Then & Now // Jaxathan Aesthetic

marclarkin:

“Damn, I ain’t had a good sleep like that since that bitch took my house,” Marc remarked as he came out of an extra room in Jax’s place. He’d been chasing a new bounty and had been in the neighborhood when the two of them had tried to out beat each other up. In the end, Marc had left him handcuffed to an iron fence outside and went into his cousin’s place to get cleaned up. Too tired to go home, he’d knocked out in his cousin’s place. Marc combed his hand through his hair and walked to the kitchen, opening the milk and taking a large chug from it.

@theprodigalsoldier​

marc showing up at all hours of the night, in various states of injury, duress, and pulverization, had stopped being surprising long ago. after all, jaxon did the same, after bar fights that got out of hand. marc had a little more of an excuse for his injuries, with the whole “doing good” and getting paid thing. jaxon didn’t complain (much). he’d rather marc come here, somewhere safe, then another place, where sharks could smell blood in the water. (not that jax worried about marc taking care of himself. it was more that general, perpetual state of worry that seemed the norm for the marine vet.)  sat at the kitchen table, jaxon leaned back and sipped at his coffee as marc emerged from the guest bedroom. “ yer lucky i’m not my mama. usin’ profanity and drinkin’ out of the carton. that’d get you slapped at the very least. if not fuckin’ kicked out, ” he chuckled, flicking a piece of toast crust at marc’s back. “ there’s coffee. though i really ought’a check you for a concussion first. ”

⌚ :))))

“ 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

“ you are not gonna believe who’s in vegas, ” jaxon said suddenly as he lowered himself into the driver seat of their patrol car. with coffee in hand for both of them, jaxon settled in, making sure he had everything he needed to start the shift. it was always easier, at the beginning. in fact, he usually enjoyed the first few hours of a shift. when they both had more energy, more willingness. the strain of the job hadn’t yet set in.  “ i saw you had yer daughter last night. so i got you an extra espresso shot t’day. ”

@punsandgun

tatemcallisterr:

At the sound of a familiar voice in response to his request Tate looked up to meet Jaxon’s gaze. He was right, but there was no way he was going to get any sleep more at this point in the day. It might as well be noon Tate-time. Jaxon had always been able to read him. Although it wasn’t that hard right now to tell that Tate was exhausted. Between the bags under his eyes and the mess of hair he hadn’t bothered to comb through before he left the house, it was clear he had just rolled out of bed and come to the diner. Tate shook his head slowly letting out a sigh. “Thought you were the waitress.” He replied, setting his fork down as Jaxon took a seat across from him. His gaze moved to his plate at Jaxon’s question, staring at the barely eaten contents momentarily before he answered. “Just couldn’t sleep is all.” He shrugged, looking back up at his friend.

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? ” 

killcrquccn:

       “i’m gonna have to pass, sweetheart. i’m watching my figure.” eden declined with a soft smirk, nails tapping against the off-yellow envelope in her hand afterward. “i’m here to see your boss, sugar– know where he is?” she then questioned, arching a well-plucked brow in the process.

       eden didn’t make many deals with people, in fact, if you stood in her way, she was way more content with running through you rather than around you. however, there were benefits to having some cops in your pocket, but she knew which she could turn and which she shouldn’t bother with. the one that was before her now? she was unsure of, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

he had some time to kill before his shift, and he was desperately trying to get rid of these cupcakes. no fucking way he was gonna eat them all himself, and throwing them away seemed disrespectful. even if mama was being cheeky by giving them to him in the first place. this attempt didn’t bring him much luck though. pretty girls and their aversion to treats. he smiled politely at her anyways, vaguely aware that he’d seen her somewhere before. 

“ umm... i’ve got about 8 bosses, ma’am. i’m just a beat cop. yer gonna hafta be a little more specific than that, ” jax shrugged, playing a little with the frosting atop a cupcake.  “ desk sergeant would probably know more about that than me though. ”

@tatemcallisterr asked “ ❢ ” [ ❢ ] my muse discovers yours all bloodied and bruised.

he’d gone through the list. yoga, taking a long walk, reading a book, doing something with his hands. he was really trying to find better coping mechanisms, but the ones that the counselor at the VA recommended just really were not cutting it. or doing much of anything at all. with the reappearance of jonny in his life, and all the complicated bullshit that came along with that, plus the hardship his family was going through with the cafe not making as much as it needed to... the inside of jaxon’s head was not a fun place. and god damn, he just wanted everything to slow down for a moment. he wanted the world to just get a little quieter. four shots of whiskey and a bar fight later, things had slowed down. his brain could only focus on the throbbing and the bleeding and the blurring effects of the whiskey. jax sipped slowly at his flask, sitting on the concrete edge of a planter outside the bar. blood slid slowly from the re-opened cut on his cheek, and leaked from the inside of his mouth. it should be trouble that jaxon felt calm, and centered like this, for the first time in weeks. 

i have terrible luck with technology. and my modem crapped out on me tonight. so replies will have to wait another day. sigh. im sorry to everyone D: 

also i need to plot all the things with all the people. so hit me up xox