finally finished up this drawing of myself based on two of my S attempts. i combined the two: one where I overdosed and one where I wrote a note and relapsed (except i didnt go as deep as what i drew LOl sorry i felt pathetic( before running away, into this art,,, hhhhhh i procrastinated this drawing so long im going to die okBye
You really shouldnt care this much about men get access to WOMEN's stuff lil bro
TW depressing shit ahead.
When I was 14 or 15, I met my first ever non-blood brother. He was younger than me, and small for his age. Smaller than even me. He'd never really had enough food. i don't know if he would have been bigger had he eaten well, but I think he would have been shorter than me anyway.
I'd just left behind a huge family, and basically landed myself in a trafficking ring. I was relying on nothing but sheer willpower and luck to not die. I was in no way ready to take on this other child, but he was smaller than me, and I'd had little siblings before, so I couldn't help myself. We would share our little food, I taught him to siphon as well as steal if it meant he got fed right. Where fruit was easiest to snatch and what places were close enough to our errands to not draw suspicion.
Finally around the same time, both of us had gotten enough nutrition to get back some semblance of a period cycle. For him, it was his first. I got him pads, coached him through it, and myself too, for it had been a year and the materials were different to the cloth I was used too.
I told him my dreams of getting out one day, and he told me I could do it. He was younger than me but braver, with a conviction that i couldn't match. But when next to him in the covers, I began to believe. I would go to the west. To a university where they all spoke english- for that was my only knowledge of their languages. I would study and I would stay there and he would come with me.
I practiced english with him. I picked it up fast and i could see the pleased gleam in his eye when he stopped understanding what I was saying.
We saved up together, hiding the money in a plastic pack of pads, where the others wouldn't think to look. Soon we would have enough to bribe our way into a private room, and a private outside job. We got closer.
He told me he had lived close by, in the days when he was a girl. I told him that made sense. I'd run across the country in a panic to escape my family, but realistically no one would actually be looking for us. There had been no reason to run as far as I did. He laughed at me, and told me he was just a village or town north.
I'd love to tell you that he lives in the room next to me, now that I have my own room.
But he was 14 when he died.
We'd been going out more often, on the brink of that relative freedom of a private room and a private job. We had been exploring the place where we would one day be able to roam freely.
He should have run further. A town was not enough, and one day his older 'brother' caught him. He did not deserve that title, I was more his brother than that monster ever was. I wasn't around, but I did find my brother's body. Broken and naked, with the marks of a killing on his chest.
Honor killings aren't absurd, or even unheard of in my country. Especially not in these areas. But usually they are condemned. Often some piece of shit newspaper in our oh so progressive capital gets a new story, a new lobby to remind the government that marginalised people exist and deserve existence. Or if its the other side of the newspaper, maybe some drivel about how life under the russians was better and this is all the fault of muslims.
It wasn't care, but it was something.
My brother got none of it.
We have some 'WOMEN's stuff lil bro' as you said. For survivors of honor killings, or their family. In fact, Tajikistan is in many ways a progressive country. We have a whole system in place. They give you support if you survive, or a good burial if you don't. These women's charities, partnerships between the UN and the government. They give you a burial.
They did not give my brother one.
The money we had saved for first 2 months rent went to a bribe for his place in the earth and a stone marker. That was all I could give the 14 year old boy with a wide grin and a stupid haircut he let me test out on him.
He deserved the world but I could not give it to him. So now I argue online for what he should have had. For the empathy and logic that should have been extended to him. Trans men deserve a place in women's charities, in feminism. I know it might trigger some people's dysphoria but please. Think of the boys like my brother. The patriarchy is stabbing us just the same, can't you please just let us under the shield? Please.
Adults should not be allowed to control minor's basic health, like eating meals when hungry, stopping eating when full, drinking when thirsty, using the restroom, etc.
Adults should not be allowed to deny minors healthcare. This includes mental health. This includes letting trans & gender diverse minors have access to their desired puberty.
Adults should not be allowed to force/coerce intersex minors into having unwanted HRT, genital mutilation, reproductive mutilation, breast mutilation, etc.
