you can click once every 24 hrs to benefit UN aid organizations in Palestine. Arab.org keeps track of these benefits and publishes transparency reports every quarter at their website here. the above link goes directly to benefit Palestine, but you can also click more benefit programs from their frontpage at Arab.org.
a lot of us on tumblr are desperate to help Gaza but have absolutely nothing to offer except our attention and our worry. we don't have money to send, we don't have the ear of the public, we don't have any influence at all. this site appears to be (i say "appears to be" because ive been on the internet and just generally alive too long to ever think anything is a sure bet) a way to summon a small amount of money out of thin air and send it where it needs to go, with zero effort besides moving your mouse or your finger. i think we can all handle that much, no matter how helpless we are otherwise.
i don't like or trust NGOs as a rule, however, UNRWA, the organization aided by clicking the green link above, is despised by Israel and has been defunded by Trump twice, which in my opinion is one of the strongest indicators it is probably actually performing some useful function in Gaza.
consider setting Arab.org as your homepage in your desktop and mobile browsers to help you remember to click, and consider setting up scheduled reblogs or making your own posts with reminders.
My dear friend encouraged me to open a writing Patreon. 💞
What's that all about Sym?
Ooh. Early access previews, writing tips and insights into my workflow, project updates, a chance to join prompt lotteries and even access to comms if you want them. :shy:
What does it get you?
If you love my work and wanna tip, that will ripple across my real life. I'll carry your love in my heart every time I write. I'll daydream about your comments. I'll think about all the cool stories we can share with each other.
Long-term, I'm hoping to put aside some funds to self-publish some original work (I've only ever been published once, and I hope to every god out there no one finds that story, ever). I have had dreams of writing novels since I was eight- this is a tiny step in that direction. I know it's a hard market out there. To be honest, I'm just stoked when someone likes a post. 😊 Everything else is a bonus.
A little sneak peak?
Well, I just uploaded some Jason bite-sized portions for Curriculum. ☺️
"You see him for all that he is, for the future he might have if he only dares to dream of it. He is a man from whom life, light, hope and magic were robbed, and in your smile, in your tender gaze, he finds them again. You are a sanctuary of quiet, a wellspring of kindness, a temple of patience. You are the home he longs to keep, the guardian to whom he cleaves, the nurturer, the caregiver, the other half of the missing pieces of his soul."
is the world really such a terrible place? yesterday i asked if oat milk was extra and the barista said yes so i said ok just regular milk then and when she gave me my chai latte she whispered “i used oat milk ;)” doesnt that make u want to live another day?
here is my life philosophy: next week there might be someone ahead of you in line at the store who’s short a quarter and you have a quarter and you can give it to them. if you weren’t there, they’d have to put something back. the week after that you could be getting lunch and the waiter might ask if you want some pancakes someone else ordered and never picked up. you could find someone’s lost cat. you could watch someone’s bag while they go to the restroom. there are so many ways you are going to touch other people’s lives and they are going to touch yours and there’s no way to know when it’s going to happen. so you have to keep living!!! i wouldn’t want to die knowing that tomorrow the barista will give me free oat milk just to be nice.
When I was 11 years old - we went to Sea World for my birthday. This was to avoid the realization I had no friends, and no one to come to a birthday party and probably because someone gave my mother free tickets at work. It was kinda a shitty day despite being at a theme park full of cute animals. There was a new roller coaster there that had just opened so we decided to go on. I was nervous. I’d never been on a roller coaster.
A group of 6 college kids were ahead of us in line and started chatting with me. Full on just having a fun conversation with someone literally going through the beginning of a very awkward middle school period. I was so shocked they wanted to talk to me. I think my mom mentioned it was my birthday. They were very nice about it. When we got on the ride they told us to go ahead of them so we could sit at the front of the car since it held 8 people.
