#that was from INFLUENZA VICTIMS

[danbily]

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Look for the Soul and the Meaning

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Depictions of illness

Summary: You’re sick. Daryl makes sure you’re not alone.

A/N: I have been uber sick this week and just needed some self indulgent comfort. Idec if he’s ooc this time.

*gif is not mine

Groaning, you rolled your head from side to side, even the soft cradle of the pillow intensifying the ache in your skull. Your throat was a tunnel of razor blades, your lungs trying their best to eject themselves over your tongue. Your body ached and protested, skin sensitive from fever. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think.

“I feel gross.” You whimpered. You raised a hand toward your face but found it to be too much work, letting it drop to the mattress beside you.

“Know ya do.” His raspy whisper acted as a balm to your pain.

A blessedly cool cloth touched your forehead, remaining there for a moment before it was pressed against each cheek and then your neck. Your sigh came unbidden, shameless and sudden.

“That’s nice.” You croaked before being seized by a coughing fit. It was dry and unproductive, the mucus coating the inside of your lungs like slime, unmoving. It hurt. “Daryl.” You whimpered.

The flu hit Alexandria during your first autumn within the walls. Though some fell victim, just as they had at the prison, the community had medicines readily available. IV fluids, oxygen tanks, and fever reducers. This virus was different, thank god; a less intense influenza. That, however, was not a comfort when it came to feeling the symptoms.

“M’right here, Sunshine.”

The coolness left your skin to burn, but once his fingers began carding through your hair, his lips touching your forehead, you could no longer feel the heat. And for one moment, coherency filtered through.

“Daryl—Daryl, your bandana.” You wheezed, reaching for the fabric he had pulled down to hang around his neck. Looking at him, even your eyes felt like they would singe out of your skull. “You’re gonna get sick too.”

“M’gonna be fine.” He caught your hand easily—your movements too sluggish—and kissed the inside of your wrist. “Means ya gotta get better so ya can take care’a me.”

You chuckled weakly, triggering another cough. It jostled your sore body, earning a whine and a few tears. Your eyes had screwed shut to ride out the ordeal, but opened when something touched your lips. The bottle felt odd, warm and scratchy.

“Gotta drink for me.” Blue eyes flickered up to the bag of fluids hanging from the bedpost but didn’t linger. “Help them fluids do their job.” You reluctantly obliged, fearing the feel of the water against your already irritated throat.

Turned out, it was heavenly.

You drank greedily, not even thirsty but lost in the relief the cool liquid was providing. When it was suddenly taken away, you chased it with desperation.

“Gimme.” You pouted.

“In a bit. Ya gonna make yourself sick.” The cool cloth was back and the water was forgotten. With weak uncoordinated movements, you pulled the blankets up further, your entire form trembling with chills.

“Tell me a story, Daryl.”

The cloth ceased its travels. “A story?”

“Mhm. Don’t care what it is.” Sleep was standing in the corner, pulling at you incessantly, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier despite the heat and pain. “Tell me about your chupacabra.”

It was Daryl’s turn to laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Nah, that ain’t no sickbed story.”

“Tell me—something.” You yawned, wincing when you could feel the pull on your inflamed throat. It was quiet in the room, your eyes closed and chest wheezing. But then:

“Once upon a time—”

You mimicked his earlier laugh, your eyes remaining closed. “So cliché.”

The man at your bedside scoffed. “Ya want a story or not?”

“Mhm. Sorry.” You whispered, already fading, the cloth pulling away to be replaced by his fingertips in your hair, ghosting over your face.

Daryl cleared his throat, the deep breath he sucked in was unsteady. “Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was a smartass. Pigheaded as all get out.” The corner of his mouth lifted when you began to snore, your stuffy nose making it impossible to breathe properly. “She met a redneck drifter, a real asshole.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to your overly warm forehead, letting them linger there. Pulling back, he stayed close, just watching you sleep, stroking the hair on the crown of your head. “An’ somehow, she changed him.”

Sitting back, he grabbed the cloth and dipped it in the bowl of water, back to battling the flames beneath your skin.

“S’far from the end, Sunshine.”

[itssideria]

re: Martyrs, Palestine, Islam, and the 'death cult'

Since the start of the Gazan genocide, I have seen dozens of posts and speeches along the line of "Those crazy Palestine supporters! Those crazy Palestinians! They are so obsessed with death! They celebrate death, isn't that just disgusting? Isn't it disgusting?" In the wake of Aaron Bushnell's passing, such statements are becoming more frequent. They now point to a perceived celebration of suicide—"Those Palestine supporters and their glorification of self-harm! How could you ever stand with such a cause? The entire culture glorifies death!"

This post isn't meant to argue with the people saying this. For a group that is supposedly so anti-death, you see them constantly equivocate on genocide. Instead, I'm hoping to reach those who might have questions—and they are fair questions! Why are the killed Palestinians martyrs, rather than victims? Why do Palestine's supporters hold this as a badge of honour? Why are Palestinians, and Muslims at large, 'so obsessed with death'?

Hello! I am your local non-Palestinian Muslim! Hopefully you'll find some answers here.

In the context of the genocide—and, let's be real, the last 75 years of Israel's existence—the word 'martyr' is a translation of the Arabic word shaheed. 'Shaheed' comes from 'shahad', the verb 'to witness'—to witness, because in Islam, their status is that of eternal reward. They witness heaven before anyone else. Unlike a non-martyr, whose soul remains buried until the Day of Judgement, a shaheed's reward is immediate and indisputable—heaven, eternally, no matter what.

You may then wonder what exactly being a martyr encompasses. The Western image of the martyr is often centred on war—someone killed in battle, holding a gun or a sword. With this image, it is easy to make the leap that Islam therefore rewards war and conquest: this is how you get the whole 'Muslims are violent and want to kill everyone in jihad' bullshit. (And FYI, jihad likely does not mean what you think it means, but whatever. More on that in a bit.)

However, that is just blatantly untrue! Martyrdom in Islam can include death on the battlefield when protecting a just cause, yes. Martyrdom in Islam also includes death by plague (COVID, influenza), death by drowning, crushing, or fire (natural disaster, unsafe housing, travelling), death by internal disease (cancer, infection), death in childbirth, and, finally, death when protecting one's family or property from an oppressor.

That last one seems familiar, I hope.

Why these specific instances? Well, one, because we have them recorded in reliable hadith. But also because these individuals die in a state of jihad—literally, in a state of great effort. Like martyrdom, jihad can encompass fighting in some war somewhere, but often, just means exerting effort to do something that pleases God.

And these people? They die in the process of exerting massive effort to pursue a good cause: to protect their loved ones. To become well after illness. To travel toward safety. To survive. Shuhada (the plural of shaheed) have died exerting the greatest effort of all, and for this, they are beloved to God. They attain heaven immediately. They are forgiven for whatever sins they may have incurred.

For Muslims and Palestinians, this invocation of martyrdom isn't some celebration of death. In a just world, zero Palestinians die. But this world is unjust, and thousands are still dying. The invocation of martyrdom, therefore, is an expression of hope, of resilience, of comfort to those still living: yes, they have died, but they have died in a state of jihad. Yes, they have died, but they are up there in heaven, they are happy, they are safe again. To a parent who has lost a child, to a sibling who has lost a sibling, to people with dead friends, this insistence on martyrdom is a comfort in the midst of a massive, unending grief. They did not die a victim, they died a witness—and insha'allah, they will receive their reward. To decree someone a shaheed is to honour them. It doesn't celebrate their death, but rather affirms the circumstances of that death, and celebrates the subsequent reward.

TL;DR: Martyrs are martyrs because in Islamic scripture, they have died fighting oppression. Martyrdom is a form of death that guarantees heaven, and for those who have lost loved ones, it is a comfort and hope that their loved ones are receiving the ultimate reward. Stop being fucking rude to Palestinians.

Sources: who is classified as a martyr?, wikipedia page on shahid

[reality-detective]

🔵🐬 A bottlenose dolphin in Florida has become one of the latest mammals to die from bird flu, according to a new report.🐬

Scientists from the University of Florida found this particular bird flu victim after they were notified of a dolphin that appeared to be in distress, but a necropsy following its death revealed it contracted a highly deadly strain.

The team discovered the virus in the mammal's brain and lungs, which had mutated to become 18 times more resistant to current drug treatments.

As researchers performed their necropsy of the dolphin, they identified inflammation in and around its brain and spinal cord.

After the dolphin had tested negative for other infections that can cause this kind of inflammation, they found bird flu antigen and RNA in its brain and lungs

Specifically, the dolphin was infected with highly pathogenic avian influenza A (H5N1) virus of HA clade 2.3.4.4b. 🤔

[ladylaviniya]

Lassoed In Love

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Clark drives you home and reveals a dark detail about himself. You have to wonder if it's true...you get hints about how nosey and prejudice the town can be.

