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― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

“I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.” 

― Kahlil Gibran, The Madman

― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

“All freedom is relative—you know too well—and sometimes it’s no freedom at all, but simply the cage widening far away from you, the bars abstracted with distance but still there, as when they “free” wild animals into nature preserves only to contain them yet again by larger borders. But I took it anyway, that widening. Because sometimes not seeing the bars is enough”

― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

― Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

“Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another.”

― Toni Morrison, Beloved

― Jean-Paul Sartre

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

― Maya Angelou, The Complete Collected Poems

― Franz Kafka, Amerika

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

― Viktor E. Frankl

― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

“Freedom is the will to be responsible for ourselves.” 

― Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols

― E.B. White, The Trumpet of the Swan

“This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.”

― Kafka Franz, Diaries, 1910-1923

― John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman

“And I want to be held down. I don’t know what to do with the horrifying freedom that can destroy me.”

― Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G.H.

― Franz Kafka

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“(…) I don’t care, I love you anyhow. It is too late to turn you out of my heart. Part of you lives here.”

— Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters

[erenrysthe]

i love when tragedies are like “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”

[erenrysthe]

～🥚

[erenrysthe]

“humanity is inherently selfish and bad” bbbrrrghuhjfkg. humanity is seeing a stranger’s grocery bag break open on the sidewalk and harvesting fruits and veggies from the branch-like cracks of the asphalt for them, just because you can. humanity is helping a lost child find their mother on a crowded beach, looking for the ladybug-patterned parasol with their hummingbird-small hand in yours. it’s an elder’s fingers wrapped around your arm as you help them up the stairs because the elevator is broken, and feeling like you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing, like this is what you would’ve been doing had you been alive centuries or even millennia ago. there will always be a heavily pregnant woman who will smile at you when you give up your seat, a nice blind man in the fruit aisle who will ask you to please pick the riper plantain for him, a tired cashier whose face will light up when you compliment their tattoo sleeve. humanity is connection

[erenrysthe]

not to be boring but I like when evil characters.... well not become “redeemed,” more like they become domesticated. its just delightful when like an evil monstrous little bastard man goes from committing murder to getting mad someone misplaced their costco card or left the jar of mayo on the counter all day.

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What's your sexuality

stupid

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Nico: Aw shit, another speeding ticket. 

Nero: Nico, that’s a 300 dollar ticket. 

Nico: *smugly crumples it* Oh I know. 

(Nero watches in disdain as she opens her passenger compartment, revealing dozens of balled up speeding tickets she’s collected over the years.)

[erenrysthe]

Brother Banter

Not a prompt, but something I wanted to write as a quick character study. Please enjoy!

It’s late. It’s quite late.

Dante is throwing darts with effortless precision. The dull thunk of each needle sunken into the board reverberates a hollow sound that shivers through the shop.

“C'mon, Vergil. Play a round with me.”

Vergil is seated on the creaky leather sofa, legs crossed as he pointedly focuses on the novel in his hands. He does little to acknowledge that he’s heard Dante, although he does raise a dismissive hand.

Dante has turned to face Vergil, yet Vergil keeps his unfocused eyes trained on his page. Distrust proves to be as distracting as the shuffle of Dante’s bare feet on the wood flooring.

Dante takes a stance.

Vergil tenses.

A dart aimed at Vergil’s temple whizzes through the air. Vergil reaches out to snatch it before it makes contact, book snapping in tandem.

Their eyes meet.

Vergil flicks the dart between his fingertips, glowering at his brother. He rears his arm back and sends it sailing in a swift line back toward Dante. It passes his brother’s cheek by millimeters and lands in the center of the board with a thunk.

“Bullseye.”

Dante swings his head around to inspect the dart, his index finger and thumb stroking his chin. He exhales a low whistle. “Nice one.”

Vergil snorts and slides his novel back open. “Please learn to entertain yourself.”

“I could! But… Eh, I don’t wanna.” Dante bounds over to the chair and makes to grab for Vergil’s book. “What'cha reading?”

He’s reading a fictional tale about a seafaring captain battling pirates and the scourge of the ocean. None of it would be of any interest to Dante, not because the plot would bore him but rather that Dante has never had the attention span to sit through an entire novel. Admittedly, Vergil realizes that Dante could have changed with age, but several months of living in the same dwelling has proven itself to be quite the opposite. In many ways, despite the passage of time, Dante is much the same.

Although in many ways, Vergil knows that Dante is exponentially different.

Vergil sighs and allows Dante the satisfaction of stealing the novel. He observes with disinterest as his twin thumbs through the pages, although he notes that Dante is mindful not to dislodge the spare piece of paper Vergil has been using as a makeshift bookmark. How unexpectedly kind, he thinks.

“Man, it’s so long.” Dante drops the book back in Vergil’s lap in a show of theatrics that mean absolutely nothing. “After all these years, how can you still sit through all that?”

Vergil picks up where he left off without glancing up. “Because I don’t have rocks in my skull.”

Dante erupts in laughter without a hint of malice. He drops his hand on Vergil’s head as he passes – an affectionate gesture – before he breezes back toward the dartboard. “Rocks, dirt, worms… I’ve heard it all. And yet… Somehow, dear brother, I still manage.”

Vergil hums. “Luck doesn’t supersede your low IQ.”

He grins. “Woof.”

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Makima + Reze.

alternative icons!! purple color for chainsaw man fans. | save = like + reblog.

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reblog or fav!

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Trisha’s

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casino