Payneland Week 2024
Palasaki Week 2024
Simon Appreciation Week
Promptober 2024
DeadBoyWeen 2024
Crystal Palace Week
Payneland Promptfest
CatWinter
Charles Rowland Week
Payneland Promptfest: The Rest of Forever
CatCrow Week
April Foolish Pairing Fest
One-Year Anniversary
Niko Sasaki Week
Pirate Week
Payneland Week 2025
Apocal-August
Potion Week
Promptober 2025
CatWeen
DeadBoyWeen 2025
Palasaki Week 2025
Creatures Week
Anniversary 2026
Disclaimer: I haven't participated in most of these and I still need to read/ look at art for most of these. But I wanted to make a list of all the events to help me start.
Please let me know which ones aren't listed so I can add them! Let me know about errors so I can correct them. Details and links to collections below:
August 2024 - Payneland Week 2024
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PainlandWeek
September 2024 - Simon Appreciation Week
Tumblr Collection: https://www.tumblr.com/simonappreciation
October 2024 - Palasaki Week 2024
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Palasaki_Week_2024
October 2024 - Promptober 2024
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBDpromptober
November 2024 - Crystal Palace Week
Tumblr Collection: https://crystal-week.tumblr.com/
December 2024 - Payneland Promptfest
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/payneland_promptfest
December 2024 - CatWinter
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CATWINTER2024
January 2025 - Charles Rowland Week
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Charles_Rowland_week
February 2025 - Payneland Promptfest: The Rest of Forever (Valentine’s Day)
AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/payneland_promptfest
New fic: Unknown, unknowable (better off not knowing)
An attempt at something a little spookier than my usual, inspired by the @dbda-potion-week day 7 prompt Mystery Potion, and for @catwinevents CatWEEN II prompt Eldritch Entities!
Unknown, unknowable (better off not knowing)
(2412 words) by megs_bee
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV)
Summary:
Edwin finds the little glass vial almost by accident. Small and slender and tucked away in the corner of this witch’s workshop as it is, he almost passes it by. Yet it catches his attention anyway. He doesn’t know why.
His fingers are on the glass, picking up the vial before he realizes. He rolls it slowly before his eyes. A runic symbol, unrecognized, unrecognizable, is burned black into the seal. The colour within is one he cannot describe. He cannot tell whether it is a liquid or mist or sand. It hurts to look at for too long. He has the sense of whispering somewhere just out of range.
Wise Men Build Their Houses on Rocks While the Rest of Us Settle for Skeletons
EVERYONE is doing their DBDA prompt challenges in October, so I doubt I'm gonna do any one of them completely. I'm gonna have to pick and choose fave days/prompts and mix and match it. I really didn't think I was gonna get anything done for Catween, but I glanced at the prompt list last night, had an idea, and bashed this out. I probably would have gone into the ideas/questions it raises more if I'd had more time lmao
So, Catwin enjoyers, I hope you like this weird little thing!
2.2k, rated M, also available on Ao3 (registered users only!)
“Are you quite sure that it’s in here?” Edwin called, a note of impatience slipping into his voice unbidden. He had no desire to waste several more hours searching for something not knowing if he was even in the correct room.
“Well, I didn’t throw it out,” came the dry response of Thomas from the next room, his voice muffled. As if it were buried in pillows which, given the time of day, it probably was. Thomas was and remained, despite his bipedal stints, a feline; and he rather had the sleep schedule to prove it. “Keep digging, Sherlock — you’ll smoke it out.”
Edwin rolled his eyes, and kept searching. He mustn’t lose his temper. He knew there was trust being placed in him, in being allowed to plum the depths of the Cat King’s hoard unsupervised. Especially for such frivolous purposes. Thomas didn’t even particularly care for Charles (allegedly), and certainly would not have thought to gift him a magical heirloom on what would have been his fifty-fifth birthday. But as soon as he’d let slip about a particular item he had in his collection, Edwin knew he had to have it for Charles; and he had ways of making Thomas see his side of things.
