dripping

( olive. 22. est. she/her. ) it might be HIS JUNIOR year but I still think FELIX LESSER looks exactly like JOE KEERY and sometimes I think the CISMALE is actually them. Of course I’m wrong, as they’re 22 and studying POETRY while living in PEREGRINIS here at Lockwood. The AQUARIUS can be rather INTELLIGENT and WARM-HEARTED, but also kind of CHILDISH and IMPULSIVE. Their most played song on Spotify was TEENAGE DIRTBAG by WHEATUS, so I think that says a lot. (replacing ingrid dont unfollow!)

There’s something comforting in the peeling paint, the mismatched furniture and the funky stench of jaeger that seeps into the dive bar. Come back in thirty years and this place would still be the same, the barman a little older, still no further along on his novel than he was at twenty-five. It’s a place for the fuck-ups, the uninspired youth, and Ingrid’s milking it for every penny that it’s worth in her too-short skirt and her eyes like a wildfire. “It’s always sad slut hour when you’re around,” Bridget smirked, crunching on the remains of an abandoned bag of pork cracklings, stare fixing on Ingrid as she readied herself for a monologue. “I keep having this one recurring one where I’m sucking off Kieran in the toilet of a Burger King but then I get too into it and bite off his dick. And there’s just like, blood everywhere, and I have to get a load of burger napkins to wipe it all up, but he’s just standing there, castrated, and pretty pissed off…” A shrug lifted her shoulders as she eyed the barman, taking a gulping swig of her bourbon, trying to decipher whether his seasick expression was caused by eavesdropping or if that was merely his face. “Kinda fucked up. Probs a metaphor for me hating the patriarchy or some Freudian penis-envy bullshit.”

Two match stick girls, turning heads wherever they went, their mouths dripped with profanity whenever they got together, egging each other on. She felt comfortable in dirty places like this, like she could blend into the background for a bit, but she still managed to stand out in the crowd of regulars. A composition of incipient alcoholics and tired locals, one guy in the corner hunched over his beer. “Kieran? With the fluffy hair?” She listened for a few moments to the girl, brown eyes ringed with dramatic reddish-orange eyeshadow flashing the girl like a sunset. “Jeffrey Dahmer vibes. Heard cannibalism was back in style for 2019. Maybe it’s a premonition you should become a serial killer. Unseat Aileen Wuornos from her throne.” Ingrid shrugged off her leather jacket, finally warming up from the cold outside, nearly see-through white top underneath catching the eyes of several patrons. “Think that guy has been eyeing us for an hour. What do you think? Is he getting a boner or thinking about mounting our heads on his wall?” Ingrid asked, motioning to a guy in a booth behind them. “Wanna see if he has a wallet?”

How does it feel getting your dick bitten off? I can make that happen for you!

( + 1 notification from Instagram ) @ingridrad the hot, russian grandma i’d like to fuck (gilf) you never knew you needed

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rune lolled his head to the side as his brow furrowed in mild confusion , “ who is they ? plus , i thought you were heather. . are you sure you aren’t heather ? i could’ve sworn. . “ the swede gave a lazy shrug of his shoudlers and snorted in amusement , “ definitely not in a frat and i definitely wasn’t here last week , sorry to disappoint. “  

A violent surge of regret sucker-punched Julien’s stomach the second Ingrid stepped away. It wasn’t like he had expected her to turn down a dare – quite the opposite, actually. Somewhere in the four-month span of their relationship the pair had developed a nasty habit of treating each other like lab-rats; too often either Julien or Ingrid would end up taking things too far solely for the sake of proving just how far they could go. Everything was a competition, all bright and flashy, and seeing as both of their egos barely fit inside their bodies, everything was ‘yes, yes, yes!’ at ultralight speed. So no, he hadn’t expected her to back down – Julien simply had an affinity for overestimating his sobriety, spewing out words without considering consequences until, at his request, Ingrid was wrapping manicured fingers around a stranger’s bicep. “God dammit.” Leaning against the bar with a disgruntled expression, Julien poked a tongue angrily around the inside of his cheek and watched the man undress Ingrid with his eyes, the entire affair made easier for him when her hands snaked under her top to yank it up for what was, in his opinion, a second too long. “O-kay,” he exhaled with an annoyed grunt, pushing himself from the bar. Making a beeline for Ingrid, it wasn’t until Julien stood inches in front of the pair that his eyes widened in feigned horror. “Oi, sistah!” Accent a molotov cocktail of Cockney, Irish, and German, he grasped Ingrid’s shoulder with a panic stricken expression, ignoring the spluttering protests emitted by her newly acquired companion. “It’s Ma! Bobby’s back! He’s back and Ma says if we don’t go… If we – ” He paused, scanning the room desperately for inspiration. Covered in a film of dust, a mouse-trap lay untouched under a barstool. “IT’S THE RATS!” By now multiple people had turned their heads to shoot Julien irritated glances. Someone eyed a bouncer warily. A flanneled frat boy whispered an insult just out of earshot. ‘Is he fucking tweaking?’ Julien bit back a laugh under the heat of their stares. He felt high. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, tugging at Ingrid’s fingers with a subtle raise of his brows. “We’re needed at the farm. You just wouldn’t understand.” Only when he had successfully dragged Ingrid out of earshot and through the mass of moving bodies did Julien allow himself a quick bark of a laugh. “Fuck’s sake. My turn. I pick dare.”

