#pointers to any 11 year olds out there: god help you all

[kenonade]

you guys have no idea how much it amuses me that the ender’s game tag is practically 90% me. you’re all trapped in this room with me and you will have to endure my peterposting. there is no escape.

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fic Day 11 ~ Baking

Had a bit of a mental dip so took a few days off but I'm back and hoping to get the rest of my prompts written and posted before Christmas Day, if not some may just be posted towards the end of December.

Summary: Raising two kids while Logan works can be stressful but spending quality time with your little family makes it all better.

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Pairings: pretty sure this is suitable for everyone (fem!reader/male!reader/gn!reader) but I am still new to writing anything other than fem!reader so any pointers are greatly appreciated.

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better and reblog to share my work :)

Christmas had always been yours and Logan’s favourite season. Ever since your first Christmas together, it has established itself as one of the best days of the year and the build up to Christmas is just as fun. For the first time, both of your children are old enough to actually be able to experience the joys of Christmas and the days leading up to it. Your little boy, Roman, was 6 and your youngest, Isabella, was 4 meaning that the Christmas magic was very real for them. 

With Logan working a little later that day and the kids feeling too restless to just sit and watch movies, you decided to take them on a shopping trip for baking supplies and when Logan got home, you could bake all sorts of sweet treats, because god knows you would not be able to control both children alone. 

“Rome, Bella, c’mere. I’ve got an idea.” You called into the living room and both kids came running into the kitchen, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Shall we have a baking day when daddy gets home?” Both of them nodded quickly, Bella squealing yes while Roman just grinned. “Alright, that means we gotta get our shoes on and go to the store to buy some supplies okay?” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Your children were not badly behaved, not by a long shot, but with the excitement of Christmas looming and the knowledge that when daddy came home they’d get to bake and have fun, they were definitely a little more rowdy than was probably socially acceptable. You had decided to put both of them in the cart where you could definitely see them and they weren’t causing chaos. “Alright, what kind of treats do we wanna bake, kiddos? Brownies? Cookies? Gingerbread?” 

After a five minute long argument over sugar cookies and brownies, even though you had agreed to buy both, you were finally ready to go pay, pushing the cart to the checkout and scanning the items through as the kids got more and more restless while they waited. It was only after you scanned all your items through did you reach for your card and realise you had left it at home on the kitchen counter when you were helping Bella put her shoes on. “Crap…” 

“Need help, bub?” You heard the familiar voice over your shoulder as someone leaned over and slotted a few notes into the machine. It was only when the kids started screaming for their daddy that you turned and realised that it was Logan. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before starting to load the stuff into the cart, ruffling both of the kids' heads and kissing their foreheads. 

“Well, if it isn’t my knight in shining armour.” You teased and he grinned, grabbing hold of the cart with one hand and wrapping the other around your waist and smirking. 

“Always. Came to fill up the truck and saw your car in the lot. Thought I’d come make sure the little rascals were behaving. Lucky I came in.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the house, Logan was taking the kids’ shoes off while you measured out ingredients for both the brownies and the sugar cookies. When the kids came into the kitchen, Bella was clinging onto Logan’s neck while Roman walked quietly beside him, holding his hand. You managed to get Bella to move to the other side of the counter with you so that the pair of you could make the sugar cookies.

Five minutes in and Bella was giggling as Logan threw a chocolate chip at me, hitting your nose. “That’s how you wanna play it huh, Howlett?” You glared at him, grabbing the chocolate chip and throwing it back at him. “You’re just jealous because our cookies are gonna beat your brownies.”

“No way!” Roman yelled, both of the kids giggling as you and Logan threw glares at each other, the stress of the day fading away as you watched your kids enjoying themselves and you see Logan relaxing. 

“Yours and daddy’s brownies are gonna lose.” Bella said to Roman and the boy turned to Logan with the most serious look on his face. 

“Daddy we have to win. Brownies are so much better.” Logan looked at Roman and, trying his best not to laugh at how serious the boy had turned, nodded and got back to work reading the instructions and telling Roman what to add and when. 

The sweet treats were in the oven soon enough and Logan took each of the kids upstairs to get them showered and ready for bed while you waited for the cookies and brownies to finish cooking. The decorations could then be added once the kids were in their pyjamas and finished getting ready for bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

With the promise of sugar before bed, both Bella and Roman were easily convinced to settle down, letting the icing and sprinkles set on the treats. Putting a movie on the television and settling under a blanket together, Roman on Logan’s lap and Bella snuggled against your side, you felt like you could finally relax after what was definitely a stressful day.

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

Any feedback in the comments is greatly appreciated or we can just chat :)

Requests are also open if there is anything that people want me to write💛

[rawdogmeharry]

will you write something about reader and harry having a 12 year age gap, but fans and everyone are really supportive of their healthy relationship? like they’re so in love. lots of fluff and maybe a tinge of smut? 🥺 love your writing 🥺🥰

old man

or, the one where Harry’s family loves Y/N and he loves her even more.

]part 2: old bones]

sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy babe <3 and thank you very much, that’s lovely to hear!!

requests go here:)

masterlist

•

“What d‘ya say, baby, red or white wine?“ Harry ponders, leaning one hip against the kitchen counter and holding up the two dark glass bottles in his hands, showing them to Y/N.

“I dunno, I‘d say red but Anne‘s not really a fan of it, so let‘s just take the white,“ she shrugs her shoulders, little animated hearts dancing around in her eyes from watching Harry look so fucking effortlesly hot for no damn reason. His sheer button-up that shows his vast collection of body ink and the way his black jeans fit snugly on his juicy thighs are the reasons her panties are drenched inside out.

Little does she know, he‘s thinking the exact same thing.

She stands in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a tight, sand colored turtleneck, black bell bottomed pants and the pointed-toe nude Louboutin heels Harry had gotten her for her last birthday, looking like Harry‘s next meal. All he wants to do, is take those pants, shove them down to her thighs, bend her over their glass dining table and bury his face in her cunt and ass.

But, they‘ve got places to be and people to see at the Styles-Twist family gathering.

Dead puppies, grandma boobs, cow udders is all that circles his head because nothing else can bring his boner down.

“Hey, where‘d you go?“ Y/N waves her hand in his face, seeing his spaced out face and eyes weirdly zoned in on her tits.

“Huh?“

“Y‘zoned out on me, Har, y‘okay?“ she slowly walks towards him with her brows furrowed, her heels making a really satisfying noise on the gray kitchen tiles.

“Oh, yeah, ‘m fine, kitty, just thinking ‘bout how pretty y‘are,“ he grins and tugs her in close by her love handles, then gradually migrates his hands down to her ass and gives it a firm squeeze once she‘s fully enclosed in his arms. And about how hard I want to fuck you, you fucking Goddess, he thinks to himself.

“Let‘s go then, bub, don‘ wanna be late. Been a while since we last saw your mum, I‘ve missed her,“ she smiles up at him. “And, wanna get home as soon as possible as well, also been a while since we used those handcuffs, huh?“

Harry watches as she bites her bottom lip and feels her dainty hands stroking up and down his back, and just as he‘s about to ram her against the wall to spank her and remind her how daddy doesn‘t like to be teased like that, she quickly slips out of his embrace and spanks his firm bum, telling him ��let‘s go, Har“ and giving him a pointed look as if to silently tell him that she knows exactly what he‘s thinking.

‘‘‘

“Oh, yeah, since ‘m on winter break right now, me ‘n Harry started re-watching Friends, but my old man can barely keep his eyes open past 11, so it‘s been goin‘ really slowly,“ Y/N giggles, and that‘s the only part of the conversation Harry hears as he‘s approaching his lovie and Gemma, the two of them talking alone on the outside bench of Anne‘s back garden.

He feels finally free after hearing his uncle talk about the new corn he‘s been growing and how the high fiber content has really helped with his digestion for the past half an hour, and all he wants to do is throw Y/N over his shoulder, go home and fuck the ever living shit out of her. Maybe they won‘t even make it inside the house, he thinks, maybe he‘ll just take her in the car in the driveway.

“Hey, is the old man you‘re talkin‘ about supposed to be me?“ he pretends to be offended with raised brows and mouth open in mock offense, throwing his arm around his lovie‘s shoulders and leaning against the side of the bench in a hunched over sitting position with his bum right at the edge.

“Well, I don‘ really have any other old men watchin‘ Friends with me,“ she shrugs, her eyes regaining the light they get whenever Harry‘s around.

“Better not,“ he says in a stern tone, expression softening once again as he feels her hand on his thigh, rubbing softly in reassurance.

Then, he hears someone else giggle beside his baby, completely forgetting that Gemma‘s been sitting beside Y/N, because all he sees, knows and breathes is Y/N.

“You guys are so cute,“ Gemma giggles again and Harry notices just how tipsy his sister is from the sparkly look in her eyes, no doubt from the delicious wine set out on Anne‘s kitchen island. “Can I tell you a secret?“

“Go ‘head, Gem,“ he chuckles, brushing his fingers through lovie‘s soft hair, “jus‘ don‘ be mad at me if y‘gonna be embarassed by it for the rest of y‘life.“

“Oh, shut up,“ Gemma rolls her eyes, “I may be drunk, but ‘m not stupid, it‘s nothin‘ embarassing. Jus‘ wanted to tell you both how glad I am you two ended up together.“

“We‘re glad too, Gem, thank you,“ Y/N smiles at her, a fond look taking over her face from the realisation at how lucky she got with her sister-in-law. Or actually, Harry‘s whole family, really, and she feels beyond grateful for how accepted and loved she feels in it.

“No, like, ‘m sayin‘ just-just how grateful I am my brother ended up with someone so amazing, so understanding and just—overall such a great person. Really, at first, me ‘n mum were a bit skeptical because of—you know—the pretty big twelve year age difference and all, and Y/N bein‘ only eighteen when y‘met. But over time when we got to know you, you‘re mature beyond your years and I wouldn‘t wish Harry any other person. ‘M really glad that all the negative comments, looks and hate y‘both got at the start of your relationship didn‘t break you up or put any tiffs between you. Y‘gained the fans‘ trust, didn‘t let them overwhelm you. Just proves that no hardships can separate you‘s, you‘re meant to be.“

And Y/N‘s got tears in her eyes at the end of Gemma‘s mini speech, because she couldn‘t imagine hearing nicer words from her boyfriends family. If everyone genuinely thinks all of this about her, she‘s quite literally the luckiest person in the world.

Harry watches as Y/N doesn‘t hesitate to give Gemma a big, fat hug once she‘s done talking and all he thinks is how right Gemma is.

How right she is by saying that Y/N is the most fucking amazing thing to ever happen to him, how nothing can separate them and how they‘re meant to be. That‘s all  Harry thinks about all day every day, and to think that his sister and probably the rest of his family have the same outlook on their relationship is like putting in the last missing piece of the puzzle.

Y/N pulls away from the hug and subtly wipes at her undereyes, “thank you, Gem. I just-I don‘ really know what else t‘say except thank y‘so much.“

“No, but seriously,“ Gemma grins at the next part she‘s about to say, “jus‘ the other day me and mum were talkin‘ about the adorable little buggers you‘d make with your good genes and all an-“

“Okay, Gem,“ Harry chuckles and takes the almost empty wine glass from her hand, “thank y‘for the kind words, but tha‘s all for tonight, I think.“

Gemma pouts, “hey, why‘d y‘take my wine?“

“C‘mon, let‘s go find Michal, he‘ll know what t‘do with ya,“ Harry smiles at his sister and helps her up from the bench and watches as she uncoordinately trots towards the door, heading inside of the warm house where the rest of his family are chatting away amongst eachother.

He stays behind and quickly leans down to whisper in Y/N‘s ear, gripping her thighs in both of his hands, “bathroom upstairs. In five minutes. Daddy doesn‘t like to wait.“ And walks away, catching up to his sister and leads her away to her boyfriend. He wants her, and he wants her now, because he physically cannot contain all of the love and absolute appreciation he has for her inside of him any longer.

Y/N just sits there with clenched thighs and an irregularly beating heart.

‘‘‘

“Fuck,“ Harry pants against his lovie‘s neck, keeping her hands pinned to the wall above her head by her wrists, “how are you this fucking beautiful, huh?“

“Fuck, please do something, Har,“ she mewls into his ear, desperately wanting to grind against something and longing to feel his cock lodged deep into her pussy.

“That‘s not my name,“ Harry growls and grips her wrists tighter.

“Daddy. Daddy, please fuck me, just-please, do something.“

“God, bunny, y‘drivin‘ me crazy. Can‘t fuck you here, don‘t want m‘family t‘hear you screamin‘ fo‘ daddy to fuck y‘ass harder. Gonna make it home, first. Or halfway.“ He grinds against one of her thighs and his cock is leaking so much precome he‘s sure there‘s gonna be a wet stain on his dark jeans once they get out of this Goddamn bathroom.

“Just stop talking, Daddy,“ she pants out, not really caring for the consequences of talking back to daddy at this exact moment and slots her lips to his own, immediately sucking his tongue into her mouth.

And Harry thinks he‘s gonna let her off for this one, because they both need it so much that the bloody rules daddy made can fuck right off through the window.

He moans into her mouth and takes his tongue out of it, quickly pulling back and looking into her eyes, “put your hand into your panties and feel how wet y‘are for me.“ And let‘s go of her wrists.

She does as she‘s told, feeling so fucking thankful for the small amount of friction she gets from her fingers quickly brushing on her clit as she passes it to her weeping hole and rubs her her pointer finger at the entrance of it.

Taking her hand out of her pants, she shows Harry her shiny, slick fingers coated in her juices.

“Suck on them like you‘d suck my cock.“ He rasps out with his hands put on either side of her head.

She takes them into her mouth and moans at her own mouth-watering taste, sucking her fingers to the back of her throat and gagging on them like she‘d gag on Harry‘s cock.

Harry moans out from the filthy sight and locks their lips together for a final time, “five minutes to say goodbye t‘everyone and then I want y‘in the front seat of m‘car with your pants in the back.“

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression - Episode 46 The filming for the Dir en grey Real Avatar music video.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru with this episode, uh, this week's episode of the Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san...it feels like a while since we were last here.

J, T: Yeah.

K: We've been on location, plus last time we filmed 4 episodes at once. Quite a while has passed since then.

T: It has.

J: Nothing new with you?

K: No, nothing.

T: Hahaha

J: Tokyo Sports seems pretty busy..

T: Yeah, I watched you two recently...on Niconama.

J: Ah, yeh. You wrote an article, thanks for that.

T: I was a bit envious while working on it.

J: Yeh, but what about that Tokyo Sports hoodie? How is it doing?

T: Yeah, it looks like its selling.

J: Right.

T: Thanks to you two.

J: No, no, its thanks to Kaoru, but..

K: No, no, its nothing.

J: You gotta make something else for round two.

T: Yeah, there might be a T-shirt collaboration in the works.

K: Ehh? Im looking forward to that.

J: Eventually we'll have like a The Freedom of Expression x Tokyo Sports collaboration set?

T: Yeh, and we could sell that, then go to Okinawa.

J: Go to Okinawa? Haha.

K: Hahaha.

J: Our plan is steadily progressing that far..

T: Together with you Joe.

J: Yes, please, haha.

K: Ok, so Joe, can I ask you to get us started today?

J: Got it! This is happy news, the news that Dir en grey will screen an avatar music video. Dir en grey will reveal a new music video on New Years Eve from 11:00pm, which includes avatar characters created using 3D scans of the members. The Explosion screenings of 'The World You Live In', have been sold out. So an encore entitled 'The World You Live In - additional' will be held on New Years Eve as an online broadcast. As well as a special talk event with the members, a music video with real avatar characters, made by 3D scanning each member, will be screened. Kaoru?

K: Thank you

J: This is good news, isn't it?

K: So as a rule, we always broadcast this show on Friday, but we've made it a bit irregular this time in order to talk about this. Well, of course, I've seen it already.

J: Have you? What was it like?

K: Well, first of all, as for the filming, we did our make up and costume etc, and had cameras surrounding us 360°. We filmed it there first, and then in a different studio, we put on clothes that had pointers all over them, and I played air guitar...

J: Ah, you performed.

K: And then we took photos seperately.

J: It sounds like hard work, was it?

K: Not really, it was over quite quickly.

J: Really?

K: For the photo shoot in full dress it was like, 'flash..flash..Ok, finished'. It felt like a waste of all the make up I was wearing. Like, 'Isn't there anything else?' haha.

J: Ah, if only you could've have done more...But when you were finished with all that, they made it into a moving person?

K: Well, yeh, it has the kind of atmosphere as if its in a game.

J, T: Ehh?

T: What are the facial expressions like?

K: It wasn't possible to go as far as making different facial expressions. Well, i mean, you could do that if you had the time, but we didn't...

J: This time you didn't go that far? But its the first time for Dir to try this kind of thing, right?

K: Yeah.

J: Was there any kind of catalyst that made you think, 'Lets do this'?

K: Well, there was a kind offer saying like, 'We can do this kind of thing'..

J: A suggestion came, and you decided to give it a go?

K: Yeah, thats it, kinda like that.

J, T: Ahhh.

J: You know, this is...

T: It looks interesting.

J: Its exciting, right?

K: When I was playing, there was a pointer right in the position that I usually hold my guitar, so they asked me if I could change the position.

J: Ah, the the postion you play the guitar?

K: Yeah. They tried to help me change the position, but it was still interfering, so I ended up playing up here at chest level, which would nomally be impossible, haha.

T: Hahaha

J: Pretty high up, its not very Kaoru style, is it?

K: I think it'll be a sight to see.

T, J: Hahaha.

K: Its soo high up! Haha

T, J: Hahaha.

J: By the way, are you influenced by anyone in particular as to the position in which you hold your guitar?

K: No, its just the best position I can play in, based on the size of my guitar.

J: Ah, I see. But somehow you ended up playing up here while filming this mv?

K: Yeah, well..I had to raise the position a bit.

J: Ahh, did the other members have to change anything?

K: No

J: Just you? Because it got in the way of the pointers?

K: Yeah.

J: Ahh, really? Die always plays quite low down doesn't he?

K: Yeah, he does. When we first put on all those pointers and mimicked playing the instruments, it came up on screen as just like moving lines. Even just looking at that, I could tell it was Die straight away.

J, T: Ehhh.

K: The shape on screen looked just like Die.

T: Thats pretty interesting.

J: He's very characteristic, isn't he? How do you film the drums? With pointers on them?

K: Haha, pretty tough, right? We had to use a photo of the drums and stick them on.

J: It seems like drums would be the most difficult to play by air. Or was it not that bad?

K: Well, if the positions of the pointers were set then...

K: Ahh, and it was over very quickly?

K: Yes　

J: And you were holding your guitar up here? I say that, but I don't know how good it looks *1, haha. Well, if i had to choose, playing it lower down probably seems cooler. There was a lot of people in the 90s playing guitar like that, right? Punks and stuff. They played it quite low down. There isn't anyone who plays it up high, is there?

K: No, not really.

J: How about actually holding it like that, Kaoru?

K: It would be pretty difficult to play.

J: It could be the 'Kaoru position'.

T: Haha.

J: The cool position!

T: Haha

K: Yeah.

J: Im looking forward to this.

T: The song is the new single 'Ochita koto no aru sora'?

K: Yeah.

J: Are you gonna test this out once and see the reaction, then maybe do more?

K: I think it would be interesting if we could spend a bit more time on it, and brush up the backgrounds and stuff.

J: You might be able to make new creations using only this. I am looking forward to this.

T: The broadcast will start at 23:00, ohh so its gonna be on as the year changes.

J: Yes.

K: First we'll show the same footage that was in the explosion screening, and then after the year changes we'll appear, and then play this mv.

J: Ah, I see.

K: During the live broadcast with the members, we'll play this. And then we'll kinda talk a bit.

J: I see.

T: This is a great way to bring in the new year for the people watching.

J: Right? There wasn't much good news in.2020, so they will really appreciate this piece of hope appearing at the end of the year. They'll be looking out for the postion of the guitars!

T: The same position as ???*2

J: Thats it.

K: It seems like Kami had no interest in this topic.

J: Isn't he here today? Are you there, Kami?

Kami: Yes, I'm here. I've seen it too.

J: You've seen it?!

T: Have you?!

Kami: Yes, I have.

J: Cause he's a god, right? He's different from humans.

K: He sees what we see.

Kami: Because gods have power.

J: Power? Even low grade ones?

Kami: But, no, it was very interesting.

J: You enjoyed it?

Kami: I did enjoy it, it was cool.

J: Did you notice anything about the postion Kaoru was holding his guitar?

Kami: Ah, no, not really.

J: Haha, didn't you? As a god, is there any scenes you would recommend to watch out for? Or any points to pay attention to?

Kami: Well, of course the images were good, but I really thought the song was good. Dir en grey are good at writing songs.

J, T: Hahaha.

K: Thanks, haha.

Kami: I think you have talent.

K: We're good, right?

J: Yeah! He's acting like a judge.

Kami: Thats because Im a god.

J: Well, yeah. Haha, saying, 'You're good at writing songs' to a pro. Thats a first. But thats just like Kami. So, you liked the visuals, but you heard the song again in a new light?

Kami: It was fun.

J: Ah, it was fun? Thank you.

T: How about making a Kami avatar?

K: Ah, yeh.

J: We've never seen what Kami looks like..

Kami: I can't show you that yet.

K: We could make an avatar, and then have it come on screen, when he's here.

T: Yeah, like in this area of the screen.

J: Yeah! If its technically possible.

K: Tasai could create the character.

T: Hahaha.

J: Like his legendary..Oh, lets do that.

T: But I can't draw him, I need to see him. Otherwise I'd have to imagine what he looks like.

K: Yeah, just draw it from imagination.

T: Like my own image of Kami?

J: Yeah, something like that. Well, in that case we could each try drawing him..

K: Even if it isn't a moving character, we could put it up on that line that appears when Kami talks..

J: Yeah, I see.

Kami: Im just a regular old guy.

K, T, J: Hahaha

K: Well, we know that...

J: Yeah, from what we've heard from him so far, we can gather that.

T: Thats it. I could kinda get an image of him by listening to all of his stories.

K: A combined picture of him.

J: Or a loud talk session with him. Thats not nice to think about, is it? haha

K: Yeah, with that voice, it might be a bit tough.

J: Haha, yeh, it would be exhausting.

K: Yeah.

J: Yeh..

K: Ok...well, also, this is a bit of promotion for me, but from February we will start our Explosion Screening tour of our Meguro RokumaykanGig live. We'll go all over Japan with it, and the member will also..

J: Join in, do a talk session?

K: Yeah, we'll do talk sessions.

J: You'll be there? Well, it has been announced already, so people can already check out all the info in realation to that.

K: Is that all?

J: Yeah, I think so.

K: Well, I'd love it if everyone was able to watch the live broadcast tomorrow.

J: Yep, don't miss it.

K: Ok, lets finish here for today. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

*1 Not sure if this bit is entirely right.

*2 Couldn't figure out.

[ticklishpeter]

remember when?

gfhdjbh this is so self-indgulgent. pls enjoy my second fic for diego’s day ! tw for,,,,,, pee i guess lmaoooo

fandom: the umbrella academy characters: diego & all the other hargreeves siblings!!! summary: klaus calls a family meeting; chaos ensues. word count: 1,691

The shrill sound of a bell rang through the mansion as Klaus sang out, obnoxiously loud, “FAMILY! FAAAMILYYYY!” The strong vibrato making Ben angrily cover his ears.

All six siblings met in the room fairly quickly; everyone looking either confused or tired... or both.  “What is it, Klaus?” Luther grumbled, sleepily scratching the back of his head.

“I’ve been watching our little old... home videos,” he held up air quotes, “and I came across,” chuckling, he put a video tape into the small television in front of the group, “such a lovely little memory.” 

A few seconds of fuzzy fast-forwarding later, the content of the tape made Diego’s stomach drop; it was an old ‘security tape,’ from when they all were 11 years old, of all six of his siblings pinning him down and tickling him to tears.

“I remember that. You guys tickled him until he cried,” Vanya exclaimed with an amused smile, watching the screen. 

“Oh, he did more than cry, if I remember correctly,” Luther snickered.

Yes, they made him pee his pants from laughing so hard. No, he would never admit it or talk about it ever again.

His face began to heat up, and as soon as each and every one of his siblings glanced over at him, he bolted off of the couch and ran away; at least... he attempted to run away. He didn’t get very far before he was taken down to the floor by his giant, half-ape brother.

“NO! KLAUS! — LUTHER! — DAMMIT, FUCK OFF!!” Diego growled, trying his very best to fight off his siblings, but it was six to one, and practically hopeless. And he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Luther managed to grab Diego’s upper arms, pinning them to the floor, as Klaus and Vanya each straddled a thigh. Leaving Allison, Five, and, while only visible to Klaus, Ben standing by; almost exactly like old times. Ben’s go-to spot used to be on the thigh that Vanya was now on, but he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that their sister was finally getting herself involved.

Allison took no time to start poking around at his stomach with two index fingers, and Diego’s tough facade lasted about two seconds before he fell into a fit of gasps and yelps, trying not to laugh. “No! It —” His voice was strained and rather high-pitched.

“What? Does it tickle? Huh? Does it tickle, Diego?” Allison cooed in her best baby voice as she wiggled one nail around the surface of his belly. 

He tried his hardest to frown but he just couldn’t hold back the giggles that were flooding out of him. It was just one finger, and no one else was doing anything except watching him; why the fuck was he so giggly already? 

