faces of ohio state

“As a business student, I was pursuing a broad range of options without really knowing what I wanted to do. When I came here, switching majors gave me more direction and once I got that direction, I received more purpose. So now, I have more of a sense of purpose than a broad exploration.

A sense of purpose is important to me, but purpose in the sense of doing something important and not so much personal importance. I know this sounds kind of vague, but making the world a better place—that kind of purpose is important to me.

To be honest, I haven’t done much as of right now, but I think a degree in Natural Resource Management gives me the potential to keep things sustaining and keep life sustaining into the future. I may not have done much to change the world so far, but getting an education is preparing me to do that in the future.

I think sustainability is pretty important to everybody. Eventually things, in a broad sense, are going to run out. Sustainability as an idea is important because without it, we’re just going to exhaust everything, but with it, hopefully, we’ll have our resources for a longer time.”


By Laurie

Buckeyes (Artemi Panarin)

So this wasn’t technically requested…but @kanertemishaw needed some Breadman fluff to deal with this friggin’ draft day…and so did I. So a little short Breadman imagine that brags on the goodness of my home state.

Warnings: None?

Requests are open!

Next up: Part 2 of Willy imagine


Artemi was heartbroken and frankly, so were you. Chicago was more than just a place where the two of you worked, it was home. Or it least it was until about 20 minutes ago, when Artemi had gotten the phone call. It was a call every player dreaded…their families as well. With one call the life of your little family was changed. And Artemi didn’t handle change very well.

“Artemi, Ohio isn’t that bad.” You tried to convince him as he laid sprawled upon your couch, pouting.

“Yes it is! Chicago is our home! What’s one good thing Ohio has to offer?” He demanded. His accent was a bit thicker in his anger and you wouldn’t mention it to him, but you thought it was cute.

“Me?” He looked at you confused. “‘Temi…I was born and raised in Ohio.”

“How did I not know this? I knew America and not far from Chicago…but not Ohio.” He actually looked a bit sheepish. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it just never came up.” You smiled at him and laid down on the couch facing him. “Ohio has a lot of good things. Did you know the state nickname is “The Buckeye State”?”

His hand gently rubbed along your back, “Why?”

“Well, a long time ago a good majority of the area was covered in buckeye trees…buckeyes are poisonous nuts…and we just kind of ran with it. The main university uses it as their mascot, and people make sweets from them now.”

“I thought you said they were poisonous! How do you make sweets if they’re poison?”

“We don’t use actual buckeyes. We make a little peanut butter ball and cover it in chocolate so it looks like the nut.”

He still looked suspicious. “Hmmm. What else does Ohio have?”

“We have a bunch of amusement parks. I spent a good majority of my teenage years there. We take state and county fairs seriously. College football is basically a religion.” You eagerly told him all the things that had made Ohio home to you, forgetting that you were supposed to be upset about leaving Chicago.

“What about the Blue Jackets? They’re my new team…do the people in Ohio like them?”

“Well,Ohio takes pride in all their sports teams. They’re fiercely loyal and supportive of them. Once they took off, everyone jumped on board and the arena is electric. I went to a game and watched you play there before I had met you.”

“Really?” You nodded. “I guess it won’t be so bad. I’m going to miss my friends here.”

“I know, but they’ll still be your friends. Chicago is only a few hours away from Columbus. And you’ll get to make new friends.”

“I feel like a little child afraid to go to a new school.” He muttered.

You burst out laughing because the description wasn’t too far off. “Chicago’s the only home you’ve known over here. It’s ok to not want to leave.”

“I am a grown man. I can do it.” You kept your smirk hidden as he straightened himself up. He looked over at you, “Thanks for making me feel better. I know you’re sad to leave, too.”

“You’re welcome. And you should post something on twitter or instagram. Thank the Chicago fans and say hello to Columbus. I know that all of my social media was blowing up. Blackhawks fans are outraged…they’re going to miss you a bunch.”

“You’re right. I’ll post now.”

As he pulled out his phone you tugged on one of his curls to get his attention. “Temi…can you do me a favor though?”

“I will do my best.”

“Do you think you could convince Sergei Bobrovsky to give up number 72?”

And for the first time since the phone rang that morning…you heard him laugh.

atlantic-ebb  asked:

I know the chances of this being read are pretty slim, but -- you seem to love humans, just in general, as a species. and after the election and the hate and the ohio state shooting I'm coming face to face with the fact that we're just going to keep killing eachother and I don't know how to be ok with that. So as a writer who makes me want to love humans I was hoping you could offer advice, or justification, or just even human-related thoughts in general

Dear atlantic-ebb,

I do love humans. I’m glad that you can tell that even from the outside. 2016 has been a pretty howlingly awful year in the news, and there are some days where it would be pretty tempting to just crawl into my desk drawer and live there with the dried-out Sharpies. But.

