#(because the ask concerns them and folks should realize this is a marathon not a sprint)

[outrunningthedark]

I think the ending of 3x03 spoiled us all a little! And people got excited at the idea of no Taylor meaning Buck would "have" to be with Eddie and Chris. But the montages aren't always happy families, and we already know this one is going to be a downer because of the Maddie stuff.

I think people need to remember the 5x03 we're about to watch was not the original 5x03 Brenna and the (unnamed) writer had planned. TayKay was never mentioned as part of that episode, and she's still not now that it's been changed to 5x04. What probably happened was the writers/producers/editors had a handful of scenes they could not fit into 5x02, but maybe it wasn't quite enough to justify the need for an additional episode so they found ways to fill the gaps. Instead of not seeing TayKay for at least three weeks (four, if you count her absence from 5x05) and making it REALLY obvious she is not Buck's endgame, Tim called MW in for a quick appearance so we'd "remember" they're not done with each other just yet.

[leam1983]

On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

[nickelkeep]

Slice of Your Pie

Pairings: Dean/Cas, Naomi/Zachariah Rating: Mature Word Count: 6900 Warnings: Homophobic Language, Sexism, Dean going off.  On Ao3

It wasn't like Gabe to call before noon. Usually, because Castiel was working and Gabe knew better, but also because Gabe would be in the middle of a busy shift at one of his bakeries. Castiel hesitantly picked up the phone, grateful for the week off from his job.

"Gabe, are you in prison?"

"Come on, Cassie. Is that the only reason I would call you?" Gabe's voice was boisterous yet nervous. "I'm just checking in on my favorite baby brother."

"I'm your only baby brother." Castiel pulled the phone away from his ear to confirm the time. "Shouldn't you be elbow deep in flour or something, right now?"

"Nope. All three shops are under control, and I took the week off to fly in. Staying with Mom and Dad, you know?" Gabe's happy charade was faltering, and Castiel had a feeling of what was coming. "It's always great being home. Especially when I get to spend time with my favorite brother."

"Still, your only brother. Did Anna say no to you crashing at her place?" Castiel leaned back in his couch and kicked his legs up on the coffee table, careful to not disturb the stack of papers he had been grading.

"Anna's out of town until Thanksgiving, and something about she doesn't trust me to not burn down her house."

Castiel laughed. "That's a legitimate concern. Are you asking to crash here?"

"Actually, no. Mom and Dad have left me alone, for the most part." Gabe let out a heavy sigh, as though he had been burdened with the most laborious task on the planet. "Are you coming for Thanksgiving?"Castiel pulled the phone away and looked at the clock on it for the third time. "Gabe, have you been drinking?"

"Look, I told them it would be pointless, but they didn't listen. They want all three of us there for the holiday. Dad said he's getting up there in age, and he wants to be surrounded by his children and non-existent grandchildren."

"Like he's getting grandchildren from any of us." Castiel rolled his eyes. "No. I'm not coming."

"You know that's not going to fly." Gabe suddenly sounded exhausted. "Me and Anna will be here."

"Great, then he's got his two kids, happy marriage and white picket fence. Make sure you pick up a dog for him before you leave."

"Castiel, please. Don't make me beg. Or sic Anna on you."

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "Anna's smart enough to not call or to tell our parents to piss off."

"It's just a couple hours on one day. You can cold shoulder them and give them the good old silent treatment." Gabe's voice took on a subtle hint of pleading. "Help me get them off my case and yours."

"I'm much happier spending my Thanksgiving at home with take out and a movie marathon. I might be alone, but at least I'm not getting attacked every other word out of their mouths." Castiel rubbed his forehead, trying to erase the thought of going to his parents for the holiday.

"That was one year, Cassie."

"Excuse me? What fiasco have you been watching?" Castiel stood up and moved to the kitchen to get a beer. "'Why are you single, Castiel?' 'Are you over your phase, Castiel?' 'Castiel, are you going to find a nice woman and give us grandkids?'" Castiel scoffed. "Don't even get me started on the digs they take at my job."

Gabe took in a suction of air, indicating that he was working on an idea. After a pause, he spoke up. "Bring a date."

"Right, like I'm going to find a guy to date me in less than a week." Castiel rolled his eyes.

"There are escort services, Cassie." Gabe paused. "Wait, that's it. There's also Craig's List. See if you can find a date for the day."

"That's ridiculous."

"I'm serious, hop on, look in the area, and check out casual encounters. That's got to be someone else looking for someone to spend the day with."

Castiel rolled his eyes and grabbed his laptop off the coffee table. "I thought that was for more... intimate encounters."

"HA! Like I'd send you to that part of the website. I certainly don't want to picture my baby bro doing the do with a dude."

"But, you just want me to bring a random person to Mom and Dad's to keep them off your back and mine." Castiel cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he typed in the address for Craig's List. "Look, I make no promises. If I don't make it, you can tell them that their worst fear came to fruition."

Gabe laughed. "That you married some random guy behind their backs, and you're moving to Venice to be Gondolier Captains."

"Maybe that one would push father over the edge." Castiel laughed. "Maybe this isn't a bad idea. I'll call you tomorrow with a definite answer. You and I both know either are good."

"That's my Castiel." The warm affection caused Castiel to smile. "Please give it a sincere look over, ok?"

Castiel promised to give it the old college try and disconnected his call with Gabe.

He pulled up the Casual Encounters section of Craig's List and was surprised to find out how right Gabe was. Many people were offering their services for Thanksgiving company. As he scrolled through the ads, one with an interesting title caught his attention.

Alone on Thanksgiving? Want to stop the ‘Why are you still single?’ questions?

I’m a 35-year-old guy with a GED and a loud, beautiful muscle car that’s older than I am. When people try to guess my age, I get anywhere from 32-38 depending on if I’ve taken the time to put on clothes that aren’t holey jeans and flannel shirts and do my hair. I work as a cook in my friend’s restaurant and tend bar for an aunt when I need extra cash. So if you’re looking for a platonic person to be your SO for a day, I can do it.

I am bisexual, so I don’t care if you’re male or female.

At your request, I can:

Hit on family members (including your parents).

Start an argument over politics and religion (I’m a liberal atheist).

and/or

Propose to you (I have a ring that works perfectly for this).

I can also act drunk as a skunk, but I personally don’t drink. I’ve been sober for a few years now. Need a ‘drunken’ fistfight started? I’m your guy.

I’m not looking for payment other than the free meal that comes from accompanying you.

Castiel smiled. This was perfect. It was a guy, he would appear to be less than to his folks, and he promised that he could cause a ruckus. Castiel quickly clicked the contact link and got their number to text them.

[1:00 PM Castiel:] Hi, I just found your add on Craig's List. Is your thanksgiving dinner date offer still open?

He waited several minutes, scrolling through a few more adds, just in case, when his phone's notification for a text message went off.

[1:07 PM 555-555-6767:] Hey, yeah. I didn't think anyone was interested, or it got buried. Name's Dean. You?

Castiel smiled, this crazy idea might actually work.

[1:09 PM Castiel:] My name is Castiel, and I am very interested in you pissing off my parents.

Castiel hit send and realized he needed more information about the random stranger he invited to Thanksgiving with him. As he got ready to send a request to meet in public, Dean beat him to it.

[1:12 PM Dean:] Interesting name there. You free in about an hour to meet? Would kinda like to see you and talk to you before I conform. It also sells the dating thing better. [1:15 PM Dean:] Any particular place where we can meet?

Castiel sighed out a breath of relief before sucking in a breath of panic. Where could they meet?

[1:17 PM Castiel:] A cup of coffee or tea, maybe? I only know of Right Ground, but they're good.

[1:19 PM Dean:] Oh hell yeah! My friend is the owner. The petite redhead?

[1:20 PM Castiel:] Charlie, right? I've seen her a couple of times.

[1:22 PM Dean:] Perfect! I get off soon and can head right over.

[1:24 Castiel:] Sounds good. What should I look for?

[1:30 Dean] Black Impala. She's my pride and joy. If you're looking for me, Sandy Brown hair, Green Eyes, lots of freckles, and uh...

[1:31 Castiel:] What?

Castiel tilted his head in confusion as he waited for Dean's reply. Was this going to be where he mentioned he had a humpback?

[1:36 Dean:] I'm a bit bowlegged. I've been told it's a bit of a turnoff, but I figured I'd be honest upfront.

Castiel let out a laugh of relief.

[1:38 Castiel:] There is nothing wrong with bowlegs. I've heard they make some things easier. 😘

As soon as Castiel sent the message, he instantly wished he could take it back. Instead, he quickly sent a follow-up message.

[1:39 Castiel:] I'm going to go get ready. See you in about 25 minutes.

Castiel let out a huff of air while waiting for lighting to strike, or a boulder to be dropped on him.

[1:41 Dean:] LOL! See you soon, dude. (Dude, right?)

Castiel didn't get a chance to respond as he quickly hopped in the shower and got ready to meet Dean for the first time.

…

Castiel had arrived slightly ahead of his and Dean's arranged meeting time. He didn't see a black Impala anywhere, and when he walked inside, there were no men that matched Dean's initial description. Castiel headed to a corner seat that he normally tried to grab when he went to get coffee and found it surprisingly empty.

He sat down, facing the entrance with his back against the wall. A little kernel of self-doubt starting to grow in the back of his mind. Charlie was behind the counter, and he briefly wondered if Dean texted her to tell him to keep an eye for him.

Castiel went to grab his phone to check the time when the low rumble of a muscle car stopped him. He stole another glance at Charlie, and a huge smile crept upon her face. Castiel looked out the front windows. Dean's black Chevy Impala pulled into a spot, and out exited Adonis himself.

