#i would respond to some of this horseshit but i have revisions to deal with and i no longer have time

[tugoslovenka]

in a fandom where actually, objectively there is a lack of representation and care for characters that are NOT astarion, to sit there and type essays with your fully developed frontal cortex that the vampire man who has been the face of baldur's gate 3 since EA is not the center darling of larian is a case i like to call ✨ willful delusion ✨and all of you need to go outside and touch grass

[shurisneakers]

shut in [11]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, abuse

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: just to clarify, there are 14 chapters and an epilogue!! also you guys are so nice, thank you for letting me know what you think about this <333</p>

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

The wait was taking a toll. It was clawing at you from the inside, and paired with the occasional flare your anxiety gave, everyday was like spending time in an hourglass that was steadily filling up. 

Sam helped; making sure the both of you ate after spending hours planning out and revising every detail, introducing you to the world when you spent too long indoors. 

The constant rap of your finger against the table and pen tucked behind your ear was the position you found yourself in more often than not. Different scenarios listed themselves on a sheet of paper so you could go through the process of elimination, sorting each loophole out with proper backup. 

Going to New York, 3rd floor of 32nd Street, only cash-

“I’m goin’ on a run.” Sam poked his head in from the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ll be back before Ransone calls.”

“What?” you mumble, not paying attention. You scratched out another implausible scenario, leaving you with many more to go. Everything had to be perfect.

“Going out. Be back soon,” he repeated. 

It still took a minute to register but you found yourself shaking your head once it did. “No, don’t.”

“Why?” he straightened up, no longer leaning on the wall. “Something wrong?”

“It’s not safe.” 

“I checked the cameras. No one’s out there,” he sounded confident but you couldn’t shake the feeling of skepticism around the situation that was beginning to return to you. “I’ll be careful.”

“You could be careful by not going.” You shouldn’t have to explain this to him. “It’s not safe.”

“Nothing’s changed yet-”

“They have.” You whip around to look at him. “Things are different now. We don’t know what’s out there.”

You both know that he had already been seen once. Who knew how many people were waiting forty feet away from the house? Risking his life for a jog was ridiculous.

“I can handle a 20 minute run,” he challenged. “I’m not even going that far.”

“You’re being reckless.” You could see the rebellious streak he had warned you of before making an entrance. Though you found his spontaneity endearing, the rashness that accompanied it you weren’t fond of.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, Sam,” you exclaimed. “We can’t fuck up the plan with you dying.”

He looks at you with his head tilted and annoyance on his face. A wave of tense silence washes over the both of you and only then do you realise it’s the closest thing you've had to an actual argument before.

“Is that really what this is about? The plan?” he questioned, arms crossed over his chest.

You hesitated.

“What else would it be about?” You know he saw it, the brief moment you took before you answered.

“I’m going for a run,” he said decisively. It stung more than it should have. “But I’m not going far. I’ll circle the house.”

That eased it, somewhat. You would prefer if he didn’t at all, but you were at peace with the compromise. A middle ground. 

You nodded, looking away from him. He left soon after, but seeing him run past the window every now and then made you feel better. 

Your mind replayed what he implied. You knew what he was saying, you weren’t completely dense. But you would never let emotions get in the way of work.

It had never worked out well for you before, not while you were still stuck with the organization. Like always, you could feel the familiar ache build in your chest, faces you prayed to forget flashing in your mind. 

You exhaled, forcing yourself to not relive it again. You were thinking an awful lot about it for someone who supposedly didn’t care about it.

Stupid Sam with his stupid cute face and stupid good heart. Fuck him.

____

“Y/N.”

“Ransone.” 

You nodded at Sam who was standing beside you with a glass of water in his hand, leaning his body weight on the table.

“Wilson there with you?”

“No, he isn’t.” Lying to him had become a habit by now, even though you were well acquainted with the consequences of doing so. “What’s the update?”

“We think we found them,” Ransone reported.

“Found who?”

“The people who shot at you.” 

Your body tensed.

“Who is it?” you asked slowly, peering at Sam through the corner of your eye.

“Serpentine,” he said coolly. Sam scoffed, taking a small walk in circles to calm himself down. “Trying to establish themselves at the top again. Went for one of you but we don’t know which, found both of ya instead. Killed Pierce then waited for you to show up.” 

Your eyebrows quirked up. You could see the muscles in Sam’s jaw tighten.

