#SO ANYWAY I truly hope miss cdc dies =)

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

so the cdc director was on twitter yesterday talking about the uptick in respiratory viruses going around currently and recommended vaccines, staying home, and...washing hands. Everyone else was like “Respiratory viruses, washing hands.....aren’t you forgetting something?” and she was like “No❤️“ and went to a summit with the other CDC director’s completely unmasked.

She tested positive for covid today lmfaooooooooooooo

[noromojustkeith]

Pippythewriter submitted to noromojustkeith:

Okay, so I’m Pippythewriter. I’m fanwriter who has been lurking in the shadows of various fanfic sites for several years. I’ve been reading fanfic since April of 2013. I’ve been a (relatively) silent part of the Voltron fandom for a little over a year now, and a lot has happened since then. I want you to know that after many years of not understanding my feelings towards other people, your blog personally helped me discover that I’m ace, and that that means a lot to me. Through your Tumblr I’ve found a handful of others in the same place as me. So in return I give you this story. It may not seem like much and it’s very choppy, full of typos and antiquated info, but I’ve never shared my writings and I thought this was a good start. I hope you enjoy. Introducing, October 23rd.

My apologies for taking a little to get to this submission; been away this weekend at a family event. But this was so neat to find when I opened my inbox today! I’m thrilled to hear that this blog has had such a positive impact on you, and flattered to death that it encouraged you to share your writing! (Which, by the way, you did a great job on! You have given me EMOTIONS!)

The fic in question is under the cut!

October 23, 2066

Kyle Kogane knows only 3 things right now. First, he is now 18. Second, he LOVES racing on his hoverbike. And third, because of the other 2 things he’s never felt freer in his life. That is, until he crashes. One second he’s speeding across the desert and he’s feeling the wind in his hair, and next thing he knows he’s got a cut on his eyebrow that’s sure to scar with his arm broken. His parents lecture him on how he should know better than to do things like this at his age. And he and his little brother Kent just nod their heads. Of course, mere moments after his parents leave the room his brother is at his bedside raving about how cool that was. Kyle promises he’ll teach him how some day.

October 23, 2067

A year later and that race seems miles away, standing at his parents grave hugging his sobbing brother close to him. He doesn’t cry, not until his brother’s safe in bed next to him after crying himself to sleep. Then he finally lets go, and makes a tearful promise to his parents that he’ll try his hardest to do better. To be the big brother Kent deserves, and maybe, to someday be even half the father his was.

October 23, 2071

A few more years have passed and now Kent’s on his own, and Kyle’s a firefighter. He’s working hard to save people from what he couldn’t save his parents from. He married a beautiful woman, they had a child that he loves more than all the stars in the sky. He loves her, Krolia, too. He misses her dearly, though he knows that she left to protect them. Which may sound like an excuse, but to be fair the survival of earth actually depended upon it. Now Keith’s a year old and the spitting image of his mother. Keith misses her dearly as well and is making it known by wailing his little heart out. He hasn’t said any real words yet, but Kyle isn’t worried, as Kent didn’t speak until he was 5 and he turned out fine… Well, mostly fine. Anyway, so he does the only thing he can think of and swaddles the kid and takes him out to see the stars. Surprisingly enough, it works, and Keith starts gurgling and laughing happily.

“I don’t know how, but I think you just figured out where your Mama is.”

October 23, 2075

Keith’s 5 now, and is about to start kindergarten. Kyle’s temper flares when they want to put him in the CDC class just because he still has trouble with verbal speech. He tries to explain to them that he taught Keith Morse code, and that if he has a nonverbal episode, he’ll use that. Eventually though, he has to compromise, and they agree that Keith can go to mainstream if he takes speech and if he sees a therapist. Kyle reluctantly agrees and after several hours with the behavioral therapist, they get a diagnosis. Autism. Keith, has autism. They want to put him on medication for it, but Kyle refuses. On the way home from Keith’s first day of school Keith has a thoughtful look on his face.

“Daddy?” He asks.

“Yes kiddo?” Kyle replies.

“What does retard mean?” When Keith asks that Kyle almost crashes the car.

“Who called you that?” Kyle bites out angrily.

“Why?” Keith asks.

“Keith, tell me who called you that.” Kyle repeated, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“His name is James, but what does it mean?” Keith asks, nothing but innocent curiosity in his eyes and Kyle sighs. Kyle was hoping this wouldn’t happen at least for a few more years.

“It’s…” Kyle tries to gather his thoughts. How do you tell your autistic 5 year old that he just got called the allistic version of the N word? “It’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Oh…” Keith replies, eyebrows furrowing. Before Keith can question further, Kyle interjects.

“How’d you like to get a soda to celebrate your first day of school?” Kyle asks, and Keith’s face lights up.

“Can I get strawberry fanta?” Keith asks and Kyle chuckles.