Now the ride (called Journey to Atlantis - I believe it is sadly no longer there) started with a slow ride of beautiful visuals of dolphins and oceans and computerized images of this imaginary Atlantis before going up the hill to the beginning of the coaster, where it paused for about 30 seconds, and then the ride started. The college kids must have known there would be a pause. Maybe they’d ridden it before I’m not sure.
But as we sat there on that peak, 6 people I’ve never known, and will never know again, sang a very very lonely 11 year old happy birthday. Loudly. And with gusto. They were happy and laughing and joyful. And it made me feel less alone in the world.
I am 29 years old this year, and I still remember them. I still remember that kindness. It is so important. It doesn’t go into a vacuum. It exists beside me in my daily life. And I love the idea that I have been that person to someone else too.
It’s stunningly lovely to be human when we’re kind to each other.
Could I make a drabble request for Shiesty and MC... in a bar... and then perhaps in a bar bathroom...
Hell yes. Who doesn't want a bar 'date' with Shiesty? >D
'Bathroom Break' takes on a whole new meaning...
Warnings: Public sex, non-con/dub-con (MC is drunk, Shiesty is rough), bloodplay, exhibitionism, praise/degradation
Words: 3.3k
Shiesty x f!reader (x spectator!Omni)
End of work celebration drinks are always an adventure. The manager's messy, daring everyone at the table to slam down shot after shot. Head of Marketing's slinging his tie around the receptionist, purring praise as he pulls it tight.
Even your bestie has her eyes set on someone sat at the far end of the bar. A sharp elbow to the ribs draws your attention.
Brothers. They've got to be brothers. They're about the same height, black hair, brown eyes, a jawline that could break rock. One has shorter hair, spiked upwards, a scowl affixed to his face as he hisses in fierce debate with his sibling.
The other's wearing a lazy grin, bringing an amber drink to his lips. There's a playful tousle of black hair, effortlessly styled back, flyaway strands catching in his long fingers.
Your eyes meet- he's caught your staring, and his brows quirk up in silent appraisal. His grin turns wicked as he downs his drink in one.
"Dare you." Your friend mutters, and you glance at her, schooling your features into polite ignorance.
"Dare me to what?"
"Get one of them. Get'em both." She teases, giggling, and you feign a mocking gasp, hand settling on your perhaps immodest, but beautifully gathered cleavage. (The dress is an absolute dream of cleverly gathered seams and sequined embroidery.)
Still, the dare is tantalising. You finish your drink- an early round of vodka cranberry, and make your way to the bar. You smile at the bartender, who catches your eye before moving towards you.
There's a sudden warmth at your back, a cologne that's strong and musky. It reminds you of long nights, of quietness wrapped in danger- cedarwood, petrichor and a hint of something sharp like lemongrass. He leans slightly over you, although there's plenty of room at the bar. He places his empty glass on the counter, and you're treated to an exquisite demonstration in muscular anatomy beneath a black dress shirt.
The barman's smile falters slightly, before he catches himself. "What can I get you both?"
You open your mouth to speak, and the man shifts slightly. You feel the hard press of defined pecs against your shoulder. Your mouth goes dry, all your words turning to wool as you muddle them about for a moment.
"Whatever she's getting, and a double whiskey, neat." The voice is deep, gruff and somehow charming all at once. Your breath catches, and you will your mind to make up words that are easy to say.
"Rum," you mutter, not looking up, "espresso martini." If he's buying, then why not, right? He's got no sense of boundaries and that's going to cost him.
Drink in hand, mysterious man now not quite leaning into you, you stare up at him. Thick, collie dog black hair, loose strands falling in effortless charm. That smirk, underpinned by devilish charm and a promise of a good time. It's hard to look away, hard to see the danger beyond the mischievous sparkle of those brown eyes. "So, come here often?"
And that voice, like sweet syrup poured over something ancient and fine, probably smokey and involving two casks.
"No." Your voice surprises you, low and husky as you turn into him. Your eyes trail up and down. "Social events." You glance over your shoulder. You can hear your friend giggling from here, but you pretend not to. Play it cool.