Pairing: Farmer!Clark Kent X Teacher!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Sex In This Chapter), Slowburn, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Prison Conviction, Violation of Privacy, Debating Parenting.

Word Count: 3k

Author Notes: Sorry for publishing almost 2hrs late. I have been battling a bad case of influenza and just woke up. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Also, please remember this is a purely fictional story. I like to specify that it's important to believe and trust people who claim to be victims of abuse, just because someone treats you kindly doesn't mean they don't have the potential to harm you too. If anyone tells you they've raped someone or done time for rape even if they weren't guilty, always stay vigilant! Stay safe! Preferably stay away! Lassoed in Love is specifically fiction and Clark Kent's accused convictions are false.

Inspiring Song: "Monster" by Imagine Dragons

“Can you be at my house at six thirty? Or would you rather I come here? I am unsure how late the bus runs or if there’s a taxi service in Smallville.”

You both moved to leave her room, walking down the hall, back to the living room, near the kitchen.

“I’ll come to your house,” Lara suggested, “You’re near the town right? I might need to...I reckon dad’s getting no where with your car. I can see him out there shaking his head.”

Veering into the kitchen, you went to wash your hands in the sink, the blood that had dried over them washed clean away in the soap suds.

“Do you know where Ms. Gwendolyn-Lee lived?”

She thought for a moment, “Oh yea...wait...you look like her a bit.”

“She was my great great aunt. I inherited the house,” You peered out the kitchen window, “Shouldn’t your father be back by now?”

She grit her teeth and sucked in a breath, she stood briefly out of the kitchen to look at the mesh fly screen door. She popped her head back into the kitchen and said calmly, “Here he comes now.”

As he trudged up to the porch, he carefully stomped his muddy boots, scraping off the excess dirt before he swung open the door. His deep navy gaze swept over his daughter, then turned towards you. His eyes widened subtly as he took in the sight of his old flannel shirt on your body, but he refrained from making any comment about it.

“Get your things together,” he instructed. “I managed to hook your car up, got it out of the gulley, but I doubt there’s much to be done, I might suggest it’s scrap metal now.”

His dark face was expressionless, as usual, but you sensed that he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t budge.

Clark looked at his daughter. “Have you said what you wanted to her?”

You nodded and looked to Lara.

“Yes, she did.” Lara met her father’s eyes squarely. “She’s going to tutor me. I’m going to try to get into the military, take a ASVAB test and apply to be a diesel mechanic or even engineer.”

His eyes widened again. Lara appeared nervous with the way her hands balled and unfurled at her sides.

“It’s your choice. Just be sure you’re confident, knowing what you’ll be getting into.”

“I have to try.”

Clark nodded once, his firm gaze indicating the conversation had ended there. You turned to bid farewell to Lara, your gesture was met with her shy wave back. Following her father out onto the dirt path lining the side of the road, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the hint of concern in his words.

There, just off the path stood your car, hooked onto a tow bar at the back of his rusty blue truck, your cars crushed bonnet bearing testament to your recent misadventure.

He had done so much for you, rescuing you from a potentially hazardous situation, providing comfort, and now, he was even helping to tow your car. Additionally, he had kissed you in a manner that left your senses reeling. You couldn’t help but acknowledge that Clark was indeed a formidable individual.

Your cheeks grew hot as you recalled the memory of those searing kisses, their fiery intensity still lingering in your memory. Never in your life had you been so forward with a man, and the thought of your unconventional actions left you feeling both mortified as equally aroused.

You hastily clambered into the passenger seat of the pickup truck, your movements lacking any semblance of grace as you tried to maintain a proper, respectable demeanor. You fidgeted with your hands, clasping them primly in your lap, while your feet remained side-by-side, neatly placed on the floorboard. When Clark rejoined you in the vehicle and settled into the driver’s seat, you bit your lip, but his gaze didn’t so much as flicker in your direction, leaving you to grapple with your own embarrassment.

He casted a sardonic look after turning on the engine. “I can’t just drop you off at some random house lady. Where do you live?”

You realised sheepishly that you had been lost in the memory of Clark’s intimate kisses. You found yourself acutely aware of every movement, as the strong muscular expanse of his thigh shifted against yours, the heat of his skin palpable even through the thick denim of his well-worn jeans. Your noted that you were sitting in the middle of the seat, with very little space between you, it made you feel strangely constricted and breathless. The proximity to him was both overwhelming and exhilarating.

“Down Crow Street first house on the right,” you said hastily, and slid over by the window.

“Ms. Gwendolyn-Lees house?” he murmured.

You nodded.

Clark couldn’t deny that he relished the feeling of your presence beside him, the way your body gently brushed against his arm and leg with every gear change. However, despite the undeniable attraction and comfort he found in your proximity, he didn’t verbalize his appreciation. He acknowledged that things had spiralled out of control earlier, but he made a conscious choice to prevent any further escalation. At present, Lara’s situation occupied his thoughts, and her well-being overshadowed any personal desires or distractions, even for your warm body into his arms.

Clark’s voice dropped to a low, velvety tone that sent a chilling shiver down your spine, as you could discern the undercurrent of menace in his words. He continued, “The Army... it’s a tough climb for a girl, regardless of how much they claim to be feminist-friendly these days. There are those waiting to step on her toes and push her around at every opportunity. I don’t want Lara to getting hurt because you want to play miss goody-two-shoes.”

His eyes may have been solidly on the road, but you could see how they were filled with anguish, confusion and fear all at once. He chewed his pink lips and whispered something under his breath. He was fearsomely protective of his daughter even from you.

Clark’s attempt to intimidate you fell flat as you defiantly turned to face him, your eyes ablaze with defiance. You matched his intense gaze with unwavering determination and challenged his accusations with a spirited fervour.

“Mr. Kent,” you asserted with a resolute lift of your chin, “I never promised Lara that she would be guaranteed a military career upon completion of her studies. She fully acknowledged that fact. However, her academic standing should be more than sufficient for consideration, provided she enrols back into school to earn her diploma and fulfil the necessary credit requirements. That is the offer I made to her: a chance.”

His hands tightened on the wheel.

“And if she doesn’t make it? If she fails?”

“She wants to fix automobiles, Mr. Kent. Even if she isn’t accepted, at least she’ll know she tried, and she’ll have a decent qualifying diploma for the future.”

“So she can do exactly what she would have done without the diploma. You know what I call that? Fancy toilet paper.”

You rolled your eyes and gagged, “Mr. Kent, I believe you may be undermining your daughter’s true potential. She has demonstrated remarkable intellect and maturity for her age. On Monday, I plan to reach out to my network of contacts within the military community for further information on the necessary qualifications and requirements, including AFQT score prerequisites.” You held up a finger and wagged it a little, “Rest assured that I am fully committed to exploring every possible avenue to help your daughter achieve her aspirations.”

Wagging your finger at him? Oh, if you were his women, oh how he would’ve pulled over and belted and fucked you on the bonnet of his pick up, stark and cold in the middle of the afternoon.

He swallowed hard, trying to fight the sudden hard on growing in his jeans. He needed to scare you away. He couldn’t let himself see you again, even if it ruined Lara’s chances.

“The people in town won’t appreciate you tutoring her. They’ll gossip.”

You snorted, gossip? Why should you even care? “Why? Because their incompetence allowed a high achieving student to sliip through their fingers? Just let me handle them, Mr. Kent.”

He sighed long and hard, shaking his head a little. He pursed his lips and fell silent.

With the journey nearing its end, the dirt path road stretched out in front of you, its length having seemed endless moments ago. Clark remained silent as he navigated the remainder of the route, leaving you no choice but to respect the silence that enveloped the vehicle. Your mind raced with thoughts and emotions, a myriad of unresolved issues swirling in the wake of his words. The old house where you resided materialized on the horizon. As the vehicle rolled to a halt, its engine purring to a standstill, the silence persisted, the air thick with unspoken tension and lingering questions.

He quickly turned off his engine and looked up the road at the other houses in the neighbourhood, praying no one would see you both. His hands were still clenching the steering wheel. A deep worrisome sigh left his lips, he broke the silence with a calm warning, “It’s not just about Lara. If you want to ensure your own well-being, I suggest you refrain from speaking to anyone about our encounter. I’ll take the liberty of transporting your car to Frank’s auto repair, see what he can do. However, it would be wise to resist the urge to tell anyone about this, us, meeting.”

“Why?” You said in disbelief.

Clark faced you fully and leant forward slightly as if he was about to tell you a hilariously dirty joke...he smile and said a little too whimsically, “Because lady, I’m an ex-con. I did time for rape.”

The thumping jump your body made against his door while you scrambled for the car handle latch was obvious. He continued to sinister smirk, his brows raised as he waved you goodbye. Your throat felt impossibly dry. Your mind a tad dizzy.

