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hannahssimblr · 9 months

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Clóda is waiting on the couch when I come back with fingers drumming on her knees, “There’s orange juice on the floor,” she points out. “Did someone spill it?”

“Oh, sh- yeah, Ivy did. I haven’t had a chance to clean it yet.”

“Do you need help?”

“God, no, it’s fine, I’ll just-” I dip into the bathroom and yank some toilet paper off the roll and then start layering it over the spill. God, this is embarrassing. Why did I invite her into this mess? She shouldn't be seeing any of this. The house was supposed to be clean and fragrant with some cool music playing and maybe even one of my mother’s less fancy and less noticeable candles lit on the shelf, but no, here I am on my knees beside Clóda, mopping up orange juice with toilet paper that is rapidly disintegrating and turning to mush in my hands.

To add insult to injury she says, “how’s the whole babysitting thing going?”

“Yeah amazingly. So good.”

She looks around her again and I fear that she will spot something else that’s gone wrong, but she just says, “This beach house is pretty nice.”

“Yeah we’re lucky.”

“Do your parents, um, do they have good jobs?”

“Yeah, you could say that I suppose, my dad’s a dentist and my mom is an actuary.”

“What is that?”

I shrug, “Basically she works in insurance, it’s very boring.”

“I actually used to always wonder who owned this house. I’d see it every time I was walking to the end of the beach, but like, it’s shut up all winter so I never really knew anything except for that some wealthy family from Dublin owns it.”

“We’re not that wealthy,” I gather the soaking tissue in my hands and go and dump it into a waste paper basket. “Probably about the same as you, huh? Didn’t you say that your dad owns the boat club?”

“It’s in the family, yeah, but that’s the only business we own now since we had to sell the restaurant in town.”

“Oh now you have just one business?” I slump down next to her and make sure that our elbows are touching, “I didn’t know you were lowly peasants. God, how do you survive off that?”

“Shut up,” she smirks at me, “It’s not all great, with the recession and all..”

“Yeah the recession,” I roll my eyes, “It’s always the recession this and the recession that these days, isn’t it?”

“Yeah it’s so boring, I don’t care about economics or anything like that.”

“Same. I never pay attention in business class.” I spring forward and grab the TV remote from the table, trying to be very cool and play off the fact that it is now sticky after Ivy mauled it with her child-hands. “You want to watch a movie?”

“Okay.”

“What kind?”

“Do you have the movie channels?”

“Yeah all of them.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“At your holiday house?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re wealthier than I am then.”

I laugh, “Come on, let’s pick a movie. What’s on? Oh look, Ocean’s Thirteen is there, or… Bruce Almighty.”

“What about P.S I love you?”

I flick it on without hesitation, “Yeah sure.”

She laughs in disbelief, “Really?”

“Why not?” We’re not looking for Oscar winners here, just some background noise, and anyway, sometimes I secretly don’t mind chick flicks that much, at least it offers some ambient background noise instead of the gunshots and helicopters that are always in the films I watch with the guys. Obviously I love those kinds of movies, but girls aren't often as enthusiastic.

I sit back and drape my arm over the back of the couch. Not touching her, not yet, but enough to break any awkward tension and dissipate any confusion she may have about why I invited her over. See, I’m slick like that.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” I murmur as the opening credits roll.

“As if. He thinks I’m at Rachel’s house. You know he actually asked me about you earlier when you came by the boat club.”

“Was he wondering if I work out?”

She laughs, “No, he was all like ‘who was that young fella hovering around the door?’ and all, he says you look rough.”

“‘Rough’?”

“I think it’s the shaved head, makes you look like a skanger.”

I pretend to be shocked, “A skanger? I’m no skanger.”

“Well I know that, but you look like one when you don’t have any hair.”

I run a hand over my head. There’s nothing I can do about it now. “And Rachel? Does she know that you’re supposed to be with her?”

Clóda shifts guiltily, “Um, no. She’s mad at me actually, so I haven’t talked to her in a few days.”

I shift in close to face her. I shouldn’t be addicted to teen girl drama but it’s fascinating. The things they say and do to one another are always crazy, it’s true psychological warfare. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

“Oh, just, you know.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“She’s annoyed because she called first dibs.”

“On?”

