#listen... tenny's piece was from 2022

[sweeteaapond]

♡》 Picnic & Serenade

>click for better quality<

[wonders-me]

A Free Woman

They say it’s the twenty-first century

the era of women’s freedom

with no fuss, no worries; you are just a free woman

They say:

now

you can live with no boundaries,

you can choose your love partners, your career,

and your kind of style with no judgment from society

They say:

you are free; you can speak your mind

you can lie on the moon if you want

even with your head full of clouds

colorful as the rainbow, still, you are free as a bird

But when I walk on the street

with my tennis bag on my shoulder

a tennis skirt around my waist

sunglasses covering my eyes

I feel unprotected from judgmental eyes

Still, when I dance on the dance floor

with a long flowing gown of velvety silk

like a willow next to a water stream,

they are staring at me

Some, with a look of adoration

Most, with the eye of unjust curiosity

They want me to sit down with my legs crossed to the side

my lips quiet

My stare, senseless

invisible, speechless

with my head down to listen to the noises around me

Still, when my mind intertwines the truth

describing my flaws,

the delicacy of my senses,

the warmth of my passion through the night in a piece of a poetry

They say:

You are a woman; you are free,

But

it would help if you were more modest

quieter

let us speak out on your behalf

Yet, when I walk the way I do, a gleam of sunshine slides along me

My laughter, free of shyness, tells a hundred stories of women before me

Yet, beneath the heavy sky,

Full of injustice and indifferences

arm to arm with my free soul

Undisturbed, unfearful

I conquer the world as the free woman I am.

Shahla Latifi

March 2022

[loversandcousins]

in conversation

with Neeta 💕

In late May, I said to Neeta, oh let me show you my secret blog, and then she said I have one too– What a good thing, what a revelation, how sweet it's been to read her secret blog. 

First of all, it's beautiful: http://neeta.works/blog/

I want to float in that yellow-green-blue. The blog used to be light green on dark green, like a tennis court, and before that it was purple. like an artificially flavored italian ice. Mmm. 

Hmm. Neeta writes about tennis, running, coding, and writing. Most of all she seems to write about process. The repetition, the sounds of it. Returning to the thing, whatever it is, again and again and again. Her posts from this past August 11 and August 13 are my favorite in this vein. 

On August 11 she celebrated the completion of her 4th notebook of "unpublished tweets." This is her practice of writing 140 character journal entries, mimicking the form of the old Twitter (each Tweet was 140 characters), an afterlife of the many years that she posted on Twitter. Anyone who keeps a journal knows the excitement of finishing an entire notebook. Neeta looks back at her notebooks and comes up with life-affirming self analysis: it is "a record of my self in flux." She gives space to her doubts, though. She wonders if she is narcissistic, if drawing the delineating squares on each page is neurotic, if she needs to kill her darling. These doubts  crowd the penultimate paragraph, like they are squirrely and alive, rushing to fill up a possible opening. She slams the door in their face with the last line, "I am just trying to stay alive." No one does this shit for any less of a good reason. But isn't it a trip, doing something over and over and over again? 

Two days later she writes again about transformation and repetition, but in a different language, the way that footsteps talk. After running on a treadmill one morning, she writes:: "...thump thum pthump thump thump thump tump thump thump thumpthmp thumpthump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump…" 

The onomatopoeia gradually transforms into the word runner, or "runr." What does it sound like to be a runner? To listen to yourself slowly become a runner with the thump of each step? What does it feel like to listen to yourself listening, and then go home and put words on a page to get that sound out of your head? 

Neeta's got range, so she also writes sentences like "I’m generally interested in making works in series, and for this piece I want to exploit the reproductive capacity possible in the printshop." (15 April 2022). And so, it's exciting when the secret blog is a window into her studio, and we glimpse the things she makes. My absolute favorite of this flavor of post is where we see the posters she designed and printed for graduate student workers at Yale University who are campaigning to win a union. The posters are beautiful, and the choice to use a Riso machine is especially satisfying. I personally have fond memories of using a Riso machine. You can really see the ink drying on the page and the way that it brings CMYK to life is exciting.

