crazy answers

anonymous asked:

I need the story of the Underground Shakespearian Ring

Okay, so the school I went to for 9th grade had this really bizarre grading setup that I still don’t understand- for some reason, instead of the teachers writing up and grading tests and exams and the like, all the work was sent to an unknown third party for them to grade??? It made no sense.

Now, for the most part, the school had decent teachers, and they would just teach the curriculum correctly and then you wouldn’t run into problems with the grading. My English teacher was not one of those teachers.

So like, she hated me pretty early on- she was my homeroom teacher and thought it was disrespectful that I slept in homeroom in the mornings (I was on sleeping pills and they never wore off completely until around 10am), I never had the vocab homework in on time (someone kept breaking into my locker and stealing my vocab books I had to buy a new one like five times), she thought it was “inherently pessimistic and stuck up” when she caught me reading a book called ‘Ninth Grade Slays’ (it was about vampires, not her?), and during our Greek Mythology unit I kept correcting her about the name pronunciations of the gods (she pronounced Hephaestus as Hepatitis one time holy shit). 

Anyway, her feelings on me aside, her teaching skills were shoddy at best. But I had had way worse teachers, so had the rest of the class, and Greek myths are pretty straight-up in what’s going on, so no one really had trouble with the third-party tests.

Then we get to the Romeo and Juliet unit.

Now, fun fact: Shakespeare has always come pretty easily to me. Like, to the point where I sometimes forget/fail to understand that other people have an incredibly hard time translating his works. (I told this whole story to my friends in the school I went to for 10th/11th/12th grade and when the drama department put on ‘Midsummers Night Dream’ one year, more than half the cast tried to get me to translate their scripts and monologues for them lmao).

So, anyway, I’m just a girl, reading Romeo and Juliet and digging how it’s going…and then the teacher starts ‘translating’ it.

Um.

I cannot sift through all the bullshit this woman was spewing, but let’s just say that my favorite part is during Romeo’s spew about Rosaline, there’s one part where he says something like ‘with cupid’s arrow/she hath diane’s will’, and the teacher was taking this to mean Rosaline was a Super Lesbian who was breaking the law or something and running away with her lover Diane, which would be a rad storyline, sure, but like…I’m just raising my hand like “Um Ma’am, Diana is the Roman goddess of chastity. What Romeo meant is that she told him she’s sworn off love and is probably becoming a nun?” and this woman just got. So angry. Like, excuse me, you are a student, you’re here to learn, so you clearly don’t know anything about this (I read Romeo and Juliet for the first time in like preschool whoops). Anyway, she continues on making up her own plot to the play, and I…well I was basically Hermione Fucking Granger at this point I couldn’t just sit there and listen to someone be this wrong about something omfg??? She just got angrier and angrier and stopped calling on me after a while.

So for a couple lessons I’m just left to seethe quietly, but one day after class this girl I knew since grade school came up to me and was like “Could you…? Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to be learning?” and I didn’t even like her but I liked the validation of being someone’s Chosen Teacher so I wrote out a summary for her of everything we had covered so far so she could actually write a comprehendible essay for our homework that night.

But THEN the during the class when we got our essays back, she made a HUGE DEAL, like ‘oh Molly, it wasn’t bad enough that you’ve been failing this course material, now you have to drag your friends into it by trying to re-write the play?’ (l m a o). Like this bitch had literally tried to fight me on ‘Paris is the guy Juliet’s father wants her to marry’ and she didn’t even put a grade on my essay where I said the play only ended in tragedy because of how young and naïve the kids were, that if they had taken a breather and thought things through it probably would’ve been fine (it was a damn good essay and I stand by it). But anyway, she’s trying to make me out to my classmate’s as someone who’s trying to sabotage their education for laughs.

This backfired on her.

See, it dawned on people one by one, that she was only teaching the wrong material -> so they wouldn’t know the right material -> so when they eventually would take the exams they would only have her crazy answers -> which the third party graders wouldn’t know about -> everyone fails this course that’s like half the overall grade of the year.

Most students consider that a problem.