Dean didn't give himself enough credit when he described himself. The sandy brown hair was styled short and looked as though it would be soft for Cas to run his fingers through. And the freckles! Dean was a walking star map, and Cas wanted to trace his fingers along the freckles he could see. The only thing he couldn't see were Dean's self-proclaimed green eyes.

Once Dean entered the cafe, Charlie yelled to him and ran out from behind the counter. She wrapped her arms around him and started animatedly yelling at him for not checking in often enough. Dean graciously accepted her punishment and walked further into the shop. Castiel could finally make out the bowlegs that Dean appeared to be self-conscience about. If anything, the legs emphasized everything perfectly.

Castiel shook his head once, twice, and a third time for good measure. This was supposed to be a professional business interaction. He stood up while sliding out of the booth and walked over to Dean and Charlie. "Hello, I'm sorry for interrupting, but are you Dean?"

Charlie looked at Castiel and smiled before looking back at Dean. "You come to my shop for a date, Winchester? Not to see me? I'm offended. Now you don't get that slice of pie." She punched Dean in the shoulder.

"Hey! It wasn't my idea, it was Cas'. He said he liked your coffee." Dean looked at Castiel.

"He is right, I can show you the text message." Castiel reached for his phone in his pocket before finding his hand being swatted away. 

"I believe him, and you. Gotta give the old man shit, though."

"Old man?" Dean blinked in shock. "I'm offended."

Charlie shrugged and walked back around the counter. "If you two want drinks, get up here and order before we have the final rush of the day."

"After you, Cas." Dean gestured. "Also, is Cas ok? Not sure how to pronounce your full name."

"Cas - Tee - Ell. But Cas is fine. If anything, it would infuriate my mother and father more." Cas smiled. "My brother calls me Cassie, I hate it, but I let him get away with it."

"Okay, one brother. Any other siblings?" Dean smiled at Cas.

Cas blushed from Dean's smile, "I have my brother Gabriel and my sister Anna."

"Are they part of the deal? Or are they off-limits?" Dean asked. "I mean, I clearly know you want me to go after your pops at the very least."

"You can jab at them if they jab at you." Cas conceded. "Looking for someone to come with me was actually Gabe's idea. So he may not appreciate being a part of the prank."

"Okay. We can play that by ear."

Cas tilted his head. "You said you wanted to see if we clicked before you agreed to the whole thing."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Dean winked. "So, tell me about your parents?"

The pair got up to the counter before Cas could answer, and Charlie sat down two cups in front of them. "Dean, black americano with room for cream. Cas, if I remember correctly, spiced chai latte."

"Thank you, Charlie," Cas responded as he went to grab his wallet.

"I threw it on Dean's tab. You two have a fun date." Charlie winked at them and shooed them so she could get to the next customer.

Dean blushed and looked at Cas and mouthed Sorry before picking up his cup and walking over to where they kept the cream.

Cas took the opportunity to grab his booth back and waited for Dean to join him. "So, you asked about my parents?"

"They're the targets, right?"

"Yeah." Cas nodded and took a sip of his drink. "My mother is Naomi, my father is Zachariah."

Dean held a finger up as he finished taking a drink. "Your family highly religious?"

"What gave that away?" Cas tried to hide his disdain, but by the look on Dean's face, he wasn't doing a good job.

"Gabriel, Castiel, Zachariah... Pretty sure there's a Naomi in the bible too." Dean placed a finger on his lips. "Not too sure about Anna."

"Prophetess in Luke's Gospel," Castiel responded.

Dean nodded in quiet contemplation. He paused a moment, and Castiel could see the gears turning. "Safe to assume you're gay or bi?"

"Very much Gay. I've been told it's a phase my whole life. My parents keep asking when I'm going to bring a girlfriend home. You're the first 'boyfriend' I'm bringing home." Castiel took another sip of his drink.

"Got it. What do you do for a living?"

"High School English Teacher." Cas scoffed. "Reason number two hundred fifty-one I'm a disappointment."

"Being a teacher is a disappointment?" Dean shook his head. "Well, I'll make sure that they know I'm a cook by day, bartender by night. I'm sure they'll love that."

"Your sarcasm is perfect. They both hate sarcasm, despite it being their first form of communication." Cas leaned back in his chair. "They definitely look down their noses at people too."

"Well, I'm sold. Food, chaos, and spending time with an attractive man?" Dean rested his elbows on the table and rest his chin on his knuckles. "This may be one of my best Thanksgiving in years." Dean winked. "What time should I pick you up?"

…

Over the next few days, Cas found himself texting back and forth with Dean frequently. He kept trying to remind himself that it was just so they could get to know each other so they could pass off as a couple on Thanksgiving. However, with the way that Dean flirted, it was harder and harder to keep that line from blurring.

[Wednesday 3:47 PM Dean:] Hey Cas, I know I'm supposed to be an asshole, but should I attempt to bring something with me?

Cas laughed, picturing how his mother would react if she were brought a gift from Dean.

[3:49 PM Cas:] You don't have to bring anything at all, although the image of my mother turning up her nose is both amusing and disappointing.

[3:51 PM Dean:] So, bring a six-pack of cheap beer. Got it.

[3:52 PM Cas:] You're incorrigible.

Cas found himself setting a special notification for Dean's text messages. He fought hard against doing it, as they were going to go their separate ways after Thanksgiving. Still, it seemed like something you would do for a significant other.

He heard the notification go off, and he picked his phone up again.

[4:00 PM Dean:] If I were a betting man, I'd bet that you liked it though.

Cas found that he couldn't disagree.

…

Cas' parents, completely surprised that he was coming and bringing a date, asked Cas to arrive around 3 PM on Thanksgiving.

Dean showed up at 1:30 PM.

"Hey, Cas." Dean stood in the doorway to Cas' apartment and leaned against the doorframe.

Cas couldn't help the smile that grew across his face. Dean was dressed up in a nice pair of jeans with a black tee-shirt and an open deep red button-up. "Hello, Dean." He stepped back to let Dean in. "You're early."

"I hope you don't mind. I was a little nervous." Dean smiled sheepishly. "Meeting the parents is kind of a big deal."

"That was the whole deal, Dean. You join me, free dinner, you make them regret telling me to come to dinner."

Dean's smile dropped a little, so slight that Cas almost missed it. "Right. I knew that."

"Everything okay, Dean?" Cas stepped closer and placed his hand gently on Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah, of course." Dean's face betrayed his words, but Cas let it go. "I figured I could also come over and help you load anything that might need to go with us in the car."

Cas frowned, unhappy at seeing this side of Dean. "Want to take a seat? We have some time to kill."

"Actually, can I hit the head? Then we can pack up Baby. You said it takes about 45 minutes to get there on a good day, and there is some traffic."

"Yeah," Cas responded as he pointed to the hallway. "First door on the left." He watched as Dean stepped away, wondering what changed so drastically.

Dean quickly finished up in the bathroom and found Cas in the kitchen, juggling a casserole and a couple of pies. "Dude, please tell me your pies are good."

"As long as they don't hit the floor, they should be." Cas smiled and allowed Dean to take them off his pile. "I remember Charlie teasing you about pie, so I stopped in special to ask what kind you like."

"Pecan?" Dean asked, a huge grin coming back across his face when Cas nodded. "Dude, you went to Charlie to ask her? Why didn't you just ask me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, to thank you for this week." The next words escaped Cas' lips before he could stop them. "I'm glad that at the very least, I got to make a new friend out of this."

"Well yeah, Charlie's awesome," Dean responded without missing a beat.

Cas rolled his eyes. "I mean you, Dean."

"I, uh..." Dean's cheeks flushed scarlet as he stuttered over his words. "You're awesome too, Cas."

"Come on, then, let's go load up your car." Cas held up the casserole dish and nodded his head towards the front door. "Sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave."

The pair of them quickly loaded up the car, and Dean handed Cas his phone to punch in his parent's address. The first few minutes of the drive were quiet, as Cas appreciated the roar of the engine. 

"So, uh, Cas." Dean broke the silence once they got on the highway. "Question for you."

"I'm listening." Cas looked over at Dean and took a moment to admire his outline, highlighted by the sun. 

"Well, we determined that we've been together for a few months and that we met when you came by my place of work. But, uh, are you ok with a little PDA to sell it?" Dean's cheeks turned bright red again, as though he were embarrassed to ask.

Cas slid a little closer to Dean to be able to reach his hand and hold it. When his skin brushed against Dean's, it was as though sparks of electricity shot through his body, and Cas shivered involuntarily.

"Okay there, Cas?" Dean stole a glance at Cas and smirked, before returning his eyes to the road.

Cas nodded as he found his words lacking. They enjoyed the rest of the ride in comfortable silence, only the music and the occasional hum from Dean filling the car.

Once they arrived, Cas took a moment to look at Dean and give him a final once over. The shade of red he was wearing was enticing and made his freckles and eyes pop more than Cas would have thought possible. It had taken all of Cas' willpower to not trace over them with his finger.

"Ready, Cas?"

"I am." Cas nodded before looking up at their dreaded destination.

The pair got out of the car, and Dean took Cas' hand before going to the trunk. Cas looked down at their hands and felt a soft warmth against his cheek. He turned to find that Dean had kissed his cheek.

"Sorry, I should have asked first." Dean apologized, running his free hand through his hair.

"Dean, you already asked, and I had given you permission." Cas smiled and let out a little sigh. "Let's grab the stuff and get this over with."

Dean popped the trunk and handed the pies to Cas, grabbing the casserole, before closing it back up and following Cas to the house. Cas had shifted the pies to one arm and rang the doorbell. His hand immediately went back to Dean's, and he tried his hardest to not let his nerves show.

"You don't just walk into your parent's place?" Dean tilted his head in confusion. "Even if you don't get along, isn't it home?"

"This place has never been home, Dean," Cas replied, clipping his response as the door opened.

