#What’s Really Happening with Visualize Mathematics

[renku]

Catering Demand and Need

Loossemble Yeojin x Male Reader

“Yeojin, what are you doing down there?”

“Nothing, oppa... You took so long to get here,” Yeojin playfully twirls her hair while still exposing her thighs out, “I’m kinda lonely here without my unnies...”

“Now’s not the time, Yeojin.”

Yeojin pouted and climbed on the couch, slouching to show her disappointment.

What am I going to do with her? This old, repititive question is almost a million dollar question in Mathematics that the most brilliant minds in the world try to solve. But Yeonjin is on another level. Try with all might and sheer will, it’s always her—Yeojin always, always wins.

Letting a sigh as a sign of defeat before sitting beside her, Yeojin knew that it’ll happen no matter what—she will prevail.

“Baby girl?” soft yet manly tone, a maintained balance of persuasion and dominance. Yeojin must know she’s the one in need, and the one that needs to earn it.

No answer. As expected. Yeojin’s habit of putting the act for a bit longer serves as her trump card. Just to get this over with, let Yeojin have it her way.

Felt the touch from your index finger on her silky thigh, gradually sliding upward until it reaches the hem of the laced white dress. Inaudible gasp escaped her lips, and goosebumps spread all over her.

“Still not going to answer, baby girl?”

Yeojin is a tough cookie to break. Well, you already did literally before but it’s the attitude. She could just gave a nod or a simple 'yes' or 'no' to make things easier. If a newbie managed to survive the job as her manager, it’ll be a breakthrough. But here you are, still on the same role and job.

It would only be a matter of time before the others arrive. Compromising others’ time and schedule would spell disaster. Raising the hem of her dress, a pleasant smell greeted your nose—fresh rose scent from her favorite feminine wash, and visual blessing by means of a matched red-laced panties; enough to increase the blood flow in all the right areas in your body.

As much as you want to tease Yeojin first, it’s just simply impractical and dangerous at the current circumstances.

Grabbing and pulling her undergarments in one go; almost breaking it at the process. Your hands found their place in Yeojin's petite cheeks—oh, for the love of Venus—supple and irresistible.

“O- op- uhm– Daddy?”

Thank God, she finally spoke. And she just used her ultimate move. The perfect trigger—climbing to the level of overdrive.

“Yes, baby girl?”

“Will Daddy punish me for not behaving good?” Yeojin turned around to look at you with her half-lidded eyes. Fuck. So vulnerable yet ruinable.

“Yes, my baby girl needs to learn again to listen.”

Spreading her cheeks there lies her impatient lubricated cunt; dripping, already forming a pool on the couch but it doesn’t matter anymore. Unbuckling your belt with haste to push down your pants and briefs in one go just enough to let out your raging cock.

“All fours, now.”

Yeojin didn’t even hesitate for a second. She got herself into position right away.

A two, quick strokes on your cock before lining up yourself in her entrance. The glans kissed her labia, making Yeojin whimper.

“Hmmp–”

“Still not used to this, baby girl?”

“It’s just– Daddy’s cock is too big for my pus– AH!”

Not letting Yeojin finish as you pulled her waist to penetrate her deep right away. Tight. Warm. Wet. Perfect. Words could not even experiencing the real thing. Its grip like it's holding on for its dear life? Priceless. That is why you can keep with Yeojin and her stubbornness, when there’s a sweet prize only you and you can claim.

Your hips knew what they suppose to do—starting from a nice, good rhythm gradually increasing tempo. Clapping sounds growing stronger each second.

“Yes- oh- oh- fuck- yes, daddy! I miss your big cock so much!” Yeojin really screams her heart out in happiness, or pleasure, or both in general. Her cute, lewd voice—the same one she uses to record their songs which her fans enjoy. Well, you couldn’t totally blame them. It’s an earcandy.

“Shit. So good- ugh!” you grunted.

Dirty, filthy sounds—moans, whimpers, two fleshes clapping against the other, and compliments of how two bodies give each other pleasure—are what filled the room basically. You and Yeojin may not admit it but you can’t get enough of each other. It’s like a need that turned into addiction. Yin-yang. Light and dark. Good and bad.

But like everything else, there’s always an end. Your phone rings, and the ringtone is specifically assigned for the group. They’re about to arrive in no time. Time to finish the business and thankfully Lady Luck is on your side.

“Yeojin, fuck, argh, I’m close!”

“Yes, Daddy! Do it inside! Breed me, fill me with your cum!”

Even without her words, you’re about to do it anyway. Spraying all your semen on the couch is not a good news for the others.

“I'm cumming!”

With your final forceful thrust, burying your cock deep inside, ropes and ropes of cum reached her womb, painting her insides. Yeojin’s still tight pussy milking you out—baby girl claiming her prize. She also came as her spasms were noticeable; her body barely keeping steady from her position. Upon slipping out your cock, you pulled her panties back immediately to avoid any droplets of cum reaching the couch.

Yeojin was exhausted real good. But she has to fix herself before the girls see her ruined and messed up.

“Get up, Yeojin. Your unnies are coming. We need to fix ourselves and everything else before they arrive.”

