#these strange hands

[varian-ross-horror-author]

These Strange Hands is now at 30,000 words.

that is So Many Words.

[varian-ross-horror-author]

JESUS

WRITERS

If you see this, spoil your WIP's biggest plot twist using ONLY ONE WORD

Here's mine!

Dying

[realtalk127]

thinking about how the best case scenario that elphaba can imagine in the wizard and i is that finally someone will come along who will be able to change everything about her. even in her wildest dreams, she views that as her best option.

and then.

along comes galinda. who - after spending an entire night attempting to give her a makeover - settles on: ‘actually, you’re perfect just the way you are. i wouldn’t change a thing. except maybe to tuck a little piece of myself in with you, just there.’

and i just think that’s neat.

[soaked-doors]

when it rains, it pours

[bruciemilf]

Alfred honestly can’t say shit about Bruce bringing in strays, because what if the Waynes got him the same way?

I genuinely can’t recall HOW Alfred, British special forces extraordinaire, ended up working for Gotham’s (scary) sweethearts.

In my mind, he came to them bleeding.

There’s a tang of bitterness pooling in his gut. Soldiers don’t have friends. They have guns. And he’s all out.

Just when Alfred thought all is in peril, a tiny little hand gently covers a nasty bullet hole on his abdomen.

The first thing Alfred thinks about is: ‘Jesus, this kid has scary eyes.’

“Hi, Alfred.”

“…How do you—“

“Bruce! Jesus FUCKING Christ, I swear, I’m not paying for your ransom next time you run o—…What the fuck is that?”

If there’s one thing about Thomas that Alfred will never forget is his voice; The bass , so chasmic and powerful it could shake the whole world, and the burning care in his eyes despite his vulgarity.

Bruce, — who’s the tiniest bundle of a boy Alfred witnessed, is yanked up by his father’s strong hands, squeezed to his chest carefully. “Hurt,” he says. There’s a tiny, red handprint on Thomas’ shirt.

“Yeah, I didn’t notice,” Thomas mumbling, looking around.

Maybe local gangs? The bullet point is too precise, too calculated. “Who the hell are you?”

Alfred, with his raspy breath, says, “I’m the terribly rude bloke dying on your doorstep, I’m afraid. Alfred Pennyworth. At your service.”

For a guy who’s about to bleed his last, he sounds awfully sarcastic.

“Yeah, wise guy, no one’s dying on my kid’s birthday. Bruce, tell Dotty to prep up the basement. And tell your mama to get my Budlight out of the cooler. Jesus Christ.”

Alfred ends up hoisted on this man’s back. Thomas asks if he has anyone he wants to call? Anyone that’ll come pick him up? Anyone to bury him, if it comes to it.

Alfred whispers he does not.

Thomas sighs. “Well. Kid‘a been asking for a playmate.”

[varian-ross-horror-author]

Love this idea.

So if heaven is nothing but unending light (derogatory) what signal are they getting? Anything at all, or just a constant background scream of God's anguish at an imperfect creation?

Do they leave heaven like I leave a family gathering to hide, and for some peace and fucking quiet?

now i'm thinking about angels communicating through variations in light hue and intensity not necessarily exclusively on the spectrum visible to humans. bioluminescent angels flashing their halos across time and space like deep sea fish.

[raapija]

my favourite couple

[easeinjazzout]

hits him with the beam text transcript in alt (boy do i hope i did it correctly)

[umblrspectrum]

so like is it specifically planets the solver craves or can it get by with just eating dirt off the ground

[varian-ross-horror-author]

Librarian with a death wish makes Jesus have an emotional meltdown.

Explain your work in progress badly:

“Only this ragtag band of plucky teenagers have got the gumption to stop the second coming of Christ”

[arkangelo-7]

The dichotomy of Batman and Robin is so fucking funny because on one hand you have a brooding, dramatic millennial with a rigid moral compass and a sense of extensional dread, and on the other you have an emotional support child that is somehow the literal embodiment of both sunshine and straight-up murder.

[varian-ross-horror-author]

I was confused why These Strange Hands has been sitting at 24,300 words for ages, despite adding things.

Then I saw that parts of it weren't in the compiled manuscript area.

Moved them and I suddenly have over 27,000 words.

[ilostmygenderalongwithmydignity]

Bruce figuring out Captain Marvel is a kid because of him saying some brainrot nonsense he’s heard his kids say is always fantastic, but I think it’d be even funnier if, as a result of the absolute fucking gremlins he calls family, he automatically contributes like a sleeper agent. Like

Captain Marvel: I only have 69¢

Batman, not looking up from his paperwork in the corner, in the most friendly and excited tone the League has ever heard from him: You know what that means! :D

And all of them turn to stare at him just in time to see him give his patented Disappointed Sigh™️, directed at himself for once, and look into the distance as if questioning every single decision that led to this moment. The League is in shock. The younger heroes didn’t think Batman knew what Vine was. Nightwing is laughing so hard he’s sobbing on the floor, because Dick knows damn well it was HIM who caused that

[varian-ross-horror-author]

"The Love That Dares To Speak It's Name," by James Kirkup As they took him from the cross. I, the centurion, took him in my arms- the tough lean body of a man no longer young, beardless, breathless, but well hung.

He was still warm. While they prepared the tomb I kept guard over him. His mother and the Magdalen had gone to fetch clean linen to shroud his nakedness.

I was alone with him. For the last time I kissed his mouth. My tongue found his, bitter with death. I licked his wound- the blood was harsh For the last time I laid my lips around the tip of that great cock, the instrument of our salvation, our eternal joy. The shaft, still throbbed, anointed with death's final ejaculation

I knew he'd had it off with other men- with Herod's guards, with Pontius Pilate, With John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with the rest of the Twelve, together and apart. He loved all men, body, soul and spirit. - even me.

So now I took off my uniform, and, naked, lay together with him in his desolation, caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh, hugging him and trying to warm him back to life. Slowly the fire in his thighs went out, while I grew hotter with unearthly love. It was the only way I knew to speak our love's proud name, to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread-something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood, his dear, broken body all open wounds, and in each wound his side, his back, his mouth - I came and came and came as if each coming was my last. And then the miracle possessed us. I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend his spirit's final seed within my hole, my soul, pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth- he crucified me with him into kingdom come.

-This is the passionate and blissful crucifixion same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly. They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace one upon the other, till they dies of lust and pain within the horny paradise of one another's limbs, with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.

Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hope of resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away. But before we rose again, they came and took him from me. They knew no what we had done, but felt no shame or anger. Rather they were glad for us, and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.

And after three long, lonely days, like years, in which I roamed the gardens of my grief seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me, he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before all others. And took me to him with the love that now forever dares to speak its name.

[loadingbones]

❄️✨ them

[majunju]

it took march 10 minutes to take this photo (they did not understand how to pose their hands)