#cockcrows

[ebaeschnbliah]

SIX RABBITS AND ONE MODERN COCKCROW .....

The cockcrow ... a sign of change

Impressions from Sherlock BBC: ASIP, TBB, THOB, HLV, TST, TFP

[maypoleman1]

7th March

Black Chickens

Source: Adobe/23ABC Bakersfield website

Chickens, especially black chickens, are generally considered lucky, particularly those who are born in March who are considered extremely fertile (‘a chicken in March is eggs for a year’ as the saying has it). The dawn-crowing cock is linked to the sun god in many pagan religions and his crow was believed to dispel evil at the start of the day. In Somerset, lore declared that ‘a cock will frighten away the devil himself’. Equally the crowing of the cock is a signal for the undead to cease their night time revels and hurry back to their graves before sunrise - as referenced by Shakespeare in Hamlet and the composer Saint-Saens in his work Danse Macabre.

Faith in the chicken’s good fortune charms was such that the unfortunate bird was often sacrificed during the construction of new buildings and buried in the foundations to ensure the structure would safely stand. Other traditions however decree to sacrifice a chicken will bring bad luck. The cock crow can of course be irritating. A traditional rhyme states rather impatiently that:-

A whistling wife and a crowing hen

Is neither good for god nor men.

Aside from the casual misogyny, the reference to a whistling wife probably relates to witches and their propensity to whistle up storms; the reference to the hen possibly reflects the annoyance of those who are woken up at dawn by their feathered friend.

[drewcherie]

♪ now playing … 𝒹𝒾ℯ𝓉 𝓅ℯ𝓅𝓈𝒾 — 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓈ℴ𝓃 𝓇𝒶ℯ ᯓᡣ 𐭩̴͙

introducing . . . citygirl!reader & cowboy!rafe

citygirl!reader who just moved to the countryside from new york city, after growing up spoiled and with everything handed to her on a silver platter. since her parents believe that she can’t even look after herself, because of how much of a brat she is, she now has to prove them wrong, starting her new life between ranches, farms, and the beautiful prairies around her little cottage, forgetting about daddy’s money and her wealth — or maybe not…? either way, she now has to learn how to fit in the village she moved to, where sephora and designer brands are not on the agenda.

citygirl!reader who’s just so naive and dumb, in the best way possible, for her own good. always with that little dumb expression on her face, those plump lips pouting naturally, and her wispy lashes batting at anyone in front of her. she loves little dolly dresses, her leather texan boots and the prettiest sets of lingeries straight from the best boutiques of new york city that she always wears. she never leaves the house without a set of bows between her wavy, shiny hair, whether it’s pigtails, braids, or just curls, she always has cute little bows adorning her angelic face.

citygirl!reader who loves the little things of her new life, such as waking up with the cockcrow, a warm mug of tea after a long day, and a bike ride at sunset, but who lowkey hates the country life. nonetheless she still has to learn how to hold on and prove her parents that she’s not just a dumb city girl! she will have to start her own little crops, tend to her garden and help around with errands. guess it won’t be that hard when your new neighbour just across the lane is the hottest man who ever walked this earth!

.°𓇢𓆸˖⋆ ℧ 𐚁 .°˖⋆

drabbles and blurbs to come . . . 𐙚

a/n: i’m currently reading the chestnut springs series and i’m obsessed with cowboys so i had the inspiration for this little series :3 this is my first actual post and even though it is not a whole fic yet i hope you enjoy it ><. idk yet when i’ll start actually posting since i started uni today and it’s gonna be harddd i know already. ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

•*⁀➷ dividers by @/dollywons <3

[origami-trust]

May 8th: (and Dracula spoilers) It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.) Really struck that Jonathan brings up "Arabian Nights." On one hand, this cements the comfort he felt in the library - it's always so lovely when a character in books - loves books! But the idea of the One Thousand and One Nights, the storyteller Scheherazade who keeps extending her life by one night, and then another, and then another by the captivating stories she tells....feels very appropriate for Jonathan. People have mentioned this before in the Big Book Club - Dracula might have changed his mind about when he was going to kill Jonathan to let him live a bit longer, and I like that reading. Jonathan seems like he outlives his original purpose that Dracula planned for him, and that's because Dracula finds Jonathan very entertaining! He spent the night talking to him, and the previous night asking him all sorts of questions. As long as Jonathan can continue to be entertaining until dawn, he'll get to live another day to tell more stories the next night.

[shoverse]

#HWANGHYUNJIN — SUNRISE | 05:35

hwang hyunjin loves the sunrise.

he thinks it could possibly be his favourite thing ever. he loves the pale yellow of the clouds that blend so perfectly into the golden sky. he loves the morning sun that peeks lazily over the daybreak. he loves the chance, one cloudy morning and another completely clear. he loves how quiet it gets, sleepy people still tucked in bed except for him, who basks in the silence of it all. maybe he just loves being alone.

hyunjin whispers his everything into the cockcrow sun, joy and sorrow and secrets tenfold.

and when all is over, he drags his languid body to the tiny coffee shop nearby. rays of light bounce off the pretty white walls and a small bell jingles as he steps in. the barista smiles at him, and he goes to place his order, when he spots just about the prettiest person he's ever seen walk into the coffee shop. 'hi, one for y/n?'

y/n.

the name leaves a sweet taste in his mouth, sweeter than his long abandoned iced americano.

and hwang hyunjin learns to love you from afar.

he leans his head against his hand and sketches out rough guidelines for a face, the same face he's been sketching for the past few days. of course, he's never had the guts to show you. and he looks up once more, to continue drawing.

and he locks eyes with you.

and you duck back down in a split-second, and hyunjin can almost convince himself he was hallucinating.

but he finds you looking again.

and there it is, unspoken appreciation for one another.

he's hit with a burst of confidence one day, and he stands up from the couch in the back left corner of the shop, and smiles shyly.