You left the vehicle without uttering a word in response to his bold statement, silently cursing yourself afterward for your lack of a fitting comeback. His words had struck you to your core, leaving you momentarily stunned and unable to react. Rape! The very thought filled you with a deep sense of revulsion and disbelief. Your mind couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that you had kissed him, and the realization left you feeling shaken to the core. Finally, you hastily bid him farewell and informed him that Lara would be arriving at three thirty on Monday, before hastily disappearing into the house. You tried not to feel guilty when you made sure to lock the door behind you. He had helped you after all. He had pulled you out of your own car....but he had also indulged and kissed you. If Lara had not come...would he have....

As the hour ticked by, reality gradually sank in, and you found yourself standing alone in the antiquated kitchen, observing your cat Oz devouring his wet and dry food with relish from its gleaming silver bowl. You couldn’t help but reflect on the man and his outlandish claim, feeling a surge of defiance rising within you. You scoffed outwardly, muttering to yourself, “What complete nonsense! If that man is truly a rapist, I swear I’ll...I’ll...roast you for Thanksgiving, Oz.”

The ginger feline looked remarkably unconcerned. After all, he was just a lazy fat cat. Did he even know what thanksgiving was? You appreciated his lack of reaction, as if it confirmed your judgement being almighty and wise.

The realization that Clark had not unequivocally confessed to rape gave you pause. He had stated that he had served time in prison for rape, a revelation that seemed to open the door to a myriad of ambiguities. The perplexity deepened as you recalled Lara’s accounts of her outcasted and ignored existence. This notion puzzled you as to why Clark would have been granted custody of his daughter if the charges held any truth. Despite the uncertainty surrounding the matter, one thing was certain: your instincts whispered vehemently that Clark was innocent.

The man who had saved you from a life-threatening situation, gently cleansing your wounds with his tender touch and soothing your aching head with the coolness of an ice pack, had also bestowed upon you a kiss filled with a warmth that seeped into your very being. His actions stood in stark contrast to those of a man capable of causing harm to a woman. It was he who had halted the tender exchange of kisses between you, even as you had willingly surrendered yourself to his embrace.

It seemed utterly ridiculous to even entertain the notion that he could be a rapist. True, it may not have taken much restraint on his part to halt the intimate exchange of kisses, given that you weren’t considered conventionally attractive and your inexperience. Yet, as you pondered the matter further, you couldn’t shake the memory of the undeniable physical response of his erection you had felt, a reaction which spoke volumes in its own right. Perhaps he’d simply been deprived of physical outlets for some time and you had unwittingly provided an opportunity, but there was still no hint of violence in his touch.

Perhaps Clark Kent was already aroused and you had unwittingly ignited a flame within him, to you his spark that lit up his desire would remain a mystery to you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t dispute the fact that he had not abused his position or forcibly taken advantage of you. Except...What if he had?

As your heart raced with a powerful, rhythmic beat, an intense warmth pervaded your being. A throbbing, insistent ache manifested deep within you, causing your inner muscles to contract involuntarily. Without even thinking, your hand instinctively sought temporary relief under your skirt before, startled by your own actions, you pulled it away abruptly.

What if, instead of merely halting the kisses, he had taken the initiative to touch, cup, and caress you with his hands and mouth? The mere thought of this sent shivers of desire through you, leaving you feeling as if you were melting in response. Your mind raced with fantasies of his touch, and you found yourself involuntarily pressing your thighs together, desperate for relief from the profound ache that consumed you. A low, involuntary whimper escaped from your lips, startling the cat resting nearby.

The question loomed in the air: would you have actually tried to halt his advances? Could you have summoned the strength to resist the allure of his touch? Or would you now be standing there, your body quivering with excitement as memories of shared passion consumed you instead of simply imagining it? Your body hummed with anticipation, stirred not from a place of true understanding but from the awakening of primal desires.

The intensity of the passion you had experienced had been utterly foreign to you, vastly different from the joyful hum in your bones you held for knowledge and teaching. Discovering that your body was capable of such powerful sensations was a harrowing realization, as you had long believed that you were not one to experience such grand arousal like others bragged about in your age group. You weren’t some kitten in heat, no, you were like a forest fire ready to burn the earth in pursue if the same touch Clark Kent had done to you. Now, your own flesh seemed to whisper secrets that left you feeling betrayed, and your thoughts and emotions danced to an unfamiliar tune. It was as if your very being had been transformed into something unfamiliar and intoxicating. Something wickedly beautiful.

In that moment, it became undeniable. Lust had consumed your very being, a sensation ignited by none other than Clark Kent himself. This realization was both marvellous and mortifying. The potency of your feelings was overwhelming, leaving you both astounded and humiliated by the depth of your desire.

On Monday, you made a hasty lunch break phone call to an old college friend who served in the air force to inquire about the process of making sure Lara’s studies would count towards her diploma. Despite your qualifications, there were still numerous forms to fill out before she could earn the necessary credits via private tutoring. You placed the call from the ancient pay phone in the underused teacher’s lounge, a cramped space that only held three chairs, a table, a mini-fridge, and a coffee maker. Surprisingly, Lana Lang, the eighth grade teacher, popped into the room as you were talking.

“Y/N, are you feeling ill or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” You stood, “I was making a call.”

“Oh. I just wondered. You’d been in here alone for a while, and I thought you might not be feeling up to hall duty soon.... Who were you calling?”

The query had been posed without a trace of hesitation, reflecting the unfiltered openness characteristic of Smallville’s close-knit community. Lana, a local who had grown up in the heart of the town, had once held the title of prom queen. In this close-knit environment, secrets rarely remained hidden for long, and the exchange of personal information was a common occurrence. You felt unperturbed by Lana’s unabashed curiosity, as you were already accustomed to such directness within the confines of this intimate community, where small towns functioned as extended families. At first you found such things rude and personally invasive.

“An old college friend. I needed some information on teaching requirements.”

Lana’s expression turned to one of alarm as she spoke, “Are you questioning your qualifications? The school board will be absolutely distraught if there’s an issue. You have no idea how difficult it is to find a teacher with the proper credentials willing to move to such a small town. They were at the brink of panic before you agreed to take the job. Without your arrival, the children would be forced to commute over sixty miles each day just to receive an education.”

Or attend homeschooling like Lara Kent.

TO BE CONTINUED....

“Actually, it’s not that,” you quickly explained, seizing the opportunity to delve into your intentions. “I’ve been contemplating the idea of initiating private tutoring, as I believe it might benefit the children.” You deliberately refrained from mentioning Lara Kent, respecting her father’s request for discretion. Relief washed over Lana’s face as she concluded that the situation wasn’t dire.

“Thank goodness it isn’t bad news,” she sighed, waving goodbye and offering a smile before withdrawing her head from the room, her curiosity sufficiently quelled.

You sincerely hoped that Lana wouldn’t mention your plan to Beryl Braverman, the third-to-fifth grade teacher, but you couldn’t deny that the likelihood of secrecy was slim. Information had an uncanny way of propagating swiftly in Smallville, leaving little room for concealment. Lana exuded warmth and humor in her teachings, mirroring your laidback approach. However, Beryl’s strict demeanor and abruptness with students left you feeling unsettled. You had overheard rumblings about Beryl considering an early retirement. Despite her shortcomings, her departure would undeniably upset the local board, as Lana had previously pointed out - it was almost impossible to encourage new teachers to move to Smallville.

    HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[saintsenara]

Just read your meta on Tom Riddle & sexual abuse - brilliant as usual. I interpret Billy Stubbs the same way. I was wondering where in canon you're getting that Voldemort had an irregular heartbeat? The only thing that's coming to my mind is the visions Harry had in ootp where it says his heart is beating faster but that's not even real. Sorry this is the most niche question ever lol but I have an obsession with Voldemort's body

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

it's something which i've arrived at via a leap from deathly hallows - in which the locket-horcrux is mentioned as having a pulse which "beats irregularly alongside [harry's] own", which beats so fast that - from voldemort's perspective - it feels like it's "banging outside his chest", and which is also described as rattling, racing, etc.

the locket is the only horcrux which seems to have these pseudo-bodily functions - and it also, when harry opens it, has eyes. this is, i think, largely a narrative device to hint to the reader that harry is also a horcrux, by allowing us to picture a horcrux as something living - and the locket gets the honour because it's the only horcrux we spend any meaningful amount of time with in either of the last two books.

