#anyway mwah hope this works !!

[triona-tribblescore]

I cant stop thinking about them :'( 🩷🩷✨✨ drew my human designs for a wee change of pace uvu

[cozylittleartblog]

my ACEN tip gimmick has been fulfilled, aaand i got a little carried away with it. I haven't had time to draw for myself (or at all, really??) in like two weeks, i needed to Doodle and Have Fun. ... also, i did not think he would get so many donuts. people understand the value of giving treats to fictional characters :) its what he deserves

also shoutout to snazzyskeletons who had the same Tip Theme i did. we took pictures with our tip jars together. they are adorable v

i'm glad their vash got some donut money too :) 🍩 please check them out if you want some cute trigun stuff

[dont-offend-the-bees]

’Cause You Cut Through All the Noise

Happy Painland Week! Day one is LOVE LANGUAGES! I could've picked touch or gifts or quality time or whatever as my love language but you know what? No. Life-affirming therapeutic domination. Edwin's love language is ordering Charles around. Fight me. Anyway, no smut here, but some steaminess/flirtation/allusions to sex. Some light angst bc Charles starts off in a bit of a spiral, bless his heart. Don't worry, Edwin'll put him right <3 (Quick translation note for any Americans reading: I'm referring to Charles' suspenders in British English, i.e. as braces rather than suspenders. Suspenders for us are generally the little sexy straps for stockings and would instantly up the kinkiness of the scene at least 70% (which I am in favour of, it's just not the fic I'm writing right now lmao)) 5.3k, M-rated, also available on Ao3. Thank you @painlandweek for putting this all together! Enjoy! 💛

Sometimes it seemed that the more Edwin learned, the less he knew. Or rather the more he thought he knew, the more he had left to learn.

Acquiring knowledge on any particular topic, it seemed, was only building the groundwork to question it further. Perhaps that's what an expert was, in the end: not a vast repository of facts, but one skilled in the art of digging for more. Not a pursuer of answers, but a pursuer of more interesting questions. Edwin had found it to be much the same across fields, across all his broad areas of interest and study.

Charles Rowland was one such area of interest.

It was quite astonishing; but thirty years into their partnership, Charles still managed to elude Edwin's understanding. Frequently. He was a lively, complex butterfly who simply would not be pinned (metaphorically, that is. In the more literal sense, he was most certainly not opposed to being pinned by Edwin. But he digressed.) They must have exhausted every conversational avenue two dead boys could traverse by now. How, then, could they persist in finding new things to say to one another? How, despite a mere sixteen years apiece of life before death, could they still find anecdotes unshared, secrets unspoken? Despite knowing Charles better than Edwin knew himself there was always, always more to learn.

And a great deal of learning had been done over the last eighteen months or so, indeed. Since the chaotic inciting incident: the now infamous milestone Case of Crystal Palace. Crystal, in all her messy human glory, had taken a battering ram to their comfortable routine. She'd rather shaken things up in the process — and thus, shaken a fresh slew of secrets from Charles and Edwin both.

Edwin's biggest secret was no longer a secret, of course. It was now common knowledge — though Charles, loyal to the last, hadn't shared it with another soul. He hadn't told anyone of Edwin's confession, nor had any official announcements been made by either of them as the 'situation' developed. But develop it had, in ways difficult to overlook. In touches, in kisses, in soft words and flagrant flirtations. Edwin imagined their friends and colleagues must have put two and two together by now, vis-a-vis Edwin and his feelings for Charles. And if they hadn't... well, it would certainly raise some concerns about the quality of their detective work.

Charles, likewise, had revealed a secret or two. Far less pleasant ones. Secrets that, in his more cynical moments, Edwin wondered if Charles would ever have told him without external pressure. Without Crystal's well-meaning badgering, or the Night Nurse's former villainy. Secrets about his family, his father, himself — or at least his own perception of himself. Harrowing they may be, but Edwin had filed each secret away carefully. Each bitter truth was a new supporting fact, a new data point. A fresh insight that peeled away Charles' brave face, and shone an interrogating light upon decades of behaviour.

Edwin had always known, of course, that Charles was not merely the plucky optimist he purported himself to be. Glimpses under the mask were rare, but inevitable. He'd have been foolish not to notice. But Edwin was not inclined to go picking at scabs. So what if Charles wished to maintain an image of himself? Image was everything; or so Edwin had been raised to believe. How a man chose to present himself to the world spoke volumes. Charles wished to be seen as a positive force, and Edwin had always respected him for that. Loved him, even, though he hadn't known it at the time. Charles' insistence on being a stubborn idealist had awed, amused and frustrated Edwin in almost equal measure. He wouldn't have changed it for the world.

