#blood is family

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The Marcusgate

It all started on a lazy Sunday, which was now Carmy's favorite day of the week, and with Syd and Carmy binge-watching Netflix's Blue Ribbon Baking Championship and remembering that Sandra Lee was a regular Bear's customer whenever she was in Chicago, so they pinged Richie to get her number and congratulate her for the show that Sydney was crazy about.

Syd maniacally took notes on all the recipes on the show and came up with variations of each that she planned to run by Marcus the next day. She was overjoyed when one of the bakers used lemon-macerated Concord grapes in his cake, and that excitement was quickly replaced by disappointment when that same baker was the first to leave the competition. And when she saw Sandra Lee in tears over a cheesecake, she knew she had to ask Marcus to add that cheesecake recipe to The Bear's menu as soon as possible, so she asked Carmy to contact Sandra and try to get all the intel.

In time, this led to all four of them starting a Blue Ribbon group chat that included Syd, Carmy, Sandra, and Marcus. They exchanged recipes and talked specifically about logistics to ensure plagiarism wasn't one of the ingredients when Marcus made The Bear's version of those desserts. Not only to avoid any potential legal complications that could affect the restaurant's or Marcus' reputation, but also because both Syd and Carmy knew that plagiarism was the fetish of those who can't, the lowest of crimes that only mediocre criminals commit, and they were way above that, as naturally so was Marcus. They also greeted each other on their respective birthdays and, of course, invited each other to dinner whenever that could be arranged.

One day, over one of those dinners that took place at Casa Sydcarmy, on a Sunday night when Sandra happened to be in town, she pitched an idea to the Michelin Star award-winning chefs: "What do you guys think of joining me as Executive Producers on my next project: Cordon Blue Ribbon?"

"Cordon Blue Ribbon?" Marcus was intrigued.

"You mean the Cordon Bleu version of your show?" Syd quipped.

"Exactly, and only Michelin Star award winner pastry chefs could compete on it and the prize would be a million dollars, instead of just $100K." Sandra's eyes met Marcus and stayed laser-focused on him.

Carmy was still silent and in disbelief when he looked at Marcus with a mix of curiosity and shock on his face, to know what he had to say to that.

"Sounds interesting..." Marcus added as he popped a mini cinnamon churro in his mouth, courtesy of Sandra who knew better than to show up empty-handed to a dinner party thrown by 2 Michelin Star award chefs.

"That's what I told my manager! When she came up with the idea, I was super interested right off the bat. You'll see, I have a 3-year contract with Netflix, and making another Pie Blue Ribbon cooking show wasn't going to cut it. It was more of the same, and innovation is a must in television if you want to stay relevant."

"You should know... having an Emmy under your belt, right?" Syd fangirl had entered the chat.

Sandra laughed and graciously accepted the compliment, meanwhile, Carmy had no idea what the ladies were talking about because he had never watched one of her shows before Syd came into his life, let alone a daytime Emmy award show.

Sandra went on and kept focusing on Marcus.

"So we decided to bring in more award-winning chefs and raise the stakes for this next project. That was the only way we could get the million-dollar prize approved. So... what do you think Marcus? Would you be on board? Would you be interested in competing for a million dollars?"

Marcus looked at Syd and Carmy, like asking for their greenlight and they both smiled and silently agreed.

So it was settled and when the show happened, he was going to be there, front and center. Sandra assured him.

Fast forward 6 months and the pre-production of the contest was being kick-started in Los Angeles.

Syd and Carmy declined the offer Sandra made them to be Associate Executive producers of the show so that Marcus could be a participant and no conflict of interests compromised him. Marcus, in exchange, offered them a cut of the prize if he won and Syd and Carmy agreed to only take credit on social media about being his sponsors and mentors but vehemently declined every penny he offered.

"You owe us nothing, Marcus, this is all you," Syd said.

"What are you talking about? Carmy believed in me when all I knew how to barely make were buns and you pushed me to be better, Sydney, to push myself. I wouldn't have gone to Copenhagen if it weren't for you, guys..."

"But because of your amazing work we also got a Michelin Star, Marcus. That star was a team effort, you're one of us. That's more than enough payback if you ask me." Carmy clarified with a: "Period" tone.