During the April rally, grad workers had already won a majority vote in support of unionizing through Unite Here Local 33, but the university officials were refusing to recognize the union. From an article in the Yale Daily News published mid October, it looks like the university is still refusing to recognize the union, and has escalated their union busting tactics, while nonetheless even more folks came out to the latest (rainy and cold!) rally in support of the union. An update from two days ago, Oct 25, shows that the grad student workers had submitted union authorization cards to the NLRB and the university has 2 weeks to respond. Well, I hope grad workers at Yale keep their foot on the gas, and that organizers at Unite Here consider the most aggressive tactics possible. Maybe Neeta will make more posters..

I've meandered, which of course she would understand. 

I've been wanting to write about Neeta's blog for a while, and possibly write about other friends' work as part of a "series" (ah!). Reading Neeta's blog gives me so much inspiration and courage to blog my own blogg, and I salute her!! Read my blog, read Neeta's blog, blog blog blog bloggi blogg, stay alive, seek inspiration…

[trashyeggroll]

Hey since you are excited for the Olympics out of all your ships that you usually write for, what events would they participate in if you were creating that world? Would it be a mixture of summer and winter? Thanks in advance and also great to see you writing again!

ahhh anon thanks!!! 😍😍 loooove this question! We’ve got rugby sevens Varia now and I humbly propose next…

Reppin’ the U.S. in tennis, Alex Danvers won gold in London in 2012, but didn’t qualify for Rio because the trials were right after her father died. Now facing allegations of being a one hit wonder, Alex has something to prove. Yes this fic would have ESPN reporter Kelly Olsen thirsting at the grunting noises Alex makes when she plays.

Oh you KNOW I hope to one day write a “Worth the Fall” piece where Anissa wins gold in boxing, bookended by tooth-rotting fluff where ThunderGrace and their babies explore Tokyo.

Nora West Allen, U.S. track star, falling for the Canadian Joss Jackam, pole jumper? More likely than you think.

I seen that post going around again about the US/Canada hockey captains living happily ever after and that is absolutely the AU for my beloved space wives, but UK and USA instead. They met in PyeongChang and lost touch, then reconnect in Beijing (2022) as their teams vie for the same gold.

And listen, not to stereotype the tall gals but uhhhhhhh

Waverly’s college graduation present from Wynonna is tickets to Tokyo… and the universe’s present to her is Nicole Haught representing Canada in 3x3 basketball…

[thepermanentrainpress]

EMILY BEST: LIGHT UP THE DAWN

Light Up the Dawn – Emily Best Release Date: April 8th, 2022

Track Listing:

1. Selfish Heart by Emily Best 2. Suits // Light Up the Dawn 3. LOVE // in progress 4. Aria 5. Easier 6. If You Were Dead

Singer-songwriter Emily Best entrances the ear with their sophomore album, Light Up the Dawn; a musically technical piece of art layering pop, folk, orchestra and jazz. The album is a tribute to Best’s knowledge and study of music and mastery of different instruments, as well as their passion for the intricacies of human connection. Light Up the Dawn is an acknowledgement of love and its many forms—unrequited, manipulative, whimsical, and selfless.

What is interesting about Best’s sound is that while it is influenced by the likes of Elton John, Fiona Apple, Tom Petty and more, it sounds entirely original. The entire album feels like walking through a city; eclectic and curious, new and old at the same time. Best’s sound is nostalgic like retro Americana-rock, but feels fresh with bouncy melodies, fuzzy harmonies, and sprinkled instrumental accompaniments. It reminds me of indie stars like Tennis, Belle and Sebastian, and Cults.

The first song of the album, “Selfish Heart,” is a bluesy track with crooning vocals that almost feel like they are yearning for something. Best’s lyrics:

"But it’s a selfish dream, cracked and broken bursting at the seams You know I hold it down so hard I want to scream So you don’t know about my selfish dream” 

Both feel like a cry for a life they wish they had, as well as a reminiscing about a life once lived. The lyrics, combined with the constant lullaby of the harp and the smoky guitar and violin make the listener feel a sense of deep longing, while also lamenting themselves for doing that very thing. It is the perfect opener for an album about love – especially the “whimsy” complicatedness of unrequited love as Best describes.

The title song, “Suits // Light Up the Dawn,” is a layered, textural experience that follows the same melancholic jazz blueprint as the rest of the album. Best’s vocals really shine through in this song, with their voice complimenting the crash of the cymbals and guitar each verse. Best’s style is almost operatic, most definitely taking in their inspiration for folk and retro jazz.