But it was one thing to know that the chipper, animated, relentlessly positive Charles he'd come to know was a crafted image. Finding what lay behind the mask was another. It was a new level of understanding, of intimacy, to finally know the bedrock that lay beneath every too-bright word or action.

Charles Rowland was an inveterate people-pleaser.

In retrospect, of course, it made perfect sense. Edwin had sat with it, applied his new knowledge to a thousand interactions, and found it fitting. It had been a relatively easy fact to accept into his broader understanding of Charles.

The bitterer pill to swallow had been in realising just how often Edwin was, himself, a person Charles felt the need to please at all costs.

Edwin liked to think that their relationship had improved since those various revelations. It had certainly changed in notable ways. Especially since last November. Bonfire night. The night Charles had kissed him under the fireworks and thanked him, sheepishly, for 'waiting for him to get his head out of his arse'.

But the kissing and... other activities weren't the only new additions to their relationship. Moreso than ever before, there were repeat and regular attempts to open the lines of communication. They did not always succeed in those attempts. Charles' fear of rocking the boat and Edwin's discomfort with emotional outpourings were at odds with one another, and often left them at an impasse.

Nevertheless, Edwin was determined to try. Charles deserved nothing less; there had never been a person, alive or dead, more deserving of Edwin's trust. And it was the dearest wish of Edwin's afterlife that he could be the same for Charles. That he could be a person Charles need not perform for, or hide from. That he could be allowed to know Charles, to learn him, inside and out.

And while there was still, undeniably, work to be done, Edwin truly believed progress had been made. Through trial and a considerable amount of error, they had come to... understand certain things about one another. About what they each wanted, what they needed. Edwin was making leaps and bounds in the highly specialised field of Charles Studies.

So when Crystal stormed out of the office after another of her and Edwin's (admittedly rather petty) spats, he knew Charles needed attention before her footsteps had even faded.

"Charles?" Edwin prompted, with caution. He was not always an expert at 'reading the room', but in reading Charles he was growing more fluent by the day.

His dear friend's eyes snapped to him with a hunted look. Just as Edwin had thought they might.

Edwin cleared his throat. "Are you... alright?" he asked.

Charles, in that practised manner of his, plastered on a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, mate." He couldn't seem to look Edwin in the eye. "I'm brills."

Hm. A likely story.

He should have suspected this might happen, in the wake of such a heated disagreement. The very air in the office still seemed to ring with the reverberating slam of the door. An overreaction, really. Even mere minutes later, the whole altercation seemed rather silly. But such things were bound to happen on occasion. Edwin had certain opinions, and no qualms about arguing in their favour — and in Crystal Palace, he'd met his match. The two of them often wound up in the unfortunate scenario of a minor dispute devolving into a full-blown tiff. Such squabbles generally didn't end until someone (Charles) laughed and broke the tension, or someone else stormed off.

Edwin didn't doubt that all would be well shortly enough. If their pattern held, Crystal would come slinking back in a few hours. She and Edwin would exchange either sincere regrets or stilted half-apologies (depending on the severity of the argument). Then they would smooth over any remaining awkwardness by finding something minor to agree on (usually something Charles-related), and go swiftly back to normal.

But that resolution was some time away, yet. And in the meantime the air hung heavy; saturated with ire and discontent. Charles, emotional sponge that he was, was clearly bearing the brunt of it — and, as usual, trying his utmost to 'laugh it off'.

Edwin responded to the blatant fib with a single raised, questioning eyebrow.

Charles flinched as if struck.

Oh, dear. The situation was more dire than Edwin had thought.

“Charles,” said Edwin again, softer this time. It was important not to go on the offensive; in his current condition, Charles was liable to take any careless word as keenly as a knife in the back. “Please tell me what’s on your mind.” After a moment’s consideration, he added: “I promise I won’t be angry.”

It felt like utter nonsense to say out loud, a patronising placation as one might give to a child. But Charles, in Edwin’s experience, responded well to directness. His panic thrived in the mires of ambiguity.

Releasing a ragged breath, Charles rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Just… dunno what to do sometimes. When you two go off at each other.” He peered at Edwin with his uncovered eye, and tried for a smirk. It fell short of the carefree, playful expression it was aiming for. “Dunno what side to pick, do I?”

He voiced it like a joke; but Edwin was listening well, and he knew an incomplete sentence when he heard it. He stepped closer and, slowly, giving him time to retreat, took Charles’ free hand and squeezed it.

Charles closed his eyes, dragging his hand down his face. “Can’t keep you both happy,” he admitted on a low mumble, like it was a shameful secret.

Guilt curdled sour and heavy in Edwin’s stomach, but he kept it from his face. Any indication that Charles had made him feel bad was bound to make him shut down further. “It should not be your duty to keep the peace,” he said, choosing his words with care. “I will speak to Crystal later, clear the air.”

