#edwin drabble

[gundamthey17]

Thinking about Charles "constantly considering everyone else's feelings" Rowland and Edwin "has never had his feelings prioritized ever" Payne

----

May 1991. A library in London.

Edwin slammed his notebook down onto the table, making Charles jump.

"What is it?"

"If I have to endure that noise for much longer, I am going to go mad."

"Er… What noise, mate?"

"Don't tell me you cannot hear it," Edwin replied, going a tinge wide-eyed at the thought.

They sat in silence for a moment. Charles strained his ears. He could just make out a soft, electric hum. "That buzzing?"

"Yes!"

Charles grimaced sympathetically. "Think it's the lights, mate. The fluorescents do that. I didn't even notice 'til you said something."

"You're joking. It is maddening!"

"Guess I'm just used to it." Noticing how Edwin's shoulders had been creeping upward by degrees over the course of their conversation, Charles stood and swept the books off the table into his new backpack.

"What are you doing?" Edwin frowned.

"You said you're about to go mad, yeah? So let's go somewhere else. No reason we have to stay here, is there," Charles said with a shrug and an easy smile.

A tiny bit of tension eased out of Edwin's body. He adjusted his jacket in that proper way of his. "Well, if it isn't bothering you -"

"But it's bothering you. So let's go."

Edwin opened his mouth, then closed it again. Nodding to himself, he gathered his notebook and pen and stood up. "Very well," he said primly.

Charles grinned and slung an arm over Edwin's shoulders as they walked outside. "Love it when you talk all posh like that," he said.

Edwin shrugged out of his grasp, but Charles saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards. They walked in silence for a moment, until Edwin cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said simply.

It was Charles' turn to frown. "For what?"

"Taking my feelings into account, I guess," Edwin replied after a moment. "We didn't have to leave."

"Don't be ridiculous! Not that hard to just go somewhere else, is it?"

"It is an inconvenience."

"Pfft, barely," Charles scoffed. "Be a lot more inconvenient if those lights drove you mental, wouldn't it?"

Edwin stopped abruptly. Charles turned to face him. Edwin was pressing his fists together, which Charles recognized as a sign that he was upset about something. Even more alarmingly, his eyes were brimming with tears. He sniffed and blinked rapidly, refusing to look at Charles.

"Mate, talk to me. What's wrong? Did I say something?"

"No, it's nothing. I -" His voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I am unaccustomed to… People do not usually… care about my discomfort."

"How d'you mean?"

"In general." Edwin waved his hand. "There were things - back when I was alive - that used to bother me. Sounds, smells. Lights, sometimes. People always became cross if I brought it up. The governess, teachers -"

"Even your parents?"

"Especially my parents. I didn't dare say anything to them. Children were supposed to be seen and not heard." A note of bitterness had crept into his voice.

Charles scowled, suddenly feeling irrationally angry. If the people who'd treated Edwin that way weren't already long dead, he'd have had some choice words for them. Maybe more than that. "Well that's bollocks," he said. It came out harsher than he'd intended, but Edwin didn't flinch. He merely looked at Charles curiously. "From now on, if something's bothering you, you tell me and I'll sort it. 'kay?" He put his hands on Edwin's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "You're not an inconvenience, Edwin. Not to me. You got that?"

Edwin took a shaky breath and nodded. He swallowed. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Charles smiled, then turned and continued walking, watching out of the corner of his eye to make sure Edwin had started moving too. "So, where to? There's gotta be someplace in this city where we can look at a bunch of dusty old books without obnoxious lights buzzing everywhere."

[technically-human]

Hi i'm absolutely in love with the reverse au!!

I want to know, in this verse does edwin still confesses to charles? if so how is it different? i feel if he did he would end it by apologizing, you know, religious guilt and all

There’s a train that goes through Hell.

Its journey starts in Wrath, and it departs already full of souls. It took Charles far too many years to realize that there were separate, more spacious wagons that demons could board. Not that he could understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t.

Actually, Charles couldn’t recall ever boarding the train. As far as he could tell, he just appeared there one day, and had spent the next tortuous decades trying to get out. It was part of the torture. Getting out was entirely possible. More than that, it was necessary.

The train had no regular schedule that he could discern (not at first, though he had always been good at finding patterns, and was eventually able to crack it) but it would make quite a few stops before finally returning to the Wrath ring. Souls inside the train were already angry and far too close to each other (close, so close not even air could squeeze in) but when they got really violent was when the train made a stop.

Getting out didn’t mean you were free, no matter where you managed it, be it Sloth or Gluttony, Pride or Lust. No, as soon as the train finished its journey, you would appear back inside, in Wrath where you belonged, suffocating once again, getting ready to claw your way out for the millionth time.

Because if you didn’t get out, The Conductor would get you.

If he thought about it calmly, Charles could probably say that he got out of the train more times than not. Still, being caught by The Conductor once was bad enough, as there was no coal in Hell, and something had to serve as combustible. Souls could not burn to death, and the whole journey always felt longer than eternity when he was caught. Once it was over, he would be inside again, and fight with more desperation than before, not caring who stayed inside so long as it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t. But as the souls pushed and bit and clawed and punched their way out, Edwin boarded the train. And that wasn’t even the most groundbreaking revelation Charles had that day.

ko-fi

[deadboyoffice]

🐾 + payneland

“Dearest.” 

It was whispered into Charles’ spectral skin with such adoration that his throat tightened. He tilted his head to capture Edwin’s lips to silence him.

“Darling,” Edwin whispered as they parted.

“Edwin,” Charles stuttered, trying to catch some air even if it had been more than thirty years he needed any.

“Beloved,” Edwin continued, kissing down Charles’ neck. “My heart.”

“Edwin, please,” Charles whined, feeling his cheeks burn. “I get it, love, I get it,” he assured. Edwin raised his head and looked into his face.

“Good, because the next time you call me ‘mate’ while we are making love, I will not be so kind.”

