#it was such a good medium for trauma and ghost is an amazing figure to project and write these things onto for me

[quizzyisdone]

It Will Come Back Part III | Fem! Reader x Ghost

Chapter Title: Spillways Word Count: 3.5k Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Synopsis: After Ghost left you in the dead of night feeling torn and hurt, Soap comes to check up on you on the orders of the man you least expect. However, it comes to the Captain's attention that Ghost had taken the fall for you and he begins to suspect something even more has taken place. Warnings: Mentions of Ghost's past (see link), strong language, mentions of physical assault to the reader, canon-typical violence, Ghost is mean sometimes

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Masterlist

** Title inspired by Spillways by Ghost

You keep a casket buried deep within You try to mask it, but fall back in sin You want to shake it off, but you are stuck inside

When stripped of rags of skin and spine Human decay, Corpus dei Terminally dispelled

Thirty minutes had passed as you sat on the floor in complete shock, the impact from when Ghost pushed you aching even worse than the wound he had so gently tended just a little while ago. The sudden transition from that heated passion to complete rage left you confused, hurt, and most of all, ashamed. Ashamed that you were so inappropriate with your superior, that you would even consider the possibility of something more intimate with him. But most of all, he'd most likely never speak to you again after this.

Sobs racked from your body as you shook on the floor and without any regard that someone might hear you, you practically wailed, for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. After everything that had happened tonight, screwing up the mission, Ghost taking the fall for you, bringing you close for but a moment and then him leaving you on the floor like this.

You were hardly an emotional person, but everything hit you at once. Failure, disgust, fear, and a sort of righteous anger boiled within you as you tried to get yourself off the bathroom floor. You were shaking, the events happening so quickly you’d felt as though you’d been left with whiplash.  

Looking in the mirror, your eyes were red, puffy, looking absolutely pathetic as you sniffled. Wiping your face of tears, you stripped, opting to go to bed naked, too tired to change into anything else or to even shower. Modesty in case of emergency was hardly something you were concerned about at the moment.

Climbing into bed, even though you were no longer sobbing or shaking, tears still continued to stream down. You tucked the blanket up to your chin, wondering why he’d do such a thing as exhaustion began to overcome you and you succumbed to sleep.

__

Sunlight gleamed through the small slot they called a window, irritatingly casting a bright glow onto just your eyes as you grumbled. The captain was right, you did have one hell of a headache. You turned over in hopes of catching more sleep. You didn’t want to face today. No. Not after last night.

Your hopes were crushed in one fell swoop as a soft knock could be heard on the door.

“Y/N, you in there?” A low, but soft Scottish accent said from behind the door. Soap.

“Go away, MacTavish.” You groaned, but he ignored your request, quietly opening and closing the door, a far cry from what Ghost’s slamming and screaming last night. He found you with half your face buried into the blanket, your eyes puffy and your cheeks still red. Pity that agitated you creeped onto his face. He knew you cried yourself to sleep.

Embarrassing.

“Hey.” He gave a weak smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Go away, I’m naked.” You rasped, the veil of sleep still ingrained in your voice. He chuckled as a slight blush rose onto his cheeks and he averted his eyes almost immediately. 

“Put a fuckin’ shirt on then, dude.” Soap giggled, like a little schoolboy as he tossed you a random shirt he found on the floor to you. “I won’t look.”

You grumbled in acknowledgement as he turned away and you haphazardly sat up and put the t-shirt on for modesty’s sake. 

“You’re good.”

He turned to face you again, and the blush had gone away but that pity from earlier still lingered, frustratingly so. 

“So, we’ll try this again.” Soap sighed. “What's wrong?”

“Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it. Just a rough op.”  You grumbled, almost incoherently, and he chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you a friendly squeeze on your knee from under the covers.

“I heard, but ye don’t have to talk ‘bout it.” Soap knew better than to push and you were thankful for that, knowing that Price or Gaz would’ve kept badgering at you until you finally told them. But something in his eyes clued you into the fact that he knew it was something far more than a failed mission. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You replied dismissively, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible. He accepted your answer, although the shake of his head indicated that he knew you were not alright. But anyone with half a brain could see that.

“Mkay. Ghost wanted me to check on you. He heard you last night.” He said so nonchalantly as you did a double take.

“W-Wh-” You stuttered. “Why would he want to check on me?” Hostility entered your tone as you glared at Soap, absolute venom dripping from your voice in reference to Ghost. “And why wouldn’t he do it himself?”

“Yer part of his team?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to reciprocate the sudden shift in energy that you gave him. “ ‘Course he would. But these things aren’t really his strong suit, you know that.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it irked you, as if it was obvious that Ghost cared about anyone or even himself for that matter. 

Seeing the disbelief on your face, he reassured you. “Man’s not a sociopath.”

“Contrary to popular belief.” You chuckled cruelly to yourself. Immediately, however, you felt regret at such a harsh statement. It was, even in your heightened emotional state, an unfair, unworthy, and dishonest assessment of Ghost. 

“Let me put it this way,” Soap rolled his eyes, glaring at you like you were full of shit, clearly annoyed at your harsh characterization of the lieutenant.  “LT cares ‘bout you enough to save yer arse.”

“So? Price ordered him to rescue me at the safehouse.” 

“He would’ve saved you no matter what Price said.” His tone was serious and curt, a far cry from the loud, wise-cracking soldier he was. The kindness from before was gone. “ But Price didn’t order him to take the blame for your fuck up.”

“How the-?” You started, but he quickly cut you off. His patience had quickly waned at your impudence towards his friend, but he remained calm.

“I’ve known him personally for a good bit of time,” He started, sighing as he rubbed his forehead. “And by reputation far, far longer than you have. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it’s not like Ghost to violently murder a VIP out of anger. He’s not that emotional, especially not on your behalf. But it is like you to do that.”

You stayed silent, chewing on your bottom lip, too stunned to really say anything else. You hadn’t pegged Soap to be such an astute observer of character, but it was scary how accurate he was. He was right, it was not at all like Ghost to do that. He was always professional with a mission first mindset, whereas you were highly emotional, sometimes to the detriment of the mission. 

“I don’t know what happened, but just pull it together, mkay?” Soap pursed his lips, his lost patience from before had returned as he saw your contemplative, pained expression. His resolve to be angry at you dissipated when he saw the hurt in your eyes. He knew it was something deeper.

