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@deep-contemplation

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Needed this to cheer upâ
please watch with sound on
write a story about how you became the worldâs most powerfull person⌠by accident.
You learn about the butterfly effect in school. The concept is interesting, but not so interesting that you donât fall asleep partway through the movie. You hear something distantly about a butterfly beating its wings and hurricanes. You think it will never apply to you.
You know now (not then) that power comes through and from favors.
If you had known that then you would probably not have done so many.
(This is where it starts.)
One.
There is a strange creature crossing the road behind the lecture hall. You stop on your bike and frown at it. It looks a little like a turtle, but itâs limbs are longer than any turtle youâve ever seen. Itâs stretched out on the hot asphalt, long, pale limbs clawing forward towards the small stream that runs on the other side.
 You hop off your bike and gently pick the creature up, hands under the belly of the shell like you learned from the internet.
Imagine your surprise when the shell slides off the creature instead, dropping a tiny woman onto the asphalt.
âWater,â she croaks, tiny eyes screwed shut.  Her eyelids are the size of yours which means theyâre huge on her. âPlease.â
(You will not know until later what exactly please means to the fae.)
You feel yourself move through your shock. You pick her up and take her to the waterâs edge. She slips under the surface, pale skin flashing like the scales of a fish, and sheâs gone.
Youâd wonder if your roommate slipped you something this morning if she wasnât back a moment later, pushing a small rock into your hands.
âA boon,â she says. Her eyes are large and black, suited for her underwater world. âFor a favor.â She smiles, showing teeth jagged and sharp like a piranha.
When you blink, sheâs gone.
You stare at the rock in your left hand. Itâs smooth and worn from years in water, an interesting swirl of granite and quartz. âI wish I knew,â you tell it.
The rock ices over so fast that you donât have time to drop it. The frost swirls across your skin, burning you where it touches, and you watch in horror as your skin turns a mottled black and blue.
 You fall to your knees from the pain and choke on a scream as the stone sinks into you, touching your bones and sending more ice through your marrow. It climbs up your arm and touches your eye, changing you vision so now that youâre see double, a strange, blue world juxtaposed next to the one you know and love.
Keep reading
Crows are scary They
use tools
Can be taught to speak (like parrots)
Have huge brains for birds
like seriously their brain-to-body size ratio is equal to that of a chimpanzee
They vocalize anger, sadness, or happiness in response to things
they are scary smart at solving puzzles
some crows stay with their mates until one of them dies
they can remember faces
SIDENOTE HERE BECAUSE HOLY SHIT. They did an experiment where these guys wore masks and some of them fucked with crows. Pretty soon the crows recognized the masks = douchebag. But the nice guys with masks they left alone. THEN, OH WEâRE NOT DONE, NO SIR crows that WERENâT EVEN IN THE EXPERIMENT AND NEVER SAW THE MASK BEFORE knew about mask-dudes and attacked them on sight. THEY PASSED ON THE FUCKING INFORMATION TO THEIR CROW BUDDIES.
They remember places where crows were killed by farmers and change their migration patterns.
Guys Iâm really scared of crows now. (q)Â
Yeah but have you seen thisÂ
A colleague of my dadâs lives next to a lake, and looked out the window one morning to see a duck trapped in the ice. A crow swooped down. âOh hell,â she thought, expecting carnage, because crows are opportunists. But the crow chipped at the ice with its beak until the duck was free.
Idk of this counts but a few crows saved me from a magpie swooping attack once ,theyâre bros who can tell when magpies are being unreasonable and need to chill
I love crows so damn much. When I was fifteen, I hit a pretty serious bout of depression, to the point I was in my room for months. Well, a family of crows made a nest in a tree outside my window. There were two parents and two chicks. One chick was healthy and strong. One was weak, and had a caw like something being strained. It sounded more like a rooster crowing and so my parents jokingly named him âBuckâ.Well⌠months passed and Buckâs sibling was taught to fly. His parents focused on the sibling because the sibling was strong. The father stayed behind to try and teach Buck, but I saw him try to fly, fail, and crash to the floor. His father helped him back up into the tree.
