#friendlyneighborhoodbadger

[noshitshakespeare]

A little off topic, but I’ve seen some people argue that Shakespeare wasn’t a real person; his plays were written by either a group of playwrights or Christopher Marlowe under a pseudonym (those are just a few of the theories). Their reasoning is that Shakespeare shouldn’t have had enough knowledge about the upper-class to write that accurately about them, so he couldn’t have been a peasant. I personally don’t believe it. What do you think?

Hello @friendlyneighborhoodbadger! Thanks for the ask.

This is not an issue I’m especially interested in, mostly because I think the whole conspiracy fantasy is not worth the paper it’s printed on. I ultimately don’t care who wrote the plays. I like them, and who wrote them doesn’t change my feeling about them. But it is notable that, whenever there’s any level of fame or success accompanied by a lack of complete and detailed evidence about someone, conspiracies will arise, and the better someone is at something, the more inclined people are to try to bring them down. There is also the tendency of conspiracy fantasists to think that since they think differently to the majority of people, they must be in possession of the Truth, and that anyone who fails to see it is deluded.

There can be no doubt that Shakespeare did collaborate, and it’s a later, more Romantic (with the capital) notion that they’re the self-contained works of a solitary genius, unconnected with those around him. But there’s sufficient evidence to suggest that they are, for the main part, the works of a man called Shakespeare, a glovermaker’s son from a small town called Stratford in Warwickshire. There are accounts by others from the time that it was written by this man, who evidently existed, and is envied, scorned, and loved by turns. The writing style of those the works are often attributed to are well known, and Shakespeare’s work bears little resemblance to Marlowe, Oxford or anyone else it’s speculated to be by. The amount of evidence we have of his existing and writing the plays, as little as they are, is still more evidence than there is to suggest the contrary.

As you say, as well, many of those who think Shakespeare couldn’t have written the plays think that he wasn’t educated enough to have written them, or that he couldn't have written plays set in Denmark or Italy if he never visited those countries. This is, frankly, snobbery. One does not need a university education to write well, nor does one have to have been to a place to write plays set there, especially when it barely matters where many of the plays are set. Shakespeare had a grammar school education and would have been extremely familiar with great Latin writers such as Virgil, Seneca, Cicero, Ovid, would have studied recitation, rhetoric and debate, as well as Greek and Roman plays and the bible and psalms. This is more than enough material to draw from, and gives him enough of a vocabulary to draw on.

In other words, from a humanities perspective, his education would have been far more rigorous than what a modern education gives us in the way of classics, oratory and poetic techniques. It’s been shown pretty conclusively that Ben Jonson’s claim in his eulogy to Shakespeare, ‘thou hadst small Latine, and lesse Greeke’ is not really true, even if Shakespeare may have been familiar with fewer pieces of literature than those who had studied at university. He was certainly not lacking by our standards today. Ben Jonson, who evidently thought quite well of himself, seems to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder about Shakespeare. Though the eulogy is otherwise quite flattering, he does appear to be comparing his own more classical background with Shakespeare’s lack of one. Snobbishness about education was evidently present then as now. 

So a lot of early anti-Stratfordian conspiracies do come from upper-class people who were so ingrained in the belief of a superior educated elite that they couldn’t accept that they liked something written by a commoner (n.b. a glovemaker’s son is not a peasant). It was something of an embarrassment that the epitome of English literature wasn’t produced by blue blood or the university system they so boasted of. It’s worth noting too that the same issue was countered on the other side by the Romantics, who revelled in the pastoral fantasy of the genius uneducated rustic swain (hence the term ‘bard’). They share the same foundation of thinking Shakespeare uneducated, and differ only in thinking this charming or problematic.

Funnily enough, I did receive an ask a little while ago arguing the opposite, that Shakespeare’s ignorance is what makes it apparent that he wrote the plays. It’s curious that the same material appears ill-educated to some and too educated to others. But most of all, it’s bizarre how many people are more interested in this kind of debate than in the content of the plays themselves, as if the plays are more or less valuable depending on who wrote them.

[binary-bird]

Your character design for Mercutio reminds me of Lúcio from Overwatch :P

@friendlyneighborhoodbadger

DangNABBIT you found me out (I’m a Lúcio main, haha)I didn’t notice the similarity until you pointed it out, though!

