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smolvenger · 7 months

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The Tavern Prince (Prince Hal x fem! Y/N Oneshot)

Summary: You are shocked and unhappy to find out you are betrothed to notorious rake, Prince Hal. But one evening, he sneaks you into the Boar's Head Tavern...and your mind about him starts to change.

Warnings: Smut at the end!! 18+ NSFW! (thigh riding, fingering, loss of virginity, dirty talk, good ol' p in v). Reader is super Proper and Prim and has a stick up her butt just because I wanted her to in this fic for the drama and tension of paring her with Hal (and I'm sick of Pick Me Girls in Historic Fiction. So Much) Mentions of sex and cheating (but no actual cheating, our boy would never. Trust me, I'm a Shakespeare expert). Not believable, but we're running on vibes, not accuracy so forget that couples were chaperoned or whatever. References to Shakespeare's plays and words (like "Die"= slang for orgasm and "wag"= boy).

Word Count: 9K (get some water, besties, and whores)

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract (smut starts at "sweetest of ladies" and ends at "Hal...I have no words.." btw bestie for your comfort) @eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@muddyorbsblr

“Y/N, we have something very exciting to announce. The king has given his consent. You are going to marry the prince…” your father announced to you at the table. Your mother nodded her head beside him.

You let a smile spread across your face. You were so thrilled you held your breath for a second. This was an honor beyond anything you could comprehend of what he would say. How many would want that honor? What woman didn’t want to be a princess? There were many princes in the world, but it had to be one of the English princes. They couldn’t mean some other country. The English king had four sons- which one was your groom? Likely not the youngest two- Humphrey and Thomas. They were boys, far too young for marriage.

That meant- the second eldest son! You interrupted in your excitement.

“Oh! I am to marry John of Lancaster! Oh, mother-father! How wonderful! He’s the sweetest youth- and he is always at each meeting with his father, the king! Oh, what a good husband he will be! I am so hap-”

“Y/N, I believe you misunderstood us,” your mother cut in.

You froze, blinking quickly.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “I’m not marrying a prince?”

“No, you are…” replied your mother.

If not Humphrey, if not Thomas, if not John…that left one English prince.

They smiled and took your hands across the table.

“The one who matters. The one who will make you one day queen of England through your union…”

Oh no, you thought, God’s blood, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, please, please oh Lord Above- please not him please not-

“You betrothed to his grace, the Prince of Wales, Henry Lancaster…”

It felt like a punch. You blinked, and your voice got smaller.

“You mean…Prince Harry?” you asked.

“Oh, yes, dear girl! Our daughter- Princess of Wales and then Queen of England!” your mother cooed. She went up and hugged you. Not that she could see the frown growing on your face.

Your father kissed your forehead. You put on a small smile. A practice one when they were looking. You swallowed it back.

You should have been thrilled to find out you were marrying the prince of Wales, the heir to England, to Bolingbroke, to the Lancasters. Your rational mind knew it was a huge honor.

But married to Prince Harry- no, Hal! That was what his vile friends all called him! Seems fit you should think of him as such!

Hal, the rake. The riotous son. The dishonorable son. The one with a dozen prostitutes at his heels! He even wore a glove from one to a joust once! The rebel. The drunk. The prankster. The scoundrel. The son his father wished could be swapped for another- everyone knew that. The reason why John of Lancaster was always in court? Because Hal was so little seen in the castle and at events and never appeared! Shirking his responsibilities to hang around bars! With seedy thieves and criminals and who knows what else!

You were not strangers. You had spoken with him the few times he had been in court. Your parents were good friends and old allies of Henry Bolingbroke before the chaotic events that crowned him. The few banquets Hal appeared, you were there. He only appeared at that ball a few days ago. You did have a dance with him. He spoke some, no more than polite subjects and small talk. But he seemed bored. Perhaps his father was breathing down his neck not to sneak out.

This was to be your husband?!! And this was to be the king?! The one not even his own father could be proud of?! Bound to until only Death did you Part!?

When you went to your private quarters, and no one was around, you went to your bed and screamed into your pillow.

You could already see your married life. Picture it in your head. Princess Y/N and Prince Hal, soon King Hal and Queen Y/N. The banquets would be a mess. Late into the night, there would be crowds of dirty, smelly people. Laughing with food still in their mouths and spitting and pissing all over the banquet halls. There would be thieves trying to reach to grab the jewels on you. Or try to grope you, only there would be no protection. So many drunkards vomiting all over the pretty stone hallways and throwing rocks through the tall windows.

Your waking vision of your future spiraled further in your head. You knew you would have separate quarters. You would have to go alone- you knew your husband's bed would have one if not two if not four ladies of the night to pleasure him until dawn. Or he would go into your room, bold and drunk with liquor and lust. He had the right to barge in when he wanted now.

It made you want to cry.

Three days later, there was a celebratory dinner at the castle for the betrothal announcement. All of you sat down. You were decked in a dark green dress and some jewelry given to you. To make you seem more regal. Not that it made you feel that way. You sat with your family, the King of England wrapped in his dark furs. The three younger Lancaster brothers all looked at you with small smiles- perhaps looking forward to having a sister-in-law. There was just one very crucial seat next to you left empty.

Of course, once the wine was poured and dishes were just set, in strode in, red leather jacket, hat, and all, none other than your intended.

You hated that he was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. An ivory face with tall cheekbones, a high forehead, and blue eyes. Tall and lean. He waltzed in with a slight smirk. His arms dangling back and forth so casually. A slight smile on his face.

“I apologize, I am late, I know!” he announced.

The king stood up, his hands over his thick, dark robe on his hips. Following him, everyone else rose up

“Harry-where have you been?! We were just about to dine at your betrothal dinner!” he chided.

“Only getting ready, father! I wanted to be more presentable-” he insisted, still standing.

“You will be punctual in the future, especially to show respect to your bride!” the king added on, gesturing to where you sat.

You only looked down at your plate. Bride, bride, bride. Once you thought of the word like a dream, like the word “fairy.” Something light and lilting- surreal and beautiful. Something you could attain too. But it only made your stomach curl.

You could feel Hal’s eyes, already on you. Then he walked forward and pulled out the chair next to you.

As the king sat down, all sat down.

Everyone began to eat. You barely could look at Hal. When you did, you found his eyes would drift up to see you. Then at once, you pulled yours down. Then your mother boasted of you.

“Our daughter- she was raised in a convent as any lady should be. The nuns all praised her as a good student- so quiet, ladylike, and diligent in her studies. She is learning all the dances done at parties. Oh- and her needlework is wonderful!”

You stood up, nodding.

“Yes! I sewed on little strawberries on my handkerchief! And I am making some new needlework of a pink rose, like the ones in the springtime-”

Your voice cut you off. Aware you were gushing so much. It wasn’t just the fact that the king watched. He was so used to his sons that a younger female presence was fascinating. King Henry the Fourth himself looked at you with a smile and soft eyes.

No- because Hal was listening and watching. you swallowed and looked next to you. Hal’s face was neutral. He leaned on the table, a mouth over his lip, scratching his chin. You saw him swallow a little and then look back down at his meal.

He didn’t like you. Didn’t even like you, you knew it. He was already thinking of how boring you were! You did have a cousin named Beatrice. She was the one who was climbing trees, and talking saucily to everyone and rebelling and speaking and laughing wildly. If only she wasn’t married by now! Then your family would throw her Hal’s way and they would be happy! If he had to marry at all, it should be someone like her! Not like…not like…not like you…He wouldn’t like you, either. You were sure. Calling you boring just because you prioritized manners and decency. Laughing at your sewing and the dresses you cherished so much.

“Oh, I am sure they are quite pretty, Y/N. And what think you, Harry?” the king asked.

Hal perked up.

“They…they should be.” he replied.

Copying what his father said .Of course. He took another bite and then he put a hand over his mouth again.

“Now- we must set a date for these children. What dates shall you say?” the king asked.

You and Hal shared a look and then perked up.

“We want enough time to prepare a decent wedding, of course. And to prepare them. Yet…the new Lancaster family must be secured through another heir, we know…” your father replied.

You could have thrown up the wine in your stomach. You looked down, not daring to see the look on Hal’s face.

“I agree. And my son must settle- therefore, I say two months from now shall give us enough time,” the king confirmed.

Two months?! It seemed so short. Not even time to come around to it.

You always wanted romance. To be wooed and won and courted. You dreamed of the day love would finally shine in some man’s eyes as he fell to his knees and begged for your heart and hand. Not thrown away to a scoundrel who didn’t like you.

“Now- don’t you be so worried, dear daughter,” the king consoled.

You looked up, and you saw him smile kindly at you.

“I remember the days I was nervous about my nuptials, too. Do not be afraid, lady Y/N- you will leave your family, but you will have a new one. Think of me more of a father here than king. You shall have me and three brothers who will look after you and be sure you want for nothing, my dear. And therefore…”

His eyes shot to Hal.

“If this rapscallion does anything to you before the marriage- hurts you. Breaks your heart-anything. You shall come to me and ask to end the betrothal, and you will have my blessing.”

Hal’s jaw dropped.

You gave the king a smile, a genuine one.

“Thank you, your grace.”

You went back down to your food, eating with more of a flourish. Hal then turned to you. It was the first few words he spoke directly to you that night. You braced for a bawdy joke about your wedding night from him, but there was none.

“We do have confits, here, my lady- would you like to try some?” he asked.

He offered you a golden bowl full of little sweets. They were tiny white spheres. He pressed the bowl your way as you peeked in.

“I’ve never had any,” you remarked.

“They are well, after dinner.“Here- try some,” he said,

You popped one in your mouth. And let out a sound of appreciation. They were very light and sweet, you nodded your head.

“Hm- very nice. And they are…sweet, my lord,” you commented.

You took another one as the servants arrived to clear your plates.

The next day was a formal announcement. It would be put on the doors of every church. And all of the court was gathered to watch with their rich cloaks and jewels glinting in the sun.

In Hal stumbled. How pale he looked- no doubt still hungover. He looked at you and he stopped. Then he stepped forward. You felt as if it was a wedding ceremony already and it made lightning

“We hereby announce an engagement- his majesty, Henry of Lancaster and the Lady Y/N will be married in two months time. Though they are already married in our eyes- we shall congratulate them on their union and the nuptials to follow,” announced the king to applause.

He turned to you both. He gave his son strict instructions, his eyes stern.

“Now Harry- kiss her and call her your princess,” ordered the king.

Hal looked down on you. He licked his lips, looking down at yours. Dear lord- was he about to kiss you before everyone! You instintually jerked a little away. He froze. Hesitated. He lowered his mouth and then set it tight shut again. Then your intended whispered in your ear.

“The cheek?”

You paused. It didn’t sound as bad as the lips.

“Yes,” you answered.

He gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek with it seemed half of England to witness.

This is began. Four long weeks of learning everything one had to know of being a princess. Learning French to converse with ambassadors, the history of the throne, the order of the servants, current matters, in addition to etiquette (which you took to very well) and so many things your head spun. Numerous formal public events where you had to stand by Hal and pretend you were a smiling, happy bride. Swallowing back what you really thought of him.

Only talking to him when required.

You didn’t doubt tha the didn’t like you.

No doubt he wishes he was off in Esatcheap, you thought. He doesn't even tolerate me.

All of your life, you did what you were told. It kept the peace. You never asked for much- just to be safe and content. Hopefully one day, maybe one day, fall in love with some nice gentleman and marry him. A nice, peaceful, happy life. But instead- you had him?! Why couldn’t it be John instead? Or some foreign prince! One who didn’t get drunk constantly!

One day, you had time to yourself. You sat there with your embroidery, putting the pink thread in and out of the white cloth. Glad it could relieve the stress of your mind. In walked Hal, he was a member of the family now and was welcome in and out of your home. You only looked up, acknowledging him.

“How are you, my lady?” he asked.

“I have been quite busy.” you answered.

He didnt have his cap, but kept on his red leather jacket and dark pants. His auburn curls that shone like amber when he walked by a ray of sunlight. And how…well fitting his jacket was on him. There was something stirring on you when you looked at him that you didn’t like. Attraction and yet also disgust.

“What did you…do this morning, my lady?” he asked. He fiddled with his hands placed on his lap.

He was forcing himself to spend time with you- you knew it. Just trying to be nice, pretending to be nice.

“Said my prayers, Ate breakfast. Wrote a few letters. I had a walk about…” you reported.

“That sounds very nice, Y/N,” he replied.

He sat up. Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall. He gave you a smile as he looked down on you, licking his lips. You had a guess as to what his thoughts were now. But here, without a thousand eyes watching over you, you could indulge in bluntness.

“And you, no doubt, enjoyed your morning with your whores from the London streets,” you sniped, pulling the pink thread through again. “We might as well be honest with each other if our parents want us to marry, Hal. Expecting fidelity from you is like expecting a fish to sprout wings and feathers. I’m saving myself the disappointment.”

