#Pandemic mention tw

[antiquecritique]

|| Elena & Duncan ||

For Duncan, there had not been an issue of a shortage in a very, very long time - he had been on this earth for far too long to not plan way ahead and have a backup even for his backup. Very few things were of a major concern for an old undead creature aside from the one thing his entire unlife basically revolved around - blood. And that was something Duncan always made sure to have in a steady supply. So although with many donors available on a call, Duncan still made regular trips to the Greywood Hospital, for the blood packs supplied by a specialized department who took care that the residential vampires and even businesses catering to them were well supplied by clean, healthy blood to consume and on a regular basis too. It was the most legitimate way anyone in Greywood could get blood for consumption, as long as they were registered, able to be reached out to if needed and had proven that they were of a species in need of it with papers signed that they would not waste the precious donations for other purposes. 

So, in essence, Duncan had going on his weekly shopping to the hospital with, essentially, vampire food stamps to spend it on. He would’ve found it funny if humor were still working on him. Since it didn’t, he just found it very convenient. There was no need to hide, no need to hunt, no need to charm a human to give up what kept them alive without a fuss. Truly a golden age for vampires in this town, save for the black plague when availability, although grim and depressing, was much more abundant. 

There was another thing to look forward to - as much as an emotionless vampire could look forward to anything - on these weekly errands to the hospital. An acquaintance he’d made there, out of a nurse who works on the floor. To her, it would all seem like a very accidental story, how they first met and started chatting and how the vampire seemed very friendly and perhaps even pleasant to talk to while he was waiting for his request to be processed and her work was too slow and she had nothing better to do than to humor him. For Duncan, it was a way to keep an eye on the family. Not progenies or alike, but the real family, the mortal one that descended from the numerous branches Duncan was the ancestor of. By now, he knew her schedule and had picked times to come in when she would be around in her night shifts. He had no specific interest in her but instead in her son, who through Roman carried still the Creeds’ ancestral bloodline within the Baudelaire branch. 

So there Duncan was, in his usual old-fashioned best, occupying the same seat in the waiting room he always would as he waited for his name to be called, knowing that sooner or later Elena, the mother of a Baudelaire, would be passing down the hallway and maybe notice him and come up for a chat.

@elena-delacruz

[on-my-way-to-the-woods]

I've been mulling on a thought, so I'm curious

Guidance:

I am using a broad definition of disaster here. You do not need to go look up whether an event was officially declared a disaster or not. Does it seem like it should be a disaster? Then go for it.

For the purpose of this poll "been through a disaster" means 'been in the area in which a disaster is occurring.' If a tornado touches down in your town, but does not hit your house (which you were in at the time) then you have been through a disaster but you did not necessarily sustain damage

This poll is asking about your home and/or the building you were in at the time. If you were not home during the disaster, you still get to count the damage done to it.

Home/Building... eh, define it how you will

Pick the closest answer, disasters are a big category and I'm not going to be able to fit in good answers for every variation of them

[afroflowerr]

when my siblings tell me this in regards to getting covid when I’ve asked then about not masking or taking safety measures.

(Had these conversations in the first years)

-

UnMasked Thoughts: 5 - Medium, face masks and paint markers.

-

• January 2025, Ave •

Image description under read-more and in alt text

Image description of a black KN95 against a off-white background with words written in white paint marker that reads: “I don’t care if I die.” with a second sentence below out of quotations reading: ‘I do…’ The artist social media handle @afroflowerr is on the bottom of the mask. END ID

[sparethedreamer]

Surprised that no one is talking about the line, "Together, we will end the chronic disease epidemic and keep our children safe, healthy, and disease-free." from the inauguration speech. On the surface, it sounds like a really good thing! Like, hey we're going to find cures and provide treatments for all these chronic illnesses that people are suffering from!

However, given who's saying it, I'm guessing it's a lot more sinister. Since funding research is expensive and Trump is greedy and also ableist, I'm guessing it's more along the lines of 'chronic illness rates will go down if we don't report them and also if everyone who has one is dead'.

