#Cal/Rafie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mongooseblues · 2 years

Text

Not One Single Pneumonia

Plush-soft, plotless Cal/Rafie. Sickfic but not snzfic (my apologies). Occurs pretty early in their relationship, Cal’s Spanish is still elementary. A chest infection that spirals out of a cold he technically caught from Rafie. (Quick reminder of what they look like bc I almost forgot how much I love this image.)

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

There’s always seemed to him something vaguely... presumptuous, almost, about sitting on these examination tables at doctor’s offices. A bit like assuming a position on a bed when you didn’t strictly need to be laying down.

The RN introduced himself but Cal was too preoccupied trying not to cough too much to have caught his name when he’d said it. He scribbles against a clipboard as Cal speaks.

“It was a cold last week but now I’m feeling worse. Um, obviously the coughing. It’s been keeping me from falling asleep, or it wakes me up. I feel as if I’m perpetually a little out of breath, because it’s kind of preventing me from being able to breathe in very deeply? I’ve also been feverish for the past few days.”

When his blood pressure is taken he mentally notes that it’s high for him, and as his vitals are relayed he realizes how pervasively whatever this is has affected him. He is unspeakably tired. When he’d looked in the mirror this morning and saw the intensity of the shadows around his eyes, he was reminded of a semester-long bout of very bad insomnia and Malik once saying, “Cal you look like a sad little raccoon.” He said it to himself this morning.

He shivers again as the nurse takes his temperature, announces it as “One oh two point nine. You said you’ve been feverish for multiple days now?”

“Yes, since maybe… Thursday or Friday, I think. I’m not sure how high it was then, it tends to climb at night, I wasn’t really keeping track of my temperature. The fever in and of itself actually escaped my concern, because I tend to spike a high fever whenever I’m sick at all. I get them routinely with colds and such.”

“I see, okay.”

“Um…” Cal says, having trouble remembering the question, or whether there ever was one. “I’m rambling, but anyway, I passed the point where I felt like—” he has to stop speaking to start coughing again, desperately into his elbow, wearing a sweater he’d normally not wear in public because there’s a rather large saffron-colored stain on the sleeve, which he’s reminded of as he huddles into it until he can stop, finally recovering with a markedly softer voice, hardly above a whisper. “Excuse me. Um… I meant to say that I feel like I got to the point where I should have been beginning to feel better and instead I started feeling worse.”

The RN notices Cal’s hand continues to return to his chest and asks, “Are you experiencing chest pain?”

“Uh, yes, when I cough. Or… inhale—Yeah, I should have mentioned that, it slipped my mind.”

“The person who came in with you, can he speak for you? I can see you’re having trouble speaking and I don’t want you to have to repeat all that for the doctor. Would you want me to invite him back here?”

“Oh, that’s really kind of you… yes, he’s my partner and I would really appreciate that,” Cal says, quietly and with some difficulty, and he might go on further but the nurse cuts him off.

“Alright, I’ll go get him. Save your breath, Mr. Chowdhury, you’ll need it.”

“Thank you so much.”

Rafie appears in the doorway a couple minutes later and Cal could swear the man is glowing as he stands there, a knight in shining armor come to save him from the task of repeating his symptoms.

“It was so nice of him to—”

“Shhh, papi chulo,” Rafael says, trailing a hand over Cal’s mouth. “The nurse said tell you to stop talking.”

* * *

Their trip to the CVS by their place must be endured immediately afterwards, and a simple chore has perhaps never felt quite as unendurable to Cal, who is so woozy as he stands there in the pharmacy line with Rafael that he’s swaying precariously on his feet, and says, “Oh shit,” just as Rafael’s arm tightens around him.

“Whoa, papi… let me pick up your medicines. I’m going to bring you back to the car and you can wait there.”

He does not have the energy or the desire to protest, just squints at Rafie with a dopey smile as he leads him back to the parking lot.

In the car Cal pulls out his phone and zones out for a couple minutes as he scrolls up and down on the Mayoclinic page for viral pneumonia.

He’s read this already, what he should do is call Deepa, that would be a smart thing to do right now, because he’s running out of energy to make arrangements, and potentially running out of voice to give explanations. It rings thrice before she picks up, during which time Cal has settled his cheek against the window, an action he doesn’t feel fully in control of, and maybe he wasn’t expecting her to answer because when she does he startles like he’s jerking awake from almost-sleep, sitting fully up, vaguely dizzy from the sudden movement.

“Hi Deepa, sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but I’m still not feeling well enough to hold class and in fact I uh, just got out of urgent care with a diagnosis of pneumonia. I’m—”

“Oh no, Dr. Chowdhury! Are you okay??”

“Yeah to be—” he begins, with an inadvisably deep inhale that jettisons him into a rough fit, pressing the phone into his shoulder as his sweater weathers another series of productive coughs, taking a wheezy inhale as he catches his breath. There’s a voice he’s used to using, in professional contexts, and he realizes now for the first time it puts more strain on his vocal chords than his non-professional speaking voice does.

“Aww you sound awful.”

“Oh I know,” he says, with an approximation of a laugh that rattles in his chest and ends in an almost cough he manages to subdue. “To be clear I should be able to bounce back from this in maybe a week or so. But I’ll be totally honest with you, Deepa; right now I don’t even feel up to composing an email. I was going to ask if you could send one out on my behalf to cancel class and just explain what’s going on. Ask students to email you instead of me if they need anything.”

“Of course, absolutely. I’ll talk to the other TAs but I think let’s plan for this week at least? And you can just let me know how you’re feeling over the weekend in case you need more time and maybe we can regroup then,” she says.

“Yes, absolutely, that’s perfect. You have no idea how much of a weight off my shoulders—” he says, before he has to cough more, returning to her afterward with a winded, “Gosh I’m sorry, I hardly have the breath necessary to properly thank you.”

“It’s okay Dr. Chowdhury, it’s really no problem at all.”

“I’ll let you know in a few days how I’m feeling and hopefully by then I’ll have a better plan of what I’m gonna do about missing as much material as this will be,” Cal says, as Rafael returns, sliding back into the driver’s seat and handing Cal a brown paper bag.

“Okay sounds good. Feel better! Take as much time as you need, we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you so much.”

He hangs up and looks into the bag in his lap, fishes out three prescription bottles with directions he stares at. He can’t remember exactly what his doctor had said about dosages and times.

“That was your TA?”

“Myeah,” Cal says, articulate, rubbing at his eyes.

“She's gonna take care of things for you?”

“She is, yes.”

“Bien,” Rafie says, gathering Cal’s face in his hands and guiding him away from his halfhearted attempt to parse prescription information. “It’s okay I wrote it down—the way the doctor said to take everything. You took care of work. We got your medicine. All you have to do now is rest, mi amor, okay? It’s the only thing left on the checklist.”

The gently authoritative touch is comforting and the sense of mortal dread he’s carried around since yesterday is loosening and the light is streaming through the window and backlighting his boyfriend beautifully and Cal feels like he might cry.

“What’s wrong?”

Cal shakes his head, feeling his eyes well. “You’re so sweet that was the prettiest thing to say,” he manages, the combination of emotion and throat pain making his voice more of a squeak than anything else.

“Ohoho papiii,” Rafie chuckles, thumbing a single quick tear from Cal’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, wow,” Cal laughs hoarsely, and then needs to pull away to cough into his shoulder. “God I’m a whole train wreck today.”

“Maybe a little train wreck, it’s okay,” Rafie says, smoothing back Cal’s hair as he sniffles and wipes at his face with a sleeve.

“Okay, I’m okay,” he decides.

“Let’s get you home.”

* * *

Later Cal huddles beneath both a kantha quilt and the comforter from the bed, head in Rafie’s lap on the couch as he sleeps through multiple episodes of a plot-heavy Spanish crime drama he’ll now have no hope of following moving forward, in an oseltamivir and high-strength pain-reliever sponsored daze that barely brings down his fever but does at least lessen the pain in his lungs and throat and back from the endless coughing, and allows him a couple hours of the deep sleep he desperately needs.

He coughs himself awake finally, half-conscious but still aware of the comforting feeling of Rafael’s hand on his shoulder, holding him with a firmness that makes him feel both secure and very weak in comparison. By accident he issues a rare moan.

Rafie takes note, coos a low, soft, “Pobrecito…”

Cal shifts so he’s on his back, shivers when his limbs make contact with places of the blanket that aren’t already heated through with his febrile warmth. He blinks slowly, hesitantly breaching the surface of being officially awake. Mumbles that he doesn’t remember falling asleep, realizes he’s said this in the only one out of three languages he could have used that Rafael doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have the energy to even think about translating it, so when Rafie responds, “Hmm?” he just shakes his head.

Rafie brushes sleep-tousled hair out of the way to lay a large palm across Cal’s forehead and whistles as if impressed by his findings. “You must have been feeling even worse than I realized, mi amor.”

“Mm?” He blinks, trying to latch on properly to what’s being said rather than letting it wash over him like the sounds from the television.

“Pneumonia, papi. In both of your lungs.”

“Yeah it’s kinda crazy,” he agrees. “Never had double pneumonia before. Never had single pneumonia before. Not one single pneumonia. Momentous occasion for me.”

“You’re a little loopy right now aren’t you?”

Cal laughs, a phlegm-ridden, chesty sound that makes him start back up with the coughing again. ‘I would love something that just knocks me out completely,’ he’d chimed in, as the doctor was writing prescriptions, and the drug cocktail obliged. It’s definitely affecting him rather strongly and he’s unsure which phenomena are from what exactly because he’s unfamiliar with the treatment and the illness alike.

Rafael says, “Ohh no, you can’t even laugh. Does it hurt? Your lungs?”

“Not unless I breathe,” he smiles.

For a while he just lies there as Rafie cradles a hot cheek with a comparatively cool palm, or lightly strokes a hand over his aching chest, both of which Cal recognizes as comfort targeted at the very source of pain. If he had the breath to do so he’d tell Rafael how nice his hands are, how much he likes their calloused toughness, how strong and steadying they feel to him right now, and he’s fond and fortunate and when combined with his fever he somehow feels lovesick for the person kind enough to be holding him even as he does so.

“You’ve been so good to me,” he rasps, feeling a need to touch Rafie’s face in return but as he currently possesses the world’s heaviest arms he’s only able to reach as high as Rafie’s chest to cling limply to his shirt like a dying man.

“Papi chulo,” Rafael says fondly, running a hand through Cal’s hair, and Cal turns his head slightly like a cat trying to provide a better angle to be pet. “You were very good to me when I was sick, it’s only fair I should be good to you.”

“Yeah but you weren’t this sick, I didn’t have to take you to urgent care. Or carry you to the car.”

“I didn’t carry you.”

“You basically did,” he struggles to say, before bringing up a crooked arm and launching into a fit of harsh, wet coughing that he tries to cut short because it actively hurts, but he gets stuck in a loop of gasping inhales that prompt still more productive spasms and it feels bottomless enough to go on forever if he isn’t careful. It has him sitting up by the end of it, petering out slowly, Rafael’s hands on his shoulder blades as he pants as shallowly as he can to catch his breath and Rafael quietly mutters a reassuring, “Bien, bien, está bien.”

