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itsren-again · 8 months

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Familiar

Rating: E for everyone | Word Count: 1718 | Pairing: Adam x Jonah (@sustainably-du-mortain OC Detective) x Nate | Notes: I feel so lucky to have gotten Jonah in this draw. He has been an absolute delight to get to know and work with. Thank you, @sustainably-du-mortain for providing so much detail and information about him. This is actually my first TWC fic in general and I hope I did him and the others justice.

And thank you @wayhavenficexchange for hosting this event and giving me a reason to reach out of my comfort zone.

***

It’s quiet here in Wayhaven, not in the eerie sense, but in the sense that you can still hear footsteps over the gentle bustle of the streets. The few cars that pass by and the nearby cafe chatter won’t drown out the steady tread of shoes against brick sidewalks, even for non-vampires. Vampires, of which there are several in town now, hear even more.

For some, it’s a relief, a welcome distraction from the sensory overload that comes along with being an agent within the supernatural community’s Agency for peace. Peace and tranquility is what a town like Wayhaven promises, a small community where everyone knows everyone and the days pass by a little slower.

Peace is not what Commanding Agent du Mortain has found on the streets of Wayhaven this morning. A dense fog is blanketing the square, it has been since their arrival late last night. That the townspeople don’t seem to take special note of it tells him it’s typical for the area. How dreary.

But it’s not the low visibility or foreign territory that has dug itself under Adam’s skin and made itself at home. It’s one of those sounds that is so easily isolated in such a quiet town. This one is more prominent than the others. It is to him, at least. He furrows his brow and follows the trail without realizing he’d deviated away from the other members of his team.

The hunt doesn’t take him far; nothing in Wayhaven could be considered far. An apartment building. It mercifully blocks out what sun has dared to escape through the thick fog, casting Adam’s face in heavy shadows that feel cool and welcoming on his skin. It’s an interesting contrast to the warm feeling spreading through his chest. He might prefer the chill.

It’s easy to pinpoint the exact window; it would be, even if it weren’t one of the few ones propped open at this hour. Musical notes blossom from the open space and coast easily to where Adam stood in watch. They turn the westerly wind into their own personal stave, organizing their melody on the gentle breeze.

It’s familiar.

Not that he had heard it before, but that maybe he had felt those same emotions before. It was his mother’s lullaby; it was also the rich scent of rosemary from atop her coffin. It was the song he learned to waltz to. It was every melody Nate played in the background while he read late into the night.

Conjured by the very thought, Nate appeared in his peripheral view. Chances are he’d been there the whole time, and he knew the others were likely not far. They would, after all, follow wherever he led.

If he wasn’t imagining, he knew Nate would feel the same way, and turned to him. His eyes were fixed on the same window. Maybe the music drew him here instead of his sense of loyalty. He isn’t wholly here either. Their eyes meet on the crescendo and Adam wonders where the notes are taking Nate and if he could join him there.

Fumbling chords and rampant curses take the place of the entrancing melody. The spell is broken and Adam is left staring at the shameless grin on Nate’s lips. It’s not quite enough to shake the haunted feeling from his shoulders. The weight of his memories doesn’t feel as light as it had a moment ago. The good reasons he had for following the siren’s song are somewhere scattered on the asphalt around his feet.

For the first time in a long time, Adam thinks about prayer.

***

Nate stood with his usual graceful poise, the violin nestled beneath his chin as if it were an extension of his very being. His fingers, long and deft, poised lightly upon the strings, radiating a sense of familiarity and intimacy with the delicate wooden frame. The violin itself seemed to respond to his touch, the wood resonating with a knowing vibrancy.

As the bow made contact with the strings, a hushed magic filled the air. The initial stroke was soft, a tender caress that awakened the strings’ dormant melodies. The notes emerged with a sigh, a whisper that invited any listener to lean in, to partake in the secret world he was about to unveil.

With each sweep of the bow, Nate’s body swayed ever so slightly, as if he were a conduit for the music itself. His eyes, closed in concentration, felt every nuance, every emotion encapsulated in the composition. The bow danced with precision, weaving a tapestry of sound that carried both sorrow and joy, melancholy and exuberance.

His expression was a reflection of the music he conjured–a myriad of emotions painted across his face. A furrowed brow during a crescendo of tension, a soft smile as the melody took a hopeful turn, and the subtle lift of an eyebrow during an unexpected flourish–every detail communicated a profound connection to the composition.

And as the music reached its zenith, his body seemed to become one with the melody. The final notes quivered in the air, hanging for a breathless moment before fading away. Nate lowered the bow, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the piece they had just re-birthed.

For a few suspended moments, the world remained wrapped in the echoes of the performance. Nate’s world had been marinating in this melody ever since it found him outside that apartment building. He played it over and over in his head in a desperate attempt to cling to its every note, to carve it into his subconscious and never let it go.

He hadn’t felt like flesh and blood like this in too long. The melody was every word he couldn’t think of to describe his home, his life. It felt more like him than he did on some days.

Familiar.

In that, maybe he remembered a part of himself that he had laid down once before and never bothered to go back and pick up. Maybe the artist from the window had found it instead.

Nate turned towards the new presence standing in the doorway. Adam changed the atmosphere like a storm; he didn’t need to see him to know he was there. He wanted to ask him what the song felt like to him. The weight of it had filled the space between them since that morning, comfortably connecting all the ends they couldn’t make meet before. Had he remembered it correctly? Did he do it justice? Was it theirs now?

He didn’t need to ask any of these things out loud. They have known each other too long for that.

***

In the heart of Wayhaven, a subtle shift began to stir the very air that had once held a sense of cozy familiarity. It was as if the town itself had taken a collective breath, and with that breath, an unseen transformation began to unfold.

The sun, once casting its golden glow with a gentle warmth, now seemed to hang lower in the sky, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the streets. The daylight held a slightly different hue, carrying a touch of melancholy as it filtered through the leaves of trees.

The townspeople, often seen bustling about with carefree smiles, now moved with a different cadence. Their footsteps seemed softer, more contemplative, as if attuned to an underlying shift that had settled over their surroundings. Conversations held a hint of hushed anticipation, as though they were sharing secrets with the town itself.

Buildings that had stood for generations seemed to hold their breath, their aging facades taking on new character in the changing light. Shadows crept along the brickwork, adding depth and mystery to familiar landmarks.

The air itself carried a distinct crispness, a harbinger of the impending transition.

Amidst this shift, there was a sense of introspection that seemed to settle over the town like a soft mist, especially for Jonah. He gazed upon familiar vistas with fresh eyes, finding beauty in the nuances he might have overlooked just two days ago.

The atmosphere, once characterized by its lively rhythms, now held a more contemplative melody. It was a shift that acknowledged the passing of time, the cyclical nature of seasons, and the collective spirit of the ebb and flow of life.

It wouldn’t leave Jonah alone.

This new melody emerged from the ashes of every song he had ever written, ever listened to, and branded itself on his skin alongside every dragon keeping him company. He played it over and over, trying to capture the peculiar and haunting change that was happening around him, maybe just inside him. Something had changed.

He pulls his father’s jacket tighter around his shoulders and wonders when he had made the decision to walk to work. It wasn’t the type of day he would typically do this. Wind whips the hair around his face and into his field of vision. But something in the air needed savoring. The end of the song was on the wind.

The station was on the horizon. The rising sun peaking over the tall trees highlighted its familiar lines. Something was going to happen there. Nervous and excited energy filled his stomach and fluttered through his chest with each step closer to the front door. Vehicles with out-of-state license plates filled parking spots that were usually left empty.

The melody became louder in his head as he pushed through the front door. It spilled out through the low hum vibrating in his throat. He thinks it’s getting louder, but he’s hardly the one controlling it. Everyone in the front office goes unacknowledged for fear of losing the next note and the one after that.

He’s still humming it, overjoyed at every second it doesn’t get lost in the ever shifting composition in his mind, when he pushes through the door to his office. Visitors he hadn’t been expecting stared back at him. The melody dies on his lips, but he sees it in the eyes of one and then another. An impossible understanding passes through the three of them and it’s gone in the next moment.

