#and yet one is literary fiction and the other is genre fiction

[grinchwrapsupreme]

realized i've been submitting my manuscript to publishers under the wrong genre 🫠

[throughdarkeningskies]

when I was a teen and I read everything I could get my hands on, I had this rule in my head to seperate 'literary' fic from 'chick-lit'. and the rule was this: if they have sex and its bad its literary. if they have sex and they enjoy it its chick-lit.

alternate variations:

- if there are dark serious themes explored and everyone is dark and serious about it it's literary. if dark serious themes are explored but the characters crack jokes about it its chick-lit

- if a man writes it its literary and if a woman writes it its chick-lit

- if its written with the most dry boring-ass prose possible it's literary. if its written the way an actual person would talk its chick-lit

[kookiewithluv]

ASHES OF A PROMISE

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 15.3k

• GENRE: Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, Smut, Slow burn, Fluff (?), Tragic Romance, werewolf au, Royal au

• TRIGGER WARNING: The following content contains themes of emotional distress, manipulation, rejection, and verbal abuse, including emotionally charged arguments and hurtful dialogue that could be distressing. There are references to violence, power dynamics, and trauma. Additionally, there are moments of self-doubt, intense emotional breakdowns, and interactions involving possessive and hostile behaviors. Please proceed with caution if these topics are sensitive or triggering for you.

• SUMMARY: You were a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a mate who would love you as fiercely as you loved him. But when you finally meet your mate, you discover he’s no ordinary wolf — he’s the Lycan king, the alpha of all alphas. Worse, he neither wants you nor is willing to reject you, leaving you trapped in a loveless bond in his kingdom. As queen to a king who resents you, the mate bond grows stronger, making you more vulnerable with each passing day. Now, you must break through the walls around his heart and make him love you, because staying in this bond without love is unbearable, yet leaving isn’t an option he’ll allow.

• a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv . The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

•a/n: Hey, everyone! How’s it going? I hope you’re all having a blast! So, here we are—Chapter 1 is finally up, and let me just say, it’s a masterpiece of disappointment! Honestly, I think I might hate it even more than the prologue, which is saying something because that was basically my attempt at literary self-sabotage. I’m pretty sure you’ll read this and wonder if I’ve lost my mind—or my talent, if I ever had any. But hey, if you end up hating it, I totally understand; I’ll just be over here, crying in a corner and contemplating my life choices. So, enjoy this train wreck of a chapter… or don’t, because either way, I’ll be doing the same!

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER 1: THE MATE'S LAMENT

You pressed a trembling hand against your chest, the ache inside sharper than any wound. What did this mean? What had you done to deserve this crushing weight?

The thought pierced through you like a knife, and a ragged sob tore from your throat, scraping the walls raw as it escaped. Your whole body shook with the force of it. How could someone so beautiful be so cruel? How?

Maybe you didn’t deserve any of it. Any of the love.

Your spiral was interrupted by the soft creak of the door. Startled, you lifted your tear-blurred eyes just as a small figure stepped inside. Her footsteps faltered as soon as she saw you, eyes wide and doe-like, her breath catching in her chest. One hand gripped the doorknob, knuckles white, while the other clenched into a tight fist at her side. She hesitated, before she finally let go of the door, letting it close with a soft click.

"Luna," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a step toward you, then another, her deamnour unsure, almost hesitant, as if the space between you and her was filled with something fragile, something that might shatter if she came too close. Her small frame seemed to shrink even more as she neared, her shoulders hunched as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear. In three careful steps, she stood in front of you, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she wanted to leave but couldn’t. Her fingers nervously twisted the fabric of her sleeves, her gaze flickering to your tear-streaked face, then away, unable to hold it for too long.

"Hi," she started again, her voice hesitant, as if unsure of what to say, what to hold back. You could see the confusion in her eyes, flickering across her face as she tried to make sense of her own presence here. She didn’t look like a maid or servant, nothing about her carried that air. Her gaze flitted around the room, nervously taking in everything but you—never you, not for longer than a fleeting second.

"His Majesty mentioned you were injured... and insisted someone should tend to you immediately?" Her words came out like a question, not a statement. Her eyes finally, really, landed on you, sweeping over your body as if searching for visible wounds. But you said nothing, offering her no comfort or explanation. You could see her stiffen, her shoulders drawing up, tension coiling through her body. Her fingers twitched at her sides, clenching and unclenching. Was it anxiety? Or was she angry? You couldn’t tell. Angry at you? Angry at the situation?

She stood there, rigid and uncomfortable, like she was trying to hold back a storm raging inside her.

"You don’t... you don’t look physically hurt," she said at last, her voice faltering despite the firmness she was trying to inject into it. Her tone was small, unsure, like she was afraid of overstepping.

"I’m not," you replied, finally breaking the silence. She let out a soft, breathy exhale, her lips parting slightly in relief. For a moment, the tension seemed to leave her body, but only briefly. Her hands still shook as she moved closer, taking a seat beside you on the bed. She tried to appear composed, confident even, but her worried eyes betrayed her. They darted over your face, as if searching for something she didn’t quite understand.

Her posture was straighter now, but her fingers were knotted together in her lap, betraying her own emotions, she was feeling. She was doing her best to stay in control, but the way her hands trembled gave her away.

You didn’t understand what had her so on edge, not fully. Maybe deep down, you knew, but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. You could feel it—the pull. You were her Luna, and her wolf was bound to you, connected in a way she couldn’t resist. She was loyal to the core, and now that you were hurting, her wolf could feel it all. It was written in the way her breath hitched, in the tightening of her jaw, in the way her hands trembled despite her outward composure.

Even if you didn’t know her exact role within the pack, you could tell she was someone important. The weight of the connection was pressing down on her, forcing her to share the burden of emotions that weren’t her own. She had no choice in the matter—her wolf was loyal, whether she wanted it or not. And here she was, sitting beside you, a silent, anxious witness to the pain you carried inside.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her left hand landing on your shoulder with a slow, soothing touch. But the question felt hollow to you—meaningless. Even she knew the answer. It was as if she didn’t want to hear the truth, didn’t want to face it. She wanted the lie. She wanted you to say you were fine, that everything was manageable. But you couldn’t.

“No,” the word slipped from your lips in a breathy whisper, unplanned, unwelcome. It was already out before you could pull it back, and the floodgates opened. “I’m not.” You shook your head slightly, your voice cracking as you turned to her, eyes wide and raw. “Nothing’s okay. Nothing!” The confession ripped out of you, trembling and desperate, like a wound finally exposed.

She didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into her arms, wrapping them tightly around you, holding you like she could shield you from everything that had broken you. Her embrace was warm, her hands gentle as they pressed against your back, but it still didn’t reach the cold emptiness inside. You were like a traveler lost in a winter storm, seeking shelter but finding nothing, standing on an endless, frozen street with nowhere to go. The comfort she offered felt distant, as if you were too far gone to feel it.

"It will be okay," she murmured into your hair, but you knew better. You weren’t naïve. You had seen the truth—felt it. How could it ever be okay when the weight of everything had already crushed you? There was no hope, only more pain ahead. You could feel it in your bones, in the ache that refused to let go.

“I am sure of it,” she continued, pulling back slightly to look at you, her hands gently wiping the tears from your face. Her touch was tender, but her words stung. “You’re his mate, Luna. He’ll come around. You just have to hold on. Don’t cry, please. My wolf… she’s going crazy.”

Her voice broke, and you realized it wasn’t just her trying to comfort you—it was her wolf, the pull of the bond making her feel everything you were going through. Her desperation was palpable. At least she was here, trying, when the one person who should have been with you had left you to cry alone.

You nodded, your head bobbing violently, avoiding her eyes. You didn’t have the strength to argue, not now. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, the sleeve of your white dress smudging black as your mascara mixed with the salty wetness. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They just kept coming, rolling down your cheeks as if they had a life of their own, and you were powerless to hold them back.

“Come, let’s go.” She stood up, brushing her hands nervously over the front of her gown, before turning to look back at you. Her soft, innocent eyes locked onto your face, but you didn’t move. You just stared up at her, perplexed and still too disoriented to understand.

“What happened, Luna?” Her voice was gentle, almost coaxing.

“Go where?” you asked, blinking slowly, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Oh… to your room,” she said, her voice wavering with uncertainty. Her fingers twisted around the edge of her sleeve as she spoke. “His Majesty told me to prepare it for you.” She hesitated, watching for your reaction, her gaze flickering from your face to the floor, as if unsure whether she should continue. “He chose it himself,” she added, more hesitant now, her words hanging awkwardly in the air.

The statement only deepened your confusion, and your brow furrowed. You had known he wouldn’t let you stay with him in his room—that much had been clear. But why did he bring you here in the first place? What was the point of it all?

“Then why did he bring me here?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice sharper than you intended. It was absurd, the way he had toyed with your heart, made you feel vulnerable, only to discard you like you were nothing. What was he thinking?

The girl fidgeted, her hands wringing together nervously. “I fear only His Majesty holds the answer to that, my Luna,” she whispered, casting her gaze down, avoiding your eyes, as if she could feel the weight of your frustration, your confusion.

“But why not here?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent, as your instincts clawed to keep you rooted in this room. His scent still lingered, that familiar mix of ocean water and coconut, wrapping around you like a lifeline. It was strange, undeniably so, but to you, it felt like home. Your body refused to let go of what little remained of him here, as if holding onto it might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

The girl shifted on her feet, her eyes wide as she struggled to find the right words. “Luna, this is the royal chamber,” she began, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides.

You frowned, glancing around the room. “Isn’t the whole palace royal?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion. You finally rose to your feet, taking in the grand space around you. It was beautiful—majestic, even. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but admire it. A part of you loved this room, wanted to stay here just a little longer.

“That’s true,” she admitted, her voice hesitant. “But…” She trailed off, biting her lip as if weighing whether she should continue. You looked at her, curiosity sparking in your eyes, though the confusion still lingered. “This chamber… it’s reserved for the king and queen. They stay here after the mating ceremony with the pack. It’s tradition.”

She was speaking quickly now, as if nervous about how much she was revealing. Her feet shuffled anxiously beneath her, her gaze darting from you to the door. “What tradition?” you asked, stepping toward her, your voice edged with frustration.

She hesitated, wringing her hands before finally speaking again. “The first time the king brings his mate here, it’s only to…” She paused, glancing up at you, clearly uneasy. “To mate. If they don’t, they must wait for two full moons before… before they can try again.”

“Huh?” The word fell from your lips, flat and disbelieving. It made no sense—if this room held such significance, why would he have brought you here only to leave you feeling like you didn’t matter? You stared at her, trying to piece together what was happening, but the more you thought about it, the less it made sense.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as the weight of it all pressed down on you. Nothing about this felt right, and yet here you were, standing in the middle of a hall staring at a room that wasn’t meant for you—not yet, at least.

“Luna, please walk ahead,” she urged softly, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. “If His Majesty finds out you were walking behind me, he will have my head. And… well, my mate being the royal general probably won’t help much in this case.”

You blinked in realization, your mind connecting the dots. Her mate… Neil. The royal general. You remembered their story well—how it had caused an uproar just a few months ago. She was an omega, and he was a powerful, high-ranking general. It was unheard of, taboo even, for someone of his rank to mate with someone so low in status. But Neil had fought for her, tooth and nail, defying tradition for the love of his mate.

Back then, when you heard about their story, it had filled you with hope. You had dreamed of a love like that—someone who would fight for you, who would stand by your side no matter what. But now, you weren’t so sure. You had the king himself as your mate, but did you really have him? You had everything… and yet, nothing.

As you nodded at her request, you moved forward through the empty halls, your feet heavy with each step. The silence between you both felt oppressive, weighed down by unspoken questions. One question above all lingered in your mind, echoing with every step: Why did he bring me here?

Everything had seemed fine at first. But as soon as you reached the royal chamber, something had shifted in Jungkook. His whole demeanor changed—cold, distant, like he didn’t want you at all.

Your thoughts churned as you walked, your hands brushing against the fabric of your dress, your fingers absently tracing the delicate embroidery. You remembered the way his jaw had tightened, how his eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Fear? Disgust?

“Luna, here we are,” Patricia announced softly, her voice warm and welcoming as she opened the door to your room. It wasn’t as grand as the royal chamber, but it had a certain charm. The crimson walls immediately caught your attention, the color soothing and familiar—it was a shade you loved.

Patricia stood by the doorway, a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Do you like it, Luna?” she asked, her voice bright, almost chirping with excitement. She clasped her hands in front of her, shifting slightly from foot to foot, clearly eager for your approval.

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you glanced around the room. “Yes,” you replied, your gaze settling on a vase in the corner. Its intricate design and deep red flowers seemed to echo the mood of the room. “It’s lovely.” You turned back to her, your smile softening, but something felt off. “Thank you…” You trailed off, realizing you didn’t know her name, despite spending so much time with her.

She giggled, the sound light and carefree, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can call me Patricia,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

“Patricia…” you repeated softly. She smiled wider, pleased with your response.

“Well, Luna,” she said, stepping back toward the door, “I’ll leave you now. You should rest.” Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it. She turned to leave, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Are you heading back to the gathering?” you asked, your voice catching just slightly as you remembered the night’s events.

Patricia paused, glancing over her shoulder. “No, it’s over.”

“Over?” you frowned. “But wasn’t it important?”

She shrugged, her tone light, dismissive. “Not really.”

Her casual response left you with more questions than answers, but before you could say anything else, Patricia moved toward the door, and the only sound that escaped your lips was a quiet, “Oh.”

Patricia’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the moment. “Please excuse me, Luna. My mate must be waiting for me,” she said gently, her voice tinged with warmth as she spoke of her mate.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and watched her leave, the soft click of the door sealing you in the quiet room. Alone.

You slowly made your way to the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Just as you were about to lie down, you paused, realizing you didn’t have anything comfortable to wear for the night. The realization hit you like a dull thud in your chest—Patricia had taken care of everything, yet this one detail, your clothes, had been forgotten.

You let out a long, tired breath, shoulders slumping as you gave in. "What could I have done, anyway?" you muttered to yourself. There wasn’t much choice left now. You flopped onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath your weight, cradling your tired body.

The room was bathed in a soft silver glow, the moonlight filtering through the open window. Its light danced gently on the floor, casting a peaceful glow over the room as you reached over to turn off the switch. The curtains fluttered, brushing softly against the windowsill, swaying with the rhythm of the cold night breeze. Each gust sent a shiver through the room, a subtle reminder of the world outside, yet it felt so far from where you lay.

You stared out of the window, eyes tracing the outline of the moon hanging bright in the dark sky. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, but your mind was elsewhere. Too much had happened in the past few hours, too many changes for you to grasp. Your life had flipped upside down in the blink of an eye, and you still didn’t know if it was for better or worse.

Your chest tightened with the weight of everything—the uncertainty, the confusion, the aching loneliness that sat heavy inside you like a stone. The whirlwind of thoughts swirled in your mind, twisting and turning, never settling long enough for you to catch your breath.

You didn’t even realize when your eyelids began to droop, when the tiredness finally pulled you under. Your last thought, tangled and blurry, was of him—of the cold distance between you, of the things left unsaid. And then, sleep claimed you, taking you away from the chaos, if only for a little while.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Luna,” a soft, melodic voice broke through the fog of your deep sleep, coaxing you gently. You stirred, rolling to your side, trying to escape the harsh sunlight now streaming through the windows and landing directly on your face.

“Luna, wake up,” the voice came again, more insistent. You groaned, forcing your eyes open, blinking against the light. Patricia was standing beside your bed, crouched slightly, shielding you from the sun with her body. Her lips curved into a smile when she saw you stirring, and she backed away as you groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes.

The groan in your throat grew louder as you tried to shake off the heavy weight of sleep, your body protesting. "What time is it?" you muttered, rubbing at your face, a wide yawn slipping out before you could stop it.

“Seven,” Patricia replied, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as a giggle escaped her. She didn’t seem to understand why you were asking.

“Seven?” you repeated, eyes widening. “It’s so early!” you whined, dragging out the words as you slumped back against the headboard.

Patricia’s eyes went wide in shock, her mouth hanging open as if you had said something utterly ridiculous. “What?” she nearly yelled, making you flinch. Realizing she’d startled you, she quickly apologized. “You must be teasing me,” she said, her voice softer now, though still filled with disbelief.

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Why would I do that? Why are you so shocked?” you asked, slowly crawling out of bed, stretching your stiff limbs as you yawned again.

“Luna, it’s past seven, actually,” Patricia said, her tone matter-of-fact as she crossed her arms. “Everyone here wakes up at four!”

Your mouth fell open, and you froze mid-stretch. “Four?” you repeated, staring at her as if she had just said something in another language. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide with sincerity, clearly baffled by your reaction. You stood there, at a loss for words, trying to process the absurdity of it all. Four in the morning? That was barely even night!

“Why?” was all you could manage to ask, your mind racing with disbelief. You wanted to scream, “What the hell do you guys do at four in the morning?”

“It’s just how it is here,” Patricia replied, her voice calm now, though her eyes were still fixed on you with a hint of curiosity, as if trying to understand your reaction. “Just bath and get ready. His Majesty wants to meet you.”

“Me?” You pointed incredulously at yourself, your index finger hovering in the air as disbelief washed over you. Why would he want to see you, especially after everything that had happened last night? A cold sensation crept through your bones, traveling up your spine. You took a shaky breath as your wolf stirred at the back of your mind, sensing the mere thought of your mate. She hadn’t spoken to you since last night, and you had been too wrapped up in grief to even consider reaching out.

“Yes. I also brought you some clothes.” Patricia gestured to the edge of the bed, where a beautiful red satin dress lay. You nodded silently, trying to calm the swirl of emotions in your chest. As you took two hesitant steps toward the bathroom, you froze, suddenly unsure.

Patricia seemed to read your thoughts. She pointed to a door on the left side of the room, and you nodded gratefully, giving her a small smile before darting inside.

