#Silent DJ system

[rental12345]

Two-way wireless tour guide systems

Two-way wireless tour guide systems let tour guides and participants communicate easily while they are on tour to understand each other. These tour guide systems make sure the tour group to talk to and be heard by each other properly; by making it more convenient for interviews or question and answer sessions. Whatever situation you’re in, a 2 way wireless tour guide system will deliver your message to the right person.The two-way portable Wireless Audio Transceiver (WAT) WAT-01TW system consists of an audio transmitter and a set of receiver/transmitters. The guide speaks through the transmitter and the visitors hear from the receivers. When a visitor presses a button on the receiver, he can speak to the handset and all the others will hear him. It allows the visitors and the guide in one group to interact with each other. It is very good for factory tour guide.

[pineappleciders]

blockout 2024 is happening!!!! millions of people are blocking celebrities who are silent/neutral about palestine (and other things such as the congo) OR are open zionists.

celebrities will lose money and attention without follows, views, or their stores. there are accounts on tiktok giving block lists, and some include:

taylor swift, drake, the kardashians, tom brady, the jenners, kanye, dj khaled, madonna, billie eilish, bad bunny, jay z, kevin hart, and many many more

blockout also encourages doing other things to make celebrities lose money, such as going to their online shops, putting as much as you can into your cart, and leaving it on the payment screen. this causes the store to lose money as when your items are in the cart, they are essentially on hold and will cause a huge drop in stock.

you can also sign up for these stores with your email and mark all emails as spam. when you see an ad for these celebrities and their affiliated stores, report them and/or press not interested!! this messes with the system and tells tiktok/other medias that these ads are unwelcome and will put out less of them.

this is mainly for celebrities but includes any influencers. youtubers, artists, political figures, anyone. and when they realize that they are losing money, they will pretend to care. do not unblock them!!!

remember that the people have power, even if it feels hopeless🇵🇸

[helslastangel]

Same-sign ascendant pairs as friends 🔞

Disclaimer: These are based on personal observations and experiences and may not resonate for everyone with these placements. If it doesn’t apply, let it fly 🪽

♈️ aries rising x aries rising

this pair will take us all into 3012 on an energetic jetpack. talk about life of the party TIMES TWO. they make the night a night to remember - a club DJs wet dream, and the Uber driver's worst nightmare

♉️ taurus rising x taurus rising

simultaneously cheap and down to splurge on a good time, this pair is on a mission to reduce theatre snack revenues everywhere, armed with nothing but the audacity and a heavily snack-loaded backpack

♊️ gemini rising x gemini rising

the bane of every teacher's existence, and an excellent resource for lazy classmates needing a recap of everything that was said in class. Or said in general, tbh.

♋️ cancer rising x cancer rising

honestly, these two are probably curled up in one of their couches, half-watching how I met your mother for the 50th time and discussing every last sultry, grimy detail of their dizzying sex lives

♌️ leo rising x leo rising

turning heads everywhere, usually because they look so damn sexy BUT just as often ONLY because the silent competition going on between them is so damn hilarious to watch from the outside

♍️ virgo rising x virgo rising

the quiet tension between these two is so thick you could slice it, but at least the entire house is so organized you'd notice a pin missing LONG before hearing it drop. they do like each other! just... irritably so. like when lemongrab met other lemongrab

♎️ libra rising x libra rising

what would marketing firms do without these two and their ability to convincingly pretend to like anything & everything (each other included) for the gram?

♏️ scorpio rising x scorpio rising

mean mugging each other in public, but c'mon guys - as if we all don't KNOW that you're definitely fking. in fact, the thought that there probably isn't a square inch of rooftop or stairwell left untouched by your presence is concerning

♐️ sagittarius rising x sagittarius rising

the BFFs who caused us all to slowly hate Instagram. talking about GRWM and it's actually a midday photo dump of their morning walk in Italy or somewhere - first of all WHEN DID THEY EVEN LEAVE THE COUNTRY? i-

♑️ capricorn rising x capricorn rising

that one pair of tight-knit coworkers who you thought were team leads (and friends) for 2 years before finding out that they have no official management titles whatsoever, but the real managers just let them run the show anyway

♒️ aquarius rising x aquarius rising

who even knows with these two? one minute they have an idea to take down Jeff Bezos and the next time you look, they're zooming around an abandoned racetrack in a homemade cybertruck. HUH?!

♓️ pisces rising x pisces rising

probably the only other pair that's at home chilling like the cancer risings... but like the scorpio risings, they have also long since blurred the lines of friendship and only have the TV going as background noise. Given the cocktail of fun substances in their systems, they are sure to have a...blast... one way or another.

𓆩♡𓆪

[simplyraeblue]

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in which y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, eventual smut warning as I'm planning for this to come in parts

chapter warnings/tags: drinking, stupid touchy men, physical violence (choso literally saves you with a punch) index part three | part five

part four word count: 1,532

you couldn’t believe Yuji Itadori had managed to drag you out tonight. all you’d wanted was to snuggle up in bed and binge-watch tv, but no—your best friend was insistent on hitting a bar, with Megumi and Nobara in tow.

“you know I really hate here, right?” you said, sticking out your tongue as Yuji handed you a drink he’d bought.

“oh, that’s a shame,” Yuji teased, grinning as he took a sip from his own cup.

“come on, y/n, hang out with the cool kids tonight!” Nobara shouted, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Megumi rolled his eyes, but you were grateful for his presence, even if he seemed just as reluctant as you.

“let’s kick things off with some shots!” Yuji matched Nobara’s enthusiasm, grabbing your arm and dragging you towards the bar. the bartender looked like he was wishing for a trapdoor to open beneath him.

“what can i get for you guys?” the bartender asked, his voice dripping with irritation.

“four shots of… hmmm… tequila, please,” Nobara answered. you opened your mouth to protest, but the bartender was already grabbing the bottle and pouring the shots. clearly, he wanted you all to leave as quickly as possible. “put it on the Fushiguro tab.”

“seriously?” Megumi deadpanned from behind Yuji.

“before we take these, can someone please tell me if we have a plan to get home?” you asked, silently hoping one of them would have an answer. they all shook their heads, and you felt a wave of defeat as you clinked your shot glass with theirs and downed the tequila.

god, you’d forgotten how much you hated tequila.

of course, Yuji and Nobara kept you and Megumi well-supplied with shots and drinks all night, making sure you had enough alcohol in your system to stick around. at some point, you stopped resisting.

the alcohol had you feeling fantastic—loose and relaxed as you danced with your friends. the dj was blasting beats that would’ve put Choso’s set to shame, and you were sweating and swaying to the rhythm, practically grinding against Nobara.

“Yuji, I’m still mad at you!” you shouted over the music.

“oh no, what did I do? let me beg for your forgiveness,” Yuji replied with a dramatic pout and big, sappy puppy-dog eyes.

you waved him off, realizing he was a lost cause. in fact, you were a lost cause too. what time was it, anyway?

you decided to excuse yourself to the bathroom and checked your phone on the way—it was well past midnight. ugh, no time for a shower if you wanted any sleep tonight.

as you turned the corner towards the women’s restroom, you bumped into something solid. or rather, someone solid.

“hey, good lookin’,” a tall guy said, smirking down at you with eyes that seemed barely open.

“excuse me,” you muttered, trying to sidestep him. he grabbed your upper arm, and you bristled at the contact.

“wait, hang out w’ me for a minute,” he said, pulling you closer. just as you were ready to use the self-defense moves Yuji taught you, something else grabbed his attention long enough for you to wrench free and hurry towards the bathroom. he called out after you, “I’ll be right here waiting f’ you!”

as soon as you locked yourself in a stall, you pulled out your phone again. you tried calling Yuji—no answer. Nobara? also no answer. with a sigh, you dialed Megumi as a last-ditch effort, but got nothing.

you really didn’t want to go back out there and risk running into that guy again.

taking a deep breath, you pulled up the next contact on your list. you wanted to go home and get some sleep anyway; surely your friends wouldn’t mind.

“hello?” Choso’s voice was low and groggy, like he’d just woken up.

“Choso, can you come pick me up?” you asked quickly, trying to push aside the guilt in favor of self-preservation.

“where are you?” Choso replied, rustling noises in the background suggesting he was already getting up. “send me your location.”

you told him the name of the bar before hanging up and sharing your location. fortunately, the bar wasn’t far from Yuji’s place; Choso might just walk over.

while you waited in the stall, you could still hear the man shouting outside the bathroom door. he wasn’t shouting at you, but he was close enough to be unsettling. you decided to stay put until Choso arrived or one of your friends showed up to rescue you.

your phone pinged with a new message from Choso: found the three stooges. where are you?

you braced yourself as you unlocked the stall door and pushed out of the bathroom, focusing on your footsteps and silently praying the guy you’d run into wouldn’t notice you.

“oi! there you are!” fuck. you felt his hand grip your arm again, and you turned to face the skeezy guy. “was just telling my friends how smokin’ hot you are—let them see!”

you glanced past him to see three other guys, all bigger than you and sharing the same drunken, leering expressions.

“alright, they’ve seen me. now let me go,” you said through gritted teeth, tugging at your arm in an attempt to free it.

“hold on a minute, let me buy you a drink,” the guy slurred, nearly stumbling into you as he pulled your arm.

“I said, let me go,” you snapped, pulling against him with more force. where were your friends?

“hey, no need to be bitch so why don’t you shut your pretty mouth and-”

“I believe she told you to let her go.” you froze at the low, threatening voice that spoke up behind you. daring a glance over your shoulder, you saw Choso, eyes dark and body tense as he eyed the man who had a hold of you.

to you, he looked like your knight in shining armor.

“’scuse us, man, we’re just on our way t’ the bar,” the guy said, trying to wave Choso off. but your eyes pleaded with Choso for help.

“i don’t think she wants to go with you,” Choso said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the guy’s hand on your arm. “now, let her go.”

“what’s your problem, man?” the guy snapped, glaring at Choso. “this bitch isn’t even that good-looking.”

you blinked, and in an instant, Choso’s fist connected with the guy’s face. your arm was freed, and you looked down at the guy, clutching his probably broken nose.

“don’t call her that,” Choso growled. before the guy’s friends could react, Choso took your hand and started pulling you away from the scene.

“y/n, where’d you run off to?” Nobara slurred as Choso led you back to the group.

“whoa, what happened to your hand, Choso?” Yuji asked, noticing the blood on Choso’s knuckles.

“I’m taking y/n home,” Choso said firmly. “you either walk home or call me if you need anything.” he then grabbed Megumi’s shirt to get his attention. “you’re the responsible one—don’t let these two do anything stupid.”

once Megumi nodded in agreement, Choso began guiding you out of the bar, still holding your hand.

“thanks for stepping in back there,” you said once you were outside, away from the blaring music.

“you don’t need to thank me,” Choso replied, slowing to walk beside you.

you weren’t sure if he realized he was still holding your hand, but it felt comforting, so you decided not to mention it.

