#ipod challenge

[nuncamuere]

late posting for the kokichi fashion week that just ran on twitter bc nothing soothes my art block like scene clothes

[partiallypearl]

Music Shuffle Challenge - HOO EDITION

IPod Shuffle Challenge Rules:

Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.

Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.

Write a ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards! No editing.

Do ten of these, and then post them.

SONG: Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls

The wound is deep when Jason reaches her. “Reyna!” He calls out, running towards her. She’s being carried away by one of the first legion’s Apollo kids.

“I’m fine.” She grunts as she shitfs on the makeshift bed they have her stabilized on. “Who?” He asks and she looks at him, with the look that let him know she meant business.

“Michael Kahale. Do not go after him Grace. He’s not worth the fight.” Jason shakes his head. “He hurt you.”

“And you have a war to fight. He would have gone after you instead. We cover each other’s backs. Remember?”

Her words sink in. She took the knife for him. She let herself get stabbed to keep him safe.

“I remember.” He says. The legionnaire, a sheepish redhead looks between them. “I’m sorry. She’s losing more and more blood by the minute. I need to get her to the infirmary.”

Jason nods, pressing a quick kiss against Reyna’s forehead, ignoring the sweat and caked on blood and mud that rested there.

“Take care of her for me?” He asks the legionnaire, who nods.

He watches her go off before he turns back to the battlefield, his jaw clenched. Electricity flows through every inch of his body. He’s a living breathing livewire, ready to destroy everything in his way.

Michael Kahale, and anyone else who got in his way would be sorry they had ever messed with him. He’d show them exactly why he was called Juno’s Champion.

[citymiddled]

was just talking about how much i missed my ipod classic and jonathan fucking FOUND ONE. FOR FREE. charging rn to see if it works and if it does im about to be soooo annoying

[greeneyezblackheart]

6. The song with the highest play count on your iTunes/iPod/mp3 player.

It said 139 total number of plays, but I’m sure that’s not accurate. I’m thinking it should be higher. 🤷🏻‍♀️

365 Day Music Challenge

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cloudburst

Enshittification isn’t inevitable: under different conditions and constraints, the old, good internet could have given way to a new, good internet. Enshittification is the result of specific policy choices: encouraging monopolies; enabling high-speed, digital shell games; and blocking interoperability.

First we allowed companies to buy up their competitors. Google is the shining example here: having made one good product (search), they then fielded an essentially unbroken string of in-house flops, but it didn’t matter, because they were able to buy their way to glory: video, mobile, ad-tech, server management, docs, navigation…They’re not Willy Wonka’s idea factory, they’re Rich Uncle Pennybags, making up for their lack of invention by buying out everyone else:

https://locusmag.com/2022/03/cory-doctorow-vertically-challenged/

But this acquisition-fueled growth isn’t unique to tech. Every administration since Reagan (but not Biden! more on this later) has chipped away at antitrust enforcement, so that every sector has undergone an orgy of mergers, from athletic shoes to sea freight, eyeglasses to pro wrestling:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/cea/written-materials/2021/07/09/the-importance-of-competition-for-the-american-economy/

But tech is different, because digital is flexible in a way that analog can never be. Tech companies can “twiddle” the back-ends of their clouds to change the rules of the business from moment to moment, in a high-speed shell-game that can make it impossible to know what kind of deal you’re getting:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/27/knob-jockeys/#bros-be-twiddlin

To make things worse, users are banned from twiddling. The thicket of rules we call IP ensure that twiddling is only done against users, never for them. Reverse-engineering, scraping, bots — these can all be blocked with legal threats and suits and even criminal sanctions, even if they’re being done for legitimate purposes:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Enhittification isn’t inevitable but if we let companies buy all their competitors, if we let them twiddle us with every hour that God sends, if we make it illegal to twiddle back in self-defense, we will get twiddled to death. When a company can operate without the discipline of competition, nor of privacy law, nor of labor law, nor of fair trading law, with the US government standing by to punish any rival who alters the logic of their service, then enshittification is the utterly foreseeable outcome.

To understand how our technology gets distorted by these policy choices, consider “The Cloud.” Once, “the cloud” was just a white-board glyph, a way to show that some part of a software’s logic would touch some commodified, fungible, interchangeable appendage of the internet. Today, “The Cloud” is a flashing warning sign, the harbinger of enshittification.

When your image-editing tools live on your computer, your files are yours. But once Adobe moves your software to The Cloud, your critical, labor-intensive, unrecreatable images are purely contingent. At at time, without notice, Adobe can twiddle the back end and literally steal the colors out of your own files:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

The finance sector loves The Cloud. Add “The Cloud” to a product and profits (money you get for selling something) can turn into rents (money you get for owning something). Profits can be eroded by competition, but rents are evergreen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

No wonder The Cloud has seeped into every corner of our lives. Remember your first iPod? Adding music to it was trivial: double click any music file to import it into iTunes, then plug in your iPod and presto, synched! Today, even sophisticated technology users struggle to “side load” files onto their mobile devices. Instead, the mobile duopoly — Apple and Google, who bought their way to mobile glory and have converged on the same rent-seeking business practices, down to the percentages they charge — want you to get your files from The Cloud, via their apps. This isn’t for technological reasons, it’s a business imperative: 30% of every transaction that involves an app gets creamed off by either Apple or Google in pure rents:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell/posts/3788112

And yet, The Cloud is undeniably useful. Having your files synch across multiple devices, including your collaborators’ devices, with built-in tools for resolving conflicting changes, is amazing. Indeed, this feat is the holy grail of networked tools, because it’s how programmers write all the software we use, including software in The Cloud.

If you want to know how good a tool can be, just look at the tools that toolsmiths use. With “source control” — the software programmers use to collaboratively write software — we get a very different vision of how The Cloud could operate. Indeed, modern source control doesn’t use The Cloud at all. Programmers’ workflow doesn’t break if they can’t access the internet, and if the company that provides their source control servers goes away, it’s simplicity itself to move onto another server provider.

This isn’t The Cloud, it’s just “the cloud” — that whiteboard glyph from the days of the old, good internet — freely interchangeable, eminently fungible, disposable and replaceable. For a tool like git, Github is just one possible synchronization point among many, all of which have a workflow whereby programmers’ computers automatically make local copies of all relevant data and periodically lob it back up to one or more servers, resolving conflicting edits through a process that is also largely automated.

There’s a name for this model: it’s called “Local First” computing, which is computing that starts from the presumption that the user and their device is the most important element of the system. Networked servers are dumb pipes and dumb storage, a nice-to-have that fails gracefully when it’s not available.

The data structures of source-code are among the most complicated formats we have; if we can do this for code, we can do it for spreadsheets, word-processing files, slide-decks, even edit-decision-lists for video and audio projects. If local-first computing can work for programmers writing code, it can work for the programs those programmers write.

Local-first computing is experiencing a renaissance. Writing for Wired, Gregory Barber traces the history of the movement, starting with the French computer scientist Marc Shapiro, who helped develop the theory of “Conflict-Free Replicated Data” — a way to synchronize data after multiple people edit it — two decades ago:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-cloud-is-a-prison-can-the-local-first-software-movement-set-us-free/

Shapiro and his co-author Nuno Preguiça envisioned CFRD as the building block of a new generation of P2P collaboration tools that weren’t exactly serverless, but which also didn’t rely on servers as the lynchpin of their operation. They published a technical paper that, while exiting, was largely drowned out by the release of GoogleDocs (based on technology built by a company that Google bought, not something Google made in-house).

Shapiro and Preguiça’s work got fresh interest with the 2019 publication of “Local-First Software: You Own Your Data, in spite of the Cloud,” a viral whitepaper-cum-manifesto from a quartet of computer scientists associated with Cambridge University and Ink and Switch, a self-described “industrial research lab”:

https://www.inkandswitch.com/local-first/static/local-first.pdf

The paper describes how its authors — Martin Kleppmann, Adam Wiggins, Peter van Hardenberg and Mark McGranaghan — prototyped and tested a bunch of simple local-first collaboration tools built on CFRD algorithms, with the goal of “network optional…seamless collaboration.” The results are impressive, if nascent. Conflicting edits were simpler to resolve than the authors anticipated, and users found URLs to be a good, intuitive way of sharing documents. The biggest hurdles are relatively minor, like managing large amounts of change-data associated with shared files.

Just as importantly, the paper makes the case for why you’d want to switch to local-first computing. The Cloud is not reliable. Companies like Evernote don’t last forever — they can disappear in an eyeblink, and take your data with them:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/7/9/23789012/evernote-layoff-us-staff-bending-spoons-note-taking-app

Google isn’t likely to disappear any time soon, but Google is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA program (“I have altered the deal, pray I don’t alter it any further”) and notorious for shuttering its products, even beloved ones like Google Reader:

https://www.theverge.com/23778253/google-reader-death-2013-rss-social

And while the authors don’t mention it, Google is also prone to simply kicking people off all its services, costing them their phone numbers, email addresses, photos, document archives and more:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/22/allopathic-risk/#snitches-get-stitches

There is enormous enthusiasm among developers for local-first application design, which is only natural. After all, companies that use The Cloud go to great lengths to make it just “the cloud,” using containerization to simplify hopping from one cloud provider to another in a bid to stave off lock-in from their cloud providers and the enshittification that inevitably follows.

The nimbleness of containerization acts as a disciplining force on cloud providers when they deal with their business customers: disciplined by the threat of losing money, cloud companies are incentivized to treat those customers better. The companies we deal with as end-users know exactly how bad it gets when a tech company can impose high switching costs on you and then turn the screws until things are almost-but-not-quite so bad that you bolt for the doors. They devote fantastic effort to making sure that never happens to them — and that they can always do that to you.

Interoperability — the ability to leave one service for another — is technology’s secret weapon, the thing that ensures that users can turn The Cloud into “the cloud,” a humble whiteboard glyph that you can erase and redraw whenever it suits you. It’s the greatest hedge we have against enshittification, so small wonder that Big Tech has spent decades using interop to clobber their competitors, and lobbying to make it illegal to use interop against them:

https://locusmag.com/2019/01/cory-doctorow-disruption-for-thee-but-not-for-me/

Getting interop back is a hard slog, but it’s also our best shot at creating a new, good internet that lives up the promise of the old, good internet. In my next book, The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (Verso Books, Sept 5), I set out a program fro disenshittifying the internet:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

The book is up for pre-order on Kickstarter now, along with an independent, DRM-free audiobooks (DRM-free media is the content-layer equivalent of containerized services — you can move them into or out of any app you want):

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

Meanwhile, Lina Khan, the FTC and the DoJ Antitrust Division are taking steps to halt the economic side of enshittification, publishing new merger guidelines that will ban the kind of anticompetitive merger that let Big Tech buy its way to glory:

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/07/biden-administration-corporate-merger-antitrust-guidelines/674779/

The internet doesn’t have to be enshittified, and it’s not too late to disenshittify it. Indeed — the same forces that enshittified the internet — monopoly mergers, a privacy and labor free-for-all, prohibitions on user-side twiddling — have enshittified everything from cars to powered wheelchairs. Not only should we fight enshittification — we must.

