#donor catalog

[howdoesone]

How does one not freak out when their new friend’s mom says, “Your hair looks just like your father’s…from what I remember of the donor catalog”?

Building new friendships is an exciting experience, full of shared stories, mutual interests, and new discoveries about each other. However, sometimes conversations can take unexpected turns, leading to moments of discomfort or surprise. One such scenario is when a new friend’s mom remarks, “Your hair looks just like your father’s…from what I remember of the donor catalog.” For individuals…

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,213

—  warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

—  author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows ✨ i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊  

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Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.  

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms. 

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.  

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.  

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.  

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.  

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.   

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant? 

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.  

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.  

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.  

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.  

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.  

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.  

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake. 

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.     

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child. 

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.  

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.  

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.    

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.  

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.  

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.  

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.  

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…  

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.  

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.  

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?  

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.  

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.   

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.  

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body.  His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

Please note that the taglist is closed

[mariacallous]

In 2019, the American chattering class was atwitter about “cancel culture”: The New York Times reported on its popularity among teenagers; in 2020, Harper’s Magazine published “A Letter on Justice and Open Debate,” whose 153 world-renowned signatories—academics, writers, and artists—worried that a lack of “open debate” over police reform and other issues of social and racial justice was yielding to “dogma or coercion.”

Outside legacy media, cancel culture then became part and parcel of right-wing political agendas, with the End Woke Higher Education Act—which passed the U.S. House of Representatives on Sept. 19—marking one of several “anti-woke” initiatives launched by Republican congressional lawmakers.

A heavily reworked version of a 2022 German book, The Cancel Culture Panic by Adrian Daub offers a historical analysis of the so-called cancel culture moral panic that spread from the United States to the rest of the world. Daub argues that cancel culture is but the latest iteration of discussions of political correctness that emerged in the United States during the administration of former President Ronald Reagan.

Daub’s goal isn’t to catalog. Rather, he wants to reorient our attention and demystify fears in the United States, Europe, and elsewhere, as he believes that “[p]eople talk about cancel culture so that they don’t have to talk about other things, in order to legitimize certain topics, positions, and authorize and delegitimize others.”

Ultimately, Daub argues, hysteria over cancel culture keeps “us from finding solutions we desperately need” to widespread problems “of labor and job security,” the “digital public space,” and “accountability and surveillance.”

Daub begins by arguing that accusations of cancel culture obscure a widening gap between the “objective frequency of the phenomenon and its media presence.” Fears of alleged censorship, of excessive identity politics, and of “wokeness” are, Daub says, disproportionate to verified cancellations.

For example, the individuals who are often affected—for instance, professors at U.S. universities—have lost their jobs not because of cancel culture, but a specific academic or professional dispute. One example: “In 2021, Truckee Meadows Community College in Nevada moved to fire [math professor] Lars Jensen, citing two consecutive unsatisfactory performance reviews that accused him of ‘insubordination,’ among other things.” Specifically, Jensen had distributed “fliers at a state math summit that criticized the college’s math standards—a move Truckee Meadows administrators said disrupted the meeting.”

Cases of real “canceling” in America’s colleges and universities are thus in fact quite low; Daub notes, for example, that “[f]or the year 2021,” his research indicates that just a “total of four” professors “experienced what we would likely see reported in the press as a classic cancel story.” This, despite the conservative National Association of Scholars listing hundreds of cancellations.

Daub argues that “the persuasiveness of cancel culture warnings results from the fact that it insists on suddenness while actually drawing on well-established truisms and conventions.” Historically, he links the panic over cancel culture to fears over political correctness, which—reacting to feminism and the diversification of workplaces and universities—spread in the United States in the early 1990s, above all during the administration of President George H.W. Bush.

But Daub identifies a deeper discursive background: conservative narratives, which first emerged in the 1950s, that imagine U.S. higher education—really, the eight universities that make up the Ivy League—as bastions of “anti-Christian” bias and “anti-individualistic” ideologies.

In these narratives, which Daub argues were produced by members of “think tanks and nonprofit foundations set up by wealthy conservative donors” beginning in the 1970s, leftist academics insidiously swap canonical works—by William Shakespeare, Plato, Homer, and so on—with literature supposedly focused on identity and ethnicity, such as Toni Morrison’s Beloved and Alice Walker’s The Color Purple.

Intersecting with this backdrop, a wave of mainstream publications about political correctness’s apparent tyranny in the academy swept through the United States. These presented the concept sensationally, with “the flavor of the courtroom,” even if those presentations were “nowhere near the truth.”

In fact, Daub argues, a certain type of anecdote about cancel culture—imprecise, brief narratives from questionable sources with a punch line—are told as credible and received as plausible. For example: Psychology professor Jordan Peterson once reported in a viral video that a client of his was a bank employee who spoke of how their bank decided to cease using the term “flip chart” because it could be used “pejoratively to refer to Filipinos.”

Particular features of this and other cancel culture anecdotes develop, disappear, or are replaced with new details; in fact, this anecdote has been circulating since the 1990s, and sometimes features a Filipino gang member at a community panel meeting. Regardless, the more frequently that a cancel culture anecdote is referenced and recounted, the more that it gains credibility, and the more that it further inflames the moral panic over cancel culture.

Daub expands his analysis to our age of globalization—one in which, he argues, cancel culture anecdotes have helped produce moral panic in different global settings, becoming invariably linked to particular national issues, discussions, and societal anxieties.

In Germany, fears intersect with the concern that “left-wing censorship” and “identity politics from the left” will culminate, as theorized in political scientist Josef Joffe’s March 2021 Neue Zürcher Zeitung essay, in an imagined violent and wholesale cultural revolution. In the United Kingdom, cancel culture arrived after Brexit and became, in Daub’s assessment, “at least in part a crutch for managing the shambolic aftermath of the decision to leave.”

And if Europeans obsess about U.S. universities, in Russia and Turkey, Daub writes, “the focus is on popular culture and social media.” In March 2022, for example, Russian President Vladimir Putin compared the West’s reaction to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine to the supposed cancellation of Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling for her views on transgender people.

In his conclusion, Daub interrogates how “calls for a defense of liberal values” against critical race theory, the so-called woke campus, or cancel culture in publications such as Le Figaro, the Wall Street Journal, and the Atlantic can morph into—or at least indirectly contribute to—illiberal political-governmental restrictions on speech and institutions.

For instance, following the flurry of articles on cancel culture in 2019, Florida Gov. Ron Desantis signed the Stop WOKE Act into state law on April 22, 2022, and positioned himself as a 2024 presidential candidate in part by whipping up hysteria about cancel culture.

But, more broadly, Daub sees the anti-cancel culture movement as advancing a dark and illiberal vision of institutions and society. For him, “figures like the Le Pens [of France], the Trumps [of the United States], [Austria’s] Jörg Haider, [Italy’s] Silvio Berlusconi, [the United Kingdom’s] Boris Johnson, and [Brazil’s] Jair Bolsonaro … retain a certain conservative institutionalism, while they simultaneously participate in the populist/authoritarian degradation of institutions,” and they do this in part through using the tool of the cancel culture panic.

For these leaders, universities teach junk to students; companies go woke and go broke; the military is weak due to diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts; and experts are politically correct drones. All while casting themselves as liberal and tolerant, these illiberal figures construct straw man arguments from the legitimate concerns of minority perspectives and dismiss them as cancel culture; this allows for the powerful and privileged to reinforce political and social hierarchies, uphold majority rule, and crush opposition.

The fact that the cancel culture panic spread to other countries indicates how U.S. soft power remains operative. Nevertheless, despite Daub’s insights into the moral panic in the United States, Europe, and Latin America, he does not, for example, engage with its occurrence in China, where competitive social media platforms, streaming and video platforms, and state-run media outlets drive a “real” version of “cancellation.”

In 2021, for example, there were a series of high-profile celebrity cancellations in China; some transgressors were imprisoned, others not. The latter group included actor Zhang Zhehan, though, in his case, being “canceled” meant losing work and removal from social media platforms: in August 2021, Zhang was “canceled” because of old vacation photos showing Zhang posing with cherry blossoms, which had been taken in the open park area of Japan’s Yasukuni Shrine, which honors Japanese war criminals involved in the atrocities of World War II.

Furthermore, the intense public concern about cancel culture in the United States seems to have modulated itself. One reason might be related to changes in perceptions about the political alignments of Big Tech and social media companies. According to a 2024 study conducted by the Pew Research Center, Americans are overall inclined to see Big Tech corporations as more aligned with liberal than with conservative views. But these views now run up against the reality of Big Tech’s political donations in this year’s U.S. presidential election. “Silicon Valley,” as reported in The Guardian, “poured more than $394.1m into the US presidential election this year,” and most of that—$242.6m—was given by Elon Musk.

Americans’ perceptions of Big Tech corporations also now collide with how changes in the ownership and operation of Big Tech and social media companies have affected platforms, their attention economy, and the way that they circulate information.

It was announced after Musk acquired Twitter in October 2022—which he claimed to do because he wanted to protect “free speech”—that the rechristened “X” would discontinue its policy prohibiting COVID-19 misinformation; at the same time, algorithm changes led to X’s promotion of false viral information about the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The Center for Countering Digital Hate issued a November 2023 report declaring that 98 percent of misinformation, antisemitism, Islamophobia, and other hate speech vis-à-vis the Israel-Hamas war remained publicly viewable on X after a week of notice was given to the social media site.

Meanwhile, in 2023, Twitter—like Meta and Alphabet, the parent companies of Facebook and Google, respectively—dumped a significant number of its content moderators. While Gizmodo reported in 2016 that Facebook workers routinely suppressed conservative news in the “trending topics” section, a recent study published in Science and Nature showed that “[a]udiences who consume political news on Facebook are, in general, right-leaning.” And as reported in El País, 97 percent of links to what Meta’s fact-checkers deem to be “fake” news “circulate among conservative users.” (It’s fair to wonder whether cancel culture memes figure prominently among these links.)

