#fic history

[cecilysass]

I was thinking about how back in the day there was a really popular genre of fic called MulderTorture. I don’t hear this commonly anymore, but it used to be huge. Do you remember this?

And there was ScullyTorture, too, although I feel like MulderTorture was way more popular, or maybe that’s just me remembering it better because I enjoyed it more.

I think now people would call this whump. The style of fic definitely still exists, although I feel like it used to go WAY further than it does now, sometimes disturbingly so. (In XF fanfic. In other fandoms I think it goes plenty far.) It’s just fic with Mulder suffering physically, mentally or emotionally for angst purposes and then usually hurt/comfort. It could be MSR or slash.

It was VERY popular. Sometimes very extreme. For sure a kinky dimension to some of it. And authors used to brag in notes and in atxc posts about how much they hurt Mulder, which I feel like read out of context now seems kind of weird, but I mean people talk the same way about pretty guys in really popular AO3 ships now, so I guess same same.

Here is the fanlore page about MulderTorture.

Here’s one MT fic page.

You all remember this, right?

[mikewheelerfan2022]

Guys, that one Terminator fic on Ao3 with 8 million words has been topped. On November 17th, somebody posted a One Piece fanfic with 12 MILLION words. And it’s just the same thing over and over again. 12 million repeats of “Nami like it in the butt and mouth.” What the fuck. This is insane, we’re watching Ao3 history right now.

[arunneronthird]

did u know 9 year old damian was canonly exactly like this

[charlotlie]

bitches be like “this is the best piece of literature i have ever read” and it’s either a book that took them six weeks to finish or a fanfic they read at 3 AM

[lgbtlunaverse]

There's a version of the "don't go grocery shopping while hungry" rule specifically for writers where you should never under any circumstances be allowed to touch your draft within 3 hours of reading a really good story. Because sometimes when you read something great your head goes "fuck this is so much better than my stuff I should make that more like THIS instead!" Look at me. That's the devil talking and you should close the document NOW.

[shaddyr]

I remember when fanfiction.net first launched, and we were so excited that there would be a centralized archive where all fic could live! Before that, finding fanfic was an internet spelunking mission, using Altavista, lycos, and webcrawler. And if you found a good archive, you downloaded everything your bandwidth would allow because who knew if the site would still be there the next week.

I wonder what happened to all the stories that used to be on Obsidian Moonlight. I'm sad when I think of all the great spuffy fics that disappeared into the aether...

oh how old am i? i remember when the main fanfic site was fanfiction.net, but it had such a bad reputation that people would nickname it ‘the pit of voles’

[tempo-takoyaki]

"It would be my pleasure to give you a proper tour and introduce you to everyone."

Here is my full illustration for @svsssbigbang for the fanfiction Night at Cang Qiong Museum by @adventure-waffles! An incredible Night at the Museum x Scum Villain AU! Don't hesitate to also check out the other two artists incredible pieces for this fanfiction: dustmeadowx and qiye!

And since I know that tumblr tends to destroy the quality of my illustrations, here are some close-ups under the cut:

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[cirrup]

First picture POV: you are being…threatened(???)

(Did I alter the iconic three to be two wandering cultivators and a spirit beast they abducted ? Yes. I just like when sqh gets to actually bond with the other peak lords and if it means he has to do that in an animal companion form then that’s just how it has to be)

[questionablecuttlefish]

This is a FASCINATING piece of Lightcannon history that us Lux/Jinx shippers really needed to know, thank you.

I'd love to track down these older fics and read them, but don't have an FF.net account so I might have to make one just for that.

Thanks for sharing!

So, thoughts on the whole Jinx x Lux shipping popularity blowing up? Why it happened, do you think it can work, especially with the context of Arcane involved?

I don't actually know the history of that ship, so I can't tell you much about that (someone else please reblog if you have a good timeline!)

I know it certainly bloomed with the Star Guardian skins, casting Lux and Jinx SPECIFICALLY as opposites and bitter rivals who nonetheless come together when it matters because they are bound by bonds of deep affection and mutual need, which, in the context of magical girls which are sapphic as F*** at a baseline, obviously was going to set some things in motion.

