Mmmmmm Fish And Chips….

please potato. get me a job. PLEASE.

Are you gonna finish dark matter, or is it abandoned?

cause I read that in like 2 days and it was tje best fic I've ever read.

next week probably

[ HOSPITAL ]

Now. You might be wondering why on earth my first thought was that I was a reincarnate rather than—well rather than something normal like coming out of a coma or being miraculously saved at a hospital. 

(Miraculously—heh. You’ll get that joke soon enough). 

But let’s review the facts, shall we? 

Firstly, I got stabbed and bled out. I felt myself die. It was horrible, and agonizing, and quite frankly horrifying, but there’s no mistaking that sensation. Nothing else would compare, and I knew that I’d carry that feeling for the rest of my life. (Would that be the appropriate term, if the way I was alive counted for anything? The rest of my existence, maybe?)

Secondly, I woke up somewhere cold and unfamiliar. Not in an ambulance, not in a hospital bed, but rather with the strangest bone-deep conviction that I was somewhere warm and all-encompassing and suddenly wasn’t. This confused me the most, because­­—as I said—there was no possible way for me to have survived in any normal sense. It would take a miracle and a half, and evidently that hadn’t come up if the way I was carried around in the arms of strangers as though I weighed nothing had anything to say about this absurd situation.

And thirdly. This was the most damning part of it all: the last words I’d heard before I’d fallen asleep.

“Félicitations, c'est une fille!”

With my limited high-school French, even I could understand this.

Congratulations—it’s a girl!

So, with all these clues, with everything adding up the way it did, is it even a mystery that my first thought was reincarnation?

***

When I wake up from my impromptu nap, it’s to warmth. Cosy, pleasant warmth, the kind that makes you want to burrow further under your covers and maybe kick your feet due to the sheer contentment you feel, and drift lazily to sleep.

I was set on doing that—determined, even, to push away all thoughts of the sheer magnitude of this situation, and the absurdity of it—but my stomach decides that it’s going to rebel and make me aware of the fact that I was starving. The sensation is overwhelming, my tiny body wracked with hunger that felt devastating, and I do the only thing that this tiny body is capable of doing. I scream. I cry.

This is vastly different from my last outburst. That was the confused, panicked wail of an adult-turned-baby, and with the confusion and overstimulation and bright lights and cold and the smell of hospital disinfectant and being wet and slimy and being slapped on my rear­—

Yeah, there was nothing left for me to do except scream; no recourse available apart from distress that was devastating in its intensity.

This cry of mine is instinctual. It’s what this body decides to do, and before I’m even aware of it, I’m doing it again. Louder, even, as though my mouth and lungs have remembered what to do and are compensating for the initial delay. My limbs are trapped in fabric, and before I can panic at that, I’m lifted. Cradled.

My eyes are closed, squinted, and I’m sure that even if I could open them, I wouldn’t be able to see anything. But my ears don’t have that problem, and I can hear a soft voice murmuring in that same musical language—which I can now tentatively identify as French­—and I can hear the snap of something, a strap loosening and then—

Oh.

Oh.

Warmth. A new kind of warmth. It’s sweet, and rich, and flows down my throat like I’m starving. (As an aside, this was my first taste of food in this new life, no matter the source. No wonder I felt euphoric, almost drunk on finally filling my stomach, when this tiny body had never even felt so much as a hunger pang before).

I don’t think; I just act, latching onto the offered source of food and drinking as though my life depends on it. It’s humiliating. It’s weird. It’s something that I adamantly don’t want to think about, my mind shying away from exactly where I’m greedily guzzling from.

The voice above me hums softly. It’s a lullaby I don’t recognise, and it sounds soothing. My eyelids droop, a deep satisfied sleepiness creeping in again. This body betrays me by falling asleep, and honestly? I don’t fight it. I don’t want to think about what happened. I don’t want to process all that’s happened. Not now. Not yet. 

I sleep.

[PREV] [MASTERPOST] [NEXT]

***

FIND THE REST HERE:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64262899/chapters/164948017#workskin

Writing Prompt #15 (NSFW, Smut Below)

"Noo," Sam whines, head thunking back against the baseboard.

"Yeth," Danny says, hands gripping her thighs harder.

