#( WAIT I HAD MY SCREEN IN WRONG MODE THESE LOOK.. AHEM. )

[typhoonstrikes]

『TRIGUN STAMPEDE』  episode 4  「HUNGRY!」  preview

[redqueen-hypothesis]

eye spy ➳ gavin (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x gavin (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1704

➳ GENRE: fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: gavin is away on a mission and gives you terrible life updates. you’re forced to resort to more... underhanded means.

➳ REMARKS: based on this one scene from descendants of the sun because it was so cute-

Gavin’s away on a mission again.

Pouting, you glance at the clock on the wall, dressed comfortably in one of his tees, the collar slipping of your bare shoulder. The mission this time is supposed to last for a week, and it’s been three days without him. Now that he’s gone, you realise just how much you had gotten used to his presence in your life. When you’re cooking dinner, you measure out two portions of rice instead of one. When you wake up with your cheek pillowed on your arms and your laptop still running in front of you, you wonder groggily for a moment why Gavin hadn’t woken you - only to realise that he’s away.

It’s the first time he’s been away from you so long since you’ve started dating. You miss him, the thought of him lingering at the back of your mind whenever you’re at work, when you’re home, when the ginkgo leaves fall, when the wind caresses your face.

You remember him saying once, that he feels you in the wind no matter where you are. When the breeze touches your cheeks, is he thinking about you too?

Knowing Gavin, he’d probably say something cheesy - like he’s always thinking about you. You’d smile at him and tease him, your own cheeks pink as you look at the sincerity in his gaze, heart so full of love you feel overwhelmed. With a longing sigh, you flop back onto the bed and glance at the clock again.

Almost eleven...

The wind comes in and stirs the tiny silver bells on your ginkgo leaf wind chime, and you smile at the thought that he might be thinking about you right now. You’ll never know for sure, but it’s nice to think about. You’re definitely thinking about him all the time.

When you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the sound of his breathing next to you, the gentle warmth that radiates off his body as he shifts on the bed while reading through mission reports and briefings. You’ve always cherished time spent with him, but now, the memories of your moments together are treasured a little closer to your heart.

Your phone rings.

Excitement lights up your face and you’re racing to grab your phone, raising to your ear with the brightest smile on your face.

“Eli!”

>>>

Three days feels like far too long without you.

Gavin sits at the edge of his bunk bed fresh from the shower, toweling his hair dry. It’s been three days since he’s left on his mission, and with each day, the ache to see you again only grows more and more. He wants to hold you in his arms, breathe in the scent of you and bury his face in your hair. Unfortunately, all he has on this mission is-

“Yo, Gavin. I’ll be stepping out for a while now, I’ve got a call to take.” Eli calls merrily from the door, brown eyes crinkling and waving his phone in his hand. There’s a bright grin on his face. Gavin nods, mildly curious as he reaches for his shirt slung over the headboard. “Who is it?”

He does call you every day when he’s able, but he can’t quite stand being on the phone with you for long. Gavin has never been one for idle conversation anyway, and calling you only reminds him of much he misses you, how he can’t embrace you and see your eyes shining up at him. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder, he thinks to himself with a rueful smile. He wasn’t aware that he could love you more than he already does, but this only proves him wrong - he still has a long way to go.

“A very important woman.” Eli answers vaguely, a grin growing uncontrollably on his face. Gavin stares for a moment longer, cogs and gears in his brain shifting before he frowns at Eli. “You got a girlfriend?”

Eli laughs, stepping outside. “That’s for me to know and for you never to find out!” His voice echoes down the hallway.

Gavin makes a face, before he looks down at his own phone. The screen lights up with a picture of the two of you together at the Alps, your lips at his cheek and your eyes sparkling. His own eyes are a gentle amber, a expression on his face that’s so tender he almost doesn’t recognise himself. But he’s looking at you, so he understands - he never feels as happy as he does when he’s with you.

Eli’s laughter rings down the hallway, and Gavin sighs for a moment, wishing it was yours instead.

He buries his head in the pillow and closes his eyes, wishing that time would pass faster.

The week can’t be over fast enough.

>>>

“I just managed to get away from Gavin.” Eli whispers into the phone and you make a soft sound of horror, a hand rising to cover your mouth even though you know Gavin can’t possibly hear you.

“You’re doing great.” You whisper back, your own voice hushed. “So? How was it today?”

“Ahem, reporting to commanding officer.” Eli clears his throat, slipping into what he calls his ‘work mode’. You giggle a little at his theatrics, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “Today, the target woke up at 0500 and spent five minutes looking at a photo of him and his girlfriend before leaving for a jog around the running track. He then proceeded to take a shower and head down for breakfast.”

You nod seriously, tugging at the hem of Gavin’s shirt. You can imagine how he looks, he tends to come out of the shower without a top, beads of water from the shower still trickling down his chest and stomach with a towel slung around his neck. You love to greet him with a kiss and a cup of morning coffee, or with sometimes more enthusiastic means. “Did he eat the vitamins I packed for him?”

“Yes, ma’am. The target counted out all of them and ate them with a smile.” Eli reports, and a smile spreads over your face at the thought. “He then went on a confidential mission at 1430, and returned safely at 1926.”

“Did he get hurt anywhere?” The words spill out of your mouth, worried. “Anything life threatening? Did he-”

“The target is unharmed except for a few cuts and scrapes, officer.” Eli soothes you, but you can’t help but frown at the thought of him injured. “At 2000 he headed down to the gym to work out, using the treadmill for an hour before moving onto dumbbells, increasing the weight five kilos at a time. At 2158 he headed into the bunks for a shower, and-”

The call suddenly falls silent.

“And?” You tilt your head to the side, eager to know more. “What did he do after the shower?”