Adults should not be allowed to force/coerce minors with bodily differences (ie; polydactyl, craniofacial differences, etc) to have unnecessary medical procedures to "fix" it.
Adults should not be allowed to mutilate minors' genitals for the sake of "cultural practices" and puritanism.
Adults should not be allowed to isolate minors from society.
Adults should not be allowed to deny education to minors when a topic makes them "uncomfortable." This includes teaching minors about queerness, sexism, race & racism, disabilities & ableism, paraphilias & paramisia, sex, reproduction, etc, etc.
── ❨ ⸝⸝ 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷. ❩ THE DISAPPEARANCE & BETRAYAL OF ALTO SUREBREC ⸝⸝ WHERE YOU AND ALTO ARE RAISING BABY!RUDO TOGETHER BEFORE HE LEFT.
ೀ 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 - MANGA SPOILERS!, reader & alto are the biological parents towards rudo, takes place before alto died, emotional towards the end, ANGST, made up a theory how alto felt about his mutilation, not a good ending, timeskips, wc - 3.9k
𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒’ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - should i make part2 where rudo and reader finally unite with each other again? and gets with enjin..?
alto had always carried a strange relationship with his arms.
even long before rudo was born, long before the sleepless nights and cluttered apartment and soft little baby noises filling every corner of the home.
alto had spent years hiding them instinctively whenever people stared too long, because the mutilation running across his fingers had never been something others looked at kindly.
the rough distortions along the skin and joints were impossible to ignore, and while alto himself acted like he did not care anymore.
there were still moments where old bitterness crawled quietly beneath his skin whenever someone’s eyes lingered there with discomfort.
so throughout your pregnancy, one fear lingered in the back of his mind more than anything else.
“what if rudo inherited it too?”
he never said it out loud, not once.
because every time he almost did, he would stop himself halfway through, jaw tightening while forcing the thought back down before it could fully leave his mouth.
he did not want to sound selfish. did not want to sound ashamed. and more than anything, he did not want you thinking he would love the child any less because of it.
still, the fear stayed there quietly. especially after rudo was born.
during those first few days in the hospital, alto found himself constantly staring at the baby’s tiny hands whenever the blankets shifted enough to expose them, searching almost nervously for signs he could not explain aloud.
but newborn hands were so small, wrinkled, and curled tightly most of the time that it was impossible to tell anything clearly.
so he convinced himself he was overthinking. until nearly three weeks later.
the apartment had finally fallen quiet for once after an exhausting night of nonstop crying, and pale morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains while you slept curled up on the couch.
completely worn out from barely getting rest the past several days.
the television played softly in the background with the volume low enough to barely hear, while rudo rested against alto’s chest wrapped loosely in a blanket.
for once, the baby was calm.
tiny sleepy breaths fanned softly against alto’s shirt while one of his impossibly small hands rested outside the blanket near his chest.
alto looked down absentmindedly at first.
then froze.
his heartbeat stopped for half a second.
slowly, carefully, he lifted rudo’s tiny hand into his own larger one, staring silently at the little fingers curled weakly around his thumb.
there it was. the same deformities running along the fingers, the same mutilation.
for a long moment, alto just stared. completely silent.
his chest tightened strangely, emotions tangling together so badly he could barely sort through them properly.
guilt hit first. sharp and immediate. because despite never wanting to admit it, some small part of him had hoped rudo would be spared from it entirely.
that he would never have to deal with the staring.
the judgment. the isolation. the ugly feeling of noticing people look at your hands before they look at your face.
alto’s grip softened immediately as if he was afraid holding too tightly would somehow hurt him.
rudo shifted sleepily against his chest, tiny fingers twitching slightly in his hand.
and suddenly something inside alto cracked apart completely. because his son was beautiful.
there was not a single part of him alto could bring himself to see as ruined. not even this. especially not this.
his throat tightened painfully while staring down at the tiny hand in his own, the similarities between them almost overwhelming now that he saw them clearly. rudo’s fingers were so small compared to his, so delicate and soft, yet the resemblance was undeniable.
it was him. his son carried a piece of him physically now. and strangely enough, that realization hurt far less than he thought it would.
you stirred quietly on the couch nearby, blinking awake slowly before immediately noticing the strange look on alto’s face.