The bathroom was nothing short of breathtaking, with marble tiles and a large shower that seemed to beckon you. You didn’t have time to admire it, though. You quickly turned on the shower, letting the water warm up as you glanced at your reflection. Your heart raced, knowing you needed to hurry.

As the water cascaded over you, you joked aloud, “If I bathe any faster, I might just become a fish!” You scrubbed yourself quickly, wishing you had more time to enjoy the luxury, but the thought of Jungkook waiting propelled you forward. “Okay, speed bathing, world record, here I come!” you teased, rinsing off and turning off the shower in a rush.

With a swift motion, you slipped into the red dress. It hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating curves you didn’t know you had, the fabric silky against your skin. You spun around, admiring your reflection for a brief moment before your thoughts turned back to the meeting. You took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Luna, we’re already late!” Patricia knocked impatiently on the door, her voice pulling you from your trance. The aroma of food wafted through the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, but it felt too early for you to consider eating.

“Luna, here, have something before we leave,” she urged, holding out a plate as you emerged.

“I’m not really hungry,” you replied, shaking your head slightly, feeling your stomach churn in nervous anticipation. Patricia’s gaze narrowed slightly as she assessed you for a moment, then she took your hand gently, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I suggest you eat. Believe me, you'll need it," she said, her tone firm, emphasizing the word need. Although hunger wasn't gnawing at your stomach, her earnestness made you feel the weight of her words. You quickly found yourself nibbling on whatever was piling up on your plate, each bite more rushed than the last, as if the food would somehow fortify you for what lay ahead.

After you gobbled down the last bite, you shot up from the bed, the urgency in her demeanor making your heart race. Patricia had gone from bouncing on her tippy toes to sitting next to you, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap, her nervous obvious. You felt her eyes on you, a silent request pushing you to eat faster without her saying a word.

“Let’s go,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling in your stomach. She nodded vigorously, her eyes brightening as she stood and led the way out of the room.

“Where are we really going?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“To your his majesty's study room,” she stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You could only blink in her as she sprinted down the hall. You followed her, feeling a bit like a lost child trying to keep up with an overly eager parent.

“Luna, please walk beside me, not behind me,” Patricia said, glancing over her shoulder, her voice tinged with silent frustration. You noted how her fingers twisted together, betraying her emotions.

You quickened your pace, taking two long strides to match her side, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you caught up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to lag behind,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, though a small part of you understood her worry and frustration.

Soon, you found yourself standing in front of a closed door, a chill of apprehension creeping down your spine. Patricia halted, taking a deep breath that seemed to stretch in the air, oppressively. You watched her knuckles turn white as she knocked, each rap echoing through the silence.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

A gruff voice came from behind the door, “Come in.” As she pushed the door open, she gestured for you to enter first. You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing in your chest, then nodded and stepped inside.

As you crossed the threshold, the moment felt surreal. Your wolf stirred at the sound of his voice, an unsettling mix of yearning and pain washing over you, but the overwhelming grief she carried held her back. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced around the edges, but your focus was solely on him. Jungkook sat behind a massive desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours the instant you entered. They seemed to deepen, filled with an intensity that made your stomach drop, and a cold, menacing smirk crept across his softly thin lips.

You felt your heartbeat quicken as you approached him, each step a battle against the swirl of emotions inside you. His brow arched as you stood before his desk, a silent provocation hanging between you. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you had to fight the urge to bare your neck to him.

From your left, you caught a glimpse of Patricia standing close to Neil, their heads bent together as they whispered something to each other. Neil gazed at her with an expression that made your heart ache—adoration shimmering in his eyes. Their fingers intertwined behind their backs, a quiet intimacy that made your chest tighten. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, for the warmth of shared affection, and it tugged painfully at your heartstrings. You wanted that too.

With a determined look, you turned back to Jungkook, narrowing your eyes in defiance. He was still watching you, a predator relishing the hunt, and his smile widened at your glare. His lips stretched slightly before he caught himself, the playful facade melting into a serious demeanor. You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something mingling with intrigue in his gaze.

"What urgent business made Your Majesty summon me here?" you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. The taunt in your voice hung in the air like an electric charge, sparking a reaction in him. His expression shifted, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he absorbed your words, but he quickly masked it.

“I appreciate your time. There’s an important matter I wish to discuss with you—one that requires your attention.” His tone was unnervingly calm, as if your irritation were merely a nuisance to be brushed aside. It ignited your anger further.

“What matters?” you demanded, your voice edged with defiance as you crossed your arms, refusing to back down from his piercing gaze.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression unreadable. “Now that you are here, and this will be your home, it is time to leave behind the ways of your old pack. There are rules you must follow, and you shall learn them in due course,” Jungkook stated, his voice steady, but the words hit you like a slap.

You straightened your spine, glaring at him. “And, may I ask what rules I need to follow?” The irritation in your voice was clear, though you fought to keep it even.

“First, you’re not allowed to leave the palace without my permission,” he replied, his tone calm and unwavering. The calmness only ignited the fire of rebellion inside you.

“What? You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes, your hands curling into fists. “That’s absurd.”

“very,” he said, brushing off your defiance as if it were a passing breeze. “Second, you won’t form close relationships with the staff or pack members. And third, you're not to attend pack meetings.”

“You’re isolating me,” you accused, each word sharpened by the rising heat of your frustration. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t possibly expect me to follow this nonsense.”

“You’re also restricted from certain areas of the palace, especially the the royal chamber.”

“Is this just another way to keep me locked up like one of your pets?” you spat, sarcasm dripping from your words as you crossed your arms.

Jungkook’s eyes flashed with a brief flicker of irritation, but he masked it quickly. “You’ll present yourself formally at all events. And you’re not to mention our mating bond to anyone.”

Your laugh was bitter, mocking. “This is pathetic. Do you hear yourself? You want me to pretend to be your perfect little queen while you strip me of every ounce of dignity.”

His expression didn’t change, which only fueled your anger more. “You’ll follow a strict schedule, including etiquette lessons, and as I said, no physical training.”

“No physical training? You can’t stop me from fighting.” You took another step forward, daring him to try. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I just did,” he replied coolly, eyes narrowing as he looked down at you. “You're not to challenge me in front of the pack. You will dress appropriately, as befits a queen."

You clenched your jaw, a white-hot rage bubbling under your skin.

“You’ll attend all royal ceremonies, whether you want to or not. And there will be no emotional displays in public,” he continued, his voice like iron.

You advanced on him, fury swirling in your veins. “And what if I do?” you dared, eyes gleaming with defiance. “What if I make a scene? What if I let the whole pack see exactly how you treat me?”

“There will be no physical intimacy between us, unless I say otherwise.”

That statement landed like a blow. For a second, you couldn’t respond, your heart hammering in your chest. But you recovered quickly, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile.

He remained unmoved. “You will not voice your opinion on pack matters, nor will you challenge the council.”

Your eyes burned with a fierce light. “I’ll challenge anyone I damn well please,” you snapped, stepping even closer. “You can make all the rules you want, but I'll do what I wish.”

“Thats all! I trust that’s clear?”

“Crystal clear,” you growled, sarcastically, your fists shaking with the need to lash out. “But don’t expect me to just obey like one of your trained wolves.”

“patricia will accompany you back to your room,” he said, gesturing toward Patricia, who stood dumbfounded, her mouth agape, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook.

“Ye-yes, Your Majesty,” she stammered, clearly as shocked as you were.

She stepped closer to you, grabbing your hand and tugging gently as if to coax you away, but you couldn’t help throwing daggers at Jungkook with your eyes.

“Luna, please,” Shina pleaded, pulling at your sleeve.

But you weren’t done. Not by a long shot.

You turned sharply, locking eyes with Shina, who was pale and clearly terrified, but before she could speak, you whipped around to face him one last time. “I’m not your possession, and I never will be. One way or another, I will make my own choices.”

His lips twisted into a tight smile. “We’ll see,” he said, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“I guess we will,” you shot back, your voice steady, daring, as you stormed out of the room, Patricia scrambling to follow.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the floodgates of your emotions burst open. “He is a bastard!” you yelled, the words echoing through the room. Patricia’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock as she darted a nervous glance at the door.

“Luna, he can hear you!” she hissed, but your anger had already ignited a fire within you, consuming all rational thought.

“I know!” you snapped back, a defiant spark igniting in your chest as you started walking like some deranged animal.

“Wait!” she called, scrambling to catch up to you. “Where are you going?”

“To my room! Duh!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s on the other side,” she said, pointing right with an urgency that made her look almost comical. “And don’t say ‘duh!’”

“Whatever!” you shot back, heading in the direction she indicated, arms swinging at your sides.

As soon as you reached your room, you let out a primal scream of frustration, your voice ricocheting off the walls. You began to roam the room, while Patricia watched you with concern, her brow furrowing.

Just then, a sharp knock interrupted your spiral. You turned to Patricia, who nodded at you, her eyes wide as if to say, “Brace yourself.”

“Come in!” you called, trying to sound nonchalant, though your heart raced.

The door swung open, revealing Shina, the beta female, stepping inside with a bright smile. “Shina, FINALLY!” Patricia exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. You felt a flash of offense bubble up inside you—was it really that bad with you?

Shina let out a light laugh before turning her gaze to you, offering a small nod. “I’ve been told to serve as your etiquette teacher,” she said, executing a playful curtsy that made you giggle. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

You couldn’t help but smile back at her eagerness, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Fun? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I thought she would be provided with a real teacher,” Patricia chimed in, throwing Shina a side-eye that was dripping with sarcasm.

“Are you doubting me?” Shina asked, feigning offense, a hand on her hip, her expression a mix of mock indignation and amusement.

“No, of course not!” Patricia replied, forcing a sweet smile that barely hid her skepticism. “I’m just doubting your etiquette. Do you even have any?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. You’d never seen Patricia like this; she was usually a bundle of nerves. But now, a smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

“Excuse me?!” Shina gasped, placing a hand on her chest in mock horror. “I’ll have you know that I can differentiate between a salad fork and a dessert fork!”

“Yeah! And, I eat water. But seriously, why you?” Patricia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Shina simply shrugged her shoulders, a nonchalant gesture that only fueled your suspicions. You knew the answer all too well: he didn't want anyone to know you were his mate—just the people who had to be in the loop.

“Shall we start?” Shina asked, breaking the tension as she clapped her hands together. Patricia flopped down onto a nearby chair by the window, her movement unceremonious as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, be ready. But let me warn you, she’s the same woman who once called the duke ‘Dukie.’”

“Don’t mind her,” Shina said, waving her hand dismissively as if brushing away a fly. “She’s just a whiny ass.”

“I heard that!” Patricia shot back, her voice sharper than a knife, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“I wanted you to hear it,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh at the bickering.

“It’s fine then,” Patricia said, crossing her arms defiantly, her chin tilted up as if she were accepting a challenge.

The two of them were practically squabbling like an old married couple, and you couldn't help but feel amused. Shina leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, Luna—”

“Call me Bee,” you said, cutting her off as a genuine smile breaking through the heaviness in your chest. The nickname, a sweet remnant from your mother. Since her death, no one had used it, and it stung to remember how alone you felt without your wolf at your side after Jungkook had left you. It was as if a gaping void had settled in your mind.

“Are you sure?” Shina asked, glancing at Patricia, who wore an expression of surprise that mirrored your own.

“Yes,” you affirmed, nodding your head fervently.

“Okie!” Shina chirped, bouncing on her feet.

The next few hours dissolved into a whirlwind of laughter and playful jabs from Patricia as Shina animatedly imparted lessons on royal protocol and warrior ethics. You found yourself gasping for breath between fits of giggles at their banter, the absurdity of their comments lightening your mood. Shina was undeniably fun, and you noticed how Patricia relaxed, the rigid lines of her discipline softening in Shina’s presence.

“Finally, we are done!” you screeched, flopping onto your bed like a rag doll, your limbs sprawling out. Patricia, who had been perched on the edge of the bed for what felt like an eternity, looked over at you, a mix of concern and amusement on her face.

“Bee, that wasn’t very queen-like—” she began, her tone teasing, but you shot her a playful glare.

“Shut up!” Shina interjected, her laughter ringing out like a bell. Patricia merely shook her head, a smile breaking through her feigned exasperation. You found it funny how their relationship worked; Patricia was the serious one, and Shina was the carefree one. You couldn't help but wonder how the two of them got along so well in a world that felt so strange to you.

“Bee, now we gotta go,” Shina said, her voice dropping slightly as she held out her hand to Patricia, their fingers interlacing.

“Where?” you asked, a flicker of disappointment gnawing at your insides. You didn’t want them to leave. They had become your lifeline, distracting you from thoughts of Jungkook and the confusion he left behind. Without them, the looming silence would creep back in, suffocating you to no end.

“I’m sorry, Bee, but we have urgent matters to address,” Shina said, her smile tinged with sadness. “But you can come with us if you want to,” she added, her expression brightening as hope glimmered in her eyes.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! I want to come!”

The three of you made your way out of the room, and a big smile spread across your face. Life in your old pack had been tough, each day a struggle to find your place, but it was different here. Despite Jungkook’s coldness and the constant feeling of not being enough, you were grateful for the friendship blossoming around you. You didn’t know if Patricia and Shina considered you friends, but you sure did. Patricia still maintained a hint of formality, but you sensed she’d warm up eventually, just like Shina had.

“Where are we heading to?” you asked, glancing between the two as they shared a conspiratorial look, excitement dancing in their eyes.

“To the training field,” Shina answered, her voice light and cheerful. She looked at you with a soft smile that made her cheeks flush. “she is the general’s mate, so she is responsible for training the female wolves.” she said pointing at Patricia, as she also blushed for the reasons unknown to you. Her shyness was endearing, but the way her smile faded a bit as she added, “And we also need to train,” hinted at the challenge ahead.

Unfortunately, Jungkook had forbidden you from training—an order that left you feeling more like a caged bird than ever. You didn’t understand why he loathed you so much; his harshness felt like a wall between you. But deep down, you knew this couldn’t last. You couldn’t keep stewing in sadness and anger while he remained a closed book, hiding his emotions from you. You needed to confront him soon; you needed your mate, and he needed you, too, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Oh! So you mean you’re going there to train and not to eye-fuck the beta?” Patricia piped up, her voice teasing, a wide smirk lighting up her face and a laugh bubbled from your throat.

Shina’s eyes widened in mock horror, her mouth forming an exaggerated “O.” “Patricia! You can’t say that! We have to keep it professional!” She feigned scandal, a hand pressed dramatically against her chest, yet the laughter dancing in her eyes betrayed her.

“Professional? Please!” Patricia rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a flourish. “The only thing you do professionally is blushing every time beta Kian walks by! I am like woman, he is your damn mate. Get a grip!”

“Oh, and what about you, Miss ‘I Can’t Stop Staring’?” Shina shot back, playfully bumping her shoulder against Patricia's as they walked side by side. “If I recall, you nearly drooled on Neil the other day!”

“Hey! He’s just so—” Patricia started, her cheeks flushing a deep red, “—dreamy! I can’t help it!” She huffed, crossing her arms defiantly but couldn’t hide her smirk.

“Dreamy? More like a heartthrob disaster waiting to happen!” Shina retorted, throwing her head back in laughter, their voices filling the hallway with warmth.

“Will he be there too?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly as both of them paused their bickering to focus on you. Shina’s eyes lit up with a knowing smirk that made your heart race, while Patricia's expression softened, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. She smiled gently, but it didn’t reach her eyes as she whispered, “Yes.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of her understanding hanging in the air. Patricia knew the ache of longing all too well; she had fought her own battles to be with her mate. Neither of you spoke further on the subject as you continued walking toward the training ground. It felt like a long trek, the palace sprawling before you.

As you entered the training field, the chaos hit you like a wave. The air buzzed with energy as female wolves sparred, fists flying in a flurry of movement. Grunts of exertion and the thud of bodies colliding filled the space. It was a sight to behold, but not the prettiest—some faces were twisted with concentration, others were flushed with effort, while some were twisted in pain.

Shina and Patricia quickly motioned you to take a seat in one corner, a quick nod from Shina signaling for you to stay put while they dashed off to change into their training gear.

You took a moment to absorb the scene before you. The female wolves fought with determination, their bodies glistening with sweat under the warm sun. The breathy grunts hanging heavy in the air and... you wanted to join too.

Yet, as you sat on the sidelines, you felt a pang of frustration at Jungkook’s orders. Why had he insisted you stay away from training? You glanced toward the empty side of the field, the male wolves’ training area—silent for now, but you knew they would be there soon. Would Jungkook be among them? Your heart raced at the thought, and your wolf stirred again.

Soon, both Shina and Patricia came sprinting toward you, their bodies clad in sleek training gear that hugged their athletic frames. Shina practically leaped into your space as she exclaimed, “Bee, she will measure the performance of them all! You can wait here while I go help her.” The brightness in her eyes was contagious, and you nodded in agreement, feeling a little like a lost puppy trying to keep up.

They dashed away toward the combat pit, and you watched as Patricia's voice rang out like a bell, instantly commanding attention. “Listen up, everyone!” she called, her tone firm yet encouraging. The warriors immediately fell into line, forming neat rows as Shina moved among them, dividing them into teams with an air of authority that surprised you. It lasted only a moment before the clashing of fists and feet began, filling the air with a rhythm of combat.

You leaned back against the cool wall, eyes wide as you observed the spectacle. The warriors displayed impressive skills, each move fluid and powerful. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of inadequacy—there was no way you could compete, even against the weakest here. This was the royal pack, after all, and they were warriors forged from years of dedication and strength.

Still, you found a sliver of enjoyment in the chaos. Watching them fight was far better than sitting alone in your room, staring at the walls that felt like they were closing in on you. And soon the other training area began to fill up. You spotted Kian entering first, his presence commanding. Shina’s eyes lit up, practically sparkling as she stared at him, her focus wavering. “Shina, focus!” Patricia called out, exasperation lacing her tone as she tried to bring her back to reality. But Shina’s gaze kept drifting back to her shirtless mate, who seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on everyone around him. Kian was not just hot; he was undeniably hot hot, the kind of hot that drew attention without effort.