“Ok... yes, oppa,” she said, her voice showing signs of fatigue.

~~~

After making sure no trace was left on the crime scene, the girls arrived just on time. The assistant manager was the one who handled them for the meantime. They looked tired on the ride going home.

“Oh, manager-nim, Yeojin, you two are here already? How lucky!” one of the girls said.

“Just need to talk about something with our lovely maknae,” you replied.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing serious. Just a few reminders from the company.”

“I see. Well, we better go to bed it’s already getting late.”

“Right, right. Shall we, Yeojin?”

“Yes, manager-nim!” she responded with such enthusiasm, and winked at you before going to her room.

“Oh, please,” you sighed, as the exhilarating job of keeping up with them especially Yeojin, continues. Sadly.

A/N: Purely BFH and done in one sitting. Seeing Yeojin was just- hoo, nevermind. Anyway, the fic is unedited so forgive me for a few mistakes. Have work tomorrow but still finished this using the writing juices I have. Hope you enjoy! Have a good day, or night!

- Ren :)

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Good Luck, Fermata Tower (18+)

pairing: fire-lookout!seungcheol x female!fire-lookout!reader

genre: firewatch au LMAO, smut (MDNI), soo much angst, COMFORT, fluff

description: after the death of your roommate you have to find a greater purpose to life. what better way than to became a fire lookout with a surprisingly charismatic neighbour tower?

warnings: this fic is a lot, please read ALL warnings. SUICIDE, implied suicidal thoughts, major character death 2x, reader goes through grief, so does seungcheol, AGE GAP, RADIO SEX??? LMAOOO, dirty talk, petnames, cockwarming, pentrative sex, strength kink, f. and m. masturbation (mutual?), PINING TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE, MENTIONS OF DOING DRUGS/DOING SHROOMS, talks of drowning, if u know the game i think you'll be able to visualize the beauty of this way more, intensive writing on the scenery and the emotions, LMK IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASe

quotes from babygirl (@joshibambi): "im getting out lana", "im just gonna be making animal sounds", "can we make this into a play so i can perform this?", "OF ALL THE THINGS THAT COULD MAKE ME CRY IT WAS THE DESCRIPTION OF HIS HOT ASS FACE"

wordcount: 13.9k

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEUNGCHEOL. i love this fic. the writing is a little novelly for a fic, but i was so passionate ab this whole firewatch thing and i got SO INTO the arcs and their personal losses and i just really love yn and seungcheol. i hope this was worth the wait and i apologize for not finishing sooner. all my love, beefboy

You and Mingyu meet at college at some parkour club that you’d both joined to make friends. You face-plant into the pavement and knock out a tooth and Mingyu takes you to a nearby hospital. You click instantly. 

You and Mingyu spend every moment together - you help him and he helps you. Mingyu is smart, you realize. He knows all the formulas in your mathematics course by heart. You tell him he’s smart and he says that no one else seems to think that.

You and Mingyu are best friends. You have matching necklaces that complete a heart. 

You and Mingyu party together and when you get too drunk, he carries you down the halls, home. Sometimes at night he sleeps in your bed. 

Your friend group thinks you’re dating, but you think you and Mingyu are something much more earnest than lovers. You think Mingyu is your soulmate. 

You piggy-back ride Mingyu at graduation and you give him a peck on the cheek when he shakes hands with the dean. 

You and Mingyu become roommates. You binge-watch terrible movies together and hold drinking games. It’s hard to admit some of your favorite memories are from watching the Alvin and The Chipmunks trilogy. 

The night before it happens you and Mingyu eat dinner together that he cooked. You see his snaggletooth every time he smiles. 

You’d almost lived together for two years that morning. He usually wakes earlier than you, but he is nowhere to be seen. The apartment is oddly still. You feel trapped. 

You enter Mingyu’s room.

You think he’s asleep. You leave him alone. 

Two hours later you grow worried. You enter his room to find him in the same position. You shake him. Mingyu doesn’t wake. 

The doctors say a case like Mingyu’s is extremely rare - he was in great shape. You’re not sure if that’s supposed to make you feel better. 

Mingyu’s funeral is grim. His death is so terrible, says the pastor, because it’s so domestic. You think it’s terrible because he is - was - the brightest, most amazing person to walk the earth. His parents want you to hold a speech, but you can’t find the words. You think you might sob if you go up there. You sob anyway. The flowers form a ring on the floor of the church and your soulmate is dead.

You can’t sleep anymore. You imagine him dying, left arm numb, alone in the dead of night and choking out your name, reaching for the thin wall that separated you. You cry for a whole month. The apartment is cursed so you live with your parents. 

One day, you see an ad for a job in the paper. 

You take it.  _____________________________

“Hello?” 

Static stormed the tower-house when the other end cut off.

“Are you there?” 

Your eyes frantically darted around the cabin. It was no more than a 13 foot rectangle and yet your tired eyes couldn’t find the radio, churning out a gruff voice. 

You’d just arrived, barely turned on the generator to allow light in. It was nighttime. The park’s dips and peaks were veiled in blue; the silhouettes of the trees, forking out in long, thin spikes, were navy and the lake Fermata was the brightest, glittering pearl from the moon above. Stars twinkled knowingly at you. 

There. A flash of yellow in your blurred vision. You picked up the worn, dirty radio in your heavy hand, pressing at its side. 

“Yeah, hi, I’m here,” you breathed out tiredly. You let go of the button and a small bit of static spoke back to you. 

“Y/n?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I’m Seungcheol. I’m in Bay Valley Tower. It’s to the east. Saw your light turn on,” His voice was gruff, laced with sleep. It had a rasp at every vowel, strings of vocal chords straining to spit out the words in between sticky ropes of bile. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. You had nothing else to say. The flimsy, one person bed beckoned to your tired body. You moved, like a doll, one limb at a time, into its harbor, collapsing into the thin mattress. You laid on your side, moonlight shining in from the window by the door. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, carelessly. Impatient in tone, you imagined he’d probably been through this a hundred times before. “So,” he sighed out, deeply. “What’s your problem?” 

“Hm?” 

There was a shooting star, dancing across the sky in that moment. You watched it, shuffling onto your back with half-closed eyes. Stardust sprinkled from it on the open, empty sky.

“People here are all running from something. So what’s your deal?” 

You sighed, watching the star’s open path. It could go anywhere, you thought. Then you moved your arm, holding the receiver to your mouth. 

“Listen, Seungcheol. I’ve been hiking for two days, so I’m gonna go to bed now, okay? Hopefully you’ve found some manners by the time I wake up,” you mumbled, then let go of the button (it had a harsh, grainy texture for some reason), and laid your hand, radio in it, limply at your side. 

You heard a raspy chuckle from the other end. You had no energy to be angry. 

“Alright, Fermata Tower,” there was a smile in the anonymous man’s voice. 

There was a pause. The sound of the fierce breeze carried whiffs of autumn, as it lulled you to sleep. You had almost fallen into a black, snow-buried slumber when you heard the radio crinkle again: 

“Fermata, do you see that shooting star?” 

You had no energy to respond, radio spewing static in your open hand. Thankfully, Seungcheol seemed understanding.

“That’s good luck. So...”

A moment. You and Seungcheol watched the sky-dancer, apart. 

“Good luck.”  _____________________________

“You’re awake!” 

It was Seungcheol’s voice. Transformed by the orange hues of daytime, he sounded much more alive than the night prior. 

“I can see you sitting at your desk.” 

Indeed you were sitting on your desk - a flimsy wooden thing, which looked like it had come form a yard sale - studying the map of the massive park. There were simple cartoonish figures to indicate stresses of trees and drops in the terrain, and rock quarries and waterfalls and lakes. You’d delicately pointed out your own position with red marker, scribbling ‘me’ by it with a heavy child’s hand.

It was cold - the thin boards did not do much to ward away the heavy wind, hooting creeping in the cracks. It smelled like pine needles and tea, as you’d just boiled a lavender on the kettle. IT sat, heating your fingers where it rested beside them in a mug left behind by the previous firewatchman (it read: “don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee”). 

The radio clattered against the wood when you clumsily picked it up. 

“Didn’t know when I signed up for this that I would be dealing with a stalker,” you joked, smiling small when you heard the man on the other end let out a hearty laugh. 

“Hey, don’t go labeling me just yet, kid.”

“Kid?!” you said incredulously, dropping the marker that you had been so diligently using to scribble excellent comments on your map (latest was: “maybe cute bears”). “How old are you?!” 

“I’m 37,” Seungcheol said.

“Oof.” 

“Hey!” 

“I’m kidding!” you laughed, dropping your pen and leaning back in your seat. The view was beautiful. You could see the lake, surrounded by a rippling sea of trees, each top reaching for the sky, like you. “I’m 27, I’m getting up there with you.”

“Just a small decade.”

“I’m mature for my age.” 

Seungcheol chuckled on the other end of the radio. You spun around in your chair (it creaked horribly - it sounded like a pig at the sight of a cleaver) surveying each square of the forest from your windows. You narrowed your eyes, trying to spot his lookout tower. 

“How come you can see me but I can’t see you?” you mumbled, now standing to try and see, but it was drowned out by the sheer volume of pinewood. Seungcheol grumbled on the other end: “I should be East.” 

“Yeah, fuck, I forgot to tell you, I think I dropped my fucking compass on the way here,” you ran a hand through your hair and frown. 

“Uh, shit, you’re gonna have to pick up a new one, bud,” he said and you slumped. “Well, if you’re facing the lake - Fermata Lake, I mean - I should be to your left.” 

You followed his instructions. You faced the lake, then took two loggy steps to face left, then squinted incessantly at the horizon. Not dissimilar to a crowd in Times Square, the trees stood toe to toe all across at every inch you spied. The pines zagged upwards like Giza, and culminated into the biggest mountain in the park, just under the sun. The mountain loomed overhead where you finally spotted the lookout tower, like a monster crouched over its prey. You tried to shake off the thought and focus on the lone, floating tower in the pit of pointy trees.

“I see you, Bay Valley,” you breathed into the radio. 

The tower looked much more lonely from so far away. It was different when you were in it, but with the miles-long stretch between you two, you found it looked so small and feeble. You could make out the light turned on within it, a rectangle of burning orange. The shooting star must’ve crossed directly between your two towers. 

“Attagirl,” Seungcheol smiles. “Do you see me waving?”

“No, what the fuck.” 

“I got binoculars.” 

“Ew, you are a stalker!” 

“It’s for bird-watching!” Seungcheol informed you, offense in his tone. You cackled into the radio. “I like watching birds, thank you very much.” 

“Jeez, can’t believe what this job does to people.” 

“I liked bird-watching before I got this job,” Seungcheol said.

“You’re so white,” you grinned. 

“I’m not even white!” 

You and Seungcheol both laughed, joyous hiccups interrupted by bursts of static and 3 miles of rocky terrain and pine needles. You squint at the sun, traversing and dipping under the jagged hedges of the tree-line. 

Your head lolled over to spot between the desk and doorway, where you’d dropped your orange backpack (a peculiar color, come to think of it - same color as the lifejacket they deploy on airplanes when everything has already gone wrong). Now it was flopped onto its side, zipper ripped open and knick knacks and crumbs at its mouth, spilling onto the floor. 

“Where do I get a new compass?” you asked, looking at a yellowed book sat beside the backpack.

“Uh, shit, gimme a sec,” Seungcheol mumbled, and before his radio cut off, you heard, briefly, the itchy scrambling of papers, and the sound made him seem a lot more real. “We have these, uh, supply boxes scattered around. ‘M readin’ this, uhhh, fuckin’ info-thing.. Should say which of them supposedly has a compass.” 

“Sounds like you really know your stuff.” 

“Get off my ass, Fermata.” 

You heard papers rustle again and a small bump before the radio cut off, as if he put the radio down on the table. You awaited, arms crossed over your pink and gray striped hoodie, and staring at sundown. Orange flooded the sky, as if it were all engulfed in flames and this was really hell. 

“Uhhh, okay, I got it! There’s one down at Eleison Valley? The code is 1-2-3-4. That’s actually the code to all of them.” 

“Secure.”

“Shut up.” 

“Well, I can get some exploring done, at least,” you frown, spying a not-so-casual hike on the dotted surface of your map, when you tangoed back to the table, fiddling with the edge of the paper. 

“Yeah. You should probably do it tomorrow though. Sun’s coming down.” 

“Yeah. Can’t believe I slept that long.” 

“Don’t feel too bad about it, kid. I was knocked out for, like, two days after the hike out here. It’s a miracle you’re already awake.” 

“Thanks, Bay Valley,” you sighed, leaning back in your seat with some strained shuffling. You watched, eyes half-lidded as the sun fully disappeared behind the curtain of the park. Its light still roamed the sky, where it hid. Half dark blue, half red, the sky twinkled at you and your insignificance brilliantly. You tried not to think about how lonely and floaty your lookout tower must look from afar. Everything feels big when it’s close enough. 

“You’re welcome, Fermata.” _____________________________

“You think I could eat any of these mushrooms, BV?” 

“BV?” 

“Bay Valley.”

“Ah,” Seungcheol sighed on his end of the radio. You were trudging through the undergrowth in your new hiking boots, lifesaver-colored backpack on the plates of your back, weight pushing through the fabric of your jacket. “No, I don’t think that would be wise.” 

“Damn it. Was gonna get hella high,” you joked, eyeing another cluster of snow-white mushrooms under the shade of a tree, sloping along a gnarly root. Your crunching steps in the loose dirt came to a halt - there was a dropoff. The cliff cut off like a broken chocolate bar and a sharp rockwall supported it to the next layer of earth. 

The path was snaking down towards the lake. You’d circle around and climb up towards Tri Forks Tower, where eventually the climbing heights would bowl into Eleison Valley - a flower field, supposedly (in the map a little flower icon alerted you of this). 

“If I die from this rockwall, please, tell my family I love them,” you grumbled, fetching an itchy, frayed rope from the depths of your backpack. Squinting at the high sun, pale drops of sweat forming around your forehead, you slung it over the hook. The park was littered with these - rusted old things that were leaning forward from years of heavy hikers’ tugging. This one was particularly bent. 

“You’re so dramatic,” came Seungcheol from the speaker. 

“Am not, man, these rocks are like fucking knives!” 

“Such a drama queen. A real Primadonna.”

You huffed and puffed as you lowered yourself down the cliffside. Your boots pressed flat against the jagged rock, biceps burning as you held yourself up and walked down the side of it. The whole world was with you, sideways, and you would’ve stopped to appreciate it were you not sure you would pass out doing so. 

“Holy shit,” you said to yourself when you were finally on stable ground and not spider-manning the mineral deposits of the park. You put your hands on your hips and squinted at its imposing open jaw. 

“You down yet, Queen B?”

You panted, grimacing, when you tugged the rope hard and it leapt down like a flying snake: “Yeah, I’m down.” 

You continued padding through the forest. The earth was dry and it was summer, but the wind was harsh and it cooled your stovetop-skin as you walked along a rock quarry, Fermata Lake hiding behind the covers of huge, flat bulwark. You listened to the cacophonous call of the forest: rustling leaves and birds. 

“I had a friend - uh, friend of a friend, actually - who, like, got high as fuck off mushrooms and had a bad trip,” you said, mouth to the mic of the radio, as you studied the cover of the leaves. 

“Yeah? What happened?” Seungcheol hummed. 

“She said that, like -- fuck,” you breathed, scrambling over a particularly rocky rock. “She said there was, like, like her house flooded. Like, water just came gushing in and the whole house was, like, underwater suddenly and she.. She thought she was gonna drown. And her fuckin’ kitchen turned into, like, a coral reef or some shit, I don’t know.” 

“Shit,” Seungcheol seemed much more alert now. You heard him put something down on his table (you imagined it was just as shitty as your own). “I didn’t even know that was possible.” 

“It’s fucking crazy. Don’t do drugs, man.” 

You turned past the quarry and was met with the sight of the huge, gaping hole of Fermata Lake. Strangely oval, the lake was flanked on all sides with thick pineland, except for a slight angle where grassy hills turned upwards towards Tri Forks Tower. 

The water was much more green up close. Algae sloshed up the side of the gravel-earth, willing you into the murky depths. 

You stared at it for a while. You thought maybe you could make out someone standing at the bottom of the bowl-shape.

“I’m at Fermata Lake,” you said then, and then started walking again. 

“Good job! And you haven’t even died at a drop off yet,” Seungcheol joked and you laughed. 

“God, you’re such a jerk. I bet you’re fuckin’.. Watching birds right now like a nerd.” 

“Okay, rude-” 

“Why don’t you go outside and be productive?” 

“I’m looking for fires,” Seungcheol snarked back. “The binoculars are multi-use.” 

You let the conversation die down for a bit, focused on the walk. It was peaceful when you let it be, but at times you came to feel like you were being swallowed alive, or like the looming figure of Aluralura Mountain was pressing its boulder-brawn in between your shoulder blades. The air in the forests was thicker, so you stayed persistent in your path, as you climbed up the clearings and spotted Tri Forks in the distance. 

“Hey, uh, Y/n?” 

The sudden intrusion of Seungcheol on the radio had you jolting, dropping the radio into the earth (thankfully it was fine - here the earth was softer and it dipped under your boot and water pressed out from the mull). You bent over and picked it back up. 

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” you scolded, wiping mud off the yellow plastic of the radio.

“Oh, uh, sorry..” 

It was only then that you noticed a meekness in Seungcheol’s voice. You, of course, had not the furthest idea what he looked like, but he sounded like he was holding a knife behind his back. You furrowed your brows and stared down the radio, as if it would give you answers. There was dirt clamoring the yellow, where your fingers had held on.

“What’s up?” you said and sounded fakely bright. 

“Well, I just-” he cut himself off with a cough, one that reached those stringent, thinning vocal cords and brought back the rasp. “I wanted to apologize. For the other night. I mean, when you came to the tower.” 

You didn’t respond, only furrowed your brow and looked out across the sun-lit moor. There was a deer traversing across the grass. 

“Uhm. Because. I was- I was kinda drunk, uh, when you came, and I know I was kinda pushy about, you know, why you came out here and all that.” 

“OH!” you exclaimed and the noise ended in a laugh. “Please, Seungcheol. Don’t worry about that. It’s fine.” 

“Okay, good,” he mumbled. 

The flower field came into view after climbing a particularly steep hill and it was a flower field - not just cartography myth. 

It was all sunflowers and catmint - a huge, long stretch of purple and yellow splotches, stemming from green, untamed grass - stretching as far as you could see, disappearing into a hill at the far horizon. You were sure the smell of pollen went for miles, flowerdust sprinkling the air in heavy coats. The path you were following split the field in two, a dry, boring gravel streak, but you saw, faded from sunlight, a once deep, now light, ashy brown box at the right side. 