Their dynamic also works pretty well just on the trope level. Lux is a optimistic, bright ray of sunshine who wants to see the best and the good in everyone and everything but struggles tremendously feeling inadequate to her responsibilities, and Jinx is a sardonic, detached, self-destructive force of chaos who aggressively refuses to take anything seriously, and whose carefree demeanor hides a deep well of hurt and sorrow.

That's in Star Guardians, mind you, Jinx is... a bit all over the map as a personality across her incarnations, but they generally work well together as contrasting opposites with something meaningful to offer one another.

In Arcane, I have no idea what Demacia would be like, but assuming it goes like it does in the main canon, Lux and Jinx certainly would share some foundational traumas, both of them on the receiving end of rejection and systemic abuse by oppressive hierarchies, and experiencing severe rejection and abandonment by parental and sibling figures.

[justyourcasualidiot]

Y’all know those fics where nightwing joins the justice league without anyone knowing about his connection to batman and stuff?

Well I need one where he joins the league and him and batman are able to act professional enough that no one even consider them knowing each other more than just as colleagues. They don’t seem particularly close, they work well together, which is to be expected considering how similar they are.

Literally everything is fine, no one has any doubts, it doesn’t cross anyone’s mind.

Then they walk in on them arguing.

At first it sounds like a classic argument that always happens when working on a team with someone. You’re bound to disagree on something at some point.

But then it starts to sound like the kind of argument that’s clearly a repeated thing. Whatever nightwing and batman are fighting about, they’ve faught about it before.

It starts sounding weirdly personnal. Too personnal for two coworkers who just started working together maybe a few months before.

It’s enough for the other members to start wondering if maybe the two might have known each other for longer than expected and have simply never mentionned it.

Then they hear it.

"Stop acting like you’re my father. I stopped being your responsibility a long time ago"

[noodles-and-tea]

Back at it with my enchanted merthur shenanigans

[pidgydraws]

🐎 the trail that leads me to you 🐎

vis dev for Cardine's western AU (it's like~ Oregon Trail but make it jayvik!) that i was so kindly commissioned to do artwork for. <3 i am very, VERY excited to have a good excuse to draw horses! <3 <3 <3

i've already read the first 40 chapters and have so many parts i want to draw that it'll be hard to pick which to do first! hahaha! if you like cowboy shit, angst, and AUs that make use of the majority of the cast i'd definitely recommend it!!!

(bonus: more cowboy!jayvik art >here< now! and also >here< <3)

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 4,801. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23, @leathesimp. —the lost queen series masterlist. — ko-fi

Chapter 20

The march was an ordeal for all involved. The scorching summer heat punished soldiers and animals alike, making each step a monumental effort. Armor gleamed in the merciless sun, and the air seemed to ripple with the heat rising from the arid ground. The mood was almost palpable, a shadow that followed the ranks like an unwelcome companion. Yet everyone knew that they would rather face the scorching sun than face the icy winter winds that chilled them to the bone.

The destination was Babylon, a journey that would take months, according to the strategists' calculations. The army, vast in number and presence, advanced slowly due to the chariots, tents, and supplies that accompanied it. This slowness irritated Alexander deeply. He was completely focused on his goal: to rescue his wife, no matter the cost.

He was Alexander, and he would raze cities, enslave people, and send men to the sword until he recovered his wife, his Queen.

His wife and child were waiting for him. Alexander missed (Y/N) terribly. The moments they spent together, few but significant, did not make up for the emptiness in his chest due to his wife's absence. Nothing could fill the void that was eating away at him except having her in his arms once more, and this time he would be sure that no one could take her away from him again.

Impatience was eating away at him. He ardently wished to have wings like Icarus, to take flight and cross the sky to the gates of Babylon. Each day that passed seemed like an insult to his desire for action, an affront to his restless spirit.

It was then that he made a strategic decision. To speed up the advance, he decided to divide the army in two. He would lead the vanguard, accompanied by his main officers and the elite of his soldiers. The rearguard would be under the command of Parmenion, an experienced and trustworthy general. It would still take time to reach the city, but the movement would be faster with fewer men and baggage at the front.

Alexander would naturally lead the first group. His eagerness to advance as quickly as possible was almost tangible. Part of him wanted to mount Bucephalus and gallop non-stop to Babylon, ignoring all the risks of the road. However, reason prevailed over impulse. He knew that abandoning his army would be foolish. The path was treacherous, full of possible ambushes and challenges that would require his command and leadership. And he could not simply leave his own people behind.