“…alto?”
he did not answer right away.
instead, he gently lifted rudo’s hand slightly toward you without taking his eyes off the baby.
you sat up slowly, exhaustion still heavy in your expression before your eyes lowered toward rudo’s fingers.
silence filled the room for a few seconds, not tense silence, just quiet realization. alto finally laughed softly under his breath, though it sounded shaky around the edges.
“guess he really is mine, huh.”
your expression softened instantly hearing that tone in his voice.
because underneath the weak joke, you could hear the fear he had been carrying for weeks without saying anything.
carefully, you moved closer until your shoulder rested against his. “you worried about this?” you asked quietly.
alto looked away immediately. which was answer enough. his jaw tightened slightly while his thumb gently brushed across rudo’s tiny fingers again.
“…i know what people say,” he muttered eventually. “about stuff like this.”
you frowned softly. “alto—”
“i just…” he exhaled quietly, struggling to explain himself properly. “i didn’t want him growing up dealing with the same crap.”
his voice sounded rougher now. more vulnerable than usual.
“people stare,” he continued quietly. “they always stare first before they even know you. and kids are cruel sometimes. i know how that feels.”
your eyes softened immediately hearing the honesty in his voice. because alto rarely talked about things like this directly.
instead of answering immediately, you gently reached over and took rudo’s tiny hand yourself before intertwining your finger carefully around his.
“then it’s a good thing he has you,” you whispered.
alto blinked.
“because if anyone understands what he’ll go through someday, it’s his father.”
silence settled heavily after that. alto looked back down at rudo again. the baby was still sleeping peacefully through the entire conversation, completely unaware of the emotions overwhelming his parents while his tiny hand rested safely between both of theirs.
then slowly, almost unconsciously, alto leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against rudo’s fingers.
love.
protection.
“…nobody’s gonna make him feel ashamed of this,” alto murmured quietly, almost like a promise to himself more than anyone else. “i won’t let them.”
but he ever realized how quickly seven months could pass until he looked down one morning and noticed rudo no longer fit properly against his chest the way he used to.
the tiny newborn who once slept silently through entire afternoons wrapped carefully in blankets had grown into a curious, clingy baby with chubby cheeks, restless hands, and wide dark eyes that followed both of you everywhere constantly.
rudo wanted attention every second now, babbling loudly whenever either of you left the room for too long, grabbing onto hair and clothes with tiny mutilated fingers that had only become more noticeable as he grew older.
alto secretly loved every second of it.
even the exhausting parts.
especially the exhausting parts.
because somehow the sleepless nights, spit-up stained shirts, random crying fits at impossible hours, and constant clutter scattered around the apartment all became things alto quietly treasured without admitting it aloud.
the apartment itself had changed completely since rudo’s birth.
there were bottles drying near the sink constantly now, little blankets draped over the couch, toys abandoned in random places after failed attempts to organize them properly.
soft baby laughter replaced silence most days, and the once empty feeling the apartment used to carry had disappeared entirely beneath warmth and noise and life.
sometimes alto would stop in the middle of doing something simple just to watch rudo exist.
watch the way the baby kicked excitedly during feedings, watch his tiny hands reach desperately toward your faces, watch him smile the second either parent walked into view like nothing in the world made him happier.
those moments hurt more than they should have lately.
because the longer alto stayed, the harder leaving eventually became.
and deep down, he already knew someday he might have to.
rudo sat between both of you one evening on the living room floor surrounded by stuffed animals while rain tapped quietly against the apartment windows.
he could sit up mostly on his own now, though every few seconds he still tipped sideways dramatically before either of you caught him.
right now, he sat proudly clutching one of alto’s fingers in both tiny hands while chewing aggressively on a teething toy.
“he’s staring at you again,” you murmured softly.
alto glanced down immediately.
rudo was indeed staring directly at him with huge fascinated eyes while still chewing mindlessly.