“I-it doesn’t! It doesn’t t-tick —” he stifled a laugh and squirmed, angling his body away from Allison’s finger ever so slightly.

“It doesn’t what?” Adding her other pointer finger, she poked and scratched around his abs.

“D-doesn’t... t-tickle! Shut up!” he squeaked, saying the word made the dam break again as his shoulders began to bounce.

As Diego gasped through his laughter, trying to keep it quiet, Five kneeled down to his other side, squeezing at his ribcage. “C’mon Diego, laugh it up, you know you want to,” his menacing smile and teasing words catching Diego off-guard; he wasn’t used to Five being in such a mood. 

“S-s-stooop,” he whined, almost akin to a toddler about to snitch to their mom. Giggling into his shoulder, he felt his face begin to heat up.

As if he wasn’t about to scream already, Ben reached over Allison’s shoulder, lifted Diego’s shirt only slightly and wiggled a few fingers in and around Diego’s bellybutton. 

“NO!” You’d think he was being stabbed by one of his knives with how loud he screamed, and how violently he’d flinched. 

Five and Allison looked confused for a second before Klaus’ voice piped up, “Ooh, Ben’s getting the tickle button!” They all couldn’t help but grin; of course he was. The way Diego’s face quickly reddened, and the way his laugh’s pitch heightened was enough of a sign.

“It’s! No, it’s — it’s not a ti — GAH! I-it’s not a b-b-button!” That definitely wasn’t what he meant to say; he just didn’t want to say the dreaded word.

“Pretty sure it’s called a belly button, Diego. What are you talking about?” Vanya couldn’t help but giggle with sheer amusement.

“Yeah, and it is a tickle button because every time you touch it, this happens.” Klaus reached up to poke at his navel, which resulted in a ticklish yelp and approximately 5 successive curse words. 

Klaus, with his other hand, then began to pinch and squeeze at his brother’s thigh and Vanya followed suit. 

“NOHOHO, — SHIT, NO!” he hiccuped, much to his chagrin, “GUYS, FUCKING — FUCK!! FUCKING STOHOHOHOP, STOPSTOP, GOD D-DAMMIT!”

Five scoffed, a dimple showing on one of his cheeks, “And you all say I have a potty mouth.” His squeezes moved to his vigilante brother’s upper stomach, as Allison focused on the center, her nails now also finding his navel. 

Squealing as his legs shook fervently, Diego tugged on his arms with all the strength he could muster (which wasn’t much) and squirmed around as much as he could. God, this was humiliating. He was painfully aware of the squeaky and pathetic sounds he was making but could not, for the life of him, stop making them, which made his face burn.

“Aww, Diego, you sound like a big baby!” Klaus laughed, poking up and down his designated thigh in no particular rhythm, before laughing again at Diego rapidly shaking his head, now practically unable to speak.

“Don’t make any noise and we’ll let you go.” Allison taunted over Diego’s uncharacteristically boisterous squeals, spidering five nails across the middle of his stomach.

“FUCK OFF!” he yelled before quickly changing his tone after she poked a torturous nail into his navel. “OKAY, OKAY, I WON’T MAKE ANY NOISE,” he rambled, turning his head away.

“Deal,” Allison smiled, beginning to drag a single nail in circles around his tummy, slowly but surely closing in on his goddamned belly button.

A sharp exhale left poor Diego’s nose, and she wasn’t even close to the middle of his stomach yet, but he knew what was coming... and that made it ten times worse.

“That wasn’t a noise, right?” Luther genuinely asked before Allison and Klaus shook their heads. “We’ll let it slide for wittle baby Diego’s sake.” Allison mused, relishing in Diego’s reaction as he shook his head into his shoulder and scrunched his face up. 

“Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle!” Klaus giggled, clearly having the time of his life. 

Five chuckled, loving the nostalgic shared moment with his siblings, “Let’s hope you don’t piss yourself again, Diego.”

“Yeah, I was embarrassed for you,” Luther chuckled, holding his arms down, still with seemingly no effort at all. 

He wanted so badly to tell them all to shut the hell up, but he couldn’t because he was too busy trying to swallow any noise he could possibly make. His shoulders bounced as laughter quietly bubbled in his throat.

The closer and closer Allison’s nail got to the hole in his middle, the harder it became to hold anything in. Out of anticipation alone, a humiliating giggle escaped his lips, and with the exaggerated coos that followed, he couldn’t hold back any longer. A screech preceded bouts of giggly, adorably contagious laughter.

“Aww, already? But I’m being so nice to you!” Allison chuckled, a hint of endearment in her voice. 

As soon as her nail dipped in, he was done for. But then... she added another hand, and as Five continued to pinch around the skin, Klaus and Vanya reached up to vibrate claw-shaped hands into his lower tummy, and Ben squeezed at his sides. Fucking fuck. 

“Tummy attack!” Klaus screeched as the others added in some laughs, teases, and coos. 

The feeling of all ten hands (one pair of which was unbearably phantom-like) all scritching, poking, and digging in to his tummy was enough to convince him that he was on the brink of death, and Luther’s fingers twitching into his triceps just added to the torture. Tears began to sting his eyes, and his cheeks began to hurt. He was a squirmy, screeching, laughing mess. And ... oh god, his bladder was getting uncomfortable.

The mixture of a snort and growl that left his mouth made his siblings laugh. “PLEHEASE,” he cried out with a wide smile, “I CAHA-” his cackles faded into silent laughter as his whole body trembled. 

A cacophony of coos and teases came from his brutal siblings as they did not let up; Diego felt like the tickling sensation on his stomach was somehow getting worse. 

“STOP IT! STOPIT, STOP PLEEEA —” between hiccups, he mouthed the words “I can’t, I can’t!” as he shook his head into his arm, occasionally trying to bite at Luther’s hands. “I’M GONNA P — HA!! I’M GONNA — EEK! FUCK, NO, NO, ALLISON! GUHUHUYS!” Diego’s legs bounced beneath Klaus and Vanya when he felt a huge raspberry right over his belly button. The feeling of that mixed with 50 fingers on his tummy was too much. He just couldn’t.

Diego let out a loud, more urgent sounding yelp as he kicked a leg, “GUYS! GETUPGETUPGETUP!” He would rather die admit that he peed himself again, and he didn’t have to because Vanya noticed his pants’ spreading stain first, immediately standing up and covering her laughing mouth.

“Oh my God, guys!” She couldn’t help but crack up.

The rest of his siblings laughed when they realized; Five doubling over and Klaus cackling as he stood. The second that Luther let go of his arms, Diego held one of them over his crotch and the other over his face before turning away towards the bathroom. All the Hargreeves saw was a middle finger as their ticklish brother wobbily, and angrily, stormed away. He would not hear the end of this.

[reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle]

20 First Lines

i was tagged by my two sweet friends, @cecesxwickedxocs and @hughstheforcelou!

everyone i would want to tag has been tagged except @anna-phora!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 5 of your favorite authors!

(i’m switching the rules up, these are the last things i’ve worked on lol, find them under the cut!)

1.

“Excuse me?”

Legend of Korra fic

2.

The courtyard of Riverdale High was full of students, enjoying their lunches in the warm spring air.

The Twins’ Birthday — Mabel and Maddox celebrate their birthday with karaoke

3.

“Maisie, dear, why don’t you come sit down? If you keep pacing like that, you’re going to wear a hole in my floor.”

the night of the Seven Potters in TTWW

4.

“Betty! Hey!”

a chapter of @hughstheforcelou’s A Lifetime of Promises where Mabel [REDACTED] Betty

5.

Fitz hadn’t really thought it through — what he was about to do — but, in his defense, he did think about thinking it through.

Bad Decisions (Make Good Stories) — the Spingerald fake dating fic

6.

The hallways of Townsville High were bustling with teens, darting their way through the corridors to the cafeteria for lunch.

PPG Battle of the Bands AU

7.

And so, Kippi found herself ushered into the spacious room in the back of the Great Hall, her anxious feelings skyrocketing into dread.

Chapter Two of The Greatest Challenge

8.

Serafina never made it back to bed.

Chapter Four of The Mess I’ve Made

9.

“Maisie!” The clang of Oliver’s sword against her own startled her, pulling her out of a daydream she had been having, “Focus, lass!”

Golden Trio 2.0 (Maisie, Bennett, and Annie) + the rest of the gang (Fred, George, Lee, + Oliver) Pirate!AU

10.

Jaxx’s eyes grew heavy as he found himself nearly slumping over the table he was scrubbing, the sounds of pouring rain and heavy thunder causing him to grow even sleepier.

Jaxx and Dazz meet for the first time, The Ghoulie Chronicles

11.

“Bro, are you kidding me?”

Lux’s First Day — Lux starts as an English teacher at Riverdale High

12.

Lotus hadn’t meant to seem so… stalkerish.

Lotus & Queenie origin

13.

“Stupid,” Mabel mumbled under her breath as she stormed through the front door of her home, “Stupid and dumb and stupid.”

a Collection of Moments — Mabel. River Vixen Coach Nikki demands that the cheerleaders go to Homecoming with football players. Mabel is obviously annoyed.

14.

“Mabel… Oh God, this is so bad, Mabes. You’ve got to get over here. Sweet Pea, he… Jesus, Reg, lay off the gas a little! Christ! He -“

also from COM, the Serpent v Bulldogs Rumble

15.

On the morning of July 1st, 1989, eleven year old Maisie Eleanor Barker awoke to an owl perched politely on her tummy, with a letter in its beak.

Before the Beginning — TTWW

16.

Draco knew he had messed up.

first chapter of Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

17.

Maisie felt like she was being watched.

Percy Jackson AU with the Golden Trio 2.0 + the gang

18.

“Sirena… wake up.”

first chapter of The Girl in the Library

19.

The shuffling of feet walking through the sitting room stirred Maisie awake in the early hours of the morning.

the Seven Potters aftermath

20.

“Ow! Ow ow ow!” George cried out dramatically, holding his pointer finger tightly with his other hand. “Oh, ouch, that really hurts!”

more Pirate!AU goodies — George gets a splinter on the ship and needs Bennett to help him

[steebharringt0n]

snapshots of our life | b.h x you

a series of one-shots detailing the lives of you, billy and your children, ava and adam

rating: t

a/n: the first of many, MANY one shots. enjoy!

---

Adam snapped his eyes open.

The loud booming outside of his bedroom made him shoot up from his bed, his tiny hands frantically searching for his glasses that were resting on his nightstand. He swore he saw a tall, black figure standing in the corner of his bedroom but with his lackluster vision, he couldn’t see well so all he saw was darkness.

He shoved the glasses onto his face, his heart beating wildly as the storm outside continued to rage on. He turned on his lamp, with his vision drastically improved, he was able to scan his bedroom. He started at his door, so far so good, no monsters, but as his eyes slowly moved towards the back of his bedroom, where his closet was, he was certain, he was positive that there was indeed, a monster in his closet.

So Adam called in the best reinforcement, his father.

“DADDY!”

He pulled up his comforter up to his face, peeking out until he heard his fathers thundering footsteps down the hall. His eyes were glued to his door, waiting to see the familiar man who was quite the expert at exterminating the monsters from his bedroom. His door swung open, Billy poked his head into his son’s bedroom, clad with only his boxers on he spotted his son hiding behind his comforter.

Billy walked over and sat the foot of his son’s bed. “Monsters again huh?”

Adam nodded, “A big one, he’s in my closet”

Billy let out a chuckle. He got up, walked over to his closet and swung it wide open for Adam to see inside. “See bud, no monsters”

Adam hopped off his bed, walking until he stood next to his father. He looked around his closet hesitantly, his old toys and jackets were hanging in there, along with some old boxes and shoes. Adam hugged his father’s leg, scared that something might pop up and grab him, but Billy just placed his hand on his son’s back, reassuring him that there was nothing in his closet.

“Daddy, we need to check on Ava”

Adam’s mind instantly jumped to his 11 month old little sister. She was way more defenseless than him - he at least had his stuffed bear that protected him every night, but Ava was still a baby. He had to be sure the monster didn’t move over to Ava’s bedroom.

Billy scooped up Adam, placing his 5 year old son on his hip. They were just about to walk out of his room when Adam reached towards his stuffed bear. “Wait! I need to get Norman!”

Norman the Bear was a gift his aunt Max and his soon-to-be uncle Lucas had given him the last time they visited San Diego. It was his most treasured toy and he took it with him everywhere. His aunt Max secretly told him that Norman was an expert at getting rid of monsters, so he made sure that Norman was tucked with him every night.

“What do you need Norman for?” Billy questioned.

Adam’s hand latched onto his father’s pendant, twisting it between his fingers. “I’m going to give it to Ava”

Billy raised an eyebrow, “You don’t want to sleep with Norman anymore?”

“I have you to protect me daddy, Ava is a baby, she needs Norman more than me”

A soft smile crept upon Billy’s face. Both Hargrove boys were fiercely protective of the people they cared about. Adam was incredibly protective of his baby sister, always being gentle around her, always making sure she wasn’t fussy or crying. It made Billy proud that Adam was protective of Ava.

Billy walked over to Adam’s bed, grabbing the stuffed bear that was sprawled in his sheets. He handed the bear to Adam and the two of the headed down the hall, reaching the bedroom at the end. Billy carefully opened the door, both of them poking their heads into the lilac colored room.

Billy placed his pointer finger to his mouth, signaling Adam to be quiet as they carefully walked into her bedroom. Billy crept over to the crib, both of them glancing down at the sleeping baby who was currently sprawled out in her crib. Her (Y/H/C) hair was starting to grow longer the older she was getting. Billy reached down and gently brushed his fingers on his daughter’s forehead, brushing away wisps of hair out of her face. 

Billy lowered Adam, helping him place Norman in the corner of the crib. The two waited a second to see if their movements would wake Ava up, but luckily she slept like a rock throughout the storm. Adam gave Billy a thumbs up, and the two crept out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Billy walked back to the master bedroom, he already knew that Adam was going to beg to sleep with the both of you, so he wasn’t going to fight it.

Wearing nothing but Billy’s old Motley Crue shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, you propped your head up with your arm when you heard your bedroom door reopen. You watched lovingly as Billy placed Adam down onto your bed.

“Momma, I gave Norman to Ava” he proudly told you, crawling over to you. He sat up on his knees, a grin on his face.

You let out a fake gasp, “You did?! But I thought you couldn’t sleep without Norman?”

Your other hand found itself stroking Adam’s cheek. You were always surprised at how much he looked like a mini Billy, but with chubbier cheeks and a more calm demeanor. Billy settled himself back into his bed, sitting up against the headboard, pulling the covers over him as a slight breeze entered the bedroom. 

“I’m a big boy now. Daddy can protect me”

You looked over at Billy, a smirk on your face as he winked at you. “What can I say? It’s all in a nights work” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention back to Adam, “Is Norman going to protect Ava now?”

Adam nodded solemnly, his fingers finding the hand that was stroking his cheek. He began to toy around with your wedding band and engagement ring. He held your hand in front of him, his eyes narrowing, inspecting the rings closely. He then turned around, crawling over to Billy’s side of the bed and grabbed his left hand. He brought the large hand up to his face, continuing to inspect the wedding band on Billy’s ring finger.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Daddy why do you have one ring and momma has two?”

You moved to sit up against the headboard of your bed, scooting over closer to Billy. Billy tenderly grabbed your hand, pointing to engagement ring,

“The one with the diamond means I chose your momma to be my wife - “ he paused, moving to the gold band, “ - and this one means your momma belongs to me”

“Am I going to have one one day?” Adam asked, his blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“Nope. Never. Not gonna happen” you quickly interjected. Adam let out a small whine at your comment. The thought of your baby boy getting married was enough to almost give you a heart attack. Thank god it was still light years away from any of that happening.

Billy let out a snort, “One day, when you find someone you really love”

You shot Billy a look, he in return stuck his tongue out at you. Your momma bear tendencies always gave him a good chuckle.

“But that won’t happen till I’m old like you, right daddy?” Adam let out a yawn, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

You let out a laugh while Billy’s eyes almost bulged out of his face, “I’m not that old!” he protested.

“Eh, you’re pretty old Hargrove” you quietly teased him.

“I beg to differ, Hargrove. I’m barely in my mid-twenties” he huffed.

You turned your attention back to Adam, who was looking more tired with every minute passing. “Baby are you getting sleepy?” you asked.

He nodded silently, crawling over to your lap and settling himself. You let out a hiss as he adjusted himself on your legs, finding a comfortable spot as he laid his head on your chest. For a 5 year old he was beginning to get pretty heavy - too heavy to the point where carrying him was only a thing Billy could do.

You glanced down towards him, his eyes were already closed as his little hand was clutched on your shirt. Soundlessly you took his glasses from his other hand, twisting your body so that you could safely place it on your nightstand. 

“Getting too heavy for you?” Billy asked, his top lip curling into a smirk.

You shot him a glare.

Billy watched bemusedly as you scooped Adam up into your arms, laying him down beside you so that he wouldn’t crush you throughout the night.

He was out like a light before you knew it.

You sunk back into the bed, pulling the covers over you and Adam as you wrapped an around his waist. Instinctively Adam moved closer, snuggling with you. 

Billy watched lovingly as his wife and son settled themselves in for the night. He leaned down towards you, pressing a kiss on your forehead, then pressing a kiss on Adam’s head.

“Love you old man” you muttered as you started to get drowsy. You knew the nickname was going to land you in hot water with him, but you didn’t mind. You heard him grumble angrily,

“Yeah we’ll see how much of an old man I am tomorrow night when I wreck that - “

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence William”

[childotkw]

Can you give us tips to write better?

Okay, here goes. This will be a big one, just a warning.

Writing is, in my opinion, a craft that you can never fully, truly master. It’s an ever-evolving thing, and no matter where you are sitting as a writer–whether it’s your first time actually giving it a shot, whether you are young and feel like you haven’t experienced life enough to write, or you are a published author with multiple awards to your name–you can always, and will, get better.

Writing is a skill, which is a fact that I feel some people either misunderstand, or simply don’t realise. No one is born a writer. It’s something you pick up along the way because you like it. Sure, there might be some people who just seem ‘naturally’ gifted at writing, people that are just inherently creative and have a knack for putting words together in a certain way that resonates with people. 

But no matter how amazing an author is, I guarantee you, that somewhere they’ve got a story stashed that they wrote when they were five, or seven, or eleven, or however many years old, that just makes them cringe. I’m taking a full-bodied, head-ducked, face-creased cringe. A story that they view as an embarrassment to the world and would honestly die if anyone read it. Everyone has one, and if they say they don’t, they’re smart enough to lie about it, so that no one tries to find it.

Mine was something that I wrote when I was in primary school, so around the 10-11 age. I had to do it for a test, and it was awful. God, just thinking about it now makes my soul shrivel a little bit. It was about some astronauts that went to Mars, and encountered hostile aliens. It had every cliche you can think of stuffed into it, filled with over-the-top drama, and weak characters, and dialogue that was so stilted and robotic it makes me cry. 

I found it the other day when I was cleaning out my room and decided to read through it–and I was torn between face-palming at how bad I was, and smiling fondly, because no matter how terrible I thought it was–it was one of the first stories I had ever written, and it showed me just how far I have come since then. 

What I’m trying to say is that everyone started somewhere, and no matter how ‘terrible’ you think you might be at writing, you can always, always, get better. Writing takes perseverance and passion, so as long as you have that drive to improve, you’re already on the right track.

Now, onto your actual question anon, I can’t give any specific pointers on how you personally can improve, because I don’t know how you write, and it would be arrogant and patronising of me to assume your skill level. I’m still a fledgling writer myself, and while I’m certainly honoured that you consider me good enough to ask advice from, I can’t promise that what I say will work for you. Everyone’s different, and writers more so than most.

But I’m more than happy to share some things that I use to keep myself motivated, or to improve my own techniques and style. Be prepared for an essay, my dear, and be warned that some points might overlap or be in a weird order. I just wrote them down as they came to me.

READ

I can’t stress this enough. If you want to get better as a writer, read. Read fanfictions, read novels, read poems and screenplays and whatever else you want. There’s no such thing as a writer who doesn’t read. Reading is a way for you to expand upon your understanding of writing in general, it teaches you different tricks and trades that makes everything flow better. Reading gives you a broader foundation from which to build your own skills on. I spend a significantly larger portion of my time reading other people’s stories than I do writing my own. It gives you perspective and guidance.

RESEARCH

If you are going to write a story that’s got any significant sort of plot points or grounding in actual reality, you need to have your facts straight. If you’re writing a period-based piece, make sure what you’re writing about is historically accurate for that time. If you’re writing a fanfiction based in someone else’s world (i.e. Harry Potter, Naruto, BNHA), then make sure that the rules you write within that world either adhere to the pre-existing ones, or are fleshed out enough to work. If you are writing a completely new story, with a new world and new rules, then make sure you don’t contradict yourself. Treat your new world as something that’s always existed. Research similar ideas and see how other authors handled certain aspects. Are you making a completely new religion for this world, are there gods? Are you dealing with magic, if so, what are the rules? Angels and demons, what are their powers? Research is key. Know what you’re talking about.

DON’T JUST WRITE

This might seem strange, but don’t just write. Have other creative outlets. Try drawing. Try digital design. Make a game. Do something other than writing to keep your brain from not exhausting itself on one medium. Be creative, don’t limit yourself, expand your skills. I help my mother with digital design and I’m a gaming student, so I make assets and levels. It’s a great way to keep yourself from burning out.

DON’T FORCE IT

Writing is not easy, and there will be some days where the words just don’t want to come. That’s fine. Don’t force yourself to write if it’s not coming to you. All you’ll end up doing is taking yourself down a road of frustration and anger. Just leave it for a bit and come back to it, or jump to another, easier section. Don’t push too hard.

TAKE BREAKS

Very similar to the above point. Take breaks. Take regular breaks. Take a few days off. Take a week off. Hell, take a whole month off if you need it. You need down-time, so give it to yourself. And don’t feel guilty about it either. Writing takes time, and if you are going at it 24/7, all you will do is turn something you love into something you hate because it’s all you ever do.

HAVE INSPIRATION

Some people make mood boards with themes and pictures that represent what they want. Some people just have aspirations or idols they want to live up to. A published author you admire, or you a novel you want to complete, or just that one fanfiction idea you really want to take a crack at. Have a goal of some sort, it will help keep you motivated and focussed if you’re actively working towards something. For me, I want to have a published book under my name within the next two years.

SUPPORT

Have people you can talk to. Even just that one person you can prattle to about your ideas. I have my sister and my mum that let me throw ideas at them and help me flesh out plot points. Have someone that encourages you and supports you.

STAY ORGANISED

Write your ideas down. Doesn’t matter if they are just little snippets or novel-length story ideas. Write something down so it’s not sitting in your head cluttering things up. Or if you are like me, then just keep your story ideas organised and know how to shut them out so you can focus on your current project.

FRUSTRATION

It’s perfectly fine to get frustrated when you’re writing. If you don’t get frustrated, either you are some form of deity that doesn’t experience human emotions or you are so far above me. The most important thing about getting frustrated though, is don’t be too hard on yourself. Don’t get angry at yourself, because that is a slippery slope to go down. Work through it in a constructive way.

PREPARATION

Be diligent with your work. Know what you want to write, have something planned. Know who your characters are, what their dreams are, their personalities and history. Know what your plot is; it doesn’t have to be all of it, but at least know the critical turning points of your story. The more you know about your story, the more well-rounded it will read, and the more intriguing it will be to your audience.

WORLDBUILDING

In terms of worldbuilding, remember that your story is only a small drop of a larger world. Even if it never makes it into the story itself, the more you understand the elements that are happening in the background of your story (i.e. the religions of the world you’ve created, the gods that exist, the politics, the hierarchy, the science or magic), the better it will be for readers, and the easier it will be for you to keep everything neat.

DO OTHER THINGS

Don’t let your writing consume you. Do other things that aren’t related to writing. Go out with friends, go for a walk, go to the beach for a day or to the park. Do things that make you happy, that isn’t writing.

MUSIC

This definitely doesn’t apply to everyone. But for me, music is great background noise. I don’t even listen to the songs I have anymore, I just need something blocking out the rest of the world so I can enter tunnel-vision for my writing sessions. I don’t have a set playlist, I just shuffle all of my songs and write. Listen to whatever works for you. Sometimes I listen to japanese koto music just to shake things up. Go nuts.

PERSISTENT

Be persistent, be fierce, be steadfast with your work. Your story is your idea, it’s yours. Nurture it however you want and don’t let other people try and take control from you. Of course, if you have an editor, listen, but remember it’s still your baby, and you should have the final say on how things proceed.

BE SURPRISED

Sometimes your story will throw you a curveball. Sometimes a random idea will blindside you, and will completely change the end of your story. You don’t always have to stick to your original plot idea. It can change and evolve over time, and it should. If it feels like a natural change, go for it. Don’t be afraid to let your idea grow into something more.

CHARACTERS

Treat your characters as real people. Ask yourself if a real person would talk the way your character talks. Ask what a real person (with the character’s background) would feel in certain circumstances. Give them dreams and aspirations and hopes and relationships. Make them three-dimensional, give them a favourite colour or food, even if you never mention it in the story. The more real they are to you, the more real they will feel to your readers.

