gemmakesart

[gemmakesart]

I like to think that after the Joker Jr. incident, Tim has scars that stretch from the corners of his mouth to his cheekbones and that he often used make-up or a face mask to cover it in public.

Now, picture the moment in Batman #618 when Jason has Tim in the graveyard, and he's trying to kill Tim. It's raining, and the make-up is washing off his face, revealing the nasty, jagged scars that were a gift from Junior's father. Now, picture the moment when Jason sees this kid, same age as he was when he died, smile lines etched into his face, scars that are clearly old. Picture Jason then between two thoughts as he stares at Tim's fear ridden face, that the Batman came for this kid and didn't for him, and the fact that the Joker is still able to hurt Robins even after Jason's death.

Picture his rage for the new Robin fading, picture his gun and knife clattering to the floor and a new rage takes hold, picture Jason grabbing Tim by the collar of his suit, yelling 'why does he still stay with the Batman, even after what happened?' Picture Tim's voice as he tells Jason that he stays because he 'has to' because 'Batman would go too far and he has to be there stop him'

Picture Jason dropping the new kid, picture him backing away from him, telling him that he 'has to leave before it's too late,' picture Tim's small smile and eyes that tell Jason that he won't do what he asks, picture Jason leaving Tim in that graveyard, leaving with more rage and determination then he's ever felt before, because if the kid won't leave for himself, Jason will make sure that there is nobody for him to kill himself over.

[gemmakesart]

[gemmakesart]

!!About this blog!!

Hi there, and welcome to the Bard's Hideout! I'm Gem, the owner of this fine establishment. You may refer to me with he/him pronouns, now, what would you like to know?

Ah, we don't accept requests for tinctures containing:

Abuse, Bigoted (Racist, Sexist, Homophobic, etc.) Themes, Hardcore kinks (Ask me personally first & maybe I'll consider), or large age gaps.

We will ask the house witch to brew up:

Drabbles, short fanfic, fanart (?)

Current interests (Things I will write about 24/7):

COD, Baldur's Gate, Dead Boy Detectives, The Umbrella Academy

[gemmakesart]

Ahdghshhd it's so beautiful

patron saint of the lonely and desperate

[gemmakesart]

Gaz x TM!reader

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Transmasc reader

Summary: You explain to Gaz how you can never be a real man, and he proves to you that you are, at least in his eyes.

Note: Mentions of dysphoria, heavily implied psychological abuse in the past, scars, nudity, depression, non-violent self harm

○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

You couldn't remember how long you'd been sitting there, staring yourself down in the mirror. It's slanted frame was supposed to make you look better. Why wasn't it? Why could you just never be good enough to even think of yourself as a man? Your thoughts were running at a million mile per hour, mostly thoughts of hate, when the door to your apartment creaked open. You couldn't even afford a good apartment. That's how much of a failure you were. Your mother would be disappointed.

She'd say, "What happened to my little princess? Why did you do this to yourself? Did you even think about how I would feel, as a mother? You selfish, selfish devil daughter. Never even send me money."

Your thoughts were spiraling when you felt those hands on your shoulders. You whipped around, half expecting your mother's cold, sharp acrylics in your delusion. No. It was your boyfriend, Kyle.

"Love? Are you alright? You don't seem.. here." His voice was concerned as your cold gaze turned down. Couldn't even cry. He pulled you into his hold as he saw the way your eyes fell.

He'd been away for some time, out on deployment. You hadn't had an outlet for your hysterical thoughts, no one to tell you they were illogical. You'd spent most of your time, after the first few weeks that were good, crying. Curled into the sheets that barely smelled like him anymore, painful sobs racking through your body. If only you could do that now.

"Kyle." His name felt guilty on your tongue. "'M sorry. I-I was just... thinking. About my mum, and myself, and..." You trailed off into sadness, grateful for the way he pulled your hips into his lap, and hushed you gently. "I've been doing to much thinking. Haven't I?"

Kyle softly rubbed your back. "About what hon?" You had to force the words out. Your mouth was so tired.

"Stuff. How I won't ever really be a man, how- how I shouldn't even be here.. how my dad should've left before I could happen." You said all these like factual truths, testaments to your worthlessness. You could see the concern in Kyle's eyes.

