#Red need a hug

[hyunjuswife]

 𝐆𝐥𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.   In a timeline, Red lets herself learn to be loved and love inturn. And in another, she doesn’t. In both, she loses her noble Chole. But in this one, just this one, maybe she can save her noble Chole.

Chole is everything Red is not, she’s kind, sweet, optimistic, noble, and loving.

Red doesn’t know how to love, nor does she know what defines love.

What is love? 

What is love?

What is love?

What is love?

What is love?

What is love? 

What is love?

What is love?

What is love?

What is love?

What is love?

What defines love? Red couldn’t possibly know that, of course she couldn’t– she was never treated with gentle care or love.

It was always ‘do this’ ‘don’t say that’ ‘dress respectively’ and ‘Oh, Red, didn't I tell you to put something presentable on’.

When Red looked at her mother she saw the cold and judgmental eyes that always seemed to find something to criticise her about.

Red would often wonder what love felt like, what real love felt like. What it would feel like to learn how to love and how to love in return.

Of course, Red knew her mother loved her, even if she didn’t show it or criticised her about her attire. 

Red knew. But that didn’t help with the fact that she’d never felt it before, but Red saw, she observed, and she wondered, ‘is that really what love feels like?’

She wanted to fall in love, to experience the feeling of falling for someone and giving them her all. But her mother was cold and ruthless. 

‘’Love ain’t it.’’ she would say, dismissing Red with a wave her hand, and that would often leave her feeling trapped, caged in a world she didn’t ask for.

But Chole was different, she seemed to know all about love, and Red envied her for it. She wanted to know all about love too, she wanted to understand love too, she wanted to learn how to love too.

Just like Chole was taught. 

And so, one day as Chole ranted on and on about a guy she’d met in one of the classes in their dorm room. Red worked up the courage to say the one thing that always felt so unreal to her.

‘’And He smiled at me, Red! And oh my gosh was his smile so–’’

‘’What is love?’’ Chole paused at the suddenness of the question that was thrusted upon,  Chole was caught off guard for a moment as she poured the question.

She had more than one answer to, love was many things should teach Red.

‘’What do you mean?’’ 

‘’I mean, like, you know, falling in love, learning to be loved and love return…’’ Red trailed off, throwing the pocket watch in the air with a bored look on her face.

Chole stared at Red, her initial surprise fading into a thoughtful expression. The lightheartedness of their previous conversation dissolved into something deeper, more profound. Red's question wasn't just a passing curiosity; it was a yearning, a deep and unspoken need that had finally surfaced.

Chole sat up straighter, her fingers playing with the edge of her blanket as she considered how to answer. Red had always been a mystery to her—aloof, guarded, and cynical in ways Chole couldn't fully understand

. But this was the first time Red had asked something so vulnerable, so honest. It was as if Red was offering a glimpse into a part of herself that Chole had never seen before.

‘’Love…’’ Chole began slowly, choosing her words with care. ‘’Love is... complicated. It's not just one thing, you know? It's a feeling, sure, but it's also an action. It's... being there for someone, even when it's hard. It's wanting the best for them, even if it means you don't get what you want. It's... it's letting someone in, even when you're scared they'll see the parts of you that aren't so perfect.’’

Red caught the pocket watch with a deft hand, her eyes narrowing slightly as she listened. She still seemed unconvinced, skeptical even. Chole took a breath and continued.

‘’When you're in love, it’s like... you’re connected to someone in a way that goes beyond just liking them or thinking they’re attractive. It’s like... like they become a part of you, in a way. And you start to see the world through their eyes. Their happiness becomes your happiness. Their pain... well, that hurts you too. But it’s worth it, because love makes you feel alive, makes everything brighter, warmer.’’

Red looked away, her gaze distant as if she were trying to process Chole’s words.

She didn't seem entirely satisfied, but Chole could see she was thinking, really thinking, about what she'd said.

‘’But what if... you don’t know how to love? What if you’re... too broken, too messed up to be loved?’’ Red's voice was barely above a whisper, but the vulnerability in it was unmistakable.

