#he is utterly ethereal here OP

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: They Are Cryin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Fuck."

It wasn't a painful awakening; she actually felt damn good. Clearer, like the tiny neurons in her brain fired without a jolt of pain. The sweet moment of clarity after the removal of an infected tooth. Bliss. If only a familiar face could loom over her, a happy embrace of the one she loved. A blissful reunion.

The aging woman who looked over her with a sour expression erasing her gratitude and any field of butterflies illusion. Along with the confusion of waking up in unfamiliar territory.

Right, she was dying just a moment before.

"Where am I?"

This sloppily white-painted interior was not part of the shopping center she recognized. The medical machine that counted out her vitals was also out of place, but that was a minute detail. Jane had woken up from the dead once already, just not inside of a shipping crate. Make that one low she had not yet met.

"Just outside of London," the woman's scowl relaxed, "you're with the Special Operations Biotic Company. Luckily for you, I understand you had a rattled implant."

Her hand was grabbed before she felt her spirits utterly bottom out, the woman's dark brown eyes peering out at her from behind black and white streaked hair. A moment of shared pain passed between them before Jane could not manage to keep up the contact, "how about the LT? My home?"

"The latter is in one piece. I'm not familiar with the person you speak of," the lady spoke gently, "you were rushed here after an injury. But let me introduce you to the person that saved your life, Doctor Balcan."

Jane's gaze shifted to the person arriving on the other side of her bed, the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. Dark brown hair and eyes loomed over her; the soft smile set upon full brown lips looked perfectly primped without a touch of makeup. The simple doctor's smock hung perfectly on her body, the garment unable to smear an ounce of the poise this woman possessed. As the female nodded in greeting and her long lashes crested her cheeks, Jane was infected with jealousy.

"Thank you, Helen," even her voice was sweet, not in an artificial way, but in the vein of the sweetness of a ripe strawberry, "I think I can handle Jane for the moment if you wouldn't mind grabbing her meal."

The woman waited for Helen to leave before speaking again, "how long have your biotic powers been misfunctioning?"

"Since the Reapers fell," time was a funny thing to Jane anymore.

"Just shy of seven months," the minuscule movement of her eyebrow hardly seemed surprised, "though, I wasn't expecting to be fixing an L5n implant."

"Who else would be stupid enough to bullrush a krogan," any vanguard worth their salt knew how other biotics could view them. Rash. Stupid. Bullheaded.

"I think your stupid luck is what saved your life. You should have had severe seizures attacks, if not died from them, months ago."

Jane continued with a snarl, "but the mall. How... did everyone make it?"

"It was unkind of us not to tell you immediately, but only one civilian casualty," the doctor proffered a soft smile, "the Special Ops group got to your compound in time to repel the brunt of the attack. We had heard there was a pocket trying to rebuild; we just weren't sure if you were friendly, so the entire team did not come along. They had to rush you back here. The equipment is too fragile to move quickly."

She was even nice, gross.

"I was asked to pass on the message that you keep your ass down," at least the swear word brought her down from the utterly ethereal.

Jane's smile cracked, slightly painful against the cybernetic scars that littered her cheek.

"Your body is a curious piece of work; the sheer amount of upgrades and scarring at a microscopic level is fascinating," the woman pulled out her datapad, scrolling down what Jane assumed was a list of medical notes, "synthetic weaving to reinforce bones, microfibres in your muscles, synthetic skin fibres as well. I can't imagine the cost of that modified biotic amp."

Jane looked at her blankly, "you certainly poked around."

"Somebody wanted you alive," strawberry remarked, undeterred, "I'd think you're some sort of mad scientist experiment -that's a foolish notion. But I have my bets on Special Ops... N7."

Jane's eyes snapped into a glare, setting her jaw hard. Teeth grinding into her following biting statement, "don't attempt to bite off more than you can chew."

The woman returned the statement with tempered pity, lips tucked into a frown. The kickback from her calloused words came back twofold as a sharp pain seared across her orbital bone, requiring a hand to staunch the heat before it ended out in a cry. Jane should be thankful, instead, she was pissed. Most of the angst directed inward, some at the patheticness of the situation, little at the well-meaning doctor.

"Can I go?"

"I'll need you here for a couple more weeks minimum."

Fucking perfect.

The doctor continued before Jane's snarl turned into an attack, "you know you need to keep your biotics offline for a while. During that time, we can prepare to merge our groups as one. We'd like your help in escorting us back."

The last line was a platitude, but the LT's message made more sense. The guilt of their previous encounter started to trickle into her psyche before she squelched it away with a flinch, "any more orders, doc?"

"As you are The Commander, I think I should be deferring to you."

"Come again?"

The female laughed behind her hand, "it's obvious who you are. You may fool everyone else with the fancy scars, wilted demeanor, and blonde hair -which by the way, looks fabulous- but your unique physiology and enhancements give it away. I struggled with the thought briefly because how could the savior of the galaxy be here? You charged in with the strike team that went to activate the Crucible. But by God's grace, you're here."

"You can't be-"

Strawberry waved away the protest with her hand, "I'm more than some yokel surgeon. I don't get to be a spec ops field doctor without further training. You won't fool me."

"You bitch."

"Language, miss!"

The sharp crack of the older's woman's words snuffed the faint glow Jane had unconsciously started to accumulate. But it did not dim her glower, blue eyes pinned on the female tapping something into a datapad. Jane was still, frozen in the moment until the second snap of warmth from a small body clambering into her bed shook her from a blind stupor. The little hands and the mound of mousy hair looking at her with barely disguised disdain.

"But I already know those words," Evelyn murmured, only to increase the scrutiny Helen placed on her patient.

"Why are you-" the room immediately thickened with another aura, a solemn shake from the salt and pepper haired woman stopped her question, "are you here because Pater sent you?"

"It is my job," the girl declared bravely, "Pater said that I was to stop you from fighting with anymore krogan. Or just fighting."

"It was my fault, Evelyn...Helen," Strawberry squeaked, "I poked Mar- sorry, I meant Jane without telling her."

Jane's attention returned to the Doctor, pupils narrowing. That was no longer her name.

"I'll excuse it this time, Rahna," Helen's voice returned to a gentle timbre. Handing over the plate of rations, prepared in a manner that was meant to be appeasing. Simple rations that Jane was not thrilled to consume, "eat up. Biotics need energy. I've seen you guys crash before. I don't want you accidentally breaking something expensive."

Rahna.

Rahna...

Rahna.

The woman raised an eyebrow in her direction, plump lips playing into a smirk. Jane was had. Jealousy sunk deeper into her guts, bordering on hatred. How could Kaidan call her beautiful after seeing this divine creature? Beautiful on the Citadel. Beautiful after the first night they had bunked together. Beautiful every time they fucked after. Beautiful in the small moments. Beautiful in the big and the in-between. Had he meant Rahna all along?

"Two weeks."

"What now?" Jane snapped away from the grip of her thoughts.

Rahna crossed her arms, Evelyn giggled, and Helen spoke, "biotics."

"All of this commotion is probably a little too much for her, right now," Rahna cautioned to a sulking child, "let Jane eat in peace while I run a few more tests."

"Yup, super hungry," Jane murmured under her breath.

The patient's gaze did not stray from the Doctor, laser-focused on the slightest movement she made. Waiting for her to do something rash, her temper barely holding behind her tongue. Violent thoughts collided in her head, the desire to do something impetuous a string she had yet to completely cut. It was the easier way, the brutish way- but it was not the way Shepard did it. Shepard would resist, The Commander famously turned the other cheek. Chose kindness. Some of her could still seep through.

Even if it was in the form of stony silence.

"Why hide who you are? You are the one person who could reunite everyone."

A bloody icon. Hero. Butcher. Madwoman. Lover. Terrorist. Murderer. Savior. Pathetic.

"There's nothing to explain," a surly statement only dampened by a flinch, "I don't owe you anything."

"So, it wouldn't matter if I told everyone?"

Jane's silence was the answer.

"This is Major Alenko's squad, I'm sure everyone would be interested," Strawberry continued, placing her first foot away from the bedside, "Let alone you being Shepard, the Major's fling is a very juicy topic. I'm sure meeting the woman would be a top priority."

Rahna took several steps away, gliding out of the retrofitted container. Someone pulled her back, Jane regretted the breeze against her exposed backside. Luckily nobody seemed to pay them much mind in the moment.

"No," her eyes lit with tears, "don't. I can't."

Kaidan knew it was the end; Mary couldn't bring herself into accepting that. Luck. Stupidity. Credits. Spite. They had all stopped her death, had prevented her from reaching a low she could not climb out of. The brutal murder of her parents. Losing her unit on Akuze. Hell, even the deaths of friends during her campaign against the Reapers. They hurt like hell, but it never brought her to her knees. Now... in this moment. In the reality of losing Kaidan, she crashed. Tears, sobbing, railing against the ground. It was pathetic.

Was it the loss of her entire family aboard the Normandy, or just one man?

Dark brown eyes met her on her level, gentle the hint of moisture in her deep eyes, "everyone here mourns him."