“A-at 2207, the target has made eye contact.” Eli stammers, and you freeze for a moment, eyes wide. Your agent has been discovered.

“Whoa, must be nice.” You pout, enviously. Over the phone, you can hear heavy footfalls of booted feet approaching, and Eli mumbles into the call. “The target is approaching slowly, one step at the time. Five meters, four meters...”

“Eli, is that my girlfriend you’re talking to?”

You hear Eli’s weak, defeated chuckle. “Ahh... what should I do, commanding officer?”

“I don’t know,” you say playfully, trying to fight the smile on your face at the sound of Gavin’s voice over the phone. You’ll never get tired of it, you think. “Self destruct?”

“Hand the phone over, spy.”

There’s the sound of the phone shifting hands. You wait, mouth dry with anticipation, before Gavin’s voice finally filters into your ears. “Was this your idea?”

You giggle uncontrollably at his words. “I apologise, sir. Please let my subordinate go. I’m the true mastermind behind all of this.”

“You could have just called me instead.” You can almost hear the exasperated, fond smile in his voice and hum to yourself, chest squeezing at the thought of him. “Why did you have to go through all this effort just to hear Eli report about my day?”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Gavin.” You try to make your voice as stern as possible. “But you weren’t intending to tell me about your injuries today, did you?”

Gavin hesitates, and you can hear him swallow. “... I didn’t think they were that big of a deal. It’s nothing major, just-”

“Ahh, I cut myself while chopping onions for dinner earlier. It’s a small cut, but it’s completely fine.” You tell him breezily, and instantly he’s barraging you with questions, worried for your health.

“Did you put a plaster on it? How deep was the cut? Did you-”

“See?” You say meaningfully into the phone, and Gavin abruptly falls silent once more. Then, in a small voice, he speaks again.

“It’s different.”

You giggle at his embarrassment. “So, until the standard of your reports are up to par with Eli, I’ll keep calling him.”

A moment of silence. “...I’ll tell you everything from now on.”

“Mmhmm, if you say so.” You smile, cradling the phone to your face. It’s almost as if he’s right next to you, and you can imagine the tips of his ears turning red as usual when he’s flustered. “Then Eli is formally discharged from his duty.”

“Finally,” Eli’s exaggeratedly loud voice comes from somewhere behind Gavin, and you try to stifle a giggle. “I can stop being reminded every day of the fact that I’m still single. I’ve had enough of being a third wheel! Once this mission is over, I’m going to get a girlfriend of my own-”

Gavin lets out a snort at his friend’s antics before turning his attention back to you.

“Four more days.” He murmurs quietly, and your breath catches in your throat at the longing in his voice. “Can you wait for me four more days?”

You smile gently, leaning into the phone. Your heart throbs with how much it aches for him, but you manage to reply in a clear voice to let him know your sincerity.

“I’d wait my entire life if I had to.”

[patricianandclerk]

Dun.

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | On Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

He had been waiting, patiently. Or— He hadn’t, exactly. Neither waiting nor patience were especial watchwords for Anthony J. Crowley, and so what he’d really been doing was pacing around his flat waiting for words from on high – or, that is to say, on low. He hadn’t had words from on high for quite some time.

It’s been a few days.

All has, theoretically, gone back to normal.

All, except…

He flicked on the television, which had not been the most expensive in the shop, but had been the one with the most complicated remote, and that had rather appealed. He liked it when technology seemed very complicated to operate, and he ordinarily enjoyed the meditative nature of flicking through thirty buttons to do something as simple as turn the volume down a fraction.

Static played from the television.

“Hello?” he asked, cautiously, in the voice of one torn between hoping for one result or the other

No answer.

“Listen,” he said, “I’ve not had any orders, or any check-ins since… since it all went down, you know.”

No answer. The static buzzed, and Crowley began cycling through buttons. S4C, the Welsh-language television channel, flickered onto the screen, and he finally managed to turn the volume up slightly. He waited with bated breath for the melodic, easy sounds of Welsh to morph into the buzzing tones of one of his superiors.

It didn’t happen.

He flicked the television off, with only six wrong tries before he got the right button.

He’d been to the graveyard. Every other Tuesday was the meeting time, usually, and yet this Tuesday… No one. Nobody.

He moved toward the phone, but before he could reach for it, it rang, and he picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “has nobody talked to you either?”

“Not a word,” Aziraphale said anxiously. He didn’t at all seem perturbed by the fact that Crowley knew who was calling. Perhaps he assumed that Crowley had some sort of technology to identify who was calling him[1]. “You don’t think…?”

“Well, he said put everything back to normal,” Crowley said.

“More or less,” Aziraphale muttered, without faith. “Have you, er, tried… Tried any official mode of contact, yet?”

“No,” Crowley said. “Just talked to the television. Why?”

“Well, I— You know. I… I dialled the direct line, as it were.”

“And?”

“Well, my dear, I might as well have called a friend from a century ago. There’s not just no answer. There’s no… There’s no tone. Er— You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said woodenly.

Aziraphale’s voice was terse and stiff and quiet, and Crowley drummed his fingers against the side of his television unit, feeling the uncomfortable, crawling tension in his chest as the angel went on. “But I— You know, I’m not… I hardly think we’ve been demoted, as it were. I remain in possession of my graces, and indeed, my Graces[2].”

“Very good, angel,” Crowley muttered, without enthusiasm. “Yeah, I haven’t noticed anything, but…”

“You don’t suppose they’ve…?”

“They can’t, can they?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“But that would stop us being…”

“I’m not so sure it would.”

“How’d you mean?”