“…what?” alto muttered toward the baby.
rudo squealed happily in response.
you laughed quietly. “he loves you.”
the words should not have hurt. but they did. because rudo did love him.
and every single day, alto felt more terrified of eventually becoming something that could destroy that trust.
the condition tied to his bloodline had worsened badly over the past several months, though he hid the severity of it as best as he could.
he had become good at hiding pain long before you met him. good at swallowing down groans when his joints felt like they were tearing themselves apart beneath his skin.
good at pretending exhaustion was normal.
good at acting unaffected whenever the deterioration spreading through his body became unbearable enough to make his hands shake violently.
but hiding things from you had started becoming harder. especially because you noticed everything.
you noticed the way he occasionally froze while holding rudo too long because pain suddenly shot through his arms.
noticed the increasingly dark circles beneath his eyes from sleepless nights spent silently enduring pain attacks alone in the bathroom. noticed how often he stared blankly at his own hands now whenever he thought nobody was looking.
and worst of all— you noticed how distant his expression sometimes became while watching rudo.
not emotionally distant. almost the opposite.
like he was trying too hard to memorize every little thing.
one night, you woke up quietly around three in the morning only to realize the other side of the bed was empty.
immediately, unease settled heavily in your chest.
you found alto sitting alone in the dark living room with rudo asleep against his chest.
the television played silently without volume.
and alto looked exhausted. completely exhausted.
his head leaned back against the couch while one arm wrapped protectively around the sleeping baby, fingers lightly rubbing small circles against rudo’s back absentmindedly.
for a moment, you just stood there watching them. the sight was painfully soft.
rudo’s tiny face rested against alto’s chest peacefully, little fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt while soft sleepy breaths rose and fell steadily.
alto looked at him like he was the most precious thing in existence. and maybe he was.
“…you should be sleeping,” you whispered softly.
alto looked over immediately, expression softening the second he saw you.
“woke him up by accident.”
his voice sounded rough.
tired.
you walked over carefully before sitting beside him on the couch, eyes immediately lowering toward the tension visible in his shoulders.
“you’re in pain again.”
alto exhaled quietly through his nose. “…it’ll pass.”
another lie.
you were starting to hate how often he said that now. silence settled between both of you while rain continued tapping quietly outside.
rudo shifted slightly in his sleep before making a tiny sleepy noise against alto’s chest. instantly, alto’s entire expression softened again.
his hand moved carefully to support the baby’s head without even thinking about it.
and suddenly something painful tightened in your chest because despite how exhausted and sick he looked lately, alto still held rudo like the baby was the only thing keeping him together.
your voice came out quieter this time. “…you scare me lately.”
alto froze slightly. then looked away. which already told you enough.
“don’t,” he muttered softly.
“don’t what?”
“look at me like that.”
your chest ached hearing the exhaustion in his voice. “then stop shutting me out.”
silence. long silence. finally, alto lowered his gaze toward rudo again instead of answering directly.
“…if something happened to me,” he said quietly, almost carefully, “you’d take care of him, right?”
your stomach dropped instantly.
“alto.”
“i’m serious.”
“why would you even say that?”
his jaw tightened.
because he could not tell you the truth. could not explain the terrifying reality slowly growing heavier inside his head every day.
that he already knew this condition would eventually destroy him. that every story connected to his bloodline ended badly. that he was becoming increasingly terrified of losing control around the people he loved most.
sometimes the pain already became so unbearable it blurred his thoughts completely.
what happened if one day it became worse? what happened if rudo saw that? what happened if rudo got hurt because alto stayed too long?
the fear ate at him constantly now.
and slowly, the idea of leaving had stopped feeling impossible. he hated himself for it. god, he hated himself.
because sitting here now with his son asleep safely against his chest and you beside him on the couch felt like the only real happiness he had ever known.
but love did not erase fear. and fear was beginning to win.