Back my anti-enshittification Kickstarter here!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad- free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Image: Drahtlos (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Motherboard_Intel_386.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

—

cdsessums (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Monsoon_Season_Flagstaff_AZ_clouds_storm.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[sleepyhutcherson]

while we were getting high

“how many special people change? how many lives are living strange? where were you while we were getting high?” — ‘champagne supernova’ by oasis.

pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader

word count: 1.1k words

summary: where clapton and you get high almost every weekend except this time some words are exchanged.

tags: fluff, smoking, underage smoking, marijuana use (not mentioned though), honestly the smoking part isn’t really in detail but they’re high, best friends to lovers, oasis being praised and blur hate (i do not condone!), use of y/n, feelings being confessed sort of?

author’s note: i should be working on requests but i really had to urge to write for clapton since there is barely any content for him. why am i writing a fic about smoking when i have asthma. there’s brief discussion/debate about which of two bands are better (the bands being oasis and blur) but is that worth tw? like i feel like some people (by what ive seen) can take that stuff really seriously but i really don’t mean any hate towards oasis nor especially blur, i simply think that clapton would definitely be the type of guy to get into a debate over bands, or which band is better in this case, but don’t take anything seriously!

Your focus is not on Clapton’s rambling, instead you’re drawn to the familiar glow in the dark stars that stick to his ceiling within the many band posters he stuck up there. You’ve counted these stars several times before as this wasn’t your first time getting high in his bedroom.

You groan when you hear the same song start again from Clapton’s Ipod. He was the type of person that would obsess over a song and play it nonstop until he grew tired of it. His latest victim: ‘Champagne Supernova’ by Oasis. You don’t know how he hasn’t grown tired of listening to it on repeat, I mean, you have already! “Do we really have to listen to it again?” You whine, shifting around uncomfortably in his twin sized bed. The two of you were pressed up against each other, it was incredibly uncomfortable and yet you both always ended up in his bed for some reason.

A dumb smile curls up on his lips that you manage to catch briefly before returning your gaze back at his stupid ceiling. You don’t know why your heart quickens but you blame it on the amount of weed you smoked. I mean, it was probably that. “Yes, come on, Y/N, this is music! Real music.”

“‘Real music’?” You question, only to piss him off. A part of you liked seeing him angry, honestly. And you knew just how to push his buttons.

“Yeah. Unless you can name a better band.” Clapton challenges with an arrogant voice.

You could name so many other bands that have had a better discography than Oasis but you choose to name the band that you knew would rile him up. With a grin on your lips now you answer with what he would consider the worst band to name in this scenario.

“Blur.”

The words strike Clapton. Maybe he was being dramatic but honestly he found your choice offensive. He props himself on his elbows, no longer laying down completely. His face is scrunched up with slight disgust and confusion, an expression that resembles a child who’s just had a taste of a lime. “Blur?” He says with disgust in the word.

“Yeah,” you reply with a calm attitude. “They’re pretty good.” You continue to look up at the ceiling but Christ would you love to see the look on his face. “Better than Oasis.” You add for good measure.

You don’t know what reaction you expected from him, or well you did. You figured he would go on a long rant you wouldn’t be able to escape about how Oasis was in fact better than Blur. You did not, however, expect him to get on top of you, it’s so swift and sudden that you don’t even know how to respond. He pins your hands on either side of your head, your eyes now meeting his dark, mischievous eyes. Was he…grinning?!

Now you’re confused.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he teases, his body pressed up against yours. This is…not good. It feels good, sure, but Clapton was on top of you. Clapton, your best friend who you’ve known since grade seven. “We both know you’re just saying that to get a reaction from me.”

His hands grip onto your wrist, holding you in place. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe you just liked how he held you down. “Am I?” You play along, acting dumb.

His grin only deepens, his eyes frantically flickering from your eyes to your lips, your own eyes glued to his pretty pink lips. Fuck this wasn’t good. “You are,” his voice is deep now, a tease in his tone.

Before you know it, he’s inching closer to you. His fucking grin mocking you. “Clapton, we—“ shouldn’t, you think about saying but fuck, fuck, fuck his lips were grazing the skin of your neck now, his warm breath tickling you a bit. And that stupid song was still playing!

His thumb softly traces circles around one of your wrist. A part of you wishes your hands weren’t restrained down so you could tangle one in his hair. “We what?” He asks, his breath hitting your delicate skin.

“We—“ you can’t even finish. He doesn’t let you, his lips gently pressing a soft kiss against your neck, one that makes you tense up. Such an innocent kiss and yet that locked you. He continues to pepper gentle kisses on your neck, it’s so pure and sweet, especially when you feel his smile in each kiss.

“I’ve wanted this for so long now,” he admits before continuing to kiss your neck, his thumb continuing to trace around your wrists.

“You have?” You ask. A part of you thinks about telling him that you’ve secretly wanted this too for a bit now.

He stops to look at you now, his cocky grin replaced by a gentle smile. He nods with such a soft expression on his face. “Mm-hmm. I thought about what it would be like to kiss you every day, even while we were getting high.”

A crimson colour tints your cheeks. Clapton smiles more at that. God, you look so lovely now: flustered and underneath him, his hands wrapped around your wrists, your eyes boring into his. He would gladly count every eyelash, memorise every colour that paints your eyes.

“You’re high.” You giggle trying to play it off, though you don’t try to move away. Not that you could due to how he was holding you down.

“Yeah, you are too,” he says with a soft chuckle. His eyes don’t leave yours, he desperately wants to hold your gaze for as long as he can, honestly. “But even when I’m not high I still adore you.”

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little, your mouth slightly hanging open due to his words. Clapton grins at that and before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you. Your lips move with his, not resisting his lips. You honestly don’t think you’d be capable of resisting him after all of this.

One of his hands laces with yours, the other still pinning you against the mattress. He continues to kiss you and he really doesn’t want to stop. He’s desperately craved this for so long now. He smiles in the kiss then, realising he has the privilege of kissing you.

His smile felt so great against your lips.

After some time you both pull away, a huge dumb smile on Clapton’s face that makes you smile at how adorable he looks. He plops down, laying his head against your chest, wanting to be near you for longer. You don’t even have to kiss, you really don’t have to do anything but be close to him. That’s really all he wants. All he’s ever wanted from you.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @ploty-twist @jhutch-bf @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth @fallingboba @cassiecasluciluce @maticka @jhutchissupercool ♡︎

[bebe-writes-stuff]

"I hate my life, but I'll never admit it. I guess shame plays a role, but mostly I keep quiet for their sake. Life's unfair; I accepted that a long time ago. But I can't keep blaming everything on that unfairness; it's just part of my life now."

It was a daily routine she had forced herself to accept and get used to. Every morning, she woke up early to make breakfast for her two younger siblings. She would get them up, dressed, and ready for school, then walk them there. After returning home, she cooked a simple breakfast for herself, the last meal before facing her own day. She prepared for her own challenges, getting dressed and ready for school, and finally locked up their small, one-bedroom apartment before leaving.

"Hey, Y/N-chan!" Her friend, who walked the same path to school every day, called out. This caused her to stop, turn, and greet her with a forced smile.

Despite being Hina's upperclassman and older by two years, she found herself running into Hina quite often.

"Hey, Hina," she quietly said with a nod, noticing the concern that quickly clouded Hina's face.

"Did you get enough sleep last night, Y/N? You look tired. I have some water here. Drink up." Hina handed her a water bottle, which she raised her hand to refuse.

"It's alright, I'm fine. I was just working extra late yesterday. I'll manage," she politely declined, not used to accepting anything from anyone, even something as simple as a bottle of water.

"Wow, you're working really hard, Y/N. I've always admired that about you. You're so cool!" Hina chirped.

"Yeah, I guess I do," she muttered, before hearing a distant yell.

"Hinata!"

They both stopped in their tracks and turned to see a breathless boy, probably having run to catch up with them. He had messy yellow-blonde hair and a disheveled school uniform. Y/N took it as her chance to continue her walk to school alone.

"I'll let you be with your boyfriend now. It was good talking to you, though," she quickly said before walking a little faster, leaving them behind.

She let out a sigh of relief as she arrived early to class, immediately taking out her math textbook to review the day's lesson. This was her routine before class started and before any of her classmates arrived. Since she didn't have time to study after school because of her job, she used every morning to teach herself the material and complete her homework.

"Wow, already getting to work, L/N. You really are a hard worker. That's a good trait to have, especially rare to see in someone so young," her teacher remarked, accustomed to seeing her as the first one in class as always.

Day after day seemed to pass quickly. The school day was almost over, and there was little she looked forward to—except for seeing her siblings, of course. That was the highlight of her day. She would walk from her school to pick them up, make sure they got home safely, then head to her job and finish the day as usual.

"Well, that's the bell. You guys have a great rest of your day." The teacher finally said as the school bell rang signaling it was time to go. 

She was always the first to pack her things and head out before the hallways got crowded. She quickly sprinted, heading for her younger brother's school first. Being a third-year student herself, he was still a first-year being 14, and her youngest sister, who was in elementary school. 

The sky was overcast as she arrived at her brother's school gates, a slight chill in the air hinting at the approaching evening. She waited... and waited... until impatience began to gnaw at her. She called out to one of the kids leaving.

"Hey, um, do you know where Kenji is?" she asked, sounding a bit awkward.

The kid looked up from his iPod. "Huh, Kenji? Oh, I saw him earlier. Some upperclassmen dragged him off somewhere. I'm not really sure though. Who are you?"

Panic gripped her heart. She left the kid confused and quickly started searching for her brother. She knew all too well that when upperclassmen dragged a younger kid away, it usually ended badly. She had to find him before it was too late, before he got hurt.

"Dammit, dammit, GODDAMMIT," she muttered, her mind racing as she began running around the nearby parks and alleys by the school. "They couldn't have gotten that far."

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves around her and adding to her sense of urgency. Every shadow seemed threatening as she scanned the area, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Kenji before anything terrible happened.

As she rounded a corner, she heard the unmistakable sounds of kids bullying someone. Her heart pounded as she hurried closer, the voices becoming clearer. She realized with a sinking feeling that it was her brother, Kenji, who was getting beat up.

"You think you're tough, huh? Hand over the money!" one of the bullies demanded.

Kenji's voice was shaky. "I don't have any more. Please, just leave me alone."