“Okay, just this once.” Kyle concedes, and the way Keith’s beaming is almost worth the headache he’ll get later from Keith bouncing off the walls (red dye number 5 is a truly terrifying foe)

October 23, 2080

Keith will never forget his feelings that day. The utter terror of facing an early death. The pain of the flames licking his cheeks and the smoke in his lungs. The crushing loneliness of realizing that he was all by himself. And the all consuming guilt that his father died saving him. Kyle Kogane died a hero at 31, just 3 days shy of 32. He survived by his 10 year old son and his brother who couldn’t take care of him because of a technicality. Keith remembers his dad’s last words to him.

“Keith, when I’m gone-” Kyle started, but a sobbing Keith interrupted him.

“No dad. You’re not gonna die. You- you can’t! You- you just can’t!” Keith stuttered, and Kyle stroked Keith’s long hair through his fingers like he always had to soothe him.

“Keith, you know I love you more than all the stars in the sky, but this is out of my hands. But no matter what happens I want you to remember that I love you.” Kyle said fighting off his own tears.

“N-no y-you-” Keith stuttered.

“I’m sorry kiddo.” Kyle said, as he closed his eyes for the last time. These are the things Keith will never forget. But there are things that he won’t remember. His first social worker’s name, the first family he was placed with, even the first year after his father died. He won’t remember not speaking aloud for that year, though he frantically tapped out Morse code to anyone he thought might listen. And years later he would forget what their home together looked like before it went down in ashes, no matter how hard he’d try.

October 23, 2085

“Shiro?” Keith asks tentatively, and he gets a warm smile in return.

“What is it Keith?” Shiro asks.

“Can you take me somewhere? Tomorrow?” Keith asks.

“That depends, where do you want to go?” Shiro asks.

“Nevermind, forget it.” Keith says, not making eye contact.

“Keith, I have to know where we’re going. Otherwise how are we supposed to get there?” Shiro tries to lighten the mood but Keith still won’t look him in the eye. Shiro sobers. “Keith, what’s going on, huh? What’s wrong?”

“I… The place I want to go to is a graveyard.” Keith states vaguely.

“Okay, which one?” Shiro asks, and Keith, of all things, blushes.

“I- I’m not sure what it’s called. It’s, the one in the city? For… For ‘fallen heroes’? I think…” Keith asks, unsure.

“I think I know which one you’re talking about, I can take you there.” Shiro replies, smiling reassuringly.

“Thanks.” Keith says.

“Okay well, if we’re going to make that trip tomorrow you better get some sleep.” Shiro states, firm but kind.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Keith asks, confused.

“What else would I say?” Shiro asks.

“You’re not gonna ask me any questions?” Keith asks, afraid of the answer.

“Why would I?” Shiro asks curiously.

“I don’t know, just… I don’t know.” Keith trails off. Shiro gives him that same reassuring smile.

“I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” Shiro shrugs, and Keith finally looks at him.

“Thank you.” Keith replies empathetically.

“No problem kiddo.” Shiro says, not knowing what he’s gotten himself into. He finds out at 5 AM when he hears a knock on his and Matt’s door. Thankfully Matt is still (not after waking up, but STILL awake) awake, and answers.

“Why if it isn’t Kashi’s shadow? You want me to get him? SHIRO! Keith’s here for your late night escapades!” Matt yells, Shiro groans.

“It’s 5 in the morning Matt.” Shiro says and winces when he realizes his mistake.

“Well then someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Matt says and narrowly misses the pillow that Shiro throws at him. “Sorry Keith. But it looks like it’s too early for your hero to do the one thing-���

“I’m up, I’m up.” Shiro protests and proceeds to get up. “Just give me a second to get dressed.” Keith nods and Shiro gets dressed. “Okay, let’s go.” The ride to the graveyard is silent, with Keith looking out the window with a solemn look on his face. “Alright, we’re here.”

“Can… Can you wait in the car? I won’t be long.” Keith asks, the tentative tone returning.

“Sure, take all the time you need.” Shiro reassures. He thinks he hears Keith mumble 'thanks’, and Keith leaves the car. While Keith’s gone Shiro catches up on his emails and gets sucked into a bizzare pun war with Matt and his little sister Katie.

“Okay, we can go back now.” Keith says as he gets in the car, and Shiro can’t help but notice how his voice wavers.

“Buckle up.” Shiro states and Keith nods, once again refusing to make eye contact. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Keith shrugs, buckling his seatbelt.

“Alright. But I’m here if you need to talk.” Shiro says, and is met with a contemplative silence.

“My dad was a firefighter.” Keith whispers so softly that Shiro almost doesn’t catch it.

“That’s cool. Did he save a lot of people?” Shiro says, and quickly realizes it was the wrong thing to say because Keith flinches. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.” Keith states weakly, but Shiro’s getting more because Keith’s shaking now. Shiro pulls over.

