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0alanasworld0 · 6 months

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Rewards (Abde Ezzalzouli x reader)

Description: you finally reward your champion for his efforts ; the long long long awaited part 2 of Hero

warnings: smut

“Come on, anjo. I think I’ve waited long enough…” not that you wanted to keep him away from so long but you better than to tire him out during what could be an extremely important trophy run. The first in his career and the first for Morocco this season.

The run with Osasuna hadn’t ended in the way he hoped and you had the same rules in place for him. But this was different. The path was so much clearer. Both of you knew it. He wasn’t alone this time. The U23s should be a piece of cake for someone of his level.

The gold medal hanging on your neck as proof of it. His eyes are still tired but you can feel him harden against your thigh and now there was nothing stopping the pair of you. You were a different level of desperate. At least he had his distractions, all you could do was sit and wait and watch him do his thing on the pitch. Hair dripping with water by the end of his matches, jersey sticking to his skin and revealing the diamond-cut abs. Skin flushed. His temper flaring up every once in a while with each dirty tackle (which there were very many of), the celebrations dedicated towards you. He had you flustered every single time and there was nothing you could do about it.

You dont waste any time dropping yourself onto him for a searing kiss, near bruising. His hands flat on your back to keep you flush against him and your own tugging at his hair and feeling down his body. You had missed this beyond what he could express and judging by the way he was preventing you from pulling away, it was safe to say that he was pretty desperate as well. Deft fingers making quick work of the lacy bralette, still almost tearing it while pulling it off you and throwing it elsewhere in the hotel room. His hands groped and squeezed at the newly exposed skin, circling and rolling the sensitive nipples into soft peaks while you whined, still doing your best to continue the kiss.

Next are the panties, he loops his fingers through the waist band, pulling suddenly and causing a loud tearing sound to echo through the room. Your eyes widen with surprise and you pull away from the kiss to look at him properly, panting slightly.

“You made me wait a whole month, can we please get on with it?” he whispers breathlessly in between smaller kisses and you can’t help but laugh.

“You should thank me, you wouldn’t have been able to do any of that if I was tiring you out every night hmm?” you tease and he can only groan softly, a stark contrast to the way he’s grabbing at you. Growing more and more desperate by the second.

Soon enough, the teasing begins to take its toll on you and you decide that enough is enough. A whole month. 4 weeks. 31 days you had gone without so the adjustment was quite something for the pair of you. You can only gasp, jaw dropping as he slowly sinks into you and he’s doing everything he can to stop himself finishing the job for you. You were going pretty slowly and his muscles twitched, holding off from pulling you against him again and fucking up into you. That would be for later, he supposed as he tried to relax and enjoy the contact.

“You’re squeezing me, anjo. For someone who was pretty happy teasing me, you sure seem desperate as well” he laughs, thrusting up into you lightly, just to get you to gasp again. The sight of you is one to behold: eyes rolled back, chest heaving, slightly shaking already, the feeling of your hands gripping his shoulders for some, any form of stability.

You have no choice but to start off slow, as much as it pained the pair of you. He certainly wasn’t on the smaller side so you needed time to adjust but the friction was too good to stay still. He brushed against you in the most painfully pleasurable way, you couldn’t believe that you managed to hold off him for so long. This was too good to miss. He didn’t even have to do anything himself and you were on the very edge, just from that first bit of contact.

“So fucking pretty, you know? Could stay like this with you forever-” he breathes out before groaning loudly, the feeling of you finally managing to gain your rhythm… he was beyond fucked out.

“Keep winning those matches and maybe we can…” you manage to say as your eyes fluttered to a close, trying to commit the feeling of him inside you to memory. It was that paired with the feeling of his huge hands roaming your body. Even in a moment of desperation and pure lust, things were so intimate with him. It robbed you of the last of your breath.

You thought it was bad enough, already on the edge, being pulled up and down to fit his pace until you could manage on your own. It was fast, his cock pressing against all of the right spots. You didn’t think it could get any more mind-numbingly pleasurable until you feel one of his hands slither down to where you were connected.

The sudden pressure and friction against your clit was the final blow. You manage to keep going for a good minute, still keeping your pace as his fingers make quick, tight circles on the little bud. Eventually it does grow too much, your movements grow sloppy as your release crashes over you. You had done so well to hold off before but this was too much. It had been too long and he was making sure you were at the peak of pleasure for far too long. You can’t help the sounds you make either: a broken cry of relief. Eventually you do a complete close as you drop down onto him, trying your best to catch your breath. His hand slows, but not a complete pause and he lets a few experimental thrusts into you to let you ride things out. That and he was having too much fun analysing your reactions and the feeling of you gushing and fluttering over his cock was heavenly.

“All that teasing, sweetheart. I thought you could handle it?” he jokes, laughing breathlessly before flipping the pair of you over and manhandling you so that you were laying on your stomach. He lines himself up again, pressing kisses to the back of your neck before continuing.

“You’re okay?” he asks, a warm hand smoothing over your back and you smile into the pillow.

“Do your thing, mi campeon…” you whisper, nuzzling into the soft material as you brace yourself for the hell he was going to unleash.

One last kiss to your neck is all the warning you get before he starts rutting into you. It’s not rough per say, his arms snake under you to wrap around your middle and his chest is pressed against your back as he thrusts slowly into you. It was more the friction than anything else that had you keening. So so unbearably intimate, he was so warm, his breath against the back of your neck and shoulder, his strong arms keeping you from moving away.

“Thank you for motivating me” he mumbles and you smile.

“I didn’t think you would ever be grateful for the no sex rule but I’m glad you’re coming around” you joke and he chuckles before accidentally thrusting a little harder and faster into you. You both moan out in surprise as he presses against a sensitive spot and you clench particularly tightly around him.

“Not that-” he rasps, trying to catch his breath before continuing.

“I will never approve of that stupid rule.” he mutters pointedly and you laugh a little.

“Everyday I come back from training looking and feeling like death and I have the most beautiful, kind, unbearably perfect girl waiting for me…” he squeezes his arms around you gently.

“You take such good care of me, Anjo. You make me so fucking happy. Never leave.” he whispers the last bit and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Never.” you assure but it isn’t enough so he flips you over, managing to stay inside you but now he can look at you. His hazel eyes boring into your own, swirling pools of desperation, lust and love.

“I mean it, pretty. It’s me and you forever, right?” he presses his forehead against yours.

“Always.” you once again assure before bringing him in for a heated kiss. Somewhere in between he starts thrusting again. He’s snapping his hips faster than before, his hands with a bruising grip on your hips and you feel yourself tumbling into yet another imminent orgasm.

“Give me one more, anjo. Be a good girl for me?” he rests his head in the crook of your neck, sucking splotchy marks into the delicate skin before lapping at the fresh bruises.

He crashes before you this time, delivering an especially harsh thrust, forcing himself as deep as he could before finding his release. The sudden movements and the friction against that spot send you hurtling to yours not long after. Although it's softer this time. He wasn’t prolonging it, your muscles were tired and your mind was floating in a warm and fuzzy place that you couldn’t quite describe. It hadn’t been long at all but both of you were thoroughly satisfied, exhaustion kicking in once again.

He lets his head drop down to your chest as you try to catch your breath still. Your hands immediately find their way up his back and to his damp hair. You lightly scratch at his scalp as he hums out in relief, tightening the arms around your middle, needing to be as close as physically possible.

“You take such good care of me…” he swoons and you laugh, a smile finding its way to his face at the feeling of your chest rising and rumbling, the sound of your joy.

“You do the same for me, mi campeon.” you assure him. It felt impossible. Things were so perfect with him. You made each other so happy just by being present. Never did he ever make you feel like you were second best. He never ran out of sweet little gestures, always going the extra mile, you were always on his mind and the feelings were mutual for him.

The month had been exhausting. Coming off such an intense season, the first of his professional career and straight into an equally intense tournament. He had so much to prove in such little time and you had been his rock throughout. All he could do was love and admire your strength, your kindness, your love. He had you flustered all the time. You were fairly shy and that hadn’t really changed even when he came along. His words always dripping with the most addictive honey. You maybe didn’t realise it but the little things you did had him preening in the same way. Soft touches, soothing words, timid little hugs and kisses. He loved every second of it and it was what motivated him to keep going. He had his precious little anjo waiting for him and he wanted to make her proud.

“I still have a lot to improve on, you know?” he mumbles tiredly and you roll your eyes, a small smile on your face.

“You’ll do it. You always find a way.” you assert, not a hint of doubt in your voice and he finds himself growing more and more mesmerised by the second. How were you real?

“Seriously, anjo. Never leave me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” another squeeze of his arms around your waist and neither of you speak another word. It’s early morning and the team were intending on a little field trip together to celebrate but that could wait. He felt his eyes drooping to a close, his breaths slowing down. The soothing thump of your heart was slowing, chest rising and falling more deeply. Your hands remained in his hair but the gentle scratches came to a stop. He finds the strength to grab the duvet and throw it over both of you. You both let the sleepiness overtake you. He had earned a proper lie-in anyway. So you both drift into a blissful slumber, together.

“We’re not leaving without them, Abde’s the reason we won this whole thing in the first place!” Bilal insists, stomping up the hotel stairs and to Abde's room door, knocking loudly with Chadi on the phone, trying to stop him. All in vain of course as the barrage continues.

What Bilal doesn’t expect is a smug and slightly confused Abde standing behind him. A clear of the throat finally puts an end to the noise and Bilal turns around to the sight of his friend groggy as ever, hair dishevelled, PJs still on.

“Can I help you?’ Abde asks nonchalantly, honestly forgetting about the trip to the mall that they had agreed on.

“Yeah, actually! How could you forget?!” Bilal asks incredulously.

“Oh right…” he feels slightly guilty, the trip sounded fun at the time but as of now? His priorities were elsewhere.

“Yeah, I don't think the missus is in the mood, maybe another time, yeah?” Abde pats his friend’s shoulder, a smirk on his face as he opens his room door, closing it behind him.

“They’re actually disgusting.” Bilal shakes his head, making his way back down to the ground floor where everyone else waited.

“I tried to tell you.

i will explain myself in another post LMFAO IM SORRY

#abde ezzalzouli #ez abde #footballer fic #football fluff #football fanfics #football fanfic #footballer x you #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #morocco #morocco nt #football smut #footballer fanfiction #football imagine

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shop-korea · 2 months

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mexico86hq · 1 year

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Andreas Brehme speaks to Mexico86HQ

The World Cup winner, who has just released his autobiography, on how West Germany's over-achievement in Mexico led to their 1990 glory, and meeting Johan Cruyff as a kid..!

Andreas Brehme watched on as his penalty hit the back of the net to secure West Germany's victory over Argentina in the final minutes of the 1990 World Cup Final in Rome. Four years earlier, his view in the closing stages of the Mexico 86 finale against the same opponents had been rather less enjoyable. Brehme was the closest German player to Diego Maradona as he found a yard of space to turn and brilliantly release Jorge Burruchaga, who, of course, beat the offside trap, outsprinted Hans-Peter Briegel and rolled the ball home to confirm Argentina's epic win at the Azteca.

While the 1990 final was glorious for the Germans, it was a turgid affair. 1986 was possibly the most exciting ever – until Argentina and France pretty much replayed it and then some in 2022 – but the Germans' gung ho approach that saw them claw back from 2-0 down before throwing it all away in the dying seconds still rankles with Brehme, one of the great full-backs of the 1980s and 1990s.

“Argentina was out of power in the game and if there would have been extra time, who knows,” Brehme told Mexico86HQ. “But we were naive and stupid and wanted to score the third goal immediately. But in the end, Argentina deserved the win.

“Maradona was in 1986 unstoppable and at the peak of his career. We tried to mark him very closely, but you can’t do this for 90 minutes.”

No one gave us a chance

Despite defeat, Brehme and the German camp were thrilled by their performance in Mexico. In an era of players abruptly discarding runners up medals, it's perhaps surprising to discover in Brehme's new autobiography, Sure-Footed, that the team were the guests of honour at a celebratory dinner on their return from Mexico.

After all, reaching the final was some achievement considering the low expectations for the Germans ahead of the tournament.

“The team was very proud of becoming runners up and also the people in Germany made us a great welcome in Frankfurt after the tournament,” Brehme said.

“At the beginning no one gave us a chance. We had played a bad 1984 EURO, so we were definitely not a contender for the title. But we knew about our skills and during the tournament we got stronger and stronger.

“There were the older stars like Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, Felix Magath or Klaus Allofs, who were the leaders in the squad. But they welcomed us younger players very well and at the end of the day we were a great team.

“Of course I was always close with Lothar (Matthaus) and Litti (Pierre Littbarski). With both players I played already at the U-21 team together.

“How did we relax during the tournament? During the World Cup you focus on your next match and do not have a lot of distraction. Also Franz was keen on having a strong discipline in the team.”

