like real peace

I wrote this at 1am last night (while I was sleep deprived and couldn’t sleep) and then saved this in my drafts, so let that be both an explanation and an apology for this Mess™

It’s the sound of voices that draws Andrew into wakefulness. They creep into his mind like vines and coax him away from the bliss of sleep. The temptation to shake them is a hard fought but losing battle. His head still feels hazy and fogged over, but it’s easy enough to place the owners of the hushed tones. 

“You wake them up.” 

“No way. You wake them up.” 

There’s a pause. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” 

“You’re on.” 

Andrew opens his eyes just in time to see Matt hit his rock over Nicky’s scissors. Matt shoves his fist in the air in a silent victory cheer while Nicky lets out a quiet curse. He turns back towards the seat with dejected shoulders, his face a mix of fear and dread, but when he makes eye contact with Andrew, it quickly morphs into relief. 

“Oh, thank god. I really didn’t want to losing a limb.” 

“We’re at a rest stop,” Matt says when he also notices Andrew is awake. “Coach says we’re still a few hours out from PSU though.” 

“It’ll be morning by the time we make it back,” Nicky chimes in. 

Andrew doesn’t say anything, but neither Nicky or Matt look interested in garnering a response. Their apparent job done, both backliners turn on their heels and head back up towards the front of the bus. 

“Was’goingon?” Neil mumbles from Andrew’s right. 

Neil has his legs pulled up onto the seat, his body curled up but slumped against Andrew. His head is tucked up against Andrew’s shoulder, and his fingers are still loosely intertwined with Andrew’s own. Andrew turns his head to look down at the striker. 


“Actually, yeah.”

Neil shifts, his body folding up even more towards Andrew and his cheek scraping along Andrew’s shoulder. He lets out a breath and closes his eyes again. The air around them is quiet with all the Foxes off the bus, and Andrew watches the way the streetlamps bleeding in through the windows fall across the crisscross scars of Neil’s cheek, the way the light weaves with the smattering of freckles there. 

Neil’s eyes peel back open after a minute, and they narrow curiously as he watches Andrew. Andrew quirks an eyebrow in a silent question of his own.

“I just figured you’d have shoved me to the floor by now,” Neil says. 

“I take pride in being unpredictable.” 

Neil hums in response and another moment passes in silence. 

“Wait. Are we stopped?” 

“Rest stop,” Andrew explains. 

“Oh,” Neil says, sitting up fully and rubbing at his eyes. “I should probably get some coffee then. Did you want one?” He doesn’t even give Andrew a chance to answer, already nodding. “I’ll get you one.” 

Neil uses the seat in front of them to pull himself up, taking a moment to stretch out his cramped limbs. He scrubs a hand down his face and drags his feet up the aisle. Andrew follows him off the bus, digging his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as they head down the stairs. Neil veers off to the rest stop building for coffee, and Andrew lights his cigarette, eyes sweeping across the few Foxes stretching their legs in the parking lot. He spots Nicky speaking to some freshman he can’t be bothered to learn the name of and heads over to the two. 

Once Andrew is standing in front of them, he holds his hand out towards his cousin. Nicky glances down at Andrew’s empty palm before dancing back to his face. 

“What?” Nicky asks, feigning an innocence no one believes. 

Andrew doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm outstretched and quirks an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 


“It’s a cute picture, okay!” 

Andrew is considering prying away the phone clutched to Nicky’s chest when Neil returns. The striker presses a cup of coffee into Andrew’s outstretched hand, but Andrew merely takes a sip before switching it to his other and re-extending his hand. This time, Nicky’s eyes dart between the hand and Andrew’s unimpressed expression before he turns on Neil with a pleading look. 

“Neil. My favorite person. Please tell your boyfriend not to murder me.” 

“Well,” Neil says, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Do you deserve it?” 

// Send me prompts! //

  • Qiu Tong: [appears in Sun Jing's field of vision}
  • Sun Jing [inside]: my favorite human has arrived. They are cute and smart and my favorite. I must greet them in a manner indicative of my appreciation for their existence.
  • Sun Jing: hey nerd

anonymous asked:

Something just super peaceful

Matt sighed and flopped down on the bed, rolling his shoulders and trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t aggravate his back. Needless to say, hunching over in a closet for hours recording wasn’t conducive to good back heath. Matthew let out a loud groan as Steph sat down beside him, a hand gently carding though his hair.

“Your back again?” She asked, and Matt groaned again. Steph tsked and gave him a poke in the side. “Alright, assume the position.” She teased and helped Matthew straighten out with his arms by his side. He felt her throw a leg over his lower back and straddle him, hands pulling at his shirt and tugging it off with minimal help from Matt due to sheer exhaustion and pain.

However, he let out another softer groan as the pain began to melt away under Stephanie’s hands, fingers digging into the tense muscles in his shoulders and rubbing the tightness out. “Alright?” Steph asked when he winced at a particularly painful spot. “Mmmfine.” He sighed against the pillow, eyes drifting closed and brain shutting off from the relaxing kneading.

“You need to stop hunching.” Steph said after a few moments of silence. Matt waved a tired hand and didn’t answer, already half asleep. She smiled and slowly moved off her husband, kissing her lightly between the shoulder blades and tucking a blanket around his waist. “Take a nap, love. I’ll get dinner started.” Stephanie said softly in his ear as she slid off the bed. As Matthew slowly drifted to sleep, he took a tired moment to appreciate how well Steph took care of him before he finally dropped off, skin still tingling from the impromptu massage and loving kiss she left him after.


a YEAR? a YEARRR!?!?!!!!?!?1 i”m so bad with timeskips friends, i don’t think i can make it. help me. 

okay so, another lil update….

now that i’m pretty much done with that big ass paper i had to do this semester (i mean the draft is done and my professor will make comments and hand them back so  i can fix shit but really unless she completely hates my paper then i’m pretty chill) i’m in a better head space. that being said, taking a little mini break was pretty good and it felt awesome. i’m still not feeling 100 percent but like, im bored right now, so imma do some replies and hang out here for a lil bit tonight

so i’m basically moving from a hiatus to semi-hiatus (and this time i mean it i really gotta stop spending so much time on this blog l o l)


The Doors: Morrison Hotel (1970)

Morrison Hotel isn’t my favorite Doors LP in terms of having song after amazing song (their debut and L.A. Woman are pretty tough to beat), but it’s probably my favorite when it comes to ATTITUDE!

Here they were revived as a hard-drinking-and-brawling, bad-ass blues-rock combo, recovering much of the focus lost on the pedestrian Waiting for the Sun and the excessive The Soft Parade, within the first 90 seconds of the iconic “Roadhouse Blues.”

Even the not-so-timeless songs like “You Make Me Real,” “Peace Frog” and “Land Ho!” (what an awesome mid-section) generally succeed on the strength of their raucous, feisty intensity, and the closing “Maggie M’Gill” captures the brooding, growling Lizard King at his most menacing.

By contrast, the infrequent diversions into softer sounds showcase some of Morrison’s subtlest and sweetest crooning – not so much during the baroque flourishes and fiery crescendo of “Waiting for the Sun,” but certainly amid the hazy reveries of “Blue Sunday” and “Indian Summer.” 

All in all, though it was Morrison’s name used in the title, I think this LP marked the rebirth of Jim, Ray, Robbie and John as The Doors: a band to be reckoned with among classic rock’s “greatest generation, even though their tragic demise loomed ever closer.

Or, as the blues singer sagely put it, so presciently and sagely: “The future’s uncertain, and the end is always near,” before casually shrugging his shoulders and concluding: “Let it roll, baby, roll!”