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satsuki2406 · 3 years

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Dear Aomi Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

"I've seen you in a dream before, you are the warm and bright presence that embraced me on Cape Kamui a long time ago on a June afternoon."

Shinohara (Y/N) is a normal girl who had everything she could ask for, a loving family, a beautiful home, friends, and a fluffy cat. For a long time, she gave her life and happiness for granted, never imagining that she'll face one of the worst and crueler facades of society so closely, destroying what once was a happy, harmonious and normal family. One day, in hopes to recover what they lost, the Shinohara family took one of the more difficult decisions of their lives; leave behind their home back in Hokkaido and travel hundreds of miles south until Musutafu, the place that could grant them a solution and help close the yet fresh wound and scare away the ghosts of the past. Hardheaded, passionate, and ambitious (Y/N) is forced to confront the incarnated face of the superhuman society that she hated the most; Bakugou Katsuki.

PAIRING: (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

GENRE/WARNINGS: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Dark Themes, My poor attempt of humor, Strong language (Courtesy of King Lord Explosion Murder God *********💥), Manga Spoilers.

STATUS: On going

Chapter 1: School is a Great Place to Make Enemies

Chapter 2: My Stupid Classmate, The Angry Dandelion

Chapter 3: In Conclusion, This Day Was...

Chapter 4: Welcome to the Neighborhood

Masterlist $￣︶￣*$)

✒A/N:

OH-EM-GEE-

It's really been a while since I updated this story, I really thought it was a couple of months ago, I’ve been very busy lately and just kept pushing writing for later, and later transformed into 8 months! I had to admit that I also had a huge block with this story, but recently I got a lot of inspiration and energy, chapter 6 is almost ready but editing needs to be done after all. Hopefully this would be a good one! There’s more details coming in future chapters and also new characters! I got a thing for OCs recently, I feel they add more personality to the story!

Enjoy!

o(*°▽°*)o

5: Aldera Chronicles

‘Just a good day’ That was what you prayed, asked for last night, and what you tried to repeat to yourself to keep calm and serene while you looked desperately for your earphones. As soon as you did, you connected them to your phone and searched for the loudest song you kept in your collection.

“Oi! I’m talking to you dumbface!”

The loudest one of all.

After the whole ‘neighbors fiasco’ you got stuck with Bakugou on your way to school, both of your mothers insisted that you should go to school together at least today, so you could ‘amend your differences and get closer’ you almost gag at the suggestion, but your mom looked so ecstatic about the idea of you making new friends, after all she hasn’t looked that excited in a while, so you could not find yourself saying no to her.

Although you ‘accepted’, that didn’t mean that you will stay with him all the way to school, right now you were still in their field of vision, so if you left him behind, they will notice. You were just waiting for the perfect moment, as soon as you made it to the end of the street and turned to the left, you will take that as a cue to hop on your bike and leave him behind eating your dust.

“What a shity morning, stuck with this idiot. That friking hag threaten me to change the wifi password if I didn’t come and to top it off, she had the fucking nerve to take my phone, fan-fucking-tastic…” Bakugou was right in front of you grumbling angrily and throwing profanities left and right. His anger was more than evident; he was more hunched over than normal; his hands were way deeper in his pockets to the point you thought he could rip them open and his feet were stomping on the ground with such intensity that you could almost feel it vibrate under your own.

Despite the fact that you could not see his face, you could bet your (F/C) post-its that there was an extra deep scowl and curled pouty lips ‘decorating’ his face right now. You tried to distract yourself with your phone and avoid Bakugou as much as possible, it was bad enough to spend more time with him than you already did in school, not to mention that unwanted encounters may become commonplace being next-door neighbors.

You sighted dejected at the thought, you really were kind of excited about moving to a new city, Musutafu was way bigger than Sapporo was, with bigger malls, parks, shops, restaurants and more fun things to do. But sadly for you, Bakugou manage to crush your hopes and expectations as soon as he opened his mouth, hell, even by existing actually.

Your attention was snaped back to reality when the sound of cars passing by and other students came to you. You got on your bike again, getting in front of Bakugou so you could reach the avenue faster, “Oi! Don’t go in ahead of me dumbshit!” You ignored him as he yelled at you, his words more and more inaudible as you got farther.

After a few minutes you had lost him completely, he probably went the opposite direction to the bus stop or the train station, Aldera was close, but not enough to go walking, you did it there in twenty five minutes with your bike if you took your time, fifteen if you were in a rush, you made sure to verify how long it would take you to get there the days prior that you had to actually go back to school.

You decided to relax and enjoy the view of the city and listen to your favorite songs like the day before. Luckily the Tatooine Station was open, safe and working at its fullest.

“Not a single villain in sight, phew, how good that they managed to clear the area otherwise I would have had to…” Suddenly memories of your crossing trough Dump Beach™ came to you, that was an experience you were so willing to don’t repeat ever again. “I wonder who else from my school had to make a detour like me yesterday, or if someone was involved in the incident… those ladies said it was a middle schooler, but it’s quite ambiguous data to make any conclusive statements, there are hundreds of middle schools in Musutafu and the commercial district is in the center, so it could be anyone.”

You stopped in front of a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. ‘I’ll ask Midoriya if he knows something else, he probably passed by or something’. You had to admit that you were kind of excited about the idea of befriending the green head, even with his nervous, anxious, jumpy and shy personality he gave you a kind and sweet vibe. His insecurity gave away his true nature; his clumsiness, the nervousness, overanalyze everything, the mutter, for some they could be annoying but you found it rather and oddly fascinating, it made him feel real, genuine and honest.

‘He’s almost like…’

The chirping sound of the traffic light snapped you out of your rampant thoughts announcing that the light had finally turned green. You started off with your bike along the rest of the pedestrians and continued on your way to the school.

The rest of the way to Aldera passed without any hitch, you left your bike locked and took your stuff to walk to the shoe lockers like yesterday, just a few feet ahead you distinguish a very familiar mop of green curly hair. He seemed slightly hunched and deep in thought, probably way too deep in thought to the point that you could see a colorful smeared aura surrounding him and the word mutter coming out of his mouth. And you were not the only one, as you could see the people around walking away, with slightly perturbed expression on their faces. You just took it as a cue to let your presence being known.

“Good morning Midoriya!” You hopped by his side and greeted him enthusiastically. The poor thing almost had a heart attack and jumped out of his own skin as you just scared the shit out of him. He released a muffled scream and seem to calm down a tiny bit to immediately turn the shade of a tomato and babble a greeting.

“G-G-G-G-G-Good mo-morning Shinohara-san! You-You-You caught me by su-surprise.” He squeaked as he covered his face with his arms and his eyes moved erratically to look everywhere but you.

“Did I scare you? I’m sorry! I guess I let myself go a little bit.” You trailed, resting a palm against your nape.

“Oh nonono! Please don’t apologize! Y-Y-You were been courteous after all. He whispered breathlessly at the end fidgeting his fingers nervously. “I…nobody ever greets me or says good morning, I didn't expect it and that's why I got a little nervous. T-That’s all, so don’t worry.” His little confession shocked you for a moment, it was really depressing to be honest but it motivated you at the same time.

You beamed confidently at him, “Well Midoriya, I recommend that you get used to it then, because I intend to greet and say goodbye to you every day without fail from now on.”

He looked up at you with a surprised and somewhat puzzled expression, his fingers started to twitch nervously, his countenance became even redder if that was even possible.

“B-B-B-B-B-But Shi-Shinohara-san-!”

“Shush, shush, shush! I am not going to put it up for discussion this is how it’ll be from now on and it's over.” You placed your hands on your hips, a slight scowl adorning your face to accentuate your mock annoyance. “Besides, who will run away from Bakugou with me after I tell him how much of an asshole he is for the umpteenth time in a row?”

You relaxed your demeanor again, offering him a goofy smile, so he could notice that you weren't even mad to begin with. The poor greenette thought for a smidgen that he made you angry and that worried him profusely. But one glance at you told him that you were being sincere, he was scared that you could be trying to play a prank just to make fun of him as it has already happened to him so many times. that alien feeling of relief and tranquility invaded his chest, apparently the chance encounter he had with his childhood hero had been a good omen and brought him more good things that he could imagine.

His eyes teared up with hope and a squiggly smile adorned his face, he dried his tears with his gakuran sleeve and clenched his fists excitedly.

“So, what do you think?” you asked eagerly.

“I look forward for it!”

“Did you see what happened yesterday at the commercial district? It seemed pretty rough” You commented to Midoriya absentmindedly while you took your uwabaki from your locker. He visibly flinched as he heard your question almost dropping his shoes in the process.

“Ye-Yeah, they said that the pro heroes could hardly put up a fight because of the villain’s quirk.”

“Right? Hopefully All Might was nearby, otherwise who knows what would have happen. I wonder if the hostage is ok, I didn’t watch the news last night so I’m not pretty sure what exactly happened. Do you know how it was?

He flinched again and turned his head to you rigidly as you raised an eyebrow at his sudden odd behavior.

“I do-don’t know a lot but I read that everything was ok afterwards, the hostage walked out with just a couple of scratches, so there’s nothing to be concerned about Shinohara-san, it’s pretty nice of you to worry so much, especially since the hostage…” Midoriya looked down and tapped his trembling indexes together; he wanted to tell you something, but didn’t know how.

“Come on Midoriya, you already told me the hostage is ok, what can be so bad that you are hesitant to tell me?” You inquired him softly.

“Is nothing bad per se, well, you’ll see the hostage…” He paused and looked in all directions to check if anybody was listening. Ok, weird. He got a little closer to you and cupped his mouth with his left hand.

“The pe-person captured yesterday was-”

Your little hush-hush conversation was interrupted when the metallic sound of a locker being abruptly opened echoed in the sudden silent space. Your ears located the unexpected noise behind you and instinctively you turned to see what had caused such a ruckus.

A couple of lockers from you, a really angry and really frustrated Bakugou appeared right in front of your eyes. You observed how out of the blue everything and everybody seemed to freeze in time, and all eyes were on him. The atmosphere turned tense, every person there watched attentively his every movement, talking with just a glance, some people were whispering among themselves no even taking their eyes off him.

‘What the hell is happening?’

He took his uwabaki and slammed them on the floor, removed his shoes and buried them unceremoniously in the locker, slamming the door shut. He grumbled, trying fruitlessly to put his uwabaki, cursing that he couldn't put them on as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He suddenly stopped his movements, acknowledging the unwanted attention he was receiving.

“The hell are you looking at you fucking losers?! Why don’t you mind your own damn business, huh?!”

His voice echoed with fury at the school entrance, despite their obvious fear, nobody moved an inch, all the eyes glued on him. He finished to put on his shoes and stomped further inside. At the corner of his eye he noticed your presence and immediately stared at you, he seemed even more infuriated than before, this clearly soured his mood even further, if that was even possible.

You returned it with one of your own, as intense or more as his, the attention seemed to turn your way as your little staring contest became longer, Midoriya nervously looked between you and him, probably waiting for another showdown to break out, just like yesterday. Everybody’s breath hitched by the minute, but you didn’t back down, your (E/C) eyes met the fiery inferno of his crimson ones, after a couple more seconds he just tsked and stomped away with his hands buried way deep in his pockets.

