#after the masking mandates were lifted i felt like maybe they could | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1d1195 · 25 days

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Right Here Extra I

You can read the original story here: Right Here

This is just going to be a collection of little moments between them based on this ask from a sweet anon 💕 Hope you like it

~2.2k words

Warnings: vomiting, sick, nausea, etc. Otherwise it's going to be fluff, fluff, fluff.

“Cause you’re perfect, lovie.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” he shrugged so casually. As if he said it to anyone that was worried about their self-worth.

As if he hadn’t just thawed the last bit of ice that was in her body.

It was her annual physical. She was sure. The cacophony of sniffles that were in the doctor’s waiting room made her feel sick before any of the germs had a moment to really incubate in her system. She wished she had a mask in her purse, or they had offered/mandated it in the waiting room.

Because now she was laying in front of her toilet. A towel that was balled into a pillow and the cold tile her only relief from the flu symptoms that plagued her. She wasn’t sure she called out from work. She thought she did, but if she managed to actually call her boss in between vomiting she would have been genuinely surprised. But she hadn’t had the strength to lift herself off the floor in hours. Only long enough to heave into the toilet before falling back asleep.

It pained her to say it, because she would have died if Harry was to see her this way, but she longed for him. The way he would take care of her, the way he would dote on her. She could imagine his voice so clearly it was like he was actually rubbing her back soothingly.

“S’okay, lovie,” he whispered in her ear. “M’here. M’right here,” the figment of her imagination felt so real, his fingers cool on her clammy, damp skin. “Poor baby,” he murmured. She moaned softly, her stomach clenching and cramping even though there was long since anything to expel from her stomach.

The figment was nice. Like an imaginary oasis that she saw on TV shows when she was little. It let her drift to sleep.

After she managed to throw up again.

The tile was warm and soft now. The air smelled of eucalyptus and menthol. She groaned quietly. The pain in her stomach had stopped completely. In fact, she swore she was feeling hungry. Carefully she got out of bed taking slow steps because she felt weak and exhausted. There was no concept of time that she had spent while asleep.

She opened the fridge to get her water pitcher. “Kitten?” Harry’s voice asked, startling her so badly she dropped the pitched cracking and spilling it on the floor.

“Harry!” Her socks started to get wet. He grabbed her by the waist as gently as he could, mindful she wasn’t feeling well and didn't want to upset her stomach anymore than it already was. He lifted her as if she weighed as much as penny and settled her gently on the counter. “What are you doing here?” She grumbled feeling self-conscious. Her hair was off her face, pulled into a twist to the side of her head.

“Y’didn’t come t’work,” he bent to the floor with paper towels cleaning up the water.

“I have the flu or a stomach bug.”

“I know."

Her head was still pretty achy—maybe the hunger was doing her in but regardless Harry’s laissez-faire attitude about him being there was not helping. “What do you mean ‘you know’?”

“Y’didn’t come t’work,” he repeated. “I called you ‘bout ten times t’make sure you were okay,” he explained. “I was so worried, lovie. Then I saw y’on the floor—”

Her stomach rolled again—this time with uneasiness and embarrassment. “No you didn’t,” she whispered and covered her face. Harry didn’t understand her reaction. He tossed the paper towels in the trash and put the broken pitcher in the sink.

“S’matter, beautiful?”

“You saw me?” She croaked.

“Well—”

“Oh my God,” she groaned.

“Lovie, y’had me worried half t’death,” he repeated. “Why are you—”

“I am so disgusting and I can’t imagine—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he rolled his eyes and put his hands on her thighs. “Y’were sick. Nonetheless y’were still beautiful. Even sprawled on the bathroom floor...not that it even matters, lovie... I wish y’called me. I would have been over sooner,” he frowned.

Part of her believed him. That figment wasn’t her imagination after all. Harry really did come and take care of her and dote on her. Even though she didn’t call him, he still showed up. Her heart felt all kinds of confused because she was so embarrassed. Her hair was a wreck, and she was almost certain she smelled faintly of vomit. It was not a good day. “I thought I dreamt that you were here,” she mumbled.

“Yeah? S’that a good thing?” His smile had a smug quality to it. Like he was glad she missed him even if he was a bit distraught with worry over her.

She nodded. “I think I look terrible, but... I... I wanted you to take care of me,” she admitted. “That’s really hard for me to say out loud,” she added. But she didn’t need to. Harry already knew that.

“I know,” he assured her and cupped her face. His hand felt cool compared to her still damp skin. “Y’don’t look terrible. Y’look so much better than y’did when I found y’on the floor. Scared me half t’death,” he repeated, skimming the back of his hand along her face. He pouted ever so slightly. “Wish y’texted me, lovie. I was worried something happened t’you.”

“I didn’t want you to get sick,” she frowned. “You’re probably going to now,” she reminded him.

“No... I went to the company flu shot clinic like a good employee,” he joked.

She rolled her eyes. “Some of us had a budget meeting that paid for you to get that flu shot.”

“You’re mean when you’re sick,” he chuckled. Sighing, she pressed her face to the front of his shoulder.

“I smell like throw up, don’t I?” She mumbled.

He nodded against her. “S’okay. S’important part of the relationship.”

“To smell like throw up around you and look like I laid on the bathroom floor for a day?”

“In sickness and in health, lovie,” he shrugged. Her heart skipped a beat. Did he know how intense that sounded? Did he care that he was giving her a slight arrhythmia? That was a vow for people who got married and lived the rest of their lives together. They’d only been together a handful of months. He couldn’t possibly love her that much already. “Go shower, m’gonna make y’some soup.”

He paid no mind to her silent, internal spinning. She felt overwhelmed with love for him. It made her stomach ache all over again. A flutter that made her wonder if she had a stomach bug at all or if it was just the feeling of love for Harry with no place else to go.

As soon as she felt well enough to stand on her own for longer than ten minutes, she was going to kiss Harry until he couldn’t breathe and make him feel like he had the flu.

Harry thought if it was any colder her toes were going to fall off. The fireplace was on the maximum, full heat. He wondered why on earth she decided to walk to his apartment. “It was a ten-minute walk, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.