He is passed a glass of water and he nods his thanks, hand shaking so badly as he holds it that he has to bring up the other hand to help.

“Hey, you should try to not talk so much, okay?” Rafie says, as Cal dizzily sinks his weight back into him, settling his head in Rafie’s lap again, cheeks feeling weird and tingly from the effort of coughing and the fact that his face is throbbing with fever.

“I know, I just want you to know it means a lot to me,” Cal says carefully, searching Rafael’s eyes, weighing the words with importance and probably helped by how slowly he has to say them.

Rafie succumbs to a gradual smile that almost looks like it pains him and says, as if in marvel, “Que linda tu actitud.”

While Cal hasn’t heard this specific phrase before, he can ascertain its general meaning as being an appreciation of his attitude, and he entertains an unfocused thought he sometimes has when he watches subtitled cinema, or provides someone an approximated translation from Hindi to English or vice versa — about how reordering a sentence never seemed to keep its sentiment intact. The way Rafie said it was all the translation needed.

He offers a half smile, and a quiet, “Gracias,” which is the last thing he says before Rafael shushes him, and as if this brief bout of wakefulness was something strenuous and energy-depleting, he falls asleep again for another blissfully uninterrupted, unknowable amount of time.

#mongoose writes sometimes #Cal #Cal/Rafie #sponsored by the new Rosalía album bc it’s been giving me Cal/Rafie feels #btw I swear I’m still working on The Final Final I know it’s been (checks watch) several months #this technically is a prelude to a longer Morales family caretakes Cal fic #but god only knows when that will become presentably finished #also hi! my hands mostly work now!! I can’t lift anything heavy but I can type hurray!!#Rafie

67 notes · View notes

pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 4 years

Text

Wicked Game

Another round of the 5sos fic writing collab brought to you by @maluminspace and @h0tsos. There are so many amazing writers involved and I highly recommend checking out the event master list linked below. Thank you to the Sagittarius sorceress @sexgodashton for being very caring, patient, and kind while helping me tame this monster. Massive shout out to @ghostofmashton for the photo edits, especially Ashton’s eye. that’s my favorite. You’re a rock star. Texas girls forever, love you to bits!

Event Master List

Prompt: Chef AU with Cashton

Dialogue Prompt: “Kissing you is all I’ve thought about since the moment we met” First person to spot it in the fic and send me a screenshot gets a personalized blurb request.

Word Count: 20K+ Team Long Winded Bitch strikes again, this will be posted in multiple parts over the next couple of days. This first part is about 5K

Rating: 18+ Slash fic Strong language, alcohol and drug use, and a misogynistic and racist comment. Sexual scenes including masturbation, toys, voyeurism, oral, and anal sex.

Summary: Ashton is ready to move on with his life after his painful divorce from Luke and the demise of the restaurant they’d built together. With the help of his protegee and sous chef Hima Singh, Ashton is ready to take on opening weekend of his new restaurant Anne-Marie’s. Calum is a reporter filling in on an assignment and is surprised when his past comes back to haunt him. Hima arranges an interview that takes an unexpected turn between the two men.

Part 1

"Great job, guys, we couldn't have had a better opening weekend. Thank you so much for making it happen," Ashton told the two staff members in the kitchen who'd closed as he unlocked the back door.

"No problem boss, glad to be here. We made money this weekend. See ya tomorrow," DeSean told him as he left.

Ashton locked the door behind them and walked out into the empty dining room, his steel-toed boots echoing heavily on the distressed blonde faux hardwood floors. He stopped to adjust a few tables, double-checking sightlines and looking over the layout of the tables. The upside-down chair legs cast long shadows in the soft pink neon glow.

He looked up at the sign above the bar that read "Anne-Marie's." He smiled, not caring if anyone thought it was cheesy to name his restaurant after his mother. His mom had always been his lucky star, and he couldn't have gotten through the last couple of years without her.

"You look so serious,' a voice behind him startled him out of his thoughts.

"What the fuck Hima," Ashton yelped, clutching his chest dramatically. "I thought you were still in the kitchen."

"The guys didn't leave me anything to do so I decided to change and have a drink with you before my brother gets here," she tossed her bag and chef's coat onto a stool grinning at Ashton. She hopped up to sit on the bar before swinging her legs around as she pushed off. Landing without a wobble she reached under the bar and grabbed a bottle of black label Bushmill's Irish Whiskey and two short glasses.

"Straight for the good stuff, I like the way you think," Ashton smirked, taking a seat at the bar.

"To simply mark the occasion, of course" she poured them each a shot before adding a splash of water. She raised her glass, "Cheers to you, Boss, and to Anne-Marie's."

They clinked glasses. "Couldn't have done it without you," he replied before taking a sip.

"Awwwwww thanks Ashtton, " she grinned at him. "Damn that's good, the whiskey makes me forgive the Irish for how dreadful Guinness is. Did you see Kevin Mackie snuck in last night? I expect a write up in the Metro on Tuesday and I know you saw Patricia Bennett," she rolled her eyes at the name.

"She makes herself hard to miss," he snorted. "I missed Mackie though. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we were busy and I didn't have time for you to get all giggly and nervous. He got the crab puffs and the Mac and Brie and inhaled them. You were right about the nutmeg; I thought he was going to lick the plate." She opened two bottles of beer before hopping back over the bar and taking a seat next to Ashton.

"How did this weekend compare to the opening of ‘Lune Rouge’? Was it as good as the first time?" Hima finished her whiskey before shaking a pack of Camel Crush cigarettes out of her bag.

"If you get ashes on the bar Paloma will flip her shit," Ashton warned.

"I'm not afraid of her," Hima snipped, but she made sure to be careful. No sense in antagonizing their temperamental main bartender.

"This opening was definitely smoother than the first one. We didn't know what the hell we were doing. The first night we ran out of duck fat and gorgonzola before the dinner rush was over. My sous chef's sister had to run to Whole Foods for emergency supplies. We got lucky the press ignored us for a couple weeks until we got a little buzz going. This time I knew what to expect but there was also more pressure," he paused, taking a pull on the bottle of beer. "This time I expected to succeed right out of the gate."

"You succeeded there," Hima stubbed her cigarette out in her empty glass. "I really need to quit."

"You could get a puff bar and start vaping," he teased.

"I'm not a fucking junior varsity cheerleader. I can take my cancer like a big girl." She checked her phone. "Ugh it's almost nine, and it's gonna take me at least thirty minutes to get home. You're closing tomorrow with me right?"

"Yeah, I'll be in around 11 all this week. Rafi is handling brunch with Gloria but I want to be here," Ashton double-checked his phone. "Tuesday I have that interview with Men's Life and they just emailed me."

Hima saw his nose scrunch up as he read. "What's wrong?"

"I thought they were sending Taj, but instead of rescheduling the interview, they're sending Calum Hood," Ashton sneered.

"Chill dude, it's not that bad," Hima was confused by the venom in his voice. "Yeah he's a bit of a goof, but he's hot and not a pretentious dickhead. They could've sent Felipe."

"True, true," he grumbled as he saw a black Honda pull up outside. "Kabir is here."

"Shit, ok see you tomorrow, Boss," she grabbed her stuff, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and ran out the door, locking it behind her.

Ashton walked through once again. He made sure the lights were off in the employee lounge. Since many of his staff members used public transport or worked two jobs, Rafi had convinced Ashton to provide his staff with a decent place to take a break and get ready before or after work. He built a small shower stall, lockers, and provided clean towels, and as his new kitchen manager, Rafi took responsibility for maintaining the space. Ashton took a last look at the bar, double-checking for any stray ashes Hima might have missed before setting the alarm, locking up, and heading home.

Calum opened the email from his editor and swore loud enough to wake the scruffy brown terrier mix snoozing at his feet.

Hey Cal,

Sorry it's such short notice but Taj's mom had an emergency and I need you to cover for him. He's interviewing Ashton Irwin, remember him? He had the Lune Rouge a few years ago. Well, he's got a new place, diverse staff and we're doing a feature. Maybe even the cover if he's really pretty. Tuesday at 2 pm I'll send you the address and details after I talk to Taj. Oh, and my friend Nick is coming into town and I told him you'd show him around. It's been a while since you had a date but you'll like him. He's kinda short, but he's got big muscles, huge dick, perfect credit. You could do a lot worse.

Call me tomorrow

Sham

This isn't good, this isn't good. Calum's mind was racing. He rubbed his temples trying to think. Taj was notoriously reliable and responsible, so if he was taking off on short notice, it must be serious. It was just his bad luck it was Ashton Irwin.

He usually covered travel and sports for Men's Life while Taj handled food and fashion. Calum didn't mind taking back food and dining for the time being. He'd started in that industry, working as a line cook while he went to school for journalism. He'd quit both when a flirty, older professor recommended him for an internship at California Culture and he managed to land a real job. Professor Davis had been highly disappointed to lose him as a student and catch him making out with her son who went to the same college. He'd found a tiny shitty apartment, spent his life on the road for work, and sent every penny he didn't need to live on to his family. He didn't even date for the longest time until he met a handsome blonde with sharp features and a sharper tongue.

He couldn't remember if it was four years ago or five, but he clearly recalled his review of Lune Rouge had not been nice. Calum was in a toxic relationship with the restaurant's sous chef at the time. He'd let his personal life spill over into his work for the first and only time. It wasn't something Calum was proud of and while he felt he owed Ashton an apology, the right time and place hadn't presented itself yet. He'd run into Ashton twice since then. The first time he was with his husband, and Calum wasn't about to humble himself in front of Luke. The second encounter came not long after their marriage broke up. Calum was dating a photographer at the time, when Ashton came to the photographer’s art show. They were briefly introduced but Ashton's chilly demeanor discouraged any further conversation, so Calum avoided him the rest of the evening. He remembered being unable to stop staring at the handsome chef with the sad eyes. He'd always hoped they'd bump into each other under better circumstances. I guess an interview will have to do.

********

Ashton sat out on his condo balcony overlooking Echo Park, taking in the night air and enjoying a second bottle of IPA. Hima was right, the opening had been a smash. Anne-Marie's had the best staff he'd ever had the pleasure of working with, and aside from a small mix up between gruyere and Havarti cheese, the opening had been smooth. The alcohol hummed in his veins as he allowed his mind to wander back five years.

Lune Rouge's opening had been a chaotic mess of brilliance, balls, and blind luck. He was a year out of culinary school, newly married, and ecstatically in love with his husband. Luke was a trust fund baby; his dad ran a major studio. He put up the funding for their restaurant which procured a prime spot in trendy West Hollywood. Ashton had the idea of taking traditional French cuisine and turning it into "pub grub." Luke created a kitschy tacky cool interior with the ambiance of fairy light curtains, vintage 90's movie posters, an eye-popping pink and aqua come scheme. Featuring a bartender who doubled as a DJ, the restaurant became an immediate hot spot.