A stoic, cold woman answered the door, looking down at them, despite the pair being taller than her. "Castiel. You came." She scrutinized Dean more thoroughly. "And you brought a friend."

"Mother, I told you I was bringing my boyfriend." He turned to look at Dean and smiled. "This is my significant other, Dean."

Naomi's lips pulled in to a tighter pout. "That term wouldn't be correct, Castiel. Come in. You know where to set them up." She stepped back into the house, allowing them entrance.

"I make two pies and your favorite cheese and spinach casserole," Cas mentioned as he walked past. "I'll need to borrow the oven for five minutes once the turkey is done."

"I don't know, Castiel." Naomi picked up her pace to walk in front of them. "You should have asked if the oven would be available to cook things in."

Dean stared in disbelief at the way Naomi was talking down to Cas. "You mean you can't spare five minutes to make the cheese gooey again? I didn't realize heat was a limited resource."

"Excuse you?" Naomi placed her hand on her chest in shock. "Castiel, you will keep your friend in line."

"Boyfriend, Mother. But he's right. This is your favorite dish. I made it just for you. You don't want it warm?"

Naomi rolled her eyes as the pair set down their food offerings. "I'll figure it out." She glared at Dean. "Why don't you go find your father? He should be in the TV Room watching the game."

"Football. Sure. Let's go, Cas." Dean watched as Naomi cringed at the shortened version of her youngest son's name.

Cas tried to not laugh as he led Dean to the TV Room. He leaned in close to Dean to whisper about Zachariah. "Dean, he absolutely hates his name being shortened to Zach, and he hates the Eagles."

"Oh, I am all over this." Dean winked and wrapped his arm around Cas' shoulder.

"Father?" Cas inquired as they entered the room. 

"Castiel. You came." His eyes traveled to Dean. "And you brought a friend."

"This is my boyfriend, Dean." Cas felt the words falling easier from his lips. "Dean, this is my father, Zachariah."

Dean unwrapped his arm off Cas' shoulder and extended his hand to Zachariah. "Please to meet you, Zach."

Zachariah stiffened, and his eyes became cold as ice. "Zachariah, please." He took Dean's hand and shook it.

"Of course, sorry about that, Zachariah. I'm just a nickname kind of person, ain't that right, Cas?" Dean took his hand back and wrapped his arm around Cas' shoulders again, leaning in to touch their foreheads together.

Cas could see the vein in his father's forehead start to throb. "Castiel, do you have no respect for your name?"

"I do, as does Dean. But my name is archaic, and sometimes it's just easier to shorten it." Cas looked at his father and stood his ground.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Zachariah." Dean stepped between the two. "Cowboys vs. Eagles, right?" He pointed at the TV.

"You watch sports?" Zachariah asked, his doubt not hidden at all.

"Hell yeah!" Dean hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to Zachariah on the sofa. "Just cause I like to suck a dick every now and then, doesn't mean I can't like sports." He leaned forward and grabbed some crackers off a platter on the coffee table. "Oh shit, Eagles up, 21-3! Fly Eagles, Fly!"

"Castiel, a word!" Zachariah demanded, scrambling out of his seat. Dean looked at Cas in worry, not relaxing even when Cas gave him a gesture indicating he'd be fine.

Cas followed Zachariah into the kitchen, where Naomi was mashing potatoes. "Who is this bastard friend of yours?" Zachariah hissed, grabbing Naomi's attention to join in.

"He's not a bastard, and he is my boyfriend," Cas emphasized the word boyfriend for the umpteenth time since arriving. 

"You are in a phase, Castiel. We've found some nice girls who are very interested in you." Naomi added. Before she could continue; however, the front door opened, Gabe and Anna walking in.

"CASSIE!" Gabe called out, causing both of their parents to cringe. "You came home!" He dropped Anna's duffle bag in the foyer and bolted into the kitchen, trying to pick up his younger brother in a bear hug. "You seriously need to stop growing!"

Anna walked up behind Gabe and pushed him to the side, wrapping her arms around her younger brother. "Hello, Castiel. I've missed you." She pulled back and offered an apologetic smile. "Gabriel told me you were bringing your boyfriend to dinner. Is he here?"

"Castiel's friend is in the TV Room," Zachariah responded before Cas could. "And he is a rude, ungrateful, little prick."

"I can assure you it's not little." Dean walked into the kitchen. "Sorry, I heard the commotion, and I just wanted to make sure Cas was ok." Dean walked over to Cas and wrapped his arms around Cas's waist. "Gonna introduce me, babe?"

Cas melted into Dean's embrace, allowing their actions to cross into new territory. "Dean, this is my older brother Gabe and my older sister Anna."

"I've heard all about you two." Dean lets go of Cas long enough to shake their hands before holding Cas again.

"Well, why don't you all go into the TV Room. Your father and I will finish up dinner." Naomi responded coldly, clearly annoyed by Dean's presence.

"That sounds like a plan. Get that damn football off the TV." Gabe responded.

"But the Eagles are winning. They're hands down the best team in the NFL this year, wouldn't you agree, Zach?"

If looks could kill, Zachariah would have killed not only Dean but all three of his children as well. Gabe, sensing his father's temper rising, herded Dean and his siblings out of the kitchen. "Jesus, Cassie, where did you find this one?"

"Took your advice." Cas shrugged.

"Word to the wise?" Gabe looked at Dean. "Keep him."

"Dean, you don't happen to have any siblings, do you?" Anna asked.

"Brother, half-brother, and an adopted sister. I'm the oldest." Dean tilted his head. "Why?"

Gabe and Anna exchanged looks before Anna followed up with another question. "They single?"

Dean laughed, a rich, warm sound that made Cas melt. "Sammy's not. I don't know with Adam, but he's the youngest of us all, barely legal. Charlie's single, and flaming lesbian."

Anna looked at Gabe. "Sorry, guess I win this round."

"Wait, Anna, you too?" Cas' head tilted in shock and confusion.

She looked over Cas' shoulder to see if their parents were listening. "Bi, Castiel. I'm Bi."

Castiel looked in shock at Anna, then turned to Gabriel. "Are you going to drop a bombshell on me too?"

"I don't care about gender?" Gabe responded.

"What? When?" Cas palmed his forehead and sat on the sofa.

Both Gabe and Anna had the decency to blush. Anna responded first. "I figured it out in college."

"I've dated many people over the years, Cassie. I just didn't always bring them home to mom and pops." Gabriel added.

"You're so much braver than the both of us," Anna whispered. "You brought Dean home with you."

Dean sat on the sofa next to Cas and wrapped his arm around him. He leaned in and quietly spoke into Cas' ear. "Want me to prank them, too?"

Cas burst out laughing, shaking his head and throwing his arms around Dean's neck. "I know why you two did it," Cas stated while hugging Dean tight. "I don't even think I can be mad."

"Dinner time," Naomi announced, appearing in the doorway to the TV Room. "We would appreciate no hanging all over each other at the table, Castiel." Naomi turned her nose up and walked back towards the kitchen.

"Let's go knock out this wonderful holiday, shall we?" Gabe clapped his hands together.

The dining room was awkwardly quiet as the all entered and took their seats. Naomi stood at her place and looked at Zachariah. "Grace, Dear?"

Zachariah nodded and clasped his hands together.

Lord, bless this food and grant that we May thankful for thy mercies be; Teach us to know by whom we're fed; Bless us with Christ, the living bread. Lord, make us thankful for our food, Bless us with faith in Jesus' blood; With the bread of life our soul's supply, That we may live with Christ on high. Amen.

When none of his children nor Dean responded, Amen, Zachariah cleared his throat. "I said, Amen."

Gabe and Anna quickly said it, and Castiel murmured it, but Dean refused to say it.

"Dean, is there something wrong with your voice all of a sudden?" Zachariah shot another deathly stare at Dean.

"Nope, my voice works just fine. I just don't do religion." Dean shrugged. "Guess you could say I'm an Atheist."

Cas flinched as he heard his mother gasp and prepare to yell at him. However, before she could get a word out, Dean spoke up.

"Are you about to yell at Cas? Cause Cas says Grace before every meal. I respect that he does. You know why?" Dean picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and scooped a heap onto his plate. "Cause Cas doesn't force me to believe something I don't. He's kind, he's caring, and he's understanding. Clearly, you two didn't teach him that." Dean scooped a heap of potatoes on Cas' plate then passed the bow to Anna.

"How dare you!" Naomi spat. "You are a guest in this home."

"Yeah, let me tell you how guestly it's felt since I entered your house." Dean stabbed at the plate of turkey on the table and grabbed a few slices for himself and a few for Cas. "You both refuse to acknowledge my relationship with your son. You both have looked down on me for being a man who is attracted to men and women. God forbid I slip that I work two jobs." Dean smiled sarcastically. "Oops."

Dean passed the fork to Anna, who was staring at her mother as though she would explode. "You know, Naomi. How would you feel if I told you the farce between you and Zachariah here were invalid and not real?"

"We are one man, one woman. That's how it was created. You don't find any instances of your perversion in nature." Naomi gripped the edge of the table.

"Actually, Mom," Anna spoke up. "This last trip for NatGeo? I told you where they sent me. I was in the Savannah. I saw gay and lesbian animals everywhere."

"And the rangers released a document saying that the animals learned it from homosexual humans." Zachariah pointed sharply at his daughter. "You will speak when spoken to."

"You're going to tell the smartest person at the table to shut up?" Dean let out a low whistle and took a bite of a roll he had grabbed. "Man, I'd listen to everything she has to say. She works for National Fucking Geographic." He turned to Cas. "I'll still talk books with you all the time, though, sweetheart." He leaned in and kissed Cas' cheek.

"I said there would be no hanging over each other!" Naomi slammed her hands down on the table.