--

Aaah, thank you for this request! :D

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[mercuryspit]

Payneland outfit changes after Hell

Post canon Edwin who’s overcome a large part of his trauma surrounding his mortal life and death and can finally experiment with some other outfits/accessories than his school uniform. He starts wearing sweater vests with pretty plaid patterns, long straight leg slacks that lengthen his body, cloaks with arm slits that make him look extra elegant and smart, and soft kerchiefs tied around his long neck framing the column of his pale throat.

Maybe Charles starts to notice, and he compliments Edwin every time. He thinks it’s aces that Edwin feels comfortable enough to mix it up. Maybe Charles also starts experimenting with his own corporeal appearance, because if Edwin can he can too. He adds more pins to his lapels and his bag of tricks backpack, maybe he makes himself a battle vest with a cool bleach painted agency logo on the back panel, he could start tying random scraps of flannel around his knee or elbow and insisting they had some kind of functional use.

And maybe, at some point, they start to coordinate. Whether intentional or unintentional they begin to mirror each other’s outfit choices.

Charles, who starts wearing sapphire encrusted rings when Edwin adds a gold plated ruby pocket watch to his usual accessory line up. Edwin can sometimes be seen with a broach on his coat with the painting of a dark brown eye lined with kohl against warm brown skin like his grandfather used to wear, and Charles now has a silver chain around his neck that has an emerald tear drop jewel dangling from it.

And they will sometimes revert back to their norm of course, you can still catch Edwin on a night in at the office dressed up in his white dress shirt and blue sweater vest, with his sleeves rolled up while snuggled up with a book laying in the arms of the boy he feels most comfortable around. That boy who’s dressed in his bright red polo and jacket because he swears that, ghost rules be damned, he can still feel the memory of the cold chill brushing through the office building. He knows that the jacket helps, but he thinks the boy in his arms helps too.

[soapy-birblover]

nah but I can’t stop thinking about their early days. Charles accompanying Edwin as he combs through records of old newspapers, only to find a short entry on the outcome of the case of his death. “Act of God.” The face Edwin might have made, the look Charles would give him, but no questions, it’s too soon for that. He might look into death records, to find his parents; when and where and how.

Would Charles attend his own funeral, to see who shows up? Edwin would be there with him, I think. Politely standing behind him, for after all, this is the funeral of a boy he’s only just getting to know. When Charles’ father gives a speech, is then when his jaw would tighten, and he would tell Edwin that he “wasn’t a nice man”?

Where would they wander, these ghosts? Did they find the attic for their agency immediately, or did they roam the streets of London, finding abandoned spots to rest in? They don’t need to sleep, after all. I think Charles would have tried his darnedest to. Edwin might be restless, after years spent in hell. Charles would be able to get him to fully unwind after 70 years of running. Edwin would state that his time in hell was a mistake, a technicality, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Not yet. And Charles would be fine with that.

I can imagine Charles trying and failing to catch Edwin up on 70 years of history. He wouldn’t be able to answer all of Edwin’s specific and detailed questions about why or who or exactly what happened next. Edwin would go to a library to figure it out himself, and Charles would go along too, because that’s what they do now. Wherever one wanders, the other goes.

They would eventually open up, their banter transitioning from the mundane to more personal, about their deaths and about their lives. They would establish and build the agency, and help hundreds of ghosts move on.

But in those early days, neither of them had a clue what they were doing, except that they wanted to do it together, with this stranger who was quickly becoming familiar. It would have felt both fragile and stable, as if their friendship could end in a matter of days or last forever. They were each other’s last bit of uncertainty in a world which otherwise looked unchanging, with their bodies frozen in time and the lack of stakes that comes with already being dead.

You could say they became each others’ unfinished business.

[surdino]

If you're still looking for drabble prompts.... Payneland, 50?

Send me drabble requests here!

Oh, I am ALWAYS looking for drabble prompts!!!

Thanks so much for requesting payneland!! Haven't written them in a while, so I hope this is satisfactory 🫶

---

Edwin notices. He notices because he notices everything, especially when things have to do with Charles. He notices Charles most of all.

There's the soft, gentle way he treats Niko. The jokes he exchanges with Crystal, throwing an arm over her shoulder and caging her in his embrace even though she can't feel it and neither can he.

He notices the way he treats their clients. The way he comforts those in pain. The way he always searches for the best in people, even if those people don't deserve it.

Charles is kind to him, especially. He's kind to Edwin in a way that makes him feel incredibly selfish. He wants to gather Charles up in his arms or lock him away in their office and never let him go again.

He's in love, and he's never getting out of it. He realizes it on a stormy afternoon while Charles reads to him because he feels as though he needs to pay him back for all those cold nights Edwin read to him.

It's not a scary realization. For once in his life, Edwin isn't frightened by the potential future. He's known he's been in love with Charles for a long time. Now, knowing it's something certain... It makes things more predictable.

The sky is blue, they are ghosts, and Edwin is going to be in love with Charles for all of eternity. However long that is, for people like them.

What does surprise him is Charles' silent confession. He doesn't even realize it at first.

Charles is around him a lot, that has always been the case. What has not been the case is the near constant touching. Charles will place a hand on his shoulder or on the small of his back. At first it makes Edwin jump. Later, he doesn't notice it anymore. It becomes a part of who they are.

Then come the flowers. The notes.

One night it storms again and Edwin whispers to him, loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Charles?"

Charles looks up from the book he's been reading to him, another silent confession of his love, his devotion.

"Are you in love with me?" Edwin asks, blunt as ever. He has never been very good with social cues, but this is something he should know. The answer would change nothing about how he feels towards Charles.

Charles blinks at him, before he breaks into a smile. "Yeah, mate."

Edwin bites his lip. He doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet. Charles continues reading.

The same night, after the storm dies down, Edwin feels he has to ask. They haven't decided anything yet, and he's unsure of how their relationship will continue if they don't talk about it.

"The flowers. The notes," he states.

"It's because I love you," Charles answers.