PRIDE

Be proud of your work and what you accomplish. Never delete your stories, they let you look back and see how far you’ve come. One of my greatest regrets was when I deleted the first fanfiction I ever wrote because I got some rude comments. Being able to track your progress is one of your best tools, it lets you reflect on your skills in a meaningful way.

CRITICISM

Following on from the previous point, criticism. You need to be prepared for it. There is no way you can avoid criticism as a writer. There will always be people that won’t like what you’ve made, or will potentially try to tear you down. You need to have fortitude to battle through the emotional and mental challenge it can be. You should never let what other people really think get to you, or even better, know how to cut through their words to see what were the issues they had with the story. Sometimes, even the rudest, most harsh criticism can have some insight. Don’t focus so much on how they say it, focus on what they are saying. If they point out plot holes, or character flaws that make no sense, use it to improve upon yourself.

In my opinion, there’s nothing more satisfying than being able to look at the people who once insulted you and say “look at me now, bitch”. I often wonder what those few terrible people would think of me now, the people who left me such harsh reviews that it literally drove me from the fandom for a long time. I kind of wish I could walk up to them and show them what I have done with myself, and that their little tantrum at a little eleven-year old girl and her first story, didn’t break me. It’s an empowering feeling.

PERSPECTIVE

This is a more technical aspect of writing, and it has to do with perspective. This is just a general warning when it comes to picking either first, second or third perspective to write from. In my opinion, try to avoid first and second perspective. They can be incredibly difficult to write with, and sometimes the story will come across as stilted or uncomfortable to read if you don’t know how to do it well. By all means, if you prefer writing in those perspectives, then stick with them. Just make sure you can convey everything you need to. I just find third perspective easier because there is a type of detachment reading and writing from it that isn’t there with the other two.

PACING

Again, on a technical note. Pacing is key to an effective story. You need to know when and how to balance action and inaction. If you are writing a novel-length sort of story, be careful of falling into the pit of “I need to have something important happening every single second”. The kind of high-strung story needs a very specific kind of genre to work, such as crime, or horror. But even in those stories, there are moments of respite for the characters and the readers. Often these little drops in tension act as great moments to show the softer sides of your characters, or have a nice emotional bonding moment. Inaction can be just as, if not more, effective than action. 

VOCABULARY

Synonyms are your friends. Use them. Get a new word, then synonym that word. You expand your vocabulary by doing this, and the more you do it, the less you will actually have to use the thesaurus, because you will have built this complex web in your head of words. As well as this, I can’t stress how important it is to know the definition of the word you are using. Look up words you don’t know or are unsure of. It takes a lot of pressure off of you if you know which words make sense for the context of your story.

FOREGROUNDING

Foregrouding is an interesting skill that most writers use, but not many might actually know the name of. It’s a funny little technique, and even I didn’t know the technical term for it, even though I had been incorporating it into my writing for years. Foregrounding is essentially making something stand out in your writing by suddenly changing the style. For explain, for most of the piece, you might have been using long, flowery sentences, with a lot of description and emotion behind the words. A way to foreground this, would be to make your key sentence, or the “most important” part of the piece just a simple, harsh sentence with no embellishment. Many writers use foregrounding to shock or jolt their readers when something happens. Another way to do this would be if there was a death scene, you could spend a lot of time describing the wounds of the victim, what the blood looks like, what it smells like, the clothes they are wearing, what the other character is feeling, and then cut right to the victim dying. Here’s an example of something I’ve written with it:

The blood welling out the cuts reminded her of paint, thick and so incredibly bright as it slid out of the corner of his mouth and down his pale throat. She reached out with a trembling hand, carefully curling her fingers in his jacket and tugging until he was on his back. The sight was somehow worse now that she could see everything, but she didn’t let herself falter at the smell that hit her or the fact that she could see the white of his ribs through the shredded remains of his chest.

He wasn’t breathing.

That was really basic, but it shows the essence of foregrounding. Cutting away from a really in-depth, descriptive piece to something simple and plain is jarring in all the best ways. Or vice versa. If you have written something that lacks any significant description or emotion, then have a sentence brimming with the stuff. It’s shaking up your usual style to create a very specific reaction.

WHITE SPACE

White space is also known as negative space. It’s the parts of the page that aren’t filled with text, like the gaps between paragraphs. You should never underestimate the power of having white space in your stories. If I click onto a story that is just massive blocks of text, I immediately hit the back button. It’s just an automatic response for me, because I can’t actually handle having to slog through that much text in one go. Breaking up your text is a really efficient way to keep a reader’s attention, because that white space is like a little reprieve for your eyes. Try to avoid having huge paragraphs, or if you do need to have them, try and make them sparse. 

GRAMMAR

Grammar is super important for a lot of reasons. Grammar holds the story together, and poor grammar can put people off of a story immediately. Most people have their own standards for grammar, but punctuation is a big thing for me. You need to stick to your guns with punctuation. If you use ‘ ’ (single quotation marks) for a character speaking, then later on use “ ” (double quotation marks) for a character speaking, then flip between the two, it can be really distracting. It’s the same with commas and semicolons and hyphens–most of us probably don’t have a concrete grip on what punctuation is ‘correct’ to use in most instances, but somehow you can immediately tell when it’s wrong. Grammar is, unfortunately, a key aspect to writing. You need to get it right or everything can fall apart.

HAND WRITE

A good practice to get into is hand-writing some of your passages. I have a notebook that I will just randomly start writing in, even though I might have my laptop open in front of me. It doesn’t matter if your handwriting is terrible, using pen and paper is actually one of the best ways for you to process information. Plus there is less margin for error, since it takes significantly longer for you to write, whereas it is very easy to miss words or make mistakes when typing. I’m sure I’ve made a few myself in this post already.

READ ALOUD

Read what you write aloud to yourself, or other people if you feel comfortable doing so. This really helps you to smooth out any lingering awkward phrasing or pauses and a whole plethora of other tiny things we all miss. Reading your work aloud pushes all those issues to the front. It can be an annoying process, but it’s really effective. Also, make sure to regularly change your font whenever you are reading through your work, and potentially the font size as well. These changes make your eyes and brain pay more attention, because even if you have gone through the same piece several times, they don’t know that, and will automatically refocus because it all looks ‘new’.

MIGRATE

If you get stuck on a project–jump to another. There’s nothing wrong with hoping between stories, or even side projects. Sometimes one story is just being stubborn, and going to work on something new helps get your creative juices flowing. I tend to find it most helpful when the projects I jump between are vastly different, either in terms of tone, or the fandom they are based in. 

WRITE v EDIT

Try not to write and edit at the same time. Your brain needs a chance to switch between the roles, and if you try and force yourself to do them both at the same time, you will just end up going around and around and feel like you’re getting nowhere. Make your writing and editing times completely different, so that you’re avoiding that horrible spiral.

REWRITE

Don’t be afraid to rewrite things. I sometimes get to the end of a 7,000 word chapter, read over it, then rewrite the whole damn thing because I either didn’t like it, or forgot something, or there was one section that wasn’t clicking with everything well enough. Rewriting is great, and it can be fun too. It helps you to smooth out the crinkles in your story flow, and makes everything seem neater and ordered. Plus, I find the process extremely satisfying for some reason. 

DAILY

Try and write daily. Set aside even just ten minutes a day to just writing something. Even one new word is another step you have taken towards the completion of your story. And if you find you can’t, that’s fine too. Maybe just use those ten minutes to read over what you already have. That’s how I get my writing spark back, I read what I have written, get sucked in, then get annoyed when I get to the end and become determined to finish. I fall for it every time and it’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t the entire reason I update my stories.

TREAT YO SELF

The title says it all. Treat yourself. If you finish that chapter that you’ve been stuck on for weeks–celebrate! If you plot out a character’s backstory and have figured out where you will be going with them in the future–celebrate! The little milestones are just as important as the finished project, and they deserve to be acknowledged. Have a reward system for yourself. Mine isn’t really big, it’s just the dopamine hit I get every morning when I wake up after posting a chapter, knowing I get to spend my morning laying in bed reading everyone’s comments. 

FOCUS MODE

I find it very useful to write with the focus mode activated in Word, or on Full Screen mode in Google Docs. The lack of distractions on the screen makes it easier for me to concentrate and get my work done. I also tend to write with a black background and white/grey text–it’s a bad habit that I need to get out of, but it really helps me power out my chapters.

CRY

Sometimes writing can get really difficult, and that’s okay. I have been driven to tears sometimes when trying to write a chapter. Not because the part of the story is particularly emotional, but just because I need to get rid of some of my pent up frustration and exhaustion. Crying is an absolutely fine response to being overwhelmed, and no one should ever be ashamed of crying because of their story. Once you release all that build up, you will feel so much better.

EXERCISE

This is something I have to get into the habit of doing, but exercise is so important to writing. You need to make sure you stay on top of your health as a writer. Too often we just sit in front of our computers for hours at a time, not moving, poor posture, neck cramping and eyes dry. Get up and move every half-hour, even if it’s a lap of your house. Go to the gym if you can, just like with editing, you should set aside some time of your week to just exercising. It will improve your mood, and make the writing process so much easier.

BREAK PATTERNS

You’re a writer. You’re a creative thinker. We are not made to be confined in boxes and labelled and categorised. Go out there and write whatever the hell you want to write. Break conventional writing patterns, flip the rules on their heads. Every great author out there did something fresh and unique with their art, and you should too. Don’t be afraid to branch out of your comfort zone and give something a go. Be different.

——–

There is so much more to being a writer than just being good at writing sentences, or coming up with an idea. You’ll notice that a lot of my tips aren’t even directly linked to the act of writing, and there’s a reason for that. You are your most important asset. You are the one doing the writing. Take care of yourself, take your time, stay strong, keep your goal in mind, and just write. Write and write and write, and then write some more. The more effort you put into it, the harder you push yourself, the better you’ll get.

This is all I’ve got for the moment, and while it might not have been what you were looking for, I still hope this helps you in some capacity. And if nothing on this list does–great! You’re different from me and so many other authors out there, which means you’ve got something I don’t, and you will make something new and special.

You do you, my dear. Find what works for you, rip apart my advice and twist it into whatever suits you. There is no one way to become a better writer.

[brianc521]

Team Manager

** Essentially this is a whole series into one, please enjoy and tell me what you thought and if you want more like it **

Growing up in the stands, living off ball park hot dogs and soft pretzels. Playing in the bull pen when it wasn’t in use during practice. Having your own pair of cleats and a helmet so you can pretend to be a third base coach. Being a ball girl at 13. Knowing the in and outs of the game. Meeting player after player, coach after coach. It’s been your whole life.

Being the head coaches daughter for the Toronto Blue Jays Baseball team meant you were born and bread a baller.

That’s why you grew up on peanuts and cracker jacks, 7th inning stretches and many homeruns.

You loved it, lived to watch the game. Kicked and screamed when it was time to leave the stadium.

When you were 11 you drew up sketches and had a whole speech as to how you could live and survive in the stadium, that way you never had to leave….. Yeah it didn’t go over well with the parents, which is why you slammed the door to your bedroom that night, vowing that you’d hate them for forever.

Forever lasted until the next morning when your Dad knocked on your door, announcing he was leaving for the stadium in 5 minutes and if you weren’t in the car then you weren’t going.

And you can bet your ass that you were in the car.

Now at 18, being team manager was just what you wanted. And when your Dad and the other coaches asked you if you wanted to be you didn’t even wait half a second before you answered ‘Yes! Oh my god yes!’

It was all you ever wanted; to be apart of the game.

This was your second year at the job. They welcomed your focus, and smarts of the game. Keeping stats that they didn’t even think of keeping, knowing every player front to back, A to Z. You could be counted on to be a trusted opinion when you were needed. You dedicated your life to the job, and you didn’t want to live life any other way.

But when a new rookie pitcher walked into the compound your life changed. You were suddenly distracted by the cute curly haired 19 year old from Pickering Ontario.

He was tall, and thick. Toned, but slim. And man oh man did baseball pants fit him well. Every day you were thanking the gods above for inventing baseball pants, that and tight black under armor shirts. Ones that let you see every defined muscle he had. Which was all of them.

But Shawn, the new rookie, he was the same way.

Shawn grew up playing baseball. He loved the game more than he’d loved anything else in his life. It was just his thing, and growing up everyone knew that Shawn was ‘that’ kid. The one who was gonna make it big with his sport. And he was determined to make his dreams of playing in the big leagues come true.

But the day he walked into the stadium, cleats laced up, long legs taking him to the pitcher's mound where the group of coaches were standing, along with you, he’s whole life changed.

He’d never seen a female team manager.

But most importantly he’d never seen anyone like you.

From the way your hair fell around your face, trapped under a backwards ball cap. Your loose team logo shirt and short jean shorts with your white converse through his whole mind out of whack

“Shawn, this is my daughter and team manager Y/n.” Your Dad introduced.

His eyes went wide when he said daughter, because now you were this forbidden fruit he wasn’t allowed to have, but oh my god did he want it.

“Nice to meet you Shawn,” You sent him a small smile, waving a bit.

“Back at you.” He nodded, clearing his throat.

“Y/n’s gonna get you all set up, uniform and all that jazz. She’s also gonna watch you practice, take down info on your game. She’s gonna help figure out where you can be an asset.”

He looked at you as he was spoke to, eyes locked with yours as you both seemed to not be able to look away. The idea of you being around all the time was exciting, and he hated to admit that he was now nervous.

“Call us over when you’re warmed up and we’ll get you started.” Your Dad nodded, patting Shawn’s shoulder and walking away with the rest of the group, leaving the both of you standing on the mound, staring into the others eyes.

**

About a month into practices Shawn was getting better, and bigger. His workouts were working in your favor and it was making it harder to concentrate.

“Hey Kid,” Your Dad said taking a seat next to you behind home plate.

Shawn was on the mound, throwing pitch after pitch into the catcher's glove.

“How’s he doing?” He bumped his shoulder with yours.

You looked down at your clipboard with the little notes you had been making.

“Think that if he didn’t bend over as much he’d get a little more speed on the ball, and you can tell when he’s about to throw a changeup because he doesn’t hide it will behind his glove.”

Your Dad chuckles, scratching at his stubbled chin, watching Shawn wind up and throw.

89 mph

His arms were crossed, nodding, impressed.

“Really think he could bump it up more?” Your Dad asked.

“Yeah, he’s a bit off balanced when he finishes. If he stood up just a bit more he’d be steady, letting him use his full potential.”

Your Dad huffs, nodding again. He looks over patting your knee, “You tell him then.”

“What? No!” You whip around to look at him.

Your Dad laughs, because you all know what happened the last time you tried to give him a pointer.

His shoe was untied and you went to point it out but he looked at you with wide scary eyes, hissing at you to shut it.

Mainly, he was worried that if looked like he relied on you to tell him things that it would make him seem like he wasn’t the player your Dad wanted him to be.

So you shut your mouth, and then proceeded to laugh when he rounded two, cleat getting caught in the loose lace, eating shit. He was tagged out in the scrimmage because of it and when he returned to the dugout where you were seated he glared at you as he threw his helmet in the designated shelf.

“Tried to tell you,” You whisper as he walked past, making his glare burn at you.

“You have the idea, you tell him.”

“He doesn’t like me, remember.”

Shawn was talking to the catcher now, standing at home plate. But you’re busy talking to your Dad, looking over, not realizing that he can now hear every word you were saying.

“I’m sure he does.” Your Dad rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, that’s why I get the silent treatment and long glares from the mound.”

“Why wouldn’t he like you?” Your Dad asks, eyes flicking up to see that Shawn’s staring intently at you over the catchers shoulder.

“I don’t know,” You shrug, “Probably because I’m a girl in the dugout.”

Shawn scoffs silently.

“I doubt that’s it.”

“Well what else would explain it? I mean I was just trying to tell the boy his shoe was untied and you would think that I told him to go fuck himself. He goes out of his way to greet everyone else but me when he arrives and he asks how everyone’s day is going but mine.”

Your Dad doesn’t say anything, trying to decipher the tone of your voice. Which was hurt, you were hurt by Shawn’s actions towards you.

“He’s not my biggest fan, so why would you think it would be a good idea for me to try and help his pitching. If I can’t tell him about his shoe how in the hell can I tell him about his job?”

Your Dad grins, looking back to Shawn whose eyes are wide, cheeks flushed red.

“I’m telling you to try, if you think it would help then the least you can do is try. And he if gives you shit then give it back, we know that if any one person in this stadium we’re to give him shit you’d dish it the best.”

You smirk at that, because that was true.

Your Dad stands, walking away after give you a side hug. You shake your head, looking back down at your notes, playing with the doodled corner of the paper.

“Pst.”

You look up, eyes going wide when you find Shawn standing in front of you. Fingers curled into the net that is up to protect the crowd during games. Looking around you notice that no one else is on the field anymore.

“You have pointers?” He asks softly, deep voice like music in your ears.

Gulping you nod, clutching your clipboard tightly.

“Can I hear them?” He asks.

“Do you want to?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you the other week about my shoe. I’ve learned now that if you have something to say that I should probably listen because it’s in my best interest. So if you have pointers on my game I’d love to hear them, because I need the help.”

You look into his eyes and try to read him. He’s sad, insecure and you feel your heart hurt for him.

“Give me a minute.” You stand, walking out of the stands, racing to the dugout and meeting him on the field.

“That was fast.” He chuckles.

“I know all the shortcuts.” You smirk.

“You’ll have to show me.” He whispers, watching you walk closer.

His heart rate picks up, and he shoves his left hand into his mitt to hide the fact that it’s shaking a bit.

“Okay, um well first, you’re off balance.”

He gives you a quizzical look, and you sigh.

He was nervous because you were finally within arms reach, but you were nervous because you didn’t know how he was going to treat you, and right now it was what you worried it would be.

You walk over to home plate, pulling the net over, pointing at it.

“Pitch.” You say picking up the baseball at your feet and flawlessly throwing it to him, creating a snap when he catches it.

He looks at you with wide eyes for a second, why was you throwing him a baseball a turn on?

He clears his throat, turning and setting himself.

“Stop!” You demand, walking over and kicking at his toe. “Keep this straight.”

He changes his stance and looks at you to see if he’s allowed to continue. You nod, and he continues his wind up, throwing the ball into the net.

“Don’t move.” You say while he’s still in his landing position.

You move in front of him, his eyes following you as you observe his stance.

“You are too bent forward, if you,” You step forward, using your index finger to push his shoulder a bit. Making him stand taller. “If you finished,” Still pushing, “Here! It will allow you to be able to end steady that way you can use more leg power to get more speed.”

He stares at you, shallow breaths leaving his lips as your hand is still on his shoulder.

“Try it like that.” You say walking away, swinging your hips a bit more because you know he’s staring. You grab the ball, throwing it back to him, prompting him to start with your new pointers.

“Should I trust you? I mean I’ve done years of pitching practice with many famous coaches.”

“Right now you are averaging 88 miles per hour. I want to get you up to 90. I think with this it will get you there, but if it doesn’t work than forget I said anything and never speak to me again.” You shrug.

His heart twinges when you said that, he really tainted your opinion on him with that one off day.

“I’d still speak to you.” He mumbles.

He purses his lips, setting his right foot the way you told him to, and then winding up, ending in the same way you told him to, sending the ball flying into the net.

You clap, squealing quietly as you rush over to see the speed.

“Well?” He asks, hands on his hips.

You laugh as you look at him, “91.”

“No fucking way.” He says jogging over and looking at it with you. “No, fucking, way.”

The proof is in front of him and the smug smirk on your lips is doing more to him than you know.

“Wanna see if I can get to 95?” He asks, a glint in his eye.

“I know you can,” You say softly, and for some reason it feels nice to tell him. You like giving him the confidence he needs, almost like a girlfriend would.

“If you know, then it has to be true,” He says, hand brushing against yours as he goes to pick up the baseball.  

He goes back to the mound, setting.

“Wait,” You say softly.

He looks at you, face blank.

“If you would just relax a little.” You giggled, walking behind him.

Your hands reach up to land on his tense shoulders, and he inhales when your small hands start massaging them.

“Feels nice,” He mumbles.

“Then relax,” You sigh, and you can feel him relax under your touch, melting into you.

“Now what?” He says was bated breath.

“Now throw.” You move away from him.

He wants to whimper at the loss of contact with you.

But he rolls his shoulders, setting, staying relaxed, winding up, throwing, but ending the way you showed him too.

You rush over to the speedometer and gasp.

“What?” He asks, watching you intently. “What is it?” He asks.

“99.”

“No way.” He shakes his head. “Guess you were right.”

**

You’re sitting in left field, laptop placed on your lap as you type the stats away into a excel doc.

“Hey,” Shawn says taking a seat next to you.

“Oh hey,” You look over at him, offering him a small smile.

He leans over to look at your screen.

“You really keep track of how many pitches it take me to hit 90?” He says staring at the screen.

“Yeah, I keep track of a lot.”

He hums, nodding and reading your screen.

“Can I help you with something?” You ask sweetly.

“Was gonna see when you were gonna break for lunch.” He says softly, watching your Dad walk off the field and into the dugout.

“Um, usually I go for lunch when everyone else does.”

“Well everyone else is,” He says motioning to the now empty field.

“Oh,” You giggle. “Then I guess now, why what’s up?”

He laughs, hanging his head. “I’m bad at this aren’t I?”

“Well I guess it depends on what you’re trying to do?”

“Ask you on a date?” He says biting his lip.

“Oh.” You perk up.

A smile crosses your lips, making Shawn breathe a little easier.

“Well my Dad usually goes out for lunch.”

“Then we’ll stay in.” He says looking around. “I can run across the street and get sandwiches from the food cart, and we can picnic in left field.” He smiles.

A picnic in left field, you love that idea.

“Sounds perfect.” You smile.

“Okay, I’ll be back in 10.” He’s feeling brave so he leans over and kisses your cheek.

Shawn’s been affectionate since you helped him out that night. He had walked you to your car, wished you a nice night, leaving a searing kiss to your cheek.

The next day he was chipper, smiled and walked in with you. Offering to grab your bag for you, to which you let him.

And it’s been like that since.

He meets you by your car when you pull in, takes your bag, walking you to the offices before he parts for the locker room. Once on the field he smiles, and waves, and stares.

But this was a first, asking you on a date was a first.

And you know you shouldn’t, because you’re the manager and he’s a player, but you can’t help it. He shares the same love for the game you do, he gets it, and he gets you.

He seems interested in you, and not just for your looks, but for your brain and charisma.

You get up, rushing your laptop and paperwork to the dugout, leaving it on the bench.

You look around in the back storage room, finding an old ratty blanket with the teams logo on it.

You’re sitting on it when Shawn returns.

“You found a blanket!” He smiles, dropping next to you, handing you a wrapped sandwich. “Ham and cheese on white with mayo, no tomatoes.” He grins.

You stare at him in shock, “You know my order?”

“You only order the same thing every time.”

You blush now, biting your lip as you look at his blushing cheeks.

“Tell me something I don't know about you.” He says taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I wanted to live here when I was younger.”

“Oh?” He says with a mouthful, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I had a powerpoint, spreadsheets, the whole nine yards to convince my parents that I would never have to step foot outside of the stadium again.”

“And how were you going to do that?” He laughs.

“I was gonna use one of the offices as a bedroom, the stands were a great source of food, bathrooms provided, locker rooms for shower, and if I ran out of clothes I could borrow from the merch store.”

“Sounds like you had it all planned, but considering I haven’t seen your room around here I’m gonna say it didn’t work out?”

“No, and I was so upset.” You giggle at yourself. “Told my parents I’d hate them for forever,”

“How long did forever last?” He asked with a smirk.

“Till the next morning when my dad said he was going to the field and I could come.”

Shawn laughs, throwing his head back. He leans back on his hands, arms extended, and his fingers brush against yours.

You look down, then back at his face.

“What about you? Tell me something.” You say inching your fingers closer.

“I started with hockey.”

“Canada boy played hockey, shocker there.”

“Hey, it’s what everyone does. I was convinced that I was gonna be a pro.”

“Yeah? And how did that work out?”

“The closest I get to the ice is in my gatorade cup from the dugout.” He laughs. Making you laugh as well. “No yeah, I didn’t even know how to skate when I started. I mean you learn quick like that, but I just wasn’t, I don’t know enough?”

“Bet you were better than you think,” You say with a small smile.

“Bet you’re putting too much faith in me.” He chuckles.

“Why do you do that?” You ask making him look over at you.

“Do what?”

“Always tear yourself down? You are a damn good player, you’re averaging 89 miles per hour right now and the season hasn’t even started yet. That’s amazing for a rookie. Yet you ask me if I think you are falling behind and what else you can do to get better.”

“I guess I just am a little insecure about it. There’s a lot pressure on me right now and I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“But if you push yourself too hard you are gonna burn out and let yourself down.”

He just stares at you, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re good with words, did you know that?” He asks.

“I’ve heard that a time or two.” You shrug.

“I wanna do something,” He says softly, leaning closer. “Stop me if you’re uncomfortable.”

You nod, watching him get closer. He’s leaning in, eyes locked on your lips, his parting. You lean in too, feeling his breath on your lips. He hesitates for a second, but when you don’t pull back he closes the gap between you.

His lips move against yours and you’re in heaven. You didn’t know kissing could feel this good, his lips fit perfectly to yours. They move together in a sync, and his hand is reaching up to cup the side of your face.

You pull away, looking down and giggling a little bit.

“How was that?” He asks softly, your eyes flicking up to look into his eyes.

