#super fun though to see the pens out on the west coast

[sidsthekid]

when you're smiling (the whole world smiles with you)

pit vs vgk | 1.20.24

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: WWC 4

Previously on WWC

Jet lag and time zones made the bed feel like heaven. Body still on the west coast and brain doing its best to keep up with the new place and practice and preparation, the sheets and the pillows were a godsend. Kara laid, face first in the large bed in her hotel room, with only the light still on in the bathroom as the only light in the room. She didn’t care about it at all for the moment though. Her body was still coming down from the workout and then the recovery, pushing herself harder than ever to be better and faster and stronger than ever before thought imaginable. The sun wasn’t close to ready to set, still early in the summer evening, but the curtains were drawn tight and tried to hide the welcoming glow of a beautiful city at the golden hour. 

She should take a shower and eat something, but the bed was so comfortable and her body was so tired. Only when she ran out of air did Kara turn her head to the side and push hair out of her face. It took her a few minutes to push herself up and resign herself to exist. 

Kara didn’t look at her phone because on it was a picture of her and Lena from some Sunday morning of sleeping in and waking up with messy hair. If she looked at it again with a longing glance, she’d have to admit that she was missing her, and that was a dangerous thing. 

She settled into the same routine she’d had for the past week since arriving: shower after moping, order food, and settle in to watch game footage. Kara was preparing, and she had the first game in just eighteen hours. 

And though she tried to sleep and prepare, despite being exhausted, sleep evaded her until she was tossing and turning and attempting to find some kind of relief. But it only came in one way. 

“Darling, it’s two in the morning.” 

Kara smiled sleepily into her pillow as she was greeted with Lena’s lovely, quiet voice from thousands of miles away. She pressed the phone between her head and the pillow. 

“I’m very bad at jet lag.”

“It’s been over a week. You should be adjusted.” 

“I just miss you I guess.” 

“Don’t try to be cute to avoid me scolding you. You need your rest. I expect a hat trick tomorrow.” 

Kara smiled in the dark and pulled the covers up higher around her shoulders before stretching her legs and sighing at the comfort. Relatively new to the sport, Lena was studious when it came to learning, and through that, somehow developed into Kara’s number one fan. It was mostly because of the orgasms. But also because she loved watching the joy on the player’s face when she was in the thick of it-- a smile when she got downed, a grin when she battled for the ball, a smirk when she made her move, and the humble joy that came when she scored. 

“How was your day?” she tried. 

“Long, and still going. I have dinner with the group that came in from Metropolis. They were here all day and I had to entertain them.” 

“I doubt you did stand up for a dance for them. You’ve been preparing for this for a month.” 

“It’s just so annoying,” Lena began off on a rant. 

Kara loved listening to Lena talk. She loved the inflection of her vowels and the way her voice sounded when she was happy or mad or sad or anything. She had a certain way of getting lost with the words, telling a story and remembering something else, always on a tangent. There wasn’t anything else Kara could think of better. 

“Just give me access to your stuff and you can have access to mine, but let’s solve this problem, you know?” 

“If anyone can solve some of the issues of the climate crisis, it’s you.” 

“Well, I’m certainly trying.” 

Back home, back in her office, Kara was certain Lena was leaning back in her chair at her desk, twisting a pen around her fingers as she stared absently at the window. She was predictable despite the fact that she woul argue she was an enigma. 

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Lena asked in the quiet that settled there. “Because you shouldn’t be nervous. You are going to do amazing.” 

“Just regular nerves. I’ll recover.” 

“Anything I can help with?” 

“Are you propositioning me?” 

“Yeah, you’re fine,” Lena chuckled to herself as Kara smiled and yawned. “I’m glad I got to talk to you. I was afraid it was too late.” 

“I figured you missed me.” 

“Very much.” 

It made Kara blush, to be wanted by someone like Lena was an accomplishment and it felt like something that would sustain her. It added a certain level of weight to her as a person-- that the CEO of a powerful company wanted her around. 

“I should let you sleep,” the CEO remembered. “You’re representing the entire country tomorrow.”

“I nearly forgot.” 

“I’ll be watching.” 

“And wearing my jersey?” 

“Of course. And not much else if that helps motivate you.” 

Kara let out a loud groan at the image now seared into her mind. Winning and scoring goals on the biggest stage in the world would only slightly beat out the idea of Lena in her jersey and nothing else. And sometimes, Kara wasn’t certain it did. 

“I guess the viewing party you’re hosting for investors will get quite a show them. Those guys from Metropolis will definitely want to work with you.” 

“You’re right. I’ll wear clothes and save the other stuff for you.” 

“Good,” Kara grinned and yawned again.

“You need to sleep,” Lena reminded her. “And I am going to be late for dinner.” 

“Could you give me one of your pep talks before the game?” 

“It’s not a pep talk. It’s just facts.” 

“List some facts for me then.” 

The line was quiet for a moment and Kara closed her eyes to imagine the woman on the other end, leaning back in her chair at her desk as she thought. Kara could see the smile on her face that softened to a thoughtful furrow. She watched her fingers play with the edge of the desk as she stared somewhere in the office but didn’t see anything. 

“You are my favorite player. You are so determined and focused, and your team respects you and idolizes you. The entire city here is behind you. There are signs all over the place wishing you luck. Kara, you love this sport, and you are going to have so much fun tomorrow, and you’ll leave it all on the field and win or lose, I know you’ll still be loved and idolized and adored for your heart and kindness and body.” 

Kara smiled and felt her cheeks burn slightly. 

“Those are not fact, but I’ll allow it.” 

“Get some sleep, tiger,” Lena murmured with her smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“Goodnight, Kara.” 

“Night, gorgeous.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was a long twenty-four hours, but Lena was wide awake anyway. 

Before she even hung up the phone with her girlfriend, she planned her trip. While they chatted, while she heard the sleepy voice who refused to sleep on the other end of the line, she chatted her assistant and figured out how quickly she could be gone. It took a lot of weaving and working around, but it was important, and Lena couldn’t believe she was dumb enough to think that she wasn’t going to go. 

But she had her dinner and she let Jess make the arrangements, receiving a long list of meetings and things to accomplish while she was in Europe. She packed a bag and decided to be more like Kara, ready to buy what she needed if she truly missed it. And Lena let her driver take her to the airport where she boarded her private jet, the stewardesses  and pilots smiling politely. 

It would be an easy trip, she promised them. None of them wanted to take her up on the offer, but quickly after take off, Lena settled into the small bedroom in the back of the plane, preparing and attempting to sleep. 

When she landed, it was a mad rush to make it to the stadium with less than two hours before kick off. Traffic didn’t want to cooperate, but by kickoff time, she was entering the stadium through the back security gate, the president of the federation and a few others inviting her to their box. 

All of it happened before she even stepped foot into her loft. 

Somewhere between her dinner meetings with a research group on another continent and the game, Lena traversed an entire ocean just to see Kara play in person. And though she felt slightly tired, she smiled and cheered for her hero. 

Even though it seemed impossible, Lena wondered if Kara would find her in the sold-out crowd. Deep down she knew that the soccer star wouldn’t think to look, but also that Kara was inherently focused on the pitch and only the pitch when it was game time. 

It was a beautiful game that Lena spent with other owners and fancy fans in a box. She made her small talk and she networked on accident. She didn’t want to, it was just natural, and as much as she wanted to be, she wasn’t just a girlfriend watching and supporting the girl she had a crush on but rather a business woman. She held her breath though, when Kara got a free kick which led to the first goal. The exuberance on her face was so contagious Lena found herself cheering. And toward the end of the game when Kara scored again despite being blocked a few other times, Lena cheered louder than anyone else in the box. 

By the time it was all over, Kara did a victory lap with her team and Lena realized she’d been holding her breath for a large portion of the afternoon and the difference in time zones was going to catch up with her. But she made her way back to her condo and sent Jess to leave a note for her girlfriend at her hotel. 

XXXXXXXXX

Even as she stood at the door in the ritzy building in the nice end of the city where the oldest money lived and loved, Kara couldn’t believe that Lena was here. It seemed almost like it would turn out to be a cruel joke because surely it was impossible for Lena to travel across the glove just to watch her play, especially with how busy she was. There was no way it was possible. 

But the night felt impossible. Kara scored two goals and an assist, and that seemed super unlikely. She did it in front of millions and for entire country, and that seemed downright impossible. That was the theme of the night. 

“You’re here?” Kara breathed as Lena opened the door. 

“I am quite a fan of the sport. Seemed like the place to--”

It didn’t matter the reason or the super witty thing Kara wa sure Lena was going to say. None of it really did. Instead, she hugged her tightly and smiled into her neck as she earned a giggle at the move. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispered, rocking slightly as she kept hugging. 

“I’m sorry it took me a little longer to realize that I should have been here all long. Work be damned.” 

Lena adjusted her chin and clutched at the soccer player’s shoulders, inhaling the fresh, shower-clean smell that lingered on her skin. 

“Did you make it in time to watch?” 

“I was in the owners box the entire time. Some of them didn’t even watch, but I couldn’t look awa--”

Again, it didn’t matter. Kara knew enough to kiss Lena mid-sentence. With the kiss, Lena forgot her words as well. It certainly didn’t matter, just like the rest of it. She was there, and Kara was there, and it was enough. 

“Are you going to invite me in?” Kara asked when she came up for air,chests heaving with the exertion. 

With a nod, she felt her arms tugged and the door clicked shut behind her. 

XXXXXXXXX

“I have to get back for bed check.” 

“Do you really?” Lena purre, stretching languidly in the bed. She kissed a black and blue mark on Kara’s thigh and pressed her cheek there, looking up at the naked body in her bed. 

“I think an international scandal about a missing soccer player during the World Cup might be something everyone wants to avoid.” 

“That’s very true.” 

“I didn’t know you had a place in the city.” 

Lena shrugged slightly and smiled as she closed her eyes. Kara’ scratched her scalp softly and swore she earned a purr. 

“I went to boarding school here. This was the first place I lived on my own when I graduated.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“I bought this place myself with my own money,” Lena sighed, adjusting her legs as she smiled at the thought. “I love feeling like I have a home I can run away to.” 

“Good thing the Cup was in Paris.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier.” 

“I didn’t expect you at all.” 

“But you should have,” Lena shook her head and furrowed, sitting up slightly. “I want to be someone that you expect.” 

“You are forever unexpected,” Kara smiled. 

“You’re a secret, but I do like you a lot.” 

“I know.” 

“Would you have played harder if you’d known I was there?” 

“Oh man, I would have scored a lot more goals,” Kara grinned as Lena moved up her body. 

“I knew it.” 

“Will you at least get to do some work while you’re here?” 

“Of course,” Lena nodded, settling between Kara’s legs as she kissed her. “But I came to watch you play.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I can’t believe you’re going to leave me all alone in my beautiful loft to go to a lonely hotel room.” 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“Press stuff and you.” 