There was a long, complicated pause on the other end of the line, and Crowley fancied he could see Aziraphale’s lips moving as he rehearsed what it was he wanted to say, tasting the words before he loaned them voice. Finally, he answered, “If he wants us to be as we are – that is to say, an angel and a demon – we are, we will be, an angel and a demon. But he… Well. I think the boy rather a similar flaw to mine, in that, ahem, he can’t really resist fixing something, if it might be fixed. And I was… I was thinking, dear boy, were I in such a position, what I might have done is just taken us off the books.”

Crowley understood. He wasn’t sure he liked that understanding, however, and so he repeated, “Taken us off the…?”

“Create a blindspot, as it were,” Aziraphale continued, without hearing him. “We are what we are. They are as they are. And never the twain shall meet.”

Crowley considered this for a long moment. The idea was unspeakable. To be as they were, but without their respective connections to Heaven and Hell, to be… Well. To be—

Unspeakable was right.

“Would you like to go for a drink?” Aziraphale asked, somewhat desperately.

“Oh, yes,” Crowley replied. “I’ll pick you up.”

--

They didn’t actually bother to go anywhere.

They sat down in the park, on the green, on a picnic blanket. It was a warm day, clinging onto the dregs of summer, and while they split a bottle of wine between them, none of the passing policemen on their beat much liked the idea of coming to break up their date. One of them was in a suit, and the other was in a thick wool jumper – suffice to stay, taking their Lafitte off them doesn’t seem like much cop when there were much more interesting bystanders to harass around London.

“What do we do?” Aziraphale asked.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. He took a sip of his wine, staring out over the duck pond. “Always thought about it. But I never really… I never really got as far as this point. I just thought, oh, wouldn’t it be nice…? And then thought about something else. Did you?”

“No,” Aziraphale said.

A beat passed. It spanned the silences of centuries.

“Yes,” he amended, guiltily, staring down at his knees, which were clad in sensible tan trousers. “But it was never going to happen. I— What is one to do?”

“Same stuff as always, I suppose,” Crowley said. “Just without reporting it to the men upstairs. Er, in your case, of course.”

“That’s not really cricket, is it?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley, who did not believe the term “that’s not cricket” had been used by anyone else for at least a hundred years, said, “No.”

“I mean,” Aziraphale went on, “what would the point be? If we did it without reporting on it?”

“Human decency, I suppose,” Crowley said softly. Saying it didn’t avert the deep and crushing existential terror that was threatening to thunder down around his eyes, but it did meet a small bloom of satisfaction unfurl its flowers in his breast. He could be… He could be A.J. Crowley. He could just be… Anthony Crowley. No odd wishes, no giving up his powers, or his immortality. Just— Just being, and not having to report back downstairs.

His head spun.

“If it isn’t recorded, it hardly exists,” Aziraphale said, not really hearing Crowley. He was several leagues inside his own head, and he found the weather very unpleasant indeed. “Ergo, there’s no point doing it. And I’m… That is to say, one does rather need a point, to exist.”

“Why?” Crowley asked. “They don’t.” This was said with a vague gesture at the city around them. It was somewhat devoid of its usual, natural scorn. Then, he added, in a quietly hopeful tone, “And there’s the Arrangement[3].”

“But there’s no point to it,” Aziraphale snapped, “if there aren’t sides that we’re on. If we’re just— If we’re just you and me, dear boy, with the ties to our respective commands cut away, then the Arrangement becomes just that: you and me.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, feeling himself grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

There was a long silence, and Crowley took a long sip of his drink, before glancing to his left, to see what had rendered Aziraphale silent. He followed Aziraphale’s downturned gaze, and his eyes alighted, through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, on his own hand. It was on top of Aziraphale’s, his fingers curled in to loosely clasp at it. The angel’s hand, Crowley noted, was quite warm, and his touch didn’t make Crowley’s body any more inclined to burst into flames, or to smoke, or do anything along those lines, than it usually was.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “Are you… Are you sure, my dear?”

“Nope,” Crowley said, with a grin. “I’m not sure of anything.” He squeezed. After another moment’s pause, Aziraphale’s hand shifted in his own, their fingers interlinking, and he heard Aziraphale exhale breathily. “D’you want to go to dinner?”

“Sushi?” Aziraphale asked, hopefully. He had scooted slightly closer, so that their shoulders were touching. If Crowley was a human, his cheeks would have flushed. He wasn’t one, but… What the Hell? He blushed anyway.

“Why not? Let’s… Let’s order just starters. Eat from the same plates.”

“We usually eat from the same plates,” Aziraphale said. By this, he meant, “I usually eat from your plate,” as Crowley did not have the same appetite Aziraphale did, and often left his food unfinished.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed. “Yes. But— But let’s make a spectacle of it.”

“We don’t know,” Aziraphale began.

“Yes, we do,” Crowley decided, and this was how he showed he’d decided: he leaned closer, so that his head rested on Aziraphale’s shoulder, still holding his hand. He could feel the heat of his flush burning his cheeks, and he could feel his body’s heart pumping a good deal more vigorously than usual. It was rather nice. “Yes,” he decided a second time, for good measure. “We do.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, breathlessly. “Yes, I… I suppose we do.”

For a long, long few minutes, they sat there, drinking their wine. Crowley leaned his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Aziraphale put his cheek in toward the top of it, enjoying the spiced scent of the product Crowley wore to soften his hair.  The sun began to set over Soho.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

“Hm?”

“Let’s split a dessert.” It was said with such reckless enthusiasm that Crowley heard himself laugh. Later on, Aziraphale would eat the whole thing, bar for a mouthful, because Crowley wasn’t actually one for dessert, but the point would be the look of the thing, the spectacle, and they would order it together.

