Peeweekey - Your Dream Girls Dream Girl - Tumblr Blog
for real this time!!!
m back
m back
i like to think that ppl come to farmer for comfort or jst to genuinely hangout... requesting sam coming to farmer's house in the middle of the night as he confides in them w hot chocolate / coffee / tea 👉🏻👈🏻
apple cider
pairing: sam x reader
wc: 1.6k
tags: MILD hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, they are friends here!!
synopsis: sticky summer nights always make you feel a little restless.
a/n: its been 2 months with no sam fic!!!! here is my sincere apology hehe. title from apple cider by beabadoobee. this ask is so cute anon mwa mwa
Nothing ever truly rests during the summer; not even during the night.
Fireflies flicker and fly, weaving through the sparse grass beds sprouting from under your porch. The dark is hardly dark, your eyes have adjusted to the sparse light emanating from your dingy porch light. Your cardigan is haphazardly thrown off, draped over the hand-carved trellis. Bare feet meet the grass; damp and cool against your heated skin.
Energy thrums through the air, electrifying it with the undercutting buzz that leaves you wide awake. The season leaves the nights tepid, leaving your skin sticky.
You can’t sleep; not one bit tuckered out after a whole day toiling the fields. Though your mind is blissfully blank, your hands are preoccupied with bringing your mug to your lips.
The cacophony of crickets chirping echo through the flat farmlands of your property. It’s quiet, peaceful. Yet you are wide-eyed and awake, sipping on herbal tea—a mixture of herbs from your crop beds—in the hopes you can knock yourself out.
You are hyper aware of your surroundings, unable to pull yourself into the sleepy state you want. You feel the sheen of sweat drying on your skin, the warm summer breeze tickling the nape of your neck, the sweet smell of almost-ripe melons growing on your farm. The rhythmic sound of trees swaying with the wind.
The odd sound of a twig snapping is enough to pull you out of your reverie.
Your gaze snaps to the side, past your mailbox and to the dark path leading to town. Eyes adjusted to the dark, you see vague impressions of familiar surroundings. You drag your eyes to and fro, scanning.
A head of blond hair flashes through the otherwise dark veil of night, lamplight catching the brilliant golden hues of it. Doubting your eyes you furrow your brow; squinting your eyes, shifting on the porch steps, aiming to get a clearer look. Your mug is forgotten on your lap.
The figure shifts, tilting their head upwards and towards your direction. Then blue eyes lock with yours, the warm light of your porch lantern illuminating his expression. Recognition dawns on your face—
“Sam?”
Sam stops mid-step, face contorting into shock that outdoes your own. He flails, struggling with his words as to why in the world he’s caught on your farm in the wee hours of the night.
Both of you freeze, staring at each other in silence. Your fingers tighten then loosen around your mug. A tight line is made out of your lips.
“What are you doing?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.
“It’s not what you think!” he holds his hands up in immediate surrender. “I was walking, and—and, my mind was blank. I just followed the path, I swear.”
You blink, once then twice. “Sam—”
“And–and,” he blabbers, “I guess… your farm was the best bet… The safest.”
That eases the nervous pitter-patter of your heart. It’s rare you get anyone on the farm aside from Lewis this late. You’re relieved, perplexed by his skittish behavior. It goes against what you already know about him.
Your eyes crinkle whilst you squint up at him, giving him a once-over. Like this, he reminds you of a teenager caught red-handed, eyes practically bulging out of his head with anxiousness.
An amused chuckle slips past your lips before you register it, smiling. “Sam. Can I speak?”
Sam turns back to face you, finally still. It gives you a clearer look at his appearance. Wild flaxen locks are tapered down by the beanie shoved over his head. His shirt is inside out, hanging awkwardly on his frame. He looks like he just rolled out of bed.
“Oh—oh yeah… my bad.”
A hand goes to pick back up your mug. “You’re good.” You take a sip of your tea. “Plus, I’m not bothered.”