The culinary press treated them like rock stars and it went to their head. Ashton was portrayed as the mysterious boy genius, boisterous and foul-mouthed, he ran the back of the house, oversaw the business and created the menu. Luke, who's blonde-haired blue-eyed good looks were regularly described as "angelic", was the frontman, often schmoozing in the dining room, taking song requests, or slinging drinks behind the bar. They worked so well together until they didn't.

Ashton shook his head, not allowing himself to linger on negative thoughts, not when he'd fought to regain balance. He'd spent the last year freeing himself from the wreckage of his partnership with Luke. Still, tonight after the opening, alone and overlooking the city lights, his mind kept going back to the exhilaration of that first opening night. After they stayed late with the crew for a drink to celebrate, Luke's hand wandered up Ashton's thigh causing him to almost choke on his tequila. Soon Luke started whining about all the paperwork he had to do before they could go home. The crew quickly bagged it out of there, not wanting to get roped into more work.

Ashton swallowed at the memory before glancing around at the other balconies. It was late enough most of his neighbors should be asleep. Already hard, he reached down and squeezed his bulge through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

After letting everyone else out of Lune Rouge that first night he'd been puzzled to find Luke no longer at the bar. He heard noises coming from the office. When he opened the door, he found his husband, shirtless, and waiting for him.

Ashton slid his hand into his pants swiping his thumb across the leaking tip. He heard a sliding glass door open and froze in place until he realized it was his neighbor below him chatting on the phone. He stroked himself and let his mind wander back to Luke. It had been too long since Ashton got laid, and Luke was still the best sex he'd ever had. He shuddered and bit his lip thinking about the way Luke grinned at him as he opened the office door. Before Ashton could say a word, Luke was sinking to his knees. A bit awkward given his long legs, but it didn't take long before he was letting Ashton fuck his throat. The thought of those blue eyes looking up at him as Ash's hands tangled in those blonde curls caused a moan to slip out, and his neighbor stopped talking at the sound.

"I think somebody is having sex," he heard her whisper. He almost laughed.

His dick was twitching flat against his stomach as he ducked back inside his bedroom, kicked off his pants, and grabbed a small tube of lube. Ashton shut off the light and stepped back outside.

The breeze cooled his fevered skin as he stood there looking out at the city and stroking his dick. The idea that he could possibly be seen turned him on almost as much as his trip down memory lane. He swallowed another moan thinking about how Luke's lips felt against his, their tongues tangled until he pulled back looking at Ashton with mischief and love before giving him a wink and turning around.

Ashton's breath caught in his throat as he worked his cock thinking about it. The red and white striped pants his husband pranced around in that night had been blissful torment working him up until the moment he slid those pants down and bent over the desk.

"Come take what's yours, my love, I've been wanting you all night," he cooed, wiggling his hips.

Luke was a whiny boy when he was getting pounded, and the memory sent Ashton closer to the edge. He felt his knees tremble as he increased his speed, the city lights becoming starbursts in his vision as he edged himself closer. At the moment of release, he swore he could feel Luke pushing back against him taking him in as deep as he could go.

When Ashton opened his eyes, he found himself sweaty and streaked with his own seed. He was amazed he'd managed to stay quiet, but his neighbor was chatting away obliviously. He went back inside, cracked another beer, and took it with him into the shower, trying to focus on his day tomorrow.

It was after midnight by the time he went to bed. His body was exhausted but the adrenaline from the opening weekend hadn't quite worn off. He found himself still restless and playing on his phone. After scrolling through Instagram, he found himself looking at the page belonging to the Galway Grill-- Ashton cringed at the name-- an Irish pub and microbrewery very recently opened by Luke and his boyfriend Finn.

Ashton simmered with resentment perusing the menu; they'd recycled at least half of the Lune Rouge recipes, his creations. He'd heard they'd rushed their opening to launch the week before Anne-Marie's, and even with Daddy's deep pockets the decor looked slapped together, all flash no class. He came to a picture of the happy couple and couldn't help but notice how thin and tired Luke looked despite his huge smile. He felt a twinge of concern for his ex before pushing his phone away in disgust. Rolling out of bed, he headed to the bathroom and fished an orange prescription bottle out of the cabinet. He broke a valium in half and swallowed the smaller piece with a gulp of water straight from the faucet. He scrolled through different sounds on his phone before settling on crashing waves. He spent the next ten minutes stretching and practicing deep breathing to push out any lingering negativity and troubling thoughts. It was too late to drag up the past and there was nothing to be gained. Ashton crawled back under the duvet and sank into a deep sleep dreaming of blue eyes.

*********

Hima rolled into work a little after one, pleased to see a decent lunch crowd and multiple delivery orders going out. She ordered a chicken mojito wrap for her lunch and headed back to the office to find Ashton. She found him in his chair with his laptop open on his desk, a notebook in his lap while scrolling through his phone.

"So what's the Monday morning report, Boss?" She asked, taking a seat across from him.

Ashton was beaming as he spun the laptop around to show her. "We made 30% over our projected sales. We came in right at payroll, actually a little under if you can believe that."

"I've checked the reservation book," she responded, flashing her phone. "We're booked solid for dinner Friday and Saturday and will call is 3 pm-7 pm. We're probably going to have to do that all week."

"Whatever you need. This weekend is going to be bonkers. If you have any suggestions, I'd like to do something for the staff. That reminds me, I've got to talk to Maisie." He scribbled down a quick note.

"She's already on it," Hima laughed. "The servers who struggled are coming in for extra training with her and Dakota. I have no doubt she'll straighten them up or ship them out."

Ashton nodded as Daniel knocked on the office door to bring their lunch.

"How's it going out there? Let us know if you need anything," Ashton told him.

"We've got this, Boss, enjoy your lunch," Daniel closed the door behind him.

"He's Rafi's brother?" Hima asked before taking a big bite.

"Cousin, Gloria is his sister," Ashton replied tucking into his roasted corn and quinoa salad with queso fresco.

"Are you ready for this interview tomorrow? You look tired," Hima looked concerned.

"I am tired," he shrugged. "I just wanna get this over with. I'm thrilled we're doing so well, but that's not what the press wants to talk about."

"Don't think about it like that. Anne-Marie's will stand on her own. You've just gotta get through this week. I know it's a lot," her words were half-muffled by a napkin.

"Tomorrow is the worst of it. Mackie called and is available Tuesday at one or Thursday for dinner around four. Since he's already been here for dinner, I thought I'd let Rafi wow him this time," he told her.

"Good idea, try to keep it short because if he drinks he gets super chatty. He gave a lecture at school and came to the bar afterward; he would not shut up," she warned.

"Chatty bastard, got it," he replied and they both laughed.

Anne-Marie's was his restaurant, but he couldn't have done it without Hima. She was fresh out of culinary school working as a line cook at the Hilton when he'd discovered her a little over a year ago. Ashton only lasted four months before chafing under the corporate yoke and deciding to strike out on his own. She'd been the first person he'd hired for the restaurant, guaranteeing her first year's salary out of his own pocket. Rafi and DeSean were excellent managers for the kitchen, but Hima was a coach: she understood the business as a whole. He'd let her handle most of the press and promotion, and she'd scored two big interviews.

Gourmet Table had interviewed him last Thursday The piece wouldn't be that in-depth, but they'd spent three hours photographing food. He expected the Men's Life article to focus more on him and his personal life. Calum Hood was known for his sharp pen and take-no-prisoners style. He'd given Lune Rouge two stars and a biting review during a brief stint at California Culture before he'd become known. It was five years ago, but Ashton still had the clipping somewhere. Calum had branded Lune's food as tasty and imaginative but thought the presentation was lacking in creativity. He'd ripped into the decor, calling it "somewhere between art house and frat house," and labeled Luke and Ashton "spoiled pretty boys pretending to be chefs." Luke had brushed it off with a laugh, but it still bothered Ashton.

Unlike the Hemmings’, Ashton’s family didn't have money to throw around. He'd started at sixteen, washing dishes and peeling vegetables for Chef François at Bordeaux on Hollywood. He'd taken culinary classes after high school while working full time. Sadly, Chef François had a heart attack and retired around the time he met Luke.

"You're not listening again," Hima complained, licking her fingers. "Rafi killed it with this wrap. The chicken is amazing, but the cucumber-mint salad and the tamarind chili mayo are next fucking level."

"You're right, I'm not. Sorry about that," he pushed his plate aside.

"Ok, what's got you so rattled? You've handled the press like a champ up until now. Is it Mackie or Hood? Who needs to catch these hands?" Hima stood and assumed a fighter's stance, bouncing on her toes.

"Easy there killer, I can defend my own honor. Mackie is an irritating little mosquito. He just wants gossip, but he's got enough readers so we all have to kiss his ass. Hood gave me one of the few bad reviews we got at Lune, and it stuck. He called us frat boys and said we were trying too hard," Ashton rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by saying it out loud.

Hima raised her eyebrows and smirked, "I love it when you're petty. You're always so perfect and Zen, it's annoying."

"My therapist would disagree. Oh shit, that reminds me," he straightened up in his chair and grabbed his phone. "I've got an appointment at 2:30. I'll be back before 4," he dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Ashton," her voice was soft but commanding, and he looked up. "I don't know what's going on, and if you don't want to tell me that's fine. I want you to take care of yourself, whatever that takes. Ok?" He nodded and she smiled, "You can tell Dr. Claire that I've confirmed her for 8 pm Saturday, and you're going to personally cook her dinner. We've got the 50th anniversary that night so maybe you could flex and make your Pavlova's? I'll get the berries myself."

"It's a deal; we can comp them champagne, too. I'd better get going before I get yelled at. She's a stickler for punctuality, I think it's a British thing."

"I'll hold things down until you get back," Hima gathered up the dishes and headed out with Ashton right behind her.

*********

Ashton drew a deep breath and exhaled through his nose as the reporter settled in the chair across from him. Kevin Mackie's column in L.A. Metro was the definitive opinion for restaurants on the West Coast. His readers loved the snarky tone, celeb sightings, and bitchy gossip that peppered his column. His reviews could make or break new restaurants.

"Let me start off by saying I love the decor of this place. It's rustic, but not in that played out, hipster-in-the-woods nonsense," he leaned in and lowered his voice towards the end of the comment with a coy smirk.

"You'll find no Mason jars here," Ashton replied, taking the bait. Kevin liked people who liked him, and his most recent column was a snarky takedown of "Pinterest style interiors." Ashton found the article tedious and uninspired, but there was no need to be antagonistic right out of the gate.

Ashton watched as the reporter ordered his lunch from their server Zia. He guessed Kevin to be in his forties, and he thought he could see fresh hair plugs, bleached blonde, and a bit of Botox. Rumor had it, he'd recently split with his long-time girlfriend over a fling with a much younger waiter. Ashton tried not to pay attention to industry gossip. However, his personal problems made their way into the column more than once, and he couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of satisfaction at the other man's problems.