"No, I mean yes!" Sam says, legs spasming in Danny's solid hold, one hand grabbing his hair to push him further into her. "No to that!" she says, head turning towards the bedside table, where the flip phone is vibrating so hard it's about to fall over the edge. An apt visual metaphor Sam will think about when Sam can think.

Danny's large hands slide under her ass to pull her even deeper onto his tongue and she bites back a shriek as her thighs land on his shoulders. The dip where his trapezius muscle meets the bulge of his delts cradles each leg perfectly as he splays himself flat against the bed with a gentle grind and a harsh groan.

"Danny," Sam moans, hand gripping hair tighter. This does nothing to dissuade the man who, by all accounts, has decided to live between her legs for the past hour and into the next. Rather, if history proves true, all it does is spur him on.

"Danny, the phone—!"

One hand drops a leg as the cell finally falls off the table, snatching it out of midair. Sam recognizes the windup of a throw as his hand angles back and this time she yanks away.

Danny comes up for air with enough resistance to make his protest clear but not enough to hurt her, a frustrated frown already forming.

"Sam," he growls.

Her legs spasm again, and Danny's eyes dip down a split second before his head does.

She yanks again.

"What?" Danny snarls.

"Do not destroy the Justice burner," Sam tries to scold, landing on breathless. Danny blinks at the phone in his hand, as surprised to see it as he is to see himself about to yeet it into the plaster.

"Oh," he says, opening his palm to let it drop unharmed to the floor. "Fine."

"No," Sam says, pulling at his hair and stifling a whimper when he goes with it, biting his lip. "You need to, to answer it. It's the, the,"

"Shhh," Danny says, bending down to nuzzle her stomach, nibbling under her belly button and making her shiver. "Only one thing I need to do—"

"It's the emergency, tone, ah! It's an emergency."

Danny presses an ice cold kiss to the top of her that sends shudders of heat through her body, before a warm tongue trails languidly, lingeringly...

"I'll get there when I get there," he says, muffled. Sam gives in for a minute (or two, or three) before biting back a sob as the phone begins to ring anew.

"They keep calling—fucking fuck!" She arcs up over the arm clamped across her lower belly, using both hands to grab his face and kiss him as she shakes through an orgasm. Her eyes refocus to the soft awe in his, at odds with the smug, lewd smile slowly unfurling on his face.

A smile that immediately drops at someone pounds at their front door.

"Ignore them—" Danny starts.

"They can pick locks."

"—frick and a half!"

Sam's hit with wind that sends her hair whipping across her face as Danny speeds through the wall. She scrambles up herself, almost tumbling off the bed in her haste.

"Danny!" Damian Wayne says, bursting into their living room. "We require your assist—what was that?" he asks as Sam slams the bedroom door closed.

"Two words: security. deposit." Danny says, blocking the entryway.

"The door's fine," Tim says, leaning against the frame. Danny would poke fun at the teen's posing if he wasn't two seconds from punting him out the window. "Just because we don't often use a gentle touch doesn't mean we don't know how."

"Um," Dick says, uncharacteristically subdued. His eyes bounce from Danny to the bedroom door behind him. "Sorry to barge in like this."

"What? Of course we're not! You were ignoring a Justice League communication! It is all hands on deck!"

"You know if you keep showing up like this my landlord is going to seriously raise my rent right? I'm up for renewal in two months." Danny crosses his arms, willing his teeth to remain un-fanglike. "When I told you my identity it wasn't so you could visit whenever."

"Our mistake," Tim snarks, "next time we can drop by in full costume. Landlord will definitely like that one."

"How about you don't drop by at all?" Danny says, smiling and by the way both boys flinch back, failing to unfang. It's a testament to the relationship he's cultivated with them that that's all they do, startled rather than fearful.

"Okay, okay, Phantom, Danny, seriously, we're sorry about this," Dick says, shouldering in front of the two boys. "Definitely didn't mean to intrude, or interrupt—"

"Interrupt? Interrupt what?" Damian asks.

"Nothing!" "Nothing." Dick and Danny say simultaneously, Dick in a loud cry while Danny says it firmly, glowering. Tim blinks, shoulders dropping.