“How’d you find out?” You place your hand on his, urging him to calm down. He visibly softened, closing his eyes and letting out a silent exhale before nodding for you to continue.

“People talk. You know that Y/N,” Ransone sounded bitter.

“Not personally, no,” you mumbled. 

“Well, they do.” The way his tone shifted back to normal like the conversation you just shared didn’t happen almost gave you whiplash. “That’s all on our end. What’s happening there?”

“Nothing. No updates.”

“Y’know, I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet,” Ransone commented. “He tends to get… mouthy.”

“I don’t see him much,” you lied blatantly, ignoring the insult to Sam even though you wanted to retort. 

“That’s a good thing. Can’t have you getting attached now, can we?” 

You barely looked at Sam, only zeroed in on the fact that his thumb was absentmindedly tracing circles onto your skin while he paid attention to what Ransone was saying.

“I’m not.”

“I’m sure you’re getting sick of him,” Ransone chided, pushing this conversation far longer than you wanted him to. “After this I’ll make sure you never have to see him again, don’t worry.”

“Why?” Your eyebrows knitted together. You wondered if you responded too quickly.

“I’ll have him stationed somewhere else. Away from you at all times. Won’t have to interact with him again.” He was doing it again. Ruining any fucking form of a relationship you could have. “You can thank me later.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you bit back. He knew what he was doing. He was drawing it out of you.

“Well I thought you’d be more grateful consideri- oh,” he stopped abruptly. “Unless you’re already attached to him.”

You pulled your hand away from Sam who only looked concerned about where this conversation was heading. The sudden chill that took its place didn’t make you feel any better.

“Oh, Buttercup,” he laughed pitifully. “You know it would never work. Don’t you remember all the others?”

You didn’t say anything. Only folded your arms together and forced yourself not to go down the path he was trying to drag you to. If you hung up now he’d only take it as a confirmation. 

“You two shouldn’t have been friends in the first place. Your lives would have never intersected if this didn’t go wrong.” You hated how he was pointing out things you had overanalyzed time and time again. 

You hesitated for a second, forgetting the fact that you knew he was preying on you on purpose. 

Because these were thought you’d already had. Thoughts of whether you were growing on him only because you were stuck together. Of course if he was forced to co-inhabit a safehouse for this long with anyone he’d like them. 

And as much as you despised to even think it, Ransone was right. How would it even work once you got out? 

It couldn’t. 

And you wouldn’t let yourself even consider the possibility that it might because it was just wishful thinking at best. The line between friendship and something more were merging together so fast, you weren’t even sure they existed anymore. 

“He doesn’t care about you, Y/N. I’m sure he’s charmed his way into making you think you’re important to him, but you’re not,” he sounded sympathetic, almost like he was patronizing you. “You’re just his way out of there, honey.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to launch into a tirade. You held up a finger to silence him, praying that he wouldn’t do something stupid. You couldn’t lose the only communication you had with Ransone over this.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way-” What a truckload of horseshit. 

“I’ll send you my location,” you broke in, words faltering. “Just have someone come get me.”

“If that’s what you want.” You could tell that he was barely hiding the joy he had gotten out of completely fucking with you.

“Don’t look for me directly. I’ll come to you. Just have someone ready to bring me back.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Sam. You had too much going through your head at the moment, things that had specifically to do with him.

“Are you sure? Someone can be at your doorstep within an hour, you know that.”

“I need time to sort some things out. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

“As you wish.” You wanted to smack him.

“Bye,” you say shortly, trying to wrap it up.

“Y/N,” he cut in before you could end the conversation. You wait for him to continue, not saying a word. “I’m sorry you had to hear it from me. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You roll your eyes and hang up, not letting him get another word in. The minute you got a second to breathe, everything he said began crawling its way back into your head. 

“What the hell was that?” Sam fumed.  

“I don’t know.” It was the truth.

“That wasn’t a part of the plan.” You want to tell him to calm down because you had never seen him this infuriated before. 

“I don’t know,” you repeated, feeling more drained by the second. You fucked up by talking to him for so long, you knew it. 

“That sick, abusive piece of shit,” he continued furiously, but you only looked down, tuning out his droning. 

It was fucking humiliating to think that you could have a normal life. It just wasn’t possible. You were in too deep. Staying here with Sam only confused you, made you long for things that weren’t attainable. 