“Oh…” Relief lets his shoulders go lax with a puffed breath. Then he looks back at you, conflicted on his face. “Hang on...You think me walking into your private property is—nothing?”
You snort. “You’re the last person I’d think would be worried about that.”
Sam paces, rocking back and forth on his heels, sporting a grim frown on his face. His gaze drops back down to the path, kicking at the pebbles. You wince internally; he doesn’t seem in good enough shape for jokes. It tugs at your heartstrings, a deep sigh pulled from your mouth and out into the humid air.
“Kidding. But it’s really no biggie.” you wave off. “Come by whenever. I’m always restless during the summer.”
He stares, breathing uneven and nervous. “Seriously?”
You nod, unusually calm in the face of his supposed trespassing. “It’s a me problem. It’s too humid to sleep comfortably. I even get more tired once I wake—”
“No, I mean,” he interjects, eyes wide. “I can come over? Anytime?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, rolling the muscles in your shoulders. “I’d love your company.”
“But what if you’re busy?”
“You’ll have to help me in the fields, then.” you tease, eyes crinkling. “You’ve got good legs for it already.”
A grin cuts through the grim lines of his face, “Are you 100% sure?”
You nod, eagerly. “Mhm.”
“Ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “That’s good. Super good. I wanted… well, I was kinda hoping to see you too.”
“Well now you’ve seen me.”
“Yeah, I’m glad. But ugh—I dunno, I guess my head’s a little messed up right now.” He runs a hand over his face, a frustrated groan along with it.
You watch him. There is never a part of him that keeps still, even now.
Maybe that’s why the words seem to come out so naturally when you’re with Sam. The restlessness—always grasping, bouncing, and shifting. “D’ya wanna come inside? Maybe it could help.”
“Yes, yeah. I want to.” he replies, instantly but then he double takes, checking in with you. “Can I?”
“I invited you too,” you laugh, pulling yourself up. “Calm down Sam, you’re fine.”
“Come in,” you call, pushing open your door. You do not turn and wait for him, traveling through the dark with the familiarity one has only in their own home.
You hear him pulling off his shoes by the doorway, then the padding of his feet trailing after yours.
Humming, you switch on your lamplight, propping it up on your kitchen table, pulling the chair back for Sam to sit in. You set your mug down on the opposite side.
The cabinet creaks when you swing it open, revealing your countless containers of seasonings and spices collected over the seasons. The rich smell of all of it mingling together wafts through your nose.
A pack of apple cider bottles stands by the cinnamon sticks, a welcome gift from months ago you haven’t gotten into yet.
You tilt your head back to glance at him, finding him sitting statue-still in your chair, then turn back to your cabinet.
“I have some apple cider, you want some?”
His eyes snap to yours, “Oh, yeah.”
Nodding, you tiptoe, grasping the glass bottle by the neck from the far end of the cabinet.
You sit the bottle down on the counter, popping off the cap with the flat edge of a knife. The cider fizzes, bubbling up until the neck then reducing. The sharp fruity scent of carbonation and apple mingles with the humid air. Sam takes it from your outstretched hand with a murmured ‘thanks’.
You sit opposite him. With your legs pulled up to your chest, you wiggle in your seat, leaning your cheek against your knees. Your eyes low as you cradle your own drink in your hands. Sam takes slow sips of the cider, the bubbles painting the edges of his lips then fizzing away.
It feels natural to watch him like this, like all normal neighborly decorum has flown out the window, making room for this—whatever this silent companionship may bring.
Curious, you break the veil of silence. “So what brings you here?”
Sam runs his tongue over his bottom lip, catching the stray drop of apple cider by the corner. His gaze goes faraway, eyebrows furrowing automatically without him aware. He’s silent as he thinks over your question, face contorting.
“Just—something at home, I guess. I wanted a breather.”
You swirl the string of your teabag, looking up from under your lashes. “Family stuff?”
“...Yeah, family stuff.”
You hum, voice low. You have a faint idea on what he’s talking about. Sam’s father, Kent, has been having a difficult time adjusting back to civilian life after being discharged—you heard.