Dean snorted. "Me, kissing Cas' cheek, is not hanging all over him." He rested his hand on the small of Cas' back. "I bet a hundred dollars if Anna had brought along a boyfriend, or Gabe a girlfriend, you'd call a kiss on the cheek cute."

"Leave." Zachariah's voice sent a chill through the room. "Gabriel can take Castiel home."

"Like I'm going to leave Cas here to take more of your abuse. How long have you been telling him that he's wrong?" Dean whipped his head to Naomi. "How long have you been calling him a pervert?"

"We've never called him that." Naomi defended.

"Mom, you literally just did." Gabriel finally spoke. "You just called being Gay a perversion." 

"Castiel isn't gay," Zachariah spoke up.

"Yeah, he is, Dad." Anna stared at her father. "And I'm bisexual. When I told you two about my boyfriend, Rupert? I was actually talking about my girlfriend, Ruby. Ruby and I broke up, and I couldn't properly mourn that relationship because I didn't have a mother who understood me."

"Well, if we're all coming out. I have slept with more dudes than I have fingers." Gabe added. "I've also slept with as many women. I've slept with as many non-binary people. And you know what? I've also slept with Trans people. Love is love, and attraction is attraction."

Naomi looked as though she were about to faint, and Zachariah pointed a knife at Dean. "This is your fault."

"MY FAULT?" Dean yelled, finally raising his voice. "I just met Gabe and Anna today. They were queer long before I met them. I'm dating Cas, who came to me and asked me out. Tell me how this is my fault."

"You made them think it was ok to share this information."

"And you made them feel like they were less than nothing. You're the problem here. Not me, not a single one of your children."

Cas stared at Dean in awe. No one had ever come to his defense so quickly, and here Dean was also defending his siblings. "Dean, I think we should go."

"That's the first smart thing you've said all night, Castiel." Naomi snapped.

"Oh no, you did not." Dean turned to face the Ice Queen at the end of the table. "Did you seriously just call my boyfriend stupid? You know, your youngest son? The person I fall for more and more each time I talk to him?"

"You know nothing about this family, and you came in here and–"

"Ok, Boomer." Dean cut Naomi off, and Gabe spat out his drink laughing. "Cas, let's grab the food you brought and head back."

"Get out of my house!" Zachariah shouted.

"Already working on it." Dean shot off a one-fingered salute and stood up with Cas and followed him to the kitchen.

Dean quickly found the two pies, while Cas found his casserole hidden in the fridge. He pulled it out and frowned, showing Dean. "She was never going share."

"Cas," Dean set down the pies and took the casserole, setting it down as well. He pulled Cas into his arms and held him tightly. "I'm sorry if I did too much."

"I think you could have kept going." Gabriel entered the kitchen. "Cassie, you brought pies? Trying to one-up me?"

"Dean likes pecan pie. You usually bring pumpkin." Cas melted into Dean's embrace, determined to make sure it wouldn't be the last time Dean held him like that.

"Touché." Gabriel let out a sigh. "Got room for two at your place?"Anna entered the kitchen. "Go pack your things, Gabe." She looked at Cas. "Your address still the same? We're not staying here."

"You're just going to crash with me? How do you know I don't have a roommate?"

Anna cut Cas a look. "You two are a new couple, you haven't moved in together yet."

Gabe called to them from the foyer. "Let's roll before they figure out how to trap us here."

"Coming, Gabe," Anna replied. "Meet you at your place, Cassie?"

Cas' face lit up at his sister calling him a nickname - even if it was one he wasn't particularly fond of - and not Castiel. "Yeah. Same address." He reluctantly pulled out of Dean's arms and grabbed the casserole, placing it in Dean's hands. "We should escape too." Cas picked up the pies and followed Anna out of the kitchen.

"Yes, sir." Dean smiled and followed the siblings out of the house.

…

Once back at Cas' apartment, this time with two siblings in tow, Dean helped Cas get the food in the house and prepared to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" Gabe tilted his head in confusion, a trait all three siblings shared.

"I messed up a lot for you guys today. I'll let the three of you have your Thanksgiving together."

Gabe and Anna looked at Cas, who took Dean's hand into his. "I know we haven't been together long."

"Yeah, when did you find him, Monday, after we hung up?" Gabe smirked.

"Shut up, Gabe." Cas, Anna, and Dean said in unison.

Cas waited to see if Gabe would say anything else before continuing. "When I did this, I didn't think it would be more than a business arrangement. But I want this to be more. Please, Dean?"

"I'm not sure why, you still want that after today, but I would be lying if I said I didn't want more with you." Dean pressed his forehead against Cas'.

"Well, that settles it." Anna smiled. "Welcome to the family, Dean."

While Gabe and Anna set up in the guest room, Dean called up Charlie, and Cas ordered some Chinese food. Within a few minutes, Charlie was banging on Cas' door, bringing gifts of rolls and croissants and coffee from the Cafe. The two fiery redheads were introduced and instantly hit it off.

Their dinner arrived shortly after, and they all curled up on the various chairs and sofas together. They took turns picking movies to watch and created their own Thanksgiving.

As the night crept upon them, Charlie apologized but reminded them that she had to get up early for Black Friday shoppers who would hit up her cafe for coffee and breakfast. She exchanged numbers with Anna and told them to not be strangers.

Dean got up to go, and Cas grabbed his hand. "You said you're not working tomorrow. That the restaurant was closed for a long weekend."

"I did." Dean smiled at Cas. "I also don't want to impose. You have a full house right now, and I'm not sure if Gabe or Anna are claiming the couch."

Cas tilted his head in exasperation. "Did you think I wanted you to sleep on the couch?" He looked around, Anna had run to the restroom, and Gabe went to go grab a couple more of the chocolate croissants Charlie had brought. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

"You do?" Dean swallowed - hard. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to." Cas stood up and led Dean back to his bedroom. "We don't have to go that far tonight," Cas added as they entered the room. "I'd actually prefer that we didn't.

"This is new, but it feels like forever at the same time." Cas continued, "Did you mean what you said?"

Dean wrapped his arms over Cas' shoulders. "I've meant every word I said today, but what phrase comes specifically to mind?"

"That you fall for me more and more each time we talk?"

 Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips against Cas', a soft caress that left them breathless. "One-hundred percent, Cas."

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 5: major character death

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Ned Leeds Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: mentions of panic attacks Words: 2.1k

read on ao3

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so like....i don’t really do major character death. just don’t vibe with that folks. so i sipped my ‘loosely interpreting prompts’ juice and went with a post-a4 aftermath fic. enjoy.

Peter remembers dying.

He remembers watching others start to fade first, remembers knowing exactly what was happening but still not understanding. Remembers thinking that this was not the first time he had watched someone die right in front of him and it would likely not be the last. Remembers registering that, despite barely knowing any of these people and having been held at gunpoint by one of them mere minutes ago, it did not hurt any less.

He remembers waiting. He remembers waiting, not for himself to go next, but for yet another parental figure to fade away.

He remembers his spider-sense screaming at him, remembers not being able to make it stop because wherever he looked, something was going wrong. Remembers the moment in which nothing was happening, after what seemed like the last person had gone, when he couldn’t figure out why his senses were still pinging danger danger danger. Remembers the awful, shattering realization that it was not, in fact, over.

He remembers shaking. He remembers hurting. He remembers crying, pleading, begging to be saved. He remembers Tony holding him and telling him he was was alright. He remembers trying to damn hard to believe him.

He remembers his last moments like they happened yesterday. He remembers dying like it’s the only thing he’s ever done.

The first couple weeks are actually okay.

Eleven months after the Snap, everyone who’d disappeared woke up, perfectly unharmed, in whatever spot they most considered to be home. Eleven months after the Snap, Peter came to in his own bed, and the high that came from just being alive took a while to wear off.

But when he crashes, he crashes hard.

Sixteen days, seven hours, and about thirty minutes after the Snap is reversed, Peter finds his first trigger.

He’s sitting on his living room couch, sandwiched between May and Ned, who both cling to him like they're afraid to let go. Some movie or other is playing on the TV in front of them, and Tony’s supposed to come over in time to catch whatever’s on after this. When it goes to commercial break, an advertisement for a throwback movie marathon says the word Footloose and Peter is no longer in his apartment.

(Like in Footloose? The movie?

Exactly like Footloose! Is it still the greatest movie in history?

It never was.)

He’s not in his living room. He’s not in his apartment. He’s not on Earth.

(red red dust Thanos danger danger danger fading shaking stumbling I don’t wanna go pain fear snap Thanos please I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.)

May and Ned do their best, but it takes fifteen minutes for Tony to arrive and another thirty minutes for him to talk Peter down.

Sixteen days, seven hours and thirty minutes. He lasted longer than he thought he would.

The breakdown is the first of many.

The ridiculousness of having his first post-Snap breakdown over an 80s movie is not lost on him. But it’s like a dam breaks, after.

He goes from okay to completely falling apart.

All of a sudden, it’s all he can think about. Dying. Turning to dust in Tony’s arms. Fading away on some cold, unforgiving alien planet.

All of a sudden, it’s so fucking hard.

It’s hard not to stare at his own hands whenever there’s nothing else to focus on and worry that his fingers are going to crumble any minute. It’s hard not to see the rocky surface of Titan every time his gaze catches on anything red. It’s hard not to feel like he’s living on borrowed time, wandering aimlessly in a borrowed body.

It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe.

It’s hard to live when the weight that’s been resting on chest ever since he came back to life has gained a million pounds and is pressing directly against his heart.

It’s funny, in this sick, twisted way, that when Aunt May asks him to talk about Titan, he can recount what happened without even stuttering, but the littlest thing can set him off if he’s not prepared.

Once, it’s an advertisement of a kid on a beach with sand slipping through the palms of his hands.

(sand it’s just sand it’s just sand it’s dust it’s always dust he’s turning to dust again.)