"Oh," he says, eyes bouncing to the bedroom. "Oh." His face flushes red. "Um."

Danny turns ever so slowly to stare accusingly at Dick, who's buried his face in his hands.

"Interesting," Damian says, leaning forward. "I was unaware you could turn your legs into a tail while still in human form. Is this something you do often?"

"It better not be," Danny says.

"O-kay!" Dick all but shrieks. "Phantom, we'll see you when we see you!"

Danny grunts.

"Um, it is important for what it's worth," Tim offers weakly, "Yeah, he's got it," Dick hisses at him, shoving him and Damian out the door as the one behind Danny creaks open.

"Grayson," Sam says. To her credit, only the way her hair is teased up indicates anything amiss. She tosses the Justice burner, still ringing, to Danny. "The world better be on fire."

Dick winces. "Take it up with Batman!" he yanks the front door shut behind him, and they listen to the sound of his footsteps fading before Danny takes one very purposeful step back towards Sam.

"Danny."

"Sam."

"The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

Danny deliberates.

"Deal." And he's gone.

Sam stretches til she hears her back pop, heads for the kitchen and pulls out a bag of popcorn. She opens the microwave door then reconsiders, shutting it. He won't be gone that long, after all.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol* moon’s stuck in a time loop. do you have extra ammo? this won’t be enough. nasa employee: enough for…what? astronaut: *finding extra clip of ammo, pocketing it, and getting back on the rocket-ship* don’t worry about it!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop. nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *emerging from supply closet with a space harpoon, getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut:   oh hey u guys are back early astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: what?  nasa employee: how did you know what i was going to say?  astronaut: *punching in key pad code for base evacuation signal, getting back on the rocket-ship* i told you…moon’s stuck in a time loop. *red warning lights begin flashing*

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *rifling thru bookshelf of operating instructions, selecting one that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: moon’s stuck in a time loop. hey, do you have anything to eat? i’m starving. *opens random drawer, finds nothing, closes it* nasa employee: a time loo- uh, we don’t have food in here…we can’t…eat in the control room, only the break-room. astronaut: *sighs* nasa employee:…my lunch is in like 10 minutes, though, and if my lunch is actually STILL THERE and not STOLEN, AGAIN, i can share it with yo- astronaut: nah, that’s ok…no time. *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* or…too much time. but thanks, anyway. OK, bye! *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: you’re…welcome? wait, a TIME LOOP?!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: yup. nasa employee: …?  astronaut: *sitting down next to nasa employee* so…do you ever like…wonder what the meaning of life is? the secrets of the universe? nasa employee: aren’t you supposed to be ON the MOON?! *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: hey, what the hell is that? astronaut: that’s the code red override klaxon. moon’s stuck in a time loop. oh, and there’s an explosion imminent. But don’t worry, we can deal with that tomorrow. So, you have any siblings? *pulls beer out of space suit, cracks tab* want a drink?

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: do you know frank in IT? nasa employee: what?  astronaut: do you know frank, who works in IT?  nasa employee: yeah, but why are you guys back so early?  astronaut: moon’s stuck in a time loop. call frank, tell him there’s a virus in the security patch and the system’s compromised. then get the hell out of the base.  nasa employee: wait what? what? where are you guys going?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* back to the moon. it’s stuck in a time loop. call frank!  nasa employee: *picks up phone* ugh, straight to voicemail. i wonder wha- *alarm begins blaring*

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: *grim silence* nasa employee: i said, you guys are back early…hey, what are you…?  astronaut: *randomly opening drawers until they find a pair of scissors and some duct tape, getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop. *sticks head back out the door of the rocket-ship* by the way, if you go to the break-room in exactly 2 minutes and 45 seconds, you’ll catch the person who’s been stealing your lunches for the past two weeks. nasa employee: what?! WHO IS IT?! *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: *running for the break-room* FUCK!!!!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *sits down, sighs, pulls a beer out from their spacesuit* moon’s stuck in a time loop. nasa employee: …ok, and? hang on, how did you get a beer? you can’t have that in here. astronaut: what do you know about project floyd? nasa employee: I mean, the usual amount? i’m not really on the project anymore, why?  *alarm begins blaring*  astronaut: COME WITH ME TO THE ROCKET-SHIP, we don’t have ti-

