#lights over the arbys

[gaeapplehairline]

look if there was ever freak solar flares that caused aurora borialis where i live you could bet your ass im going to Arby's. Like no question about it.

[lilkittenofdoom]

A sequel to my Lights over the Arbys post, I headcannon that before Strex, Desert Bluffs had a Burger King with a void above it. If you looked into it for too long, it will stare back....

[strange-and-unusual-bibelot]

A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.

Welcome to Night Vale

[mintyspacecadet]

Eclipse over the waffle house

Reference Image

[mythicandco]

We don't talk about the Lights or any mistery Clouds. :)

I'll keep that in mind, thank you :)

[what-even-is-thiss]

People ask me what my biggest influence is as a writer and I usually waffle and go. Oh you know. Lots of places. I take inspiration from the people around me. Unless they reference the old texts to me. The ancient tome still being written. The frickin lights over the Arby’s.

[countrymusiclover]

3 - The First Date

Part 4

Detective Stabler's Daughter

Tag list - send an ask to be added @hiireadstuff

You ask for an update and I provided 😊

Coming down the stairs carrying my light brown boots in my left hand and my other hand opens the door revealing my boyfriend of two years as of today. I was wearing a light red lace shirt, some blue jeans with my hair loose except for two strands tied back. "Hey Spencer, what do you think?"

"Hi Y/n, you look....beautiful." He hung his mouth open and was frozen in the doorway.

He was wearing a black jacket over one of his blue dress shirts paired with some dark brown pants and his sneakers. He also carried his sachale around like normal. "Come on in. Don't want you getting cold or someone snatching you off my doorstep." I moved out of the way and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself.

"You know you should make up a code for you and your friends if they don’t live in this building. That way there’s not someone who gets in that you don’t know." He suggested sitting his bag by the door.

Grabbing my keys from the kitchen island I raised a brow at him. "Is that really necessary? I mean it’s a college campus that has their own security officers that patrol around night and day.”

"Studies have shown repeatedly that it is." He said back.

I nodded. "Guess I should not argue with a genius with an eidetic memory. So am I picking where to eat tonight or you?"

"You pick. But I'm paying for dinner." He says picking up his bag again and heading towards the door. I shut the door behind me, locking it following behind his one stride to my two strides. We walked to the Arby's near my campus.

Sliding into one side of the booth Spencer slides in on the other side. We both had gotten roast beef sliders with cheese and I got some curly fries. . "So what are we going to do with our feelings here? I mean I were both are adults but this isn’t exactly a normal relationship.”

“You said that you are graduating this year and I’ll be ending my year of teaching at the same time.”

I smiled hopefully. “So we’ll be okay.”

"Yeah I just don't want to rush you into it. I told you before about the job that I have. The things that we see day in and day out. I just don't want to freak you out." He explained sitting his slider down on the napkin.

Shaking my head at him I smiled. "Spencer, calm down. You won't freak me out."

"You have an innocence in you that I don't want to see gone from you." Spencer replied.

Reaching for a fry I smiled tossing some fries at him. "Oh you mean like this."

"Y/n!" He chuckled, holding his hands up to not get a fry in the eyes.

I picked up some more fries and threw them where some actually ended up in his hair. "Don't pretend you don't like it. You freaking love Halloween. This is no different."

"If I do this right then it should land...right there." He bent his spoon back with a fry on it. He released it and I scrunched my nose when it hit me dead between the eyes.

Blinking my eyes I glared at him briefly before I giggled back at him. "See you like your inner child, same as me."

"Yeah we make a good team that way." He chuckled, staring down at his watch seeing it was almost ten now. "Oh we should probably go. I have a class at 9am tomorrow morning."

Putting my hand in his he led me up to the house and I got the door open again looking over my shoulder at him. "Hey I know you said it's late and you have to work early. So I was thinking you could come upstairs and rest for a minute if you wanted to, I mean."

"Uh I appreciate it. I don't want to break campus rules." Spencer shrugged his shoulders at me, he ran his fingers through his locks.

Throwing my hands up from my sides I tired once more. "I suppose you’re right."

"I appreciate the offer. I really do but I don't want us to move too fast." He avoided my gaze for a minute and I knew he was right.

Walking up to him I smiled, draping my arms over his shoulders. "Can I still call you if I'm bored later?"

"Yes." He smiled, putting one hand on my waist holding me close to him.

Parting my lips I paused seeing a cheeky smile across his face. "If I have nightmares can I call ya?"

"I should go. Uh - goodnight Y/n." Spencer smiled, clicking his tongue and I saw him get slightly embarrassed.

I waved bye to him finally going inside and shutting the door behind me. "Night Professor Reid." The wooden floor creaked underneath my boots and I paused when I noticed broken glass from the main entrance door.

The floor creaked in a different room making me whip my head around and I gasped stumbling backwards to see someone standing behind me in the entrance of our dorm building. "I was waiting for you to get home." He stood in front of me holding something behind his back.

"Do I know you?" I questioned him.

He responded back. "No. But I know your father. He told me I wasn’t allowed to date you before you graduated high school.”

"I’m sorry I think you have the wrong person. I think you should go considering this isn’t your dorm building. I’ll let you out." I attempted to walk away from him and grab my phone from my pocket but I heard a gun cock behind me.

He instructed me to aim the gun at me when I slowly turned around to face him again. "You come with me willingly or we have to do this the hard way."

"Like hell I will!" I ran forward and managed to tackle him to the floor. He dropped the gun but was stronger than me so he held me down with his body.

He snatched the gun that was by one of my feet, aiming it at me where I froze knowing he meant business now. Wrapping my hands around his wrist he only had the gun barely from pressing my chest. "You're done fighting now." He raised the gun and hit me over the head with it where I blacked out.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[hellofromthehallowoods]

Hello Mx Wellman! Sometimes I listen to hfth during evening walks in my local nature reserve, and I took some photos of areas with a vague Hallowoods vibe! Thank you so much for making this podcast it is my favourite piece of media in the entire world, despite the emotional damage

This is like getting photos from a Night Vale listener of mysterious lights over a nearby Arby's

[scienceandstorytelling]

Hghgh I just had a dream about a Welcome to Night Vale play and I don’t know how well it would work irl because I think some of the value comes from having to imagine the weird shit rather than see it? But this play spanned the first year and you never saw Cecil, you just heard his voice on the god mic giving the radio broadcast and narrating, and the other characters would be onstage and sometimes they’d be interviewed or sometimes he’d stop talking and they’d do their own scene, and they would comment on what he just said as though they’d heard it on the radio. I’m picturing Carlos onstage working in his lab and Cecil’s sighing over him and you see Carlos kind of jump and stare at his radio all flustered. And then finally it got to Carlos in the bowling alley and the audience was watching it play out as Cecil was anxiously narrating it as he received the updates, and then finally as they pulled Carlos out he was like “I can’t just sit here” and you heard like, headphones clattering and a door slamming and then the weather came on, and a few seconds later Cecil finally came running onstage for the first time. And after a minute of him kneeling over Carlos the lights went down to some dramatic lyric in the weather, and when they came up again it was the lights above the Arby’s scene, except Cecil was sitting onstage with Carlos while we heard him (prerecorded) do the ending monologue, and then as the lights went down, “Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”

[spidergutz-writes]

What are some fluff hcs that you have for any and all of your handsome boys?? How would you spend a day with them? What are dates each of them would take you on?

meadow! Your spoiling me with all these delicious and amazing ideas!!

I’ll actually probably make this in 2 or 3 parts just so I can fit all mah bois :) (if requested, I will also add in some of my favorite gals!)