“He’s right,” you utter quietly, effectively shutting him up.

He stared at you incredulously. “What?” 

“He’s right.” You pushed yourself away from where you’re leaning on the table.

“About what?” 

“You know what, Sam.” 

“No, I don’t,” he retorted, “He said a lot of shit so I’m going to need you to specify.” 

“I’m going to take a nap.” Your head was spinning; you didn't know how to tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Don’t run away from this conversation,” he sounded annoyed, rightfully so. “Tell me what he’s right about so we can talk this out.”

“About this,” you relented, spinning around to look at him. “Us.”

“He was just trying to get into your head, Y/N, like he always does,” Sam exclaimed, letting his arms fall beside him.

“This could never work, Sam. We’re friends because we see each other every single day, constantly.” You gestured back and forth between the both of you. “What happens once we get out? When you’re not stuck with me twenty-four-seven?”

He knew what happens to people when they get too close within the organization; he had first hand experience with Riley. They never survived long enough to tell the story themselves. They were ripped away from you, time and time again. It was so tiring to start all over from the beginning, every single time and for nothing. 

You didn’t want it to happen again, not to him. You just wished he’d believe the other anxieties you deemed less important than this, and dropped the topic. Another death is not something you’d be able to handle. 

“We deserve a bit more credit than that, I think,” he said defensively, taking a step toward you. “If our relationship was built solely on proximity then it wouldn’t affect you this much. We’re beyond that.”

“Well, what if we’re not? What if we realise we only tolerated each other because we didn’t have a choice?” you fired back, crossing your arms. 

“Speak for yourself,” he huffed. “I would never let that dictate my choice.”

He sounded so confident, so assured that it wasn’t circumstantial. How could he be so sure?

“I don’t get you,” you whispered. “I can’t figure you out.”

“What don’t you get?” He looked like he was on the verge of pleading. He stopped right in front of you, a temporary barricade between you and the hallway. 

“Why you treat me the way you do.” 

He looks taken aback for a second. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you in any-”

“No,” you interrupt him, realising that it didn't sound the way you wanted it to. “Why you’re so… good. To me.”

He doesn’t say anything in return and you can’t even look at him, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

You had tried for so long to figure out what his motives were. Every time he did things that went beyond common courtesy, your gut would scream at you to find a hidden motive. No one was ever this nice to you unless they were put up to it. You’d had enough experience to realise this.

When you couldn’t find anything it only confused you more. You had shoved it away a while ago after he never displayed any other reason. You let yourself believe it for once.

But it was back; the incessant need to know everything. It was gnawing at you along with everything else because Ransone knew exactly what buttons to push. There had to be something. 

“Y/N,” he called out softly. You felt his hands on your shoulders, urging you to look at him. 

“It’s stupid,” you murmur, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart. 

“It’s not. And I need you to look at me when I say this,” he says slowly, drawing your attention to his face. “I care about you. More than you think I do. You’re not some means to an end. He’s wrong and I need you to believe me on that.”

He waits for it to set in. You get why he wanted you to look at him now. There wasn’t an inkling of deceit in what he was saying. You had seen him lie, seen him try to bluff his way out of a petty situation. It wasn’t this. 

He cared about you because he wanted to. Not because he was forced to; whether it was because you lived together, or because of something else. 

There was so much more you wanted to ask him but nothing got past your throat. It was too heavy. You needed help.

There was barely any distance between the both of you. You could feel his breath, skin tingling from where he was holding you. 

You unconsciously move in, drifting towards the warmth he radiated. Your hands find a place on his sturdy chest, and you let his heartbeat tether you. 

His eyes close when you lean your forehead against his, forcing himself to control his breathing that was threatening to get away from him.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, forehead pressed against his, trying to make your peace with what he said. 

You want to kiss him, much stronger than the last time you had the same thought. Just to see what it’d be like. 

You instead pull away gently. Your hands still rest on his chest. You need time to figure out where your head's at.

“I trust you.” Is all you can say, not tearing your eyes away from him. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger there for a second and you revel in the flips your stomach does. “I trust you.”

But for now, maybe you can be content with where you are.

Next part

[iron-sunrise]

Shiiiid, guess I’m not done ranting.

Ok so @helpfulhardware as usual checks on me now and then (bless) to tell me, rightfully, that I shouldnt waste my time with discoursers. They’re right obviously but I’ve come to understand why I do it and that lead me to stop my brief moratorium on discourse.

