#eldhorror

Physical Attributes || Accepting 

[other]: any other obscure feature or tiny detail that the asker is interested in, could include fantastical elements such as a tail, wings, horns, must be stated by asker, etc.

im just gonna do teeth for this one because poe doesn’t have any particularly unnatural features. so he’s got about average teeth: straight with little-to-no spaces, nothing overcrowding. the only peculiar details about them are the canines. poe’s got little fangs! they might not be as sharp as your friendly neighborhood vampire’s, but they’d probably break skin if he were to bite hard enough. 

[skin]: obviously colour, but also if they’re inclined to run hot or cold, do they have any blemishes or unusual markings, are they inclined to blush, are they freckled, do they tan, what does their skin feel like, etc.

poe is very pale. not so much a pasty kind of white, but milky, almost. think of moonlight and a complexion translucent enough to be able to clearly find and trace the veins beneath. soft, and rather easy to bruise in most cases. usually cold, but quick to heat up should he become anxious or nervous. and when he blushes, it’s usually noticeable, and tends to spread to more than just his cheeks. if it’s getting to the point where he actually does start heating up, whether due to embarrassment or anything otherwise, the color spreads to his neck, the tops of his shoulders, his belly. poe is a pretty sight, if he actually showed anyone. 

[face]: what is the shape of their face, do they have pronounced cheekbones or a strong jaw, what’s the size and shape of their nose, what’s the size and shape of their ears, do they stick out, are they pointed, etc.

poe has something of a defined jawline and chin, though not drastically so. it’s more thin-cut than it is anything strong. his general face and nose are thin, too, but not bony. like, when he smiles, his cheeks just kind of plump up. his nose, long and upturned slightly, enough to make him look somewhat snooty?? even tho we all know he’s anything but. we know the tru poe. anyway he’s got a cute face, and would have better eyebrows if he actually bothered maintaining them. 

[hair]: length, colour, texture, whether it grows quickly or slowly, how manageable it is, whether it requires lots of styling, do they leave stray hairs everywhere, is it present on their face, is it present on the rest of their body, etc.

"What the?! You are not dead?!” the words leave his mouth before he can control himself. His eyes are wide and his hands turn into fists. He had used freaking corruption on this monster and yet it was alive?!

Affection || Accepting

❦  Holding hands and nuzzling somewhere ambient and low-lit.

✖  Soft nips at the neck and shoulder line.

                         they’re settled down in his living room yet another evening --

            away from the bustling crowds, the nosy folk leaning in whenever poe murmurs                       something beneath his breath to lovecraft, staring with their outlandish gazes that                   follow every move. VULTURES, all of them, circling and awaiting the right moment to             pick at their prey. funny, how he’d rather spend time with some horrendous entity                     capable of terrible things alone than anywhere public, where his death would, at the                 very least, have an audience. 

                         -- settled down, or two bodies half-leaning into one another, books worn with age and use cast aside in various spots. the coffee table ahead, the armrests, the floor by their feet when said bodies all but shove them off the ends of the couch to make room. poe shifts back in accordance with lovecraft’s movements; in a sense, baring his belly, his throat to the predator. (he is no prey. or so he likes to think.) there come the faintest nudges along his shoulder, nosing at soft fabric, of which is tugged down when poe unbuttons his shirt to reveal the soft and fair complexion of the thin build hiding beneath. shoulders and neck in particular, and belly, too, if lovecraft has a... thing for gutting. (show him what you have. let him explore to his liking.) 

                         and, oh, how his breath does hitch when he feels the ends of teeth at the dip just above his collarbone, leading a path of short bites to where his skin pulses lightly in time with the rhythmic beat of his heart. he wonders if lovecraft takes notice to how it quickens in excited flutters against his lips, his tongue. 

Naps || Accepting

                         lovecraft is, physically, a burden to have upon oneself. height matters in this situation, in which said man is leaning too into poe, and the weight of him bearing down upon the little raven is.. overwhelming. (constricting.) poe isn’t complaining much, no. lovecraft, as someone normally averted to contact, has grown comfortable to the point he’s not so unsettled sitting this closely - poe will take what he gets, regardless of how he gets it. (desperate, desperate little human.) 

                         he does, however, shift some to the side, carefully guiding lovecraft down to rest his head in poe’s lap rather than drape over him. it’s an awkward angle, height considered, but he manages. if there are any objections, he’s sure they’ll be made known soon enough. or at some point. 

Cuddles || Accepting 

                         it starts with a little bit of attention. a fraction of a smile, the brush of fingers to fingers as books are passed between each other, distance between two very different bodies closing every so often every time poe shifts the slightest bit closer on the bench. it continues with silence, but for the eventual (inevitable?) slight and wet mesh of lips molding, the hitch in poe’s breath when he parts for air. there’s always the distinct feeling of SUFFOCATION plaguing his lungs as smoke would, furling from the corners of his mouth. (toxic, toxic.) 

                         its all attention and affection, the things those human parts (little and insignificant as they are) crave. poe grants them to him, and in return he feels something… sliding up his leg. his legs, thighs, curling further and further up to the point he couldn’t particularly move away even if he wanted to. not that it matters much. poe contents himself with where he is – uncomfortably close to an eldritch abomination with enough power to pulverize him into an unrecognizable pile of meat and ground-up bone, feeling along the sharp contours of his face as though they’re LOVERS. (some pathetic desire, even for a human.) 

                         teeth bare in a wide grin, low chuckle rumbling somewhere in the back of his throat before he wriggles amidst the mass of tentacles, pausing when they tighten ‘round him. 

would she hold a tentacle :)

could i do this....