#I was just joking Sartre!

[bestartistalive]

jean paul sartre more like jean paul SHART

amiright

#text post #phenomenology #philosophy #i actually enjoy his work this was just and easy joke #jean paul sartre

[rhube]

Existentialism and anti-fascism

I don't have the spoons to make this the essay it should be, but a passing quote from Sartre on Mastodon brought something into focus for me that should have been blindingly obvious. The quote is this:

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past. - Jean Paul Sartre (1945), Anti-Semite and Jew, pp. 13-14

(It should be acknowledged that he's specifically addressing anti-Semitism, but apart from the fact that fascism and anti-Semitism tend to go hand in hand, I don't think it's controversial to say that they operate using the same playbook.)

What jumped out at me is the bit about acting in bad faith.

You see, the importance of acting in good faith is a central aspect of existentialist ethics. In brief, the thought is that, for conscious beings (humans) existence precedes essence - we are fundamentally free and self-determining; each person decides their own purposes (their 'essence'). When you blame your actions on external forces (genetics, societal pressures, God etc) you are acting in bad faith and seeking to evade responsibility by denying that, whatever circumstances you found yourself in, you still had some form of choice for which you are responsible.

When you act in good faith you not only acknowledge the responsibility for your choice and its consequences, but also recommend that action to others. By acting, you attach value to the kind of action you performed (it is worthy of being done), and it is in this that moral value is created.

In this way, integrity is central to existentialist ethics.

As we have all seen in recent years, fascists have absolutely no integrity. They cannot be shamed. Few have denied that characters like Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, and Silvio Berlusconi are ridiculous figures. Frequently those inside and outside the countries in which they reside look on in horror and ask themselves 'How is this possible? Why do people keep voting for them? Can't you see these men are a joke? A dangerous joke?'

Yeah, but they don't care. They live in bad faith. They have no integrity, because they know integrity is draining, and taking responsibility for what they do and say is something they have no intention of ever doing. They don't deign to give reasons because they want to convince you that the reasons (or at least ones that make sense) don't matter. They will dizzy you by jumping from argument to contradictory argument without hesitation, because any person who lives in good faith feels bound to unpick the mess they leave behind to justify their own decisions.

But it's a trick. You should be prepared to justify yourself to interlocutors acting in good faith, in as much as you should take responsibility for your actions, but the person acting in bad faith has no argument. Their actions are not at all bound by anything they say. You are arguing without an interlocutor, and the fascist has succeeded in wasting time and energy you could have put to meaningful resistance.

I've always been partial to existentialist philosophy: there is no fate but what we make for ourselves, no meaning to life but what we put into it. I don't think it's the whole picture. Long-time readers will know I favour a refined form of rule utilitarianism, but a part of that is that I believe you cannot have a happy society without integrity.

Just as with Davidson's Principle of Charity - we cannot even begin to have meaningful communication unless we assume that those with whom we communicate are speaking the truth and are largely correct in their beliefs.

Fascists trample all over that. They do not care about the truth and they have no problem lying to you. They require no correspondence between their words and either the world or their actions.

And yet it's still true that they rely on a background of truth and sincerity in order to be understood. They need to at least appear to be speaking the same language as we do. They may more frequently stumble into obvious gaffs where communication collapses - Johnson's vague blustering noises, Trump's 'covfefe' - but they have to string enough words together to at least *sound* like what they are saying means something.

Anyway, the point is: I always admired this philosophy, and I knew that it came out of the post-war sense of abandonment - that there is no force for good that prevents death and torture on a massive scale, only human endeavour. What humans choose to say and do.

As someone who has often been troubled by the quietism of despair, I immediately found this deeply comforting and empowering, even in as a teenager in the boom years of the turn of the millennium.

What I hadn't put together was that talk of good faith and bad faith is not only a deep philosophical truth about ethics, it is a straightforward practical critique of fascist rhetoric.

This way of arguing to score points - usually in support of right-wing positions - was something I found intensely frustrating as a young adult. I can remember specific individuals who behaved that way and the destruction the wreaked in my life. As a philosopher - someone who is good at arguing - it felt sort of shameful to me that I wasn't quick-witted enough to marshal my thoughts in the moment and unpick why what they were saying was nonsense.

But I can now see that that wasn't my fault. What I eventually did - which was to remove myself entirely from their presence - was the only rational call. It's just soul-destroying that for me that meant leaving behind the vast majority of my friends, who couldn't see what the problem was with that person, and were thus left to be poisoned against me by what they said.

I'm digressing into an old pain. The point is that at that time, people behaving like this were isolated individuals. Now they are dominating our politics, traditional media, and social media. Because fascism is rising again.

Of course Sartre was talking about how people who act in bad faith are dickheads that poison our communities - he lived through the rise of fascism!

He was making the incredibly important point that it's not just that a failure to take responsibility for one's actions brings negative value into the world, but that the Worst Wankers You Know literally argue in bad faith as a way to tie careful thinkers in knots and whip up the emotions of less careful thinkers.

A middle-class white 16-year old, living in boom years, just couldn't connect the dots - even though I was still at the intersection of multiple oppressions. I had been raised to fully believe that good debate was possible and should be the goal. I was doing a Media Studies A-Level, so I knew dishonesty happened in news and media, but... how to explain?

Elder Millennials were sold a dream of reality and progress that genuinely seemed to be going on in our teenage years and early 20s. There were still problems to solve, obviously, but many of us - especially where we had some kind of privilege - believed that racism was declining; the gender pay-gap was closing; homophobia was decreasing; and anyone could achieve anything they put their mind to, no matter their disadvantages, if they just tried hard enough. Nevermind that in my country if you were LGBTQ+, but not L or G, you probably didn't realise it, because you weren't allowed to learn about people like you in schools.

It's why so many of us are burnt out. Because it wasn't true. And we tried to be all we could be anyway.

But when you're 16, you're not burnt out yet. You believe that 'Never Again' means it can't possibly happen again. You learned about the Holocaust in school and are horrified, but it's at a complete disconnect from your reality. You have never knowingly heard anyone say anything anti-Semitic (of course, you probably heard things said in code that you didn't understand). It's a feature of The Past. You don't understand how it could have come to be, because no one actually taught you how it came to be.

I read Existentialism is a Humanism, but I didn't read Anti-Semite and Jew. And when they taught Existentialism is a Humanism we discussed Sartre's example of the student who's unsure if he should join the resistance, but no one explained that 'bad faith' wasn't just a technical term that has a specific meaning for Sartre's ethical analysis, it's also literally about how some people make bad-faith arguments as part of fascist and anti-Semitic rhetoric.

So I never thought, 'Oh, this person is arguing in bad faith on purpose to waist my energy,' - like, I sort of knew they were doing it to wind me up and because they were an arsehole, but I didn't get that it was a political strategy for stifling progress.