RED GUY:

Hand holding to the max!!

could be watching the most horrific thing unfold infront of him, and his hand would still be slotted in with yours

making dinner? He’s holding your hand.

watching tv? He’s holding your hand.

sleeping? Yup, he’s holding your hand!

he's a very shameless person when it comes to the softer things in your relationship

will not hesitate to pull you into his lap for cuddles.

also won’t hesitate to cling to you on every part of the day.

your cooking? Well so is he, now.

he loves cooking with you. It’s just so…normal.

normality is not something he experiences a lot, so even when you two are doing simple and mundane things, he enjoys it to the fullest :)

bro's sense of humor is so bad, but it gets to the point where it’s so ungodly terrible, that it becomes funny.

“Hey...what do you call a prisoner walking downstairs?”

“i dunno..What do ya call 'em?”

“..a CONDESCENDING… :D”

he thinks he’s funny, so please laugh :((

dates include him and you cooking a dessert of some sort.

his favorite is making apple cobbler pie with you :3

often you’ll end up with flour hand prints on your ass and some whipped cream on your nose.

he's just a silly guy doing silly things with his ooohh sooo silly partner!!

-----------------------------

JIN BUBAIGAWARA: (what? He dies? No. No he doesn’t. Not here. He lives. That’s the reality we have here. Deal with it. Go argue with the wall idc.)

my sweet sweet baby boy. Where should I start?

okay, before he overcomes his trauma:

Took his mask off infront of you once, and now he can’t stop.

hes addicted to how you kiss his scar

how you coo at him and tell him he’s so handsome 🥺

Will fight for you if it’s serious. He’s still scared he’s a clone :((

will stand up for you tho

anyone says anything bad about you? He’s cursing them out while his alter ego is making weirdly terrifying threats.

”YOU GOT SOMETHING TO SAY, HUH?” “I hope you sleepwalk into oncoming traffic...” “DONT YOU FUCKIN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY PARTNER” “I hope everyone you love leaves you.…”

Dates consist of you two sitting on top of rooftops while having a picnic. Talking shit, cuddling, and eating.

you two end up falling asleep in each others arm a lot, admiring the sunset or the moon.

he is a human heating pad. Like seriously. You don’t need a blanket when he’s around

Loves lying on his back with you laying on his chest :)

is a little shy :(

Thinks you don’t want others to know you two are a thing :(((

but when you hold his hand in public or in front of the league? He melts.

When you first kissed his lips over the mask in public? He cried a little

tears of joy :)

can’t cook for shit. That man burns water.

don’t ask me how, but you tasked him to make breakfast one morning, and a fire broke out.

there was also mayonnaise on your ceiling. Again, don’t ask, not even he knows.

--------------

Simon Riley "Ghost" (this motherfucker doesn't die either. if anyone tells me otherwise, meet me at the Arby's parking lot at 6, BECAUSE I WILL FIGHT YOU)

oh my lawdy lawd. he is just SO FINE, WHERE DO I EVEN START??

this man has issues. he's really touch starved, but doesn't know how to accept any light touches.

he might shy away from your light advancements, because he's so used to any physical bringing harm or ill intent towards him.

but when you kiss his cheek, and hug his (slutty) little waist, he folds like a lawn chair on a hot summer day.

will scream, cry, throw up, roll on the ground, and promptly die if you ever serve him tea in a bowl (the French do this.)

likes to go to the gym with you. he loves to see you work out iykwim.

Ghost has never been a man for soft things, but he Isn't Ghost with you. With you, he's Simon Riley, a man who longs to have a sense of normalcy, a man who wants to take you out to nice restaurants, and a man who wants to bend down on one knee for you, and ask that burning question that lays in the back of his mind 24/7

he wants to do all of those things, but its going to take time. his insecurities tell him you deserve a man who can do more for you, but as always, you wash those thoughts away for him.

for now, his dates consist of concealed places, like the safety of either his, or your home, where he can take off his mask, safely. sitting, watching movies, drinking wine or scotch, and cuddling.

He's a big advocate on "actions speak louder than words" so he doesn't say "I love you" too often, but when he does say it? you better get the tissues. because he only says it during a really vulnerable moment of his, like when he's calming down from a PTSD induced flashback, or a panic attack, or when its late, in the middle of the night, when he knows its just him and his demons awake, with you sleeping soundly in his arms.

believe it or not, THIS MAN CAN COOK-

listen, i know he's British, and i know he's in the military, but that man just radiates "I'll make you a five star meal before i snap your neck"

he is a god when it comes to making steak. give him a basic ass steak, some spices, and a few other side ingredients and he'll give you a true taste of heaven. A taste of heaven from a man from hell.

we love him all the same though <3

--------------

holy fucking hell this took WAY too long, and I took some extra time on Ghosts.

as always, any type of constructive criticism is appreciated, no matter how harsh or small it is <3

[possibilistfanfiction]

Chef Au! A date night with fast food (chosen by Ava) and cheap wine (chosen by Bea)

it's not that beatrice's little chef outfits aren't simultaneously endearing and also hot, but when you open your front door and see her in sunglasses and a comfortable crewneck sweater, light, loose pants cuffed casually — although you're sure she was exacting about those too — and sneakers, you realize that you've kind of been missing out. or, really, maybe, she's a fuller person that you could've ever really imagined, only seeing her at her restaurant and a few vineyards nearby you'd tasted at together.

she smiles, a little hesitant, and hands you a simple, beautiful bouquet of lavender wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine. 'from my garden.'

'that's so gay,' you say, before you can stop yourself — but then she laughs and scratches at the back of her neck and you lean forward to kiss her cheek. 'i love them,' you amend. 'thank you.

she nods. 'of course.'

'let me put these in some water and then we can head out.'

'you can dry it, if you want.' she clears her throat, nervous and fidgeting with her watch. 'it's good for simple syrups and reductions. or baths.'

'that sounds dope. i love baths.' you wink and know she's blushing as you put the bouquet on your entry table — artfully cluttered — and then lock the door and turn back to her. 'ready?'

'yes,' she says, unlocking a practical and perfectly spotless electric small bmw suv, and then opening your door for you.

'why thank you, sir knight.'

she rolls her eyes and closes the door, then walks around to her side. 'where to, your royal highness?'

you grin, take her hand in yours while she starts the car. 'arby's.'

'fair enough.'

'i was going to pick panda express, but that seemed... weird?'

she laughs, which delights you. you don't think you've ever heard her laugh like that before. 'i love their orange chicken, honestly. but that's a god tier secret, okay?'

you mime zipping your lips and throwing away the key, which keeps a smile on her face. while she's driving, you get to take in the whole of her, greedily: her dark brows and the gentle sharp of her jaw, the soft buzz of her hair, the tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of her sweater, the freckles across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. and her hands: sure and precise, even just on the steering wheel. she's beautiful, and you're a little overcome. you count your blessings that you wore your favorite bralette and overshirt, wide-leg jeans that make your butt look incredible. your eyeliner is perfect and when you're at a red light, she turns and smiles at you like there's no one else in the world.

it knocks the breath out of you a bit, and you cannot start crying over how pretty a girl is within seven minutes of a first date; you thank your lucky stars when she fiddles with her phone and then some music starts to play.

'shit,' she says, scrolling desperately.

'carly rae?'

'i didn't mean to play that. i don't even know why it's in my liked songs.'

'here,' you say, and put your hand out for the phone because the light is about to turn green. you laugh when you see every single carly rae jepson album fully saved in her liked songs, and you take in the delicious pink of her cheeks when you look over at her with a laugh. 'well, emotion: side b is probably the best album of all time, so no judgement here.'

she bites her bottom lip.

'what were you trying to play, though? what did you think would, like, seduce me?'