“That was good.” You giggle nervously.

He’s about to say something when you hear the sound of voices from the other side of the fence.

“That’s my dad.” You panic.

“Fuck,” Shawn says looking up at the big clock in the stadium. “He’s back earlier than I expected.”

“Had other plans?” You ask.

“Maybe I wanted a few more kisses, is that a problem?”

You’re packing up your lunch, grabbing the blanket and rushing with Shawn back to the dugout.

You can hear your Dad getting closer and you toss the blanket in the storage room, grabbing your paper work as Shawn fiddles with his glove.

“Oh hey,” Your Dad says walking up to you both. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you join us for lunch Y/n?”

“I had a little extra work I needed to catch up on, so I ate here.”

“Oh okay,” He kisses the top of your head and turns to Shawn.

They are talking about signs and new pitches.

Shawn’s eyes flick to yours, smirking as he watches you bite your lip.

Your Dad moves to the field and you step closer to Shawn, before he can move to the field you curl your fingers around his belt loop, pulling him back.

“Wait for me after we’re done. You’ll get your kisses.”

He turns, watching you walk away.

**

It’s opening day, the first home game.

Shawn’s nervous, your Dad’s nervous, you’re nervous.

Since that day you and Shawn had been secretly seeing each other.

As it wasn’t exclusive, you both made it very apparent that you weren’t seeing anyone else.

You button up your jersey, 00, on your back, jean shorts on with your signature white converse that now have Shawn’s sloppy heart drawn on them.

You made him watch a movie with you, That Last Song, the other night and yesterday at lunch he stole your sharpie to draw a heart on your shoe.

You smile at the heart, holding your clipboard to your chest as you make your way to the dugout. Before you can get that far a hand reaches out of the storage room and grabs you, pulling you inside.

“It’s me, don’t scream. It’s just me.” He says before you can react.

You turn and look at him, smirking at his attire, admiring his ass a bit.

“Hey there,” You giggle.

“Hi,” He breathes out.

“You okay?”

“I’m freaking out.”

“Why?”

“Joey got hurt in warm ups today.” He blurts, tugging at his unruly curls.

“Oh my god is he okay?” You ask, eyes going wide.

“He’s fine, but now I’m starting.” He covers his face.

“I should check on Joey, why wasn’t I told? Where did he-”

“Hey,” He says making you look at him. “I’m your boyfriend here, and I’m freaking the fuck out. What the hell do I do? Help me!” He whines.

You smile, blushing at the work ‘boyfriend’ because he’s never said that before.

“You’re my boyfriend?”

“Yes, and your boyfriend is about to pass out.”

“Okay,” You say nodding, holding onto his wrists since his hands are holding your face.

“Help me.”

“Why are you freaking out? You’re okay. You are amazing, you know what you’re doing.”

“That helps.” He nods, eyes shut.

“You are gonna strike em out, and kick their ass. They are never gonna wanna face Shawn fucking Mendes again.”

“Yeah,” He sighs.

“And,” You raise up on your toes, lips brushing against his ear. “Boys who start,” You pause, nibbling on his ear a bit, “Get extra special treatment.”

His eyes go wide, as he stares at you.

You drop back to your height, smirking up at him. “But boys who pass out, they just get to sleep.” You shrug.

“That’s evil.” He smiles, pulling you closer and kissing you feverishly.

“Where’s Mendes? Is he puking? He looked like he was gonna puke when I told him, and find Y/n too. I want her to help me rearrange everything.” Your Dad yelling makes you both pull away, pushing the the other away.

“Fuck!” You hiss, looking at Shawn.

“Go, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, and Babe.” You look at him, his eyes locking on yours. “You’re gonna be great, because I know so.”

“And if you know, then it has to be true.”

“That’s right.” You grin, giving him one more peck. “Go kill it Baby.”

**

The first mistake your Dad made today was taking Shawn off the mound.

Shawn was pitching amazingly, he could honestly say that he had never pitched that well before, and he likes to think that it was because his lucky charm was watching from the dugout.

With her 00 jersey tucked into the front of her short blue jean shorts, her tan legs glowing in the sun, and his breathing picked up every time he looked over for a sign, eyes flicking to her.

Her, being you.

When your Dad took him off the mound he claimed it was because he didn’t want Shawn to tire out, or to hurt himself. But the second he took him out of the game and the next pitcher came in to take over for the last 4 innings the whole game went to shit.

Shawn was a new pitcher no one had ever seen, with his new coaching he was unhittable, and had your Dad kept him in he might have pitched a no hitter because the score was 4-0, Toronto leading.

But the the first pitch the new guy threw was a homerun and so were 5 more after that.

The game ended and was, 7-4, Yankees.

The team was sad, gloomy, pissed. They lost the first game of the season, the first home game.

Shawn was annoyed, he just couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong to get taken out of the game. His arm felt great, he was giving all the pitches he was told to, it just didn’t make sense.

“Hey,” You whisper before he steps into the locker room.

He looks over to see you, your smile falls from your face when you see his sad eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You want to reach up and comb through his curls, kiss his pout away.

“We lost, were you watching?” He spits.

You look at him with wide eyes, looking down at your feet, swallowing.

“Sorry, nevermind.” You whisper, taking a step away from him, rolling your eyes a bit.

“No,” He reaches out, clutching your fingers. “Stop, come back.”

“It’s okay, you don’t want to talk. I get it.”

“No I do,” He looks around, everyone is now in their offices or the locker room, and it’s only the two of you in the dugout. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

You look up at him, and he dips his head a bit.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little worked up. I’m disappointed.”

“What? Why?” You ask stepping closer, his hand drops yours but lands on your waist, pulling you into him.

“I was taken out, I must have done something wrong.” He shrugs.

“No,” You shake your head. “No you played great, he just didn’t want to show you off to much. You’re our secret weapon.” You grin.

He stares into your eyes, “You’re sure? He’s not mad at me?”

“No, Baby he’s not mad.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No?” You stare at him confused. “Should I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know, I was just an ass.” He mumbles.

“It’s okay, I should have known better. Taking a loss is never easy.”

“You’re making it better.” He smiles.

“I can make it a lot better if you’d let me.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Means that my boy pitched a 5 inning no hitter, had a homerun in the 3rd inning and looks really hot in his pants.” You smirk, his eyes going wide. “So,” You lean up, lips brushing his ear, “Take a shower, change, and meet me at your car because you may have lost the game but,”

“I won the girl,” He answers quickly.

“And she’s ready to celebrate, so hurry.”

He gulps, nodding. “Give me 10 minutes.” He says, pecking your lips and rushing off to the locker room.

You giggle, shaking your head and turning and bumping into your Dad.

“Hey, you ready? I need a drink.” He says twirling his keys around his finger.

“Actually, I have plans.” You say playing with the wave ring on your thumb.

“Oh?” He says, frowning a bit.

“But you should go out with the coaches Dad. Larry would love to join you for a beer, I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah I guess I can ask.” He says turning to look at Larry’s, the fielding coach, office door. “What time will you be back?”

“I’m not sure,” You nibble at your lip.

“Keep me posted then.” He says smiling.

“Okay,”

“Have a nice night then.”

“I will.” You smile.

He walks away, and you let out a sigh.

“Thought he wasn’t gonna let you go, thank god you’re so trustworthy.” Shawn smirks from behind you. 

“Shut it,” You turn to him.

“Lying to your Dad, how irresponsible.”

“You want me to be responsible?” You raise a brow.

“God no, you’re mine now.” He says grabbing the front of your shirt and pulling you into him.

You giggle when you crash into his chest, your giggles being swallowed by his lips on yours.

“Stop, not here.” You push him away. “My Dad could turn the corner at any second.”

“Then let’s go.” He says grabbing your hand and rushing the two of you out of the stadium and to his car.

**

Three hours later you stand in his bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair is a mess from his pillows, lips swollen from him nipping at them, and there’s a new hickey sitting between your breasts.

Claimed he wanted to mark his territory, but only in a place that he gets to see.

“Babe, what do you want for dinner?” He calls from the kitchen.

You giggle, giving your lingerie clad body one more glance before you walk out to greet him.

You lean over and pick up his jersey from the floor, slipping it over your shoulders.

“Shawn it’s almost midnight, it’s not dinner time anymore.” You say walking into the kitchen as you button up jersey. You admire his bare back, muscles moving as he digs into a cupboard. He’s standing in just his grey sweats, the elastic of his boxers peaking over the top.

He turns at the closeness of your voice, eyes widening at the sight of you.

“Oh fuck,” Falls from his lips.

“What?” You look down, worried that something’s wrong.

“You look so hot in my jersey.” He sighs, hands gripping your hips, pulling you into him, lips attacking yours.

“This isn’t making dinner,” You mumble against his lips.

“Kind of want this for dinner.” He dips his tongue into your mouth. “Delicious.”

“Really? Because I kind of want pizza.” You pull away, meeting his shocked face.

“Really? I was trying to be cute, and you want pizza?”

You giggle, turning to look away from him. You grab his phone from his counter and start looking up to see if there are any pizza joints open this late.

His hands are caressing your sides, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“There’s a 24 hour pizza place, fuck yeah!” You say clicking the call button.

“It’s hot when you cuss.” He says into your ear, lips at your neck sucking a new bruise to your skin.

“Not in a visible spot- Hi! Can I get a medium pepperoni and medium cheese pizza?” You order.

He chuckles against your skin, licking at the sore spot he just created.

“I need the address.” You whisper, holding back a moan.

Shawn turns away from you, leaving a shiver to run down your spine. He returns with an advertisement paper from his mail pile, pointing to his address in the middle of the rectangular paper.

You give the address to the pizza guy and thank him after he tells you it’d be 30 minutes.

“We have a half hour.” You say turning back to Shawn.

“Oh all the things we could do in a half hour.” He smirks, leaning in and capturing your lips again.

You giggle, reaching up and tangling your fingers in his hair. He leans down a bit, grabbing the back of your bare thighs and setting you on the counter, your legs wrapping around his narrow waist.

For the next 15 minutes the two of your make out in his kitchen, his hands are wandering a bit, slipping up under his jersey and stopping at your sides, fingers digging into your skin.

You squirm, giggling a little and he pulls back.

“Are you ticklish?” He grins.

“No,” You lie.

“You’re totally lying, I can see it in your eyes.”

He tries to tickle you but you push him away, “No, don’t!”

“Oh you’re in for it.” He smirks, and you jump down from the counter running away from him.

“No stop Shawn!” You laugh as he chases you.

You run to his living room, running around his coffee table with him right on your heels. You jump up on his couch and that’s where he corners you.

“Oh no,” He chuckles, “You’re stuck.”

“Fuck,” You sigh.

Right as he’s about to attack there's a loud knock at his door and he pouts.

“HA!” You tease him.

“I’m gonna get you.” He warns you. He turns to go to the door, but before he can get away you jump on his back. “Hey,” He says immediately reaching back and gripping your thighs so you don’t fall.

“Hi.” You giggle into his ear, kissing his cheek as your arms wrap around his neck.

“How am I supposed to get the pizza like this Spider Monkey,” He walks to the door. “You’re gonna fall,”

“Nope, I’m pretty secured.” You say tightening your legs around his waist.

He laughs, causing a fit of giggles to escape your lips as he pulls the door open.

“Shawn! Sorry it’s so late have you see-”

You and Shawn deadpan, both hearts stopping.

There on Shawn’s doorstep is not the pizza delivery guy, but your Dad.

“Y/n?” Your Dad asks with a shrill in his voice. His eyes land on Shawn with a glare.

“Shit.” You slide off Shawn’s back.

“Sir, I can explain,” Shawn speaks up.

“Nope, she’s just who I was looking for.” Your Dad puts a hand up to stop him. “Get your things.” He glares at you. “It’s late.”

“Dad,”

“Get. Your. Things. We’re leaving.” He says turning and walking back to his car.

You look at Shawn with wide eyes.

“What do we do?” You whisper.

He sighs, looking down. “Just go, we’ll fix it in the morning.

“But I don’t wanna go, I wanna stay with you.”

“I want you to stay too, but it’s gonna be better if you go.”

“We could just,”

“Y/n just go.” Shawn says picking up your shorts and handing them to you.

You look at him with hurt eyes, slipping your shorts on and grabbing your purse from the chair by the door. You stare at him as you walk to the car.

The pizza guy passes you on the walkway.

You sigh, looking down at your ring and fiddling with it nervously as you get in the car.

Your Dad drives you home in silence, intentionally going out of his way to avoid you at all costs.

When you both walk in the door at home you stop him in the kitchen.

“Well, what are you gonna say? Because you have something to say so you might as well just spit it out.”

“I’m disappointed.” He says shaking his head walking to the stairs.

“Why?”

“Because I caught you naked with a player Y/n!”

“I was not naked! And so what if he’s a player?”

“It’s unprofessional, and having just a shirt on does not mean you were covered.” He crosses his arms.

“How is it unprofessional? It’s not like I’m a coach or really matter anything to the team. I’m 18, I can date Shawn if I’d like.” You argue back.

“You mean so much to this team, and you just fucked it up.”

“What?”

“They were gonna give you a bigger job, starting at manager was just the stepping stone. Larry’s retiring and guess who was gonna be offered his job. But now you won’t be.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“And why won’t I be offered the job anymore.”

“Because you’re sleeping with players.”

“Player, not plural.”

“Well, don’t bother coming back anymore.” He says turning to walk away.

“What does that mean?’

“It means you’ve been fired.” He says slamming the door to his bedroom.

You stand in the kitchen stunned.

Your Dad just fired you.

**

“Y/n, talk to me. I’m, I’m going a little insane without you. You’re worrying me and I just need you to answer or call me back. Please.” You’ve replayed Shawn’s message 45 times now.

You sit in the living room, ESPN on the tv as a bowl of cereal sits in your hands.

“I’ll be back later.” Your Dad gruffs walking out of the house, and when the door shuts your tear drops.

How could this be you? You lost the game, you lost the boy, and it feels like your losing your Dad in the process.

**

“Mendes!”

He’s called to the circle at the mound, a few other players standing around. He walks up, a new guy he’s never seen before standing next to your Dad.

He’s been looking for you all day, when you left Friday night he fell apart. Staring at the two boxes of pizza he was supposed to eat with you, your shirt on his floor, hair tie in the bathroom, smell on his sheets.

“Everyone meet the new team manager Brad.”

Everyone gasps, eyes going wide, staring at Coach.

“What happened to Y/n?” Center field speaks up.

“She’s will be no longer working with us,” Your Dad answers harshly.

“Why?”

“She didn’t understand the professional aspect of the job, and that’s all I’m gonna say.”

Shawn’s heart stops, he looks down at his cleats. His jaw clenches as Brad introduces himself, speaking to the teammates about things only you know about.

He starts to walk away from the group, needing to see you, to fix this.

“Mendes? Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Is all he says, walking straight out of the field, dugout, stadium.

His fingers are drumming on the steering wheel as he races to you, parking on the street, jumping out of his Jeep and running up to your door.

He knocks until you answer, and his heart stops when he sees your puffy eyes and messy hair. Even when you feel like shit you look so damn beautiful.

“Shawn?” You croak.

“Why’d you quit?” He asks softly, his voice cracking at the sight of you.

“What?” You ask, wiping the tear on your cheek away.

“Why’d you quit? Was it because of me? Don’t quit because of me.”

“I didn’t quit.” You shake your head.

“What?” He asks confused, “Then why was I introduced to a new manager today?”

“Because I was fired.”

He deadpans, eyes going wide.

“Excuse me? Why were you fired?”

“Because my Dad caught us.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Means that I’m unprofessional with my work.”

“It’s not like your a coach, you can’t show favoritism, not like you would anyway.”

Your tears pick up again, and he pouts at your red face and frown, “That’s the thing,” You hiccup, “They were gonna offer me a coaching position.”

He shuts his eyes, head tilting back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the lump in his throat.

“Then I’ll quit.” He shrugs.

“No! No way.” You shake your head.

“No, I’ll quit so you can Coach.” He says determined.

“No Shawn, you can’t quit. You have a future here, you’re gonna do great things.”

“You are too.” He argues.

“No, I’m not.” You shake your head. “I’m just a girl with a dream,”

“One that should come true, and I’m standing in the way of it.”

“Shawn,” You sigh, “You have a dream too, and yours is coming true. You’re gonna break records, reach new potential, become an inspiration to millions. You’re dream is too much to give up just for mine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re a major league baseball player Shawn,” You state. “I’m just some girl who’s been sitting in a stadium seat her whole life.”

“That’s not true.” He shakes his head.

“Your dream is more important, simple as that. So if you quit I’ll kill you.”

“Y/n, I don’t know what to do.”

“Play Shawn, play the game you were born to play.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Always,”

“I think I’m falling in love with you, and I know it’s a crazy thing to say but,” He shrugs, “It’s how I feel. And I want to be able to feel that with you.”

“I want to feel that too, because I feel the same but Shawn if you quit and I do this then you’ll resent me. It will be my fault your dreams didn’t come true.”

“But the same goes for me, if I play and you don’t work then you’ll resent me. Because your dream since you were 5 years old was to be apart of the team, and I’ll be the reason why you aren’t.”

“Then what does that mean?” You ask, voice cracking as more tears pool in your eyes.

“I don’t know, what I do know is that I don’t want you to resent me.”

“And I don’t want you to resent me.” You repeat.

“I really don’t like where this is going.” He chokes, trying not to cry himself.

“It has to happen Shawn. For the both of us to be happy it has to happen.”

“But you’re still gonna resent me. Because either way I play and you don’t get to coach.”

“It’s okay, I’ll try and find a new dream.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

“But that’s life.” You swallow. “This is my life, and I have to accept that. I don’t get the job, or the boy. My fairytale life I was living is now a nightmare and I have to accept that.”

“You don’t deserve that.”

“Obviously life thinks I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t make it harder Shawn,” You say starting to close the door.

“Please don’t.” He cries.

“It’s the way it has to be.” You say before closing and locking the door.

His heart shatters at the sound of your sob when you turn around. He bangs on the door, begging you to open it. He just wants to hold you and make it all better. You don’t deserve this and he didn’t know how to fix it.

**

You sit at the table across from your Dad that night, your eyes are red and bloodshot, your face is swollen from crying.

“Shawn stopped by today.” You whisper grimly, voice completely wrecked from sobbing all day.

“I know,”

“He offered to quit so I could continue to work.”

“I know,” Your father says again.

“What?” You look up.

“He came to my office when he left here. Told me that you didn’t deserve this and that he’d quit so you could work. I didn’t let him, but oh man he wasn’t happy with me. Yelled and told me that you deserved so much more than crying by yourself. That your dreams are so much more important than his and that he’d do anything to see your dreams come true, even if that meant that his didn’t.”

“You didn’t let him quit right?” You sit up. He just stares at you. “You didn’t let him quit, RIGHT?” When he doesn’t answer you panic. “Oh my god, I fucking him told him not to do this. He’s gonna accomplish so much more than I will. He is so much more important.” You head is in your hands, pulling at your hair.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we all know that I’ll be called coach but not a single person will listen to me, but he’s gonna break records and become one of the best pitchers in the MLB.”

“He said you’d say that.”

“What?” You look up.

“How long has this been going on?”

“My relationship with Shawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Um well we were friends when you made me coach him, and since then we kind of just spent every moment we could together. We didn’t start dating until a few weeks ago.”

“He cares a lot about you, it’s not often that a man is willing to give up his dreams that are right in reach for a girl.”

“I won’t let him give them up.”

“That’s how I know you’re in love with him.”

“Excuse me?”

“You care for him too, because you want to see him succeed more than you want to see yourself succeed. And vice versa. You’re playing Romeo and Juliet here, giving up something for the other. But the thing is,” Your Dad pauses, “There’s no need for that here.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you have your job back, well not your job per say. You’ll be shadowing Larry so you can get a feel of what you’ll have to do next season. And Shawn will continue to pitch. Both of your dreams will come true, together.”

“Really?” You ask with a smile.

“He’s very persuasive about you.”

“I know,” You bite your lip.

“Oh, and he’s sitting in the driveway.”

You look over, spotting his Jeep through the window.

“Shawn,” You whisper, getting up and running out to him.

He’s sitting on the hood of his car when you come running out. He jumps down just in time to catch you. You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze him tight.

“Hi.” He says once you’ve stopped squealing.

“Hi.”

“What did he say? Did he give you your job back?”

And just to tease him you go, “No. He didn’t.”

“What?”

“He gave me a new job though.” You smile.

Shawn’s eyes that were wide and sad brighten and find yours.

“That was so mean.” He laughs, tickling your side now that you can’t runaway.

“Shawn!” You laugh, squirming in his hold.

He stops, chuckling as you look at him.

“You still mine?” He asks softly, blinking slowly.

“Yeah,” You nod, leaning in and kissing him softly.

“I told you I’d get you.” He mumbles against your lips.

**

Three weeks later Shawn stands on the mound, hat sitting on is precious curls, dressed up in his uniform.

“Y/n, what do you think?” Larry asks nodding to Shawn.

“About what?” You ask cautiously.

“Is he good or should we take him out.”

“He’s pitching a no hitter right now, if you take him out of the game I’ll beat your ass.” You say with no shame. “Don’t do that to him. You’ve taken it away once, do it again and make him hurt the way he did the first time and I’ll take care of it.”

Your Dad is chuckling from behind you, patting Lary’s shoulder.

“She’s a bit protective of Mendes, so watch it.”

“I just wanted to see what she was gonna say.” Larry laughs, nudging your knee.

They keep him in the game, and he’s down the to last inning, last batter. He just needs this last strikeout to pitch a no hitter.

Your chewing your nails, bouncing your left leg, watching intently.

He can feel the pressure, you can see it in his shoulders, which is why he’s thrown two balls now.

“Call time.” You speak up.

Larry looks at you confused, “He’s good,”

“No I need to talk to him, call time.”

“Call time Larry, if she thinks he needs a minute give it to him. He’s about to throw the best game he’s ever pitched in his life.”

“Time Blue!” Larry steps out of the dugout.

You step on the field, Shawn’s eyes going wide when he sees you and your Dad making your way to him.

“I’m okay,” He says when you make it to the mound. “Don’t take me out Coach.”

Your Dad laughs, “I wasn’t the one to call time.” He looks to you.

“Y/n?” Shawn looks at you. “I’m okay,”

“I know,” You sigh, biting your lip.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I have a pointer though.” You smirk at him, and he grins. “And you said that if I had pointers to tell you so it would help your game.”

“And what’s your pointer?”

“To relax.” You sigh. “Take a breath. You’re too uptight. If you keep your shoulders tense you won’t throw a strike for the rest of the game. Chill a bit.”

“You called time to tell me to chill?” He looks at you with a raised brow.

By now your Dad is chuckling and walking away from you two.

“Questioning my coaching again?” You ask, looking up at Shawn.

“Gonna massage my shoulders like you did that night?”

“That might make this a little too personal, but if you finish this game I will.”

“Oh? What if I want more than just a massage?” He leans closer.

“We both know that massages between us lead to so much more.”

“You saying that I’m gonna get some?”

“You gotta strike him out.” You shrug, winking at him.

“Still evil.” He grins, watching you walk away. “Thought the new job description would change you.”

“Never.” You giggle walking back into the dugout.

He’s relaxed now, rolling his shoulders and setting.

Strike One.

He’s looking at you, tossing a wink your way.

Strike Two.

He’s biting his lip, blowing you a quick kiss.

Strike Three.

And that’s the game. Shawn just pitched a no hitter.

The team is rushing out of the dugout, crowding him on the field.

You stand with the coaches, applauding him.

“What are you doing?” Your Dad asks, pushing you forward a little bit. “Go congratulate him.”

“I’ll wait,”

“The kid just pitched a no hitter and you’re gonna just sit here and clap for him. Don’t be stupid, go kiss him.”

“Did you just tell me to go kiss my boyfriend?”

“Don’t make me say it again, go.” He pushes you towards the group of rowdy boys.

You lock eyes with him and he smiles, waving you closer.

That’s when you start running, and he catches you with ease.

Lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, fingers clutching his curls as you take his hat off.

“You did so good Baby.” You whisper to him.

“All because of your pointers.” He smirks.

You tug on his curls a bit, giggling.

“Come here.” He squeezes your thighs, making you lean down and kiss him.

His lips are soft against yours, working in a rhythm together.

“I love you.” You whisper when you pull away.

“I love you too.” He smiles, planting a kiss to your neck. “I also really love your jersey.” He smiles.

You claimed to not be able to find your jersey, so you just borrowed Shawn’s extra. Leaving you in a 08 Mendes jersey.

“It looks so good.” He smiles.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“You sporting the name Mendes? Yeah, I like that. A lot.”

“Me too.” You giggle, kissing him again.

You revel in the fact that you are living your own fairytale.

Sure it doesn’t have dresses and heels, dancing balls and parties.

But it does have tight baseball pants and cleats, pitching nets and opening days.

You got the job, you got the boy, you got the love story and you got the happy ending.

Seems like a home run to you.

[oc-rehab-centre]

How To Make An Ackerman OC

(Artist: Xue Lian Yue) 

How To Make An Ackerman OC

The Ackerman Family is a very iconic bloodline, exclusive to the Shingeki No Kyojin Universe. A byproduct of titan engineering, the Ackermans possess unimaginable strength once reaching an “awakened” state, through which their strength is triggered. Levi and Mikasa Ackerman are arguably some of the manga’s icons and are well known by many members of other fandoms.