Cancel culture panic’s newest inflections might also be related to a shift in who seeks to do the “canceling”: Rather than only cultural left—which prompted the era of #TimesUp, #MeToo, and Black Lives Matter—the cultural right also now commands public attention. In 2023, conservatives in America “canceled” Bud Light because of a social media promotion by TikTok personality and transgender woman Dylan Mulvaney, and the new Star Wars TV show The Acolyte, because it centered women and people of color.

Will U.S. citizens become fed up with the ways that Big Tech and social media feed panic on both sides of the country’s political divides? According to the aforementioned Pew Research Center study, large majorities of Americans believe that social media companies as possess too much political power and as censor political viewpoints that they reject.

But political will appears to be lacking in the United States to do much about it. In contrast, in August 2023, the European Union enacted the Digital Services Act, which aims to curb online hate, child sexual abuse, and disinformation.

Still, the panic about leftist cancel culture hasn’t so much faded from Americans’ consciousness as it has transformed. The idea of “wokeness” was the primary axis on which U.S. President-elect Trump oriented his latest campaign rhetoric. “Kamala is For They/Them. President Trump is For You,” voters were told in one prominent anti-woke campaign advert.

Now an anti-cancel culture president and his anti-woke cabinet are chomping at the bit. Stephen Miller, Trump’s nominee to become his Homeland Security advisor, launched America First Legal in 2021, filing more than 100 legal actions against “woke corporations” and others. And Musk, who vowed in 2021 to “destroy the woke mind virus,” along with entrepreneur Vivek Ramaswamy, who wrote the 2021 book Woke, Inc.: Inside Corporate America’s Social Justice Scam, were named by Trump to lead a department that aims to “delete” aspects of the U.S. federal government deemed too costly.

One shudders at the possibility that other liberal democracies will follow the path of cancel culture panic as far as the United States now has.

[bremser]

Berenice Abbott in Philip Johnson’s apartment

Berenice Abbott, 1930 (Walker Evans) / Philip Johnson, 1933 (Carl Van Vechten)

These portraits are the most obvious choices from this time period and conveniently suggest the biographical contrast between the two: Abbott had been a struggling American artist in Paris, an assistant to Man Ray, but she later established a portrait business, built a reputation and gained a steady flow of sitters. In January 1929, at age 30, she left for New York.

Abbott departed on the ship from France with the archive of Eugène Atget: 17 crates according to the Julia van Haaften's biography. She naively thought selling Atget prints and licensing would provide a healthy income.

The new architecture of the city enthralled her and Abbott quickly began to conceive and photograph a topographic survey of the city. By fall 1929 the stock market had crashed, the Great Depression had begun and the portrait business was no longer promising. Abbott wanted to charge $150 a portrait, at a time when you could get one done for a dollar. This environment forced her to change business models, looking for patrons for the New York project.

Abbott first encountered Philip Johnson in New York in 1931, at the “Rejected Architects” exhibit, a salon des refusés for modern architects and an early introduction of the International Style to New York.

Johnson was a 25-year-old who came from inherited wealth. Rachel Maddow’s "Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism" suggests his portfolio produced, in today’s dollars, from $240,000 to $1.2M in dividends a year. His financial backing of the architecture department at MOMA resulted in him becoming director of that department. He had discovered Mies van der Rohe on one of his traipses across the continent and was eager to bring the new style to New York. While Johnson was financially very comfortable, he had unsatisfied ambitions, larger than being a curator of architecture and beyond architecture itself. 

In 1932 Abbott was part of MOMA’s Murals by American Painters and Photographers exhibit, which Johnson certainly would have been aware of, if not directly involved in, as the point of the show was large modern murals for architecture projects such as Rockefeller Center in the form of seven by twelve foot murals. Greg Allen has the backstory on that exhibit (since his 2010 post the full catalog with her photos has been published on the MOMA site).

For her New York survey, Abbott was looking for $18,750 ($390,000 in today’s dollars), enough to fund a year long project, travel, a car with two full time assistants to deliver 350-500 prints and negatives. Johnson did not financially support Abbott’s New York project, nor did the museum sponsor it, but he offered a strong letter of recommendation, on MOMA letterhead: "You have a deep love for New York, you are an excellent photographic technician and you have the artistic power of selecting the essential."

The goal was to find 75 patrons among the wealthy MOMA donors to contribute $250 each. Despite Johnson’s endorsement, this fundraising effort was a flop. It would take her until 1940 to finish it, but "Changing New York" became one of the great photographic projects of the 20th century.

Van Haaften describes an architecture and photography exhibition Johnson and Abbott planned to do together, called "America Deserta," about the visual repercussions of the Depression. It sounds like an early version of what we now call "ruin porn." She writes that Johnson could have financed the project out of his own pocket, but neither he, nor the museum, pulled the trigger. (Decades later, architecture critic Reyner Banham wrote an excellent book about the actual desert titled "Scenes in America Deserta")

Johnson was doing interior design in New York for friends and acquaintances, hoping the examples of his work could help establish him (and the International Style he had signed on with). An early project was for MOMA’s Alfred Barr. Mark Lamster writes in "Man in the Glass House" that Barr couldn’t afford the real Mies furniture that Johnson had already acquired for himself, so Johnson designed knock-off tubular chairs. 

cover of Arts and Decoration, September 1933, from the Burlingame, California library via archive.org

Johnson’s own apartment was his first top-to-bottom interior design project. He was eager, bordering on desperate to get paying clients, to establish himself. He didn't need the money, but wanted clients as a stamp of approval from the New York elite, like the Rockefellers. He enlisted Abbott to take photos to premiere it in Arts and Decoration magazine.

The International Style had already taken root in Los Angeles, but New York was not ready for what he was offering. Perhaps Abbott’s photos of his apartment are part of why the new thing seemed unconvincing. Starting with the watercolor cover or paging through this magazine aimed at the wealthy, the features contrast traditional style versus examples of the new style.

If you've never been in a modern interior before and these photos are your first glimpse, it's not appealing. Johnson was no Neutra and he had not found his Julius Shulman. The magazine's reproduction quality of the photography is not good. Abbott's photographs feel cramped. The lighting is a combination of murky corners and distracting shadows. The styling, a fiddle leaf fig, the place settings at the dining table, feels forced.

In terms of art history, the most interesting of Abbott's photographs features a painting directly from the Bauhaus. It's Oskar Schlemmer's Bauhaus Stairway (1932). Lamster outlines the very messy deal that brought the painting to New York. In March 1933 Barr asks Johnson to buy it, unseen, thinking it will end up at MOMA. As the Nazis breathe down Schlemmer's neck for being a "degenerate artist," Johnson sends a telegram offering a price, but then claims a typo added a zero and pays 10x less. This dispute isn't resolved until after the year 2000. Johnson keeps the painting in his collection for another ten years.

the captions drop the "e" Abbott had added to her name (Bernice vs Berenice).

What explains the vast difference between the great photos Abbott is making on the streets of New York and these mediocre interiors? She creates "Exchange Place" the same year. Spending time with Abbott’s archive on NYPL and Getty looking for interior photos to compare to these photos of Johnson's apartment to, left me with another question: Why are photographs of interiors uncommon until the 1940s? In her Paris portraits the interior of her studio plays a significant role as background.

Van Haaften writes that Abbott is using two cameras in these early years in New York: 

5x7 inch view camera (with reducing back to 12x9cm, which is a large “medium format” negative )

Graflex that she acquired to do portraits of Guggenheim children (probably a 4x5 inch press style camera).

Abbott is on a ladder to make the photographs of Johnson's place and perhaps the combination of lens focal length and the size of the apartment presented a challenge in creating enough space. It’s possible, despite the two cameras, that she simply didn’t have a wide enough lens to do interior work at a time when lenses were expensive and money was tight. Or that she didn’t prefer to use spotlights or flash. Perhaps her focus was so intense on the exterior of the city that she rarely set up the camera indoors.

For Johnson, it’s possible to imagine if New York had been more open to the new style, if the magazine caused a stir, if he was encouraged to become an architect at this moment, his descent into fascism would have never happened. After the photos are published in the September 1933 issue, 1934 is a rollercoaster year for Johnson: he has a breakout hit of an exhibit in Machine Art (March-April). But by December, he quits MOMA to focus on his fascist party. He’s 28 years old. His pursuit of the fantasy of a domestic version of Nazism brings him to Germany, to cheer on the invasion of Poland. Lamster writes that he only to returns to architecture in 1941, when it’s clear that he has barely escaped being charged with treason. He goes from being a millionaire who shipped his own car to Europe for his Nazi tour to cleaning Army toilets.

Van Haaften’s biography of Berenice Abbott is not specific about when Abbott broke off her friendship with Johnson. We can assume it happens sometime between the apartment photoshoot and Johnson leaving MOMA. Abbott was a communist or socialist for most of her life and American Nazis like Johnson were very clear on what they would do to communists if they gained power. Van Haaften writes: "the two friends later parted ways over Johnson’s political views and his enthusiasm for the Third Reich." The book's footnote indicates the source for this is her 1993 phone interview with … Philip Johnson.

[wutheringheightsfilm]

interview with the vampire art history lesson part 2:

Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion, Francis Bacon, c. 1944. Held at the Tate Britain in London. Here is its catalog listing.

So! This is the painting that has been on the wall of Louis and Armand's apartment, and that Season 2 makes a point to emphasize that they're selling. Full disclosure, modern British art history is not my forte, but I have covered this in a British art history survey class, and this is arguably one of Bacon's most famous works, so there's a lot of literature you can find on this. Let's discuss!!!