Chole's heart ached for her friend. She reached out and placed a hand on Red's arm, gently squeezing. ‘’You’re not too broken, Red. No one is. Love isn’t about being perfect; it’s about finding someone who sees your flaws and still wants to be with you. Someone who loves you because of those flaws, not in spite of them. It’s okay to be scared, but you have to let yourself feel it, to take the risk. That’s the only way you’ll ever really know.’’

Red was silent, her expression unreadable as she absorbed Chole's words. Chole wasn’t sure if she’d gotten through to her, but she knew that this was a start.

A small crack in the wall that Red had built around herself, but a crack nonetheless.

‘’Maybe... maybe one day,’’ Red murmured, her voice tinged with uncertainty. ‘’Maybe one day, I’ll figure it out.’’

Chole smiled softly, a mixture of hope and sadness in her eyes. ‘’You will, Red. I believe in you.’’

Red gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, but Chole saw it. And for the first time, she felt like there was a chance—just a small one—that Red might one day learn to let herself be loved. To love in return.

As their conversation drifted back to lighter topics, Red felt the weight of the question still lingering in her mind. 

What is love?

 She didn’t have the answer yet, but maybe, with Chole by her side, she could start to figure it out.

[timmydraker]

CW: amputation

Tim was born with wings.

There were tiny at first, so small the doctors didn’t even notice. It was after a few months the little nubs became visible and as soon as they noticed, that was it. They were growing.

By two years old they were three times his size and he wasn’t allowed to leave the house. His parents own a medical company yet they couldn’t figure out how the hell such a deformity could ever exist. They hired very specific doctors to help them and forced them to sign NDA’s, though even if they did people would probably just think it was usual Gotham horse shit.

So, they cut them off.

At two years old his wings were removed and shut away in a box in the basement and after that, Tim Drake stopped being the happy little boy he was. His second year of life was spent in agony as the wounds healed and he learnt to walk again without the normal weight, and that slight discomfort and phantom pain didn’t leave even after he met Batman.

It got worse when he became Robin and knew he was hiding his two disgusting humerus bone nubs left protruding his middle back.

He manages to keep it hidden for several years, but it’s when he’s newly seventeen that he gets hit too bad. A grenade he managed to dodge the explosion from, but that knocked him off a roof and onto a railing.

It’s agony as he lands on his left and feels his ribs shatter and snap, but luckily he passes out and doesn’t feel much of it.

Unfortunately, that also means he can’t insist on doing his own medical assessment like he usually does and Alfred and Dick do it themself.

Alfred notices first and freezes, which makes Dick come over to see.

Neither of them have the chance to hide it from Bruce who surpassingly accepts it quickly and is instead crushed that his son didn’t trust him with such a vital part of he he is.

Tim tells them the real story when he wakes and admits that’s why he didn’t take his parents house after they died and just left it vacant, so he wouldn’t have to accidentally find the bones of his lost life.

When Jason and Dick go with him, Damian as well though he tries to say it’s because he’s bored when really he doesn’t want to be left out on his brothers new chapter.

As requested, Jason goes to find the box for him and he finds it after an hour of looking, only… the wings haven’t decayed.

They’re also moving.

[tim-drake-scholar]

Hey idk if anyone else needed this but hey look at Bruce not just giving his approval, not just giving affection, but truly appreciating Tim Drake and everything Tim has every done to help Bruce/Batman. I just think it’s nice

[cooloperalawyerskeleton]

THE GREAT SAGE. EQUAL TO HEAVEN.

STARS AM I HAPPY TO FINALLY DO RENDERED VOICES LMK AU ART??? YES, I AM!!!!!!!!