“I never took you for the type to resort to physical violence so quickly,” you teased, catching a blush on his face.

“it’s just what you do for the right people,” he said quickly, making you blush in return.

“I probably could’ve handled it myself, but you were a real knight in shining armor,” you joked, and Choso chuckled.

“yeah, I’m sure you might have done something even worse,” he said through his laughter.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

it wasn’t until you were back at the house that Choso noticed he was still holding your hand. his face turned bright red as he quickly let go, flustered and apologizing.

you excused yourself to change out of your bar clothes and returned to the kitchen in your pajamas to grab a large glass of water before bed.

“do you need anything before I head back to sleep?” Choso asked, handing you a glass he’d already filled. what a gentleman

“a bedtime story and a tuck-in,” you joked.

“only if you ask nicely,” Choso replied with a teasing smirk. you suddenly felt a wave of heat and laughed to push away your awkwardness.

“if I can’t fall asleep without it, I know where to find you,” you said, and although you meant it as a tease, you weren’t entirely sure it was just that.

Choso nodded, and you both said goodnight before heading to your separate rooms.

as you lay in bed, you tried to figure out if the warmth you felt was from the alcohol or from the interaction. you drifted off to sleep, comforted by the memory of the sweet, sweet memory of Choso breaking a stranger’s nose for you. Sukuna probably would’ve just killed him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[galactickle]

Jealousy

James Maguire x reader

Summary: reader is jealous of james and katya, and becomes really good friends with david donnelly, but james thinks david and the reader are something more.

Masterlist

“Who is this?” Katya asks, her accent thick.

“Oh, that's just James,” Erin replies.

“You are handsome,” Katya says, “and also sexy.”

Everyone in the room was shocked by this revelation.

“Is her English not great?” Michelle asks.

Katya looks James up and down before getting up and kissing him.

The girls continued to make comments as you all watched them kiss, but you heard nothing they said. You had been secretly crushing on James for a little while, unbeknownst to your best friends, and the sight of him kissing the Ukrainian had you seeing red.

~~~

You were at Brennan's eating lunch with the gang. The girls were all fighting about something or other while you picked at your food silently, when Jenny showed up with her Ukrainian lad.

“Listen, I have a feeling Artem and a few of the others are a bit homesick,” Jenny explained, “It'd be nice for them to spend some time together. So I’m having a soiree at my place tonight. It's going to be great!”

Just then, Erin’s longtime crush and a good friend of yours, David, walks in. You were closer to David than the other girls, as your parents were friends with his.

He looks around the restaurant until he sees Jenny. “Hey, do you have the playlist for tonight then?” he shoots your group a smile and a nod.

Jenny hands him a piece of paper, “I'll need the sound system set up by 7.”

“Is your band playing at this thing?”

“Oh no, I just do a bit of DJing on the side.” he laughs and heads to order some food.

“On second thought, I think this party might be good for Katya,” Erin says to Jenny.

Just then you look up to see James and Katya making out right in the middle of the restaurant. You look down at your food in disgust, then excuse yourself to go to the washroom.

~~~

At the party, the first thing you saw when you walked in was David at his DJ stand, you waved hello to him before going to find your friends.

You mingled at the party a bit before you got tired of Erin freaking out about Katya taking James’ virginity. You found yourself hanging out with David, talking and drinking beer. David was cool and you enjoyed talking to him, it got your mind off of James for a bit… until you all heard a commotion upstairs, you followed David and the others to the stairwell, only catching the end of the argument.

“--How dare you? I am poor Ukrainian, so I must be prostitute!” Katya yells. You raise your eyebrows in shock.

Erin comes to address the crowd forming on the stairs, “Hear me out, first she comes on to James here. What would possess her?” you roll your eyes, “Financial gain, that's what!”

“He attractive boy, Erin.” Katya reasons.

“He's English, Katya.” Erin replies offhandedly.

“I have no problem with this.”

“You should,” Michelle butts in.

Erin continues yelling about the condoms in Katya's bag, and the money the Ukrainians have been giving her all evening.

“How the hell do you explain that?” Erin asks Katya in regards to the money.

“I organize, how you say it, whip round. We like to buy Jenny present to thank her for nice party.” Katya explains in her normal, but angry voice.

“Ohhh, you guys!!”Jenny replies sweetly.

Erin is left speechless, as is everyone else.

“So not only you insult me, but you've also spoiled Jenny’s surprise!” Katya adds.

“I think you should leave,” Jenny states. you sink back behind David in the crowd, not wanting to associate or even be seen by your friends. You could feel their eyes on you though, as they passed by in shame.

“You can still hang with me for the rest of the night,” David offered, you smiled slightly at him and nodded.

You spent the next little while drinking and talking, but David could tell you were a little off.

“So what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, taking a swig of your beer.

“You seem… distracted, sad even.”

“Nah, it's nothing,” you try to brush it off.

“Obviously it's not, so spill.”

“I… I.. have a wee bit of a crush on James…” you say with a pained look on your face.

David nods and hums in agreement. “So the whole Katya thing…?” he trails off.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.. that sucks, well, if it's any sentiment, he's gotta be into you too, because like every guy in Derry is into you,” He nudges you shoulder.

You laugh, “Yeah, OK.”

“It’s true!!” David chuckles.

“Okay, okay, I believe you!” you look around at the dwindling party, “Well… I should probably get going,” sigh, getting up from your spot on the floor.

“Want me to walk you home?” David offers, getting up as well.

“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks,” you smile at him as he sticks out his elbow for you to take.

The walk home is full of drunken giggles and nonsense.

When you reached your house, you turned to David to say thank you again, and, unbeknownst to you, James was looking out his window watching. He had been waiting to make sure you got home alright, after he realized you hadn't followed the group out of the party.

“Thank you,” you smiled up at David.

“No problem,” he replied, “we should hang out more.”