Now, one claim that you can try to make here about the relationship of this painting with Armand specifically is that Armand is now connected to two 'Christian' artworks (see my post on The Adoration of the Shepherds with a Donor here): one that marks the beginning of Christ's (semi)mortal life, and one that marks the end of it, which is definitely interesting, but the thing is with this Three Studies piece is that Francis Bacon put a lot of emphasis on the fact that this is a crucifixion, not the Crucifixion. Francis Bacon was an atheist, however, a lot of his work does revolve around either critiquing or dealing with Christianity (this is not his only work to reference/allude to or show the Crucifixion, as well as his other very famous work, Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X). It was a very nuanced, complex topic for him that is way beyond the scope of this post.

Interestingly, though, Bacon has made a point to say that "faith is a fantasy" [1]----which is definitely something interesting in relation to Armand...

What Three Studies is definitely associated with, though, is World War II and Greek tragedy.

The catalog entry from the Tate spends a while discussing the process of this painting, and how Bacon may have drawn from his various experiences during World War II (he was in the ARP during the London Blitz), as well as other works made around this time (namely, Figure Getting Out of a Car and Man in a Cap) referencing various Nazi imagery that Bacon had seen impacting his process for creating this triptych. Various scholars have cited Bacon as interested in the dynamics of power and violence, and the imagery of the triptych can be interpreted as either the perpetrator and/or the victim [2]. Bacon has also confirmed that this painting references the Eumenides (the Furies who are responsible for enacting revenge in Greek mythology) [3 + 4].

Now that we've covered the very basics of this work, let's discuss how this might relate to Louis and Armand. This work being present in the show has raised some interesting points for me, and some questions:

The show makes a point of emphasizing that they're selling this work. Since this work is so closely related to World War II, and Louis and Armand are currently trying to relay their experiences during World War II, is the selling of it symbolic of either 1) 'selling' their story to Daniel or 2) finally closing out that chapter in their lives?

It is interesting that in their apartment, there is only modern and post-modern artwork and architecture. I wonder how deeply this ties to Armand's trauma, since he himself was modeled (whitewashed as he was) in Late Renaissance/Mannerism artwork from the 1500s. How much of that experience drives his taste in art?

Bacon's juxtaposition and struggle with violence, power, and the dynamic of the perpetrator/victim is extremely interesting... the thoughts are still cooking about this one.

What do u guys think.... i've been microwaving this in my head all day along with the other painting!

Works Cited + Referenced:

[1] D. Farson, The Gilded Gutter Life of Francis Bacon, London, 1994, p. 134. [Taken from this JSTOR article, further cited below] [2] Referencing the catalogue here, which cites: Ziva Amishai-Maissels, Depiction and Interpretation: The Influence of the Holocaust on the Visual Arts, Oxford, New York, Seoul and Tokyo 1993, pp.189-90, 225-6, 354. [3] M[ichael] C[ompton], letter to Francis Bacon, 6 Jan. 1959, Tate Gallery cataloguing files. [4] Francis Bacon, letter to Tate Gallery, [9 Jan. 1959], Tate Gallery cataloguing files. [5] Arya, Rina. “The Primal Cry of Horror: The A-Theology of Francis Bacon.” Artibus et Historiae 32, no. 63 (2011): 275–83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41479747.

[she-karev]

Mother's Day (Marina Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Three of Three

Fandom: Station 19

Ship: Maya x Carina

AN: Happy Mother’s Day guys! Here’s the last chapter of this Mother’s Day story that will focus on our favorite Station 19 couple Maya Bishop and Carina DeLuca as mothers to Liam.

Edit: I edited this story a bit so it can take place a year after the series finale. I thought with the writers protests the storyline was set in 2023 instead of 2024 so I accommodated this story with that. And with Maya and Carina getting pregnant in the end I wanted to show their daughter.

Summary: Maya and Carina have a party at the station with the others where they sign the adoption papers making them Liam’s official parents.

Words: 1179

May 12, 2024

“Did you get the cake?” Carina asks Maya in excitement while feeding Liam in a highchair. Liam smiles widely at Carina feeding him another spoonful of banana baby puree from a jar.

Meanwhile their daughter, Andrea, is inside a car seat on the table. She watches her mother feed her brother making baby noises that cause Carina to smile at her baby every five seconds, overcome with how adorable her babies are.

Maya enters the beanery smiling and carrying a large white box with a manila folder on top.

“Yes, I did, and I think your gonna like the design I picked out for this very special day.” Maya sets the box on the table and Carina wipes Liam’s mouth before picking him up so they can go to Maya.

“Did you bring the-”

Maya answers her question before she can finish by picking up the manila folder that contains the adoption papers for them to sign and take to the courthouse tomorrow, “My love do you really still doubt me after all these years?”

Carina grins at Maya’s smugness, “It’s a big day today and we can’t afford any missteps.” Carina turns to Liam and speaks in a baby voice, “But lucky for us your mama is organized and never forgets her keys let alone a paper making us your legal mommy’s. And making you a big brother to your little sister in every way possible."

When Maya and Carina heard the good news from the fertility doctor that Maya’s eggs were successfully fertilized with the sperm, they selected from the donor catalog they decided to freeze them. They wanted to wait until after they adopted Liam to give him a sibling because they wanted to focus fully on him and making him a part of their family.

After their lawyer told them their chances of adopting were good once Liam's father signed away his rights, the women decided not to put it off any longer. They both agreed neither of them were getting younger and their window was small so they had to take it.

Then in May last year Carina told Maya the embryo finally took and they were having another baby.

Maya smiles at the memory as she looks down at their daughter who already has Maya's blonde hair and blue eyes. The sight makes her smile at the family she finally has with the woman she loves.

She looks at Liam in Carina's arms, "Now Liam being a big brother is really important. Your gonna protect your sibling and teach them things we can’t.”

“That’s right.” Carina lightly bounces Liam in her arms, “If it wasn’t for me your Zio Andrea wouldn’t know his head from his butt.”

“Hey, come on I think I could’ve survived being an only child.” Andrew walks into the beanery carrying a large blue gift-wrapped box with his wife Amber DeLuca nee Karev walking beside him carrying their 1-year-old daughter Lucy in her arms. The women can see that despite Amber looking elegant in a gothic sense with her black turtleneck hugging her torso and black pleated pants she looks tired and disheveled.

Amber exhales as if she was running a marathon, “We’re not too late, are we?”

“Nope your right on time.” Andy Herrera tells her as she enters the beanery with Vic, Ben and Bailey. Vic and Travis are visiting Seattle from Washington to settle board meetings for Crisis One. They heard about the party and insisted on showing up.

Andy takes out a water bottle from the fridge, “We’re just waiting for Montgomery and Gibson to show up.”

Andrew exhales in relief, “Thank God, we would have come sooner but the struggle was real getting Lucy out of the house.”

Carina chuckles and leans face to face with Lucy who looks adorable in her denim overall dress with her short wavy brown hair up in pigtails, “Don’t worry Lucy, I forgive you because you are the most adorable nipote in the world!” Lucy giggles at Carina’s exasperated voice.

Amber smiles at her sister-in-law, “Well your adorable nipote has been very active lately.”

“And very stubborn about what she wants.” Andrew chips in and whispers to Maya next to him, “I ‘terribili due’ non sono uno scherzo.” (Translation: The terrible twos are no joke.) Amber puts Lucy down to her feet and she immediately runs to Maya hugging her legs causing Carina and the others to aww at the adorable sight.

Maya chuckles and picks up Lucy in her arms who stares up at her with huge blue eyes, “Come on she’s not even two yet.”

“Oh, try telling her that.” Amber tells her as she sets up the table while Andrew walks over to Carina smiling at his nephew who grins at him.

Amber smiles at her 5-month-old niece on the table who is also named after her husband. She reminisces when her own daughter, Lucy, was this small and compliant.

"Oh I remember when Lucy was this small, it feels like so long ago."

Maya grins with Lucy still in her arms, "It was a year ago."

"Exactly." Amber states, "In parent years it feels like a century. Trust me you'll know what it's like only it'll be double the trouble with two babies. I'll ask April to pray for you two."

Andrew chuckles at Liam’s squishy face feeling nostalgic and sharing Amber's feelings, “Yep enjoy this age while you can sis because pretty soon, he’s gonna start scribbling on the walls, scaring you half to death when he tries to climb the stairs by himself and pulling your hair when you end bathtime.” Carina chuckles at Andrew’s misery, “Seriously you guys enjoy this age of innocence it goes by so fast.”

“How strong is the coffee here?” Amber asks Andy.

“We have military issue if you can handle it.”

“I’ll take a cup.” Amber moves to the coffeemaker.

“Make it two.” Amber nods at Andrew’s request. Gibson and Montgomery enter the room carrying balloons and greeting everyone with smiles.

“Hey, we’re not too late, are we?”

“Nope we wouldn’t sign these papers without everyone present.” Maya tells Jack.

Soon Beckett, Theo, and Sullivan come on and they gather around the counter where the manila folder is. Carina turns to Andrew and he gladly holds Liam for her with Amber next to him carrying Lucy. Travis grabs the carseat and sets it on the counter so Andrea can watch her big brother finally be a part of the family in legals terms.

Maya takes a deep breath before opening the folder, taking the paper out and grabbing the pen from her shirt pocket clicking it.

“Here we go.” Maya looks at Carina who smiles in joy while Vic is on the other side of the counter filming this moment on her phone with a smile. Maya signs her cursive on one of the two dotted lines on the bottom. She holds the pen out to Carina with a smile, “We’re halfway there.”

Carina smiles taking the pen, “Let me finish it then.” Carina leans down the counter and signs her own name below Maya’s. As soon as she finishes everyone around them cheers. Maya laughs and brings out the cake revealing the design. It’s a white rectangular sheet cake with a blue wave like ocean at the bottom with Goldfish crackers swimming in it and a reel with a line in the frosty sea. Across the white sheet written in blue frosting on top is ‘O-fish-aly Ours!’ Liam DeLuca-Bishop 05-12-24’

The group chuckles and awes at the cake with Carina joking, “Bambina you have now reached cheesy parent status.”