“Keith, Keith it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” Shiro tries to reassure Keith, but he’s inconsolable at this point.

“No! No, I… I have to.” Keith states almost resignedly.

“Are you sure?” Shiro is met with silence. “Keith…”

“You deserve to know.” Keith says, and this time it’s said with the determination that Shiro remembers.

“Okay, take your time.” Shiro reassures softly.

“My dad, he… He was the only one who cared about me. For a long time it was just the 2 of us. When I was 10 there was… Our house caught on fire. He gave me his breathing mask… We both got out but… He died a couple of hours later in the hospital. It was a little over 5 years ago.” Keith was trying so hard not to cry at this point and Shiro could tell.

“Keith I’m…” Shiro starts, but trails off. Instead he decides to start stroking Keith’s hair, not knowing that Kyle would have done the same thing. Keith finally breaks down, and Shiro pulls him into a hug. “It’s okay Keith, I’m… I’m not your father but I’m here. And I’ll never give up on you.”

October 23, 2087

Keith hasn’t gotten off the couch in 3 days. It’s been 2 months since the Kerberos went offline. 66 days since the Kerberos crew was declared dead. 1589 hours since Shiro… 3674598 minutes since he became alone. 94608000 seconds since he found someone again. 5720400000 milliseconds since he became alone again. Keith so desperate for a distraction that he used the calculator to do the math. He had to get up, so he did. He took his old hoverbike to the graveyard and visited his dad’s grave.

“H-hey dad I…” Keith trails off and there’s no one to stop his impending breakdown now. He wants someone anyone, to come to him and stroke his hair like Shiro, or like the father he tries so hard not to forget but finds slipping away little by little. He remembers both and cries himself to sleep when no one comes.

October 23, 2088

The day after the incident with Lotor and the storm planet is the day Keith’s been dreading all week. He hides in his room and turns off the lights. He knows that he messed up, that he should apologize to the team, to Allura. But the person he really wants to apologize to isn’t here and it’s his fault. And as if the universe wants to punish him there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey Mullet. Come on, open up!” It’s Lance, obviously. Keith doesn’t have the energy to argue so he opens the door wordlessly and let’s Lance in. “Hunk made those amazing arepas for breakfast you have t-”

“Lance is there something important you want to talk about?” Keith says, feeling guilty but wanting Lance to let him suffer in silence.

“Well I just wanted to cheer you up, but since you insist on being the broody loner why don’t we talk about how you totally demeaned Allura’s idea that she was totally right about, by the way.” Lance states angrily.

“I messed up okay! You try leading!” Keith retorts defensively.

“Here we go again! Keith gets to be leader and he’s pouting about it!” Lance replies.

“Do you think this is easy?” Keith asks.

“I think we deserve better!” Lance answers.

“Do you think I don’t know that?! Do you think I WANT this?!” Keith yells, and Lance is taken aback.

“What?” Lance asks, startled.

“How do you think I feel?! Knowing I’m failing the team, that I’m failing the ONE PERSON THAT CARES ABOUT ME! Knowing that my dad would have been 40 today and that the universe would have been better off if he’d put the STUPID MASK on himself instead of ME!” By the end of his rant Keith is panting and tears are running down his face. Lance doesn’t know what to say.

“What did that last part mean?” Lance asks, afraid of the answer.

“What?” Keith asks.

“The last thing you said, the part about your dad.” Lance answers.

“What are you talking about?” Keith asks and Lance gets upset.

“You KNOW what I’m talking about, the part where you said you SHOULD HAVE DIED instead of your dad.” Lance states on the verge of tears.

“Just forget about it.” Keith blows it off.

“Now you see I can’t forget it, because ONE OF MY CLOSEST FRIENDS JUST SAID THAT THEY WISH WERE DEAD, and that is NOT I repeat NOT okay!” Lance is crying now.

“I’m sorry.” Keith chokes out.

“You don’t have to be sorry, you just need to ask for help.” Lance states firmly.

“I just… I don’t know how.” Keith stutters, still holding it in. Lance pulls him in for a hug, and strokes his hair. Keith finally let’s go.

“… Lance?” Keith mumbles.

“Yeah buddy?” Lance asks.

“I… I need help.”

[torisaysyeet]

Curing Day

 By Dustin Adams

June 11, 2013

Every year, a few more kids from my elementary school vanish from people's memories. Today, we've arranged our desks in a circle and Mrs. Witherspoon is explaining that Tracy Peters has gone to a better place.

Tracy was struck by a car while riding her bike. She will be remembered until our next dose of Pathway. Then, only I'll remember her.

Pathway doesn't work on me. Well, the anti-aging portion does: I'm still nine, but I never forget. I'm the fifty-five pound elephant in the room.

