#can species without thumbs be surgeons?

[toubledrouble]

Do you think that in the furry universes the doctors have to brush out all of their shedded fur before surgery? Or do they wear full suits?

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Seahorse (Spencer Reid x Trans Male!Reader) NSFW

Summary: Spencer and Y/N have always wanted kids. Here’s the time Spencer was brave enough to broach the subject of how they would go about it. Plus a few more times after that.

AN: @imagining-in-the-margins​ came up with the idea of Spencer’s trans bf having a baby amidst man many many prompts for Spencer x male!reader to indulge my daydreaming and I ran with this prompt. 

Thank you to @writing-in-april​ for being my beta on this one! Couldn’t have done it without you, beebs <3

This is the NSFW version. If you are under the age of 18, please do not read! Here’s a SFW version of the story.

Word Count: 5.7k words 

Content Warnings: Trans man is pregnant, coming off testosterone, impregnation kink, pre-op sex, allusions to Prison!Spencer.

Masterlist // Gif Credit // SFW Version

The halls echoed with the unbridled joy of little ones calling out “Nemo” and “Dory” at the sight of the clown and surgeon fishes. Spencer bounced on the balls of his feet as he looked around the next room in search of his goal. He stopped when Y/N spared a look in his direction, away from the tank that had captured his attention for a solid five minutes.

“JJ sent me a video of a shrimp solving a Rubik’s Cube the other day.” He grinned.

Ah yes. JJ had also sent Spencer a video of little Henry swinging a mini softball bat about just like Spencer had done. For one game and one game only he had insisted, despite Y/N’s own resolve that he looked hot in the kit.

The walk through the tunnel was the slowest slog Spencer felt, but it was the only attraction in the aquarium to properly distract him. Lights above them filtered through the water, bouncing off the painted walls of the tank in a blue glow. Various species in a perfectly balanced ecosystem swam around one another without a care in the world. A particular stingray flapped its body against the glass, and three children nearby laughed at its funny shaped mouth.

“I used to sit on my mum’s shoulders when we walked through these. Touch the ceiling as if I could pet the fishes.” And Y/N’s hands stretched up over him, his eyes following a shark that slinked overhead, “When I got too old, I’d just press my nose against the glass and stare back.”

Nerves returned at the sight of a circular tank in the centre of the room holding something familiar. Seahorses curled their tails around the plants that waved together like a crowd at a concert. Little babies bobbed about the parents, translucent and wriggly.

Spencer coughed and spoke while Y/N took in the creatures, “Did you know that the seahorse is the only animal where the male carries the children?”

Suddenly his throat was dry; the words he’d been rehearsing dragged to a halt. Y/N turned to face him properly, guiding Spencer to the left as a little girl stood on tiptoe to see the seahorses as he continued to struggle.

“Well, that might not be true actually.” Spencer choked a little on his words, his voice’s volume steadily declining into a soft whisper, “I know that some human men can have babies.”

Y/N’s face clouded with doubt for a moment. Then it clicked and his face cleared, “Spencer, tell me what you’re getting at.”

Spencer twisted his hands around one another, “Have you ever thought about us having kids… biologically?” He watched Y/N’s Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed hard

“You mean like me being pregnant?”

“Yes, have you considered it an option for us?”

The conversations of other aquarium patrons were forgotten as Y/N took his gaze away from Spencer. His eyebrows were low as he considered his words carefully. Y/N always thought about the implications of what he was saying, maybe a little too much. Spencer could be biased though; his impatience did not mix well with his anxieties.

Eventually, Y/N turned back with a brave face and said, “I’d have to think about it some more.”

“Ok.” Spencer nodded, his chin wobbling a little.

There was hope though: he needed to think “some more”. Implying Y/N had thought about this before.

Near the end of their trip, Spencer did find himself in a staring contest with a little seahorse plushie with large eyes and an anatomically inaccurate tongue hanging out. In all honesty, it was kind of ugly.

“Spencer, come on. You know how I get around stuffed animals.”

How empathetic his boyfriend really was, projecting feelings of love onto the inanimate objects then making the excuse that he had to buy it now.

Spencer did have to leave the toy behind though. Out into the sunlight of the parking lot, he winced before he put his sunglasses back on.

“Park?” Y/N offered his hand and smiled. It was an olive branch, something to say that Spencer’s query had not ruined their day out together.

Spencer accepted and squeezed his hand. “Park.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Y/N had a hand on their lower belly, some space between the fingers as if there was an invisible bump there to accommodate. His head had tilted while he thumbed over the air.

As drowsy as Spencer was from work, his mind was focused without a distraction on what he had seen through the ajar bathroom door. He could barely pay attention to the Doctor Who episode Y/N put on. In fact, he doubted anything could take his attention away from the idea of having a child with-

“What do you think about me being pregnant?”

Spencer’s eyes shot wide open, then they were covered slightly by his inquisitive eyebrows in his attempt find an answer. Especially with Y/N looking on him while he waited for him.

“I think you’d be so beautiful carrying our baby. But if you wouldn’t be comfortable, then I wouldn’t make you. We still have surrogacy, fostering, adoption to consider,” was his answer. Never a lie, but the truth was always softened.

Seemingly satisfied, Y/N looked back at the episode. But Spencer couldn’t wait anymore, forgetting about anything else in the world except for this.

“What do you think, Y/N?” His body leant in towards his boyfriend’s.

Squirming in their spot on the couch, Y/N hummed before he answered, “I froze some of my eggs before I started my transition. I also sold some, for a down payment on a house or my wedding.”

Spencer’s heart thrilled at the possibilities. A house together? Matching suits at their wedding? He almost neglected to think about the fact that pregnancy was suddenly a very viable option for their future.

Regardless of Spencer’s many, many thoughts, Y/N continued, “And I thought that perhaps, if I found the right person, I would like to carry their child.” His palm opened up to him and Spencer instantly took it. “I know you’re the right person, but I’m not sure I want a baby now.”

“Of course,” Spencer lifted Y/N’s hand to his lips, “Whenever we’re both ready.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer pushed the dirty bedsheets into the washing machine; it wasn’t that big a deal. If the blood didn’t come out, then they could always buy a new set. Although they should really be saving money for decorating the nursery.

“Spenceerrrr.”

As the machine rumbled into life, Spencer returned to Y/N, curled up on the sofa with a heat pad to his gut. No amount of warnings from their doctor could have prepared Spencer for how emotionally straining it was to see his boyfriend suffering. Y/N was taking this a lot harder than Spencer – and rightfully so, it was his body that was changing.

“Why did I have to have such strong paternal instincts?” He grumbled with his eyes still closed.

Spencer let out a laugh, but it was cut off quick when Y/N whimpered loudly. He knelt down before him and cupped his face. Y/N’s cheeks were warm; his hands clung to Spencer’s wrists like a lifeline.

“What do you need?” Spencer asked softly and Y/N sighed, keening into his cooler palms.

“Can you tell me I’m handsome please?”

“You are the most handsome man in the world, and I adore you every minute of every day.” Spencer kissed Y/N’s pouting lips gently, “Handsome inside and out, I never wanna think about life without you. You just make everything in my life better.”

His fingers moved to brush away a tear that slipped down Y/N’s face and over the ridge of his nose. But he missed and it dripped onto the pillow.

“You’re doing so much for us, for our baby.”

“It’s not even real yet,” Y/N sniffled. His hands finally released Spencer and pressed the heat pad into him.

“It’s gonna be.” Spencer bumped their noses together, “We’re gonna be dads.”

A hoarse laugh met with a hint of a groan in Y/N’s chest, “Yeah. We’re gonna be dads.” That sound and those words were all Spencer needed to feel better. But he wished the same could be said for Y/N. The only thing he could provide was a promise of future relief:

“How about we order in tonight?”

“Ugh, yes.” Y/N burrowed his face into the pillow.

When their bed was made up properly, Spencer and Y/N cuddled together. Unfortunately, Y/N was restless, trying to find a comfortable position while his painkillers kicked in. Spencer kept his complaints to himself, allowing himself to be shifted around in Y/N’s hunt for relief. Honestly it was the least he could do.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“The reproductive process begins when a male and a female seahorse do daily pre-dawn dances, intertwining their tails and swimming together.”

“Well, it’s nearly nine, so definitely past dawn.”

“I’m trying to be romantic, Y/N.”

Y/N adjusted the bed sheets around his middle, “We don’t have tails either and - if I remember correctly - your last sexy swimming encounter ended poorly.”

Spencer flushed at the memory of Lila in the pool; another memory turned the pink to red. Y/N had laughed so hard his gut ached when Spencer told him about how awkward he had been around Lila. This was before the context of the case had been disclosed, promptly removing the space for any more laughter.

“Baby?”

Y/N was touching his face. Spencer’s head emptied itself of all thoughts of Lila. This was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now. Y/N’s laughter maybe, but none of the rest.

Tucking a curl behind his ear, Y/N leant in close, “If I’m ready, and you’re ready, you know what happens.” His eyes wandered down Spencer’s face, “And it’s not swimming together.”

But, just as their lips were about to touch, Y/N jerked away from him. “Wait, I gotta brush my teeth first.”

Spencer moaned with indignation while falling backwards onto the bed as Y/N disappeared from view. A few seconds later, he heard the electric toothbrush buzzing. With a burst of energy, he stripped himself down to his underwear – a petty way to get back at Y/N who had made it very clear that undressing Spencer was one of his favourite parts of their sex life.

When Y/N returned, with the minty freshness he apparently desired more than his own boyfriend, he said “What? You already did this morning?”  His eyes looked down at Spencer’s chest and his lips twitched into a pout. 

Spencer held back his grin, keeping his triumph at retaliation to himself as he said, “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, Spencer.”

And with that, Y/N crawled onto the bed, over Spencer’s body and kissed him silly.

Any remaining thoughts of sleep were dispelled as the men took turns worshipping each other’s bodies. Impatience chased them in their desires, deliciously enticing them to push the pleasure further and faster. While Y/N kissed his neck, Spencer’s thoughts fixated on how perfect his boyfriend felt pressed up next to him. He couldn’t wait anymore, he just had to get inside him.

“Let me put a baby in you, Y/N.”

A whine passed through Y/N’s lips at his words as he adjusted his grasp on Spencer’s body, a hand in his hair to pull him back in.

“Do it.” He whispered into the space between them, “Please.”

As quick as they appeared, the insecurities Spencer and Y/N were holding released. Their moans harmonised when Spencer finally pushed into Y/N. His legs wrapping around his skinny waist, luring him in. Spencer was enraptured by the feeling of his boyfriend’s weight against him. God, he wanted to go slow, appreciate Y/N for all he was worth. But his greed got the better of his intentions, eating up all of Y/N’s encouragements – both the words and the noises snatched from his throat.

When they were both spent, Spencer and Y/N sagged into the mattress, wrapped up in each other and the covers. The burning warmth of their bodies drew up two soporific smiles on their faces.

“You know, a seahorses’ body shape means that they’re inept swimmers, and they can actually die of exhaustion.”

Y/N poked Spencer’s sternum. “Is that your way of makin’ fun of my stamina? Give me a few minutes; I’ll be on you like a rash.”

Grinning at such a prospect, Spence continued, “They also mate for life monogamously.”

He felt two fingers touch his cheek, "Spencer, I love you and your endless fountain of knowledge.” Y/N paused to peck the corner of his lips, “But I’m not actually a seahorse. And, though I do plan to mate with you for life, if you wake me up before the sun is above the horizon for a ‘dance’, I'm gonna suffocate you with my new body pillow.”

“Oh, you got your pillow?”

“It’s en route.” Hence why Y/N was content to use Spencer in lieu of said pillow.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

When Spencer disclosed to Hotch that he would need some time off because he and Y/N were considering having a kid, first thing on a Monday morning, Hotch didn’t let anything on. There was a hint of a hint of a smile though. His eye wandered to the school photo of Jack he kept on his desk, and he was greeted with the memory that Jack almost shared a name with Emily’s cat.

Naturally, Rossi found out next. Technophobe Spencer Reid had left his computer screen on a website for baby blankets, and Rossi had been the one to pass by first. After turning the monitor off, Rossi took Spencer aside in the break room and spoke about how wonderful it was that he was going to be a father. Then he kissed both his cheeks, leaving with misty eyes and a smile that he wouldn’t explain to Penelope passing by. Spencer blinked then finished making his coffee.

The next conference room meeting – the same day and just for an update on the paperwork deadline - Spencer simply decided to drop the information that he and Y/N were planning on having a kid as if it was his thoughts on their next unsub’s motivations were.

Three seconds of silence later and an uproar exploded.

From then on, the week was filled with pokes and ribbing at his upcoming parenthood. A peek into the future.

After making her a cup of coffee, Spencer sat opposite JJ at her desk and asked for advice. Her response: offering Spencer the opportunity to babysit Henry more. Obviously he accepted; more time with his godson was always a good thing. Then she went into how parenting was just a natural thing that he would know when the time came. Not very reassuring on its own, but with his best friend’s support, Spencer felt a smidgen better.

Penelope admitted that she had saved outfit ideas on Pinterest for Spencer – among other members of the BAU. When Spencer dared to enter her lair, she showed him several. Apparently that wasn’t even a dent in her collection, and she had already placed an order on a little bow tie. Spencer left before she tried to organise a shopping trip; neither Spencer nor Y/N were really fans of retail therapy.

Derek was teasing away, “Spencer and Y/N are gonna be baby daddies.” And every single time, Emily would join in. She liked to claim she was the reason Spencer was having a kid, reminding him of when JJ was pregnant. He had been incredibly weirded out by the baby kicking, but Emily had asked if he had considered having “baby geniuses” and he never gave an answer.

To be fair, Spencer never could have seen this coming. That made it all the better.

Apart from when Derek began supplying a realm of baby names, that varied from “oh that’s actually cute” to “oh my god, why would you even consider that a name for a real child?” Spencer was happy to rank them aloud for him.

The cat was only half out of the bag though.

Now Spencer had always been affectionate when he and Y/N were together. But the second it spilled into their public lifestyle, Y/N knew something was afoot. He was quick to pick up on this when he went to collect Spencer up for a chilled date night and Spencer kissed his cheek in clear view of the entire bullpen.

“You told them, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t wait, but I do have my paternity leave arranged!”

The team swarmed to deliver their congratulations. And it was then that they revealed that they all thought that Spencer and Y/N were planning to adopt or look for a surrogate. Their embraces didn’t spoil the unexpected second part of their announcement; Y/N looked like he’d simply put on a few pounds rather than gained a baby bump beneath his button-up. Naturally, there was even more of a hubbub than before when they discovered that Y/N was already pregnant.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“Spencer, baby, you gotta calm it with the ocean theme.”

“But…” he pouted, holding up the finished mobile. Brightly painted sea creatures and chunks of coral dangled delicately in a circle. Sure enough, there were orange seahorses hovering about their habitat.

“It’s very sweet and I adore you for it,” Y/N kissed Spencer. “Not everything has to be related to seahorses though.”

“I guess not.” Spencer’s defeated tone did not last long. His face brightened and he whipped a blanket adorned with little seahorses and bubbles at the edges out of the cot. “But - this online store was taking commissions, and you always say support small businesses!”

Thank god Y/N had been the one in charge of painting the walls. An underwater mural would have been a step too far.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, are so…” Y/N’s hands were up in the air between them, searching for an adjective to describe Spencer appropriately. Then he settled those hands on his shoulders and Y/N kissed him.

When they drew away, Spencer spoke, “I’m so what?”

Y/N shrugged, “Just so.” He kissed him again, lingering longer than before and smiling as Spencer’s hands touched the obtrusive roundness of his belly that pressed into Spencer’s stomach. They were so close to meeting their little bubba.

“So are you.”

“Ok, don’t have a go, I bought this before the ban,” Y/N held out a gift, wrapped in sea-green tissue paper and bearing a blue bow.

Folding the blanket neatly over the bars of the cot, Spencer eagerly yet daintily unwrapped the present. As the tissue paper fell to the carpet, his hands trembled.  Eyes shining, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the latest scan that was framed by tiny seahorses to thank Y/N.

There was more still, as Y/N explained, “There’s another behind there. I’ve seen the state of the one in your wallet.”

“It got caught at the bottom of the pouch,” Spencer said quietly, unbending the catch on the back of the frame. Sure enough, two of the same photographs spilled into his waiting palm. Truth be told, Spencer had already taped his torn photo together again and it was going to stay in his wallet. This spare would be in the post soon, on its way over to his mother. God, she was so excited to hold a baby again. The photo album would have to do for now.

“Could you maybe recant the ocean ban? Because I saw this and I knew it would really go well with the blanket and the mobile.”

Sighing, Y/N’s head tilted back, “What is it?”

The pretence of annoyance couldn’t be maintained towards Spencer’s face beaming back at him as he held up a wonky looking seahorse plushie. It wasn’t the same one he’d seen before. Some heartfelt child had taken pity on that one and given it a forever home. No, this was a perfect little present for his bubba.

Y/N thought so too as he let a grin settle onto his face.

“Ok, we can keep this one. But no more from now, alright?”

“I suppose. Besides, our baby isn’t our seahorse. You are!”

“You better not buy us a fish tank for my birthday.” A spike of nerves hit Y/N when he couldn’t quite catch Spencer’s eye to confirm his word. “Spencer? Promise me... Spencer!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“How are you feeling, Baby Daddy?” Derek hugged Y/N who was reclined in his bed. His body pillow propped him up for his visitors.

Y/N wrinkled his nose, “For once, I wish I was a real seahorse and I could have just sneezed her out.”

Katia Nikola Reid definitely looked like she’d been sneezed on when she first entered the world, screaming her teaspoon-sized lungs out. Named after a hero of both Y/N and Spencer, one day old, bundled in a blanket, she scowled at Spencer’s dopey face looming over her while Emily held her tight.

A hoard of presents huddled in the corner of Spencer and Y/N’s bedroom. Emily thought it’d be a great idea to bring the baby an Ikea shark that was bigger than the child – and would definitely take up around half of her cot.

“She’s already got him wrapped around her pinky finger.”

“Yes, she does,” Spencer agreed giddily.

Next, Derek took her in his arms, untucking her arms from the blanket swaddle to give her a fist bump. He swayed her about the room while Katia relaxed a little more. The deep humming in his chest soothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Katia stretched as if to touch his face, and her mouth gaped at him.

“Aww, baby genius is ready for a nap.” Derek yawned too, “Who’s gonna micromanage me while I put her down?”

“Me! Me!” Y/N said, his enthusiasm muted by tiredness. Spencer leapt to his side, helping him out of bed, his teammates watching fondly as he did so. Y/N was allowed out the room first, Derek close behind and clicking his tongue at little Katia.

“She’s so sweet,” Emily said, her eyes on the pair’s backs and the dangling loose blanket from under Derek’s left arm. “I’m so happy for you both.” And she hugged Spencer tight; Emily always gave such good hugs. Good thing she was going to be around to give plenty to his daughter.

Then, down the hall, he heard Derek say with sarcastic resignation, “Oh Spencer, I thought Y/N was kidding when he said no more seahorse themed items.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N ended up climbing into the bathtub with Katia. Even as she had grown into her chubby features, looking more and more like him and Spencer with each passing day, she was still so small.

Sitting up with her in his lap to help her out, Y/N lowered her into the warm water. His fingers tenderly rubbed the blackcurrant scented soap on her tummy, copying her expression as her tongue poked out between her gums. Her jerking legs rejected the water that Y/N’s hands cupped to rinse the bubbles off.

“Oh!” Y/N said in surprise as Katia sneezed, “Bless you.”

He heard the front door go, but he let Spencer follow the clues to their bathroom. Sure enough, the Doctor soon entered with his jacket shed, already rolling his sleeves up as he dropped onto the bathmat. A hand curled at Y/N’s chin as he kissed him before it stroked over the damp wisps of hair on Katia’s head.

“Hello. Hi.” His voice was that bit more delicate as he caught Katia’s eye and welcomed her big gappy smile.

Y/N tilted his head towards Spencer. “Good first day back?”

“I missed you both.” Spencer swished the water around by Katia’s side, “Isn’t it incredible how she’s experiencing all of this for the first time?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Spencer giggled away as the surrounding bathwater yellowed and Katia flapped her arms.

“Mind your language.” He said without any weight to his warning, “Our little girl can’t help it.” Then he stood and prepared her towel, a deep-sea blue that brought out her eyes. “Can I feed her tonight?”

“Of course, baby,” Y/N agreed as he lifted Katia out of the tub, where Spencer caught her and bundled her up with skilled speed. As he dried her off, Katia cooed away to herself. She did get a little pissed off when he dressed her up in a clean nappy and a sleepsuit, but Spencer couldn’t take her crumpled expression seriously without the tears.

