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eddiemunsonspantschain · 1 year ago

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The Boyfriend Experience - EM

Author's Note: This is very personal to me. I wrote this about my experieces and facts about myself. Which I know isn't very reader insert friendly but as my friend @boomhauer had said, for all I know, I'm not alone in this. This will be a mini series. Idk how many parts it will have but I wanted to do more than one.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x virgin!reader

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of weight, mentions of being overweight, body image issues, body dysphoria, self deprication, sexual experiences, lack of sexual experience, teasing, angst.

You do not have permission to copy, translate or repost my work onto other sites or social medias. This work is my own and it is owned by me.

Having a large friend group was nice. Nice enough, at least for you. Between the Hellfire boys and the party you were fortunate enough to have many friends. You were close to the party the most over the shared trauma of the upside down and things that go bump in the night. It was easy to be open with them so some topics of conversation didn’t bother you… until certain comments were made. You had never intended to let the information about yourself shift the dynamic of your friendships. At this point in your life, you had reluctantly accepted a fact about yourself when it came to romantic relationships and activities. However, your friend groups learning that you were a virgin even now past graduating high school seemed to change everything. It wasn’t like you wanted to seek out the first willing male participant and ‘get it over with’ as some past friends had told you to do before. You didn’t want that for yourself. It didn’t feel right for you.

The unfortunate thing about it was that no one was into you. That was something you had concluded on your own in your own time. It was either the pudge of your stomach and the squishiness of other parts of your body or simply your personality. You weren’t sure. Maybe it was all of it. You had spent many a time pinching, poking and prodding at your body in the mirror as tears silently slid down your cheeks. Most of the time you avoided reflective surfaces all together as it shattered the illusion of what you thought and wished you looked like. One look in a reflection made your confidence dwindle down to nothing like something small being dropped off of a skyscraper just to shatter on impact at the pavement below. So you wore baggy clothes. Hiding your figure was better than being gawked at for trying to wear clothes other girls, skinnier girls, pulled off effortlessly. The hammer that hit the nail on the head was when you noticed some things. Was it other people’s fault? No, it wasn’t. But when you went out with friends who were deemed more attractive than you and people approached them to talk to them while you stood there, drink in hand. It was hard not to notice. The icing on the cake had been the one time you were left standing at the bar, all your friends off talking to someone in the bar that had approached them while you played with the condensation that dripped down onto the bartop.

You lacked social experiences. You had never been on a date before, never had a boyfriend either. You had a first kiss at least though it had been a long time ago. How your friends didn’t know this, you had no idea. A rousing game of truth or dare brought this information to light for everyone. The kids weren’t invited as it was an adults only party Steve had decided to throw. The Hellfire boys, Nancy, Robin, Steve, Jonathan and Argyle as well as yourself all sat in a circle with your respective drinks in hand. It had been your turn, so you chose truth, wanting a break for a moment as the dares got more daring as time went on and more alcohol was consumed. Drinking the ‘mega condiment’ as Argyle named it–a mixture of literally every condiment housed in the Harrington fridge–was not on your list of things to drink that night. Especially after seeing Robin gag after taking a sip of it.

The Harrington house was big enough to house all of you. Not to mention a supplemental bar for when you all ran out of what you brought with yourselves. These ‘adults only’ parties tended to last all night with drinks, food and usually crashing there. At times it was movies or more importantly drinking games that were played at these events. Tonight the stack of playing cards had been retired early in favor of Truth or Dare. Jeff hummed as he thought over what he could ask you. His eyes lit up as he figured out his question. “Who did you lose your virginity to?” He asked you with a grin. It wasn’t uncommon for these question to get more personal and daring the more you all drank. So you weren’t necessarily surprised at the topic but the fact that it had been aimed at you, one of the only single people in attendance. Normally, these embarrassing personal questions were aimed at the couples.

You felt your cheeks warm in embarrassment. As everyone waited for their answer, you simply looked away from Jeff and took a swig from your drink to avoid answering. That was one rule that had been put in place. You could opt out by drinking your drink. No questions asked. Or at least, no requirement to answer.

“Must be embarrassed about who it is.” Gareth chuckled with a small shrug as he drained the last of his beer.

“Or she didn’t lose it at all.” Jeff playfully jokes, but something on your face must have given it away as Jeff’s eyes widened in realization. “You haven’t lost it?!” He gasped.

“How? You’re like… in your twenties.”

“I just haven’t. Alright?” You practically snapped at Gareth and Jeff.

“Well, have you come close? Like on a date getting hot and heavy with someone?” Steve asked, leaning over to hand Gareth another beer after popping the bottle cap off with his bare hand.

“No… I’ve never been on a date so,” You mumbled into your cup as you took another drink.

“You’ve never been on a date?!” Nancy asked, shock written on her face. “I thought Ethan when we were soph-”

“Yeah. He stood me up and made jokes about it for a week after.” You cut Nancy off with a tight smile. “I’m not girlfriend material, apparently. Now if you’ll excuse me.” You pushed yourself off of the floor and headed for Steve’s kitchen to make yourself another drink. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment and you could feel tears threatening to breach the barrier of your lower lashes. At times, you could brave the embarrassment of being a virgin at your age. However now again you found yourself longing for something you had not had the privilege of having. Yearning for a connection to someone who likes you for who you are, not necessarily what you look like. When those feelings hit you, it was hard not to be hurt at the realization that you might never have these experiences. You could hear laughter in the other room, the immediate assumption in your fragile state that it was about you. Your lower lip wobbled as you opened the container of cranberry juice, pouring a full glass of it knowing adding more alcohol would make it harder to compose yourself now and you’d like to leave with a shred of your dignity left intact.

“Enough.” You heard Eddie’s voice snap, presumably at the Hellfire boys as he usually reigned them in. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks quickly before going to grab the hoodie you had abandoned on the back of a kitchen chair earlier. You needed the comfort, shielding your body away before you trudged back into the room of your friends with your mask back on firmly in place.

Since then, things have been different. Your lack of experiences, lack of romance and lack of self confidence were sore spots for you. Some told you you simply weren’t trying hard enough. As if it were that easy to just make people like you. Or want you for more than just what was between your thighs or under your shirt. As if anyone would want to see that. Since the night of the party, the group made it a point to keep certain topics of conversation to a minimum or overall stopping the conversation when you joined the group. As if they didn’t think you would notice. It was hard to ignore that the topics of recent date nights ceased the second you were close enough to them all. With hushed ‘later’s, ‘not now’s and ‘I’ll finish telling you later’s being the main indication when you manage to hear them.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” You sighed as you crossed your arms over the counter of Family Video, looking at Steve and Robin expectantly. You had heard their conversation when you walked in there but when you approached the counter Steve had quickly shushed Robin from talking further. “What are you both talking about?” You asked.

“Nothing, nothing.” Robin waved you off with a smile as she rang up the movie you had brought over.

“I was just telling Robin about my date the other night. After we had dinner we started getting hot and heavy in my car, went to Lovers Lake to have-”

“Shh! Steve, innocent ears! We have to keep her purity intact.” Robin shushed him, smacking him in the chest.

Your face fell. “Excuse me?” You asked Robin in a clipped tone, not bothering to hide your anger and annoyance.

The air had shifted as had the mood. Robin’s face fell as she realized that her joke had not been amusing to you but instead upset you. “It’s just that… No, Y/N. I didn’t mean it like that!” Robin apologized quickly.

You scoffed, pulling your wallet out and throwing cash onto the counter to cover the movie and a packet of Red Vines. “Thanks.” You mumbled, snatching up the movie and a packet of Red Vines before heading out of the store quickly.

—----------

It was movie night. That was the reason for your trip into Family Video that week. The Hellfire group would have a movie night once every week or so. Everyone brought in a movie and you all would decide which ones to watch. You sat on the couch, always having privileges for the couch per Eddie’s orders since in his words: you are the lady here. You sat beside Eddie, sharing your Red Vines with him while he shared his popcorn with you. Since that day in Family Video you hadn’t seen neither Steve nor Robin, actively avoiding both of them. You had mumbled an acceptance of Robin’s apology when she called but hadn’t wanted to see either of them. It got worse though. Almost all of your friends had made a joke about your lack of experience thus far. If there wasn’t a joke about it there was reassurance that didn’t feel so reassuring. Nancy had tried to reassure you that there was nothing wrong with being a virgin still at your age. Eddie, Jonathan and Argyle seemed to be the only ones smart enough to not make any comments about the subject. Something you praised God for. Now it was the end of the week and you were just ready for everyone to move past this once and for all.

On the screen in front of you was a horror movie. Something you weren’t unfamiliar with. You sighed as you sunk into the couch with Eddie. You watched as two teens snuck away with the intention of having fun with one another and felt your mood sour. You waited for it. Some kind of comment to be passed your way.

“These are always so cheesy and these parts? Boring.” Lucas complained, tossing pieces of popcorn at the screen itself.

“That’s because you’ve never experienced it, Sinclair.” Gareth laughed, nudging the other boy.

“As if he should listen to any advice from you.” Eddie nudged Gareth with his foot.

“I’m full of advice! Good advice!” He argued back with Eddie.

“Suuure you are.” You added, “None of you seem like you’d know what to do anyway. Just fumble and ask where things are.”

“Oh, please!” Freak laughed and grinned at you. “Here’s something we can at least tell you, Y/N.” His tone took on one you would use when speaking to a child, “When a man and a woman love each other, his peepee goes in the hole between your legs. That’s where you put it. In case you didn’t know since you’re still a virgin.”

“Freak, knock it off.” Eddie hissed in his direction.

You didn’t even dignify him with an answer. You stood up, stepping over Gareth and Jeff as you made your way to the door.

“Y/N?” Eddie called, but you didn’t dare look behind you. Instead, you slid your jacket onto your body, picked up your bag and threw open the door to Eddie’s trailer deciding to leave the movie you rented there.

You hopped down onto the porch, the screen door behind you smacking shut loudly as you bounded off the porch and over to your car. You heard the door open back up behind you and Eddie called out your name again. You ignored him, sliding into your car and peeling away from the trailer park like your ass was on fire. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, ignoring the tears sliding down your cheeks. It was one thing to hear jokes that you were still a virgin. It was another thing to have people demean you thinking you were innocent and didn’t know anything because of it. You weren’t a fucking child. You knew probably more than they did about the female body and what to do. Years of hearing your peers talk about it had been informative enough.

As soon as you got to your apartment, you shuffled yourself inside and shut the door tightly behind you. You crumbled. You were embarrassed and upset, wanting to just crawl in a hole and forget this week had ever happened. You pulled yourself up, trudging to the bathroom and taking a hot shower before pulling on panties, sweatpants and a tank top deciding to leave the death trap on the floor of the bathroom. You moved to the living room, seeking out a new movie to put on in the hopes it would distract yourself from the disastrous night. You put on one of your favorites before tucking yourself into your couch with your favorite fuzzy blanket and pillow. You only got through about fifteen minutes of the film before there was a knock on your door. You ignored it, favoring pretending you weren’t home or didn’t exist than face whoever was on the other side of that wooden barrier. The knocking came again, harder and more insistent this time.

“Go away!” You called out to the door. You assumed it was Freak, Gareth and Jeff. No doubt sent there by Eddie to apologize for upsetting you. He never let the other guys bother you too much.

“Open up, sweetheart. It’s me.” The man you thought had sent others to your door was actually the one behind it.

“No.” You called back out. You were thankful that Eddie didn’t make fun of you like the others did or comment on it. But you were embarrassed and felt ugly.

“Please? I have something for you.” You sighed. Knowing Eddie he would either camp out in front of your door or more likely pick your lock or climb through your window in your bedroom if you didn’t let him in. You pulled yourself up off the couch and went to the door, unlocking it and opening up the door. His smile was wide and bright when you opened the door. His arms were laden with items and he nudged you with his foot. “May I come in?” He asked you, batting his lashes at you.

You stepped aside, letting the lanky metalhead into your home. Eddie moved inside of your apartment quickly and you watched him like he was some foreign entity in your home. Eddie had been in your apartment before but never alone with you. It was always accompanied by one of your friends. He had just never come here by himself. You wouldn’t have thought so though as he effortlessly placed down the items in his arms. He had a pizza box with him, two shopping bags and a backpack on his back. From the plastic bags he pulled out some beer, candy and movies presumably from his own home. “What’re you doing here, Eddie?” You sighed, shutting your door and moving back to your couch. You burrowed yourself under your blanket again, pillow tucked behind your back. “Where are the guys?”

“Well, you left clearly upset, and I kicked the guys out.” Eddie answered nonchalantly. He stopped his movements of sorting out the treats he brought to look at you. “They shouldn’t have said what they said.” He spoke softly, watching you.

You took a breath. “Thank you… You didn’t have to come here though.” You mumbled, crossing your arms.

“I wanted to.” Eddie waved you off. “Now, I’m gonna go change cause we’re having a sleepover. I have your favorite.” He flipped open the pizza box to reveal your favorite toppings. “I will be back!” He took his backpack into your bedroom. You leaned over, assessing the pizza and snacks he had brought with him for you. You took a slice of pizza and gently began munching on it, trying to fight off the negative thoughts about how this food wasn’t good for you and wouldn’t help your situation but only deepen the purple stretch marks on your stomach and thighs.

