#i had a philosophy class and my professor is super nice like i wasn't even upset when he said we'll have an exam on friday

[daenysx]

got myself a new pink blush and chocolate chip cookies for staying alive with the headache & cramps at school

[trek-tracks]

What generic wisdom and/or life advice do you have? Here's an acorn for your trouble: 🌰

Oh, goodness! Talk about an intimidating ask.

When I think about existence, two quotations always come to my mind from authors who have been important to me at various stages of my life.

The first, from Kurt Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater:

Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies — "God damn it, you've got to be kind."

The second, the last line from Robertson Davies' final novel, The Cunning Man:

“This is the Great Theatre of Life. Admission is free, but the taxation is mortal. You come when you can, and leave when you must. The show is continuous. Goodnight.”

These are two thoughts by which I've tried to lead my life.

The first lesson is kindness.

As an educator and person in a certain position of power over people's learning journeys, I'd like to say that kindness costs me nothing. That's not true. Kindness costs me late nights, extra review sessions, letting people hand in assignments in ways that are detrimental to my own time and stress. Connecting with so many people on a daily basis can be emotionally exhausting.

If there's one thing I have worked on more and more in my life (and need to continue to work on), it's walking the fine line between being kind and being taken advantage of.

However, I operate from the following perspective:

Everyone is having a difficult time, and there are things in other people's lives that are not "dreamt of in my philosophy," so to speak.

This perspective makes my life richer. I have never understood people who rigidly stick to a "one size fits all" mindset. I listen to people. I prioritize the person over the dropbox deadline. I say nice things to my family, my friends, my colleagues, my students, when I can. I practice grace in most things.

This also means that, when I do draw a boundary (for example, in my work as a professor, I do not tolerate plagiarism once I have very clearly taught what it entails), people can see that there is a clear difference between my usual practice of grace, and my ethical framework. It also means that people are more likely to extend me grace in return. I need it. We all do.

The second lesson is passion.

This is the Great Theatre of Life. We don't get to choose much about it, but we do get to shape the show.

I was talking to a former student the other evening, after I came across him in the lobby after my Lord of the Rings performance. He said to me that I was one of the few faculty he'd had that wasn't cynical or jaded yet, which is why he'd enjoyed my class.

The funny thing is, that's not entirely true.

In many ways, I'm very cynical. A fellow faculty member once said of me, in an approving tone, that I was "impressively jaded for one so young." Look. I'm Jewish. I'm bi. I'm disabled (in the chronic often invisible illness way). I know what the world can dish out, and I can kvetch with the best of them. But that's mostly because I want to believe we can do better. In any case, I can only control myself. I can do better.

First, I want everyone I teach to know that reading, writing, critical thinking, loving language, loving literature and theatre, are all things they can do, even if those gates have seemed barred. Opening these gates together can help them. I like to break things down as clearly and succinctly as possible. I don't expect people to show enthusiasm for something if I'm not showing it myself. Do I sometimes get super-mega-frustrated with the results I'm getting? Of course. There are parts of my job and my life that suck. Do I throw myself into things head-first with enthusiasm anyway? Always.

I do the things I love. I see tons of theatre. I make theatre. I sing (even if you "can't" sing, find time to do it anyway). I tell stories. I spend time with friends. If I have a choice to go to the thing or stay home, I go to the thing. I support my friends. I make people LAUGH, because I love that more than anything. I curl these things around me like a warm cat on a lap. And I try not to get jaded by the offerings around me, no matter how many shows I go to or how many papers I read. (I don't always succeed.) Can you imagine, though, how amazing it is to have a life where you're in danger of getting jaded simply by the sheer amount of art on offer?

Four years ago, a student came to me after the second week of my rhetorical analysis class. She told me that she had dropped the course with other faculty twice because she was intimidated by it. We were talking about one of the course readings for the week, which was a 35-year-old essay by a now-dead white man (everything she was not) with very strong opinions on the need to properly state your ideas in exactly the correct words to prove you were thinking.

She said, about the reading, “I didn’t understand it when I read it and thought I was stupid. But then, when you said it might not have been written with me in mind, I felt better. And then, when you broke it down and I understood it, I liked how much I liked that feeling.” Then she said something that made me cry in my office: “Things happen for a reason. I had to drop that class twice so I could meet you.”

She came to office hour after office hour. We spent time working on her writing and discussing what her particular frame of reference brought to her understanding of each week's readings.