“I found it!” you shrieked into the radio, a newfound strength gearing your legs into a sprint. “Fuck, yes!” 

“Good job, Fermata!” there was a smile in his voice. 

“Thank you!” 

You were also smiling, when you went up to it. It was rectangular and made of planks, held together by a metal loop and a padlock. Like everything else, it was dirty and ravished, and you felt a faint worry at the sight of scratch marks on its side. You clicked in the code: 1-2-3-4. 

The interior of the box was mostly empty. To your horror the first thing you saw was a porn magazine, which you did not dare to touch; then you saw a granola bar, which you did touch and stash away in your backpack, without any regard for how old it may have been; then came the compass, small and cheap metal and pointing out that you were, in fact, facing Northwest.

There was another item in the box. You did not initially see it, as it was taped to the interior of the lid, but when you raised your eyes, you saw it. It was a piece of paper - a note. 

Grimacing, you ripped it off where it was blowing violently in the wind, holding it tight between your fingers and smudging dirt along the untainted white. 

It read: 

‘Hey, Cheol. If you head up the path there’s a family of raccoons! I left this granola bar here so you could feed them! From Jun.’

“Hey, Seungcheol?” you said absently, staring over the blue, scribbled ink, worn out from months of rainwater dripping in through the planks. He hummed on the other end of the line. “There’s a note here for you. From a, uh, Jun?”

“Oh.”

There was a pause that you couldn’t decipher - maybe you could have, had you been there with Seungcheol. Maybe if you could read his face, his body, you could’ve known what it meant. But for now you just stood in the breeze. It was picking up, getting angrier, hurling at your clothes and hair, banishing you from the field. The flowers dangled uselessly. 

“Do you want me to read it to you?” 

Silence. 

“No, not really.” 

“Oh, okay. Uh, who’s- who’s Jun?” 

Silence. 

“The guy who used to work in Fermata Tower. Before you.” 

“Oh.” 

Every second was longer than the last. You wish you knew what it all meant, but you sensed in Seungcheol’s curtness that he was not taking questions currently, and so you looked around the quickly graying sky and the suddenly spiteful wind and folded the note away in your jacket pocket. 

“I’m gonna head back now,” even your voice was rocked by the wind. 

Seungcheol didn’t respond. 

You left Eleison Valley alone.  _____________________________

This was where it was supposed to be - greatness. Not success, but something greater, larger, more alive than you could ever be. You thought you’d find it in the mountains, the valleys, the lakes and the forests and maybe that had been naive of you - to think that nature and earth could give any sort of meaning that death had taken away from you. These shadowed parts only served to make you feel smaller, you realized. The mountains glared at you, the forests swallowed and spat you out. 

You couldn’t sleep. The image of Mingyu’s outstretched hand was back and you could almost see him from your flimsy bed, lying on his back with a tanned hand out for you. You left him alone, just like you always had. 

Burrowed under the veil of your thin blanket, grabbing at it with clumsy hands, you turned your back to Mingyu’s corpse on your floor.

A prickle sauntered up your back. It was that emotion that something was creeping closer, something was out to get you. That you would feel a cool, dead hand on your back and when it would spin you around his face would be there, and he’d look nothing like himself; he’d be pale and purple around the mouth and his eyes would be sunken and dark and all the glitter he possessed - that he used to possess - would be gone and something menacing, like a hungry mountain, would have replaced it. 

You thrashed, suddenly, to look back at the corpse. It was still there. Hadn’t moved an inch. Deja vu. 

Thoughtlessly, desperately, you fumbled for the radio wrapped up the sheets of your bed. Your fingertips found the plastic hardware, and it bounced at your eagerness, before you pulled it along the sheets and up to your mouth. 

“Seungcheol?” you gasped. 

When did you start crying? You decided you must’ve been crying all night and maybe you’d cried so much that your brain had stopped registering the feeling of wet tears. 

There was a pause. A long one. So long, you started to really become aware of the cries of the wind, the patter of the rain and the endless mumbling of the trees (and the gargled, bubbling blood rising from Imaginary Friend Mingyu’s half-open mouth). Then static spoke back to you: 

“Yeah?” his voice was so raspy, you registered that you must’ve awoken him from his sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your nails dug into the radio and you pressed it into your chest, holding on tight. 

“I can’t sleep,” you whispered, words full of shaky air. There was another pause and for a second you feared that Seungcheol might’ve gotten angry and gone back to bed. But he spoke again.

“Are you okay?” You heard rustling on his end, and you imagined him standing up from the bed, looking out at your lonely island of a lookout tower. “Do I need to trek over there?” 

“No!- no, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you protested, then trailed off. 

“... Are you crying?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut: “I just- d’you remember what I said? About my- my friend’s friend who- who had a bad mushroom trip?” 

“Uh, yeah, I remember. Her- Her house flooded, right?” Seungcheol’s voice was tainted with thorough confusion, but not annoyance. Never annoyance. 

“Well, I just-” you sputtered and sighed. You almost wanted to stop talking and give up when Seungcheol stayed quiet on his end and drew the words forward: “It’s so stupid. Sometimes I just- I just feel like that. Like you’re drowning, everywhere you go. You know?” 

Your voice was stringent with nervousness, and you picked at your nail, wrapped around the radio in the shallow dark. 

“It’s not stupid, sweetheart,” he mumbled. It was amazing to you how gruff and tough Seungcheol turned soothing and caring so fast. The nickname felt like a warm hug, and you almost didn’t register the sound of fabric rustling once more. “I’m coming over.”

“N-No!” you gasped sharply. Your eyes flickered down. Mingyu watched from the floor, eyes glazed over from death. He smelled foul.

“Can you.. Can you just- talk to me?” you whispered helplessly, and Seungcheol quieted down, seemingly weighing your proposal. 

“Okay. Okay, sweetheart, I’ll talk to you,” Seungcheol whispered soothingly, and for God’s sake, you didn’t even know what he looked like, but the rasp in his voice, and the comfort and warmth that sung out the speaker of the radio had your heart clenching in your chest. “What do you wanna talk about?” 

“Um, I don’t know,” you sniffled. Seungcheol only softened his voice and sat, awake in the middle of the night, comforting you.

“Can I tell you about birds?” 

He told you about birds for 45 minutes before you fell asleep (something he had predicted would happen); he told you about how pheasants are known for their striking colors and how they have excellent eyesight; he told you how he saw a nightjar just before going to bed that night, and how they’re incredibly hard to spot; he told you about Barrow’s Goldeneyes, and how they’re the funniest little guys, and he loves them, because they glow purple in the sunlight; he told you about g…

Oh. You must’ve started dozing off.  _____________________________

You weren’t sure when it changed, but at some point you looked out the window, and the mountain looked a lot more like yourself. 

You were getting better, happier, you were waking up with more energy, you were bubblier. You weren’t entirely sure you could blame it on the park though. For two months you’d had your job and for about two months, every once in a while, you’d radioed Seungcheol at night, and without any question, he’d tell you about birds. 

It sounded stupid the more you thought about it, but his voice lulled you into a comfortable sleep even on Mingyu’s most insistent nights. 

You’d wake up and patrol your area, then you’d settle back in for a couple of hours, watching out for fire hazards and guests in the park, before you’d patrol one more time. Then you’d go to bed. 

This was not the type of job you took to make friends, but somehow Seungcheol had become the reason you woke up everyday. Everyday you looked forward to walking through the woods with his voice on your radio, and you looked forward to making him laugh and him making you laugh. 

“Seungcheol, I’ve got eyes on what I’m pretty sure is a Red-breasted Merganser, come in.” 

This morning you were up extraordinarily early - for you, that is. You weren’t certain what exactly prompted this early rise (maybe you were finally sleeping right thanks to a certain rough-throated man?), but nonetheless you’d enjoyed the view of dawn along the undergrowth and had eaten half-warm oatmeal in bed with an open book. Now you were bored and craving the attention of your only forest-companion. 

Seungcheol didn’t respond like you were expecting though. When the radio crinkled in response, you heard him panting on the other end and thumps, like he was picking it up off the floor. 

“That’s… That’s great, Fermata. I’ve gotta get my.. My binoculars out,” he heaved for air and fumbled clumsily with the sensitive mic. You cringed at the sound. 

“What are you doing? Why are you so out of breath?” you asked. A twinge of worry slipped out in your tone. Was he okay? 

“I’m, uh, working out,” Seungcheol chuckled, and he seemed to finally regain composure, clearing his throat sheepishly. “You’re not usually awake to hear it.” 

“You work out every day?” 

“Sure do - gotta be prepared to knock out a grizzly,” he grunted. 

You leaned back in your seat, a less than amused expression on your face, because a twirling strand of fire danced up your chest and settled into your cheeks. Why was it suddenly so hot? Fire spread across your nerve endings and twinged you red in the apples of your cheeks. You ran your hands over your face to soothe the sizzling.

This was ridiculous, you thought. Seungcheol was not making you blush. You didn’t even know what he looked like! He might as well have had an eye patch and a mohawk. But even as you halfheartedly scrutinized yourself, your thoughts clouded over the idea of sweet, attentive, raspy Seungcheol with big arms and thighs and a sculpted chest and-

“Are you- are you, like, buff?” 

The question left your lips before you could stop it. Your voice broke halfway through the sentence and you let go of the button with an embarrassed hiss, like a kettle huffing out air. The embarrassment, that was potent and squeezing at your chest, worsened when you heard Seungcheol’s throaty chuckle on the other end, limp and dry. 

“You’re curious today, aren’t you?” he mused then, smirk clear from the tone and pronunciation of the words, and you squeezed your eyes shut because why was his voice and the thought of him and the warmth coming through the radio speaker suddenly bothering you so much?

The truth was you hadn’t masturbated in months. With everything going on, you simply hadn’t felt the urge or the want. But, it occurred to you, now that you were slowly becoming a functioning human once more, the urge was returning hot and fast in your core, and, of course, your only companion with the raspy voice and the attentive words and the apparently muscly body was bringing forth this urge with ease. 

You pressed down the urge, taking a deep breath before you pressed the button once more. You were not going to masturbate to the thought of Seungcheol - not Seungcheol who you only knew by voice, who had been nothing but caring and sweet to you. You could not corrupt the preciousness of your companionship with your lewd, depraved thoughts. 

“I’m just curious what you look like. Unlike you, stalker, I don’t have binoculars!” That sounded a lot more like the you that had not just gotten wet at the thought of Seungcheol’s bulging muscles. 

“Hey! The power of the binoculars is limited. I can only really see your silhouette, nothing fancy,” he defended and then right as you were about to respond, he knocked the wind out of you again: “And yes, I’m pretty buff, if I do say so myself.”

Ugh. 

You went the rounds that day and got through another day without having to complete fire protocol, ending out the evening with a pack of instant noodles your family had so graciously sent you (Seungcheol scolded you: “That has no nutrients!”). However each step through the forest and each slurp of noodles and page of your book was plagued by the latent fire inside you. A burning occupied your abdomen fueled by the echoing morning voice of Bay Valley Tower. 

By nightfall you gave in. You were only a girl. This didn’t have to change anything, you thought, as the park turned plum purple. You settled into bed in your pajamas, sitting upright against the frail wood wall and letting your hair bunch on the rattling plate of glass. Your eyes moved to and fro, bouncing over the now lived-in cabin and taking in the dark void of the farest corner. 

Briefly, you fiddled with your radio in your palm. You could call Seungcheol and- wait, why would you do that? No, no. You packed away that wicked thought - it only served to make you feel more guilty. No, instead you slid down the wall to lay in your pillow, now positive you were alone. 

An owl hooted outside and you slipped your hand into your underwear. 

It was surprisingly easy to surrender your consciousness to the lust (and you had, God bless your soul, stayed wet throughout the entire day). It clouded you over, as you began rubbing up and down your pussy, ghosting over your clit to dip down to your glazed slit. Your eyes squeezed shut and you conjured your best doll-replica of Seungcheol.

In your dream he was a faceless mist, but he had a carved upper body, and from the fog surrounding his head spewed his voice - dripping in warmth and comfort, as you imagined it was his toned arm reaching between your legs and pumping into you.

Your other hand snaked down to your clit, where your hips canted off the bed. In the whirl of thrusting into yourself and rubbing tight circles in your clit, you realized, lip bitten raw under your prying teeth, that there was no reason to hold back your moans. It was only forest and wasteland for miles - and surely Seungcheol would not hear you in his floating snow globe. 

“A-ah, Seungcheol,” you wantonly murmured, burying your head in your pillow and sighing lazily. A flush had crept up your neck, where your chest expanded to allow for air. The pleasure was immense - probably more intense, since it had been quite a while - warmth spreading in your lower stomach and culminating at your throbbing clit. Recklessly, you moaned and thrashed as you fucked yourself on your fingers, hiking towards your orgasm. “Seungcheoool-”

“Y/n?” 

You froze. 

Maybe you’d imagined it. Still, your fingers were stopped in their tracks, simply resting on the warmth of your folds, itching to continue. You sat up in bed and tried to ward away the creeping panic. Your heart began to gallop to the beat of a siren. 

The air had been starched when you finally pulled your hand out of your underwear, hot cheeks and glistening hands all over, when you began searching for the radio.

“Y/n, are you okay?” 

You had your back hunched over the edge of the bed, searching for the little yellow receiver, when his voice came again in a thick forest of static. You snapped your head to under your comforter, where the noise was slightly muffled. 

In a blurred panic, you threw the comforter off of you and spotted the small radio by your calf, and you scrambled to pick it up. When the dirty plastic touched your cheek, you stopped, sighed a shaky, hot breath, and closed your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m fine. What’s up?” you let go of the button and cringed at your own disheveledness, the breath and shake in your voice. You pressed your forehead radio-front in a silent prayer. 

There was a hesitance to Seungcheol when he spoke next: “... You were calling for me, you sounded in pain?” 

This was certainly the worst thing he could’ve said. You would’ve rather he told you he spotted a bear at the foot of your tower, trying to eat you! You must’ve accidentally kicked the radio and hit the button, you decide, and you damn yourself for keeping it in the bed - of course, shit like this would happen!

“I was…-” (If only you were a better liar), “- pranking you…” 

Seungcheol huffed out in amusement on the other end and you wanted to jump off the railing to the lookout tower and break your neck. “You were pranking me?” 

You gulped with a decidedly dry mouth. “It was a bear attack prank.” 

Seungcheol was smiling: “Yeah?” 

You were not: “Yeah.” 

There was an entropic silence, where you thoughts came rambled and pleading in your head: Please, just let this go, please, just let this go, let’s pretend it never happened, let’s-

“You wanna know what I think you were doing?” 

Seungcheol’s voice had dropped an octave. The smile in his voice was gone and there was something menacing and commanding about him now. In the moment, overcome with a cocktail of guilt and shame, you could not discern if this was anger or lust - the first seemed fitting. 

“I think you were fucking your little fingers thinkin’ about me,” he hummed and in response you whined and squeezed your eyes shut. The shame encapsulated you. “Shh, shh, calm down, I’m not mad, honey.” 

Blinking through rapidly forming tears, you opened your eyes to stare, dumbfounded, at the radio (as if it were Seungcheol and you were not several miles apart). “Really?” 

“Not mad at all. Jus’ think you should’ve told me if you wanted my help,” he tutted on his end and, God, he was so nurturing and comforting and he knew it, and it was so sexy. Your pussy, which had vaguely throbbed from the negligence throughout, was now screaming for your attention, hole clenching sadly around nothing. 

“I thought you wouldn’t want-” 

“You’re crying again, baby,” he must’ve noted from the hoarseness of your voice and the sniffles that accompanied every syllable. 

“Just want you so bad,” you sobbed, now shamelessly slipping your hand back into your underwear and sighing dazedly in relief when you touched it again. 

“Need Seungcheol to take care of you, huh?” The smile in his voice was back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Bet you don’t want me talking about birds now, hm?” he chuckled (at his own joke), voice low and raspy. “Are you touching that pretty pussy?” 

“Mhmm,” you responded lazily, floating high on the sound of his voice and jolts of electricity they sent as you worked up a pace on your clit once more. The pain of the interruption ebbed away. 

“Good girl, hm?” He knew. “Getting off to the sound of my voice, eh? Don’t even know what I look like.” 

“Hng- k-know you’re b-buff,” you gritted out, voice coming in sharp breaths. Your body moved languidly, back arching off the bed and hair coming out in choppy strands on your pillow. Seungcheol scoffed out a laugh: “Like knowing I could just fold you in half? Fuck you into tomorrow? Hm?” 

You let out a loud, dumb whine of his name. It was a total inability to get over his words; how melodious it was, and yet, how contradictory the smoothness of his words were to the strained nature of his thrumming voice. And the worst of it all was how confident he was - you supposed hearing someone else masturbate to you would be a confidence boost - and how the arrogance swelled out in the most comforting, nurturing way. Each word felt like a hand on your body, like a caress that sent shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck, princess, say my name like that again. Please.” 

“Seungcheol!” you obliged mindlessly, legs shaking on either side of your glistening hand. 

“Shit, I-” he grunted, and you heard a fumbling of fabrics on his end. Your nerves spun in excitement at the thought of him getting hard at your voice. “Can you put two fingers in the pretty pussy - it’ll feel like one of mine, baby.” 

You cried out when your fingers entered yourself, pads of your fingertips rubbing against your walls. Outside of the windows, the park was an empty wasteland of mauve and orchid, and the Fermata lake was brilliantly alive and dipping under the three-quarter-moon. 

“Wish it was your pussy wrapped around my cock right now,” he grunted, and he’d lost breath and composure and if you knew what his face looked like, you would imagine it sweaty and twisted up and a red-lipped ‘o’ letting the jaw slack. 

Resuming your earlier motions (double-handing your own kitty), you felt your orgasm lurking in the pit of your stomach, a tight-wound knot being ripped apart. You were panting into the cool air, creating silver-clouds in your tower-home. “A-ah, want you inside me so bad, Cheol- shit! Gonna- gonna cum-” 