“Analysts used the map to find a lead, so it doesn’t matter what happened anyway. So maybe you didn’t cock it up that bad.” He teased as he punched your arm, and you gave him a sheepish smile, skirting around the actual issue. He stood up, taking a deep breath as he walked to your door. “Price wants us for a debrief in a few hours so put yer pants on and get something to eat with us.”

“Can’t wait to fuck this one up too.” You chuckled dry as Soap shook his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes.

“You won’t.” He said reassuringly, his head peeped around from the corner, before he disappeared. He had shut your door much more gently than Ghost had the night prior.

When Soap had left, you managed to get yourself out of bed. As you trudged your body to the sink, your thoughts wandered back to last night as you felt a sharp pain in your lower back. Looking backwards in the mirror, you stripped the shirt from earlier, only to find a large, black and purple bruise formed on the site of impact where Ghost had thrown you like a ragdoll.  

“Fuckin’ Christ.” You muttered as your hand gingerly grazed over the affected area. Your head was throbbing with every sharp breath you took.

__

Getting ready was a surreal, mundane blur. One of you hardly cared to remember.

As you made your way into the mess hall, you became acutely aware of the stares of fellow 141 members passing by you in the cramped hallway, glancing their heads toward you in either confusion or sympathy and quickly turning away to go about their business. A blush rose to your cheeks as you avoided their stares. 

Everyone heard you crying last night.

__

You made your way to your normal spot with Gaz, Soap, and unfortunately, the man himself, Ghost, already seated at the table. As per usual, the masked man was sat tucked in between the corner at the far reaches of the room, with Gaz sat across from him and Soap one seat down from him.

He caught your lingering gaze while you were walking towards the table, but unusually yet unsurprisingly, he immediately stared down towards his tray, which was only occupied with a mere dry yeast roll, a bottle of water, and a cup of fruit. Normally, Ghost’s plate would be filled to the brim to sustain his large, imposing figure. 

You sat at the table, nodding and muttering a small hello to only Soap and Gaz.

“You need to eat, sergeant. Go get something.” Ghost muttered after some time of awkward silence, rather hypocritically too -- as if his own plate wasn’t meager in terms of sustenance. 

“Not hungry.” You mumbled and you could almost feel his eyes rolling. Why the fuck does he care anyway?

“Hey.” Gaz smiled softly towards you, lightly jabbing your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just some bad dreams last night.” You lied while Ghost stole a judgemental glance that you almost didn’t catch. “Kept me up.”

“That bad, huh?” Gaz chuckled.

“Yeah, we do some fucked up things. You’re telling me that shit doesn’t haunt you?” You raised your eyebrows, ardently avoiding the gaze of Ghost as silence ensued. The tension was thick, and with Ghost seemingly about to lose it any moment, either man was too afraid to answer truthfully, and Soap too uneasy to comment on what he knew. “Well?”

“It shouldn’t.” Ghost said harshly, staring at nothing in particular. “You’re a soldier. You get the job done right and you don’t think too hard about it.”

Surprised at his interjection, you finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. His gaze was set harshly towards you, his brows furrowed and as he gripped his pathetic yeast roll for dear life. 

“Fuck off.” You spat. Ghost thought for a moment, before slamming his fists down onto the table, looking at you with that same pitiless, inhumane stare and using strength not unlike the type he used to shove you into a wall last night as you flinched.

“Bloody hell, you need to get it together.” He shook his head and his voice was low but nonetheless imperious as was so typical of the man. “Keep it professional.”

“You first.” You did not lower your voice as he did, instead raising it. You cocked one eyebrow as you stared back defiantly. If Ghost was shocked at your brash statement which implicated both of your indiscretions from the night prior, he didn’t show it. Instead, with a grunt, he abruptly rose from the table, the force of it pushing it backwards and into both you and Gaz.

Soap and Gaz remained stunned for a moment, with Soap’s mouth slightly agape and you feigned disinterest at the encounter. Looking over next to you, you noticed what would’ve been a comical expression on Soap’s were it not for the present situation.

You huffed in annoyance. “Close your mouth, MacTavish. You’ll attract bugs.” While you played cool with your demeanour, your shaky tone gave away your rising anger and annoyance.  

“What the fuck happened between you two?” Gaz asked, the look of bewilderment almost equal to that of Soap’s.

“N-nothing.” You stuttered. “Leave it at that.”

“Obviously it was something if you’re screaming and he’s pushing tables.” He argued. “We’re a fucking team and you two can’t be acting like this. So what the fuck happened?” His bewilderment had turned into exasperation that bordered on outright indignation.

“Stop acting like you’re the boss, Garrick. You don’t need to know-”

“Gaz isn’t.” An authoritative, deep cockney accent interrupted you. You turned around, knowing already who it was behind you as you felt your stomach drop. Price. “But I am. So you best tell me what the hell is going on between the two of you.”

You went quiet for a moment, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he interrupted you again.

“The truth, sergeant. Don’t lie to me.” 

You sighed. “I killed the VIP. Not Ghost.”

Price closed his eyes, attempting to compose himself and mask the disappointment that was already oh so obvious to you. 

“And he took the blame for you.” You felt your stomach churn as you could practically see the cogs turning in his head as Price carefully chose his next words. “So he’s bitter.”

“Are you angry or disappointed?” You mumbled, taking great care to avoid looking at him.

“Both.” He said curtly, you almost wish he would’ve said just disappointed. That you could handle, but not his ire. 

“That makes two of us.” That same feeling of shame began to rear its ugly head. You know you fucked up, and now so does your commander, the man who you looked up to.  

“I punished your teammate for something you did.” He said lowly, careful to keep his voice composed. “It should.”

Price let an awkward, tense silence fill the air. You glanced around the room, luckily the outburst didn’t seem to attract any attention, but the embarrassment from being reprimanded from the captain in front of Gaz and Soap was a feeling that would never leave you.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off this op or take you off the taskforce for breach of conduct.” Price crossed his arms, rubbing his forehead.

“Why don’t you?”

“We still need you. But you’re on thin fucking ice, sergeant. You understand?” His brow furrowed, almost as if he was hurt by your actions. You nodded. “Debrief in two hours and mission’s in three. I don’t want to see your face until then.”

“Yes, sir.” You rose from the table, heading back to your quarters.

“One more thing, sergeant.” 

“Yes, sir?” You turned around to face Price, ignoring the stares of Soap and Gaz whose cheeks were flushed with secondhand embarrassment.