"That's not true. You're a man to me, and you're a man to you. That's all that really matters, yeah? And if you weren't here, hell knows where I'd be right now." He ticked through, one by one, trying to make you see sense out of your mental echo chamber of negative thoughts. It hurt to think about. It stung you, that you had possibly hurt him by hurting yourself.

You curled your arms around your cold, starving, naked form. That's right. You hadn't even been able to get yourself out of bed to make food. Kyle placed his hands on your shoulders, seeming to notice your protective movements, and the littered scabs of vomit around your mouth. (You'd gotten sick from staying inside to much. The doctor had said a vitamin D deficit and lack of proper diet, and given you a concerned look.)

"Look, love. How about I make you dinner, and then we can talk. I think you'll feel better on a full stomach." You nodded. You knew that you needed food. You just didn't want to feel needy. He rubbed his thumb on your cheek. "Hell, I'll draw you a bath. You deserve it." You nodded again, the same tired, struggled movement.

With that, Kyle scooped you up, moving you into the bathroom. You laid against his form, trying to memorize every little change of his body as the bath slowly filled with warm water. You missed the sensation of him until you felt the warm water caress you, stinging at every raw patch you had scraped into yourself. You whined. Kyle carefully laid you down. "You know, you're still awfully handsome. You'd look more handsome with food in you and less pale, but you're handsome. I'll take care of you now." All you could do was nod along, finally being able to let out some of the tears that welled up in you.

You sunk as far into the bath as safety would allow. You were embarrassed at how dirty you were. But Kyle didn't seem to mind. He never minded. He grabbed the softest washcloth you two owned, wetting it in the bath water. "You need help washing up, yeah? I'll help you." He scrubbed gently, but with expert precision.

You couldn't help but want to cry as he went over your chest. You'd tried so many things before. You'd gotten top surgery, but it was slightly botched. You were uneven, and had to get a follow up because you'd gotten infected. You ached at even the memory. He worked farther down, and you winced as the washcloth went over the bumps that were your ribs. You'd lost almost all of the muscle and fat you had built up when Kyle was here. You were stick-thin now, and you hated it. He scrubbed your inner thighs, raw from rubbing together when you cried. Your knees that hurt from disuse, your feet that were nearly frozen off.

He dipped your head into the water, getting it thoroughly soaked before he scrubbed shampoo into it. His fingers traced across your scalp, feeling incredibly good as he rinsed the shampoo out. The water was still pretty hot, so he gave you a little kiss on the forehead, standing up.

"I'm gonna make dinner, yeah? I'm gonna make you the best food you've ever had. I promise you. You just sit here for a bit." With that, he walked away, and you curled into the hot water.

You could have sat in that water forever, but you liked when Kyle came back, not hesitating to wrap you up in a warm towel, which you burrowed yourself into. He helped you slip into your clothes, comfy ones, and dried your hair gently. You looked very fluffy by the end of it.

He led you out to the kitchen, murmuring about how you were doing "so good", and you just needed to keep it up. He sat you down on a chair around the coffee table (your apartment wasn't big enough for a full dining table), where there were two plates of food. Rice and beans and chicken. Filling, hearty foods.

"I- Thank you. 'M sorry that I upset you." You curled more into your sweatshirt. Kyle seemed very concerned at this. "I'm not mad at you. You should have this. Why don't you eat?" You just nodded lamely, forcing yourself to eat the food. It wasn't bad food. It was definitely good, but you just hadn't had food in so long it almost hurt to eat even just that plate. You wanted to cry.

You could only manage to eat about half of the food, before you groaned and leaned your head onto Kyle's shoulder. He quickly moved it down to his lap. You didn't mind that. You curled into his lap, enjoying the warmth. He combed his fingers through your hair, gently propping you up again. "I bet you're tired, huh?" You nodded weakly. You'd been in bed, but were ashamed to admit you hadn't slept much at all. You wouldn't mind getting some good sleep tonight.

He lifted you up, gently plopping you down on your bed. He snaked his arms around you, leaning into your neck. "I missed you." You murmured back, your tired eyes closing and sleep drifting into your mind. You slept relatively well, only waking up twice through the whole night. Safe to say, your life was much better when Kyle was there.