"Fuck you."

Rahna laughed, offering out her hand and pulling the woman up to her feet, "I won't tell your secret, but I think you should talk to someone. We have-"

"No, nobody else."

"You know the risks of PTSD; you can't push through it."

"I'm fine."

Jane's stare hardened the emotions out-drying the tears riveting down her scarred cheeks.

"Or how about a deal, my silence for a few talks? Nothing official, just friendship."

She considered for several long moments, biting back each bitter comment that fought to come out. It wasn't the time for resistance. Talking wouldn't hurt, especially if it meant Rahna kept silent. What was she supposed to do for the next two weeks? Stare at the wall? Teach a child to swear? Avoid Kaidan's squad as much as humanly possible?

"Friendship may be pushing it."

[realityillusionist]

Fair Game Week Day 2- Domestic

Read it on AO3 here!

Clover slowly opened his eyes, stretching slightly as he watched the beginnings of the sunrise filter in through the curtains. Unlike his husband, he had never quite broken out of the habit of waking up early. Whereas Clover was almost always awake before six, Qrow tended to wake up whenever he felt like it. 

Currently, Qrow was snoring softly, taking up more than his share of the bed, limbs haphazardly sprawled around him. Clover smiled at him, petting his hair and wrapping an arm around him, enjoying the contented expression on Qrow’s face. Whenever he wasn’t having a nightmare, Qrow always looked so peaceful when he slept; it made it difficult for Clover to wake him up. 

His stomach rumbled quietly, and he reluctantly sat up. He didn’t want to leave Qrow, but breakfast sounded like the best option for him right now— Qrow always seemed to enjoy not having to make his own food, so he slipped out of bed, kissing Qrow’s forehead as he got up. 

Everything had its own special place in their kitchen, even if Qrow often forgot and put things out of their spots. Luckily for Clover, everything he needed was where he expected it to be, so brewing the coffee and getting the eggs and bacon started was effortless for him. 

The routine was far more domestic than his previous life as an Ace Op, but Clove found this to be far more enjoyable. There was something so peaceful about the silence of the morning, as opposed to the buzz of the Atlas Academy he had once been so used to. Now, he was allowed to take his time, instead of having a strict schedule that he needed to adhere to. 

And then there was the fact that the love of his life was sleeping a few rooms over.

When he first met Qrow, he had no idea that he would end up falling for him as hard as he did. His first impression of him was that he was cute and rough around the edges, and Clover had decided to become his friend from the second he heard about his semblance. Clover didn’t expect to fall for him so hard or fast, but he never found himself complaining— especially when Qrow ended up falling for him just the same. Everything about their relationship felt natural from the beginning, and Clover found himself a better and happier person for having Qrow in his life.

Humming something nonsensical to himself, Clover poured two cups of coffee, setting them on the counter. After glancing at the stove to make sure nothing was burning, he carefully doctored his own coffee— Qrow liked his coffee purely black, but Clover preferred some sweetness to his. 

Once the coffee had been perfected, he set the cups down on the table, returning to the food sizzling away on the stove. While the bacon still needed a little longer, he noted, the eggs were perfect and ready to be plated. 

As he did just that, Clover felt a pair of arms snake around him, cold hands reaching underneath his shirt to steal his oh-so-precious body heat. 

“Good morning, Qrow.” Clover said lovingly, more than used to this sort of morning routine. 

Qrow responded with something that sounded vaguely like ‘morning,’ but came out as more of an incoherent grumble than anything else. Clover chuckled fondly, finding the half-awake Qrow adorably endearing. 

He continued cooking with Qrow wrapped around him, heart full of love as he made the two of them breakfast. Before he met Qrow, cooking was more of a necessity than a hobby, only cooking for himself so he had healthy options for himself after a hard day of work. But now that he and Qrow were married, he found cooking an enjoyable hobby, and loved watching the way Qrow’s face would light up whenever he ate something he particularly liked. He’d even seen Qrow do a happy little dance a few times whilst eating— something that was so unfathomably adorable to him that he couldn’t help but smile even at the memory. 

While he finished transferring the last of the bacon from the stove to the plates, Clover noticed Qrow try to steal some from one of the plates before he was done. Rolling his eyes fondly, Clover gently smacked Qrow’s hand away.     “Patience, Qrow. I’m almost done.” Clover said, finishing the preparations and setting the food on their table, watching as Qrow almost immediately sat down across from him, perking up once he saw the coffee. 

Qrow always ate like someone was about to take his food away from him. When Clover had first asked him about it, he learned that it was because for most of his childhood, that was exactly the case. It took a long time for him to break this habit, and even now, he had a tendency to eat faster than he probably should’ve. The only exception to this was when he was eating something he loved; Clover couldn’t help but puff up in pride as he watched Qrow take his time with the breakfast he’d prepared for him.  

As the sun rose behind them, the light managed to hit Qrow in a way that surrounded him in a soft, almost ethereal glow.  Qrow looked up at him and smiled softly, and Clover felt his heart practically beat out of his chest, heart full of love for the man in front of him. Clover stared at him, awestruck at how beautiful he was— were they not already married, he likely would have proposed right then and there.Clover was so absolutely, hopelessly in love— Qrow meant the world to him, and he would do anything for him. Even brief, domestic moments like these took his breath away; he was so completely and utterly infatuated with Qrow that anything and everything he did only left him more in love. 

They chatted about nothing as they finished their breakfasts, both of them smiling and laughing at the smallest things. They had been through so much together, and yet here they were, living a quiet, domestic life together—

And it was the happiest either of them had ever been.

[luci-cunt]

Ok so when I said I was writing fanfic for AW I planned on doing a lighthearted cops/robbers kinda thing and then last night i woke up at 4am and wrote this all down and the only way I can describe it is as “Markus Zusak meets William Goldman” and I’m very sorry.

Anyways, here’s 

“This is a love story”

--------------------------------------------------------

There was blood on the linoleum tiles, it shone in the garishly bright lights of the store. Everything looked slick, and hazy, and Izetta laid out on her back with her head resting next to the gasping man. 

They both stared up at the ceiling--the man because he couldn’t move other than to wheeze a few more desperate breaths--and Izetta because she was waiting for someone. 

“Bi--bitch,” the man dying managed to choke out. 

It just made Izetta smile. “Yeah.”

This--as unbelievable as it may seem--is a love story. 

Not between these two, however, but something a bit more… unexplainable. The concept of love predates the concept of hate, or murder--if you believe in a dusty book with just about one thousand too many words trying to explain the utterly unattainable seeming concept of: do not be a dick. Of course, maybe you follow a different religion--they all have a book though--the big ones at least. 

However, I was there--at the beginning of all time, and I can tell you this one particular thing: no one started it. 

The universe was created on a wild coincidence, and the planet you’re currently sitting on was forged in the opulent expanses of pure, unadulterated, chance. 

One thing that is for certain is that--no, I will not be explaining who I am because I don’t matter--remember, this is a love story and I am but a concept given a typewriter and a fuck ton of a magical substance called caffiene. Remarkably, I find it tolerable, despite the fact that I watched you humans learn to chew the beans by watching goats get high. 

I digress, back to Izetta and her stained linoleum floor. 

The man laying beside her, dying painfully slowly had a name. It doesn’t matter though, all that does matter is that he was taking far too long to reach the end of life. 

Finally, finally, the man wheezed his last breath and his eyes went dark and his body limp and lifeless. Izetta grinned, still staring up at the ceiling, her ears perked for any sign of her expected visitor. 

As usual, there was no sound. At least, not until she wanted to be heard of course. 

“Sloppy,” Ivory said, making Izetta’s grin widen painfully. 

“Hello darling,” she said, pushing herself up to get a good look at the woman looking distastefully down at the man on the floor. 

Something to note: after death you have the opportunity to become a guardian of sorts. You can watch over someone of your choosing and assist them through their life, keeping them safe. Most people stick to their families, others will latch on to total strangers just for the excitement, and others still--well, they’re Ivory. 

Ivory has a brother, who has a husband. She has two nephews and three godchildren. She is also too good at her job. Despite the--for lack of a better term--OP seeming possibility of guardians, they are still human, they still make mistakes and death does not make you omniscient. Ivory however, is clever. Her brother survived four natural disasters, an attempted hostage situation, and a very messy run-in with a garbage disposal. 

This couldn’t be tolerated, people do have to die at some point--thus is the circle of life. And so she was forcibly reassigned. 

This is when she met Izetta--another woman horrifically good at her job. She worked as an assassin, hunting and killing people and she noticed when Ivory appeared. Most don’t, guardians are silent things, they watch over you and keep you safe in subtle ways. Izetta however, had a bit of a… shall we say… remarkably idiotic streak. 

When she noticed Ivory she began actively trying to kill herself to test just how far her newfound ‘luck’ would get her. 

And that was when Izetta met Ivory. 

On your deathbed is the only time you can see a guardian, they’re supposed to explain the concept to you, offer you the choice, and then move on to the next family member or just off into the ether. 

