Insecure - Tom Hiddleston Imagines Geared Towards Battling Insecurities

"STD: Stay the Distance"

Ugh, it's been so long, and I apologize!  So much school work,  medical stuff, officially declaring my major, academic meetings, PLUS my normal priorities?  It's INSANE!

But I heard this on campus today, and I was appalled.  I found the girl and hugged her.  Although I personally don't have one, I know what it's like for people to assume such.

So this entry is going to be somewhat based on what happened, edited for content because I like to keep my writings clean, and changed from college to high school because that's where I can most relate my personal experiences with this.

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Tom's POV

You can learn so much from making copies.

The bell had rang some time ago, and I'm quite surprised the copiers hadn't been taken over by a mad rush of other teachers.  Sixth period was a race to the printers, scurrying to one of the two centers in the whole building.  Admittedly, sometimes I even ended fifth periods class early so I could get a jump; and sometimes, I felt that other teachers did the same.

But today was different.  Empty chairs, empty tables, empty teacher's lounge, which was adjacent to these printers.  The sizzle of the fluorescent light, the soft ruffle of papers, the electric ting of the scan and the bristling of the brushes as the newly printed pages came out of the machine -- the only noises that echoed in the space.

All except the shouting that was approaching the room from the halls.

I cringe.  They know the rules; either you're in class, in lunch, or are quietly walking through the halls with a pass and are going directly to your destination.  Surely, based on the context, none of those requirements were being met or fulfilled.

"Just look at you, wanting everyone to think you're clean and pure."

"What's that hideous thing on your lip?"

"Stop it," I thought I heard a voice say softly, but quickly deeming it my own conscience.

"Wait, man, don't touch her!"

"Yeah, keep your distance, we don't want to catch that stuff."

"Herpes mouth."

"Stop it!  It's not like that!"

Printing can wait.

As soon as I step outside the copy room, I could see the situation was worse than I heard.  Instead of three people, I saw twelve.  That is, I saw six people taunting and surrounding one student, five others, including Ms. Nolan, walking briskly pass the huddle.

"I bet you she's the one who got Mr. Peters fired."

Not even caring that I wasn't supposed to put my hands on the students, I pulled half the kids away, eyes instantly turning furious to empathetic when I saw her face.  (Y/N), my best student, in tears and covering up her face horizontally so that one hand solely covered her mouth.

And I knew better.  I had known her family for years.  Sure, her sister had gotten it from birth, but (Y/N) didn't, even having the tests to prove it.  And I knew that a few days ago, she had gotten a fever so severe it made her lip swell to disproportionate sizes.  And times before that, it was the stress creating a visible form.

And I knew that out of all the things that people make her insecure about, this was the worse.

"Alright, that's enough!"  I shout, letting the anger flow from my lips as I line them up against the wall.  "You six, I want your names, house principals names, and we are taking a walk."

Poor thing.  She was trembling, shaking so much that I could hear her sporadic breaths, like puffs of smoke from a train on the tracks or a dog panting from the summer heat.  Having the students walk in front of me, I let her watch by my side, letting her share the power and authority that I wielded.

"This won't accomplish anything," she whispers faintly.  "They never stop."

And I have to wait--after finding another teacher to take over my class, after the two hour long meeting with the bullies and, via telephone, their parents, wait until it was just us in the hallway as I escorted her to next class--to respond, "And I'll protect you every time."

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