“Alright,” he agreed, readily. He raised his wine glass. “To our godson, then. He did very well without our influence, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, raising his own glass, and letting it clink against Crowley’s. “We should… We should visit him.”

“Would be nice to do,” Crowley mused. “What with us being— Being retired, and all.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. They drained their glasses. “Retired!”

“We could buy a cottage in Tadfield, and go there on weekends,” Crowley said impulsively. “Dunroamin.”

“Dunmiracling.”

“Dundemoning.”

“Dunangeling.”

“Dun.”

“Dun!”

They sat together in the silence, and as one, they fell back on the grass, staring up at the reddening skies, and feeling the warmth of each other’s palms, pressed tight together. In the stars, Crowley could divine no purpose at all.

It was unspeakable.

It was wonderful.

[1] In fact, Crowley did, but he hadn’t looked at it. He hadn’t needed to.

[2] One might mistakenly believe that one cannot capitalize words in spoken conversation, but Aziraphale rather had the knack.

[3] Crowley, too, was able to capitalise words with his voice alone, although he ordinarily needed to have heard Aziraphale performing the practice first. Luckily, he usually had.

[jcounts83-blog-blog-blog]

Passport to the Brave New World: the Vaccine

I have already written about the currency reset and other features of a technocratic future waiting in the wings. —New levels of visible surveillance, social credit scores, universal guaranteed income, Internet of Things, energy-use quotas, smart cities.

—Events can move in several directions, going forward. In this article, I explore one of those directions.

The occasion is this fake pandemic; the big hammer is the vaccine against the phony COVID.

As Fauci mentioned a couple of months ago, it could be a DNA vaccine—new technology—which means it is really gene therapy. Synthesized genes are injected into the body. They purportedly set up immunity. Actually, they PERMANENTLY alter the genetic makeup of the recipient. Jabbed: How the Vaccin... Wilcox, Brett Best Price: $13.02 Buy New $13.05 (as of 03:50 EST - Details) 

As you can imagine, this creates the opportunity to put many different genes into humans. To try to invent “new humans.”

The so-called immunity certificates Fauci is now talking about? They would be issued to people who test positive on the new antibody tests for COVID-19—which is an interesting turnaround, because, since 1984, positive tests results have generally been taken to mean “infected.” Why the shift?

Because there is a need for these immunity certificates—as an INTRO to condition the population to an IDEA.

If and when the COVID vaccine arrives, the certificates would be used to signify immunity for all those who take the shot.

It would function as a license. Your passport into the Brave New World. You’re “immune,” so you’re allowed to move out of fear mode. And circulate and travel and enter schools…

For DNA vaccines, the reference is the New York Times, 3/15/15, “Protection Without a Vaccine.” It describes the frontier of research. Here are key quotes that illustrate the use of synthetic genes to “protect against disease,” while changing the genetic makeup of humans. This is not science fiction:

“By delivering synthetic genes into the muscles of the [experimental] monkeys, the scientists are essentially re-engineering the animals to resist disease.”

“’The sky’s the limit,’ said Michael Farzan, an immunologist at Scripps and lead author of the new study.”

“The first human trial based on this strategy — called immunoprophylaxis by gene transfer, or I.G.T. — is underway, and several new ones are planned.” [That was five years ago.]

“I.G.T. is altogether different from traditional vaccination. It is instead a form of gene therapy. Scientists isolate the genes that produce powerful antibodies against certain diseases and then synthesize artificial versions. The genes are placed into viruses and injected into human tissue, usually muscle.”

Here is the punchline: “The viruses invade human cells with their DNA payloads, and the synthetic gene is incorporated into the recipient’s own DNA. If all goes well, the new genes instruct the cells to begin manufacturing powerful antibodies.”

Read that again: “the synthetic gene is incorporated into the recipient’s own DNA.”

Alteration of the human genetic makeup.

Not just a “visit.” Permanent residence.

The Times article taps Dr. David Baltimore for an opinion:

“Still, Dr. Baltimore says that he envisions that some people might be leery of a vaccination strategy that means altering their own DNA, even if it prevents a potentially fatal disease.”

Yes, some people might be leery. If they have two or three working brain cells.

This is genetic roulette with a loaded gun.

And the further implications are clear. Vaccines can be used as a cover for the injections of any and all genes, whose actual purpose is unannounced.

The vaccine masters have a problem. They know their genetic technology is far from perfect. Plans to re-engineer the human race are not a simple one two three.

For example, consider the latest and greatest genetic tool, called CRISPR.

Here is a backgrounder I wrote a year ago.

New CRISPR gene-editing: the extreme dangers

Technologynetworks.com (6/26/17): “CRISPR gene editing is taking biomedical research by storm. Providing the ultimate toolbox for genetic manipulation, many new applications for this technology are now being investigated and established. CRISPR systems are already delivering superior genetic models for fundamental disease research, drug screening and therapy development, rapid diagnostics, in vivo editing and correction of heritable conditions and now the first human CRISPR clinical trials.”

All hail. 

It’s called CRISPR, a much faster, more precise, and cheaper technique for editing genes. Researchers are in love with it. You can find hundreds of articles and studies fawning over the innovation.

At phys.org, however, we have this, ahem, warning note (5/29/17): “…a new study published in Nature Methods has found that the gene-editing technology can introduce hundreds of unintended mutations into the genome.”

Oops.

“In the new study, the researchers sequenced the entire genome of mice that had undergone CRISPR gene editing in the team’s previous study and looked for all mutations, including those that only altered a single nucleotide.”