When Eddie returned, he was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a faded Judas Priest t-shirt. He dropped down onto the couch on the opposite side of you and picked up a slice of pizza, taking a huge bite out of the food. He settled down, wiggling your blanket out from under him to get under the fabric and be comfortable with you. You both sat like that for a while, watching the movie you had put on and eating the pizza. Eventually one of the movies Eddie had brought with him was put on. You both fell into a comfortable silence but you knew it would eventually break.

As the second movie played you were about halfway through it when Eddie finally spoke up. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked you, turning his head to look at you. You turned your head to meet his eyes and felt your walls crumble. You wanted to say no… but with Eddie’s gaze on you, it was hard to compose yourself. You flashed back to what happened not too long ago and over the week in general. You didn’t realize that more tears began to slide down your cheeks. “I’m just so sick of everyone thinking I’m innocent just because I haven’t fucked someone. I’m not an idiot. I’m not a child. I fucking know things.” You sobbed quietly, hurriedly wiping at your cheeks. “It’s not my fault I’m not the kind of girl anyone wants.” You felt the couch shift as Eddie moved closer, the weight of his arm falling over your shoulders. He moved your legs over his lap, tucking you into his side as you cried. “They act like it was somehow my choice. Like I haven’t wanted to have a boyfriend, have sex, go on dates, be loved by someone. If it were my choice I would’ve done all those things! But no one is interested in me. How is that my fault?” You babbled on, tucking your face against Eddie’s chest and finding comfort in the smell of him.

“First of all, they were wrong to make you seem like you don’t know shit. Second of all, you are absolutely the kind of girl people want. Smart people who have eyes and aren’t selfish assholes. I know if you had the choice, you would’ve done those things. Clearly, since this upsets you so much, babe. There’s nothing wrong with taking your time.” Eddie spoke softly, his thumb rubbing your skin comfortingly as he spoke.

“Sure, Eddie. Whatever you say.” You murmured, feeling drained from the week itself. A silence fell over the two of you as you felt your insecurities swallow your mind. “Maybe if I was skinnier… prettier. Like Nancy, smart too.” You mumbled. You gasped when Eddie suddenly moved back. You looked at him and he had moved back to stare at you. What shocked you was the anger on his face.

“Do not. Say that.” He spoke sternly, watching you. “There is nothing wrong with you. Your body, your mind, nothing.”

“But-”

“No!” Eddie frowned, a crease forming between his brows as he showed his unhappiness at your lack of self-confidence. “No buts! Yours is phenomenal, by the way.” He was moving before you could even process what you just heard, your cheeks warming when you realized. He was pulling at your legs. You made a small sound as he pulled you til you were laying on your couch. You adjusted the pillow that had once been behind your back to be behind your head instead, deciding to humor Eddie. You knew him well enough that he would say what he wanted to say whether you wanted to hear it or not. He was never shy to share his opinion, sometimes unprompted. “Look,” Eddie moved on top of you. He straddled your thighs as his hair fell over your face like a curtain. Without thinking about it you moved his hair back from his face. “Hi, pretty girl.” Eddie grinned at you. You pouted at him, using one hand to tug on his earlobe. He whined and winced, “Ow.” he mumbled softly. Eddie’s hands moved from holding himself up above you instead favoring to rest his body against yours. You grunt softly at the new weight but it wasn’t bothering you.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You huff and Eddie grins back at you.

“Shh. Hold on. I’m gonna give you the boyfriend experience, okay. Let me show you how pretty you are.” He shushed you, moving his hand up to your face. His middle finger gently ran over your forehead, moving down the bridge of your nose. Your eyebrows were creased in confusion as you took in what he was doing but your breath hitched in your throat as his lips pressed between your eyebrows, smoothing the crease away. His soft touch moved down over the tip of your nose down to your cupid’s bow before moving over your cheekbone. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. You were fumbling as you processed the fact that Eddie Munson was kissing your face. His lips followed his finger as he kissed your cheek bone. More kisses followed over your cheek, jaw and chin.

“Ed-”

“Shhh,” He softly shushed you again, middle finger moving over your top lip before running over your lower lip. You waited, holding your breath. That breath escaped you when Eddie pressed his lips to yours. You knew what to do, of course, pressing your lips back to Eddie’s but truly you were sure you were a horrible kisser. His hand now cupped your cheek as his lips moved against yours like he was trying to show you what to do. Soon you melted in his embrace, just enjoying kissing him. His lips were slightly chapped but soft and you made a mental note to share your cherry lip balm with him so he didn’t crack his lips. Eddie’s lips left yours though and you whimpered softly as he moved away. A breathy chuckle left him. “You have to breathe, pumpkin. Okay?” He murmured, nose nudging yours gently. Then he was moving again. He tucked his head into your neck, peppering kisses against your skin. He kissed over your collarbones before kissing the tops of your breasts. “No bra when you’re at home? I should come visit more often.” He mumbled against your skin, running his nose over your cloth covered mounds. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Gonna come over more often now cause I don’t wear a bra at home?” You scoffed and Eddie nodded against you.

“Mhm, and cause I can see your nipples through your tank top.” He chuckled and moved his hands down to your hips. His hands moved back up, pushing your tank top up. You reached for his hands but he stopped just under your breasts. “Not going further. I didn’t ask permission yet.” He murmured and shuffled down your body. His nose nudged gently at your stomach, admiring the pudginess that was there. He began scattering kisses over your soft flesh. Over stretch marks ranging from soft pink, barely there to fresh purple ones. You squirmed a little under him, cheeks warming in embarrassment and self consciousness. “You’re so cute.” He mumbled against your skin, looking up at you. You pouted, feeling tears tug at your lashes again. “No crying, baby.” He murmured, “Not wanting to make you feel bad. Just wanna admire you.” You sniffled, gently wiping at your eyes as you nodded down at him. You were unsure of Eddie’s plan. Why he was doing this and how far he was going to go but you were going to give him his time, enjoying the limited attention he was affording you.

Eddie waited for you to calm down before he continued. He kissed over your hips, hands moving to pull your sweatpants down slightly. He pulled the material down over your legs, setting them aside and you froze again. He bypassed your panties which made you pout a little but you knew Eddie had a plan. His kisses continue over the tops of your thighs before moving to kiss the sides of them. He lifted one of your legs, lips moving down your calf and over your ankle before he kissed the top of your foot. When he was satisfied that he had covered you in enough kisses he grabbed your sweatpants and pulled the material back over your legs and settled himself on top of you again once you were clothed again. Eddie had laid himself so his head rested at your neck. One arm snaked under your body while his other hand moved to gently run his fingers through your hair.

“You can call me crazy if you want,” Eddie mumbled against your skin. “But what if I gave you the boyfriend experience. Doesn’t have to go anywhere. Just… show you what you’re missing.”

You blinked, thinking over Eddie’s suggestion. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Eddie. You liked him a lot especially once you saw the soft side of the scary looking metal head. You figured you weren’t his type despite the affection he’d shown you tonight. So what was the harm in taking him up on gaining some experience? You hummed softly and stroked your fingers through his hair. “Yeah… I’d like that.” You murmured quietly, feeling the smile that spread over his lips before he pressed a kiss to your throat.

Eventually the two of you moved so you could enjoy the slightly cold pizza Eddie had brought you both. The two of you ate most of it, tucking the rest into the fridge. You yawned gently as you packed up the snacks and Eddie’s hands gently grabbed at your arms to stop you. He steered you towards your room, shutting the tv off on the way. Inside your room you crawled into bed and laid on your side, figuring Eddie would help himself to wherever he wanted to sleep. The bed dipped beside you and Eddie shuffled closer to you. “An important part of the boyfriend experience, cuddling.” He murmured as he pressed himself to your back. He tangled his legs with yours, holding onto you. You could feel that he had shed his shirt before climbing into bed with you. His hand rested on your belly and you resisted the urge to move it. You didn’t even like touching your own belly but someone else touching the area made you want to crawl out of your skin. After a few minutes though you relaxed enough, gently falling asleep in his arms.

—----------------------------------------

The next morning you had woken up still in Eddie’s embrace. He was holding onto you tightly, gentle snores falling from his lips. You picked up his arm, attempting to wiggle free from his hold at first until he tightened his arm around you further. You huffed but smiled, picking up his arm again and getting free. You padded out of your room to the kitchen and started to brew some coffee. You grabbed what you needed to make some simple bacon and eggs for you both, humming as you did so. As you added some cheese into the eggs you heard him before you felt him. He had just managed to step on one of the creaky floor boards. Eddie’s arms wrapped around you and his head found home on your shoulder.

“You left me,” He mumbled against your skin.

“I made breakfast.” You answered, plucking up a piece of bacon and offering it to him.

Eddie lifted his head and bit into the bacon, chewing thoughtfully. “All is forgiven.”

You chuckled and shook your head, finishing the other half of the strip of salty pork before returning to moving the eggs around. Eddie removed himself from you to grab the plates you set aside for you both. He held both as you scooped some eggs onto the plates before placing bacon strips onto them. Eddie took them to the table as you popped toast into the toaster and started to make your cup of coffee. Once all the food was ready you both sat down to eat. You found your eyes wandering to the boy that sat beside you. Eddie’s hair was a frizzy mess from sleeping with it loose last night. His torso and arms were toned and not overly muscular. You figured he lifted a lot of heavy things having heard he worked at a mechanics shop now. Blotches of scars were on his arms and torso from where the demobats had feasted on his flesh but you didn’t find them repulsive. It made Eddie look rugged in a way. Even if his nipple and his chest tattoos had suffered because of it. His rings were absent, most likely sitting on your bedside table now.

“Like what you see?”

You moved your eyes away from Eddie’s chest to look at his face. He smiled at you. A kind, warm smile like you guys had known one another a long time. His big chocolate orbs watched you carefully but as he shifted the sun caught his eyes, turning them amber. You chuckled at the scrunch of his nose and the squint of his eyes as they were invaded by the sun. You stood up, moving to your window and pulling the sheer curtains together. “I like natural light.” You told him, returning to your seat.

Eddie hummed, picking up your hand and kissing your knuckles. “Thank you for breakfast.” He murmured with another bright smile.

“You brought me dinner last night. It’s only fair.” You reason with a small shrug. When you finish your meal you put your plate in the sink and refill your mug before retiring to your couch once again under your blanket. Eddie joins you moments later, slipping under your blanket and shifting closer to you, arm around your shoulders. You turned the TV on, finding something to watch as you sip your coffee. You only look away when a gentle tap comes to your chin and you turn your head, Eddie lips pressing to yours.

“Forgot to properly tell you good morning.” He murmured against your lips.

You feel your face warm, kissing Eddie again. “Good morning,” You murmured.

“Good morning,”

—-------------------------

You and Eddie spent the day together. You watched TV, made lunch and finally talked about what you would both be doing. Eddie offered a no strings attached experience, explaining that he would provide you with the experience of what it was like to have a boyfriend and whatever else you might like at no cost to you besides your time.

“You don’t want anything?” You asked, raising a brow at the boy.

Eddie nodded his head. “Nothing.”

“There has to be something you want to be doing this.”

Eddie hummed and shook his head again. “I’m getting it already.”

“What?”

He smiled at you and reached for your hand. “What I want… is you.” He murmured, “Stupid, I know. Me being an option but I’m happy just… filling the role for you. Til you find what you want.”

That was the thing. You didn’t know what you wanted. You wanted to be loved, yes. Someone who wanted you. Which Eddie claimed he was that person. Someone who wanted you. That was something difficult for you to grasp. Why would someone want somebody as imperfect as you are? You were a burden, an issue. Or simply just the thing in the corner that was easily ignored. You simply nodded at Eddie’s words though and leaned over, pressing your lips to his even if you didn’t believe a word he said.

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#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eeddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fic #tw weight #tw self deprication #tw body dysphoria

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cardentist · 10 months ago

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op turned off reblogs on this post [Link], so I'm reposting this over here:

it's Extremely Unfortunate that we're at the point in trans masc exclusionism where we have to be hyper vigilant against seemingly innocuous posts.

when the op of this post says "men" in this post she means trans men.

trans men who present masc before (and sometimes during and after) hrt are often clocked as butch lesbians, because they are seen as feminine bodies presenting masculinely.

while there Are cis men who present similarly to butch lesbians (there's a very famous meme about it), how many cis men do you know that are Actively Trying or Want to present like butch lesbians?

or how about the Not Insignificant Overlap between trans mascs And butch lesbians (and lesbians in general)? the amount of trans mascs who identified as lesbians before they knew, who sometimes continue to feel a connection to that community as they realize more about their identity.

when op says "transandrophobia truthers" are the exact group of people this post was made about he's talking about trans mascs. this is a post saying that Trans Mascs aren't The Real Thing. and more specifically, the "transandrophobia truther" dog whistle refers back to trans mascs who stand up for themselves. who want their trauma to be taken seriously, who want to be treated like equals within the community. [Link]

it is a derogatory term that was specifically created by exclusionists to belittle trans mascs who speak up for themselves. it is Explicitly About trans mascs, and yet it's a term that people who are unfamiliar with the harassment happening towards trans mascs won't recognize.

and the nasty thing about it is that op was Intentionally trying to make a jab to hurt and belittle trans mascs while Framing it as a support post for trans and lesbian women. people who don't Already Know are going to interact with this post thinking that it's Only a positivity post.

thinking that it's just a silly little post punching up at cishet society.

when it's transphobia pointed at trans masc people.