This is going to be a three-parter.

PART ONE: WHO DO I LOVE? ME

I really like myself. 

I like my hobbies, and I like my taste in music, and I like how I look at the world, and I generally am pretty pleased with my instinctual reactions to super bad or super good events in my life, and I think I tend to be pretty decent even when no one is around to see that I’m being pretty decent. I’m not the best human out there, but I’m glad to know me. 

I didn’t used to like me. When I was 17-19 years old, I was a straight up asshole, and I also hated myself. It’s hard to say if it was cause or effect, and honestly, for the purposes of this question, it doesn’t even matter. All that matters it that as long as I wasn’t generous to myself, I sure wasn’t going to be generous to other people.

When you don’t love yourself, loving other people becomes a fraught proposition. They have to either fulfill something that you think you lack, in very specific ways; or they have to reinforce beliefs that you have about yourself and the world; or they have to be as similar to you as possible to keep from tipping you even further off the narrow ridge of self-doubting existence that you balance on each day. The more they step away from these things, the harder you find it to empathize with them. A self-doubter is a fearful tight-rope walker, even if they don’t think of it in those terms. Any change in the world paradigm could tip them from the narrow path, and who knows what it looks like once they fall off the rope: they aren’t surviving really well up on the rope and they bet they’ll do even worse in the unfamiliar landscape below the rope.

But I found that when you love yourself — really love yourself, not in that stupid narcissistic comparative way that means that you think you’re glorious and beyond reproach and the final evolution of mankind, but in that way that says that you know what makes you happy and you’re cool with it and you feel confident that even if you aren’t who you want to be yet, you’re getting there — loving other people becomes just a nice side effect. At least for me, once I stopped all of the bullshit judgment of myself, I also stopped doing it to other people. And it turns out that people are really interesting, and sort of magical, and also capable of hidden kindnesses and heroics if you believe in them.

It also turns out that once you start preemptively liking people, they tend to like you back.


PART TWO: THE DEATH OF PERFECTION

It’s impossible to love people if you expect them to be perfect. Every one of us is a work in progress, and if you don’t believe that people can improve, you might as well give up trying to love people now (including yourself). We are all a jagged checkerboard of evolved areas and less-evolved areas, surprisingly great areas and surprisingly bad areas. Our childhoods deliver us to adulthood with an individual package of blind spots and talents, and it’s our job to navigate them. If you accept that people travel along these paths to better versions of themselves at different rates, and that you’re bound to meet people at all different stages of this journey, it’s a lot easier to love people where they currently are.

I was reading up on psychology a lot a few years ago — that’s a lie, I pretty much always am, but this was a lot of child psych — and I got myself stuck in this weird place where every time I met someone new, I couldn’t not imagine them as the kid version of themselves. I’d been reading so much about how we become the people we are that I was fascinated with imagining people before they became the people they are, and plugging in all the steps between. It’s really hard to not empathize with someone once you’ve seen them as a kid.

No one’s ever going to be perfect. But as long as you’re trying your best and not hurting anybody else, I’m happy to know you while you’re muddling your way through. 

I reckon you might be thinking this is pretty-rosy-glasses of me, but bear with me: history supports me. Collectively, we’ve all been slowly getting our acts together for the last several centuries. Groups change their hearts because individuals do.


PART THREE: THE BIRTH OF THE INDIVIDUAL

We’re not all shooting each other, atlantic-ebb. I know it feels that way, because the news is full of fresh horrors every day. Whatever brand of atrocity you’d like is readily available 24/7. Something terrible happened today. Something terrible will happen tomorrow. Something terrible has been happening every single day since humans began. If you’re taking humans as a group, yes, I suppose: We’re terrible.

But we’re not a group.

We are 7.5 billion individuals, and the worst atrocities of all happen when we forget that. Lumping people together gives us stereotypes and dehumanization. 7.5 billion people. Never forget that every single one of that number represents a unique brain and heart. Some of that number are hideous. Some of them can’t change. Some of them will make heart-singeing headlines for the things that they do.