'hi, um, i...drew you?' his voice pitches up at the end into a little squeal, and he'll probably beat himself up for it minutes from now. but you look back up at him, and his worries cease for the moment. 'aw, it's really pretty!'

hyunjin's wordless mornings are soon replaced with laughter-filled conversations. his sketchbook is still filled with his quick watercolours of the sunrise.

and then he finds his fingers interlocking with yours, pulling him up the hill and plopping yourself down next to him.

and when hyunjin watches the sunrise like he always does, for the first time he's focused on something apart from the gold in the sky. he inches his hand towards yours, and you grab it happily. when you rest your head on his shoulder, he thinks he finally realizes.

hwang hyunjin likes the sunrise better with you.

[randomlysent]

Random Rp with @floofgryph

*Komi and Azura both decide to go to The Cockcrow Gazette one day. Once the two are there, they both head to Lóegaire’s office.*

[immediatebreakfast]

The rich symbolism of what the castle is as a physical place, a representation of Jonathan's sanity, and manifestation of the decaying opulence of aristocracy overflows like a fall from a jagged hill the more Jonathan tries to explore it.

The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything!

Such beautiful view that could kill someone with a single mistake in where one puts their feet. Isolated from the rest of the world, from any kind of power, nor authority that is not the Count.

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit.

A beautiful prison with so much glamour, so much opulence. Gold plates, delicious food, rich fabrics that stood up the test of time, no servants (no other human beings), every decorated door locked. What a beautiful cage it seems to be this castle... it reminds me of the poor wife of Bluebeard, having the illusion of freedom while being trapped in a punishment she was not aware of.

Why do so many gothic female characters end up in these types of situations? What does the Gothic has to tell us the readers when we see a young lady trying and trying to find a succeful escape route as she juggles her emotions and actions with the man who has trapped her?

Why does Jonathan has to keep being polite to the Count (vampirism aside) while he is seeing how everything, and everywhere is cloaked in the illusion of freedom even if he knows now that is only that, an illusion.

When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly—as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life—and began to think over what was best to be done. 

There is a reason why what we call the Gothic in literature is heavily framed through the lens of female characters, tragedy, and romantic elements that amplify the dramatic of the text. Why do young gothic female characters; all bright eyed, innocent, inexperienced, curious, and most importantly kind, end up in horrifying situations that fundamentally change them to the point of no recognition.

A woman walks into a house. Or a castle, or a ship, or a town. A woman walks in and with her comes enthusiasm, trepidation, longing, delight. Perhaps all four at once... Maybe she’s even alone, cheerily hauling a suitcase larger than she is. She might be a guest, an heiress, the help. Chakraborty, A. (2021). Ode to the Gothic Heroine (A selection). Half Mystic. https://www.halfmystic.com/blog/gothic-heroine

Jonathan might be a man, a male character, but through the lens of the Gothic, he is a feminine character. Jonathan is young bright eyed, inexperienced, delightful, and so formal with his emotions, and actions. He knows how to keep Dracula busy as he ponders over any kind of clue that could help him escape. Jonathan smiles, and steers himself with a single "It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave" after the Count nearly assaulted him in what was supposed to be a private moment in his living space, then violently got rid of one of his belongings.

But what is Jonathan supposed to do? The Count is his employer, his landlord, his opposite in every way possible (older, experienced, cunning), he can't just... tell him that he is making him uncomfortable, and that he is a prisoner in everything but name. You can't risk talking to an older man who has power over you like that young lady.

(Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)

Jonathan putting himself in the shoes of a female character is not a coincidence, it's the start of what kind of traits he will need to survive both the castle, and the Count. Jonathan can't risk any kind of bad social interaction; he has to be careful with what he says, how he moves, and what topics he will use to keep Dracula busy as he searches for answers. Young gothic heroines don't have the luxury to fight back neither physically, nor verbally, they have to keep the song and dance of societal expectations less the man who has power over them decides to do something traumatic to them while everything screams how she stepped out of line.

Jonathan has now stopped being the curious male protagonist that starts to understand that something is wrong, he is now the gothic heroine of the narrative. Trapped both in the physical place of the castle, and the patriarchal power that Dracula embodies which Jonathan has to escape from.

[jacketpotatoo]

reading Dracula for the first time through Dracula Daily and it’s very amusing to me how blatant the foreshadowing is. the subtext is absolutely screaming behind the text. Like: ‘Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father’ is soo Stoker going like “oh yes how do we make this more spooky ah yes HAMLET purgatory stories and stuff mhm”.

[coopsgirl]

This day in Middle Earth history: March 15, TA 3019

Hold on to your hats. This is a busy day!

In the early hours the Witch-king breaks the Gates of the City. Denethor burns himself on a pyre. The horns of the Rohirrim are heard at cockcrow. Battle of the Pelennor. Theoden is slain. Aragorn raises the standard of Arwen. Frodo and Samwise escape and begin their journey north along the Morgai. Battle under the trees in Mirkwood; Thranduil repels the forces of Dol Guldur. Second assault on Lorien.

[lauralot89]

"Take care," he said, "take care how you cut yourself."

Okay I know this is just the language at the time but that almost sounds like Dracula's saying there's a safe way to cut yourself and an unsafe way and now my brain is trying to determine the safe way to cut yourself around a vampire.

It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.

Jonathan you dear sweet idiot

He must be a very peculiar man!

Jonathan. Honey.

He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts.