“…nothings gonna happen to you,” you whispered shakily. alto did not answer. because deep down, he no longer believed that himself.
instead, he carefully adjusted rudo higher against his chest before lowering his head slightly until his lips brushed softly against the baby’s hair.
his eyes closed for a brief moment. almost like he was trying desperately to memorize this exact feeling before it disappeared someday.
alto thought leaving alone would have been easier.
it would have hurt less.
it would have been kinder.
but the moment he looked at rudo sleeping quietly in his crib that night, tiny chest rising and falling peacefully beneath soft blankets while those freshly bandaged little arms rested near his face, alto realized he could not leave his son behind.
not yet.
because the curse running through the surebrec bloodline was already inside rudo too.
he had seen the signs since birth. the mutilation on the baby’s fingers. the strange reactions in his body.
and after what alto had done earlier that evening — mutilating rudo’s arms in a desperate attempt to suppress and seal away the curse before it could fully awaken someday — there was no longer any time left to hesitate.
if he stayed on the ground much longer, he would break down. and he could already feel it happening.
his body hurt constantly now, pain twisting violently through his bones and nerves until some nights he genuinely could not think clearly anymore. worse than the pain itself were the moments where rage and instability surged through him so suddenly it terrified him afterward.
he was becoming dangerous. and rudo could never stay near that. which was why regto had agreed to help.
regto understood the surebrec bloodline better than anyone else left. he understood the curse, the deterioration, and the horrifying fate waiting at the end of it. more importantly, he understood what alto was trying to do for his son.
the gloves were already prepared. they would ease the pain in rudo’s arms. they would help contain what the mutilation had sealed away.
they would give the boy a chance at surviving a future alto himself no longer believed he could reach. and that meant alto had to disappear completely afterward, even if it destroyed him.
rain poured violently against the apartment windows that night while dim lights cast soft shadows across the small living room.
the apartment still smelled faintly like warm milk and baby powder, little signs of rudo scattered everywhere — blankets tossed over the couch, tiny clothes folded messily near the laundry basket, toys abandoned on the floor from earlier.
it looked painfully normal. like a family home. like somewhere alto should have stayed forever.
you were asleep when he first lifted rudo from the crib. or at least, he thought you were.
the baby stirred weakly the moment alto carefully pulled him into his arms, tiny face scrunching sleepily while little fingers instinctively grabbed onto the front of alto’s shirt.
rudo made a soft noise before settling almost immediately against his father’s chest, comforted by familiar warmth.
alto’s throat tightened painfully.
his son was only a year old. still so small, still trusting him completely.
carefully, alto adjusted the blanket around rudo’s bandaged arms before holding him closer, pressing one trembling kiss against the baby’s forehead while guilt nearly suffocated him alive.
“…i’m sorry,” he whispered shakily.
the words were not enough. they would never be enough. because no matter how desperately he convinced himself this was for rudo’s future, he was still about to rip that child away from his mother forever.
the floor creaked softly behind him. alto froze instantly.
“…where are you going?” your voice came out sleepy at first, just confused.
but the second you sat up properly and saw the bag near the door and rudo in alto’s arms, confusion immediately turned into horror.
“…alto?”
he could not look at you. not yet.
because he already knew if he saw your face too soon, he would never leave.
you pushed yourself off the bed quickly, panic flooding your expression as realization settled into your chest piece by piece.
“…no.”
silence.
“no,” you repeated louder now, voice cracking violently while moving toward him. “alto, what are you doing?”
rudo stirred slightly from the tension in the room, sleepy eyes blinking open weakly before immediately relaxing again once he recognized your voices nearby.
completely unaware his entire life was about to change forever. alto forced himself to speak quietly.
“…i can’t stay anymore.”
your face crumpled instantly.
“then don’t!” tears immediately filled your eyes. “we’ll figure something out together!”
“there’s no time.”
“stop saying that!”
you reached toward rudo instinctively, but alto stepped back before you could take him. the movement stunned you completely. for a second, you simply stared at him in disbelief.
“…give me my son.”
the sentence nearly shattered him where he stood.
my son. not ours.
because suddenly, painfully, alto realized you already saw him differently now. like someone taking your child away. and maybe he was.
rudo whimpered softly hearing your raised voice, tiny hands grabbing weakly at alto’s shirt while little tears started forming in his sleepy eyes.
instantly, alto held him closer protectively. “don’t make this harder.”
“harder?!” your voice broke completely now. “you’re leaving!”
