#Summative Assessment

[zhiweilasalle]

Week 10 Summative Assessment

In this module, my group came up with the meaning CTS and how it help with all of our class.

I reflected back when I was doing Craft workshop, teacher assigned us to create a typographic composition on week 4, however it must be legitable and it could be creative that a person could understand the words.

1st try:

My idea is that I overlapped the words and tried to make it readable yet distinctive like a new font design

However,during that week when teacher reviewed my work, she claimed that this design is very unsafictionary because the letters are not properly aligned or symmetrised well and she cant read the words very well too.

At first,I was a little disappointed because I have spent a lot of time trying to correct the designs but it was rejected.

But what I learnt from this and to CTS is that all of us failed, but the one that willing to not let failure take over us emerged as the most successful one.

2nd try:

Eventually, the work is passable to the teacher but improvement is always welcome.

What I wish I did more of or better, is I wish to visualised more typographic concepts of this.

I wish to experimented more fonts , lettering , grids, hierarchy .etc and software knowledge in the future so I can better equiped my future skills in my careers.

What my favourite activity from this is I get to think broadly about the class I took, learn and applied to my design knowledge.

This make it easier because my knowledge isnt limited around CTS when critical thinking can play a part from other module.

And each tails, we draw give us a logical flow from one subject to another, we have a reflective time ruminating what we learn from physical to digital graphic design.

[margaritaville]

i hope i have at least one follower who sees me on their dash and just has a full understanding of my whole deal

[theskyisorange]

Ideas are flowing but it's the wrong document 😞

[getmagicbox]

Maximize Learning with Effective Assessments

Discover the power of formative and summative assessments in K-12 education! MagicBox™’s blog explores how these strategies can enhance learning outcomes, foster growth, and ensure comprehensive evaluations.

Learn actionable tips and see how technology can revolutionize assessments.

Read more: https://www.getmagicbox.com/blog/formative-summative-assessment-k12-education/

[rowanintheriver]

LOCKED IN

[in-sightpublishing]

Listening to science teachers, NCSE Launches new Climate Change Story Shorts

Publisher: In-Sight Publishing Publisher Founding: September 1, 2014 Publisher Location: Fort Langley, Township of Langley, British Columbia, Canada Publication: Critical Science Newswire Original Link: https://ncse.ngo/listening-science-teachers-ncse-launches-new-climate-change-story-shorts Publication Date: July 31, 2024 Organization: National Center for Science Education Organization…

[desysabrina]

Summative Assessment Compulsory Question 3

Question 1. What kind of Collaborations projects would you like to do?

For me personally is to work with animators who are either creating Storyboarding since I’m familiar with Animation or even creating UI / UX Design as I have done in the past and even in my free time to gain experience. Both of them are really fun and exciting to create your own visual effects and even add some designs for creating a video game or apps on either Mobile, PC or any gaming device.

Question 2. What kind of final project would you like to do?

As for the final project, this is a good question because I tend to do either of those but if I were to participate in an event or such, I would say if I were to be an Event Planner or Design Marketing that will bring the community together. What do I think of that? You see, as I went to conventions from time to time, artists around the world, displaying their art and design towards everyone to see their displayed works.

Question 3. Consider “ Community Engagement and Professional Skills"

As for Job 1, I would like to try out social events, especially towards the community where all artists and gamers show their works and skills around the world. I do tend to try out to open up an Art Booth one day, just to sell my art but it does take time to understand what it's like to promote either as a beginner in a small event or an expert in a huge crowd that is well known.

Job 2, doing concept art can be my biggest dream if I can get the chance to do solo work. I don’t tend to work in such big companies but rather start as my own. As for Game Design, if I can start myself to create an indie game with the people who know about game design, we can do our best to give it to the world.

Question 4. How might CTS A help you professionally?

It helps me to understand what I do want to work as but it needs to meet the criteria in order to fulfill my choice of career.

Word Count: (330 Words)

Image References: (Capture on my phone)

[arg0t]

"I don't care how much power you have, it is fundamentally necessary and inarguable that we must provide accurate assessments to our students!"

This is a fake issue - No one is advocating for inaccurate assessment practices /on the basis of their inaccuracy/ - EVERY assessment system advocated for is advocated for ON THE BASIS OF ITS USE AND ACCURACY. you have to SAY WHAT MAKES ASSESSMENTS ACCURATE.

[ngage2003]

Marble Hornets is a series that I would say largely doesn't have plot holes, and this is honestly mostly due to the fact that they never specify much, but that being said though, there is a massive one that often goes unnoticed in the fandom, and happens to intersect with one of my favorite things as a Marble Hornets Scholar—the actual ages of our colorful cast of characters.

"Gage!" You might be crying right about now. "But we don't know the specific ages of any of the characters!" And that is where you're wrong.

We can estimate the ages of at least three characters in the Marble Hornets cast, and there is a clear problem therein.

Alex is the easiest, where we are blatantly told he was born in 1986, on April 4th.⁽¹⁾ This would mean during the filming of Marble Hornets he would 19 or 20 years old, and probably the latter since a film project like he was undertaking would probably be closer to a summative than early in the year.

Additionally, his age would probably mean he is in his second year of college, provided he didn't take a gap year.

This is actually further backed up by the fact that we know Brian is a third year in college.⁽²⁾ This is something specifically highlighted on the Marble Hornets website under the Cast tab as if its out of the ordinary, meaning the rest of the cast are probably in their second year if I had to guess.

This puts everyone's ages at probably around 19-20 in 2006.

Easy, yeah?

But then comes the topic of Tim, that being that we can actually estimate his age due to another factor, his medical records from Entry 60.5.

During a hospital visit on December 20th 1995, it is stated that Tim has completed or is in his 2nd year of education.⁽³⁾ And at that time Tim weighs 21 kg and is 107 centimeters tall, which translates to 46.297 pounds and 42.126 inches, which are either on the extreme low side of healthy for an eight year old boy, or moderately healthy for a 7 year old boy.⁽⁴⁾⁽⁵⁾

For those not in the know, the age for 2nd graders is 7-8 years old, and the age for 3rd is 8-9.