You kept your eyes down. Ready to stitch in the next one when Hal said-

“I have not lain with whores…”

You turned your face to meet his, and found his eyes hardening. His smile dropped. He stood up from leaning against the wall. You found your own mouth opening a little, though the words struggled to come out.

“What…what did you say?” you asked. You weren’t sure if you heard it right.

“I…I have not lain with a whore in…five months, Y/N. I will tell you that…”

Guilt burned inside you. You turned your eyes down.

“Oh…I’m sorry…my mistake…” you wished earnestly. “I just know how your…reputation of…you know…”

“I cannot blame you that…” he commented.

You kept sewing, with a bit more fervor. You saw Hal out of the corner of your eye get closer to you, sitting beside you.

“You are always busy, my lady. Always doing something. Don’t think I do not notice how you study everything one must know to…to… I hardly see you smile.” he said.

You looked up at him.

“I have serious matters to bear- and I for one, take this upcoming marriage seriously…” you said. “If I must adapt to life in the castle, life as a princess-your princess- I will know how…”

“It is all you do…”

“It’s my duty to…it’s what…what it means to…to marry you…” you sputtered out.

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so anguished, so sad. You saw the imprint of hte needle on your fingertips. They felt sore- how long had you sewn?

“You think I don’t…don’t take this marriage seriously?! That I don’t take you seriously?!” Hal asked.

You tossed it down and went to the window to look outside to the green trees and grey sky. Unable to face him, wrapping arms around yourself. Feeling tears in your eye ducts.

“Hal…you know I am not the kind of person you’d choose to be your wife…you know I am not the kind of lady you fancy…just go…I don’t care if you’re betrothed to her or buy her for the night, at least you’ll be happy with some other woman. Just…just admit it…You don’t like me, I will…I’ll just make you miserable, I’ll…spare you the disappointment. I’ll speak to your father- ask him to end it… just- go and end the betrothal and leave me in peace…”

You felt a few tears in you.

“My lady…you’re…you’re crying…” he commented.

You heard him walk behind you. You finally confessed it all.

“Hal…I wanted…I just wanted to..to have a good life. A normal, peaceful life. I dreamt of…of love and of being wooed and courted and romance…and now here I am, but…but…I’m…”

You thought of it. The upcoming days. Everything. Your life upheaving. Married and made royalty in months.

“I’m just…overwhelmed…” you confessed.

You felt tears go down your eyes. You flinched. You expected him to laugh at you. To scoff at you. He didn’t.

You turned around to him. He found your handkerchief, white with strawberries sewn on it, and handed it to you. You wiped off your face.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The reason father wanted me to marry you was that you were always so good, so rule-abiding. He believed you would tame me. But I see you…you’re so afraid of pleasing others. You forget your own pleasures in life-haven’t you ever wanted to see life? Life outside of manors and castles? See real people? Not lords and ladies- What it is like?” he asked, leaning closer to you.

You looked up. He opened his hand. You accepted it.

“You look like you have never relaxed a day in your life! And for all your assumptions about me…have you ever seen a tavern, my lady?” he asked.

“I…I…uh…no. No, I haven’t,” you confessed.

“Then…how about a change of scene?” he asked. He gave a small wink. It made you a little breathless.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

You were dressed in some peasant clothes that fit you- a simple blue dress over a white shift and a brown belt and long sleeves. Simple, but pretty. You liked pretty things and wanted to feel a little even as a peasant. Hal in his usual red leather. You both rode out on his black horse He took you out to those streets. It buzzed with flies. You could smell meat and see the butcher’s wares of dead animals hung out everywhere. A tall dog wagged its tail and sniffed the ground. It went up to you and you petted it. He felt scruffy and soft and panted with a smile. Then he went about sniffing. Hal turned to you. He looked out. It was a steady crowd of people going about. You couldn’t help but look about you.

“Here, my lady…take my hand,” he offered, outstretching his.

“How come?”

“I don’t want you to get lost,” he explained.

You accepted it. Feeling it’s warmth as he walked you through. Many turned to see him and bowed to him. It amazed you. He looked around- you never knew so many just ordinary people. All about. Lvinig their lives- how fascinating they were.

He then smiled.

“This…this is the one. The one that’s my favorite!”

It was called The Boar’s Tavern. He helped you in. Already it was crowded with people. Wooden and smelling of roasting, rich, savory meats and of ale, of wine. People chatted everywhere. Children played about with balls made of cloth. Ladies sat on the laps of men and laughed.

In was a woman with an apron, a hat over her head, and fingerless gloves. She was short and had grey hair and bright, red cheeks from her bustling about.

“Aye! It is his grace, our Hal!”

He went up to her and kissed the side of her head.

The woman turned over and peeked at you, merely folding your hands before you.

“And my-who is this lady?”

You curtsied out of habit and placed your hands before you. Suddenly shy.

“Mistreress Quickly-this is the lady Y/N. She is…she is my betrothed. Lady Y/N, this is Misteress Quickly-she owns and runs this tavern.”

You looked about. To think- she, a lady, ran this whole business! It was hers! She wasn’t a whore or a wife, she was a woman of business!

“All of this is yours?” you asked.

“Aye, it is. A right and good establishment, if I say so.” Mistress Quickly boasted.

“It’s…it’s very…it’s cozy…and it looked fun!” you said.

“Oh, we do have some fun. Hal-pour her some sack. We will give her some and a meal, on the house! Especially one about to be Lady Hal- oh, to think I’d see the day!” she remarked.

She went over to gather up a fire for your meal and drinks. Men went about to lounge and laugh with each other. And about were women. Their shoulders exposed, and dresses cut to show more of their decolletage. Would they laugh at you? No…they were focused on drying their laundry. Or their eyes would turn up to you, nodding heads in acknowledgment before returning to their business. Misteress Quickly arrived and handed you both cups of wine or “sack.” It felt cheaper than what you drank at home-but stronger, burning down your belly.

Then, finally, one approached you. Her head tilted in curiosity. She had unbrushed blonde hair and a dirty dress that revealed her shoulders. She put her hands on her hips.

“Why- you’re the lady Y/N, ain’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, yes I am. Pleased to meet you. What is your name?”

“Eh, call me Doll,” she answered.

It was obvious-A whore! A real one! Flesh and blood! But even if she was one…you still owed her good manners. She looked down and then up at you.

“Why then- good to meet you too. I can tell already you’ve never had to put a toe here- but need not fear. We’re a merry bunch. Harmless. Everyone’s all laughter and drinks and all.,” she advised.

“That…that sounds nice…” you replied.

She went up to you, gently slapping your arm to hold it. Speaking already as if you were an old friend.

“But you don’t have to be so all ‘yes my lord’ and ‘no my lord,’ here. Some old goat bothers you, you shove ‘im off. Here…have yourself a drink…”

“I…I’ve never met a…a whore before…” you commented.

“Why, now you have. Don't be scared- I don’t bite,” she said.

Mistress Quickly handed you a cup. Hal was already teasing a serving man named Francis with how many times he could run about.

“Do you…like what you do?” you asked Doll.

“When the man’s nice, like my dear old Jack here” she gestured to Falstaff. “You get enough to get by.”

“Are you scared of having a baby?” you asked.

“You learn all the herbs and tricks to stop that. Most men want you to pleasure them with your mouth, anyways- can’t have a baby there,”

You looked down at your cup, warm with embarrassment. Then you asked further, lowering your voice.

“Have you…been with Hal?”

She let out a little a small smile. She didn’t lower her voice.

“Course I have! Yes-some of the women say he visited them. He’s a regular!” she told you.

“Doll, What was he…he like? Does it…does he hurt you?” you asked agian in a quite voice.

“Hurt! Oh no! He’s sweet as can be! He won’t hurt you- unless you ask him to give you a good slap as he’s ridin’ you!”

She laughed at your embarrassed look.

“I’m…I’m his intended so…I wanted to know, to be ready…” you explained.

“Oh! Nervous for your duty and all that!? Well, I’ll tell you- he is a good man. And he’ll be good to you when it’s your turn. Now…what do you think of the sack?”

You took another sip of your cup.

“It’s…it’s so good!”

“Try it with honey-it’s even better!”

She showed you a honey jar and poured a little in your cup. And yes- it was even better.

Then in stumbled an old man. So bulbous and a face so red he reminded you of a tomato. His white hair and great white beard, boasting to a crowd.

“Three men! Oh no- I tell you- it was five men, hm yes! Five men I defeated there!” he bragged to the dirited companions surrounding him, all with amused looks.

Then his eyes lit up, seeing you.

“Falstaff…this is Y/N”

“Yes, and when I saw those six men, I-”

The man called Falstaff paused his bragging and turned to see you. He put his hands over his hips to look at you. You curtsied again.

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” you said.

The old man, plumper than a peach with a long grey beard and a red face went to you. He looked you up and down. Then he talked-talked so much you didn’t have time to reply.

“Hmmm, ah, yes. This is the Y/N-the famous Y/N, lady Y/N. Yes-how much I see already. Her hands positioned to hold- the little smile, her posture-mmph, can tell already where she’s been. One of those convent girls. But if that is who will make Hal die on his wedding night, he will die smugly… I tell you, sweet wag-”

You turned your eyes down before the floor. Falstaff was talking so boldly of…le petit mort in a public space! But you should have guessed from the whores how open everything was here. Hal blushed and put his head down. You looked away. Falstaff released a large laugh at your reaction.

The old knight turned to Hal and patted his shoulder.

“I’ve conquered many a heart in my day. Oooo, old Jack Falstaff has ways with women. Hmm- the letters I’d send them. There is a Lady Ford and a Lady Page and with one letter to each, I’ll cuckold their husbands easily! So- here’s my advice, wag. Give her a sweet word, a letter -and she’ll be yours. I can show you the format- yes, yes. No woman can resist the love of the knight, Falstaff…I doubt even less this-”

He pinched Hal’s cheek.

“-Handsome, young prince here!”

He handed you the letters he planned on sending them. To your immense surprise, it was the same one only the names were switched. Before you could comment he got them again and folded them up, putting them in his pocket.

“Hmm- this calls for celebration- for Hal’s marriage and my seduction! Francis! Come over, lad! Give some sack before I die!”

He waddled over to where the cup bearer sat.

“Should we tell him? The letters are the same?” you asked.

“I would rather sit by and watch and laugh at him!” Hal replied.

Then in came a young man with dark hair and dark eyes-slender and with a triangular nose.

“Oh here! A lady is here?! A new lady-” he said.

“Why, Poins-here-I would like you to meet her. This is Lady Y/N.”

You made your curtsies again. He only gave you a cheeky smile.

“Oh, well- tis time!” he muttered.

Hal shot to him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Poins I-”

Poins then swooped you into his arms. You let out a little shreik from the feeling.

“Hal! I have your maid! And now she is mine!” he teased.

So light and fun, you did not feel any fear. He caught you and lifted you above him with his strong arms. You were surprised at his strength- he hoisted you up and began running through the tavern. People laughed as Poins ran about with Hal chasing him and even you couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Oh, Poins, you dog! Let me have her!” Hal cried.

Quickly he ran, you squealed from the feeling. Up high and dangling as Poins ran off. He went to a quick corner in one end and set you down. After seeing that he was hidden, he turned to you.

“He will never admit it-but the man adores you, Y/N!” he confided.

Your jaw dropped.

“He…he what! Since…the bethrothal?” you asked.

“Before that- for several months since he met you! Won’t even touch Doll anymore!”

Shock flooded your system. The words earlier- they made sense.

Poins put up a hand.

“ I swear he’s like some doe-eyed lover in a romance for you! He could hardly speak to you in your bethrothal- you make him nervous, Y/N! He wanted nothing more than you since when you first met! And now he sighs and pines. He blushes like a maiden! And seems half a man whenever your name is brought up! Y/N- And I must tell you something!”

He leaned closer.

“Long before the betrothal was a whisper…there was one night. It was dark and four in the morn. My sweet honey lord was quite drunk. He would sigh into his cup. I had to be fetched to drag him to a bed. Do you know what he was muttering? He cursed into his cup, lamenting “Y/N- sweet creature- Oh, Y/N! Curse the day Fate gives you to another!’ before he fell to the floor. Dear lady-show him a little mercy! Or be clever- Turn this prince into your servant when you can!”

You had no words. Your eyes are wide. Of course…this could be a lie. Just something he was making up to flatter you. To prank you. But, something inside of you was telling you it was truth…if so, why would he lie to you? What would Poins gain?

Then Hal swept in, his face bright red.

“Please, enough! Are you hungry, my lady!? I think you should to dinner- there’s going to be music you might like.” he suggested.

“Of…of course, Hal,” you replied.

He turned around, his eyebrows going up as you used his nickname. The one his friends here called him.

As you reached over, you clasped his hand. Hal went still for a moment, seeing that you eagerly put yours in his. Feeling your touch. Then he went on.

As you ate, you noticed women left with men. They held the hands of their customers and led them to their rooms. Then the moans and grunts and the rhythms of something hitting the walls not long after. Wet sounds, too- without shame of their volume. You swallowed the urge to gasp and looked down in embarrassment. Hal only gave a smirk as he ate on.