“Anything else you need to tell me?” His critical eyes burned into you as you thought of fessing up to both you and Ghost’s indiscretions of the night previous, the true reason for the sudden shift in the dynamic between the two of you.

“No, sir.” You answered, electing to not to be dishonourably discharged for fraternization today.

His normally warm, kind blue eyes turned into an icy stare, as if he knew there was something more. Price opted not to push any further, however, much to your relief.

“Fine. Dismissed.”

__

When you finally made it back to your quarters, you slumped onto your bed, fighting the urge to scream, cry, or do anything that was otherwise emotional. You had to get a reign in on your feelings. 

You laughed a little to yourself, wondering how the hell you even ended up in this situation in the first place, how in the ever living fuck could Ghost, after months of barely acknowledging your existence and you returning the favor, could end up with this histrionic shift in dynamic over the course of just a few days.

You shook the thought from your mind, attempting to clear your head to prepare yourself for the briefing. It’d no doubt be awkward, but you trusted your team not to make any scene of it. Mostly everyone, at least. You took off your shirt, leaving you clad in nothing but a bra and some pants, going to turn on the shower. 

As soon as you turned on the shower, you heard a knock on the door. You grumbled, no one could leave you the fuck alone anymore. You strided to the door, your footsteps loud and unmistakably frustrated with the constant interruption of your precious alone time. You cracked open the door and poked your head through, finding yourself facing straight at a large figure donned in tactical gear. You looked up to find Ghost’s signature skull masks and dead eyes staring at you.

“What?” In spite of yourself, you were mindful to watch your tone and keep a straight face -- anything to betray how you truly felt, if only for the sake of tracking down Makarov. 

Ghost didn’t answer, instead barging his way through the room and shutting the door harshly behind him. You almost lost your composure again at such a simple, callous disregard for privacy.

“LT what the fuck?” You said, covering your midriff, if to preserve some sense of the propriety between the two of you.

“Calm down, it’s not like I’ve never seen that part of you before.” He said so nonchalantly, ignoring your half naked form. 

“Before or after you threw me into a fucking bathroom sink?” You spat back. You turned your back to him while he went to sit down on the bed opposite of yours. You rummaged through the multitude of clothes scattered on the floor in hopes of finding a clean shirt. “What the hell do you want, Ghost?” You asked, irritation creeping into your tone.

“To make things better between us.” He said simply. “For the mission.” 

“You screamed, pushed me, screamed at me again this morning and then shoved a table. Now you want to apologize?” You scoffed. “Jesus Christ, your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”

“Fuck me,” He muttered, just loud enough so you could hear it. “I’m sorry, is that what you want me to say?” He said, this time louder, a tone just below yelling. You didn’t say anything in response, your back still turned to him.

“The bruise on your back.” Ghost said simply, his voice lowering. He shifted to lean forward, glaring at the grotesque, hideous purplish black markings he could only assume that he was responsible for inflicting. His gloved hand ghosted over the bruises, and the acute awareness of his palm overcame you. “Did I do that?”

You turned around, backing away from his touch and preparing yourself for yet another argument with the lieutenant, but you were caught off guard when you saw the look in his eyes had softened into that of what could be mistaken for pity or even remorse. 

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mumbled. For once he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“Well, you did. Hurt like a motherfucker.” You sat on the bed, his figure directly across from yours. The anger and hurt had almost dissipated in the moment. An unusual feeling of calm came into the room and you almost relaxed, as if you weren’t bearing the marks of his ire on your back. “Why’d you do that to me?” You sighed, pouting like a child.

Ghost thought for a moment. “Remember when you lost your shit last night? You did it because he hurt you, made you feel helpless, yeah?”

Gingerly, you nodded.

“That’s why I did that.” He took a keen interest in his hands, fiddling with the material on his gloves, almost nervously. Now it appeared that instead of Ghost or LT, he was simply Simon, at least in the moment. The mystique that had built his reputation faded and left behind just a simple man, not some paranormal super soldier who seemed capable of the impossible. 

“But I didn’t hurt you or make you feel-” You began to ramble, but Ghost was sure to put a quick stop to it.

“No. You didn’t. But someone else did. A long time ago.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault, sergeant.” He said gruffly, his authoritative tone returning. The man Simon was gone, and thus returned the persona of Ghost. “It was a long time ago. I don’t like talking about it. It goes without saying that this stays between us, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I mean it.” His eyes burnt once more into you. You swallowed, nodding in understanding at the implications of what he just said. 

He hurt you because someone had irrevocably and violently assaulted him before.

[lydia-bell]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Happy TBTP Holidays, @mysugarglidersrox​! I wrote you a bit of AU Stragan fluff (mostly). I hope you enjoy it!

[Edit: now with AO3 link!]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Alex finally made it to the front of the line for signings. She'd let everyone else go ahead of her because she wanted to have a bit of fun without worrying that she was holding anyone else up. Handing the hardcover to the author, she said "I'm really looking forward to reading this. The chapter you read was pretty compelling."

"Thank you," he said, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. He was even prettier up close, those bright blue eyes catching and holding her attention. 

"So, to whom shall I make this out?"

"Alex Reagan." She waited to see if he would make the connection.

"Is that spelled with..." his voice trailed off. He looked up at her, his brow slightly furrowed. "Alex Reagan. Have we met?"

"No, we never did quite manage it," she replied lightly. Maybe if I'd called a twelfth time."

He actually looked abashed. It was a good look on him. "Of course. The reporter." Then his eyes narrowed a bit and he said, "I hope you aren't still trying to get me to agree to an interview."

"Nope. We wrapped on that story months ago. I just thought it would be fun."

He relaxed then and started to sign her book. "Is 'Reagan' spelled with or without an 'a'?"

"With. It used to be pronounced like the president but I guess my dad's family decided they didn't want the association. It was easier to change the pronunciation than the spelling."

He laughed, signed the book, and handed it back to her. 

"I hope you didn't take it personally when I didn't call back, Ms. Reagan. But at the time, I was very much focused on finishing this book, and in any event I'm afraid I've never enjoyed talking with the press."

"It's OK, lots of people don't."

"I presume you were able to find someone else to talk to."

"Oh, sure. Though the whole 'paranormal investigator' well ran a little dry after that. Maybe if you'd returned my calls, we could have done a whole series on it," she teased. 

"I'm sure I'm not that fascinating," he demurred.

"Oh, I don't know."

He chuckled. "You have a way with flattery, Ms. Reagan."