And that is the issue. Because that would mean that in fall of 2005-early 2006, Tim would be either 18 or even 17, and maybe not even realistically graduated from highschool, as his birthday is June 19th⁽⁶⁾ meaning it would still only have been 10 birthdays rather than 11 between then and the recording of Marble Hornets.

It goes without saying that this is a massive discrepancy, and probably an unintentional one because if Brian's being a third year was being highlighted, then this definitely would have been in my opinion—especially if this was for Alex's class presumably as a second year.

There is just little to no time for Brian and Tim to realistically meet and become friends if this is his age, or for Tim to even attend college, seeing as he was probably fresh out of the mental health institution and probably didn't even have the right credentials to go.

It is a mindboggling misstep, and in my opinion is one that should be totally discounted in any fan project, but is a blatant hole in the lore of Marble Hornets.

Tim is simultaneously a second year at college and 17-18. Marble Hornets has pocket dimensions of time apparently.

Thanks for reading.

(1) "Alex Kralie, born April 4th 1986," (https://web.archive.org/web/20150425230637/http://www.marblehornets.com/castcrew.html) (2) "Brian has been attending the university for three years, and is hoping to graduate after his next couple of semesters," (https://web.archive.org/web/20150425230637/http://www.marblehornets.com/castcrew.html) (3) There is some information that is filled in improperly on the record of Tim's hospital visit, such as the question, "Have you been hospitalized at our facility in the past 7 days" being answered with "No" despite the fact that Tim was very much hospitalized. It is in this same assessment where the question, "Last grade in school attended" is answered with "2," and due to the fact some stuff has been filled out kinda awkwardly, I think its debatable if that means he is in second grade or completed it. (4) (https://childrenswi.org/medical-care/adolescent-health-and-medicine/issues-and-concerns/adolescent-growth-and-development/normal-growth) (5) (https://www.nationwidechildrens.org/conditions/health-library/normal-growth) (6) Confirmed by Tim Sutton in the 3rd Cast Commentary at 1:07:28. (https://youtu.be/Z6FJvU651Sw?t=4044) Thank you @unholyslasher for helping me pinpoint that!

[madwomanxx]

I like thinking about the different ways gods problem solve and their different type of intelligence

My main examples for this are Athena, Apollo and Hermes

Please keep in mind this is all my personal interpretations and views on their domains, also I'm writing this at 3am after I finally finished studying, hopefully it's coherent enough-

Focusing mainly on Athena and Apollo, I love thinking of the difference between logic and wisdom as a domain

Generally, logic is based on a set of principles, rules , patterns, extra

Apollo is the most distant yet human of the gods, this fits very well with his role in the arts and science

He can be impulsive, emotional and very short sighted. This highly depends on the situation and his personal level of involvement, which's why we see this side of him often with lovers or when tragedies strike his children

But in cases where he doesn't have personal stakes, I believe he would go in the opposite side of the spectrum

He'd judge and come up with an answer completely dependant on objective and tangible facts, he'd rarely if ever bother to figure out the feelings of anyone involved in the situation, actively distant and detached

I've always viewed him as a god stuck in his own head, biases and feelings. His deductions all make sense when you don't take into consideration the emotinal illogical element

He's also the god of knowledge, he has a huge arsenal of facts at his disposal!

Basically, I'm trying to say, Apollo is very clever, he just doesn't usually take into consideration the feelings of others. He still makes great plans and council

That's when you bring in Athena, aka wisdom

I know many people write her as book smart, or just unaware or caring about feelings and such. I fundamentally disagree with this!

Athena is very knowledgeable about feelings, we see this a lot in the Iliad, she knows exactly what words and disguise to use, immediately convinces the person to do as she wants, meanwhile we see Apollo often recognized immediately as a god and changing tactics when his first approach doesn't work ( Aeneas is one that I remember, Apollo first went with reminding him about his vows to pursued him into fighting Achilles, then added more words and comparing Aphrodite to Thetis, this convinced Aeneas to go for it)

Athena knows exactly what words to use in order to get what she wants from Zeus, while I joke and believe in her favorite child status, she's also very smart about it. She knows how to appeal to Zeus to get her wishes granted

This is why her and Apollo are a great council for Zeus, Apollo can provide a solid strong plan or just tons of facts about the situation and resources, Athena can elevate a good plan into a perfect one with nearly zero chances of failure!

Athena is also quicker in fully assessing a situation and coming up with the perfect strategy, while Apollo may take a bit longer to consider all the objective facts and generally maul it over

They're both creative and clever, just their approach is different but very complimentary

Where does Hermes fit into all of this? He's a jack of all trades!

He's very quick to think of ways to bullshit himself out of trouble, he may appear similar to Athena at first, especially with both associating with cunning

But he mostly makes plans based on his personal abilities and smooth talking skills, he doesn't usually take into account other people or things outside of his immediate skill set when problem solving

He's 100% prioritizing what he can physically do and what negotiation tactic is needed

To summ it up:

Apollo mainly thinks of the objective elements, random facts he already knows ( he's a nerd who is constantly learning about every field there is no matter how "useless") he mainly depends on logical patterns when problem solving

Hermes depends on his own skills, with a heavy focus on talking when problem solving ( seduction gets used a lot-)

Athena uses both of these tactics combined with being acutely aware of the people involved, and how to best utilize and lead them to the desired outcome ( she's also only a nerd for certain special interests and useful things, she doesn't need to flip through her memories between jellyfish facts and the plot of desperate housewives XD)

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. and all of the sudden it was summer. minors dni. nsfw warnings under the cut. 5.9k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: public sex (not caught, not almost caught. just. public), dry humping, language.

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and half-broken. His fingers dig into the fabric on your hips, pulls you down harder, moves your hips faster. You love feeling him grow under you. You can feel his dick, hard under you in his shorts, and you can feel yourself, hot and bothered and soaking wet. He pushes you impossibly further down against him, sinks his teeth into your shoulder, around the strap of your tanktop and the material of your sports bra. 

It’s so hot. So hot and steamy and everything is sweaty and flushed. You think you might have to drink a gallon of water after this, that it’s the only way you’ll be able to accomplish another task all day. The sauna had to be the worst place to do this, to finally break after all this time. It’s hot and it’s dangerous in more ways than you can count. 