(AND OH MY STARS I AM HAPPY FOR EVERY PERSON WHO COMMISSION ME, I LOVE Y'ALL SM)

[amelia-yap]

it's april and they are bloody fools

[voiddaisy]

jason todd being a book nerd in canon is so funny to me. like mf is a violent vigilante but chows down some pride & prejudice on his off time. he is such a silly goose (homicidal maniac)

[kenobers]

tremble & shake | jason todd x sionis!reader

but first free palestine !! Jason doesn't show up for your hook-up. You don't think much of it until he comes barreling through his window in a distressed state. He's desperately in need of your comfort and you don't have a clue why, but you can't stand to see Jason Todd hurting. tw: angst, hurt/comfort, could be read as a panic attack, mental breakdown, slightly dubious attempts to initiate sex, non-sexual intimacy, uhh fear, self deprecating thoughts (i swear, one day i'll write something where neither you nor jason have anything bad to say about yourselves). jason todd needs a hug, reader was previously not very good with emotions. or empathy. fem!reader. a/n: happy batman day! here's jason crying <3 this comes after magic hands & is this love?

Slam.

You jolt awake from your sleep, immediately reaching for a blunt object. Blinking hard, you squint at the door. Jason's door.

That's right, you're in Jason's apartment for one of your regularly scheduled hook-ups. He hadn't shown up, his phone abandoned on his bedside table. You figured he must've had to patrol tonight and forgot to give you a heads up. However, it's been pouring rain all night, so you decided to stay. You must've fallen asleep waiting for him.

"Jason?-"

No sooner does the man's name leave your lips than he practically tackles you on the bed. He's still in his costume, the red bat on his chest heaving heavily. His red mouthpiece hides the bottom half of his face as he looks down at you from behind the white of his domino mask. He's absolutely drenched. Cold clings to him and sends a shiver down your spine.

You furrow your brow. Something's wrong.

"I thought you weren't patrolling tonight," you whisper. He says nothing.

Pursing your lips, you ran your hands along his bare forearms. He's shaking. He'd gone out without his jacket. Jason's tough, almost inhumanely so, but if he'd gone out without his jacket in this rain...he must've been in a hurry.

"Did something happen?" Your eyes search his unbroken skin for injuries. Still, he says nothing and the empty whites of his mask are starting to freak you out.

You push his wet hood back and comb your fingers through his soaked hair until they find the buckle of his mask. You undo it and pull the mask from his face, peeling the domino along with it. His expression underneath is just as blank, like his mind is somewhere else.

Before you can say anything, he's kissing you hard. Almost violently. A shaky hand grips your shoulder with a ferocity Jason hasn't previously had with you, even when you've really gone at it.

"Hey," you say between harsh, wet kisses. "Jason, stop."

As if he doesn't hear you, Jason moves to your neck. The hand on your shoulder drops to your hip.

"Jason."

It starts to paw underneath your satin hem.

"Jay!"

The fear in your voice makes his head snap up. He stares at you with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. You shake your head, "I don't want this. I don't think you want this."

He moves off of you, staring at his lap.

You sit up slowly, mirroring his position on his knees. Panic chews at your insides as you try to assess him. He needs help, needs comfort, maybe. You have no experience with comfort, no clue what to do. You can't do this, you're not the person he needs, this-

This isn't about you. The man that has been at your every beck and call for the past several months looks like he's fighting for his Goddamn life. You don't hate the possibility of making a fool of yourself as much as you hate the sight of seeing Jason Todd in pain.

Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, there's a vague memory of a hand cupping your cheek, wiping away your tears. You copy it, reaching out to him hesitantly, terrified of making things worse.

Your fingertips brush his cheek with an almost non-existent touch, just heavy enough to wipe away the remnants of rain. He leans into your touch and you take this as permission to hold his face in your trembling hands.

His own hands find your hips again, drawing you between his thighs as his head comes to rest in the crook of your shoulder.

"'just wanna feel you," he mumbles against your skin, making your shoulder vibrate.

"I'm not gonna fuck you like this," you card your other hand through his damp hair. "You're going to wake up and realize it wasn't what you needed."

He says nothing, but clutches you as close as he possibly can. You tense as he presses against you. His armor digs into you uncomfortably, the buckle of his holster poking at your thigh. Water from his soggy clothes seeps through your satin nightgown. The hand on his face begins to cramp at this bent angle.