"Alex."

"Alex. I haven't had dinner yet. Would you be interested in joining me?"

"I think I'd like that a lot, yeah."

***

Strand—he'd said to call him Richard but she was struggling a bit to adjust—wanted some good, fresh seafood because "it's not the same in Chicago." That was fine with Alex, so they found an oyster bar a couple of blocks from the bookstore. Once they'd placed their orders, and thus run out of obvious small-talk fodder, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She was feeling oddly nervous, like this was a date with stakes instead of a spur-of-the-moment meal with a (granted, hot) former prospective interview subject.

She decided to ease into the conversation by asking about something she knew he would want to talk about.

"So, what inspired you to write your book?"

"I'm trying to do my part to encourage rational thinking in the world, against the tide of all of the forces that seem to be pushing in the opposite direction."

It was really unreasonable, Alex reflected, to be attracted to someone who talked like that all the time. But here she was. "Sure, but I meant more like, why this particular book, and why you?"

"Let's just say that I have experience with," he paused, "family members who have turned to the occult in times of crisis. It didn't provide the answers they were looking for, and it probably prevented them from doing something more useful."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

They both fell quiet for a moment as the waiter brought their food. When he'd gone, Richard continued as if he'd never stopped.

"The impulse to turn to paranormal explanations is understandable in some ways. Especially for people who have suffered trauma, or who lack a proper understanding of science and statistics. Other people have a psychological need to feel that they're special, that they have secret knowledge of some hidden aspect of the world. Some people are just looking for a break from the mundane. Of course there are other outlets that for these impulses—things like conspiracy theories or radical political movements, for instance. Either way, if people aren't careful about how they get their needs met, they can become targets. They can delude themselves. I want to prevent that, as much as I can."

"Wow," Alex said. "I guess that's...I don't know, deeper than I expected it to be?" Off his raised eyebrow she added, "That may have come out wrong. I guess I just expected something more along the lines of the videos I've seen you in."

"Ah, yes. Less human nature, more ripping apart the claims of charlatans."

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well," he admitted, "there's some of that too."

Alex laughed.

"Speaking of charlatans," Richard continued, "I certainly hope you found someone to represent the rational point of view on your show."

"We couldn't really find another person with your particular profile, but we did talk to a couple of skeptics. And a woman named Arianna Asadi called me..."

Richard groaned softly.

Alex laughed. "What? She said she heard I'd been calling around to paranormal researchers, and she wanted to make sure I didn't get the wrong idea. She warned me off of them!"

Richard huffed. "Ms. Asadi is an odd case. She purports to be a serious researcher. She even offers very well-founded debunkings of the ghost hunters and so-called psychics who prey on people looking for answers and meaning. And then she publishes books about 'historical hauntings'. I believe she's actually sincere, but it's all very frustrating."

"Well, she thinks highly of you."

"And what makes you say that?"

"That she said she admires your body of work." He actually blushed a little. Alex grinned and continued. "Anyway, you're right about the debunking. She asked who I'd talked to so far, and when I told her, she immediately listed off all these tricks they do to make it seem like lights are going out on their own and things like that. It was amazing, she basically described everything that happened with Emily Dumont and the old psych hospital. I think Dumont must do the same stuff a lot."

"Oh, I assure you, she does."

"See, it could have been you, explaining all this to our listeners," she teased.

"It could. But to be honest, knowing that you'd been talking to people like Dumont and Abruzzi, I wasn't sure what kind of show you were making or whether I wanted to be part of it. And anyway, I needed to focus on my book. I'm trying to reach as wide an audience as possible."

"Well, that episode was only downloaded 100,000 times, so I can see how that might not be a big enough audience."

His eyes widened. "I apologize. To be honest, I have no idea how many people listen to shows like yours. I'm not really familiar with the podcasting medium."

"I'd noticed."

"I shouldn't have assumed."

It was fun having him a bit on on defensive, a bit flustered. "It wasn't very intellectually rigorous of you."

"It wasn't," he agreed.

"It did help that we got a big boost from the mothership—from Pacific Northwest Stories," she admitted. "But yeah, the show's doing pretty well, and we have enough sponsors these days to keep us in plane tickets and free socks, so I have no complaints. Well. I might want to do something a little more substantial at some point. But this is fun."

"So if you were to do something a little more substantial, as you say, what would it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe people who are working on climate change mitigation. Like, we still have to think about reducing emissions, but there are lots of people who've just basically decided that's not going to work or it's not going to be enough and are figuring out how they're going to live in the new climate. It's kind of depressing? But also kind of hopeful. There's a lot of people doing that work around Seattle. A lot of Indigenous people, in particular. I don't think it would be hard to at least get a mini-series out of it."

"That's a big departure from interviewing Emily Dumont."

She laughed. "It is! Don't get me wrong, I definitely think there's room for both kinds of stories in the world. All kinds of stories. But I just feel like I want to branch out a little."

"Well, I hope you get a chance to do that show sometime soon," he said. "It sounds like a subject worthy of your talents."

OK, wow. And he'd said she had a way with flattery. "Thanks. So, um. What about you, what's next for you?" she asked.

"I had to basically put the functions of the Strand Institute on hiatus while I finished the book, so I'll work on getting that running again," he said. "Also, as it happens, I'll probably be back in Seattle a few times in the next few months."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my father lived here before his death. No condolences necessary," he said, pre-empting her, "it was almost 20 years ago now. But there are still some aspects of his estate that need to be dealt with, including the sale of his house."

"Oh, well. I can show you around, if you'd like. When you come back."

"I would like that very much."

The waiter came with the check. Alex started to say something about paying her share but Richard said "Please, allow me. I did invite you to dinner, after all." She had to admit to herself, as she watched the waiter show Richard how to settle the bill on his iPad, it was something of a relief; the prices had been frankly terrifying on a journalist's salary.

As they were walking back to her parking spot, they passed a quiet-looking bar. Richard stopped in front of it.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked.

Yes. She took a deep breath. "It sounds nice, but, I don't think that's a good idea. I had that beer with dinner, and it was a while ago so I should be OK, but I have to drive."

"Of course." He hesitated for a moment. "Although, if you don't want to drive home...you don't have to."

"Ah." It wasn't a complete surprise, but—OK, yes, maybe she was stereotyping because of his age and his manner, but he hadn't struck her as a sex-on-the-first-date kind of guy.