As the sun set, dyeing the horizon red and gold, Alexander rode at the head of his troops, his gaze fixed on the east. Babylon was far away, but in his mind, he could already visualize the city gates, the imposing walls and the reunion that fueled his spirit. Determined and tireless, he advanced, guided by passion and the promise of victory.

Soon, he promised himself, (Y/N) would be back in his arms and he would never let her leave his side again.

"Alexander, please. The soldiers and animals need to rest." Hephaestion insisted, his voice thick with concern. He watched his friend closely as the men set up their makeshift camp for the night. The sky was already painted with shades of purple and gold, announcing the end of the day, but Alexander remained restless, almost oblivious to the exhaustion of everyone around him.

If it were up to him alone, Alexander would have continued the march without hesitation, ignoring the approaching darkness and the limits of the human body. But he knew that leadership was not just about giving orders; it was also about understanding the needs of his men. As much as he wanted to force them forward until their feet were raw, he needed to be wise.

"Fine," Alexander replied with a heavy sigh, finally giving in. He removed his sword from his belt and placed it at his side, as if the act symbolized a brief surrender. His eyes, intense and determined, fixed on Hephaestion. "But tell them that tomorrow, at first light, we will march again!"

Hephaestion sighed deeply, a mixture of relief and frustration. He knew Alexander better than anyone, and knew that this was as much of a concession as he could get. "I will," He replied with a slight nod, before walking away to relay his orders.

The camp soon came to life, filled with the sound of the soldiers' tired voices. Some drank wine around the campfires, their hoarse laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames. Others ate in silence or tended to their wounds, enjoying the brief respite of a night without marching.

Inside his tent, Alexander secluded himself. Sitting on a simple rug, he opened his copy of the Iliad. The epic poem was more than just reading material for him; it was a refuge, an anchor in the midst of the storm that raged within his mind. His eyes scanned the words greedily, absorbing the stories of heroes and battles that he so admired.

Alexander could not help but make the inevitable comparison. Once again, he saw himself as Achilles, the hero he so admired and whose legacy he aspired to equal — or even surpass. Hephaestion, ever loyal and ever present, was to him what Patroclus had been to the legendary warrior, a friend, a soul brother, someone he trusted more than himself.

But there was a third figure in this epic narrative that shaped his life. (Y/N), his wife, was his Briseis. Just as Agamemnon had torn Briseis from Achilles, breaking the hero's trust and inciting his fury, (Y/N) had been taken from Alexander. Not by a superior commander, but by Perdiccas — someone he had dared to call a friend.

Perdiccas' betrayal was an open wound in Alexander's heart. A man he had trusted had now allied himself with the Persians, keeping his wife captive. The memory of (Y/N)'s face, her beauty, her grace, her laughter, fueled his determination. He refused to accept that she would remain out of his arms, held captive like a trophy of war.

Thoughts boiled in his mind as he clenched his fists. He knew that, like Achilles, his anger and pain would drive him. But unlike the Greek hero, Alexander would not let anger cloud his mission. He would use his intelligence, his skill as a strategist, and his unbreakable willpower to get her back. He has to.

No matter the price he had to pay. No matter how many men or how many miles separated them. He would cross deserts, face armies, and defy even the gods if necessary. Because (Y/N) was not just his wife; she was his heart, the part of him that made him human amidst the divinity of his dreams.

And just as Achilles had gone after Briseis, Alexander would go to Babylon to seek (Y/N). But unlike his favorite hero, he would not let anyone stop him. Perdiccas would pay for his betrayal, the Persians would fall, and he would bring his wife back. No matter the cost. No matter the time. He would get her back.

And everyone who got in his way would be killed.

"Do you really think capturing Babylon right away is a good idea?" Nearchus's voice cut through the crackling of the fire, carrying the drawl of someone who had had a little too much to drink. He swung his wine cup slightly, the dark liquid reflecting the flames.