In fact, he's working on this already by

Reversing previously established health care policies, like Medicaid and Medicare prescription caps

Directing health agencies to stop communicating

Those of us with disabilities and chronic illnesses are often very vulnerable financially and in other ways and can be reliant on others for our care. It is hard for us to organize or advocate for ourselves due to our health challenges and restrictions. We're largely out of society's view already.

The continued impact of COVID and the threat of potential future epidemics and pandemics, especially if they're being set up to be mismanaged by the Trump administration, is a huge threat to not only those of us who are already ill, but to everyone. Anyone can become chronically ill, even you.

Anyways, the point is, please don't forget about us. Please include us in your efforts to protect those affected by all of this.

If you, like me, have a chronic illness, disability, mental illness, neurodivergency, or are part of any other vulnerable health-related minority, don't lose hope. There's goodness in the world still and we need to be here to see it and to add to it. It's not easy and it's not going to be easy, but it's important. I love you.

[chronicallydragons]

I’ve decided the taste of paxlovid is the taste of 🔥🔥VIRUS DYING🔥🔥 which means THIS IS THE BLOOD OF MY ENEMIES UPON MY TONGUE AS THEY FALL BEFORE MY DEFENSES

(It's so yucky I have to romanticize it somehow)

[cepheusgalaxy]

Ok

Um

My... essay teacher just died?

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

So back in 2021 I found a dead squirrel next to a small nest of rabbits that was being attacked by a hawk. Or at least being stalked by a hawk at first, anyway, the hawk sweeps down and takes one of the rabbits and I go to look where to grabbed (it succeeded in grabbing one which you could hear it squeaking in panic as the hawk flew away) and I find another baby rabbit that was wounded. So I sent a group chat a text to see if anyone knew how to care for the little injured guy. Someone answered so I handed the lil guy over to them. Sadly they did all they could but the lil guy, which the group chat named Scooter, died a few days later. So I drew this in honor of Scooter and his lost sibling, reuniting in rabbit heaven.

Below are some actual photos of Scooter which one does have ya know actual blood in it so be warned.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

ppl will go “i’d notice if society was going to sacrifice a marginalised group of people and if they said that it’s ok that a bunch of people would die then i would stand against it” and then they’ll hear people saying “well only disabled and vulnerable people will die of covid” and go “yes this is normal and ok and fine”

[inevitablemoment]

Samlan September Day 13 - Baking

Word Count: 213

Warnings: Brief mention of the pandemic

Fandom: Law & Order

Pairings: Nolan Price x Samantha Maroun

This is short, but sweet. Enjoy!

————————

Sam stirred awake on the couch as she heard her stomach rumble. She looked down at it in surprise before a sweet aroma wafted into the room, coming from the kitchen. She pushed the blanket off of her and walked towards the kitchen.

She saw Nolan at the counter, mixing something in one of the metal bowls that came with the stand mixer.

"Something smells good," she said.

Nolan looked up from the bowl. "Hey. Did you have a nice nap?"

"It was good," Sam told him, walking around the counter to join him. "But I'm getting a little hungry... what're you making?"

"Just some chocolate chip cookies," he answered. "There's another batch in the oven right now, but I thought I'd make some more."

He held the spatula up to her.

"Wanna try?"

She pinched a piece of the dough off of the spatula and dropped it in her mouth. She let out an almost orgasmic moan.

"Oh, God, that's so good!" she exclaimed.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah-- didn't know you liked to bake," Sam remarked.

"Yeah, it helped get me through the pandemic," Nolan told her. "And you had a pretty rough day, so I thought I'd make you a little treat."

Sam smiled. She really had the best boyfriend.

"Thanks."

[little-peril-stories]

Happy STS, Kate!

Writing about a world other than our own involves choosing some elements of our world to include and others to leave out. In your writing, do any such elements stand out, like a real topic you put in your fictional setting, or a significant everyday detail of our world which doesn’t exist there?

Did anything work its way in without your intent, e.g. sayings or traditions or units of measurement you didn’t consciously include, but noticed later on? If so, did you remove them or leave them in place?

- @verkja

Thanks so much, @verkja, for the ask! Happy STS!

