Bathtub / The Front Bottoms

theprodigalsoldier:

they’d been through a lot together— overseas, fighting side by side, and abroad, fighting each other. but after years, and months of trying to repair things, tate was coming around, and their friendship had slowly started to rebuild. thank fucking god. jaxon folded his arms on the tabletop, giving tate a quick once over. he knew the look well. on tate, on himself, on other veteran friends. it worried him. but even more, he worried that he wouldn’t be able to help.  “ she looks much better in a skirt than me, i can promise you that, ” he teased gently, trying to fight the sympathy from his smile. tate didn’t need that.  “ couldn’t sleep, because…— ” he trailed off, but the tension in his expression spoke enough. it was the reason jaxon worked graveyard. those nightmares were easier for him to deal with when he slept during the day. but he knew tate’s nightmares manifested worse than his did.  “ does anything help? ” 

as much as tate hated to admit it, jaxon knew him better than probably anyone else on earth. they had been through a lot together throughout their friendship, quite a bit more than a normal friendship could handle. tate knew that jaxon had been through and still dealt with some of the same things he was currently going through, maybe not as intensely but still. he knew it was why jaxon preferred to work at night and sleep during the day. even when tate tried to sleep during the day he was jolted awake by the nightmares. finally setting his fork down he rested his elbows on the table and let out a heavy sigh as his gaze met jaxon’s. “because every time damn i close my eyes i’m back over there. except it’s fucking worse.” he shook his head, putting his head in his hands. it made him angry when he thought about it --- it made him feel weak and god, he hated feeling weak. “alcohol helps. i’m not supposed to be drinking though.” 

knoxaf:

“A fan?” Oh boy, Knox did not have the heart to tell… the hell is his name again? Leaning over to check the paper work on the desk; Tate. How was he going to tell Tate there was only a crappy air system in the building and no fans… He’s got an idea. “Say no more, I got you,” Knox replies a bit too fast. Picking up a blank piece of paper from the printer at the desk and Knox gets to work. After folding the paper and taking a staple to the end of it; he made a fan.

Oh, this guy was gonna kill him. Knox knows it or he might get a chuckle; he’s taking the risk. “This should work for you,” he spoke while getting up from his seat. Walking towards the cell and presented his hard work; a paper fan. “There is plenty more where this came from.”

Tate’s eyes stayed closed while he heard the officer rustle around, not paying much attention as he assumed he was fetching a fan. His head was pounding, the whole act of getting arrested sobering him up way too much for his own liking. The feeling of the cold wall in that cell was becoming a little too familiar and he let out a rather loud sigh. At the officer’s words he opened his eyes again, squinting at him in the sudden bright light until he realized he had just made a makeshift paper fan. “This is what my taxes pay for. Perfect.” He mumbled, not making a move to retrieve the paper fan. Instead Tate reached down and peeled his shirt off, completely forgetting about the scarring he normally made sure to cover up carefully. He was too drunk and too hot to care at this point. Leaning back once again, his eyes closed. The bright lights in the cell were not helping his pounding head.

              my pain doesn’t make me stronger            it makes me crueler ;

theprodigalsoldier:

yeah, he knew that feeling well. too well. it made his chest ache for his friend. and it made him angry that he didn’t know how to help tate. especially when tate was so adverse to help.  “ they say therapy is supposed to… i dunno. do somethin’, ya know? ” the suggestion was tentative and gentle, like he knew tate wouldn’t respond well to it. but he had to try. there had to be something. even if talking didn’t help the famously tight-lipped man, maybe there was something else they could recommend. at least, that’s what jaxon hoped.  “ yer liver being fucked up doesn’t sound like ‘not a big deal’. and that fuckin’ sucks. who else is gonna appreciate shitty whiskey with me? ” he teased gently, a small smirk flickering at the corner of his lips. “ oh, we got a friend in common. jonny. maybe in place of drinkin’, get stoned with him. ” the suggestion was only half serious, and the light in jaxon’s eyes said as much. he was trying to be helpful. trying to make tate feel like there was a little hope. despite how fucking tired he felt. 

Tate saw it coming, Jaxon’s careful first suggestion. It was the most logical thing to tell someone in his current state, and it certainly wasn’t the first time anyone had mentioned the idea to him. However, the way Jaxon proposed the idea was exactly why Tate wouldn’t do it. They both knew Tate wasn’t one to open up easily, or at all really. He used to be different. Talking about how he was feeling used to just come naturally to him. But a lot of things that used to come naturally were just not as easy anymore. “I’m not going to therapy.” Was all Tate said in response, completely shut down to even thinking about the suggestion seriously. He didn’t want to relive those days in his dreams and he sure as hell didn’t want to have to talk about them either. “It’s not fucked up, it’s just...stressed.” Tate decided before quirking a brow as Jaxon went on. “Oh yeah? You know Jonny, huh? Small world.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if anything would take the place of drinking. Although it might help me sleep for more than five hours.” It might also help him eat a decent meal once in a while, but he left that part out. Jaxon had enough worry in his eyes looking at him, Tate didn’t want to give him anything else. 