Another time, it’s merely someone on the street saying, “God, I don’t wanna go to the store.”

(I don’t wanna go Mr. Stark please I don’t wanna go I’m sorry.)

Many times, it’s not even something that he sees or hears. Many times, the fear washes over him for seemingly no reason other than just…trauma. He’s dealt with trauma before. He’s been dealing with trauma for basically his whole life.

It feels different this time. Like his brain has been completely rewired and he doesn’t know how to fix the mess in his head.

The thing is, it’s easy to tell who was dusted and who wasn’t. The people who weren’t have this terribly haunted look about them. They all try their best not to show it, but it’s in their faces. The eleven months in which half the planet was gone show in the vacant looks, in the glazed eyes, in the clingy protectiveness the ones who stayed have for the ones who didn’t.

The ones who dusted don’t remember those eleven months. They remember dying, yes, but for most of them, it was over quick. For most of them, the whole thing was over quick.

Most of them have issues, yes, but minor ones. A place they don’t like being in, a phrase they don’t like hearing.

Because for most of them, the Snap is just this thing that happened once. This thing that caused them panic for a few moments and then, a split second later, stopped affecting them. Most of them disappeared and then reappeared in the space of what, to them, was maybe five seconds.

Most of them don’t have nightmares about it. Most of them don’t have panic attacks over it. Most of them don’t spend every waking moment of every day feeling it.

Peter is the exception, not the rule.

Peter has always been the exception.

Peter goes back to being Spider-Man before he goes back to school. Midtown High doesn’t start back up for another two weeks when he decides he’s tired of not doing anything substantial.

He’ll come to wonder, later, if maybe he just wanted to know if even Spider-Man would make him lose his grip on reality, despite Spider-Man having been the one thing that used to ground him the most.

Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t matter.

Fifty-one days and two hours after the Snap is reversed, Peter puts on the suit - the old one, of course, because the other one turned to dust and he’s glad of that because he’d never be able to look at it again - and feels better than he has in weeks.

He doesn’t tell May before he leaves. He knows he should, knows that she worries even more than before now, but he needs to do this without other people’s hopes hanging over his head.

This is about him and only him.

Technically, he died as Spider-Man. But in that moment (I don’t wanna go please I don’t wanna go), he’d never felt more like a kid.

Apparently, the death and resurrection of half of the planet didn’t do much for people’s morals, seeing as there’s still plenty of crime to fight. Peter sticks to small-scale issues for his first day back - muggings and street fights and cats in trees. Tosses witty one-liners around just like he used to and feels truly alive for the first time since he came back.

For the next two weeks, he spends as much time as possible being Spider-Man.

Maybe it’s because he needs to feel like he’s helping someone, even if he doesn’t know how the hell to help himself.

Maybe it’s because he’s chasing the high he’d felt for the first sixteen days post-Snap and the closest he can get is saving a girl from a man who’s threatening her behind a bar.

Maybe it’s just because, whether he died as Spider-Man or not, he still feels less vulnerable as Spider-Man. Maybe it’s because Peter Parker is not a superhero, but Spider-Man is, and the superheroes always come out on top somehow.

Most likely, it’s because he’s scared and he always feels less afraid with the suit on.

They’re all worried about him.

May, Ned, Tony. They’re no better at hiding how worried they are about him than he is at hiding how not okay he is. Even the pain in their own eyes isn’t enough to mask their concern.

They don’t push. Probably don’t know how to. But their anxiety hovers around Peter and mixes in with his own until it feels like they’re all sharing one big mutual supply of frayed nerves and hitching breaths.

He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get why they’re so concerned about him when they’re the ones who actually had to live through those eleven months. All he did was die.

Which is not something he thought he’d ever be able to say.

Even so, it’s not that big of a deal. It was thirty seconds to May and Ned and Tony’s eleven months. Thirty seconds of the worst, most bone-chilling fear he’s ever felt and probably will ever feel in his life, but thirty seconds nonetheless.

It’s so fucking stupid that he can barely get through a day without having a panic attack over something or other when it was just thirty seconds. It’s so fucking stupid that he can’t sleep through a whole night when it was just thirty seconds. It’s so fucking stupid that he still wonders, sometimes, if all of this is even real when it was just thirty seconds.

He can’t let thirty seconds define him for the rest of his goddamn life.

He’ll be fine. It might take a while, but…he’ll be fine.

He has to be fine. He has to be strong for the people he left behind, for the people who really went through hell.

As all things do, Peter’s issues come to a head eventually.

Sixty-five days after the Snap is reversed, Peter goes back to school. It takes hours of convincing to get May and Tony to let him go back when the rest of his class does - they’re doing this weird type of co-parenting thing now, and trying to convince them of anything is like trying to convince a baby to stop crying - but ultimately they let him go.

It’s not their fault that Peter handles it worse than he’s ever handled anything else in all his sixteen and a half years.

Every slam of a locker makes him jump. Every whisper has him constantly looking over his shoulder. Every unexpected touch causes his spider-sense to buzz incessantly at him (danger danger danger).

By the time the sixth period bell rings, he’s shaking so badly that he knocks his notebook and pencils off his desk when he stands. And then he just...stares at them.

He should pick it all up. He should. That’s what he’s supposed to do right now. Knock something down, pick it up. That’s the natural progression.

Except he can’t figure out how to make his hands move. Can’t convince his knees to actually bend so he can reach the floor. Can’t function properly for long enough to even pick up a fucking notebook.

Someone does it for him, offers him a sympathetic smile even as they actually have to turn him around, unzip his backpack, and put his stuff in, since he doesn’t exactly offer a hand to take any of it. They pat him on the shoulder when they turn and go, leaving Peter alone in an empty classroom.

Alone. Alone.

(he doesn’t want to die alone. he doesn’t want to die at all, but at least he can stumble to Tony and have someone hold him as he goes. he doesn’t want to die. he’s not alone, but he’s still dying.

I don’t wanna go please I don’t wanna go.)

Peter walks on autopilot to the nurse’s office and tells the nurse to call both of his emergency contacts.

May and Tony arrive at the same time. They hang out now, apparently - Peter supposes eleven months of dealing with the loss of the kid you both view as yours, one way or another, will do that.

They sit next to him on the cot the nurse had directed him to. He hasn’t moved since he was left alone again, but now he pulls his feet up onto the cot and rests his forehead on his knees.

“I need help,” he says into his knees. “I - guys, I really need help.”

His parents hold him as he finally cries for the first time in sixty-five days.

[rebeebit]

Alan Andrews-Katz 3.4.20

What follows is my remembrance of Alan. I’ve been piecing this together over twenty four hours, as soon as I knew Alan didn’t have much longer.

A recent picture taken in Seattle.

August, 1999. My Honda Civic was packed with my worldly possessions. Twenty-one year old me lacked direction in life, so I picked a cardinal direction in which to drive. West. Until I couldn’t go west anymore. So I drove to Seattle, found a place to live and job, and figured the rest would sort itself out.

I’d never lived in a city. I decided the most economical choice was to find a roommate situation, so I responded to a few ads and met some folks. I realized that cities were full of bizarre people that I didn’t want to live with. One house already had six people living in it, but to a 21 year old that sounds kind of fun. It’s denizens were: a quiet art student, a frat boy from the midwest, a woman with OCD who was on disability who said that if she didn’t take her meds she’d wash her socks in the washer one at a time, a guy studying to be a kindergarten teacher, another who performed with the Seattle men’s choir, and a German lady. (Later on the German was swapped for a boisterous Hawaiian. No offense to Germans, but it was a step up.) At least half the people in the house seemed sort of normal and the price was right, so I went for it.

Alan, the would-be kindergarten teacher, and I became fast friends. He was 13 years my senior but we connected immediately. As we were both single, we were often not around on weekend evenings, but whenever we were home together, we watched movies together, traded books, and laughed our asses off. He got sick a lot. I mean, an abnormal amount of time. So I’d always take care of him: bring him coffee in bed (I started work late), and get him anything he needed. We bought a Christmas tree for five dollars that year, and it was the saddest Charlie Brown Christmas tree anyone had ever seen. But for our budgets - him, a teacher in training, me a canvasser for the Sierra club - it was perfect. We loved driving our roommate Roy up a wall. Roy was the midwest frat boy, and since fraternity culture was anathema to Alan and me, this was a natural bonding point for us. We all liked each other, truly: I think Roy couldn’t figure out his affinity for a punk rock girl and her gay boy pal, but he did get really mad at us once when we pointed out to him how homoerotic all the flight scenes in “Top Gun” were. How could something so masculine, so American be so….gay? Roy left the room, and Alan and I giggled our way through the rest of the movie, high as kites.

Over the course of the year we saw each others’ boyfriends come and go. He always gave great advice and boosted my confidence, something I sorely needed at the time. We trusted each other. One day in the spring I was coming home from a visit to Chicago. As I walked in the house, Alan and another man came out from the kitchen. I looked the fella up and down and said I was pleased to meet him. They said their goodbyes, and I sat Alan down to dish about his date: of course, any man either of us dated would have to be vetted by the other. Alan really liked this guy Eric, and they saw more and more of each other.

I got restless. My visit to Chicago got me thinking about moving on, as canvassing wasn’t turning out to be the glamorous job I thought it would be. I found a job in Chicago and moved in August, 2000. Alan and I hugged and cried when I left, and we promised to keep in touch. I saw him in Chicago when he flew out for an interview, and then two years later when he and Eric  got married. They had a beautiful wedding in Seattle with a view of Puget Sound and Mount Rainier. I brought the guy I’d been dating for a year and a half - it was Alan’s turn to vet. When Alan and Eric were saying their vows, I heard a sniffling next to me. Andy was crying. I was pretty sure he’d get the approval.