Every day, I would watch Buck from my window until one day I opened it and started talking to him. He was small and gangly and he couldnât caw right. His feathers were all over the place and I felt a kinship. So I made a deal with him. I told him that if he could do it, if he could fly, then I could find the strength to get up. Well⌠near the end of the season, after talking with him every day, I finally saw him get out of the nest. He went to the edge of his branch, braced himself, and jumped⌠and just before he hit the ground, he soared back up into the sky. I cheered harder than I ever had before.
That winter, Buck left the area. I was crestfallen. I felt like Iâd lost a friend. But I was so damn proud of him.Â
Cut to the next spring? Iâm walking up the driveway one day when suddenly I hear a sound⌠a broken caw. I look up, and Buck is sitting in a tree above my head. He stared at me and puffed his feathers, then hopped down in front of me and cawed again. I was so damn thrilled, and I told him how proud I was of him. He ruffled his feathers and then soared off into his old tree.Â
That summer? I heard two broken caws. One from Buck⌠and one from his chick.
Cut to ten years later? We have a family of crows who all have a very distinct caw and they come here and spend every spring, summer, and fall on our property. Buck still greets me every spring.
that last reply made me wanna cry. thatâs so beautiful.
Donât forget the Russian Crow SLEDDING DOWN A ROOF not once, but twice.Â
this one morning i kept hearing really loud caws, i remember it was like 5am, LIKE REALLY LOUD AND ANNOYING AND AGGRESSIVE, so loud that i could hear it through a closed window, and i eventually went outside to check it out. there was a crow on my front lawn, it had an injury on its head and couldnât fly and there were two other crows circling right above it, and they were cawing like mad.Â
i tried to get close and take a better look and one of them dived super low and tried to attack me. so i went back in the house and chopped some sliced raw meat and tossed it at him from a distance.
a few more times later, very soon after, they could tell i was trying to help, and did not attack me. i was âallowedâ to walk up close and pick him up, he couldnât drink water properly so i had to dip my finger in a bowl and stick it in his mouth.
i did this few times a day and it went on for about a week before he disappeared, i thought he recovered and left, but he came back the next day and lands on me, and i see him around the block quite often, and he would come sit on my shoulder for a few minutes and then fly away again. i feel like iâve adopted a son.
Best birbs !!
your son is Beautiful and Strong
every time I see this post it has different crow stories and every time I reblog it again because all crow stories are good stories
crows are under appreciated sometimes
i love crows they are awesome
By January 1st, 2018, everyone born in 1999 or before will be an adult. In effect, there will be no more 90s kids.

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Healthy couples are cool. I dig healthy couples in fiction.Â
People get depressed by social media because theyâre comparing their real lives with their friendsâ highlight reels.
Olivia Paige Writing Charts Masterpost
Someone asked me for all the charts, and since I love charts, I am happy to oblige. Making them has been a blast, I will continue to update this post as I make more, and I just want to say thanks for giving them some love! Theyâre hard work!
Writing Highly Emotional Scenes *This chart would have beautiful writing babies with the tips in the body language chart
Titling
SubplotsÂ
What Not to Do In a Novel
Setting
Body Language *Â
Heroes
Villains
Kissing Scenes
Argument Scenes
Fight Scenes
Stay Productive During a Writing Block
Defeat a Writing Block
Short Stories
World BuildingÂ
Flat Plots
Outlining Process
THIS IS AN IMPORTANT ONE! Donât ignore this in your writing!
Todayâs date (7/10/2017) is the same forwards as it backwards.

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i always see these posts about mutuals, but i just wanted to clarify that you can always
message me about how your day was
tag me in posts
ask for advice
help you with something (to the best of my ability)
have a friend / a listener
even if weâre not mutuals; the beauty of mutuals is grand, but i believe in helping/being there for everyone to the best that i can
Hereâs a little bit on subplots!
Go outside, look at the moon. The moons so pretty isnât it. Yeah. Take a picture of the moon. Oh no bad picture it looks like a weird dumb speck. But the moons so pretty???? U know ur real pretty to. cameras arnt very nice sometimes. But your still pretty. Just like moon
Itâs crazy how your brain can imagine literally anything it wants. Picture a fat cat with three eyes riding a unicycle in Paris.
when the story is just not working, but you keep writing anyway
Current moodâŚ

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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 weâre going on a bumpy ride back to everyoneâs 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. OâHara 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 âbest classâ, 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.