Fury surged through her as she got closer and saw the scene: three upperclassmen surrounding Kenji, forcing him to buy them drinks and physically beating on him. She recognized her own hard-earned money being stolen from her brother.

"Hey! Get away from him, fucking dickheads!" she yelled, her voice filled with malice.

The bullies turned, startled. Their matching jackets bore the emblem of the "Tokyo Manji Gang." They seemed taken aback by her fierce glare and the anger radiating from her.

One of the bullies sneered, "And who are you?"

"I'm his sister. Now get lost before I bust all of your asses right now," she threatened, her voice dripping with venom.

The bullies hesitated, clearly intimidated by her presence.

"Let's go," one of them muttered, and they began to back off.

As they retreated, one of them tossed a parting comment over his shoulder, "We'll catch you later. Your sister can't protect you forever, punk!"

She ignored the taunt and rushed to Kenji's side, kneeling down to check if he was okay.

"Kenji, are you hurt?" she asked, her voice softening with concern.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, though he looked shaken. "Thanks, sis."

She hugged him tightly, feeling a mix of relief and anger. "Let's get you home. Don't worry, okay? I'll figure something out and patch you up."

As they walked home together, she kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, determined to protect her brother and make sure those gangsters wouldn't bother him again.

With Kenji in tow, Y/N hurried to their youngest sister's elementary school. When they arrived, little Reina was waiting outside, her eyes lighting up when she saw her siblings.

"Hi, Y/N! Hi, Kenji!" Reina chirped, running up to them.

"Hey, Reina," Y/N said with a smile, taking her hand. "Let’s get home."

Once they were home, Y/N set Reina up with a cartoon show on her computer to keep her occupied. Then, she turned her attention to Kenji, gently cleaning and bandaging his cuts and bruises.

"Kenji, what happened today?" she asked softly, trying to keep her voice calm.

Kenji hesitated, looking down. "I've become a slave to the Tokyo Manji Gang. They force me to spend money on them and made me join a fight club. They bet on me and I get beat up so they can win money."

Y/N felt fury boiling inside her, but she kept her expression calm. "How long has this been going on?" she asked, her voice tight.

Kenji shrugged, his eyes welling up with tears. "A few months. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you'd worry."

Y/N clenched her fists, trying to suppress her anger. "You should have told me sooner. We’ll figure this out together. Don't worry about anything anymore, okay? I'll take care of it," she reassured him, trying to sound confident. "Now, let’s eat."

She prepared a meal for both her siblings, setting the table and making sure they had everything they needed. As they ate, she kept an eye on Kenji, noting the bruises and the tired look in his eyes. She felt a surge of protectiveness and determination.

After dinner, Y/N headed to work at a nearby café. The café was bustling with customers when two young guys, about her age, walked in. She overheard their conversation and caught their names—Mikey and Draken.

"Mikey, you think we'll see any action tonight?" Draken asked, leaning against the counter.

"Who knows," Mikey replied, glancing around the café. His eyes landed on Y/N, and he nudged Draken. "Hey, check her out. She's pretty cute."

Y/N, focused on her work, didn’t notice their attention. She served them with a polite smile, not engaging in conversation.

After her long shift, Y/N changed into her simple regular clothes: Just a regular white top with jeans and a pair of flats, not that she had much clothes to begin with. On her way home, she noticed a few guys wearing the same uniform as the gangsters from earlier. Remembering her promise to protect Kenji, she decided to follow them.

They led her to a shrine, where hundreds of gang members were gathered. She sneaked around, looking for the guys who had beaten up her brother. Just as she thought she spotted them, she failed to notice a member who had detected the ruckus in the bushes. He approached her from behind and caught her.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered, gripping her arm tightly.

Y/N’s heart raced, but she met his gaze with defiance. "Let go of me," she demanded, her voice steady.

The guy smirked, tightening his grip. "You think you can just sneak around here without getting caught? Who are you?"

"None of your business," Y/N shot back, trying to yank her arm free.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against her face. "You’ve got guts, but that won't help you here."

Before he could say more, another voice called out, "Hey, what's going on over there?"

Before Y/N could react, the gang member dragged her roughly through the throng of Tokyo Manji Gang members, pushing her all the way to the front. The leader, none other than Mikey—the guy from the café—stood there, a look of confusion on his face. Beside him was another familiar figure: Takemichi, Hina's boyfriend. Y/N's heart sank, recognizing him as someone she never expected to see in a gang.

Eyes narrowing as he took in Y/N, Mikey said, "What brings you here?"

Y/N glanced around, noticing the expectant stares from the gang members. Among them was a strong-looking girl with short hair, her cute appearance at odds with the tough crowd. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"I’m here because of my brother," she began, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. "Some of your members have been using the gang's name to extort money and torment innocent people. My brother, Kenji, is one of their victims. They forced him to join a fight club where he gets beat up for their bets."

Mikey's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of shock and curiosity on his face. "Is that so?"

Y/N continued, "I won't let it slide. I'll stand against all of you if I have to, to protect my brother."

Mikey raised an eyebrow, impressed by her determination. "Call them out," he ordered.

Y/N pointed to the three boys who had bullied her brother. They reluctantly stepped forward, smirking confidently.

"Is this true?" Mikey asked, his tone dangerously calm.

One of the bullies sneered, "Yeah, it's true. That little pussy deserves everything he gets. He's weak and a loser. If anything, he deserves to die."

Another bully added, "Mikey, you'll side with us any day over some random bitch who interrupted our meeting."

Y/N's blood boiled. She stepped forward, fists clenched. "You think you're so tough? Let's see how you handle someone who fights back."

Without warning, she launched herself at the nearest bully, landing a solid punch to his jaw. She moved with precision and fury, taking down the three boys with a series of well-placed strikes. The fight was swift and brutal, and by the end, the bullies lay on the ground, groaning in pain.

Mikey watched, a mixture of amusement and admiration in his eyes. Some of the other gang members cheered Y/N on, clearly impressed by her courage and skill.

Breathing heavily, Y/N stood over the fallen bullies. "I'm done here. I don't need anything else from you," she declared, turning to leave.

As she walked away, Mikey called out, "Bye, Y/N. I'll see you later."

Y/N paused, glancing back at him with a puzzled expression. Why would she ever see him again? But she didn't have time to ponder. She needed to get home and take care of her brother.

The night was cool, with a light breeze rustling the trees around the Musashi Shrine. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the scene. As Y/N made her way home, she couldn't shake the feeling that her encounter with the Tokyo Manji Gang was far from over.

Back at their small apartment, she found Kenji and Reina waiting for her. Kenji looked up, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay, sis?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, giving him a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be okay."

She knew she had made an impression on Mikey and the gang, but what that meant for the future remains uncertain. For now, she focused on protecting what's left of her family.

--

should I continue this? part 2? also yall I'm backkk, school is over finallyyy

[galaxywarp]

I wanna take a sec and talk about something that means a lot to me

How do i put this….The part of my brain that is capable of having new experiences seems to finally be coming back online lately.

When i started using hard drugs in college, I….stagnated, as a person, in a lot of ways. I stopped listening to new music. I stopped watching new things. I stopped playing new video games. Any kind of change whatsoever, even a change in my playlist, became terrifying and impossible

For pretty much all of my early 20s i watched the same >5 shows on repeat all day and listened to the same songs and locked myself off from wanting anything new to come near me

When I found my old iPod touch from when i was a teenager i noticed my entire library had barely gained 80-ish songs in all the years that had went by

When i finally became aware of myself doing this i was embarrassed, but i didn’t really know how to fix it. Or rather, more accurately, I didn’t have the energy or willingness to do anything about it

But the last few months, as I approach one year clean, I’ve been trying so, so hard to get myself to do new things

And….its kind of working?

I’ve played a bunch of games that I bought in 2017 but never touched. I even finished a few of them! I listened to a few entirely new albums start to finish and fell in love with some songs and disliked others and heard so many new sounds

I tried painting for the first time. I started doodling a tiny bit again in a notebook that I hadn’t unwrapped from when it was gifted to me 3 years ago.

Ive looked up “cool parks near me” and picked out some ones Ive never even heard of to visit

I challenge myself sometimes to let myself drive in a new direction and forget the GPS for awhile and just be present

And it’s getting a little easier. It’s going so so slowly, but it’s going,

and when I finished playing this cute little indie game I’ve been wanting to play since I was 17 years old tonight, thinking about that made me really happy

[lillyphoenix]

How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 2

A/N: Time for the second chapter in this time-traveling/soulmate AU! This is a reader insert Elvis x fem!reader. I had an absolute blast writing this chapter. I really hope y'all enjoy it!

PS- thanks, as always, to my besties @ccab and @elvisfatass for listening to me scream about this series and helping me when I ask!

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! Drinking alcohol, lots of kissing, cussing, erections, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie... I think that's all.

Word count: ~5.5k

Maybe he'll just stay with you forever.

******

When you get back to the dorm, Elvis is all in a tizzy over your music. He wants to hear more, so you give him your iPod.

"What is this?"

"It's music. Here." You put the headphones over his ears and push play.

"Your records must be tiny!" He hollers over the sound of the music and you laugh.

"No records. The music is digital."

"Digital?"

"Oh man. How do I explain this? Just trust me. All the music is saved inside this thing."

"How many songs are in it?"

"It holds, like, thousands, but I think I have around 500. I don't buy as much music as I should." His mouth drops open and he looks down at the iPod.

"Can I take this back with me?"

"Absolutely not. But you're welcome to use it while you're here." He has another wave of hoping he never leaves.

"I love this." You can't help but smile at how excited he is.

"Okay, I need to get ready. I'm going to a friend's house for a game night tonight. Do you want to come with me?" He can't hear you over the music pumping through the headphones. You tap on his shoulder and he uncovers his ear.

"Huh?"

"Do you want to come with me to a friend's house for game night?"

"Oh, sure. I don't want to stay here by myself." Truthfully, he doesn't want to spend a minute away from you.

He goes back to listening to his music while you get ready. Watching you fix your hair and do your makeup is endearing to him. You realize he's staring as you swipe on your black eyeliner pencil.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're just real pretty." You feel your cheeks get hot.

"Thanks." You smile nervously. They definitely didn't exaggerate about how charming he is. Still, his presence is comforting for some reason and you'll miss him when you finally figure out how to get him home. That'll be your project tomorrow, though. Tonight's challenge will be introducing him to your friends without him finding out too much about himself.

When you're ready, you look over him to make sure he's not going to stand out too much. You get to his hair and frown.

"We need to do something about your hair."

"I can tell you right now what we're going to do. Nothing. My hair is fine." He moves his hands to his head protectively. He used half of your can of hairspray this morning fixing it. He's not going to let you touch it now.