The new sun and moon who have pulled the atmosphere of Wayhaven into this new reality are standing in Jonah’s office. The previous celestial bodies never stood a chance, surrendering the natural cadence of the town instantaneously. Jonah knew with absolute certainty that things were never going to go back to the way they were.

#wayhavenficexchange #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfiction #adam du mortain #nate sewell

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hydrngea · 1 year

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it’s nice to have a friend

a/n : it’s finally here! perfect pick part 2!!! sososososo sorry for the wait. irl stuff got in the way of me working on this. again. severely unedited. sorry 🫣

notes : fic can be read as a one shot or connected to perfect pick 2. part 3 tbd. this one is full of rafe fluff!

summary : maybe rafe was a little bit more than just ur best friends brother.

part one | series masterlist | masterlist

there was a period of time between your tenth birthday and your eleventh where you and rafe were actually friends. real friends. almost comparable to the way you and sarah were.

——

for some reason sleep feels impossible tonight. even though sarah’s deep into her oblivion. even though her ceiling is darkened and even though the room is quiet save for the gentle ticking of the alarm clock on her nightstand.

you decide to blame it on thirst, pulling yourself out of your sleeping bag and carefully slipinhg out her bedroom while walking on the tips of your toes.

you’re familar with the layout of tannyhill. It’s practically been your second home ever since you were born. you’ve had hundreds of sleepovers with sarah and spent many holidays with the cameron’s; your families were just so close.

you make your way towards their kitchen and startle a little when you realize someone else is there,too. you still suck at reading manual clocks but you guess that it’s sometime after midnight.

“ah!” you yelp and the person turns around while agressivly shushing you.

“why are you screaming?” rafe whisper yells as he sets a pint of ice cream onto the island.

“you scared me.” you respond with a much quieter tone, looking down at your feet and avoiding eye contact.

you hear a snicker come from him, “are you wearing unicorn pajamas? aren’t you ten?”

you wrap your arms over your chest, insecurely covering up the horn of the large creature printed into your nightgown.

“isn’t it too late at night to be eating ice cream?” yoy quip back.

rafe gestures to the clock on the wall beside him. “isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“isn’t it past yours?”

you can faintly tell that he rolls his eyes at that, and he brings a spoonful of ice cream up to his lips.

“what flavor it that?” you question, approaching his spot behind the island.

his voice is muffled due to the ice scream still melting in his mouth, “didn’t you say it’s too late to be eating ice cream right now?”

“i’m just asking what flavor, rafe.”

he’s quiet for a moment before responding with a sigh. “chocolate.”

he tells you because he knows it’s your favorite. you’re a chocolate girl through and through- it was the flavor of your birthday cake at your party a couple of weeks ago, as it had been for all your previous birthdays before.

your eyes light up and his chest swells in a weird way he puts off as a delayed brain freeze. “can i have a bite?”

to your surprise he says yes, pulling out a spoon from the drawer besides him and handing it to you. he holds the pint close to you so you can take a scoop, and just when the metal of the utensil touches the cold desert he raises the container up so you can’t reach it.

he’s only a year older than you, but even the slight difference makes him a whole lot taller than you. you hop and chase him all around the kitchen in attempt to retrieve the ice cream and it makes you so angry that he’s having fun in your suffering; almost as much as it makes you feel like you’re gonna melt because he’s having fun. with you.

you let out a huff and stop your chasing, and he finally walks back towards you and let’s you have the pint.

You snatch it out of his grasp, making your way to the kitchen stools with him following closely behind you. he brings his spoon too, and you roll your eyes when he nudges you for some more of the ice cream. you tilt the container in your hands towards him and he digs into it once more.

The lopsided smile he sends you in response is enough to freeze your heart and melt any annoyance you felt towards him.

—————————-

you knuckles rap against his bedroom door. the same pattern as you’ve been doing for the past 4 months, sneaking out of sarah’s bright pink bedroom and into rafes contrasting blue.

he lets you in and you find solace ontop of his large gaming chair, having unofficially claimed it as your own. rafe let’s you take over it without complaint, lately opting to to settle beside the wall across from you instead of his own seat.

you get tossed a dvd case and you barely catch it. your eyes graze over the cover and take in the title. you let out a huff, “why do we always watch the movie you choose?”

rafe pauses for a split second before responding.

“but it’s the dark knight.”

you throw the case back at him, the plastic hitting his arm. “ouch.” rafe mutters, rubbing at the aggictated skin.

“this is a boy movie.”

he snorts. “i’m a boy.”

you cross your arms over your chest. “i’m not.”

it’s true, he always manages to convince you to watch what he picks out. but the dark knight is the best action movie ever. can’t you just let it slide one last time?

you glare at him and rafe relents, as he always does when it comes to you. he lets out a sigh and slides his box full of dvds towards you. “fine. find an alternative.”

it seems like you know exactly which movie you want to watch. you pull it out and feed it into the dvd player, grinning.

“we’re not watching it.”

“why? are you too scared, rafey?”

He scoots on the floor closer next to you. “No. Its just a stupid movie.”

You giggle, pulling his blanket off his bed and wrapping it around your torso. “You’re just a scary cat.” You shrug.

“am not.”

“are too.”

rafe sucks in a tense breath. he knows he can’t get out of this.

“turn it on?”

“are you sure you won’t pee your pants, rafey.”

he reaches forward and grabs the tv remote, clicking the play button.

(surprisingly, rafe proved you wrong. he did not pee his pants. even if there were multiple close calls. you guys made it to the movie without any accidents, somehow shuffled close together and sharing the same navy throw blanket; a comforting warmth shared between the two as he falls asleep with his cheek on your shoulder. his mother catches the two of you in the morning. snaps a picture with her phone without saying anything, and retreating back to her bedroom with a smile spread across her face)

——-

whenever you had sleepovers at the cameron’s, you’d always be the first one up. even if you were the last one asleep.

okay. you were the second one up, after mrs. cameron.

you had an unspoken sleepover routine. you’d usually be up by seven thirty, and there’d be pancake batter on the griddle for you starting at seven fifteen; always the first to enjoy a fresh stack of mrs.cameron’s signature blueberry pancakes.

you shut the door to sarah’s room, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled towards the kitchen.

“morning, mrs. cameron.” you greet while stifling a yawn. you blink a couple times, adjusting to the absurdly bright room.

it’s not mrs. cameron in the kitchen. instead, you’re met with rafe behind the island, again. pouring whole milk into a bowl of cereal.

“moms still asleep.” he says, words rough on the edges.

you don’t respond, opting to climb onto one of the island stools in silence. you watch his brow furrow as he making sure the perfect ratio of milk falls into his breakfast. the feature is similar to the way his mother forhead wrinkles while she meticulously pours a ladle full of bluberry batter onto the griddle.

“what cereal?” you mumble, shifting so your hands settle between the seat and your legs.

rafe tightens the cap of the milk, then shoved it back into the kitchen aid fridge. “pebbles.”

you open your mouth to ask about the flavor, but he responds before anything comes out.

“cocoa pebbles. you want some?”

you nod, begining to pull yourself off the stool so you can make yourself a bowl. but instead, he pushes his bowl towards you.

“have it. i’ll make another.” he offers with a tight lipped smile.

“thanks,” your heart stutters at the gesture. you take the spoon and swirl the cereal around so the milk can become chocolatey. you take a sip of it, enjoying the sweetness on your tongue.

he makes himself another bowl and brings it to the stool besides you.

“why are you up so early?” you question while he settles onto the seat and he shrugs.

“i guess i just wanted to see you before you left.”

the words almost make you choke on your cocoa puffs, the milk almost pouring out your nostrils. you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“you really wanted to be blessed with my obnoxious presence this early in the morning?”

“i don’t think you’re obnoxious, y/n.” rafe confesses, voice quiet as if he wanted you to be the only one to hear.

suddenly, it felt like the necklace which laid under your pajamas was burning a hole on your neck. you pull it out and start playing with its pendent in between your thumb and your index finger.