And all this distillation of political statements into 'sound bites' is fundamentally to the fascist's advantage. Because they explicitly don't care about reasons, and normal humans DO. So when all you heard are sound bites you can fill in reasons not given, and it doesn't matter what you imagine for the fascist, but if a progressive doesn't get to explain their point fully, it's very easy to make them into a strawperson they will spend the next few news cycles failing to unpick.

ARGH.

I'm not sure I'm any nearer to knowing how we defeat fascism. To an extent, it's comforting to know that we came out of it and had these discussions before. But it's endlessly frustrating to know how much was LOST from the public consciousness - even from people who DO know something about what was said - despite the best efforts of philosophers and writers and film directors and everyone who kept trying to communicate it to us.

#existentialism #fascism #anti-semitism #genocide #holocaust #sartre #bad faith #good faith #philosophy #ethics #rhetoric

[sweetlullabyebye]

Dead Poets but as philosophic stuff because I'm desesperately trying to learn this shit and nothing is sticking to my brain:

Neil: existencialism, specifically absurdism. Basically, life has no meaning, so you can either accept it or not. There is no greater goal or anything. Includes thinkers such as Camus or Sartre.

Todd (mostly at the start of the movie): determinism, which is kind of the opposite of existencialism, since the idea is a 'everything was planned out before and you cannot change it' type of mindset. It excludes freedom of choice, since your decisions have very little impact over everything. You're just in a boat in a storm and you have very little control over anything.

Charlie: hedonism, which is the pursuit of pleasures and the avoidance of pain. According to this idea, you'd take action depending on how much pleasure or pain you'd get from it.

Cameron: utilitarianism, or acting in a way to maximize happiness for the biggest amount of people. Includes philosophers such as Bentham or John Stuart Mill. Examples of utilitarism could be: if you were a train conductor and you had to either

stay on tracks, do nothing and hit a group of people that were on the rails

change your trajectory and instead hit one person

what would you do? Well according to utilitarism you would change trajectory, as it would benefit the greatest amount of people.

Meeks: rationalism and consequentialism. Tbh I don't really understand rationalism, but from what I know, its basis is that reason is a source of knowledge and stuff. Consequentialism is interest in the consequences of one's actions; realistic consequences. So before you act you think of the consequences kind-of-thing.

Pitts: solipsism, according to which the only thing that exists for sure is the thinker. I don't really get how it's different from Descartes 'i think therefore i am', but so solipsism would mean that you can only be convinced of your own existence.

Knox: idealism; reality, perception, ideas etc are all linked, and ideas represent a reality. I didn't really listen during this part of the lesson tbh -which is why I have to revise now using things like this post-.

Mr. Keating: stoicism; accept that some things are out of control, and act in a way so to do right by others and stuff. A stoist philosopher was, for example, Crysipus, who died laughing at his own joke.

Chris: eudaemonism, which is similar to hedonism, except that happiness is seen as a logical finality and it's basically a fact that most people want happiness. So it's happiness instead of pleasures that is pursued, with philosophers such as Epicurus.

Mr. Perry (not a Dead Poet but the only person I could think of for this): deontology, which is like a set of rules around duties and obligations, and has as a goal to preserve future generations. Idk he doesn't totally fit deontology but I had no one else in mind. Anyways I hate Mr. Perry and I hate learning philosophy.

#dead poets society #philosophy #i am not ready for this exam #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton #cameron #dps #steven meeks #gerard pitts #knox overstreet #john keating #chris noel #mr perry #philosophers #dead philosophers society #existencialism #absurdism

[frostops]

I just saw your post about Bridget here /post/692033783726227456 and I was wondering what happened with Somnium Files and r/VN?? I tried looking through the subreddit but I couldn't find anything

On twitter, Uchikoshi stated that Marco is nonbinary, and some french dude tried to "well actually" him about his own character. Uchikoshi, very respectfully and kindly, pointed out his bullshit, ultimately leading to him quoting Sartre.

View on Twitter

Obviously, weebs who dont think trans people exist in japan were not happy about this, but its kind of hard when an actual Japanese person is saying otherwise.

Unless your Gambs, mod of r/VN. Then you just hide your rage in a joke accusing Uchikoshi of being a girl from California. Gambs is also handling the Bridget being trans news as well as you'd expect. The same thing of acting like youre totally disaffected but clearly being very mad.

View on Twitter

Uchikoshi took this in stride.

View on Twitter

And now here we are, barely a week later, with Bridget being announced for Guilty Gear Strive, and the audio from her arcade mode dialogue was leaked pretty quickly, making it clear that she was coming to terms with being a trans girl.

So its been a rough week if youre a weeb who thinks Japan doesnt care about gender and trans people are "western decadence."

#kotaro uchikoshi #ai the somniun files nirvana initiative #guilty gear #bridget guilty gear

[watching-pictures-move]

Put On Your Raincoats | Derelict (The Pope, 2019)