“Yeah? You gonna cum thinking about my cock inside you baby? Thinkin’ about me just bouncing you up and down like my little fuckdoll?” His speech ended in the prettiest moan you’d ever heard, and you imagined every well-defined, flexed muscle under the moonlight and the thought had your whole body jerking and shaking and when you closed your eyes the stars stayed with you, white and glimmering under your eyelid. 

The strangled moans of your orgasm sent Seungcheol over the edge - at least from what you could tell. His dirty talk turned into strings of curses and moans and grunts until the radio went dead, and all you could hear was your own labored breaths and the faraway hooting of a horned owl. 

The silence flatlined the excitement into nervousness. Your lip was almost automatically caught in your teeth and you glanced over the radio beside you through your lashes.

Oh shit. What the fuck had you done?

“Uh, did you-” the smell of sweat shot up as you shuffled in your sheet to grab the radio once more. “Did you, uh, cum?” 

Oh fuck. You just made it way worse.

The silence from the radio was much louder than any response, but when the receiver did finally crinkle with static, the sound of laughter exploded from it.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, BV,” you scolded, but you were smiling and relief flooded you like water overflows Fermata Lake during heavy downpour. 

“I’m sorry,” he hiccuped on the other end. “It’s just-.. ‘DID YOU CUM?’” 

“Alright, I’m going to bed now. You suck,” you quacked, and even though you were alone you thought to suppress the gentle tugging at your lips into a sharky smile. 

“DID YOU CUM?” 

He sounded pretty when he laughed.  _____________________________

“I can’t believe I have to hike down here to confiscate some fireworks.” 

Your grumble came from the forest beside Fermata Lake. You were walking down a patch of dirt revealed from years’ of trampling feet, dewy sprigs of grass arching into the mud. A group of (presumably) teenagers were firing fireworks down near the edge of your assigned territory. 

“They’re a fire hazard!” Seungcheol squawked obviously, and you huffed in your boots, preparing to climb down a rocky slope. 

“I know that! It’s just everywhere - the website, the signs - don’t use fireworks!” you complained. Seungcheol hummed absently on the other line: “Go teach those suckers a lesson, Fermata!” 

“I will,” you said, agitated. 

“Just don’t fuck with their personal belongings. Last thing we need is a lawsuit. Again.”

“I won’t,” you said, deflated. 

Even in your most angered moments, you could hand yourself over to the gentle forest. No longer were you protruding into a bubble, straining to get through a barrier that was urging you out, but you were absorbed into it, like you were one of its own. 

The forest was lush with pines and brown and green moss painting bark and rocks, and the grass leapt higher than your knees, as you trudged further and further in. 

SWOOOOSH!

A firework propelled into the sky about 100 meters away, and you watched its ignited trails of smoke before it exploded into a fest of sparkling blue and gold. You huffed out in anger at the sight. The sky wasn’t even fully dark - it was merely a muted blue evening. 

“Did you see that?” Seungcheol came from the radio-speaker. 

“Yeah, I’m right with them.” 

As you padded closer the smell of wet pine cones and coltsfoot accompanied the sound of distant voices - indeed, they sounded juvenile. You could make out at least two girls and at least one boy, although their voices were hard to distinguish, the way they echoed in between the grid of trees.

“Hey!” you yelled, as you creeped just close enough. Their voices hushed and you saw their frightened faces lit by handheld, Target-bought flashlights when you peeled back the screen of a bramblebush. They were gathered together amongst a tent, flashlight lighting the plates of the faces ablaze in cool white.

“Cut it out with the fireworks, alright?” you huffed and your anger melted a little when you saw that they were indeed just kids - maybe 19? They seemed to have nothing to say, and so you scanned the beer cans and the scattered backpacks and finally caught sight of a bundle of rockets in the grass. Your brows furrowed, and you picked it up with a sternness. 

“Hey, that’s ours!” one kid chimed, but he made no move to stop you, really, as you trudged angrily back to the bush you had come from. 

“Not as long as you’re in our park, man. It’s a fire hazard.” 

“We’ll take them back home-” 

“Goodnight!” The desperate plea fell on deaf, tired ears. You just wanted to eat dinner, so you disappeared out on a trail of pine needles and valiantly ignored the trail of curses and insults following you. You could care less. 

“I got the fireworks, Seungcheol,” you sighed tiredly and your eyes were dark pits and your face was relaxed, if only to conservative energy. 

“Good job, Fermata.” 

You were not in the talking mood. Maybe Seungcheol could tell by your tone of voice; maybe he could hear it in your sigh; but Seungcheol piped up again: “You know, if you need some energy for the hike back, there’s a supply box - uhh, 52? - if you head upwards instead of towards Fermata Lake.” 

You wanted to be grumpy, you really did, but the thought of a salivating, expired, delicious, out-of-date granola bar had you changing course to the slowly gaining hill of the forest. 

It was weird. This was probably the closest you’d ever been to Seungcheol’s tower. Under the prickly cover of pine some mile in the distance, you could see a glowing square, perched over the treetops by long, wooden pillars, support beams crossing the middle. You couldn’t help but wanna go up to it. There had been an unbearable magnetic pull to his tower ever since that night however long ago. You decided to stay the course for Supply Box 52. 

“I can practically see you from here,” you commented, and the tower was becoming a beacon as the evening mulled darker and darker by the minute. 

“Really? Hang on,” he did not let go of the radio-button, and so you had the pleasure of listening to the ruffling of fabrics and thumps on the floor. “Can you see me flexing in the window?” 

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, and the sound bounced off the pines and traveled up to the rock of the nearby Aluralura Mountain. “No, I’m not quite that close.” 

“Damn it!” 

“Yeah, it‘s a real shame,” you muttered, smiling, and then you caught sight of the supply box up ahead. The hill flattened out once more (to which you breathed a sigh of relief) and the box was perched on the edge facing the path that began onto the cliffs. This was Seungcheol’s territory - cliff sides and all. “I think I see Supply Box 52.”

“Open that bad boy up.” 

You entered the code, scrolling the mechanisms one by one until the numbers read 1-2-3-4 (you still thought this combination was ridiculous), and when you opened the lid it creaked horribly, worn from the weather. 

The wind was harsh that day, and a note, identical to the one you’d found at Eleison Valley, broke off its tape from the mean pushes of the wind. Instinctively, you grabbed it as it started to fly off, and your hand closed around it and crinkled it under your fingers. You looked at it with knitted brows. 

Wordlessly, you tucked it in between your side and your arm, redirecting your attention to the goodies in the supply box. 52 held a rope and a map and another directory for supply boxes and, to your exhausted delight, a box of grandma-looking caramels. You took the whole thing and stuffed it into your bag. 

As you shuffled, you put the note between your lips, stuffing the plastic container of gold-wrapped, sugary candies in between your rope and your own map and a coat for possible rain. When you zipped it up, the fabric of the bag warped grotesquely to fit the various items you’d brought. 

You pulled the note back out from your lips. A small wet patch of spit lingered on the paper, as you unfolded it. 

It read: 

‘Hey Seungcheol,

If you find this, I gotta go be with my mom now. I’ll miss you forever.

From Jun.’

The wind blew kisses on your back like the presence of a ghost.

“You find anything good?” Seungcheol’s voice peeked through the static of the radio. It had been quiet for a while. You couldn’t take your eyes off the letter. The ink was smudged and slurred. 

“Uh, caramels, actually,” you said, eyes dancing over each slope of ‘forever’. “Like, granny caramels.”

You put the letter away.  _____________________________

A week later and you were looking out of the window at pouring rain. The sky was smothered by a duvet of dark gray clouds, and the rain was coming harder than you’d ever seen. It was like thousands of bullets pelting into the ground and turning it soft and muddy, and the drops hit your roof like the nonstop click of a keyboard. 

"Rainy season, huh?” your mouth was to the radio. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna be staying up all night to watch out for lightning. Fire hazard.” 

“Shit, I should make coffee.” 

“I’m way ahead of you.” 

The lightning came and thunder followed. The sound was enormous and terrifying. It grumbled like a hungry beast and the sound bounced off of every mountain-wall and echoed from all sides. You felt very small, wrapped up in a blanket at your desk, a steaming cup of coffee by your side and your fire extinguisher evacuated from its holder to stand beside you, all red and shiny aluminum and rubber nozzle. 

“Did that look like it hit a tree?” you asked after seeing a zig-zagging bolt of lightning hanging a little too low over the crowns. Your voice was louder than usual - this night was a game of overpowering the screaming rain. It was some 1 AM.

“Uhhhhh, shit. Maybe. We’d see the fire, but it’s possible it’s at the root.” 

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Was that yours or my area?” 

“Uhhhhh-” 

“I’m gonna check it out.” 

Determined, you let the radio fall on the table, as you fumbled for another sweater. The knitted fabric slipped over your other sweater, and then you were wrapping yourself up in your raincoat.

“Maybe I should go - it’s slippery right now, it’s dangerous as fuck. You could fall and hit your head, you know. I think it was closer to me anyway, so--” 

“Seungcheol, I already have my coat on, I’m going!” 

And indeed you were going, despite the grumbled protests of Seungcheol. Your coat blew in the hurricane wind as you stood atop the cliff, looking down at the cascading water, that’d all race down to the sinkhole that was Fermata Lake. Through the clouds, there were no stars to trade glances with, not even ghosts.

You fought headwind the entire way, your hair flowing wildly and your coat threatening to unbutton at the will of the blasts. The ground under your rainboots had become mud and the further you trudged into the forest, the more the mud crept up your yellow shoe, slinging over you like liquid ropes. 

“I’m going down the drop off again!” you were screaming to overpower the wind, radio to your mouth before you dropped it into your pocket and retrieved your bag to regather your rope. 

“Be careful!” Seungcheol commandeered bitterly, muffled from your pocket. “It’s slippery as shit! Radio me immediately when you’re down, so I know you’re okay.” 

Even as your face grew wet and sore from the whipping rain, you scoffed. A gloved hand shoved into your pocket, brought the radio back up to your red lips: “Stop being such a pussy!” 

“Say yes, Y/n!” 

You rolled your eyes. “Aye, aye.”

“... I’ll take that, asshole.” 

Wet as a wipe, you slung your rope over the hook and prepared it in a slew of motions you’d by now memorized. Although, you noted your movements were awkward, somewhat impaired by the layers of fabric that encased you. Stubborn, you stood before the hook, grabbed onto the rope, and began walking backwards. 

Your booted foot curled around the edge of the cliffside, and with the tightened rope you began your careful horizontal walk. Raindrops pelted your face like a clenched fist, but you only blinked away the water and tried to focus on stepping carefully down the side of the rockface. 

KRRRRRRRRKKKKKK!

You screamed girlishly when your rope snapped from the hook, and you watched it come flying out over the ledge, before you realized, horrifically, you were already falling. 

It was barely a second, just one blurry image of the weeping sky, before you were on the ground, groaning in pain. A pulsing ache creeped up your spine, and you twisted your body in the mud to put the weight on your side. You sighed into the mud, dirt on your squished cheek. 

The rain was uncaring of your unfortunate situation, as you laid pathetically in the dirt, body scrunching up like an elastic, while your shadow was cast by sudden bursts of lightning. Panting, you pushed yourself up by your arms and felt blindly for your-

Where was your radio? 

Your pocket was deflated and empty, and you scrambled in the dirt, desperately, pushing yourself up completely to scan the area. You noted how the pain subsided into a small, dwindling soreness, thanking whatever God for your layers of clothing and the softness of the earth. 

There. A flash of yellow in your blurred vision, aided by another strike of lightning atop Aluralura Mountain. You picked up the worn, dirty radio in your heavy hand, pressing at its side. 

“Hello? Seungcheol?” 

There was no static to indicate your message had been relayed, and the usual red digital numbers telling you what channel you were on was gone, a simple, black screen remaining, mirroring your muddied face, twisted in anguish. 

“Fuck this,” you hissed, standing up on two legs. You looked back up to where your lookout tower was still ablaze, a yellow box in the heights. The rope was fucked. You had to go down anyway. Huffing, you started walking. 

You marched through the undergrowth, crossing through unpathed forest to reach the destination. It was near a hollow marked on your map, and so the expedition, although scarier, more empty and dark without Seungcheol's warm voice, was mild. 

Wet petals brushed your face from rows of bushes, and even through your gloves the cold left your fingertips numb. You sniffled in the dark. 

You found the hollow, then you found the tree. There was, indeed, ash going up the side of it, seemingly stemming from a smaller bush in the clearing, but the fire had been long put out by the insistent rain, and partially you felt disappointment that you’d trekked all the way out here, only for there to be no real danger. 

Heavier than ever, you turned your gaze to the glowing hut in the distance. 

You almost wanted to go back to your own hut, to turn your back to Seungcheol’s glowing tower and forget this ever happened. The anticipation of seeing him - of him seeing you - was a tall wall to overcome. But, you realized, not only was his tower closer; you also needed help. 

Your radio was fucked, your rope was fucked and moreover, you needed to be sure you hadn’t done irreparable damage to your back. With water dripping over the ledge of your hood, you began walking towards Seungcheol. 

Rainwater cascaded off the edge of the trees and the consistent dashed dots looked like tiny glass orbs in the light of Bay Valley Tower. It was intensely quiet for a while - it seemed like every bush-tailed critter of the forest had scuttered away to hide from the rain and the echoing growling of the sky. 

“Y/n!” 

You were so tired you almost could’ve missed it. Each layer of fabric weighed you down and the dirt smearing your cheeks and hands and fabrics could’ve melted you right into the earth. But indeed, a voice - so familiar it almost hurt - was calling to you in the dead of night.

“Seungcheol?” your first call was not a call, but a whisper, as you peered into the thick grooves of the forest. Then, your senses returned to you and you screamed as loud as you could: “Seungcheol!” 

“Y/n!”

You and Seungcheol called for each other, syllables echoing off the huge, towering presence Aluralura Mountain. Getting closer and then closer, and then you could see the figure of another raincoated person, shaded by a hood.

“Y/n? Oh, thank God!” He ran to you, swimming in the rubber of his red coat and pink lips peeking over the closed hood. 

It was a little paralyzing. He was so beautiful, you didn’t even know which speck of his shadowed face to look at. Tan, wet skin and big eyes from which the longest, blackest lashes you’d ever seen sprung. Most notable were his fuzzy, blocky eyebrows sitting over his brown eyes, fine wrinkles springing from the corners (you’d like to think you’d helped create some of those). His lips were big and bright and pouty, but it was wiped away when he smiled at the sight of you, and you could die, because a dimple indented itself in his cheek at the motion. 

“Are you okay?” his smile faded when you said nothing, only stared at him, and then stared at where his thick fingers wrapped around your arm. He leaned into you and God, you hadn’t seen him before this very moment, and now he was leaning over you and he was so close and he smelled like pinewood, and you were pretty sure you smelt exactly the same. 

You lowered yourself from your daze, trying to follow the pattering of rain atop both of your hoods. “Uh,” you gulped, finding his eyes, “yeah, I jus’... I thought you were joking when you said you weren’t white.” 

His laugh. His laugh was even prettier in person and it had the same rasp and the same disapproving hint to it that it had had at all your other jokes. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, Fermata?” 

“Bird watching is crazy, man.” 

He smiled and studied your face for a moment, still leaned over you and thoroughly ignoring the rain and the thunder and the dirt on your boots. Then the smile faded, just a little: “What happened to your radio?” 

“Oh- oh my God! Do you- do you remember my first day? The drop off! I fuckin’- fell down, my rope came undone on the hook! My radio was knocked the fuck out, it was crazy, I’m gonna need a new one-”

“Are you okay? You fell?” Seungcheol’s strong eyebrows became furrowed and the sight was so utterly mesmerizing to you. You waved him off: “I’ll be fine, please, I just want to get out of this weather.” 

Seungcheol did not seem to entirely believe you, but nonetheless he grabbed your hand - in his own rough, used one - and started leading you upwards (“If I don’t hold your hand, how can I be sure you don’t fall down another drop off?”).

Time was not as agonizingly slow by his size, and the tower seemed to propel towards you and the hands on your wristwatch seemed to move backwards. Not before long, you were climbing up the stairway with Seungcheol’s iron fist on your wrist, so as to prevent you from falling down something else (you had a feeling that he would not let this go). 

“I’m gonna make us some tea,” grumbled Seungcheol when you arrived.

“Yes, please,” you murmured. Your coat was folded beside you, starry raindrops soaking into a blanket thrown over his bed. 

It was warm in Seungcheol’s tower house - he had half a brain to put an electric heater in the corner of the room, unlike you - and it was only the sudden embrace of warmth that had you looking out into the park and realizing you would have frozen to death if you’d stayed. 

There was a warm glow from a naked bulb in the ceiling (you guessed Seungcheol had put it up himself), an old rug full of sand-corns, and a shelf with various books. Seungcheol also had a small kitchen, a desk and a bed, just like you. The layout was exactly the same, but sitting down on Seungcheol’s bed, you noted he must’ve made some alterations. Your fingers pulled at the white of the mattress - it was his own and it was much softer.  

When the electric kettle (a rusted, iron old thing) was cooking, Seungcheol turned to you sheepishly and unzipped his coat. You waited in secret anticipation for his supposedly smoking-hot bod, but were disappointed to see another sweater underneath it. 

Seungcheol stopped the kettle and took two large mugs from his cupboard. These, he placed on a carved tray (you thought he might have made it himself from pinewood), and then from a small, wooden tea box on his countertop, he produced two bright yellow tea packets, which he gently placed in the mugs. Then he poured in the water, steam traveling up to open his pores and whatnot. 

“Do you want anything in yours?” he asked, not really looking. 

“Uhm. No, no, thank you,” your hands were folded in your lap. 

He only grunted in response and left one tea untouched, then took a clear, plastic container of honey from an array of unrefrigerated condiments, and squirted half the bottle into his tea. He sniffled when he was done, grabbing the tray and turning to you. Tonight, Seungcheol was uncharacteristically nervous.

“Can you-?”

“Hm?”

“That little- little table over there-”

“What?”

“Can you grab it?- For- for the tray?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” 

