Beautifulburnout:

                         “ Why are you always so pessimistic? “

    —– “ вecaυѕe… тнen, ιт doeѕn’т HURT ѕo                мυcн wнen everyтнιng   F A L L S   A P A R T. “

beautifulburnout:

When Tate agreed to his offer Jonny was just about ready to launch into a speech about taking help when you needed it but instead he ended up blinking in surprise. A smile slowly spread across his features and the artist set his coffee mug down with a soft thud. “Well, alright then.” He dug into his wallet and set some cash down on the table, giving Tate’s uneaten and now cold breakfast a nod. “My treat. C’mon.” Jonny stood to head outside and pushed through the door with a jingle of the bell. He didn’t want to give Tate a chance to change his mind, especially when he really though that this would end up helping him. “I walked, I don’t live far. Ya on your feet or are we taking your rig?” His hand slipped into his pocket and Jonny placed a vaping rig to his lips before blowing out a big cotton candy scented cloud. “We might wanna stop and get some munchies either way. Ya might not be hungry now, but ya will be.”

It was pretty clear that Jonny was surprised Tate had agreed so easily. Not that he blamed him, he’d be surprised too. Although Tate hadn’t expected to be leaving right that second, he wasn’t going to complain. It wasn’t like he had any plans. Plus, there wasn’t exactly anything left for him in the diner. No appetite kind of made staying there any longer redundant. So he mumbled a ‘thanks’ when Jonny paid for his meal and followed him outside the door. Tate shook his head in response to Jonny’s question. “I took a cab here. Too tired to drive or walk.” He glanced over at Jonny and then thought for a moment. “Do you want to just order a pizza? Or is that not a normal thing to do?” He shrugged. “Or we can stop somewhere, I don’t really care.”

refactortactical:

Advanced Special Operations Bag™

⌚ :))))

“ 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