“Aria,” another track to highlight, seems like a tonal shift from the rest of the album in a good way. It starts off with dreamy, low-fi audio of someone telling their child to love themselves, and that they are beautiful. The song feels like an ode to loving oneself; fun, enchanting, and hopeful. I also have to compliment Best’s vocals again, as each riff in the song is a treat to the ears. It sounds fairy-like and magical.

I also want to bring out the number of people that worked on this album with Best. Their acknowledgment to uplift and support those that supported them creating the album is refreshing to see – especially when the credits include so many talented and skillful folks from the local Vancouver music scene. Best’s songwriting and vocals are complimented by their own skill in the Wurlitzer and piano, and the rest of the credits include: Gavin Youngash (guitar), Peggy Lee (cello), Meredith Bates (violin), Elisa Thorn (harp), Paul Rigby (pedal steel), Alison Gorman (trumpet), Ellen Marple (trombone), Dominic Conway (sax), Robin Layne (marimba), Max Marceau-Ley (drums), and Rob Thomson (bass).

All in all, Light Up the Dawn is everything I personally love in an album. Smooth, playful vocals overlaying a textured, bouncy soundscape. The theme of the album is also relatable, and while the subject of love – especially unrequited – is always talked about, this feels like a fresh take with multiple perspectives and experiences. Best possesses a care for their craft and their music, as well as the people that listen to it. It is definitely making an appearance in many of my future playlists!

Written by: Alexa Tarrayo

Light Up the Dawn by Emily Best

[encomiium]

We Could Have Gone to Coldstone 13 April 2022 Kit

One of the most widely pervasive misconceptions in the west is that, among surveyed individuals (which people say as if to appear more qualified to speak on the matter), the most commonly reported fear is public speaking. The truth is that there is a noticeable lack of peer-reviewed science to substantiate this claim. A simple google search would show you countless listicles and pie charts generated from numbers pulled either from thin air or a questionable “survey” done in 1998. 

So, no, Kit did not necessarily believe in that little “fun fact” which, for all intents and purposes, had become somewhat of a cultural myth, but he knew that, on that morning, standing in front of the Board, the trembling in his fingers was not from malnourished weakness. 

Honestly, Kit wasn’t even all that bothered by public speaking. He was by no means an exceptionally charismatic personality, though he was aware that he had a certain charm about him that endeared him to people listening.  But this did not feel like a harmless presentation of his research or a mundane, weekly status update. This felt like a trial. It was clinical and impersonal: he felt less like a human and more like a piece of machinery being assessed for retirement and upgrade. There was a hunger in their eyes. They wondered if they could do with a younger, less damaged model. 

You would think, after healing a tennis ball-sized hole in his gut, Kit would be used to the feeling of emptiness in his stomach, but the scar-tissue helped him feel more and more normal every day. He could go a full day now without feeling incomplete. Yet, standing in front of a large screen split into a grid of nine bureaucrats staring down at him, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling, like he’d been scooped hollow all over again. 

It could have been much worse. At Ben’s hearing, he testified that he was confident Ben had changed the size of the projectile just before it hit him. All of the icicles around him were deterrent-sized. Scary and lethal, but aimed at nothing in particular. They were warnings. The one that hit him--a freak accident he maintains to this day--was much, much smaller by comparison. Ben wouldn’t comment on that. He didn’t say much, actually, which is its own tragedy. 

“Doctor Saint Vincent,” one man coughed up, like the exertion of speaking was too much on his hefty body. He recognized that man. He had poked holes in Kit’s testimony. If he could adjust the size of the icicle, he could have changed its trajectory. Your testimony suggests he intended to hit you, if anything. Kit nearly got court martialed on the stand when he grabbed his tie clip--a sensible SHIELD logo--and whipped it at the man, as hard as he could, splitting a few stitches in the process. It bounced off the bald man’s head with a metallic twang and the room erupted in gasps and whispers as the judge called for peace. Kit’s face was hot, his breath like glass in his still-weak lungs. The judge began to reprimand him, but years’ worth of rage began pouring out of him as his voice cracked. 

The projectile--Kit was careful to call it that, to distance it from Ben’s mutation--was traveling at twice that speed, in a much more stressful environment. Tell me again how easy it was to change its trajectory, Lieutenant Carrol. 

Besides smashing Jacob’s laptop, it was one of the very few times Kit could admit to himself that his ex had changed him. 

