A LITTLE MEH.

I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations.

[lcverswift]

it’s the most wonderful time of the year

[extrasad]

[mediocrepoems]

everleave‌  /  joan  .

maybe joan underestimated her own strength. she likes to believe she has the will of a bull, but ingrid is smarter than that. it’s strange, joan would like to believe she has people she could go to at a time like this. but she DOESN’T. you’d be surprised by the passing flings that happen in her life. she could have crumbled and ran into the arms of a one night stand from days ago, but she goes to ingrid, in the act of realizing that she’s probably her ONLY actual friend. 

joan takes the towel, wiping it over her damp face. a small laugh sounds from her, even paired with her reddened eyes it was charming and like honey. ❛ you don’t drink ? ❜ it’s asked sincerely, now wishing she knew MORE about ingrid, especially in this moment. maybe it would make this easier. ❛ you don’t — have to do that. my clothes are fine. they’ll dry. i’ve dealt with worse. ❜ it’s said with a laugh that oozes a more bittersweet nature. but it’s the more GENUINE one, one where the mask slips further. joan stands now, setting the towel down on the chair behind her. her head cants to the side as she approaches ingrid, gaze scanning her expression. ❛ you’re so nice. nice as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist and i don’t understand that. i wish i understood it. i wish i was nice like you. ❜ it’s said quietly, feeling like it’s some sort of CONFESSION. she then reaches up to pluck at an eyelash that’s fallen onto ingrid’s cheek, now holding it out to her. ❛ you have to make a wish. ❜

DESPITE the fact that clothes do indeed dry, Ingrid genuinely thinks Joan should still go for the costume change---it’s just that she becomes far too much of an invertebrate around her friend to ever really assert herself properly. Not having the necessary faculties to press further, she does a little shrug instead, the expression on her face hopefully clear enough so she doesn’t have to verbalize an ‘ if you say so. ’ Joan uses the towel, though, thankfully, and while she pats herself less damp, Ingrid decides on a whim to focus on that alcohol comment. “I do drink sometimes,” she says, trying not to sound defensive. “Just... not enough to have my own stock ready in the apartment.”

She ends up mumbling that last bit, as Joan is very suddenly standing in front of her, a tad closer than is normal for two people who are supposedly ‘ just talking. ’ Ingrid’s used to jokes and flirtatious remarks from Joan, but hearing legitimate compliments has her feeling both a little shy and a little worried ( what exactly has brought all this on? ), and there’s no hiding that stupid blush now with this kind of proximity. “Joan, are you...” She’d meant to say OK, but Joan catches her off guard yet again. She’s just picked off an eyelash from her cheek. The warmth on Ingrid’s face worsens, and she tries to play it cool---but that shit always fails, doesn’t it? “A w---a w-wish?” she repeats dumbly. “J-Joan, for real, are you OK?”

[mediocrepoems]

irishrot‌  /  jim  .

The mention of fast food makes him a little envious. Remember when you could eat things that you didn’t kill? Remember when you didn’t have to eat other people? Seems like the memories of such days get further and further away each day, eh? He shakes the thoughts from his head and gives a quick nod. “Aye, that’s good.” He snorts a little bit at the warning. “I’m not exactly swimmin’ in wealth right now. I’ll take what I can get.” Probably gonna have to steal some money to even afford dirt cheap but what can you do, eh? “Cheers, Ingrid. S’been nice, yeah?”

SHE shrugs. “If you aren’t choosy, they should be fine enough,” she adds, trying to sound hopeful, but she knows how those kinds of places can be. At the very least they aren’t in worse neighborhoods; there are cheaper, more terrible choices out there, and by choosing to come here, Jim’s saved himself from those. “But... yeah. It has been nice.” Not a pleasure, maybe, but nice. Weird for a moment there, but overall... nice. “Take care of yourself, OK?”

[mediocrepoems]

consultingsister‌  /  customer  .

There was something about bookstores, wasn’t there? Whole worlds trapped between pages. Time machines into the past and future; windows into other worlds, other lives. Some you yearned to live out yourself, others you were glad to close after the last chapter. Almost always between houses, her own home sometimes resembled an old bookshop; literature piled high in any free space. This did not stop her buying more of course. Everyone always assumed Celia’s shopping problem started with shoes and dresses but for every Miu Miu heel or Louboutin she picked up, there was five books in the other bag. And she read them all! Or at least, started. An old not-quite boyfriend used to complain that she was always reading three books at once, and he could never keep up, as much as he tried. 

Today’s trip wasn’t to add to her own collection however. She found books a deeply personal christmas present. Picking up something she knew the other person would love and writing a small message about why they would, but also why she loved them. Completely engrossed in the book, she doesn’t even notice the other woman until she knocks over the books. “Ah, here, let me help.” Abandoning her collected books and handbag, she squats to collect up the fallen hardbacks. “They all look alright, are you? No paper cuts?” So hilarious. 

THE woman she’d expressly intended to have ignore her swoops in to save the day in an outcome she’d meant entirely to avoid. Somehow, Ingrid just gets herself into these kinds of situations. “Thank you—so much—you didn’t really... have to...” she trails off, forgetting why she’d even decided to open her mouth, and focuses on picking the books back up. What a situation, amirite? Hopefully nobody bothers to watch today’s events on CCTV playback.

Well, anyway, Ingrid’s there, flushing and sweating like a roasting chunk of meat, and hearing the lady’s joke ( is it a joke, though; she’s bad at this stuff ) is enough to make her both want to laugh and want to crawl in a hole somewhere. “Ha ha, h—right. Um. N-no. No paper cuts here,” she says as she straightens up and returns the books back with the woman’s help. She does it quickly but carefully enough to ensure they don’t fall again and cause an embarrassing replay. “I hope I... didn’t disturb you too much.”