You let out a soft chuckle at their antics, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a dark figure emerging from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as a chill raced down your spine. The air around you shifted, crackling with an intense energy that sent heat biting through your bones. A deep, primal desire ignited in your core, wrapping around your heart like a vine.

He was here.

Jungkook.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of him without being obvious, and there he stood in the farthest corner of the training ground, shirtless. Jungkook's eyes were locked on you, igniting a fire deep within your chest. His jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in a way that made your heart race. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only his intense gaze that set you ablaze.

With a deliberate slowness, he strode toward the combat pit where Kian waited, a devilish glint flashing in his eyes. Neil, the general, stood off to the side, focused on the other male warriors, a commanding presence that left no room for doubt. But all you could think about was Jungkook. Your breath hitched as he casually began to unbutton his white shirt, each button giving way one by one, exposing more of his chiselled torso. You let out a low whine before you even realized it was your wolf reacting to the sight of him.

Out of all the times for your wolf to make her presence known, she chose now? But who could blame her? Your mate was standing there in low-hanging trousers, his bare skin catching the sunlight and highlighting the contours of his muscles. The sight was intoxicating, and a primal urge surged through you as your wolf growled in your mind, a low rumble of frustration mingling with desire.

“Look at him, Bee. He is so hot,” she purred, her voice sultry and teasing. “Bee, why doesn't he want us?” You could feel her longing vibrating through your very being, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

As Jungkook and Kian circled each other in the pit. Kian lunged first, throwing a sharp right hook aimed at Jungkook’s jaw, but Jungkook sidestepped with lightning speed, barely lifting an eyebrow in acknowledgement. Kian was quick to recover, spinning on his heel and throwing a swift jab to Jungkook’s ribs, but it was met with nothing but air. Jungkook had already ducked low, his body moving like it had anticipated the strike long before it happened.

Kian came in harder this time, eyes blazing with determination, throwing a barrage of punches. Jungkook dodged the first few easily, his movements fluid, then caught Kian’s wrist mid-punch with a grip like iron. For a second, they stood there, locked in place, the power struggle evident. Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening just enough for Kian to wince.

Without warning, Kian yanked his arm free, pivoting low and sweeping Jungkook's legs out from under him. Jungkook hit the ground hard, but before Kian could press the advantage, Jungkook rolled out of reach, popping back up to his feet with the same effortless grace.

Kian charged again, this time aiming a vicious uppercut. Jungkook ducked just in time, feeling the brush of Kian’s fist pass over his hair. Jungkook countered immediately, his fist slamming into Kian’s gut with a dull thud that echoed in the pit. Kian grunted, staggering back a few steps, but he didn’t go down.

Jungkook didn’t let up. He stepped forward, driving his elbow into Kian’s side, a brutal strike that sent him stumbling to his knees. For a moment, Jungkook paused, chest rising and falling steadily, his eyes locked on Kian. It was like he was waiting — giving him a chance to get up, to fight back. There was no malice in his eyes, only dominance.

But Kian wasn’t finished. He sprang up, swinging wildly, desperate now. Jungkook blocked the punches with ease, his forearms absorbing the blows like they were nothing. When Kian threw a wild hook, Jungkook sidestepped, grabbed the back of his neck, and yanked him forward. They collided, chest to chest, Jungkook’s lips curling into a smirk as Kian struggled to free himself from his grip.

In one smooth motion, Jungkook twisted and slammed Kian to the ground, hard. Kian gasped, the wind knocked from his lungs as he hit the dirt with a heavy thud. Jungkook loomed over him, his knee pressing into Kian’s chest, pinning him in place. The fight was over — Jungkook didn’t need to say a word. His body, his presence, declared victory.

He stood slowly, letting Kian catch his breath, but his gaze never once wavered. He rolled his neck, muscles flexing as he looked down at his fallen opponent, then turned away without another glance.

Your heart sank, disappointment washing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your wolf, however, was undeterred.

“He doesn’t even looked at us,” she sulked, her voice a mix of longing and frustration.

As you watched him turn away, the heat in your core only intensified as you unknowingly pressed your legs together. Your gaze lingered on his retreating figure, every step he took echoing in your chest. You couldn’t help but think of how strong he was, how much power he radiated, and how desperately you wanted to be close to him.

The combat pit was still bustling around you, but all you could see was Jungkook, the way he carried himself with a confidence that made your heart race. “Why won’t you look at me?” you thought, frustration bubbling within you as you watched him leave.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself wandering back to your room. Shina escorted you, but you could sense her eagerness to leave as she still had to bath and wash away the sweat of training. After a brief goodbye, she left you alone, and the silence settled heavily around you.

At night dinner came and went, delivered by a maid who whisked in and out with a tray of food that you barely touched. The sheets cool against your skin felt nice, but sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning only brought frustration, and after hours of restless thoughts, you resigned yourself to the fact that tonight would be a long one.

With a deep sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the cool floor grounding you. You stepped out into the empty halls of the palace, the quiet amplified by the vastness of the space. The air was thick with a stillness that made every sound seem sharper.

As you walked, your eyes drifted over the majestic paintings that adorned the walls. Each one was a reminder of the lineage that loomed over you. You paused before a portrait that caught your attention—a striking depiction of Jungkook’s father, the late Lycan king. His strong features were chiseled in a way that demanded respect, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Jungkook. He had lost so much at such a young age, thrust into a role that should have belonged to a father, a king. You could only imagine the weight of that responsibility, the expectations that came with it.

Taking a deep breath, you continued down the hallway. The corridor opened into the royal garden, where the moon hung high in the sky, casting silvery light over the landscape. You stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around you like a soothing balm. The moon was full, its glow reflecting off the petals of the flowers and illuminating the leaves of the trees.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the serenity wash over you. This was the time when werewolves felt most connected to the world, to each other, to the wild magic that flowed through your veins. You could feel the pull of the moon, urging you to embrace your true nature.

As you gazed up at the night sky, a sense of calm enveloped you. The moon was a reminder that even in darkness, there was beauty to be found. You longed to share this moment with Jungkook, to let him see the side of you that yearned for love and understanding. The thought made your heart flutter, igniting a flicker of warmth within you.

“What brings you here?” The voice came from behind you, deep and resonant, causing you to turn around, startled. There he stood—Jungkook, the moonlight casting a silver halo around him. For the first time since you met, his expression was calm, devoid of the anger and confusion that usually clouded his features. In that moment, he looked almost ethereal, and you felt your heart race.

“Nothing,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I wasn't able to sleep, so I was just wandering around and found myself here.” You shrugged, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides.

He motioned for you to follow him, and without hesitation, you fell into step beside him. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound accompanying the stillness of the night as he led you deeper into the garden, the fragrant scent of blooming flowers enveloping you both.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Indeed, your majesty,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. The night was enchanting, each star twinkling like diamonds against the velvet sky, but an unsettling feeling clung to you.

Suddenly, he halted, turning to face you, his gaze intense. His eyes widened slightly, and the soft pout of his lips drew your attention. “You can call me by my name; you’re my mate,” he stated, a hint of authority in his tone, as if there was no room for argument. Before you could respond, he resumed walking, leaving you momentarily stunned.

His words, sweet yet loaded with expectation, he himself was unable to fulfill, left a bitter taste in your mouth. A sharp retort bubbled on your tongue, a protest against the very idea that he could command you so easily. But instead of voicing your anger, you chose silence. You swallowed hard, forcing down the instinct to lash out. Instead, you fell in step behind him, your heart racing, a storm of emotions swirling inside you.

As you walked, the tension hung heavy in the air, a force that wrapped around you both. His broad shoulders were relaxed, yet you could sense the underlying power that radiated from him with each step. You stole glances at his profile, the way the moonlight danced along his sharp jawline, the faint shadow of stubble framing his lips.

You soon found Jungkook stopping, settling down on the soft grass beneath him. He motioned for you to join him, but you shook your head, a sudden shyness washing over you. “I can’t sit on the ground,” you said, gesturing toward your clothes. “It’s expensive.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his dark hair catching the moonlight.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I come from a low pack. We don’t wear things like this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never owned anything so fancy.”

For a moment, you braced yourself for his reaction, expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, to your astonishment, he shrugged off his coat, laying it down on the grass. “Here,” he said, his voice steady. “Sit on this.” He extended his hand to you, palm up, inviting you to take it.

Your heart raced as you hesitated, then slowly placed your hand in his. A low, breathy moan escaped your lips as a tingling sensation flooded through your body. His eyes widened for a brief moment, and you could see the flicker of surprise before he masked it, helping you lower yourself onto his coat.

“It feels nice,” you murmured, your heart pounding. The warmth of his hand lingered in yours, and you didn’t want to let go. “Is it really okay?”

“It’s just a coat,” he replied, though the intensity in his gaze suggested otherwise. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching between you. Finally, you decided to break it, curiosity nudging at you. “So… what’s it like being a king?” As soon as those words skipped your lips you internally cringed, this was embarassing, you wanted to take, but not like this.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. There are expectations, duties—lots of politics.”

“Sounds boring,” you said, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Do you ever get to do anything fun?”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Occasionally. But mostly, I have to focus on the pack. It’s a lot of responsibility.” His tone turned serious, and you could see the weight of his role pressing down on him.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to gauge his reaction. “Being king and all, with so many people around but no one really understanding you?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, looking away into the distance, his jaw tightening slightly. “But I have people I trust.”

You didn't said anything after that and a calming silence enveloped the two of you, as peaceful as the soft glow of the moonlight overhead. Unable to resist, you broke the stillness, once again. “Jungkook?”

“Hmmm?” His voice was low and gentle, his eyes fixed on the moon, reflecting a light that felt almost ethereal.

You hesitated, then spoke with a mix of hope and vulnerability. “Do you know… when I was young, I always dreamed of dancing under the moonlight with my mate.” You paused, gauging his reaction as the words hung in the air, thick and heavy. "Do you dance?" You couldn't help but ask as you braced yourself for the rejection.

His gaze shifted from the moon to you, and for a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. “No,” he admitted softly, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. But then he added, “But I might,” and something in his tone sent shivers down your spine, a hint of something deeper glimmering in his eyes.

Your heart raced as you felt a warmth blooming in your chest, something dark yet lovely igniting within you, making your pulse quicken. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, and you couldn’t look away from him.

Without warning, he rose to his feet, extending his hand towards you. You smiled brightly, your heart soaring at the gesture, and without hesitation, you grasped his hand. The familiar tingling sensation surged through your body, igniting a warmth that spread from your fingertips to your core.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting, and you felt your breath hitch as you stood beside him. He gently pulled you closer, his other hand resting lightly on your waist, guiding you into a slow sway.

But as the dance slowed, reality crept back in, and he gently pulled away, his hand still clasped around yours. “I should escort you back to your room,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of the king, though the warmth in his gaze lingered.

You nodded, a hint of reluctance creeping in. “I guess it’s late,” you replied, your heart still racing from the dance.

As you walked side by side, the silence was comfortable. Jungkook led you back through the garden. When you reached your door, he turned to face you, his expression softening once more. “Goodnight,” he said, a hint of something deeper in his voice.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you replied, you wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but instead, you simply smiled.

As you closed the door, you made your way to the bed, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The cool sheets felt inviting against your skin as you slipped under the covers, your heart still racing from the dance and the fleeting touches. You closed your eyes, as you smiled softly. Maybe, just maybe everything was finally falling back to it's place. You were not to lie, you liked Jungkook and mate bond was thickening every second every minute, it was only strengthening your feelings and was making you more vulnerable to him. And, who are you to deny the truth that you desperately needed that doe eyed king. You let your thoughts drift, a soft smile spreading across your face. In the quiet of your dreams, you found him again, lost in a world where he was as desperate for you as you were for him. You dream of him, you dream of him dreaming you as desperately as you were dreaming of him.

In the middle of the night, you jolted awake. The room around you glowed with dancing shadows, moonlight slipping through the curtains like whispers, casting silver patterns on the walls. You blinked, it was past midnight and you were unable to go back to sleep.

Cocooned in warm sheets, you took a deep breath, the scent of something sweet and salty wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You quietly slipped out of bed, the soft pad of your feet brushing against the cool floor. For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of what to do, scanning the darkness that enveloped you. Your instincts kicked in, sharpening your senses as you stepped out of your room, the shadows swallowing you whole. Each step felt instinctual, as if an invisible thread tugged at your heart, beckoning you forward. It was a magnetic pull, calling your name, compelling you to follow like a desperate devotee.

Suddenly, you heard a low murmur. It was coming from a room. You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t intrude, but that voice broke something inside you. With trembling hands, you slowly opened the door, and the sight before you shattered your heart.

There lay Jungkook on his bed, thrashing about, his face twisted in distress as he murmured incoherent whispers. His brow was furrowed, and his lips trembled, as if he was fighting against some unseen torment. You didn't even realised you had come all the way to price chamber. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you called softly, reaching out to gently shake him. “Wake up.”

His eyes flew open, wide and confused, the fear in them piercing through the haze of his nightmares. For a brief moment, shock flickered across his face, and then he froze, taking in your presence.

“Why are you here?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and raw.

“I heard you,” you whispered, your heart racing.

"What were you doing tiptoeing around my room?" He practically screamed screamed at you, pushing you away.

"N—no. I—I wasn't," you said, shaking your head trying to reach out to him.

Anger flashing in his eyes. “You think you can just come in here and play the savior?”

“Jungkook, what? What are you even say? I just wanted to help!” you pleaded, stepping closer, desperate to reach him.

“Help? You think you can help? You think you’re the solution to my problems?” he sneered, his expression hardening. “I hate you! You think this is love? I will ever love you? Never!”

The pain in his words felt like a physical blow. “That’s not fair!” you cried, your voice shaking. “I’m not trying to intrude. I just want to—!”

"I don't care," he growled, glaring at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can understand what it’s like to be me? To have everyone around you suffer because of your existence?”

You felt your heart sink further, but you were unable to understand his words. It was like they were written in a foreign language and although you did know the alphabets, were unable to make sense of a whole sentence. “I’m not trying to do anything! I’m here because I care about you!”

“Care? Is that what you call this?” he shouted, his voice rising with frustration as a low whimper left your throat. “Oh! Sweet mate, do you really think a weak voice and sad eyes would help you? Do you think you get to be all fragile now?”

Tears stung your eyes as you fought to hold them back. “But I merely intended to help!” you insisted, desperate for him to see the truth. “You don’t have to push me away!”

“Why would I want you around?” he hissed, his gaze piercing through you. “You’re nothing but a reminder of everything I can’t have, everything I shouldn't have, and I’m here to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

With each word, your heart broke a little more, the weight of his rejection crushing you. “I thought... I thought we, toge—,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Together?” he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn. “You think that’s what this is? You’re wrong! The moon goddess has cursed you, and now you have to deal with it."

"But—"

"Leave!”

Without another word, you dashed down the hall, the world around you blurring as you pushed the door to your room open and locked it behind you. Sliding down against the cool wood, you let the tears flow freely. You couldn’t believe this was happening. For years, you had dreamed of having a mate. After losing your parents at such a young age, you had felt all alone. Life had been hard, but the thought of having someone to love, cherish, and adore had kept you going. But how had it all come to this? After praying to the moon goddess for years, you finally had a mate, and he didn’t want you. Was it true what your pack members always said? Were you really cursed? Were you really destined to be nothing but an abomination?

Now, it felt like you truly were cursed and unlovable, an abomination. You called out to your wolf, reaching for her, but she felt so distant, drowning in the loss of a mate she never really had. Jungkook’s words echoed in your mind, and the pain of his rejection was nothing compared to the hollow ache of losing your wolf.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice cracking, but silence filled the empty corners of your mind. A shrill sob escaped your throat, a sound of desperation and grief. You cried, each sob tearing through you as you let the waves of sorrow wash over you. You cried until you couldn’t anymore, until your tears ran dry, and exhaustion pulled you under like a heavy blanket.

Finally, the weight of it all became too much, and you fell into a deep slumber, your heart still aching but momentarily free from the torment of reality.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

"Bee." A soft voice pulled you out of the fog of sleep, nudging you back to consciousness. You groaned as the sunlight filtered through the window, the brightness bouncing off the walls and stabbing your eyes like tiny needles. You turned your head away with a low whine, squeezing your eyes shut tighter against the overwhelming light.

"Bee?" The voice was closer now, more insistent. You blinked your eyes open reluctantly and saw Shina crouched beside you. Concern was etched deeply into her face, her brows furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. Her hand reached out, gently gripping your arm, and she slowly helped you sit up from the cold floor.

"Why were you sleeping on the floor?" she asked, her voice gentle, though her worry was unmistakable. Her eyes, wide and searching, bore into yours, trying to find an answer you weren’t ready to give.

You blinked at Shina, still dazed, feeling like you were floating in a fog. The memory of last night twisted in your chest, squeezing tighter with every second that passed. His words, so sharp and cold, cut through you again, making it hard to breathe. You had tried to push them away, but the hurt clung to you, pulling you down.

"Bee, what happened?" Shina asked again, her voice low but urgent, her grip on your arm growing tighter. Her eyes searched yours, wide with worry, but you could barely meet them. You tried to speak, to say anything, but your throat was tight, and the pressure behind your eyes made your vision blur. She was so close, her concern so raw and real, that it only made you feel more fragile. You felt like you could break at any moment.

The weight of it all pressed down on you—her worry, the memory of his cruelty—and you felt the tears threaten to spill over. You blinked them away quickly, refusing to let them fall, and forced yourself to speak.

"I'm okay," you murmured, though your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. It wavered, weak and uncertain, but you straightened your shoulders, trying to sound firm. Shina's eyes softened, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue, but she held back. Instead, she nodded, though you could tell she didn’t believe a word.