Your eyes track over his form, his shoulder hunched and lower than you’ve ever seen them. Under the low light of your kitchen table, you pinpoint the signs of weariness marking his face—eye bags under his eyes and a perpetual wrinkle in his brow deep enough you see the shadow of it under his mess of hair.
“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t feel like it,” you simply say.
You look out the windows, eyes tracking the swirling the flickering lights of lightning bugs outside. Gaze low as you stew in silence. Your fingers tap idly at the table. You feel calmer, sleepier. That persistent buzzing under your skin dissipating into the boneless way you sit.
There will be more sticky summer nights like these, you’re sure. Maybe he’ll share what’s on his mind then but right now, you’re quite content with the silence. It cradles you like a refreshingly cool gust of air, tapering the heated expanse of your skin.
“Maybe next time,” Sam murmurs, staring into the steaming cup. “When I come over again.”
A smile unfurls on your lips when he raises his head to look at you. “When you come over again.”
Redrawing another random picture 😭 I don't know when i will stop making fun of silly Samson
really quick Sam because i watched Fiona's vid on him and i am now a fan o7 love this sprite of his tho its my favoritee he's so sweet
They both would absolutely despise participating in anything similar but sadly I couldn't avoid picturing this scenario, I was giggling by myself the whole time // more lore about hot old men Sam & Sebastian here
Going on hiatus for a while because of school stuff! Sorry guys😔
Have this sam art ^^
Sam Sammy Samson (again) 🤘
i like to think that ppl come to farmer for comfort or jst to genuinely hangout... requesting sam coming to farmer's house in the middle of the night as he confides in them w hot chocolate / coffee / tea 👉🏻👈🏻
apple cider
pairing: sam x reader
wc: 1.6k
tags: MILD hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, they are friends here!!
synopsis: sticky summer nights always make you feel a little restless.
a/n: its been 2 months with no sam fic!!!! here is my sincere apology hehe. title from apple cider by beabadoobee. this ask is so cute anon mwa mwa
Nothing ever truly rests during the summer; not even during the night.
Fireflies flicker and fly, weaving through the sparse grass beds sprouting from under your porch. The dark is hardly dark, your eyes have adjusted to the sparse light emanating from your dingy porch light. Your cardigan is haphazardly thrown off, draped over the hand-carved trellis. Bare feet meet the grass; damp and cool against your heated skin.
Energy thrums through the air, electrifying it with the undercutting buzz that leaves you wide awake. The season leaves the nights tepid, leaving your skin sticky.
You can’t sleep; not one bit tuckered out after a whole day toiling the fields. Though your mind is blissfully blank, your hands are preoccupied with bringing your mug to your lips.
The cacophony of crickets chirping echo through the flat farmlands of your property. It’s quiet, peaceful. Yet you are wide-eyed and awake, sipping on herbal tea—a mixture of herbs from your crop beds—in the hopes you can knock yourself out.
You are hyper aware of your surroundings, unable to pull yourself into the sleepy state you want. You feel the sheen of sweat drying on your skin, the warm summer breeze tickling the nape of your neck, the sweet smell of almost-ripe melons growing on your farm. The rhythmic sound of trees swaying with the wind.
The odd sound of a twig snapping is enough to pull you out of your reverie.
Your gaze snaps to the side, past your mailbox and to the dark path leading to town. Eyes adjusted to the dark, you see vague impressions of familiar surroundings. You drag your eyes to and fro, scanning.
A head of blond hair flashes through the otherwise dark veil of night, lamplight catching the brilliant golden hues of it. Doubting your eyes you furrow your brow; squinting your eyes, shifting on the porch steps, aiming to get a clearer look. Your mug is forgotten on your lap.
The figure shifts, tilting their head upwards and towards your direction. Then blue eyes lock with yours, the warm light of your porch lantern illuminating his expression. Recognition dawns on your face—
“Sam?”
Sam stops mid-step, face contorting into shock that outdoes your own. He flails, struggling with his words as to why in the world he’s caught on your farm in the wee hours of the night.