"Okay, but no one does their hair like that anymore. You need to make it do this." You gesture to a poster on your wall of Joe Jonas with his hair in his face.

"No. Not happening." You laugh and reach up to tousle his hair and he grabs your wrists, laughing with you and hollering, "NO!"

He wrestles your hands back behind your back and pins you up against him. When he looks down at you, breathing heavily, you both stop laughing. The air between you is electric and he starts to lean in. His lips are almost to yours when there's a knock on your door.

"Y/n! Are you ready?" Katie busts through the door and Elvis lets go of you quickly. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were still here."

"Yeah, he's gonna be here for a bit. Is that okay?" You look at her with an awkward smile.

"Fine by me, as long as you two aren't too loud. These walls are thin, you know." You and Elvis both blush and she laughs. "We better go. I need to stop by the liquor store on our way there."

You nod. Luckily, Katie is 21, so you never have to worry about how to find alcohol for your parties. She walks out of your room and you look back at Elvis.

"I don't really drink." He shrugs.

"I know. It's okay. I hope you don't mind if I do."

"No it's- wait, how do you know?" You smile awkwardly again.

"I might've understated how much of a fan my grandma was. I know... things... about you."

"Like what else?!"

"Don't worry about it." You try to ignore your almost-encyclopedic knowledge of him.

"Come on, lovebirds! Let's go!" Katie hollers from the living room. Elvis takes your hand and you head out there to her. He's nervous, both to meet your friends and because you seem to know more about him than he does.

******

"Guys, this is John. We met in Tupelo. He's staying here with me for a while. Be nice, please." You say sternly as you look around the room at your friends. They introduce themselves and shake his hand. Your friend Ashley doesn't waste any time noticing his appearance.

"You look just like Elvis. Man, y/n, you have a type, don't you?" You laugh awkwardly.

"Yeah, John is a big fan of Elvis too. Hence the hairstyle." Elvis soaks in how commonplace it is for these people to talk about him. How do they all seem to know him?

You quickly change the subject before someone says something about him that he doesn't need to hear.

"So, games? I need a drink." You walk to the kitchen with Elvis in tow to fix yourself a beverage. He watches as you look through the liquor bottles.

"What are you looking for?"

"I'll know it when I- ah ha!" You settle on a bottle of Malibu coconut rum. Then, you open the fridge and pull out a bottle of pineapple juice and mix them together in a Solo cup. You take a sip and revel in the sweetness and he just watches you curiously.

"Can I try that?"

"Thought you didn't drink?"

"It's 2007. I think I can live a little." You hand him the cup and he takes a gulp and then looks at you wide-eyed. "That tastes like dessert!"

"You like it?"

"Yes. This one is mine." You laugh and make yourself another drink. This could get interesting.

Katie calls to you from the living room that it's time to start the first game. The evening passes and you play through a board game and a round of charades. He has you make him two more drinks and you notice his laugh gets louder and he touches you more. He's not drunk, but he's certainly feeling a little relaxed. You're not complaining, though, because you've had the same number of drinks and he is looking more and more irresistible.

You settle in to be a team for a trivia game and he wraps his arm around your shoulders and kisses your cheek. You giggle a little and lay your head against him. Katie watches the two of you and smiles. She knows how you've been alone for a long time. It's nice for her to see you happy, even with this stranger you picked up mysteriously in Tupelo.

"Oh, this seems unfair. It's a pop culture card." Your friend Brandon holds up a card with questions to ask the two of you. "Topic is Elvis Presley." Elvis whips his head toward you and laughs. He can't believe he's a whole card in this game. You don't think much of it when Brandon reads the first question.

"What year did Elvis buy Graceland?" Elvis sits up and hollers.

"1957!" Then, it hits you that there might be something on that card that he shouldn't know. Suddenly, you dive across the table and grab the card from Brandon, sending game pieces flying, before he can read the next question.

"Hey! What the hell?" Brandon yells.

"It's uh, an unfair advantage. Just pick another card."

"Seriously? Come on, y/n."

"Pick another card. Please." Elvis looks at you strangely and tries to take the card from you. You shake your head and put it in your pocket. The game continues and you try not the think about the fact that he almost had to answer a question about the year he died.

At the end of the trivia game, you decide it's time to head home. It's after midnight and you're not sure Elvis should have another drink. Katie agrees since she has to drive home. As you're walking to the car, Elvis wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses your cheek again.

"That was fun. 2007 is fun." He whispers in your ear. He's obviously a little drunk, but so are you, so you don't argue. Instead, you turn to face him and throw your arms around his neck, stumbling backwards.

"We have a good time." When you get to the car, he presses you up against it with his body and looks down into your face. He leans down and presses his lips to yours gently. It feels like someone has lit your insides on fire in the best way possible.

"Get in the car, lovebirds." Katie yells at you from the driver's seat. He backs off of you and opens the door for you to slide into the back seat together. It doesn't take long for him to pull you into him and kiss you again. This time, it's an open-mouth kiss and his tongue dips in to move against yours. You begin to make out pretty heavily, his hands moving over your body.

"Hey! No sex in my backseat!" You hear Katie holler from the front. You both start to laugh and he kisses down your neck, muttering.

"No promises." Luckily, it's a short drive back to the dorm, so he doesn't get much further, but the elevator ride is not very much fun for Katie. Finally, you're back to your room and you stumble in laughing and kissing in turns.

"Elvis, wait." He pulls back and looks at you with his heavily-lidded bedroom eyes.

"Yes, honey?"

"Nothing, I just... I'm gonna go to the bathroom." He sits on the side of your bed and watches you walk away.

In the bathroom, you go and then stare at yourself in the mirror. You have an opportunity here to live a dream you've had since you were old enough to know what sex is. But it feels wrong to do it like this, with both of you drunk. You steel yourself for how you're going to tell him no and then open the door.

It turns out you don't have to worry about it, though, because he's fallen fast asleep on your bed, fully clothed. You sigh and then go to take his shoes and his belt off. You change into pajamas and climb into the bed next to him, taking a minute to just look at him. He really is as beautiful as you thought he would be. Pictures didn't do him justice. You reach out and run your fingertip across his brow and down his nose. This is a miracle.

Just then, he rolls over and puts his arms around you, pulling you in close to him. He kisses your forehead and whispers.

"G'night, honey."

You settle in for another night in his arms. Tomorrow you need to try to find a way to get him home, but tonight, he's yours.

******

When you wake up in the morning, Elvis groans and pulls you in close to him.

"Good morning." You say quietly. He groans again and you realize he must be feeling his drinks from last night. You go to roll out of bed and he grabs you and holds you tighter.

"No, don't leave." He whines.

"I'm going to get you some water. It'll make you feel better; I promise." He nods and lets you go.

When you come back with the water, he's sitting up on the side of the bed with his head in his hands.

"Thank you." He takes the water and gulps it down.

"You'll feel better after some food. Take a shower and let's go get breakfast." He agrees and makes his way to the bathroom. You have a half-second fantasy of asking if you can get in with him, but you shake your head and get rid of that thought. You need to focus on trying to find a way to get him home.

******

After eating breakfast, you both feel a lot better. You start to brainstorm ideas for what to do.

"What if we go back to where you showed up?"

"That's an idea." He looks down at his hands. He doesn't want to tell you that he'd rather stay, at least for a little while longer.

"Okay, well, let's try that today. You'll need to put your suit from the concert back on. You can't wear these clothes in 1957." He nods and you notice how quiet he is.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just... I'm not sure I'm ready to go back."

"Elvis, you have to. You don't have a choice." He nods again and looks up at you, reaching across the table to put his hand on yours. He rubs small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Do I have to go today?" The way he feels about you makes him never want to go.

"We don't know how long we might have to get you back. We need to try."

"Okay." He gives you a sad smile, pats your hand, and stands up, stretching and yawning. You make your way back to the dorm for him to change before you head to Tupelo.

******

When you get to the fairgrounds, you go back to where you were when he ran into you, or at least to the best of your memory.

"Now what?" He looks at you anxiously.

"I don't know. I've never done this before. You're the one who time-traveled. What did you do?"

"All I did was come down the stairs of the stage and try to find a place backstage to... well... I was backstage."

"Okay, but was there anything different about this show that hadn't happened before?" He blushes and thinks about the massive erection he had when he came off the stage. Surely that's not related.

"Not really, no."

"Nothing at all?" He looks at you exasperated. You have to remember.

"There was one thing. You really don't know what I'm talking about? Please don't make me say it."

"Oh! Oh my God. Yes. I remember." You laugh out loud and he rolls his eyes.

"I don't think that has anything to do with the time travel." He mutters.

"We don't know that. What if it does?"

"That makes no damn sense, y/n." He puts his hands on his hips.

"Okay, but we need to try to perfectly replicate the circumstances. So, y'know, get after it." You gesture to his crotch and try really hard not to laugh as he stares at you.

"I can't just make it happen!" His face is bright pink and you're about to die from suppressing laughter. You stand and stare at each other for a bit, not sure what to do next.

"Well."

"You could help me." He gets a devilish look in his eyes and you shake your head frantically.

"Noooooo, that's, I can't..."

"You had no problem last night getting me there." Now it's your turn to blush.

"Elvis!"

"It's true! This is your idea!"

"Okay? Never mind. You're right. This has nothing to do with the time travel."

"Now, we don't know that. We have to perfectly replicate the circumstances. That's what you said." He takes several steps towards you and you feel the energy build between you. You look up at him as he gets closer and puts his hands on your hips. "We have to try."

He leans down and kisses you gently a few times before the passion takes over and you throw your arms around his neck and slide your tongue into his mouth. Before you know it, you're both locked in a tight embrace, kissing deeply with your bodies pressed together. After a few minutes you pull back, breathing heavily.

"Is it working?" He shifts his hips and presses his erection into you.

"What do you think?" He kisses you again with a new desperation. There's a big part of him that starts to get worried that this will work. It definitely feels like you're on the right track, even if neither of you can explain it.

But other than a slight electricity and buzzing sound, nothing happens.

You get to the point where if you keep kissing, he's going to lay you down on the ground and have his way with you right there, and he almost does, but another group of tourists comes into view.

"Shit." He hisses and fixes his dick so that it's up under his belt again. You breathe deeply and smooth your hair.

"Let's go. This isn't working." He says a silent prayer of thanks and nods. You head for your car before the group of tourists can spot him and ask to take pictures or something, assuming he's the most effective tribute artist of all time.

In the car, he looks over at you from the passenger seat and smiles.

"So now what are we doing?"

"I have no idea. I'm supposed to go out with my friends tonight. I'm not sure you should come."

"Why not? I promise I won't get drunk again."

"No, that's not it. I just... we're going to a club. I don't think it's going to be your scene."

