#let food service workers live you ghouls

[merciawintersageposting]

…is this hell?

i hope y’all get baja blasted by a unionized food service workers’ strike.

[astropithecus]

This is important because it's another instance of right-wing oligarchs adopting populist language for interests that hurt working people.

Blocking minimum wage increases does not 'Save Local Restaurants' - if it did save local restaurants, chains like Chipotle and Starbucks would be opposed to it, because what's good for local restaurants is fewer national chains. The fact that McDonald's and Yum! Brands are donating means it can't be good for local restaurants at all.

But besides that, there is an easy litmus test for whether or not an economic claim about minimum wage is bullshit, and you don't even have to have a degree in economics from a prestigious university to use it. It is, simply, "anyone that claims raising the minimum wage is bad for workers is ✨full of shit💩."

Increasing wages doesn't hurt workers because it doesn't increase prices by any appreciable amount. From the link:

By looking at changes in restaurant food pricing during the period of 1978–2015, MacDonald and Nilsson find that prices rose by just 0.36 percent for every 10 percent increase in the minimum wage

The current California minimum wage is $15.50, the FAST Act would raise it to $20 for food service workers, a 22% increase. A 22% increase in wages would mean about a 0.79% increase in prices. If you're bad at math, that means raising the minimum wage by $4.50/hr will increase the price of a $10 combo meal to $10.08. If you're distrustful of my sources, be aware that the very largest correlation that any economic professional claims - left, right or center - is only a 0.76% price increase per 10% increase in wages. That means even if you think the Economic Policy Institute must just be some kind of socialist propaganda factory, the staunch capitalist right-wing estimate is still only a $10.16 combo meal.

"Minimum wage increases are bad" isn't right versus left, it's reality versus fantasy, cold hard economic facts versus appeals to emotion about the rising cost of living. If you think the cost of a hamburger going up by a dime would be enough to make a fast food worker turn down an extra $4.50 an hour, I cannot believe you're arguing from a position of good faith, you're just fearmongering. In other words, you're ✨full of shit💩.

"Full of Shit"

That is because wages, especially for entry level workers, is such an exceedingly small portion of any business' operating costs that a minimum wage increase is basically a rounding error in real-world numbers.

Minimum wage increases do lead to more disposable income for more people, though, and that makes consumers spend more money, especially on food. So since one restaurant's workers is every other restaurant's customers, the very best thing for local restaurants is an across-the-board mandatory wage increase. Which is exactly what the FAST Act does.

Minimum wage increases do sometimes mean CEOs get slightly smaller bonus packages, but they're overwhelmingly positive for anyone that actually works for a living, because of the simple economic truth that wealth disparity is bad for an economy. Anything that narrows the gap between the 'haves' and 'have nots' leads to growth via increased aggregate demand, whereas letting wealth concentrate into fewer hands (letting business owners keep more of their profits, in simpler terms) causes economic stagnation. The closer entry-level wages are to C-suite wages, the faster an economy grows, so anything we do that gives a little more money to the people on the bottom and a little less to the people on top, the stronger the American economy becomes. Since economic growth means more opportunities and a better quality of life for everyone - including the goddamn capitalist ghouls - why would anyone be opposed to increasing the minimum wage for food service workers?

One reason would be because you're a national chain that has to compete with local restaurants, so California passing laws that help local restaurants in big cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco means more competition in already-crowded markets. Surely that's not the real reason Starbucks and McDonald's see stopping the FAST Act as worth a million dollar investment, right?

California voters will decide next year on a referendum that could overturn a landmark new state law setting worker conditions and minimum wages up to $22 an hour for fast-food employees in the nation’s largest state.

Chipotle, Starbucks, Chick-fil-A, McDonald’s, In-N-Out Burger and KFC-owner Yum! Brands each donated $1 million to Save Local Restaurants, a coalition opposing the law. Other top fast-food companies, business groups, franchise owners, and many small restaurants also have criticized the legislation and spent millions of dollars opposing it.

The measure, known as the FAST Act, was signed last year by California Gov. Gavin Newsom and was set to go into effect on January 1. On Tuesday, California’s secretary of state announced that a petition to stop the law’s implementation had gathered enough signatures to quality for a vote on the state’s 2024 general election ballot. […]

[mermaidcashton]

i hate to admit it

author: claire (@mermaidcashton) ship: michael clifford/reader prompt/AU: this is a gift for the wonderful @h0tsos who wanted soft, subby Michael in an enemies to lovers capacity (and i snuck some coffee shop!au in there as well, and some weebness because, well, it’s Steff and Michael) wordcount: 4k+ warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, explicit sexual content a/n: • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (which was a gift exchange this time around) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘this means war’ by mariana’s trench • ‘my hero academia’ is a manga/anime series. there are references to it and a few of the characters in this but you don’t need to know anything about it to understand what’s going on.

i hate to admit it *** “So, they’re like...superheroes?” 

Luke sipped on his glass of rosé, nodding like he understood whilst making a face that showed he absolutely did not.

“Yeah, dude, pretty much!” Michael nodded along with your co-worker with so much enthusiasm he looked like one of those dogs people put on their dashboards. Except less cute. Wait, no - not cute. Definitely not cute at all. Good save, you. Couldn’t have your own internal monologue thinking you felt anything for the moron you were forced to work with 3 times a week was anything more than an annoyance you had to endure. With a butt that wouldn’t quit. Dammit, self! 

Michael took advantage of Luke showing an interest in his (and yours) favourite anime, and began bombarding him with half baked theories, predictable favourite scenes and shitty character analysis. He nearly knocked his own hat off as he flailed his hands around in an attempt at explaining the dynamics of a battle from the second season. Luke smiled politely. 

You snorted into your drink as you drained the last of it; you were definitely going to need another. If Michael started fanboying over Deku again, you were going to scream.

As you placed the empty bottle onto the wood of the coffee table, you took another glance around the apartment you were in. You’d never been up here before, despite spending a minimum of 20 hours a week in the coffee shop downstairs. But after this evening’s staff meeting tackling such issues as ‘who forgot that milk needs to be kept in the fridge overnight’ (Luke), ‘who is putting too much whipped cream on hot chocolates’ (Michael), and ‘who wrote ‘THIS COFFEE IS HOT, BUT U R HOTTER �� ) on a customers caramel macchiato’ (Luke again), Ashton had invited you all upstairs for a ‘employee chill’. You had been surprised a week or so into your employment when you had found out that the manager was also the owner who lived in the apartment above Screamin’ Beans; he was only in his mid twenties, but the more you’d experienced his drive and determination, the more your surprise had dwindled. Ashton really was a great guy, with one big flaw; Michael. They had been best friends for years, hence him moving into the apartment when he came back into town and the job Ashton had given him; which in your humble opinion was the equivalent of setting a monkey loose on the milk frother.   

Michael had sealed his fate with you the same day he’d started work. He arrived 10 minutes late (from upstairs), sleepy eyed and shy smiled. His fluffy blonde hair was spilling out of his beanie, and he kept biting his very pink lip bottom with sharp little teeth. The way he pronounced your name was adorable. You’d burned your hand on the espresso machine. Strike one. Things unravelled quickly after that. He was ‘too shy’ to take orders and work the register so you were stuck there all day talking to goddamn customers about why it wasn’t a good idea to have 3 pumps of every syrup while he hid behind silver machinery and dirtied way more jugs than you deemed necessary. Strike two. And then he’d dropped a latté into that ladies bag - sorry, very expensive bag. Michael had let out a ‘uuuhhh’ sound like a malfunctioning robot without moving for so long that the furious customer had stopped trying to yell at him and focused her rage on you instead. When he had eventually come to whatever passed for his senses, Michael had power walked into the employee bathroom and didn’t return until Calum arrived to join the shift and assured him the woman had left, twenty minute later. You were beyond strikes. You’d been so sure you could talk Ashton into scheduling you together as little as possible. There was no reason to put you down to work nearly every shift together, especially shifts where only two staff were on! Except, apparently there was because he kept fucking doing it. Every time you pressed Ashton on it, he’d say something about how he needed Michael ‘trained by the best’, or ‘matching availabilities’, or he thought their ‘energies combined well; auras are meshing, y’know?’ The one might have been on you for catching him as he was returning from his Vibe Check Yoga class at the studio down the street. 