So suddenly the class has decided I’m the fucking Shakespeare Whisperer or something, and one by one start begging me for help. At first I was confused, because as I said, it’s so easy for me that I didn’t realize literally the entire class was lost out of their asses here. omfg. So I was really getting hassled here but I didn’t want my entire class to fail you know???? So I started meeting with people during study halls or texting them after school so they knew what was going on. And then they started telling people in this teacher’s other classes, including upperclassmen who were lost as fuck, so this was quickly spiraling out of control on my end, but overall people were really starting to understand the plays better!! So I was feeling really great.

But then, the teacher noticed that none of the homework getting handed in to her matched up with her crazy translations, and knew I was the sole person to blame (naturally). She literally tried to get me suspended over this, she went to the school’s disciplinarian!

Note: This guy, Mr. C, knew I was a God damn angel- my science class was off the charts, inappropriately awful, so every time one of our science teacher’s wanted to give the entire class detention, instead of calling Mr. C up to the class room as was the rule, they’d send me down to get him so he’d know to write up every student except for me. So when my English teacher dragged me in there he was looking her like “What on Earth could this girl have possibly done to piss you off?” 😂😂

And when she explained he looked at her for a very long moment, glanced at me with a signature ‘Office’ Reaction Face™ , turned back to her and was like “You want her suspended…for starting a study group?” and I was CHOKING.

So that really pissed her off and they started fighting and this was a very overworked and Done man so at some point he gave up and was like “I’m not suspending her but fine we can put a ban on the study group if you leave my office” omfg. So all the other students get notified and now they’re back to freaking out about the upcoming exams.

So like two days later, I’m at lunch, complaining about this to one of my friends who had a different English teacher and thus no problem, and I’m on this whole angry rant (Because I’m pissed, a bunch of kid’s grades are gonna get fucked up because of this! They just wanted to do well! I just wanted to help them!) and my friends staring at me quietly the whole time and when I finish I’m like “What?” and she’s just like “…Molly did you literally start up Dumbledore’s Army in our fucking school?” and I died on scene.

But then I started thinking about the comparison and I was like? You know fucking what? If Harry Potter can get those kids to pass their fucking DADA test I can help kids pass their fucking English Exam. Bring it the fuck on, Umbridge.

So I started Spreading The Word that anyone who needs help with their Shakespeare course can still get help, we just all need to meet up once to hash out the details. After some back and forth notes and deliberations, we ended up meeting in the school library, which was hilarious for a few reasons:

1) It was directly across the hall from this teacher’s classroom.

2) It was actually a converted janitors closet, way smaller than all the other classrooms, and there were like 50 people shoved in there; Not exactly an ideal Room of Requirement

3) The library carried no Shakespeare texts, but had the entire Harry Potter series on display to see when you first walked in

But anyway, despite the fact that we were literally three feet away from her door while we were doing this, our teacher was none the wiser of the meeting. We worked out a game plan- everyone writes out bullshit essays that align with what the teacher’s expecting. After she grades those and gives them back, they get them to me- slipping them in my locker, handing it to me discreetly in the halls or in another class, what have you. I then try to power through the dizzying amount of confusion radiating out of the teacher’s mouth and onto these papers, and more or less write out better translation of what was going on in whatever scene they covered, what the highlights they needed to know were, stuff like that, and then slip it back to them in similar discreet fashion (so the teacher/disciplinarian wouldn’t see me and get suspicious ; also because I was like 15 and wanted to feel like a super cool secret agent). They would then keep my copies and use them as study guides for the upcoming exams, where they would then answer all the questions correctly, the way the third party graders would mark correctly, and pass the exams + the bullshit essays would get them high marks in the teacher’s homework grades. The teacher never caught on to what was happening, just thought her students finally started paying attention to her.