Surprising the French

The Germans had begun the tournament poorly, going behind against Uruguay but eventually securing a point. A 2-1 win against Scotland followed before a defeat against the mighty Danes, who gave some of their players a rest.

The Germans were hardly more impressive as the knockout stages got under way, but found a way to keep on progressing. They needed a late, late Lothar Matthaus free-kick to defeat Morocco before a penalty shoot-out win against hosts Mexico in Monterrey.

The highlight of their tournament came in the semis as they cruised past France 2-0 in Guadalajara, just days after the European champions had beaten Brazil in a classic match in the same stadium.

Brehme put the Germans ahead early on, with the free-kick beginning an incredible run of goals in big games for the full-back. In 86 appearances he scored just eight goals, but five of those came in major championships, including the 1986 and 1990 semis, the knockout game against the Netherlands in 1990, the opening game of Euro 88 and, of course, that winner in the 1990 World Cup Final.

“I think France really underestimated us,” Brehme said. “Once we were leading we could seal the bag by one counter attack - that’s football.

“Somehow I scored the really important goals! At the end, I just did my job and, of course, I was one of the penalty and free kick specialists in the team.”

Brehme has little doubt that the 1986 run paved the way for their success at 1990, when they were formidable from start to finish.

He said: “Four years later we were at the peak. Mexico was, of course, a very important experience on our way to win the World Cup.”

youtube

Meeting Cruyff

Brehme’s autobiography - available in German, English and Italian – takes us from his fledgling years to the German Olympic squad of 1984, his success with FC Kaiserslautern and Bayern Munich and his big money move to Internazionale in Serie A’s heyday alongside Jurgen Klinsmann and Matthaus. Of course, we get a full behind the scenes tour of West Germany’s glorious run of 1990, including a stunning description of how exactly it feels to have the eyes of the entire world on you as you stand waiting to take a penalty kick in the last five minutes of a World Cup Final!

We also find out what it was like to work under Franz Beckenbauer, the towering figure of German football who was a rookie when he became his nation’s coach in 1984.

Brehme said: "In the last years many fans have asked me about the story of my career. There is great interest from the younger generation about football in the 80s and 90s and how it all begun."

Brehme, now 62, played in three World Cups, with Germany’s early departure from USA ‘94 a sad finale for such a fantastic international career.

His first World Cup experience came some 20 years before that when as a young child he saw his nation win the title on home soil in 1974. However, while Brehme beamed as Franz Beckenbauer lifted the trophy, the then 13-year-old actually got to meet a certain Dutchman, who was the tournament’s biggest star!

Brehme recalled: “Like every child I was watching the World Cup with my childhood idols Franz Beckenbauer, Uwe Seeler or Günter Netzer. Holland was staying in Hamburg in 1974, so I visited the team at a training session and was even able to talk to Johan Cruyff. When he later wanted to sign me for Barcelona I told him this story and we both were laughing.”

Andreas Brehme’s ‘Sure-Footed - The Story of a World Champion’ is available here in English, German and Italian.

#Youtube

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whumphoarder · 4 years

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Long Distance Dadding

Summary: Peter gets sick while babysitting Morgan at the lake house and Tony is a Worried Dad™ about it.

Word count: 5,172

Genre: Sickfic, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff & angst

A/N: Mega thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss or beta reading and ideas <3

(This story is set about a year and a half after the snap's reversal. Peter is 18 and in college and Morgan is 6)

Link to read on Ao3

The trouble with saving the world from the largest global disaster to date, Tony finds, is that no one ever shuts up about it.

“Okay, not to sound like an ass or anything...” Tony begins, already eliciting an eye-roll from his wife, “but I’ve already been given a Nobel Peace Prize, the Congressional Medal of Honor, three Victoria Crosses—British, Australian, and Canadian—a Russian Gold Star, a Chinese Hero's Medal, the Gold Cross of Zimbabwe, and about twelve other various countries’ awards. Why do I need to go to Morocco of all places now?”

“Because they built you a monument, Tony,” Pepper explains for the third time, her tone a bit exasperated. “There’s a two-hundred foot tall statue of you in their capital city, waiting to be ceremoniously revealed.”

Raising his hands to chest height, Tony wiggles his fingers—both the flesh and prosthetic ones—in a jazz hand gesture. “Oooh...a statue,” he mocks. “I’m titillated.”

Pepper snorts. “You’d better have mustered up some titillation by the time you shake hands with the Moroccan Prime Minister this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Tony balks. “We can’t go this weekend. Morgan’s got her… uh…”—he flaps his hand, trying to recall just what tedious elementary school obligation the first-grader has coming up next—“her snowman... ball… thingy.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You mean the ‘Seasonal Snowflake Sing-along’?”

His face lights up and he snaps his fingers in recognition. “That’s the one!”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she laughs sardonically. “Earlier today, Morgan’s teacher called to let me know that our daughter has flat-out refused to participate this year. Something about itchy costumes, boring songs, and ‘child talent exploitation’—did you teach her that term by the way? Because I certainly didn’t and Ms. Sanchez was pretty ruffled about it.”

Tony has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep the grin from spreading across his lips. He shrugs innocently. “You know, it’s important to start building a child’s vocabulary as early as possible. All the experts agree.”

Pepper heaves out a deep sigh, but Tony can see the smile in her eyes. She leans in and pecks his cheek with a kiss. “Go pack for Morocco, Tony. Peter already agreed to babysit. And besides”—she whispers the next part in his ear, her fingers trailing over the collar of his shirt—“I don’t know about you, but I think we could do with a weekend to ourselves…”

“Well…” Tony clears his throat, feeling himself melting under her touch. “You always did know how to make a compelling argument, Ms. Potts.”

“So, Morocco, huh?” Peter says with a grin as he loads his duffle bag into the backseat of the car. Tony’s parked in the loading zone just outside of Peter’s residence hall at MIT that Thursday evening. “What’s going on over there?”

“Just another stupid award ceremony,” Tony grumbles. He moves back around to the driver’s side. “Gonna cut a big red ribbon, shake metal hands with some dignitaries, attend a couple of fancy banquets, yada yada…”

Breathing out a short laugh, Peter plops down into the passenger seat. He looks a bit haggard, though Tony can’t blame him; the first semester of college is always rough. Hopefully the long-weekend away will help.

Throughout the four-hour drive to the lake house, they chat about Peter’s classes (“You know, they told us in high school that college was going to be so much stricter, Mr. Stark, but there was literally a kid in my English class who started making grilled cheese sandwiches on a hotplate and selling them during the lecture and the professor bought one”), the new people he’s been meeting (“Pretty sure my roommate is in a cult, actually...”), and extracurricular activities (“Did you know if you take fencing, archery, pistol shooting, and sailing, you can become a certified pirate?”). Eventually, they run out of things to catch up on and Peter starts looking drowsy, so Tony turns on the radio for some background music and they continue on like that for a while.

Three hours in, Tony’s forced to stop for gas. Peter is sleeping soundly, curled up in his hoodie for the whole time it takes to fill the car. For a moment, Tony’s tempted to just let him be, but given that this will likely be their last opportunity for a break until they’re home he ultimately decides against it.

“Hey Pete?” Tony says, shaking the kid’s shoulder a bit to rouse him. “Did you wanna stretch your legs or anything?”

Peter blinks awake and shifts to sit up straighter with a small groan. “How far are we?” he mutters.

“Another hour at least, but I thought we might get some late dinner too,” Tony replies. “There’s an Arby’s right across the street.”

Peter’s face screws up into a grimace. “Ugh, Arby’s is the worst. It’s like, a wad of salty meat on a bun.”

“But with sauce,” Tony points out. Seeing Peter’s expression doesn’t change, he amends, “Alright no Arby’s. McDonald’s? They’ve got a new McFlurry flavor for the holidays I think.”

Peter gives a tired shrug, then curls back up against the window. “You can just get something for yourself. I’m not very hungry.”

Tony eyes him suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done to Peter?”

“Hilarious, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans. Then, after a moment, he admits, “My stomach’s kinda hurting.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Yeah?”

Rubbing at his gut one-handedly, Peter nods. “Yeah, since lunch. Probably shouldn’t have tried convenience store sushi...”

Tony snorts a bit. “Well, they do say a key part of college is experimentation and learning from your mistakes.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Awesome. Maybe I’ll join Martin’s cult next.”

They make it the rest of the way to the lake house without incident. Morgan’s already asleep, so Peter hangs out in the kitchen chatting with Tony and Pepper for a bit before turning in to the guest bedroom for the night.

Peter seems fine the next morning, if a little groggy. Their flight to Morocco leaves at 6:30, but both kids are up at stupid o’clock in the morning to send them off.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna go to your concert thing tonight?” Tony tries one last time as he encircles Morgan in both his flesh and prosthetic arms for a goodbye hug.

She shakes her head firmly. “Every time we practice Jingle Bells, Keegan makes farting noises with his mouth and the vein in Ms. Sanchez’s neck gets really big and red,” she says. “Peter’s more fun.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony agrees. He pecks her on the cheek before turning to Peter, who’s blinking tiredly and sipping at a mug of coffee as he leans against the kitchen island. “Now, are you sure you’re up for a whole weekend of this?” He gestures to the energetic six-year-old in front of him.

“I think we’ll manage,” Peter says with a small smile. “If she gets too crazy, I’ll just web her to the wall.”

“Hey!” Morgan complains, and Peter sticks his tongue out at her in return.

Tony chuckles. “Sure, do what you gotta do,” he allows. “Just don’t get it in her hair—hate to have to cut it off. The Valentine’s Day sing-along is up next.”

“Uuuuggghh,” Morgan groans dramatically.

Despite all of Tony’s protests, he has to admit that Morocco is pretty gorgeous. There are definitely worse places to be honored with a gigantic statue.

“I’m just saying, I think the chin was too big,” Tony complains as they make their way back to their hotel room following the ceremony that evening.

Huffing out a little laugh, Pepper shakes her head. “I’m sure they did their best, Tony.”

“But of all the things to get wrong, why’d it have to be the chin?” he goes on, though there’s no real heat there. “I mean, c’mon, this whole thing is about the defeat of Mr. Purple Ballsack Face—they could have a bit more sensitivity…”

While Pepper heads off to the shower, Tony glances at his watch. It’s just after one a.m. Moroccan time, meaning Peter and Morgan are probably finishing up dinner back at home. He figures that’s as good a time as any to check in, so he calls Peter’s phone.

Four rings later, a small voice that definitely doesn’t belong to the teenager answers the call. “Hello?”

Tony frowns. “Morgan?”

“Oh! Hi Daddy,” Morgan greets, her tone going much brighter. “How’s your trip going? Do you like maracas?”

Tony chuckles a bit. “Sweetheart, I keep telling you, Mommy and I are in Morocco. A maraca is a musical instrument that you shake to make noise.”

“Can you buy me one?”

“One of what?”

She giggles. “A maraca!”

“No, honey, listen to me.” Tony runs a hand over his face. Maybe Pepper was right about the whole needing a vacation thing after all. “Maracas are not Moroccan. They don’t make them here. It’s a totally different thing.”

“Oh.” There’s a beat. “Can you buy me one anyway?”

“I don’t know—we’ll see,” Tony says, shaking his head slowly. “Hey, can I talk to Peter for a sec?”

“Uh…” Morgan hesitates. “Peter can’t come to the phone right now.”

Tony frowns. “Why’s that?”

“He’s throwing up,” she says simply.

“Morgan!” he hears Peter groan irritably in the background.

“What?” she demands, speaking away from the phone now. “You told me to talk to him for you, so I am.”

“But you weren’t supposed to tell—” Peter’s voice is cut off by the sound of retching, followed by the faint sound of liquid splashing.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why is Peter throwing up?”

“He’s sick,” Morgan reports. “We were playing before, but then he said he didn’t feel good and his stomach hurt so we were just watching Wreck-It Ralph for a while. Then I said I wanted taquitos for dinner and he threw up on my Elsa blanket. It was really gross. But he said he was sorry, so I told him it was okay.” She pauses her rambling for a second. “We can wash it, right Daddy? Like that time I spilled all the yogurt on it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure the blanket will be fine,” Tony says absently. He’s already scrolling through his calendar app to figure out just how many Moroccan obligations they have left to attend. “Can you give the phone to Peter now, please?” he requests. “And then go to the kitchen and see if you can find him a can of Sprite, okay? Maybe some crackers too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Morgan agrees.

He hears shuffling over the line, which he assumes is the phone being passed between them, immediately followed by the sound of Morgan’s footsteps hurrying out of the room. A second later, Peter’s voice croaks, “Sorry, ’m fine, Mr. Stark. And Morgan was watching another movie. Got everything…“—he swallows hard—“handled.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Very convincing. I’m sure Elsa agrees.”

“Elsa had it coming, honestly,” Peter grouses. “Those songs always get stuck... stuck in my—” He burps sickly, and then Tony hears the phone clatter onto the tile followed by more muffled retching and splashing noises.