The tea sat on the tray and the tray sat on the foldable table and you and Seungcheol sat before them on the edge of his bed. You took the hefty mug in your hand and took a slurp, looking over at him from the rim. Seungcheol looked at you awkwardly. He did not move for his tea. 

“I should take a look at your back,” he said. 

“What? Why?” you quacked disapprovingly. “You fell on it,” Seungcheol reminded you.

You shook your head silently. “I like your hut. It’s way better than mine.” 

“I’ve been here longer,” Seungcheol shrugged. You looked at him and he seemed displeased - this would not have been a big deal were you speaking to him on the radio, but his aura was much more commanding in person - something about his eyes, you thought. You had to look away, settling on your mug again (there was a cartoon dog on it). 

“I suppose that’s true,” you murmured. Seungcheol stared into the side of your face and his obvious concern for you weighed down at your muscles. 

A gentle pause where rain pattered his roof. 

“Are you okay?” 

You glanced over, nervously: “Tired.” 

He bit his lip: “Maybe I should’ve made coffee... Can we put instant coffee in tea?” 

“Seungcheol, I wanted to ask you something,” you said and put your mug down on the tray again with a small ‘clink’. Seungcheol rubbed his hands over his trouser-clad thighs, nodding, maybe more nervous than you. The warm glow of the bulb made him even prettier and all was warm and dry in the hut, even though rain was falling down in thick curtains just outside by the troughs. “It’s just..” you began, “you’ve been so avoidant about this.. Jun guy..”

Seungcheol’s sigh interrupted you before you could finish: “He was just the guy that worked here before you.” 

“I found another letter.”

Seungcheol’s furrowed expression softened and he looked at you with big, glassy brown eyes, hidden under a waft of choppy bangs. What was that in the shine of his pupil? Fear? Vulnerability? Sadness?

“It was about- it said he was gonna go be with his mother and that- that he would miss you,” you explained and your voice was snotty and throaty, and your eyes averted to a folded napkin beside a half-eaten slice of bread. A fly circulated it hungrily. 

Seungcheol’s lips made a tight line, dimples poking out pathetically. He cleared his throat and you heard the strain in his vocal chords once more (and it was so real because there he was - right beside you). 

“Me and Junhui came here together. We’d just finished college and we didn’t want-.. We didn’t want to be adults yet. Like, an office job, wife and kids,” he began and there was a tremor about Seungcheol tonight. “I don’t think he was made for a job like this though. I think the loneliness got to him.. Think he just lived with it ‘cause he could tell I liked it.” 

You nodded along until he wasn’t speaking anymore. Then a thick silence absorbed the two of you, a patch of moss drowned in the downpour. 

“His mom was dead, so..” he whispered. Tears gathered at his waterline like a string of stars. “So, yeah, he went to.. To be with her.” 

“I’m so sorry, Seungcheol,” you whispered and the echoing whispers of the storm bouncing off the rock faces of Aluralura mountain beckoned your hand onto his woolen sleeve. “I had no idea.” 

“They never found his body, you know? He’s just out there, somewhere,” both you and Seungcheol turned your heads out to the pitch black expanse of the massive park. Your mind wandered to every crook and crevice you’d seen out there, wondering if a dead body had hidden behind a quarry rock. “Fuckin’ terrified I’ll find him one day. Just… Rotten.” 

You didn’t know what to say. What do you say? Even though you’d stood in a similar situation - losing a friend - you couldn’t find anything that could ease his pain, the pain that was now tinting the light blue and dulling the sound of the rain. The whole room was pulsating. Luckily, it seemed Seungcheol had something more to say. You watched his lips pucker as the words tried to leave his tongue, then watched them draw back. 

“He used to.. He used to say this thing. It reminded me so much of what you- you said that night about, uhm, your friend’s friend. He used to say that- that sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and he’d just be.. Totally.. Convinced that he was at the bottom of Fermata Lake and he was drowning,” Seungcheol’s voice broke one too many times and his jaw clenched. “God, I was so worried. Jus’ thought I couldn’t- I couldn’t be the reason that happened again.” 

“I…” A tear slipped down your face and your hand left Seungcheol’s arm to wipe it, furiously.He turned to you pitifully, the broad width of his shoulders hanging low. “I’m sorry- you weren’t meant to feel that way-”

“It’s okay. I wanted to help,” Seungcheol grabbed your hands in his, a deep frown on his lips. 

You stopped the tears, face burning hot and wet when you looked up at him again, calmed. His thumbs stroked over the backs of your hands. The pads were rough and beaten. 

“Y’know it was sort of the same for me,” you said. Seungcheol waited for you to talk patiently and with a small, encouraging smile, as warmth streamed from his hands into yours.

“Yeah, my- uh roommate - best friend - died. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how I found him, like, his hand was just outstretched towards- towards the wall to my room, and he must’ve just lied there while his heart was giving out and I wasn’t there-... And I found him the next morning like that and I thought he was asleep and I left him there. Again. And I just can’t stop seeing him everywhere and for a while I was afraid that he would move, you know, like, start crawling towards me or some shit, but I think now I’m actually more afraid that he’ll never move. I think that’s the joke or whatever, he just won’t move, he’ll just be there the way I left him- and I guess- I guess, I thought I could find some sort of higher purpose out here, but I just can’t.. I feel more as though.. Like, it was these things that took him away from me, these fundamental parts of- existence. Like all the cliffs have evil faces and they want to take me too, and maybe I did want them to take me, but not- not anymore. I don’t know if that makes any sense?” 

You peered up at Seungcheol through your lashes, wet and heavy. He was frowning, hands gripping yours tighter.

“You don’t want them to take you anymore?” he asked quietly. You shook your head. “How so?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it has much to do with me or the park. I think-” you gaze flitted to Seungcheol and he smiled knowingly. You scoffed and smiled too. 

Although you both were fully clothed (Seungcheol annoyingly so), it felt as if all the layers had been stripped away one by one; sweaters and trousers, skin and meat and bones. All there was left were two brightly glowing hearts in front of one another. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered then. ��You don’t have to say it.”

You rolled your eyes: “I think it’s because of you.” 

He grinned, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes and cheeks bunching up in shiny, red fat. You poorly suppressed your own grin and the two of you leaned into each other when your eyes hooked, laughing into each other's shoulders.

“You’re so dumb,” you complained, forehead scratching against the stiff, knitted threads in Seungcheol’s shirt. 

“I think- I think we both jus’ get dumber together,” you could feel his smile into your neck and the hot stream of air that bounced against the skin. 

Right as you were about to pull away, Seungcheol’s arms wrapped around your back and pushed you back into him. You giggled at the motion, but with little thought your own arms wrapped around his back too, and your knees clashed where they met. 

“Seungcheol?” your voice was muffled by his neck. His only response was hum, that ruminated from deep in his throat right by your ear. You pulled away until you were staring at his face. 

Each thick stroke of eyebrow hair, each long, black eyelash and each mole dotted on his softly aging skin was crystal clear then. Your hands wrapped around his biceps and felt your heart buzz at their pronounced carvings under the wool. Seungcheol smiled down at you in a sort of adoring way.

“I think-” you began, then felt stupid, then felt idiotic and cowardly. “I don’t know- I think we should kiss now?” 

It came out as more of a question than a statement. 

Seungcheol gravelled a laugh and his eyes became all squinty and he pursed his lips as if it concealed his amusement in any way at how you squirmed beneath him and your face heated up. 

“I think you’re right,” he nodded and you could barely register the feeling of joy that exploded in your chest, before Seungcheol’s pillowy lips crashed into yours at the same instance as a crack of thunder. 

The lightning was a flickering show to the performance of yours and Seungcheol’s passionate kiss. His lips molded to yours and yours to his, warm and chapped and your hands couldn’t help but wrap around the soft planes of his cheeks - to pull him further, to keep him with you. 

Seungcheol grappled for your hips, and you moaned in a sort of discombobulated agreement, as he, with shocking ease, pulled you into his lap. His hands on your body, stroking and pressing into the meat, left a burning ghostly trail behind it. 

“Can I be honest?” you mumbled in between bitten kisses and panted breaths. “You’re hotter than I imagined.” 

Seungcheol smiled into the kiss at that: “You too, baby. Now you get the real thing, hm? After fucking your sweet pussy thinking about me?” 

You whined in response, hips canting down into his and head dropping into the warm crook of his neck. You licked mindlessly at the skin, rolling your hips into his. Seungcheol groaned and steel hands halted your eager core. 

“Desperate so quick?” he quirked, and you cried out because how could even begin to describe how hot it was that he could entirely still your movements so nonchalantly? You swallowed before you tilted your head from the safety of his neck. 

“I have waited so fucking long for your cock, Cheol. I need it inside me now,” you said seriously, and it was his turn to swallow the rising viscous in his throat, before he nodded and pushed you off his lap to remove his trousers. 

You saw the way the metal of the belt reflected the light, as he (almost angrily) began journeying it off his middle, and you took the hint, beginning to discard your clothes. Your first sweater fell to the floor, then the next followed, and then you were stomping the floor to rid your soaked trousers. Another article of clothing that was soaked - your panties! And embarrassingly so, you thought, watching the slick, wet patch as you lowered the material to the floor. 

Only then did your attention return to Seungcheol, now fully naked in his hut with windows on all sides, and you audibly gasped. 

His torso was one huge slab of muscle and meat. The skin was relatively pale, pronounced pecs and his arms were like tree trunks at his sides. His thighs were fucking huge, indentations of muscles peering through his skin, as he impatiently worked his boxers off. 

He halted though at your gasp, smirking cockily before returning to his work.

“Is it as good as you imagined when you came thinkin’ ‘bout me?” he muttered as his boxers slid down his calf. Too busy staring at his girthy, leaking cock sprouting between his legs, you neglected to answer and Seungcheol continued in a deliberately raspy tone: “Jus’ thinking about your pretty moans, my cock’s aching for you, princess. You’re not gonna come warm it up, beautiful?” 

“Yes-” you stumbled over a treacherous boot, “yes, I am!” 

“Good girl,” Seungcheol rumbled, bemused, as your knees floundered into the mattress and back into his lap. Seungcheol seemed to have other plans, however, because as soon as you had found your footing, and his warm hands were sliding up your back and his neck was craned up to you, breath hitting your breasts, he raised you and flipped you over, so you were digging into the mattress and he was above you. The shadows only served to define the chisel of his arms further. 

His hand slid down your soft thighs, settling in between your legs to run two fingers through your folds. 

“Your pussy is so pretty,” he whispered, somewhat mesmerized at the slick coating his fingertips. You squirmed impatiently and he shushed you, ever so gently: “Shh, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Immediately following up on his promise, the two fingers snaked down to your sensitive, pulsing hole, prodding gently. You wiggled and whined, one of your hands (which had been gripping his bedsheets) stopped him at the wrist. He stopped, eyes flitting up to your flushed, shiny face questioningly. 

“I wan’ your cock now. No prep,” you scowled, strands of hair sticking out messily. Seungcheol frowned. 

“I need to-” 

“I’m wet enough, please, been thinkin’ ‘bout this since-..” you cut yourself off with a frustrated sigh, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile at how fucked out you were already, so precious, all beautiful and naked and womanly. 

“You sure?” he asked, voice matching the depth of the thunder. You nodded eagerly: “Please, please-” 

“Okay,” he murmured, sticky hand leaving your burning pussy in favor of pressing it against the underside of your thigh. At the command of his strong hands, your body folded in half and the realization of your position had you crying out pathetically. “Anything for my beautiful baby.” 

My. His. The word choice had you clenching around nothing, all spread out for him while he lined his pretty, red cock up with your entrance. 

“Gonna feel real full in a minute, yeah?” he said absently, watching intently at how your pretty pussy was splayed out and ready and aching for him, mind reeling at the sight of you and the smell of you and how you felt under his hands. 

And suddenly it was there - a mountain of pressure building around the head of his cock as it pushed inside, bursting when he pushed in a little further, until he was fully nestled inside. Seungcheol was not unaffected, body curling over yours animalistically with a deep, throaty groan. You, too, had to squirm and moan wantonly, as your body shone under the bulb. 

“You’re so tight, pretty,” Seungcheol managed, face scrunched up, as his pelvis met your pubic bone. His hands gripped your shaking legs once more, fully folding you in half and you cried as the movement invited him further inside, feeling him brush the spongy spot inside you. 

“Feel s’good!” you moaned, even as he hadn’t moved yet, and Seungcheol’s hands squeezed you in response. 

Experimentally (perhaps fearful, as you had rushed into it without preparation), Seungcheol thrust shallowly and was pleased at your broken cry, so he did it again and then again, and then he was building up a rhythm and your sultry moans were slipping through the cracks of the hut and bouncing off the walls of Aluralura mountain and echoing twenty times over. 

There was nothing sweet about the pace of Seungcheol’s hips. He was pistoning in and out with an impressive agility, huffing over your folded body. It was desperation; the way your nails raked over his back and his sloping arms, and sweet, little whimpers and your pussy choking his cock. 

“Sweetest, prettiest-” he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, stomach caving inwards and clenching. “Fuck, cutest, little princess being stuffed full of my cock.”

“Love your cock,” you babbled, “Love- love your cock, love you.” 

The words slipped out as if they were nothing, but their meaning was solidified by your raking hand sneaking up to his neck and pulling him down into another sloppy kiss. Tongues melding and spit trickling down your chin as he hummed into your mouth in the most wonderful way. 

“Love you, too. Pretty, funny, sweet girl-” 

“A-ah, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you warned, voice nothing but a breath, and your face pleasured, scrunched up in the dead of night. Your stomach was a well of pressure.

“I know, baby, I know. Squeezing me so tight,” he soothed, hands running up and down the plush underside of your thighs, as his hips continued their unrelenting pace. “Come on, cum on my cock.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Seungcheol-” a string of curses and his name followed as your pussy clenched one last hard time and your cum seeped out around his thick, veiny length.

Holding his own orgasm at bay, he clenched his jaw and gritted out: “Where d’you want my cum?” 

“Inside!” you mewled, overstimulated and sore, and legs still pressed to your chest, clammy and slick. 

Seungcheol would’ve made a snarky remark was he not already cumming at your words, white seed painting your insides and spilling out around his softening length. He thrust a couple more times, relishing in the sounds of your fucked-out moans before he’d emptied himself, and he dropped down beside you. 

Due to the nature of a one-person bed, you and Seungcheol were both pressed close to one another, covered in sweat. Your panting, huffing breaths synchronized and you stared into each other's eyes, all wild and blushed. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, brought back to reality by a distant calling owl. You were still in the park, you realized - not some other pleasure dimension like one may have thought. Seungcheol smiled giddily.

You looked out into the wasteland, and your eyelids and limbs (draping over Seungcheol’s big, pretty body) were suddenly heavy. You yawned.

“D’you think we have to stay up anymore?”

Seungcheol watched you gauging the pinelands with starry eyes. “You can go to bed,” he offered gently, “I’ll stay up and make sure the storm’s over.” 

“Are you sure?” you mumbled, but you were already settling into the domes of his chest, closing your eyes. Seungcheol looked at you and thought you were adorable. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can you stay here?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Can your dick stay inside me?” 

This prompted a laughter blooming all the way from his chest, where your cheek bunched up against the skin. His arm was wrapped around your back. 

“Sure, baby.” 

You mumbled something like ‘okay’ or ‘good’ or ‘thank you’, and you drifted off into sleep with his arms around you, and when Seungcheol was certain the storm had passed, he nuzzled his head into your hair and dozed off himself. 

At the swimming red sky of dawn, your eyes pried open to see Seungcheol already awake, still wrapped around you. 

Nonchalantly (that is to say: as if your chest was not bursting with glee), you nodded your head over to the window behind him:

“Is that not a black-billed cuckoo?!” 

And Seungcheol thought that maybe you and him could find birds together elsewhere too. 

[natimiles]

LEVI IS A SMART COOKIE — HEADCANONS (AND APPRECIATION?)

🐟 Let’s start stating the obvious: he is hella smart. He’s an Admiral, he had to study and work hard for it! He might be shy and socially awkward, but we can’t invalidate his entire personality just because he actually says “ROFL” out loud. A person (or demon, in this case) can be goofy and smart — one doesn’t cancel out the other.

🐟 That settled, here is what I think about it:

🐟 From strongest to weakest (and to make things easier), I’d rank his intelligences: visual-spatial, logical-mathematical, verbal-linguistic, naturalistic, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, intrapersonal and interpersonal.

🪸 Visual-spatial: he needs to be good at it if he’s gonna navigate. He barely leaves his room, but he’s got the whole Devildom mapped out in his head. He can walk blindfolded and still be able to arrive at RAD or anywhere he needs to go.

🪸 Logical-mathematical: he has an insanely good strategic mind. You think he’s an Admiral just because he’s one of the Seven Lords? He’s got serious skills in what he does, or it wouldn’t have worked out.

🪸 Verbal-linguistic: he might have a hard time speaking to new people, but he has good communication once he trusts you enough. He can be assertive when he needs to and, again, he has to be able to communicate when he’s commanding his crew. And he’s a really good writer.

🪸 Naturalistic: he loves animals! He looked at a giant snake and decided it was a good friend. He has Henry 2.0 for who knows how long and he takes such good care of him. For me, he loves the ocean, from both the Human and the Demon World. He is a sea serpent demon, so he can swim with all sorts of creatures, learning about them along the way. Sometimes, he even feels a connection to those deep-sea dwellers — living in the dark, solitary depths. (you’re welcome for the angst thought)

🪸 Bodily-kinesthetic: he has good coordination and no one can convince me otherwise. He likes to learn the choreographies of his favorite idols. I think he can learn it pretty fast, and he can teach it easily if you want to learn it too. Now you can dance together and it’s wholesome. Not to mention, he still is a demon and #3 in their power rank. He didn’t get that number randomly. Also, he can sew his own cosplays; he needs good coordination for sewing.