“I would have come get you, lovie,” he grumbled. Her stubbornness would never cease to amaze him. Her tenacity was one of his most favorite qualities she possessed. But the softness she allowed—like when he cared for her while she wasn’t feeling well—or right now, when her body was warming under the blankets, was when he swore he knew everything about her. Everything. It didn’t matter than she kept things from him. Little things or big. In the soft moments he knew her. When her guard went down he knew every inch of her. Every fiber of her.

He adored her.

“That would have been unnecessary.”

“It’s freezing outside, lovie. Y’could’ve gotten frostbite.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want my car to get stuck here. This made more sense.”

Harry frowned and came out to her in the living room. Leaving the cookies on the sheet on top of the pre-heating oven. “Y’don’t want t’be stuck here?” He sat beside her freezing figure even though she was snuggled under three blankets. Harry made sure her face didn’t get accidentally covered and that she had movement of her arms as well.

“No, I want to be stuck here. I don’t want my car to be stuck here.”

His frown morphed into a grin. He tucked his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Feeling for if she tensed because he pressed to close to her or not. “I hope we’re trapped for days,” he murmured.

She smiled and turned her face to his and stole a kiss swiftly and sweetly. As cold as her lips were, Harry thought there was nothing on earth as warm as her kisses. His whole body reacted to the gesture. Part of him thought he was frostbitten—the way his fingers and toes tingled. All she did was brush her lips on his and it felt like heaven. Better than heaven.

“I love you,” she whispered. He stopped, pulled away and looked at her for several seconds. Harry willed his mouth to move but he couldn’t. The shock was so great. The feeling and excitement so immense he was speechless. “Oh,” she pulled her arms from the blankets. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I was—” she cleared her throat, completely embarrassed. Of course he didn’t love her. She was insane. She hated him for the better part of two decades. Why would that suddenly be fixed with a proclamation of love? “Please...just forget I said that,” she stood and paced away from him nerves plaguing her and now being trapped here seemed like a horrific idea.

“Whoa, lovie...stop,” he finally stood up and grabbed her hand. She refused to look at him. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “S’jus’... y’caught me off guard,” he admitted with a shy smile.

“Well, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

He frowned. “Why’s that?”

“You obviously realized that me hating you for twenty years was not what you wanted in a relationship,” she looked at her fingers. “A claustrophobic baby is not what you want in a girlfriend and you definitely—”

“You didn’t hate me,” he smiled mischievously. Like it was a secret that only he knew. Maybe he did. Because there was no way she hated him all that time if she was suddenly in love with him now. Right?

“I guess not, but you obviously don’t feel the same way,” she refused to make eye contact with him and which made Harry unbelievably happy despite the fact she was so uneasy. As much as he hated to make her uncomfortable, something like this: an innocently mocking moment and still very sweet was one of his favorite past times. Like all the whispers he created at work.

“Kitten,” he chuckled. “I can’t believe y’said it before me,” his smile was so sweet. The kind of smile that made her chest hurt. The one that made her fall so hard for him—especially while they were away on business together. “I love you to pieces, beautiful,” he promised. “I jus’ never thought y’would say it before me,” he cupped her cheek and kissed her softly on the lips. All of her muscles relaxed, making Harry smile. “Y’thought I didn’t love you?”

“I don’t know why you would,” she murmured.

Her body was still chilled from the wintry air and he wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off and make her warm in front of the fire in the most primal way. But she felt so perfect in his arms. It was indescribable. He didn’t want to move. He considered quitting his job and quitting her job on her behalf just so he never had to leave that spot.

She loved him. She said she loved him. “Cause you’re perfect, lovie.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” he shrugged so casually. As if he said it to anyone that was worried about their self-worth.

As if he hadn’t just thawed the last bit of ice that was in her body.

Harry always sensed that she held back just the tiniest bit since they started dating, officially. It was the reason she was so obstinate with him. Never letting him fluster her at work in front of their colleagues, why she refused to move in (although he supposed asking her to move in on the first day of their real relationship was too much), and how there was always the littlest moment of hesitation whenever he complimented her—like she didn’t fully believe it.

All of that melted as much as the iciness of the outside air melted from her in his apartment. He watched the hesitation disappear in her eyes and he swore her body released the tension she had wound around her. Over twenty years of tension finally released from her muscles. Harry was surprised she didn’t collapse. “You really love me?” She whispered.

He nodded. “Course, lovie,” he smiled and kissed her forehead, melting her further. "Always have."

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fallingintolove · 2 years

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8th April 2022

it has been two months since our first date. it still feels like yesterday though. it is very funny to remember us being very shy around each other. i want to write about every moment of that evening. i don’t want to forget about any little thing, of our first date. the small nuances of when i first saw you, of how my heart reacted when i saw your face after three years; how you captured my hand in yours, slowly, like a a delicate flower being plucked in the early mornings; of how your eyes followed me every time my face got flushed and i avoided your eyes. i want to remember all of this like the back of my hand.

i reached early at the mall; as always the early bird. your text got to me the moment i was walking towards the entrance of the mall. that youll be late. and my overthinking started right at that moment. oh shit he’s going to ditch me; oh shit all of this was a prank. but when your 5 texts of sorries pinged my phone simultaeneosly, i thought maybe not; lets stop overthinking.

our first date was at a bookstore, at my insistence. entering the bookstore calmed me down, but not enough so i started browsing the shelves of classics and found some kakfa. i tried to read but my mind was on you. every footstep i heard, my head turned around and observed whether the feet matched the face of the boy i last saw during boards exams. finally, after waiting for around 15 minutes and trying my hardest to get into reading the precious kafka; i saw you. you were wearing a white print shirt with some leaves on it. you were coming towards me when you saw me, i raised my hand to wave at you, and you did the same. you removed the mask and all i could do was look at you for a second. last i had seen you, you looked different, younger in a child like way. you used wear glasses back then, you didnt wear them that day. i remember i told you you look different, and you’d said something along the lines of how its been years since we last saw each other. after a beat, i remember you said that you’d thought i was shorter, but i laughed and said i was wearing heels. we talked about what i was reading and you asked me what the book was about. and while i was telling you the basic plot of how kafka personified the essence of losing himself with the help of an insect; i felt your hand hold mine. it wound tight, i could feel your eyes on mine, but i was shy, i just looked down and squeezed your hand back. we roamed the bookstore, you asked me what i expected you to read. that question filled my heart, the mere thought of you caring about what i thought you should read made me feel warm. i decided to buy metamorphosis by franz kafka, as we were going towards the counter, you offered to pay for the book. i don’t know why but somebody buying, or doing something for me always makes me flushed. because why are you doing that for me?