She blushes bright pink and looks away, and I understand that this is about me. They should probably be more relaxed about this kind of thing, because Shane fancied Clóda too but I got there first. There’s no hard feelings, it’s just how it works, and I think girls might have an easier time if they got on board and accepted things like this.

“Did you tell her that I said I don’t fancy her?”

“No, do you think I should? I’ll tell her that you think she’s annoying or something.”

“Um, no, don't tell her that.”

“She is annoying though.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Clóda scoffs, “She is, she, like, copies everything I do. If I curl my hair, she curls her hair, if my nails are purple then her nails are purple, she has no originality. It just annoys me so much.”

“Yeah that sounds tough, I guess, but if you wanna tell her as much then you have to say that it’s you that thinks it, not me. I don’t want to get involved.”

“Do boys have this type of drama?”

“No.”

“Right… I’m sorry for bringing it up, you probably think it sounds really stupid.”

“I don’t, it’s okay, you can chat to me about it if you want.”

“Well, okay then,” she says, and launches immediately into a ten minute tirade about Rachel and how annoying she is, and how this relates to and ties in with some other girls at their school in some friend group they’re in, and I try my best to stay engaged but it’s frankly confusing. I can’t keep track of who’s who, and sometimes it’s Clóda herself, the main focus of all of these stories, who seems to be in the wrong. She keeps saying things like “Do you know what I’m saying?” and I don’t, but I suppose it’s okay and I can just nod along because what’s important is that she’s here and the things about her that are nice make any doubts I may have about her dissipate and float away for now. Like her eyes, hazel, the beauty spot on her chin and that view of the side of her neck when she tucks her hair behind her ear. When I picture myself putting my mouth there her words don't really matter.

The next time she looks up at me through long, black lashes she trails off, her sentence dies on her lips because she knows I have stopped listening. She knows I am going to kiss her, and I am, because I’ve already subscribed to the idea that kissing her would be so nice.

She watches my hand as I move to push a piece of her hair away from her face and then locks her eyes on me as I lean in and press my lips to hers, and while the idea is nice, so nice, the reality is different. It is wet and messy and she’s still not very good at this. I don't know why I half expected her to have improved in the last week, but it’s alright because I’m two things, I’m patient and I’m a good teacher.

“Like this,” I murmur, drawing back with her face in my hands and dotting kisses to her mouth.

Her breath hitches, “Am I bad?”

“No, I'm just trying to show you how I like it.”

My phone begins to buzz in my pocket and I ignore it. I don’t know why she is so eager to unhinge her jaw and shove her entire tongue in my mouth, but I’m not letting her. Every time she tries I pull back and start again as the phone stops ringing. Then it begins again.

Clóda sounds dazed, “Is someone ringing you?”

“Never mind it.” We kiss more as it vibrates furiously against my thigh.

“It’s kind of distracting.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

I grumble to myself and pull it out of my pocket to see Joe calling, and I pull a face. This guy should not be calling me. Preferably he wouldn’t even have this kind of access to me past six PM, or actually, my number at all, but I answer it anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Hey man.”

I pause for several incredulous seconds, “Yeah, hey. What’s up?”

“Nothin’ much man, how are you?”

“Why are you ringing me?”

“Oh! I think Jen wants you to come and get her.”

“Jen?” I sit up straight letting Clóda’s hands and legs drop away from me. “What’s wrong?”

“We dunno, man. She’s just crying and shit. She just says that she wants you to come over.”

“Where are you?”

“My brother’s house.”

I pinch the skin between my eyebrows, “Did you- did she-” I’m hyper aware of Clóda listening to my every word, “Is she, um, intoxicated?”

“Yeah man, she took a couple yokes and then started freaking out, I dunno. She’s outside crying and asking for you.”

“You left her outside?”

“That’s just where she was.”

“Can you put her on the phone?”

“Um, she can’t really talk, she’s kinda hypo- hyp- she’s gasping really hard.”

“Okay, I’m coming,”

I stand up as Clóda watches me. “Where?” She says as I finish up the phone call.

I move through the room frantically grabbing keys, money, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry but I have to go and get Jen. She’s at a party tonight and she’s not feeling well,” I instinctively reach to paw at the front of my hair though it isn’t there anymore. “This is terrible, I know, I wish-”

“You want me to stay here?” She glances around awkwardly.