I've said it before, but all exclusionism on this site is the same. it's the Exact Same tactics used over and over and over again, just with different targets.

and you saw Exactly this technique with ace exclusion All The Time. make a post that seems silly and lighthearted on the surface, that's Worded like it's referring to a privileged group, so that people pass it around without thinking about it.

but the Undercurrent, is a coded message to hurt a specific minority group, to hurt the target that's Familiar Enough with their own exclusion to read the intended insult.

and by Coding It, by making it a dog whistle instead of making it explicit, it Seems like more people support their position than they do (furthering the feeling of isolation in their victims). and works to help Normalize their talking points as they slowly become more explicit (intending to convert more people).

with asexuals it was "cishets trying to invade queer spaces," with trans mascs it's "men trying to invade trans/women's spaces."

it's intuitive that queer people punch up at cishets, it's Intuitive that trans people and women punch up at men, and That's The Point.

if the op of this post hadn't Explicitly referred to trans mascs in the notes ("transandrophobia truthers"), then I probably wouldn't have figured out what they were doing. I would've felt put off by it (as I was intended to, as it was created with the explicit intent to make people like me feel uncomfortable), but I wouldn't have had reason to look further into it. I probably would've just brushed it off and moved on.

unfortunately the only way around it is hypervigilence (learning the dog whistles, familiarizing yourself with how exclusionists talk about their victims), and hoping that the hand was tipped somewhere. hoping that the people who do this give away what their real Intent was.

and it's frustrating because the Vast Majority of the notes on the original post are just people having fun. who saw a post about trans butch lesbians and got excited and happy. and it's So Gross to see someone weaponize that.

it's unfair that people Need to be hypervigilent about posts About Them. it's one of the more upsetting aspects About exclusionism.

#discourse #exclusionism #transphobia #transandrophobia #queer unity #I do think the fact that op immediately locked down #means that I was right on the money #not that it was up for debate #because they said what they meant outright themselves for free

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zippyhands · 3 months ago

Note

I bet the transfem tag doesn’t have half as much transmasc porn deliberately tagged wrong as the transmasc tag has transfem porn

For every transmasc post I see there’s two porn accounts to block

Just pisses me off. I want to see posts about transmascs!!!

while i think you are probably right about the fact that there isn’t going to be as much transmasc porn in the transfem tag (though i can’t say i’m 100% certain, it’s not like i’ve ever scrolled through both tags and actually counted) and i do find the amount of porn in our tags frustrating, i want to talk a bit about the way this issue is being framed.

the thing you have to remember about porn bots is that you can’t think of them as real people. the whole point of them is to make money by pushing those links into popular tags so as many people see them as possible. they want people to click the link, so they show it to as many people as they can. so when you see these posts, you have to keep in mind that there’s not an individual person sitting behind a screen making specific decisions about whose tags to fuck over or what kind of porn to advertise, those decisions are most likely made based on some sort of algorithm designed to make as much money as possible.

so let’s think about it critically — why might we be seeing so much transfem porn in transmasc tags?

well, a lot of these bots are probably using our tag because tumblr has a lot of transmascs who use those tags. the trans communities on different sites are going to have different demographics, and if you’ve ever seen a poll going around with different choices for transmascs and transfems, you’ve seen just how dramatic the difference in numbers on here can be. these bots are targeting our tags because there are a lot of us here and we tend to be very active which means the bots have a better chance of getting clicks, not because an actual person decided they wanted to fuck over our tags specifically.

and why does the porn tend to be transfem porn? i can’t say for sure, but i’ll tell you my theories. first of all, i’m guessing these bots are using trans porn because tumblr has a lot of very active trans tags, and they probably take that into account — they assume that people in trans tags are more likely to want trans porn. the tag matches the link’s key words in that way, so that’s what their formula for getting clicks thinks we want to see. and i’m guessing it’s transfem porn specifically because there’s just more of that — transfem porn is much easier to find than transmasc porn, and it’s also probably seen as a better bet for these bots because being more popular means more people will want to click it. and that doesn’t stem from people preferring transfems over transmascs or anything like that, it stems from the rampant fetishization of transfems. these accounts aren’t actual transfem sex workers choosing to put their content in the transmasc tags, they’re bots doing what they think is going to make money. they don’t care how transfems feel about it being used and they don’t care how transmascs feel about seeing it instead of what we were actually looking for.

so while i absolutely share your frustration with our tags being overrun with porn, i don’t like how the issue has been framed by a lot of people as a transmasc vs transfem issue. i get how on the surface, it seems like our tags are having more of a problem with it and that must be for a reason, but the reason doesn’t actually have anything to do with our identities — it has everything to do with what bots think is the best way to get us to click their links.

this problem has nothing to do with transmasc vs transfem, and everything to do with the fact that tumblr won’t take care of its bot problem. if you want to get mad at someone for the fact that you can’t see the content you’re looking for without wading through countless porn bots, that’s where your anger should be going: toward the site that hasn’t done anything about it.

i wanted to lay this all out because while you didn’t explicitly blame transfems for this issue in your ask (you more so just said they don’t have to deal with it to the degree we do), i’ve seen posts with a similar tone that do imply that transfems are somehow behind this issue, and that honestly frustrates me more than the issue itself. blaming transfems for this isn’t fair to them — this is a bot issue, not an issue with real people on the site — and it also doesn’t do us any favors because it makes people less likely to take us seriously when we talk about things that are actually specifically targeting our community spaces.

and even though you didn’t take that explicit blaming stance in your ask, i think this issue being brought up as a “transmasc issue” at all reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of exactly why it happens the way it does. so i want this to serve as a reminder that when we have a conversation about something in our community, we have to think critically about the way we’re framing that conversation and make sure we have a good understanding of the root of the problem at hand.

because this really isn’t an issue that should be framed as transmasc vs transfem. i’m sure it’s not any less frustrating for transfems to see porn that fetishizes their bodies plastered all over the site than it is for us to have to dig through that porn to find the content we’re looking for. and it’s not really an issue that has anything to do with the fact that the tags are for transmascs at all. you say someone is deliberately mistagging into our tags, but it’s deliberate on a level that has nothing to do with the individual tags being used.

if we want to have conversations about the ways transmascs are uniquely mistreated, that comes with a responsibility to make sure the things we talk about are actually examples of a unique form of mistreatment and not symptoms of a totally different issue. we have to be careful not to pick the wrong battles, especially if doing so could artificially pit us against transfems who haven’t actually done anything wrong.

i worry that the struggles we’ve had in making our voices heard within our community have made some of us start to see our transfem sisters and siblings as the enemy by default, so i want to strongly caution everyone contributing to these conversations to think deeply about how you’re framing what you’re saying and if it’s actually appropriate before suggesting that any particular issue is a matter of transmascs vs transfems. there are definitely situations where the root of the issue is lateral aggression or intracommunity conflict, but this isn’t one of them and the fact that so many people have interpreted it that way really doesn’t reflect well on us.

i’m just as annoyed by the porn bots in our tags as the next guy, but this isn’t the way to go about having that conversation.

#i was avoiding this conversation altogether bc it has nothing to do with the power dynamics and intracommunity dynamics i talk about here #but now that it made its way into my inbox i want to make *why* i wasn’t talking about it clear #i’m gonna put this in my usual tags not because i think they apply #but because i think it’s important for the people who use those tags to see this #i want yall to really take this to heart and think carefully about how we have these conversations in the future #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #ask answered

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storiesoflilies · 3 months ago

Note

i’d actively kill for more gladiator! tengen or toji or even both because i’m actually hooked … that was so good

oh my darling nonie!!! you only need to ask, and i will provide. i hope this real quick little piece is okay :3

gladiator!toji was completely uncontrollable.

he now fought with a violence nobody had never seen before – full of cunning, with malice and vengeance in every stroke. his strikes used to be effortless and precise; now they aimed to spill as much of his enemies’ blood as possible, and as messily as he could. his master was less than pleased, for the crowds of the colosseum were more horrified than entertained by toji’s antics.

he was making a spectacle, and not of the good sort.

“where is he?” she all but screamed into the night, bloody and raw crescent moons embedded in her palms. “you! where is he?”

gladiator!tengen sat at the edge of his bed, disturbed by her and her… flapping.

he groaned loudly, exasperation at the forefront of his tongue. “it’s late, woman. i want to sleep.”

“you know where he is, don’t you?” she screeched, her tears of fire burning down the curve of her cheeks. “tell me.”

she reached the bars of his cell, all but collapsing in a heap in front of him, gripping the metal like a vice. a broken bird, a mess of blood and bones, unable to ever fly free beyond the confines of her cage. she was as much a slave to the mass as he was. tengen swallowed thickly, his resolve unusually fragile, a thin eggshell decorated with cracked veins and scratches.

why was his heart aching?

he sighed heavily, long and full of pity. his thin sheet rustled as he stood, sweat glistening from his muscles thighs as he walked to her. she looked up at him, a baby doe in a heap of jumbled, useless limbs, powerless against the lion that had crouched in front of her.

she had never seen tengen this close before.

his hair was free, untamed, a rolling avalanche of snow. his features were carefully maintained, but that signature heart-stopping grin of his was gone, and his eyes were like the bottom of a red wine barrel. made of swirling hues of purple and scarlet; deep, bottomless and seemingly infinite. what lay hidden beneath the surface was unknown to everyone except himself.

she didn’t like it.

tengen suited unbridled joy better than melancholy.

“the master has sent him away,” he revealed quietly, grappling with an unfamiliar gentleness that threaten to overwhelm him. “but to where, i don’t know.”

her ensuing sob was a thunderclap of despair.

before his mind could protest, tengen reached between the bars of the cell, drawing her closer to him. the lukewarm metal bars pressed against her cheek, and she gasped as her bare forearm brushed against his fingertips.

“he’ll come back,” tengen mumbled softly. “the master will send for him again when he has learnt his lesson.”

“i don’t understand why,” she whimpered defeatedly, voice muffled against the marble of his chest. “but i feel this is all my fault.”

a stab of guilt tore through tengen’s heart, and he winced painfully. her heartstrings were completely shredded, trampled and spit on, and it was all because of him – tengen had to fix it.

“what do you need me to do?”

“please, bring him back to me.”

for you, i’ll do anything.

“i will, i swear it.”

#💌 lily answers #💭 lily’s imagination runs wild #toji x y/n #toji x reader #tengen x y/n #tengen x reader #gladiator toji #gladiator tengen #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen #demon slayer au #demon slayer #jjk toji #demon slayer tengen #tengen x you #toji x you #toji fushiguro #tengen uzui

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realmofimagines · 2 years ago

Text

Don’t Make A Habit of Dying (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

follow @cowboybxtch (my other account) for more ghost content, as i will not be posting on this blog anymore <3

Wordcount: 3241 Content: swearing, near death, graphic depictions of gore, blood, injury, ghost is in love with u, soap is oblivious, heroic ghost, pre existing relationsip, tension Request: no Note: *just wanna preface this by saying it is not proof read lol* i am absolutely unashamed to be jumping on the ghost bandwagon. i finished the campaign yesterday and honestly i sort of rushed through it bc it was a lot of fun so this is sort of based on one of the missions but it’s all from memory so if anything is wrong or out of place just ignore it and lets call it canon divergence AO3 version here

“Fox, how copy?”

You grunted, clawing at the rain-soaked concrete and grit beneath your fingers as you stretched to reach your communications device. Your head was still spinning from the impact, and your eyes blurred as if you were lying underneath a moving river staring at the wrinkled water surface above. A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, and you are intensely aware of the urge to vomit.

With a sharp breath, you are able to level yourself onto your knees. Your hand closed around the slippery radio, and you pulled it toward your mouth whilst collapsing your back against a slick brick wall. Your free hand pressed against the sharp, pulsating pain in your abdomen.

“(Y/N), I repeat, how copy?” Ghost’s voice crackled.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, before pressing the voice activation button on the radio. The strong rush of adrenaline burned in your chest, but it didn’t match the wash of relief upon hearing and recognising Simon’s voice. You closed your eyes and relished in the sensation for a moment.

“I read you.”

He audibly sighed. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nearly did.”

“You injured?”

You stared down and shakily inspected the palm pressed against your wound. Your fingers came away glistening with rain and blood, and your undershirt was soaked a deep red around the site of the injury. You replace your hand on the wound, applying as much pressure as you can muster with a heavily clenched jaw. As much as you wanted to be honest, you knew that due to the personal obligations Ghost felt toward you because of your secret relationship, letting him know just how hurt you truly were could compromise his position. He would, without a doubt, make his way straight toward you.

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not what I asked, Sergeant.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good. Are you in sight of the church?”

You blinked hard to clear your vision and glanced around your surroundings. Through a rusted, paint-chipped iron gate, you could see the distant glow of the religious building and gathered that it was about half a mile away. You weren’t sure how much steam you had left in the tank, but you sure as shit were going to use every last drop to get your ass to that church.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“We’ll RV there. Johnny’s on his way now.”

“Copy that.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

You fumbled with your gear, cursing to yourself when you found nothing but empty holsters. All that remained on your person was a singular, small combat knife hidden within your boot, and you silently thanked yourself for taking such precaution.