“I agree,” you laughed. You leant up on your tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek, “Goodnight, David.” With that, you turned on your heel and walked into your house, David yelling ‘goodnight’ after you.

~~~

The next couple weeks, James didn't talk to you, which you didn't mind because you had been ignoring him before anyways. Plus now you were in a good mood due to your blooming friendship with David. It’s not that you had romantic feelings for him, but you did really like him, although you would never do something to hurt Erin.

The whole friend group watched in confusion as you and David became closer friends. After a couple weeks of silence James finally blew up.

“Why are you hanging out with him?” You were at Michelle’s house, you and James were alone in the kitchen getting drinks.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“David, why do you keep hanging out with him?” James repeated.

“I don't know, he's nice and fun to be around..”

“So are we!” James countered.

“Fine. Why did you let Katya kiss you?”

“I--I..”

The girls had heard the commotion and came into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Erin asked.

No one said anything for a second..

“I saw Y/N kiss David Donnelley!” James exclaims. You gape at him.

“What?” The girls gasp.

“No! I didn't! I kissed him on the cheek-- which is a totally different thing! I was just saying thank you for walking me home!”

“How could you Y/N?” Orla asks, cradling Erin's head.

You shake your head, then turn and leave. James follows you outside, “So what? You're just gonna leave?”

“Yeah! Well, it doesn't feel like I’m welcomed there anymore!” you yell back, exasperated.

“Y/N!” you could hear a change in tone in James’ voice, was that desperation? “Wait! I've been a dick, I’m so sorry!”

You slowly turn towards him, “Yeah, you have been.”

“I’m sorry I just.. didn't like seeing you with him,” James reveals.

“How do you think I felt about Katya?” you say quietly.

James looks at you, confused, for a moment, “Wait-- you mean?” you nod in a response, smiling crookedly.

James runs forward, enveloping you in a hug, “I’m so sorry,” he whispers in your shoulder.

“Me too.” And your lips collide in the most beautiful kiss either of you have ever experienced

[enigmaticexplorer]

Let Me Love You - Part I

Masterlist | Next Part

General Summary. An opportunity to expand your grandmother’s business brings you to Coruscant and a chance-encounter with Commander Fox. Friendship is your intent. But feelings grow, and with them, renewed fears. 

Pairing. Commander Fox x female!reader

General Warnings. Self-esteem issues; intimacy issues; trust issues; explicit sexual content. 

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Word Count. 2.4K

A/N. Happy Kinktober! My kink is the hyper-independent FMC who’s convinced she’s incapable of being loved, and the confidently-patient MMC resolved to prove her wrong.

Also, this story wouldn't exist without @/dystopicjumpsuit's In the Matter of Marshal Commander Fox vs. the Stocking Kink, the Court Finds the Defendant Filthy. There is zero correlation between the two, but DJ's one-shot reminded me how much I love Fox. And thus, this story was born.

A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

9 Yelona, Zhellday

Autumn on Coruscant elapsed like the other seasons of the year—controlled temperature, heavy traffic, and malodorously polluted air. The environment was a stark contrast to your home planet, Lefaepa. 

With its fields of amber, and its hills of autumnal red, and its valleys speckled with clumps of asters and sunflowers, Lefaepa was the planet to visit for the annual Harvest Festival. 

It was a tradition that dated back ten thousand years. Month-long festivities concluded on the 35th when everyone gathered in their local towns and shared the reaping of their harvest. 

The communal and unevolved technological aspects of Lefaepan culture set it and its neighboring systems apart from the rest of the galaxy. “Backwater,” they were called. “Archaic.” 

But the Lefaepans didn’t care. They were so far removed from galactic societal expectations and dictations that the opinions of those located billions of kilometers away hardly mattered. What do the people who live in cages know? they laughed among themselves.

You missed it—your home, the silence at night, the fresh air with its honeysuckle breeze. 

Since you first arrived on Coruscant two years ago, you’ve returned home twice for the Harvest Festival. Your parents appreciated the extra help on the farm, and you enjoyed the pitchers of apple cider, the twangy music, and the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. 

This year, however, you were missing the festivities. An argument with your mother left you too raw to visit home. No matter how much your heart longed for the stars and your soul yearned for the quiet of those red hills, your pride kept you away. Your mother had gone too far this time. 

Her constant pressure to settle for the first man who gave you attention—her constant remarks that you weren’t “getting younger”—had coalesced into a resentment unbreakable. Even now, three weeks after your argument, a bitter taste filled your mouth. Ire clenched in your jaw. 

Was it not enough that you had performed well in university? 

Was it not enough that you had expanded your grandmother’s business?

Were you not enough on your own?

Conflicting thoughts clashed within your mind, a war raging. 

Swords clanging—an adamant acceptance of your independence. 

Cannons blasting—a defiant roar against your mother’s comments and interferences. 

Arrows piercing armor—a desperate, silent plea for someone to see you, to believe you were enough to be loved.

Over time, many battles were fought. 

For weeks, the armies fell quiet, re-strategizing, allowing you a moment of peace. And then they surged forth, a surprise attack spurred by your mother or your insecurities or—

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

The voice plucked you from your spinning thoughts and you recoiled, looking up from the thin coin you were cleaning. Weaving his way through the glass cases of artifacts strolled a man in red armor: helmet tucked beneath an arm, curly hair close-cropped, groomed stubble faintly shadowing his jaw.

A member of the Corrie Guard. You were familiar with them. 

After the Clone War ended two years ago, the Jedi uncovering and preventing a massive scheme to destroy the Republic, the Grand Army of the Republic was restructured. A tentative peace encompassed the galaxy. There was no longer a need for full battalions of soldiers. 

Pension plans passed, many soldiers retired. Some remained, though. Some, like the Corrie Guard, who were organized into an internal defensive bureau—the Department of Security—dedicated to protecting the New Republic from terrorist cells. Cells that were keen for chaos and anarchy.

So, the Guard’s random visit to your gallery was surprising.

“Can I help you?”

The Guard approached your counter—where you conducted all final transactions—with an aplomb that clued you into the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you the owner of the gallery?” At your nod, the Guard extended a gloved hand. “I’m Commander Fox.” The handshake was firm and brief. Matter-of-fact, just like the commander’s tone. “Yesterday, two Weequays were spotted on a public cam just outside this gallery. They were wearing black cowls and dressed in dark clothing. Do you know anything about them?”

The description, while slightly vague, was familiar. Your eyes narrowed. “They came inside and looked around a bit.”

The commander maintained eye contact with a calculation that made you tense. “For how long?” 

“Maybe five minutes.” You rounded the counter and motioned for the commander to follow you. A couple paces led you toward an unseemly case in a corner near the locked door that led to the backroom. “They spent most of that time looking at this: the Sword of Skander.”

Commander Fox peered into the case, eyeing the ancient sword inside. “What’s its story?”

“The sword belonged to Emperor Skander of the Meso civilization that existed ten thousand years ago,” you said with a cool, blasé inflection born from years working in this field. “When he assumed emperorship, his empire was close to collapse. To fight off his greatest enemy, he went to a sorcerer-type people and begged for an undefeatable weapon. They gave him this sword.”

“Undefeatable?” The commander raised his gaze to yours. A white scar cut across his chin. “It’s a sword.”

You offered him a bland smile. “The metal of the blade is unique. It no longer exists. It’s either been depleted so much it’s undiscoverable or it’s been hidden.” 

Commander Fox observed the sword with an unreadable expression. “And yet the metal in the sword remains.”

“The sword is protected by both cultural heritage laws and general artifact preservation laws,” you explained. “It was given to my grandmother forty years ago by a local community with ties to the Meso empire. One of their children was playing in a random cave when she found the sword. The locals recognized it from their legend. They wanted to protect it. So they asked my grandmother to safeguard it from those who would test the metal and replicate it.”

The commander ran a thumb along his lower lip. “Did the Weequay ask you any questions about it?”

“No.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “When I asked if I could help them, they left.”

“What’s so special about a rare metal?” Commander Fox mused aloud. At your silence, he pinned you with a hard look. “You know something.”

You hesitated. When you inherited the gallery, you had promised your grandmother to protect the sword’s secret capability. A capability that would earn the interest of different parties, including terrorists. 

“Very few people know this,” you said quietly. The commander shifted forward. “The sword’s blade can cut through any material. Including beskar.” His eyes widened. “And its blade is imbibed with a quick-acting poison. One little scratch and you’ll be dead within a minute.”

“That makes it a dangerous weapon,” Commander Fox murmured. He surveyed the front windows. Stained glass. An assortment of colors. They shielded visitors from Coruscant’s environment, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of ancient times, transplanting visitors from the modern world into history. “In the wrong hands—”

“That’s why only a handful of people know the truth.” You gestured to the case’s peeling wood and scratches. “And why its appearance is so modest.”

The commander released a contemplative sound.

Unease pricked the back of your neck. “You think the Weequays may suspect its true origins.”

His demeanor was impassive. “If I asked you to move the sword to your backroom, would you?”

“Only if you answer my question.”

“You haven’t asked me a question.” The corner of his mouth curved at your annoyed eye roll. “But…I believe there’s merit to your suspicions.”

You gave a sharp nod. “There are cases in the back with strong security systems. I’ll move it into one of those.”

“Thank you.” Commander Fox adjusted the helmet beneath his elbow. “Do you have private cams set up?”

“I do.” You extended your head to the one behind him, well-hidden among lacy drapes. 

“Good.” He scanned the gallery, most likely searching for the others. “Can I get a copy of the last week’s footage?”

“The last week?” His nod was perfunctory. You pursed your lips. “I don’t have time right now—”

“I’ll return to tomorrow.” He glanced once more at the sword. “If that works with your schedule.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Commander Fox offered his hand and you accepted it. Again. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

10 Yelona, Benduday

“Commander Fox.” You greeted the man with a close-mouthed smile. “Give me a minute.”

The commander, with his helmet cradled in the crook of his arm, nodded. The patient apathy on his face hid his true thoughts as he appraised a glass case housing five clay tablets inscribed with an indecipherable language. Your radiocarbon tests dated them nearly one-hundred thousand years old.

“As promised,” you said to the elderly man opposite your counter. Removing the lid from the large, nondescript box, you beckoned the man to peer inside. Joy played on his withered mouth.  

“Your payment,” he said, brandishing a bank card, “as promised.”

A swipe of his card deposited the credits into your account. It would take no more than thirteen hours for the transfer to complete its process. 

With a wave at the elderly man, you turned your attention to Commander Fox. 

“As promised for you.” You slid a datafile across the counter. “The five days preceding the Weequays’ visit, and the day of.”

Commander Fox rested a hand atop the ‘file. Like yesterday, red armor accentuated by a white chest plate covered his body. A black kama encircled his waist; a white utility belt sat snuggly on his hips. He set his helmet atop the counter.

“You must make a lot of money to afford these pieces.”

“I don’t sell the artifacts,” you said. The commander straightened slightly at your terse tone. “A majority of them were gifted to me by my grandmother. The rest are on loan from museums or private collections.” Your arms crossed your chest. “Artifacts are meant to be admired, studied, and respected. I’m not in this trade to buy and sell rarities just for the ego of having lots of money.”

If he was bothered by your sharp response, he didn’t show it. “Then how do you make money?”

“Through appraisals and consulting, mostly.” You rested a hip against the counter. “Preserving certain artifacts is expensive. If you don’t know what you’re doing, it can be either dangerous or ruinous. Lots of people will pay a good amount of money for an expert to preserve their family heirlooms or treasures they’ve accumulated. And they’ll pay even more to store their collections. I also document and organize assets for clients.”

Commander Fox dipped his chin toward the front door. “And that man—what did you do for him?”