Marcus heard the subtext and was quick to be on the same page "Heard, chef."

Shortly after Marcus was wowing the judges with his creations, all 100% by Marcus Brooks. He took no inspo from the recipes he got from the chat he shared with Sandra, Syd, and Carmy. His only inspiration came from his loved ones, his affections, and people that he had met along the way and that had had a true impact on his life. Including Luca and Michael.

Marcus slayed the competition one killer dessert at a time.

There were 9 rounds and the grand finale. The level of complexity was evergrowing.

Marcus was a serene force of nature on that set.

He bagged the first round with a peach pie served in a sundae dish with a scoop of lemon buttermilk gelato at the base topped with balsamic caramel sauce and a half-moon shaped, fresh peach hand pie. The hand pie was hot, just out of the oven so the contrast between that and the ice cream was what really got the judges. They were amazed by Marcus' talent, from day one and knew he was final-round material from the get-go. There was no doubt about it in their minds because he was not only incredibly skilled but also calm and focused. He didn't falter under pressure.

The second round was also in Marcus' pocket when he served a petite croissant over a brass cooling rack dotted with Pearl sugar and honey filled with a gooey Délice de Bourgogne cheese and finished at the table with black truffle, inspired by Chicago's Kasama. The judges' feedback was amazing. They said it was exquisitely clever to use this as a cheese course. "The technique and execution were exemplary," they assured.

Then it was the turn of the most luxurious and rarest ingredient of them all: Criollo.

For those viewers at home who may have not been too familiar with this ingredient, Sandra gave a brief presentation:

"Criollo is a very rare and precious variety of cacao that was at risk of extinction for many years. It is the cacao of the Mayas and the Aztecs, the cultivation of which has been progressively abandoned owing to its low yield. It is a delicate cacao and makes up just 0.01% of global cacao production. Tonight, our chefs will use it as the primary ingredient to bring us the Wow factor we are looking for and that will earn them immunity in the next round. Let the Criollo games begin!"

With that, Sandra dismissed the participants and allowed them to go to their stations to start working their magic. They only had 50 minutes to make it happen and make it count.

Marcus decided to go with something a little bit different. He crafted his chocolate pyramid with a creamy ball of guava sorbet and a tasty coconut foam. He also crowned it with a thin sugar collar sprinkled with sesame seeds, flecks of red chili, and a little black garlic, providing complementary flavors and a subtle warmth too.

Immunity was his bitch.

For the next round, seeing as he was untouchable he decided to go rogue, he had the liberty to make whatever he wanted so he decided to make what he called: "Dreaming of Lod Chong". The judges were blown away when he served his creation in a small bowl that displayed this square of pandan parfait in a sauce of salted coconut cream. Marcus added specially treated crushed ice as a final flourish, too. Those little ice pieces looked exactly like diamonds. It was an unexpected success, expertly balancing sweet and salty notes. "The ice also added great texture. It was a solid finish.” That was what the judges had to say about it. Again, Marcus blew them away.

He kept advancing to the next rounds till he got to the semi-finals and the judges put the chefs through the wringer like never before.

The assignment was to make the outside of the dessert look like the main ingredient on the inside. The goal was not to sacrifice flavor to achieve uncanny and realistic resemblance, plus never losing sight of creativity and originality.

Most contestants failed the test because they presented obvious desserts that anyone could find in any respected bakery.

But Marcus, Marcus Brooks told a different sweet story with his dessert. And it wasn't even that sweet. It was acid and sweet and perfect.

Mojito Pie.

This was a memorable pie, the judges said. It had a buttery graham cracker crust topped by a very light lime and mint mousse that was dusted in lime powder to resemble an actual lime. This was served with a lime sorbet and spritzed with rum.

"It was adorable to look at and even better to eat," Sandra concluded.

That pie granted him a spot in the final.

Marcus was tense for the first time ever in the competition. He hadn't been that nervous in a long time. It was unlike him to be so high-strung.

Two days later, when the final episode of the show was being shot, Syd and Carmy surprised Marcus and showed up at the studio, along with Chester, for emotional support. The Bear was closed, Marcus was that important to them. The only other time when the restaurant was closed was on the occasion of Ever's funeral service.