“Well, it’s all for my son.” Maya takes Liam from Andrew’s arms and smiles at him, “Did you hear that little dude? I’m officially your mama!” Liam smiles wide as Carina wraps her arms around Maya’s torso pulling both of them against her.

“That’s right bambino, we’re your mama’s in heart and paper now.” They coo at the baby while Andy gets two blue baby bottles that are filled with white wine instead of milk. She gives them to the legal mommy’s with a smile.

“Courtesy of Tia Andy so you guys can toast properly to getting through the first year with him.”

Maya chuckles at the bottles, “Thank you.” Carina holds up her bottle to toast and Maya does the same, “Cheers to…not dropping him on his head.”

“Or swallowing a safety pin. Cheers and a happy Mother’s Day, mommy!”

Maya smiles at the coincidence of both the adoption date and Mother’s Day set at the same time as if fate knew they were meant to be mother’s all along, “Happy Mother’s Day, mama.” They clink their bottles and celebrate their first day as official parents to their beloved and beautiful son.

[mkengland]

Hi friends. I have a LOT of words to write in the next two months for multiple deadlines, and a whole lot of people need help. I’m combining those two things into my own personal little Write-a-thon for Mutual Aid and Disaster Relief! This is unaffiliated with any other organization or person—just me trying to turn my grief into something helpful for others.

You:

Pledge to donate a certain amount to one of the listed organizations for every 10,000 words I write between October 2 and November 30—OR make a fixed amount donation up front.

Donate directly to the organization—I never touch the money.

Provide your receipt as proof of donation.

Get entered to win a prize package from me (if you opt-in).

I will:

Post a thank you graphic with a list of all pledged donors (you can be anonymous).

Report my word count weekly, with a daily breakdown, also on instagram and my website.

Report a total donation amount at the end with another finalized thank you list of donors on both instagram and via my newsletter.

Make a donation of my own to add to the total.

Randomly select a few opted-in donors to receive their choice of book from my back catalog—or maybe all of you if there are only a few.

I have a (still unannounced!) book due on 11/15, so I anticipate writing around 50,000 words before then, plus whatever I can manage afterward through 11/30 on other deadline projects. I estimate that a donation of $1 per 10,000 words would end up as about $5–6, and $10 per 10,000 words would be about $50–60.

Benefitting: Mutual Aid Disaster Relief, Operation Olive Branch families with young children, and many others. See the full list.

♥ ♥ ♥

Head to http://www.mkengland.com/writeathon to view the full list of supported organizations, find the pledge form, and see the FAQ.

Thank you for considering. ♥

[gravehags]

keep thinking about yesterday when one of the big museum donors came into my cataloging space, told me i’m a “goddess” for the work i do, organized a year’s worth of periodicals for me, then left…not all heroes wear capes tbh

[witchofthesouls]

At least Tarn's a tank and can help feeding the little ones when the nurse sleeps or works.

Unfortunately no. In the donor clause au, Tarn's a Seekerkin mech. Any kind of personal refineries or shared fueling systems will be incompatible with any frame he has.

Nickel had beat that into his head before the impulse to get a botch job from a catalog took root. Tarn simply gets a thing for your own wells and becomes a walking encyclopedia on various personal refineries and fueling systems.

Unless it's bottle feeding, then yes. Luckily, the nurse has fantastic production. There's a nice surplus in the medbay and Tarn's quarters. He gets the bottle for the newsparks can suckle. Thankfully, Seekerkin sparklings develop a fueling rhythm within the clutch, so only one or two (particular to the split-sparks) need to be fed at a time and around the clock.

Seekerkin femmes have unique refineries of pure protoform. The D.J.D. got a good look at yours and are highly curious because it's not the silicone bags that needs to be emptied out before packed away like they're used to.

Helex and Tesarus were in a room with their own out and went, "Oh yeah, those are different. Let's ask Nickel."

Nickel understands what they're asking about. It's the same quirk that's that was an issue in Prion among their own brand of Seekerkin. Because on Prion, everyone had multiple alt-modes. It came with its own challenges to get their frames and coding in smooth order. Depending on the mecha's spark, some alt-mode unique characteristics need to be suppressed or taken out to work with others.

Because Nickel enjoys her submarine alt-mode, she doesn't have personal refineries. She has an external fueling system that's similar to a convoy where the access points are hidden along her torso and the cables can be pulled to a certain distance where it's tapped into her internal hold.

[the-ace-with-spades]

Unhinged fic idea incoming...

An AU where Buck is the one looking for a sperm donor.

Buck is trans in this AU fyi and there's trans pregnancy and related stuff involved

He's obviously in love with Eddie, had been for a long time, and for a little bit after he and Taylor broke up, he hoped.

But then nothing happens. Because nothing ever happens between them, no matter how many nights he stays over, how many dinners he cooks, how many times they go out, how many times they spend the evening like a family -- they're not. Chris is not his son, Eddie is not his partner, and there's nothing happening.

And Buck, at that point, is tired of hoping for and waiting to have his own family.

This is when Connor shows up -- Buck was stealth back when they lived together so he explains, that sorry, dude, no dick or anything like that here, so can't give you sperm.

But Connor gives him an idea.

At first he thinks it's crazy and pushes the thought back because it seems to be more of a fantasy than anything - Buck having his own child without another person involved.

But then, well, why not? There are single mothers that decide to keep a baby from accidental pregnancies all over the world and Eddie is a single dad himself -- if he can do it, why couldn't Buck? He's got a stable job, financially he's okay, he hasn't had any health issues in a while, he wants to be a dad more than anything, and he wants a family more than anything, even if just a small one.

So he sets a plan in motion, talks to his doctor, goes off both HRT and birth control and starts looking for someone willing to donate sperm to him or sleep with him.

He's got a few candidates lined up - past friends, mostly, because he wants someone he knows and can trust with such a delicate process, someone who won't take advantage of the situation - and when his period finally comes back after two months off testosterone, he starts calling up.

He's got one guy he used to date in the fire academy who has agreed to try and get him pregnant. They meet up, they talk about what they're more comfortable with - Buck was going to go with the good old cup and syringe method insemination, but Gabe says they could have some fun while at it.

It's going alright - they meet up for sex two-three times a week, there's absolutely zero feeling to it, and after two months of trying, nothing happens.

And then the crew finds out.

There's lots of opinions and questions why ('I'm tired of waiting to have my own family') and why couldn't he just wait until he finds someone ('I want a baby, not a partner, and I'm not getting younger and the timing is right'). Eventually, he explains everything and tells them the plan and all the preparations he's done -- medical, financial, housing, etc. and everyone realizes this isn't something he's doing on a whim and agrees to support him.

Everyone except Eddie.

Who seems to be incredibly offended that Buck 1) didn't tell him about the plan, 2) didn't ask him to be the baby daddy donor and instead asked some other random guy.

Buck, because he's oblivious, thinks Eddie's weird behaviour is only due to the first reason and gets defensive that he doesn't have to tell Eddie about all his life choices any time Eddie brings up the topic.

Cue month three of trying to get pregnant and Buck tells Gabe hey, I actually would prefer to switch to the cup and syringe method. And the dude blows up about how he's only doing it for the sex and he's infertile anyway so whatever Buckley.

Obviously, that's upsetting because he's just wasted three months but also because he trusted Gabe and it turned out like this - so how is he supposed to trust any other guys on the candidate list?

Everyone on the team is sympathetic - Athena offers to get that guy for extraction of sex under false pretense - but Buck just kinda feels like giving up. Hen mentions he can just use a clinic's donor, doesn't have to be doing IVF for that, just get a donor catalog and go for the specimen to the clinic or have it delivered to his house and do the syringe method anyway. It's going to cost some money but still cheaper than IVF.

Eddie still hates the idea.

And Buck gets one catalog and brings it to the station so he can talk to Hen about it (since she and Karen had gone through the process before) and Eddie is really snarky the whole day about it, with little comments here or there.

At some point, Buck just can't take it and tells him, 'If you think I'll make such a bad parent why don't you just tell me to my face, loud and clear.'

Obviously, Eddie tones down immediately. Explains that hey, this isn't what I meant, I just don't like the idea of you having a kid with a stranger you know nothing about.

They have a whole discussion when Buck confesses he doesn't like it either but he's desperate and please don't make me question it even more, I just want a baby at whatever cost.

So Eddie takes the opportunity and says, 'I'll be your sperm donor.'

Buck knows it's a bad idea but it's also the best he can get from Eddie - maybe he won't love him and maybe they won't be a family in a little unit of four, but he'll have a baby that's a little bit like him.

Because he has the rest of his self-preservation and doesn't want his heart to break any more, he insists on doing it with the cup and syringe method.

Which backfires spectacularly since he's literally sitting outside Eddie's bedroom while he comes into a cup and when it's his turn to lie down on the same bed and do the insemination, Eddie is like, I could help you with that, probably easier if someone else does it for you. What was supposed to be a simple procedure of draw the sperm into a syringe, inject the syringe's contents up your vagina has just changed into something very intimate.

They try for three months like that and once again, Buck is starting to think there's something wrong with him because he's not getting pregnant. And like, he cries about that a little bit even though he knows it takes six months on average to get pregnant and Eddie offers, you guessed it, let's try it the standard way because maybe that will help (knowing fully well it only busts the chances of getting pregnant by like five percent tops). Buck is desperate, so things happen.

They start having sex.

And Eddie gets, like, really obsessed with it too, just so Buck finally gets pregnant and stops feeling like it's his fault it's not happening faster. He is also tracking Buck's cycles, too, now, and plans for them to have sex on all his predicted fertile days. When one of those days falls when they're on duty, they have sex in the back of the (parked inside the station) truck.

The universe apparently thinks it's funny because that's the lucky time...

Buck is pregnant and so happy he doesn't realize Eddie is mentally freaking out because 1) that means they'll stop having sex and more importantly 2) Buck is having his baby and he's expected to let him parent them alone and never say a thing, just observe from the sidelines as a friend (which ironically is how Buck's felt about Eddie and Chris...)

