we live a world where one man is a trillionaire while people are starving in gaza and sudan, 81 million people are below poverty line in india, kids are being forced to do manual labour in mines in congo to survive and his own countrymen are dying because they cannot afford healthcare and then people will wonder why we think capitalism is the root of all evil
i don’t think you understand i totally thought we were gonna die locked up in this castle but this fucking genius was like “im going to invent a way for humans to fly”. shout out to my dad he’s a real one fr
LMAOOO this dude told me to be careful as he affixed the wings to my back…..dad no offense but you just invented flying and we have to go high enough to avoid the king’s archers. soo
i don’t understand why but he’s coming closer. he is not supposed to stray from his path, lest the sun fall from the sky. why does he look so anguished to see me?
i pray to him just in case. i am grateful he tried. my palms are red and cracked from where they touched divinity. the ground does not look any closer than it was
i have not seen my father since we took flight…i hope he escaped. i hope he will not witness this. i wish i could tell him how joyful these wings made me before the wax melted
please please please i have no coin for the ferryman if i am to die now i will never reach the realm of hades please turn me into a bird any bird or a bug or something anything please please pleasepleaseplease
One of the most fucked up parts of America’s for-profit medical system and insurance often being tied to your work is that you cannot work if you are sick and if you are not working, you have no insurance. People are fired in the middle of cancer treatment or a severe mental health episode and suddenly there is no way to pay the hospital and buy the medicine you need. Republicans will outright say “You don’t deserve free healthcare if you’re lazy and unemployed.” anytime someone mentions this, actively ignoring the fact that you often cannot work when you are sick and shouldn’t be forced to work when you’re sick to be able to afford to get better.
And you will notice that they always refer to it as ‘free healthcare’, not taxpayer funded healthcare, not socialized medicine, not single-payer healthcare, always ‘free healthcare’, like it is an fantastical idea, like healthcare for all is as absurd as a 5 bedroom mansion with a pool for all. They need to make it sound like it is logistically impossible, like they could not take a fraction of the money in the DOD’s $2.5 trillion budget and make sure no one in America dies of an easily treatable illness just because they can’t work. It is very intentional.
yeahhhhh. neither of those things should exist. hospitals and healthcare should not behave like a for-profit corporation and biting each other’s dicks off actually does nothing for the patient. my doctor’s office should not be spending time they could be treating patients arguing with insurance and their hospital system shouldn’t be forcing them to argue with insurance to get these tests. this is the least efficient way to do medicine
“Do it scared” “do it alone” are all great tips, but my biggest takeaway from therapy is do it messy. This is especially true if you’re getting out of a burnout, which I experience often. Literally just do it messy. You don’t need to pick the perfect trail to walk, the perfect playlist to listen to, whatever the fuck it is. You don’t need to have a meticulous to do list and wake up at the exact time you planned and drink the exact amount of water you planned to drink. Like the biggest thing for people like me to remember is sometimes it’s okay to do it messy. Put on a random yt workout and just get it done in sweats. Do 5 minutes of a daunting task and go from there. Sometimes just getting up is a win during intense burnouts or depressive funks. Literally just do it messy.
I really like the five minute or three minute rule, which is just do this thing for three-five minutes! And then it gets me started which gets me over the hump of being scared of not being started!!! Which is crazy helpful. And then everything becomes easier. But these are great tips too, i love them.
Do you think it's immoral to use chatgpt for college assignments? I think it's unfortunately unavoidable.
It is absolutely immoral, completely counterproductive to the goal of learning things, and turns out incredibly subpar work.
As for unavoidable….you understand that the vast majority of people who have ever graduated college throughout history did so without ever once using AI, right? You understand that?
You understand that the point of writing papers isn’t just to have a paper with words on it, right? You understand that the entire point is to do the mental work necessary to put your learning into organized words, such that you actually learn it? And that if you outsource that to AI you are not learning?
Let's cost out the idea of AI use as an unavoidable part of university life, shall we? Imagine the following scenario:
A professor uses AI to generate their lecture outline and slides, because it saves them time; their students then use AI to summarize the lecture, because it's easier than taking notes themselves. The TA, overworked and underpaid, uses AI to generate the class assignments, which the students use AI to answer - and once they're handed in, the TA uses AI to grade them, too. The professor then uses AI to make the final exam, which the students use AI to answer, and which the professor and TA again use AI to grade. The semester ends, and none of the human participants have materially done any work. Who benefits from this?