Now it was Marcus' turn to be blown away. He was over the moon. And Carmy tried to give him some sort of pep talk but all he managed to say was: "You're already a winner, Marcus, just don't fuck it up and you'll be fine."

Syd dramatically rolled her eyes at Carmy's words and added: "Marcus, don't think about the prize ahead, think about what you've accomplished so far. You got this. And we got you."

Marcus smiled at her kind words and then the little moment Syd and him were having was interrupted by Chester's heavy palm on his back that sounded like a slap but was meant to be supportive and encouraging.

"My man! The million-dollar chef!"

"Not yet, Chester. Not yet!"

"What are you talking about?! That big fat check is yours, Marcus. What show have you been watching? They freaking love you, man. This finale is just paperwork, go get 'em!"

Marcus couldn't help but snort and nod. "Will do, Chest, will do, thanks, man!"

So, when the judges announced it was showtime, Marcus' entire life as a baker flashed before his eyes.

The final assignment was a triple one: They had to come up with a 3 step-sweet menu inspired by their past, present, and future as pastry chefs. And there was a catch: The future had to be a sweet version of a savory dish and look on the outside like its original savory version. They only had 3 hours to complete all 3.

Marcus knew he could pull a trifecta off, but he was afraid that pulling it in only 3 hours was pushing his boundaries as a baker a bit too far.

He went for it anyway.

For the past version of himself as a pastry chef, he decided to make "The Sydney's Donut", which was nothing but a Copenhagen-inspired and elevated version of the donut that Carmy had destroyed like a little bitch. That one was easy but he elevated it by presenting it on an edible marshmallow carved bowl.

Marcus' present at The Bear after winning a Michelin star was far more fancy, so he served the judges a "Turkish Delight, Almond, Manjari, Chocolate, and Rose." This chocolate bar hid a light, creamy chocolate center with a lovely layer of almond panna cotta. Arranged on top were Turkish delights, almonds, crystallized rose petals, and a quenelle of silky smooth almond ice cream. This dessert was currently part of The Bear's menu and it was the most popular choice among its customers with a sophisticated sweet tooth.

For the future, Marcus took inspiration from Syd and Carmy as a whole, and their collective impact on his life. Their love inspired him and so did the invisible string that seemed to connect them long before they met. When Marcus heard the whole story about Sydney's favorite meal and saw the pictures she had taken, he was deeply moved by it because it looked like Carmy had literally put his heart on the plate for her and it was exactly the kind of story that his mom used to love and cherish. So in honor of Syd and Carmy's love story and of his late mom, to whom he was going to dedicate the victory if he took the prize home, Marcus decided to make a fake heart-shaped Paupiette of hamachi with blood orange sauce. For the Paupiette of hamachi, he used molded white chocolate that he wrapped in a fine vanilla crepe and carefully colored with some cinnamon powder for it to look precisely like the original fish. The blood orange sauce was based on its original recipe minus the garlic and the chili flakes and he elegantly topped all that with a thin sweet potato chip sprinkled with sweet chili flakes to replicate the exact aesthetic of the fateful dish that proved to be Sydney's favorite.

The alchemic reaction was epic when the judges tasted that masterpiece. There was no more contest and the other two chefs knew it even before the unanimous verdict was announced.

All 3 of Marcus' works were mindblowing but the Paupiette of hamachi with blood orange sauce was not only flawless, but its appearance was exactly the same as Carmy's dish. There was no way to tell them apart.

To wrap up the award ceremony and his acceptance speech Marcus was asked to say a few words about each dessert on his menu and go over the reason behind each choice. When the time came to explain why he had chosen to make his own version of Paupiette of hamachi with orange sauce he said that Sydney, his mentor, and friend, had confided in him a long time ago that the best meal she had ever had was that dish, by Carmen Berzatto, back in NYC when he was the best CDC in the world and they hadn't even met yet. Marcus went on to mention that Carmy, or "Bear," as he called him, was also his friend and mentor and that without them, he probably wouldn't be there. And that he was forever thankful to both.

