#snippet (sywtw)

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Nothing, just Bill's fucked up relationship with his mother:

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I really hope y’all don’t mind something that’s a little bit divergent from the norm, but I had pieces of this flashback scene come to me in a dream and when I got up, the scene went so naturally onto the page and I really love the foreshadowing and dialog here, plus the POV of a lesser-seen character. 

Here is a scene of a pregnant Flossie Howley, taking a bit of agency in a very important decision. This really helped develop her and her dynamic with her husband and was an enjoyable snippet to bash out in like a day. I don’t normally share little pieces like this, but I was really proud of it and wanted to share. 

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Characters: Flossie Howley, Simeon Howley

Words: 1′768 (Single scene) 

Setting: The Howley farm, Platton, roughly 1871. 

Content Warning: Description of pregnancy and stillbirth. (Hidden beneath the readmore)  

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A log collapsed to crumbling embers, sparking the entire firebox a lively orange that drew her eye up for just a moment before it returned to the calm, evening flicker and she to her needlework.

Flossie folded a tiny nightgown of white cotton over on her lap and fed her needle through the fabric, continuing a delicate feather-stitch along the cuff in a silky white thread. At her feet, a hefty old sewing box sat with a nearly completed full layette folded on top, each piece as lovingly assembled and embroidered as the last.

She heard her husband fumbling around in the kitchen, thinking himself quiet as the grave in there as he stomped about, still in his boots, long before he popped into the adjacent room with her, placing a cup and saucer of steaming, muddy-black tea on the side table by her, leaning around to kiss the side of her face and rub her upper arms with freezing-cold hands.

"Sorry, darlin'," he said. "The animals went down fine, but the damned dog wouldn't come down out the field for nothing. Had to chase it down myself."

"Hm. Stove's off?" she asked without looking up.

"Stove's off," he confirmed, going to his chair and sinking down with a wearied groan, as if breathing the long day out of his overworked bones. She smiled a little. He was still pleasant to look at with the day's grime on him, fair-eyed and caramel-haired, with the darling little cleft in his chin she used to giggle to her friends about when they were girls together.

He caught her peeking and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile back. He leaned in over the arm of the chair, peering at her work.

"Nearly done, I'd say, hm?"

"Mm. Nearly."

"I still say we have plenty baby's things already."

"He will have his own things." The needle punctured the cotton with a hard pop. "I know, I know. You've said it and I've heard it." Simeon sunk back into his chair, wiggling as if he could burrow himself even deeper into it.

She paused to take a sip from her tea, about strong enough to stain leather, just as she liked it, clearing her throat as she picked the needle up again.

"I've named him," she plainly told him.

"Pardon?"

"The baby; I've named him. And I won't hear nothing about it. You've named every one this far– this might be my only chance to name one."

"Very well; what is it?"

"You can know when he's born. It's been in my mind since I was a girl."

Simeon gave an amused chuckle. "Alright, well what– uh, what sort of name is it?"

She stopped her hand to look up at the fire and think a moment before the answer came to her.

"A strong one," she said. "Thriving."

"All good things." Simeon seemed to accede entirely, though he still had questions. "Does it feel strong? In your belly?"

She frowned down at her belly, her red chintz wrapper tied just above the healthy, round swell.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It– doesn't feel like much of anything, one way or another."

Unfortunately true, with the way she'd treated her pregnant belly the past few months. It reminded her of years before, when she'd not lived on the farm for long, before the Fossers.

They were hungry, hungrier than she'd ever been before or since. They couldn't afford to properly feed the chickens; they'd already culled all the ones they could spare-- and once or twice an egg would be laid with half a shell, so thin that even if she tried her best to lift one with slow, gentle hands, it'd burst at her lightest touch, spilling over her fingers, and the hens would cackle and crow with excitement. Simeon told her it was normal; just an unfortunate result of a poor diet, but it wasn't any less frustrating at a time when each egg was precious.

She pulled her wrapper more snugly around her middle. She'd reached this size only twice before. One baby she'd lost around this many months along and, as always, she had the midwife show her the poor little thing. The younger ones were barely anything, lumps of flesh wrapped in cloth. This was different. This was almost a baby, almost, yet not quite. Its body far too small, its skin shiny and translucent, its face barely a face at all.