I watched Deception from The Pope and Kink.com a while back to get a sense of what a modern narrative roughie would look like, and my takeaways were that these things would be better if shot on 8mm or 16mm film, that some of the sexual activity was genuinely uncomfortable and as a result worked as horror for me, and that I would have appreciated if the movie didn't zoom in on the actresses' rear ends during the non-sex scenes. I think this is a more accomplished piece of filmmaking on the whole, benefiting most greatly from its astute use of its locations and sets. I understand they're used in other videos by the studio (although let's just say I wasn't paying close enough attention to the sets during the nonzero amount of times I've watched their output), but they really add to the harsh atmosphere of the movie. Even the camerawork seems better here, as we get some moody drone shots of the landscape, no ogling of the actresses' posteriors during the non-sex scenes, and camera setups that pull back from the action so you grime of the sets seeping into the proceedings. (There's also none of the crappy grindhouse filter from the other movie.) Again, if this were shot on film, it would probably complement the textures of the milieu nicely, but I guess that's not a fair expectation for a porno shot today. As for the sexual content, if you've seen anything from this director or this studio before, you kind of know what to expect, as the movie works through a number of BDSM acts with fetishistic attention and unwavering intensity. (I'll be honest and say that some of what transpires here is not my bag. What that exact percentage is I'll take with me to the grave. I should note that there is one vanilla scene that I understand was actually shot last.) What perhaps distinguishes this from some of the other stuff I've seen from this studio is that there is a convincing veneer of horror throughout, and some imagery that very much brings to mind the roughies of yore. (There was one stretch where one of the actresses is menaced with a cattle prod that genuinely stressed me out.) So as a work of horror, good job, movie. As a porno, yikes! I do think the acting is not as sharp as it was in the other movie, although let's say I've...enjoyed the work of both Casey Calvert and Charlotte Sartre in the past so I won't hold it against them too much. I could say that they are effectively expressive during the torture scenes, but that would make me sound like a serial killer, so I won't say it. (But they are.) I was trying to work in a joke about how Calvert can do but Sartre is smartre, but we don't actually get much from either one in terms of personality or their relative levels of intelligence, so I'll just leave that there. (I will say that Calvert's jeans really annoyed me, as they looked like they could fall apart at any moment, frayed all the way down the front of her thighs, and with two big tears right below her ass. I hope she used her paycheque to buy a new pair of pants. Yes, I know people wear ripped jeans, but I don't have to like it.) The Pope himself plays the villain again, with a similarly inhuman presence (this time he wears a Leatherface-style mask for added spookiness). The movie tries to give him some psychological depth and humanize him with flashbacks. (I guess it was nice when he folded up their clothes so neatly.) I wish the movie didn't throw these scenes in, as they're undercooked and detract from the singleminded griminess of the affair and the sense of unmotivated evil that I personally find a lot more unsettling. Perhaps the Pope was afraid we'd think he was a bad person if he didn't include this stuff, but with the before and after interviews with the cast (de rigueur for the studio), we have no reason to believe that. Collapsing morality goes with the territory. As they say (usually in a more critical context that has nothing to do with this genre), the cruelty is the point. There are also structural problems, in that the first torture scene goes so hard, that the rest of the movie feels like more of the same when there should be a sense of escalation. And like Deception, there's a twist ending, which frankly doesn't land at all, although if I were directing a roughie with locations doing the narrative legwork over any actual plotting, I don't know how I'd wrap mine up either. But yes, this is better made than it probably needs to be, and is surprisingly potent as actual horror. And if it gets your motor running...this is a judgment-free zone.

#film #movie review #put on your raincoats #derelict #the pope #not that pope #although his name is john paul #lol

[uncloseted]

Hi Christina! I hope your day is well. I read that you were a philosophy student and I’ve recently been considering studying philosophy in my free time so I was wondering, do you have any subtopics/principles/philosphers you think I should look into so I can be well versed on the subject? I’m open to everything on the subject and I think it would give me a bit of an interesting edge to be knowledgeable in it so if you have any personal tips on studying it I would appreciate it as well!

Ooh! I love this question. I feel like not many people are interested in studying philosophy these days, so I'm happy to hear that you are. A good place to start might just be Wikipedia's Outline of Philosophy, which is basically an overview of different topics in philosophy and important philosophers.

From there, I would try to get a basic understanding of the common topics and arguments in aesthetics, epistemology, and ethics, and learn basic logic. You can also add metaphysics and philosophy of mind to that (those were my concentrations) but they get very esoteric very quickly and so they're less applicable.

Then, I would look into the ideas of prominent philosophers throughout time:

Socrates

Plato

Aristotle

Thomas Aquinas

Rene Descartes

Thomas Hobbes

Baruch Spinoza

John Locke

David Hume

Immanuel Kant (this will be a huge slog, but you should still do it)

GWF Hegel

Soren Kierkegaard

Karl Marx

Friedrich Nietzsche

Ludwig Wittgenstein

Martin Heidegger

Jean Paul Sartre

Michel Fouccault

Hilary Putnam (this one is on here because he's my favorite)

Jacques Derrida

Contrapoints (I'm only kind of joking with this)

If you do that, you'll honestly have a better understanding of historical philosophical concepts than I do, because I basically spent four years as a philosophy student discussing whether or not we're four dimensional space-time worms and watching the Star Trek episode "The Measure of a Man" on repeat.

Speaking of TV, watching The Good Place is honestly a pretty good first introduction into philosophy. Highly recommend if you haven't already. PhilosophyTube and Contrapoints on YouTube are also accessible places to start. And I haven't watched them, but the Crash Course videos on philosophy are probably also a good place to start since they're more accessible than just reading philosophers' works.

[grandhotelabyss]

Thoughts on Invisible Man? a little surprised you never reviewed it. And did you ever read any of Ellison’s other work?

I didn't review it because I read it before I started writing those and haven't reread it yet. But it's a masterpiece, one of the true Great American Novels, responding to and extending the prior entrants in what retrospectively appears to be a sequence (Moby-Dick, Huckleberry Finn, Absalom, Absalom!) and preparing the way for the later entrants (Gravity's Rainbow, Beloved, Underworld), while also ringing changes on international modernism and Existentialism, especially the works of Dostoevsky, Kafka, Eliot, Joyce, Sartre, Camus. The discursive passages are true Emersonian essays on the meaning of America. The great narrative passages—especially the two set pieces of the battle royal at the beginning and the paint factory in the middle—prove that something like genius has to exist, because you can't as a novelist will such scenes into being, scenes that seamlessly fuse symbolism and naturalism, allegory and realism, with an almost Dante-like compression, so beautifully and so powerfully that even he could never do it again.

The common complaint is that the second half is weaker than the first, which I think is true—my memories of the second half are a bit dim—but so what? A large book, a book whose size and scale are part of its meaning, will have its longeurs. The other common complaint, one also made about Ellison's friend, Saul Bellow, who wrote another Great American Novel with The Adventures of Augie March around the same time, concerns the novel's politics, its Cold War liberalism or incipient neoconservatism attacking both leftism and separatist identity politics as Soviet- and Nazi-like inner threats to the American experiment:

No indeed, the world is just as concrete, ornery, vile and sublimely wonderful as before, only now I better understand my relation to it and it to me. I've come a long way from those days when, full of illusion, I lived a public life and attempted to function under tbe assumption that the world was solid and all the relationships therein. Now I know men are different and that all life is divided and that only in division is there true health. Hence again I have stayed in my hole, because up above there's an increasing passion to make men conform to a pattern. Just as in my nightmare. Jack and the boys are waiting with their knives, looking for the slightest excuse to....well, to "ball the jack," and I do not refer to the old dance step, although what they're doing is making the old eagle rock dangerously.

Whence all this passion toward conformity anyway? — diversity is the word. Let man keep his many parts and you'll have no tyrant states. Why, if they follow this conformity business they'll end up by forcing me, an invisible man, to become white, which is not a color but the lack of one. Must I strive toward colorlessness? But seriously, and without snobbery, think of what the world would lose if that should happen. America is woven of many strands; I would recognize them and let it so remain. It's "winner take nothing" that is the great truth of our country or of any country. Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat. Our fate is to become one, and yet many— This is not prophecy, but description. Thus one of the greatest jokes in the world is the spectacle of the whites busy escaping blackness and becoming blacker every day, and the blacks striving toward whiteness, becoming quite dull and gray. None of us seems to know who he is or where he's going.

