#danish horror | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crypticpuffin · 10 months

Text

The University of Wittenberg was not for the faint of heart. It was, however, for the deep of pocket. Horatio was no such student– though many had gotten in through their family’s connections, he had gotten in solely through academic merit and promise (after all, God knows his family could never have paid for his education without the full scholarship he had received). As a result, Horatio, the son of parents that had never approached affluence, found himself in a university in a town in Germany full of rich people who had never experienced hardship– or so he assumed.

Horatio was a good soul, however, and tried to never resent his colleagues for how they had found their ways to this place– in fact, his very best friend, Ophelia, had connections with none less than the royal family, though she didn’t like to talk about it. He simply tried to go on with his university experience and make the most of it (mostly by studying and taking too many classes), and treat his fellow students with benevolence but, mostly, ambivalence.

So how did he find himself in this situation?

He shared exactly one class with this person– romantic poets 101 –which just happened to be Horatio’s best class, both in terms of grades and his enjoyment of it.

So how was this… emo guy doing better than him?

You may, as of now, have noticed that Horatio had a bit of a competitive streak. It took a lot to get him to show it, so it usually wasn’t evident, but by god, this all-black-wearing, perpetually-never-listening-to-you, broody-as-shit guy was more than enough to awaken that in him. The guy didn’t look like he’d ever seen the light of the sun, either, thought Horatio once while observing him once in class (as academic rivals do), which he thought was actually… really sad. But he wasn’t about to start feeling sorry for him! Even if this guy had the most messed-up life in the history of the universe, he wasn’t just going to start pitying him for it. No. He was clearly his equal in academic terms and pity was something Horatio chose not to burden people with as a rule.

“So, is he cute?”

Horatio groaned. The librarian glared at him overtly through her narrow glasses, clearly disapproving of anyone who made their frustration known in the library. Of course, he knew that wasn’t Ophelia’s main concern (at least most of the time), but rather that she was trying to playfully annoy him with such an asinine remark.

“That is so far from the point I fear we’ll need a search team to find it again,” he replied, successfully irritated.

“You still haven’t answered the question, though. It’s kind of crucial information for me to make a judgment on this,” she said, crinkling her nose as she did.

Horatio groaned again, and again the librarian glared at him, even less subtly.

“Can we… can we drop this? His appearance is irrelevant. He could be a worm for all I care, as long as he was a sufficiently high-achieving worm to merit my attention.”

“Does that mean he looks like a worm?”

“Ophelia!” Horatio cried softly, still to the chagrin of the librarian.

“What?? I think worms are cute!” she said, holding back her laughter.

“This is actually important to me! This guy is actively distracting me from my studies. And I don’t mean–”

“No, no, I know what you mean. You guys are rivals, right? Competing for the high score or whatever,” she responded, cutting him off to his relief. She did not, however, sound very enthused.

“When you put it that way, you make it sound kind of pointless.”

“That’s because it is. Honestly, at least talk to him or something. Do you have to, like, rival him? Challenge him, whatever?” she asked searchingly.

“Look, it’s not like we’re proper rivals or anything. It just… really eats away at me, you know? It gets me. It’s like he’s not even trying, but he still manages to do better?” he explained, painfully.

Ophelia could see that Horatio was really worked up about this, that this meant something to him. She debated the matter in her head– first, she would have to find out who this person was. Secondly, she would need to strategize. Perhaps lure him in? Trap him? Threaten him to do worse at school?

“Ophelia?”

She snapped back to her senses. “Oops. Lost in thought again.” She cackled distressingly, as she was prone to do (the librarian, again, did not enjoy this new development). “Anyway, why don’t we talk about something else to get your mind off of it?”

“Like what?” he asked, tired. The day of studying had worn him out, and this conversation hadn’t helped so far.

“Like the fact that Hamlet, prince of Denmark is studying here! Who'da thunk it, me and Hamlet in the same place, back together again. The world throws some crazy shit at you,” she said, trying to seem like she didn’t really care. But the fact was, she did care. More than she cared to admit, and Horatio could tell.

