#and charles and edwin would absolutely love that

[deconstructthesoup]

If I had a nickel for every time I was obsessed with a piece of media that featured a classy little detective boy with less-than-optimal people skills who was previously bullied by a closeted gay guy, is an academic workaholic who presents himself as very lawful but is absolutely a badass in his own right, is severely queer and has a lot of angst and character growth about it, has his internalized anxieties about being queer manifest in a freaky doll monster who haunts his nightmares even after he's escaped from it, has been to Hell and had a really good bonding experience with his chaotic bisexual punk friend whilst in Hell, and has a weirdly attractive and morally corrupt cat person as their primary character arc antagonist and instigator, I would have two nickles

Which isn't a lot

BUT IT'S VERY FUCKING WEIRD THAT IT HAPPENED TWICE!

[skateboardtotheheart]

why compare and pit against each other the various versions of charles and edwin when the truth is that they would be absolutely Thrilled to meet the different version of themselves and discover that the two of them meet and become friends in Every Universe

[edwinisms]

i get such a sense of primal envy when looking at edwin’s clothes up close because god you can just tell his coat is real wool and made to last and not cheap flimsy mass produced garbage and auggagghhhh that was just STANDARD in his time. by no means am i saying i was #borninthewronggeneration because i like having vaccines and household appliances but. man. to have a personally-tailored coat like that that’d last for years and years……. and fabrics of fine thread-dense quality………. if only

[theaceace]

imagining a world in which Simon agreed to go with Edwin and try to escape hell, imagining Simon developing an immediate and very inadvisable crush on the cute guy that just threw a grenade at a demon and Edwin's reaction to that, imagining the reaction of Charles Overprotective Rowland when he finds out that the guy Edwin insists on dragging along with them is one of the guys that sacrificed him to a demon in the first place, imagining the Night Nurse's face when three dead boys pop back through the door instead of two

[a-bisexual-panicking]

question for the dead boy detectives fans:

would you prefer for Edwin and Charles' relationship to stay platonic or to become romantic?

i'm just genuinely curious

[landedinpayne]

absolutely obsessed with the intensity of love and care and attention in the way that charles is looking at edwin he’s responding to the confession. i have literally never seen a person look at someone so lovingly and carefully and now that i’ve seen it i will never recover i fear

[weaponizedducks]

in s2 charles should just keep comparing him and edwin to old tragic love stories he never finished. patroclus and achilles. enjolras and grantaire. hamlet and horatio. quinn fabray and rachel berry. keith kogane and lance mcclain. it just goes on and on and every single time the room goes silent and everyone just slowly stares at him

[asexualenjolras]

We all know that it's canon that Edwin Payne reads (and loves) a lot of Arthur Conan Doyle's books, and we know it's likely that he's a fan of the Sherlock Holmes stories.

But imagine him being introduced to BBC Sherlock by Niko or Crystal and seeing an autistic detective that struggles with communication and empathy, wears formal clothing and doesn't like many people beside his best friend ... who he's in love with.

I think he'd combust. Let that Edwardian ghost find out what Johnlock is.

(Niko would absolutely introduce him to Johnlock fanfics)

[twilight-zoned-out]

Edwin Payne is a dweeb who gives terrible weak comebacks, who can be unnecessarily petty, or overly smug, who is inordinately pleased with himself when wearing detective gear and using scientific gear, the thought never crossing his mind that he might not look as cool as he thinks he does, who carries a continual and utter absolute delight at acting like the characters he loved to read about, who was enthralled by his magazine detective and adventure stories and who wears a similar smile when he sits on the bed watching Scooby Doo with Niko, 'these detectives are terribly clever,' whose board game collection is mostly variations of Clue, who requires payment (because any good detective is worth some kind of payment) but whose idea of payment is whatever interesting object the client offers to add to his collection, who has encyclopedic intelligence he clearly dedicated hours to learning, who has a particular way of acting and speaking like everything is of vital importance, because to him, it is.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

The Kind of Light That Means Just Love (When My Baby Smiles at Me)

Had a prompt in writing group today and felt moved to write a sweet little Charles/Edwin fic! 1.4k, no warnings ^_^

Also readable on Ao3 (for registered users only - sorry, it's a last-ditch flimsy anti-AI scraping measure!)

~

Click!

Edwin blinked, partly in surprise – partly to dislodge the blots in his vision left behind by the sudden, rapid flash of white light that had danced across the pages of his book. He looked up to find the culprit grinning at him from across the room.

“Charles,” Edwin admonished, gently closing his book with a finger tucked between the pages to hold his place. “I have asked you to stop fooling around with that contraption and get some work done.”

“I have been!” Charles defended, gesturing broadly at the higgledy-piggledy array of items around him. Evidently, taking stock of the contents of his bag of tricks was an expansive task. “Taking a break.” He snatched the small square of paper from the Polaroid camera and began to shake it with abandon.

