🔎💅

[wordsinhaled]

thinking about payneland from the perspective of a pining charles having fallen first the night they met in the attic is wild because like

he meets this boy who is incredibly soft and kind to him, comforts him, protects him from being scared as he’s dying

and everything’s a bit hazy anyway and you know, why not, why not, why not. so charles is all, “i think i’d miss kissing. do you miss kissing? 👀”

genius really. except edwin is like, no

so charles is like ok, never mind, no worries, fine. just misjudged it a bit, didn’t i. not to worry. still, i really like spending time with you, let’s stay together forever, yeah?

he dedicates himself to being the best friend edwin could possibly ask for. edwin doesn’t seem interested in anyone in any way, really. maybe edwin’s just like, above all of those things. or doesn’t care for them. that happens! charles gets it! anyway edwin’s only the best person anyone could even imagine spending an afterlife with, so it doesn’t much matter

and for thirty years it really doesn’t matter, except in tiny moments when charles maybe lets a little too much adoration bleed into the looks he gives edwin, which is fine because edwin is giving him the same type of looks back and it doesn’t have to be anything, it’s just how they are. and if he sometimes has to shake himself to keep from staring at edwin’s bare forearms when they’re relaxing in the office, well. that’s not for edwin to worry about. it doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, charles feels them all for edwin and he knows edwin loves him too

but then they go to port fucking townsend

and suddenly it’s very clear edwin is capable of those types of feelings. of being flustered and lost in daydreams and shy around someone the way you are when you’re interested. edwin is doing all of those things - and it’s not directed at charles. it’s directed at monty. at the cat king

not that he should have presumed. after all edwin can and should go on and like anyone he wants. it’s his right and edwin certainly deserves his chance at happiness, after everything he’s been through. but there had been this tiny, tiny part of charles that had always thought “if edwin ever did have those types of feelings, they would be for me”

and all of a sudden it’s like. all of charles’ pining could actually come to fruition, except it won’t because edwin has somehow chosen monty and his astrology books. because some whiskery tosser has gotten his claws into edwin and much as charles postures he won’t dare actually pry them out because he doesn’t want to interfere in edwin’s fulfillment

charles is right here, has been right here for three decades - being content for the most part, except in fleeting moments when it got to him. and it would be fine if edwin simply chose someone else - natural even - but the part scrambling charles’ brain is that it feels like edwin hasn’t even considered him. never mind that charles has got an entire elaborate plan for how he’d court edwin if edwin ever gave a singular sign that he welcomed it. but instead edwin has chosen this time to wake up to his feelings and entirely overlook charles as a romantic prospect

charles is not going to be a miserable arse about it. he’s going to be supportive. he’s going to be nice to bloody monty because monty has apparently unearthed feelings in edwin. feelings edwin deserves to have. and if he’s honest, he has to give the lad some credit for managing to find a side of edwin charles has yearned quietly for for three decades in a matter of weeks - just by being forward with edwin in a way charles wouldn’t dream of trying

anyway imagine charles’ utter confusion and disbelief when edwin is all, “actually it is not monty i am in love with at all, but you, charles”

and charles is just like, “but i thought you and him were…? you said… i mean—you don’t even notice me that way!”

“i must assure you i do.”

and then he gets to have a kiss that he has waited for and hardly let himself want properly for thirty years

like……. PINING CHARLES, MY FRIENDS

[tragedy-machine]

How did their system of Charles handing Edwin things without him having to ask for them even begin?

Did it start with Edwin asking for items from Charles's backpack at first and then it morphed into Charles going to retrieve other items for him as well, out of habit?

Was it "Do you mind handing me this and that?" in the beginning and at some point, Charles started to anticipate Edwin's needs so well he just handed him stuff before Edwin could finish his sentence? (Edwin's pleased little smile afterwards was enough of a motivation for Charles to keep trying to predict his needs)

And then they just settled into this new routine with Edwin having to say fewer and fewer words each time, till it arrived at the point that it is today

It really emphasizes how long they've been together - it's truly been thirty years of working alongside one another and caring for each other which made them cooperate on a complete different level

To be loved is to be known

[livefastwritetrash]

Personal headcanon is Edwin didn’t have experience with friendship or romance, so his nearest model for interacting with a lifelong male companion was having a valet. They started off fundamentally misunderstanding their relationship dynamic until it eventually dissolved over the years into real friendship and affection.

