this is home
i’m sure we all know by now i have two types. big bad ass mfs who kill people for fun and pathetic little sweethearts who have mommy issues. today i will be writing for abner krill bc i just fell in love with him in suicide squad 😩and i def don’t have a lil crush on david dasmalchian <33. HERES SOME CONTENT FOR THOSE WHO WANT IT IK YALL ARE PARCHED !!!!
abner krill x afab reader
just some soft abner ;)
☆mentions of trauma sort of, poor lil meow meow alert
“abner? honey? would you mind letting the cat back in please ? I can’t remember if i did it earlier. she has a habit of leaving the yard if she’s out too long”.
he awoke with a start , his breathing labored. If he was going to die now he wasn’t going down without a fight. it took a moment for him to recognize his surroundings but once he did his muscles relaxed.
“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to startle you. i thought you were awake , i must have scared you have to death my poor baby”. she continued wrapping her arms around his waist and planting a gentle kiss on nape of his neck. “it’s ok my love it’s just me …no need for panic it’s okay you can just relax now”.
the familiar embrace of his lover filled his body with warmth. he couldn’t help but relax against her body. her arms wrapped around his torso gave him a sense of true safety.
glancing up he met the happy eyes looking down at him. they were y/n’s. he could never forget them.
“i’m ..i’m sorry i still have nightmares sometimes and they’re not easy to control. i’ve been working on it in therapy recently but it’s taking a while I’m really sorry -“
she pressed her index finger to his lips indicating him to stop talking.
“i’ve been dating you for almost a year and a half now abner you don’t need fo explain yourself to me. i know what you went through was not easy in the least bit and i don’t expect you to get over it any time soon. i’m gonna be here anyway”.
her voice sounded so silky and comforting. she was always so accepting of him. gently she ran her hands through his hair resting his head on his chest.
“i uh.. i love you”.
she smiled and giggled. “i know you do and i love you just as much if not more”.
running her hands through his hair she placed a few kisses on his forehead. “do you feel safe ? i’m going to check on sakē real quick. i’ll be right back”.
he shot up. “no.i can do it. you don’t have to get up. it’s okay”. the last thing he wanted to do was make her do any kind of extra work.
taking care of him had to have taken a tole on her. any time he was able to lighten her load he would do so in the blink of an eye.
“you can just rest here. i got it darling boy”.
as he tried to get up she pulled him back. “i’m so proud of you. just so you know i think you’re doing so much better”.
for a moment she just held him close enjoying feeling his warm skin against hers. it was so nice to have him home.
home. this was home.
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sad (angry) girl hours under the cut
sorry to like. get in my feelings publicly online but i wish i didn’t harbor some bones-deep jealousy and resentment of girls who i think are pretty in the ways i wish i were pretty.
like. people i love and respect can tell me i’m pretty all day long but it doesn’t change the fact that I Don’t Fucking See It In Myself. and when i see girls who are pretty in the ways i want to be, who have cute faces and don’t need makeup to look pretty and have hips and whose body fat sits on them in nice feminine ways. and this isn’t even like. jealousy of cis girls, it’s trans girls who have it in the way i want to have it too. nor does it affect whether i think others are attractive, it’s just a standard i hood myself against because fundementally I’m Not The Way I Want To Be and i can’t change it.
maybe i could bear it if it was just jealousy but it comes with an anger i can feel making me bitter and resentful of my sisters and i don’t want to feel that way towards them!i want to look at other girls who i think are cute in the way i wish i was cute an feel happy for them.
i want to look in the mirror and feel happy for myself.
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the class i took abt black american literature and fugitivity in american art this past semester was incredible. like truly diving deep into how blackness has always been inextricable from americanness in every aspect of society, how black stories and art have always been so potent and beautiful that white ppl have done everything in their power throughout history to take those narratives and themes for themselves in pale imitations… and even though i had always known that black artists shaped american culture as we know it, i never rlly had the structure or framework of analysis (or even resources) to look at literature and films throughout american history and see the through-lines starting from even before the united states was officially founded… even concepts like “the road” in literature, art, film, music, etc, which is extremely tied to american ideals of freedom, travel, and “the frontier” (so to speak), have always had the underpinnings of considering who is not allowed the same access to the road, or who has access but only in a very limited or modified capacity (such as escaping slavery, in particular). and once you start reading and watching and listening with all this in mind it becomes impossible to unsee, especially with 20th century works
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want to pop in and say im alive!! barely, but im still here!
i’ve been swamped with some real hard-ass frighteningly-real-life shit that have all decided to show up all at once.
for me writing is something i find time for because it’s completely therapeutic but right now i’ve been having to delegate my time to some not-so-fun stuff and i haven’t had the time to write. im hoping that changes soon but just want to give y’all a heads up that there’ll be (even more) of a lull in the near future :( but the light at the end of the tunnel is that krcg will 100% be completed—i have everything mapped out and it’s just the logistics of time that stands between me and the story being completed!
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