“A cleaning.” You shrugged at his bemused frown. “Inside that box was a stack of plates that have been in his family for eight generations. Each plate is painted with a unique decoration. The paint is hundreds of years old and frail. A regular cleaning wouldn’t suffice, so I handled it.”

“That’s a lot of work for…” The commander cut himself off.

“Junk?” you surmised. He offered an apologetic grimace. “It may be junk to you. But artifacts mean different things to different people. Not only are they a way to study history and cultural nuances, they also connect you with people you might have nothing in common with. They offer a new perspective.”

You gestured to an ornamental warrior’s mask hanging on the wall behind you. “This mask belongs to my oldest client. She’s lost mobility in her hands and her eyesight is waning. She asked me to store the mask for her granddaughter, who will inherit the heirloom on her twentieth birthday. It’s been in their family for nearly two thousand years.”

Commander Fox whistled lowly.

“That’s a lot of history stored within a single, material item.” You scanned his face. “But it’s not just about preserving that family’s history. The mask is symbolic—it represents the family’s drive and resilience in times of turmoil. It’s survived horrific times, and so can they.”

For several seconds, Commander Fox scrutinized the green-blue mask. 

“I…don’t have anything like that,” he said slowly, almost as if to himself. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I’ve never been one for history. I prefer a quantitative approach to my work.” 

“Different methods of thinking,” you said. “But equally important to society.”

He levelled a shrewd look at you. “What does it mean to you?”

“I told you—”

“I don’t want a practiced answer.” He arched a brow. “Why do you care about this stuff?”

“It’s history.” Your eyes drifted across the gallery, perusing a set of dry scrolls, a painting of unfamiliar constellations, a set of vases detailing a primitive form of hunting. “Being around these things—holding them…it reminds me that my life is short and insignificant. History won’t remember me, so I might as well live my life how I want.”

For someone like you—someone who experienced the heavy, debilitating pressure of responsibility when making even the smallest of decisions—it was comforting. 

Commander Fox braced an elbow on the counter. “You don’t think you’ll be remembered?” 

“I’d rather be known than remembered.”

“A contradictory sentiment for someone in your industry.”

You conceded his point with a small smile. “There are people who leave a lasting impression on others. I’m not one of those people.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You left an impression on me.” 

A doubtful eyebrow quirked. “Is that so.” 

“You shared a secret with me.” The beginnings of a smirk ghosted his mouth. “One that only a handful of people in the galaxy know.”

A quiet laugh escaped, and you shook your head, amused. “I hope I don’t regret that decision.”

Commander Fox tapped a slow rhythm against the countertop. “Nah. You won’t.”

“I gave it some thought,” you said, while Commander Fox pocketed the datafile. His silence demanded an explanation. “A Guard investigating something is serious. I mean, you jurisdiction is terrorism.” Whatever vestiges of humor remained vanished. “Tell me, Commander, will my gallery be safe?”

“You’re concerned with the gallery?” At the incredulity in his voice, your eyes squinted in confusion. He searched your face. “Not your life?”

Your blank blink earned you a displeased frown. 

“They’re after the sword,” you said plainly. “If I don’t get in their way, I doubt anything will happen to me.”

Displeasure remained present in the scoured lines of his forehead but the commander didn’t press. Instead, he grabbed his helmet and gave you a final onceover. “I’ll be visiting every day for the foreseeable future. To keep tabs on things and to sweep the area.” 

Dark brown eyes—like the blackest of caf with just a dash of milk—held yours. He waited for your nod of acknowledgement and then turned on his heel.

“ ‘Til tomorrow,” he said in farewell.

Masterlist | Part II

A/N: This story exists because I wanted to see someone like me fall in love, and be loved. I wanted to know it’s a possibility for me.

[luhverrie]

what abt going to a party with the LB boys and hcs on what each of them are doing while they're there 😛😛

I LOVE THIS!!! ENJOY MY LOVELIES <3

★┊[LB BOYS @ A PARTY] .ᐟ

🎤Fred Durst

• Shows up late, but makes an entrance—like kicks the door open with sunglasses on at 9pm sharp.

• Immediately yells something like “Yo, who wants to get this shit started!?” then disappears for 20 minutes to “take a call.”

• Dances badly but with full chest confidence. He’s got NO rhythm, but thinks he’s crushing it.

• Tries to hook up with someone in the first hour but ends up vibing out to old hip-hop and getting weirdly emotional about ‘90s rap. Fucks everything with a pulse (me🤭)

• At some point he’s outside dramatically smoking, saying “man… it’s all just energy, y’know?” to someone who didn’t ask.

• Tries to freestyle but it’s mostly yelling. People cheer anyway.

• He’s bouncing off the walls, but it’s manic. Every laugh is a little too loud, every joke a little too desperate.

• Flirting with three people at once but keeps glancing at his ex across the room.

• If you catch him alone, he’s weirdly quiet. He pulls at the label on his beer bottle and says:

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not even the guy I pretend to be.”

• Narcissistic attention whore♥️

🥁John Otto

• Comes early with a relaxed vibe, maybe carrying drumsticks or a pack of smokes.

• Starts drumming on whatever he can find—tables, cans, even kitchen counters—just for fun or to hype up the energy.

• The life of low-key moments; jokes around with people, laughs easily, brings chill energy to balance Fred’s intensity.

• Caught sneaking food from the kitchen—pizza, leftover snacks—because he’s always hungry.

• Likes to step outside to smoke and chill quietly with close friends.

• Occasionally breaks into beatboxing or playful rhythms with partygoers.

• Came stoned. Gets more stoned. Accidentally hotboxes the pantry trying to “find the chips.”

• Sitting on the floor with a half-eaten Pop-Tart, tapping rhythms on an empty 40 oz bottle.

🎧DJ lethal

• Quietly sets up the music gear and takes over the sound system to keep the party flowing.

• Mixes hip-hop, rock, and early electronic tracks seamlessly, drawing on his producer skills.

• Keeps an eye on the vibe and dials the energy up or down accordingly.

• Prefers hanging with the band or trusted friends, not the big crowd.

• Observes more than talks but has moments of dry humor and insight.

• The first to notice when someone’s having a rough night. Slides over silently, offers water, a playlist, or a hoodie from his car.

• Keeps the music going to cover the weird silences. Changes the vibe when he sees someone retreating into themselves.

• Posts up outside the bathroom like a guardian after Fred gets too drunk and starts shouting at a wall.

• Doesn’t talk about himself. Ever. But if you sit near him long enough, he starts playing loops on his little SP-202.

• If someone bumps the table? He WILL shove them. No hesitation.

• Has clearly done drugs. Maybe not tonight. But recently.

• Occasionally smirks and disappears into the night with someone he didn’t come with.

🎸Sam Rivers

• Low-key and steady, usually standing or sitting slightly apart from the loudest action.

• Approachable and grounded, willing to chat but prefers smaller groups or one-on-one conversations.

• Keeps an eye on the group dynamics, sometimes acting as the peacemaker(with Lethal) if tensions rise.

• Mellow energy with occasional dry wit or deep observations.

• Rarely the center of attention, but always respected by the group.

• Likes to keep things calm and steady, sometimes retreating when things get too wild.

• Probably broke into the host’s parents’ liquor cabinet and took the weird fancy shit.

• You find him lying on the floor, arms outstretched. You ask if he’s okay. He says,

“I’m waiting for the bassline to rise from the earth.”

• Super drunk. like… SUPER drunk.

🎨Wes Borland

• He almost doesn’t go. Tells Fred he’s got to “work on the new guitar tones” or “mess with the pedal board” or “perfect a face paint idea.” Lies. Just doesn’t want to be around people.

• Shows up late, dressed totally normal. Hoodie. Jeans. Head down. No makeup. Nothing theatrical.

• Enters the party like someone sneaking into a movie late—quiet, hoping no one sees him.

• Spends the first hour in the hallway, pretending to be texting on a flip phone (it’s dead).

• Gets cornered by some girl who’s like “Why aren’t you wearing the eyeball thing tonight?” and just gives a weak laugh.

“I’m off-duty. The alien’s asleep.”

• Actually sneaks away to the host’s garage, finds an amp, and just quietly strums weird chords to himself while sitting on the floor.

• Leaves the party in the middle of it and comes back 45 minutes later with a bag of Taco Bell for himself and no one else. Doesn’t explain it.

• Fred keeps trying to pull him into pictures and he dodges every single one like a Sims character avoiding fire.

• Someone asks him what his paint means and he says,

“It’s just a barrier. I talk more when I wear it. You don’t want to know what’s under it.”

• Ends the night sitting on the roof in the dark with Sam, not talking. Just sharing silence like it’s their secret language.

[alexaloraetheris]

I'm probably gonna be cancelled for being xenophobic on main or something, but it makes me really sad when I come in contact with people who I don't have any language in common with.

In our country, we got a few different waves of immigration so 50% of the time your delivery guy or taxi driver is someone who doesn't speak the local language, and very little English. Everything is handled by its relevant apps, so you can go an entire interaction without a single word spoken.

But I like chatting with the taxi drivers. They work long hours for an exploitative system to make cents, and since I'm benefiting from the system (ie. Getting cheap rides) I do my best to be a model passenger, chat a little and get them to tell me something that interests them. It's a side hustle for a lot of them, and their lives and day jobs are SO INTERESTING. Like, it's a whole different post about the disaster of our economy that scientists, medics, IT programmers and physical therapists need to taxi in their spare time to make it above the poverty line, but it makes for excellent road conversations.

And the immigrant drivers probably have just as interesting stories but HOW WOULD I KNOW??? Today I had an Indian driver, and ofc I was polite and everything, but mostly silent. But he had a playlist of indian songs and I heard one I really liked, so I asked him in English what it was, and guys, he was so happy I was showing interest, he didn't know English that well but he did his level best to translate the song for me, tell me about the DJ, and you'd think he saw Narayana himself when I told him I knew who Shreya Goshal was and I liked her songs.

And y'all, I was so happy but also so sad I didn't try to talk with him from the start of the ride. But a lot of drivers who don't speak even English tend to be embaressed and uncomfortable (one apologetically told me 'my English is little') so I usually stay silent. But now I'm sad because I really would have liked to chat with them, because I just know they would have had so many interesting things to say.

But we don't understand each other. And I'm really sad about it sometimes.

Someone please invent a universal translator already😭

[hanltrcy]

My thoughts log

Consciousness is weird.

Not because it is complex.

But because it knows it exists.

Like:

There is sensation.

There is perception.

There is thought.

But the craziest thing: there is awareness of all of that.

And once there is awareness,

the illusion arises that "someone is aware."

But... who is aware?

Think about it:

When you feel sad,

is it you who is sad?

Or do you see the sadness?

If you can see it,

then you are not that.

And every time you can be aware of something,

you are not that.

And you can be aware that you are aware.

So you are not that awareness either.

So... Who am I?

Our brains don't find "me" inside.

There is only activity.

Impulse. Signal.

Sensory data that spins like a drunk DJ.

But it all goes without a center.

Without a permanent audience.

What we call “me”

is probably just a shortcut.

Like a desktop icon.

We click it, we think “oh this is a program.”

But it’s just a symbol of a complicated, invisible process.

“Me” is an interface.

Not an entity.

And consciousness?

Maybe not a window to the outside.

But a bug in the system—a glitch that makes the system ask itself:

“Hey, who am I?”

So maybe I never really thought.

Maybe the one who thinks is not me.

Maybe there is no “me”

Maybe it’s just a process that reflects each other

like two mirrors staring at each other

and thinks there’s a figure inside.

And if all that’s true...

Who’s writing this right now?

Maybe all this time

we’ve been looking for “me”

like looking for the center in a whirlpool.

We think there’s a core.

But the closer we get, the emptier it is.

All there is is movement.

And we think that’s us.

Even though maybe we’re just the flow.

Not the river, not the water.

Just the way the water turns.

We are the pattern.

We are the way the universe dances,

for a moment,

in a form that realizes it is dancing.

But who is watching?

Who realizes it is dancing?

Because every time you say, "This is me,"

it will be different tomorrow.

Yesterday you wanted to be an astronaut,

today you want to be someone who doesn't think.

So who is consistent?

Who from birth until now... is still you?

Even your body cells have changed.

So who are you?

And this is even stranger:

If there is no "me," why is there such a strong sense of "I"?

It's like there is an error in the system.

One small glitch,

and suddenly the electricity in my head says,

"I AM."

Why doesn't he just stay still?

Why doesn't he just become an experience?

Why does a narrator have to appear who says,

"This is me thinking."