"Right..." she said, clearing her throat. "Ahrm, I came to call you for breakfast." She tried to sound cheerful, but there was a hesitancy in her voice, the usual bounce missing.

"Breakfast?" you repeated, like the word itself didn’t make sense.

"Yeah," she nodded, motioning toward the bathroom. "You should get ready."

"Oh." You nodded slowly, as if on autopilot, and grabbed the yellow dress sitting on the edge of the bed. Shina had bought it for you, and you knew it meant something, but the significance felt distant now. Your body moved without thought, heading to the bathroom like it was just another day.

Inside, you let the water run hot, scalding almost, trying to feel something other than the ache that had settled deep in your chest. The steam wrapped around you, clouding your vision, but it couldn’t chase away the storm swirling in your head.

When you finally stepped out, Shina was waiting, her smile soft but cautious. “Bee, you look pretty,” she said, handing you a small box wrapped in delicate paper.

You took it, staring blankly at the box in your hand. "What’s this?"

"Jungkook asked me to give it to you." Her eyes flickered with something—excitement, maybe—but you weren’t sure. You nodded, barely acknowledging her as you tossed the box onto the bed without a second glance.

"I’m not opening it," you said flatly, your voice cold and distant.

Shina hesitated, her lips parting to say something, but she closed them quickly, offering a half-hearted nod. "Okay... Let's go."

The walk to the dining hall was quiet, too quiet. Shina glanced at you from time to time, but you were lost in your thoughts, diving deep into the darkness that had settled in your heart. Last night had been a dream—Jungkook had been so kind, so sweet, so real. For the first time, you had believed there might be a chance. But the way he had pushed you away so harshly afterward… it shattered everything.

“Bee, this way,” Shina said, guiding you through the doors and into the hall. The massive dining table stretched out before you, with Jungkook seated at the far end. His eyes were focused on his plate, avoiding your gaze entirely. Kian sat beside him, his arm casually dropped over the table. The other seats filled quickly with Neil, Patricia, and several others you barely registered.

Shina nudged you gently into the seat beside Jungkook, her smile forced, trying to ease the tension. "Come on, Bee. It’s just breakfast. Nothing too dramatic, right?" She chuckled awkwardly, but it fell flat in the heavy air. She glanced at Kian, who gave her a small, supportive smile, but you could tell even she felt the weight of Jungkook’s presence, of his silence.

You sat stiffly, your back straight, eyes locked on the table in front of you. Jungkook’s hand gripped his fork tightly, knuckles white, but he never looked your way. Not once.

Shina, trying to break the ice, leaned forward. "Bee," she started, forcing a grin, "Why don't you try pancakes? It's really good. Right, Kian?" She wiggled her eyebrows at Kian, trying to coax a smile out of you.

You glanced at her, offering a weak, polite smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Kian smirked, shaking his head. "Yes, this beautiful beside me loves pancakes!."

Jungkook’s fork clinked against his plate, the subtle sound sharper than it should’ve been. His jaw clenched, and for a second, his gaze flickered to you, something raw and almost vulnerable flashing in his eyes before he quickly looked away.

You felt the knot in your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let it show. There was no apology, no acknowledgment, just silence.

"Bee?" Shina’s voice broke through the fog, her hand gently resting on yours under the table. Her touch was warm, grounding you in the moment.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly. "Yeah?"

"Do you want me to take you out after breakfast? You know, just the two of us? We can talk... or not talk, whatever you want."

Jungkook’s shoulders tensed, his breath catching for just a second. But still, he said nothing.

You met Shina’s eyes, her genuine worry for you reflected in them. You gave a small nod, even though your chest felt heavy. "Yeah, sure. I’d love that," you whispered, your voice barely holding together.

Jungkook shifted beside you, his fork clattering against the plate as he finally spoke. "You guys should probably go out. Take Patricia with you too." His voice was steady, but cold, distant. He still didn’t look at you, directing his words toward Shina.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The sound made him go rigid, though he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. It was ridiculous, really, how he could be so close yet feel so unreachable.

Breakfast ended in uncomfortable silence. You stood up quietly, your chair scraping the floor as you excused yourself. Jungkook’s eyes followed your movement for a fleeting moment, but when you looked back, they were fixed on his plate again.

Alone, you made your way back to your room, each step feeling heavier than the last. You lingered by the window, staring out at the world beyond. It was strange—Jungkook suggesting you go out, as if it made any difference. As if letting you walk through town would somehow patch the holes he left in you.

But of course, he didn’t care. He made that clear last night.

A knock echoed through your room, loud against the silence, snapping you from your thoughts. Reluctantly, you crossed the room and opened the door to find a man in a black uniform standing there, his posture rigid.

"His Majesty has assigned me to escort you outside the palace, for your protection.," he said with no introduction, his tone all business. The man was imposing—broad-shouldered, with a no-nonsense expression. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. "Please, come. Beta female is already waiting."

You nodded, not really knowing what else to do, and followed as he motioned for you to walk beside him. His steps were measured, precise, and soon you were outside, seated in a car heading who knew where. Kenji, as you later learned his name was, drove with Shina beside him, her usual chatty demeanor subdued, while Patricia sat next to you in silence.

"Kenji, stop by The Velvet Pheasant," Shina said, her voice firm but distracted, not even glancing at him.

"Sure, beta female," he replied, his deep voice steady as he turned the wheel. The car came to a smooth halt outside an extravagant boutique, the kind that screamed prestige from the way it gleamed in the afternoon sun. The building’s grand façade loomed over you, polished and perfect, and you felt a wave of reluctance wash over you.

Stepping out of the car, Patricia told Kenji to wait outside, and he responded with a curt nod and a surprisingly warm gummy smile. You followed the girls inside, feeling the cool air hit you as soon as you entered. An older woman rushed toward Shina with surprising speed, her arms flung wide for an embrace.

"Shina, you’ve completely forgotten about me. Don't come to visit aunt anymore" the woman cried, clutching Shina tightly. "I haven’t seen you in ages! I even asked your mother, and she just said, 'Oh, you know Shina is busy these days.' Busy, huh?"

Shina stiffened in the woman’s arms, her face scrunched up in what could only be described as pure agony. You stifled a laugh but quickly regretted it as the woman released Shina and turned toward you and Patricia, her sharp eyes locking onto you.

Before you could react, Patricia shoved you forward and darted toward Shina, leaving you in the crosshairs. The old woman’s grip was strong, pulling you into a hug that felt more like a bear trap than a greeting. You could hear the two girls giggling behind you as they escaped her clutches, leaving you alone at her mercy.

For what felt like hours, you were trapped in a whirlwind of fabric, as Shina and Patricia pulled you from one section of the boutique to another. Dresses, shoes, accessories—Shina practically bought the whole store for you, her way of making the day brighter despite everything.

As the sun began to set, you all piled back into the car, exhaustion settling in. Kenji, who had been nothing but stoic all day, had softened slightly, sharing small bits of conversation with you along the ride. He was one of the royal warriors, you found out—highly respected, and one of the deadliest. Yet, despite his fearsome reputation, there was a kindness to him that you hadn't expected. You also found out that he was yet to find his mate.

The drive back to the palace felt quieter, more solemn, and the closer you got, the heavier your chest became. The fun you’d had during the day was slowly slipping away, replaced by the cold reality of where you were heading. You stared out the window, watching the world outside blur past, feeling the tightness return to your throat.

As the palace gates came into view, you couldn’t help but sigh, the happiness from earlier fading entirely. You didn’t want to go back. You didn’t want to face him again.

But you had no choice.

The car rolled to a stop, and with a deep breath, you stepped out, the weight of the palace settling back on your shoulders.

You stepped out of the car, the weight of the day pressing down on you. The girls had already been swept up by their mates, leaving you alone with Kenji, who gently helped you with the bags. His kind smile softened the growing pit in your stomach, but even Kenji, as sweet as he was, kept his distance. When you reached your room, he handed you the bags, his hands lingering for only a moment before he stepped back, eyes cast down.

"I can’t enter," he said, almost shy. "It’s not right to be alone with an unmated she-wolf."

You nodded, appreciating the respect, even though it only reminded you of your isolation. “Thank you, Kenji,” you murmured.

He gave a small wave before disappearing down the hall, leaving you to the quiet hum of your empty room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the silence.

You tossed the bags onto the bed, your eyes drifting over to the box you’d been avoiding all day. That damn purple-wrapped box. With a sigh, you grabbed it, tearing off the wrapper without care. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate heart-shaped necklace, the same shade of purple that always reminded you of him.

But instead of the warmth it once might have brought, a bitter taste rose in your throat. He thought this would fix everything. That after the things he said, the coldness he showed, a necklace could make it all go away? Your fingers tightened around it until your knuckles turned white. The bastard knew—he knew—how much it meant to you when you told him you’d never owned anything expensive. And now, it felt like a cruel joke, like he was throwing your words back in your face.

Without thinking, you stormed out of the room, the necklace clenched in your fist. Your feet carried you down the long corridors to his chambers, each step fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care who saw you, or how fast you were moving. You just needed to see him, to confront him.

As you reached his door, hand raised to knock, the sound of voices froze you in place.

"No," Jungkook’s voice boomed from behind the door, the rage in his tone making your breath catch. "I refuse to be tied to her. I didn’t choose this. I don’t love her. I don’t want any of it."

The necklace almost slipped from your grip, the metal cutting into your palm as your heart cracked.

"You need to understand, Kian," Jungkook continued, voice harsher now, "I’m not willing to do this."

"But even the elders want this," Kian replied, his voice softer, almost pleading. "Today, you were lucky she wasn’t here, but how long can you really hide her from the world? One day, you’ll have to accept her."

"Never," Jungkook spat, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Kian's next words were too quiet to make out, but they were followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps heading toward the door. Panic surged through you, but before you could move, the door swung open.

There he was, standing before you—Jungkook. His face paled when he saw your tear-streaked cheeks, his eyes widening in shock. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words died in his throat.

He reached out, the apology already forming on his tongue, but you didn’t wait to hear it.

Without a second thought, you hurled the necklace at his chest, the metal clinking as it hit him and fell to the floor between you. His eyes flicked to the necklace, then back to you, his expression one of helpless guilt.

But you didn’t wait for an explanation. Your feet carried you away, heart pounding, vision blurred by tears. You didn’t stop until the corridor twisted out of sight, and even then, the weight of his words echoed in your mind, breaking you all over again.

As soon as you got to your room, you sank to the ground, your body trembling as you wrapped your arms around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face, each sob tearing through you like a knife. A different ache settled in your heart, a hollow emptiness that expanded with every breath you took, leaving you feeling more lost and abandoned than ever.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Jungkook sat rigidly in the chair beside the window, the moonlight spilling over him like a soft embrace, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrow in his brow. Shadows danced across his face, mirroring the chaos swirling within him. He stared out into the darkness, eyes unfocused, lost in thoughts he couldn’t bear to confront. The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. A soft knock broke through, and he turned slightly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Come in.”

Kian stepped inside, his usual calm demeanor replaced by an unsettling gloom that weighed on him like a storm cloud. He crossed the room slowly and settled into the chair beside Jungkook. The air thickened with the weight of their unspoken fears.

“What brings you here, Kian?” Jungkook asked, his tone flat, gaze still trapped in the shimmering night sky. He could feel Kian’s eyes on him, probing, searching for answers.

“Why would you do that, Jungkook?” Kian’s voice trembled, breaking the stillness like a fragile glass shattering. He leaned forward, his brow knitted in worry. “why are you doing this? How could you sit here like this? Like nothing happened? She is your mate. You can’t just push her away like that. That’s not how things work, especially not with a mate bond.”

At the mention of you, Jungkook’s gaze snapped to Kian, sharp and defensive. The flicker of vulnerability quickly masked by anger. “What about her?” he demanded, an edge creeping into his voice, the tension coiling tighter in his chest.

“Shina told me Luna has been crying since evening.” Kian’s words were low, heavy with concern, sinking into Jungkook like stones in water. A silence enveloped them, punctuated only by Jungkook’s ragged breaths, as the gravity of Kian’s words settled in.

“Why?” Jungkook found himself asking, the question slipping out before he could stop it, though they both knew the answer. A suffocating heaviness settled in his chest, a mix of guilt and soul crushing swirling within him like a tempest.

“Jungkook, why not just accept the bond? Why—” Kian started, but Jungkook cut him off, frustration bubbling over. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes glinting with an intensity that betrayed his inner turmoil.

“She scares me, Kian,” Jungkook admitted, his voice tight, his jaw clenching as he turned away again. “She’s everything I—” He stopped himself abruptly, the words hanging in the air, unfinished. His fists clenched on his lap, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought to maintain control.

“What?” Kian pressed, leaning forward, desperate to understand. “Everything you what, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s face hardened, eyes darkening as the vulnerability retreated behind the walls he had carefully constructed. “Forget it,” he snapped, his voice cold. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Kian shook his head, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He leaned closer, his voice growing intense. “Love hurts above all, but we must never cease to do it. It’s painful, but you can’t run from it, Jungkook.”

“Love?” Jungkook scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him, but it sounded hollow. “It’s not meant for me, Kian. I hurt everyone. I’m my father’s son, after all.” He leaned back, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, shutting himself off from Kian’s words.

“You’re not him,” Kian insisted, leaning forward, voice filled with passion. “You’re not your father, and she isn’t your mother. She won’t leave, and you won’t end up like him. Jungkook, don’t let bad memories of past ruin the possibilities of your future.” He reached out, almost as if to touch Jungkook’s arm, but hesitated, sensing the emotional wall between them.

“That’s the problem with memories, Kian,” Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a whisper, eyes darkening. “They never go away. They stay with you, and they eat you alive. I can’t forget, and I can’t love.” His words were cold, final, as if sealing his fate.

Kian’s frustration boiled over, his hands clenched into fists as he tried once more. “It’s not just about you, Jungkook. It’s about her too. You can’t keep pushing her away—”

“Leave, Kian,” Jungkook said, his voice sharp, commanding. His back straightened, the gesture almost regal, but the pain behind his eyes betrayed him.

“But Alpha—” Kian’s protest faded as he sensed the finality in Jungkook’s tone. He sat back, his shoulders slumping, disappointment and worry etched into his features.

“I said leave,” Jungkook repeated, turning his back to Kian, the room growing colder as the shadows deepened around him. The moonlight faded into darkness, mirroring the hollow ache in Jungkook’s heart.

Kian stood up slowly, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the conversation. He glanced back at Jungkook, his face tight with concern. “I just hope you don’t regret this, Alpha,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of finality. Without waiting for a response, Kian walked to the door, the soft click of it closing behind him echoing in the heavy silence left in his wake.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

"Luna, for how long will you keep crying like this?" Shina's voice was gentle, laced with concern as she knelt beside you, offering a plate of food. She watched as you stared blankly at the untouched meal. Tears streamed down your cheeks, an endless waterfall that had begun with the dawn.

“Please, eat something,” she urged softly, but you could only shake your head, the words lodged in your throat like a stone.

“Why? Can’t he just accept the bond, Shina? Why?” Your voice cracked. Frustration bubbled within you, mingling with the heartache that had you feeling hollow.

Shina placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off, the gesture feeling too heavy to bear. “Please leave, Shina,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She hesitated, searching your face for a glimmer of hope, but all she found were shadows of despair. “No matter how much love you give to a bird with broken wings, it won’t ever make it believe it can fly,” she said, her voice quiet yet firm, her eyes filled with empathy. “And even if it did, isn’t it just death, Luna?”

Her words wrapped around you like a cold shroud, leaving you confused and raw. You opened your mouth to respond, but the weight of her statement silenced you. She rose slowly, the sadness in her eyes mirrored by the heaviness in the air, before she turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stared at the food plate, your heart aching with the reality of it all. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as you fought to suppress the next wave of tears. Each breath felt like a struggle, the silence around you amplifying the sorrow that threatened to drown you.

Okay, so first of all, if you’ve made it this far, wow, congrats on surviving whatever mess I just threw your way. I mean, let's be honest, this is probably one of the most questionable things you've ever had the misfortune of reading. And for that, I truly, sincerely apologize—well, kinda.

But hey, if you're sitting there thinking, "Wow, this is absolute garbage," you're not alone. I get it. I hated it too. So, feel free to tell me just how much you despised every single word of it. I mean, go on, rip it apart. I'm mentally prepared...sort of. Probably. Okay, not really. But let's pretend I am, and we can bond over how truly awful this was. Thanks for sticking around, though. You're a champ.

Taglist @freyaniobe @piercidh34rts @furioustrashlover @lola75111 @pitchblack0309 @whoa-jo @teeheewhy13 @gojoscumslut @emanyd @sassy-snassy @jksusawife @nnnnmmmuuiu @jiminismine4ever @runariya @btspurplesky

[hayatheauthor]

I feel a factor that largely contributes to the lack of success for self published or ‘unconventional’ authors is the general readers' growing lack of appreciation for literature.

Most readers, and publishers for that matter, now only look at a book's tropes and marketability rather than the actual writing and plot. Tropes were created as something that would help us easily find the perfect read, and yet they've now become something that defines a book.

The saddest part is we've not only lost appreciation for good writing but developed an aversion to literary comprehension.

People now seek to completely cut down on description and 'painting a scene' or character development and jump straight into the action. Prose is now seen as 'boring filler chapters' while the fight--the chase, the action, are highlighted. It's like going to a museum and complaining about how old everything is.

We've become impatient, unappreciative readers who care little for the emotional nuances of a beautifully crafted scene.

The genre that is most heavily impacted by this is romance. Romance used to be such a beautiful, emotionally evocative genre and now it's just watered down to its trope. People use romance as a way to escape from reality and fantasise about fictional men, which is acceptable, sure, but by doing so they've completely forgotten how to appreciate a book and its story.

Have your dark brooding morally grey love interest but also consider what makes him so. Rather than seeking a venereal connection with the character, look for an emotional one with the book and its beautiful prose and writing.