He's still smirking at you. He leans against the bar, arm resting against yours. You're aware of his warmth, then treated to a glimpse of compact muscle peaking from beneath the button up shirt. It's just one tantalising button, gleaming in the bar light, catching your eye. Your mind lends you a vision- your face pressed against his chest, ripping off the rest of his buttons with your teeth.
You sip it drink. Play. It. Cool, girl. Come on.
"What about you? Out with your brother?"
He shifts slightly, brows raised in thought, shooting a glance over his shoulder. "Yeah. Try'na show him how to have a good time." That low, rough chuckle follows. His smile is bright and breezy, but his eyes darken as he stares back at you. "You any good at pool?"
The question startles you. "I do all right." Not defensive, but almost a suggestion of a challenge.
That laugh is dangerous, and his grin is insufferable. "Good t'hear." He downs the rest of his drink, seemingly unbothered by the fact it's meant to be sipped, and takes your hand in one smooth gesture. He leads you across to the pool table, and from the corner of your eye, you can see his brother rise to join you in stoic silence.
The boys' gazes meet, a moment of static, intense communication passes in a swift flicker of eyebrows and tense shoulders. Then the other brother sighs. "Fine, I'll just watch." He mutters, arms folding over his chest as he leans back against the wall.
"Or get us more drinks." The man beside you suggests, that dark grin back as he reaches to hand you a cue.
You drink. You break balls like a pro. (Not his, sadly.) And every time you try to ask his name, he leans forwards and presses his glass to your lips. You try the whisky, the bourbon… When the shot of tequila hits, your mind is buzzing, your grin too wide, your lipstick a little smeared from his overzealous, alcohol-infused attention. He takes his shots in a way that lets you admire his rippling form, where trapezius meets deltoid, or leaning over you playfully, making you giggle and shift, much to his huffed amusement.
You glance over at the work table. Your friend is deeply absorbed in whatever anecdote IT Steve is sharing. The receptionist is wrapped around the Head of Marketing, not a breath of space between them as they lock lips. The manager looks like he's been floored by one too many shots, slumped forwards on the table.
His hands settle on your shoulders and your breath catches as you stare up at him. "Baby, you're not payin' attention anymore. You need a breather?" There's something almost sweet in the suggestion, something that pulls at you, cloying and heady despite the firm grip he has. Rough fingers. Strong muscles. Guidance in a tone that whispers of possessiveness.
Damn.
Your face flushes, and you nod. Your brain is still stuck somewhere between that undone button and the skin beneath. You catch your lips with your teeth, looping the singular, repetitive thought of what his shirt might taste like.
He leads you, not outside, but downstairs, where the music is muffled and the smell of human waste mingles with alcohol. He slams a door open, not breaking stride.
One step, two, and he's wrapped you up in his arms, lips meeting yours in a low, wanton groan. "Mmm, that's it baby. Fuck you taste good. All sloppy and needy for me, huh." He murmurs, his hand fisting in your hair in some effort to keep you pinned against him. His tongue is devastatingly aggressive, and there's no room to manoeuvre around him. He's pressed inside of you, taking, tasting, making you moan as he brands you with a kiss so deep you feel like he's claiming your soul.
The other hand finds the hem of your dress, and you barely have a moment to catch your breath as he's hiking it up, rough fingers finding the smooth, silky soft skin of your thighs. He grunts again, a sound of pleasure and want. You whimper into his mouth as his fingers slide over the wet patch of your lacy underwear. "Yeah, you want this don't you baby? Caught you looking more than once. Gonna beg for it pretty thing?"
He doesn't wait, hand releasing your hair to spin you around, forcing you chest-down into the wash basin. You blink blearily at your reflection: your makeup's smudged from the fury of his kissing. The lipstick smear is an impolite salute to the fervour passing between you. Your eyes are dark and shadowed by uneven eyeliner. The low, buzzing yellow lighting of the dark bathroom turns you into a fallen Madonna.