“It seems that your first week back to work in the labs has been--” the man--Lieutenant Travis Carrol--paused, grunting as he flipped through the paperwork in front of him. His camera pointed up at him in an incredibly unflattering angle, “Well, it seems everything is quite normal.” His voice indicated no ill-will or disappointment, but Kit liked to imagine this man harbored some sort of grudge. 

“Yes, sir,” Kit answered as sincerely as he could. He could feel Jacob standing next to him, smothering a grin. The two of them were leaders on their base, seasoned officers and top-choices as heirs to directorial positions, and it still felt like they were children called into the principal's office. 

“I did have a question in regards to your… medical device,” the Lieutenant finally added. 

Ah, there’s the grudge. 

“I understand you have been cleared by other medical staff for certain tasks such as lifting weights and standing for prolonged periods of time,” the Lieutenant began with a certain arrogance about his tone, like he knew he had played this game of circumstantial chess exactly the right way. 

Kit cleared his throat, “That is correct, sir.” He had a small out-of-body experience when he realized he was standing in the belly of a top-secret international defense initiative hundreds of yards underground in their most secure meeting room, assessing his physical condition like he was some sort of stock room associate. 

“And you plan to return to your surgical rotation next week?” the Lieutenant continued. Kit couldn’t help a tiny smirk. He’d finally remembered what this guy looked like to him. 

“Yes, sir,” Kit confirmed. One of the other Board members--Doctor Priya Tiwari--hummed contentedly, though the tight line of her lips betrayed her annoyance. He was glad to know someone understood that getting Kit back on staff was a win for The Farm, not something to be questioned ad nauseum. 

“To my understanding, Doctor Saint Vincent,” Jabba the Hutt gloated, leaning back in his chair, his fingers stitched together on his rotund belly, “Your nasogastric tube is an exposed, direct line to your stomach. Wouldn’t that jeopardize the sterile field? How do you plan to combat exposing your patients to the harmful gut bacteria you may be producing while in surgery?”

Kit blinked. 

Jake actually could not stifle his snickering this time. He would have been fine, had Doctor Tiwari not rolled her eyes, tossed her hands up in defeat, and mumbled some kind of Hindi profanity. He quickly ducked his head and covered his mouth as Kit screwed his eyes shut, willing the stupidity of that question to roll off his body and summoning what little patience he had left. 

Kit cleared his throat and felt his NG tube shift. He moved his hands from the small of his back and reached behind his ear to pull out the port resting at his shoulder. As he looked back up at the screens, he loosely resembled a Kindergarten teacher. “It’s actually not open at all times. If you look here,” he pointed at the pink and blue caps at the end of his tube, “It’s closed when I’m not hooked up to my IV. My-- uh-- ‘gut bacteria’ are no more ‘exposed’ than if I were to do surgery with an open mouth, which, typically, would be covered with a mask anyway.” 

He tucked his tube back into his collar, glancing at Jake for some moral support. Jake, god bless him, swayed in his spot to relieve his giggles. 

“But, I appreciate your concern for medical safety, Lieutenant,” Kit placated, attempting to rally even a shred of respect for the man, “Luckily, the tube is easily removable and I, as a medical professional, can re-install it. Should I feel any particular surgery requires extra caution, I do plan to remove the tube.”

Kit paused, scanning the faces on the screen, before adding quickly, “I don’t anticipate that happening, though.” 

--

“Congratulations, doctor. You’re officially out of time-out,” Jake grinned, walking Kit down the frigid hallway. 

Kit snickered and pulled his lab coat tighter around his body before nudging Jake with his elbow, “Lieutenant Carrol hates my guts. All 75% of what’s left.” 

Jake tossed his head back and cackled, “He’s like a Scooby-Doo villain, right?!”

Kit snorted, “Oh, my god he actually is.”

“I heard it in your voice. ‘I don’t anticipate that happening, though, you fat fuck.’” Jake sneered before pressing the button for the elevator upstairs. 

Kit rolled his eyes, “I’m not an animal, Jacob, I would never.”

Jake shook his head, “God, you’re so posh, it’s disgusting. I would never,” he sang, as if Kit were Mum Lizzie speaking to the press, “I’ll credit you with this, though. All that huffin’ and puffin’ goes out the window when it’s time to fling tie clips, innit? I know that now.”

Kit laughed, even as he dropped his gaze to his shoes. He felt a little guilty, but, admittedly, it was nice to pretend that he didn’t do that because he was pleading for their best friend’s life. It was nice to pretend nothing had fallen apart. 