Izetta had to drop four toasters into her bathtub and blow her apartment up with C4 to see Ivory. 

And then it became a game. 

Izetta began to literally flirt with death, an affair that wasn’t unreciprocated. But then Ivory ran into the same problem she’d run into before--she was too good at her job. 

They’re last moment together was a quiet one, both sprawled out in a bed, skin slick with sweat and breathing heavy as they stared at the ceiling with their heads together. 

“How did you die?” she asked bluntly. Honestly she had expected something flippant as an answer. Ivory was a strong woman, she took every hit with her teeth gritted and her fists clenched just waiting for the next opening. 

So when Ivory went quiet, Izetta was surprised enough that he turned her head to see Ivory’s dark expression. She was quick to push herself up and bring a hand to Ivory’s cheek, all mirth draining from their conversation. Ivory’s eyes looked dull, empty. 

“You don’t have to answer that I didn’t mean to--” 

“My mother,” Ivory cut her off. Izetta blinked, she didn’t get the chance to speak though, because Ivory was speaking again. “I died saving my brother from my mother.” 

There was a long, endless stretch of silence. “Fuck,” Izetta whispered. 

And then in the next moment Ivory was gone, vanished into thin air. It was always impossible to tell when Ivory’s will to keep her physical form would reach an end, usually it was sudden, but in this case it made Izetta ache. 

She laid awake, alone in bed for a long time, before she finally made up her mind. She caught a bus, taking it to the last place Ivory had mentioned living--Wyoming--and she found herself a phone book and she searched the entire state until she ended up on Monte Cyron’s doorstep. 

She knew she’d found the right person as soon as she saw him, they could have been twins. He furrowed his brow when he saw her, there was a toddler on his hip and a man a little farther in was cooking something in the kitchen and chatting with another child. 

Izetta felt out of place, uncomfortable, and she drew a blank on what to say. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked. 

“I need you to come with me,” Izetta said. A shitty, half baked and terrible plan forming in her head. 

The man breathed something akin to a laugh. “Uh, no?” he said. 

“Ok,” Izetta said, and then she turned and left. She waited until the man closed the door and then snuck around the side of the house. She could hear them talking inside, quiet murmurs of confusion and concern. Izetta groaned quietly and pulled on her hair, gritting her teeth and cursing herself. 

Then she looked upwards, even though she had no way of knowing where Ivory was watching her from (behind her and a little to the left, her expression dangerously dark but with a glimmer of curiosity) and she whispered. “Sorry, I really hope this works out but just--trust me? Please don’t kill me I’m trying to be nice,” Izetta said.

(it didn’t help Ivory’s expression).

Izetta waited until night had fallen thick and hot over the flat plains of Wyoming, she listened intently for any sign of movement after she heard the two men put their children to sleep, and then, when everything was quiet, she broke into their house. 

Despite her rash personality, Izetta was still a highly experienced assassin who was excellent at her job, breaking in without making a single noise was as easy as slipping into sleep and she carefully crept upstairs. She slipped into their closet, neither man stirred from their sleep, and she waited patiently until one of the children in the other room started crying. 

The two men groaned awake, and then Monte shoved Sinclair off the bed, which was met with a curse and a light-hearted promise of vengeance, but he left the room. Monte himself rolled over, trying to slip back into sleep, and Izetta took her opportunity. She left the closet, quiet as a ghost, and locked the bedroom door. Then, without any hesitation, she jumped on Monte and strangled him half to death. 

To his credit, he fought well, and he almost got away, but Izetta was desperate and she refused to let go. 

Then, right at the last second, she dropped him. He lay still for a brief second, and then gasped, quickly sucking in air and shoving Izetta off of him. She went, scrambling to the far side of the room and then grinned when she noticed the new figure in the room. 

“Monte,” Ivory said, and Monte froze in his vicious attempt to follow after Izetta with the lamp on his bedside. He turned slowly--so very slowly, and then dropped the lamp when he laid eyes on Ivory. 

“Ivory?” he whispered in disbelief. 

They crashed into one another in the space between blinks and held each other so tightly it looked painful. Ivory’s eyes were squeezed shut and she held the back of Monte’s neck as he pressed his forehead into her shoulder and held her arms in a vice grip. It looked so practiced, so easy, like it was second nature to fall into the embrace. 

Then Ivory opened her eyes and glared at Izetta. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” she growled, sounding like she was barely hanging on to her composure. 

Monte pushed away quickly. “What?” he yelped, and Ivory shook her head. 

“Not you--her,” she explained, and Monte jumped at the reminder of Izetta, who waved and tried her best to look polite. 

“Wait--yeah what the fuck?? What the hell is going on?” Monte demanded. 

“Sorry about that whole--choking you to death thing, I was trying to be nice,” Izetta said. 

“You had no idea it would work, you’re a fucking idiot,” Ivory snapped. 

Izetta just shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, but it did work.” 

“Monte--” Ivory said, grabbing her brother’s shoulders and stealing his attention again. “I don’t have much time, I just--” she stopped, like she didn’t know what to say. “I’m so proud of you, and so happy for you.” 

“I don’t--” 

“It’s harder to stay here for someone who isn’t my charge, I’m already slipping but just know--you mean everything to me, and if I could do it all over again--I wouldn’t change a single thing.” 

Ivory didn’t let Monte speak again, she just pulled him into another tight embrace and whispered, “The wedding was beautiful, I’m sorry I could be there for you,” and then she was gone. 

“What--what the fuck,” Monte whispered. 

The doorknob turned, and then Sinclair’s confused voice called out. “Monte?” 

“Shit--ok, I gotta go,” Izetta said, jumping for the window. Monte caught her arm at the last second and she let him, for just a moment.

“Wait--what--?? How--?” he tried, and just shrugged. 

“Sorry I’ve got no idea, bye now,” and then she was gone. 

Again despite her brash personality, Izetta was actually surprisingly observant. She noticed that Ivory wasn’t around her anymore--it was hard to miss. It felt like an aching hole in her chest that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and she was sure it was going to drive her mad. 

She knew Ivory had been forced to leave her brother because she was too good at what she did, and so she just assumed that was what had happened, and she made it her life’s mission to make Ivory horrible at her job. 

And so we meet back at the beginning of our story, with a man bleeding out and Izetta grinning up at the love of her life. 

How she managed to track down an invisible, unknowable entity--I personally have no idea. How she managed to do it for the rest of her life? 

Well, I told you, 

This is a love story.

[lov3nerdstuff]

There's always tomorrow

* Tom Hiddleston x reader * -> friendship/platonic

Parts: Oneshot

Words: 6.6k

Warnings: Tom’s a teacher and you’re a student, but you’re just friends!

Summary: You are a brilliant student, in your last year of high school, but you don't have any friends but your books. Thus you secretly spend your lunch breaks alone in a forbidden hallway, until one certain teacher takes notice of you. Yet he doesn't kick you out and instead sits down with you to talk. Soon you find that sometimes, the most unlikely friendships are the best ones indeed.

Request: Hi! I dont want to be a bother but i have a fic idea I would love to see your take on since your such an amazing writer. Here's the idea: tom works as a teacher in high school and R is this shy and introverted student who doesn't have many friends and she always sits alone and reads at lunch so tom decides to sit with her and they developed some kind of friendship? Just platonic since I imagine the R underage but I would love whatever you decide💜💙💚 -> @lady-of-lies (hope you like this, dear 💗✨)

_____________________________

It was Friday. Thanks goodness that at least this purgatory of a week was slowly coming to an end. It wasn't like you didn't enjoy going to school, really… You loved learning, loved the pleasures of knowledge with a burning passion. And that exactly was the problem. You loved learning, while almost everyone else in your grade just thought of school as a menace that would finally be over in a few months. They deemed you weird, for studying hard, for getting good grades, for enjoying it.

To you, the only two problems in high school were, one, that you had absolutely no friend and thus spent most time by yourself, and two, that they didn't nearly teach you enough and thus left you bored and done with your tasks after five minutes of class.

In perspective, the second problem bothered you way more than the first one. Not having friends was fine, you weren't the boldest person anyway, finding yourself uncomfortable in social situations more often than not. Thus you were left only talking to your classmates when you really had to, finding no interest in those dull creatures outside of the occasional mandatory group project. They were all about partying, gossiping, who had been sleeping with whom… You found no remote interest in that. There were more important things to talk about, more meaningful conversations to be had, and as long as no one was able to give you just that you were fine not talking at all.

So on this Friday noon, just like every day since you had started going to this school last year, you found yourself sitting on the ground in a small hallway at lunchtime, equipped with a book and a sandwich and an apple you'd brought from home. Sure, you could've just taken a seat in the cafeteria… your life wasn't a movie, there were no bullies and cheerleaders, no inseparable groups of friends who excluded everyone, no real need to sit alone on the ground.

But you cherished this time of solitude, of being in the solemn company of the only sane person in this building: yourself. That is also why you had chosen the most desolate part of the entire school to have your lunch by yourself. Usually no one showed up here, in the backstage area of the large auditorium that was occasionally used for the drama and literature classes.

