#grading on a curve

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Roger Collins: Picks up his ringing phone, rudely tells the caller that that isn’t his job, and to read the org chart, and then slams down the receiver.

Niece Carolyn: Look at you, doing your job!! And here I thought you were just a figurehead.

Truly, the Collins-Stoddards ran so that the Roy family could walk (and/or jerk off on skyscraper windows on company time).

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Don’t worry, you could also just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like Franklyn Froidevoix:

And if you’ve ever dated a man who sucked, that’s also presumably enough? Assuming he wants to steal your huband’s identity (Lydia Fell).

And I don’t know what Marissa Schuur ever did to him, other than exist unattended and throw a rock at the grief-crazed man who was threatening her friend.

And if Cassie Boyle was in his rolodex before he took it upon himself to set up a test for that nifty little autistic guy, that was awfully convenient…

He also slammed Alana’s head into a brick wall just because she was inconveniently present when he was trying to terrorize Abigail;

but Freddie Lounds?

…alive throughout, even though she is consistently rude; presumably, because Hannibal enjoys tattlecrime. com .

What I’m saying is… I think the “eat the rude” thing was just a polite fiction Hannibal used to justify himself.

Like, some of his victims certainly were rude…

(This fucking guy, for example.)

But a lot were simply convenient.

It’s interesting that he kept up that fiction, though. Like, babygirl said he doesn’t hide from god, but like… buddy… are you maybe lying to yourself about the true degree of your own monstrousness?

My toxic trait is that I think I could survive nbc’s Hannibal simply because I am too socially awkward to be anything but polite to the general public. I order coffee in the order I know will be most convenient for the barista. I overtip bc even if it’s for something small and silly I just feel bad not doing it. I accidentally cut someone off??? I am apologizing profusely out loud even though they cannot hear me. I am trying my best to get a good grade in social interaction, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve

[cura-te-ipsum]

Grading on a curve has never made any sense to me. Either you only want a certain percentage of folks to achieve A's, or you expect most of the class to fail. In the former case, you're a dick. Go sit in the corner and think about your life choices. Better yet, go to therapy! In the latter, consider why you expect most of your students to fail and address the underlying cause. Is it a pain to rewrite tests? Yes, but it's worth it to properly gauge what your students have learned.

In the odd case you decide to grade on a curve because you expected your students to do well, but most failed the test, consider what areas were consistently missed. Cover those topics again in a different way and perhaps redo the test as a shorter version focusing on new questions addressing those topics. Students can choose to have this test score added as extra credit. After all, the whole point of exams is to gauge what students have learned, not arrange them in order of intelligence or importance.

[silkentine]

Anyone else looking to get bit at the beach or?

[shizunitis]

in an au where shen yuan was transmigrated into shen qingqiu before binghe arrived at cang qiong:

normal ink can be erased with a very simple spell that even children can master. qing jing peak teaches this spell so that the younger disciples can learn precision and the basics of interacting with objects by manipulating qi, but they are not allowed to use it during examinations, or when doing their personal assignments. allowances are made for those who can’t write very well or at all, to encourage discernment and self-correction.

luo binghe uses this technique often. very often. he needs to show his best at all times, and so he erases almost every other character. the issue? if used too much on the same spot, it sometimes affects the page. excessively used, it can even tear through it.

after moving him into the bamboo house, shen qingqiu is supervising luo binghe as he practices calligraphy. though the kid’s attempts are shaky at best, it’s good progress for a complete beginner. binghe erases some of his writing and tries again, and shen qingqiu, extremely gently, tells him to try without doing that today. luo binghe nods, and gets back to work.

shen qingqiu turns away for two seconds to deal with a quick matter. when he comes back, luo binghe’s paper is almost entirely shredded, he’s sitting with a straight back and real self-hatred in his eyes, and trying to hold back his sobs, hiccupping every few seconds. he looks at shen qingqiu like this:

and shen qingqiu is so out of his depth he can’t even speak. not that he would, but he didn’t even scream at the kid! that’s usually why children start sobbing!! what the fuck happened!!!

i just feel like, if binghe doesn’t have to go through the horrors of pidw binghe’s early disciplehood, he should suffer the way that many of us had.

[teaboot]

on a scale or 1-10, how would you rate bananas? I'd give them like an 8/10. (I'm eating a banana that's why I'm asking this (also because yellow))

10/10, personally.

Now hold up- do I like bananas that much? Enough for a 10/10 rating? No. But as no man is an island, no banana exists in a vacuum. A banana exists in the context of a world where a banana is needed.

Banana on it's own? Probably a solid 7/10. Easier to peel than a tangerine, though (personally) less tasty, with uninspiring texture. Taste and smell is cloying and infectious. Better than most but not perfect.

It's individual properties, though?

