we have no king

iwasapruneratfaverolles  asked:

PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS

Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???

Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because we’re going on a bumpy ride back to everyone’s collective least favorite place: 7th grade.

Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. O’Hara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the ‘best class’, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.

So…the first day of class. She seems nice enough. Very…ditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, I’m sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.

So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she ‘didn’t know’ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, that’s literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.

And then she hands us this worksheet.

She’s like, “Oh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!” like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, but…the questions. The questions were all “What is your most haunting fear?”, “What is your deepest regret?”, “Have you ever experienced the pain of loss?”, “What was your worst injury?”, “What was your worst nightmare?”, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.

We were twelve year olds, mind you.

Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmother’s funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.

Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, I’ve had worse projects.

So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine L’Engle’s entire book series on the list…only she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.

I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read “A Wrinkle In Time”, and that has since lead to a series of events that…really actually scares me, I’m still incredibly freaked out, I’m not going to get into it right now because it’ll take away from the current story, but just know that I’m not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.

Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didn’t make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.

And then her teaching just…didn’t happen. She’d never stay on a topic, she’d always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasn’t a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we should’ve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasn’t teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to ‘talk to me after school’, but then she’d leave immediately after school so they wouldn’t be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe she’s entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldn’t schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didn’t even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).

Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Moms™ immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and that’s why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, I’m not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or ‘damaged’ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you don’t have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)

Also…this woman and Emily Dickinson.

She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didn’t have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.

Now, two things to note here:

  1. The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
  2. The way she described these events…her tone, the look on her face, her posture…you could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this lady’s jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which is…a lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!

So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.

One of the Davids™ was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldn’t have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like ‘sure, after I finish it?’ but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.

And…the strudels.

Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I don’t remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened “Stubel’s Special Strudels”!

(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)

Also, in case you were wondering, she didn’t explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was just…literally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.

But then…she wouldn’t drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and she’s Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.

So like… you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? That’s how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didn’t get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasn’t a PTA made party that’s super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?

Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then I’ll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?

And she’s like, oh no, I’m gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so it’ll be special, but they’re not cheap and it’ll be a big order! I’m gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!

And at this point I’m just like…lady. Come on. 

But she keeps insisting. She’s not gonna go until every student in class pays up.

And I’m like…I’m poor. I don’t even like strudel.  And some of the less-naïve kids are siding with me.

And then she pulls that “you guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmates” shit, like the naïve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.

(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Aunt’s wallet so it’s whatever, I guess.)

And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with “where are the strudels?” and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror “I totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!”

Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always was…like to this day I can’t tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because that’s just the type of people I’m used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

She couldn’t handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, we’d have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. She’d look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldn’t focus and she’d yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked “where am I supposed to sit?” and she snapped “Sit on the ceiling for all I care!”. And this kid was the Class Clown™ , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. She’s standing right next to this and doesn’t even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really don’t know what the plan was exactly- he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.

This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and it’ll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then like…literally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like ‘we’re just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute won’t it my strudels???’. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling “ i “ passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.

I literally can’t say enough about how she never taught us anything. She’d be going on some tangent about how she doesn’t understand the science behind skiing, and I’d be like “Okay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???” And she’d start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, she’d be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacher’s guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed we’d be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know something’s wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.

We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fire…fifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?

Okay, and here’s when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we weren’t learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.

So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And she’s like “Molly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!”

And I’m like….”Ma’am I’m like, the sixth birthday this year. You didn’t give anyone else presents?”

And she goes “Oh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know you’re gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?”

And like…In writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. I’m looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and I’d just see her Monday.

So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling “YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said “Listen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just don’t think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.” and like, I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.

Mrs. Stubel, however…was not.

She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:

  • Smashed three windows.
  • Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
  • Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
  • Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
  • Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
  • Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
  • Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
  • Threw some desks around.
  • Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving I’m assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
  • Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
  • Knocked the closet door off it’s hinges.
  • Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
  • Wrote lewd phrases inside student’s desks.
  • Broke multiple chairs.
  • Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall that’s in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
  • Set a fire in the trash can.
  • When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
  • She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
  • So much more? But it’s 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.