So in the previous entry Jonathan could tell when Dracula was pretending not to understand questions he asked and that combined with this makes me wonder: how terrible of a liar must Dracula be for Jonathan "Lord of the Idiots" Harker (affectionate) to be able to see through him? Especially given that Dracula literally has MESMERISM powers I guess he forgot about or felt using would be rude?

He did not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making the bed.

why isn't this scene in every adaptation, it's hilarious

Bless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help.

*laughs in Catholic*

I asked him a few questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the subject wonderfully.

okay he's a bloodsucking demon but you know he's terribly lonely and his ladies definitely aren't interested in hearing about his military history for the thousandth time

"What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?" He held up his arms.

Sweetheart I'm pretty sure any blood left in your veins now is just from people you ate

Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow

Jonathan to follow this comparison that means you're going to reform him and marry him

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

May 8th

Today we pick up where we left off with our good friend Jonathan!!! I hope he’s having a wonderful day!!!

I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had never come.

:(

If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he! —

Every day this story reads more and more like a Beauty and the Beast retelling… 🦇🌹

I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I could not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Good-morning."

JUMPSCARE

I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the moment.

Uh-oh.

When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at my throat.

At least buy him dinner fi — oooooh so that’s what all this food was about… got it… carry on…

I drew away, and his hand touched the string of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there.

"Take care," he said, "take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country."

THE CRUCIFIX WORKS MY FRIENDS

"And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" and opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave —

HOW IS THAT EVEN A TOPIC OF CONCERN RIGHT NOW JONATHAN

The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything! […]

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit.

The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!

A PRISONER WHO CAN’T EVEN SHAVE!!!!! (and shouldn’t)

Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count.

Smart.

[The Count] did not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought—that there were no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining-room, I was assured of it; for if he does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them.

It’s not his fault his love language is acts of service 🥺

This gave me a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count himself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here.

HOLY SHIT I DIDN’T THINK OF THAT

I must be very careful, however, not to awake his suspicion.

May I suggest you STOP WRITING YOUR GODDAMN JOURNAL AND BURN THE WHOLE THING THEN

In his speaking of things and people, and especially of battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all.

HAHAHA… Haaa…

Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace;

You would think that, wouldn’t you.

(Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)

:))))))))))))

Guys… I don’t want to alarm anyone… but I think… I think the Count might be… you know…

… a werewolf…

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[serial-serializednovelreader]

For the ask game: 10 and 17, Jonathan Harker!

Yay! Always happy to get an ask about one of my favorite characters in fiction :))))))))))

10. Best moment on screen (or in the book):

This is super hard, since he has SO many good moments!! I am going to keep this spoiler-free, since I'm not sure if you've read Dracula all the way through or not and I don't want to spoil anything (if you have read the book, I do talk about a few of my favorite moments with Jonathan that take place later in the book in this ask!).

I would have to say him attempting to save the child he hears the three sisters feeding on in Dracula’s room. I think it's truly a defining moment for him. We've just seen Jonathan (understandably) scream in fear for his life after seeing the three women again and only feeling safe in his room. He knows as long as he stays in there, he will remain safe. But as soon as he hears a child in danger, he's willing to risk facing those women again *and* Dracula to save a child he doesn't know and doesn't even know if he can save. I don't think he even considers any of that in the moment — he's just ready to do it. That's what makes him a hero in my eyes. Being willing to do what's right, no matter the cost. Of course, Dracula prevents him to do so by locking the door and...he cries. It's such a human moment from him and I appreciate that we get this moment of raw honesty. It's the first time we see him do so in his time at castle Dracula.

I think Shovel Day is very important too, don’t get me wrong. I just think that this moment is what truly defines him — in my eyes — as a hero and is his best moment on screen followed by him hitting Dracula with a shovel!

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them:

Going off of this moment, I have two quotes that I think go great with it:

"There are stories about every hero. How they became great. Most have one thing in common. Their bodies moved before they had a chance to think. Almost on their own." -- All Might, My Hero Academia (dubbed version of S1 Ep.2)

"Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive." -- Charlotte Brontë

Now for my favorite quotes from Jonathan Harker (again, spoiler-free!):

“(Mem., get recipe for Mina.)”

“‘Do you know what day it is?’ I answered that it was the fourth of May.”

“Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!”

“If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he!—I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place.”

(about Dracula yeeting his mirror) “It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave”

“(Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)”

“Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.”

“I am surely in the toils.”

“Despair has its own calms.”

“This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed cudgelling my brains…”

“It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law which is even a criminal's right and consolation.”

“Let me not think of it. Action!”

“Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window?”

“As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's hand would have any effect on him.”

“Good-bye, all! Mina!”

As for songs, I made two playlists about Jonathan Harker, one about his time trapped in the castle and one about his relationship with Mina (here's the post with the playlists included, for your reference!). I'll highlight one song from each that are my personal favorites.

Striking and ominous with an epic feel, Run Boy Run by Woodkid definitely embodies what we're all shouting to Jonathan while he's going to the castle. However, I can definitely picture this song taking place as he's climbing down the castle walls (lizard fashion, of course) and attempting to escape. I imagine the musical interludes are flashbacks during his time at the castle and the various horrors he experiences. What happens at the end with the hopeful swell of the song is up to you...

Lyrics to highlight:

Run boy run!/ This world is not made for you Run boy run!/ They're trying to catch you Run boy run!/ Running is a victory

Tomorrow is another day/ And when the night fades away/ You'll be a man,/ boy! But for now it's time to run,/ it's time to run!

An 80s rock ballad, You're the Inspiration by Chicago is swoony and romantic with an electric edge. This is one of my favorite love songs and it definitely embodies how Jonathan feels for Mina! If Dracula was set in a modern time period, I could definitely see Jonathan serenading Mina with this song during karaoke night (bonus points if he can’t sing, but it’s the sweetest music to her, lol).