You barely hear him over the thick heat covering both of your bodies, over the dehydrated ringing in your ear. “What?”

“Enough,” he breathes, thumbing at the waistband of your shorts, trying to slip you out of them, to have you all the way. “Wanna be inside you.”

“Mm-mm,” you hum against his lips, smile out of the kiss because you know your words will piss him off. Your hand covers his, practically intertwines between his fingers, holds him still at your waistband. He’s pouting before you can even tell him. “No, this is all you get,” you mutter, moving his hand further down, until it’s resting where the fabric of your shorts meet his, where you grind against him, against his hand. “Anyone could walk in.”

He pulls your shorts to the side, lets his thumb slide between the fabric and your underwear, slides up and down over your slick, all messy and wet through your underwear. It makes him shake his head, how much of a mess you already are for him. You relish in it, watch him with a sick smile. “Let them.”

You laugh, elbows on his shoulders while your hands run through his hair, all sweaty and salty and lacking the familiar scent of his shampoo. No, no, it just smells hot. Everything smells hot and humid. “You don’t mean that.”

He leans into your fingers, lets your nails drag across his scalp gently with fluttered eyelids. He looks pretty and content and you hate it. “I might,” he mumbles into your shoulder, kisses the skin just past your clavicle, nips a bruise on top of a bruise on top of a bruise. Just in case you forget. 

“If you did,” you hum, sitting up, raising your hips off his and reaching behind your body, under your ass to palm him through his shorts, to put the outline of his dick just where you want it–where you need it. “You’d let them hear how good you feel instead of biting off my fucking shoulder.”

“You want to hear me?” 

“Yes,” you nod. He takes a deep breath, almost spits it out in a laugh and you can predict his actions before he even starts. “FU–” you smack your hand over his mouth before he can even get the vowel sound out, head whipping around to look at the door, to wait for the handle to jiggle against itself and for someone to push it open to see what all the commotion is about. When nobody does, you turn your attention to him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You scold, a laugh tickling the back of your throat through the muffled rage. He’s such a fucking idiot. He licks a long stripe across your palm and he about curls over in laughter when you yank your hand away disgusted. 

He shrugs, toothy, dimpled grin on his face. “I was making sure you could hear me.”

He thrusts against you, fingers digging into your hips, flat hands spanning your back, your sides, groping at your boobs through far too much fabric. He agrees with your assessment, he does, because he’s pulling up the hem of your tank top, of your sports bra, pulling them up over your chest so he can properly play with your tits. You know you should keep them covered, stay as clothed as possible just in case, but every nerve in your body reacts to his touch, his gentle fingers over your skin, and you’re in no place to be sensible.

You kiss him, hard and deep and not very mean at all, nothing like you usually do, all noses bumping and half giggles and foreheads resting against each other. “I hate you,” you whisper into his mouth before kissing him again.

You swallow his laugh. All of this is entirely too laugh-ey for your comfort. It’s weird. It’s all so weird, this new dynamic; the way you both stumble back and forth, swing like a pendulum from one side of the line to the other. One minute, you wish you could strangle him with his own tongue. The next, you’re lavishing in the taste of his laugh. “You wish you hated me,” he says. You don’t say anything. You do wish you hated him. You do, because it would be so much easier. If you hated him the way you used to, you wouldn’t be here like this, fucking his lap, desperately tugging on the waistband of your shorts to pull them tighter across your cunt. Nothing you do will make it close enough, not as long as you refuse to actually fuck him, to let him fuck you. “Cat’s got your tongue now, does it?”

You shake your head, kiss along his jaw, nibble his ear and his neck and his shoulder; you give him a taste of his own medicine. “Mm-mm, just feels good,” his skin muffles your words, makes them short and lispy.

He laughs. You’re so fucking sick of the fact that you aren’t sick of his laugh. It exhausts you, the way his dimples dig into his cheeks, the way his shoulders shake and his abs flex and you get to watch it all up close. It’s fucking infuriating. “You don’t think I’ve fucked you enough to know that sex doesn’t shut you up?”

You smirk, grind down onto him and God, it feels so fucking good. Better than it should. “And what does shut me up, Charles?”

“One of my life’s great mysteries,” he says, and you don’t know how long it’s been since he last met your eyes. He’s so glued to the two of you it’s bordering on pathetic, loose jaw and half-lidded eyes watching every movement of your bodies. He looks at you like he’s starved. It makes you fucking crazy, and he’s the only one that does it–which is that much more annoying. Nobody looks at you the way he does. 

It’s just the time. The reason he watches you the way he does. It’s time. Time apart, a lot of it. It’s just the time, you tell yourself again and again. “I missed this,” you tell him, and it’s because of the time. 

“Arguing with me?”

“No, no. Missed you.” Because of time. Because of time. Because of time. You think maybe you’d gotten addicted to it all, to the push and the pull and the promise of things never going anywhere. That you grew reliant on it, on him, to be there when you needed him to be, when nobody else was good enough for a quick fuck. You’d become an addict, a sloppy drunk who’s favorite drink is him. The orange juice is gone now, and you’re back to consuming him and it’s like you never stopped. 

He grabs at your ass, at your shorts and your underwear and your thighs, at anything that might possibly force you down onto him harder and quicker. The pace is fading fast, and you’re both losing the fight to keep being smart. “Fuck,” he groans, the same way he always does when he’s close. 

“I know,” you whine, nodding, fucking against him like your life depends on getting off. “Me too.”

“So good, baby,” he coaxes you. You hear the pet name, you always hear the pet name. You always tell him to shut the fuck up because it makes you mush, putty in his hands everytime. This time, though, this time you’re silent, breath pausing against his skin. “Sorry, sorry,” he corrects before you can. You weren’t going to, not this time. 

“No, it’s okay. God—it’s okay,” the conversation gets harder and harder, your mind cloudier with each passing moment, with each thrust bringing you that much closer to the tantalizing edge. 

“Yeah?” He moves you quicker, finds the space somewhere to rut up off the hard bench and into you. “You like that shit now?”

  You nod, eyes pinching shut, fingernails digging into the skin on his back. “From you, baby, fuck, I do.”