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: yeah. moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop. see you tomorrow. maybe. nasa employee: WHAT?!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *sighs, rubs hands over face, and loads pistol, before getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop. and, uh…you should call your mother like you’ve been meaning to. and tell her you’re not actually mad and that you will come to dinner tonight. you’re gonna be hungry. nasa employee: wait, what? WHAT?? how do you know my mom?! why am i gonna be - *alarm begins blaring* 

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what? astronaut: *grabbing two pistols, an extra box of ammo, a pair of scissors, some duct tape, a space harpoon, and a booklet of operating instructions that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” starting to get back on the rocket-ship, but dropping everything with a horrendous clatter* FUCK! goddamn moon’s stuck in a time loop. *alarm begins blaring*

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what? also, hey, where’d you get that duffel bag? astronaut: *grabbing two pistols, an extra box of ammo, a pair of scissors, some duct tape, a space harpoon, and a booklet of operating instructions that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” shoving them into the bag, and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back earl-  astronaut: *grabs nasa employee and kisses them passionately*  nasa employee: what? WHAT?! astronaut: *loading a single pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop, sweetheart.  nasa employee: what?!? astronaut: a time loop!!! i love you!!! get out of the base!!! stay alive!!! nasa employee: *presses fingers to lips, confused but intrigued, as alarm begins blaring* 

nasa employee:…. nasa employee:… nasa employee: ho hum what a regular day at the office *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: what the hell is that?!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back earl-  astronaut: *grabs nasa employee and kisses them passionately*  nasa employee: what? what?! WHAT!?!? also, hey, where’d you get that duffel bag? astronaut: *grabbing two pistols, an extra box of ammo, a pair of scissors, some duct tape, a space harpoon, and a booklet of operating instructions that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” shoving them into the bag, then cupping nasa employee’s cheek with free hand* moon’s stuck in a time loop. nasa employee: the moon’s stuck in a what?! astronaut: a time loop, sweetheart, but we don’t have much time ourselves, so you have to listen to me RIGHT now nasa employee: *faintly* …“sweetheart”?! astronaut: in 2 minutes and a few seconds, you need to go into the break-room and find frank. nasa employee: wait, frank from IT? astronaut: yes. nasa employee: how do you know he’s gonna be in the break-room? i can’t just call him at his desk right now? astronaut: how do i know this?! because, one, time loop, ok? and…also…because…heismaybetheguywhohasbeenstealingyourlunchfortwoweeks nasa employee: that BASTARD i KNEW it astronaut: BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT’S IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW. hey! listen to me! go in there, catch him red-handed with your burrito, and tell him lunch is on you FOREVER if he goes RIGHT NOW and checks the last security patch - because there’s a virus and the whole system’s compromised. then you need to get the hell out of this base, ok? nasa employee: …ok. ok. and…and what about you? astronaut: *cocking pistol and getting back into rocket-ship with duffel bag* me? i’m gonna shoot for the moon.

EPILOGUE:

nasa employee: so, how many loops in total? astronaut: i mean, it was hard to keep track. somewhere around six months, if i had to guess. nasa employee: damn. astronaut: yeah. nasa employee: and in those six MONTHS, the best zinger you came up with was “shoot for the moon”? astronaut: hey, you know what, i had some other stuff on my mind! nasa employee: i mean, i guess. it sounded like you found time to flirt with me each time. astronaut: yeah, like i said. other stuff on my mind. *they look at each other, blush, and look away* astronaut: sooooooo. you’re sure your mom is cool with me coming over for dinner? nasa employee: can’t make the day any weirder. plus, i owe you for ratting out frank, right? astronaut: he did help us save the world; we can’t be too mad at him. nasa employee: you’ve had a little while to get over it, i might need some more time. and it wasn’t even your food! astronaut: ok, that’s fair. what if i buy you lunch to make up for it? nasa employee: hmm, when? astronaut: tomorrow? nasa employee: well, i’ll have left overs from my mom, and you might too if you play your cards right. day after tomorrow? astronaut: honestly, anytime is good for me.

