badshakespeareimagines

[badshakespeareimagines]

imagine: you and prospero at the beach

Imagine...

'And, voila,' Prospero removes his hand from your eyes and steps back proudly.

You blink, taking in the sight before you. It's not like any other part of the island that you've ever seen. A beautiful, white sand beach with cobalt waves breaking in even lines. It's like something out of a magazine feature on Hawaii. There's even a palm tree.

'It's beautiful,' you breathe, still staring in wonder.

'It's our secret, Y/N,' Prospero beams. 'If I ever get off this island, I'm considering magical landscaping as a career. No one but us - and Ariel - knows about it.'

You pout. Prospero already shares so much with his spirit, why can't the two of you have anything for yourselves?

'We need someone to wait on us,' he reminds you, as if reading your thoughts. Then again, he is magic, so maybe he literally is reading your thoughts.

He snaps his fingers and Ariel appears, carrying a tray of cocktails. You gladly take a tequila sunrise and begin slurping it down.

'Leave us, Ariel,' Prospero commands. The spirit obeys, and the two of you are alone once more.

'Y/N, would you do me the honour of walking the beach with me?' he asks, unexpectedly courteous. It's unlike him to submit to anyone - but maybe, you realise suddenly, that's exactly where you come in. It must be hard work, running and island and exploiting everyone around you. Maybe what Prospero needs is to give up control for a bit and become subject to someone else's whims and desires.

Then another thought strikes you.

'Does it bother you,' you say, as you make you way along the perfect beach, 'that I'm the same age as your daughter?'

Prospero laughs. 'Not at all, my dear. Miranda, though lovely, is not half so beautiful as you are. I have other plans for her.'

That sounds ominous, but you're not gonna give that any critical thought. Presumably Prospero knows what he's doing and so long as the cocktails keep coming you're not gonna say a word of complaint.

'If I might clarify,' Prospero adds, 'Miranda calls me father. You, on the other hand, must address me as daddy.'

[badshakespeareimagines]

@dreamy--dolly thank u! I have not spent seminars considering the pros and cons of hal and Hotspur as (bad but extremely hot) boyfriends to squander that knowledge

[badshakespeareimagines]

hal and hotspur fight over you

Imagine...

You're having a cute walk through the park with your boyfriend, Prince Hal, when your day begins to go suddenly and catastrophically wrong.

One minute you're strolling along a sunlit path holding Hal's hand, admiring the uniform cut of the grass and thinking about how you can totally convince him to get you a puppy - and the next Hotspur has swaggered up and started checking you out.

'Damn, Y/N, you're looking good!' he exclaims, his eyes roving over every inch of your body.

You blush, looking away. There's something about his penetrating gaze that makes you feel...naked.

'Watch who you're talking to!' Hal cries, dropping your hand to make a threatening fist.

'Oh, Prince Hal,' Hotspur says lazily. 'Fancy meeting you here.'

'I'll have you know that Y/N is MY girlfriend,' Hal says.

'Oh? Good lord, Y/N, you have lower standards than I thought.'

'Shut up!' you manage. You can't let Hotspur know how much you secretly fancy him - sleazy as he is.

'Defensive, are we? Don't waste your breath. His own father wishes I were his son instead.' Hotspur crosses his arms. 'Why don't you come with me, instead? I'll show you a good time.'

'You better stop there!' Hal says, drawing himself up to his full height.

Hotspur laughs. 'Or what?'

'Or I'll beat you up!'

'Hal, no!' you cry, but he's not listening.

With a laugh, Hotspur moves in. For a few, frantic seconds they grapple with one another - and then out of nowhere there's a knife in Hal's hand and he's burying it in Hotspur's chest.

Blood gushes out over the asphalt path. You scream. Hal leaps up, his eyes wild - and suddenly realises what he's done.

'Y/N! You have to forgive me!'

'You're a murderer,' you sob, bending down over Hotspur's lifeless body and rocking him in your arms.

Hal just shrugs. 'He had it coming.'

[badshakespeareimagines]

AAAA I love him!! Thank you so much !!

@badshakespeareimagines i promised and i will deliver

my normal hamlet’s more of a… soft vintage type??? he’s been nicknamed “hanime” and is referred to as the softest of the tunglr hamlets

oh, and a bonus ft. my hamlet reacting to this version of himself:

[badshakespeareimagines]

have now deleted all of the posts regarding that fella who had a problem with these imagines and have blocked him. 

friendly reminder: this is a parody blog. the fact that these imagines are bad (as is communicated by the name) does not mean you’re free to be rude. there is very much a person who puts time and effort into creating this content.