He’d also emphasised that Michael needed more friends now he was back in the city, and you two had loads in common! You both liked pop punk! You’d rolled your eyes. And Italian food! A ‘tch noise. And anime! Okay, you’d bite. 

The next time you’d gone into work, you’d engaged Michael in a conversation about ‘Tokyo Ghoul��� and recommended ‘Demon Slayer’; things started to pick up. You didn’t fantasise about locking Michael in the walk-in fridge the whole shift. And then…

“You watch ‘My Hero Academia’, right?” “Uh, yeah! I love it.” “Me too! I just ordered a Todoroki tee yesterday. And another Deku one, of course; gotta rep my main man!” “Oh..cool! He’s your favourite?” Of course Michael was a basic bitch. But hey, that’s fine. Deku was fine. He was the main character, after all. And he’s a little less whiny in the recent manga issues, you guess. And the way Michael’s face was right now - open, comfortable, lit up like the 4th of July? That was good, too. His eyes were so green.  “Yeah! Who’s your favourite character?” “Well, I would die for a bunch of ‘em, but I’m a Bakugou girl at heart.” You laid a palm flat on your chest, choosing to ignore the feel of your heart beating faster than it had been five minutes ago beneath it.  Michael wrinkled his nose. “Bakugou? But he’s like...he’s so mean! And angry!”

Oh no. You’d had this conversation before. You locked eyes with Michael, hoping he could see the warning in your eyes. Don’t do it, ho.

“Like, he’d probably make a better villain than hero!”

“You okay, boo?” Calum slid into the space on the couch beside you, holding out a fresh beer for you to take. “You look deep in thought.”

You hummed and accepted the bottle from him, letting go of your train of thought as you caught sight of Luke trying to prove he could get his overly long leg behind his head. Michael and Ashley F. were both actively trying to avoid getting kicked in the face with a sparkly boot, whilst Ashton was just monitoring the situation very intently; you’re not entirely sure when he last blinked. 

You snorted again as Luke’s foot slotted into place in a position you were 85% sure he would not be able to get out of again without assistance, possibly from the emergency services.

“I’m fine. Gotta be one of us capable of thinking here, y’know.” You teased, looking sidelong at Calum. He laughed, rubbing a hand over his freshly shaved hair; he’d always been as easy to get along with as he was obnoxiously handsome. “Hey! You’re lucky I know you’re talking about the human pretzel over there! And I guess, your boyf-” Big brown eyes glittered at you over the hand you’d slapped over his mouth. “-fwendth.” Narrowing your own eyes at your friend, you hissed. “Shut up! I would rather die.” Calum waggled his eyebrows incessantly at you until you relented and dropped your hand. “You knew who I was talking about, though.” Ugh. Smug was not a good look on Calum. “You know, smug is not a good lo-oh fuck, is that the time?” The clock behind Calum’s head showed 8:58; your auction ended at 9:00. You fumbled into your bag for your phone, unlocking it and flicking straight to the app you needed. Phew - still the top bid. “Whatcha doin’?” Calum hooked his chin over your shoulder, blowing your hair out of his face before settling down. 

“Bidded on a really cool, limited edition figure. One of my all time favourite anime characters. The auction is about to end.” You explained,  making sure Calum could hear you other the cacophony of sounds associated with Luke trying to get his other leg behind his head. You both watched the seconds tick down, your username sitting securely by the words ‘Winning Bid’. At two seconds to nine, the page refreshed, then refreshed again; it was over.

‘Winning Bid: BIGRED69’ “Uh...what happened? That’s not you, right?” Calum asked, tilting his head to look at your face, and the rage it contained. BIGRED69. He’d done it again. 

“Uh oh, Y/N - what’s wrong?” Ashton’s voice pulled you out of your internal screaming, and you looked up at him. 

“She’s losing her weeb shit at a heavy eBay loss” Calum answered for you, nodding solemnly as he pulled away from you, giving you room to bonk him with a cushion. “Oh! That’s too bad, but that’s another thing you and Mikey have in common!” Ashton beamed. “Mikey!” Oh no. Oh no, no.

“Yeah?” Michael sloped over, getting his black boot caught on the corner of the leopard print rug as he did. Ashton caught him with an ease you suspected (knew) came from practice. “Why don’t you take Y/N to see your anime dolls? She collects them, too!” Ashton looked so pleased with himself and his suggestion for further ‘bonding’ for you and Michael, and Michael looked like he’d been force fed raw lemon at the phrase ‘anime dolls’, so you let it go on your own behalf. Except now Michael was waiting expectantly for you to follow him to his room and Calum was shoving you off of the couch to get you moving. Fuck your life. You sighed as you got up and started walking. “Fine, let’s go; you can show me your Todoroki body pillow and then we can get on with our lives.” Michael let out a small hiss like an angry kitten, his cheeks colouring a pretty pink. He spared a glance at everyone left in your wake. “I, um, don’t have a body pillow, you guys.” “Suuuuure!” You rolled your eyes, waiting for Michael to enter his bedroom so you could follow. The blonde flicked the light on and moved slightly further in so you could pass him, before shutting the door with a small ‘click’. You decided not to comment on this action, looking around at the posters on the walls and figurines on the shelves instead. You were undecided on whether or not you were going to comment on how cool a lot of Michael’s shit was. A ‘Full Metal Alchemist’ poster over his bed, a full shelf of Funko Pops from movies you loved, framed prints of album artwork by Waterparks and The Maine. Fuck. You were really aware of Michael staring at you with an almost hopeful (?) look on his face as you let your eyes travel around his room before he could show you his ‘anime dolls’. Fuck. Your stomach felt fluttery, and you thought you might have a serious problem here, before you caught sight of a very different problem on Michael’s desk. 

A rare Kirishima Eijirou statue - box signed by the voice actor - you’d been outbid on last month. By BIGRED69. What were the chances a different one was sitting by Michael’s laptop?

“So,” You said, trying to keep your voice neutral and non-murderous. “Where do you get your collectibles from?” “Forbidden Planet, Tokyo Toys, eBay…” Michael rattled off, until you interrupted him. “Where did you get that one? Looks rare - it must have been difficult!” 

“Oh! eBay! It was, but I have an app for it, so…” Michael grinned, looking pleased with himself. An app? “An automatic bidding app? You sniped me?! That’s cheating!” You squeaked; you could not believe this. It was unbelievable.

Michael blinked at you, head empty. “BIGRED69?!” You managed to make the world’s stupidest screen name sound like a terrible accusation. Which it was.

Comprehension dawned on his stupid, beautiful face all at once. “Oh my God! That was you that I’ve been fighting for this stuff? No way! But you didn’t know it was me?”

“Why the hell would I know it was you!” You threw your hands up, and Michael just stared dopily back at you.

“‘Bigred69?! Obviously I assumed you were 12!” Michael let out a squawk of protest, before folding his arms defensively across his chest.