Behind you stands the criminal who's about to take your body in sin, wearing a crooked, curving smile to match the curl of his fingers against your clothed cunt.
You gasp, air pushed from your chest as he presses down between your shoulders. You keep your head high, staring at him in the mirror as his seeking fingers dip into your cleavage. "Fuck, your tits… Let's see'em a little better hey?" He growls, a dog with his favourite toy as he yanks your breasts free from the dress and the matching lacy, bra. "Fuck baby. So gorgeous." That sweet, syrupy praise- it's sinful, delicious, making you shiver.
There's no gently going into the night: he cups a full handful of your soft breast and squeezes, fingers rolling across the buttery skin, drawing another lewd gasp. His fingers push your panties aside. "So wet baby. You want this, huh?" His grin widens. "Look at yourself. Get turned on whoring out in the bathroom?" His fingers slide between your folds, his middle finger pressing down on your clit as his index rubs your slick up and down your entrance. Your hips twitch of their own accord, chasing his touch, and he laughs as his head falls onto your shoulder. "Good girl. You want my cock, you gotta beg for it. Use your voice okay, baby?" It's a purr in your ear, the words sparking through your mind, fizzling beside the buzz.
One finger slides right into your wet and ready pussy, sweeping your fluttering walls in search of that spot that'll really make you bounce against him. It's not a sprint, with every finger curl and your torn gasps and whimpers, his dark, pleased smile only grows. His teeth graze your shoulder, his hand shifts to your other tit, pinching your nipple until you cry out. "Come on, bitch. Beg for it." His voice shifts from smooth to a darker growl.
Your eyes fix on his in the mirror, both bright and dark as he meets your gaze, head tilted in predatory patience. Your hips move against your will, and he grinds back against you, rolling into the curve of your ass. You can feel the hard line of his erection through his jeans. He hums gently, thrusting again, grinding down in a slow, teasing circle. A second fingers joins the first, and now he's pumping them inside of your cunt, chuckling softly as he feels your walls tense. "Just a little bit more, bitch. Let it out. Show me how desperate you are." That stupid chuckle escapes again, but this it pierces you just as sharply as his fingers are rough.
"Fuck," you mumble, feeling shameful tears of need prick your eyes, "please… please…"
Grazing teeth turns into a biting kiss against your neck, and you can feel his moan vibrate against your skin. One hand still grips your breast until the nipple hurts from stiffened pleasure. And his fingers? Scissoring inside of you, rough and pressing, filling you in a way that'll leave a mark long after the release passes. The slick slides down them as your thighs tremble, a warm betrayal of the sweetest kind.
He's dry-humping you firmly now, grunting as every snap of his pelvis shoves your hips into the basin, over and over. The line of his erection is firm against your ass, and you whine, pleasure rising as he uses you.
"I want your cock. Fuck. I want your cock so bad." The pitiful, whiny words escape you, your mind losing its grip on resolve as your cunt clenches and twitches.
He laughs, releasing your skin. You can see the reddy-purple mark blooming across your skin in the mirror. "There we go. Such an easy girl." His hand on your tits softens, wrapping around your waist as he supports you. "You like my cock, huh? Cum for me and I'll give you a taste." His fingers curl against your sweet spot, relief and release twining as your cunt clenches. No bruises, just sweetness, a crest so pure you cry and arch against him. He holds you through it, his fingers still working you as you shudder.
"Fuck, so sloppy. Look at my fingers." He's shoving them in your line of sight, and you can see the strings of your slick ribbon between calloused pads. He draws them across your lips, letting you taste yourself before pulling his fingers to his own mouth. The consuming licks are careful, drawing your eye as you watch him appreciate you, your taste, your release. "Taste so good, baby. Love it."
His now clean fingers move to his jeans, where he unbuttons and frees himself with a practised hand. He rubs the engorged cockhead between your thighs, and you feel the warmth of precum smear against your skin. And then he's angling himself, his hand moving from your tits to lift your hips.
Effortlessly.