This is also why readers nowadays often complain about 'mainstream' authors not being that talented. This isn't because there aren't any talented authors with beautifully crafted books out there, it's because you're so caught up in a book's tropes and popularity you fail to acknowledge its true beauty, because by doing so you would recognise there are many other, unappreciated, novels that deserve that platform.

[kelseytheballerina]

By the end of the year, there will be a total of 176 A24 films released (there’s a few others announced but have no official release date yet). Although I’ve seen a nice handful of them already, I want to do a movie challenge. Watch one a day, just focus and enjoy it, no phones or scrolling. Keep track of them in my book and film journal. That’s 6 months of content!

I’ve also updated my reading list which now has 99 new additions and they’re all fiction, which I hardly ever read but after nearly a year straight of solely informational nonfiction, I want to mix it up and read much more of my favorite but extremely neglected genre, which is literary fiction.

I’ve just been watching a lot of YouTube lately and I want to get out of the junk content rut and back to the stuff that makes me feel good.

[palmviolet]

true detective s1 rewatch: thoughts on the finale

— our theme for this final masterpiece of an episode is: fiction. the series has skated near this before, of course, with its context themes of seeing and image, but this is the episode that really dives into an awareness of genre and storytelling. we begin with an in-depth look at errol childress and his home, the way he lives. he truly inhabits the southern gothic archetype — the grand, decaying house, the incestuous dynamic with reference to the 'cane fields' (something i haven't really discussed yet is the role of louisiana's history of slavery, which hangs over the narrative most conspicuous by its absence; angola, for example, that fabled threat used most often to imply sexual violence, is named after the slave plantation that once occupied the same plot; the place they filmed carcosa was an old civil war fort), the faceless dolls and the mummified father kept in a shack with horrors literally inscribed on the walls (including 'cassilda', another reference to the chambers work).

— childress also watches the television and apes the aristocratic british accents on display. he absorbs fiction and inhabits it, in the same way that he puts on an irish accent to flirt with betty, in the same way that he has her tell him the story of her assault while they are 'making flowers' (a metaphor that once again suggests we are beyond the realm of reality). he and betty are deliberately, exaggeratedly gothic, full of rot — they are designed not as fleshed-out characters, as most of TD's cast is, but as avatars for a gnawing belief in the void that consumes all in its path.

— this is the crux of rust's own beliefs about the futility of selfhood — that identities are illusory defence mechanisms against the void, that all we are is 'sentient meat'. (will be talking more about this line in my reply to an excellent ask by @queixumes, so look out for that.) that life is just a story we tell ourselves. and so with the childresses the veil grows thin: as rust follows childress into carcosa, childress's impossible taunts ("come die with me, little priest") echo around him less as character moments and more as authorial interjections, a manifestation of rust's own nihilistic belief and suicidal ideation. thus when rust does not complete the narrative ("take off your mask"; rust doesn't say the corresponding, "i wear no mask") he is breaking type, paradoxically defying the vacant literary formula in which he's trapped by expressing a self.

— the final scenes of the series entail rust's struggle with this newfound self. he has turned away the offering of the cosmic void; more than that, he has been to the void and found it not as empty and personality-less as he thought, but rather a void 'like a substance', a darkness that held the love of his daughter and his father in one. their selves persevered after death — and now finally he begins to recognise his own selfhood as well.

— this is reified by marty as a sounding board. for the first time, rust experiences recognition through the other with marty as that other — marty who listens to him cry ("talk to me, rust"), marty who encourages him to tell his stories of the stars. this is the other side of storytelling — the side that is not corrupt or empty, the side that has meaning because it is sincere, because it is earnest and with feeling. childress's storytelling is directly opposed to rust's, with childress an empty caricature of the rotten southern gothic and rust as a person looking to the stars: storytelling that does not suck inward to the void but looks outward to the world.

— i think it's significant that our final image of marty and rust is marty helping rust escape the hospital several days early. marty reifies rust's selfhood by something so simple as recognising what he likes — buying him his brand of cigarettes. but this is also in opposition to the medical institution. should someone with a hole in their guts be smoking? doubtful. but that's not the point — the point is that they have to "get out from under this [hospital] roof" in order to see the stars, that rust's lasting glimpse of hope ("the light's winning") is as he flees the institution, propped up not by its mechanics, in the form of the wheelchair, but by marty himself.

— as i've discussed in the past, TD's implications of the medical institution as a further corrupt branch of the state are very veiled, but they are present. there's a further signal of this in one of the hazy, slowly cross-fading shots towards the end: we see a doctor in the hospital hallway, carrying the image of a human body, fading into a shot of the childress shack with a human body drawn on it.

placed directly one after another, this is a juxtaposition that only associates the two. the shack is where childress keeps his desiccated father, talks about bringing him water, hosing him down — in some perverse way, treating him as a patient. this isn't designed to say explicitly that the hospital is involved in the conspiracy to the same degree as the tuttles, but it implies a broader institutional sweep of wrongness. within the medical institution is where most of us will experience ourselves at our most powerless; out of necessity, medical treatment strips identity and agency away, regimenting schedules and meals and visiting hours, labelling patients with identifying bracelets. in the same way that childress's narratives of southern gothic were a seductive call to the void of nothing, the absence of selfhood, the hospital, too, denies personality and self.

— this is why we finish with marty bringing rust his cigarettes against medical advice; this is why rust leaves the hospital, if not exactly on his own terms then at least on his and marty's. it is a final reclamation of the selfhood he has been denying himself all along — and an escape into a world that contains only one story, "light versus dark", as our final shot is of the stars winking into light. he is beyond our (potentially corrupting, as sight and image has been throughout the series) interpretation; he is in the void, yes, but it is a void with substance, a void with love.

[tyrantisterror]

What are your top favorite fairy tales? Either classic literarily stories, adaptations of literary fairy tales, wholly modern fairy tales, or even just stories that you think are structured like fairy tales. (Roald Dahl books, Studio Ghibli movies, even Shrek and Puss in Boots movies, etc.)

That is an unfathomably vast genre of fiction to try and condense into a ranked numbered list. I think... I think that may be impossible to actually answer as requested. But I can ramble about some of my favorites I suppose.

Let's do this sorta like the Oscars and divide things into categories.

Category 1: The Heavy Hitters

Some fairy tales are significantly more famous than others, so this category is for them: the heavy hitters, the classic fairy tales that are most well known, as defined by my own nebulous perception of which fairy tales are more popular than others.

Of the heavy hitters, my favorites are Little Red Riding Hood and Jack and the Beanstalk. Little Red Riding Hood is such a spooky story no matter which telling you're looking at, and has contributed a lot to both the fantasy and horror genres thanks to its simple yet evocative premise and visuals. Jack and the Beanstalk, meanwhile, is just a really solid story of a trickster fool, which is one of my favorite archetypes in all of fiction. Love a good trickster fool.

Category 2: The Obscurities

As I said, this ask is covering a HUGE amount of fiction in its topic, especially since the border between a fairy tale and, like, ANY folklore isn't really well-defined (not in a way anyone can agree too, anyway). But there are a lot of obscure folktales I love that are at least sometimes lumped in as fairy tales, and I'm gonna list them here:

The Lambton Worm - a classic tale of dragon-slaying and getting fucked over by prophecies

The Lindworm Prince - queen can't concieve and consults a witch, ignores witch's directions, gives birth to human baby and dragon baby. Dragon baby grows up and demands a wife before human baby can get his, and a clever girl decides this is her chance to get rewarded for monster fucking.

Maud and the Dragon of Mordiford - the story of a girl who adopts a dragon only for it to end tragically, which inspired one of the novels I'm gonna write one of these days

Tam Lin - the story of a woman who wanted that elf dick and wasn't afraid to do some weird shit to get it

Biancabella and Samaritana - a story about a girl and her sister who is a snake because her mother had trouble concieving

King Odd - a story about an odd king who's actually an exiled fairy queen in disguise, and the man who wins her heart after surviving her attempt to execute him. It's like a Nordic medieval Tenchi Muyo.

You've probably noticed some themes about my favorites right now - lots of stories with dragons, people being transformed into monsters, and heroes who are into that monster shit.

Category 3: Archetypal Pieces

Ok, so for this I'm going to focus less on individual folktales and more on recurring plotlines, character types, and story beats, which you begin to notice the more you read up on Fairy Tales in part because many of the more obscure ones take beats from ones you're probably more familiar with and mix them together in new ways. So, my favorite plot beats in fairy tales:

Any sort of monster, obviously

The villain who literally removed their heart out of fear of being vulnerable

The baleful polymorph (i.e. a human who inhabits a beast/monster body against their will)

Monsterfucker protagonists

Trickster Fool protagonists

Disobedient Girls (examples: Little Red, Goldilocks), though I don't like how this archetype is treated

You want to have a baby and seek a witch and she gives you VERY SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS which you ignore because you really want this baby and oops you've got twins and one of them is some sort of monster good job asshole

The hero helps three (or more) people/creatures in need, and when shit hits the fan, they return the favor

Category 4: Modern(ish) Adaptations

Our penultimate category focuses on adaptations of fairy tales from, like, the 1900's on - anything made in a century I've lived in part of, basically. These arguably shouldn't be divided from "normal" fairy tales, but my brain regards them differently than, like, Victorian era fairy tale retellings, because hey, I lived in the age of these, more or less. They're "modern" for whatever nebulous definition of that word my brain's decided on.

And there's a lot for me to put in this category. Sleeping Beauty might be my favorite of Disney's fairy tale retellings, though Beauty and the Beast is a strong competitor for that role (and maybe Mulan, if we count its source material as a fairy tale, but I'm not sure we can). I think overall I like Sleeping Beauty's more stylized animation and character designs as well as its less conventional story-telling structure a bit more than B&B's, but Beauty and the Beast is still gorgeous and kind of perfectly scripted, so it's a tough competition.

My alltime favorite adaptation of fairy tales, though, would be Jim Henson's The Storyteller:

Using the magic of 1980's muppeteering, it adapts several fairy tales, many of which are more on the obscure side, and sometimes mashes a few different ones together to make sure each episode has a good three act structure. It's wonderful and fully captures the weirdness of fairy tales, while also having a lot of heart - The Heartless Giant is my favorite of the whole series.

Category 5: Works Inspired By Fairy Tales

I almost lumped the following stories into the above category, but while the division is, again, purely in my mind, there's something different about modern works that claim to adapt fairy tales 1:1 and ones that take fairy tale characters or concepts and throw them in entirely new tales with different directions, so that's what our final category will be.

I've gushed about Puss In Boots: The Last Wish enough that I don't think it'd surprise anyone that it would end up here - the same goes with the works of Rankin Bass, which is why I doubt anyone is surprised I'd put The Last Unicorn here too (technically based on a book, but it still fits the "has big fairy tale vibes despite not being based on one specific one" that I'm using to justify this category).

Pan's Labyrinth would also go in this category, with a protagonist who's both a trickster fool AND a disobedient girl, as well as a beautifully gothic take on fairy tale motifs. I'd put Company of Wolves here as well, being a very multifaceted riff on the Little Red Riding Hood story and a movie that sets both my analytical and creative parts of my brain on fire each time I want it.

I'd also put The Path, a short video game explicitly inspired by Company of Wolves, on this part of the favorites list. It's a game about, like, a DOZEN or so different takes on Red Riding Hood and her story, all with different flavors and subtext to analyze. It's unsettling but good.

Dimension 20 had a whole season focused on a horror-themed crossover of fairy tale characters called Neverafter that was fantastic, with one of the best riffs on Little Red Riding Hood I've ever seen, Puss in Boots and Pinocchio working together as con artists, and a vampire Snow White, so yeah 10/10 there, no notes.

And while I've only seen scattered bits of it, what I've seen of Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, a sequel series to Disney's Rapunzel adaptation, is pretty great, though maybe I just think Cass is hot.

If you put an angry woman with a sword in your work of fiction I will at least stay for a few episodes to see what you do with her.

Given how much it consumed my brain in so little time, Revolutionary Girl Utena has to rank among my favorite Fairy Tale things ever - like, this is too chaotic a list to really rank things, but if I were to try, it'd at least be in the top 10. The same is true for Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods, which in addition to being a big fun crossover between a bunch of the Heavy Hitter fairy tales, is also one of the best musicals ever written - and indeed, one of the best stage shows of all time.

Shit, where do I put A Midsummer Night's Dream? It feels like it should be here, but it predates the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, whose works my brain categorizes as "old fairy tales" rather than "modern fairy tale retellings." Well, it'd be somewhere among these categories, being one of the best tales with fairies in it ever told.

The Princess Bride would be up high like Utena no matter what - it's one of the best works of fiction about love that we've got. Same goes with Galavant, which I consider its spiritual successor, although I think one could argue Galavant isn't specifically a fairy tale pastiche and is more just a lampooning of fantasy in general.

Oh, and The Hazards of Love, a concept album by The Decemberists, should be here too. That's the last one I can think of right now, but I'm sure I'll think of a few others later that I like enough to regret not putting on here.

[the-crooked-library]

"You and I Have Begun to Blur"

This is eating my brain from inside, so here's the thing: one of my favourite aspects of Hannigram as a ship is their balance - the way they mirror and complete each other, functionally two halves of the same whole; but what is even more fascinating is that, in a literary sense, Hannibal and Will are, in fact, inspired by two opposing aspects of the same man.

It all begins (like many other things) with Lord Byron; specifically, the summer he spent with a group of friends at Villa Diodati in Geneva, and the dare, that each member of the group would write a ghost story - one of which was Dr. Polidori's The Vampyre. This novella, which introduced the vampire legend to Western popular culture, defined its archetypes for centuries to come; and as such, Polidori's Lord Ruthven, who was based on Lord Byron, became a blueprint.

He is dark, foreign, seductive, dangerous, hypnotizing, hedonistic, possessive; his relationship with the main character, Aubrey, is markedly homoerotic - and these qualities endure as the archetype is passed down the generations. From Ruthven, we get Carmilla, Dracula, Lestat - and, indeed, Hannibal Lecter.

From this:

To this:

he is still, recognizably, a Byronic villain. Whether he operates within an overtly supernatural genre, or a psychological thriller, he is still confident, dominant, manipulative, and always representative of forbidden (queer, interracial, extramarital, etc) desire and temptation.

However, The Vampyre was not the only piece written for the same dare, not the only piece that left a legacy within popular horror, and, most importantly for this context, not the only piece that featured a Byronic character. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein introduced a second such archetype into the gothic genre - inspired by her own understanding of Lord Byron; so, while her Victor Frankenstein shares the same dark hair and pallor as Polidori's Ruthven, there is an ocean of differences between the two.

Victor Frankenstein is a Tortured Genius. He is odd and wild, passionate, prone to isolation; a misfit from the start, always lonely despite the few connections he has, and never truly understood. His intellect is both a gift and the source of his ruin, and he is plagued, in equal measure, by both pride and guilt.

In both looks and character, he passes almost unchanged - from this:

To this:

Even centuries later, he is still the smartest man in the room, he is always tormented, and his counterpart is always a Monster. We see him pop up throughout horror media - as poets, composers, detectives - reflected in Edgar Allan Poe's Roderick Usher, Lovecraft's Henry Wilcox, or Spencer Reid of Criminal Minds. Unlike those of Ruthven's lineage, these people are usually either frail or sickly, socially awkward, uncertain of themselves except for a specific area of expertise, and their sanity commonly tends to be in question.

Despite such differences, though, all these characters are Lord Byron's legacy, weaving their way through history - on the page, on the stage, on the screen, it matters not. By the time they meet again in NBC's Hannibal, they are as separate as two entities can be - yet entwined more closely than any other genre would allow.

Frankly, it drives me feral.

There is so much here to unpack - they are a whole, and yet separate, each with his own archetypal history. Does something within Will Graham's bones remember Frankenstein when he stands in the forensic lab, surrounded by corpses?.. On the Doylist level, does that inform the acting - however subconsciously - in any way?.. Does Count Hannibal Lecter have Lord Ruthven's smile - or Lord Byron's?.. Does he know?

How much is reality?

How much is fiction?

How much is lost through interpretation? How much is remembered? How much does anyone ever really Know us, truly, when two of Byron's closest friends saw entirely different people in him?

I don't know. We can never know. What is evident, though, is that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are two halves of the same soul - and that this soul aches to be complete.

[benkyoutobentou]

12 Books for 2024 (Japanese Edition)

You may have seen my post about the twelve books I read in 2023 (here), and I thought it would be fun to follow it up with a little tbr for 2024! Ideally, I'd like to read more than twelve books in 2024, but twelve is enough for now since I've got some series on this list that I'd like to either make some serious progress in or finish up completely. This list is in no particular order!

地球星人 - 村田沙耶香: I read コンビニ人間 by Murata a few years back and loved it, and this one has been high up on my tbr for a long time now. With how many people say they're completely traumatized by it, it sounds like the perfect book for me. The only reason I haven't read this yet is because I've hyped it up so much for myself.

生命式 - 村田沙耶香: A short story collection by Murata? Sign me up ten times over. This one sounds weird and gruesome and right up my alley.

本を守ろうとする猫の話 - 夏川草介: Another cat book, who can blame me? This was also touted as being perfect for book lovers, and I haven't heard a bad review yet.

吾輩は猫である - 夏目漱石: Keeping with the cat theme, this one I actually have planned in tandem with a challenge I have to read twelve big ass classics throughout the year. Between the sheer size of this and the fact that the text is so densely packed in, this book kinda scares me. I'm planning to read it in December of next year so that I have as much time as possible to prepare haha.

世界から猫が消えたなら - 川村元気: Last cat book, I promise, but I had to keep them all together (it's actually not about cats, though). I've had this one for a long time and just picked it up on a whim. I've heard a bit of mixed reviews, but the premise sounds interesting enough, and it seems to be pretty popular.