All in all, it was a complicated mess, but it fucking worked. I don’t think anyone failed their exams that year. Will I ever be cooler? No. I think I fucking peaked when I was 15.

i may or may not have totally tweaked her face lol shh

victor, absolutely stewing over chihoko, singing beyoncé’s ‘hold up’ under his breath as he scales the ninja castle

“hold up, they don’t love you like i love you,” his shirt goes over his head and drops to the ground below

“can’t you see there’s no other man above you?” pants buttons come undone, each leg being kicked off with aggressive zeal

“what a wicked way to treat the one who loves you,” he spits over his shoulder for effect, misses the little girl sitting on the steps of the castle who goes, “heyyy!”

while trying to mimic the pose of the shachihoko statue he absolutely plays through bey’s monologue and whisper-mouths along to it, almost meditating, except instead of calming down his emotions just simmer under the surface ready to lash out for the moment yuuri finds him

“vitya?! what are you doing?”

ah, victor smiles. right on cue.

“IS THIS BETTER THAN CHIHOKO”

Originally posted by acciosugas

taye-x  asked:

Concept: the story of Les Mis in the style of the History of Japan. You can do it. I believe in you.

France is an country by the sea filled with poor people and it’s ♪♫ beautiful ♫♪

In the year negative a billion, France might not have been here. In the year 1815, it was here, and you could walk to it, and some people died in it

Ding dong, it’s the Revolution, and they have ideas from the future. Like really good laws, and ♪ crazy guillotines ♪. Now you can make a lot of dead aristocrats really really quickly. That means if you own the guilloine, then you can make a lot of equality, which is something everybody needs to survvvvive. So that makes you a revolutionary. Also things get a bit out of hand, Bonaparte happens, Louis Phillipe happens too

we do not here pretend to furnish a history of the French Revolution

“Please try this new monarch,” he said.
“No,” said everybody.
“Try iiiiit,” he said.
“no,” said everybody again, quieter this time.

Meanwhile in Toulon: 

“Hi Javert,” they said.
“Hi 24601,” said Javert.
“Can you call me something else, other than 24601?” said Valjean.
“Like what?” said Javert.
♫♪"How about Maire Mad’leine?“♪♫ said Valjean.

Knock knock, it’s the ABC. Yes, they’re here to take over, they just wanna bring you some cool shit. Like democracy, and freedom, and ♫♪ Enjolras ♪♫. So that’s cool. 

Grantaire wants to help at some point but Enjolras is like ♪"Listen I trust you for once this is very important okay don’t fuck this uuuup"♪
And Grantaire said, ♫♪ How bout I do, anyway? ♪♫

Then, when the barricade was done, the National Guard downgraded to a fuckton. Did I say downgrade? I meant upgrade.
And the ABC says, “Can you maybe chill?”
And the National Guard says, “How ‘bout maybe you chill?”

Then everybody died, except Marius, who pulled a sewer inspired  ♫♪ post-rebellion survival miracle ♪♫ But then the miracle wears off, he’s sad in the Musain but everything’s still pretty cool I guess. ♪♫ Bye. ♫♪

They asked me how I can be so sure of that this love will forever last in a world full of temporary things. I looked at them with a smile on my lips and said you know when your heart has found a home.
—  Melwowz

anonymous asked:

I asked a question and you make 50+ people reblog it! And you think I am immature? Yes 29 is to old to be writing fanfiction and me saying that does not mean I am under 18. Actually I am older than you. You should get a life.

Okay let’s take this in bullet points cause this is a hell of a lot of stupidity in one ask!

1. I do not make people reblog a goddamn thing! When you ask me on anon I got exactly one way to answer it. In public. Who takes offense with it and who reblogs it is nothing I can or will try to control.

2. Yes I think you are immature. Sending hate which this is - is immature. Judging others is immature. Thinking I control what other people post and reblog are immature.

3. Who decides what age you can be when you write anything? Why is writing fanfiction different from writing a book, a poem or short stories? Who decides how old you can be to publish something? I don’t care if you are 13 or 97 if you got a story you need to tell, you can write it. If you wanna write it as fanfiction knock yourself out. People like you are bullies and you refuse to see the world through other’s eyes, which again makes you immature.

4. You say you are older than me and you tell me to get a life? Who is it in whose inbox sending hate and too chicken shit to show their url? Who is it spending their sunday night judging me and quite frankly the better part of fanfic writers I interact with weekly?