But most will not. And how terrible would it be to judge all of those heroes and dreamers, tinkerers and leaders, by the acts of a monstrous few? I’ve met a lot of people, and I’ve met only a very few true monsters. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what someone’s heart looks like, because our outside trappings are so different, and sometimes it’s hard to tell what someone’s heart looks like, because they don’t even know themselves yet, and sometimes — this is the hardest instance — it’s hard to tell what someone’s heart looks like, because the only language they’ve learned to speak in is fear or hate or bigotry. But unless they are one of those very few true monsters, I believe even this last group can learn a different language too.

Something terrible will happen tomorrow, because it’s a day that ends with y. It’s never going to feel ok to hear about whatever new terribleness happens, because you have a soul, and I’m glad that you do. But you can be ok in general if you focus on the things you can do, instead of the things you can’t. The world’s never going to be perfect, but you can still move the cultural and personal furniture to make it more livable.

Look, atlantic-ebb. Humans are pretty great. I’m sorry it doesn’t always feel that way. Start by imagining them all as kids and work from there.


urs,

Stiefvater

4

Gay student Cole Ledford stands up to his attacker: “I’m NOT sorry I’m gay”

Cole Ledford, a real estate student from Lebanon, Ohio, was punched in the face by a stranger Thursday night near the Ohio State campus after kissing his boyfriend, Jared. At 11:30 p.m. that night, Ledford posted a picture of his swollen face, along with a message for “the guy who punched me tonight for kissing my boyfriend." 

Within hours, Ledford’s tweet had gone viral | Follow micdotcom

I am at O'Hare. Surprisingly, the social compact remains relatively intact. As long as you avoid C terminal downbelt of Gate 18, the volunteer militia can keep you more or less safe from the reaver gangs out to feast on human flesh. Of course, the militiamen are their own bundle of dangers, and I watched a whole family bludgeoned nearly to death with a disused neck-pillow display outside Hudson News for the crime of paying some obscure insult to an orange-vested junior corporal, just a boy really, drunk on his own newfound power and no doubt terrified of the battles ahead once he was sent to the killing fields in Terminal 4. But Auntie Annie’s is still serving pretzels, as long as you don’t mind stepping through some (mostly dried now, thank goodness) blood. And yes, every now and again you’ll hear the distinctive high-pitched wail of the Lost Ones, the cannibal raiding parties that periodically test the militia’s strength past the DMZ of the Duty Free store, and they’ll come pouring in, mad-eyed, hair crusted with blood and who knows what else, in their North Face fleeces and Ohio State sweatshirts, once-normal people driven to surrender their minds and indeed their very souls by the endless rolling 15-minute delays and the lines that never move in Boarding Group 5 and the tiny complimentary toothpastes that you have to break down in tears in front of a gate attendant just to get. And they can come at any time, without warning, ex-accountants and ex-moms and ex-college students, more animal than human now, and take you by surprise, and then it’s run or die, unless you’re somehow able to broadcast the right cocktail of sweat pheromones to signal that you’ve become one of them. But otherwise, honestly, it’s not as bad as you’d expect.
—  Brian Phillips is flying in this horrendously cold weather and also making the internet a better place. Multitasker, that one. 
We'll Meet Again: Chapter 8 Wide Awake

Sometimes you learn from your mistakes, sometimes you don’t. And if you are lucky enough, you are able to try again. This is a post-apocalyptic reincarnation love story. 

You can read all of my fanfic on the fanfic link on my main page. You can also track this story under #Scandal fanfic We’ll Meet Again.

Read first: Chapter 1: Prologue;  Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7; Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16

Chapter 8: Wide Awake

If I could, through myself, set your spirit free
I’d lead your heart away, see you break, break away
Into the light, through the day

So let it go and so to fade away
To let it go and so fade away

Wide awake, I’m wide awake
I’m not sleeping, oh no, no, no
I’m not sleeping                              – Bono (x)

——————————————————————–

“… and I may be petty or whatever else you want to call me, but I’m a winner and that’s something you’ll never be.”

She never wanted to hit a person more than she did at that moment. Even when she bashed the kneecaps of Abby’s ex, it was more of an intellectual exercise. They needed to get away from the monster so she picked up the tire arm and made short work of his ability to walk. And if Big Jerry wasn’t a Senator and former Governor, if she didn’t think that would send a sensational round of tabloid news stories about Fitz’s campaign manager beating the crap out of his father, she just might do it. Instead, she just glared at him, willing his slow and painful death. Fitz’s father abruptly turned and made his escape from the Ohio State University conference center.

His back was facing her and he looked like a little boy watching his father leave. “Fitz, don’t listen to him. You did a fantastic job. You won this debate.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity in her voice.

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