She had dropped the course twice because she "couldn't do it."

She left with an A.

She left with a new sense of agency over her own experience of the wonder of the world.

What does it cost to be kind, and to love things?

What do we gain?

This is the Great Theatre of Life. All we can do is put on a show of kindness, watching with wonder before we depart.

[hardlyinteresting]

Risks Worth Taking 2/2

This is the second half, part 2/2 of the story, thank you to everyone who has read it! Professor!Zemo x Student reader Part 1 here The reader takes Zemo’s philosophy class focusing on Machiavelli. Posted in 2 parts because it exceeded the textbox limit. Apx 3k words.

Warnings: student-teacher relationship (the reader is of age, no real focus on power imbalance), implied age gap, consumption of alcohol, implication that the reader is sleeping with Zemo for better grades (she's not) and of course let me know if you want me to add anything else!!

Week five, he is not shocked to find she’s once again the first one in class. “Good evening,” he greets warmly, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he makes his way to his desk. She smiles back, “I left my paper on your desk there, I figured I’d get the pile started”. He laughs setting down his coat and bag, “Something tells me there will be few submissions for this class”.

He’s right. Less than half the class bothers to show up. Most of her peers seem to be getting a head start on winter break, at least the class is quiet she thinks content listening to Helmut summarize the most recently assigned chapters, providing historical context where needed.

“Enjoy your break Helmut,” she says softly as he shuts the lecture hall door.

“You as well. Do you have plans?” She shakes her head, “No, just reading”. He smiles, “Then I am sure it will be a good break indeed”.

The cafe is warm and cosy. She settles comfortably into her favourite booth with her favourite book and a second cup of tea.

The bell at the front door dings as a man enters in a long black coat and leather gloves. Fancy she thinks to herself as he approaches the counter to order. It's usually other students dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, the man’s put together dress piques her interest. He orders and then she watches over the top of her book as he drops a $10 bill into the barista’s tip jar. Oh, well dressed and exceedingly well mannered. She can't help but watch him as he waits. Removing his gloves he tucks them into his pockets and unbuttons his coat, she swears she can smell his cologne from where she sits; it's incredible!

“Cherry blossom tea for Helmut?” The barista calls sliding the cup across the counter.

Helmut? It isn't. Is it? He turns after saying a polite thank you, and she can feel her heart hammering as he turns and she sees his face. It is. She's not sure why she's shocked, she did tell him about this place after all. Do I say something? She wonders, weighing the pros and cons, but her thoughts are halted when she hears his voice,

“Hello,” he smiles softly, “I didn't expect you to be here--I know you pointed this place out, but I wasn't--”

He's worried he's intruding. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“No, no. It's okay! I don't own the place-- did you want to sit? You don't have to--”

He chuckles as her nerves get the best of her.

Silently he sets down his cup shrugging out of his coat, putting it over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“What are you reading?” He smiles, trying to peak at the cover.

Again, after their initial stiffness, the conversation flows smoothly, just like it had in his office. After several warm drinks, and a couple croissants ordered between the two of them it’s grown dark outside. Neither had noticed the cafe empty out slowly over the hours, the barista cleaning up for the night until she clears her throat from behind the counter. They both turn to look at her, finally noticing how quiet the shop is.

“Sorry, we’re closing now,” the barista smiles sweetly. “Not a problem. I apologise, we lost track of time. We’ll get out of your way,” Helmut apologizes. The pair collect their things sliding back into their coats and gloves. Helmut waits patiently for her to be ready to go his hand resting gently at the small of her back as she slips out of the booth and past him.

Helmut stops and puts another bill in the girl’s tip jar.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he apologises again.

Outside the winter wind is cold against their faces.

“Are you hungry?” Helmut asks.

“I could eat,” She responds. “Ever been there?” Helmut asks pointing to the pub across the street. “I don’t know if it’s your speed. It’s not super nice or anything, but their food is decent,” she says honestly. He laughs, “‘Decent’ is better than what I can make at home by myself”.

She bites her lip thinking about it, does he want to spend more time with me?

“Okay,” she smiles as they make their way across the street.

Settled at a table, they wait for their server, she asks, “Was that a fifty dollar bill I saw you put in that tip jar?”

He shrugs, “Yes”.

He says that as if it’s normal, she thinks.

“I know you’re not from here, but you do know that’s a lot of money right?” “Yes,” he shrugs again, “But she made excellent tea all afternoon, she let us stay as late as she could and she was polite. And I have been here long enough to know that servers of any kind don’t get paid fairly. I can afford it, she deserves it”.