“Clifford!” “What?” Michael’s tone became more insistent. “My last name! Clifford!” You pulled an exaggerated ‘so?!’ face, throwing your hand in the air again. 

Michael had the unmitigated gall to huff, like you were the biggest idiot in the room; like he wasn’t always the biggest idiot in every room, all rooms, ever, in the history of rooms. “Clifford the Big Red Dog!” He said, insistence heavy in the words.

You often swore you could almost hear the old internet dial up tone trilling inside Michael’s brain when customers at the coffee shop asked him such difficult questions as “What dairy alternative milks do you carry?”, “Where is the bathroom?”, and even once - you swear - “What’s your name?”. In Michael’s defence, that last one had been asked in more flirtatious-than-not tone by a brunette who clearly had some kind of vision problem (he’d been dressed more horrendously than usual that day beneath his uniform apron; was that a utility vest?!), but had fluttered her eyelashes at your idiot colleague so hard, for so long, you’d been concerned she’d be leaving without what little vision she’d arrived with. But still. Idiot. Michael, not you. And yet, now it was you with your brain puttering through the information you had with the shrill electronic sound of the 90’s in your head. “Clifford the- are you for fucking real?” This could not be real life.

“It’s totally clever!” Michael asserted, continuing in earnest once you scoffed in reply. “No, listen! Because of Clifford, and also, I had red hair when I made it, and 69 is funny - it is! - and, well-” His face flushed slightly before he puffed his chest out a little, apparently deciding to commit to his defence of his screen name. “I’m big, so it works on like, loads of levels!” 

This could not be happening to you. You were decidedly not standing in the bedroom of a coworker you simultaneously couldn’t stand and also couldn’t stop thinking about kissing as you restocked the counter fridges in the evenings, as he explained that his auction site handle was a combination of a previous dye job, an insinuation about his dick and a massive fucking dog. You could not let Michael have the upper hand here, but you were floundering. So you fell into more familiar, more pathetic territory. 

“If you were called something like ‘deku-loving-loser’, then, sure - I would have known it was you!” “Who’s 12 now?!” “Uh, still you!” Okay, so this wasn’t your finest moment, but you were in it now. And you’d really wanted the Kaminari figure tonight. Michael didn’t even like him that much!

“The point is, you totally sniped me! And you get stuff about basic canon wrong! And your understanding of the characters is one dimensional! And, and...your hat is stupid!” Well, shit. In your defence, Michael’s hat was stupid. You could feel how hot your face was, and Michael’s eyes looking right at it was only making it worse. You couldn’t read his expression at all; he looked like he was searching for something, and you didn’t know what it was, or if he’d find it. You could only assume he had when he took the most decisive steps you’d ever seen him take, reaching you in two huge steps and cupping your face with both hands. Michael kissed in a way he didn’t do anything else; he felt sure and certain as he pressed his lips to yours, moving them with intent. Your brain became overtaken with television static almost immediately as you moved your mouth in time with his, opening your mouth immediately at the questioning press of his tongue. You had enough of yourself left aware to yank his stupid fucking hat off his head as you tangled your fingers in his blonde hair, Michael’s hands sliding down to clutch at your waist as you swayed with the kiss. As Michael pulled back ever so slightly, you took the opportunity to press your teeth into his plush bottom lip, the way you’d thought of doing in afternoon slumps on shift. The whine that came from deep in Michael’s throat made a split second decision for you. 

You pulled back further from Michael, yanking your top off in one go and starting in on the buttons of his black shirt before he fully registered the sight of your bra and the top of your full breasts.  

“Shit, Y/N, are you…” Michael trailed off as you pulled his sleeves down his arms, and the shirt off this body. Your eyes met his as you popped the button on his black jeans and placed your hand on his zipper. “Do you really want me to overthink this, Michael?” A moment’s pause, then he shook his head vigorously, leaning down to pull his boots off once you’d yanked his jeans to his knees. By the time he was left in his (funnily enough, black) boxer briefs, you’d discarded your own jeans and were knelt at the foot of his bed in your soft, lilac underwear. Michael’s breath hitched as his gaze drifted down your body, taking it all in under the artificial light of the room. “Get over here, Clifford…” You teased, trying not to second guess what was happening. Michael broke out of his trance and more or less threw himself onto the bed, settling his head on the pillows and pulling you on top of him for another kiss, and then another, and another. By the time you pulled back to catch your breath, your head was spinning. You braced yourself on your forearms on the bed, taking the time to admire Michael’s body beneath you. 

You’d seen the tattoos on his pale, strong arms before, but they looked different in this context; the contrast between the milky skin and dark ink made your stomach swoop. The blonde hair on his head is also a contradiction; to the dark hair on his chest and the hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing under his waistband. Your mouth felt very dry as you let your gaze continue downward, to the straining bulge beneath the fabric.

You flicked your eyes back to meet Michael’s in question, your fingers suddenly resting on the waistband of his underwear. Michael swallowed thickly, and then nodded once before fixing you with a gaze of pure anticipation. 

No use waiting around. You propped yourself up onto your knees over him and pulled on the fabric decisively, not stopping your motion until his underwear bunched up at his ankles. Holy shit.

You always knew Michael had to have at least one redeeming quality, and you’d finally found it. His cock was huge, hanging heavy and hard between his fuzzy thighs. The head was flushed the darkest pink you could ever remember seeing, and the slit was already shiny with precum. 

If a voice in your head that sounded unfortunately like Calum pressed that Michael had lots of qualities you secretly found redeeming, you ignored it in favour of getting straight to business.

“FUCK! FUCKIN-” 

Apparently, Michael hadn’t been prepared for you to take half of his impressive length into your mouth in one go. You sucked with intent, casting your eyes up to take in the sight of him. His pupils were already starting to blow, and you’d barely done anything. God, that was so sweet.

But then Michael threaded his fingers through your hair, his hand pressing ever so slightly into your scalp. The blonde wasn’t pushing down, but his grip was firm. You could feel the weight of his hand on the top of your head as you held his cock in your mouth, and that shit? Would not stand.

You grab the wrist brushing your hair a second before your other hand finds his idle one, fingers twisted loosely in the sheets. Once you’ve captured both wrists, you guide both to the same point above Michael’s hips, before slamming both into the mattress with purpose. 

If you’d had time to think about it, you’re not sure how you would have expected Michael to react. He didn’t really put out the energy of a man who’d properly fight you for control, either in a domineering way or with more of an air of fragile masculinity. Perhaps a bit of questioning but ultimately compliant as long as he got his dick sucked. But the wanton moan that kicked out of Michael’s chest as you settled into a tight grip on his wrists where you had them pinned on the sheets with intent? That was unexpected. That was interesting.   