It quickly proves to be impossible - Buck's got his first ultrasound scheduled and Eddie is like, 'I'm going with you' because he can't imagine not being there for Buck in such an important moment and not seeing the baby for the first time with him.

Which sets off an argument because Eddie was supposed to be a donor not dad and Eddie finally loses his cool and yells, 'I can't.'

Buck is definitely not getting it and is upset because Eddie still doesn't love him but he's already gotten attached to the baby that was meant to be his only in DNA. It's irrational but he feels like Eddie's going to take even this from him, the baby that was supposed to be the small part of Eddie and his dream family he could have.

And Eddie feels guilty because he promised he'll just be a donor but it turns out he can't, he feels like he tricked Buck into this situation. He can't quite literally make this worse so why not just come clean, right? Tell Buck he's sorry and he's in love with him and he really did offer to be a donor thinking he could be just a donor but he can't let go.

Obviously they get together before the first ultrasound.

The only problem now is no one at the station knows that Eddie is the baby daddy, and not some anonymous donor from a catalog.

Chaos ensures

[sehtoast]

From Ashes to Home (Depowered Homelander x OC)

18+

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: Some ghosts aren't meant to be found, but the case of Homelander's mother is one that deserves to be revealed. He deserves a chance to know what's left of her. Chapter 11 of All of You is Left to Love. Not plot dependent.

Warnings: Smut if you squint, parental death themes, he's finally allowed to grieve. Vought's catalog of inflicted horrors.

OC: Benjamin Colyer (The Boys-verse Spider-Man)

Special thanks to @theonlymanintheskyisme for beta reading <3

Fic Directory

I just… I wish I knew anything about her.

Those words echoed in Ben’s mind for days on end, endlessly looping in that sad, defeated whisper. Somehow, the subject of Homelander’s parentage came up, and, well…

It always was a tender topic.

He hated the way John bit back his tears. The way he hid himself behind an air of indifference lest he let the last pillar of his defenses crumble to dust.

Even now, after all this time, he still struggled to really let it out. But Ben always knew. Could always tell by the twitch of Homelander’s lip, the scrunch of his nose, the way he wouldn’t blink as a way to hold back his tears.

He made a silent promise to find all that he could as he held Homelander that night. Each brush of his hand through his once god-like lover’s hair a vow to find something, anything that could bring him closer to the mother he never knew.

Every day that followed, Ben found himself more and more consumed by ideas on how to find her. Would he have to bribe someone? Money was certainly no worry. Would he have to intimidate people? Most likely, but it wasn’t particularly hard to get the staff in Vital Records to shit their pants.

Would he have to march into Stan’s office and make more demands?

Luckily, being the new head of The Seven came with many perks, even more so for actually being liked by the staff at Vought Tower.

What little information referenced John’s parentage only directly named Soldier Boy, who'd already revealed himself as Homelander’s father. Granted, that information was updated by Homelander himself after it came to light. Prior to that, the line for the father's name had been blank.

Perhaps sperm donor was a better title... He hadn't exactly been father of the year when he tried to go nuclear– much less a decent grandfather for leaving Ryan battered.

Ben admittedly had a chuckle over their shared first name, but he found it incredibly odd that Vought named the mother by a code.

1-G.

Benjamin spent several hours a day in the record center’s library of paper files. Many of them were scheduled to be destroyed after being recreated digitally, but it’d take an army to copy and sort decades of documents. He had plenty of time, and he’d rummage through every filing cabinet in the room if that’s what it would take to find even the slightest scrap of information about John’s mother.

The wall crawler drove himself mad trying to work off that one piece of information.

1-G. A code? A title? A fucking label designation for some petri dish somewhere?

Each night, he went back home to Homelander. Each night, he had to pretend to have been out prowling the streets for miscreants instead of playing librarian. He’d come home with dinner, sit down with Homelander, and pick at his food as each disgusting secret he’d uncovered entangled itself into his waking mind.

“What’s wrong?”

Ben jumped, looking up at Homelander with wide eyes and a piece of spaghetti dangling from his lips.

“That! That right there.” John pointed accusingly with his fork. “You’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

“Nothin’,” the web-head shook his head. “Just– work’s been a lot lately, y’know? Stan’s a bastard, the team is acting up... Same headache, different day.”

Homelander’s eyes narrowed at him, suspicion nestled deep inside those beautiful blues.

“Bullshit! You’re not eating lately and you’re sure as fuck not talking. Did– Are you mad at me?” John pushed away from the table, standing. “You haven’t said more than five words since you got in.”

“Johnny,” Ben sighed, lowering his head. “I’m not mad, I just… I’m just really caught in my head right now, okay?”

“Right, right.” Homelander rolled his eyes, grabbing his carryout container. “Whatever. Talk to me when you feel like it, I guess. I’ll just give you your space.” Dejected bitterness laced every word.

Ben lacked the steam to chase him to the bedroom and talk some sense into him. Fuck, he could barely do it for himself, let alone John. So, he let the pot simmer. Cleaned up around the house and showered to kill some time before meandering back to their room.

Homelander had shut off all the lights and curled up close to the edge of the bed, blankets obscuring his form. Ben wondered if his love was actually asleep, or just hiding in the only way he knew how anymore.

A pang of guilt hit his heart.

It’d been roughly two weeks since he started rummaging through Vought’s archives, and quite likely two weeks since he’d paid enough attention to Homelander.

Ben eased into bed, curling around Homelander’s ‘sleeping’ form. He didn’t move to pull the covers away, opting instead to let love keep a layer of protection between himself and a source of pain. He knew times like these only stoked the paranoia that one day John would wake to an empty bed and home. That Ben would up and leave him after finding someone better, or realizing he wasn't worth the effort.

Something that would simply never happen.

Benjamin nuzzled close, lips hovering right above John’s covered ear.

“I’m not mad at you…” He began. “I promise, Johnny. I’m not. I just… It’s a lot to explain. I’ve got this… project that I’m working on. It’s really important, but I’m finding so many fucking horrors from Vought in the meantime that I just…”

He breathed a heavy sigh.

“It’s taking a lot out of me. That with everything else I see in a day, and… it’s a lot, y’know?”

Ben paused, waiting to see if Homelander would shuffle out from under the blankets. When he didn’t, Benjamin continued.

“I love you. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

He shifted away from Homelander, opting to give him space instead of smothering him. It took only a few moments for that bundle of blankets to shuffle his way. A hand snaked out from underneath, fingers joining with Ben’s.

The wall crawler shifted onto his side and pulled John closer.

No words were exchanged for the rest of the night. Ben dozed off with ease while Homelander fought against his drowsiness to bask in the moment. The rise and fall of Benjamin’s chest against his head, the steady beats of his heart.

He adored his little spider more than anything in the world. Even the slightest thought of losing Benjamin was enough to send him spiraling into paranoia and rampant imaginings of worst case scenarios. It’d been two years since he lost his powers, and every day he wondered if Ben would finally decide he wasn’t worth keeping around. Every day he had to remind himself that the wall crawler loves him. That he was more than the house pet his alter ego dubbed him as.

Where would he even be without his Benjamin?

Would he even be alive? Would he have made it out of that containment cell? Would he have survived another week of torture before that guard simply killed him?

Would there be a roof over his head, or the promise of regular meals? A warm bed and a devoted soul with whom to share it?

Would he have someone to protect him now that he couldn’t fend for himself?

Every swirling thought made him realize no, he wouldn’t.

He'd still be in the bad room. He'd likely be dead. Starved or beaten to death, surely. Tortured every single day until he succumbed.

But, god above, that only meant it would make sense if Ben grew tired of him - weak mess of a man that he was now.

Despite the storm of what-ifs pulsating in his mind, John dozed off fairly fast once he laid his head upon Ben’s chest. When he woke, his body was enveloped in heat– some areas more than others.

He was on the brink as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

He lifted the covers to peek, and the sight alone of Ben swallowing him triggered his release instantly, leaving him a writhing, panting mess.

“You,” Ben licked the length of his softening shaft, “and I are due for a date, sir. I called off. We have the whole day.”

Benjamin made good on his word, devoting the entire day to Homelander. He’d barely even thought about his little side project while they were out.

The dying warmth of an early September breeze swept around them as the pair passed all sorts of eateries. The openness of the streets in Queens kept Homelander’s nerves at bay, but John still struggled quite a bit with entering crowded spaces– especially stores. The smaller they were, the more his mind would linger on memories of both his childhood cell and the… other one. But, Benjamin’s presence, along with the duty of carrying the grocery basket, made it a smidge less stressful to accomplish their trip.

“Proud of you,” Ben nudged his shoulder as they walked home, each carrying a paper bag of goods. “Seriously. I hope you know how great it is to see you do all this.”

He couldn’t help but grin despite how vulnerable he really felt. He was like an open wound in public. Exposed, waiting for someone to pick at him or throw salt his way. What if someone recognized him?

What if someone realized the shame of his current state, and he was plastered on the screen of every device with internet access?

Hell, probably every newspaper, too.

Homelander Spotted Looking Half Homeless! is what he imagined the headlines would read. Though he began to allow Ben to trim his hair, he still found himself feeling subpar in appearance. Be it the weight he’d gained, or his casual clothing, he just wouldn’t be The Homelander anymore.

Christ, what if someone asked him to use his powers?

He took deep breaths as they turned another corner, counting each step as they made their way closer to home. By the time the front door closed behind them, he’d about reached his breaking point.

Ben, however, wasted no time in distracting him with banter and meal prep duties.

“Don’t cut yourself again,” the web-head warned as he sorted through pots and pans.

“Not my fault,” John countered, hand idly rolling a bell pepper along the length of the cutting board. “You showed me doing it fast, so I went fast.”

“Yes, babe. But I have actual experience with cooking.”

