A week dedicated to the ship between Monty and the Cat King from Netflix's Dead Boy Detectives. Catcrow Week 2025 will run from February 23 to March 1!
"I have a question," Monty said from behind his hand of cards. The Cat King sighed.
"What is it?" Questions weren't his favorite thing. They always seemed to bring up touchy subjects and worse, they interfered with the mysterious persona he'd spent so much time cultivating.
"You're, like, kind of immortal." Monty placed a card on the discard pile and drew another one. The Cat King had stopped paying attention to what they were playing a while ago and was putting random crap down to make Monty mad. "And you've lived here for a long time."
"What are you getting at?" the Cat King asked suspiciously. He picked up his abandoned wineglass and gave it a swirl. He felt like his hackles were raised.
"Did you know Esther? Before I came into the picture?"
The Cat King nodded, finally understanding. God. "So this is about your paranoia."
"I'm not paranoid."
The Cat King looked at him seriously. "Monty, she's gone. For good."
"I know," Monty insisted. He set down his cards and wiped his face. "I know that. It's just..." He trailed off. "I like to be prepared, you know?"
"Yeah," the Cat King sighed. Esther was on his own mind a lot. Most people couldn't forget being brutally murdered very easily. Still, he didn't know if he should indulge Monty and make him even more anxious. Then again, Monty didn't need to be sheltered and had a right to know. "I met her after she became a witch." The Cat King fidgeted as he tried to figure out how to tell this story. "Her magic was unlike anything I'd ever seen before." He paused.
"Go on," Monty urged.
"She almost didn't let me live in the town." The Cat King laughed humorlessly. "She said she'd drown me by the lighthouse if she saw me again. I grew on her though." This is where the Cat King wanted to stop. He wasn't sure if Monty would be able to see him in the same way. "I hate to tell you this but we were kind of...friends." He rushed to explain. "Don't get me wrong. She hated my guts but we had a weird ally thing going."
"I see," Monty said, his face blank. He was quiet for a while and the Cat King held his breath. Luckily, he picked up his cards and continued playing. "That's not the case now, right?"
"God no," the Cat King scoffed. "Wasn't I literally telling you to burn down her house last week?"
"You were." Monty smiled, not his full smile but enough of one to make the Cat King want to smile back. "Thanks."
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Cat King & Monty (Dead Boy Detectives), Cat King/Monty (Dead Boy Detectives)
Characters: Cat King (Dead Boy Detectives), Monty (Dead Boy Detectives)
Additional Tags: Cat King is Called Thomas (Dead Boy Detectives), POV Cat King (Dead Boy Detectives), Cat King Needs a Hug (Dead Boy Detectives), Monty Needs a Hug (Dead Boy Detectives), thomas doesn’t notice because he has his own bullshit but monty so needs and deserves a hug, Angst, Post-Canon, Feelings Realization, if you will, Hurt Cat King (Dead Boy Detectives), He has problems, Many of them, Cuddling & Snuggling, Asexual Cat King, not explicitly stated but that’s how i write him, no beta we die like the cat king (and monty) have done multiple times over
Summary:
“What is this?” Monty pulled away, propping himself up on one arm. “What are we?”
He gestured between them at that, eyes wide and imploring. Thomas mourned the loss of his warmth, wanting to reach out and hold him close again.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
//
or, the cat king and monty, after everything, have shit to figure out
For someone who was semi-immortal, the Cat King was humbled a lot more than he should've been. He was a king, for God's sake. He was supposed to be powerful and a force to be feared. Instead, he was teaching a former crow how to drive.
"How did you even get this car?" Monty asked, inching away from the Toyota Camry. It was the ugliest thing the Cat King had ever seen but it would do.
"Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies," the Cat King said. He leaned over and rubbed a smudge off the windshield. "I stole it."
Monty rolled his eyes. "I knew it."
"Hey, I'm taking time out of my busy schedule to help you with this."
"Busy doing what? Knocking over dog houses?"
"They know better than to mess with my subjects," the Cat King said defensively. He opened the passenger side door and sat down on the stained seat. The model was a 2008 and he was pretty sure it hadn't been cleaned since then. "Besides, you tagged along and I never heard any complaints."
Monty shrugged. "It was fun." He looked at the road in front of them. It was outside of town, one of those winding ones that ran through the forest. It was early enough that no one was going to bother them. The last thing the either of them needed was a car crash. Monty hesitated before climbing into the driver's seat. His hands started trembling before he even put them on the wheel. "Why are you making me do this again?"