The rocking chair had to be one of his best investments for his daughter’s room. It soothed Katia from the darkest of tantrums, a familiarity that swayed her. She fit so perfectly into Spencer’s arms and he fit so contentedly into the seat. Her eyelashes fluttered slowly shut as she drank more milk.

Not quite strong enough to sit up on her own, Katia leant fully into Spencer’s hand while he burped her – thankfully not for long. Then it was off into her cot.

Y/N watched him from the doorway as Spencer stroked the apple of Katia’s cheek while she drifted off into slumber. An effortless smile danced on his lips even as he switched the lamp off and welcomed Y/N over to see their sleeping babe.

“Love seeing you with her, Old Daddy Spencer teaching her everything she’ll need to know.” The kiss that followed was certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s nursery, so he took Y/N by the hand, leading him into the hallway. Even then, between the short pecks that pressed against his lips, Y/N continued to talk, “Is this how you felt while I was pregnant?”

Breath hot against his face, Spencer swallowed hard while Y/N said, “Seeing my handsome boyfriend carrying our child? I think I get it now.”

His hand slipped up Spencer’s shirt. It was crystal clear what his intentions were. Spencer was already close to panting when he pulled Y/N flush against him. With more desperation this time, they fumbled around their home until they made it to their bed. Spencer’s hands aligned with the stretch marks on Y/N’s thighs as he grabbed them and pulled him on top.

He huffed as Y/N’s teeth tugged and released his bottom lip, “We have to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet.” Y/N ripped off his shirt in one smooth movement, “Can you?”

Spencer couldn’t give an answer. Instead he pulled Y/N back against him as they fell onto their sheets.

Their first time in months, it didn’t last very long, but it was exactly what they needed.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The biggest surprise of the evening was that Rossi put down his drink to hold Katia. To be fair though, he had already had a few. Hence why he was singing and dancing around the garden with Katia in his arms. What a sight to behold, it eased the pain of Derek and Hotch’s absence, their own kids to take care of now.

Eventually Rossi relented, allowing Penelope to take Katia, turning to Y/N who had kept a watchful eye on his actions, “Promise me you’ll bring her over when she’s allowed to eat food.”

“I can’t give her your food for her first taste. She’ll be disappointed for the rest of her life,” Y/N joked, Rossi letting out a boisterous laugh that made Katia giggle in turn.

Penelope got to hold Katia next and show her off to Henry who was very intrigued to learn more about his godsister – Spencer told him that was who Katia was and it stuck. Henry became Penelope’s little shadow until they found a seat for him and a cushion for his lap to hold the baby. His joy unbridled at such a responsibility was adorable. He posed for many photos, while Katia for once stayed quiet.

Spencer was tired but the best kind of tired. A night in with friends, watching his boyfriend and his daughter be welcomed as much as he was, it wasn’t a surprise but it was always a delight. And this moment right now, Y/N cradling Katia’s with one hand squeezing her little foot before he planned to take her into Rossi’s office? What a life they had cultivated together. As he sipped his drink, the bliss in his tummy was not doused by it.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Slouching on the sofa, Spencer watched with tired eyes as Katia stumbled in the room, her hands held in Y/N’s while she waddled between his legs. Her round face lit up at the sight of Spencer. Her pace increased beyond her abilities and Katia swung forward a little as she almost fell over.

“Oh dear,” Y/N cooed while Katia got back to her unstable feet. “That’s it, there we go.”

Spencer wished he had the energy to properly appreciate this moment, especially since both his boyfriend and their daughter were grinning like they shared a secret.

Katia dropped down onto her nappy-cushioned bottom then began to crawl over to Spencer’s feet. His hands, although dirty, rough and near ruined, accepted her offer and lifted Katia up into his lap. They stayed for safety around her middle, keeping her sat up straight as she looked on him with those big eyes. Eyes that were fresh and untainted copies of his own.

Y/N sat down beside Spencer, leaning in close to Katia so he caught her attention, “Hey, why don’t you show your Daddy what we’ve been practicing?”

Looking away from both her Dads, Katia drooled and pushed her fist in her mouth. Y/N waved until he and Spencer were back into her line of sight.

“Go on, sugar plum.” He pointed to Spencer, “Who’s that?” And he mouthed the answer to her.

“Dadadadadada.”

It was barely above a whisper. But her little grin, the top of a tooth poking out of the centre of her bottom gums, the way Katia looked at Spencer when she said it? A soft “oh” fell from Spencer’s lips and he clutched her close, her chubby arms barely reaching around his neck. His breath shaking out of him, he kissed the thick thatch of hair that had sprouted in his absence. He could feel Katia whispering “Dadadadada!” again.

“That’s me, Katia, I’m your Dada.” He sniffed back the sting in his eyes at the absolute proof that, in his time away from her, she had remembered him. When he moved away, placing Katia back into his lap, he closed his eyes as Katia’s scrabbling fingers rubbed across the tip of his nose.

Katia made a sudden attempt to stand, throwing her entire bodyweight towards Spencer. Spencer’s breath was snatched from his lungs and the tension remained even after he caught her with ease.

“You ok?” Y/N said and Spencer noticed that his hand was supporting his against Katia.

Spencer nodded weakly, “Hmm, you?”

“Better now.” Y/N let his hand go and began rubbing Spencer’s back in the same circular motions that Spencer rubbed Katia’s.

A tug snagged Spencer’s head to the left and he tutted as Katia grabbed at his cheek, “Ow, Katia, no.”

Instead, Katia took a fistful of the next thing she could find, which was Spencer’s hair, and she cried out an identical (if higher pitched) “Ow!”

“You hurt Spencer, not the other way around, Katia. Stop faking.” Y/N scolded playfully.

But Katia repeated Spencer’s outburst again, “Ow!”

Y/N lifted Katia’s little fist from Spencer’s hair, and it immediately clamped down on Spencer’s finger as an alternative to wave about.

Spencer kissed her hand, still so tiny and forgiving against his. He looked at Y/N, blinking fast as he half-heartedly said, “She’s so like you.”

The lock of hair Katia had yanked on curved around Y/N’s touch as he put it back into the disarray of fluff that stood around Spencer’s head, “That’s funny, because I think she’s so like you.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Tilting the pram onto its back wheels, Spencer pushed it up the step and into the aquarium tunnel. Katia lay back in her seat while gumming on her blanket corner. Her eyes were ready to take in the sights.

Y/N knelt before her, suffering a few kicks to his knees from Katia’s excitement. Her pram clips were undone. Little Katia was released into her Daddy’s arms then plonked up onto his shoulders. Her starfish-like hands pressed up against the glass. Her mouth became as wide as her eyes as she pointed at the stingray rippling past. She had seen fish before (Carl and Rosalind at home) but never like this.

“Yeah, that’s a ray, Katia,” Y/N rubbed his fingers over her back, his hands still to keep her steady.

Spencer pointed his finger right next to hers, “They use their electro-sensors, not their eyes, to find their meals which consists of shrimps, clams, and -”

Katia shrieked – interrupting his and she smacked her hands against the glass. No one seemed to mind though. Some patrons in the tunnel even chuckled at her behaviour. Like she needed any more encouragement, especially with Y/N grinning up at her and tickling her sides to elicit more laughter from his daughter.

When Spencer’s hand dropped, Katia shouted again. A little confused, he returned it and Katia took his finger in her hand then began dragging the tip across where the ray was.

“She wants it as a pet, what do you say, baby?”

“I thought you said not to get you any fish for your birthday.”

Eventually Katia was returned to the pram. Her head was thrown back to watch the rest of the tunnel go by. Then she hid her face in her blankie once they were out in the last few exhibits. There was a little tug of war to get her to let it go (she was a lot stronger than Y/N gave her credit for) and see the one other exhibit that both parents were invested in.

Taking her hand again, Spencer squatted beside the pram. “Hey look, the men seahorsies have the babies. They’re just like your Daddy.”

“Your favourite Daddy,” Y/N ruffled Spencer’s hair while Spencer pretended to be outraged. Katia caught onto the dramatic expression Spencer was wearing and copied him with a gasp added for good measure.

“What d’you reckon, any of these were babies when we went to visit last time?”

“Well, Y/N, the lifespan of these seahorses is approximately a year. So they could be.” He knew it was unlikely but, for the sake of the smiles on Y/N’s and Katia’s face, Spencer let it be.

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, warnings, and notes here!

chapter two: limbic resonance

limbic resonance: the idea that the capacity for sharing deep emotional states arises from the limbic system of the brain. these states include the dopamine circuit-promoted feelings of empathic harmony, and the norepinephrine circuit-originated emotional states of fear, anxiety, and anger.

PATTON

“My best guess, Patton, is that I think you’re just very social, in sensate terms.”

Patton blinks. They’re sitting in his apartment, this time, a variety of writing practice sheets spread out on his carpet that he really should be grading, but Emile had popped in, and, the same way he has for the past five days, Patton immediately turned his attention to him, in hopes of figuring out what’s going on.

“Well,” Patton says, unsure of what to really say, before he just settles on, “that’s not new.”

Emile smiles, reaching over to pat his hand.

“What we’re doing right now, we call visiting,” Emile explains. “Sharing is something you can only do with your cluster; parents of a cluster, like me—”

“And our psychic grandpa Harley?”

“And your psychic grandpa Harley is to me,” Emile agrees, “is a bit more of a fuzzy area. I can share a bit with you, though—” he gestures to the mostly-finished meal he had made for Patton, the dirtied pot, pan, and utensils sitting on a countertop in Patton’s apartment, “so that’s nice! Harley could only share with us a little, memories, mostly. Young sensates, like you and your cluster, tend to have very little control over it at first. It usually comes with practice. You seem to be visiting almost everyone in your cluster.”

“Well, I don’t even know if I’m controlling it,” Patton says. “I just find myself in places sometimes.”

Emile nods in understanding.  “Visiting isn’t like calling or texting someone. It’s not something you make happen, it’s something you let happen.”

“...I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Patton admits.

“It usually takes a while to get,” Emile says affably.

“And I never really stay for long,” Patton says. “I kind of had a conversation with one, I think, but I don’t know how much I imparted hi, I’m one of your psychic partners in life now, you know what I mean? The longest I’ve ever stayed is about five minutes, and I’m pretty sure he was out camping and asleep.”

“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Emile says encouragingly. “And I’m here to help, or explain questions you have, whenever I can. None of that vague you are more than yourself then whoosh, disappearing into thin air thing Harley pulled for our cluster. I want to be a helpful parent, thanks.”

That’s mostly what they’ve been doing over the past five days—Patton’s been trying to figure out what on earth is going on.

He’s already figured out that Emile isn’t a hallucination—his kindergartners had only been too eager to shout “HI MR. T’S AMERICAN FRIEND!!!” into his cellphone, and they’d all heard Emile’s responses back, so the is this really happening or am I seeing things? question has been resoundingly answered.

It’s the whole surprise! You’re not exactly human! thing that’s been tripping him up. Emile’s been trying to explain it in scientific terms, but honestly. Patton is a kindergarten teacher. He has no idea what epigenetic factors means. He just knows that Emile’s been throwing around the term homo sensorium a few times. That sounds like not exactly human to Patton.

“Have you gotten through to anyone else in the cluster like you have with me?” Patton asks Emile, rather than think about that a bit more. All he gets is another headache.

At least the migraine’s fading.

“Not quite,” Emile says, frowning. “You’ll probably connect with them sooner than I will; you have been connecting with them much more than I have. I just see glimpses.”

“So, just to make sure I get it,” Patton says. “I’m now psychically connected through—what’s it called again?”

“Psycellium,” Emile prompts.

“Right. I’m now psychically connected through something called psycellium, a psychic nervous system that we have because we are sensates, or homo sensorium.” 

Emile gives him a thumbs-up.

“Sensates are a species of humans that are telepathically connected to each other. Every sensate is part of a group or cluster of sensates and members of a cluster can connect and communicate with each other wherever they are in the world.”

“Got it in one,” Emile says.

Patton huffs, flopping onto the bed.

“Honestly,” he says. “I’m so glad I’m the one blinking to you most often. I’d hate to try figuring this out without anyone who knows what’s happening.”

LOGAN

It’s been a demonstrably strange past five days. Logan has been keeping notes.

He typically carries around a small notebook as a virtue of his profession—it’s very helpful to jot down things like observations of unusual penguin behaviors, supplies he needed to put in a request for, or potential questions to ask scientists within other disciplines, rather than relying on remembering it all by rote.

He usually does remember it all by rote, but he thinks that’s greatly helped because he bothers to write it all down anyway. Handwriting information has been proven to help send information to the hippocampus, where the decision is made to either store the information long-term or let it go. If he writes something by hand, all that complex sensory information increases the chances the knowledge will be stored for later.

Anyone who happened to crack open his notebook and look at his notes for the past five days would surely think he was going mad.

May 8th—Migraine @ approx. noon; strange man in pajamas @ approx. 4 pm. 

May 9th—tasted savory (meat?) when drinking tea @ 6 am; strange man (codename consideration?) cursing loudly in spanish @ approx 10 am; diff. man on computer pages that should have been locked to him @ 3:21 pm; saw a flash of sunny road @ approx 5 pm; migraine persists.

And so on, and so on. The frequencies have been growing over the past two days; he’s filled up the entire page allotted for usual day-to-day notes with just the strange things he’s been hearing, smelling, tasting.

Seeing.

He’s seeing things. That is rarely a good sign for one’s brain chemistry. And it’s not like there’s a proliferation of therapists, brain surgeons, or MRIs in Antarctica.

Now, he jots down May 12th at the top of the page, adding migraine persists, 6.5/10 pain @ 7 am, which is at least a little bit better than days past. He taps his pen on the desk, wondering if the dream he’d had about sitting on a couch beside a man as he proselytized a cartoon amid couple’s therapy warrants notation. It had all been people he’d never seen before. 

As he taps, he frowns and pauses his movement; then, he gently nudges the notebook aside, in case of shadow.

No. There is a pile of dirt under the notebook.

Logan glances around the barracks, and moves to sweep the dirt off his desk; even as he is trying to be tidy about it, the dirt gets under his fingernails, and Logan scowls down at it. The dirt’s very stubborn. He sweeps at the dirt again, and again, but the pile only seems to grow, and he sweeps and manages to knock his notebook off his desk—

Logan groans, getting down on his knees to retrieve it, And then he puts two hands down, to press himself back up, and—

He looks up. The scent of spices, familiar and yet unplaceable in his mind, is in the air. The sun is beating down on his back. 

Logan’s lips part slightly with surprise; for one thing, he is in Antarctica, and sunny hot days are not something he experiences particularly often there.

For another, a man is staring at him. His lips part, too, his hands in the dirt, fingertips bare centimeters away from Logan’s; it’s as if they’re looking into a mirror.

They stare.

The man is black, his hair freshly cut, by the look of the clean, fresh shave along his sideburns, his hair buzzed short. He has a strong jawline, and thick eyebrows, set into his face to make him look as if he’s perpetually furrowing them. His mouth is set in a thin line as if he’d been pressing his lips together in concentration. 

His skin is clear and glowing in the light. He’s rather handsome, Logan thinks nonsensically, and then firmly attempts to set that thought aside. There’s a slight smudge of white from where he has not rubbed in his sunscreen along his cheekbone. 

His bare hands are buried in the dirt; he’d been planting something before Logan showed up, Logan knows it.

“Where am I?” The man asks, in a language that Logan does not speak and yet still understands; they are back in the barracks in Antarctica, Logan sitting at his desk and the man kneeling on Logan’s bed, and yet simultaneously they are in that sunny garden, fingernails encrusted with dirt. “What is this?”

“Antarctica,” Logan says, confused; if this was a figment of his mind, surely the man would know where he was? “Where are you?”

“Pretoria,” the man says, and they’re kneeling back in the dirt. He looks as confused as Logan feels.

“In South Africa?” Logan says, befuddled. Of all the places his mind could place him—why somewhere he’d thought about studying, but never actually gone?

The man’s eyebrows actually furrow, now. “Do you speak Xhosa?”

Logan shakes his head. He returns, “Do you speak Polish?” 

The man snorts, but he shakes his head too.

“Then how are we understanding each other?” Logan murmurs, and jots down in his notebook, language differential? Research Xhosa.

“I don’t know,” he says.

They stare at each other a bit more. Then:

“Logan,” the man says, suddenly certain with it.

He knows my name, Logan thinks, something in his stomach fluttering with what he’d like to think is unease. It would be much more appropriate if it was unease.

But a hallucination would know his name.

“You drink black tea in the mornings,” he continues. “With raspberry in it.”

Logan blinks rapidly because suddenly he can place the scent of spices in the air—the meat he’d tasted.

“Umngqusho,” Logan says, the word rolling smoothly off his tongue despite never having said it or heard it in his life. And then he recoils, because—

“This cannot be real,” he says, rapidly scrawling it in his notebook, even though he can feel the dirt under his fingernails, see the street filled with people out for walks, smell the dinner’s spices lingering on the air, feel the heat of the sun. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to visit my psychologist again,” he agrees gloomily.

Virgil. Virgil agrees gloomily. His name is Virgil.

Fantastic. Now his mind is naming these hallucinations. Isn’t there some saying about not letting children name animals because then they’d get attached? Would there be a similar philosophy with hallucinations?

He notes it anyway—PRETORIA, VIRGIL—and swallows, looking to the door of the barracks. He’d be expected to do some kind of work within the hour, and to get some kind of breakfast before that.

“I don’t understand this,” Logan says, and if that isn’t terrifying, “So, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to assume you are a very vivid hallucination.”

“Sure,” Virgil shrugs, gesturing to the pile of dirt. “I’m busy transferring a new jacaranda tree anyway.”

“Now that’s resolved,” Logan says, heart pounding, “I’m going to resume finishing off these notes and get some tea.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be pretending you’re not there.”

“Same,” Virgil says, and he returns his attention to his jacaranda sapling.

Logan swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and adds a starting time to this hallucination before he closes his notebook, gathers his bag, and walks in the direction of the dining hall.

Or, he tries. Because—

There is a fence in his way. Logan scowls, turning to face Virgil, who has turned his attention away from the jacaranda.

“Sorry,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know how I came here, or how to go back.”

The hall, again, Virgil still crouched, looking suddenly absurd attempting to plant something into the tile. The absolute lack of any sensation to note the transition is more of a surprise than the transition itself.

“Maybe it’s some kind of calling system,” Virgil muses. “Like a subconscious call we can’t control, in case of danger or changes in our environment—like pisum satvum, they communicate stress cues via their roots to allow neighboring unstressed plants to anticipate an abiotic stressor. Falik found that unstressed plants demonstrated the ability to sense and respond to stress cues emitted from the roots of the osmotically stressed plant.”

“Perhaps,” Logan says, then, “You’ve studied this?”

“Well, I’d hope so,” Virgil says. “I just got through defending my thesis for a botany doctorate.”

Logan blinks. “Congratulations.”

Virgil gives him a curt nod, then says, “You’ve got a doctorate too, don’t you? Astronomy.”

“How did you know that?”

“No idea,” Virgil says, examining Logan. “Just did.”

“Well, our respective doctorates aside,” Logan says. “I don’t detect any stresses in my environment apart from this.” He gestures between them.

Virgil frowns at him, before he says, “Have you had a migraine lately?”

“...yes,” Logan admits. “A dreadful one.”

“Well,” Virgil says. “Maybe that’s our stress.”

Logan frowns. “Maybe. I don’t see how that would cause me to start hallucinating someone an ocean away, though. Or sending stress to you. Surely we aren’t the only two people in the world with a migraine at the moment.”

Logan focuses so much on attempting to continue what he usually does in the mornings that he doesn’t notice a woman lingering in the shadow of the dining hall, frowning thoughtfully after Logan.

“Larry, honey?” she says, to what anyone else would see as thin air. “I might have one.”

A pause.

“Well, that’s always the question with these science types, isn’t it.”

JANUS

Janus pulls back from his home PC with a slow exhale, rubbing his fingers along his brow. Well, the migraine hasn’t been solved, but at least this question has been, even if it raises an entirely new one.

Bright side: he’s found a name.

Dark side: Why on earth is a fugitive Mexican murderer blinking in and out of his life?

And a New Zealander, and an American, and an African, but he thinks the murderer should probably be at the top of the list of why on EARTH.

Janus examines the admittedly scant description; no one seems to know what this R.J. Duke person looks like, or even his real name, but Janus does, somehow. He knows that R.J. Duke’s real name is Remus, even if R.J. Duke’s legal name is different from that. He idly toys with the concept of messing about with the Mexican equivalent of the DVLA to swap over his gender to the proper one, but he figures hacking a foreign government and especially hacking a foreign government concerning the information of a wanted murderer even if no one seemed to know that this name listed is the wanted murderer.