“Amazing To-Do List.” 

“Dinner tomorrow?” 

“I can do dinner.” 

“And after?” Lena wondered, hovering close to Kara’s lips. 

“Show me your favorite city.” 

Lena grinned and slid her leg so she was straddling her girlfriend. There wasn’t much else she really needed. Perhaps it was the time zones and the tiredness that came. Perhaps it was a naked soccer superstar beneath her. Perhaps it was being in her old loft in her favorite city. Perhaps it was watching Kara play. Perhaps it was just suddenly realizing she was happy, but Lena pressed her palm against Kara’s chest and felt her heartbeat and sighed. 

next

[master-sass-blast]

It’s Truly Magical.

IT’S HONEYMOON TIME!!!

Summary: You and Piotr enjoy your honeymoon --by going to Disneyland, no less.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for implied sex, mention of needles, and briefly referenced childhood trauma but this fic is a fluff fest I promise.

Set after “In the Dawn of a New Day.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

“So let’s see… a week and a half is… uh…”

“Make list.”

You stare down at your suitcase as you try to do the math in your head. You’re trying to pack for yours and Piotr’s honeymoon.

Because the two of you are married now. You, Y/N Rasputin, managed to snatch up the world’s greatest catch for yourself.

Suck it, universe.

“That’s… ten-ish days, so ten outfits –except for the nice dinner, so that’s another outfit, oh, and the plane flights…”

“Just make list.”

The two of you are going to California, courtesy of your uncle; you two get to spend the first four days of the trip at Disneyland, and then the rest of your honeymoon will be spent at a little beach house AirBNB where the two of you can just chill and enjoy the ocean.

“So that’s like… twice as much underwear? Three times as much?” You blink when you remember that this is technically your honeymoon. “Do I even need underwear?”

“This might be easier if you made list, moya lyubov’.”

“And I’ll need… uh…”

“Darling wife of mine.”

You smile bashfully, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the reminder that you’re his wife now, and look over where Piotr’s sitting on your two’s bed.

He smiles at you, loving and endeared, and tosses a pen and notepad at you. “Just make packing list already.”

(You do, eventually, wind up making a list –though your husband does have to help you with the process.)

 ***

 The day of the flight brings its own boughs of anxiety and struggle. There’s the prospect of trying to navigate the airport properly and get through security –which promises to be a headache regardless of how much time you give yourselves—and then underlying tension that the two of you might get thrown out for being mutants—

But the unarguable worst part of the day happens before the two of you even leave home to head to the airport.

Piotr crosses his arms over his chest, face strained with worry as he stares down the small vial of yellow fluid in your hands. “I do not like this.”

You’re not cleared to fly on commercial flights –and technically won’t ever be, since the psychic scarring on your brain is permanent—without having your mutation repressed in some way, shape, or form. After an extended discussion between Hank, Professor Xavier, Alyssa, and your uncle, the four of them figured that you’d be unlikely to get a repression cuff or collar through airport security, which only left one option to keep your mutation repressed in the event –albeit unlikely—that you had an episode.

Repression serum.

The dose in the vial is only enough to get you safely to California –and you’ll have to use it all for it to work properly. Another vial will be provided before you and Piotr leave California to come back home. There’s no way for you to use it under any other circumstance or hoard it away for later, and Alyssa and Professor Xavier were both confident that you were well past the issues that led you to using it regularly that you wouldn’t be likely to relapse—

But yeah, you don’t like it either.

“It’s what we have to do, sweetheart,” you say, expression grim as you load up the syringe. “It’s for everyone else’s safety. And mine.”

“I know,” Piotr says, paling slightly as he watches you prepare the injection site on your arm. “I just… I really do not like this.”

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” you reassure him. “I’m going to be okay. I promise.”

There’s really not much else to say, considering what you have to do or your history with the repression serum, so you take a deep breath and insert the needle into your arm.

The serum hits as fast as you remember it hitting (since the dose was calibrated for your resistance to the stuff). Within about thirty seconds, you can feel your connection to the air around you being tamped down. It’s almost like someone’s put on a very thick jacket all over every inch of your body.

You grimace once you remove the needle and press a piece of gauze against the injection site. “I don’t like that.”

“Are you alright?” Piotr asks, panic evident in his voice and on his face as he kneels in front of you. “Do you feel sick? Do we need to see Hank?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I just don’t like how the serum feels,” you clarify. “I don’t like not feeling connected to the air. It doesn’t feel good.”

Piotr blinks as understanding flickers across his face, then he abruptly claps a hand over his mouth and stands, turning away from you in the process.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You quickly set the syringe and the now empty vial aside and stand, maneuvering so you’re positioned in front of your husband. “Piotr, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Piotr shakes his head as he wipes a few tears away from his eyes. “I was afraid… that you would like it. That you would miss using serum. And that you do not… it is big relief to me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as your heart tears for your mush of a man. You wrap your arms around Piotr’s waist and hold him while he takes deep, shaky breaths. “It’s okay, Piotr. I’m okay.”

And you are. You really, truly are.

 ***

 Getting through the airport is just about as much of a hassle as you anticipated. It’s confusing, it’s chaotic, there’s far too much standing in line involved, and the ratio of people to available outlets –logically—should’ve caused a bloodbath by now.

Fortunately, you and Piotr don’t get tossed out for being mutants (even though the two of you “pass” relatively well, you’re both legally required to register as mutants, which always opens up the risk of being thrown out of anywhere that checks your ID).

(Piotr also doesn’t set off the security checkpoint metal detector when he goes through it, which –while logically being a good thing—is honestly kind of disappointing.)

You opt to lean against your husband’s shoulder while the two of you wait to board, at which point you lament over having to wait even longer, to which Piotr remarks that the two of you will still get to board earlier than everyone else because you’re flying in first class, which prompts you to pull out your boarding pass and study it—

“We’re flying first class?”

Piotr chuckles as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. “You just realized this?”

“You’re the one who checked all the tickets and reservations, not me!”

The ticket does, in fact, confirm that the two of you have first class seats reserved –next to each other, too, which is a bonus.

“Why’d my uncle get us first class seats?” you ponder quietly. “It’s so expensive.”

“Probably my size,” Piotr reasons. “I have trouble fitting in smaller seats.”

You shrug, then smile up at your spouse. “Well, we can at least have fun with flying first class for the first time!”

“That we can,” he agrees before dipping his head to kiss you.

 ***

 As it is, Piotr still barely fits into the first class seat. It’s clearly better suited to accommodate him than an economy seat –but only barely.

Fortunately, you don’t need the dividing armrest down to be comfortable, and you’re more than happy to be closely snuggled against your hubby for several hours. You take the window seat so Piotr has an easier time getting in and out of your seat and nestle up against him while he scans the in-flight safety pamphlet.

“You two are absolutely adorable,” one of the flight attendants comments with a smile. “We don’t see a lot of super lovey couples on the flights.”

“I think it helps that we’re flying out for our honeymoon,” you joke; at home, it’s a well known fact that you and Piotr are a pair of regular lovebirds –though, the added buzz from the wedding and honeymoon doesn’t hurt.

The flight attendant beams when you show off your engagement ring and wedding band. “Congratulations! That’s so wonderful! We do offer complimentary beverages and snacks to our first class passengers. Maybe some sparkling wine to celebrate, or a cookie and some milk if you’re not alcohol drinkers?”

You look up at Piotr. “Cookies and milk?”

He smiles down at you, then nods at the flight attendant. “Cookies and milk would be nice.”

 ***

 Fun fact: A non-stop flight from New York to California is a little over six hours.

Additional fun fact: years of being able to fly one’s self makes travelling by plane a touch lackluster.

“We’re not even breaking the sound barrier,” you whisper to Piotr at one point. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He merely snorts and kisses the top of your head.

All in all, though, it’s a good time. The two of you snuggle against each other as the plane soars through the skies, Piotr fills you in on all things Disney, and you play games provided on the little screen interfaces on the backs of the seats in front of you.

You’re also provided a proper meal a couple hours into the flight –and, much to Piotr’s delight, it’s reasonably healthy, if not necessarily portioned out for someone of his size.

“The perks of flying first class, I guess,” you comment before starting in on your food.

 ***

 Actually arriving in California, admittedly, is a bit of a mindfuck, solely due to the time difference between the East Coast and the West Coast.

“None of this feels right,” you mumble as you try to reconcile the earlier time to your inner body clock.

“Imagine how I felt first coming from Russia,” Piotr comments as he scans the directional signs to figure out where the two of you need to pick up your luggage.

“Shit, yeah, that’d be insane.” You frown. “How does your family manage to jump between here and there, then?”

Piotr shrugs. “Lots of coffee, probably.”

 ***

 The process of getting to the famed park is far less drawn out than the flight. Once you two have your luggage, you head over to the car rental place and pick up your car –rented so the two of you have a reliable way to get around for the rest of your honeymoon—and take the half hour drive to the park.

You give Piotr a goofy smile when another motorist curses you out for abiding by the traffic laws. “It’s like we never left home.”

Piotr just tips his head back and laughs.

 ***

 To make everything extra special, your hotel reservation is at one of the hotels in the park itself –very appropriately named “Disneyland Hotel.” The two of you get checked in and head up to your room—

And it’s nice. There’s a massive king-sized bed that sits directly across from a combination dresser and TV cabinet. A desk and chair sit next to the dresser-cabinet combo, and a cushy looking armchair sits next to the bed on the far side of the room. Everything’s decorated in warm, inviting tones of brown and gold, save for a genuinely pretty blue and gold carpet. On the other side of the bed, closest to the door, is another door that leads to a bathroom.

It’s nice. Clean. It has amenities like a mini-fridge and a coffee maker and an ironing board.

It’s also like almost any other hotel you’ve ever been in.

Piotr shrugs when you remark as much. “Were you expecting something else?”

“I don’t know… mouse ears everywhere? Super bright colors and patterns?”

Piotr chuckles as he sets yours and his suitcases down. “The crucial experience is park. Rooms are supposed to promote rest and relaxation.”

“Fair enough.” You dart over to the window on the far side of the room to check out the view, then chuckle when all you can see is the parking lot. “Oh, damn, can’t get this view anywhere else.” You whip out your phone to take a Snapchat video of the view, then tuck it back in your pocket and turn around when you hear Piotr groan and the bed creak ominously.

He’s dropped face-down into the bed, arms spread out like a starfish and legs hanging haphazardly off the bed.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Feeling comfy, baby?”

“Planes do not agree with me,” he laments, voice muffled by the bed.

“I bet.” You cross over to the bed and hop up next to him. “How about this,” you suggest as you gently rub his back. “We just get some room service –because I’m hungry—and then just stretch out and rest. We’ve got four days here at the park; that’s plenty of time to check everything out.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He lifts his head and grins at you. “We are at Disneyland.”

“Yeah, we are,” you reply with a grin of your own. “Are you excited?”