Charles nodded, but remained hunched unhappily in on himself. Propped against the edge of the desk as if he needed the support. Edwin could see his brain turning itself over and over in miserable little spirals; wondering if he should have stepped in earlier, said something else. Wondering what he could have done differently to make everything better. To make everyone happy.

Edwin swallowed tightly, and placed his hand upon Charles’ shoulder. “Charles. Look at me, please.”

He did so, without question or hesitation. Responding with ease to the polite command as if it had come from his own subconscious. Quick, and keen. Already Edwin had a strong suspicion of what was needed to calm him; but it was always important to test the waters, first.

Edwin, with great care, hooked a finger through the gold chain around Charles’ neck, and tugged.

The effect was instantaneous. Charles’ wide, fraught eyes softened, slackened, his lined eyelids drooping. His lips parted around a quiet sigh, smoother than his last ragged exhalation. His shoulders slumped as if a great weight had been released from them.

Charles may be an ever-unfolding and expanding area of study. But to Edwin’s expert eye, on occasion, his needs were remarkably simple to interpret.

Meeting his now somewhat unfocused gaze, Edwin leaned in. “Put Crystal out of your mind for now,” he said, a quiet command. “In fact, put everything out of your mind.”

“She’s upset,” Charles mumbled in half-hearted protest.

“Yes — and she will continue to be so for a while longer, regardless of what you or I might say.” Edwin smoothed the collar of Charles’ polo shirt. “When the dust has settled, I will find her and smooth things over. I promise. For the time being, you’ll do none of us any good with your overthinking.”

Charles snorted. “Overthinking? Me?” he joked.

With another gentle, but recriminating tug of the chain, Charles gasped and quieted. Already, his bright eyes were taking on a dreamlike haze.

Edwin sighed and leaned close, ‘til his nose grazed across Charles’ cheekbone. “Granted, your tendency to underthink before making dangerous choices borders on the pathological,” he teased. “But I suspect you’re thinking a lot of very unkind thoughts about yourself right now, and I’d like for you to stop. Please.”

Breath shuddering, Charles’ hands lifted, fisting in the front of Edwin’s waistcoat.

“That what you want?” He asked, his voice a small and broken thing. For all his strength of body and character, he felt as vulnerable in Edwin’s hands as a baby bird.

“How about I tell you exactly what I want for a while,” Edwin offered. “And then all you have to do is listen.“

He delivered a swift, dry kiss to Charles’ cheekbone. "No detective work required.”

It was a very simple solution, albeit one Edwin tried not to employ too often. He and Crystal had a sort of pact in place to discourage Charles' need to please others, rather than lean into it. Within reason, of course — Edwin had no wish to change Charles fundamentally as a person (or to discourage him from doing what felt good to him in intimate settings. If it made Charles feel good to make others feel good, who was Edwin to begrudge him the pleasure?). But they'd agreed that it was probably the healthier option, in the long term. To steer Charles away from hingeing his self-worth on what he could do for others.

But sometimes, the damage was already done. Sometimes Charles was simply too vulnerable to rejection, too stuck in his own head. And on those occasions, Edwin had learned the kindest thing to do was to take him by the hand, and take the guesswork out of the equation.

Charles sniffed. His soft curls tickled Edwin's forehead as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."

"Good." Edwin gave him another kiss, pressing this one to his temple. Charles melted under his touch, leaning into him, his hands tight and hot on Edwin's chest. "Thank you, dearheart," said Edwin.

Charles shivered. "Fuck me..." he swore, a dazed mumble.

"Hmmm... No, not tonight, I don't think," Edwin quipped — gratified when Charles managed a snort of mirth. Edwin thumbed up under Charles' jaw, finding where the tension still lingered and soothing it out with firm strokes. "I have something better in mind," he said. He released his hold on Charles to roll up in his own shirtsleeves in brisk, meticulous folds.

Charles watched his every motion with a hungry gaze. "Yeah?" he breathed, somewhat stunned; eyes devouring each newly exposed inch of Edwin's skin up to the elbow. He did have a fascination with Edwin's arms; it was a tried and true method of holding his attention.

"Yes." Edwin glanced over Charles' shoulder with a hum, and settled his hands upon Charles' slender waist. "First things first; let's get you sitting comfortably, shall we?"

He braced himself and, with careful exertion, lifted Charles to deposit him in his usual spot on the desk. Charles went without struggle, and with a gasp that morphed swiftly into a groan. His legs flopped open at once, one ankle hooking around Edwin's thigh in invitation. He tugged on Edwin's waistcoat with a soft whine of his name.

Edwin, maintaining his composure admirably, shushed him. He removed Charles' hands from his own chest — though he pressed quick, apologetic kisses to the heels of each. "Later, my love. Now. Where did I put it..."

