Tom watched her jog off, his jaw agape. She had just insulted him. She had insulted him in Shakespeare. Not just in Shakespeare, but in at least five different plays of Shakespeare. Where did the mouthy little vermin get the gall to insult him in Shakespeare? It was spiritedly performed, as well, with an energetic vivacity that was unexpected at five in the morning. And she insulted Shakespeare! He didn’t care how beautiful your lips looked as they dripped vinegar instead of honey; you don’t get to insult Shakespeare in front of him and escape without a rebuke. Except, apparently, if you were her.
The Girl Downstairs - fanfiction about Tom Hiddleston (X )