He giggles and nods before dropping his head back down. “Very.”

You gently run your fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head before turning and rummaging through the nightstand drawer for a room service menu. “You get comfortable, babe. I’ll get us some food.”

 ***

 The two of you eat and take a little nap before unpacking. Since you aren’t staying the entire duration of your trip at the park, you only unpack what you need –a few clothes, some toiletries, a couple of things to do during down time…

And, in your husband’s case, an entire pantry’s worth of healthy snacks and protein bars.

You gape as Piotr carefully tucks away a supply of unsalted veggie chips, mixes of dried fruit and nuts, crackers with “extra fiber” (whatever the fuck that means), and a couple boxes of protein bars into one of the dresser drawers. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Piotr! We are on vacation!”

“We still need to eat!” he retorts defensively.

“They have restaurants and room service here!” you argue, trying to hold back amused laughter. “And we can always buy food if we need something they don’t have!”

“It is still less expensive this way,” he reasons.

“The park expenses are on someone else’s tab, and we’ll still have to get groceries for the rest of our trip.”

The gears in Piotr’s head visibly turn while he processes your statement. He huffs –and shoots you an amused glare when you giggle—and continues unpacking his snacks. “Just wait until end of trip, when you are sick from travel food and I am not. You will eat words then.”

“The only thing I want to eat is your dick,” you fire back, snickering when the tips of Piotr’s ears go red. You pick up one of the boxes out of the dresser drawer and read the label. “‘Multi-grain Nutritional Crackers, now with Extra Fiber.’ Honestly, you are such an old man.”

Piotr shakes his head, takes the box from you and puts it back in the drawer, then lifts you up into his arms. “Not old just yet.”

You giggle and press your lips against his.

 *** 

 The following morning hosts massive bouts of excitement –Piotr—and general disgust at the existence of mornings in general –you.

Your mood does perk up, though, upon having some proper breakfasts in one of the restaurants in the hotel –accompanied by coffee and some of the park’s legendary Dole whip, no less. By the time the two of you head into the “attractions” part of the park, you’re just as pepped up as your Disney-loving hubby.

The two of you wander around a bit, getting a sense for the park and where everything is, until—

“Babe!” You point at the Alice in Wonderland spinning teacups ride. “Let’s go on that one!”

Piotr acquiesces, and the two of you get in line for the ride. It takes a fair bit of standing and waiting, but eventually the two of you are ushered onto one of the massive teacups. You both get settled, then wait for the ride to start.

“What’s this for?” you ask, tapping a stand in the middle with what looks like a steering wheel attached to the top.

“To spin ride,” Piotr explains. “It makes cup spin faster.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at the device. “I thought the ride just spun the cups on its own.”

“It does.” Piotr gestures to the frame the cups sit on. “Entire ride spins like merry-go-round. Riders can spin cups while ride spins.”

You grin, borderline maniacally. “Fuck. Yeah.”

Once the ride starts, you immediately start trying to spin the cup as fast as you can. Under any other circumstances, you suspect the cup would spin without too much resistance.

However, those circumstances don’t involve having the world’s heaviest Russian husband in the cup at the same time.

You grunt as you try to spin the cup. “Dammit! Why do you have to be so heavy?”

“It is not end of world, msyhka,” Piotr chuckles. “Just sit back and enjoy ride.”

“I want to go fast! But I can’t do that because I just happened to shack up with the one Russian juggernaut that eats lead for breakfast!”

Piotr laughs again –then grips the wheel and gives it a mighty yank.

You shriek, delighted, as the cup whips around at maximum speed. The world dissolves into a blur of color and noise as your hair whips around and smacks your face.

It’s like flying without the physical effort of flying. It’s amazing.

“That was awesome!” you giggle as you stumble off the ride. “We should go –babe?”

Piotr staggers after you, looking considerably worse for wear. He’s gone pale –paler than usual, at least—and clammy looking, and his jaw is clenched tight. “I think,” he manages in a weak, shaky voice, “that was mistake.”

You put your hands on his arms, helping steady him. “Holy shit, baby, you look awful. Come on, let’s get back to the hotel room so you can lay down.”

“Perhaps that would be for best,” Piotr agrees as you steer him in the direction of the hotel.

 ***

 “No fucking way. The Steel Boy Scout can’t handle rollercoasters. That’s incredible!”

“I mean, in his defense, it was a spin heavy ride,” you say to Wade as you stroke Piotr’s hair.

The two of you are back in your hotel room; Piotr had opted to lay face down on the bed and bury his face in a pillow, while you’d opted to call Wade and update him on how the vacation was going –or, rather, wasn’t.

“Yeah, well, still,” Wade insists in your ear. “It’s funny. He’s a superhero who battles diabolical villains on a regular basis, and he can’t handle spinning around a little.”

“I mean, you make a valid point—”

The bed lurches as Piotr shoots off it and sprints to the bathroom.

“Ah, shit. I’ve gotta go.”

“Has Chernobyl finally decided to blow?”

You wince as the sounds of Piotr emptying his stomach contents into the toilet emanate from the bathroom. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

 ***

 You spend the rest of the day in the hotel room to let Piotr properly recuperate. You order room service for the two of you once Piotr’s feeling well enough to eat, and otherwise spend the day texting, scrolling through social media, or watching TV while you hold your husband and stroke his hair.

All in all, it’s a day perfectly spent.

And, fortunately, Piotr’s feeling well enough by the time the day comes to a close that the two of you can catch one of the park’s famed fireworks shows. Granted, you have to stand off to the side so Piotr doesn’t block anyone’s view, but it’s still a stunning spectacle to behold.

(It also gives Wade’s fireworks “demonstrations” a run for their money, which isn’t something you’d ever thought could be possible.)

“Are you feeling better, honey?” you ask as the two of you stroll back to the hotel, hand in hand.

“Much.” Piotr squeezes your hand gently. “Tomorrow should go much better.”

“Here’s hoping. No more spinning rides for you, mister.”

Piotr chuckles and shakes his head. “On that, we are agreed.”

 ***

 The following morning, Piotr’s in a much better state than the previous day. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel, the two of you head back into the attractions part of the park and scope out more rides to try out –with a strict emphasis on “non-spinning” for your husband’s sake.

Eventually, the two of you come across a ride called “Big Thunder” that seems promising. The two of you hop in line to get on the ride—

Except upon finally being able to get on said ride, it turns out that Piotr’s too big for the safety mechanisms to work properly.

You burst out cackling as Piotr sheepishly extricates himself from his seat and steps back onto the platform. “We can’t win with you, huh, baby?”

“It would see not.” He kisses you gently. “I’ll see you back at walkway.”

You smile at him and blow him another kiss as he heads towards the exit.

Then, an attendant comes by to check your harness and the harnesses of the other rides. There’s the sound of the motors that run the coaster coming to life and hissing –and then the ride shoots forward.

And you scream.

 ***

 “It was awesome!” you gush to Piotr once you find him outside the ride. “It’s like flying, but I get to sit down the entire time. It’s basically perfect! Although, I think we’re gonna have to skip rides while we’re here. You’re not gonna fit on… any of them, really.”

Piotr chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “You can still go on rides, myshka. This is your trip, also. And there are calmer rides and other attractions I can enjoy.”

“Alright.” You take a moment to check a map of the park that Piotr downloaded and sent to your phone. “Do you want to go find a ride we can both go on?”

“That sounds very nice.”

You smile and take his hand in yours, then the two of you head off in search of a ride that both of you can go on.

 ***

 The two of you wind up going on Astro Blasters –even though neither of you are very good at hitting any of the targets—and going on the famed Pirates of the Caribbean ride together, and you also hit Splash Mountain and the Indiana Jones rides on your own.

(Piotr pays to get pictures of you riding the rides on your own and gets a good chuckle out of your open-mouthed, exhilarated expressions.)

You also take time just to wander around the park and take everything in. You two take a selfie in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle, spy the Mickey Mouse costume character strolling around and saying hi to kids, and generally take in the sights and sounds of the park –of which there are many.

Just like the advertising says, it’s genuinely magical.

 ***

 “Are you enjoying Disneyland?”

Piotr grins as he wipes his fingers on a napkin. “Da. I really am. Are you?”

You grin back and lean over to kiss his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s pretty awesome.”

The two of you had opted to stop for lunch after a bit, with Piotr citing that getting overtired or going too long without eating in the baking California heat would wind up doing either of you in. You’d decided to get a corndog and a soda, whereas Piotr had purchased one of the famed turkey legs and a bottle of water.

(The picture you’d taken of Piotr biting into his turkey leg was nothing short of priceless.)

“I want to get something to remember trip by,” Piotr continues as he polishes off his turkey leg (which had taken him the same time to eat as it had for you to devour your corndog). “Proper memento.”

“Well, Mikhail did give us that jar of money after the reception,” you point out. “You want to use that to get a little honeymoon treat? Maybe some matching mouse ear headbands?”

Piotr beams and nods. “That sounds wonderful.”

 ***

 The two of you resume wandering around the park after eating lunch. You briefly stop to watch a parade of characters and decorated vehicles go by, then resume the hunt for some proper mementos to commemorate your honeymoon at the park.

Which, actually, is easier said than done. The park has several shops scattered throughout it and different kiosks by rides that host specially themed mouse-eared headbands. Trying to compare all the options available, let alone narrow things down to a top pick, is almost too tall a task to handle.

(Not to mention that the headbands themselves are egregiously expensive. Holy shit.)

Eventually, though, you settle on a sequined Minnie Mouse ears headband –complete with a sequined red bow with white polka dots—while Piotr opts for a classic –sequins free—Mickey Mouse ears headband.

“I think we look pretty good!” you declare as you post one of the selfies you took of you and Piotr to Instagram.

Piotr brushes a soft kiss against your temple. “I agree –but you look best.”

You sputter and duck your head bashfully. “You’re awfully sweet, Mr. Rasputin.”

“Says person eating cotton candy.”

“Not my fault it’s good.” You split your last bite in half and offer part of it to him –then gape when he actually accepts it. “What’s this? You actually ate cotton candy!”

Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly –though he does pull a face at how sweet the candy is. “Is my vacation. I eat treats if I want.”

You grin and giggle, then yank on his hand and head in the direction of another vendor stand. “Ooh, come on! I need to get a pretzel!”

“You just finished cotton candy.”

“Yeah, but—” you glance around and lower your voice carefully “—I need to get a Snapchat of it so I can send Wade a snap about being a ‘childless whore fucking up the pretzel line.’”

Piotr’s eyes widen and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a massive snort. “What?”

“Baby, please?”

He shakes his head, but ultimately acquiesces. “Lead way, myshka.”

 ***

 You wake up on the third day of your trip with sore legs and feet, a barely there stomach ache from eating too much cotton candy the day previous, and an erection pressed against your ass.

You grin when Piotr’s lips start pressing against your neck. “Morning, sweetheart. Feeling good?”