With such an interesting and enigmatic aura to the Ackerman Family - it is understandable that many people in the OC Fandom might take interest in having an Ackerman of their own. While typically - we would advise you here to avoid having fanmade characters be related to canon characters, here - we are going to try and discuss the tropes and cliches of Ackerman OCs. We will tell you what to avoid - and perhaps give you some pointers on how to improve upon your OC. As usual, what you read will be based merely off of personal opinions.

More may be added into to in the future! If you have any suggestions or tropes you would like us to add, send us a message and we’ll add how we best believe could correct that trope/problem!

Trope 1 - Tragic Ackerpast

Sad backstories are not an uncommon thing in Attack on Titan. A majority of the show’s main characters have tragic pasts, and the Ackermans are no different. Of the two childhoods we have seen, Levi’s mother passed away while he was still young and he only learned enough to survive in the Underground District before being left by Kenny.

Despite being from a bloodline that is actively trying to be suppressed - does not mean they need to have a tragic backstory to validate their Ackerman heritage. 

Perhaps your OC grew up a little rough around the edges - but their entire nuclear family does not have to be slaughtered - nor do they have to be adopted or fostered by some abusive parents or the perfect, rich parents for their own protection. While this may help your OC better “correlate” with the canon Ackermans in the series, OC critics will be picky of details and certainly pounce on you for this. Just because they are an Ackerman OC does not mean they need an “edgy” backstory. 

Note: This fact/tip of OC creation does not just apply to Ackerman OCs! Shingeki No Kyojin, as gruesome as it is - not every character has a tragic past, filled with murder, melancholy and abuse. While tragic pasts can add to certain fanmade characters, it can detract from others. Be sure to do it well, if you decide a tragic past would suit your character, and try to avoid the common tropes/cliches.

Another thing worth mentioning - people seem to dub Kenny as an abusive relative. That man is caring and sweet in his own kind of way. Regardless of the fact that he is a killer, he is very human. 

Trope 2 - Forms of Levi Connection

There are various thing that never fail to annoy me about the Ackerman OCs and their relationships to Levi, but I shall only explain and resolve a few of these pet peeves - because they go against the known canon. I’ll list them below - and then you can read about them.

Levi is the Father/Brother/Uncle/etc.

The Thug “Quartet”

Being a Scout

1. Levi is the Father/Brother/Uncle/etc.

A majority of the Ackerman OCs I have seen are in one way or another, connected to Levi. After browsing a few of the Ackerman OCs via Google and looking through their biographies to discover their Ackerman heritage - Levi was almost always the father. And, if not the father - he tended to be either the older brother of the OC.

While there is nothing to confirm the fact that Levi does not have any siblings, I would just like to say - it is unlikely that any of Levi’s fanmade siblings, would be Ackermans. Kuchel, after having Levi - would likely not bear any more children after him - considering the fact that she was presumably sickly even before her son’s birth. (Idea: Remember, Levi has a father, even though he is never seen or named. If Levi’s illegitimate father was a player and enjoyed screwing with lots of prostitutes, you can theoretically have an OC to Levi who isn’t an Ackerman!)

I got a little carried away in that last statement, but I feel personally like it is a realistic idea, far more realistic than Levi having any siblings younger than himself.  Levi having older siblings is an idea I am honestly less opposed to, on the condition that they are done well, of course.

What is even better than having your Ackerman OC related to Levi, remember that Levi, Kenny and Kuchel only make up one side, hell, perhaps even just one branch of the Ackerman Family. In comparison to Levi, Mikasa’s side of the Ackerman family is practically estranged from Ackerman OCs. It is always a matter of being related to Levi, rather than Mikasa. 

Perhaps you can propose that Mr. Ackerman (Mikasa’s father) has brothers or sisters who have Ackerman children of their own. You are free to be crafty with OCs - as long as they make logical sense!! You have the opportunity to fill in gaps which Hajime Isayama never filled in himself with your own headcanons and plot ideas. Perhaps that man has a stat of 11/10 mystery for a reason you can fill in!

Now to move away from siblings of Levi is concerning a majority of Ackerman OCs - the children of Levi. Many children of Levi tend to be the product of either common pairings (Levihan, Rivetra, Ereri, etc.) or of a canon x oc couple. While these OCs are very prevalent in the fandom, it is quite annoying. Many OC critics argue that children of Levi are instantaneously Mary-Sues/Gary-Stus because their very existence breaks canon and they will advise you to rethink your consideration of making your OC an Ackerman. 

Common themes in Levi being the father are typically not believable. Many creators fail to consider the fact that Levi’s age when making their OCs, the product of canon ships or canon x oc pairs. Many people often forget that Levi did not join the Scouts until 844, a year before the Fall of Wall Maria - yet (this is only an example), he has a child who is 15 years old and a member of the 104th Trainees Squadron by 847. I have seen very many Ackerman OCs whose aging does not fit at all into the timeline of the Attack on Titan, so be cautious and take a few minutes to make sure the dates make sense. Just use a calculator or some mental math skills - and make sure it is passable.

2. The Thug Quartet

Moving on - often times, if the OC grew up in the Underground, they are a fourth member of the Thug Trio - composed of Levi, Isabel Magnolia and Farlan Church.

In relation to the question regarding the insertion of an OC in the Thug Trio - I would personally advise OC creators to avoid this. One of the most unoriginal things you can do, which can potentially destroy a fan character is plopping them straight into the series and rewriting the canonical timeline to accommodate your character. This just takes so much originality out of a fan character, and much of the fun out of creating one as well.

A good fan character FITS into a storyline. The canon story should not have to be altered for them to fit into the series. If you are altering canonical events in the story so that it bends to the personal history/timeline of your own character, I’m sorry to tell you this, but stop. For the sake of having a good OC, just stop.

If you want your OC to also live in the Underground District, certainly, they can still be an Ackerman and not be part of Levi’s Thug Trio to, uh, still be a thug - if you’re dead set on your character being a thug. 

3. Being A Scout

Let’s be honest. A majority of the OCs in this fandom are soldiers and members of the Scouting Legion. There is nothing wrong with being in the Scouting Legion, Hell - most of my own OCs are in the Scouting Legion. Now allow me to explain why this peeves me. 

In connection to the idea of the “Thug Quartet”, a few Ackerman OCs (and also many OCs in general) I have seen have been exploited for their strength and are pretty much Levi, regurgitated in a much smaller, female form. The fact that many Ackerman OCs are asked by Erwin to join the Scouting Legion, rather than joining by their own free will. 

*inhale* Just a little bit of salt - people seem to forget Erwin wasn’t the Commander until 845. I’m very nitpicky when it comes to the dates, warning to all the future OCs I will review! 

The Scouting Legion is not a first choice for most sane individuals, especially prior to the year 847, when Eren convinced a sizable portion of the main cast to join the Scouts with his teenage, hormonal military propaganda. It was/is a death wish to be part of the Scouting Legion - punishment, depending on how you look at it. Refrain from having your Ackerman Oc (or any OC) be convinced to join the Scouts in the same manner as Levi, Isabel and Farlan - it makes for a very unoriginal concept.

Trope 3: The Ackerman Archetypes 

If you ask people to describe Levi and Mikasa Ackerman, the answers you will get will be pretty simple and basic. They are badass, reserved, and powerful. In this section - we’re gonna discuss what OC creators forget to keep in mind when making their Ackerman OC, and these are basically the stereotypes. 

Personality 

Physical Appearance

Strength

1. Personality 

A common misconception about members of the Ackerman Family is that they are all cold and stoic characters who are not overly expressive, often seen frowning subtly in a detached, mysterious manner. GOD. This is an incredibly annoying thing to see in Ackerman OCs - personalities are not genetic and furthermore, the Ackermans are not soulless beings incapable of emotions, just because their badass levels are OVER 9000!!

It’s a common misconception as well that the Ackermans are all stone-faced individuals, but God.. Isayama and WIT Studio have done a lot better in recent chapters/episodes to show both Levi and Mikasa with expressions other than, y’know: 

That. 

Just because they are an Ackerman does not mean they have to be exactly like Levi or Mikasa - they are free to have their own original personalities. 

2. Physical Appearance

Another very common trait of Ackerman OCs is their appearance. In a majority of Ackerman OCs - they will have jet-black hair, light pigmented eyes which if blue, will more often than not be described as “ice blue”. (lol) 

This is admittedly a rather justified trait. We see that many of the Ackermans from Levi’s known side of the family possess dark hair and light eye. (with the exception of Grandpa Ackerman, but we can assume he had darker hair in his youth, unless it was a trait from Grandma Ackerman.) It can be argued that dark hair and light eyes are dominant genetic traits, but not every canon Ackerman is dark haired.

Going back to Mr. Ackerman, we know that he has light hair - and therefore proves that not all Ackermans have dark hair. Black hair does not have to be the only colour that exists in Ackermans. Brunette, blonde, fawn - please! I’d love to see some Ackerman OCs who do not have astoundingly light/bright coloured eyes or black hair! It would actually be refreshing to see an Ackerman OC who does not look like a carbon copy of fem! Levi. It will certainly help your character seem more original, despite being an Ackerman!

3. Strength (+ Ackerbond Concept)

Out of all of the archetypes seem in Ackerman OCs - what pisses me off the most is a lack of understanding of the Ackerman’s strength and its origin. There are countless Ackerman OCs who have stats that surpass Levi’s. This not only breaks canon - but seeing Ackerman OCs with stats that say “Battle Skill: 12/10″ and such of that sort, but in their bio, there is never anything stated about a traumatic/changing event that sparked that fire, just makes OC critics wonder if you have really done your homework on how the Ackermans work.

For those who don’t understand what the Hell I’m trying to say here, news flash - the Ackermans are not born as ripe, killing machines. Their strength is often dormant, only awakening in response to an event which causes them to feel threatened, endangered or simply so god damn sh00k that their physiology alters drastically, giving them superhuman strength. 

In a flashback episode from Season 1 of Attack on Titan, back when the scenes of the manga were animated accurately and at a reasonable pace - (*cough* Season 3 *cough cough*) we see firsthand how Mikasa’s strength is unlocked. 

As a result of trauma and developing what the fandom commonly calls an “Ackerbond” to Eren Jaeger, it is only here when Mikasa is able to find the drive to fight and her ability to do so nearly flawlessly. An “Ackerbond” can be defined as a special and unbreakable bond formed between an Ackerman who they fiercely devote themselves to. Known Ackerbonds that exist are the bonds between: Uri Reiss/Kenny Ackerman, Eren Jaeger/Mikasa Ackerman and Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith. 

Some Ackermans, like Mr. Ackerman - never awaken their Acker-strength, and live just like ordinary people, not possessing Ackerbonds or many of the defining traits of the Ackerman bloodline.

Out of the many Ackerman OC bios I have read, a majority completely gloss over the fact that Ackermans are not born as natural warriors - but it is instead something that must be awoken. They often fail to describe HOW their OC came to unlock their power - and even fewer detail the concepts of Ackerbonds between their OC and another character. Hell. Wait. I’ve never even seen an Ackerman OC with an Ackerbond - they just tend to be in love with someone, but that doesn’t count as an Ackerbond.

I would strongly advise, if your OC is an “awoken” Ackerman with stats that exceed 10/10, that you include details about how they achieved their superhuman strength and who they are Ackerbonded to. Additionally, having an Ackerman OC who is not “awoken” and is just your average Joe is also fine, perhaps even better, in some cases! 

But in all cases, DO NOT go putting your OC as “Humanities Strongest”, surpassing Levi Ackerman, Mike Zacharius or Mikasa Ackerman! Just... Just don’t, why should be self explanatory. 

Assorted Tropes + Pet Peeves

Age and Profession: A majority of the Ackerman OCs appear to be no older than 20 by the year 850. Teenaged OCs are common and cliched in this fandom, and being graduates of the 104th Trainees Squadron is another overly used concept. It would be nice to see some Ackerman OCs who are not soldiers or teenagers/young adults. 

Too Many Canon-Breaking Qualities: Some of the most canon-breaking tropes among OCs would be things like canon x OC shipping. Now - I personally have nothing against canon x OC shipping, it does not bother me at all when it is done right. But, having an Ackerman OC is special enough. To keep from getting negative attention and commentaries - try to limit the amount of special qualities you give your OC. This does not apply to only Ackerman OCs, but to OCs in general! Giving your character too many special qualities - like the canon shipping and a spot in Levi’s squadron breaks the canon, and will detract from your character rather than add to it!

Summary of Main Points

Avoid giving your Ackerman OC too many traits that make them overly characteristic and put stress on the canon like: incredibly tragic pasts, canon x oc shipping, being part Asian or from another iconic family, being a member of  the 104th Squadron, being part of the Special Ops. Squadron, etc. Try keeping your OC’s life lowkey and avoid making them too special.

Your character does not have to be directly related to Levi, Mikasa or Kenny to be an Ackerman. There is such freedom to expand the family tree - so take advantage of the plotholes!

Make sure your character FITS into the canon - rather than the canon having to change to accommodate their personal storyline. Try to avoid plopping your character straight into the canonverse - you have the freedom to be creative and give them a story of their own!

Try not to use the Ackerman stereotypes - like the certain personality, appearance and strength without delving deeper to explain why they are the way they are! 

If they have stats over 10/10 - please, remember to explain why! Ackermans often don’t have their full strength unless their strength is triggered or awoken - often because of a traumatic event or when they discover the person they are Ackerbonded to!! If your OC has high stats and is an Ackerman, find a character for them to be Ackerbonded to!

This is all for now! Thank you for tuning in. I hope you enjoyed reading this and I hope it helped~!

[musicalmukebox]

Let’s Get (Back) Together | l.h. (6)

Ctto of the gifs used!

AU: Parent Trap Dad!Luke

Summary: A strong love which led to a strong marriage and twin daughters. Yet in the end, it didn’t turn out so well. You strongly refuse to encounter him ever again. But what happens when both of you coincidentally send your twin daughters to the same summer camp in Florida after 10 years?

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: swearing, mention of sex, hate comments 

A/N: Ahh, this was really hits home to write. Enjoy! 

I don’t own Parent Trap and its ideas. It’s only used as inspiration.

1 / 2A / 2B / 2C / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15

Feedback/Questions/Others? Here.

-

2020, New York

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N): From Music Video Extra to Real Life Girlfriend Real Quick”

“More than 5 seconds: Luke Hemmings shows off new girlfriend in santa monica”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N): To Amuse or Use Luke Hemmings?”

Those were some of the many headlines of different articles talking about your relationship with Luke. Yes, they were showing negativity, and they hurt you because they weren’t at all true. Why not speak up, right? But you chose not to. You shielded your actual feelings because you didn’t want to stress anyone else out, especially Luke. Having him as a boyfriend has its cons, commonly with the media and paparazzi. You knew that this was bound to happen, so you just braved the media with a fake smile. 

One cold afternoon, you and Luke decided to act touristy in New York before he has a show that same night, alongside the boys and Eleanor. You needed a getaway from Los Angeles, and you thanked the heavens that you had a 2 week break before you go back. Much to your luck, that day was a very happy one. Eating pizza in different pizza places with the boys, taking a lot of photos courtesy of Eleanor and strolling around Times Square and Central Park with all good vibes?

Shit, things were going right for once.

When you guys were headed to enter at the back exit of the venue, the boys decided to meet some fans and take some pictures with them too first. For sure, Eleanor was down since she’s in charge of making the tour videos. You joined it because why the heck not? You want to see your boyfriend happy and maybe help take pictures of him and the fans anyways. 

Walking towards the long lines, fans were instantly screaming excitedly, their idols right within their vicinity. Just thinking about how hardworking the boys have been with their music and their fans loving it so much because it’s relatable and well-written warms your heart so much. Not just that, the fans were so orderly; no mobbing nor grabbing of the boys’ hair or clothing while they await their turns. Seeing their genuine smiles is a quick happy pill. 

“(Y/N), can you take our photo?” Luke handed you a fan’s phone for you to capture their cute moment, which was the girl was being piggybacked by Luke. As you did such, Luke gave you a hug before you handed him back the phone.

“Thanks, babe. You’re the best!” He thanked, kissing your temple and getting aww’s from the fans. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” You are called out by a group of different fans who just finished taking their photos by the boys, which naturally urged you to approach them. They didn’t expect that you’d respond, making them squeal.

“Hi girls! How are you doing?” You greeted. 

“We’re doing great! Super excited for the show later!” One girl shared.

“Same! I’ve been waiting for this day for 2 months.

“Hyped and ready to cry.” 

That last response made you laugh. You asked other questions while those fans did the same with you. Pretty much, it was a back and forth interview. Your responses are in bold.

“Are you all from New York?” 

“Born and raised.”

“I’m studying here, but originally from Maine.”

“Any of you bring posters or anything else?”

“I have a mini poster that says “let’s take shots!” in all caps!”

“I have two roses, in case the other one gets lost.”

“What songs are you ready to hear live?”

“Valentine! This is my first 5SOS concert, and I really love that song.”

“Lie to Me. Gives so much goosebumps.”

“Vapor. Pretty old but it’s really beautiful to listen.”

 Switch sides. 

“What’s Luke like when you’re hanging out alone in his house?”

“Always chill, really. To be honest, he’s into cuddles. But one main thing that makes me come back more is Petunia, so shh.” You joked, putting your pointer finger against your lips.

“What’s your most favorite thing about Luke?”

“He makes me laugh over small things, like sending me random boomerangs when I’m in class.”

 “How about your least favorite?”

“One would be when I’m studying, he tries to distract me a whole lot with almost anything his mind can think. Another is hoarding my instant ramen noodles.”

 “How did you guys confess your feelings?” 

“New Years Eve. We were really drunk and just admitted it. You now what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts.” You half-lied.

 “So is the sex great?” One fan fired at you, getting everyone’s attention. You were put on the spot, getting giggly and slightly pressured.

“Best sex ever.” You whispered away, getting them to squeal more. Another fan asked you if she could have a selfie with you, which you happily accepted and then smiled at the camera.

 “Thanks a bunch, (Y/N). Let me just say this, you are so talented and screw the haters! I can’t wait what you’ll do next.” She compliments, your heart feeling warm once more as you gave her a hug as a sign of thankfulness. “Thank you, love. I appreciate it very much.” 

 “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) is a user!” You suddenly heard someone shout. 

“(Y/N), you can fuck off!”

“(Y/N), leave Luke alone! You don’t deserve him!” 

 These phrases were attacks on you, and you froze in fright and anger. You turn to where those fans were and bound to speak your mind, but was stopped by Eleanor, whose hand gripped on your arm.

“Not worth it, (Y/N). Now come on, the boys are entering inside and we should too.” Following orders, you bid goodbye to the fans and finally entered the venue, which was a lot warmer than the chilly weather outside.

-

“Thinking 'bout you lots lately, have you been eating breakfast alone like me?”

The show was in full swing. The lighting was on point, good vibes and music too. You were at the balcony area, jamming to Moving Along and swaying your hips alongside Eleanor, who just finished filming excerpts for the video. As the boys played the last chords of the song, the next part would be talking of some sort, which could be a giving thanks one or a roasting session, pretty much anything.

“New York, how are you feeling?!” Luke hyped, the screams of the fans getting louder. 

“You guys have been awesome so far, and wow, I love my job so much!” 

“God, Luke, how many times have you said that on this tour?” Calum asks humorously.

“Too much! But shit, thanks for all the support you’ve given Youngblood!” He raised his mic stand, having some lights flash behind him as he did. As he put the stand down, he looked over at Michael, about to speak again but chiller.

“Let’s get a bit serious for a moment, guys. Hey, Michael. I have a question for you.”

“What’s on your mind, Luke?”

“So, you and Crystal are going 4 years strong now, right?” Luke starts, getting some cheers from the audience.

“Yup, 4 happy years yeah!” More cheers erupted.

“Nice one, buddy! Moving on, did you or Crystal get any hate about that? I’m pretty curious.” Yup, Luke just did that. 

“We did, but it was mostly on her. It made me sad when she’s sad whenever she comes across tweets towards her. There have been times where she was crying to me because it got too much.” Michael’s happy expression turned sour. 

“Sending hate is really low of someone, honestly. When you support the band, you shouldn’t judge whoever they want to date.” Ashton speaks up.

“I have another thing I want to say if you guys don’t mind. So awhile ago, I was taking pictures with a bunch of you guys, then I overheard some fans bashing on my girlfriend. That’s really uncool and hurts a lot to hear.” Luke confronts, disappointed. The crowd grew silent, so intensely it could be cut with as a knife.

“I heard the same with Eleanor actually. Really, guys? How would you feel if you hear when someone says bad things to your friends or family when you’re around?” Calum adds, looking down at his shoes afterwards and adjusting his bass guitar strings.

“To be honest, it’s better to send positivity than negativity, it’s what we need today. If you don’t like them, fine go ahead. Just don’t be vocal about it especially online because we see everything. And to (Y/N), I know it’s a pretty public way to proclaim it, but I truly love you.” Your heart jumped. This is the first time he’s said the big “L” word towards you, full-heartedly and romantically. Not counting the platonic ones from when you were still just friends.

“Aww, too much feels tonight! Fuck hate, love love love! Now, the next song is Talk Fast! Let’s go!” Ashton beamed before hitting the first beats of the song on his drum kit.  You continued to watch Luke from above, his purple glittery eyeshadow sparkling in the light and gripping on the microphone as he sings those lyrics. He noticed, giving you a cheeky wink which made you shake your head in flattery and the crowd go wild again.

-

“Nice show, fellas!” You hear some crew members say to the boys from outside. They just finished, and you and Eleanor were by the dressing room, opening up the bottle of Jack Daniels and a liter bottle of rootbeer. Trust me, this is good shit. Mixing the concoction on a pitcher, you could hear the door creak open, signaling you that the boys are going inside. Turning around, you see 4 sweaty boys, still on a high after performing and holding red cups already.

“Fuck, never gets old!” Michael cheers, lying down on the couch. “What you making over there, babe?” Calum approaches Eleanor from behind, hugging her waist and nuzzling his head on her shoulder. 

“Rootbeer and Jack Daniels. Figured we should try something new, something that isn’t Corona.” Eleanor keeps mixing before removing the spoon to take a sip. Her face puckers up a bit.“This is good! Get your red cups, guys!” You were first in line, pouring the mix on your cup, sipping it. It was strong but sweet.

“I love it!” You continued drinking, but as you stopped, your eyes focused on Luke, sitting on the couch and scrolling through phone. Making your way to him, you sat beside him, putting your head on his shoulder. “Whatcha looking at?” 

“Twitter. A lot of fans took videos of that band speech awhile ago, and it’s getting popular.” He answered in monotone, eyes still glued on his phone. In order to get his full attention, you stood up and got his phone from his grasp

“What the fuck, babe?” He complained, arms crossed before standing up. You forgot for a second that he was really tall, urging your head to tilt upwards.

“Can we talk outside first, Luke?” You bluntly ask. When he nods, you discreetly exited the room, but you hear someone say “oh shit” before you close the door. Walking to find a hidden spot where no one is around quietly, Luke momentarily felt he was in trouble. Was it because he confronted his fans like that or suddenly putting you on the spot with the big “L”? Finally, you found a spot which was near an exit, then Luke broke the silence, nervous.

“Okay, I don’t know for sure what I did to make you annoyed or whatever, so please te-“ You cut him off by softly planting your lips on his, tiptoeing to reach his height. Well, slightly.

One hand was on his shoulder and the other was on his cheek. His hand went under your shirt, feeling his fingers linger on my skin. His vacant hand went to your waist. He wanted more by tugging on your shirt, but you let go before he did could remove it, your forehead resting on his so you could breathe for a bit. His blue eyes opened slowly to yours eyes, giving him a loving smile. 

“Luke, I love you so much too.” Pretty cheesy you thought, but it made the butterflies in your stomach go away. He was everything you wanted in this life. Luke was on cloud nine, lifting you up, your legs entangled on his waist and his hands under your thighs for support.

“You are worth more that the haters, alright? They’ll go through me if they attack again.”

“You know I can defend myself, right?” You played.

“But let me help you, it helps me with my self-esteem.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Whatever, babe. Shut up and kiss me again.” He did as told, his lips crashing your alcohol dripped lips. Tilting your head a bit, his mouth opened up a bit so you could get more access. He bit your lower lip in between, making you moan.

“That never gets old.” He says in between kissing. 

“That’s what makes me love you more.”

-

2034, Los Angeles

“Oh yay! Thank you very much, goodbye.” You hung up the phone call. It was the designer in charge of finalizing the details on your gown that will be worn in your Australian premiere of Take Me or Leave Me.

As you did such, Stella walks in the room, holding on her fuzzy bunny Kira. You couldn’t decipher what she was feeling as she kept a straight face, but you can see her sleepy eyes blinking slowly.

“Morning, bub. Come stay in bed with me, let’s have breakfast in bed.” You insisted, patting the vacant side of your bed. She comes closer and tugged on the bedsheets, entering herself inside but still with a frown.

“How was your day yesterday with Mark? He told you that you watched numerous films and ate a lot pizza.”

“I did, and it was really fun. How was last night for you?”

“Really fun. Date nights with uncle Tim are filled with jokes, awkwardness and really good food.” She smiles, then frowns again.

“Are you okay, Stella? You’ve been frowning since you lied in bed with me.”

“Well, I need to meet up someone tomorrow, but I don’t know what to do next.” She squirms, instantly hid herself in the blankets.