The way Charles says it, like there's not an inch of room for doubt. "Your heart is always on your sleeve," Edwin remarks. It's there when he helps Niko, or Crystal. It's there when he smiles at Edwin from across the room.

"Only around you, because you're the only one that knows me so well," Charles tells him, not moving from his spot in Edwin's chair. "Too well, in fact."

"I don't think I could ever know you too well," Edwin says and that is his answer, he can tell from the glint in Charles's eye.

Maybe their relationship is still something undefined, but he loves Charles and Charles loves him. The future is certain. They will forever be something. Together.

[gayboydetectivez]

Tw smoking

Dbda drabble

.

.

.

"Job officially jobbed, good work, guys!" Charles smiled at his companions, coat still covered in green slime from the evil plant they had just killed.

It hadn't been a difficult case, comparatively, but hunting through the forest for a cursed bush and then losing the bottle of weed killer had made it significantly more difficult than intended.

"We should head back to the office." Edwin replied, still scratching notes into his book as he led the walk back to the bus stop.

After a few minutes crystal began digging in her bag, retrieving a small paper box and a lighter. Pulling one of the thin sticks from the box, putting it to her lips, she ignited the end, inhaling deeply.

"You smoke?" Charles asked incredulously.

"Is that uncommon now?" Edwin chimed in, a confused look on his face.

"It's frowned upon, but plenty of people still do it." Crystal answered, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. In her months with the agency, she had grown accustomed to Edwin's cultural questions, no longer being overly sarcastic in response to his genuine confusion over time period differences.

Edwin hummed thoughtfully, watching the grey plumes curl in the air before being swept away by the wind.

"Did you ever smoke, Charles?" He asked after a moment.

"Occasionally. When the lads had a carton or I was at a party." Charles answered simply, leaving out the risk coming home smelling of cigs posed to 16yr old him and his fathers impact on his lack of typical teen rebellion. "You?" He asked, mainly to be polite. Charles knew Edwin had a sheltered childhood, as most childhoods seemed to be during his era, but he had grown fond of their usual back and forth routine.

"Me? Oh yes, quite frequently." He answered, earning duel shocked expressions from his companions.

"You smoke?" Crystal asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

"Well it has been over a century..." He corrected snarkily, "but yes. It was common place when I was alive for boys as young as 10 to get their first cigarette case and begin smoking. It was a right of passage of sorts, i suppose." He shrugged.

"Next you're gonna tell us you were shooting whiskey and doing lines of coke." Crystal retorted, earning a chuckle from Charles, who despite being well aware of his best mate's rebellious nature, simply couldn't imagine him getting drunk and doing drugs like some rockstar Charles had on his bedroom wall as a child.

"'A gentleman does not shoot whiskey, he sips it'" Edwin quoted, allowing Charles for a moment to envision what Edwins father had sounded like, "and cocaine was a very powerful and frequently prescribed medicine. It was a main ingredient in cough syrup." He informed his stunned counterparts.

Charles tried to press back the images flashing in his mind of Edwin drunk, cheeks pink, smoke swirling around him as a cigarette balanced carelessly between his fingers.

"Can ghosts smoke?" Crystal asked unprompted. "Like have you tried?"

"I can't say I have," he said, "though there were moments in Hell where I thought I could have killed for a cigarette and a drink." He added, laughing the way he usually did when speaking of Hell. Casual but with a faint tightness to it, not quite forced but not quite natural either.

Crystal dug the cardboard pack out from her bag again, offering one to Edwin. He gave his usual resigned sigh and took one, rolling the white stick between his long fingers, inspecting it, before bringing it to his mouth. Charles breath caught in his throat. Crystal flicked the lighter and Edwin leaned in to inhale through the flame. The smoke plumed around his face as his eyes fluttered shut in memory.

He exhaled a small cloud and looked at the expectant faces around him. "I can't exactly taste it, but it is rather pleasant." He answered their unasked question, taking another drag. If Charles could blush, he would be the same color as his shirt. "My apologies, would you like to try?" Edwin asked, holding the lit cigarette out to Charles who had spent the majority of this time staring at him in stunned awe.

Charles looked from the offending item to his partners expectant face and back again before sliding the cigarette from Edwin's thin pianists fingers and placing it in his own mouth. He tried not to think too hard about the fact it had also been in Edwin's mouth just moments ago. He inhaled, smoke filling his chest, the usual subtle burn missing as it flowed down his windpipe and back out again. Edwin had been right, he could almost taste it. The usual flavor dulled by death, instead a faint earthy flavor filled his senses. It was familiar enough to recognize as tobacco but lacked the overpowering taste.

Blowing out the smoke, he smiled at Edwin's expectant face. "That's brills." He said, returning the cigarette to his partner.

[lire-casander]

🎶 Dancing

for @bluepandaears

There are not many things that Edwin misses from when he was alive. Certainly, he does not mean the stares and the murmurs following him wherever he went in Saint Hilarion’s; he does not miss—much—the weight of human touch on his skin.

But he misses dancing.

He did not do it much when he was alive; it was unbecoming of his upbringing to admit that he liked the activity, designed to introduce young girls into society, conceived as a marketplace where young men could find a wife. But Edwin loved the beats of music thrumming in the ballroom at their countryside mansion. Despite not being too keen to dance himself—not unless he had a suitable partner, which almost never happened—he had enjoyed seeing the dancers float across the floors, choreographed movements in sync, beautifully executed.

Modern dancing does not hold a candle to the wonderful séances he had sat through during the early years of his life. Edwin has always eyed the incoherent movements with a hint of apprehension, if not outright disgust at the most vulgar steps he had had the dubious privilege of watching during one of Charles’s escapades to a nightclub in Soho. And yet, he misses the almost inescapable feeling of rhythm forcing his feet to move.

He yearns for a chance to feel it again.

But his taste in music is not something that he shares with many people, dead or alive—not even with Charles—so it has been a while since he has enjoyed the quiet peace of a good tune.