Really, most students didn't even seem to know that this part of school existed in the first place. It was a tiny world in itself, only a couple hallways with storage rooms and workshops and such. Only accessible through a small door in the back of the auditorium, which to be honest you weren't supposed to go into by yourself. But for the one year you'd been going to this school, you had not run into anyone at all while coming here every single day at lunch.

Smiling contently to yourself, you took a bite of your sandwich and allowed yourself a break from existence by letting your book swallow you into its comforting world of imagination.

You were granted exactly thirty minutes of silence and solitude before gente yet swift footsteps drew your mind back to the real world, immediately instilling a sense of panic in your mind. The automatic lights flickered to life once the cause of the noise walked into your part of the hallway and your eyes narrowed at the sudden brightness. Oh no… being caught here would only mean trouble, and you seriously weren't in the mood for that, not when you had only a few more classes left. Yet, panic and fear made you unable to move, working against the natural instinct of flight. All you could do was watch the approaching figure with wide eyes, fingers tightly gripping onto the book in your lap.

"You're not supposed to be in here, are you?" A smooth voice spoke to you, finally making you snap out of your frozen stare. The man currently standing in front of you didn't look like a teacher at all… but you'd seen him in the hallways between classes a few times. You didn't know his name, nor what he taught.

"I…" You started, wide eyes fixed on his as you felt incredibly small. He was tall, REALLY tall, intimidating since you were cowering on the ground, staring up at him like he was some ethereal creature, a manifestation of universal goodness. And he was smiling at you kindly with a subtle hint of amusement.

"You…?" He spoke again, and his curls seemed to form a halo of light around his head as they glowed in the brightness of the overhead lamps.

"I'm not supposed to be in here." You simply said.

"And yet you are." He chuckled, frowning at you a little. "How did you even get in here?"

"There's a door. One can walk through it." You blurted out without thinking, confusion and panic making your mind dizzy.

The man in front of you let out an obviously unintentional snort, before biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing and continue to look somewhat stern at you. It wasn't working all too well. "Thank you for the information, I was well aware of the door indeed. What I was wondering about was what made you walk through that door today."

"Habit?" You tried, still not averting your eyes from his as you felt utterly unable to rise to your feet.

"And before you made a habit of coming here?"

"An inherently curious nature?" You replied in the same uncertain voice.

The man just smiled down at you in the most amused expression you had seen all week, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if debating with himself what to do or ask next.

"How long have you been coming here?" He finally asked, more curious than scolding really.

"A little over a year." You admitted, blushing a deep shade of crimson as you looked back down to the book in your lap. Darn, you really couldn't have told him that. But you found it somehow impossible to lie to him, even if you didn't yet know who he was.

"And you've never run into anyone telling you that it's not allowed for students to be back here?" He frowned, moving to lean against the wall opposite to you and that at least made him seem a little less towering, but no less ethereal.

"I've never run into anyone back here at all." You shrugged, feeling a little less panicked now that there were a few feet between you. "That's the point of me being here in the first place."

"To hide?"

"To find solitude in this chaotic place of inevitable social and intellectual boredom." You replied quickly, once more before thinking. Yet once you realized what you'd just said you started apologizing immediately. "Sorry! I… I didn't mean… It's just..."

"No, it's fine. I think I know what you mean." He mused, shrugging. "Most students don't take interest in their classes, at least not in high school."

"See, that's not what I meant at all." You sighed, frowning to yourself. Should you really be having this conversation with a teacher? You were probably boring his mind out, but he'd asked after all and as long as he wasn't making you return to the busy school hallways you'd be good talking to him here.

So you crossed your legs beneath yourself and placed your book on your backpack. "I find great interest in most of my classes' topics. I love delving into the gain of knowledge, broadening my horizon in a way. In any way, really. But you see, most classes have a rather shallow approach to their contents. I do see that it's not entirely possible to make the classes any more in-depth, as most people will struggle to even understand the basic concepts… But if the students are expected to understand and accept that classes are made for the majority of people, not for the marginal groups, I also expected the teachers to understand that I will feel bored after having understood the lessons' content after two minutes, if I didn't know it even before class time started in the first place."

Once you were finished with your little rant, the man looked at you in sincere surprise for a moment, but you were honestly so surprised with yourself that you found yourself blushing all the more, and looking back down to the ground. "Sorry, I really shouldn't have said that…"

"Don't apologise for having an opinion." He replied calmly, encouragingly almost. "You have every right to say what you think, especially since I asked about it. I'm just a little surprised, that is all."

You peaked back up at him carefully, doubtful of what he must be thinking of you now. Honestly, you weren't someone to ever talk to a teacher this rudely. You would think to yourself how ridiculous the mistakes were that they were making most of the time, but you would keep it solemnly to yourself.

"So you're coming here to read during the lunch break?" He asked after a moment of silence, drawing you back from your troubled thoughts.

"Yeah." You replied softly, finding it oddly easy and pleasant to talk to him.

"Shouldn't you be sitting in the cafeteria with your friends? Spending a little time with your classmates away from studying?" He inquired further and you found yourself inclined to answer.

"No, I'm fairly good on my own. I can't really find any interest in their conversations and I'd rather spend my energy reading than pretending to care. And I'm not studying, just reading for fun." You gave him a half smile, watching how he casually leaned against the wall with a curious expression.

"You're reading Hamlet for fun?" He rose an eyebrow at you in amusement. "Not that I'd be judging…"

"Yes...?" You gave back reluctantly. "Isn't that something normal people do? Consuming literature for the sake of entertainment?"

"They do, but I'm afraid most people wouldn't deem Shakespeare very entertaining." He laughed, shaking his head to himself and you blushed again, looking at your book and then at your feet, which felt increasingly numb from being crossed for too long.

"Sorry, I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He said quickly, without the previous amusement. "I love Shakespeare too, his works are truly remarkable. The way he revolutionized the use of language…"

"I know! I love all the small neologisms that we don't even notice today because our modern words are based on them. Reading his works is so much fun in its entirety, both for the content and the art of wording itself!" You said excitedly, yet again feeling your cheeks heat up at the rather passionate outburst. "Sorry, that was just me geeking out a little…"

He smiled widely at that, then frowned a little. "Why aren't you taking literature classes?"

"How do you know I don't?" You asked right back.

"Because I teach them all." He laughed, still trying to keep from smiling all too brightly. "I would know if you were in any of my classes. I teach literature, English and drama, even though most people don't believe those are separate classes."

"Oh, so that's why I don't know you…" You mused, chewing on your bottom lip. "I switched schools before the beginning of last year, so I've only been here a year and the little bit of this started one… But I won't be here for much longer."

"Why not?"

"It's my last year." You smiled with a sigh. "I'm looking forward to a challenge, for once, when I go to college."

"And that keeps you from taking my literature class?" He asked with a small smile.

"Of course not…" You shook your head, blushing yet again. The reason why you hadn't taken literature indeed wasn't really something you wanted to share with him.

"Anyway, I'm Mr. Hiddleston. Since we've not had the pleasure before..." He said lightly, obviously noticing your discomfort with the previous question and you were beyond thankful that he'd let it go.

"I'm Y/n." You gave him a small smile in return. "Nice to meet you. I think I've actually heard about you before."

"You have?" He laughed, eyes bright and curious and you felt yourself blushing yet again. Couldn't you keep your stupid mouth shut?

"Uuh, I've just overhead a few classmates talking about your English class, I think…" You finally managed to say, and given that it was the truth you felt a little less embarrassed.

"Well, I hope you've only heard good things then." He smiled and for a moment you looked at each other in complete uncertainty of what to say. "Lunch break is almost over…" He finally commented, looking at his watch with a frown.

"Too bad." You sighed, packing up your empty lunchbox and your book. "Lunch is my favorite subject. It's usually more productive than any of my classes."

He laughed at that, shaking his head to himself as he stood upright once again. "I'm sorry for interrupting your reading time with my questions."

"Please don't be, I enjoyed talking to you. It was nice not being alone for once. Which admittedly is a rare thing for me." Your mouth was faster than your brain again, and you felt flustered but frowned a little nonetheless as you rose to your feet. "I mean… wouldn't you have kicked me out anyway? I mean students aren't allowed to be in here."

"Students aren't allowed to be in here ALONE. You weren't alone. I was here. Don't see a problem." He smiled easily as you both sauntered towards the exit and through the auditorium. Why was he being so nice to you? Usually teachers didn't miss any opportunity to demonstrate their power over the students, leave alone talk to them if they didn't have to… Mr. Hiddleston was different. A good different, you thought.

"Y/n…" He said as you both stepped back into the main hallway. "I must inform you that you may not go back in there by yourself, and so on and so forth. Do you understand?"

"I do understand, but I cannot promise you that I will listen to it." You said sincerely, surprised yet again at your honesty. What by all gods were you even doing here, talking to a teacher like that?