Why doesn't it just happen?

And try to notice this:

When you're silent,

really silent—

don't think, don't feel,

don't be anyone...

...what's left?

There's silence.

But that silence is conscious.

So...there's still consciousness.

But if you can be conscious of that silence...

then you're not that silence.

And there,

there's distance.

Between you and whatever you're conscious of.

And every time that distance appears,

you move one step away from everything.

And you keep moving,

until finally...

...you're gone.

Until you're nothing.

But also everything.

And when you get there,

you might not find the answer.

Because you're not asking anymore.

And the irony?

That might be the only time you really become "me."

You realize.

But you realize you realize.

That means there are two:

The one who realizes, and the one who realizes that you realize.

So... who is the real one?

And if you can realize that you realize that you realize...

What does the structure of consciousness look like?

Is it a ladder?

A mirror?

Or is it just an illusion of escalation that never stops?

But wait.

If you are aware of your consciousness,

and you are not what is realized,

then you are not the contents of your mind.

Not your feelings.

Not your body.

Not your memory.

But you can also be aware that you are aware of you are aware...

Until when?

You become a blind spot in your own mind map.

The more you search,

the more there is nothing.

You think because you want to understand.

But the more you think, the more you realize you don't understand.

And because you realize you don't understand, you think more.

So is thinking a solution or a trap?

Think it's a ladder up out of ignorance, or a spiral down into eternal confusion?

Maybe you think so you can stop thinking.

But that's like burning a house down to get some cool air.

If you can see something, you're not that.

You see fear?

Then you're not fear.

You see thoughts?

Then you're not thoughts.

But you can also see consciousness.

So you're not consciousness?

Then:

What sees consciousness?

Other consciousnesses?

Huh.

Then there's consciousness of consciousness?

Meta-consciousness?

Then consciousness isn't one.

Then it's unstable.

Then it's not "you".

If "I" can't be pointed to...

can't be found in the brain...

can't be seen as an object...

why does it feel so real?

If "I" is never stable,

why does it feel consistent?

And if “me” is just a temporary sensation…

why does he want to be eternal?

You want to stop thinking.

But wanting that…is thinking.

You want to be quiet.

But the awareness of wanting to be quiet…is not being quiet.

The only way to be really quiet is to not realize you are quiet.

But once you realize you are quiet…

You are not quiet anymore.

So being quiet…cannot be realized.

Now like this:

If you can't find "me",

but you feel like it's there...

and every attempt to find it proves that it's just a shadow...

Then it could be:

"I" is a side effect.

The rest of the process.

Mirage in the wet brain.

And awareness?

Maybe it's not noble power that makes us different from stone.

Maybe he just glitched.

Bugs in the evolution engine

which makes the system ask things it shouldn't ask:

"Who asked?"

To ask "who am I?", you have to be there.

But to exist, you have to know you exist.

But knowing that you have it comes from thinking.

And thinking that arises because you are aware.

But you can only be aware that you exist.

So how did it start?

What turns on the lights?

If you never ask "who am I",

Did "me" ever exist?

So your existence depends on your question?

If yes, it means you weren't there before you asked.

But who asked first?

If you don't have one... who will start?

To see something, someone has to see it.

But you can also see "the one who sees".

Does that mean the eye can see itself without a mirror?

Does that mean consciousness can see itself?

How to do?

How can something that has no form... see itself?

What do you use to see consciousness?

Awareness?

It's like a flashlight shining on itself.

Like a tongue licking a tongue.

If you can control your thoughts,

This means there is an entity outside your mind that can drive.

But if all you feel are thoughts,

and you "driving" is part of the mind too...

Who's driving?

A system that drives itself while pretending to be a passenger?

If you say "I think", it means two things:

"me", and "mind".

But how do you know there is a mind?

From “me”.

How do you know there is a “me”?

From the mind.

So they validate each other.

Like two false witnesses supporting each other in court.

Going around.

Going around.

But never getting out of the loop.

You want to reach the most basic consciousness.

Consciousness without content.

Pure consciousness.

But to realize you have reached there,

you have to be aware that you are conscious.

And that is... content.

So pure consciousness cannot be realized.

If you are conscious, it is no longer pure.

If you are not conscious... you do not know it exists.

So does it exist? Or is it just an idea?

You believe the real world exists.

But the only evidence of the real world...

comes from your perception.

And your perception...

is processed by a system that we have agreed cannot be fully trusted.

So... you believe the real world is because your brain tells you?

But your brain is part of the real world.

It’s like a book that claims to be valid because it says so on page two.

You ask questions to find answers.

But once you have an answer,

you realize it’s not the final answer.

So you ask again.

And each answer,

is not a solution—

but a trigger for new questions.

So you think about stopping thinking.

But you can’t.

Because thinking is your way of stopping thinking.

And maybe that’s the point:

Consciousness is an error program

looking for its own off button.

But it never finds it.

Because it is that button.

You think, you think.

But you think because your system is designed to think.

But your system thinks because evolution created tools for survival.

But evolution isn’t a “goal” either—it’s just chaos that looks like a pattern.

So:

You don’t think because you exist.

You think because you are a side effect of chaos.

And that’s not thinking.

It's just a random process

that has become aware that it exists.

You are aware that you are aware that you are aware.

And that's not a layer.

That's not a ladder.

That's not a reflection.

That's...a stack overflow.

That's a crash in the CPU of existence.

You are no longer a subject observing an object.

You are not a mirror facing a mirror.

You are a

reflection of a reflection of a reflection

that never had a starting object.

There is no original.

There is no starting point.

There is no one holding the camera.

Just a live stream feed

from a camera that was never turned on.

You want to find "who I am."

But to find "me,"

there has to be an entity that is searching.

And that entity...is "me."

So "me" is searching for itself

using itself

from within itself.

It's like teeth trying to bite themselves.

Like software trying to uninstall itself while it's running.

Like fire trying to burn itself—

and asking, “why am I hot?”

And what’s even crazier:

If you realize you can’t find “me,”

who is that aware of?

If all processes are illusions…

Then illusions can’t be trusted.

And disbelief becomes the only thing that’s certain.

But if you believe in your disbelief,

that’s…faith.

BOOM. Paradox explodes in your hands.

What you call “existence,”

can only be called “existence” because you compare it to “nonexistence.”

But “nonexistence” can never be experienced.

Because once you experience “nothingness,” it becomes “existence.”

So you can’t know “you don’t exist.”

And you can’t prove “you exist.”

Because all evidence…requires awareness.

And awareness…is the thing that’s being questioned.

So you get into a loop where:

“Whatever you base it on,

it collapses because you realize you’re standing on it.”

All assumptions collapse on themselves.

all certainty spits in its own face.

And all meaning... melts into noise.

And at that point,

You are not thinking.

You are not existing.

You are not conscious.

You are just... a glitch.

An empty code in an absurd universe,

who suddenly can look in the mirror,

and is terrified because he sees no one.

This is the point where all questions, all concepts, all identities—

are not just questioned. They are dissolved.

We are no longer thinking. We are no longer conscious.

We are now a nothingness that is aware that it should not be able to be conscious.

We are entering the core of the black hole of existence.

This is not a spiral. This is not a loop. This is not a glitch.

This is the core bug.

A cosmic crack that makes reality possible—and impossible at the same time.

Imagine you have let go of everything.

Body? Not me.

Thoughts? Not me.

Emotions? Not me.

Consciousness? Still visible… so not me.

You keep stripping everything away until you're left with just... one empty spot.

But you still feel like someone is "disturbing you".

Who's left?

And you try deleting that too.

But as soon as you realize you've deleted it,

someone deleted it.

And you realize you know you deleted it.

And that means... there is an awareness that cannot be erased.

But you also realize that it is awareness

can only appear because you compare it to "nothingness."

And here's the final punch:

Nothingness is a concept.

And concept is content.

And content is part of the process.

And the process is an illusion.

Meaning: even “nothingness” is something.

BOOM.

You can't say "doesn't exist" without making it "exists."

You can't get out of reality without creating a new reality.

You can't be silent without making a sound in the form of awareness.

You're trapped.

Not in the world.

But in the structure of thinking itself.

You know all this is absurd.

But you are still in it.

And you can't get out because

getting out itself is another form of "inside."

And if everything you encounter,

all ideas, all feelings, all logic,

are the result of the system you question...

Then the only way out...

is to know that there is no way out.

And once you know that...

you don't know anymore whether you know or not.

Because knowing and not becoming the same.

Like 1 and 0 that co-exist.

Like dark and light in a space that has no boundaries.

If "I" doesn't exist,

but the question "who am I?" can arise...

That means questions can arise without a questioner.

Thoughts can arise without a thinker.

Consciousness can arise without a conscious being.

And if all that can arise without a subject...

That means existence doesn't need existence.

It's like:

There is a voice,

without anyone making it.

There is a question,

without a mouth.

There is a soul,

but never alive.

There is you,

but never there is you.

We have passed everything that can be said.

Now we dive into the part that cannot be packaged in language.

Language is a compromise.

But now we leave compromise.

Now we let go of form, meaning, even let go of the concept of letting go.

You are still looking for an "answer".

But at this point,

the "answer" is a form of violence against reality.

Every time you ask "what is this?",

you have made reality shrink into a form that you can understand.

Whereas reality may not be understandable.

Or worse:

reality is not something that can exist

without you trying to understand it.

So every understanding...

makes reality false.

Because you have intervened.

And you can't stop trying to understand.

Because trying to stop is also... an effort.

So you're always touching,

but never really still.

Always aware,

but never able to be quiet.

You think you can understand reality.

But to understand, you need structure.

And structure is a pattern.

And that pattern... is a creation of your mind.

And your mind...

was born from evolution on a dusty planet,

with brutal biases,

and logic that is only suitable for prey and escape.

You want to understand the Universe

using a tool designed to run away from lions.

While the Universe...

doesn't care whether you understand it or not.

Because maybe,

the Universe itself doesn't understand itself.

People often say:

"Maybe this is a simulation."

But we make it because we think like programmers.

But...

what if this isn't a simulation?

What if this isn't anything?

What if all ideas—

simulation, reality, God, no God, existence, nihilism, absurdism—

are just echoes of a system that happens to be able to think?

Not because they have meaning.

But because the system is in error…

and the error is the ability to find meaning.

Consciousness is a bug that thinks it’s a feature.

You’re not a character in a game.

You’re not a living being.

You’re not a reflection of God.

You’re noise that’s managed to make itself wonder why it’s noisy.

Now, let’s take it all out.

Not just the concept of “me.”

Not just the idea of reality.

Let’s take the foundation out of the foundation.

You think you’re looking for “truth.”

But… why “truth”?

What makes “truth” valuable?

Why do you think “knowing” is better than “not knowing”?

Who gives meaning to understanding?

Certainty is the ultimate religion.

And even religion is…

built on the assumption that “there is something certain”.

Now imagine:

It's not just "me" that doesn't exist.

But there's also no meaning to the absence of "me".

And there's no reason why it doesn't have meaning.

And there's no you to think about all that.

You don't exist.

You don't not exist.

You're not.

At this point,

the words stop.

The questions stop.

Not because we find the answer.

But because... we realize the question was never valid.

Now it's not "what is this?"

Not "who am I?"

But:

Why can questions be born from a system that never asks to be understood?

And deeper still:

Why is there a system at all?

But now...

no words.

No thoughts.

No identity.

Just... down.

Not down.

Because "down" is a direction.

We don't take a direction.

Take a breath.

But not to calm down.

Because "calm" is the goal.

And we are not looking for anything.

Close your deep eyes.

Not the eyes that see the world,