Soft, chewable, safe for babies and old people and folks without teeth. A good thickener for smoothies. Easy to cut and slice. An aesthetic addition to a sundae. Looks kinda like a dick, for easy comedy. The peel itself? A slapstick classic. The crown jewel of every cartoon depiction of garbage. Pre-packaged for transport and hygeine. An easy and convenient snack. Frozen, dipped in chocolate? Banana Popsicles. Sliced and dried? Banana chips.

Hell, even when it gets gross it's banana bread, or banana muffins. Banana pancakes. Banana-peanut butter sandwiches.

Name another fruit that does it better. Name another fruit that is so versatile, so low-maintenance, so iconic both in the home and on the stage. A more approachable fruit. A more classic fruit. Apple? Pomelo? Fucking Grapefruit? Get out of my fucking office

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Okay, fair. I had not thought of it that way. But. But.

She didn’t actively hide an emergent medical condition from him, groom him to believe he was a serial killer, or murder him.

Objectively - yes, she kind of sucked even in s1.*

But subjectively, if we are grading on a curve? Alana’s doing great.

*She also showed a shocking lack of empathy for Abigail, because I’m sorry, having a kind of an unemotional, practical reaction in response to an overwhelmingly devastating event (like, say, your dad having murdered your mother in front of you, and trying to kill you is not evidence of psychopathy? That’s just how some people react?)

And yeah, the narrative later “proved her right”** because she was “helping her dad” ***, but like… Alana was initially just condemning that girl based on vibes? And vibes she was reading in a very professionally-inexperienced seeming way.

- - - - - - -

**I will go down in history as this timeline’s greatest Abigail Hobbpologist.

***See above, and also - Abigail did nothing for her dad that I can’t easily see being a thing you could lie to yourself about as being a coincidence / your imagination in her (impossible, terrifying, unimaginable) position.

I love how Hannibal has a hateful little side character to represent each system that fails Will. Chilton for psychiatry, Sutcliffe for medicine, Prurnell for justice, Freddie for journalism, Pazzi for law.

A pantheon of institutional failure.

[elderwisp]

𝔒𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡, 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯-𝔢𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡, 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔯𝔶 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔫'𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡

[communistkenobi]

I have to be the hottest person getting misgendered at the family function

[bunabi]

assuming Dwarves created Common post-war after retreating underground from the elves: when the hell did Solas master it

was he watching circle mages & noble children learn their ABCs from the Fade....did he follow along in class and do the homework...did their tutors feel a dreadful chill down their spine...much to consider

[seiwas]

hello sel!!! hru doing??

The ask game is super fun! How about Gojo + vindictive.

I hope u hv had a lovely day 🫶

zuro anon

zuro anon hello!! thanks for sending in a prompt!! i'm doing good 🥺 spending this lil vacay at home, mostly 🥺 and happy to be back writing 🥺 i hope you have the loveliest weekend 💗

contains: non-canon, childhood enemies to lovers (ish), (modern) arranged marriage, reader wears a braid and dresses

gojo + vindictive

you hate gojo satoru. you have ever since you were 5.

he's a bully―a real cocky one at that, with no regard or remorse for how his actions affect those around him.

on the day before your 6th birthday, right as your parents gathered together for the annual countdown, he gobbled up the entire plate of your favorite milk cakes before you could even take a bite. this marked the start, the beginning of a vengeance stewing inside of you.

at the age of 8, when you first learned how to do your own braids, he would tug at them, pull them free and unravel all your hard work for the past hour. you used to chase him for it, yell "satoru!" with all the strength your little lungs could muster and he would merely laugh and run faster.

the name "satoru," you've learned, must be synonymous with "sabotage," because it's all he's ever done. he threw the flower geto suguru handpicked for you straight to the ground, and purposely splashed gutter water all over the white dress you intended to wear on your first date.

not to mention, he's always rubbed in the fact that he's better than you, at everything―dangled all his accomplishments in front of you as if he knew they were just centimeters out of reach.

gojo satoru is solely responsible for tainting your childhood memories a miserable cerulean blue.

so, when your parents sit you down one day and tell you that you'll have to marry him, you feel transported in that moment, to each and every instance gojo has ever wronged you. it flips through your mind like a montage of flashbacks in a movie.

it's both surprising and not. your families have always been partners, in everything―business, education, and now you guess, life as well. you hate gojo's guts but this creates an opportunity you don't think can result from anything else.

so, sure, you'll agree to the marriage―only to make his life a living hell.