You've never seen him like this. Neither of you ever really come to one another for comfort, sans the time he brought you pads. Or the other time he calmed you down from a fight with your father. Or came to your rescue when your friends got you greened out on some fucked up weed. Okay, so you come to him for comfort, but he is...much more reclusive about his emotions. Complaining to you, sure. He often pulls to your sessions pissed and fucks you until he felt better. Sometimes he's so hungry for your body that he doesn't speak, except to check in with you. This was neither of these things. But this would mark the first real emotional emergency of whatever this relationship is. This was sad, desperate. Fearful.

"Please," he breathes in a broken voice. You...relax.

Without thinking about it, you hug him. You run your hand between his shoulder blades, supporting the back of his head. You cradle him like he might break. The same way he holds you when he sleeps.

"Nothing's gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna let 'em," the memory in the back of your head says.

"It's okay," you soothe, pressing your lips to his wet curls, feeling them tickle your cheek. "I'm not gonna let anything hurt you. Nothing's gonna touch you here, Jaybird."

There's a slight shake of his head as he clings to fistfuls of your dress. Your stomach clenches at the thought of whatever was bad enough to puncture his mind like this. You pull back just enough to look at him. Only the bottom half of his face was visible. His lips quivered, silently forming "no" over and over again.

You momentarily retracted your hand from his back to rest your palm to his cheek.

"Baby, I don't know where your brain is telling you or what it's telling you is happening, but I swear to you, you're safe with me in your apartment. Nothing is coming for us, I won't let anything happen."

His breath shutters and he buries his face completely into your shoulder. You squeeze your arms around him, rocking the giant man back and forth. He defeatedly sags against you with a single sob. Your heart drops even further at the sound. You shush him gently, resting your chin on his head.

"It's okay, you're okay. You're here with me. I've got you, baby. I've got you."

The next however many minutes go on like this. You cradle him, praying he doesn't shatter in your lap. You coo any sweets words you can think of until the tension in his muscles eases at your touch. His weight grows heavier in your embrace. For a moment, you think he fell asleep.

"Jay?" You call out softly. He lifts his head and rests it against your forehead. His gaze is still lost in space, but at least they look exhausted. That's better than nothing.

His skin burns against icy hot yours. Sweat starts to replace the rain. He needs to sleep, but he needs to properly warm up first.

You frown, "Jay, you should take a shower. You'll catch a cold."

He tightens his grip on you, not eager to let you go. You tuck your hand under his jaw, "I'll come with you."

This is a good enough promise to sway him. He nods, reluctantly pulling away from you. You slip off the bed, then shyly grab his hand. He intertwines his fingers with your own and follows you into the bathroom. It hits you that this is the first time you've held hands. Under better circumstances, it would feel nice.

You eye him up and down, taking in the damage under the bright bathroom fluorescents. His cheeks are flushed and newly decorated with tear streaks, but otherwise, he really doesn't look hurt. Just incredibly lost. Like he's not quite sure where he is. Green irises burn holes in you, golden flecks incinerating your skin, as if he's trying to figure out if you're real. The gaze is so intense, you have to look away for a minute. You conveniently make note of how funny of his scuffed up black boots look compared to your pedicured toes, bare against the checkered tiles.

He needs to get out of his wet clothes.

Sliding your hands under the shoulders of his sleeveless hoodie, you ask, "Can I undress you?"

He blinks. You hold your breath, praying you didn't just trigger something else. Then, wordlessly, he nods. You let out the breath as inconspicuous as you can and make quick work of the damp hoodie. His shirt follows. All scars, bruises and beauty marks look present and accounted for. Nothing new in the inventory. 

It's when you tug his gloves off that you finally locate any kind of laceration. Pebble-like imprints litter his palms; he must've been clutching something concrete like a stress ball for hours. He hadn't bothered with his usual red wrist wraps either, another sign he'd left in a hurry.

You don't pry, however. Instead, you kiss his reddened palms. Then, as your father taught you to do, you turn his still trembling hands over in your steady ones and kiss each knuckle gently. Unlike his forehead, his skin here is frozen until warmed by your loving lips.