You can never explain how painful it is to say goodbye to someone you love.

3 am thoughts (via suspend)

⌚ :))))

“ i served with this kid for years, and yer gonna make me pick just one? ummm… fuck your rules, you get two. 

so over there… its so much fucking desert, and sand, and that shit is fuckin’ awful. it gets in your guns, it gets in your gps, it gets in your fucking lungs. sometimes there are these sandstorms, right? it just blows and blows and blows. and you can’t see shit, you can barely breathe, you can’t hear. yer just stuck in this browned out haze. and then… then sometimes it starts fuckin’ raining on top of it. so its just a mud storm. and then yer on your belly, trying to get out of the wind, and you get even more muddy. anyways. its awful. one night, tate and i are walking the perimeter, and before he reaches the end of his sentence, the wind starts up, and while i’m finishing settin’ up the standard issue tent for this kind of shit, it starts raining. so we’re both fuckin’ covered in mud, gettin’ this shit set up, trying not to lose hold of the damn thing. and mind you… it’s a one person tent. so we’re both soaking wet, and caked in mud, huddled in this tiny ass tent, waiting out the storm. and i mean… you get bored, ya know? so mcallister pulls out his pack of cards, and we know its gonna get ruined because we dont have a clean fucking scrap of material between us. but what else do ya do? so we sit there pretty much all night, playin’ every card game we can think of, talkin’ about everything and anything we can think of. and honestly… despite the storm, it really wasn’t a bad night. i think he lost a patch of hair because we let the mud dry and tried to pick it off. anyways, after that, i kept the ruined deck, and got him a new deck of cards, and ghetto laminated them with packing tape. i thought i was funny. 

so that’s one. that’s when we were serving. my other favorite memory is one i can barely remember. we were headed home on leave, but our flights were delayed because of atlantic storm. so we spent a couple days in dublin. and i mean… we were young, dumb, antsy marines back then. and we were in fuckin’ dublin for gods sake. so of course… we go out and get absolutely smashed. you’d think it was fleet week the way we tore it up. we were bar hopping, and making friends all over the place, because the irish fuckin’ love americans. i think we did karaoke at one point. or maybe we just sang real loud in a pub. anyways… i wake up the next morning, in someone’s hotel. tate is passed out on the floor with a bruise on his fuckin’ neck. i’ve got a split lip and a scrape on my cheek and my shoulder. there’s marbles in my pockets, a jacks and ball set on the coffee table. and a fucking red balloon tattoo on my foot. how we got from one point to the next is a little hazy,  but i do remember we had a whole god damn bunch of fun. we were both hungover on th’ plane going back to the states, but it was fun drinking bloody marys and trying to piece together the night. 

there’s lots of nights like both of those. but those two stick out, and just remind me that tate is a real ride or die. even when he definitely doesn’t agree with the stupid shit i wanna do. he still goes along with me, and makes sure that i don’t die. ”

@tatemcallisterr

shvdykiid:

                      When the male looks at him, (with that stupid movie star look to him) he swears if he wore panties, they would be dropping. He needs to snap himself out of it because Ollie is pretty sure Mr. Happymeal is trying to communicate. 

“I know a few places you can take it. I had to get the screen repaired before and there’s actually a kiosk kinda deal. You leave it for a few hours and you get a new scree,” was he babbling? Possible.

If Tate wasn’t so shit with technology perhaps he would have tried fixing the screen himself. But he was sure that if he did try it, he would only end up breaking the phone even more. The younger male was looking at him in a sort of strange way but Tate tried to ignore it as much as he could.

“It takes a few hours just to fix the screen?” He questioned, as if he was some kind of busy person with a job or something. Tate had nothing but time to get the stupid thing fixed, he was more so annoyed that it had broken so easily.

Those who are heartless once cared too much.

Unknown (via wordsnquotes)

pearls: what's something about your personality that surprises others?

pearls: what’s something about your personality that surprises others?

“I don’t know, my personality isn’t very complex. It seems to surprise people when I joke — and not in my usual asshole sarcastic way. I don’t think anything about my personality is really very shocking. There aren’t many sides to me, I’m not too complicated.”