SoâŚthe first day of class. She seems nice enough. VeryâŚditsy, 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, Iâm 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 âdidnât knowâ 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, thatâs 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.
Sheâs like, âOh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!â like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, butâŚthe questions. The questions were all âWhat is your most haunting fear?â, âWhat is your deepest regret?â, âHave you ever experienced the pain of loss?â, âWhat was your worst injury?â, âWhat was your worst nightmare?â, 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 grandmotherâs 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, Iâve had worse projects.
So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine LâEngleâs entire book series on the listâŚonly 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 âA Wrinkle In Timeâ, and that has since lead to a series of events thatâŚreally actually scares me, Iâm still incredibly freaked out, Iâm not going to get into it right now because itâll take away from the current story, but just know that Iâm 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 didnât 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 justâŚdidnât happen. Sheâd never stay on a topic, sheâd always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasnât a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we shouldâve 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 wasnât teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to âtalk to me after schoolâ, but then sheâd leave immediately after school so they wouldnât 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 sheâs entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldnât 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 didnât 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 thatâs 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, Iâm not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or âdamagedâ 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 donât have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)
AlsoâŚthis 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 didnât 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:
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.
The way she described these eventsâŚher tone, the look on her face, her postureâŚyou 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 ladyâs jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which isâŚa 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 shouldnât 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 âsure, after I finish it?â but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.
AndâŚthe strudels.
Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I donât 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 âStubelâs Special Strudelsâ!
(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 didnât explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was justâŚliterally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.
But thenâŚshe wouldnât 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 sheâs 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? Thatâs 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 didnât get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasnât a PTA made party thatâs 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 Iâll 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 sheâs like, oh no, Iâm gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so itâll be special, but theyâre not cheap and itâll be a big order! Iâm gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!
And at this point Iâm just likeâŚlady. Come on.Â
But she keeps insisting. Sheâs not gonna go until every student in class pays up.
And Iâm likeâŚIâm poor. I donât even like strudel. And some of the less-naĂŻve kids are siding with me.
And then she pulls that âyou guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmatesâ shit, like the naĂŻve 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 Auntâs wallet so itâs whatever, I guess.)
And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with âwhere are the strudels?â and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror âI totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!â
Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always wasâŚlike to this day I canât 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 thatâs just the type of people Iâm used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldnât exactly be surprised.
She couldnât handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, weâd have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. Sheâd look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldnât focus and sheâd 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 âwhere am I supposed to sit?â and she snapped âSit on the ceiling for all I care!â. 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. Sheâs standing right next to this and doesnât 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 donât 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 itâll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then likeâŚliterally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like âweâre just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute wonât it my strudels???â. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling â i â 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 canât say enough about how she never taught us anything. Sheâd be going on some tangent about how she doesnât understand the science behind skiing, and Iâd be like âOkay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???â And sheâd 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, sheâd be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacherâs guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed weâd be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know somethingâs 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 fireâŚfifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?
Okay, and hereâs 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 werenât 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 sheâs like âMolly 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!â
And Iâm likeâŚ.âMaâam Iâm like, the sixth birthday this year. You didnât give anyone else presents?â
And she goes âOh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know youâre 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?â
And likeâŚIn writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. Iâm 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 Iâd 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 âYOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!â
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 âListen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just donât think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.â and like, Iâm paraphrasing because I wasnât there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.
Mrs. Stubel, howeverâŚwas 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 Iâm 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 itâs hinges.
Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
Wrote lewd phrases inside studentâs desks.
Broke multiple chairs.
Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall thatâs 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 itâs 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 âSo weâŚneed some helpâ and the lady was like âI already heard Iâll be there Mondayâ omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying âif your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love youâ omfg.
So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyoneâs buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she âdelicatelyâ 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 sheâs 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 preschoolerâs 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.
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. LikeâŚgenuine nightmare scenario.
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 âShe never gave us our freakinâ strudels!â
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 couldnât 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 disturbedâŚbut 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. Â
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 werenât allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoeverâs name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUIâs.
Aaaaand thatâs 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⢠.
She haunts me now too tbh
hocus pocus i cant focus