“I’m protecting him!”
“by stealing him from me?!”
the raw devastation in your voice nearly destroyed what little resolve he had left. because you were right. god, you were right.
he was taking your baby away in the middle of the night after mutilating his tiny arms hours earlier in a desperate attempt to save his life.
nothing about this felt merciful. nothing about this felt fair.
but alto could already feel the curse destroying him faster now. he was running out of time.
your body shook violently from crying while you stared desperately at rudo reaching weakly toward you from alto’s arms.
“please,” you whispered brokenly. “alto, please don’t do this.”
his chest physically hurt hearing that. because he remembered every promise he ever made to you.
every quiet vow whispered late at night while rudo slept between you both. every exhausted smile shared during sleepless nights with the baby. every promise about raising him together.
and now he was breaking every single one.
rudo suddenly started crying harder from the tension, tiny body squirming weakly while soft frightened sobs filled the apartment.
you reached for him again instinctively. this time, your voice shattered completely. “please just let me hold him.”
alto froze. then slowly, painfully slowly, stepped forward enough for you to touch rudo’s face.
your hands trembled violently against his tiny cheeks while tears streamed endlessly down your face. rudo immediately calmed slightly hearing your voice close again.
and seeing that nearly broke alto apart completely.
because rudo loved you so much already. he knew your voice. your touch. your warmth. and now alto was about to take all of that away from him too.
you looked up at alto through tears.
“…what happened to your promises?”
his breathing became uneven instantly. because there was no answer. no excuse good enough.
only the horrifying truth that love alone could not stop the surebrec curse from consuming him eventually.
“…if i stay,” he whispered hoarsely, “i’ll break down.”
“i don’t care!”
“i do.”
you shook your head desperately. “then let us come with you!” for one horrible second, alto almost gave in.
almost dropped the bag. almost stayed.
because standing here holding his crying son while you begged him not to leave felt like someone tearing his heart apart with their bare hands. but then pain twisted violently through his body again hard enough to make his vision blur.
and reality returned immediately. he would not survive this. worse— he might become dangerous before the end.
rudo deserved better than watching his father deteriorate into something monstrous.
your sobs grew louder when alto stepped backward again toward the door. “…alto please.”
god. that voice would haunt him forever. he looked at you one final time then. really looked.
at the tears pouring endlessly down your face. at the desperation in your expression. at your trembling hands still reaching weakly toward rudo.
and suddenly alto realized this was the cruelest thing he had ever done to another person.
even knowing it was necessary did not make it hurt less.
carefully, he lowered his head and pressed one lingering kiss against rudo’s forehead. then another against the baby’s tiny bandaged arms.
his lips trembled slightly against the fabric.
“…i love you,” he whispered to his son.
then he looked at you one final time. and the devastation in his eyes somehow hurt even worse than your own.
“…i’m sorry.”
and then he left.
the apartment door slammed shut behind him while your broken sob echoed through the room loudly enough to follow him down the hallway.
alto nearly stopped right there. nearly turned around.
but rudo shifted weakly against his chest, tiny hands clutching onto him trustingly despite the crying.
and alto forced himself to keep walking.
rain poured heavily outside as he disappeared into the night carrying his son tightly against him, while your sobs slowly faded farther and farther behind him until there was nothing left except silence and guilt swallowing him whole.
hours later, regto opened the door quietly to find alto standing there completely soaked from rain, exhausted beyond recognition, with rudo asleep weakly against his chest.
for several long seconds, nobody spoke. then regto’s eyes lowered toward the baby’s tiny bandaged arms. understanding immediately filled his expression.
“…you did it.”
alto looked away. his voice sounded empty now. “…take care of him.”
carefully, reluctantly, he placed rudo into regto’s arms.
the baby stirred softly at the unfamiliar movement before beginning to fuss weakly, tiny fingers reaching instinctively back toward alto without understanding why he was suddenly farther away.
that nearly destroyed him completely. regto noticed immediately.