Hmm. My main stories (TPOT, TQOL) on here take place in our world (just heavily fictionalized) and my Tumblr fantasy, TCC, doesn't have much of a developed world at all, so I guess I'll draw on my non-Tumblr novels to answer. :)

In that... well, I "accidentally" included a pandemic in the past. I say "accidentally" because at this point I've written this damn book so many times I don't remember when I added/decided on/changed things. All I know is that at one point, the character had a birthmark and then later it became a scar, and it was from an illness, not an injury, and the illness was widespread, and hell if I know whether I made that decision before or after COVID.

In terms of mundane things? Workplaces and educational institutions are pretty organized in my world, and very based on real ones. My main character has a job (in a workplace with very clear rules, expectations, hierarchy, and structure), which she got by attending what we might call a vocational school and which differs from the more "formal" or "academic" universities that are also present. So I borrowed those concepts from real life.

Sayings? I'm still battling with whether to include "okay" to this day. And I had to consciously monitor which curses I was using - were they too reminiscent of our world? I meant to invent some original curses and. uh. forgot. [just checked the manuscript and apparently I used 'damn' seven times but nothing else.]

I included "miles," which is funny because I'm Canadian and don't understand miles at all, but I also don't think the metric system really works in a fantasy setting. 😂 I only used "inch" as a verb.

If I included anything unconsciously, I haven't become conscious of it yet. 😁

[kudos-si-do]

move along (or you might as well be dead)

they tell me: sooner or later, life is going to look like it did before. i don't think that's true. when i was ten, my dad promised me that we'd come back to a place that came to mean more to me than anywhere else in the world. he died before we had the chance. sometimes i look at the pictures, at the curves of roller coasters gleaming above lake erie, and i wonder if he knew that his cancer would kill him.

it's been a long road. the chemo they used to save me — to poison me just enough to only almost kill me — almost killed me again, more than a year after remission. neuropathy, they said. common with chemotherapy. especially common with how much you were treated with.

it doesn't matter, what they say now. i hit the ground headfirst from somewhere around eight feet up. i don't remember it. you're getting better, they say, but then they take another look at me and i'm placed back into the prison i've only ever been paroled out of for a few scant days, a few golden hours.

there's blue ice cream on my tongue. they don't sell this specific kind here. i laugh as i say it's a gel or a liquid, banned on airplanes. freedom, taken back. blue, blue, blue.

you tell me that my family isn't normal. i've been told all my life that every family is its own kind of mess, that my family wasn't any messier than anyone else's. that maybe we were lucky, getting the family we had. i believe only part of it now, but before you, i believed it completely. yes, it's true that humans are messy. we get our messes everywhere. but it isn't so normal for someone to throw away your possessions and laugh while you sob, scoff as you dig through the dumpster for pieces of your childhood you can never get back. or is it normal? am i making everything about myself again? am i being dramatic? i've been told that all my life — i'm too dramatic. i walk on three broken bones and i don't complain.

your family isn't normal either. someday i'll send hockey postcards to your father without an ounce of guilt. someday i'll look another member of your family in the eye and disagree, even though i was supposed to be agreeable, even though i promised i wouldn't do anything to make your life harder. smile, smile, smile, i told myself. be at your best. don't let your cracks show through.

my dad was supposed to teach me to drive, to threaten my significant others, to walk me down the aisle. all my friend was supposed to do was grow up. she'd be an adult now. her birthday was last month. the sixteenth anniversary of her death was a less than three weeks ago. she's dead, frozen in time as a kid with a feeding tube up her nose and a bucket hat on her head, always pink or purple. i remember thinking that she was the bravest person i'd ever known. my dad was brave, too. does bravery always beget bravery?

i'm going to die. one day, if not today. if not tomorrow. if not next week, next month, next year. i'm trapped in the same few hundred square feet as i'm always trapped in. you're late by an hour to pick me up from the airport. i think i should be annoyed about it, but i only shake my head. i wonder what adventure your adhd has taken you on. when i hug you, there's relief in the action. i'm tired. my head is spinning. i'm not quite there, not quite right, but i want to be. i'm a little bit trapped in my mind, i think. am i being dramatic? later, i'll hit my head lightly on a support column in the barn while you're trying to teach me to dance. it will bruise, just barely, but enough to betray me. i'll have bad migraines for days, and i'll be too scared to talk about it. i find the fucked up basement we joked about and i make sure you see it.