Both of you freeze, staring at each other in silence. Your fingers tighten then loosen around your mug. A tight line is made out of your lips.
“What are you doing?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.
“It’s not what you think!” he holds his hands up in immediate surrender. “I was walking, and—and, my mind was blank. I just followed the path, I swear.”
You blink, once then twice. “Sam—”
“And–and,” he blabbers, “I guess… your farm was the best bet… The safest.”
That eases the nervous pitter-patter of your heart. It’s rare you get anyone on the farm aside from Lewis this late. You’re relieved, perplexed by his skittish behavior. It goes against what you already know about him.
Your eyes crinkle whilst you squint up at him, giving him a once-over. Like this, he reminds you of a teenager caught red-handed, eyes practically bulging out of his head with anxiousness.
An amused chuckle slips past your lips before you register it, smiling. “Sam. Can I speak?”
Sam turns back to face you, finally still. It gives you a clearer look at his appearance. Wild flaxen locks are tapered down by the beanie shoved over his head. His shirt is inside out, hanging awkwardly on his frame. He looks like he just rolled out of bed.
“Oh—oh yeah… my bad.”
A hand goes to pick back up your mug. “You’re good.” You take a sip of your tea. “Plus, I’m not bothered.”
“Oh…” Relief lets his shoulders go lax with a puffed breath. Then he looks back at you, conflicted on his face. “Hang on...You think me walking into your private property is—nothing?”
You snort. “You’re the last person I’d think would be worried about that.”
Sam paces, rocking back and forth on his heels, sporting a grim frown on his face. His gaze drops back down to the path, kicking at the pebbles. You wince internally; he doesn’t seem in good enough shape for jokes. It tugs at your heartstrings, a deep sigh pulled from your mouth and out into the humid air.
“Kidding. But it’s really no biggie.” you wave off. “Come by whenever. I’m always restless during the summer.”
He stares, breathing uneven and nervous. “Seriously?”
You nod, unusually calm in the face of his supposed trespassing. “It’s a me problem. It’s too humid to sleep comfortably. I even get more tired once I wake—”
“No, I mean,” he interjects, eyes wide. “I can come over? Anytime?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, rolling the muscles in your shoulders. “I’d love your company.”
“But what if you’re busy?”
“You’ll have to help me in the fields, then.” you tease, eyes crinkling. “You’ve got good legs for it already.”
A grin cuts through the grim lines of his face, “Are you 100% sure?”
You nod, eagerly. “Mhm.”
“Ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “That’s good. Super good. I wanted… well, I was kinda hoping to see you too.”
“Well now you’ve seen me.”
“Yeah, I’m glad. But ugh—I dunno, I guess my head’s a little messed up right now.” He runs a hand over his face, a frustrated groan along with it.
You watch him. There is never a part of him that keeps still, even now.
Maybe that’s why the words seem to come out so naturally when you’re with Sam. The restlessness—always grasping, bouncing, and shifting. “D’ya wanna come inside? Maybe it could help.”
“Yes, yeah. I want to.” he replies, instantly but then he double takes, checking in with you. “Can I?”
“I invited you too,” you laugh, pulling yourself up. “Calm down Sam, you’re fine.”
“Come in,” you call, pushing open your door. You do not turn and wait for him, traveling through the dark with the familiarity one has only in their own home.
You hear him pulling off his shoes by the doorway, then the padding of his feet trailing after yours.
Humming, you switch on your lamplight, propping it up on your kitchen table, pulling the chair back for Sam to sit in. You set your mug down on the opposite side.
The cabinet creaks when you swing it open, revealing your countless containers of seasonings and spices collected over the seasons. The rich smell of all of it mingling together wafts through your nose.
A pack of apple cider bottles stands by the cinnamon sticks, a welcome gift from months ago you haven’t gotten into yet.
You tilt your head back to glance at him, finding him sitting statue-still in your chair, then turn back to your cabinet.
“I have some apple cider, you want some?”
His eyes snap to yours, “Oh, yeah.”