“Stella, come on, talk to me.” You try to pull down the sheets, but Stella’s grip was stronger.

“Stella! I need to meet up with Stella. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

“O-kay, but where could she be right now?” You squint your brows at her nonsense.

“Sydney, Australia with her dad Luke Hemmings.” You froze. Your grip of the blanket softened, lifting it.

“You’re not Stella?” You were in disbelief, thinking this is a nightmare and very eager to wake up. You pinched your side, wincing. Sadly, you’re awake.

“Hello, mum.” Rebecca crawled out from the covers, hearing the strong Australian accent just like his.

“Oh my god, you’re Rebecca?” She nods slowly. You put your hand on your mouth, trying to comprehend the situation.

“Stella and I, we switched places. She wanted to see dad and I wanted to see you. I’ve been waiting for this moment to happen, and I wanted you to love me as me, not as Stella.” Rebecca explained in full in order for you to catch on why she is here. You wanted to cry, but first you gave her a heartfelt hug. “Oh poppet, I have loved you all this time. I missed you.”

“You called me poppet. Dad still calls me that.”

“That was always our nickname for you because you laughed at the sound of Stella’s mouth bubbles when they pop a lot, which is also why we called Stella bub.”

“I missed you so much too, mum.” As you were a having a moment, it was cut as you hear Mark crying a bit as he held your breakfast tray. “I’m so sorry, miss. This just made me happy.” He put it down and exits quietly, also closing the door. “So what happens now? Will you switch us back?” Her blue eyes she inherited from her father looked nervous.

“Well, technically, you belong with your dad and Stella belongs with me.”

“Wow. This set-up is such a bummer, mom.”

“I know, poppet. I’m sorry that’s what we planned.” You remained silent, letting some tears out.

“They’ll be in Los Angeles tomorrow. Dad has a few shows here, working in the studio all week with the band and attending the VMAs too. Don’t you get invited to go to the VMAs every year?”

“I do, but I stopped because-”

“Dad was there.” She finishes your sentence, disheartened.

“Yes.” You frowned at the fact. Just imagine you going right after that divorce and the years after, it would cause tension and a topic different media outlets would use to their advantage. Just no.

“Well then. You better tell Gina that you’re going and get the show on the road!” Stella cheers, getting up from the bed and raising her arms in celebration. “Yeah, let’s get it.” You say, anxiously dreading with what’s to come.

-

“I fucking can’t with this.” You kept going in and out of your walk-in closet, breathing out the smoke from your e-cigarette which you haven’t used since the divorce out of stress. Mark was also there, holding some outfit choices you picked earlier. Gina just arrived 10 minutes, being oriented by Mark that you know about the situation. She was also in the room, contacting the organizers of the VMAs of the last minute changes to your acceptance of invitation and arrival.

“I haven’t seen Luke Hemmings in 10 years, although hearing about him and his personal and band life wasn’t easy to swerve away. And to see him tomorrow already? I’m not mature enough for this!” You ranted, brushing away some hair because it was messed up. Pacing the room back in fort, breathing through the e-cigarette and letting out more smoke, you spoke up again.

“If he didn’t drive me crazy and angry all the time, we would still be married.” You made your way to Mark, comparing out the different outfits. “Gina, dear, which do you like better?”

Gina, who just finished texting the final details, looked up from her phone and examined closely what you chose. One outfit was a red plunging neckline, spaghetti strap dress with a slit up until your whole leg with red ensembles, and the other was a black dress also with a plunging neckline with a much shorter slit on the side with black heels.

“Nice to see you you like plunging necklines.” She chuckles. “The red one. You can wear the black one in the afterparty.”

“Afterparty? I don’t think it’s appropriate since Rebecca’s with me.” You implied. “Well, the organizers insist you’d come! It’s been a long time they said, and they would want you to have a comeback. Besides, they want to meet Rebecca too.” You pondered for a minute. You were just concerned on how Rebecca would react to the paparazzi in LA, the flashing lights on her. But then again, she was probably used to it with having Luke as her father in the first place. “Okay, I’ll go. In one condition.”

“What is it, miss?”

“Well firstly, Gina, I have known you for all these years and I don’t know what I’d do without you getting through my hectic schedule and career, so I was wondering if -”

“I’d go with you to both the events, take care of her and make things easier?” She said the words straight out of your mouth. You gripped her shoulders, nuzzling your head.

“Oh would you please! Thank you so much, and you don’t have to go as my assistant, just as a close family friend, which is a fact too.”

“No worries, miss! And as a friend, when I am seeing my ex after 10 years and had your looks,” Her hands this time gripped on your shoulders and brought you to the vanity mirror and chair, sitting you down. She opens one drawer and brings out a silver choker and assorted rings, then puts some hair on one side. “I would have this getup on. You will slay it! Whatcha think, Mark?”

“You’re gonna kill it, and him too!” He exclaimed.

As this occurred, Rebecca was behind the door, giggling at your frantic self. She liked that you really wanted to make a bold entrance to your crazy man of an ex-husband and to the media as well. Entering the room, you were lying on the bed, still vaping out smoke.

“Mom, stop that! It’s not healthy!” She came to your side, grabbing the e-cigarette, giving it to Mark. “Hey, I need it!”

“Hide this wherever, I don’t want her to die just yet.”

“No problem, bub.” Mark leaves the room, sneakily smoking a bit of it. Luckily, you didn’t see it because you would grow even madder. “That thing costs a lot, you know?” You told the blonde girl, now drinking out of your flask, tasting the familiar taste of vodka. “I know, aunt Eleanor has one just like it.” She answers, also saying a name you haven’t heard in so long.

“Aunt Eleanor? How is she?” You chimed in, focused the whereabouts and state of your once close friend in your twenties. It’s been ages since you’ve heard about her, the last being when you told her about the finalization of the divorce.

“Great, she and uncle Calum are great and also happy. You know her?”

“She was one of my closest friends, who is your godmother. Dad didn’t tell you, huh?” She shakes her head. “Well, I miss her very much. She was one of the people I cut off ties with because I was too hurt after I separated with your dad.”

“That’s awful! You should reconnect when they come here tomorrow or something when you talk to dad.” Rebecca reacted. You regret cutting off ties, but talking to her will remind her of Luke because it was the tour life that bonded you with her a lot and it will be so painful. You got to do what you have to do in order to be sane once more.

“Speaking of your dad, does he know about the switch-up?” You question, sitting up from your previous position in order to look at her properly. “Yes, Stella just messaged me a while ago that she told dad.” She makes up, trying to comfort you so you wouldn’t worry anymore. But you weren’t aware of such.

“Yikes, I’m going to have to mentally prepare for that.” You say, putting your palm on your face. But from your peripheral view, you watched how Rebecca pouted, full of sadness and fright. This isn’t normal for an 11 year old to handle, and this is a nightmare as well for you to deal with an ex-husband when things didn’t work out like it used to.

“Oh poppet, your dad and I will work this out, okay? I got this under control.” You reassured her, her saddened eyes brightened, feeling hopeful as she hugs you, falling on your back. You tried not to cry or tear up yet despite the temptation.

Truly, the guilt pangs your heart for leaving but glad that you are reunited. How dearly you missed this girl.

[penelopelovesalvez]

A Lucky Night- Chapter 11

Here is my multi-chapter pic featuring characters I do not own from Criminal Minds, Alvez x Garcia, in a story of my own creation. It picks up at the end of 13.5.

Warning: Some chapters contain smut. While many do not, the ones that do are definitely 18+, NSFW.

Please feel free to re-blog and review! Please ask for permission before posting on any other platform.

It seemed like only a minute had passed as Luke and Penelope sat before the beautiful, electric fire trading lazy, sensual kisses. Suddenly they felt the engine cut out and the boat stopped swaying. A knock sounded at the cabin door, and they heard Captain John’s voice informing them they had docked.

“Do we have to leave the boat?” Penelope asked, her lower lip shaped into a perfect pout, the kind a Hollywood starlet in the 1920’s would have built a career on. “This afternoon, just the two of us, has been so perfect and I’m not sure I’m ready for reality just yet.”

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry Chica, but that’s a yes. We’ve got places to be. Up with you, or we’re gonna be late,” he said, standing and then reaching his hands out to her. He easily pulled her off the sofa, and directed her ahead of him to exit the cabin, slapping his leg for Roxy to follow. He pulled out his phone, typing out a quick text as they climbed the narrow oak stairs that led back out to the deck.

They gathered their things, and reattached Roxy’s leash. Shaking hands with Captain John and exclaiming their absolute delight at the experience, they conveyed their hopes to return again in the future. Then they descended the narrow stairs again and crossed the gangway to the dock. Hand in hand they walked back up the wooden dock, turning back once to wave at Captain John. When they reached the parking lot Luke again opened the door of the truck for Penelope and helped her climb into the cab. This time he placed Roxy in the kennel that was secured in the truck bed. Stopping for a moment at the tailgate, he checked the text he’d received. Then he slammed the tailgate shut and rounded the car, opening the door and swinging himself up.

Penelope had been looking at herself in the mirror on the back of the visor. Ugh, she looked awful. Not a trace of the morning’s carefully- applied makeup remained. It had been erased by the spray of the water and the wind. In its place, however, was the faintest sunburn on her cheekbones and a bit of wind burn on her lips. Or maybe they’re swollen from all the kissing she’d been doing. Well, regardless of the reason, she was looking like a hot mess. Repairs were definitely needed to both hair and makeup if they were not done with this adventure. She sure hoped he didn’t think he was going to be walking her straight into some fancy restaurant with platform sneakers, his hoodie, and frizz-tastic hair. For the love of God and all things fluffy, let the man take her to a bathroom with decent lighting and a plug for her curling wand. Hearing him open his door, she slammed the mirror closed and returned the visor to its original position. Turning towards her door, she pulled her seatbelt across her chest, buckling herself in.

“Off to Roxy’s dog sitter, right?” she asked, her voice a little bright with the false cheeriness she was projecting to cover up the sudden nerves at not knowing what was planned and the bit of insecurity she felt sitting next to the FBI’s own Puerto Rican Ryan Gosling without even her makeup as a security blanket.

“Actually, tiny adjustment in the timetable. We’re running a smidge late, so instead she is going to meet us at our next stop. Saves us having to double back, that way we can make up time and get to Alexandria,” Luke said, grinning over at her. “You’re going to need the go-bag you brought for our next stop. We will be changing- you did say you brought something for tonight, right? If not, I will be happy to swing by a shop and pick up something myself,” he said, licking his lip wolfishly and winking at her. “I’m sure I can pick out something sexy for you,” he practically growled low in his throat.

“Luke Matthew Alvez,” she giggled as he shook his head “no” at her latest guess. “Well, Luke whoever you are, you should know that I accomplish sexy all on my own, and I am definitely prepared. Give this beast an hour in a proper bathroom with what’s in that bag and she will emerge a beauty once more,” Penelope said, flipping her hair best she could with it spilling messily out of what had been a very charming braid some hours ago.

Luke stopped the car at the line as the light turned yellow to red. He turned and cupped her cheek. “You are gorgeous Chica, whether your hair is all tousled on the pillows in your bed or from the waves and wind. I get lost in your brown eyes, with or without the smoky eye makeup. And your lips- I can’t get enough of them. Sure, the red lipstick drives me wild. But I like them bare too, so long as they end up against mine,” he said quietly, leaning down to kiss her before the light changed. A car behind them honked the horn, and he turned his attention back to the road, lifting his foot off the break. “You’d look sexy tonight no matter what Penelope Grace, but I will enjoy seeing you all dolled up and watching everyone see how lucky I am,” he said, letting his right hand drop from the steering wheel to land on her leg. Massaging the muscles of her left thigh through the fabric of her denim skirt and leggings, he navigated them away from the marina and towards downtown.

Penelope contented herself with looking out the window, pondering what a smooth talker Mr. Strong and Silent turned out to be. She was enjoying the feel of his firm fingers pressing into the flesh of her thigh. Mmmmm, maybe she’d let him continue that later on this evening. Although… what if he’s one of those guys who are only in it for the chase, and once they’ve “had you” they’re off, looking for the next challenge. He did hunt fugitives for years… She’d better be cautious- you know what they say. Play with fire, you’ll wind up burned. Best to keep a firm grip on her heart until she knew if he’s really into her, and not just the challenge of nailing the girl who wouldn’t even make small talk with him last year…

Penelope let the somber thought slip away as they pulled into a parking garage firmly in the center of downtown Alexandria. Being one of the closest suburbs to Washington D.C. it was usually a pretty bustling area, especially on weekend nights. Most of the lower levels of the garage were already full of cars. Luke pulled them all the way to the top floor, where there were a surprising number of available parking spots. They pulled up next to a silver, older-model sedan. “Roxy’s sitter, Maggie. Thought it would be easier to make the exchange if we could actually pull up next to her so I told her to meet us at the top of the structure. Just let me get Roxy and her stuff loaded into her car, and we will be on our way down the elevator,” Luke said, sliding out of his door.

Penelope gathered her purse and her bag while Luke led Roxy to the back of the young woman’s car. She looked like a college student probably, nineteen or twenty years old. She was pretty, but wasn’t dressed in any way that seemed to obviously invite attention. She had on sweats and an old, faded graphic tee over a long sleeve shirt. Nothing flashy at all. Penelope wondered why a pretty young girl her age would rather spend Saturday nights at home with someone else’s dog, and made a note to ask Luke about her later. 

Luke returned to the car, collecting the button down and leather jacket he’d brought, as well as his dress shoes from earlier. They waved to Maggie as she and Roxy pulled out of the spot and headed down the levels of the parking garage. Luke took Penelope’s bag from her, and then placed her hand on his elbow as he escorted her to the elevator. He pressed the button for the lobby floor and they descended in the small, enclosed car. “So, do you have any idea where we are headed, Chica?” he asked, raising his eye brows. “Have you hacked my phone, read through my texts? Maybe run a search of business establishments within walking distance from the garage?” he teased, his dimple showing as he smirked at her. 

“Well Luke, I did consider sending a quick text to Reid. He could have answered the question regarding the establishments within a reasonable radius around the garage, and he would have automatically filtered based on a semi-casual dress code and likely locales for a first date, but I decided to just be surprised,” she said, with a saucy wink of her eye.

“Well, then it is good you want to be surprised my little troublemaker, because surprised you shall be. First off because where we are going would never have occurred to Reid, and it wouldn’t have shown up on one of your searches either based on those criteria. And, this is not our first date Chica,” Luke said, as the doors opened. He put his hand on her lower back, guiding her as they exited the elevator and turned right, heading down one of the main streets that ran the length of the downtown area. “Last night was our first date: sleepover. Chaperoned by Roxy, of course. I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he laughed, raising his pointer finger. Adding his middle finger, he continued, “Second was breakfast. Our third date was the boat ride at the marina,” he stated, ticking off his ring finger. Unfolding his pinky as well, he turned toward her and pronounced, “This is actually our fourth date, Penelope. I’m rather astonished that one who trades in information is paying so little attention to the milestones of our relationship,” he teased. They passed two more store fronts before Luke stopped them in front of an elegant brick building. “Here we are, Chica,” he said as he turned her to face the door they’d arrived at.

Penelope looked at the door, and then to the large picture window next to it. The curtains were drawn, but she could see clearly illuminated on the glass the scrolling letters that announced the shop’s name to passerby: Alex’s Day Spa and Salon. “Eeeeeek!” Penelope squealed. “You brought us to a spa?” she asked, spinning to face Luke.

Looking down at her, his eyes twinkling with laughter at her obvious delight. “Yes, we have an appointment here. Or actually, we have a few appointments. We will start with a half hour couple’s massage, and then we have a couple’s mani/pedi arranged before you get your hair and makeup done, and I get a trim and a straight-razor shave. How does that sound?” he asked, squeezing her hand in his.

“How does that sound?” she exclaimed. “That sounds, Luke Esteban Alvez, like our fourth date is already my favorite!” she shouted, throwing her arms around him exuberantly. “Is it? Esteban, I mean, is that your middle name?” she asked, her mouth reaching up as close to his ear as she could reach. He brought his own mouth down, pressing a kiss to her neck, his breath tickling her. “Not even close, Chica,” he chuckled. “Wait,” she said, “Why am I getting my hair and makeup done as well? We aren’t going somewhere after the salon, are we?” Penelope asked, wrinkling her eyebrows in confusion.

“Patience, Penny,” Luke chided. “One secret at a time.” Luke stepped back and held the door open so he could get her inside before her curious nature made them late for their appointments.

[heartysmarty]

Potential Post-Pandemic Changes – My 50 Pointer

1.       Most of us might grow our own fruits, vegetables and herbs in our backyards or even as a container garden in the kitchen. Few might go vegan or adopt vegetarianism for good.

2.       After months of lockdown, we now know what other living beings have been going through for ages, inside the cages in zoo and at home. Maybe, it’s time to set them all free.

3.       Greeting which involve physical contacts like hugs, kisses or handshakes might not be a sustainable option now.

4.       Tele-visits to consult your GP, doctors or therapists might continue since few might find it as a safe option.

5.       An increase in online learning, home schooling and Work-from-home are a sure thing! Companies that sell gym equipment, gadgets and Internet providers will continue to do very well along with online learning websites, online payment system and remote conferencing services companies.

6.       Pollution control is the silver lining during the pandemic. Going forward, we might even have a lock-down dedicated for controlling pollution levels. We might bring down the use of air purifiers, with such lock down in the future.

7.       With so much news doing the rounds that air travel and hotels are big breeding grounds for virus, few companies might choose to have business meetings online and call off the practice of dinner with clients at expensive restaurants for good.

8.       DIY videos for masks, hand wash and hand sanitizers will urge us to make our own products at home. Most countries might start manufacturing everything they need locally. In-sourcing of essential goods could be a good start point.

9.       With a tiger contracting COVID-19 in a New York zoo, few reports have come out that the cat family is vulnerable to the pandemic. There are chances people might stop having cats as pets for a while.

10.   The lockdown has forced most of the restaurants to be closed, since the take-away weren’t helping either. This has forced us all to realize how homemade food is super healthy.

11.   Since people with persistent ailments are more susceptible to COVID-19, this pandemic will increase our awareness and mindfulness when it comes to staying healthy, exercising and regular health checks.

12.   Smokers and alcoholics will think twice before going for it.          

13.   Being indoors, family time fun will increase in few households. Most of us will utilize this housebound time and get back to reading, pick up new hobbies and hone our skills.

14.   As an aftermath, even the slightest symptom like a cough will freak out everyone. The term ‘Virus’ is scarier than ‘Cancer’ nowadays.

15.   After-parties, audio and trailer release functions, bachelor parties and other gatherings will drastically see a downward trend. All essential meetings with delegates will look like exam halls, where people distance each other.

16.   Imagine your favorite actor with a mask in his next movie! Film making will call for a lot of creativity to make a movie or a web series with all the actors socially distancing from each other.

17.   Visiting theaters, supermarket, airports or any public gathering for that matter, will give you so much anxiety as if you are at a war zone. Watching movies in theaters might stop soon. Movies, just like web series, will target Netflix, Amazon, Apple, Quibi and the likes.

18.   Social distancing is directly proportional to social networking. The more we are housebound, the more we will utilize social networking sites.

19.   Brick-and-mortar supermarkets might end up closing their stores and instead sell everything online.

20.   We might end up shopping and spending more on masks rather on other clothing. On the lighter side, it might not be surprising if we might have to wear spacesuits in public places as a protective measure.

21.   While this pandemic has forced divorce rate to go up in some countries, gang life and prostitution has come down drastically in few others.

22.   Though COVID-19 has forced China to ban dog meat, people in some parts of the world continue to eat bizarre food like kangaroo meat and crocodile meat. Poaching and trafficking rhinos and pangolins in the name of making medicines continue though.

23.   While few of us will try to stick to our current jobs whatsoever, the ones who lost their job due to the pandemic, might be forced to re-skill in coming days. Multifaceted skills might be the new norm.

24.   Even though someone knocking your door during the lockdown is unwelcome and creates some anxiety, delivery guys are our new heroes.

25.   We might end up giving up on our servants, household help, nannies, caretakers etc for good, since this lock down period is long enough to train us to be self-sufficient.

26.   In few countries, violence against women might come down, while domestic violence faced by women indoors might continue with no voice.

27.   Shortage of basic needs, money and food might lead to violence in few parts of the world. Job loss, recession, stock market crash, food shortage, bankruptcy, looting etc might resonate with the aftermath.

28.   With the COVID-19 vaccine predicted to be taking a year to come into action, the test kits could be manufactured and sold in large numbers like pregnancy test kits.

29.   Not guns, but cough could be the next self-defense mechanism.

30.   The pandemic has forced interest rates to be slashed and this might happen for a year or so.

31.   Rents remain unpayable by many all over the world. But during this crisis, some good Samaritans, celebrities and the rich have voluntarily come forward to help and empathize with people in need.

32.   We might end up becoming self-dependent with our daily necessities like cooking, washing, laundry, cleaning, mowing and domestic repairs. Women will continue to have more workloads with kids learning online.

33.   We might clearly understand and implement ‘Reduce, Reuse and Recycle’ concept, which was long pending.

34.   With wild animals and birds venturing into the cities and other rural areas around the world, we might end up accepting other creatures, at last and begin to live and let live. This way we will know to survive peacefully and give them their space too.

35.   With restrictions on visiting places of religion, we will learn to see God in each other. This will teach us to respect all religions and races.

36.   Since it is believed that currencies are carrier of the virus, currencies are soon going to be a thing of the past. Digital payment methods are inevitable. This might pave way for accelerated Cryptocurrency adoption.

37.   Digital reading, audio books, e-magazines and newspapers are the new norms. Going forward, the best option to gift others could be gift cards, online subscription coupons or anything delivered home.

38.   We know that Italy lost many seniors to the pandemic due to the joint family culture it follows. But in few places, job loss might force few youngsters to come back and stay with their families. This will create a lot of contemplation whether youngsters should stay with seniors are not.

39.   Visitors to the senior living or old age homes might need a lot of tests and checks to be permitted.

40.   With WFH adults and online learning kids, electricity and internet are dire essentials these days. It wouldn’t be surprising if the world moves towards more solar panel installations.

41.   We might learn never to waste our food and other resources, the hard way. With food shortage, decrease in food export, import or shipping, population control might soon be the need of the hour.

42.   Respect for stay-at-home moms, delivery guys, front liners, health care workers, police officers, handyman and all daily wagers who still show up during the pandemic, will increase drastically.

43.   Few opportunists might misuse this period and come up with tricks to rip the peace in us.

44.   Soon, with everyone going around with masks on, the sales of lipstick will come down.

45.   For those who habitually spit in public places, this might be a chance to change.

46.   Automobile sales in near term might come down, with the comfort of WFH and avoiding the unpeaceful, crowded and long travel time to work-place.

47.   The current security checks at airport is already exorbitant, but with the pandemic, we might have to spend more time for a mandatory temperature screening and maybe a COVID-19 test too.

48.   More people might move to countryside and villages soon, thereby creating another set of problems in the rural areas.

49.   With many front liners affected by COVID-19, we might soon see robots in places of doctors, lab technicians, nurses and in other healthcare services. More drones might be used in assisting Police. The adoption of AI will increase multi fold and investments in healthcare might increase.

50.   With an increase in masks, gloves and other PPE, developed nations might dump more trash in poor and developing countries.

[fromthefriars]

Original Desire #blog by Fr. Jeremiah, CFR 

When I was 16 years old I wanted it all: to be athletic, intelligent, strong, attractive, genuine, funny, articulate and whole lot more. 

  Every one of these desires demanded my full attention.  They were the epitome of selfishness.  Depending on the day, I would start with the one directly in front of me—in other words, whichever was shouting the loudest.  To be athletic, I would throw myself into training like an Olympic athlete, organizing every moment of my day around improving the sport I was currently obsessed with.  To be attractive I would examine all my faults, both physical and mental, and devise a plan, effective immediately, on how to eradicate my imperfections.  

By the time I was 19 I made another important discovery:  my desires never quit.  If I “conquered” one, whether it was a sport, a book, an exterior quality, etc., there would be more lurking in the shadows, begging to be noticed.  If I could master throwing a curve ball, why not master throwing a slider and a changeup as well?  If I read everything by Ernest Hemingway why not read everything by John Steinback or F. Scott Fitzgerald also?  

When any one of them began to take shape inside my heart, a voice from some mysterious place whispered, “I am what you need.  If you possess me you will be complete.”  I honestly believed each of them was like a key and if I could attain that key it would open up for me the happiness, peace and serenity I longed for.  Even though I played this game for several years, it took me a few more to realize an important component about this game: there is no end.  One either has to quit, which I believe is impossible, or go beyond them, to what I like to call our original desire.    

A few weeks ago I was speaking with a childhood friend, somebody who watched me pursue these desires day after day.  Unlike me, he didn’t feel like his life needed an explanation.  In fact, he believed there was no explanation.  Life was just life, nothing more.  These desires were random occurrences due mostly to our social conditioning and genetic makeup.  After an hour or so of philosophical and theological debate together he simply asked me, “What then is the greatest thing Jesus has done in your life?”  Without hesitation I said, “He has organized my heart.”   

Ever since the fall of Adam the human heart has been disorganized.  The answer is not just having all the necessary parts but having them in their proper place.  The strange thing is that we often hide, or at least attempt to hide, from the only One who can bring order out of our chaos.  “They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord among the trees of the garden” (Genesis 3:8).  