So my mom is in the front office and deadass the

entire police force

shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.

So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like “So we…need some help” and the lady was like “I already heard I’ll be there Monday” omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying “if your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love you” omfg.

So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyone’s buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she ‘delicately’ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that she’s sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschooler’s classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.

  1. It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. Like…genuine nightmare scenario.
  2. About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger “She never gave us our freakin’ strudels!”
  3. About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldn’t make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbed…but I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there.  
  4. A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we weren’t allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoever’s name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUI’s.

Aaaaand that’s the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts me™ .

Ok but I’ve been binge watching the Narnia movies again, after not having seen them for a long ass time, and now, being a little older and (hopefully) a little more mature than I was when I first saw them, I always feel physically sick when I see the Pevensies being children after The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe because they just aren’t anymore and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like, to grow up as kings and queens, respected and important, and full of duty, only to go back to being 8 years old (in Lucy’s case).

They didn’t remember England, or the wardrobe, or their old lives, they were Narnians and they were pushed back, not only into a world that was bound to make them miserable, but also into bodies that couldn’t reflect what they’d been through.

Just imagine Peter, waking up in the morning, not remembering that he isn’t the Magnificent anymore, imagine him subconsciously reaching for something to trim his beard, only to remember that it isn’t there anymore, to expect old battle wounds to hurt until he realises that they can’t because he doesn’t have them.

Or Edmund, who left England a stubborn selfish little boy who only wanted his mummy back, and came back the Just, the redeemed traitor, the diplomat, the man, having to resort to being ten years old and probably not even allowed to peek at a newspaper because he’s just a child after all. He plays chess, incredibly well, he doesn’t mock his siblings anymore and all the friends he knew when he was still a boy are either irritated at his behaviour or too childish, too selfish for somebody who knows very well just what selfishness can do, who has a part of the White Witch in him, always.

Susan forgets, we all know that. She must’ve lain awake at night, remembering just what it felt like to cover pain and viciousness and gore with a smile and a blush, remembering being the Gentle, but never in war. She must’ve cried for all the lost years, for all that she learnt and that she can never forget, for all that she has accomplished, that will bring her nothing in this world that doesn’t feel like hers. So she sits down in front of a mirror, talks herself out of believing, telling herself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream, that this Narnia her siblings talk about is nothing but a game.
The truth is too terrifying, to devastating to face.

Lucy, little Lucy, who grew up under Mr Tumnus’ smiles and Aslan’s approving gaze, who was loved by all, who did learn how to rule, how to negotiate but who never forgot just what it means to be a queen of Narnia, this girl who matured into a woman, who had a woman’s mind and body and a queen’s grace, she who they called the Valiant, the lion’s daughter, she shrank into herself, into a child, younger than even her siblings. She remembers, clearest of them all, she is the only one who still knows Mr Tumnus’ face, still knows Aslan, but she is just a girl, a pretty little thing who will never be the queen she was, who will never be the woman she was because queenship forms a person in ways no schools can.

They must’ve been devastated when they tumbled to the floor, short and small, and there’s a war they have no control over and Lucy is small, Edmund is skinny, so skinny and Peter and Susan have lost their glow and they’ve changed, they’ve changed so much. (The first time, somebody calls them by just their names, they feel invalidated and small. And offended. They’re kings and queens, they’ve earned their titles and now they have to sit in a dim room filled with children and listen to teachers, have to allow themselves to be insignificant and nothing more than what they were when Lucy first stepped into Narnia - frightened children in the middle of a war they wish was never there in the first place)

my what a guy, gaston!