Nodding, you tiptoe, grasping the glass bottle by the neck from the far end of the cabinet.
You sit the bottle down on the counter, popping off the cap with the flat edge of a knife. The cider fizzes, bubbling up until the neck then reducing. The sharp fruity scent of carbonation and apple mingles with the humid air. Sam takes it from your outstretched hand with a murmured ‘thanks’.
You sit opposite him. With your legs pulled up to your chest, you wiggle in your seat, leaning your cheek against your knees. Your eyes low as you cradle your own drink in your hands. Sam takes slow sips of the cider, the bubbles painting the edges of his lips then fizzing away.
It feels natural to watch him like this, like all normal neighborly decorum has flown out the window, making room for this—whatever this silent companionship may bring.
Curious, you break the veil of silence. “So what brings you here?”
Sam runs his tongue over his bottom lip, catching the stray drop of apple cider by the corner. His gaze goes faraway, eyebrows furrowing automatically without him aware. He’s silent as he thinks over your question, face contorting.
“Just—something at home, I guess. I wanted a breather.”
You swirl the string of your teabag, looking up from under your lashes. “Family stuff?”
“...Yeah, family stuff.”
You hum, voice low. You have a faint idea on what he’s talking about. Sam’s father, Kent, has been having a difficult time adjusting back to civilian life after being discharged—you heard.
Your eyes track over his form, his shoulder hunched and lower than you’ve ever seen them. Under the low light of your kitchen table, you pinpoint the signs of weariness marking his face—eye bags under his eyes and a perpetual wrinkle in his brow deep enough you see the shadow of it under his mess of hair.
“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t feel like it,” you simply say.
You look out the windows, eyes tracking the swirling the flickering lights of lightning bugs outside. Gaze low as you stew in silence. Your fingers tap idly at the table. You feel calmer, sleepier. That persistent buzzing under your skin dissipating into the boneless way you sit.
There will be more sticky summer nights like these, you’re sure. Maybe he’ll share what’s on his mind then but right now, you’re quite content with the silence. It cradles you like a refreshingly cool gust of air, tapering the heated expanse of your skin.
“Maybe next time,” Sam murmurs, staring into the steaming cup. “When I come over again.”
A smile unfurls on your lips when he raises his head to look at you. “When you come over again.”
oh and yeah, requests are all good with me as long as they arent nsfw, ill get them eventually!!
im back on my regularly scheduled girlblogging
i like to think that ppl come to farmer for comfort or jst to genuinely hangout... requesting sam coming to farmer's house in the middle of the night as he confides in them w hot chocolate / coffee / tea 👉🏻👈🏻
apple cider
pairing: sam x reader
wc: 1.6k
tags: MILD hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, they are friends here!!
synopsis: sticky summer nights always make you feel a little restless.
a/n: its been 2 months with no sam fic!!!! here is my sincere apology hehe. title from apple cider by beabadoobee. this ask is so cute anon mwa mwa
Nothing ever truly rests during the summer; not even during the night.
Fireflies flicker and fly, weaving through the sparse grass beds sprouting from under your porch. The dark is hardly dark, your eyes have adjusted to the sparse light emanating from your dingy porch light. Your cardigan is haphazardly thrown off, draped over the hand-carved trellis. Bare feet meet the grass; damp and cool against your heated skin.
Energy thrums through the air, electrifying it with the undercutting buzz that leaves you wide awake. The season leaves the nights tepid, leaving your skin sticky.
You can’t sleep; not one bit tuckered out after a whole day toiling the fields. Though your mind is blissfully blank, your hands are preoccupied with bringing your mug to your lips.
The cacophony of crickets chirping echo through the flat farmlands of your property. It’s quiet, peaceful. Yet you are wide-eyed and awake, sipping on herbal tea—a mixture of herbs from your crop beds—in the hopes you can knock yourself out.
You are hyper aware of your surroundings, unable to pull yourself into the sleepy state you want. You feel the sheen of sweat drying on your skin, the warm summer breeze tickling the nape of your neck, the sweet smell of almost-ripe melons growing on your farm. The rhythmic sound of trees swaying with the wind.