That is, until he hops back from a quick trip to the nearest library and finds the office turned into a ballroom of sorts. There is nobody around. Instead, there is only furniture pushed against the walls and the soft melody of a well-known waltz escaping from the horn of their old Victrola.

Edwin stares in awe at the display, not fully understanding what is happening in their office right now.

“May I have this dance?” asks Charles, stepping out of the shadows next to the Victrola.

Edwin turns around to watch his partner—the love of his afterlife—smiling brightly at him. He cannot help the smile that matches Charles’s as Edwin grabs his proffered hand and allows Charles to lead them into an old-fashioned waltz dance across the office, now turned into their own, private ballroom.

send me an emoji and i’ll write you a drabble

[artemisadore]

hello!

here are some emojis for the drabble challenge if you're still doing it!

payneland with 💀 near death experience (and maybe some 💪 bridal carry as well 👀👀)

have a good day :)

I'm sorry it's taken so long, but I hope you enjoy Modern Payneland AU with a near death experience 🩷

rating: T

tw: mentions of abuse, homophobia (brief), description of car accident and resulting injuries, hospital setting, mentions of medical equipment/supplies

x

Edwin hates the hospital.

He's well aware that he is not unique in this hatred, but he hates it all the same. The fluorescent lights, the hoards of worried families, the overwhelming antiseptic smell, the too-familiar chorus of beeping — well, he just hates it.

But as Edwin bursts into the waiting area of the ICU, he spies something — someone — he hates even more.

He has his back to Edwin, but Edwin recognizes the venom in his shouting, something he used to overhear on the phone when Charles would unthinkingly answer in his presence early on. He’s aged since the few photographs Charles keeps in the drawer of his desk were taken, but the rest of him is largely the same — imposing frame, greasy hair, worn flannel jacket.

Unfortunately, if there is anything Edwin hates more than the hospital, it is Mr. Paul Rowland.

Edwin does not let the anger burning red-hot in his veins slow his stride. As he approaches the reception desk, he can hear Paul arguing with the young man perched behind the computer. “I said I want to see my son right now! Why can't you get that through that little bird brain of yours?”

It would make sense for the young man behind the counter — Monty, if his name tag is to be believed — to be intimidated by the older man, but his expression is simply apathetic, bordering on, well, bored.

“Yeah, he's in surgery, so good luck with that,” Monty rolls his eyes. When he finally looks up at Edwin, his expression changes — brightens, almost, as if Edwin is a welcome sight in the monotony. “Just one minute, sir.”

Before Paul can lash out again, Edwin interjects. “Actually, I'm here for Charles as well,” he says primly, despite the way his hands shake at his sides. He curls them into fists. “You said he's in surgery? What—is he alright?”

Paul turns on Edwin now, pinning him with an intense gaze Edwin hasn't seen since he backed out of Paul's driveway with Charles and his belongings in tow nearly five years ago, never once looking back. If the man recognizes Edwin from that day, it doesn't show on his face. “What are you, his little boyfriend or something? Get the fuck out of here.”

Edwin turns cooly to Monty, who watches them with raised brows. “There must have been a mistake in the system,” Edwin explains as evenly as he can. “I'm Charles’ emergency contact, not this arse.”

Paul's lips curl into a snarl. “Listen. That unappreciative brat is my son, and—”

“And Charles is my husband, so feel free to fuck right off.”

Stunned disbelief cleaves across Paul's face. He sputters for a moment, as if the idea is inconceivable.

“I see here. You must be Edwin Payne,” Monty pipes up. “The emergency contact for Mr. Charles Payne.”

Something ugly clouds Paul's eyes. “What did you just call—”

Monty continues, unphased and practically beaming up at Edwin, “I sincerely apologize for our mistake. I will personally make sure it never happens again.”

There's a small smirk tugging on the corner of Monty's lips, which Edwin clings to like a lifeboat.

“As his husband,” Monty adds pointedly, “you may speak to his wishes on his behalf. On visitors, for example.” He glances meaningfully at Paul.

Edwin wants to feel triumphant, but the worry that buried itself deep in his chest when he first got the call from the hospital less than an hour ago is now lodged in his throat. He tries to swallow around it, but tears spring to his eyes instead. “Out. Get him out.”

Paul probably argues with the security guard that comes to escort him away, if Edwin had to chance a guess. He may even hurl a few nasty words his way — it's not as though Edwin can really hear him anyway, not when he feels himself shutting down.

It takes a hand on his arm to pull him from his stupor. It's Monty, who is looking up at Edwin with an expression teetering on the edge of practiced customer-service neutrality and genuine kindness. “You alright?”

Edwin huffs a wet laugh, swiping at his eyes quickly. “No. I'm afraid I'm not.” His breath shakes on the inhale. “When can I see him? Is he—” Edwin swallows back a sob.

Monty drops his voice, “He's recovering in a room now. I can't, like, see much, but he's listed as stable.”

“What?” Edwin furrows his brows. “I thought—you said he was still in surgery?”

Monty tilts his head to the side. “Oh, that? I lied.” Edwin doesn't have a chance to respond or really even process that before Monty is motioning someone over. “Hey, Thomas, I need a favor!”

The man who strolls over — Thomas, apparently — looks less like the nurse his badge confirms that he is and more like someone off the set of a TV medical drama.

“What's in it for me, sweetcheeks?” Thomas asks, voice smooth as butter, his hair nearly as greasy. When his eyes land on Edwin, they widen curiously. “Oh, my, my. Why didn't you say your favor was so oddly handsome?"

Monty rolls his eyes, but reluctant fondness radiates off him in waves. “Easy, tiger. He's here for his husband. Charles Payne, room 221.”

Thomas hums, considering. “Is that the old geezer or the pretty little twink?”

Edwin scoffs.

“Pretty twink,” Monty confirms easily.

Edwin's face must reflect his displeasure, because Thomas puts up his hands defensively.

“Okay, okay, you don't have to do,” Thomas gestures vaguely, “all of that. Follow me, handsome.” He practically saunters down the hall, and Edwin has no choice but to follow him. He shouts back at Monty, “Don't forget, you owe me one, babes!”