Unfortunately, the item in question was very small indeed — and Thomas’ organisational system was about what one might expect from the four-century hoard of an alley cat. Which was to say there was no clear system in place at all, everything thrown into the magically distended grotto with no rhyme or reason. That, or it was all organised in some manner which made sense only to the strange and animalistic whims of Thomas’ own mind. Perhaps he’d ordered everything by scent, in which case Edwin was truly lost at sea.
Edwin set his jaw, and carried on. A compact mirror, that’s what he was looking for. According to Thomas, it had an enchanted silver backing that reflected even ghosts. And Charles had mentioned several times recently that he sometimes wished he could ‘mess around’ a bit more with his eye make-up. Saw a bloke with gold eyeshadow in town today. How mint is that? and suchlike. Of course, as ghosts they had no need of cosmetics and could alter their appearances at will with a little practice, but it was damnably hard to judge the effects for oneself. One generally had to rely on second opinions. A small mirror would do just the trick. According to Thomas, it was a little flat disc, pink plastic with ‘hearts or some shit, like you’d find at Claire’s, y’know?’. Edwin was not sure who Claire was or why he was expected to know her taste, but a lurid pink plastic disc seemed enough information to go off.
The first such disc he found, however, was neither plastic nor pink. It was clearly old, Edwin would put it back as far as the seventeenth century. French. He inspected it with curiosity, running his fingers along the gold surface, so worn and weathered it was hard to tell what the original design had been. He’d be interested to get a look with the lexicographical lenses on the task. The disc hung on the ends of a short gold chain, and the two halves closed with a simple kiss-lock clasp like a traditional coin purse. Edwin had sifted through a number of more interesting objects in his search, but for some reason the little thing held his attention. It possessed a certain magnetism, a certain draw of the eye.
He glanced, furtively, back towards the door, the bedroom, the presence of a sleeping Cat King. He’d given his word that he wouldn’t fool about with anything, given there were any number of powerful magical objects in residence.
And yet, the kiss-lock clasp parted under a flick of his thumb before he could think to question the wisdom of it.
It opened to reveal what one would expect in a compact of its time. A small mirror in the lid, slightly age-spotted but otherwise intact, and clearly not the enchanted one, for there was no sign of Edwin’s reflection. There was also a small, soft pad in the lower half for the application of powder. Although in other examples Edwin had seen, the pad tended to be off-white or blush pink. This one was neither. It was orange. The material was odd, too. He would’ve expected a fibrous wool or similar, but it wasn’t that. He cautiously brushed a finger across it, using the modicum of touch sensation lent to him by the magic of the Cat King’s realm to confirm his hunch. Yes, no mistaking it. Fur. Very fine, very soft fur. He lifted the edge of it, cautiously, and found another scrap of fur underneath — this one of a shorter pile, and a smoky grey colouring. And beneath that, one more; this one varying shades of brown, arranged in stripe-like formations.
Cat fur.
Tap. Taptaptap.
Edwin startled. That sound. Hollow and rattling, like hail on a window. He looked up, to the high, slit-like window in the pseudo-warehouse where Thomas had built his hideaway, but the sky was as fine as it ever was here. The Cat King had no use for anything but long summer days and fine, temperate nights in his realm.
Taptaptaptaptaptap!
No louder, but more insistent. And coming from his hands. Edwin looked down, sharply — and his mouth fell open.
There was a little cat behind the looking glass.
Edwin held the mirror aloft, closer to his face, peering intently. It was so small, barely scraping half an inch in height, smaller than even the dandelion sprites. And it was tapping upon the inside of the mirror with a miniscule paw. Edwin recognised the light clacking sound as the clack of claws on glass. It was a tabby cat, light brown with dark striping. In fact, its coat bore a striking resemblance to the swatch tucked into the bottom of the compact. It regarded Edwin with a challenging air, eyes alight and tail swishing.