Something about this interaction seems to ground the man a little more. You kneel to untie a beat-up boot, reminiscing about how your father used to let you take his loafers off for him when you were little. However, you've only managed to undo the other knot when Jason stops you.

"I can get the rest."

You're thrilled to hear him speak and nearly pop a kiss on his lips like it's a gold star before thinking better of it. You leave him to it, redirecting your focus on turning the shower on and picking out two fresh towels.

When at last he's naked, you make to shed your own minimal clothing. However, Jason stops you yet again, with time with an unsure hand on your bicep. He takes a moment to simply examine you once more in the good lighting, this time letting his eyes wander from your face. A hint of adoration crosses his drained features as his gaze combs your body, lingering on the curves and swells highlighted in baby pink.

Jason's index hooks around the thin strap of your slip. His thumb skims along the satin material before caressing your collarbone. It's a classic Jason move, but now it feels more akin to the way a child might grip a blanket.

"...Can I?" It's the shyest you've ever heard him speak. You nod and he brushes either strap off your shoulders, watching as the item pools at your feet. You give him a moment to admire the matching pink thong underneath before it joins the fabric puddle on the floor.

The shower is quiet, save for the dulcet sound of the running faucet. Jason winces when the hot water stings his frigid skin, however you can physically see the tension in his muscles melt away. His shoulders are much more relaxed beneath your washcloth, the rise and fall of his chest is becoming less stagnant. You take turns washing each other, like it's some kind of game. You touch him tenderly, still gauging for any kind of pain. He touches you with an intent that doesn't meet his drained eyes, still just gauging you.

When the silence is broken after who knows how long, it's by Jason.

"I don't deserve you."

His voice cracks like a 15-year-old.

"Don't talk like that," you chastise. He doesn't elaborate as his hand continues to rub body scrub along your back. You turn to him, both of your hands finding his face and holding it in place, the way he loves to do to you. "Don't talk like that."

You don't know what else to say. Neither of you are wordsmiths. You're afraid if you try to keep him talking, he'll just be self-effacing. You don't think you could handle hearing him talk about himself that way, not with him being as stubborn as he is. So you press a soft kiss to his lips. It isn't long, it doesn't invite more, but when you pull away, there's more green in his eyes. He envelopes you into his chest and holds you there. You return the embrace without hesitation, arms sliding around his waist while water taps the tops of your heads. You think you could stay like this forever; wrapped in each other's arms under the sanctuary of warm water, as the sound of his heart beat lulls you somewhere far away from the world outside the fogged up glass.

You do stay like that until the shower runs treacherously cold. Until one of you has to shut the faucet off, until the other is swathing each of you in fluffy wine colored towels. It's just a series of tasks you wordlessly complete so you can earn the reward of collapsing into bed, just dry enough to avoid waking up to a still damp pillow. You're both too tired to be bothered with pajamas. You aren't sure you're so wiped. Maybe you're just desperate to hold your lover again. He seems to feel the same way as he wastes no time reaching for your waist once the comforter is pulled up.

He slides down to kiss your shoulder and appreciate the warm scent of your body scrub. Much to your surprise, his head stays there. Even more to your surprise, you find it's because his eyes have fluttered shut. Jason never beats you to sleep, even at his most tired. But the relaxed weight of his body on your tells you he's winning this round.

You stroke the nape of his neck, grazing your fingernails through the tapered patch of hair. You'd been so focused on everything else that hadn't even noticed he'd gotten the haircut you'd asked him to. The request had been a joke really, something snarky to remark when he'd said something too nice about your appearance. It looked good, even from this angle. He must've just gotten it today. He must've gotten it for you.

Not everything's about you.

You try to push the thought out of your head as you admire the way Jason's cheek is smushed against your chest. If you lingered on it, you'd just started ragging on yourself, making it even more about. Earlier tonight had been the first time may be ever that someone with the last name Sionis had dared to consider something might not be about them. But what, did you want a cookie or something? A key to the city for your basic empathy?

