madness and reason

Why Madness and Reason?, you ask. As Andre Gide once said, "Only those things are beautiful which are inspired by madness and written by reason." He also said "Be faithful to that which exists within yourself," and "The color of truth is gray."

So here's to being beautiful and faithful and true. Welcome.
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Hard core crying right now. The best ship of all is friendship. And I’m majorly shipping Tashley right now.


Mae Martin is the best! :)

(via rememberthstars)


This is one of the best posts I’ve seen in a while

(via rememberthstars)

What if verbal abuse left the same scars as physical abuse? Would it be taken more seriously?

Unfortunately, that might be what it takes…images such as these that show that sticks and stones and words can all hurt you.

This is powerful, moving, and a strong reminder that emotional abuse leaves scars behind, even if they can’t be seen.

Trigger warning for bullying, abuse and domestic violence.

Southern as sweet tea, if only for a day. (at Rocky Mount, North Carolina)




working on a piece to go with this 

the companion piece will be male, named Destruction. i’m hoping it turns as well as this has

(via vengefulbarista)

Asker ilenn Asks:
prompt: Imriel/Lucius, an AU in which Lucius came back to Terre D'Ange with Imriel at the end of Scion.
madreason madreason Said:


Six months until Helena’s mourning period was over, and Lucius had been granted three of them to help see Montreve home. His father had been swayed by the potential of stronger trade ties to Terre d’Ange; Helena’s father had been glad to take hold of his city again, without having to push the city’s newfound loyalty to Lucius; Helena had agreed that Lucius owed it to the D’Angelines to serve as something like an honor guard after all they had given in Lucca’s name.

But Lucius… Lucius was tired, bone-deep, and uneasy in his skin even though he was now its sole inhabitant, and his mind kept turning to the memory of Imriel’s hand combing through his hair the night before that last battle, Imriel’s low voice spinning an impossible tale by the firelight, Imriel’s chapped lips returning a playful, daring kiss.

Imriel’s eyes, solemn and dark, as Gallus Tadius dropped his death mask and consigned himself to hell, and the bronze echo of wingbeats coming from far away.

So Lucius took his three months and ran, all the way to Terre d’Ange. Montreve was quiet on the journey, brooding, and for once Lucius didn’t push. It was strange to hear Montreve tell his experience of the siege after his reunion with his family, such a different angle on Lucius’s still-disjointed memories, and when the Comtesse excused herself Lucius followed, leaving Montreve alone with his foster father.

But Lucius couldn’t sleep, so when he heard Montreve come upstairs some time later, Lucius slipped out of the guest room to knock on his door.

The man who answered the door, who invited Lucius in, was easy in a way Lucius had never seen. Still worn and thin, but settled, rid of some of his ghosts and newly confident. Lucius wanted that, desperately.

He breathed out “Imri—” and threw himself into Imriel’s arms, and Imriel caught him.

(If you want to prompt me, check out this page.)

I ship Imri/Lucius SO HARD.

Rachel Wiley performing at the 2013 National Poetry Slam, in Boston, Massachusetts for Writing Wrongs from Columbus, Ohio. Check out more slam poetry from Bu…

This. Just this. Oh. So Very Much This.

This was my morning inspiration, and I just can’t not share. Language warning if that sort of thing bothers you, but oh, this message. Sisters, it is power.

The lyrics are posted below, but please do watch the video. Her delivery is wonderful, and even on my fourth viewing, I’m still incredibly moved. (***denotes the most striking lines for me, personally.)

Ten Honest Thoughts on Being Loved by a Skinny Boy

1. I say, “I am fat.” He says, “No, you are beautiful.” ***I wonder why I cannot be both.*** He kisses me, hard.

2. My college theater professor once told me that, despite my talent, I would never be cast as a romantic lead. We put on shows that involve flying children and singing animals, but apparently, ***no one has enough willing suspension of disbelief to buy anyone loving a fat girl.***

3. On the mornings I do not feel pretty, while he is still asleep, I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans…for motive, for a punch line, for other girls’ phone numbers.

4. When we hold hands in public, I wonder if he notices the stares, like he is handling a parade balloon down a crowded sidewalk…I wonder if he notices how my hands are made of rope.

5. Dear Cosmo: FUCK YOU. I will not take your sex tips on how to please a man ***that you do not think my body will ever be worthy of.***

6. ***He tells me he loves me with the lights ON.***

7. I can cup his hip bones in the palm of my hand, feel his ribs without pressing very hard, sip wine from his collarbones. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him he is beautiful. Sometimes, I fear the day he does is the day he leaves.

8. The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop assumes we’re just friends and flirts across the counter. I spend the next two weeks replacing my face with hers in all of our photographs. When I finally admit this, we spend the whole night taking new pictures. ***He will not let me delete a single one.***

9. The phrase ‘Big girls need love, too’ can go die in a fire. ***Fucking me does not require an asterisk, loving me is not a fetish, finding me beautiful is not a novelty. I am *not* a NOVELTY.***

10. I say, “I am fat.” He says, “No, you are so much more.” And he kisses me, hard.

  • Random chick: You're a girl so act like one.
  • Friend: Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize my vagina came with a terms and conditions manual.