Lyrics to highlight:

You should know,/ everywhere I go/

Always on my mind,/ in my heart

In my soul,/ baby

You're the meaning in my life/

You're the inspiration/

You bring feeling to my life/

You're the inspiration

And I know,/ yes I know that it's plain to see/

So in love when we're together/

Now I know that I need you here with me/

From tonight until the end of time

Ask game here

[marta-bee]

Continuing on with Aldarion and Erendis:

Aldarion, no. Just... no.

Aldarion & Erendis were finally married, had a daughter, and a few years later Aldarion sailed again for Middle-earth. It was supposed to be a fairly short two-year journey that stretched out to five. Erendis in turn had witdrawn to the sheep-country and set up a clubhouse rules (no boys allowed) household there to the point their daughter didn't even know what a boy was when she met one (cute scene!). Erendis didn't go to the docks or back to the capital to greet him, when he finally came back.

So... okay, not the warm welcome Aldarion might have hoped for.

Erendis did not come to the table at his late evening-meal, and Aldarion was served by women in a room apart. But before he was done she entered, and said before the women: "You will be weary, my lord, after such haste. A guest-room is made ready for you, when you will. My women will wait on you. If you are cold, call for fire." Aldarion made no answer. He went early to the bedchamber, and being now weary indeed he cast himself on the bed and forgot soon the shadows of Middle-earth and of Númenor in a heavy sleep. But at cockcrow he awoke to a great disquiet and anger. He rose at once, and thought to go without noise from the house: he would find his man Henderch and the horses, and ride to his kinsman Hallatan, the sheep-lord of Hyarastorni. Later he would summon Erendis to bring his daughter to Armenelos, and not have dealings with her upon her own ground. But as he went out towards the doors Erendis came forward. She had not lain in bed that night, and she stood before him on the threshold. "You leave more promptly than you came, my lord," she said. "I hope that (being a mariner) you have not found this house of women irksome already, to go thus before your business is done. Indeed, what business brought you hither? May I learn it before you leave?" "I was told in Armenelos that my wife was here, and had removed my daughter hither," he answered. "As to the wife I am mistaken, it seems, but have I not a daughter?" "You had one some years ago," she said. "But my daughter has not yet risen." "Then let her rise, while I go for my horse," said Aldarion.

My wife. My daughter. He's staking out ownership claims here, and by leaving and planning to order her back to Armenelos, he's even denying her the right to have the conversation they clearly need to have in her own domain. He's planning to drag his wife and child back to an arena where he gets to set the rules of engagement.

To my mind, he's abandoned Erendis to raise Ancalime alone, not because he had to (at least for the usual securing-a-livelihood reasons) but because he felt compelled to go off adventuring. It's not what a husband owes his wife and young child, and at the least he owes her an apology and a request to begin anew. But he doesn't do any of that.

Erendis would have withheld Ancalimë from meeting him at that time; but she feared to go so far as to lose the King's favour, and the Council had long shown their displeasure at the upbringing of the child in the country. Therefore when Aldarion rode back, with Henderch beside him, Ancalimë stood beside her mother on the threshold. She stood erect and stiff as her mother, and made him no courtesy as he dismounted and came up the steps towards her. "Who are you?" she said. "And why do you bid me to rise so early, before the house is stirring?" Aldarion looked at her keenly, and though his face was stern he smiled within: for he saw there a child of his own, rather than of Erendis, for all her schooling. "You knew me once, Lady Ancalimë," he said, "but no matter. Today I am but a messenger from Armenelos, to remind you that you are the daughter of the King's Heir; and (so far as I can now see) you shall be his Heir in your turn. You will not always dwell here. But go back to your bed now, my lady, until your maidservant wakes, if you will. I am in haste to see the King. Farewell!" He kissed the hand of Ancalimë and went down the steps; then he mounted and rode away with a wave of his hand. Erendis alone at a window watched him riding down the hill, and she marked that he rode towards Hyarastorni and not towards Armenelos. Then she wept, from grief, but still more from anger. She had looked for some patience, that she might extend after rebuke pardon if prayed for; but he had dealt with her as if she were the offender, and ignored her before her daughter.

As I said: Aldarion, no

Also: pity the child....

I was peeved with Erendis before because of her possessive "love," but Aldarion here does so much worse, the way he simultaneously treats his daughter like his possession and simultaneously uses her as a weapon against her mother. Poor girl and poor woman both.

**********

As a sidenote, it's really interesting to see this fenced off girls-only clubhouse of a society has built at Emerie. The family dynamic is bordering on what we moderns would label abusive, from so many different angles. But it's so rare in Tolkien to think of a female-only community that wasn't caused by war or some urgent peril calling the menfolk off.

The only other example I can think of is the Yavannilidi, the Elven-women who baked lembas, and I honestly can't remember if the idea they were an almost monastic order who lived apart from men as their own society is canon or just a headcanon I dreamed up because the concept always seemed cool.

[stupidvampires]

Tons of foreshadowing you can't blink without seeing another bit of foreshadowing (spoilers)

Jonathan's bad vibes radar is accurate from the start he just doesn't know what do with them...There's not a lot of options open to him anyway

May 4th "If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye." he already knew this was gonna be the worst fucking business trip ever May 5th "God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!"? all two of his found family with Mina & Mr Hawkins!! he has to go return home or they will be devastated!! Jonathan can't bear the thought of leaving Mina behind & suffering alone (this comes into play later & i am hysterically pointing & crying at this foreshadowing) May 7th "I know no more than the dead where even to look for them." this made me sick do not compare yourself to the dead Jonathan you might be dead soon! May 7th "They say that people who are near death die generally at the change to the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it." oh god my poor boy May 8th "this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)" leave him the fuck alone Dracula! he's just a sweet nerd!! (who will fucking kill you, you pompous idiot)

[randomlysent]

A Random Rp with @floofgryph

*It would be a normal day in the Cockcrow Gazette until a group of four kids walked straight into Lóegaire’s office.*

Child!Azura: “Hello sir?..”