Tony sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. So much for vacation. He fires off a quick text to Happy: Hey, you busy tonight?

As Peter continues to retch, three dots appear on the screen indicating Happy is typing. Are you in a foreign prison again?

For the last time, Slovakia was not my fault, Tony retorts.

A second later Happy texts: Keep telling yourself that.

Tony hears the toilet flush and the sound of the phone being picked up again. Peter’s voice, shakier now, comes back over the line, “Uh… you still there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it,” Tony says briskly. “Bathrooms have the best acoustics, you know.”

“That’s really gross...” Peter mutters.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to talk about gross right now, puke-boy,” Tony retorts as he fires off another text to Happy: Got a situation. How soon can you get to the lake house?

Happy’s reply comes a few seconds later: I’m watching Iron Chef America and doing laundry, Tony. It’s my day off.

Tony counters with, The kids are home alone and Peter just decided to reenact The Exorcist

The three dots appear, then disappear. Then they appear again a moment later, followed by a message: I can be there in 2 hours

You’re the best, boo <3, Tony shoots back. To Peter he informs, “Happy’s on his way.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Peter protests. “It’s just food poisoning or something…”

Tony scoffs. “Well, either way, someone who isn’t busy puking should probably be keeping an eye on the little troublemaker.” He pauses for a beat. “And Morgan too.”

Peter just groans.

In the background, Tony hears the telltale pattering of small feet on the tile. “I couldn’t reach the crackers, so I got you Doritos!” she announces.

Peter’s voice is hesitant. “Oh. Uh… thanks.”

There’s the sound of a crinkling bag moving closer to the phone. “They’re Cool Ranch flavor!”

Immediately, Peter starts gagging again.

Tony heaves out a sigh. It’s gonna be a long night.

After filling his wife in on the developments back on the home front (and being assured by Happy that he was keeping tabs on the situation as he made his way to the lake house), both Tony and Pepper decide they should try to get some shut-eye before their packed day tomorrow.

Pepper falls asleep straight away, clearly exhausted from their full day of travel and social obligations, but Tony finds himself tossing and turning on the overly-soft hotel mattress. It’s not until Happy texts that he’s safely arrived at the lake house to assume his uncle duties that Tony finally manages to drift off.

It doesn’t last long.

It’s barely 4:30 in the morning when Tony’s roused from his sleep by his phone vibrating under the pillow. He pulls the device out to see a message from Happy:

Kid’s had his appendix out already, right?

Being mindful of his sleeping wife beside him, Tony holds the phone just inside the duvet to shield the glowing screen from waking her. Yeah, before the snap, when he was 16, he replies, his mind going back to Halloween night seven years ago. A frantic and babbling Ned somehow managed to hack into Karen’s communication systems to inform Tony that Peter was more or less dying on the bathroom floor. An emergency surgery later, Peter’s been one appendix lighter ever since.

Why? Tony adds. Is it that bad?

Nah, just checking, Happy says. He says he’s alright but he’s running a fever and his stomach’s hurting a lot

Tony frowns. How high’s the fever?

Not very high. 100.9. It’s probably just a bug then

Yeah, probably, Tony agrees, despite the nagging worry in his gut. How’s Morgan taking it?

Just put her to bed, Happy reports. She kept trying to bring Peter juice pops until he finally ate one. Puked it up again ten minutes later. Don’t think nursing is her calling in life

Tony huffs out a short laugh as he types: Nope

Happy follows up with: Alright, I think I’ll try to get Sir Barfs-a-lot to bed now

Godspeed, Hap, Tony replies.

Then he slides the phone back under his pillow, pulls the covers up around his chin, and doesn’t sleep a wink.

“Look, I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but we can’t just bail on six dignitaries, Tony,” Pepper says in exasperation. She’s standing in front of the bathroom vanity, door ajar as she finishes straightening her hair. “We have two meetings this morning and a luncheon scheduled with the royal family at two.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “I know, I know…” he sighs. “I’m probably overreacting, it’s just…” he trails off.

It’s eight o’clock now, meaning the time is currently two a.m. back in New York. According to Happy’s last text, Peter managed to make it to bed around midnight and though he was still in a fair amount of pain, he hadn’t vomited for a few hours. Objectively, Happy did seem to have everything pretty well handled, but Tony still can’t shake the feeling that this might be something more than a virus.

Returning the sigh, Pepper unplugs the flat iron and sets it on the counter before walking over. “It’s just that your kid is sick, so you’re gonna be a worried dad about it anyway,” she concludes for him. “Am I right?”

“Guilty.” Tony gives her a sheepish smile. “Guess I’m getting soft in my old age...”

Pepper wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, and plants a gentle kiss to his lips. “Yeah, you are,” she agrees. “But don’t change. It’s a good look on you.”

They kiss for another few seconds before Pepper pulls back. “Well, the good news is, I’ve gotten quite good over the years at attending social obligations in your stead.” She gives his shoulders a squeeze. “You go do what you gotta do.”

With Pepper’s blessing, Tony leaves the jet and most of his luggage at the hotel with her, opting to just fly home in the Iron Man suit instead. It’s partly to ensure Pepper has a ride home in place, and partly so that he can shave an hour or two off the flight time. Even then, it’ll be a good five hours before he’s back, which gives him more than enough time to stress.

Sometime around the half-way point, Tony is soaring over the Atlantic when FRIDAY interrupts his thoughts. “Boss, you have an incoming call from Happy Hogan.”

“Put him through,” Tony says immediately.

A second later, Happy’s gruff voice comes over the speakers. “Got any extra sheets somewhere?” he says by way of greeting.

Tony grimaces. “So it’s one of those nights, huh?”

“Oh yeah, we’re having a blast,” Happy grumbles tiredly. His voice has a slight echo to it, indicating he’s in the bathroom. “Kid’s also wearing a pair of your pajamas now—hope you’re not too attached because the way this night’s been going, I foresee more casualties.”

Worriedly, Tony diverts more power to his thrusters. “The linen closet is in the hall by the master bedroom—should be some extra sheets in there,” he informs. “How’s his fever?”

“Holding steady around 101. He looks pretty miserable though.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Hang on.”

There’s some movement and a few muffled words from Happy’s end before Peter’s voice rasps out a very pathetic sounding, “Yeah?”

Tony winces in sympathy. “Yikes, kid...” he says as lightly as he can manage.

“I threw up in bed,” Peter admits, his voice thick. “’m really sorry. I was tryin’ to get up, but moving made my stomach hurt more and then I just…” He trials off, sniffling slightly. “And now Happy says you’re flying home early and, and... I’m just really, really sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony interrupts over the kid’s emotional rambling. “It happens, no big deal, okay? And honestly, Pepper’s much better at the whole decorum thing than I am, so the Moroccan royal family is better off with her anyway.”

A small, dismayed noise issues from Peter’s throat. “The royal family?” he whines. “Mr. Stark…”

“It’s just fancy tea with old people,” Tony assures. “Boring as hell, I promise. You’re doing me a favor.”

“God. I’ve gotta be the worst babysitter ever,” Peter moans sadly. “Zero stars on Yelp. You should give Happy my fifteen bucks an hour...”

Tony huffs out a single laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him a nice fruit basket when this is over. Chocolate covered strawberries and all that.”

Over the line, Tony can hear heavy footsteps on the tile. “Sheets are changed,” Happy says, his voice muffled.

“Thanks,” Peter croaks back. Into the phone, he says, “Um, I’m gonna go back to bed now.”

Tony hums in affirmation. “That’s good. Try and sleep, alright?”

“‘Kay,” Peter says. Then, in a very small voice, he adds, “Uh...I’m really glad you’re coming home, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s heart aches. “Yeah. I am too, kid,” he says softly.

By the time Tony’s boots touch down in the yard, the sun has just come up over the lake house, clearing the early morning fog. He retracts his armor and heads into the house, legs wobbly from the lengthy flight.

He finds Morgan and Happy sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. The six-year-old immediately jumps up to greet him.

“Daddy!” she exclaims, racing over. Tony stoops down and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

“Hey pumpkin,” he greets, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You’re up early.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t wanna sleep anymore. I wanted to see if Peter was better.”

“Is he?” Tony asks.

Morgan shrugs again. “I dunno, he was sleeping and Uncle Happy said I couldn’t wake him up ‘cus he’s sick. So we were gonna make pancakes, but Uncle Happy couldn’t find the pancake flipper,” she says with a pout. “So he was gonna use a fork. But then he dropped the eggs on the floor and they got broken and he said a bad word and now we’re eating cereal instead.”

His eyes flick up to Happy, who’s finishing off a bowl of raisin bran and looking at least as exhausted as Tony feels.

Since Peter is still sleeping, Happy and Morgan head out to feed Gerald and run some errands while Tony heads to his own room for a quick shower and change of clothes. Once he’s done, he pours himself a cup of coffee and heads to the guest room where he finds Peter curled up in bed, a lined trash can beside him.

“Aw, kid…” Tony breathes out as he approaches the bed. Even in his sleep, Peter’s brow is beaded with sweat and his face is pinched in pain.

He straightens out the kid’s covers and watches him for a few moments, taking in the rise and fall of his chest and his fever-flushed cheeks before sinking down into an armchair beside the bed.

Only a few minutes into his silent vigil, the combination of jet lag and sleepless nights catches up with him and Tony finds himself nodding off.

It’s the sound of whimpering that pulls Tony from his sleep thirty minutes later. His eyelids flutter open to see Peter curled up on the bed, arms circled around his stomach and eyes red and wet with tears.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Tony says in alarm. He quickly moves over to sit on the edge of Peter’s mattress, a hand on the kid’s shoulder, but the movement of the bed only makes Peter moan. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Stomach r-really hurts,” Peter manages to choke out. “‘S like, stabbing me.”

A fresh wave of worry washes over Tony. “Where does it hurt?” he asks. Cautiously, Peter hovers a hand over his lower right side, causing Tony’s eyes to widen. “Kid...” he begins.

“But-But it can’t be that!” Peter protests. “I already had it out. It’s gone, it’s—” He cuts himself off with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Does it feel like it though?” Tony presses. “Like your appendix did?”

Without opening his eyes, Peter nods hesitantly. “Yeah, exactly like that. But it can’t be,” he insists, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. “It’s gone.”

“True, but you’ve got plenty of other organs in there that could be going haywire,” Tony points out. He makes a beckoning gesture at Peter’s stomach. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Peter lifts the hem of his shirt up to expose his abdomen. His lower belly appears slightly swollen and the skin is flushed a light pink. As carefully as he can manage, Tony presses his fingertips to a spot about four inches down diagonally to the right of the kid’s navel.

Peter instantly gasps. He clamps a hand around Tony’s wrist, startling him. “Stop, stop, please,” he begs.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says, quickly releasing the pressure. But rather than relieving the pain, Peter cries out and curls even more into himself.

“That’s it—we’re going to the hospital,” Tony decides, already pulling out his phone to fire off a text to Happy. “Appendix or not, this is obviously something.”

Tellingly, Peter doesn’t argue. He just squeezes his eyes shut and gives a teary nod.

It takes a few minutes just to get the kid to uncurl enough to sit up, and then once he is up, he’s so nauseous that it’s another several minutes of hanging over the trash can and swallowing convulsively before he manages to get to his feet. The walk to the car is slow and shaky, with Tony bearing most of his weight. Thankfully, they’re less than half an hour from the lake house to the nearest SHIELD base, and they are equipped with a full Medical facility—something that definitely factored into Tony’s decision to purchase this particular property.

(Retired or not, he’s still a goddamn worrywart.)

Peter is lying curled up in the backseat, and Tony keeps stealing glances at him through the rearview mirror. The kid whimpers quietly with each bump in the road and every turn elicits a low moan.

“Almost there, kiddo,” Tony promises him. “Just fifteen more minutes.”

But only three minutes later, he hears Peter inhale a sharp breath, then suddenly go quiet.

“Pete? Still with me?” Tony asks worriedly, glancing up at the mirror. He’s half-expecting to see that the kid’s passed out, but instead finds Peter looking infinitely less tense than he did a moment ago.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out. “It just hurt really bad for a second, but then it stopped hurting? Not all the way, but it’s a lot better now. Like, a lot better.”

Tony’s heart drops as one thought screams in his mind: something fucking ruptured.

“That’s, uh… that’s good Peter,” he says shakily as he presses the gas pedal to the floor. “Just hang in there, okay?”

A gurney is waiting for Peter outside when they pull into the SHIELD base and he is immediately rushed to an examination room. But when the test results are inconclusive and his fever spikes to nearly 104, the doctors decide that exploratory surgery is their best bet to figure out what’s going on.

Tony spends most of the next three hours in the waiting room on his phone. First, he manages to get a hold of May in the middle of her shift. He gives her the lowdown while simultaneously sending a wildly expensive Uber to pick her up and drive her to the base.

Next, he calls Happy, who is currently at an indoor butterfly farm with his awe-struck niece. “Fucking knew something was wrong,” Happy sighs in response when Tony tells him.