Your mouth had remained still on his cock whilst you got his wrists pinned down, more cockwarming him than blowing him. But now you had him so pliant and under your control, it was go time. You pulled back up his cock, wrapping your lips tightly around the head of Michael’s cock, and sucked with gusto. Another groan from above you. You worked your tongue all the way around the head before pulling back enough to flick it into Michael’s sensitive slit. “Oh my fuuu- Y/N, God, I-” Michael was starting to writhe, his hairy legs rubbing into the sheets beneath you. You could feel his wrists moving along with the rest of his body, but you knew you’d made it clear you’d wanted him pinned, and he made no move to get his hand free. Good boy. You sank steadily back down Michael’s length, at least to the six inch mark, before pulling back up, hollowing your cheeks as you went. Back down a little further, then up, back to teasing the head, using your tongue. Michael couldn’t predict what you were going to do next, and it was clearly pushing all of his buttons. You could taste the precum that his cock kept kicking out into your mouth and throat, and see the flush spreading down his neck. By the time you’d pulled, drool beginning to build at the sides of your mouth, Michael was a mess, moaning as much as he was breathing. This could get addictive, you thought to yourself as you let your mouth drop to his balls, and your thumbs press into the pulse points on his wrists. You hummed before you released his left ball from your mouth with a wet pop, and that’s when Michael started begging. “Please, please, Y/N, I wanna-” he panted, cutting himself off over and over. “You’re so beautiful, lemme- God, fuck, it feels so amazing, you’re- I’ve been good, I’ll do anything, please…”

You pretend to consider his pleas as you dragged your tongue over his right ball, dipping into all the creases and leaving them wet behind you. Drawing back up onto your knees, you released one of his wrists so you could push his sweaty blonde bangs back from where it was plastered to his forehead, drinking in the vision before you. His green eyes were nearly completely black, blown out with arousal. The sheen on the skin of his face and body made him glow. His lips were chapped from his teeth tugging on them, and the pink of the matched the flush spread from his cheeks down his chest. And the wrist you were no longer restraining hadn’t moved a centimeter, still pressed firmly to the mattress. Michael was a good boy. And you knew how to treat good boys. With no preamble, you took Michael back into the wet heat of your mouth, relaxing your throat and not stopping until your nose was buried in the soft thatch of trimmed hair on his crotch. You took a moment to situate yourself and enjoy the deep whines bursting out of Michael’s throat into the quiet of his bedroom, before you began to move again, swallowing around his cock. You saw his thighs begin to tremble to the side of you before you heard him speak. “Fuck, fuck, Y/N, please, I’m gonna-” You hummed as hard as you could, pushing Michael’s wrists with that little bit more force into the bed as you did. Michael let out his loudest whine yet - bordering on a sob- as he came, shooting down your throat as he writhed beneath you. 

You swallowed everything he gave you, and when you were sure he was finished, you pulled off slowly, and gently, releasing his wrists as you stood back up on your knees.

Michael looked blissed out, staring dreamily up at you with bright, adoring eyes. He still was yet to move his hands. “Hey.” “Hi.” You smirked down at him. “I believe I heard something about you’d ‘do anything’?” You shot a quick glance at the figurine on his desk, and down at yourself. “I had some ideas…” 

collab masterlist • my masterlist

[angrypixie-sarisa]

The other Winchester

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 13

Sam x Mexican!Witch!fem!reader x Dean (polyamorous)

Summary: Two months had passed, Sam was definetely in hell and there was nothing to do about it. And then, you met Dean. 

Warnings: swearing, fighting. 

Do i have an excuse for putting this GIF other than loving the scene and Tessa Thompson? Nope. 

GIF’s not mine, credits and love to the owner. 

Dean came out of the bar he was at. He had been catching a bite with his co-workers and as soon as he finished his food and made some more small talk, he called it a day. He usually used Lisa as an excuse, but to be completely honest, it felt weird. He wasn’t used to having friends that weren’t hunters and his hunter friends, the real ones, they were all primarily dead. It felt like everything he did, accepting to go out and grab a bite or a beer was more for the facade he put in front of others, another character like the so many FBI agents he used to play.

With Lisa, it was another story. He felt more relaxed with her and Ben. He got to live that dream he thought it was long lost. He had a family.

As Dean started climbing his pick-up, a shadow caught his eye. He looked around, only to catch a female moving figure exiting the bar. He knew you. Well, not exactly, but he had seen you, everywhere. You just had acquired a small house in the same neighborhood as Lisa’s. You had passed several times through their street, jogging, and also were at almost all the places Ben liked to eat at.

He clenched his jaw. Hell no. He wasn’t having any of that. It didn’t matter whatever you were; it wasn’t nice to have a stalker. He followed you, ironically, as you kept walking your path to your new home.

As people kept passing by your side (the night was still pretty young), you kept having the feeling that someone was following you. Normally, you would calm yourself down and tell yourself to stop being paranoid. After what happened with Sam, your nerves were jumping around everywhere. Even the smallest of inconveniences would trigger them. However, it was already dark outside. You could not afford to push your paranoia away. So you put on a collected and calm face, even when in the inside you felt like it was the worst night of your existence.

There was only one block to go to get to your house. It was almost over.

Dean watched you take a turn to the right. He waited for a moment before continuing keeping up with you. He wouldn’t let you slip away from him.

Just as he made the turn into the alley you lured him into, your fist made contact with his face. You grabbed him by his hair, kicked him off balance and immobilized him into the floor.

“What the fuck is your problem, buddy? Huh? What do you want?” How did he not see you waiting for him? How did you catch him off-guard? This was not how it was supposed to happen.

You pulled at his hair harder.

“Answer me, asshole!” He moved his head to the side so he could speak.

“What do I want? What the hell do you want? Fucking stalker ” He twisted in his place and somehow freed one of his arms, before you could notice; he was pushing you off of him.

You both stood, facing each other, guard up. He was blocking the one way out of the alley. Stupid, why did you let that happen?

You looked at his face, his features. At first, it was for filling a police description, but then you realized…

“Dean?” The question left before you could stop it. Oh fuck, you were royally screwed. It wasn’t like you couldn’t kick his ass. You could do it, but you had just voiced that you knew him and that would make your situation potentially escalate into the worst luck possible. The man had just been suspicious of you following him, admitting that you knew who he was, was well, the stupidest thing you could’ve ever done.

“So, you do know me.” He squinted at you.

How could you explain him? Explain that you’ve had visions about him getting into dangerous situations by doing exactly what he was doing at the moment. Every time he followed someone or something just to double check it wasn’t a demon, ghost, ghoul or whatever, you kind of connected with him. As if you were experiencing it yourself.

At first, you thought it was because of Sam’s…Of Sammy being gone. You thought they were spontaneous bursts of magic due to your lack of control of your nerves, it wouldn’t have surprised you. It didn’t occur to you that maybe it was because you had had moved to the same town where Dean Winchester lived.

Suddenly, his accusations of you following him got even more sense. The best explanation was that, while you tried your best to go back to the magical persona you were before and not minding any business in different locations in town, you accidentally had picked Dean’s eye one too many times.

“What are you? And spear me the lies, you wouldn’t know who I am if you weren’t something else.” He started cornering you. You backed away until your back was against the darkest corner of the alley.

You looked up at his angry eyes; they made you grow angry at him. Screw him and his hunter manners. He had no right in doing what he was doing.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.” You pressed your palm into the wall and felt a pull into the dark. You let it drag you in and away from Dean’s surprised and confused face as you disappear in front of him. Your figure less and less visible until there’s only and empty corner in front of him.

Next thing you saw was your silent new living room and a figure sitting at your couch.

“You shadow traveled!” Crowley scolded you. You rolled your eyes and started rubbing at your left elbow.

“It was an emergency.” You took out of your jacket’s pocket your emergency ointment. You shrugged out of the leather jacket and started applying the ointment in your aching arm.

“Oh, please. I’d love to hear what kind of emergency was it for you to use one of the darkest ways of teleporting. You could’ve got lost or worse end up in purgatory or hell! Just what were you thinking, missy?!” He followed you into your kitchen. He sounded like a worried, annoying mom.

“Okay, first of all, purgatory doesn’t exist, at least, for me. It was an invention of the Catholic Church so people will pay to go to heaven. Second of all, you have to really mess it up to end up in hell and third…” You stopped at this. Was it safe to tell him what had being happening? He was your friend, but even you had some trouble in trusting his line of action. He liked to be unpredictable, even to you. It didn’t mean that you couldn’t predict some things of him, but it was better to play it safe.