“i don’t think you’re obnoxious either.” you say, because you don’t know what else would be right to say in the moment. he looks expectantly at you with a soft gaze, eyes flickering from your own iris’s to the silver chain you’ve exposed. his lips curve into a smile which mirrors your own.

“yeah?”

“yea.” you confirm, tilting your head towards him with a brightening smile before looking back down at your bowl of now soggy cereal.

“yeah.” he breathes again, bringing his spoon up to his lips to take a bite of his breakfast.

you two remain smiling, even after you’ve departed from tannyhill.

————-

taglist (let me know if u want to be added or removed!)

tagging those who asked to be tagged in part 2 @kkmstblog @spicykimchiiii @whore4drew @diorgirl444 @outerbankspov @maybankslover @writtenwordslover @drewstarkeyirlgf @vert-pomme @octaviareina @everythingmarveltopgun @hangmanshomecoming @fallingwallsh @millies0bsimp @pickingviolets @fulla02 @denise417 @mad-die45 @callsignwidow @leclerc16s @yomnajir @ash5monster01 @spear-bearing-bi-witch @grxcisxhy-wp @iluvpills @user09 @cat-or-kitten @bellstwd @mrsstarkey1 @illicitfixations @willowpains @penny4yourthoughts @book-place @sangytv @sweetestdesire @mvybanks @rafesmoon @a-aexotic

reblog + comment and i’ll do the same for you <333

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chertila3000 · 2 months

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Another sudden sketch on the same sudden chapter of TWCS

Picture #: Felix: "Hey, how's it going, weirdo?"

Picture #2: Bendy: "Oh, greetings officer." In my thoughts: “Call me that again, and I’ll let you go to shawarma"

#babtqftim #bendy and boris the quest for the ink machine #bendy the demon #bendy the dancing demon #bendy #felix the cat #felix #fanfiction #The why city sleep #twcs

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grapecaseschoices · 9 months

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I've seen this around, from a few people, and I wanted to do it so!

tagging: whoever wants to but specifically people i remember who write fic [if i dont tag you fic writing pals its not lack of love but lack of brain!]

@laufire @equusgirl @andthatisnotfake @sustainably-du-mortain @thee-morrigan @serenpedac @amlovelies @wayhavenots @thelittlestspider @thewayhavenchronicle @evilbunnyking @magebastard @narrativefoiltrope @lizzybeth1986 @agentfreckles @agentnatesewell @cypresssunns @queerdetectiveblue

#fanfic tropes tier list #fanfiction #grapecase posts #i suppose perfect timing with the twc exchange coming!#i a lot on the second - and even third - tier could be higher but im picky #it really depends on execution #me: i think i g0t everyb0dy #aIs0 me: pr0babIy 0ffended fifteen dfferent pe0pIe bc i f0rg0t

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definitelynotagentm · 1 year

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Dont You (Forget About Me)

When Mason met Jade Howard, he never expected her to be more than a fling. Until the moment he lost her forever and realised there had never been anyone who meant as much to him as she did.

~An alternative ending to book 3 with original scenes, written from Mason's POV.

Wordcount: 6,313 Rating: M

You can also read it on AO3.

—————

A summer storm rolled dark clouds over the small town of Wayhaven. An ominous clap of thunder struck the ground nearby, and for a moment the sky lit up.

In the shadows of the night, a tall man made his way through the graveyard. His long, wavy hair clung to his freckled face, soaked from the rain. He held a bottle of cheap champagne in his right hand and a single crimson rose in the other.

As another flash of lightning illuminated the deserted cemetery, he stopped. The man bent and added the flower to the sea of bouquets on the recently closed grave. His shoulders slumped as he let out a deep sigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

A loud pop followed and the man took a sip from the champagne. His face twitched as he reluctantly swallowed.

“I still don't know why the fuck you like this shit.”

He chuckled to himself, but fell silent as reality set in. The one he longed for would never defend her drink of choice again.

Mason set the opened bottle down among the flowers. “You don't mind if I drink from the bottle, do you?” He asked, but the memory of her doing just that was enough of an answer.

“In your defence, we still don't have any suitable glasses back at the warehouse,” he said with a huff. “Although they'd be useless anyway, since we're leaving Wayhaven now that…”

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes began to tear, mixing with the rain on his face as he collapsed. He fell to his knees and read the gravestone over and over, wondering when this endless nightmare would end. Desperately wishing it was just another bad dream.

But it wasn't. It was real. This nightmare was his new reality.

Jade Howard, aged 31 - in memory of our beloved daughter, friend and sweetheart.

—————

Ten years later…

The last of the sunlight cast long shadows across Wayhaven Cemetery. A fresh layer of snow crunched under Mason's shoes as he made his way to the grave he had not visited in a decade. The cold winter afternoon sent shivers down his spine. Thanks to his overly sensitive skin, Mason never enjoyed the cold. On top of his many layers of clothing, he wore a beige scarf. It wasn't an item that matched his usual attire, which consisted of dark clothes made of heavy materials, but this scarf was an exception. It belonged to her .

When the temperature dropped, Jade Howard wore this scarf every day. Now, years later, so did Mason. The simple piece of clothing felt like a comfortable blanket, a way to be close to her. But the sweet scent of her perfume washed away with time, and now it was just another slowly fading memory.

He brought a single crimson rose and a bottle of the cheap champagne his beloved had loved so much, just as he had on his last visit. The cemetery, like Wayhaven, hadn't changed a bit in the last decade.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He said as he placed the flower on Jade's grave. It's the only flower there this time. The horrible sight of a lonely gravestone sent a wave of anger down Mason's spine.

“Seems like I'm the only one who still gives a damn, eh?”

Deep down he knew that was not true, that his absence was part of the reason the grave was lonely. It wasn't his fault; Unit Bravo had been forced to leave Wayhaven shortly after Jade's death, which meant that Mason had lost his home in more ways than one.

“It's been... a while since I've visited,” he continued, knowing damn well that it had been a decade. “I'm sorry 'bout that…”

He leaned against Jade's gravestone and began to fiddle with the champagne bottle. He popped the cork, sending a loud bang through the cemetery. Ten years later, Mason still didn't like the taste of champagne. But she did, and that was all that mattered.

“I suppose you can blame your mother for that.” Mason sighed, a frown creasing his face. “We moved around more than ever before. You'd have liked that, I guess... Remember when you said you wanted to leave Wayhaven to explore the world? Well, it's no fucking fun without you.”

He put the bottle down on the gravestone and took a pack of cigarettes from his studded leather jacket. “Sorry, I started smoking again,” his gut twitched with guilt as he lit one of the cigarettes and took a long drag. The smoke in his lungs temporarily numbed the feeling of frozen needles pinching his skin, but it returned as soon as he exhaled.

—————

Ten years earlier…

The sun was rising over the warehouse. As the sunlight crept over the tops of the trees, the birds began to chirp. A deer grunted somewhere in the distance, and an owl hooted in response. The forest was slowly waking up, just like the rest of Wayhaven.

Mason could tell from the clear skies that it was going to be another disturbingly hot day. He couldn't wait for autumn, or at least the rare two weeks when he was somehow able to cope with the ever-changing temperatures.

This time, however, it was not just the weather that was bothering Mason. The number of missing Agency employees and random Wayhaven residents was worrying him. There were trappers lurking all over the city, but they always escaped whenever United Bravo got too close. And then there was the damn bird man, who would stop at nothing - not until he had her .

A shiver ran down Mason's spine as he finally decided to light the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips for hours.

“Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you were up here.”

He turned to the warm sound of Jade's voice. She was dressed in a revealing workout set, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding. Mason was not sure if that was because he was the one causing the reaction, or if she had actually just finished a workout.

“It's early,” he commented. “Shouldn't you be in bed, sweetheart?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she said, sitting down beside him. “I was in the training room and tried to do a bit of sparring with Nate, but I could tell he would rather talk me through the nightmares than fight me.”

“You should've asked me,” Mason said with a grin as he ran his eyes down Jade's toned body. Her tight gym clothes hugged her body in all the right places. “Especially with this on.”