[the diary - the only other horcrux harry spends any real time interacting with - doesn't get any such description.]

the locket's abnormal heartbeat is - of course - clearly intended by the doylist text to illustrate [just like the comment in goblet of fire that voldemort has unnaturally cold hands when he touches harry] the abnormality of voldemort's mutilated soul, and the way this has ruined and corrupted his body.

but this doesn't align with how the text understands the soul as separate from the body - the mutilation of voldemort's soul should, by the series' own logic, have no affect on his body [other than - maybe - on his eyes, "the window to the soul"].

and so i think it's fun - as someone committed to the idea that voldemort's fear of death and obsession with magic is made worse by a certain physical fragility - to accept the idea that all horcruxes feel semi-"alive" [as in, they all have these pseudo-bodily functions like pulses] but also to imagine that the locket's irregular heartbeat is something voldemort has always had wrong with him, rather than something caused by the damage he does to his soul.

an irregular heartbeat which is generally too fast - as the locket's is - might be a sign of something called atrial fibrillation, which can be either temporary or chronic. triggers for any manifestation of the condition can include:

physical and emotional stress [from - y'know - living in an orphanage, never having your cavernous grief over that fact acknowledged, and potentially being a victim of sexual abuse].

chronic lung conditions such as asthma [voldemort's soft voice is because he's a respiratorily-challenged icon, change my mind].

pericarditis, a temporary heart condition often triggered by a serious viral infection, like influenza [which might have nearly finished off a child who was already sickly, only making him more afraid of dying...].

smoking [which everyone did in the forties], not eating properly [the man is famously thin], and frequently being incandescent with murderous rage [no explanation needed] are all additional things that wouldn't help... as would not bothering to take your health seriously because you can't die.

[mjrtaurus]

Small sniffles can be heard coming from Gabriel and Gryphon throughout the day and Buggy, Mihawk, and Crocodile are praying it's not what they think it is. Their prayers are thoroughly ignored that night when Gryphon wakes them up with a shirt covered in puke and what looks like some sort of motor oil. He mumbles that Gabe isn't doing too well and sure enough the poor boy is curled in on himself sweating, and despite having such a high fever his flame is flickering like a waning candle.

There are rare moments when Buggy’s natural leadership skills switch on and he’s immediately dominating the room. This is one of those moments. He’s scooped Gabe up and out of the nasty sheets, and he’s calling for Mihawk- the calmest of them- to keep Gryphon calm and reassured. He tells Crocodile to track down Dr. Churro, Marco, and try and get the Strawhat’s shipwright on a snail call.

It could be something as little as a stomach bug, but given how volatile their physiology and body chemistry is, they are taking no chances.

Turns out it’s just a mild new strain of influenza that’s just been compounded by Gabe’s iffy anxiety regulation. The poor boy had gotten a little queasy and it had all spiraled from there. It was… not your standard case of emetophobia, though. It was something far more sinister than that.

It’s distressing to hold a child and hear them beg not to be “decommissioned” for being ill. The lot of them wonder just how many of the seraphim had been decommissioned before the vegapunks got their “finished product”. How many times the threat of being decommissioned was used as leverage…

Gabriel is given more love and care than he knows what to do with. Gryphon stands watch when their fathers can’t be, cuddling his brother and preening his wings.

Crocodile is discussing anxiety disorders and possible treatments with Marco. When Crocodile was that young, his anxiety at least served some purpose and reason in keeping him alive. With Gabe, it was just making him miserable. And Gryphon was victim to it as well…

Another Churro/Marco/Franky/Buggy collaberation happens, and now the twins have some seraphim-vetted anti-anxiety medication.

[roguesnezblog]

Furnace Hold: If a Mortal Contracts a cold and has a pact or close proximity to a fiend, there is a chance the fiends power will infect the virus, making a common cold into a Furnace Hold, this is a relatively harmless effect to the mortal most of the time only making the mortal sneeze and cough out smoke. However, there is a 5% chance the mortal will contract a Furnace Hold and never be rid of the effect. Permanently scarring the lungs with fiendish power making the victim cough and sneeze smoke for the rest of their life.

Fiend Flu: Sometimes Fiends can get exposed to Material Plane diseases but contract is differently. If a Fiend contracts Influenza it will become Fiend Flu. Fiends will get regular symptoms of Flu, but symptoms will only last 24 hours as the disease will die very quickly within the Fiends over 220C - 450C temperature fevers. First symptoms will start within 2 to 4 hours of contraction, where the Fiend will start sneezing coughing and getting upper respiratory inflamation. At the 6 to 8 hour mark a Fiend then will start to get a sweltering temperature. While the Fiend itself will not react much to this other than discomfort and rather violent shaking or jitters. Everything else within a Fiends vacinity will be subject to heat up to 60ft away from the fiend. If a Mortal contractions Fiend flu, they will become vulnerable to hot temperatures, some getting so hot and weak that they may die from the brain overheating.

Appendum: If a Mortal survives Fiend flu they will become vunerable to fire for the rest of their life. But conversely will be able to survive cold temperatures up to -25 C Bastion from @just-a-nervous-bean

[missielynne]

The Lost Girl

While Sam is out running errands, a horribly ill Jay must help the other ghosts cross over the spirit of a young influenza victim who's been waiting for her parents for over a century...

@imdefyingmavity (thanks so much for the idea!)

Woodstone Mansion, 1918

“To bed, little one,” Thor said to the young girl as she started the gramophone again. It was a lovely song that Papa sang to Mama very frequently and it made her feel a little better, even if she was still coughing, weak, and very, very hot.

“I was just…” she stopped to cough and push dark ringlets out of her green eyes. “I just want to hear the song again. Where did Mama and Papa go?”

“To get medicine for you,” Nancy told her. “They’ll be back soon, Gracie.”

Grace’s eyes widened at the sight of her, and she stepped back a little, but then relaxed. She’d seen Nancy and the other ghosts like her since she’d first gotten ill. They looked frightening, just like Thor did, but really, they were friends. The only friends she’d seen ever since she’d been confined to her room so she wouldn’t infect anyone else.

Taking as big a breath as she was able before the coughing began again, she turned the music on and then got back into bed, tucking herself in.

“I want to sleep now,” she said, giving Thor a smile.

“Yes,” Thor nodded and gave her a smile. “Sleep, little one. Be strong. Dream of killing Danes as they weep!”

“Why would I want to do that?” Grace wanted to know.

“Just think about getting better,” Sas told her. “You’ll get medicine from your mother and father and get through this influenza.”

“Yes,” Grace muttered as she pulled the covers over herself and closed her eyes. “Kill the influenza. Medicine will kill the influenza…”

But it never did. On the way home, Grace’s parents were killed in a car accident and never got her the medicine. And it wasn’t long after their funeral that Grace died too, just eight years old. People hoped she would rest in peace as they said farewell, but it was not to be…

______________________________________________________________

Woodstone Mansion, present day

“Stay in bed,” Sam ordered Jay and pushed him back into bed. “You’re running a fever, and I know you threw up last night.”

“Babe, I’m fine,” her husband tried to reassure her. “Just a little tickle, that’s all. I…” he tried to get out of bed, but promptly fell on his face.

“Are you happy now?” Sam asked. “You’re clearly too ill to do anything today so just rest and drink fluids! And since you being around any sort of food is out of the question, I’ll order takeout.”

Jay gave a grunt and then reluctantly got back into bed, pulling the covers over himself.

“Good,” Sam nodded. “Stay. I’ll ask Sas if he can’t bring himself and the others into your dreams for a visit.” She then left the room, locking the door behind her and finding herself face to face with Hetty.

“Good heavens, what were you doing in there?” She demanded. “You could be covered in germs or all sorts of who knows what? Get a doctor here to look at him. That’s what they’re there for.”

“This isn’t the first time he’s had the flu,” Sam told her. “We’ll let him rest for a little while and if he gets worse, we’ll take him to the doctor. They’d probably just tell him to keep up his fluids and take fever reducers anyway, and that’s something we can accomplish right here.”

Hetty’s lips pursed. “That’s your choice. It’s not the choice I would make, but it’s a choice nonetheless.”

“Thank you,” Sam nodded and continued on her way, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw Sas. “Jay’s sick as you can probably tell,” she told him. “I have to run errands and it will take some time. Would you and the others visit him in his dreams and entertain him? Otherwise he’ll be running around and it’ll just make things worse.”

“Sure, Sam,” Sas nodded. “I have just the thing.”

“Thank you,” Sam nodded gratefully. “I really owe you one.”

Sas gave her a wink. “No problem!” He then watched her go, then made his way to Jay’s bedroom. The poor guy really was truly ill and seemed to actually be trying to sleep. Good. That meant that this would work. He stood over Jay and waved his hands, soon finding himself in Jay’s mind, the usual Star Trek dream. Sas rolled his eyes. How about a little variety? He supposed that was what he was here for.

“Sas?” Jay asked, wide-eyed. “What are you doing here? Did Sam send you so I’d actually sleep?”

“Yes,” Sas nodded. “And I’m going to tell you something really cool. You wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” Jay nodded.

“Well, as sick as you are right now, there’s a ghost in this house that only you’ll be able to sense and, not Sam.”

“What?” Jay asked. “Really? You’re not playing some sort of prank on me? There’s literally a ghost in this house that I’ll be able to see and sense that Sam can’t? Who is it? How does it work? Is the ghost a serial killer? Am I in danger?”

“No,” Sas shook his head. “She’s harmless. Her name is Grace, she’s eight, and she died of influenza when she was eight years old in 1918. Now she primarily manifests to sick people. Lucky you, buddy!”

“Is she creepy?” Jay made a face. “Cause I don’t want to see any creepy little girls!”