That seems quite confusing. Janus turns to the legal notepad on his desk—writing things down longhand is a pain, but even as secure as his home setup is, he doesn’t necessarily trust this information falling into Key’s hands. He doesn’t even trust Key with his normal cell phone number.

REMUS REGIO Trans man—deadname in system hasn’t legally transitioned? Remus=RJ DUKE, no one seems to know?

Janus pauses. He drums his fingers on the table, staring at the latest ID photo of Remus Regio. There are a few notes of juvenile delinquency in his record. He could crack it, if he wanted, to get the full reports. He’s about to when he feels a soft, slight gust of wind; like someone’s walking up behind him.

And then there’s a hand on his desk, someone leaning in to stare at the screen with a look of longing on his face so agonizing it makes Janus look away.

He knows who this is, too: there’s a segment on his notepad labeled ROMAN REGIO, stage name Roman Prince. He looks very similar to Remus, enough that if anyone got them side-by-side the familial resemblance would be undeniable.

Good thing R.J. Duke wasn’t the type to add an about the author section in the dust jackets of his books.

“Are you looking for him?” Roman asks, brusque. He has an accent, one a casting director would request as a “sexy Latin accent.” 

Janus chances a look at Roman; the longing is gone, as if he’d imagined it, replaced by a mask of general indifference, with a slight look of contempt in his eyes at the sight of Janus.

“I suppose,” Janus says. “Are you?”

Roman’s face twists up again.

“You aren’t?!” Janus says. 

“He hasn’t told me where he is, he didn’t bring his phone—” Roman says, anguished.

Janus stares at him.

“Are you stupid?” He says incredulously. “Of course he didn’t bring his phone, it could be tracked.”

“Stcheww-pid,” Roman says, in a frankly ridiculous attempt at mocking Janus's accent.

“Oh, very mature,” Janus huffs. He should have figured an actor would be the bratty, stuck-up type.

Roman sticks out his tongue. Janus rolls his eyes.

“Why am I hallucinating a tiresome family of famous Mexican creatives,” Janus asks the air.

Roman’s face screws up into a scowl. 

“Why am I hallucinating a snobby colonizer?”

He turns, just to be sure. Roman is gone.

“Rude,” Janus says loudly to the suddenly empty air, in case he can still hear him. 

EMILE

Emile carefully folds his top lip over his teeth after years of practice, engaging in his maybe-once-a-month shaving routine. He’s never really been able to grow a beard or mustache, but he does grow stubble, very slowly, which makes him look rather scruffy if he just leaves it.

He taps the razor on the sink to shake off the foam, rinses it, before he returns his attention to the mirror and beams.

The face that isn’t his own meets his eyes a moment later and jumps in fright, before whipping his head around to check if there’s anyone behind him.

It’s not strange to see another face looking out of a mirror at him—honestly, he’s a little surprised Linny hasn’t shown up to make faces at him in the mirror before now, like she usually does—it’s just that this isn’t the face of one of his cluster.

The man frowns, confused, which pinches the scar on his face, which—

“Oh!” Emile says excitedly and puts a hand to the mirror. “Oh! Hello! You’re, um—you’re Janus, yes?”

“What the hell,” the man mutters in a distinctly British accent, and reaches for the edges of the mirror; Emile thinks he’s trying to prise it open, as if to see if there’s some kind of device behind it to project Emile’s image.

“I’m not actually there!” Emile says brightly. “Oh, this is wonderful, this means that you’re all going to start breaking through a bit more—I think, it’s not like there’s a parenting book for this kind of thing. Anyways, you’re not going crazy, or whatever you might think, it’s just that your brain is built a bit differently, and it turns out to be the exact same type of different as five other people, so you’re all psychically connected now!”

There’s a very long pause. Then:

“The fuck?” 

REMUS

“Don’t eat that.”

Remus twitches, which honestly, is the best reaction he’s had to all these weird hallucinations so far. If this is some kind of form of demon retribution from Miguel Contreras, one would think he’d send the demons after his actual murderer who poisoned him, rather than the person who wanted to kill him but didn’t. 

He can imagine the way Roman’s face would twist up if Remus freely admitted to wanting to kill someone, which is how he knows it’s maybe not normal to admit that he wanted to kill someone, outside of the slightly joking, oh, I’ll kill him! thing people say.

But hey. Remus didn’t kill him. The didn’t part has to count for something. Right?

“That’s a hallucinogen,” the man continues.

Remus stares at him. Is that meant to sound like a bad thing? Because going on some kind of mushroom-induced trip would be awesome right now. He slowly raises the plant to consider it.

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” the man adds hastily.

This does not sound like a bad time at all. He brings the plant closer to his mouth.

The man slaps it out of his hand.

“It also might kill you,” he scolds, looking at the plants that Remus has managed to gather. “I’m assuming you’re going to try to eat all of these?”

“Yes,” Remus says.

The man stares at the plants. He nudges one aside with his foot to survey the pile.

“So there’s like a sixty percent chance you would have died if you ate all of this in one sitting,” he says.

“A forty percent chance I would have survived this mind-meltingly great time, though, and I’ve taken worse odds,” Remus points out. 

The man pinches the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. Remus is very familiar with seeing people perform this gesture at him.

“How do you know all this, anyway?” Remus continues.

“Botanist,” the man says, crouching slightly to press his hands against the dirt, rubbing it between his fingers. “Where are we? Seems like a tropical climate.”

“Mexico,” Remus says, refusing to give a more specific location than that. 

The man gestures vaguely, and Remus looks around—he’s in a dark bedroom, lit only by a desk lamp that’s busy shedding most of its light on a tray full of what Remus thinks are maybe flower saplings.

“South Africa.”

The man rises to his feet, hands planted on his hips.

“Right,” he says decisively. “You’re in a forest environment, it should be easy enough to gather enough edible plants to form some kind of meal. Maybe not an appetizing one, but a meal. C’mon.”

And so begins a very odd day, even by Remus's standards.

The man—Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi, Remus spots a diploma waiting to be framed sitting on his desk—starts teaching Remus about stuff called quelites, which are edible sub-products of other crops, usually vegetables, as well as a variety of edible flowers, which cacti are safe to crack open and use as food, and which plants need to be tossed into a fire and which are fine to eat raw.

All the while, even as they’re hiking through the forest, Virgil occasionally reaches back to his bedroom in South Africa, pulling down thick textbooks to show Remus pictures of the various growth stages of plants, or googling things on his laptop to double and triple-check his knowledge (he does that for literally almost every plant, and somehow Remus knows it’s because Virgil absolutely wants to be sure Remus isn’t poisoned) or just to check on his little flower saplings.

So by the time the sun is setting in Monterrey, and by the time it’s the witching hour in South Africa, Virgil and Remus survey their little pile of plants.

“Do you know if this is a hallucination or not?” Virgil asks him abruptly, a sudden about-face from his day full of somewhat normal behavior.

Remus shrugs, spreading his hands.

“Maybe I ate one of those hallucinogens—”

Virgil winces, almost on instinct, as if the thought of shrugging away concerns and popping a random plant into his mouth is giving him heart palpitations. It probably is.

“—and my brain’s trying to give me a plant expert to, I don’t know,” Remus says, smiling humorlessly. “Get some knowledge about rosary peas. Free me up from that pesky murder charge.”

Virgil turns to him, his jaw dropping.

“That what?!” He says, and then, as if the shock of realizing he’s been educating a fugitive all day is just too much for him, he pops away. Gone.

Remus looks at the plants.

“Thanks for dinner, I guess,” he says to the empty air and goes about sorting all the plants they’d plucked together.

VIRGIL

Murder charge. A murder charge.

Virgil’s mind is spinning even as he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach. He is making absolutely no attempt to fall asleep.

Murder charge.

That is not the type of thing someone should just casually drop in the middle of a conversation!

Virgil had, obviously, figured out that this was kind of a strange dude; very specific types of people tended to camp out in caves without in-depth knowledge of the plants around them. Campers who overestimated their hunting capabilities, for instance. Hikers waiting to see rare animals. 

Also, Virgil had just kind of figured that he was in an extended hallucination, and, to quote an American comedian he’d been introduced to in college, he’d been in one of those days where you’re like...this might as well happen?

He’d made an appointment with his psychologist, regardless. So he was a little less stressed about the whole hallucinating strangers thing, if only by the virtue of figuring he’d know what was going on with his brain soon.

And also maybe because the nice Polish scientist in Antarctica had been a strangely settling presence, simply by virtue of how solid he’d seemed, but Virgil’s very carefully not thinking about any feelings that could have been inspired in him at the sight of a Polish man with very nice hair and a deep voice and very blue eyes. Not even the thought of how it had felt like Virgil had been straining to reach something and meeting the scientist felt like some kind of blessed release.

But now this stress has ratcheted up even higher, way past his original stress levels.

Murder charge.

But—wait.

A Mexican accused of murder whose weapon of choice was rosary peas?

Virgil rolls onto his side, knowing before he even stands up to go to his bookshelf that he’s going to be researching all night.

ROMAN

“Honey, I’m home,” Roman calls out wearily, dropping his keys into the bowl on top of the entry table. They clatter against the ceramic and rest side-by-side with their twins.

“Welcome back, beloved!” A much perkier voice calls from their living room, completing the joke. Roman traipses into the room.

Sasha is lying on the floor on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air, eyes narrowed at scripts spread across the floor. 

“Hey,” she says. “My agent says I should probably post something, people have been resorting to pap shots of us to create buzz and I’m trying to pick new projects. I hope I get another slasher film, I’ve wanted to do another one ever since I finished my last one. Scroll through our prepped shots and pick one for me, will you?”

“I can take a selfie and put it on your story, the Roshas loved that last time,” Roman says.

“Mm, repeating ourselves, too close to the last one we did,” Sasha says. “Nah, I think a throwback one would be better. If you wanna do a story, get over here and I can kiss you on the cheek.”

“I’m all gross and sweaty,” Roman says. “Hardly swoon-worthy.”

Sasha mutters something under her breath about that working for some people, but Roman shakes his head. He looks at the floor to peek at a script. He immediately sets it out of her reach.

Sasha raises her eyebrows at him. “No?”

“No,” Roman says, flicking aside the script for good measure. “He almost always writes a homophobic role in there. Early on, I got called in to do stunts for the scene where…” He tilts his head slightly, trying to recall the exact line. “Oh, right. The Hispanic coke dealer is about to give another kind of blow job when he finally gets the bullet he deserves.”

“Jesus,” Sasha says. “Yeah, keep that one far away from me, thanks. Oh, here—”

She unlocks her phone, goes to the photo album she’s entitled Rosha PR Shots and hands it to Roman.

Roman scrolls through. They’re all very posed, but they don’t look like it—a virtue of two actors together, he guesses—shots of them lounging on the couch, shots of Roman and Sasha at a romantic dinner, shots of Sasha fixing his tie before a red carpet.

“This one,” he says at last, coming across a more candid shot of Roman cooking dinner (for Sasha, it is implied by the candles on the table and the low lighting of the room.) “Nice and romantic. Domestic, even.”

“Perfect,” Sasha says and sends it off to her social media manager to be posted, surely with some kind of caption like dream guy, dream dinner, or something like that. It’ll drive the Roshas crazy, and maybe it’ll help things die down. 

He also knows he’s hoping in vain. They’ve been living together a year and a half, “dating” for another year before that, and it’s never died down. Last time he went to a grocery store he’d seen a tabloid with the pair of them out getting coffee on the front, speculating about what they’d done the night before by the state of Sasha’s hair (they’d eaten only egg rolls for dinner and watched a lot of The Good Place together and she’d fallen asleep on the couch) but the unsettling part was he hadn’t even seen the pap that snapped it.

Roman thought it would die down, but naturally Roman and Sasha have stumbled their way into the nationwide favorite couple. 

Shame the whole nation doesn’t know they’re rooting for roommates bearding for each other.

It’s a mutually beneficial relationship—they have a default red carpet partner in each other, the fact that they share an apartment (Roman’s bedroom is converted into an office whenever a magazine invites themself over for a profile) means they can afford a suitably glitzy place with very good security, and they also don’t get blacklisted from the business for being gay.

People writing fanfiction about them is a bit weird, though. Roman’s all for creativity, and he wrote some back in his day, but reading it about himself is a trip and a half.

Sometimes Roman and Sasha have nights where they drink lots of wine and read particularly graphic paragraphs out to each other. It’s honestly way funnier than any comedy movie they could pick—the concept of either of them would have heterosexual sex alone. Let alone the widely-spread fan theory that Roman has a heart-shaped mole on his ass.

It’s very weird being famous.

“You wanna order in tonight?” She asks him. “That place that does that really nice chicken dish down the street’s running a pretty great deal.”

“Yeah, I’m not up for cooking,” Roman says.

She frowns at him, rising up to put a hand on her forehead, the way she has for days. “Migraine still?”

“Migraine still,” Roman agrees. Her hand feels cool, but not cold, the way it would if he was feverish. 

Sasha sighs. “And you’re sure you don’t know why? No other symptoms?”

Roman feels a little twist of guilt in his stomach.

“No,” he lies.

Sasha believes him at his word, the way she always does because they know everything about each other. He knows about the long-term girlfriend she’d had when she was in college in San Diego and the nasty end; she knows about Roman’s lactose intolerance and how little he heeds it; he knows about her line memorization techniques; she knows about his parents’ messy divorce.

She’s his best friend. They know everything about each other. Everything.

Or, at least, they did, before Roman’s mostly-hermit brother got accused of murder and Roman got a horrible migraine a week later. And the hallucinations.

Sasha would probably send him straight to a hospital if she heard like a good friend would. But he can’t go to a hospital now—not in the middle of a shoot, not when his brother’s on the run, not now. And that’s not even going into what the tabloids would say if he suddenly got shipped off to a hospital because he was seeing things.

Roman rolls over on the couch and smashes his face into a pillow, blocking Sasha’s face from his sight. She’s a good friend, a great friend, the best friend he’s ever had. And he’s lying to her.

Sasha makes a sympathetic noise and pats his ankle. “I’ll grab dinner this time, okay? You go ahead and take a nap.”

It’s very sweet of her to try and make him feel better, but it makes him feel just a little bit worse.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #8- I’m Sorry, the Domain Name thebomb.com is Already in Use

It’s been a hot minute since we last got to focus on the Scavengers- ah, the chaotic nature of comic print schedules! Luckily, we’ve got a Story So Far to remind us where we left off.

Our issue starts 10,000 years in the past, where Fulcrum is riding in a plane and preparing to drop with his fellow K-Cons. It’s crowded, there’s a guy crying in the corner, everyone’s wearing the same outfit, and no one’s got time to go home and change. How embarrassing!

Torque’s never heard of personal space, as is made apparent by his power-stance pelvic thrusting here. Fulcrum is less than impressed by this show of bravado, but there’s no time to dwell on it because it’s time to jump the glory of Megatron.

At least one of them is having a good time.

In the present day, the Scavengers are freaking the hell out, because as it turns out, it’s THEM who’re afraid of the DJD.

Krok keeps trying to reach his old squad, as if anything short of Megatron himself would be able to save them from the horrible death coming their way, while Flywheels grapples with his faith and inferiority complex at the same time.

Spinister brings up a decent point, despite Misfire’s earlier claim that he’s the stupidest creature in the universe- Misfire is kind of an asshole, so anything he says involving just about anything should be taken with a grain of salt- but the problem is, nobody in their right mind would incriminate themselves to the DJD if they could help it. Also, everyone knows that Tarn’s got his head way too far up his own ass to have any sort of rhyme or reason for anything he does beyond the 𝕒𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕔.

Krok leans on his career as a military strategist to come up with a few ideas, and the boys decide to fight the DJD, after so much bitching and moaning.

But the DJD… the Decepticon Justice Division… are also Decepticons. Crankcase, are you gatekeeping here, my dude? Because I don’t think this is an internet debate you’re going to win.

The fellas decide that they’ll do what they do best, and use what’s been laying around in the dust and blood for thousands of years to fight off some of the scariest folks in the galaxy. What could possibly go wrong?

Over on the Lost Light, Chromedome and Skids are having a secret rendezvous at the oil reservoir, in secret and behind Rewind’s back, as Chromedome proceeds to call Skids handsome. No, they aren’t having a secret love affair, but are instead going to mnemosurgery the shit out of Skids. Rewind doesn’t like that Chromedome is still doing this, but what Rewind doesn’t know won’t hurt him, surely. We’ll find out just why exactly Rewind isn’t a fan of Chromedome’s line of work later on, but for now it’s time to dig around in a hot guy’s brain.

Just kidding, it’s Scavenger time.

The Scavengers have set up a trap for the DJD, and that trap is Grimlock; still locked in his stasis pod, they’re pulling a “rigged box and stick with a piece of cheese inside” maneuver. Let’s see how this plays out.

Hmm. That’s not a great start.

The Peaceful Tyranny lands, Tarn transforms, comes down the gangplank, transforms, waxes poetic about the brilliance of the Decepticon copy writers, transforms, drives 15 feet, transforms, then, after clearly stating that the big stasis pod in the middle of nowhere is a trap, opens it anyway.

Never has a nut-punch been more deserved than in this exact moment.

Grimlock has a strong start, but almost immediately begins to flag, as he’s put down by Tesaurus. This is why we do warmups prior to rigorous exercise, people!

Misfire tries to sneak off while Tarn’s distracted whispering into Grimlock’s ear like one would a lover, but that doesn’t really work out.

Back over on the Lost Light, Chromedome’s having a time and a half trying to parse just what the hell’s going on with Skid’s head. All his memories from the last year aren’t lost, but rather destroyed, which is concerning to say the least, only leaving a need to escape. There’s also some nasty beast in Skid’s more distant past that Chromedome can see. However, it would seem that Skid’s brain took the out when it saw one and buried that nightmare so deep it’ll take multiple sticks of dynamite to wiggle it loose, so Chromedome’s leaving it where it is.

What this tells me is that Rung has no business referring patients to Chromedome for treatment, if this is how we’re meant to handle repressed memories. Remember back in issue #6, when Fort Max claimed he didn’t remember what happened in Garrus 9, and Rung was all “oh let me just call my guy Chromedome and have him stir your brain around like a martini”? Turns out, either that’s a terrible idea and Rung hasn’t paid attention to the work that half his coworkers on Kimia were involved with, or he was making an empty threat, which doesn’t seem like great practice for a therapist.

Pretty fucked up of you, Rung.

Anyways, Skids is less than thrilled by this, and demands Chromedome do it anyway, which Chromedome promptly refuses. He’ll play around with his own life, but not his friends’. Skids walks off in a huff, because I guess no one’s ever refused his pretty ass anything before, but asks a question before he leaves.

Well, I’m sure that won’t be a major plot point later on.

Let’s check back in with the Scavengers.

Between Tesaurus’ line here, Tarn harassing Grimlock, and Skids’ asking Chromedome why he pulled out during their secret meeting, this is probably the most sexually-charged issue of MTMTE so far.

Flywheels’ only purpose as a character was so that Roberts had a stand-in for the word “fuck” last issue. Sorry, dude, you’ve done your job. Off to the shredder with you!

No time to worry about him, Krok, because it’s time for your face mask treatment at the universe’s shittiest spa.

The worst part about this is the fact that he’s being held a full nelson by the DJD’s record-keeper, who turns into a fucking chair and doesn’t even have eyes. Oh, the indignity of it all.

Misfire tries to save Krok, but all he manages to do is prove that his nickname isn’t ironic in the slightest. Then he’s attacked by a dog.

That shadow being tossed towards the horizon in the background is Crankcase, who lands right about where Fulcrum’s been hiding this entire time, like the giant coward he is, as he watches these guys who tried to steal his organs get murdered to death. He runs off, and Crankcase plays to stereotype and gripes about the whole situation, until he notices something above him.

Then he immediately drops dead, because as it turns out Misfire wasn’t exaggerating when he said Crankcase would die if he ever even thought about smiling.

Over in Tarn’s soliloquy corner, he’s managed to stab his thumb so hard into Grimlock’s throat it’s literally bleeding, as he trash talks the Scavengers, calling them the “six biggest failures of all”. Harsh. Grimlock’s not contributing to the diatribe, probably because there’s a hole in his throat that’s about where a trach would go.

Then Tarn has a bit of a problem, as he’s stepped on by a robot that’s roughly twenty times bigger than him.

I guess Crankcase must be the sixth worst Decepticon, because he’s gotten himself hooked up with this massive Jaeger Cybernought, one of the many that are strapped to the back of the Worldsweeper they found last issue. It’s a big friggin’ ship, we can forgive the oversight.