i don't touch people much. most days, i don't like to be touched. i remember that my dad's hugs felt like the safest place on earth. i wonder if there's anything left of him below the ground, eighteen years later, or if it's all just bone. i've lived much longer without him than with him. i try to project safety through my arms and hope that's enough. or at least something. anything. i can touch people i'm comfortable with, most of the time. every time i thought you looked sad, i did my best. i swung my arm around your shoulders. shook your arm. made a face. i hope it made a difference. i know it was hard, being where you were, doing what you did. i hope you knew that i was proud of you.

i'm scared, but i'm not allowed to be. i fight with my brain, frustration growing. i watch your family with suspicion, with disapproval that they might or might not have earned. i try to be friendly, project myself in a way that makes me enjoyable to the people around me. i'm not that person, not really, not always. one of my friends says i'm much different in person than i am otherwise. is that true? who am i, really? am i someone who can be seen, whose flaws can be pushed away enough to only show the light? when i looked at them, who did they see looking back?

it was odd, hearing my name with a different sound to it. everyone used the same pronouns, but not the ones i'm used to hearing. it's funny, i think. gender means nothing to me, but at home, i hear a different set of pronouns. sometimes i wonder what it would be like, but i don't dwell. it wouldn't be dangerous, i don't think, not in the way a lot of queer folk are in danger, but it would bring more harshness and hardness to my life than i think i can currently bear. i wonder if you think that i'm a coward. am i a coward?

i'm in bed again. you were supposed to be here this week. i watch the plans sift out of my hands like sand. the pressure in my chest is enormous. it hurts to breathe, sometimes. my head is tangled up. they think i'm having seizures. i'm spending more time inside the hospital than i have in a long time. it curls in my chest like fire against bare skin, but i have to bear it. you're lucky, they tell me. it can always be worse. can't it?

i was raised by a religious mother and a non-religious father. once he was gone, there was nothing left to protect me from it. i spent years entrenched in it. i remember one of my teachers bragging that they didn't take money from the government so that they weren't beholden to their requirements. they didn't have to hire the gays, she said. i remember how one of my bible instructors told me to keep my mouth shut. i had too many questions. i ruined too much. the only time i blatantly cheated, it was on a test to name the chapters of the bible. i was caught and suspended. the teacher looked at me like i was scum the rest of my time at that school. am i fake, made of plastic and metal? am i real, flesh and bone and sinew? pulling out of that hate has taken a decade, and i'm still not done.

i stand amongst the protesters, those early months of the pandemic. i wonder, even then, if it will make a difference. years later, my cousin hangs a wooden flag with a blue stripe above her door. i burn underneath my skin. i say nothing.

i found the churro ice cream in the freezer section with a "new!" label around the plastic tamper shield. i bought both of the pints that they had and put them in the freezer. i got a pint of half baked, too. i prefer phish food, myself. i look up the closest scoop store and wonder what it would take to get there. i don't touch any of the pints.

i'm not allowed to drive. my car sits, unused. i rankle as i pace the same endless walls. i trip on nothing. i sit back down, mutinous. i haven't been kind to the breaks in my pelvis and femur. they twinge from the cold, or from overuse, or from both. i remember walking around the oncology floor years ago, spurred by the sheer amount of steroids i was on to offset the effects of the difficult rounds of chemo. there was no leaving, nothing but the same floor and the same walls and the same enlarged pictures of flowers. i got paranoid enough to think that they were watching me. in some ways, i think they're still watching me.

there aren't any flowers in my room. i don't like to see them, outside of in nature, but sometimes i understand the desire to receive flowers. i've never been given them. i've never considered myself as particularly desirable. i've dated, and the relationships have ended in failure. but i loved them, once. i still love them, in a way. i'm not sure if there's a wrong way to love, so long as you're loving in good faith. i wonder if i'm lying to myself about love, if i even have the capacity to love. i wonder if i'm lying to myself about any good traits i think i might have more often than i care to admit. i'm not a good person, i think. i try, scrape and scrabble my way up mountains, but it never feels like enough.

i forgive you for not braiding my hair.

but you knew that, didn't you?

