Greetings, friends! Newt (or Bees), 30's, he/they, UK. Welcome to the disorganized pit where I throw every little thing that takes my fancy. Featuring fanfic, art and a mixed bag of fandoms. At this moment in time I'm mostly about Dead Boy Detectives. I try to add simple alt text descriptions when I post images myself but make no promises for images I reblog! Find the stuff I make in #my art and #my fanfic ^^ Ao3 is DontOffendTheBees 💖
Or, essentially, my 2024 Ao3 Wrapped because this show is all I've posted on main all year 😅 But it's nice to be back in the swing of writing and it's been such a rough year, so I'm gonna take a minute now to bask in the glow of my accomplishments 💛
(please note fic links are to Ao3, and most fics are locked to be visible to registered users only!)
Multichapter Fics:
never fade away (E, 66.3k, ch. 5/5, Charles/Edwin, past Cat King/Edwin, Complete)
My contribution to the 2025 Dead Boys Big Bang, a slow and sad All Of Us Strangers AU (movie knowledge not required!). Featuring gorgeous, achey art by @antichrists-plus1 💛
Art posts:
Poster | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4
A Heart’s A Heavy Burden (T, 41.7k, ch. 4/7, Cat King/Charles/Edwin, Ongoing), co-written with @dear-monday and @tw0-ravens
A whimsical, polyamorous Howl's Moving Castle AU, written in partnership with Hayley and Lucy and featuring SHOWSTOPPING art by @idliketobeatree!
Art posts:
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7
Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? (M, 47.3k, ch. 4/4, Charles/Edwin, Complete)
A haunting little odyssey of Edwin finding his earthly remains, and figuring out where the hell to go from there. Complete at last!
Somewhere Beyond the Sea (T, 26k, ch 3/6, Charles/Edwin, Ongoing)
A sweet and magical Payneland Ponyo AU, written originally as a Secret Santa gift and then ballooning WAY out of proportion! I'm so, so excited for how this one turns out! Now featuring adorable cover art by @honorarypines !
One-shots:
The Kind of Light That Means Just Love (When My Baby Smiles at Me) (T, 1.4k, Charles/Edwin)
Where it all began, a little ficlet I wrote based on a writing group prompt which made me realised how much fun the character voices were to play with. Short and sweet, Charles takes photos of Edwin and finds ways to be cheerful about it even when he doesn't show up in them.
Outside Looking In (T, 3.6k, Charles/Edwin)
Outsider POV fic in which Charles and Edwin are overhead having a very strange but sweet conversation while in their older disguises. While this was an early fic and there's probably some stuff I'd change about the dialogue if I wrote it now, I'm so fond of it and I'm touched by the response to it - ESPECIALLY in the form of Robin's incredible gifset! (this gifset MUST be reblogged by everyone, btw.)
The Scenic Route (T, 2.1k, Charles/Edwin)
A short, sweet little agency outing and Payneland get-together, written in large part to daydream of a better world of public transportation while I was stuck standing on a cross-country train for two hours.
No Rehearsing It, No Reversing It (T, 9.3k, Charles/Edwin)
Mandatory 'Charles massively overthinks getting together with Edwin' fic, a comedy of errors, featuring foiled kissing schemes, party games, flimsy excuses, and my first fateful foray into discovering how fun Cat King is to write.
’Cause You Cut Through All the Noise (M, 5.3k, Charles/Edwin)
First day of Payneland week, what a time! Edwin helps Charles calm down from a panic spiral with a healthy application of sweet, gently non-sexual dom/sub play, featuring sweet words and soothing games of cat's cradle.
Though We're Strangers 'Til Now (T, 4.7k, Charles/Edwin)
Payneland week day 2. One of my more out-there concepts; in the campy tradition of Saturday night British fantasy telly a la Merlin or Atlantis, Charles and Edwin take the mythological roles of Theseus and Ariadne. This fic exists in large part due to @every-moment-a-different-sound making me aware of Payneland week and asking me to collaborate, and once again, it is COMPULSORY that you go and reblog their GORGEOUS SHOWSTOPPING INCREDIBLE GIFS.
I Got Sunshine in a Bag (T, 1.2k, Charles/Edwin)
Payneland week day 3. The little script-format fic where (spoiler alert) Charles confesses his feelings to Edwin in the safe haven of his own magical bag of tricks. Sweet and silly!