博士の愛した数式 - 小川洋子: This was one of the first books I bought in Japanese, so it's high time that I get it off my tbr. I've seen so many people love this, in and out of the language learning community. This author also has a bunch of other popular works, so I'd really like to jump into her books and experience the hype for myself.

告白 ‐ 湊かなえ: I've seen a bit of buzz about this book in the language learning community, but what really convinced me on it was seeing people outside of language learners also enjoying it. It sounds dark and mildly depressing, and I'm hoping that it'll have some interesting commentary as well.

独り舞 - 李琴峰: Somehow, I haven't read any queer literary fiction in Japanese yet, despite it being my favorite genre, so I'm so excited to jump into this one. For the life of me I can't remember where I heard about this, but I think it'll be one of my first reads in 2024.

デゥラララ！！- 成田良悟: I used to be obsessed with the anime adaptation in middle school but never revisited the series out of fear that it wouldn't stand the test of time. After seeing a fellow language learner gush about the series, I decided to give it a shot, managed to find it at a local used bookstore, and snatched up the first volume. Don't let me down, nostalgia!

憎らしい彼 - 凪良ゆう: This is the second book in the 美しい彼 series, and even though I'd like to read the third one next year as well, I'm just combining them. Seeing this series next to series like No. 6 and キノの旅 I'm really grateful to have a trilogy on my tbr haha.

No. 6 - あさのあつこ: Saying that I would like to finish this series next year is a bit of a stretch, seeing as I have eight of ten volumes left, but I'd like to put a serious dent in it to be sure.

キノの旅 - 時雨沢恵一: This series is more of a read as I please type series for me, since there's not really any overarching plot. I'm also not racing to make progress, since there are over twenty volumes (and still going). I'm savoring this series and I'm okay with that.

[mask131]

About the "Tolkienesque renaissance"

The term "Tolkienesque renaissance" is of my own invention and creation, but it is a name I use to designate a very specific wave of fantasy fiction, or rather a specific phenomenon in the evolution of fantasy in the English-speaking literature.

As we all know, Tolkien's shadow cannot be escaped when doing fantasy. Tolkien's works being published began the modern fantasy genre as we know it today. D&D, the other big "influencer" of fantasy, would not have existed without Tolkien. The Peter Jackson trilogy began the fantasy renewal of the 21st century. Epic fantasy is a sub-genre explicitely designed after Tolkien's work.

And the massive influence of Tolkien over fantasy is the most felt in the second half of the 20th century, in English-speaking literature, through something I would call the "Tolkien cold-war". When you take a look at the fantasy books of the second half of the 20th century, you notice a fundamental clash and divide splitting it all in some sort of silent feud or discreet conflict. On one side, you have the "Tolkien followers" - as in, the authors who walk in Tolkien's footsteps ; on the other side, you have the "counter-Tolkien" offering what is essentially a counter-culture in a Tolkien-dominated fantasy.

We all know that Tolkien's success was huge in the early second half of the 20th century. The success of "The Lord of the Rings" and the "Hobbit" and the "Silmarillion" was especially important during the 60s and 70s - Gandalf for president and all that... People loved Tolkien's fantasy, people WANTED Tolkien's fantasy, and so publishers and others were happy to oblige. This began the "Tolkien followers" movement - but this beginning was a very unfortunate one, because it was one that relied on not just homage, imitation or pastiche... But in pure copy-cat and sometimes complete rip-off. Since people wanted some Tolkien, people were given LITERAL Tolkienesque fantasy. The most famous (or unfamous example of this would be the 1977 's "The Sword of Shannara" novel. This novel was designed to literaly be a simplified "The Lord of the Rings" with only a few details changed here and there. In fact, this is most of what people recall about this book - how blatant of a Tolkien rip-off it is. And yet, this book was a BEST-SELLER of the 70s fantasy, and it was a huge success, and everybody loved it, precisely because it did the same thing Tolkien did, and so you got to enjoy your favorite series all other again. Afterward, Terry Brooks, the author of the novel, expanded it into a complete series moving into much more original and personal directions, as he admitted himself that doing a Tolkien copy-paste was more of a publishing and editorial decision to make sure he would sell and settle himself in the literary landscape rather than an actual artistic project or personal desire. "The Sword of Shannara" got its own sequels, and became its own thing (though VERY reflective of what the 80s American fantasy was in terms of style, tone and content), but nowadays everybody remembers it for being the "Tolkien rip-off" in its first novel.

And yet being a Tolkien rip-off can sell well, and if the "Shannara" series hadn't proved it, "Dungeons and Dragons" did, since its first edition in the late 70s went as far as to just take Tolkien's inventions such as orcs, Balrogs and hobbits, and include it in its game. The same way the Shannara series then found its own tone and content, through the successive editions Dungeons and Dragons then began to build a world of its own... But it confirms what I said: it was the era of the Tolkien rip-offs.

In front of these "Tolkien followers", which were back then "Tolkien imitators", there was another movement that drove fantasy forward - and it was the "counter-Tolkien movement" so to speak. Works of fantasy that willingly chose to depart from Tolkien's formulas and archetypes and tropes, to do their own thing. Sometimes they did it out of an actual dislike of Tolkien's books: for example the "Elric Saga" was created because Moorcock hated the paternalist, moralist tone of The Lord of the Rings, and so he countered Tolkien's world with a protagonist serving the Lords of Chaos, using a soul-sucking evil sword, last remnant of an empire of cruel, decadent and demonic elves, in a tragic world doomed to endless falls and oblivions... (Though, ironically, Moorcock would end up initiating a genre of dark fantasy that Tolkien himself had explored in his unpublished texts...). Others did it not because they disliked Tolkien but wanted to prove you could do something else: for example Ursula Le Guin admired and appreciated Tolkien's works, but she was fed up with all the imitators and pastiches, and so she created her "Earthsea" world. No European setting dominated by white people, but an archepilago of islands with dark-skinned characters. No big war or political manipulations, the stories being about about the life, journeys and evolution of individual people. No sword-wielding hero or horse-riding paladin, but wizards and priestesses as the protagonists. No big prophecy about the end of the world, flashy magical sword or evil overlord ready to destroy the universe (well... almost), but rather philosophical and existential battles doubling as a fight against oneself and one's very existence...

This counter-Tolkien genre definitively peaked with the other big name of "dark fantasy" and what would annonce the "grimdark fantasy" a la Game of Thrones: Glen Cook's The Black Company.

But what about the titular "Tolkienesque renaissance" I speak of?

Well, if the "Tolkien followers" had only done bad rip-offs, it would have never lasted, ad the "counter-Tolkien" movement would have won. In fact in the 80s, it almost did! Tolkienesque fantasy was thought of as cliched and stereotyped and overdone and dead. People had enough of these blatant-rip offs, as the hype of the 60s and 70s had died out, and the 80s folks turned to other forms of fantasy - such as The Black Company (Dark Fantasy), or Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser (Sword and Sorcery), or various parodies and humoristic fantasies, but all far from the "epic fantasy". And yet, something happened... The "Tolkien imitators" became "Tolkien followers" or rather "Tolkien reinventors", and began the "Tolkienesque renaissance".

The Tolkienesque renaissance is this group of fantasy authors, most predominant in the 90s though they began their work by the late 80s, that decided they would make the Tolkienesque fantasy live on. Not just by copying it as their predecessors did, a la Shannara, no. But by reinventing it, freshening up the old ways for a modern audience and new times. They took back all the key ingredients, and the famed archetypes and the usual tropes of the epic fantasy a la Tolkien, and they reused them without shame... But in new ways, with twists and turns, playing on the codes of the genre, while carefully avoiding the cliches and stereotypes of the time. Giving what people liked about epic fantasy, while also producing new works that felt fresh and went into opposite directions - taking lessons from the counter-Tolkien movement.

It is commonly agreed that the series that began this renaissance was David Eddings' The Belgariad, published between 1982 and 1984. Just a look at the Wikipedia article mentions this best-selling, very influential fantasy series was the "last gasp of traditional fantasy, and the founding megasaga of modern fantasy"... Now, I actually have to disagree with Wikipedia's words. I do not consider it a "last gasp of traditional fantasy" since it already began the Tolkienesque renaissance and thus a new generation of fantasy ; and the other qualificative is ridiculous since modern fantasy already began with Tolkien, and the Belgariad is not a mega-saga, but just five average-sized books. But the idea of it being a link between an older and a newer generation of fantasy books is very true.

While The Belgariad has to be put first, second comes Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time, which probably is the most famous of the Tolkienesque renaissance works of the 90s and became this behemoth of fantasy literature. And to make a trilogy of iconic works, I will add another 90s success: Tad Williams' "Memory, Sorrow and Thorn". Another iconic work of the Tolkienesque renaissance, though lesser known today than the Belgariad or The Wheel of Time - which is a shame, because Williams' work as a huge and heavy influence on a famous fantasy story of today... "A Song of Ice and Fire", which takes a LOT from "Memory, Sorrow and Thorn" (I even call this trilogy the "missing link" between LotR and ASoIaF).

The thing with these Tolkienesque renaissance series is that today, to an audience that was nourished by Tolkien and D&D and Pratchett and other things of the sort, a superficial glance might make them seem like "yet other rip-offs, yet other stereotyped, yet other clichéed" fantasy series. You just have to see the reception of the first season of "The Wheel of Time" tv series - here there was a clash between two generatons of fantasy.

And what these people who take a superficial glance will miss is how inventive and fresh and interesting these series felt back then because they played with or subverted the tropes and the codes of the traditional fantasy. They all played by the usual archetypes - you have an everyman young chosen one, a magical mentor who must "die" at one point, an evil overlord in an ominous half-disembodied state, evil black-clad horsemen going after the hero, elves and dwarves and trolls... And yet, these series twisted these same ingredients they used to bring new flavors.

Let us take the Belgariad briefly, to see how the whole Tolkienesque formula was subverted. Like in Tolkien you've got an order of wizards appeared as elderly, bearded men - but here, they are definitively human beings unlike the otherwordly Istari, and their appearance is explained by them being the disciples of a god that likes to take the appearance of a bearded old man, and who by divine influence made them look like him. You've got a dangerous, all-powerful item the big bad is seeking to destroy the world - but here it is no evil, or corrupting thing. It is rather an item dangerous because of the sheer scope and range of its power, and the temptation isn't becaue it is "evil" power, but just because it is a power so massive it can break the world. You've got a missing king with a stewart/regent holding the throne for him until the lost heir returns - but when said heir returns, the stewart/regent is no evil vizir or scheming usurper, and gladly offers back the throne to its legitimate owner. Belgarath, your Gandalf-stand-in, is far from being the dignified guide and noble mentor of Tolkien, as he is a half-werewolf drunkard that hates any kind of official ceremony or garb and prefers running through the woods or rolling under a table in taverns. And while everything is designed as a Tolkienesque setting, you've got no elves or dwarves or orcs - but humans. And that's a big change compared to more traditional 80s fantasy (like D&D or the Krondor series or Shannara). You have your Nazgûl stand-ins, but they're humans. You've got your Istari, but they're humans. You've got your dwarves equivalent, but they're humans. You've got your orcs equivalents, but human too. And it is shown that it is all a human vs human combat, despite being a world of magic and gods, placing some relativism into it all. (Though the fact they decided to subvert the Tolkienesque good vs evil wordlbuilding by having humans on both sides did cause other aspects of the series to age badly but that's another topic).

I can go on and on but I think you see my point - and this same subversion can be found in the other two series I talked about.

The Wheel of Time begins with the chosen one going on a quest... But which chosen one? That's the problem - there are multiple candidates, and so we begin with a guessing game. And the Aes Sedai are clearly an answer to Tolkien's Istari - but all women instead of all men, and much more numerous and pro-active. As for "Memory, Sorrow and Thorn" we have benevolent trolls that are actually more akin to Tolkien's dwarves and have some Inuit-influence, while the Tolkienesque-elves turn out to either be the big bads of the series and the evil guys ; or to be sheltered, useless side-characters that are not helping anyone and cause more problems than anything (I'm exaggerating a bit here, but you get the subversion). Spoilers - but the Galadriel equivalent literaly gets murdered during her second actual appearance, to make it very clear what kind of subversion we are into.

Because this was the game of these books - and the reason they were such huge successes. It wasn't about avoiding or setting themselves free from the tropes and code and archetypes of the genre. Rather it was about reappropiating them, reusing them, twisting them and modernizing them in order to get rid of the stale cliches and frozen stereotypes. It was all a game of imitation yes, but also of derailing - a subtle, discreet, derailing so that everybody got on board of the same type of train, but said train took different tracks to another landscape and worked on a different fuel. (If it makes sense?). It is a game of subtle twists - but unfortunately it is often this subtlety that makes these series overlooked, as people just focus too much on what is identical/similar and not much on what is different... Despite the differences being key here in this effort of renewing what was a dying style. Placing back these books in their context highlights even more how "fresh" they felt back then.

I have one specific point that illustrates this, but I'll need to write a whole post for it...

[magnus-sm-writes]

WIP Re-Intro: Lessons in Humanity from a Future Physicist

Genre: Literary Fiction, Coming-of-Age | Status: Rewriting | Playlist | Pinterest

Way back in the day—I think on my old account, which I lost the password and the email for—, I wrote a WIP intro for Lessons in Humanity from a Future Physicist. Looking back, it’s not up to the standards that I hold now, which is a sign that things have changed for the better. Things have also changed since then. 

Lessons in Humanity is my oldest work. This year, it turns ten years old. That’s older than 3/4 of my sister’s kids, older than my relationship, and older than even my own name. It’s crazy to think that I’ve been writing this book for almost half of my life, and crazier still that I keep changing things about it. These are characters I made when I was a lonely, angsty tweenager who was feeling weird things about my gender and place in the world.

The first draft of Lessons in Humanity, which was called We’re All Dead After All, was a disaster of depression that honestly concerns me, looking back at it. I was deeply sad at this time. Things have vastly improved since then, though I still do like a tragic story every now and then.

It’s no longer a story drenched in my own pre-teen depression; it’s a story about growing up and changing. I think that’s what makes it so personal to me; that I’ve been changing things about it as I’ve grown up and changed.

Lessons in Humanity is about Kam Suzuki and his best friend Zach Amsel as they begin their first semester at Miami University (in Oxford, Ohio). While there, Kam has a difficult time adjusting to the change and finds himself crumbling under the weight of some issues he has yet to deal with. 

A more literal way to put it is: Kam experiences the absolute Hell I went through (mentally) when I graduated university.

It’s more of a literary fiction character study than something with a big, overarching plot. Think My Year of Rest and Relaxation literary fiction versus The Secret History literary fiction. Nothing big and grand happens in it. It’s a quiet story about a guy slowly wearing himself into nothing and then building himself back up (with the help of his friends). There’s a romantic subplot that I only ended up adding because it felt natural.

I think what makes Lessons in Humanity so important to me isn’t just that I’ve been working on it for almost half my life. It’s also that, whenever I go through a difficult time of change, I come back to it. Case in point: I’m writing this update right now because, in six weeks, the American branch of my company will lay us all off. Lessons in Humanity brings me comfort when I feel directionless because Kam feels the same way. Dare I call it my comfort work.

As a (likely-autistic) trans guy myself, Kam was me before I was even me. For all the time I’ve been writing him, Kam has been a way to understand myself and the things I felt. Of course he’s like me. 

My biggest hope with this book is that it does for others what it’s been doing for me. I love Lessons in Humanity when I’m feeling unsure and afraid of change. If it can comfort other people in those times—or any other time—, then I consider it to be a success, no matter what. The idea of Lessons in Humanity from a Future Physicist being someone’s comfort book makes me want to cry.

I haven’t done a full rewrite of Lessons in Humanity since 2020. Since then, I’ve gone to university and gotten (part) of the full experience, and I’m going to add quite a bit of realism to what wasn’t accurate before.

(My husband and I are going to go on a small trip to Oxford, Ohio in October once the layoffs are finished so I can get a little bit of a refresher on the town. I haven’t been in two years, and that was back when I was doing Doordash.)

Kam Suzuki

One of my first ever queer characters, Kam will always hold a dear place in my heart. It’s not that much of a joke when I say that Kam is my self-insert character. When you list out our traits, we look almost the same. And yet, I do take some steps to make Kam a little different from me. I take aspects of people in my life that I love (which I do for all of my characters) that are far different from me and put them in him.

Despite being obsessed with his physical fitness, Kam is someone who doesn’t deal with his problems. He locks them in his chest and lets them claw away at him until he can’t stand it anymore. Unfortunately, that happens to him during the events of Lessons in Humanity. There’s some stuff he’s been holding in for far too long, like his trauma from walking in on his twin brother’s suicide attempt, along with his general hatred of things changing and fear of abandonment. 

Kam’s lifelong dream is to work for NASA. He’s been obsessed with space and science since he was a small child, so of course, he’s a Physics major. He’s also the type of person who works himself to the bone for success. (In this way, we are the same.)

Zach Amsel

Something I love about Zach is that it feels like he’s the other part of me. What Kam didn’t get, it seems like Zach got. Zamsel is the type of indie soft boy that I easily catch crushes for, with my “anxious but slutty bisexual” energy and unruly curly hair.

When it comes to Zamsel, I would just like to say: his playlist is composed of a lot of The Front Bottoms. He’s a sad boy who gets into a lot of bad situations with toxic romantic partners that take advantage of him. While I’ve changed the timeline of a couple relationships of his, the fact that he’s willing to get with almost anyone who shows interest in him is equal parts depressing and frustrating. For both everyone in the novel and myself. 

Bad taste aside, Zamsel is a sweet guy with an incredible competitive streak. He and Kam have been competing with each other for years now, and they still push each other towards success.

Nikki Espinosa-Jasso

Nikki is a Mechanical Engineering student who shares an art class with Kam and Zamsel. She’s a year older and wiser, a bit jaded, and overall, a little abrasive on the surface, but she has a heart of gold. I think we’ve all met a person like her. Her main love languages are acts of service and getting food together.