“The researchers determined that CRISPR had successfully corrected a gene that causes blindness, but Kellie Schaefer, a PhD student in the lab of Vinit Mahajan, MD, PhD, associate professor of ophthalmology at Stanford University, and co-author of the study, found that the genomes of two independent gene therapy recipients [mice] HAD SUSTAINED MORE THAN 1500 SINGLE-NUCLEOTIDE MUTATIONS AND MORE THAN 100 LARGER [GENE] DELETIONS AND INSERTIONS. None of these DNA mutations were predicted by computer algorithms that are widely used by researchers to look for off-target effects.” (Emphasis is mine.)

“’Researchers who aren’t using whole genome sequencing to find off-target effects may be missing potentially important mutations,’ Dr. Tsang says. ‘Even a single nucleotide change can have a huge impact’.”

Genetic roulette is alive and well.

Spin the wheel, see what numbers come up. Good effects, bad effects, who knows? Step right up and take your chances.

Of course, researchers who admit these tremendous problems remain optimistic. They look forward to “refining the method.” That’s a cover for: “we really don’t know what we’re doing right now.”

Unfortunately, much science operates in this fashion. Launch a new technology, and turn a blind eye to the consequences. For example, place mercury, a devastating neurotoxin, in vaccines. What harm could result—aside from the destruction of children’s brains.

Here is more gushing PR, otherwise known as throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks: “There are weekly press releases and updates on new advances [in CRISPR] and discoveries made possible with this technology; the first evidence is now emerging that CRISPR-Cas9 could provide cures for major diseases including cancers and devastating human viruses such as HIV-1.” (technologynetworks.com)

The train has left the station. Deadly Medicines and O... Peter Gotzsche Best Price: $38.43 Buy New $33.29 (as of 07:20 EST - Details)

And just in case you think only the most careful and competent leading lights of the genetic research community would be permitted to get within a mile of CRISPR, here is more from technologynetworks.com:

“CRISPR-Cas9 systems, tools and basic methodology are very accessible as ready to go toolkits that anyone with lab space and an idea can pick up and start working with…In response to a growing need, companies such as Desktop Genetics have developed open access software to accelerate CRISPR experimentation and analysis.”

That’s good to know. “Anyone with lab space and an idea” can jump on board and have at it.

Do your own cross breeding of the pregnant phrases, “What could possibly go wrong,” and “Nothing to see here, move along,” and you’ve summarized the situation.

“They say they cured my anemia, but now I turn green and purple and I keep falling down.”

If all this isn’t enough to make you see the dangers of CRISPR, consider this statement about engineering human immune cells (T-cells) in a “safer” way. From statnews.com (June 23, 2013):

“The experiment would alter the immune system’s T cells only after they’re removed from a patient. That gives scientists the chance to screen the CRISPR’d cells to make sure only the three intended genes, all involved in making T cells find and destroy tumor cells, are altered. But after those T cells are infused back into a patient to fight melanoma, sarcoma, or myeloma, the CRISPR system can keep editing DNA, and tracking such edits becomes like following a polar bear in a snowstorm.”

Not very comforting. Once set in motion, even under the most protected and limited conditions, CRISPR can keep on working, scrambling genes in unknown ways.

So…when it comes to DNA vaccines, aka gene therapy, a plan to precisely re-engineer humans could quite easily descend into uncontrolled chaos.

And the controllers and elite funders of the vaccine know that.

What to do?

With the global population as their guinea pigs, perhaps they would start small. Introduce the slightest possible gene-alteration, stand back and see what happens. Try out a gene that would ordinarily—hopefully—achieve next to nothing. Try to measure the results.

Viewed from one angle, the whole fake epidemic is a set-up for the vaccine, and for mandatory vaccines.

I have written about the special exemption from liability recently issued by the US Dept. of Health and Human Services. Basically, anyone associated with pharmaceutical strategies undertaken “against the coronavirus” cannot be sued, regardless of “adverse effects” of medicines or vaccines.

Taking a stand against mandatory vaccines—any and all vaccines—is more important than ever.

-Jon Rappaport

[syntaxeme]

BunnyRibbit: Facetime

[You got it, my dude. Though...it turned out a little long for a flash piece.]

           I’m here now, okay? Don’t leave yet! Hana was hastily texting as she got into her apartment, throwing her keys aside. Her computer was already on—naturally—so it just took a quick shake of her mouse to wake it up. Drills had gone on way longer than they should’ve, which meant that rather than having plenty of time to get home and clean up a little, she was already late for her planned Skype call with Lúcio. Their time zones were exactly twelve hours apart, so mid- afternoon for her was three in the morning for him. Still, he had answered her last few texts saying he would wait, so she figured this was better than nothing.

           Are you still up? she typed quickly as she got her webcam working.

           I’m here, don’t worry, Lúcio responded. He video called her, and she answered with a wide smile. Of course she knew he wouldn’t care that she was still in work mode, but she couldn’t help feeling bad regardless. When he saw her, he smiled back, and her stomach filled with warmth. “They’re really working you out there, huh?”

           “No kidding,” she said. “It wasn’t even a MEKA day. I’m exhausted—but I’m glad to see you! I’m sorry for making you stay up so late.”

           “It’s cool. I’ve had concerts keep me up later,” he assured her. When her eyes fell on his shirt, her smile widened.

           “Nice PJs, nerd,” she mumbled, though she was honestly pleased to see him sporting her B.Ny logo. It was one of her favorite designs, too! Had she told him that? Or did they just have similar tastes? 

           “What, this?” He glanced down at his chest before grinning back at her. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”

           “It looks too cute on you. My Synaesthesia Auditiva shirt hasn’t come in yet. You need to get your merch suppliers with the program,” she said with a pout.

           “Sorry! Will you still send me a pic when it gets there?”

           “Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll send you like, ten.”

           “I can’t wait.” The way he looked at her was just too much sometimes.