His control over you is absolute more ways than one, and if you weren't so drunk and riding a high, you might have had more questions about his strength.
"Come on girl, time to show me what you can really do." He murmurs, like you need prep before you take him. His cock is pushing inside you now, thighs spread, cunt burning from the stretch. Bigger than any you've had before, but moving slower, with more purpose. Not taking because he can, but because it feels good for you both.
He pushes into you, groaning quietly as he slides you onto his cock. Settled against him, you can feel the slap of his balls against you, the rhythm of his hips increasing. There's no gentleness now, just a wild, animalistic need to fill you up. One hand holds your hips, the other wraps around your waist, his muscular body upright once more. "Look at your tits jiggling the faster I go. Fuck, that's hot." He mutters, and you're hypnotised by the sight of your boobs bouncing in the basin.
The sink creaks with the pace of his hips. You feel the porcelain shifting as you're mercilessly fucked into it, your eyes glued to the white porcelain. His hand snakes from your waist to your jaw, and he forces your head upwards, making you watch him as he hammers into your pussy. "I wanna watch you come undone. Show me your pretty face as I wreck you." His grin's back, but there's a darkness in those eyes, something raw and primal, that wasn't there before. This is what he wanted, truly wanted: your body is a toy for his pleasure, your cunt the perfect, tight squeeze for his dick.
His hips begin to falter, his body tensing. His fingers move from your jaw to your mouth, and he pushes his thumb and index between your lips. It's instinct that drives you, sucking neatly on what he's given you in offering. At the last moment, he pulls out, groaning in pleasure as he cums, watching your face transform from dazed to blissed, lips parted in that beautiful O. "Fuck, look at you, taking all of me." He slams home once more, then stills, grinding in gentle circles to keep his cum inside of you.
As he does, the sink gives one final, sad little cry of despair, breaking off from the wall entirely. You're suddenly braced against him, held off the wreckage by the virtue of his strength, although your hands shifted to catch yourself naturally. Sharp porcelain cuts along your left palm, making you moan in confusion, pain and pleasure all tangled up in your brain.
The sound of the broken sink has drawn people to the door, and they're now banging. "FUCK OFF." He yells back, twisting you in his grip so he can pull your chest to his. The pounding continues, and the man rips a pipe from the wall to shove it into the handle. "I said FUCK OFF. Find another loo."
But his attention slides back to you, dark and filled with desire. He grips your wrist, staring at the blood now leaking down your palm. Something inside of him seems to shift, minutely, and he brings your palm to his lips, licking a long stretch across your skin. You shiver in his grip, but he holds you tight. "Mmm, so good, look at whatcha givin' me back…" He presses your palm to his cheek and smears it, his grin now lifting at the corners. "I'll remember you all night now, baby. Never gonna forget this little mark you gave me."
You yelp in surprise as he's sliding you back on to his cock. One hand holds your hips, the other angles himself inside of you. He bounces you up and down for a few beats, grinning up at you. "How are you-" You try to ask, but your brain stutters to a standstill as he thrusts particularly hard.
"Hold on tight baby." He's backed you up beside the urinal, pressing your body against the wall so he can find your palm with one hand and continue to lick it. His eyes are bright, almost feverish with excitement as his thrusts deepen. "Ready for more, my little slut? I wanna see you cry so bad."
He releases your wrist and nuzzles into your breasts instead, smearing your blood over your tits. His other hand finds your clit, and he pinches it, making you gasp. "Come on, baby, let's see a few tears. Don't wanna hurt you more than I have to." His voice is filled with a dangerous tension, a reflection of that devilish grin. He draws your palm back to his mouth and bites down, worrying the hand between his teeth whilst grinning up at you. You gasp, you choke, and the tears stream down your cheeks, mascara leaking like a dark confession of your pleasure together. "Oh, my beautiful girl. My beautiful baby. Look at that." Gently, with tenderness you haven't felt all night, he wipes the tears from your face.