The Cat King rolled his eyes. "Call it a rite of passage." He put on his seatbelt (absolutely humiliating) and Monty did the same. "It's a good skill to have, especially if you ever want to leave this godforsaken town."
"I get that, it's just-"
"Monty." The Cat King pulled off his sunglasses and set them on the dash. It was weird to be so invested in helping someone. A month ago, he never would've even considered helping Monty with anything. Now, the he found himself actually wanting to see the kid succeed. "You'll be fine."
Monty took a deep breath and the Cat King dropped the keys into his hands. "You're right." He started the car and stared ahead blankly. "Now what?"
"Put it into drive." The Cat King jumped as Monty reached for the gearshift. "Put your foot on the brake first." The Cat King shook his head. "God."
"In case you forgot, I've never driven before," Monty snapped. "You're a terrible teacher."
The Cat King resisted the urge to hiss. Cat instincts were so annoying sometimes. "I'm going to ignore that." He waited until Monty had shifted into drive. "Ok, now you can take your foot off the brake."
Monty gave him a reluctant look but listened. Sure enough, the ancient Camry began creeping forward. He yelped but valiantly held onto the wheel. "Oh my God. The car is moving."
"They tend to do that."
"Shut up."
The Cat King grinned. It was stupid but something like pride began to bloom in his chest. Maybe driving lessons weren't below him after all.
Catcrow week day 7: au! I made a couple so here’s one of my fav AUs @artemisadore ‘s pirate au! That is partly a thing because of meeeeee I love it so much
One of my absolute fav AUs, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll ‘s real love saga! (Anything by bird is pure perfection but this epic is truly incredible and everyone should read it)
There’s a house with a pretty lake front view. Or maybe it’s a sleek high-rise condo. Maybe it’s a colony on Mars, or some other far flung planet that humanity escapes to when the Earth goes up in flames. Even as creatures of magic, they’ve never been able to stay away from humanity for very long.
Or maybe it’s still the same old cannery, preserved somehow in perpetuity even as the world burns around it. It doesn’t matter, not really. It’s 2069 or 2132 or 2447 or whatever year it is when you happen to be reading this. The house or the condo or the cannery is well-appointed, a strange mix of styles and tastes and eras that somehow manages to seem completely natural. It’s clearly the result of a life well-lived, two beings and countless eras emulsified, all those central theses and jagged edges mixed and distilled – and if you look closely amidst the trinkets and the framed prints signed by notable authors of various ages, you’ll see the evidence.
Polaroids from back when that was a thing. A framed photo on a bookshelf or hanging tucked away in an alcove. Sketches: pencil, charcoal, pastel, on paper or sometimes the back of a napkin. One gaudy, unforgivably ostentatious oil painting, framed in gold. In every one, the same two figures, looking against all odds exactly as they do right now: young, beautiful, together.
There are differences, of course. Different clothes, different cuts – the style of the era. Different hair colors. But the eyes are always the same: violet and gold, respectively; ancient, knowing. Uncanny, honestly. Otherworldly. Foreign, unnatural, fae.
Always the two of them, always together, at least as far back as there are pictures to tell the story.
It seems impossible. But then, everything about them should be impossible. Their preternatural longevity is just one entry on the long list of their peculiarities, right down to the fact of them, as a pair, to begin with.
It wasn’t always this way. It couldn’t have been. But it is now, and it has been for centuries, longer than your parents and your grandparents and their parents’ lives put together.
It won’t last forever. There’s an expiration date, there has to be. All things end.
But here, now, to you, forever is relative. Isn’t it always? And here, now, to you, what they have – their history, splashed across the walls of what is unmistakably their home (or one of them, at least, one of many, maybe), and their future, so long it might as well be infinite (from your limited human perspective, so painfully microscopic and wholly insignificant) – it seems like forever.
What is forever, anyway?
Mostly forever. Forever enough.
Maybe tonight is all that matters. Maybe one night can be forever. Maybe entire lifetimes are contained in every moment, in a single breath. After however-many centuries, maybe you stop being able to tell the difference.
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Cat King/Monty (Dead Boy Detectives)
Characters: Monty (Dead Boy Detectives), Cat King (Dead Boy Detectives), Esther Finch
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Possessive Behavior, Shapeshifting, Enemies to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, Captivity, Collars
Summary:
“I do appreciate that you turned me human and are keeping me away from Esther, I just don’t get why you’re so bossy and why you won’t stop calling me a pet.”
“That’s what you are, kitten.”
“To Esther yeah-“
“And now to me.”
“Why? Why are you so possessive of me all of a sudden?”