[badshakespeareimagines]

@ghosts-unite someone has to expose the truth

@dreamy--dolly not saying my affection is conditional but I will love you forever if you do

[badshakespeareimagines]

@hatsoff-forgandalf the real question is if Y/N can complete the assignment...of healing Hamlet's broken heart

[badshakespeareimagines]

imagine: partnered with hamlet for a group project

'All right class! It's time to partner up for group projects!' your teacher, Mr Shakespeare, announces. There's a buzz of chatter before he adds, 'I've already assigned you partners, so don't get any ideas.'

A collective groan goes round the room as Mr Shakespeare starts passing out the list of pairs. When it gets to you, you scan it anxiously, hoping to have been paired with someone you know. You've always been quite shy - bullied by the popular Kylie Jenner wannabe girls - and the prospect of having to partner with someone new is making you feel decidedly queasy. It would just be your luck if you were partnered with one of the jocks of the class - someone like Guildenstern or Laertes.

God - or perhaps Mr Shakespeare - has a different plan in mind for you, though. Because the name listed next to yours is one you know, but barely.

It takes all of your courage to approach Hamlet when the class is over, but you've always been a straight-A student and you're determined not to let that slip now. He's cramming stuff into his black backpack, at his seat at the back of the class. With his My Chemical Romance t-shirt and fingerless gloves, he's the image of rebel cool.

'Umm, Hamlet?'

He looks up, his black side fringe falling into his cerulean eyes. 'Y/N,' he says, in a flat monotone.

You're surprised he knows your name for a second, before realising he got it off the list.

'Yeah. So how are we going to do this? We could meet at my house after school - '

'No,' he says immediately, zipping up his backpack and beginning to move towards the door. You follow him.

'What do you mean, no? We have to do the assignment.'

'Yeah, and you must be kicking yourself. Stuck with Crazy Hamlet. Bet you'd give anything for a trade, huh?'

'I don't think you're crazy,' you say quietly.

Hamlet stops in his tracks. He's got a pierced eyebrow, you realise. 'You're the only person who's ever said that?'

Ignoring that statistical improbability, you take another step towards him. 'Look, why don't we just give it a go? I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not exactly popular either.'

He sighs, a definite indicator of some repressed trauma that he'll spend the first date crying about.

'Okay,' he says, 'but we're not studying at your house. I've got a better place in mind.'

You raise your eyebrows. Much like Emma Watson's Hermione Granger, they convey 80% of your emotions. 'Oh?'

'Meet me at the cemetery,' he says. 'Bring some candles.'

[badshakespeareimagines]

[badshakespeareimagines]

@hatsoff-forgandalf listen I'm providing a public service

[badshakespeareimagines]

@wild-oats-and-cornflowers perhaps instead of asking that, you should turn your gaze inward and question why it is you keep reading

[badshakespeareimagines]

imagine: malvolio has a secret

'Before we go any further,' Malvolio hesitates, 'there's something we should probably discuss, Y/N.'

You gaze at him, surprised. You've been having an Excellent time so far - he's been kissing you up against a wall with such fervour you think your soul might leave your body. Your tongues have been battling for dominance with an energy you’ve never felt before. 

'Okay,' you say slowly, suddenly filled with paranoid worries. Maybe he already has a girlfriend and this was just some silly flirtation. You've got no evidence to suggest that he has the same feelings for you as you do for him. All of this could be one, big, stupid mistake.

'I have some... unconventional desires,' he says, drawing out the pause.

Okay. Weird.

'Like what?'

'It's easier if I show you.' Taking you by the hand, he leads you to the lift and presses the button to go down. Right down, you realise, to the basement.

Neither of you say a word as the lift descends. Then, as the monitor pings and the doors slide open, Malvolio begins to explain.

'I'm not like other men, Y/N. I can be more of an animal.'

As you step out into the basement room, you realise what he means. All different types of fetish gear covers every wall. Long whips hang next to butt plugs with furry tails attached.

'I don't make love,' Malvolio elaborates. 'I fuck.'

'Oh Mal!' you cry, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. 'You had me so worried.'

'What do you say, Y/N?' he asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 'Will you submit to me?'

'Of course,' you say. 'You know I'm crazy about you.'

'Excellent. Let's begin with this.' He grabs a pair of bright yellow thigh-high stockings. 'Put these on.'

You take them, go into a corner and comply. When you return, he's stripped down to just his boxers and is holding something in his hand.

'Are those garters?' you ask, frowning.

He nods. 'But they're not for your legs. They're for your hands.' And, taking each of your hands, he binds them together. 'Now we can have some real fun.'

[badshakespeareimagines]

Imagine: Friar Lawrence is your dealer

'Do you think it's weird that I'm friends with my dealer?' you ask, one sunny Saturday afternoon.

Friar Lawrence looks up from where he's organising his bong collection. 'Nah, I don't think so. These plants are medicinal. I'm a friar, it's my job to help people. Everything's above board, really.'