“Oh... Um... Than -I mean... I'll keep that in mind for next time…”

Even if she had not admitted it yet, Mason knew that Jade liked his attention. It was far too easy for him to make her blush, to make her stumble over her words. It was a game between them, one he was slowly winning — although it was no longer just the game that piqued his interest.

Mason and Jade were drawn to each other like magnets. No matter what happened, every look, every touch, every conversation seemed to bring them closer together. Unfortunately, they could also push each other away with the same magnetic force.

Mason didn't understand why, but his pheromones affected the detective when they shouldn't. The first time he used them around her, they gave her an instant migraine. It confused him at the time, but he soon realised it happened every time. The effect scared him enough to never use them again... but unfortunately, using pheromones wasn't always a choice.

Just the other day he was reminded that he wasn't always in control. Mason knew he should have cleaned his crystal sooner. Waiting just made the damn thing an unnecessary danger to himself and everyone around him.

But leaving Jade behind for a few hours was inevitable if he wanted to clean it. Mason wasn't comfortable with that, so he put off the cleaning as long as he could. Too long.

When Jade took him to the local antique shop, Mason broke down. The part of himself he had tried so desperately to keep hidden came out in full force. Surprisingly, he didn't regret it. It was then that he realised how the simplicity of Jade's embrace seemed to calm his hyper senses. If only for a minute, her touch could somehow replace the crystal, allowing him to stay in control and think clearly.

Clear about everything that was not her , at least. For someone who had never had any understanding of his own emotions, Jade was surely the cause of a lot of them.

Attraction. Excitement. Desire. Concern. Yearning. Despair. Worry. Fear. Trust. Anxiety. Longing. Worry. Worrying again. More longing. Always worried.

Why did everything have to be so god damn confusing?

Jade rested her head on Mason's shoulder as they both stared at the rising sun in silence. Her hand was close to his, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. For a while, lost in thought once again, he stared at the closeness of their hands.

The veins on her freckled hand pulsed, slightly dilated by the summer heat. He could hear her blood pumping in a steady beat, the sweet scent of it dangerously tempting.

But the temptation was dulled by Mason's concern for the woman beside him. The faded remnants of the bruises that covered her skin, inflicted by the birdman's attack, were a grim reminder of the ever-present danger.

“Maybe it's not a good idea... considering I'm still healing from the Annunaki attack and you're not exactly…”

Mason's attention snapped back to Jade's words, unsure of what she was referring to. It took him a few moments to realise that she was still talking about her combat training.

“I'm not exactly what?”

Jade just looked at him uncertainly before standing up. As she stared down at her feet, he could hear her heart beat a little faster. From the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and swallowed nervously, he could tell she was searching for the right words.

“I guess…” she started, but stopped to turn her back to him. “Just... maybe I shouldn't get so close to you while you're still so... confused ... about... us.”

And then she walked away without looking back. Leaving Mason and his confusing thoughts alone.

—————

Mason took another swig from the bottle of champagne, each sip making him wish that the sparkling liquid would start to taste better in some way.

“I should've known back then,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe in a way... I suppose I did... I imagine everyone knew except me.”

He sighed and took another sip of champagne. In the short time he had been at the cemetery, the blizzard had intensified. Mason pulled Jade's scarf tighter around his neck, trying to ignore the cold wind that pricked his skin like thousands of tiny needles. No matter what the weather was like, Jade deserved his attention.

It didn't take much to convince Adam to take a detour to Wayhaven. After all these years, no member of Unit Bravo had really processed the detective's death. Then again, none of his teammates had loved the detective the way Mason had — he was sure of that.

“I found this,” he said as he pulled an old iPod shuffle out of his pocket. “Would you be surprised if I told you this damn thing disappeared because of Nate?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “He thought it was some sort of early model, agency battery or something - not sure what he expected from the earphones though.”

Mason turned on the iPod, which was surprisingly still working after years of collecting dust in an Agency storage. The only reason he had found it was because he had helped Nate find something that used to be on display in their old home.

Years ago, while living in the Warehouse, Jade had lost her iPod after returning from a run. She never left the house without music and made quite a fuss about losing it. Nobody knew, or wanted to admit they knew, where it was. Now, years later, he found the damn thing in a cupboard that used to be in the living room of the Warehouse.

“Nate just put it away because he had no idea what the hell it was,” Mason went on, shaking his head in disbelief. “You can bet he felt guilty about it once he did.”

Mason's finger hovered over the play button, wondering what the last song Jade had listened to had been. He had never been a fan of music, at least not that he could remember, but he made an exception for Jade.

“Funny, really…I always assumed it was Felix who stole it to put the crap he was listening to on the damn thing.”

Knowing that he could hear the music without the earphones, he pressed play.

Slow change may pull us apart when the light gets into your heart, baby — Don’t you, forget about me.

Mason's brow furrowed in a sad frown as he listened to the lyrics. Suddenly he understood them much better than the last time he had heard them: sung by a drunken Jade at Laycott’s Bar and Grill.

—————

Ten years earlier…

I’m at Laycott's Bar and Grill with Tina and Verda. If I’m not back in an hour, please come and rescue me.

Remembering Jade's friends would have been a lot easier for Mason if he'd paid attention to them in the first place. Fortunately, there weren't that many people in her life. He soon realised that she was talking about Bobblehead and the Doctor (or whatever he was) from the Wayhaven P.D. Jade would not appreciate those nicknames, though.

Even if she had tried to hide it from him earlier, Mason knew that she was glad that Tina had dragged her and Verda down to the local bar for a night out. Jade deserved a night of carefree fun, her life shouldn't be filled with threats and potential complications.

Surprisingly, Mason heard nothing from her that night. An hour passed slowly. And another. And another. And another. When midnight struck, Jade was still AWOL.

How long do bars actually stay open in this shithole? Mason wondered as he walked down the road towards the town square.

The forest was silent, and Mason couldn't help but wonder what dangers lurked in the shadows. There would certainly be trappers and rogue supernaturals. Werewolves. Actual wolves... no, the United Kingdom didn't have wolves... right?

Still, Mason knew the world was dangerous, especially for a human with mutated blood and a massive trapper's bounty on her head. So. Much. Danger. He scowled, wondering when and how he had started to act so much like Adam — looking for signs of danger wasn't something he usually did.

Jade had hugged him earlier that day. Accidentally, but it was a hug nonetheless — and Mason didn't mind. Maybe he even enjoyed it. Miraculously. No overwhelmed hyper senses, not even the tiniest fraction of pain. He just felt her warm embrace, her soft touch as she caressed his skin. The warm, spicy scent of her perfume: tobacco leaf, pink pepper, rum. The steady but loud beating of her heart acted like a soothing white noise.

Mason was so caught up in his own thoughts about Jade that he didn't even notice that he had already made it to the centre of town. Just like every other Wayhaven resident, it seemed. The town was busy, alive. Everyone had made their way to the local bar that night, and Mason soon discovered why: Karaoke.

“A round of applause for our very own Detective Howard!”

“Oh fuck no,”

Mason muttered to himself as he entered the bar, just as a new song began to play. He made his way through the sea of drunk and screaming people.

This couldn't be a worse situation for a vampire with extreme hyper senses. A vampire who had now found the woman he so desperately needed and wanted to protect, standing on the bar with a microphone in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

“Won't you come see about me? I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby. Tell me your troubles and doubts giving me everything inside and out and—”

He grinned at the sight: he had never seen Jade so... carefree before. She was a terrible singer, but no one else seemed to mind as she sang the lyrics to the Simple Minds song loud and proud.

Mason slowly approached the bar. Jade was attracting a lot of attention, which could prove dangerous. Even though he didn't feel any immediate danger, he was close by just in case.

“Mason!”

He turned at the high-pitched call of his name. Bobblehead came running towards him, two shots of tequila in hand, and the Doctor followed close behind.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she pressed the shot glass into his hand. “Jade told us you hate crowds and... well, anything fun, really.”

“She's right about that,” he replied coldly, his face twitching at the sharp and pungent scent of the drink.

“Then drink up, buddy.”

Figuring it was probably the only way to shut her up, Mason reluctantly agreed.

“Don't you forget about me. Don't, don't, don't, don't. Don't you forget about me.”