“Are they…” you turned to Hal.

“They aren’t reading, I can tell you that…” Hal laughed as he picked up some meat and chewed it in his mouth.

“They’re so…so loud…so…so shameless, I never….Wouldn’t they be embarrassed?” you asked.

Yet part of you…you would never admit it…the sounds also…you liked them. You…envied them. And with Hal so near. His leather just brushed against your arms.

“When one finds pleasure here, they don’t feel ashamed of it. They just enjoy it.”

“Isn’t it…sinful?” you asked.

“Sinful for how their bodies react when they touch each other? How God made them? If they agree to it, it cannot be, I think…”

Both of you finished your meals. The sounds of their pleasure became dimmer. You heard people get out instruments and play them. There was starting to be laughter. A gentleman with a large and red nose- Bardolph, went up and greeted Hal. As Hal went up to welcome his friend, you suddenly felt a tug on your arm.

There was a gentleman at least ten years your senior. He had sharp eyes and his strong arm pulled you closer. He gave you a wide, lascivious smile as he handed you several coins.

“Here, girl…” he said.

“Sir…what is this?” you asked, looking at the coins.

“This, this is for you, of course, my dear.”

“For me?” you repeated.

It then hit you why.

He grabbed your arms.Panic surged through your system. He tried to drag you off to the nearest dark corner, but you forced your feet still. Tugging at him, struggling to break off. You managed out of his arms, and then he grabbed your hand. But you stayed still. A glimpse at Doll Tearsheet and your heart was racing.

“Sir- there’s been a mistake! I’m a lady! I am not a whore!” you stated.

“Ah, the whore thinks she can refuse, eh?! Why else would Misteress Quickly bring a new beauty to The Boar’s Head!” he asked.

“I’m just visiting, sir! Doll is right over there! And plenty of others could use it more than me!” you cried. Glancing towards the other women.

Doll’s head perked up and she sensed something amiss. Even the whores looked among each other in seriousness once they realized what was happening.

“This money’s not for Doll, it’s for you. You would be a delight in bed tonight!”

Doll touched the arm of the prince by Bardolph, alerting him.

You were ready to fight him, ready to run, then in came Hal. He whipped out his dagger and pointed it to the man’s nose. He jumped off. Doll ran forward and pulled you away, pulling you into a protective hug.

“Leave her be- you miscreant!”

The villain held up his hands and backed off slowly.

“Why, your little grace..what else have you to do with this woman? I was about to pay for her, like any other man here. Why do you act thus?”

The music paused and eyes turned. Amused and worried, as to what would happen next. Would a fight break out? Would there be more men who thought they could be your “customers?” You cowered further into Doll, clinging to her. Oh dear God, how bad this was getting!

Your heart raced. Hal glanced at you. You looked at Hal with wide eyes. He then unsheathed his dagger and looked at the man. Then Hal made his reply.

“Because she is my whore for tonight!”

The earth stopped turning. You could hear your fast heartbeat and your jaw dropped. Hal went up to you. With great strength, he pulled you from Doll’s arms to his. In a second, before you could process it, he sat down on the nearest surface and pulled you to his lap. You made a small gasp at the feeling. He wrapped an arm possessively around you.

Then he looked thunderously at the tavern. They were silent as he made a declaration.

“I bought her company all this evening. Tonight, she is mine. And if any man here thinks they can dare touch what is mine, their head will be lobbed off under order of the Prince of Wales- is that clear!?”

He nodded his head, and the other wide-eyed men swallowed and took note.

Mistress Quickly scurried towards the musicians.

“Play! Play! Oh- give us a song! Something merry!” she insisted.

They played and the tension relaxed. People went back to their drinking and their business. But you remained sitting on Hal.

“Play along,” he whispered into your ear.

But sitting on his lap… It was making you…feel something. Something you couldn’t quite name. Your heart was beating even harder. Your body felt like it was with fever. And as for between your legs, it was stirring, something, something you had never felt before-and you wanted more of it. He was right there, beneath you. You felt his hands go around to your back.

Others were siting at Hal’s table. You both glanced to see whores with their customers- they were kissing.

He eyed you and them. Then, he touched touched your chin. He asked.

“A kiss for me, my beauty?”

Enough so that no one would suspect anything.

“I, uh-yes,” you replied.

Then he pulled you in for a kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. Feeling his soft lips, the wine on his breath and tasting rich, like you could become drunk from him-his touch alone was making you feel intoxicated already. You tugged at him, and he kept a hand at your back to secure you. You sighed from it. Groaning from it. Then he released. His pupils were wide and both of you were catching your breaths.

“Hal…”

You then gathered your skirt in your hands and looked down. What scared you was how much you liked touching him. How…how wonderful this felt. How…nice. Something between your legs was stirring. It was getting wet and you sensed it was not with urine or menstrual blood.

Hal then smiled at his companions at the table and raised a glass to them.

“Y/N…my pretty whore…to the jewel of the Boar’s Head, Y/N-and a jewel she will be in my bed tonight.”

They cheered as they raised their cups. They had a deep drink. You were handed one and drank too.

“Yes-uh, yes, my lord, I will be-uh, very happy to pleasure you tonight,” you muttered in agreement, before having a sip.

He reached his hand down yours. Then he lifted up your hand to his lips and kissed you on your pulse, keeping a steady hold on it as he lowered.

Then they began to boast of how the wine caskets were being opened and how much they could drink in one go. Laughing, they ran over to sample it.

Hal turned over to you. He had a half-smile

“My lady…your pulse is racing very fast…are you afraid of me?” he asked, though with a touch of cheekiness.

“No,” you answered. But you were afraid of how much you liked this.

“It’s only when I touch you, is it?” you asked.

“Yes…yes it is…” you confessed breathlessly.

He made a small laugh and you could have sworn he was blushing.

“It’s only your body reacting to me. It’s how God, how nature made us- nothing more… Can you continue the pretense? For a little bit?” he asked.

“Yes, Hal, I can,” you said.

He then slid you off of his lap to be on the seat next to him. Once when you thought you could cool your senses, he turned close to you, touching your leg as you were near and wrapping his other arm around you.

“Do you like the wine here, my lady?” he asked.

“I’ve…I’ve never had better, sweeter wine…I haven’t drank too much of it, have I?” you asked.

“If you’re still walking safely, then the answer is no, Y/N,” he replied.

Then the music got to a gig. People got up, getting partners.

“Are they going to dance?” you asked.

“Yes, they are!” he confirmed.

“You took his hands, smiling and getting up.”

“Dance with me Hal- do you know how to?” you asked.

“Yes, yes I do!” he answered.

You led him over as couples gathered around. They managed to kick their steps in time and though he still had trouble with his feet, he was smiling- relaxed. Far more relaxed than he was at any court ball.

At one point you had to turn around. But all you could see was him. Your bodies moved so well together- almost in sync here. You could look at him and do the steps fluidly. Feeling his touch, looking into his eyes. He held your hand…something was different. He kept a hand to your back warm and splayed. It never felt this nice.

Then…it ended. And he was still holding your hand. Catching your breaths and looking into each other's eyes. Hesitantly, he let go.

“Did you like that, my lady?” he asked.

“I…I liked it. Very much.”

You wanted him. You wanted his touch. More of him. He placed you back on his lap as he sat down right next to a table. He nestled into your neck.

“I’ll tell them I’m taking you with me to the palace and then escort you home,” he whispered.

“People are…are leaving more, now…” you commented. The crowds were thinning. The noise was calming down.

“Why…it’s getting late…a tavern has two lives. The celebration and then the dimming, the seriousness, when all is dark and gloomy.”

“It’s still…it’s peaceful… I do like it Hal…”

His lips moved to speak and then froze. He touched your cheek tenderly.

“Y/N…” he muttered.

“What is it?”

His softened to you.

“You’re…you’re a beautiful woman…and…and a good woman, too…” he confessed breathily, earnestly.

“I am your…your whore…” you said aloud, aware there were others. You nervously glanced around and then he held your chin back to face him.

“Y/N, I don’t care what you are now. I just want you to kiss me again.”

You did, feeling him. His mouth. His touch. He pressed himself towards you- to keep you close again. You heard him sigh into it. Then lips releasing- yet it felt too soon. He whispered your name. His voice. And it was not pretense.

“Sweetest of ladies…my dearest…”

Before you knew it, he laid you down on that table. Your breath was knocked out of you. You felt your back hit the wood. He crawled on top of you on the table. Your bare legs peeking from your skirt being hiked up from your position, he touched them, feeling your skin up and down. But his weight didn’t touch you and his hands feeling your thigh made you feel even dizzier. He laid another kiss on you. You couldn’t catch your breath. You couldn’t believe How…good all of this felt. And your folds were wetting already, and not with urine or menstrual blood. He kissed you again. His hips touched yours and you felt your legs go up in instinct. A truly whorelike moan escaped you. You never felt…like this before. This climb up, this ecstasy.

This…need.

He let go of his lips. Then pulled off of you. But The cold air hit you like a shot. But it was still stirring inside of you. This desire…screaming, turning inside you.

You wanted him.

“I’m sorry- I was carried away,” he muttered. “Y/N…I’ll…I’ll stop,”

“No!” you hissed.

He paused, his eyes wide. You went to him and touched his face. You swallowed deeply.

“I…I didn’t want you to stop,” you confessed.

“What?” he mumbled, tilting his head.

The words flew out of you. You gathered yourself on his lap. Feeling your legs wide, the cool air against your soaking, throbbing arousal. You wanted it complete- you wanted him. You touched his face, speaking softly.

“Hal…I don’t want you to stop…what…what is it like? When you lie with a woman? With a whore? How does it feel? I want to know Hal…I want to…I want you to…to do the act on me. Take me…you are my husband already they say…then show me what is it like to bed you. What will it be like to be your wife? Please Hal-they think I’m your whore anyway- so bed me. Tonight. Now. Show me what it is like…” you begged quietly.

His jaw dropped. He pulled you closer. Another hand wrapping around you close. His voice was husky and his eyes gentle.

"Y/N...tonight...You want me... and you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered.

You felt his breaths shudder. Then he took your hand. He downright pulled you to Mistress Quickley in a corner counting money.

"Is there a spare room?" he asked.

She pointed upstairs.

"For you? The second one you see up there," she explained with a nod.

He paid her. Then, he took your hand and led you up. Your heart was racing, going right up. He opened the door and let you in.

It was a wooden room. Cozy with plenty of space. Humble chairs. A window with brown crossed latched. And a large bed with a feathered mattress and four posters right when you opened the door. Moonlight shone through the windows. There were a few lit candles. Enough to see, but enough it was dim, private, romantic.

Hal, far too tall for the doorframe, ducked under it with a fluid ease.

“Now…at last, we can be alone…and at last…you will be mine in every way…” he husked.

He pushed the door shut as he kept looking into your eyes. Then He grabbed your face and he kissed you. Then he took his hands and put his hips to yours. It caused friction that made you gasp. It nudged a sensitive part of you and you shuddered.

"Is it locked? If...if someone walks in?" you muttered, remembering yourself.

"Will they disturb the Prince of Wales, now? I will send them away..." he whispered.

You felt his fingers going up from your sides, then to touch your waist, gripping it.

"I have someone more important with me now," he said with a smile.

He sat on the bed and pulled you to sit on his leg. You let out a small sound at the feeling. His hand went up your skirt, finding your thighs.

“Spread your legs my dear…let me help you…I will make you ready…” he whispered.

He bunched up your skirt, so you felt it gather around your hips. His hands opened your legs so that you felt his knee right against your bare folds.

The smooth leather of his pants hit against your most private area- wet and sensitive. You felt it…brush against him, the material of his pants. You let out a gasp. So sensitive- stimulated. But you wanted more.

“Do you like this feeling?” he asked.

You nodded. He guided your hips. It moved back, and then forth- making friction and a chill ran against you. You let out a small gasp.

“H-Hal! That…that feels…feels so good…”

He moved your hips to grind against his thigh.

“There….now darling…ride it like a horse-there,” he said.

He guided your hips to grind against his leg. You placed your hands over his broad, strong shoulders. It was pulling you close. The tension- it was making you gasp. Sounds coming out of you that you never thought you could make-touching him. Even with his codpiece on, you could tell something was stirring inside him too. He gave you another kiss as you rode his leg. Then his hands went over to your blouse. He touched your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Are you alright, my lady?” he asked with a smug smile.

You let out a moan as an answer. He grabbed you. He kissed you more as if he was drunk and you were ale. Still clothed entirely and already a mess for each other. His voice low, he said into your ear.

"When I join with you, I'm going to make you cry out louder with pleasure than any whore here ever did. And they will know who gives this to you- your lord. And when I'm inside you, there will be more blessings between your legs than any church could give me…”

He kissed you again. His hand moved up to cup your breasts. He moved them around, feeling them. He moved, a finger playing with the string tie that held it together- your shift beneath he began to unlace the strings of your bodice. You paused, the cool air of your chest as it was lowering for him.