It's not the professor, whose skills begin to atrophy due to cognitive offloading, nor is it the students, who never develop those skills in the first place. And it's certainly not TA, because in a scenario where this level of AI use is normalized - which is what the AI companies want - they've functionally made themselves redundant. If the AI can do a TA's job, then who needs a TA? Come to that, if the AI can do a professor's job, then who needs a professor? And if the AI can do a student's job, then who needs to be a student? Why do any of these people need to be here at all? Why even have a university? To which the tech giants reply: pfft, never mind the ever-mounting financial, environmental, ethical and social costs of AI - isn't using it just easier?
Well, yes - in the same way that it's easier to die than live. Death, after all, is a tremendously simplifying affair. You don't need to learn or study or struggle or suffer or love or err or improve or feel or encounter setbacks or wrestle with anything difficult at all when you don't exist - and this, too, ultimately, is the lure of AI: to outsource the fundamental business of being human; which is to say, of living. But as this would make a rather terrible sales pitch, it's presented instead, not just as convenience, but as an exclusive convenience - one whose power is predicated on others being too stupid or moral or Luddite to do likewise.
Thus: students are pitched on AI as a convenience to help them more quickly progress through their studies, while universities are pitched on AI as a convenience to help them more easily manage students. Both groups are told that using AI will help them keep up with their workload while surpassing the competition; that it will free up extra time to do more enjoyable things, and that, the more others use it, the more necessary it becomes to use it yourself. But the implication is still that the traditional professional, social and intellectual systems that AI intends to parasitize will continue to exist - because if they didn't, what would be the point in using AI to cheat at them?
The best-case scenario is that life becomes like an Olympics at which everyone is doping - which, as we recently saw with the Enhanced Games, turns out to be a fairly dismal prospect. Counter to the assumption that PEDs would cause the contestants to surpass all previous human limits, only one world record was actually (barely) broken and, in fact, multiple victories were claimed by non-enhanced athletes. In a lesson that AI shills would do well to learn from, it turns out that raw human effort, ingenuity and skill are actually the biggest factors in human success, and that whatever minor advantage you might gain from cheating is annihilated in a context where the whole field is doing it.
The worst-case scenario is that we irreparably break several centuries' worth of our most collectively vital institutions, innovations and accomplishments so that a handful of the very worst people on Earth can, briefly, be richer than god.
So, no: just because the AI industry has baited a hook for college students with the promise of Finish All Your Assignments Faster And Worse (While Getting Stupider) does not mean you have to swallow it. Use your own brain! Civilization will thank you for it.
summary: john logan was your best friend and the guys, allie, and hannah were your family. everyone knows that you had liked logan for forever but you knew that he didn't feel the same way about you. logan was with grace and you respected it. you couldn't even hate her for it - she's perfect and she's perfect for him. it's okay though, your family's got you.
warnings: nothing really - but angst, sad!!! and yearning!! smoking, drinking? swearing
author's note: i love off campus!!! its too good, already on my 3rd re-watch and i just felt inspired to write :) pls be nice lol also garrett is a protector for sure and i love their friendships so much! also no, nothing is going on with yn and garrett - he's very much so in love with hannah wells, as he should because she's such a cutie i love her so much
________________
The music in the hockey house was way too fucking loud, the laughter too easy, and the air just a little too warm. It was a typical Friday night house party where there were so many people you literally didn't know except for your friends even though the guys lived here. There was yelling, beer pong, people making out and it was just a messy. Classic Friday night around here. You were over it though.
I sat on the arm of the couch, a half-empty solo cup in my hand, watching the room. My eyes, entirely against my own willpower, kept drifting to the kitchen counter.
To Logan.
Everyone called him Logan, but to me, the name always felt different in my mouth. It wasn’t a sharp syllable thrown across a crowded room; it was a quiet rhythm. I loved the way it sounded when I said it, loved the stupid, effortless way he’d look up and grin whenever I used it. I had been in love with him for months, a slow-burning ache that I kept tucked away behind easy banter and casual shoulder bumps.
But tonight, the ache was sharp.