Jason's earth rattling snore yanks you from your tailspin. You giggle quietly, no wonder he waits to fall asleep second. Your fingers resume wandering their course through his hair and a tremor runs down his back. He lets out a satisfied snort, his red lips parting. With a deep breath, he nuzzles into you. His usually hardened face is the softest you've ever seen it. Even the scars seem to fade. It's the complete opposite of the stony picture you woke up to. Despite the circumstances, you wouldn't trade the world for the sight before you.

You smile drowsily, ready to follow his lead and doze off when your phone vibrates rudely on the bed stand. You swear mentally, first at yourself for jerking so suddenly, then at whoever the fuck just had to send you a notification right this very second. A string of potential threats crosses your mind as you clumsily reach for the phone, gritting your teeth at the awkward way you bend your arm. It isn't easy to reach when a 225 pound man is slumbering (thankfully) unperturbed on top of you.

It takes you a few seconds to recall how to read as you glare blearily at the too bright screen. Your eyebrows knit when a message from an unknown number at last comes into view.

'Is he okay?'

You inwardly rescind your threats. It doesn't take a genius detective to deduce the identity of the sender.

'He's okay. He's sleeping now.'

The reply is instant.

'That's good. Moderate case of fear toxin, it should wear off all together by the morning.'

Ah, that will do it. You frown at Jason. A sick feeling creeps in at the thought of how terrified he must've been. That's why he seemed so unsure of you; you weren't the only thing he was seeing. Your poor baby.

When you glance back at your phone, there's another text.

'Are you okay?'

You blink.

'Yes, thank you. We're all fine here.'

There is one more response before you shut off the phone.

'I'll check in in the morning. I'm glad he's with you. Get some sleep.'

You're glad he's with you too. You're glad he came to find you. You're glad he wanted your comfort.

You're glad you would do anything for this stupid boy.

Jason sighs into your now dry skin. For just this moment, he knows nothing but peace. You'll fight off anything else.

Finally, you succumb to your exhaustion, knowing better than to disobey the Bat. The last thought you have is how warm Jason is wrapped safely in your arms before dreams of his shit eating grin take over. 

[theghostoficarus]

DEEP DOWN...

WE ONLY CARE FOR OURSELVES

DEEP DOWN...

WE'RE LONELY DEMONS FROM HELL

(Wordless version bellow)

[strayswolf]

Jason slowly falling into a flashback gave this issue so much life and a greater purpose. They’re once again acknowledging harm Jason suffered at the hands of the Joker, and how he continues to deal with the mental scars left behind, an aspect that isn’t addressed enough in comics and is so appreciated here.

Also, the artistic decision to have Dick’s word bubble, “He’s taken too much from this family. We can’t let him take any more.” inlaid over introspective Jason was perfection.

Batman: Wayne Family Adventures, Season Three, Ep. 119, We’re Not Gonna Take It

[momomallowart]

Human curling iron + gamer who doesn't stop yapping ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ

Here's a version without the text + a closeup too 🫶💗

[parkjammys]

men with their slutty waists and thick thighs have me in a chokehold

clearly we should worship them, because god what a man he truly is

[mikakuna]

this is one of the arkham knight audio files where jason kinda breaks down to barbara and it's SO SAD. the way his voice shakes and gets smaller like a child's when talking about what joker did to him gets me so bad :(

[brie-annwyl]

Fic idea things <3

Jason coming back to get revenge and seeing Bruce at his grave, talking to his headstone saying things like “you have a wonderful new brother, his name is Tim. I think you would’ve loved him.” And “Never tell Dick, but you were and probably always will be my favourite, Jay.” And Jason realizes oh fuck, I’m not ready for this emotional moment and I don’t even want revenge anymore. So he just continues to be Red Hood and sticks to crime alley until the Bats (Bruce, Tim, Dick, etc) get kidnapped and he’s like, oh fuck, now I HAVE to deal with this emotional bs.

Bruce just immediately hugging Jason after he finds out his identity. Even if it’s dangerous for him to do so (Jason pointing a gun at him).

