I guess that’s how I got my name. My parents are cartoon buffs, so when their baby popped out off-color and half-dead, there was only one thing to do. If you haven’t guessed it yet, my name is ******-Ghost. I’m Ghost.
I have anemia, caused by a severe iron deficiency. But that not the only thing I’m referring to when I say my heart wasn’t quite right. It’s three sizes too big, or I like to say so. It’s normal sized in reality, but it sure seems like too many people can fit inside at once. It makes it kind of hard to breathe sometimes. Too much weight in my chest. You can’t really blame me for having bad posture, can you? With a chest full of people, you’d probably do the same.
My heart was an okay size when I was very young, but it grew at a much faster rate than I did. My body grew in a linear way, and my heart exponential. I always cared a bit too much, even when my heart was the right size, though. I grew attached to anyone who stuck around long enough to let me. We moved often when I was younger, because my dad was involved in the military.
Eventually, we settled down in good old Elkader, Iowa, a town where everyone knows your name. I was in middle school by now, and my heart was heavy from all the people I had left behind.
So one day in eighth grade, I ran as far as my feet could carry me- which ended up being about 35 miles, until I had to stop because I was going into shock- and I emptied everyone out on the side of the road. I held onto two people, my parents. I sat there for who knows how long, until the sun set, and my mom had finally gotten our junky old minivan to drive out far enough to find me.
Soon enough, I was in high school, with my heart two sizes too big and a reputation two sizes too small. I was known as Ghost, mostly, or sometimes Spooky, or Jeepers. I was the kid who ran from Madison Middle School, from Elkader, from myself- although no one knew that part. People mostly left me alone when they weren’t poking fun at me. The two things balanced each other out in sort of a funny way, I suppose.
And then there was her.
She transferred to Elkader High (our school chant was ‘Goooo Elks!’ -very original) in my sophomore year. She was new, she was pretty, she was my light in the dim town that was Elkader.
It wasn’t dark there, because my heart glows for a couple yards around it. Not red, not pink, but grey. A heart that glows grey is a funny sort of concept, I guess, but you’d know if you saw it. My photos of other people always show their hearts. Hidden behind collars and scarves and jackets and hands, sometimes you can’t even see them glow. But they all do. Every single one.
Hers was golden, mixed with red sometimes when her emotions leaked into it. I could have seen it from a satellite.
She decided she liked the kid with the too big heart and the too small reputation. Maybe it was because I was the only one who had run from this place. Every other kid had lived in Elkader their whole life. They didn’t know what it was like to leave the place. I knew that Elkader’s generator could only make enough light for a dim glow in each heart. I had to get out of there, fast. And so did she. I could see her light fading by the days.
So we stuck together, us kids with slowly fading hearts. And eventually, we fell in love.
I wish I could tell you it was the pretty kind, where I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her, and I only fell further. Or maybe that it happened all at once, and never went away. None of that is true. It just kind of, happened. And I didn’t know what to do, because her soul was too big for even my heart.
But she tried anyway. She fit, just barely, squeezing out everyone else, and left the door to my heart wide open for her feet to stick out.
She never knew about how weak its walls were, I suppose. They were thin stained glass, made thinner by my anemia and my heart being stretched too big. She wanted a promise. In our little town, there were no rings that I could give her. Nothing was big enough for her Saturn-like soul. Maybe I was just too late to keep her heart from dimming too far.
The only thing I remember after that is blood. Maybe I just fell too hard and too fast for her. Maybe my walls finally broke. Maybe that was my promise. To die for her.
And I almost did. Would have been more fitting, I guess. When I woke up, she had left my heart in shards, my body bruised, and my plug pulled. My heart doesn’t glow anymore. I’m still trying to piece it back together.
So here I am. A crazy university called Elsewhere. The only place I’ve ever felt I belong. A boy with a shattered heart that doesn’t glow like it used to, and a name just big enough to fit all the pieces of myself behind, running from the only person who ever got close enough to break me.
Because if no one knows your weak spots, no one can hit them. So I hide behind the false front of a proud, brave, stupid kid, naïve enough to never have had his heart broken. And if you look close enough, you’ll see the real me behind it. Plug in hand, welding my heart back together, ready to start again.