She’s receiving what is pretty much a total overhaul. Where she used to be a quasi-mother figure to Kam and Zach, I’ve decided to make her a little more feral and a lot less maternal. Nikki needs to be a more interesting person outside of the boys.

Vic Suzuki

Kam’s brother who is still in high school since he didn’t skip a grade when Kam did. When I first created him, he was your typical 2014-era emo, which has now become a 2024 Tiktok alt boy, I guess. Blue hair, lots of piercings, black hoodies under leather jackets, bold tattoos, bisexuality. He was my gender goal when I created him, and honestly, I’m pretty damn close to it right now.

In the past, Vic was depressed to the point of attempting suicide, which Kam walked in on and was traumatized by. Vic doesn’t know this. He’s gotten better since then, and has far better coping mechanisms. Honestly, he has some of the best mental health in the book, which is a huge change from how he was in WADAA. 

He has goals now (that don’t include being dead). Vic is trying to line up a tattoo apprenticeship when he graduates high school. 

Gerard Shimmish

Kicked out of his parent’s house for being gay, Gerard has been living with the Suzuki family for about a year and a half. He’s Vic’s boyfriend and best friend, and a general ray of sunshine. We don’t see as much of Gerard as we did in WADAA, which is a shame. Gerard is a character I pour a lot of my optimism into.

His big thing is helping people. He wants to be a social worker or a psychiatrist. Something where he works with LGBT youth like himself. 

He’s getting some minor character edits to make him a little more interesting, but overall, I think Gerard’s a sweetheart. I might borrow some traits from my husband to give him some more depth.

Tag List

@aritany, @reininginthefirewriting

Ask to be added to the tag list!

[musingsbycaitlin]

HEY! Writeblr Intro!!!

Hi, my name is Caitlin, and I’m a third year Creative Writing student in rainy England. I’ve got a couple WIPs but none are set in stone so you’ll have to bear with me for a while haha.

- I’m here for a good time so my writing is solely based on my mood and vibe at the time, please do not expect consistency.

- I write short stories mainly but am trying to branch out into novels so you’ll hopefully be seeing a bit more of that in the future.

- I am a university student with anxiety and decision fatigue so things change drastically around here every so often but I promise if I go quiet I will come back.

Let’s get into the WIPs (these will be constantly edited and changing) and feel free to ask me any questions about any of them, even ones that might have been removed from this list if you’re interested.

IF I GIVE UP, SO MUST YOU - a Wild West literary fiction novel

STATUS: currently drafting (on hiatus)

GENRE: literary fiction, sapphic romance(?)

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 3,995

Okay, so a bit of info about this project. I started writing it a bit ago purely because I wanted to write a Wild West novel and then it turned sapphic and then it became literary. It follows an unnamed narrator as she navigates life outside of her small town after she is targeted by bandits in a raid. A coming of age novel that explores what it means to figure things out for yourself whilst battling with false truths engrained into your from a young age.

NIGHT SWIMMING (working title) - a short story collection

STATUS: literally haven’t even started :/

GENRE: literary, horror, surrealist

This collection is my version of NaNoWriMo this year because there is no way I can feasibly write a novel in a month where I also have to write my dissertation first draft and three other short stories like no. I’m hoping to do an update on my page whenever a story is complete, so I will also update this section to include the names of all the stories going in. Stay posted is all I’m saying ;). All I know is I want it to explore the everyday in a surrealist way (as most of my stories do).

DAMAGED GOODS - a dystopian sci-fi novel

STATUS: currently drafting (on hiatus)

GENRE: dystopian, sci-if, speculative

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 2,323

So, I haven’t done an intro post to this yet simply because I had to put it to one side once university started again. A brief summary is this: Auden, an average guy, husband, and father, has gotten into a dreadful car accident. In this society, however, surgery is replaced with metal transplantation. Due to Auden’s extensive injuries, he now must live in suburbia with a completely metal head, arm, and leg.

I’m super happy with this concept and the initial 2,000 words I’ve got I’m pretty okay with. The main issue is where to take it and if it will be a full novel or more of a novella.

EAT YOUR YOUNG - a gothic horror novella

STATUS: currently drafting

GENRE: gothic horror

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 4,950

I haven’t done an intro for this project because I honestly wasn’t sure I’d return to it but the spooky season is upon us and I really want to get back into writing this. Brief Summary: Mr Gerard is an accountant hired by the Heron Manor estate to deal with the affairs of the three sisters residing there after a mysterious death of the man of the house.

This is going to me my main personal priority other than my short stories for now and I’ll try to get an intro out soon.

Okay, so that’s all for me folks. Like I said, any questions please feel free to send me an ask or a message, don’t be a stranger. As a writer I always wanna talk about my projects, OCs, and anything else writing craft related!

I’m tagging some mutuals, if you wish to be tagged or removed :( - let me know x

@annlillyjose @dallonwrites @aesa @winterandwords @iannicellis @isherwoodj

[mermaidsirennikita]

what would you say are the biggest trends when it comes to romance novels getting published nowadays and how do you feel about them?

Oh gosh, that's hard to say. In part because I am both deeply NOT on trend in what I seek out, and on trend in that I read a lot of ARCs from trad publishers? Who aren't the only trendsetters by any means, but are the ones with the most $$$.

(This got long so some of it goes under the cut.)

—Romantasy. Obviously. I hate the term romantasy, I think it's literally just made by marketers

(digression: I don't care if a random TikToker came up with the name, the nebulous thing that it IS... pure marketing, there is no definition, and I truly think that genre has to have DEFINITION to be a genre or even a subgenre, it can't just be what one random person thinks it is; you can genre-bend, play with it, but the people you are directing your product to needs to know SOMETHING about what they're buying; I'd compare it to selling a necklace and calling it jewelry without telling the buyer what the stones or metals ARE)

but undoubtedly this is a huge trend. There seems to be a biiiit of paranormal romance making a return with this—see: Kresley Cole's IAD rerelease books being marketed as "romantasy" when there's very little romantasy about that series.... But overall you see the connection to shows like Game of Thrones, etc, within them. Tons of dragons.

—Romcoms continue on. Lots of low stakes romcoms. I do not like these. A lot of the time they blur into women's fiction. The women's fiction blur I think has something to do with Colleen Hoover (though most of her books aren't intentionally funny) but also just publishing trying to capitalize on romance without committing to romance. Emily Henry is a good example of this. Sally Rooney is a more ~literary example. Jasmine Guillory. Etc etc.

They're impossible to really figure out, imo. Are they gonna be hot? Are they gonna be funny? Are they gonna be emotional? Yulin Kuang's How to End a Love Story is a great example of a book that is, to me, near-perfect. It's ABSOLUTELY a romance novel. But is it a romcom? Not really. It has funny moments and a beautiful HEA, but it's a VERY angsty book. Yet I saw it marketed as such.

—Kickstarter campaign books on the indie side, plus other ways to sort of circumvent the tradpub issue while also not... losing as much money. Several big time authors (in and out of romance) have seen huge success with Kickstarter; obviously, it's harder for small-timers, but still possible! I also know of authors who've written chapter by chapter on Patreon and given their patrons special goodies before publishing the book.

—Genre diversity for authors. A lot of authors in the past wrote under one genre or subgenre, then had to use a pen name for anything else. Amanda Quick was Jayne Anne Krentz's historical romance pen name, for example. Now... I don't think people are as strict. Sierra Simone has written erotic historicals, contemporary, dark romance, monogamous, poly, m/m, m/f, f/f, m/m/f, f/f/m, romcoms, etc. Sarah MacLean is dropping a contemporary (not romance) novel soonish. I see this as a good thing all-around. Pen names are cool, but I don't think they should be a MUST.

—Less angst, more fluff. THANKS I HATE IT LOL. I'm gonna say something controversial (apparently) but this is my honest opinion: It is not a story if there is no conflict. What you wrote was a scene. Perhaps a very good scene! A very long scene, maybe! But there is not a STORY unless there is CONFLICT.

Now, I don't know if I've read a book with ZERO conflict. But I've read many lately wherein the conflict was so thin... I felt the story had little substance. Not every conflict has to be ANGST ANGST TRAUMARAMA. A book I recently didn't LOOOOOVE but whatever, I'll accept it as an example, is Heaven, Texas by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. The heroine and the hero are not in danger of losing their lives. Their conflicts are internal. She loves him but doesn't feel like he'll ever genuinely love her, he's a dipshit who essentially doesn't want to accept that she's the one because he a) has a hard time trusting women in general b) has a specific idea of what his life is going to be that was disrupted when his career ended unexpectedly, and he's still working through some shit on that.

Nobody is at gunpoint, nobody is cheating, nobody is doing one last job. They're just... struggling with their feelings and their senses of self. (If the hero hadn't crossed ONE LAST LINE, I think I would've rated that book higher, but it's a testament to SEP understanding conflict that I can dislike the book and still say "solid conflict".)

I just see a lot of authors shying away from serious conflict, and I wonder how much of it is because readers keep complaining about it. And yeah, bad conflict... sucks. But conflict does not inherently suck. I don't want to read 800 pages of PWP or pointless slow burn. I need PLOT. I need ACTION. And I think we can have low-conflict books and high-conflict books in the same market! But it feels like publishers (and perhaps some authors) don't feel confident in that.

Which is why your girl has realized that a lot of the books she loves are like... 10+ years old.

—Historical specific... the unproblematic 1800s white people. I want to make it clear: You can absolutely write politically progressive people of bygone eras well. The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe has a heroine who's outspoken about women's rights and reproductive freedom. Joanna places this against political occurrences of the time to make it flow easily, AND I think is actually pretty real about the heroine having to give some things up to be with the hero (a duke) even though he supports her and doesn't expect her to be a conventional duchess. Some sacrifices are inevitable. Adriana Herrera's An Island Princess Starts a Scandal has a great portrayal of semi-openly queer women in 19th century Paris... and that's something that totally existed and again, flows well.

It's not that I'm a stickler for accuracy at all. See: my love of Alexis Hall's Something Fabulous series. But I think that you either have to lean the fuck in to not being super accurate like they do, OOOOR you have to make it flow. When we suddenly have a duke being like "AND BTW I'M A FEMINIST" I don't fucking buy it lol. I need to see growth, and I need to understand why he has these views. I think there's a lot of low-effort shit being done to make historicals appear more progressive. And while I do think HR has a lot to reckon with, if that's the only way it can continue to exist... It feels as if that subgenre has to exist within a structure that we don't necessarily expect from other subgenres. Not a lot of billionaire romances (and that's still popular, despite what some may tell you) have the hero going "LET ME STOP AND EXPLAIN HOW I'M AN ETHICAL BILLIONAIRE".

I think that romance needs to be aware of its environment and progressive; I also think that romance requires some suspension of disbelief, and I think we're seeing a lot of white guilt driving some newer historical romances.

Because to go back to Adriana Herrera... That's a woman of color writing very politically aware historicals, while at the same time FULLY diving into the escapism and wish fulfillment and all the things people should be able to get out of a romance novel.

(And btw: All the things marginalized groups should be able to get out of romance novels! A Shore Thing by Joanna Lowell is an amazing romance novel with a trans hero, and I've gotta say, the book confronts transphobia, sure, but there is such fucking delicacy and it BY ZERO MEANS drives the fucking book, and I find that really important. That the hero is existing. That Adriana's heroes and heroines exist. And so on.)

[twistedtummies2]

Top 10 Portrayals of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde

Earlier this month, I discussed the literary exploits of Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft - two of the most iconic writers in the genre of classical horror. In a couple of days I will be returning to the world of classic horror and Gothic literature for two more lists in a row, so I decided - while between both - to keep up the trend. And there are few works of classic mystery and horror quite as renowned as Robert Louis Stevenson’s “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.”

The original short novel by Stevenson was actually a rare venture from the author: Stevenson mostly specialized in historical fiction and adventure stories, such as “Treasure Island,” “Kidnapped,” and “The Black Arrow.” However, he did occasionally venture into other genres, and when it comes to horror, “Jekyll & Hyde” is the most famous example of that. The original book actually keeps the reveal - which I don’t consider a spoiler at this point - a secret: Henry Jekyll, a scientist who believes he can separate man’s good and evil qualities from each other by the use of chemical formulas, test his experiments on himself. As a result, Jekyll develops a new alter-ego: a nasty fellow by the name of Edward Hyde, who represents all the evil inside Jekyll’s soul… …Or, at least, that’s how things have been perceived nowadays. Interestingly, in the original book, Jekyll’s alter-ego isn’t NECESSARILY a proper split-personality, at least not at first. In the section of the story where - through flashback - we are told Jekyll’s story from his perspective, Hyde starts off more or less as just a disguise. Jekyll uses the identity of Hyde to vicariously do things one simply can’t get away with in polite society; Hyde looks like a terrible scoundrel, and is younger and more fit, physically, than Jekyll naturally is. As a result, Jekyll is able to use him to do things he’d otherwise never even try. However, as Jekyll’s recounting of the events continues, he starts to refer to Hyde as if he really were another personality, living inside of him. It’s therefore left unclear how much of the evil Hyde does is Jekyll’s fault; if Jekyll is simply going insane due to the pressures of his double-life, or if Hyde has his own agency and identity separate from his host. Regardless of how you read things, Jekyll and Hyde have become synonymous with the concept of characters who have dual identities or split-personalities. The story and its themes of what makes someone good and what makes someone evil in a society, and the duality of mankind itself, have remained relevant and powerful. So, without further ado, here are my personal Top 10 Portrayals of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!

10. John Malkovich, from Mary Reilly.

I’m being contrarian with this choice, it seems, because “Mary Reilly” is not a very well-thought of movie. And to be honest, I can kind of understand why. Based on a novel of the same name (which I haven’t read, although I would very much like to), the story is a retelling of Jekyll & Hyde with a unique perspective. The main character is not Henry Jekyll, nor Edward Hyde, but instead the good doctor’s maid: the titular Mary Reilly, a young Irishwoman who forms a strange sort of friendship (and perhaps something more) with her employer, right at the same time he begins his strange experiments. The problem with the movie, in my opinion, is that Mary herself is frankly not the most interesting character; this may be partially due to the performance of Julia Roberts, whose Irish accent is about as convincing as a cheeseburger’s would be, and who seems to spend nearly the whole movie in a state of feeble fright that I don’t think was intended. However, while Roberts and her character are unimpressive, I unironically really, REALLY enjoy John Malkovich’s performance as Jekyll & Hyde themselves. Along with having one of the most bizarre and unique interpretations of the transformation scene yet, Malkovich does a really good job differentiating the two characters, with relatively minimal makeup differences. As Jekyll, he is highly restrained, with much of the emotion in his performance coming just from his eyes and the slightest of shifts in his voice and body language. As Hyde, he’s a madcap sociopath, swaggering his way around from scene to scene, carrying out murders with excited zeal, and doing all sorts of stuff - from the odd to the evil to both - seemingly just because…well, why not? It’s pure night and day, and it works really well without feeling like it goes too far in either direction. I know other people disagree, so if you’re not a fan of this performance or film in general, I won’t blame you. However, if you haven’t seen this picture yet, I do advise that you give it a look: whether you agree with my feelings or not, it’s always neat to get a new look at an old classic.

9. Hank Harris & Sam Witwer, from Once Upon a Time.

While “Once Upon a Time” largely focused on fairy-tales and…well…Disney movies, frankly, it did occasionally venture into other territory with its subject matter and characters. Case in point: near the end of Season 5, our heroes end up in a world called “the Land of Untold Stories,” where various characters - trying to escape the trials and tribulations of their original homelands, or even just their personal lives - have all wound up. They soon run into Mr. Hyde, who effectively rules over this Land as “The Warden,” with his alter-ego, Jekyll, being reduced to “the Groundsman.” Jekyll’s former butler, Poole, is now Hyde’s second-in-command as “the Orderly.” When Hyde learns of Storybrooke, he decides to find a way to venture there, so he can take it over and get revenge on Rumpelstiltskin, who wronged him in the past. Thanks to a special potion that separates the two egos into their own separate people, Jekyll is able to help the heroes escape…but once they all reach Storybrooke, things get a lot more complicated. This version really, REALLY blurred the line of good and evil, with a unique twist I won’t give away that effectively turned the story on its head. Normally, I’m not a fan of Jekyll & Hyde being played by separate actors - I think it’s just so much more interesting if they’re played by the same person - but in this show’s case, I think it works, especially since they do become separated figures. Jekyll was played by Hank Harris; a fairly lesser-known actor I must admit I’m not especially familiar with. Sam Witwer as Hyde, however, I’m very familiar with; DC fans will doubtless recognize him for such roles as Doomsday and Ocean Master, while Star Wars fans will know him as the voice of Darth Maul in…well…quite a lot of things, really. Naturally, with a resume like that, the role of Edward Hyde was tailor made for him, and Hyde very quickly became one of my favorite villains in the show. The twist I mentioned only made both performances all the more interesting…but I mustn’t say more, or I’ll spoil the best parts.

8. Ralph Bates & Martine Beswick, from Dr. Jekyll & Sister Hyde.

This film, at first, sounds almost like a joke…and that’s because it kind of was. Made by the famous horror studio of Hammer, “Dr. Jekyll & Sister Hyde” became a thing when the creative heads of the studio were pitching around the idea of doing a new adaptation of the classic story. (They had already done a reimagining called “The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll,” which was not received very well…and for good reason.) One of them jokingly suggested Jekyll could turn into a woman…and the idea so intrigued others involved, that was exactly what they went with. The result of this silliness turned out to be one of the most disturbing and intriguing versions of the tale. In this film, Bates’ Jekyll uses a potion that transforms him from a neurotic, scared, rather effette man into a ravishingly beautiful, confident lady. However, the potion also skews with one’s morality, and the resulting alter-ego, Jekyll’s “sister” Hyde, becomes a being of pure evil behind her glamorous smile. Jekyll’s potion requires certain hormones only found in the female anatomy; when he begins to run low on these supplies, the infamous Jack the Ripper slayings occur as a way of gaining fresh materials. The murders only heighten Hyde’s evil desire for power and destruction, and Jekyll is forced to wrestle not only with control over his body, but over his own personal identity. For such a bonkers premise, the movie proves to be surprisingly thought provoking on a lot of levels, and Bates and Beswick as the title characters both turn in extraordinary performances with several layers to them. It probably won’t be a film to everybody’s tastes, but if you keep an open mind, you’ll find a lot to enjoy here.