“Chrezvychayno.”

You sigh, content, when his hand latches onto your hip and his other arm presses against your chest, pulling you flush against him. “Y’know… we’ve pretty much done everything we can do in the park. We could just…” You swing one of your arms back so you can slide your hand down his side. “Stay in bed today. Order room service. Do what all honeymooners do.”

“That,” Piotr murmurs huskily, lustily. “Sounds perfect.”

 ***

 You two spend the last day of the Disney part of your trip largely lazing around. You stroll through the park to get more pictures and check out a few more rides, but other than that you two simply enjoy each other’s company until the time for your dinner reservation at the renowned Blue Bayou restaurant comes. The two of you take a few hours to get cleaned and dressed up for the dinner –a cocktail dress with blue and purple flowers for you and a suit with a blue and purple tie for him—and head over to the Blue Bayou restaurant.

The space itself is nothing short of breathtaking. There’s trees along the edge of the outdoor dining area, and lanterns and flowers are strung across the space to give it a soft, ethereal feel.

You two are seated in a quiet corner of the dining area at a sleek black table bordered by chairs with elegant backs that look like wrought iron; the waiter hands you two your menus and takes your drink orders—

And then it’s just you and Piotr.

You glance up from perusing your menu and smile at your husband. “Anything in particular looking good?”

He “hmms” thoughtfully. “Possibly lamb… or roasted chicken.”

“They both look good,” you agree. You nudge his leg under the table, then grin at him when he looks up at you. “Love you.”

Piotr beams at you. “I love you, too.”

The waiter returns a couple minutes later with your drinks, jots down your orders, then takes your menus and whisks away once more.

Piotr reaches across the table –careful not to knock into either of your glasses or the candle at the center of the table—and takes one of your hands in his. “So. We are married.”

You grin. “Hell yeah we are.”

He smiles back, then gazes thoughtfully at the engagement ring and wedding band on your left hand while rubbing circles against the back of your hand with his thumb. “What comes next?”

You let out a huff. “I mean… we have a house to furnish.”

“That we do,” Piotr chuckles. “But I meant more for us. What do you want us to do next, as couple?”

You glance around surreptitiously, then quietly suggest, “Have lots of sex?”

Piotr snorts. “Duly noted, myshka. Answer question seriously, please.”

You sit back in your seat, taking a moment to enjoy the way his thumb rubs against your hand before mulling over the question. “I don’t know. Right now, I’m kinda just content to enjoy the moment and our new life together.”

Piotr nods after a moment. “Okay. And… in future?”

“Kids, eventually,” you say, flashing a demure smile at him. “I mean, I think we should get the house furnished and functional first, but… maybe in the next year or two.”

Piotr smiles at that, eyes sparkling and face glowing. “Alright. It is your body; you set all rules.”

“I think in a year or two we can start trying,” you reiterate. “But, right now, I’m just looking to enjoy us. You.”

His smile softens, and he squeezes your hand gently. “That sounds very nice.”

You smile back, slowly getting lost in the depths of his sparkling blue eyes—

It really is magical.

[comebeonetwothree]

Blog #6: Coast to Coast

6/29/2021

The homeland of the rich, the famous, and the homeless junkies of Los Angeles, California will always have my heart.

With my first near death experience, I have come to see life in a new light… YOLO!

Remember that term? Yah, it was one of those fads that had meaning to it but no longer holds a place in fashion... thank god.

Everything on this coast is slow, even the way people talk is dragged out. No one J-walks here. They seriously wait for that little white man to pop up on the cross walks before walking, even if there is not a car in sight.

Yet everyone here has a serious addition to coffee.

Hangovers are even more dragged because everyone is so uber healthy here, they straight up do not have greasy food.

I made the mistake of ordering an egg and cheese, knowing it’ll only be a disappointment compared to a New York BEC. It was beyond disappointing, especially being hungover as fuck.

Everyone here is stoned all the time and have been for years. I truly believe the whole city moves so slow because everyone is high all the time.

No wonder they can survive with the shitty food- they are too high to realize.

They do have some fire weed here, so it makes sense, but damn… they are so slow and ditsy.

There is so much art here, from music, to painting, to theater, to creativity, everyone comes here with a dream. Some make their dreams come true, others end up addicted to crack, but everyone originally came here in hopes of making something of themselves.

That energy runs through the streets, it is so lively and so filled with hope. It is truly an inspiring place to live.

Who

Who have you become…

The people on the west coast are just genuinely nicer. We had a conversation that consisted of outrageous hand gestures with a random man in his car.

He had blocked an intersection accidently so I couldn’t make a left turn, where he then proceeded to see me raging about it and trying to mouth to us how sorry he was. We straight up had a conversation with this guy and were joking around while waiting for the light. We left mouthing, “We are from New Yorkk, move outta the way” as a joke, and he just understood and left us with a peace sign.

There is a surplus of homelessness here, and it is sad to see but also so interesting to watch them set up communities on the sides of highways and all along the beach.

There is never just one homeless dude posted up under a cardboard box. It’s always 15+ people posting up together in nice ass tents they probably stole or making cardboard houses with tarps for extra coverage.

They get super creative with their homelessness; it is fascinating to watch.

This one guy was zipping down the road in what looked like a decked-out bike, with high handlebars and a motor. He was moving with traffic and was looking cool while doing it.

As he got closer, we realized his get-up was made from an ironing board he bent into a seat, a plastic crate holding up the ironing board to a lime scooter he probably stole a month prior. Topping it off, he added tall handlebars for that 70s badass look. That man mastered one man’s trash, into another man’s treasure.

The saddest part is knowing majority of them came out here looking for their big break and got so hooked on drugs, they could never make it farther then that last $10 in their pocket for drugs.

On the other hand, some of these people have money to their names, but choose this lifestyle.

They really enjoy the life of nothing. This one woman was offered a job and a home, and she politely turned it down because this was her home. She loved the community around her and wouldn’t trade it for any material. What a way of life.

My family was so generous to let us three, stay with them here in Venice Beach. My Uncle Greg is my mom’s brother. He moved out here with his family to further his comedic career. Unfortunately, that meant I couldn’t see my cousins often.

My cousin Owen is a year younger than me and in the same grade as my brother. My other cousin Jojo is four years younger but grew up so fast. I always said the water in California was cracked out, because she always appeared older than my brother and I.

Since COVID I hadn’t been able to see them in two years, so I was so excited to hang out with them.

Jojo just graduated high school, so she is finally old enough to do drugs with!!

We also got to meet up with our friend Izzy from Oneonta. She is living out here for the summer with her sister. What a life.

Izzy is thriving here with her job at this night club and is living in her sister’s cute ass apartment in Echo Park. She has the total LA vibe and even knows all the local spots to hang. Shout out to you for sneaking us into a random hotel’s rooftop pool! Confidence never gets questioned.

We love meeting up with friends from school, it makes the trip feel more homie.

What

What’s hanging dude…

Joshua Tree National Park was something out of another planet. It seriously looked like Jurassic Park and a dinosaur should be appearing at any second.

It was very different from anything we had ever seen before, but it was still a desert and was hot as fuck.

We did some gorgeous hikes through all the massively large, rounded rocks that somehow were placed on top of each other ages ago.

The trees that are all around are Joshua Trees, also considered Trees of Life.

This means they produce a way of life for other creatures at all stages of its growing/dying process.

While in beginning stages of its life, Yucca moths use the trees pollen to lay their eggs in and produce pollen scatter, creating more trees. When the trees are gown, the caterpillars use the tree for habitats and provides food sourcing for a lot of other desert species. When the tree dies, the bark is used to create habitats for humans and used to wove baskets and other materials.

These trees look like a palm tree and a cactus went to TOWN together.

Los Angeles is the other city of dreams. It is not comparable to New York City besides the homelessness and the traffic.

The Ocean really makes the whole city’s surfer aesthetic. Everyone, even the rich and famous, dress like they are in last weeks outfit.

The style is so different from New York. People really don’t dress to impress but spend half their life savings on their wardrobe.

Visiting my family here has always been the ideal way to do this city, since they take us to all the local shops, and we do fun activities like surfing. It’s not just another tour bus showing us where Kurt Cobain shot up some heroin for the first time.

They also show us the best food joints. We got these sushi balls, and it was the greatest -post beach snack- imaginable. A little hit of the wax pen and a bite of this ball is comparable to an orgasm.

Where

Where are all the famous people…

Joshua Tree was so beautiful, it is a place I will be re-visiting, considering we were only there for one night.

Los Angeles is where I have always wanted to live, ever since a young girl. Whenever we would come out here to visit my uncle, he would take us to the coolest places, and we would meet the coolest people.

One year I was here on my birthday, and his buddy stopped over to say hi, when I came downstairs in was Zach Galifianakis chilling there with a $20 bill and my name on it as a birthday gift.

You could imagine my teenage self shitting a tiny bit in my pants as he handed me $20… However, in my head I was thinking, “I know you’re rich, give me more you cheap fuck.”

This year for graduation I only got a phone call from him… how rude.

My Uncle is a popular comedian, if you know him you know him, but if you don’t, he is very irrelevant to you.

When we arrived, he took us out to a show he was preforming at in West Hollywood, featuring other comedians you might know or might also be very irrelevant, including Bill Burr, Anthony Jeselnik, Pete Holmes and Beth Stelling.

It was a cool venue, and a fun time. My favorite part was being called out for attempted DUI’s in every state we have been in due to my funneling addiction, thanks Uncle Greg, that was supposed to be a secret.

After the show he dropped us off at this bar that his friends said was the “it” spot. When we walked in, the bar itself was perfect, expect it was populated by older rich men trying to find their next sugar baby.

We had some contenders, but they were asking for too much… No, I don’t want to go back to your house and sneak past your wife and kids as we dart to your hot tub.

When

When will we leave…

When we first got to LA we had full intensions of staying only four nights and getting out of my family’s hair, but then plans fell through.

Because I love it here so much, we decided to stay!!

Just kidding, I wish we could stay longer… One day I’ll move out here though.

COVID restrictions are back at it again, ruining our plans of going Yosemite. They are the only National Park that requires a whole ass separate pass just to enter the park, on top of the $30 day pass we already have.

The only reason our route was heading inland California was to see that park. So, we did a little digging and decided to just send it up all the way up the coast and do the legendary Pacific Coast Highway.

This is what we originally wanted to do before we found out about Yosemite. Guess we will have to come back to see the park, aw shucks!

Why

Why can’t I afford this…

California is fucking expensive; I can see why the population of homelessness is so high… Even gas is $1.00 more than it is back in New York.

And for Why? They are on a coast, it’s not like the desert where there is a gas station every 100 miles.

They know people here have the money, so they overprice literally everything. A fucking water bottle is $7.00. Sorry didn’t realize paying for survival would be this expensive.

The older man at the bar loved to throw the fact he had money around (as do most people with money around here). He kept saying he works on wall street, but wall street is literally a street in New York City.