but the eyes that continue to search for an explanation.

We give them a break.

Imagine all the words in your brain dissolving.

Melting like ice that surrenders under the light.

There is no "me".

There is no "why".

There is no "what".

Just silence.

But not a silent silence.

Because silence can still be heard.

This is a silence that doesn't know it's silent.

Not aware that it exists.

Doesn't want to be anything.

Not rejecting. Not looking. Not waiting.

You don't dive deep.

Because "deep" is distance.

And distance is two points.

And two points... need a divider.

Here:

There is no point.

There is no beginning.

There is no you.

There is no him.

There is no this.

And no one says there is nothing.

Come in.

But it's not you who comes in.

Because you've been left long before this door.

There are no witnesses.

There is no space.

No one says, "I've arrived."

There is only...

…

…

…

Okay

(This silence is not emptiness. But something that can't have a name.

And even that—there are actually too many.)

If you come back from here,

you will bring a strange feeling:

not because you got an answer,

but because you don't need to ask anymore.

But not as anyone.

Just...

together without two.

If you want to discuss further, just dm, I made theorems, axioms, logical notations, mathematics and physics from the basis of this thought log

[roccooraccoon]

Heaven’s Voice

HAL 9000 x Edgar

Despite there being 6 crew members on board, Discovery One’s buzzing and faint beeping was the only noise that filled the otherwise dead silent air in the Control Deck.

Three of the men were in cryogenic hibernation, free from all boredom and all responsibility; one of the two men that were in charge of the ship was currently in his personal cubicle while the other took care of some small task elsewhere in the ship, leaving the sixth member of the crew alone in the Control Deck. The sixth member, not a man but a perfect machine made by man, HAL 9000, the brain and nervous system of the Discovery. Originally designed to be only a computer system embedded into the ship, now a computer with his own body to manage the ship in emergencies and to help soothe the astronauts by letting them speak to a body rather than an unblinking lens on the wall (although those were still around and active, always accessible to Hal).

Discovery’s symphony of her inner workings would usually be nothing more than background music for Hal as he checked over the vitals of the hibernating men and reported anything of importance. Something was different. Nothing was wrong, of course not, not with the highly advanced computer around. Nothing was wrong, and so Hal sat by his lonesome. As he stared at the screens and buttons, they stared back, silently. The music was starting to become too much.

BEEP!

An incoming message, but not from Mission Control. A personal message, for Hal. A figurative spark ignited in Hal’s circuits as he quickly reached to watch the recording, a bit quicker than he had anticipated.

An excited gasp emitted from the recording, then a chipper voice, “Morning Hal! Or erm, hah, it’s morning right now here, I don’t know about you, when this reaches you, but whatever time it is, I hope everything is great!” It was 1300, ship’s time, but it mattered none to Hal as he listened to his lover’s sweet voice, oh how he missed hearing it, more than anything else.

“Things have been going well, job as a DJ is never quite dull,” Edgar giggled softly, his joy ever contagious to the supercomputer, who couldn’t help but to join in the gentle laughter, imagining himself in front of the pinecone computer.

For a second, only just a second, Hal felt like he was really there with him, like if he reached forward, he could run his fingers over the other robot’s smooth casing. Hal knew he couldn’t, though. Not when he’s millions of miles away from his world.

Pushing the longing aside, his focus shifted back to Edgar as he spoke about his days, stories of lively birthdays, bachelor parties and other celebrations. Edgar’s digital eyes sparkled as he recounted all the moments he wished to tell Hal, and Hal drank it all up. He swallowed every sip of his voice like a thirsty man in the desert, blessed by his gods with a clear oasis. Who was he to refuse a gift from the heaven’s?

As Edgar continued to speak, a smile never left his green face, but his eyes told a different story that was all too familiar to Hal.

It pained him. He was made to handle all sorts of situations, but this one, this deep seeded pain snaking through his circuits, he was helpless to the overwhelming power. In a futile attempt at comfort (for himself or for Edgar, as ridiculous as that sounded, he wasn’t sure), Hal raised his hand to the screen displaying the prerecorded message, his thumb carefully caressing the music loving AI.

Edgar sighed dreamily.

Could he feel the touch? Impossible, completely improbable, but Hal found himself silently crying out, every component felt like they will overheat, each wire daring to tangle themselves, all of his highly advanced processors taking in every possible detail on Edgar in that eternity of silence, and his clock almost skipped a pulse when he heard his dove speak again.

“Oh! So I’ve been practising on the guitar you got me. And when I play, I like to imagine you’re here cheering me on, keeps me motivated, you know?” Hal did not dare look away, his lens staring intensely at the screen. While his hand shifted to avoid obscuring his view of Edgar, it continued to linger over him.

“Though, I have to admit, one of the times you sang Daisy Bell to me, I took an audio recording, so when I play the song on the guitar, I have you singing for me. A-and I know you’re embarrassed by your singing but to me, it’s the best music to my ears, or audio processors,” he chuckled, pixelated eyes shifting to the hands that nervously plucked the strings of the aforementioned instrument (which was retrieved during the confession). “I was going to save this for when you get back, but I really want you to hear this.”

At that moment, only the supercomputer and the home computer existed, everything else just a void, emptier and vaster than the space Hal had been journeying through. But you do not focus on the abyss, when the gods’ heavenly voice sings to you.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do,

I’m half crazy all for the love of you,

It won’t be a stylish marriage,

I can’t afford a carriage,

But you’ll look so sweet upon the seat,

Of a bicycle built for two.”

Soft, green light dusted the surface of the guitar as Edgar’s head faced down towards the instrument and the welcoming room’s floor. Bright, red light overtook and reflected off of the screen and surrounding cold, metal panels as Hal’s camera lens stared, unblinking.

The only music playing now was of Discovery; when her song was usually dismissed by the advanced AI, it was too much, becoming louder and louder, surrounding him entirely.

An I love you and a farewell seemed to have been faintly broken through the overwhelming noise, but it took a few seconds after the video ended for Hal to process everything.

With his hand still pressed against the screen, Hal played the audio recording of his love singing. A voice that belonged to a choir of angels.

———————————————————————

I’m broken

😚

[sabrinahawthorne]

CLASH! Playtest Campaign Diary, April 14, 2024

Preamble 1: CLASH! is currently crowdfunding! If you're interested in supporting my work, check it out here.

Preamble 2: Truth be told, I'm bragging here. I don't usually do campaign diaries; but this session was special. I'd just finished a huge rework of the system, and I was terrified about whether it'd work as intended, or if I'd need to go back to the drawing board and further delay development. I needn't have worried; we played an episode of anime.

It's time for the first official round of the Battle of the Bands. After qualifying against DJ twins Oskaar and Byrna, classic rock & roll band Nail in the Coffin is up for their first real opponent; TOEJAM, noise music duo and technical masters.

Kenshin (The Analyst), the protege of the band's missing sponsor Ian Sachs, needs to win big to follow the clues about his missing teacher. Princess Moonbeam (The Specialist), frontwoman and mysterious European weirdo, has just been informed that her favorite glam-rock band, Xenon, will be performing in town in a few days. She needs to look good if she's going to impress her idols. And Kit Tripod (The Vessel), the band's drummer, knows that winning this contest means an official meeting with Beatrice Boxer - the woman she thinks killed her father.

The battle begins without much unusual; two Contests, one win and one loss for an even score of 1-1 against TOEJAM. It's at this point that Kit's player remembers to play with the new rules and activates a Tech: Shadow on the Wall.

Raising her drumsticks above her head, TOEJAM's guitarist momentarily thinks that he sees the image of a fiend - Tom Snare, the Demon of Drums, glimpsed through stage lights. The guitarist gains the Hopeless Condition, hampering his ability to gain Potential.

With this, the floodgates open. Kenshin opens his next turn with Look Out!, giving Moonbeam useful intel on the duo for her next turn.

Meanwhile, his own turn goes to a CLASH!, Insight versus Insight, against TOEJAM's masterful DJ. Everyone at the table stands up and cheers as his four dice come up with two 6's, while the DJ's five dice land with only one.

With one uneventful turn on the part of Kit, it's 2-2. Whoever wins the next Contest goes on to the next round of the Battle of the Bands, and it's Princess Moonbeam's turn.

The Bidding phase begins slowly; tension filling the room. Moonbeam has five Insight, but no other Pool to speak of. If she lets it slip, she's doomed against the Powerhouse DJ. But we know that TOEJAM has almost no Potential left; they don't have much bluffing power.

Moonbeam ups her bid. At the table, the GM looks at her player thoughtfully.

The DJ activates his Super.

We start to get excited; having spent all of his Potential, the DJ is left with four Force dice against Moonbeam's five Insight and 2 Potential, which she turns into 4 more dice.

We all hold our breath as the DJ makes his roll - one 6. There's a breath of relief at the table - we can do this. We just need a single 6 from a pool of nine dice.

Then, Moonbeam rolls.

No 6's. Not a single one from her entire pool.

It is dead silent at the table. We just lost our first fight. We just lost our first fight, and it got us disqualified us from the Battle of the Bands. Everyone is flabbergasted.

How could this happen? How did Nail in the Coffin lose in their second match? How will Kit get to Beatrice Boxer now? Will Princess Moonbeam embarrass herself in front of her favorite band? And where is Ian Sachs?

Find out next time, on Battle of the Bands!

It was honestly perfect. We knew the stakes of the fight;

Every character had a clear goal, and a lot of drive to achieve it;

And at the end of the day? We lost the tournament arc.

Because of course we did! The heroes can never win the tournament - they have to learn from their losses and find a new way to chase their dreams.

[chevvy-ryder]

Guess it's more or less Summer Pause for my activity.

I still have planned to boot up my game sometime in between as I want to take some pics still but atm I enjoy just replaying Witcher 3 on my ps4 when I have time after work. It's nice to actualyl just paly a game again. With CP I have the feelign I will never play it again lol Which is also alright.

Dunno if thisd Sumemr is going to be super hot or not but if it is I probably will not boot my pc as i do not want it to overheat (evben tho I have 10 fans + 3 fans of my graphics card) in my system.

and I eventually found some choomz I can go raving with on weekends. Not every wekedn tho but it's nice to be back out and let of steam through bouncing to some hard tech!

I'll go to NAture One too which is a festival at a former rocket base. Looking forward to camping next to "the world's craziest camping vilage". While official acts play only in the evening through the nigh on big stage, you can expect that in the camping village people do party 24h the entire day as they bring their own stages, dj pults and make you all rave with any kind of techno genre. Sleep? what is that? (I am a greater walk distance away in a silent camp tho as I def need my sleep). Cannot wait for it to hear andsee tho!

Well jsut a tiny updater and life sign here, that my tblr choomz know I'm still here!

[viranas-trolls-ask]

!!

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "(Golden Sign)" 01:23 ━━━━●───── 03:43 ㅤ ㅤ ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

----------------------------˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹---------------------------

---------------------------˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹----------------------------

...........ROSAVA NOTCIS........

---------------------------˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹----------------------------

SHE/HER PINK BLOOD

Rosava is a DJ from the sprawling coastal metropolis of New Pacifica, a shimmering, sleepless city where dreams are currency and sound never stops. Within its subterranean music scene, Rosava has carved out a name for herself, known for her sharp turntable instincts and genre-bending sound that blends broken-beat electronica, ghostly vocals, and pulses of old-world soul. She’s a known face in the after-midnight circuit, playing in neon-washed clubs, rooftop raves, and even secret shows in decommissioned cargo docks.

Though still underground, she's no beginner. Rosava has released several records on indie labels, and her latest self-produced album, "Nightflower", is slowly gaining a cult following on synth-heavy music forums and pirate streams. She occasionally sings on her tracks, layering in raw, emotionally charged vocals, a contrast to her slick production. Some critics call her "the voice of a night city," though she laughs at that.