Edwin doesn't turn to look, but from Thomas’ warm chuckle, he thinks Monty may be flipping him the bird.

Thomas prattles on as they make their way down the hall — something about it being perfectly reasonable to think that Edwin could be a gold-digging sugar baby — but Edwin is focused on keeping his eyes forward. The various beeps and moans from the rooms on either side of the hall already conjure images of what state in which he might find Charles, and he's not sure he can bear seeing it too.

When they reach the room, Edwin hesitates at the door. The desperation to see Charles and the dread of facing reality wars within him. Thomas, who has already slinked his way into the room, turns back to him. As he does, his expression shifts.

“No one's told you shit, have they?” Thomas asks, golden eyes softening. From the doorway, Edwin shakes his head mutely. “Tell you what, handsome. It's almost my lunch, so let me catch you up to speed on what's going on with your ol' ball and chain here.”

For the next half an hour, Thomas walks Edwin through everything — from Charles’ scans to the medications in his IV to the notes from his surgeries. He breaks down all of the tubes and bandaging and disorder into information Edwin can almost process, bit by bit.

Charles had been struck on his side of the car by a driver blowing through a red light. He had been immediately rushed to the hospital, where he underwent surgery on his back, as well as on his broken arm. He's still mildly sedated but no longer intubated, which Thomas assures him is a good sign.

Edwin isn't sure how much of the information he can actually retain at the moment, but the knowing of it all helps settle the worst of his nerves.

To Edwin’s surprise, Thomas procures a decently comfortable-looking chair for him along with a blanket and some snacks that turn Edwin's stomach at the sight. The nurse sets him up on the side of Charles’ body with the unbroken arm.

Before Thomas — in all of his foul-mouthed, good-natured glory — leaves, Edwin whispers a quiet, “Thank you.”

It takes a moment, but Thomas responds, his low timbre taking on a gentle quality. “Yeah, well, don't forget to invite me to the celebratory threesome once golden boy's back on his feet, ‘kay?”

Edwin shakes his head with a huff.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

The first thing Edwin does once alone with Charles is cradle his good hand between his palms gingerly, mindful of the IV placed there. He's not sure what he expects, really, but the warmth of Charles’ skin — alive, he's alive — opens the floodgates on the emotions Edwin has been keeping at bay.

Terror. Dread. Love. Fear. Loneliness. Confusion. Grief. Love. Relief. Guilt. Love.

Love.

Edwin allows himself to finally, finally look at Charles’ face, the one he would know in any age, in every universe. Bronze skin, angular planes, dark lashes laying almost peacefully on his cheeks. His bottom lip split open, but no less devastatingly beautiful for the way it parts from the top on a breath.

He looks like home.

Edwin holds Charles’ hand and watches his face and loves him with his whole heart until he's dragged down by exhaustion and joins Charles in sleep.

He doesn't stir until Charles does, waking with a start to Charles’ soft groan. Edwin is immediately alert, which means he's granted the chance to watch Charles’ eyes flutter open.

“Babe?” Charles croaks, voice barely audible. “What—where the bloody hell am I?”

Edwin swallows. “The hospital. You were in an accident.”

Charles blinks a few times before he manages to focus his gaze on Edwin. As soon as he does, his lips twitch into a weak but charming smile. “They must have me on some good shit then, huh? I don't feel a bloody thing.”

It's no wonder this man has his heart and soul, with the way he's able to dissuade Edwin's fears and make him chuckle at the same time.

“Good. Good,” Edwin murmurs, absently stroking Charles’ knuckles with his thumb. He can't bring himself to say more, but Charles understands anyway.

“I'm sorry to worry you, love,” Charles murmurs. “But I'll be alright, yeah? Always am.”

Edwin nods quickly. “Your nurse seems to think you're on the road to a full recovery.” After a moment, he adds, “Though that may just be wishful thinking on his part.”

Confused, Charles’ brows furrow. “What'd you mean?”

Edwin dips his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of his husband's hand. “Don't worry about it, darling.”

Charles nods absently, clearly drifting back to sleep. “M’kay. Just need a quick wink, and I'll be ready to bust outta here, yeah?”

Edwin’s smile is wistful when he says, “I'll be right here, my dear. Always.”

Charles is already snoring quietly, and Edwin would not change it for a thing.

[ahyperactivehero]

just a short little drabble between comics!Edwin and Charles and dbda!Edwin and Charles, with Charles wanting to teach comic! Edwin self-defense.

It shouldn't have bothered Charles as much as it did. Or, he supposed, it should bother him, but it should bother him the same amount that it always did when it came to his own Edwin.

But staring at this version of Edwin, this short, blond, childish version of Edwin that had also been dragged to Hell upset him more than he cared to admit.

Not that he needed to admit it. Everyone could tell, even the two Edwins and other Charles standing in the room.

"Right, so," Charles said, holding his hands up. "I tried to teach that version of you-" he nodded his head towards his Edwin, "how to do this and he refused." He nodded towards the gloves on this baby-brother version of Edwin and gestured for him to "put his dukes up" as the other version of himself had so kindly cheered from the sidelines, much to his Edwin's amusement.

Kid Edwin looked at Charles and then the other version of himself skeptically. "What good is this going to do?" he asked, waving one of the almost comically large gloves around.

"Sock 'em, Edwin! Or me, I guess," the other Charles shouted. He nearly knocked over a stack of their books from his perch on top of their desk, much to his Edwin's annoyance.

"Self-defense," Charles said. He tried to hide his own annoyance that his lesson wasn't being fully listened to- by anyone it seemed. Self-defense was something his own Edwin could stand to learn, but the idea of this- this absolute child version of his best friend facing even half of what his own Edwin had faced made him sick. It's not like he (or this version of himself anyways) was always going to be with him, he needed to be able to protect himself.

"Hardly," kid Edwin said as his glove nearly slipped off. "Besides, Charles does a wonderful job of all that."

