Beyond Edenton

“God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.” - Voltaire ⚜️ Semi-private multi-muse RP sideblog to AnEdenDarkly. Original characters vaguely based on World of Darkness & other supernatural horror lore. Willing to RP with anyone (not everyone). Casual activity as of 2026. If you understand this, then welcome. All content published to this blog is for entertainment purposes only. The only things mine are the characters themselves, my writing of them, & my edits. Mun & Muses +21 Rated M.

[beyondedenton]

Main Blog: @anedendarkly Sideblog: @nihiladditaenihilperdidi

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[doiiboy]

trade offer, I bite you and then you bite me till we’re both covered in bite marks

[paintingispoetry]

James Sant, "Courage, Anxiety and Despair: Watching the Battle", ca. 1850

[odetopictorialism]

Alfred Nybom • Maud Allan (Canadian, 1873–1956) dancer famous for her interpretation of Salome, 1900

[wolfandwords]

Manon looked up at him, normally hazel eyes now a slightly more inhuman gold as they searched his face, focusing best she could on his expression. She was trying to copy him; his calmness and mirror his motions as she took a deep breath.

"Chill... we chill..."

The panic from earlier was still running around in her head. The surprise of partially shifting at all, and especially unexpectedly and uncontrollably. The fear of not being able to make them disappear- ever.

But he was here; like her. He showed her it could be done. He had been there. He was calm..

[beyondedenton]

Blue and hazel eyes stared back, looking at each of her eyes as they began to glow reminiscent to colored sea glass in the sun. What else might change before she lowered her heartrate, he wondered.

"We chill," he repeated, softer, slower. Again, four seconds in, hold four seconds, four seconds to breathe out. It had been a shock in temperature to initiate change the first time. His father's glass of water and iron stare. He didn't want to do that to her. It didn't have to be that extreme.

[askprofessorxafterdark]

If all he could manage would be to leave Charles’ insides slick, then he would do so on principle. This dangerous game was reaching a climax, where his husband now sat up with purpose and dark intentions. Where he would pull Charles back to his mouth for one final kiss. There were plans, and then there were consequences. He would have the telepath on all fours like an animal, naked for the dunes, the ocean, and God himself to witness. On all fours, he would kiss down his spine and sink teeth into flesh. Heavy gray wings trembled one final time, shaking out sand and impatience as he buried his face between Charles’ legs. He would play with him, prep him, sink two fingers inside him, and stroke him, and wait for the inevitable moment when the man he loved would writhe.

In this moment, in this place, was he more demon, or angel, or something in between? How did they appear to a stranger in the distance? These two naked bodies, these two dusty wings on this dune?

The tip of his cock pressed home, but pushed no further. Waiting to see what Charles would do next.

His favorite game. There was an art to pushing his demon past the limit of his patience. It was a sport that varied like the weather. They could play for hours, or mere minutes.

He gave only token resistance as he was forced to hands and knees, for the savage pleasure of being manhandled. His moan was low and gutteral, back arching into every brush of lips and press of teeth.

A quivering, desperate wreck of himself --only for Mason, only ever for his Mason-- Charles waited for the delicious stretch of being filled. And waited.

Incredulity furrowed his brow, blue eyes looking in accusation over his shoulder at his too-still beloved. It was Charles' turn to succumb to impatience. He pressed back, and back. What he wasn't being given, he would take for himself.

[taylorthetargaryen]

Chris Wood

[wolfandwords]

"You got a..." she furrowed her brow, ears folding back slightly before he had continued, more in confused surprise than disgust. "So its just.. breathing?"

Manon out her hands over her ears and frowned as she tried to understand. He'd been riled up in different ways when it had happened. Sort of like her. She had gotten startled and it just happened.

"But I tried that..." she said softly, almost in defeat like she'd already failed. "I tried breathing and focusing to get it to go away before calling.. " maybe she'd just done it wrong?

[beyondedenton]

"Ya know ya can panic and still be doin' 4-4-4, right?" Exercises could only help so much with a reeling mind. He knew as much. Counting things in the house while pissed and anxious only made him more pissed.

"I ain't got PhD on the end of my name, but, uh, I guess if you wanna panic you're gonna panic. Ain't that how it works?" With that in mind, he faced her completely. "Breathe with me, kay? We're just chillin'. In the house. We're safe, you're safe. We chill." And... he breathed.

[shisasan]

June 3, 1938 Virginia Woolf, “A Writer’s Diary” (1918 - 1941) originally published: 1953

[sci-fi-gifs]

My son, those stars are already dead. Mere ghost light, growing dimmer by the day. Iron Lung (2026) dir. Mark Fischbach

[odetopictorialism]

Elli Souyioultzoglou-Seraidari • Elizaveta Nicolska at the Acropolis, 1929

[wolfandwords]

She sulked at the laugh, lips tight as she watched him and hands threatening to cover the ears again.

"'S not funny..." Manon mumbled as she watched him, noticing the change and focusing for a while on that.

[beyondedenton]

The same yet not. Softer, rounded ears belonging to a feline, as dark as they were in his true form. He could pivot them just the same, raised, to the side, and lowered. He showed her the breadth of his control, before allowing the fur to recede, the shape once more human.

"First time it happened, I got a stiffy." He waved that away before he dared elaborate. "Time after that, I was in a fight with my old man, and then after that, I was just... happy. Just a good ol' fashioned happy day playin' outside. I couldn't control it for years. Now it's... like... it's like breathin' exercises, ya know? Like that. Mama B taught me 4-4-4. In four, hold four, out four."

[seasonofhorror]

AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON

1981, dir. John Landis

[the1920sinpictures]

1920 c. Tennis match at the Crescent Athletic Club. From New York City Images: 1850-1980, FB.

[komunyoung]

He is Psychometric | 사이코메트리 그녀석

[beyondedenton]

I'm dying omg.

[theodoredimas]

James Cole In Every Episode: Season 1, Episode 1