She must have come across as pretty unenthusiastic, because he added, "That's not why I paid for dinner."

"I know." And she did. He wasn't really smooth enough to be a manipulator...unless, of course, he was such a good manipulator that he was only faking the bluntness and questionable social graces in order to lure her into a false sense of security.

It didn't seem likely.

Did she want to have sex with him? (Well, yeah.) Did she even like him? Everybody had said he was kind of a prick, and they weren't wrong. But he wasn't just that, either. Maybe it was his obvious passion for his work, or maybe it was just that she'd seldom known anyone quite so confidently, exasperatingly himself—even if that self might be, well, a little stuffy and self-important. He wasn't even a little bit charming but he was somehow still endearing. (He'd also been very respectful to the waitstaff, and that was always a good sign.)

She was pretty sure she liked him. He was a challenge, no doubt—but Alex was never deterred by a challenge. But she had a stupidly early morning tomorrow and also, God, she hadn't worn her pretty underwear or shaved or anything, and it was silly, yes, but she liked to make a good first impression.

And then she imagined saying that out loud and how ridiculous he would find it. "The male libido," she imagined him saying sternly, "isn't deterred by those things. Women are far more concerned about their body hair than men are."

God help her, the thought made her giggle. She suppressed it, though—it didn't seem polite to start laughing right after someone asked you to sleep with them. "I'm very, very tempted," she said. "But it's late, and I have an 8am meeting for some ungodly reason."

"I understand."

"But," she continued, poking him gently in the chest, "I'm going to hold you to that promise to look me up the next time you're in Seattle."

He smiled, probably the warmest smile she'd seen on him all night. He really was very attractive, damn it. "Good."

In a couple of minutes they were back at her car. Neither one of them seemed to be sure what to do next, so she unlocked it, but didn't make a move to get in.

"Do you want me to drive you back to your hotel?" 

"What? Oh. No, thank you. I'll be fine." He seemed very distracted all of a sudden, like he was looking past her, or just a bit over her head. She turned around, but there was nothing there. Just deep shadows.

"Everything OK?"

"Of course. I just thought I saw something." 

"OK. Well. Good night?"

"Good night." A bit hesitantly, he bent toward her.

He was so tall, she had to almost get on tiptoes to kiss him. It started out light, but they both lingered and it quickly became intense. Not sloppy, do-me-right-here-right-now intense, more like... like there was a lot of feeling under that buttoned-down exterior. They stepped further into each other's space; he was so much bigger than her that his embrace was like being wrapped up in a cloak, and it could have been intimidating but it wasn't, it was warm, it was hot. He ran one hand through her hair and gently cupped the back of her head to pull her closer. Fuck, it was good.

To hell with 8am meetings, she thought. To hell with next time. She deserved some fun.

She pulled away, not far, but far enough to look him in the eye and say, "I think...I think I'd like to take you up on your offer after all."

His hand was still in her hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They got into the car to drive back to his hotel. She fumbled her keys a bit, making them both chuckle in that high-strung way of people who know something's about to happen. As they pulled away, she noticed that Richard was looking back at that same spot.

It was weird—all she could see were shadows.

[asktheghosthost]

Thoughts on the “Marry me!” Melanie ending...

I’m posting this under a read more because it’s a long ramble. I normally don’t go so heavy into this sort of thing, because when you get down to it, we’re discussing theme park rides. I try not to be very judgmental. It is all meant to be entertainment, and these are just works of fiction. But... hoo boy... This whole thing has pissed me off, and if you want to know why, keep reading. 

TW for mentions of abuse.

Okay, I know I said I'm not that emotionally invested, but I'm going to keep ranting, because the more I think about this, the more it makes me angry. Also, my pain meds are probably making me slightly loopy and irritable. And this is my blog, and I'll post what I want.

Melanie is a woman who, despite her trauma, the loneliness, the torment she was dealt at the hands of the Phantom-- whether you saw him as a controlling father, or demonic spirit, or rejected suitor, etc-- still found the power within herself to say "Not today," and rescue each curious mortal who wandered into her home. At that point, she is a skeletal shell of herself. She still musters the energy to get you to safety. Then asks you to come back because she's dying of loneliness, but I digress.

That is a heroic act. Melanie is a hero. She doesn't ask us to save her. She's already dead. But we have our lives ahead of us, so she'll see to it we escape safely. In spite of these hardships, she remains a selfless, caring person. And if she can out maneuver Phanny's power in some way, you can argue she wields some kind of supernatural power or influence of her own. We're going into fanfic territory with that, though.

My anger is in taking a strong, heroic figure, one that would be typically seen as the weak damsel, and then having her lose, having her succumb to the Phantom's influence, and then-- this is the heart of my annoyance-- treating her trauma as a joke. That was what made me so angry, was Tom Fitzgerald saying light-heartedly, "She's gone a little stir crazy." So we've got arguably straight up character assassination. And then, "She's been abused by her dad for a couple of centuries. It's a little kooky! Lulz!" The giggly "Will you marry me?" only adds to that. She isn't desperately seeking a savior. It's playfully sinister and stereotypically "batty." They are trying to make it humorous.

This is where I fail as a writer, because I can't really put into words the emotions that concept brings up in me. Not really shock. A little hurt, maybe? Offended? No one in the writer's room raised and hand and was like, "Guys, might want to rethink this one. We're good with Melanie snapping after years of her dad's cruelty, instead of being the hero? The villain wins? And it's funny? Trauma is silly? Okay..."

I'm fine with subverting tropes. The heroes don't always have to win. People cope with/ are affected by abuse in different ways. I think if this were a brand new attraction, we'd probably be way more forgiving and curious. But Melanie was already a subverted trope, an idea done well in an attraction that arguably had a few flaws. She dealt with her trauma in an admirable way... At least after death. She became a hero who wasn't going to allow her tormentor to harm another soul.

Now, the manipulative, controlling, abuser wins, and the victim is a twisted version of her former self. The magic of Disney (TM) (C) 

The existence of ghosts and magic and mediums can be debated all day. But parents who abuse their children? That happens. That is a very real evil. To see Melanie not escape that... it's a little soul crushing. And to further make it a punchline? It's distasteful. Maybe I'm being a hypocrite. After all, the Mansion is full of morbid humor. But at least when the Ghost Host references his suicide, he's not the butt of anyone's jokes but his own. And therein lies the difference.