Title: and possibly i like the thrill Fandom: Overwatch Pairing: Gabriel Reyes (Reaper) / Jack Morrison (Soldier: 76) Rating: T+ Warnings: language and brief violence Word Count: 1,065 (excerpt) Notes: What’s that? It’s not time for AUs yet? Too bad! Here’s my overview and excerpt for Day 5 of Reaper76 Week. (◡‿◡)
Talon AU. Talon extracts Jack from the wreckage
of the explosion and spends the next five years reconditioning him. Gabriel
still defects to Talon after his resurrection, and the two of them end up as
partners. Jack has no memory of his time at Overwatch, and Gabriel doesn’t recognize
him… at first.
Eleven seconds of crackling static feels
like an eternity when you’re bleeding to death. Jack wishes he wasn’t so
familiar with the sensation. The sharp, insistent pain from the bullets nestled
in his torn flesh slowly fades into a dull, fiery ache as blood gushes through
his fingers. Jack should have suspected that his communicator had been
compromised the moment he realized they’d been double-crossed. He’d been preoccupied
by assholes with machine guns at the time, though, so the radio silence catches
him by surprise.
I want to lay in bed, with my arms wrapped around you and playing with your hair. Just staring at the ceiling of my room, listening to music but intently focusing on the rate of your heartbeat. My body would be happy because it’d feel your embrace, and my heart would be happy because you’d be mine.
Canon Divergent, Angst. Completed. Rated: T. Word Count: 7,300.
Trigger Warnings: Body Horror.
“Even though he still hadn’t really seen it, he was more sure this time that it was real. Something about the shape of it had been different than most spirits, and he now realized why that was- it wasn’t a spirit at all. It was someone’s aura.
The aura of someone who was watching Reigen.
(or: an interim between parts. In which Reigen learns things about himself, and meets someone new.)”
A fight with harry bc he gets jealous all the time?xx
Here ya go anon. Hope you enjoy. You didn’t specify smut. If you want one with smut, lemme know. MUAH!
Sometimes it was better if Harry was preoccupied with other things when you went out. Even though it tended to make you feel isolated when his friends would monopolize his time, it also meant he wouldn’t fall victim to his jealousy. Jealousy was something Harry knew well when it came to you. The amount of times he took an innocent hug or touch the wrong way were starting to pile up. And unfortunately tonight was no exception.
I stand motionless in front of the mirror, deliberately taking off each item of clothing and inspecting the bare flesh it exposes. Never had I paid much attention to what it felt to expose myself and assess each acute part of my body on an emotional level. Every marking or scarred tissue, a story to tell. A chemical burn in the shape of a capital ‘F’ on my right hand - a reminder of a science experiment gone wrong when the girl I had a crush on foolishly dumped too much amount of ceroxide into the beaker. Or the sharp, raised white line drawn across my knee from an overzealous soccer tackle. Or the seasonal freckles that invade my cheeks during summer - a constant reminder of my father that had passed just sixteen months after my birth.
My body tells the story of my life. A map of my self-discovery. My body - my physicality - has both protected me and isolated me. As a child, primary school was unkind to me. Growing up in a small country town where coming from a mixed-race family was alien, the racial taunts were abundant, and my thick black hair and my dark complexion were a dead giveaway that I was different, let alone my proud Filipino mother.
Emotionally too weak to deal with the racial slurs, my body responded and became my savior. I learned to use my physicality as a means of defense. I was the kid so puffed up with bravado and aggression, yet so full of pain. And I carried this big posture all throughout high school, making sure I was the biggest, strongest, and angriest as a device to ward off the would-be tormentors. Bruce Lee and Arnold Schwarzenegger hung on my wall - my inspiration to keep up the the facade of the alpha male. My heroes. My idols. Both strong and indestructible, if there was a problem, it was resolved with a clenched fist.
I subscribed to this mentality, and it served its purpose through my schooling years. However, when it came to dealing with the real issues that laid beneath my skin, I found it was the very same aggression that protected me that now hindered me.