After he left, the clock started ticking again, everyone took a breath of relief, averted their eyes from his retracting back and continued their lives like always. Midoriya’s shoulders relaxed significantly at the time that his soul slowly returned to his body. When you noticed him more calmed and focused, decided to address the elephant in the room.

“What. The. Heck. Just. Happened?” You whispered bewildered. “Who peed on his cereal? If this is something usual here, I’ll be more than glad to take my bike and go all the way back to Sapporo.” You crossed your arms over your chest and stared irritated at his retracting back.

“Well, now that Captain McTantrum™ left, what was that you wanted to tell me about yesterday’s incident?” You asked relaxing your demeanor to something more gentle and friendly. Midoriya flinched slightly and his poise appear suddenly uneasy.

“Um, well, the person-the-the person th-th-that got trapped by the mud villain, tha-tha-that person…” Midoriya tried over and over but it was useless, he couldn’t complete a single sentence without stumbling over his own words. Noticing that using his words would be useless, he looked at you in the eyes to then wander his gaze, pointing to something behind him. You started at him completely lost while he kept repeating the same cycle of looking at you and then looking away, urging you to get what he was trying to say, not moving his head once, like he was unsure to look back.

You exanimated what was at his back; just a couple of students walking to their respective classrooms, friends greeting each other, and Bakugou turning to the right at the end of the corridor to go upstairs-

‘Wait, Bakugou?’

Then it hit you, the awkward silence when he arrived, the unwanted starring, the murmuring, his more than usual foul mood, the outburst, Midoriya’s reluctance to tell you, he probably though he would get into trouble with him if it reached his ears that stupid Deku was talking shit of him to thief bitch. Everything made sense now. You broke out of your trance and looked at Midoriya “Was Bakugou?-” He eagerly nodded his head, satisfied that you finally understood him.

“Oh, I see…”

“Y-Yes…”

“…”

“HOLLY SHIT-”

With the issue clarified and only five minutes left before the class started you two proceeded to go upstairs as well. Midoriya and you made small talk with some intervals of comfortable silence here and there, soon enough you both reached your classroom, people chatting lively when you opened the door. Midoriya walked in just behind you as you made it to your designated seats.

‘If I’m not wrong, Math is our first class of the day’ your mind wandered to other school related topics while you seated at your desk, just as you did the bell ringed and your teacher entered the classroom and started his lesson of the day.

Midday finally came, which mean it was finally lunch time, you invited Midoriya beforehand to eat with you, he timidly accepted, after a lot of nervous quacking but you could tell he seem excited about the idea. As soon as the bell that announced the so waited lunch break ringed, you proceeded to pack your books and stationery into your bag and take out your bento when your desk was crowded by what it looked like to be all the girls in your class. One of them, a girl with short brown hair and blue eyes was the first to approach you.

“Hey Shinohara! Do you want to have lunch with us? We didn’t actually have the chance to talk yesterday and we thought it would be nice to know you better.” She spoke.

“Yuki-chan is right! Is refreshing to have another girl in the class after almost three years since we are very few, with you we are eight now!” Said another one of them visibly thrilled.

“You looked so cool yesterday when you confronted Bakugou!”

“I think nobody has managed to do that and live after it, or actually do it”

“Right?!”

“So awesome!”

They gave you a really kind and chill vibe, chatting and praising you animatedly. Although they seemed to really enjoy Bakugou’s antics against your green head classmate, well, nobody's perfect, noted. You can’t judge the book by its cover, but when you looked at them, it’s impossible to not think about…

The offer is almost irresistible.

Almost.

“That sounds lovely! But Midoriya and I agreed to have lunch together today, so I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it to another time.” You almost cringed at how cutesy and honeyed your voice sounded but they seemed to buy it, until their expressions made a 180. Their faces were shocked and almost offended at the thought of you putting him over their proposal. It was a ‘are you for real?’ reaction over all. You kept smiling at them to emphasize that you were serious, when the girl that talked first tried to dissuade you.

“B-But why don’t you eat with us today and leave your lunch with him for tomorrow? I’m sure Midoriya won’t have a problem, right?” She turned and looked at him just as the rest of the girls did after she, Midoriya flinched nervously holding his bento at the unexpected attention he was receiving.

“Eh…! I…! Well… Um…”

“You see! He’s ok with it!”

‘He hasn’t even said a thing!’ You thought trying to conceal your disbelief. ‘Let’s put all the beef on the grill then’

“Oh, I got an idea!” You chimed. “Midoriya! Why don’t you join us for lunch too? That way nobody eats alone and we get to know better! It’s a win-win plan! What do you think?” You were not dumb, although it was true you can’t judge anybody by a simple glance, you had a somewhat firm idea of why they were so eager to mingle with you, so you just did what you thought it was necessary to make sure it was not that, and what a better way than with your nerve-wreck of a friend.

‘What a better way to know someone’s character than by the way they treat others?’

The poor guy looked like he was about to have a seizure and your classmates were not any better; they looked at you even more astonished than before, and you could swear that they started to sweat. Suddenly they look to be hesitant, even the more insistent one. They looked at you, at each other and then at Midoriya.

“I-I think you are right, it wasn’t very nice to insist after you already had plans with…Midoriya, I guess we can leave it for another day.” The others seem to agree, a bit crestfallen but relieved nonetheless.

‘I knew it…’

They shortly left after that; you kept your friendly smile until they finally disappeared behind the door, when they were out of your view completely you let your smile fall and collected your lunch from your desk. You marched to the door, but stopped midway when you noticed that certain someone was still standing lost in his own world, mumbling nonsense as usual.

“Midoriya” You called him, he seemed to have got out of his trance and looked at you eyewided, confused and bewildered.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming or what?” You said smiling.

He stared at you genuinely surprised, but he swiftly shook his head and walked towards you.

“Yes!”

“A-Are we going to eat outside?” he asked curiously.

“I mean, it’s a beautiful day the temperature is perfect and this would actually be the first time ever that I had the chance to be outside in early April without freezing my butt. Do you have any place in mind?”

“No, I-I always eat by myself, so I prefer to stay in the classroom” He answered somewhat ashamed.

“Its ok, I know the perfect place.”

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livingouttheworsttimeline · 3 years

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Why am I so tired all the time?

4:30 am: youngest child wakes up after wetting the bed. change child, change bedsheets, replace drinks, turn night time music back on, convince youngest child that it is in fact still night time. Climb back into bed a 4:55.

5:00 am: eldest child comes to tell me that youngest child wants to play. I am aware, because I have heard her loudly declaring such since I left their room. Tell oldest child to go back to bed. Pray that, somehow, for the very first time, they will put themselves back to sleep.

5:05 am: give up on hopeless prayers. Get up and take both children to the living room. Change the youngest into underwear. Log into tablets and override the “do not turn on until 6 am” setting. Wait for coffee to finish brewing.

5:23 am: extract self from underneath 2 children and a dog to pour first cup of coffee. It’s half caff, because spouse has a heart condition. Remind self that I can have several cups with impunity.

5:45 am: Eldest child is unhappy with the pre-made breakfast provided for him the night before. When asked what he would like to eat, he responds, “bacon, chinese food, or pizza.” Explain, again, that we need a variety of foods for our bodies to grow strong. Spend 15 minutes convincing him to eat $5 worth of blackberries as a compromise.

6:12 am: Finish 2nd cup of coffee, realize that eldest child’s night time pull up is overflowing with poop. Usher him to the bathroom for a bath. Feel humbled when I realize that I spent 10 years in grad school, and yet I am still reduced to wiping shit off another person. Calmly remind eldest child that he is capable of using the potty, and that I have confidence in him.

6:30 am: Spouse awakes, complains that he slept poorly. Roll eyes and go back to drinking 3rd cup of coffee, in between being elbowed in the stomach and explaining that no, I do not know how to work the video game you just downloaded 15 seconds ago. Remind self that I am their physical and mental safe place, which is worth the literal bruises and mental stress.

6:45 am: extract self from pile of children and dog by physically lifting each dependent off my lap. Verify that spouse is up for supervision duties, collect running clothes, and start treadmill.

6:47 am: stop treadmill because youngest child has entered the room and decided that I will not run today because it’s not fair. Remind self that arguing fairness with a 3 year old is the definition of futility. Gently remind her that I love her, she is a big girl, and she can play independently while I run.

6:49 am: start treadmill again. Nagging calf pain seems to be back. Scale back workout, remind self that value of the run is not the distance. Do extra core workout to compensate.

7:30 am: shower. Mediate 2 sibling fights from shower. Fortunately, children are camped out in the bathroom with me, so I don’t have to leave a trail of water through the house to interact.

7:35 am: Marvel at the thought that spouse takes a 45 min shower. EVERY DAY. Note gratitude that I am working from home, and no longer have to style hair and makeup.

7:36 am: Refill kid drink cups for the 3rd time today. Spend 30 minutes convincing, cajoling, and bribing kids to put on clean underwear. We no longer try for clothes.

8:06 am: turn on work computer. Respond to a weekend full of emails. Handle 5 pressing tasks for side hustle, reasoning that if I get them out of the way, I can push the rest of that to do list to after working hours.

8:45 am: Answer persistent pounding on locked office door. refill drinks and provide snack. Reassure youngest child that mommy is still here, but she needs to work.

9:03 am: debate whether going to the bathroom is worth leaving the office and the begging that ensues. Make wrong choice either way.

9:15 am: morning meetings get shuffled later, because childless coworkers “are running late this morning.” Marvel at the concept of 9:15 am being early.

9:30 am: solid wall of meetings until noon. Update team on status at end of last week, despite not remembering what you just ate for breakfast. Realize that you haven’t eaten breakfast. Run training and introduction for new team member. You are the only woman on the team, so you get do the training because “you’re so good at explaining things.”

12:00 pm: Call youngest child’s preschool, make sure you can bring by her supplies and still adhere to Covid protocols. Preschool is also side hustle, so cram a parent and employee meeting into a single hour. Explain that new registration system will, in fact, be more efficient than old paper system. Remind preschool staff that we committed to going paperless. Make small talk with preschool teachers until the hour is up. Hop in the car and speed home.

1:00 pm: children adhere to my side the second I walk in the door. Spouse is in the shower. Children have eaten approximately 3 bites of their pb&j sandwiches, and demand different lunch. Remember that you have not eaten lunch yet. Refill drinks for 4th time, provide reasonable lunch alternatives.

1:25 pm: Remember that you scheduled a meeting for 1:30, and. you need to be present. Calculate that extraction from children is not possible in 5 minutes, and take meeting with youngest child on lap. Despite having weaned 1.5 years ago, youngest child decides that you’re still nursing, and pulls down top on video call. Spend most of call switching on and off mute. Catch every 3rd word.

1:45 pm: apologize to team, promise to reschedule a follow up with more focus. Hang up, extract youngest child’s arm from shirt. Refill drinks for the 5th time. Bribe children to get in bed for a nap with the promise of a visit to nana and pop this afternoon.