Ellison's later stances, such as his support for the Vietnam War, can certainly be questioned. But for the leftist critique of the novel's individualism and pluralism to be persuasive, communism and separatist identity politics would probably need to have a better historical record than they do.

Other work: I like Ellison's literary essays, especially "The World and the Jug" and "Twentieth Century Fiction and the Black Mask of Humanity," but I haven't read his other fiction (the whole Juneteenth/Shooting situation seems like the occasion for a graduate seminar, not one or two novels one sits down to read; sometimes I wish what writers didn't finish, what writers didn't intend to publish, wouldn't be published, speaking more here as writer than reader).

#ralph ellison #american literature #literary criticism

[ramrodd]

What is the difference between a French liberal and an American libertarian?

COMMENTARY:

France remains defiantly Cartesian, culturally. The logic of the culture invariably and necessarily define the vectors of Camus and Jean Paul Sartre as the essence of the existential patriot. The French Liberals and the Imperialist are in total agreement on this metric. It is a national metric that illuminates the Dreyfus Affair for the ghastly foreshadowing of the French collaboration in the Holocaust that Critical Race Theory says about Juneteenth. I wan’t part of it, so I can’t say for sure, but my conclusion about the popularity of Les Misérables is because it gives an emotional flashback every time, of the feeling of being in an antiwar demonstration and going home and fucking afterwards.

I mean, from my perspective, “French liberal” is redundant.

American libertarians are, likewise as French liberals, necessarily cartesian, the difference being that American libertarians don’t have Camus and Jean Paul Sartre to guide on in their navigation of cultural historic flows. Libertarians disdain Hegel because their stand-alone contradictions provides their moral basis for configuring their personal standards of justice to fit their rational self-interests precisely. The consequence is that they continually declare a bullseye on a series of moving targets. This is what is going on with George Santos et al. In the final analysis, libertarianism is the running gag in the old burlesque tradition of Professor Irwin Corey, the world’s foremost authority. He was a spoof on Noam Chomsky before Chomsky had published. It’s how Objectivism works, a seminar of Fascist sophistry by Rand Paul as a principled libertarian benchmark.

The reason why the French applauded Jerry Lewis as a comic genius, the vectors of Camus and Jean Paul Sartre after he shook off Dean Martin. The Bellboy is a reprise of The Book of Job.

American libertarians totally lack an irony gene. Their humor never rises much above the American Spectator as perpetual fart jokes as political humor. Dave Chappell lacks Camus and Jean Paul Sartre, but he shares the vector of W.E.B. Dubois with every black American male who had to grow up in DC before Home Rule. That’s why he slips sideways between the structural cracks of the Dilberts of the libertarian business model. The Harvard MBA program. Cartesians in business cling to the 19th Century Industrial/Plantation wage slavery business model, That’s what all the tech companies are down-sizing: they only thought they were renaissance business executive when they were just hooked into the distorted economic policy of Supply Side Economics. The tech companies are laying off because the CEO’s want to protect their compensation packages and they can raid the payroll of the redundant workers to buy a yacht or two.

It is that straight forward a process.

France never reconciled with Newton and the Magna Carta, Or Henry VIII as the head of a Vatican rip off. Except for the Huguenot's,, Protestants have been an endangered species since the 95 Thesis. Jean d’Arc, of course, is the basis of Liberty Leading the People. Which brings us back to Les Misérables.

Bill Clinton is an example of the anti-libertarian, although he shares a similar target fascination for his own core values. He is just able to rise above his rational self-interest to the enlightened self-interest of the public steward in the George Washington sense of the concept of public stewardship.

Clinton can tie libertarians in knots as he winds them up with their own pretzel logic. Newt Gingrich is not exactly a libertarian: he’s just playing to a libertarian constituency. Actually, Clinton and Gingrich seem to share a common cognitive organization when it comes to poltics, but his commitment to libertarianism forced him to think with half his brain tied behind his back and Clinton never broke a sweat.

The difference between the French liberal and the American libertarian is the difference between Josephine Baker to Candace Owens.

[i-laugh-all-the-way-to-hell]

when you put Ayn Rand in the philosophy section and Sartre has a reaction...

#I was just joking Sartre! #nausea #I removed it very quickly #books #jean paul sartre #ayn rand #atlas shrugged #lol #objects

[radioprune]

chronic fatigue combined with chronic insomnia to make me the weirdest person alive 

#well really to make me the most tired person alive #this is the opposite of when i use my OCD to force me to do something my anxiety doesn't want me to do aldfkjdsaf #columbo voice: something wrong with me #when i said i had nausea and troubled sleep i didnt just mean by jp sartre #(reworking my joke from before taking constructive criticism etc)

[vaguely-concerned]

jean-paul sartre was a coward and a fool, I don’t need other people to be in hell 

#if they don't have harrowing existential despair at the store self-generated is fine #had a rough fifteen years of it lately and I'm hm. tired #(i'll be fine just a bad day) #also I know what sartre was talking about is actually a lot more complicated but for the purposes of this joke I don't care lol

[wallflowerwritings]

on sartre’s look:

You are never far from my thoughts, you know. Does that knowledge weigh on you like the sky does on Atlas’s shoulders, beautiful and vast and lovely even as it overwhelms you? That is how it is for me, knowing I exist not just as myself but as a million shattered mirror shards, each belonging to one person. They look at it, thinking they know me, but I will just reflect what they want to see. How do you see me? I hope your shard is the biggest. But be careful. I don’t want you to cut yourself. It hurts, you know. I wish you could see all of me, but I seem to have lost my glue and even then I don’t know how to turn a mirror into a self-portrait.

Still, I wonder what shape and color thoughts of me take. Do you paint me grey or vibrant, am I soft or sharp, and… and do you like what you see (perceive)? You must, for you kissed me and trailed your fingertips along my jawline, looking at me like I held the world in my hands, and not on my shoulders. I would know the meaning of that gaze, for that is how I look at you too, starry-eyed, promised, not caring if it might be naive.

I have memorized the curves of your lips, the ridges of your teeth, the way you sigh when I twirl your hair around my finger. You have a freckle on your left eyelid and your legs are too long for your body, kind of like a yearling colt. I have memorized the quirk of your smile and the stark blue of your eyes and the roll of your laugh when someone tells a joke. You are odd in your own ways but somehow you manage to charm- you charmed me, after all. I have memorized the stories which flow from your tongue and the information which swirls in your head and the way you weave words together into sentences. You have a deep perspicacity if you choose to, always pondering but never dwelling.

This is how I see you. But is it real? Or is it what I want to see? But maybe more importantly, does it really matter in the end, when we become replicas of ourselves to each new person we meet, when we are constantly growing and changing, when we are dissolving in chrysalises hoping to fly someday? No, it cannot. It must not. I have found you, for now this is enough. You are never far from my thoughts, you know.