He patted down his trouser pockets. When that yielded nothing, he sifted through the stationary cup on the desk. He suspected the object he desired might still be in his coat pocket, but he was loathe to step too far from Charles. Luck, however, was on his side. He recovered the coil of string from a box of spellcasting odds and ends with a small sound of triumph.

Charles watched Edwin's hands unwind the string; rapt despite the slight glaze of his eyes. "You gonna tie me up, then?"

Edwin tsk'd. "What a one-track mind you have this evening," he teased. It wasn't a scold. Having Charles focused and fixated on trying to get Edwin into bed was vastly preferable to the jumble of insecurity. "Hold out your hands."

"Sure you're not tying me up?" said Charles, brow furrowing as he lifted his hands — palms up, beautifully willing.

"I suppose that depends on your definition," said Edwin, as he tied the ends of the string together to form a wide loop. He nudged Charles' hands into place, about a foot apart with palms turned inwards, and draped the loop over them.

Charles, through the haze, finally twigged. "Cat's cradle?" he said, with a slight chuckle.

"Do you object?" asked Edwin.

"Why'd you wanna do this?"

"Because I like playing games with you." Edwin directed Charles to rotate his wrists, winding the string into loops around his hands. He indulged in a gentle touch as he did so, tracing his thumbs along the creases of Charles' skin. The smooth stretch where once a 'life line' would have resided. Edwin had not set much stock by the art of palmistry, until he'd discovered that little commonality between he and Charles. "Again, please. One more loop."

Charles didn't argue — of course he didn't. Edwin doubted he currently had the capacity to argue; so deep had he already descended into that quiet space in his head. The one he occupied only in their moments of deepest intimacy, when Edwin took charge, took him in hand. His eyes, such quick and clever things, now gazed down at Edwin hooded and glassy. Perfect, still pools of pleasantly addled warmth. He'd sunk so readily, so splendidly, all but curled up in the palm of Edwin's hand.

Edwin watched him a moment before proceeding, soothing the ragged edges of his own Hell-torn soul. Whatever he'd done in life to earn the trust Charles placed in him, it must have be something very good indeed.

In next to no time, they had the string pulled taut between Charles' hands, forming the neat double cross of the eponymous Cat's Cradle. Edwin hummed in approval. "Well done," he praised, as he pinched the crossed strands and pulled them outwards. "And now to me. Soldier's Bed, please."

Though Charles appeared to be away with the fairies, he was attuned to Edwin's voice and acquiesced to his command with ease. This was a game they had played many times, on long and quiet nights. When they'd had nothing to hand but an old bootlace, and nothing they wished to do but keep each other's company. Charles didn't need to strain to recall how to release the strings into Edwin's hold. Or how to begin forming the next shape after that, his confident fingers pinching and tugging the relevant strands.

Peaceful and methodical, they worked together, shape by shape, hand to hand. When Charles was pulling the strings for Edwin he was focused, intent, a little wrinkle in his brow. Once or twice his tongue darted out, bitten between his teeth in concentration, and Edwin resisted the impulse to distract him with a kiss. When Charles was merely holding the strings he subsided into utter relaxation. Breathing slow, eyes closed or halfway there, watching Edwin's face and hands with hazy satisfaction. Occasionally he dropped a thread, but it was never a serious blunder, and Edwin got them back on track with a polite command to pick it up. In a customary game they'd have to restart, but this was no customary game. Now was not the time to dwell upon harmless mistakes.

The game served as Edwin had hoped it would. After a few rounds of he and Charles working in perfect tandem, he could feel the air had settled and Charles with it. The grounding touches of their fingers and the face-to-face contact couldn't have hurt. Edwin had fallen into a rhythm, politely requesting each new shape by name and praising the end result. Charles had likewise fallen into a rhythm of mellow compliance. As the rounds wore on he even offered the odd cheeky verbal acknowledgement of Edwin's commands. A 'comin' right up' here, an 'on it, boss' there. His voice was thick and sweet, his tongue succumbing to the same submissive, slumberous spell as his mind. But a little of his bright, energetic spark was creeping back beneath the haze.

By the time they'd worked through the established shapes, and exhausted their own catalogue of invented ones, Edwin was satisfied. He felt they'd left the storm behind and sailed into calmer waters.

"Good game, Charles," he said, as he took their last custom shape — the aptly named Nail in the Coffin — into his own hands, and unraveled it. "Thank you."

Charles hummed, drowsy, swaying a little where he sat. "What'chu wanna do now?" he asked, dark, glassy eyes intent on Edwin's face. Like it was the most important question in the world.