The other version of Charls cheered again, his chest puffing out as he elbowed the older version of Edwin. He looked rather proud of himself, if Charles did say so.

Charles sighed as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I just think it would be a good idea if you learned! You're like, what, eight?"

"I'm thirteen," Edwin said, his tone moody and scorching in the way only a young teen could be.

"Well, you look ten at best, mate, really I-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, he slammed into the ground and found himself staring up at the ceiling. The tiny, kid version of Edwin stooped into his view, his position from on top of him hardly even felt over the pain that his bony shoulder meeting Charles's stomach so unexpectedly had caused.

"I think you just lost to a thirteen-year-old," his Edwin said, oh so helpfully.

He tilted his head to the side, looking at his Edwin and the other version of Charles, both of them wearing rather amused expressions.

"Shoulda warned ya he's a bit feral," the other Charles joked before nearly laughing himself off the desk.

Kid Edwin's face turned bright red, his embarrassment growing now that his point had been made. He scrambled off of Charles, a quick, 'sorry' spat out so fast Charles wasn't even sure he'd heard it.

"I believe that to be sufficient enough," his Edwin said as he stepped forward and offered a hand out to Charles. "Well done, um, me."

Kid Edwin's blush seemed permanently seared into his face as he ducked his head. It only deepened when his own version of Charles hopped of the desk and slung his arm around his neck.

Well, it was good to see some things stayed the same in every universe.

[gundamthey17]

"I doubt we're dealing with a redcap," Edwin said, scanning the bookshelf for a particular tome. "It seems far more likely to be a will-o'-the-wisp or some other -" He gasped and dropped the book he had just grabbed.

Charles immediately stopped playing with his football. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Edwin replied, hating how his voice had suddenly gone thready. He did not pick up the book.

Charles walked over, looking first at Edwin, then down at the book.

A spider scuttled across its surface.

Charles crouched down and reached out to cup the arachnid in his hands. "Hey there, little guy," he said softly. "I'll just take you outside, won't I?" He started for the window, then seemed to think better of it and headed for the door instead. "If I put you on the window, I reckon you'll probably just come right back in. Back in a tick!"

Charles quickly returned to the office, sans spider. Edwin had not moved. His breathing was carefully even. Charles glanced at him, then bent down and picked up the book. "Alright?" he asked lightly.

Edwin found he could not meet his friend's eyes. He took the book and turned away. "You did not need to do that."

"What, let it out? Better than killin' it, isn't it?"

Edwin gave an exasperated sigh. "No, I mean you did not need to do anything at all. It was just a spider, for goodness' sake. I am not some frightened child."

"Never said you were."

"I could have handled it myself. It... surprised me, is all. I just needed a tick."

"I know you could." Charles came up next to Edwin and rested his arm on Edwin's shoulder. Amazingly, he sounded as if he meant it.

"Then why -"

"'Cause I was here. Did you want to take care of it?"

"No," Edwin admitted after a moment's hesitation.

"Then why shouldn't I do it?"

"Again, I am not a child," Edwin replied crisply.

Charles sighed. He stepped in front of Edwin and put his hands on his shoulders. "I know that. You don't need to prove anything. Me wanting to help out doesn't mean I think any less of you. You take care of stuff I don't like doing, so I can do the same for you. Okay? Trust me, I still know that you're one tough bastard, and you can handle anything you need to."

Edwin managed a small smile. "Very well. My ego is appeased."

Charles grinned broadly. "Great! Then my job here is done. So, you said something about a will-o'-the-wisp?"

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

GHOSTS IN THE SNOW

I spent a lot of the day thinking I WILL SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST IF I DO NOT SEE A PAYNELAND SNOW KISS RIGHT NOW. Unfortunately, I could not find one to look upon, so I decided to write one. Here you are! You can also read it on Ao3.

Edwin did not like to admit it, but he barely remembered what it meant to feel cold.

Charles did - considering the manner in which he died, it was no surprise. And yet all Edwin could recall was heat, not only from the fires of Hell but also from running, and running, and running. As he strolled along the peaceful nighttime streets of London, Charles's hand in his, he contemplated what it might be like to feel the light snowfall on his face. To have his cheeks wind-whipped and numb, to catch the large, fluffy falling snowflakes in his mouth and taste them.

Edwin did not frequently yearn for life, but in that moment, he felt something like nostalgia for it.

"What're you thinking about, mate?" Charles's voice cut through the still darkness. The world was quiet here, away from London's main roads at three in the morning, but Charles's voice was bold and brave. "You've got that look on your face, the one you get when you're really engrossed in some book or puzzle."

"And what sort of look is that?" Edwin's voice was light.

Charles scrunched up his face and narrowed his eyes rather adorably.

Edwin chuckled. "You are being ridiculous," he admonished. "I have never looked like that. You once told me that my contemplative expression is quite clever; I shall choose to believe that rather than your insulting impression."

Charles smiled slightly. "Are you saying I didn't look clever like that? Well, that's rude, isn't it, when I tried so hard."

"You shall have to make a better effort next time." Edwin waved the hand that was not holding Charles's in the air, and Charles squeezed his hand. They continued to stroll along, and Edwin watched the flurries swirl under the light-posts. Electric lighting had been new back in his day, and it was not nearly as bright as this, so bright as to illuminate the snowfall and -

"Oi," Charles said. "You're doing it again." He did not release Edwin's hand, but brought the other one up to poke him on the shoulder. He poked far too many times, far too quickly. Edwin would not have had Charles any other way. "Come on, Edwin," he continued, "what's going on in that big brain of yours, huh?"

Edwin rolled his eyes and huffed. "I am simply contemplating what it might be like to feel... cold," he said. "I do not remember it."

"Oh." Charles stopped walking, and Edwin with him. His hand went slack, and they pulled apart as Charles continued. "That's... I guess... I don't really remember normal cold either, do I? Just like, the perils of terminal hypothermia or whatever."

"Very uplifting," Edwin murmured, and Charles nudged him.