The other generals looked up, some with impatience, others with amusement. The firelight illuminated their battle-scarred faces, creating shadows that made them look even more worn from the campaign. Alexander was in his tent, lost in thought or reading, as usual, and none of them dared disturb him. As for Hephaestion, they all knew he was busy with his endless duties, and though he had been invited, he had politely declined.

So that left just them. As always.

"Do you want my honest opinion, or would you prefer a more optimistic one?' Ptolemy replied, his mocking smile shining in the firelight. He held his wine with the same casualness of someone going about their day, though the irony was evident in his tone.

Nearchus wrinkled his nose, clearly dissatisfied with the answer, but he didn't bother to reply. He simply took another sip of his wine, perhaps as a way to distract himself. Cassander, as was typical of him, rolled his eyes dramatically and muttered something unintelligible that seemed to include the words "idiots" and "waste of time."

Cleitus, on the other hand, laughed. The sound was low, almost infectious, and it made the others look at him for a moment. He seemed more relaxed than usual, warmed by the wine and the rare camaraderie they shared in the midst of war.

"You may be a bunch of blockheads," He said, gesturing with his free hand, "but oddly enough, I like being here with you."

There was something genuine in his words, though the alcohol certainly helped. No matter how much they had their differences —and there were many — there was an unbreakable bond between them. They could tease each other, argue, and even fight, but when it came time to fight, they trusted each other as friends, as brothers, perhaps.

"Don't get all emotional now, Cleitus." Cassander's mocking voice echoed through the circle of generals, thick with irony as he arched an eyebrow. His green eyes glinted mischievously in the flickering light of the fire, ready to provoke.

"And don’t get all bitter, Cassander," Cleitus snapped back without missing a beat, his tone sharp but with a hint of humor. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing the final blow. "Tell me, is your bed really that empty?"

Cassander's face hardened, his mouth already opening to spew a sharp retort, but before he could fire off his retort, Ptolemy held up a hand, interrupting him with a tone of restrained exasperation.

"Now, no more arguing, huh?" He grumbled as he tilted the jar to refill his cup, the red liquid glistening in the light of the flames. "We're having a decent time, and we don't need two bickering children to ruin it."

Cleitus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he finished his wine in one gulp, not caring when a few drops escaped and stained his dark beard. He looked pleased with himself, relaxing back into his makeshift chair.

Cassander, on the other hand, looked indignant. He shot Ptolemy a sharp look, clearly annoyed at being compared to a child, but decided not to prolong the argument. With an expression that was a mix of irritation and disdain, he just snorted, muttering something unintelligible before picking up his own wine cup.

Nearchus, already visibly drunker, resumed the conversation, his voice carrying a note of sincere concern, albeit slurred. "But seriously, I don't think it’s a good idea to attack Babylon so immediately. The Persians have probably already received the news. They must be preparing, and honestly, another siege is not at all pleasant. We will lose more men than necessary."

The words hung in the air, and Ptolemy sighed, placing his wine cup on the floor, his gaze distant and thoughtful. "Yes, you are right. But what can we do? Alexander is determined. And.... She is our Queen."

The mention of (Y/N) brought a brief silence between the men. The light of the fire seemed to shine a little brighter in each of their eyes as they thought of her. Although the time they spent with her was limited, (Y/N) had earned a special place among the Macedonians.

She was not just Alexander's wife; she was a singular presence, able to touch even the most hardened hearts from years of war. Everyone remembered how she had saved Cleitus from certain death in a previous incident, defying orders to ensure he received medical care, how she had saved him with her own hands. Her kind heart and dedication to every soldier, regardless of rank, were rare qualities.

"She's different," Cleitus murmured, breaking the silence. He stared into the wine in his cup, as if the words had come out of themselves. "She didn’t have to, but she cares. About all of us."

The others nodded silently, even Cassander, who usually maintained a cynical air, seemed lost in thought.

Besides all that, (Y/N) was a good influence on Alexander. Where he was fire, she was the water that balanced him. She brought humanity to the king, reminding him that leadership was not just about conquest, but also about care and responsibility.

That was why they marched. It wasn't just for Alexander, or his glory, or the empire he sought to build. It was also for her, their Queen, someone who didn't deserve to be held captive. They would bring her back, not just out of duty, but because she had become part of the soul of the army.