“You shouldn’t,” Sas shook his head. “I mean if you do see her, she’s pale, she has dark circles under her eyes, and is wearing a night gown and carrying a teddy bear. But this room is much too far away for her to manifest physically usually. She died while quarantined in her bedroom on one of the upper floors and, not wanting to disobey her parents’ and the doctor’s orders to stay put, hasn’t left there ever since, even in death.”

Jay nodded. “Well okay. That’s reassuring. But then…how does she manifest?”

“You’ll hear coughing,” Sas told him. “Crying. And old-timey music. Those sounds usually are loud enough to be heard throughout the house, no matter where you are.”

“And I…should I do something about this?” Jay asked. “Should I tell Sam? I mean this little girl’s been in that room for over a hundred years!”

“Yes,” Sas nodded. “Waiting for her parents, I guess. They were going out to get her medicine and died in an accident before they could get home. Then everyone else got sick and it was a real mess here. That’s why she died. Maybe if you tell Sam, you’ll be able to reunite her with her parents or whatever her business might be so the poor kid can move on.”

“I could do that!” Jay nodded excitedly. “Oh, this is so fun! Or sad. Sad and fun.”

“Right, buddy,” Sas nodded. “See you in a bit.”

A little while later, Jay was shocked awake and just as Sas had told him, he could hear, however faintly, the sounds of coughing, crying, and old-timey music echoing through the room.

“Grace,” he whispered.  “I’m coming, kiddo!”

______________________________________________________________

As usual, it took a bit of doing, but thanks to shouted words from Alberta, writing from Trevor, and even smells from Isaac, Jay managed to trek up to a room in an area that they primarily used for storage after he took a bunch of cold medicine to give himself some strength. Just the sight of the door made him shudder. It was old and dusty, and the glass was cracked. It looked like no one had been near it for ages. Which, if what Sas said about Grace was true, they probably hadn’t.

He looked down and saw a scrap of paper on the floor by the door. It, like everything else, was dusty, and also dirty and torn, but the message on it was clear and bold: Quarantine! Sick child, keep out unless given permission.

At least that’s what he thought it said, but the loopy crazy script was starting to dance in front of his eyes so it was hard to tell.

Meanwhile, Sas watched from behind him, soon joined by Nancy.

“What’s he doing here?” She asked.

“He’s gonna be the one who finally helps Grace,” Sas told her.

“Really?” Nancy looked skeptical. “You think he can do it? He just looks like a complete moron right now.”

“Well, he’s sick you know,” Sas reminded her. “And you, of all people, should know that people aren’t always the best when their sick. But that’s the only way to reach Grace.”

“Oh, this will be fun to watch,” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Twenty back rubs says he can’t even get in the door.”

“And you give me twenty of he gets in,” Sas nodded. Then they turned to watch. Jay struggled a little but eventually managed to get the door open. What he saw when the door opened, however, defied explanation.

What should have been a dusty, dirty ruin was a sunny, cheerful room, painted yellow. The wood furniture was new, and sun streaming through a window with crisp, white lace curtains on either side. The bed was brass with plump white pillows and a comforter covered in roses. On a desk nearby sat a gramophone playing a gentle, sweet song.

The only thing that marred the lovely scene was the deathly ill girl in the bed.

Jay looked around, blinking several times. “Wow,” he shook his head. “What was in that medicine? Maybe I shouldn’t take it anymore.” His eyes then widened as Sas, clear as day, entered the room.

“Is this a dream, buddy?”

“No,” Sas shook his head. “Grace…she was ordered to stay here by her parents. And her need to listen to that direction put this room in a sort of time warp. You’re in sort of a ghost world now, in a way, so if you can see her, you can see me.”

“And me,” Nancy made her way in, ruffling the hair of the small figure on the bed. “This here is Grace. She means a lot to us, and you better help her.”

“Mister,” piped up the child, who seemed very ill for sure, pale as the ghost she was. “Are you here to help me find Mama and Papa?”

Jay coughed and stumbled over to a chair, thinking it would be best if he wasn’t standing up anymore. “Sure, kiddo.” He paused and gestured for Sas to come over, whispering “and just how do I do that? Séance? Did her parents pass on already?”

“Yes,” Sas nodded. “I think a séance would be our best bet. Let’s get one more chair. Grace and Thor are close so if she’s gonna be leaving, he’ll hate us if we don’t give him a chance to say goodbye.”

“What about Hetty and Alberta and my boy Pete?”

“Not the mean lady!” Grace pulled the covers up to her chin, eyes wide with fright.

“Grace is not a fan of Hetty,” Sas shook his head. “Hetty is also not a fan of Grace. And since Pete and Alberta came along after Grace passed, I don’t think they can get in here. Just those of us who were around when she was.”

“All right,” Jay nodded. “Just a seat for Thor then.”

They found one and soon, Jay, Nancy, Sas, and Thor were sitting around the little table in the bedroom with the picture of Grace and her parents in the center. They began to chant.

“Spirits, spirits, far and near, from the beyond, join us here!”

They chanted this a few more times and then, at last, two new ghosts appeared, causing the little girl to shriek and the go into a fit of coughing.

“Mama! Papa!” Grace got out of bed and ran as fast as she could to the dark suited man and the woman in the pink dress with the parasol and hat. They matched the picture perfectly so they could be none other than Grace’s parents, James and Rose Woodstone.

Everyone was hugging and crying. Grace’s complexion began to improve, turning her into a happy, healthy child.

“We’re sorry we’re late, dear,” her mother apologized as her father took her in his arms. “But we…we had an accident, and we didn’t know how to get back home. We’ve been waiting for you to be with us.”

“She waited for you,” Nancy told them. “Stayed in quarantine just like you told her to. By the way, I’m Nancy, this is Thor, and over there is Sas. We’ve all been looking after your daughter for you.”

“Well…thank you,” said Grace’s father. “Thank you very much! Rose and I are indebted to all of you.” He turned to Jay. “And just who are you?”

“This is Jay,” Sas supplied as Jay was too surprised to speak. “He and his wife are the livings who own the house. He was the one who helped us get you to your daughter.”

James gave Jay a bow as well. “Thank you very much too. Thank you so much.”

Jay just gave a salute.

“Can we go now?” Grace asked.

“Of course, dear,” Rose told her and kissed the top of her head. “But first…I have one more favor to ask of your father.”

She headed over to the gramophone and turned it on. “Can I have one more dance?”

“Yes,” James nodded as their song played and he danced first with his wife, then his daughter, and then, at long last, after everyone got one more hug from Grace with Thor’s being extra long, the three ghosts disappeared, turning the room as dingy and gross as it actually was, just as Sam returned home.

“I’m back!” She called. “Jay, where are you? Are you in bed?”

“No!” Jay shook his head and made his way back to the main part of the house. “I…I got cold and was looking for blankets, and then there was a ghost thing that only I could solve because I’m sick, but everything’s okay now. I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Good,” Sam put a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. Take some medicine for that fever too. And if you need water or toast or something let me know.”

“Sure, babe,” Jay nodded, then stumbled.

“Let me help you,” Sam helped him up and they walked to the bedroom together, her watching as he tucked himself in.

Then she left the room and went and saw Sas. “Do you know about all that stuff he was talking about? Is it true or delirium?”

“It’s true,” Sas nodded. “Jay helped a ghost today. And he did really well too, despite how sick he was. How about we go in the kitchen and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Sure,” Sam smiled. “Why not?”

The End

Author’s Note: I would like to thank the wonderful imdefyingmavity for the plot bunny that inspired this fic. It was so exciting to write, and I hope that when you read, you enjoy! Also, the song that is supposed to be playing throughout this is Let Me Call You Sweetheart, originally published in 1910 (but there ARE versions of it on Youtube if you want to hear it from later singers too.)

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Francisco Marto (June 11, 1908 – April 4, 1919) Saint Jacinta Marto (March 11, 1910 – February 20, 1920) Feast Day: February 20 Patronage: bodily ills, captives, people ridiculed for their piety, prisoners, sick people, against sicknessChoose from paper or canvas print.

Francisco Marto (June 11, 1908 – April 4, 1919), his sister Jacinta Marto (March 11, 1910 – February 20, 1920) and their cousin Lucia Santos( 1907–2005) Known as the children of Fatima witnessed three apparitions of an angel  in 1916 and several apparitions of theBlessed Virgin Mary in 1917. The siblings were victims of the great 1918 influenza epidemic that swept through Europe that year. These 2 little souls suffered much before they died and offered it all for the conversion of sinners.

{website}

[theculturedmarxist]

Although many Canadians act as though the pandemic has ended, the airborne virus that causes COVID-19 continues to evolve at an amazing pace with devastating consequences for both individuals and the public at large.

The pandemic may no longer be a major conflagration but it still kills about 140 Canadians a week while morphing into a steady viral blaze sustained by dirty air, waning immunity and overt political indifference.