Edwin rolled his eyes. Ever since they’d acquired that camera as payment for a job ‘well jobbed’, Charles had scarcely put it down. Edwin, admittedly, had been intrigued by it at the start – it was certainly a testament to how far photographic technology had advanced since his own life and subsequent death. It was quite fascinating; seeing the slow, hulking monstrosities he’d been forced to sit rigidly still in front of for aeons in his youth, compressed into such a portable and efficient form. But after a few days of study, digging around in its component parts, comparing its output to that of sepia-tinted newspaper clippings from his day – as well as the baffling digital displays on Niko’s portable telephone – the novelty had worn off, and he’d turned his attention to more pressing matters.

But Charles remained enamoured. He’d had the thing slung round his neck for at least a week, and showed no signs of taking it off anytime soon.

The amateur photographer in question grinned infectiously, as the chemicals on the paper settled. “Ah, yeah. That’s a good one, that.”

He held it up proudly, and Edwin was treated to a lovingly framed image of the chair in which he sat, with an open book floating above it.

“I hardly see why you bother,” said Edwin, crossing his legs the other way and letting the book fall open on his knee. “Neither of us show up in photographs. I highly doubt that’s going to change with repeated exposures.” And a good thing, too, as Edwin hadn’t consented to be photographed in just his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His states of improper dress were quite strictly reserved for quiet, studious evenings in the privacy of their rooms; unlike Charles, he had standards with regard to flashing every dip and plane God gave him in mixed company.

“Well. Thought that counts, innit?” Charles bounced to his feet and over to the secondary cork board that had recently been added to the office. Unlike the first, which was full of case notes and theories, this one was exclusively populated by Charles’ photographic whims. The only faces that appeared were those of their living friends – Crystal, Niko, even one snap of Jenny wearing stiff shoulders and a reluctant grimace while Niko hugged her from the side.

Charles and Edwin featured only in the notable absences. Empty chairs, floating objects, the spaces between their friends in the group shots. The only one in which they were ‘visible’, by a loose definition of the word, was the one where Charles had insisted they cut eye holes out of white sheets and drape them over their heads. “Like Beetlejuice!” He’d said; and he’d sounded so excited that Edwin hadn’t even asked him why on earth one would juice a beetle, or what it had to do with playing dress-up.

The new photo found its home amongst a cluster of similar absent Edwins – a floating magnifying glass, an empty desk, a hand of Cluedo cards with no holder. “Brills,” Charles grinned, stepping back and crossing his arms to admire his collection.

“I really don’t see the point of this exercise,” said Edwin. “Who’d even know that’s a picture of someone?”

“I know, don’t I? I can look at these and be like –“ he pointed at the floating magnifying glass image – “That’s the time Edwin got all fussy about Niko’s rent contract ‘cause he thought her landlord was pulling a fast one. And this –“ his finger moved to the Cluedo cards – “This is the time Edwin knew what the answer was for forty bloody minutes, but he held off on making his accusation because he wanted to watch me go round and round in circles, like a knob. See what I mean?”

“Is your point that you keep these as evidence for blackmail?” Edwin asked.

“No, point is, I remember.” Charles tapped his forehead. “Got it all in here. Don’t need a bloody photo to remind me what you look like, do I? Seen you every day for the last thirty years.” He cast Edwin a flippant smile, soft round the edges like the warm browns of his hooded eyes. “Know your face better than I know my own.”

Edwin ducked his head, tamping down on the peculiar feeling in his face and stomach. Like an abrupt upset of the humours – an anomaly of the ectoplasm. At least, that’s how he would’ve characterised it some months or years ago. Now, he was more than painfully aware that it was probably more akin to the spectral equivalent of… blushing. Lord help him.

“Then why take the photographs at all?” Edwin pressed, setting his book aside and giving Charles his full attention. He winced at the sharp tone of his own voice. It was quite unintentional – he had no desire to judge, only to understand.

Fortunately, Charles knew his voice as well as his face. He shrugged, unoffended, eyes roving over his collection. “We’re still here, ain’t we? Not alive, but… we should have memories too, yeah?” He reached out, twitching the corner of a photo. One of Edwin – or the absence of him. Him and Niko, that is. Edwin remembered it well; remembered Niko perching birdlike on the arm of his chair, hugging his arm, nudging her head against his and beaming for the camera. She’d insisted he pose his fingers alongside hers, although in the end result of course only hers were visible. One half of a broken heart.

“Shouldn’t just be for the living, should it?” said Charles, smiling that strange, sad little smile of his at the picture. The one he was so careful not to let people see. “Making new memories to keep.”

Edwin rose, stepping carefully over Charles’ assorted chaos to join him at the board; and Charles watched his advance with that easy, open curiosity on his face. When Edwin’s hands clasped around the camera strap, Charles bowed his head and let him take the device without a fight.

Sometimes, his trust felt as real and visceral in Edwin’s hands as a living, beating heart. But now wasn’t the time for poetics.

Quickly reacquainting himself with the various switches, Edwin held the viewfinder to his eye, framed his shot, and took the snap. Charles did a remarkably good job at not flinching with the flash – but Edwin supposed this style of photography had been more commonplace in his lifetime. He just stood and watched, bemused, as Edwin retrieved the photograph and gave it three short, sharp shakes.