He sighs, pained, half-whimpered. You don’t know how you aren’t coming yet, how the fuck you’re still having a conversation. You’re blindingly close. He’s closer. “Stop saying shit like that to me, gonna make me–fucking… fuck,” he sputters out, and you feel his dick twitch in his shorts. God. Next time–fuck. Next time, you want him dripping down your leg. 

The thought of it is enough to unravel you, to leave you following right behind, thinking maybe, maybe you can fit in another smart comment, something to still manage to assure that you’ve got the upper hand. Something that, when the two of you walk out of here, you’ll be able to replay back as the moment you won the battle. You’re wrong. “But it makes my jo…” your words trail off into a laugh, a stuttered moan that’s lost all semblance of the joke. 

(twenty-two minutes earlier)

You'd decided to take some time after Monaco, to separate yourselves in an attempt to untangle the mess of webs you’ve wrapped yourselves in. You’d turned to the gym to blow off all that excess steam left behind in his wake. Only problem is, your gym is his gym, and you’ve spotted each other from across the place more than once. 

As you entered the sauna, the steam enveloped you, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and relaxation. You were looking forward to some peaceful time alone, a chance to unwind and forget about the newfound complications of your life. 

The tranquility is short lived, however, when you notice Charles sitting on the other side of the room. 

Your eyes meet for a split second, and in that fleeting glance, a myriad of emotions pass between you. Surprise, annoyance, that same third thing you’ve been trying to kill for months. Both of you.

You didn’t have time to dwell on his presence, not with strangers in the sauna with you. 

You took the farthest possible seat from him, trying to focus on the hot air working your muscles instead of the irritating man glaring at you. You can feel his eyes, their stare only dueling your frustration. 

Minutes pass in tense silence as you both pretend not to notice each other. The other people in with you, acting as a silent buffer, your own personal sauna Switzerland, get up and walk out, leaving the two of you alone. The moment the door closes behind the last person, he’s jumping down your throat, his annoyance no longer restrained. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, tone laced with irritation. 

You rolled your eyes. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to play your little game, no way you’re backing down this early. “I could ask you the same thing,” you retorted, crossing your arms defensively. 

He let out a humorous chuckle. “Maybe I wanted some peace and quiet,” he shot back.

You scoffed. “Peace and quiet? You’re the last person I expect to want that,” you said, unable to hide your disdain. 

Charles glared back at you , clearly unappreciative of your sarcastic wit. “Well, we can’t all be perfect like you,” he replied. The tension was thick between the two of you, thicker than it had been in a long time. “Can’t you find another gym to steal?” 

You huffed, tired of his complaints. “I can go wherever I want. It’s not my fault you’re so inflexible with your workout schedule,” you shot back, trying to mask the unease you felt. 

He leaned back in his seat, a hint of smugness in his voice. “And can you at least wear something a little more… decent? You’re not leaving much to the imagination,” He comments, eyes flickering over your outfit. He’s just a douche, you’re wearing a sports bra and running shorts. 

You annoyance flares. Who the fuck does he think he is, acting like a boyfriend—an overprotective one at that. Fuck him. Fuck him. “Oh please, I don’t dress to impress you,” you retorted flatly. 

He seems unphased by your rage, which only makes you angrier. “It’s distracting,” he mumbled.

Fed up with his attitude, with everything he decided to represent by waking up and coming to the gym and walking into the sauna, you decide to call his fucking bluff. You got up from where you were sitting, moved closer to him, hands on your hips. 

“You want to see how revealing my clothes can be?” you challenged, folding over the waistband of your shorts, revealing just a bit more skin. 

He blinked, caught dumbfounded by your move, by your sudden proximity. “That’s not what I meant,” he stammered, bravado faltering. You took a step closer, gaze locked with his. 

“Then what did you mean, Charles?” you asked, voice softening just enough to let him think he’s going to get off easy. He’d never be that lucky, not when he’s talking like he owns you, like he has any right to your body or the clothes you put on it. “Did you mean to criticize everything I do, everything I wear, or just assert some kind of dominance over me?”

He looked taken aback by your words, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. Your tone surprised even you. It was clear he hadn't expected you to challenge him like this. “No, that’s not what I meant at all,” he replied, voice softer now. 

“Then what is it, Charles?” you pressed, refusing to back down. “What is it about me that’s bothering you so much?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then finally spoke, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s not that I’m bothered by you,” he said, “I just… I don’t know how to be around you.”

You took another step closer, closing the distance between the two of you. You roll your eyes, huff and puff and almost groan because he’s only reminding you of why the two of you agreed to keep your distance in the first place. He can’t hang, can’t get with the program and understand that you just can’t deal with the implications of him.  “What do you mean?” you ask, voice cooling, wanting to understand him. 

He hesitates, gaze locked on yours. “It’s like… every time I’m with you, everything is just. It’s different,” he admitted. “I can’t pretend it’s not.”

You can, you can pretend. You like pretending. Pretending is easy, far easier than facing the facts, facing the feelings. Your heart skips a beat, his words resonating with the feelings you’d been trying to bury. “So, what are we then?” you asked, already gearing up to refute any claims he goes making about us, about we, about any other multitude of pluralities he wants to stutter out. 

He has no sort of a clear answer. “I don’t know,” he replies, harrowingly candid. You don’t think you’ll ever be faced with him being this vulnerable and not feel like throwing up.  “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

The vulnerability in his voice breaks any and all anger you’d managed to carry to this point. You almost felt bad, a pang of sympathy tearing through your chest. You knew he was struggling as much as you were. “I don’t know either,” you admitted, voice threatening to fall into silence. You both stand there for a beat too long, heavy with the weight of it all. And then, in a moment of impulse, you reach out and take his hand, intertwine your fingers with his. 

His thumb moves over the back of your hand, but he says your name like you’re hurting him, like he’s truly pained to hold your hand. “I can’t lose you. I won’t,” he whispers. “I can’t, I can’t keep running from it.”

You were taken back by the sincerity, but rather than pull away, recoil into safety like a scared turtle into their shell, you squeezed his hand gently. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you spoke honestly, more generously than you had yet allowed yourself to. “But I. Yeah, I can’t lose you.”

And just like that, the months of rebuilding the barriers and the boundaries has all gone to shit, all the walls melting to the floor in a steaming puddle. The tension that had been built, destroyed, redbuilt, for so fucking long that it felt like a tightly wound spring just begging to snap. 