By 2010, Eric’s writing was taking off, and they came down to do a reading in Denver. I took them on a tour of our Front Range mountains, and we stopped for lunch in Idaho Springs. Talk turned to Alan’s health. At this point, he was on peritoneal dialysis due to non-functioning kidneys, and he was blind in one eye as a side effect from an anti-viral drug. I commented that he struggled so much with his health, and seemed to get the most bizarre afflictions. “Do you know my whole story?” he asked. I was confused, no, I didn’t think so. “I’m HIV+, I have been since 1982.” I was dumbfounded. I’d had absolutely no clue. Then he said, “is it still OK if we stay in your house, now that you know?” I told him Eric could, but Alan was sleeping in a tent in the yard for asking such an idiotic question. We hugged and cried. 

I started worrying about Alan all the time.

Over the next 17 years, Alan, Eric, Andy and I would see each other. Andy’s work often took him to the Pacific Northwest, and he’d always visit “The Boys” if he had time. I went up for Alan’s 50th birthday. He told me once that in the mid-1990s, he was given three months to live. “Say your goodbyes,” the doctor told him. Alan thought to himself, “I’m not dying yet,” and he didn’t. He was down to 95 pounds and had AIDS, but he simply decided not to give up. He kept living - a few years after being told to say his goodbyes, he met Eric, the love of his life. So he told us he never thought he’d see his 50th, and he was just so happy to still be here.

Andy, Alan, Eric, and I became a great foursome over the past few years, and we would reunite at least once a year for Pride, and then other times as luck would have it. Over time, we developed those hilarious in-jokes and secret languages characteristic of the best couples. Most of my friends have probed the limits of my vulgarity, and I thought I had a pretty high bar for what was offensive. Alan and Eric would regularly vault right over that bar, leaving the four of us in hysterics. We also had a constant shifting of allegiances: Eric and I would sing the “Monorail” song from The Simpsons, prompting Alan to tell us that we should get married; Alan, Andy and I would harangue Eric for doing stupid things while playing board games; the boys would gang up on me for being a girl; Andy and I would make the boys faux vomit when we commented on certain decor items in their home that appeared vaginal. We always left our visits with Alan and Eric giggling for days. In recent years, that laughter was coupled with concern. Would Alan get a kidney transplant? When would the next crisis be?

One thing I always admired about Alan was that he never complained. He was always exhausted, he had to be careful with his diet, and despite a fierce desire to work he could never work full time because he always got sidelined by illness. I’ve never met anyone with so many interests and passions: he was a voracious reader, and amazing pastry chef, he was a pharmacy tech, he would have been a teacher but he realized the pay was idiotic...the list goes on. And for so many of the years I knew him, he never complained. Insomnia from dialysis? At least we have coffee. Loss of appetite from his meds? Great weight loss program. Nausea? Well, that one wasn’t too fun, but at least I’m still alive, he'd say, and I have marijuana. And for so many other complaints, he’d always say anything was better than being dead.

I really started to worry the past few years because he started to struggle. He admitted that his life was challenging. He started doing hemo-dialysis two years ago, and this meant going 3-4 times a week, for almost half a day, for dialysis. He told me that dialysis took an equivalent toll on your body as running a marathon (to put things into meaningful perspective for his runner friend), and afterwards he usually crashed for a few hours before dinner, and then having an early night. But he still said that he’d rather be alive and dealing with all of his problems than be dead.

It sounds cliche, but that’s how I want to honor Alan. He got mad at me once for making him cry on the bus (we were texting), because I told him he was the toughest human I know. When the going gets tough, I’m going to remind myself to remember Alan. That no matter how terrible things are, they really could always be worse. When life is good, I’ll remind myself that this is what I’m living for. And if I’m really trying, I’ll top off my PollyAnna (Polly-Alan?) with a sweet smile and a witty joke.

[rockofeye]

I've seen lot of people refer to themselves as students of a tradition or students of a particular teacher. Can you talk about what that means for you and in your practice? Do you have/take students?

Hi there!

What a timely question–it’s something that has been on my mind a lot lately, for a variety of reasons!

I also see lots of people talk about being students or learning from teachers, and I often have a lot of questions (that I don’t ask, since it’s not my concern or business) about that because of how I conceive of a teacher student or master/apprentice or mentor/mentee relationship, based on how I have functioned in those sorts of relationships over the course of my spiritual life and how I have learned.

For me, a teacher/student or similar relationship is an agreed upon dynamic–meaning both parties consent to the style of the relationship and what that entails–that has definable goals, benchmarks, and, sometimes, time periods in which the work will be accomplished. This is a pretty serious thing and should have multiple conversations attached, as well as time to sit back and pray/think/divine on it before agreements are made. I take this seriously enough that it is something that I would hold as a contracted agreement, meaning that I and a prospective student would draw up a contract together outlining responsibilities of the relationship and of each of us in it, including what we will be achieving together, how we plan to achieve it, a process to revisit those ideas and change if necessary, how we measure success and/or failure, and how the contract can be renewed or dissolved.

I can’t stress enough how important purposeful action is when creating this sort of relationship. Deciding someone is your teacher is not good enough, nor is that person likely to react well to finding out that you are calling them your teacher without their explicit consent (I have had this happen). I really hate it when folks do this–super big pet peeve of mine–because it is inevitably based in the idea that information is all they need and that I am a divine gumball machine that they can ka-ching any time they want to know something. This is not how these things work. 

That being said, if someone wants to invoke me as their teacher without my consent, it is fully within my ethical navigational heading to lace those boots up and wear’em. It probably won’t go in the direction as they might thing, but they are invoking something sacred and I will treat it as such.

I teach the way I have been taught, for a variety of reasons. I know that it works, know what the outcomes often are, and I know how to troubleshoot when things appear that I don’t expect. It is also a matter of respect and honor–I have made oaths that I will pass on what I have learned and been given in the manner it was taught and given to me, which means the methodology is important and is it’s own sacred process. I have taught and trained professionally for years, and even in those settings I come back to how I have learned and been taught.

This gets long, so more behind the cut.

A few hallmarks:

Do as I say. This is not a totalitarian, I-rule-with-an-iron-fist, be-brainwashed-into-my-worldview sort of approach. Instead, it reflects back to the agreement–if I am the teacher and you are the student, there is a need to actually follow through on that and do as I direct. That means engaging in the process even when it is not completely understood or I do not provide comprehensive explanations as to why I am asking for a thing. It might mean engaging in things that are somewhat uncomfortable in that I will ask you to stretch your understanding and spiritual practices, or confine them to a particular box for the time being. 

This ends up being a line in the sand for a lot of people, because it is somewhat of a foreign concept for many folks. I do not provide the benefit of teaching if someone want my effort, knowledge, and instruction only to take what I offer and do whatever they think is best. In those scenarios, a person does not want a teacher, they want a gumball machine…and that’s not who I am.

Similarly, some things are not fun or all sunshine and puppies. Being asked to sit in meditation for a specific amount of time every day is a challenge. Being told to learn physical postures and movements is hard. Being told that gaining fluency in a foreign language can look like a mountain. Being asked to limit a spiritual practice to specific activities for a specific amount of time can feel oppressive. However, all those things serve a deeper purpose. If those are dealbreakers, the student refuses to do it by casual avoidance, or shows that they are simply mining information, then it won’t work out.

Chop wood, carry water. Knowledge is earned, not freely given. I don’t give out information willy-nilly because someone has to prove that they can hold it–that they can work hard, that they are willing, that they can keep secrets, that they understand why knowledge is sacred. I don’t teach people things just because they want to know them–there has to be a need, and they must demonstrate that they are ready.

All of those measures get assessed by the teacher, not by the student insisting they are ready–won’t we all insist we are ready for something because we desperately want to know what is behind door #3 or is contained within the black book? Part of that assessment is building on assignments that grow humility, willingness, and plain fair energy exchange. I have done mountains of dishes, scrubbed endless toilets, done battalions of laundry, and marathon-walked dogs in pursuit of chop wood, carry water–these tasks were assigned to judge willingness to do what needed to be done to learn and to give my teachers some return on their effort so that I was not just another sucking black hole that wanted what they have in their heads.

It can be hard and frustrating, but it is not nearly as hard and frustrating as knowing that there is knowledge out there that you do not have access to because you will not put in the sweat equity to earn it. It is always chop wood, carry water–there is never a moment when I have to stop earning what I have or what I need to know, as the process of learning is not static and has no end. So, I wash a lot of dishes, metaphorical or otherwise.

Answer the question. If folks can absorb and work with the above two requirements, this is often the one that makes their eyes bulge. I ask a lot of questions of my students, and I genuinely want the answers. Questions measure how someone is learning and if they are evolving in their learning, or if I need to teach them more or approach it in a different way. Folks who are raised in Western cultures and/or who have had contact with religious or spiritual communities that rely totally on self-interpretation of the divine can get really offended by this, because it is often the first time someone challenges their interpretations of what may be happening to them. 

My favorite question to ask is ‘how do you know this/how do you know it is ____’. If they are in a teacher/student relationship with me, they are acknowledging that they need guidance and structure to learn specific things and that they want to learn it from me specifically, which means with my knowledge in the way that I learned it and, in many cases, under the auspices of the lineage I have learned in and certainly under the watchful eye of the spirits of that lineage and my personal spirits. This means that there is a tacit understanding that they don’t know a wide variety of things and that they need help learning how to shape knowledge and their responses to knowledge.

Somehow, this has turned into something insulting for many folks when, in reality, it is a huge gift. In some ways, it can be a relief of responsibility–if I am the teacher, then I bear a large amount of responsibility of how things flow forward and what my student learns. If there is some sort of learning how to serve the spirits in there (and there often is), then there has to be the recognition that the student does not have the spiritual license or knowledge to make definitive statements about things that they cannot know for sure. Like, if you want to learn how to serve the spirits from me, which means learning under the auspices of the lineage I belong to and the spirits therein, then how can you know something about those spirits for absolute certainty?