He looked so lovely like this. Of course he always looked lovely, as handsome a boy as Edwin had ever seen. But like this especially, so far gone in his peace and pleasure, there was nothing to compare. Warm and golden, soft and tousled; his eyes black and bottomless and only for Edwin. Gazing at him as if he'd hung the moon and the stars.

Edwin faltered, a small gasp catching in his throat. He remained adamant that he wouldn't take more than Charles should give, at this moment. But... perhaps a small indulgence.

"Kiss me," he said, tucking a finger beneath Charles' chin. "Please."

Charles nodded — a hasty gesture compared to his otherwise lethargic motions — and swayed forward. He crashed his lips against Edwin's in an artless kiss, his hands finding Edwin's waist and gripping tight. Like he couldn't get him close enough.

Edwin sighed into it, stepping into Charles. Into the comfortable vee of his sprawled legs, where he'd come to spend many a peaceful night of late. He tilted his head, guiding Charles into a gentler kiss. Leading him as he would in a dance and letting him fall, gratefully, into step. Edwin explored the curve of Charles' jaw with his fingers, the charmingly pointed shell of his ear. He thumbed across his sparkly earring, and Charles huffed a little laugh into his mouth.

"Magpie," he mumbled.

Edwin chuckled as well, a natural release of the warmth suffusing him. He broke the kiss to dust smaller, feather-light ones across Charles' cheeks. "Well," he said, a thumb pressed to Charles' plush lower lip. "I do seem to collect the most beautiful things..."

Breath hitching, Charles wrapped his arms around Edwin's shoulders and squeezed. Edwin returned the embrace without hesitation. Never before Charles had he felt at ease with this sort of thing — this effusive, uncurbed physical affection. With anyone else it was still a struggle. He had little desire to touch, or be touched. But inviting Charles into his embrace was never a hardship; it was simply his proper place. It was a fact of the universe: Charles belonged with Edwin. In his arms, on his desk, in his bed, on his nerves.

Charles belonged with Edwin, as Edwin belonged with Charles; holding his hand, steering him true. And, where necessary, using a firm word and a firmer hold to put those wretched doubts in his head to rest.

Edwin pulled away with a parting kiss to Charles' temple. Charles felt warm, in that strange, prickly way. Ghostly body heat wasn't so much a thrum of blood as an excitation of atoms. To Edwin's mind, he felt warmer than usual at present. "Are you hot?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Charles with a lax, flirtatious smile. "Am I?"

Edwin rolled his eyes. "In the non-figurative sense, please, Charles."

"Mm. Yeah, bit hot." The smile widened into an impish grin. "Or maybe that's just you."

"You're incorrigible," Edwin muttered — but there was a smile in his voice and likely on his face, as well. His own cheeks were beginning to feel rather warm. He cleared his throat and tugged, meaningfully, on one of Charles' braces. There was a tantalising give and take to the elastic as his fingers slipped behind it. He was half tempted to release it, let it ping back, see what sound Charles made at the slight shock. But now wasn't the time for that sort of play.

"You may remove a layer, if you like," Edwin offered magnanimously — no ulterior motive whatsoever. "I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He slid the braces off his shoulders and grabbed his polo shirt at the back of the neck, dragging it off over his head. It was altogether a clumsier attempt than his usual so-called 'strip teases', but his hooded eyes burned on Edwin's face throughout. Afterwards he was left in just his sinfully tight white vest — and, of course, the enticing glimmer of his golden chain on top. But he remained pleasantly flushed and glowing, with not a hint of cold or discomfort. Charles was prone to chills in times of stress; a morbid sense memory of his last night alive. But he always seemed to warm in Edwin's presence.

Edwin, with an exhale that was just a tad on the ragged side, bowed his head and grazed a kiss across Charles' exposed collarbone. "Better?"

He could feel Charles' soft groan ruffling his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, feels good." He pulled on the hem of Edwin's waistcoat. "Bet you're hot too, yeah?"

Increasingly so, yes. Edwin was clinging to his composure by a thread. "It is a touch close in here," he agreed. He could feel Charles' restless fingers tugging, so he took them in his own hands, and guided them to the top button of the waistcoat. It was only fair he restore the balance. "Would you be so kind?"

Charles groaned again, this time so close to Edwin's ear it sent a ripple down his spine, and obeyed. His hands, as was often the case when disrobing Edwin, tripped over the buttons, rendered all fingers and thumbs in his eagerness. But they were in no hurry. Edwin closed his eyes and waited, tucked into the crook of Charles' neck and perfectly satisfied to be so.

When the final button surrendered the fight, Charles made haste to shove the garment off Edwin's shoulders. Edwin corrected him with a polite "Gently, please," and Charles took it in more careful hands, mindful of causing wrinkles. It made no difference, of course — Edwin could will his clothes to look as pristine or rumpled as he pleased. But Charles shuddered sweetly at the direction, and Edwin so enjoyed directing him. Besides, there was never any harm in promoting good habits.