Edwin blinked, unsure what the etiquette was for this sort of a meeting. “Good afternoon.”
The cat moved its mouth, as if speaking. But whatever was said, Edwin couldn’t hear through the glass — and the shape of a cat’s mouth was rather difficult to lip read.
“I’m afraid I cannot hear you,” he said, apologetic — to which the cat responded with a scraping swipe of its paw against the surface. “Well, it’s hardly my fault!”
And then, something else appeared, behind the cat. Something taller, draped in hues of grey and black. Not something, someone. A rather familiar someone.
Edwin squinted, certain he must be mistaken. “...Is that you, Thomas?”
The tiny man in the mirror visibly flinched, his yellow eyes widening. He looked like Thomas, but not quite. Despite the fact he was clearly much younger, his hair was greyer, flatter. And his manner of dress bore little similarity to Thomas’ modern, extravagant tastes. In fact, this little Thomas lookalike was about as old-fashioned as Edwin, or slightly older; though his style was more in line with the fashions Edwin had seen in the background of films depicting the old American west, rather than at home in his own Edwardian England. It was simple, workaday, trousers tucked into sturdy leather boots and held up by braces. A loose, soft shirt, a wide-brimmed hat. It was so very dull and practical, it scarcely made sense on Thomas’ frame; but that was surely his face, down to the most microscopic impression of a scar upon his lip.
The not-Thomas narrowed his eyes at Edwin, and leaned his elbow on the glass, mouthing something. Edwin thought he said: “Who wants to know?”
Edwin cocked his head. Curiouser and curiouser.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said. “I was looking for something.”
The not-Thomas started mouthing something else, but Edwin was rather distracted by a third figure shouldering up beside him. This one even more familiar than the last.
No mistaking it; this one surely was Thomas. His Thomas — or rather, the Thomas he’d first met when he came to Port Townsend. From the dirty-blond hair to the leather skirt.
And unlike the other two, this one knew who Edwin was. Edwin could see his own name in the shapes formed by his lips, could see recognition glowing in his yellow eyes. He saw the name over and over, in fact, as the little Thomas repeated it while his hands pounded fruitlessly against the glass.
“Thomas,” Edwin breathed, bringing the mirror closer still. “Thomas, what is this? You’re in the next room, how can you be in here?”
Thomas began to mouth something, furiously, but he was so small and talking so fast, it was impossible to make out from sight alone. In squinting to see, though, Edwin noticed something else about his Thomas. He was black-and-blue, vivid bruises and cuts decorating every exposed inch of his skin. Blood trailed from his lip, his nose, even his ear. Come to think of it, the other two didn’t look their best, either. The grey Thomas was sopping wet; it was only now Edwin realised his hair looked so flat because it was damp and plastered to his skull. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes sunken. The cat, the tabby cat which must surely be Thomas as well, also bore a significant scar; a deep, red gash down the centre of his plush belly. What a grim trio they made; gutted, drowned, beaten.
Dead.
Edwin took a steadying breath. “Thomas,” he said. “Remind me, please: how many lives do cats have?”
Thomas grimaced, and held up nine fingers.
“And you have had how many?”
Three fingers — and then, slowly, a fourth.
“You find it, yet?”
Edwin jumped, and snapped the compact shut — though the look on the little Thomas’ face as he did so would haunt him for quite some time. “Ah — not yet,” he called back to the bedroom. “But I must be closing in…”
He heard Thomas chuckle. “Come back to bed. I’ll track it down in the morning.”
Edwin swallowed, tightly, and slipped the little gold compact into his inner pocket. “I’ll be right along.”
~
“Thomas?”
“Hm?”
Edwin fidgeted, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Thomas hadn’t managed to coax him completely out of his clothes, this time, but he’d certainly made decent innings. “I wondered… when a cat dies, does it… haunt? As a human does?”
Thomas shrugged, not bothering to remove his hands from their languid repose behind his head. “Sure. It’s all souls, right?”