It often plays out like:

‘Houngan, [spirit] came to me in a dream and said that I should do a thing.’ 

‘Okay, what led you to believe it was [spirit]?’ 

‘YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME?’

or:

‘I did a thing for [Spirit] and they loved it/were really happy!’

‘Neat! How do you know that they loved it/were really happy?’

‘YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME?’

It goes the same way until they realize that I am not saying I don’t believe them. Instead, I am only asking how they came to the conclusion that it was this spirit over another spirit, and what leads them to believe that there was happiness or pleasure involved. It has nothing to do with the veracity of the statements, and everything to do with critical thinking, discernment, and the cold hard fact that someone who has not had training in how to interpret dreams or spirit communication in the lineage they are learning under cannot possibly say within a shadow of a doubt that it is definitely a thing for sure. Flowing that way inevitably leads to greater misunderstanding about the culture of learning–we never rely solely on our own interpretations 100% of the time because, if we could, we wouldn’t need teachers or elders or containers to understand spirits or magic in. Not even the most seasoned priest stops asking their elders/spiritual parents for input and feedback, and a beginner or student needs to rely on that even more. It’s a trick that lots of newer folks fall into, especially if the spirits communicate that they need to listen–this often gets taken as ‘I need to listen to my spirits and not consult with my teacher/parent’.

There will be missteps. Failure and mistakes are part of learning, and that’s understood. The function of a teacher is to minimize the impact of such and to guide the student to a way out of those situations. Sometimes it is something like ‘yeah, you don’t feed that spirit that thing or that is an inappropriate offering’ or ‘you put that leaf in first, which means the work is ruined so start again’. A teacher is not your insurance against mistakes, they are the safety net to make sure those mistakes do not destroy you (if you choose to let them be that). Mistakes have to happen to provide growth, and so, unless it is life-threatening, those have to be allowed to happen, which can be really uncomfortable.

–

All of those things combine, plus more. Teaching is a big deal, because it should be. Learning is a big deal, because it should be. It is a vulnerable position for the student in that they are trusting the teacher to be knowledgeable, helpful, and ethical. It is a vulnerable position for the teacher because they are trusting the student to be ethical and willing, and because they answer to greater authorities like spiritual parents and the spirits themselves (meaning if I am fucking shit up, I am going to be hearing about it and paying for it).

I do take students and have had students, but do not currently have any at the time! I’m not against it and would be willing to explore what that would mean, if someone were interested.

I know this is super long–I hope it has answered your questions! Let me know if I can help further.

[studyblr-lawisintheair]

Things Top Students Do

1. They don’t always do all of their homework.

In college, homework assignments generally make up 5-20% of your grade, but can be the biggest time-suck for most students. Yes, working problems is one of the best ways to turn new concepts into working knowledge, but a large majority of those problems that take you hours and hours to work through, you’ll never see on an exam.

2. They never “read through” the textbook.

Per time spent, reading the textbook is one of the least effective methods for learning new material. Top students use the examples and practice problems, but otherwise use Google, lecture notes, and old exams for study materials.

3. They Google EVERYTHING.

It’s like an automatic reaction. New concept = go to Google for a quick explanation. Don’t think just because your professor gives you a textbook and some examples on the blackboard that you’re limited to that information. You have a massive free search engine at your fingertips, so make use of it.

4. They test themselves frequently.

Testing yourself strengthens your brain’s connections to new material, and gives you immediate and clear feedback on whether you know something or not. Bottom line, repeated self-testing significantly improves long-term retention of new material.

5. They study in short bursts, not long marathons.

Studying in short bursts tends to help you focus intensely because you know there is at least a short break coming.

This also fits in nicely with our Ultradian Rhythm, the natural activity/rest cycle of our bodies, which makes studying continuously for multiple hours on end counterproductive.

6. They reverse-engineer solved problems.

It’s one thing to follow and memorize a set of steps to solve a calculus problem. It’s an entirely different thing to understand what a derivative is, be able to take derivates of complex functions, know when to use the chain rule vs. the product rule, etc. The problem with simply following the steps the professor provided, or the textbook outlines, is that you’re only achieving a surface-level knowledge of the problem. Top students, instead,take solved problems and work backwards, from solution to question, asking “why.”

Why did this get this value? Why did they simplify this expression? Why did they use that type of derivative rule?

By following this process, you begin to understand the interconnections of the concept, and how to directly apply that to a problem. This “working knowledge” of a concept is key to performing well on exams, especially on problems that you haven’t seen before.

7. They don’t own a highlighter.

Highlighting anything = unengaged reading. If you want to note something that stands out, underline and write a corresponding note to go along with it. Or better yet, write yourself a note summarizing the item in your own words.

8. They sleep–a lot.

The daily routines of top performers, in any field, are characterized by periods of intense work (4-6 hours per day) followed by significant quantities of high-quality sleep (9 hours per night). You see this trend in top violin prodigies and chess champions, as well as elite athletes. The idea is to alternate periods of intense work with rest, so that you create tons of new connections in your nervous system, and then allow adequate time to assimilate those gains.

9. They engage themselves by asking questions.

What happens if I tell you, “Thomas Jefferson almost single-handedly drafted the Delcaration of Independence in 1776.”?

You might say “Hmm.. that’s interesting”, try to remember it for later, maybe even write down a note or two.

But what if I ask you, “Who was Thomas Jefferson?” What changes?

You start searching your memory, sifting through images of old guys, founding fathers, thinking about the Declaration of Independence. You come up with your own narrative, and then realize that you have gaps.

When was he around again? And why was he so important?

You’ll probably find yourself going to Google to fill in the gaps. Through that process your learning will be much more deeply seated in your brain than anything your history teacher ever told you about him. That’s the power of asking questions.

10. They make the best out of lecture.

Yes, your professor sucks. Yes, lectures are boring. Yes, it’s either too fast so you can’t keep up and miss all the important stuff, or it’s way too slow and you start zoning out because you already understand everything.

The best students look at this this way: I’m going to be there no matter what, so what’s the best use of my time while I’m in the classroom? Ask questions, bring the textbook and look stuff up, focus on the important practice problems to copy down in your notes, try to anticipate what the professor is going to say, make note of anything they put emphasis on as a potential exam topic. All of these things make the time you have to spend in lecture more productive and engaging. And that’s less time you have to spend studying later on.

11. They over-learn.

School is hard enough, with the amount of studying and homework you have to do. And on top of all of that Facebooking you have to get done? It might seem ridiculous to suggest learning more than you have to.

What!? Are you insane!?

But this is precisely what top students do. And paradoxically, they end up spending less time trying to understand how to do homework problems, andless time studying for exams because of it. Because when you “over-learn” past what’s presented in class, you build a better framework for the subject.

Think of trying to remember some details about Abraham Lincoln’s life. You try to remember the dates of the Civil War, or what he said in the Emancipation Proclamation. You study the same facts over and over and over again… but it’s just boring, and you quickly forget. But what if you knew his whole life’s story? About how Lincoln suffered from bouts of depression, and his relationship with his wife suffered? You start to learn that the dude was human, and you start to relate to the things he did and the struggles he went through. Now you’ve constructed a story in your head. And studies show that humans learn best through stories. So yes, it’s more information, but your brain knows what to do with it now that all those random facts are linked together. More learning, but less rote memorization and struggling to remember random facts.

12. They immediately study their exam mistakes.

Most students get their exam grade back, flip through to see if the professor made any mistakes they can argue about, and then promptly shove it into their notebook, never to be seen again until the mad scramble at the end of the semester to study for the final.

Instead, top students ignore what they got right, and use their mistakes as an indicator of what to improve on.

13. They’re busy with work and side projects.

Yes, to do well in a course, you need to focus and put in the hours. But like many geniuses throughout history have shown, involvement in a diverse set of subjects, activities, and skill sets keeps you active, and provides you with a rich and diverse set of mental models to pull from.

Also, as they say, “If you need to get something done, give it to the busy person.” If you stay active in multiple areas, you don’t have time to procrastinate, and are forced to be efficient with your study time. This generally translates into quicker learning and better performance throughout the semester.

14. They use lecture as a detective mission.

Though completely unaware of this fact, your professor has tells. Yes, like in poker. Tells during lecture will hint at particular types of concepts and problems that will be emphasized on the midterm or final exam. The best students pay attention to topics professors spend a seemingly inordinate amount of time on and make note. Chances are you’ll see something related on the final.

15. They don’t wait for motivation to strike.

Motivation comes and goes, but studying for a degree requires persistence and consistency. Just like Olympic athletes train even on their worst days, the best students figure out how to get their coursework done when it’s the last thing they want to do.

16. They practice under test conditions. The old adage “practice makes perfect” isn’t totally true. Deliberate practice under the right conditions, with the correct mindset, is more like it. Instead of reading through all of the lecture notes and redoing old homework problems, top students make themselves practice exams, and rehearse their exam performance, under time pressure and in similar conditions (no notes, uncomfortable chair, quiet room, etc.) to what they’ll see on test day.

17. They use old exams.

Professors aren’t the most inventive folk. Along with coming up with lecture material and departmental responsibilities, they’re also primarily concerned with research. So typically midterms and final exams more or less look alike for similar courses year-to-year and even across universities. Because of this, old exams are a gold mine of opportunity for figuring out what problems you should be able to solve and study from.

18. They make their own study guides.

The best students don’t simply use the study guide the teacher provides, they create their own.

Creating the study guide is half the battle, requiring you to go through your notes, consolidate them, and organize them in a way that you understand–all valuable study activities. You’ll also be able to use your equations sheet much more effectively on the exam itself (if allowed) because you know exactly where everything is.