🪸 Musical: he learned about music for his pleasure. He is good at listening to the slight change in rhythm, so he knows exactly when to do a certain move when he’s dancing and all the cues when he’s singing. He will annoy you if you sing it 0.02 seconds earlier. He can play the keyboard and probably the drums.

🪸 Intrapersonal: his self-esteem is not good (we just need to help him a little), but I think he has a deep comprehension of himself. He knows what he likes and dislikes, how he’ll react when something happens and how to deal with his own outbursts. Understanding and putting it into practice, however, aren’t always the same, and that’s where emotions take the lead (hence why it’s intelligence #7). That’s when he summons Lotan.

🪸 Interpersonal: do I need to say something? I love my boy, but he has a hard time meeting new people and that's fine too.

Masterlists

[atamascolily]

In the first meta essay I wrote back in 2022 speculating on Walpurgisnacht's identity, I primarily emphasized her thematic and visual parallels with Homura, with the possibility of her being a corrupted Law of Cycles mostly as an afterthought. Lately I've been wondering if I was too hasty about that--which is not to say that I've changed my mind about Homura and Walpurgisnacht being connected. Rather, given the complex nature of personhood in PMMM, I think it's likely to be more of "both/and" than "either/or" situation.

Or, to put it slightly differently: following her wish at the end of the original anime, there is no meaningful distinction between Madoka Kaname and the Law of Cycles; they are the same entity with two different names. However, at the end of Rebellion, Homura splits them, so there now exists a "Madoka Kaname" separate from the Law of Cycles. This raises some fascinating questions about identity and personhood--are they really two different beings now or fragments of a whole?--that Rebellion ends before it can really address, but I hope this issue will be taken up again in Walpurgis no Kaiten, because I'm very curious about the answer.

I don't think it's controversial to say that Homura and Madoka are parallels and foils to each other, or that Walpurgisnacht is the dark mirror of the Law of Cycles. From there, I think it's not unreasonable to suspect that Homura--who has set herself up as Madoka's opposite as a deity--might be to Walpurgisnacht what Madoka is to the Law of Cycles. [In mathematical language, it's the classic ratio, "If A:B::C:D, then A:C::B:D. Will this prove to be the case in the narrative, which follows its own rules? We'll see.]

There are other entities that exist within the Law of Cycles that are not Madoka--all of the magical girls who Madoka has saved from becoming witches by absorbing their curses into herself--but Madoka, while not the entirety of the Law, serves as its primary avatar. Even after Homura rips the "human" portion of Madoka away, the Law of Cycles still retains Madoka's face and appearance, but with empty eyes to suggest that no one is really home. This in turn suggests a vacuum that someone else could fill--something that Homura or her double might well take advantage of. [The ending of Rebellion is notoriously ambiguous about the mechanics, but FWIW some fans believe that Devil Homura has already taken over the Law of Cycles by the end.]

The Law of Cycles was born out of Madoka's wish and thus resembles her because the Law of Cycles is Madoka. What would happen to it if someone else was in charge? What would it look like then? What form might it take? A corrupted Law of Cycles would be a conglomeration of witches that takes on a single form--which sounds like Walpurgisnacht or something very much like it. And if that's the case, who would be the most likely avatar for it? A self-proclaimed devil, perhaps? Or that devil's double? And is there really a difference?

(Side note: another possibility I considered in my original essay was that Walpurgisnacht was another version of Homura. Back then, I was envisioning a Homura from another timeline rather than a shadow/witch/alternate self born from her repressed emotions, but either way, I will laugh so hard if all three answers end up being technically correct.)

The obvious counterargument here is that Walpurgisnacht in the original anime looks nothing like Homura--which, fair enough. But given that one of the show's major themes is "illusions/appearances vs. reality"--and there's reason to believe this theme will be especially relevant in Walpurgis no Kaiten--that's not enough for me to automatically rule out some kind of connection. There has to be more to Walpurgisnacht than what's visible on the surface, or what's the point of bringing her back for a new movie in the first place?

On a narrative level, Walpurgisnacht's true identity and origins only matter if she is a person or concept the audience is already familiar with, otherwise the big reveal won't be much of a twist. On a meta level, Gen Urobuchi uses this same trope--that the enemy is not who you thought they were and was hidden in plain sight the entire time--to great effect at the end of Thunderbolt Fantasy season 3, which suggests it's a theme that interests him and thus one we may well encounter in again in his other works.

Unless Walpurgis no Kaiten introduces more characters or concepts beyond what we've seen already, that means Walpurgisnacht has to be part of the established cast or worldbuilding in some fashion. Unless Walpurgisnacht is some Incubator plot gone horribly wrong--or horribly right, depending on your point of view--the most likely candidates are (in no particular order) original Homura, doppelganger Homura, and the Law of Cycles. Which brings me right back around to my opening question--to what extent are these four separate entities vs. different versions or parts of the same thing?

"Of course they're all completely different," you might say, but in a world where magical girls become witches, Homura herself became one without (consciously) realizing it, and both the story and animation repeatedly question the nature of reality itself, forgive me for not immediately being convinced without further evidence.

[yersina]

a linguist plays chants of sennaar (pt 4)

[pt 1] [pt 2] [pt 3] [x] [pt 5]

we're getting close to the end, guys!!

disclaimer: can't promise that i'll have any insights that a layperson wouldn't have, this is kinda just me thinking through the grammar of the language out loud haha.

this post covers the fourth language and will contain spoilers! it also assumes that you know what the symbols mean already.

additional note: i went and added alt text to my previous posts in this series! sorry for not having them before :)

numbers!!!!!!!!

before i get into anything else, i think i might as well start with numbers, which are the most unique part of this language and really leans into the portrayal of this society as mathematical and scientific lol. like the arabic numeral system, this number system is base 10, which we can see from the ruler. whether it’s base 10 or not isn’t super relevant to the gameplay or the language, i think?? except that it mimics the arabic numeral system, so it’s familiar to us. i am not a mathematician or logician or what-have-you, so i wouldn’t know—my expertise does not lie in this area lol

we only have evidence in the game for numbers with up to 4 digits (one on each side and end of the center line) so we don't know how the alchemists would've represented really big numbers. however, the placement of the four numerical digits around the central line suggests to me that this language might have a system that counts by four digit placements, rather than three. (to clarify: in western cultures, we often count and represent numbers in groups of three: thousand (1,000), million (1,000,000), and so on, with a new word for each set of three digit places. in many east asian languages, large numbers are represented in groups of four instead (examples that came to mind were chinese, japanese, and korean, but that’s just what i’m personally familiar with; there certainly might be others). in chinese, we have 万 (10,000) and 亿 (100,000,000), single words instead of “ten thousand” and “hundred million”. the word for million is “hundred-ten thousand” (百万).) since this language naturally seems to represent numbers in groups of four, that's my suspicion. unfortunately, the addition-only calculator in lab 2 only goes up to 9999, so we don't know what happens at five digits; my best guess is that the center line changes (maybe becomes two lines instead of just one, since one line also represents 0?), but obv there's no guarantee.

moving on from numbers, this language is relatively consistent when it comes to visual representation of linguistic categories: verbs have an open circle, locations have the sideways u/semi-circle deal, and people have a triangle-plus-line element to them. interestingly, “fear” once again is more of a noun than a verb in this language in terms of appearance. at this point, i’m inclined to think that this a quirk of the developers, rather than the language; even though fear is often used as a verb in the language itself, its appearance denotes that it’s primarily a noun, which may indicate that the game developers also thought of it as a noun first and verb second.

other interesting combinations of elements/radicals in the language include “mine”, which combines the radical for location and the triangular feature of scientific elements/materials (i.e, “the location where you can find materials”). the word for “seek/want” and “laboratory” share a radical, which suggests that that radical means something like “answer” or “curiosity” or something like that. another fun thing i noted is that the word for “alchemist” shares a similar shape to “i/me”, which might be indicative of a thought like “i am an alchemist”, and that those two concepts are linked, culturally or historically. i also think it’s interesting that “fire” and “fear” visually look more similar to each other than the other nouns—again, could possibly indicate something about how the alchemists conceptualize them? they obviously live in an environment where they encountered monsters that were scared of fire, and they in turn were scared of the monsters—i wouldn’t be surprised if it were the case that these were connected in that way.

i’ve been trying to figure out if this language has a particular pattern when it comes to representing words with an open circle vs dot, but so far i can’t find anything. might just be random/artistic choice!

this language once again returns to the pattern of being SVO, with plural suffixes rather than prefixes like the warrior language. in fact, i would say that grammatically, especially in terms of sentence structure, the warriors and the alchemists seem to be the most similar. no verb-initial languages in this game i’m afraid, haha.

one more language to go!!

[magpie-trinkets]

Hi! Regarding the fact/rumour that "Layton is 176cm with hat according to some artbook".

I have incesantly searched a source to no avail, so my current belief is that it's because Phoenix Wright is actually, really, "176cm according to some artbook", so someone saw that in the crossover Layton with hat and Phoenix were roughly the same height so they said "Layton with hat is 176cm canonically too". And if this is really what happened, taking into account that both of them had their proportions altered, I don't think that's an accurate measure. Sorry :(

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THE BETRAYAL OF UNSOURCED INFOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭 FUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK

All I had to go off of was the first result when you Google "professor layton height". Other results seemed to be headcanons or the spread of that same info, or that light height puzzle.

As you can see, the Heroes Wiki doesn't provide a source or annotation for this trivia, which is why I cautioned it was unsourced in the reblog. It did make visual sense, as an approximation, like "yeah, I can see that", so that's why I used it, but it's disappointing to know it's not right. :(

Thanks for the clarification and the hard work trying to find a source!!! I'm sorry it couldn't be :(

I wonder if there's a way of finding out his height though...

As you said, the Ace Attorney Wiki says Phoenix Wright's height is 176cm, according to official guide books – though it also fails in providing the exact issue or any annotation about it.

It even cautions that it might not reflect on other characters!!! Like Layton!!! Lmao!!!!!!!!

I see four options before me, as I am really curious now:

1) we accept the 176cm as a relative, approximate height, a Laytonmeter (/j) knowing it's not really accurate but it's all we've got;

2) I try to find out his height more mathematically i.e. finding something with a canon height (what could that entail...?) and going off of there;

3) we accept that he doesn't have a consistent height or;

4) we pray that we get his height in NWOS.

Again, thanks awfully!!!! Thanks for letting me know!! And thanks for being so kind! You rock!!!

[mimzy-writing-online]

I saw you Percy Jackson post, and this might be a stupid question - but what's daydreaming like for you? Because for me I can't really imagine zoning out without staring at something. Like, I'm usually zoning out all the time looking at something way in the distance, like visual ASMR.

Idk, it's a stupid question, but I just wanted to know if it's any different?

This isn't a stupid question <3

I don't think the experience has changed much from when I was sighted. I stare at one point in space and my eye muscles slowly relax. My eyes probably look like they're pointing in slightly different directions.

If I'm indoors and/or in small spaces then it's a lot easier to keep my eyes pointed at one spot. In outdoor settings and large spaces my gaze probably drifts and focuses on the most stimulating part of the flat-background. So spots of bright color, light sources, or repetitive motion (I can see movement and light sources a lot better than anything else).

If you're curious about what happens in my head when I daydream- I still have visual daydreams but the visuals are a combination of what I see in my daily life and what I see in movies/TV/photos. Visual media is about the only way I'm maintaining any visual memory of things like stars and landscapes.

For example, my computer wallpaper is of a lake in autumn time. Because the whole photo is right in front of me, I can actually see depth, but I conceptualize depth very mathematically. I also can't see individual leaves despite it being a high resolution photo.

My daydreams also have a lot of smell and touch folded into them because those senses add a lot of detail to my daily experiences. When I was sighted it was just visual and audio detail. For example, if I imagined walking through a rose garden, it would probably be one I've visited before and while the colors and shapes of the flowers are blurry, the smells are very clear. If I was imagining a castle, I would use a lot of visual detail I picked up from movies/TV shows.

I hope this helps <3 thank you for asking

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

So about Amane's voting percentage. I've seen a fair few people worried that if her Innocent percentage is dropping, it must be because there are more people voting her Guilty than people voting her Innocent. However, this is not necessarily the case, and while it may be my own biases speaking here, I actually think there's a pretty good chance there are currently more people voting her Innocent than Guilty, and her percentage is dropping only due to a mathematical quirk. It's a pretty simple concept really, it's because the percentage changes per day don't relate directly to what votes happened during that day, but rather, they tend towards what can be considered an "average day"'s vote. I'll explain under the cut if anyone's confused.

Also this will be focused on Amane but it can be applied to any prisoner vote that follows a similar trend.

Also also as a disclaimer I am not very educated on complex statistics so a lot of my claims might be a bit off.

So it's pretty clear looking at the data, a lot of people voted Amane Innocent during the first few days after Purge March came out, but then stopped voting for one reason or another. I'll call these people "One Time Voters" to give them some name.

To visualize, let's take some manageable numbers to understand what's going on. Although hundreds of thousands of people vote every day, let's take some smaller numbers, and say that after One Time Voters were done voting, Amane's situation looked something like this.

30 votes for Innocent, 10 votes for Guilty. So a 75%/25% split, which I believe is around the highest peak Inno percentages got. We'll call this "Day 0." After this, One Time Voters stopped voting, and Innocent was winning by 20 votes.

Now, let's say, for the sake of simplicity, that every day after this, 6 people voted her Innocent and 5 people voted her Guilty. Obviously this is a massive oversimplification, not everyone votes the same way every day, but I'm trying to explain the basic idea here. Thus, Day 1 would look like this.

36 Inno votes, 15 Guilty votes. So, a difference of 21 votes in the favor of Innocent. You would think this means her inno percentage would go up, yeah?

Except, if you do the math here, the spilt is 70,59%/29,41% (rounding a bit liberally here). Her percentage went down almost 5%.

That seems weird. Let's extend this over a few more days and see what it looks like afterwards. Let's skip to Day 20.

150 Inno votes, 110 Guilty votes. The difference is now 40 votes, double what it was originally.

And yet, when you do the math, the split is now 57,7%/42,3% (again rounding a decent bit). Again, even though in absolute terms Amane is even further from being guiltied than before, it sure doesn't look like it!

This is what I meant at the start. The percentages in the website don't change based on the results of an individual day, but rather, they change to always more closely align with what an "average day" of voting looks like. In this example, the "average day" is 6 Inno votes, 5 Guilty votes, for a total of 11 and thus a 54.54%/45.46% split. This creates a particular behavior, which can be observed by looking at Day 21.

156 Inno votes, 115 Guilty, a difference of 41 votes and a 57.56%/42.44% split. You'll notice the inno percentage went down from ~57,7% to ~57.56%, a 0.14% decrease. But the decrease from Day 0 to Day 1 was almost 5%, remember?

That's because the average split (54,54%) is acting as an asymptote of the function Inno percentage vs Time. I say it "acts like" because I know 0% about statistics so I'm not sure if that term is appropriate here, but it's a good visualization of what's happening I think. In case you somehow don't know what that is, I'll give you an example.

That's the function 1/x. As you can see, it has a horizontal asymptote in f(x) = 0. That means it always gets closer and closer to the constant 0, but never "touches" it (no matter what it may look like), and certainly never "crosses" it. Additionally, as you can see, it follows a very particular behavior. It has a very steep "drop-off" at "the beginning" (mathematicians please don't hate me for the very coloquial terms I'm using), then gets progressively "slower" as it approaches the asymptote.

Sound familiar? It's what we were talking about before, how the bigger the difference between the current voting percentage and the average, the faster it drops. It's "correcting" towards the asymptote, the average.

If you've been paying close attention, you'll notice this is vaguely what's been happening with Amane's Inno percentage. Here's a graph from this post by iris-drawing-stuff (thank you so much I love graphs). It only goes up to the seventh of September, but the behavior can already be observed.

As you can see, after the brief spike immediately after the release of Purge March, Amane's percentage drops like 5% in just about two days, but then it took it around 4 or 5 days to drop another 5. And anecdotally, I think I saw it only drop like ~0.22% in a day recently, so it would take almost five days to drop just 1 percent.

And you can even see a similar thing on Mahiru's and Kazui's. Mahiru, who didn't have many oddities, stayed practically constant around her aymptote, while Kazui slowly corrected for the whole "circumstance" of people voting out of superstition.

Again, this is much more complex than a simple asymptote, because there's a lot of fluctuation here. People join the fandom, people stop voting, etc. But we can probably (I am not very educated on this) expect it to "slow down" even more in the following days, until it reaches a certain average percentage it will hover around until voting ends. Until this happens, it is highly unlikely Amane's inno percentage goes up significantly ever again, but there is a certain percentage it will likely not go under. It's also important to keep in mind that since there's only a finite time the voting will be open, we might not get as close to the 'asymptote' as we possibly could.