okay so i know i already did one of these for beauty and the beast (for fuck’s sake shana write about some new fairytales why are you like this) but i listened to sam tsui’s cover of a tale as old as time and OH BOY, OH MY HONEY OH MY DARLING

okay, so in the very early stages of the original beauty and the beast, gaston was an aristocrat. that eventually got scrapped, but oh what if it didn’t

so say gaston is the son of someone very high up in the royalty chain, someone who’s parents are important enough that he spends an awful lot of time at the castle? and our prince adam isn’t really down with this whole ~being a prince~ thing, he’s a brat, like so many other kids are brats (but these kids don’t get turned into beasts by random witches, like i’m sorry but i’ll never not think that beast didn’t get the short end of the stick there) and so he spends the least about of time possible parading about with a crown on his head. he likes going outside, like riding his horses and playing in the woods, and all sorts of other things that make his parents shake their heads and despair at the inability to have another child, because their son is a small disaster.

and here comes gaston, who’s older and more long suffering. gaston in naturally dramatic, okay, he likes being flashy and fun and loud, all the things the son of a noble shouldn’t be. so by the point he meets adam he’s listened to his parents, folded himself up nice and tight into this quiet boy who just doesn’t want any trouble. adam loves trouble. if he can’t find it, he invents it.

so he grabs onto gaston like glue, and gaston is irritated, but he’s the prince, he can’t say anything or his parents will kill him. so he lets adam keep dragging him out horseback riding and hunting and rock climbing and all sorts of things little noble boys aren’t supposed to do. they spare, and no matter that gaston is bigger and older he never wins, adam always ends up pinning him to the ground with his arm to his throat and he’d more irritated about it if the prince didn’t look so delighted every time he won. adam loves all the animals that he’s not interested in eating, and gaston tries to point out that it’s a little weird how thrilled adam is to take down a deer when two minute later he’s trying to entice a wolf to come closer so he can pet it, and also holy shit adam that’s a wolf what’s wrong with you

adam loves his staff, the people who do their best to reign in this little terror but don’t try that hard, because the thing about bratty kids is that they’re rarely brats all the time, as an adult you swing between wanting to strangle them and finding them so adorable and charming your chest hurts. so mrs. potts indulges him, likes the way he’s only ever really patient while he’s playing with her son chip when he’s snuck into the kitchen to beg her for some extra cookies. lumiere and cogsworth are his tutors and spend more time arguing with each other than teaching him, and he’s delighted by that.

and so adam is this loud, exuberant little prince who slowly but surely picks at gaston’s barrier until gaston almost feels like himself again, and adam doesn’t do what his parents did. adam doesn’t make fun of him for how much he cares about his hair, about how he hates dirt under his fingernails. as long as gaston keeps following him into dangerous situations, adam doesn’t care about much of anything, and gaston loves him for it.

and gaston’s on the cusp of teenagerhood when he realizes he loves adam, the prince, this is awful and he immediately has a panic attack over it, he’s to be lord and adam is to be king, it will never work, oh, and adam probably doesn’t like boys, and – oh my god, all those schoolyard taunts about him being gay we’re right this is a nightmare.

he’d freak out about this properly and probably go charging to the castle to confess his love in true embarrassing 12 year old fashion – except his parents set him down, pale, and say, “they’re gone, they’re all gone, the king and queen were found dead and the prince is gone and now a monster lives in the castle.” and of course gaston takes this to the most logical conclusion – a beast broke into the castle, killed the love of his young life, and now he’s claimed the castle for his own.

this is gaston’s defining moment okay, this is the point where he snaps and never goes back. he rebels against his parents, refuses to fit himself back into the mold of the perfect son, tries to live his life like adam would have wanted him to. that means being exactly who he is and damn the consequences. he focuses on his hair and his clothes and his looks, he pursues hunting because it reminds him of adam, because so much of their friendship took place in the woods, covered in mud and laughing. he pursues hunting because, one day, when he’s the very best he’s going to go the castle and kill the beast that killed adam. and his parents are furious about all of this and they disown him in favor of his young siblings and he just. doesn’t give a shit.

so he moves to the town, and everyone loves him, of course they love him. he’s loud and arrogant, but – he’s not cruel. he’s beautiful and brings in more pelts and meat than any other hunter and gaston doesn’t miss the days of being a young lordling in the slightest. but girls keep throwing themselves at him and he doesn’t know how to keep refusing either outing himself or hurting their feelings, so he goes to belle. belle, who is every inch as pretty he is. belle, who is smart and quiet and kind in a reserved sort of way. if there’s anyone who won’t judge him, it’s her.