[thecollectibles]

Studies by Christian Lonsdale

[speaknowtaylor]

Taylor Swift phone wallpaper - reblog or like if you use

[mediocrepoems]

@maternalmelancholy  /  starter call  .

INGRID’S grandmother used to be an elementary school teacher back in the day, an experience she’d often told her anecdotes about. She remembers one now, about how she’d left class having to carry several mini-dioramas all by herself, with none of the kids there being particularly sensitive enough to notice her struggle. Seeing Professor Littlejohn leaving the faculty room with her own burden (significantly diorama-less, of course) strikes that very chord in her, and Ingrid approaches the woman right away, social ineptitude be damned. “M-may I help you with that, ma’am?”

[mediocrepoems]

traumeriin‌  /  rosie  .

  “Maybe.” Rosemary laughs as she admires her son. Of course, she loves both of her children equally but her and Ari have a special bond since it was just the two of them for the first few years of his life. “He has always been my lil’ helper. When I garden he always waters the plants with me.”

“THAT settles it then,” laughs Ingrid. “He’ll be better than me for sure.” She’s all smiles as she banters with this pleasant little family, and it’s something she hadn’t even known she’d needed before tonight. Most of the time, she’s content to eat diner dinners alone or whatever it is some friends or workmates want when they’ve got the time and the money. This---and the plan they’ve somehow come up with along the way---is a wonderful change. “I can’t wait.”

[valscrapbook]

[mediocrepoems]

futurepop‌  /  eve  .

  “I’ve been good. Just celebrating Hanukkah with the family and stuff.” Muses the starlet as she adjusts the glasses on her face. Who knew a pair of sunglasses and casual clothing would be so effective at disguising her from the public? “What about you? Anything exciting?”

“OH! That’s—-that’s awesome! I hope you have a wonderful celebration with your family.” Hearing about that genuinely warms her inside, but she can’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy all the same as she thinks about her own family, broken up and unable to have Christmas dinner together when the time comes. ...But anyway. Not the point. “Um, m-me? I’ve been OK, I guess. Just ...doing some Christmas shopping.” Lie. She’s shopping for herself.

[mediocrepoems]

irishrot‌  /  jim  .

He finds it a little amusing once she says it’s a pleasure. It really isn’t. Considering how much of a cryptic prick he’s been throughout this whole conversation. He appreciates the sentiment, however. “Ingrid.” He repeats after her after she repeats his own name. He really should be heading for something to eat but he doesn’t think she’d be much help in that regard. “Probably a cheap hotel or some shite like that. Need a place to stay, like.”

LOOKING back on it now, maybe pleasure isn’t the best way to describe what this conversation has been---the formality’s become so automatic for her during introductions that she barely has time to look closely and actually evaluate. ...Still, it hasn’t been a particularly bad experience, and she can’t be effed right now to think of good words on the spot. “Oh, well, if that’s the case, you aren’t too far off,” she tells him. “There’s a row of ‘em a couple blocks down, near some fast food chains.” Ingrid gives him a warning look. “They are legitimately cheap, though---like, in every sense of the word.”

[derivings]

untitled by yana yalutkina on Flickr.

[peonyandbee]

Lovely Life

[mediocrepoems]

@consultingsister  /  starter call  .

WELL-DRESSED people always manage to catch Ingrid’s attention. There’s a certain way with which they carry themselves, a kind of confidence that manifests in the way they walk and talk and generally go about doing things---it’s a particular brand of subtle charisma that she knows she can never hope to achieve, unless circumstances force her to go through some major Devil-Wears-Prada-esque makeover ( although even then, bad posture and overall awkwardness make her virtually incapable of saving ). The effect they have is magnetic, and Ingrid has to forcefully tear her gaze away from this one fashion savvy customer browsing in her aisle, hoping she hadn’t really been staring for as long as she imagines she might have.

She quickly begins rearranging the books in the shelves in an attempt to look preoccupied, only to ( in her hurry, probably; who the heck even knows ) end up knocking some old hardcovers off their spot like an actual dumbass. “Shoot,” she mutters under her breath as her terrible reflexes fail to save the falling pieces of literature.

[mediocrepoems]

I’ll work on the other starters I owe tomorrow because my eyes are bout to close rn. Thank you all for wanting to interact with Ingrid sejksjk

[mediocrepoems]

mcneyhoney‌  /  stefani  .

                 what’s better than this?! there’s people against every surface, kissing and touching and  —   maybe a little  more.  the second they walked in stefani witnessed some dude do a line of coke off of a barstool and then chug what must of been  seven   drinks one right after the other. the blonde is having a great time, swaying to the music as she looks around, trying to find them a nice spot to dance. when ingrid speaks stef leans in closer, shouting for her to repeat it over the music and when she does stef takes her hand, giving a little squeeze.  “ oh, darling why not?!  is it the music? or the people?? come to the smoking area with me —  take a breather! “

THE suggestion lowkey horrifies her. Asthma hasn’t visited Ingrid since fourth grade by the school jungle gym, but direct olfactory contact with cigarette smoke always did make her feel a little queasy---the coughing that comes from it, she figures, is more a mental reaction than a legitimate, physical one but still. “I---I don’t think that’s what ‘ taking a breather ’ is supposed to mean,” she says awkwardly, in a similarly awkward volume, like she’s half-shouting, half trying to make sure the others around her don’t hear how much of a loser she’s being. “Um. Do they have any food in here, like chips? Preferably not spiked with, you know---anything? Just regular-like?”