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Iâve been thinking about ghosts and the laws of physics. We know they can become solid and interact with objects. We never see them perform feats of telekinesis or super strength, which implies they are limited to what they can do with forms that resemble their living bodies. So, does that mean physical objects interact with them in the way they would with a living body of similar mass?
I mean, for example, if a car rushed toward a ghost who didnât turn incorporeal fast enough, would it hit them? I donât think the ghost can be hurt except by iron, but would the car sustain damage?
I can imagine Edwin deciding to test these hypotheses and calmly record observations in his notebook. Meanwhile, Charles completely freaks out.
Charles: You got hit by a car!!
Edwin: I am perfectly fine, I assure you.
Charles: Please stop it, mate. Youâre going to give me a heart attack.
Edwin: Charles, you cannot have a heart attack.
Charles: Really donât want to test that theory.
Edwin: Itâs for science!
Charles: Iâm not letting my best friend get hit by a car for science!
okay so first off, i am VERY sorry this took so long- the ask has been languishing in my drafts without an actual word written for the prompt. but i stuck to my guns and did Not abandon it forever! as recompense, i have delivered with... i think probably the LEAST compliant with the "five sentences" part of the prompt game this was originally for. really, the first section would probably have been best to respond to this with alone, buuuut i kept having ideas and just kept writing them. so here you are at long last: gravestone :D
Charles takes a breath and hefts his bag higher up on his shoulder as he pauses between a pair of low gravestones. His heart's clambered right up to his throat, but he tells himself the plan is solidâ'cause it's got to be, hasn't it?
He hasn't got Edwin to shout directions at him, just now, or tell him he's right barmy for storming into the monster's belly without a second thought.
Only, I have thought, Charles thinks to himself. I've thought a whole bloody lot.
Edwin's in here somewhere, tied up in a tomb while the ghost of some batty old cultist decides what parts of him to feed to the old Swamp Godâor whatever he'd called the big bugger he's brought to life out of clay and roadkill and whatnot. (A channel for the divine in the physical world, he'd saidâwhich Edwin had immediately said was bollocks. The thing isn't much more than a botched golem, really.)
Edwin's in here somewhere, and Charles has got to find him.
â
Turns out, it isn't a tomb so much as it is a tombstone. And a great bloody tombstone it is: near as wide as Charles is tall, and reaching halfway up the trunk of the tree it's sat beneath.
But there Edwin is, right on it. He's trussed up with his arms out to either side, pinned with some sort of silver-glowing rope at his wrists and ankles. He doesn't look too worse for wear besides seeming a bit brassed off, which makes something go loose in Charles's chest.
"Edwin," he hisses, and Edwin's head jerks over to the stone he's been hiding behind across the way. "You alright?"
Edwin's brows furrow. His eyes go wide, there under them, and his lips part like he's gasping.
"Charles," he says. "Youâ"
He sounds almost shocked, which Charles doesn't have a clue what to do with. But he doesn't get even a tick to decide, 'cause Wolfgang or Bartholomew or whatever the bastard's name is comes strolling right 'round the tree, like he's just been waiting there. With his hollow eyes and sunken cheeks and creepy skeletal hands.
"Come to collect your partner, have you?" he says in that thin, wavering voice of his.
Charles raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. Got a problem?"
Beethoven sneers. "Oh, no. But you will, quite soon now."
He clenches his hand into a fist, and the ground under their feet starts rumbling.
Charles tightens his jaw and settles into a fighting stance. He hasn't got room for second thoughts anymore.
"Let's have it, then."
â
It doesn't take half as long as Charles expects. Only one bottle of the sparkly green activator broken on the ground, when there's an opening, and the big fleshy golem goes disintegrating away under the hold of the disassembly network he etched into the dirt with his cricket bat while he was searching the cemetery for Edwin.
The poor cultist bloke disintegrates right along with it, fading like a photo going out of focus, which Charles hadn't meant for. Sure, he was a right git, even before the bloody kidnappingâbut the look on his face as he's going out is proper pained.
Charles can't help but feel bad for him. Seems like his soul had been more drained up by all his golems than even he realized.
Charles tucks that all away, 'cause he's got a job to do. He digs his knife out of the infinite backpackâhe's been learning it, bit by bit; it's getting to be proper usable nowâand goes to cut Edwin loose.
The rope's magic, but apparently not enough to beat a regular old pocket knife. It takes a good round of sawingâbut then Edwin's arms and legs are free, and he's stepping down to the ground with his hands on Charles's shoulders.
"There must have been very little of him left," Edwin muses quietly, scanning the bit of ground the old cultist had been standing on. Then he turns to face Charles, and his faceâchanges. Something happens, too fast for Charles to parse.
Edwin's looking at him sort of like he's seeing him for the first time again.
"Charles," he says, soft and awed. "That was brilliant."
Charles feels his face heat. "Yeah, well. Couldn't let him have you, could I? Sorry it took me so long."