He suppressed another grin, looking at the ground for a short moment before his eyes were back with yours. "Have a lovely weekend. I'll see you on Monday." With one last amused smile he turned around and sauntered down the hallway, probably heading to his next class while you were left frowning to yourself as you went on to yours. Only in the middle of class your mind suddenly hit the pause button for the outside world: why would he see you on Monday?

_______________

The weekend went by in a blur, you finished Hamlet and another random book and sooner than expected it was Monday morning. But really… Monday always came sooner than expected. Equipped with a new read you went on to school, suffering through the first few classes. If only they would at least try to make things interesting… you'd asked for some further tasks once you'd been done early yet again, but the answer was always the same: be happy that you're done and stay at your seat in silence. No reading, no phone, no drawing… nothing but sitting and staring out of the window.

However during the last class before lunch, you honestly wished yourself back to staring out of the window. It was history, a subject you actually did find interest in as it served as a good basis for many other things (like literature, music, arts, sociology…). Unfortunately today it was time for yet another group project, making you feel sick almost immediately. You just hated group projects… they always ended up the same: you had to do all the work by yourself and the others got credit for it. And that already was the best outcome of all possible scenarios.

Again, it was the same old. People had formed groups already, and as always no one wanted to work with you (stupid of them, you thought… they weren't even smart enough to see that you could, and would, help them to a better grade). But unlike the other times, your teacher was having enough of your suggestion to just work by yourself and forced you upon a group of three people, who all seemed to despise the idea just as much as you did. Once class was over, you quickly packed up your things and made for the door as quickly as possible. Unfortunately you didn't get all too far before the voices of your new group members reached your ears, bearing the usual insults and complaints which could be accurately summed up as 'Fuck off Y/n'.

God, why did people have to be so cruel… You hadn't done anything at all but getting good grades without much effort. How was that supposed to be your fault? It wasn't like you had chosen to be this way really…

Feeling equally sad and angry you made your way towards the auditorium, crossing it with quick steps and walking through the backdoor into your own realm of solitude. With a long sigh you carelessly dropped your backpack on the floor and sat down next to it, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn't want to cry, really… only sulk in peace. And sulking you did, for exactly thirty minutes until you heard the now familiar footsteps approaching you.

"I know, I'm not supposed to be here." You groaned, hiding your face as you rested your forehead on your knees. "Just tell me to go and we'll get it over with."

"Why would I tell you to go?" Mr. Hiddleston's calm voice wrapped around your troubled mind like a liquid soothing cold applied to a scorching burn.

"Because it's what teachers do." You sighed to yourself, still not looking at him. "You make life insufferable as a hobby."

"Now, I think you're doing me injustice." He spoke with a smile that you could clearly hear in his voice. "I didn't come here to make you leave."

Now you finally lifted your head and looked at the man standing on the opposite wall. As your eyes met his, he offered you a kind smile. "May I?" He motioning to the space on the ground opposite to you.

You nodded. Whatever reason he had to spend his precious lunch time with you, you were honestly glad for some NICE company for once. Really, you didn't even know him all that well, he was still a teacher after all, but his presence was calming and he was interesting enough of a person to talk to. You couldn't predict a single thing he did or said, and that intrigued you. He seemed like a man with a brain.

"I'm sorry." You finally said, resting your chin on your knees and blushing ever so slightly as your mind allowed other emotions than sadness and anger. "I insulted your profession, that wasn't right. Being mad at individuals doesn't justify generalization, nor impoliteness."

"Very true indeed. And I accept your apology, we all have a bad day sometimes. Also, I unintentionally insulted you on Friday, so I think we're even now." He replied in the same calm his features showed as he rested his forearms on his propped up knees.

"You insulted me?" You frowned, voice small and reflecting your tiredness. "I hadn't noticed."

"I assumed you were an average student. Lazy, shallow, indifferent." He shrugged and your lips formed the tiniest of smiles. "We all have prejudices, Y/n… Classification is natural thing. However what defines us as a person is how we let those prejudices affect our behavior and how aware we are of having them in the first place."

You sighed, nodding in agreement. "You're right… I still didn't mean to behave so hostile."

"Defense and coping mechanisms." He replied with a half smile. "You were clearly hurt by something or someone and thus lashed out at the weakest subject in reach, in this case... me. It's not rocket science really… I understand. We're all good."

You couldn't help but frown at the man in front of you. He was smarter than any of your other teachers and it left you wondering why someone like him would be sitting on the floor with a student. Yet, questioning him would've been just rude and thus you decided on finding out when the time had come.

"What's gotten you so upset, if I may ask?" He inquired politely, leaning his head against the wall as he watched you curiously.

"You know Miss Jones, right?" You sighed, mirroring his sitting position more or less intentionally. "She forced me to work on a project with people who absolutely despise me to their very core."

"I can hardly believe that someone would actually despise you." He replied, frowning a little. "You seem like a very capable young woman, I would have assumed people wanting to work with you were piling up on your doorstep."

You smiled sadly, somewhat flattered by the subtle compliment. "Well, then you assumed wrong. To me at least 'go work alone if you're so smart' doesn't really sound like people want to work with me. Neither does the ever so charming 'fuck off nerd'..."

"People really say that to you?" He frowned deeply, an almost sad expression making his sharp jawline stand out even more.

"All the time, actually…" You sighed, playing with the loose strings of your ripped jeans. "It's not that bad really. They can't hurt me anymore. I'm only so upset because I would have preferred to work alone."

"And Miss Jones wouldn't let you?"

"No… She said it was an important part of my education to learn to work with other people. Which is just ironic if you ask me…"

"Why is it ironic?" He asked curiously, obviously interested in your thoughts for real and not just out of politeness. That actually felt nice… not even your parents were SERIOUSLY interested in your opinion on things.

"It's ironic because I enjoy working with people, I'm good at it even. But I refuse to believe that working with people who put in zero effort and who don't own a single shred of basic human decency is 'preparing me for a realistic work environment'." You snorted, shaking your head at the stupid remark your teacher had given you. "I expect my equals to meet me with respect when working, even if we don't get along personally. Or at least to care about the project."

"I think you're right to do so." He shrugged. "I mean as a teacher I'm supposed to tell you now how valuable this experience is, and how you should try to work through your differences with your group, or even motivate you to find friends and such, but honestly… I totally agree with you. They're indifferent idiots, likely to maybe get a minor degree and eventually end up as chess pieces to brilliant minds like yours."

You rose an eyebrow at his comment, unable to keep the small smirk off your lips. "Well, that was honest."

He returned a slightly flustered smile, shrugging yet again. "You were honest with me and I intend to return the favor. I'm not your teacher after all, only A teacher."

"True." You smiled back. "And since the school year is already a few weeks in, it's safe to say that you won't ever be."

"I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing…" He mused, frowning to himself in contemplation. "I think I would've enjoyed hearing your thoughts and opinions in class."

"I would say it's a very good thing indeed!" You replied immediately. "The confinements of a classroom, of a predetermined social structure are rather counterproductive for a valuable conversation. I don't think we could, or would be talking like this if I was in your classes indeed. And you can always hear my thoughts and opinions… You do right now, after all."

"Okay, you convinced me. It is a good thing we met like this. Even though you probably don't enjoy me intruding the solitude of your lunch break." He chuckled, stretching out his incredibly long legs across the hallway to sit more comfortably.

"Oh, I don't mind at all! I mean I don't understand why you would willingly spend your time with me back here, but I most certainly appreciate the company. Most people don't really bother talking to me… it's nice having some who understands what I'm saying for once." You smiled, feeling both flustered and flattered. Having him here with you was nice indeed… it made you feel less lonely, less like you were the only one of your kind.

"Honestly, I thought I was here because I couldn't let you be back here alone, because of the rules. But I reconsidered that, and now I assume I'm here simply because I don't want you to be alone, to feel alone. And I find myself enjoying your company." He smiled calmly, and you were honestly surprised that you didn't feel flustered. Only… happy.

"I enjoy your company too..." You gave him another half smile, your voice quiet but certain.

"Whew, what a relief!" He laughed, smiling at you in sincere amusement, maybe even a little irony. "Even though I disturbed your reading time?"

"Yeah… you cheered me up, after all." You chuckled too, finding that you relaxed more and more in the time you spent with him.

"Good." He said contently. "Not feeling sad about the group project and your classmates anymore?"

"Nope. Only annoyed, honestly… I don't want them to ruin my good grade." You shrugged, pausing for a second before you spoke on. "That must sound really arrogant of me to say… I'm sorry."

"It's not arrogant at all. I understand you, more than you realize probably. I used to be like that in school too, you know… It's not easy. And I can't promise you anything, but for me at least things got better in college." His voice was so encouraging and kind that you found yourself feeling surprisingly calm, content even.

"Thank you." You smiled, openly and honestly. "For being here, and talking to me… For everything, I guess."

"You're always welcome." He smiled back, sighing. Only when he looked at his watch, his eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. "Fuck… class time started ten minutes ago!"

"Oh no…" You groaned in as little despair as possible. "I'm so sorry!"

"Nonsense, you don't have to be sorry!" He replied as you both hurriedly rose to your feet and made for the exit. "Time flies when you're having fun..."