The DJD aren’t impressed by this new toy, and almost immediately take it down. Tarn, really starting to get peeved off about not getting to what they actually came here to do, yells for Fulcrum to show himself. Fulcrum, as it turns out, has managed to climb on top of the Worldsweeper, and is at least a few hundred feet above them. Because none of the DJD can fly, they have no choice but to listen to Fulcrum’s little speech.

Fulcrum was forged at the height of the Decepticon Empire, when the rhetoric was more “space eugenics sucks” and less “murder everything while Megatron has weird sexual tension with Optimus in the background”. Of course, they were still hunting organic species to flex, so maybe things weren’t perfect… though it isn’t like Fulcrum minded that aspect. Dude’s a little space racist.

Spacist.

The way Fulcrum sees it, folks like Tarn went and fucked up a good thing by being all murderous and violent just because they could, unlike his good pals the Scavengers, who are only murderous and violent when it’s necessary. “Necessary” is a word that’s played with kind of fast and loose with them, mind you, but they seem like pretty swell guys to Fulcrum. They’re definitely better than the DJD.

With one last “fuck you” to Tarn, Fulcrum takes a running leap off the top of this astonishingly huge ship and finally reveals just why exactly K-Cons aren’t known for doing fear.

Because who the fuck has ever asked a bomb how it’s feeling?

Everyone clears the area, as he hits the ground… and nothing happens. Fulcrum is marked off the List, the Scavengers are added, and the DJD fuck off without checking that their target is actually dead so they can go find Overlord and kick his ass.

Fulcrum’s fine, by the way.

This is why we check our work, Tarn.

Fulcrum, who is, again, a bomb, is a bit curious as to what’s happened here. Turns out, prior to the boys riffling through his torso for spare parts, Spinister- master surgeon Spinister- removed the explosive charge tucked up against his robot liver. Fulcrum is amazed by this news, because it’s apparently a super hard thing to do.

Are we sure that Spinister isn’t just super nearsighted? The world’s been described as a series of vaguely hostile shapes, is he playing it safe and attacking the things he can’t figure out within a few seconds? Maybe all that hand-staring he does is to gauge how shitty his vision is on a day to day basis, and everyone just assigned him Stupid At Birth because trying to understand our friends is for losers.

Then again, we should also remember that everyone in the Scavengers is so incredibly stupid, they couldn’t figure out between the five of them that Fulcrum had been alive while it was happening. Spinister probably wasn’t gentle with that procedure since he thought he was working with a corpse; for all we know, Fulcrum’s got his sparkcase inside-out now.

Crankcase carries poor, faceless Krok over, and Fulcrum laments on the fact that Krok’s squad never turned up. Crankcase implies something ominous about Krok’s method of communication with his old squadron, then we get the skinny on Fulcrum’s whole deal.

Yes, yes, I know B’lahr 39 is a reference to Wizard of Oz actor Bert Lahr, who played the Cowardly Lion. I caught that one before I’d even checked TFWiki for interesting notes on this issue. I was a film major in college, I’m legally required to know every single bit of trivia about the Wizard of Oz. It’s the second thing they beat into you, right after watching Citizen Kane for the 87th time.

Also, how many nerds are going to be in this series? Fulcrum’s a technician, Krok’s a strategist, Spinister and 3/4 of the Lost Light are doctors in some form or fashion, Tarn’s a friggin drama kid, the list goes on.

When Fulcrum was caught, the original plan was to have him tortured and killed at Styx, a  Decepticon penal colony, when plans changed and he got reformatted along with everyone else in the joint to be a suicide bomber.

If Fulcrum seems like a bit of a generic name for a giant space robot, it’s probably because it is. Fulcrum’s original alt-mode wasn’t a bomb- in fact, I have no idea what it’s meant to be. Word of God makes the claim that he turned into a leg prior to getting K-classed, but since Combiner teams have to be made in this continuity, that’s not what he came into being as. He’s got a tiddy window like Rung- something that will be more apparent when Josh Burcham is replaced by Joana Lafluente as the primary colorist for the comic run- but that seems more indicative of having minimal armor than any sort of alt.

Anyway, there’s something in the reformat to K-Con that compels one to switch to bomb mode when you jump ship- but it didn’t happen for Fulcrum, because he was so unbelievably terrified that he might have actually defied biology.

The others have stopped listening by this point, and have joined Spinister in poking the still-prone Grimlock with a stick. Misfire, in the first show of something like empathy we’ve really gotten from him, asks the fellas to help the poor guy up.

Sure, make the guy who’s a stiff breeze away from cracking in half lift the biggest motherfucker on this planet. Sounds like a plan.

Misfire does his damnedest to communicate to Grimlock that they come in peace.

Behold, the price of nostalgia!

This isn’t exactly where we left Grimlock last time he was in an IDW publishing. The last guy to have his hands on everyone’s favorite dinobot was Simon Furman, and he was a lot more well-spoken there. It would seem that no one got out of Garrus 9 unscathed.

This development is a bit of a problem for the Scavengers, who now aren’t quite sure what to do with a infamous warrior-bastard who’s mentally regressed to the point that he’s got to think about what his own name is. To be fair, most people wouldn’t know what to do in that sort of situation. Doesn’t help that the guy who usually has the braincell is currently passed out from face-based puncture trauma.

Misfire decides that they’ll take Grimlock along with them for collateral, and everyone is so impressed by him actually planning something out, they forget to think about the logistics of housing a whole entire T-Rex.

The guys, I guess just leaving Grimlock and the unconscious Krok in the dirt, go to find what’s left of Flywheels- basically the hips down is still intact. After a few kind words, the final rites are performed.

You will be missed, Flywheels, clearly.

You never see the Autobots resorting to cannibalism like this. Maybe they’re just better at making it not look like a vulture swarm.

Many, many months later, long after the Scavengers have left the planet of Clemency, a lone figure visits what’s left of dear Flywheels- it’s the Necrobot. That’s right, the Robo-Reaper is real, and it looks like he’s been busy.

…Spoilers, Necrobot! Come on!

After the story proper, we get a Meet the ‘Cons page. Let’s take a gander, shall we?

No.

NO.

NO!

I draw the line at this motherfucking sniper rifle having a college degree. What possible scientific field of study could he possibly-

It’s ballistics. He studied ballistics, didn’t he?

You know what? Fuck this, actually. See y’all later.

…Fuck you, Vos.

[malachileclair]

“How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?” — Richard Siken.

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Malachi Leclair.

NICKNAME(S): Mal.

AGE / DATE OF BIRTH: 30 / June 25.

GENDER: Cis Male. (he/him.)

CRYPTID SPECIES: Vampire.

NATIONALITY: French.

HERITAGE: Afro-Jamaican and French.

OCCUPATION: Doctor/Surgeon.

SEXUALITY: Bisexual.

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Eka Darville.

HEIGHT: 6′2.

WEIGHT: Lanky.

DOMINANT HAND: Right.

HAIR COLOR: Black.

EYE COLOR: Dark brown.

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Slightly crooked nose from being broken as a child; scars on arms and hands; small mole on the right side of his nose.

► BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Paris, France.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Metzger’s Menagerie.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Doctorate.

FAMILIAL CONNECTIONS:

MOTHER: Dinah Thompson. (Deceased.)

FATHER: Soloman Leclair. (Deceased.)

BROTHERS: Isaiah (33), Kai (28), Caleb (25), Abel (22) Leclair. (Status Unknown.)

SON: Elias Leclair. (9. Status Unknown.)

► EXTRA INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE: ESTJ

ENNEAGRAM: Type 8 & Type 5

TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic/Choleric

MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral to Chaotic Neutral.

COMMON ARCHETYPES: The Ruler

SIN: Lust.

VIRTUE: Diligence.

ELEMENT: Water.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin.

► THINGS DONE:

Broken a bone | Gotten stitches | Had a near-death experience | Invented something | Been hungover | Kissed someone | Slow danced | Been in a long-term relationship | Had sex | Had sex and regretted it | Had a one-night stand | Had a threesome | Experimented with their sexuality | Had a kid | Gotten married | Self-harmed | Been in a play | Received an inheritance | Been in a ship wreck | Lost a loved one | Been dumped | Dumped someone | Smoked | Gotten high | Been slipped something in their food/drink | Won a contest | Won an election | Joined a sports team | Gone skydiving | Gone hunting | Been in a band | Had a job | Been fired | Been in a wedding party | Owned a pet | Seen a ghost | Skipped class/work | Learned an instrument | Gotten a noticeable scar | Sued someone | Been robbed | Been mugged | Been kidnapped | Been sexually assaulted | Been brainwashed/hypnotized | Gone more than one day without eating | Had a recurring nightmare | Been bullied | Bullied someone | Seen someone die | Attempted suicide | Been tied/chained up | Shot someone | Stabbed someone | Saved someone’s life | Cheated on someone | Been cheated on | Been betrayed | Been in a fight | Been arrested | Been to a funeral | Had surgery | Broken someone’s trust | Gotten a tattoo | Used a fake name | Been tortured | Been abused | Been blackmailed | Had an attempt on their life | Gotten away with a crime | Gone on a road trip | Been in love

► HABITS:

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back or their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

► KNOWS HOW TO:

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive stick | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | draw | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give CPR | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | write in cursive | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | wrap a gift | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do yoga | tie a tie |skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read Morse code | pick a lock

[scullyitsme]

the purest specimen of truth

this is actually for @leiascully​‘s @xfficchallenges​: the fic you’d never write. normally i don’t write “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt” william fics, let alone fics where he’s a teeeeeen! so i did that, but i was also at the science march in d.c. this weekend and obvi i had to fic an au where scully was there so. . .also, all the signs mentioned herein were actually witnessed irl haha also, the title of scully’s academic paper is based in real science but to my knowledge doesn’t exist. . .yet.

“What about I was told there’d be pie — but it’s the symbol for pi?”

Scully sighed without looking up at him, though she did admittedly choke back a smile which she wasn’t about to reward him with.

“That is clever,” she said, tapping the capped end of a Sharpie against her temple, “But I was partial to your original idea.”

He chuckled, “At the start of every disaster movie there’s a scientist being ignored?”

She does smile then, peering at him overtop her reading glasses, which have slowly but surely become a permanent fixture atop her head over the last few years.

“Well, it’s true!” He bellows, playfully slapping his hand down atop the dining room table, “The Core, Dante’s Peak, The Day After Tomorrow, Twister —  that one we saw in theaters where they did an autopsy on Gwyneth Paltrow — ?”

“Contagion,” she said, uncapping a marker with her teeth, “Which was impressively accurate, by the way. Not just the autopsy scene but later, the visual showing the way in which new viruses are formed by the recombination of DNA or RNA from different species of animal hosts?”  

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, watching her squint intently down at her poster board, outlining the letters with a pathologist’s steady hand. He reached for a Sharpie, his finger grazing the back of her hand as he did. “So,” he said, flicking the cap off with his thumb, “Are you nervous?”

Her hand froze and she visibly stiffened. He immediately regretted bringing it up but as was his wont, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Yes,” she said after an agonizingly long moment of silence.“I still don’t understand why they asked me to speak,” she muttered, refusing to look up at him.

Mulder scoffed, “Scully — you fucking cured Tay-Sachs.”

“No,” she snapped, pointing her Sharpie at him, “I did not cure it. Not yet.”

“Recombiant Adeno-Associated Virus PHP.B Serotype for Cross-Correctional Enzyme Transfer Across the Blood Brain Barrier in Lipid Storage Disorders,” he recited on a single breath, “Sounds like a cure to me.”

She gave him a warm smile, “You memorized the title of my paper?”

“What can I say, I’m your biggest fan,” he grinned. She blushed, which of course only made him grin harder.

“I wish you’d look over my speech. . .” she said softly, picking up her marker again and retracing a giant letter S.

“I told you, Scully, they don’t want a speech from Fox Mulder: former FBI agent and profiler turned New York Times best-selling, National Book Award-winning author,” he said, though not unkindly, “They want a speech from former FBI agent, medical doctor, professor, surgeon, American Medical Association award-winning, guest-lecture giving, honorary degree-having, enigmatic, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Who also happens to be my best friend, the love of my life, and the mother of my child,” he said, “And a damn fine shot, too.”

“Oh, Mulder. . .” she tutted, shaking her head. As if on cue, they heard booming footfalls on the stairs and a second later Will skidded into the room, brandishing a poster board.

At 16, he was just about Mulder’s height and just as lanky and would probably be taller than him by the end of the summer; if his propensity for eating a week’s worth of groceries in a weekend was any indication of his basic metabolic rate and robust genetic profile.

Will cleared his throat, feigning seriousness, but his eyes sparkled with his father’s particular brand of indolence, “Brace yourselves for the unremitting sheen of my brilliance.”

Scully snorted. Mulder and Will threw her identical, indignant looks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender, “You are your father’s son, Will. No doubt about it.”

Mulder nudged her foot with his under the table, “Was there ever really any doubt, Scully?”

She gave him a long look, which did not get passed Will. Not much did. 

“I detect a rather abrupt change in atmosphere,” Will said, licking his finger and holding it in the air as if to sense a gust of wind.

“Son,” Mulder said gravely, not taking his eyes off Scully, “There’s something we have to tell you.”

Scully frowned, but before she could speak she saw the faintest glimmer in Mulder’s eye and relaxed a bit.

“What?” Will said, slumping down in the chair closest to his father, letting his sign drop to the floor.

“William. . .Uncle Walter . . .is your real dad,” Mulder said, his mouth twitching around a grin.

“That explains why I find you and Mom so ridiculous,” Will said, rolling his eyes in with such form that it rivaled even his mother’s practiced art.

“No, that’s just ‘cuz you’re an angsty teen,” Mulder said, ruffling his son’s hair. Will blushed at the childishness of the gesture — more so because, even as a young man, he still craved his father’s approval and affection and was relieved to be in receipt of it.

“Let’s see your sign, Will,” Scully said, capping a nearby Sharpie that was teetering precariously over the edge of the dining room table.

Will reached for the posterboard, brandishing it high above his head. With a flourish, he turned it so they could read its words as he proclaimed them.

“SCIENTISTS ARE PRO-TESTING!” He bellowed, and while he expected his father to laugh heartily and give him a high-five, neither of them expected that his mother would laugh. Certainly no so hard.

After a minute or two went by, Will and Mulder both eyed Scully with a kind of nervous fascination, wondering if perhaps they would have to sedate her.

“Have you. . .have you ever seen her like this?” Will said, his voice low.

Mulder didn’t take his eyes off Scully, who had lowered her head onto the table, collapsed like a pop-tent. Her shoulders still shaking and her muffled giggles getting lost against the polished cherrywood.

“Once,” he said slowly, “But she was drugged.”

This only made Scully laugh harder. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a hot shade of blush-pink and sallow with tear stains.

“I appreciate the encouragement, Mom,” Will said, “But there’s no need to stroke my ego that much. It’s a good sign but it’s not that good.”

Scully reached up to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her faded Quantico sweatshirt — which was older than Will by about a decade. She sighed deeply, then looked at them both through damp eyes and with a warm, almost cherubic smile.

“No, no, it is a good sign, Will. It’s just. . .” she sighed again, then drew in a long, sobering breath, “After all your father and I have been through, all that we’ve seen, the things that we’ve fought for. . .” she looked at Mulder, then. “The FBI sent me to your father because of my faith in science. They believed that science and reason would take him down. It didn’t, though. If anything it became an asset to his cause, and somewhere along the line I became — and so did the science I brought with me — the enemy.”

She lowered her eyes to her own sign, which suddenly seemed incapable of capturing everything she wanted — and needed — to say.

“The science helped sometimes,” Mulder said softly, “But you were the real strength, Scully.”

She smiled up at him as he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “I guess I just find it preposterous that we have to protest this at all,” she said, shrugging slightly, “That the persecution we faced as a result of our pursuit of the truth has somehow become so much bigger than just us, than the X-files.”

“This whole political milieu is a freakin’ X-file,” Will grumbled.

“Nice 10-point vocab word there, dude.” Mulder said, clapping his son on the back.

“What can I say — my dad writes books.” Will shrugged.

Mulder beamed at Scully, who had rested her chin on her hand.

“Mulder,” she said, her voice hoarse from her laughing jag, “You never told me Skinner was a writer.”

“There must be almost 50,000 people out there,” Scully breathed, her nails digging into the skin of Mulder’s left hand. They could hear the roar of the crowd from beyond the stage — or possibly the rain, which was coming down in sheets. Of course, given that it was a crowd of scientists, they were prepared with slickers and umbrellas, upon which many had inscribed: “Science predicted rain today.”

“You’re gonna be great,” he said, kissing the side of her head which was damp with sweat or rain water or both.

“At least you’re not after Bill Nye,” Will offered, “No one wants to follow him.”

Scully groaned and pressed herself into Mulder’s chest.

“That’s true,” Mulder said, rubbing her back, “Plus, if you screw it all up, no one will remember because they’ll just remember Bill Nye and the fact that Thomas Dolby is gonna sing She Blinded Me With Science.”

“Wait, what song is this?” Will said, digging his phone out of his pocket presumably to YouTube it.

“It’s about your mother,” Mulder said, “Especially the lyric: she’s tidied up and I can’t find anything.”

“Mulder, I want a divorce,” Scully said from somewhere under Mulder’s chin.

“We’re not married, Scully.”

She pulled her head back from his coat and looked up at him, “Fox William Mulder, will you marry me?”

“Sure,” he grinned, running his thumb along her chin.

“Ok,” she said, pressing herself back into his chest again. Then, “Mulder—?”

“Yeah, Scully?”

“I want a divorce.”

The gray sky opened up over the undulating crowd.  If anyone looked up, they’d drown.  

“She looks — ” Will said, standing next to his father backstage, watching his mother at the podium.

“Brilliant? Amazing? Powerful? Divine?” Mulder finished.

Will snorted, “I was gonna say scared shitless.”

Though her voice was steady and clear, from his vantage point Mulder could see what the audience could not: how Scully was anxiously lifting and lowering her stockinged foot from her sleek high heel, running the front of her toes along the back of her calf.

God, he was proud of her. God, he loved her.

“. . .to shed light on what has typically been sequestered away to labs and libraries and lecture halls. To put on full display the humanity that has for centuries stoked the fire of scientific inquiry, refined it, rejoiced in its revelations and more often, endured the frustrations of its arcanum.”

She looked up from her notes, then, and not out at the audience — but to her right, to him and to their son. The next words she spoke, he understood, she had not written for the masses, or for history — but for them.

“The truth exists whether we believe it or not. It endures even the most violent scrutiny and ruthless persecution. As we persist in seeking it, may we find solace in knowing that there is no person, no institution, no government, with jurisdiction over it. It can be suppressed, hidden, censored, altered or misappropriated, refuted and denied,” she paused, looking back to her audience who waited on baited breath, “What those who try to manipulate it beyond recognition, who try to eradicate it and replace it with calculated imitations, fail to recognize is that when all of those measures fail – and they will fail — what remains is the purest specimen of truth.”

She looks back at Mulder, then. At their son. And she smiles, “And it is those of us who want to believe such a truth can be revealed to us who will one day find it, and bring it into the light.”