#poetry #prose #writing #jean paul sartre #poetry about love #love poem #imposter syndrome #no exit #sartre’s look

[majimemegoro]

@ yakuza writers: if you simply SEE this, please make a post explaining the meaning behind ALL your yakuza titles! or just the ones you want if youre feelin lazy

here are mine, chronological order

Make Something Of It: thematically relevant song lyrics. Wildflower by Beach House. Because majima and saejima can’t go back to the way things were. Also inspired by the tone of @superactionstatue‘s story, Wildflower.

Back Room: its just the setting where the whole story takes place. but there’s also the concept of things that are behind, hidden, private, not open to the public.

#14 (Right Hand In Purple): I had real trouble coming up with a title so I did it like a piece of classical music, which fits nishida’s formula-based approach to the world. 14 is the number of years Majima and NIshida know each other (at that point in the story). right hand = nishida as majima’s right hand man. purple = the color of nishida’s shirt. ALSO, purple is a mix between red (hot, passion, violence) and blue (cold, detachment, calculation)

Looked Everywhere: the sequel to Make Something Of It and taking lyrics from the same song.

The Negations: idk, this one barely means anything, or I can’t remember. but it’s about Kiryu’s struggle with grieving and with feeling. and everything is cancelling each other out.

The Old Kind of Tragedy: sort of a joke about the fact that most of my stories are about this weird kind of tragedy that involves people who love each other but can’t quite connect right. whereas this one is just. about dying lol.

Abracadabra (Right Hand in Blue): sequel to Right Hand in Purple. Abracadabra = song lyrics from The Double of Wind by Susumu Hirasawa which is hands down one of my fav songs and also associated with nishida. nishida is blue this time bc he also has a blue shirt in addition to purple. but also hes NUMb from grief so hes gone from purple to blue. someday i might make right hand in red, and then everyone will be sorry.

L’être-en-soi: a concept from Sartre. basically implying that kashiwagi is more object than a human being with an actual purpose of his own.

21 Ways Nishiki Might Have Survived: what the title says.

Fugue: that’s just what it feels like when you’re having a breakdown. referenced also in the style (the repetitions and layers).

Let the Winter Last (We’re Hiding from the Cold): concentric circles of intention. not wanting to move on from something that’s just ok. but mostly I just had trouble coming up with a title

Follow the White Lines: song lyrics from Strawberry Blond by Mitski, which is another majima and nishida anthem. then theres also a lot of asphalt in this story haha. then also how nishida just goes along with things...

This is What Happens When You Forget the Holly: well the matagi ritual to send a slain bear to the afterlife involves putting holly branches over the bear’s body. if you don’t do that properly, all kinds of stuff can go wrong with sending the spirit away...

Break Action: the type of mechanism for loading ammunition that mr okudera’s rifle uses. and then in this one he’s really not in a good place and he’s always ruining everything, and the narration is is also fragmented (“break”), then there’s the motif of movies and drama and storytelling (“action”).

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #writing #majima #kiryu #saejima #memecomradeoriginal #i hope that clears some thing up lol #im missing out on some subtleties but mostly i feel like it's not fair of me not to tell people which songs have been relevant to this stuff

[architectsanathema]

Aries: Invest in elves

Taurus: The gom jabbar is at your throat. Remove your hand and you die

Gemini: [write joke later. Something about how meta things are less funny?]

Cancer: The stars are not right yet. Try again later

Leo: Whatever you do, do not invest in elves.

Virgo: You already know how it is

Scorpio: During the surgery, your vitals went out for exactly 15 minutes. They were about to declare you dead when you woke up, but all you remember was waking up in a dark room. It was humid, too humid for how cold it was, and the shadows swirled with mist. You weren't alone, there was a man fiddling with the brim of his hat and humming to himself. You didn't feel like talking would be right, it wouldn't fit with the space at all. You sat quietly and you waited. The chairs were metal, like an old bus station, and you could feel the cold seeping into your skin. Eventually, the man stopped whistling. You looked up to see what had happened, and he was sitting still, too still, like he was a photograph of himself. You had no way of knowing for sure, but deep in your gut you felt that someone, somewhere had just died. You shot awake with bloodshot eyes, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this was a past that could still be prevented.

Sagittarius: Don't believe a word I say

Aquarius: *Sound of a continuous 15 second fart followed by a sad trombone sound effect followed by raucous applause

Pisces: Gom-Paul Sartre

Libra: Your birthday is January 30, 1993 now.

#zodiac #horoscope #fake horoscope #so tired #the work is never over #funny #haha

[jostepherjoestar]

Can I request giorno meeting his shy half-sister (both of them are related cause DIO) and the two of bond over books.

📚Giorno and his half-sister bonding over books📚

sfw // no pronouns used but implied fem! reader

Thank you so much for requesting this! Sorry if reader turned out a bit more confident, I feel like they’d ease up once Giorno started joking around a bit. Also thank you for being patient 🥺cozy loves yall so much💖✨

“Thank you for taking up the offer; I wasn’t really sure you’d accept…” It felt a bit sheepish, standing there wriggling in your shoes, palms clammy with nervous sweat. Not quite the image you had hoped to convey to your newly found brother at your first meeting.

Well, half brother, actually. You had never even known him to exist, let alone be the head of a criminal organisation that seemed a little less devious than they’d like their reputation to let on. Perhaps it was his influence as their fresh new leader, working towards change, shaping the old crusted traditions into a cornucopia of advancements.

“No need to worry about that. I was surprised myself, I thought I’d never hear from Koichi again.” Giorno chuckled, it sounded so warm, so genuine. It eased up your tense shoulders, letting them fall back down and made you finally release that breath you’d been holding.

“Oh did something happen? He seemed very excited to contact you after he found me.” You admitted, remembering how Koichi’s face lit up when you suggested going to Italy. What a strange boy. You would have never met him, not even crossed paths once, if it weren’t for the research the Speed Wagon Foundation had been conducting.

They’d found out about your mother, the poor woman already passed on, too troubled to recount how she’d met your biological father, fear still striking her feeble heart every time your eyes met hers, a harsh reminder of her encounter with Dio. After some curt phone calls with a polite but coldly professional man named Dr. Kujoh you had learned a little about your father. The few details they provided about him already made your stomach curl in disgust.

That dark lit photograph of him had been etched into your very being but seeing Giorno, his blonde hair so remarkably resembling that of your shared father, seemed to have changed that twisted image. “Hah, I’ll tell you some other time. Come, sit down! I’ll have someone bring us some drinks.” The kindness and passion in his eyes could sway any being.