when we talked to your sister later, you said something like the mask mandate is lifted no? i got the hint. i was still wearing the mask. you wanted to see me. so i laughed, and removed my mask; and yes, avoided your eyes. but in my peripheral vision, i could see your gaze linger on me for a few seconds longer.

we went to this all you could get store after the bookstore to hang around. we roamed the aisles and talked about complete random stuff. we held hand in aisles where no one was present. it was addicting, holding your hand; connecting myself to you. peak romantic moment of my life till then, holding your hand.

we took a roundabout towards the food court after that. while we were deciding what to eat or drink, i came to know about your lactose intolerance. i added that fact in my brain where all the things about you are treasured, cherished, remembered. we decided to just drink juice, too nervous to eat anything. you wanted litchi juice but it wasnt available so you settled for your favorite; pineapple. during the entirety of time in the foodcourt, it was kind of awkward to carry conversations, not because we didnt know what to say; but because we were both shy. i stole some glances at you in the middle of the conversation you were having with your sister, i was liking you better every second. i could feel you looking at me too. it was cute.

but soon, i had to go, the date had to end. so we walked down together and as the impending realisation of not knowing when we,ll be able to meet again came into my brain and i suddenly got a little brave; and held your hand. when we reached my vehicle, we stood around for ten more minutes, chit chatting about the littlest of things; both clearly not wanting the night to end. so i became braver for the second time that night, and hugged you. it wasnt a full hug, it was a side hug that my shy self dared to do. after we pulled apart though, i realised i hadnt wanted the hug to end, because honestly, i felt safe in your arms.

but then i had to go. so i went home, taking the memories of the perfect first date back with me.

#firstdate #roman #romantic #love #lovestories #loveblogs #couples #datenight #bookstoredate #darkacademia

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emveepea · 2 years

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A year ago today, I had a panic attack. I had never had one before, and I didn't recognize what it was at first. The entire week leading up to new year's eve (and I guess the months leading up to the end of the year really), my mental health spiraled. I had to make the tough choice of leaving my job in 2020 because I just didn't feel safe where I was. I was working and living away from my family at a place that didn't enforce its own or the state's covid policies. I kept feeling stressed, wondering what would happen if I got sick or if my family members far away got sick but I wouldn't be able to help them. But not having a job meant I wouldn't have healthcare in a country that wouldn't provide it since I was leaving my job voluntarily. And so many conservative-leaning family members of mine truly didn't know that or understand. They really thought I could just sign up and get free healthcare since I was unemployed. But that's not how even the expanded unemployment insurance worked at the time-you had to be let go or fired, and you did not qualify if you left voluntarily. And since I moved back to Mississippi, which has some of the stricted and narrowest eligibility requirements for things like food stamps and medicaid, even living off just my husband's grad student salary was just high enough to disqualify us for any govt assistance.

So with 2021 looming, having no job, no healthcare, having to deal with anti-mask conservative family, and being in Mississippi, who had at that time just lifted it's state-wide mask mandate, I truly couldn't see what there was to celebrate. Sure, vaccines were promising, but the pandemic was still raging and getting worse and it suddenly being 2021 wouldn't change that.

I couldn't have imagined a year later that I'd not only be vaxxed but triple vaxxed. I couldn't see myself employed and us having moved to live in a new state. Things did get better in 2021 for me personally, and I truly can say I'm in a better place mentally.

The scar of that 2020 new year's eve still hurts though. I could feel myself slipping this whole past week into that same existential dread I felt a year ago. Just the thought that we're about to be in a new year again but still in a pandemic with, again, no new public health policies to help mitigate the spread other than "well do what you personally can, cause we ain't gonna make any big and hard decisions. It's *recommended* to wear a mask and getting vaccinated but we can't tell you what to do."

Talking with friends and having a day job (well sort of afternoon job actually heh heh) has helped me stay sane, so I signed up to work new year's eve so I can stay distracted while the day can fly by. I hate that what the pandemic has stolen from me is the ability to optimistic and hopeful for the future. All I've ever wanted in my life is to live on my own terms, where I feel safe and have the space and grace to be myself and have a "normal" life after the traumatic childhood I had. Maybe one day, I can dare to dream again, but for now, I'm just tired. I'm tired of having to endure one hardship after another and to live another year in an "uncontrollable" pandemic. That's why I just want today to be a normal work day, where I get up and go through my now familiar routine of getting ready for work.

The only difference today is I'm making semi-traditional comfort food for nye: my family's recipe for beef veggie soup made with beef, canned veggies, kale, and most importantly black eyed peas to satisfy all the southern nye food requirements of (not) corned beef, (not) cabbage, and black eyed peas. Wth a side of savory and buttery cornbread, just how I like it.

I am thankful for the little things like being able to make these comfort foods, and for having a job that actually has policies in place and actually enforces them to keep me safe. For pushing myself to start therapy this year to deal with my childhood demons that keep haunting me as well as bad coping habits that helped when I was a kid but aren't healthy for me now as an adult. I know, objectively, things will get better and that I will get better and feel better, too. It's hard to feel that way right now, but I'm gonna try to just keep telling myself that.

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pennywaltzy · 3 years

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50. fireworks close enough to feel in your chest -- ShieldShock

So this is an unofficial sequel to @strangelock221b‘s “Fireworks” Duology, which you don’t need to read first, but it’s amazing and I think you all should. But enjoy this quasi-sequel for some ShieldShock cuteness!