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

Toronto’s Aaron Sanchez reignites inning restraint debate

David Lengel: Aaron Sanchez is the whiz of the Blue Jays gyration, at least for one or two more starts Lets start with the obvious: nothing not renowned surgeon Dr James Andrews , not agent Scott Boras , not Washington Nationals and New York Mets general managers Mike Rizzo and Sandy Alderson , not Hall of Fame pitcher John Smoltz knows the right path when it comes to protecting young arms. When young Nats hurler Stephen Strasburg was controversially shut down in September of 2012 and New York ace Matt Harvey blew through his innings restriction last-place season, both were coming off Tommy John elbow surgery: Aaron Sanchez, the Toronto Blue Jays 24 -year-old ace at the center of the latest innings debate has not, farther muddying the questions. Jays GM Ross Atkins, who along with their Ceo and President Mark Shapiro have been deliberating a decision to pulled the former reliever from the starting gyration possibly sooner rather than later, is smart enough to realize that he doesnt know whats right either. Theres not data either way, Ross told TSN radio in Toronto on Tuesday. With all the unknowns winging around Toronto, heres what we do know: Sanchez is the centerpiece of what is arguably the best starting rotation in the American League. Hes run 17 starts without a loss, a long time active unfold in MLB, while compiling a 2.71 ERA during a season in which hes become a legitimate Cy Young candidate. Sanchez is also efficient, averaging 14.9 lurches per inning, good enough for sixth in MLB. Why is Atkins preparing to remove Sanchez from the spin? At 139.1 innings thrown this season, Sanchez has already eclipsed his 2014 high marking of 133.1 innings, who the hell is thrown between the Blue Jays and their bush league affiliates. In a disagreement where home-grown pitching whizs are a scarcity, the Jays are highly motivated to keep Sanchez health for the long term. In addition to theoretically protecting Sanchezs prized right arm, the move too mounts up what could be a formidable 1-2-3 bullpen perforate together with set-up soldier Jason Grilli and closer Roberto Osuna. It could help a aid core that ranks 11 th in ERA, but that thought also presumes Sanchez has no editions moving back to relief work. Replacing Sanchez in the spin “wouldve been” inconsistent Francisco Liriano, acquired at the non-waiver trade deadline, with journeyman Scott Feldman waiting in the backstages if that didnt work out. We feel like transitioning him[ Sanchez] to a relief character would be the best act for us being in Play 7 of the World Series, said Atkins on a conference call following the deal for Liriano. Interesting thought, specially when you consider the dogfight Toronto are in to even reach the playoffs, let alone the World Series. When Strasburg left the spin in 2012 the Nats had a 6.5 tournament NL East lead in early September. Meanwhile, the fact that one is well aware right and wrong for Sanchezs health in the long run isnt continuing those working in Toronto and beyond from taking slopes. On Wednesday, Torontos SportsNet5 90 radios Andrew Walker said its crazed to throw him 240 innings![ that number would be reached only if Sanchez finished the season and the Jays experienced an extended playoff pas ]. Categorically insane! Smoltz, who sloped both as a starter and then in the bullpen, told Torontos The Fan radio on Wednesday that he doesnt like the space Toronto are handling the situation. Going to the bullpen and youre not the closer has a lot more of an effect on your forearm and organization than parties recall because you dont have a characterized capacity. Its not like they go in the seventh inning of every competition were gonna get him up and get him in. When youre a top-line starter, which I make[ Sanchez] is, you got to make sure that that becomes the DNA of this player. Jays starting catcher Russell Martin has discovered the majority of members of Sanchez innings up close. I dont like it, Martin said here on Sportsnets Tim& Sid show. You got a guy who is cruising, testifying no mansions of tirednes … How many stressful innings has he had? I dont think hes had too many, you know? His innings are pretty scavenge … if the guy is completely healthy and putting up character start after quality start, I dont even know why its a discussion right now. Thats merely my views. Im not the one attracting the fibres. Martin wants to win and apparently, so do his team-mates, so such a move could potentially stir the clubhouse negatively at exactly the incorrect time. Throw out all of the unknowns in the health question and youre left with a pure baseball decision. Removing a Cy Young candidate shapes little to no sense, and risks derailing all the momentum the rejuvenated franchise is hold. Canadas team are poised to break through the 3 million marker in attendance for the first time since 1993 and are among the favourites to reach the playoffs and potentially acquire their third World Series title. They should be all in for today , not tomorrow. Video of the week On Sunday, Cincinnati Reds hurler Homer Bailey accomplished his long wander back from Tommy John surgery, sloping well in his first major league tournament since April of 2015. But he was still rust-brown: with runners on the recess in the sixth, San Diegos Wil Myers took off for residence after Bailey turned his back following a stroll, spanning the plate easily to steal a operate. Bryan Price came out to discuss the play with the adjudicator, but “havent had” recourse after given to understand that his pitcher was sleeping at the rotation. Cue the lulluby … Quote of the Week Ken Rosenthal (@ Ken_Rosenthal) August 2, 2016 To those upset with first version of Puig story: Im with you. I take great pride in accuracy. It infuriates me that a key item was wrong. Thats Ken Rosenthal rationalizing for his Yasiel Puig story that said that the Dodgers outfielder had stormed off after learning he wouldnt be on the team airliner to Denver. When Rosenthal learned that Puig wasnt at the ballpark, and thus could not have stormed off “the authors ” evidenced genuine class in admitting the error, and also added that the information came from informants, but thats not an justify. Its my work to check everything thoroughly. Puig, who was replaced by the incoming Josh Reddick and sent down to the children by LA, was sympathetic. Yasiel Puig (@ YasielPuig) August 2, 2016 @ken_rosenthal don’t annoy bro, we all become blunders #puigyourfriend #seeyousoon Whos closer to victory: Donald Trump or the Cubs? Well, the New York Post produced some little-known photos of the Trumpsters wife Melania this week, and, depending on your disposition in life, that could be considered either a win or a loss. However, the flap with Humayun Khan must be a black mark species wherever youre standing. When you weigh it all up, Le Grande Orange has been playing from behind all week. Meanwhile, the Cubs experienced a walk-off win on Sunday against the Mariners thanks to pitcher Jon Lester, who cant throw to first base but can lay down one heck of a bunt. While in the very same recreation, pitcher Travis Wood made a fantastic catch up against the ivy in left field. And all that came before Chicago wiped the Marlins: Cubs get the edge this time around. How did the minors piss off Goose Gossage this week? By Miamis Derek Dietrich stripping off his uniform top after snapping an 0-20 slump with a pinch-hit walk-off triple to defeat the Cardinals on Sunday, thats how. Goose would go gonzo if he saw this. Meanwhile, Goose continued to stick to his AR-1 5s concerning the practice baseball is heading. While addressing young musicians in Maine over the weekend, Gossage told the girls: I said my agreement about at-bat moves and remaining video games in check. Nobodys overtaking the light to teach these boys how to play. They reach so much money, theyve got a bunch of coach-and-fours that have never been in the big league that exactly tiptoe around these people. I was taught how to deed. You act like health professionals. Ive said my armistice. The activity, in my views, is going to hell. Actually, based on Dietrichs physique, it looks like the game is going to the gym. Nine expects in order 1) Has there ever been a Subway Series with less sizzle than the 2016 publication of Mets v Yankees? One New York radio host said it best: this line is more like a wake. The Mets are sinking fast under the weight of incredible harm issues, and the Yankees are eventually in full rebuilding mode after coping Aroldis Chapman, Andrew Miller, Ivan Nova and Carlos Beltran. All the Yanks have now is bringing up the children and deciding whether or not the Yanks preserve Alex Rodriguez around long enough to thumped his 700 th home run or precisely release him, the latter of which is being reportedly being seriously considered. Meanwhile, the Mets, who are clinging to National League wild card hopes, acquired Jay Bruce from the Reds, in a move that also adjusts up what could be one of the most difficult outfield the defence of all-time: Yoenis Cespedes( now on the disabled list) in left field, Curtis Granderson in middle and Bruce in claim. If Braves fans to benefit from pray for rainfall after Spahn and Sain, Mets fans better better start praying for strikeouts and ground balls on every slope. Perhaps John McEnroe can help with that? Give that serviceman a contract! 2) Can the Colorado Rockies form the playoffs? Its not beyond reasonable suspense, even without Trevor Story, who may be lost for the season after sustaining ligament shattering in his left thumb. The Rox, who held on to their key element at the non-waiver trade deadline, are 14 -5 since the infringe. Most of this Rockies guide has come on the road where their pitching has been far superior. In Colorado, where the staff members almost always suffocates in Denvers thin air, theyre rock bottom in team ERA rankings with a 5.98 marker. Fantastically, along the road, the Rox have given up 98 fewer operates, posting an Period of 3.62: thats third in the NL, in front of the Chicago Cubs, Los Angeles Dodgers, St Louis Cardinals and San Francisco Giants. Tyler Chatwood is 6-0 with a 1.30 Era in nine away starts, and 4-6 with a 5.69 ERA in 10 home starts, which is ridiculous. Naturally, their greatest obstacle to contacting the season is their own stadium, where unfortunately they have 32 competitions continuing against 26 on the road. 3) Wednesday was D-Day for baseball and softball, in addition to providing athletics climbing, skateboarding, surfing and karate: all endeavors being considered for the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo. All five became the slouse, but dont reckon for a minute that MLB will halt their season to send actors: their brass are fully committed to constituting the World Baseball Classic the crown jewel of international play-act. Still, that doesnt mean it isnt good for the athletic or the players. John Blundell (@ JBMLBPR) August 3, 2016 Last time baseball was an Olympic sport( 08) these guys won bronze. Strasburg, Fowler, Cahill, Arrieta. #mlb #Wbsc pic.twitter.com/ ZLzpfQDGkU 4) Heres a downer kindnes of the official Instagram of Skeeter Duffy, Matt Duffys large-scale feline TAGEND Thanks for all your lovin’ San Francisco. We’re gonna miss ya. Onwards to Tampa! #furrevergiant #duffcat #duffmanforever #byeSF A photo posted by Skeeter Duffy (@ duffcat3 5) on Aug 1, 2016 at 9:17 pm PDT Duffy, who was sent to the Giant as part of a cope to for hurler Matt Moore, was the felines meow in San Francisco last season, playing the hot corner in place of the departed Pablo Sandoval. Duffy broke out, positing an unexpected. 762 OPS, but hasnt been able to match that Giant spark in 2016. Now he and Skeete, who has over 15,000 folloers on Instagram, are apparently patronizing for Iams and catnip after a long transcontinental flight to Tampa, a true-life blow to felines in the Bay Area. UPDATE: its too hot for Skeeter in Tampa, so hes staying with Duffys mothers. 5) Heres a record you require no part of: the Los Angeles Dodgers, currently in second place in the NL West while guiding the wild card race, have made 22 musicians on the disabled inventory this season, that after starting 2016 with 10 players on the DL. Only the 2015 New York Mets can pair these sort of harm numbers, and on the bright side for LAs love, many of whom are in a nasty feeling with Clayton Kershaw not eligible to pitch until late August, New York won the NL East. 6) Just periods after putting together one of the best, if not the good bullpen in baseball, the Indians rotation received a punch with Danny Salazar thumping the DL with elbow inflammation. Clevelands righty hurler abode his shortest start to the season while get pasted by the Twinneds on Monday and had what was supposed to be a precautionary MRI on Tuesday. Salazar had given up 21 moves over his last five starts after allowing merely 23 moves over his first 15 starts of the season. Cleveland are trying to acquire their first World Series entitle since 1948 and are four games up on the Beast in the AL West. 7) On the heels of the Tribe are the red hot Detroit Tigers, who have won eight straight recreations while going health at precisely the right time. With a payroll of roughly $200 m, the team werent prepared to attain meaningful adds-on at the busines deadline, but they are getting buttress in matters of the activations of Jordan Zimmerman and JD Martinez from the disabled schedule. After being left for dead by most experts picking the Royals to repeat as AL Central champs this season, the Tigers ought to have hang about thanks to a high-powered offense driven by Miguel Cabrera, Ian Kinsler and JD and Victor Martinez. Now their pitching staff are coming around with their second half ERA dropping by 1.33 to 3.14. With tough line against the Mets, Navigator, Red Sox and Rangers coming up, the next few weeks will show us how real Detroit are. 8) Joey Votto is having an interesting era with love lately. On Monday Joey Votto desegregated it up with a person in a Reds jersey while chasing a fouled ball into the stands. Cut4 (@ Cut4) August 3, 2016 It took some innings, but Joey Votto& a @Reds fan sorted everything out. Full Story: https :// t.co/ iCNjYJulXz pic.twitter.com/ bwznPWocJB Votto apologized, but the mea culpa comes just days after he chastened a young love who asked for his batting gloves in San Francisco. Melanie Nichols (@ kiasuchick) July 27, 2016 Kid asks for Joey’s batting gloves. Votto responds “You’re sitting in the figurehead row, you’re elite. This isn’t a ‘Make A Wish’ situation” … Im all for messing with followers as long as its kept flare, but the Make–AWish Foundation crack is totally unnecessary. 9) And ultimately, on Tuesday, umpire Bob Davidson encountered a devotee at Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia. Philly Influencer (@ PHL_Influencer) August 3, 2016 A fan was ejected from video games by home plate umpire Bob Davidson pic.twitter.com/ k7gwhG9K2l Davidson has a reputation for confrontation, but it seems the veteran ump got it right this time, speaking to the fan about homophobic heckling before security questioned the offender to leave. People heartened me, said Davidson. which is unusual in this town for me Read more: www.theguardian.com http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/08/30/torontos-aaron-sanchez-reignites-inning-limit-debate/

[caredogstips]

No more monkey business: why primates should never be domesticateds

About 4,500 primates are in private hands in the UK many of them tolerating poor conditions. Is it duration for a prohibit?

Primate owner Laura was searching the internet adverts for monkeys she could try to recovery when she recognized one from a humanity in the Cotswolds who was clearly seeing caring for two common marmosets extremely difficult. This is a common trouble: primates are wild swine and keeping them is complex, expensive and demanding.

She contacted the man and agreed to collect the two adult monkeys one male and one female. They had been kept in a tiny molted in his garden and were in a horrid surrounding. Hed fed them almost entirely on porridge, babe meat and fish thumbs. When I asked if he had given them any return or vegetables, he is recalled that hed occasionally fed them grapes. Neither monkey had ever been viewed by a vet. The male had severe dental problems and his tail was a mixture of matted “hairs-breadth” and bald-headed patches.

Like many of us, Laura( not her real identify) grew up fascinated and enthralled by apes, and although she had never intended to keep primates, she found herself rescuing the two marmosets. She soon realised that the female was pregnant and, two week ago, twin males were born. Soon after, the adult male was booked in for surgery to give his posterior and teeth. While the marmoset was under anaesthetic, the veterinary been observed that his tiny form was riddled with metabolic bone canker caused by good nutrition and inadequate illuminate. Unhappily the male died during the operation though, with his twisted bones and torso bloated by gas, it seemed a slight boon when his centre eventually stopped.

A common marmoset in the Atlantic rainforest, Brazil. Photograph: Alamy

This sad story doesnt stop there. Before he was dead, hed “ve managed” get the female pregnant again and soon another three minuscule males were born. Laura then rescued another adult male( this time from Luton ), and what had started out as a single pair now turned into their own families of seven with the new male acting as a surrogate father.

They all now live in at her family home in Lincolnshire in a specially made enclosure with specialist heating, specific lighting, indoor and outdoor lopes and an ever-changing regiman of feeding and behavioural enrichment. A contraceptive embed has ensured no more little monkeys have since arrived on the situation and now, ultimately, both the monkeys and keeper are happy.

But Laura admits that primates make awful domesticateds: They urinate on everything to label their territory and stink abysmally; they need constant care and easily rate millions of pounds every year to hinder. Parties have this idea that they can touch and cuddle them but I never touch mine as theyre not tame. If I did, Id expect to be burn. Even with my most tighten swine, I wouldnt dream of it as it would stress him out too much. Its such a greedy happen to have them as pets. Get a puppy or have a child simply dont get a monkey!

Welcome to the world of primate ownership: the legal orientation is complex, the moralities troublesome, and even the owners themselves have conflicted perceives about obstructing monkeys at home. Id tried contacting several other primate owneds but, with this one exception , none would speak to me. I got a sense that they knew it was wrong at some level and were uncomfortable talking about it.

I am a primatologist and have worked with chimps in Africa, orangutans in Indonesia and dark-green monkeys in the Caribbean. I enjoy primates and have dedicated years to cooperating with them, but there is not a chance I would want one as a pet.

Squirrel apes are on the dangerous swine directory. Photograph: Alamy

But there are people who want to an estimated 4,500 primates( which covers apes, monkeys and lemurs, bushbabies and lorises) are privately owned in the UK. While some of these are owned by trained experts and represent specialist breed groups, the great majority are babies, living in peoples homes. Often owned by individuals with good-for-nothing more than good goals and the foolish are looking forward to own a cool pet, it is clear that there are very few privately owned captive primates in the UK in such a luck statu as the ones Laura rescued.

Dr Sharon Redrobe a veterinary surgeon and the CEO of Twycross Zoo, Warwicks knows first-hand just how hard primate husbandry is. By explanation, a domesticated is an animal we touch and play with in our the house and in no way is it in a primates best interest to be constantly touched and played with by parties. They require their own social groups, are extremely hard to care for and often grow up to be aggressive and hopeless to restrict. Owneds then take them to a veterinary, expecting them to be magically fastened. Theyre wild animals and, in that respect , no different to tigers. You wouldnt stop a tiger at home, so dont deter a monkey.

Redrobe is speedy to point out that in the past hindering domesticated primates was far more socially acceptable and that situates such as Twycross are really founded by people who liked to keep pet monkeys themselves, but she adds hours have moved on.

The world has changed enormously since the 1950 s and 60 s. We didnt know any better then; now we do. If “youve been” affection monkeys, let them be monkeys. Perhaps used to help by sponsoring one in a zoo or sanctuary.

Despite such involved charge motivations, high welfare concerns and the serious gambles associated with the spread of certain illness between people and non-human primates, it is still legal to maintain primates as babies in the UK regardless of how endangered they are or how dangerous they may be.

The care of primates is covered by the Animal Welfare Act of 2006 and Defras Code of Practice for the Welfare of Privately Kept Primates( the primate code) of 2010. The play, which states that animal owners must thwart wasteful bear and must take all reasonable steps to meet their swine motives, is hard to enforce as most domesticated primates in the UK are kept in secret.

The young capuchin monkey that German permissions confiscated from Justin Bieber in 2013. Photograph: Christof Stache/ AFP

The primate system is primarily to explain the welfare and administration needs of the swine and an infringement of its provisions is not actually an offence though it could be used as evidence in tribunal in animal welfare cases. The code, which applies to everything from gorillas to lemurs, is further faded as it is subject to broad-minded reading specified group are not covered in any real detail.

The maintaining of some primate species, such as capuchins, is thankfully restricted for the purposes of the Dangerous Wild Animals Act( 1976 ), but many, including marmosets are not listed. A 2014 RSPCA report found that 81% of pet primates in the UK belonged to the marmoset group originally from South America.

Other primates, such as cotton-top tamarins, are critically endangered and shall be given the highest level of legal protection from international trade.

With little awareness circumventing laws and a general lack of consequences for those failing to comply with regulations, many feel that the laws and regulations should change and that a complete ban on the obstructing of baby primates in the UK should be introduced.

Rachel Hevesi, the director of Wild Futures, a primate sanctuary in Looe, Cornwall, knows all too well just how weak the current legislation is. Weve had over 150 primates come to us over the years and, without exception, every single one has had physical or psychological difficulties or, in many cases, both, she says.

Hervesi wants to see a full forbidding on impeding primates as babies and reads success lying in a positive index style of legislation, where any specific primate species allowed to be kept as pets would be registered. With no species being proposed as being suitable, this blanket, prohibition-type constitution means that there would be little room for misconception. Such legislation is already present in Belgium and several other European countries and has led to not only a reduction in the overall number of primates being saved as babies, but too to an increase in members of the community reporting unauthorized pet owners.

Primatologist and conservationist Jane Goodall. Image: Diana Sanchez/ AFP

Hevesi is hopeful that the British government will bring a ban into force in the near future. When the primate code was introduced in 2010, it was agreed that the government would review its success after a five-year interval. Defra failed to hold that review in 2015, but had now been promised to reassess the legislation this year.

Key stakeholders including the Primate Society of Great Britain, the RSPCA, the British Veterinary Association, the British and Irish Association of Zoos and Aquariums( Biaza ), Born Free and Four Paws all support a ban on domesticated primates and are collecting exhibit and data for the government review.

Hevesi says: The swap relies on the ignorance of the buyer and the desire of the breeders. Weve never met a custodian who has purposely set out to harm their primate pet; its a lack of awareness and skills.

The image of primates as inventive and interactive little human-like swine that can live alongside and play with us may seem request and a recent batch of unthinking celebrities such as Justin Bieber, Beyonc and the Kardashians posing with primates has only added to the problem but without exception, every expert, academic, welfare officer and zoo custodian been agreed that primates are utterly unwarranted as pets.

Whereas hounds and felines have been specially engendered for generations as domesticateds to a time where we have selected specific behavioural and physical peculiarities that become them perfect attendants most primates multiplied as domesticateds are only research results of two or three generations in captivity and are, in most respects, still wild and untamed animals.

Renowned primatologist and conservationist Dr Jane Goodallhas worked with wild and captive primates for decades and knows them better than anyone. Every primate are part of an environment that is as close to a wild decided as is practicable. They are beautiful and intelligent animals, but highly complex with very specific needs. They simply do not belong in our homes as pets.

With such strong opposition to the UK primate pet trade, it is hoped that a censor can soon be drafted and introduced to protect the requirements and welfare of these highly intelligent, though difficult to keep, wild animals.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

The post No more monkey business: why primates should never be domesticateds appeared first on caredogstips.com.

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New Post has been published on Atticusblog

New Post has been published on https://atticusblog.com/2-tricks-to-make-ios-control-center-less-annoying/

2 tricks to make iOS Control Center less annoying

Apple launched Control Center in 2013 as a part of iOS 7. It offers iPhone and iPad users brief get right of entry to settings for plane mode, wifi, Bluetooth, display brightness among other matters. But once in a while errant swipes internal apps and games can launch Control Center by accident — which can be stressful. If you depart your iPhone mendacity around quite an awful lot all people such as children can access Control Center from your lock display screen — which may be even more worrying.