“I didn’t say you could stop…keep going. I’m going to undress you slowly- I want to enjoy every inch of you revealed to me…” he ordered.

You kept grinding.

Your blouse was loose, showing your shoulders. He pressed a kiss onto them that made you sigh out another little groan.

His hands greedily remove your garments. He took off your belt,. The little fingerless gloves joined it’s pile. Then finally his hands went to the collar of your dress and shift, already loose. He pulled your dress over your head. Then, in only your shift, he tugged it down until it pooled over your hips. Your bare breasts and stomach before him. You felt his eyes see you, all of you. You chilled from the cold. But he only smiled. He wrapped both arms around your waist and cupped your cheek. He looked down-seeing your breasts rising with your excited breaths. He licked his lips at Your stomach and Your hips.

“Beautiful…just beautiful…how lucky I am to enjoy you for all of my life now,” he said.

Then he kissed you at the nape between your neck amd shoulder. You sighed into it.

"H-Hal..." you voiced out.

You held onto him.

“What are you thinking, my love?” he asked.

“That…this duty feels…feels nice…That I…I’m going to be your wife and…I should…perform my duty to you…” you voiced out.

He put his hands on your hips and stopped your grinding. Then he took and you half threw you on the bed. He went over to you getting on top of you. You felt his fingers then reach one digit to your folds. You let out a small cry.

"You should know of passion, not duty, in our bed. You should know the ecstasy I can give you every night from now on. would you like that?” he asked.

"Y-Yes...my lord, yes Hal.."

You gasped feeling it. He removed his fingers, slick with your juices. He began to undo his jacket- your wetness grazing the leather and making a small stain. Then removed his black shirt. He went up to you.

He took your hand. He traced the wrist gently with his finger. Then he kissed it.

"There is my little sweetling...such a good little wife she will be…doing everything for her husband…and she will be rewarded…”

You got him, your nails digging into his warm back. He slid a finger back into you. He got it out, then back in. You clutched onto him- feeling him against the lips between your legs as he swirled around. You ground against it, finding even more pleasure.

"Oh...oh Lord....Hal…your fingers are so…so-!”

"Do you like that, my sweet lady, do you enjoy being ruined this way?"

"Yes...yes...more, Hal- I want more!"

“Sweet little bird…so eager, so willing. Willing to please- to let me corrupt her. What would those nuns think of you now, hm? What would they know of what we have here, now? I will enjoy having you- and I will have you every night. How does that sound for Duty, hm?”

He kissed and slid a tongue over yours. He slid another finger, pumping in and out. Your legs had to widen to accommodate him. You made so many noises.

You felt so hot, you felt his weight, shifting on top of you. To kiss you. To adore you. His snaking body grinding against you-he kissed you like you were food. His need. His ache. His hair fell softly through him. He cupped your cheeks and kept kissing you again.He groaned as he kissed

He let go with a smirk on his face. You felt something bubbling inside you- going up.

"I should have…should have taken you on the table...before all of them to watch-"

“Better late than never,” you breathed out, both of you melting into small laughter.

But right before it climbed too high up, he removed his fingers, slick with you. You took his body in. His beautiful, lean body. How soft yet strong he was. So many muscles in just his arm alone. His chest- how beautiful it was. How…broad he was, too. And not just his chest that felt large.

He removed his codpiece and slid off his pants easily. Your eyes went down to that cock-hard and eager and huge. Twitching. You had to swallow a moan from it-how was it going to fit in you? He then slid you down the bed-and he remained standing.

“Yes- look at me, darling. It might hurt a little, sweet wife. I will be slow,” you voiced.

But you were so eager-so desperate-you had to be with him. How warm he felt now- skin against skin. He kissed you once more time, his hips teasing what was to come. Yet he was still remaining standing.

"Here...are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes, yes I am! My lord, please! Please take me!”

You felt his cock teasing against your entrance. He began to graze his hands up and down your thigh. touching up and down them. He looked at your pussy and smiled. Then, positioning your legs already to be between his head. He began to trust in you by sinking in. Inch by agonizing inch, he slowly vanished in.

You let out a cry-a whimper. You had never been filled like this.

“ Oh my god-Hal!”

He groaned, easing him last bit of his cock inside you. The slight pain then began to melt.

“Do you want me to stop?”

The pain was gone-fizzled to pleasure. You were…getting used to him.

“No…no…please…please keep going. Please-”

He backed and then thrust.

“Oh! Oh- yes-yes, Hal-please.”

The began- thrusting slowly inside you. Still standing and you laying down. His hips rocked back. Creating such friction, such heat, like none you have felt. He was groaning hard. Each thrust was better than the last one.

All you could say was a prayer. Simply repeating “please-yes-oh, oh my god-please, Hal, please-yes, there, Hal-”

You were used to it, then he increased the pace. He hissed out your name. He held you still so you had to take all of him- not that you would complain. You felt your voice rising. All you saw was him, felt was him. He was nailing you-he was keeping you right into the end of the bed as he stood. So deep and full were his penetrations. Then his hand slid.

“Ah- yes-Here..my little rose has a rosebud inside her-” he said.

He found your nub, and then began to strum it with his thrusts. Even more pleasure whirled in you- it felt even better.

"Oh! Oh-gods! Hal! Yes! Yes-please-Yes! There!”

"Yes-cry my name, tell all of Boars-nrgh-all of Boar's Head-nrsh-who your lord is..."

Flesh slapped against flesh as he increased his pace. You weren’t sure now- you slide back and forth, whimpering with pleasure.

“You-are-mine-now-nrgh-Gods and-Fuck-yes your lord-yes-gives you-gods-yes,this-fuck-your lord always-always satisfies you-”

His pace increased. He was grunting, moaning. You now understood why the noises came from those rooms-you were making them yourself. He pounded and pounded you into the bed.

“Hal…Hal-something-something in me-it’s…it’s going up…” you whimpered.

He kept strumming you.

“You’re close-close my dear-it’s going to overwhelm you- yes- it’s-it’s me too- give into it-give into it- cry ou t- let it happen-yes-fuck-yes-yes-yes, now, my dear- come now- come now!”

Then finally, you felt it-pleasure bursting, overwhelming you. It hit you so suddenly, so hard, you let out a shout that echoed. You cried out-

“Yes-Hal-Hal!”

With a groan and a thrust, brought on by your own brink, he came. You felt him pump inside you. It was probably lucky to have the wedding in two months- if a child came from this, none but you would know.

He paused, collapsing down onto you. Only to hold you, nestling you close.

“Hal…I…I have no words…” you whispered.

“You cannot ask to break this betrothal…not after what we’ve shared…” he breathed. He then went up to see your face. “Please, Y/N…I…I…”

“I love you too, Hal,” you replied.

He smiled, kissing you. A deep breath of relief through him. He positioned himself there on the bed, holding you for only a bit.

“We…we will have to get home soon…we…we will get in trouble…” you said.

“What sweet trouble it was….but I will see you home safe…” he replied.

He redressed you and you helped redressed him. When it seemed the tavern was asleep without witnesses about the main room, he held your hand and led you back to his horse outside. Eagerly you both galloped, but you laughed as the wind tickled you. You found riding so close to him comfortable now and leaned back against him. An embrace as each landing of the steed’s hooves brought you closer. Then you were brought back home.

He was there at the entrance, knowing the servants would escort you to separate rooms, separate beds. He took your hand and then kissed it. A goodnight promise.

“Sleep well, my lady, he wished.

“Shall I see you tomorrow?” you asked.

“Every day,” he replied with a smile that matched yours.

#prince hal #prince hal x reader #prince hal fanfiction #prince hal imagine #prince hal x you #henry v imagine #tom hiddleston #hollow crown henry v #the hollow crown #hiddlesedit #william shakespeare #angst with a happy ending #prince hal smut #hiddlesverse #the hollow crown henry iv #henry iv #henry iv part 1 #tom hiddleston characters

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workingclasshistory · 1 year

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On this day, 26 March 1969, the famous reclusive anarchist and working class novelist B Traven died. He is best known for writing The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, which later became an Oscar-winning film starring Humphrey Bogart. As a young sailor, known as Ret Marut, he took part in the German revolution in 1919, before being sentenced to death and escaping to London. There, he was arrested and interrogated, gave several false names, and tried to seek refuge in the US, claiming to be a US citizen whose documents were destroyed in the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. This was unsuccessful, and he eventually moved to Mexico. There he wrote texts including The Cotton Pickers, about Mexican migrant labourers, and The Death Ship, about a sailor stranded in Europe after World War I, when all of a sudden strict national borders began to be erected. Meanwhile, back in Germany, his books were burned by the Nazis after their takeover, and they declared him a "disgrace to Germany". When the film adaptation of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre began shooting, executives asked Traven to be a paid advisor on set. He declined and instead sent his literary agent, Hal Croves, in his stead. It much later transpired that Croves was in fact Traven himself. Some journalists managed to track him down but he always denied everything, and it was only after his death that researchers managed to piece together who he was. While it is firmly established that he was the same person as Marut, another pseudonym, his true identity is still disputed. The most likely possibility is that he was born Otto Feige in Swiebodzin, now Poland, in 1882. He is remembered as a great author of working class literature, but he acknowledged the shortcomings of merely writing. While masquerading as Croves, Traven once said: "Life is worth more than any book one can write". Sources, more information and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/9848/b-traven-dies https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2238333583018446/?type=3

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thatbanditqueen · 11 months

Text

Favorite Brooding Young E ?

Talking with Hal Kanter, the writer/director of Loving You, from Alanna Nash's Baby Let's Play House.

Elvis had a question for him. Was his character, Deke Rivers, required to smile much in the movie?

“What do you mean, do you have to smile?”

“Well, I’ve been watching a lot of movies. People like Jimmy Dean and Humphrey Bogart and Marlon Brando. Good actors. They hardly ever smile. And the women love ’em, because they don’t smile.”

Elvis brought the director up short. That had never occurred to him, but Elvis was right.

“He said, ‘When I smile, I want it to be an event.’ And I said, ‘Very well put.’ ”

I don't know, I mean, I kind of get it. Smiling is for losers, looking angry and pensive is hot.

These are just a few of my favorites of Elvis posing in his signature too cool for school stance, what are yours? Reblog and share!

Tagging a few peeps but anyone can participate!

@whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @loving-elvis @doll-elvis @amydarcimarie @kingdomforapony @lookingforrainbows @richardslady121 @c-rosenn @deke-rivers-1957 @everythingelvispresley

#women love em because they don't smile #oh baby boy #brooding elvis #1950s Elvis #elvis presley #anyone who has ever seen my yearbook pictures knows we would have made the perfect pair #never smile was also my motto #that bandit queen #tumblr ask games

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natequarter · 4 months

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13 (and a hint of 2?) for Humphrey/Sophie if you please! - thelastplantagenet ✨

2: They’re good for each other.

13: You’re the reason I’m still here.

Link | Ao3

“Did you enjoy London?”

“No.”

This was what Sophie said about most places they went. London was dull, Canterbury desecrated. Dover was nothing to speak of. He dreaded to think what she’d say of the other great cities: York, Winchester, Norwich … nothing flattering, he imagined.

“Was it the smell?” he said lightly, for London was indeed a filthy place. It stank to the high heavens; it reeked of shit and piss, and all the other odours of bodies, alive, dead, and the ugly stages in between. “Or merely the country?”

“Both,” she said. “I don’t like England for itself.”

He had long known this, but he persevered. “What do you like it for, then?”

“You,” Sophie said, her long fingers cupping his face, her thumb tracing small circles into his skin. “You are the reason I’m still here. If I could leave England—no, I would stay here. Not for the sake of England. For you.”

“And not for anyone else here?” he said. “Your ladies would be sore offended, and your friends too—and I think your nieces would make you suffer for it.”

She smiled, faintly, thinking as he was of Meg and Bess—and their baby brother, and his sister, and all his many cousins, who would surely hate to lose her.

“They would drag me back across the Channel themselves, I think.”

“You see? You might not like the country, but you have a home here. Dare I say, even a family?”

She considered it, staring not up at the ceiling, or across at the lavishly decorated walls, or down at the rushes, but into his eyes. Sophie’s were far prettier than his; his were a constant blue, and nothing more. Hers were hazel, a shifting colour which seemed to encompass everything from deep brown to lush green. Like every other element of her, they were beautiful.

“I think that would not be inaccurate.”

And then there was their own family, their own children.

“Hal would throw a fit.” Even Hal was too young to really understand why his mother disliked his homeland, but then that was exactly the thing: he had been born here, raised here, like his father and his father before him. “I think he gets that from you.”

Sophie frowned. “What, petulance?”

“No, stubbornness. Not that that’s a bad thing, except when you’re you, and you’re living in England, it’s really not advisable.”

“We shall have to dissuade him from those tendencies.”

He laughed. “Just him, eh?”

“Yes, definitely,” Sophie said, but there was humour in her smile.