Without another word, you leant down, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against his. There was no fight, no anger or frustration or game to win, it was just a kiss. It was no longer a hookup, a friends or enemies or… frenemies with benefits situation. It’s not an itch that needs to be scratched anymore. It’s a gap, begging to be bridged, to be explored after so long. 

You moved to straddle him, out of pure convenience–no distraction, no battle for domination. Just you, sitting on his lap, and him, kissing a smile onto your lips. 

As you pulled apart, breath heavy and hearts pounding, you looked at him, searched his eyes for the same fear you felt, gentle fingers making a half-hearted attempt at styling his hair. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he says. You don’t know how it could possibly make any sense, how you could possibly feel like you do, but you miss him. He’s right here in front of you, and you miss him. 

You nodded, “I don’t either,” you confirmed. You don’t know which one of you moved first, who started it all. Just that you were the first to speak again. “We shouldn’t.” Push.

“I know.” Pull. 

“But I want to.” It’s pained, just like everything else. You know better. You both know better. 

“I know, I know.”

You gathered at the entrance of the trailhead, the air full of laughter and excited chatter as all of your friends caught up, planned for the hike ahead. It was Marta’s idea, and she’d swore to you up and down that Charles wasn’t going to be there, that he had too much to focus on with summer break coming to an end in just a few days. 

It has been so long since the whole group got together, and when you’d gotten the text it sounded like the perfect excursion, the best way to spend a warm evening. You beam talking to them, catching up on work and romance and family and other friends. Your gaze sweeps over the group, stopping dead at the sight of him. Either Marta had lied to you, or Ricky had lied to Marta. 

“What’s he doing here?” you asked her, and she followed you gaze. 

“Who—oh. I don’t know, honest.”

As if he can feel your eyes on him, his gaze meets yours for a fleeting second. The shared surprise, the shared irritation, it tells you that he didn’t know you’d be here, either. There’s something else there, too, something about a reminder of shared history, an acknowledgement that no matter how hard you two try, there’s no escaping each other. 

You set off on the hike on opposite ends of the group, as far away from him as you can manage. Maybe, maybe you’ll be able to put off the inevitable for just a while longer. You’re not naive enough to think you can make it to the viewpoint without ending up next to him, without being forced into conversation. 

It lasts all of fifteen minutes before you, Marta, Charles, and Ricky have all been relegated to the back of the pack. You’re not surprised it’s the three of you—Ricky has Chiara strapped into this little backpack carrier, and it weighs him down. Marta spends more of the hike snapping pictures of the baby than watching where she walks, while Charles is attempting to be a professional photographer at every possible lookout point, grabbing a picture of each and every interesting thing he sees. And you, well. You’ve always been a slow hiker. 

The two of you still stand with Marta and Ricky between you, walking four wide through the trail. Marta’s already planning Chiara’s first birthday, trying to work around everyone’s schedules to make sure the whole friend group can be there. Ricky talks Charles’ ear off about work, about if they choose the best possible hiking trail and whatever else it is straight men talk about. 

Despite your separate conversations and the couple between you, your eyes continually find his, drawn in by the laughter and animated gestures that always annoyed you so.  There’s just something so. So painfully familiar about the unspoken and impossible to ignore tension between the two of you. You feel like a child, the way your mind blanks and time stops for just a second every time you meet eyes. It’s stupid. It is.

“Aimez-vous cette randonnée?” Enjoying the hike, Ricky asks you, oblivious to the tension floating around him. 

You tear your eyes from Charles, offer a distracted nod. “Ouais. Excellent moyen de passer la soirée,” Yeah. Great way to spend the evening, you reply. 

You hear the rest of the group before you can see them, huddled off to a decent-sized lookout point, one with a clear view of the entire country. The sun is just starting to set, casting a warm, golden glow over your home, sparkling off the calm sea. 

The group dispersed around the opening, snapping pictures of the view and with each other. You find a seat-shaped boulder to sit on, silently appreciating the sights, irritatingly aware of Charles’ proximity. You can always tell when he’s nearby, can feel him like he;s electrically charged. 

He’s only a few feet away, carefully crafting away at an Instagram story when he speaks to you for the first time all evening. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he speaks softly, mumbles almost, and doesn’t bother to look up from his phone. 

“Always is,” you reply, eyes fixed on the horizon. 

He nods in agreement, and the air is so heavy. So, so heavy. 

Marta cuts through it all with a photocall, and because of the laws of nature, you and Charles find yourselves side by side. Like you said, electric. Magnetic, maybe; the pull. 

The camera clicks, captures the smiles and the shared experience and he’s looking at you again. It’s like it’s just the two of you, sometimes, all muddy history and lingering potential. 

With the picture captured, conversations resume, groups disperse, and everything is back as it was; even the innate awareness of where Charles is. 

As the hike continues to the summit, you and he move together in step. The familiarity is like a blanket, something comfortable amidst the messy chaos of emotional turmoil. 

“I used to love sunsets like this,” Charles began, snapping the silence of shoes on dirt and half-crunched leaves. 

You turn to him with piqued curiosity. “What changed?”

He hesitates, locks his gaze on the path ahead. “Life, I guess. Responsibilities, expectations, the weight of it all. It’s easy to forget to appreciate the simple things.” He shifts his steps slightly, brushes his arm against yours and makes you shiver. He makes you so nervous. You fucking hate that he makes you so nervous now. He’s looking at you, and you’re the one fixed on the trail. It’s a simple swap, but it feels heavy, it does. “Hey,” he says, soft. Comfortable. 

You pick at your nails. Anything to avoid his eyes. “Yeah?”

You can hear it in his pause before speaking that he’s choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he began, gaze never leaving the side of your head. “About us, about everything.”

Your heart races the same way it does everytime he tries to have this conversation. You know what he’s referring to. You always know, even if he doesn’t say it outright. “Yeah,” you nod, meet his eyes and dare him to continue.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing when he does it. “I just. I think we owe it to ourselves.”

His words sink into your skin slowly, poisoning your every cell like he just has to put voice to every thought that haunts you. “Charles,” you start, voice soaked in uncertainty and longing. He holds up a hand, stops you before you can continue. 

