Curate, connect, and discover
jason todd has a hoodie. the hoodie. oversized with sleeves long enough he can pull them down to swallow his hands when he’s anxious. thick, jersey knit cotton in a rich red that’s been worn down and washed out to something more faded. a deep hood that can block out the world down to what’s in front of him. a front pocket big enough to fit a medium sized paperback. it’s a feature he’s abused often. the elbows are worn soft, not thin, and it’s perfectly broken in, fibres soft from heavy use.
it’s his favourite hoodie. one of the first things he bought just for himself after his resurrection. the first bit of creature comfort he had allowed himself. a little silly, but it feels like a magic charm. he pulls it over his head fresh from the dryer and poof, nothing bad can touch him.
that’s why when he drops it into your lap one day, it means something. his two lucky charms, bundled up together. you run covetous hands over the thick material, still warm from his skin, and he knows he’s gonna be finding it draped around you in the future. the hoodie finds itself in the bedroom floor time after time but jason doesn’t really mind. he’ll just pop it in the wash on the regular cycle, then in the dryer with the wool dryer balls you cajoled him into getting, and it’ll be good as new. ready and waiting to work its magic whenever he needs it.