Why I Think Shouto Will Save Touya

Hi i’m sorry i have to make yet another post but i’ve been struggling a lot financially and i need help! i got the bill today from both times i was baker acted this year one being after my suicide attempt and there’s no way i can afford to pay this even if i create a payment plan. I’m currently living in a halfway (sober living) house and have to pay all of my bills including rent WEEKLY. I’ve been looking for a job but its going to take too long before i get my first paycheck and getting on my feet is going to take months n i won’t be able to keep up with my bills. I know most of us are broke but there’s people on here who are in a way better situation than i am and i could really use any type of help at this point even if its a few bucks. This is my first christmas away from my family and being completely financially independent has been a huge burden on me and im really bummed. I’d also like to be able to put this behind me as its been weighing on me a lot. Anyway if you can afford to help even just by reblogging this post it would mean the world to me

Paypal: http://paypal.me/sniffing or lucas@sniffi.ng Venmo: @lucasgarciaa (two As)

the wrong end of a very long tunnel

king falls am word count: 2106 poetry borrowed from straw house, straw dog by richard siken

read on ao3

x

and you wanted an adventure, so i said have an adventure

The car smells like Jack. He always forgot body spray on his mad rush out the door in the morning so he took to keeping a can in the glovebox. Sammy sits in the driver’s seat with a death grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles standing out like strings of pearls. In the passenger seat is the packed bag he found by the front door months ago.

It was months ago. It took that long to negotiate a way out of their contract at the station. And maybe Sammy was hoping for a miracle, hoping for a late-night phone call or the sound of a key in the lock. If he waited a little longer, dragged his feet, Jack would make his own way home.

But Sammy is sitting in a car that smells like Jack, with a bag in the passenger seat where his boyfriend should be, and his phone in the cup holder with the GPS waiting on his first move.

It’s a hard move to make. Sammy is a coward. He wants to go back inside. Back into their house, even though the mail is on hold and the gas and water has been shut off. Back into the life he and Jack built with each other, for each other.

But this is the only way back. Leaving now is the only way to go back home.

Jack, Sammy thinks.

He presses the clutch and shifts into first gear. He doesn’t slow down until the fuel gauge is on empty, seven hundred miles away. Then he pulls into the first gas station off the interstate and has a quiet panic attack.

It’s only for his benefit that it’s quiet, really. To keep some semblance of control. He could have made a scene if he wanted to. It’s one o’clock in the morning in the Middle of Nowhere, Northern Oregon, and Sammy is alone. He could fall to the ground and scream and be long gone before some unfortunate morning employee came in and checked the CCTV.

Jack, he thinks. He doesn’t scream. He gets out to pump gas.

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