Morgan talks to him for a few minutes, expressing both her heartfelt concern for Peter and the overwhelming joy she experienced when a very pretty purple butterfly landed on her arm a few minutes ago.

Tony can’t help but love her for it. Morgan might come across calloused or unfazed at times, but between the blip’s reversal, the defeat of Thanos, and seeing her dad’s long and arduous recovery process following the loss of his arm, she’s lived through more trauma in her six years than most people do in several decades. He’s glad that she’s usually able to find happiness regardless.

It’s around that time that Tony’s adrenaline fades enough for him to realize just how much his wrist is aching from where Peter grabbed it and rolls up his sleeve to reveal purple bruises. He’s pretty sure nothing is broken, but quietly gets an ice pack from the nurse anyway to press to the injury, sick at the thought of how much Peter had to be hurting to do that.

Tony calls Pepper—who has just finished up her royal luncheon—and finally lets himself fluster out properly.

She manages to talk him down from the panic attack that’s threatening to overtake him just in time for the doors leading back into the OR to swing open and Bruce to emerge.

“I’ll call you back, Pep,” Tony ends the call abruptly. Then hurries over to his friend, stomach in knots. “How’d it go? Is he alright?” he asks anxiously.

Holding up a hand, Bruce clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “Okay, first of all, I’d just like to say that the surgeons are just finishing up and Peter is, for the most part, fine.”

Tony instantly breathes out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god…”

“But, uh, for the second thing...” Bruce goes on, gesturing to one of the waiting room chairs. “You might want to sit down.”

“It grew back?!” Peter balks at them.

It’s been about five hours since his surgery now and the kid is finally lucid enough to take part in the absurd medical conversation surrounding his unprecedented case. Bruce, Tony, and May attempted to explain the situation earlier, but Peter hadn’t been able to keep up and ended up nodding off straight into his jello cup, so they’re on round two now.

“Well… sort of,” Bruce explains, adjusting his glasses. “When you got un-blipped, your cells were reconstructed, same as everyone else who came back. But since your mutated DNA regenerates your cells at an expedited rate, they somehow took that process a step further and managed to restore your body to, uh…” He flaps a hand, searching for the correct term.

“...to factory settings,” Tony finishes for him. He huffs humorously. “Congrats, kid. You’ve gotta be the only person in history to have their appendix burst twice.”

Peter groans. “Awesome. Parker Luck strikes again...”

May tuts and hits his shoulder playfully.

“You’ll be on heavy antibiotics for a while,” Bruce continues. “Luckily, the rupture occurred very close to the time of your surgery, so peritonitis didn’t have time to set in yet. The surgeons flushed out your abdominal cavity as best they could and hopefully the combination of the medication and your enhanced healing will be enough to prevent another infection.”

“So don’t jinx it,” May concludes firmly. She ruffles her nephew’s curls.

Morgan and Happy appear in the doorway a few moments later. Tony gets up, ready to remind the little girl that she needs to be gentle with Peter since he’s still recovering, but it seems as though Happy’s already given her that talk because rather than bounding over, she tiptoes into the room, arms held behind her back.

“Hi Peter,” Morgan greets. “Does your tummy feel better now?”

“Yeah, a lot,” Peter assures her with a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Good.” From behind her back, she produces a colorful wooden instrument and shakes it. “Uncle Happy and I bought you a Morocco!”

Running a hand over his face, Tony lets out a long sigh.

God, he loves these kids.

Link to all my fics!

If you're interested in reading the full story of the first time Peter's appendix ruptured, check out my previous work: Ned the Dumbwaiter

Or, for more sick Peter at the lake house with Tony and Morgan, try: Dad Level: 3000

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

#sick peter parker #irondad fic #morgan stark #Peter Parker & tony stark #lake house #serious illness #surgery #appendicitis #babysitting #peter parker needs a hug #tony stark has a heart #my fic #irondad & spiderson #vomiting #hurt/comfort #peter parker whump #whump

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once-hyperion · 3 years

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A Death Note From Hell on Earth (Response to Desponia)

I saw a man die face down in his blood on the floor earlier this week. He was a man here in the ward who had just moved in a little over a month ago. He sat crisscrossed in the middle of the rec room talking about how he had travelled all around the Middle East mentioning places such as Syria, Palestine, Israel, Iran and more. He told us how he flew out of Ciro during the war and went on bombing missions in North Africa. He was captured as a POW in Morocco in 1943 and remained a prisoner until the conclusion of the war. This man is a war hero, and by God he has been in institutions since 1957 when he had a nervous breakdown following a car crash that triggered an emotional wreckage in his psyche. This man needs to be treated with some respect I say. But instead they keep him on the 31st floor here, locked in his cage, allowed to mingle with the whole lot for a few hours a day and then “back to your room Mr. Maligianti”. Like I said before, he’s been here a little over a month and he has been nothing but a pleasure to talk to and be around. He goes on about his deranged war stories about the B-52 bomber squad he flew with named the “Purple Ingrids”. Their logo was a purple bird flying with a bomb tucked in its feet’s, ready to drop. The emotions this man puts into the stories of his life are breathtaking and shouldn’t be glossed over. This man is marvelous.

Today Mr. Maligianti drank his coffee, read the times and proceeded to the rec room. After he got to the rec room he turned to the doctors and pulled a piece of metal siding they put around the corners of the medicine cabinet doors in the infirmary. He thrusted the piece of sharpened medal in his throat and collapsed into a pool of his blood. He laid on the floor squirming and choking on the crimson pool that filled his mouth. The doctors and nurses rushed in to assist him to get the bleeding under control while the background was filled with laughing, crying, yelping and banging from the other patients on the 31st floor. He convulsed and convulsed until he smiled and stopped moving. Immediately I sank into my chair, seeing the terror that filled his eyes, but then, at the last moment, his pupils dilated and there was a glimmer of hope, for a split second that latched onto him. Finally, he was free. Free at last.

Mr. Maligianti had been a prisoner for over three decades, whether it had been inside a hospital, jail, war camp or even his own head, Mr. Maligianti was never free for his adult life. He knew that his life consisted of 3 square meals a day, directions, where to be on a daily basis. He knew he wasn’t able to leave. Whether it was voices inside his head or voices from outside that directed him, he was tormented by the fact that he was not free. And Unfortunately he couldn’t never be free.

The Army trains you to be killers, and a damn good job at it too. They train you to fight for your king, your family, your countrymen, your wife and your freedom. They tear your individuality out of you, replace it with a new sense of identity that does not revolve around selfhood, this identity revolves around “brotherhood” and “loyalty”. The military ads that run on television show a man who has no self worth in society due to lack of identity, moping around, proceeding to daily tasks but then joins the Marine Corps and fights alongside his fellow marine to defend his country against the enemy. The commercial displays honor, brotherhood, courage etc. A very Homeric sense of returning to a way of fighting with your hands and getting the job done with pure braun. This image of the strong trained fighters is very reminiscent of Platonic guardians that are in charge of protecting the citizens of the city in Plato’s Republic. These are the soldiers of the Army and Marine Corps. The ideological doctrine of these organizations and their way of promoting honor, courage and strength is very similar to the McDonald’s commercial I mentioned earlier. The commercials promote something that is skewed by the ideology that ensues it. The ideology of the McDonald’s burger is that if you choose McDonald’s, you are choosing the meal of winners, champions, athletes and so on. Not to mention it tastes delicious and will make you feel good. The Marine ad promotes the idea that if you choose us you are choosing the side of the guardians who will protect the city with our bare hands, one by one we will protect as brothers in arms, we will be heroic and stand tall. Not to mention you will also be highly respected by your community and be fulfilled with the idea that you chose the best. What comes next for both these examples are the side effects. The side effects of the McDonald’s ad is the obesity and unhealthy physical limitations of your body to which you will not be able to perform like the athletes you see on tv and the side effects of the military ad is post traumatic stress disorder, physical bodily dismemberment, lack of selfhood etc. like our poor friend Mr. Maligianti, he wound up expired, in a pool of his own blood because he couldn’t bare to remain a prisoner any longer. Like the drug addict at 5th and San Julian who overdoses on a speed ball of heroin and meth to the movie star on Bellagio drive who put the gun in their mouths, they were sick and tired of being prisoners.

As I saw Mr Maligianti sprawled on the floor, dripping with his own blood, moving his arms in an erratic fashion, my mind had paused and focused on the sweat that came from his brow that fell to the floor. When I noticed this I began to laugh, laugh in the face of Mr Maligianti, not because I thought of this painful death as amusing, but because I saw the absurdity in his life, my life and all our lives. That trickle of sweat (as they say) took the cake for me. It showed how a simple bead of sweat can turn a horrible situation into a laughing stock of painfully ripe emotion. As the nurses ran back and forth I stared into his black empty eyes that once was a lively provocative older man, now an empty husk of a human. The shouting and banging rang through the ward like a siren that kept blaring. The mental states of some of these individuals here were not even comprehensible to the fact that Mr. Maligianti won’t be enjoying his coffee tomorrow morning, instead, tomorrow Mr. Maligianti will be burning in the crematorium for the next three hours, roasting like a pig over a campfire, with all the fat and oil, dripping down to the hot coals below.

After my laughter had ceased, I tended to the rec room for my daily afternoon card game that usually consists of me leaving with more cigarettes that what I came with, I’m pretty good at this game. I noticed the crowd was unusually rowdy today, after the stir up with the whole Mr Malgianti thing, so I used this opportunity to take advantage of the others by making outrageous bets, acting as if I was bluffing my way through. I only play pocket pairs, they thought otherwise. But other than that, the day wasn’t too unusual. Oh, the coffee was a bit stronger today maybe.

But as I lay here in my bed, on the 31st floor, I run through my head the reasons why we all came to be here. Not just here in the hospital but here in this cruel world. Reasons that I can’t quite imagine, but can blurt out with no thought at all. Nothing sounds logical to me, nothing seems to be of great reason, but the fact is that we are here. I didn’t ask to be brought here? I didn’t ask to be born? The right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness has been robbed from me, taken from me years ago by the very people who swore to protect it. I never hurt anyone? I never threatened any persons life? So why have my rights been swept under the rug? Better yet, swept into these four stone walls that emit insanity inside and out. Wether you are physically restrained by men in white who keep you within the walls of a psych ward, a drill sargent who makes you feel like you are worth more for being here than out there, or the recipient of test results that confirm the cancer you are dying from, we are all prisoners, and the sooner you realize this, the sooner you can live.

~Hyperion~

#existentialism #short story #nietzsche #soren kierkegaard #philosophy #psychology

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maitredoeuvrebordeaux-blog · 5 years

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Www.Baseland.Fr, le site officiel de la base, paysagistes dplg

Nicole concordet preserves the historical identity of spaces while creating raw architecture and artistic wastelands where the lines between indoor and outdoor spaces are blurred. In january 2010 lan architecture won two competitions for new residential areas in france. The architect mario botta created a monumental winery at the top of the plateau of this unesco world heritage site, wining a gold medal in the architecture and landscapes” category best of wine tourism awards in 2013. Having become aware very early on of the importance of constructing high-quality responsible” buildings, françoise-hélène jourda has designed, among many other projects, the lyon school of architecture (1985), the university of marne-la-vallée and the palais de justice (law courts) in melun.

Bordeaux cathedral (cathédrale saint-andré de bordeaux) is a roman catholic cathedral, seat of the archbishop of bordeaux-bazas, located in bordeaux. A leading figure in contemporary architecture, she teaches in vienna, austria (after norway, the united states, the united kingdom and germany), and is building in greece, morocco and germany, where she has carried out numerous projects, notably the academy mont-cenis in herne in the ruhr.

The first chateau Maitre d’oeuvre Bordeaux built here by the beauregard family in the 16th century but was replaced in the 18th century by the present chateau - a classic gironde chartreuse. There is still so much to do in architecture in the field of sustainable development,” he tells us. By design adaptable to advances in technology, the facility minted the billions of french euros required on 1 january 2002.

The le corbusier structure was resolutely ignored and fell into a state of disrepair until, in 1983, two dutch architects rediscovered the tower and its history. Environmental protection and sustainable development in the sphere of construction are closely related to controlling the technical and environmental aspects of buildings, but also to their economic, social and cultural aspects.

Lan architecture agency has today announced the completion of carré lumière” in bègles, suburb of bordeaux, in south west france. N g property renovation covers a broad area of south west france throughout charente (16), charente-maritime (17), deux-sevres (79), vienne (86) dordogne (24) , vendée(85) and gironde (33). The 72 apartments commissioned by ataraxia, a property management company, follows the demolition of the previously idle towers of the terre neuve” district.

There are ferries between the two shores of the estuary several times a day, all year round, between royan-le verdon and blaye-lamarque. Registered in the uk and with the riba in france with the ordre des architectes d'aquitaine, we are experienced working in the residential, commercial, tourism, hotel and restaurant areas of architectural design. In 1999 she needed a new winery to match these investments and took the unusual step of taking over a disused telecommunications building from the 1930s.