[st-ckholm]

*laughs maniacally*, okay, for bad things happen bingo, "forced to watch", please?

OOF I’ve been WAITING for this one

Red is finished, white is requested.

Prompt: Forced to watch

Word count: 986

Warnings: Blood, beating, torture stuff

Fandom: Original characters

First prompt finished for @badthingshappenbingo!

---

The medication that filled his body kept him still. Quiet. Dazed.

But he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

Strapped down, just like he always was, but the chair was angled upwards, his feet nearly able to touch the ground.

There was a stranger.

But Colten wasn’t afraid of them.

They were tied up, strapped to a cheap wooden chair with zipties.

Nearly naked.

Exposed.

Crying.

They reminded Colten of himself, the first time he was restrained like this. He was scared, vulnerable, but he learned quickly that the pain had a purpose and that Wardell was kind.

Part of him wanted to learn the same thing.

But the rest of him was worried that they would take his place.

Colten felt Wardell’s hand on his shoulder, lips pressed into his hair. Honey whiskey rolled off of Wardell’s breath, making Colten’s tongue ache for something he couldn’t identify. Colten melted into his owner’s touch, closing his eyes and relishing in the way his disassociated body felt under Wardell’s hands. 

And then the touch disappeared.

By the time Colten gathered enough energy to open his eyes, the doctor was behind the stranger, a sick grin on his face as the stranger squirmed and begged. 

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I won’t tell anyone, I swear! Just let me go!”

Colten felt an ache in his chest.

This person didn’t deserve to be locked down here with him.

They were probably well liked, they probably had family that cared about them, friends who were worried. Not like him. They didn’t deserve to be hurt.

He wanted to help them, it was in his nature, he couldn’t help it, there was a reason he became a cop.

But the cuffs around his wrists and the drugs in his head kept him still.

Wardell sneered at the stranger, running a hand down their bare chest.

“Colten, my dear, I’m doing this for you.” The doctor said, pulling his tray of tools closer with the heel of his shoe. “One less stranger that will hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him!” The stranger started talking. “He hasn’t d-” 

Their voice was cut off by a scrap of fabric being shoved into their mouth. Their eyes were wide, terrified, begging. They whimpered through the gag as Wardell removed a scalpel from the tray, the same one that had gone into Colten’s flesh hundreds of times. 

Wardell pressed the blade against their shoulder.

Pushed harder.

And carefully began to cut.

A line of blood formed in the skin above their collarbone, lining the exact contour of the bone. The stranger screamed, struggled against their bonds, desperately trying to get away from the doctor. Wardell kept his cut smooth, despite the alcohol in his blood and the squirming of his patient. 

Colten’s fists clenched, his chest ached, he wanted to help. He didn’t want to just sit here and watch. Wardell was hurting them, unnecessarily, they hadn’t done anything.

“Stop…” He managed to mutter out, but his owner didn’t listen.

Wardell jabbed his fingers into the stranger’s chest, making them them them jump. Wardell had done this to Colten before when he was trying to find something under the man’s skin. Veins, muscles… or bone.

When he had mentally mapped out each rib, he began cutting again. Wardell sliced the skin above every bone, following the curvature with such ease that only a doctor as skilled as he could manage. The stranger had already stopped screaming and had resorted to sobbing. Colten watched, fighting through the daze in his eyes, at the red lines that became a rib cage on the stranger’s skin.

“A pretty sight, isn’t it, Colten?” Wardell said, nearly out of breath. “Not near as pretty as you, though.”

He started back up at the top, and began a deeper slice. This time, the scalpel cut clear down to the bone, exposing strips of off-white.

The doctor continued his art, removing chunk by chunk of flesh until every bone was visible.

The simple white t-shirt and cheap jeans he was wearing were already smeared in the stranger’s blood. He had chosen to perform this operation with basic clothing on as to not ruin any of his professional suits.

He finished his work and set the scalpel down.

And then, from its place leaning against the wall, Wardell picked up an unusual tool, one that Colten had never seen before.

A thick wooden dowel, closer to a long rolling pin or a bat.

“Remember, Colten, I’m doing this for you.”

Wardell raised the dowel over his shoulder and, with a strength that Colten had never seen from his owner, brought the wood down against the stranger’s shoulder. Colten winced at the sound of snapping bone, watched blood spurt from the wound on their collarbone. The stranger screamed, and Wardell laughed, chuckling as he raised the dowel again.