Carmy was saucer-eyed, he had no idea that he had made the best meal she had ever had. A dish he instinctively made for her, breaking all the rules and defying his boss' direct orders.

Syd looked at Carmy with that intense yet sweet but never condescending look she reserved for him only and took his hand as she smiled at him and tightened her grip.

Carmy smiled back and then re-directed his attention to Marcus when he elaborated on the background story of his winning dessert when Sandra said: "Wow! That is unbelievable and disarmingly sweet! You're telling me he made the best meal she ever had before they met and now they are husband and wife?!"

"Yes." Marcus smiled and looked at them.

Sandra was beside herself and declared: "That's the most romantic story I ever heard! Did Sydney just tell you one day: 'Oh by the way, Paupiette of Hamachi with blood red orange sauce is my favest and Carmy made it for me before we met in New York when he was the best CDC in the world?' Just like that? Is that a story she just tells everybody to, I don't know, break the ice?"

Marcus was finally loosening up and laughing out loud and he casually said: "No, no, we were having dinner at her place and..."

Carmy didn't hear what Marcus said next, he just looked at Syd as if he had just been shot and was bleeding to death right before her eyes and went: "WAIT, WHAT?!!?"

A/N: This fic was inspired by that Netflix baking show that I just binged entirely in 2 days over the weekend and Marcus' recipes come straight from the Michelin Guide because I can't even make French toast... My meta on the dish is embedded in the first mention of it.

Enjoy! 💋

[casasupernovas]

shoutout to my favourite doctor who blooper ever

Doctor: Martha, you trust me don't you?

Martha: Of course I do.

Doctor: Because it all depends on you.

Martha: What does? What am I supposed to do?

David Tennant, breaking character and returning to his natural Scottish accent: Well there's a watch, but I've lost it.

transcript from @suz-blog

[glumby]

how do you compete with an angel? become one yourself

[aerequets]

something about death, and sustenance, and decay. Idk

[mal3vol3nt]

aang haters are so insane cause you’re literally hating on happiness personified????????

he is literally just a guy

who is five apples tall

and needs his sleep

[ayo-edebiri]

Taste (2024) + movies references:

Psycho (1960) dir. Alfred Hitchcock Death Becomes Her (1992) dir. Robert Zemeckis Ginger Snaps (2000) dir. John Fawcett Addams Family values (1993) dir. Barry Sonnenfeld Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003) dir. Quentin Tarantino

[sihtryggr]

sometimes a family is a gay man, his wife, her boyfriend and their three comunally raised children.

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[akanemnon]

How to be an annoying little jerk 101

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference

[demigods-posts]

imagine percy swimming to the bottom of the ocean. not to save a group of sea creatures. not to show off his skillset. and not to prance around as the sea god's favorite son. but to join the ocean in all that it is. laying in the soft sand and watching the fish swim by. the lobsters making space for him as he rests his head against a patch of seaweed. him laughing at the irony. imagine percy making small talk with all the different sea creatures and assigning them names. him actually running into a whale he named phillip who's on his way to propose to his boyfriend. and percy wishing him good luck and offering his blessing on their union. imagine percy making small talk with the starfish about his favorite dinosaur. and explaining to the collective group what a dinosaur is and why they don't need to worry about them reaching the bottom of the ocean. just. percy immersiving himself in all that's aquatic because it's where he can be his most self.

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

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[gigireece16]

happy halloween to only hugh dancy covered in blood

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

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[l0verseyes]

for like the 3 people who wanted to see this me included

[one-time-i-dreamt]

David Tennant shot and killed a man, and my mom had to teach him how to clean up a dead body, get rid of blood, etc.

[galaxymagitech]

HERE LIES JASON TODD...again—wait no he's back—

(I don't actually know how many times Jason has died, but here are the dates I used:

1983 - Jason is introduced 1988 - A Death in the Family 2005 - Under the Hood begins 2006 - The Batarang (after which the Superboy Prime Punch Effect is seen again, so...he almost definitely died here) 2021 - I'm 99% sure Jason dies in Task Force Z and is brought back in the next issue. 2024 - Jason is killed by Zur en Arrh and brought back by Lazarus Resin.)