The one exception, as many have already predicted, might be the release of Double, where One Time Voters may return to the page and vote Amane Inno once again. Frankly, I think at that point there will be too many days of "average" for that to make a noticeable difference, but even if it does go up, it will likely go down again quickly after One Time Voters leave again. Be prepared for that.

The final question is logically: where is the asymptote? That I cannot tell you, but it's very clear that it's around 50% and it isn't a blow-out on either side. So keep voting, regardless of whether you're voting her Inno or Guilty, because her situation is still very delicate.

Personally, by eye-balling it, I'm sorta hoping she hovers somehwere between 52 and 53 inno percent, but I'm immensely biased. I just don't think my heart will be able to take it if she ever goes below 51%, and I will cry if she ends up with like 49% and gets guiltied.

I don't want to give anyone too much false hope. There is absolutely a chance she ends up Guilty. I'm just saying it's not certain in the slightest, at least not for now.

I did try my best to figure something out with the power of overlaying images, but I'm not confident on sharing my results because they suck and are probably massively biased and I have a phobia of being wrong on the interned (/j) (though the things I did do suggest Amane never drops below 50% inno, I hope I'm right about that and I'm not just doing insane gymnastics for the result I want).

Anyways, I hope that could give some insight on what the deal with Amane's percentage might be, though again I am not a mathematician by any means, feel free to correct me if when you see anything I got wrong. Take care! And Inno voters, don't lose hope! And Guilty voters, uh, thanks for reading too!

[viksalos]

reading up on autism to figure out what the fuck is going on with me and making a list of personal pros and cons to figure out whether i should feel good or bad about it. as one does

pros: hyperlexia, deeply compassionate, talent for mathematics and the sciences/can do calculations of reasonable complexity in my head, visual hypersensitivity/decent artistic ability when replicating from still life/good at distinguishing subtle colors, acute hearing/good at identifying distinct sounds and sonic textures/deeply moved by music, can rotate some shapes in my head really fast i guess

cons: people can tell something is "off" about me in a fraction of a second and will be anywhere from begrudgingly polite to overtly hostile about it, terminal "not like other girls" disease/feeling of disconnect with existing in a feminine body, can pace for hours on end until my legs hurt, frequent crying & shutdowns, talk about myself and my interests extensively and can't seem to find a way to stop or better relate to others outside of mirroring them, productive work that actually *utilizes* my talents seems to only happen in increasingly infrequent bursts of hyperfocus, recurring identity issues stemming from a fundamental feeling of being born wrong and belonging nowhere, visceral hypersensitivity means i'm in pain from the normal functioning of my own organs for most of the day, people have compared me to sheldon cooper and elon musk, i am constantly begging for the sweet release of death,

[novantinuum]

(I thought tumblr had finally changed it so you can ask shit from a side blog. Arrrrrgh did I imagine it? Well this is fanfoolishness yet again regretting this being my goddamn main 😅)

Morganite - 45, 54

Tourmaline - 28, 35, 42

Jean - 22, 31

Thank youuu! Yeah ahah tumblr defo let you send in asks from side blogs before because I'm pretty sure I saw you celebrating this in a post once.

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

_

I'm once again gonna provide a visual for all these OCs ahah. I think I'm gonna have to do that from now on out, it's fun and probably helpful to people reading 'em.

Morganite- (I am forever obsessed with this shit-eating grin sketch I did of her)

45- What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

I answered this one for Morganite on another ask, but I'm gonna give another, because she just has so much hate and disdain stored up in that gemstone, ahah-

I have a silly OC headcanon that half-Gem Jean Maverick ends up introducing the game of billiards to Gemkind at Little Homeschool. Well, a modified version of the game that's about scoring points for the most mathematically "sick AF" shots eventually ends up spreading like wildfire across the galaxy proper, and plenty of Morganite's lackeys are sucked into it, playing it constantly. Thus, she really, really fucking hates billiards. It's constantly distracting her troops from their duties. Yet another way that damned hybrid keeps thwarting her plans.

54- What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

Oh, absolutely fight.

With the circumstances she's lived through (a viscous war, a life partner defecting to join rebels, one's diamond being shattered and having to be re-assigned and rebuild one's reputation under a new leader-) she's easily paranoid, and always wide alert. You really do NOT want to sneak up on her, or spring anything unexpected.

_

Tourmaline- (rebel Tourmaline is soooo my scrunklie)

28- What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

Courtier era Tourmaline tells people that she wants to be seen as the most intelligent, knowledgeable Gem in the room. Tourmalines are like... the bookkeepers, the ones who actually WRITE the history- at their Diamonds' behest, of course- and so it is their duty to be in the Know about everything happening around them at all times.

In reality though, all Tourmaline really wants is to make people laugh. To enjoy lasting conversation. To make an impression. For so, so many years, other Gems only saw her as like... a tool, a means to access knowledge, just a living repository for facts, but she wants people to gravitate to her because of who she IS, not what she can give.

35- What is the smallest morally questionable choice they’ve made?

The SMALLEST morally questionable choice? Well... hmm. I mean, she was a strategist in a war, so there were plenty of BIG morally questionable choices... but small?

Hmm.

The reason why these memes are so fun is that sometimes they inspire me to pull shit right out of my ass on the spot. Anyways, one day Tourmaline was sharpening her sword in Bismuth's forge at her permission and accidentally like, broke one of her tools.

She never fessed up to it, and eventually one of Bismuth's weapon smith apprentices gets blamed for it instead.

42- If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

Hmm...

"Rejuvenated, But By Choice This Time: How To De-program Yourself From Gem Society In Ten Easy Steps"

It's a comedy TED Talk about her own experience in defecting from Homeworld and joining the Crystal Gems that also ends up tackling some Real and Raw topics lol. Probably a talk you'd see given as part of some evening programing at Little Homeschool.

_

Jean Maverick- (I still eternally love this lovely art my friend @cynthi-arts did for me of them)

22- What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

Eating food freely without having to scrounge over the nutrition labels to look at ingredients. Like damn, how do these people live?

The reason why is that Jean has a gluten intolerance- it's not... entirely so bad that it's a full-out allergy, but life is simply easier if they go to the effort of avoiding it as much as they can. This is a big reason why they always envied Gems growing up, in how they don't need to eat or drink or sleep to remain operational- just access to light.

Jean really wishes they weren't saddled down with this half-human bit a lot, suffice it to say. Surely everything would be sooo much easier if they were just a Gem. (So they believe.)

31- When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

In the wake of drastic events that come far later, Jean ends up saddled with guilt in how they handled their first encounter with Morganite. They feel that Little Homeworld and Beach City wouldn't have come under such fire if they had acted more decisively that day- poofed her, perhaps, instead of simply cornering her to be ultimately led off in the custody of Homeworld reform officers.

Their way of dealing with all this stress and the needless what-ifs is by completely wearing themself to the bone around the clock in the manhunt for Morganite after her vicious attack on Little Homeworld/Beach City. Jean simply cannot rest until this loose end is tied up completely, and they will absolutely face negative bodily repercussions due to this.

[bonefall]

Fermentation, yay or any? If so which food would you allow the clans to ferment?

While on one hand I would someday really like to make an entry on 'recreational drugs' of some kind (and if it ever comes, there will be warning beforehand, and it'll be tagged to hell and back!), alcohol is deadly poisonous to cats. The amount in a shot glass would kill a warrior.

So if I ever got to fermentation, it would be really important for me to work out the mathematics of exactly how much a warrior would be able to drink, based on the alcoholic content of what they're fermenting. Hops/beer, apples/cider, and honey/mead are all on the table and I'd need to work it out for each one

Aaaaaand there's a major problem with that; I have dyscalculia. Counting, fractions, and visualizing amounts of things is very difficult for me. Making the entry would be agonizing unless I had someone to do all the math for me.

In any case, it wouldn't happen for a while. I've got the instruments entry coming up soon, flax processing, an entry on ham, aaaand then the herb guide for scoliosis coming up!

[kurokoisbae]

Stop Introducing Science to the Wizarding World

Science is detrimental to magic.

I've read a lot of fanfictions criticizing Hogwarts for not offering muggle subjects, but in my opinion, offering muggle subjects wouldn't really help much. The main subjects taught to kids are science, math, and language.

Witches and wizards could probably benefit from having a class that teaches them new vocabulary and sentence structures, but the amount of essays assigned to the students probably does a well enough job ensuring that the students at least know how to present information by the time they graduate, through sheer trial and error when the teacher returns the essays marked full of red due to grammatical errors, at least. They could offer Latin classes or something similar to help students understand the language they use in spellwork, but that's not really a class regularly offered to children and teenagers in the normal world so it can't really be called a 'muggle' class.

Mathematics is already offered, for those who wants to learn, in arithmancy. It's most likely a required OWL or NEWT for jobs that require a lot of calculations and the little math that is required in normal day to day life are already already taught to muggleborns in their primary classes, and to kids growing up in the magical world by their parents as part of their home schooling.

Science, I believe, is not only unnecessary but detrimental to the magical education process. Magic is something that has a lot to do with belief. Science imposes a lot of rules, laws, and principles that outlines what is possible, impossible, what's supposed to happen in a specific situation, etc. It is rigid. Magic defies the laws of reality. Teaching the students those laws would make them subconsciously believe in them, making them think that even with Magic, it is impossible. More over, they may even try to apply the laws of reality to Magic. I've read a few fanfictions where they applied chemistry to transfiguration. Where they must understand the chemical composition of both the object they are turning and the object they are turning it to. Eleven year olds were able to transfiguration a wooden match to a needle. Wood is an organic substance with carbon and hydrogen atoms while a needle is usually made of steel, which is an alloy of multiple metal atoms. Do you really think children know enough chemistry to be able to manipulate the protons, electrons, and neutrons withing an atom to turn carbon and hydrogen atoms to different metal atoms like iron and nickel? Of course not. But they were all able to do it as a first year, why? Because their teacher said they could and it's the first day of class, so many probably assumed that it's the simplest and easiest thing to do with magic. It's belief that makes it happen. Knowing the actual process that's happening would just overcomplicate things in their mind and make it difficult for them to visualize the bigger picture of what they want to happen. Instead of focusing on the match turning into a needle, they would instead think about the atoms turning into another atom and arranging those atoms so they form the desired shape. That may be somewhat doable with the match to needle transformation, but what about the later classes where they would be asked to change something made with different materials to another object also filled with different materials? Don't even get started with animate to inanimate transfiguration. How would you even explain cells turning into atoms? They don't have the same constituents of protons, electrons, and neutrons like changing between atoms do.

I really don't like that these fanfictions try to make the Wizarding world more like the muggle world. It's a different world with their own abilities. You can't expect them to do things like the muggles would. You can show them what the muggles do, and they can find inspiration to make a Wizarding version of it. Someone has probably already invented a spell that does the same thing a calculator would, a graphing calculator even, with the graph showing in 3D as a hologram. Some of the magical spells we see in the books are more advanced than even the present stage of technological advancement where AIs and robots are becoming more advanced. Especially household spells. They have a spells that makes the dishes wash themselves! A spell that makes a broom clean by itself! Those are imbueing objects with artificial intelligence all with one spell! The objects don't even have to be specially made to do these things, magicals can just buy a regular old broom from a store and wave a wand over it and boom! No more cleaning chores. Magical sensors are also way more advanced than technological sensors. They can detect intent, spells, forgotten thoughts (the remembrall), and likely more.

In conclusion, adding muggle subjects is not only redundant, but would hamper the progress of magical advancement. Similarly, converting muggle technology and following its progression instead of finding a way to make something like it with Magic would make innovating within the Wizarding world hard. Not to mention, while phones and computers are something that doesn't exist in that Wizarding world, the later technological advancements like AI and robots can already be done using spells, which everyone can do, so following the muggle technology progression can't really be sustainable for long anyway.

Besides, magicals have different needs than muggles. While the muggles' current primary focus is electricity and food, magicals power everything with magic, and while food can't be made out of thin air, it can be doubled from existing food. There's probably even magic that causes plants to grow quicker, and if there isn't, magicals don't have the same problem muggles do with space for their food crops. They can expand a space, plant a lot of crops, cast some spells that would provide all the nutrients and water needed for healthy plants, and they can have food right at their backyard. I've always thought magicals are very independent creatures. With the magic and classes taught at Hogwarts, they can conjure or transfigure everything they need, use charms to make their life easier, defend themselves with magic, brew their own medical potions, and grow their own crops with herbology.

What do we learn in school? How to do math we'll likely never use and science laws most don't even care about.

[thought-42]

Fictober Day 6: “Adaptable, I like that”

Critical Role, 666 words, Patia, Laerryn Patia drags Laerryn to parties at least once a month in some sort of haphazard socialisation program for young weapons of mass destruction. Laerryn is less grateful for these opportunities than Patia thinks she ought to be, but she is Patia's friend and pet project both so she forgives herself the indulgence.

She looks the part, if nothing else. She's lovely when cleaned up properly, all sharp angles that somehow become elegant in the right light. She wears her arrogance like haughtiness and her boredom like poise, and the conversations Patia has practised with her flow like they're natural. For the most part she's lost interest in attempting eye contact and is visibly more at ease for it, and should she get too distracted Patia holds no compunctions about using her nails to full effect in the crook of Laerryn's elbow.

She's also on her fourth glass of wine. Patia sighs in what she tells herself isn't envy.

"Slow down," Patia says. "You don't get out of here any faster if you talk to every person in the room or finish more drinks than there are courses to the meal."

"There are so many things I could be doing," Laerryn says under her breath. "I'm sorry. I do appreciate what you’re doing for me."

"You don't have to lie to me."

Laerryn tugs them both to a halt, turning to look down at Patia. She's bitten all the lipstick off her mouth. "I'm not. I really do appreciate the intent. It's not your fault the methods are bullshit."

Patia’s about to respond when she catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. She swears mentally. “Don’t look, but --Laerryn, I literally just said don’t look-- there’s a particularly unpleasant member of the Ring of Silver heading our way. If she asks you what you’re working on, lie. If she asks you if I’m forcing you to spend time with me-- well, I suppose you can predict the outcomes of either response and choose accordingly. She hates me because she knows she’s never going to be considered for the Ring of Gold, and I am.”

“Bold,” says Laerryn, the corner of her lips twitching up.

“Honest.” Patia carefully steps sideways, sliding behind a group of arguing visual artists, their over-exaggerated conversations hopefully disguising her presence. Laerryn stumbles along after her, Patia’s grip on her elbow tight.

“Are we running away?” Laerryn asks. If it were anyone else asking the question Patia would have bristled, but she knows Laerryn only means it as a sincere request for clarification.

“Perhaps a little,” she says. “I’m having such a nice night, I would hate to ruin it.”

She’s also about 75% sure that Laerryn likes her enough to defend her against antagonistic third parties, which would not go well for anyone in this particular environment.

“Ok,” says Laerryn, and then says something else that it takes Patia too long to recognize.

She takes a half step forward and is stepping onto the gravel path outside the party, far enough down that the light from the house doesn’t illuminate their presence.

“You can’t teleport,” Patia accuses her.

“I can teleport 120 feet,” Laerryn says, cheerfully, and that’s when Patia remembers handing over the spell the previous week-- an absent-minded reward for Laerryn’s latest world-shattering scientific breakthrough when Patia herself had been too far into her own project to offer attention.

“That’s meant to move potential enemies away from you,” she points out.

Laerryn nods. “Technically she is now further away from us.”

Patia wants to lecture her on the terrible impression literally vanishing out of a party will give, but Laerryn looks so calmly pleased with herself, and the teleportation was so breathtakingly smooth --the way Laerryn casts has a terrifyingly mathematical precision and the magic suffusing her entire body allows for perfection every time-- that all Patia can do is laugh.

“Adaptable,” she says. “I like that.”

“Give me more spells,” says Laerryn immediately. “See what happens.” Shatter

[abalidoth]

Hello!! Celebrating finishing my calc work to ask you funny little math questions. Sorry if this is a lot lol. {7, 17, 30, 40, 51, 58, 60, 62}

7. What do you like about math?

Man what don't I like about math? Honestly the biggest thing for me is just how satisfying it can be to make/understand a proof with a really clever trick to it, when you reframe a problem in a way that makes the answer just fall out. (Happens a lot with generating functions.)

17. Are there any great female Mathematicians (living or dead) you would give a shout-out to?