"Fold it, please," said Edwin — stepping back to give Charles space. He watched Charles take the waistcoat in hand and, inexpertly, fold it in half twice. Lengthwise first, then the opposite. Hardly proper protocol, but Edwin didn't much care. He just took the haphazardly folded garment with gratitude and set it aside on the desk. "Thank you."

"Anything else?" Charles mumbled — his fingers teasing Edwin's shirt, itching to tug it free of his waistband.

Edwin sighed, and stilled Charles' hands. Perhaps he was letting the situation get away from them a bit. Charles was quite the difficult temptation to resist. "Perhaps later," he said. At Charles' disappointed pout, he made an amendment. "Definitely later."

Charles snorted, and let his head flop against Edwin's chest. "Alright," he mumbled. He sounded tired. Overwhelmed. It was a lot for him, this complete surrender, and Edwin well knew it. "Whatever you say, love."

"I say it's time for a rest." Edwin took Charles' face in both his hands, holding him still as he bestowed one more kiss upon his forehead. "Go and sit down, please. Comfortably, on the sofa. I'll join you momentarily."

Charles grumbled, but nevertheless did as he was told. He hopped off the desk, hand trailing across Edwin's chest as he passed him by. Edwin caught it for the barest second, just to give his fingers a parting squeeze. An altogether impossible urge to resist; and the loving way Charles' eyes found him over his shoulder affirmed his decision.

Tearing his attention from Charles and his smiles and his soft, trusting eyes, he turned it to the bookcase instead. He knew exactly what he wished to do with Charles, now. Something they'd had neither the space nor quiet for in quite some time. He scanned the shelves, deep in thought.

"Charles," he called out, careful not to cut too sharply through the peace of the room. "Douglas Adams, or Sir Arthur?"

It was a gentle prompt, and a simple choice. The stakes couldn't be lower. He waited to see if Charles would hand it back to him, anyway — still unwilling and unable to bear the thought of making an incorrect decision.

"Mmm... Doug," Charles mumbled.

Edwin smiled to himself. On the mend, then. "Excellent choice," he said; sliding their well-loved second edition of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency from the shelf.

He turned on his heel to find Charles, folded onto the sofa in a loose tangle of limbs, chin on his fist. He bore sleepy, squinting eyes and a dopey smile, both directed at Edwin and warming him through like late afternoon sunlight.

"Like how it sounds in your voice," said Charles, nestling in further. The very picture of contentment. Seemed he could scarcely keep his eyes open; but he must not have wanted to look away from Edwin just yet.

Edwin could sympathise entirely; he rarely wished to look away from Charles, either.

Edwin smiled as he stepped in close, a hand on Charles' knee; a smiling kiss dropped to his head of rampant curls. "Quiet, now, darling boy," he softly commanded, tugging on Charles' knee to make room. "And enjoy yourself."

~

“How long did the Monk believe these things? Well, as far as the Monk was concerned, forever,” Edwin read, his thumb tracing circles on Charles’ wrist. “The faith which moves mountains, or at least believes them against all the available evidence to be pink, was a solid and abiding faith, a great rock against which the world could hurl whatever it would, yet it would not be shaken. In practice, the horse knew, twenty-four hours was usually about its lot.”

They were a scant few pages into the book, and yet Edwin suspected that Charles had drifted into a doze. It was hard to tell without facing him. They'd settled on the sofa with Charles tucked up against the arm and back, and Edwin reclining between his sprawled legs. Edwin's back pillowed on Charles' torso; Charles' arms wrapped around Edwin, like a large teddy bear. Edwin could feel Charles' chin propped atop his head. On occasion, he nuzzled into Edwin's hair with soft hums as he listened to the story. But the hums and nuzzles both had grown less frequent already, subsiding to near silence.

Edwin read on regardless. Charles, like all ghosts, rarely if ever actually slept, and was likely still listening. Even if his mind was wondering elsewhere for the time being, he'd find his way back. He always did. And Edwin would be waiting for him.

A few chapters later, as Edwin recounted the thrilling mystery of the horse in the water closet, he felt Charles stirring. Soon, Charles' wrist was slipping free from Edwin's grasp, the hand coming to rest instead atop Edwin's hand in a gentle hold.

"Thank you," Charles mumbled, nuzzling into Edwin's hair.

Edwin smiled. "There's no need to thank me for reading to you," he said. "I enjoy it."

"I meant, like..." Charles sighed, squeezing Edwin's hand. "Thanks for, y'know. Bossing me around a bit," he said, sincerity threaded through the lighthearted tease. "Seriously. It proper helps."