He just wanted to flex he works in finances and has a hot tub, okay we get it you have a small dick.

How

How we almost died…

This is my favorite part of the last week, but also the most traumatizing.

So, have you ever heard of cowboy camping?

Well, neither had we until our friend that had just camped in Joshua Tree told us about it and how legendary it was in that specific spot.

Cowboy camping: you don’t pitch your tent, you just post up with your sleeping bags under the stars.

Since Joshua Tree is known for their stars, we thought fuck it, we are here for less than 12 hours, the weather is perfect let’s do it.

That night was a full moon, and it was a killer sunset (all pun intended). We cooked up a nice rice bowl for dinner and then laid in our sleeping bags watching the stars.

The moon was almost too bright, it was taking away from the illumination of the stars, but it was legendary because I’ve never seen such a big and bright moon before.

But you know what they say about the full moons, it brings out the crazies. And in our case, coyote crazies.

After drifting off to sleep under the peaceful star and moon lit sky, I was rudely woken up to really loud growling and whimpering.

It was not something that was off in the distance, it was right next to us… barebone in the wild.

I quickly and quietly turned over to grab my bear spray that I keep next to me when camping. I started thinking, “Alright this is the only thing keeping me from getting mauled by whatever the fuck is next to me.”

Not knowing what we were dealing with, I slowly popped my head up hoping the animal didn’t catch my movement… I saw about 5 feet in front of us was a pack of about 10 coyotes, running around chasing animals.

We happen to be the center of their circle and were surrounded by their pack. Thankfully their attention was diverted to our asshole neighbor’s whose food was left out. Thanks for that.

We just laid their paralyzed in fear of death. As we laid there, I saw two shooting stars and wished for life… Shoutout to those shooting stars.

We tried to stay as quiet as possible, so we didn’t become their next victim. Maya was not having it though and couldn’t stop shaking. There was a moment when her shaking was so loud, and I could see a coyote right next to us, so I had to hold her body so it would stop moving.

We laid there for about 20 minutes until the noises stopped… then we booked it for the car. We slept in the car until the sun rose.

As the sun was rising all the coyotes simultaneously howled for the rest of the pack to meet up and disappear before daylight. That was one of those, “holy shit that was the coolest most terrifying moments of my life”, moments.

We left the next morning as fast as possible, running on no sleep and fear… we headed for the city. I had never been more grateful to be in a city.

[brido]

Your Opening Week Baseball Guide

Well, March Madness is over. Your bracket probably sucked anyway. So you probably need to get caught up on the first week of baseball. I’m here to help you. And while it’s probably way too early to draw any real conclusions from the first week, I don’t want you wandering around looking as clueless as Gabe Kapler. EARLY SEASON BURN. It’s okay if you don’t get that joke yet. You will. Let’s start...  

AL East  

Current Playoff Team: Red Sox

Projected Playoff Teams: Yankees, Red Sox

See, what did I tell you last week? Winky smile. After the Red Sox blew a comfortable lead on Opening Day, I’m guessing that every psychotic Boston fan wanted Alex Cora run out of town. Now they’ve rattled off 5 wins in a row and we’re contemplating whether or not the Red Sox might have the best rotation in baseball. I mean, probz not. But a week in they sure do. 

You think Giancarlo Stanton is under a microscope in New York? Dude already got booed. It’s all fun and games in New York when you’re crushing two home runs on Opening Day, and it’s a lot harder four games later when you’re 0-for-5 with 5 K’s in football weather in the Bronx. I think he’ll be fine. Maybe Yankees fans should worry more about Dellin Betances.     

AL Cy Young: Dylan Bundy, Orioles.

For all the deserved accolades of Boston’s starting pitching, the best in the AL so far as been Bundy, whose WAR leads the league, accompanied with a 1.35 FIP and a 0.69 ERA. That being said, the rest of the conversations surrounding division are a guessing game about where the Blue Jays will be before the trade deadline and whether or not they should trade Josh Donaldson. Right now, FanGraphs has them a game off the second wild card spot and FiveThirtyEight has them at 26% to make the playoffs. That’s a tough call if that happens. It’ll probably be a much easier decision for the Orioles, so we’ll see who gets to slobber all over the chance to land Manny Machado for the postseason.       

AL Central

Current Playoff Teams: White Sox, Twins

Projected Playoff Teams: Indians, Twins (FiveThirtyEight only)

If you’re a Twins fan, you’ve got to be loving this early start from Brian Dozier. And Jose Berrios. And Eduardo Escobar. Right now I’m feeling confident in their chances. I’m probably even more excited if I’m a White Sox fan, since projections have them around 68-73 wins and they’re currently on pace to crush that. Yeah, they’re only 5 games in. I don’t want to get too excited. But the Sox have homered in every game. Matt Davidson’s 3 home runs on Opening Day were just a blip on the radar compared to the attention Stanton got. And this is a young team already headed in the right direction. The national sports media is still waiting around for the Indians to get hot before they care about any of this. 

AL West

Current Playoff Teams: Astros, Angels

Projected Playoff Teams: Astros, Angels (FanGraphs only)   

Did you see all the fancy Astros ring and banner celebrations? It’s looking like that’s gonna happen a lot down in Houston. George Springer led off the season with a home run for the second year in a row. They’re widely considered to have the best staff in the Majors (sorry Boston... and I guess everyone else). They’ve got four guys playing the outfield. And if the Division wasn’t looking so tough, we might be able to project the Astros at a billion wins this year. Speaking of which...

AL MVP: Carlos Correa, Astros.     

This Opening Week shit can probably get eye rolls for most things, but Correa wouldn’t be a bad pick to be MVP, anyway. Right now, Correa leads the League in WAR and he’s been the second-best hitter, so I’m giving him the early lead over Mitch Haniger of the Mariners and Didi Gregorius of the Yankees. 

AL Rookie of the Year: Shohei Ohtani, Angels. 

Remember when this guy fucking sucked in Spring Training? That was kind of fun. Now the Babe Ruth comparisons aren’t actually that insane. Ohtani might be the hardest-throwing starter in baseball. His hitting is starting to resemble the power exhibition he puts on in batting practice. And maybe we don’t need BREAKING NEWS every time this guy gets a hit, but this is one of the only over-hyped stories of the young season that actually has my full attention. Oh yeah, and he’s only 22.       

NL East

Current Playoff Teams: Mets, Braves, Nationals 

Projected Playoff Teams: Nationals, Mets (FanGraphs only)

I think there might be an East Coast bias when Derek Jeter sitting in the stands in Miami gets more attention than actual games in the Midwest. But a lot of the attention is actually warranted so far. The Mets are going to be interesting this year. They only won 70 games last year, which made me skeptical of picking them for a Wild Card. Right now, they’re projected anywhere from 81-88 wins. Maybe Mickey Callaway is changing the culture there. I don’t know. But after the first week, I’m actually going to say...

NL Cy Young: Matt Harvey, Mets.   

He’s back, baby! Or not. Like I said, nobody knows. But I’ll take that 0.00 ERA and 1.56 FIP as a good sign. Plus, it’s not like he has to be ‘the man’ in Queens anymore. 

NL MVP: Freddie Freeman, Braves. 

He’s been the best hitter in the League so far. And he’s probably the best player in baseball that America and your girlfriend have never heard of. The Braves have had the best offense in baseball early on. Freeman is a big reason why. Because he always is.     

The Nationals always seem to have fifteen different compelling storylines over the course of a season. There’s the lingering fact that they’ve never advanced in the playoffs. They have the impending free agency of Bryce Harper to talk about over and over and over again. I’m sure Nats fans love that shit. And since Harper always seems to be amazing in April, it’s not going to slow anything of those talks down. How anticlimactic will it be when he re-signs with Washington? Anyway, Adam Eaton has also made a big splash in his return from injury. So there hasn’t even really been much attention on their non-Dusty-Baker manager just yet. It’s just a matter of time to see who they’re gonna lose to in the first round. HUGE BURN to their zero fans that I know of.     

You know which new manager is getting scrutiny? Gabe Kapler of the Phillies. It seems like every team has a new manager, but only one pulled their starter when he was dealing on Opening Day and then blew a 5-run lead. And only one called to the pen with nobody warming up. And only one looks like he’s not gonna be done reigning down destruction on Philadelphia until every one of their relievers have Tommy John surgery. That’s probably harsh. But it’s also probably funnier to me because he also looks incompetent anywhere outside of a cross fit box or a gym that only plays butt rock. I’m guessing he figures it out eventually. 

Hey, look! Derek Jeter is sitting in the stands with Papi and Posada! 

NL Central

Current Playoff Teams: Pirates, Brewers 

Projected Playoff Teams: Cubs, Cardinals.  

Is it ever too early to start freaking out about the Cubs? I mean, Ian Happ was great in Spring Training. Then he homered on the first pitch of the season and after that, it’s basically been suck city. The Cubs offense is setting all-time records for striking out. They’re 2-3 after playing the Marlins and Reds, who are projected to win a combined ZERO games this year. Maybe we can blame the 17-inning game against the Marlins on Day 2. Maybe it’s way too early to be worried about anything. Maybe I should take solace in the fact that their bullpen has looked dope AF and that was a huge problem last year. They’re fine, right?   

As far as the rest of the division goes, you’ve got a fast start from the Pirates, who have only played in frigid weather. The Cardinals picked up Greg Holland, which could be huge for their chances at the Wild Card... or the Division, I guess. The Cardinals and Brewers played in a game that started and ended with back-to-back home runs. And Paul DeJong has probably been the most interesting story for STL. He’d be my second pick for MVP, after Freeman. He also hit .257 last year so whatever. 

NL West

Current Playoff Team: Diamondbacks

Projected Playoff Teams: Dodgers, Diamondbacks (FiveThirtyEight only)

If you’re a Dodgers fan, what’s freaking you out more; bad outings and decreased velocity from Clayton Kershaw or bad outings and decreased velocity from Kenley Jansen? Because both things are happening. Kershaw is 0-2 and you can hear the whispers about whether or not he’s past his prime, even though everyone was blowing him in Spring Training. Jansen has an 18.00 ERA. Is this the dreaded World Series hangover that is obviously not happening in Houston? I’m looking at the rest of that staff and thinking they’re probably going to be fine. The moral of this post is that everything is fine. Probably because as a Cubs fan, I’m trying to convince myself that everything is fine.    

As far as the rest of the Division goes, Nick Ahmed has had a hot start in Arizona. Joe Panik’s solo home runs in the first two games led to two 1-0 games for the Giants, which was super fucking weird. And Charlie Blackmon actually hit on the road for the Rockies... where he’s staying put. And just for fun...

NL Rookie of the Year: Christian Villanueva, Padres.      