“I’m not asking you for an answer,” he says, and a lump is already forming in your throat. “I know you need time. I don’t understand it,” he chuckles, “but I know it.”

“Charles,” you whisper, voice barely audible. 

His fingers brush against yours in the space between your bodies. It’s so small, such a minute gesture, but it speaks volumes, gives you permission to feel, to open up to the possibility that lies before the two of you. 

“I know you’re scared,” he says, dares to hold your hand, to run circled over the back of yours with his thumb. “I don’t have answers, but. I don’t know,” he admits, “I don’t know, maybe we can figure them out together.”

You have to look away, you do. Because if you don’t watch the cotton candy sky, the watercolor oranges and yellows and pinks and blues, you might just cry right there on the hiking trail. He always does this, it’s his go-to move recently; make you feel all safe and stupid and like it’s okay to be vulnerable. 

You huff, think carefully before nonsense tumbles from your lips. “How did we end up like this?” You’d asked, as if it wasn’t obvious. The two of you had stumbled your way into this situation the same way you’d stumbled through the rest of your lives, bouncing from opportunity to opportunity just hoping, praying, that someday it would all work out the way you thought it would. 

“Does it matter?” he replies. 

This isn’t how you thought it would end up with Charles. You thought things would always stay the same—they’d made it this far, through this much in the past two and a half decades. What could possibly change the irritation between you two now? If you hadn’t softened with Jules, with Herve. If none of it had made you budge, why on God’s green Earth would a single drunken night change everything? 

It shouldn’t. There’s no reason that the cards should have fallen like this, but they did. They did, and now everything is so fucked up because you’re soft for the one person you’d counted on never being soft for. 

“No,” you finally say. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

He doesn’t fill your silence, the two of you just sit in it, continue up the trail, following the sound of your friends’ voices, of the music playing from someone’s speaker. 

L’appel du vide. The call of the void. The French and their incessant need to make everything sound more romantic than it is. Only they could romanticize the impulse to be destructive. You’re faced with it at the trail peak, standing on the edge of the cliff next to him. 

You could push him, solve all your problems and create half a dozen more. You could jump, solve all your problems and leave one big one for the rest of them to deal with. The problems would be solved, they would. 

“Okay,” you say, the toe of your shoe twisting into the gravel. 

“Okay?” He asks, in the middle of taking a picture of the sun. It’ll be dark when you get back, the sun is disappearing into the horizon as he photographs it. 

“I guess we,” you sigh. He shoves his phone in his pocket. “We can figure it out together.” It’s a terrible admission, an agreement that something does exist, that there is a thing, glaring at you with a third eye and needs to be dealt with, sorted out, controlled. 

He nods, doesn’t poke or prod for anything he knows you can’t give. “Alright.”

“Yeah.”

You don’t give into the call of the void that summer night. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. The void had left you a voicemail in the early hours of the year, before the sun rose and after the moon set, lost somewhere in the dawns. The void had already called, and you’d already answered. 

(1 hour later)

You were right, it was dark when the group of you had finally made it back to the parking lot. You’d separated yourself from him again, somewhere on the way down the trail, and had taken Chiara from Ricky. You carried her on your hip and talked with Marta the whole way back. 

“Is there something going on with you and Charles?” She asked, and your heart rate doubled instantaneously.  You focus on the baby in your arms instead of looking at your friend, know that one glance in her direction and she won’t wonder anymore, she’ll know every detail without a moment and a half of eye contact. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “You guys have just been weird all year.”

Your stomach drops. You’d thought the two of you had been so good at hiding it, and here you are finding out that what… everyone has known for eight months? For almost nine months, they’ve all been looking at you and Charles and knowing the two of you were fucking behind closed doors. “All year?”

“Yeah, I mean,” she laughs. “Ricky and I figured the two of you hooked up on New Year’s.”

Of course. Of course they knew. You weren’t exactly subtle about it that first time, the two of you drunkenly disappearing, just the two of you, walking hand in hand off into the night. Of course they knew, how couldn’t they when you’d made it so fucking obvious.

“We didn’t,” you still lie. If you can’t sort out your own feelings, rationalize anything internally, how are you supposed to attempt to explain the situation to anyone else, much less your best friend and his. Even if you could—maintain some sort of composure about any of it—you owe it to Charles to talk to him about it before anyone else.

Despite all of it, you owe it to him. 

“Yes you did!”

You get defensive quick, and Marta’s insistence that you did sleep with Charles (even though you definitely did, and she’s more right than she knows) gets under your skin and rubs you in the wrong way.  “And what if I did?”

Marta purses her lips, presses them into a thin line that reminds you of your sister, of your mother. “Nothing. If you did, it means nothing.”

“Right,” you sigh, nod, raise your voice half an octave and talk to Chiara more than Marta, squeezing her little leg. “It means nothing.”

She matches your tone. “Unless it means something.” You glare at her. “If there’s anything there, you can tell me.”

 “I know,” you nod. She continues to pry. 

“So?”

“I…” you sigh. It would be so much easier to just tell her she was right. That she couldn’t be more right and there are a million and one things going on between you and Charles. It would be so much easier to tell her, just like it would be so much easier to tell Charles, but. You can’t. No matter how much easier it would be, you can’t. “No. No, nothing is going on.”

“Okay,” she says, clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth to remind you just how much she doesn’t believe you. “I better not see you getting into his car tonight.”

You smile, weak, but a smile nonetheless. “You won’t.”

You managed to maintain your distance, somehow, against all the polarizing forces of the universe, but trying to stay away from Charles is like running against a rubber band. You can only go so far. 

He’s parked two spots over from you, in one of his more… under the radar cars. It’s why you didn’t blink when you’d parked by it, because it wasn’t the Monaco National Anthem on wheels, it was just a car. Anyways, you’d parked two spots over and now here you were, walking side by side to the back of the lot. 

“So,” he says, drags his feet against the blacktop, scuffs on the bottom of his sneakers with every step. 