'who says i'm was trying to seduce you?'

'well, the gay little flowers, for one. and the fact that you agreed to this silly plan in the first place.'

she waits until the next red light to lean over the console and kiss you — short, and gentle, and very sweet — and you revel in the feeling.

she backs away and turns her attention back to the road in front of you as you start to move again. 'is it working?' she asks.

you laugh.

/

you settle into her trunk after she parks on the overlook; she's put comfortable blankets and pillows in it so you can eat and watch the sunset, and it's tender and thoughtful and she puts a little fisherman's beanie on that softens her, even more, and it's all driving you a little bit crazy.

'well,' you say, after you both settle in with your chicken fingers, curly fries, and ranch — your order, which she'd promised she would eat — 'please break out the perfect wine to pair with the best dinner of all time.'

she nods very seriously, going along with your antics; beatrice is ultimately extremely serious in the kitchen, even if her food is playful: she hasn't gotten to where she is — one of the youngest chefs to be nominated for a james beard, among a billion other accomplishments she refuses to mention and you had only found out about through a recent write-up about the soft opening of her restaurant — without incredible determination and focus.

she's more playful than you had imagined, full of laughter and willing to be silly; willing to indulge the goofy idea you'd had for this date. she reaches around behind her and pulls out a small cooler filled with ice, then presents the wine with a flourish: 'only the very finest three dollar trader joe's chardonnay. it pairs wonderfully with chicken.'

her little posh accent and her genuine smile make the whole routine even better. 'that is... incredible.'

'you know,' she says, 'i've never failed an assignment.'

'now that i believe.'

she fishes out two red solo cups — which makes you laugh even harder — and unscrews the top of the wine before pouring it carefully. 'do you want to give your review?'

you go through the motions of how you would normally taste a wine, all a little exaggerated. you're one of the most sought-after sommeliers in the world: you can make or break vineyards and their yearly releases; you've been a part of a handful of opening restaurants that have won every award in the book. and, even with all of that, 'this might be one of my favorite bottles of wine i've ever had.'

bea scoffs. 'this wine is absolutely horrendous.' she pulls apart a chicken tender and dunks it in ranch, though, eats it without any complaint.

'sure,' you steal one of her fries even though you have a whole pile of your own. 'but the company elevates the entire thing.'

she turns toward you, the sunset fading orange behind her, turning her eyes gold. 'you make everything better.'

it makes you a little breathless. 'plus, you have to admit, these chicken fingers slap.'

it gets her to laugh, just like you'd wanted. just like you think you could spend your entire life wanting. 'maybe we'll put this pairing on my menu, then.'

'lilith would love that.'

'you know, it could be worth it, just to see her face.'

you scoot closer to her, talk about how her partnership with a local farm is going, how she's sourcing her cod from a fisherman nearby; you talk about your favorite vineyard, a tiny one tucked into the oregon coast — and those things are safe. those things are more of what you already know: she cares deeply about the earth and how her food fits into it; you want to share a stormy grey day and perfect pinot noir at a firepit with her.

and you eat your greasy fries and drink wine that is surely going to give you a headache in the morning. you talk about how she felt finally herself when she finished cooking school and took a job on the line, young and eager and fabulously talented, at a kitchen where she had support, where no one yelled at her, where she had a mentor that cared. you talk about the wine grapes you remember your grandfather growing in your small back yard, how you would eat them when you were small and describe the taste while you sat on your mom's lap. she teaches you her favorite word in chinese and you teach her your favorite word in portugese.

the sun sinks below the river, and you love her.

'do you — ' she bites her bottom lip — 'do you want to come back to my place? for dessert?'

'depends,' you say, and watch her face fall for a split second; you kiss her jaw to rectify that, 'what's on the menu?'

she huffs a laugh. 'i bought nestle chocolate chip cookies, for the occasion. they're in my freezer.'

'oh, fuck yes,' you say. 'i'm so in.'

'and, my company.'

'well, yeah, sure.' you roll your eyes playfully and pull her in for a kiss: cheap wine and grease and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 'and that too.'

[rockpapertheodore]

if u wanna make some slapping hors d'oeuvres

step 1: take your favorite bread. if you're slicing your own bread, go for about 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick (for metric, aim around the 1cm mark)

step 2: ladle or pour some chili oil or chili crisp onto the bread, about 1tbs. (enough for the bread to sponge up, but not so much it soaks it. you can add more to taste or to cover more surface area, but you don't need to overwhelm it)

>> optional add: a light spreading or schmeer of your favorite tangy, flavorful condiment. a good honey mustard is recommended (i've been using arby's horsey sauce and it's pretty dece)

lay one or two slices of thin-sliced deli chicken or turkey breast - or enough to cover the surface area of the bread, as need may be - so that they drape over the edges of the bread

lay ~1 slice of your favorite cheese on top of the meat. American cheese isn't recommended because as melty as it is, the melt isn't the only thing we're aiming for, here, and their thin melty nature seems to wick even more moisture out and over-dries the cheese into a burnt-cheese skin that isn't fantastic in the air fryer. I've been using havarti and provolone because they brown nice but leave a good melty interior.

I use an air fryer for these, but an oven should work as well (unfortunately i don't know how that'll convert quite yet), but air fryer 375°F-400°F (190°C-205°C) and arrange your shingles on the tray or basket so that there's enough space between them for airflow.

I prefer to cold-start them because it makes a crispier shingle, so i put the tray in and THEN start the airfryer so that it cooks through the preheat. This makes the cheese take on a nice, crispy skin and should be good and melty between the skin and the meat.

~8-12 minutes on the timer

the end result should give you a very tasty, savory, crispy shingle with a WHAM of umami from the chili oil.

[its-your-mind]

ya know what, I just put all of this in the tags of someone else’s post, but I have More to say about it

This is a letter to 12-year-old me, who just listened Welcome to Night Vale for the first time in 2013.

Hey, 12 year old me. There are some things I know you need to hear right now.

You are 12, and you’ve just discovered podcasts for the first time. You’re in 7th grade, and you saw screenshots of tumblr posts in nerdy Facebook groups about this super weird one called “Welcome to Night Vale” where they said weird things like “Wednesday has been cancelled, due to a scheduling error.” You think that’s pretty funny, so you check it out.

It’s fun, there’s a dog park no one goes in, and Wednesday has indeed been cancelled due to scheduling errors. The people who live there are delightfully odd - they don’t believe in mountains or angels, despite the fact that the angels sometimes change lightbulbs. When the host describes a new person in town and declares himself in love with him, you (know you’re weird but aren’t sure why - why does Cecil’s comment make you feel so seen?) write it off as equally strange as a disbelief in mountains and move on.

You, 12 years old, only just poking your head out of the hole you grew up in, don’t know who you are yet, because looking too closely at yourself is scary.

You keep listening. When Cecil and Carlos finally talk to each other, beneath those lights above the Arby’s, you start crying. You don’t know why. You don’t understand yet that you are finally being told a story where someone like you was accepted and loved, not in spite of the eccentricities, but because of them.

But that’s not a revelation you’re ready to have yet, and that’s okay. In the exact same way you had glossed over Cecil and Carlos’s relationship development for those first forty episodes, you brush past your own emotions and keep on keeping on. If you keep moving, you don’t have to stop and think harder about what caused you to feel so strongly.

You keep listening. You cheer as this strange town defeats the followers of a Smiling God, you scream into your pillow at the words “he is holding a cat,” you have legitimate nightmares about a beagle puppy, and you bounce up and down as a young disabled girl leads her family in carrying out a successful heist. In the midst of it all, you hear these characters push through the challenges they face by banding together and embracing the things that made them strange.