Maybe the Phillies should call up Hunter Greene to make anyone give a shit about NL rookies this year. But Villanueva is tied for the NL rookie lead in WAR and he’s mashing for the shitty Padres. The Cubs actually got Villanueva with Kyle Hendricks in the Ryan Dempster trade. But they decided they probably didn’t have room for him in the infield, since he doesn't strike out every time at bat. Oh man. SELF BURN.   

So this is a good place to start. Everything will look completely different in a week. But that’s part of the fun. Baseball is fucking awesome.  

[junker-town]

Ranking the NHL’s best second-round playoff series according to science

Cancel everything and watch Preds-Blues.

So, that was fun.

We just capped off the first round of the 2017 Stanley Cup playoffs on Sunday. It featured a record 18 overtimes. Yes. We are tired, too.

But no time for rest. The second round beckons, and it’s time to tell you which series you should pay attention to most.

(Spoiler: All of them.)

First, a recap: Check out the full NHL playoffs bracket right here! Or go read our first-round rankings and laugh at us.

So, onto our rankings. Remember, our methods are highly scientific and immune to all criticism.

St. Louis Blues vs Nashville Predators

Jeff Curry-USA TODAY Sports

Hatred Factor: Look, you get five points automatically in any Central Division playoff series. There’s no fondness in that basket of malcontents.

It also helps that these clubs are super-familiar with each other after five regular season games. Unlike the Senators-Rangers series, the sparks didn’t fly as frequently. But familiarity breeds discontent, and there’s plenty of pesky guys like Ryan Reaves and Cody McLeod to make this a tense affair. 7 out of 10.

Star factor: Automatic 6 points for P.K. Subban. Toss in Vladimir Tarasenko and ... okay, that might be it.

But P.K. 7 out of 10.

Freshness factor: First Preds-Blues playoff series in recent memory, since Nashville is usually the Blackhawks’ problem to deal with in the first round. So there’s some freshness for you. And it’s the first time P.K. Subban truly gets the national spotlight since his reign in Nashville began. It’s okay to get hyped for this newness. 9 out of 10.

Beard factor: It all hinges on whether Vernon Fiddler plays.

Christopher Hanewinckel-USA TODAY Sports

Only then will this series jump to 12 out of 10. Because right now, with just Ryan Ellis ...

Christopher Hanewinckel-USA TODAY Sports

It’s just a 10 out of 10.

Anticipation factor: Please visit your doctor if you aren’t thrilled about this. Nashville just throttled the Chicago Blackhawks, guys. The Blues just throttled the Minnesota Wild, guys. You’ve got the playoffs’ hottest goalies in Jake Allen and Pekka Rinne backstopping two division rivals with great beards. C’mon. 10 out of 10.

Final rating: 8.6

Washington Capitals vs. Pittsburgh Penguins

Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images

Hatred Factor: Just look at that photo. They can’t stand each other.

Seriously, though: it’s hard to say how much of this rivalry is media-built. The NHL has rode the “Sid vs. Ovi” narrative into the ground for a decade, but do we really think they dislike each other? Nah.

But resentment? Sure. The core group of Caps have gone home early in the playoffs while the Penguins gathered deep runs and two Stanley Cups. The pair are constantly compared, even outside of Ovechkin and Crosby. Plus, just go back and watch the best game of the NHL season to get a sense of how competitive they get together.

Hatred? Maybe not, but enough to spark some serious motivation. 8 out of 10.

Star factor: Is this a question? Sidney Crosby. Alex Ovechkin. Braden Holtby. Evgeni Malkin. I could go on for days. 9 out of 10.

Freshness factor: Hard to believe, but the Caps and Pens have only met once in the playoffs in the Ovi/Crosby era: a 4-3 series win in the Conference Semi-Finals by the Penguins in 2009. 8 out of 10.

Beard factor: You know, I actually think T.J. Oshie is shaving.

John E. Sokolowski-USA TODAY Sports

4 out of 10.

Anticipation factor: If this is the Capitals’ year to win the Cup, it’s only fair they run the gauntlet on the way to the top. Toronto gave them one hell of a scare, and now Ovechkin & Co. have to exorcise their Crosby & Co. demons. This could be the best series of the playoffs regardless of outcome. 10 out of 10.

Final rating: 7.8

Edmonton Oilers vs. Anaheim Ducks

Perry Nelson-USA TODAY Sports

Hatred factor: Divison rivals, so sure. But there’s some ingredients here for further Sports Hatred Development:

a dash of Corey Perry

a table’s worth of Milan Lucic

a pinch of Andrew Cogliano-Jakob Silfverberg defensive responsibility frustration

two thousand cups of tired, grumpy fans complaining about west coast overtime games

Plus, imagine how mad the Ducks will be whenever they Patrick Maroon scores on them since they’re paying his contract. I bet players think about that stuff ALL THE TIME. 8 out of 10.

Star factor: Like we said in the first round, Ryan Getzlaf isn’t the star he once was. Nor is Corey Perry. Luckily Connor McDavid’s stardom already has orbits developing around it. 6 out of 10.

Freshness factor: The Ducks made the second round! It’s been, what, two years? This is the furthest the Oilers have made it in a decade, though. 6 out of 10.

Beard factor: Patrick Eaves makes up for everyone else.

Photo by Derek Leung/Getty Images

10 out of 10.

Anticipation factor: You know what? This could be good. The Oilers made for a fun first round upset in San Jose, and the Ducks managed a few comeback wins in sweeping the Flames. As safe a bet to go seven games as any other second round series. 8 out of 10.

Final rating: 7.6

Ottawa Senators vs. New York Rangers

Marc DesRosiers-USA TODAY Sports

Hatred Factor: Ehhhh. Does anyone really hate the Senators? Can you hate them? They were so inoffensive during the season.

Unless they played the Rangers. Their first two meetings featured 60 penalty minutes, and 10 of those were devoted to roughing minors.

Not to mention a few fights thrown in after big hits.

So, yeah. If anyone hates the Senators, it was the Rangers this season. 8 out of 10.

Star factor: Well, you’ve got Erik Karlsson and his fractured foot. You’ve got Henrik Lundqvist doing Henrik Lundqvist things. I guess you could count the aura of ORIGINAL SIX TEAM NEW YORK RANGERS as a star. 6 out of 10.

Freshness factor: Haven’t met in the playoffs in over a decade, so this is the first time we get to see Karlsson vs. Lundqvist. Both are semi-regular playoff contenders, though, so that hurts this score. 7 out of 10.

Beard factor: Karlsson’s goatee thing is still beautiful. Lundqvist looks as grizzled as ever. Don’t worry about them. But their teammates are holding their own, too.

Witness: Rick Nash.

Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images

Witness: Bobby Ryan.

Photo by Maddie Meyer/Getty Images

We’ve got potential hair here, people. 7 out of 10.

Anticipation factor: I get why some people are out on this series. There aren’t many notable Senators other than Karlsson, and the Rangers are almost overly-familiar. But the Sens were unexpectedly really fun to watch in the first round, and the Rangers showed off a chippy side I didn’t predict. This could sneak up on you. 8 out of 10.

Final rating: 7.2

[books-n-wine]

~**~ ARC Review: The Unyielding (Call of Crows #3) by Shelly Laurenston ~**~

***5 ‘Crazy, Chaotic Fuckery Goodness’ Stars***

That’s why I’ve come to love and adore this series, the crazy, chaotic fuckery goodness. It didn’t start off that way, but now it’s what I look forward to when I dive into this series, just like her Dragon Kin series under her G.A. Aiken pen name. It’s over the top and at time even a bit much for me, but I love  how three dimensional the characters are under all the crazy and how the romance is quite unique to this crazy fun world.

I adored Erin and Stieg. Erin is irreverent and has no edit button, at least not one that she chooses to use in most situations. Her favorite past time is irritating as many people as she can and openly admits it to anyone who will listen. But despite her penchant for going off half cocked, she does care deeply for those she calls her own. Stieg is, well, a Raven. He is calm, collected and despite what the other Clans think, quite intelligent underneath the stern exterior. He’s more about thinking things through than going off half cocked and is content staying home watching American Greed and drinking a beer.

Their, um, romance is crazy, chaotic, fun, smexy and even sweet ~ in a way it can only be for a Crow and Raven ~ ride as these two extreme polar opposites collide. They end up getting under each other’s skin and find that despite their best efforts to stay away from each other, they keep being put together time and time again. But as they say, opposites attract, and Erin and Stieg end up fitting together in an almost practically perfect way as they fill in each others missing pieces.

The whole Hel/Gullveig/Ragnarok crazyness is amp’d up several times over and though I thought the storyline dragged a little, it was still fun to see how it all played out and I liked where things ended up.

I was hooked from the start and laughed all the way through the book. In fact I now have put a rule into effect that states that I am never to read one of the author’s books and be on the elliptical machine at the same time because I was laughing so hard I almost huli’d over (fell in Hawaiian) it was bad enough I was laughing while working out. As with the other books, this one is told in multiple 3rd person POV’s, some may get whiplash from it, but I enjoyed it. And with what happened in the epilogue, I’m definitely looking forward to the next book in series!

~ Copy provided by the publisher via NetGalley ~

Stieg Engstrom, Angriest Viking Ever, has got big problems. The human Viking Clans of earth are in danger of being obliterated—along with the rest of the world—and the only one who may be able to save them is a super pain-in-the-ass Crow. Most people annoy Stieg, but this is the one woman he really can’t stand…

Erin Amsel loves being a Crow! Why wouldn’t she when the other Viking Clans are so hilariously arrogant and humorless? She’s not about to let all that come to an end! She just didn’t expect to be shoulder to shoulder in battle with Stieg. Then again, he’s so easy to torment—and also kind of cute.

With the future of the world riding on them, Stieg knows he’ll have to put aside his desperate need to kiss the smirk right off Erin’s face. Wait. What? He didn’t mean that—did he? No! They have one goal: To conquer the idiots. Because nothing bugs Stieg more than when idiots win. If only he can keep himself from suddenly acting like one….

Book Summary

Genre: Fantasy/Romance

Published By: Kensington

Release Date: March 28th, 2017

Pages: 400

Series: Call of Crows #3

ISBN13 9781617735141

Goodreads | Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Google Play | iBooks

Originally from Long Island, New York, Shelly Laurenston has resigned herself to West Coast living which involves healthy food, mostly sunny days, and lots of guys not wearing shirts when they really should be. Shelly Laurenston is also The New York Times Bestselling author G.A. Aiken, creator of the Dragon Kin series. For more info on G.A.'s dangerously and arrogantly sexy dragons, check out her website at www.gaaiken.com.

Website | Goodreads

[glittership]

Episode #35 — "Cooking with Closed Mouths" by Kerry Truong

Download this episode (right click and save) And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Cooking with Closed Mouths

by Kerry Truong

A gumiho could run faster than shadows spread, but since Ha Neul doubted that Americans would take kindly to a nine-tailed fox streaking down Los Angeles’ busy streets, they opted to walk to the bus stop in the falling darkness after work.