She feels the smile grow across her face, she considers gushing that he’s such a good person, but instead what comes out is, “I’m really starting to consider becoming a professor”.

He laughs, “I told you, it’s family money, not my facility pay”. God, that laugh, sets off butterflies in her stomach, the warm, genuine sound of his laughter.

He continues, “Before Sokovia fell, my family were royalty. I was a Baron there”. “I knew your name sounded familiar,” she sighs, “I remember hearing about Sokovia on the news. I remember your name, you were building orphanages and relief centres”.

He nods sadly, “Many of us thought we could salvage what we had left after everything. We couldn’t”.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, without thinking she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on his arm. His hand comes to cover hers, so much larger than her own.

There’s a silence between them for one of the first moment since he sat down with her earlier at the cafe. But it’s not uncomfortable, it’s the opposite -- a silence of understanding, both parties knowing there’s nothing they can say to make things better-- they can only ruminate.

The peace is broken by a waiter coming to take their orders. “Do you drink Helmut?” She asks with a mischievous smile. “I have been known to indulge,” he confesses, his eyebrows furrowed. “Two shots of ?” she turns to look at Helmut expectantly. “Vodka,” he replies. “Two shots of vodka, and an order of cheese fries to share please,” she orders, “thank you”.

The waiter returns not before long, placing the drinks and food on the table.

She holds her shot glass up waiting for him to do the same. “Prost,” he says raising his glass towards her. “Cheers,” she responds clinking her glass into his before they both tip them back.

And that’s how their night begins.

It’s nearing midnight when they settle their bill, Helmut insisting he pay-- though she put up a good fight. “Can I walk you home?” He asks looking at her under the light of the street lamps. She nods, her face feeling warm both from his attention and the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream. Her apartment is only three blocks away, but time seems to slow down as they walk arm in arm through the freshly fallen snow. At her door they stop, she looks up at him, him down at her. Without a thought, lips meet. It’s not rough or particularly sexy, but she feels her knees go weak when his hand comes to cup her cheek, his other splayed across the small of her back pulling her closer. This kiss deepens and she clutches the lapel of his wool coat before they both pull away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Don’t be,” she sighs.

Then the thought hits her, “How are you getting home?” “Oh-- I was going to get a cab and go back to the cafe to pick up my car in the morning,” he explains. “Nonsense-- you can stay here,” she offers unlocking her door and stepping inside, he doesn’t follow. “Not in my bed,” she laughs flicking on the light, “I’ll set you up on the couch”. He steps inside.

In the morning he wakes to the sun shining through the window. It takes him a minute to orient himself remembering he crashed on her couch. He sits up taking a moment to look around the apartment, it’s cute. Books and textbooks and notebooks strewn about the place. It’s homey and inviting and every bit what he’d expect her space to look like. Carefully he grabs one of the open notebooks tearing out a page he writes a quick note:

Good morning, I find that I feel very sorry for having to leave before you wake. Alas, I have much to get done, and I do not wish to trespass in your home longer than needed. I am grateful for your hospitality, and even more, your company. If my memory serves correctly I must also apologise for making that advance towards you last night. It was ungentlemanly, and you are unquestionably deserving of much better. I hope you can forgive me, and that you might allow me to make it up to you. -Helmut

Week six.

“He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his word, guileless, and devout.” Is written across the board. When she settles into her seat. She’s not early this week, rather just on time. Helmut notes the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to catch her breath, he holds back a smile at the thought of her sprinting to his class. When the class is settled, he proceeds to hand back all of the submitted essays, now marked. He smiles as he sets hers on her desk, “Bravo,” he says quietly enough that just she hears it as he shuffles along to the next row of students. She anxiously flips to the last page, red pen scrawl reads 100%. Her jaw drops. There’s no way. She thinks back to the rumours she heard on campus at the beginning of the year, about how difficult a marker he is. Bullshit. Her blood boils, rage sizzling beneath her skin. She avoids his eyes for the rest of class staring down at her notebook as she notices the indents in the blank page-- indents left from where he had written her a note that morning. Her anger freezes replaced by the cold sinking feeling in her chest. All his kind words, all those moments shared-- did he really think she was just spending time with him for a better grade? What kind of handout does he expect to get from her? She scolds herself now for the little crush she’d developed-- how stupid could she be? The prince must appear to be virtuous in order to hide his actions, She remembers from her reading, a dagger to her chest as she thinks bitterly that she’s not shocked that the professor is practising what he preaches.