Part Of The Family - Darcy's left alone at the annual "Tony Stark Does Better Fireworks Than Macy's" Fourth of July/Steve Rogers birthday party, and that has her thinking some thoughts.

READ @ AO3 | FIREWORKS SERIES | BUY ME A COFFEE? | PLEASE HELP MY FAMILY?

There were definitely perks to watching the fireworks for the Fourth of July from the top of the Avengers Tower. You were almost eye level with the show from the Empire State Building, and Stark had his own fireworks, thanks to it being Steve’s birthday as well. Steve had whispered in her ear earlier in the day that Stark was going to try and upstage the Macy’s crew, even though they’d been doing firework displays since the first, just like the previous year. Macy’s was from 8 to 10, so Stark was going to have to go after that.

The party was a rousing success. It was a combination of Independence Day/birthday party for Steve and was open to all of the Avengers, their families, and their closest friends. It had been a pretty rough time with the quarantining, but Stark had made sure everyone who lived in the Tower had all they needed, plus they had gotten vaccines as soon as they were able. This was the first big party since the mask mandate had been lifted in New York, and Darcy thought to herself that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Of course, she’d had Steve as a sort of personal buffer all day, but now, as the Macy's fireworks ended and she looked around, she had no idea where he was, so the creeping sensation that something was brewing started to tingle at the back of her neck. This was not good.

Maybe.

She was used to holding her own with the Avengers now, after so long dating Steve, but there were still cliquey feelings sometimes, of predetermined groupings that she didn’t fit into. As she looked around the pool area, she was starting the see the groupings, and there was nowhere for her. Not even with Jane, who was laughing at something Sif had said.

Then she felt two arms wrap around her from behind and a familiar square chin settled on top of her head and she relaxed. “Tony said the fireworks for my birthday are supposed to be spectacular,” Steve said.

“Didn’t he say that about the ones for the Fourth of July when you turned 100?” she asked, smiling.

“Well, he’s got something up his sleeve tonight,” Steve said. “Pepper is pregnant.”

“How do you know?” she asked, turning in his arms.

“She wanted to get an idea of how to tell Tony without him making a big deal out of it. Didn’t quite work out the way she’d planned.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I noticed there wasn’t a gift from you in the pile I opened up.”

“I have to change into your gift. Not the type of thing you wear out in the open, ya know?” she said, and she swore she could feel a slight tremor of thrill run through her boyfriend. “And no, it’s not star-spangled, I promise.”

“Good,” he said, leaning in to kiss her just as the fireworks started. But neither of them cared, continuing the kiss as the fireworks went off, so close she could feel the booms in her body when they happened. When he pulled away, fireworks still going off behind them, he rested his forehead against hers. “Marry me, Darcy. Please.”

She was so caught up in the sincerity in his voice that for just a minute she didn’t realize he was proposing. She pulled back and stared up at him, her eyes wide, and then a wide smile crossed her face as she threw her arms around his neck. “Of course I will!”

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, lifting her up. “Good. I had it all planned. I was going to go somewhere fancy, get down on one knee, but...this just seemed better.”

“No, it definitely was.” She let go of him and he set her down, just in time to see Tony announce there was going to be a Potts-Stark child in a few months. Everyone went up to congratulate the two of them, except Darcy and Steve. “We can tell everyone later, right?”

“Of course. I know Tony is overly excited about a kid. Don’t want to spoil his announcement by upstaging him.” He leaned in and gave her a soft, swift kiss. “We should go congratulate them.”

“A little Tony sprog is worth congratulations,” she said, reaching for Steve’s hand and leading the way. She didn’t care about a ring right now or any of that. As the fireworks kept going off and they got up to the happy parents-to-be, Darcy felt like maybe she really did belong to this motley crew of a found family. With Steve by her side, she did, at least. And now he was going to be by her side till death did they part.

#mcu #darcy lewis #steve rogers #shieldshock #fanfiction #fanfic #my stuff #steve x darcy #answering asks!#marvel cinematic universe #strangelock221b

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continuations · 3 years

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Mask Mandates Were Effective

Yesterday I took a day off after my second vaccine shot and promptly made the mistake of getting myself into a Twitter fight about the effectiveness of mask mandates (sadly the other party deleted their tweets leaving only my side -- despite making good points that had me thinking). I compounded this mistake by citing a paper that I felt (and still feel) provides data in support of such mandates but had attracted the ire of a bunch of epidemiologists who had called for its retraction.

The good news is that all of this got me to look more seriously at the data, as well as at other research. On the basis of this I am confirming my assessment that mask mandates were justified and that more states should have implemented them early on.

But first a step back. What go this whole thing going? Well I noticed a bunch of people on Twitter claiming that mask mandates never worked (and I suppose by implication should have never been issued). What do they base this claim on? Well in recent months it appears that states which have lifted their mask mandates have fared similar to ones that still have them as can be seen in the following chart:

Now I don’t find this convincing because we are deep into this pandemic and at this point people’s mask wearing behavior is much more likely to be influenced by what they know about them than by a mandate. This is not dissimilar from seat belts. If you removed the seatbelt mandate in some states tomorrow but not in others, I highly doubt you would suddenly get a massive shift in seat belt wearing behavior.

Why? Because people aren’t stupid. That is people recognize when a technology provides a real safety advantage. True for seat belts and true for masks for an airborne virus. This is different from saying that there aren’t some stupid people, because, well, there are.

So if you want to look for evidence of the effectiveness of mask mandates you have to look early in the pandemic, not late. That’s what the paper in question did, which was published in June of 2020. It accumulates a bunch of evidence from different sources, including the following chart:

Here is why I think this chart provides evidence for the effectiveness of a mask mandate. New York City, which was hit by one of the hardest early outbreaks had rapidly spiking cases. Social distancing measures helped bend that curve down, but there is another distinct change in trajectory following the mask mandate. So simply based on a comparison with itself (not with the rest of the US, which I will get to in a second) this is evidence supporting the effectiveness of a mask mandate.