After they'd both ordered, Kevin sat back and took a sip of his Pellegrino water and smacked his lips. "I was here the other night and I have to admit I was prepared to be underwhelmed. A menu based on sandwiches and comfort food sounded like an upscale Applebee's, but I really liked it despite myself. I was surprised to see your main girl was on the mature side, but she's efficient as hell so I get the trade-off."

Ashton's body tensed at the insult to Maisie, and he took a deep breath. Exhaling through his nose he forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Kevin was prattling on with some bit of gossip as Ashton sipped on his iced coffee.

"So let's start with something simple and ease our way into the rough stuff," Kevin set his voice recorder on the table between them. "Tell me how you formulated your top-secret house coffee blend."

Ashton broke into a wide grin as he described taking two months to travel and sample different beans, learn more about the roasting and blending process. Kevin sipped his coffee and nodded as if deep in thought, but his eyes kept wandering to Ashton's biceps. He'd been baking this morning so he smelled of cinnamon, his black t-shirt damp and clingy from sweating under his chef coat.

"So we sell the house blend all year, but we have single-source coffee that's seasonal, all of it fair trade," Ashton finished proudly.

"Coffee has always been your thing if I remember correctly," Kevin said.

"True, true, and once I started roasting my own beans it became a true obsession."

Kevin followed it up with a couple more softball questions about menu details and sandwiches. Ashton expounded on his love of food. "Cooking for someone is a simple way to show care, to be enjoyed almost as much as dining should be. Food is caring and comfort; it sustains us. It brings people together in a shared experience."

"Ooh that's a nice pull quote," Mackie chuckled. "I love when y'all have media training. It makes the bullshit flow much smoother.

Ashton seethed but said nothing. He'd watched this man's pettiness wreck a good opening, and Ashton couldn't do that to his crew. Zia brought their lunch. Ashton noticed Kevin had also ordered the chicken mojito wrap.

"This looks delicious. I think it's a nice touch that you've got so much, let's say diversity, in your restaurant. That you're actually letting them make their own food makes your menu more interesting. Not all restaurants get it. Please tell me you've seen how horribly Finn ripped you off for that tacky Irish pub," Kevin glanced up at him a tiny smirk playing on

"I haven't paid any attention to that," Ashton wanted to end the interview right there.

"Oh come on, you've had to see how much he's trying to recreate the magic you and Luke once had. The menu is tired, I don't give a fuck if he is Irish. Finn has no imagination yet fancies himself an impresario. Luke's still got it though. He even asked when I was coming here. I didn't tell him of course, I'm a professional after all."

"Of course," Ashton nodded checking out of the conversation. The reporter talked as he ate which given the wrap he was eating proved especially messy and little flecks of food kept flying his way. Ashton watched the door, nodding at customers, silently willing someone to come and save him. Kevin was still talking about himself when Hima and Zia came out of the kitchen. Ashton tried to catch their eye when he felt a hand on his arm.

"I wanna ask you about that one," Kevin leaned in so he could almost whisper.

"Who? Hima? What about her?" Ashton was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

"What's the deal? I've only ever seen you with Luke. Did your palette change that much? India must've been a real spiritual awakening for you huh?" Kevin winked at him, thinking he was clever.

Ashton controlled his breathing trying to keep his temper in check. He looked over at the reporter who kept talking oblivious to the situation.

"Who doesn't like trying something exotic. She seems like a smart cookie. She's darker than most Indian girls you see, like a rich brown butter sauce. I bet she tastes like tumeric though."

"Get out of my restaurant" Ashton hissed, his hands gripping the table to restrain himself from physical violence. "You are not going to insult my staff, my friends, in their restaurant."

Kevin started to speak but Ashton cut him off.

"Not another fucking word" he kept his voice at a low growl so as not to cause a scene. He noticed a couple of the closest tables were already watching them. "You've said enough and I'm barely holding back as it is. Get out of my restaurant, don't ever come back, don't ever speak to me again, and if you trash me in this review I promise you I will find you and fuck you up personally." Ashton stood up and Kevin flinched, the sight would have made him laugh if he hadn't been so furious. He stepped back and the reporter scrambled out of his seat leaving his lunch unfinished. Ashton walked back into the kitchen, Hima fast on his heels. He kicked the door open to the break room and headed for the speed bag hanging in the corner. He'd learned the hard way punching walls usually resulted in the wall winning the fight so he'd given himself something easier on his hands.

Hima watched him from the door, his back and biceps rippling as he went two minutes at full speed. When he finally turned around she could see the anger had cooled somewhat. She hated that her boss looked incredibly sexy when he was angry.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" She asked when he turned back around.

"Nope, it'll just piss me off all over again, and I gotta get ready for another fucking interview. With a guy who already doesn't like me," Ashton put this coat back on and headed into the line to check on Rafi.

At least the second interview can't be worse, she thought, wishing she believed it.

*********

Calum eased his beat up Range Rover into the parking lot of Anne-Marie's amongst the Mercedes, Audi's, and Teslas. He cursed the traffic when he checked the time. He was late, and they were busy. Not a good look he thought, grabbing his bag.

He smiled at the ladies waiting for a table before introducing himself to the impossibly serene hostess. He was quickly led to a table in an alcove not far from the kitchen. As he pulled out his voice recorder and notebook, he noticed a young woman heading his way. Her black hair was knotted tightly in a bun on top of her head, and her chef's coat had a large streak of what might be hollandaise sauce. He remembered his editor, Jacqueline, telling him Anne-Marie's had a female sous chef. He checked the notes she'd given him quickly as she was stopped by a server. Hima, Culinary Institute of America graduate, 23, Indian maybe?

"Hello I'm Hima Singh, you must be Calum Hood," she greeted him. From up close, he noticed that her eyes were a rich golden brown and that her smile didn't reach her eyes. He chalked it up to her youth; his editor said she was 23 but she looked like a teenager. He mentally stopped himself there. He'd become jaded by one too many husband/wife teams in recent years trying to rebrand a post-divorce startup as a "new adventure." While the divorce was true, Calum knew Ashton's history.

"Yup that's me, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hima," he shook her hand, relieved to see her relax a bit.

"Chef Irwin will be out shortly. He's helping with a problem in the back" she glanced towards the kitchen, and Calum had a feeling she was lying.

"Can I get you something while you wait? Do you like coffee? We have a house blend cold brew Chef Irwin selected himself that we roast and grind on-site," she asked motioning towards the sign listing the daily selection of teas and coffee.

"Thanks, but maybe not coffee. I'm nervous enough without more caffeine," he admitted, "but the lavender and blackberry infused lemonade sounds amazing." He smiled and her face softened.

"Absolutely," she signaled to Zia who brought Calum his drink and a basket of warm, fluffy yeast rolls with Anne Marie's cinnamon honey butter. The smell reminded Calum he'd skipped breakfast as his stomach began to rumble.

"So you're Chef Irwin's sous chef? I heard a rumor you were a partner as well," he asked, almost drooling as he tore into the soft bread, watching the steam escape.

"Yes sir," Hima's smile finally reached her eyes, and she sat down across from him. "When he got his core team together for Anne Marie's, there's three of us total. Desean and Rafi are his kitchen managers, and he gave us the opportunity to buy in as minority investors, no pun intended."

"These rolls are incredible. Please take one before I finish this whole basket and ruin my lunch. How long have the three of you worked for Ashton, excuse me, Chef Irwin?" He asked.

"Desean and Rafi were part of his Lune Rouge crew. They go way back, but he met me fresh out of school and took me under his wing," she told him.

"Did you go to CIA?" Calum was jotting down notes, getting a feel for the story.

"I wish, it's so pretty up there. My twin brother attended Brown, and I went to Johnson and Wales so we could stay close."

"You're a twin? Is he a chef as well?" Calum asked.

"Are you kidding? He's a lawyer, of course, my parents had to have one in the family," Hima laughed.

Zia appeared beside their table. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Rafi is looking for you, Hima."

A worried frown replaced her warm smile and Calum felt his nerves bubbling back up. He glanced around and caught sight of Ashton, flushed and sweaty from the heat of the kitchen, poking his head around the corner. Their eyes met, and Calum felt like he'd been hit by lightning.

Hima saw his reaction and whipped around to see what Calum was looking at. Spotting her boss she quickly excused herself and hurried to the back.

Zia cleared her throat and Calum realized she was still standing next to his table.

"Would you like to try Rafi's plantain skewers while you wait? It's my favorite thing here, and it'll leave room for whatever these geniuses cook up," she asked with a smile and a wink.

He nodded and she headed to the server station to put the order in. Calum looked around and started taking notes. The most striking thing about the decor was how they'd used diffused skylights for soft lighting to accent the Nakashima-style crafted wooden furniture. Thanks to his Mom’s love of Antiques Roadshow when he was younger Calum discovered his preference for natural grain wood and bespoke pieces. He liked the use of pastel neon signs to complement the muted green and blue tones of the mosaic tile floors and he thought the framed pictures of what he assumed were family photos of the staff provided a really nice personal touch. The largest photo was in the bar of Ashton and his mother, the restaurant's namesake, Anne Marie.

Zia set a plate down in front of him. "The boss will be out in a minute., Let me get you some more tea," she told him.

The skewers consisted of chunks of pineapple, plantain, red onion, and sweet potato grilled and dusted with chili powder and brown sugar served with a yogurt sauce for dipping.

Calum was almost finished with the first one when Ashton came out of the back, making his way towards him. The chef stopped to talk to several customers, the hostess, and Zia before he made it to Calum's table. Cal licked his fingers, wiping his hands clean with a Sani-wipe before standing up and offering a handshake.

Ashton took his hand and Calum wasn't expecting it to feel so soft. Caught off guard Calum stammered out an introduction as he sat, but he noticed Ashton just nodded, barely listening.

"If today isn't a good day we can reschedule," Calum sipped his tea, his throat suddenly dry.

"I'm here aren't I?" Ashton snapped. He folded his arms across his chest, his hazel eyes narrowing at Calum. "I still remember your first review you know."

Calum's pulse was racing. He hated confrontation, and he hadn't expected Ashton to kick off right away. He knew he'd better suck it up and apologize if this wasn't going to go completely off the rails.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have been such a dickhead." As he spoke Ashton scoffed at him and Calum felt his cheeks get warm. "I was young and stupid. I let something personal affect that review. I'm sorry."

"Personal? With Luke? What do you mean by that?" Ashton went from annoyed to hostile.

Calum realized he'd said something wrong but wasn't sure what exactly. He was floundering trying to think of what to say next.

"Nothing with Luke, no no no. I was involved with Finn and we weren't getting along. It's so stupid I know, but I think you're a great chef. The new place looks incredible, and Hima is a delight."

The anger drained from Ashton's face, leaving him looking empty and sad. His head dropped to his chest, and Calum held his breath waiting for him to speak.

"I'm really sorry, it's not you, but I can't do this right now. Maybe we can reschedule or something. My apologies, but I have to get back to work," Ashton mumbled, standing up.

Calum spotted Hima watching them from the podium, chewing on her lip, her black eyes wide with concern as Ashton hurried back to the kitchen. Calum started to get up but she was too quick for him.