so he goes to her, and tells her the truth – that he only likes men, that he’s not interested in advertising the fact, and asks her to pretend to be his lady. and belle, kind sweet belle, agrees. she does it out of sense of duty to help those in need, because nothing she knows of gaston says she will enjoy this. but she’s proven wrong, because gaston was raised to be a lord of course he’s educated, just because he doesn’t really care about any of that stuff doesn’t mean he doesn’t know it. and belle can speak with him like she can no other, because gaston has more formal education than anyone else in this village. and to their surprise, gaston and belle become friends, become the closest of friends, and gaston hasn’t known this closeness since adam, although it’s different because he loves belle but he’s not in love with belle.

and one day belle and her father are out traveling and sudden snowstorm forces them into the castle. belle knows there’s some sort of monster that supposedly lives there, but it’s either the castle for refuge or dying of cold outside, so into the castle they go. and instead of a hideous monster there’s adam, the beast. he’s rude and gruff and calls them twelve kinds of idiots for getting caught in a snowstorm in the first place. he offers them a room before sulking back into his study, watching the last petal threaten to the fall from the rose.

the castle is so excited to have guests, to have a young girl that may be their saving grace, and beast doesn’t know how to tell them that he likes girls well enough, but the only person he’s ever loved is a prickly, stuffy little boy who used to wring his hands together whenever they went looking for wolves. the storm doesn’t abate, and belle and her father stay. beast likes belle, likes how much she loves his library and the courteous way she speaks to all his staff even tho they’re all furniture, and he wishes he could love her, she is a woman that deserves to be loved. but he can’t.

back in the village, gaston has had it. the beast took adam from him, and he wont allow that thing to take belle. he rallies the villagers and goes marching to the castle, determined to save belle and her father, determined to kill the thing that killed adam.

so they storm the castle and he and the beast fight. belle and her father rush forward to stop the rest of the angry village men, and belle is screaming at gaston to stop, that things aren’t as they seem. but he’s mad with bloodlust, with revenge, and he’s about to take the beast’s head off with his axe when the beast lunges and pushes him to the ground, pinning him with an arm to his throat. and the muscle memory is so sudden and visceral that gaston freezes and stares at the snarling beast and whispers, “adam?”

and the beast blinks, and pulls back a little, and goes …… “gaston!?”

literally everyone is so confused, but they only get more confused when gaston throws himself at the beast and there’s a rush of magic as the last petal falls and the spell is broken. gaston sees beast for who he really is, loves him wholly and completely in the way only children can, and the curse is broken.

so gaston goes from having the beast in his arms to having a man, and he kisses him, outing himself in front of the whole village and not caring in the slightest. “i’ve missed you,” adam says, reaching out a hand to cup gaston’s cheek.

his staff are people again, and the cloud of darkness that had fallen over the castle is lifted. the old and irritable third cousin twice removed who’d been running the country is more than happy to hand it back over to adam, so happy in fact that he doesn’t question anything about this incredibly weird situation.

gaston and adam were children with a children’s love, but as adam gets his castle and kingdom up and running again, gaston is there. and their love deepens, and strengthens, and becomes something much more real and true than it ever was before. and gaston knows he can’t keep this, that adam will need to take a queen and gaston won’t be able to be with him after that.

except no one told adam that, because he goes to belle who just, never left the castle because she likes it and it likes her and her two favorite people are here. and also they’ll pry her from that library over her dead body. “hey,” adam says, “so, i’m kind of the king now.”

“i noticed,” belle answers, and doesn’t look up from her book.

adam considers closing it, but also considers that he likes his hands attached to his wrists. “want to get married? we’ll need to produce an heir or two, but beyond that you’ll get all the books you want and a whole country to boss around.” one of the things adam had quickly learned was that belle loved bossing people around.

belle doesn’t look up from her book. he hadn’t honestly expected her too. “okay. I’m dating plumette. im going to keep doing that.”

