5SOS preferences

Fight on Discipline

Luke: (p.s. Jack's a girl)

You rest your head on your husband's shoulder.

The two of you finally got some time to yourself away from your three year old twins, Jack and Mia.

"Mommy! Jack hit me," Mia runs into the living room, tears streaking down her pale face.

"Come here baby," you sit up, pulling the toddler onto your lap.

Jack runs into the room after her, a guilty expression covering the little girl's face.

"Jack did you hit Mia?" you ask your younger daughter.

She nods guiltily, a pout covering her face.

"Go stand in the corner for five minutes," you insist, nodding towards one of the corners in the room.

"No, Jack apologize to your sister then go on playing," Luke protests.

You raise your eyebrows at your husband. "Jack apologize to your sister then go sit in the corner."

"Jack don't listen to your mother," Luke and you narrow your eyes at each other.

"Jack," you choose your words carefully, "apologize to your sister then go sit in the corner for two and a half minutes."

Luke doesn't object and you sit back, pleased.

Ashton:

"I can't believe you," Ashton hisses angrily, glaring at your sixteen year old son.

He sighs, setting his helmet on the bench and sitting down.

"You do not push another person, especially over something as stupid as getting in your way," Ashton lectures loudly.

People pass, watching the scene silently.

Charlie starts untying his laces. "Dad you don't-""Don't try that 'you don't understand' bullshit on me, Charlie Calum Irwin," Ashton starts yelling.

"Ashton calm down," you walk over to your two favorite boys, a blush covering your face knowing a bunch of people are watching you.

"Why would he think it's okay to push another player? You're grounded for three weeks, Charlie, no cell phone, no Internet, no computer-""Ashton, calm down," you finally scold your husband.

"First off, none of that is taken away," your son's face brightens up at your words, then darkens at Ashton's next ones.

"Yes they are."

You ignore him. "I think you don't need that punishment for three reasons. One, rage took over. It wasn't you acting, it was your anger. We'll find a way to help you to make sure that won't happen again. Two, you're already out for the rest of the season. Three, I think you already learned your lesson by the guilty look on your face," you list. "Do you agree, Ashton?"

"Yes," your husband mopes about being wrong beside you.

Michael:

"Cara get out of the bathroom!" Your fourteen year old son screams from the hall, waking you and your husband up from your sleep.

"Please don't open the door please don't open the door," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut tight.

You hear your bedroom door bang open. "Mom, dad, Cara's been in the bathroom for an hour and I still have to get ready."

"Goddammit," Michael stands up angrily, rushing into the hallway.

You and Leon follow him.

He pushes the bathroom door open, revealing your seventeen year old daughter sitting on the counter, trying to apply her mascara.

"What the hell?" Cara shrieks, dipping the wand back into the tube.

"You're done, get out," Michael order, ushering towards the door.

Your daughter rolls her eyes, turning back towards the mirror and ruffling her blonde curls. "I'm not done yet. I still have to finish my makeup."

"Your makeup takes forever," Leon whines.

"No, you're done getting ready, get out. You don't need makeup," Michael growls at her, glaring at her.

"I need my makeup," Cara starts sniffling, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

"No you don't Cara! You're just so damn insecure you think you need makeup!" Leon yells at his sister.

"Leon that's enough," you speak sharply. "Instead of giving Cara no warning to finish getting ready, why don't we have a schedule instead?"

Everyone mumbles in agreement, and Cara sends you a relieved smile.

Calum:

"We're gonna have to talk to her," Calum paces across the living room. You sit on the couch with a magazine on your lap, rolling your eyes at your husband.

He caught a glance of what your sixteen year old was wearing, which was a crop top and booty shorts, and wasn't too happy.

"She's looks like a slut," Calum mumbles.

"Sluts don't have a specific look." You, being a feminist and part of the unslut project, didn't see anything wrong with your daughter's appearance.

She walks through the front door and Calum ushers her onto the couch beside you.

"Jezebel, we want to talk to you about your appearance," your husband starts.

"Oh my gosh, isn't my outfit so cute today?" The sixteen year old looks down at her outfit.

"You look like a whore," Calum blurts out.

Jezebel gasps from beside you and you look up from your magazine with a disgusted look. "Calum! That's no way to talk to your daughter, and a whore's a prostitute."

"Your outfit is not appropriate for a sixteen year old," Calum tries to inform your daughter.

"Honey," you turn to your teenage daughter who looks like she needs a confidence boost. "Clothes do not have age restrictions. Clothes do not define your sex life. Clothes are there to cover the important parts, and that's all. Clothes do not define you and who you are," you lean forward, kissing your daughter's forehead.

You stand up, walking towards the hallway. "And Calum?"

He turns his attention to you.

"The UnSlut Project. Look it up."