“My sister thinks highly of you, you know. Actually, it’d be more accurate to say she thinks highly of us. Not sure where she got that from, but she said—and I have it in a letter around here somewhere, I’m not just making this up—that she thinks we’re good for each other.”

“I am surprised she didn’t say that you were good for me,” Sophie said, “and nothing more.”

“No, it was definitely mutual.”

“Remarkable,” she said, in what almost seemed to be disbelief. “I suppose … it is a balancing act. Someone must temper your folly.”

“And someone must temper you.”

“In what way?” she said lightly.

“Just generally, I think. Stop you from doing something foolish, like, I don’t know … assassinating the queen? That would be a stupid thing to do.”

“I don’t like to call it assassination,” Sophie said.

“What, you think it’s impolitic?”

“It has too many asses in it.”

“There is that,” Humphrey said. “I’m more worried about your head, and your body, and the ongoing connection of the two.”

“Hmph. If it makes you feel better, I have no intentions of treason.”

“Good,” he said. “At last, I can sleep peacefully at night, knowing you won’t go behind my back and start a civil war.”

“I would make sure to ask your permission before doing so,” she said.

“Well, that’s alright, then.”

“More importantly,” Sophie hummed, turning over so that she was resting on too of him rather than by his side, “I wouldn’t do it.”

“For me?” he grinned.

“Yes, for you, mon chéri, though it is not all about you. I like it here. Not England. But I like it here.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t hate England at all,” Humphrey said.

“How quickly we forget our ancient rivalry,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. He didn’t try to meet her halfway, but he did tangle one hand in her hair, settling the other on her back. They kissed softly in the morning light, until Sophie pulled back (he did not whine, thank you very much), and said, “And I am glad that we did.”

“It’d be a miserable life, wouldn’t it, if we didn’t even have each other?”

“Mm, and then I would not be able to balance you out like this.” She kissed lightly down his jaw, towards his neck. Humphrey shivered.

“I don’t think … that’s quite what that meant…”

Sophie pouted. “It seems a shame to leave you unkissed.”

“Well, I suppose, actually, it’s up to interpretation…”

“That is more like it,” she said. “In all honesty—my life without you does not bear thinking about.”

“Love you too,” Humphrey said. “Sorry, I’ve never been very good at dramatic love confessions.”

“I will take it,” she said, settling down and curling up to him. “If I did not have you, who would I sleep with?”

“If I didn’t have you, who’d steal all the sheets and freeze my bloody feet off at night?”

“Exactly,” Sophie said. “It is a mutual partnership.”

“All I’m saying is, if you just put some stockings on at night—”

“I don’t feel the cold,” she said, with a relaxed smile of betrayal.

“Oh, never mind,” he said. “I’m happy to have you here too.”

“Good,” she hummed. “Now, if I did leave for France, I suppose I would have to take you with me.”

He shuddered. “That’s what my nightmares look like.”

“Here it is, then.”

She rested her head on his chest. On another day she might have been more adventurous—and less content to leave him clothed—but today was a nice, peaceful day. He didn’t really want to move.

He couldn’t think of anything better to do with his morning than this.

#asks #humphrey bone #sophie bone #bbc ghosts #fic

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byneddiedingo · 11 months

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Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face (Stanley Donen, 1957)

Cast: Audrey Hepburn, Fred Astaire, Kay Thompson, Michel Auclair, Robert Flemyng, Dovima, Jean Del Val, Virginia Gibson, Sue England, Ruta Lee, Alex Gerry, Suzy Parker, Sunny Harnett. Screenplay: Leonard Gershe. Cinematography: Ray June. Art direction: George W. Davis, Hal Pereira. Film editing: Frank Bracht. Songs: George Gershwin (music), Ira Gershwin (lyrics); Roger Edens (music), Leonard Gershe (lyrics).

Is there anything better than Fred Astaire singing George Gershwin? And in Funny Face he sings five Gershwin songs with his impeccable phrasing and musicianship, which in itself would be enough to make a great film musical. And he dances, too, with the same grace and vitality at the age of 58 as when he was much, much younger, especially in his great solo performance of "Let's Kiss and Make Up" and his duet with Kay Thompson on "Clap Yo' Hands." Audrey Hepburn isn't in the same league as Ginger Rogers or Cyd Charisse as a dance partner, but she had studied ballet when she was much younger and her solo number parodying modern dance moves is one of the film's highlights. As a singer, she's a good actress, by which I mean that her big solo number, "How Long Has This Been Going On?", is memorable because of the way she sells the concept of innocence awakening to ecstasy, greatly aided by a big yellow hat and Ray June's gorgeous color cinematography. It's clear that she had a small, untrained singing voice, which is why Marni Nixon had to be called in to dub her in My Fair Lady (George Cukor, 1964), a role that makes demands she couldn't have met vocally. There are those who are bothered by the nearly 30-year age discrepancy between Astaire and Hepburn, but she spent much of her career playing opposite much older men like Humphrey Bogart, Gary Cooper, and Cary Grant -- in her prime in the 1950s and early '60s, there were very few leading men her age who could match her star power. Some critics also object to the film's mockery of French intellectuals -- Pauline Kael calls the lecherous philosopher played by Michel Auclair "a sour idea" -- but that's probably asking too much of the conventions of romantic comedy. The screenplay is by Leonard Gershe, who also supplied lyrics for some of the non-Gershwin songs composed by Roger Edens, but the real heroes of the film are Astaire, Hepburn, Thompson, June, costume designers Edith Head and Hubert de Givenchy, photographer Richard Avedon as "visual consultant," and most of all Stanley Donen, who not only directed but shared choreography duties with Astaire and Eugene Loring.

#Funny Face #Stanley Donen #Audrey Hepburn

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vamps4ghosts · 2 years

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BBC Ghosts OC

template by @ghostssona 👻

Name: Henry ‘Hal’ Eltringham

Date of Birth: September 24th 1870

Date of Death: January 18th 1891

Age when they died: 20 years old

Cause of Death: Drowning in the lake

Resides: at Button House

short bio: his father worked on different large estates around the south of england and would bring him along from a young age since he was the only other man in the family. hal has six sisters four of which are younger and one is a twin.

hal died after trying to retrieve some items from the garden that had floated out into the lake somehow after dark, he was a good swimmer but unfortunately he didn’t anticipate the water being so cold. his muscles seized up and he couldn’t move his limbs to swim to safety thus drowning. the lake froze overnight and his body wasn’t found for almost a week.

Special Ghost Power: making people smell wet/fresh soil whenever he’s near.

if they could be seen by a living human, what would their response be?: he would be freaked out and avoid them till his panic is over or they leave. if they’re still around he would attempt to communicate in a polite manner as if everything was perfectly normal.

what do they look like:

he wears a regular old grey-ish waistcoat and white worn shirt rolled up at the sleeves to his elbow, a dirty bit of cloth used as an apron tied round his waist, faded black trousers with grass stains on the knees from kneeling so much and grey lace up ankle boots.

due to dying at such a cold time he wears worn leather gloves and a newly knitted emerald green scarf from his mother.

Which of the friends characters would they insist they were: Rachel or Phoebe. Although he doesn't quite get friends as he isn't that interested in movies or television.

What are their thoughts on the ghosts at Button House?:

pat: pat tries to get hal to enjoy the wireless (aka radio) and get over his ‘fear’ of technology by getting alison to play classical music on it pat can be annoying to hal when he goes on one of his rambles but usually when hal is interested they like to talk about pats boy scout days or hals stories from other estates he worked on with his father.

the captain: they don't talk very often but enjoy each other's company due to sharing an interest in ww2 although hal doesn't appreciate the fact that cap buried a bomb in his garden and said bomb exploded.

kitty: hal treats kitty like his little sister and protects her from fannys outburts or house drama he will tell kitty about the adventures he had in his childhood and about his sisters hal and kitty will also read romantic novels together.

fanny: fanny and hal barely get along due to hal and her ex husband knowing each other and potentially being lovers (hal won't reveal if they were or not for the sake of annoying fanny).

thomas: hal enjoys his poetry but not always is he up for hearing it especially when he comes by the lake during hals ‘alone time’ they spend their time together talking about the arts hal likes to hear about thomas’ travels.

julian: he reminds hal of the men he would encounter during his time alive working in their gardens he and his father despised them not for their ridiculous views but just for being 'pompous bastards’ sometimes they can have a good laugh though.

robin: they play chess together when julian isn't available they also chat about the land a lot and regularly get into arguments about who knows it best (robin usually wins by biting hal)

mary: mary and hal talk mainly on gardening and cooking just basic things they both did a lot of when alive they get on like mother and son but sometimes hal has no clue what mary is saying

humphrey: is the main ghost that retrieves his head hal rarely engages in the harassment of the poor guy but on the occasion he has been known to play around with him absentmindedly and humphrey doesn't seem to care.

plague ghosts: hal does his absolute best to avoid them (like the plague haha) as hes terrified of all things horror or anything remotely scary.

other headcannons:

he will sleep with anyone he is interested enough in

pretends to keep dark secrets just so he can laugh at the other ghosts desperately try to guess what they are

hates being called henry

doesn’t sleep much because he gets nightmares from his death

still believes in the boogieman because i mean if ghosts are real why can’t he be?

sneezes when he looks at the sun

gets annoyed at danse macabre for taking too long to build up

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts oc #ghostsona #six idiots #my ocs #my oc art

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themidnightcircusshow · 11 months

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I was thinking about Hal's relationship with his youngest brothers and decided my feelings could only be expressed in meme t-shirt form:

My favourite topic: Hal's oldest daughter syndrome :D

On one hand, it was probably inevitable as the oldest child of a widowed father that he would be a bit of a de facto parent, but once you add in his position Hal really seems to have become the parent of the family. Henry's health started deteriorating when everyone was still rather young, so I wouldn't be surprised if the brothers (at least John and Humphrey) started differing to him the same way Hal started gaining more authority in parliament. After Henry died, however, you can quite clearly see just how much John and Humphrey treated Hal as the head of the family, probably even before their father died. Hal is the one who gives them their titles, not their father; Hal is the one who at least gets the ball rolling on their marriages; Hal quite frankly is the one who they seem to have respected more and cared most about continuing his legacy.

I feel like that also would have contributed to Henry's insecurities around Hal. Not only is Hal now the healthy, vibrant one who Henry is compared to, not only does he have the military excursions, not only is Hal gaining political favour over Henry, but he has the authority within the family as well. Like, I do wonder sometimes if Henry was in denial and thought if things really did go down with Hal, John and Humphrey would still be on his side, or if he knew John and Humphrey would immediately be Team Hal so any outright conflict would have quickly become disastrous. Which certainly wouldn't have helped any resentment brewing between the two of them.

#Thomas meanwhile has absolutely thrown 'you're not my real dad' at Hal at least once #I have a post somewhere in the chaos about this from Humphrey's POV #Henry V #Hal's eldest daughter syndrome #I don't know if we can say he took that role as soon as Mary died because he moved households but definitely once Henry got sick #if not earlier #in my head Humphrey imprinted on Hal like a baby duckling #Lancasterlings

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twittercomfrnklin2001-blog · 2 months

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Flaxy Martin

For all the great stars Warner Bros. developed, one sometimes wonders if Jack Warner had any eye for talent. Among the actors who slipped through his fingers were Bob Hope, June Allyson and Betty Hutton. He never developed Olivia de Havilland to her fullest potential. Bette Davis only became a star through her own determination, and Humphrey Bogart was pushed through by Hal Wallis. Warner bought Virginia Mayo’s contract from Sam Goldwyn, but it took him nine films to put her into the musicals for which she was best suited. Her first film under contract was Richard L. Bare’s FLAXY MARTIN (1949, TCM, YouTube), and the initial attempt to turn her into a femme fatale just fizzles. She could do good dramatic work with strong directors like William Wyler and Raoul Walsh, but on her own she doesn’t seem to have the resources to carry a dramatic film. Not that FLAXY MARTIN gives her a lot to work with. Zachary Scott is a mob lawyer who doesn’t know his girlfriend (Mayo) is being paid by his boss (Douglas Fowley) to keep him in line. When he finds out a witness who’d alibied one of the gang’s hired guns was paid to lie, he threatens to go to the district attorney, so Mayo helps Fowley frame him for the perjurer’s murder. Most of the cast is hobbled by bad writing, but at least Scott gets some sardonic lines he can work with. Mayo has one line that rings with conviction, talking about singing in a nightclub while men make jokes, but a lot of her other readings sound hollow, and she has one big dramatic moment that’s giggle-worthy.

Bare and cinematographer Carl Guthrie give the film a great, moody look, but with that script it’s like perfuming a corpse. It’s rife with improbabilities and cliches. While trying to kill Scott, hired gun Elisa Cook, Jr. consistently misses him. When he finally can shoot him point blank, he’s out of bullets, so he throws his gun at him. On the way to prison, Scott escapes by jumping from a speeding train. He rolls down a hill rapidly and crashes into a large rock, but only has a few bruises. And he rolls right into the arms of a woman (Dorothy Malone) lonely enough to tend his bruises even when she realizes he’s an escaped convict. This was Malone’s first major dramatic role, and she goes after it with an intensity no bad writing can withstand. Through personalization, she creates a character out of next to nothing. When she looks at Scott with those great, sad eyes of hers, you may wonder if Jack Warner was so besotted with Mayo’s blonde beauty, he couldn’t see that he had a major dramatic actress on his payroll. Maybe that was a problem with Hollywood in general, as it took a bleach job to get Malone the types of roles she deserved.