That's what would be living inside her now. Tiny, pink and infirm. It felt that if she touched this one too much through her skin, if she loved with too many hands, his shell might break apart, then his body beneath, leaving her holding nothing but pieces.

So, she let him be. Occasionally she'd feel him move and kick, reaching out to her, reminding her that he was still there, but she would seldom answer him. Simply let herself feel the relief it gave, and move on.

"And if it's a girl?"

Simeon's query brought her back into the room. She offered him a quick glance, then shook her head.

"It's a boy, they've all been boys."

"I'm just saying."

"When's the last time your family had anything but boys?"

Simeon paused. "O-four. My great aunt Hitty, but she had half a beard, herself, so..."

"Exactly. It's a boy." She allowed a hint of a chuckle as she bit off and fastened her thread, running her thumb over the detailing before starting on the opposite cuff. So tiny, hard to imagine a little wrist in there, though she'd seen it done once before. She rolled the two sides of the cotton together between her fingers, sampling the softness, then pierced it through.

In her peripheral, she could see Simeon watch her for a while, then give up, looking back to the fire with his hands tucked up behind his head. She let him rest long enough to complete the first inch or so of her cuff, then laid her final decision upon him.

"You'll be near," she told him. "When he's born."

"Pardon?"

"You won't go out for a drink, or a ride," she elaborated. "You can be down here, in the parlor, or out in the field, I don't care a fig. I'll have you near."

Simeon chuckled. It seemed to entertain him. "You've made your mind up about many a thing, haven't you, m'girl? Supposing the Fossers have me out of town? If the little man decides to be early?"

"Then you'd best come running back like hell's fire's at your heels." She lowered her work to her lap so she could look right at her husband. "You have to be here for him, Simeon. You have to be near so the devil himself sees you and says 'I can't never touch this child; I can't touch him because his daddy is Simeon Howley and he's much too tough to try.'"

Simeon laughed until he met her eye and saw the look inside it. Then, he settled himself, but kept a sweetness to his expression.

"If it brings you peace," he told her. "Here I'll be, Miss."

She smiled, and reached out her hand to him. Taking the gesture, he rose from his seat and went to her, kneeling down by the arm of her chair.

"You hear that?" he spoke down to her belly. "You see this?"

He raised his bent arm, flexing until the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over the muscle, completing the show with an exaggerated arch of his brow.

"I got you, little man."

Flossie threw her head back and laughed out happy and loud, and when she came back down she gave Simeon a playful ruffling of the dust-coated hair atop his head. Settling in close, he reached in and rubbed a hand lovingly over her belly, and she pulled open her wrapper from the chemise underneath, so he'd have an easier time of it.

Simeon's hands were different, heavy and dirt-stained as they were. It didn't bother her if he touched. His hands were safer, they could protect the little one in his shell far better than she ever could.

"That your head or your arse, then, son?" Simeon puzzled aloud as he felt, making her laugh again so her tummy shook against his palm. He grinned like a child, absently running his hand back and forth over the summit.

"Well," he went on. "--I can't wait to know your name, pal. But listen, you go easy on your mother, hm? Come right on out when you're ready and when you're standing on your own, I'll take you fishing, and riding. I'll teach you to shoot."

"Simeon... Psh."

"--and I'll put you on my shoulders on the hill, so you can see the whole town, like my Pa used to do with me. It's a pretty little place, you'll like it."

Flossie smiled sadly, rubbing her thumb under his chin, then holding it in her hand. How terribly she wanted to make all the things he spoke of happen for him. She almost did, a few times before. And she knew, in the bones of her, that this was probably her last chance. This man loved her; she trusted that wouldn't change, but could a tiny piece of him, however miniscule, not resent her if she failed one last time? If this was all they'd ever be?

They stayed this way a while, Flossie setting her needlework aside so they could enjoy each-other's closeness next to the fire. Then, always tired far before she ever was, Simeon rose back to his feet, kissed her and asked her to come soon to bed, then wished her goodnight and disappeared to the other room and up the old, creaking stairs.