In retrospect, I was never happy with my body. And I’m still not. I always felt uncomfortable in the changing room after P.E. at school, or on swimming sports days. I would look at the other boys running around with their shirts off, absolutely oblivious to the discomfort that I was feeling. I recall a time when I was about eleven or so, and it was a sweltering summer’s day. I had found the $1.80 I needed to enter the local pool on my mother’s dresser, so I stole it, and I ran as fast as my stumpy little legs could handle, all the way to the pool. My friends were there already, their shirts off, reclining, eating their Twisties, and the sun was drawing their shadows on the wet concrete. And all my excitement seemed to just reel up inside of me, like a horse pulling up a jump that was just too big or too far for it. And I didn’t want to take my shirt off. I was ashamed of what hid underneath it. And a great lump curled up in my throat and my shame screamed at me to leave the pool - to leave my friends. I conceded to the voices in my head, and I gave my friends a thin excuse and I slowly scuffed my way back home.
And I still live with that shame. My body is the story of my life, or so I thought. I began acting at university. I didn’t know why, I just knew that I loved it. Nowadays, my reasons for the choice are much clearer. Acting, for me, is the ultimate escapism. It’s a chance to have a completely out-of-body experience, and maybe it’s a chance for me to escape the unexplained shame. Yet, it isn’t. Mentally and emotionally, I may be able to transcend who I am, but physically I can’t. And this became glaringly obvious to me when I began working in the film and television industry.
I act because I love the art, so when I began professional work, the thought of my face, my body, my story becoming a commercial quantity never came to mind. Then, all of a sudden, my body became a product you could view nightly on national television. My body was no longer subject to my own thoughts - it was now a topic of the public forum. And - this sounds horribly vain, but I’ll just keep going - out of my own curiosity, or vanity, I began to read the reviews of my work. Yet, when it came to the comments, it was all about what I looked like. I found images of me on websites, rating my body out of ten, with usually comments ranging from “Yes, I would fuck him,” or “No, I wouldn’t go near him with a ten foot pole and the look of him makes my skin crawl.” And I can say that the scared little boy at the pool was now terrified.
Arnold and Bruce Lee now loomed over me once again, but this time, they didn’t instill me with strength - rather, they instilled me with a sense of inadequacy. What I should look like, that I needed a six pack, or I need biceps bigger than I’d ever require. It was the first time that I guess I’d been exposed to sexual objectification, and I wasn’t the only male at my work feeling it. There was pressure on the guys on the show to look a certain way, and it was rarely talked about. We all suffered in our own silence, and the gossip rags and the papers labelled us as girl-crazy, sex symbols, whatever - and the publicity, which is a compulsory requirement, turned us into pinup boys for schoolgirls. And all the media fueled the fire of sexual objectification. And here I was, stuck in the middle of it, wishing I’d never stole my mother’s $1.80.
But nowadays, I’ve reconciled with the fact that it is part of my job to look a certain way, to attain a certain physique. However, this realization hasn’t helped reconcile my own issues of self-perception. If anything, it’s complicated it further. All the attention from the media made me question my own worth - did I get the opportunity to work in the film and television industry based on my talent or hard work, or was it just simply because of the way I looked?
When I was asked to speak about the topic of my body, I tried to collect my experiences surrounding my body and what it meant to me, and while I was doing so, it became clear to me that the topic of body and body image for me is intrinsically linked to identity. My body is a map of my self-discovery, but does that mean I’m comfortable in my own skin? Of course not. And I don’t think I’ll ever be. But it’s a journey that’s really exciting to take.
Bob Morley, “What Men Really Think About Their Body”
You can watch the whole thing here, but Bob’s speech really moved me and I had to share it here. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that the male actors we idolize experience their own sexual objectification in the spotlight, and often share many of the same insecurities that we all struggle with in our personal lives. I am in awe of Bob’s honesty in this speech, and floored by how much of myself I saw in his story. This is a must-read for anyone who watches The 100 or any of Bob’s work, and finds themselves admiring or scrutinizing his looks - he amounts to so much more than his body. We all do.