Cleitus rose from his seat with a determined movement, his eyes shining in the firelight. With the firm stance of a warrior and the conviction of a man who knew what he was fighting for — or in this case, who he was fighting for — he raised his cup of wine.

"For our Queen!" His voice rang out loudly, full of respect and devotion.

For a moment, silence fell, but then, one by one, the other generals followed suit. Cups were raised to the starry sky, almost as an offering to the gods, the glow of the fire reflecting off the red liquids that danced within them.

"For our Queen!" They repeated in unison, their voices mingling, full of fervor and loyalty.

The wine was drank, but the true toast had been made long before that moment. It was in their hearts, in their determination. They would march for Alexander, for the empire, for glory — but above all, they would march for her.

And they would not rest until their Queen was free. And until everyone involved in her kidnapping was dead.

A few days before the march,

Roxanna moved restlessly around her room, unable to contain the anxiety that was eating away at her chest. She felt her servant's fingers sliding through her long black hair, gently combing it, but not even the repetitive gesture could calm her. Her thoughts were far away, swirling around a single name.

"Leave me alone." Her voice was firm, but without emotion. She did not deign to look at her servant, who obeyed immediately, leaving her with her whirlwind of thoughts.

Her father's visit a few hours earlier had only served to heighten her uneasiness.

"Seduce him, Roxanna. Make him marry you. For our people."

His words repeated in her mind like a crushing burden. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was an order. A mission.

She sighed, her eyes lost in the reflection of the bronze mirror before her. Yes, Alexander was a handsome man. An unbeatable warrior, a powerful king. He could offer protection to her people, he could give her a position no other woman in Bactria had ever held. But she wasn't sure if it was the right choice. Not while another woman stood in his way.

Alexander's wife.

Her disappearance should have been a boon to Roxanna, but instead it seemed to only strengthen the bond between them. She knew it was common for a king to have multiple wives, mistresses even. But this.... This was different. Alexander had taken no mistresses — at least not that she knew of — and he was desperate to find her.

In any other circumstance, Roxanna might have found it romantic. A king's devotion, his unbreakable loyalty to one woman. But not now. Not when she wanted to be the only one.

She clasped her hands tightly, her heart pounding.

If she had Alexander's son, he would have to be the heir. The only legitimate heir.

But for that to happen, (Y/N) needed to disappear for good. She might be Darius' captive, but she was still alive. And that was a problem.

Roxanna sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands wrapped around her head as she tried to organize her thoughts. Her fate depended on her next decision, but the path ahead seemed foggy.

Before she could delve any deeper into her worries, her doubts, a loud sound echoed through the room — a firm knock on the door. She jumped, her heart racing in alert. She wasn't expecting anyone.

She frowned, straightening her posture and composing herself before answering.

"Come in." Her voice was firm, though it carried a hint of hesitation.

The door opened slowly, revealing an unfamiliar figure. Roxanna held her breath.

The man who entered was unusually handsome, exuding an aura of mystery and sophistication. His dark, deep-set, attentive eyes seemed to carry the weight of worldly knowledge. He smiled kindly, but something in his posture revealed that this was no ordinary visitor.

His dark hair fell softly over his forehead, and his rich, ornate robes were clearly Persian.

Roxanna felt her body stiffen. Who was he?

"Who... Who are you?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she kept her gaze fixed on him.

The man inclined his head slightly in a respectful gesture, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Aslan, at your service, my lady."

The name sounded strange to her ears. It wasn't Greek. Nor Persian. At least, not from a place she knew.

And that made her even more suspicious.

Roxanna felt a shiver run down her spine as Aslan took a step forward, his smile remaining enigmatic.

"Why are you here?" She tried to keep her voice steady, though a hint of nervousness betrayed her composure. "It's not proper for a woman to be alone with a man, I—"

Before she could finish, he interrupted her.

"Don't worry, little star. I'll be quick."

The nickname took her by surprise, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Aslan was already moving closer. His movement was fluid, confident, as if he was in control of everything around him. Roxanna took a step back instinctively, her muscles tensing in alert.

He laughed softly, a low, melodious sound, without a trace of threat.

"You don't need to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you." His voice was soft, reassuring. His dark eyes, which had seemed enigmatic and unfathomable before, softened.

Roxanna blinked, feeling her own heart slow down. The irrational fear that had gripped her seconds before began to dissipate, replaced by a strange calm.