—
Thomasin pondered the question. In all honesty, she wasn’t entirely sure herself. There was just something about the girl that enticed her, the same way Eden had. Monti was beautiful, that was a fact that couldn’t be denied, but it was her heart that truly fascinated Thomasin.
She was unpredictable and sharp-witted and just so goddamn complicated. She was a puzzle left for Thomasin to solve, but every time she thought herself close to the solution Monti managed to surprise her once again. Monti kept the Cat Queen on her toes and it made her heart flutter.
But she couldn’t tell Monti that. The last time she was honest about her feelings, Eden trampled on them like they were nothing. The girl was nothing more than a toy, she told herself. Something to be played with and then tossed aside when she got bored with it.
It only takes a bit of a running start for Monty to launch himself off the dumpster and swing up onto the fire escape.
“How the fuck did you do that?”
Thomas’ voice comes from the asphalt below, bewildered and more than a little bitchy.
“I don’t know,” Monty shrugs. “I just kinda…” He makes a vague gesture with his hands, first in the direction of the dumpster and then more generally up.
Edwin’s apartment building is best described as antiquated, with an old school metal fire escape that stops about a story below the ground, presumably to deter people from doing exactly what they’re attempting to do. Or, what Thomas was intending to do, when Monty ran into him on his own ill-fated, late night pilgrimage to Edwin’s door. The boombox Thomas brought sits abandoned on the ground several feet away, an immediate casualty of the unexpected height obstacle. Monty’s half-crushed bouquet of flowers is still tucked inside his jacket, but he has to admit they’re looking somewhat worse for the wear.
After a few seconds of bouncing on the balls of his feet, Thomas takes a run at it. Monty can tell before he even makes contact that it’s not going to be pretty. Sure enough, there’s a loud screech as Thomas’ stupid, chunky high-fashion, thank you very much boot fails to gain purchase and all of his momentum goes spinning out in the wrong direction.
Monty is sure he’s about to watch Thomas eat pavement, but somehow he manages to roll with the impact, tucking into a neat crouch and rising smoothly to his feet.
“Fuck,” Thomas hisses, shaking out his limbs. He cuts his eyes up to Monty, still perched motionless on the cold, rickety metal. “A little help here?”
“Help?”
“Like, gimme a boost or something. Just reach down your hand and–”
“Give you a… Thomas, I can’t lift you.”
“That’s not good sportsmanship,” Thomas chides. “Sabotaging me just because you know you can’t compete.” Monty contemplates whether his aim is good enough to hawk a big, fat loogie onto Thomas from all the way up here. “Ugh, fine, I’ll just–”
Thomas gives it another shot, and this time he manages to – just barely – snag the edge of the fire escape. Monty can feel the whole thing shuddering beneath him, Thomas’ pants and grunts of effort nearly drowned out by the ominous sound of metal groaning.
“You’re really bad at this,” Monty observes, as Thomas shimmies and strains and accomplishes basically fuckall.
His biceps flex as he tries to lift himself, shaded in the warm, golden glow of a street lamp. Monty pretends not to notice.
“Cut me some fucking slack, alright? It’s not like I’ve done this before.”
“Wait, what? You’ve never done this before?”
“What the fuck, Monty, no. Have you?”
“Climbed somebody’s fire escape with a boombox like we’re in a goddamn 80’s movie? Definitely not.”
“Then why would you think I have?”
“Um, because it was your idea?”
Even hanging by his white-knuckled fists, Thomas manages to give an absolutely withering glare. “Do I look like I spend a lot of time pursuing people, Monty? How often do you think I have to resort to grand gestures?” His lip curls into a knowing, vicious half-smile. “Pining after people who don’t want you is your thing, not mine.”
Before Monty can act on the impulse to stomp on his fragile fingers, Thomas’s arms finally give out and he drops to the ground. He lands lighter than it seems like he should be able to, but then again, a lot of things about Thomas seem impossible.
“Fuck it,” he says, brushing imaginary dust off his frankly ridiculous clothes – who wears a goddamn kilt for something like this? – and flexing his cramped hands. “This was a stupid idea anyway.”
Monty can’t argue with that.
“C’mon, get down,” Thomas says, suddenly impatient. “I want pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” Monty scoffs, but he does hop off the edge of the platform, dropping like a stone. He doesn’t land quite as gracefully as Thomas, but he doesn’t totally bust his ass either, so he decides to count it as a win. “Where the fuck are you going to find pancakes at…” He checks his phone. “Two in the morning?”
“We,” Thomas informs him, “are going to IHOP.”