“She's amazing, isn't she?” Verda said, elbowing Mason to his side. “It took some convincing to get her up there, but it's been a long time since Jade has let herself go like that.”

Mason wasn't sure if he agreed with Verda's statement. Her tone was off. Way off. But the doctor was right. For probably the first time since he'd met her, Jade looked like she didn't have a care in the world.

She let her hair down. Her silk blouse was unbuttoned much lower than usual, revealing the red lace bra she wore underneath. The alcohol made her cheeks flush a bright pink, a warm contrast to her pale complexion. Jade ran her hands through her messy blonde locks, eyes closed as she memorised the lyrics.

“I've never seen so much desire in one look — the way you look at her could set this bar on fire.”

Mason snapped his eyes back to Verda, who looked at him with an amused smile. The Doctor seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Mason had no intention of giving him one.

“Go Jade, Wooh! ”

Tina's high-pitched voice snapped Jade out of her self-induced trance. She audibly gasped as her green eyes locked with Mason's grey ones.

“As you walk on by, will you call my name?” She continued to sing, but with much less confidence than before. “As you walk on by, will you call my name?”

Mason turned to face the bartender, trying his best to ignore the burning gaze on his back. There was no need to drag Jade away from the spotlight, she may have been drunk, but she wanted to sing herself. She enjoyed the attention. It would have been selfish to take it away.

"Who knew the detective had it in her?"

Mason's attention snapped to the other side of the bar where two men were practically drooling over Jade. He didn't like the way they were undressing her with their eyes - it was too primal. He knew that look better than anyone, but seeing it used on Jade made him boil with rage.

“I bet you a tenner I’ll get her to suck my co—”

Mason didn't even realise how fast his feet had dragged him over. He let out a low growl that had the men turning around in an instant.

“You got a problem, mate?” One of them snapped.

“I bet you a tenner that you’ll lose that small cock of yours if you force yourself onto the detective,” he growled. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yo man, we didn’t mean—”

“Get out.”

Mason growled again as he rolled up his sleeves. The two men exchanged a worried look and hurried off without looking back.

“ When you walk on by… And you call my name… When you walk on by…”

—————

Mason chuckled at the memory of the bar as the song stopped. He turned off the iPod and folded the earphones neatly around it.

“Remember how you begged me not to tell the others about the karaoke show?”

Even though Jade was having fun, she was kind of embarrassed that she had let herself go too far. Being a detective meant she couldn't have that kind of fun anymore... or so she kept telling herself. Mason didn't agree, he enjoyed seeing that wild side of her... he just wished she'd let him see it more often. In these dark days, that was the side of Jade Mason he longed for the most.

“I can tell you now that... that…” he hesitated before continuing.

Mason took a deep breath to let the fresh, cold air enter his system. The warm comfort of Jade's scarf brought his thoughts back to him as he bent to place the iPod in front of her headstone.

“I should have kept you close that night…”

—————

On that dreadful night…

“Is it so bad that I don't want you to go alone?” Mason snapped, a wave of anger mixed with worry washing over him.

There was no way he was going to let Jade go to the auction alone, even if it was the most logical option. The other option was to work with her mother. In retrospect, that would have been the safest option.

She didn't want to work with Rebecca. He understood that — she loathed the woman who dared call herself her mother.

But it was dangerous. Far too dangerous.

“These people want you dead, sweetheart,” his shoulders slumped and he took Jade's hands in his. “Please, please don't do this... there will be another—”

“I have to do this, Mason,” she pleaded, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I have to try and save these poor people…”

Mason brushed the tear from Jade's cheek and tried his best to fight the sudden urge to cry himself. He couldn't remember another time when he felt so full of emotion, so scared . At least not like this.

“They're already lost, sweetheart.”

“Then give me a reason not to go,” she argued. “A real reason.”

He swallowed reluctantly and stepped back. They locked eyes and Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “You know I'm…”

“I don't think you are, sunshine .”

“What do you want me to say?” He argued. “That I’m recklessly, headlessly in love with you?”

Jade copied his stance, crossing her arms over her chest and dropping her eyes to the floor. He could tell by her rapid heartbeat and sharp breathing that his words stung more painfully than a bee.

“It’s going to be all heartbreak, sweetheart,” He snapped. “Blissfully, painful and insanity.”

“Then why…” she murmured.

“Do you really think I could manage without you now?” He sighed and they both fell silent.

“Maybe I don't understand how you make me feel,” Mason said quietly, breaking his defences to take a step forward. “Fuck the auctioneer, fuck the birdman, fuck whoever…”

Mason cupped Jade's face with both hands and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Tears were now streaming from her eyes as she stared back at him.

“Just fucking make sure you come back to me.”

“Mason…” she whispered back.

Her hands moved to cup Mason's face and her gaze flickered between his eyes and lips.

Mason had lost count of how many times he had tried to kiss Jade. So far, none of those attempts had been successful. He wanted to have fun and she wanted more.

She made it very clear that she wouldn’t let anything happen between them unless he went all in — the very thing he never did or wanted to do. One night of fun and run: that was his thing.

But meeting Jade changed everything Mason thought he knew about himself and what he wanted out of life. It turned out that he knew absolutely nothing: this woman was more confusing than the concept of life itself.

And now she stood pressed against him, her hands caressing his cheeks and her tearful eyes locked on his lips.

“Jade, I—”

Jade moved her hands to the collar of his shirt, tiptoeing and pulling Mason down towards her. Their lips were so close that Jade's breath felt hot on his lips. The warm, spicy scent of her perfume was now mixed with a hint of spearmint toothpaste.

He leaned in carefully, giving Jade the opportunity to pull away if she wanted. But this time she didn't.

Jade's lips brushed against his, the touch so soft that Mason wondered if it was really happening. His questions were answered when her hands moved to the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer.

Mason wrapped his arms around Jade's waist, pulling her as close as she'd let him. He wanted to savour the moment as long as possible, fully expecting it to end as quickly as it had begun.

But Jade had no intention of pulling away. Instead, she parted her lips to let her tongue flick across his lower lip. Mason moved his right hand to cradle her cheek, deepening the kiss that exceeded all of his expectations.

The tension that had been building between them for months finally exploded. The sparks between them shot into the sky like fireworks on New Year's Eve. They moved gently, but with so much passion.

Mason felt completely consumed by Jade's kiss. The sound of the others arguing in the living room, the hoarse croaking of the ravens on the roof of the Warehouse and the dripping of the leaky tap in the bathroom — suddenly everything fell silent.

Time and space froze, there was only them.

A faint gasp left Jade as they parted. She stared at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed red and her heart beating faster than Mason had ever heard it. Maybe he wasn't as flustered as she was, but he was pretty sure his heart was beating just as hard.

With the brightest smile he had ever worn, he brushed his thumb across Jade's lower lip. For a moment he felt nothing but peace — but then he remembered that Jade was about to walk into a trapper's auction, risking more than just her life.

“You better get back to me tonight because, hell, I want to do that again.”

—————

A tear rolled down Mason's cheek as he thought back to the memory of the kiss he shared with Jade.

The only kiss they had ever shared.

Or second, if you counted the time she kissed his forehead after the trappers had almost finished him off in the sewers... fuck, of course that doesn't count.

Despite a decade passing by, Mason knew no one would ever be able to replace the affection Jade gave him.

Still, he remembered every time their hands brushed together. Every time he stood so close to her seat that their thighs touched. Every time she smiled. Or chuckled. Or laughed. Or, rarely, cried with laughter.

He remembered it all.

Those were the moments he ended up treasuring more than the kiss — but every time he thought of them, the happy memories were overshadowed by sadness and pain and most of all: guilt.

—————

“As promised, our final lot of the night: the blood of Ethan Murphy's vessel.”

Mason pushed his way through the crowd of supernaturals who had come to the trapper's auction. If he could, he'd beat each and every one of those assholes to such a point that the Agency would have no choice but to lock him up for good.

Ethan Murphey's vessel... that was all Jade meant to Anwir and these damned souls. Not to Mason. To him, she was everything, and he would have to do whatever it took to save her.