Something I Can Turn To (T, 2.4k, Charles/Edwin)
Payneland week day 4. The AU where Charles and Edwin are alive in the same era, and helped each other survive the brutality of their teenage years. This one was so lovely to write and there's a little bittersweet hollow in my heart carved out for it. This fic also spawned this absolutely lovely art by @yasartmeme (GO REBLOG, GIVE IT LOVE) and a collection of related stories by several wonderful authors. Every time someone else dips their toe into this universe it warms my chilly little heart.
If the Shoe Fits, Then I Won’t Try It On (T, 2k, Charles/Edwin)
Payneland week day 5. Another outing with the disguises; pre-canon, Charles and Edwin on a case, getting used to their new magic disguises and constructing dubious backstories.
Spinning on That Dizzy Edge (M, 1k, Charles/Edwin)
Payneland week day 6. Short little flirty, steamy, fun date night with Charles and Edwin in a haunted pub, with a piano <3
Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light (M, 7.3k, Charles/Edwin)
Payneland week day 7. AKA the attic scene, as told in a soulmate AU. A few people who don't generally like soulmate AU's have told me this one plays with the concept in a way they found interesting and refreshing! Suffice it to say there's a happy ending, but not of the sort generally associated with the genre. And this one comes with yet another mandatory-reblog gifset, this one by @mellxncollie, which is SO beautiful and should be in an art gallery and truly such an honour to bestow upon my little words 💛
We Glimpse Each Other Out of Phase (T, 3.7k, Charles/Edwin)
Another little instalment in the Alive AU of Something I Can Turn To, this time a bittersweet domestic scene on a sleepless night in the kitchen.
Wise Men Build Their Houses on Rocks While the Rest of Us Settle for Skeletons (M, 2.2k, Cat King/Edwin)
First foray into Catwin! (or at least first on the main account 😉) Edwin digs through the Cat King's magical artifacts; and finds an ominous relic of his past lives.
Sink Your Teeth Right Through My Bones, Baby (M, 0.6k, Charles/Edwin)
First of the spotify wrapped inspired ficlets! A little glimpse into Edwin's mind as he and Charles cautiously approach a new dynamic in the bedroom.
Looks Like We’re In for Nasty Weather (T, 0.6k, Charles/Edwin)
Wrapped ficlet. Edwin and Charles brace themselves in the face of an ominous supernatural storm brewing.
Keep Me Warm, Love Me Long, Be My Sunlight (T, 1k, Cat King/Edwin/Charles)
Wrapped ficlet, and preview of the Ghostcat 1920s AU currently in the works by myself, @dear-monday and @tw0-ravens! In a sun-drenched loft in the last days of summer, Thomas contemplates what he has, and when he'll lose it.
Should I Cool It, or Should I Blow? (M, 1.9k, Cat King/Charles)
Wrapped ficlet. The Cat King confronts Charles after another little enemies-with-benefits hook-up for a little clarification on what, exactly, he's doing with his life.
And that about wraps it up for 2024! But I'll keep adding underneath this post when I inevitably write more -- so I'll be seeing you guys in '25! 🥰 Thank you thank you THANK YOU everyone who's shown me such incredible support over this year, this has been such an unbelievably fun fandom experience and I'm excited to sink my teeth into even more and longer fics next year 💛💛💛
My 2024 Writing Stats:
Works Published: 19
Word Count: 89,859
Top 3 fics (by kudos):
1. Outside Looking In
2. No Rehearsing It, No Reversing It
3. The Scenic Route
2025 One-Shots:
Third Contact of a Brief, yet Significant Eclipse (M, 4.2k, Cat King/Edwin)
A spin-off/prequel fic set in the universe of Wunderkammer by dear_monday and two_ravens! A bittersweet little scene at the tail end of museum curator!Edwin's dalliance with the Cat King; a torrid affair which lasted the duration of the 1960s.
Bet Was Made, I Kneeled and Prayed (and Went Off Like a Shotgun) (M, 2.5k, Cat King/Charles)
Wrapped fic, the last of them. Charles and the Cat King enjoy a bit of fun, fighty, no-strings messing around; and the Cat King comes away with more feelings than he bargained for.
Now featuring gorgeous and heartbreaking gifs courtesy of Olly, who simply never misses 💛💛💛💛💛
Darling, This Place is a Lover's Oasis (M, 1.4k, Cat King/Edwin)
Valentine's fic; Edwin gets some much-deserved pampering courtesy of Cat King and his ridiculous 1970s oversized bathtub.