Giorno’s steel cut resolve soaked into his very core and his surroundings, his office meticulously decorated with tasteful furniture, a cohesive but still inviting nook. It reflected the impression you had of him, welcoming and polite but sure to be careful of his ruthless edge. Perhaps it was a skill you had both inherited from your father, observant eyes that saw everything, even beyond the physical bounds, the very core of others.

As you sat and waited for his colleague to return with drinks you engaged in some small talk, not really sure what the other liked just yet to divulge in further. The air seemed to have thinned, a calmer energy now flowing, a natural one as Giorno’s intent blue stare clung to every little thing you said. A certain proudness in his demeanour when you told him about how good you’d been doing in university and the friends you’d found along the way. His heart could burst at how beautifully mundane your life has been, glad to know you weren’t involved in any risky business that he knew of.

Your eyes landed on the scenery behind him when the conversation reached a lull, a tall bookcase filled to the brim with books reaching all the way to the ceiling, the light wood decorated with beautiful plant like reliefs. Curiously you scanned the spines of the carefully sorted books: Nietzsche, Plato, Descartes, Sartre and even Susan Sontag made her way on the shelves. The wide array varying between philosophy, classic literature, art, mythology and on the bottom row- having to lean forward a little to properly see- revealing a small fiction section.

You quirked an eyebrow at your childhood favourite. “You’ve read The Chronicles of Narnia?!” Your sudden outburst of wonderment infected Giorno, a soft smile gracing his features as he remembered reading them, he wasn’t only a wannabe gangster in his early teens, he loved to read as well.

“Yes I did-” Pausing as he turned to the shelves, fondly giving them a once over before returning his bright eyes to you. “There’s more fiction books, but I try and display the literature more. Can’t have my guests knowing I love Roald Dahl and C.S. Lewis just yet! I have an image to uphold.” He jested, but there was a truth behind his words, knowing he can’t let many others get to know the real Giorno, lest they use it against him. Your smile only grew bigger, chuckling at his banter. For a moment there it felt like you’d known each other far longer, that invisible connection tethering your hearts together.

“I love those books. It kinda feels like home, you know?” You added, smiling down at your hands, the warm ache of nostalgia tugging at your heart. “It does, doesn’t it. A better one perhaps.” Giorno answered in a compassionate tone, knowing just how difficult it must have been to grow up, without even knowing too many details of each others’ upbringings.

Feeling the mood dampen a little but glad your brother shared the sentiment, wracking your mind for a new lighter topic to discuss. Remembering the latest book you’d read for a university class snapped your head up again.

“You’ve read a lot of philosophy-“ You pointed at the multiple rows of authors and great thinkers. “They’re very interesting and all but, have you heard of my recent favourite; Diogenes?” You barely contained your laughter at the strange anecdotes you’d read about the cynic philosopher. Giorno raised a brow, curious to see where this little giggle fit was going. “That guy? Oh yes I have.”

“Did you know he pissed on people that insulted him? What an absolute genius!” You raised your voice and fell into laughter, the joyous sounds escaping Giorno as well, for a moment forgetting all that troubled his mind. “Maybe I should give that tactic a try at meetings.” He pondered, somehow the change in his expression made you believe that he was serious for a second.

“Man is the most intelligent of the animals - and the most silly.” Giorno quoted, the laughter slowly subsiding and that warm feeling of acceptance taking over. You were only looking to getting to know your brother more, gladly offering him a taste of normality in his turbulent life which he greatly appreciated. “Most definitely!” You beamed, feeling relieved at his wit and growing familiarity.

The afternoon flew by, chatting more about the wide array of books, sharing little tidbits and funny stories. Both still not divulging too much about the past or your parents, it would only sour the mood. At the rate you two got along, this definitely wouldn’t be the only meeting you’d have together.

The future looked a little brighter, an airy feeling of solace settling into Don Giovanna’s office, an atmosphere he won’t forget you brought in.  

#cozy request #giorno x reader #NOT INC*ST for the love of all that is good #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #giorno giovanna #jjba fic #giorno sibling #giorno imagine #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #sfw

[whitesparrows97]

Heartstring Melodies – Part 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, College AU, fuckboy!Yoongi

Summary: Min Yoongi, the fuckboy of the whole college and the guy all girls fall for, should be your soulmate? You don’t believe that, you don’t want to believe that. Therefore, you and your best friend make a pact: She pretends to be you and gets together with Yoongi. Nothing can go wrong with that, right?

Warnings: Light swearing

Word Count: 3.8K

Next

Chapter One: «The course of true love never did run smooth.» – w.s.

Lost in thought, you pushed the strap of your backpack, which had slipped down, back onto your shoulder. You searched for the familiar bunch of black hair, but it wasn’t easy among the many groups of people standing in front of the library. A waving arm ended your search and with a little smile you headed in the direction of your best friend. No sooner had you reached her than you were pulled into a tight embrace. Your laughter was muffled by the body in front of you as you returned the hug.

“We last saw each other two days ago, Liv,” you laughed as she released her grip around your body and smiled at you. 

She shrugged as you walked towards the entrance of the building. “I hardly have anyone else but you,” she said softly and you could only hear her because it was so quiet in the library. “Besides, I’ve missed you.”

“We really should have studied the same subject,” you muttered. 

The three years of university would probably be a lot more fun and more exciting if the two of you sat next to each other in the lecture hall. But you knew that your passions and interests were in different areas. Liv would probably go insane if she had to listen to daily seminars about the salinity of the sea or hear the word ‛photosynthesis’ one more time. On the other hand, you would probably lose it if you had to hear the names Nietzsche, Sartre or Aristotle more than once a week.

You were aware that you shouldn’t make compromises when it came to your future. And it wasn’t as if you never saw Liv; on the contrary, you saw each other practically every day at lunchtime or after your lectures.

“Are you going to the lab later?” Liv asked as you sat down at an empty table.

You let yourself sink onto the chair, exhausted from the long day, and took your papers out of your backpack. “I don’t think so,” you replied and brushed a few strands of hair aside that had fallen into your face when you shook your head.

“Jin will be disappointed,” Liv teased but you ignored her ambiguous undertone. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said and tried to concentrate on the text you were supposed to read. However, your concentration was immediately interrupted when a hand placed itself on yours. Surprised, you looked up.

“Honestly, Y/N,” Liv started and you had the feeling that you didn’t want to hear the next part of her question. “What is going on between you and Jin?”

You pulled your hand out of her grip and dropped both hands in your lap as you leaned back against the chair. “Nothing,” you said, but Liv raised her eyebrows. “Really, he’s a good friend, and he knows I want nothing more than that. A good friendship.”

“If you say so,” Liv said in conclusion, but not without giving you a quick examing look. 