When the image of their photo board revealed itself, not a Charles to be seen despite the fact the camera had been pointed squarely at him, Edwin cocked his head and contemplated it. He had to concede that Charles had a point; though there was no Charles in the photo, Edwin could easily fill in the gaps himself. How could he not? He’d watched the white light paint Charles’ familiar, beloved features; highlighting the amused twitch of his lip, the fond warmth in his eyes. The glint of his gold chain against his white vest, cutting stark across the warm tones of his skin. The confused acceptance with which he’d stood perfectly calmly, waiting for Edwin’s motives to reveal themselves.

Edwin stepped up to the board and held out his hand. Wordlessly, Charles dropped a drawing pin into his palm.

“This,” said Edwin, glancing sidelong at Charles as he carefully pinned the photo up beside the silly shot of the two of them in their butchered bedsheets. “Is the time Charles made a surprising amount of sense; whilst talking utter nonsense.”

Charles smiled, brighter than a camera flash; the after-image of which Edwin would be carrying on the backs of his eyes for days to come.

~

Hope you liked it! Comments and reblogs are super duper appreciated! ^_^ 💛

I have no idea if I'm gonna write/post more fic for these guys, tbh my interest is relatively casual atm and my time/concentration is limited, plus at any given moment I may be lured in by the siren call of horror movie fic on my alt account. But they're very sweet and I have the odd plot bunny so we'll see!

[skateboardtotheheart]

there is just something about the difference between edwin's love interests and having the cat king's reaction to edwin in hell being "i'll be waiting when he gets back" vs charles "no version of this where i don't come get you" rowland convincing a powerful trans-dimensional being to open a door to hell just so he could get him back

i am insane

[edwinisms]

banging my head against the wall every time I see someone reblogging a post of mine with tags mentioning the ‘unrequited confession’. we have been OVER this it is NOT a case of unrequited romantic love it is completely canonically up in the air as a possibility. listen to jayden revri himself and be enlightened i am begging you

[diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls]

dead boy detectives is the perfect cure for a broken heart

[coloursflyaway]

✨(for the Star from the ask game - please give random information about your fanfics??)

Thank you so much!! Sorry this took so long, I just got back from my holiday 🥰

A very random fact: for Won't Fear Love, where Charles takes Edwin on dates to figure out his feelings, I initially wanted to include this in the author's note in the last chapter (and then forgot about it):

You just know that the boys keep up the date schedule even afterwards. Usually, it's Charles who plans the activities, but sometimes, Edwin pitches in as well, if he stumbles upon something.

(One time, he takes Charles to the opera, and they dress up all fancy, which Charles loves, even if he isn't wild about the performance afterwards. Another time, he takes them to a classical concert outside of Schönbrunn palace in Vienna, which they both enjoy a lot - Edwin because of the music and Charles because halfway through the performance, he ends up in Edwin's lap, kissing him until they both cannot think anymore.)

And it goes on for so long, that at some point, a client comes to them with a case around midday on a second Wednesday of a month, and they decide to take the case. From tomorrow on, of course.

"Why can't you start now? You have nothing else to do, this is time sensitive!", the client wants to know, obviously annoyed.

A gasp echoes through the room, coming from the boys and Crystal simultaneously, like the man had just made the biggest social blunder imaginable.

"Of course we cannot start tonight", Edwin starts, folding his hands and looking very put upon; Crystal finishes the thought for him, "What do you take us for? Don't you know it's date night?!"

[eddiewithcat]

the thing that gets me the absolute most about the love confession is just . how charles responds.

like, genuinely if he didn't feel some kind of feelings for edwin, he would've let him down gently, right then and there.

but it is the fact that he said "i can't say that like, i'm in love with you back, but there's no one else, no one else, that i would go to hell for. and we've got literally forever to figure out what the rest means" LIKE.

HE IS NOT QUITE AWARE OF HIS FEELINGS FOR HIM BECAUSE HE HAS NEVER THOUGHT TO THINK ANY DIFFERENTLY/ WHAT IT COULD POSSIBLY MEAN?

also this is neil gaiman show be so fucking for real!!!

[tragedy-machine]

You don't understand how much I love and want to see bamf!Edwin

A bad guy attempting to scare Edwin with some typical triggers like blood, gore, monsters, or darkness, but Edwin staying unfazed, he can walk through pools of blood with no problem, unless it's baby dolls or long corridors he's fine!

Edwin not reacting to being stabbed with iron is pretty much a Tragedy MachineTM special at this point, I can talk about it for hours

Edwin using his hard-earned running skills and absolutely booking it to reach Charles and save him, I wanna see him run towards something instead of running away, you feel me

Someone trying to dig through his memories and getting absolutely wrecked by scenes from Hell and having to run away screaming

Him taking a weapon that's supposed to disintegrate ghosts and it just bouncing off him (okay yeah it does hurts him ofc, but he's still there and kicking while a normal ghost would have poofed out of existence)

I'll even take a demon commenting about how special and delicious Edwin's soul is and Edwin being like "yeah I know, do fuck off"