Of course Charles follows him everywhere and fetches whatever he needs, that’s the whole point of having a hired man 🤨

Of course they hang out all the time and he helps with whatever Edwin asks for, that’s just what best mates do 🤷‍♂️

[tastywormfood]

Excuse me, he asked for no pickles.

[livefastwritetrash]

Interesting fashion choices, Monty. Even nailed the plaid inner layer.

It’s giving Charles in Edwin’s colors.

[livefastwritetrash]

Are the sprites wearing Hibiscus flowers?

[def-not-enjolras]

crazy how fanfic authors drop the most beautiful and gorgeous pieces of work ever, leaving you speechless and sobbing at three in the morning as you quietly contemplate the masterpiece you just read

and they don’t get paid for it they just do it because they’re having fun and they want to share their joy with you

like I would literally die for all of you fanfic authors out there reblog to swear your allegiance to fanfic authors

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Thank you to everyone who has written a fanfic I have enjoyed < 3

[livefastwritetrash]

Shoutout to A Cornstalk Fiddle by notbecauseofvictories which is actual fic of The Devil Went Down to Georgia song, yet remains one of the most haunting love stories I’ve read.

Extra kudos for writing this amazing slice of Americana in three parts and seeing that it is perfect and complete…then including a separate smut fic for the hell of it.

The mark of a true fanfic hero 🫡

[livefastwritetrash]

I see a lot of speculation that the “Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94” was a matter of Edwin getting jealous over Charles’s attention.

Consider instead.

Edwin follows that line up with “the living are MESSY.” So I put it to you.

An alternate perspective on the Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94:

-

Be Charles Rowland, circa 1994. It’s been 5 years since you’ve had to think about eating or drinking or sleeping or using the restroom or any sort of bodily function really. Your latest client moved on but he left his sweet little golden retriever behind with no one to care for her.

You could care for her.

You always wanted a dog. Dad never had to say no because you had never asked. You never wanted to bring one around knowing they might get hurt. There’s no one to hurt them now.

She comes back to the office. You drag an old sofa in there to give her a bed fit for a queen. You gather up any ball-shaped objects around you aren’t particularly attached to. She’s partial to the tiny black and white football that’s enchanted to always roll back to you. A proper Manchester United fan.

Edwin isn’t happy of course. But then again he rarely is. The dog will be as good for him as she is for you, surely. He could do with someone to care for him with even half of the kindness he shows others. Even if it’s usually through that layer of ice you’ve slowly been chipping away at for want of the friend inside.

Edwin’s budged up nice and cozy with the dog on the couch by that very evening, and you’re feeling quite proud of yourself for your excellent judgement.

An urgent case arises before the sun is up, bothering no one because it’s not like either of you were asleep. If anything it saved you from another devastating loss at the hands of Colonel Mustard in the study with the lead pipe. You tell your new football fan to be a good girl while you’re gone and dip out through the mirror.

It takes longer than expected. Evening is falling again when you and Edwin finally catch your breath in a local park, safe for the moment and free to return to home base. In the whirlwind of the day, you can’t help but feel you've forgotten something…

A jogger runs by with a dog on a leash. Oh.

Another person with a dog pulls up short. They produce a plastic baggy and stoop to collect their pet's leavings. Oh no.

On a bench across the way, a dog owner consoles their bullpup that dinner will be forthcoming as soon as they get home. The stout little monster ignores them, intent on rendering the log in its mouth into a million strips of fiber.

You share a look with Edwin and book it to the nearest mirror.

Being a ghost has its perks. For one, you’ve never been happier to be free of any olfactory senses as you enter the office. There are puddles and plops and any number of messes you try not to look too close at. Edwin’s meticulous case files are in shreds, boxes toppled, tops riddled with tooth marks and slobber.

Your modest but valuable collection of artifacts and other magical ephemera has become a jumbled mass of chew toys on every surface in the room, some being very nearly ingested before rejected.

Perhaps the only edible item in there had been a bag of magic jelly babies, and there were a few piles looking suspiciously sparkly and wet that spoke to where that ended up.

And then there’s your girl, actively tearing into a couch cushion in search of more food as you take in the carnage. She raises her head to greet you, tongue lolling, tail wagging, and she makes an excited dash across the room. Straight for Edwin.