She didn’t know why, but somehow... She believed him.

"I heard that you might become the second wife of our dear King Alexander." He began, his gaze roaming the room as if he were analyzing every detail.

Roxanna didn't bother to hide her displeasure at the title “second wife.” Her lips tightened, but she remained silent, just staring at the stranger.

Aslan smiled, as if he had already expected this reaction.

"And something tells me you're not happy with this arrangement." He continued, looking directly at her again. "Of course, nothing has been declared yet, and I doubt Alexander will marry you while sweet (Y/N) is still under the Persians. But the possibility exists. After all, it would be a beneficial alliance, especially since Darius' daughter, Stateira, is not yet of marriageable age. You would be the most obvious choice."

Roxanna felt a chill run down her spine as Aslan spoke, his words laced with a seductive yet dangerously calculated tone. She arched a dark brow, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Where was this conversation going?

Then Aslan tilted his head slightly, his gaze gleaming with something between amusement and intent.

"You see, little star," He murmured, his voice a soft, almost hypnotic purr. "I am a man of many talents. And I can make your problem disappear."

His smile widened, and Roxanna felt her stomach turn.

She knew exactly what problem he was talking about.

The silence that followed felt heavy, as if fate itself awaited Roxanna's decision.

A part of her, the rational one, screamed that this was a terrible idea. Nothing came for free, and Aslan was clearly no mere benefactor. But another part — the ambitious, desirous, dreamy part — was filled with excitement.

The idea of ​​being the only queen, the mother of the future heir, the woman at the great Alexander's side...

The thought warmed her chest like fire.

Aslan noticed her hesitation and kept his smile patient, as if he already knew what the answer would be.

"All you have to do is ask me, and I will rid you of your problem." He said it casually, as if he were offering something trivial.

A shiver ran down Roxanna's spine. She swallowed hard. She wasn't naive. She knew that nothing was done without a price.

"And what do you want in return?" Her voice was firm, but her heart was hammering in her chest.

Aslan smiled broadly, his dark gaze glittering.

"Don't worry about that now," He purred. "But I promise it won't be anything too far from your reach."

Roxanna felt her body tense. Every fiber of her being told her this was dangerous. But the promise of what could be... The chance to have everything she wanted...

The excitement, the desire, the dream took over her young mind.

And before she could think twice, the words escaped her lips.

"Do it."

She had just sealed a pact — and she didn't even know the price.

Present day,

Your eyes widened, your heart pounding in your chest as Aslan's words echoed in yoor mind.

Back to your own time?

Was that really what he was saying? Was it possible?

You had never really considered this possibility. You had always assumed that, because you were pregnant, you would be trapped in this place, that the babies inside you were an anchor preventing any return. But now... He spoke as if it were simple, as if everything could be reversed with a snap of his fingers. And maybe it could.

"Are you serious?" Your voice came out shaky, little more than a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Aslan smiled, that feline smile that never fully revealed its intentions, and nodded slowly.

"Yes."

Your heart raced even faster. The chance — if it was even a chance — to go home. To your family. To your time. It was a dream that seemed increasingly distant as you adapted to this strange Era, this reality you never chose but that had somehow become yours.

But why now?

Why was he offering you this choice now, after everything you had been through? After so long? After he himself had sent you here without even asking if that was what you wanted?

Your eyes narrowed, and your voice was firm, thick with suspicion.

"Why?"

Aslan shrugged, as if the answer didn't matter, his smile widening even more.

"Because I think it's time for you to come home, (Y/N)." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something about it that sent a cold shiver down your spine. "You've spent too much time here. Your time is up."

Instead of feeling relief, joy, or hope, something else burned inside you.

Fury.

It took over your body before you could stop it, hot and uncontrollable, and before you could even think about the consequences, your hand came up and slapped Aslan across the face with a loud crack.

The impact stung your palm, but you didn't care. Your chest rose and fell heavily, your breathing ragged.

Aslan stood still for a moment, his head turned slightly to the side. Then, slowly, he turned back to face you.

And smiled.

A dangerous smile.

Aslan raised one of his hands and lightly touched his own cheek, where the red mark from your slap was beginning to appear. His dark eyes shone in an almost amused way, as if he found your reaction amusing.