"Well, aren't you lucky. I'm going on my lunch and I hate to eat alone," she slid back into the seat across from him. "Please forgive my boss. He's had a rough day, but I'm better company anyway." She waved to Zia who headed their way. "You gotta try the toasted gnocchi with gorgonzola cream sauce if you like cheese, but if you want something lighter the apple carrot kale wrap is excellent too," she smiled at him, and to her relief he smiled back, both of them realizing the situation might be salvageable after all.

(A/N: y’all my tag list, much like my life, is a hot mess. I know some of what I write isn’t for everyone. If you want tagged in part 2 of this fic or my upcoming smuts, pink kink series, or dad!calum series please let me know. I apologize for my previous mistake)

@sublimehood @tea4sykes @be-ready-when-i-say-go @scribblesos @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @wildmichaelflower @castaway-cashton @damselindistressanu @notinthesameguey @cashtonasfuck @irwinkitten @mermaidcashton @malumsmermaid

#calum hood #ashton irwin #5sos writing collab #cashton smut #cashton slash #Calum Hood smut #ashton irwin smut #cashton #calum 5sos #ashton fanfic #ashton 5sos #5sos

80 notes · View notes

zoeykaytesmom · 5 years

Text

What is Life? (Chapter 4)

There’s been a lot of updates today but I've been working on this for a little bit. I’m still trying to figure out the masterlist thing so bare with me, please.

@lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @tropes-and-tales @esparza-army @gibbs274 @jramirezblogs @xemopeachx @thatesparzacrush @celebsexual-stardust

They all began their junior year at the end of August 1991. Antonio and Izzy had sort of moved their budding romance a little bit ahead, Rafael seemed happy with Lauren. Erin had met a guy during the summer that went to Forest Hills High in Queens named Nick. He was cute and seemed nice enough when they would hang out.

Like Rafael, he had a “difficult” relationship with his father. Although, his had left just a few years prior.

Tony had been seeing Antonio’s little sister Gabby since the end of summer. She was only 18 months younger than Antonio and a sophomore.

“You ever gonna slide into home with Lauren, Rafi?”

“Excuse me, Alejandro?”

“You’ve been together for a while. You don’t think about tickling her tummy from the inside?” Alex asked in the locker room after their gym class one day in September.

“That’s disgusting, Alex,” Rafael rolled his eyes.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it…”

“I’m a guy, aren’t I? Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Just not sure I’m ready or if she is for that matter.”

“I’m sure she is. Sometimes you just gotta show her who’s in control.”

“I’m sorry? Are you actually suggesting that I make her have sex with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Rafi. Once you get her started though, she won’t want you to stop.”

“We do plenty and we’re happy with the way things are right now.”

“Okay. I’m just saying, you could end up missing your window.”

“Leave him alone,” Eddie said as he came around the corner. “Not everything is a race, Alex. He’s not on a time limit.”

“Next year is our Senior year then we’re off to college. You want to go to college a virgin?”

“So, what if I do? Maybe that’s not that high up on my priority list. Harvard takes the top spot. I’m getting there one way or another.”

“I know, I know,” Alex replied as he sort of waved his hand at Rafael.

“I’m gonna be late for Pre-Cal. I’ll see you guys later,” Rafael told them as he shut his locker and left.

“Why do you always gotta do that to him, Alex?”

“What did I do?”

“You know what you did. You know how shy he can be with girls.”

“I was just…”

“Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

“Whatever, Eddie.”

***************

“Hey, Izz, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Rafa,” she said with a smile as they stood at their lockers.

“You and Antonio…ever…you know.”

“What?”

“Have you guys ever had sex?” He finally asked.

“No. I mean, he has, just not with me.”

“Does he ever try to get you to?”

“He has once or twice but he knows I’m not ready. Why do you ask?”

“Alex was talking in the locker room the other day, asking if Lauren and I have or are thinking about it.”

“And?”

“I don’t know how to…approach the subject really.”

“Uh, I don’t know, Rafa. I mean, Antonio has tried when we were already doing stuff but he’s stopped when I’ve told him no.”

“The thing is…I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that in my book,” she told as she shut her locker and they began walking down the hall.

“You think so?”

“Of course. I don’t know what the obsession with sex is these days. I mean, some people have barely made it out of the 80s alive and for what? I mean, yeah, when I’m ready and really in love with someone, that’ll be different.”

“So, you don’t love Antonio?”

“I do in a way. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just, I feel like I’m too young to feel what I should feel to be that intimate with someone.”

“What do you think you should feel?”

“It’s hard to explain, really. I guess when someone can make me think of something other than basketball and school?” She laughed. “Come on. We don’t want to be late for Spanish.”

“You can’t afford to be,” he teased as he lightly pushed her.

“Cállate, pendejo.”

“Rude!”

“Talk some more shit about my Spanish. Why do you even take Spanish when you’re fluent?”

“Because it’s easy. Duh.”

July 1992

“You doing okay?” Izzy asked Rafael as they sat in her room during their summer break.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. He and Lauren and decided to end their relationship the weekend before. She had been a mess and Izzy knew her best friend, while not showing it, was a mess himself.

“You haven’t told me what actually happened.”

“Well, she got tired of Yelina calling all the time or just showing up at my apartment.”

“I knew that part. I mean come on, Lauren could’ve massacred your entire family and you would’ve looked the other way.”

“Guess she didn’t feel the same way,” he shrugged.

“Are you kidding? She was crazy about you.”

“Yeah but seriously, how long do high school relationships last? Most have a shelf life of a year.”

“You didn’t break up with her cause she wants to wait until marriage to have sex, did you?”

“You know me better than that. What about you and Antonio? You guys broke up two weeks ago.”

“Yeah. Antonio and I have way too much history. We had our fun but it’s not like we were planning on getting married or anything. We’re just better off being friends,” she chuckled. “Oh, did I tell you?”

“What?”

“I’m finally getting these braces off before school starts?”

“I know you’ll be glad.”

“Maybe my Senior pictures will be a lot better than the last three. I’ve hated having to smile.”

“I like your smile. I’ve always thought it was cute.”

“You’re an idiot,” she giggled as she blushed.

“I’ve always found your braces endearing.”

She grabbed the pillow she had propped herself up on and hit him with it.

“What was that for?”

“Because I felt like it. Why else?”

“Okay. Fine,” he said as he got up off the floor. He knew she hated being tickled so he climbed onto her bed and immediately went at her sides causing her to laugh uncontrollably.

“Will you stop?!”

“You started it.”

“No…I…didn’t,” she said as she caught her breath.

He was hovering above her as their laughter subsided. He slowly bent down as her hands made their way around his neck, pulling him closer.

Soon, his lips were on hers. They had been wanting this since they were 15. Unlike her first kiss with Antonio, his first kiss with Lauren, there was nothing awkward or uncomfortable as his tongue gently slid between her lips.

Her hands wandered through his hair as the kissing got deeper, his hand gripped her hip. She could feel his erection growing against her leg and was very impressed to say the least. He left her lips and began kissing her neck, causing her to moan softly.

“Izzy! Dinner’s ready!” Her mother said as she knocked on the door.

That made them break apart quickly.

“We’ll be right down, Ma!”

“Uh…um…”

“Yeah…I guess we should…”

“Give me a minute?” He asked shyly.

“Sure,” she told him she straightened her ponytail and shirt before leaving her room.

“Where’s Rafael?”

“He was gonna wash his hands real quick, Dad.”

“Baby you look a little flushed. You’re not getting sick are you?” Stella asked as she felt her daughters head. “You feel a little warm.”

“I feel fine, Ma.”

Tony looked at his sister as if to say, “yeah, right, sis” to which he just glared at him.

Rafael finally joined them for dinner a few minutes later.

“What were you two doing up there?” Anthony laughed when Rafael sat down.

“She tried to kill me with one of those massive pillows on her bed.”

“You started it.”

“Wrong.”

“Just eat you two,” Stella told them.

Under the table, their knees kept knocking together lightly, both of them trying not to smile and give themselves away.

“Hey, Barba, what do you want to do after this?”

“Uh, Izz and I were just gonna watch some TV.”

“It’s Spring Break and you want to watch TV with my sister?”

“Go hang out with Tony, Rafa. I’ll see what Erin’s up to.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

*********

After dinner, Izzy helped her mom clean the kitchen as the guys left while she waited on Erin to come over. Erin was so embarrassed when her brother dropped her off in his squad car.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! He came up here after I knocked the shit out of him with my pillow and started tickling me and it just happened.”

“How was it?”

“So good. I kind of always thought he’d be a good kisser but oh…my…god. Then of course, my brother had to guilt him into going and doing something tonight.”

“I’m guessing if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here, and you two would be playing tonsil hockey again.”

“Do you have to be so crass, Erin?” Izzy laughed.

“I don’t have to be but your responses make it worth it.”

She got wacked with the same pillow Izzy had hit Rafael with earlier.

“Hey, I’m not gonna make out with you just because you whack me with a pillow.”

“Shut up.”

“You guys are so meant to be together.”

“Nah. It was just…fun. He just broke up with Lauren…it was a rebound thing, I think.”

“Please. For the last almost three years you two have been dancing back and forth with this. The two of you just need to give it up, in more ways than one.”

“Shut up.”

#rafael barba #Rafael barba/oc fanfic AU

6 notes · View notes

thatyaromanceblog · 6 years

Text

10 Underrated Books That You Definitely Should Read (P2)

Continuation from Part 1, linked which I will link whenever I figure out how to work links

6) I Stop Somewhere by T.E. Carter

(*Trigger warnings throughout the book for rape, sexual assault and rape culture as a whole*) Very dark and very, very difficult to read at times due to the nature of the book but, nonetheless, an important read. This book is about a girl who is raped and murdered by the sons of a rich property developer and, as a ghost, witnesses the boys rape countless other girls. This book very powerfully highlights the impact of rape culture on society and is very relevant to society today. Obviously the subject matter is extremely heavy and upsetting so it’s not something I would recommend unless you are truly comfortable with reading quite a graphic book.

7) Replica by Lauren Oliver

This story blends a modern, contemporary setting with a dystopian plot. The Haven Institute is an island off Florida which conducts experiments that nobody on the outside is quite sure of. Some say that scientists have found a way to create clones but nobody is certain. This book follows Lyra (or 24 which is her official name) who escapes the institute with 72 and meets Gemma, a girl whose father has strong connections with the Haven Institution. I have yet to meet someone who has read this book which is quite shocking because it’s such an incredible book. There is a sequel to this book, however, I didn’t like it as much as I liked this one.

8) Words in Deep Blue by Cath Crowley

This book is actually magical. The writing is absolutely breathtaking. When Rachel returns to the city, after three years of living by the sea, she is a completely different person. Her brother Cal is now dead and she failed her last year of secondary school and can’t go to college. Now, she’s working at Howling Books with Henry - the last person she wanted to see when she returned to the city. If you like bookshops, letter writing, beaches or nature then this book is perfect for you!