1:48 pm: children’s beds have been stripped, due to accidents last night, but spouse “doesn’t know where the clean sheets are”, and so hasn’t remade beds. Children petition to nap on the floor. Explain floor is not comfortable. Find clean sheets, make 2 beds, take everyone to the potty, tuck both children in.

2:20 pm: Realize that you have 40 minutes of actual work time left today, outside of meetings. Try to prioritize, with the knowledge that whatever you get done will not be enough. Deny request for drink refill.

3:00 pm: kick off afternoon meeting block. Try frantically to make the 40 minutes that you did get to work sound like a whole lot more. Wake children up during bathroom break so that they’ll be able to sleep tonight. Refill drinks for 5th time.

3:45 pm: Curse the fact that youngest child has inherited your distaste for waking up. Gently coax her awake in between meetings.

4:00 pm: Wrap up last task from meetings, make list of all new tasks. Realize that today you have checked off one task, and received 7 new ones. Promise self that you’ll get your work laptop back out after the kids are in bed. Ignore the sense of despair that threatens to overtake you.

4:20 pm: Bribe children into putting on clothes with promise of fruit snacks at grandparent’s house. Feel mildly guilty as you put on your second round of workout gear. Load children in double jogging stroller, jog to grandparent’s house.

5:00 pm: collect children to head home for dinner.

5:10 pm: threaten no more fruit snacks if children don’t put on their shoes. Grandparents go get them more fruit snacks.

5:23 pm: explain that the sun is going down in 24 minutes, and that we have to leave now to get home before it gets dark. Remember that time is immaterial. Wish for that blissful sense of ignorance.

5:37 pm: push 100 lbs of toddler and stroller up giant, hilly driveway. Spouse greets us with “what’s for dinner?” Politely remind him that he promised to plan and make dinner while we were gone. Grit teeth at his “I didn’t know what to make” response. Quickly run through available, easy, acceptable options and make dinner.

6:15 pm: serve dinner. Eat own dinner in 2.5 minutes, then spend rest of meal refilling drinks and plates, heating up or cooling down, and cajoling children to eat anything at all.

6:45 pm: Announce that tonight we don’t need to take a bath. Youngest child immediately melts down, because she wanted to take a bath. Eldest child melts down because, even thought he didn’t want to take a bath, he wanted to taunt his sister while she was in the bath.

6:53 pm: Loose temper for 1st time today, scream that children need to brush their teeth. Step away to calm down. Spouse gets upset because “You can’t handle the children without yelling.” Bite tongue all the way through to avoid snarky reply.

7:10 pm: read 2 story books. Read one more. Explain again, that mommy cannot read anymore, and daddy will come read for a little while. Extract self from pile of children, and tuck both in. Hugs, kisses, and fist bumps. Twice. Then once more, after you’ve left the room.

7:15 pm: contemplate second shower. Decide that you didn’t really get that sweaty on the walk, and it’s not like you’re going out. Collapse on sofa with phone and mindless tv.

7:25 pm: spouse comes into the living room after harrowing duty of reading for 10 minutes. Hand over the remote, pull out side hustle lap top and finalize tasks for the day.

8:30 pm: remember that you promised to do main job work. Bring out that laptop to run some code while you continue side hustle work.

9:15 pm: Finish side hustle work, give up on main job work for the evening. Mentally apologize to team for not making more progress, promise to self that you’ll be more focused tomorrow.

9:30 pm: tell spouse that you need to go to bed. Endure his eye roll and disappointed face. Apologize for needing to go to sleep so early, and reassure him that you’re doing the best you can.

10:15 pm: eldest child has night terror. Comfort eldest child until he’s calm. Comfort youngest child, who is upset at brother’s screams. Realize that spouse is still watching tv in the living room while you comfort children.

11:00 pm: listen to youngest child cry for 10 minutes until spouse begrudgingly tends to her. Remind self that it is not solely my job to comfort our children. Try to go back to sleep.

3 am: eldest child wakes up with question about mushrooms that is vitally important. Answer to best of middle-of-the-night ability, acknowledge that you appreciate his curiosity, but that there are times when questions are not appropriate. Get him back to sleep.

4:30 am: youngest child wakes up.

#working mom #why am i so tired

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gwiiyeoweo · 5 years

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The Hexatheon were powerful gods, anyone would agree; legends and myths were passed through the generations, some written in dusty old texts or whispered to young ears at bedtime. Others existed out of the circle, obscure as they were considering the fervor given to the big Six, but they still existed.

For example, though Bahamut remains their patron god, the Lucians often pay homage to a certain Astral: Noctis, the Stellarian, the Wish Maker. And if the legends were true, Prompto figured it was worth a shot.

He just didn't expect the Astral himself to literally drop into his arms like a freakin’ falling star.

Pairing: Noctis/Prompto Rating: T

The gods were not to be trifled with, Prompto knew, and they could be as gentle as they were fierce.

Solheim had been born from Ifrit's fire only to be burned at the end, and Titan could very well drop the meteor he's been holding for eons at any given time (the guy definitely did not skimp out on arm day). Accordo had Leviathan's favor until the Tide Mother would decide to swallow the nation beneath her waves, and who knew what Bahamut could do to Insomnia, especially with all those giant swords of his. Though maybe Shiva could be a testament to that, seeing that she was busy burying Niflheim in ice and snow for pissing her off recently for whatever reason.

Old man Ramuh seemed content to just bless the rains down in Duscae, so he was a pretty chill dude in Prompto's opinion.

Prompto flipped through the pages of the 3rd edition Cosmogony: Volume 5 , lounging in sweatpants and a simple tee. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and wiggled around to get in that perfect comfy position, shoulders and back slumped against his plush couch. Beside him, his phone cycled through his playlist, all filled with instrumental music to read to. And honestly, he needed it if he ever wanted to get through a book or a study session, just to help drown out the busy drone of the loud Insomnian streets. Past dinner time and the city was still buzzing with life and thrumming its fanfare.

Now, he didn’t mean to complain. He was thankful that the foreign student exchange program included free housing. He had a nice, well-furnished apartment thanks to Insomnia’s education department, right outside the edge of the university’s campus. Unfortunately, the location meant he was plopped right in the heart of the city, where sirens and the thrum of engines were the most rampant. Prompto had quickly invested in a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

Ignoring the hustle and bustle of city life, he idly tapped his fingers along the edge of his book as he skimmed through the text and images. The whole thing was dedicated to the Hexatheon and tales about Oracles and Chosen Kings. He read enough about that to commit to memory, but he was searching for something else.

The librarian had said the fifth volume was his best bet at finding info about the lesser Astrals, the gods that weren’t included in the Six’s circle. In his search for knowledge, he had come across a few research papers arguing about Carbuncle’s place among the gods; some argued that the little fox was simply a messenger, others were convinced it was an Astral itself. There had also been scholarly articles about twin messengers, often depicted as dogs, and whether or not they were more than what they presented as. But to be honest, Prompto didn’t care for any of them.

He was interested in the Stellarian, who had been frustratingly elusive despite all his mind-numbing efforts.

Prompto was beginning to think he bit off more than he could chew. He shouldn’t have picked an almost non-existent god to write his final paper on. Gods, his grade was gonna take a hit .

With a tired groan, Prompto shut his eyes and let his body weight fall to the side. He turned his head into the couch pillows and let out a muffled, frustrated scream.

This sucked. Hard.

Like, sucked Titan’s dick hard.

Maybe, just maybe if he crawled into his professor’s office and offered up a box of chocolates, she’d consider letting him change his topic. But being so far into the semester, he doubted his chances. And, well, the fact that nearly half of Insomnia hated him — professor included — didn’t really help his odds, either.

It was no secret that Lucis and Niflheim had been butting heads over the last few decades. At one point they had been a hair’s width away from declaring war on each other. It wasn’t until the current king, Regis Lucis Caelum, inherited the throne from his father, that the tension slowly smoothed out. Just a couple years ago, the two kingdoms managed to come to a truce. Of course, there had been doubts on this peace treaty. Many didn’t think it would last, or others believed it was all just a ruse for Niflheim to launch a surprise attack. Two years later, nothing happened. Sure, there was still some political unrest between the two nations; it had been, after all, only two years of peace following decades of strained relations.

Which, Prompto figured, was why King Regis included Niflheim when he proposed a student exchange program among all their nations.

He wasn’t going to lie. He had been real uneasy about being shipped out overseas into enemy territory like some sort of sacrificial guinea pig. Alright, it was kind of expected that he be elected as one of the students, since his parents were important figures in Niflheim’s Council, and he had a responsibility to shoulder some off-hand duties here and there. But still . He had felt like a baby chocobo being thrown into a den of Insomnia’s hunting wolves. It wasn’t like the Lucians were infamous for being cruel, rabid war criminals or something; but suddenly being told he was going to be sent on an airship to a nation his kingdom was about to declare war on had been pretty nerve-wracking.

And it wasn’t like his fears had been entirely unfounded, anyway. He hadn’t expected a nice champagne-popping welcoming party, but their sharp gazes and stiff expressions definitely had him on edge. He had been greeted with a cold formality and a robotic process like they just wanted to get him off their hands as quickly as possible. The whole thing had taken a few hours of verifying his visa and personal documents and whatever, and a quick audience with King Regis himself — holy shit holy shit , Prompto had repeated as a mantra — that surely involved a sweaty and shaky handshake. It was hard to remember; he had been close to passing out from anxiety, and he was pretty sure he had disassociated sometime during the whole thing, because the next thing he had known, a door shut behind him and he was standing in a brand new apartment.

As much as he’d like to say the worst was over, he couldn’t. He knew there was still tension between the two nations, and that he would be bearing the brunt of it. It was easy to tell he was a foreigner, a Niff, with his characteristic light hair and light blue, almost violet eyes, and the people of Insomnia had no trouble singling him out. On good days, he’d only hear whispers and gossip behind his back, followed by a snicker or a stank eye. And on bad days, well, sometimes things bordered on physical. He’d just coincidentally trip on someone’s well-timed foot, or someone wouldaccidentally bump into him with a full cup of scalding hot coffee.

At least, it seemed all of Insomnia seemed to know he was part of a government-sponsored program, and they had this unspoken rule to not mess up whatever chance they had of keeping this peace treaty. Which meant, not beating up the son of some very important government figures of a certain nation. Prompto had that, at least. Though sometimes, he wondered how long that protection would even last.

On the bright side, he made some fairly nice acquaintances so far. Ignis Scientia hailed from Tenebrae and was part of the student exchange program. The guy was a damn good cook, and his kitchen skills were only matched by his spectacular grades. His prowess over daggers, though, were a close second. Gladiolus Amicitia, on the other hand, turned out to be the son of the King’s Shield. The Shield . When Prompto had found out, all he did was leave his jaw on the floor until Gladio had laughed it off and picked it up for him. Okay, yeah, no wonder the guy was ripped as all hell, holy fuck!