I dont swing for them because I never at any point expect honesty and civility from discoursers. 90% of them have abandoned all pretense of providing those things, at that. 

Reasons I’ve decided not to shut up is that there are so, so, so many very young Ace (and bi and pan and trans, queer and nb too, the discourse reaches for them as well or preceded the current ones) teens and young adults being put through an invalidating, emotional meat grinder on this hellsite simply because a backlash against increased visibility made it popular to do so. 

I know it won’t get anywhere, I know they are greasy, obnoxious, immature, hateful, often racist/sexist/ableist/exorsexist and more. They very, very rarely will admit to being wrong and even more rarely will engage honestly. They thrive on negative feedback, especially if they’ve managed to do any harm that gets them a response. 

Exclusionists get off on walking all over us.

So I dont respond to engage them. I respond to let the folks I mentioned above see their dishonesty and shit-ass nastiness for what it is: Reactionary horseshit with no coherent structure.

It’s the same reason I believe you should drag TERFs and Nazis and MRAs and AnCaps and all other reactionaries because it takes their fucking teeth out when it comes to their would-be victims. They see that and then realize they’re dealing with childish asshats and makes it easier to promote how absolutely crappy their logic is. The more they are challenged en masse, the more they are cornered, silenced, reduced to illegitimacy and thats the effect we should desire. 

Knock them off their high horses. 

Another reason.

This shit is not discourse. It never has been. I can count the number of Exclusionists who arent rigid, ferociously single-minded and downright nasty on one hand. And there are a LOT of people on this site proudly rocking ‘discourse’ in their name as a vehicle to attack and harass.

How in the fuck is it discourse when instead of engaging-- they call us names, they deny huge chunks or the whole shit of Asexual structure, terminology as if they are an authority on it. They revise lgbtq history, they lie about the origin of terms (Allo, Aspec, so on), they claim its just the cishets but what they define as an asexual “cishet” is a constantly moving target-- or they go further than that and say asexuality/aromanticism simply doesn’t exist. They employ the same tactics and language structure as Anti-SJWs and TERFs. 

Why engage when you can just call someone [insert alignment here]Phobic?

Why engage when you have a massive bag of pithy, canned stock phrases which only serve the purpose to try and belittle someone or put them on the defensive? (This isn’t coherent/Imagine hating X this much/ wow go outside just once/’Mood’/calm down, no one is saying that thing we keep saying/inherently homophobic/Why do you hate gay men/pedophile!/You cant say we’re like this because some of us are [x] and that means you hate [x])

Why admit you are wrong when, even when cornered, you can avoid accountability and humility by just shittily restructuring some part of the community or it’s history and claim it always was that way? (”The community was founded on the intersection of [X]/It’s LGBTPN! It’s always been LGBTPN!/You stole/appropriated this from blah!)

Which brings me to this fact. This is not a conversation. This is not an exchange anymore than MRAs are in “discourse” with feminists or Nazis are in “discourse” with Jewish and Black people or TERFs are in “discourse” with Trans women and Truscum are in “discourse” with NBs or those they dont think fit their definition of having dysphoria. 

This is what Discourse means:

In order to call this discourse, it needs to fit one of these definitions. 

Where is the discussion/conversation/talk/dialogue in making post after post after post on a shitty sideblog thats just an attack, saying you wish (discourse flavor of the month) faces rape, violence, kills themselves etc?  Where is it for the repeatedly disproven lies, the hatemail, the shitty discourse-speak posts that serve no other purpose than to kick Aro/aces in the face? Where is it in just outright bullying people and making fun of them en masse for existing, this revealing how dishonest the whole “its just the cishets” crap is in the first place?

Find me the civil exchange in all of this? Where is it when anything they cannot deny (such as being toxic, ignorant, emulating TERFs and other reactionaries) is met with disgusting behavior, inexplicable accusations, verbal and emotional abuse and stonewalling?

It is not there. It has never been there. 

Reactionaries must be challenged. All of them. Every type. Face them head on because of all the purposes it serves to do so it will make their targets feel less like shit, less disempowered, less like they’re at fault for something just for existing. Less invalidated.

So just, yeah. Drag them to hell. Drag them and stop even TRYING to be civil or fair or gentle because they are 100% not doing that themselves. They do not deserve that effort. So dont reward them with it.