“A knife.”

“That’s all you need. Stay safe, Fox.”

“Sure, Ghost.”

You released the radio trigger and clipped it back onto the front of your tactical vest. With a deep breath, you managed to pull yourself to your feet with the solid support of the brick wall. Your bloodied hand mixed with the rain, dripping down your chilled fingers and spreading the blood down your arms. You looked like a damn mess. You felt like a damn mess.

You first attempted to push through the iron gate but found it chained and padlocked from the other side.

Never the easy way, you murmured to yourself.

Turning back on yourself, you stumbled through a fruit market. Bruised and trampled limes and apples rolled across the puddled floor, seemingly abandoned in a hurry rather than packed away in their crates. Upon leaning on a stall for aid, you noticed that the civilians, presumably the shopkeepers, had been shot dead in their stalls. It was bloody and gruesome and told the tale of just how relentless the military-for-hire group were.

Your wobbly vision was clouded, and your lashes were thick with rain droplets concentrated with the blood dripping from your head. Your lips and fingers were icy cold, and each breath felt like the air was taking shots at your lungs like they were punching bags. You pressed onwards, however, knowing that if you wanted a chance at living that you needed to make it out of the Shadow’s web, and you could only do so by pushing yourself forwards.

The detour through the fruit market leads you to a couple of Shadow mercs, who chatted idly amongst themselves as if they weren’t standing upon the consequences of their war crimes. Families, including children, cried and screamed in the distance. Gunshots followed, and you tried not to flinch against the sound.

The mercenaries were armed, and they were blocking the only route you had. There was no easy way around this, but you had to improvise given your lack of weaponry and physical power. Your body was betraying you, and try as you might, you’d never be able to take these men in your current situation.

You tossed a beer bottle down the alleyway, hoping to distract them enough to get the upper hand. The left merc stubbed out his cigarette with a sizzle under his boot, before trailing down in the direction of the smashed glass in pursuit of the sound. Noticing your chance, you steadily crouch-walked your way over to the lone hostile and plunged your knife into his side and then into his neck.

“Just an empty bottle. It’s nothing,” the other merc stated, then turning on his heel with a final glance at the broken glass before he whipped his head around with a double take to notice his friend in a gargling heap on the floor, and you standing above him. “What the fuck?!”

He raised his gun toward you, leaving you no choice but to slam straight into him to throw off his aim. His gun flew upwards as he pulled the trigger, spraying an arc of loud, bright bullets into the air whilst you attempted to disarm him. He retaliated with a hard shove, though not before you were able to get your hands on the pistol in his hip holster. You flew to the ground with a thud and splash, but before he had the chance to regain composure and take aim at you again, you’d blasted two rounds into his chest, and then his throat. He collapsed on top of you in a heavy heap.

Another soldier rounded the corner, but you didn’t quite have the energy to recognise the threat before it was a second too late.

You were just lucky that Soap barged through the cafe door on your left and took him down with a clean shot straight through the temple. He turned his gaze from the man on the floor after confirming his death and reached over to you on the ground. He heaved the dead mercenary off of your chest and offered you a strong hand. You grabbed onto him and groaned as he yanked you upright, a firm hand on your shoulder to steady you as you fell towards him. With a concerned eye, he straightened you with a gentle nudge.

“Christ, Fox,” Soap murmured, eyeing the wound on your side. You immediately clutched at it defensively. “You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

You wheezed a breath and mustered a smile. “I’m running on fumes, but I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to that church.”

“Aye, Sergeant. I’ll take front.”

“Be my guest.”

You trailed sloppily behind Soap, cursing yourself for your inability to be as sharp as you usually were. You hated being a burden, but you hated letting the team down more. Your carelessness in the fight that broke out with Graves had cost you a life-threatening injury in a team that refused to leave anybody behind, even if it got them killed. You only worried that if you weren’t going to make it, you wouldn’t be able to see Simon before you went and that you wouldn’t be able to tell him you were sorry.

Your heart ached at the thought.

You and Ghost had been dating, briefly. It happened slowly. First, there were inside jokes, and then there were gentle teasing pet names, and then more than friendly touches… until one night the tension seemed to break, and you slept together, which was just a week ago now before everything went to shit. You almost regretted doing so, for fear that now you’d never get to see him again, to touch him again.

You stumbled to your knees and caught yourself barely by planting your hand solidly on the gravelled floor. Soap spun around and cursed under his breath before reaching for his radio.

“Ghost, we have a situation here.”

He leaned forward and grabbed at your biceps, throwing your arm over his soldier for support.

“What situation?”

“Fox was WIA,” he grunted with a low voice, pulling your body towards cover as a squadron of Shadows passed by in pursuit of the gunshots from only a few moments prior. Any second now, they would find the bodies and be alerted of your presence.

“Don’t piss around the bush, Johnny. How bad?”

Soap studied you with an uneasy glance. “We’re gonna need backup if we’re gonna get the lass outta here.”

“What’s your location?”

“Uh—” Soap paused and checked for any noticeable landmarks. “We’re at the coffee shop just a ways from the fruit market—”

“Hang tight. I’m on my way.”

“What about the RV?”

“Stay put, Serg.”

“Yes, sir.”

The distance from the church to the market was about ten minutes, but Ghost cleared the distance in about four. His eyes were cold and steely behind his mask but became soft and expressive upon noticing your strained face and bloodied abdomen. He was gentle when he leaned for you.

“Jesus Christ, Fox,” he murmured, his tone an edge softer than usual. He leaned toward you to help stabilise you on your feet and apologised under his breath when you yelped in pain. “Who did this to you?”

You grunted and leaned against one of his large arms for support. You blinked the rainwater away from your eyes and maintained eye contact with him. Even now, at a time like this, you felt your stomach flip. You were so in love with him and that somehow made everything scarier.

“One of Graves’ boys. Not sure who. Didn’t get a good look before I killed him.” You answered.

“Atta girl,” Ghost praised. Your heart clenched.

Soap stared on with a worried look, his back tense with stress.

“Hold up,” Soap said, raising a fist before lifting his gun to level his eyes with the sights. mercenaries stormed past the windows, and there was a sudden series of heavy bangs on the cafe door that Soap had barricaded with bar stools. “We’ve got company, Ghost.”

Ghost nodded, and then turned to you with an urgent look in his eyes. “Can you walk?”

You cringed at the stabs of pain and clenched your jaw. “Simon, I’m a liability. Leave me here and I can hold them off—”

“I am not leaving you here!”

You blinked in shock at the intensity of his tone. His eyes beyond the mask seemed desperate, and he clutched your face in a gloved hand as if uttering his silent pleas through his palm. You truly believed him and his words, for there was no reason for a man like himself to lie to you at a time like this.

“I said, can you walk?”

You nodded stiffly.

“Then let’s fucking walk,” Ghost answered, tossing your arm over his shoulder to carry the most of your body weight as he essentially dragged you toward the exit point of the cafe. His other hand gripped his pistol so hard that his knuckles began to numb beneath his glove. “Cover us, Johnny!”

Soap tailed your backs with a raised gun, and Ghost was just able to tug you out of the door before the hostiles blasted through and started swarming the place with bullets. Ghost seemed to lug you along with desperation, as you were practically limping at this point.

“You stupid girl, getting me all worried like this,” he cursed, turning briefly to shoot one of the incoming adversaries before continuing onwards. “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m here?”

He was acting characteristically sharp and dry, but you knew that it was just to glaze over his worry. Ghost didn’t often lose his cool, but you were certainly shaking his faith. You couldn’t judge him for his words and simply offered a weak smile in response.

You heaved a laugh. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”

He seemed to soften. “Let me take you to dinner when this is all over. Call it even.”

“It’s a date,” you wheezed, your words accompanied by laboured breaths. The pain was intense and radiated in waves of white-hot pulses and aches that made you limp and shudder in the agony. Your feet and hands were starting to feel numb, and your head felt like it was full of TV static. You just needed a short break, and then you would be able to continue.

You began tripping over your feet, and albeit he tried to keep you upright, Ghost’s strength wasn’t enough to counter the sudden push of gravity as you slumped to the floor.

“(Y/N)!”

Your face was white, and your eyes rolled back. He was immediately at your side, grabbing your face in his hand to inspect your breathing, and then the pulse on your neck with fingers that he’d torn a glove from. He was momentarily relieved when he felt the feedback of your heart, regardless of how faint it was. It was enough to keep going, to revive the easily extinguishable flicker of hope.

Soap rounded the corner, seeming urgent as he fired shots down the alleyway.

“Ghost, they’re gaining on us!”

“Shit!” He cursed.

Without a second thought, he unsheathed his pistol and handed it over to Soap who took it without question. Simon scooped his arms under your legs and back and held you securely to his chest before nodding at his comrade.

“You keep us safe. That’s an order, Serg.”

“Sure, LT, but we need to get a move on— now.”

“Let’s go!”

You jostled in and out of consciousness. It was soft and gentle, like a slow beat of butterfly wings. You would open your eyes momentarily, but there wasn’t enough adrenaline supply in the world to keep you awake, and things would quickly return to darkness. Your grasp on reality started to slip when the blood loss became critical, and the only thing you were aware of was the bruising grip Ghost had on your flesh and the overwhelming fear that you were about to die.

You vaguely notice the sensation of cold marble on your body, and then the tightness of gauze and tape being wrapped around you.

Ghost was manic as he watched your pale, lifeless body show little to no reaction to his movements. He’d torn your battle vest off and inspected the damage beneath your vest. He’d swallowed his anxiety and wrapped you up as best he could with what little supplies himself and Soap had scrounged from the village and proceeded to perform CPR on you when he noticed your breathing had come to an abrupt stop.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You couldn’t move.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

A blooming pain in your ribs.

A warm press of lips on your own, and the uncomfortable sensation of being filled with air.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thrum of helicopter blades. Distant shouting. Ghost’s voice.

Ghost’s voice.

“Simon…?”

——

When you next woke, it was a slow and unpleasant sensation. White, fluorescent lights pierced through your eyelids, which felt heavy to open. The sharp sensation of the gunshot in your side felt dull, and you could tell by the swimming sensation in your head that you were drugged. You vaguely recognised the sound of a beeping monitor, and you flinched. The smell of bleach filled your nose.

“Good mornin’, sunshine.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wincing against the harsh ceiling lights. You turned your gaze to the figure hunched over in a small brown chair— a heavily-built man, adorning a balaclava with a skull painted on it. Ghost.

“Simon.”

“(Y/N).”

You attempted to lift yourself into an upright position, and immediately felt a flare of agony that had you coughing out a broken sob.

“Hey, hey, take it easy there, Fox,” Ghost murmured, immediately reaching forwards to settle you back down. You grit your teeth together and blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears that were born from the shock of the pain. He tried to sit back down, but you caught his gloved hand before he could leave and he didn’t have the heart to pull away. His stature immediately softened, and his thumb smoothed over your fingers and knuckles in an attempt to comfort you.

“They outta put more drugs in you. They sure did a number on you. Surprised you’re still with us.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Simon huffed through his nose and tugged the chair closer so that he could sit beside you and hold your cold hands in his. “I thought you were, too, sweetheart.”

“How the Hell did you get me out of there?”

You couldn’t see it, but by the wrinkle of his eyes, you knew he was smirking. “This old dog still got his ways.”

A concern suddenly popped into your head as bits and pieces of memories began to slot together. “And Soap?”

“He’s fine, unfortunately.”

You smiled gently, feeling yourself relax a little. You turned to him and held his gaze, suddenly feeling intimidated by his sharp eyes. The heart monitor next to your bed began to beep at an increased pace, and your cheeks flushed.

Ghost seemed bemused. “Am I makin’ you nervous, darlin’?”

You buried your face in your hands and only dared to peek through your fingers when you heard him start to laugh.

“Don’t hide from me just yet. You still owe me a date.”

You threw your hands down to your sides and smiled. “Look who’s gone all soft. I wonder what the boys would think of you right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, LT, you loved playing hero,” you retorted, a glimmer of mischief sparkling through your grin. You suddenly felt the atmosphere become slightly tense and heavy with the weight and reality of the situation. You could’ve and likely should’ve died back there. You weren’t aware enough of your surroundings to remember just what Ghost and Soap went through to get you out, but you could only imagine.

“Thank you, Simon.” You said, more serious this time.

He glanced away as if embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

You reached closer and grabbed his masked face. In private, he would remove his balaclava just for you. You felt the selfish desire that he would do so just now so that you could kiss him but swallowed your urges for you knew he couldn’t compromise himself in the med-bay. Too many prying eyes.

He grabbed your hand from his face and kissed it, the warmth and pressure of his lips still present even through the fabric on his face. You were butter in his touch, practically melting through his fingers.

“Just don’t make a habit of nearly dying, you hear me? Nearly gave me a bastard heart attack.”

You smiled, staring at him dazedly. “Yes, sir.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #x reader #angst #injury #pining #ghost is in love #soap mactavish #john mactavish

7K notes · View notes

myosotisa · 11 months ago

Text

Chasm - e.m.

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

‖ summary: You're a researcher working at one of the fault lines throughout Hawkins, studying the closed and dormant gates to an alternate dimension. While you're alone on site, one of the gates wakes up again.