The cool night air was a relief after the hot confines of Mrs. Chang’s restaurant, where Ha Neul had spent the day carrying heavy dishes and enduring customers’ complaints. Mrs. Chang’s mediocre food attracted few customers, and her refusal to use air conditioning made those who did come disinclined to be generous. Ha Neul never told her this, of course, because what was the point of trying to change people’s ways? For this silence they were rewarded with meager wages and leftovers that turned to ashes in their mouth.

  Full transcript after the cut.

[Intro music plays]

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip, episode 35 for March 22, 2017. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you.

Our story this week is a GlitterShip original: “Cooking with Closed Mouths” by Kerry Truong.

Kerry Truong writes about many things, including folktale and horror. Their hobbies are futilely trying to train their dogs; tearing their hair out while reading comics; and eating good food. They like their meat rare, and if a story doesn’t mention food at least once, it wasn’t written by them. You can follow their queer firebreathing on Twitter @springbamboos.

We also have a guest reader!

R Chang hails from a small valley on the West coast, where they moonlight as an artist. Their dearest wish in life is to quit their day job and establish a farm for dogs.

  Cooking with Closed Mouths

by Kerry Truong

  A gumiho could run faster than shadows spread, but since Ha Neul doubted that Americans would take kindly to a nine-tailed fox streaking down Los Angeles’ busy streets, they opted to walk to the bus stop in the falling darkness after work.

The cool night air was a relief after the hot confines of Mrs. Chang’s restaurant, where Ha Neul had spent the day carrying heavy dishes and enduring customers’ complaints. Mrs. Chang’s mediocre food attracted few customers, and her refusal to use air conditioning made those who did come disinclined to be generous. Ha Neul never told her this, of course, because what was the point of trying to change people’s ways? For this silence they were rewarded with meager wages and leftovers that turned to ashes in their mouth.

Today was no different. After mediating between Mrs. Chang and angry customers, Ha Neul was finally left in peace, a bag of banchan the only payment for their troubles. They stood at the bus stop in a crowd of other commuters, careful to remain at the edges where they could go unnoticed but still hear the conversations around them. There was chatter about everything from peace in Viet Nam to some boxing championship or another. Ha Neul didn’t understand the voracious interest humans showed in things that would only fade from memory or repeat themselves in a matter of years. Still, they liked listening. There was something comforting about the way humans kept going, as full of energy as if they were the first to experience these things.

When the bus arrived, Ha Neul boarded in a stream of other passengers, shouldering their way through until they could find a place to stand. Proximity filled their nose with the tang of everyone around them and made their stomach clench. They ignored it, used to the hunger. Instead of thinking about it, they studied the people closest to them.

An older woman stood next to them in the aisle, her eyes drifting closed as if the lurch and stop of the bus were a lullaby. A pair of students on their other side consulted each other in urgent voices about what songs to put on a mixtape for a crush. Ha Neul listened with amusement. It must be nice, they thought, to be caught up in the rhythm of falling in and out of love; to hope over and over that warmth could be found in the clasp of another person’s hand.

  At home, Hana was waiting for them, her homework fanned out on the kitchen table. Their one-bedroom apartment was too small for a proper desk, and neither of them had much use for the kitchen’s traditional function, so Hana had claimed it as her study room. The table was often strewn with books and papers and half-chewed pens. Ha Neul had given up on putting the mess into any kind of order. No matter how hard they tried, the table would be cluttered again within the day.

Hana waved when they came in. “Took you long enough to get home! Did Mrs. Chang give you food again?”

Ha Neul nodded, searching for an empty spot to set the bag down. After a moment they gave up and simply handed it to Hana.

“All mine, and none for oppa,” she sang.

Ha Neul sat down next to her as she searched through the bag, their body heavy from exhaustion. They relaxed in the warmth of the kitchen, watching as Hana tasted each banchan in turn. She was eager to try them all, which was why Ha Neul always accepted Mrs. Chang’s leftovers. It didn’t matter if the food couldn’t make her full. It reminded her of home, of a life where she’d had family and people to belong to.

Ha Neul’s stomach clenched again. They went to the refrigerator and opened it. It was nearly empty, except for the large plastic bag dominating the center shelf and several plastic cartons arranged in neat rows beside it. Ha Neul brought the bag to the table.

“Oppa, don’t you dare get blood on my homework,” Hana said as they stacked books and papers to clear a space on the table.

“I would never sully the homework of a top student.”

Ha Neul took a package wrapped in butcher paper out of the bag and set it on the table. The paper was damp in spots, its white color stained pink by the blood that seeped through it. The tang that Ha Neul had smelled on the bus filled their nose again, this time richer and deeper. Hana stopped eating to watch, her eyes intent. She could smell the blood, too.

They unwrapped the paper to reveal hearts, kidneys, slices of liver, and other organ meats, raw and glistening. Ha Neul ate a heart, ripping the muscle with their sharp teeth. It was savory, satisfying them in a way Mrs. Chang’s food never could, making them crave for more. They reached for a piece of liver as soon as they’d finished the heart. It was good to be home.

Hana was still watching them. They thought they could see the hint of a fang beginning to protrude in the corner of her mouth, but when they offered her a kidney she waved it away. “I’m not into solid food.”

Ha Neul raised an eyebrow, looking at the banchan.

“That’s different. I eat that for fun, not to get full.”

“Can you really taste it?”

“A little. It’s really faint though, like when you have a cold and can only get an aftertaste.”

Ha Neul didn’t understand, having never had a cold. They nodded anyway. “Do you remember what human food tastes like?”

Hana looked wistful. “I think I’m forgetting. I know that hotteok are sweet and kimchi jjigae is spicy, but even though I know the words I don’t remember the taste.”

She must be nearing forty, but time hadn’t changed the smoothness of her skin or the roundness of her face. If there was one thing that aged her, it was her eyes. They were too knowing. It was only now, with her longing so apparent, that she seemed exactly the high school student that she pretended to be.

Ha Neul had known that longing. It had been food that first drew them to humans, after all. So many colors and textures: thick, greasy noodles coated in black bean sauce, kimbap dotted with yellow, green, and orange vegetables, cream-colored crab meat marinated in soy sauce. They supposed it was harder for Hana, though, having actually known what human food tasted like. Reaching over, they squeezed her hand.

Hana squeezed their hand back and smiled at them. “How’s your food, oppa?”

“Delicious.”

“It’s still weird to me how you eat cows and not humans. Isn’t it unsatisfying?”

“It’s a good enough substitute.” When reduced to their innards, humans and cows weren’t very different, Ha Neul thought, and offal was easy to get from the butcher for no more than a few cents.

Hana trailed a finger through the blood that had congealed on the paper, then licked it off. “You know you’re welcome to come find dinner with me any night.”

The food soured in Ha Neul’s mouth. Being hungry around humans was one thing, eating them was another. Thinking about it made them feel ill.

“I don’t eat humans anymore,” they said, allowing their voice to get sharp.

Hana bit her lip, looking chastised. Ha Neul felt guilty, but they’d told her often enough that they didn’t want to be goaded about their eating habits. They’d tried living as a human long ago, hoping to discover the taste of other food. But a gumiho is a fox at heart, its human appearance a mere illusion, and Ha Neul’s hunger had only grown with each dish they’d eaten. It was all ash. In the end, they’d given into their hunger, only to be horrified by the uniform redness. They’d stopped eating humans by the time they met Hana. She should have known better than to tease them about it.

Ha Neul worried that she would sulk, but instead she rummaged through her backpack and brought out a flyer.

“Here,” she said, sliding it across to Ha Neul. Her voice was light, the previous subject waved away. “Talking about food reminded me of this. I don’t think I can wiggle my way out of it.”

Ha Neul chewed on a piece of liver and read the flyer. It was printed on daffodil yellow paper, the words on it thick, black, and followed by multiple exclamation points. Cartoonish pictures of rice bowls and tacos surrounded the text.

“A cultural diversity lunch? What exactly are the students supposed to learn from that?”

“How to appreciate other people’s cultures, I guess. Mr. Hanson says we should start learning about diversity in high school.”

“I understand that, but why food?”

“Because people like food, obviously. We’re all supposed to bring in one dish from our culture.”

“What do you want to bring in?” They stared at the pictures of rice bowls. Did her teacher expect her to bring in rice? Even Ha Neul knew that plain rice didn’t make a meal.

Hana answered without hesitation. “Kimchi fried rice.”

They couldn’t help laughing at her confidence. “And where in the world are we going to get that?”

Hana smiled. She was prettiest like that, which was exactly why she smiled widest if she needed a favor. “I was going to ask if Mrs. Chang could make it.”

Ha Neul’s answer was as ready as hers had been. “Mrs. Chang is busy and has no money to make kimchi fried rice for free.”

“She doesn’t even have to make that much. There are only twenty students in my class.”

“Isn’t that still a lot?”

Hana pouted. “Please, oppa? I don’t want to be embarrassed. What if everyone else brings something fancy and I don’t have anything?”

There was that longing again, not as obscured by the pout as she thought it was. Ha Neul didn’t understand. Food was food, so what did it matter if she brought banchan or kimchi fried rice? But they could see how happy this simple thing would make her, and that mattered. She was their sister by choice, the only person who wanted to share the partial life they led.

“All right, I’ll ask Mrs. Chang. Even if she says no, we’ll figure something out. Does that sound good?”

“Oh, oppa, I knew I could count on you!”

She threw her arms around Ha Neul, startling them. After a beat, they remembered to lift their own arms and hug her back. They held her close, taking comfort in the gesture that was at once strange and warm.

  Many years ago, on a warm spring night in Korea, Ha Neul had heard a cry of despair. If they had ignored that cry, they might still be living in Korea, trying to find a way to fit into the jumbled new pattern that the war had created. But they had listened, and that was how they’d found Hana, blood on her shirt and two bite marks on her neck. They couldn’t abandon her to that despair. Instead, they had held their hand out and said come, there is still a way to live.

So the two of them had lived, as best as they could, side by side for more than twenty years. When they had decided to go to America, it made the most sense to claim that they were siblings. They’d argued about who should be the elder. Ha Neul had won her over by pointing out that if they were her older brother, they could support her while she went to school.

The papers had been made, and the two of them had moved to Los Angeles to join the number of Korean immigrants building a new life along Olympic Boulevard. While Hana finished her last year in high school and dreamed about college admissions, Ha Neul waited tables and lifted boxes, letting Mrs. Chang speak to them as if they were a child.

It didn’t matter to them whether Mrs. Chang’s food was good or not. They couldn’t taste any of it, after all. They were content seeing the variety of colors in her kitchen. She, in turn, was grateful for someone who stayed in spite of her temper and the customers’ insults. Ha Neul hoped that her gratefulness would soften her to their request. They made sure to be of extra help in the restaurant the day after Hana showed them the flyer, lifting heavy pots off the stove and chatting with customers until the bad food was forgotten.