Now let me comment briefly on the retraction letter that was signed by a whole bunch of professors. At this point in time we already knew that the virus was airborne, as they thankfully note in the letter. So when it comes to public health measures our prior should be that masks work. When you see a chart that shows a mask mandate bending down the curve that is further evidence supporting this position. In a pandemic with exponential growth potential every day matters. So asking for better statistical evidence, as the letter does, is an egregious reversal of the burden of proof. There would have to be strong evidence that mask mandates do NOT work.

Now admittedly the paper makes some silly mistakes such as saying that only NY had a mask mandate in April. It is true that a few other states did also, but if anything that makes the comparison to the rest of the US stronger, not weaker. I should also note that NY was the only state with a comprehensive mask mandate in April. In any case though I wondered what the data would look like if one compared the four states with mask mandates as of April 15, 2020 (New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Maryland) with the rest of the country. The data is easily available and it took me about 30 minutes of Excel wrangling (well Apple Pages, but same difference) to produce the following graph (blue are new cases in states with early mask mandates, green are the rest of the US both scaled to per 1000 person):

So similarly strong evidence that states with mask mandates (this now covers 47 million people or 14% of the US population) achieved a much bigger turnaround in new infections per thousand than did those without. Note also that this turnaround was much harder to accomplish given the more explosive initial growth in those states.

But might this not be a case of Simpson’s paradox? States peaking later and later could aggregate up to form such a pattern also. But looking at the state level data rules that out. The first wave crested pretty much all across the US by the end of April (even in South Dakota, which is about as far from either coast as you can get).

What about the fact that maybe some states had not yet ramped up their testing and were undercounting cases? Absolutely. It is possible that there would have been a hump for the states that had no mask mandates and hence a downward slope after that even without a mask mandate. But even with testing ramped further as time goes on (into June) new cases for early mask mandate states go significantly below that for the rest of the country.

Of course, it turns out not to be hard to find other studies coming to similar conclusions about the effectiveness of mask mandates. Here is one at the state level (also from June 2020), a later state level study using hospitalization data, and another one at the county level (in Kansas).

So bottomline: there is strong evidence from the early phases of the pandemic that mask mandates work and that they would have saved lots of lives had they been broadly adopted.

And notes to self: first, don’t engage in a Twitter fight on a day off and second, pick a less controversial paper to make your point.

#covid #masks

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unholyhelbig · 5 years

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Knock, Three Times

A/N: Okay, so you guys know that horror is kinda my element. Which makes me sad that I missed out on the first day. I did actually write something but didn’t like it- so I might post it later!

Fic Title: Knock, Three Times.

AO3 Link

Day #2: Accidentally Summoning a Demon

The hospital’s corridors were bleach white. There was no color to the hallways or even the rooms. Just an undeniable white that countered the fluorescent lights with a brightness of their own. Walls were devoid of posters telling patients to keep their heads up and instead were replaced with chain-locked doors. Deadbolted and impossible to move.

Beca Mitchell chose not to look at those doors, the numbers painted in black and chipping away to reveal even more white. She could still tell that they counted up in even numbers. A little window carved out of each metal slab to give the patient, the prisoner, a better view of the world. Which just happened to be a blank nothingness.

“Don’t’ feel bad for them.” The guard walking with her snapped her from her haze. One of those women who had probably gone straight from the military into a psychiatric hospital. She wasn’t like the nurses dressed in a sunny yellow. She had a gun attached to her belt and her features were stoic with knowledge. “They made choices that threw them in here, just like you made the choice to visit your friend. Most of them are killers and crooks just trying to seem insane.”

“Do you ever believe them?” Beca took to asking instead of denying what the woman had said.

“You can’t believe anything other than what’s in front of you in my line of work, honey.”

Beca decided to leave it at that. It was a cynical way to look at the world, but she understood. Women who drowned their own kids, and men who had purposely driven a van through a campground without stopping. All claiming insanity and sticking to the guilty plea. She didn’t strive to make eye contact with any of them, caged and desperate for an ounce of human contact.

They walked a few more feet before a long stretch of windows let in some natural light. It soothed Beca, seeing the stretch of barbed wire and chain link fence wasn’t the same as a beach view, but it told of a world further from this one.

The guard fumbled with the keys on her belt before pulling one covered with masking tape to the front. Room 113 was written in sharpie sloppily. “Right, well, I will be right outside of this door. You feel uncomfortable, or in danger at all, then you just pound on the wall three times and I’ll pull you out. Handle her.”

“What will you do?” Beca’s voice was tight, scanning over the baton she had on her leather belt, and then back to the gun that was a few inches away. “I mean, you won’t hurt her, will you?”

“Relax, sweetie, It’s a sedative.”

Beca didn’t’ know if that soothed her nerves at all but she again let the words hang in the stale air. She had the nervous instinct to play with her keys that she usually kept in her jacket pocket, but they had stripped her of the whole coat. Took her belt, and her shoelaces too. The tongues of her shoes flopped as they walked to their destination.

The metal door creaked open and the hinges groaned in exhaustion. She was hit with the instant scent of rot, not so much as fruit that had succumbed to the elements- more like an old library that was filled with leather-bound books, pages disintegrating the second gloveless fingers touched the print.

Her room was bigger than Beca would have guessed, not large, but more than a classic jail cell. It was white too, but some letters were tacked to the walls and a small window rested on the far wall, barred and then barred again. There was a metal desk and a bookshelf that was occupied to its capacity. They had started to pile on the floor next to the raised cot that had a folded blanket and one bare pillow.

Beca jumped when the door slammed behind her. The girl who was huddled up on the windowsill didn’t so much as look up from the novel in her grasp. Pale and slimmer than she remembers- Emily Junk looked dwarfed in the grey sweatpants and stained white t-shirt. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and her features were shadowed by the outside light. Maybe it was a better view than the barbed wire on the other side.

“They didn’t’ tell me you were coming.” She finally said after a long bout of silence. “I would have tidied up a little bit.”