Finally, the elevator doors opened and Jake walked through first. Kit took a step to join him, but Jake held out a hand with a guilty smile, stopping him outside the doors. 

“What are you doing?” Kit asked, his brows knit.

“Don’t hate me for this, Kitty,” Jake laughed, pulling a manila folder out of thin fucking air. Seriously, Kit hadn’t seen it once the entire time they were together. 

“No, Jake--”

“Doctor Reed called out sick and--”

“Jake, we were going to go to Coldstone! You promised!”

“You can’t even eat anything there!”

“I can have a bite or two of yours!” Kit was about two seconds away from stomping his foot. Even if he couldn’t eat anything there, Kit really, really liked the smell of a clean Coldstone.

The elevator started to close and Jake stopped it with his elbow, “I know, I know, I’m the worst and I’m sorry. But you’ve got full privileges back and you’re the only one qualified to run all these tests! I didn’t want you to have to come all the way back downstairs when you’re already here.”

Kit huffed and pouted, really laying it on thick. He knew full-well that Jake was right and he was in no position to refuse work, but he still felt the entire force of this gut-wrenching disappointment and wanted Jake to know every second of it. After a few seconds of unrelenting sulking, he snatched the folder from Jake’s hand and wrapped his arms around it, glaring at him. 

“Thank you, Kitty, I love you!” Jake called out as the elevator doors started to close, “I’ll take you to Coldstone another time, I promise!” 

Kit turned when the elevator hummed back into operation, practically stomping his way to the containment units, “Love me my ass. Power-mad fiend.” he grumbled, before swiping his access card against the key fob and finding a strange satisfaction in watching the door to one of the highest level restriction zones open to him once again without a fight. The devil works hard, but Deputy Director Jacob Pine works harder. 

--

Two hours later, Kit had finally reached his last patient. Most of the residents on this level were what the public might classify as “cryptids.” Kit liked to call them guests. 

While Kit was more than capable of treating most living organisms after an hour or two with established research material, the guests were simply not his area of expertise. He cared deeply for their well-being, but could not provide the care they deserved. During his recovery time, he finally managed to write up his proposal to hire staff specifically designated to researching and studying this growing population. He had hoped to start “interviews” (government-sanctioned kidnapping) next week, but not soon enough, as his stomach gave a protesting grumble. He would probably need to hang two bags of nutritional liquid after this.

He was proud to say only one of the patients on this level was kept there against her will, if she had any discernible will. When he had climbed the ranks to co-chairing the Medical and Research division, this portion of it was an ethical mess. Fixing it all--especially alone--was one of the most difficult challenges in his new position. The Chief of M&R was a nice woman, but quite old and very ready to retire so, when Kit suddenly found himself with a promotion and plenty of free time in an unexpectedly half-empty barracks room, he took this floor on as a personal project. It took a few months, but, by the end, only the Hagraven remained as a red-level threat. He was grateful he only needed to perform some routine maintenance on her pod monitoring system. 

He did not like how she tracked him through the large glass window. 

After her, the floor consisted of a few injured residents who were kept indefinitely until they were evaluated for safe release. Kit had to review quite a few charts, but he remembered a fair number of these patients, some of which he was in the field to witness firsthand. 

He took great care to bandage the bleeding leaf of a large potted flower composed of a currently unidentified flesh, recalling how it wailed like a baby when he and the rest of the team had first discovered it. They didn’t find the young man they had initially been dispatched to retrieve, the son of a respected surgeon who played God in her attic and desecrated the corpses of her family to, according to reports, successfully revive her son, dead three-days-long already. Instead, they found Kevin. Unlike many members of the team, Kit was enamored with Kevin immediately. 

Kevin could not be called a voluntary resident, as it did not show any signs of complex communication skills, but researchers have noticed that, minutes after an evaluation to be rehomed in a more suitable environment, Kevin would spontaneously develop a new injury, much like the broken leaf Kit took precious time to dote on.

Once Kit finished, Kevin gave a happy little coo at its new bandaging before returning to its rhythmic and soothing swaying in its pot, content with its few minutes of undivided attention. 

At the end of the hall lived their singular verifiably voluntary resident. Kit had barely gotten to the keypad at the entry to her pod before a robotic female voice rang out through the speaker to the hallway, “Kitty,” it said simply, and Kit smiled. 