“Well… yeah, you know, I can’t leave my sister in the house on her own, and Jen needs to be brought home, I promise that I won’t be long, the house she’s at is just down in the village, like ten minutes each way, and-”

“Yeah I suppose, I-”

“As a huge favour?” I interject desperately, “Can you just stay? I’ll owe you one, and you don’t have to do anything, just sit here for like, twenty minutes, half an hour max and I’ll be back.”

“I have to be home by eleven.”

“I’ll be back before then.”

“Um. Okay.”

“Yeah, great, finish the movie, um… thank you so much, seriously. I’ll be right back.” I rush up the stairs and out the front door. This is bad. This is genuinely terrible, but there’s nothing that I can do about it, so I push all thoughts about what is happening to the back of my mind and climb onto my bicycle.

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#lucky boy #Jude in this is getting a yikes from me #ignoring red flags while also being a red flag #but whatever i love him #also ignore the iphone LMAO we can pretend it's an 00s nokia or something

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gingerhastoomanyobsessions · 9 months

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for a webbed site that claims to love rehabilitative justice tumblr sure has a love of vengeance huh. somehow we’ve created a digital atmosphere where literal murder is less bad than (checks notes) not emerging from the womb with a perfectly calibrated moral compass and the Correct Political Opinions

I’ve seen people on here say that, not only can people Not Change, but that people who try to change are a) lying b) manipulative and c) undeserving of the chance to change. besties…becoming a better person isn’t about whether or not you deserve to become a better person, it’s not even about becoming 100% perfect, it’s about doing damage control after you realize you fucked up. like yeah people you’ve hurt aren’t obligated to like you/forgive you/interact with you, but tumblrites seem to think that anyone who’s ever made a serious mistake should be exiled from society and/or guillotined. we’ve gone from reasonable and correct takes about how people change (ex. “it’s not my responsibility to teach you”— yes! of course it shouldn’t be up to underprivileged random people on the internet to educate the uninformed!) to utterly deranged ones (ex. “nobody with privilege will ever realize that they’re doing harm and the ones who claim to be in the process of learning are just virtue signaling and should be punished for it”— a take I’ve seen applied to men learning about feminism, cishets becoming allies, white people learning about antiracism, relatives of shooters who go on to advocate for gun control, etc)

you do realize that people can genuinely change for the better, right? I’ve seen my parents un-transphobia themselves firsthand, going from thinking that my sibling came out “for attention” to wholeheartedly believing in trans rights. my grandma’s father was every kind of asshole imaginable and she grew up indoctrinated, but as an adult she broke away from him and has spent the rest of her life working on unlearning stuff. my cousin grew up in the rural south and parroted his rural southern dad’s opinions until he was thirteen and started actually thinking for himself, at which point he did a total 180 and is now studying history with a focus on the evolution of the rights of the underprivileged

so when I see people on here say that people shouldn’t change because they don’t deserve to change it rubs me the wrong way. cause at that point it sounds like you’d rather have that person stay harmful so you can stay mad at them, instead of letting them change and gaining yourself an ally. again, you don’t need to interact with them, but. at this point it kind of feels like you care more about hating The Oppressors than about protecting The Oppressed.

#also for the love of god this is about politics not fandom.#TO BE CLEAR I do also believe in rehabilitative justice for literal murder whenever possible as well.#i think that the vast majority of humans would be ok people if not for circumstances #(ex indoctrination trauma desperation externalized-self-hatred ignorance etc)#and that rehabilitation/change isn’t about whether or not you ‘deserve it’ but about whether or not you’re making an effort #because either we punish people for ever and ever Or we gain allies. and one option is more tangibly beneficial than the other #standard disclaimer: I am white and therefore probably verbalizing some of this in a wrong or questionable way and/or have holes in my logi #because I have blind spots due to privilege. I know. Nobody’s obligated to tell me where they are or how to fix them #but I don’t hold it against you if you read this and think ‘yikes. (x) sentiment is kind of questionable’ and inform me if you so choose #so long as you don’t literally want me exiled and/or dead it’s chill. to be clear. calling people out/pointing out bias is one thing #calling for their head on a platter is another

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