But while they were pretty cool people, they were just that: acquaintances. There wasn’t a single person he could call a friend. And why would anyone want him? He was just a dirty Niff in their eyes.

And though he didn’t want to think he was that desperate, he turned to the only thing he had left — prayer.

It wasn’t a new concept, especially not to Prompto, having enrolled in several history classes that included the gods in their curriculums. The Hexatheon were powerful gods, anyone would agree. Legends and myths passed through the generations, some written in dusty old texts or whispered into young ears at bedtime. He learned ancient Solheim used to pray to Ifrit, but their hubris led to their downfall. Sometimes he would see the Lucians offer up their prayers to the Draconian in little shrines dotting across Insomnia, or King Regis himself leading a procession dedicated to Bahamut on channel eight.

In fact, he had expected just that: for Insomnia to dedicate itself to the Draconian alone. So when he had seen little altars made for a different god, surprise was an understatement. Hell, he had been shocked when he didn’t even recognize the name. Naturally, he had turned to the smartest guy he knew and asked Ignis who the Stellarian was. Turned out Bahamut wasn’t the only god they worshipped.

Though he didn’t have as large as a following compared to Bahamut, the Stellarian — Noctis, his other name — was quite popular.

So Prompto got curious.

And as luck would have it, there was almost nothing on the Stellarian. A Moogle search got him a few business ads (a cruise ship, a jewelry line, and a wine brand) and only a handful of helpful links. From what little he could glean off the internet, he did learn some interesting facts. For whatever reason, the Stellarian preferred the name Noctis, though he’s cycled through other names before, like Noct Gar. More importantly, he was known as the Wish Maker, who took the hopes of people and made dreams into reality (which explained his close affiliation to Carbuncle), and his motif revolved around the night and stars, true to both his name and title.

According to various first-hand experiences, Noctis had dark hair and steel-blue eyes, all topped off with a lazy grin. Prompto wasn’t sure if stories off the internet held any validity, but most of them agreed on at least that much. The only thing was, some said Noctis appeared as a young boy with all the soft sweetness of a child, others described him as a man in his late twenties, mid thirties, or sometimes even fifties, with all the scruff and wrinkled lines around his eyes to show for it. Forums speculated that Noctis was some incorporeal spirit, only appearing in a physical body according to what the witness would feel the most comfortable with.

Literature was less of a help. Most of the Cosmogony volumes didn’t even reference Noctis, much to Prompto’s frustration. Because his professor sure as hell wasn’t going to accept public forums and conspiracy sites as valid sources in his bibliography.

He figured it was his fault for doing research on something that actually interested him for once, because he should have expected at least that much considering his luck. Noctis may have failed him in getting an A on his paper, but Prompto still liked to believe in him.

He sat up from his couch, shoving the Cosmogony text off onto the carpet. He stretched out his arms, feeling his joints pop and crack with relief and satisfaction, and he could feel the ache in his butt when he stood from the couch. As plush and comfy as the cushions were, nothing could stave off the butt ache from sitting for so long. Prompto shuffled across the room and slid the glass door open, stepping onto the balcony that overlooked the streets of Insomnia.

Pictures could never do it justice. As dark as the skies were, the city was alive with all its neon signs and halogen lights. Electricity hummed under the concrete and asphalt, feeding the bright street lamps that lit up the roads. The roar of engines and the cry of sirens made their own loud music, drowning out the karaoke bars that were around each corner. Gralea was a large city in its own right and a leader in growing technology, but it lacked the vibrant life that Insomnia was teeming with.

Prompto leaned forward against the metal railing, gone cold as the seasons changed to autumn. He sighed into the night air, the cool breeze a refreshing sensation on his warm skin and tired eyes. He looked up at the dark sky, saw the thin shimmer of the famous magic-powered Wall that surrounded Insomnia. Whispers said King Regis was planning on dropping it sometime in the near future, once the threat of Niflheim was completely gone.

‘If only he’d drop it now,’ Prompto wished. He understood why the King did what he did, why he kept the barrier up. But the shine of the wall coupled with the light pollution from the city made it awfully difficult to see the stars. It was nearly impossible to tell the them apart from the magic, and he found that especially troublesome when he wanted to offer up his prayers to the god of, well, the stars, because that’s how it was supposed to work, right? It’s not like he could steal one of those mini altars set up here and there across the city, and he was pretty sure that would only make the Lucians hate him even more, if he could.

So Prompto would just have to settle and make do with what he had, pouring his belief into a night sky of fake stars. And just as he had been doing every night for the past few months, he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the dim lights of the skies, and breathed out a quiet wish across his lips.

(“Hey,” he whispered to no one but himself and the night sky, “I, uh, dunno if you’re actually out there. But I think you do, and so do a few thousand other people, I guess. But if you are out there, and you’re listening, then — well, geez, this is just weird, Prom. Just forget it.”

“So, umm, it’s me again, y’know, your boy Prompto.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another, holding an ice pack on his hand, where someone had spilled hot coffee on him. Again. “You’re probably too busy to listen to a pleb like me, but… ”

“Guess what, Noct? I can call you Noct, right? Okay, good. So anyway, this giant guy Gladio, the one that’s all buff and shit? Yeah, well, turns out he’s the son of the Shield! Can you believe that?”

“But you know, bud, as much as I like this one-on-one thing we’ve got going going on.. I mean, no offense, your holy Astral-ness, but it’d just be nice, y’know — to have a friend that I can actually talk to. Man-to-man. Ya feel me?”

“Noctis, please.” )

Maybe it was the sparkle of magic, or his eyes were just too tired that night; but for a fleeting moment, he saw the thin tail of a shooting star.

Before he saw the red sole of a boot crash into his face.

And as he literally started to see stars when the back of his head hit concrete, he was pretty sure he heard voices too.

“Oh shit, oh shit, Prompto, I am so fucking sorry. C’mon, stay with me here!”

Kweh, Kweh, Kweh —

With a heavy groan, Prompto rolled over to his side and slammed his hand on his chocobo alarm clock. On any other morning when he had his wits about him, he would have had the mind to feel bad about smacking the poor chocobo’s head, as plastic and inanimate as it was. But gods, he felt like utter crap. Like someone dropped a cinderblock on his head or something. It’s not like he got shit-faced drunk last night, so why did he —

His eyes shot open, and he frantically threw his blanket off, tripping over his own feet as he practically jumped out of bed. His head, though, wasn’t having it, and his entire bedroom spun around him as his legs gave out. He fell face first, though he managed to get his hands out in front of him to help break his fall, though his forearms might suffer from carpet burn for it. And ohhh god, his head was killing him. And his face. Especially his face.

But yeah, having someone practically shove their boot into one's face would maybe, just maybe do that.

Prompto squeezed his eyes shut, perfectly content with lying on the floor for now, as he tried to recall last night. He had just been minding his business, gazing at the sky and sharing a little one-sided chat with his favorite Astral, when all of a sudden all he could see was red. He could make out the sole of a shoe and some blob, which he deduced to be the person behind the shoe. The perpetrator had been rambling something out, like an apology, then everything had gone to black.

Yeah, that was one way to end a night, he guessed. Whoever the guy was, Prompto hoped he was okay too. Falling from that kind of height would surely result in at least a broken ankle, if not worse.

“Prompto?”

Holy hell.

His whole body jumped, and he let out the most squeaky scream he ever heard from himself, and practically scrambled on all fours to his nightstand, clawing at the drawer and hands wrapping around the gun he kept stashed there. He never thought he'd have to use it in Insomnia,wished he would never have to — not because he was afraid to shoot but because he had always been taught to shoot to kill. And he was two hundred percent sure killing someone, house intruder or not, would just make him look worse in the Lucians’ eyes.

'Yep, so peachy!’ he sarcastically thought.

What a great turn of events. The guy that fell from the sky and knocked him out, was gonna kill him or rob him or something. Rob him and kill him — if Prompto didn't pull the trigger first. But of all the ways to die, he never really thought of this as a scenario. He wouldn’t even say goodbye to his parents! And as distant as he had become with them, he missed his mom and dad. He loved them, and he knew they loved him too, as much as stressed out council members under the reign of a half-crazy emperor could. But while he knew he wasn't going to die here — or so he hoped, because some self-esteem issues aside, he was a damn good shot — in a foreign nation, an ocean and hundreds of miles away from his parent's, he was so not ready to be thrown under custody for something that really wasn't his fault to begin with.

And he never even got to see a chocobo in real life. He was gonna go to jail without even seeing a chocobo, and he found that so fucking tragic.

“Prompto! Hey, hey, it’s okay. Shit , I’m sorry. Look, I’m not gonna hurt you — well, I guess I already did with, well, last night. And I’m seriouslysorry. That, uh. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Prompto’s breath hitched, when he saw the intruder just sort of… Pop in from the edge of his vision. Crouched to the floor, his hands were offered, both palms up and coming up empty. Prompto kept his mouth shut, body still stiff in his stance, one knee perched on the floor and both hands taking their firm aim, and he stared at the guy’s hands. It took him a few seconds to realize that this home invader was trying to prove he had no weapons. Oh, okay.

So, maybe he could work with this? Maybe no one was going to die?

He took in a slow, shuddering breath, willing his body to relax. Prompto swallowed, slowly letting his gaze roam from the stranger’s hands and up to his face. Might as well put a face to the voice, right?

Except, he totally did not expect to see what he saw. The guy, well, looked almost the same age as Prompto. Kinda small, mostly unassuming — except, he was kind of handsome. Pretty, even. With those long eyelashes and deep blue eyes, the dark hair that perfectly framed his sculpted face. He looked like he was carved from living marble, he was just that pretty . And okay, Prompto was definitely out of it, if that was the first thing he thought of the man, when he was the same exact person who not only fell from the sky to knock him out boot-to-face but also had the audacity to tuck him into bed after breaking into his home then robbing him. Or something?

Like, seriously, who does that? If all of the city’s criminals were like this, then Insomnia was fucking weird as hell.

“Um, Prom? You okay? Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to land on you like that. That was embarrassing. And — ugh, shit, I’m so not good at this.” The stranger huffed, running a hand through his dark hair, and he grumbled something entirely foreign. Like, okay, that was definitely not a language Prompto’s ever heard before. And how did he know his name?

“Okay, so let’s try this instead. Prompto, I want you to take a deep breath and think. What was the last thing you said last night?” He quickly held up his finger. “Don’t answer that yet. But after you remember, I want you to look at me. Really look at me, okay? No but’s. Just try, Prom.”

“Uh. O-okay?” Prompto managed to choke out. Despite the warning bells screaming at him, that maybe listening to this complete wacko was not a good idea, he did anyway. He did his best and pushed through the raging headache, tried to recall what he had said before this nut job fell on top of him. He had gone to the balcony, talked to the Stellarian like he always did.

“Hey, Noct, how’s it going? I’m.. I’m doing fine, mostly. A little lonely, though, like always. But one thing: why you gotta be so mysterious? You’re really making me work for this research paper, you know.” He sighed, but not without a light laughter following. “But, honestly? I wouldn’t mind trading a grade for a wish. I mean, I get it. You’re busy, there’s a lot of important people out there. More important than me. But… I dunno, dude. Heck, I wouldn’t even mind if you dropped from the sky and fell on my face, but it’d be totally cool if we could talk one day. At this point, I practically consider you my friend.”