[longlegsnamjoon420]

Stress is literally the only thing that makes me lose weight I literally stopped doing everything “healthy” and I’m finally. Losing weight lmfao I can’t

[altamont498]

TBH I don't think this was helped by everyone - both anecdotally and in the media - asking "Can we go to the pub yet? Can we go to the pub yet? Can we have a drink yet?" every 10 seconds.

Honestly, I've nothing against alcohol personally, but I think that we, as a country, do need to admit we have a bit of a problem with it if we're prioritising opening up the pubs/bars/etc. before schools.

[goodomensyeah]

listen this is post-lockdown crowley. post-“I-could-hunker-down-at-your-place”-“i’m-afraid-that-would-be-breaking-all-the-rules” crowley. this is all-that-and-he-still-won’t-be-together-with-me crowley. of course he’s depressed.

imagine them saving the world. they’re safe. dear god, how emotionally taxing that must’ve been for eleven goddamn years. the constant state of stress. The anxiety. right up to the end, with the body swap.

and things might be okay. maybe. they might be okay for the first time ever. in 6000 years.

and then, less than a year later, fucking COVID happens.

can you. the emotional. the sheer emotional devastation it would wreak.

of COURSE he’s depressed.

another thing to say is that crowley seems so.. depressed in the new clip 😭

he’s all like “what’s the point of it all..” and his tone is just kinda flat sounding. not sure if he’s just bored or if he’s having some kind of internal crisis lmao

[imsojules]

Imagine surviving a zombie apocalypse with JJ

Hey y’all! So I had a dream a few weeks ago after binging The Walking Dead and The Last of Us, and it inspired me to get back to writing after a long time! While I’m working on the actual fic (I would like to make it into a series), I’d like to share with you some headcanon teaser-imagine-type thing. 1.2k

Any feedback is really appreciated!! ♥

TW for typical zombie apocalypse violence, established relationship, mentioned extreme violence/death, hurt/comfort, Pogue fem!reader, English is not my first language!

masterlist

• The day they announced it as a pandemic, JJ rushed home and waited for his dad to come home; he never did.

• When everything went to hell, JJ was already running on instinct. He heard the news, saw the panic, and didn’t even stop to think. He found you in your driveway, confused and holding your phone like it still mattered. He didn’t even say hello, just grabbed your wrist and said, “We need to go. Now.”

• His voice was shaking. JJ Maybank does not scare easy — so when he looked at you like the world was ending, you believed him.

• John B hotwired a truck. Pope showed up with a first aid kit and four cans of soup. Kie had a machete and murder in her eyes. Sarah was already screaming at rich people to get off their yachts. And just like that, the Pogues became your apocalypse family.

• You’ve all got roles. Pope’s the tactician. John B’s the scout. Kiara’s the fixer. Sarah’s the backup. JJ’s the shield. You? You’re the glue. You’re the reason they haven’t splintered. You remind them there’s still something worth fighting for. Even if it’s just each other.

• JJ's survival strategy? Vibes and violence. He’s got no long-term plan, no route on the map, just a baseball bat, a stolen switchblade, and the promise he made to you: “I’m not leaving without you.”

• You’re in charge of rations, because JJ is not to be trusted around the food, and he’s not too proud to admit it.

• He deadass wants to go live in the mountains until all this has passed, and you’re like ?? “I’m not starving to death, Jay, forget it.”

• You constantly have to remind him he’s not Bear Grylls.

• He names his weapons. It’s dumb, but you let him have it. The bat is "Lucille 2," and the knife is “Karma.” You once caught him talking to them like they were teammates. “Nice work today, Karma. You really showed that corpse who’s boss.”

• You once found an abandoned community center with an old projector. Pope rigged it to work off a car battery. You all watched The Goonies while eating expired popcorn. It was the first time you saw JJ cry. He blamed it on “zombie dust.” No one called him out.

• Every new safehouse, he carves a tiny mark into the wall. A tally of the days survived. He never talks about it. You only saw it once—his name, yours, and a little plus sign between them.