“…you could still stay.”
alto shook his head slowly. “if i do, he dies with me.”
silence.
rudo started crying softly now, searching blindly for the warmth that had held him all night. alto physically stepped backward hearing it. because if he stayed another second longer, he would grab his son and never let go again.
his throat tightened violently. “…the gloves,” he muttered quietly. “they’ll help with the pain.”
regto nodded once. then softly, “what about his mother?”
that question hurt most of all.
because somewhere back at the apartment, you were probably still crying. still waiting hopelessly for the sound of the door opening again. still reaching for a baby suddenly gone from your arms.
alto closed his eyes hard. then turned away before he completely broke apart. and without another word— he disappeared into the rain.
leaving behind the only family he had ever loved enough to destroy himself for.
meanwhile after sunrise came, you still found yourself staring hopelessly at the apartment door.
waiting for alto to come home even when deep down you already knew he never would.
Idea for your no pack AU, what if Batman gets kidnapped and the kidnapper decides to stream their "negotiation" with Bruce to the world. Give info on how to enter the WatchTower, how to defeat the JL. Or else. Bruce denies.
The batfam curses, yelling at the Bruce on their for being reckless and getting kidnapped, worry and fear disguised as anger.
What no one expects is for the kidnapper to take a hot spike, and burn the scent gland on Bruce's wrist.
In an ABO universe, it is inhumane to injure a scent gland with a minor injury, much less permanently. It is even against the Geneva convention, after soldiers were found without any scent glands.
Losing one scent is dehabilitating, causing increased stress, anxiety, depression and paranoia. The soldiers found without a single scent-gland? In excruciating pain. The body can no longer scent others or join packs, leading to permanent mental scarring.
The kids and JL desperately try to find Bruce, who continues to deny revealing any information as each scent gland is forever burned away. By the time they find him, it is too late. A wounded and newly-glandless Batman is taking to medics.
Glandless people suffer throught life-long mental anguish, the only thing helping is remembering that they still have a pack.
Bruce doesn't even get that. All he knows is that no one in his family loves him, and he just lost any chance of packing with them.
Reminds me of this au
They rescue Bruce (too late too late why not on time why couldnt they find him sooner why could they not save their dad) and take him back to the Watchtower. He's quiet, letting himself be patched up, but doesn't really speak. Doesn't address the pitying looks, or the guilty ones. Looks away when his inner thighs are treated, because his torturer was thorough and even burned away the ones reserved for mates.
He trudges out of the medbay, stripped out of his suit and forced into comfortable clothes, not that it really makes a difference. Every step still hurts. Everything is still numb.
Everyone is waiting in the conference room for him, and are silent as he sits down. Diana is the first to speak, voice strong, firm, angry, even as tears slip down her cheeks.
"We can defend ourself against intruders, Bruce. Why would you sacrifice yourself to keep the secrets of the Watchtower?"
"Against one. Against ten. But you can't prevent everyone who watched that livestream from trying to get up here to gawk, and that puts us and them in danger."
"You couldn't have told him anything?" Hal asks, slumped in his chair. "Anything to make him stop?"
Bruce glares across the table. "Should I apologise for not being a coward? For not handing over how to kill Earth's heroes on a silver platter? Well damn, Hal, sorry to bother you," he snaps, and Hal slumps further, while Clark wards off Bruce with a silent, warning hand.
"You are lying," J'onn says gravely, and Bruce's glare jumps to him, while the rest of the room looks between them. "Tell us the truth, friend."
"B?" Clark asks, scooting his chair closer. "Why didn't you tell Rector anything?" He goes as far as to take Bruce's hand, trying to be a supportive friend. "You can tell us, B."
Bruce slides his hand out of Clark's grip, and tucks both of them into his lap. He takes a slight, shaky breath, and whispers the answer. "I thought you would save me."
Damian moans in pain, Cass cries, Dick puts his head in his hands, Diana covers her mouth, Clark baulks. Everyone recoils, and Bruce hunches in on himself, wearing guilt like a robe. "I thought you would get there in time, so I held out." He sniffs, and raises his head, still curled in in himself, still making himself small, and raises a wobbly smile. "Still. I'm— I'm glad it was me, and not anyone else."
"Bruce, what?"
"Taking self-sacrificial a bit too far, B."