The odd sound of a twig snapping is enough to pull you out of your reverie.
Your gaze snaps to the side, past your mailbox and to the dark path leading to town. Eyes adjusted to the dark, you see vague impressions of familiar surroundings. You drag your eyes to and fro, scanning.
A head of blond hair flashes through the otherwise dark veil of night, lamplight catching the brilliant golden hues of it. Doubting your eyes you furrow your brow; squinting your eyes, shifting on the porch steps, aiming to get a clearer look. Your mug is forgotten on your lap.
The figure shifts, tilting their head upwards and towards your direction. Then blue eyes lock with yours, the warm light of your porch lantern illuminating his expression. Recognition dawns on your face—
“Sam?”
Sam stops mid-step, face contorting into shock that outdoes your own. He flails, struggling with his words as to why in the world he’s caught on your farm in the wee hours of the night.
Both of you freeze, staring at each other in silence. Your fingers tighten then loosen around your mug. A tight line is made out of your lips.
“What are you doing?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.
“It’s not what you think!” he holds his hands up in immediate surrender. “I was walking, and—and, my mind was blank. I just followed the path, I swear.”
You blink, once then twice. “Sam—”
“And–and,” he blabbers, “I guess… your farm was the best bet… The safest.”
That eases the nervous pitter-patter of your heart. It’s rare you get anyone on the farm aside from Lewis this late. You’re relieved, perplexed by his skittish behavior. It goes against what you already know about him.
Your eyes crinkle whilst you squint up at him, giving him a once-over. Like this, he reminds you of a teenager caught red-handed, eyes practically bulging out of his head with anxiousness.
An amused chuckle slips past your lips before you register it, smiling. “Sam. Can I speak?”
Sam turns back to face you, finally still. It gives you a clearer look at his appearance. Wild flaxen locks are tapered down by the beanie shoved over his head. His shirt is inside out, hanging awkwardly on his frame. He looks like he just rolled out of bed.
“Oh—oh yeah… my bad.”
A hand goes to pick back up your mug. “You’re good.” You take a sip of your tea. “Plus, I’m not bothered.”
“Oh…” Relief lets his shoulders go lax with a puffed breath. Then he looks back at you, conflicted on his face. “Hang on...You think me walking into your private property is—nothing?”
You snort. “You’re the last person I’d think would be worried about that.”
Sam paces, rocking back and forth on his heels, sporting a grim frown on his face. His gaze drops back down to the path, kicking at the pebbles. You wince internally; he doesn’t seem in good enough shape for jokes. It tugs at your heartstrings, a deep sigh pulled from your mouth and out into the humid air.
“Kidding. But it’s really no biggie.” you wave off. “Come by whenever. I’m always restless during the summer.”
He stares, breathing uneven and nervous. “Seriously?”
You nod, unusually calm in the face of his supposed trespassing. “It’s a me problem. It’s too humid to sleep comfortably. I even get more tired once I wake—”
“No, I mean,” he interjects, eyes wide. “I can come over? Anytime?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, rolling the muscles in your shoulders. “I’d love your company.”
“But what if you’re busy?”
“You’ll have to help me in the fields, then.” you tease, eyes crinkling. “You’ve got good legs for it already.”
A grin cuts through the grim lines of his face, “Are you 100% sure?”
You nod, eagerly. “Mhm.”
“Ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “That’s good. Super good. I wanted… well, I was kinda hoping to see you too.”
“Well now you’ve seen me.”
“Yeah, I’m glad. But ugh—I dunno, I guess my head’s a little messed up right now.” He runs a hand over his face, a frustrated groan along with it.
You watch him. There is never a part of him that keeps still, even now.
Maybe that’s why the words seem to come out so naturally when you’re with Sam. The restlessness—always grasping, bouncing, and shifting. “D’ya wanna come inside? Maybe it could help.”
“Yes, yeah. I want to.” he replies, instantly but then he double takes, checking in with you. “Can I?”