Ain't That a Kick in the Head? (T, 2.3k, Charles/Edwin)
Anniversary fic, getting together: Edwin and Charles have some banter and a thumb war to decide the fate of the tiny office sofa.
Drop Dead Gorgeous (M, 3k, Charles/Edwin)
Short and silly morbid flirting fic between mortician Edwin and assistant Charles, based on Wooden Overcoats and written for my dear friend Ande's birthday 💛
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Clavering was a successful businessman, and owned the Gala-Royale cinema chain. More as a hobby than anything else, he established a photographic studio in the basement of his Pimlico home, with his friend John Charles Parkhurst (1927-2000). Both men had served in the Navy, and they were drawn to the military men around the Hyde Park and Chelsea barracks, whom they paid to model for them.
Lets take a material that can last decades with the right treatment and care and fucking replicate it with the most dogshit ugly flimsiest animal extinction microplastics smells bad unsexual rips in four days garbage disgusting saran wrap we can think of. Ostensibly for vegans.
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Slowly, and yet in no time at all, the memories which Edwin thumbed like prayer beads in times of hardship had shifted, the faces of his polite, distant relatives fading like photographs in the sun. Now running through his palm it was only Charles; his sunny smiles, the crinkles around his bright eyes, the imaginary weight of his head upon Edwin’s shoulder. His steadfast support, even his rare, mercurial temper, righteous as any avenging angel. It was simply Charles all the way down, threaded through the burnt-edged tapestry of Edwin’s afterlife, written through his core in cross-section like letters in a stick of Brighton rock. To the heart—though he hasn’t had a beating one as long as they’ve known one another. To the blood.
To the bone.
Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten?
the fourth and final chapter, out now!
Thank you so so much everyone who's waited patiently for this chapter, I know it's been a VERY long time in the making. I hope the resolution is satisfying, even if it's unsurprising 💛
What I envision for Grace is this. He would have been a normal guy if he'd stayed on earth. As a baseline, he is not a monsterfucker or an alienfucker. He's not even really into other humans because he can only get the hots for someone if they've established a soul-baring level of emotional intimacy first, which is impossible because he's allergic to vulnerability. On the flip side this means that on the off chance that he establishes a soul-baring level of emotional intimacy with someone, he's going to have the hots for them no matter what the genital situation is. If Rocky had been a cloud of sentient algae he would have wanted to do it in the cloud. However Grace doesn't know this. He thinks he must have had some kind of latent alien fetish and that's why he was so bad at relationships
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Slowly, and yet in no time at all, the memories which Edwin thumbed like prayer beads in times of hardship had shifted, the faces of his polite, distant relatives fading like photographs in the sun. Now running through his palm it was only Charles; his sunny smiles, the crinkles around his bright eyes, the imaginary weight of his head upon Edwin’s shoulder. His steadfast support, even his rare, mercurial temper, righteous as any avenging angel. It was simply Charles all the way down, threaded through the burnt-edged tapestry of Edwin’s afterlife, written through his core in cross-section like letters in a stick of Brighton rock. To the heart—though he hasn’t had a beating one as long as they’ve known one another. To the blood.
To the bone.
Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten?
the fourth and final chapter, out now!
Thank you so so much everyone who's waited patiently for this chapter, I know it's been a VERY long time in the making. I hope the resolution is satisfying, even if it's unsurprising 💛
My boyfriend is trying to explain cricket to me again. “He’s only got two balls to make 48 runs”, he says. The camera focuses on a man. Underneath him it says LEFT ARM FAST MEDIUM. A ball flies into the stands and presumably fractures someone’s skull. “There’s a free six”, my boyfriend says. 348 SIXES says the screen. A child in the audience waves a sign referencing Weet-Bix
if people haven’t been exposed to cricket before, here is the experience. The person who likes cricket turns on a radio with an air of happy expectation. “We’ll just catch up with the cricket,” they say.
An elderly British man with an accent - you can picture exactly what he looks like and what he is wearing, somehow, and you know that he will explain the important concept of Yorkshire to you at length if you make eye contact - is saying “And w’ four snickets t’ wicket, Umbleby dives under the covers and romps home for a sticky bicket.”
There is a deep and satisfied silence. Weather happens over the radio. This lasts for three minutes.
A gentle young gentleman with an Indian accent, whose perfect and beautiful clear voice makes him sound like a poet sipping from a cup of honeyed drink always, says mildly “Of course we cannot forget that when Pakistan last had the biscuit under the covers, they were thrown out of bed. In 1957, I believe.”