What was once a giant wave of acute illness has become a series of often unpredictable wavelets driven by ever-changing variants that can cause chronic illness. Long COVID, a disabling health event that can affect multiple organs and destabilize the immune system, now affects millions and continues to claim new victims.

A 2023 Danish study recently confirmed that about 50 per cent of those diagnosed with long COVID fail to improve 18 months after infection regardless of the variant.

Long COVID has taken a huge toll among health-care workers. Anywhere from six to 10 per cent of Quebec’s health-care workforce, for example, has been derailed by long COVID.

Seventy-one per cent of health-care workers impaired by long COVID reported that their state of health now interferes with their ability to function. Another 16 per cent said that they are often unable to work. Multiply this data across the country and then ask: How sustainable is this trend?

The cost of living in a ‘viral soup’

While the media focus concern on the potential next big nasty viral wave, evolutionary biologist T. Ryan Gregory says that threat seems less likely than before, but the current reality is nothing like normal.

“We are not dealing with Omicron-like waves but a viral soup,” Gregory told The Tyee. “We are seeing a near-constant high level of hospitalizations that falls just below overwhelming them but is nonetheless unsustainable. More health-care workers are getting sick and that just adds to the strain on the whole system.”

What worries Gregory, an expert on the evolution of COVID variants at the University of Guelph, “are the long-term effects of multiple infections and the sustained pressure on the health-care system and well-being.”

Yet the current impact of COVID — measurably higher than at some previous points during the pandemic — remains largely ignored or poorly reported.

Tara Moriarty, a University of Toronto infectious disease expert and co-founder of COVID 19 Resources Canada, recently tallied the imperfect data, and it is bracing. She calculates that about one in every 23 Canadians is now infected with COVID. We are not at the low point of the pandemic in Canada. To the contrary, compared with a previous time during the pandemic, infections are 25 times higher and the rate of long COVID is 19 times higher. Meanwhile the hospitalization rate is 13 times higher and deaths are 25 times higher.

In the middle of October, Moriarty calculated that COVID patients occupied about nine per cent of intensive care beds and 21 per cent of hospital beds across the country. (The average hospitalization rate during the pandemic has been seven per cent.) The estimated cost of this sustained viral assault is $274 million a week.

Governments peddling denial

Most governments seem intent on diminishing or hiding these realities. They avoid any talk about the effectiveness of masking in public places or the value of improved ventilation and filtration in schools and workplaces. It’s a demonstrated fact that the virus travels through the air in tiny smoke-like aerosols that can infect people at much greater distances than six feet, but the natural responses to this reality are not encouraged by our leaders.

Alberta, for example, now pretends that COVID is just another mild respiratory disease and reports its doings along with influenza and RSV activity.

Despite this push for “normalization,” only one disease stands out as a routine killer and dominant occupant of hospital beds on the province’s “respiratory virus dashboard.” And that’s COVID. COVID also dominates outbreaks in Alberta’s hospitals and long-term care facilities where masking and attention to ventilation have become haphazard practices.

Lumping COVID in with other respiratory diseases is also patently misleading. A recent Swiss study compared hospitalized patients infected with COVID and those infected with the flu. Those with COVID had a 1.5-fold higher risk of dying in hospital up to 30 days after infection than patients infected by influenza A. The death rate was even higher for unvaccinated people.

A 2023 Swedish study also found the death rate from Omicron greatly surpassed that of influenza patients.

And next comes the increased risk of cardiovascular problems. Medical researchers have long observed strokes and acute myocardial infarctions in patients after respiratory infections, such as influenza. But COVID breaks the mould here. Compared with patients with the flu, the risk of stroke is more than sevenfold higher in COVID-19 patients.

This is likely tied to the fact that COVID can inflame the vascular system through which the body’s blood travels. New non-peer-reviewed evidence suggests that even a mild infection can temporarily damage endothelial cells that line the interior of blood vessels.

COVID may begin with the symptoms of a cold or flu for most people, but it often ends as thrombotic or vascular disease in a small percentage for reasons researchers don’t clearly understand. The virus can therefore infect multiple organs from the brain to the kidneys.

Immune systems and long COVID

COVID can also unsettle the immune system by damaging T-cell response, as recent studies have illustrated.

These findings make all the more illogical the current, widespread blasé attitude towards the ever-evolving virus.

Let’s begin with diabetes, which itself stresses the immune system and makes it less effective.

Early in the pandemic, researchers suspected there might be a connection between having COVID and later developing diabetes. Now it’s confirmed. Earlier this year the Smidt Heart Institute at Cedars-Sinai organization in Los Angeles found that a COVID infection dramatically increases the risk for developing Type 2 diabetes and that this risk continues with Omicron variants.

“The trends and patterns that we see in the data suggest that COVID-19 infection could be acting in certain settings like a disease accelerator, amplifying risk for a diagnosis that individuals might have otherwise received later in life,” noted Susan Cheng, a senior author of the study and a professor of cardiology.

Another study found that the incidence of diabetes in Black and Hispanic youth has increased by 62 per cent since the pandemic. The authors noted that COVID can bind to receptors in the pancreas, resulting in damaged cells.

A Canadian study also found steep increases in diabetes after COVID infections. University of British Columbia researchers examined a large population of British Columbians (more than 600,000) and discovered that people infected with COVID had a 17 to 22 per cent higher risk of developing diabetes within a year compared with uninfected people.

Concluded the researchers: “SARS-CoV-2 infection was associated with a higher risk of diabetes and may have contributed to a three per cent to five per cent excess burden of diabetes at a population level.”

Related research has also demonstrated that COVID infection can trigger or lead to a variety of autoimmune disorders.

One recent Lancet study that looked at nearly a million people who were unvaccinated between 2020 and 2021 found that COVID cases experienced much higher incidence of autoimmune disease than non-infected people.

These autoimmune conditions included rheumatoid arthritis, systemic lupus erythematosus, vasculitis (inflamed and swollen blood vessels), inflammatory bowel disease and Type 1 diabetes mellitus.

A similar German study, which has not yet been peer reviewed, evaluated a cohort of 640,701 unvaccinated individuals with PCR-confirmed COVID infection during 2020 for the risk of autoimmune conditions. The researchers identified “a 42.6 per cent higher likelihood of acquiring an autoimmune condition three to 15 months after infection” compared with a group of 1,560,357 individuals who weren’t infected.

The researchers also found that a COVID infection “increased the risk of developing another autoimmune disease by 23 per cent” in individuals with pre-existing immune conditions.

The autoimmune studies confirm that COVID can be a significant immune deregulator. The Yale University immunologist Akiko Iwasaki, who has dedicated her lab to studying long COVID, notes that “there's misfiring of the immune response happening in the severe COVID patients that lead to pathology and lethality.” Even a mild infection can lead to this misfiring and long COVID, and this group tends to be women between the ages of 30 and 50.

Reinfection is no trifle

The autoimmune studies, of course, don’t tell us anything about the current crop of variants and what autoimmune or cardiovascular diseases they might trigger in the future. But the precautionary principle would suggest avoiding infection.

The highly regarded U.S. epidemiologist Ziyad Al-Aly, who also studies long COVID, has been very clear about the hazardous consequences of reinfection in terms of chronic disease such as diabetes, brain inflammation and heart disease: “Two infections are worse than one and three are worse than two.”

His most recent research shows that people with mild infections are still at risk for chronic disease two years after the fact. Patients who were hospitalized with COVID were at even greater risk for chronic complications.

“The concern here is that this pandemic will generate a wave of chronic disease that we did not have before the pandemic,” Al-Aly, chief of research and development at Veterans Affairs St. Louis Health Care System, recently told Euronews Next.

“Even when the pandemic abates and is in the rear-view mirror, we will be left with it after the fact in the form of a chronic disease that for some people may last for a long time or even a lifetime,” added Al-Aly.

The Tyee has repeatedly reported evidence that immunity to COVID from natural infection or vaccination is not long-lasting because of the nature of the virus.

The research now confirms that infections can even leave some people more vulnerable to reinfection. A startling Canadian study published this year looked at 750 vaccinated elders at long-term care facilities where COVID deaths continue to be high. They found infection with Omicron in its first wave actually made these inmates more susceptible to reinfection in subsequent waves. Counterintuitively, these people were more prone to reinfection than patients who had never experienced COVID.

“Our current vaccine schedules are based on the assumption that having had an infection provides some level of protection to future infections, but our study shows that may not be true for all variants in all people,” noted Dawn Bowdish, an immunologist and one of the study’s authors.

What our health leaders should be saying

The implications of these findings are plain enough. The pandemic has a long tail, and it can be found in a growing population of people experiencing chronic disease. Therefore, limiting transmission is still the most important public health goal.

We know how to do that but are reluctant to employ the tools. Masking in crowded public spaces or poorly ventilated buildings during periods of high infection is a proven viral risk reducer. Cleaning dirty air in workplaces and schools removes the virus and other pollutants such as wildfire smoke and should be an urgent public health crusade.