Edwin laced their fingers, and brought Charles' hand to his lips. "Charles," he said, simple and serious. He kissed him on the knuckles. "I shall always be here to boss you around when needed."

Charles laughed. Quiet, unobtrusive. It seemed neither one of them was quite ready to break the spell just yet. "Love you," he murmured.

Marking his page with a finger, Edwin leaned back onto Charles' shoulder. He tilted his head back, all the better to look his beloved in the eye. "I love you, too."

He only had to lift his lips, a silent prompt.

Charles needed no further instructions.

~~

Thanks for reading! Consider dropping us a comment/reblog, they do so make my day/week/month 💛 Might not manage every day of this week but I will defo see you tomorrow for a fic/collab I'm SUPER excited about!!! Painland Week Prompt List

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

[spearxwind]

Feels good to be home.

[talksosweet]

btw guys i did end up making it to 200 followers today everyone cheer 🙏🏻🙏🏻

[teddybeartoji]

hi i'm sorry to bother u but how did u change ur font color to that pink? it's rlly cute. thank u sm.

YOU'RE NOT BOTHERING ME AT ALL ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!! okok so i use this page. you just need to type in the word you want to be changed and then pick the color/colors of it. i personally skip the fourth step and just change the text into bold if it's needed when i'm back on the actual tumblr post.

and then you copy ALL of the text from the lower box of text (the html one) and you can go back to making your tumblr post. when you have that open, click on the little settings button on the top right of the box and find the text editor. from there click on html.

it might look like a lot at first, trust me i was a little confused too but now you just have to either: if you have no other text there, just paste what you copied from the other page and it should be good OR if you have already written something, you have to find the word/the part you wanted to change the color of and then delete that. just the word or the phrase, aaand then you want to paste the copied stuff right where the word was.

after that, you can just click on the setting button again, and the text editor and then rich text aaaaaand you should be good!!

[gatzbright]

sweater weather

dnf fic, 1.6k, one shot, general, ao3 link [Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Fluff]

A cry escapes George’s lips. “Dream—” Dream brings George closer, holds his face in two large palms. “Tell me when you’re hurting, sweetheart,” he whispers thickly, “and I can try help.” George shakes his head. “No,” he says, weepy, “‘s’too much—” “Never,” Dream says. He holds George’s gaze. “You’re never too much—nothing you ever feel is ever too much.”

[Or, The tide brings in old feelings, and George feels the ache.]

[goldkirk]

I opened Pinterest for the first time in months.

That made me realize a lot about how bad I was actually doing and how much of a Waffle House Index use of Pinterest is for adult me, apparently.

I hadn’t realized it had grown that foundational to me in a healthy-brain-exercise-and-hobby-joy way. Nice to know moving forward! It’s another sign I can keep track of and use to spot correlation/indicator patterns earlier my behavior.

I love this kind of thing, it makes me so excited!

[itsjaywalkers]

not sure if i actually ship bartylily but i am very intrigued by them….would definitely read if u ever wrote anything for them 👀👀

how do u think them and jeg would interact?? i feel like the existence of bartylily would throw james & reg off so much lmaooo

CASS I ADORE U AND I’M KISSING U SO HARD FOR THIS it’s such an honour to hear that you’d read them if i ever write anything for them <3 (which i definitely will, they’re in my mind too often)

OOOOOOH I JUST GIGGLED OUT LOUD i think their reactions would be . very fun and wildly different. like reg would be surprised at first and i don’t think he’d get it. like barty, he has this specific view of lily in his mind and he doesn’t understand how barty could’ve fallen for her in the first place and viceversa. they don’t make sense to him but he isn’t . mean or judgemental about it, i feel like none of barty’s friends would be (they’d tease him and take the piss out of him all the time tho, bc that man is Down Bad). after he actually Sees them together a couple of times he starts to get it. they shouldn’t make any sense but they do and they work surprisingly well together so . he stops questioning it at some point and is just supportive

james however. is Appalled. Baffled. Disgusted even. this might just be one of the worst things that’s ever happened to him. it’s not even about jealousy, he’s with reg (sorry it’s the jeggy obsession) and only sees lily as a friend but barty is his Least Favourite Person in existence. he already has to spend too much time around him bc he’s reg’s best friend and now??? now he’s with lily??? bc not only they get along but they’re also dating??? yeah no Fuck That

don’t get me wrong i feel like almost all of lily’s friends wouldn’t take kindly to the news at first (obviously this depends on how u portray both friend groups and their opinions of each other but to me . they never truly get along u know) but i think that they’d grow to accept it at some point. even if begrudgingly. marlene and mary at least. the jury is still out about sirius + remus + peter

but james??? oh he Hates it. and Hates it forever. he’s happy to see lily happy, yeah, but that’s about it. he’s the man who gets up in the middle of the wedding to try and oppose even if he knows there’s no stopping them (reg is incredibly embarrassed and hating his life choices and trying to get him to sit back down) (barty finds it absolutely hilarious and is delighted to know he’s causing james this much turmoil even after so many years) (lily is very much Done and this is exactly why she didn’t want to invite james) (but barty needed reg there and everyone knows that reg and james are a package deal) (anyway i digress)