Beca scanned the girl with wide eyes, those greenish-brown ones finally finding hers with an uncharacteristically simple smile. Too simple for the girl that was trapped in a mandated insane asylum, though, she had read somewhere that they weren’t supposed to call it that anymore. Something about rehabilitation. She had a feeling that Emily was never going to find her way back into society.

“Lighten up a little, it was a joke. It’s okay to laugh.” She spoke again, putting the book down on the nearby desk and adjusting her position so her feet were hanging off her perch. “You look good, California has made you tan.”

“I never went. I put the album on hold for a little, until the trial-“She swallowed thickly, trying to gauge a reaction, but she never got one. “Things need to settle down at home before I make a new one.”

Beca thought she registered a look of guilt from Emily, but she was standing before the other girl was completely sure. Crossing the room to set the book down on the cot and then herself in the corner. Beca could feel the chill of the metal door on her back, almost through her t-shirt. She was pining for that jacket that they had stolen and housed in a plastic bin.

“You know, the only people who visit me in here are my lawyers. And Aubrey that one time. That was in the beginning though.”

“You killed someone, Emily, can you blame them?” A type of fire licked at her stomach. She was told not to say anything, not to bring up why Emily was in here in the first place, that it could damage her recovery process. Beca quickly clenched her jaw shut and looked away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“You don’t’ have to tip-toe around me, Beca.”

Emily was standing again, directly across from her in the small expanse of blank space not occupied by an item of furniture. Her hands were slack in the pockets of her sweatpants. “What’d they tell you, that I’m liable to snap? To forget everything they’re trying to do to me? Not likely. You can’t erase something like that, no matter how pokey they get with their sticks.”

Beca’s eyes hardened “Why’d you do it, then? Because I’m not buying this whole demon excuse.”

It had all been so fast, raining the night that Beca got the call from Aubrey. Aubrey who had found Emily covered in black syrup in the center of a salt drawn circle. She had panicked, thought it was the younger girl's blood. That’s when she found the neighbor in the bathtub, draining slowly and meticulously. Beca never questioned the design the salt was in or the book that was opened beside her to a blank page. None of it made sense.

“You of all people should be the most willing to accept that as an excuse.” She lifted a brow. “After all, Beca you were the one that told us to stay out of the basement. Said it was haunted. I thought it was just a prank on the new girl- a hazing of sorts.”

Beca’s jaw clenched as she watched the girl meander back over to the desk with hard eyes. She ran her fingers over the dusty surface until they reached the spine of the book. Emily’s stare was filled with longing.

“What exactly were you doing down there all those years?” Emily glanced back up, stray hair falling into her eyes. “raising the dead was my first guess. But then I found that book of yours. It was naive to leave it out in the open like that. Though- I must admit, it was a bit of a challenge to translate all that Latin.”

She was still for a moment, who body rigid as if it were frozen in place. Emily wasn’t as washed as she had thought. It was a simple clean up, hide the book and she looked like nothing more than a girl in the middle of a salt circle covered in someone else’s blood.

Beca let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. What do you want, then?”

Emily looked taken aback by the question. What did she want? Beca was hoping deep down inside that the weight of something like that would puzzle her- the start of a smirk crept against her upper lip. It was unfortunate Beca thought, that someone as sweet as Emily had stumbled upon her book and had read from the darkest page of them all. A cruel trick. Beca almost felt sorry for her in the aspect.

“you’re going to get me out of here,” Emily said.

“Now, I think that’s asking a little too much, don’t you? I mean, you sealed the deal the second you opened your mouth about demons and some ancient spell to summon them. It’s called a secret art for a reason, Em.”

“I’ll tell them about you,” Her voice was flooded with panic. That was another mistake Emily made, confusing hope with the reality of one of her storybooks. “Your book, and your sacrifices, and your… your magic.”

“And who exactly will believe you?”

Beca could smell the bubblegum medicine that they made Emily swallow twice, maybe three times, a day. She was that close. Could see the paleness in her skin and the timid flow in her stance. She had bruises from IV”s in her hand and equally as dark ones around her wrists from straps Beca had failed to notice before.

“Emily, you know how much I adore you and your naive nature, but it’s just that, isn’t it? You say anything about me and they’ll just up your dosages. I think you got confused by my visit here. But if you stick to the program, maybe they’ll let you out one day.” Beca took an even step back. “I’ll keep visiting you, don’t worry.”

She swallowed thickly and tucked her arms closer to her body. Beca couldn’t tell if it was anger or something more. Stirring in her usually placid nature. “Can you at least stop the nightmares?” She asked.

Beca lilted her head with a dark smile and banged on the wall three times.

#hw192 #Pitch perfect Horror week #Beca Mitchell #Emily Junk #bemily #bemily fanfiction #spooky

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abujenna · 4 years

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discerning the body and reopening churches

Last week several of our local jurisdictions--particularly the one where I live and the one where I attend church--partially lifted their bans on public religious assemblies. For the past few months of response to COVID-19, we have been limited to watching services online, with no more than ten allowed on-site. Now we can meet within certain constraints--chiefly, at 50% capacity or less, with appropriate social distancing, while wearing masks. My mind has been on the manner of our coming back together, and I have some serious concerns.

Some churches are taking a conservative approach. There are those that reacted to last week's announcements more patiently and have continued so far to offer streaming services only, while they work out more detailed plans. Some--I'm thinking here particularly of the Catholic Archdiocese--had already put together comprehensive guidelines and were ready to start up with careful measures: limited attendance, no singing, marked locations to ensure distance, mandatory wearing of masks, health monitoring, protective measures in the distribution of communion, etc. Some even started with outdoor services, though by this point they were not required to do so.

Others, like my own Orthodox parish, seem more reactive. They have been chafing under the tighter restrictions, and the main objective at this point seems to be a rapid return to normal operations with as few limits as they can manage: congregational singing despite strong advice against it, masks only over the state-mandated minimum age of 10 yrs, and leaving it up to each family to carve out their own space for social distancing. (This is in a very small venue, with a few chairs around the edges and normally standing-room only.) They have not communicated a clear rationale for any of these details, but based on the frequent messages we've been hearing over the past months, my best guess is that they're focused on the importance of bringing the church together in person, receiving the sacraments, and generally prioritizing the timeless things of God over our current circumstances.