He surprises Monty by reaching down and offering a hand.
“We are?” Monty lets Thomas haul him to his feet, trying not to focus on how warm and solid Thomas’ hand feels in his. “What about Edwin?”
Thomas sighs. “I doubt Edwin is going to be very impressed with either of us if he gets woken up by the ambulance sirens after we split open our skulls on the asphalt. Ergo, pancakes, coffee… time to regroup.”
Monty can’t argue with that. “And you want me to come… why?”
Thomas rolls his eyes. “Because” – he spins on his heel, striding off into the night without waiting to see if Monty is following – “it turns out I don’t hate having you around. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
Monty squashes down the smile that’s threatening to appear and jogs to catch up with him.
Monty woke up from the sunlight filtering through the warehouse's giant windows and realized that he was alone. Technically, he was never alone. As he rubbed his eyes, a gray kitten wiggled its way into his lap. How it had gotten all the way up to his "perch" (he hated that nickname), he'd never know. He stroked the kitten absentmindedly as tried to shake off some of his sleepiness.
Even after he was dressed and ready, the Cat King was suspiciously absent. He ran errands all the time but he was never gone for that long. If Monty didn't know the extend of his powers, he'd be worried. Instead, he was curious.
Eventually, the Cat King did return. Monty was lounging in his throne, reading a comic book. They weren't really his thing but he wanted to finish it anyway. He looked up lazily at his roommate. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself."
Monty sat up. "Where were you?"
"God, what are you, my mom?" There was something off about his tone and he was standing weird, with his hands behind his back. He looked kind of like a guilty kid. Monty stood up and crossed the room, giving him a once-over.
"Are you hiding something?"
The Cat King took a step back. "No." He turned away before Monty could peek at whatever he holding behind his back. They spun around in a circle a few times before Monty finally saw his chance to grab the mystery thing.
"Is this... a loaf of bread?"
"Banana nut bread," the Cat King corrected. He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, like he was embarrassed. Monty paused. The Cat King was never embarrassed. He had no shame to speak of.
"Why?"
The Cat King shrugged. "It was on sale." He cleared his throat. "And you know me: I'd never pay full price for anything."
Monty crossed his arms. "That's not it." He narrowed his eyes. "You're lying to me."
"You would know all about that," the Cat King muttered.
"Watch it."
"Sorry." He looked down at the banana bread and then at the ground again, like he wanted to sink through it. "I got it for you."
Monty blinked. "Me?" What the hell?
"You turned human a month ago," the Cat King explained. He scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. "I thought I'd give you something, you know, like an anniversary." He held up the loaf. "And I heard crows like nuts."'
"That's-" Monty swallowed. "-That's really nice of you." He never would've expected something like this from the Cat King. They were friends, sure, but Monty didn't realize how much he cared. Their relationship seemed to consist exclusively of bickering, smack-talking, and making stupid jokes.
"Oh, shut up," the Cat King said. "You weren't supposed to know it was from me."
"You?" Monty gasped. "Not taking the credit for something?"
"You know what, I'll just eat this myself." He held the bread out of Monty's reach. It was funny until a tabby came out of nowhere and tried to take a bite. The Cat King barely saved it and handed it to Monty.
That's the thing about Monty Finch, isn't it? Thomas could have anybody sleep with him, but that person would give Thomas whatever he wanted, because he's the richest person in this shining chrome-gilded, spit-shined excuse for a city. They would bow and scrape and suckle dutifully at the teat that is his dick until he showered them with money.
But that's not what he wants. That's not what he craves. He might like a little bit of pain, might like digging in his nails, might want someone to end up underneath of his hands that is able to put up with some pain and pleasure and over stimulation to the point where they're begging, but he does want someone who would beg. Someone who would fight. Someone who would voice their own opinions, even against his own.
What an ironic twist of fate that he could only get that at the hands of a creature that he programmed the instinct towards challenge into.
-aletterinthenameofsanity, now all I require are circuits and wires
Today's catcrow week fill is a little different - instead of being a standalone oneshot, it's the next installment of my real love series, so if you haven't read that this one probably won't hit as hard. (Though it will probably still make a decent amount of sense, since they rehash most of the relevant shit anyway)
i'm the worst if you want it
Okay, so they’re going there. They’re going to talk about that.
“What even was that, Monty?”
He sees Monty falter a little, in the face of such an honest question. Because the thing is that Thomas really doesn’t know. He’s played that night over a thousand times in his mind, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, trying to figure out what the fuck Monty was thinking, and he’s never, ever been able to make sense of it.