"What kind of club?" A nightclub doesn't sound so bad to him.

"A hip-hop club."

"Hip what?" You roll your eyes and laugh. Sometimes he sounds like your grandpa.

You rifle through the cds on your visor and pull one down that's labeled "rap mix" with some doodles drawn on it in sharpie. When the bass beat hits, he looks at you with his eyes wide.

"Is this-"

"Music made by Black people, mostly." You cut him off before he can say something indicative of the time he came from.

"And you listen to it?"

"Oh yeah. We don't really... separate... like it used to be. Things have changed quite a bit..." His eyes light up.

"I wondered, since your friends were... not all white..." You forgot that it might've been a little shocking to him to see how diverse your group of friends was last night. Still, he seemed to take it in stride.

"Anyway, we're going to a place where they play this kind of music and people dance."

"I like to dance."

"This is gonna be dancing like you've never seen before."

"Everything here is like nothing I've ever seen before."

"You promise you won't get all weird and judgy?" He puts his hand on his heart.

"I promise. How bad can it be?" You think to yourself that it might actually be better if he has a few drinks first and then put the car in drive.

******

A couple of girls come over to get ready with you and Katie and pre-party before the club. They fawn over how cute "John" is and mix up some Malibu and pineapple. He looks at you sheepishly.

"Can I have one? I won't have as many as last night."

"I'm not your mother. Have as many as you want." You laugh. He grabs a cup and takes a sip, smiling. He stays in the living room on the couch marveling at how many channels are on your tv while you go in the bedroom with the girls to get dressed.

"Y/n, he is SO CUTE. He looks super familiar, though. How did you meet him?" Your friend Nicole remarks.

"It's because he looks like Elvis Presley." Ashley chimes in with her observation from last night.

"Yeah, I guess he kinda does in the right light. I met him when I went to Tupelo." You try to downplay how much he looks like Elvis because he is Elvis. Now it's Katie's turn to jump in.

"I'd love to hear the story of how you met. Because you were only in Tupelo for a few hours. And somehow you came back with this perfect guy."

"Oh, well, I went to the fairgrounds and we just sorta bumped into each other." You leave out the time-traveling bit.

"Shit, maybe I need to go wandering around Tupelo too." Nicole laughs and you pull an outfit out of your closet. You squeeze into the hot pink bodycon dress and slide the black vest over it, fastening the single button up under your boobs. You finish teasing your hair and put on a pink headband with a tiny bow. Your eyeliner is perfect and you're excited for Elvis to see you so dressed up. Once everyone is ready two drinks later, you make your way into the living room to grab Elvis and head to the club.

When he sees you, his mouth literally drops open. Up until now, you've had on jeans and a t-shirt or pajamas. This outfit shows off all of your assets and he's in awe. The other girls notice the way he looks at you and start to giggle. He sets his drink on the coffee table and walks directly to you, never taking his eyes off of you.

"This outfit is... wow." You look around at the other girls just standing and watching.

"Thanks. What?" He shakes his head a little.

"Nothing, you're just gorgeous, honey, that's all." You have the thought that you should just take him into your bedroom and let everyone else go to the club without you, but Katie speaks and shatters your daydream.

"Okay, lovebirds. Let's go. The club is waiting."

******

When you get to the club, there's a line outside but you can hear the thumping bass beat from where you stand. It's September, so the evening is chilly and you shiver in your sleeveless dress. Elvis doesn't think twice before wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm. You meet up with some of your guy friends and make it inside fairly quickly. You let your friends walk a few paces in front of you so that Elvis's reaction will go unnoticed. Once you get to a place where you can see the dance floor, you're glad you gave him some space.

"Holy shit." He looks around with his eyes damn near popping out of his head.

"Okay, you promised. No judgy bullshit." He turns and looks at you.

"This is amazing."

"Wait, really? I figured you'd get all shy and weird because, well, sex." He gives you a disapproving look.

"I've had sex before."

"Well, I know that, but still. I also know how and where and when you grew up."

"Looks like I finally know more about me than you do. Do you dance?" You're pleasantly surprised by his reaction.

"I do. I actually love to dance."

"Well, then, let's go." He grabs your hand and makes a beeline for the dance floor. Once you're out there, you turn to him.

"Are you ready for this?"

"Hell yeah." You turn around again and put your ass on him and begin to grind. He laughs out loud and puts his hands on your hips. It doesn't take him long to figure out how to move with you. This shouldn't shock you as much as it does, considering all the stage performances you've seen of his. You knew he could move his hips. The song ends and you face him, ready for him to say he's had enough, but the next song is one of your favorites. You put your hands on his shoulders and body roll into him.

"Yes, honey, I like this." He leans down and whispers in your ear as you continue to move together. You spend the next three hours either on the dance floor or taking short breaks at the table with your friends before he inevitably grabs your hand and drags you out to dance again.

By the time you leave, you're both so drenched in sweat that his shirt is soaked through and your hair is wild. On the way home, you sit in the way back seat of your friend's suburban and he wastes no time in wrapping himself around you and kissing you. Your friends laugh as you make out like teenagers and Katie hollers.

"Yeah, they do that."

Back at the dorm, you barely notice your friends as they continue the party in the living room and you tumble into your room with Elvis. You can still hear the bass beat from the music in the living room, so you push him into a sitting position on the side of your bed.

You turn away from him, putting both hands on his knees, and grind your ass against him. Then, you bend over in front of him and touch your toes, slipping your shoes off. He reaches out and puts both hands on your ass cheeks and grunts.

"Mmm, don't stop."

You turn to face him and unbutton your vest, sliding it off and throwing it to the side. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your cleavage, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your breasts. You unbutton his shirt and pull it off of his shoulders. Then, you pull your dress up and climb onto his lap, straddling him. You continue to grind against him to the beat from the living room, feeling his hard cock pressing against you as you do. He slides both hands up your thighs underneath your dress.

"Can I?" He looks up at you desperately and you nod. He tugs on the hem of your dress and pulls it up over your head and off. As he looks at you sitting on him in nothing but your bra and panties, he whispers.

"Wow." You lean in and kiss him deeply, skin pressed against his. He leans back until you're laying on top of him in the bed and then rolls over so that he's on top. He leaves a trail of soft kisses down your chest and reaches behind your back to try to undo your bra, but is completely confused by how different the clasp is from what he's seen before.

"What the hell is this?" You sit up and unhook it easily. He shrugs. "Okay, I'll figure that out later."

You laugh and he removes your bra, tossing it to the side. He goes back to kissing your chest, paying special attention to your nipples. You arch your back with the sensation of his warm mouth on you. He kisses down to your hip and then slips your panties down to your ankles and off. Going back to your center, he slides one finger into you and presses it in and out.

"You want me, baby?" He asks, voice dripping with lust.

"Use your mouth first." You respond breathlessly. He freezes and then sits up, looking at you.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I-I-I've never..." He stutters nervously.

"Shit, I'm sorry, never mind. I forget how young you are."

"Now, wait a minute. I'm older than you." You don't know how to explain to him that you forget he isn't who he will become yet.

"It's okay. Just keep going."

"Tell me how to do it." You sit up on your elbows.

"It's really okay. You don't have to."

"I want to. Tell me what to do." A thought comes to you. Are you really the woman that teaches Elvis Presley this skill?

"Okay, well, just put your tongue here and move it around like this." You put your finger on your clit and rub it in circles and over the top, pleasuring yourself. You moan softly at the feeling and he nods and leans down, pressing his mouth to you. He starts to move his tongue and you moan a little louder. You feel him smile and he starts to get a little more bold with his movements. He slides his finger back inside you and continues licking your clit. He sucks on it lightly and then goes back to moving his tongue on you. It doesn't take long for him to figure out how to read your body for signs he's on the right track and you feel the coil of your orgasm tighten.

"Oh, fuck, Elvis!" You cry out as the coil snaps and you feel the waves of pleasure crash into you from every angle. He laughs as you come hard on his hand, feeling your walls pulse around his finger.

"Ha! That's never happened before. That was... wow." He looks at you with sparkly eyes and you breathe heavily through the high of your climax.

You sit up and push his pants down his legs and off, letting his cock bounce free. You stroke him for a bit and he leans his head back with his eyes closed and mouth open slightly.

"You want to fuck me, Elvis?"

"God, yes, y/n, that's all I want." You pull his hips down to yours and line him up with your entrance. He pushes into you slowly and rests his forehead on your shoulder until he's filling you fully. "Mmm, goddamn." His voice is husky and deep.

You moan softly as he begins to pump in and out of you with more speed. His hips slam against yours to the rhythm of the music still coming from the living room. You fuck like this for a while with him on top of you, but eventually you push him onto his back and climb on top of him, sinking down onto his cock.

"Fuck, yes, Elvis." You start to grind your hips against him, pushing him deeper and deeper and he groans.

"'M gonna come, baby. You feel so damn good." You nod and keep going and he pops his eyes open. "Do I-"

"I'm on birth control."

"What?"

"I'll explain later just don't stop!" He pulls you down to his chest and fucks into you from underneath until he can't stand it anymore.

"Fuck, yes!" He shudders and pumps into you weakly a couple more times. You lay on his chest for a bit trying to catch your breath. Then, you slide off of him and settle in the crook of his arm. He turns toward you and kisses you fully on the mouth. "That was incredible! I've never done it like that before!" You giggle at his enthusiasm.

"Like what? With the girl on top?"

"Yes and without pulling out."

"Oh. Yeah it's a miracle of the modern age."

"Well, I love it. Goddamn, I'm in love with you now." He laughs and kisses you again. You're not sure he's kidding, even though he laughs.

That's when you hear it. The buzzing sound gets louder and louder and you notice that there's a spot next to your bed where the air looks wavy.

"Elvis, look!" He sits up and looks where you're pointing.

"What is that?"

"I think it's how you get home!" His face falls and his heart drops. He wasn't kidding about being in love with you. He can't go now, not after what you just did together. "Get dressed! You have to go!"

"No, I don't want to."

"Elvis, you have to. You can't stay here forever. You have to be... you." You jump out of bed and gather his suit. "Come on!"

He gets out of bed reluctantly and gets dressed, looking at the mysterious portal with disdain. You throw on your robe and sit on the side of the bed. Once he's fully dressed, he pulls you into him and kisses your cheek.

"I'm not ready to leave you." All of a sudden, tears gather in your eyes and a lump forms in your throat.

"I know. But you have to." He pulls back and looks you in the eyes.

"I wasn't kidding about loving you. Come with me!"

"I can't! Elvis, please just go. This isn't going to get any easier." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He grabs your face and kisses you one last time.

"I'll never forget you, honey." He caresses your cheek and then turns away, walking through the wavy air. He disappears and there's small pop as the portal goes away too.