“Weren’t you guys childhood friends or something? Back when you lived in Elsinore?” Horatio asked cautiously.

Ophelia’s expression darkened. From what little he knew of her time there, Horatio knew her time there had been a less than happy one. But in a moment, she “corrected” herself and the shadow over her face disappeared. “Yeah, way back when. We actually dated, if you can believe it,” she said, smiling a little too much. “Y’know, before my raging lesbian era.”

“Oph, you know you can tell me anything, right? I mean you don’t have to, but…” he trailed off, concern showing in his face. “I mean, did he treat you ok? Is that why it hurts to talk about him?”

“Why do you think it hurts to talk about him?” she said, falteringly.

“Because I can see it in your eyes, Oph. We’re friends. I can tell,” he replied without hesitation. “I can always tell. Or, at least, I should.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” replied Ophelia— now she was getting a bit worried about him. He always took too much weight on his shoulders. “You’re my friend, not my caretaker. And I say that with affection, because you would be a terrible caretaker,” she joked, knowing it wasn’t true. Horatio chuckled despite himself. It was too easy to make him laugh, especially when Ophelia was involved. “All right,” he responded. “I’ll be kinder to myself. And I’ll try to not pry so much either.” He reached out for her hand and, for a moment, he felt absolute irrational terror that it wouldn’t be there when he tried to touch it. But his fears melted away as soon as he felt the warm touch of her skin, and he felt somewhat reassured— although he knew a simple touch couldn’t kill either of their demons, it was worth a shot.

At least it was worth it to see her smile.

****

The next day was much of the same.

Horatio worked hard, Ophelia less so (but still resulting in excellent grades) and the mysterious person in Horatio’s poetry class… continued to (at least this was the way it appeared in Horatio’s eyes) slack off and still got better grades or, at least, more commendation from the teacher, Prof. Fortinbras. Over the days that came, Horatio took to sitting next to the “overachiever” to try and see his grades. Unfortunately, this would result in a tragic misunderstanding.

Hamlet had noticed the guy who had started sitting next to him. He often didn’t notice people– many of them blended together for him– but it was hard to miss this particular one. Who could fail to notice a blond mullet like that? Not that he cared, but this guy certainly seemed to. More than once, Hamlet had noticed him peering over to his desk, trying to catch a glimpse of something. But why? What could be his motivation?

In that moment, Hamlet nearly gasped aloud in the middle of class. Could it be…? Yes… it made sense, he thought. He knew little of romance but a little of infatuation, so perhaps this was that guy’s deal.

“Yes, I believe he digs me,” Hamlet murmured quietly to himself, a broody expression on his face. This was troubling news.

Horatio was beginning to regret sitting next to this guy. Hearing the words that just came out of his mouth, despite not knowing who he was referring to, made him rethink his position. Firstly, who says the word dig in that context anymore? Secondly, is this really what he’s thinking about during class? Some guy? He sighed. Perhaps he wasn’t even worthy of being his rival if he was wasting time thinking about some crush of his, and yet… perhaps he was. He may use outdated slang from the 70’s, but watching him recently, Horatio knew he was accomplished and capable as a student. But as a person… he had no way of knowing that, then.

Horatio finally realized he had been staring for far too long and had lost track of the lecture, so frantically, he returned his attention to his own station and glued his eyes to the large blackboard, scribbling notes furiously until his nail caught on his pencil and splintered. Shit, he thought as a drop of blood dripped down his finger. But it didn’t matter. He simply wiped off the blood and kept writing.

Professor Fortinbras didn’t usually take an interest in his students, but he had to admit whatever that blond and brunette had going in the second row had been entertaining him quite a bit. It was still very early in the semester, so he hadn’t learnt everyone’s names yet, but still, their peculiar interactions made him chuckle. He could recognize infatuation when he saw it— he’d has his own “rivalry” at that age. Now, where had all the years gone? He’d lost his land, his title… at least he still had his son, but even he was slipping away from him. It took all his concentration to tear himself from his thoughts and return his attention to the lecture and he noticed the young blond man in the second row had turned away from the brunette. He didn’t look happy. But it was none of his concern. He frowned and went on with his life.