We might all take inspiration from what happened at one Australian school. Concerned parents studied airflow and then installed HEPA filters with the result that improved air circulation stopped COVID transmission dead.

Rigorous surveillance testing is also essential to inform citizens of the advancing or retreating COVID risks.

Vaccinations play a role because they can significantly reduce the risk of hospitalization, death and long COVID. But current vaccines will not stop transmission. Or end the pandemic.

In a recent study a group of U.S. researchers modelled a variety of paths that COVID might take in the future.

If repeat infections and vaccinations actually work to improve immunity and dent the pandemic over time, then models suggest infections and the incidence of long COVID should decline too.

But as Omicron demonstrated, community immunity is unlikely to be achieved via existing vaccines and especially at a time when vaccine hesitancy is rising.

In one pessimistic scenario the researchers posited that “a first infection may provide partial protection against a second infection” but the combination of new variants and complexities surrounding immune responses “could then increase the susceptibility to tertiary and quaternary infections.”

That means a good proportion of the population could end up with long COVID in the absence of effective public health measures and the development of a durable, transmission-blocking vaccine.

“More pessimistic assumptions on host adaptive immune responses illustrate that the longer-term burden of COVID-19 may be elevated for years to come,” added the researchers.

[ivandurak]

Two of the published clinical reports of yeast infection say more about human desperation than the tendency of the fungus to cause disease. Both concern instances of self-inflicted Saccharomyces infection. The first, from Columbia, Missouri, in the 1970s, involved a sixty-eight-year-old man with an unusual diet. He was a health food enthusiast who medicated himself with vitamins and, in a vein unrelated to his belief in dietary supplements, drank a full pint of vodka every day. Then he began developing symptoms of influenza and was admitted to a hospital. Nothing in the case history alarmed his physicians until the patient admitted to swallowing massive quantities of brewer’s yeast. The clinical report says that he consumed up to three kilograms of dried yeast per day, which is equivalent to hundreds of the little sachets used in bread-making. There is likely a typo in the transcript. He would have needed much more than a pint of vodka to wash that down. In any case, this gentleman developed fungemia that was misdiagnosed initially as a bacterial infection. His condition improved when he “was instructed to discontinue use of brewer’s yeast.” The second case is more bizarre. It involved Vietnamese refugees in a Hong Kong detention center who injected themselves with yeast precisely in order to induce infections, and therefore to be admitted a hospital. One of the patients was a teenage boy admitted to hospital with convulsions. The other was a woman suffering from shock who presented with a serious abscess in her breast, presumably at the injection site. Once they were admitted to hospital they absconded. In the column of the table reserved for clinical outcome, the report says, “Seen running away.” One hopes that these victims survived. Concern about Saccharomyces infections has grown with reports that they are associated with the use of yeast as a probiotic, as was the case with the vodka drinker. Probiotics are microorganisms whose ingestion is thought to bestow health benefits. Probiotic yeast is sold in capsules as a treatment for a wide range of digestive disorders, and as a daily supplement to maintain a healthy bowel function. The capsules contain a freeze-dried preparation of Saccharomyces boulardii, which is probably a strain of Saccharomyces cerevisiae, rather than a separate species. Nonetheless, it behaves quite differently from the strains of the sugar fungus used to brew beer and leaven bread. The association between the use of boulardii as a probiotic and development of yeast infections should not concern the majority of people who have benefited from the probiotic.

Nicholas P. Money. The Rise of Yeast: How the Sugar Fungus Shaped Civilization.

[pozzonero]

Anatomy of a callout, part 3

Shortly after the publication of the callout, Marianna the Influenza – a well-known feminist influencer/author, close friend of Giorgia Soleri, and one of Simona's original "welcomers" to Instagram - posts a direct link to the report on her IG story. In a personal note, she urges her 26,000 followers to bookmark the callout account in order to stay on top of breaking updates.

(Translation: "Follow @callout_influencers. Although abusers cannot be named for legal reasons, you will understand who they are.")

Soon thereafter – and seemingly unprompted – Giorgia posts a lengthy official statement on IG, confronting allegations that she knows something about the callout. She clarifies to her 700,000+ followers that she stands firmly on the side of "the victims" but firmly distances herself from the alleged crime:

(TRANSLATION: "Given that this story doesn't concern me and it already seems quite out of place to have to speak up, unfortunately some very serious accusations have been made against me from which I cannot but dissociate myself. I was not aware of any of the charges that were brought against a person who, by the way, is not even named in these charges. Imputing knowledge and therefore complicity on me and third parties is extremely serious and I ask you to realize the sensitivity and delicacy of the topic. My greatest thoughts and hugs go to the victims, whoever the abuser in question is. PS If you don't know what I'm talking about, please don't ask questions because we're not talking about gossip.")

Next, Laura shows her support by liking the callout report on IG.

This blink-and-you'll-miss-it detail causes the most damage of any action thus far. Before it appeared, one could defend Ethan in the belief that he had been misidentified and/or wrongly accused. But a wordless public endorsement by none other than his own ex-partner lends credibility to the accusation and silences anyone who asked for more proof.

Within hours, Federica Fabrizio - Giorgia’s closest friend and a prominent young feminist influencer in her own right - promotes the callout report to her own 87K+ followers, along with a cryptic caption.

(TRANSLATION: "A day will come when I stop surprising myself, but today is not that day")

As fandom descends into a welter of suspicion, accusation, condemnation, and rage, Federica follows up with an even more pointed (and distinctly triumphant) comment.

(TRANSLATION: "Sooner or later we will stop asking for justice and start demanding revenge, and at that point you will just have to take it")

On November 14th, Simona publishes a new story covering similar ground as before: emotional abuse, sexual coercion, unprotected intercourse, masculine arrogance hiding behind performative feminism. She warns that anyone could be an abuser– from your own friend to “a musician from the band you like”. Immediately following this story, she posts a video of a drummer performing (of all things) a Måneskin's biggest hit. What talent, reads the caption. The message is both coy and pointed: Fire your drummer and hire a substitute. Here, this one should do nicely.

In an echo of her comment thread brainstorming session, Simona also issues an explicit call to “name names”.

At this point in the callout saga, it is useful to look at who is following who on social media:

The above roll call dated November 15th shows a core group of five women whose activities are more or less enmeshed. Their association cannot be denied, nor can (in several cases) their prior connections to the chosen target. Right now, all focus is on him and his alleged but unproven wrongdoing. But the coordinated actions of these five women, the manner in which they implicate one another and give themselves away, will eventually need to be answered for.

So while we happen to be naming names, in no particular order…

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

[guardiandae]

“The Wounding Sickness” - Chapter 4/?

Fandom: One Punch Man / Original AU setting Characters: Healer!Genos, Hunter!Saitama, Original Characters Rating: M Word Count: 18k (so far) Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Folklore, Medieval Medicine, Hunter!Saitama, Healer!Genos, Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Poisoning, Illnesses, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Mystery, Vampires, Witches, Herbalism, Not Beta Read; we die like people from ye olden dayse - horrifically and quite preventably

Summary:

Directly following “Silver-bound” Genos sets out to join Saitama in his monster-hunting adventures. They come across a family in need, and a town where people have been dying from a mysterious illness. There’s an abundance of clues – too many, in fact – but the only thing for certain is that the longer they take to figure things out, the more people will die, and no one is safe.

Teaser snippet:

"This… wounding sickness… does it have another name? Might it be a strain of influenza, or some other disease?"

The vigil shook his head, resolute. "No. Might it be? That's beyond my knowing. But this is an affliction unlike any others. You may call it influenza, or plague. But in my eyes, and in my learning, I can only call it devilry. There is nothing of earth nor nature about this."

"What do you mean?" Genos asked, his brow furrowing. "We know very little of it still, except that it kills. What about it seems unnatural to you?"

The vigil was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating what he should share with them. Then at length, he finally spoke.

"It is no mortal sickness," he said, quite certain. "This is a spiritual plague, inflicted by an unseen hand. Some say witches. Whether it be devils doing the bidding of witches, or devils alone, I cannot say. What I do know is that the devils attack these victims. They leave their mark, and once the mark is upon them, their souls wither."

Read on AO3 - Chapter 4

[thefisherqueen]

Notes on Granada's Sherlock Holmes: the last vampire

This will be a tough one to follow for me! I barely remember anything about the story, except that it had something to do with blood, that a woman was wrongly and for rather racist reasons accused and that instead a young boy turned out to be the attempted murderer

Someone is burned alive in the opening scene? What? I don't remember this

"I'll stop if you let me kiss you". Wait. Isn't this her actual stepson? *a few minutes further* ok, that is not the mother, so not her stepson. Still very creepy behaviour from this boy. This comes a bit too close for comfort to me personally. People very rarely talk about it, but children can be the perpertators of sexual violence sometimes, as was the case for me

Ok, the next scene cheers me up. Laughing so hard about Holmes dressing up as a vampire and scaring the hell out of Watson

Why is everyone so scared of that grave looking man dressed in black? Don't understand that yet

Holmes, highly randomly: "This cup and saucers has been here for three days" he's so ADHD

Holmes: "Everything is better than this stagnation" *flops dramatically down in a chair* *assumes even more dramatic pose*

Poor Watson, he just wants some tea while Holmes is infodumping

Seems like Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke had the time of their lives acting this whole vampire scene, I love them so much

Holmes: "The world is big enough for us, no ghosts need apply" Ah, I remember that quote!