*One of the children in the group approaches Lóegaire.*

Child!Azura: “Do u know where me and my sisters are?”

[karahalloway]

The Highwayman: Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Harper makes a choice...

Word Count: 4,200

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, betrayal, physical violence, main character death)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This was obviously not fun to write. Nobody wants to kill off their characters, but the rewrite would've deviated too much from the original if I had tried to change such a key piece of this story. So, it is what it is... *runs and hides to cry in the corner* There are some additional notes at the end.

A/N2: This is my second submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is The Highwayman by Loreena McKennit.

Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

"Oi, Harper!"

I turn my head absently at the sound of my name. "Huh?"

My father is standing beside me with a stony expression. "The poor boy, Théo's been callin' after ye for donkey's, lass! Now, git over and grab those orders the patrons are waitin' on!"

"Yes, Da," I nod quickly, turning away.

He grabs me by the arm. "An' quit yer calf-eyed moonin'. We're gettin' paid t' serve, not t' stand 'round idling."

"Yes, Da," I nod again, hurrying over to the bar as my father releases me, shaking my head in a bid to clear my senses.

After Drake's departure last night, I had been too overcome with excitement to sleep. I had tossed and turned throughout the hours that remained until cockcrow, when I slipped back into my thankless role as the publican's daughter.

My days have begun at sunrise for as long as I can recall. After dressing, and tying my hair back to keep it from falling into my face, my first task was to empty the chamber pots of the previous night's contents from every room.

Then, it was onto the kitchen for a quick breakfast of ale and gruel, before tackling the litany of chores that awaited me each and every day. Stoking the fireplace in the hall. Collecting eggs from the henhouse. Sweeping. Dusting. Darning. Washing. Gathering the remnants of old candles to make into new ones. Checking the stores and making a list of required items to acquire. Brewing and decanting ale. Not to mention serving patrons at meal times, and cleaning up their mess.

The list was endless. And exhausting.

So, I am nigh on dead on my feet and it is not even sundown.

Only the knowledge that Drake is on his way back to me — for the last and final time — keeps me moving forward, albeit at a fraction of my customary pace.

"My apologies!" I gasp, arriving at the bar. "My head is in a bit of a tizzy tonight!"

"There is a full moon out tonight," my father's aide replies solemnly, pushing the tankards of ale over. "So, I suppose you are not wholly to blame."

"Thanks, Théo," I say with a distracted smile, gathering up the drinks and turning back to the hall.

Théo has had a bit of a soft spot for me ever since he came to us as an inn guard a few years prior. But an unfortunate mishap with a fully loaded cart several moons back had forced my father to pull the lad into an expanded role as partner to help keep the the inn running while he recovered from a broken leg. And thus our encounters had become more frequent.

But a couple of strolls on the moor, and one stolen kiss notwithstanding — both very much encouraged by my father, as he had somehow convinced himself that Théo will one day become my husband, and we'll collectively inherit The Crown & The Flame — I have politely sought to discourage any true advances between us.

As fate had already bound my heart to a dark-haired rogue, who arrived on a dark horse in the depths of an equally dark night, nursing a viscous wound to his side and an even fouler attitude.

Brigands, he'd told me, as I stitched him painstakingly up, his eyes flashing with malice while his hand gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle by the light of the lone candle in my room.

I wanted to ask more. But I could see that he was in pain, so I held my tongue while threading the makings of a new scar into his sweat-soaked skin... the latest addition to the brutal tapestry that already marred his flesh.

Once I completed bloody task, he yielded to sleep right there in my bed, somewhat against his will, I have to admit. But, then again, he had not exactly been in the best shape to contest with me. And I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it.

Yet, by the time I had awoken the following morning, having spent the night in the floor next to him — not wanting to disturb his rest, but not daring to leave his side either, for fear he'd succumb to fever — he had vanished, like a ghost in the evening mist...

...that is, until he reappeared about a fortnight later, perched on the sill of my open window like an overgrown crow, nearly sending me to my own grave in fright.

He offered me gold for my services, but I had refused. When he had asked me what I desired  instead, I told him: a tale. I have never ventured further than the closest town, and he looked to be a man who'd seen his share of the world.

He obliged, weaving for me the story of his misspent youth eking an existence out from the merciless streets of the capital after a tragedy rendered him a homeless and destitute orphan.

But even as a child, when his family had been whole, he had watched the great ships that sailed in and out of the port — envying their mystery and freedom. And so, he bided his time (and stolen coin) until he was able to finally stow away on a corvette, ending up, ultimately, on the distant shores of a country called La Louisiane inthe New World.

I'd become so caught up in his recounting of far-off lands, strange peoples, and even stranger creatures, that the dawn of the new morn snuck upon me unknowingly... predominantly because he had yet to sufficiently explain to me what the devil a 'cocodril' was and how it was not quite akin to a dragon.

"I shall return to finish the tale," he promised, turning back to the window.

"When?" I pleaded, desperate to hear more... and loath to see him to leave again.

"I know not for certain, lass," he admitted, reaching a gloved hand out to brush a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. "But look for me by the moonlight."

And that's how our liaison had started — in a dark room, under the magic of the moon, our hearts filled with secrets.

But tonight, the charade will finally be put to bed. For together with the money, I intend to leave my father a note explaining everything. As that way, he'll at least know that I am safe and well... even if that knowledge will likely be a meagre balm against the pain he'll no doubt feel at my perceived betrayal.