*****

A week later

Horatio tried peering discreetly at the test placement boards. I mean, he tried. But there were a bunch of people in front of it, so he was forced to instead push his way through the crowd as gently as he could (which wasn’t very gently at all). In a few moments of struggle that seemed to him an eternity, he found himself at the very front of the sign, which seemed to loom gargantuanly before him, growing bigger by the moment. All the names were scribbled, illegible, except for just one, at the very bottom– in little, pathetic letters which sighed with defeat at its very existence, was written HORATIO. He felt dizzy, his head spinning, and tried to push his way back through the crowd, but instead the crowd pushed him, straight at the sign, at such a horrific speed that he was certain that he was gonna break every bone in his body. He tried to scream, but no sound left his throat. It was getting closer, closer, the wind around him picking up speed, faster, until—

He went straight through the sign, and was launched into a black, empty void. All around him, only blackness, silence. He was floating weightlessly in the void, surrounded by nothing, crushed by everything. This couldn’t be. How could this be? He tried to touch ground, or sky, but found nothing but space, emptiness. He looked at his arm– there was nothing there. He looked down, and saw absolutely nothing. He did not exist. He wanted to cry, but had no tear ducts, no face, no heart. He was just… nothing. He thought without a brain, he thought he wanted to just exist. To just be.

So he closed his eyes, and there he was.

All corporeal and back together again. He grasped his arms, his shoulders, his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was real again.

But where was he?

The location was certainly eerie: a desolate-looking pond, with a low fog hanging around it, and he could just make out a sinister-looking castle in the distance. The water in the pond looked… wrong somehow, as if it was heavier and more toxic than actual water. But more than that, there looked like there was something… no, someone in the water. He caught a glimmer of dull ginger, but then it vanished and something else caught his attention– a man sitting on a stone bench at the edge of the water. He was partly concealed by the mist, but Horatio could tell he had dark hair and black clothes and very pale skin. In fact, he looked like… he was certain he looked like someone, but couldn’t remember who. Entranced, he approached him and stood next to him. At this distance, he could now see that the man, who must have been his age, had buried his face in his hands.

“Hello?” said Horatio. No response. Was he in distress? Was he waiting for someone? He couldn’t tell. So, he sat by him on the cold stone and looked at him. Oddly, his clothes didn’t seem modern at all– instead they looked like something that might have been worn in the middle ages or something. Weird.

“I’m Horatio. What’s your name?”

Slowly, the man began to react. He turned his face towards Horatio, but with his hands still there in that weeping position, as if they were glued to his face. He began to tremble, and slowly, removed his hands to reveal the face of a rotting corpse, the eye sockets sinking into the rancid skin of the face, the eyes unseeing. The teeth trembled, angled haphazardly in the misshapen mouth.

“H-Horatio?”

When Horatio awoke, he found himself safe in his dorm, but a horrific scream filled the room.

He realized it was coming from his throat.

He stopped himself, and noticed he was covered in sweat. The bed was all in disarray, and he was left sitting there with a blank expression on horror on his face.

He couldn’t remember what had just happened.

Notes:

This is only part one! Hopefully, I'll write more, but I can't guarantee I'll finish it. @withasideofshakespeare, this is based on your request! Sorry if it's more angsty than you wanted, but y'know, writing takes turns (dark ones sometimes). This is my first time publicly sharing a fic, so please... be nice...

Read the next part here: https://www.tumblr.com/crypticpuffin/723690710024454144/another-day-entirely-hamlet-moodily-walked-to-his?source=share

#hamlet #shakespeare #tragic danish boyfriends #hamratio #fanfic #hamlet fic #hamlet fanfiction #shakespeare fanfic #tw death #tw gore #tw horror #tw mental illness

22 notes · View notes