And then lo and behold, someone had indeed fallen on him. He guessed that’s how the saying went, to be careful what you wish for. And — wait. Wait. Wait .

Prompto’s eyes blew wide, and was he breathing? ‘Cause he totally forgot how to breathe all of a sudden. He felt his face drain of blood, and he was pretty sure his jaw was hanging open too. All he could feel was the hard beating of his heart slamming against his ribcage as it climbed into his throat and choked him of his words. Whatever coherent thoughts he had were drowned out by the rushing in his ears, but he was somehow managing to put two and two together. And even when he did, his brain was so fried that his math was giving him five’s and zero’s and fourteen’s.

“Oh. My. Gods.” He barely managed a broken whisper. “Noctis.”

And if he thought his brain was already fried, that dazzling smile, bright and soft like the shimmering stars, threw his brain into a blender.

“The one and only.”

“You’re Noctis.”’

“Yep.”

“Holy shit. No way. No freakin’ way!” Prompto broke away from his stance and crawled his way to Noctis, eyes still wide in shock and surprise, a half smile hanging from his lips in disbelief. He stopped just short of Noctis and sat on his knees, peering at the Astral like he was the most foreign, most strangest, most dazzling little thing he ever had the pleasure of meeting. To his credit, not anyone could just come face-to-face with a god. But here he was. Prompto, just a common pleb, here in front of one, in his little old apartment.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been just staring, but obviously long enough for Noctis to clear his throat and say something.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Noctis suggested, voice all warm with amusement.

“Uh, right! Sorry!” Prompto squeaked. He pulled back, suddenly aware that he was in the presence of greatness. But the sudden movement jostled his brain, and the pain and dizziness was doing him no favors, and he felt himself falling backwards —

Until two gentle hands grabbed a hold of his shoulders, keeping him from bonking his head again. “Woah there, tiger. C’mon, let’s get you back into bed.”

Prompto was about to protest, say that he was fine (he was not, in fact, fine) but Noctis seemed to see through the lie before he even had the chance to say it. Just as Prompto parted his lips to voice his reasoning, the Astral placed a careful hand on his forehead. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion, and his limbs turned into putty. Noctis, despite his slim figure and lean arms, managed to gather Prompto together and lift him up with nearly zero effort. Well, he was a god, after all.

Prompto silently let himself be carried back to bed, and soon enough, he was all tucked in again, his gun having been gently pried away from his fingers and returned to the nightstand. The bed dipped where Noctis sat at the edge, and the Astral leaned over him.

“Okay, blondie. I need you to do one last thing for me,” he softly said. “Before you fall asleep, I want you to make a wish. Something like, ‘please fix my broken nose and get rid of this shitty headache’ or whatever. Got that?”

Prompto could only manage a weak nod. Keeping his eyes open was a battle all on its own, at this point. But wait, if he fell asleep, would Noctis still be here? What if this was all some fucked up dream?

Noctis, somehow noticing the distress, patted the poor boy's chest in reassurance. “Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake up. Gotta clean up my mess somehow.”

That mess probably meant himself, Prompto vaguely thought. But well, whatever, he just really wanted to sleep. As he let his consciousness melt away, he made sure to keep Noctis’ instructions in mind.

Strangely enough, Prompto woke up feeling refreshed and well-rested, which hadn't happened in at least a couple years, not like this. He blinked once, twice and slowly sat up, looking over to his chocobo clock. It was now noon, several hours after his alarm was set to go off. Several hours after all that happened. It felt like a fever dream. It had to be, because after all, that blaring pain in the back of his skull was now gone, and his face wasn't sore and swollen.

Except, Prompto could see where his bedroom door was left ajar, could see Noctis floating around in the kitchen, where the aroma of a strong brew wafted from. And okay, so maybe that wasn't a dream.

Hooooooo, okay. He could do this. He was not going to freak out. He was gonna step out of bed and walk out, all cool and composed. He had this.

With a deep breath, Prompto willed his heart to calm the fuck down, and he quietly swung his legs over the bed, firmly planting his feet onto the ground. He didn't want a repeat of the last time he tried, when he barely missed falling onto his face. So with step one done, he slowly pushed himself to stand, and once he got his knees to stop buckling, he quietly made his way out his room. The bedroom door creaked as he pushed it open, and Noctis. Oh man, Noctis , an honest-to-gods Astral, turned around to greet him with a smile in his eyes.

Good thing Prompto made sure his knees were steady, else they would have turned to jello.

“Hey. Feelin’ better?” Noctis asked, walking over with two mugs in his hands. Prompto nodded weakly, carefully taking an offered cup. “Still hot, careful.” Noctis warned, right as the blonde placed his lips around the rim.

Prompto was quick to pull back; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a god by spilling hot coffee on himself. But he may have already done that this morning. How was he even supposed to act in front of a god, anyway? He frowned into his cup, staring at his dark reflection.

“Prompto, you might want to sit down for this.” Noctis’ words jerked him from his thoughts, and who was he to deny the advice of a god? He quietly shuffled over to the couch, sitting at the far end, and let his mug rest on the table.

“So,” Noctis said, taking a seat next to him, “What did you think of Carbuncle?”

“Who?”

“Carbuncle. You met him, didn’t you?”

“Uhh… No? I mean, was I supposed to?”

“Oh.” Noctis hummed thoughtfully. “I asked him to help me patch you up. But I guess you’re one of those who forget their dreams.”

Well, he certainly didn’t remember dreaming at all for the past couple nights. But wait. He met Carbuncle, too? Damn, he must have been a saint or something in his previous life, if he got to meet not only one but two Astrals in less than twenty-four hours. Granted, he didn’t remember meeting one of them, but still. This was pretty sick. Getting kicked in the face and suffering a concussion was totally worth this.

“Wow,” Prompto breathed out, a drunk smile perched on his lips. “This is so cool.”

Beside him, Noctis snorted out of amusement. “Well, I hope so. It’s the one wish you kept asking of me, after all.”

“Oh! Right. I did wish for that, didn’t I?” As excited as he was and how special he felt, he also felt the pressure of making the most out of his wish. This was a chance of a lifetime, and he really didn’t want to waste it. Noctis was probably busy, and he couldn’t spend all day chatting. Prompto almost wished he had a heads up or something, just so he could have made a list of things he wanted to ramble about. But now that Noctis was actually here, sitting on his couch in his one-bedroom apartment, his mind was coming up blank with what to say or do. He felt a brief flash of panic cut through his chest. Every second he spent in silence was a precious second wasted. “I… I actually have no clue what I want to say.”

“Eh, that’s fine.” Noctis waved one hand in the air and took a sip of his coffee. He leaned forward to trade his mug with the remote control, setting his drink beside Prompto’s, and turned on the TV. He slumped back into the seat, lazily rolling his head to face Prompto. “Take your time, man. I literally have eternity.”

Prompto choked on his own spit. “Wha — no, you can’t!”

Noctis frowned, as if insulted. “What d’you mean I can’t?”

“I mean, well, you’re a god . You can’t be wasting your time on a pleb like me! You have, you know, more important things to do!”

“Hey, Prompto —”

“And, and, aren’t there like, kings or something you could be listening to instead? Like, uh, King Regis!”

“Okay, Prom, shut up for sec.” Before Prompto could come up with anymore excuses, Noctis reached over with his hands and squeezed the boy’s cheeks together. “You’re half-right. I can’t be wasting time on a single person, especially when there’s millions of wishes out there needing help. But I’m not wasting my time. And I’m not ignoring everyone else either.”

He withdrew his hands, but kept his eyes trained on Prompto. “I mean, it’s not like you know this, so I guess I should explain it to you. Do you know how many stars there are in the sky?” — Prompto made to answer but Noctis shot him a pointed look — “It’s a rhetorical question, don’t answer that. But there’s a lot.”

“You see, blondie, there’s as many ‘me’s’ as there are stars in this universe.” He waved a hand through the air, a trail of blue lights shimmering in its wake, then pinched a tiny glittering crystal among them all and held it up to Prompto.

“It just so happened that I plucked one out of the sky and personalized it just for you.”

Prompto wasn’t sure he one hundred percent understood it, but he liked to think he got the general idea. Turned out Noctis wasn’t a single individual but rather a lot of individuals that shared a consciousness. Like, a hivemind, Prompto noted.

“Think of it like a giant tree. Noctis is the tree, and the branches and roots reach all across Eos,” he had explained, placing a hand on his own chest, “A branch is a part of the tree, but the tree isn’t a part of the branch. And you could say I’m one of those branches. So in the same way, I’m a fragment of Noctis; but he’s not me.” Noctis had scrunched his nose, grimacing at his own words. “Okay. Yeah, that made more sense in my head. Sorry, not sure how to put it. Shiva would be better at explaining…”

Prompto had shaken his head. He had been pretty sure he got the gist of it. But it hadn’t changed the fact that this Noctis was here to stay, or at least, that’s what the implication was. He had no intention of ruining his perfectly happy moment just yet, so he had figured to store that thought for later. So instead, he had gotten up to walk over to the TV stand, had picked up a pair of controllers while looking at god in the eye and asking, “Play Blade Masters with me?”

And damn was Noctis a fast learner, because Prompto almost had his ass handed to him in their last match. Give or take an hour, and he was pretty sure Noct could master all the characters and their combos, even the ones with like ten inputs. “So, Noct — ah, shit! — you’re really here to stay?” Prompto leaned to his left and mashed his controller furiously, as if the added effort would translate into the game.

“Yep,” Noctis answered, eyes honed in on the screen, shoulders tense and thumbs raging on his controller.

“Neat.”

Noctis’ fighter got K.O.d, and he paused to lower his controller and flick Prompto on the nose. “You got your own personal god here, and all you can say is ‘Neat’?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Prompto laughed, blossoming with an easy smile. “Hella neat.”

“Damn straight.”

#prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #ff15 #final fantasy xv #i can type

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obligatorykoreablog · 6 years

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Storms and Sentries: Crossing the English Channel

Sometimes a place just won’t let you go.

The Route Since Last Time: Bruges, Belgium - Dunkirk, France - Dover, England

Countries Visited: 7

Total Distance: 2,291km / 1,423 miles

Total Ascent: 13,118 meters / 43,038 feet

There were so many bonds that I had to sever, and that had to be severed for me, before I moved from America to Korea. And when I decided to strike out from Busan two years later–to the far ends of India and Indonesia and dozens of destinations between, to wander until I stumbled onto my next path in life–a new teaching opportunity reeled me back to Korea for an additional three years. But not before visa issues nearly marooned me Stateside. Even this last January, when I loaded up my bike and started pedaling to the bus that was to start me on my way out of Korea, a bike malfunction, ice-covered trails, and a run-in with a troop of Korean soldiers–who were marching in drill formation down the trail that led to the station–all nearly conspired to make me miss my bus.