The restaurant was never busy, and once the lunch hour had passed it was empty. Mrs. Chang used the time to eat her own late lunch. Ha Neul joined her, choking down the rice and drinking cup after cup of tea. They waited until most of the food was gone before saying, “Mrs. Chang, can I ask you a favor?”

Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she thought they would ask for money. Still, her voice was not unkind when she answered. “What is it?”

“My sister’s teacher asked her to bring in a dish from her culture for a class project. I was wondering if you could make the food.”

“What kind of food?”

“Kimchi fried rice.”

Mrs. Chang sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think I have the time for that, Ha Neul.”

It was the answer they’d expected, but they were still disappointed. “It’s not too difficult to make, is it? I’ll even work extra hours in the restaurant in exchange for it.”

“After a whole day of cooking, do you think I’d have the energy to make more food for a bunch of children? I have my own family to take care of once I’m done here.” She stood up and stacked the empty dishes to take back into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Chang, please.”

“I already said no!”

Ha Neul stood up as she started walking back to the kitchen. “Then at least teach me how to make it.”

She turned around. “What was that?”

Food is food, Ha Neul thought, and food was only ash in their mouth. But they’d promised Hana that they would help her. “Teach me how to cook, Mrs. Chang. If I learn, then I can help you in the kitchen, too.”

She studied them for a moment. They wondered if they looked desperate, if it was that or the promise of help that made her say, “All right then. But I don’t want to hear any complaints because it’s too hard, understand?”

“Oh, perfectly,” Ha Neul said, and followed her into the kitchen, already questioning the wisdom of learning how to cook without taste.

  Hana’s luncheon was in a week, and in that week Ha Neul dedicated themself to learning how to cook. The radio in the kitchen played Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder songs as Mrs. Chang showed Ha Neul how to make galbi and gamjatang, kimbap and gyeranjjim.

Although she wasn’t an unkind teacher, she was also not gentle. Ha Neul disliked the way she grabbed their hand to show them how to chop vegetables, or how she would take the ladle from them to taste soup. They learned quickly, however, and their dishes soon looked the same as Mrs. Chang’s. They began to take their own pleasure with food, relishing in the clean crack that split an egg and the feel of rice grains slipping through their fingers. Taste was lost to them, but they could still see, and hear, and feel.

The first dish they brought out to customers, however, fared no better than any of Mrs. Chang’s.

“Do you call this samgyetang?” asked a middle-aged woman with tightly permed hair.

Ha Neul had known she would be trouble the moment she’d walked in. Something about her pinched mouth had foreshadowed grief. Putting on a practiced smile, they said, “I’m sorry if the soup isn’t good. Should I bring you something else?”

“Nothing you brought is any good. The banchan isn’t even seasoned well!”

Ha Neul bit their tongue, even though their hands ached from chopping meat and mixing seasoning. Before they could regain the patience to smile, however, the woman sighed. “Forget it. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long time since I had a good meal, and I thought I’d find it here.”

Ha Neul studied how deep the wrinkles on her face ran, how calloused her hands were. They wondered how long she had been in America, and what kind of dishes she had the energy to make after a long day of work. Did she have family to care for? When was the last time she’d eaten something someone else made for her?

The woman got her wallet and began counting out bills. Before she could set them on the table, Ha Neul said, “I’m sorry, but could you tell me how you’d like the food to be seasoned?”

Later, Mrs. Chang told them that they had too little pride. “You listen too much to other people’s complaining.”

Ha Neul just laughed, and she looked at them as she often did, like something strange and half unwanted. Still, they kept listening to the complaints. They memorized how much sesame oil to add and how long meat should stay in the pan. They noted the exact shade of orange that carrots turned when they were tender but not limp, and the translucence of onions that would be just sweet enough. The complaints lessened and more customers began to come to the restaurant, brought in by word of mouth.

Mrs. Chang talked of giving Ha Neul a raise. They heard the hesitance in her voice and declined. It was enough to spend time in the kitchen while Mrs. Chang served the customers, her temper improved by their praises. Soon, Ha Neul became the kitchen’s only occupant. They preferred it that way, with only the radio to keep them company. This much of human food they had mastered, and they were content to stay in the confines of the kitchen for a long time, basking in its vivid colors.

  The day before Hana’s potluck, Ha Neul stopped by a supermarket on the way home. They returned to the apartment laden with plastic bags. The kitchen table was as messy as ever, but there was no sign of Hana. No doubt she was out getting food. They cleared the kitchen table, making room for the ingredients they’d bought from the supermarket.

The stove, which had been untouched since they moved in, flared to life without protest. They made rice, and while the water bubbled and spit, they sliced kimchi and diced Spam. They didn’t like Spam. Its sickly pink color reminded them of red watered down, and it slid out of the can with a slither that made them shudder. But it was cheap and Hana liked it, so they tipped the diced ham into the pan without looking at it. Steam filled the air. Ha Neul made more than enough kimchi fried rice for Hana’s classmates, then set aside a little extra for her when she came back.

It was dark when Hana returned home. She was wearing a green polka dot dress, her hair in a ponytail. There was blood on her. Ha Neul could smell it as soon as she walked through the door, and their stomach clenched.

“I’m in the kitchen,” they called out to her.

She walked in, the scent of blood following her. It pervaded the kitchen, making Ha Neul forget, for a moment, the food on the stove. Their stomach growled and their mouth ran dry. They hadn’t eaten all day.

“Oppa, you’re cooking!” Hana said, coming up next to them.

They focused on the rice in the pan, stirring it to mix the kimchi and Spam evenly. The Spam had darkened to a deep pink.  “Of course I am. Unless I’m mistaken, your potluck is tomorrow.”

“You look like a professional chef.”

They smiled in spite of the smell of blood in their nose. “Your compliment is appreciated. Now go wash your hands. I made some for you to eat tonight.”

Hana clapped her hands and ran to do as they said. By the time she came back, the scent of blood had eased, and Ha Neul could hand her the bowl of kimchi fried rice without their hand trembling.

“How is it?” they asked as she began to eat.

She closed her eyes and chewed. Ha Neul knew she could barely taste it, but there was happiness on her face. “It’s delicious, oppa. I know it is.”

They couldn’t smell the blood anymore. Ha Neul felt the warmth of the kitchen again, the steam in the air. They watched Hana eat, a little longing mixed with their pleasure in her enjoyment. The two of them would have made a proper family if only Ha Neul could sit down and eat with her. But if Hana was content with only the hint of flavor, then they were content with only this, its reflection.

They turned back to the stove, and shut it off.

  On the morning of Hana’s potluck, Ha Neul carried a tin foil tray of kimchi fried rice to her bus stop, handing it to her carefully before running to catch their own bus. A disheveled man with a hoarse voice harangued passengers about sinning as the bus crawled its way down Wilshire, and the couple in front of Ha Neul argued in whispers, almost hissing as each accused the other of infidelity. Ha Neul listened with half an ear, looking out the window at the Ford Pintos inching past and the dusty haze that made everything outside glow.

The restaurant was dark and cool, not yet overheated by the stoves. Ha Neul put the chairs in place and wiped the tabletops while Mrs. Chang chatted with her sister, who had joined them for the day. The sister had arrived in America only the week before, and Mrs. Chang was eager to have someone who knew the same people she did and shared the same hopes for this new life.

Ha Neul didn’t interrupt their conversation, dreaming instead about the food they would make that day: the chill of the soy sauce on their skin, the true red of gochujang dark against the silver of the spoon, the steam beading their face in sweat whenever they lifted the lid off a pot.

No customers complained that day, and Mrs. Chang sent Ha Neul home with more galbi and banchan than usual. Ha Neul had made the food, but they chose to feel kindly towards Mrs. Chang for her generosity.

At home, Hana was waiting for them. The tin foil tray sat next to her on the table, still burdened with its food. It was bent slightly out of shape. Bits of rice flecked the tabletop around it. Hana’s mouth was pursed tightly, but it quivered when Ha Neul asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“They said it smelled bad and made fun of me for eating Spam. What do they know? I could eat them instead!”

Ha Neul knew she would have cried, if she could. They sat down next to her, some vice grip squeezing their chest. For Hana’s sake, they smiled. “I’d advise against it. They probably don’t taste good.”

“They’re ungrateful punks. You worked so hard to make this and they wouldn’t even eat it.”

“I am hardly insulted by the bad taste of children a fraction my age.”

Hana wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, a habit she still hadn’t unlearned. Whenever she was angry or upset, her hand went to her eyes as if there were still tears to stem. Ha Neul took her hand and squeezed it.

Her skin was dry and smooth, eroded by neither time nor care. In that respect, she was different from her classmates and everyone else around her. It was hard to remember that difference, however, when she was squeezing Ha Neul’s hand so tightly, looking for comfort after a hurt that should have been slight.

After a moment she said, “I wanted to eat this fried rice.”

Ha Neul squeezed her hand again. “You can eat all of it now, if you want.”

“No, I wanted to really eat it. I wanted it to taste like kimchi fried rice should, to make me full.” Hana stomped to the drawers and came back with a plastic spoon. “Even though those little ingrates can eat, they won’t make use of it.” She dug into the rice hard enough to bend the flimsy plastic and began eating.

Another layer of sadness settled over Ha Neul, heavy and thick as the smog that pervaded Los Angeles. They should have listened to their own advice from the beginning: food was food. How could it teach people anything? Perhaps for Hana’s classmates, the kimchi fried rice was not a sign of comfort and family, but of something else entirely. Perhaps some of their fox’s nature made its way into the dish, marking it as something fearful.

“I’m sorry.” They felt useless with only those words for comfort.

“It’s not your fault, oppa.”

The two of them sat in silence as Hana ate. Ha Neul knew she could finish the whole tray. It wouldn’t make her full, after all. They sat and watched her, trying to imagine what it tasted like and only remembering the crunch of the kimchi under their knife, the splash of red over white rice, the Spam glistening pinkly before they’d thrown it in the pan. Things which were only parts of the whole, not enough to fill the quiet of this kitchen.

Ha Neul wanted, as they hadn’t in years, to take a spoonful of food and taste it. But they knew, even before they finished the thought, that it would be nothing but ash. All they could do was say, “I’ll make you as much food as you want.”

Hana smiled, and though the corners of her mouth lifted, her expression didn’t brighten. She looked her age. “Even if I’ll never be able to tell how good it is?”

“Of course.”

They thought about the colors of different ingredients, the textures under their hands. No matter what other people thought, they didn’t want to forget any of that. As long as Hana wanted food they would cook, and the two of them would keep trying, again and again, to discover taste in the warmth of this kitchen.

  END

  “Cooking with Closed Mouths” is copyright Kerry Truong, 2017.

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Thanks for listening, and I’ll be back soon with a reprint of “How to Remember to Forget to Remember the Old War” by R.B. Lemberg.

Episode #35 — “Cooking with Closed Mouths” by Kerry Truong was originally published on GlitterShip