I’m hoping when the revamped ride opens, it’s amazing, and that our pessimism is way off the mark. I want to be wrong. I want this to be great. I hope that this whole “She’s gone stir crazy” concept is maybe out of proper context, and this ending somehow works. I hope she’s still a hero. I want her to still be herself. We’ll have to wait and see. 

[frighthouseofalighthouse]

Hey no problem! I hope it helped distract you for a bit! I'm glad I could give you something to write and maybe cheer you up a bit with some genuinely deep questions. I always feel good telling stories and sharing things I love! I can only hope it helps you too!

Thanks so much for sending a follow up message! I’m actually doing kind of shitty rn so I logged on to reblog the other ask with my answers and saw that you sent a followup! So this makes it easier!

Here are all the botanical asks:

Jasmine: Which mythological figure do you wish actually existed?

100% dragons!!! I want big dragons who I keep in my backyard, I want dragons the size of medium dogs, I want non-firebreathing dragons the size of bunnies! I! Want! Dragons!

Lavender: Soundcloud or vinyls?

This is weird because I don’t actually use either, but vinyls I guess???

Primrose: What book does everyone need to read right now?

Heretics Anonymous by Katie Henry! I read it on new year’s day (yes, just one day, it was that good). It takes place at a Catholic school, and it’s about a group of kids who form a secret club (the name is the title) who challenge the social norms of the Church in passive and ACTIVE ways. It’s about coming together for a common cause and overcoming differences in faith, and it’s about overwhelming love and acceptance, and how that’s what true faith should be. And it’s super, super funny.

Lunar Mist: Do you like wearing other people’s shirts/jackets?

I don’t do it too often currently, but yeah!!!

Bird of Paradise: What was the best thing that happened to you this month?

Probably the church youth conference I went to last weekend, where we talked about hope. I really needed a booster on that subject, and it was so amazing to be surrounded by other Christian youth so care about, support, and love me. It really got me thinking about the hope I need to keep feeding in order to overcome all the darkness I’ve faced in my life. And that no matter how bad I feel some days, I am SO SO glad to be alive (which logically I shouldn’t be, so it’s honestly a miracle and a great deal of the basis for my faith.)

Gardenia: What’s a promise you’ve recently made to yourself?

That I will always, always check on other people, because it’s not always visible when their hope is dim. And because I’ve already lost too many.

Lion’s Fairytale: Would you rather be in the sky, the ocean, or the forests?

The forests!!!! The ocean scares me, and the sky is weird. But there’s something about shade, and trees, and moss, and a rustling breeze, man.

Whirling Butterflies: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

I have never said this before because prior to this, it was somebody different, but...YES. a thousand times yes!

Marmalade Skies: Do you plan your outfits?

Most of the time, yeah lmao

Apricot Drift: How do you feel right now?

Down in the dumps and depressed for like, literally no reason other than my brain chemistry. But I’m managing. And I get to eat dinner and watch Wheel of Fortune soon.

Everlasting Daisy: What’s the last dream you remember having?

Last night it was something about a ghost in our house and my stepdad wouldn’t believe it even though we saw a roll of toilet paper floating across the living room.

Queen’s Cup: What are you craving right now?

Pizza, pasta, ice cream, potato chips. XD

Lavender Dream: Turn ons/offs?

This is a really complicated question so I hope it’s cool if I just leave it blank for now??? Presently sex is a difficult subject for me because I am incapable of much physical intimacy as a result of trauma and just recently figured this out.

Water Lilly: When was the last time you cried? Why?

This morning because my stupid fucking state passed the Heartbeat Bill and it’s going to ruin so many women’s lives.

Lily of the Valley: Did the one person who hurt you most in your life apologize?

No. And I doubt she ever will. She doesn’t even acknowledge that she put me through hell, she’s still busy pinning everything on me.

Winterberry: Do you bite or lick your ice cream?

I take one bite off the top of the cone so it doesn’t fall over, then the rest is licking.

Honey Perfume: Favorite movie ever?

WONDER WOMAN. ALWAYS WONDER WOMAN

Desert Rose: Do you like yourself?

Occasionally. But I’m getting to a place of yes. Slowly.

Snapdragon: Have you ever met or seen in person a celebrity?

Sort of? Not super major ones but yeah. When I was 11 I met the band Gaelic Storm, when I was 14 I met the Christian pop artist Britt Nicole at a meet and greet, and in the past 3 years I’ve met two nationally bestselling authors who are from my area AND gotten signed books and writing advice from both of them: Cinda Williams Chima and Mindy McGinnis.

Night Owl: how many countries have you visited?

One, just the US

Heliotrope: Have you ever been in a castle?

NO, I WISH, IF I WENT IN A CASTLE I’D NEVER LEAVE. The closest things I’ve been in are Stan Hywet Hall in Akron, Ohio, and Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina.

Creams and Sky: What’s the craziest/bravest thing you’ve ever done?

Gotten up and done an Irish jig in front of a bunch of people at a folk music festival when I was like...10 maybe. idk, I can’t think of much lmao

Lantana: What’s on your mind right now?

I need to call my uncle because I made plans to watch a movie with him tonight and I really don’t feel like it.

Pumpkin Patch: What’s your zodiac sign?

Pisces sun, Capricorn moon, Leo Rising. And my Chinese zodiac is the metal dragon!

Tulip: Name 5 facts about yourself?

1) I have crooked pinkies, a result of extra tendons in the fingers which also cause reduced flexibility 2) I’ve never been to DisneyWorld and I hate amusement parks but I would love to go 3) I’ve been creatively writing since I was 6 years old 4) I took a sewing class when I was like 12 and made like pillow cases and a throw pillow and some curtains and stuff but I probably remember like none of it 5) I’ve had a lot of dreams/memories/weird experiences which lead me to believe that I had a past life.

Daphne: Do you believe in karma?

A form of it, yes. I believe God brings justice to those who deserve punishment in his own time. It’s hard to wait on it.

Queen of the Meadow: Ever been in love?

Yes, I fall in love super easily lmao

Wisteria: Whom do you admire and why?

Easy answer - my mom, because she’s overcome so much and been an amazing mother and teacher, even though she doesn’t believe she’s done well enough for me.

Angel’s Face: What was your favorite bedtime story as a child?

Lord of the Rings!

Now there’s still a lot more of these, but tumblr has a paragraph limit on posts now, so I WILL reblog this with the rest of the answers later this evening, I promise!

