Scealai
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Edwin's voice comes to him like a whisper on the breeze.
“Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.”He cries then, clinging to the branches of the tree outside Edwin's window, for their lost future, for everything that wasn't and would never be. When his tears finally run dry, he climbs down the tree and strips by the pond.
“You can't just use our pond whenever the fancy takes you,” Edwin says primly, playful indignation in his tone.
“Can't I?” Charles says, and dives in. The water is freezing, a chilling embrace.
Bookmarked by Scealai
02 Oct 2025
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Assistant to Death, Edwin Payne, fucked up on his first solo job: firstly, he arrived too early, and then the charismatic boy who was dying stubbornly refused to go to his afterlife. Being transferred to the Lost and Found's data processing department was humiliating enough, but he realised Death must be having a laugh at his expense when he met his assigned training partner...
Or: Edwin and Charles become reluctant colleagues, escape their boring desk jobs to found a Detective Agency and stumble into a hell of a lot of trouble along the way…
Bookmarked by Scealai
02 Oct 2025
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The corridor they walked down was carpeted, quiet in the way hotels were always quiet, the sound insulated and the air too close. Their room was right at the end, and Charles took a deep breath and let it out as he pressed the key to the reader, waited for the little whir and click and green light, and pushed the door open wide.
A really stupendous amount of exhibitionist sex in a hotel room, basically.Bookmarked by Scealai
28 Sep 2025
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“You misunderstand me. I do not wish to pass on. I wish to stop,” George says.
Edwin can hear the frown in Charles’ voice. “Think you might need to explain that one, mate,” he says. “What do you mean, you want to stop?”
But Edwin has a terrible suspicion that he knows. He can read it, suddenly, in the exhausted slump to George’s shoulders, the way he strains to smile, how he began this conversation by speaking of how he no longer recognizes the world. All of that, and—
At sixteen, Edwin thought dying in the trenches would be better than remaining at St. Hilarion’s. Every year past that, he knew it would have been.
How many times, in his 16 years of life and the many decades after, has he wanted to stop?
Bookmarked by Scealai
25 Sep 2025
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Most ghosts didn’t celebrate their birthdays.
But Charles Rowland wasn’t ‘most ghosts’.
Indeed, Charles’ birthday was a high point of the year, a guaranteed day of fun for himself and Edwin. The fun always helped to push down the unvoiced emotions below: the loss, the unresolved pain of his death, the feelings of failure and inadequacy. Charles saw no reason why this state of affairs shouldn’t continue forever.
But then he turned fifty.
Or:
How a medieval poem changed Charles’ afterlife forever.
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by Scealai
25 Sep 2025