‖ tags: horror. i cannot stress this enough. this is unsettling and creepy and angsty with slight sexual tension. in line with the content in the show. post season 4, canon compliant. emetophobia warning. dubcon kissing. forced consumption (writing it made me gag just warning you. but im also kind of a baby so). no y/n, she/her pronouns used. flayed!eddie infects you. open ended ending. also steve is there sometimes. there's a ton of background lore that is only vaguely explained lol

‖ word count: 8.3k ‖ read on AO3 ‖ the song ‖

None of the rifts have shown any activity in over a year. Months and months of dead readings and no signals. Just waiting.

So what's a girl supposed to do when your EMF meter spikes alone on site? Sit around and wait for a crew to suit up and march their way over to the fault you were at? No fucking way. No chance.

You report in about the sudden spike in gamma radiation and tell them you're going to find the source. The project lead tells you to stay put and wait for assistance, as expected.

Your radiation gear was already halfway on. Oops, sorry boss, didn't hear you.

Handheld voltage meter in one hand, audio recorder in the other, and a pocket full of glow sticks, you push out past the plastic tarps and into the humid night air of Indiana summer.

The readings bring you west, toward the condemned trailer park and the "start" of your fault line. You crack a glow stick and drop it every few feet, marking your path. When the reading jumps up, you make a '+' sign with two at the spot before continuing forward. It was hard to say without exact measurements, but it seemed to be increasing at equal intervals. Like frozen waves on the surface of water.

"I'm approaching the Forest Hills sign," you say into the receiver, your own voice the only sound in the night air. "Current readings are…" You bring the meter up, using the light hanging from your neck to read the display. "Approaching 70 mv/m of high frequency radiation, roughly 31016 Hz. The next… 'Layer', for lack of a better term, will most likely breach Safe EMF levels, not considering the potential protection of the suit."

Lowering the meter again when it gives a beep of warning, you tuck it under your arm and crack another glow stick, leaving a '+' at the boundary to the trailer park. "I'll probably need treatment when I get back to base – as long as I grab a reading from the source and get out quickly, there won't be lasting damage. You hear that, Dr. Pierce?" You say through an over-confident huff, readjusting your arms to keep moving forward. "I'm well aware of the risks and take responsibility for my own actions."

The park itself looks like a bad dream at night – trailers abandoned hastily with doors still hung open and belongings scattered along the ground. Between the sudden fault opening and the bureau rushing in, the existing residents had been given very little time and grace to move into temporary housing across town. And it looked every bit like an entire community of people had just up and disappeared.

The suit you were in didn’t exactly help coordination, so you moved slowly and carefully over and around discarded objects along the dirt. Clothing, kitchen utensils, a quilt, a stack of newspapers, a child's toy. All left untouched for over a year.

Clearing the corner of one of the empty trailers, you catch sight of something strange.

“The fault itself has looked normal up to this point, no activity. But I can see the source now. It’s… It appears to be glowing red, fading in and out in a constant cycle.” Approaching even slower than before, you watch intently as the glow grows and then retreats again. Like waves on the shore.

The meter gives another shrill alarm – making you jump nearly out of your skin as you swat at it with the recorder. “Jesus Christ!” It quiets with a sinking pitch in your hand.

Before checking the reading, you quickly make another ‘+’ with glow sticks, digging them into the dirt a bit in an attempt to keep them from moving. Still down on one knee, you bring the meter up to your flashlight again.

“The meter is now reading 110 mv/m, same frequency. I’m roughly… 12 feet out from the source now. There’s a, uh, humming sound. Not sure if the recording is picking it up. And feeling pressure on my eardrums,” you explain into the device, eyes locked on the glow ahead. “I’ll continue to approach – see if I can get a closer reading. If it jumps above 150, I’ll fall back.”

Pushing to your feet again with a huff, you readjust your full load and press forward slowly. The closer you get to the source, you can see that the fault rapidly grows in size. The space between the edges looks large enough to fit a car as it rounds out at the end – a red pond in the ground.

“I can see the source clearer now. The glow is coming from within – there’s a…" You take a few steps closer, squinting to get a better look. "It appears to be an opaque membrane covering the space between. The glow is coming from behind it. Still cycling at an even rate, no change.”

The meter in your hand gives its shrillest warning yet, scaring you badly enough that it goes flying out of your hand; it hits the ground and flips closer to the edge. “Shit, fuck!”

You shuffle forward and drop down onto your shaky knees, grabbing for the meter as it continues to let out that grating alarm into the night air. Smacking it once more, the sound cuts off abruptly, giving you a chance to breathe.

Bringing it up to your flashlight, your eyes go wide as you lift the recorder again with your other trembling hand. “I’m nearly at the edge now, only a foot or so away – EMF reading 187 mv/m. Rapid increase from the last point.”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, your head snapping toward it.

“There’s… What the fuck?" You pause, tempted to rub your eyes to make sure you're really seeing what you're seeing.

"There’s movement below the membrane. It… It’s just a shadow, I can’t tell what it is, but the movement is rapid and the… The humming is getting louder.” Your heart is pounding now, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin beneath the suit.

“Going to retreat back to base,” you say, mostly attempting to reassure yourself as you slowly back away from the edge. “Final reading was 189 mv/m at 31016 Hz.”

There’s a crackle of static right before a thumb presses the pause button roughly, silencing the recorder in the center of the table.

“Is that all?” General Richard Highland asks, sounding impatient as he leans back in his conference chair. “That doesn’t tell us anything about what happened to her.”

“No, sir, there’s more.” Private Steve Harrington insists, inclining his head toward the dirty recorder he had delivered. He’s standing by the edge of the table at attention, hands clasped in front of him. “The recording keeps going.”

Dr. Pierce leans forward from his seat, giving the General a stiff look as he presses the play button again.

There’s a few more moments of static before the woman’s voice fades back in, layered beneath the hum of attempted interference.

“I’m definitely gonna need that rad treatment, Dr. Pierce. My badge is that warning color, even beneath the suit,” she continues with a shaky laugh, the sound of plastic shuffling behind it. “Hopefully I don’t lose my hair or something, but that’s… What?”

The table of scientists and military personnel sits in tense silence as her voice cuts out again. Half of them are on the edge of their seats, the others showing off a measured calm or disinterest. The general looks particularly annoyed and impatient, while Dr. Pierce looks almost like he wants to throw up.

“There’s… Something’s happening – I don’t–”

An abrasive crackle echoes out into the room, loud enough to send nearly everyone into a wince, before the recording cuts back in with the sound of screaming.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?! SHIT – I’ve gotta get–" A burst of interference sounds, followed by a metallic grating, like a ship groaning beneath the weight of the ocean.

Her panicked voice comes through, sounding further away than before. "FUCK! It – It’s got my ankle. Let go, you fucking piece of –! SHI–”

The recording cuts out to a buzzing hum.

No one moves for a few moments. Not until Private Harrington steps up to silence the recorder. “We found this recording, a lab issue EMF meter, and a broken flashlight at the edge of the fault." He explains, producing the other two items from the pack resting at his feet. "It was dormant when we got there – solid again.”

“So it just…” One of the other scientists starts, looking at Dr. Pierce uneasily.

“Dragged her through and went back to sleep.” Dr. Pierce confirms solemnly, his gaze locked on the dirty recorder.

“It’s never done this before?” A 2nd scientist, new to the project, asks. The others shake their heads. “So what do we do?”

All eyes turn to Dr. Pierce, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“We wait for it to wake up again.”

Wake up.

Come on, little lamb.

Wake up now.

Looks so peaceful.

But you’ve got to wake up.

…

WAKE UP.

There’s something wet on your face.

Feeling is slowly returning to your body, your eyes closed and too heavy to open. But there’s something dripping on your cheek – droplets running down toward your mouth. Sticking to your dry lips for a moment or two before falling off. You’re on the ground on your stomach, your cheek squished against something that feels like mud.

Your brain has yet to kick on fully as it tries to regain consciousness through a pounding ache, resonating with the throb of your left leg. It feels like you’re still wearing the rad suit, but the head piece is gone and it might be ripped in places – mud seeping in to touch your skin.

It’s almost like you’re sinking.

Eyelids fluttering open and you’re faced with a desaturated swamp. Like someone came through and sucked half the color out of it.

Lifting one arm is difficult, suctioned into the mud you’re laying in. Once you’ve freed it enough, you’re able to push off the sticky, wet sludge beneath you enough to roll over onto your back.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

You sit up with a start, your abdomen screaming in protest as your brain swims. Blinking through the blur in your eyes, you struggle to see anything at all in the dark – only momentarily granted sight by the flashes of red lightning overhead.

“Who’s there?” You call out into the dark, an attempt to sound brave, but your voice trembles as your eyes rapidly flit back and forth.

“Over here.”

The lightning flashes once more as you whip your head toward the voice – showing the silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. From what little you see, he’s tall and slender, head tilted to the side like he’s curious. There’s no chance you can see his face or anything else about him.

Until he’s in your face, crouched down right beside you – crossing the space and appearing in the span of a blink. It gives you a start, attempting to back up but getting caught up in the mud still suctioned to your lower half.

Your fear seems to bring a small smile to his face, plump lips tilting up at the corner. He looks so familiar… Long curly hair draped wetly over his shoulders, the sparse bangs across his forehead, and the soft turn of his nose. Curiosity gets the better of you as you lean in again slightly, squinting your eyes a bit more in the dark to see him better.

“I know you…” You insist softly, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. “How do I know you?”

“No clue, because I’ve never met you in my life.” He replies, lips parting in a grin. “And I’m good with faces – ‘specially pretty ones.”

His response catches you off guard as your brain continues reeling and struggling to intake information, which is normally your forte. There’s a million questions on the tip of your tongue and you have no idea where to start.

“You’ll probably need to lose the suit if you want to get out of that shit,” he continues when you don’t respond, motioning to your stationary legs with a wave of his hand. And he’s probably right, with the way the mud beneath you is stuck tight to the shiny plastic. Your best hope is to try to use the suit as a stepping off point to get to stable ground.

“Where should I step once I pull out?” You ask, hoping he’ll understand your goal.

A blink and he’s gone again – another flash of red light placing his silhouette off to your left. “Think you can make it to here?” He responds, voice raised slightly and sounding like he’s teasing you or challenging you. It makes your competitive side flare up on instinct – a frustrated huff leaving your nose as you plan your escape.

Opening the front of the suit, you slip both arms out and let the upper half fall flat behind you. Pulling out both of your legs next, your butt sinks deeper into the ground, nearly sending you off balance as you quickly shift your weight forward onto your knees, using the suit as a stepping stone. It starts to sink, mud coming up over the edge and inching toward your knees, so you have to move fast.

Pushing to your feet makes it sink faster, wet sludge touching the side of your ankle just as you push off in a jump toward where the man was standing.

You land on the ankle that had been grasped by the tentacle, not realizing the throbbing meant it’d been twisted. It makes you cry out in pain and fall forward, directly into the man’s chest.

“Woah there!” He says in surprise, grasping onto your elbows to keep you sort of upright. Between the aching pain and the tears pressing at your eyes, you just barely manage to notice how cold and clammy he is – especially where his hands grip your bare biceps.

Rocketing back, you press your weight onto your good leg and put some distance between the two of you again, your dirty arms crossing over your tank top and smearing it with mud. “Sorry, my, uh, ankle…” You offer awkwardly, still not even sure who you’re talking to.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. You good?”

He actually sounds like he cares. Like he’s concerned for you. Who is he?

“I’ll be fine,” you insist stubbornly, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat. Free from your precarious situation, at least partially, you struggle to figure out what to address first. “How are you doing that? Like… Teleporting? Or are you just moving really fast?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What–,” he disappears in a blink and then you feel a burst of air on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end, “this?”

You lurch forward before turning around to level him a glare. “Yes, that – don’t do that.”

His hands tuck into the front pockets of the leather jacket he’s wearing as he shrugs, looking quite pleased with himself. “Sorry, angel, didn’t mean to spook you.”

Then silence falls, both of you eyeing each other – you suspiciously and him curiously. The extended pause makes you think you aren’t going to be told how anytime soon.

A breeze kicks up, rustling the branches of the trees in the surrounding swampland and sending a shiver down your spine. Suit lost, you’re down to a tank top, jeans, and a pair of no slip shoes (which were required for people working in the field for some reason). You were dressed for the humid interior of the field site tent in summer and it appears that you have landed yourself in a place where that is not enough.

Taking advantage of the silence, you try to remember everything you can about your studies into the ‘gates’ from when they were open. Very little was known beside second hand accounts and old data – some of which may not even be accurate anymore given the nature of the fault lines. If there was anywhere to start, it would be trying to find the gate you’d been dragged through.

With any luck, you could go right back to your dimension.

But that didn’t account for him. The pale, wet, unsettling-yet-somehow-charming guy that was still staring right at you.

“How long have you been here? Do you know?” You question cautiously, not wanting to upset him in any way.

“That depends, what year is it?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, completely at odds with the continued grin on his face. It looks almost manic now – like every time he sets you off balance brings him great joy. Deciding you’d actually rather not know how long he’s been in here, you move on.

“Have you been alone this whole time? Or are there other people here?”

His grin spreads, like he’s in on a joke you’re not aware of. “I haven’t been alone, no.”