[alifeenrouteblog]

Why I Haven't Been Writing Lately

First, the boring stuff. Since going full-time with my business, Tall Hair Creative, I’ve had less time. Yes, that’s a very boring reason. And it’s an even weaker excuse. But let’s just start here.

Exactly one year ago, I was one-month into my unemployment, just back from a trip to Europe, and had just received my first unemployment paycheck. That was the life. Around this time, I decided I would take as long as I needed to in order to recover from my 9-5 bullshit life. For the past four years, I had been told by bosses, but mostly coworkers, how I was not professional, I was abrasive, lacked interpersonal skills, and every time I might have hurt someone’s feelings. I had been changing for years, disguising it as professional growth. It wasn’t. I was manipulated.

My parents were understandably frustrated af when I told them I would not be diving into a job search. I didn’t want to rush into another terribly emotionally abusive job. Having done a fair amount of job searching in Cleveland, I already knew there wasn’t a lot of job opportunities. I knew there were even fewer prospects of finding an organization that I would actually like to work for and would truly accept my personality, work style, and the work I do here on this blog. Because I should also mention at this point, I had started my blog just a few months before I was given the axe; my writing on here until this point was, while still authentic and vulnerable, but pretty safe. I didn’t write about dating or sex. I definitely had not mentioned my family or past abuse. What started out as a HR consultant/executive coaching blog, quickly evolved into something much more ‘me’, unapologetically. This trajectory was happening before my unemployment, but I didn’t make the decision to fully dig into it until almost exactly a year ago.

So, to recap: May 2018, I found myself unemployed with a lot of free time, a newfound sense of peace, but also a desire to explore the demons that have been holding me back for decades. I spent my days reorganizing my apartment to something that I loved and truly worked for me, and I spent my evenings getting drunk on rose on my back patio or at the pizzeria attached to my place, furiously typing into the MacBook Air I just purchased weeks before with the entirety of my savings account. It wasn’t a savings account for purchasing a home, but more for travel and buying laptops when you get fired.

I would write for hours every night. I got into a rhythm. I started refining my writing and I felt like I was on to something. Then I started publishing my good shit. Then I started to get some really amazing feedback from readers. Mostly friends, but some strangers, either way – it was affirming. People were telling me how relatable my writing was. How they loved my openness. How my raw honesty spoke to them, made them feel less alone. And I was hooked.

I spent months doing this. Until I realized I had about 3 months left of unemployment cash coming in and I knew I had to come up with some plan to make money. This is the point when I started to conceptualize Tall Hair Creative. What I was thinking my business would look like at this point, was pretty different than what it is today. It’s gone through multiple iterations since August 2018. All of which I love. The most surprising has definitely been my selling my photography.

Another big thing I did when I lost my job was get a boudoir shoot. This was a big moment for me for a lot of reasons, which you can read about in this post. But I should mention here, that it was a turning point for me that I didn’t want to work anywhere that would disqualify me or judge me based on my sharing of these beautiful photos of myself. This photoshoot also sparked an interest in photography. Sometime in July of last year, I purchased a Canon Rebel, which if you don’t know is the cheapest DSLR camera you can get, and I started teaching myself photography. My original goal when purchasing the camera was to be able to capture pretty photos for my Instagram, in order to get more followers, and drive my traffic to my blog, which would obviously enable me to get a book deal in no time. It was all writing related. But I quickly learned that it was hard (impossible) to take photos of myself, especially if I didn’t know how to use the damn thing in the first place. In order to teach myself, I started offering free photoshoots on Instagram to anyone that would let me practice. This was one of my best decisions I ever made. I made a lot of cool friends this way and it turned out to be a great way for me to learn the art of photography. I distinctly remember texting Kate Kaput, while editing her photos and confused af, telling her that I had spent hours that day trying to learn how to edit photos, even though I needed to do other stuff, like look for a job. I followed that up with something like “That probably means I should be doing this for a living.” I was fucking right Anyway, all of that to say, I have been very surprised that my photography services were really the only thing that took off in Cleveland; and it changed the scope of my business quite a bit.

After blissful unemployment ended and my business (mainly, photography) was picking up, I stopped writing as much. Not only was it less time available, but it was less creative time and/or space in my head. I was putting all of my creativity into launching and marketing my business. To make matters ‘worse’, I was ghosted by someone I adored, and lost my interest in dating completely, which was fine, but made for less writing content. At that point, I had been really into writing about dating, and even became a top writer for Medium in the category of Love.

Suddenly, I was left with little time to write and no content to write about. And I’ve been riding that ever since. I’ve come up with a few things and I’ve reworked a few existing essays and put them up here, but as I’ve been saying for months now, I have not written anything I am especially proud of in SO LONG. Maybe six months. I’m not sure. This move didn’t help much either. It fucked up my writing and it fucked up my business. Moving to Denver, meant losing all my photography clients, i.e. the most profitable part of my business, but it also meant a total mindfuck. When I got the news from my best-friend-at-one-point/landlord, I was devastated. And when my mom said I could not move in with her, I was…I don’t even know what the word is. It’s something like almost being dead, but not quite dead, but kind of wish you were because it would be easier. Something so much deeper than depressed. I was depressed when Brian ended my lease/our friendship. But when my mom said I could not live with her, I felt my whole world end.

It wasn’t a surprise to any of my close friends that my mom said no. And they’ve all expressed, at least at one point, that they are glad I did not move in with my mom because they knew it wasn’t good for my mental health or our relationship. They’re not wrong. But that didn’t stop the life-crushing depression I experienced for two weeks after speaking with Brian and my mom. I couldn’t leave my bed. This has happened to me before, in rare instances of depression, but only for a day or two – MAX. Never have I experienced depression this bad for two weeks. I was tired all of the time. I slept a lot. Even when I wasn’t sleeping, I was in my bed. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I was exhausted by the time I was walking back into my bed. When Erin invited me to live with her, it was a god-send, and amazing, but it didn’t really end my depression. The anxiety and trauma of trying to figure out where I would live was gone. But the loss of my relationships with my best friend and my mother remained very present in every breath I took.

Moving to Denver gave me something to reach for. I now had stuff to do for something that was happening. I worked on selling 90% of my belongings. I started texting my close friends what was happening and telling them about my move to Denver, letting them know before I announced anything on social media. My dear friend, Colleen, said something that really caught my breath at the moment and stayed with me, even now. When I told her what was happening and I was moving to Denver, she said, “Aww Steph! I wish you the best and am here for you if you need anything. The mountains are beautiful and I hope they bring you what you need.” I loved that she said ‘I hope the mountains bring what you need’. I’ve always been a big believer in the healing powers of water, specifically bodies of water, and to be honest, the lack of ocean or lakes in Denver made me nervous, but Colleen got me thinking about stuff differently. I started to get excited.

