy, they also trigger a memory or two of tasks he’s had to perform in the guild – did he deserve to spend days like that ? No. What Poe doesn’t know though, won’t hurt him.                                    ❛  Thank you, how does it look ?  ❜             A hand raises, tips of his fingers gently grazing the crown bestowed upon him. John’s been truly blessed.          ❛ You should have one too. ❜

                         ah , how he does love watching the reactions of his prose coming to life. in this case, coming to life being the color arising in the younger’s cheeks, to which poe smiles -- genuine and wide, which most haven’t seen in years. 

               “-- divine.” a chuckle bubbles forth from lips, light and wintery as it puffs out into the air in short bursts of clouds. “the flowers would wilt the minute they touched my head.”

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extraplanaire:

he was seen, so that should be the end of that. the stated reason for the call was fulfilled, meaning he should be perfectly free to return to the abyss and sink there, falling into what passes closest to peace for lovecraft.

but he’s already here, and there is always something he must do or check up on in yokohama. he may as well be present for at least a day, check up on those who need it. the behemoth grumbles, a low register gurgling. yes, he may as well. he shifts, the mismatched jumble of limbs stumbling forward as bits and pieces fall back into the void, coalescing. lovecraft does not end entirely man-shaped, but he ends smaller and somewhere a bit under half-human. still something mismatched and abhorrent, but slightly more contained and slightly closer to a form that could meander on land. not that he’s quite that far yet. lovecraft coughs sharply, spitting up far too much seawater than should be expected. the human-ish form he’s shambled together takes a few steps closer before stopping.

          “i always do. eventually.” patience is a virtue, and time is a slippery thing. timeliness is relative. poe does not seem to realize lovecraft’s responding to a call is inevitable, despite demonstration otherwise. one day he will learn. lovecraft pushes his hair out of his face.

         “a simple reason. you’ve seen me.” another hacking cough, brief this time.          “i’ll stay a little.” left slightly up to question, with an inquiring expression at poe. of course the man wants lovecraft to stay, lovecraft is not that stupid, but he may as well secure permission for a time before he wanders off once more.

                         it should very well be the end of that, but humans are so much more complicated than lovecraft could ever begin to imagine, try as he might. (it’s possible he doesn’t try that hard, or often.) poe is satisfied with the reminder that lovecraft is alive and well, exhausted and overworked as he is, but those human parts of him crave close contact and reassurance in forms greater than a simple ‘hello, goodbye’.

                         from his spot he does not move, watching the way his beloved slinks closer through current with an ease unknown to him. perhaps because of his nature, how one he becomes with the water. it’s almost worthy of envy, if poe had any desire to remain in the ocean for the rest of his life. he doesn’t, but the idea has become appealing over the course of this relationship. he does not move, though he wants to. (wait for him to come to you.)

               “-- i wrote something while you were away. i think you would like it.” yes, do stay. 

[irrealiite-blog]

extraplanaire:

The displacement of water is enough warning what Poe’s planning, noise and ripple mean that Lovecraft is in no way surprised when there’s a kiss given to the top of his head. It oes not wake him back up until the action is already completed, there was no need to react in advance. Poe does not plan things he needs to be wary enough of to validate watching him. 

Lovecraft tilts back to stare up at Poe, eyes half shut. The weirdly lovestruck look he’s given in return will never cease to strike Lovecraft as vaguely ridiculous, but he’s acceptant of his fate and of the fact that Poe is both ridiculous and determined to hold onto him.

That’s fine. He reaches up with human hand and pats Poe’s cheek affectionately before dropping it back into the water.          “Saccharine.” Not disparaging, only a note given with a slight nod. Poe’s sugary (usually), he tends to edge the border of that and cloying. He’s safe for now, hasn’t left the choking metallic-sweet taste in the back of Lovecraft’s throat quite yet, so no need to tell him to step back. 

                         determined to hold onto him would be an understatement. lovecraft has tentacles and poe’s got a set of his own, winding tighter and tighter around the eldritch entity the further their owner sinks into this mess of romance. he doesn’t outright say it, but lovecraft must be able to feel it -- the constriction. (poe tries his best to ease up, some days more than others.) 

                         from the steaming bathwater comes a single hand to stroke his cheek in some brief act of affection, or as close to it as lovecraft can manage. poe takes it for what it’s worth, leaning into touch before it disappears back into the water. and though touch is gone, poe makes no move to back away just yet. rather, he leans himself against lovecraft’s legs, cheek resting atop a knee in this awkward position. 

               “-- yes, but you like sweet things.” ah, the ghost of a smile that lifts his lips. how it falters. poe sinks back to his side, and dips his head into the water completely, staying there for 5, 10, 15 seconds. it takes a moment for him to open his eyes and adjust to the sting of water, and he does so only to watch the vague movements of limbs at the bottom of the tub. (constantly amazed.) it’s when his lungs burn that he rises, sweeping hair out of his face to smooth back against scalp, eyes squeezing shut to readjust.