5. Take a long hard look at your own life and figure out what makes you feel the need to lash out against others in this way. Do us all and yourself a favor and fix whatever that is or at the very least keep your trap shut!

cityofaangels  asked:

I'm a sucker for tattoo shop AUs (Deep in the Heart of Me is my favorite fic EVER), and I can imagine Tony being the manager of a famous shop, and accepting stray artists that want to find a job and are poor/homeless/lost (among which Bucky, Clint and Nat), and just giving them a goal, a home and a future and ARG

Thank you for reminding me of the beauty that is tattoo AUs!!!! I can’t believe I forgot about this to be honest, I used to adore them in almost every fandom, but I haven’t thought of them in ages until I got your ask! I’m unfamiliar with the fic you’ve mentioned–I don’t read a lot of Stony–but I think I’ll give it a try! But for now, let’s get back to this AU.

I really like the idea of Tony being this crazy, loveable owner of a tattoo shop who hires very questionable people under ridiculous circumstances because he’s insane like that. I also headcanon that said questionable people are very protective of their smol boss because of it.


“What the fuck do you want from me?” the stranger snarls disturbingly animalistic.

“Uhm.” Tony stares at the knife—a real knife and definitely not one for the kitchen—and scruffles a tiny step backwards. Backs against a wall before he has the chance to bring a little more distance between himself and Stranger With Knife.

Damn those walls and the stupid people that build them.

He’s going to die here, alone, in an abandoned backstreet. Where nobody will find his body until they’ll have to hold the funeral with a closed coffin. If they’ll ever find his body.

There’s probably a life lesson in here, about how you’re not supposed to follow unknown men a head taller than you and double your weight in muscles into an abandoned backstreet for one. But Tony’s attention is too fixated on the knife to care much about unimportant details like that.

For once, he hysterically thinks, Rhodey won’t be able to scold me for my messed up priorities.

“I won’t ask again!” the man hisses dangerously. He’s got shaggy hair that could do with a cut and a wash, and his eyes flicker with the same restlessness that drew Tony to him initially.

And fine, he probably shouldn’t have followed the guy. He can see how this could be considered “creepy” by people less fluent in Tony-speak than Pepper or Rhodey. Natasha will undoubtedly slap him—gently, because she’s secretly a poisonous snake who’s adopted Tony as this weird, bumbling kitten that will not get killed by anyone but her—for this later. You know, if there is a later.

“I was wondering if you want to work for me,” Tony blurts out because he can’t think of anything else to say. Also because it’s true.

“I’m not fuckin’ work for hire!” the man growls. “I don’t do that shit anymore, so either back the fuck off or I’ll make sure you won’t need anything anymore!”

Alright. Tony decidedly isn’t going to ask what the guy’s going on about. Nope. Absolutely not. That would just be too stupid, even for him.

“What are you talking about?” he asks and promptly wants to knock himself out. At least that might improve his chances to not talk himself into an early death. Clint will not be impressed if he misses is 8 o’clock appointment tomorrow and he has to cover for Tony—neither will the customer. Clint isn’t useful for anything before eleven in the morning.

The man’s eyes—they’re a cold blue that would look a lot prettier if they weren’t levelling a glacial glare at Tony right now—narrow even further, the knife itching ever so slightly closer towards Tony, and nope, not a fan of that development at all.

“Look,” Tony decides to try and deescalate the situation, “You don’t have to answer that. Actually, please don’t answer that, because this sounds too much like one of those I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you thingies and Natty would not be pleased if you did. You know, kill me. Unless you tell her I called her Natty again. For some reason she really doesn’t like that? But what do I know, women are weird,” he muses with a shrug.

“Right, I was trying to make a point. See, you could just wave your knife around and possibly- probably kill me, which would really suck. Cause I’m not a big fan of being dead before my liver gives out on me and you don’t look like you’ve got another jacket, and blood is a bitch to get out.” Not that it would be much of a loss, with the oversized, worn down thing the man’s wearing. It looks like it’s being held together by stubbornness and nothing else.

He might have said that last part out loud as well, if the guy’s twitch is anything to go by. Tony can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not.

“Or,” he hastily continues, “you could listen to my gracious proposal, accept it with genuine appreciation and enthusiasm and in two years we’ll both laugh about this moment.” He finishes with a bright smile and a happy clap. Screw Natasha and Pepper, he can be reasonable and mature. He’s not the one waving a butcher knife around after all.