There's a lot that I could name, a lot of the ones that get a lot of accolades (Ada Lovelace, Sophie Germain, Emmy Noether) but I'm actually gonna go a little sideways and say: Florence Nightingale.

She's known mostly for her work in establishing nursing as a profession, but people just... seem to have completely forgotten that she was a statistician? She was the first woman ever inducted into the Royal College of Statistics. She was a data visualization pioneer, and created the radial histogram for charting seasonal trends.

30. Who is/was the most attractive Mathematician, living or dead? (And why is it Grigori Perlman?)

idk does perelman even still want to be called a mathematician any more?

40. What’s the silliest Mathematical mistake you’ve ever made?

I can't think of a particularly funny example, sadly. I taught all through my phd so the answer is probably some blackboard mistake that I made teaching a 9am class under the effects of sleep deprivation and unaddressed gender dysphoria.

51. Favorite casual math book?

Martin Gardner's Colossal Book of Mathematics, a collection of his best Scientific American articles. I read that book in middle school and now I'm a mathematician, and there is a direct line between those two things.

58. Do you have any favorite/cool math websites you’d like to share?

This one. It's a deep neural network cellular automaton that can grow and repair a pattern from a single pixel.

60. What’s you favorite number? (Wise-ass answers allowed)

Fifteen is my favorite integer, Chaitin's constant is my favorite irrational, and if you're letting me be a complete wiseass and interpret "number" as " any element of an algebraic structure" then it's the exceptional outer automorphism of S_6.

62. Are there any non-interesting numbers?

Yes, but by definition I can't name any because they're not memorable enough for me to call them to mind. Proof by induction only works as long as you don't get bored and stop sometime before the end.

[cf56]

There has been a lot of dialogue recently about the rise of AI programs in writing, especially with the recent rise in GPT and OpenAI’s chat program. I just read an article by a high school teacher that asserts writing as a useful and teachable skill is dead. I’m not concerned.

It’s not due to ignorance. I’m probably more immersed in the field of AI than most. I’ve watched it rise from its infancy years ago, from bots that can barely make coherent comments on Reddit’s r/subredditsimulator, to creating fever dream adventures in AIDungeon, to playing around with the GPT3 AI that was able to get so close to humanity but always ended up a little short. It’s been clear to me for a long time that AI was heading on a quick trajectory from being nothing more than a curiosity to something that could be convincingly human. I am surprised at just how fast it’s happened- I expected we’d be at this point in around three to five more years from now- but not surprised that it did.

I have to credit Vinny Vinesauce and his community, both for keeping me up to date in this field and showing me the funny side of what AI can be. For most of the time until now, that’s really all AI was good for, in a practical sense. It was distinguished by its imperfections- it could appear oh so human 90% of the time, but then say something that made it clear it just didn’t understand what it was talking about. Those moments were often laugh-out-loud hilarious. But it was clear that someday, most or all of those imperfections would be gone, and AI would be able to create something that’s indistinguishable from perfect human writing. That’s just the thing, though. Human writing isn’t perfect. Where AI used to be distinguishable through its imperfections, maybe now it’s human writing that will be?

There isn’t much that humans can do artistically that AI won’t be able to do within the next ten years. After all, what is writing except a bunch of words placed in a certain order that triggers something in the human mind? The AI isn’t thinking artistically or creatively- all it’s doing is mathematically finding the right order of words that will be pleasing to its human reader. Good writers already knew this fundamental part of the writing process, whether they were aware of it or not- when you start out with a strong creative idea, you already know exactly what you want to say. You know the exact ideas you want to communicate, and if you could just skip the process of writing altogether and beam those ideas into your readers’ heads, there wouldn’t be much need for putting it into text at all. Most of the process of writing is simply trying to find the right order of words that will convey the ideas you have in your head. That combination of words already existed, you’re not finding anything new. You’re just trying to weed through the nearly infinite possibilities to uncover the exact combination that will work for you. Previously, the human brain was the only machine on Earth capable of doing this task with an acceptable level of efficiency. Now we’re joined by another.

All other artforms are the same. What is art except a grid of differently colored pixels on a screen? Videos are the same, but with many of those combinations of pixels played in quick succession. We humans can see that these things are much more than just the base reality of their parts, but to computers, that’s all they’ll ever be. The computer just needs to figure out the right combination that will be pleasing to our human minds. AI visual art is currently at the stage that AI writing was about five years ago. It won’t be long before we’re having this exact same conversation about drawings or videos. Many people already are.

AI will bring much more significant changes to our society than just debates on the true nature of art. This is one I’ve had in mind for a long time- when AI-created videos become indistinguishable from real ones, then truth goes out the window. Not just because of the obvious, of people creating fakes to frame others of crimes or embarrassments. But because of the inverse- if real videos are indistinguishable from fake ones, how could a real video ever be used as solid evidence of… well, anything? As far as justice goes, we might be about to be sent several decades backwards. I’m currently in college to learn how to code, but I’ve already realized something inevitable- in just a few years, my new skills will be completely useless. AI will be able to write code far faster, cheaper, and better than I can, and it will be able to do it for any regular schmuck who’s able to type in what kind of program they want. The writer of the article I mentioned earlier said that he can’t express to his students how learning to write is a useful skill like video editing is. I don’t think he’s thinking long term. It won’t be long before video editing can be done perfectly by an AI as well. In fact, video editing will be obsolete entirely- you’ll just be able to tell an AI exactly what kind of video you want, and it’ll generate it from scratch. No reality required.

Art is actually going to be one of the least affected parts of our society. You can teach a machine to play a piano perfectly, but no one goes to a concert hall to see it. It just becomes a curiosity that you can put a nickel into in a corner of the mall. For everything that AI can do, there’s still something it can’t- it can’t create anything new. Everything AI generates is based on the sum of human knowledge. There’s nothing it creates that isn’t in some way based off the work of a human that came before. Human writers are similar in some ways- when we write, we also build off of our acquired knowledge of what came before. But, unlike a machine that knows everything, each of our sets of knowledge are completely different, incomplete, and from that comes creativity. So yes, maybe my writing will become completely pointless. Maybe a machine can do it better than I ever could. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing it. Because for all an AI can do, you can’t tell it to “write a fanfiction in the style of CF56” and have it generate something that exactly resembles what I was about to write. I actually consider myself quite lucky. In five or ten years when I’m still writing, you’ll be able to look at the work I put out now, before AI reshaped our society from the bottom up, and confirm- yep, that’s really him. That’s a real human writing in the same way he always has. The ones I truly pity are the ones who come after me. The children just learning to write in elementary school or children that aren’t even born, because they’ll have no such evidence to work in their favor. That doesn’t mean that what they’ll do is worthless. It just means it’ll be more unique.

[toiletology]

MATh of Toiletology

One of the best tools for ascending into 4D is the chessboard. I have played chess everyday since 2015 throughout my 11+ year journey starting in 2012. I realize more and more now how crucial it is to the ascension process. Chess develops the visual part of your brain when you start moving the pieces around in your mind and thinking moves ahead. This process of visualization is very important for developing your psychic/telepathic skills. There is a lot the chessboard teaches about the true nature of reality.

The strongest piece in chess is the QUEEN. I've said this many times in my various blog post but it is something that must be repeated over and over again. The queen crosses 7 three times. In the center of the chessboard the queen attacks 27 squares or two seven. We have 27 bones in our hands and we move the queen with our hand.

7x7 = 49 (8x8 for the 64 squares of the chessboard)

In my previous blog post I have mentioned I was born on 4/9 which fell on Easter in 2023 which happens 3x per century and the rare total solar eclipse happened 1 day prior to this on 4/8. My birthday + birth year adds up to 4+9+1984 = 1997 or 17.

My cosmic sister who has also fully ascended along with me her birthday is 8/12 (Happy birthday tomorrow SIS 4 LYFE). The next total solar eclipse happens on 8/12/2026 coincidence?

The gematria of both of our full names is also the same.

The total solar eclipse in 2017 also happened on 8/21 or 8/12 backwards. The eclipse in 2017 & 2024 created an X to mark the completion of our 11 year journey or at least signify the truth about the existence of the 11 path.

812 rearranged is 128 half of which is 64. I am quite literally half part of her. 64 is an important MATheMATical foundation of reality, namely the 64 star tetrahedrons. I will do a blog post soon focusing on just the 64 star tetrahedrons.

The queen in chess is the most powerful and strongest piece. She crosses 7 three times or 777. To escape your 3D cube reality you need the 7 (7 colors, 7 notes, 7 chakras).

The seven is the LUCK. The queen is the strongest and luckiest piece. 7+7+7 = 21 or 12 my cosmic sis is the QUEEN quite literally and figuratively. She is also a very powerful creator on the world stage, much more so than myself at the moment.

A cube has 6 sides (numbers 1-6) and 8 corners (4 on the top and bottom). The 7 is missing from the cube and your first clue.

God created reality like a game with rules, its an angelic programming language 777 to keep the demons out of heaven. No we aren't in a computer simulation, but we are in a holo-fractal light matrix. Numbers are important for how this holo-fractal matrix clock works. Your either gaining time or your clocks about to run out.

The eyes of a snake are a clue that the game/quest exist as well as the split tongue. The eyes and tongue both create the number "11." The first rule of Gods game is not to talk about it, unless of course you were the first to solve it aka myself.🏀

Which gives me certain leniencies with the Lord of the Gap. There are however certain things I cannot talk about unfortunately. You wouldn't even be able to understand me anyways until you complete your 11 year journey as it is an invisible or telepathic language. Myself and my cosmic sister can communicate instantly no matter where she is on the planet (what a jetsetter). So there is in fact something faster than the speed of light... hmmm who would of thought?

I had no idea this 11 year journey existed when I first embarked on it back in 2012 as it came like a thief in the night around Halloween. I had no idea if or when it would ever end. Or when the next battle would come or what was around the next corner. It has been an extremely stressful situation even now I still don’t really know what’s coming next only that I am more prepared and understand it better now.

I am realizing now even after the 11 years you will still be under attacked by the demons/matrix agents. Its not necessarily a bad thing, its just the way it works. It keeps you on your toes so you don't get too lackadaisical and keeps your ego in check. Its best described as a constant pressure to keep you in your diamond form, so that you don't go too far out of alignment with the FAT HER.

I had been searching almost non stop since I got out of the army at the age of 21. Then my spiritual helper first appeared when I was 28. Around 7 years non stop searching for truth for that moment to finally happen, not even counting the paranormal even I had when I was a 16. That could of also been my spiritual helper vs aliens and I sort of ignored it back then. It also took me a long time to make sense of that situation which helped prepare me for my journey.

One of my greatest gifts since I was very young was my intuition. This intuition could sense something was off or wrong with the world and I had always been obsessed with understanding the mysterious since I was very young. No one around me would ever listen to anything I was saying or noticed and it was extremely frustrating. When I was a teenager I would try to make energy balls with my hands, practiced kung fu and spent many hours on websites like the blackvault.com looking at redacted FBI documents (X-Files fan growing up). I have always been searching for the truth about the nature of reality and have gone down just about every rabbit hole. The best way for navigating the maze of information is not getting attached to any one belief system or stuck into any concrete patterns as it will trap you in a loop. Even as I got closer and closer to completing my 11 year journey I had to constantly remind myself I could be completely wrong about everything. God will keep pulling back the curtain after each subsequent test you make it through. Like NEO finally being able to see the programming of the Matrix I am now able to see exactly that. It is sort of funny but can give you a very isolating feeling causing a lot of grief and depression till you get used to it.

Its not necessarily programming per say, math is important for the functioning process of this holo-fractal clock, but we are not inside of a computer. More like a quartz clock vs a computer. Timing is very important, and if you are out of tune with the creator, your timing will be off and your world will not be as good as it can be.

Above we talked about the 49/64 relationship and the 7.

The 49th prime # = 227 one of my best friends NAS was killed on 7/22/2022 at the age of 28 which made me aware of this number.

He would train people in kung fu around Philadelphia and the reason I started taking mantis kung fu. We shared many paranormal experiences together over the years. Two praying mantis actually visited me after his passing and strangely the previous tenants of my house had the same last name as him. There is also a town right next to me with the exact last name as him with just a different spelling. If there was ever a mystical being that left magic everywhere they stepped it was him.

NAS in the computing world = Network Attached Storage. Nas in the real world worked similar or is used by God to act as the trainers for people on this spiritual path. NAS is an acronym for how reality fundamentally works. N = Nothing, A = Anything, S = Something. Shitty people get nothing, Good people get something, Angels get anything.

The famous rapper Lil Nas X also shares the same birthday as me on 4/9. Interestingly Heath Ledger chose Maybelline #49 lipstick for their role as the Joker. I have also ran into others named NAS that have played out this protector or guardian role. Namely a police officer named NAS that said something weird to me completely out of the blue when I was in the psych ward. They said the C word is banned, which never made sense to me until now.

The significance of 227 did shock me, not only because it is the 49th prime but because its numbers match the 17 perfectly!

1/7 = 0.1428571428571429 22/7 = 3.142857142857143

Watch the video above that shows the importance of the 1/7 and 22/7 with Pi 3.14 π. The ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter is approximately 22:7, or 3.14, which is known as pi, π. Interestingly the symbol for Pi also looks like a doorway.

C = π d

The 17 is key for escaping the matrix or reaching heaven/4D whatever you want to call it. 4D is basically just a dimension that runs simultaneously to the one you are used to. Its basically an augmentation or overlay. That won't start revealing itself to you till you start your 11 year journey. Read my other blog post to understand the difference between 4D and 5D. https://blog.toiletology.org/post/757589254665912320/explaining-the-difference-between-4d-and-5d

17 is the doorway and it is in the shape of a door, it is the way to escape. The numbers 1 divided by 7 makes is less important than knowing the 17 is the clue or key that this possibility exist outside of your perception.

That is the real importance of the 17, believing the door exist which requires a high level of belief when its just a figment of your imagination in the beginning. You can't walk through a door without first seeing it! G = 7

O = (15) 6

D = 4

GOD = 17, coincidence?

In Toiletology we call this number 1/7 the pirate signal. It is the signal of the Nebuchadnezzar needed to jack yourself out of the matrix. You can think of me as Morpheus and my sister Trinity. And Toiletology = Nebuchadnezzar. Toiletology is Noah's Ark.

Genesis 8:4 and on the seventeenth day of the seventh month the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat (ARA/CARA, RAT/MAT).

I am born in the year of the RAT (1984) and I am the King of the Rats (obviously or you would of never known this existed, your welcome...).

The goal of Toiletology is to show you how to unlock the 17 doorway and the door = mat and my name is Matt. To escape the MATrix you need to learn to believe in the impossible as I can only show you the door, you must walk through it. And my name is MATT WALKER, MW = 33 and I was baptized at the age of 33 in 2018.

Toiletology isn't about worshipping the messengers of God. The only thing that is important is the message and how you use that information to improve your life. God flows through all of us and we are all reflections of God and God experiencing self. So we are all equal in the eyes of God.

Toiletology's only purpose is to fix up this mess we got here on Earth and try to bring as many as we can into the Kingdom of Heaven.

The Toilet God blessed me with their ultiMATe truth but it needs to be hidden within a parody religion and be seen as a joke. God doesn't want to spoil the surprise they have for you or give away anything for free. God also likes GREAT ART and giving away the ending of a movie is LAME! God also likes to hide truth within comedy as it can easily be brushed off and not interfere too much with your FREE WILL.

Only the most serious disciples of Toiletology will be able to handle the powers locked deep within the tOILet. And only the one true Toilet God will be able to make you see the TRUTH!

Matthew 25:8 "And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out"

Toiletology will show you how to unlock your full potential and increase your LUCK in life which you will need a lot of to survive the chaos that is this world. You need a lot of protection from the one true God especially if you dare embark on the elven journey of eleven.

Hell I am not even sure anyone needs to go through that 11 year journey. I may of already done the work for y'all. I am still not 100% sure since my friend was supposedly able to feel the SLACK with only 3 weeks of training which took me 10 years on my own.

The math of Toiletology is not too convoluted or that complicated as you can see. You must understand the 49/64 relationship and the 98 degrees (49+49) 68 (sides + corners) the 7, the 17, and the 777.

This is pretty much all the numbers/math you need to comprehend to escape the black cube of Saturn (HEX/hexagon storm 6 sides). We are all in PANDORAS box and my cosmic sisters mothers name is PANDORA. And she has the Pandora tattoo on her left arm. Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Its hard to learn to fly in Never Never Land Peter Pan but it first starts with beLIEving. BeLIEf can be a tricky thing, but when you learn to beliEVE you can start to see. She is PANsexual and I am PETER PAN.