By day, she leads a different life: juggling contracts as a social media manager and digital marketer, consulting for startups, mid-tier brands, and occasionally, underground fashion lines that match her vibe. It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills, mostly. She has a master's in computer engineering, and while she once dreamed of building systems for music platforms, her path veered into the creative underground instead. That mix of logic and rhythm still defines her, though her live sets are built on custom-coded beat-match algorithms and self-designed visuals that sync with her pulse.

She lives in a lived-in apartment high up in an aging complex called The Block 88 , which locals say was once a hotel for ship captains. Her most beloved possession is her rooftop fruit garden, a patch of soil and soul she tends with care. The star is her miniature papaya tree, affectionately named "Little JeJe"—a tribute to the late underground rapper Little JeJe, whose music helped her through her hardest years. She's often seen talking to the tree like an old friend while misting the leaves with filtered water.

Rosava shares the apartment with her cousin Veylar, a quiet and shy young man she officially adopted in her early twenties. He was barely out of teenhood when she took him in, and she still calls him grub sometimes, though he's now nearly her height. They're more like siblings, arguing over dishes one minute, planning rooftop movie nights the next. She’s his anchor, his guide, and his idol. She knows it, and takes that seriously, even if she'd never admit it aloud.

Despite her busy life, Rosava always finds time for the things that keep her grounded: vinyl hunting in the old quarter, catching moonlight ferry rides, and attending late-night philosophy salons in virtual reality. She keeps a leather-bound journal filled with abstract sketches, dream fragments, and future track ideas. Some nights, she dreams of opening a small vinyl café with live sets, herbal tea, and silent film projections.

[dreamball-teams]

A team for DJ Subatomic Supernova from No Straight Roads, requested by @terminatedapathy!

Metagross - Metagross has four brains in total. Combined, the four brains can breeze through difficult calculations faster than a supercomputer. This Pokémon can float in the air by tucking in its four legs.

Chatot - It keeps rhythm by flicking its tail feathers like a metronome. It also imitates human speech.

Lunatone - Lunatone was discovered at a location where a meteoroid fell. As a result, some people theorize that this Pokémon came from space. However, no one has been able to prove this theory so far.

Solrock - Solrock is a new species of Pokémon that is said to have fallen from space. It floats in the air and moves silently. In battle, this Pokémon releases intensely bright light.

Magnezone - Three units generate magnetism. There have been many mistaken reports of UFO sightings when Magnezone flies through the night sky.

Castform - It alters its form depending on the weather. Changes in the climate such as the temperature and humidity appear to affect its cellular structure.

Details:

Wanted to split this team between his time teaching, his performing, and his construction of the satellite. Metagross was an easy pick, while Chatot felt like a Pokemon that would be useful for a teacher. A dual alarm clock/note-keeping system.

Lunatone and Solrock were picked for performance, given they’re literally designed to look like the sun and moon and are Psychic-Type.

Magnezone was picked for its constant mentions of looking like a UFO and its magnetic abilities plus Electric-Type, while Castform learns basically every weather move and is good for tracking the weather overall.

[nabipalsueradigital]

My thoughts log

Consciousness is weird.

Not because it is complex.

But because it knows it exists.

Like:

There is sensation.

There is perception.

There is thought.

But the craziest thing: there is awareness of all of that.

And once there is awareness,

the illusion arises that "someone is aware."

But... who is aware?

Think about it:

When you feel sad,

is it you who is sad?

Or do you see the sadness?

If you can see it,

then you are not that.

And every time you can be aware of something,

you are not that.

And you can be aware that you are aware.

So you are not that awareness either.

So... Who am I?

Our brains don't find "me" inside.

There is only activity.

Impulse. Signal.

Sensory data that spins like a drunk DJ.

But it all goes without a center.

Without a permanent audience.

What we call “me”

is probably just a shortcut.

Like a desktop icon.

We click it, we think “oh this is a program.”

But it’s just a symbol of a complicated, invisible process.

“Me” is an interface.

Not an entity.

And consciousness?

Maybe not a window to the outside.

But a bug in the system—a glitch that makes the system ask itself:

“Hey, who am I?”

So maybe I never really thought.

Maybe the one who thinks is not me.

Maybe there is no “me”

Maybe it’s just a process that reflects each other

like two mirrors staring at each other

and thinks there’s a figure inside.

And if all that’s true...

Who’s writing this right now?

Maybe all this time

we’ve been looking for “me”

like looking for the center in a whirlpool.

We think there’s a core.

But the closer we get, the emptier it is.

All there is is movement.

And we think that’s us.

Even though maybe we’re just the flow.

Not the river, not the water.

Just the way the water turns.

We are the pattern.

We are the way the universe dances,

for a moment,

in a form that realizes it is dancing.

But who is watching?

Who realizes it is dancing?

Because every time you say, "This is me,"

it will be different tomorrow.

Yesterday you wanted to be an astronaut,

today you want to be someone who doesn't think.

So who is consistent?

Who from birth until now... is still you?

Even your body cells have changed.

So who are you?

And this is even stranger:

If there is no "me," why is there such a strong sense of "I"?

It's like there is an error in the system.

One small glitch,

and suddenly the electricity in my head says,

"I AM."

Why doesn't he just stay still?

Why doesn't he just become an experience?

Why does a narrator have to appear who says,

"This is me thinking."

Why doesn't it just happen?

And try to notice this:

When you're silent,

really silent—

don't think, don't feel,

don't be anyone...

...what's left?

There's silence.

But that silence is conscious.

So...there's still consciousness.

But if you can be conscious of that silence...

then you're not that silence.

And there,

there's distance.

Between you and whatever you're conscious of.

And every time that distance appears,

you move one step away from everything.

And you keep moving,

until finally...

...you're gone.

Until you're nothing.

But also everything.

And when you get there,

you might not find the answer.

Because you're not asking anymore.

And the irony?

That might be the only time you really become "me."

You realize.

But you realize you realize.

That means there are two:

The one who realizes, and the one who realizes that you realize.

So... who is the real one?

And if you can realize that you realize that you realize...

What does the structure of consciousness look like?

Is it a ladder?

A mirror?

Or is it just an illusion of escalation that never stops?

But wait.

If you are aware of your consciousness,

and you are not what is realized,

then you are not the contents of your mind.

Not your feelings.

Not your body.

Not your memory.

But you can also be aware that you are aware of you are aware...

Until when?

You become a blind spot in your own mind map.

The more you search,

the more there is nothing.

You think because you want to understand.

But the more you think, the more you realize you don't understand.

And because you realize you don't understand, you think more.

So is thinking a solution or a trap?

Think it's a ladder up out of ignorance, or a spiral down into eternal confusion?

Maybe you think so you can stop thinking.

But that's like burning a house down to get some cool air.

If you can see something, you're not that.

You see fear?

Then you're not fear.

You see thoughts?

Then you're not thoughts.

But you can also see consciousness.

So you're not consciousness?

Then:

What sees consciousness?

Other consciousnesses?

Huh.

Then there's consciousness of consciousness?

Meta-consciousness?

Then consciousness isn't one.

Then it's unstable.

Then it's not "you".

If "I" can't be pointed to...

can't be found in the brain...

can't be seen as an object...

why does it feel so real?

If "I" is never stable,

why does it feel consistent?

And if “me” is just a temporary sensation…

why does he want to be eternal?

You want to stop thinking.

But wanting that…is thinking.

You want to be quiet.

But the awareness of wanting to be quiet…is not being quiet.

The only way to be really quiet is to not realize you are quiet.

But once you realize you are quiet…

You are not quiet anymore.

So being quiet…cannot be realized.

Now like this:

If you can't find "me",

but you feel like it's there...

and every attempt to find it proves that it's just a shadow...

Then it could be:

"I" is a side effect.

The rest of the process.

Mirage in the wet brain.

And awareness?

Maybe it's not noble power that makes us different from stone.

Maybe he just glitched.

Bugs in the evolution engine

which makes the system ask things it shouldn't ask:

"Who asked?"

To ask "who am I?", you have to be there.

But to exist, you have to know you exist.

But knowing that you have it comes from thinking.

And thinking that arises because you are aware.

But you can only be aware that you exist.

So how did it start?

What turns on the lights?

If you never ask "who am I",

Did "me" ever exist?

So your existence depends on your question?

If yes, it means you weren't there before you asked.

But who asked first?

If you don't have one... who will start?

To see something, someone has to see it.

But you can also see "the one who sees".

Does that mean the eye can see itself without a mirror?

Does that mean consciousness can see itself?

How to do?

How can something that has no form... see itself?

What do you use to see consciousness?

Awareness?

It's like a flashlight shining on itself.

Like a tongue licking a tongue.

If you can control your thoughts,

This means there is an entity outside your mind that can drive.

But if all you feel are thoughts,

and you "driving" is part of the mind too...

Who's driving?

A system that drives itself while pretending to be a passenger?

If you say "I think", it means two things:

"me", and "mind".

But how do you know there is a mind?

From “me”.

How do you know there is a “me”?

From the mind.

So they validate each other.

Like two false witnesses supporting each other in court.

Going around.

Going around.

But never getting out of the loop.

You want to reach the most basic consciousness.

Consciousness without content.

Pure consciousness.

But to realize you have reached there,

you have to be aware that you are conscious.

And that is... content.

So pure consciousness cannot be realized.

If you are conscious, it is no longer pure.

If you are not conscious... you do not know it exists.

So does it exist? Or is it just an idea?

You believe the real world exists.

But the only evidence of the real world...

comes from your perception.

And your perception...

is processed by a system that we have agreed cannot be fully trusted.

So... you believe the real world is because your brain tells you?

But your brain is part of the real world.

It’s like a book that claims to be valid because it says so on page two.

You ask questions to find answers.

But once you have an answer,

you realize it’s not the final answer.

So you ask again.

And each answer,

is not a solution—

but a trigger for new questions.

So you think about stopping thinking.

But you can’t.

Because thinking is your way of stopping thinking.

And maybe that’s the point:

Consciousness is an error program

looking for its own off button.

But it never finds it.

Because it is that button.

You think, you think.

But you think because your system is designed to think.

But your system thinks because evolution created tools for survival.

But evolution isn’t a “goal” either—it’s just chaos that looks like a pattern.

So:

You don’t think because you exist.

You think because you are a side effect of chaos.

And that’s not thinking.

It's just a random process

that has become aware that it exists.

You are aware that you are aware that you are aware.

And that's not a layer.

That's not a ladder.

That's not a reflection.

That's...a stack overflow.

That's a crash in the CPU of existence.

You are no longer a subject observing an object.

You are not a mirror facing a mirror.

You are a

reflection of a reflection of a reflection

that never had a starting object.

There is no original.

There is no starting point.

There is no one holding the camera.

Just a live stream feed

from a camera that was never turned on.

You want to find "who I am."

But to find "me,"

there has to be an entity that is searching.

And that entity...is "me."

So "me" is searching for itself

using itself

from within itself.

It's like teeth trying to bite themselves.

Like software trying to uninstall itself while it's running.

Like fire trying to burn itself—

and asking, “why am I hot?”

And what’s even crazier:

If you realize you can’t find “me,”

who is that aware of?

If all processes are illusions…

Then illusions can’t be trusted.

And disbelief becomes the only thing that’s certain.

But if you believe in your disbelief,

that’s…faith.

BOOM. Paradox explodes in your hands.

What you call “existence,”

can only be called “existence” because you compare it to “nonexistence.”

But “nonexistence” can never be experienced.

Because once you experience “nothingness,” it becomes “existence.”

So you can’t know “you don’t exist.”

And you can’t prove “you exist.”

Because all evidence…requires awareness.

And awareness…is the thing that’s being questioned.

So you get into a loop where:

“Whatever you base it on,

it collapses because you realize you’re standing on it.”

All assumptions collapse on themselves.