The silence around you tempted your thoughts to buzz all the louder in your head and from minute to minute it became more difficult to concentrate on the text in front of you. You knew that the relationship between you and Jin was purely platonic. But you were afraid that it wasn’t as clear to him. Even though you made it more than clear to him after he asked you out for coffee a few weeks ago. 

You gave Liv a belated angry look and cursed her for even bringing the topic up. Your eyes fell again on the text in front of you and with a sigh you turned to the next page. You were just about to look at the different types of sponges when you heard Liv gasp.

You looked up in wonder, but her gaze was directed at something behind you. You suppressed the impulse to turn around and look to see what had made her lose her voice.

“What?” you asked and couldn’t prevent the annoyed undertone. You had come to the library because you wanted to be well prepared for your homework and the laboratory work that went with it. 

“Oh my God,” Liv croaked out. She was still staring intently at something behind you. “He looks so good,” you heard her whisper and you knew exactly who it was about.

With an eye roll you grabbed the pencil you had dropped on the table and continued to underline important passages in the text. “You’d better concentrate on your studies, Liv,” you said and watched out of the corner of your eye as her head snapped towards you.

“How?” she said a bit too loud and got some angry glances from the students around you. “How can I concentrate if a man like Min Yoongi exists?” With a sigh she let her head fall into her hands and stared in the direction of the man she was talking about. 

“If you keep staring like that, he will notice it,” you stated, but a little smile played around the corners of your mouth as you remembered a situation from a few weeks ago.

“Hopefully,” Liv said and the same situation seemed to have entered her head as well.

“How long has he looked at you last time?” you asked, thinking pretentiously. You knew the answer only too well, Liv had told you often enough. “One second? Or was it even two?”

“Make fun of me,” she replied and lowered her hands. “But the one second he looked at me was the best in my life.”

“Wow, then the rest of your life must be very sad,” you muttered and laughed when you had to dodge the pen that flew in your direction. “You’re not even sure if he was really looking at you.”

“So what? He looked in my direction, which is more than some girls on this campus can dream of.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You didn’t understand how you could be so attracted to someone you had never spoken to before. Especially to someone like Min Yoongi. Your thoughts spat out the name and you had to control yourself not to pull a face when the image of the man came into your head. 

Objectively speaking, he was handsome. Even you could see that. But what was the point of all that good looks when the character was nothing but a big pile of junk? And in Min Yoongi’s case, his personality took on the dimensions of a whole garbage dump.

Unfortunately, most girls on campus had a different opinion than you and they made it all too clear should they ever cross paths with him in the hallways or the cafeteria. You imagined that this only confirmed Min Yoongi in his ego even more. And it was well known that Yoongi rarely ever said no to a beautiful girl; at least if you could believe the rumors. Actually, him and his small group of friends had made a name for themselves, to live up to those rumors. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed how Liv held her breath. A second later you saw the reason for her behavior when none other than Min Yoongi himself walked past your table. You watched him for a moment as he, his hands buried in the pocket of his black torn jeans, disappeared behind one of the many shelves.

“Please don’t start to freak out,” you said, half joking, half serious. 

“Why is he here?”, Liv asked instead, stretching her neck, to get another look at the man. “He never goes to the library.”

“You sound like a stalker,” was the only thing you replied and returned to your homework.

“Y/N,” Liv tried to whisper, but her voice was louder than she had planned so she was almost shouting your name. Again you felt the annoyed looks of the students around you. One boy even clicked his tongue in irritation and groaned before turning his gaze away from you to bury his nose back in his book. “He’s coming here,” she finished her sentence, and you were glad that she had the volume of her voice under control this time.

When you looked up, you knew that Liv was not exaggerating this time. Your gaze met that of Min Yoongi and for a moment it seemed as if the few noises of the quiet library around you were blurring into a loud humming. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your throat as you looked into the dark eyes of the man who wore an indefinable expression. 

He had drawn his eyebrows together in confusion and turned his gaze towards the floor for a moment as he continued to walk towards your table. Your table was the last one in the row and was therefore closest to the aisle he had just come from. Before you could get your thoughts in order, or calm down Liv who was shifting nervously in her chair, Min Yoongi had stopped in front of you.

“Hi,” he greeted you and his deep voice was what made you avert your gaze from him and release you from your rigidity. He cleared his throat briefly and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards the aisle behind him. “I’m looking for a book on composers of the 20th century. Do you know where I can find the music section? I’m not here that often,” he added the last part, and if you didn’t know better, he seemed almost embarrassed as he rubbed his hand over his neck.

Your eyes fell on Liv for a moment and you realized immediately that she was beyond help. Her eyes were two big hearts and her mouth hung slightly open as she looked up at the man in front of her. You suppressed an eye roll and turned your gaze back to the man in front of you who looked at you.

With the pen in your hand you pointed to the other end of the library. “If you go down this corridor, almost to the end, you’ll find everything about music,” you explained to him and he looked in the direction you were pointing. “I think that what you’re looking for is in the aisle next to contemporary art. But I’m not entirely sure about that.”

Yoongi turned his gaze back to you and a grin spread across his face; he was back to his old, arrogant self. Too bad, he had been very nice until now. Almost too nice…

“Thank you,” he said and mustered you once from to head to toe. You had to supress the urge to make yourself smaller in your chair.

“If there’s nothing else,” you said as an invitation for him to leave and trying to get him to look away from you as quickly as possible. But he raised an eyebrow when he heard the tone of your voice and the distinct disinterest when you turned back to the papers in front of you. 

“Sorry,” said Liv, and her voice was an octave too high when she spoke. “She doesn’t mean it like that,” she tried to explain and you flinched as her foot came into contact with your shin. 

“No problem,” he replied and took a look at the text you tried to read. “Well, I’d better let you two get back to work. We don’t want Mommy and Daddy to be disappointed,” he added and you raised your eyes briefly to shoot him an angry look. Asshole…

He gave you another smug grin before he went in the direction you pointed. You already regretted having helped him at all. Although he had been so nice for the first few seconds. It was probably all part of his tactics to get girls into bed. 

The next minutes you had to listen to the whispered, excited monologue of Liv, who told you over and over again what had just happened. As if you hadn’t been there yourself. Sighing, you stowed your folders in your backpack when you were sure you wouldn’t be able to do anything productive today. Especially not with your hyperactive best friend, who seemed to be vibrating with excitement in her chair. You, and probably all students around you, were happy when you both left the library and headed to the dorms.

Unlike you, Liv lived in her own apartment not far from campus. So you gave her credit for taking you to the building where you had your apartment, which you shared with two other girls. Then again, she had a lot to make up for after the last two hours. After you two said your good-byes and you climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor, your thoughts inevitably drifted to the incident a few minutes earlier. 