9) Louder Than Words by Laura Jarratt

Another book that nobody I know of has heard of, yet alone read. It’s about a girl called Rafi who has been mute for eight years who wants to find a way back into ‘normal life’ and to learn how to speak again. The book is so beautiful and its lack of popularity is so disappointing (John Keats’ poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci is really cleverly entwined in the novel).

10) It Only Happens in the Movies by Holly Bourne

I adore Holly Bourne and her writing so much. Her books are quite popular in the UK and Ireland but are completely underrated elsewhere. This book is about a girl called Audrey who, having seen relationship after relationship fall apart, is quite cynical towards romance. However, when she gets a job at the local cinema to escape from all the drama she is surrounded by, she meets Harry who is every single movie cliché rolled into one. I love how honestly love is portrayed in this book and how romance and dating is so completely different than movie expectations and, wow, this was a fantastic book.

#book #books #book review #bookworm #Book Recommendations #books and libraries #booklover #bookblr #bookblogger #reading #reader #read #tbr #holly bourne #dystopia

13 notes · View notes

junker-town · 7 years

Text

The 2018 NCAA tournament Anagram Bracket

This is probably the weirdest bracket you’ll see this year. But I don’t know your life.

It’s March Madness, and you know what that means! A bunch of writers at various websites make up fake, goofy brackets to entertain you while you stress about your team getting upset in the Second Round of the NCAA tournament. This is one of those brackets. Welcome to the entirely nonsensical and meaningless Anagram bracket!

The rules to this were simple (and even with easy rules this still took way more time than I’d anticipated, of course): for each team I chose the best anagram that could be made out of their core name. Which means no “University” or “College of,” only the name of the school as it appears on a standard bracket. If necessary (i.e. TCU or UMBC) I un-abbreviated it and worked with that — but only the core part still.

The “best” qualifier shouldn’t really mean anything concrete since it’s whatever my own brain thought was most funny as I went through the list, and my brain can get pretty random. I didn’t re-seed the anagrams once they were decided, mostly because that would take way too much time on top of the hours already spent here but also because way more upsets happened if I didn’t and that’s most of the fun of this.

Here are all of the anagrams chosen, as well as a brief explanation and some honorable mentions if there were any. See the bracket above for the final results.

Alabama - Baa Lama: What if a sheep was the Dali Lama?

Arizona - Rona Zia: The most Real Housewives name of this entire endeavor. (Honorable mentions include “Ian Zora” which in my head is Ian Ziering’s doppelgänger’s name.)

Arizona State - Artisan Azote: Azote is apparently an obscure name for Nitrogen, and who doesn’t love some artisan nitrogen?

Arkansas - Saran Ska: The most boring ska band on the block.

Auburn - Burn UA: This one worked out a little too well, rivalry-wise.

Bucknell - Bull neck: There’s only so many things you can make out of Bucknell and this one just sounds funny.

Buffalo - Flab UFO: Who knows?

Butler - Lube RT: This sounds like something out of the depths of Weird Twitter that I don’t want to ever learn about.

Cal State Fullerton - Alf Electoral Stunt: In my head, Alf pulled a Jill Stein somehow.

Charleston - Lace Thorns: The most metal band in all of Charleston’s garages.

Cincinnati - Actinic Inn: Not saying this would be an inn you want to stay at but it does sound interesting.

Clemson - Moles, NC: The ghost town a group of protagonists arrive at during the opening of a The Hills Have Eyes sequel.

Creighton - Cringe Hot: When you’re attracted to someone who you definitely shouldn’t be attracted to. (Honorable mentions include Rice Thong which ... no.)

Davidson - Adds Vino: Always add vino.

Duke - Ed UK: The name of that one guy who always sits at the end of the bar on a Tuesday night and never talks to anybody but keeps ordering the PBR and a shot special.

Florida - Old Rafi: A very “Florida Man” name.

Florida State - Faradise Lott: When you’re drunk and trying to argue about Paradise Lost with someone.

Georgia State - Reggae Taoist: This juxtaposition is slightly humorous. (Honorable mentions include Goatee Gratis and Agitate Ogres, both of which had a lot of potential.)

Gonzaga - Gaza Nog: Gonzaga definitely has some weird and probably dangerous Jungle Juice-adjacent drink called Gaza Nog.

Houston - Hun Soto: The knockoff version of the Han Solo movie.

Iona - No AI: Listen, there’s only so much you can do with Iona.

Kansas - NSA ska: Tell me there’s not a ska band made up of creatively frustrated NSA employees.

Kansas State - Satan Skates: Good mental image. (Honorable mentions include Santa Steaks and Satan Steaks, which is a fabulous fake corporate rivalry.)

Kentucky - Kent Yuck: Your kid’s AAU coach who you’re not sure if you can trust or not.

Lipscomb - Cop Limbs: Let’s not think about this one more than necessary.

LIU Brooklyn - Burly Lion OK: I’m not about to tell a burly lion he’s not okay.

Loyola (Chicago) - Alcoholic Yoga: As if I wasn’t going to give this one the nod.

Marshall - Mrs. Halal: Is there a Mr. Halal? (Honorable mentions include HR Llamas, another great mental image.)

Miami (Florida) - AD Flori Miami: An athletic director named Flori Miami would absolutely run a program in Florida and commit a million NCAA violations, the walk away scott free.

Michigan - Ham Icing: Disgusting, while also sounding like something you could get from a Michigan gas station.

Michigan State - Niche Stigmata: Oh you just got into stigmata? I prefer their old stuff way better. (Honorable mentions include Hesitant Magic, Atheist Macing, and Enigmatic Hats.)

Missouri - Iris Sumo: The name of a low-level female wrestler who has a very committed fanbase.

Montana - Ant Moan: Aren’t you at least a little curious about what an ant moan sounds like?

Murray State - MTA Treasury: Any sequel to The Hurricane Heist better revolve around the same team robbing the New York subway system’s treasury. Please.

Nevada - Dav Nae: That one dude in college who always tried to play you “Wagon Wheel” while you were lounging on the quad lawn.

New Mexico State - Cow Meat Sixteen: When the heir to a butcher conglomerate wants her Sweet Sixteen to be entirely burger-themed.

North Carolina Central - Carnal Crone Triathlon: Good (or at least weird) mental image.

North Carolina State - Harlots Recantation: That sounds like a party I’d want to go to.

North Carolina - Nonracial Thor: There weren’t many options here so let’s leave this one alone.

Ohio State - Otis Tahoe: The local mechanic who you inherently trust and is very nice but there’s something off about him.

Oklahoma - Koala Ohm: The most relaxing option on this list.

Penn - PENN: There was literally nothing to do with Penn. Sorry Penn.

Providence - Coven Pride: If you’re in a coven you should definitely be proud.

Purdue - Rude Up: I’m assuming this is a slang term the #teens are using these days.

Radford - Rad Ford: I may have given up on this one.

Rhode Island - Horde Island: The MILF Island spinoff you’ve been waiting for, from the mind of Jack Donaghy.

San Diego State - Geode Satanist: Sounds like a fun kind of Satanist.

Seton Hall - Lean Sloth: That sloth’s been hitting the gym.

South Dakota State - Had Stakeout Toast: Always make sure to bring snacks when on a stakeout.

St. Bonaventure - Ban Oven Utters: Not sure what “oven utters” would be but they definitely sound like something that should be banned.

Stephen F. Austin - Fishnet Peanuts: Again, not sure what this would actually be in real life.

Syracuse - Sauce Years: “I remember the Sauce Years ... the worst part of the Spaghetti Wars. We almost didn’t make it through ...”

TCU - Anarchists Exit: This would make a great stage direction.

Tennessee - Seen Teens: Try to say “seen teens in Tennessee” 10 times fast.

Texas - ET Sax: Picture ET playing a saxophone. You’re welcome.

Texas A&M - Meat Sax: Now picture ET playing a meat saxophone. You’re welcome again.

Texas Southern - Extraneous Host: This is a homemaker’s nightmare.

Texas Tech - Aches Text: The “There All Is Aching” of this bracket.

UCLA - Confessional Galleria: This just sounds really intriguing as a place?

UMBC - Abnormally Dotty Manicure: What a nightmare.

UNC Greensboro - Goober Scunner: This could easily be college slang that only students at UNC Greensboro use. You don’t know.

Villanova - Anvil Oval: “What is Wile E. Coyote’s worse nightmare, Alex?”

Virginia - Grain VII: You had to have seen Grains 1-6 to really understand the backstory of Grain VII.

Virginia Tech - Chianti Giver: My favorite theoretical person.

West Virginia - Gravities Win: Gravity always wins.

Wichita State - Satiate Witch: Just satiate the witch, to be safe. Witches seem like they’d be nicer if they are satiated.

Wright State - Tart Weights: Working out would definitely be more fun if the weights were tarts.

Xavier - Ax Lver: The license plate of the barista that lives in your neighborhood and thinks he’s metal.

Final Four: Meat Sax, Alcoholic Yoga, Lean Sloth, Mrs. Halal.

Champion: Alcoholic Yoga

0 notes

mundillotaurino · 5 years

Text

Calasparra : El Rafi et Hector Gutierrez se partagent les trophées

Calasparra, Mercredi 4 septembre 2019

5 novillos de Valdellan et 1 de Prieto de la Cal (1°) pour

Antonio Grande : silence et silence

Hector Gutierrez : une oreille et salut après 2 avis

El Rafi : une oreille et silence après avis

Calasparra. XXX Feria del Arroz.

Beau temps. Demie arène. Cuadra de caballos de « El Pimpi de Albacete ».

Lot de Valdellàn complété par un Pietro de la Cal. Lot…

View On WordPress

0 notes

hortaprecios-blog · 6 years

Text

Centramirsa

CENTRAMIRSA 21/06/18

PTO. CAL. VERDE 1: 0.70 pancho.

PTO. CAL. ROJO 1: 0.76 Emilio perez.

PTO. CAL. AMARILLO 1: 1.08 inda.

PTO. LAM. VERDE 2: 0.40 pedro tortas, 0.36 Placero, 0.33 Mariano zapata.

PTO. LAM. VERDE 1: 0.88 mariano zapata, 0.86 inda, 0.80 chari, 0.78 bernardo, 0.40 Rafi.

PTO. LAM. ROJO 2: 0.91 serra, 0.80 serra, 0.73 moreno, 0.70 pedro tortas, 0.66 chari.

PTO. LAM. ROJO 1: 1.33…

View On WordPress

#centramirsa

0 notes

chugsondeck · 7 years

Photo

Calvin: Jangan nangis Rafi, jalan saja ke depan pura-pura tak nampak kena gambar . Rafi: Masuk habuk gila mata saya . Eyon: Bila mau habis ni? . Bobby: Ntahla Yon. Jauh sudah kita jalan ni. . Jordan: Cal, kau blocking aku! . #tb @chugsondeck di Keningau . 📷: @sapparisharkawi . #CODtakeover2K17 #ChugsOnDeck #NorthBorneoEasycore #WeRunEasycore #NormaManipulogi http://ift.tt/2AhCCJp

0 notes

jamariyanews · 8 years

Text

Stragi "islamiche". Per marketing israeliano

Maurizio Blondet 24 dicembre 2016 Mentre i media sollevano il polverone utile ai mandanti, e sviluppano la “narrativa” conseguente , mi limito a sottolineare solo tre o quattro dati su Amri.