           “Quiiit, you’re gonna make me blush,” she muttered. “Hey! We need to talk about this email; what the heck?” He had sent it earlier that day with the subject line “TOP SECRET! DO NOT OPEN UNTIL INSTRUCTED!!” As tempting as it was, she had resisted opening it all day, certain that he would explain himself later.

           “Oh, you’re curious, huh?” he laughed. “That was the plan. You can go ahead and open it now.”

           She brought her inbox up on her computer and opened the email to find a single mp3 file. Her eyes immediately lit up. “Omg, is this it? The one you’ve been working on forever?” she asked.

           “That’s it. I, uh…wanted you to be the first one to hear it,” he confessed.

           “Uuuugh, you’re such a dork,” she said, covering her face so he wouldn’t see her turn pink. “I’ll listen to it when I let you go.”

           “Actually. Uh. I was hoping you would listen to it now?” he said. “It probably sounds stupid, but I wanted to…see your reaction. Is that too weird?”

           “No! No, I’ll listen to it right now!” God, why was he so cute and so far away at the same time? Hana played the file and settled in close to listen, making sure she was still in view of her webcam. She’d been a fan of his music before they had ever met, and this song was no exception. It started with the beat, like a lot of his music did, and the synth melody faded in next. For a few seconds, she was conscious of what her face was doing, what he was seeing from her, but she soon let her eyes slip closed and enjoyed the music as it came.

           It was kind of trance-y, kind of slow-build. When the bass dropped at 1:22, her surprise showed on her face, quickly followed by a smile as she moved to the rhythm. Lúcio watched and listened silently from his side of the screen, trying his best not to show how totally smitten he was with every curve of her lips, every laugh and hum. It only worked partially. By the time the song ended, he wished he’d written ten minutes more, just so he’d have longer to look at her smile.

           “I love it,” she told him plainly. “I knew I would, but it was even better than I expected. It’s so fun! It makes me wanna play it on repeat and dance all night.” Now that her eyes were open and she saw the look on his face, she cowed a bit in embarrassment. “Is that dumb?”

           “Of course not. I’m really glad you like it so much.”

           “I think…I might have something for you too?” she said, opening up her Pictures folder to see if there was anything good. She had hoped to give him something better than a picture, but when she was still gross from training, it didn’t seem doable anymore.

           “Oh yeah?” Lúcio asked. “Well, I’m not about to turn down a gift. Is it a surprise? Will I like it?”

           “You tell me.” Once she had picked out a few of her favorites, she sent them over in an email. She bit her lip and watched as he opened it, saw his eyes widen and his throat contract as he swallowed reflexively.

           “Oh. Um. Wow,” he managed, covering his mouth with one hand as he looked through the photos. “Babe, these are…wow. A-are you sure you want to share something like this in an email?”

           “I trust you,” she laughed. “So you do like them?”

           Lúcio let out a shaking laugh of his own. “Hmm. Definitely. Ahem, remind me when you can visit again?”

           “Haha! Soon, I promise. Our review is in like, a week, and then I’m all yours,” she said. “I’ll head over as soon as I can. We can go to a show or something and you can show me around town. And…whatever else we want to do. I’m already looking forward to it.”

           “Like I said, I really, really can’t wait.” Despite his genuine smile, Hana was quiet for a few seconds and turned her eyes downward. “Hey, what happened? Is something wrong?”

           “…I miss you,” she said after a moment longer in silent thought. “A lot.”

           Again, he smiled. “I miss you too, D.”

           “I mean it,” she insisted. “Like, I really…I can’t stop thinking about it. Are we just supposed to be on hold any time they need me here? They always need me here! I don’t want to wait a month after every time I get to see you for a few days. I’m tired of it.” Some part of her knew she was being childish, throwing a fit like this. But she couldn’t just keep pretending this was an okay way for their relationship to function. Now that they weren’t working together as often, it had become so difficult to meet face-to-face; the sudden deficit was weighing on her.

           “Come on, it won’t always be like this,” Lúcio said, sitting up and leaning in a little closer to his cam. “I’ve been touring, you’ve been working—that stuff happens. But it’ll calm down soon enough, and then we can spend more time together. Until then, we’ll see each other like this or we’ll talk on the phone or send emails or homing pigeons or whatever we have to do. You’re not gonna give up on me, are you?”

           “No! Don’t even say that,” she protested quickly.

           “Then it’s no big. We’ll be okay.”

           “Yeah. Okay. I’ll try not to be such a big baby about it.”

           “Hey, watch it; that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

           “Uh-oh, what are you gonna do, fight me?” she grinned. “Find me irl, scrub, any time.”

           “Nah, you can just fight her,” he said, punctuating the sentence with a poorly-covered yawn.

           “Mm. It’s getting really late there, isn’t it?” A glance at the clock confirmed her suspicion; she was keeping him up way too late. “You should get to bed.”

           “Look who’s talking!”

           “No, that’s the point. Go to bed now, and you can call me back in twelve hours. It doesn’t bother me to stay up forever.”

           “How am I supposed to argue when you hit me with that kind of logic?” he laughed. “Sorry I’m kind of useless right now.”

           “Pf, whatever. Go get some sleep. And make sure you text me when you’re up.”

           “Will do. I’m glad I got to see you for a minute, anyway.” Again, that look in his eyes… “Good night, coelhinha.”

           “Good night.”

           In an effort to work herself out of the sadness that invariably came with telling him good-bye, she went back to his email and played the new song on single repeat. It made her feel a little closer to him, at least.

