Shakespeare one shots

An Elsinore Christmas

Hamlet's family seriously needs to get their priorities in order. Don't they know it's rude to yell in front of the guest?

TW: serious homophobia, use of f*g slur and others, a bit of racism (taps into Jim Crow era language), a LOT of swearing, mentions of suicidal thoughts and self-harm, Hamlet giving a detailed description of his bedroom fantasies at the dinner table, and low-key tablecloth abuse. In all seriousness, it's got some really disgusting topics, so please be careful reading this one.

Generally rated R. Do not reccomend for smol children.

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"You sure you're... ready for this?" Hamlet asked tentatively, not relinquishing his death grip on Horatio's hand in spite of himself.

"It's not the type of holiday atmosphere you'd enjoy," Ophelia added, which, unhelpful, but go off, Phe.

"And you may want to prepare yourself to see your boyfriend verbally get his ass whooped," Laertes continued.

Horatio sighed, somehow impossibly fond, and squeezed Hamlet's hand. It grounded him a bit.

"I'll be fine," he said, soft nearly to the point of fear, but his eyes shone with determination. He brought Hamlet's hand to his lips, still amazingly soft, and his eyes sang I hope this tides you over.

Hamlet nodded once, and, armed with the three people who made him feel like he could face anything, opened the door to the Elsinore dining hall.

It was lavishly decorated, boasting all manner of poinsettias and ribbons, and the smell of peppermint nearly suffocated the four of them. It was all beautiful and expensive and each of them hated it with the burning anger of a thousand suns.

The king sat at the head of the table, staring intently in that cold way of his that made Hamlet shiver. Gertrude sat to his right, back rigid with the effort of perfect posture and eyes terrified. Claudius sat across from her, expression minutely shifting from defiant to protective when he spotted Nephew and Co. approaching the table.

Hamlet tensed, fortifying his body against the need to wither under the king's gaze, and sensed the siblings doing the same. Horatio, not yet accustomed to the need to fortify oneself against withering, bit his cheek and looked up through his eyelashes meekly.

Ophelia and Laertes sat in their rehearsed places, down the table from Gertrude. The two women shared a look and Claudius gave a tiny nod to Laertes.

Hamlet sat next to his uncle, half wanting to put Horatio there instead to give himself another layer of protection from the man at the head of the table, and half knowing that he'd never put Horatio through that. He had to keep Horatio as far from the danger as possible.

Danger, Hamlet thought as he settled into his chair, realizing idly that he'd never really acknowledged what it was until now. His therapist back at Wittenberg would be proud.

"My dear Ophelia, will your father be joining us?" Gertrude asked.

Good job, Mom, assess the threats, Hamlet thought.

"He may," Ophelia said, then looked to her brother.

"He has some business to attend to, but he may arrive later," Laertes supplied.

Claudius shrunk a fraction, the corners of his lips turning down. Hamlet felt no sympathy. He didn't care that they were friends, he was glad they were not adding another layer to how careful Ophelia and Laertes would have to be tonight. Polonius wasn't actively a part of the problem, but he asked blunt questions and was much too nosy and Hamlet despised him.