You still saw the briefly confused look on his face as he had approached you. The black hair had fallen into his face, so you hardly noticed how he pulled his eyebrows together. Something had been strange at the moment your eyes met. You had never experienced anything like it; that feeling as if everything around you was disappearing and your focus was only on one person for a split second.

You snorted when you noticed how much this thought reminded you of romantic love stories. A woman met a man and it was like love at first sight. Everything except for the other person became meaningless. You would describe yourself as not a particularly romantic person. Sure, you wouldn’t mind if a man gave you flowers or some other small gift. But for that you would have to have a man who would find you interesting enough to go out with you in the first place. 

Yet you were strictly against the romanticizing that took place in so many movies, books, music and real life. Your stomach almost turned when a term came into your mind which you tried to erase from your thoughts as soon as it entered your head. 

Soulmates.

With a little more force than necessary, you yanked open the zipper of your backpack to look for the key card of your apartment. Soulmates were an invention of a cruel god or higher power who had grown bored and wanted to see people suffer. There was no other way you could explain what the whole thing was for. There was nothing worse for you than the thought that your future and your life partner were predetermined. 

And even worse was that it could hit you every day. There was no particular age at which soulmates found each other. You could find them when you were two, playing with them in the playground. Or you could find them at 92, sitting in your rocking chair at the retirement home. Many people never found them either and died without ever having a name on their skin. What a disappointment so many people went through, just because they never found their soulmate. 

Did that make other relationships less valuable? Did it make life less worth living? Not in your eyes. You couldn’t understand how many people cared that much about a tattoo that put more pressure on you than it helped. You hoped that you would never have that problem and that the spot on your skin right over your heart would remain empty forever.

This thought had just crossed your mind when you suddenly felt a hot sting in your chest. The key card to your apartment slipped out of your grasp as your hand shot up to the spot right under your left breast. “Fuck,” you mumbled and tried to apply some pressure on the spot, hoping to take away some of the pain. In vain.

It felt like the burning was working its way into your chest until it finally enveloped you completely and for a second you felt like you were on fire. As fast as it had come, as fast the feeling ebbed away and a moment later you stood breathless in the hallway in front of your door. You leaned against the wall next to it and tried to get your breath under control.

Was that a heart attack? Or a stroke? 

With shaking fingers you picked up the key card from the floor. It took you three attempts until the door finally opened and you were able to enter the apartment. As you brushed off your shoes, you ran your hand over the spot under your breast. Your eyes widened and you froze completely in your movement when a thought occurred to you.

No. No, it could not be. What a coincidence it would be if at the very moment you were upset about soulmates… 

You shook your head, you didn’t want to think for a second about what might be on your skin. A name that would turn your life upside down.

You ignored the warmth that seemed to radiate from your chest as you stepped into the kitchen of the small apartment. You had never been happier than now that your two roommates weren’t home yet. A few minutes alone was exactly what you needed. You didn’t feel ready to answer the questions of the two curious girls when they noticed that something was wrong with you. It wouldn’t take them five minutes to figure out what was wrong with you.

You had lost your appetite, so you left the kitchen and went straight to your room. While you were sitting at your desk, hoping to finally be able to get some homework done, your thoughts recalled the past day. You tried to remember all the faces that you had met for the first time today. There were probably hundreds of them, if you thought about the hustle and bustle that was happening on campus every day. 

Was there anyone that you spoke to for the first time? One more thing that indicated for the cruelty of the gods or spirits that invented soulmates. It could happen that you were sitting next to your soulmate day in, day out on the way to work on the same train. You would see each other every day, maybe for years. The name on your chest, however, only appeared after you had exchanged your first words with the person. That was another reason why so many people never knew who their soulmate was.

Your eyes fell on your phone, which was lying next to you on the desk and your fingers twitched in that direction. For a moment you toyed with the idea of calling your father, but you knew better and let your hand fall back into your lap.

Instead, you tried again to remember the day and to recall the conversations that took place. In your chemistry class, you had a short conversation with another student who asked if he could borrow a pen from you. At the cash desk at the cafeteria there was a new temp, a young man, probably in his mid-twenties. He had handed you your food and asked you if that was all or if there was anything else you wanted to get. On the way to the library you had not met another person.

It took you a moment to stretch the time line further and your heart skipped a beat when you thought about the conversation at the library. For the third time today you froze and sat on your chair as if you were glued to the spot. You were sure that any color had disappeared from your face as your thumb subconsciously ran across the slight burning in your chest. 

A moment later, you jumped up in anger. The chair slammed against the desk with a loud thud and out of the corner of your eye you saw some of the little collection figures you had placed on it fall over.

You ran to the mirror at the back of the door to your room and came to a halt in front of it, breathing loudly. It had only been a few steps, your room was not that big, and yet you were out of breath as if you had run a marathon.

That could not, no, that would not be true. You weren’t even sure if it wasn’t a heart attack you had had after all. You would lift up your shirt and see nothing but your skin underneath. Everything would be the same. With clammy fingers you grabbed the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up. You could see more and more of your skin in the mirror and you swallowed hard as you worked your way up inch by inch. 

With a choked scream you let the material of the fabric fall down. Had you just seen something black? Or was it a shadow of the low, setting sun? You didn’t want to try again, but you knew that sooner or later you would have to look. 

You took one more deep breath before closing your eyes, grabbing the hem and pulling the shirt over your head with a jerk. You held on to the thin fabric for a moment before it fell to the ground and landed by your feet. You heard your heartbeat rushing in your ears and were torn between opening your eyes or squeezing them even tighter.

Okay, it was gonna be okay. You probably didn’t even know the name, if there really was one. If those were the only conversations you had with strangers today, the chances were one in three that it would be him. That wasn’t too bad, was it?

You pulled yourself together and opened your eyes. Right away, you wish you hadn’t. You wished you could close your eyes forever to this name that would be engraved on your skin for the rest of your life. You stroked over it, at first lightly, then more firmly, until the skin around the black fine lines turned red, so vigorously you tried to wipe the name away. 

The name you heard people whispering in the corridors. The name that belonged to the man who immediately attracted attention as soon as he entered a room. Any other name would be better than the one you were staring at in the mirror before you. And even though it was mirrored, it didn’t take you a millisecond to read it.

Min Yoongi.

Note: Hello! I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this little story! Any kind of feedback is appreciated a lot and helps me to stay motivated and get chapters out more quickly. So I’m happy about any kind of feedback if you enjoyed the chapter (or not and you want to give me tips on my writing, which is appreciated as well)!

I hope you’re all staying safe and see you soon! 💜

#yoongi x reader #bts soulmate au #fuckboy!yoongi #bts smut #bts angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts college au