I puff a stray lock of curly hair off my eyes and Mrs. Witherspoon scowls at me. The curls are from my mother's side. My father insisted my hair be kept short. Said I looked like a girl when it got too long.

I miss my parents.

Next to me, Tracy's best friend, Charlie, whimpers. Charlie's a girl. Short for Charlene.

I pat Charlie on the shoulder. "I miss Tracy, too." She nods agreeably and I'm struck by a profound sadness. After our next dose of Pathway, Charlie won't remember Tracy. She'll revert to her carefree self, but I'll always remember the short-haired brunette who loved ponies and dresses and--

"But Pathway is coming," says Mrs. Witherspoon with a burst of positive energy. "Soon, we'll have a cure for aging and we won't ever lose our friends or parents." She looks at me. She knows intellectually that I had parents, and she knows they're gone, but she doesn't remember their names.

"Accidents still happen," I say with malice and all the puffy, teary eyes in the room glare at me.

During recess I lean against rusty monkey bars with my hands jammed in my heavily patched corduroys. The air carries that first scent of winter and gentle breezes knock yellow and orange oak leaves free from their branches.

Fall. The perfect season to introduce Pathway to the world. What's left of it, anyway. For a while I kept up with the world's declining population, but my computer rotted away and I can't afford a new one.

"Shamus, want to play kickball with us?"

Kickball loses its luster after the first dozen years or so.

A gust of wind blows my hair into my eyes. I brush it back and I'm glad I can cut it again, tomorrow. After my dose of Pathway, I'll need to fit in.

I glance at the home-run fence, and despite my disinterest I can't help but wonder, with the wind, could I at last clear that sucker with a good, swift kick?

"Sure," I say and take my position in the outfield.

"What Pathway means to me, By Jimmy Nelson."

I slump in my little wooden seat. Jimmy's speech is my least favorite. He wishes Pathway could've saved his cat, Spotty.

He doesn't remember Spotty, but there's pictures of her all over his room, so he knows he had a cat named Spotty at some point. Pathway isn't for animals. They wither around us and fade into aging picture frames along with those who died in car accidents.

Two gray fortress-sized buses rumble into the cul-de-sac in front of the school. My classmates and Mrs. Witherspoon press their faces against the glass windows, fogging them up. Today is unusually cold for the start of autumn. Below freezing.

The CDC has come with our Pathway shots.

Mrs. Witherspoon covers her heart with one hand while the other thumbs her Rosary beads. Pathway is her salvation.

We take turns receiving our shots. Mrs. Witherspoon holds each of our hands, one after the other. We get little cartoon Band-Aids for our shoulders and I wonder what mine will be this year. It's one of the few remaining unpredictable events of Curing Day.

"Shamus, it's your turn. Don't be afraid."

For the first time, I hesitate to sit in the familiar chair.

"I'm not afraid," I say to cover up my very real fear. Am I through with Pathway? Will I become the next empty desk? Will they forget me like they do the others? My little pause leads me to wonder whether I've truly grown weary of the same routine, of living alone, of nothing ever changing.

I dutifully sit and stare deep into the CDC man's eyes. He's the same man who gave me my first shot. I burrow past the blue irises and try to read his thoughts. Can he see the wisdom in my eyes?

Pathway was supposed to stop us from aging and dying, but instead it froze the planet. I like to believe someone's out there working on a cure for the cure. I still hold out hope that someday I'll grow to be a man and have a wife and perhaps kids of my own. Unlike Mrs. Witherspoon.

"There you go, son."

He sticks a Scooby-doo Band-Aid on my shoulder and gives me an empty smile. He too is a victim of Pathway.

Our desks are aligned in a circle. There's several seats on the fringes covered in layers of dust. They haven't been part of this circle for many years.

Jimmy Nelson died in a house fire last night.

I find I'm exceptionally saddened by this. Despite Jimmy's maddening yearly speech, and his stunted maturity, I considered him a friend.

I sift through my memories of Jimmy and cover a burgeoning smile with my hand so no one sees. I'm remembering the day Jimmy rolled the kickball my way. There was a mighty wind blowing and after making contact with my foot, and echoing that unique, rubber kick-ball poing, the ball sailed over the home-run fence.

When was that? I count back. A decade ago.

I'll have to try again. Make a new memory with a new pitcher. Then maybe I'll forget Jimmy, too.

I feel my face screw up and tears spring into my eyes, and I allow myself to cry for Jimmy with the others--while they're still here.

---

Came across this story on https://dailysciencefiction.com/ because I needed a short story for a project. It actually caught me off guard how good it was. Utilizing this story, with proper credit of course, I’ll be making a two page spread for my Computer Graphics class, kind of like one you’d see in an intermediate school textbook. 

This story gives me vibes like things I read around that age. The Most Dangerous Game, The Monkey’s Paw, and others. I’m eager to get started on the project.