Tate McAllister Moodboard 001

✉️ | DANNIE & TATE

dannie: ha. i feel that.

dannie: not much changes for me in terms of that shit.

dannie: were you around for that crazy storm?

tate: i don't blame you for that.

tate: yeah, i was. i walked around in it for a few hours. until jaxon found me, then he made me go inside.

theprodigalsoldier:

while there was a large part of him that still really enjoyed fighting… he didn’t enjoy getting “caught”. but he could breathe easy, and his thoughts didn’t feel unmanageable. with all of that, it was hard to regret the decisions he made and the actions he’d carried out. despite the bleeding. jaxon scoffed at tate’s comment, licking at his split lip and screwing the cap back onto his flask.  “ some think th’ blood makes me look tough, ” he shrugged. “ and girls jus’ wanna patch me up. so. ” he chuckled dryly, sitting up a little straighter despite the ache soreness in his shoulders. “ supposed to. and yer not supposed t’ be drinkin’. yet here we are, ” he pointed at, offering up his flask to tate.  “ will it help if i tell you th’ guy was a creep? ”

Tate could understand why Jaxon fought. He probably got about the same feeling Tate did when he got into an occasional bar fight. Relief. Although Tate didn’t have nearly as much to lose as Jaxon --- his job, for one. He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Or dumb.” He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it was too late now. He was definitely drunk already. “Maybe I should get in fights more often.” He joked, leaning back on the bench and letting out a heavy sigh at the mention of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be drinking. “Fair enough.” He shrugged, accepting the flask from Jaxon and unscrewing it. “Sure, I guess.” Tate paused. “I’m the last person who can judge you, man. Fight whoever you want, it’s your face.”

✉️ | DANNIE & TATE

dannie: hey, look, i know things are hard right now but they will get better. they just have to, right?

dannie: oh, y'know, just staying bitter and angry about the state of the world and the shitfuckers living in it. nothing too new.

tate: i don't see how they could get much worse at this point. but knowing my luck i wouldn't doubt that they will get worse.

tate: good shit. i'm glad at least some things have stayed the same since i've been gone.

theprodigalsoldier:

jaxon sighed at tate’s response— it was the one he expected. and feared. it seemed like no one left the war whole. physically, mentally, emotionally. they were all tainted and damaged, and nightmares fucked with sleep and sanity in a very special way. he wished he had an answer for tate. a way to help make them go away, or even ease them slightly. but fuck… he’d been searching for that answer for two years and had come up with very little.  “ hey, man. it’s alright. don’t think i’ve ever met a soldier that didn’t have nightmares. yer not alone there, ” he offered quietly, intimately familiar with feeling weak or broken for struggling like this. fuck, he still felt like that a lot. but it helped… knowing his brothers felt like it too.  “ why aren’t you supposed to be drinkin’? i thought you were all healed up. ”

It was hard to talk about, even with someone like Jaxon who could relate so strongly to what he was going through. That was a big reason Tate kept insisting he didn’t need to see a therapist or go to any support groups. Talking about things had never helped him deal with them anyways. “I know it’ll probably never go away completely ---- I just wish it would get better. I’m fucking tired.” Tate knew he wasn’t the first person to go to war and come back having nightmares about it, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. But when he wakes up at night, alone, in an empty house, it’s hard not to feel isolated. “I am for the most part. Doc just found some problems with my liver when they were doing blood tests. It’s not a big deal.” At least that’s what his doctor had told him, it wouldn’t be a big deal as long as he didn’t drink so often. Which was proving difficult when it was his go-to coping mechanism. 

The beauty you see in me is a reflection of you.

Rumi (via wnq-writers)