The class ends and he moves to collect his paperwork, sorting it back into his bag. She stays. “I’m glad you stayed behind,” he starts. “I’m sure you are,” she says sharply. Confused he puts his things down turning to face her. “Have I done something to upset you?” He asks seriously his head tilted to the side as he racks his brain for anything he may have done to make her so cross. Perhaps his note was not sufficient in conveying his apology? “Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’m naive?” she asks arms crossed, “I’m not sleeping with you for a good grade,” she states firmly, sliding her essay back across her desk, “feel free to adjust my grade accordingly”. Is that what she thinks? His mouth goes dry, his mind and heart racing with all the different ways he wants to apologise, to tell her that she has it wrong. He approaches her, finally making eye contact with her, “Your grade will stay as it is. I mark all of my student’s work without looking at the cover pages. I have always strived to remain impartial. Your essay was marked no differently,” He explains calmly, “I would be wrong to say that I don’t hold any affections for you-- it is quite the opposite. I enjoy the time we have spent together, and I would like to continue to remain in your company; I hope to eventually find myself in your affections-- but none of this has any bearing on your grade. I am sorry that I have acted in a way where this was not clear”. Her throat clenches, oh. “I’m sorry--Oh my god--I’m so stupid!” her hand flies to cover her mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for-- I should be the one apologising,” he insists. She shakes her head standing to stand in front of him, “We’ve both been obtuse”. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you out for dinner-- a proper meal. If you’ll allow me”. She nods her hand coming to rest on his cheek, thumb running gently across his cheekbone, “I would like that,” she says quietly, her eyes glazing at his lips, “But only after the semester is done and I’ve graduated”. “If that is what you want,” he nods understanding. She can feel him leaning in, her eyes flickering up to his caramel eyes and back down to his lips, his hand rests on her hip, but he waits for her to close the gap between them.

Last day of the school year.

She waits by the door to the lecture hall as he speaks to his class. She listens to the back and forth of conversing ideas from the students, her heart beating faster every time Helmut speaks. It takes a while for everyone to leave when the class is over, but he does his best not to make her wait too long, gathering his things as quickly as possible, he makes his way over to her.

“Maybe I should’ve taken this course, the conversation was much more lively!” She laughs. “Your intelligent thoughts would have been wasted here, my dear” He smiles shutting the door behind him, “your class needed a brilliant mind in it”.

The summer goes by quickly. Fine dining, nights in. reading during rainstorms. Nights of soft romance, followed by nights of passion. Pasts shared. Futures envisioned. In his bed the night before the new school year she rolls over to lay almost on top of him, laughing when he lets out an oof. “Old man she teases,” earning a playful pinch on the thigh from him.

She glances at his nightstand, a copy of The Prince laying there.

“And what are your personal feelings about Machiavelli anyway? You never speak about your own thoughts”

“You're so clever,” he laughs, “but you're right”.

He sighs pulling her closer. he tries to focus on his hand running up and down her arm, how soft her sweater is under his fingertips. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “every time I read it, my opinions change,” he confesses, “there was a time when I was young and stupid; thought I was invincible that I agreed with a lot of his ideals. Then I grew older, fell in love--I thought him stupid and lonely. I experienced an incredible loss--”

She squeezes his side as she hears his voice grow tense with tears, he swallows and continues, “and then I thought I understood him. I learned how to grieve and I thought him intolerable. In the end I learn more about myself than I do him”.

She smiles, “and have you read it lately?”

He nods kissing her softly, “I have”.

“And?”

“I learned to trust my instincts. To take the risks that are worth taking”

“You're kind of a sap,” she laughs, her face getting warm she buries it in his chest. Part 1 here

[lostinshawnsmemory]

Campus Coffee Date #SummerCampFest

A/N: My third entry in @rulerofnocountry’s Summer Playlist Challenge. Seeing as we’re all still recovering from last night ‘s video (🥵), here’s something super sweet instead. Enjoy a really nervous College!Shawn.

Song: Altar - Sweater Beats feat. RLUMR

‘Okay dude this is your chance. Just go up and talk to her.’ Shawn thought as he looked across the room. He'd seen her around campus lots of times. When your campus was as small as this one you tend to notice people and he noticed definitely noticed her. They'd spoken a few times in the library but it was never more than polite conversation that strangers had in passing.