Colten couldn’t tear his eyes away, but he didn’t want to be watching.

He counted each snap.

Two. Three. Four. 

Each strike of the wood landing on a new part of the stranger’s body. 

Blood sprayed across the walls, over Wardell, some drops even hitting Colten.

Five. Six. Seven.

The eighth was particularly brutal, and Colten only hoped that it was hard enough to prevent the stranger from dying of blood loss. Either way, the final crack sent their head dropping down.

Wardell tossed the dowel to the ground, taking a moment to take in the sight of his victim, beaten to a pulp.

Colten’s face was wet with tears. He was helpless. He didn’t do anything to help them.

Wardell took a step back, wiped his hands on his shirt, and turned to face Colten.

He was entirely covered in blood.

And a grin split across his lips.

Colten shook his head, silently begging for Wardell to leave him alone.

But it didn’t matter what Wardell did to Colten.

He wouldn’t remember any of this, anyway.

[prayyouloveremember]

Would you mind drawing me your favorite flower? 🌸

of course not! i always enjoy drawing flowers! here it is - my father and i have the same favorite flower, did you know?

[whumpsideblog]

Oh my gosh I’m reading through your royalty whump and internally screaming. This is probably my favorite series I’ve ever come across in the whump community. Keep up the amazing work!

thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoy it so much! honestly messages like these just completely thrill me!!

[prayyouloveremember]

that would be wise

I cannot believe nobody showed up to my fake funeral!

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #402

Submitted by @friendlyneighborhoodbadger - thanks!

The whumper splashes the whumpee with gasoline, and then lights a match, holding it inches away from the whumpee.

“Do I have your attention now?”

[arrantknave]

What’s your favorite part of getting to play Hamlet? (Also I love your blog, and you’re one of my favorite Hamlets on Tumblr 🖤).

@friendlyneighborhoodbadgerIt's cathartic.When I first got to play him I was going through some stuff at the time, and a great deal of his lines hit home.Also, puns.

[binary-bird]

I love Fabian Hidalgo, even though I don’t know what he’s saying, lol. Are you from the Philippines?

@friendlyneighborhoodbadgerYup!I’ll include translations whenever I can. ^ ^

[asbestoswater]

I'M A DAY OFF BUT WHATEVER

@friendlyneighborhoodbadger @42-because-why-not @pesutotheplague @artsyboi101

blessed_wednesday

[prayyouloveremember]

Hi Ophelia, I hope you're having a wonderful day! May I request borage and cyclamen for the flower ask? Thank you!

o!! hello, dear olivia! i am having quite a good and peaceful day. i hope thou art having the same!

borage: give a random fact about your childhood.

hmmm...here is one: our father's estate has a hundred rooms, and laertes and i have made blanket forts in over half of them

cyclamen: did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? what was it?

i have always been one for plants rather than animals, but i did have a stuffed rabbit when i was very little! her name was thistle. i believe she is still in my room at home, somewhere. she was my dearest companion when laertes was at his lessons, before i was old enough to begin learning things on my own. i wore her ears down to tatters with whispering into them!

[asbestoswater]

@friendlyneighborhoodbadger

[binary-bird]

Have you seen the new trailer for The King with Timothée Chalamet as Prince Hal? Because it looks really good, and I feel like it’s something you would enjoy?

@friendlyneighborhoodbadgerYes!!I heard it was based on Billy Shakes’ Henry V so I suppose I’ll be watching it.> v >It’s also motivation to finish reading the play itself, because unfortunately most of what I remember of it thus far involves war and tennis balls.

[prayyouloveremember]

When is your birthday, Ophelia?

it is in the middle of the seventh month - the fourteenth of july! most expect laertes to be the summer child and guess that i was born in winter, but they're wrong

[prayyouloveremember]

Happy birthday My Lady Ophelia! I hope you continue to bring light happiness to everyone around you for many years to come!

oh, my - i have never thought of myself like that before...thank you, truly, sister Olivia! 💜 i hope you continue to spread your own light to others, the way you have to me!

[prayyouloveremember]

aw 💐 thank you, tis a comfort indeed! though i mildly question your sanity in wanting to share my father

laertes and my lord and horatio are wonderful, but sometimes i wish i had a sister, close in age to me, that would be better at getting it