But those annoyances are without difficulty remedied with some brief modifications. Go to Settings > Control Center. There you have got options: “Access on Lock Screen” and “Access Within Apps”. Lock screen

If you like gaining access to Control Center out of your lock display, depart “Access on Lock Screen” grew to become on. But if you need to save you someone from getting access to it from your iPhone/iPad’s lock display screen flip this off.

For instance, turning off lock display access will save you youngsters from knowingly or unknowingly turning at the orientation lock or setting your iPhone/iPad into the plane mode or setting a random alarm.

Within apps

If you hate having Control Center accidentally pop up even as playing a video game or the use of apps, you can flip off “Access Within Apps”. The upside to this is that you may not see that black arrow poking up from the bottom of the display. The drawback is that this putting applies to all apps which mean that you’ll only have access to Control Center from your own home display or lock screen (unless you disabled it).

3 Simple Tricks to Stop Procrastination

What is Procrastination?

As with all things in existence, we are able to most effective locate answers to a hassle as soon as we recognize what the hassle in reality is. So first of all, permit’s break it down.

Procrastination:

The actor dependency of procrastination is eliminating or delaying, especially something

requiring instant interest.

As a species, this has been difficult for hundreds of years. Ancient philosophers absolutely came up with a word to explain this behavior: Akrasia. It is while you do one element whilst you understand that you should be doing something else.

– Now that we realize what it far allows’s circulate directly to the why…tricks ellen Hopkin’s

Why Do We Procrastinate?

What science has clearly observed recently is that there are two forms of mental environment that the world lives in- Immediate Return Environment and Delayed Return Environment.

Most animals live within the Immediate Return Environment. Humans stay in what’s called Delayed Return. Essentially, maximum of what we surely do day after day is designed to have an effect on our surroundings later on in life!

Magic tricks secrets revealed

For example, you might be seeking to lose weight (future return) and to do so you know that you shouldn’t be ingesting that donut (Right Now). This is where our brains divert from our dreams. The instant return of eating that donut will make me feel suitable, although it isn’t good for our destiny selves.

The above is best one small sample, taking it further you can see that nearly the whole lot you do in your each day life, like going to work for someone else, is all approximately Delayed Returns. I display up today, do a great process, (hopefully) now not get fired or retrenched after which get a paid test sometime in the destiny.crazy mind tricks.

iOS VS Android

Mobile OS:

A cellular operating gadget also called a mobile OS, is a running gadget this is in particular designed to run on cell gadgets consisting of mobile phones, smartphones, PDAs, tablet computer systems and different handheld gadgets. The mobile working system is the software platform which consists of key utility, Middleware, and running gadget run on cell devices.

Mobile running system kinds:

Symbian OS (Nokia)

Bada (Samsung Electronics)

BlackBerry OS (Research In Motion)

Palm OS (Garnet OS)

Windows Mobile (Windows Phone 7)

Android OS (Google Inc.)

iPhone OS / iOS (Apple)

Among all these Mobile Ora, of them are very popular.

IOS

Android

We diagnosed some common difference in among these Mobile OS.

IOS:

iOS is a platform that has a few restrictive tips. As the iOS isn’t an open source, so the tools are confined and fix for the improvement of the iOS apps. Nothing is from outside, just had to observe what are given in the rule of thumb. This way that iOS isn’t always too flexible. The reason in the back of that is that iOS does not compromise on protection. Tradeoff the software program improvement argues that we have to want to compromise one of the constraints from availability and safety. So iOS plate form is restrained and there’s nothing deep for the development. There is no malware assault in iOS. The possibility of data loss is 50%. IOS does no longer provide full get right of entry to control to its users. App approval for play shop takes numerous times. There are many restrictions whilst importing an app to play shop. 90% iOS devices run at the brand new updates of iOS. Paid apps are to be had in a hundred and fifty-five international locations. IOS apps are evolved in objective c or swift.

Android:

Android is a plate shape consists of 3 layers, operating system, middle layer, and alertness. Android isn’t always handiest the OS. But it’s far the mixture of those 3 layers. Android is so bendy, as it permits third events equipment. It is because android is an open supply plate shape. Android can compromise on safety. Malware can without difficulty attack on information in android. The possibility of information loss is 75%. It offers full get admission to manipulate to the users. Approval of apps for play keep is very quick, within 6 to eight hours. The guideline is flexible of play save. Zero.Four% runs the state-of-the-art version of Android. Paid apps are available in 132 international locations. Android apps are developed in java.

Options For Permanent Birth Control

Many girls pick to go through an everlasting beginning control manner whilst this technique has come to be a clinical necessity for plenty others. Permanent beginning manage may be finished thru several powerful techniques in recent times. One such famous technique is the tubal ligation by using which a girl can be sterilized via tying, clipping or having the ends of the fallopian tubes burnt.

Any of the above referred to methods will help save you the egg from getting into the uterus, in which the fertilization takes the region. Sterilization through this method is referred to as electrocauterization. In earlier days, this manner changed into done thru the vagina of a woman and at instances, it took months to completely get over the process.

Currently, there are several opportunity strategies to tubal ligation. Tubal ligation itself is carried out via three distinctive techniques. Within 2 days of a female handing over a baby, a technique referred to as mini-laparotomy which lasts 20 mins, is accomplished. This is not taken into consideration to be a chief surgical treatment and is normally carried out with the patient underneath local anesthesia. This method of sterilization has been favored through many girls over oral contraceptives.

Laparoscopic treatment is the second one sort of tubal ligation. A small incision is made within the abdomen vicinity and a small quantity of carbon dioxide is placed inside. This technique is achieved through experienced surgeons best as it requires the usage of positive unique surgical instruments. The entire method lasts best ten mins and the patient can get better very quickly without any complications.

Using a laser or some other electro tool, the fallopian tubes are fused collectively and clipped by using bands. Laparoscopy is the 1/3 type of tubal sterilization that is regularly done soon after a cesarean transport. Since the fallopian tubes are seen at once after the shipping, the physician can perform the process freely with greater room and freedom.

There are other strategies of everlasting start control that are practiced and hysteroscopic sterilization is one such technique this is generally finished on outpatients. Through the vagina of the woman, a small tube is inserted into the outlet of the fallopian tubes, thereby blocking off the tube and preventing any possibility of pregnancy. Recovery time after this procedure is set 24 hours and there are not any dangers of any side effects. The position of the inserted tube can be verified thru an imaging x-ray several months after the system. Another famous sterilization technique is ‘Essure’ which entails no surgery, laser treatments or changing the fallopian tubes.

Also, this manner desires no anesthesia or hormonal photographs and has proved to be almost cent percent a hit. Silicon free inserts are positioned in the fallopian tubes to block the direction of the egg into the uterus. The process lasts best ten mins and can be without difficulty finished by a health practitioner in his clinic. Experienced and educated doctors need to be consulted before present process this technique. In historic instances, there have been seldom any lady who desired to be sterilized.

The handiest technique of avoiding being pregnant that was accompanied was abstinence. In comparison, a cutting-edge girl can choose any suitable approach of everlasting sterilization. For a long time, tubal ligation changed into taken into consideration because of the best choice of many girls. But with the development of clinical technology, today there are so many methods of accomplishing everlasting sterilization and women have the liberty to choose any method that suits them best.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Seahorse (Spencer Reid x Trans Male!Reader) SFW

Summary: Spencer and Y/N have always wanted kids. Here’s the time Spencer was brave enough to broach the subject of how they would go about it. Plus a few more times after that.

AN: @imagining-in-the-margins​ came up with the idea of Spencer’s trans bf having a baby amidst man many many prompts for Spencer x male!reader to indulge my daydreaming and I ran with this prompt.

Thank you to @writing-in-april​ for being my beta on this one! Couldn’t have done it without you, beebs <3

This is the SFW version. Here’s a link to an NSFW version of the story, but do not read that if you are under 18!

Word Count: 5.7k words

Content Warnings: Trans man is pregnant, coming off medication, allusions to Prison!Spencer.

Masterlist // Gif Credit // NSFW Version

The halls echoed with the unbridled joy of little ones calling out “Nemo” and “Dory” at the sight of the clown and surgeon fishes. Spencer bounced on the balls of his feet as he looked around the next room in search of his goal. He stopped when Y/N spared a look in his direction, away from the tank that had captured his attention for a solid five minutes.

“JJ sent me a video of a shrimp solving a Rubik’s Cube the other day.” He grinned.

Ah yes. JJ had also sent Spencer a video of little Henry swinging a mini softball bat about just like Spencer had done. For one game and one game only he had insisted, despite Y/N’s own resolve that he looked hot in the kit.

The walk through the tunnel was the slowest slog Spencer felt, but it was the only attraction in the aquarium to properly distract him. Lights above them filtered through the water, bouncing off the painted walls of the tank in a blue glow. Various species in a perfectly balanced ecosystem swam around one another without a care in the world. A particular stingray flapped its body against the glass, and three children nearby laughed at its funny shaped mouth.

“I used to sit on my mum’s shoulders when we walked through these. Touch the ceiling as if I could pet the fishes.” And Y/N’s hands stretched up over him, his eyes following a shark that slinked overhead, “When I got too old, I’d just press my nose against the glass and stare back.”

Nerves returned at the sight of a circular tank in the centre of the room holding something familiar. Seahorses curled their tails around the plants that waved together like a crowd at a concert. Little babies bobbed about the parents, translucent and wriggly.

Spencer coughed and spoke while Y/N took in the creatures, “Did you know that the seahorse is the only animal where the male carries the children?”

Suddenly his throat was dry; the words he’d been rehearsing dragged to a halt. Y/N turned to face him properly, guiding Spencer to the left as a little girl stood on tiptoe to see the seahorses as he continued to struggle.

“Well, that might not be true actually.” Spencer choked a little on his words, his voice’s volume steadily declining into a soft whisper, “I know that some human men can have babies.”

Y/N’s face clouded with doubt for a moment. Then it clicked and his face cleared, “Spencer, tell me what you’re getting at.”

Spencer twisted his hands around one another, “Have you ever thought about us having kids… biologically?” He watched Y/N’s Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed hard

“You mean like me being pregnant?”

“Yes, have you considered it an option for us?”

The conversations of other aquarium patrons were forgotten as Y/N took his gaze away from Spencer. His eyebrows were low as he considered his words carefully. Y/N always thought about the implications of what he was saying, maybe a little too much. Spencer could be biased though; his impatience did not mix well with his anxieties.

Eventually, Y/N turned back with a brave face and said, “I’d have to think about it some more.”

“Ok.” Spencer nodded, his chin wobbling a little.

There was hope though: he needed to think “some more”. Implying Y/N had thought about this before.

Near the end of their trip, Spencer did find himself in a staring contest with a little seahorse plushie with large eyes and an anatomically inaccurate tongue hanging out. In all honesty, it was kind of ugly.

“Spencer, come on. You know how I get around stuffed animals.”

How empathetic his boyfriend really was, projecting feelings of love onto the inanimate objects then making the excuse that he had to buy it now.

Spencer did have to leave the toy behind though. Out into the sunlight of the parking lot, he winced before he put his sunglasses back on.

“Park?” Y/N offered his hand and smiled. It was an olive branch, something to say that Spencer’s query had not ruined their day out together.

Spencer accepted and squeezed his hand. “Park.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Y/N had a hand on their lower belly, some space between the fingers as if there was an invisible bump there to accommodate. His head had tilted while he thumbed over the air.

As drowsy as Spencer was from work, his mind was focused without a distraction on what he had seen through the ajar bathroom door. He could barely pay attention to the Doctor Who episode Y/N put on. In fact, he doubted anything could take his attention away from the idea of having a child with-

“What do you think about me being pregnant?”

Spencer’s eyes shot wide open, then they were covered slightly by his inquisitive eyebrows in his attempt find an answer. Especially with Y/N looking on him while he waited for him.

“I think you’d be so beautiful carrying our baby. But if you wouldn’t be comfortable, then I wouldn’t make you. We still have surrogacy, fostering, adoption to consider,” was his answer. Never a lie, but the truth was always softened.

Seemingly satisfied, Y/N looked back at the episode. But Spencer couldn’t wait anymore, forgetting about anything else in the world except for this.

“What do you think, Y/N?” His body leant in towards his boyfriend’s.

Squirming in their spot on the couch, Y/N hummed before he answered, “I froze some of my eggs before I started my transition. I also sold some, for a down payment on a house or my wedding.”

Spencer’s heart thrilled at the possibilities. A house together? Matching suits at their wedding? He almost neglected to think about the fact that pregnancy was suddenly a very viable option for their future.

Regardless of Spencer’s many, many thoughts, Y/N continued, “And I thought that perhaps, if I found the right person, I would like to carry their child.” His palm opened up to him and Spencer instantly took it. “I know you’re the right person, but I’m not sure I want a baby now.”

“Of course,” Spencer lifted Y/N’s hand to his lips, “Whenever we’re both ready.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer pushed the dirty bedsheets into the washing machine; it wasn’t that big a deal. If the blood didn’t come out, then they could always buy a new set. Although they should really be saving money for decorating the nursery.

“Spenceerrrr.”

As the machine rumbled into life, Spencer returned to Y/N, curled up on the sofa with a heat pad to his gut. No amount of warnings from their doctor could have prepared Spencer for how emotionally straining it was to see his boyfriend suffering. Y/N was taking this a lot harder than Spencer – and rightfully so, it was his body that was changing.

“Why did I have to have such strong paternal instincts?” He grumbled with his eyes still closed.

Spencer let out a laugh, but it was cut off quick when Y/N whimpered loudly. He knelt down before him and cupped his face. Y/N’s cheeks were warm; his hands clung to Spencer’s wrists like a lifeline.

“What do you need?” Spencer asked softly and Y/N sighed, keening into his cooler palms.

“Can you tell me I’m handsome please?”

“You are the most handsome man in the world, and I adore you every minute of every day.” Spencer kissed Y/N’s pouting lips gently, “Handsome inside and out, I never wanna think about life without you. You just make everything in my life better.”

His fingers moved to brush away a tear that slipped down Y/N’s face and over the ridge of his nose. But he missed and it dripped onto the pillow.

“You’re doing so much for us, for our baby.”

“It’s not even real yet,” Y/N sniffled. His hands finally released Spencer and pressed the heat pad into him.

“It’s gonna be.” Spencer bumped their noses together, “We’re gonna be dads.”

A hoarse laugh met with a hint of a groan in Y/N’s chest, “Yeah. We’re gonna be dads.” That sound and those words were all Spencer needed to feel better. But he wished the same could be said for Y/N. The only thing he could provide was a promise of future relief:

“How about we order in tonight?”

“Ugh, yes.” Y/N burrowed his face into the pillow.

When their bed was made up properly, Spencer and Y/N cuddled together. Unfortunately, Y/N was restless, trying to find a comfortable position while his painkillers kicked in. Spencer kept his complaints to himself, allowing himself to be shifted around in Y/N’s hunt for relief. Honestly it was the least he could do.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“The reproductive process begins when a male and a female seahorse do daily pre-dawn dances, intertwining their tails and swimming together.”

“Well, it’s nearly nine, so definitely past dawn.”

“I’m trying to be romantic, Y/N.”

Y/N adjusted the bed sheets around his middle, “We don’t have tails either and - if I remember correctly - your last sexy swimming encounter ended poorly.”

Spencer flushed at the memory of Lila in the pool; another memory turned the pink to red. Y/N had laughed so hard his gut ached when Spencer told him about how awkward he had been around Lila. This was before the context of the case had been disclosed, promptly removing the space for any more laughter.

“Baby?”

Y/N was touching his face. Spencer’s head emptied itself of all thoughts of Lila. This was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now. Y/N’s laughter maybe, but none of the rest.

Tucking a curl behind his ear, Y/N leant in close, “If I’m ready, and you’re ready, you know what happens.” His eyes wandered down Spencer’s face, “And it’s not swimming together.”

But, just as their lips were about to touch, Y/N jerked away from him. “Wait, I gotta brush my teeth first.”

Spencer moaned with indignation while falling backwards onto the bed as Y/N disappeared from view. A few seconds later, he heard the electric toothbrush buzzing. With a burst of energy, he stripped himself down to his underwear – a petty way to get back at Y/N who had made it very clear that undressing Spencer was one of his favourite parts of their sex life.

When Y/N returned, with the minty freshness he apparently desired more than his own boyfriend, he said “What? You already did this morning?”  His eyes looked down at Spencer’s chest and his lips twitched into a pout.

Spencer held back his grin, keeping his triumph at retaliation to himself as he said, “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, Spencer.”

And with that, Y/N crawled onto the bed, over Spencer’s body and kissed him silly. He did much more than that, enjoying their overlapping day off to the fullest before even leaving their home.

At ten to ten, sleepwear scattered about the bedroom floor, Spencer and Y/N sagged into the mattress, wrapped up in each other and the covers. The burning warmth of their bodies drew up two soporific smiles on their faces.

“You know, a seahorses’ body shape means that they’re inept swimmers, and they can actually die of exhaustion.”

Y/N poked Spencer’s sternum. “Is that your way of makin’ fun of my stamina? Give me a few minutes; I’ll be on you like a rash.”

Grinning at such a prospect, Spence continued, “They also mate for life monogamously.”

He felt two fingers touch his cheek, "Spencer, I love you and your endless fountain of knowledge.” Y/N paused to peck the corner of his lips, “But I’m not actually a seahorse. And, though I do plan to mate with you for life, if you wake me up before the sun is above the horizon for a ‘dance’, I'm gonna suffocate you with my new body pillow.”

“Oh, you got your pillow?”

“It’s en route.” Hence why Y/N was content to use Spencer in lieu of said pillow.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

When Spencer disclosed to Hotch that he would need some time off because he and Y/N were considering having a kid, first thing on a Monday morning, Hotch didn’t let anything on. There was a hint of a hint of a smile though. His eye wandered to the school photo of Jack he kept on his desk, and he was greeted with the memory that Jack almost shared a name with Emily’s cat.

Naturally, Rossi found out next. Technophobe Spencer Reid had left his computer screen on a website for baby blankets, and Rossi had been the one to pass by first. After turning the monitor off, Rossi took Spencer aside in the break room and spoke about how wonderful it was that he was going to be a father. Then he kissed both his cheeks, leaving with misty eyes and a smile that he wouldn’t explain to Penelope passing by. Spencer blinked then finished making his coffee.

The next conference room meeting – the same day and just for an update on the paperwork deadline - Spencer simply decided to drop the information that he and Y/N were planning on having a kid as if it was his thoughts on their next unsub’s motivations were.

Three seconds of silence later and an uproar exploded.

From then on, the week was filled with pokes and ribbing at his upcoming parenthood. A peek into the future.

After making her a cup of coffee, Spencer sat opposite JJ at her desk and asked for advice. Her response: offering Spencer the opportunity to babysit Henry more. Obviously he accepted; more time with his godson was always a good thing. Then she went into how parenting was just a natural thing that he would know when the time came. Not very reassuring on its own, but with his best friend’s support, Spencer felt a smidgen better.

Penelope admitted that she had saved outfit ideas on Pinterest for Spencer – among other members of the BAU. When Spencer dared to enter her lair, she showed him several. Apparently that wasn’t even a dent in her collection, and she had already placed an order on a little bow tie. Spencer left before she tried to organise a shopping trip; neither Spencer nor Y/N were really fans of retail therapy.

Derek was teasing away, “Spencer and Y/N are gonna be baby daddies.” And every single time, Emily would join in. She liked to claim she was the reason Spencer was having a kid, reminding him of when JJ was pregnant. He had been incredibly weirded out by the baby kicking, but Emily had asked if he had considered having “baby geniuses” and he never gave an answer.

To be fair, Spencer never could have seen this coming. That made it all the better.

Apart from when Derek began supplying a realm of baby names, that varied from “oh that’s actually cute” to “oh my god, why would you even consider that a name for a real child?” Spencer was happy to rank them aloud for him.

The cat was only half out of the bag though.

Now Spencer had always been affectionate when he and Y/N were together. But the second it spilled into their public lifestyle, Y/N knew something was afoot. He was quick to pick up on this when he went to collect Spencer up for a chilled date night and Spencer kissed his cheek in clear view of the entire bullpen.

“You told them, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t wait, but I do have my paternity leave arranged!”

The team swarmed to deliver their congratulations. And it was then that they revealed that they all thought that Spencer and Y/N were planning to adopt or look for a surrogate. Their embraces didn’t spoil the unexpected second part of their announcement; Y/N looked like he’d simply put on a few pounds rather than gained a baby bump beneath his button-up. Naturally, there was even more of a hubbub than before when they discovered that Y/N was already pregnant.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Spencer, baby, you gotta calm it with the ocean theme.”