Grace was standing next to him. She said something, her hand resting lightly on his forearm, and Logan threw his head back, laughing that rich, infectious laugh that usually made my chest ache. Tonight, it just made it tight. He looked down at her, his expression softening in a way that had nothing to do with friendship. He reached up, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
It was a tiny gesture. She had every right.
It was completely devastating.
I forced a swallow of my drink, the burning liquid doing nothing to wash down the lump in my throat. I knew Grace was amazing. I liked her. Everyone did. That was the worst part—you couldn’t even be mad at her. But watching the way Logan’s gaze lingered on her face, the way his body naturally leaned into her space... it felt like watching a door quietly click shut right in front of me.
"You're going to burn a hole right through his jacket if you keep staring like that."
The quiet, low voice right beside me made me jump. I spilled a few drops of my drink onto my hand.
Garrett was standing there, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wasn't looking at Logan and Grace; he was looking straight at me.
Garrett was like a brother to me. He was the anchor of our chaotic group—the guy who noticed when someone’s drink was empty, when someone was too quiet, or, in this case, when someone's heart was breaking in real-time. He was entirely too observant for my own good.
"I-I'm not staring," I lied, my voice a little too high, a little too quick. I wiped my wet hand on my jeans. "Just... zoning out. Tired."
Garrett didn't say anything right away. He just stepped closer, shifting his weight so he blocked my view of the kitchen counter. It was a small, protective movement, shielding me from the exact thing that was hurting.
"Yeah," Garrett said softly, his eyes full of a quiet, heavy sympathy that made me want to cry. "You look terrible. Have you been sleeping at all?"
I swallowed hard, looking down at my shoes. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to me," Garrett murmured, bumping his shoulder against mine. "Because I know you. And I know how you say his name."
A breathy, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I looked up at Garrett, my eyes stinging. "I really thought I was hiding it better."
"You're okay," he lied gently, offering a small, sad smile. "Come on. Let's go out on the balcony and get some air. It's fucking suffocating in here."
I glanced past Garrett's broad shoulders one last time. Logan was still talking to Grace, his hand now resting casually on the small of her back. He looked happy. He looked completely oblivious.
"Yeah," I whispered, letting Garrett guide me away from the noise and into the cool, quiet night. "Okay."
The cool night air hit my skin, making me shiver instantly. I grabbed a stray hoodie off the back of the kitchen chair on our way out—judging by the faint scent of laundry detergent and old spice, it belonged to one of the guys—and threw it over my tiny tank top and short skirt. It engulfed me, the hem reaching nearly to the bottom of my skirt, but it was exactly the shield I needed.
Garrett pulled open the heavy glass door, and we stepped out onto the porch. The chatter of the party instantly muffled into a low, thumping hum.
We sank into the two faded wooden deck chairs in the corner. The ones you'd see at overnight camp. Some of the boys stole it from somewhere - you don't even really know where. They're mismatched but they're your favourite. You pulled out a pack, tapping a cigarette loose and offering it to him first before lighting your own. He took a long, slow drag, the orange cherry glowing in the dark, before letting out a quiet puff of smoke. He’d only take a few hits tonight; he had a brutal practice tomorrow, and he never messed with his lungs before a training day. It was just a ritual to give his hands something to do. To give me some company. You tap the ashes on the little tray on the ground.
I took a drag of my own, staring out at the dark backyard, letting the silence stretch between us until the tightness in my chest loosened just a fraction.
“She’s literally perfect,” I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. I let out a breathless, self-deprecating laugh, shaking my head. “Even I love her so much. I'd be in love with her too, seriously. That's the worst part.”
Garrett didn’t interrupt, he rolled his eyes slightly. Grace was whatever to him, don't get him wrong - he liked her, he was fine with her around - he just hated how down you get because of some idiot oblivious guy to your feelings. He just exhaled another small puff of smoke, watching me intently.
"She's kind, she's funny, she's gorgeous," I continued, pulling the oversized sleeves of the hoodie down over my hands. "Grace is perfect—and I know that. I can't even be mad at him because his taste is flawless." You slurred your words as you sipped your drink again.
It sucked. It sucked so entirely, because Logan and I weren't just standard friends—we were best friends. For over a year, I had fought so hard to prove the stereotype wrong. I wanted so badly to be the living proof that a guy and a girl could be fiercely loyal, incredibly close, and completely platonic. I had prided myself on it. I had built a wall of "just friends" logic around us, telling myself that what we had was rarer and better than a stupid crush.