And slowly but surely, you begin to learn to embrace the things that make you strange, too.

Let’s jump forward a few years. You’re in high school now. You’ve been made fully aware of how people in your life see people like you like Cecil and Carlos, but you also feel nothing but giddy, pure joy each time they talk to each other over the radio. You don’t know how to reconcile those two things.

So you don’t. You slot yourself into the crowd of weirdos at school, and all of you pretend you’re not all going through the same struggle. (Over half of those weirdos turned out to be queer, by the way. Funny how that works out.)

(But that’s another story.)

For now, you’re a sophomore in high school, and you’re feeling lost, and overwhelmed, and alone. And like you always do when you feel overwhelmed, you put in your earbuds and listen to someone else’s story for a bit.

This episode is called Toast. It’s just a bunch of speeches from the characters that have welcomed you into their community. At first, it’s not clear what the toast is to, and so you focus on trying to figure it out. Your mind cycles through possibilities. Is it a funeral? Commemorating a special Night Vale holiday? Someone’s birthday?

It slowly dawns on you. This is the toast at a wedding. Everyone giving the toast can’t help but talk about what a happy occasion this is. But you are still so small, and so so scared, and it doesn’t occur to you whose wedding it might be until Old Woman Josie comes up and mentions them by name.

Without understanding quite why, you start to sob. You cry through the rest of the episode, so much that you have to pause and rewind to hear the entirety of Carlos and Cecil’s speeches to each other. Carlos talks about love as a continuous series of choices, as the turning of a story about “you” and a story about “me” into a story about “us.” Cecil shares how his love for his community and his partner has gotten him through the hardest times, not because it overpowered the difficulties, but because it allowed him to keep going in spite of them.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see why those things brought up the emotions they did. We want to be loved, but more than that, we want the chance to choose to love, and we want someone to choose to love us. What we crave, at our very core, is acceptance. We just want to be seen and welcomed, no matter who we happen to be, and no matter the person we have chosen to love.

You won’t be able to label yourself as queer for another three years. You’ll meet people who will tell you that something in you is broken, but you’ll meet even more people who build on the foundation that Night Vale began. You will learn that being different, in whatever way you are different, is something to be celebrated, not hidden.

There will come a day when you are safe, and happy, and loved, just as you are. You can let all of yourself shine - your loves, your fears, your odd fashion sense, your passion for weird radio-broadcast podcasts - and the people around you won’t just tolerate it, they’ll admire it.

The road to get there won’t be easy, but I am so excited for you to walk it. You’ve got this. And on every step on that journey, just remember: The moon is still beautiful, mysterious lights still pass overheard, and you are loved.

Sincerely, 23 year old you

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

No Exit

Masterlist

"Los Angeles, California." Dean said once we get out of the car and walk towards the Roadhouse. "What's in L.A.?" I asked him. "Young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult." He said. "Yeah? Girl got a name?" Sam asked him. "Katie Holmes." Dean replies and Sam and I laugh. "That's funny. And for you, so bitchy." I said to him.

But from inside the roadhouse comes the sound of breaking glass and shouting voices. Dean turns to us. "Of course, on the other hand — catfight." Dean said and I rolled my eyes as we go inside of the building.

We enter cautiously to see Ellen and Jo shouting at each other. "I am your mother, I don't have to be reasonable!" Ellen shouts at her. "You can't keep me here!" Jo snapped back. "Oh, don't you bet on that, sweetie." Ellen growled.

"What are you going to do, are you going to chain me up in the basement?" Jo asked, angrily. "You know what, you've had worse ideas than that recently. Hey, you don't wanna stay, don't stay. Go back to school." Ellen said to her. "I didn't belong there! I was a freak with a knife collection." Jo said. "Yeah, and getting yourself killed on some dusty back road, that's where you belong?!" Ellen said then she turns to see us.

"Guys, bad time." She said. "Yes, ma'am." Sam and I said, in unison. "Yeah, we rarely drink before ten anyway." Dean said. "Wait. I wanna know what they think about this." Jo said just as a family of four come in the building. "I don't care what they think!" Ellen yells at Jo.

"Are you guys open?" The father of the family asked them. "No!" Jo shouts just as Ellen said. "Yes!" The family look around, nervously, before the father said. "We'll just... check out the Arby's down the road." He said and they leave. "Awkward." I muttered to the boys when the phone rings

Jo glares at it, then at Ellen, who stalks over to answer it. "Harvelle's. Yeah, Preacher." Ellen answers and Jo turns to us. "Three weeks ago a young girls disappears from a Philadelphia apartment." She said as she shoves a file folder at Dean. "Take it, it won't bite." She said. "No, but your mom might." Dean said to her.

She pinches her lips, still holding out the folder, then he takes it reluctantly. "And this girl wasn't the first. Over the past eighty years six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or—" Jo started to say when I look over the file and look up at her.

"Who put this together? Ash?" I asked her. "I did it myself." She said, proudly, and I give her a smile. "Impressive." I said to her and she smiles as I hand the file to Sam, who looks at it too.

"I gotta admit. We hit the road for a lot less." Sam said and Ellen comes over to us. "Good. You like the case so much, you take it." She said to us. "Mom!" Jo yells. "Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough. And I won't lose you too. I just won't." Ellen said and Jo walks off while the boys and I exchange looks before we leave.

"I feel kind of bad, snaking Jo's case." Sam said once we enter the apartment building in Philadelphia. "Yeah, maybe she put together a good file. But could you see her out here working one of these things? I don't think so." Dean said as we pull out our EMF readers.

"You guys getting anything?" Dean asked us.

"Nope." I replied.

"No, not yet." Sam said then once he runs his reader over the light switch, it purrs. He leans over. "What's that?" He asked. "What?" Dean and I said and he starts to touch black goo on the wall.

"Holy crap." Sam whispers as Dean and I touch the goo as well. "That's ectoplasm." I said, astonished. "Well, guys, I think I know what we're dealing with here." Dean said and we look over at him. "It's the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man." He said and I roll my eyes then I wipe the ectoplasm on his cheek. "Oh look, he slimed you." I said and gives me a playful glare.

"Dean, I've only seen this stuff, like, twice. I mean, to make this stuff you have to be one majorly pissed off spirit." Sam said. "All right, let's find this badass before he snags any more girls." Dean said and we exit the apartment and walk down the hallway; hearing voices. We go and hide around a corner. 

"It's so convenient." A familiar female voice said and I frown and look at the boys. "Yeah, it's a great building, fixed it up real nice. All the apartments come furnished, too." A male voice said and they come around the corner and to see a man and Jo walking. "It is so spacious. You know, my friend told me I absolutely have to come check it out, and I have to admit, she was right. You did a really good job with this place." Jo said and we step away from our hiding space.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked her and she smiles and walks up to him. "There you are, honey." She said and she grabs Dean around the waist. "This is my boyfriend Dean and his buddy Sam and Sam's girlfriend, (y/n)." Jo said to the man. "Good to meetcha. Quite a gal you've got here." The man said to Dean. "Oh yeah, she's a pistol." Dean said as he smacks Jo's ass, and she gives a fake laugh.

"So, did you already check out that apartment? The one for rent." Jo said to Dean sweetly while Sam and I exchange a look. "Yeah. Yes. Loved it. Heh. Great flow." Dean said and the man looks at him. "How'd you get in?" He asked Dean. "It was open." Dean replied.

"Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?" Jo asked the man. "Oh, about a month ago. Cut and run, too. Stick me for the rent." Ed replied. "Well. Her loss, our gain! 'Cause if Dean-o loves it, it's good enough for me." Jo said as she hugs up to him and I had to bite my lips. "Oh, sweetie." Dean said as he smacks her again.