19. They actually write on paper.

Writing out notes on a laptop is efficient. Too efficient. Because it’s so easy to quickly type out exactly what the professor is saying, you don’t have to do the work of trying to figure out how to consolidate the information into your own shorthand. Some also believe that the act of writing helps retain more information.

20. They use the 80/20 rule.

Yes, some students who get good grades do every reading assignment, finish every practice problem, and attend every study session they can get their hands on. But these students are missing the point. There will always be an endless amount of information you could learn given the time and effort, but having the ability to discern what is worth learning will truly set you apart.

Top students identify the 20% of concepts they need to learn deeply, in order to determine 80% of their final grade. They focus intently on those few things, and simply ignore the rest. This is a formula for high performance, without hours and hours of busywork. And it translates seamlessly into the real world too.

21. They don’t complain.

Complaining simply has no place in the smart student’s repertoire. If something sucks, change it or ignore it, but don’t waste your time, energy, and mental state talking about it. Got a crappy professor? Either switch class sections or focus on teaching yourself. Horrible textbook? Find alternate resources (Google is free in case you hadn’t heard).

22. They learn by doing.

Any technical subject can only truly be internalized through use. Just like learning a new language, learning to be fluent in algebra or calculus requires active application of rules and formulas. Top students know there is a big difference between knowledge, and applied knowledge.

23. They take personal responsibility for learning the material.

The best students understand that they, and only they are truly responsible for their own education. So waiting to be spoon-fed by your professor and doing the homework assignments will never be enough. Despite your school’s best intentions, they’ll never be as committed to your academic success as you can be.

24. Following what they love

Those students you admire are passionate about what they are learning. They have the drive to develop their learning further based on their love of what they are discovering. This may not always be the case and is often unavoidable but if you follow what interests you and cultivate a curiosity of this area, your motivation to learn will thrive.

Not every student is the same and many top students don’t follow the status quo. The best way to create good habits for students is to try a variety of techniques and figure out what works for you.

25. Question your teachers Thinking outside the box is a cliche but certainly a reality for students.  They question everything–especially test questions they get wrong.  This attitude is important because it shows a general inquisitiveness that is essential in learning.  As any parent of small children knows, questions are a way to gain knowledge.  Teachers can’t be offended when a student asks a difficult question and parents should encourage this behavior.  

26. They know the best way to study.

It is important to know the best way to study for yourself. Do you need pictures? Sounds? Study better in quiet or noisy environments? Figure out what works best for you so that you can make the most out of your study time.

27. They play hard.

We all know that a balanced lifestyle is the best way to stay mentally and physically healthy! Top students don’t spend all day in the library grafting (contrary to what you might think!) Rather, they take the time to put their studies aside and do something which is fun and exciting!

[gracemolteniisnothome]

A Year of Quiet, aka Lessons in Isolation

First and foremost, I want to emphasis staying informed, and taking your health and the health of others seriously. Period.

I have the luxury of working in the news (which, admittedly, can get exhausting), and a science reporter as my sibling, who has been on the coronavirus beat for over 2 months. I trust her and her concerns. I am also lucky to have a handful of friends who work on infectious disease research and response for the CDC—I trust them and their concerns. That access to information doesn’t raise my anxiety so much as make me feel informed and prepared. However, I fully recognize how dire and scary this all feels. Frankly, it feels that way because the reach and reality of this pandemic is indeed scary. 

My office moved quickly last week to setting us up to work from home, and for that I am deeply grateful. I spent most of the weekend indoors, save a few runs and some fresh air, and a quick stop at my local cafe for coffee-to go (support your neighbors and tip well, y’all.) As Americans, it’s been a while since social solidarity was asked, let alone required of us. I can’t remember a moment in my lifetime that felt as dire in regards to personal responsibility.But, we can find a new normal in balancing being isolated and practicing social distancing, while also staying sane and staving off the stir crazy. I think it is possible to be diligent about self-isolating, and vigilant in our social distancing, and still find ways to connect, to support, to find joy, even if that means remotely. 

Strangely, I feel more prepared for self-isolation than I ever have in my life, and I realized this weekend that my year of quiet in rural Japan taught me a lot about how to manage limited social contact and a uniquely singular life. I figured there’s no time like a pandemic to share a few things that kept me sane: 

Remember that internet is the friend of the curious and the enemy of the anxious. 

What a time to be alive! There is more access to real time information than ever before. This is gift, and at times, a trap. Know when to unplug, and definitely know when to stop checking Twitter. Delete some apps off of your phone (Instagram, Facebook, Hinge, etc) for the weekend and enjoy reclaiming some of your mental space. (Plus coronavirus-inspired pick-up lines are eye-roll worthy at best.) When I would find myself deep into Instagram scrolls with no end in sight, that was usually time to delete the app for a week or so to break the habit. 

Set your expectations.

Consider this a marathon, and not a sprint, and adjust your mindset accordingly. We should be thinking of this in months, not weeks. It’s helpful to consider this in the long haul and not just a temporary inconvenience. 

Go for walks, long ones when time allows, particularly if you can avoid crowded areas. 

I usually ended my day with a sunset walk through the rice fields near my apartment and it was a regular time to reset and get some fresh air that now I often miss. I certainly take for granted how nice a short stint in the sun can be. Don’t forget to look up at the sky or take some picture of flowers if it pleases you. Send them to friends who are self-isolating in colder climates (looking at you, Chicago.) 

Create some structure

Outside of being able to live abroad, my teaching schedule allowed me to reclaim many of my daylight hours (something I had little of in my previous job.) I don’t consider myself a particularly disciplined person, but I wanted to make the most of this time. An easy thing I tried to adhere to was doing 3 things every day: something creative, something educational, and something active. The categories were purposefully broad – physical, for example, could be anything from a run to stretching while watching Netflix – and it helped to have daily, achievable goals.

But also, allow yourself some rest

WFH and self isolation are certainly not the same thing as a vacation. However, especially with the world feeling like it’s ending, it’s ok to not need to be productive (after remote-office hours, of course.) Lean into binging tv shows, taking long baths or reading books, diving back into the world of Sims. It’s ok to seek out comfort right now, because… 

Isolation can be painful! 

Loneliness is real. And if you’re the kind of person who needs to share physical space with people, this adjustment may be particularly uncomfortable. But it doesn’t last forever, and in 2020 there are so many ways to stay connect and close to the folks you care about. On that note…

If you’re feeling panicky, anxious, stressed - talk about it! 

Reach out to people you trust and share where you’re at. If you need support, now is as good a time as any to ask for it. For alternatives, consider starting a journal, recording voice memos, making videos, if only for yourself, to talk through those thoughts and stop them from occupying precious brain space. Speaking of videos… 

Send your friends dance videos, or schedule a GoogleHang and have solo dance parties, together.

When I lived in Japan there were some nights that my beloved apartment felt not just sparse, but empty; in those times that I felt particularly distanced from my friends and life back in the US, I started sending these dance videos to select folks on Instagram. It was silly (still is tbh) and yet very much helped to keep me sane and connected to people I love. Dancing around my apartment was a good way to save me from my melancholy self, and now is kind of a necessity during quarantine times, to shake off some of that excess energy and loosen up some of the stir crazy. Another great option is tuning into groups like Dance Church, who have taken their weekly gathering online and available for streaming.

On the topic of GoogleHangouts…

Throw some on your calendar! Make it weekly, make it daily, make them random. I am convinced that my Groupchat of high school pals played a large part in me tolerating the weight of isolation as a foreigner; WhatsApp with and Instagram messenger acted as lifelines when it came to feeling connection with my people back home.

Not sure where to start? Host a quarantine happy hour where everyone calls in at the same time with their beverage of choice! Start a Netflix viewing party! Make a free account on Tabletopia and play board games against your friends remotely! Start an online bookclub! If you’re musically inclined, go live on Instagram and let folks tune in!  It’s no stand-in for IRL social time, but I can say after moving around a number of times, it’s actually pretty incredible how many ways there are to hangout from afar. 

Revisit your internal project list. 

What is something you haven’t been able to get to in your regular life because of daily commitments like work? Reading the stack of books by your bed? Baking the best bread humanly possible? Learning another language? Having a project (or 5) to chip away at during my time abroad helped me to feel productive and take pride in accomplishing something. There’s so many great online (often free) resources for learning new things. I like to rely on Skillshare for prompts, but recently have purchased a few classes through Moment to learn more about mobile filmmaking. That being said, I’d also be careful not to fall into the trap of turning everything into work. Don’t put more pressure on yourself than needed right now. If there’s room to chip away at personal projects, be they anything from self portraits or cross-stitch, take the time to find some pleasure in creating. Oh yeah, and do update your damn website (me, to me.) 

An additional list of thoughts in no particular order: 

Make a collaborative playlists

Check in on your freelance friends (help them out financially if and when you can, promote their work, buy their merch, shoot them a Venmo, a PayPal, a CashApp.) 

Deep clean your place! 

Consume podcasts like it’s your job.  

Finally clear the open tabs on your browser window (wishful thinking) 

Do your taxes! Annoying, but hey, if you’ve got the time.  

StoryCorps! If you’re already cooped up with folks - family or roommates or partners– take the time to get to know them in a way you usually don’t 

Send snail mail! 

Participate in Instagram challenges or prompts 

I’m a fan of #DrawThisInYourStyle for illustration projects, but I really like @rockthatmuseumgirl’s idea of posting art we’ve seen and tagging them #throwbackmuseum since so many art institutions and public spaces are closed right now. 

On a community note…

Donate to food banks! Blood banks! Buy local gift cards to use later or see if your favorite spots are doing pickup or to-go options! Support your neighborhood any way you can, while staying safe, and more than anything, be kind. As a wise art director reminded us on Instagram this week: “everyone is fighting their own battles. be mindful & grateful for what you have”

Ok, enough rambling from me. Till next time, y’all