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thewidowstanton · 6 years

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Alexandra Royer, Russian bar flyer and aerial hoop specialist: Barcode Circus Company

Alexandra Royer, who comes from Quebec City, was inspired to take up circus after watching companies such as Cirque Eloize and Cirque du Soleil. Later, after living in Morocco, she trained at the Quebec Circus School and was approached by Cirque du Soleil to join its show Quidam on an aerial hoop contract when she was just 16. In 2008, Alex chose instead to further her studies at Montreal’s National Circus School. There she met her two American Russian bar bases, Eric Bates and Tristan Nielsen, and on graduating they began to perform worldwide with leading companies including The 7 Fingers, Cirque Eloize, Cirque du Soleil and La Soirée.

The trio were joined by Eve Bigel of Compagnie XY, and as Barcode Circus Company they have performed in Olympic ceremonies, on TV shows and at corporate events and cabarets, also in street and contemporary dance shows, as well as full-length circus creations. They have also won numerous awards, including silver and bronze medals at 2018’s Cirque de Demain Festival in Paris. Alex is now taking part in Barcode’s first full-length production, Sweat and Ink (De Sueur et d’Encre), which headlines at Hand to Hand: A FringeArts Circus Festival in Philadelphia, USA. The show runs from 31 May – 2 June 2018. She chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: How old were you when you first became aware of circus? Alexandra Royer: Quite young. In Quebec City we were surrounded by Cirque du Soleil, Cirque Eloize… and I can’t remember exactly when I asked about it but I wanted to go to the circus. I wasn’t doing circus yet but I asked my parents to take me.

Do any shows stand out? I totally remember Nomade by Cirque Eloize. It was wonderful… Anton Carabinier was in it. He was, I think, 18 then and I had a big crush on him… and I wanted to do circus after seeing it. Guillaume Saladin was in it too, and he is so nice, just so nice. And also Cirque Eos, which was a circus from Quebec City. A lot of artists from Eos still do circus even though it was like, 20 years ago. Erika Lemay is like the queen of circus; she has long legs and she’s beautiful; she does handstands. She was with them.

Were you always an active kid? In school my mum registered me for theatre and dance classes but I was actually really, really shy so going onstage was never an option. But when I was seven we found a little class in a circus school. It was only half an hour a week but it was really fun.

Is anyone else in your family in showbusiness? I found out later on that I had some distant cousins – something like my grandparents were cousins of their grandparents – and they were also in Nomade. My cousin, Marie Michèle Faber, is beautiful and she sings and does aerial hoop and silks in Cirque du Soleil. Her brother is Jean-François Faber, and he does acrobatic bike, like, trial bike, manipulations and acrobatics. But they are not why I went into circus; they didn’t influence me.

Who or what did inspire you? After the year of circus I did when I was seven, my family moved to Morocco and I did horseback riding there. Once, the trapeze company Les Arts Sauts brought a huge show, Kayassine, to Marrakech. I was talking about circus then but I don’t remember why it affected me so much because I couldn’t do any acrobatics. My dad had bought a trampoline just to ease the move to another country but actually I was super happy to go. It was really nice to have a trampoline in the backyard but I was only doing simple moves… front drop, back drop… My mum is from France and she knows Danielle Le Pierrès’ sister really well. Danielle is the founder of Le P’tit Cirk, and when Les Arts Sauts came my mum’s friend was there to babysit Danielle’s young children.

My mum, of course, saw her friend, so we had a private visit to the tent. We climbed into the safety net, we saw the show, it was gorgeous – one of the best memories of a show I have. I think I was about nine. Then a lot of the cast came to our backyard for a barbecue. We had some wild boar in the freezer – a hunter had given us so much meat – so my mum was like: “Oh perfect, bring the whole cast.” Everybody was there and the trampoline was there, so some of the porters made people do backflips and I was thinking, ‘Wow, this is really fun. I want to join in with them’.

I think it was the first time I realised that I really wanted to do circus, not because of the show so much, but more because of the feeling backstage. It was really great; a great afternoon where we had fun and talked to the artists. After they left I carried on with my life in Morocco without circus but when we came back to Canada I went to the school in Quebec.

Why did you then choose aerial? Um… good question. To get into the school in Quebec I did a trapeze act. Jade Dussault, who is in FlipFabriQue, was my coach. I think she was 12 years old and I was ten. [Laughs] It’s really funny; I wasn’t ready to enter the programme so much but they were looking for people because it was a rather new programme. They said: “Oh, she’s super small and kind of strong and flexible,” so I did trapeze. I can still remember how stressed I was before doing my act. I couldn’t remember the music; I only had a CD and the guy said: “What is your music?” And I said, ‘I don’t know. My teacher is not here…’, or, ‘My teacher is 12 years old…’. but finally I did something and I was accepted. I was alone at home when they told me and I asked, ‘Is this person and this person also coming? I’ll come if they’re coming’. I had also been thinking of going to horseback riding school but I decided to do circus because I had so much fun in the audition and met lots of people.

How difficult a decision was it to turn down Cirque du Soleil’s offer? What’s interesting in Quebec you learn to do everything, and we were training quite hard. I saw The 7 Fingers’ show Traces, and we were all so pumped up when we came back, we wanted the school to open up, but it was the middle of the night; everybody was on a high. I was doing trampoline at the time… swinging trapeze, aerials, hand to hand, everything, and my aerial hoop coach was Marie-Eve Bisson from the hoop trio in Quidam. She was 27 and I was 16. I had about ten classes with her and she really showed me everything on hoop. She could spin so fast. She was the one I’d watched on the Quidam video.

But when I got the offer, I didn’t have many options. My mum just said: “No.” I did the audition at the National Circus School in Montreal and was accepted. The crew and vibe of our year was amazing. I also wanted to learn something else; I didn’t want to have just one act. I had the feeling that if I went to Quidam, I’d go to Montreal for six months, go on tour and then never be talked about again. It’s a bit like that in Cirque du Soleil; you just become a number. They take good care of you but at that age it was nice to keep learning stuff. My trampoline coach said: “Do you wanna be really good, or like, medium good?” I said, ‘I want to be really good’. So he said: “Go to the school.” They’d accepted me for aerial and acrobatics, so that was interesting. In Quebec I could change my schedule; I could ask for Cyr wheel or whatever but in Montreal, once you get your schedule it’s quite hard to change it.

What made you add Russian bar to your skills? There was a Russian bar trio in Quebec City, and they made me try it. They were so chilled, like: “You really should do it.” They put the idea into my head and it’s something not so many people do. That was the idea behind it.

How much trust is needed between you and your bases? I was a bit unaware of how important the relationship with the porters is. I didn’t consider myself a flyer at all; I was doing aerial hoop as a specialist. But when I started to work with Eric and Tristan, we were really laughing a lot. They had their own specialties as well, so it was a good match because none of us were putting all our eggs in one basket. From the beginning, and it’s still the deal we have, that whenever it stops being fun, or one of us gets hurt, or we don’t believe in it, we won’t do it any more, because it’s quite dangerous.

What advice would you give to someone thinking of taking it up? A good level in trampoline is a good thing, even though I haven’t done it for years now because it’s really hard. The partners you work with are really important, because that’s how you could get hurt. You can learn on Russian bar quite fast but the relationship of trust afterwards becomes a bit complicated. You do the trick once and that’s great, but you have to keep doing it. We stopped for a while after Cirque de Demain because we had so many things to do but I needed to take myself in hand and say, ‘OK, let’s go; we’re doing it again’. For myself, I would not do it at all, but because we have this trio energy, we have to do it. It’s easier as well because we go through it together and have fun, and then we can travel so much with the Russian bar, because it’s such a rare discipline. If I’d only done aerial hoop, I would probably have done some flying thing but the Russian bar is special enough to make you a bit privileged with the contracts you have. So, that’s quite fun.

How wide is the bar and does it hurt your feet when you land? It’s maybe 15cm, but your body knows at some point… and the guys are so precise. That’s why it’s so important to choose your bases carefully. We pad it with a little bit of camping mat. Tristan is our Russian-bar maker, so he takes care of it.

You’ve brought some innovative moves to the discipline; how did that come about? We were watching other Russian bar acts when we started to make our acts, thinking: “Oh, we don’t like it when she has the moments of preparation; it’s too much, too long, too stiff and it’s only about the trick.” Also Eric and Tristan can handle being alone onstage; they don’t need the bar. Often the Russian bar porters only do Russian bar, so when we made one of our first acts the goal was, ‘What can we do that is not Russian bar-like?’. I think the act we did at Cirque de Demain was, ‘What can do that we’d like to see on Russian bar?’.

So that was maybe the difference. And the fact that I’m not a crazy acrobat. I’m more like a mover in general; we use that. Especially when we were with The 7 Fingers, Shana Carroll was the instigator of the way I moved on the bar because before we did their show Sequence 8, we had never done a real Russian bar act; it was our minor discipline. I remember she put the music on and said: “Let yourself go.” We were working on that base of movement and then transferred it to the bar. It was really natural. It’s a strange movement that it gives you and I’m lucky to have boys who are good enough to catch me during that strange bit.

It’s almost like a rag doll; it’s lovely. I love your costumes as well. Who designed them? Camille Thibaud. We met her through The 7 Fingers. She really helped us a lot with the style. We didn’t really know what we wanted because we were creating the act at the same time. She was very open and at some point I realised that we needed movement in the costumes. I wanted something that flowed, but it was super challenging for a costume maker because there are so many technical requirements in making a Russian-bar costume that isn’t going to be dangerous. We worked with her last summer. I wanted rich fabrics, so it’s all silk, pure cotton or linen. She really understood what I was looking for, but you can’t just take linen and bend you legs so much, or take silk that will have to stretch, so she made it look like it’s good fabric but there are also stretchy parts that she made invisible. The costumes are really intelligently made. Camille Thibaud is a name to remember, I think.

What can you tell us about Sweat and Ink? Basically it has all the disciplines we do: aerial hoop, Russian bar, cigar-box juggling, hand to hand, and Eve is also a specialist in small teeterboard, when you land in columns and hand-to-hand positions. So the three of us are learning that right now. It’s quite fun for the four of us to do something acrobatically, and I catch in a three high; like, I’m a porter also [laughs]. It’s really good.

How long have you been working on the show? We started to work seriously on it last summer. We did a show together and it was really for Eve and Tristan to make sure they wanted to keep working together because their association was rather new. They didn’t want to rush anything so we did a summer contract to see, if they both liked it, then we’d do a quartet and make a show. But we were talking about it before that. Eve just arrived in Montreal in April last year and we pitched her the idea. Basically we wanted to talk about books, we wanted to talk about writing and that led to the topic of memory and oblivion. There were some readings I’d done that were addressing the questions, ‘What’s the duty of memory and what right do we have to forget things?’. It touched me a lot so I told the idea to the others and it brought up a lot of conversation, so we decided it could be a starting point of the creation.

It has been quite long and, I don’t want to say painful, but we’re not administrators; we want to be onstage, so for us it’s harder. Also we were preparing for Cirque de Demain. And in Canada if you’re not working, there’s no intermittance, you’re just spending money, so you need to work whenever you have free time. But I like that life. It’s quite hectic and crazy but that’s how it is right now… and we travel a lot so it’s really exciting.

You were very successful in Paris, did it bring you lots of opportunities? Yes, so many emails. Oh, my god! The goal in going to Paris was to have something that the four of us had done together. And because it went well for all of us at the same time, that has helped us a lot. With all the press we got we can ask for visas, that’s really helpful and so is having established something with the four of us, because we’d only done corpos or the show last summer with The 7 Fingers.

It wasn’t that stressful in the end and it was a small victory because I was always thinking, ‘If I go to a festival and do the Russian bar, I’m gonna do something wrong, for sure’. So most important was that we didn’t hurt ourselves. We were more stressed than usual so the first performance was a bit shaky. Russian bar needs to be super settled down and calm, so for me that was my medal. We did it and technically I was good. My coach, André St-Jean, was there too, and he’s somebody very important in our lives, so to see him happy was really nice. He’s the master of acrobatics in Montreal and teaches all the guys from teeterboard.

Can you pick out a few highlights from your career so far? The first time I left Montreal by myself and I went to do a circus festival, SOLyCirco in Germany, in 2011. I was doing my hoop act. There was a bunch of friends and it was all new for us. There were some well-known names taking part and I was like, ‘This is so awesome’. Finally I won the gold medal. There’s a picture of me when they said my name and I’m like… I still don’t realise it. I won because there was a storm at the same time as I was doing my act.

