#akj

[amandakilljoy]

Dumbass edit I did a bit ago turning the knight into a soyjak

[agropuff]

i remembered his stupid tiny waist and got rlly angry

[ladytauria]

Omgggg I want to ask about all the wips bc I love your writing so much but if I had to pick two... Tell me about the Jaycest it's not every day? And SladeJay collars?

heheh ofc, i would be happy to!

so jaycest i have actually shared soooo much of hahah. in chronological (fic) order:

the original draft of the first scene

the first snippet rewritten + some extra bits

some musings on the lazarus pit

gonna come tuck me in?

sit down for me?

enjoying the view

a bonus ask i took inspiration from

i don't think i can share any more snippets without copy + pasting the entire fic ;)

but the basic premise is fem!jay is stuck in (a loose interpretation of) canonverse. she's a little better off than jason is--her life is more stable, she's processed more of her emotions, etc.--and decides she wants to help him a little ;) this obviously translates to them fucking about it, with a litttle mommy kink and possible some lingerie kink too, i'm still waffling lmfao

sladejay collars!! i got a lovely anon asking about this one too, and normally i would break up the snippet to share twice, but there's not enough written for it lmao.

it's set in the arkham 'verse and based around the whumptober prompt: collars

Sometimes, when he’s lying in bed at night, Jason finds himself touching his neck. In the dark, he can picture it so clearly; a thick band of orange and grey wrapping around his throat. It would look good there, he thinks. The brightness of the orange would draw the eye. It would be the first thing anyone saw when they looked at him. Not the scar marring his cheek, but proof that he was wanted.

That he belonged to someone; someone who had chosen him for him, and not because he was a convenient tool to use against the Bat.

That’s as far as his imagination can go.

The second he starts thinking about the feeling of it—the way it would tighten every time he swallowed, the weight of it on his neck, the feeling of it against his skin—

His pulse races. His skin feels clammy.

But even if he manages not to think about it, even if his imaginings stay visual-only, his fingers will catch against one of his scars. It doesn’t matter how light he touches. He’ll find one, touch one, and he’ll jerk his hand away as if he’s been burned.

His eyes will snap open again and he’ll stare, sightlessly, at the ceiling, trying to keep his breathing even.

His Dom is only ever a room away. He could go to him.

He won’t.

He will shake, shudder, as his breaths hitch until finally, finally, he manages to soothe himself.

And then he’ll roll onto his side, squeeze his eyes shut, and try to think of nothing, nothing at all.

(It never works. If he manages to sleep, it’s only to dream of Arkham; of a barbed wire collar digging into his throat, marking him, scarring him, forever; of cruel words whispered or shrieked into his ear; of dropping with no one to help bring him back up.)

All of this to say—

Jason really, really wants Slade to collar him.

He's also too broken to ever deserve it.

[thoughts-of-a-hip-hop-jnke]

[companionoftruth]

why your exclusionary sikhi does not work.

it's such an irony to me that people who believe themselves to be gursikhs can live in such an anti-gurmat way. now i am by no means an expert on sikhi or gurmat or sikh ithihaas, but i have been fortunate enough to cross paths with those who have shown me true love for each of those things, and shared a bit of their knowledge en route. from them and from my own reading of gurbani, i have come to understand my sikhi as a faith of love. guru nanak started this whole thing by rejecting the idea that any human is superior to another. he rejected the falseness of brahmins who thought the sight of untouchables was poisonous. he laughed at the muslims who approached faith with a 'my way or the highway' attitude. and now here we are, sitting amongst sikhs taking on the same positions, but shielding themselves by self-labeling as gursikhs. just because you have your kakaars in tact, does not mean you are a 'good' sikh. when you refuse to eat from non-amritdhari hands because you think it is toxic your soul, you are that brahmin that guru nanak would rebuke. when you berate others because their practice of faith is different from yours, or when they are at a different point in their personal journey, you are that audacious muslim that guru nanak would reject. when you self-ascribe yourself to be holy, guru-facing, and all knowing, you are the egotistical maniac that guru sahib warns against. and yet you persist. you persist loudly. banging your drums and donning the robe of my beloved. you persist so loudly that you convince me that i, and others like me, are not worthy of this love. you tell me that my sikhi is not mine; that it is far off and belongs to others that are better, wiser, stronger. but that's not what my guru said. he went to the weakest. the down trodden. the forgotten. he ate from the hands of those with love in their hearts and fed those who were hungry. he embraces me. forgives me. guides me. you are nothing. and i refuse to give in to you now. 

[hauptmannn]

La oscuridad me parecía infinita...........

[agropuff]

trying to figure him out

[agropuff]

just a little guy <3