All too aware of Julien’s presence looming behind her as she flirted, Ingrid could almost sense him like someone’s hot breath on the back of her neck. It was what they always did to each other. Needling each other in all the wrong places until one of them popped like a balloon, Ingrid especially. She didn’t trust that Julien could feel the way he felt about her. Ingrid didn’t trust that anyone could have more than passing attraction to her. So she prodded him, annoyed him, urged him to lash out. Like she needed confirmation that she wasn’t worth the effort. That he would leave. His tug on his arm and his spluttering as he struggled to get her away from the guy brought the smallest of smiles on her face, serene and untroubled as a doll’s and just as hollow. Finally she spluttered out a laugh, arm going limp in his hand as he dragged her away, red heeled boots clomping along on the floor as he brought her back to her seat. “You alright there? Was that a stroke?” Ingrid asked, trying to deflect from the hurt he was clearly trying to convey in his limited way. Raising her eyebrows, she lifted her glass to her lips, finishing off her drink. “Fine. Next round’s on me,” she told him defiantly, almost, slamming her newly acquired cash down on the bar and staring directly into his eyes. “Kiss someone who isn’t me.”

“October,” she corrected, though mostly out of habit than actually caring about her name being said correctly. “First, I didn’t need to ask, she did kill him. There’s far too much evidence to say for a fact that she didn’t. What I do want to know, though, is if I can find Francis Bean on Tinder. Have you seen her recently? An angel,” she sighs, looking over towards Ingrid after her small tangent, snorting when she mentioned her own Uber experience. “You’d think they’d appreciate such an immersive experience. People actually pay for shit like that, and here you are, giving them money and still giving them a show? Ungrateful. How’s it going with Julien, anyway?”

“Hey!” Teddy squawked, despite the lack of actual heat in his tone. It didn’t help that a large grin was spreading across his features as Ingrid bounced around his room like a five year old that’d just had their first RedBull, “No getting water on the bed, I have a family to feed y’know, and I can’t go working a hard day’s labour if I don’t get a good night’s sleep.” He’d found himself spinning languidly in circles, bored of sitting still after doing so for all of five minutes, in his desk chair that really was used for anything other than activities such as this. He generally let company lounge on his bed, it felt good to have an excuse to actually use the work chair, “That games lame,” Teddy declared bluntly, allowing his feet to drag along the floor so that he halted mid spin, “as if I don’t already live to boggle the minds of people as it is. But I’ll play along, I was getting bored of hanging out with you anyway.” As he spoke, Teddy scooted across his carpeted floor until he was parked in front of where Ingrid sat on his bed and plucked the already half smoked joint they’d been sharing casually earlier out of her thin fingers, “Any ground rules for the dare? Feel like something that could lead to expulsion is an obvious no but I also have nothing to lose, so. Up to you.”

Ingrid slapped his arm, gently just still rough enough to chastise him. “Rude. If I had a lacy debutante glove I’d slap you across the face with it.” She curled her arms around her folded legs, her posture similar to that of a dead bug’s before stretching out again, toes covered in tights wiggling. She pulled the joint and lighter out of her skirt pocket, lighting it up before passing ti over to Teddy. “No flashing people. Julien already took that one and he nearly lost his shit. Carrie Underwood in the Before He Cheats music video level shit.” The girl thought for a few seconds, biting at her chapped lips before her eyes lit up. “Sexual’s fine. Nothing illegal. Feel like there are already too many people here who should be doing jail time.” Her fingers flicked over the lighter switch, switching it on and off. “Think he might cut off more of my hair in my sleep. Shit, that sounded worse than it was. Was just like, a lock of hair. On the upside, we have my DNA ready if they ever figure out cloning.”

“Donald Trump’s a gemini,” Gabe sneered. “You know who was a Capricorn? Our lord in heaven, Jesus Christ. And I don’t know why Caps are so demonized, either.” Packing his bag with the singular pen he was chewing on and the already crumpled up syllabus, he nodded towards the door beside them. They both conveniently and knowing picked the very back row, several feet away from the rest of the class that it was easy to miss that they were even there. “It’s still morning, Christ. We can go to IHOP and order a triple stack of pancakes and you can slip something in your morning coffee or something,” he said, following her out the door.

“I don’t see your point. There’s never a wrong time for a whiskey. I think 4 PM is the best time to pass out from drinking,” she joked, voice deadly serious before she cracked a grin, nodding her head as she pulled her coat tighter against her, heading doors the front doors of the building, wind whipping back her hair as it blasted their faces. “Alright, IHOP. Maybe I’ll spike all the maple syrup along with the coffee. Give the parents taking their kids there an interesting day.” Her combat boots trudged in the snow, heading towards the nearest IHOP, not too far from their class. “Think people who like blueberry pancakes have a sadistic tendency? Like they might have a body in the trunk?”