"But. But." Charles tilted his head at Edwin. "I bet it's, like, the opposite of warm, yeah? Like, when you hold my hand, that's warm. Cold would be... the other thing, yeah?"

"Have you never thought it odd that humans always wish to sort things into arbitrary binaries? As much as I enjoy organized thought processes..."

"Hot/cold doesn't feel that arbitrary," Charles argued.

"I shall have to conduct further study." Edwin steepled his hands before himself, an unconscious habit that he knew made him appear confident.

But Charles grinned again. "I mean, if you want something else warm so you can better understand what its opposite might be..."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Charles reached out. He clasped Edwin's hands in his own, breaking his folded hands apart and squeezing his fingers. Then, still smiling, Charles took a step closer to Edwin and placed his hands on either side of his face. Edwin smiled at the last moment before their lips met, and Charles's mouth was as gentle as the snowflakes blowing lightly through the sky.

And warm. Of course, he was warm.

When Charles pulled away, large, uniquely-shaped snowflakes were stark against his black hair. Edwin wondered whether he was in such a state, too, and whether Charles liked the contrast as much as he did. But he did not have to wonder for long. Charles laughed quietly and reached upward to smooth down Edwin's hair, his expression so woefully fond that Edwin had to fight the urge to look away. "Love you, mate," he said casually, and Edwin could not help but smile.

Edwin's heart melted, but his eyes narrowed. "Wait," he said. "What on Earth did that have to do with our previous conversation? How am I meant to better understand the nature of cold due to that?"

"You're not," Charles said without a hint of shame. "I just made up an excuse to kiss you, didn't I. And it worked."

Edwin pivoted toward Charles. "You are trickier than I gave you credit for," he said, smirking.

"And you love me," Charles said, smiling as he trailed after Edwin.

Edwin reached out behind him, and Charles took his hand. "I suppose I do," Edwin mused.

He did not see the way that Charles smiled down at his boots.

dbda taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed):

@tiredandoptimistic @thevagabondexpress @stormkitty97 @innocentmapleleaf

@honorarypines @tragedy-machine @pisces-swirlix @authoricdemon @many-gay-magpies

@edwardianedwin @babyseraphim @stephen0118 @ingridmatthews

[deadboyoffice]

💞 + payneland

Edwin was trembling as Charles slowly put his arms around him. Holding him felt like trying to calm a small, scared animal. But Edwin was never small, and oh, he was never scared.

Charles glanced in the direction where the nightmare fled. Limbs made out of doll parts, its laughter sounded like it was coming from a voice box. Nothing a magical bat couldn’t beat.

“It’s gone, it’s gone, Edwin,” Charles said, cradling Edwin’s head to his chest. The boy pressed closer without a word. “I’m here now,” Charles added in a soft whisper, and only then did Edwin dare to finally burst out crying.

--

Thank you for requesting this, it broke my heart 🥺

Request a drabble!

[honestlyijustfindhersocharming]

DBDA Promptober ... Day 5 - Magic @dbdpromptober

. . . . .

"No!"

Edwin barely processed the way that the shout rang through the air, eyes locked with the spell soaring through the air towards his chest. He was going to die.

Edwin hadn't thought much about his death since he started to regain his memories, but he doubted it'd be that bad. I mean, Niko and Crystal were still okay, right? They had each other, and their cases, and… God, from the little bit that David had eased him into regarding his life so far, Edwin wasn't sure that he'd miss much about living.

Well, there was one thing. One guy with a punky style, bright white curls, and the most beautifully radiant smile that Edwin had ever seen. Ghosts didn't age, right? What would that mean for him and Charles? Would the two of them drift apart as Charles grew into adulthood? Would they stay together even though Edwin would stay the same 16 forever? Would Edwin move on alone and leave Charles to grieve?

… He didn't want Charles to cry for him, face twisted in grief as he tried to fend off Mick and save Crystal. He didn't want-

Edwin was jostled from his thoughts as a form covered his view of the spell hurtling towards him, rooting itself right in front of Edwin as it-. "No!" The scream that Crystal let out forced the scene before him to click, everything in slow motion as Charles - sweet, wonderful, selfless Charles - slumped against Edwin. Edwin took hold of him, cradling him as the two crumpled to the floor under the taller's dead weight.

"Charles!" The scream ripped from his throat before he could stop it, before he could even think, and the entire world faded to Charles. His Charles, lips parted and brows furrowed as he whimpered in pain. "Charles." He repeated, name a prayer on his lips as he repositioned himself, cradling his friend's head with one hand as the other clung to his jacket. His eyes were frantic as he examined the younger's body because there had to be something that he could do. Something to stop the way that the crimson blood kept soaking through Charles' bright white shirt.

"Charles, you're gonna be okay. You have to be okay. Please." Edwin begged. He pleaded. Shame was lost to him as he shook Charles ever so slightly, refusing to accept the way that his breathing shallowed as the seconds ticked on and on and…

"Told you…" Charles croaked out, voice hoarse and face pained despite the way he tried so hard to smile for Edwin. "Was always gonna protect you, yeah?" Edwin heard himself sob at the reminder, because it was never supposed to be like this but then Charles' breathing shallowed even more and-

"No! No! Charles!" He cried, leaning over his friend - his love - to hold him because he couldn't be gone. He can't- "Charles…" Edwin sobbed, grief overtaking him because it should've been him that took that hit. Him that had to deal with that pain after everything that Charles had been through.

"Oh… how tragic." Edwin finally registered the world around him as Mick started speaking. "You know, it is your fault though." His hands shook as he held Charles closer, teeth gritting as his grief melted away into nothing but pure rage. "Bringing him here and all. You really should've seen this-"

"Shut up!" Edwin screamed, the familiar pull in his gut as he thrust his hand outward, shoving the man against the wall, before he reached back into his mind, pulling on the thread that connected him to the demon that he'd brought alongside him. "Dæmonium! Da mihi auxilium tuum!" He chanted, letting his magic meld with David's innate energy.