You mouth “what the fucking fuck.”
A morally ambiguous villain from a superhero movie says off-microphone, “Crumbs everywhere.”
Apparently continuing a previous conversation, the villain asks, “Do seagulls eat tacos?”
“I’m sure someone will tell us eventually,” the poet says. His voice is so beautiful that it should be familiar; he should be the only announcer on the radio, the only reader of audiobooks.
The villain says with sudden interest, “Oh, a leg over straight and under the covers, Peterson and Singh are rumping along with a straight fine leg and good pumping action. Thanks to his powerful thighs, Peterson is an excellent legspinner, apart from being rude on Twitter.”
The man from Yorkshire roars potently, like a bull seeing another bull. There might be words in his roar, but otherwise it is primal and sizzling.
“That isn’t straight,” the poet says. “It’s silly.”
“What the fucking fuck,” you say out loud at this point.
“Shh,” says the person who likes cricket. They listen, tensely. Something in the distance makes a very small “thwack,” like a baby dropping an egg.
“Was that a doosra or a googly?” the villain asks.
“IT’S A WRONG ‘UN,” roars the Yorkshireman in his wrath. A powerful insult has been offered. They begin to scuffle.
“With that double doozy, Crumpet is baffled for three turns, Agarwal is deep in the biscuit tin and Padgett has gone to the shops undercover,” the poet says quickly, to cover the action while his companions are busy. The villain is being throttled, in a friendly companionable way.
An intern apparently brings a message scrawled on a scrap of paper like a courier sprinting across a battlefield. “Reddy has rolled a nat 20,” the poet says with barely contained excitement. “Australia is both a continent and an island. But we’re running out of time!”
"Is that true?” You ask suddenly.
“Shh!” Says the person who likes cricket. “It’s a test match.”
“About Australia.”
“We won’t know THAT until the third DAY.”
A distant “pock” noise. The sound of thirty people saying “tsk,” sorrowfully.
“And the baby’s dropped the egg. Four legs over or we’re done for, as long as it doesn’t rain.”
The villain might be dead? You begin to find yourself emotionally invested.
There are mild distant cheers. “Oh, and with twelve sticky wickets t’ over and t’ seagull’s exploded,” the man from the North says as if all of his dreams have come true. “What a beautiful day.” Your person who likes cricket relaxes. It is tea break.
The villain, apparently alive, describes the best hat in the audience as “like a funnel made of dove-colored net, but backwards, with flies trapped in it.”
This is every bit as good as that time in Australia in 1975, they all agree, drinking their tea and eating home-made cakes sent in by the fans. The poet comments favorably on the icing and sugar-preserved violets. The Yorkshire man discourses on the nature of sponge. The villain clatters his cup too hard on his saucer. To cover his embarrassment, the poet begins scrolling through Twitter on his phone, reading aloud the best memes in his enchanting milky voice. Then, with joy, he reads an @ from an ornithologist at the University of Reading: seagulls do eat tacos! A reference is cited; the poet reads it aloud. Everyone cheers.
You are honestly - against your will - kind of into it! but also: weirdly enraged.
“Was that … it?” you ask, deeming it safe to interrupt.
“No,” says the person who likes cricket, “This is second tea break on the first day. We won’t know where we really are until lunch tomorrow.”
And - because you cannot stop them - you have to accept this; if cricket teaches you anything, it is this gentle and radical acceptance.
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if you spoke to lestat or louis about your pain, they would say, "your pain? what about MY pain?" but if you spoke about your pain to armand he would say "let me lobotomize you and you will never feel pain again." he has a solution-based mindset and we could all learn from him.
Slowly, and yet in no time at all, the memories which Edwin thumbed like prayer beads in times of hardship had shifted, the faces of his polite, distant relatives fading like photographs in the sun. Now running through his palm it was only Charles; his sunny smiles, the crinkles around his bright eyes, the imaginary weight of his head upon Edwin’s shoulder. His steadfast support, even his rare, mercurial temper, righteous as any avenging angel. It was simply Charles all the way down, threaded through the burnt-edged tapestry of Edwin’s afterlife, written through his core in cross-section like letters in a stick of Brighton rock. To the heart—though he hasn’t had a beating one as long as they’ve known one another. To the blood.
To the bone.
Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten?
the fourth and final chapter, out now!
Thank you so so much everyone who's waited patiently for this chapter, I know it's been a VERY long time in the making. I hope the resolution is satisfying, even if it's unsurprising 💛