Mainland Europe didn’t want to let me go, either. Clear of the canyons of Luxembourg and the rolling landscape of southern Belgium, I thought it would be a straight shot to Dunkirk, France, where I planned to catch a ferry to England. And for a couple of hours it was. The terrain was finally flat, running between rows of trees along a low-lying canal. The sun cast the horizon in a golden glow.

But then the rain started. And soon it became a downpour. Even though I was clad in rain gear, water started to drain in under the tops of my boot covers and down into my shoes, down my chin and beneath my waterproof layers to my chest. As I pressed on, the wind ripped open the zippers on the sides of my poncho. Its flaps lashed my back. I weaved between flocks of sheep idling in the cycleway.

A woman smoking a cigarette under the overhang of a roadside apartment complex advised me to backtrack to a tram station on the coast. But I couldn’t understand her instructions, and I couldn’t locate the station on my phone. Finding it would probably necessitate more wandering than it was worth, and besides, there were only 25 miles to go. I was determined to cycle every inch of my route.

Signs for the port started to appear. Two miles to go. The wind kicked into high gear. My hands had long since gone numb. With my head down, I fought for each pedal stroke.

I pulled into the ferry ticket office, overjoyed that I’d made it. The attendant asked if I wanted to upgrade to the VIP lounge for something like 15 bucks. After that shitshow, I thought, why not? I was ready to kick back and warm up. I swiped my card and scrawled my signature onto the receipt with my red, swollen hands.

And then the attendant directed me back outside.

“Just present your ticket at that booth.“ He pointed at some obscure point down the road leading to the coast. “But you need to go now, if you want to catch the 6pm.”

Though all of the ferry signs showed entry for bicycles and pedestrians, the port was really only designed for car traffic. I fought my way to a checkpoint along the roadside and presented my drenched ticket. The attendant waved me on to passport control a little further down the road.

The immigration officer there was an Englishwoman, probably not much older than me.

“Where and when did you enter Europe?” she asked.

“At Barcelona, on February 28th,” I said.

“And what have you been doing here?”

“Cycling across Europe, on my way to see friends in Birmingham.” The wind was flinging droplets of stinging rain onto my arms and face.

“You’ve cycled all this way?” She gave me a look of disbelief that I’d grown used to, even become proud of, in interactions with people I’d met along the trail. I smiled and nodded. She craned her neck to peer out at my bike. “How long do you intend to stay in Birmingham?”

“A couple of weeks,” I said.

“Do you have a ticket out?”

I hesitated. I knew my answer wouldn’t win me any points. “Not yet. I’ve had to keep my schedule kind of flexible. I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get here.”

“Don’t you need to get back for work?”

“Well, I’ve been teaching in Korea for the last 5 years, and I just finished that job and won’t start graduate school until August.” The wind kept whipping my poncho into my face. My teeth were starting to chatter.

“How long have you known this friend in Birmingham?”

“We actually taught with the same program in Korea, so about 5 years.”

“Do you have a home to return to in the States?”

“When I get back I’ll stay with my parents for a bit before I get my new living situation settled near my university.”

“And which university is that?”

“University of Colorado.”

“Do you have an acceptance email or something that I could see to verify your enrollment?”

I flipped through my phone and found it, then handed it over to her, compliantly, promptly. I’d never been questioned so much at a passport control. Not in Asia, even in countries with stringent visa application processes like Russia and India. And certainly not in mainland Europe, where so far the borders had been void of any checkpoint at all. But I was providing honest, verifiable answers to her questions, and I’d read that my U.S. passport guaranteed me a tourist visa in the U.K. I stayed calm.

She scanned the email for a couple of seconds and handed the phone back to me.

“So far you haven’t told me what I want to hear,” she said.

My gut dropped.

“You don’t have a date of exit from the U.K. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a home to go back to. You’re traveling by bicycle, which is extremely unusual. Nothing you’re telling me is concrete.”

“I understand,” I said. The smile washed off my face. The wind was howling.

“I’m going to stamp your passport with a date by which you must leave the country, and if you overstay that date, there will be penalties. But before I do that, we need to fill out some paperwork with details of your stay. What’s your friend’s address?”

My stomach sank deeper. “I actually don’t have his address.”

“You don’t have his address?”

“No,” I said. I searched for something I could offer up. “I have the address of the hostel where I’m staying tonight, but I don’t have his address.”

“How were you going to get to his house?”

“Well, I knew it was going to take about a week to cycle up to him. So at this point I was just going to head in the general direction of Birmingham and ask for his address when I got closer.”

“When was the last time you were in contact with him?”

“A day or two ago.”

“A phone number, then.”

“Sure,” I said, unlocking my phone once more. But I already knew I didn’t have it. I paused for a second before looking up in defeat. “So, I know this is terrible, but we only communicate via a chat app that we used when we were in Korea, even for voice calls. So I don’t have his phone number.” I scrambled to the bright side before she could reply. “But I can call him on the app, right now, and we can get all the information we need.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” she said, “because this is getting worse and worse.”

I shuffled to the side of the booth where I could get some relief from the howling wind and called my friend, praying he’d pick up. Which he did, after only a few rings. I rushed the phone back to the immigration officer and then returned to the side of the booth while they chatted, hopping around to try to get warm, my teeth chattering more and more violently. After a couple of minutes she called me back over.

“Your friend has verified what you’ve told me,“ she said, “so I’m going to stamp your passport for entry.” Her expression softened, just a bit. “I hope the weather clears up for you. I’m sorry to give you such a hard time. It’s just that nothing you’ve told me is concrete.”

Those words, which she repeated again and again over the course of our 15-minute exchange (which felt more like an hour), played on a loop in my head as the ferry carried me across the choppy channel. In the weeks since my graduate school path became clear, I’d been inwardly rejoicing that I’d finally found a practical outlet for my creative impulses. That I was going to rejoin life in the States, but outside of the corporate strictures that had driven me to flee home in the first place.

But there I’d stood, on the threshold of the next phase of my journey, an entire continent closer to my next major undertaking in life, and the gatekeeper had nearly denied me entry on the flimsiness of those very strides.

Still, after all that trouble, she stamped my passport for the standard six-month tourist visa, well beyond the few weeks I told her I wanted or needed.

As the ferry neared England, the white cliffs of Dover jutted up from the churning ocean. For the first time I understood how such a small, isolated country could have been such a domineering global force for so many centuries. The weather and the landscape were impenetrable. Unforgiving. I cycled off the ferry and over to my hostel, just a mile or so down the street. It lay down a dark alleyway. After the heavy rains, dampness hung in the dorm. I fell into a deep sleep.

The next day the sun was out. I hiked to the ends of the trails atop the cliffs of Dover and looked out across the channel. In the distance, I could see the coast of mainland Europe, after all just a faint line behind me.

#bike touring #travel #cycling #Europe #England #dover

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workingontruth · 5 years

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Part 6 of 7: The Gospel (In Full)...Stage 4; Command Us

October 9, 2019

[Forgive Me. Fill Me. Surrender Me. COMMAND US. Fuel Us.]

We’re making good progress into the ongoing beauty of the Gospel – what a JOY! With the controversy of self-will behind us in Stage 3, this fourth stage of The Gospel (in Full) represents a corner turned.

However, we must not simply plow onward into this fourth stage of the Christian life without honestly verifying the condition of our soul at this point on our personal journey with God in Christ.

Said in another way, if the controversy of self-will is not behind you in a way that you know the Spirit has dealt with you sufficiently unto repentance and surrender, now is not the time to “roll on.”

“Why not”, you say? “Doesn’t there come some point, Greg, where you just have to press on, regardless of whether one has been illuminated on a matter?”

The answer is NO. Not, that is, unless you’re just trying to “accomplish” your Christianity.

Let me try to tell you why–from a few slightly different vantage points.

Being “Christian” out from an unsurrendered, wrong motivation of the soul will only be an unfruitful exercise into a venture that will not “work” for you. In such a case, it’s best to stay out of it altogether.

If your motive in following Jesus is to attain “your best life now” or to somehow discover what will “work for you,” you’ll be sorely disappointed.

Instead, in bridging our 3rd to this current 4th Stage of these Gospel (In Full) contemplations, you must know the surrendered and commandable Christian life will frequently appear to fly in the face of the old man’s, earth-side logic and self-interest. And so, until you are willing to be, at times, divorced from your own logic and unmoored from self-interest, you will never become commandable. Until the clay of your life is moldable to the Potter, he won’t fight against you. Clay which only continually leaps off of the Potter’s wheel will never reach its purpose. Neither will you. Just forget it, it won’t happen.

The Christian life is one that must be accompanied by faith–a faith that trustingly walks in the mission of God even as your self-preserving interests are being daily set aside.

Stay on the Potter’s wheel. Without a surrendered, faith-filled and trusting walk with God, the first sign of difficulty will have you clutching the steering wheel of control in order to regain what you wrongly believe to be the predictable stability and comfort which you value more than the unpredictability that comes with being a disciple of Christ. This need for control will sabotage any hope of a maturing walk with God and place severe restrictions on the Holy Spirit’s ability to guide and fulfill you. For the surrendered life will be one supremely commandable by its Owner.

From another vantage point, KNOW THIS –

Being commanded by one whom you ultimately believe has no right to do so will only lead to resentment and a begrudging heart of religious frustration.

We do not need more unsurrendered “Christians” today. It will be far better for you to return to the previous stage than live detrimentally to both yourself and the body of Christ.

From still another slightly different vantage point, I want you to introspectingly consider the contemplation of Billy Graham when he said…

“…the Lord Jesus Christ will come into your life and reform, conform and transform you into an obedient follower. If that is not your desire, you have every reason to question whether or not you have been saved.”

You see, a merely strategic acceptance of truth void of a truly humble heart which pleads for God’s command over you in recognition of your inability to run the show yourself, is pointless. Even further still, if you are ready to walk in the command of King Jesus but only as a “have to” of accepted obligation, there has yet been no genuine surrender–and you have a heart issue. This should make you wonder whether or not you really have a new heart!

[If, right now, you want to address whether this new heart God offers to all who seek him is in you, it may be helpful to review the last half of Chapter 46 in my book, Set Free. Start reading at the fifteenth paragraph where it begins, “To review then,...”]

Indeed, before you will be able to enjoy the supernatural refreshment that accompanies being commanded and fueled by the Holy Spirit, our final two stages of The Gospel (in Full), surrender will have had to become part of your journey.

PAUSE to PONDER:

Have you truly surrendered your life to Christ, or have you merely desired to have the weight of your sins lifted from your conscience while also believing you’ve met the qualification for heaven as part of your portfolio?

If you have been unable to release your circumstances, your emotional anxiety, your frustration with a physical malady, or any other state in which you find yourself living, pause and return to Stage 3. More directly, retrace your steps back to the cross and decide once and for all whether you trust the one who says he alone can give you the new life you desire, lacking nothing of value either in this earth-side “pre-life” or the life to come.