This piques your curiosity again, adjusting your weight on your good leg. “Do you have a community here? How many of you are there?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” He suggests, taking a step or two away from you, his hands still tucked into his pockets.

The idea is tempting, if only to learn more about what is going on here, but there’s something nagging at the back of your mind. Something you should be remembering. Something you’re missing. Plus, for all you know, this man does not have your best interests at heart.

“I should probably try to find the gate that brought me here,” you say, slightly regretfully. “See if I can cross back over.”

“Oh, right,” he responds, tapping his forehead with his palm like it should’ve been obvious. “Yeah, I can show you the way.”

This surprises you again, slight concern causing you to stand up straighter. “You can?”

“Sure thing, the closest one isn’t far,” he motions behind him with a tilt of his chin, taking another step back. “Come on.”

So you follow the strange man into the dark, limping after him on your twisted ankle. The mud starts to dry on your skin, hair, and clothing – crusting over and hardening in places. You pick at pieces as you walk, letting the chunks and flakes fall to the ground behind you. From what little you can see, there are vines everywhere along the ground, weaving between tree trunks and layering over each other in place. The man seems to step over them – and you can’t tell if it’s on purpose or a coincidence – but you make a habit of not touching the vines just in case.

It’s unsettlingly quiet here. Every once in a while you’ll hear what sounds like an animal – a howl, a chittering, the thump of feet on the earth. But they are few and far between, leaving mostly just the rush of wind through the trees and a sort of muffled silence, pressure on your ears.

Your paranoia kicks up as the quiet continues, suspiciously eyeing the back of your escort as he leads you forward. For all you knew, he wasn’t leading you anywhere near the gate. You have no reason to trust him beyond the fact that he helped you get out of the sludge you woke up in. He was in this dimension after all, clearly familiar with it. That had to be a red flag if anything, given what little you actually knew about it.

So much was classified beyond your reach – the bureau was very specific with what you were allowed to read and know and what you weren’t. Given the dormant nature of the fault lines, it hadn’t been necessary for you to learn too much about the dimension on the other side. Most of what you studied and knew was about the gates themselves.

Even with the bureau being as paranoid and obsessive as it was – a lowly field researcher getting dragged to the other side and needing to survive hadn’t seemed to be on their radar.

The pessimistic part of you not-so-helpfully supplies that was probably just because they weren't very interested in your survival at all. They’d probably prefer it if you died here. If anything, your exposure to the other side made you more of a liability.

Maybe one they could experiment on, if you got lucky and survived.

This train of thinking isn’t helping anything. You could worry about what your life would become if you made it out.

Walking up to the lifeless and solid gate turns that into a very tentative if.

“Looks like the door’s shut tight,” Eddie offers vaguely, rocking back and forth on his heels as you circle the hole in the ground, like seeing a new angle will change something about it.

The opening looks largely the same as the other side, in the center of the abandoned trailer park with the forest surrounding. Your arms are covered in goosebumps as the breeze hits harder in the open field, no longer buffered by trees on all sides. On the bright side, it is slightly better lit here and you can see your companion a bit clearer now.

“Do you know how these things work? Like how and why it opens and shuts?” You ask desperately, looking at him from the other side of the crevice.

The corner of his mouth tilts up minutely, his shoulders shrugging. “Yes and no.”

The scowl returns to your face, frustration mounting as another shiver of cold racks your body. “Are you intentionally being unhelpful? Or are you just an idiot?”

His lips part in a surprised ‘o’, his eyebrows raising like he’s impressed. “That hurts, angel. I’m no idiot, and I think I’ve been plenty helpful. After all… I could’ve just left you to drown out there. Or maybe led you into a trap. Or left you for the dogs.” He taunts, returning to a toothy grin. The question of if he has your well being in mind gets more and more clear with a resounding no.

A fearful jolt runs down your spine as you stare him down, trying not to let your fear show. Grappling tightly to your anger, you taunt back, “Oh yeah? Then why didn’t you?”

A blink and he’s gone.

Your entire body goes on alert, tensing for attack as your heart starts to pound against your ribs. Eyes searching the immediate area in front of you come up empty. He’s either behind you or far enough you can’t see him in the low light. You never got an answer as to whether he’s moving quickly or teleporting or exactly how far he can get in the time you blinked.

He’s either long gone or… Trying to surprise you.

As soon as you have the thought, the hair on the back of your neck stands up – like some kind of unconscious sense of danger.

You turn in a quick 180 and he’s right there. Only a foot away from you with a sadistic sort of smile on his face. Your breath catches in your chest as it feels like a fist grabs tightly to your heart, suddenly much more terrified of the man in front of you.

That appears to be the way he prefers it.

“I think we can help each other.”

You blink at him, muscles pulled taut and ready to bolt as you try to figure out what the fuck he’s doing and what the fuck he wants. “What?” You question, your voice coming out a bit breathy and scared.

“I said, I think we can help each other,” he repeats calmly. “You help me, and I can help you get back home.”

“Why– What– H–how could I possibly help you?” You sputter, trying not to sound as terrified and confused as you feel.

His grin turns cheeky again, slightly less unsettling than it was a moment ago. “It won’t take much, angel, scout’s honor.” He says as he lays a hand over his chest. “You help me, then you’re free to crawl right back over to the other side and continue your life.”

Disbelief and uncertainty nags at you as you fidget in your spot, wanting desperately to put some more distance between the two of you but nervous to offend him. “So you can open the gate? You just want something in return?”

He shakes his head emphatically, appearing to be genuine in his denial. “I can’t but I know who can. They opened it before you were brought over.”

“And they would open it again? Just because you asked?” You question suspiciously, studying his facial expression for a sign that he’s pulling your leg again.

“Let’s just say that me and them have similar goals and leave it at that.”

There are 100 more questions on the tip of your tongue, but with the potential of getting back to your own dimension on the table, you’re reluctant to press too hard. He seems to recognize the battle you’re fighting with yourself as he laughs to himself. “You know what they say about curiosity, angel.”

An annoyed exhale punches out of your nose. “And I assume in this case that I’m the cat.”

“Bingo!” He says happily, tapping the end of his nose with his index finger. “So what do you say?”

There is so much you want to say. So many questions you want to ask. So much more info you need. But beggars can’t be choosers, you suppose.

“What would I need to do?”

His smile goes sharp again. “So glad you asked. I’d just need a kiss.”

A beat of silence. Then your expression drops in disbelief and disappointment. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he insists, laying his hand on his chest again as he regards you intently. “And it’s gotta be real – gotta kiss me like you mean it. None of those little pecks you give on the cheek.”

A strange swirl of intrigue and revulsion mixes together in your gut as you continue waiting for the punchline. The ‘just kidding, your face was priceless’. But it doesn’t come.

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Been so lonely out here that you have to twist the arm of a desperate girl just to get some–”

“Hey.” He interrupts, his tone intense and cold. It shuts you up immediately, though you can’t say why. “Don’t be mean, angel. This isn’t just me trying to take advantage of you. It has a real purpose.”

The dubious look you give him makes him crack another small smile. “Cross my heart and hope to die, I’m telling you the truth.”

“And am I allowed to know what this purpose is?”

He shakes his head again, displacing the curls draped over his shoulders that still appear to have not dried at all. “I’ll tell you when it’s done, how about that?” He offers, using your curiosity against you to try to sweeten the deal.

Really, it’s a no brainer. Sure, he’s a strange person that lives in an alternate dimension that has some strange abilities. Sure, you know next to nothing about him despite that itch in the back of your head telling you that you know him somehow. And sure, this could be a huge mistake. But having to kiss this admittedly-attractive dude just to get out of this nightmare dimension and get back home? The choice is simple.

Which only makes you more certain there’s a catch you aren’t seeing.

“Fine. If you swear I’ll be able to go home, then I’ll do it.”

His expression brightens excitedly, a sort of childlike joy appearing on his face. It’s different from any of the expressions you’ve seen on him so far – like genuine surprise. “You will?”

“Yeah, sure.” You reply, trying to brush it off as nothing. “Not like I have a lot of other options here.”

His excitement fades slightly, though he still looks pleased with the outcome. “Glad you made the right decision.”

An unsettling silence falls as the two of you study each other once more, now much closer than the last time. Fear and anticipation builds steadily as you find yourself glancing down at his lips – realizing you’re about to know what they feel like on your own.

“Do we, uh,” you pause to clear your throat as you awkwardly break the silence. “Do we do it now? Or… What?”

He takes a step closer, entering your personal space. His voice is lower, stickier, and richer when he responds. “Do you wanna do it now, angel?”

You suddenly feel like a fly stuck in a honey trap – eyes widening as you struggle between wanting to further close the distance and to run away from him. “Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose?” Though you meant it to be nonchalant, it comes out as a nervous question.

The uncertainty in your voice only seems to make the man crack another amused smile. “I suppose so,” he replies softly, gently teasing you as he gets even just a little bit closer. You can feel your heart pounding in your neck, constantly flipping back and forth between fear, interest, nerves, and embarrassment. Looking at you through slightly lowered eyelids, he leans in toward you. Close enough you can feel the exhale of his breath on your face.

“Kiss me like you mean it, angel.” He reminds you quietly, the tip of his nose nudging against yours as your eyelids flutter closed instinctively. “Don’t forget.”

Then his lips are pressing to yours. You make a small noise of surprise, both in that you weren’t sure if he was actually going to do it and because he’s so cold. But his lips are plush and soft as he places your lower lip between his own. As promised, you kiss him back, trying not to think about how strange it feels that he’s cold and the situation you’re in – focusing on the gentle pressure of him as he steps even closer and brings his hand up to cradle your jaw.

It’s gentle and sweet as you find yourself starting to forget the reality of it all. Your hands find the edges of his leather jacket, tugging him closer as he hums happily. His other hand finds your waist – cold through the thin fabric of your tank top.

Teeth nip lightly at your lower lip and you make another small noise of surprise, a flash of heat through your chest at the pleasant feeling. It distracts you further – not even questioning the adventurous flick of his tongue against your mouth. You part your lips on instinct; his hand flexing happily against your jaw as he tests the waters to run his tongue along yours.

You return the gesture, encouraging the touch as you breathe heavily through your nose. You’re running low on air and will need to part to breathe soon. You’re surprised to find that you aren’t really sure that you want to stop to do so.

He seems to recognize the impending need too; his lips pressing against yours more insistently, like he’s getting what he can before it ends. His tongue ventures past your lips one more time, pressing further than he had before. Is… Is his tongue longer than normal?

In the same moment that he pulls away from you, the hand on your jaw claps over your mouth to keep it shut. And there’s something in your mouth.

There’s something moving in your mouth.

You make a high pitched noise of panic as your eyes double in size, looking at him in terror while he holds you tightly to his front and keeps his hand firmly over your mouth. “Ah, ah, angel. You gotta swallow it.” He coos, his palm clammy and cold against your slick lips.

You shake your head as well as you can with his grip, making noises of protest as you struggle to keep the smooth, wiggling object from sliding down your throat. Your hands grab at his wrist and forearm, trying to pull him off, but his grip is too strong. Begging him with your eyes, sharp and stuttered breaths coming out of your nose as you hyperventilate, he just gives you a sad smile. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Just gotta swallow and it’ll be over – don’t make me plug your nose.”

Painful tears poke out of your eyes and start to descend down your cheeks, nails digging into his skin to try and get him off. It seems not to affect him at all, his other hand giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. It’s gonna be okay. This is it – you won’t have to do anything else. Come on, angel. You can do it. Just swallow for me.”

His words of encouragement make your head spin in confusion, panic mounting as the outcome seems inevitable. More tears pour down your cheeks as you choke on a sob, inadvertently allowing the object to slide down your throat.

“There we go,” he sighs in relief, grip on your face loosening, “Good girl.”

Somehow he knew that you’d swallowed it because he releases you right as you start to cough roughly, stumbling away from him and bending forward. You can still feel the strange coating from the creature on your tongue and down your esophagus – thick and wrong as you cough and gag.

Get it out, get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!!

“What was– How do I– I’ve gotta–” You stammer, stumbling over your words as you tremble wildly and gag, your body responding to your panic by wanting to reject the new contents of your stomach.

He appears right beside you again, gripping both of your wrists with his hands as he forces you upright. “Don’t throw it up.” His voice is a command, his expression intense. “If you throw it up, I’ll have to force feed you another one. And trust me, it’s way less fun the 2nd time.”

Tears continue to pour from your eyes as you rapidly shake your head. “What was– What is– Why are you doing this? What was that thing?”

“Calm down, angel, please calm down,” he begs, starting to look distressed himself. “It’s gonna be okay, I swear, it’s gonna be fine. You’re a part of something bigger now. It’s all going to be okay.”

You try to pull out of his grip on your wrists, alternating between yanking back and rushing forward to push him away. “What the fuck does that mean?! What have you done to me?!” You shout through your tears, white hot panic spreading through your body. “It’s not too late – I can still, I can still throw it up, I can…”

He drags you in, wrapping you up in a tight bear hug with your arms trapped between the two of you. He shushes you, standing steady against your weakening struggling against him. “Shhh, shh, it’s alright, angel. It’s okay. You’re gonna get to go home, okay? We’re gonna get to go home.”

“Sir, we’ve got activity.”