Instead, Flossie sat alone until the fire burned itself out to embers which barely cast their glow past the fender, leaving her in near darkness, save for the moonlight through the far shutters.

And there, all alone, she sat up straight and, like her former self, reaching so carefully beneath the bellies of the hens, she placed a hand upon her stomach, almost too light to feel the touch herself.

"Do you see how much we're counting on you?" she whispered, her fingers gently pressing the firm flesh beneath linen. "You'll be strong, won't you?"

She drew in a nervous breath that fit snug in her chest, allowing herself to lay her palm flat, feel the change in depth, the obvious life that lay there, changing the very shape of her.

"Won't you, William?"

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Raided my wip for some random, whumpy dialog snippets for whumptober, in case I don't get around to anything special! (No particular order)

What's your favourite? Feel free to ask if you're curious about any scenes!

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Breaking my own heart

Breaking my own heart...

Breaking my own heart

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Another little preview that gives the 'whumperflies' 😊

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"Have you ever danced with a lady before?'

"Yes, in fact. I have."

"Uh-huh. Who, then?"

"My aunt-- and she said I was very charming company, so... Something to consider."

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The Martha/Bill parallel posts will not be stopped

~

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😈

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SYWTW Masterlist

[[MASTERLIST UNDER CONSTRUCTION! SOME LINKS WON'T FUNCTION]]

Hello! I'm B (she/her), an author and fairly active single-wip writeblr working with themes such as character-driven horror, historical-fiction, whump, as well as various complicated romantic, platonic and familial relationships.

I'm providing a masterlist of the various tags on my blog (beneath the read more) for easy navigation. I always interact and am always looking for writer friends, so don't be afraid to reach out.

Character Tags

-Main Characters-

#◇ 'long way down to the bottom of the river' (sally)

#◇ 'losing grip of what i thought i knew' (martha)

#◇ 'are these vultures overhead?' (sylvester)

#◇ 'baby lion lost his teeth' (john-ira)

#◇ 'try a little topsy-turvy' (prudence)

#◇ 'delicate in every way but one' (annie)

#◇ 'i belong to here' (rosfridur)

#◇ 'i've taken a week to feel free' (bill)

#◇ 'melodies and trees hang by my side' (amos)

-Secondary Characters- (WIP)

#◇ 'every little hour that i spend' (orie)

#◇ 'for every wrong you did to me' (kate)

#◇ 'when does the reason become the blame?' (simeon)

#◇ 'cause she's just like the weather' (flossie)

#◇ 'help me hurt you' (alfie)

Ship Tags

#♡ 'wherever you go please take me' ⁻ (john x prudence)

#♡ 'dont you hear me howling babe' (sylvester x rosfridur)

#♡ 'moments before i hit the ground' (martha x annie)

#♡ 'star hopping lover' (bill x amos)

#♡ 'if the sun stops waking up over the fields ' (simeon x flossie)

Setting Tags (WIP)

#setting (sywtw)

#location ~ foundling creek

#location ~ the puck home

#location ~ platton

#location ~ the howley home

#location ~ the bawdy gal

Writeblr Tags

#my writing (sywtw)

#snippet (sywtw)

#soundtrack (sywtw)

#writeblr

#whump writeblr

#historical fiction writing

#writing resources

#♤ ooc answers

#♤ ic answers

6,937 notes

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"Someone out there thought I should've died once when I'd barely started. I figure it my great act of defiance to feel my heart pound in my chest as often as I can.

Living feels good, even when it doesn't, I say. I'll take more if you got it, you know?"

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About a week ago @averyharrypotterandjatplife suggested this song to me for John Ira & Prudence and I've been playing it on repeat pretty much ever since and the brainrot actually got so bad that I felt I needed to write something inspired by the song.

So here's a quick little scene to further help readers understand why these two mean everything to me. It may be kept in, I don't know, but it sparked joy.

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Summary: John Ira patches Prudence up after a close-call and Prudence gives him a firm reminder of where she stands.

Characters: John Ira Puck, Prudence Appeldoorn

Words: 1'434

CW: Description of minor injury, swearing.