“Third?” You kept you’re attention on your actions, opening the fridge and trying to decide whether you actually wanted some cold water or if you opened it just to keep your mind off of Dean. You took in a deep breath.

“Third, I thought someone was following me. I didn’t stop to see if it was true or not. I preferred to get home faster than to let something happen to me. Okay? Sorry if you were worried, but… I’m fine.” You closed the fridge. You had finally worked out what you wanted. You wanted Crowley to leave your house, so you could take the liberty to actually submerge into your thoughts.

You took a step forward to wrap him in a warm hug. You could feel his figure tense to the touch.

It always amused you when you hugged him because he always tried to intimidate everyone and to portray himself as the bad guy you didn’t want to defy, ever. For almost everyone, it worked, but for you it was another story. You always tended to analyze people (by nature), you did it subconsciously so it wasn’t like you had the most of control out of it. That’s the reason why you tended to see more than what was presented to you, why people felt vulnerable and trusted you at the same time.

“Thank you for worrying. You’re a good friend.” He pushed you away after you spoke, quickly turning around, already walking towards the entrance door.

He scoffed.

“Whatever, see ya later.” But you knew he was blushing.

After he disappeared, you went to bed, getting out of your clothes and getting under the covers.

Your visions and running into Dean were no coincidence. Fate had plans for you and him and for the first time in a while, you feared what those plans could be.

 Everything was where it was supposed to be. Every single inch of your store had its own personality and radiated happy thoughts. You really loved the direction where it was going.

You had an idea, an earning of spreading magic towards the world. Not dangerous magic, no, just simple spells or even talismans that no one would ever suspect of them; things that could help people with whatever shitty day they were having and make them happy again. Of course, it was also beneficial to you, making the day of people and helping them would also bring joy to you.

What were you’re services? Well, that was a good question. You didn’t hide the fact that your store was a weird one, especially in a small town. But even if people felt discomfort in tarot readings or selling homemade tea or olds books, they still went in for art and photography and design. Getting your passion for art to the fullest would also attract other types of customers. That was the beauty of it.

You were about to close for lunch when you heard the ringing bell. Your head immediately snapped to take a look to your new customers. You flashed them a smile.

“Hi! How may I help you?” The woman walked towards your counter accompanied by, you deduced, her son, who kept scanning the room with his wonder filled eyes.

“Hi! I was wondering if you, by any chance, knew a good photographer? I saw some good photos displayed at the window.”

“Well, I’m the one who took those pictures. What kind of photos you had in mind?” Her eyes sparkled in excitement.

“Oh, I wanted to take some family pictures. It would be me, my son Ben…” At the mentioning of his son, she hugged him and he flashed you a smile.

“And my…” Just then, someone else entered. Your smile faltered for a second, before you composed yourself. You knew who it was even before taking a look.

Dean approached the woman and planted a kiss on her cheek. He then turned to look at you, already tensing and breathing heavily.

“Hi, honey. I was just asking about the photographer, turns out it’s her.” He clenched his jaw and glared at you. Your smile, strangely, grew bigger. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Hey, uh, would you two go ahead to the restaurant? I want to clear some questions with her.” He turned to look at her. It was all it took. You needn’t be a genius to see that she knew. Maybe she didn’t know all the details, but she knew what Dean was.

“Okay, come on, Ben.” Ben’s attention snapped back toward her mother. He had been looking at a wild cat’s skull.

“Oh, that’s one of the Halloween decorations I was planning on selling. I wonder; how it got there?” The Halloween decorations box was in the storage room, which was locked. You had had the intention of starting displaying them, but after you went for lunch.

You smiled warmly at the thought of the skull’s impatience to be in display.

“It’s so cool.” He picked it up, causing Dean to tense even more.

“Oh, sweetie, no, put it back.” She flashed you an apologetic look, unintentionally. You smiled at her warmly and shook your head. There was no problem at all.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Awesome! Mom, can I have it?”

“No.” Dean said, before he could stop himself and making Ben’s smile go away. The woman turned to glare at him before turning her attention back to her son.

“No, not right now. Maybe later, okay? After all, it’s gonna still be here.”

“But what if someone else buys it?” Your heart was filled with cuteness. No matter what Dean’s reaction would be, you just couldn’t resist it. You said: “I could put it on hold for you, if you want it that bad. That way, no one else will buy it.” To that, his smile returned, while nodding and thanking you. He set the skull back from where he took it and followed his mom out of the store.

When they got out of sight, you walked towards the door, locked it and pulled down the curtains. Whatever was going to happen, you didn’t want any potential customers to see.

“So…” You started as you walked to get behind the counter. “How you wanna do this? You want to tie me down and interrogate me? Want to throw at me salt, holy water and silver? You name it.” You shrugged. “I’m down with whichever, so long as after you’re done, you leave me the heck alone.” Dean got conflicted by your relaxed reaction. Even so, he wasted no time in splashing you, out of nowhere, with holy water.

Your face was wet, as well as your shirt. You whipped away the excess of water from your eyes before scoffing.

“You could’ve have warned me! I have a towel in the bathroom! You ruined my clothes, stupid hunter!”

“Whatever.” He said angrily. He yanked you by the wrist and pressed, what could only be, a silver ring to your skin, before noticing that it did nothing. He then proceeded with the salt and iron, getting the same reaction as the other tests.

Meanwhile, you rested your face in your free hand, looking at him, bored.

“Are you done? I’m kind of hungry and I really want to catch a bite.” He freed your hand and practically yelled at you.

“What the fuck are you?” You leaned forward, putting your best chingona face, before answering.

“I’m a witch. But not like the one’s you’ve seen before. And about following you? You seriously think you’re that special? Is your head filled with so much pride and ego that you couldn’t possibly think it could be a coincidence? I mean, I get that you’re a famous hunter and all, but seriously, if I wanted to harm you or your family, I would’ve already done it.” You’re voice sounded familiar. It sounded so familiar, but he didn’t know why.

“So, are we done? I’ll stay away from you and your precious family and you stay away from me? Sound good? Or do you want to burn me alive, just to make sure of it?” You walked towards the storage room and opened it just a smidge, walking in and closing it behind you.

“Hey. Hey!” Dean followed your path and knocked on the door. There wasn’t and answer. He kicked the door open, only to find you weren’t in there.

Crap, you had trapped him.

“Shit.” He kicked the door and walked towards the counter, scanning the room for a way out. His eyes landed on a key set in the counter with a note attached. He took it and opened the note, which read: Help your-self out. When you exit, could you do me the favor to lock the door, pretty please? If you do, then throw the key casually on the street about a block away. Thank you. Hope you enjoy your pizza and that we never see each other again. Bye.

Just what the fuck was your deal?

Days had passed without another sight of Dean. It was a blessing. You kept glaring at a photo you took of Sam. He was painting something in a spare canvas you had and trying to convince you that not everyone could paint. You smiled sadly at the memory, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“This is all your fault.” You scolded the picture.

“If you had told them from the beginning, this would’ve never happened.” He didn’t respond. Of course, it was a picture after all. But you could fix it. You could fix all this mess.

You put away the photo in your wallet and opened your closet door. You stepped in before closing it.

The house looked worn out. And the environment was mostly cars and dirt than plants.

You took in a deep breath and stepped into the porch. You knocked on the door. Moments later, someone opened it.

“May I help you, young lady?”

“Bobby, right?” He squinted at you, suspicious.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Y/N and we need to talk.”

[caddy-whump-us]

Some questions/food for thought: Why can Lucian never be a Black Swan? Has he done something to discount him from that entirely? Does he ever beg to be treated like one (and get suitably punished for his insolence)?