[muskycat]

Chapter seven

A call stopped Frisk's advance. she had run aimlessly. She thought of going back to the door but, without Flowey to open it, it would be a dead end if someone came for her. She hoped he was fine, Frisk hadn’t wanted to leave him alone but he seemed so determined that she didn´t want to anger him more. Frisk kept running until that moment. Maybe it was Papyrus, he could give her some reason about his brother's attack. How would he know his name, would he have heard it when he was with Papy? And what was it Sans wanted to talk about? If they didn’t know each other before ... She looked at the screen but didn´t recognize the number. She had nothing to lose, so she took it. “Howdy?” "Oh, you ... you've got it ..." said a trembling voice from the other side, “Ahem ... this ... I want to help you.” "Do we know each other?" "Not really ... but ... but I've seen you and ... you're not bad. And when you started to cry, I felt so bad ... I want to help you. Even if it's to turn against Undyne. I understand if you do not trust me and ...” “Thank you so much!”  The distrust of strangers was not in Frisk's vocabulary. "Oh, I'm ... well, it doesn’t matter. You'd better not know my name.” “Why? I like to know the names of my friends.” "We'll talk when you get there. Hurry up, before Sans got tired and come for you!” Frisk kept running but this time she had a voice that guided and told her whether to turn left, right or go straight. That reassured her and she felt more secure. “Friendly voice... you said you were watching me, right? You know ... do you know how Flowey is?” "Oh, I'm sorry, but I've got my cameras focused on you." From the other side, Frisk heard the roar of a chair turn and clicks on a computer, “She's still alive, though she looks worried.” “Flowey is a boy” “Oh, He’s fine, okay. And Sans ... Oh my god,I forget it! I´m a fool.” “What happen?” “Sans can teleport him. We all suspected it but we didn’t know his true power until a few years ago, when Papyrus and Undyne argued and he... That doesn’t matter, he can get to you in seconds.” “What?” Said Frisk, stopping abruptly, “But why? What have I done for Undyne and Sans to hate me?” “'It's not hatred, everything has changed much here” said the voice, “At least Undyne does it out of duty. Sans .... it's Sans. I don’t understand him. Don’t stand there, Frisk, you must... ¡Aaahhh, behind you!” But before Frisk could react, her cell phone slipped out of her hands, flying backwards. The girl watched as it stopped a few inches from Sans's face. "You shouldn’t get into the affairs of other monsters, Alph "Sans said to the phone. Frisk could hear something like a babble, “ You must have cold blood for that. Yes, this is no time for my jokes. See ya!” “That's my phone.” Frisk dared to say as Sans picked it up, tucking it into the pocket of his blue jacket with red stripes. "Well, we'll make sure no one else bothers us. Not a good idea, kid? We can talk for a while. A long time.” "You don’t want to talk, Sans.” "Hey, you got me. You always have, Frisk." The girl was becoming more and more confused. What was he talking about?, “Together with my brother, you were the person who best met me. And I thought I did you too. But I was wrong. So there are things I want to answer me. Like why you left me alone, after our promise.” "I don’t know what you're talking about." Frisk's response didn’t seem to convince Sans, something inside told her that he had been angry the most. She saw him sigh, closing his eyes as he thought what to do. “I see you want to play in hard mode. It’s ok, kiddo…... It's a beautiful night here. Birds are sleeping, flowers stop bothering... in days like this, dirty traitors like you...”  Opening his eyes, his blue fire was at its maximum, summoning two Gaster Blasters,”Should be burning in hell” Frisk jumped to the side, next to her she saw the light, destroying the tree behind. It was the first and only warning: If that light reached her, everything was going to end. She still hadn’t recovered when she felt something in her chest. She remembered what that red heart meant: it was her soul, her essence, that kept her alive in that world. In front of her eyes she saw it turn to a blue color, within a few seconds a force raised her soul, and she, too, up. "That's why I never make promises," Sans said, not caring about Frisk's face, “I always break them.” With another gesture, Frisk was stamped against the trees. She fell to the ground, gasping, didn’t have time to catch her breath when she had to jump back a couple of bones that were heading towards her. She couldn’t stay like this forever, Frisk picked up Papyrus bone and raised it like a weapon. It wasn’t going to be very effective but at least Sans had stood still, surprised by that. "I'm not going to let you keep treating me like that! You say that I have betrayed you. How can that be if we don’t know each other? So, or you listen to me ... or I'll have to act.” "You threaten me … with a bone of my brother? Oh, God, I don’t know whether to laugh or to finish you off” Sans began to laugh. Then he forced her to approach his position with the blue magic. Frisk couldn’t resist, before realizing her only weapon, the bone of Papyrus, was in the hands of his brother, “Come on, kid, for old times, stop laughing at me. Your resets, remember? They aren’t foreign to me” “Resets? I don’t undestand you“ Frisk's supposed ignorance was destroying Sans's patience. And he had plenty. “Come on, Frisk. We were friends, we both prepared everything. I was waiting for you, in front of that door, seven years ago. But you didn’t cross again. And you become friends with this plant?” "His name is Flowey, and he's my friend, not you." Sans's face changed, but Frisk continued, “You're just a crazy skeleton who is raging it with me for no reason.” “Don’t try to fool me. You know my name.” "Papyrus told me!" She cried, losing his patience, “You're the only skeleton I've seen apart from him. Who else could you be? I've never left the ruins until today. And I shouldn’t have done it!” “Dirty liar” A click told Frisk how he had broken the Papyrus bone, only with the strength of his hand. Each time she was more scared and rightly so. Angered, Sans threw her again into the trees, then into the sky and then toward him, leaving her on the floor, inches from his feet. She was hurt and gasping but Sans didn’t care about her pain. It was nothing compared to the agony of those seven years, “I was sure that this time, you would do the right thing, you only needed help, more friends ... I came to believe that the old lady had done something ... but she is no match for your determination. No ... All this mess is your fault.” "I haven’t done anything wrong!" Frisk screamed with what little strength she had left, trying to convince that skeleton that he was wrong, “I'm sorry if something bad happened to you but it's not my fault. I don’t know you. But ... I can do it. We can meet and be friends! So you would see that I don’t like anyone to suffer. Please ... it hurts.” Their eyes met, there was something about them that troubled Sans and it wasn’t her tears. It wasn’t the first time Sans saw Frisk cry, just as he already knew that look.  