By the time they could leave the rest of the work up to the oven, the pair had made their way to the couch. John’s legs were strewn over Ben’s lap as he watched TV. Benjamin, however, had pulled out his laptop to browse that barebones document he’d found on John’s parentage.

The sight of the Vought logo snagged Homelander’s attention like a moth to a flame.

“Just that project I’m working on.” Ben hummed coolly, praying to whatever gods there may be that John wouldn’t press the issue. “Mostly just paperwork.”

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Hey, unrelated...” He began, hoping the little lie would go unnoticed– mostly because he didn’t want to admit to what he’d been doing and get John’s hopes up just to dash them with inevitable disappointment. “I was poking around in the paper archives the other day.”

Make up a new number… He’s definitely seen it before.

“3-F as a name placeholder mean anything to you? Like, is it a code or something?”

John’s brow pinched, and he sat silent for a while, raking through memories of decades of Vought propaganda and genuine fact.

“I think…” He trailed off. “I haven’t seen it in a while, but I’m pretty sure that’s how the first supe trial volunteers were categorized. There weren’t massive amounts of people signing up to get injected with V– if you can imagine.”

Ben quirked a brow as his brain raced to connect the dots.

“It was part of keeping their identities off the record, too. Liabilities and all that. Last I heard, all the files on ‘em were shredded once they got what they were looking for.” he continued, brows pinched. “Some fucked up shit went on there. Why?”

“I, uh…” Ben sighed. “Saw it in place of a name in one of the paper docs I pulled the other night. It’s just been bugging me.”

“Deep rabbit hole there.” John sighed, leaning back. “I couldn’t find anything besides the bullshit when I dug out Soldier Boy's old archives. Same thing when I… tried to find my mom– ‘cept everything on her was long gone. Whoever’s on that paper of yours is probably a ghost by now. Literally and figuratively.”

Ben swallowed thickly. Chances are that this 1-G person is certainly dead by now.

John’s mother was certainly dead by now.

But he wouldn’t jump to conclusions until it was time. Just as Ben was about to remote to his work terminal, the oven timer went off.

“Thank god.” John whined. “Staaaarving!”

Over the following weeks, Ben had become wholly consumed by the motivation to find anything about John’s mother. He’d dug through the paper archives every chance he could, even going as far as enlisting some help, but there was nothing.

Ben began to believe there was no trail to follow when one of the staffers he’d paid to assist emailed him a scan of a very old, yellowed notepad.

Pretty sure I found something, the email read. It’s hazy, but it looks like notes from old trial runs. Found it in a junk folder of blurry scans from one of the old ward doctors. Gonna keep looking for more.

True to her word, the staffer even went and drew an arrow to the section she’d found. Instead of 1-G, this Doctor James Waltz person wrote it as ‘Patient 1-G: Gillman.’ The writing was barely legible under the color of a coffee stain, but it was more than Ben had to go off of mere minutes before.

Gillman.

Ben immediately replied to the staffer, practically begging her to send anything else in that file– or at least give him details on where to find it. Blurry or not, he wanted everything he could get his hands on.

It was the gold mine he’d been looking for.

Despite the poor image quality and faded ink, Ben was able to find significant amounts of information on the initial test subjects for Compound V. He had to dive deep through hundreds of file folders to find anything about them– which left him concluding that someone hid these rather than follow the original order to destroy them.

The name Gillman had been his golden ticket. He’d found the liability waiver she signed, partially torn, left with only ‘illman’ remaining on the line – but still distinctly the same name. Ben cursed the record keeper of that era to hell for adding to his frustration.

It seemed everywhere he looked– old genetics testing records, ability documentation, and experimentation records, she was simply dubbed 1-G. All he wanted– needed was a first name. From there, maybe he could track her through public records beyond Vought, but there was nothing.

Except for the harrowing details in her record, that is. Despite the lack of a first name, Ben was able to piece together patient files with mention of her to create quite a… horrifying picture.

Enough to leave him sick to his stomach.

The Doctor Waltz fella who’d been all too kind and revealed her last name also had been to her what Vogelbaum was to John– if not a thousand times worse.

Downright evil, even.

Not every patient survived the Compound V trials. An exceptionally small number of them made out like kings, sporting powers with zero side effects. They’d received the same strain Soldier Boy was given.

Ben considered the dead to be far luckier than those who landed somewhere in the middle.

The unsuccessful strains of V had one of three outcomes: instant death, powers that killed the wielder shortly afterward, or– in the case of John’s mother– the body survives empowerment, but the mind does not.

His mother was left in a state of rageful madness.

As Benjamin pieced together mangled papers and deciphered blurred writing, he was able to construct a vague idea of what happened to her.

Roughly one day after injection, she’d come back to report malaise, but was written off by the doctors. By the second day, Vought had brought her back and contained her in a special cell.

Patient aggression exceptionally high. Engages with hallucinations. Refuses to eat and will not speak to psychological team. Containment failing, recommend sedation.

Notes following were conveniently lost, but picked up roughly two months later. Only problem being that they were almost entirely illegible from what seemed like water damage.

Because of course they’d be damaged.

What was left of her patient reports painted a devastating picture.

Homelander’s mother became a ward of Vought. She’d been the only subject to lose herself that Vought caught before she could come to harm. Waltz had found her ripe for experimentation after studying her abilities. They’d opted for round the clock sedation.

Keep her docile.

Flight, strength, and laser vision were among the descriptors they used. Damn near identical to Homelander’s abilities– lacking his invulnerability. A modern mind could look at this and realize that, along with Ryan’s inheritance of John’s powers, this meant there did exist a genetic component to the development of superpowers in those injected with V.

That understanding, though, was only a theory for Waltz back then.

–breed a new line of heroes.

Subject tissue sent for testing.

The possibilities … ……. mother of modern supes.

–extraction of eggs–

It didn’t take an exceptionally bright mind to realize what had happened to her. A shiver ran down Ben’s spine as he read more and more.

They’d used her as a fucking incubator for their experimental ‘purebred’ supes. For years, she was kept like cattle– artificially inseminated with sperm from promising supes until they’d written off her ability to carry children. After that, they simply harvested her eggs and used an undisclosed method of growing the fetuses to term.

The list of failed subjects was…

It was far too long.

Before Vogelbaum, there was Waltz.

Vogelbaum was not the father of the method by which John came to exist– but he was the first doctor to achieve a perfect creation.

Waltz had the blood of children on his hands. Infants, toddlers. Children beaten to death in combat tests. Children drowned in aquatic efficiency tests. A new subject every five to ten years, it seemed.

Killed in surgical procedures.

Destroyed by their own powers.

Murdered by a madman’s curiosity.

All of them lacking that one thing that made John the exception that he was.

Invulnerability.

Well, that and DNA infused with Compound V.

Waltz retired before his project saw success, passing on the mantle of monster to Jonah Vogelbaum.

Fuck, Homelander may not have even been Vogelbaum’s first subject…

The last note Waltz ever made on John’s mother was in 1986. A new hire slipped up during an operation on her brain.

She died that same day.

It had been the shock of a lifetime when, upon scrolling the dwindling remainder of Waltz's notes, he stumbled upon a faded polaroid. Though it was hazy, there was no denying what he was seeing.

Laid back in a reclined medical chair was an older woman. Long, gray hair. A gaunt face. Expression void of anything. IV lines leading into her arms reflected the flash of the camera.

If he squinted hard enough to combat the blur, Ben could thoroughly see a resemblance. He'd know that face anywhere– those big blue eyes, high cheekbones, thin lips. The curved bridge of her nose.

God, John looked just like her.

And now?

He’s all that’s left of her.

What they’d done with her remains was a mystery, but Benjamin almost didn’t want to know what more they could have possibly done to the poor woman. He felt sick. Bile burning in his throat as he pressed his face into his hands.

He goes out every day and represents Vought. Represents pure evil under the guise of heroism. Fell in love with one of their seemingly infinite amount of victims…

In the weeks it took him to find the end of her story, Ben would hold John tight every night. He’d stare down at his love’s sleeping form and go back and forth in his mind on whether or not to tell him. The thicker the file, the heavier his guilt. Each printout only made it worse.

Would it hurt him? Certainly.

But, it might also close a chapter in his life that John had been so desperately trying to decipher.

Alternatively, it could make everything infinitely worse.

He knew he had to tell Homelander the truth. The only problem was getting the words to quit sticking in his throat every time he tried.

He could tell there was a strain between them with this recent secrecy of his. Where he’d been so late at night, why he wouldn’t talk about it. He stopped pretending he was swinging around the city and just settled for saying work kept him late.

But how could he tell him?

Hey, I found your mom.

It seemed like a ridiculous statement, especially because he didn’t actually find her– just traces. There was no headstone, no urn of ashes.

There was nothing left of her except yellowed paper and faded ink.

As it happened, the pot boiled over one day. Ben hadn’t even realized how bad things had really gotten until the morning John clung to him in bed, preventing him from leaving.

“Is there someone else..?”

The question had taken him completely by surprise.

“Is that why you can’t tell me what you’ve been doing?” He followed up, voice cracking no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Where you’ve been…”

“What?” Ben rolled over to face him. “John, I–”

“I’d understand.” Homelander shook his head, avoiding eye contact. Tears leaked freely from the corners of his eyes. The dark circles lining them let Ben know he hadn’t slept at all last night. “I’d hate it– I’d hate it so fucking much… But I’d get it.”

The dwindling of his self worth screamed so loudly in every word.

“No!” Ben gripped him, his own eyes clouding. “Never! No, god no– never!” He pulled him closer, burying his face in Homelander’s chest. “No. No, Johnny.”

He didn’t wait for Homelander to speak before he spilled everything. All of the guilt inside falling off his tongue in stammered confessions.

“I didn’t want to– I…” Benjamin breathed, shaking his head to collect himself. “I didn’t want it to hurt you, I just… Not until I knew it was enough to be worth the hurt.” He moved away to look at John, a hand at his cheek to thumb soothing circles. Wasn't sure if he was doing it more for himself or Homelander. “And even then– fuck…”

Ben took a deep breath.