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Prudence sat alongside and allowed John to pull both her legs across his lap. Carefully she folded back the bottom half of her skirt and found the circle of blood around the tear in her stocking had doubled in size. When he peeled back the hosiery, coagulation had stuck itself to the cotton and was miserable to pull away. She winced, and he did the same. 

"Oh, disgusting." She turned her knee out a little to better view the damage. "My poor little knee. I'm sorry, darling, I just don't think I can be down on it for a while." 

John Ira gave a phony, one-syllable chuckle and shifted her leg back into place, wringing the wine-soaked rag into the bowl with one hand. 

"John?" Prudence snapped her fingers. "John Ira, the joke. You're supposed to blush and give me a scolding look, now." 

He shook his head, but gave a short laugh that felt at least a touch more genuine, so she let it go. 

With great care, he took the rag to her knee, delicately brushing loose the dirt from her torn-up skin and she sucked in her stomach to keep from pulling away from the sting. 

"I'm sorry," he said, quiet enough to barely be heard. Brow knit with concentration, he hunched over her legs for a close look as he meticulously cleaned out the deep scrape. 

Always so focused, she needed not to look too much into it. Still, she didn't like the firmness in his jaw. While his hands remained gentle, everything else seemed to subtly clench in their place. 

Finally, she had to bite. 

"Are you angry–?" 

"He would've killed you." He spoke up so abruptly that Prudence nearly jumped. 

He looked up. "That man. He…He wanted to."

"That wasn't exactly unavoidable, John," Prudence retorted. "I did everything you said and I did it just fine. The only mark on me is because I fell. That's it. I'm alright. We're alright." 

"This time." He went back to his task. "I just… I guess I just don't find it all that funny." 

He went quiet again, fetching the cut linen from the arm of the chesterfield and beginning to dress her wound, tying a small knot just beneath the kneecap. She watched, waiting for more, then gave her own words when nothing came.

"You're angry with me because of a joke?" 

"I'm not angry with you, Prudence, don't put words in my mouth." 

"You're taking a tone that I don't much like– Ouch!" She yipped when he drew the final knot with a much harder yank than the rest, and he immediately placed a hand lightly over the offended spot, hissing as if he'd done it to himself. 

"Fuck!" He spat out. "I'm sorry, I– God dammit. I'm so sorry, Pru. God dammit." 

He put his knuckle to his mouth and turned his face the other way, opposite fingers now anxiously drumming on her shin as he loudly blew out air. 

"Hey there." She shifted herself a little closer, tossing her skirt back over her knees.  "What are you doing? Don't turn away." 

She put a hand under his chin and used it to pull his face back. He stopped her only once he looked straight ahead, the agitation gone and replaced with hurt, a hint of a pained grimace. 

"Oh dear," she sighed. "It's alright. No harm done." 

"I've cursed you." He said, then stuck his tongue in his cheek, nodding at the mantle. "Y-You are out here; you're in this place and it's gonna hurt you and it's going to keep hurting you, I–" 

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," she soothed, cutting him off. "We're not doing this. I won't hear it." 

"It hasn't yet been three weeks and you could've died today." 

"I nearly died back home, remember? That is why I'm here. A man, no better or worse than that man today, tried to take my life in my safe, comfortable home." 

She leaned on his shoulder with both hands, trying to urge him to look at her, but ended up talking to his side profile. 

"You are not the reason I'm out here," she spoke firmly. 

"You are the reason I knew where to go. You were somewhere to run to… to make me so much less afraid on the worst night of my life. Are you hearing me?" 

He sighed. "Yes, of course." 

"This has been scary," she continued. "My jests don't mean I'm not terrified. I don't know what I'm doing at all. I might never see my family again. I don't want to get hurt and I don't want to get you or your people hurt and I'm scared, Johnny. I am." 

She felt him tense under her hands and shifted in even closer so she could wrap both arms around his shoulders. He sighed again and put a hand over hers. 

"But you're so foolish if you think you're the curse here…" she kept on. "Honey, you're the steady thing that I can hold onto. You are why I still laugh. You're all I have."  

On her last syllable, her voice caught and she tried to clear the tightness from her throat to little avail. So, once more, she tried to coax him with a hand to look at her. He did, and finally met her eye for the first time since they'd arrived.