You can feel Marta’s eyes on you, look over your shoulder to confirm her position on the other side of the parking lot, and drag your own feet. The faster you walk, the faster you get to the cars. “So…”

The silence is half-suffocating, the wavering dare to break it hanging in the air above you both. You never can start the conversation. You never know what to say. “You wanna come back to my place?” He offers, and you think that maybe the reason so much between you is said in silence is because he doesn’t know how to start the conversation, either. 

“Uh,” you’re at your car now, fingers moving over the shimmering paint. You glance at Marta, still watching your interaction while Ricky straps Chiara into her carseat. “I do, but,” you sigh, eyes finding their way back to his. “I can’t.”

“Okay, yeah,” he follows your former sightline. “You alright?”

You nod. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good,” he says, and then, with a dumb look on his face, “Are we gonna fuck?”

You laugh. “Probably.”

“Are we gonna talk?”

“Probably not.”

He purses his lips into a smile, runs his hand through his hair once, twice, three times. “Saw that coming.”

You’ve slowly—slowly—been making your way to the car door, backing away from him at the back end. “It’s settled, then,” you say, unlock the car door and open it, lean against it while you continue your conversation. 

“Yeah, settled,” he nods, fidgeting with one of the bracelets tied around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

You smile, annoyingly endeared. “Goodnight, Charles.”

He smiles back, at his bracelet and then at his shoes and then finally at you, stepping backwards toward his own car.  “Goodnight.”

You watch him walk away, because anyone would, and just when he’s about to vanish from your eye line, you call after him. “Hey!”

His head shoots back to you, eyes wide and brows raised. “Yeah?”

“Fuck you!” You tell, stand on your tip-toes to make sure he can see your middle finger over the cars. He shakes his head and winks back at you before climbing into the car. 

[cosmowes]

Planning Ahead

this is something i'm still working on, actually. keeping a visual log of everything i need to do has been really useful, but it's still a pretty new habit for me.

the issue is that i really, really hate taking the time to have those things be nice- because then i get unmotivated when the load gets heavy and i can't keep it that way. no cute advice, this is my planner for solely function.

SHORTHAND. i use shorthand for everything. a list of my favorites:

ESP - spanish, or FR - french (really works for any foreign language class)

ENG/ELA - english language arts

MT (math) - CALC (calculus) - PCLC (precalc) - STAT (statistics) - ALG (algebra) etc

GEO/HIS (geography or history)

SCI (science) - BIO (biology) - CHEM (chemistry) - FNS (forensics) - PHYS (physics)

GFX (graphic design) - DRM (drama) - HLC (healthcare) - BSN (business) etc... for whatever electives you have, lol

PJ (project)

HW (homework)

CFA/QZ (common formative assessment/quiz)

SD/SG (study/study guide)

PKT (packet)

SM (submit)

UG (ungraded)

SUM (summative)

FORM (formative)

PG _ (page _)

NSR/EC (not school related/extra curricular)

DNO (due night of)

DIC (due in class)

DEOC (due end of class)

i combine these for little nicknames like ESPPJ, MTPK, GFXPJ, etc. or DRM (info) NSR, GFXPKT EC

DESCRIPTION. i add a quick description of the item, just so i know what it is. usually just the actual assignment name or what it entails. if it's at home reading for english, it'll say "ENGHW Reading PG __-__". a drama script might say "DRM Script DEOC"

DATE. i always add the due date. i write it as a fraction so that it takes up a tiny bit less space. if i know, this is where the time it's due is added too.

URGENCY. i had another post about how i decide an assignment's urgency here, so i throw one of these numbers on the end.

DON'T CARE ABOUT CUTE! the point of this is to keep info. build the habit for a while, and once you have logging things as a habit, you can make it cute. but if you're already having trouble building the habit, adding more work will make it more difficult in my experience. always add onto your habits that already exist.

USE IT! i've also seen people have full planners that are so so cute and then just. never use them??? you're making this so that you have a way to keep track. making it, and then just throwing it in your bag to not be seen until tomorrow is defeating the point. use what you made.

images from pin 📌 - search white study aesthetic

[187days]

Day One Hundred Fifty-Three

Today, for teacher appreciation week, there were snacks in the main office and some really sweet notes from students in our mailboxes. I also had a bunch of students just wish me "Happy teacher appreciation!" today. I think it mentions it on Google Classroom, so they're prompted, but I still liked it.

My teaching day started with one last game of Kahoot with the APGOV kids before their exam. This was the vibe when they left the room:

After that, my Global Studies students came in to write an on-demand essay. This is practice for one they'll do as a summative assessment in a few weeks. They wrote about the effects of the conflict in South Sudan, and the issues that could potentially emerge from renewed conflict. Anyone who did the prep work they were supposed to do yesterday did pretty well, anyone who didn't do the prep work learned a lesson- I hope- about the importance of preparation.

Should they have learned that lesson before May? Yeah, but better late than never.

After school, I had a leadership team meeting. We spoke about the end of this year, the schedule for next year, that kind of thing. I had a cracking headache, so I didn't contribute much. The Principal did hear me tell Mr. N that what I teach is sometimes "complex geopolitical nonsense" beforehand, though, and I think that phrase is going to stick with him.

[wutheringheightsfilm]

turnitin is so goddamn stupid 😭 it says i have a 40% chance of plagiarism because guess what it clocked:

the cover page that the department mandates every student fills out for summative assessments

the historic england building listing i was mandated to include

the policy frameworks i quoted and cited sections of

my bibliography 😭

[desysabrina]

Summative Assessment Compulsory Question 2

Connect CTS A to all your other modules:

As what I learned over these past few months in Lasalle, I was feeling a bit challenged as I am opened up to experience the world of Design Communication. So, here’s my reflective answers.

For Craft Studio, it is an interesting experience to express my creativity through different mediums, shapes and sizes by using different various tools like using a Dot Sticker, different set of materials to create lines etc. As I had my feedback about my work, especially Week 4, which is Positive and Negative, I need to redo it again due to the mess of the edges and cuts. As our Lecture gave me advice to sketch out before making the work as a complete design.

Photography is a lot of fun and it helps me to focus more on capturing the perspective and even the quality of the photo itself. One thing that really gave me a struggle is to capture the perfect moment as I can be a perfectionist when it comes to taking photos in my own spare time or during school hours. Especially when I was new to the topic of Movement and Time. Taking and controlling the right Shutter Speed and ISO, which is to increase or decrease the photo to make it either brighter or darker. It depends on the lighting.