The act was about the Sisyphus myth. The music was by the Kronos Quartet and the composer was Peter Sculthorpe; it was super-contemporary. We’d felt the storm coming the whole day, the energy of the sky was super low and it was warm and had this windy thing. I started my act and the storm starts, but for real. The tent was shaking and the wind was everywhere, people had the shivers and I was just doing my act in the middle like a crazy horse; the movement was inspired a lot by horses. So, I was performing but honestly I had special effects doing my act. [Laughs] That was a great moment. I remember before I started I was, like, ‘Oh, my god, I’ve forgotten the act, I’ve forgotten the act’. [Laughs] It’s one of the best moments onstage I’ve had. It’s such a shame that festival doesn’t exist any more.

Afterwards I did Russian bar with Eric and Tristan at Flic Flac Circus, and that was also a great highlight because we had to do everything ourselves. It was traditional circus; nobody’s gonna check to see if I’ve rigged my hoop well, nobody’s gonna tell you: “Stand by.” There’s a clock so you should be on time. We learned a lot over there and that’s where we met the guys from XY. But whenever I work with friends it’s the best. After we did Sequence 8 with our best friends for three years – that was just a blast – we keep choosing projects on whatever they bring us artistically and who’s in the cast.

youtube

Alex appears in Barcode’s first full-length production, Sweat and Ink (De Sueur et d’Encre), which headlines at Hand to Hand: A FringeArts Circus Festival in Philadelphia, USA. The show runs from 31 May – 2 June 2018.

Picture credits: Caroline Dostie; Meredith Mullins; Sebastien Lozé

Barcode’s website and Facebook

Twitter: @FringeArts

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

Read our interviews with Barcode’s Eric Bates, when he was guesting with Silver Lining in 2015, and another Russian bar flyer, Tain Molendijk, when she was with15ft6 the same year.

#alexandra royer #barcode circus company #eric bates #tristan neilsen #eve bigel #Russian bar artist #circus interview #hand to hand #fringearts #philadelphia #aerial hoop

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olympictickets · 4 years

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Olympic Athletics: My approach to Tokyo Olympic will be different, says Brume

Nigeria’s lone medalist at Doha 2019 IAAF World Athletics Championship, Ese Brume, says she needs the support of Nigerian government to be able to achieve her aim of winning a medal in this year’s Olympic 2020 Games in Tokyo, Japan. Team Nigeria was on the verge of missing out on the medals table once again before Brume rescued a ‘golden bronze’ in Doha with a jump of 6.91m, her second-longest career jump.

Olympic followers from all over the world are invited to book Olympic 2020 tickets from our online platforms for Olympic Tickets. Olympic Athletics fans can book Olympic Athletics Tickets from our ticketing marketplace exclusively on discounted prices.

She became the first Nigerian athlete since 2013 to win a medal at the World Athletics Championship. She also made history as the second Nigerian woman to make the podium in the event after Blessing Okagbare leaped a distance of 6.99m to grab a silver medal behind the USA’s Brittney Reese. Brume is too the third Nigerian afterward Okagbare and Chioma Ajunwa to make the final of the long jump event.

The long jumper is on her final year programmed with Eastern Mediterranean University, Famagusta in North Cyprus, studying Tourism and Hospitality management. Before she returned to her base in North Cyprus, Brume told The Guardian that she would give the Tokyo Olympic Games the best focus it deserves, but added that the Nigerian government had a huge role to play.

Olympic 2020 Games is the biggest sporting event in the world and I will do everything possible to give it the best attention. But our government has a great role to play by giving us (athletes) the financial and moral support we need to excel at the games. We need money to take care of so many things, and it will be good if the government can come in as early as possible.

“I have heard of some moves by the current minister of sports to prepare Nigerian athletes adequately for the Olympic, but I will advise that such moves must start as quickly as possible so that Nigeria can reap its benefits. I want the country to do away with those last-minute approaches, which has not done our sports any good in the past. We also need financial support from the corporate organizations and sports-loving individuals,” Brume stated.

For example, of 2014, Brume was comparatively unknown in the African track and field circle. However, she took the entire Commonwealth nations by surprise when she beat all senior competitors in the race for the gold medal in the long jump event in Glasgow, Scotland. A few days late, Brume made Side Nigeria’s contingent to the African Senior Athletics Championships in Marrakech, Morocco, where she also won a gold medal.

While Brume was able to defend her African championship title two years later at Durban, South Africa 2016, unnecessary envy on the part of some AFN officials and coaches denied her the chance of defensive her Commonwealth Games’ title in Gold Coast, Australia, in 2018.As predictable, Brume’s morale released following the psychological influence of not defensive her long jump title in Gold Coast, though she did not allow prevention to weight her down.

Olympic 2020 fans can get Olympic Tickets through our confidential online ticketing market place. OlympicTickets2020.com is the most reliable source to book Olympic Packages.

#OlympicTickets OlympicPackages SummerGamesTickets OlympicHospitality Olympic2020Tickets TokyoOlympicTickets OlympicAthleticsTickets

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gadgetsrevv · 5 years

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WAFU Cup of Nations heroes Where are they now?

The sixth edition of the West Africa Football Union Cup of Nations kicks off in Thies, Senegal, on Saturday, with 15 of the region’s sides — plus guests Morocco — contesting the two-week competition.

Past editions of the tournament have thrown up some star players and memorable performers, some of whom have used it as a launch pad to greater things in their career, and others who failed to build on the promise they demonstrated in the regional showpiece for local players.

Anthony Okpotu was one of Nigeria’s most impressive players at the last edition of the tournament, scoring once as they reached the final before being defeated 4-1 by rivals Ghana in Cape Coast.

The forward didn’t initially secure a move away from the Nigerian top flight, but after top scoring for Lobi Stars with 19 league goals, he was signed by Morocco’s Difaa Hassani El Jadidi in July 2018, and is currently on loan at Albanian side Laci.

Watch the WAFU Cup of Nations Live and Exclusive on ESPN in Africa from Sept. 28 to Oct. 12

Okpotu told ESPN about the role the Wafu Cup of Nations had on launching his career and helping him establish himself beyond West Africa.

“It was the highest-level national assignment for me at the time, and I felt really happy, honoured, and privileged to be given the opportunity to represent my country,” Okpotu said.

“My memories [of the tournament] were good, because I learned – for my next assignment — that I had to improve on what I’d done at the Wafu Cup.

“It was a good opportunity, and one I capitalised on in terms of reaching greater heights in my career.”

– Udoh: Who is Nigeria’s best player to have featured in WAFU Cup?

Okpotu wasn’t the only member of Nigeria’s Wafu Cup 2017 runners-up to secure a move abroad, with Afeez Aremu (Norway), Gabriel Okechukwu (Ukraine), Stephen Eze (Bulgaria), Peter Eneji (Serbia) and Chima Akas (Sweden) all departing home soil in the aftermath of their run to the final.

Eze has also been included in the senior Nigeria squad since his performances at the Wafu Cup, while Aremu remembers clearly the influence the tournament had on his career trajectory.

“I can remember the tournaments in the [previous] two years, where we weren’t earning bonuses or allowances in camp, but I chose to go because I knew there would be a lot of scouts there, which was an advantage to me, dreaming of playing in Europe,” Aremu told ESPN.

“As you can see now, I was scouted in our first match, and that put me where I am now; I can never forget this in my life.

“These are good memories for me anytime I remember back to those days. It was a good tournament for the country, but especially for me.”

For the Ghana side that won the competition two years ago, the likes of Winful Cobbinah (Albania), Emmanuel Lomotey (Spain) and Nuhu Musah (Switzerland) all subsequently moved abroad, and the latter had appeared bound for the Africa Cup of Nations with the Black Stars before injury struck.

Some recent tournament winners haven’t, however, managed to translate fine form in the Wafu Cup to success overseas, even if they did secure foreign deals on the back of their performances in the regional championship.

Nigerian duo Ekigho Ehiosun and Ikechukwu Ibenegbu are two examples, after they scored four each as the Super Eagles again clinched silver on home soil in 2011.

The former was included in the senior set-up by Stephen Keshi, and secured a move to Turkish clubs Samsunspor and Genclerbirligi, but he’s currently without a club after being released by Israeli second-tier side Hapoel Acre.

Ibenengbu, by contrast, wasn’t able to tempt any suitors to prise him away from Heartland, and he left the club only in 2013 to move to another Nigerian side, Warri Wolves.

He featured for the Super Eagles on a handful of occasions, but, as with Ejike Uzoenyi, a small stature may have represented an obstacle too great for ‘Mosquito’ to have truly made his mark in European football.

Two years after Ehiosun and Ibenegbu fell just short, it was Ghana who clinched the title when they defeated Senegal 3-1 in the final.

The match saw differing fortunes for Ghanaian duo Kwabena Adusei and Latif Abdul Mohammed, who scored for the Black Stars on the day, and Senegalese midfielder Ousseynou Thioune, who was dismissed at the death for the Teranga Lions.

However, the trio’s fortunes have differed significantly since the conclusion of the competition.

Thioune left Diambars in 2016 to move to Ittihad Tanger in Morocco, and then north to Spain’s Gimnastic and now Sochaux of France’s Ligue 2; it’s safe to say he’s put his Wafu Cup final disappointment behind him.

The Ghanaian duo, by contrast, have struggled to take their careers to new heights despite each having a winner’s medal in their back pocket.

Defender Adusei left Asante Kotoko for Mpumalanga Black Aces in 2014, for his first foray outside Ghana, but he has been out of the game since September 2015, when he was just 28, after injury problems curtailed his stay in South Africa.

For Mohammed, who scored twice in the final victory over Senegal, Asante Kotoko’s refusal to allow him to leave for Europe in the aftermath of the tournament denied him a certain career trajectory, and, instead, the striker has traipsed around a series of African leagues; Gabon, Zambia, Ethiopia, Equatorial Guinea, and back to Ethiopia.

“[The Wafu Cup] was very successful, and by then, there was a club in Norway — Sandnes Ulf — who needed me,” Mohammed, now 29, told ESPN.

“However, my club in Ghana did not accept the offer. If I’d gone to Norway, I would still be in Europe by now.

“After the Wafu, we continued with the 2014 African Nations Championship [CHAN] in South Africa, and from there I got an offer from a club in Gabon, CF Mounana.”

While the examples of Mohammed, Adusei, Ehiosun and Ibenegbu serve as reminders of how difficult it is to translate a fine tournament showing into a long and successful career overseas, the case of Ahmed Musa proves that the Wafu Cup can be a launchpad for much greater things.

The Kano Pillars starlet was virtually unknown when he clinched the title with Nigeria in 2010, scoring twice en route to the gold, but he quickly progressed through the ranks to the full senior side while securing a successful career for himself in Europe.

He has represented the Super Eagles at two World Cups — no Nigerian has scored more than him in the tournament; has won the Africa Cup of Nations; and has represented CSKA Moscow, Leicester City and Al-Nassr, winning four league titles in the process.

Musa remains the tournament’s greatest success story, but can any of the hopefuls at the 2019 edition follow in his footsteps?

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upshotre · 5 years

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12th African Games: ECOWAS Region II high Jump gold Medallist Dreams qualification

Cyprian Oyedele, a high jump gold medallist at the 2018 ECOWAS Region II Championships, on Tuesday said that he hoped to surpass the 2.12m entry standard for the African Games. Oyedele, who expressed the optimism in an interview in Lagos, said that his target was to jump at least 2.15m. “All things being equal, my target is higher than the standard set by the Confederation of Africa Athletics (CAA) for the African Games. “At least, I want to make a 2.15m to qualify for the Games, but hoping for a 2.20m, nothing is impossible through hard work and God’s grace,” he said. Oyedele won the gold medal by jumping a height of 2.04m at the championships held in Ghana last June. The athlete, who had recently graduated from the Department of Agricultural Economics, University of Ibadan, said that though he didn’t start his season on a good note, he was still optimistic of improving. “Even though I messed up my season opener, I am not disturbed or discouraged. I am standing tall, ready to face the challenges required and overcome. “I just need to perfect what I have learnt because consistency is key in high jump. “Now that I have finished with my exams and project, I have been training day in, day out,” he said. The 12th African Games will hold from Aug. 19 to Aug. 31 in Rabat, Morocco . In a related development, Sunday Adeleye, the Technical Director, Athletics Federation of Nigeria (AFN) had said that the trial for the African Games would come up sometime in June. Read the full article

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olaluwe · 5 years

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Image source; africanews

African Cup of Nations came to a close on Friday 19, 2019 in Cairo, Egypt with the desert foxes of Algeria emerging the champions. It is their second in twenty-nine years.

The striking thing about their victory is that like when they won the competition the first time as host in 1990, they played teams which were in their groups Nigeria and Senegal respectively.

And they didn't just beat them in the group stages; they also went on beat them in the final to confirm their superiority.

So, I say congratulation to the desert foxes of Algeria for a hard-fought win.

It might sound like I'm over-romanticizing the past, but I think the buzz generated by the just concluded soccer fiesta is nowhere near what it used to be back in the day especially when it was more about players who were based in Africa. You are free to prove me wrong by joining the discussion with me in the comment section.