*FADE TO BLACK*

Something i haven't seen yet in Peter in gotahm fics (wink wink)

Batman, holding a phat envelope out to spider-man: here, this week's pay

Spider-man, skeptically: with all do respect, I don't do this to get paid

Batman: I fund the justice league, who do you think signs off their checks?

This was supposed to be convincing.

Spider-man, entirely aghast: the justice league is a corporate scam too??

Batman, clearly struggling: no, it's—

Spider-man, swinging away, yelling about "not being put under uncle Sam's thumb":

Slow clapping erupts from behind Batman. He turns dramatically to reveal Red Hood laughing his ass off.

Original writing! Kinda funny, I guess? I don’t know, read it under the cut and please tell me what you think!!!!!!! I NEED OPINIONS PLEASE!!

Agatha looked at the man in her hallway incredulously. When she looked behind her, around her, even above her, she looked at him again with an arched brow.

“Care to repeat that?” She asked, with not a small amount of skepticism.

He was still beaming, his smile not faltering even in her impromptu search, and his eyes twinkled—yes actually twinkled— as he opened his mouth, straight white teeth gleaming.

“You, my Lady Agatha, have been determined to be the Chosen One of the Great Prophecy and will be the Realm’s Hero!”

That’s what she thought he’d said. He beamed even brighter at her, his teeth twinkling now. This had to be a dream. Or a hallucination. Or she was dead and this was what her brain had decided to conjure up. Why couldn’t she have a nice hallucination like—like eating at a five star hotel? Or even getting to retire with a hefty pension fund?

She pinched herself. It hurt.

Motherfucker.

The silence stretched, and stretched. And he was still smiling. Was there something wrong with him? Her head was blank, devoid of any thoughts except a faint buzzing sound. And then, just to cut off the silence that was becoming a little stifling by now, she blurted the first thing she could.

“But what about my cats?”

The man blinked, his perfect smile faltering for just a moment. His brow furrowed slightly as if the thought of cats hadn’t quite factored into his grand announcement. He opened his mouth, paused, then tilted his head, clearly trying to reassess the situation.

"Your... cats?" he asked, as though the concept of pets was a foreign one.

Agatha nodded. "Yes, my cats. All three of them. Whiskers, Tibbles, and Shadow. Who’s going to feed them? Who’s going to clean their litter boxes? You can’t just expect me to up and leave them!"

The man hesitated, his eyes flickering as though searching for an answer that would satisfy her. "Well, my Lady, surely your noble companions will be well looked after—"

Agatha cut him off with a raised hand. "By who? You? The Realm’s Hero isn’t exactly a part-time gig, is it? I mean, between saving the world and fulfilling the Great Prophecy, when exactly am I supposed to find the time to change the litter? And do you know how picky Whiskers is about his food? He only eats the chicken pâté, and it has to be room temperature." She was rambling now, and her eyes had strayed over to the door she was leaning against. It was dusty, and she winced a little at the state of it. She’d have to remember to dust it soon. Assuming that this ‘Hero’ business didn’t put her out too much.

The man’s smile had faded entirely now, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. This was not how these proclamations usually went. There was supposed to be awe, excitement, a dramatic embrace of destiny. Not... cats.

Agatha watched as the man struggled to find words, feeling a small sense of satisfaction in his discomfort. She had no idea how to deal with being a "Chosen One," but she was quite adept at handling pushy strangers who thought they could just barge into her life with outlandish demands. Being a wedding planner helped with that. She crossed her arms over her chest, her skepticism growing by the second.

"Listen," she said, her voice softening a bit. "I’m sure saving the,” she had to pause here, remembering his words earlier “Realm is very important and all, but I have a life here. A small life. With cats! You can’t just expect me to drop everything because some prophecy says I’m supposed to. It’s not that simple."

The man finally seemed to regain his composure, standing a little taller and clearing his throat. "My Lady Agatha, the Great Prophecy is not to be taken lightly. The fate of the Realm hangs in the balance, and you are the key to our salvation. Your—" he paused here, much like she did earlier, and he seemed to be clearly struggling with the idea “cats, while surely beloved, are but a small part of a much larger tapestry. Surely you can see the greater good—"

"Stop right there," Agatha interrupted again. "If you’re going to try and guilt-trip me into this, we’re going to have a problem. Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not saying no, okay? I’m just saying I need to think about it. Maybe read up on this prophecy, find out what it actually entails. And, y’know, figure out what to do with my cats." She frowned a little at the end. If the answer was that she had to leave her cats behind, then she was going to have to do a lot of thinking.