But I cannot continue living in pretence. My nights with Drake have opened my eyes and my heart up to possibilities that I never dared conceive of, let alone believe to be within my grasp... and I am eager to start a new page.

I just have to bide my time 'til my love's return... in spite of the fact that patience is certainly not my strong suit.

A few more hours, I tell myself stoically as I navigate 'round the long trestle tables. And then—

The door of the inn bangs open, sending a torrent of cold air rushing into the warmth of the hall.

My head snaps towards the sound of the intrusion, a fool's hope budding in my breast, in spite of the knowledge that Drake would never risk such a public entrance...

...but what I see sends my heart crashing into the pit of my guts.

"Search every nook and cranny!" bellows a lanky man sporting the guilt buttons and epaulettes of an officer of rank. "Leave no floorboard in this rat's nest unturned!"

"What is t' meaning o' this, sir!" deplores my father as a line of armed Greencoat dragoons stream into the inn. "Ye can'na just—"

"I can — and indeed, am required by the edict of the law!— when I have been given reasonable suspicion that an establishment is harbouring a known and sought-after criminal," retorts the man with thin-lipped sneer, surveying the eaves as if he expects ruffians to pounce onto him at any second.

Da's eyes crackle with indignation. "Harbouring? A criminal! That accusation that is beyond outrageous, sir! This 'ere is a reputable place, I'll have ye know, an'—"

"Not according to the witness who came forward this morning," the man cuts in brusquely over the sound of boots and crashing furniture echoing up from around the building. "By whose own words, this inn is a hotbed of salacious going-ons, not to mention illegal activity. So, I suggest that you—"

"Who!" demands my father, his features contorted in offence and rage. "Who dares speak these scurrilous lies and—?"

The officer thrusts his arm out. "That man over there."

All eyes in the hall shift as one to land bodily on the subject of the disputation.

"Théo?"

The name tumbles from my lips in a hoarse croak of disbelief. My father cannot seem to even manage that, as he stands, staring mutely, hurt and betrayal carving his aghast countenance.

"So, you see, Mr Gale," continues the man unabashedly, seemingly oblivious to the shocked silence that has cloaked the room, "the source of the accusation is more than credible. A man of good and honest standing in this community, who also happens to be an employee of the—"

"Good and honest?" spits Da, rounding on the intruder with barely concealed malice as he finds his voice again. "He fabricates lies for his own gain! Though what that could possible be, I'll—"

"I saw them," says Théo softly, almost as if in apology, coming to stand by my father in front of the bar. "Last night, I—"

Da reaches out to grab his aide by the lapels of his jack, face nigh on puce with gall. "Saw who? Speak, lad, or I swear t' Almighty God, I'll—"

"Midnight Jack..." Théo replies, making no effort to protest the roughness of his treatment. "...and your daughter."

The tankards I am still holding slip from my fingers to crash to the hard-packed earth of the floor in a mess of shards and ale.

"They were talking," Théo continues, eyes meeting mine solemnly as my father's hands slip from his clothes in horrified silence. "They'd left the window of her room open and I could hear—"

"Captain Beaumont!" cries a soldier, rushing down the stairs with a clatter of heels and buckles, carabinier still in hand. "We found something!"

"Report, Lieutenant Besnard!" snaps the captain, rounding on his subordinate with impatience. "You know I detest being held in suspense!"

"I think it best you come and see for yourself, sir," the lieutenant replies, shifting his eyes in my direction.

Dread pools in my veins like lead. Oh, no...

Captain Beaumont chews on the assessment for a short moment. "Very well, Besnard. Let us assess your findings. And bring these three along — I am certain they too will find the results...captivating."

Gloved hands seize me roughly from behind, and push me towards the stairs. Yet I am too overcome with an ill sense of foreboding to even think to struggle, the cold hand of trepidation binding me more surely than any man could.

The gold... They found the gold...

The dragoons troop us up the stairs in dreadful silence, save for the sound of the creaking floorboards ‘neath our feet.

Marching the our group down the length of the corridor — along the length of which doors stood ajar, revealing the mess of upended contents within — we at last arrive at our destination.

The soldiers shove my father and I unceremoniously through the doorway of my room...

...and I immediately spot the gaping hole where the loose floorboard should have been.

My insides tighten painfully.

"Ah, you were right, Lieutenant," approves Captain Beaumont as he strides towards the foot of my bed. "This certainly is a sight to see!"

My father's eyes widen as he lays eyes on the treasure as well.

I wish I could explain, to help him make sense of it, but fear has lashed my tongue against the wall of my throat.

Kneeling down, the dragoon commander reaches into the small space and lifts out a handful of coin and jewels. "Now, what could an inn-keeper's daughter possibly want with such bounty?"

"It inna hers!" cries Da suddenly. "It's mine! My daughter, she—"

"Clearly is the inhabitant of this room," comes the steely toned rebuttal. "The brush on the dresser, and the ribbons poking from the drawer... These clues make it abundantly evident that it is a woman who sleeps herein. And I see only one woman..."

A chill runs down my spine as the captain lifts his eyes to mine. Brown — like Drake's — but without an ounce of warmth or humour.

"It is her room, aye!" affirms Da desperately. "But she knew nothin' o' the gold! 'Twas an arrangement 'tween myself and—"

The captain scoffs as he straightens back up, letting the booty fall through his fingers to clink back into the recess in the floor. "Noble of you, Mr Gale, to wish to safeguard your daughter. But I think we can all confidently conclude that what you have just uttered is a bare-faced lie..."

Da emits a grunt of agony as one of the soldiers steps forward on silent command to strike him in the back with the butt of his musket.

"...and I do so despise liars," Captain Beaumont declares dispassionately as several more dragoons descend on my father.

