#Nowhere to go

[teaboot]

"I do not think theft is a good idea. Especially dumb shit like makeup."

Expand on that, king. (asked sincerely)

Having been inundated with the "shoplifting is fucking awesome" attitude of Tumblr for so many years, I'd like to hear your perspective.

I’m in a pretty privileged situation in that very few of my necessities are so inaccessible that I HAVE to steal, but knowing how easy it is to get caught and not know it until it’s too late and knowing how goddamn hard it is to get a job with a criminal record in my part of the world, I genuinely do not think it is a good idea to risk a criminal record for, say, lip gloss, or Cheetos, or a bottle of Diet Coke.

If you’re literally starving, or have kids you’re raising without support, or are on disability, and you get caught stealing food or medicine or school supplies, AT LEAST if you get caught and get sent to court you can say “I needed these things, I was desperate” and, seeing that you have no history and otherwise abide by the law, the judge MAY choose not to go forwards and drop charges and let you go with a warning.

If you go to court and a judge reads the evidence and says “you repeatedly stole potato chips and mascara”, what are you gonna say? “I wanted it?” When they see homeless people and addicts and single parents and felons and abuse survivors all day? They’re going to think you’re a hooligan and an idiot and if you DON’T act remorseful there’s a good chance they’re going to think you need a lesson.

or- OR- say you have a record for stealing small shit. And you get a warning. And then one day you REALLY REALLY DO need something desperately and you break the law. You’ve used up your warning, and you’re fucked.

It just… forget big business, forget capitalism, and just look at how the system operates. Big stores spend MILLIONS OF DOLLARS to catch shoplifters. They WILL SPOT YOU EVENTUALLY, and they might not even arrest you straight away (see Target’s MO, Jesus Christ).

So yeah, no, from a purely practical perspective? It seems dumb as hell to pocket shit I do not need and risk my entire future on… what, $10?

It’s like going to a party in the peak of health and just choosing to do heroin for the fun of it.

like. WHY

[veephoenix]

[badomenslawyer]

Favorite Bad Omens music video ever

[spoopy-moose]

Genuinely what do you guys think happens to Daniil after the end of the game? Like especially in P2 diurnal ending he has genuinely nothing to go back to, if he goes back to the capital it will be to ruins, and if he stays in the town he will be haunted by the trauma of the 12 days and also still be an outsider and probably hated by half the town.

[lilgarbitch]

Nick Folio - Bad Omens “Nowhere To Go” Isolated Drums

@blade-dressed-in-red

[rivka-kopelman]

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 17 - nowhere to go

Warnings: angst/talk of injuries

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Natasha bond over a joint goal: who hurt Clint.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Natasha breathes.

She still feels gloved hands on her face and body. The smell of them.

She pushes down the memories.

The silent panic whirls and builds as she walks back with Maria.

He’s okay, she assures herself.

Maria wouldn’t let her stay long.

He was asleep.

It was late.

But he was alive and the pain was worth it.

Maria keeps looking back at her. If she didn’t know the woman, she’d think it was in worry.

They arrive back at her cell and the blood is gone; from the floor, from the glass.

Natasha wonders who did it.

If there’s cleaners or someone else.

She can’t stop thinking. Her head hurts.

Her hands hurt.

The lights are so bright.

Memories of medical in the Red Room keep flashing across her mind.

Clint being beaten.

She bites the inside of her cheeks.

“What happens now?” she asks Maria.

The woman regards her with a look.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she answers, leaving Natasha locked in.

“Don’t... don’t do anything stupid,” she says as a parting shot.

Natasha tries to nod, failing and wondering what that would look like.

.

The hours of the night are quiet,

Deciding against sleep, Natasha lays on the floor and throws the ball of tissues that Maria had given her between her hands.

The night doesn’t feel long, memories and flashbacks making the time fly as Natasha moves in and out of dissociative states.

Soon the artificial lights turn back on and she squints at the intrusion of light.

Breakfast is delivered by Maria, and Natasha feels curious at her intentions. She wants to ask how Clint is doing, but knows it would betray too much.

The breakfast is packaged, just like Clint usually brings.

Maria brings it like a peace offering, handing it over without ordering Natasha to put on the handcuffs.

Instead, she asks to come in.

Curious, Natasha moves out of the way, allowing entry and stepping back so her body is against the wall.

“Why are you scared of medical?” Maria asks.

Natasha doesn’t answer.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maria mutters. “Do you want to help me find the man that hurt Clint? We have one, he’s been arrested, but the other one… we don’t know.”

Natasha feels the Black Widow in her stir.

Of course she does.

To fight? To attack and hunt? She was made for that.

“Yes.”

The one word answer makes Maria nod.

“I thought so.”

She produces a folder and hands it over, then takes one of Natasha’s apples and starts to eat it.

“Smith, is a generic name, and it seems he’s using the anonymity of it, to his full advantage.”

She hands Natasha a picture.

“He can’t leave the country, so he’s probably still around. I just need someone else to look at it.”

Natasha looks at the dossier.

“Why me?” she asks, finally looking up to Maria’s waiting eyes.