This hiding on our part forces God to ask, “Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9) Despite Adam and Eve’s cleverness, and ours, God has not lost sight of them, or of us.  We have lost sight of God.  The question is meant to provoke in us a realization: there is only One who “formed my inward parts”who “knitted me together in my mother’s womb…when I was being made in secret,” and whose “eyes beheld my unformed substance” (Psalm 139:13-16).  In other words, God is the source of the human heart, and every desire, despite all its allure and glamor, is only a pointer back to that one true original desire, which is communion with its source.    

As I began to read the New Testament and open my heart to Jesus this reality for me “took flesh.”  At first I was like the tax collector in the parable who “would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying ‘God be merciful to me a sinner” (Luke 18:13).  Fairly soon, however, after experiencing God’s mercy so deeply, my prayer became a gaze fixed on the person of Jesus, and I too “sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching” (Luke 11:39).  This love that I encountered in Jesus began to consume my heart, pushing everything else, including those pesky desires, away from my heart’s center.  What at once I didn’t even know was possible was slowly beginning to occur: my heart was becoming organized.

The key, I believe, is not that my desires were extinguished, if that is even possible, but that they were organized.  Earlier I was hoping, at least subconsciously, that each one of my desires would reveal myself to me.  In other words, tell me who I was, because whether I liked it or not, I could not escape from my own hearts restless pursuit of that answer.  Being strong, athletic, smart, outgoing, articulate, and funny, however, wasn’t enough.  Finally, after much hesitation, I heeded the words of Jesus, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest…for I am gentle and lowly in heart and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29).

What did Jesus show me?  Namely, that he is my desire.  The point of our desires, I believe, is to reveal to us something greater, something beyond this world of space and time that contains not only our origin but also our destiny.  Regardless of who we are and where we have come from, nothing else satisfies.  It is simply our original desire.

+ Fr. Jeremiah Myriam Shryock, CFR

Monticello, NY

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[thefastlanefanfic]

The Neighbors - TWO

Wattpad // Chapters 1-2

Sidenote: I’m so sorry if you’re on mobile lol this is gonna be long as shit (why does the “read more” thing not work on mobile)

5:00 AM on Monday morning came entirely too soon.  With the ability to select college courses all in the afternoon for my last semester, I'd been sleeping in until 11 o'clock in the morning.  It certainly didn't help that I'd been sleeping past noon the last few days I was at home on my "summer break."  There was something about finishing college that made me exhausted.  I would have thought I'd be energetic and stoked to greet the days void of research papers and group presentations, but instead, it was like every single all-nighter I ever pulled was catching up to me.

I threw on the new lavender scrubs my father bought for me and proceeded with my morning routine.  I made sure I had a lunch packed.  Since I was trying to be healthy, I packed a salad with some chicken I'd prepared the night before and some popcorn.  I loved popcorn.  I printed and filled out all of the grown-up paperwork I had to turn in to the company to make sure I got medical insurance coverage and direct deposit to my bank account every two weeks.  I felt like such an adult, having to do all of the background checks, I-9s, W-4s, and whatever other legal paperwork the company had to do before I could officially start work.  Then again, I had to call my dad about forty times in the process of filling out the forms because I had no idea what they were asking me.  Maybe I wasn't actually an adult just yet.

As I was walking to the front door, I noticed a group of crickets scatter away from the door inside the apartment.  I squealed and jumped backwards before I knew what they were.  Why were there so many of them in my apartment? I noticed the early morning sun streaming in through a sliver of a crack under the door.  I swore to myself.  The reason the crickets sounded so close to me last night was because they had come under the door into the apartment.  I figured they were just sitting outside my bedroom window as I was trying to sleep.  

I used my dustpan to chase a few of the crickets back toward the front door.  Some of them had disappeared under my couch.  Others were chirping from hidden crevasses in the apartment I had yet to discover.  I growled as I heard one chirp that sounded like it was in my ear, but I couldn't find it anywhere around me.  I checked my watch.  I was going to be late for work.  I opened the front door to shoo out the few crickets I could direct out of the apartment.  On my front stoop was a small bag.  The smell of warm shit filled my nostrils and began to crawl into my apartment, mixed from the humidity already clouding up the atmosphere outside.

"What the-"

I didn't have time or patience to decipher whether the dog crap was an insult directed toward me or just a rude, lazy neighbor who couldn't make it to his own trashcan.  I glanced out into the quad to see if anyone was out with their dog.  The quad was quiet.  Still asleep.  I slung my purse over my shoulder and switched my lunchbox to my left hand.  In my right hand, I pinched the very tip of the bag between my pointer finger and my thumb and quickly made my way to the trashcan along the sidewalk.  I threw the bag into the can and shivered, the smell of warm shit still lingering in the dense air.

"Early shift this morning?"

I nearly leapt out of my skin as someone approached from behind me.  I whipped around, my purse swinging with my body and slapping against my butt as I did.  It was Wilson.  He was in uniform and looked like he was returning from a night shift.

"Or are you just returning home?" He asked.

It was too early for me to be dealing with him.

"Heading out," I said.  "First day."

"Yippie-ki-yay!  Good luck, even though I'm sure you'll be outstand-erific," he said, winking at me. "Maybe later tonight we can do that dinner date.  Early birthday dinner?  I know your birthday isn't until tomorrow but I just found out I've got a 16-hour shift tomorrow and I'm not sure I'll be able to take you out on that day.  I'm covering for a buddy."

"You know, Wilson, I really just need to stay home and do some more getting settle-" I started, trying to weasel my way out of this "date."

"Oh come on, Leah.  One dinner date.  Maybe more after that, but only if you fall in love with me first." ��He snatched my free hand that previously held the poop-bag and kissed it.

I pulled my hand away and fake smiled.  "One meal," I agreed, eager to get going.  I refused to call it a "date."

"Magnificent," Wilson said, raising his arms to the heavens as if God himself had granted Wilson the permission to take me out. "I will pick you up around 7.  Does that work?"

Just then, Harry sauntered into the quad wearing nothing but shorts and tennis shoes.  He had a t-shirt draped around his neck and was using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead.  His hair was sticking straight up into the air.  His chest glistened with more sweat.  I caught myself before my jaw dropped too noticeably.  Harry's eyes met mine and he winked at me, smiling.

"Leah? Dinner tonight at 7?" Wilson asked again.

"What?" I asked, snapping back to reality. Harry was walking past us.  I wished Wilson would shut up and leave. "Yeah, that's great.  See you later-" I said, turning and following Harry.  I called his name before he entered his apartment.  He turned and smiled at me again.  

"Lee." He wiped his forehead with his t-shirt.  The full-frontal view of his bare torso finally gave me a look at the ink that covered every inch of his skin.  Each piece of art came to life as his lungs expanded with each deep breath he took.

"Leah," I corrected him, laughing as though it didn't really hurt me that he couldn't seem to remember my name.  ""Like, Lee-uh. Lee-uh," I repeated.  I sounded like an idiot. "How are you?"

"Great," Harry said.  "Nothing like an early morning run."

I faked a laugh. "Yeah."

"Do you run?" Harry asked.

"Not if I can help it," I answered honestly, chuckling to myself.  Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded, the look on his face indifferent to whether I really ran or not.  There was a glimmer in his eye that made it look like he was almost laughing at me internally or just really enjoying the conversation.  One of those, or he just was being overly polite and wanted to go shower off the sweat that was flowing gently over his toned torso. "I mean," I said.  "I should probably start..."

"Not a bad habit to pick up," he said, wiping just below his messy hair with his t-shirt one more time. "I can see how it's not for everyone though.  You headed to work?" He looked me up and down in my lavender scrubs and smiled as though I was a four-year-old child dressed up for the job I wanted in the future.  To be fair, that's about how I felt.  I couldn't believe I was about to have my own adult job.

I nodded slowly, enjoying the way the words rolled off his tongue and dripped off of his lips before I snapped out of my trance and shot a look at my watch.  "Oh shit- I'm actually going to be late."

"Good luck-"  Harry said, turning and using a key to open his front door as I sprinted across the quad, holding my purse tightly to my hip.  I slid to a halt with a sudden courage to ask:

"Harry, are you doing anything later tonight?"

He had disappeared into his doorway but the door was not yet closed.  He reemerged and shrugged.  "I'm not," he called to me. "Sounded like you made plans with Wilson, though."

The hopeful smile that had spread across my face disappeared as quickly as it came.  "Oh, yes.  I forgot."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Maybe another time, Lee.  Get to work."

"Leah," I corrected him once more.  

He merely laughed and closed his front door.

I was tense arriving to work because I was a few minutes late.  I rushed into the main foyer of Sunshine Days Nursing Home and nearly slammed into the front desk.

"Leah Fitzpatrick here for work.  It's my first day."

The middle-aged, overweight receptionist was wearing some Winnie-the-Pooh scrubs, though the way she had snacks and drinks and cheap romance novels scattered all over the desk made it seem that she didn't actually work with any of the patients personally.  The only spills her scrubs were catching were from her 64oz mega-drink soft drink cup she'd picked up from a truck stop and the ketchup swirled onto a half-eaten pizza that was laying in the empty receptionist chair beside her.  She peered over her glasses at me.  I found it hard to meet her eyes since so much dead skin and eye goop had congealed in the corners of her glasses where the bargain-brand frames met the bridge of her pale nose.  Her red, short, curly hair matched the cheap red lipstick that had found its way to her front teeth.

"You're late," she said.

"I just got a little held up at home.  My new apartment... the bolt lock was giving me problems," I lied.

I could tell the receptionist wasn't buying it.  She cocked her head at me and looked at me.  I was almost waiting for her to say, "Mhmm.  Really?" I was relieved when she didn't.

"There are people here who work a night shift and it's really fucking tiring.  Have you ever worked a night shift?" She snapped.

I shook my head.

"It's really fucking tiring.  People are going to be mad if you refuse to get here on time.  They want to sleep.  Don't you like your sleep?"

I nodded.

"Then get here on time. It's really fucking tiring to work a night shift."

"Okay..." I said.  "I got it."

The receptionist sat back in her comfortable swivel-chair and placed a fat hand on her chest like she'd been personally attacked. "If you're going to have a problem with coming to work on time you may as well quit now.  Do you need to turn around and walk out those doors or are we going to agree that you come in at five o'clock?"

"Six," I corrected her.

She gasped at me, again offended that I would even open my mouth.

"Six is what the email said.  I can show you," I said, pulling out my phone.

Clearly not wanting to be proven wrong, the receptionist held up a hand to me and shook her head.  "Just be on time next time, okay?  We don't have patience for people who don't take this job seriously."

"Jesus, Martha, cool it," a cool voice said from a hallway behind me.  A woman in her 30's approached me and the receptionist slyly.  She looked too clean to have worked a night shift.  I wondered if she was working the day shift with me.  Still addressing the receptionist, she said, "You were late on your first day because you spilled a Chick-fil-a milkshake down your front and had to go back home and change."  

Martha's face flushed red.

The new woman leaned on the counter and looked at me. "Leah?"

"Yes," I said, extending a hand, relieved that someone spared me from the unwarranted wrath of the receptionist.

She shook it.  She was a plain looking woman with brown eyes and brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail.  She was wearing no jewelry or makeup, but still had a subtle beauty about herself. "Nicolle.  I'll be showing you around these next few weeks.  Or until you pick it up on your own."

She put her hands into the front pockets on the shirt of her green scrubs and walked back down the hallway she'd originally emerged from.  I followed, finding nothing but administrative offices and break rooms.  "You can put your stuff here," Nicolle said, motioning toward a single wall of tan lockers once we'd reached the room the furthest down the hallway.  There was a table in the middle of the room with a few coffee cups, food wrappers, and magazines spread across it.  A cell phone was plugged into the wall, charging.  An old, square computer monitor was in the corner of the room I figured no one ever visited - the top of the computer was coated in a thick layer of dust.  As the outdated "Windows" icon bounced from side to side of the monitor screen, it seemed to shake dust particles onto the rickety-looking desk it was sitting on.  "Don't let Martha scare you," Nicolle said as I shoved my purse and lunch into a locker that reeked of old perfume.  "Martha was engaged and basically got dumped for a skinny girl.  It sucks.  I'd be pissed if that happened too.  But Martha then proceeded to gain another 200lbs after her fiancé left her.  Whole thing was a mess.  She just hates anyone she thinks is prettier than her." Nicolle stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

I wanted to feel bad for Martha, but because of the first and only encounter we'd had so far, I couldn't make myself feel for her.

Nicolle crossed her arms over her small chest.  "We don't do a whole lot of training here for newbies unless you feel like you need it.  You're fresh out of school though, right?  You should have a better grip on physical therapy and art therapy and meds than any of us."

I laughed.  "It's been a month since I've had to crack a textbook so I wouldn't mind a refresher of the meds.  The rest I think will come naturally."

"Don't worry about the medicine so much.  We have a registered nurse who sorts out dosages and brings the meds to you for whichever client you're with at the time.  You just hand it to the client and make sure they don't spit it out or choke."

"Sounds easy," I said.

Nicolle laughed.  "Easy unless you're working with Mr. Lewis.  He'll spit until he has no more saliva if it means he doesn't have to take his meds."

For the day, I basically shadowed Nicolle.  She was 35.  Married to a guy she'd dated since high school.  She kept assuring me that she loved the guy but proceeded to talk about all of the problems they were having and how tired of him she was.  She droned on about how she went out with some of her single friends a week ago and was hit on by a tall, handsome cowboy.  "I should have gone home with him.  Spiced up my life a little bit.  There is never any excitement anymore," she said to me as we carried lunch trays down the hallways from room to room.  Before I could give her my opinion, she spoke to the old man in the room we'd entered. "Mr. Davenport, salmon today."

The old man she addressed merely turned his back to us and continued to watch The Price Is Right on his television.  He curled his lip like he was disgusted as Nicolle placed the tray of food on a table beside him.

She rolled her eyes at me and motioned toward the door.  In the hallway, she said, "He's a chef.  Has a daughter who's a chef too.  He says her name is Kennedy, I think.  She lives in NYC.  Dating some famous boxer.  Mr. Davenport talks about her all the time, but she never calls or visits.  I can't tell if she's actually real or if he's just crazy.  He claims he won't call her because he put her up for adoption when her mother died during child birth.  I just think Kennedy's a figment of his imagination.  Anyway, the food is never good enough for him but he'll eat it if you just leave it for him."

By the time I got to take a lunch break, I was exhausted.  There was something about the slow day that made me more tired.  I felt like I wasn't really doing a whole lot, but making small talk with some old people who were mentally aware enough to recognize I was a new staff member, and other old people who weren't mentally aware enough to recognize that I was NOT, in fact, their grandchild.  One woman in particular kept calling me "Elizabeth," who Nicolle later informed me was the baby girl the old woman miscarried in the 1930's.  Really, it all made me sad.  It just made me think of my father.

During group art therapy time, I sat with a table of four elderly women and watched as they painted aimlessly on their own canvases.  Really, three of them were painting.  The fourth was tugging at the uncomfortable smock that we'd distributed to everyone to keep their clothes from getting paint on them.  

"Shelley, I don't like this fabric," the old woman croaked, addressing my new coworker across the room.  

Shelley sighed and crossed her legs as she helped one of the elderly at her own table.  She scratched under the heap of blonde hair on the top of her head, which I guess was supposed to be a messy bun.  "Lydia, we've told you, we are keeping your other clothes from getting dirty."

The old woman looked at me as if I was supposed to contradict Shelley and give her permission to take the smock off.  I smiled at her as politely and sympathetically as I could, but didn't say anything.  In the 8 hours I'd been there, I didn't feel I knew any of the clients well enough to ask anything of them or order them around.  

"This damn place..." Lydia muttered under her breath, turning to face the muted TV that had some low-budget soap opera playing.  Her stiff, grey hair stayed perfectly in place as she huffed and puffed in her chair.  Her overly-exaggerated actions almost made her look like an annoyed teenager who had just been told "no."

I got lost in the soap opera for a moment. There was something about watching those shitty actors on mute that made it seem like they might almost be good at acting for a second.  I felt something wet land on my arm and drew my attention back to the table where Mrs. White had accidentally flicked green paint onto my new lavender scrubs.  I pursed my lips and sighed.  It was only a small blot of paint, but they were my brand new scrubs.  I tried not to be mad.  I knew my face probably showed nothing more than indifference.  I was good at hiding emotion when I wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," she said to me, glancing down at the table where she'd also dripped paint.  "I'm so clumsy these days..."

I stood up. "It's okay, Mrs. White." Almost immediately after rising to my feet, behind me, I heard some kind of liquid splattering on the wood floor, like someone had poured their water straight onto the ground.  I turned to see another woman, Miss Jane, with her elastic-waisted pants around her ankles, her Depends diaper around her knees, and her bare butt hovering just over the side of an empty vase beside the doorway to the community room.  I gasped as I realized that she was mistaking the vase for a toilet.  Though she was aiming for the vase, she was really getting half of her pee into the vase and the other half of it on her shoes and the floor.

"No, don't!" I blurted, a natural reaction to Miss Jane's mistake.  The old woman jumped, my outburst having scared her.  She stumbled backward and tipped over the vase.  I could hear the urine in the vase slosh before the vase hit the floor.  It was like it was happening in slow motion.  It was another natural reaction for me to stoop down and try to stop the vase from tipping completely over, but I was too late, and the vase bounced onto the floor, showering me in warm old lady piss.  I stood slowly, held back a gag, and shuddered.  In the corner of the room, my coworker Shelley merely cackled, still scratching under the heap of hair tied up on her head.

"Not the first time that's happened.  Next time, let her finish peeing.  Easier to clean up if you don't knock over the vase," Shelley said, looking nonchalantly at the old man painting beside her.

By the end of the day, I was defeated.  Done.  Grossed out.  A little depressed.  How could I do this job?  How could I last more than a week?  How did Nicolle and Shelley work so long in a place with people who couldn't go to the bathroom on their own or even remember who their own kids were?  I knew what I was getting into by taking this nursing home job... but then again, I didn't.

I wheeled into the parking lot at my apartment complex and dragged my body from the front seat of my car.  No sooner had I set my feet on the pavement did Wilson come bouncing jovially around the corner of the quad.  He was decked out in his cop uniform.

"I've been waiting for you!" He said.  He had to have been staring out the window of his apartment until I drove up.  Unless maybe he was standing outside the quad waiting for me too.  I wondered how long he'd been waiting. His blonde hair was slicked back so tightly that it didn't move as he bounded toward me.  

I had forgotten about our dinner.  I wanted to groan.  It was times like these I wished I had the power to make myself vomit on command.  If I could have one super power, it would be to vomit whenever I wanted just so I could weasel my way out of hanging out with people.

"Can I take a rain check on dinner?  I've had a hard day... my stomach is hurtin-" I started.

"No escaping your birthday! Your dad told me you're not much of a birthday person but I'm going to force you to dinner!" Wilson said, locking my small wrist in a tight clasp of his fingers and pulling me toward his cop car.

I silently cursed my dad for telling Wilson about my birthday at all.  "Wilson, I just really am so tired- I mean, I'm covered in pee and-"

"No excuse is going to get you out of this.  Your daddio said you would try every excuse in the book so I'm not buying it."

I was trying to find a way to free my wrist from his grip without making it seem like I was whipping my hand away from him, but he was not letting loose.

"I made reservations for 7:00 and it's 6:45! We have to get there," he said hurriedly, opening the back door to his cop car. "Let's get to bangin' on all cylinders."

I hesitated, suddenly the only thought occupying my mind: "Wait... you want me to ride in the back?"

"Awkward, I know," Wilson said, uneasily sighing and laughing at the same time.  "You can't ride in the front unless you're a cop."

"I didn't know that was a thing..." I said slowly.

"It's a thing.  Big thing.  Big thing," Wilson said.  He looked impatiently at the watch on his wrist and bounced his knees.  "We gotta get going though so jump in! The back is not that bad, I promise.  It'll be fun.  A good party story later in life.  Tell your friends like 'hey, I rode in the back of a cop car once.'"

I stared into the black back seat where a gate was going to keep me from properly communicating with Wilson.  The window was also barred.  I looked over my shoulder at the blue low-rider I'd first seen him in the day that my father helped me move in.  "We can't take that car?" I asked, pointing at it.

Wilson bounced on his toes.  I could tell he was getting more and more annoyed with me as each second passed.  Maybe I could piss him off enough to make him ditch his own date.  He inhaled sharply.  "I'm on call so we have to take the duty car.  It's fun in the back!  Don't worry."

I sighed heavily.  There was no way this guy was letting up.  "Can I change first? I'm covered in pee-"

"Good golly-wolly," Wilson laughed harshly.  "Your dad was right.  You really don't like your birthday-" He nearly pulled me into the back seat like I was a criminal.  He slammed the door in my face, nearly crunching my foot in the process.  I gawked at him, though he couldn't see me inside the tinted, barred window.  He jogged around to the drivers' seat, and before I could protest dinner any more, flew backward out of the parking lot and onto the main street.  He was speeding like crazy.

We came to a red light and he hummed angrily.  I watched in disbelief as he flicked on his police siren and forced the cars to part like the Red Sea.  He drove recklessly through another red light at an intersection, but all cars halted for him to speed through since he had his lights on.  Meanwhile, he didn't seem to notice me sliding around all over the back seat.

We arrived at an Olive Garden.  Wilson had to come let me out since my door wouldn't open from the inside.  A family of four eyed me suspiciously in my nasty scrubs as I crawled ashamedly out of the grimy back seat of the cop car.  Wilson didn't address me as he aggressively took my arm and pulled me into the restaurant.  He shoved through the waiting crowd by the front door and tapped the bell at the hostess' desk obnoxiously.  The hostess, who saw him approach and was going to speak to him even before he dinged her bell, froze with her mouth open.  I tried not to laugh as I watched her face, a fake smile spreading from cheek to cheek as she kept her cool with this rude customer.

"Table for two? The wait will be about 45 minutes," she said.

"Reservation for Kilmer at 7:00.  Sorry we are late.  This one wouldn't stop bitching-" Wilson said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at me.  

The hostess peeked over Wilson's shoulder at me.  I made the classic "what-the-hell-is-this-dickhead-talking-about" face at her and she seemed to immediately read me.  I was too tired to fight this.  And by this, I meant Wilson as a whole.  I had already accepted that this was going to be a disaster date I would talk about four years from now.

We sat at the table and ordered food.  I watched Wilson's face as he handed his menu to the busty, blonde waitress who wrote down our order.  His eyebrows were tightly drawn together and his jaw was clenched.  Almost like a flip had switched, his face relaxed with a single blink and he smiled at me.  "Happy birthday."

"My birthday is tomorrow," I said rudely, crossing my arms across my chest.

Wilson sighed heavily and relaxed in the booth seat we were in.  "My, my, my.  You are a little jokester, aren't you?"

I felt like he was trying to play off the fact that I was NOT, by any means, having a good time.

The waitress plopped down a basket of bread between the two of us.  Wilson grabbed a stick and shoved half of it in his mouth.  I watched as crumbs scattered down the front of his officer uniform, all blue this time instead of tan.  He chewed with his mouth open, flecks of spit flying my direction and landing on my arms and hands.  I crossed my arms across my chest as if it might actually help protect me from the flying spit.  It didn't.

"Let me get a Miller Lite.  Bud Lite.   Whatever beer you have that's light," he said to the waitress, half of the bread still in his mouth.

"Aren't you on call?" I asked. "You shouldn't be drinking."

He winked at me.  "I won't tell if you won't."

I sunk my head into my hands.  "Good god..." I sighed, mainly to myself.  Wilson ignored me.

We sat in silence after that.  Wilson tapped his short, stubby fingers along the table and clicked his tongue as he looked around at the other dinner guests enjoying their carb-loaded meals in the yellow lighting of the restaurant.  I didn't ever know it was possible to go from hero to zero so fast.  Not that Wilson was ever a hero in my book, but he seemed like more of an asshat than ever.  I was praying to God Wilson wouldn't get called into work for some kind of backup.  I was dying to escape this dinner, but after three beers, light or not, I was terrified thinking about what kind of damage this careless cop could do when he wasn't in the right state of mind.  Each time he ordered another beer, I would give him a death stare and tell him, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Each time, he ignored me and drank his next beer faster.

He motioned for the waitress to come to the table once more.  Without him asking, she brought him another mug of beer and placed it in his outstretched hand.

“I really wish you wouldn’t drink another,” I said to Wilson, unable to look this asshole in the eyes anymore as he cupped his fourth mug of beer in his hands.

“Listen, if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you need to be less controlling. I can’t believe this is our first date and you’re already trying to control me,” he said, lifting the rim of the glass cup to his lips and sipping the beer.

There was such a drastic difference between how Wilson was talking to me and treating me now as opposed to how he had been with me in front of my father. I wanted to believe that he was just playing a role to appease my father and give me a good first impression that day, but even earlier this morning, when he asked me to dinner, he seemed to be a totally different person.

“What did you do today?” I asked him.

He sighed in annoyance. “I’ve been on call all day,” he told me, putting to rest any thought that I had about him maybe just having a rough day. Whether he had a good day or not didn’t give him the right to treat me like he was.

He polished off his fourth beer and signaled the waitress for another.

I leapt to my feet. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

Wilson just stared up at me.