Before you can so much as reach for him, he’s on his back with a wet squelch. She’s ruining his perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect face with clumsy paws and a drooling a tongue, until he finally remembers he doesn’t have to endure this. He sinks into the floor and out of sight, catching your eye as he does so in a look that could freeze a lesser man’s heart but mostly just makes you feel a little guilty.

In the minutes that follow, you calm her down and dig out a magic can of steak and kidney pudding that had always refilled itself since the days of the Blitz. Not that food was much use to ghosts, but Edwin had been in the midst of a world war fixation ever since he learned there was a second one.

The dog looks so happy as you pour it out on the floor, and you fluff her ears hoping to make her as cute as possible as Edwin’s footsteps echo in the hall.

He enters through the front door this time, still dripping in drool with a rip in the shoulder of his fine jacket and one knee sock scrunched low on his ankle with a few deep runs in the yarn. You think the tousled hair suits him at least, though he doesn’t look in the mood to receive a compliment, so you wisely refrain from making that particular quip.

Instead you kneel down and turn on the charm, tugging those puppy jowls up in a grin to match your own, going for the sympathy plea. But it seems 50-year-old magical steak and kidney pudding didn’t exactly sit well, and she immediately makes the most horrid wrenching noises you’ve ever heard before spewing all over the hardwood. She takes a couple interested sniffs and then goes in for seconds, and honestly yeah, maybe you were a little hasty in thinking you could be a dog guy.

It doesn’t take long to find the client’s adult daughter and anonymously drop off the dog she’s been seeking since it disappeared from her father’s flat overnight. Maybe you’d got a bit ahead of yourself on that count too.

It takes ages to get the office back in shape, and Edwin makes you do most of the scrubbing because it’s “good practice” for interacting with physical objects, but mostly it just makes your hands itch. The case files get severely simplified and moved to a vertical filing system, and you feel a bit bad for it but at least that’s less paperwork for you.

Overall you don’t regret your brief foray into pet ownership, but it’s a relief to know there’s no one relying on you for their every need at all hours of the day. Edwin is attempting to retrieve something from under the couch and holds out a hand, so you cross the room to move a billiards stick about a foot nearer to his reach.

He scoops up whatever it is before you can see, but that probably means it’s none of your business anyway. If he seems a little colder in the days following the dog debacle, you assume it’s lingering annoyance for all the trouble she caused. Fortunately an interesting case sweeps through soon enough, and all is forgiven in the wake of a good mystery.

Edwin has always been the observant one. So it’s no surprise it takes you a few weeks to notice that a new object has taken up a place of honor on his desk. How about that. You look over to where he’s resting on the couch, nose in a book, cushion tucked to his chest with several prominent stitches marring the upholstery. He resolutely does not look back.

You smile to yourself and turn back to the new desk ornament, a familiar articulated wooden hand collected from one case or another awhile back. Only now it’s holding a tiny checkered football marred with punctures by canine teeth.

Huh. Five years in, and you think you know a chap. Maybe that layer of ice didn’t have far to go after all.

—

And THAT was the infamous puppy debacle of ‘94.

🐾

[crafteeauthor]

I know "you are the brawn?" Is just because Charles is a twink but it would be infinitely funnier if Emma clocked Edwin's hell-tempered nature immediately. If that was a thing ghosts could do, or even that only some ghosts could do, then how many of them are under the impression Charles is in over his head- or at the very least more of a Watson than a second Holmes?

Like. Imagine going in to see two detectives but only one of them actually has a chair at the desk? Severe Edwardian dude with sulfur clinging to his aura. He does the talking and seems to make the decisions. His partner occasionally has to remind him to be nice and/or a bit more empathetic.

The other one is perched all pretty ON the desk? And he's visibly slimmer and notably a regular ghost but still claims he's the brawn? Gorgeous 80s guy, turns to his partner for approval almost every time he talks? Big glittery eyes? His scary companion can't quite seem to say no to him?

Emma's a Victorian ghost too so she's probably used to homosexual relationships having barely-there coverups it'd be so fucking funny if she was like "sure yeah the brawn, is that what they're calling it now?"

[livefastwritetrash]

Is he…you know…the BRAWN 💁

[livefastwritetrash]

I love deep diving for details.

When Simon is discovered in Hell, this is the page Edwin picks up. It has their initials scribbled in the corner.

The illustration is of the demon Bael as it appears in the Dictionnaire Infernal from 1818. His powers include invisibility, popularity, and love, depending on what texts are consulted. All things that troubled Simon in life.