"Well, that was an unexpected welcome." He murmured, his carefree tone contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.

You still felt your hand tingling, but you didn't regret what you had done. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling inside you.

"You have the nerve to show up here and simply tell me that my ‘time is up’ after bringing me here against my will?" Your voice shook, but not from fear — from indignation. "After making me live through all of this? Making me get attached to people, getting married? Making me get pregnant?! You have no right to do that!"

Aslan tilted his head slightly to the side, watching you as if studying your reaction. Then, he sighed.

"You've always been so full of spirit, haven't you?" He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's why I like you."

Your stomach churned in disgust.

"I don't give a fuck what you like." You spat the words out, your fists clenched at your sides. "I want to know what's really going on."

Aslan finally abandoned his relaxed posture and took a step closer. You forced yourself not to back away.

"Listen carefully, (Y/N), because I don’t like repeating things." His voice was lower now, more serious, and suddenly, the entire air in the room seemed heavy. "You came to this time for a purpose. Something that needed to be done. But now that purpose has been fulfilled."

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

"F-Fulfilled?" You repeated, the word sounding strange in your mouth.

Aslan smiled slowly.

"Yes. What had to happen, happened. You are no longer needed here."

The words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

You were no longer needed? As if your life was a simple object that he could discard as soon as he was done using it? As if everything you had lived here had meant nothing?

You felt an immense urge to punch him.

You gritted your teeth, blood roaring in your ears.

"What if I don’t want to go?" Your voice was low, but full of defiance.

Aslan smiled again, but this time, there was something dark in his expression.

"Oh, my sweet (Y/N)..." He whispered, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Who said you had a choice?"

The ground seemed to disappear beneath your feet, as if the world around you was disintegrating. With each breath, the air became heavier, harder to hold. You tried to stay upright, but the feeling of disorientation grew, your body starting to shake. Your eyes met Aslan's again, and this time, there was something different in his gaze — no longer just the calculated distance or the amusement of a manipulator. There was a touch of longing, as if he were looking at you with a sadness you didn't understand, something deep that was beyond your reach.

The chaos inside your mind intensified, thoughts tumbling over each other, conflicting feelings taking over your heart. How could he look at you like that, with a mixture of affection and... Farewell? Why all this? He was doing this to you, dragging you to a place where you no longer knew who you were, and now, he seemed to be saying goodbye for now. But why?

Before you could ask any other questions, a feeling of weakness took over your body, as if all of your energy had been drained. Your eyes began to close, your vision becoming blurry and hazy, while the weight of your own body seemed to become unbearable. Aslan’s words echoed in your mind like a distant whisper, even though he was there, standing in front of you, with the enigmatic expression as always.

"Don’t worry, (Y/N). We'll see each other again." He said, his words so soft that they seemed like a low, comforting chant. But what was comforting about all this? How could he say something like that with such certainty? "But don't worry, you won't be alone when you wake up."

Those words... You wanted to believe them, you wanted to feel that there was some truth to his promise, but the feeling of abandonment, of helplessness, was overwhelming you. Your vision grew increasingly blurred, as if the darkness itself was approaching, taking over your entire being. The last vestige of clarity in your mind disappeared, swallowed by a deep, cold abyss, and soon silence took over everything.

The last thing you felt was a strange sense of calm, as if, somehow, the darkness was a kind of refuge. And then, everything went black.

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but my life has been a mess lately :( It hasn't been an easy start to the year but I'm here. We're entering a new phase of TLQ! Also, don't hate Roxanna! She's young (technically 16 if we are going really historical) and she doesn't know on what she's getting into. She'll come around, guys. 😉

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was longer than usual, but important. Forgive me for any mistakes and I'll see you soon! I love receiving feedback and comments! ❤️❤️

If you want to support or ask for something, my Ko-Fi/commissions are always open!

Bye for now!! ❤️

[frownyalfred]

hello. this is a PSA. ao3 is NOT releasing your browsing history, despite what you may have heard on tiktok.

if you’re signed into ao3, your history is viewable in the dashboard tab. it always has been, nothing is changing. please don’t believe everything you hear on tiktok.

no one is able to view your browsing history unless they are signed into your account.

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.