I understand the motives, and I sympathize to some degree. But it has felt to me throughout this crisis like something important was missing from our discussions. I'm beginning to find ways of articulating this concern, though I'm honestly a bit scared to ride the train of thought to its end.

One image I have is of return from exile. We have been prevented from assembling for a few months now, and understandably, we are longing for “home.” Now it appears we can go back, and we are anxious to do so. Maybe the forces that drove us away are still active, but it is worth the risk. But if we think of ourselves as a people in exile, what is the manner of our return? Will we take an individualistic approach, where each packs up his things and heads out at the quickest pace he can manage? Is it a race to prove our zeal by who gets there first? Will we team up with those who seem most useful to our cause, banding together in case we meet some resistance on the way home? Or will we remember that we are a people who have all suffered together, and that all must return? That the "home" to which we are returning is not a building but a gathering of the faithful? Will we stop to carry the burdens of those who cannot? Will we move slowly enough so the old and weak can keep up? It did not take ten plagues for Pharaoh to let the Israelites leave--it took ten plagues for him to let them all go home. What if Moses had given up earlier and called it good enough?

The other image comes from 1 Corinthians 11. Here, St. Paul chastises the people for the manner of their communion. In the early church, the Eucharist was somehow accompanied by a shared meal. But something wasn't right in the Corinthian church, "for in eating every one taketh before other his own supper: and one is hungry, and another is drunken." By their actions, they were despising the church and shaming the have-nots. Apparently there was some double standard by which the wealthier members were taking exclusive rights and poorer members were left out. Maybe it was an overt claim of status; maybe it was just that the ordinary laborers and slaves couldn't get enough time off work to participate.

But here's the point: We all know that St. Paul says to examine ourselves, and that the consequences of unworthily eating and drinking are judgment, chastening, condemnation, sickness, and death. But in this context, the thing that has him most worked up--the thing that seems to be the direct cause of these dire consequences because they're not examining and seeing what's wrong--is how some of the Christians are excluding others.

What then should we say about our present situation, where some are rushing to assemble at the chalice without attending to the needs of their weaker brothers--those who most need protection against the transmission of the virus? These latter could be:

those with less access to health care because of poverty;

the elderly, those with physical limitations or weaknesses that make them more susceptible, and their caregivers;

the essential workers who can't avoid putting themselves daily at risk of infection and don't want to spread it to others at church.

These "have-nots" of our current circumstances might look at bare-minimum protective measures and decide, however painfully, that they must sit outside and strain to hear through a window, or continue to seclude themselves at home and watch online. Meanwhile, the healthy, the courageous, the unencumbered, and those with access to adequate health care will gather inside without them. Perhaps some more restricted services will be arranged so they can show up occasionally, but then the church will be segregated into factions that already view things very differently and will now even worship in separate services.

We like to say that the Eucharist cannot be a disease vector, that it is the medicine of immortality. Personally, I'm not convinced that the two are mutually exclusive. But St. Paul clearly allows that by our failure to love others we could drink damnation, illness, and death to ourselves. I hate to consider whether we are risking such consequences by our current actions, but I wonder what he would say to us. And I wonder what the Corinthians might have said back then about how prioritizing the the things of God was their act of love for weaker brothers. After all, if we don't care about the body of Christ, what does it even mean that we are Christians?

#Orthodox

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tombeane-blog · 3 years

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Covid Kabuki

A few years ago I spent a few days noodling around the high desert in Eastern Oregon with Lucy, my Australian Shepherd. For those that think Oregon is just mountains, lakes, rivers and trees - spoiler alert - that's just the western third of the state. The majority of Oregon is like a for real desert with scrub brush and sage brush and everything - just like in the movies. It's also mostly flat where it isn't mountainous.

We were driving in an area where I could see miles and miles in every direction with a few low hills way off in the distance. The road I'm on is as straight as straight can be. Miles in front of me nothing more than a straight line of asphalt. Front, left, right and back all the same scrubby nothingness. Maybe a few bugs hiding under that tumbleweed over there - that's about it. I think it was Slim Pickens, sidekick in the old western movies, who had the best description. I paraphrase: "I felt like a bug crawling around on a plate". But I digress. Speed limit 55. I'm doing about 75. Then I notice a couple of miles ahead there is an intersection. Mirage? Nope, it's for real. Another road exactly 90 degrees from the one I was on making a perfect cross in the middle of my little piece of the desert. When I get a little closer, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a four way stop! The first thought that flashed through my mind was: "WTF?", or as the Navy Pilots used to relay to the carrier, "WTF?, Over". After getting over my initial shock, I started working through the possible rationale of the Oregon Department of Transportation's approach to this intersection of death. At first I decided that the decision was simply stupidity on steroids. Further analysis and reasoning led me to conclude that the decision was simply stupidity on steroids. I mean if they were worried about two drunks arriving at the same time at this place, in the middle of the night, wearing sunglasses, with their lights off - why not spend a couple of extra dollars and install a traffic roundabout. From space it would look like the cross-hairs on the scope of a hunting rifle. Or, if not that, then carry the stupidity just an inch further and install a traffic light. Giving up on reasoning out the state's reasons for a 4 way stop. I still had a more personal puzzle to solve. Do I stop? Do I slow down and roll through it cautiously? If I stop, will I feel like a good citizen? Will I feel safer? If I don't stop, will I feel like an outlaw, a criminal? Will I spend my life looking over my shoulder for the long arm of the law? Will I get an adrenaline rush from laughing in the face of danger? As I approach I look straight ahead. Nothing but road to the horizon. No one on the planet but me it seems. To the left? To the right? Just as much emptiness. I glance in the rear view mirror and I see two lanes running to the horizon. I look up expecting a highway patrol plane to be watching me - waiting to spring the trap. All I see are a couple of clouds. Throwing all caution to the wind, I speed up to 85 and fly through all four stop signs. I lift my finger to the sky and yell, "Take That, World!" Yesterday in the gym no one was wearing a mask. Today, after the recent mandate from our overlords, everyone was back to wearing masks. Did anyone feel their life was at risk yesterday? Does everyone feel safer today? If I was the only one in the gym would I feel like a fool wearing my mask or a criminal if I wasn't? Maybe it's just more stupidity on steroids. "The virus is coming, the virus is coming!" "Everyone must wear a mask - starting next Friday!" "Everyone must stop wearing a mask - starting next Tuesday."