Dr. Pierce pushes out of his desk chair fast enough to make his head spin – lack of sleep and too much coffee weakening him beyond measure. He’s barely left the main building since you went missing.

Since you were dragged through.

There have been constant patrols of the fault line you disappeared into, hoping for any sign of it waking up again. It was on his order and against the wishes of General Highland. She’s a level 1 researcher. She knew the risks. It’s not worth the cost.

But you didn’t know the risks, not really. Pierce knows he didn’t do enough to prepare you, to warn you. He didn’t do enough to protect you.

This is his fault.

He’s not the only one buzzing with anticipation as he exits his darkened office; several other scientists and field agents are reacting to the news of activity with a rush. Not everyone will be allowed to go to the site, as it would be a madhouse, but several live cameras and other surveillance equipment have been set up in the area. At least a quarter of the bureau across the country will be intently watching whatever happens next.

Pierce says nothing as he makes his way for the garage and the people he passes know better than to approach him now. He can still feel their eyes – judgemental, curious, concerned. He’s felt their eyes for days.

There are several SUVs already prepared by the time he arrives, most already full of people who were approved to be on site in the case of reactivation. He recognizes the soldier standing by waiting for him as Private Steve Harrington, the same man who brought in the recorder originally. He’s one of the few people at the bureau with prior knowledge of the other dimension despite his low rank.

“Sir,” he greets with a respectful head dip, opening the backdoor of the SUV for Pierce as he approaches. Pierce returns the gesture before climbing into the backseat, sliding across the bench to the opposite side. Steve gets in after him, his bulky gear forcing him to sit far forward on the bucket seat as he slams the door closed behind him.

It only takes another minute or so before the caravan lurches and begins to move, following after the identical black SUV in front of it.

The walkie-talkie on Steve’s shoulder kicks to life quietly, a short and concise signal coming through that Pierce doesn’t understand. The exhausted scientist looks over curiously as Steve murmurs an, “Affirmative,” into the device before clicking it off.

“Any news from the fault?”

Steve glances over, surprised to be addressed, before he turns back to look out the front windshield. “Nothing yet, sir.”

Pierce keeps an eye on the soldier as they travel – watching with intrigue as the man continuously searches the vehicle’s surroundings, like he’s expecting an attack.

“You seem on edge, Steve.” He straightens in response, looking even more uncomfortable at being referred to by his first name. “Is it because the gate is active?”

A muscle in his jaw rolling with tension, Steve keeps his gaze firmly forward as he responds. “It doesn’t supply a good feeling, that’s for sure.”

“And yet you still volunteered for the theoretical strike team to go through?” Pierce wonders aloud, phrasing it like a question.

There’s a tense moment of silence before the private answers. “At least I already know what to expect on the other side.”

The two don’t interact again for the reminder of the drive.

The SUVs all pull into the vacant field beside the field tent in a line, the leader of the patrol team coming out to meet the first vehicle. Pierce watches General Highland step out of it and start to converse with the uniformed woman. By the time he makes it way over, he seems to be catching the tail end of the conversation.

“We have each unit spread out in even intervals along the fault; so far there has been no change since it first activated.”

“And they all have their protective equipment on, I presume?” Dr. Pierce cuts in, surprising the patrol leader and earning an annoyed look from General Highland.

“Yes sir,” she responds with a head nod. “I was just telling the general that they’re all outfitted with gear to protect them from the worst of the radiation, but it would still do good to regularly swap out the unit in the center, where the worst of it is.”

Pierce agrees with a stiff nod, not waiting to hear the general disagree before he turns to look back. As he expected, Private Harrington trailed him over, waiting a respectful distance away as to not eavesdrop. “Harrington.”

Steve turns at the call, jogging over to Pierce. “Sir.”

“Suit up. You’re coming with me to the source.”

“Yes sir.”

The pair of them push into the field tent, currently staffed with 15 more people than usual. There are researchers and scientists bent over displays and documenting readings, soldiers standing by with weapons, field agents watching over the researchers shoulders. Pierce walks past all of them, parting the way as he does, and starts to strip off his lab coat while pulling a radiation suit off the rack. Steve follows suit, removing a majority of his gear to reequip on top of the plastic suit.

The buzz of excited chatter is nearly grating on Pierce’s ears as he goes through the annoying process of putting on the PPE. But he misses it when it suddenly cuts off, directly after one of the researchers announces, “We’ve got a spike in activity!”

Pierce looks over at Steve, who is still clipping things to his belt again. “We’ve gotta move.”

“Yes sir,” Steve repeats once more, gathering the bare necessities in his arms to try to equip as they move. The pair of them push out the other side of the tent and set into a jog towards what used to be Forest Hills Trailer Park.

They pass a few pairs of outfitted people as they move – soldiers patrolling and scientists maintaining the monitoring equipment placed along the fault. None of them interact as the pair jogs past, heading for the end of the fault line. They can see a small group ahead – presumably gathered closer to where the spike in activity happened.

“Make some room!” Steve barks out as they approach, the gathered group moving further away from the fault line in response. Some look back to see who is coming while others keep their eyes locked on the glowing source beyond.

“Keep at least 10 feet back from the fault at all times,” Pierce orders the group as they pass. “Stay in pairs, don’t go off on your own. We have very little idea what we’re dealing with here, but we have reason to believe there are things that will try to drag you through the gate. If something comes out, fall back and call out. Don’t let your partner get grabbed.”

There is some murmuring in response, but no one openly disregards the order, starting to pair off as a few people move further back along the fault line. Pierce approaches a pair hunched over a meter near the source, keeping his eyes on the glowing red below. “What are we looking at?”

“It’s fluctuating slightly; was 116 mv/m at 31016 Hz at peak.” The researcher responds, keeping a close eye on the EMF before them. “Nothing close to the reported 189 mv/m. We might not be looking at full activation. Or maybe it’s building up, it’s hard to say.”

“Wait,” Steve cuts in, holding a hand out for the researcher to pause. “Do you hear that?”

They all fall silent, listening closely.

Then Pierce hears it – the hum from the recording. The one you were talking about hearing.

The scientist gives him a nod of agreement before looking back to the researcher. “Any sign of movement from the other side?”

“Not that we can tell from here,” the field agent answers for them. “We’ve been following the guidelines to stay back so it’s hard to catch anything from here.”

“Radio? Portable EMF?” Dr. Pierce asks, and the field agent presents both. He takes them and then looks back at Steve. “We’re moving up.”

Even behind the protection of the face shield, Pierce can see the tension in his expression. Regardless, the private still answers with a confident, “Yes sir.”

Keeping the meter within eyesight, the two push ahead, closer to the large opening at the source. Pierce watches it tick up with each step closer, crossing the 150 mark as they get within 5 feet of the edge. Looking out across the opening, the glowing membrane pulses and hums with energy, louder and louder as they approach.

There’s very little movement on the other side, but every once in a while Pierce catches a glimpse of a dark shadow moving beyond.

“Never gets any less unsettling to look at,” Steve murmurs beside him, shifting his weight between his feet as he keeps his eyes locked on the unbroken membrane.

“Dr. Pierce, we’ve got another spike!” The researcher calls from behind, voice sounding a bit concerned. “We’re edging 170 now.”

The humming increases steadily along with a slight vibration in the ground beneath their feet. Steve steps up beside Pierce, a hand out like he’s ready to drag him back from the edge, as Pierce stares into the membrane intensely.

Come on. Come on. Come back through. Just be alive. Come on. Please be alive.

A more defined shadow moves along the edge closest to the trailer and doesn’t pull back. “We’ve got movement!” Steve calls back, alerting the nearby units as Pierce’s hand flies out to hush him. They both watch with a certain level of horrified fascination as the shadow grows defined enough to make that section of the membrane appear black before it begins to tear.

A bare hand extends out of the membrane, blindly grasping for the nearby edge. Steve twitches forward, like he wants to go and help them, but Pierce holds him back wordlessly, leaving them both standing perfectly still as another hand appears and grabs onto the edge.

The person uses the grip on the edge to pull themselves through – a woman in a filthy tank top and jeans struggling to pull herself onto the flat ground. As soon as she is through, she quickly turns around on her knees and reaches back through the membrane.

You’re… You’re actually alive.

Several soldiers approach slowly with their rifles out, aiming at you as you take hold of someone else’s hand and start to pull them through. A pale man with long, messy hair appears from the other side, holding on tightly to you as you help him reorient to the change in perspective. “No way…” Steve whispers, standing frozen as he watches them start to sit up and look around.

“Dr. Pierce!” You call happily once you spot him, waving at him like you’re excited to see him. There’s a huge smile on your face, a stark contrast to your utterly disheveled appearance. “I made it! I’m back!”

The soldiers continue to keep their weapons trained on the newcomers, watching for some sign of aggression. You slowly get to your feet, offering your hand to your companion and helping him up too. Steve takes a few mindless steps towards them, Dr. Pierce no longer stopping him. “Eddie?” He calls uncertainly, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Eddie, is that you?”

The man’s head perks up, looking in Steve’s direction. “Harrington?” He replies, sounding just as uncertain and confused. “Is that you in there?”

“Eddie, as in Eddie Munson?” Dr. Pierce asks Steve, still unmoving as he stares at you, seemingly unharmed.

“Yeah…” Steve breathes out, still looking stunned. “And he doesn’t look like he’s aged a day.”

You and Eddie start to walk over when a soldier barks at you to stay back, both of you nervously putting your hands up as you look between the armed soldiers, Steve, and Pierce.

“It’s me, Dr. Pierce. It’s really me.” You insist, looking at him pleadingly. “And this is Eddie, he helped me find my way back. He saved me.” You add, motioning to the man beside you. The two of you are close together; you stand slightly in front of Eddie, like you’re protecting him. Eddie just offers a sheepish smile and a shrug, like it was no big deal.

“Sir? What do we do?” One of the soldiers asks, glancing in Dr. Pierce’s direction.

The two of you look exhausted, dirty, hungry, but… Harmless. No worse for wear despite the time spent on the other side.

“Bring them in.” Pierce orders. “No excessive force. They’ve been through a lot.”

The soldiers nod, lowering their weapons and urging you both to come forward. You look particularly relieved, while Eddie appears mostly unphased by all of it.

“Thank god, I need a shower so badly.” You announce with a happy laugh, walking toward them as you shake your head and make a disgusted face. “No one smell me, I’m begging you.”

If anyone finds your behavior unsettling or strange, they don’t say so. Everyone mostly looks relieved it didn’t turn into some kind of fight. While there is something off about how you’re acting, Dr. Pierce can’t find it in himself to feel anything besides relief at your return.

Steve stands motionless and tense as Eddie approaches, looking every bit like he’s seen a ghost. There is no excitement, no relief, no… Trust. Like this is all a bad dream and he just wants to wake up.

Just before you and Eddie pass the two of them, you flash another excited smile. “And not a moment too soon – I’m so thirsty.” You look over at Eddie, who nods in agreement, before you continue walking toward the field tent in the distance, flanked on either side by armed soldiers.

Eddie stops by Steve, giving him a tilted smile. “Hey Harrington, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same to you,” Steve replies, his tone apprehensive and flat. If Eddie catches on, he doesn’t show it, just continuing to show that same smile – like he knows something you don’t.

“What can I say?” He offers with a shrug and a wink before he continues to trail after you and toward the growing crowd beyond. “It’s good to be back.”

thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked it!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #flayed!eddie munson #kas!eddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #posting a oneshot that barely explains an entire fic universe you've never told anyone about :)#myos ideas #myo4munson

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changes · 1 year ago

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Friday, September 8th, 2023

🌟 New

We’ve rolled out dashboard tab configuration options to everyone. We’re still working on adding the ability to change the default tab between Following and For You. Also, if you were in the experiment and had enabled certain tabs, like Popular Reblogs and Blog Subs, please note that those settings have moved back to the Tumblr Labs settings, instead of being configurable options in the new config screen.

We’ve deployed some performance and stability improvements for browsing feeds through the site, including the ability to truly handle endless scrolling. If you disabled endless scrolling in your dashboard preferences on web because it was laggy, give it another try! If you disabled it because you like paged browsing better, keep on keeping on! You’ll still benefit from these improvements.

We’re working on improving search across Tumblr, and one of our latest experiments is to try surfacing posts in search results based on image recognition. If you search for something on Tumblr and it returns a bunch of images that aren’t actually related to what you searched for, and have no other text or tags to indicate why you’re seeing it, please send us some feedback via Support about it, providing the search term you used and what posts didn’t make sense.

In the post editor on web, you can now choose to convert a link block down to an inline text link if you’d like, via the meatball menu on the link block that’s generated when you paste a link.

We’re shortening the ask button label maximum length to 26 characters, and providing better error messages when exceeding that limit.

Replies/reblogs/likes from blogs that have blocked the author, or the author has blocked, will no longer appear in the notes view on your posts for anyone.

We’re now filtering asks and submissions from blogs that have blocked the receiver.

🛠 Fixed

We fixed an issue on the Following and For You tabs that was sometimes causing it to take 10+ seconds to load subsequent pages as you scroll.

In the post editor on web, we’ve fixed a variety of issues with copying and pasting and selecting text.

Clicking to like a post while logged out, and then logging in, now brings you back to the post, instead of bringing you to Explore.