Jason’s reason for wanting to kill the Joker having nothing to do with revenge, the reality of the situation is Jason has borderline debilitating insomnia because he’s so terrified he’ll wake up back in that warehouse or the Joker will find him whilst he’s asleep.

Bruce originally not wanting Tim as his new Robin because he reminded him so much of Jason. To the point where he caught himself almost calling him Jason on multiple occasions. That’s why it took so long for them to be close.

Dick accidentally calling Tim - Jason after Jason beats the shit out of him.

Jason and Tim knowing each other before Jason dies. Jason knew Tim’s parents weren’t caring for him properly and wanted Bruce to adopt him but he didn’t get the chance to tell Bruce about Tim when he was alive.

Jason getting dosed in fear toxin and getting hallucinations of Willis whilst the other bats are around.

Bruce getting dosed in fear toxin and hallucinates burying Jason again.

Jason is always freezing bc of the whole dying thing and needs other people to keep warm, but Jason’s a stubborn bitch and it’s the middle of winter.

[narxcisse]

★ — Baking with Jason!

Jason Todd x Batparent!Reader

CW: pure fluff!

English isn't my native language

The warm scent of vanilla and chocolate chips filled the kitchen as you set out the ingredients on the counter. Jason, clad in an oversized apron that read "Official Taste Tester," was perched on a stool, his determined little face half-hidden behind the recipe card in his hands.

"Alright, dear," you said with a playful grin, nudging the bag of flour toward him. "What's step one?"

Jason squinted at the card, his tiny nose scrunching in concentration. "Uh... 'Measure one cup of flour.' I got this!" He grabbed the measuring cup, scooped some flour, and then dumped it directly onto the counter.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up!" You laughed, brushing a streak of flour off his cheek. "Not on the counter, Jase—into the bowl."

Jason pouted for a moment, then giggled as you handed him a clean measuring cup. He carefully measured again, his small hands steady with effort. "See? I'm a pro," he declared, pouring the flour into the bowl.

"Absolutely," you said, ruffling his messy black hair. "You're my little baking genius."

The next step involved cracking eggs, which Jason insisted on doing himself. He tapped the shell on the edge of the bowl—too softly at first, then too hard. "Oops," he muttered as half the shell fell into the mixture.

You fished out the bits of eggshell while he sheepishly looked up at you. "Guess I need more practice," he admitted.

"That's okay," you assured him. "Even Batman had to start somewhere."

Jason beamed at the comparison, his eyes lighting up with pride. Together, you mixed the batter, his little hands barely keeping up with the whisk. When it came time to add the chocolate chips, Jason dumped in an extra handful—"for good luck," he said with a cheeky grin.

Soon, trays of cookies were baking in the oven. Jason sat cross-legged on the counter, licking batter off the spatula while you cleaned up the mess.

"Hey," he said softly after a moment, his voice almost shy. "Thanks for doing this with me."

Your heart melted as you looked at him, his cheeks still dusted with flour. "Anytime, sweetheart," you said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "Baking cookies with you is my favorite mission."

The timer dinged, and Jason hopped off the counter, practically vibrating with excitement. Together, you pulled out the golden-brown cookies, the warm aroma wrapping around you both like a hug.

Jason grabbed one (ignoring your warnings about it being too hot), and took a bite, his face lighting up. "Mmm! These are awesome!" he declared, crumbs flying everywhere.

You laughed, pulling him into a flour-dusted hug. "That's because we make a great team, partner."

[anime-potato-san]

I SEE ONE MORE FIC OR BLURB OR WHATEVER DEPECTING ARKHAM JASON AS MEAN, ABUSIVE, OR PRACTICALLY ASSULTING THE READER, I'M GOING TO FUCKING SNAP!

MY MAN IS NOT LIKE THAT.

He is traumatized and not going through a good time, but he is shown to actually care about his men, even when he's harsh on them. And do people forget how he treated Barbara? Think about it: after everything Jason went through, would he really treat the person he loves like shit and abuse them?

NO, HE WOULD NOT.