And, despite the difference in age, he still saw the pure and sincere girl that time, in the hall of judgment. There was something that escaped him, she wasn’t so foolish as to follow that farce and inside him ... didn’t want to fight. Violence brought nothing more that a LOVE he didn’t like. “Ey, kid…” For first time, Sans approached the human to comfort her, but Frisk rejected his contact, frightened. "I'm not a kid and I'm not who you think!" Once she started, she couldn’t stop, “I don’t understand anything you talk about, or resets, or promises I don’t remember. I just came out believing that mom was wrong, monsters couldn’t be so dangerous. But I see that I was wrong ... I just ... I just want to go home. I want to see Toriel again. I want ... my life.” "Frisk ..." Sans put his hand on the girl's shoulder, he wasn’t going to get anything if he didn’t comfort her before. His fingers had barely touched Frisk's clothes when a ball of fire melted the snow near him. “Don’t touch my child, skeleton” Toriel's voice sounded steady. Frisk had never seen her like this, she was angry, but not with her. She wanted to be threatening to the rest of the monsters and did well. Although Sans, after the initial shock didn’t seem so affected. “Mom!” Frisk took a few steps toward Toriel as Sans' hand gripped her wrist, pulling her back. "Not yet, girl," Sans said, winking at her before he finally pulled her away from his mother, “Now the adults are going to talk.” “And talks who measures a centimeters less than me” "I'm forgiving you, Frisk. Don’t make me regret it.” Then he spoke to Toriel, “So we finally see each other ... Toriel, was it? I’m Sans, the guy of the knock knock jokes. You remember me? We haven’t talked in a long time.” “I don’t care who you are ... Sans. I'm not going to let you do anything to my daughter.” "I admire your maternal instinct, really, but the Ruins aren’t Frisk's future. She must go her way. Even if it's seven years late.” "No, Asgore will kill her!" Toriel called back her magical fire, even her eyes glittered, “Frisk is coming with me. I don’t want to hurt you, Sans ... I remember you had a brother who loves you. You don’t want to leave him alone.” "Phrase mistaken, Tori.” The blue eye returned and with him a pair of gaster blasters. Frisk was seeing everything, she didn’t want them to fight. If her mother hurt Sans, Papyrus would suffer greatly and if Sans was the winner ... she would. Frisk thought she had to do something, but the forces were ending, without sleep and wounded by the attacks of the skeleton. The world began to spin and made the darkness, her body stopped obeying and she fell. She waited to hear the noise of her body in the snow but this didn’t come. Instead, two hands held her and lifted her up. "Frisk, what's wrong?" At the sound of Papyrus's voice, Toriel and Sans turned to him. He had run off in search of Sans, after tricking Undyne and taking her another way. Papyrus didn’t understand anything that was happening ... well, it wasn’t quite true. He understood everything except his brother's behavior. Sans had never been very encouraged to come to the surface, so why had he acted like this with Frisk? When he reached them, thanks to his sixth sense to find Sans, he had arrived in time to pick up the girl, a few feet from his brother and a goat lady very similar to Asgore, before she would finish falling. "Oh, you're hurt. What...?” He glanced at Toriel and his brother, “Doesn’t matter. I'm not leaving you here, Frisk.” "Papyrus, wait..." But before Sans would finish his sentence, his brother had already disappeared, running with the girl in his arms, away from them, “Well, that wasn’t in my plans.” "Has your brother just kidnapped my little girl in front of our eyes?" Toriel said, giving the skeleton a bad look. Sans put a smile of circumstances. “Well, Paps is like this ... He's really care her… down to the bone ...” “Sans ... this isn’t the time for jokes. Take me to Frisk!” “Eh, I didn’t expect this ... I have a bone to pick with him…” "Sans!" "All right, all right. We will discuss this later.” Sans sensed that his brother would take her to Snowdin, so he began to walk in another direction, “Come on, old lady. I know a shortcut.” ** Dark. Darker. Yet Darker. The darkness surrounded Frisk without giving her the option to flee. A corrupt sound surrounded her, she didn’t know what she knew. This time, the words began to make sense to her, it was curious how she had learned that strange language in… hours, minutes, seconds? Did she already know it? Was she imagining it? She wasn’t surprised. She had made promises that didn’t remember. "You must go back." The voice, sharper, enveloped her with a lethal sense of overwhelm, “If you fall... your determination... what remains will be mine. I'll be back ... better. Stronger. He won’t be able to make me disappear again.” A strange light appeared in front of Frisk, she ran towards her, finding two buttons. One of them,Continue, the other, Reset. Frisk's hand came closer to second, but stopped. It wasn’t the right choice, something was telling. It was not viable. “I will lose everything. I lost in the Void…with him” A bony hand settled on top of hers. His palm was empty, a huge hole let her see her own skin. He pushed her a little closer to the Reset button. “Too many unfinished experiments. I was betrayed, erased from the memories of the timelines without reason. I deserve the compensation to return, with your soul. His friend ... by his nightmare.” “No!” Frisk tried to pull away but the hand was stronger. Her fingers just brushed the button when it was filled with a viscous blackish liquid that began to stain her skin as well. In front of her, a white, broken face emerged from the shadows, drawing closer and closer. "You idiot!Since when were you the one in control ? Die and return to my side, Frisk!”