Happy Friday! Could I get â¤ď¸ & Dead Boy Detectives please? đ
Thank you my darling for the prompt!
â¤ď¸ 'Nothing to see here, carry on.'
This ended up way longer than I intended but here we are
âShit shit shit shitâââ
Edwin and Charles dash through halls filled with people, mortal and supernatural alike, as a very angry warlock chases them down.
At least according to their client and the manâs ridiculously rudimentary spellwork, heâs very much a beginner who has far too much hubris to think he can handle chthonic magic. He doesnât even know that ghosts can have human disguises, as much as they are temporal.
Which is why when Charles tosses him a hairclip that Edwin thinks heâs only seen once or twice among the disguises Charles fiddles with, he doesnât think and clips it on.
Before he could calculate their next course of action, or even stop to check what his disguise is, heâs roughly pushed into a dark hallway, back slamming against the wall.
âCharles, whatââ he gasps as Charles presses against his body, seemingly trying to hide Edwinâs whole body with his own. Heâs put on a disguise as well, a thick metal ring on his right index, a young man in his mid-twenties in place of the eternal teenager. A quick look down and Edwin can tell that heâs assume the appearance of a woman of a similar age, in a sleek red silk dress and matching heels. He feels phantom heat rise up his neck as he realises the slit on the side of his leg.
And how compromising the position this.
âPlease, bare with me and trust me,â Charles whisper, faces so close their lips almost touching, as he grabs onto Edwinâs waist and hoists him up, Edwinâs legs involuntarily wrapping around his own hips for balance. His other hand comes up to cover the side of Edwin's jaw, palm hiding their mouths.
Their far too close, and Edwin, despite not needing to breath, feels like heâs going to faint like a Victorian maiden in the summerâs heat.
âShow yourself!â A manâs voice shouts as a obnoxiously bright light shines on their forms.
Right, theyâre on a case, this isnât real.
Edwin feels his chest ache, but thereâs no time for feelings now.
He plays along, lets out a dainty gasp and wraps his arms around Charlesâ shoulder, burying his face into the side of Charlesâ neck.
âNothing to see here, sirâ Charles says to the warlock, and Edwin can hear the smirk in his voice. Part of Edwin faintly wonders if Charles would end up with this charm and charisma if he got to grow up, just how many men and women would turn their heads at him. âJust me and my lady having some fun, carry on please.â
The warlock stutters, excuses himself and runs off to look for them somewhere else. What an idiot.
âCharles?â
âYeah?â
âYou can put me down now.â
âOh, right.â
He puts him down and takes a step back, and suddenly the space between them feels like a galaxy.
âListen mate, Iâm really sorry about that,â Charles says, eyes failing to meet Edwinâs. âI donât know what but I couldnât think of anything else, I didnât mean toââ
âItâs alright, Charlesâ, Edwin cuts his apology off, reaching out to grab his hand. âI know.â
âI didnât mean to hurt you. I donât want you to feel like Iâm playing with your feelings towards me or some shit like that, I really just need more time, Iâm so sorry Iââ
âCharles.â
His eyes finally snap up. Edwin smiles, this time his hand coming up to cup Charlesâ cheek.
âI know. You could never hurt me.â
I might turn this into a full fic someday? I'm also starting to feel sleep deprived so please bare with me if there's any mistakes đ
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Or: Edwin yearning, the fic. (Originally was written as part of a larger idea a while ago, but I decided it would behave very well as an independent ficlet)
If Edwin could ever know cause for a second death, it would be this: Charles, looking utterly devastating in an honest-to-goodness red velvet suit, the top two buttons of his cream dress shirt tastefully undone and his gold chain settled under the open collar in place of a tie.
Here is one of the best friends he's made in what seems like forever; she's so open and sweet, beautiful and brilliant. It was inevitable, he thinks, that Niko Sasaki would effortlessly endear herself to Charles like a lost younger sister.
(And that is another story entirely, but not one for Edwin to tell.)
He finds it contradistinctive, Niko Sasaki becoming a new source and the easiest target of Charles' spontaneous, affectionate smiles â different than watching him stumble around Crystal. It's well-nigh surprising just how secure Edwin feels, observing their budding friendship, the phantom echo of it spreading around his chest like a slow warmth from a hearth. He harbours no jealousy or hurt at the frequency with which their more private conversations take place. He does not mind the way Niko wraps her hand around Charles' arm as they walk, not one bit, when his best friend's sole attention is focused on her excited chatter. He can thoroughly relate, after all.
As a matter of fact, Edwin suspects that the only thing he'll have to worry about is stifling an inelegant snort when they're all descending a hill in the middle of a legwork-heavy case and Charles picks Niko up for an impromptu piggyback ride.
"No no no no, put me down!", her voice carries over their heads, but Niko's shrieking protest dies in her throat just as quickly as it came to life, turning into an appreciative whistle at the view. In front of them, Crystal turns on her heel and raises her eyebrows in amusement.