Jo chuckles and smiles then she pulls out a wad of cash. "We'll take it." She said as she hands the money to Ed.

"I'll flip you for the sofa." Jo said once we got inside of the apartment. "Does your mother even know you're here?" I asked her. "Told her I was going to Vegas." She replied. "You think she's gonna buy that?" Dean asked her. "I'm not an idiot. I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos." Jo said.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom. Shouldn't be here either." Dean said to her. "Well, I am. So untwist your boxers and deal with it." Jo spat at him. "Where'd you get all that money from, anyways?" Sam asked her. "Working, at the Roadhouse." She replied. "Hunters don't tip that well." I said. "Well, they aren't that good at poker, either." She said just as Dean's phone rings and he answers it.

"Yeah." He said then his eyes widen a bit. "Oh, hi Ellen." He said and Jo looks at him, warningly. Then he holds his phone back to Jo. "I'm telling her." He said and she runs up to him and they have a furious, muttered argument.

"I haven't seen her." Dean said once he brought his phone back to his mouth. "Yeah, I'm sure. Absolutely." He said then he hangs up the phone; Jo grins, cheerfully.

Dean is pacing, Jo was sitting at the table with blueprints spread out. She begins flipping a small knife around while Sam and I sit on a couple of chairs. "This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago." Jo said. "Yeah? What was here before 1924." Dean said, questioning. "Nothing. Empty field." Jo said.

"So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell." I said to her. "I already checked. In the past eighty two years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor." Jo said then she turns to Dean. "Would you sit down, please?" She asked and he sits down.

"So, have you checked police reports, county death records..." he said and she nods. "Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources. I know what I'm doing." Jo said. "I think the jury's still out on that one. Could you put the knife down?" Dean asked her and she sets it down.

"Okay! So, uh, it's something else, then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it." said Sam. "Well, we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right?" Jo said. "Right. So. You and (y/n), we'll take the top two floors." Dean said to her and I glance over at him.

"We'd move faster if we split up." Jo said. "Oh, this isn't negotiable." Dean said, firmly, then he looks at me. "Can we talk? Alone?" He asked me and I nod. Both of us get up and we walk away from Sam and Jo. "I need you to keep an eye on her." Dean mutters to me. "Yeah, sure. You can count on me." I said. "Okay, just...be careful, okay?" He said to me. "Of course. And you boys be careful as well." I said to him.

After while, Jo and I were walking down a dim hallway with EMF readers, I was walking real close next to her. "So. You gonna buy me dinner?" Jo asked me. "What are you talking about?" I asked her, confused. "It's just if you're gonna ride me this close it's only decent you buy me dinner." Jo said, sarcastically.

"Oh, that's hilarious. I hate to disappoint but I don't swing that way. You know, it's bad enough Dean had to lie to your mom, but if you think I'm letting you out of my sight...I don't know if you've noticed, but you're kind of the spirit's type." I said to her. "Exactly." Jo said.

"You wanna be bait?" I asked her. "Quickest way to draw it out and you know it." Jo said and I rolled my eyes. "Oh." I muttered. "What?" Jo asked. "I'm so regretting this." I said. "What? You afraid I'm gonna take your spot?" She asked me and I stopped in my tracks and turn to her.

"No. I'm not afraid you taking my spot. I'm afraid for you to get hurt. You're an amateur. You have no experience. What you do have is a bunch of half-baked romantic notions that some barflies put in your head." I said to her. "Now you sound like my mother." She said to me.

"Oh, and that's a bad thing? Because let me tell you..." I said but I stop myself. "What?" She asked me. "Forget it." I said. "No, you started this." Jo said to me and I scoff. "Jo, you've got options. No one in their right mind chooses this life. My dad started me in this when I was so young...I wish I could do something else. And John started the boys when they were young as well." I said.

"You love the job." Jo said to me. "Yeah, but I'm a little twisted." I said to her. "You don't think I'm a little twisted too?" She asked me. "Jo, you've got a mother that worries about you. Who wants something more for you. Those are good things. You don't throw things like that away. Might be hard to find later." I said and we approach a grating near the floor.

Seconds later, Jo turns around, gasping. "What?" I asked as I turn to her. "I'm not sure." She said and I got a whiff of a weird scent . "You smell that?" I asked her and she starts sniffing the air.

"What is that, a gas leak?" She asked. "No. Something else. I know it. I just can't put my finger on it." I said and Jo crouches by the grating then her EMF reader purrs. "Mazel Tov. You just found your first spirit." I said to her. "It's inside the vent." She asked as I crouch beside her, shining my flashlight. Then I hand it to her. "Here." I said and I pull out a screwdriver and unscrew the grating, pulling it off the wall.

"There's something in there. Here." I said and I reach my arm inside, feeling around. I felt something soft and I grabbed it then pulled my hand out, revealing I was holding a clump of blond hair. Jo makes a noise of disgust as we look at the hair. "Somebody's keeping souvenirs." I remarked.

The next morning, Sam and I woke up and decided to go get everyone coffee. Dean was still passed out on the sofa while Jo was sitting at the table looking through notes and blueprints. I smiled, softly, at Dean sleeping before I follow Sam out of the room 

But we didn't get very far as we saw cop cars outside of the apartment buildings. We hid in the corner to hear Ed talking to some cops saying that another girl had gone missing. Sam and I exchange a look then we head back to the apartment and burst through the door.

Jo and Dean, who was now awake, look to at us in shock. "Where's the coffee?" Dean asked us. "There are cops outside. Another girl disappeared." Sam explained.

Later, Dean and I went to investigate the room and learn more about the missing girl while Sma and Jo stayed at the apartment to study the notes. Dean and I came back and he shuts the door behind us.

"Teresa Ellis, Apartment 2F. Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn." Dean said to the others. "And her apartment?" Jo asked us. "Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm, too." I said to her.

"Well, between that and that tuft of hair I'd say this sucker's coming from the walls." Sam said, shrugging. "But who is it? Building's history is totally clean." Dean said, annoyed, as Jo picks up a photograph. "Well, maybe we're looking in the wrong place." She said.

"What do you mean?" I asked her, confused. "Check this out." Jo said as she hands the photo to Sam. "An empty field?" He asked as he hands the photo to us. "It's where this building was built. Take a look at the one next door. The windows." Jo said and I look at it and noticed there was bars on the windows on the building.

"Bars." I said as Dean looks at the picture. "We're next door to a prison?" He asked, shocked.

"Thanks, Ash. And if you breathe a word of this to my mom... That's right. I will. With pliers." Jo said into her phone sometime later. Then she hangs up and turns to us. "Okay. Moyamensing prison. Built in 1835, torn down in 1963. And get this. They used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field next door." Jo said to us.

"Well, then, we need a list. All the people executed there." I said and she nods. "Ash is already on it." She said.

Minutes later, Sam was scrolling down a very long list of names on his laptop. "A hundred fifty seven names?" He said, shocked. "We've gotta narrow that down." Dean said. "Yeah." Sam mutters. "Or else we're gonna be digging up a hell of a lot of stiffs." I said and Sam scrolls down until I noticed a name that seemed familiar.

"Wait, Sam. Click on that name." I said and he clicks on the name. "Herman Webster Mudgett?" Sam said, confused. "Yeah?" Jo asked as I look at the boys. "Wasn't that H. H. Holmes' real name?" I asked him and both give me shocked look. "You've gotta be kiddin' me." Dean mutters and we started to research Holmes.

"Yep. Holmes was executed at Moyamensing, May 7, 1896." Dean said and I let out a chuckle. "H. H. Holmes himself. Come on, I mean, what are the odds?" I asked them. "I know, right?" Sam said.