As for Studio and Digital Skills, it is pretty challenging when it comes to Week 4, which is Type & Language. I did try to learn about new software which is InDesign. The software I'm not that familiar with but it gives me a sense to try it out but I do need to buck up more. It may look easy to put the text in but when it comes to turn into a design, it needs to be effective towards the viewer’s eyes.

Overall, it is a big learning experience for me as I love to study that is outside of my comfort zone.

Word Count: (323 Words)

Image References: (Capture on my phone)

[mskowronskat2]

Summative assessment: Antigone by Sophocles

Introduction

Antigone by Sophocles is a timeless Greek tragedy that explores themes of divine law versus human law, loyalty, and the consequences of pride. The play focuses on the conflict between Antigone and Creon as they represent opposing values—family loyalty and state authority. Through its tragic characters and dramatic events, the play examines the destructive impact of unyielding decisions and moral dilemmas.

Team Analysis

The central conflict in Antigone is the tension between two metaphorical “teams”—Team Family and Team Authority. These teams represent the opposing values of loyalty to family and obedience to the laws of the state. This clash is symbolized by the actions and beliefs of Antigone and Creon, the play’s two main characters.

- Team Family:

Antigone represents loyalty to family and divine law. She believes it is her sacred duty to bury her brother Polynices, regardless of Creon’s decree. To Antigone, the laws of the gods are more important than any human law. By defying Creon’s order, she demonstrates her commitment to honoring her brother and upholding religious traditions. Antigone is willing to die for this cause, showing her courage and dedication to what she believes is morally right.

- Team Authority:

Creon represents loyalty to the state and its laws. As the king of Thebes, he believes that maintaining order requires strict obedience to his decrees. He refuses to allow Polynices to be buried because Polynices rebelled against the city. For Creon, enforcing his law is essential to protecting Thebes from chaos. He views Antigone’s defiance as a direct challenge to his authority and an act of rebellion that cannot go unpunished.

- The Conflict Between the Teams:

The clash between Antigone and Creon grows more intense as both refuse to compromise:

• Antigone’s Perspective: She sees Creon’s law as unjust and believes she must follow the higher, divine laws of the gods.

• Creon’s Perspective: He views Antigone’s actions as dangerous and believes that if she is not punished, others will also disobey his authority.

This conflict highlights deeper themes in the play, such as:

• Divine Law vs. Human Law: Antigone’s actions show her belief that the gods’ laws are eternal and should always take precedence over human laws. Creon, on the other hand, believes in the supremacy of state laws, even when they conflict with religious principles.

• Family vs. Civic Duty: Antigone’s loyalty to her brother contrasts with Creon’s dedication to the stability of Thebes. This conflict also affects other characters, such as Haemon, Creon’s son, who is torn between supporting his father and defending Antigone.

- The Consequences of the Conflict:

The unyielding stances of both Antigone and Creon lead to devastating outcomes. Antigone’s death becomes a symbol of her unwavering moral convictions, while Creon’s stubbornness results in the loss of his son Haemon and his wife Eurydice, leaving him completely broken.

Dramatic structure

This metaphorical “team battle” in Antigone ultimately shows the dangers of extreme positions. Both Antigone and Creon’s refusal to compromise leads to their downfall, demonstrating the importance of balance, humility, and understanding when faced with moral dilemmas.

Exposition:

The play opens in Thebes, shortly after a civil war in which Antigone's brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, have killed each other while fighting for the throne. Creon, the new king, decrees that Eteocles will be given an honorable burial, while Polynices, considered a traitor, is to be left unburied as punishment. Antigone, horrified by this order, decides to defy Creon and bury her brother, setting the stage for the central conflict of the play.

Rising Action:

Antigone secretly buries Polynices, defying Creon's edict. When Creon learns of the burial, he is enraged and orders an investigation to find the culprit. Antigone is soon discovered and brought before Creon. In a tense confrontation, she openly admits her actions and defends her decision, citing her loyalty to divine law over human law. Creon's anger intensifies, and despite warnings from the Chorus and others, he resolves to punish Antigone to assert his authority.

Climax:

The climax occurs when Creon sentences Antigone to death, ordering her to be sealed in a tomb alive. This decision creates irreversible tension as it alienates Creon's son, Haemon, who is engaged to Antigone. Haemon confronts Creon, pleading for him to show mercy, but Creon refuses.

The emotional intensity peaks as the audience realizes the tragic consequences of Creon's pride and Antigone's unwavering defiance.

Falling Action:

The prophet Tiresias warns Creon that his actions anger the gods and will lead to disaster. Initially dismissive, Creon eventually realizes the gravity of his mistakes and decides to free Antigone and bury Polynices. However, his change of heart comes too late. By the time Creon reaches the tomb, Antigone has hanged herself. Haemon, devastated by her death, attempts to kill Creon but ends his own life instead.

Resolution:

Creon returns to the palace, broken and filled with regret, only to learn that his wife, Eurydice, has also killed herself after hearing about Haemon's death. Left completely alone and overwhelmed by the consequences of his actions, Creon's downfall is complete.

Conclusion

In Antigone, Sophocles portrays the tragic consequences of rigid beliefs and the inability to compromise. The play explores themes such as the conflict between divine law and human law, familial loyalty versus civic duty, and the destructive nature of pride. Both Antigone and Creon remain steadfast in their convictions, and their unwillingness to yield drives the tragedy to its devastating conclusion. Antigone’s moral courage and loyalty to her family highlight the value of standing up for one’s beliefs, but her defiance also underscores the cost of unrelenting determination. Similarly, Creon’s strict adherence to authority and law reveals the dangers of pride and inflexibility. His eventual recognition of his mistakes comes too late, leaving him to suffer the devastating consequences of his actions. Sophocles uses their conflict to deliver a timeless lesson: the importance of humility, empathy, and balance when faced with moral dilemmas. Through the characters’ suffering, the play warns of the dangers of extreme positions and the need to consider different perspectives. Antigone remains a powerful exploration of justice, loyalty, and the complexities of human values, inviting reflection on how to navigate conflicting principles in our own lives.