“Right. Yes. And…”
“And…?”
“And does that happen… with every death?”
Thomas cracked open one golden, knowing eye to regard him across the pillows. “Well, that depends.”
“On?”
“On how unlucky you get.” He stretched, his back arching sinuously off the bed. “On how much unfinished business you’re stuck with.”
“I see.” Edwin cleared his throat. “How… interesting.”
“Hmm. You know something, Edwin?”
“What?”
Thomas smirked, lazily, and drew his hand from behind his head. He raised it up high, then opened it — and the little golden compact tumbled to the end of its chain with a dainty rattle.
“You’re almost as bad a liar as you are a thief.”
Edwin blanched. “Ah. I can explain —”
“No no no. No explanation needed. I’m proud of you, y’know? Nice to see you coming out of your shell. Be gay, do crime, that’s what the kids are saying these days, right?”
Edwin’s brow furrowed. “Is it?”
“Ah, something like that, anyway.” With a flick of the chain, Thomas whipped the little disc into his hand, inspecting it thoughtfully.
Edwin, feeling at least relatively safe in his assumption that he was not about to face serious repercussions for his thievery, crossed his arms in annoyance. “You pickpocketed me,” he accused.
“Eh, does it really count if I’m stealing back something you stole from me?” Thomas threw him a fond, sharp-toothed grin. “I’m not sure you can even call it pickpocketing when it’s that easy. Kiss you just right and I could steal the shirt off your back.”
Rather than bicker further, Edwin huffed, and curled into Thomas’ side. A warm, strong arm wrapped around Edwin’s shoulders with no further prompting. “Will you tell me?” he said softly, tapping his fingers upon Thomas’ chest. His eyes never left the little mirror.
For a few long moments, it seemed Thomas wouldn’t answer.
“Did what I had to do,” he eventually admitted. “To get ‘em off my back.”
“Off your back?”
Thomas scowled, giving the compact a little shake. “Pushy little bitches.”
“I don’t understand. You mean they stay with you?”
“Cats don’t have houses to haunt, sweetheart.” Thomas sighed, putting the mirror down on his chest and letting his hand close over it. “In the end, all we’ve ever got is ourselves.”
Edwin nestled in closer. His hand landed atop Thomas’, atop the little metal disc where his restless old lives rattled like matches in a box. “That’s not strictly speaking true anymore, is it?” he said, propping his head upon Thomas’ shoulder. “You’ve got me, now.” He hummed. “And Charles, in a sense — I’m afraid we don’t come separately.”
Thomas gave a soft snort of laughter, and looked at him; a very old and aching sadness in his eyes. His smile, blunted, barely gleamed in the soft neon light. “Even ghosts move on eventually.”
Thanks for reading! I'd really, really love to know what you thought of it 💛💛💛
I imagine a lot of the prompts I fill this month on my main will be Payneland. That being said there will defo be some configurations of ships involving the Cat King, and MANY of them will need to be posted on my semi-secret-ish side smut account, so. DM me if you want that I guess xD
Thank you all so much for your support of my fics, for your patience with Lonely Bones, and just generally for being the most delightful fandom I've been part of for absolute donkey's years 💛 be seeing you soon!!!
Title: Just a Glimpse 1/5
Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (Netflix)
Pairing: Edwin Payne/Cat King 👻💕😻
Rating: T
Tags: romance, supernatural shenanigans, catween, (tags to be added)
Characters: Edwin Payne, Thomas the Cat King, Desire of the Endless, Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace
Summary: Despite the revelations about his person in Port Townsend, Edwin decides that his more private desires should be shelved for the time being. There is someone who disagrees.
(Or: In how many different ways can I get those two together? Answer: at least 7 8 9 10 11.)
Notes: I’m partaking in the Catween 2024 challenge, and I will post another part every Thursday, matching the challenge of that day. They will all come together in one story.
Day 1: Cursed Object
No beta for this one. I’m trying to stick to the posting on Thursday thing.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