"Who is this guy?" Jo asked.  The term multi-murderer. They coined it to describe Holmes. He was America's first serial killer, before anybody knew what a serial killer was." Dean explains. "Yeah, he confessed to twenty seven murders, but some put the death toll at over a hundred." Sam said. "And his victim flavor of choice? Pretty petite blondes. He, uh, he used chloroform to kill 'em." I said as I nod towards Jo then I stopped as I realized something.

"Which is what I smelled in the hallway last night. At his place, cops found human remains, bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blonde hair." I said then Dean turns to Jo. "Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em." He said to her.

"Well, we just find the bones, salt 'em and burn 'em, right?" Jo asked. "Well, it's not that easy. His body is buried in town, but it's encased in a couple tons of concrete." Sam said. "What? Why?" Jo asked. "The story goes that he didn't want anybody mutilating his corpse. 'Cause, you know, that's what he used to do." Dean said and i start to pace and think.

"You know somethin'. We might have an even bigger problem than that." I said. "How does this get bigger?" Jo asked me. "Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago. He called it the Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory, they had, uh, trap doors, acid vats, quick line pits... he built these secret chambers inside the walls. He'd lock his victims in, keep them alive for days. Some he'd suffocate, others he'd let starve to death." I explained.

"So Teresa could still be alive. She could be inside these walls." Jo said. "We need sledgehammers, crowbars. We've got to smash these walls, anywhere thick enough to hide a girl." Dean said and we nod.

Jo and Dean went to one end of the building while Sam and I went to the other end. Sam called Jo and told her we hadn't found anything but we kept looking around. 

Sometime later, we walked down a hallway when Dean runs headlong into us. "Whoa." Sam and I said as Dean had a look of anger and annoyance and fear on his face.

"He's got Jo." He said, making Sam and I look at him, confused. "What?" Sam said. "How'd that happen?" I asked him. "I wasn't with her; I left her alone. Dammit!" Dean shouts as he turns his back and I walk over to him.

"Hey, hey, look, we'll find her, all right?" I said to him, firmly. "Where?" Dean asked. "Inside the walls." Sam said. "We've been inside the walls all night. None of the other girls were there, she won't be either." Dean said and we start to head back to the apartment room.

"Look. We've just gotta take a beat and think about this. Maybe we got Holmes' M.O. wrong." Sam said to Dean that night after we try to find Jo. "Yeah, well, we'd better friggin' think fast." Dean growls then his phone rings and he answers it.

"Yeah." He answered. "Ellen." He said and Sam and I look up at him in shock and I felt a large lump in my throat. "She's gonna have to call you back, she's taking care of, uh, feminine business." Dean said into the phone then he stays quiet for a moment before he sighs. "Look, we'll get her back." He said.

"The spirit we're hunting, it took her." Dean said and Sam and I exchange a look. "She'll be okay, I promise." Dean said. "What?" He asked after a few moments of silence. "It won't. I won't let it. Ellen, I'm sorry, I really am." He said then he hangs up the phone.

"Damnit!" He shouts as he turns to us. "Don't beat yourself up, Dean. There's nothing you could have done." I said to him. "Tell me you guys have got something." Dean said and I look over at Sam.  Uh, maybe. Look. You look at the layout of the Holmes murder castle, there's all the torture chambers inside the walls, right?" He said as Dean and I go around him and look at the computer.

"Right." Dean and I said. "But there's one we haven't considered yet. The one in this basement." Sam said and my eyes widen. "This building doesn't have a basement." I said. "You're right, it doesn't. But I just noticed this. Beneath the foundation, it looks like part of an old sewer system that hasn't been used for---" Sam explains when Dean stands up and starts to leave. "Let's go." He said as he grabs his jacket and books; Sam and I follow.

The next morning, Dean, Sam and I were walking the streets of Philadelphia. Sam had a metal detector while Dean and I had a shovel each. We follow the trail into an open field until Sam stops over one spot, the metal detector whining. "Here." He said and Dean drops his bag and he and I start digging furiously.

After some shovel work, we dig with our hands to uncover a metal trap door, which we pull open. Dean hands Sam and me a shotgun and takes one, and a flashlight, then starts descending. Sam and I follow him. Once in the sewers, we began to make our way through and crawl along on our elbows and knees through the tunnels.

Eventually, we heard noises and come up to this opening and see a figure standing there. "Hey!" Dean shouts and the figure turns around, revealing it to be H. H. Holmes. Dean and I fire our gunz into Holmes' chest, sending him flying backwards and out of sight.

"Jo?!" I shout. "I'm here!" She shouts back and Dean  finds an iron bar leaning against a wall and starts to pry it open. Sam and I investigate the other compartments; one contains gruesome body parts but the other contained a person, which had to be Teresa.

"We're gonna get you out of here, all right?" Sam said to her. "Guys!" Dean shouts and he hands us a bar. "Hang on." Dean said and he goes to open the compartment to let Jo out while Sam and I get Teresa out.

"You all right?" Dean asked Jo. "Been better. Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back." Jo said. "Actually, I don't think you're leaving here just yet." I said to her.

"What?" Jo asked me. "Remember when I said you being bait was a bad plan? Now it's kind of the only one we got." I said to her and I turn to the boys, Sam shrugs while Dean nods at me.

Jo was sitting alone, silently, in the middle of the chamber. She has her arms wrapped around her knees and is trembling, but breathing deeply and steadily. Holmes appears behind her and walks forward. "Now!" Dean shouts as Holmes gets closer. 

Jo dives forwards as Sam, Dean and I fire at the bags on the walls; several bags unroll and spill salt in a perfect circle around Holmes, trapping him. I pull Jo to safety as Holmes circles, gibbering and screaming in terror.

"Scream all you want, you dick, but there's no way you're stepping over that salt!" Jo shouts and we shut the grate, sealing off the room.

Later, Jo, Sam and I were standing at the entrance to the sewers, looking down and waiting for Dean. "So? This job as glamorous as you thought it would be?" Sam asked her. "Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror, yeah. Sure. But that Teresa girl's gonna live a life because of us. It's worth it, isn't it?" She asked us.

"Yeah. Yeah it is." I said as Sam nods. "Hey, what if somebody finds that sewer down there, or a storm washes the salt away?" She asked us. "Both very fine points. Which is why we're waiting here." Sam said.

"For what?" She asked then we hear a loud beep of a large truck backing up. Sam and I smile and look over our shoulder to see a cement mixer backing into the field, stopping just over the sewer entrance. "For that." I said as Sam goes and waves for Dean to stop the truck. "Whoa!" He shouts.

Then Dean gets out of the cab then he and Sam set up the cement mixer right over the entrance. "You ripped off a cement truck?" Jo asked Dean. "I'll give it back." Dean said and we watch the cement pour on down. "Well, that oughta keep him down there till hell freezes over." I said and Dean nods.

That night, Sam, Jo and I were stuffed in the backseat of the Impala whioe Dean was driving and Ellen was in the passenger seat. And she hadn't really spoke since she found us.

"Boy, you, you really weren't kidding about flying out, were you?" Dean said as he tries to make conversation but she gives no reaction to him. Sam, Jo and I exchange a look.

"How about we listen to some music?" Dean asked and he flicks the radio on but Ellen reaches forward and flicks the radio off. Sam, Jo and I exchange another look, while Dean glances back as if asking for assistance. I shrug at him and he sighs. "This is gonna be a long drive." He mutters.