"I hope Mr. Peterson doesn't kill me for being late…" You mused as you stepped into the hallway.

"Math or physics?" He asked with the ever present curiosity that by now reminded you so much of your own that you couldn't help but smile.

"Math." You sighed. "I hate being late, even though I know most of the things we're talking about already."

"I'm gonna show you to your class."

"You really don't have to, I mean I'm sure you have a class to attend to yourself…"

"Nah, it's alright. I'll be in less trouble than you, so the least I can do now is apologizing to Mr. Peterson for causing you to be late."

With that you both quickly made your way to your classroom, your skin prickling in both anxiety and excitement. And indeed, as you opened the door and quickly made for your seat with a deep crimson on your cheeks, you saw Mr. Hiddleston moving to say a few quiet words to your maths teacher before turning back around to leave, giving you a very subtle thumbs up and a small smile before disappearing out of the door.

_______________

For the remainder of the week and also the next two, Mr. Hiddleston would come by for the last ten minutes of your lunch break, sitting down with you in the hallway of your secret backstage world. You'd talk about your classes, his classes, the books you were reading… all kinds of things really, and you found yourself enjoying those conversations immensely. He was such an interesting person, a bright and brilliant mind full of ideas and fascinating thoughts, and somehow he seemed to see something similar in you.

However after three weeks of coming by only for the last bit of your break, something started to change. Every day, he would come a little earlier while you were actually waiting for him from the very first moment. Somehow this lunch break ritual had become your solemn reason to look forward to every new day, and you couldn't really bring yourself to mind it at all.

Eventually, after a while of him showing up earlier and earlier, he arrived mere minutes after you did and you spent the entire break talking about absolutely everything that came to your minds. Maybe it was due to your meeting space, or maybe due to whatever else, but somehow both of you seemed to grow increasingly fond of each other while growing increasingly less aware of the fact that you were still teacher and student. But it didn't matter, as long as you were just two people enjoying talking to each other. Some days you would be talking the entire time, some days he would bring a book and you'd both read together in comfortable silence, sitting across from each other in the hallway.

You talked about literature quite a lot, and about philosophy and society… each conversation as meaningful and yet as entertaining and light as you could only wish for.

Things were going really well, and by the time the Christmas break rolled around, you were certain that you had finally found one true friend in school, and in general. Even if he was a teacher and probably about twenty years older than you, but you honestly couldn't bring yourself to care.

On Wednesday night before the Christmas break, you finally decided that you would at least try to make a small attempt at showing him how much you appreciated your time together, how much you'd grown to value your friendship (even though you found yourself wondering if HE would consider you a friend in return). You wanted to give him a Christmas present. Nothing extraordinary, or special… only something he would appreciate.

What did he enjoy most? Literature, most definitely. Discussions, thoughts, emotions... You'd grown to know him quite well by now, to know some of the depths of his mind. But you also knew that he already owned probably every single piece of literature you could offer him. Maybe… no, that probably was just silly, wasn't it? But really… was it? The idea definitely stayed with you, and on Thursday morning you just followed instinct and went along with it.

When you dropped down in your hallway, placing your backpack next to you, you could already hear the door being opened and the same familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey Y/n..." He greeted you with a smile, walking down the short hallway towards you. "How was art class?"

"Gosh, I think that the teacher forgets sometimes that we're adults too. She made us craft Christmas cards for our families… Maybe someone should tell her that in modern times, families expect good grades and perfect college applications for Christmas." You snorted, watching how he sat down in his usual place opposite from you with a small grin.

"I don't think your family has anything to worry about." He chuckled, looking at you with a sparkle in his eyes that didn't cease to amaze you.

"Yeah, I have my application written already." You chuckled, smirking at him in amusement.

"You never told me where you want to apply…"

"Cambridge." You shrugged, smiling. "It's one of the best universities in the world. Really hard to get into."

"I'm sure you will get in with ease." He sighed. "If they spend a single minute talking to you, they will know just how extraordinary you are. Brilliant, really."

"You flatter me way too much." You chuckled, shaking your head. "Anyway…" With that you opened your backpack and pulled out a medium sized box, opening the lid with a grin to reveal a bright bunch of baked goods. "I made cookies yesterday afternoon!"

"Those look really tasty." He smiled. "What would Christmas be without some biscuits?"

"These are cookies! That's different." You laughed, knowing full well that he knew the difference indeed. He enjoyed teasing you way too much, but honestly… you enjoyed it too. "Come here now and try one, at least!"

His eyes widened a tiny bit, and he looked rather reluctant for a short moment, before pointing to the space next to you on the ground with a small gesture. "You… Uh, may I?"

"Of course." You replied calmly, with a bright smile, and a moment later he was sitting next to you, looking the tiniest bit flustered but content.

"I didn't know if it would make you uncomfortable to sit next to me." He shrugged a little, taking one of the cookies out of the box you were holding out to him.

"I'm not uncomfortable at all! I actually…" You felt your cheeks heat up for the first time in weeks while talking to him, and it made you stop in your sentence.

"You what?" He asked calmly, encouragingly and with the kindest expression as he leaned his head against the wall behind you, looking at you in curiosity.

"I consider you my friend." You finally brought out, feeling a little more embarrassed than you would've liked. Maybe he would think you're silly now, but just like you had noticed on the very first day… you couldn't lie to him.

"And that's making you blush?" He inquired in amusement.

"Well, I feel a little silly for expecting you, for wishing for you to befriend me too." You shrugged. "I'm sure you have more interesting acquaintances than me."

"I consider you to be my friend, Y/n…" He replied calmly. "I wouldn't be sitting here with you every day if I didn't."

You inevitably had to smile at that, looking down at the cookies in your lap. "Having a friend is amazing… Even if our friendship is a little…"

"Unusual?"

"Unlikely." You chuckled. "But no less real."

"Well… cheers to true words." He laughed, picking up another cookie from the box and happily munching away on it.

Slowly the box with the cookies grew emptier as the lunch break progressed, both of you talking about your plans for the Christmas holidays. Only when it was time for both of you to go back to your classes, when he moved to rise to his feet, you stopped him.

"Wait a second, I… I have something for you. A Christmas present, of sorts." You smiled, putting the empty cookie box into your backpack and instead taking out a neatly wrapped present. "It's really nothing special, but I thought you might find some joy in it."

His eyes lit up ever so slightly as he took the small gift out of your hands, gently, looking down at it with a soft smile. "I… thank you. Would you prefer me to open it now or on Christmas?"

"Oh, I really don't mind whatever you choose. You can just go ahead and open it, really… Like I said, it's nothing special."

"It is special to me, just because it is a gift from you." He gave you a sincere, wider smile before looking back at the present in his lap. "I'll open it now."

Carefully he unwrapped it and his smile broadened even more as his eyes fell upon the book in his hands.

"I know, giving a book to a literature teacher isn't the most creative idea, and I'm most certain that you have read it already, as it's truly amazing, but… literature just is what you love most. And you always seemed to enjoy my thoughts and ideas and random snippets of information." You spoke before he could. "So… I'm giving you my own copy of High-Rise, as it's one of my absolute favorites. I annotated it, put some papers and sticky notes in between the pages… with every thought and idea I had, every connection I could draw and every oh so little snippet of my thoughts."

The way he smiled at you then reminded you of the first day you had met… he was this ethereal creature, a being made of bright light and warmth. And more intelligence than healthy, probably.

"It's one of my all time favorites too." He replied quietly, yet with so much adoration and happiness that you couldn't help but grin. "This is one of the most amazing presents anyone has ever given to me and I cannot thank you enough."

"You're very welcome." You replied happily. "I hope you enjoy my thoughts."

"I know I will." He turned to you, smiling. "But unfortunately, very unfortunately, we have to go to class now."

"There's always tomorrow." You smiled as both of you rose to your feet, making your way to class indeed.

When you sat down in your hallway on Friday noon, you honestly felt sad that this would be the last day for two weeks you got to talk to Mr. Hiddleston. Not only because he was your (only) friend, but also because he, and your conversations, really were the only things that were able to keep your mind entertained and busy. You'd miss him.

Yet once he showed up and you got talking, you quickly felt a lot better. Just like you always did. Finally, shortly before classes started and you would have to say goodbye to each other, he placed a small and neatly wrapped gift in your lap with a bright smile. “I thought I’d return the favor… Your present really did make me very happy and I dearly hope this will do the same for you.”

Your eyes widened a little and your slips formed a smile on their own account. "Thank you so much! That's very sweet of you, but you really didn't have to…"

"Oh, I wanted to give this to you anyway. I had planned it for a while now, but your present yesterday… made me reconsider yet again." He grinned. "Do open it, please."

With an excited smile you unwrapped your present, also finding a book, but one you hadn't read yet. That alone made you grin; of course he would give you a book too… You loved literature after all probably just as much as he did.

"This is another one of my favorites…" He smiled, sitting next to you once more. Even without the cookies, somehow you'd just sat down next to each other today without questioning it. "The Night Manager… It's a fascinating read, John le Carré has an amazing style of writing. Have you read it?"