This noticeable in the fact that only a handful of the so called high profile players matched the pre-tournament hypes and fans' great expectations of them.

Some have argued it may be down to the fact that many of them were coming from a grueling season of football with their various clubs. But I beg to differ.

The South-American championship also took place about the same time and we all saw how many of the stars on parade who also competed with many of our players in Europe shown like a million star.

Except that once more Lionel Messi and his cohort underperformed which you one can really excuse. Like one analyst said, there was no way Lionel Messi’s Argentina could defeat Brazil with the caliber of players they paraded. Man for man, Brazil dwarfs Argentina and it showed on the field of play.

At AFCON, Senegalese pair of Saido Mane and Kalidou Koulibaly, Algeria’s Riyad Mahrez, goalkeeper Rais M’Bolhi for his five clean sheets and Ismael Bennacer respectively stood out for me.

Then there's Nigeria's Wilfred Ndidi, Oghenekaro Etebo, Samuel Chukwueze, and Odion Ighalo, more for his goals than for his play.

It might surprise you that I didn't get to see many of the games live. I had to fall back on highlights from YouTube for my assessments of the teams.

To borrow one of Wole Soyinka's figurative expressions, the fowl of my withdrawal syndrome from watching the Super Eagles live games was hatched from the egg of a shocking and disappointing discovery from the past.

I love Nigeria's senior national team, the Green Eagles which is what they were called then to bits. And I will not eat and get pretty agitated when they suffered a defeat.

That was certainly down to my conviction back then that it was all about national pride and that it is my duty to support them. Eagles were like an army of fatherland marching to the battlefield and they deserve nothing but my unflinching support.

But as I matured into life and the understanding of the game's dynamics I realized I've been inflicting on myself an unwarranted suffering out of ignorance by not taking my meals, shuttling between being moody and grieving like a child with a dead father, and all of that.

Football like other sports is pure entertainment and nothing more. I came to realize that the players don't care much about the fans' excesses emotional expressions in terms of their hunger strike, the violent outburst at match venues and viewing centers, and suicides.

More so, it’s all about their material needs and ego. Some of the things the fans appear to benefit are the short-lived sense of vicarious excitement and national pride which doesn't put food on their table. And at club levels, the sense of their fickle ownership and maybe wagering on matches outcome.

And even if players do care about the fans which may not be entirely out of place, their battle cries still has in it a very high degree of fairness which underscores a Yoruba adage that says: "even if we're quarreling, it shouldn't get to the point of wishing ourselves death".

Beyond injuries (career-threatening sometimes) which may happen during the heat of the game, players I mean to say don't wish each other death after the match unlike fans with their streak of fanaticism. They hug and exchange souvenirs after every game.

Back to my story, I knew many of the players in the Green Eagles then at close quarters. I worked briefly at a gas station in Ikoyi, Lagos then and I see them come around to the Belgium embassy right at the back of my workplace. You know Belgium was the Mecca of Nigerian players then.

There was a particular match Super Eagles played then and lost. It so got to me that I went on a hunger strike. Then a video clip of the same crop of players showed up somewhere having a time of their life by the poolside.

I know today the fans get feasted with more of such on the YouTube and several other channels.

It was indeed an eye-opener for me. And it was sufficient enough for me to repent of all my previous hyperactive inclinations towards the game and its actors. And it has remained so ever since then.

So it gives me concern these days that people get overly emotional about the sport that they do unimaginably stupid things to themselves and others all in the name of supportership.

And that a greater percentage of Nigerians derive their joy and bonded more on the account of something as fickle as the game of football gives me greater concerns. That's by the way.

As expected, many nations who participated in the just concluded AFCON has been taking stock of their involvement.

By mutual agreement or any other such fancied nomenclature so far, about seven coaches or thereabout have been shown the exit door for failing to meet the set targets of various federations which hired them.

A quick glance of some of the casualties so far include the two-time winner of the competition Harvey Rennard (Morocco), Clarence Seedorf (Cameroon), Nigeria's Emmanuel Amuneke (Tanzania), Javier Aguirre (Egypt), Thomas Desabre (Uganda), Ricardo Mannetti (Namibia) and Paul Put (Guinea).

Nigeria is definitely not left out of this question of backlash as a result of her participation in the tournament. The conversation now is quite intense and it centered on the scorecard of both the team and the coach Gernot Rohr.

While some say the team has done well, after all, twenty four nations took part and in the end, we came home with a bronze medal; others disagree insisting that the team got the so-called bronze through sheer luck.

The team, they concluded, didn't only play poorly but that they are not a team yet.

All Nigeria has at the moment are a bunch of average players begging to be blended into a team whose play can possibly re-enact the usual verve that they are used whenever eagles are playing from way back.

This is lacking. At AFCON, the team played without cohesion and play’s transition is seriously flawed.

As for the coach Gernot Rohr, he is being bashed on all sides over doubts on his technical abilities. Over and again, his ability to read a game and make impactful substitutions is suspect.

And to think he has been on the job for three years now and still, he’s very far from being convincing calls for concern.

More than ever, there is a deafening call by Nigerians for him to be relieved of his job.

In my opinion, I think coach Rohr has neither succeeded nor failed for a number of reasons. He's just hanging in there.

Having spent close to three years on the job, I think it is a sufficient time for him to have given the team a character of its own as well as the direction in terms of play.

So far, he has participated in two major competitions. At the world cup in 2018, his team couldn't hold on in the dying minute of the game against Argentina.

Why it was the hope of every Nigerians that as a responsive and responsible tactician he must have learned his lessons.

But at the just concluded AFCON, the same tactical sloppiness reared its ugly head in many of the games and especially in that crucial game against the eventual champion Algeria.

The team couldn’t hold out in the dying minute and it conceded a painful goal which knocked the team out of reckoning from a free kick by Riyadh Marhez.

The responsibility of the coach is not only to qualify the team for tournaments with a game to spare. It is more about making the players play like a team even if they don't get to win the tourney. Presently, that is lacking.

While he is still getting the backing of NFF President Amaju Pinnick, local coaches who have had the similar misfortune of managing the Super Eagles to win bronze medals in the past have all get fired.

Recall that this is despite their working conditions were nothing to write home about compared to their foreign counterparts.

So I’ll suggest that in the spirit of fairness to the all the local coaches like late Amadu Shuaibu who I stand to be corrected is still being owed salaries and other statutory emoluments, Augustine Eguavon, and Samson Siasia who have been so maltreated by the FA, coach Rohr has to go because of all he has given us anything different from what those guys gave Nigeria. Besides, his results came at a higher price of both better pay packet and working conditions.

Even late Stephen Keshi was also not spared though he won the nations' cup with virtually home-based players and qualified Nigeria for the world cup in Brazil in 2014.

I'm however not unaware of the fact that to sack the tactically ineptitude coach means paying him a million dollars in severance packages. If in the light of this NFF constrained to retain him to run his contract out, so be it.

Of course in the area of contractual negotiation, European tacticians have proven time without number they are smarter than Africans.

African nay Nigerian coaches have often allowed sentiments to get in the way of properly negotiating for contracts that are justiciable in case of breaches. And they are worse off for it.

Whereas, they owe it to themselves professionally that necessary clauses are inserted into their contracts to guide against being short-changed in the future.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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this-cute-bs · 5 years

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This is Cactus, a Moroccan runner who completed the grueling Marathon des Sables through the Sahara Desert earlier this week. He is talented and he is also a dog.

Cactus linked up with the race after Sunday’s opening 20-mile stage, sticking around for the next four stages and 120 miles of running. The Marathon des Sables is a famously difficult race, where competitors have to run an average of 23.5 miles per day for five days straight through the sand, sun, and wind of the unforgiving Sahara of southern Morocco. It’s not the sort of thing anyone does primarily for fun, excepting of course Cactus, who seemed to enjoy his time with the race.

A dog followed runners at the end of stage 2 and he keeps following them during this stage. Now more than 10,7 km in the race, and he’s first of his category!#MDS2019 #MARATHONDESSABLES pic.twitter.com/QP3Iksk5UV

— MARATHON DES SABLES (@marathonDsables) April 9, 2019

According to the New York Times, Cactus just sort of showed up and ran 15 miles alongside the race’s human competitors. Race officials assumed he would eventually wander back home, but instead, he slept in camp with runners and was fed and watered. When runners took off every morning, he ran along with them. One runner told the Times that Cactus even helped guide him back to the course after he accidentally strayed a bit. Stage 3 was a 47.4-mile slog that cut through a sandstorm. Cactus dominated it:

While the nearly 800 human runners were given 31 hours to complete Wednesday’s ultralong stage, Cactus needed only about 11 hours 15 minutes, some of it in a sandstorm, which would have put him 76th in the stage results. Then he ran a couple of extra miles to cool down.

Race doctors regularly checked him out and didn’t even find any blisters on his paws. He had to take a break during the 47.4-mile queen stage (understandable!) but he still finished in style. He did seem to have plenty of energy after the long stage.

He did it! Cactus ran the whole long stage of 76 km 😮 He is in a very good shape, has eaten, drunk, he keeps running everywhere in the camp 😅#MDS2019 #MARATHONDESSABLES #CactusTheMdsDog pic.twitter.com/NJDo7ci6lD

— MARATHON DES SABLES (@marathonDsables) April 10, 2019

The owner of the inn where Cactus, who might also be named Diggedy, lives said on a Marathon des Sables Facebook post that Cactus usually ran about 25 miles a day for fun anyway. She said she’d let him keep running because she knew he was having fun:

I am the owner and was told he had left the camp yesterday... If I can pick him up I will but I also know he’s having the greatest time so please people let me know where he is now and where you are heading tomorrow... I miss him but he’s having fun. He is a nomad dog and often travels 40 Km a day around this area...just for fun. Please look after him and get him home...

Here’s a highlight reel:

Cactus, who was eventually given his own tracking number and official race profile, finished the race yesterday and received a finisher’s medal.

View this post on Instagram

Cactus the finisher 🏅🐕🌵 He made it! He’s the first dog to run the MDS 👏💪 He did great on today’s 42 km stage 😃 Who’s a good boy? 🐶 #MDS2019 #MARATHONDESSABLES #CactusTheMdsDog

A post shared by MARATHON DES SABLES (@marathondessables) on Apr 12, 2019 at 8:40am PDT

Good dog.

#doggo #zoom

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davidcarner · 6 years

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Pros and Cons Ch 15, From Russia With Love

A/N 1: So I guess the secret is out. If you haven't and would like, please visit Steampunk . Chuckster's fic, Chuck Versus The Nerds Rewrite. It is a collaboration of her and myself. We are working on this slowly, but it came about after months of saying, this is what I'd do here. We're approaching it as we're the writers of the show so you know what that means…She's going to have to keep me from getting them together by episode 2. (Ain't no damn way we're waiting 2 1/2 seasons!) Check it out, we're having a blast doing it, and if you'll noticed we're starting with Molly.

A/N 2: This was never meant to be a long fic. It never fails, I get to a certain point and I realize I have told the story and to string it along would feel just like that, stringing it along. (And it's not like I don't have anything else to write!) I do feel like it's a world we could come back to at some point, and perhaps we will…after I write all of these season fics people seem to want. (Seriously, I'm writing season 3!) There is only ONE title that I can give this chapter. A former Bond, a spy mission, and Russia? What else can I call it? I give you Pros and Cons Ch 15, From Russia with Love

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I'm trying to...really bad.

"Can I have that shaken…not stirred?"

Sarah rolled her eyes at Chuck and grinned good-naturedly. As the waitress walked away, Sarah leaned forward. "Bartowski, should you be doing a James Bond impersonation when you're doing an actual spy mission and on the enemy's home turf?"

Chuck look affronted. "My dear lady, it's Walker, Chuck Walker." The grin on his face was eclipsed by the one on Sarah's.

"Chuck, are you trying to say something?"

He shrugged. "What could I possibly be saying?"

"That you want to get married."

Chuck gave her an amused smile. "I think you're hearing what you want," he said, taking a drink. "But you should know I have no problem taking your last name." She laughed out loud.

"Eh, no need, you can keep yours," she said with a small wave of her hand. She studied him a second. "Bartowski, I'm impressed." He lifted his eyebrows in question. "I've teased you about marriage," Sarah observed, "and you didn't back down or get scared."

Chuck leaned forward taking her hand. "Why would I be scared to spend the rest of my life with you? I've spent most of my life without you and I know what a crapfest that turned into. Sarah, I'm not going anywhere, so marriage, no marriage, whatever you want, I'm here, forever." She blinked back immediate tears. "I mean if you want to make it official…." He trailed off.

"Dad?" Sarah asked, looking up at Jack. He pushed a gun against Chuck's back. A crowd of unsavory types were circled him.

"Sorry, kid," he said with a shrug. "I really didn't think the schnook had it in him." One of the unsavories put a bag over Chuck's head. Sarah watched, her tears running from her eyes. "Trust me, you're not built for that life, kid." Sarah shook her head in response.