"hello, fiancée," he greets you, for the first time since the agreement.

you don't do anything to hide your disgust, face scrunching up as you spit out, "shut up, satoru."

the wedding planning is horrendous―at least, you hope it is for him. you pick out every single cake flavor you know he hates and choose the brightest venue possible for the event. the lights you pick for the afterparty are strobe lights, and you make sure to do multiple test runs just to play with his eyes. it doesn't occur to you that the solution to his light sensitivity is simple: just a plain pair of shades.

you wear plumping lip gloss on your wedding day, just so his lips burn when you have to kiss him. but gojo is either extremely numb or just good at faking it, because all he does is grin as he whispers quietly before parting, "spicy."

in preparation for your married life, you create a ledger of some sort―a book of accounts housing every single thing gojo has done wrong. you write down your plans to get him back for each of them, a list of pranks and inconveniences to make him regret ever messing with you all those years ago.

at half a year of marriage and 25 years of knowing each other, he casually tells you the big "i love you," but you're sure he doesn't mean it. you tell yourself your heart is racing from how infuriating his existence is; at how stupid his face looked when he'd said it. not anything else and most especially not the little dimple on his cheek that shows itself every now and then.

(you didn't know it yet then, but he'd found the ledger you kept and read through it all. the one-year plan, the three-year plan, the five, and so on. and it does nothing but strengthen how he feels about you, since he was 6, 14, and a few years ago at 24.

it's at your third year of marriage that you find out―how gojo's known all this time, but more importantly, how there were reasons behind every single instance you thought he was out to ruin your life.

with intelligence far beyond his age, gojo has always preferred the company of adults more than children. at age 6, he would listen in on conversations his mother had with her friends, roughly comprehending complex worlds with the simple ones he understood. someone had mentioned something about their daughter being allergic to milk. and so, when your birthday came up and all he saw were milk treats, he gobbled them all up in an effort to make sure you wouldn't be subjected to an adverse reaction―even though you were far off from any dairy allergy.

what he was sure of, however, was that you were severely allergic to bees. and when he spotted one perched right on the buttercup stem geto handed you, he had no choice but to smack it right out of your hand and down to the ground, stepping on it too, for good measure.

and, okay, maybe he was a little naughty for tugging at your braids when you'd just spent all that time doing them, but he always liked how they flowed into waves when they unravelled; how you'd chase him afterwards, angry but so, so pretty.

if there's one moment gojo will consider real sabotage, though, it's that date he stopped you from going to. like there was any way he was going to let another man see you dressed like that. he isn't nice that way. when gojo wants something, he's not sharing, and the sight of you in white―that was meant to be his and only his.)

[silverbirching]

YEAH, AND THAT WAS THE COHERENT ONE.

Yeeeees another Vorkosigan fan to follow!

What pitchfork? Oh the one next to me? That was for... A different blog... Not you at all. Yes it has The Locked Tomb written on it... no don't worry about it, I am sure in 4 books it might be brought up again but by a completely different character who calls it a sharp cattle prod and it takes a team to forensic readers to connect the dots

Yes, but remember, the person who owns the pitchfork is actually another person who's been barely mentioned because ten thousand years ago witch magic mummy hands made an alternate dream universe caused by the angry ghosts of a dead planet and also there is a giant Barbie doll and none pizza left beef skibbadabeebop Eminem reference AND IT WAS ALL A DREAMLUCINATION EXCEPT THE PEOPLE IN IT WERE REAL AND DEAD THE WHOLE TIME (WE KNEW THEY WERE DEAD BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW THEY WERE ALIVE DEAD) AND I LIKE CHEESEBURGERS AND THE NECROMANCERS--

[reineydraws]

pokemon trainer kyo + his rapidash 🔥

[cupoteahatter]

Biblically Accurate Weyler/Wyler is them putting each other in a Saw traps whenever they have a serious argument, Tyler with the full context of what he’s building for her and because he enjoys watching her work out the puzzles and Wednesday with like a dim awareness of what they’re referencing but is 100% doing it because it’s fun watching Tyler start swearing when he has to unlock another lock on the door of HIS room by picking it and she’s filled that sucker with chainsaws and 1500 dudlocks, he still hasn’t found the real one yet. It’s been three hours, he might actually die, he’s looking at her through the one way glass with big sad eyes but not begging…. Yet.

[jubilantmedusa]

Untitled Zukka Hurt/Comfort Ficlet #1 (because practicing drawing means I need to write little mini fics I guess...)

“You’re sick.” Sokka’s voice was as calm as the surface of water on a still night. Not a hint of accusation or contempt. No softness, no sting. Only observation. Reflection.

Zuko took a breath, deep to sooth his limbs that were threatening to shake. “I’m fine.”

Sokka frowned, and Zuko felt a knot form instantly in his stomach. His shivered, vision swimming as he saw the flash of another frown, superimposed. A different frown. Harsh. Sharp.

Sokka’s movements were calm. Fluid. Gentle as he raised his hand to Zuko’s forehead and pressed with just the right amount of pressure. “You have a fever.” Zuko felt his heartbeat pick up as Sokka’s lip began to curl, but as his expression settled Zuko realized that Sokka wasn’t angry, just concerned.