There was hardly any light in the dark room, which made it easy for Mason to hide in the crowd. All eyes were on the stage at the moment, but it wouldn't be long before someone noticed that he was the only one without any gold embroidery on his dark clothes.

“I’m sorry, are you telling me you’re trying to sell something to these people based on rumours and stories alone?”

Mason's heart sank as he heard Jade's desperate attempt to free herself. Seconds later, the trappers gagged her mouth and the sweet, seductive smell of her blood filled the room as Anwir cut her skin to prove how powerful Jade's blood was.

“No…”

Mason pushed harder, he had to get closer. Saving Jade was all that mattered, and knowing that every supernatural in the room was now out for her blood made that almost impossible. Everywhere he looked, people licked their lips and their eyes grew wide.

Anwir began the auction, followed by black bidding paddles shooting into the air faster than even he could keep up with.

He knew there was only one way to stop the bidding: join in — and win.

“And what if we’re not interested in her blood?”

Magically enchanted lights descended upon him. The people around him began to whisper and the auctioneer stood on his toes to find his gaze, but Mason only had eyes for one.

“Why? What do you want?” Anwir had answered him, but Mason had barely heard his words.

“Every inch of her. If she’ll allow it.”

He didn't mean it to sound like an innuendo, but the sudden whispering of people fanning themselves with their paddles made Mason seriously rethink his words.

Still, he meant every word he said.

And so did Jade — he knew that the moment he was finally close enough to meet her eyes. She looked terrified, though a wave of relief seemed to wash over her as she knew he was getting closer.

“And what are you willing to give for all of her?” Anwir's voice cracked with excitement and he snapped his fingers. Without hesitation, the trappers threw Jade to the edge of the stage.

He wanted to lunge forward in anger, but instead he concentrated on her. Leaning against the edge of the stage, he gazed longingly into a pair of eyes as green as Jade's name suggested. His brow furrowed in concern as he traced the shape of her face with his index finger, then pulled the gag from her mouth before cupping her cheek.

What am I willing to give for all of her?

It was such a simple question, yet it was his answer that finally brought some clarity to his almost permanent state of confusion.

“More than I thought I would ever give for anyone.”

He replied without taking his eyes off Jade, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. For a moment everyone froze, there was only them .

“I’ll give you more for the entirety!”

A silver-eyed supernatural shuffled close, its paddle held as high in the sky as it could reach.

It was enough for Mason to tear his eyes away from Jade. Another wave of rage ran down his spine, his fangs almost cutting his own lip before he growled: “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I… This is an auction. The highest bidder—”

Mason lunged forward, hovering dangerously over the supernatural. "If you are the highest bidder, I can tell you exactly what will happen to you." The supernatural swallowed anxiously and hesitantly took a step back, still holding the paddle to the sky. “Drop it.”

With the stubborn supernatural out of the way, Mason returned to Jade. He could not remember if he had ever felt so worried about her.

“Wait!” The auctioneer snapped, now locking his eyes with Mason. “Don’t I know you?”

Mason didn't have to answer the supernatural when a violent crash announced the arrival of the rest of Unit Bravo, accompanied by Unit Alpha. The Agency's presence caused immediate panic throughout the room.

People began to rush out of the room, knocking over anything in their path. The poor bastards knew they were in the wrong, they all wanted to find a way out.

This was the moment Mason had been waiting for, the perfect distraction to get Jade away. To get Jade to safety. The others would take care of themselves. Backup was on its way, probably already waiting outside.

But Mason waited too long.

The moment he turned, Jade was pressed against Anwir's chest. He pressed a sharp blade against her throat with enough force to make Jade wince in pain.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Mason wasn't sure what to do for a second. He was angry, frightened and worried all at the same time.

Jade's eyes grew wider than Mason had ever seen them before. A drop of red began to trickle down her neck.

“Now, I’m sure we can come to some kind of beneficial arrangement—agh!”

Jade tried to fight back. She stomped her foot on Anwir's, trying to make him let go. But Anwir wasn't impressed and tightened his grip on the panicked woman.

“Ethan Murphey was right, his vessel is a bit feisty …” he laughed. “It's a shame we didn't get to spend more time together.”

Mason's vision blurred as time slowed before his eyes. He was too late — pools of red running down Jade's neck as her body limped to the floor.

In a flash, the auctioneer was gone, and Mason did everything he could to ignore the overpowering smell of her blood. He leapt onto the stage, cradling Jade in his arms and doing his best to stop the bleeding.

She struggled to breathe, her eyes filled with panic as she stared at him. She tried to reach out to him and say another word, but then everything fell silent.

“No... Jade, NO!”

Her eyes became misty, her hand fell to the ground... and her heart stopped beating.

Jade Howard was dead.

—————

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart…”

Mason didn't even notice that he started to cry. Or that the snow had stopped falling. That the birds had gone completely silent. The world was as frozen as it'd been for ten years.

“I should have…”

Guilt washed over Mason. Not just for failing to save her, but for everything.

For treating Jade like crap for months, just because he was too stubborn to accept that he might find out he could feel something for her. How he didn't just admit that he was in—

None of it mattered anymore, there was nothing left.

Mason let the tears stream down his face as he finished the last of the cheap champagne he had brought to his lover's grave. For once, he let himself feel everything .

It’s like he told her all those years ago: All heartbreak, blissfully painful and insanity.

And it was all his fault.

“Police — Hand’s up!”

Mason was so caught up in his own feelings that he didn't even hear another person approaching. He turned on the spot and looked straight into one of the Agency's new shiny electric guns.

“Mason?”

The gun dropped, revealing the familiar face of Bobblehead . Detective Tina Poname, also Wayhaven's current human liaison, stared back at him, eyes wide.

Her mid-forties suited her well. Her once deep brown curls were now streaked with grey. Fine lines appeared around her eyes and mouth. The result of a lifetime of laughter, Mason guessed.

For he didn't know the detective well, but he knew that she was always annoyingly happy... except now.

“I-I…” she stammered. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, I was—”

“It's fine,” she cut in. “I'll understand if you need a moment.” She looked down at the empty bottle of champagne in his hand. “You wouldn't happen to have another one of those, would you?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“It's all right... Knowing her , she appreciates the sentiment.” Tina replied with a small smile.

Mason nodded, not sure what to say next.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you here…” she admitted, her brow furrowed in concern. “I didn't even see you at the funeral... Nate said…”

“I was there.” He argued. “I just... I couldn't…”

“The cigarette buds…”

Tina's eyes drifted to a tree in a dark corner of the cemetery. It was the very tree Mason had hidden behind during the funeral. It had been close enough for him to hear every word of the ceremony, but far enough away to avoid unwanted... or rather, any attention. He didn't want it. Not from Unit Bravo. Not from Rebecca. Certainly not from anyone else.

“We got a call from a local about a suspicious person lurking around after closing,” Tina changed the subject.

“We've had problems with... grave diggers…” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “It's the first time since... well, all of this, that the agency suspects it's supernatural.”

“A supernatural?” Mason asks, wondering how much danger there was still lurking in the shadows of Wayhaven after all these years.

“The Agency seems to think it's an Aswang,” she continued, but paused, seemingly searching for the right way to ask her next question.

“I wonder…” She continued, pausing to take a deep breath. “Do you think Unit Bravo can help?”

Mason swallowed at the question. Part of him never wanted to return to Wayhaven, but another part felt it was his duty to stay.

She would want him to be here. For her, he would have done it without hesitation. In a way, he felt obligated to do exactly that.

“I guess…” Mason looked up at Tina and nodded before continuing. “Let's meet in your office in an hour. I'll call the others.”

Mason had to stay — for Jade.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc fanfic #twc mason #mason x mc #twc detective #fanfiction

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transformativeworksandcultures · 2 years

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CFP: Centering Blackness in Fan Studies **DEADLINE EXTENDED**

This special issue centers Blackness in fandom studies. Fandom studies has gestured toward race generally, and Blackness in particular, from its alleged white center while always keeping race at its margin. It has largely co-opted the language of race, difference, and diversity from the margins and recentered it around white geeks and white women. Indeed, fandom studies has done lots of things—except deal with its race problem. But as Toni Morrison (1975) asserts, that is the work of racism: it keeps those at the margins busy, trying to prove that they deserve a seat at the center table. In this way, those considered marginal expend energy trying to be granted access to the center while citing, reifying, and expanding the supposed universality of the center that fails to engage the margin because it is too particular. If, as the title of Audre Lorde’s famous 1984 essay reminds us, “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House,” then it is time to willfully ignore white fandoms, just as Black fandoms have been willfully ignored.