I turned and made my way through the tables, the murmur of private conversations surrounding me as I turned my hips to squeeze through chairs and people. I walked back to where the kitchen was and met our waitress as she was rounding the corner of the kitchen with another beer in her hand.

“Don’t you have an alcohol serving limit?” I asked.

She blinked at me and began to stutter.

“He’s on call for work. For police work,” I explained, trying to make her feel bad.

“I mean, he’s the customer though… I didn’t know he was working. Anyway, what he chooses to drink is up to him.” She tried to push past me with the beer, but I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.

“He’s not going to arrest you if you cut him off, you know,” I said.

She gasped at me. “That’s not what I thought would happen anyway-“

“So you’re just going to over-serve him alcohol to boost your tip?” I asked.  I knew my tone was rude but I didn’t care. This was important.  A few other waitresses had protectively gathered around the one who had been serving us.

“What’s the problem?”

The waitress inhaled sharply. “She just couldn’t find the bathroom. It’s this way to the left,” she told me, pointing a finger past me and waiting for me to try and bring up the alcohol issue again.

I glared at her, turned on my heel, and nearly ran to the bathroom. I pulled out my phone and googled the number of the Easton Police Department. I locked myself into a bathroom stall as the phone began to ring.

“Easton P. D., how can we help you?”

“Listen, I have a problem-" I said, running my finger over the latch on the bathroom door.

“Ma’am, let me transfer you to emergencies-"

“No! No,” I blurted. “This is about one of your employees. He’s on call right now. Officer Wilson Kilmer. He’s-"

“Oh… Hold on, sweetheart. I’m going to have to transfer you anyway.”

“What?” I asked. “To who??”

“Please hold.”

The phone began to ring again before I could speak to the receptionist anymore.

“Chief Moore speaking, who is this?” A voice sounded as quickly as the ringing had begun.

“Um, my name is Leah and I’ve got a problem with one of your officers. Officer Wilson Kilmer?”

The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “What has he done?”

“Nothing yet, I suppose. We’re at dinner and he said he’s on call and he’s just been drinking a lot.  He’s intoxicated I think and I just want to make sure he doesn’t get called in. I don’t want him hurting someone because of a lapse in judgment caused by the beer,” I explained hurriedly.

“What?”

“I asked him to stop and even told the waitress to stop serving him but-"

“Is he wearing the uniform?”

I nodded and said, “Yes.”

“Where are you?” He asked.

“The Olive Garden on… uh…. I don’t know… I just moved to Easton like, three days ago. I’m so so sorry-”

“Miss, please. It’s okay. Thank you for the call. We’ll take care of it.” The line went dead.

I walked out of the stall and saw an older woman watching me in the reflection of the mirror as she wiped the water off of her hands. I knew she’d heard it all. She merely nodded at me once and smiled before throwing away her hand towel and exiting the bathroom.  I walked to the sink and threw water on my face before peering at my own tired reflection in the mirror.  God, this had been a long and eventful day.

When I walked back to the table, I was surprised to see Wilson throwing our food into to-go boxes. The food must have just arrived. He looked rushed.

“C’mere, Leah, come on. We’ve got to go. I called you a cab. I’ve got to go to work. They just called me in-“

“What??” I asked, shocked for a moment before I had the idea that maybe he was being called into work by the chief to get his ass chewed.

He grabbed his uniform jacket and threw some money down onto the table. He grabbed both of the boxes of food and pulled me by my wrist through the restaurant and out the door. As we walked out, another cop car turned slowly into the parking lot.

“James,” Wilson said seriously, coming to a halt as James pulled up in front of us and stepped out of the car.  James had a cautious, and yet seemingly unnecessary, hand hovering close to the gun on his hip.  James was also young, with short brown hair covered by his police hat and dimples so deep that you could fall into them if you got too close. He smiled faintly at me.

“Wilson-“

“James.   What’s the problem??  Robbery??  Murder-“

“Hey, man.  Why don’t you jump in the car and I’ll tell you on the way to the station?” James said, almost like he was talking to a confused child.  He looked at me and blinked slowly.

Wilson didn’t even seem to remember that I was standing there as he sprinted around the front of the cop car and dove into the front passenger seat with both my dinner and his.

James instantly turned to me and lowered his voice.  “Miss, we want to thank you for the call.  I’d just be careful around him from now on.”

On, I was planning on it.  I was planning on staying far, far away.  I meant, as far away as I could while still living next door to him.  James stepped back into the police car, closed the door, and sent one more sympathetic look my way as he drove away with Wilson.

At that moment, the taxi arrived.   I hadn’t even thought about the fact that Wilson literally called me a taxi to drive me home.  Not even something more clean and modern, like an uber or a lift.   There was something about just looking at the rusty, yellow taxi that made me feel dirty - well, dirtier than I already was.  I climbed into the cab slowly, avoiding a splash of grey mystery goop on the faux-leather seat and trying not to lean too far back.  There was a rip in the seat behind my back, and I was nervous that if I relaxed too much, I'd be sucked into the trunk by some taxi-demon.  I was hesitant to even pull the slick, greasy seatbelt across my still pee-stained scrubs.

The driver coughed so hard that I was worried a lung was going to hit the windshield.  It was obvious he'd just polished off a cigarette, the smell lingering despite the car's open windows.

"Where to?" He croaked.

I almost couldn't remember my new address.  "Marble Park apartments," I finally told him after racking my brain. He tried to make small talk, but I was too busy running over the events of the day to have a conversation with him.

When we got to the apartments, I paid the cigarette smoke-ridden cab driver and dragged myself out of the torn-up back seat, accidentally dragging my hand through the mystery goop I'd tried so hard to avoid the whole 20 minutes home.  I groaned and wiped whatever the sticky residue was onto my pee-stained scrubs and sighed heavily and almost sing-song-y as I rounded the corner of the quad.  It was dark outside, all except for the three, dim porch lights that were bright enough only to illuminate the three feet of porch there was for the first-floor apartments.  The lamp post in the middle of the quad was also dimly lit.

I used the entirety of my body weight to open the front door to my apartment.  I immediately dropped my purse, pulled my shirt over my head and pulled my pants down to my knees, using my feet to push them the rest of the way off of my legs.  I walked straight back to my bathroom and didn't even wait for the water to turn hot before I had slumped against the shower wall, letting the water flow over my skin which felt like it had a thick layer of grime on it.  Grime from being coughed and sneezed on.  Grime from being peed on.  Grime from Wilson's spit.  Grime from the cab.  It was like I could feel it coming off in layers as I dragged a bar of soap slowly over my skin.

I hadn't washed my hair because I liked to wash it in the mornings.  I threw it up in a messy bun on top of my head. The bun looked way better than whatever mess Shelley had created with her own hair, if I did say so myself.  I wiped the mascara off of where the steam from the shower had made it bleed down my cheeks.  Took my contacts out.  Threw on my glasses.  Put on some old, purple sweats I had.  Pulled on an old bralette.  I walked into the kitchen of my apartment and opened the cupboard.  Without giving it much thought, I snagged a bag of popcorn kernels, threw it into the microwave, and pressed the "six" button.  I knew it wouldn't take that long, but I would stop it when the popcorn had popped.  I stood, leaning my bare stomach against the cold, fake granite of the counter and stared blankly into the microwave.  A ring from my phone snapped me out of my trance.

"Hello?" I answered.

There was no reply.  

"Dad, are you there?"

I began to walk around my apartment, searching for a clear signal.  I could hear bits and pieces of something my father was trying to say - probably just checking in on me - but I couldn't get a full sentence from him.

The call ended.  I was standing by the window at the front of my apartment.  I typed out a quick text to my father:

Couldn't hear you.  We can try again tomorrow.  I've had a long first day.  Love you - L.

As I sent that text, I scrolled through some of the other text messages I'd been receiving from old friends for my birthday - Impersonal and brief "Happy Birthday!" messages that didn't bring me as much joy as they did in the past.  Getting caught up in the messages, I didn't realize that my popcorn had begun to burn. The smell filled the apartment, and I scurried to tear the smoking bag out of the microwave.  Smoke began to cloud the ceiling.  I burned my finger on the top of the bag where the smoke was coming out and dropped the bag to the floor.  Swearing, I hurried to the window and threw it open to prevent the single smoke detector in my apartment from releasing a shrill alarm and disrupting the peace of my new neighbors.

As I stood at the window, I rubbed my eyes with my uninjured fingers.  I examined the part of my finger that stung from the burned bag of kernels.

"Alright?"

I nearly leapt out of my skin.  I thought for a moment someone was standing in my apartment, but I finally realized that Harry was standing just outside the window.  I hardly noticed him since it was so dark outside and he was still dressed in all sorts of dark colors.  

"Fucks sake-" I exclaimed.  "I- I- I'm okay.  I'm fine.  You scared the hell out of me-"

"I'm sorry," Harry laughed, coming a little bit closer to the window.  The light from my kitchen illuminated his handsome face.  It also allowed me to see that he was holding some sort of green gardening can.  "I was just putting a little bit of plant food in Miss Jones' plants.  I do it every week or so.  Helps 'em stay alive," he explained.  

"At night?" I asked.

"What?"

"At night?  You feed the plants at this time of night?" I repeated, raising my wrist to look at a watch I realized wasn't there only after I'd checked the imaginary time.  

Harry laughed awkwardly.  "Eh, well, yes.  She doesn't know I do it.  At least, I don't think she does."

I stood and stared at him, becoming more consciously aware of my appearance and clothing (or lack thereof) and the fact that he'd probably been peeking in the window the whole time I'd burned my snack and been chasing some kind of cellular service.  For as much as I wanted to be creeped out, my stomach was fluttering.  He wasn't creeping in my window.  He was feeding Miss Jones' plants.  Her goddamn plants.

I walked out the front door and stood to the right side of my porch, leaning over the banister toward Harry's silhouette.  He watched me only for a short moment before he returned to shaking some of the small pellets of plant food into the vases on the ground and the plants hanging from Miss Jones' porch.  I wanted to ask him something.  Tell him something.  Have him ask me a question or anything to get us involved.  However, I stood for a few minutes in silence, in the dim lighting from my kitchen and the small light in the middle of the quad, and listened to the plant food pellets tap against the sides of the plants' bowls and vases.

When he'd run out of plant food, Harry sighed softly.  "Good night, then."

His feet brushed weightlessly against the grass as he began to walk away.

"Harry," I called quietly, almost as if I was whispering it to myself.

He stopped.  I saw the black shape of his body turn toward me, his figure becoming more visual as he stepped closer into the small amount of light from the kitchen again.  He stood and waited without saying anything.

I had a sudden wave of confidence wash over my body.  I stood up straight, sticking out my chest even though I know he couldn't really see my perky breasts in my bralette.  I took a deep breath, but just as quickly as the confidence had come, it went away. "Um-" I started.  My inner self was begging me to say something.  Anything.  

"Come inside?" I said.  I asked.  I whispered.  I basically breathed it.  I wondered if he even heard me.  I felt like an absolute dumbass.  Should I repeat myself?  What if he said no?  It was late.  Surely he would say no.  What was I inviting him in for?  Burnt popcorn?  I didn't know what part of me was asking him into my apartment, but could only imagine it wasn't for a cup of tea and small talk.  What did I think was going to happen?  He was going to just lean in and kiss me and-

"Sure."

"What?" I asked.

"I'll come in.  Let me take a look at your finger," he said.

Like that morning, I had to keep my mouth from falling open.  I turned around abruptly and opened my front door for him.  He followed me inside.  He moved so quickly and so silently that I just about jumped out of my skin again when I turned around and he was standing only eight inches from me.  He gripped my hand and extended my fingers, like he had the day I was moving in.  This time, however, I let him look, even though there was nothing there anymore.  No evidence of any serious damage.

"I think you'll survive," he told me after evaluating the non-existent injury.  "Your heart line here is showing some pretty interesting stuff, though," he said, dragging a long finger along one of the creases in the palm of my hand.  

"What?" I asked, kind of laughing to myself.  I'd never much believed in palm-reading or horoscopes or anything like that, but it was always interesting to read about and learn about. "What does it say?" I asked him, looking down at my own palm.

"It's about your love life," he said.  "Did you have a good date tonight?"

"No," I gushed, looking up into Harry's eyes.  I laughed just thinking about it.  "It was a disaster.  Does the palm say I'm destined for a long, devoted, and romantic relationship with Wilson?  After tonight, I'd rather die before having to spend more time with him."

Harry's mouth curled into a small, almost triumphant smile, but he shook his head.  "It says something about a tall brunette kissing you.  Unless you object."

My heart pounded in my chest.  "Oh?" I squeaked, nearly losing the ability to speak.  "My palm is that specific?" I asked.

Harry took a step toward me and began to lean in.  "I don't know," Harry chuckled.  "I can't read palms."

I lifted my mouth to meet his.  I began to instantly feel drowsy, like the room was spinning and I was going weak.  Harry wrapped an arm around my lower back and pulled my body more into his.  I felt like fireworks were exploding in my stomach.  His lips were warm and full.  I wanted to sink my teeth into them.  Without separating our lips, I began to pull him toward my bedroom, tugging at the hem of his black shirt as we went.  Clothes began to litter the living room.  I flicked off the lights as we neared the bedroom.  For as much as I wanted to look at Harry's handsome face, just the feeling of his mouth, which was making its way up and down my neck, was creating an overwhelming sense of euphoria in me.  

He was like a drug, his touch giving me an immediate high.  As he pulled his fingernails over my skin, a line of goosebumps followed.  His moans as he felt my body were giving me a confidence I didn't know I had.  I remember that he was on top of me, kissing down my stomach.  I was on top of him, sucking on the soft skin of his neck.  His hands were twisting into my hair and I was tugging on his.  We were twisting and turning around each other, around the sheets... tangling our lips, our legs, our arms... and before I knew it, the sun was coming up.  

I blinked my eyes open.  I stretched and turned my neck to look at Harry beside me... only he wasn't there.  The sheets were tousled like someone had been there, but any other evidence of Harry was gone.

[thehouseofjohndeaf]

4 Years Sober: What I’ve Learned in Secular AA

There are a lot of things I’ve learned over the last 4 years. I’ve learned that there’s no one way to stay sober. If you’re in recovery, and you’re sober and you’re relatively happy, then you must be doing something right. If you’re not happy, maybe you should consider making a change.

I drank and drugged for over ten years. For the last three of those years I was in and out of hospitals and detoxes, I tried outpatient therapy, I dabbled in AA and NA, I even signed in to a thirty-day inpatient rehab facility. Throughout all that time, the most I could put together outside of treatment centers was three days. For three years I tried to drink like a “normal person” and continued to drink until drunk, blacked out, dropped out of classes, lost jobs, and walked away from countless friends and opportunities.

After a series of jackpots and facing a second OUI I finally hit my lowest, I was facing possible jail time and completely ran out of options. From the court house I was sent to a detox. Laying on a bed made of plastic, reading some shitty David Baldacci novel because there was nothing better, and another twenty-something year old kid was on the bunk next to mine stammering a mile a minute about how his SSI check was coming in on the first and he’s going to go rent a motel room and if I wanted I could go with him. And I gave it pause, I had a glimpse into the future, of who I could be. That day when I met with my case manager I said, “I don’t care where I go, I’ll take any bed anywhere, I just know I can’t go back out there.”

I stayed in treatment, wound up at a Christian halfway house, and I was really tested on what spirituality meant to me, and knowing that AA runs on a concept of a supernatural higher power, a “God of your understanding”, I knew I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do. I got a sponsor, I read all the literature, I attended meetings multiple times a week. But it was the reading of non-AA literature that really inspired me. Two books that really crafted my early days of recovery were “The Portable Atheist” compiled by Christopher Hitchens and “Common Sense Recovery” by Adam N. “The Portable Atheist” gave me some backbone to the philosophy of non-belief, of Humanism and Atheism, of anti-religion and neutrality. “Common Sense Recovery” gave me a method of interpreting the teachings of AA to fit my needs as an Atheist meandering in and out of church halls and basements. Along with these were some zines and essays including “Towards a Less Fucked Up World” by Nick Riotfag and “Anarchy and Alcohol” by CrimethInc.

After a while I fell out of AA. It seemed every time I shared my perspectives on spirituality the room would flutter full of murmurs of “Keep coming”, a saying often said to those struggling. But I wasn’t struggling with my sobriety, I was struggling with the use of a Christian fellowship as the cornerstone to my recovery. The fourth chapter of AA’s Big Book is entitled “We Agnostics” and teaches AA members that those who aren’t ready to believe or have issues with belief will eventually believe. Basically, “Don’t worry, you’ll come around.” So when an AA member states they have no belief in a god and that their higher power is AA itself or “G.O.D. - Group Of Drunks”, other members appear to see that as a weakness or an early start to their road to recovery. A non-Christian or non-supernatural higher power in AA appears to represent a placeholder for eventual conversion. And if you haven’t converted yet, well, “Keep coming.”

It had been nearly a year since my last AA meeting and I was around two and a half years sober when my sponsor, who I wasn’t really calling at this point, sent me an image via text. It was a flyer for a Secular AA meeting over the state line about 45 minutes away. He dropped a few names of people I might know and said, “I thought this might interest you, I hope it helps.” The next week I attended an Atheists and Agnostics in AA meeting and have been going nearly every week for about a year and a half now. Here were men and women, each with 30+ years of sobriety, telling me that the Twelve Steps of AA are suggested, that they have no need for some of the steps as they regard prayer and giving one’s will over to the care of “God”. Well, how does one turn their will and life over to the care of God or have God remove their shortcomings if they don’t believe in God? Simple, you don’t. It’s unnecessary.

For over a year I had been living in guilt because I wasn’t able to fully adhere to the Twelve Steps of AA because at their most basic function I could not perform them without a belief in God. Many AA members will be quick to point out that the steps have written, italicized, “as we understood Him”. First off, it only says that under step three, the rest of the steps simply state “God”. Secondly, “as we understood Him” capital-H Him, presupposes your understanding of a father-figure male who created man in His image, which is a Christian belief. There is absolutely no way to read the Twelve Steps of AA in a secular, non-religious fashion. The Twelve Steps of AA were written by Christians for Christians to be part of a Christian program.

Now, here I am, surrounded by a group of men and women who collectively have a couple hundred years of sobriety amongst themselves and they’re saying things like: “Steps six and seven? Useless, you don’t need them.” “Higher power? Why? I understand I don’t control the universe, I understand I can’t control my drinking in active addiction, I understand I can never drink again in safety. Why do I need a higher power?” “Sponsorship? I’ve been sober X amount of years and have plenty of friends in AA that I can call at any given time. Why would I need a sponsor?”

Over the last four years I’ve learned a lot. But over just this last year and a half in Secular AA I’ve learned more about myself, AA, alcoholism, and addiction, - conversations and readings that have lead to several epiphanies that have severely strengthened my recovery.

I’ve learned that in that first year of sobriety, when one hasn’t really come out of the haze or know much about themself, taking suggestions and having a sponsor is probably a good idea. It’s helpful to have a sponsor for their first year or so. But at some point, sponsorship is no longer necessary. Sponsorship was never meant to be a lifelong commitment. Sponsorship was originally about one member of AA bringing in a newcomer, someone newly sober, and sponsoring him/her by saying “I can attest this person is a drunk and desires to stop drinking.” The sponsor then shows them around, brings them to meetings, gives them some pointers, and that’s that. Why would someone with 10+ years of sobriety need a sponsor? I’m not saying it’s wrong to have a lifelong sponsor if that works for you. But why is it the general understanding that every AA member must have a sponsor at all times for the rest of their life? It’s unnecessary.

I’ve learned that AA is losing membership precisely for the reason I stopped attending. The problem with telling Atheists and Agnostics that if they don’t like AA they should try somewhere else, is that AA is by far the most accessible and most successful fellowship of recovery, and telling a vulnerable person who has felt they don’t belong throughout their entire life that they also don’t fit in with a group of alcoholics will often lead to that person accepting they are alone in their struggle and they will more than likely start drinking again. If AA doesn’t adopt a secular approach the fellowship will die along with hundreds of thousands of alcoholics who so badly need a stable approach to recovery built on the basic principles of AA, without it’s religious overtones.

AA is full of Christian religiosity and it’s off putting to a population that has fewer and fewer Christians in its midst. The statistical average AA member is a 50-year-old heterosexual white male according to the 2014 membership survey. According to a recent study by JAMA Psychiatry in 2017 “high-risk and disordered drinking increased by about 20 percent” between 2002 and 2012, while recent reports from Statisa based on the yearly membership survey stated a 13% decline in AA membership between 2001 and 2015. This means alcoholism is on the rise, which coincides with the 1.3% yearly increase in the US population, an average population growth of 18.2% between 2001 and 2015. So if AA was the answer to alcoholism we should have seen a growth in AA membership that coincides with the population growth and the increase in the number of alcoholics, yet we’ve seen a decline in membership. Why? It may not surprise anyone that these numbers and dates line up with the decline of Christianity in the US. While Catholicism boasted an increase in church membership between 2000 and 2017, they closed 11% of their churches. The Evangelical Lutherans “lost about 30% of its congregation and closed 12.5% of its churches.” United Methodists “lost 16.7% of its congregation and 10.2% of its churches.” The Presbyterians “lost over 40% of their congregation and 15.4% of their churches.”

All throughout the dawn of the 21st century there’s been a decline in religious worship, an increase in alcoholism and drug addiction, and a parallel decrease in AA membership. If religion and spirituality were the broad saving grace for those who struggle from substance use disorders we would have seen a growth in both church membership as well as AA membership. But we didn’t. Religion is not the answer.

Following this timeline, somewhere around 2012 we start to see exponential growth in secular recovery. In a 5 year period, from 2012 to 2017, LifeRing, a secular program of recovery, saw meetings increase by 300 percent. Between 2014 and 2016 SMART launched 900 new meetings nationwide. In 2016 the website SecluarAA.org launched, showcasing the growing number of AA meetings across the US that have declared themselves to be Atheists, Agnostics, Non-Believers, and Freethinkers.

The Secular AA movement is not a movement of anti-religion or heresy, it is a movement that wishes to bring neutrality to AA. Despite anyone’s religious beliefs or non-belief, every alcoholic and addict deserves a chance to achieve sobriety. While there are many neutral parties in AA who will come to AA’s defense as a non-religious program, it is unquestionable that AA is Christian by default. The preamble of AA indicates they do not ally with any “sect, denomination…” but does not specify that they do not ally with any religion. The statement of not allying with any sect or denomination and the omission of the word “religion” is a pretty clear indication that it doesn’t matter if you’re Catholic, or Protestant, or Methodist, or Lutheran, but as long as you’re Christian then AA has no qualms. The Serenity Prayer is in fact a prayer that opens with the words, “God, grant me the serenity…” Most AA meetings open with the Serenity Prayer and close with The Lord’s Prayer, a prayer found in the New Testament Matthew 6:9 and Luke 11:2. You can’t sit there and tell me you’re not a religious program and then gather up in a circle to recite a prayer with two versions found in the New Testament. That’s not how this works!

But again, the Secular AA movement is not about being against religion, but against a program of recovery being Christian by default. Secularism is about not making sick and suffering alcoholics feel unwelcome because they don’t believe in the supernatural. And if you’re an AA member and believe that no one is ever to feel unwelcome in an AA meeting, I propose an experiment for you. Travel to an area outside of your normal meetings where you don’t know anyone. Tell the group you’re new to the area and you are an Atheist is AA. Tell me how that goes.

I’ll tell you what I’ve experienced in just the past 4 years. I’ve experienced everything from the docile and subtle remarks like “Keep coming,” and conversations with members saying “I had trouble with the G-word myself, but you just gotta use something tangible, like a light switch, you flip it and you always know the light will come on, you trust it!” (To which I would like to respond, “No I don’t trust the light switch. You’ve never had a lightbulb burn out on you and need to replace it, or ever call an electrician?”) all the way to people pointing and screaming “My higher power! The Almighty! God! As I understand Him!” I’ve also had many people come up to me and tell me they’ll pray for me.

All of this is to express my issues and struggles in remaining sober in a religious program without being remotely religious. To say to anyone who struggles with “the G-word”: You aren’t struggling, this isn’t a hurdle you need to get over in order to remain sober. God didn’t get me sober, simply because God does not exist. But it’s true, I didn’t do this. I did not get myself sober. My parents got me sober, my brother helped me, a trusting probation officer, case managers and counselors, employers and co-workers, friends, my loving bride-to-be helps me stay sober, along with my son and a growing number of people in my life who I love and care about - they all got me sober and keep me sober today. They say, “God works through people”, but I say people are social creatures who foster relationships and build their own meaning out of the hand they’re dealt. There is no hereafter, there is no Heaven or Hell, there’s just here and now. I only have one life and I need it to be worth living. You all make that possible, every one of you. Religion and faith have nothing to do with sobriety unless you want to build a life on religion and faith. And if you want to do that, that’s great for you, but do it with people who are seeking worship at your church or temple, at masses or sermons. AA is not about worship, it’s about humility and self discovery. AA must adopt a secular approach if it’s going to withstand its own centennial.

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2017/08/10/542409957/drinking-on-the-rise-in-u-s-especially-for-women-minorities-older-adults

https://aaagnostica.org/2015/09/06/aa-membership-growth-or-decline/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Decline_of_Christianity

https://aaagnostica.org/2018/04/05/aa-struggles-to-stay-relevant-as-secular-programs-gain-momentum/

https://secularaa.org/