"Stop!" I plead, straining against my own captor as hot tears slide down my cheeks at the sight of the brutal retribution. "I beg of you... Please! I confess! The gold is mine! My father is innocent—!"

Captain Beaumont holds up a hand and the beating halts just as abruptly as it began. "There are no innocents in this sordid business. Merely degrees of culpability. Take him away."

"No!" I shriek in desperation as the dragoons lift the prone form my father up and proceed to drag him from the room, specs of rusty blood dripping onto the floorboards in their wake. "Where are you—!"

A gloved hand smacks across the side of my face, sending my vision into a spin as the sharp taste of blood exploding in my own mouth abruptly cuts off my remonstrations.

Through the thick haze of pain and tears, I see the forest green of the captain's coat move past me as the jingle of coins echoes on the edge of my awareness.

"Seems your information was actionable, Mr Mallet," Belvedere Beaumont surmises as he steps over to the dark form of Théo, who has been observing the entirety of the interaction with an ashen face. "And for that you shall be rewarded."

Raising my head, I see Theo stare at the clutch of ducats like they are tainted.

"What..." Our betrayer swallows thickly. "What will you do to them?"

"That is none of your concern, Mr Mallet," replies Captain Beaumont assertively, hefting the leather pouch in his palm. "But you can rest assured that the hand of the law will be swift and decisive."

Théo's eyes widen in sudden panic. "But... But you want The Highwayman..."

"Like I said," intones Captain Beaumont, raising the coin pounce higher. "There are no innocents. Only degrees of culpability. So, unless you desire to share in the fate of your employers, I suggest you take the prize I am offering you, and spend it wisely."

Théo jerks his gaze to mine in anguish. "Harper... I am sorry."

Grabbing the money, he dashes from the room like the naked cur he has revealed himself to be.

Bastard...

"A true blessing, and a curse... money," Captain Beaumont observes, turning back to me. "It changes hands — and loyalties — so readily, does it not? Almost like magic."

"What do you want?" I spit at him, acutely aware of the fact that I am now very much alone with, and at the mercy of, this monster.

"But love...?" the captain continues, as if he hadn't heard me. "Love — or its absence — is far more duplicitous. It crawls into our hearts and twists our minds out of any rational sense of order."

"And what would a man like you possibly know of love?" I demand with more bravado than I feel, in a desperate attempt to mask the fear suffusing my limbs.

"I know it can spark wars and topple empires," he relies coolly, reaching out to pinch the strand of hair that had escaped from my bun between his gloved fingers. "Perhaps even hang a thief."

The air rushes from my lungs in horror. "No..."

"Lieutenant!" Beaumont barks over his shoulder, spinning on his heel away from me. "Rope!"

"Right here, sir!" affirms the subordinate, pulling a length of cordage from his pack.

"Bind this woman," comes the clipped instruction. "And take her to the window."

My struggles are for naught as my wrists are lashed together in front of my body.

"That renegade dog clearly loves you," declaims Captain Beaumont as his goons drag me to the casement. "Or he would not have entrusted you with the safekeeping of his ill-gotten treasure. The question is... Do you love him in turn?"

I raise my chin definitely as I am thrust onto the hard ledge of the window sill. "More than you can comprehend."

He meets my gaze with a serpentine smile. "That was my hope."

I stare at him in bewilderment as he reaches past me to crack the window open. "What are you—?"

"The way I see it," he continues, almost conversationally as the cold night air rushes over my skin, "you have a choice to make. Either you assist me in luring our mutual friend to his untimely, but very much overdue death — thereby potentially absolving you and your father of any involvement in this sorry affair, though that will be for a judge to decide — or I will claim obstruction of justice and hang the lot of you as accomplices. The decision is yours."

"You are vile..." I bite out through clenched teeth as a my mouth is smothered by a kerchief.

"I am a man of the law," he counters dispassionately. "And the law is clear — the penalty for highway robbery is death. Either by action, or association. And the evidence against you is, sadly, rather weighty." He flicks his eyes towards the gaping hole in the floor where two dragoons are busy loading the booty into a sack. "So, do not blame me for the unsavoury consequences of your own foolishness. You set yourself on this path. Knowingly."

I turn away from him, a torrent of guilt streaming down my face.

What have I done...?

The minutes tick slowly past, and the hours crawl by like years as we wait in silence under the silvery light of the moon.

And I have ample time to contemplate both my fate and my doom.

For there is no doubt about it — I am doomed, one way or another. Captain Belvedere Beaumont has made that abundantly clear.

Either I give up the love of my life, or I consign both myself and my father — not to mention my unborn babe — to a shallow, unmarked grave that will be forgotten just as soon as it is dug.

Both options are too horrendous to even contemplate.

Which is why I have very seriously debated throwing myself off the ledge of the window I am sat on. As that way I can at least break the captain's malicious hold on me.

But suicide is an unforgivable sin. Or so I've been taught. And, in any event, my death would be for naught, for I would doom the men I love just the same... Drake would walk unknowingly into the dragoons' ambush and Captain Beaumont would most likely slit my father's neck in spite.

So, I sit. And wait. And curse the fates — and myself — for this unforgivable turn of events. Because if Drake and I had eloped last night, our destinies would've been very different.

"Rider on the knell, sir," advises a soldier with a spyglass trained across the moor.

"I see him," confirms Captain Beaumont, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Raising my head, I spot the lone figure silhouetted against the darkness as he crests the hill, second horse in tow.

My heart jumps into my throat. Drake.

"Not a sound," orders Captain Beaumont as Drake and Drogon disappear from view in the shadow of the hill. "We bide our time and let the fair lady lure the rogue in."

The soldiers nod as they set about priming their weapons.

My mind is racing. I have to warn him... But how?