“Hello, my darling,” Kit called out as he stepped into the pod. Inside, a 400 gallon, L-shaped aquarium took up nearly the entire room and hummed with life, bathing the space in blue light. Corals and lava rocks of all shapes and sizes decorated the tank floor, as well as a few wooden puzzles and toys left quite neatly in choice nooks and crannies. Kit sat at a chair positioned near the tank and gazed at one corner, where a long, coiling tentacle reached out for a keypad positioned near the front of the glass from a hiding place amongst the coral. It writhed along the keys, but made no effort to push any of the buttons. 

Kit frowned, “What’s the matter, Miss Christine?” She had named herself after Christine Daae from her favorite musical. 

The tentacle twirled for a moment before another appeared and they worked swiftly along the keys. The siri-voice spoke up in the speakers, “I am quite vexed with you, Christopher.”

Kit grabbed his heart with a pained laugh, “Oh, not my christening name, Christine!”

“Do not patronize!” she scolded, “You have not visited!” 

“Christine, darling, come on out, I promise I have a good excuse,” he smiled, standing to approach the glass.

Her tentacles drifted from the keys in a moment of thought, the ends twisting and twirling in graceful curls before finding their way back down to the keys, “Alright, but this is not because you are clearly flirting with me.” 

Kit giggled before bending down to watch as a common octopus, small even by her species’s standards, emerged from a tiny crevice in the coral. She pulled herself to the glass, her suckers moving in tiny arches as she inched closer to take a look at one of her favorite doctors. She trained her eye on his face, studying him for a moment before stretching one tentacle down to the keypad. 

“What is that? Are those frogs?” she asked in quick succession. A few tentacles already began to peek their way out of the water in anticipation, waiting for Kit to allow her a little feel. 

“Yes, those are frogs on the bandage, very good! It’s a feeding tube,” he said tilting his head with apology, “which is why you can’t touch it, I’m afraid.” 

“You are hurt.” she concluded, her eyes shifting from Kit’s face to his stomach. Her maroon body shivered with a wave of gray. 

“I was, I’m alright now,” he smiled, noticing her tentacles still inching their way to the top of the tank, looping over the edge of the glass. There was some silence as Christine hovered above the keypad, waiting.

“Would you like to feel the scar?” he offered, straightening his body so she could get a better look at his abdomen. Kit had never discouraged Christine’s curiosity and, in fact, felt an innocent kinship with her for it. He did not want to assume her capability of comprehension; a completely sentient octopus will always surprise you.

“I thought it may be rude to ask,” she typed, before making her way to the top of the tank. Kit rolled his sleeve up before dipping his hand into the warm water for her to climb onto. If he were being honest, he enjoyed her texture. There was something acutely satisfying about her squishy, slimy body in direct juxtaposition to the strength and surety of her suckers. He untucked his shirt from his dress pants and pulled it up, exposing the red, puckered scar just above and to the right of his belly button. She reached out a single tentacle and he shuddered when her suckers met the skin there. It turns out, her texture was much nicer in his hand than on his body. 

She pulled away from his stomach once she was satisfied, curling up easily in his hand before he dipped her back into the salty water. He walked over to the sink nearby as she floated gently back down to her keypad and sat silently for a while. Kit gave her some time as he washed his hands. Christine was much more fond of dedicating her intellect to reading fantasies and romances or playing Candy Crush on the iPad at the other end of her tank. She did just enough math to please the researchers before asking them to bring her another puzzle or toy. It wasn’t often she was confronted with anything as anatomical as this. 

“Do not laugh at my question,” she finally said.

“I would never,” he chirped as he dried his hands and tucked his shirt back into place.

“Did you do the surgery on yourself?” she asked.

Kit smiled.

Her tentacles worked furiously as another gray wave washed over her body, “You said you would not!”

“I’m not!” he protested, returning to his seat, “No, I did not do the surgery on myself. It’s usually not advisable to do that.” 

She nodded a little octopus nod. “The craftsmanship is questionable,” she declared. 

“Christine!” Kit gasped, scandalized, “That’s very rude!”

“I did not say it was unattractive!” Two of her tentacles undulated against the glass and Kit could have sworn it looked like laughter. “You have a very nice body! I just know your work would have been better.” 

“Oh, now look who's flirting as an apology,” he teased. He briefly made note of how absolutely pathetic it was that it worked before shrugging, “If I’m alive, then all’s fine.”