"I actually haven't, no… but I will after Christmas break!" You smirked.

"I planned on giving you this book just like that, but I absolutely loved your idea… So here's my own, annotated version." He smiled brightly. "I've had it since college."

You flipped open the first page, careful not to lose any of the papers tugged into the book. Then you smiled so bright that no Christmas lights could have compared to you. On the first page it read 'To Y/n, in hopes that we will continue to have these conversations in person for many years to come. Your friend, Tom.'

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[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of November 6th, 2019

Best of this Week: Legion of Doom #35 (Justice League #35) - Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, Francis Manapul, HI-FI and Tom Napolitano

Doom is Here.

The Justice League is in shambles after the explosive events of the last issue which saw Starman’s death, The Anti-Monitor being coaxed back to his mother’s side and Hawgirl’s hubris leading to Perpetua regaining her lost power. Just when victory seemed at hand, it was ripped away in an instance and everything that Lex Luthor had planned and fought for was finally coming to fruition. We’ve all been wondering why the Symbol of Doom had been appearing above the skies of the DC Universe and now we know. Doom is winning.

This issue picks back up with the League still reeling from what just happened. Superman is defiant in the face of defeat, but the Starman of the Justice Society tells him that since the connection between him and the other Starmen is gone, then Will Payton the Starman of Earth-0, must have been killed in the battle. This leads Jarro to surmise that everything in Starman’s vision is coming true, that The Last Great Disaster was still coming. Kamandi sits in utter defeat, thinking of his world, the likely result of that disaster.

This is especially distressing for him because he had so much hope going into the time travel fight. He comes from such a horrible world where anthropomorphic animals are in a constant war with each other. He thought that everything was hopeless until Wonder Woman convinced him that e timeline was worth fighting for. It’s almost because of him that all of the other Leagues were brought together and given hope, so knowing that things didn’t go exactly according to plan is probably crushing him.

The Leagues that managed to get back to Earth-0 are unaware of what happened out in Space and don’t know that the Anti-Monitor took over the body that he had begun to share with his brothers, the Monitor and the World Forger. Superman thinks that they’ll still be able to get their help as they still have the pieces of The Totality (The macguffin that would have saved the universe), but Batman rationalizes that whatever happened out there must have been absolutely dire. As they go to check on Miss Martian and the other Titans, they find that she’s had a massive psychic wave wash over her because of the Symbol of Doom. Raven feels it too as all of the universes negative emotions are dragged to the surface and amplified. It’s not only this Earth and this universe that can see it. 

It’s all of them. 

Francis Manapul does an amazing job of capturing the scale and danger of Perpetua’s victory by stretching the Symbol of Doom across six vertical panels showing the other heroes of the world looking up at the sky. Batwoman in Gotham, Black Canary and Green Arrow in Seattle, The Marvels in Philadelphia, Swamp Thing and Detective Chimp in Louisiana, CATMAN IN TANZANIA and the Rocket Red Brigade in St. Petersburg all look toward the sky and see that Doom is coming for them all. Each of these panels are colored in Manapul’s almost airbrush-y style. They’re vibrant, but still give off that feeling of bad tidings. 

All of this is absolutely terrifying because there are so many villains and criminals active in the DC Universe. We’ve been seeing the result of Lex’s different offerings over the course of the various stories and while some like Jason Todd’s supervillain team are innocuous, others like Mr. Freeze have been committing absolute terrors in Gotham. Doom is seeping its way into the hearts of the people and they absolutely love it. Heck, this book even starts with a guy holding a sign in front of the Hall of Justice saying “Luthor was Right.”

It doesn’t stop there as it can be seen from Darkseid’s Ghost Sector, Oa, Barbatos’ prison in the Dark Multiverse, the Crime Syndicate’s Earth-3 (even though all of them are supposed to be dead) and even the World Orrery in the center of the Multiverse. The power of Doom itself stretches far and wide and one world gets an unfortunate taste of it. We are then transported to Earth-19, the Gotham by Gaslight Universe, as Bruce Wayne and Inspector Gordon look up to the sky, seeing the Symbol of Doom and Perpetua herself. 

The scene is painted in a beautiful purple hue and heavy inks. Everything feels utterly dark, not only because of the setting, but also because of the panic on the people's faces. They scream that they’ve gone man, that the world is ending. Perpetua condemns the world for being so primitive because of the heavy fog of industry and their lean towards Justice. Batman himself tries to call for help, but the signal is blocked. Perpetua takes notice of him and chastises him for his choices, and uses her power to begin the destruction of the world. Batman realizes the end is near and reveals the knowledge of the Multiverse to Gordon, who responds by asking what the hell can they do against her and Batman replies they’ll do what they can, a hero to the end.

Perpetua crashes her staff into Earth-19, sending a shockwave through the planet that cracks it apart with fire and thunder. Starting out with one wide shot panel of Perpetua towering over the city and slowly pulling in to the terror of the citizens running away, we can feel the fear and terror on the people’s faces. Even as Batman tries to save a frantic child amidst the utter destruction, we know that there is truly nothing he can do as Perpetua announces that there are now only Fifty-One Earths. It’s heartbreaking as it all ends with a distorted, yellow panel of Perpetua’s evil eyes. 

Meanwhile, Hawkgirl and Shayne (the child of Hawkgirl and Martian Manhunter) drift in the emptiness of space. Hawkgirl’s still suffering from her injuries at the hands of Lex Luthor, a result of her thinking that she would be able to get revenge for the death of J’onn J’onzz, but unfortunately allowing him to get the drop on her, causing the entire plan to go awry. There’s still a small bit of hope as Hawkgirl and Shayne manage to reach Batman on the Javelin’s comms. Batman warns them that they need to escape as quickly as they can as they won’t stay hidden for long. The warning rings true as Perpetua allows Luthor to hit the Javelin, stranding them in space and finally giving Luthor the reigns to attack the League head on. 

This issue was absolutely fantastic from start to finish. While I have criticized The Batman Who Laughs for being an OP character that always wins, that has always come with the caveat that he’s just another Batman and has plans on top of plans. Perpetua and Luthor are different because it is shown that there is a small chance that they can fail. The last issue planted that idea in our minds with Hawkgirl being the linchpin to their defeat, but her hubris allowed Doom to win. Perpetua took advantage and is now showing what happens to those that aren’t on her side.

I love tales on a cosmic scale and this book is building to bigger and better things, not only in one universe, but all of them. Perpetua is doing something similar to what Crisis on Infinite Earths did back in the 80s and is bringing together all of the different universes and systematically destroying them to make way for something better in her image. It’s not just the normal universes that are affected either, it’s the Dark Multiverse as well and if things are to be believed, the Tales from the Dark Multiverse books could be what makes Scott Snyder’s Justice League the center point for the next big Crisis.

Francis Manapul is pulling heavy duty with his work in this issue as everything looked amazing. The heroes looked like they were in utter defeat, designs were amazing as always and Perpetua looked absolutely threatening. She’s such an ethereal being with dark, dark shadows that have just a small splash of color in them. Her eyes are piercing and you can almost get the feeling that she can snap you out of existence at any moment. She’s a wonderful new addition to DCs cast of Cosmic characters and Manapul does an excellent job of portraying as a grand threat.

This run of Justice League and the stories that surround it, much like Dark Knights: Metal, are exactly what I’ve been looking for in comics. I love it when villains have their way and get their wins in. What makes this even better is that Perpetua and Apex Lex are absolutely compelling villains that make good, smart use of the situations that they find themselves in. Lex Luthor is finally achieving things that he tried back in the Villains United days, the Injustice Gang days and every other time he tried to achieve global domination, but failed. With the help of his new evil Cosmic mother, short of an evil alternate universe Batman, there is nothing that can stop them.