"Comply, because if you don't, the virus will kill us all as sure as getting caught in a building fire." But what would our reaction be if the fire alarm went off at work and someone started shouting: "The building is on fire, the building is on fire!" "Everyone get out - right after lunch!"

I feel like I'm sitting at a four way stop in the middle of the desert. Not feeling any safer and not knowing why I stopped.

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cksmart-world · 4 years

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The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

June 16, 2002

OMG BYU NAMED FOR RACIST LEADER

What if someone said it's time to change the name of Brigham Young University. Eee-gads, duck and cover — and hide your Temple Recommend. Tasi Young, a one-time Mormon missionary, is calling on the big wigs in the Tower of Power to dump the name of their flagship university. In The Salt Lake Tribune, Tasi Young writes: “Brigham Young single handedly created and ingrained teachings of racial violence, segregation and white moral authority that enabled a social norm that not only oppressed black lives, but taught his followers that white supremacy was a mandate from God.” Holy smokes! Tasi Young went on an LDS mission and attended BYU. In high school LDS seminary he was taught that his parents’ interracial marriage was a disappointment to God and his black friends’ skin was a curse for their pre-mortal actions. “I felt [Brigham] Young’s teachings when I stood shirtless, hands in the air, under a police spotlight, on the side of a Utah highway, being unlawfully searched as my children looked on from our minivan.” Historically, blacks were banned from church ceremonies and could not hold the priesthood until June 8, 1978 when LDS prophet Spencer W. Kimball through “divine revelation” (and a little nudging from the Civil Rights movement) lifted the prohibitions. But don't hold your breath waiting for another revelation — Brigham Young casts a long shadow across Deseret. And what would they do with all those BYU T-shirts and, bumper stickers and other swag?

COVID, SHMOVID

So now that the pandemic is over, what are people going to do with all that toilet paper? They could put it on Craig's List or KSL classifieds — after all, a garage full of toilet paper is a fire hazard. One thing that continues to stump our social scientists here at Smart Bomb is why people always horde toilet paper, no matter the emergency. Oh my god, there's a potential for flash-flooding — quick take the pickup to the supermarket and load up with TP. Here at Smart Bomb, we have avoided the toilet paper shortage altogether by installing bidets in our toilets. After you have used a bidet, you will understand that toilet paper is quite primitive. It's only about a half-step in technology above what Neanderthals came up with 75,000 years ago using leaves. But we digress. Americans are sick and tired of Covid 19 and so they aren't using masks anymore — and just forget social distancing. All this while in many states, including Utah, cases continue to rise. But screw it, life has to go back to normal sometime and if that means old people have to die, well that's just the way it is. They don't do much for the economy anyway and they probably weren't going to vote for Trump this time around either. So, sorry, but we're not sorry.

POLL — ROMNEY SUCKS, DONALD'S DiVINE

Shocker! Polling of Utah Republicans reveals Mitt Romney is Beelzebub and Saint Donald is a gift from the Celestial Kingdom. According to a recent Salt Lake Tribune poll, 45 percent of Utah GOPers polled “strongly approve” (read-salivate) of Trump and another 23 percent “somewhat approve” (read-dig the dude). Our analysis here at Smart Bomb reveals that they believe Trump stands for Utah values: womanizing, lying and cheating and did we say, lying? The analysis by our political team shows they highly regard Trump's leadership as seen in the coronavirus pandemic and the aftermath of the George Floyd killing by police. In both cases the president has excelled in misrepresenting facts, blaming others, and boasting about anything and everything. By stark contrast, the polling results were not so good for Utah's junior senator. Only 19 percent “strongly approved” of Romney and an additional 24 percent “somewhat approved.” But more telling is that, according to the poll, 33 percent of Utah Republicans polled “strongly disapprove” (read-despise) Romney, while another 16 percent “somewhat disapprove” (read-he sucks). Smart Bomb's analysis reveals that Utah Republicans have disdain for Romney because the SOB keeps telling the truth. And in Republican politics, that just isn't cool.

Post script — Well buckaroos and buckarooettes that does it for another edition of Smart Bomb, where we keep track of Covid 19 deaths so you don't have to — 120,000. We are now well into the summer of our discontent — strange times where black men are killed regularly by police and white people actually care. It seems that empathy, the best of human traits, is on the rise. But like most things that matter, it is boiling up from the bottom, rather than trickling down from the top. In the 1960s and '70s, people used to say that real politics take place in the street. Maybe they were right. The protests that began with the cruel execution of George Floyd have awakened the slumbering American people. While they were sleeping, the U.S. became number 1 in the world for imprisoning people with 2.3 million. About 40 percent of them are black, although African Americans make up only 14 percent of the population. Our default mode is more cops and more jails. This is, in the end, a puritanical and punitive society. While we were sleeping, black people made little advancement. And though they live in a different universe, white workers, likewise, gained no ground. Even college grads are sucking it. They leave school with tremendous debt, continue to live with parents and see a bleak future. We're just guessing here, but it seems like keeping a democracy requires more than voting for politicians every two years. After all, those lawmakers know that money are people, too.

OK, Wilson, on that happy note can you and the band offer up a little something to bolster whatever it is we're looking for:

Don't you know They're talkin' bout a revolution It sounds like a whisper Don't you know They're talkin' bout a revolution It sounds like a whisper

While they're standing in the welfare lines Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation Wasting time in the unemployment lines Sitting around waiting for a promotion

Don't you know They're talkin' bout a revolution It sounds like a whisper

Poor people gonna rise up And get their share Poor people gonna rise up And take what's theirs...

(Talkin Bout A Revolution — Tracy Chapman)

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