#film noir #warner bros.#jack warner #virginia mayo #zachary scott #dorothy malone #elisha cook jr.

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lookedupandfellasleep · 4 months

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“Casablanca” During World War II and the Impact It Created Then and Now

Casablanca (1942) is regarded as one of the greatest films of all time. It has undeniably made history and secured itself one of the top spots in every movies-you-must-absolutely-watch list. Using contemporary themes accurate to the era it was being made in, weaving in dramatics and fiction that made it just a little bit easier to digest, but nonetheless, delivering a powerful story, Casablanca managed to capture the hearts of its World War II audience and transcend time with its relevance and sentiment, as good cinema does.

Funnily enough, despite being a film enthusiast, I have never watched Casablanca. Despite the noses that would definitely turn up at me for saying this, I can’t pretend that classic films have the same appeal to me as modern films do. My attention tends to sizzle out with the sing-song delivery, dialogue-heavy style of old movies. However, there are exceptions to this and I will have to say that Casablanca is one of them.

Casablanca follows the story of Rick Blaine, former freedom fighter turned nightclub and gambling hub owner in Casablanca, Morocco. Rick's Café Américain has become the number one spot in Casablanca for displaced refugees that seek safe passage to America through illegally obtained letters of transit. Despite his past, Rick now chooses to stay “neutral” and isolate himself from any political affairs, “I stick my neck out for nobody”. At least, that’s what it seems like on the surface. This existence is disrupted when his former lover and the cause of his cynicism, Ilsa Lund and her husband, Victor Laszlo, enter his saloon. The past quickly resurfaces and the flame within Rick and Ilsa is rekindled. He now has to face the choice of keeping his love by his side or doing the right thing for the greater good and losing the love of his life again. In the end, Rick cannot help but go back to his roots and do the right thing, “… three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world”. He ends up saving his rival, Victor Laszlo, and helping him and Ilsa safely flee Casablanca for him to continue his work as a leader of resistance in the war.

Casablanca was adapted from an unproduced play by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison then titled Everybody Comes to Rick’s. The idea for the play's premise came about when Murray Burnett traveled to Vienna to help out his Jewish relatives. While he was there, he learned that refugees used a route that traveled from Marseilles to Morocco to Lisbon to then bring them safely to the United States. Many refugees stopped over at Casablanca during the Nazi invasion of France in 1940.

Casablanca, the film, came about when Irene Diamond, story editor for Warner Brothers, read the unproduced play while on a visit to New York City in 1941. Diamond, being a long-time collaborator of Hal Wallis, convinced him to buy the play’s rights for $20,000. The name was then changed from Everybody Comes to Rick’s to the iconic title, Casablanca.

The film started production in May 1942, during the height of World War II with A-list actors already in its roster: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid. Production for the movie had to be rushed when Stephen Karnot saw an opportunity that they could take advantage of when Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor. He saw this as a massive publicity boost and made the film’s themes extremely relevant at the time. Due to this and a couple of other hiccups, filming did not go too smoothly.

Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch were enlisted to write the screenplay. The script was only half-written when production began. Nobody knew how the film would end. Bergman came to Howard Koch to ask which man she should play like she’s more in love with, Victor or Rick. The scriptwriter couldn’t answer this specifically and instead just told her to play them both “evenly” as they also had no idea what was going to happen. The script went through many more rewrites during filming.

Production also suffered with shortages and limitations at the time of filming. Because of the ongoing war, production could not use materials such as rubber, aluminum, nylons, and silk because of the shortages. Costumes and sets had to be made differently. Filming also could not be done on location or at nighttime because of the looming threat of a Japanese attack in mainland California. Casablanca had to be filmed entirely on soundstages.

Casting was also affected by the war. Almost all of the cast of Casablanca were actual refugees, which, in part, may have contributed further to its success. Emotions ran high while the cast sang, “La Marseillaise” in the now iconic scene. Both on- and off-screen, this symbolized for them unity against the fascism and oppression that was happening at the time. The passion can be heard in their voices as they drown out the “Die Wacht am Rhein” of the Germans. Real tears are shed by real refugees who were displaced in the war.

Censorship also played a bit of a hindrance in the making of Casablanca. The film was dealing with a lot of sensitive topics at the time: adultery, war, and propaganda. It had to go through a lot of rewrites and plot changes for the film to be considered “appropriate” for the audience. Censors had to make sure that the film did not condone adultery and that it would send the right message when it came to supporting the war effort.

From an insider’s point-of-view, the film seemed lackluster and a bit of a patchwork with its unfinished script, production limitations, numerous rewrites, censorship, and actors that barely wanted anything to do with the project. However, the way it all came together was magical and exceeded the expectations of everyone who was a part of making the movie.

Much like how production was rushed for this film, the premiere was also moved from 1943 to November 1942. Additional scenes were supposed to be filmed but canceled to be able to hasten its release. This was to take advantage of another major moment in the war: the Allied landing in North Africa and the Battle of Casablanca. This was huge publicity and helped not only to draw the crowds for the film but to also increase its resonance with the people. The film continues to grow in popularity and has achieved “classic” status in today’s time.

I believe its success comes from the raw romanticism of sacrifice that this film portrays. Boy does not get girl. Instead, sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. It’s a satisfying ending that had us all wanting to do the right thing. This film is about love but it’s not just about romantic love. It’s about the love that we have for people, in general. The good that we see in the world even in times of darkness.

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heartofstanding · 8 months

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Back in 2018, I started writing a story that centred on Joan (or Joanna) of Navarre and her arrival in England, namely her meeting her new stepsons. For various reasons, I never finished it and then later realised that I had made an error. Hal and Thomas had been in Wales and Ireland respectively when Joan arrived in England and neither attended the wedding (Hal sent a present, Thomas did not). The first time Joan could have seen all four of her stepsons together was November 1403, meaning that not only would she have met two, possibly three, of stepsons already, not only would she be more settled into England, but it was only a few months after Hal had been so gravely injured at the Battle of Shrewsbury. All of which means what I've written already is basically unsalvageable. There's just too much I'd have to change.

I do, however, think what I've written is good so instead of sadly allocating it to the bottom drawer, I'm going to share it below the cut so I don't feel too sad about not getting to use it.

From her room, Joanna could hear children playing. At first, the sound of her voices stung at her, reminding her of the children she had left behind, and she thought to have one of her women send them away so they would no longer bother her. But her mood changed and she did not mind the sound of them and, in fact, began to listen all the more acutely to their game. There were four of them, all boys, and she realised they were not all children. One of them – the eldest, most likely – spoke with the deeper tones of a young man, while another’s voice cracked and broke, moving between the cadences of boy and man.

Joanna raised a hand to the pearls looped around her neck, running her fingers over their smooth, cold shape – a gift from Henry for their wedding. A rich, thoughtful present, four strands of large, perfect pearls – though she was surprised he could afford it, given what she had gleamed about the parlous state of English finances. She had not asked him about it; she did not want to know if her arrival and dower caused consternation in parliament, if he was spending more money that he should not spend. She did not want to shame him. Besides, she had told herself, it was an expensive gift but not one that would change the avert the disaster facing his treasury.

‘I want Harry!’ one of the children yelled. ‘Harry, please!’

Joanna’s fingers slipped on her pearls. She recognised the voice, knew the boy. Humphrey, her husband’s youngest son – which, by some matter of law and custom, made him her son now. Four boys to replace the sons you leave behind, the oldest of her damsels had said when Joanna had dithered about this marriage, and they will be ripe for you to shape them. When their father is gone, they loyally will call you ‘mother’ and grant you whatever you please. Humphrey had been the only one she had met so far, tall and awkward after a growth spurt yet perfectly happy chattering on, especially when she let him talk about his brothers. He had seemed to like her, which suggested Henry’s other sons would – though, if she remembered correctly, Henry had once remarked that Humphrey was overly friendly with everyone.

‘That’s not fair,’ the other child said. ‘Harry, tell snot-face to stop being a baby and let me choose for once.’

‘John!’ Humphrey squealed.

Joanna squeezed her eyes shut. Humphrey, Harry and now John. These were definitely brothers. Her new sons. She went to the window where she could look down into the courtyard. Humphrey was clinging to the older boy who must be Harry – lean, sun-darkened and broad-shouldered, his hair cropped in a circle around the top of his skull – while a sturdily-built boy with a remarkable nose tried to pull Humphrey away. This must be John. The other boy, nearly as tall as Harry and blond, stood with brows raised, arms crossed over his chest.

‘Leave it, John,’ said Harry.

John’s face darkened. ‘He always gets his way. Just once, why can’t I get to pick?’

Joanna stifled her laughter. Such warring, strong boys. And they were hers now.

‘Because you’re ugly,’ said the other boy – Thomas, Joanna remembered. ‘And it’s my turn to pick.’

He drew it out, made them wait and plead and it was only when Harry said enough that Thomas grabbed Humphrey, yanking him away from Harry.

‘Mine!’

‘Come on,’ Harry said to John. ‘You can pick next time.’

John said something too quiet for Joanna to catch, but Harry smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. They were playing some sort of war-game, with the younger boys perched on the older boys’ shoulders. They were running at each other, attempting to knock each other over or hit each other. Such displays were not, in Joanna’s opinion, appealing. They were too violent and clumsy, lacking the grace of a joust. She liked Humphrey and did not want to see him hurt, even in play. But she supposed it was fun for the boys and a way of working out their energy without going through the ordeals of arming.

She would go down, she thought – not waiting for the meeting Henry would arrange – and meet these boys, her new sons, without stiff formality to stifle their mood. An impromptu meeting would make her seem more welcoming and their reactions to her would be more real and genuine than otherwise.

It was warm outside and the boys had worked up a sweat, panting as they ran around. Joanna wanted to watch them before intruding, but Harry saw her and stopped short and only just sidestepped as Thomas went to barrel into him. Both of the older boys stopped and Humphrey let out a yell of recognition. Joanna smiled and stepped forward, opening her mouth to begin with some pleasant greeting.

‘Who gave you them?’ Thomas demanded.

‘What?’ Joanna said.

‘Those pearls,’ Thomas said. ‘Mother’s pearls. Blanche should have them.’

‘Or Philippa,’ said John.

Joanna’s cheeks flushed. The pearls – were they no more than a reused gift Henry had given his first wife?

‘But—’ Humphrey said.

Had Henry gone so far to take his daughter’s jewellery as a gift to her? Joanna’s nostrils flared – she did not want to be so humiliated, to be seen as so avaricious that her new husband must steal from his daughter to satisfy her need for riches and presents.

‘Blanche does have them,’ Harry said.

‘Right,’ Thomas said, frowning.

‘Joanna’s nice,’ Humphrey said with some uncertainty, looking between Harry and her, his arms resting on Thomas’s head.

‘You think everyone’s nice, little traitor,’ Thomas said and promptly shrugged Humphrey off, dropping him to the ground.

Harry grabbed Humphrey’s shoulder and shot a look at Thomas. ‘Leave him alone.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Joanna said. ‘I didn’t know…’

She trailed off, not sure what she meant to say. She didn’t know the pearl necklace had been like their mother’s? That they were so touchy – Henry said, when she asked, that they didn’t talk about his dead wife – Mary, Joanna remembered – that often and she had assumed that meant they had been too young to remember her well.

‘We’re sorry,’ Harry said as John climbed down from his shoulders. ‘You’ve caught us by surprise, your grace.’

‘Don’t speak for me,’ Thomas said. ‘The only thing I’m sorry about is that she’s here.’

Joanna straightened her shoulders. If one of her own children had spoke to her like that – well, a child of hers would not have dared. Would their mother have tolerated it, she wondered – someone had to, or else Thomas would not be so rude now. But she did not think that scolding him would achieve much now. Perhaps later, when he loved her, trusted her.

‘Why are you sorry about that?’ she said. ‘Do you wish for your father to be unhappy?’

Thomas said nothing, staring at her with rude dislike. He shook his head and turned his face towards Harry, clearly deferring to him.

‘Of course not,’ Harry said. ‘As I said, you’ve caught us by surprise. We were not meant to meet until later.’

‘I interrupted your game,’ she said. ‘I am sorry for that, only I could not wait to meet you.’

‘That’s alright,’ said John.

He and Humphrey had clustered around Harry and she saw how they were waiting for him to speak, to tell them how they should behave towards. But Harry’s face was carefully pleasant, neither openly hostile like Thomas or anxious like John or uncertainly pleased like Humphrey. She could not read what he thought of her, could not fathom what he wanted from her to give it to him.

She stood straighter, gathered her thoughts.