I had a plan, I was getting excited, and then I went to Japan, which only made me more excited to move to Denver. It just wasn’t good for writing. I did write about my travel experiences to Japan, here and here, and an essay about dating, and the trip did give me a lot of healing and clarifying, and opportunities to write, but when I got home I had to hit the ground running when it came to the cross-country move.

I was so overwhelmed and my depression started to kick in again. In one of my greatest moments of vulnerability, I asked my greatest friend, Brittany, to help me. But not just help me like a normal person. I asked her to come over and make a to-do list with me and then run errands with me. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t handle everything I had to do, so I just didn’t do anything. Brittany didn’t even hesitate. Actually, she was really excited. When I told her exactly how I was feeling and exactly what I needed from her, her reply: “OMG YES! Can we make lists and cross stuff of as we do them?” I had never been so grateful to have such a nerd for my greatest friend. She came over, we did shit, and we started crossing stuff off the to do list. She came over a total of 9 times, in the two weeks between coming back from Japan and leaving for Denver. Sometimes just to literally sit in my passenger’s seat and drive with me do errands. It sounds simple, but I could not have done it without her. She also did really big stuff too. She packed boxes (and somehow tapped them perfectly). She dropped things off at MULTIPLE donation centers. She did so much. I will never be able to express my gratitude to her for everything she did for me during this time. Even before the moving stuff got rolling, when I was deep in my depression, she would check on me every day.

I have loved Brittany since the day I met at her; on her first day at work at Cleveland Metropolitan School District. She was so cute and polite. I was so jaded and broken by that point. Our first interaction: we were in an All Team meeting, someone (one of our terrible bosses) used a yellow dry erase marker on the whiteboard, it obviously didn’t show up and Brittany sweetly said, not quite to herself, but not to anyone specific, “Oh, I’ve never seen a yellow dry erase marker before.” No one else was listening to her, but I heard her and I snarkly responded with “There’s a lot of things here you’ve never seen before.” And she laughed, like a lot. A laugh that was real and told me we would be friends. At the very least work friends. Almost four years later, I can safely say she is my greatest friend. I tell her this often, either directly or in writing, that I’ve never met anyone like her. She is the kindest soul I’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting with. She is patient with me. She asks questions before judging. She always focuses on the positive. She has never told me I’ve done something wrong. It’s mind boggling to me, because we are so so different, but other than my brother, I’ve never felt closer to another soul. She is truly the greatest. I truly hope everyone has a Brittany in their life. If not, please go find someone. And a side note – check out her executive coaching business because she’s an extremely gifted coach, and she also just got a super amazing prestigious job that she 100000% deserves.

Ok, so this isn’t a love letter to Brittany. Although, I have been trying to write her a letter for over a month now, so maybe this is the start I needed. But to go back to where is started, it’s been hard to write lately, so even though I started writing Brittany a letter several times, I couldn’t ever get through the first few lines. And even though I have tried writing Brian a letter, and have a lot on paper, I can’t seem to get it right. And even though, I haven’t even started the painful process of writing a letter to my mother, letting her know how I feel, because that might literally end me at this point (not using literally figuratively), it’s still on my to-do list. But to recap: I don’t have the time, I don’t have the creative space in my brain, and too much is going on – that’s why I haven’t been writing.

I shouldn’t say, I haven’t been writing. I have been. I have written a lot in notebooks. I have a lot of shit typed into my phone’s Notes app. I have thousands of words of shit right here on this laptop. Because I never truly STOP writing. I’m always writing. Every single day I write something, whether it’s on my phone, laptop, notebook. Here is where I struggle lately: Among the reasons I just listed, I have been having a hard time writing/publishing my writing because I can’t seem to write something without feeling like I’m just complaining. Everything that’s been going on and everything I am feeling lately, I feel like the victim and everyone else looks like a villain, and that comes out in my writing. Much of my writing has been about how other people have been shitty to me; but it’s also how that made me feel, the shitty things I’ve done, and about how I’ve worked through that. I don’t feel any of that with the shit I’ve been going through as of late. At least not when I write it and read it back to myself. When I read it back to myself, it sounds like I’m complaining. A LOT. And for some readers, that’s what this whole blog might sound like to them. But to me, and avid readers, it’s not. It’s about how I’ve dealt with shit, worked through or am trying to work through some shit, and most importantly how this is all a part of the greater human experience. Much to the chagrin of my parents, my writing has never been about putting other people on blast. It’s really not. I don’t write shit with the sole purpose of embarrassing people. But I do not let the fact that a story might embarrass someone I love prevent me from telling that story. That’s not reason alone. And where I’m at right now, with my life and my writing, it’s just not enough. I don’t have a point of view. I don’t have a message. I don’t have much to say other than bash the people that have hurt me, even if that literally means just recapping events from my perspective. It’s not enough. So I’ve been withholding my writing. Until today, when I saw my Instagram traffic data and realized that my profile views have gone down a lot lately (because I haven’t been posting anything new on the blog or Instagram) and I felt inspired to explain why I haven’t been posting much the last six months, especially the last three.

Yes, I want to tell you more about how I am adjusting to Denver. How my call to my dad on his birthday in march went. And how his call on my 30th birthday went. About how I feel about my mother and I’s relationship. How frustrated I get with my Instagram growth. How I annoyed I am that for every 10 followers I get, I lose 7. How jealous I am of people who get 270 likes on a post, when I rarely get past 40. How anxious I feel about my finances and next steps and what my goals are now. And how every day I have at least one moment of screaming inside my head, “WTF DID YOU GET YOURSELF INTO GIRLFRIEND!!!! YOU FUCKED UP BIG TIME!” YES, I want to tell you all of that. But I can’t figure out how to tell you all of that without sounding like I’m complaining, or gossiping, or just throwing people that have hurt me under the bus. That’s not my goal here. Ultimately, this isn’t a diary, it’s a blog. My only goal for this platform, which I’ve said for the last year, is to let you know you’re not alone. I’m glad I could share this, while maybe it’s not exactly how I pictured it, it’s what I needed, and I hope to god at least one of you needed it to.

 You are loved,

Stephanie