“But…” he pouted, holding up the finished mobile. Brightly painted sea creatures and chunks of coral dangled delicately in a circle. Sure enough, there were orange seahorses hovering about their habitat.

“It’s very sweet and I adore you for it,” Y/N kissed Spencer. “Not everything has to be related to seahorses though.”

“I guess not.” Spencer’s defeated tone did not last long. His face brightened and he whipped a blanket adorned with little seahorses and bubbles at the edges out of the cot. “But - this online store was taking commissions, and you always say support small businesses!”

Thank god Y/N had been the one in charge of painting the walls. An underwater mural would have been a step too far.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, are so…” Y/N’s hands were up in the air between them, searching for an adjective to describe Spencer appropriately. Then he settled those hands on his shoulders and Y/N kissed him.

When they drew away, Spencer spoke, “I’m so what?”

Y/N shrugged, “Just so.” He kissed him again, lingering longer than before and smiling as Spencer’s hands touched the obtrusive roundness of his belly that pressed into Spencer’s stomach. They were so close to meeting their little bubba.

“So are you.”

“Ok, don’t have a go, I bought this before the ban,” Y/N held out a gift, wrapped in sea-green tissue paper and bearing a blue bow.

Folding the blanket neatly over the bars of the cot, Spencer eagerly yet daintily unwrapped the present. As the tissue paper fell to the carpet, his hands trembled.  Eyes shining, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the latest scan that was framed by tiny seahorses to thank Y/N.

There was more still, as Y/N explained, “There’s another behind there. I’ve seen the state of the one in your wallet.”

“It got caught at the bottom of the pouch,” Spencer said quietly, unbending the catch on the back of the frame. Sure enough, two of the same photographs spilled into his waiting palm. Truth be told, Spencer had already taped his torn photo together again and it was going to stay in his wallet. This spare would be in the post soon, on its way over to his mother. God, she was so excited to hold a baby again. The photo album would have to do for now.

“Could you maybe recant the ocean ban? Because I saw this and I knew it would really go well with the blanket and the mobile.”

Sighing, Y/N’s head tilted back, “What is it?”

The pretence of annoyance couldn’t be maintained towards Spencer’s face beaming back at him as he held up a wonky looking seahorse plushie. It wasn’t the same one he’d seen before. Some heartfelt child had taken pity on that one and given it a forever home. No, this was a perfect little present for his bubba.

Y/N thought so too as he let a grin settle onto his face.

“Ok, we can keep this one. But no more from now, alright?”

“I suppose. Besides, our baby isn’t our seahorse. You are!”

“You better not buy us a fish tank for my birthday.” A spike of nerves hit Y/N when he couldn’t quite catch Spencer’s eye to confirm his word. “Spencer? Promise me... Spencer!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “How are you feeling, Baby Daddy?” Derek hugged Y/N who was reclined in his bed. His body pillow propped him up for his visitors.

Y/N wrinkled his nose, “For once, I wish I was a real seahorse and I could have just sneezed her out.”

Katia Nikola Reid definitely looked like she’d been sneezed on when she first entered the world, screaming her teaspoon-sized lungs out. Named after a hero of both Y/N and Spencer, one day old, bundled in a blanket, she scowled at Spencer’s dopey face looming over her while Emily held her tight.

A hoard of presents huddled in the corner of Spencer and Y/N’s bedroom. Emily thought it’d be a great idea to bring the baby an Ikea shark that was bigger than the child – and would definitely take up around half of her cot.

“She’s already got him wrapped around her pinky finger.”

“Yes, she does,” Spencer agreed giddily.

Next, Derek took her in his arms, untucking her arms from the blanket swaddle to give her a fist bump. He swayed her about the room while Katia relaxed a little more. The deep humming in his chest soothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Katia stretched as if to touch his face, and her mouth gaped at him.

“Aww, baby genius is ready for a nap.” Derek yawned too, “Who’s gonna micromanage me while I put her down?”

“Me! Me!” Y/N said, his enthusiasm muted by tiredness. Spencer leapt to his side, helping him out of bed, his teammates watching fondly as he did so. Y/N was allowed out the room first, Derek close behind and clicking his tongue at little Katia.

“She’s so sweet,” Emily said, her eyes on the pair’s backs and the dangling loose blanket from under Derek’s left arm. “I’m so happy for you both.” And she hugged Spencer tight; Emily always gave such good hugs. Good thing she was going to be around to give plenty to his daughter.

Then, down the hall, he heard Derek say with sarcastic resignation, “Oh Spencer, I thought Y/N was kidding when he said no more seahorse themed items.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N ended up climbing into the bathtub with Katia. Even as she had grown into her chubby features, looking more and more like him and Spencer with each passing day, she was still so small.

Sitting up with her in his lap to help her out, Y/N lowered her into the warm water. His fingers tenderly rubbed the blackcurrant scented soap on her tummy, copying her expression as her tongue poked out between her gums. Her jerking legs rejected the water that Y/N’s hands cupped to rinse the bubbles off.

“Oh!” Y/N said in surprise as Katia sneezed, “Bless you.”

He heard the front door go, but he let Spencer follow the clues to their bathroom. Sure enough, the Doctor soon entered with his jacket shed, already rolling his sleeves up as he dropped onto the bathmat. A hand curled at Y/N’s chin as he kissed him before it stroked over the damp wisps of hair on Katia’s head.

“Hello. Hi.” His voice was that bit more delicate as he caught Katia’s eye and welcomed her big gappy smile.

Y/N tilted his head towards Spencer. “Good day?”

“I missed you both.” Spencer swished the water around by Katia’s side, “Isn’t it incredible how she’s experiencing all of this for the first time?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Spencer giggled away as the surrounding bathwater yellowed and Katia flapped her arms.

“Mind your language.” He said without any weight to his warning, “Our little girl can’t help it.” Then he stood and prepared her towel, a deep-sea blue that brought out her eyes. “Can I feed her tonight?”

“Of course, baby,” Y/N agreed as he lifted Katia out of the tub, where Spencer caught her and bundled her up with skilled speed. As he dried her off, Katia cooed away to herself. She did get a little pissed off when he dressed her up in a clean nappy and a sleepsuit, but Spencer couldn’t take her crumpled expression seriously without the tears.

The rocking chair had to be one of his best investments for his daughter’s room. It soothed Katia from the darkest of tantrums, a familiarity that swayed her. She fit so perfectly into Spencer’s arms and he fit so contentedly into the seat. Her eyelashes fluttered slowly shut as she drank more milk.

Not quite strong enough to sit up on her own, Katia leant fully into Spencer’s hand while he burped her – thankfully not for long. Then it was off into her cot.

Y/N watched him from the doorway as Spencer stroked the apple of Katia’s cheek while she drifted off into slumber. An effortless smile danced on his lips even as he switched the lamp off and welcomed Y/N over to see their sleeping babe.

“Love seeing you with her, Old Daddy Spencer teaching her everything she’ll need to know.” The kiss that followed was certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s nursery, so he took Y/N by the hand, leading him into the hallway. Even then, between the short pecks that pressed against his lips, Y/N continued to talk, “Is this how you felt while I was pregnant?”

Breath hot against his face, Spencer swallowed hard while Y/N said, “Seeing my handsome boyfriend carrying our child? I think I get it now.”

His hand slipped up Spencer’s shirt. It was crystal clear what his intentions were. Spencer was already close to panting when he pulled Y/N flush against him. With more desperation this time, they fumbled around their home until they made it to their bed. Spencer’s hands aligned with the stretch marks on Y/N’s thighs as he grabbed them and pulled him on top.

He huffed as Y/N’s teeth tugged and released his bottom lip, “We have to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet.” Y/N ripped off his shirt in one smooth movement, “Can you?”

Spencer couldn’t give an answer. Instead he pulled Y/N back against him as they fell onto their sheets.

Their first time in months, it didn’t last very long, but it was exactly what they needed.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The biggest surprise of the evening was that Rossi put down his drink to hold Katia. To be fair though, he had already had a few. Hence why he was singing and dancing around the garden with Katia in his arms. What a sight to behold, it eased the pain of Derek and Hotch’s absence, their own kids to take care of now.

Eventually Rossi relented, allowing Penelope to take Katia, turning to Y/N who had kept a watchful eye on his actions, “Promise me you’ll bring her over when she’s allowed to eat food.”

“I can’t give her your food for her first taste. She’ll be disappointed for the rest of her life,” Y/N joked, Rossi letting out a boisterous laugh that made Katia giggle in turn.

Penelope got to hold Katia next and show her off to Henry who was very intrigued to learn more about his godsister – Spencer told him that was who Katia was and it stuck. Henry became Penelope’s little shadow until they found a seat for him and a cushion for his lap to hold the baby. His joy unbridled at such a responsibility was adorable. He posed for many photos, while Katia for once stayed quiet.

Spencer was tired but the best kind of tired. A night in with friends, watching his boyfriend and his daughter be welcomed as much as he was, it wasn’t a surprise but it was always a delight. And this moment right now, Y/N cradling Katia’s with one hand squeezing her little foot before he planned to take her into Rossi’s office? What a life they had cultivated together. As he sipped his drink, the bliss in his tummy was not doused by it.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Slouching on the sofa, Spencer watched with tired eyes as Katia stumbled in the room, her hands held in Y/N’s while she waddled between his legs. Her round face lit up at the sight of Spencer. Her pace increased beyond her abilities and Katia swung forward a little as she almost fell over.

“Oh dear,” Y/N cooed while Katia got back to her unstable feet. “That’s it, there we go.”

Spencer wished he had the energy to properly appreciate this moment, especially since both his boyfriend and their daughter were grinning like they shared a secret.

Katia dropped down onto her nappy-cushioned bottom then began to crawl over to Spencer’s feet. His hands, although dirty, rough and near ruined, accepted her offer and lifted Katia up into his lap. They stayed for safety around her middle, keeping her sat up straight as she looked on him with those big eyes. Eyes that were fresh and untainted copies of his own.

Y/N sat down beside Spencer, leaning in close to Katia so he caught her attention, “Hey, why don’t you show your Daddy what we’ve been practicing?”

Looking away from both her Dads, Katia drooled and pushed her fist in her mouth. Y/N waved until he and Spencer were back into her line of sight.

“Go on, sugar plum.” He pointed to Spencer, “Who’s that?” And he mouthed the answer to her.

“Dadadadadada.”

It was barely above a whisper. But her little grin, the top of a tooth poking out of the centre of her bottom gums, the way Katia looked at Spencer when she said it? A soft “oh” fell from Spencer’s lips and he clutched her close, her chubby arms barely reaching around his neck. His breath shaking out of him, he kissed the thick thatch of hair that had sprouted in his absence. He could feel Katia whispering “Dadadadada!” again.

“That’s me, Katia, I’m your Dada.” He sniffed back the sting in his eyes at the absolute proof that, in his time away from her, she had remembered him. When he moved away, placing Katia back into his lap, he closed his eyes as Katia’s scrabbling fingers rubbed across the tip of his nose.

Katia made a sudden attempt to stand, throwing her entire bodyweight towards Spencer. Spencer’s breath was snatched from his lungs and the tension remained even after he caught her with ease.

“You ok?” Y/N said and Spencer noticed that his hand was supporting his against Katia.

Spencer nodded weakly, “Hmm, you?”

“Better now.” Y/N let his hand go and began rubbing Spencer’s back in the same circular motions that Spencer rubbed Katia’s.

A tug snagged Spencer’s head to the left and he tutted as Katia grabbed at his cheek, “Ow, Katia, no.”

Instead, Katia took a fistful of the next thing she could find, which was Spencer’s hair, and she cried out an identical (if higher pitched) “Ow!”

“You hurt Spencer, not the other way around, Katia. Stop faking.” Y/N scolded playfully.

But Katia repeated Spencer’s outburst again, “Ow!”

Y/N lifted Katia’s little fist from Spencer’s hair, and it immediately clamped down on Spencer’s finger as an alternative to wave about.

Spencer kissed her hand, still so tiny and forgiving against his. He looked at Y/N, blinking fast as he half-heartedly said, “She’s so like you.”

The lock of hair Katia had yanked on curved around Y/N’s touch as he put it back into the disarray of fluff that stood around Spencer’s head, “That’s funny, because I think she’s so like you.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Tilting the pram onto its back wheels, Spencer pushed it up the step and into the aquarium tunnel. Katia lay back in her seat while gumming on her blanket corner. Her eyes were ready to take in the sights.

Y/N knelt before her, suffering a few kicks to his knees from Katia’s excitement. Her pram clips were undone. Little Katia was released into her Daddy’s arms then plonked up onto his shoulders. Her starfish-like hands pressed up against the glass. Her mouth became as wide as her eyes as she pointed at the stingray rippling past. She had seen fish before (Carl and Rosalind at home) but never like this.

“Yeah, that’s a ray, Katia,” Y/N rubbed his fingers over her back, his hands still to keep her steady.

Spencer pointed his finger right next to hers, “They use their electro-sensors, not their eyes, to find their meals which consists of shrimps, clams, and -”

Katia shrieked – interrupting his and she smacked her hands against the glass. No one seemed to mind though. Some patrons in the tunnel even chuckled at her behaviour. Like she needed any more encouragement, especially with Y/N grinning up at her and tickling her sides to elicit more laughter from his daughter.

When Spencer’s hand dropped, Katia shouted again. A little confused, he returned it and Katia took his finger in her hand then began dragging the tip across where the ray was.

“She wants it as a pet, what do you say, baby?”

“I thought you said not to get you any fish for your birthday.”

Eventually Katia was returned to the pram. Her head was thrown back to watch the rest of the tunnel go by. Then she hid her face in her blankie once they were out in the last few exhibits. There was a little tug of war to get her to let it go (she was a lot stronger than Y/N gave her credit for) and see the one other exhibit that both parents were invested in.

Taking her hand again, Spencer squatted beside the pram. “Hey look, the men seahorsies have the babies. They’re just like your Daddy.”

“Your favourite Daddy,” Y/N ruffled Spencer’s hair while Spencer pretended to be outraged. Katia caught onto the dramatic expression Spencer was wearing and copied him with a gasp added for good measure.

“What d’you reckon, any of these were babies when we went to visit last time?”

“Well, Y/N, the lifespan of these seahorses is approximately a year. So they could be.” He knew it was unlikely but, for the sake of the smiles on Y/N’s and Katia’s face, Spencer let it be.