“nice,” he says, because plumette is a lot prettier now that she isn’t a feather duster.

so adam find gaston and tells him that he’s marrying belle, and gaston’s whole heart breaks but it makes sense, adam and belle make sense together, and he wishes he could make himself hate either of them but he can’t because he loves them both. but then adam is talking about how belle will have the rooms next to theirs, and gaston should probably stop paying rent for his house in the village, he lives in a literal palace, come on now.

and gaston figures out that adam is planning to stay with him, that belle is his wife and queen in name only and and gaston will continue to be the one in his heart and in his bed. adam is talking about how they all really need to sit down and do something about the redistribution of tax revenue, and they should probably do it before the wedding because otherwise their subjects will only show up to throw fruit at them. gaston cuts him off by pressing his king and love of his life against the wall and kissing him breathless.

cogsworth and lumiere walk by and pause mid-argument to wolf whistle at them before continuing on their way. gaston and adam end up having to hold each other up as they laugh so hard they can’t breath.

and everyone lives happily ever after.


read more of my retold fairytales here

you can either vaccinate your kids or die horribly. the death will either be from diseases or from steve in righteous-fury mode
more underrated Iconic™ six of crows/crooked kingdom moments
  • nina’s singing
  • “on a dare, i once ate a literal trough full of waffles doused in apple syrup and almost went back for seconds.” - jesper
  •  jOGS THE LIVER
  • every time someone makes fun of kaz’s haircut RIP
  • creepy little genius
  • #NEVR4GET jesper mentally kicking himself for not paying attention when kaz was naked
  • kaz literally,,,, stopped in the middle of a job to give a dog a belly rub. this is still so funny to me
  • confimed curmudgeon matthias thinking nina looks glorious in her dumpy fjerdan sweater clothes
  • matthias’ middle name is benedik…… why have we forgotten this
  • inej “slowly wiped the blood of kings on her trousers” LEGENDARY
  • kaz stripping shirtless and washing himself in front of inej. inej blushing and wANTING TO MURDER HIM
  • secret tree handshake
  • every time kaz calls nina ‘dear’ or ‘love’
  • inej definitely has a Thing for kaz’s eyes. there are so many mentions of his eyes/eye color in her chapters                          
  • jes being in awe of wylan for getting away with lying to kaz. turns out kaz knew all along. #brekkered
  • nina trying to get kaz to join the group hug
  • “you heard right. stronger than wylan.”
  • wylan wanting to shove jesper off the wagon when he says “he has terrible taste in women”                         
  • that time matthias considered shooting kaz but then kaz stepped on a rifle, flipped it into his hands, and aimed it at matthias in the span of 1 second
  • the immortal “is my tie straight?”
  • you podge

silverbutterfly17  asked:

Tell us how Steve managed to cause a disaster on his bicycle, only hours after he was banned from using motorized vehicles.

you must know steve pretty well, because that is exactly what happened.

the morning after throwing yet another motorcycle at a supervillian, steve woke up early and decided to go out and get bagels. not at all unusual, except that his favorite bagel place is in brooklyn. so naturally steve decided to just bike there.

tony keeps a dozen or so bikes in the vehicle garage, and pretty much every one of them is weirder than the one before. one is a concept made by ferrari; another one is made from bamboo and was a gift from an MIT student whose research he funded. one appears to have some sort of rocket engine attached. with selections like that, you can see why steve chose the oldest, plainest bike in the group.

what steve did not know was that this was the Deathbike.

see, when tony was 14 and starting at MIT, he wasnt licensed to drive and needed a way to get around campus quickly. so, like many other college students, he got a bike. a very nice, high-end bike, of course, but otherwise perfectly innocuous. (it was a bit too big for him. he insists it wasnt, and that he’s not short.)

tony rode it home and painted it black.

within the first month of owning the Deathbike, tony ran into two people, was run into three times by other cyclists, and just barely missed being hit by a car. tony refused to admit that either 1. the bike was cursed or 2. he was just a terrible cyclist, and instead painted a tiny white skull on the side of the bike for every collision, and rode it for the rest of his time at MIT. somehow, he survived, and no one was seriously injured. (he admits that there may have been a few broken bones. but he paid the medical bills, so it was fine.)