For this special issue, we seek to privilege and celebrate Blackness, not as a comparative but as enough on its own. We want essays that build on the relatively small but groundbreaking scholarly work that centers Black fandoms, including work on young Black male (Brown 2000) and female (Whaley 2015) comic readers; Black gay sitcom fans (Martin 2021a); Black fan “defense squads” that protect fictional characters’ Blackness (Warner 2018); Black fan labor (Warner 2015); Black antifandom (Martin 2019b); Black fans’ enclaving practices (Florini 2019b); Black female music fans (Edgar and Toone 2019); and Black acafans (Wanzo 2015). It also engages and with and builds on our Black feminist foremothers, including bell hooks (1992), Jacqueline Bobo (1995), and Robin Means Coleman (1998), who showed us ways to think about how Black audiences engage with media. This corpus of work on Black audiences and fandoms provides a base for further theorization about the experiences and meanings of Black fandom. We encourage work that engages, nuances, and challenges this foundational work, leading to novel reconsiderations of how fan studies defines and understands Black fandoms.

We invite submissions that contribute to a conversation that centers Black audiences, fans, antifans, and global Blackness itself. We are not interested in comparative studies of Black fandom practices, because Blackness is enough. This issue seeks to center Blackness and (anti)fandom in all of its permutations. We hope the following suggested topics will inspire wide-ranging responses.

Black folks and “doing” fandom.

Black fans and deployment of (anti)fandom.

Black fan practices imbricated in a politics of representation.

Affective Black fandoms.

The politics of Black (anti)fandoms.

Interactions between Black fans and media producers.

Audience/fan response to Black-cast remakes and recasting non-Black-cast texts with Black actors.

Black fandoms of non-Black-cast media.

Blackness and enclaving.

Black music fandom.

Black sports fandom.

Black fandom and labor.

Black fandom and affect.

Black antifandom and hate.

Global Black fandoms.

Black fandom and contemporary or historical politics.

Mediated constructions of Blackness.

Black fandoms and celebrities/parasocial relationships.

Black queer fandom.

Disabled Black fandom.

Case studies of specific texts related to Black fandom.

Historical and archival accounts of Black fandom.

Submission Guidelines

Transformative Works and Cultures (TWC, http://journal.transformativeworks.org/) is an international peer-reviewed online Gold Open Access publication of the nonprofit Organization for Transformative Works, copyrighted under a Creative Commons License. TWC aims to provide a publishing outlet that welcomes fan-related topics and promotes dialogue between academic and fan communities. TWC accommodates academic articles of varying scope as well as other forms, such as multimedia, that embrace the technical possibilities of the internet and test the limits of the genre of academic writing.

Submit final papers directly to Transformative Works and Cultures by January 1, 2023. JULY 1, 2023

Articles: Peer review. Maximum 8,000 words.

Symposium: Editorial review. Maximum 4,000 words.

Please visit TWC's website (https://journal.transformativeworks.org/) for complete submission guidelines, or email the TWC Editor ([email protected]).

Contact—Contact guest editors Alfred L. Martin Jr. and Matt Griffin with any questions before or after the due date at [email protected].

Due date—July 1, 2023, for 2024 publication.

Works Cited

Bobo, Jacqueline. 1995. Black Women as Cultural Readers. New York: Columbia University Press.

Brown, Jeffrey A. 2001. Black Superheroes, Milestone Comics, and Their Fans. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Click, Melissa A., and Sarah Smith-Frigerio. 2019. “One Tough Cookie: Exploring Black Women’s Responses to Empire’s Cookie Lyon.” Communication Culture and Critique 12 (2): 287–304. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/ccc/tcz007.

Coleman, Robin R. Means. 1998. African American Viewers and the Black Situation Comedy: Situating Racial Humor. New York: Routledge.

Early, Gerald. 1988. “The Black Intellectual and the Sport of Prizefighting.” Kenyon Review 10 (3): 102–17.

Edgar, Amanda Nell, and Ashton Toone. 2019. “‘She Invited Other People to That Space’: Audience Habitus, Place, and Social Justice in Beyoncé’s Lemonade.” Feminist Media Studies 19 (1): 87–101. https://doi.org/10.1080/14680777.2017.1377276.

Everett, Anna. 2001. Returning the Gaze: A Genealogy of Black Film Criticism, 1909–1949. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Florini, Sarah. 2019a. Beyond Hashtags: Racial Politics and Black Digital Networks. New York: NYU Press.

Florini, Sarah. 2019b. “Enclaving and Cultural Resonance in Black Game of Thrones Fandom.” In “Fans of Color, Fandoms of Color,” edited by Abigail De Kosnik and andré carrington, special issue, Transformative Works and Cultures, no. 29. https://doi.org/10.3983/twc.2019.1498.

hooks, bell. 1992. Black Looks: Race and Representation. Boston: South End Press.

Martin, Alfred L., Jr. 2021a. The Generic Closet: Black Gayness and the Black-Cast Sitcom. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Martin, Alfred L., Jr. 2021b. “Blackbusting Hollywood: Racialized Media Reception, Failure, and The Wiz as Black Blockbuster.” JCMS: Journal of Cinema and Media Studies 60 (2): 56–79. http://dx.doi.org/10.1353/cj.2021.0003.

Martin, Alfred L., Jr. 2019a. “Fandom while Black: Misty Copeland, Black Panther, Tyler Perry, and the Contours of US Black Fandoms.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 22 (6): 737–53. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1367877919854155.

Martin, Alfred L., Jr. 2019b. “Why All the Hate? Four Black Women’s Anti-fandom and Tyler Perry.” In Anti-fandom: Dislike and Hate in the Digital Age, edited by Melissa A. Click, 166–83. New York: NYU Press.

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howthekriffdidigethere · 7 months

Text

WISH COME TRUE.

Chapter three: Reality Shift.

(TW: descriptions of abuse. Fighting, a death, war...I think that's it? Let me know if I missed anything!)

It was well past midnight now.

I hadn't realized how much time I'd spent with Arlo, but I was desperately hoping my mother was asleep.

Just incase she wasn't, I decided to sneak in from my bedroom window. It was something that I'd done multiple times, and had learned to leave the window unlocked.

That was why I knew something was wrong. The window was locked.

Shit.

That meant my mom wasn't asleep, and was sober enough to know I was gone. That was not good.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

'I'm so screwed.'

I chewed on my lip anxiously and crept to Jake's window around back, knowing he wouldn't be home at this time. Though he never got in trouble for it like I did.

Thankfully, I was right. And his window wasn't locked like mine.

I opened it slowly, eyes darting around his dark room. I didn't hear anything. I don't know if that was a good sign or not...

Shaking my head, I pulled myself inside the house, freezing when I accidentally stepped on something that made a crunch sound.

'Maybe she fell asleep.' I hoped silently when I still didn't hear anything else throughout the small house.

I moved to the door, careful to avoid other trash on my brothers floor.

My heart was pounding. I peeked out the door and only stepped out once I knew the coast was clear.

'Ten steps.' I told myself. 'That's how far I have to go. Just ten steps.'

One.

Two.

Three.

Four-

A glass was thrown past my head, making me yelp as it shattered a few feet from me.

I didn't even turn to see where it came from, I already knew.

My feet were already running away in a desperate escape attempt as my name was yelled from her.

"Fae! Get your ass back here!" Jewlia, my mother, roared at me, and I could hear her feet stumble towards me.

She blocked the way to my room. She had been waiting for me.

My only chance was to run out of the house. I'd disappear for a few days, and hopefully, she would be cooled off by then.