Said knife is slowly lowered by the stranger who tilts his head to one side in a show curiosity. He seems—amused, almost. Or maybe that’s Tony’s screwed perception of reality talking. Clint’s mentioned he has a problem at one point, something about seeing a ravaging monster and cooing over it and wanting to pet it. Which is nonsense, Tony doesn’t want to pet anything. Except maybe the guy’s hair, once it’s been properly cleaned. And that’s not his fault, it looks like it could be fluffy.

“I’m listening,” he drawls, almost like he’s humouring Tony. The joke’s on him though, because Tony is used to being humoured.

“Do you know Stark Tower? What a stupid question, of course you do, but just in case you don’t, it’s the best tattoo studio in the entire country, trust me on that, and it happens to also belong to me. You’d look great with a couple of tattoos by the way, really help round off that assassin-gone-rough vibe you’ve got there, and I’d totally do them for free or maybe not free. Pepper says I’m not supposed to give people things all the time, but you wouldn’t tell on me, right?”

“Anyways, I saw this,” Tony lifts the crumbled paper he’s rescued from the garbage at the café he’s first noticed Mr Tall, Dark and Knifey—and hadn’t that led to a fun conversation with the waitress—and waves it around as if to stress his point, “and you’ve got some real talent with the abstract design there, because this is amazing and I’d want it as a tattoo, wich says something, my taste is fantastic. Also I’m missing a designer because that asshole Wade keeps running off to do one thing or another and I’m not allowed to hire Peter until he’s legal.”

The guy stares at him in bemusement while Tony tries to catch his breath. Admittedly not an uncommon reaction.

“You’re offering me a job?” he asks after a moment in disbelief—and damn, this guy is catching on to Tony-speak real quick, he’s the right choice all right.

“Yup,” Tony nods. He’s thought he’s been fairly obvious.

“You’ve been following me for two subway stations, three bus stops and a couple of dozen street corners to offer me a job because you saw something I’d scribbled down at a café,” the man repeats incredulous.

Tony shrugs. “I didn’t know how to talk to you. Clint says I come on too strong usually.”

“And you thought stalking me would make me feel more at ease?”

“Well, no.” Tony frowns. “Maybe? I wasn’t—but doesn’t prolonged exposure get you used to someone?”

“Prolonged- never mind,” the guy shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”

A pause, then, “I don’t need a job.”

Tony scoffs. “Have you looked at yourself lately?” he asks, mulls over his words for a moment when the man tenses. “Alright, that might have come across as offensive but seriously. I don’t care if you need a job or not, it’s yours if you want it. Just show up sometime next week and tell Natty I hired you and if Clint is there please throw your knife at him, he’s an ass and screams like a banshee.” Tony searches his pockets for a moment before he finds one of his, admittedly worse for wear, business cards and offers it to Mr Death By Blade.

“You’re crazy,” the man states again, but he takes the card.

“Get used to it,” Tony smiles is sunniest smile because take that Clint, he can hire new staff without getting anyone killed.

*

“Have you ever even held a tattoo gun in your life? It’s not a real gun, for fuck’s sake! Tony!” Clint is heard screaming in exasperation through the studio a couple of days later. “What the fuck where you thinking when you hired Bucky?!”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carefully drawing the worlds’ prettiest butterfly onto a young woman’s shoulder when he yells back, “Who the hell is Bucky?!”

*

[Bonus: “You’re taking all this surprisingly well,” Bucky comments at one point.

Clint shrugs. Takes a look at one of the designs over the newbie’s shoulder.

“Tony’s as fucked in the head as they come, but he’s a freaking genius at finding the best. If he’s hired you than that’s what you are. He wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

A moment of thoughtful silence follows, before.

“In three weeks, I’m gonna tell you how he hired Tasha.”

“Why in three weeks?”

“Studio rule. If you’ve made it three weeks without killing anyone, you’re part of the team.”

“Inside the studio or in general?”

“…you’re gonna fit right in.”]



I think I’m having way too much fun with this…