• He taught you how to throw knives using an old road sign as a target. You beat him once. JJ claimed the wind was emotionally targeting him. “That was sabotage. Atmospheric betrayal.”

• Kiara taught you how to use a crossbow. JJ said it was hot. John B agreed. Sarah threatened to throw both of them into a walker pit if they kept being annoying. They shut up. (But JJ kept sneaking glances.)

• You kept a Polaroid JJ found—two strangers, smiling in some sunny-before-time. You call them "the ghosts." It’s silly, but sometimes you imagine they made it somewhere safe. That you will too.

• If there’s a tree in your path, you bet JJ’s going to fucking climb it. Passing an abandoned playground? Before you can blink, he’s on the jungle gym like “Look at me!!”

• He will insist he’s “scouting.”

• And it’s the little things that keep you sane.

• You both use humor to cope with the world.

• He can joke about the end of the world all day, but when you’re laughing, you’re reminding him that there’s still some piece of it left.

• You joked once about who’d be the first to die in a horror movie. “Definitely me,” he said without hesitation. “I’d trip saving you and get eaten with zero regrets. Classic heroic dumbass move. Five stars.”

• You started calling yourselves Team Cockroach—because no matter what came at you, you were still standing. JJ said it made you sound invincible. “Sexy little apocalypse cockroach power couple.”

• He made up a game called “Guess That Gunfire!” where you both guess what kind of weapon is being fired in the distance. Winner gets a protein bar. Loser has to cuddle him during night watch. You always lose. Mysteriously.

• You keep a small, battered notebook filled with sketches of places you’ve passed and letters you’ll never send.

• When things are quiet, the Pogues talk about what they miss most. Kie misses her garden. Pope misses his dad’s pancakes. Sarah misses showers. John B misses his freedom. JJ says he misses peace. You know he means it. He means you’re the closest he’s come to finding it again.

• At night watch, JJ exercises to stay awake. Like, you wake up in the middle of the night because you think you heard a zombie groan, but it’s just JJ doing sit-ups next to you.

• He senses you stirring and starts muttering, “Hundred and six, hundred and seven, hundred and—” but let’s be real, he only did like twelve.

• And you’re like, “How? Why? You’ve only had a can of tuna to eat in two days, where do you even get the energy??”

• “Gotta stay in shape if I’m gonna keep saving your clumsy ass.”

• JJ is the king of petty, spite-fueled motivation. “I’m not dying before I get to punch Rafe one more time.” “I didn’t live through the end of the world to starve to death. Not happening.” “I got bit by a duck, babe. A duck. I’m surviving out of spite.”

• He is terrified of losing you. Every time you two are apart, JJ is borderline homicidal.

• “I need to know you’re breathing. That you’re right there.” If he loses sight of you for more than ten seconds, it’s search mode activated. No one’s allowed to joke about it.

• There’s a comfort in knowing he’ll always fight for you. When the others doubt, when they hesitate, JJ’s always the one who steps up first, his fists clenched in a promise he’ll do whatever it takes to keep both of you alive.

• When you get to shower for the first time in a while, you suggest you just shower together and make the best of what little water you have.

• Imagine cuddling for comfort and warmth.

• Or patching him up after another close call.

• You once told him he was your home. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you like it physically hurt to love someone that much. That night, he held you like the world was ending all over again.

• You forget what day it is. Once, after spotting wildflowers sprouting through asphalt, you decided it was your anniversary. You didn’t know the real date, but you both agreed it felt like love.

• You have to be the responsible one, the decisive one, but in return, JJ will be your rock, your protector, steadfast and strong. Not even the weight of the world ending can faze him when he has you to worry about.

• When he says “I got you,” it’s never just words. It’s a promise. It’s a prayer. It’s a desperate, messy vow he’s never going to break—even if it kills him.

• After almost losing you once, he confesses that without you, he doesn’t have a reason to keep going. He survives to protect you.

• Never whines that he’s hungry or tired because he knows you are too, so whenever you ask if he’s alright, the answer is always going to be that he’s “okay if you are.”

• You once asked him what he’s fighting so hard for. He didn’t even blink. “You.” Then added, with a grin, “…and, like, definitely revenge on the duck.”