Oh anon~ This is about to be a Deep Dive into the Lore and Backstory. Spoilers ahead for some of the unwritten bits of the vampire series. And this is seriously long, okay? And, more importantly:

CAUTION/TW for referenced non-con, sex work, and forced/non-con sex work, and physical violence. Nothing is described outright; all mentions are only oblique references. Still, please proceed with caution!

Okay. Lucien. This snide little asshole. Let’s talk about him!!!

Lucien could be a black swan–in theory. But he’s been passed over because he’s actually not entirely human. O wat? O yes.

So the “red light district” of this city (which needs a name; I generally picture something like Yharnam from Bloodborne but with fewer monsters and more of a functional city) is called Smoketown. And it’s off to the southeast corner of the city, on the other side of the river. And this is the part of town where the drugs, gambling, dance halls, and sex workers are found. To use the local slang, there’s grindhouses and ponyboy stables, and dollboys around Smoketown. 

There’s a bit of a hierarchy, I guess, in all this, with the “dolls” and “dollboys” being the top tier (charging the most), down to the ponyboy/ponygirl stables (middle tier), down to the grindhouse boys/girls (lower tier), on down to the “crib hoors” and “street hoors” (generally regarded as awful and only suitable for the most broke and desperate). This is a real simplification, but I guess that explains the basics? 

Lucien was, some time ago, a dollboy (so was Maggie Magpie, actually). They’re regarded as the prettiest and most expensive–if you want to be fancy you could almost call them courtesans. And, ideally, they’ll get themselves a particular patron and be a sort of love affair for pay.

An aside: so this imagined world has different views on sexuality (and to some extent gender? but not quite so much). Basically, when one is young, go ahead and fool around. You’re young, what you do now is less important than what you do later. But because this culture still very much holds to primogeniture, you had better be married to someone with whom you can have a biological child. That’s the ideal. But while you’re young, a teenager, a 20-something, go ahead and fool around–ideally not in Smoketown, but if you’re a boy and you find yourself drawn to a boy classmate, well, that’s just how it is when you’re young. And if you’re a girl, and you find yourself drawn to a girl classmate, well, go on ahead, because young love is passionate but rarely lasts. You can like whoever during this period of particular romantic and sexual freedom.

Once one gets a little older, it’s considered mature and responsible to “grow out” of this phase of experimentation and rampaging passion. You settle down, you marry someone with whom you can have biological children, and your firstborn will inherit your estate, &c &c. But, of course, some people just…won’t. Because this is how they are. In some cases, like Nikolai and Jonathan, they go on with their relationship and don’t grow out of it but rather into each other (this is why N&J staged a secret wedding between themselves, with rings and all; they can’t marry in the eyes of the law, but they consider themselves married). And, yes, this is not considered mature or wholly acceptable, so they keep these (quite committed) relationships as secret as possible.

In other cases, especially among the titled, the gentry, the upper-class, who all marry each other as one does, if you must indulge in this misplaced youthful exuberance, there’s Smoketown. And if must go to Smoketown, at least pay for the services of one of the sex workers of equally high status. (Does that always happen? No. But you get the idea.)

So you have this set of “houses” of highly-paid, highly-regarded “dollboys.” And these houses are both in competition with one another but not a strenuous competition. Any competition mostly plays out in trying to find or recruit new workers (Maggie, as an example, was born to a sex worker and, presumably, a client and was kept as a kind of a household servant in that same “house” until the proprietor of the Aviary encountered him and essentially bought him and kept on using him as a household servant until he was of age to actual start work; he’s in debt at this point). 

And, of course, the different houses have different aesthetics. The Aviary tends to have boyish workers that play to that nostalgic “school romance” or “university romance” aesthetic, Lucien’s house (no name yet) tends to play more with gender especially re: clothing and makeup. Lucien likes feathers and leathers and silk and lace and painting his eyes. He knows he can kind of saunter along and blur that line. And it works well for him.

So that’s Smoketown. Now. Off north of the river and outside the city (northwest of it, I think?) is a district called “The Five Churches.” And there are, indeed, five churches, that all share a large plaza or square onto which their doors open (p.s.: weddings are conducted on the porch of the church; just a fun fact there). The sixth side of the plaza is open to the city. Beyond and behind the churches is a massive, massive cemetery–it is absolutely the cemetery for the entire city (please picture Highgate Cemetery or the Glasgow Necropolis).

And somewhere out in or beyond or (actually) under the cemetery is a secret, hidden, exclusive…club, I guess. It’s not a cult, but it’s extremely secretive. A secret society, is I guess the best way to put it. And it is called The Red Circle.

The truth is, the Red Circle is really just a giant whump party. The rich and powerful (men, almost exclusively) have at their disposal a selection of whumpees to use as they see fit, to release the tensions of the lives or to satisfy urges that otherwise cannot be soothed or just because. 

Now it’s time to introduce a new character. His name is Cyprian and he is a vampire. And he is also under the control of the Red Circle (for reasons I haven’t figured out yet). They’ve got something to use against him if he betrays them, IDK. 

Etienne has actually found evidence of Cyprian but doesn’t know it. There are tally marks in a book hidden in Viktor’s library that add up to about 3 years and change and at the end are the initials C. G. That’s Cyprian from back when he was Viktor’s black swan. And, yes, Viktor turned him into a vampire. And, no, Cyprian wasn’t happy. He should have been Viktor’s heir, but that didn’t work out. And now he’s under the command of the Red Circle. But why?

Well if you have a bunch of whumpees and you love whumping them, how do you keep whumping them without constantly killing them and then needing new ones? The answer came from some of Cyprian’s research (he started digging into the whole “black swan” custom among other things): it is possible to create a kind of ghoul, a kind of half-vampire by carrying out the procedure used to turn a human into a vampire but carrying that procedure out only partially.

Rather than draining the human of all (or almost all) of their blood and then feeding them blood from the vampire that drank their blood, a vampire can inject a human with a small amount of their blood (not taken from the human victim in question here) and you’ll end up with what’s been termed a ghoul.

Ghouls are worthless to vampires: their blood is disgusting, they smell like rust and iron to vampires. And they don’t get many of the benefits that full vampires have–they can’t move so fast, they don’t have the sharp teeth, &c. they do have better vision at night but their eyes are inclined to reflect light like a cat’s eyes will. 

Instead, ghouls are more like humans but still have the vampiric sensitivity to sunlight (neither ghouls nor vampires burn in the sun, btw) and are bound by what’s called the Obligation of Flesh. Where vampires can sustain themselves with blood only, ghouls have to eat raw meat with some regularity. This both keeps them essentially sane and (more importantly to the Red Circle) helps them to heal inordinately quickly. Deny them meat and they heal like typical humans. Feed them some raw liver or brains or raw chicken and raw eggs and they’ll start mending right before your eyes (no, it isn’t comfortable, thanks). Yes, they can die and much more easily than true vampires and some of the Red Circle’s ghouls have, in fact, died.

Now you’re probably way ahead of me by now: Lucien is, in fact, a ghoul. 

The Red Circle’s method goes like this: one or more of them identify someone they want to add to their collection. This decision is discussed and debated until consensus is reached–and they’re very careful about how often and who they add to their collection. At that point, lower-ranking members are sent to the target’s working house and pay for their services–whereupon they whump them up but badly. 