“I’m… I found your mom– sort of, I mean. Not like I actually found her found her, but what happened to her, at least.”

He gulped when John didn’t reply. Instead, that unwavering, wide blue stare begged him to continue. There was something in his eyes… Fury, perhaps. Fascination– absolutely. But, mostly, fear.

Fear that whatever Benjamin was about to say would reopen a lifelong wound held together with makeshift bandages. A wound that would unravel and gush the second something picked at it.

“I found a paper trail. Buried deep in junk folders where nobody would ever think to find shit that matters. Been a big puzzle to put together but…” Ben sniffled. “I can bring home what I have, but I just… I didn’t want to drop that on you without a final answer– and, god, I didn’t want to risk hurting you either. I wanted to find her for you, but it took so long just to even get her last name and I still don’t even have the first na–”

“What is it?” Homelander demanded, eyes widened as though he were in a frenzy. Perhaps he was. “What’s her name!? Is she alive!?”

“Gillman.” Ben replied instantly, the weight of secrecy falling from his shoulders with every bit he revealed. “Her last name’s Gillman. And… by rights, I guess yours is, too, but… no. No, she’s… she’s gone.”

The realization he’d never know his mother crashed over Homelander in waves so violent Benjamin could physically see it happen. He watched John begin to crumble, gradually unraveling more and more until he choked back quiet sobs.

“S’why I asked you that one night about placeholder names… I should’ve just told you upfront.”

Homelander shuddered. “1-G…”

“Yeah,” Ben pulled him close. Of course he knew that name. “That’s her… I’m so sorry, honey.”

Homelander was fully prepared to find he’d been abandoned by the love of his life. Kept around out of sympathy, but abandoned nonetheless. He’d practically convinced himself entirely of it. He wanted to be angry– furious, even. He wanted to grab Ben by the shoulders and shake him for keeping this hidden, but god.

His mother.

The mere thought of her shattered him, and all he could do was plead.

“Show me. Please, Ben– I need to see…

Benjamin spent the day gathering everything he had, abusing Vought’s unlimited employee printing access to duplicate seemingly endless amounts of paper, piling it all into one big folder. He’d warned John about how ugly this would be. How horrifically they’d treated her.

He didn’t have the heart to tell him about the others just like him…

Benjamin felt almost awful walking through the door that afternoon, shuffling in to find Homelander sitting on the couch, simply staring into space. No TV, no book or phone in hand. Just lost in his own mind, leg bouncing restlessly.

“Hey,” he whispered, drawing his love back to earth.

John shot up from where he sat, making a beeline straight for Benjamin.

The web-head had the file extended for him to grab immediately. Homelander snatched it like a child does a toy they’d been excited to finally receive, though excitement seemed to be replaced with dread.

He looked at it for a time, staring at the dense rubber banded folder as though opening it would unleash a black hole that absorbed the whole world. He was afraid to know.

And Ben knew it, too.

“C’mon,” he rested a supportive hand against Homelander’s shoulder. “We’ll do it together.”

He guided John to the couch, heart clenching at the way his blue eyes never strayed from the folder. As the papers became harder and harder to read, Ben had to help fill in the blanks on smudged words he’d deciphered himself. He had half a mind to tease Homelander about never wearing his glasses, but it was far from an appropriate time for such things.

Homelander’s expression grew grim as he read on, and they’d barely cracked through an inch of paper before Ben was encouraging him to take a break.

John’s breathing was uneven, eyes stinging with tears, teeth clenched in fury. His body was too hot, skin too tight, his head pounded. The audacity of the request sent him over the edge.

“How the fuck do you expect me to stop!?” He roared, snatching Ben’s hand away from the folder. He bit his lip, desperately trying to don his mask to hide his emotions. “What, y-you hand me this and now you want me to– no!”

“Okay,” Ben breathed, hands held up in surrender. “I just don’t want it to be overwhelming, y’know? This took me months to get through, and I know how I felt. You’re getting all this right away, and it’s a lot, and–”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Ben gulped, recognizing a burst of rage that once would’ve triggered a crimson glow in those ocean eyes.

“You don’t get it! You don’t fucking get it!” Homelander grit, teeth bared. His eyes accused Benjamin of betrayal. ”You have a mother. A father. Brothers. You have a family. This is all I get! Just a bunch of goddamn paper! So don’t you dare tell me to fucking stop!”

He expected this, but it never did soften the blow to know it was coming. Benjamin knew damn well Homelander would lash out eventually, emotionally fragile as he was given the situation.

The wall crawler shut his eyes as more abuse flew his way, simply taking it.

The dam would burst as soon as the rage faltered. He could practically time it to the millisecond.

“You– I don’t–” Homelander stumbled over his words, breaths coming in and out erratically as he fought to pretend he wasn’t coming undone at the seams. “Nobody– god fucking damn it! N-No!”

When Ben opened his eyes, it was to the sight of John leaned forward, hiding his face into the folder as he fought the lurch of a deep cry.

“It was never supposed to be like this…”

His own eyes pricked with tears as he watched Homelander break.

“I always…” Homelander’s voice leaked in a tight, throaty whisper. “I used to imagine what I’d do if I ever… ever met her. All I could ever think of was hugging her, but… I couldn’t even picture it because she was never real. I used to think if I did find her, maybe I’d feel okay… Like it’d make up for all these years.”

He nearly flinched when Ben began to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I always wondered if she’d be proud of me, you know? Her son is– was The Homelander, after all. She’d have been proud, right..?”

Ben didn’t know how to respond– or if he even should. All he could focus on was the sorrow twisted on Homelander’s face when he finally lifted his head. The tears staining his face. A streak of snot that would’ve humiliated him were he in a clearer state of mind.

"D’you think she would've loved me..?"

Seeing him break like this made Benjamin regret having ever gone looking for Homelander's mother. And yet… somehow this felt right. Watching him finally feel it. Filling in the pages of his missing parentage after so long.

No… he needed this.

"She would've adored you, pumpkin." Ben worked the file from Homelander's grip as one takes meat from a lion that trusts them enough to allow it. Almost immediately, Homelander leaned into him. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, rocking him slightly. “She’d have loved you more than anything in the world.”

He wanted to say more– god he wanted to say so much fucking more… But he couldn’t. Nothing came to mind. Nothing that would’ve dulled the hurt in his love’s heart to make it all easier, anyway. There was one thing, though…

She was never real. The line reminded the wall crawler of what he’d left out of the folder, fearing that it’d shuffle loose and be lost on the swing home. He was about to throw the egg beater into the already boiled-over pot, but this is what needed to be done. One more thing his discoveries could heal with fire-like agony.

"Johnny..?"

Ben slipped his hand free, reaching behind to his back pocket, pulling free a little photo. He'd printed and laminated it before leaving Vought Tower, just to make sure the incoming tears wouldn't stain it.

He handed it over face down, and the look on Homelander's face said he knew what this was.

"This is… That's her." Homelander stared for what seemed like forever. Fingertips danced across the smooth surface as the tears rolled freely down his cheeks. "S'my mom," he rasped over and over again. "My mom…"

"Takes a little squinting on account of the quality," Ben sniffled. "But you look just like her."

Homelander breathed a laugh, finally wiping the mess of tears and snot on his sleeve. In time, his breathing began to even out as his cries tapered off.

"She's so…" John paused, sucking in a deep breath, holding it tight as he took in every detail of her. "She's beautiful."

Ben wrapped an arm around Homelander once more. “Hmm. Like mother like son, huh?”

Homelander looked as though he’d been given the world and had it taken away all at the same time. Perhaps, though, that’s exactly what this was.

In the span of but a few moments, he’d lost her all over again despite never having had her to begin with.

It took some convincing for Ben to finally get Homelander to stop reading and take a break. Help me with dinner, he’d asked once his love finally calmed down.

John seemed worlds away as they worked, not even realizing how he was reacting to what went on inside his mind. Benjamin realized he probably should’ve just let Homelander relax and collect himself.

“Babe,” he murmured, thumbing away a stray tear on his cheek. “That’s not how we salt the pasta.” A joke was all he could muster to try to alleviate something. “You can go sit down or something if you’re still working through it, y’know. You don’t have to–”

“No,” Homelander interrupted. “I’d rather be here.” He reached up to hold Ben’s hand against his cheek, staring back into those chocolatey eyes that always warmed him to his core. “Can you just… I– Give me something that I gotta focus on. C’mon, spoil me a little.”

Used to be that he’d take that offer and sulk. Let his sorrows drown him bit by bit until he was right back at square one - just as miserable as the day he’d lost himself. Ben always encouraged him to channel his negativity into something productive, but he never followed through. Never picked up hobbies beyond reading history books and watching movies.

But now..?

“Chef Johnny,” Ben grinned, proud as could be of his love. “You’re gonna learn to make a mean margherita pasta today.”

He figured he’s changed quite a bit over the years after all.

Homelander struggled to balance his focus against the raging thoughts of his mind. Minding the aromatics sizzling in the pan while flashes of what they’d done to his mother jarred him. Focusing on Ben’s instructions on what to add, what seasonings paired best with the chicken, the gentleness of his love’s touch as he held his hand to show him how to properly rock a knife to cut fresh herbs.

In the back of his head, he saw her. His mother, wired to those machines just as the doctors had done to him. Instead of what he’d always imagined - hugging her - he saw something else. Heard something else as he saw her, felt Ben’s hands on his.

Mom… I made it.

In the weeks following, Benjamin helped him absorb the rest of what happened. Sat with him while he wept over the siblings he’d never know, the grief of knowing he wasn’t the first, the relief of knowing he was - hopefully - the last.

It was a lot. A lot of crying. A lot of anger. Misery. Resentment.

But he worked through it.

The web-head eventually returned to his regular crime fighting antics and balanced his home life once more. In the meantime, he’d commissioned a headstone. There was so little to go off of, and no body to bury, but it felt right to put her to rest in at least some way. This, he kept a secret from Homelander.