Christine paused again, her tentacles twitching over the keys. Kit sat back in the chair and finally felt the weight of his exhaustion. He would build up his stamina again, he knew that. But in the quiet of the pod, with an octopus’s gaze trained on him, he suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. It was that feeling of being scooped hollow again, but now he felt it in his chest, gaping and empty, like a bed that suddenly became too big, or an empty dresser he had to toss photos into to keep from staring at them.

“You’re quite withholding today,” he baited, desperate to fill the silence. 

Christine hesitated again before typing, “I am afraid I will make you sad if I ask my question,” she said. She was very still for the first time during Kit’s visit, her body resembled a rock as it rested on the keypad. 

Kit watched her carefully. The hollow feeling started to spread and his friendly grin began to fade. He looked tired for the first time that day. He was smart enough to know what she wanted to say--or at least know what she was thinking about. He swallowed. Hard. 

“That’s alright, darling. You don’t have to be afraid of what I think,” he tried to force a smile, but he knew she could sense the insincerity. 

“I was only wondering,” she said slowly, “Did Mackenzie come when it happened?” 

Kit clenched his jaw. 

Hearing his name for the first time in months--the word “sting” is not adequate enough to describe the physical sensation. And to hear it said by a voice so robotic and cold--his stomach tightened like he’d been punched and all too quickly, he felt sick. He fought the feeling, not wanting to re-install his NG tube today, not wanting to afford that man the satisfaction of his pure, visceral aching, not wanting to run to the sink and retch in front of Christine. 

“I did make you sad,” she typed, her tentacles curling in under her head. Kit almost imagined the unchanging speaker voice had come down to a whisper. 

“Um,” he stalled, his voice trembling as he gathered his thoughts and cast his eyes to the ceiling. He felt it, the hot, burning need to cry, to weep, to scream, but he breathed his way through it, as he had been breathing his way through three years alone. “I really wish I could tell you this all ended like one of your novels,” he finally said, when the blurriness faded from his eyes and he could confidently tilt his chin back down to face her. 

“But the world out there, it’s hard. We make hard decisions that we think are best for the people we--” he swallowed, “We love. Yeah? And not everyone can have a happy ending. Sometimes, the happiest endings are the ones where we do the most hurtful thing because we know it will keep the people we care about safe. Does that make sense?” he asked gently, hoping he wasn’t being too vague with her. It was difficult, feeling like he couldn’t even be completely honest with an octopus.

“It does,” she said, the little tips of her tentacles peeking out from under her body, “I am very sorry.”

Kit smiled and shook his head, finally reaching for the folder that detailed her tests for the day. With a final breath, he exhaled the want and with it went the vacant feeling at his elbow he felt at odd times of the day, the ghost of a familiar laugh that haunted his silent moments, and the memory of begging for a name while he lay bleeding on a stretcher, a name that tasted like blood and bliss and shame.

“It’s alright, my darling. Let’s get started, shall we?”

[torentialtribute]

Sky Sports urged to make cricket World Cup final free to watch

Sky Sports will come under pressure to make the final of the Cricket World Cup

The highlights of the England's victory over Bangladesh on Saturday, for example, were shown until Sunday at 12.20 pm

Rightholders must

[Engels-Spaans]

When England reaches the World Cup Final, Sky Sports is under pressure to make it free for the sky England reaches the World Cup Final, Sky Sports is under pressure to make it free "

BBC Radio 5Live is ready to concentrate on the final of the Cricket World Cup, which starts at 10.30 am, instead of the last men's singles from Wimbledon, scheduled for 2:00 pm, the same day – a busy sports day including the British Grand Prix takes place at Silverstone and the Tour de France.

Meanwhile, the Twenty20 cricket for women is an & # 39; optional sport & # 39; at the 2022 Commonwealth Games in Birmingham.

All sports can be selected, but Sports Agenda understands that two have already been discounted.

Ian Reid, the chief executive officer of the local organizing committee, said: & The Birmingham 2022 Commonwealth Games, the Commonwealth Games Federation, will ultimately make that decision. & # 39;

STREWTH! SUE & # 39; S PARIS SURPRISE

Quelle horreur! Sue Barker was shocked to hear from Sports Agenda that she had been the victim of a terrible weakness in the hands of the French Open.

In the wake of Aussie Ash Barty's victory on Saturday, photographer Ella Ling saw that alongside Barker & # 39; s name 1976 on the Roland Garros ladies trophy the letters & # 39; AUST & # 39;

are engraved. Barker, 63, who proudly comes from Paignton in Devon, was totally unaware of the long-standing error.