Zuko breathed deeply, pinning his arms to his sides before the other boy could notice that he was shaking now. Only, he must not have been fast enough because Sokka dropped his hand from Zuko’s forehead to grab Zuko’s trembling fingers. 

“Your hands are freezing.” Sokka hand tightened around Zuko’s as he pulled it upwards, pressing it against his mouth. Zuko couldn’t stop his hands from shaking even harder as Sokka’s breath warmed his skin.

—

“I can do that.” Zuko reached to grab his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” Sokka lifted it over his head like they were kids playing keep away. Zuko huffed, crossing his arms, but let Sokka keep it.

“You’re not fine.” Sokka spread of the blanket. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Ugg.” Sokka paused. He looked up, holding  Zuko’s gaze until Zuko finally drawled, two days? maybe three.”

“Three days?!” Zuko felt his pulse quickening again, his shoulders bracing. “Why didn’t you say anything!” Even though Sokka’s voice voice was high he didn’t sound angry. In fact… Sokka’s eyebrows were scrunched, lips pressed thin. “You were training Aang this morning. Zuko, you shouldn’t be bending like that if you’re sick “ Sokka was worried.

“I’m fine.” How many times had Zuko said that now? “It’s just a fever. It’ll go away.”

“I mean, sure it will, if you rest. Can you, uh…” He gestured towards the sleeping bag, laid out and waiting.

“Oh.” It felt awkward to lower himself down when his legs felt so much like jelly, Zuko was sure it wasn’t graceful. But Sokka didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyebrow raised. Waiting. Zuko realized, then, that he was supposed to lay all the way down. So he did, somehow feeling boneless now that he wasn’t holding himself up. 

He blinked as Sokka settled a blanket over to his shoulders. It took Zuko and absurd number of seconds to realize that it was a blue blanket, one of Sokka’s own. Woven. Thick. Soft.

“Comfortable?” Sokka asked. When Zuko met his eyes he smiled.

It was nice, seeing Sokka smile. Zuko wanted to smile back, but he… there was a quivering in his stomach. Not sickness, just… waiting. “I’m fine,” Zukp said. When Sokka raised an eyebrow, he added, “I… feel fine.”

“I doubt that,” Sokka said.

“I do,” Zuko insisted. Yes, his body felt suddenly heavy. And his skin buzzed strange sensitivity that made event he gentlest touch feel like a scratch. But he was lying on his side, on something soft, and he was warm. “I… thank you.”

Sokka shrugged. “I didn’t do much,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

Zuko thought for a moment. “Water?” He croaked.

“Coming right up, bud.”

Zuko let his eyes close for a moment, just listening to the sound of Sokka’s footsteps as he went back to the packs, the rustling of fabric as he was digging through something. Then there was a feeling, something hard brushing his fingers. Zuko opened his eyes to see a small, green glass. “A Ba Sing Se souvenir cup?”

“It was on sale,” Sokka said, chuckling. “Drink it. It’s medicine.”

“For what?” Zuko asked.

“The fever?” Sokka reminded him. “Do they… umm… not treat fevers in the Fire Nation or something?”

“Of course they do.” Zuko propped himself up just enough to tip the bitter liquid into his mouth before settling down again.

More sounds of shuffling as Sokka lowered himself, and then Zuko felt weight on his back as Sokka pressed into him, a hand settling itself onto his arm. Sokka’s touch was firm, but quiet. Soft. Sweet. “But not yours?” Sokka sounded sad.

Zuko swallowed. He remembered that feeling, tossing and turning as his skin crawled and his stomach churned. Waking up with a sweat drenched face but father still expected Zuko to do his katas. Run through his katas, go to school, sit up straight. There was punishment for slouching, even if he only slouched because he was shivering so hard he couldn’t mind his posture. “We were being trained to rule, Azula and I. Countries don’t stop because you have a cold.”

Sokka didn’t say anything, just started rubbing his arm. 

“You can rest now,” Sokka said after a while. “I can take care of you.”

Take care of him? Zuko tried to remember the last time someone had taken care of him. His Uncle had tried, of course, but Zuko had always pushed him away. He couldn’t let himself be seen that way - weak, sick. So he ignored the quiver in his Uncle’s voice when Iroh spoke to him from the other side of a metal door. And before that… before that his mother would, when father would let her. When Zuko was so sick that she’d block his bed with her body to keep father away, even if it cost her. Then sit with him and fuss his hair back with slender fingers.

“I’ll take good care of you,” Sokka said.

Zuko took a deep breath in. Not a sigh, just a breath, one to fill him up. He could feel his heart starting to race again, but... nicer this time, with Sokka so warm and solid against his back. He let the breath out. Slow. Controlled. Eyes still closed, he whispered, “Okay.”

[evilspiritweek]

Next prompt for #rc9gndtiys. thought it would be fun to draw a typical session for Der Monster Klub