Tatemcallisterr-blog

✉️ | DANNIE & TATE

dannie: dude, fucking same. only slightly different. i was out of it for the most part. don't remember much until my kind of friend jonny found me and pulled me in.

dannie: ran out of his house and then got shot. fun times.

tate: hold on, you got shot?! like with a gun?! what the fuck dannie

Those who are heartless once cared too much.

Unknown (via wordsnquotes)

knoxaf:

                  For the majority of that hour Knox was busy playing Panda Pop. The night was pretty dull for the most part; until he was notified of someone coming to sleep off the alcohol in their system. Knox sighs and starts to get shit ready for another cell to be occupied. 

“You look rough– want a wet wipe or somethin’ like that?” Knox offered as he’s setting the small box of apple juice and crackers at an accessible area. “Uh, the fridge has been right fucked for the last couple days. Meaning we couldn’t refrigerate our drinks. Hence everything bein’ room temp.”

@tatemcallisterr

One would think having a very close friend that works in the police department would get him out of things like spending the night in a cell sleeping off the alcohol he had just consumed. And yet here he was, doing just that. Tossing his shoes across the cell he practically glared at the officer that was babysitting him for the night. “No, I don’t want a fucking wet wipe.” He had slept in far worse conditions than the state he was in now. Letting out a sigh Tate looked over at the provisions left for him. “Damn. I was really looking forward to my gourmet meal being nice and cold. This night is just full of disappointment.” 

⌚ :))))

“ 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

theprodigalsoldier:

jaxon fully expected that reaction. even their issues in the past couldn’t erase the countless nights they spent on patrol together, and jaxon knew tate. then and now. they’d both changed in ways they hated to think about. he sighed to himself, and sat up a little straighter, leaning his elbows on the table and closer in.  “ look, man. i get it, okay? i don’t talk to them about my shit either. ‘cause i really don’t fuckin’ wanna drag all that shit up. but… they got counselors, who just give you suggestions, ya know? like they recommended me to a training program for my dogs, so they can help when i get overwhelmed. and they gave me a list of things to try when i’m in a bad place. jus’— somethin’ to think about, ” he shrugged, trailing off as he leaned back and sipped at his iced tea. it wasn’t something he wanted to pressure tate into. but he also didn’t want tate to blindly block out everything that had a possibility of helping. “ well i hope yer liver relaxes, ” jax replied, just barely smiling, hoping to get tate to relax some too.  “ yeah… we were best friends all through high school. remember i told you, how he went away to art school, got involved in sketchy shit, and we had a falling out. that’s jonny. same jonny you know, apparently. but smoking does help with the sleep thing. while your liver is healing, ya know? plus, i’d pay good money t’ see you stoned out of yer mind. ”

“I don’t need suggestions, alright? Especially not from people who don’t know shit about what I’ve been through.” Tate snapped, his tone coming off a little more harsh and a little more loud than he had originally planned. Of course getting all worked up so quickly about the mere suggestion of a little bit of help didn’t exactly make it seem like he didn’t need the help. But nonetheless, it was true. How could anyone who had no idea what it was like to go through the things he did make any kind of suggestion on what to do to help? Tate closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and leaning back in his seat. “I’m fine.” He said, this time a bit more calm. “I haven’t been back that long. I’m still adjusting.” That’s what he kept telling himself anyways. Every night that he was jolted awake by a nightmare or every time something brought on a flashback, he convinced himself it was just because he hadn’t been back from the hospital but a few months. It was easier than admitting he might really need the help and suggestions everyone kept offering. “Yeah, me too.” Tate replied softly. As Jaxon went on he started to remember the stories the older male had told him about Jonny. Although he never assumed it was the same Jonny he knew, it did make sense now that he was thinking about it. “Right right, I remember. You been hanging out again then? I mean, now that he’s back?” Tate wondered, rolling his eyes slightly. “I feel like it wouldn’t be as entertaining as you think. I mean, you’ve seen me eat and sleep and that’s probably all I would do high.”