‘I have no desire to be your enemy,’ she said. ‘I have come to marry your father because I care for him and believe we shall be good companions, and I am pleased to meet you all – though the circumstances may be lacking – because he speaks highly of his sons.’

There was a slight flicker in Harry’s face that Joanna could not decipher, but the younger boys beamed while Thomas rolled his eyes.

‘I know there is usually tension between a new wife and the children already born,’ she said, flicking a speck of dust from her skirts. ‘But I see no reason why that tension should exist for us. You are young still and I will gladly be a mother to you.’

A disgusted noise tore out of Thomas’s mouth. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t,’ he said. He looked at Harry. ‘Tell her.’

Harry drew himself up. ‘Your grace,’ he said. ‘Your offer is very kind and I am sure John, Humphrey and Philippa are very grateful. But we already have a mother.’

‘But she’s dead,’ Joanna said.

It was too blunt. Thomas started forward and Humphrey grabbed hold of him, trying to hold him back.

‘We are aware of that,’ said Harry, still in that carefully polite voice. ‘We pray for her soul at every mass we attend. Dead or not, she is still our mother.’

There, at least, his reserve seemed to break and Joanna wished it hadn’t. It was only glimpse of a deep abyss of untempered grief and longing. Beneath his careful pleasantness, he was still a boy who longed for his mother and would accept no substitute. He must have been older than she thought when his mother died.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Harry shrugged.

She cleared her throat again, tried to remember her resolve. Thomas was staring at her now, still hostile, though he laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

#sometimes i write things #lancasterlings #there's some awkwardness in the writing because it is like 5 years old but i still think its good #i never know what to call joan/joanna

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alfarrabiosdaalma · 4 months

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Casablanca: um olhar profundo sobre o filme

Imagine se você estivesse vivendo em um período de guerra mundial. Se tivesse que escolher entre salvar sua vida e a vida de alguém que você ama muito, o que você faria? Este é o drama vivido pelo personagem Rick, do filme Casablanca! Sejam bem vindos à série Filmes de Todos os Tempos do canal Alfarrábios da Alma. Aqui eu conto um pouco sobre o filme, para você que ainda não assistiu, sem spoiler. E depois, teço alguns comentários mais profundos sobre o filme, do ponto de vista do autoconhecimento, do desenvolvimento pessoal e da espiritualidade, com um pouco de spoiler. Então, vamos pra telinha!

Resumo do Filme

O filme Casablanca é um dos mais importantes e conhecidos filmes de Hollywood (Hollywood – Wikipédia, a Enciclopédia Livre, 2023), lançado durante a Segunda Guerra, em 1942 e tratando do tema da guerra. No drama envolvente, Rick se vê dividido entre seu amor por Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) e seu senso de dever para com a causa aliada. O filme foi dirigido pelo austro-húngaro Michael Curtiz (Michael Curtiz – Wikipédia, a Enciclopédia Livre, 2023), que fez vários outros filmes importantes nos idos de 1940, tais como As aventuras de Robin Hood, Elvis Presley e Balada Sangrenta, além de diversos filmes de um ator muito famoso na época, chamado Errol Flynn (Casablanca (Filme) – Wikipédia, a Enciclopédia Livre, 2023). A história do filme foi uma adaptação da peça de teatro “Everybody Comes to Rick's” (Everybody Comes to Rick's, 2019), que em português seria “Todo mundo vem para o Rick”, uma peça não produzida, portanto só um esboço escrito por Murray Bennett e Joan Alison. Os autores, ilustres desconhecidos na época, viveram uma história verídica algo semelhante à história do filme e se baseiam nessa história para escrever a peça. Estrelado por Humphrey Bogart e Ingrid Bergman, o filme conta a história de Rick Blaine, papel de Humphrey Bogart, proprietário do café do Rick, em Casablanca, uma cidade do Marrocos, na costa atlântica do norte da África (Casablanca – Wikipédia, a Enciclopédia Livre, 2023), que estava sob o domínio da França de Vichy e, consequentemente da Alemanha, durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. Rick se vê dividido entre seu amor pela ex-namorada Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) e seu senso de dever para com a causa aliada. Rick tem como amigo e como pianista de seu bar o saudoso Sam, interpretado por Dooley Wilson (Dooley Wilson – Wikipédia, a Enciclopédia Livre, 2023), que toca a música imortalizada pelo filme “As Time Goes By”. Na peça original, baseada em alguns fatos vividos pelos escritores, eles encontraram de fato, na França, um pianista negro tocava jazz para uma multidão de franceses, nazistas e refugiados. Uma informação interessante é que o piano em que Sam toca "As Time Goes By" no filme foi leiloado, em novembro de 2014, por 2,9 milhões de dólares em Nova Iorque (As Time Goes By – Wikipédia, a Enciclopédia Livre, 2023). O filme foi produzido em 4 meses, de maio a agosto de 1942, e teve um custo de US$1.039.000 (Um milhão e trinta e nove mil dólares), tendo sido lançado em novembro do mesmo ano. O filme foi indicado a 8 oscars, tendo recebido de fato 3 oscars: - o de melhor filme, pela Warner Bros. tendo Hal B. Wallis como produtor; - o de melhor direção, por Michael Curtiz - o de melhor roteiro adaptado, por Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein e Howard Koch O filme também é considerado um clássico do cinema noir e um dos melhores filmes de amor já produzidos.

Um Olhar Profundo (Início do Spoiler)

Rick é um americano que vive em Casablanca desde que foi forçado a fugir dos Estados Unidos por causa de suas atividades antifascistas. Ele é dono do Rick's Café Américain, que é uma casa noturna frequentada por todo tipo de pessoa, incluindo refugiados e nazistas. A característica principal do bar de Rick é justamente a liberdade e a diversidade de pessoas que ali frequentam, desde que não provoquem brigas, nem confusões, as quais o Ricky reprime sem pena. Um dia, Rick recebe a visita de Ilsa Lund, uma mulher por quem ele foi apaixonado no passado, quando vivia em Paris. Ilsa é casada com Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), que é um líder da resistência tcheca que está sendo perseguido pelos nazistas. O casal precisa escapar de Casablanca e ir para o Estados Unidos, onde Lazlo poderá continuar sua luta contra o regime nazista. Existem 2 salvos-condutos que desapareceram, que são um misto de passaporte com visto de entrada num país, com validade determinada, mas ninguém sabe com quem estão. Estes documentos poderiam ser a chance de Lazlo e Ilsa saírem de Casablanca para os Estados Unidos. Será que os salvos-condutos estão nas mãos do Ricky? Estando ou não, Rick está relutante em ajudar Ilsa, pois ainda está magoado por ela o deixar esperando em uma estação de trem em Paris. Mas ele não sabe o porquê de Ilsa ter agido dessa forma (00:46). Ilsa procura por Ricky e pede ajuda para sair do país e ele concorda em ajudar. Ilsa imagina que ele tem os salvos-condutos e que eles irão fugir juntos, inclusive porque o próprio marido Lazlo aprova que ela vá embora sem ele. Mas Ilsa não concorda com isso. Ilsa acaba explicando a Rick que ela já era casada com Lazlo na época de Paris em que tiveram um caso. No entanto, não pode contar isso a Ricky, porque o próprio Lazlo não queria que ninguém soubesse que eles eram casados, para garantir a segurança dela. (01:21:00) Além disso, nessa mesma época, o marido havia sido capturado e jogado em um campo de concentração, de modo que Ilsa acreditava que o marido estivesse morto. Qual não foi sua surpresa quando o marido retornou vivo, logo depois de ela ter o caso com Ricky. Após as justificativas de Ilsa, Rick decide ajudá-la e prepara um plano de fuga, usando os dois salvos-condutos. Ilsa imagina que os documentos serão para ela e para o Ricky, porém Ilsa e Lazlo acompanham Rick ao aeroporto, junto com o chefe de polícia, estando este sob a mira de um revólver apontado por Rick. Nesse momento, Rick precisa fazer uma escolha: renunciar ao seu amor por Ilsa e ajudá-la a escapar com seu marido, ou escapar com ela de Casablanca, deixando Lazlo para trás. No final, Rick decide ajudar Ilsa e Laszlo a escaparem. Ilsa fica inconformada, mas Rick explica que ela tem um importante papel na vida de Lazlo e que Lazlo tem um papel importante como revolucionario contra o regime nazista, de modo que eles devem continuar sua missão nos Estados Unidos. Ou seja, Rick abdica de seu amor e coloca sua vida pessoal em segundo plano, em prol do bem comum, da luta por um ideal de justiça e humanidade. Em termos de autoconhecimento e espiritualidade, o filme ensina sobre o amor, o sacrifício e o senso de dever. A pessoa que ama e é abandonada, em primeiro lugar, ela tem a sensação de que não foi amada. No caso do Rick, ele e Ilsa combinaram de fugir juntos de Paris, para viverem juntos em uma outra realidade. Mas Ilsa deixa ele esperando na estação de trem com Sam e isso faz com que ele fique com ódio dela. E que tipo de amor é esse que se transforma em ódio? Esse é o amor condicional, é o amor egoísta. Porque a pessoa que tem amor no coração, ela vai compreender o outro e continuar amando. Mas com o passar do filme, nós percebemos que aquele ódio que Rick sente pela Ilsa é algo superficial. Mas que nas profundezas do seu coração, ele continua sentindo amor. E em que momento temos certeza de que aquele amor que o Rick começou a sentir em Paris continua sendo o mesmo amor e que é verdadeiro? No momento em que ele salva a Ilza e o marido Lazlo, dando a eles os salvos-condutos. Além disso, ele também mostra a sua nobreza de espírito, salvando o Lazlo, que é alguém que se dedica quase integralmente às causas aliadas, que seria o bem comum. Ou seja, ele abdicou de sua amada e abdicou de sua própria segurança, ficando em Casablanca, em prol de manter a vida de uma pessoa que luta pelo bem comum, que é Lazlo, e em prol da sua parceira, que é o combustível de Lazlo para continuar lutando pela causa. Se ele fosse um egoísta, ele certamente não teria a nobreza de dar o salvo-conduto ao Lazlo, marido da sua amada e teria ele mesmo ido com ela, deixando Lazlo em Casablanca sozinho, só esperando a morte. Se você se lembrar de uma conversa entre o marechal alemão e a Ilsa, o marechal disse para ela que Lazlo só tinha duas alternativas: a primeira opção era um salvo-conduto que o marechal daria ao Lazlo para que retornasse à França de Vichy, ou seja, uma opção péssima, porque a França de Vichy estava sob o domínio da Alemanha. E a segunda opção era a morte dele em Casablanca. (procurar trecho no filme) Veja que situação difícil: coloque-se no lugar do Rick. Se você estivesse em meio a uma guerra mundial e tivesse se apaixonado por uma pessoa casada. Se essa pessoa vem até você pedir sua ajuda para manter a vida do seu parceiro ou parceira, o que você faria? Você ajudaria essa pessoa que você ama? Você se aproveitaria da situação para eliminar o parceiro ou parceira dessa pessoa que você ama, para poder ficar com ela? Você não ajudaria simplesmente? Deixaria a pessoa sem ajuda, mesmo você tendo as condições para ajudar? Vamos complicar um pouco mais a situação? Vamos supor que esse parceiro ou parceira da pessoa que você ama fosse alguém importante para muitas pessoas? Fosse alguém crucial para ajudar a resolver um problema grande, relativo a uma cidade ou país? Vamos supor que essa pessoa fosse um revolucionário, capaz de mudar o mundo? Uma pessoa que, de alguma forma, tivesse o poder de uma mudança substancial para o bem, que fosse em uma pequena parte do mundo? E vamos supor que você não tem esse poder. Você permitiria que essa pessoa fosse salva no seu lugar, como fez o Rick? Aí é que está a diferença entre o egoísta e o virtuoso. O egoísta vai salvar a si mesmo e, talvez, a pessoa por quem ele é apaixonado. O virtuoso vai pesar a situação e tentar alguma solução em que ele possa se salvar, porque nenhuma vida é dispensável, muito menos a sua, e possa salvar também aquela pessoa que pode salvar o mundo. E não simplesmente deixar que essa pessoa morra, por ser alguém que ganhou uma competição de amor, ficando com a mulher que ele ama. Foi isso que o Rick fez: salvou alguém com quem ele competiu e perdeu, de certa forma. Mas ele fez isso porque sabia de suas próprias capacidades. Se você se lembrar, o Rick já era uma pessoa que vivia bem, ali em Casablanca. Ele também já era capaz de viver sem a sua amada Ilsa, porque já tinha aprendido a lidar com isso, com a solidão, com a tristeza. E ele conseguiu sobreviver e lutar pela sua própria vida em Casablanca, chegando a ser o dono de um bar que recebia todo tipo de pessoa, de qualquer nacionalidade, de qualquer corrente política. O Rick é uma pessoa admirável, no sentido de que aprendeu a lidar com as situações mais adversas, mesmo tendo se tornado um pouco rígido e duro, no fundo, ele é um sentimental, ele ajuda as pessoas que precisam. Mesmo que inicialmente ele demonstre um certo desprezo pela generosidade e até chegue a ser rude com as pessoas que pedem ajuda, ele sempre acaba ajudando a pessoa. Vejam o exemplo da moça que nem mesmo pediu ajuda a ele, apenas fez uma pergunta sobre o Capitão Renault (1:06:08). Mesmo assim, o Rick deu uma ajudinha para o marido da moça ganhar na roleta para ter o dinheiro dos vistos para a América. O Rick deixa claro em várias situações que ele é um egoísta durão. Mas nas suas atitudes, ele também mostra que tem um coração. Ou seja, ele é durão o bastante para se manter em Casablanca, um lugar cheio de surpresas e conflitos, onde passam estrangeiros de todo mundo, já que a cidade é o maior porto da África, e, na época, era considerado um centro de luta de poder entre potências inimigas europeias, que são França e Alemanha. Embora Casablanca estivesse sob o domínio francês, já que Marrocos só se tornou independente em 1956, temos que nos lembrar que, em 1942, em plena Segunda Guerra, parte da França estava sob o domínio da Alemanha. Rick sabe que é um pouco egoísta e por isso não se colocaria no lugar do Sr. Lazlo, que deu a vida pela revolução. Ele sabia que Lazlo era a pessoa capaz de fazer o sacrifício necessário por uma grande causa. E também sabia que o que dava força para que o Lazlo fizesse tal sacrifício, era justamente o amor que ele sentia pela Ilsa. Assim, Rick também sabia que, se ele tirasse a Ilsa de Lazlo, ele não teria mais a mesma força para continuar suas batalhas. A história de Rick, Ilsa e Lazlo lembra um pouco a história do Rei Arthur, Guinevere e Lancelot. O Rei Arthur seria equivalente a Lazlo. Guinevere seria Ilsa e Rick seria Lancelot. A história conta que o Rei Arthur, em seu papel de rei e, portanto, regente do povo, era casado com a Guinevere, que também era muito respeitosa com Arthur, assim como Ilsa, porém não era propriamente apaixonada por ele. Então, Guinevere conhece Lancelot em uma viagem em que este vai escoltá-la para se casar com Arthur. Assim, os dois se apaixonam, da mesma forma que Rick e Ilsa se apaixonam em Paris. Eles acabam tendo um caso e Ilsa trai o marido, assim como Guinevere traiu Arthur com Lancelot. A diferença é que o final da história de Rick é mais feliz que o destino de Lancelot, que acaba sendo enfeitiçado por Elaine, a prima de Guinevere, que se passa por Guinevere e tem um filho com ele. Por causa disso, Lancelot é expulso do reino pela Guinevere e enlouquece, enquanto Rick, ao contrário, fica bem consigo mesmo em Casablanca. Assim, fica claro que Rick já desenvolveu seu espírito um pouco além do seu ego, sendo uma pessoa capaz de enfrentar a solidão, na forma de solitude; sendo capaz de abdicar do seu amor, na forma de compaixão; sendo capaz de viver com alegria e generosidade em seu bar tão amigo da diversidade! Bem, espero que essas reflexões te ajudem a ter um olhar profundo sobre o filme Casablanca! Se você já assistiu, que tal assistir de novo com essa nova perspectiva? Se não assistiu ainda, pegue a sua pipoca, e bota pra estourar! Read the full article