I jumped over fallen things on the floor, making a mad dash for the front door. If I could just make it outside, I would be fine. She wouldn't be able to follow me.

She was still screaming at me as I ran, throwing random things at me to try and get me to stop. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Finally, I made it to the door. I threw it open and sprinted out of my house and into the woods surrounding it. My escape.

I never stopped or looked back. If I would have known it would be my last time seeing her, really seeing her, maybe I would have spared a glance. But I didn't.

I kept going, as fast as I could into the woods, her voice fading into the distance the further I went.

She wasn't following me, I knew it, but I couldn't stop running for some reason.

Next thing I knew, I felt my cheeks wet with tears.

That made me stop. I hadn't cried in a long while, and stuff like this happened a lot, so why was I crying now, of all times?

My chest heaved with heavy breathing as I wiped my face.

I had run more than enough and was suddenly very tired. I would go to the treehouse tomorrow, but for now, I just stood.

My mind was weary, I had dealt with this for so long. I couldn't remember the last time I had a normal conversation with someone.

A weak, broken sob left my mouth. I wanted out... I was so tired of this life. I wanted more.

But there was no where I could go. I was alone.

I lifted my head to the sky, finally able to take a full breath at the sight.

The stars were so bright tonight, and they seemed to be even closer than usual. Their beauty temporarily distracted me from the pains of my life.

Suddenly, I remembered something I used to do when I was younger. It was so stupid, and I felt embarrassed for even thinking about it...But it did used to make me feel better.

'What the hell, not like anyone's gonna see or hear me.'

I sighed and found the brightest star in the sky then closed my eyes and whispered, "I need you...I wish you were real...Please, save me."

I stayed like that for a moment before opening my eyes and dropping my head. I felt oddly better...but nothing had changed.

Shaking my head, I moved to sit against a tree, closing my eyes to rest.

This would have to be my shelter for the night, unfortunately.

As I sat there, my body seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Eventually, I slumped over and drifted off.

As I fell asleep, however, a voice whispered to comfort me:

*********

"Don't worry. They're coming..."

When I woke up, something was different. Something was Off.

The sun beat down on me, and it was unbearably hot.

Also, what I layed on did not feel like grass and dirt. It felt more like sand...

My brows furrowed. 'Sand?'

Finally, I opened my eyes, only to find a bright sky with a sun.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes, thinking I must be hallucinating, but nothing changed.

"What the hell...?" I muttered to myself, looking around.

I was right, it was sand. Only sand.

I quickly tried to think back to the day before, but found nothing that would explain this.

The last thing I remember was running away from my mother, but I didn't run all the way to the desert.

I sat up and looked over myself, gasping quietly.

All the cuts and bruises from fighting Arlo's brother and his friends were gone. Did time pass and I just don't remember? If so, why? And what the hell happened to me?

I stood up slowly, looking around the desert. I could make out a small silhouette of a town far in the distance.

I let out a long sigh before moving in that direction, taking off my hoodie and putting it over my head to protect me from the scorching sun.

As I walked the only sounds I was hearing were the wind, and what I hoped was an animal in the distance.

Well, that was all I heard, until;

"You're going in the right direction, child. Keep going."

I gasped sharply and whipped around at the whisper of the mans voice, but no one was there. There was no one anywhere near me.

I rubbed my eyes, muttering, "I'm going insane..."

I shook my head and kept going. I still was confused on what I heard, but I couldn't dwell on it for right now. I had to find shelter from this heat, and find some water, or else it could be bad.

I walked for about an hour before finally reaching the town.

I nearly froze when I walked inside the walls, however.

Creatures of what seemed oddly familiar, walking around the streets.

They all looked so different.

'Where the hell am I?' I thought in fear.

I let out a small yelp as someone shoved my shoulder as they walked by, growling. "Move aside, kid."

I gasped and stumbled away quickly, eyes wide in fear and confusion.

A honk sounded and a creature, that looked a lot like a Nikto, shouted at me in a language I couldn't understand, but he seemed angry.

The strange being stopped yelling as I stood there dumfounded, but I was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was in something that seemed like a car, yet floated off the ground, and was driving right at me.

My eyes widened and jumped out of the way with a small scream. The man drove off, not throwing a second glance at me, even though he nearly ran me over.

My heart was pounding and beating so fast that I thought it would burst. I felt like I needed to cry, I was so confused. I didn't understand anything that was happening.

What are these creatures around me and why did it seem like something straight out of Star Wars?

My eyes watered as they darted around, looking at everything that moved. I was quickly becoming more and more overwhelmed, and I could feel myself spiraling.

As if things could get worse, a bell rang out, along with frantic yelling.

"They're coming!!" A woman screamed a warning, and the people around me immediately went into a panic.

People were yelling and running all around me, terorr obviously present, but I couldn't understand why.

I stopped a local running past me to talk to him, my voice shaking. "W-What's happening? Who is coming??"

The man looked at me, trembling with terror. "The droids. They're almost here. I- I saw them!"

"Droids?" I shook my head. "What droids? I don't know what you're talking about!"

The man went to answer, but a red bolt struck through his chest before he could get a word out. He fell to the ground with strangled cry, eyes still open in horror.

I stumbled back, letting out a scream as the man died infront of me. My breath trembled as he breathed his last.

I snapped my head up as another shot landed near me. I caught sight of the things that shot the blast, and blinked.

They were, infact, droids. The exact ones that I had been watching in The Clone Wars, just the day before.

My mind couldn't comprehend any of it, but the voice from earlier whispered; "Run, child! Run and hide!"

I didn't even question it. I didn't have time to. I just turned and ran as fast as I could, leaving behind the droids, who were bringing utter destruction.

I had no idea where to go or what to do, I was lost.

"To the left, take that path."

I didn't hesitate, knowing that with all the craziness, why not listen to the voice in my head?

Slowing down slightly, I took the path the voice instructed, sprinting forward.

"There's an entrance to a small bunker coming up, you must hide in there."

I just nodded, not even knowing if whoever was talking could see me or not. That was kind of the least of my concerns at the moment.

True to his word, there was a small door against what I assume was a house. I ran over and opened the doors, revealing a tiny room, dirt bricks making up the walls, and a few shelves lining them

I swallowed and jumped down into it, then quickly pulled the door shut and just waited, exhaling shakily.

I heard thuds and explosions all around me, shaking the little shelter.

Now that I was here and had a moment to think, the only thing that was going through my mind was; "How the hell am I gonna get out of here?"

I let out a small, fearful whimper, sitting down and curling into a ball, staring at the doors as they shook.

I sat there for what felt like hours, flinching everytime a blast went off, and just watching and waiting for a droid to open the door and kill me.

I heard screams of pain and fear, and I knew exactly what they meant. The people I was staring at in awe and confusion earlier were now being slaughtered. And for what?

Over time, the sounds changed. More blaster fire appeared, but the explosions started to cease, and I could hear men yelling orders to one another.

Someone was fighting back, I realized. But who, and why? Could they really beat those massive droids?

I'm not sure how long it lasted, but the firing stopped eventually. I had no idea who won, or if anyone did.

I sat in silence, fear shaking my whole body and dry tears decorated my face. I was too afraid to step out of the shelter, wondering if I'd be killed.

I haven't wished for home in a long time, but right now, I'd do anything to be held by my mother.

I heard voices and footsteps approach where I was hiding and froze, tensing more and holding my breath.

"General, what are you searching for?" Someone asked, their voice muffled.

"I...Do not know, Cody." Another responded, an accent I couldn't place lacing his words. "Something is here, however...someone. The force is leading me to them."

'The force?' I thought, brows twitching together. 'This can't be real...'

A few more words were exchanged by the men as the minutes ticked by, and I didn't move, barely taking a breath.

"Sir," The first voice, Cody, called out. "There's a bunker here."

My eyes widened as I heard the steps stop right above me. I looked up and watched as they opened the door.

I brought my hand up to block the sudden bright light from my eyes, narrowing them to try and see who found me as I shook.

It was silent for a moment before the one with the accent spoke. "Well...hello there, young one."

#the bad batch #star wars #the clones #writing #clone wars #wish come true #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars #twc #tbb

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