It was a surprise for later.

Once the time came that the cemetery notified him that it was in place, Ben nagged Homelander all day to go for a walk. Well, more like a swing.

“C’mon, it’s important!” He whined. “You’ll like it.”

“We can have a date inside, you know.” Homelander huffed. He was perfectly content not suffocating in crowds of people, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“Yeah, but inside doesn’t have what I wanna show you,” Ben stuck his lower lip out. “It’ll be quick. I’ll swing us there. Land in a nice smelly alley. Just a walk across the street, okay?”

Homelander sighed, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Ben chirped, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek. “Be ready in a few.”

The swing there was leisurely. It included a stop by a flower shop for roses, which Homelander questioned endlessly.

”You don’t need to buy me flowers,” he feigned a complaint.

”You’ll see.” That was all Ben had to say on the matter before they were back in the air.

He clung to Ben like a leech as they sliced through the air, high enough to avoid being photographed, but low enough that Homelander’s renewed fear of heights didn’t have him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He focused on the flowers he’d been holding in a death grip. Pressed them against Ben’s back and stared into the petals.

When they finally landed in the promised smelly alleyway, Homelander furrowed his brow. From the path to the sidewalk, he could make out a graveyard.

“Ben?”

His little spider held out a hand without a word, leading him out, across the street, and through the iron gate.

He had an inkling of what was coming, but it felt like something out of a movie. Holding hands with the love of his life, walking through a monument of lives long gone, feeling the autumn breeze gust through the knitting of his sweater.

Homelander practically fell to his knees when they came upon it. His legs wobbled as he approached, flower stems creaking under the grip of his fist. He let his fingers touch the stone, tracing the letters engraved into the face.

Gillman

192?-1986

He hugged it. Didn’t know what overcame him, didn’t even know he’d done it until the cold marble pressed against his cheek. Didn’t even care that it pressed his glasses harshly into his temple.

He hugged his mother.

Homelander didn’t hear the shuffling of leaves under Ben’s shoes, but the hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“Thought she deserved it, y’know?” Ben murmured, thumbing against John’s blue sweater. Part of him worried his lover would’ve been upset - maybe gave him grief over the fact she wasn’t actually in there. ”You deserve this, too.” He pressed a kiss to Homelander’s hair, then stood. “I’ll give you some space…”

Benjamin was ready to go for a stroll until a hand caught him by the sleeve, tugging him back down.

John was silent for a time, simply resting his forehead against the chilled stone, warmed by Benjamin’s arms draped around his neck. Ben figured he was simply thinking it instead of speaking, but then…

“I made it, mom.” With the love of his life embracing him, and his arms around her headstone, he pulled from the depths of his heart.

“I’m home.”

[three-drink-amy]

Fanfic Friday

Back for week two! Let’s keep loving the things we write!

Rules: share a fic you wrote that you are proud of! Moodboard optional!

Aged Like a Fine Wine

Complete, 21 chapters, 103k words.

Here’s a snippet:

In Pez’s absence, Alex talks up a few more people and ends up by the dessert table. He’s debating the merits of a petit four when he feels someone step up next to him. As he glances over, his breath catches in his throat.

“Your Highness,” Alex says. There was a day years ago it would have pained him to actually call Henry that. But now that he holds office, he can’t risk pissing someone off.

Surprising him, Henry flashes him a smile. “Senator Claremont-Diaz. What a pleasure. Pez didn’t mention that you’d be here.”

Against his will, a smile crosses Alex’s face. “He didn’t mention you’d be here either.”

Henry shrugs, picking up a dessert plate. “I was a last minute addition. I came into town to see him, so I think I was a pity invite.”

“Probably looks good to all his donors that he has a prince in attendance,” Alex reasons. He watches Henry, trying to catalog the changes in him, wondering why he cares.

No pressure tagging: @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @cha-melodius @stutteringpeach @cricketnationrise @celeritas2997 @celaestis1 @strandnreyes @rosedavid @catanisspicy @liminalmemories21 @orchidscript @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @bonheur-cafe @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @actual-sleeping-beauty and anyone who wants to do it!

[aclaywrites]

Noooooooooo for a bunch of reasons. I’m not having sex with a man under any circumstances, but in this case it’s not even the main reason for my ‘no’.

First and foremost for my baby, I wanted two things: genetic screening to rule out any problems that could possibly be ruled out, and most importantly of all: no way for the man to be involved with us or the baby. I didn’t even want to see his face so that when I look at my daughter I don’t see any part of him. I don’t want to know him, don’t want him coming around thinking this is his kid. We shopped from a catalog and chose what characteristics we wanted. My family is all short so I wanted a man over 6 feet tall, that way if the baby was a boy he’d have some chance at height since men give short men shit because everything has to be a competition or opportunity to put someone else down 🙄. We also learned that red haired men are hard to find in sperm donor services because they’re unpopular and almost never chosen (shame!) so we looked until we found a guy who was half-Scots and I felt confident the red hair gene was in there somewhere (and my Punnet square worked!). We did pay extra for a man who was willing to be known. At 18, my daughter can contact him if she wants to, and make that path for herself, but I don’t want to know him or have him know me. I wanted a distant stranger with attributes I could choose for my own genetic use and that’s it.

I have several sets of friends who used a gay male friend as their donor ( the same guy for all the sets of friends) and they were so surprised we didn’t want to ask him too. Then when all their children got older, he started coming around saying ‘it’s time I got to know all my kids!’ And the ladies were stunned and kind of upset and we were like ‘yeah’.

So for once I’m saying hell no to sex with a man, and it’s not even about the sex 😂

[d-criss-news]

Singer Darren Criss gives the Goodman Gala a “Teenage Dream”

Goodman Theatre has thrived in the Chicago theater scene for over 80 years and returned to its annual fundraiser gala on May 20, 2023, at Fairmont Chicago.

After a brief cocktail reception, attendees moved into the Imperial Ballroom to be entertained by the dynamic Darren Criss. He sang songs from one of his favorite musicals Cabaret for the crowd and was backed by a three-piece band.

The night continued with delicious desserts and dancing to cover tunes from the Gentlemen of Leisure while Criss chatted backstage about filming one day in Chicago for The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, “Even though it was a very grim subject matter, it was wildly exciting for me because I got to come out to Chicago on somebody else's dime and see my friends. I did a scene then ran to iO Theater to see my friend's show. It was the greatest day ever because it was beautiful out.”

At the dinner, Criss sang his cover of Katy Perry's “Teenage Dream” for the donors and later described the historic gay scene on Fox's Glee, “I'm glad that song has had a positive effect on the audience. That is a proud badge of honor and I consider it a privilege. That is why I love playing the song.”

His vast catalog of work includes many holiday songs and he stated, “Christmas music is great music. I think every musician wonders if they will make a Christmas album and the opportunity presented itself to me so I did it.” Criss had not seen Goodman Theatre's classic rendition of A Christmas Carol, but he reminisced about performing the show as a kid at American Conservatory Theater in San Francisco. He exclaimed, “I love A Christmas Carol!”

His tips for young singers who would like to make their own versions of songs had him quoting Stephen Sondheim's Sunday in the Park with George “Let it come from you. Then it will be new.” “That is the bedrock of artistry to me, to be yourself and your work is a new thing,” he explained.

The talented singer described the Goodman Theatre Gala crowd as supportive, “It was all theater people. We are here for each other and speak each other's language!”

[valeofcashmere]

Learning about how the owners of Uline are massive republican donors @ work. We torn out this page from the catalog. The face of the devil.

[cardigains]

Summer Camp AU 👀

Summer Camp AU my beloved ❤️ This is going to probably be a long time coming once it's finally at the stage of being published, but in the meantime enjoy a lil snip of Sarah and Ellie who have been thrown together as makeshift "sisters" at summer camp.

It’s a dumb question. Ellie can think of a million reasons why not. None of them like her, for one. She doesn’t like any of them, for another. “I can’t fucking swim,” is what she ends up going with, watching her paddle pull through the clear, sparkling water around them and trying to appreciate it for the prettiness that it is instead of the lurking fear of water she’s always maintained.  With the sudden transition of intense focus on rowing to her eyes practically bugging out of her face, Ellie has to fight hard not to laugh at Sarah’s resulting expression. “You can’t swim?” she all but screeches. “We’re in the middle of the lake! Who the hell let you come out here when-” “Life vest.” Ellie plucks at one of the straps. “Remember?” But Sarah still looks a little panicked, scanning from the section of the lake they’re currently on to the nearest shore like she’s working out some kind of equation.  “It’s not a big deal or anything,” Ellie rushes to say, not enjoying the sensation that’s buzzing around beneath her skin. It’s like the day Sarah had annoyingly dumped sunscreen all over Ellie’s exposed neck and face or when she’d offered her granola bar in favor of the oatmeal that Ellie was definitely not eating. “That’s just why I don’t get the hype about that dumb water trampoline or the slide and stuff.” And it kind of looks like Sarah’s just sitting there cataloging the last four weeks of activities before saying, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And that’s just got Ellie staring at her because why would she? “So you could…what? Drown me in the night?” “So I could teach you, idiot.” “Why would you teach me?”  Something in Sarah softens then, which is kind of hard to do because, in Ellie’s opinion, Sarah’s almost always soft. Even when she gets really pissed off or fed up, she’s still got this pathetic outer core, like Ellie could just reach out and poke it and the whole facade would dissipate.  “Because I’m your honorary big sister,” Sarah says, like that actually means something. “Oh come on,” Ellie lazily drags her oar through the water. They’re definitely going to be the last ones back. It’s the counselors fault for thinking this was a good idea. “You don’t actually buy into that shit.” “I mean,” Sarah shrugs a single shoulder, “I wasn’t betting on you being my kidney donor one day. “Good.” She didn’t like Sarah Miller enough to give up a kidney anyway.