'I guess so.' It's probably because you're the quirkiest teen in Verona. That one time you hung out with Mercutio, he said your mind was just too wild. It's not your fault, you can't help being random!

Plus, Friar Lawrence does always have the best weed. He doesn't seem to spend very much time actually being a friar, though he's always wearing fancy robes of some kind. From this you've gathered that the Catholic Church is very lax on religious rules. They must be one of the hippie sects of Christianity.

How you don't know is not very clear - after all, you've lived your whole life in Verona, apart from biannual trips to Rome, Paris and London that your family drag you on - but you don't. And that's just how it is.

'You're mature for your years,' he points out, finally deciding that a polka-dotted bong doesn't match the others and needs throwing out. 'I didn't think anyone got me until you came along.'

You can't help the blush that rises in your cheeks. He can't know the other, secret reason that you love his company. How weird would that be? He's like, old. He mustn't know that you've got the mother of all crushes on him.

It all started when he started dealing. At first you thought you liked him because you had to, as he was a means to an end, but the more time you've spend in his company the more you feel drawn to him. There's something undeniably sexy about his commitment to Catholic irresponsibility.

'I am branching out, by the way,' he says.

'Oh, cool. Like what?'

'Sold Romeo some meth the other day,' he says, with a fond half-smile. ‘What harm can it do?’

[badshakespeareimagines]

imagine: romeo falls for you

You're walking back from the party when you run into him. It hadn't been a great party - all the cool kids had laughed at the outfit that you thought was chic and innovative, and then when you finally plucked up the courage to ask Tybalt to dance he looked at you like you were shit scraped off a sidewalk.

A couple of your nameless but convenient friends offered to come home with you, but you waved them off. So you're walking by yourself, oversized jacket barely covering your short-but-cute sundress, your customised black converse barely making a sound on the tarmac.

That's when you he stumbles into your path. Cute in a kind of messy way, like he has no idea where he's going but he'll have a good time getting there.

'Ohmigod! Sorry! Didn't see you there!' and he falls in step with you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

'What are you doing?' you say, faintly amused.

'Me? Just out for a stroll on this beautiful night,' the guy says. On his arm, you catch a glimpse of a tattoo. It's too dark to get a proper look, but it looks concerningly like a fursona. Nobody draws a dog that anthropomorphic unless they have an ulterior motive.

'Sure,' you say, with the acid wit that makes you such an outcast at school. 'It has nothing to do with you having been at a party.'

The guy tilts his head to one side. His fringe falls in his face endearingly. 'I met a girl.'

'Really?' you say. 'Well, you're meeting another one. Hi, I'm Y/N.'

This type of outgoing-ness is unusual for you, but you've had a weird night. It's the least you can do.

'Romeo,' the guy supplies. 'And yeah, I met this girl...' he trails off, gazing at your eyeliner-rimmed eyes. 'Y/N? That's such a pretty name.'

'Thanks,' you say. 'It's, uh, my middle name actually, but my first name was just so normie I couldn't handle it. Like, do my parents hate me?'

'God, I wonder the same thing! Like at this point, they have to have considered that this blood feud is bad for my health.' Romeo sighs. 'Has anyone told you that you're beautiful, Y/N?'

You blush. You're not so self-conscious for it to be a serious plot point, just enough to require regular reassurance. 'Not really. I guess I'm just ordinary.'

'No,' he shakes his head. 'Look, I've known you for all of five minutes, and I can tell you're anything but.'

'That's nice. Um, I really should be getting home.'

'Or...' Romeo trails off again.

'Or what?'

'So there's a diner nearby that serves all night breakfast. We could, um, go, if you want? I've been longing to show someone my poetry and I'm getting the feeling that you'd just, like, get it. Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight? 'Cause I think I'm falling for you.'

You laugh, in an awkward-but-endearing way. 'What about the girl you met?'

Romeo takes your hand. 'What girl?'

[badshakespeareimagines]

@hatsoff-forgandalf oh believe me I'm already planning one

Also good news: when coming up with ideas for this blog I asked all the other renaissance drama students I know who they thought the least sexy shakespeare characters were

[badshakespeareimagines]

@williamvapespeare yes but hear me out: only if he's the bill murray version from Hamlet (2000).

Also good news: when coming up with ideas for this blog I asked all the other renaissance drama students I know who they thought the least sexy shakespeare characters were

[badshakespeareimagines]

@williamvapespeare I'd 100% read an AU where benedick sneaks outside to vape and runs into beatrice ALSO vaping and they desperately want to publically shame the other for it but can't without exposing themselves

@williamvapespeare thank u sm!! and I think I’ve said it before but your url is exceptionally good