No idea. How strange, & # 39; said the broadcaster. & # 39; I was only 19 at the time, it is very strange. & # 39;

It must all be set right by next year's tournament. & # 39; We now know what the error is and the plaque will be corrected & # 39 ;, said spokesman for the French Tennis Federation.

<img id = "i-8519eddb96016f21" src = "https://dailym.ai/2Iz4UR3 -7121957-image-a-65_1560111177453.jpg "height =" 678 "width =" 634 "alt =" Old English Sue Barker celebrates her victory at the French Open in 1976 "class =" blkBorder img-share "her victory over the French Open in 1976 "

The former English Sue Barker celebrates its victory at the French Open in 1976

In addition to Barker & # 39; s name on the Roland Garros lady trophy, the letters & # 39; AUST & # 39; are engraved to Barker & # 39; s name on the Roland Garros lady trophy are engraved letters & # 39; AUST & # 39; "

In addition to Barker's name on the Roland Garros lady trophy, the letters are engraved & # 39; AUST & # 39;

Amazon has purchased the explosive fly-on-the-wall documentary about Marcelo Bielsa & # 39; s first season as Leeds boss. Cameras from the Yorkshire media company The City Talking got behind the scenes access to Elland Road during the championship championships of the club championship and missed exclusive access to Leeds for promotion. The series is expected to be released on Amazon Prime in the coming months.

West Ham fans got to know their new signature Roberto with a video interview on the club's website, complete with subtitles. & # 39; I think everyone who follows football knows the importance of this club, so I am very excited & # 39 ;, read a line. The club tweeted the quote and used it as a headline in an accompanying article.

What the listeners listened to the actual audio, however, was: & I think that everyone who follows football knows the importance of this club, nothing

[Spaanse] club insiders say they think the Spanish keeper & # 39; nothing but impressive & # 39;

<img id = "i-b72193f350cf56f0" src = "https://dailym.ai/2I5Dbbv -image-a-61_1560110856977.jpg "height =" 456 "width =" 634 "alt =" West Ham recently got acquainted with

West Ham recently got to know a new autograph session with Roberto with a video interview on their website

There are 18 countries There are 18 countries There are 18 countries There are 18 countries There are 18 countries There are 18 countries, including Great Britain, taking part in the controversial reincarnation of the 119-year-old league, where the cabins are seen as a solution for any team that wants their own space, but the unusual schedule will worry about fears about tennis that will not be planned are for the project of the Kosmos group of Pique, in combination with the error prone

A film released a few weeks ago to celebrate the impact of Team Sky on cycling in the UK was a bit of a stir within the renewed Team Ineos. In a four-minute reflection over a decade of success, there is no mention of Sir Bradley Wiggins or Sir Dave Brailsford, apart from a small piece of Brailsford audio at the very end. You can imagine that Brailsford might not be very impressed by that.

A film about the impact of Team Sky in the UK film about the impact of Team Sky in the UK has a branded team of Ineos caused a stir "

A film about the impact of Team Sky in the UK has caused a stir in the re-branded Team Ineos

Early bird listeners of the Alan Brazil Sports Breakfast received a little & # 39; bonus & # 39; Chris Evans on Friday morning, with the Virgin Radio DJ filling in quite brilliantly for

Evans and co-presenter Ray Parlor discussed the defeat of the Nations Nations League the night before at The Alan Brazil Sports Breakfast – minus Alan Brazil & # 39 ;.

The MCC quickly confirmed to World Cup holders that & # 39; the characteristic features of attending a competition at Lord & # 39; s & # 39; still apply to the tournament – so fans get their keep bringing their own drink into the ground. After a & # 39; productive discussion with the ICC & # 39; spectators may still bring in a bottle of wine or champagne, or two cans or bottles of beer, cider or & # 39; pre-mixed aperitifs & # 39; if they have tickets for one of the five World Cup matches. , including the final, which takes place at Lord & # 39; s.

This is & # 39; unique in cricket & # 39 ;, says the MCC. Meanwhile, the My Client Center is understood to include the Old Father Time weather vane within its logo. The new logo would appear around Lord & # 39; s and appear on items for sale online and in his store. Employees: Mike Dickson, Riath Al-Samarrai, Mike Keegan, Kieran Gill, Matt Lawton and Amitai Winehouse

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