I am taking this long walk around the barn before journeying with you into God’s command of your life because attempting to walk in this stage prematurely will be fruitless. Without a surrendering heart of faith and trust in God’s desire and ability to bring you into only what is best for you, it will be impossible for you to please him (Hebrews 11:6).

So, here’s my challenge going forward into these final two, ongoing and life-giving stages of the Gospel:

Refuse to read past this point right here until you have been ruthlessly and utterly honest with yourself, and marks of broken surrender have become a part of your experience.

Give the Spirit time to work.

Seek him persistently on this matter of surrender.

Ask him what you desire more than him.

Your Creator God, through his son, wants to gain in you more than cerebral add-ons of himself. He wants to remake you. He wants you to walk in obedience as he commands, and abide in his love–that your joy would be made complete (John 15:10-11).

Oh, dear friend, the best thing I could hear from anyone reading these Gospel (in Full) contemplations is that it took a month, or the summer, or the better part of a year to get through them. There is no rush. Let the Spirit take you to a place where you drink most deeply of Him unto surrender. Then you will be ready for The Commander!

All that said, let’s turn our minds and hearts to the only reasonable response of one who has surrendered his or her life to the omniscient, all-powerful King of Kings and Creator of all things past, present and future … a sincere desire to be commanded in his service.

There are two things I want to emphasize as we contemplate this fourth stage of the ongoing nature of the Gospel.

FIRST, we must begin to embrace our position in relation to God. He is Commander. We are his faithful and compliant inheritance, living a new life in Him.

God’s command of us is the beginning of an exciting adventure–one less predictable but promising far greater satisfaction than our old life of self-preservation and societal predictability.

This life of complete trust and sensitivity to the command of the Holy Spirit dwelling in us may sometimes border on what the world would inaccurately perceive to be irrationality or reckless self-neglect. This is because the life we now live ceases to be about us–it ceases to be only about our welfare. And this is very counter-cultural in our “plan-ahead, make a life and a future,” secularist mentality.

But thanks to the truth of our new identity on which we now continually dwell (Romans 5:12-6:23, Colossians 2:9-15), our old self is increasingly being translated into the life of Christ. As this happens, we have a new lens through which to live what is now God’s life – in us (Galatians 2:20).

In a phrase, if SURRENDER is the fulcrum upon which a flourishing Christian life pivots, then a natural and instinctive compliance to his COMMAND of our lives becomes the launch pad for what God intended to be the “normal” Christian life.

Indeed, in this fourth stage of The Gospel (in Full), we now turn a corner. We now begin living in our new creation not by sight, but by faith (2 Cor. 5:7). We now begin to live in the light of our new life as a surrendered yes man, without controversy.

Once we understand there is a God who is uncreated, beginningless, infinitely transcendent, who made this world, who keeps everything in the universe going such that all the molecules, all the stars, all the solar systems are being held up by the power of this God, …to this God we must say, “Command me!”

Here’s how historian N.T. Wright puts it:

“How can you live with the terrifying thought that the hurricane has become human, that fire has become flesh, that life itself became life and walked in our midst? Christianity either means that, or it means nothing. It is either the most devastating disclosure of the deepest reality of the world, or it is a sham, a nonsense, a bit of deceitful playacting. Most of us, unable to cope with saying either of those things, condemn ourselves to live in the shallow world in between.”

And this living in the shallow world in between is what must come to an end for us if we believe what we proclaim as ones redeemed into perfect relationship with the God of the universe. You cannot live in that misty “world in between” if you want to live with integrity as a Christian.

Do you pray to Jesus when you’re in trouble, and otherwise mostly ignore him because you get busy? Again says, N.T. Wright:

“Either Jesus cannot hear you because he’s not who he says he is – or if he is who he says he is, he must become the still point of your turning world, the center around which your entire life revolves.”

Yes, if God is who he says he is, and if he is whom you claim him to be as your redeemer, then your whole life has to revolve around him and you have to throw everything at his feet and say, “Command me.”

He is King. We are his beloved inheritance. And during this short time on earth, while inhabiting these bodies of flesh and living in a deteriorating world due to the effects of sin, we are called to lay down our old lives, and take his upon us–and follow him.

You see, we have a new kind of King. In Mark 8:34-9:1, Jesus is saying, “Since I am a King on a cross, if you want to follow me you must go to a cross.” In other words, you must recognize him as boss.

At this point in following Jesus, it ceases to be about us…or what we’d been conditioned to understand to be “our life.”

We must stop living in the fiction that our old man is still living, or that we own our life. It’s a lie.

Jesus went to a cross. He really died. And he tells us in Romans and again in Colossians 2 that we went there with him…IN him (Chapter 45, Set Free). And so if logic is to be our friend at some point along this path, we must embrace living in the full command of our King Jesus.

Daily we must be eager, as an overflow of our love for him, to live into our new identity. I’m not saying that we focus on carrying our cross daily. I think that’s a bit distorted to be honest with you. What we’re doing is REMEMBERING that our old man has DIED on that same self-cross in Christ Jesus–and we’re remembering to live in the new man, the new creation, as ones who are no longer in charge…we are now under the full command of King Jesus.

SECOND, at this point in our development as a Christian, it also becomes helpful to radically change the way we speak and think about ourselves.

At this point in our development as a Christian, we must continually reckon upon the fact that we never walk alone.

Why? Because as we ask God to command us, and he begins to do so, He may ask of us things we may feel unresourced to do. In such moments, we must remember in whom we now live and breathe and walk.

Too many Christians live as if the sky is falling and all hope is lost–at the drop of a hat! I believe this is because we retreat far too easily into our own resourcing, the resourcing of the old man or woman whom Christ himself has killed off and laid to rest in an eternal grave.

Take notice that I changed the pronouns in the final two stages of The Gospel (in Full). Why? Let me explain.

One of the things that began to transform my life is when I started to think in the “we, us and our,” rather than in the “I, me and my.” To think in the “we, us and our,” is not only healthy, it’s reality.

Let me demonstrate the difference:

If I’m fooled into believing that I am alone in the midst of life’s challenges, I would be tempted to self-talk in the following way:

If I say, “I’m afraid I won’t make it next year!”

Or if I think, “I don’t know what to do!”

Or what if I’m going through a terrifically difficult circumstance and say, “I honestly don’t think I can make it through this! I am going to die!”

Do these singular “I, me or my” perspectives convey reality for believers in Christ, or are they “old man” thinking?

Now, let’s try these same real and disheartening circumstances in the “we”:

“Lord Jesus, we are so afraid we won’t make it!”

He will say, “Really? I think we will.”

“This circumstance is just too difficult! We don’t know what to do!”

But Jesus says, “I think I do know what to do.”

“We aren’t going to make it–we will die!”

And Jesus says, “Really? I was raised to life again.”

Suddenly, everything is totally different, isn’t it? Do you see it?

Where is Jesus living? If you’re a born-again believer in Jesus Christ, he is living inside you. You are not alone. You do not fight alone. You do not walk alone. You do not sleep or eat or drive alone.

When we begin to take stock of our true condition as a child of God, as one possessing the life and resources of the risen Christ Jesus, everything changes!

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. – Galatians 2:20

You are always at least two.

Dwelling on these truths of the Christian life makes us choose.

“Am I going to live in the truth of who I have become in Christ, or will I choose to live in a lie–under the influence of Satan, the father of lies?”

When you begin your day, do you say, “I’m going to my first meeting for the day…” or do you say, “Let’s go to our first meeting for the day…”? The second one is the truth. The first is a lie.

Thus, this fourth stage of the ongoing nature of the Good News is purposely in the plural “us.” Whatever he commands of us, we can know he is able to do in us, for he himself is able to finish the good work he began in us (Phil. 1:6).

Get used to inquiring of God, listening and seeking him through the pages of his good news in the Bible…and thanking him ahead of time for providing in you the ability to do whatever he asks. For once you have surrendered the short-sighted, comfort-seeking desires of your old self whom God has put to death in Christ, in favor of the new self, being continually transformed by the renewal of your mind with what is true of you (Romans 12:2), then you will eagerly, satisfyingly and joyously be commandable by the God in whom you have believed, and who is able to guard you until the day of your ultimate renewal (I Timothy 1:12,14).

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” – Isaiah 6:8

Isaiah got it. I pray you and I so live in the truth of who we are that we, too, will live commandable lives.