But somewhere along the line, the foundation had cracked. And while I was busy trying to prove a point to the world, I went and fell completely, irreversibly in love with him.
"You tried really hard," Garrett said quietly, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. He flicked a bit of ash over the railing. "To keep it just friends. I watched you do it."
"I failed miserably," I whispered, leaning my head back against the cold plastic of the chair.
"What? The fuck. You didn't fail," Garrett countered softly, bumping his sneaker against mine. "You just humaned, rules-be-damned. You can't logic your way out of how you feel about Logan. Especially not when he's... well, Logan."
I looked over at Garrett, grateful for the dark masking the hot tears threatening to spill over my lashes. "What am I supposed to do now?"
Garrett took his last puff, stubbing the cigarette out entirely against the wooden arm rest before tossing it in the tray. He looked at me, his expression fiercely protective. "Y/N -seriously. Fuck him - who cares, Logan is my best friend but he's also an idiot. We sit out here, you wear that giant hoodie, and get to be sad." You sighed and gave a slight smile to him making fun of Logan for the sake of making you feel better. Garrett was a protector - you knew that. "For the record-" he said quickly, "You're the prize okay. Stop this self deprecating bullshit. State champ cheerleader, miss top of your class, makes us stop at the side of the road to help stray cats get to safety even when you make me fucking late to things. He's a loser for not seeing you but expects you to be there for him. Seriously pisses me off," Garrett spat. He gets annoyed at Logan because it's almost like he uses you. "Just drop it, it's okay," you say as you take another hit. You didn't want him to get worked up anymore or else he'll actually might go fight him or something.
Garret was right. He always was when it came to reading people, and right now, his quiet solidarity was exactly the anchor I needed.
We sat out there for a while, the initial heavy silence giving way to a comfortable, familiar rhythm. We split a couple of beers, the cold aluminum freezing my hands inside the giant sleeves of the hoodie. I smoked, and Garrett just leaned back, keeping me company and occasionally knocking his sneaker against mine to remind me he was there. Slowly, the tight knot in my chest began to loosen, replaced by the easy, comforting warmth of a friendship that didn't require me to pretend.
The heavy glass door slid open again, letting out a brief burst of the party’s bass before it clicked shut.
"Oh, look at this. The secret patio smoking society," Tucker’s voice boomed, completely shattering the quiet.
"And they didn't invite us. How cruel," Dean teased, shaking his head with mock offense as he stepped out right behind him.
Tucker was already holding two fresh cans of beer, and Dean had a half-eaten slice of pizza in one hand. Without asking, Tucker practically threw himself into the empty space between our chairs, dropping onto the deck floor and leaning his back against my legs. Dean grabbed a plastic crate from the corner, flipped it upside down, and claimed it as his throne with a satisfied sigh.
"Give me a hit of that," Dean said, nodding toward my cigarette. I handed it over, watching him take a drag before passing it back.
"What are you guys even doing out here? It's freezing," Tucker muttered, though he made absolutely no move to go back inside. Instead, he reached up and yanked the oversized hood of my jacket down over my eyes, laughing when I shoved his hand away.
"Getting away from your loud mouth, mostly," Garrett replied smoothly, a faint, genuine smirk finally touching his lips.
"Hey, my mouth is a national treasure," Tucker shot back, cracking open a beer and handing it up to me. "Drink. You look like you're drowning in that hoodie. Whose is that anyway? Is that Wellsy's?"
"Think it's mine, actually," Dean said, squinting at the faded logo in the dark. "Keep it. It looks better on you anyway."
Sitting there, surrounded by them, a sudden wave of fierce affection washed over me. The sharp, bitter ache in my chest from earlier didn't magically disappear, but it dulled into something manageable. Logan was inside, falling for Grace, and my heart was still a little broken about it—there was no denying that. But looking at Garrett, Tucker, and Dean, I realized I wasn't alone.
We were a little family. A messy, loud, fiercely loyal family built on hockey road trips, shared apartments, and unsaid understandings. They were my boys, and I was their girl. Logan was a part of this family too, but tonight, these three were holding the perimeter for me, keeping the cold at bay without even realizing they were doing it.
I took the beer from Tucker, took a long sip, and laughed out loud at some stupid joke Dean made about their coach. Out here on the porch, wrapped in a friend's oversized hoodie with my brothers around me, I knew I was going to be okay.