"What if I fail?" He asked her with a fragility that hurt to hear. 

"Fail?" She scoffed. "Fail me? My love, I am not a task. You can't fail me."

She swiped her cheek and continued. "I am simply someone who– who loves you so much that she acts rather stupid about it, sometimes and… goes telling terrible jokes that you hate because I just want to laugh with you because you have such a sweet laugh–" 

That made him chuckle a little as if on queue, and she widened her eyes and pointed a finger at the smile that he tried to put away. 

"See! Right there!" she sang out. "I adore it. I adore you. And you mustn't think these dreadful thoughts because then it'll make it harder for you to adore me. And you really ought to adore me, John, because I'm so good to you and I'm quite soft and I smell nice…" 

He shook his head, visibly fighting back laughter. "Alright, alright. I understand, but you know I can't help it." 

"Ah, I know," she sighed, taking his face in her hands. "My handsome darling is burdened with heroism. Poor thing."

Before he could quip back, she kissed his mouth, then his cheek and gave him a gentle but firm whap on the back of his shoulder. 

"Now, move your ass because I can't feel mine." 

"Oh, my god," he laughed, helping her lift herself up onto her feet. She took a few ginger steps toward the fire, then turned and put her hand out. 

"Come dance with me." 

"Are–" he blinked. "What? Your leg, Prudy." 

"I'm fine. Come on. Real slow n' sweet-like. Come here." 

He shook his head. "No. Knowing you, you'll twist and crack your whole leg open like a goddamn crab. Prudy, no." 

"Fine." She stuck her chin up. "I'll just sway myself." 

She lifted her arms about her waist and stepped side-to-side to an imaginary rhythm to make her point, careful to keep her weight to one side, all the while watching him watch her with exasperated amusement.

"Though…" she mused. "I am feeling rather woozy from the terrible blood loss. Shame there's not some tall man with… strangely long arms to come and keep me steady– Oh, woah!" 

She faked a tip to the right, catching herself just before a very dramatic fall, and John Ira rose, shaking his tight-lipped head at her. 

"You're awful." He said, taking her arms and guiding them up around the back of his neck as she grinned like a child, not bothered one bit by the accusation. 

"Ah, there we are… like two sturdy branches…" 

"They're not that– I swear to–" 

"-- outstretched far as the eye can see." 

"Prudence!" 

She giggled, and he did the same, hugging her close to his chest and ever-so-softly rocking her from left-to-right, letting her lean on him to keep her off her sore leg as she hummed a little made-up tune to the pops and cracks of the fireplace. Surely there'd be only a few minutes more before the room was full of bustling life again, but for now she'd just have the two of them alone– and the little melody she'd never remember again. 

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Kate Poole Dialog Snippet

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"Poor boy," she pouted, bumping her knickle on his cheek. "Dear thing. Make a deal with me, alright? No tricks, no withdrawals. I would like to earn your trust. Show that you can trust me." 

She sat back in the creaking chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap while she made her offer.

"One tiny little answer for me," she said. "One crumb of cooperation, one sign that we can work together– and I swear that while you're here, however angry I get and the good lord knows, honey, you can make me so... unhappy, sometimes–"

She reached out again, fingers stopping just short of brushing his brow. 

"--I promise to leave your poor, tired little face intact, as-is. Make sure that sweet little wife you got can recognize you when you come home, hm?" She chuckled. "And I'll tell the boys the same. I don't think they'll pout too much about it. How does that sound?" 

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"How the hell did you get in here?"

He shrugged, ghosting his fingers over the top of the lady's dressing table and tossing the key into a ceramic jewelry dish.

"I am-- incredibly intelligent. Can we talk?"

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"You could be much more than your family."

"I-- don't want to."

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"Young man, why do you keep your hands behind your back?"

"Simple. They don't work."

"Nonsense. What exactly are you hiding?"

"Actually, a rather painful erection. Care to help a fellow out? Or would you rather shut up and get back to work?"

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"Stop shooting at me! Fuck!" he screamed from his cover, then laughed to himself as he fumbled with the chamber.

"My aim isn't very good and I can't reload the son of a bitch. Can't you give a minute? Give me a minute!"