Hi! Can you write a scenario with Baekhyun when he asks you to rate his body/his abs (NOT smut)? I love your scenarios! Keep going! Fighting!
I hope this ends up the way that you want it to. Thank you for requesting it, and please be sure to let me know what you think of it :)
When Baekhyun returned back to your apartment after practice, and after going to the gym that night, he went immediately to the shower. You had told him before that you didn’t particularly like the smell of his workout clothing, and he couldn’t help but agree with you, especially as it seemed to permeate through the entire house if he didn’t wash it immediately.
But when he emerged from the shower, you were sitting in the living room watching tv, relaxing and waiting to spend the night with him. Despite the initial smell of him and his clothes upon returning home, he always smelled good when he stepped out of the shower. And he was now walking towards you in just a towel, almost hesitantly.
“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, looking up at him and taking one of his hands in yours. He’s holding onto his towel loosely, and though it only covers the lower half of his body, he looks nervous and almost self conscious.
Especially when his words slip from his lips, directed at you.
“W-what do you think of my body?” he asks hesitantly, taking a step back so that you can look at what he’s talking about.
Your brow furrows at his question, “What do you mean?”
And he shakes his head, trying to be clearer in the way he asks his question, “Like…on a scale of one to ten, what would you rate my body?”
And his question still has you confused, but you pull him forward, not caring for the towel wrapped around him as you stare up into his eyes. You’re confused as to why he’s bringing this up. Something must have triggered this and you want to know what exactly.
“What brought this on? It can’t just be a random question.” and you reach up to touch his face, a gentle touch that he leans into. He’s always leaned into your touch, just as you lean into his. The two of you are like connecting puzzle pieces.
But he shakes his head, even as he closes his eyes and savors the feeling of your hand on his skin, “I’m just curious. I-I’ve been working out lately, and the fans…”
You immediately sigh and shake your head.
“If this is about the fans, you already know my stance on that. If you’re comfortable showing your body to them, then you should. And you shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything that you don’t want to. Even if they are your fans, you don’t owe them anything. Not even an explanation. It’s your life. Your body.” and you feel your blood boiling in your veins. This is a topic that you’ve tried very hard to refrain from speaking on. It only gets you heated.
“No.” he says, “It’s not that.” and he sighs before moving around to sit down carefully on the couch, careful with his towel so he doesn’t reveal anything. Despite the many times that he’s run around your apartment naked, he’s careful right now because he’s trying to be serious. And you’re sure it’s hard to do when he’s already half naked. “I-I just want to know if you like it. I’m doing it for me, working out for myself. But…” and he pauses again, “I want you to like it, too.”
Your smile reaches your eyes when you look over at him and you’re taking his cheek in your hand once more, running your thumb gently beneath his eye and then leaning in to kiss the edge of his lips.
“I like that you think of me, but it’s your body. I’d like it no matter what, but only because it’s what you do with it that matters, baby.” you kiss him again, softer this time, “Physically, I think you’re perfect. You’re healthy and you’ve been working out because you want to, not because you need to. As long as you’re treating your body right, it will always be a 10 out of 10.” and you have to laugh at your own words because it sounds almost ridiculous.
But…you’re telling the absolute truth. You would love him no matter what he looked like. It’s his personality and his talent that makes you love him.
Baekhyun let’s himself smile, too, and then he’s leaning into your touch and capturing your lips which are only an inch away from his at the moment. The two of you get lost in the feeling and then you’re pulling apart from him, laughing and shaking your head.
Pushing at his shoulders, you nod toward the bedroom, instructing him to get changed.
“Go get some clothes on, and then come back out here so we can watch some tv tonight.” you direct him, settling deeper into the couch and watching him go. Before he does, though, he’s stealing one last kiss, which has you rolling your eyes, but leaning into him to kiss him deeper.
“Thank you.” he whispers before sinking off into the other room.
You do not fail to catch the gentle smile adorning his beautiful lips as he moves past you, going to get dressed in the bedroom. You sigh and roll your eyes once more.
You really did mean absolutely every word you just said, and you hope he knows that.