“I invited you too,” you laugh, pulling yourself up. “Calm down Sam, you’re fine.”
“Come in,” you call, pushing open your door. You do not turn and wait for him, traveling through the dark with the familiarity one has only in their own home.
You hear him pulling off his shoes by the doorway, then the padding of his feet trailing after yours.
Humming, you switch on your lamplight, propping it up on your kitchen table, pulling the chair back for Sam to sit in. You set your mug down on the opposite side.
The cabinet creaks when you swing it open, revealing your countless containers of seasonings and spices collected over the seasons. The rich smell of all of it mingling together wafts through your nose.
A pack of apple cider bottles stands by the cinnamon sticks, a welcome gift from months ago you haven’t gotten into yet.
You tilt your head back to glance at him, finding him sitting statue-still in your chair, then turn back to your cabinet.
“I have some apple cider, you want some?”
His eyes snap to yours, “Oh, yeah.”
Nodding, you tiptoe, grasping the glass bottle by the neck from the far end of the cabinet.
You sit the bottle down on the counter, popping off the cap with the flat edge of a knife. The cider fizzes, bubbling up until the neck then reducing. The sharp fruity scent of carbonation and apple mingles with the humid air. Sam takes it from your outstretched hand with a murmured ‘thanks’.
You sit opposite him. With your legs pulled up to your chest, you wiggle in your seat, leaning your cheek against your knees. Your eyes low as you cradle your own drink in your hands. Sam takes slow sips of the cider, the bubbles painting the edges of his lips then fizzing away.
It feels natural to watch him like this, like all normal neighborly decorum has flown out the window, making room for this—whatever this silent companionship may bring.
Curious, you break the veil of silence. “So what brings you here?”
Sam runs his tongue over his bottom lip, catching the stray drop of apple cider by the corner. His gaze goes faraway, eyebrows furrowing automatically without him aware. He’s silent as he thinks over your question, face contorting.
“Just—something at home, I guess. I wanted a breather.”
You swirl the string of your teabag, looking up from under your lashes. “Family stuff?”
“...Yeah, family stuff.”
You hum, voice low. You have a faint idea on what he’s talking about. Sam’s father, Kent, has been having a difficult time adjusting back to civilian life after being discharged—you heard.
Your eyes track over his form, his shoulder hunched and lower than you’ve ever seen them. Under the low light of your kitchen table, you pinpoint the signs of weariness marking his face—eye bags under his eyes and a perpetual wrinkle in his brow deep enough you see the shadow of it under his mess of hair.
“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t feel like it,” you simply say.
You look out the windows, eyes tracking the swirling the flickering lights of lightning bugs outside. Gaze low as you stew in silence. Your fingers tap idly at the table. You feel calmer, sleepier. That persistent buzzing under your skin dissipating into the boneless way you sit.
There will be more sticky summer nights like these, you’re sure. Maybe he’ll share what’s on his mind then but right now, you’re quite content with the silence. It cradles you like a refreshingly cool gust of air, tapering the heated expanse of your skin.
“Maybe next time,” Sam murmurs, staring into the steaming cup. “When I come over again.”
A smile unfurls on your lips when he raises his head to look at you. “When you come over again.”
kny phase over sam is my true love
You ever create a group of OC's and then just go absolutely feral over them??? I am foaming at the mouth over these little critters and how their minds work I am mentally well wdym????
reader: when you saved me something changed in my mental chemistry and i became so obsessed and curious with you why are you so quiet the way you use your breathing style is so breathtaking my heart skipped a beat when you keep daifuku mochi in your pocket just for me my heart flutters i still have your handkerchief with me and i trace my fingers over the embrodiery like a lovesick maiden tomioka i want you
giyuu: thanks youre such a good friend
guys what if i told u i had 7k words of giyuu fic
not done btw,,, slowburn from hell
guys what if i told u i had 7k words of giyuu fic
guys what if i told u i had 7k words of giyuu fic
Writing Notes: Self-Editing
Take a Break Before Editing
One of the most effective self-editing techniques is to distance yourself from your writing before diving into the editing process. After completing your draft, give yourself some time away from the text – a few hours, a day, or even longer if possible. This break provides a fresh perspective, allowing you to approach your work with a more critical eye.