Thought you'd never ask. Edwin felt the demon respond. Edwin's gaze, now black as night, fell upon Mick, and immediately he knew which words to say. "Sedna! Hear me!" He called, magic sending his voice to the sea. "Your child has forsaken, thee. Will you stand for this injustice, for those outcasted to be defiled by his greed?"

Mick laughed, a horrible bitter sound, and Edwin steeled himself. No matter what happened after this point, he knew one thing for certain. He would not let this man hurt another one of his friends.

[pipwasreal]

Febuwhump Day 20: "I did good, right?"

Characters: Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne

Content warnings: exhaustion, helplessness, hypothermia, trauma

Once again, Charles finds himself lying on the floor, aching and shivering and dripping phantom water.

Just one of the little hidden delights of being dead, that. When they're proper exhausted, their carefully put-together appearances slip and they default back to how they were when they died.

Game reset, Charles calls it. Edwin's fancy term is morphic collapse. Whatever it is, it's bollocks. A real kick you when you're down bastard of a phenomenon. Like Charles wasn't feeling rubbish enough already without having to relive his death, feel it all fresh.

But every time it's happened, Edwin's been there for him. Talking with him, reading to him, passing the time until Charles eventually recovered all of his energy.

This time, he's sitting cross-legged with Charles' head in his lap and he's running gentle fingers through Charles' sodden curls and it'd be bloody lovely if only he wasn't hurting so bad.

"Cheers, mate," Charles says, or at least tries to say. It comes out sort of wrong through his numb lips and chattering teeth.

It's his own stupid fault. He had to go rushing in, didn't he? Right into a spectral-energy sucking hex. At least he kept his wits about him and got a solid whack in against the sorcerer before he went down, giving Edwin the opening he needed to dispel the hex and get them out of there.

"I did good, right?" Charles stutters out, feeling needy and pathetic even as he says it.

Edwin smiles down at him with an unbearably fond expression. Charles still sort of can't believe Edwin loves him. Like, is proper gone for him. Thinks he's fit, wants to snog him and all that. It makes him feel a bit giddy whenever he remembers.

"Yes, Charles," Edwin says softly. "You did very well indeed."

[popodoki]

sfw Catwin drabble

Gold is the Cat King's color. He thinks Edwin would look nice in it too, in shiny things x

One of the Cat King’s love languages is gift giving.  

It concerned Edwin at first, little trinkets, left innocently on his desk, around the office, made him feel like he was supposed to give something back? Felt like he owed the Cat King, especially for the more expensive things, fingers tracing the intricate craftsmanship of paperweights, leafing through rare volumes, softest silks running through his hands. He's concluded, deduced, that it's just another of the ways that his lover shows his affection, the dedication to Edwin a familiar warmth, just expressed in new ways. 

But the jewellery still confuses him. 

They are always given directly, a hopeful gaze on his lover’s face, encouraging smile, silent conversation there that Edwin never quite catches. The first is a bracelet. A simple gold band looping around his wrist, closure resembling a Cat’s head biting down on its own tail. No flashy gemstones, no rough clasps to possibly catch on or irritate his skin. The Cat King holds it out, presses it into Edwin's palm when he curiously holds it out, accepts it. That smirk turning into a smile, a little nod, the hope in those slitted eyes, encourages Edwin to try it on. It fits perfectly, of course it does, a part of Edwin wonders if he’d even take it off if it didn’t, for his lover looks so, so pleased. 

Edwin grows comfortable with its weight, wears it for a while, even on cases. He ends up putting it away, in his pocket, after a case goes south with a spot of trouble, a chase. They manage to escape, they always do, but on the other side of the mirror they jumped through to get to safety, Edwin pats himself down, checks his coat, gloves, wrist. Finds the bracelet’s closure a bit twisted, a probable result of his wrist getting grabbed and pulled by the ghost that chased them, their mania and panic causing them to lash out instead of recognizing their presence for the help that was offered. 

Another mirror journey, they see each other again, Edwin notices the Cat King seems to deflate, brief sadness crosses his face, once he notices the bracelet’s gone. Oh. He cheers right up, his sigh sounding relieved, when Edwin presents him the bracelet from his pocket, asks him to fix it, please. 

It's a free for all, after that. Every time they see each other, often, near daily, as new lovers are wont to gravitate towards each other as if any absence tugs on them like a string pulled taut, the Cat King has a new piece of jewellery for him. Always gold, at times tastefully adorned with small expensive stones, shiny pearls. Thin chains of pearls, necklaces, linking bracelets, suspiciously perfect fitting rings, delicate anklets, even a pair of earrings, once. Edwin silently points to his non-pierced ears, and his lover gently removes, holds up a single dangling earring from the little box. The little ball gently rings much like a cat bell when the Cat King turns it in his palm, shows Edwin the small painless clip-closure that would hold them in place without piercing skin. 

"Why do you insist on giving me jewellery? I can't feasibly wear all of it, especially when conducting my work. Most of it ends up in the office, in a box.” Edwin waits for the Cat King to look up at him, lift his head from Edwin’s chest where it rested comfortably. “It just feels a bit like a waste?” His lover doesn’t reply right away, slitted eyes dropping down, to where his fingers still absently play with the most recent gift, a simple golden band around Edwin’s ring finger. 

"Does it bother you?” Edwin’s head is shaking in reply before he puts any thought to it, and he knows the Cat King felt his chin move through his soft curls, cause his voice sounds more certain, less meek, when he adds “Can you just indulge me, then?” There’s something silent there, again, Edwin feels it coming into reach, he can almost catch it. 

“I suppose, it is nice to have a variety,” Edwin starts, speaking softly to the top of his lover’s hair, “it doesn’t really matter that I can’t wear all of it...” He trails off, he’s organizing his thoughts like he would on a case, slips his hand from his lover’s gentle grip, holds it out for both of them to see the gold on his finger catch the afternoon light streaming through the windows, “As long as I can wear at least something of yours, then, hmm?”  

The Cat King merely grins, no, beams in response.