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

Toronto’s Aaron Sanchez reignites inning restraint debate

David Lengel: Aaron Sanchez is the whiz of the Blue Jays gyration, at least for one or two more starts Lets start with the obvious: nothing not renowned surgeon Dr James Andrews , not agent Scott Boras , not Washington Nationals and New York Mets general managers Mike Rizzo and Sandy Alderson , not Hall of Fame pitcher John Smoltz knows the right path when it comes to protecting young arms. When young Nats hurler Stephen Strasburg was controversially shut down in September of 2012 and New York ace Matt Harvey blew through his innings restriction last-place season, both were coming off Tommy John elbow surgery: Aaron Sanchez, the Toronto Blue Jays 24 -year-old ace at the center of the latest innings debate has not, farther muddying the questions. Jays GM Ross Atkins, who along with their Ceo and President Mark Shapiro have been deliberating a decision to pulled the former reliever from the starting gyration possibly sooner rather than later, is smart enough to realize that he doesnt know whats right either. Theres not data either way, Ross told TSN radio in Toronto on Tuesday. With all the unknowns winging around Toronto, heres what we do know: Sanchez is the centerpiece of what is arguably the best starting rotation in the American League. Hes run 17 starts without a loss, a long time active unfold in MLB, while compiling a 2.71 ERA during a season in which hes become a legitimate Cy Young candidate. Sanchez is also efficient, averaging 14.9 lurches per inning, good enough for sixth in MLB. Why is Atkins preparing to remove Sanchez from the spin? At 139.1 innings thrown this season, Sanchez has already eclipsed his 2014 high marking of 133.1 innings, who the hell is thrown between the Blue Jays and their bush league affiliates. In a disagreement where home-grown pitching whizs are a scarcity, the Jays are highly motivated to keep Sanchez health for the long term. In addition to theoretically protecting Sanchezs prized right arm, the move too mounts up what could be a formidable 1-2-3 bullpen perforate together with set-up soldier Jason Grilli and closer Roberto Osuna. It could help a aid core that ranks 11 th in ERA, but that thought also presumes Sanchez has no editions moving back to relief work. Replacing Sanchez in the spin “wouldve been” inconsistent Francisco Liriano, acquired at the non-waiver trade deadline, with journeyman Scott Feldman waiting in the backstages if that didnt work out. We feel like transitioning him[ Sanchez] to a relief character would be the best act for us being in Play 7 of the World Series, said Atkins on a conference call following the deal for Liriano. Interesting thought, specially when you consider the dogfight Toronto are in to even reach the playoffs, let alone the World Series. When Strasburg left the spin in 2012 the Nats had a 6.5 tournament NL East lead in early September. Meanwhile, the fact that one is well aware right and wrong for Sanchezs health in the long run isnt continuing those working in Toronto and beyond from taking slopes. On Wednesday, Torontos SportsNet5 90 radios Andrew Walker said its crazed to throw him 240 innings![ that number would be reached only if Sanchez finished the season and the Jays experienced an extended playoff pas ]. Categorically insane! Smoltz, who sloped both as a starter and then in the bullpen, told Torontos The Fan radio on Wednesday that he doesnt like the space Toronto are handling the situation. Going to the bullpen and youre not the closer has a lot more of an effect on your forearm and organization than parties recall because you dont have a characterized capacity. Its not like they go in the seventh inning of every competition were gonna get him up and get him in. When youre a top-line starter, which I make[ Sanchez] is, you got to make sure that that becomes the DNA of this player. Jays starting catcher Russell Martin has discovered the majority of members of Sanchez innings up close. I dont like it, Martin said here on Sportsnets Tim& Sid show. You got a guy who is cruising, testifying no mansions of tirednes … How many stressful innings has he had? I dont think hes had too many, you know? His innings are pretty scavenge … if the guy is completely healthy and putting up character start after quality start, I dont even know why its a discussion right now. Thats merely my views. Im not the one attracting the fibres. Martin wants to win and apparently, so do his team-mates, so such a move could potentially stir the clubhouse negatively at exactly the incorrect time. Throw out all of the unknowns in the health question and youre left with a pure baseball decision. Removing a Cy Young candidate shapes little to no sense, and risks derailing all the momentum the rejuvenated franchise is hold. Canadas team are poised to break through the 3 million marker in attendance for the first time since 1993 and are among the favourites to reach the playoffs and potentially acquire their third World Series title. They should be all in for today , not tomorrow. Video of the week On Sunday, Cincinnati Reds hurler Homer Bailey accomplished his long wander back from Tommy John surgery, sloping well in his first major league tournament since April of 2015. But he was still rust-brown: with runners on the recess in the sixth, San Diegos Wil Myers took off for residence after Bailey turned his back following a stroll, spanning the plate easily to steal a operate. Bryan Price came out to discuss the play with the adjudicator, but “havent had” recourse after given to understand that his pitcher was sleeping at the rotation. Cue the lulluby … Quote of the Week Ken Rosenthal (@ Ken_Rosenthal) August 2, 2016 To those upset with first version of Puig story: Im with you. I take great pride in accuracy. It infuriates me that a key item was wrong. Thats Ken Rosenthal rationalizing for his Yasiel Puig story that said that the Dodgers outfielder had stormed off after learning he wouldnt be on the team airliner to Denver. When Rosenthal learned that Puig wasnt at the ballpark, and thus could not have stormed off “the authors ” evidenced genuine class in admitting the error, and also added that the information came from informants, but thats not an justify. Its my work to check everything thoroughly. Puig, who was replaced by the incoming Josh Reddick and sent down to the children by LA, was sympathetic. Yasiel Puig (@ YasielPuig) August 2, 2016 @ken_rosenthal don’t annoy bro, we all become blunders #puigyourfriend #seeyousoon Whos closer to victory: Donald Trump or the Cubs? Well, the New York Post produced some little-known photos of the Trumpsters wife Melania this week, and, depending on your disposition in life, that could be considered either a win or a loss. However, the flap with Humayun Khan must be a black mark species wherever youre standing. When you weigh it all up, Le Grande Orange has been playing from behind all week. Meanwhile, the Cubs experienced a walk-off win on Sunday against the Mariners thanks to pitcher Jon Lester, who cant throw to first base but can lay down one heck of a bunt. While in the very same recreation, pitcher Travis Wood made a fantastic catch up against the ivy in left field. And all that came before Chicago wiped the Marlins: Cubs get the edge this time around. How did the minors piss off Goose Gossage this week? By Miamis Derek Dietrich stripping off his uniform top after snapping an 0-20 slump with a pinch-hit walk-off triple to defeat the Cardinals on Sunday, thats how. Goose would go gonzo if he saw this. Meanwhile, Goose continued to stick to his AR-1 5s concerning the practice baseball is heading. While addressing young musicians in Maine over the weekend, Gossage told the girls: I said my agreement about at-bat moves and remaining video games in check. Nobodys overtaking the light to teach these boys how to play. They reach so much money, theyve got a bunch of coach-and-fours that have never been in the big league that exactly tiptoe around these people. I was taught how to deed. You act like health professionals. Ive said my armistice. The activity, in my views, is going to hell. Actually, based on Dietrichs physique, it looks like the game is going to the gym. Nine expects in order 1) Has there ever been a Subway Series with less sizzle than the 2016 publication of Mets v Yankees? One New York radio host said it best: this line is more like a wake. The Mets are sinking fast under the weight of incredible harm issues, and the Yankees are eventually in full rebuilding mode after coping Aroldis Chapman, Andrew Miller, Ivan Nova and Carlos Beltran. All the Yanks have now is bringing up the children and deciding whether or not the Yanks preserve Alex Rodriguez around long enough to thumped his 700 th home run or precisely release him, the latter of which is being reportedly being seriously considered. Meanwhile, the Mets, who are clinging to National League wild card hopes, acquired Jay Bruce from the Reds, in a move that also adjusts up what could be one of the most difficult outfield the defence of all-time: Yoenis Cespedes( now on the disabled list) in left field, Curtis Granderson in middle and Bruce in claim. If Braves fans to benefit from pray for rainfall after Spahn and Sain, Mets fans better better start praying for strikeouts and ground balls on every slope. Perhaps John McEnroe can help with that? Give that serviceman a contract! 2) Can the Colorado Rockies form the playoffs? Its not beyond reasonable suspense, even without Trevor Story, who may be lost for the season after sustaining ligament shattering in his left thumb. The Rox, who held on to their key element at the non-waiver trade deadline, are 14 -5 since the infringe. Most of this Rockies guide has come on the road where their pitching has been far superior. In Colorado, where the staff members almost always suffocates in Denvers thin air, theyre rock bottom in team ERA rankings with a 5.98 marker. Fantastically, along the road, the Rox have given up 98 fewer operates, posting an Period of 3.62: thats third in the NL, in front of the Chicago Cubs, Los Angeles Dodgers, St Louis Cardinals and San Francisco Giants. Tyler Chatwood is 6-0 with a 1.30 Era in nine away starts, and 4-6 with a 5.69 ERA in 10 home starts, which is ridiculous. Naturally, their greatest obstacle to contacting the season is their own stadium, where unfortunately they have 32 competitions continuing against 26 on the road. 3) Wednesday was D-Day for baseball and softball, in addition to providing athletics climbing, skateboarding, surfing and karate: all endeavors being considered for the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo. All five became the slouse, but dont reckon for a minute that MLB will halt their season to send actors: their brass are fully committed to constituting the World Baseball Classic the crown jewel of international play-act. Still, that doesnt mean it isnt good for the athletic or the players. John Blundell (@ JBMLBPR) August 3, 2016 Last time baseball was an Olympic sport( 08) these guys won bronze. Strasburg, Fowler, Cahill, Arrieta. #mlb #Wbsc pic.twitter.com/ ZLzpfQDGkU 4) Heres a downer kindnes of the official Instagram of Skeeter Duffy, Matt Duffys large-scale feline TAGEND Thanks for all your lovin’ San Francisco. We’re gonna miss ya. Onwards to Tampa! #furrevergiant #duffcat #duffmanforever #byeSF A photo posted by Skeeter Duffy (@ duffcat3 5) on Aug 1, 2016 at 9:17 pm PDT Duffy, who was sent to the Giant as part of a cope to for hurler Matt Moore, was the felines meow in San Francisco last season, playing the hot corner in place of the departed Pablo Sandoval. Duffy broke out, positing an unexpected. 762 OPS, but hasnt been able to match that Giant spark in 2016. Now he and Skeete, who has over 15,000 folloers on Instagram, are apparently patronizing for Iams and catnip after a long transcontinental flight to Tampa, a true-life blow to felines in the Bay Area. UPDATE: its too hot for Skeeter in Tampa, so hes staying with Duffys mothers. 5) Heres a record you require no part of: the Los Angeles Dodgers, currently in second place in the NL West while guiding the wild card race, have made 22 musicians on the disabled inventory this season, that after starting 2016 with 10 players on the DL. Only the 2015 New York Mets can pair these sort of harm numbers, and on the bright side for LAs love, many of whom are in a nasty feeling with Clayton Kershaw not eligible to pitch until late August, New York won the NL East. 6) Just periods after putting together one of the best, if not the good bullpen in baseball, the Indians rotation received a punch with Danny Salazar thumping the DL with elbow inflammation. Clevelands righty hurler abode his shortest start to the season while get pasted by the Twinneds on Monday and had what was supposed to be a precautionary MRI on Tuesday. Salazar had given up 21 moves over his last five starts after allowing merely 23 moves over his first 15 starts of the season. Cleveland are trying to acquire their first World Series entitle since 1948 and are four games up on the Beast in the AL West. 7) On the heels of the Tribe are the red hot Detroit Tigers, who have won eight straight recreations while going health at precisely the right time. With a payroll of roughly $200 m, the team werent prepared to attain meaningful adds-on at the busines deadline, but they are getting buttress in matters of the activations of Jordan Zimmerman and JD Martinez from the disabled schedule. After being left for dead by most experts picking the Royals to repeat as AL Central champs this season, the Tigers ought to have hang about thanks to a high-powered offense driven by Miguel Cabrera, Ian Kinsler and JD and Victor Martinez. Now their pitching staff are coming around with their second half ERA dropping by 1.33 to 3.14. With tough line against the Mets, Navigator, Red Sox and Rangers coming up, the next few weeks will show us how real Detroit are. 8) Joey Votto is having an interesting era with love lately. On Monday Joey Votto desegregated it up with a person in a Reds jersey while chasing a fouled ball into the stands. Cut4 (@ Cut4) August 3, 2016 It took some innings, but Joey Votto& a @Reds fan sorted everything out. Full Story: https :// t.co/ iCNjYJulXz pic.twitter.com/ bwznPWocJB Votto apologized, but the mea culpa comes just days after he chastened a young love who asked for his batting gloves in San Francisco. Melanie Nichols (@ kiasuchick) July 27, 2016 Kid asks for Joey’s batting gloves. Votto responds “You’re sitting in the figurehead row, you’re elite. This isn’t a ‘Make A Wish’ situation” … Im all for messing with followers as long as its kept flare, but the Make–AWish Foundation crack is totally unnecessary. 9) And ultimately, on Tuesday, umpire Bob Davidson encountered a devotee at Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia. Philly Influencer (@ PHL_Influencer) August 3, 2016 A fan was ejected from video games by home plate umpire Bob Davidson pic.twitter.com/ k7gwhG9K2l Davidson has a reputation for confrontation, but it seems the veteran ump got it right this time, speaking to the fan about homophobic heckling before security questioned the offender to leave. People heartened me, said Davidson. which is unusual in this town for me Read more: www.theguardian.com http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/08/30/torontos-aaron-sanchez-reignites-inning-limit-debate/

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

Toronto’s Aaron Sanchez reignites inning restraint debate

David Lengel: Aaron Sanchez is the whiz of the Blue Jays gyration, at least for one or two more starts Lets start with the obvious: nothing not renowned surgeon Dr James Andrews , not agent Scott Boras , not Washington Nationals and New York Mets general managers Mike Rizzo and Sandy Alderson , not Hall of Fame pitcher John Smoltz knows the right path when it comes to protecting young arms. When young Nats hurler Stephen Strasburg was controversially shut down in September of 2012 and New York ace Matt Harvey blew through his innings restriction last-place season, both were coming off Tommy John elbow surgery: Aaron Sanchez, the Toronto Blue Jays 24 -year-old ace at the center of the latest innings debate has not, farther muddying the questions. Jays GM Ross Atkins, who along with their Ceo and President Mark Shapiro have been deliberating a decision to pulled the former reliever from the starting gyration possibly sooner rather than later, is smart enough to realize that he doesnt know whats right either. Theres not data either way, Ross told TSN radio in Toronto on Tuesday. With all the unknowns winging around Toronto, heres what we do know: Sanchez is the centerpiece of what is arguably the best starting rotation in the American League. Hes run 17 starts without a loss, a long time active unfold in MLB, while compiling a 2.71 ERA during a season in which hes become a legitimate Cy Young candidate. Sanchez is also efficient, averaging 14.9 lurches per inning, good enough for sixth in MLB. Why is Atkins preparing to remove Sanchez from the spin? At 139.1 innings thrown this season, Sanchez has already eclipsed his 2014 high marking of 133.1 innings, who the hell is thrown between the Blue Jays and their bush league affiliates. In a disagreement where home-grown pitching whizs are a scarcity, the Jays are highly motivated to keep Sanchez health for the long term. In addition to theoretically protecting Sanchezs prized right arm, the move too mounts up what could be a formidable 1-2-3 bullpen perforate together with set-up soldier Jason Grilli and closer Roberto Osuna. It could help a aid core that ranks 11 th in ERA, but that thought also presumes Sanchez has no editions moving back to relief work. Replacing Sanchez in the spin “wouldve been” inconsistent Francisco Liriano, acquired at the non-waiver trade deadline, with journeyman Scott Feldman waiting in the backstages if that didnt work out. We feel like transitioning him[ Sanchez] to a relief character would be the best act for us being in Play 7 of the World Series, said Atkins on a conference call following the deal for Liriano. Interesting thought, specially when you consider the dogfight Toronto are in to even reach the playoffs, let alone the World Series. When Strasburg left the spin in 2012 the Nats had a 6.5 tournament NL East lead in early September. Meanwhile, the fact that one is well aware right and wrong for Sanchezs health in the long run isnt continuing those working in Toronto and beyond from taking slopes. On Wednesday, Torontos SportsNet5 90 radios Andrew Walker said its crazed to throw him 240 innings![ that number would be reached only if Sanchez finished the season and the Jays experienced an extended playoff pas ]. Categorically insane! Smoltz, who sloped both as a starter and then in the bullpen, told Torontos The Fan radio on Wednesday that he doesnt like the space Toronto are handling the situation. Going to the bullpen and youre not the closer has a lot more of an effect on your forearm and organization than parties recall because you dont have a characterized capacity. Its not like they go in the seventh inning of every competition were gonna get him up and get him in. When youre a top-line starter, which I make[ Sanchez] is, you got to make sure that that becomes the DNA of this player. Jays starting catcher Russell Martin has discovered the majority of members of Sanchez innings up close. I dont like it, Martin said here on Sportsnets Tim& Sid show. You got a guy who is cruising, testifying no mansions of tirednes … How many stressful innings has he had? I dont think hes had too many, you know? His innings are pretty scavenge … if the guy is completely healthy and putting up character start after quality start, I dont even know why its a discussion right now. Thats merely my views. Im not the one attracting the fibres. Martin wants to win and apparently, so do his team-mates, so such a move could potentially stir the clubhouse negatively at exactly the incorrect time. Throw out all of the unknowns in the health question and youre left with a pure baseball decision. Removing a Cy Young candidate shapes little to no sense, and risks derailing all the momentum the rejuvenated franchise is hold. Canadas team are poised to break through the 3 million marker in attendance for the first time since 1993 and are among the favourites to reach the playoffs and potentially acquire their third World Series title. They should be all in for today , not tomorrow. Video of the week On Sunday, Cincinnati Reds hurler Homer Bailey accomplished his long wander back from Tommy John surgery, sloping well in his first major league tournament since April of 2015. But he was still rust-brown: with runners on the recess in the sixth, San Diegos Wil Myers took off for residence after Bailey turned his back following a stroll, spanning the plate easily to steal a operate. Bryan Price came out to discuss the play with the adjudicator, but “havent had” recourse after given to understand that his pitcher was sleeping at the rotation. Cue the lulluby … Quote of the Week Ken Rosenthal (@ Ken_Rosenthal) August 2, 2016 To those upset with first version of Puig story: Im with you. I take great pride in accuracy. It infuriates me that a key item was wrong. Thats Ken Rosenthal rationalizing for his Yasiel Puig story that said that the Dodgers outfielder had stormed off after learning he wouldnt be on the team airliner to Denver. When Rosenthal learned that Puig wasnt at the ballpark, and thus could not have stormed off “the authors ” evidenced genuine class in admitting the error, and also added that the information came from informants, but thats not an justify. Its my work to check everything thoroughly. Puig, who was replaced by the incoming Josh Reddick and sent down to the children by LA, was sympathetic. Yasiel Puig (@ YasielPuig) August 2, 2016 @ken_rosenthal don’t annoy bro, we all become blunders #puigyourfriend #seeyousoon Whos closer to victory: Donald Trump or the Cubs? Well, the New York Post produced some little-known photos of the Trumpsters wife Melania this week, and, depending on your disposition in life, that could be considered either a win or a loss. However, the flap with Humayun Khan must be a black mark species wherever youre standing. When you weigh it all up, Le Grande Orange has been playing from behind all week. Meanwhile, the Cubs experienced a walk-off win on Sunday against the Mariners thanks to pitcher Jon Lester, who cant throw to first base but can lay down one heck of a bunt. While in the very same recreation, pitcher Travis Wood made a fantastic catch up against the ivy in left field. And all that came before Chicago wiped the Marlins: Cubs get the edge this time around. How did the minors piss off Goose Gossage this week? By Miamis Derek Dietrich stripping off his uniform top after snapping an 0-20 slump with a pinch-hit walk-off triple to defeat the Cardinals on Sunday, thats how. Goose would go gonzo if he saw this. Meanwhile, Goose continued to stick to his AR-1 5s concerning the practice baseball is heading. While addressing young musicians in Maine over the weekend, Gossage told the girls: I said my agreement about at-bat moves and remaining video games in check. Nobodys overtaking the light to teach these boys how to play. They reach so much money, theyve got a bunch of coach-and-fours that have never been in the big league that exactly tiptoe around these people. I was taught how to deed. You act like health professionals. Ive said my armistice. The activity, in my views, is going to hell. Actually, based on Dietrichs physique, it looks like the game is going to the gym. Nine expects in order 1) Has there ever been a Subway Series with less sizzle than the 2016 publication of Mets v Yankees? One New York radio host said it best: this line is more like a wake. The Mets are sinking fast under the weight of incredible harm issues, and the Yankees are eventually in full rebuilding mode after coping Aroldis Chapman, Andrew Miller, Ivan Nova and Carlos Beltran. All the Yanks have now is bringing up the children and deciding whether or not the Yanks preserve Alex Rodriguez around long enough to thumped his 700 th home run or precisely release him, the latter of which is being reportedly being seriously considered. Meanwhile, the Mets, who are clinging to National League wild card hopes, acquired Jay Bruce from the Reds, in a move that also adjusts up what could be one of the most difficult outfield the defence of all-time: Yoenis Cespedes( now on the disabled list) in left field, Curtis Granderson in middle and Bruce in claim. If Braves fans to benefit from pray for rainfall after Spahn and Sain, Mets fans better better start praying for strikeouts and ground balls on every slope. Perhaps John McEnroe can help with that? Give that serviceman a contract! 2) Can the Colorado Rockies form the playoffs? Its not beyond reasonable suspense, even without Trevor Story, who may be lost for the season after sustaining ligament shattering in his left thumb. The Rox, who held on to their key element at the non-waiver trade deadline, are 14 -5 since the infringe. Most of this Rockies guide has come on the road where their pitching has been far superior. In Colorado, where the staff members almost always suffocates in Denvers thin air, theyre rock bottom in team ERA rankings with a 5.98 marker. Fantastically, along the road, the Rox have given up 98 fewer operates, posting an Period of 3.62: thats third in the NL, in front of the Chicago Cubs, Los Angeles Dodgers, St Louis Cardinals and San Francisco Giants. Tyler Chatwood is 6-0 with a 1.30 Era in nine away starts, and 4-6 with a 5.69 ERA in 10 home starts, which is ridiculous. Naturally, their greatest obstacle to contacting the season is their own stadium, where unfortunately they have 32 competitions continuing against 26 on the road. 3) Wednesday was D-Day for baseball and softball, in addition to providing athletics climbing, skateboarding, surfing and karate: all endeavors being considered for the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo. All five became the slouse, but dont reckon for a minute that MLB will halt their season to send actors: their brass are fully committed to constituting the World Baseball Classic the crown jewel of international play-act. Still, that doesnt mean it isnt good for the athletic or the players. John Blundell (@ JBMLBPR) August 3, 2016 Last time baseball was an Olympic sport( 08) these guys won bronze. Strasburg, Fowler, Cahill, Arrieta. #mlb #Wbsc pic.twitter.com/ ZLzpfQDGkU 4) Heres a downer kindnes of the official Instagram of Skeeter Duffy, Matt Duffys large-scale feline TAGEND Thanks for all your lovin’ San Francisco. We’re gonna miss ya. Onwards to Tampa! #furrevergiant #duffcat #duffmanforever #byeSF A photo posted by Skeeter Duffy (@ duffcat3 5) on Aug 1, 2016 at 9:17 pm PDT Duffy, who was sent to the Giant as part of a cope to for hurler Matt Moore, was the felines meow in San Francisco last season, playing the hot corner in place of the departed Pablo Sandoval. Duffy broke out, positing an unexpected. 762 OPS, but hasnt been able to match that Giant spark in 2016. Now he and Skeete, who has over 15,000 folloers on Instagram, are apparently patronizing for Iams and catnip after a long transcontinental flight to Tampa, a true-life blow to felines in the Bay Area. UPDATE: its too hot for Skeeter in Tampa, so hes staying with Duffys mothers. 5) Heres a record you require no part of: the Los Angeles Dodgers, currently in second place in the NL West while guiding the wild card race, have made 22 musicians on the disabled inventory this season, that after starting 2016 with 10 players on the DL. Only the 2015 New York Mets can pair these sort of harm numbers, and on the bright side for LAs love, many of whom are in a nasty feeling with Clayton Kershaw not eligible to pitch until late August, New York won the NL East. 6) Just periods after putting together one of the best, if not the good bullpen in baseball, the Indians rotation received a punch with Danny Salazar thumping the DL with elbow inflammation. Clevelands righty hurler abode his shortest start to the season while get pasted by the Twinneds on Monday and had what was supposed to be a precautionary MRI on Tuesday. Salazar had given up 21 moves over his last five starts after allowing merely 23 moves over his first 15 starts of the season. Cleveland are trying to acquire their first World Series entitle since 1948 and are four games up on the Beast in the AL West. 7) On the heels of the Tribe are the red hot Detroit Tigers, who have won eight straight recreations while going health at precisely the right time. With a payroll of roughly $200 m, the team werent prepared to attain meaningful adds-on at the busines deadline, but they are getting buttress in matters of the activations of Jordan Zimmerman and JD Martinez from the disabled schedule. After being left for dead by most experts picking the Royals to repeat as AL Central champs this season, the Tigers ought to have hang about thanks to a high-powered offense driven by Miguel Cabrera, Ian Kinsler and JD and Victor Martinez. Now their pitching staff are coming around with their second half ERA dropping by 1.33 to 3.14. With tough line against the Mets, Navigator, Red Sox and Rangers coming up, the next few weeks will show us how real Detroit are. 8) Joey Votto is having an interesting era with love lately. On Monday Joey Votto desegregated it up with a person in a Reds jersey while chasing a fouled ball into the stands. Cut4 (@ Cut4) August 3, 2016 It took some innings, but Joey Votto& a @Reds fan sorted everything out. Full Story: https :// t.co/ iCNjYJulXz pic.twitter.com/ bwznPWocJB Votto apologized, but the mea culpa comes just days after he chastened a young love who asked for his batting gloves in San Francisco. Melanie Nichols (@ kiasuchick) July 27, 2016 Kid asks for Joey’s batting gloves. Votto responds “You’re sitting in the figurehead row, you’re elite. This isn’t a ‘Make A Wish’ situation” … Im all for messing with followers as long as its kept flare, but the Make–AWish Foundation crack is totally unnecessary. 9) And ultimately, on Tuesday, umpire Bob Davidson encountered a devotee at Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia. Philly Influencer (@ PHL_Influencer) August 3, 2016 A fan was ejected from video games by home plate umpire Bob Davidson pic.twitter.com/ k7gwhG9K2l Davidson has a reputation for confrontation, but it seems the veteran ump got it right this time, speaking to the fan about homophobic heckling before security questioned the offender to leave. People heartened me, said Davidson. which is unusual in this town for me Read more: www.theguardian.com http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/08/30/torontos-aaron-sanchez-reignites-inning-limit-debate/