The door behind him bursts open. Your head tips back, startled despite the pressure of his cock tearing desperate moans from you.
It's his brother, wide-eyed, almost breathless with rage.
"Shiesty!" He snarls quietly, authority cutting through your breathy exertions.
The man inside of you turns his head slightly, staring over his shoulder. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Either shut the fuck up and watch, or get outta here."
The brother hesitated, mouth clenched over words he wants to say. But his cheeks have gone a stark red, much like the shirt he's wearing. He can't seem to tear his gaze away from you, his eyes fixed on the way your tits jiggle, the way your face transforms from shock to pleasure.
"Fuckkk…" Shiesty gasps quietly. "She's getting so tight. She's getting turned on with you watching."
You see his brother swallow hard, a lump in his throat making it almost noisy. He glances away for a moment, eyes darkening with something akin to want, before his gaze shifts back to you. Caught in the moment, unable to leave, he watches as you cry out, as Shiesty groans in a second climax, as he bounces you a few more times on his cock before sighing in contentment.
Shiesty moves away, looking pleased with himself, his smile victorious and his eyes dark. He drapes you gently on the floor, turning back to his brother after zipping himself up again. The brother asks a question you can't hear, but Shiesty's answer, smooth and drawling in the broken bathroom, rings clear.
"She'll be all right. She's just fucked out for a bit." A pause at the doorway, a snappy bark of an answer to somebody else's question. "Nah, fuck off somewhere else. This one's broken."
The secrets you keep in the silence of your body can be found by clever hands...
AU: A day in the life of you and the Invincible variants - Gravity of the Cosmos (Mohawk Mark x MC x Shiesty Mark)
Tags: Praise kink, non-con/dub-con, love triangle (Mohawk Mark x MC x Shiesty Mark), slow burn, identity porn, swearing
At night, your stars are different.
Poised, patient, you use your powers to bend six locks to your will, one by one. You're masked in shadows, hunkered down in the corner of a solid metal door and the concrete wall.
This facility is reinforced, but nothing can keep you away from the biggest paycheck of your life. Sure, guitar lessons are legit, when the students pay. (Fucking Mark. Absolute asshole forgot to send the money through again.)
But this is where survival lives and dies. Titan needs the tech inside this vault. You need this job. It's another month's rent and food on the table.
One by one, the locks break, like gunshots in the night.
You hiss a quiet breath as the metal door creaks in surrender. "About fucking time…"
The air displaces suddenly. You look up.
"I knew I knew you!" A voice calls out, gruff and pleased in the dark.
You start, glancing around, and see him. Yellow and blue outfit. No gloves. Stupid veil-mask covering his face.
Your brain freezes, arguing with the impossibility of reality… but… there had been that crazy rumour about Hoodvincible being alive after the war…
"I don't know you. What the fuck are you doing here?" You pull your own mask higher up your face. Party's over. Time to abscond quickly. Your hands fix on the metal door, but before you can escape, you're being hauled backwards like a ragdoll.
"Hey now, where ya goin'?" That smooth voice drips like poison through your mind. It feels like the dumb variant is /grinning/ beneath the veil.
It's not a pleasant sensation.
He holds you like you're a misbehaving pet, dangling you in the air, half-threatening, half-amused. To him, you're a doll, a toy, a plaything in his hands.
"Fuck off." You tell him sharply. Your legs sway in the air. You grip his arms tight, just in case. "Thought all the variants were meant to be dead."
You feel him stiffen. His fingers dig into the collar of your duster.
"What?" It's genuine surprise. And then a laugh, not hollow, not broken, but surprisingly sharp. He's not insulted at all. He's amazed by your own stupidity. "I get it now… Well, let me introduce myself…" His voice has dropped to a purr.
The world moves too fast for you to track. The rush of wind whips your cheeks so suddenly, you can barely squeak before you're being pressed up against the metal wall.
One hand grips your shirt front, pinning you hard, forcing the breath from your lungs. The other holds your jaw firmly, fighting the tiniest resistance you offer.