This happens sometimes, even in the best houses, even in the Aviary. The target is allowed to heal but this means less money for the house. As soon as the target is back at work, someone else comes in and repeats the process: payment, whumping. The proprietor is not likely to put a bruised boy out on the floor in a good house, so back he goes to heal and, again, money is lost. And this repeats as long as is needed until word gets out that the proprietor is getting a little fed up with this pattern but it’s not one obvious person or one obvious group doing it. At that point, a messenger from the Red Circle will arrive with an offer to buy the target outright at an extravagant cost, enough to make losing this one boy worth it, especially if it means an end to having an unworkable boy so often. It may take time, but the proprietor is eventually coerced into accepting the offer and the target is spirited away by members of the Red Circle (or aspiring members maybe? pledges, if you will?) and to their secret meetingplace. 

Everything about this sucks, including the part where Cyprian makes them into a ghoul, because that alone hurts like hell. And then they’re stuck there, getting whumped regularly, then patched up and/or fed raw meat. One of the higher-ranking members serves as a kind of proprietor there; Cyprian is as much a servant (or slave?) as any of the ghouls.

So that’s how Lucien ended up being completely undesirable to vampires. But how did he get out of the Red Circle? Mostly because he was a very bad element to add to the collection and there was an uprising against the members of the Red Circle and there may or may not have been some revenge whumping and even cannibalism (gotta meet that Obligation of Flesh somehow). 

At that point, after the Red Circle was broken, everyone in the collection kind of went their own ways. Even Cyprian was free. Lucien, though, kind of fascinated by Cyprian and the things he talked about, sought out Viktor and offered himself as a postulate. And, as we all know, Viktor accepted him. And Lucien set out to be the best and most devoted because that’s how you get rewarded in the world he comes from.

But the first time he offered his blood to Viktor, Viktor laughed and called him a monster and refused his blood. And here Lucien, having learned of the whole black swan tradition mostly from being in Viktor’s house, had been hoping for such a place of honor and now it seems like it’s been absolutely denied to him forever–because he’s a monster with blood Viktor can’t consume. And, yes, Lucien is unbelievably angry and bitter about the whole situation, especially when Etienne enters the picture (unexpectedly).

I hadn’t thought about him begging for the chance to be treated as a black swan and then being punished for daring to ask for such a thing but, damn, now I want to think about that. He probably would–albeit in private. There’s a lot of jockeying for position among the postulates and Lucien has worked his way up to the top, almost a class by himself, and he will not let that go easily. So to be seen begging for something could weaken his position and that won’t do. And yet…and yet…he does want it…

He might get what he wants someday. But it’s going to take some interesting circumstances.

So that’s a bit of a deep dive into the lore, worldbuilding, and backstory that’s running along and behind the vampire stories. If you made it this far, thanks for reading all this! Bits of this will come out as I get more of the stories sorted out and written. But there you have it~

[picardonhealth]

Cancelling Halloween is an act of ghoulish politics

This year has played nasty tricks on us. Isn’t it time for public health officials and governments to offer up some treats?

André Picard, The Globe and Mail

Monday, October 19, 2020

Ontario – a province where the government has hesitated to shut down bars, casinos, spin clubs, church services and other evidence-based high-risk settings – has said “no” to Halloween in the coronavirus “hot zones” of Toronto, Peel, York and Ottawa. One would be hard-pressed to imagine a lower-risk activity than walking around outdoors wearing a mask, collecting candy in a physically distanced manner, but Ontario public-health officer David Williams has decreed that Halloween must be deep-sixed in the city nicknamed The Six (and elsewhere near Toronto).

Meanwhile, Quebec – which has been much harder hit by COVID-19 than its neighbour – has said trick-or-treating is okay, as long as precautions are taken. Folks in that province appear to understand that locking kids in the house on one of the most hallowed nights of the year is sheer cruelty.

It all adds up to bad public health – not to mention terrible politics.

COVID-19 news: Updates and essential resources about the pandemic

Is my city going back into lockdown? A guide to COVID-19 rules across Canada

Public health is about harm-reduction, about finding ways for people to live while minimizing their risks as much as possible. It’s not about depriving them of all pleasure.

Banning Halloween also plays into the hands of those who oppose any sort of restrictions. When you impose unrealistic and unjustified rules, you erode trust. If you can cram 30 kids into a classroom, how can you argue that they can’t walk around outside in small groups?

Ontarians have endured months of constant mixed messaging and ham-fisted, irrational regulations. There might not be much trust left to spare.

This year has been a nightmare, so it’s only fitting that we unleash the ghouls and goblins for an evening of fun. The kids – and, yes, their parents – have earned it. No one is suggesting a free-for-all, but with a little imagination and creativity, Halloween can happen.

Even Theresa Tam, Canada’s by-the-books chief medical health officer, has said that trick-or-treating can be done safely.

She suggested doling out candy at the door using a hockey stick, an all-Canadian solution if there ever was one. (To be clear, candy should be deposited gently into kids' bags using the blade of the stick; trying to slapshot bonbons into kids' mouths from the end of the hallway is not recommended, unless you have Gretzky-esque talents.)

Another brilliant suggestion? Installing candy chutes – plastic pipes or slides that can deliver treats from a two-metre distance. Toronto plumber Geoff Burke has designed a simple system involving securing a PCV pipe to a railing, and he’s created more than 400 of the contraptions in exchange for $25 donations to the Toronto Food Bank.

Needless to say, we all have different levels of risk-tolerance. Some parents won’t want their kids going door-to-door; others will be afraid to hand out candy, even at a distance. That’s okay.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, we have modified the way we work, play and live in countless ways. We can embrace some new Halloween traditions too.

Pumpkin-carving can be a fun family activity. So can indoor candy scavenger hunts and scary-movie nights. The key is to do these activities within your household or your “bubble.”

You could also organize an outdoor and distanced costume parade on your street or a virtual costume party online.

But there are some things to remember about costumes. Masks are de rigueur. Plastic masks should not be worn over cloth masks.

In fact, one of the best costumes for Halloween 2020 would be a health-care worker – a doctor, nurse or personal-support worker (who go by the moniker “guardian angel” in Quebec), complete with mask, gloves and hand sanitizer.

Handwashing also has to be an integral part of our pandemic Halloween. Let the kids stuff their faces with candy – again, they deserve it – but to be safe, make sure they wash their hands between unwrapping and scarfing.

We’ve spent months being spooked by a virus. It’s time for a little pushback.

Of course, that doesn’t mean adults should be out partying or holding large, alcohol-soaked Halloween gatherings. That’s a no-go, and that’s where public-health officials and politicians should be focusing their attention.

If you want to pick on someone, target the self-centered buffoons who gathered at an anti-mask protest in downtown Toronto on Saturday. Enforce the rules that protect the public. Leave the kids alone.

If we limit our contacts, practise physical distancing, wear masks and wash our hands – the normal rituals of daily life in these spooky times – there’s no reason Halloween can’t go off without a hitch.

This isn’t karaoke. It’s not bingo. It’s not meat-packing. This is masked, distanced candy-collecting. To suggest that is dangerous is downright diabolical.

[talrayne]

Bloodbag 17

When Jacob woke, he nearly cried out a second time. Natasha was standing over him.

"We've got to get going. You slept in longer than last time and you appeared to be having a dream. Drink some of that blood Naomi sent you and we'll get going. I've got to get my assistants together. Be ready in half an hour."

Strangely enough, when Jacob heard the word "assistants", a voice in his mind replaced it with both "presents" and "payment".

Soon afterward, Jacob, Natasha, and two humans that Jacob hadn't yet seen were congregating at the sewer entrance used the previous night.

Before entering, Natasha addressed them: "Now, tonight we're meeting a unique person and politeness with them is paramount. As such, do not speak unless spoken to and allow me to do the talking whenever possible. Is all of that understood?"