"You're that desperate to be the last at home?"
"Please, we'll be there faster than you lot. Right, Niko?" Charles, ever the multitasker, uses his shrug to adjust the grip on Niko's swaying legs. "Edwin?"
He dares to look in their direction, dreading... precisely double the amount of puppy eyes sent his way. His lips twitch in a helpless smile.
"I must agree. The Charles Express is quite a commendable machine. I would not underestimate it, Crystal."
Charles barks out a laugh. Whatever expression Niko must've had on her face breaks through Crystal's composure; she, too, cracks up, a spring in her step as she turns to walk forward again.
"Can barely feel her, can't I? Lighter than my backpack," Charles says, matter-of-factly.
"It's not a race."
"It could be a race."
"I'm not going to race you down the hill in these platforms, be seriousâ"
"That doesn't sound like a definite no," Niko pipes in.
"Take them off, then," offers Charles.
Edwin glances up at the orange sun set against the milky autumn sky, to his left; the brightest thing on the horizon. He hears her gasps of delight at Charles' cheeky step through the trunk in their way. Something inside him has been shifting and smoothing out for quite a while. Edwin doesn't know how long it will last or what the destination will be. All he knows is that the slope hits his feet once or twice at most.
One afternoon she invites them to watch Scooby Doo together. It's the first time they've gathered as a trio, and Edwin immediately understands why this hasn't happened before when Niko unlocks the door to her room. The bed they usually end up on is narrow to say the least, why hadn't he noticed that before, but it seems too late to make a flimsy excuse and eloign himself from the picture. They were long overdue.
Charles, who looks about ready to turn into an orb of post-case tension, has no qualms about using the threshold for a shimmering quick wardrobe change. He appears right at home, comfortable, downright domestic, in socks, trousers and a polo shirt, sliding his suspenders down and trailing after Niko who heads for the coat hanger.
What Edwin doesn't expect, apart from the rather tight fit for three people - or rather two ghost boys and one living girl - is Niko giving him a knowing look over Charles' head as he unceremoniously flops down on the bed. His groan, which prompts Niko to pat him sympathetically on said head, makes Edwin snap his open mouth shut, suddenly flustered.
He waits politely, pulling down his knitted vest and admiring the decorative sequins sewn onto a flowery cushion, deliberately not looking at the long line of Charles sprawled on the neatly tucked in duvet. He half-listens to Niko as she chatters on, something about needing to show them the more modern rendition of their Mystery Inc. detectives, grabbing her laptop from the desk and sitting down in the very middle, hip-checking Charles' side. Charles sluggishly lifts himself and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up, shoulders halfway up the headboard, neck supported by a plush pillow, hands folded across his chest and long, long legs crossed at the ankles. He must have done this several times now, Edwin's lungs remind him before tightening into knots. The mattress barely dips when he gingerly sits down and settles, too. His back remains straight, and he is barely brushing her arm when she announces out of the blue, "I forgot my snacks. Give me a moment," climbing off the bed and leaving them in â on Edwin's side â suddenly charged, tense silence.
It feels different, of course it does, and Edwin feels guilty that his carefully tucked away thoughts are knocking on the doors of his consciousness when they're in Niko's room, for God's sake. Edwin tries to subtly move away from the overwhelmingly horizontal line of Charles' body. Right now, sitting cross-legged, Edwin's knees are barely touching him, and he bumps his knee against Charles' arm twice before stilling. He doesn't want to hunch down; never again. He stays put.
The sensation of Charles' bony elbow is like the flash of a sharp smile. The room fills with a low hum, something musical and... campy that Niko must have shown Charles on one of those afternoons. With his eyes closed, Edwin compartmentalises the points of sharp heat.
Much, much later, Charles jogs up to the beach where Niko and Edwin are watching the starfish. "What're you doing?", he asks curiously, just when Edwin finishes talking about their lack of a centralised brain.
He hears the shift in Charles' posture more than his opening to say something mouth, and a second of hesitation before it closes again.
He wonders if Charles has noticed their colours.
When he dares to peek at Niko, he finds her eyes locked with Charles', with an expression that Edwin knows she must have learned recently, but is not sure when exactly. It says something like, go on. Be brave.
Niko sends Charles a lingering smile. Her eyes crinkle with mirth. "Luckily, love requires no logic", she says cryptically.
They don't notice, crouching down as they are, but his head tilts synonymously with Niko's and Edwin's.
He swallows and clenches his fingers around the red, red sea glass in his coat pocket.
Happy Friday! Can I have Payneland please? Your prompt is 'bumblebee' đ
Thank you for the prompt my dear!
In the rare cases where Edwin smiles a full grin, teeth and all, All Charles can think of is the word âbloomâ, like the petals of a flower unfolding under the first rays of sunlight.
And like a bumblebee, Charles canât help but be drawn.