Your breath catches when he leans in. His veil tickles your face as he tilts his head.
You're being drawn in to his web, let into this tiny, private world of veiled secrets and greedy masculinity.
His lips meet yours. A burst of warmth, an invitation to pleasure that makes your heart wrench and your gut coil with need. There's no tenderness as his fingers scrunch your shirt. He presses deeper, his tongue slipping past, his mouth moving as if testing you for weakness.
You groan. You push at his arms- your hands ineffective against the corded muscle and steel grip.
You open up to him.
You're not even sure you're unwilling anymore. His tongue traces a hot arch inside your mouth, finding yours, quelling your moan as he pushes you further into the wall.
You moan, the sound stuttering in your chest, catching at your heart, making it twist painfully. He smiles against your lips, chuckles in satisfaction like he's won a contest. "There we go."
The praise sounds like a wrangler taming his filly, and you push back again, whimpering and squirming. "Easy girl, wouldn't wanna drop ya."
He could. The realisation is cold, dousing the roaring heat with ice. He could drop you. At this height, you'd break bones. Maybe even snap your neck.
"Would hate to hurt that pretty face." Soft platitudes murmured like a caress, but his hand yanks your mask clean off, tossing it away like it's meaningless. The seconds unravel in a tense and sordid current as he considers you. "Fuck… Bet he's got no idea…"
You don't know who he's talking about, because the next moment his mouth is on yours again. He bites down on your lower lip, and you gasp, twitching in his grip at the sudden, unexpected pain. You smell the copper before you taste the blood.
You can't turn away. You can't turn back. He's got you trapped, caged against him for his own entertainment.
"The world is happening in a room that I can't enter, life is happening in a gathering I am not invited to. Being unwanted is a language I am fluent in."
Random thought I had while scrolling through the Catherine Todd tag, but uh, some of you guys know that
“The depiction of Catherine Todd as an addict is rooted in classism and was emphasized more as time went on from her original portrayal”
and
“Catherine Todd’s depiction as an addict has not only been present since her creation as a character but is also important as it provides an example of a sympathetic portrayal of a parent with an addiction, one that still had a positive, if troubled because of circumstances, relationship with her child”
are not mutually exclusive, right? They both can and do coexist.
And while I get that it’s done with good intentions, I’m sick of seeing people trying to erase her addiction because of the potential classist message it may carry. Catherine Todd having an addiction is important.
It’s important to Jason’s story and drives a lot of his emotions later in life in regard to the types of criminals he encounters as Robin and Red Hood. His past with Catherine informs his choices as a teenager and an adult when dealing with people who take and who sell drugs. Think the Cheer storyline, or his introduction in UTRH.
It’s important to the overarching themes in the comics, and especially in regard to Jason and the Todds, of the injustice in poverty and in Gotham’s system. This is where the classist themes pop up but it’s important to note that it’s also truth in television so to speak, as those in poverty cannot often afford more ideal ways to treat illnesses or relieve stress, and are then targeted by people who profit off of addiction. Gotham’s legal systems that turned a blind eye to these problems are part of the reason Bruce continues to go out as Batman to begin with.
And lastly, it’s important for the reader. As much as the classism buzzword gets thrown around, I cannot help but believe that a lot of the insistence that Catherine wasn’t an addict has to do with the bias of an addict as bad person. As though Catherine being a good person, someone who loved her son means she couldn’t possibly be an addict, or that she shouldn’t be portrayed as one. No one’s actually said it, but the implication is there. But that’s not how it works. Catherine Todd’s existence as a loving mother and an addict breaks that illusion. As someone who lost my mother to addiction like Jason did, it’s so important to see a character that struggles and ultimately dies of an addiction that isn’t subsequently demonized by the narrative.
So while I get the knee-jerk response to try and un-canonize these depictions, I think that’s doing a huge disservice to Catherine Todd as a character, and to the people that need portrayals like these to exist.