Everyone nodded without speaking, preparing themselves with the potentially perilous encounter. Before entering the sewer, Jacob remembered to stop breathing, which was still a habit for him. The two humans gagged, but managed to keep their food down. Natasha displayed no reaction, simply scouting ahead and ensuring that there were no workers nearby. Once she was satisfied, she came back, stating that we would have to be careful because of the difficulty of four beings hiding rather than two.

Unlike the previous night, she produced no map, and didn't advocate for Jacob to learn the paths at all, instead guiding the group through the labyrinth with confidence and silence.

"Where once were four there'll be one and a change," the voice told Jacob, leaving him to ponder the meaning.

Several turns, detours, and stonework changes later, Natasha stopped near a rusted ladder built into the wall. She climbed up cautiously, removing the manhole cover, peering over the edge. After a moment she motioned for the others to follow.

The humans went first with Jacob last. On the surface they found themselves in an alleyway next to an old, Victorian style building with thick curtains covering the windows. The voice told Jacob not to look too closely. Natasha led them around the back into a secluded back yard with a disproportionately lavish back door that appeared more fitting for the front.

Natasha tapped on the door with the side of her claw, careful not to leave any marks in a pattern reminiscent of Morse code, which Jacob never learned. A few moments later the door opened noiselessly, seemingly of its own volition. The group entered, the door closing behind them.

"Ah, you've returned! And you remembered the protocols of my we elders! How courteous of you. You'll find me in the studio," a deep, masculine voice echoed.

A strange creature no higher than Natasha's knee squeaked, guiding them past strange lifelike sculptures and up the stairs. The banister appeared to be crafted from bone, specifically a spinal column, but Jacob didn't want to touch it to confirm. The humans had become more and more fearful, the scent of their terror reminding Jacob of his ever-present hunger.

The small creature led them to a door on the second floor, bowing and presenting it to them before taking its leave. Opening the door, Jacob nearly expelled the crimson fluid from his stomach at what he saw inside, and if he had done so it wouldn't have been visible against the horror and gore decorating the space. The humans simply feel unconscious. Natasha alone held her composure, addressing the vaugely human being dressed in finery befitting a royal from medieval England. It appeared to be performing some sort of procedure on a living thing that appeared to have the same size of a human, but the shape displayed nothing recognizable.

"I'm apologize for interrupting," Natasha said calmly.

"Yes, you caught me in the process of my latest experimental design. I would have asked you to wait in the smoking room, however I was too curious at the reason for your arrival to delay. Especially since I told you last time that your curse is to pervasive for my skills to conquer. Not to mention, you've been around long enough to know that payment of any type cannot change that."

"The Childer, who is obviously not a product of my clan, is not payment or gift, but is instead the one requiring the type of service only you can provide. I have brought you the customary present in the form of one of my ghouls. The other is payment for services rendered."

"I see. Please, accept my pardon for being presumptuous. Let us discuss business in the smoking room. I'll have my servants place the ghouls in the basement in the meantime. No harm will come to them until after our business is concluded," the being stated, leaving the thing being worked on to be attended to by more of the small creatures.

In the dining room, a bottle of wine sat next to a strange, fleshy object resembling a clam with a straw-like appendage poking through the mouth. Their host sat them down before excusing themselves in order to make themselves more presentable.

Once the (assumed male) being left, Natasha turned to Jacob.

"I remind you again to be as polite as you can. As inhumane as it looks, we must provide a gift when we first arrive. Their clan allows three nights of safety, regardless of factions, as long as their rules of etiquette are obeyed. We will be provided sustenance and leeway, but do not go where you aren't allowed and don't abuse the hospitality. This one provides an indispensable service and respects the masquerade so their presence is tolerated, but never assume that they play by the same rules. If you aren't careful you could end up an end table."

As she finished, their host returned, but I'm a vastly different form than the one introduced earlier. This time, it was a woman of a form so fair that words and pictures couldn't do her justice in describing her.

"Thank you for your patience," she said, carrying three wineglasses in a hand that appeared to have to many fingers without being disconcerting, wearing the same attire as before. "I wanted to ensure that the face you discussed matters with was pleasing to you," she said with a voice that enraptured Jacob. She proceeded to fill the glasses with the contents of the wine bottle, the odor revealing it to be a scarlet fluid far more appealing to those at the table than any alcoholic beverage. She then picked up the strange object next to the bottle and squeezed it, squirting a thicker, crimson fluid, into the glasses, swirling the contents together.

"I've been experimenting with flavoring and felt you would enjoy the emotive concentrate. I hope you enjoy the sanguine humors. I find the chloric and melancholy tastes a bit bland over time."

True to her word, the blood had a flavor that the bags of blood couldn't compare to, with a sensation filling him with desire. He almost forgot the horrors he saw in the studio above until he was reminded seeing the small attendants scurrying about from the corner of his eye.

"So, to business. You said that your ward here needed my services?"

"Yes. He's only recently been embraced and we cannot risk him meeting anyone recognising him from before. I'm still building his new mask digitally in the meantime."

"Have you given any thought to your new face?" The woman asked, turning to Jacob.

"I'm not sure, it's not like I've ever considered plastic surgery or anything."

"Please don't compare me to those clumsy butchers envisioning themselves tailors. I'm a sculptor, and I can remake you. You cannot tell me there has never been a face you wish was yours. Would you like to be handsome, like the actors who play superheroes? Or pretty, like singers of those boy-bands that used to be popular? Or perhaps you wish to appear rugged, like the current image of the gunslingers of old? The only limit is your imagination."

Jacob sat there, thinking. He had never truly considered any appearance other than his own. Sensing his indecision, the woman asked him to follow her to the exhibition room.

Upstairs, past the studio today made Jacob shudder, she led him into a room that contained several, mercifully inert, heads on display with one blank one of an androgynous shape.

"Look around, see if anything catches your fancy. Inform me if there are any features you would like," she told him, beginning work to shape the blank face, molding it with her fingers.

As Jacob looked over the various heads, one caught his eye, but not because it contained and features he desired. It was the face of the woman from his dream.

"Of course your insight would tell you which face was mine," Natasha said, causing Jacob to nearly knock over another display in surprise.

"Hmm? Oh, yes! That one gets quite a few requests. I always have to remind them that they don't get the whole face though. If it bothers you, let me know. I can have it stored away in the meantime."

"No,... no. I've had more than a century to accept my new existence."

Jacob looked over and saw the blank had been changed into his own visage so much so that he may as well have been looking at a three dimensional photograph of himself.

"Many clients find it easier to decide once they can see themselves. If you'll allow me, I'll even provide a few changes to help illuminate your potential."

After her modifications, Jacobs mind, with a newly awakened creativity aiding him, caused him to mold his new self though the fleshcrafters hands. Several minutes later, the image before him no longer resembled himself and he was satisfied with the result.

"Good, I was concerned you'd have chosen something more generic, or worse, a Toreador look."

"It will take me some time to recreate this on the subject. Would you prefer to wait in the dining room, or with your adopted childe?"

"I'll wait with him, countess. I'd prefer to be able to leave as soon as your finished. I have no desire to overstay our welcome."

The countess led the two of them to yet another room, this one vacant except for several lights facing a steel chair with several straps to restrain the arms and legs of the occupant.

"Don't be concerned," the countess said soothingly, "some clients have a tenancy to thrash from the occasional discomfort and I'd prefer to avoid mistakes while I work."

Portions of the materials are the  copyrights and trademarks of Paradox Interactive AB, and are used with  permission. All rights reserved. For  more information please visit worldofdarkness.com

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