It really was the most beautiful, unspoken thing about them.
As the night wore on and the beer cans started piling up on the deck floor, it hit me with a sudden, warm wave of clarity. They all knew.
It wasn't just Garrett. Tucker might have acted like a loud, oblivious golden retriever, and Dean might have been focused on his pizza, but they weren't stupid. They had seen the way I looked at Logan when he wasn't paying attention. They had noticed how my voice softened when I called his name, and they had absolutely noticed the quiet, devastating shift in my posture the second Grace walked into the room tonight.
But the incredible thing about these boys was that they never made me feel pathetic for it. There were no pitying glances, no awkward silences, and absolutely no unsolicited advice. In total, fierce solidarity, they completely locked it down. They drew a protective line around me, ensuring that whatever heartbreak I was nursing stayed out here on the dark porch, completely safe from the rest of the party.
"Hey," Tucker said, nudging my shin with his elbow from where he was sitting on the floor. "You're getting that look on your face again. The 'I'm thinking too hard' look. Stop it."
"I'm not thinking too hard," I laughed, reaching down to shove his shoulder.
"She is," Dean pointed out, blowing a smoke ring into the crisp air. "She's definitely doing the deep-dive brain thing. Don't make me go inside and get the karaoke mic to distract you, because I will, and it will be terrible for everyone involved."
"Jeez, please don't," Garrett murmured, a rare, relaxed grin breaking across his face. "None of us deserve to hear your rendition of Shania Twain again."
"It's a crowd-pleaser and you know it, Gar," Dean shot back, gesturing with his beer.
I looked at the three of them, my heart swelling so much it almost eclipsed the ache from earlier. They were actively keeping the vibe light, throwing up a shield of stupid jokes and easy banter so I wouldn't drown in my own head. They knew Logan was inside with Grace right now. They knew he was probably holding her hand or leaning in close to hear her over the music. But out here, they made sure none of that existed. Out here, I was just their girl, wrapped in Dean’s oversized hoodie, being looked after by the best brothers anyone could ask for.
"Thanks, guys," I said softly, the words slipping out before I could think better of it.
Tucker looked up at me over his shoulder, his expression uncharacteristically soft for a split second before his usual grin returned. He reached up, taking a sip of his beer. "For what? Being incredibly handsome? You're welcome."
"For being tolerable," Garrett corrected smoothly, giving my shoe another gentle tap with his own.
I smiled, leaning my head back against the chair and looking up at the faint stars above the campus. The pain of loving Logan wasn't gone—it would probably be there for a long time—but with this little family around me, I didn't feel so heavy anymore. I felt protected.
if you are a parent, or may become one, or you are otherwise likely to arrive in the situation of caring for a child while they eat, promise me this: if a child doesn't like a certain food or food group, you will ask them WHY. and specifically, you will pay attention to either confirming or ruling out "it makes my mouth itch" or "it makes my stomach hurt," both of which are medically important info that children may not provide unprompted. which i know because this PSA has been brought to you by "i spent my entire childhood and much of my early teens eating peas and lentils while wondering why everyone else liked the Violently Itchy Mouth Sensation so much, like were they a bunch of legume masochists or something, before i finally realized that Violently Itchy Mouth Sensation was in fact a sinister demon appearing only to me, and her true demonic name was: Legume Allergy"
Video game where you get to play as a knight of the Round Table and go on quests and gain renown and level up your skills and befriend and romance other characters but it always ends in everyone being slaughtered at Camlann. You can decide to assist Mordred in usurping his father or support the king you have served for so long but everyone will die anyway. This kingdom will inevitably crumble, you can’t do anything about it. You can put hundreds of hours into it and there is nothing you can do about that. But you CAN flirt with sexy single father Gawain!
I would love to share this with everyone who may happen to see this post. Please support this wonderful human being. He spent nearly a half century in prison for a crime he never committed. And the only thing that kept him going was his artistic endeavors. He deserves the best life can offer anyone ❤️
♪ You worked all night, you're trying to cash out
You and your friends are trying to lash out
And I'm not the one to tell 'em, "stand down"
It's their world and they just wanna
Girls just wanna dance
Girls just wanna dance ♪
OFF CAMPUS
1.04 "The Breakup"
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