The man sighed, the twinkle in his eyes dimming slightly as he realized this conversation was going to be far more complicated than he’d anticipated. How did he do that? "Very well, my Lady," he said, his tone more subdued. "I shall return in three days' time for your decision. In the meantime, I suggest you prepare yourself—both for the journey ahead and for the weight of the responsibility that comes with being the Chosen One."

Agatha nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure what "preparing herself" meant. Finding a bow & arrow? That seemed very on point with what was happening right now.

The man gave a stiff bow, turned on his heel, and with a flash of light that made Agatha wince and shield her eyes, he vanished from her hallway, leaving her alone with her thoughts—and her cats, who had finally decided to come investigate the commotion.

She looked down at Whiskers, who meowed expectantly. "Well," she said, picking him up and scratching behind his ears, "What do you think? Should I save the world? Or should we just go back to bed and pretend none of this happened?"

Whiskers purred loudly, clearly in favor of the latter option.

Agatha sighed. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Like Conner, Danny was a clone of Superman. However unlike Conner, Danny was not designed to replace him. Instead he was created as a test dummy. Day in and day out, he was subjected to various injections, toxins and experiments. All for the purpose of one day using them on the real deal. Danny quickly lost track of the days and the pain as he slipped into mental oblivion. That is until one day, his brother comes busting through a wall.

what if we took the kid from this post …

AND GAVE HIM THE BACKGROUND/PERSONALITY OF THIS POST

AND MAYBE WE CALL HIM GREG OR SOMETHING.

ON FICTIONAL ESSAYS, AND WORLDBUILDING

I love writing. That is a truth; one that I will hold onto for probably my whole life.

I really do love writing, especially for my baby. It is a behemoth of a book that I’d started when I was 11, and continued adding onto it until I started actually writing it when I was 17. I have too many ideas—too many headcannons, too many bits of lore that I want to incorporate into my story.

Again, I think I need to reiterate—I really do love writing. That doesn’t mean I don’t get tired of it. I will go weeks, sometimes even months where I don’t want to even touch it. Where the thought of writing and seeing that cursor just … blink makes me shudder.

But just because I don’t want to write the story doesn’t mean I don’t want to continue with my lore.

Here is another thing about me: I love history. It was my favourite subject at school. I got an A* in it. I love how history is rich, how it’s a long, long story that is still continuing. I love thinking about how people felt. How a decision made hundreds of years ago (if not thousands!) impacts us today.

I also, secretly (guiltily) love essays. Oh, sure I complained about it with my friends whenever it got assigned. But doing the research, finding the right words to articulate your thoughts, being able to read back on your writing—sometimes even just formatting an essay—I really did love it.

And that brings us to the topic I wanted to start today.

Fictional essay writing.

When I can’t stand the thought of writing the actual story, I open a blank document and start writing an essay as though I’m a character in my book needing to write a history assignment. I add actual quotes (albeit fictional), use actual dates, even reference as though I’m the character.

It can be therapeutic sometimes. There’s no pressure to move the plot forward, no anxiety over pacing or character arcs. It’s world-building, but in a reflective way. A way that forces me to know the world I’ve created as deeply as the characters do. It makes me question my decisions, makes me stopper up plot holes.

Sometimes reading back my work—it reads as though a seasoned academic had written it. But they hadn’t—I wrote it. I wrote that battle, that political treaty, that royal lineage. It makes me strangely proud of myself; as though I’ve actually done the work to research and trawl through endless websites until I’ve snagged on one that actually fits my essay. As though I’ve spent hours agonising over it, and sending draft after draft to a professor.

It makes the world feel alive, like it’s breathing outside of the story I’m struggling to write.

And it’s funny, because half the time those essays never make it into the book. They’re tucked away in a folder no one but me will ever read. But I know they’re there. I can always re-read them when I feel the need to; when I’ve forgotten a simple fact, or a food or a certain dialect.

It really is very useful—and it helps that I love it.