[daz4i]

how and why is there discourse about whether or not certain queer identities exist/if people should be allowed(???) to use them. why is "people know their own identity better than you ever could, and they're the only one who get a say on what they are" such a tough concept to grasp

i think if you find yourself offended by the label someone uses (especially if they're a stranger) or think it invalidates your own, it's a good idea to look inside yourself and question why that may be. more often than not, it's a result of insecurity or uncertainty of your own identity (or many other things, but i won't make a whole list here). whatever reason it is, until you resolve it, you shouldn't take it out on people for having an identity you don't understand

many have said it before but it's worth saying over and over. infighting only helps our oppressors. conservatives don't care if you're a cis gay or a xenogender aegosexual aplatonic lesbian, they hate all of us either way. trying to fit in by going for people who are easier targets for them isn't gonna help you, it'll just alienate you from your own community, and you're never gonna please them. the momentary rush you get from hearing you're not like "one of /those/ gay people" is not worth it and is gonna do more harm in the long run, i assure you

also, it is important to me to say this, but having some less than nice kneejerk reaction caused by confusion about an identity you don't understand doesn't mean you're a bad person or anything. as long as you aren't mean to that person, and you take a second to think smth along the lines of "wait a minute, this isn't any of my business" after having said reaction, you're good 👍 a lot of reflexive reactions we have to things are ingrained into us simply by. well. living in a society 🤡 and you're not terrible for having those thoughts. it's your actions that matter, and your second thought (the "wait, why did i just think that?") is more defining of your actual character and morals than your reflex. i know that having thoughts like this, even tho they're unwanted, can very easily make one spiral, so it's important to me that whoever needs to hear this knows this doesn't make you a bad person 🙏 you're good, keep taking actions to be good, accept other people even if you don't understand them, and you're on the right track :)

[arainesque]

I think I've lost my mind but I posted a new fic (x) ❤️

[rinhaler]

good morning everyone! I'm probably gonna be quiet today bc I have so much writing to get done :3

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

@megatraven

I was about to send an idea in your ask box but ofc it became too long again😭.

From what I remember, Aphrodite never checked in on Josh or MC during those 10 years from when Agent Mom died and then to AFK S1, and I just. Had a sad imagine one day of Alex visiting MC or talking to her while she’s still in High school, or out of it and deciding what she wants to do, and Alex mentions Aphrodite. Something along the lines of them asking how MC is and adding “And my Mother worries about you, too. She hopes you’re doing well,” and then talks about how Aphrodite is doing and such.

I can see MC smiling and being happy with Alex during this talk, BUT when they’re gone…she’s mad/sad. She only knew Aphrodite through her mother (as in when her mom brought her and Josh to Olympus), but she still expected to hear her voice or see her in person to help during MC’s and Josh’s grief, but no. Instead it was Alex that was there for them both, and kinda reassured MC that Aphrodite worries about her and Josh.

In this very sad idea/imagine or whatever, she wonders if Aphrodite even thinks about her at all. Did she forget about her and Josh once their mother died? Did she only care for them because of their mother? She’s mad because why wouldn’t she talk to her and Josh? Why??? She doesn’t understand, and she still doesn’t understand until she asks Aphrodite where she was and for an explanation. Talk through the problems, even if Aphrodite may not realize there’s any problems at all. In an Eros or Alex route (maybe even Hades), I always imagine her asking Aphrodite why she never checked in or spoke to her and Josh. Alex was there, not her at all.

And in this AU/whatever this is, whenever Aphrodite speaks to MC in Alex’s S1 and is saying how she wouldn’t forgive herself if something happened to MC, MC is even more confused and it may even give her a slight feeling of rage because…why? How could she care yet not check in or speak to her at all?

I just. Imagine MC feeling that way sometimes. Maybe Josh too, but not to the same degree. Maybe…..I don’t know. It’s just where my thoughts are rn lol. I’m tired and need to sleep but ALSOO need to get this out. I hope it made sense, if not then I’ll reword it in the morning bc it’s late for me and I am Tired™️😭.

[flopbftheo]

i'm always going "oh i'll do this when i'll have time" but then i never have time and if i do find an afternoon or smth where i would have a little time then i'm so overwhelmed with all the things i wanted or have to do still that i ultimately do nothing 😻😻😻

[latejulys]

who would ever think i'd actually be able to enjoy Employment 😭