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smolvenger · 4 months

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❤️Happy Birthday ❤️

🎉🎉🎉I hope you have a wonderful day 🎉🎉🎉

Please can I request a little blurb with Prince Hal and "touch her and you die" 😻😻😻

Thank you!

Why hello there! Thanks, I got a manicure and went to a bookshop and ate Italian food so it was great! And here is the blurb!

Rain Within Doors (Prince Hal x fem! Reader)

Summary: When the king falls ill, your betrothed, Prince Hal, returns.

Word Count: 1923

Warnings: some sexual harassment but the a-hole is saved in time, I try to keep it close to Shakespeare. Angst and fluff. I stole a line from Game of Thrones because it fit (the Shakespeare histories WERE kind of the Game of Thrones of their time minus the dragons and excessive exploitation of women)

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

You waited anxiously and eagerly for your dear betrothed. He needed to hurry here. Things had all turned for the worse.

Poor King Henry the Fourth was one minute at a table with all of you The Lord of Westmoreland arrived delivering the news of success in battle against Hotspur’s followers attempting to usurp the king. Everyone gasped. The lords who allied with Henry the Fourth were there- the Lord of Harcourt, Sir John Blunt, and others, all drooped their shoulders in relief. You, the younger two princes Thomas and Humphrey, The Lord of Warwick, and the King all smiled. The king shakily rose to praise Westmoreland

…then suddenly he began wheezing and fainted.

Everyone gasped. Humphrey and Warwick met them on the grounds to give aid to the old king. Little Thomas cried for his father and you put him, your soon-to-be brother-in-law, in a hug, rubbing his back.

“It’s all right, you know these fits happen often,” Warwick assumed, ever the voice of peace.

As the king came to, he was supported up. You were among the party to help settle him into bed. He asked the crown be placed on the pillow next to him with a raspy voice. And for musicians to play in the next room. Everyone complied.

You knew your betrothed had business in London. Even if it was in a bad place, he assured you it was nothing involving anything criminal (or whores) and that he would be back. The second eldest, Thomas, was dealing with the rebels with forces of his own and was on his way back.

“My lord, let me sit with you, so you need not be alone,” you offered, gathering a chair.

You had been sent here to marry the notorious Prince of Wales. Though you were nervous in this new castle, King Henry the Fourth was gentle with you. He welcomed you with a smile and open arms. The man who already considered you a daughter-in-law in his heart and the other princes saw you as a sister. He would let you dine with him and even play a little dice game with the family, smiling at you. Warmth on the face of the aged Bolingbroke- the lord who, long ago, won the favor of the people so much it broke him out of exile and then thrust him into the role of king unexpectedly. Once Henry Bolingbroke, christened Henry the Fourth, wore shining golden armor as he rode on a horse. Paraded through the city as people threw flower petals at him.

Now how…weak he was! A shell of himself! Hardly the proud golden king anymore!

He reached out for your hand and you accepted it.

“Why-dear lady, I thank you. To think a pearl may be thrown to swine… to think my Harry should of all men be your husband…” he wheezed.

“My lord, you must know- your eldest son has not….treated me poorly.”

You didn’t know him well- the beautiful, fiery, mischievous, wild prince Henry- or Harry as called by his friends or family. Or Hal as those thieves and whores so affectionately called him.

This was to be a marriage for alliance and station, not of affection. When you arrived, you expected a frivolous, drinking, philandering Baccus. But Hal…. he was kind to you. He always smiled at you and called you sweet names. He was rumored to spend time studying in libraries more than drinking. One time, he found a romantic poem, copied it on paper, and gave it to you as a lover’s token. It touched you- who knew how he would fare as king but you felt he would make at least a decent husband!

“Just rest my lord, please,” you asked. The king indeed settled.

You walked out to the hallway to face the others. They peeked in and soon saw his eyes were closed, but he was breathing. The musicians in the next room played such calm, nearly dreamlike melodies compared to the anxiety storming inside of your being.

Soon enough, the king settled into a deep sleep. You smiled a little- poor Henry the Fourth was a notorious insomniac, wandering the castle in the late hours from his racing worries. That should give him some relief and help with his sickness.

But to think…here you were about to watch that old man die. Die before you could officially call him family.

A couple of tears fell, and you walked out to the hallway staring out. It was a cold, bitter day. The winter chill stinging the glass window when you touched it.

But there was a sound- hooves.

When you leaned closer to the window, you let out a gasp.

Hal was here in a long, beautiful black and red cape on a beautiful black horse as if he were about to rescue a damsel. And behind him a couple of others. You covered your mouth but felt a smile on your lips.

Picking up your skirts, you hurried down to the others in the outer hall. Warwick was hushing the two boys from talking too loud, to watch over the king in his sleep.

“Humphrey! Thomas! He’s back!” you whispered.

“Who?” replied Thomas.

They turned and then heard Hal’s voice asking for him. You and the others hurried there.

In the torch-lit hallway, your eyes feasted on Hal. The most beautiful man you had ever seen with the most deliciously fitted black velvet doublet, swooping off his cape with a gallantry that made your insides tingle.

He turned and went to you first.

“How now, My most fair lady?”

“Oh, much worried but cheered by your return, my lord,” you replied.

Hal’s eyes softened at you, then he looked at his crying brothers- Humphrey and Thomas.

“What- all of this rain in of door when it should be out of doors? How is the king?” Hal asked.

“ Exceeding ill” explained Humphrey sadly.

“Please be quiet, His grace is asleep,” warned the Lord of Warwick.

Hal requested to see his father, and the lord of Warwick led him to the bed.

Everyone hushed and walked out to the other room, keeping quiet to give the king as much rest as he needed. Everyone worried. It was all so much- you needed some space.

With your heart calming, you went to one hallway, hugging yourself to look at how the moon shone over the winter evening through the windows.

The Lord Harcourt went up to you. An older man with sharp cheekbones and a sharp chin, a pale face, and dark eyes. You only knew him as an ally and advisor to the king. As you stood alone, staring out the window.

“Good evening, Lady Y/N.” he greeted.

“Good evening, my lord,” you replied.

“You do look rather lovely tonight in the moonlight,” he complimented.

Already you felt uneasy. Alone with him, when all the others were fretting over the king. You began to take a step to return.

“You…you flatter me, my lord, thank you.”

Right as you turned, the lord reached an arm from his rich, velvet clothes and grabbed you.

“It seems a shame for such a fine lady to be wasted upon riotous Harry. I should have had you for my wife instead.”

“My lord, then wait until the king awakens and discuss it with him and announce you will-will-will court me openly like a gentleman,” you blubbered out, though you were starting to get scared.

He tried to sweetly, seductively brush your cheek but you had enough and swatted it away.

“Oh! The lady is a bit too cold, methinks.”

“And a lady is treated with respect, sir! My lord, please let me go. I must attend on his majesty.”

“Your drunken oaf of an intended is waiting on him, who is going to stop!”

“But you are a fool! Please, let me leave!”

He backed you up until you were in a corner. Your heart pounded hard.

“Please- my lord, I swear, do not do anything that might insult my honor! I don’t want to-Please!” you cried.

“Then be not so fair and tempt a man to sin! And you have tempted me long enough. The one crown Prince Hal is deserving of is the Cuckhold’s horns.”

“Please, my lord- let me go!” you begged.

To your horror, you felt a thin, clawlike hand reach for your leg under your skirt, then up, trying to lower your bodice to show your breasts. You squirmed, but one arm held you back.

“No, my lady. I want a see what I could be enjoying on our wedding night.”

He placed a hand over your mouth so you couldn’t scream. Tears welled up in you.

With a free hand, though it shook, you slapped him hard.

His hand dropped. He was shocked you were going to fight back. You tried to flee when he grabbed you back, ready to drag you off and force you to strip or do more when-

“Release yourself from the Princess of Wales right now!” threatened your intended.

Hal hurried in and grabbed the lord. He then took out his dagger, pointing it to your attacker’s chest. You jumped off and went behind Hal.

“What- my lord!” the lord was shocked that dishonorable, silly Prince Hal was capable of this. Then he scoffed.

“She is not yet your wife-” he argued.

“She is your princess and soon- your queen!” Hal reminded him.

The Lord of Harcourt pointed to where you stood and backed away behind Hal.

“She’s-she was trying to seduce me! The Lady is nothing but a common strumpet”

Hal punched him in the face. You let out a gasp. The Lord nursed his cheek. But Hal kept his dagger up at him. You heard footsteps and murmurs as the others went into the room. The younger Lancaster brothers staying by you loyally. The lords turned pale and slack-jawed.

“You are not welcome in this court until after our marriage. And then you will have to beg to be let in. And If you ever lay a hand on that sweet lady again, it will be the last time you have hands!” Hal barked at him.

The Lord of Harcourt shook and then relented, bowing his head.

“Now, flee. Before I decide to persuade my father to behead you when he awakes.”

The lord fled into the shadows, a few attendants seeing him out. The others asked after you, but it was Hal who boldly embraced you. It was quite intimate for court protocol, but when had Hal ever done what everyone expected?

“He-He frightened me.” you choked out.

“You need not be frightened, my lady, you’ll be safe. Did he hurt you? Do anything?” Hal questioned.

“He groped my leg, and tried to take my dress off, but no more. You caught him before more could be done. I-I -I promise you, Hal, I never intended to seduce him in any way! Do you believe me?”

Hal clasped your hands in his.

“Why would I not believe my dearest lady?” Hal replied.

Full of emotion, you leaned down and kissed them. Hal’s mouth opened a little and he smiled at you. He cupped your cheek sweetly.

The party returned to wait on the king. You saw Hal was pale, but you kept your hand clasped in his as you walked back.

For as uncertain as this time was, no matter what the next day or hour could bring, you had each other and could endure it side by side.

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