We got to the Roadhouse by the time sun rising, and Ellen storms in, dragging Jo by the elbow. The boys and I follow them inside. "Ellen? This is my fault. Okay? I lied to you and I'm sorry. But Jo did good out there, I think her dad would be proud." Dean said to her and Ellen turns to him, sharply. "Don't you dare say that. Not you. I need a moment with my daughter. Alone." She said and we head outside 

We lean on the Impala, the three of us don't talk at all as we felt bad for doing this Ellen. Minutes later, Jo comes storming out of the bar then she glares at me and Dean. Confused, we follow her as she keeps walking away.

"That bad, huh?" Dean asked her. "Not right now." She grumbles. "What happened?" I asked her as we walk up to her. Then I grab her shoulder. "Hey, talk to us." I said and she turns to me, sharply, and shoves my hand off of her.

"Get off me!" She yells and I hold my hand up as Dean comes up next to me. "Hey, hey!" Dean said and she glares at us. "Sorry. See you around." Dean said and he takes my arm and we turn to leave.

"Dean. (Y/n). It turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt, two actually. Funny, he usually worked alone; these guys mostly worked either together or on their own too, but...I guess my father figured he could trust them. Mistake. The guys screwed up, got my dad killed." Jo said.

"What does this have to do with—" Dean started to ask but Jo shouts over him. "It was your father, Dean." She said then she turns to me. "And your dad too, (Y/n)." She said and I felt shock once she said that. "What?" We said.

"Why do you think John and (father's name) never came back? Never told you guys about us? Because they couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why." Jo screams.

"Jo." Dean said and I shake my head. "Jo, we're not like our dads." I said to her and she scoffs. "Just...just get out of here. Please, just leave." She said and she walks off as Dean and I exhange worried looks.

[insufferable-homestuck]

you wanted headcanons? um. have fictive stuff - dad egbert is a professional axe thrower, making axekind his strife specibi - june is really good at yo-yoing - joey & jude (hiveswap) meeting jake went as badly as you think it would. it happened over a game of mini golf on earth-c - roxy puts mountain dew in their humidifier - davepeta is really good at skateboarding. nobody knows why or how they just are.. - on earth-c for like 4 months dirk worked at arbys before lighting it ablaze ^__^ you're welcome -the council system

those are gold. fictives welcome in my blog always

[queenlucythevaliant]

Heartstrings

Written for the @inklings-challenge Christmas Challenge 2023.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

The string was still there, knotted beneath Rose’s left ribs. She was driving 75 miles an hour down the freeway in her ten-year-old Carolla, the radio on at a buzz. Outside the window, miles and miles of monotonous New York forest passed by. 

Her sister Joan was asleep in the passenger's seat, medical gauze still visible beneath her pale pink blouse. She dozed uneasily, turning her head occasionally from side to side, or else sniffling faintly. Rose hummed along to the radio and tried not to focus on the pulling sensation in her chest. 

Everyone has a heartstring that leads them home, which for Rose meant Eastledge Church in the Massachusetts town of the same name. Heartstrings are thick and fibrous, made of many smaller cords all twisted together. Rose's string had been wrapped round her heart in many tight loops over the course of her childhood, constricting her cardiac muscle while simultaneously holding it safe and secure. She didn’t know if her heart could beat without it. 

So: she drove. Exit in 143 miles, rest stop in ten. 

Eastledge Church was rotten. It had black mold in the walls and liars in the pulpit. Rose knew she should cut the string that tied her there. She wanted to. Joan had managed to yank out her own heartstring, but it had bled and bled and she’d needed two trips to the ER before it was safe for her to travel. Even now, she was pale and weak from the bloodloss. 

Still, Rose knew she should cut the string. She kept a pair of scissors in the glove box, in case she ever got up the courage to do it. 

“Where are we?” murmured Joan. She stirred a little, carefully shifting her weight away from the left side of her body. 

“You missed the Erie Canal– or, well, the picnic area anyway. There’s a rest stop with an Arby’s in like ten miles if you want dinner.” 

They arrived at their hotel in Buffalo just after two in the morning. Rose had an ache in her hamstring from working the gas pedal, but it was nothing compared to a chest wound. Both she and Joan had forgotten to call ahead from the road, so they had to wait while the front desk concierge went to find the manager and ask if he could still check people in once they’d started the night audit. The manager appeared at the front desk a few minutes later and told Rose curtly that it would be a while yet. 

“It’s standard practice at hotels.”

“I know,” said Rose. “I’m sorry. There’s a problem with my heartstring, see? And my sister’s got ripped out. We had other worries. I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” the manager answered dubiously. “Well, make yourself comfortable in the lobby and we’ll let you know when we can check you in.”

It was three by the time Rose finally stumbled into the room and collapsed onto the hard mattress. Joan came in behind her, barely coherent through the fog of her exhaustion. The light in the bathroom was flickering, but Rose didn’t care. Her heartstring hummed with promises of rest. Turn around, it seemed to say. You know you won’t be able to sleep the night until you’re back home.

“Screw you,” Rose said aloud. 

“Hmm?” 

“Not you. The church, Pastor Mark, and this stupid string in my chest.”

“Hmm,” agreed Joan. 

Rose indulged herself for a long moment in imagining the violent demise of an elder who had taught her to play Go in the welcome room once, and who had made excuses for the rot in the walls many years later. Her heart thrummed like a violin string. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. 

The next day, they drove as far as Gary, Indiana. Rose could feel her string getting tangled whenever she got on another exit; she worried about it even changing lanes. 

“Mind if I put on something a little more upbeat?” said Joan when Rose winced on a long merge. “I think we could both use it.”

“I don't think it'll help, really.”

“Alright, but maybe it'll get us singing along?”

Rose waved her hand in a way that meant “fine.” She bobbed her head to the peppy pop song her sister selected and tried to enjoy the drive. It was pretty country, a sunny day, and they kept passing signs for different scenic lakes along the way. 

“Finger Lake, Elbow Lake… do ya think we're building an arm?” she quipped, feeling lighter. 

But when Rose tried to start the car outside the diner where they’d stopped for lunch, her key wouldn’t turn in the ignition. Joan was paying for parking, but when she slid into the passenger's seat, careful not to jar her stitches, Rose threw her head down on the steering wheel and sobbed. She turned to her sister, questions about oil cans and engines on the tip of her tongue, but right then her heartstring yanked so hard on her heart that all she could manage to say was, “It hurts.”

“I know Rosie. I know it does,” Joan said back. “Mine does too.”

Fortunately, there was an Ace Hardware half a mile away. Rose left Joan with the car and walked there, then paid for the lubricant Google said she needed and headed back. There were still so many miles to drive that day, so much string left to unspool.  

On the way to St. Cloud, they changed time zones. Rose felt it deep in her chest when they passed from Eastern to Central time: a jolt on her string, like lightning down a kitestring. 

“Did you feel that?”

“I didn’t feel anything,” said Joan. 

“No, I guess you wouldn’t.” Rose stared at the glovebox a long moment before she remembered to keep her eyes on the road. There was only an hour difference between Eastledge and here, but with all that time pulling steadily against her ribs, Rose could feel every minute of it. 

Joan suggested calling their parents when they reached their hotel that night, before both sisters remembered that they would be asleep by now. Rose wondered if Pastor Mark was sleeping too. She hoped he had nightmares. She hoped he woke up with guilt pressing hard on his chest. 

They drove past Chicago in a heavy drizzle and spent two hours sitting in traffic. Joan tried calling their parents again, since there was nothing else to do. “I don’t know how you and Dad stand it,” she murmured. “Staying in town with your strings half-frayed. Isn’t it killing you?”

“Sometimes,” said their mother. “But your father and I have spent our whole lives reorienting our hearts. We've had to do it many times, and it never gets easier, but we get better at it.”