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talldarknsexy · 5 years

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Escapades in Egypt

After a night on the ferry we docked at the port in Aswan. We were just adjacent of the famous high dam that holds back lake Aswan from the Lower Nile and prevents seasonal flooding. A ferrymen agreed that I should stage my bike with the rest of the cargo. It was on the top deck anyways and I didn't want to have to follow after the 200 other people. So, I placed my bike next to some stuff, but this upset some of the otherwise friendly Sudanese mamas who then started yelling at me. The ferryman and a few others came to my defense which just aggravated them even more. The ferryman offered to move my bike and in the confusion knocked over their coffee pot straight onto their sleeping mat without noticing. Upon seeing this, they started screaming at me as I was now wheeling my bike away from the scene. Anyways, I shimmied my bike back to the top deck, said goodbyes to my Sudanese ferry buddies, and headed through customs where an Egyptian official would get frustrated with my broken zippers and literally rip apart my tool bag. "What this???" He questioned about my patch kit. "Clearly, you're not a golfer... It's a patch kit." From the dock, I rode just 15km to the city of Aswan and was greeted by many a "Welcome to Egypt!" The last 2km however, I took a shortcut that went through the town's dumping grounds. A dystopian scene with piles of garbage still burning, hazy with smoke, and growling with packs of wild dogs lurking around. Just a few blocks away, emerged David's hostel. He opened it up 3 years ago and runs little profit but his incentive was to perfect his English. He had done this already, as it was expert level, but still failed to pass Australia's English entrance visa exam. I started to wonder if I would be able to, personally. This is an extra requirement for Arabic countries and even though David is of the 10% Christian Coptic minority, the same bias applies. Anyways, he's since given up on Australia and runs the hostel (out of his basement) with a true passion I've seldom seen. It was a nice place and had wifi and clean tap water, both of which I hadn't experienced from a hostel in many months. That and, not to mention, I had access to supermarkets and ATMs again after Sudan. I met an Israeli guy there, Amir. This was unusual, because outside of the Sinai, Israeli backpackers are almost unheard of in Egypt. I went out that night with him and another Dutch fella. David dropped us off in town and we went to an amazing museum- history, artifacts, artwork, mummies, the works... Then grabbed some food and scoured the riverfront for a place that served alcohol. And after over a month, I finally had a beer. Amir had expressed some interest in the biking, and as always, I'd told him anyone is welcome to join. Except unlike all the others... Amir actually did. We went to the market with David the next day and picked one out from the China bike shop in town for $70. We scrounged some China parts from the market: mirror, tube, racks, bell, and a red $4 child's helmet. We grabbed some empty food bins and zip ties and rigged him some hobolo panniers. He'd already been carrying camping and cooking gear, so we slapped everything together quickly. There was no need to come up with a cheesy nickname for the bike as it was already labeled the "Flying Pigeon." The Flying Pigeon was washed in neon green and fake chrome- she was glorious... Amir had gone from backpacker to cycle tourist for less than $100 and under 24hrs. We set off the next day for the Flying Pigeon's native voyage. She and Amir did well. And I had not only riding company, but an Arabic translator, as Amir spoke some. That day we visited an enormous temple which we had almost entirely to ourselves. Back on the road, some kids had hurled rocks at us. Amir had surely had similar experiences in Israel as he wasn't phased in the slightest and didn't even so much as turn his head. We ate liver sandwiches for lunch, got invited for tea with some elders, and then camped by the Nile and took a dip at sunset. The next day, we rode off and stopped again midday for lunch and another temple visit, this one was in impeccable condition, but had much more visitors as the Nile cruise boats stopped here. Here, the fat waddling tourists de-board the luxury Nile ferries only to be taken to the temples in horse drawn chariots. Amir and I watched one throw an egyptian note down from a chariot down to a "begging" child. "Becom?" I asked, and the kid flashed me a $20egp note. "Sweets?" I asked. To which he smiled and nodded. But, the temples themselves were amazing. Amir was fairly versed in Egyptian mythology and was able to point out the various gods and some of the stories. We marveled around and contemplated the feasibility of construction and the complexity of their religious beliefs, both dating back almost four thousand years. Before leaving town, we stopped at a China bike shop to get Amir a new rear tire which had almost quit in only about 100km. The shopkeeper insisted we invest an extra dollar in a different looking tire. "Hatha afdal?" I asked. "Yees! Made in Indeea!" He happily exclaimed. Now, with Amir's Arabic, police checkpoints had been a breeze, but I'd warned him that there might come a time when that would change. And rightfully so, as it soon did. We got held up at one and Amir insisted with them that we did not need an escort. The captain would just reply that he's Egyptian and it is his duty to protect us. So, off we rode with a police truck behind us and 5 armed men. They chugged behind us that afternoon and wouldn't allow us to stop and honked at any kids that tried to high five us. And after a lot of argument on where we could stay that night, we ended camped out back a police station. The next day we reached Luxor. We, being us two cyclists and the different crew of 6 police behind. We rolled up and checked into the wrong hostel, but with the same name. Something we didn't realize until a few days later. Anyways, we spent the 2-3 days exploring temples, eating ridiculously good and inexpensive food (sometimes possibly pigeon,) and did a Nile cruise with some friends. In the end, Amir decided to ditch the bike before leaving Luxor. He was a little fed up with police and with how it would soon unfold, I certainly can't blame him. He got lucky though and sold the Flying Pidgeon to "Bob the Balloon Man" who ran a hot air balloon business and lived next door to the hostel. So, most cyclists have police escort for maybe half of Egypt. Mine was a little excessive. But, a combination of my poor Arabic, my American passport, and me traveling solo may have exasperated things. About 50km outside of Luxor, after waiting another half hour at yet another police checkpoint, they had me take an unexpected turn. Soon, I found myself on the remote desert highway, but with the police still chugging behind me. This road would be great for cycling except for the fact that I had zero food and had no idea were I was staying. Truthfully, the police probably had no idea either, they just want to drive you to the next checkpoint so they can finish their shift. It was a long, 160km day that ended with a hard climb that came out of nowhere. This I didn't finish until well into the dark and cold. But, luckily the fellas at the ambulance post I stayed at were pretty hilarious and helped to cheer me back up. The following day was even worse, however, it was actually quite cold and the police had me do ~120km. By the end of it I was experiencing some pretty bad knee pain and was pedaling with only one foot. It was another night staying with an ambulance crew and we shared some food together. I was pretty defeated, however and worried about my knee. I was woken up around midnight by a police officer who came in to verify I was there. I woke up around 3:30am and at the upon agreed upon time of 5am, was told to wait another hour until 6am so the officer could go back to sleep. After 30km of pedaling with one leg, I reached another checkpoint. Here, I'd been told I wouldn't need escorts... At least for a while until outside of Cairo. This clearly wasn't the case for me though. I'd explained it many times in broken Arabic and English. It was a desert with nothing... Not even a blade of grass lives out here. And I was getting sick and injured trying to follow their checkpoint regiment. I had one of my ambulance buddies who showed up there help explain the lack of need. He did a great job, but they just insisted on saying it was for my safety. It almost worked, but they just tailed behind me a half kilometer, pretending not to be there. Once, a young couple in a sedan with a bike rack pulled over to I believe offer me a bottle of water. The police truck sped up, pulled over in front of me, and ushered them away. Mid afternoon I was pretty broken. Struggling to pedal with one, now very fatigued leg. The wind picked up and I must have been doing about 5km/h because a policeman got out to jog past me. I pulled into a rest stop and laid down just praying that when I opened my eyes, the police would be gone. Instead, another police car showed up and there must have been about 8 or so policemen altogether. I'd had enough, and for the 100th time, loudly voiced my opinion that they were wasting there time. At one point, the officer called his cousin to help translate. He finally got the message and told me "Okay, continue as you like." I was incredulous, but he insisted and I thanked him, apologized, and gave him a hug. They sped off, but sure enough, I spotted them parked up the road about a kilometer. I said fuck it. Pulled off the road and camped behind a dune, just 500m from where they left me. It was a splendid night camped alone, resting my knee. But unfortunately, it was still painful in the morning. I rode about 20km to a petrol station and filled up on snacks. The guys there were super helpful, but I saw one suspiciously ran off to an ambulance post nearby, so I took off. Sure enough, about 30 mins later, I was surrounded by police. They either arrested me or "saved me" depending on who you ask. Apparently they had the entire region's police force looking for me. I was approached first by a 3 star officer so fat he was out of breath stepping out of his truck. He took my passport and made some frantic calls. The two petty officers with him wanted to know how I was able to survive a night in the cold. They then loaded my bike onto the truck and we sped off to a police control checkpoint. I wasn't really sure if I was being arrested of not. In short, I was there for the next 4-5 hours. The fat officer and his peers were on the phone half the time and all the other, lower ranking officers wanted to hang out, get me food and drinks, and take selfies. I wasn't cuffed or anything, but at one point I did step out of the cab to grab something from my bike and was met by several jumpy officers. We started to drive off twice but officer Mohammed Fatasfuck would receive a call and we'd turn around. It was finally night when we drove to Al Minya. We parked, unloaded the bike and I was ushered into a tourist police office that was something out of an 80's KGB headquarters. I was brought into an office where I met with another officer Mohammed and later his boss, officer Mohammed. They ordered three mango drinks and as nice as they were, I made sure That I was the last to sip mine. We talked for a while and they were incredulous that I'd spent the night sleeping in the desert. Terrorists, snakes, foxes, and desert lions were among their chief concerns. The latter of which haven't even existed for several decades. Anyways, Mohammed and Mohammed assured me under no uncertain terms that I wasn't doing anymore cycling in Egypt. They'd initially asked was how much I could afford for a travel company to orchestrate the remainder of my trip. So, they weren't exactly reassured at my plans to stay in an unnamed hostel in Cairo and then bus to Israel or Jordan. They took it upon themselves to organize it for me at no cost. They made some calls and arranged a hotel that night, a bus the next day, and a hotel for the first night in Giza. After that, they claimed, I was free to do as I liked- or so was their claim. I didn't get to the hotel until around 11pm. It was nice, but if I were ever to have a room bugged with cameras, this would have been it. The next day I was escorted by flatbed pick to the bus station and after the bus, again to the hotel. The hotel was actually more of a resort... A FIVE STAR resort as was published there. They had no reservation in my name. The manager was very agitated with me. The police escort didn't want to get involved but called up the rank to a General Mohammed. About 2 minutes later the front desk's phone rang. The manager (Also Mohammed) went white in the face, hung up, and checked me in with profuse apologies. I have no idea what exactly was said over the phone, but can only imagine the threats that were made by General Mohammed of the Tourist Police. Anyways, I was told that I wouldn't be leaving the premises until checkout the next day. So, basically was under resort arrest with an officer positioned in the lobby. This place was fucking unreal though and my suite was the size of an apartment. I'm sure I couldn't afford anything off the menu, so rationed the leftover biscuits and crackers that I'd stocked from the petrol station and filtered the tap water. This I did, ironically, on my private balcony overlooking the crescent pool. I also was pretty numb and reflective. Here I was, on my balcony in a 5 star resort, that I did not pay for, with a personal bodyguard out front. Not only did I not deserve this, but I was told the two officers I'd evaded both lost a year's salary. Their account was much different than mine, but I'd asked the Mohammeds to go easier on them if they had a say. The next morning there was a small breakfast. Just kidding. There was a LOT of breakfast. I ate enough for a week. I had thought that morning I would be free, at least per what one of the Mohammeds had originally told me. Certainly not the case though. So, an officer was waiting out front with a flatbed. The officer's name was... Well, it was Hani. We drove to the tourist district of Giza where I thought I would be checking into a hostel. But first, General Mohammed wanted to meet with me. After some waiting and joking around with Hani (as he at least recognized how ridiculous this was) he ushered me through the security and ticket booth. And all of sudden I was facing the pyramids. Not at all how I'd anticipated it... But their presence was immense and the brief experience, surreal. Two military jeeps pulled up and 4 generals in suits came out. I met General Mohammed who spoke great English and shook hands with his peers. They drank tea, discussed amongst each other, and Mohammed asked about my travel plans which were to leave Egypt ASAP because there was clearly no end to this police attention. At the end of their discussion, Mohammed expressed their relief: "they think you look almost Egyptian" he said. After this was resolved, Hani and I headed to a hostel nearby. There was no one at reception and Hani got a call from Mohammed that a hotel was sorted. In the end, I handed over an $11 note for what otherwise must have been a $100 hotel. Hani took off and I was put in the hands of Daii, who would be my babysitter for the next two days... (A babysitter dressed in a full suit and armed with a tech-9.) He slept in the hotel lobby and we'd take turns buying each other meals. He at least had a sense of humor, like Hani and realized the ridiculousness of the situation. This came in handy especially when I went back to visit the pyramids. We were in tourist central, but luckily I had Daii to keep me safe! At least the camel handlers heckled me less as I was a VIP with a personal bodyguard. I took us off into the desert to the alignment point where you can see all the great pyramids in view. I felt a little bad that Daii was dusting up his nice leather shoes. He also had to stop to sit on a rock every few minutes to catch his breath. Sometimes he'd even light up another cigarette. "Mish Tammam" I'd say: not good. To which he'd smile and laugh. Well worth the trek though. There were few people around and away from the noisy and crowded city, you can appreciate the serenity of the desert, and observe the massive scale of these ancient pyramids still towering over the very modern, sprawling city. The next day I would take a bus from Cairo to the Taba border. Daii was instructed to follow me the entire way until I got stamped at immigration. We rode over the Suez Canal and through the surreal Sinai desert. The actual border crossing was an unceremonious end to my journey on the African continent. But I'd like to remember the highlight of Egypt as looking out at the pyramids. Old and new societies juxtaposed against one another, with my police friend Dai next to me. Out of breath, and smoking another cigarette.

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