i am wild.

if you ever need somebody to stand around and not contribute, you know where to find me. indie Grantaire.

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i been in a Funk but im back now so who wants a thing!!

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    “I… I may have killed him.”

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its nearly 1am and it’s pissing it down and my boyfriend went out to get me donuts because he is a wonderful human being 

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hi I’m ill, like for a starter!!

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hi I'm ill, like for a starter!!

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@flosinnocentes

   he’d been in the castle as a boy, when his father still had patience for him and when he hadn’t seen a single corpse. it hadn’t changed much, and the sand coloured walls made him shrink as if his father was still there, watching him. even as a boy, innocence was unattainable. he was raised knowing the horrors of the world, his father dictating each evil to him as if he were reciting the seven-pointed star. dry paint flaked from his easel when he opened it, and he kept his eyes on them when he spoke.

“how would you like to pose, princess?” no matter how much he tried to avoid politics and royalty, there was no escaping one simple and true fact: the baratheon’s (and, by extension, the lannister’s) were not to be angered. despite entering into this deal with bitter indigence, that didn’t quell his cowardly instinct of not dying.

[discharmed-blog]

*..::.. @reserections ..::..*

        there’s a fleeting thought that perhaps it’s not wise to stop for strangers on the side of abandoned roads. but in this city michael is INVINCIBLE — situations with dangerous undertones attract him like a moth to a flame, begging time and time again that he get BURNED. so it’s not good will that has him slowing to a stop behind the stalled car, but instead the curiosity of wanting to see where this situation may lead to. he exits his own vehicle ( a naturally EXTRAVAGANT luxury of an automobile, of course) and approaches the other from behind, gravel crunching underfoot as he moves. “ having some car troubles? ”

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    the plan had been to breeze through til morning, stopping only to do three shots of coffee every four hours and piss by the side of the road. it was dark when he left this morning, and it would be dark when he got home. his father would glower at him, and he’d flash his coffee-stained teeth in what should pass for a smile, and his mother would pretend not to notice. he hadn’t even questioned the smoke rising in front of him, assuming it was mist or a nearby fire or a trick of the light. 

   the stranger puts him on edge in a way that means they might be friends, somewhere down the line. “if you can call this piece of shit,” he kicks the wheel for effect, “a car.” there should be humour in his voice, but it gets lost in the exhaustion. 

[thcartist]

            if it isn’t baroque…                              don’t fix it.

                             home. ask. bio.

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hi anyone wanna starter?

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verse; a song of ice and fire.

born to wealthy parents in dorne, a kingdom where wealth was harder to come by, grantaire was prime to have it all. his father was an acclaimed scholar, sought upon for his wise opinions and strong religious education. his mother was the heir to a vineyard, one of the largest to the land, thus grantaire could not want for anything. and yet, despite the free-thinking nature of the dornish, grantaire found himself disowned. not officially, that would cause his family a scandal even in dorne, but sent with little money to fend for himself under the guise of learning independence, grantaire was pushed away. 

he traveled for a while, unable to settle anywhere, until stepping into king’s landing with no money to keep going. using his art skills to find lodging and food, he set up shop in a tiny room above a tavern. 

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@southern-gothics

   grantaire hops out of the truck, which hasn’t fully halted to a stop and disappears before he has the chance to turn and say thanks. he makes a note to look him up when he gets some wifi, but realizes he can’t remember anything about the entire journey here. the road is empty and long, the desert stretching around him for miles without end. he supposes this is as far as the driver could take him.

   his feet hurt by the time he gets to the gas station, lit by an eerie green, despite only seeming to walk a matter of metres. the 24 hour sign flickers, and no attendant is to be found. he reaches in his pocket for a cigarette, finds one but no lighter. he turns to the stranger that’s sitting on the bench in front of the store.

   “got a light?” he says, despite a part of him believing that no fire could start here. 

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hi anyone wanna starter?

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hi anyone wanna starter?

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I sent my boyfriend out to buy me some new shampoo and conditioner because he's been using my Tresemee and he came back with 2in1

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drummingncise‌:

sam carefully put the book back on the shelf where he’d found it, then held his hands up in a placating way. he really didn’t want to anger this man anymore than he already had. he hasn’t met the love of his life, yet - hasn’t had the chance to break out of his shell yet. “i’m sorry, i’ll leave now. i’m sam, by the way, in case you needed to know that for some reason.” oh god, he’s babbling.

with a long, long, loooong deep breath, grantaire levels a look at sam. he’s-- plainer than he’d imagined. in his head, the stranger had warped to be some hulking dickhole, with a ‘no regrets’ tattoo and an inexplicable suburban mom haircut. the lack of asshole about the guy was off-putting. it made grantaire feel like a prick. so, naturally, he digs his heels in deeper. “nobody asked your name, you fuck. you should have left when the lights went out, but no, you just had to stay and make my life miserable! i could have caught an earlier bus if it wasn’t for you.” by the end he’s shouting, but it’s clear by the bewildered look on his face that he isn’t entirely sure why. he stops abruptly, lowering the arms he’d raised at some point, and slumps inwards. “just,” his voice is breathy and very defeated, “get out.” 

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drummingncise‌:

sam looks up at the sound of someone speaking, startled out of his concentration on the book he was reading. he’d been so focused on the world the book described that he hadn’t noticed the other approach, nor most of the lights in the shop going out. he closes the book with a soft sound, then turns to look at the other. “i’m very sorry, i honestly hadn’t realised…”

he promises he wants to be nice. honestly. on any other day, under any other circumstances, he would be nice-- or, at least welcoming. but he’d recieved an e-mail from his father that morning, for the first time in years, and it hadn’t contained good news. he rubs at the sore spots on his left arm and shuts his eyes. “i don’t care how sorry you are. closed is closed. last order was twenty fucking minutes ago,” he snaps, squeezing his eyes even tighter.

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@drummingncise

since it’s been the longest day in history, and grantaire is just about ready to throw the towel in on this whole “life” thing, a stranger in the back quarters of jehan’s bookstore-cum-bakery is about the last thing he needs. “i’m not gonna say ‘you’re not supposed to be here’, because i know you saw the closed sign and the lack of lighting going on. but i am gonna say, well... shoo.”