He shakes his head. "You— you know it hurts to be glandless, to be packless. It's why you're all so worried. That's why— That's why I'm glad it was me. I've been packless since I was nine. This, it's just... more certain."
He stands, and shuffles slowly to the door. No one can say anything, and he pauses at the door before leaving.
But it's reassuring. It's depressing, and nauseating, but maybe Bruce is right. Maybe he'll be alright, he has had the practice. Maybe he's right.
Then his first heat rolls around, a few months after everything happened. He's always spent them locked away in his room, the kids have never bothered to ask what he does, and just move around the manor like normal, but they can't do that when they hear him screaming.
Raw, unfiltered agony, and they're panicking as they race to his room. Jason dislocates his shoulder busting down the door, and they all tumble in.
Bruce is writhing in his nest, surrounded by their belongings, stuff from his friends, but none of it seems to matter. Bruce is sobbing from the pain, convulsing, and someone screams for Clark. He's rushed to the medbay, and ends up having to be sedated.
Alfred reveals Bruce spends his heats with their scents in his nest to get through it. Packless heats and ruts are supposed to be awful anyway, and Leslie comments about the strain on his heart now scented items won't help. Now glandless, he has nothing to help soothe the burn of isolation.
His next heat is dreaded, and ends the same way, sedated in the medbay, and spends days recovering from them.
Something about knowing Bruce craved pack all along makes everything worse. Because it turns out everyone wanted to be pack all along, and now it's out of the question. His wounds can't be fixed by magic, or any modern science available. Over time, as Bruce fades away, becoming more and more isolated, only one truth remains.
Can removing the 6th finger on newborns count as deformimisia?
And the fact that's this surgery is sort of kinda pretty common and never being discussed
This is actually a massive form of deformimisia that I was going to eventually make a more in-depth post about, so I will take the opportunity to do so now!
The removal of extra/duplicated body parts on children is a blatant act of mutilation and violation of physical consent and bodily autonomy.
This happens to people with extra/duplicated limbs (toes, fingers, feet, legs, arms, etc), extra/duplicated craniofacial traits (lips, mouth, nose, eyes, ears, etc), extra/duplicated torsal traits (ribs, spine, etc), and even extra/duplicated organs (though sometimes the removal of these traits are life-saving, if the duplication is incomplete in a manner that disrupts organ function - but its not always medically necessary, and thats the point I'm getting at.)
This also happens to people born with body parts that are not usually seen on the human body (ie; humans born with tails).
Oftentimes, this mutilation is done under the guise of "reducing future ableism" (ie; being bullied for looking different), but in reality, by eradicating differences, you're just reinforcing the ableist beauty standards that would cause this bullying in the first place.
Another "reason" that is often given is that it's "removal of unnecessary body parts", especially when the extra parts are non-functional. But why does something need to be functional to deserve to exist? What if the person in question comes to enjoy their extra parts? What if they wish to decorate it with tattoos and body modifications? What if they just appreciate its presence because it's part of their body, and that makes it special?
This holds a great range of similarities to certain forms of coercive intersex medical interventions/CIMI, particularly the mutilation of accessory breasts/nipples, split/duplicated reproductive organs, split/duplicated genitals, and/or the "unecessary" presence of a sex trait in someone that "doesnt align" with the rest of their traits. This intersection of experiences with medical mutilation are extremely important to address and acknowledge.
category 10 Ghost Stan who is murdered by Rico and folks who work for him just a little while after chewing his way out of the trunk of that car. body is hidden in the floorboards of an abandoned house and never found, so the only reason anyone has to believe that something happened to him is that he stopped his monthly calls to his mom, but even then she ends up assuming he decided to move on from his family. (
At some point Ford is notified of an extremely haunted house in some other state and decides to go down there (maybe with fiddleford) to see if he can study and hopefully exorcise the spirit.
It an incredibly unpleasant surprise when the mangled form of his twin brother, the face that used to be almost the same as his now ripped and rotting with lifeless, sunken in eyes that used to always have that glint of mischief in them, but now all they had was pure, raw anger.
idk where to go from here with this but man this idea has been refusing to leave my head