The text on this page is from page 140 of the Demonlogica Sacra, A Treatise of Satan’s Temptations in Three Parts from 1677:

Sometimes Satan doth covertly hint his Mind, and send it along with the suggestion; sometimes our condition will enough declare it, and there is no case but it will afford something of dis∣covery if seriously pondered.

I wonder how he came by the book his brother owned. I wonder why he owned it in the first place.

[livefastwritetrash]

“Over 2 million hours in this post…never once have I seen an error like this.”

2,000,000 hours / 24 hours per day = 83,333 ish days

83,333 days / 365 days per year = 228 ish years

The Night Nurse may be an “immortal trans-dimensional being”, but she’s apparently only been in her particular position for a couple centuries.

Edwin went to Hell halfway into her career. She’s been doing the job twice as long as he’s been running from it.

[le-panda-chocovore]

Okay I think I figured it out !!

Visually, which means edits, Fanart and the episodes themselves, everything that shows the vibe they share and the way they look at each other, I'm into Charles x Edwin.

Literally (or mentally), which means fanfictions and Headcanons that develops the way they think about each other and the mental acceptance that they care, Cat King x Edwin is more interesting to me.

[livefastwritetrash]

Just gonna recommend the Case of the Curious Polycule collection of fics by @petvampire so you can enjoy the best of all worlds!

[homoquartz]

it's tradition crystal

[deadboyagency]

Dead Boy Detectives details via Zack Ogle & Cheech Manohar on Instagram

[livefastwritetrash]

Oh my gosh, the clear shot of their “license”…the implication that it’s just a gimmick by a comic book company 😭😭😭

Headcannon is they read these comics together in the early days, and the company published a little competition to drum up readership.

If you (and a friend of course, gotta buy two copies of this comic per team) can solve the mystery, you’ve proven yourself as proper detectives! Mail in your answers, and the winners receive a lifetime subscription and their very own “agency license”.

Of course they solve it and get the gimmick license and they’re all proud. But that’s what sets them off thinking hey, maybe they could really do this. What if they became real detectives? They dug up the details of their own deaths, how many other ghosts need someone to do the same for them?

Their door says “established 1990.” This is absolutely how it all came together.

[coloursflyaway]

As much as I love (and understand) everyone being wild about Edwin in Port Townsend, you can't tell me that clients don't fall in love with Charles left and right, too.

Have you seen the boy?

The softest, warmest brown eyes you could imagine, surrounded by the longest lashes. A nose so regal it would make Greek sculptors cry with joy. Cheekbones so sharp you could cut a diamond on them. Curls you want to card your fingers through and never stop again. A smile so brillant it could replace the sun.

I'm sure there's an army of people just swooning over Charles back in England.

And Edwin? Edwin would have hated that ever since it happened the first time, but now he knows why it hurts that much when someone calls Charles babe or luv or darling and I am pretty sure that that would make it so much worse.

[livefastwritetrash]

THIS, but.

Edwin is new to understanding his feelings for Charles in the context of romance. Until now he’s believed his affection was about companionship, and any other observations he had about Charles were just objective facts.

I can definitely see him not getting jealous so much as just annoyed that people were pointing out the “obvious.”

Of course everyone falls for Charles, Charles is gorgeous. Oh look, another person swooning over Charles, yes we know, he is a complete dream, back to the case please. Do stop getting lost in Charles’s eyes, I understand they are the most beautiful shade of brown and glisten like the sweetest honey in this lamplight, but I am trying to ask about your whereabouts on July the 14th.

In short, he has a bad case of the pre-awakening girlies’ “everyone checks out other women, women are beautiful” mindset. But it’s always been about Charles.

[livefastwritetrash]

Charles reacting to Edwin’s insufferable flirting now that he’s getting comfortable with himself: Look at you, getting fresh with a rugby lad. You kiss one bloke and now you think you're smooth as :P

Edwin: One that you know of. It’s a growing list, do you want to get on it?

Charles:

[livefastwritetrash]

EDWIN, defending his relationship with a centuries-old trickster entity, who is sometimes a literal cat, to his partner of 30 years:

Why can’t you just accept our love? (His lip trembles) It’s because he’s AMERICAN, isn’t it! (He runs away crying)

[escuerzoresucitado]

[cacodaemonia]

I know folks have been sharing this link on other posts, but &udm=14 works well:

[fangeek-girl]

You can add it as an extension to Firefox now: https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/udm14/reviews/