7. The Version from “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.”

Now, I’m specifically talking about the version from the original Alan Moore comics. However, I should point out that the film version of J&H - played by Jason Flemyng - actually wasn’t too bad, in my opinion. I would argue they were the best part of that very messy movie. In both interpretations, Jekyll’s darker half is the “muscle” of this team of Victorian-age superheroes; their “Hulk,” if you will. Hyde is depicted as a superhumanly strong beast-person, with heightened senses and incredible endurance and stamina. Jekyll, in contrast, is a nervous, paranoid fellow who - deeply traumatized by everything his other half has caused - keeps much to himself and tries to avoid conflict. Hyde is revealed to basically be a representation of Jekyll’s Freudian id. At one point, he tells others on the team, “Without me, Jekyll has no drive. Without him, I have no restraint.” In the first volume of the League, Jekyll is the more prominent half depicted, with Hyde only popping up when needed, so to speak; in the second, Hyde takes center stage, with significantly less Jekyll. As a result, we get to know both halves fairly well. There’s honestly a LOT I could say here, but it’s hard to know where to begin; suffice it to say, this version of Hyde does do some absolutely HORRENDOUS things, but there’s also a sense of sympathy and right thinking in him. As for Jekyll, there’s a lot of ambiguity about him that makes him just as much a curiosity in his own way, as the idea of one side being stronger than the other, and how that even occurred, is treated in a more literal and yet complex fashion than some others. At this point I’m likely rambling though, so…just go read the comics, or even just watch the film with Flemyng. The former option, at least, will be well worth your time.

6. John Hannah, from Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (2003).

Hannah is an actor probably best known for his more comedic performances; among horror film fans, he’s probably most easily recognized as comic relief figure Jonathan Carnahan in the Stephen-Sommers-made Mummy trilogy. However, Hannah has done some more dramatic and serious parts in his time, and perhaps none quite so intense as his work in this version. In this movie, the duality between Jekyll and his dark side is made all the more explicit by the fact that there is absolutely no physical difference between them. Other versions will have Hyde certainly look similar to Jekyll, but there’s always some level of distinction between the two: different hairstyle, different ages, different eyes. Hannah’s Hyde speaks with a Scottish brogue, instead of Jekyll’s refined RP English, and certainly wears different clothes than the good doctor would typically wear…but the face Jekyll sees in the mirror is exactly the same, no matter which identity he’s under. This creates a new wrinkle to the story, and it’s one I’ve always had slightly mixed feelings about: on the one hand, it makes a nonsense of Hyde’s very name. The idea behind the moniker of “Hyde” is it’s actually a pun: he’s able to “hide” inside of Jekyll, who would never be suspected of wrongdoing. With this version, Jekyll’s deniability is now in question, as witnesses can pinpoint his face to different crimes Hyde commits. However, the result does add even more tension to the story, and allows Hannahs’ acting chops to really shine through, as he manages to make the two personalities totally distinct without an ounce of the superficial elements other performers are able to use to their advantage. It’s a great job, but I think I prefer more typical takes a little more, hence why he loses out on the top five.

5. Christopher Lee, from I, Monster.

Released in 1971, “I, Monster” is a weird one for this countdown. It is a Jekyll & Hyde adaptation…without the names of Jekyll & Hyde attached. Amicus, the studio that produced the film, didn’t want to make “just another Jekyll & Hyde movie.” So, the characters of the doctor and his alter-ego had their names changed, and the title was made to the one we see now. However, everything else in the script - the plot, the lines, the other character names, etc. - is not only very clearly J&H, but is perhaps one of the most accurate-to-the-book interpretations out there. Aside from the ending and a few minor points throughout, it actually sticks extremely close to Stevenson’s writing. So, while the characters may not be CALLED Jekyll & Hyde - instead being referred to more forgettably as “Marlowe & Blake” - I still say they more than count. While this film isn’t without its flaws, Christopher Lee in the main double role delivers, in my opinion, one of his absolute strongest and most underrated performances. There’s such magnificent subtlety and nuance to his Jekyll/Marlowe, especially in his relationship with his best friend, Mr. Utterson - played by Lee’s real-life best friend and frequent co-star, Peter Cushing. As Hyde/Blake, the film creates an interesting evolution for the character: at first, Blake is an energized, and genuinely extremely creepy, sort of character, who looks almost exactly like Marlowe save for some minor makeup fixes to give him a more unsettling aura. As the story goes on, however, the dark side grows uglier physically, and his whole demeanor seems to fall apart; as the pleasures of evil increase, the physical suffering matches the mental and emotional, yet he just can’t help himself. It’s a little hard to find a good copy of this movie to watch, but if you can, definitely give it a look: it may not be for everyone, but it’s worth it just for Lee’s performance.

4. Jack Palance, from The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1968).

This was the first (unless I’m mistaken) of a series of adaptations of classic chillers connected to Dan Curtis - the mastermind behind the Gothic soap opera, “Dark Shadows.” I’ve spoken of the another he was tied to - “Dracula,” also starring Palance - in the past. While I do enjoy both of those interpretations, in my opinion, Curtis’ first foray into classic horror is also his best. It hardly needs saying that Palance - long-renowned for playing a variety of onscreen baddies, from the manic and deranged to the malevolently cold and powerful - makes a brilliant Edward Hyde. If you ever wanted to know what it would be like if Batman’s Grissom had become the Joker, you’ll get it here. Where he really impresses me, however, is as Henry Jekyll: Palance doesn’t seem, at first glance, to be a conventional choice for the good doctor, but he pulls it off absolutely brilliantly. This version really toys strongly with Stevenson’s original ambiguity: Jekyll is not depicted as a victim of Hyde, but instead more as an accomplice, or even the real villain. He becomes conceited and arrogant with the power his second identity lends him, and it’s not till things start to go wrong for him that he begins to grow sick of it all. He is just as culpable as the monster he makes out of himself, even though the two are treated as separate personalities. It’s very possibly my favorite of Palance’s performances, which is saying quite a lot. As a result, it more than earns placement in my personal Top 5.

3. The Version from Frank Wildhorn’s “Jekyll & Hyde.”

If ever a single composer could be said to be the master of “cult classic musicals,” it would be Frank Wildhorn. While Wildhorn’s work has never been the grand darling of Broadway critics, with most of his shows lasting very short stints before disappearing, he is extremely popular in other countries (most notably Germany, Japan, and Korea), and his work in English-speaking countries certainly has a loyal niche of fans. By far the most popular of all his creations is his stage musical version of Stevenson’s classic novella. This musical has undergone multiple transformations of its own over the years, with different productions having script and score elements that change in and out. While every interpretation has had its flaws, I’ve always had a strong soft spot for this rendition as a whole, and its one of the first I think of when I think of the story. Many actors have tackled the dual roles of Jekyll & Hyde for the musical over the years; if I had to choose my personal favorite, it would be Anthony Warlow, who recorded the role for a 1994 CD production, and later would reprise the part onstage for the 25th Anniversary of the play. Other noteworthy names I’m fond of include Robert Cuccioli, Rob Evan, Constantine Maroulis, Chuck Wagner…the list goes on. Oh, also The Hoff did this show for a while…take that however you will. Suffice to say, if that was the only version I knew, it wouldn’t be in my Top 3. XD

2. Fredric March, from Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1931)

Produced by Paramount, this is one of two versions generally regarded to be one of the best and most classic renditions ever made. Notably, the film made history when March became the first actor in a horror movie to win the Academy Award for Best Actor. He would, in fact, be the ONLY actor to win this award for sixty whole years, as this record wasn’t beaten till 1991’s “Silence of the Lambs” with Anthony Hopkins. (I should point out that, since then, nobody else has won the award for another horror picture yet. Take that as you will.) This is especially impressive when you consider 1931 gave us Universal’s “Dracula” and “Frankenstein,” which this movie was made in direct response to. As much as I love Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff in those movies, I can safely say March’s award was not ill-deserved: as Jekyll, he delivers a very human performance that still holds up strongly to this day. As Hyde, he is thoroughly unrecognizable from his better half, not only because of the intense makeup (which gave Hyde a deliberately grotesque, deformed, simian appearance), but because every part of his acting job - his voice, his physical mannerisms, his overall demeanor - is completely and totally different. Interestingly, this is the only adaptation of the story I know of that actually uses Stevenson’s intended pronunciation of the names: according to the author the name “Jekyll” was supposed to be pronounced “Jeek-ull,” as a pun on “hide and seek.” However, since at least the 1941 remake of this same film (which starred Spencer Tracy), the name has always been pronounced “Jekk-ull.” Just one of many details that makes this version so good.

1. John Barrymore, from Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1920).

Alongside March’s 1931 appearance, this is the other film version that is widely considered a true classic and as one of the greatest adaptations. As you can tell by it making the top of my list, I wholeheartedly agree. While this silent film version has a few flaws (mostly due to the fact it’s OVER A HUNDRED YEARS OLD NOW), it actually still holds up fairly strong to this day. Most of this can be attributed to John Barrymore’s performance in the title part. In this version, Jekyll starts off as an outright saint: a pure goody-two-shoes who would never dare commit crimes of vice. However, he begins to experience doubt and temptation due to the machinations of his (admittedly well-meaning) father-in-law, Sir George Carew. This leads to the experiment that gives birth to Hyde: a twisted, warped creature who savagely enjoys all the pleasures of sin. Instead of the simian attributes of March’s version, harkening to man’s natural primal impulses, this Hyde is intentionally given the motif of a spider, symbolizing the web of danger Jekyll ensnares himself in as his trials with Hyde go on, and the poison of evil infecting his soul. Barrymore’s transformation scene is a masterpiece of physical acting: at first, there is no makeup on Hyde at all, the change being entirely due to the actor distorting his physical features, his handsome face rearranging itself into a crooked, sharp look. As the film goes on, Hyde does adopt more and more nasty makeup elements, but the face remains Barrymore’s own warped visage. While some may see parts of his acting as a bit hokey nowadays…again, the movie is more than a hundred years old, cut things some slack. I actually think the intensity of Barrymore’s performance is highly effective in most places, making Jekyll’s torment and the genuinely unsettling, scary presence of Hyde all the more impactful. The scene where Hyde commits his first murder genuinely horrifies me to this day. When I think of these characters, it’s Barrymore I think of before any other version. For that reason above all the rest, he definitely takes the cake as My Favorite Portrayal of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Boris Karloff & Eddie Parker, from Abbott & Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.

This spookshow comedy was one of several follow ups to the famous duo’s more successful outing, “Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein.” Karloff plays Jekyll, and also wore the makeup for Hyde during the transformation sequences. However, stuntman and actor Eddie Parker - who would later play the Mummy in another Abbott & Costello feature - plays Mr. Hyde for the majority of the film. Michael Caine, from Jekyll & Hyde (1990).

This 1990 TV film adaptation very, VERY nearly made the main countdown, and has a great many merits. Caine’s performance, obviously, is among them. However, when I revisited the film for the purposes of this list, I simply found I didn’t like it as much as I remembered, so it narrowly missed the cut.

The Version from “Fate/Grand Order.”

Evidently influenced by the Frank Wildhorn musical (their Noble Phantasm takes its title directly from a song in the show), I really do love the way Henry Jekyll and his chaotic alter-ego are portrayed, as well as how that fits into the gameplay. Like Caine, they very, VERY nearly made the cut, but I guess I just like other versions of the characters more. The two were voiced by Mamoru Miyano.

James Nesbitt, from Jekyll.

This BBC miniseries featured Nesbitt as a descendant of Jekyll, “Dr. Tom Jackman,” who has to deal with the family curse coming to haunt him. Essentially a precursor to “Sherlock,” as it was made by the same creative team, this one essentially reinterpreted things as a sort of dark superhero story. Very fun, but not without flaws.

[alpaca-clouds]

The Lunarpunk Issue

I am trying to return to Punk-o-Clock for the Saturdays, and this week I want to talk about Lunarpunk. The sibling genre to Solarpunk, that sadly struggles at lot with its self-identity and kinda always has. At least from what I can tell.

I will again and again defend the fact that Solarpunk very much is a literary genre and a movement first, and an aesthetic only second. But when it comes to Lunarpunk, it does seem to be the other way around. Everyone has a good idea of what Lunarpunk should look like. If I go on pinterest (and folks, just don't use pinterest, given that most art is stolen), I get some nice vibes from the tag. It all looks like this.

It's all: Glowing mushrooms, general bioluminescence, dark places, night, a lot of blues, purples, and maybe some greens. The color scheming is not even that different from a lot of Cyberpunk - but with a lot more emphasis on natural sources of the glow. Natural forms, too. A lot more rounded things, rather than the sharp edges of Cyberpunk.

However, when it comes to the genre, things get a lot harder. And when it comes to the movement... I will admit: I honestly don't think there is even so much as a lunarpunk submovement of the larger solarpunk movement.

If I am looking for folks defining Lunarpunk as a genre, the same things will be brought up:

Magic / Spirituality / Religion

Underground or Underwater Settings

Biotech of some sort

Space

When it comes to the first one, I somewhat get it. Especially given how much influence Solarpunk draws from Amazofuturism and Afrofuturism (read: indigenous scifi), a lot of the white Solarpunk scene is very much made up of the atheists, that would love to just ban religion outright from their ideal futures. (And let me make this clear: That will not work.) So Lunarpunk rebelling against that by drawing heavier from spirituality and religion makes sense in a way. I will however still maintain, that actually the Solarpunk that is so staunchly anti-religion again misses the point. Because, yes, in fact there is a place for spirituality and religion in Solarpunk - and for magic too. Especially in Solarpunk as a literary genre, which I will maintain can very much cross over with fantasy of all sorts. Yes, ideally we should focus on telling stories about how Solarpunk is a real possibility - but we also very much can tell stories of alternative timelines and Solarpunk worlds that have magic. I think the utopian spirit is a lot more central for the genre, than the strict adherance to possible technologies.

The underground or underwater setting can be interesting in itself, sure. But here, too, I do not quite see how it does differentiate itself from Solarpunk. Because among the bit of Solarpunk-media we have, I absolutely have seen underground settings - and don't see how underwater should be impossible either.

And, yeah, to make it short: Same goes for Biotech and Space. I have seen both in Solarpunk fiction. Stories about prominent Biotech, and stories about Solarpunk space travel. Which really leaves me with the question: Is Lunarpunk really a thing? Is there much more than an aesthetic?

Yes, I will openly admit that I have not yet read Bioluminescence, the Lunarpunk anthology. I might do, when I will continue reviewing short stories. But... Yeah, I still cannot help but wonder: Is Lunarpunk actually a genre on its own right now?

[ddarker-dreams]

Hi Lock~ I wanted to ask you abt how you got into literature, and how you’d maybe recommend someone else to start? I want to expand on my reading (and also you’ve hyped up Dostoevsky sooo much I’m hooked but I KNOW I’m not at that lvl yet haha) but there’s so many different sources and stuff idrk where to start. I have seen your list of recommendations and other people’s lists as well but Im never sure if they’re a good place if someone is just starting into literature; I’ve been really interested in Picture of Dorian Gray, Jane Eyre and Frankenstein right now, do you think they’d be okay? Did you look at books you knew you’d be into? Or did you try out smth new entirely? Also did you look at any sources online that you could recommend? I know I’ve asked a lot so you of course don’t have to answer them, but please let me know what you think!!

I also wanted to ask, as someone who’s read many classics in literature, in your opinion, how would you define literature? And what do you think makes a book a classic?

From a very clueless anon, hope you and bun bun have a great day and stay hydrated!!!!

hello anon!!! there are so many interesting questions here, i'll try answering them to the best of my abilities!!!!

(how i got into literature)

i'd been neglecting published works for most of my life because i just preferred fanfic way more. it wasn't until a bit into 2021 that i saw this Discourse Causing Post that 'you can't grow as an author if you don't read published works,' or something among those lines. i thought this was really interesting because i'd never given it much thought. around that point, even though writing was a hobby, i felt really motivated to improve. i normally spent no more than a day or two on a story before moving onto the next. which is fine, because fanfic writing is a hobby, but i felt i'd be capable of more if i put in the extra time and effort.

so basically i got into it because i wanted to write my silly little yandere fics better jdfklgjsdg

(recommendations for getting into literature)

i focused on the genre i thought i'd be the most interested in: horror. then i branched out from there. i looked up what people considered must-reads for the genre because i figured that'd be a good place to start. if you know what sort of genres you like, doing some research into its most prevalent/foundational works isn't a bad idea. that's the approach i took. authors throughout the centuries influence and inspire one another, i wanted to be able to map those connections out. this also helps give some context to older books with references that'd be loss on a modern audience.

(how i went about looking into books to see if i wanted to read them)

i research everything like my life's on the line, so i do look into books before i read them. i go for a synopsis that doesn't include spoilers and consider if that's a story i'd get invested in. if not, i'll read some reviews for fresh perspectives. if i'm still kinda meh by then, the book gets passed on.

(defining literature/classics)

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH literary theory is not my field of expertise ... i'd personally define literature as any written work such as fiction and nonfiction. it can encompass so many things that defining it feels tricky. as for how i'd define a classic, all art is subjective or whatever, but there are stories that just have the It factor. whether that is their cultural impact, or works that are pillars to the genre(s) they were written in. you can see the ripples that it made after its publication.

finally, as for the books you listed (jane eyre, the picture of dorian gray, and frankenstein), i'd highly recommend them!!! all of them are apart of the gothic genre, which is one of my favorites. they've all stood the test of time for good reason.