“Because you’re as invested as I am. And I think if you were going to betray us, you would have by now.”

She pauses.

“I also think that you owe Clint.”

Words that Natasha tells herself feel strange to be coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Looking back down at the printed paper, Natasha takes a breath and focuses.

“Tell me what else you know.”

.

Clint opens and closes his hand, sighing softly as the morning rays help to bring him from sleep.

It’s the first day he feels somewhat human.

They’d been decreasing the painkillers and, even he had to admit that after three days here, he was ready to leave.

Coulson had always been close.

For that, he was thankful.

No one around, he takes the time to examine himself, test some movements and stand to look at himself in the bathroom mirror.

His bruising was darker now, especially on his face.

He wasn’t surprised.

With a dark thought, he sees the resemblance to his mother.

He looks away.

Rarely does he think of her.

He misses her, he thinks idly.

Clint lifts his top. Bruising is similar to his face.

He twists and winces.

Broken ribs are quite possibly the worst.

His arm that protected his head was a clean break, and he thanks his hindsight that it was his right arm and not left.

He can still shoot if he needs to.

Making his way back to the bed, he starts to pack his clothes, slow in his movements.

“Ready?” comes a voice he knows to be his superior.

“Almost.”

Coulson offers to hold his bag, and he hands it over without a fight.

“I’m going to need to go to my apartment.”

Coulson nods.

“The safe house isn’t much further from there.”

Clint wants to ask how Fury is going, if there’s been progress in removing the parasites of SHIELD.

“Okay,” Clint nods, taking a breath and heading out the door.

He makes a point to thank the nurses, and asks them to pass his appreciation onto the doctor as well.

He likes this medical team.

He finds they do the best they can, with the people they have and they try and help.

“Where’s Maria?” he asks.

He’d thought that she would perhaps come, instead of Coulson, feeling sure the escalation of events in SHIELD would have taken Coulson away.

“With Natasha,” Coulson’s replies.

The answer makes Clint stop.

“They’re fine,” he assures, nudging him forward.

“They’ll meet us at your apartment.”

“Thompson agreed to let her out?”

Coulson shrugs.

“Fury did. Thompson perhaps had different things to contend with.”

Clint has so many questions.

Diligently, he follows Coulson to the car and holds his tongue.

Breathing in the fresh air, he halts, grimacing at the pain.

“Are you okay?” Coulson asks, opening the door and watching Clint carefully.

“Just sore.”

Clint climbs in, takes a look back at the building, and sighs.

He hopes when he comes back, the SHIELD he thought he knew will be back.

.

Natasha sits with Maria, the blue couch soft.

Clint’s apartment is small but she feels safe as she looks around.

The courage to ask, burns in her throat.

The room is silent. Maria gets up again, walks to the kitchen, and sighs.

“You don’t even like me.”

Natasha starts, regretting her words as soon as they're out of her mouth. She worries her words will make Maria send her back to the cell.

“What are you doing? What do you want from… me?”

Natasha makes her body stay as still as possible, barely breathing as she waits for a response.

“You’re not the only one who’s been through things,” Maria starts, “you’re not the only one with a bad childhood and a history...”

Looking at Natasha and waiting until she looks her in the eyes.

“There are things happening at SHIELD that you set in motion. I don’t think it’s your fault, but I don’t wholly know that. What if you did it to destabilise us? But then all evidence points to Thompson being dirty. So what if you’ve done us a favour?”

She grips the mug nearby.

If Natasha closed her eyes, the words could wash over her, but with the intensity of Maria’s stare, they feel like small knives of distrust.

Ones that Natasha shouldn’t care about.

“You had nowhere else to go. If you stayed there I suspect they would have killed you. And that put my friend in danger. So here you are. He trusts you, for some reason, and you better not prove him wrong.”

Natasha hears cars, the sounds of the city outside and a dog barking in the distance. Noise has been so absent that she welcomes it. The smells too.

The cells were devoid of anything. This feels overwhelming, but in a way she feels grateful for.

“You’re right, I don’t like you and I don’t trust you, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

Natasha looks at her hands.

Maria would have done well in the Red Room.

Maybe in another life they may have been friends.

But then… she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

.

[scribblewise]

Been reading a lot of entries from "The Types of International Folktales" and this is an incomplete, incoherent thought from that.

[veephoenix]

[arodude]

Fire Sprite Lantern

[likeavilain]

wow

[gift-of-orzhova]

Hear me out

I'm sorry but I'm a little less than sold

I've been around

Heard all the stories you said you never told

You're used to speaking in tongues

To feel like you're in control

Now you've got nowhere to run

Now you've got nowhere to go

[alexandenigtscreations]

Inktober/Whumptober Day 17: Nowhere To GoSaffron was never expected to amount to much. This wasn't due to her mind, which was sharp, her gender, which she could work around, or economic status, which was more than comfortable. The fact of the matter was that she had been born with a frail body and hadn't been expected to reach 6, yet alone 25. Character and story (c) AlexandeNight Tools: pen and ink, watercolor and minor digital cleanup