✉️ | DANNIE & TATE

beautifulburnout:

Jonny was that strange mix of morning and night person. Of course that was mostly due to the insomnia he suffered from most of his life, but it didn’t really get to him now. He was up early enough that he needed coffee and a lot of it. The bell to the diner rang as he pushed through it. He expected to see it empty besides the staff but a familiar face sat at one of the tables and Jonny approached with concern. Tate didn’t even look at him and he honestly humored the idea of going to grab him more coffee but he didn’t want to encourage his antisocial tendencies either. Instead Jonny joined him at the table with an amused arch of his brow. “You know most people eat when they order food,” he pointed out and when the waitress joined them Jonny ordered. “Another cup of coffee for him and one for me to start, thanks.” He smiled at her before turning back to his companion. He didn’t want to ask what was wrong because he already knew Tate was going through a rough time, so instead he just sat back and plucked the toast from his plate and started crunching it. 

Six months ago Tate could have put away three times this much food in about half the time. But lately he had a hard time focusing on anything, let alone eating a meal. Since he had been back in Vegas he probably lost fifteen pounds, only adding to his run down and exhausted look. Glancing down at his plate before looking across the table at Jonny he just shrugged. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.” Pursing his lips he dropped the fork onto his plate and leaned back in his booth while his friend chowed down on his toast. Normally he would have made some comment about Jonny not eating his food, but Tate just simply didn’t have the energy. The waitress returned with their coffee in hand and Tate immediately picked up the cup and took a sip of the hot liquid before thanking the woman quietly as she walked away from them once again. “You’re out and about early.” Tate comments, his hands still wrapped around the warmth of his cup of coffee. 

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.

Promise me something? Never promise me anything.

Daniel C. L. (via convertions)

I spent my life learning to feel less.

Jonathan Safran Foer (via quotemadness)

Tate McAllister moodboard 001

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” - Norman Cousins

                       he can’t outrun the sentiments that poison his body.                                they make him sick, vulnerable, w e a k.                                             they rot him inside-out.

                                                              ( && ) 

                          how do you heal from such internal damage?                                         in reality, he knows he can’t.                           ——— but there’s no way he’ll be eaten alive by                                                  his own conscience.

                                         he resorts to drugs, to alcohol.                                 to the numbness it gives him no matter                                                     how temporary. 

perfume: if you could make your own signature fragrance, what would it smell like?

perfume: if you could make your own signature fragrance, what would it smell like?

“Well fuck, I don’t know. I like the smell of nature. Ya know, just like the smell of trees and fresh air. And when you’re sitting next to a river and you take a nice deep breath — that smell. It’d be pretty hard to bottle that up though. And it also might not sell so well. People probably don’t want to smell like dirt and trees and shit.”

violence (vi·o·lence) behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something   see also: savagery, cruelty, sadism   they raised me they made me good at it   they didn’t expect me to like it   they’re afraid of me now and i can’t turn it off   maybe it’s better this way

sometimes i believe that if i’m not angry, i won’t be anything at all (via mymouthisfullofstars)