You sit on the side of your bed and cry, tears falling into your lap as your shoulders shake.

You love him even more than you did before. Now he's real and you'll never forget the days when he was yours.

******

A year later, you go to Graceland for the anniversary of Elvis's death. You never stopped looking for him after he left, but you're starting to lose hope that you'll ever see him again. You do an evening tour and somehow manage to find yourself alone in a corner of the house. You break down crying, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. You miss him with every fiber of your being.

And then you hear it. The buzzing sound. And the air gets wavy in front of you. Could it be? It has to be. You jump up and walk slowly towards the portal, your heart beating wildly in your chest...

******

Chapter 3 coming soon!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog

[my-own-walker]

hi again lmao, can you please make an imagine where you have your first time with warren lipka (evan as him and female pronouns please )?? thank u sm

note: with peace and love, i know warren is a pretty darkly written/intense character with like a lot of baggage but in keeping with the theme of the reader's first time I'm gonna write him as a total sweet softie. no hate to people who write him that way, bc i eat it up every time, but yeah.

warnings: sm*t,

+++

The rain fell heavily on my windows, near gale-force winds roaring by outside. I always loved thunderstorms. I found I could only truly relax when the weather was at its most chaotic. Bad weather had always just seemed like a good excuse to do nothing.

And there was no one I enjoyed doing nothing with better than Warren. He and I were friends since childhood. Our birthdays were in the same month of the same year. Our moms met while pregnant. Joined some group of pregnant ladies that were pregnant together and due around the same time. Warren was just four days older than me. We had tons of play dates as kids.

I’ve always loved him. Even from our days in diapers. The way in which I loved him changed over the years, but sandbox love never dies. The underlying love I had for him was something born out of childhood that retained its youthful innocence. The blushing, bashful, feet-kicking, hair-twirling desire that permeates even schoolyard crushes.

Growing together and apart and then together again meant that no matter what, we could depend on one another. We went to the same pre-school, survived the perils of public school together-ish, then proceeded to go to the same college.

His mother was thoroughly convinced we’d get married someday. ‘It’s fate,’ she’d say. I wanted to be his someday. I never broached the topic with him, though. After countless ‘like a sister’ comments throughout high school, I didn’t dare suggest being something more to him. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be his someday. And I wouldn’t dare jeopardise our friendship for the fulfillment of some ancient crush.

But as the rain fell, surrounded in my blankets, laying next to Warren, listening to music, I couldn’t help but realize the feeling was becoming too much to bear.

He was always at my campus apartment. He hated living at home. We were so totally comfortable with each other, he practically lived with me.

He lay there, unmoving, on my bed. Just inches away from me. His eyes were cast at the ceiling, staring off into whatever daydream he fancied. The rain was also his favorite. ‘Karma Police’ by Radiohead began playing over the small speakers. Warren groaned loudly.

‘God, Y/N, enough of this miserable shit! Why do you only listen to like, the world’s saddest music?’ he whined. ‘Give me your iPod.’

‘You’re such a drama queen,’ I sighed, rolling my eyes as I chucked the device in his direction. He caught it clumsily and laughed in triumph when he switched the song.

‘Sweeter Memories’ by Todd Rundgren played.

‘That’s an out-of-the-box pick,’ I smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘You feeling some sappy 70s shit?’ He didn’t reply. I smacked him lightly on his stomach.

‘What?’ he exclaimed, feigning annoyance.

‘You like ignoring me?’ I laughed.

‘It’s only my favorite pastime,’ he snarked.

‘Yeah? Ignore this,’ I challenged, lurching to jab at his sides with my fingers. He jumped and sat up abruptly, turning to get me back. I squealed and scrambled to get out of bed before he could reach me, but it was no avail. He grabbed me around my waist and began to tickle my sides, rendering me utterly helpless. I succumbed to my own laughter and melted into his touch.

We ended up a collapsed heap on my bed, Warren hovering just above me as we both giggled. Sobering, he looked me in the eyes before lowering himself to kiss me. At first a soft, closed-mouth kiss, slowly morphed into something more passionate. Without warning, he pried himself from me, sitting up at the edge of the bed, turned away from me.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ he breathed. ‘That was…’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I interrupted.

‘No, man, I think I just took advantage of you or something. I’m sorry,’ he gushed, hands flailing defeatedly as he spoke.

‘Warren, it was okay I promise,’ I insisted.

‘I just, like sometimes, I’m just being stupid,’ he stammered. ‘I feel like I’ve just been wanting to do that.’ A hot flush came to my cheeks. Waves of heat on my face indicated just how much I had been needing to hear him say that.

‘Really? Because me too,’ I replied, almost soundlessly. He turned to face me slowly, an unreadable expression painted on his face. I froze and began chewing the nail on my thumb.

For some relevant context, I had really never even been kissed. Warren was a seasoned veteran in the world of relationships and physical touch. I, I guess subconsciously, had been waiting for Warren for years. So, in turn, it rendered me a hopeless romantic and a college-aged virgin. He was the one I wanted, so I never pursued anything with anyone else.

'Are you sure?' Warren spoke, breaking my train of thought. Instead of replying, I sat up on the bed to meet his lips and began kissing him again. He pushed me back down, positioning himself to be on top of me. ‘You okay?’

I didn’t even realize I had tensed up a bit.

‘I’m good I’m just…new to this,’ I breathed, punctuating my sentence with a small laugh.

‘Oh god, I didn’t even, I totally forgot you’ve never…’ he stammered. ‘I can take it slow.’

‘If you can’t walk, then run,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never been one to take things slow.’

His lips reconnected with mine. I reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged at it to indicate that I wanted it off. He adjusted himself to help me slide the fabric over his head. He laughed and shook his head.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ he chuckled.

‘Warren, shut up,’ I scolded.

He pulled my sweatshirt over my head, leaving me in just my bra and shorts. I felt weirdly exposed. I laid there, not entirely sure what to do with myself, where to put my hands, all of that. Warren took the liberty of taking his pants off himself, probably knowing I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it for him.

I felt his hot breath caress my chest as he peppered kisses all over my breasts, just above my bra. Goosebumps covered my skin. I had never felt anything like this. I just wanted him in every sense of the word. I guided his hand to the waistband of my shorts. He got the hint and pulled them off swiftly, beginning to kiss my thighs and tummy.

My stomach turned. As much as I wanted this, I couldn’t help but be a little scared. Warren looked up briefly and must have seen the look on my face. He softened and returned his attention to my face. The eye contact calmed my nerves, allowing me to give him the go-ahead to take things all the way.

He slowly pulled off my underwear and lined himself up with my entrance. I kept looking into his eyes to steady myself, and before I knew it, he was inside of me. I gasped quietly at the pressure.

‘Okay?’ he grunted. I nodded in reply. He pushed further into me, taking care not to hurt me. Tears rushed to my eyes. It was such a strange feeling. Warren hit his stride. Knowing my limit, he began to thrust rhythmically. At first, I wasn’t sure if I liked it. But after a bit, I began to relax into him and feel the pleasure and warmth of the experience.

I screwed my eyes shut and moaned slightly. Two things I had no control over. Warren moaned, too, seemingly pleased with my reaction. It wasn’t long before he came.

‘My god,’ I sighed, feeling a a sense of relief that was entirely unique and new. Warren, who had crashed down onto the bed next to me, panted heavily.

‘You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,’ he murmured.

‘What?’

‘It’s always been you,’ he continued. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’

‘Warren, there’s no way. I’ve always wanted you,’ I said, shocked.

‘I just thought, I don’t know, you saw us as just friends, or something. Nothing more,’ he elaborated.

‘That’s what I thought you felt,’ I replied.

‘Guess we just needed to talk it out,’ he smirked. He pulled me in closer to him, guiding my head to rest on his chest. Experiencing this side of him was something I’d always wanted, and I was in such disbelief that it was all happening so fast.

Listening to his breathing even out, my heart swelled at the dream I was now living.

+++

I think this sucks but I’m not sure LMAO. I just like Warren a lot and I picture him being very soft in private idk. Thank you again for the request!

[partiallypearl]

Music Shuffle Challenge - FTWS EDITION

IPod Shuffle Challenge Rules: 1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like. 2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle. 3. Write a ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards! No editing! 4. Do ten of these, and then post them.

SONG: Nineteen - Elestial 

Her nineteenth birthday is one of little fanfare. Just what Stella had wanted. Technically, it is also her coronation birthday. She is officially crowned queen of Solaria at 4:47AM, and she signs her name on the doted line. She’s the ruler now. No ands, ifs or buts about it. 

But here, in this dingy little diner, with Aisha and Bloom singing an off key version of Happy Birthday, she’s not the queen. She’s just Stella, who has two best friends who absolutely adore her, and are willing to make themselves look like total fools for her. 

“How does being 19 feel?” Aisha asks, grabbing a grape from Stella’s plate. Stella shrugs, tucking her chin length curls behind her ear. “It feels like every year before it. Too much and too little at the same time.”

Bloom hums, before gently bumping her shoulder. “But hey, at least you get the really fancy crown now.” 

Stella and Aisha both turn to look at the redhead in disbelief before they start laughing. Of course that’s what she chooses to focus on. 

[aesethewitch]

Shufflemancy 101: A Brief History & Analysis

Hey! If you like my work and want to support me in my quest for divination theory, digital tools, algorithmic quandries, and research into niche divination tools, consider throwing dollars at my Ko-Fi tip jar! Every contribution helps me keep making posts like this one. (You can also read this post over on Ko-Fi!)

The difficulty with researching something like shufflemancy is that it's a relatively modern phenomenon. I haven't yet found anyone (online or in a book) specifically talking about the origins of shufflemancy as a term or where it might've come from.

So, we start from square one.

What is Shufflemancy?

According to Wikipedia, shufflemancy is divination "by the use of an electronic media player such as an electronic playlist, iPod, or other medium wherein one skips a certain number of songs and the lyrics and/or tune of the song is the answer to the divinatory question."

Simple enough. Use an electronic collection of music that's been shuffled to divine.

This did lead me to the question: What counts as shufflemancy? Does tuning into a radio station count?

It's my opinion that radio divination does not count. There's no shuffle function. Yes, it has an element of chance, and that's what makes it divination. It certainly falls under the wider umbrella of divination via music, too. But it isn't shufflemancy if it doesn't make use of a shuffle function.

So, to make things simple, for something to be shufflemancy, it must:

Use an electronic medium

Involve a randomized shuffle function

Be something the shufflemancer can interpret to answer a question (pretty much anything)

Early Shufflemancy

The earliest form of shufflemancy as we understand it today, using the above requirements, would probably be tape players capable of shuffling music. With the nature of tape, it would take a while for the thing to wind and rewind to find the cue on the tape which signaled the start or end of a song, but it'd work.