Il calibro ridicolo, un .22, della sua arma. Con la quale il terrorista ritiene opportuno sparare ai due agenti, dando così loro la motivazione legale per “rispondere al fuoco” (capirai, ne ha”ferito uno”) e freddarlo immediatamente. Nemmeno ferirlo, ma farlo secco subito. L’orrendo squarcio prodotto sulla giacca dell’agente ferito dal cal.22.

Il piazzale Primo Maggio dove è stato fulminato è a 300 metri dal Centro Islamico di via Tasso, dove c’è movimento continuo giorno e notte. Ma soprattutto, dove probabilmente il tunisino ha bussato o provato a bussare ad alcune porte che conosceva e riteneva ‘sicure’ (non aveva nemmeno ricambi d’abito), e che può aver trovato “chiuse”.

Il TIR polacco – mi indica un amico – prima di andarsi a schiantare a Berlino aveva fatto un carico alla OMM srl. In via Cesare Cantù 8, a Cinisello. Ossia a un chilometro dal piazzale della Stazione di Sesto dove Amri ha trovato la morte.

Dunque, Amri si è fatto ammazzare là dove il camion polacco era partito per il suo ultimo viaggio; e forse dal punto in cui anche lui era venuto. Siamo sicuri che all’andata, oltre alle merci da portare a Berlino, il polacco non portasse anche Amri, caricato anche lui a Cinisello? Spesso i guidatori di TIR caricano clandestini dietro compenso.

(un amico, Nuke the Whales, mi fa notare quanto segue: Caro Blondet, e se la realtà fosse che il buon Samri non si sia mai mosso da Milano? Questo spiegherebbe molte cose, magari è rimasto rinatato in un buco per poi scoprire di essere accusato di essere un terrorista. per poi incappare “casualmente” in un controllo. Sì, mi sembra più plaudibile. A “viaggiare ” e giungere a Berlino possono essere stati i suoi documenti di identità, per incastrarlo. Come ho fatto a non pensarci ?) Infine il video in cui Amri si dichiara vendicatore dell’IS e bla bla bla. E’ firmato dalla solita e nota sigla (che i media hanno generalmente nascosto):SITE di Rita Katz. A mio parere è una firma. Secondo me, bisognerebbe indagare se l’organizzazione che sta dietro la sigla SITE fa’ fare questi video a gente che ha condannato alla morte jihadista, e che convince con qualche soldo. Compito facile, si tratta di marginali Da valutare insieme alle altre che rendono la strage di Berlino così simile a quella di Nizza il 14 luglio. Anche qui, alla strage è presente un israeliano, Shlomo Shpiro. Un esperto di terrorismo, docente di “terrorismo” (sic) nell’università Bar-Illan di Tel Aviv, uomo dei servizi, decorato per non si sa quali meriti da Shimon Peres nel 2010. Naturalmente i nostri quattro lettori ricordano che a Nizza, proprio nel momento, si trovava il fortunato giornalista tedesco Richard Gutjahr, marito di Einat Wilf, deputata israeliana, estremista e interna ai servizi. Ma non basta: colui che ha fatto il video più completo sulla sparatoria degli agenti francesi che, di notte, circondano il camion del terrorista, è un ebreo: Ynet News (l’agenzia dei coloni) lo chiama Silvan Ben Weiss. Il suo vero nome (o il suo altro nome) è Sylvain Ben-ouaich. Uno che ha lavorato come uomo della security per la ditta vinicola Baron Edmond de Rotschild, nonché, per 12 anni, per lo Israel Export Institute, una agenzia del governo sionista, che è stata a lungo diretta da Rafi Eitan, un leggendario dirigente del Mossad. (Per vedere il suo video e il suo profilo di fanatico israeliano, qui: http://ift.tt/2a0eOKb). Ricordo che anche il giorno della strage “islamista” di Charlie Hebdo, il primo video col telefonino fu preso – da chi? Nelle prime ore, si disse: da Amchai Stein. Nientemeno che il vicedirettore della tv israeliana Channel 1, che si disse, s’era rifugiato sul tetto. Poi la notizia è scomparsa, e si è dichiarato autore del video tale Martin Boudot, giornalista di agenzia, precario, che dice di essere andato a trovare quel giorno l’agente di guardia a Charlie Hebdo, suo amico di sempre . Che quel giorno non c’era.

Anche al Bataclàn

Il sangue è ancor fresco quando la foto è stata scattataAnche nella spaventosa strage del Bataclàn c’è stata una “firma” israeliana. E’in quella che pare esser l’unica foto dell’interno del teatro, sparso di cadaveri tra fiumi di sangue, un’immagine orrenda che, dopo, è stata mostrata solo sfocata. Chi ha diffuso per primo quella foto? La fonte più strana: Israel Hatzolah, il gruppo – con sede a Gerusalemme – di soccorritori ultra-sionisti che, spesso, vediamo intervenire (con la kippah e i cernecchi) a portare i feriti in attentati in Israele. Ma come mai uno dei volontari si trovava all’interno del Bataclàn subito dopo la strage? (per tutti i particolari vedere qui: http://ift.tt/1XkgChB). Così informati, torniamo al nostro esperto che era a Breitscheidplatz pochi minuti prima che avvenisse la strage. Lo ha raccontato il Juedische Allgemeine, giornale ebraico di Berlino: http://ift.tt/2hWbL9e Lo stesso giornale poi intervista l’esperto, e gli chiede: “Cosa la Germania può imparare da Israele” nella lotta al terrorismo islamico? Shlomo Shpiro – consulente anche della NATO per il terrorismo (come farlo?).http://ift.tt/2hBcJqq “Fare come Israele”, “impariamo da Israele”, è il leitmotiv che è risonato anche dopo la strage di Nizza. “Facciamo come in Israele. Ognuno diventi sentinella “ Dureghello (presidente della Comunità ebraica romana). Civiltà in pericolo. Va > alzata l’attenzione da parte di tutti” di Filippo Caleri (Il Tempo, > 18 luglio 2016)_ “Finalmente, con anni di ritardo, molti comprendono in Italia e in Europa che l’unico modo per ridurre – non per annullare – la minaccia terroristica è imparare dagli israeliani, che convivono da sempre con un terrorismo islamico feroce, ma sanno contrastarlo e contenerlo come nessuno al mondo” (Meno comfort e privacy valgono il prezzo della libertà” Carlo Panella (il famoso neocon) (Libero, 21 luglio 2016): “Dovete tutti sentirvi parte di un esercito in guerra di Fausto Carioti (Libero, 21 luglio 2016): «… “Sicurezza negli aeroporti: perché adottare il sistema israeliano ” di Gabriele Mirabella (Voci di Città, 22 luglio 2016). Sono solo alcuni dei titoli che sono apparsi sui media italici subito dopo l’attentato di Nizza (potrei mettercene dozzine). Quanto agli articoli, il tono è- come definirlo? – pubblicitario. Sono consigli per gli acquisti della insuperabile security che Israele ha sviluppato nella repressione alla resistenza palestinese. Ecco un esempio di pubblicità. “L’efficacia di questo sistema risiede principalmente nell’abilità di un personale di sicurezza altamente qualificato più che nell’utilizzo accentuato dei body scanner o di qualche altro macchinario all’avanguardia. Poco importa se i passeggeri sono costretti ad attendere tre ore prima di imbarcarsi, passando attraverso ben cinque livelli di sicurezza, se ciò significa assicurare l’incolumità fisica di fronte alla minaccia globale del terrorismo…”. E pullulano ditte (start up) che vendono la sicurezza alla israeliana con grande successo, tutte fatte da ex militari o mossadiani. Una di queste appartiene a Marco Carrai, l’amico israeliano di Matteo Renzi, o il suo “controllo”…. Ma non precorriamo i tempi. E’ certo che la security israeliana – ovviamente creata e gestita da “ex” agenti del Mossad dotati di esperienza repressiva – è un gran business. O può esserlo, se nell’opinione pubblica europea si crea un sufficiente allarme per il terrorismo. “Dovete tutti sentirvi parte di un esercito in guerra”, e allora chiederete al governo di comprare il know how israeliano. A caro prezzo, ma che importa? Ne va della vostra vita. Ora non fatemi dire che coloro che propongono la rinomata juden-security possono benissimo anche provocare gli attentati terroristici – come forma di marketing. E che il Mossad lo sa e può fare senza il minimo scrupolo, come ha già dimostrato più volte nella storia. Se avete questa idea, io me ne dissocio con forza. Mi limito a ricordare che pochi mesi prima della strage islamica del 14 luglio, Olivier Rafowic, colonnello della riserva di Tsahal, si trovava a Nizza con una “equipe israeliana” proprio per “valutare” la sicurezza della città; l’ha trovata scarsa, e quindi ha proposto al Comune un ottimo sistema di juden-security chiavi-in-mano. L’ha spiegato lo stesso colonnello Rafowic alla tv i24, israeliana- francese: http://ift.tt/2a63eiO Si doveva anche tenere un congresso di israeliani, proprio a Nizza. Un convegno internazionale sulla sicurezza e le sue falle, più volte rimandato, e infine cancellato dopo la strage del 14 luglio. Guardate qui gli organizzatori: http://ift.tt/2hBfUOV Boaz Ganor, il rettore della Lauder School of Government and Diplomacy at the Interdisciplinary Center. Fondatore e direttore esecutivo International Policy Institute for Counter-Terrorism, è anche membro della Israel’s National Committee for Homeland Security Technologies. Un lettore del sito francese ha commentato: “Sembra la Mafia che propone ‘protezione’ a un commerciante, che se non paga il pizzo trova le vetrine del negozio rotte…”. Ma è un’idea mostruosamente cospirativa e antisemita, da cui tutti noi ci dissociamo con forza. Forse questo articolo richiederà un’altra puntata, sul lato italiano della cyber security. Per intanto buon Natale a tutti, e godetevi la narrativa mediatica. Originale, con video: http://ift.tt/2hmiM6a http://ift.tt/2iYdzBT

0 notes

mongooseblues · 3 years

Text

Never Tell a Morales You’re Sick

Got a couple anon asks for a Cal/Rafael thing with sick Rafie! I had a lot of fun with it and it was kind of a perfect way to pre-introduce Rafie’s family. Also it was just very cool and flattering to get requests for OC content, thank you for your interest in my characters it means the world to me.

This is based toward the beginning of their relationship, so it’s the first time Cal’s seen Rafie sick.

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

Rafael definitely had not meant to fall asleep for quite this long, and when he awakes in a much darker apartment for a moment he’s disoriented, like he’s lost his place in time. He extracts himself from what has just proven itself a dangerously comfortable couch, pillow crease-marked and muzzy, still in his now very rumpled uniform shirt. The residual swamp of confusing dreams has still not entirely fallen away and he tries to simultaneously remember and forget a dream about having to paint a Vespa with tri-part pearl white, which would be a very dumb thing to have to do to a Vespa.