by the time steve took the bike out, there were twenty-seven little skulls.

steve knew none of this, and headed out on the sidewalks aboard the Deathbike. he made it a block or two on thankfully empty sidewalks before tony’s modifications kicked in.

little 14-year-old madman stark, drunk on alcohol and puberty, decided that his two-wheeled killing machine didnt go fast enough. so, using the genius and lack of foresight the stark bloodline had given him, he made some changes. and now the Deathbike has a little electric engine that kicks in after a certain speed, which basically increases how fast the bike goes per pedal. tony says the fastest he was ever clocked on it was about forty mph–but insists he could have made it faster, except he didnt want to make it too bulky.

steve was doing fifty miles an hour by the time he was six blocks from the tower.

since steve is himself, instead of maybe slowing down when he realized how fast he was going, he decided to see how fast he could get. and it turns out that a supersoldier on a bike built by teenage tony stark can go plenty damn fast.

a traffic cam on the brooklyn bridge clocked him at nearly 115 mph.

but dont forget–this is the Deathbike. it earned its name, and would fulfill its mildly inconvenient legacy regardless of who was riding it. 

also, its tires were never built for that kind of stress. 

steve turned around the corner of the block where the bagel shop is going some eighty-odd mph (having slowed down to turn), and hit a heap of cardboard. if he’d been going slower, or if the wheels had been in better shape, he might have been able to brake in time. as it was, he was still going pretty fast when he hit it. and since the universe loves to laugh at steve, the pile of cardboard was shaped pretty much like a ramp.

steve and the Deathbike went airborne.

somehow, the early morning commuters failed to notice captain america hurtling through the sky on the worlds most sadistic pedal-powered monster, so when he landed in the bed of an old metal pickup, nobody checked on him when he didn’t pop right back out. instead, the Deathbike, steve, and steve’s shiny new concussion remained right where they were, in blissful unconsciousness.

when steve finally woke up, he was somewhere in southern virginia, and there was a very confused pickup truck driver wondering how the heck he’d wound up with a giant man and a bike in his truck.

we would have made steve bike back, but we didnt want to tempt fate. instead we sent a quinjet.

the Deathbike was unscathed.

steve is not allowed to use bicycles any more. 

instagram

This clip is amazing.

Last week we dived at a magical place on the Cape Horn archipelago. Because there had been virtually no underwater surveys on this remote area, we picked our diving spots haphazardly. Last week we couldn’t have been luckier. We came upon a giant aggregation of the fake king crab Paralomis granulosa. They were in the ground, on top of each other, climbing on the kelp, parachuting from the canopy… like a scene taken off a sci-fi movie.

anonymous asked:

The best thing about combat boots? No one but you will ever know you're wearing fuzzy socks during a mission.

i mean, yeah. you’d think that. 

instead the reality is that if you wear fuzzy socks on a combat mission, the universe can sense your fluff and will conspire against you. so naturally the one time you wear fuzzy socks on an op will also be the one time you’re fighting paste-pot-pete (who is apparently a real guy who really does run around doing glue crimes. i hate this century and i need to have a serious talk with steve and tony about the quality of villains these days. in my day we fought literal nazi monsters. now there’s an overeager dude with a souped-up gluegun. who i am not allowed to shoot for some reason) and you’ll wind up with your combat boots glued to the middle of the road in manhattan. 

and to prevent yourself from getting flattened by a taxi the hulk threw, you’ll have to jump right out of your boots, revealing your pink and yellow sparkly fuzzy socks to all the world. and the news station that just happens to be in the building you’re in front of. 

and then you have to finish the fight in fuzzy socks, which of course are going to be covered in glue and bits of debris by the end. 

and even though it was totally worth it to kick paste-pot-pete in the face, he did get blood on my fuzzy sock.  jerk.

how did red skull tie his shoesies?

with little nazis