With that said, shuffling as we understand and recognize it today would've started with CDs in the 1980s. There were CD players that could hold three to five disks at a time. They could shuffle songs between all disks held in the player, creating a random mix of tunes for listeners to enjoy.

Using either of these methods for divination would work, technically. The results would be somewhat limited, but that doesn't mean it's a bad method to use. Especially if your CD player could hold 5 disks, you could easily put in 5 albums from different artists with all different vibes for a wider variety of outputs.

I certainly remember using my little blue radio that held two CDs at once like this. I'd put in two albums and hit shuffle, and the first song that played would be my vibe and advice for the day. It was divination -- some of the earliest I'd ever done consciously, at the young age of nine. And when I got the bigger one that held three CDs? Game changer.

So this puts shufflemancy's origins somewhere around the mid-to-late 1980s, when Sony put out the first CD player with shuffle. As we moved into the 1990s, CDs became more popular and cassettes faced obsolescence.

The Shuffle Revolution & Early Modern Shufflemancy

In 2005, Apple changed the game again. It had already debuted the iPod in 2001, providing an easy, pocket-sized music experience as a direct challenge to the CD's cultural domination. On January 11, 2005, nearly 20 years ago, Apple announced the iPod Shuffle.

And oh, boy, did it change everything.

I could talk forever about the iPod's impact on the music industry, the death of the in-order album, and the eventual rise of music streaming services. But others have done that to death, so I'll focus in on our topic of shufflemancy.

This is where we start seeing shuffling music as it is now, in the modern day. In my digging, I found mentions of the term "shufflemancy" as early as 2007 -- just two years after the iPod Shuffle was announced. Someone proposed the concept and terminology of "shufflemancy" as we understand it today on a Halfbakery Forum "Idea" post on October 3, 2007.

It's difficult to say whether this is the first instance of the term. In reality, shufflemancy seems to have emerged as a natural by-product of the evolution of music technology. Where there is innovation, witches and diviners will mold it to their purposes. We're a resourceful bunch like that. It grew organically as we moved from buying albums to buying singles to streaming music without buying at all.

People were offering public shufflemancy readings as early as 2009 in places like TarotForum.net. It's spoken about during this era as a "silly" and "new" form of divination that people were trying out. There aren't any dates in that link, but according to the website's data, the first post in the thread was published on June 16, 2009.

From there, shufflemancy saw a gradual rise in popularity. It evolved from using iPods to iTunes, Napster, and eventually Spotify as these new applications emerged.

Shufflemancy Now

If you look up "shufflemancy" using Spotify's search function, you'll receive dozens of results. Many of the top playlists are public ones curated by shufflemancers for themselves and others to use. Options range from general playlists to "mega mixes" containing upwards of 200 hours of music from all different genres, artists, and eras. There are some with a paltry five hours of music, while one that I've seen goes up over the 600 hour mark. (If I can find that one again, I'll reblog it, because... damn.)

Select a "messages from your guides" option from the search or curate your own -- the choice is yours. For one-time shufflemancers, using a pre-made option may be the best, most economical choice. But dedicated shufflemancers sometimes boast multiple hundred-hour playlists for different purposes, all personally curated.

Clearly, it's popular. There are shufflemancers on Tumblr and Etsy offering free and paid services using their specially curated playlists. A quick search is all you need to find someone receiving a divinatory reading via song lyrics, meanings, and vibes. And it seems to work -- sellers on Etsy boast hundreds of positive reviews. Some even offer playlist curation services for personal shufflemancy or messages from deities and/or spirits.

It all begs the question, how does shufflemancy work?

Shufflemancy Methodology

Finding this is significantly easier than pinning down the history of shufflemancy. This post from Tumblr user orriculum, sums it up fairly well. So does this one by the-daily-diviner.

To do shufflemancy, the basic steps are:

Create or find a playlist of songs. A large collection seems to be the most favorable option for a wide spread of possibilities.

Ask a question. Divination 101 -- figure out what you want to know and ask it. Simple enough.

Pick a number. Choose any number and shuffle that many times or skip that many songs.

Listen to the song. Write down lyrics that stick out, messages that come through, and anything else that seems relevant (genre, tempo, vibe, etc.)

Interpret. Take the information gathered during the song and use it to draw conclusions, just like any other form of divination.

Simple enough. Shufflemancy is the sort of method that requires a high level of intuitive thinking. It's very mutable and suits a good amount of personalization.

This is both good and bad, I think. It would be incredibly easy to create a bias in your shufflemancy playlists by selecting songs with primarily one genre, artist, album, emotion, or through-line. The ideal playlist really does have a wide variety of music, and this means selecting songs that the shufflemancer doesn't necessarily like. We all have a genre or artist we hate; excluding an entire genre skews results. Impartial selections of music are critical to the success of good divination. Otherwise, we risk interfering with the outcome.

And speaking of interfering...

The Algorithm Problem

(Note: I'm focusing in on Spotify since it's very commonly used and because it's accessible to me. Shufflemancy can be (and is!) done with plenty of other apps like Apple Music.)

When Spotify was originally launched, it used a version of the Fisher-Yates Shuffle to perform its shuffling of music. In essence, this algorithm takes a finite sequence of data, picks an option from that selection of data, and removes it from the pool. Then, it picks another and another until no more options remain.

At first glance, this seems great! It creates a fairly random output. But as is the nature of randomness, there were clusters. The same artist would play four or five times in a row from a large playlist, and Spotify users complained. It was random, but it didn't feel that way.

The human brain is wired to find connections and patterns. When the same artist plays over and over again despite a playlist being on shuffle mode, it creates a pattern that the brain recognizes. Therefore, the "true" randomness of clustering outputs was unsatisfactory.

So, in 2014, Spotify updated it. Their new algorithm would detect and remember the song it just played and, in shuffling, account for the artist and album to provide a more random-feeling result. The new algorithm detects what's already played and selects accordingly to prevent the same artist from playing twice in a row, just as it prevents the same song from playing twice. It spreads artists out evenly (though not perfectly, to maintain the illusion of randomness) to provide an enhanced listening experience.

What does this mean for shufflemancy, then? If Spotify's algorithm is interfering in the output provided from a playlist, does that mean it's not a reliable form of divination?

At first, I wasn't so sure. I adjusted my thinking -- if a tarot app was preventing certain cards from being drawn (or from being drawn in a particular order) because I'd already drawn them that day or week, would that render the app unreliable? And the answer was yes. It would! It removes the random element from the method, therefore making it not true divination by my definition.

So shufflemancy with Spotify isn't (good) divination, then. Right?

My Opinion & Theory

In thinking about this further, I think it comes down to personal opinion. People certainly have success with shufflemancy via Spotify, or else they wouldn't do it. They definitely wouldn't offer their services (free or otherwise) if they weren't confident in the results it provides.

Thinking that way, I believe there's a way to off-set the algorithm's interference. With enough songs in a playlist, the random element is enhanced despite the algorithm. Not by having the same song multiple times (Spotify would surely detect this and prevent it from playing), but perhaps the same song covered by different artists. Songs with the same vibe, the same meaning, similar lyrics... AND songs from a wide variety of artists and genres, regardless of whether the shufflemancer likes the songs or not.

The person with that 600+ hour playlist for shufflemancy has it right, I think. That's the key. Variety and volume to make up for Spotify's algorithmic shuffler.

Additionally, in listening to my many, many Spotify playlists, I noticed something. If I'm listening to a playlist on shuffle and decide I want a specific song, I can choose to play it immediately. Afterwards, songs I've already heard might play. It seems as though doing this resets the shuffling algorithm in some way. Doing this in combination with a large and varied playlist might be the key to making shufflemancy in Spotify truly, fully reliable.

My Next Steps

Obviously, scholarly research only goes so far in situations like this. In order to properly gauge the accuracy of shufflemancy, I'll have to do it myself.

First, I'll need a playlist. I have a handful of playlists that sit in the hundred-hour range, but they're curated with friends for specific vibes. They're not really suitable for shufflemancy. So making one for myself is step one. I'll use premade playlists as a springboard for ideas, but the end result will be my own. For transparency, I'll make the playlist public and share it as part of the next edition in this series of posts.

The next step is to just... do it. Do the divinations, and do them regularly. Instead of a daily tarot card, I'll do a daily shuffle. I'll form "spreads" and put together a more in-depth methodology that fits my style as it develops.

Then, finally, maybe public ones? For reviews and feedback, obviously. It's one thing to do divination for myself -- confirmation bias and all -- but to do it for others and to be open for immediate feedback is entirely different.

Last, it's a matter of compiling my findings into a coherent document. Easier said than done, but done it must be.

Resources

I pulled from a lot of places for this one. Massive thanks to the Crossroads Discord for listening to me yell about divination for the last several weeks. It will continue.

In any case, here are all the resources I referenced for this leg of research:

Wikipedia - The Fisher-Yates Shuffle

Wikipedia - Methods of Divination

Wikipedia - The iPod Shuffle

PopSci - History of Shuffling Music

Engineering at Spotify - How to Shuffle?

The Verge - The Mixed-Up History of the Shuffle Button

Auntie PanPan (YouTube) - Shufflemancy - What IS It?!?

Halfbakery - Shufflemancy Idea Post

Fox and Faith Wordpress - Radio Divination and Intentional Living in Your Day to Day

Scientific American - How Randomness Rules Our World and Why We Cannot See It

PC World - The CD Player Turns 30

Make Use Of - How Spotify's Shuffle Feature Really Works

Orriculum on Tumblr - Post on shufflemancy technique

The-Daily-Divinre on Tumblr - Post on shufflemancy technique

Empirical Zeal - What Does Randomness Look Like?

[thebadtimeskid]

Best thing about Dune 2 is how absolutely filled with nasty freaks Geidi Prime is. Just a whole planet of gross weirdos. You might think "Oh well it's just the Harkonnens and their army" but no, it turns out everywhere is just Like That.

I challenge anyone to live on a world with a black sun that turns everything outside into some black and white iPod advert from Hell and not turn into creepy Smooth 'n Oily bastards cheering for bloodsport with eight violent fetishes. Even their fireworks are grody ink ballons it fucking rules.

[mostlymaudlin]

just read every single one of your fics and prompts. ur so good i literally love everything you’ve ever written ever. would you be able to write (or recommend if you don’t fancy writing it) some wymack just being so good to neil and or andrew? being there for them, understanding them, i love parental wymack

hi anon 🧡 ty for being so nice!!! it has been a while since you asked this question, sorry. ive read a lot of excellent portrayals of wymack, but i don’t know that i could name any fics that really focus on this? as you probably know, i wrote one wymack pov fic, but it’s still mostly about andreil hahaha.