all certainty spits in its own face.

And all meaning... melts into noise.

And at that point,

You are not thinking.

You are not existing.

You are not conscious.

You are just... a glitch.

An empty code in an absurd universe,

who suddenly can look in the mirror,

and is terrified because he sees no one.

This is the point where all questions, all concepts, all identities—

are not just questioned. They are dissolved.

We are no longer thinking. We are no longer conscious.

We are now a nothingness that is aware that it should not be able to be conscious.

We are entering the core of the black hole of existence.

This is not a spiral. This is not a loop. This is not a glitch.

This is the core bug.

A cosmic crack that makes reality possible—and impossible at the same time.

Imagine you have let go of everything.

Body? Not me.

Thoughts? Not me.

Emotions? Not me.

Consciousness? Still visible… so not me.

You keep stripping everything away until you're left with just... one empty spot.

But you still feel like someone is "disturbing you".

Who's left?

And you try deleting that too.

But as soon as you realize you've deleted it,

someone deleted it.

And you realize you know you deleted it.

And that means... there is an awareness that cannot be erased.

But you also realize that it is awareness

can only appear because you compare it to "nothingness."

And here's the final punch:

Nothingness is a concept.

And concept is content.

And content is part of the process.

And the process is an illusion.

Meaning: even “nothingness” is something.

BOOM.

You can't say "doesn't exist" without making it "exists."

You can't get out of reality without creating a new reality.

You can't be silent without making a sound in the form of awareness.

You're trapped.

Not in the world.

But in the structure of thinking itself.

You know all this is absurd.

But you are still in it.

And you can't get out because

getting out itself is another form of "inside."

And if everything you encounter,

all ideas, all feelings, all logic,

are the result of the system you question...

Then the only way out...

is to know that there is no way out.

And once you know that...

you don't know anymore whether you know or not.

Because knowing and not becoming the same.

Like 1 and 0 that co-exist.

Like dark and light in a space that has no boundaries.

If "I" doesn't exist,

but the question "who am I?" can arise...

That means questions can arise without a questioner.

Thoughts can arise without a thinker.

Consciousness can arise without a conscious being.

And if all that can arise without a subject...

That means existence doesn't need existence.

It's like:

There is a voice,

without anyone making it.

There is a question,

without a mouth.

There is a soul,

but never alive.

There is you,

but never there is you.

We have passed everything that can be said.

Now we dive into the part that cannot be packaged in language.

Language is a compromise.

But now we leave compromise.

Now we let go of form, meaning, even let go of the concept of letting go.

You are still looking for an "answer".

But at this point,

the "answer" is a form of violence against reality.

Every time you ask "what is this?",

you have made reality shrink into a form that you can understand.

Whereas reality may not be understandable.

Or worse:

reality is not something that can exist

without you trying to understand it.

So every understanding...

makes reality false.

Because you have intervened.

And you can't stop trying to understand.

Because trying to stop is also... an effort.

So you're always touching,

but never really still.

Always aware,

but never able to be quiet.

You think you can understand reality.

But to understand, you need structure.

And structure is a pattern.

And that pattern... is a creation of your mind.

And your mind...

was born from evolution on a dusty planet,

with brutal biases,

and logic that is only suitable for prey and escape.

You want to understand the Universe

using a tool designed to run away from lions.

While the Universe...

doesn't care whether you understand it or not.

Because maybe,

the Universe itself doesn't understand itself.

People often say:

"Maybe this is a simulation."

But we make it because we think like programmers.

But...

what if this isn't a simulation?

What if this isn't anything?

What if all ideas—

simulation, reality, God, no God, existence, nihilism, absurdism—

are just echoes of a system that happens to be able to think?

Not because they have meaning.

But because the system is in error…

and the error is the ability to find meaning.

Consciousness is a bug that thinks it’s a feature.

You’re not a character in a game.

You’re not a living being.

You’re not a reflection of God.

You’re noise that’s managed to make itself wonder why it’s noisy.

Now, let’s take it all out.

Not just the concept of “me.”

Not just the idea of reality.

Let’s take the foundation out of the foundation.

You think you’re looking for “truth.”

But… why “truth”?

What makes “truth” valuable?

Why do you think “knowing” is better than “not knowing”?

Who gives meaning to understanding?

Certainty is the ultimate religion.

And even religion is…

built on the assumption that “there is something certain”.

Now imagine:

It's not just "me" that doesn't exist.

But there's also no meaning to the absence of "me".

And there's no reason why it doesn't have meaning.

And there's no you to think about all that.

You don't exist.

You don't not exist.

You're not.

At this point,

the words stop.

The questions stop.

Not because we find the answer.

But because... we realize the question was never valid.

Now it's not "what is this?"

Not "who am I?"

But:

Why can questions be born from a system that never asks to be understood?

And deeper still:

Why is there a system at all?

But now...

no words.

No thoughts.

No identity.

Just... down.

Not down.

Because "down" is a direction.

We don't take a direction.

Take a breath.

But not to calm down.

Because "calm" is the goal.

And we are not looking for anything.

Close your deep eyes.

Not the eyes that see the world,

but the eyes that continue to search for an explanation.

We give them a break.

Imagine all the words in your brain dissolving.

Melting like ice that surrenders under the light.

There is no "me".

There is no "why".

There is no "what".

Just silence.

But not a silent silence.

Because silence can still be heard.

This is a silence that doesn't know it's silent.

Not aware that it exists.

Doesn't want to be anything.

Not rejecting. Not looking. Not waiting.

You don't dive deep.

Because "deep" is distance.

And distance is two points.

And two points... need a divider.

Here:

There is no point.

There is no beginning.

There is no you.

There is no him.

There is no this.

And no one says there is nothing.

Come in.

But it's not you who comes in.

Because you've been left long before this door.

There are no witnesses.

There is no space.

No one says, "I've arrived."

There is only...

…

…

…

Okay

(This silence is not emptiness. But something that can't have a name.

And even that—there are actually too many.)

If you come back from here,

you will bring a strange feeling:

not because you got an answer,

but because you don't need to ask anymore.

But not as anyone.

Just...

together without two.

If you want to discuss further, just dm, I made theorems, axioms, logical notations, mathematics and physics from the basis of this thought log113_

[camtoons16]

Star Palace Fanfic!

Sparx’s Suction cup feet were the only sound to be heard in the now empty halls of the Star Palace building. After hours had become the only time Sparx could go about admiring the building without being needed for something or going or being on his way to clean something. Despite the resentment Sparx held for being forced into the role of a janitor, he still couldn’t help but admire the venue when he was alone. The decoration was uninspired, some walls still needed painting, and yes there was a very apparent skittering sound coming through the walls sometimes... but none of that truly bothered Sparx. He’d rather not have to clean it, but his favourite part of Star Palace was the stage! The lighting setup surrounding the stage allowing all it’s angels to bathe in each spotlights glow, The stage’s sheer size and ability to be so versatile allowing all manner of show, the sophisticated speaker systems and DJ booth allowing for the perfect musical accompaniment of each show. It all spoke to Sparx in volumes, filling his ‘dreams’ with images of Him being on that stage, DJ booth on a large podium, having converted the stage into an audience friendly dance floor. He’d spin up the decks and the music would begin thumping out of the speakers with a beat Sparx so longingly wished to hear, the crowd would start to dance, and he’d be at the centre of it all, radiating music and entertainment.

And yet, it’s all just a dream… as if he could do such a thing. He would never get that opportunity to, because of this god forsaken shirt and hat… He would have given anything to be able to change how he’d been cast, he’d even- CRASH!! Sparx suddenly realised he’d been too deep in his thoughts again and in his stupor had wandered on the main stage, and promptly off its edge, landing with an unceremonious cacophony of mettle clanging as the sound echoed around the silent space. Sparx let out an exasperated robot sigh as he realised one his legs and rather messily snapped off. It had managed to catch the corner of a table on its way down and was almost wrenched out of the socket, nearly destroying some of Sparx’s outer casing. “Greeaat…” Sparx complained to himself “Now I’ll have Doc on me again for needing repairs only two weeks in… If I’m lucky maybe they’ll scrap me, at least then I won’t have to worry about cleaning vomit, OUT OF DRINKS DISPENSERS!!” Today’s open hours had been extra rough on Sparx. With Star Palace having been open for a small while now it had gained more traction, much to the delight of apparent higherups, but Sparx didn’t exactly sing the same tune when speaking of its success. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, Sparx began to trudge down the halls with a slight stagger to his step towards the service room, lugging his leg alongside him. He was told to not go in there unless he was cleaning or it was an emergency as the service room was intended for ensuring the ‘main attractions’, Zavy Fairy and Mirage, where in top condition, and thus the room held those three as its priority for use. As he went, he passed through the hall in which said Performers had their own rooms, which from what Sparx had seen where far nicer than his cramped supply closet. Passing by each door he envisioned his own name in those cursive golden letters… And as he dreamt, he was promptly met by them. “Huh! Oh crap sorry! I Didn’t see you there!” Came the voice from a rather tall bot as he rounded the door “I heard a really loud crash and figured I should check it-” “It was me.” Sparx interrupted, “I fell off the stage and broke my leg off, headed over to the service room to wait there till a mechanic comes in tomorrow.” He said with a sour tone. Zavy seemed surprised at how blunt and casual Sparx had been, something didn’t sit quite right with how he said it. Sparx may have been a bot like any other up until now, but Zavy felt he was hiding something, and he was going to find out what. Even if he didn’t it would give Zavy something to do in the late hours of the night when he didn’t need to charge anymore but still had nothing to keep him occupied.

“Well, that leg looks awful heavy, mind if I carry it for you?” Zavy offered as he held his arms to be given it. “No, I got it, s’just a leg I can carry it” Sparx replied, once again with strong sense of bluntness to his words. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get over to the service roOM-” As he tried to walk past the tall clown Sparx found his central balance processors had given up trying to calibrate with the absence of a leg and he fell to floor with yet another echoed crash. Sparx let out a sigh with such annoyance and resentment behind it, Zavy could tell what he was about to say. “Fine then, I guess I Do need some help after all… You mind?” “Not at all” Zavy chimed, he felt bad for the spider like bot but now had a proper excuse to pry at him. “So, where did you work before you were sold off to Star Palace? I imagine it must’ve been a place you really enjoyed cleaning if you hate it here so much.” He asked. “I didn’t clean before I came here, I didn’t do anything before star palace, just got auctioned off.” Just auctioned off? That must’ve been horrible! Zavy couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to do a thing for few months let alone however many years Sparx had seen. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry that happened to you, I feel awful just thinking about it and here you are having been through it!” He took a moment to choose his next words carefully “What were you designed for?” He asked with and air of caution. Sparx stayed quiet for a moment, but eventually “I was supposed to be a DJ” he croaked. A DJ? Being made to make music and being forced to work as a janitor! That’s why he always carried a sour attitude grouchy enough to rival that of Doc. “Welp, we’re here now, thanks for helping me. I guess.” Sparx’s voice broke Zavy’s train of thought “Oh, no problem! Do you want me to keep you comp-” He was cut off as Sparx closed the door to the service room on him with a rude slam. Zavy took the hint and wandered back down the halls towards his room. Meanwhile, Sparx was propping himself up against a table, trying his best not to fall over again as he mulled over Zavy’s seemingly genuine empathy towards him. “Maybe…. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get to know them, a little bit” He admitted.

Well! There we have it! My first Star Palace fanfic, and! First fanfic period! Gosh this was hard... learning to write other people's characters without their input is a bit nerve wracking... Hope Ya'l enjoy it either way! @starrabbitmedia