She was browsing the campus bookstore looking for something but he wasn't sure what. ‘Maybe I could make conversation about books’ he muttered. As he got closer he saw her holding a copy of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and he knew he had an in.

“Reading about destiny?” He asked, maybe a little too enthusiastically. She turned around swiftly and replied. “Kinda. My philosophy professor told us to read it seeing as we're covering Moral Luck and how the idea of destiny could play a role in that.”

“Have you read it before?” He motioned to the book.

“I swear everyone read this book in high school.” She laughed.

“I think so.” He laughed with her.

“But it is good to go back to it with older eyes and new outlook on life you know?”

“I get that.”

“I've seen you around campus right?” She asked, a bemused look on her face. “I feel like I've spoken to you in the library before.”

“Umm…probably. Maybe once or twice during one of my all-nighters.” he rubbed his hands on the back of his back of his neck. “I'm Shawn.”

“Nice to meet you Shawn, I'm Y/N.” She extended her hand.

He nervously ran his hands through his hair before taking hers in a handshake. The first thing he noticed was how calloused her hands were and how firm her handshake was, it wasn't what he was expecting.

“So your name is Shawn, I've seen you around campus and you've read The Alchemist. Anything else I should know?” She said with a smirk.

“There are some other things I could tell you. Maybe I could one day tell you over a cup of coffee?”

“I'd love to.” She looked down at her watch. “I’ve got an hour till my next class starts. Is now okay?”

“Now? Umm yeah. Now is- Now is perfect.” Shawn couldn't help but smile. ‘Books was definitely the way to go.’ He thought excitedly. If it was socially acceptable he'd scream but seeing as it wouldn't be in his best interest, he kept quiet.

He watched her pay for the book, and the pair walked to the campus coffee shop. He tried to not stare at her as they walked in comfortable silence, but kept looking at her through the corner of his eye. Whenever she noticed him looking, smiled which made him even more nervous.

The coffee shop wasn’t very full and the two found somewhere to sit towards the back of the store.

“What would you like?”

“A large cappuccino please.” She returned with a smile.

A few minutes later they were seated with their coffee. Shawn with an Americano and Y/N with her cappuccino.

“So Shawn, you know what I study. What do you study?” She looked at him expectantly.

“I study Music Theory” he beamed. Music was his passion and he could talk about it constantly and did frequently, to the detriment of his friends and family.

“Music Theory. So how Music is made?”

“Yeah. Looking at how musicians and composers make music and how that has changed throughout history.” He explained cradling his coffee cup. As he kept on explaining he noticed that her attention never wavered. She absorbed everything he said, nodding long as she drank her coffee.

For the better part of 30 minutes they seemingly talked about everything. From their childhoods and their shared love of horror movies.

As he got to know her a little more he realised that the best way to describe her was intuitive, she had eyes that noticed everything but they were also incredibly expressive. Her smile lit up her whole face and resulted in her eyes crinkling. She was also someone who gesticulated wildly when she was very invested in the story she was telling. He found it endearing.

She was thoughtful but also incredibly sarcastic and had a witty response to pretty much everything.

“You know you remind me of the song Altar by Sweater Beats? The line that goes ‘I came to this party thinkin’ I’d meet somebody with brown eyes, that’s real smart, ‘bout 5 foot 3 tall. Wait, that’s you.’”

She paused for a beat and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. And for about 5 seconds Shawn was sure that he had fucked up. That was until she chuckled.

“Well we’re not at a party and I’m not 5 foot 3, but you’re other descriptions I’d say are pretty accurate. Can I ask why I remind you of that song?”

“Well apart from the height discrepancy, I’d say you fit the description perfectly.”

“Wow.” Y/N responded with a nod. “I couldn’t have come up with a better answer myself. Well played Shawn.”

He responded with a small smile and they sat in silence. It was hard to describe but sitting there with her just like felt right. There were no awkward silences or forced conversation. They had undeniable chemistry and he was content to just sit with her for the rest of the day. Alas that wasn’t the case.

Y/N looked down at her watch and got up quickly, almost knocking over her coffee cup in the process. “I have to go! I’ve got class in 10 minutes and I can’t be late.” As she started leaving, she looked down at him. “I had a lot of fun Shawn.”

“I did too. And I’d love to do it again sometime.”

Y/N took out a pen and scribbled her number on one of the paper napkins on the table.

“Here’s my number, in case you don’t see me in the campus bookshop again.”