“Do you blame Rose and me at all– for leaving?”

“Of course not. But we'll miss you at Christmas.”

That night, Rose and Joan snuggled up together on a hotel room queen bed and watched the second half of some Julia Roberts movie that was playing on cable. Joan cracked jokes about the female lead's neuroses and by the time the credits rolled she was lying half on top of Rose. Their hearts were beating in time, and suddenly Rose was grateful, so grateful not to be alone with this grief.

They'd been traveling for days now and Rose's heartstring grew more and more taught by the mile. Now, if she touched it, blinding agony would shoot through her chest. Even just the glancing brush of a fingertip over the fibers squeezed her heart until all she could think of was the place under the stairs where she’d hidden for hours once when she was eight, sleeping bags spread out across the sanctuary floor, or sneaking into the kitchen during summer VBS. 

“Do you remember those lantern light picnics they used to do for a while? Right as summer was ending, you know, and the whole congregation came out for it, and it was just kind of magic?”

“Yeah. I also remember ditching it that one time and running out to the creek with Olivia and Liam.”

“What about that tea and testimony women’s event when they asked me to be on the panel?”

“Don’t remember that one. I didn’t think you ended up doing it?”

“I didn’t. Prior commitment. But it felt nice to be asked.”

“Mmm. I felt the same way when they asked me to do the layout for the new photo directory.”

“Teaching Sunday School. Nursery. Organizing the craft closet and going crazy with the label maker.”

“Mmm. Food drives, clothing drives, and silly little theatricals.”

“Remember when I got to sing ‘Do You Hear What I Hear?’ at the Christmas pageant? And the year you were Mary? And that one play after I aged out where you spray dyed your hair gray?”

“Some of it. I was pretty young for the first one. And I’m trying to forget as much about church plays as I can. Mr. Pierce directed them all, and I don’t want to think about him at all if I can help it. Not after what he said to Mom.”

Rose sighed. 

“Yeah, that's true. It's a bad lot, top to bottom. Anyway. How’s your heart?”

“It’s doing better, I think. The wound’s not seeping anymore. Sometimes, it barely hurts at all.”

It was Christmas Eve when they arrived in Helena. A Wednesday. Rose pulled into their aunt’s driveway and parked, then they both went inside to greet the extended family. Joan called their parents to tell them she and Rose had arrived safe. 

They had dinner with the family, but then the sisters went and sat together on the guest bed for an hour trying to figure out what came next. Rose pulled at the string beneath her left ribs until she could barely stand it, trying to decide if she could bear the Christmas Eve service her aunt and uncle attended. Joan just sat scrolling mindlessly on her phone, trying to forget for a while. 

They both wanted to go to church on Christmas Eve. That was maybe the cruelest part. Rose’s heart longed for carols and Scripture readings with a tender ache altogether different from the ever-present, stripped-raw yanking of the string. Joan was healing, and didn’t want to dwell on losing Eastledge any more than she’d already done. 

“I’m going, I think,” Joan said finally. It was nine p.m. and the service began at eleven. 

“I’m not,” whispered Rose. “I just can’t. It hurts too much.”

She made an apology to her relatives while Joan went to get dressed, gesturing vaguely at the place beneath her left ribs. Once the house was empty, she resigned herself to the tinny sound of carols played over her phone speaker and a few whispered prayers. When she prayed, Rose heard Pastor Mark’s voice as often as her own. Sometimes he told the truth, but most of the time he lied.

Oh God. This time back home, they’d be singing “The First Noel.” They’d be lighting candles soon, and the upstairs sanctuary under whose stairs she used to hide would glitter when they turned off the lights. 

When the churchgoing party got home, half an hour after midnight, Joan found her sister in the guest bath. She was sobbing and covered in blood. 

“I cut it,” Rose whispered. “I cut my heartstring. I couldn’t bear not being at the service–not the one here and not the one at home– so I cut it out of me. I took the scissors and I just– I– I think I’m bleeding.” She looked up. “I am bleeding, right? This is all my blood.”

There was blood oozing out of the wound in her chest, but it was on her hands too. It was on her lips, her nose, and how had even that happened? “I’m bleeding,” Rose said again. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

Joan called an ambulance, but first she reached back and unzipped her dress. She pulled it over her head and stood there, in her bra and black tights and nylon slip in front of her bleeding sister. “Mine stopped,” she said, slowly peeling back the gauze that covered her heart. The wound was shut, though the scar was still red and angry. “It hurt a lot tonight, Rosie, but it’s not bleeding. Yours will stop too. I promise.”

They spent Christmas night in the ER. “It’s a busy night in this ward,” one of the nurses remarked. “Lots of people pick tonight to tear away their heartstrings. It’s the worst night of the year for people who can never go home.” 

The Sunday after Christmas, Rose felt light-headed as she stepped into her aunt and uncle's church. She’d missed the carols, but some of the decorations were still up. The altar cloth was still white and gold, and so it would remain for a few days yet. 

Everything was either an echo or a contrast to Eastledge. “I wish they wouldn’t sing this song,” said Rose in her sister’s ear, pressing a hand to the place beneath her ribs where her heartstring had been. 

After the service, Rose went up to the front of the church and stood in front of the altar. She reached out and ran her fingers over the scalloped edge of the cloth, wanting to salvage some Christmas joy but instead only able to imagine the corresponding cloth a thousand miles away in Eastledge, Massachusetts. 

No, no, none of that. Rose screwed her eyes shut and she forced her thoughts back into something like order. She thought about Christ Incarnate leaving his home in heaven. Which way had his heartstring pulled him, she wondered. Had it tied him back to the Father, or had his heartstring led him straight to the cross?

“Eastledge Church broke my heart,” she didn't quite whisper. “You broke my heart, God, and I don't know what comes next.”

There was no immediate answer, but the gold threads against her fingertips were rough and scratchy. They ran along the white cloth in embroidered images of starbursts, crowns, and crosses. Her fingernail caught on a loose end, which unraveled a little when she drew her hand away. 

Before Rose quite understood what was happening, that loose end of golden thread had disentangled itself from the altar cloth and was hanging in the air before her eyes. As she watched, one glittering end wove its way towards her chest, underneath the bandage and through her skin. With a strange gentleness, the thread wound its way past her left ribs and tied itself, she was certain, in a knot around her heart. The string gave a little tug, but it didn't hurt her; Rose felt only a delicious warmth that began in her heart and seemed to radiate all through her body, from the hairs on her head to the tips of her toes. 

For an instant, Rose assumed that the other end of the thread was still embedded in the altar cloth; that this was God's way of telling her that she belonged here, at this church. Yet as her eyes traced the length of golden thread, they found themselves gazing up, where a faint shimmering was just visible high up in the rafters. 

“It doesn't end there,” she realized. With that, Rose turned and sprinted down the aisle and out of the church. 

The gray December sky was dotted with snowflakes. When Rose raised her head, they fell in her lashes and she had to blink them away. Yet there, high above her, she could see her golden heartstring vanishing into the clouds. 

“It leads to the Throne Room,” said a voice beside her. Rose turned and saw Joan standing beside her, with Rose's own coat draped over her arm. “I think it must.”

“Yours too? I mean, did your heartstring–”

“Yes. Christmas night, in the hospital with you. I looked up and it seemed to be unfurling down from the ceiling like Jacob's Ladder.”

“You never said.” Rose sniffed hard, not sure if it was the cold or the overwhelming emotion that caused it. 

“I don't think it's the sort of experience you can talk about, much. Put on your coat, Rosie. I won't say let's go home, not now– but the car is warming up, and I bet I can get Auntie to make us some cocoa.”