"I'm marrying him. Period."

"Yeah!" came Chuck's muffled response from the bag.

"I don't think she's asking you, Schnook."

"Yes, I am. Chuck, will you marry me?"

"Absolutely!" Another muffled response, but unmistakable.

"Shame he won't live long enough," Jack commented as a bag was put over Sarah's head. They stood the two up, and began to zip tie their wrists behind their bag. Sarah was struggling against the goons, and Jack stepped in before someone got hurt. "Darlin', calm down, it's me. You're gonna be okay."

"I'll never forgive you for this." They led the two off as Jack stood there watching.

"I'll never forgive myself," he responded.

-ooooo-

A week earlier.

The screen flipped on and the two small women stared at each other, neither blinking.

"General," Anna greeted Beckman with a smirk. "Have your techs confirmed what I sent you?"

"Miss Wu, if you ever decide to join the NSA, there is a spot here for you." Beckman took off her glasses. "The worm you have created has been spreading itself from one phone to another, and we are building cases against these Ring agents one after another."

"General, we originally were told there were four addresses we needed to look into."

Beckman looked a little uncomfortable. "Ahem, yes, well, to put it delicately, the situation in Marrakesh, Morocco...Fatima Tazi...has already been, uh…"

"Infiltrated?" Anna offered, a smirk on her face.

Beckman pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed with her whole body. "You know about Roan Montgomery."

"We've provided backup one evening as overwatch. For an older gentleman he has a certain, shall we say, Jena se qu'à?"

"I am aware," Beckman grumbled. She paused for a moment, then continued. "He has taken the mint out of commission, before the counterfeit bills can flood the market. Frankly, I'm questioning the need of this last mission."

"We have the bullets, and the fear toxin, so who needs the weapon itself?"

"Exactly."

"General, if I may, this mission is about so much more for us, and we have the opportunity to get Jill into even more hot water with the Ring, something all of us are on board for."

Beckman nodded. "You are a family there, aren't you." It wasn't a question, and Anna knew it. "Roan has been captured, I think your team can get him back. I believe he's in Russia with Volkoff."

"So you need our help. So maybe you could help us?"

Beckman narrowed her eyes. "So what is the sub-mission?"

Anna grinned. "Any idea how to make Jill even madder?" Beckman had a grin of her own.

-ooooo-

Bernie was grocery shopping, glad to be away from his niece. She might be family but he had had enough of her.

He found his favorite frozen pizza and smiled. He didn't have time to make one from scratch, so this would have to do. Looking at the box, he stood still, the freezer case door open, cold air rushing out. He didn't know who came up with the idea of the pizzadilla, a quesadilla and pizza magically combined into one, but he thought they deserved a medal. Bernie shut the freezer case door and a man stood in front of him. Magically.

"Bernie, how'd you like to make some money?" Bernie grinned. "I happen to know how to find a certain artifact, but I'd like not to involve our families." Bernie gave the man a strange look. "You know, your niece and my daughter." Bernie smiled at Jack. Money and no Jill? It was like magic.

"I think as two businessmen, we can figure something out."

-ooooo-

Now

Jack removed the bag from Chuck's head. He was tied to a chair, back-to-back with Sarah. Jack disappeared from sight, but Chuck guessed from the noises he heard that he was removing the bag from Sarah's head.

Chuck turned his head and saw an older man in a tuxedo, strapped to some contraption. He heard a slow clap, and looked forward and saw an older, distinguished gentleman, slightly graying. Chuck would have guessed that in another lifetime he was a James Bond type, but he was pretty sure the gentleman was the Bond bad guy in this scenario.

"Chuck Bartowski," the man said in what was approaching in an English accent.

"I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else," Chuck replied suavely. "The name is Walker….Chuck, Walker." Chuck narrowed his eyes, suggesting that he meant business, was a force to be reckoned with.

Volkoff stared at Chuck and then laughed uproariously. "Jack, you are right, he is something else! Now, let's go talk about my artifact." Laughter trailed the two men left as they left the room, Chuck, Sarah, and the older man remained tied up.

"Well, that was the dumbest thing I've ever seen," the older gentleman quipped.

"Oh, Roan, you've not seen anything dumb yet," Chuck replied, with a grin. "Don't underestimate me. By the way, I'm Chuck Bartowski, and the gorgeous woman about to cut me loose is Sarah Walker. You're up, Sarah."

"I don't want to."

"Sarah, we've been over this, my hair is already cut, nothing is going to change it."

"I'll do it on one condition."

"Wait, we're tied up, you're the only one that can get us out, and you're negotiating?"

"Mmhmm."

"You do know it's more blackmail than negotiation?"

"Don't care."

Chuck sighed. Roan looked on, amused. "Fine, what are your terms."

"Marry me."

"I already said I would," Chuck reminded her softly. He felt her relax behind him. "Hey, I meant it. You and me, for real, forever."

"While this may be the most touching thing I've seen in some time, do you think perhaps you two could hurry along with the rescue."

Sarah pulled her hands free. "Dad slipped me a tool when he zip tied me," Sarah replied, smirking. She cut Chuck loose, and stood in front of him, looking ruefully at his hair. "This is the worst idea ever."

"It will grow back," Chuck replied, grinning at her.

"But what do I hold onto until then?" she asked, saucily.

One of Roan's eyebrows shot up as a grin covered his face. "Well done, Charles," he murmured.

Sarah reached over and gently removed the wig of curls, and Chuck was left with his very short, yet very professional-looking hair. She reached inside the wig, removed the tape holding the tools required to pull off this job, and pulled out the two ear buds, placing one in her ear and activating it, while giving Chuck the other. She then handed Chuck the mini USB drive.

Chuck hit his ear piece. "Anna, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear boss. The server should be in the room next door."

Chuck nodded his head toward the door, and Sarah went to try the lock. It was unlocked and opened easily. She opened the door, swept it for any surprises, and return to free Roan. Chuck found the mainframe he was looking for, and unleashed the virus he created, while simultaneously, uploading all the info the NSA and CIA needed to their servers. The virus made it seem like the attack was coming from the outside, fooling Volkoff's techs.

"Anna, is Dad doing okay?" Sarah asked.

"Seems to be," Anna replied. "Jack are you in position, what's your status?"

"Anything you need me to do, Volkoff?" they heard Jack ask . There was a mumbling after that their earpieces didn't catch. Then Jack spoke again. "I'm just gonna hang out over here and watch the ships until you get that mess straightened out. That's why I do everything old school."

"He's okay," Sarah said. "'Old school' is one of our words to let each other know we're okay."

"Strikeforce is in position," Anna said. "Where are we, Chuck?"

"Two minutes top," Chuck said. He looked out the door seeing Sarah standing there. "How do you feel about the beach?"

She smiled broadly. "The one we went to when Jill started this mess and interrupted our date?" Chuck nodded. "That sounds magical."

"ELLIE, THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT GETTING MARRIED!" Anna shouted. Chuck and Sarah both grabbed their ears. The squeal was a thunderclap.

"Ellie, calm the hell down!" They heard Casey bark. "Christ, now the entire squad's ears are bleeding!"

"Finished on my end. Jack, you have five seconds to initiate a no-go." The line was quiet. "Anna, do your thing."

"You got it, Chuck." There was a pause. "Oh, and Chuck, don't let your rescuers find you in a compromising predicament."

Everyone on the line except Jack chuckled, who couldn't because of Volkoff's proximity.

"Okay, Jack, open that switched-out briefcase, hit the EMP, and hit the floor. On my mark home team, storm her house and secure Jill Roberts, away teams storm Volkoff industries and bring our guys home." "Three, two, one, MARK!"

All hell broke loose. Back home, Jill Robert's front door burst open, and the three-man team caught her in seconds. In Russia, Jack opened the briefcase he was currently carrying after switching it out with the one with the artifact. The current briefcase had an EMP. He hit the trigger, throwing the entire building into darkness. Jack dove to the ground, behind a couch, and stayed covered. Five assault teams entered Volkoff Industries, with a recovery team assisting each. The assault was quick since they were wearing night vision and quickly took out all resistance. In a matter of minutes it was over.

"Anyone hurt, Anna?"

"Few minor injuries, Boss, but no fatalities for our side. Congratulations."

"Hey, Chuck, Sarah," Bryce's voice came through the mike. "It's about damn time!"

-ooooo-

Chuck and Bryce were sitting in a bar a few days later, celebrating. Bryce joked and said it was Chuck's bachelor party. He was certain Chuck was going to run off and marry Sarah first chance he got. Chuck would only chuckle, and Bryce wasn't 100% sure they hadn't gotten married already. Jack had returned the stolen artifact, and received a finder's fee…Chuck really wasn't sure how one received a finder's fee for something they stole, but he was keeping his mouth shut. Bernie stayed out of jail by cooperating and was currently telling everything his niece was involved with, with absolutely no nudging necessary from law enforcement. The CAT squad was out doing CAT squad things.

"Why can't we ever finish fries?" Bryce asked, leaning back and looking at his friend. Chuck shrugged. He had had a few drinks tonight. It had been awhile, well, if you didn't count the night he drank himself stupid over Sarah. This wasn't drinking to forget, though, this was drinking to celebrate. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, as an arm reached across him and grabbed one of his fries.

"Hi," she said, grinning. "My friends and I saw a crime being perpetrated, and we just couldn't let it happen. You're fries are getting cold." Chuck smiled and pushed the basket of fries toward her.

"Really, it was a cheesy pick-up line but if you're gonna give me fries…" Sarah popped one into her mouth.

Chuck turned toward Bryce. "Oh, it's for you." He felt the hand harden on his shoulder and he was spun back towards Sarah and right into her blue eyes.

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. It's you. Always has been. I am definitely hitting on you."

"Sorry, I'm engaged." She leaned forward, kissing him soundly.

"That's the right answer," she replied with a wink. "My friends have a booth, so…"

"First off, they're OUR friends, and second, did Anna seriously track our phones?" Sarah shrugged as Chuck and Bryce went with her to the booth.

-ooooo-

Jack walked to Sarah and handed her an envelope. "New ID, new bank account, 2 mil in there. You go now, you can get out of this." Sarah glared at her father, as he began to grin. He shrugged and handed her a second envelope. In it was an ID for Chuck. She noticed they had the same last name. "In case you two ever need to run." Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled him into a hug.

"Seriously, Dad, we're gonna be okay. Better than okay."

"I'm just saying, you always have a choice."

Sarah pulled away and looked him in the eye. "I know, and it'll always be him."

"I know," Jack replied shrugging again. "What can I say, some things are meant to be." He stepped back and admired her. "You look beautiful, Darlin'. That fool doesn't deserve you."

"I don't deserve him, but I'm going to work every day to make us both happy, because that's the only way." Jack nodded. He heard the music start. "I think that's your song, Darlin'." He paused. "And are we sure the little bearded guy should be officiating this."

"Dad."

He put his hands up in defense. "Okay. Okay."

As he began to walk her down the aisle, Casey caught his eye and gave him a nod. Just one, but it was a respectful one, knowing what Jack had given up for these two. When Jack reached the end of the aisle, he put Sarah's hands in Chuck's He was seeing multiple daughters all at once. Something was wrong with his eyes. Who was he kidding, he was crying on his daughter's wedding day, and what father wouldn't?

-ooooo-

A few days later

Chuck opened one eye and immediately looked to his right, as he did every morning. There it was. The mess of blonde hair, plastered against him and over him, a warm, comfortable weight on his right side. He gazed at the ceiling, wondering what had he done right to have such a woman in his life. He felt a hand working it's way up his chest, neck, and then face. He wouldn't call the hand loving, or playful. No, this was a hand, hunting for his open eye, and intent on closing it.

"Chuuuuuuuuuuuck….go back to sleeeeeeep," she whined.

"Sorry, thinking about how good my life is."

"Mmmmmm, 's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I got lucky."

"Go back to sleep now. Get lucky later…"

"Not like that, Sarah." He tried to sound exasperated but her giggle refused to let let him even play at sounding that way. "We went through a lot."

"Mmmhmm." She lifted up her head and looked at him groggily. "You know a very, very, very, smart, sexy, nerd once told me something very important."

"Do I need to find this guy and make him quit hitting on you?"

"No, silly, it's you," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Everyone deserves a second chance, and we got ours. But better than that, we didn't blow it, and we could have several different times."

"Did you say sexy?"

She bounced a shoulder. "Deal with it." She snuggled against him, her hand tracing along his body. "Hey, Chuck, you remember earlier about you getting so lucky later?"

"Yeah."

She didn't say anything, but just grinned. She waited a moment longer, then spoke. "It is later."

"Hhhh'atcha mama."

A/N: For now, we're done. We may come back to this universe. I've said that before, but this one is ripe for more adventures. Thanks for hanging out with me on this one. Hoped you liked it, reviews and PMs are always welcomed…Take Care

#Chuck #Sarah #Charah #fanfic #fanfiction #Pros and Cons

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