ANYWAY. i know you said parental, but i was kinda thinking abt the very unique role he serves. And I did write a little scene abt Andrew’s midnight break-ins to Wymack’s apartment 🤪 cw for vague mentions of past abuse/self-harm.

rated t, <1k

“And here’s the real kicker, Coach.”

Wymack is fairly certain that the information Andrew is about to deliver will not be the kicker. He’s fairly certain that it will only lead Andrew to another line of outrage about the thing he is always rattling on about these days when he breaks into Wymack’s liquor cabinet: Neil Josten.

“He doesn’t even listen to music!” Andrew says. “I know you see him running on that treadmill too, eyes glazed over like a goddamn zombie. I heard Boyd offer to let him borrow his iPod, and he went, ‘oh, no thanks, I don’t listen to music.’ And Boyd kept pushing him, trying to find out if he liked an obscure genre or something. But he is ambivalent to it. Be honest, Coach — did he grow up in some kind of satanic cult? Is he brainwashed? Is he going to hear some code word and go ape shit on us?”

Andrew is lying on his back on the sofa, dirty boots on the arm rest and a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand. He’d made significant progress on it before Wymack even got home, and Wymack can see it flushing his cheeks and ringing around his eyes.

Wymack has dealt with a lot of fucked up kids, but in some ways, Andrew is one of the most difficult. It’s not the violence or the bad manners or the obstinance — Wymack can deal with that shit all day long.

It’s nights like this that make Andrew such a challenge in Wymack’s head: Why does Andrew come here? What is he looking for? What has Wymack done to earn this frankly irritating privilege — and how can he make sure he doesn’t squash it?

Andrew doesn’t talk to anyone. Betsy doesn’t tell Wymack much about the kids, but even she has expressed worry at the layers of repression Andrew seems to hold.

But sometimes here, between casting Neil in various villainous roles or complaining about Kevin or stating his grievances with Palmetto State’s meal options, Andrew drops in something real. A comment about getting slapped by a foster mother. A crude joke about the scars Wymack already knows are on his arms. Hints toward some kind of big secret that Andrew seems to dangle in the air between.

It’s always casual. It always feels like a test. Wymack doesn’t know if he passes or fails — Andrew always just finds his next tangent and moves on.

Wymack rubs his temples. He must take too long to offer a grunt to indicate he’s listening, because Andrew looks over to where Wymack sits in his armchair.

“I don’t think Neil is religious,” Wymack finally offers.

“But would we really know?” Andrew asks. He sighs, dramatic, turning his head away again. “He doesn’t add up.”

“He’s hiding things,” Wymack agrees. “So is everyone else on the team.”

“Yes, but everyone else on the team isn’t as interesting.” Andrew brings the bottle to his lips again. “He’s a threat. But it would be less of a problem if he wasn’t so nice to look at. It’s very distracting.”

Well. Wymack didn’t see that coming.

Maybe he should have.

Andrew keeps his eyes on the ceiling, but the air is charged as he waits for Wymack’s reaction. Wymack holds in a heavy breath.

“Maybe you’re looking so much that you’re seeing stuff that isn’t there,” Wymack says.

“Ha,” Andrew says, but there’s little amusement in his voice. He tips his face toward Wymack, pointing with the bottle in his hands. “That’s a good one, Coach. But no. He’s definitely up to something, and I’m going to figure it out. How far is Millport from Area 51?”

“Far enough,” Wymack says.

Andrew hums. “He’s pretty fast. Maybe he escaped containment there and ran.”

Wymack snorts. “Report back when you’ve exhausted that theory. Preferably not in the middle of the fucking night.”

Andrew laughs. It’s not a joyful sound, but it’s familiar.

The are boundaries he’s supposed to maintain, and he knows Andrew wouldn’t want to have rules bent for him. The minute Wymack gives Andrew an open-door policy, he’ll never see him again. He’ll never get to see if he’s passing Andrew’s tests — he’ll never figure out if there’s something he can do.

So he’ll play the role. It’s not hard — he’s old and grumpy and tired. He’ll listen to Andrew bitch, even when it’s about these other kids whose names weigh heavy in his chest.

Maybe it will pay off, maybe it won’t. But this is the job. He has to be okay with these odds — they’re the best he’s going to get.

[lonelyroommp3]

what would be on your enjoltaire 8tracks playlist if you made it today

you know what i didn't realise how effective my recovery from e/r had been until i sat down to make this and actually ended up having to crack open my beloved 2014 iPod That Still Has Flappy Bird On It And All in order to make a decent length playlist bc i just do not listen to enjoltaire songs anymore apparently. all this to say this has about 5 songs that, per your actual prompt, would be on my enjoltaire 8tracks playlist if i made it today and then 15 others that are direct dispatches from the mind of teenage alix. do NOT listen to this for sonic cohesion because trust me you will not be getting any

anyway i set myself one (1) rule for this which was i am not allowed to use any song that i have seen on an enjoltaire fanmix before. this made the entire project even more challenging

and if you're curious to know what the fuck i was thinking here, director's commentary below the cut:

secret diary - autoheart rip enjolras you would have loved listening to this song when you were really pissed off with grantaire

too sweet - hozier loath as i am to include a song that has become this grossly overplayed via tiktok, the very first time i heard this song i thought my god if hozier had released this song 10 years earlier it would have had the enjoltaire 8tracks girlies in a CHOKEHOLD. i can't not include it

i'll come running - brian eno i might be breaking my own rules here because a rando song being on my old ipod from an artist i otherwise barely listen to probably suggests i stole it off an 8tracks fanmix. but whatever it's an enjoltaire fanmix, it's a good song, did anyone else clock it in the background of baby reindeer (i have not finished that show and i am not going to, but anyway, great song)

satanist - boygenius "solomon had a point when he wrote ecclesiastes/if nothing can be known then stupidity is holy" could literally be a line from one of grantaire's drunken rants. welcome back victor hugo

the bird and the worm - owl city this is a teenage alix enjoltaire playlist classic. i won't apologise

stephen - kesha i firmly believe every e/r playlist requires at least one song that doesn't really fit in the details of the lyrics but the vibes are so grantaireish it's got to make it in. do you guys think the ugly girlfriend sneering across the room was epo-*i am shot*

gold rush - taylor swift IT'S THE ONLY TAYLOR SWIFT SONG ON HERE I PROMISE. HEY WHERE ARE YOU GOING. HEY STOP WALKING AWAY AND TELL ME "AT DINNER PARTIES I CALL YOU OUT ON YOUR CONTRARIAN SHIT" ISN'T AN ENJOLTAIRE LYRIC. COME ONNNN

for you and your denial - yellowcard about here is where i just gave up and cracked open the old ipod. i also wanted a clear vibe shift in this playlist and right about here is where i think we move from "mostly lighthearted pining and jabbing at each other's conflicting beliefs" to the "enjolras and grantaire biting each other's heads off" part of the fanmix. anyway i literally bought this entire album in hmv in like 2012 because i stumbled upon this one song on youtube and thought nah mate. this is e/r

make me wanna die - the pretty reckless i honestly have very little to say on this one. just more pissed off vibes

call me when you're sober - evanescence the simple fact of the matter is evanescence defined my teenage years and this will always and forever be an enjoltaire song

for a pessimist, i'm pretty optimistic - paramore i have really vivid memories of being on holiday with my parents in like 2013/14, stuck in rush hour traffic out of rouen, this album blasting in my ears, thinking this song is exactly what enjolras is thinking when grantaire goofs up at the barrière du maine

one big beautiful sound - johnny manchild and the poor bastards it is my near religious belief that every enjoltaire fanmix should have at least one song that sounds like this because i think this is precisely the kind of music that grantaire would actually listen to. actually tbh i think he is also into really really filthy drum and bass but i'm trying to keep this playlist at least slightly sensible

ever - emilie autumn this is such a perfect e/r song that it even talks about painting somebody's portrait. straight out of the fanon playbook, thanks emilie

misty - laufey right around here, or really starting with "ever", we hit the third phase of this playlist, which is "songs to be passed out and suicidal to while all your mates are getting violently killed around you". please note the hand holding foreshadowing. don't ever say i half arse these things

i'm your man - mitski genuinely this one speaks for itself i think. jaw dropped when i heard this one for the first time.

what if - emilie autumn here's where we kind of transition into the fourth portion of the playlist, which is "grantaire wakes the fuck up and goes hey wait no, i think i am going to die for & with this man actually". getting a bit more optimistic and determined but we're still in that wistful acoustic ballad space we've slipped into previously

twin flames - epica this is not from design your universe, epica's previous album, but i just wanted to use this space to say that i would regularly sit on the bus home from school imagining a whole elaborate barricades themed visual album set to design your universe. this bonus track from their next offering was just the icing on the cake. any song with a lyric like "you're all i need/my one belief" was like CRACK to teenage alix i s2g

save yourself, i'll hold them back - my chemical romance 15 year old alix would have figured out time travel to come and kill 27 year old alix in my sleep if i hadn't put a single mcr song on here

bows and arrows - kaiser chiefs i was OBSESSED with this album in 2014 and completely forgot its existence until i resurrected the old ipod. and it's REALLY good. especially this song, which i decided to check the lyrics for on genius bc i vaguely remembered it being an e/r song to me but i also haven't listened to it in like 10 years, and these quotes from ricky wilson absolutely flabbergasted me: "I liked the idea that bows and arrows are pretty useless on their own but when you get them together, they can be quite formidable... What’s wrong with a load of blokes admitting they need each other?"

i, carrion (icarian) - hozier listen, half of the reason i'm including this song is a bit of a joke at the fact that due to my self imposed rules i can't put icarus by bastille on here, but i do kind of like it as a frozen in time slo mo as the bullets hit kind of finale to this whole thing :)

[aroaceleovaldez]

I'll complain about this until the end of time, but I cannot stand the characterization of nico listening to emo music. please give this kid some metal to listen to, if you wanna keep the silly level of darkness that people try giving him with emo music let him listen to some pretentious black metal or something, but there's no way in hell nico would listen to fucking fall out boy

I respect you anon but I am so sorry, I am the exact opposite.

I love the idea of Nico listening to normie emo music cause it's just easiest to find and he's technologically challenged and also he almost definitely got into it because Thalia handed him her ipod one time when he was 10 to get him to shut up for 5 minutes and he ended up binging MCR's entire discography. Also, he's too nice to be pretentious about anything and he's a huge nerd. All that + Rick saying Nico likes technopop, Nico definitely has like a solid couple hundred plays of Rolling Girl on his probably stolen ipod and if you hit shuffle it's a weird combo of emo hits of the early 2010s, Porter Robinson and Mika, and anime OP jumpscares. If circumstances were slightly different he'd be a scene kid.