Scents he can half-smell in the air: onion, peppers, tomato, beans, something spicy… habichuelas guisadas? Very Cal of him to delve into Dominican dishes unsupervised. Such an Aquarius, Rafael thinks, as he snatches tissues from a nearby box to deal with the fact that his nose has been dripping down his face over the course of this nap and he’s just noticed he’s decidedly damp.

He blows his nose in a manner that can only be described as aggressively thorough and then pads into the kitchen, groggy with the reminder that napping during the day always just makes him feel shittier. But to be fair falling asleep this time was an accident, not a decision, and you know you’re sick when that’s the case, when your consciousness is stolen right out from under your nose. Your incredibly fucking runny nose.

“Why hello, good evening,” Cal says, looking up from quickly and rhythmically chopping cilantro.

“You let me sleep so long,” Rafie groans.

“I figured you needed it. How are you feeling?”

Rafael drags in a sniffle, scratches at an eyebrow, thinks for a second. “Heavy.”

“Aww Rafie,” Cal says, because apparently this word alone is pitiable, rinsing off his hands and going to him then, assessing, scanning worried eyes down Rafie’s face and body like he’s a paramedic or something, checking his vitals. “You still look exhausted, my love.”

Rafael just nods in agreement as Cal brings a hand to his forehead yet again and this time he can’t help but laugh. “That’s the fourth time you’ve checked me for fever, I still don’t have one.”

“Well you never know.”

“I do know. It’s just a cold, papi. Calm down okay?”

He knows Cal wants to baby him, Rafael can see it in his face—in that silly pout, those eyebrows downturned in concern, that shiny-eyed sympathy. For a cold.

Cal kisses his forehead, lingers there. “Hmmm I feel like you do feel a little warm though, no? ¿Un poco?”

He laughs as Cal tests the back of his hand against both of his cheeks, then checks his own forehead for a moment to compare.

“Un poquito,” Cal decides.

“Okay, snf! fine, sure.”

“Wait hang on lemme check again,” he says, pressing another kiss to Rafael’s brow and provoking laughter. “Lehhmme check again.” And another. “Lehhhh—”

“You’re ridiculous,” Rafael grins, ducking away to go assess the food situation, sidling up to the pot on the stove, inspecting the nearby spices Cal’s pulled from the rack. “Did you put that garam masala in this??”

Cal says, “Maybe.”

Rafael gives him the side eye combined with a poorly hidden smile. “No respect, snff!”

“It works though, I swear.”

“We’ll see,” Rafael says, taking the lid off the pot to meet with wafting steam he can’t take more than three breaths from before he’s replacing the lid to turn away abruptly and hastily fishing a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, face falling in tandem with its disappearance into cloth folds. A wavering inhale transitions into a sharp sneeze, half-suppressed but audibly wet. “uhh-hh-CHISSHH!”

“Salud! Rafie, is that not covered in paint or wax or something?”

He sniffs thickly and turns to look at Cal, barely able to raise his face before his breath falters again. “I haven’t used… hih-hh? hit’chushh!”

“Dinero.”

“Snfff! I haven’t used this-h?-for-h!— t’chiish-shuh!”

“Amor.”

Rafael abandons his attempt at the sentence and manages to mumble “Chinga,” but even that is breathy and uncertain, a last stop on his way to a final forceful, itchy-sounding, “Huht’CHIZSHHoo!”

Cal’s run out of Spanish blessings so he says, “God bless you, sneezy,” in a tone that’s transitioned to a mixture of surprise and sympathy.

Rafael finally looks up, eyebrows raised, face hazy, cloth still pressed loosely to his nose. “I haven’t used this for that, papi, sxfffh! It’s just a handkerchief.”

Truthfully it’s an accessory, normally, and in fact that’s how he was wearing it this morning. It was repurposed by noon.

“Okay I do want you to taste this though so I know if I need to adjust anything,” Cal says, as he removes the lid from the pot again to dip a spoon into the mixture and offer it up to Rafael. “What do you think, is it good?”

The dish is spiced richly enough that he’s still able to taste it through muted senses, spicy enough that he knows dinner’s gonna make his nose run like a faucet. “Yes, snff! Okay, yes it’s good.”

Cal grins, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Don’t tell my grandmother I said that.”

“Oh! I also made you tea I almost forgot,” Cal says, turning to the fancy electric kettle Rafael secretly doesn’t understand how to use.

“I don’t really drink tea.”

“I know but you’re sick and it’s what sick people do and I happen to know my way around a teapot.”

This is not the first time Rafael has heard him phrase it this way, ‘I know my way around a teapot,’ which provokes an eye roll but makes him feel fond and stupid.

Cal goes over ingredients and their benefits, while Rafael sniffles and dissociates through an unsolicited spiel about how marshmallow root will help coat and soothe his irritated mucus membranes, and when the cup is pressed into his hands the runny nose immediately worsens.

He pulls himself away from the mug with a murmured “Aghh,” sniffling desperately as he feels the warmth of melting congestion in his face.

“That steam is doing a number on you isn’t it? Another benefit of tea, it kinda clears out your sinuses.”

Rafael wonders why Cal feels the need to talk about things like his irritated mucus membranes and disgustingly drippy sinuses as he grabs a paper towel he’s told not to use and Cal runs, actually runs, to grab the tissue box from where it was left on the coffee table. Rafael presses the paper towel to his nose, digging it into his nostrils, trying to absorb the mess before it makes itself visible, trying to just make it go away.

“Here, Rafie, don’t use that, you’re gonna tear up your poor skin.”

Rafael glances up from the paper towel and levels a look at this fussy Florence Nightingale version of his boyfriend. “Dios mío papi you—” He does grab a tissue then, just in time to cup it over his mouth and nose and wince into a sneeze he forces through his teeth, accompanied by a quick little jerk of his head.

Fucking steam— “ht’chishh! You’re… h? Hh!” Fucking tea— “huh’chishoo!”

“Saaalud.”

“You’re-hh!-worsethan-h?” He loses his breath, a slave to it, shaking his head and finally just surrendering whatever tenuous control he has, letting it overtake him, letting his body rid itself of the aggravating tingly sensation the only way it sees fit to, with three quiet explosions that nonetheless shiver through him and leave him breathless and leaky.

“Huh-hhh! t’chishu, t’chishhoo! uh-h-huh? …T’CHoo!”

“Awww, bless you bless you bless you Rafie, poor thing.”

Rafael blows his nose into a less soaked tissue as Cal passes him the mug again, asks, “You okay? You got it?” and with absolutely no sense of self preservation tries to trade the tea for the soggy tissues half disintegrating in Rafael’s hand.

“Papi do not take my used tissues, what is wrong with you?” He finally finishes a stuffy sentence whose relevance has only increased. “You’re worse—snfff!—than my family.”

Cal’s eyebrows are quirked in curiosity. “What do you mean, how so?”

“Just, do not tell my family I’m ill,” Rafael says, taking a seat in a barstool at the counter and carefully setting down the tea he doesn’t want, “it’ll be a whole thing.”

“Uh… so I did actually tell Alma.”

“What? Why??” he asks, grabbing Cal’s arm.

“My goodness Rafie,” he says, of the sudden panicked snatch at his sleeve. “She called me because you weren’t picking up while you were napping and I just explained that you were—”

“Papiiii,” he groans, sinking his head into his hands and speaking through fingers, “you never tell a Morales you’re sick. And you definitely never tell Alma Morales you’re sick.”

“Why not?”

“When did you talk to her?”

“Maybe an hour ago?”

Rafael sighs at length and says through laughter born of frustration, “Ahhh Cal, of course you did.”

Now that he doesn’t live with his absolute gossip of a brother Andres, Rafael really thought he could escape it this time, the whole silly procession. To for once just be sick and gross alone, or with Cal but not with his entire goddamn family.

“I don’t understand, your family’s so sweet.”

“We’re about to have four, five, maybe six women in this kitchen fussing over me.”

“Awww wait really?” Cal asks, a hand over his heart like it’s about to burst.

“Yes, really, snfff! They’re going t-to…” An irrepressible tingle roars back to life courtesy of a rogue sniffle. Rafael’s mouth falls agape as he hurriedly pulls another tissue to his twitching nose, face propped up by his elbows on the counter, head bobbing fitfully foreword with a ticklish little, “t’chish!”

“Salud.”

Rafael speaks through the tissue, aware he won’t get far but desperate to convey the words his breath hitches and stutters through, disrupting himself with sneezes that sound progressively messier. “They’re going to come over here with foods and medicines and their-h? theirlittleremedies-h-hand— Hit’chushoo!”

“Dinero.”

“And direct me huh-h-haround like-hh? I’m… t’CHIZSH! hh’CHUSHHHoo!”

“Amor.”

“Snff! Like I’m a child, snffh!”

“I know you’re mad,” Cal says, pausing as Rafael blows his nose forcefully, “but that sounds like it’d be adorable, Rafie, oh my god.”

“You don’t know, papi,” Rafael insists, “they’re very bossy. You wouldn’t find it so adorable if it was you they were about to do this to.”

“Are you kidding?? I would love to have four to six Dominican women fussing over me if I wasn’t feeling well, I would love nothing more.”

Rafael wants to explain, no you don’t understand, they treat a case of the sniffles as if you’re dying, it’s emasculating, it’s annoying, it’s a huge waste of time, one of the remedies involves onion tea, onion tea with honey. He wants to impress upon Cal that if he did have this he probably wouldn’t like it. But maybe he would, and either way… Cal would have to have something like this to know what’s it’s like, and he doesn’t.

“Well I’m sure they’d love another victim so next time you get a cold I’ll call them up.”

Cal’s smiling to himself as he turns off the stovetop and Rafael is about to wonder whether he’s being ungrateful when the doorbell rings and he just about jumps out of his skin.

There’s a gasp of pure delight from Cal and Rafael turns to him, suddenly suspicious. “Did you tell them to come, did you plan this??”

“No, not at all, honestly, but I love that it’s happening.”

Rafael grumbles under his breath that he can’t believe they’d just invite themselves over even though he absolutely can, hurriedly gathers the used tissues he’s strewn over the counter, sneaks in one last hasty nose blow and throws them away, snuffling so hard he nearly chokes as he pulls unruly hair back into the kinda-bun it was in earlier.

“Caliph. How many women are outside that door right now?”

Cal peers through the peephole, lowering his voice. “Four. Wait, there’s Fernanda coming up too. Five.”

“You are in trouble, papi chulo.”

He grins and it’s undeniably seductive, one hand on the doorknob. “Punish me later.”

#mongoose writes sometimes #Cal/Rafie #Cal #Rafie #took me a while to figure out Rafie’s snz #stoked to introduce Alma and the fact that I shared this first so her reputation precedes her is very ideal #Cal enjoys the 3 part Spanish blessing as much as I do #having a lotta fun with their little cultural fusion #also feel free to send prompts if you want! no promises but I love getting asks! 💕#Cal as caretaker #Alma

73 notes · View notes