Doom is Here. Doom is Winning.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #15: Melon’s Creed

The Carmel Bunkers on Turó de la Rovir. Stone barriers overlook the great city of Barcelona. John Bishop Church quietly admired the breathtaking view on this day just on the precipice of the sun setting. He leaned over the wall and seemed oblivious to the camera filming him. He had the hood of his light grey jacket up. His boots and the bottoms of his blue jeans were covered in dirt from the hike to this locale. He spoke out into the ether. “Hey.” He spoke in a conversational tone and let that set in before continuing. “This whole thing has been a humbling experience. In this last year, I’ve had the privilege to do what I’ve always wanted to do. And to enter into a partnership that has been absolutely exhilarating to be a part of. Since NSFW’s humble roots, we have scraped and clawed our way to the top. There has been a common thread throughout. Somebody somewhere has claimed that they do what they do for a divine purpose.” He scoffed. “Whether it be the megalomaniacal ramblings of a prophet, the dissidents of chaos …” John sighed, perhaps perturbed at the mere mention of this. “...or the machinations of the melon gods. Such grand proclamations are fruitless in the face of the golden standard of tag team wrestling. Now, Mike …” There was a pause. He pushed off of the wall and turned around - looking to the stairs that descend down the hill. “Mike?” “Dude!” The redhead, backpack over her shoulders and clad in a grey unzipped hoodie over a Carlos Ruiz t-shirt, appeared over the crest of the hill a moment after her name was mentioned, puffing a bit as if she’d started running as soon as she realized how far she’d fallen behind her partner. “My legs don’t know how to be as long as yours, man. Phew…” Catching her breath, the Bronx brawler raised a hand, wiping some sweat off her brow. “Besides, I kinda got distracted. You won’t believe what I found. It’s full of so much crazy shit, I dunno if I can look at the world the same fuckin’ way again.” Reaching back, Mike unzipped her pack and pulled out a large, dirty, ancient looking book, fraying at the corners and tops of the spine. Embossed on the cover, with traces of nearly worn away gilding, are the words ‘ARCANA CUCUMIS’. “What?” Coming the rest of the way up and leaning against one of the curved concrete walls, Mike flipped the book open with care, as not to jar any of the yellowed pages loose. Shifting a bit, she beckons her partner over, holds the tome up, and points at one of the pictures within. “I found this in the catacombs when we split away from the tour group to… when we split away from the tour group. Look at this shit. It’s like, all of the Melon Club’s fuckin’ secrets. I had no idea they went this far back and had their nasty vines stuck in so much stuff.” “Oh no.” John placed a hand on the page, obscuring its contents. He looked at his friend with concern. “This is Leviathan all over again.” “Nah man. This is worse. They’ve been in all of humanity’s fuckin’ key institutions. Look at this for example.” “These fuckers killed JESUS, man. I mean, according to the text here, fuckin’ Judas served him that melon, ironically enough, right before the big J.C. said one of his people was gonna betray him.” John gave the warped portrayal of the Last Supper a once over. “So Judas was part of the Melon Club.” His tone was deadpan and in no way inquisitive. “Exactly. But it doesn’t stop there. Look here.” “This guy, I’m sure you know, is L. Ron Fuckin’ Hubbard, the nutball behind Scientology. According to the book, people have been misunderstanding his writings all this time because of an elaborate cover up. See, Hubbard didn’t really mean Xenu. He meant…” She jabbed her finger at a specific spot on the image. “...honeydew.” John was exasperated in his own diminutive way. “The Melon Club are pulling the strings of the billion dollar multinational religion because?” Mike shrugged. “Power. Control. Y’know, all that shadow ops supervillain shit. And it’s not just the major stuff either. I mean, take a look here. I really feel bad about this one considering week before last…” She flipped a few pages, landing on a classical Grecian image. “The Eternal Circle are unknowing followers of the melon gods.” “Exactly. Sad, but true. I guess they gotta come to terms with that now.” ”Mike.” It was like a plea to come back to reality. “Look. Religious iconography has been changed to suit the needs of whoever used it. I’ve never been much a believer. I mean, maybe something exists. But all along its been the melon gods?” His fingers gestured dismissively at the book. “This … doesn’t make any sense.” “Yeah, I mean, I guess that’s true. But the thing is, it’s not just religion that these fucks have been manipulating. See? I mean, I know you for one are gonna be seriously pissed at this one. See, it looks like around 48 BC, the ancient Roman scholars were on the tail of uncovering the whole Melon conspiracy before it overwhelmed everyone. Luckily for them, no less than the Roman emperor, Julius Caesar, was a devotee and he made sure to have the entire library burned to the ground before anybody could find out the truth.” John’s bottom lip quivered slightly upon looking at the image. “All of that knowledge.” But he shook his head. “No. So next thing you’re going to tell me that his assassination was ordered when the Melon Club had no further use for him.” Mike snapped the fingers of her free hand. “YES. Exactly that. And it’s not the only assassination they’ve indulged in either. I mean, Arya herself’s a trained killer, it shouldn’t be that big of a shock that these people have bumped off anyone who was a threat to their fucking organization.” Mike grimaced as she flipped the page again. “They never did figure out who Oswald was working with. Or for. And that one picture of him, people always thought it was altered in some way. Well it fucking was. See?” “The Melon Club assassinated JFK.” “It’s the only thing that makes fucking sense. I mean all this time. All these theories and debates and discussions. The Zapruder film analyzed frame by fuckin’ frame. And all this time, Oswald was a lone gunman cuz only a Melon Club trained assassin could pull off a ricocheting shot like that.” “But… why?” Mike exhaled, then drew a breath in. “Because they fuckin’ can. Because Kennedy’s embargo on goods from Cuba was hurting the fuckin’ melon industry and that’s how they spread their fuckin’ propoganda. All those sweet, juicy cantaloupes, canaries, and watermelons that people gobble up without a second thought, not knowing every last bite is only serving the forces that control their entire fucking lives.” “Mike. I don’t know what to say. Maybe we’ve been lied to.” “You don’t know the half of it. It’s to the point now that they’re just meddling in things just to make everyone miserable. The Super Bowl a couple seasons back. Patriots vs. Falcons. The Falcons had the Pats dead to fucking rights. Brady was getting his stupid handsome face shoved in it and it was glorious. But then after the half they mounted this miraculous comeback that by all fucking rights shouldn’t even have been fucking possible. How? I stayed up fucking nights, man. I had no idea how the rug got yanked out from under the Falcons so utterly. But now. NOW I know. Look at this. The absolute bastards.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” “Oh yeah. You probably didn’t see it. Trust me, you’re better for it. It fucking sucked. Tom Brady is an asshole. He’s the absolute fucking worst human being ever shat out onto this sorry planet and the sooner everybody realizes what an overrated piece of crap he is the better.” John closed the book. The pages gave off a fine poof of dust as they slammed together. “Okay. So The Melon Club are zealots who throughout time have manipulated the world in every which way possible.” And then he pointed to Mike and himself. “And acquiring our tag team championships are now part of that great design?” “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? They have their claws in everything else. Why else would people trained in the fucking deadly arts be getting in the ring with us?” “And so we are the only people standing in the way of a new dark age?” “I mean, I found this thing in a crypt if that tells you anything. We know too much. They’rereally gonna want to take us out now, cuz we know how dangerous they are and we’re telling the whole fucking world so.” Mike glanced at the camera, brows knit in a very concerned fashion. Her fingers twiddled nervously between each other. “They’ve been here for months. Walter and Arya Melon. Mixed results. Between the bouts of tedium and fruit puns, I’ve inclined to tune them out. They win one tag match. Against two teams that chose to not take them seriously.” He placed a hand on the book. “We’re taking the Melon Club serious.” John joined Mike in looking directly at the camera. “Dead serious.” “To be frank, I underestimated you guys. My partner didn’t cuz he’s smarter than I am, but I looked at that three-way and you were the last fucking people I thought we’d wind up fighting. Shit, I’d already done some studying and had to throw it all out the window. The fact you pulled that shit out is proof you shouldn’t be taken lightly, whether or not you guys are part of a giant all consuming conspiracy wrapping the world in melony dominance.” “I thought we were going to have a viking problem on our hands. But instead, two cunning opportunists came away with the victory. And speaking of opportunities, it’s clear that through the facade, you two are students of the game. We know what you see as an opening.” Mike gave a firm nod, reaching up with her left hand. Her fingers were free, but the palm and wrist were done up in a cast, by now liberally covered with the signatures of friend and fan alike. “I’m not gonna pretend to know what you think of us. It’s probably better for everybody’s fuckin’ sanity that there’s no telling what’s going on in those, heh, melons of yours. But like my partner said, I know, we know, what you may be thinking about doing. Let me tell you for one, this hand? It ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ issue. Better people in this business than me have defended titles with far worse fuckin’ damage. It ain’t gonna slow me down.” She twiddled her fingers and then balled them up tight, forming a fist around the covered palm of her left hand. “Yeah. We’re not mind readers but we know what you want. And there is no fucking way in seven hells that you’re gonna get it, not at WrestleFest and not ever. You’re welcome to give it a shot, but a lot of teams have tried, and they’ve all met the same fuckin’ end.” The plaster casted fist slammed into the opposite palm. “Knocked for Six, kneed in the face, Cherry Bombed, put to sleep, and checked by the Bishop and the Queen.” “That’s not arrogance on our part. That’s just what happens. What will happen. And I get it. You two think you have divine providence on your side. What bounty have the melon gods gifted your little club? A middle in the pack finish in the Rumble. Trading victories with Frankie Romono. And now this. An opportunity.” He reached behind him and shoved the book out of the sight of the camera. The focus was solely on Bishop Church, Mike McGuire, NSFW, the EWC World Tag Team Champions. A leveled gaze from Church was directed to the challengers. “An opportunity to be a footnote in our history.” Folding her arms as best she can, Mike gave a firm nod. “We’ve worked too hard and come too far to have it end here and now. Nobody’s found a way to fuckin’ kill us yet and neither will you. No assassins, no kooked out religions, and No Schemes of Fucking Watermelons are going to take us down. But if you really think you can?” Her grim expression melted into a smirk, a brief ‘heh’ slipping from her lips. “Come and get it, ya fuckin’ fruits.” John looked at his partner, eyebrows raised. “Wait, what?”