I feel the point of a blade press against my throat. "Just so you do not get any funny ideas in that pretty little head of yours..." warns Captain Beaumont as he takes up position behind me, the barrel of his pistol coming to rest on my shoulder, my form concealing his in the darkness.

I cast my gaze around the room. But my hands are bound and I have no recourse to even my voice, let alone a weapon.

But then a dragoon kneels down in front of me...

...and the ghost of a plan begins to take shape in my mind.

It is risky... and fraught with danger. Not just for myself, but for Drake as well. But I have been presented with a sliver hope. And though it may be a fool's hope, I must take it. As I cannot, in good conscience, purposely lead the man I love to slaughter.

I will not give Captain Beaumont that particular satisfaction. And — in any event — a life without Drake would not be worth living anyway.

The minutes continue to pass with bated breath as we wait for Drake to reappear.

"Movement on the roof, sir," whispers a dragoon, adjusting the hold on his musket.

Sure enough, a shadow has appeared in the darkness, drifting across the thatch of the barn in stealthy silence.

"Hold your fire," orders Captain Beaumont, pulling the cock of his flintlock back. "We need him in range. And for the love of God, do not fucking miss!"

The soldiers nod tersely as Drake creeps unknowingly closer.

"Five paces..." rasps Captain Beaumont, his hot breath gusting my ear. "Four... Three... Two..."

I close my eyes. Forgive me, Da...

"O—"

Kicking my legs out with a roar of determination, I heave myself backwards with all my might. My feet catch the side of the musket balanced on the ledge before me, sending a shot sailing out into the night with a bright flash of gunpowder.

I pray to the moon and the stars that it missed Drake.

Captain Beaumont's pistol discharges next to my ear as the back of my head collides with the bridge of his nose, shattering it with a bony crunch.

The knife he's been holding clatters to the floorboards as he stumbles backwards with a cry of pain. And as the support of his body disappears from behind me, there is nothing to hold me aloft.

I thud bodily to the floor, gasping for breath as the suddenness of the impact knocks the air from my lungs, my ears ringing from the earlier crack of the pistol, the smell of my singed hair burning my nose.

But I only have one aim... One mission... To get ahold of that knife.

Twisting myself around, I spot it — glinting in the moonlight merely a foot away.

Throwing my hands out, I reach for the weapon, the roar of shouts and gunfire breaking above my head...

...but find myself crying out as my hair is grabbed from behind.

"You conniving whore!" hisses Captain Beaumont as he wrenches me backwards, my scalp screaming in protest. "You will rue the day you were born!"

Tears blur my sight as I feel the hair rip from my head.

But still I strain towards the knife, which lies just beyond my fingertips, my teeth gritted against the pain, my heart hammering.

The edge of my nails scrapes the hilt...

A lone shot punctures the maelstrom of the chaos.

Captain Beaumont's grasp falters, and I crash back onto the floorboards.

Grasping for the dirk, I twist back 'round...

...but the sharp movement sends pain shooting through my chest and I am suddenly gasping for breath.

The knife falls from my hands as I clutch at my breast... and my fingers sink into the warmth of the flesh within.

"You cack-handed ingrate!" screams Captain Beaumont from above me. "I'll have you whipped for this!"

"She was trying to kill you, sir!" comes the voice of the lieutenant as the acrid taste of blood blooms in the back of my throat.

"She was our only hope of luring that bastard in!" shrieks Beaumont in rage, the stomp of his boots rattling the floorboards next to me as he advances on his subordinate, causing me to cough. "And you shot her!"

"Sir!" shouts another dragoon. "A horse and rider! Galloping north!"

"After him, you witless buffoons!" orders the captain, his face streaked with crimson and rage. "Do not let him get away!"

The soldiers scramble from the room as my lifeblood seep out of my veins onto the dusty floorboards.

And as the darkness closes in on me, I offer my soul up to the night with one final wish...

Fly, my love... Fly like a witch on the wind.

The story continues in Part III: The Highwayman Comes Riding (coming soon)

A/N: Some notes and comments below:

Cocodril - I appreciate that it's alligators that live in Louisiana, not crocodiles. However, according to a helpful article I found, the correct Louisiana French term for alligator is 'cocodril' or 'cocodrie' (both pronounced the same), or occasionally 'caïman', but never 'alligator' as alligator is considered to be an English word, and therefore not part of the 'correct' French vocabulary. Also the terminology makes sense from a historical, cultural and linguists perspective — Europeans would have been familiar with crocodiles from ancient time (Ancient Egypt, etc.), but not alligators, and would not have originally realised that there was a difference until people like Carl Linnaeus and Charles Darwin started systematically cataloguing species, starting in the late 1700s, so they probably just initially applied the familiar but 'wrong' term and it stuck. That said, French French does differentiate between 'alligator' and 'cocodrie', but that is a more recent linguistic development than the original French Louisiana one. Okay; massive tangent concluded 😆

Musket - If anyone has read the original poem, or listened to the song, you will have probably realised that I made another change to the story, namely the manner in which Harper dies. In the original, Bess is bound to the foot of her bed, her hands tied behind her, and a musket lashed in such a way that it points to her heart. However, she somehow manages to not only free her hand from her bindings without anyone noticing, but she also manages to grasp the trigger of the musket. Now, if anyone has bothered to look at what a musket actually looks like, you will quickly realise that this sequence of events in the original poem/song is a straight up impossibility because muskets of this era are friggin' long (typically around 5ft or 1.6m), so there is no way that I can see that Bess would've been able to reach the trigger if she is stood up, or even sat down. So, the manner of death had to change. That said, I tried to stay as true as possible to the original. But, if anyone disagrees with me, happy to be educated!

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fanfiction-she-wrote @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890