When uploading media in the post editor on the web, the “Post” button stays disabled until the media finishes uploading.

Removing a reblog or reply from the notes on your post removes the associated activity item as well.

Folks can no longer mention blogs that they’ve blocked or are blocked by — this was already covered in most circumstances, but we’ve fixed a few rare cases that have popped up where people have gotten around it.

🚧 Ongoing

Nothing to report here today.

🌱 Upcoming

Nothing to report here today.

Experiencing an issue? File a Support Request and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with the community.

#tumblr update

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thoughtlessarse · 29 days ago

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Something strange happened when the Earth was gripped by the COVID-19 pandemic in early 2020, scientists claim: the Moon got substantially colder. As detailed in a recent article published in the journal Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society: Letters, scientists from the Physical Research Laboratory in Ahmedabad, India, observed that lunar nighttime surface temperatures dipped substantially across six observation sites on the near side of the Moon. They propose that this "anomalous dip" was caused by a sudden drop in radiation being emitted from Earth as human activity plummeted during global lockdowns, which limited the amount of pollution and overall heat released by our planet at night. "Therefore, our study shows that the Moon has possibly experienced the effect of COVID-19 lockdown, visualized as an anomalous decrease in lunar night-time surface temperatures during that period," the scientists concluded in their article. The results also indicate that studying the Moon's temperature swings could provide us with a "stable platform to study Earth's radiation budget and climate change."

#earth-moon relation #covid pandemic #moon temperature #earth radiation

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bixbythemartian · 1 year ago

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This is About Oceangate

...kind of. Like, heads up for people who are sick of hearing about it or are too disturbed by this, just scoot on by, that's fine.

Like everybody else my age who had a middle school special interest in the Titanic that was further fueled by the James Cameron movie (and that sounds very specific, but I absolutely know I'm not alone), I've been following this story fuckin voraciously.

I think everybody I know IRL and online is fucking sick of me talking about it. I have been actively trying not to blog much about it here because I'm so obsessed with it that I'm annoyed with myself. I would like to not be this interested in it.

But a lot of the stuff I can think of to say has been said by a lot of people already, I don't want to add to an already noisy environment if I've got nothing new to say.

So, instead, I want to talk about what I haven't seen very many people talking about- something that's stood out to me about the way the media has been handling this story from the get-go. So, finally, I'm inflicting my days long media binge on you.

The media's handling of this was bad. Like, comprehensively fucked.

For the uninformed, a primer on the situation- feel free to skip down if you know all this, there's a bulleted list right after I get done with this part, look for that. But some of this is important to the terms I use, so I wanted to lay it out. (Also I just want to get a lot of this out of my system, please just let me have this.)

The Titan is a 'cyclops-class' submersible. As far as I can tell, 'cyclops-class' is unique to the people who made this submersible, it's not a widely recognized thing.

The Titan can carry up to five passengers. It was supposed to be rated to reach depths of up to 4000 meters below sea level.

The Titan is/was owned and operated by a company known as Oceangate. There's a lot of questions regarding the safety of the submersible, where the math came from on their depth rating, and- basically everything about the Titan is in question, at this point. There's a lot of questions, but that's not what I want to talk about.

Right now. Maybe later.

A submersible is distinct from a submarine in that it requires a surface support ship for many things- the Titan moved too slow to leave port under its own power and go to the site, it didn't have enough life support to do that kind of thing, etc. A submarine is self-supporting and can operate independently. Kind of pedantic, I know, but the Titan is a submersible, not a submarine.

The Titan had a planned expedition to the wreck of the Titanic on June 18, 2023- this past Sunday, at the time of writing. The expedition was supposed to last around 10 hours. It chartered a ship- the Polar Prince- to act as mother ship, the on the surface support that the Titan requires. (The Polar Prince is owned and operated by a different company than the Titan.)

1 hour and 45 minutes into the expedition, as the Titan was still making its way to the sea floor, the Polar Prince lost all contact with the submersible.

The Titanic wreck is at just under 4000 meters deep, right around 2.5 miles.

Now, my understanding is that the Titan was not fully at the ocean floor at the point contact was lost, but it's not clear how deep the Titan was at that time. We may not ever know this for certain.

When the Titan was reported as missing to the coast guard is kind of unclear, to me- I heard 6 hours after they lost contact, I heard 12 hours after they lost contact, I saw something that indicated they reported it missing immediately- I don't know for sure. When the coast guard report comes out, I'm hoping we'll get a more accurate timeline.

However, as soon as it was reported missing, a massive search and rescue operationg was started. Complicating the search efforts were the fact that the submersible seemed to have no type of emergency distress locator beacon (I'm not sure what the precise nautical terminology would be for this).

The search included visual searching of the surface, dropping buoys with microphones, and ROVs (unmanned remote operated vehicles, deep sea robots operated by crew on ships at the surface) searching the floor, and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting. Deep sea radar etc etc, every tool they had access to.

The search and rescue concluded on Thursday (June 22, 2023) around midday, when they definitively found pieces of the destroyed submersible's pressure vessel (the part of the submersible that held pressure and kept the people safe and alive) in a debris field, approximately 1600 feet away from the Titanic.

The destroyed pressure vessel and reports from the Navy on hearing sounds consistent with implosion at the time the Titan lost contact indicates that the submersible underwent what is being called a 'catastrophic implosion'.

It is now an investigation and recovery operation, while they try to figure out what exactly went wrong.

The five men in the sub are dead. In all likelihood, they died so quickly that their nervous system didn't have time to process what happened. What happened to their bodies during this was probably gory and kind of horrifying, but it's unlikely they experienced any awareness of this.

There were five extremely wealthy men on the submersible- they were not all billionaires, but those that weren't were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. If you want a rough sketch of their biographies, there's a link here. Other than them being pretty wealthy, who they are doesn't play that much into what I want to talk about, so I don't feel the need to go into it right now. (Again, as more information comes out, I may come back for another swing.)

So, my complaint. The number of times I saw a news interview with an expert that went like this is not small:

news host interviews deep ocean expert of some variety (who is not involved in rescue)

host asks expert what chances are that the dudes are alive and will be recovered alive

expert, being honest, says something like 'slim to none'

host responds with some amount of sincere-seeming disappointment, then after interview, pivots to the ongoing search for the definitely still alive people

There were news programs with clocks counting down how much theoretical oxygen was left. There were frequent updates to news stories with nothingburgers of additions, just to pad it out. It was, if they were alive at that moment, fucking ghoulish. That they were dead makes it even more horrible.

And I cannot emphasize enough how many experts said, to generalize and paraphrase here: "Unless they are found bobbing on the surface in the next n hours, they are dead. Even if they are alive right this minute, on the bottom of the ocean, there is no hope to rescue them in time."

This is not a failure of any of the rescue entities involved, by the way. The environment they were presumed to be in- 4000 meters under sea level- is so extreme that there are very few vehicles in the world with the capability of even getting to that depth. Like, 10 or less. As far as I know, none of them are designed to do any kind of deep sea rescue- which would have involved carefully scooping up or netting the Titan and hauling it up very slowly. There's no way to transfer personnel between ships at this depth, and the Titan had the largest passenger allowance at this depth, afaik. Like, the odds were incredibly, vanishingly small that these men would live.

The media, at large, never ever really allowed that to change the way they talked about this story or treated the participants in the story. At around 11 am or noon (central daylight time) on Thursday I saw them talking about how 'oxygen is critical'.

Oxygen was critical 24 hours prior. Even by the most generous of expectations, they were out of breathable air. Given how, to put it mildly, janky the submersible seemed to have been, there was absolutely no guarantee that they had even the 96 hours that Oceangate claimed.

Their likelihood of being rescued alive from the ocean floor was minimal on Monday. By Thursday, they were dead- again, unless they were found on the surface somewhere and had managed to carefully preserve their air somehow, they were already dead.

The media didn't really allow for the reality of the situation to be clear until Oceangate and the USCG came out and said 'yeah, they're dead'.

"Well, what's the problem with that?" you might ask. "The United States Coast Guard was the one who was saying it was a rescue up until that point."

Sure. That's their job. Their job is to treat it like an urgent rescue until it is certain that it is not. A significant amount of what they do is to rescue people from doing damnfool things in the water, and keeping hope alive until they find bodies, or evidence thereof. They were doing exactly what they should be doing.

(Whether they do this to this extent for everybody lost at sea is another conversation that's absolutely worth having, as well as their role in border patrol, but I have no bone to pick with the USCG in this particular instance. They did their all until they could do no more, that's the whole point of them, this is how they're supposed to operate.)

The media was not doing what they should be doing. There's an old quote somewhere that I think is just a journalism truism (everyone I've heard talk about it says their journalism professor said it)- if someone tells you it's raining, and someone else tells you it's not, your job isn't to report that, your job is to go outside and see if it's wet.

James Cameron- director of the aforementioned Titanic movie, as well as being a Titanic and deep sea submersible expert, knew they were dead on Monday.

He reached out to some people, he found out that the mother ship lost contact with the crew as well as their location at the same instant, and that the Navy heard a sound consistent with an implosion at around that time.

The information that the Navy heard the implosion was not classified information- they heard it via a listening system that was declassified in the 90s, I believe. Like, I knew about the system just kind of casually because I know random Navy stuff. (My dad was in the Navy, it's mostly osmosis.)

The people on the scene were informed as soon as the Navy knew. (When that was, I'm not sure, except it was before Monday. Probably they had someone go back and listen to it and weren't actively monitoring it, but it's hard to say.)

The deep ocean submersible community knew, well enough that James Cameron could call a buddy and find out. He was telling people on Monday to raise a glass to them.

The media could have had this information, if they did not have it. Either they didn't want to know, or did know, and didn't say it. And I can't say for certain they were suppressing information, but I do know that they frequently downplayed any evidence that these people were dead.

I know on CNN they ran a story about FADOSS- the FlyAway Deep Ocean Salvage System- that was shipped out to Newfoundland. It arrived Wednesday afternoon. Description in the alt text, link here.

At the time this story was published, the people in the sub would have theoretically had less than 24 hours of breathable air. They hadn't even chartered a ship for the FADOSS, at this point. And the port in Newfoundland is hundreds of miles from the site. I'm not sure how many hours away but, like, hours away. I think I heard it's a 6 hour trip, but I'm not certain on that.

This system was referenced in the news as if it was going to be part of the rescue process. Very clearly, this was never going to happen. The quote, 'a process which can take a full day' is a mild understatement, here.

It could, theoretically, be done in 24 hours, but was much more likely to take longer, unless they had enough crew in Newfoundland to do round-the-clock welding.

The response to the question about recovering someone alive is a polite way of saying 'that's not what we do'. They were not part of the rescue operation and were never intended to be, as far as I can tell.

(If you're wondering what part the FADOSS is going to take in the recovery and investigation process, it's not. It's used to lift heavy objects off the floor, and the Titan broke into small enough pieces that the ROVs are believed capable of handling it. FADOSS is on its way back to wherever it is kept. I suspect it was brought out in the edge case that the submersible was found intact with dead crew, to retrieve the vessel whole, so that the families would have bodies to bury.)

Setting aside the 'oh they definitely blew up' news that seems to have been available the whole time, every single piece of evidence and expertise pointed to these people being dead, and yet the news persisted in sort of breathlessly (sorry) talking about the rescue efforts and how much time was left. They persisted in talking about how definitely still alive these people were until they could not do that anymore.

Other examples of this issue are the knocking thing. There were reports of some of the buoys picking up something that could be described as 'knocking'. Some said it was 'every thirty minutes' but we don't know how precise a measurement that was. As soon as they started talking about the knocking, I looked into it.

As it turns out, this is just a thing that happens. The sea is very noisy, and it's hard to determine the source of a sound. Some geological things sound manmade, vice versa. They had a lot of ships cooperating together to work the search area, it's possible that they were hearing noise from those, or something from an oil platform a jillion miles away, because noise travels far and is hard to pinpoint. They had this issue while searching for the sunken USS Thresher and it was one of the ships doing the searching. Given how many different moving parts there were in this search operation, it's hard to say what the knocking was. This is just a thing in the ocean, there's a lot of fuckin noise and experts can't always pinpoint it down in location or even what it might be.

This is why, even though they heard sounds that were consistent with implosion, at the time that the Titan lost total contact with the mother ship, it was still treated as if there was a live rescue operation. Because they couldn't be certain.

But the odds were extremely poor that these men were alive, and almost everybody involved knew that fairly early on. Again, the rescue operation had to go forward like they were looking for someone alive because that's how that works. The media, on the other hand, handled this in a very irresponsible way.

And, like, I know, news media is bad at being news is not some like hot new thing, I've just been building up frustration for days and so it had to come out somehow.

I'm not sure how much of this was just because they're very wealthy men- only one of whom I've ever heard of before- and how much of it was because it was a very bizarre and unique ongoing situation, how much of it was the intersection of that.

But pretty much everybody with enough knowledge to be worth talking to about this knew, like, Monday that even if they weren't dead right then, they were very unlikely to make it out alive, and watching the news wind a bunch of people up over the hopeful outcome was revolting.

Okay. We'll see if I can go 24 hours without talking about this. If you made it to the end of this absolute fucking novel, congratulations and/or I'm sorry.

#oceangate #titan submersible #this is just a personal rant about the media involved

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