Why am I not convinced by Holmes' reason for being in possesion of vampire teeth? Never heard Holmes say 'uhm' so much *mind goes wild with possibilities* I really want to know that the team's thoughts were! Watson: "Did you put them to use?" Almost convinced Watson discovers he has a vampire kink here

Client: "Thank you young man, I'm not quite in my grave yet" Haha, love a fiesty old man

I adore Brett and Hardwicke exchanging glances and trying not to laugh as the forgetful client rambles on

Ah, there's the first death. Looks quite dramatic with all the blood! And oh, that stranger really had bad timing. And he's a descendant of a hated, cruel landowner who the villagers burned alive. Plenty of reason I guess for the villagers to be suspicious

So the baby died as well (they made this so much darker). Holmes and Watson go to the village to investigate and keep the village calm. Good concept, actually. Great expantion upon the canon story

Village life has changed so little over a hunderd years that I forgot for a while that this movie takes place in the victorian age, lol, until Watson named all the young influenza victims. Yeah, that was a thing back then. Not entirely related, but I wonder now how long it took before child deaths in villages really started to go down. The installing of sewers and clean drinking water supply made a huge difference here... but I wouldn't be surprised if it took a long time before all villages had the same fascilities as the cities. Anyway, as tragic as it always has been (and I read a lot of proza and poetry written by grieving parents), a baby's death still was nothing out of the ordinary around 1900. According to this graph on child mortality, 228 out of a 1000 children died before they were five years old in the UK in 1900. (compared to 4 in 2020. That's an astonishing difference)

Ohh, bats living in the countryside with lots of old buildings, suspicious!

The writer is very relatable. I, too, have a tendency to horrify the fellow people at my table with marcabre history and uncomfortable questions

Love the way Holmes enages the whole fucking pub. Loudy: "Surely there is no crime in this part of the country!" *dead silence*

The influenza epidemic running in the background really adds to the panicked atmoshere, that was a clever choice

What was that sudden hallucination (??) at the ruin? *some time later* Oh, all right. Glad they went with actual optical effects this time

I love the scenes where we get to see Watson in his role as a doctor, visiting patients - calm, caring, competent. Such a wonderful exploration of that side of his character

Oh, the writer himself is dead now too? That was quite sudden and unexpected. Damn. I liked him. He was creepy but in a good way. Third death and counting, because of course it's not over now

I hate how realistic this whole panicked reaction of the village feels. People see causal relations where they don't exist and do wild, irrational things when they're scared, we've all seen it over the years. I can easily see a group of conspiracy theorists digging up a just burried man in the dead of night and moving him

I like how it's not necessary the Peruian artifacs and beliefs that are portrayed as in themselves creepy, but what they become in the hands of two white people. I think you can certainly argue it's a portrayal of cultural appropriation

The finale felt a bit rushed compared to the middle part. Still satisfying, but why kill the boy off? (at least I assume he's dead). I would have loved to see closure in the village, especially for the parents because holy shit they lost both their children, and a bit more reflection from Holmes and Watson

I really loved this episode, it was so well done and may become one of my favs. Nice build up, delightful characters, a good balance of fun and eerie things. The only thing I can find fault with is that the timing was just a bit off, the middle part a bit to long and the ending a bit too short. Classic period horror movie meets detective story

[unwelcome-ozian]

Hi, this could end up being a really long ask so I apologise in advance, but I feel it's important you know about this!

I noticed you recommended Rauni-Leena Luukanen-Kilde as a source when answering some asks about Finland before! I would like to let you know that while she was indeed the provincial medical officer for Lapland region (never chief medical officer, as she liked to claim to any english readers of hers) at one time, her writings should be taken with a HUGE grain of salt. I'm sure there's useful information mixed in there, but she's unfortunately most well known for claiming things like: aliens live among us on earth, trips to moon are done twice every week, humans already have colonies in mars and do manned flights to saturn, that she has been in both psychic and physical contact with aliens and alternate universes, that the swine flu vaccines were/are dangerous because they contain microchips that monitor and control people, that streetlights in Helsinki are used to mind-control people, called the 2011 Norway Attacks a conspiracy, and a lot more. Most of what she said is simply not very likely whatsoever. One quote from a tv-interview she did is that the entire swine influenza vaccine program is/was just a global scheme to kill people to control overpopulation, and that pregnant women and children were selected especially, because the plan was to "eliminate the next generation".

Originally she only talked about believing in ghosts and that aliens exist and claimed that death isn't a real thing (because ghosts), but was otherwise a reliable medical professional, but after she was in a serious car crash in 1985 and retired from being the Provincial Medical Officer in 1987 (she was on sick leave for the entire time between 85-87 after the crash, and retired because she was not able to continue in her position anymore. It's implied she received brain damage in said crash, from what I understand, and never quite recovered) she started becoming more and more out of touch with her claims.

It shows in her writings- her first book from 1982, Kuolemaa Ei Ole ("Death Does Not Exist"), is simply about her belief in ghosts and that she feels she has proof of death not being "permanent" or "final", because she "received messages from the dead using psychography". Something that, while I don't believe in, was fairly harmless and just something she believed in and wrote about. At that time, she was also the chairwoman of the Lapland Parapsycholgy Association (Lapin Parapsykologinen Seura), from 1981 to 1986.

Her next book, from 1991, Tähtien Lähettiläs ("Envoy of/from the Stars"), is, on the other hand, full of her UFO-claims and how actually, aliens are all around us and talks about how mankind will experience "moral degeneration" and become "contaminated" in regards to that. Not a lot of sense in any of it. As it turns out she was also kicked out from the parapsychological association because even they started thinking her claims were WAY out there, and that she wasn't fit for the chairman position because of it.

From what I've managed to gather from online discussions from the early 00's, most people do not take her seriously, even people who actually do believe in aliens or ghosts. (My other sources for all this include reading summaries of her books, official records, interviews and articles from Finnish sources online)

According to the very few victims of/people with knowledge of ramcoa here in Finland that I know of, she has zero credibility and her claims are not only inaccurate but dangerous because while she does have some accurate things to say (i.e. US government is involved in mind control across the world) most of it is heavily misdirected and used to justify her UFO beliefs instead of actually taking any kind of a critical look at potentially malicious foreign actors in Finland, suspicious activity within Finland, etc. It's very much a case of "we have colonies in Mars and Aliens live among us but nobody knows or believes this because everyone is being mind controlled by low-frequency radiowaves, microwaves or microchips that monitor them 24/7 implanted when giving vaccines to people".

Personally, I wouldn't recommend her works to anyone- mostly because it's impossible to separate the grains of truth from her personal conspiracy beliefs. Sadly, there aren't really any Finnish sources with published work out there that are at least somewhat reliable, so I don't really have any alternatives to recommend to you, but I wanted to at least let you know what her actual reputation here is since whenever she is mentioned in English she usually gets given a LOT more credit than she should be, probably because as far as I know, her Finnish works were never translated to English and she didn't talk as much about these things in English (my personal belief is that she didn't go full-on UFO & antivaxx internationally because she wanted to maintain at least some credibility with international audiences in regards to mind control, behaviour manipulation and so on, and possibly to sell more of the english book she worked on right before her death in 2015).

Also, the back of her english book claims she was "the former acting director of environmental health and health education of national institute of health of Finland in Helsinki" - an institute by that name does not exist, and there are no records of her ever being even associated with any official institutes she COULD be referring to.

She also claimed (on the back of that same book) to have been "government of Finland representative in World Health Organization in Geneva", which is another blatant lie. She has never had anything to do with either the government of Finland, OR WHO. The ONLY international work she ever did was practicing medicine as a physician in Pakistan and Indonesia before she was the provincial medical officer, and this was charity/aid work. I believe she may have lived in Geneva for a while, but that's all there is to it. Basically, she lied about her credentials to international readers and the things she has said in her Finnish sources are so out there her claims make Svali look like the most truthful and trustworthy individual to ever live. I wouldn't trust someone who can't even stay consistent between what she says to her native readers vs to her international ones, especially when she lied about her credentials so egregiously to the latter. She knows Finns could actually check these things easily so she never did this with her Finnish books, most likely she just hoped no Finn would ever read her English work and vice versa.

Sorry this is such a long ask! I felt it was important to let you know though. Thank you for all the work you do on this blog!

Thanks for the information and sharing it.

Here’s a link to the post the ask is talking about. LINK

Oz