Read Aloud
Engage your auditory senses by reading your work aloud. This not only helps identify grammatical errors and awkward phrasing but also allows you to assess the overall flow and rhythm of your writing. Awkward sentences are more apparent when heard.
Focus on One Element at a Time
To avoid feeling overwhelmed during the self-editing process, concentrate on specific elements in each round. Start by checking for grammatical errors and punctuation, then move on to sentence structure, coherence, and finally, style. This systematic approach ensures a thorough examination of your writing.
Add Dimensions
After you are finished with your first draft, flip to the beginning and start anew. As you write and edit more of your story, you may add different aspects to a character that might need to be mentioned in a section you already edited. You might add a part of the plot that should be alluded to earlier in your book.
Fill in the Gaps
Re-reading your first draft might reveal plot holes that will be addressed via revisions. It may expose logical inconsistencies that must be buttressed with enhanced detail. If you, as the author, know a lot of details about a character’s backstory, make sure your reader does as well.
Mend Character Arcs
Audiences want engaging plots, but they also want detailed characters who undergo change during the events of a story. Use a second draft to make sure that your main character and key supporting characters follow consistent character arcs that take them on a journey over the course of the story. If your story is told through first person point of view (POV), this will be even more important as it will also affect the story’s narration.
Track the Pacing of your Story
Find ways to space out your story points so that every section of your novel is equally compelling and nothing feels shoehorned in.
Clean up Cosmetic Errors
When some first time writers think of the editing process, they mainly think of corrections to grammar, spelling, syntax, and punctuation. These elements are certainly important but such edits tend to come toward the end of the process. Obviously no book will go out for hard copy publication without proofreading for typos and grammatical errors, but in the early rounds of revising, direct most of your energy toward story and character. If you consider yourself a good writer who simply isn’t strong on elements like spelling, grammar, and punctuation, consider hiring an outside proofreader to help you with this part of the writing process.
Inject Variety
The best novels and short stories contain ample variety, no matter how long or short the entire manuscript may be. Look for ways to inject variety into your sentence structure, your narrative events, your dialogue, and your descriptive language. You never want a reader to feel like s/he’s already read a carbon copy of a certain scene from a few chapters back.
Check for Consistency
Consistency is key to maintaining a professional and polished tone in your writing. Ensure that your language, formatting, and style choices remain consistent throughout your piece. Inconsistencies can distract the reader and diminish the overall impact of your work.
Eliminate Redundancies
Effective communication is concise and to the point. During the self-editing phase, be vigilant in identifying and eliminating redundancies. Repetitive phrases and unnecessary words can dilute your message and hinder clarity.
Verify Facts and Information
If your writing incorporates facts, figures, or data, double-check the accuracy of your information. Providing accurate and up-to-date information enhances your credibility as a writer. Cross-referencing your sources during the self-editing process ensures the reliability of your content.
Consider Your Audience
Keep your target audience in mind during the self-editing process. Ensure that your language, tone, and examples are tailored to resonate with your intended readership. This step is crucial for creating a connection with your audience and enhancing the overall impact of your writing.
Utilise Editing Tools
Take advantage of the various editing tools available to writers. Spell and grammar checkers, and style guides can serve as valuable companions during the self-editing journey. However, remember that these tools are aids, not substitutes, for your critical evaluation.
Seek Feedback
Engage with others to gain fresh perspectives on your writing. Peer reviews or feedback from mentors can offer valuable insights that you might have overlooked. Embrace constructive criticism and use it to refine your work further.
Be Ruthless with Revisions
Effective self-editing requires a degree of ruthlessness. Don’t be afraid to cut or rewrite sections that do not contribute to the overall strength of your piece. Trim excess words, tighten sentences, and ensure that every element serves a purpose.
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