#catholic schoolgirl au

[fruitsaladgame]

in this world, there's only one god

[starpuncher]

i am so sorry to everyone who follows me and goes thru my art tag immediately i just have not been drawing shit this year. everyone pray on me finding my groove again

[dolyx]

(SYDNEY DE LA CRUZ NAKITA NANAMAN KITA he's so cute hi the rosary bracelet design is so real lahat ng nagkaron ng takot sa diyos nagsuot ng rosary bracelet ng ilang buwan at least once (1) in their life. it's a rite of passage to get qualified for being a filipino religious trauma survivor it's true si lord nagsabi nito sakin.)

[writemekpop]

Sinner | Kim Doyoung

Summary: You dress up as a Catholic school girl in order to spice up your sex life. How will your husband Doyoung react when he sees you?  

Genre: established relationship AU, angsty

Word count: 1.2k

“You can do this,” you told yourself, as you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

You barely recognised the girl looking back at you. Your hair was tied into two pigtails, and pink gloss dolled your lips. You were wearing a cropped white shirt that barely covered your breasts, and a short tartan skirt. You put on the final touch – a golden crucifix necklace. 

You’d normally never resort to sexy costumes, but you and your husband Doyoung hadn’t had sex in months. 

You walked to the bathroom door. 

You put on your sexiest voice. “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. I’ve been a bad bad girl… who needs to be punished.” 

Doyoung didn’t reply. You frowned, but quickly plastered on a smile. 

Spinning around, you came out from the bathroom. 

Doyoung was nestled under the covers, his reading glasses low on his nose, buried in a book. He hadn’t noticed you walk in. 

You cleared your throat. 

Doyoung looked up. When he saw you, he burst out into laughter.

“What the hell are you wearing?” 

Your face fell. “Do you not… like it?” 

Doyoung clutched his tummy, still in fits of laughter. “Is that a fake cross?” 

“No, Doyoung, I’m being - this is supposed to be - sexy.” The words died on your lips. 

Doyoung sat up straight. “This isn’t a joke? Are you supposed to be some kind of… catholic schoolgirl?” 

You could feel your cheeks warming. Suddenly the scratchy polyester of your shirt felt suffocating. 

“Well… yeah,” you said. “I thought you’d like it.” 

Doyoung’s mouth fell open. 

“Why would you ever think I’d find that sexy? You look… ridiculous!” 

You gasped. You dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. 

Yanking the cross necklace off, you slid down onto the floor and started to cry. You couldn’t believe how stupid you’d been. You wished you’d never been born.

You could hear Doyoung knock on the other side of the door. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t realise you were being serious!”

“Go away,” you yelled. 

Doyoung rattled the door handle. “I didn’t mean to be rude! I was just in shock. Please just open the door, baby.”

You let out a shaky breath. Then, you pulled the door open to face your husband. 

Doyoung looked effortlessly handsome in his plain white T shirt and freshly showered hair. The sight made you angry. You wrapped your hands across your exposed chest. 

Doyoung touched your cheek lovingly. “What’s gotten into you, Y/n?” 

“Can’t you see? I’m trying to spice up our marriage! Doyoung, you won’t look at me anymore, let alone have sex with me. I can’t remember the last time we even kissed, not a peck, but a proper kiss, with tongues.”

Doyoung sighed. “Is that what all this is about? Y/n, I love our life, it’s comfortable. We don’t have to try around each other, we can just be… us.” 

“I want that rush. Like we used to be… remember when we first got married? We could barely keep our hands off each other. I want to feel… desired.” 

Doyoung stayed silent. 

“Did you hear what I said?” you asked. 

Doyoung bit his lip, trying to suppress his laughter. “I’m sorry, it’s really hard to take you seriously when you look like that. Can you put a robe on or something?”

You pulled off the costume and put in in the bin. Then, you pushed past Doyoung and walked towards the front door. 

Doyoung followed you out into the hallway. He watched as you put on your coat and shoes. “Where are you going?” 

“My sister’s place,” you snapped. 

Doyoung tugged his hand through his soft hair. “Don’t be like this, Y/n. It’s the middle of the night. Just come back and we’ll talk about this.” 

You shook your head. “You had your chance.”           

You slammed the door behind you.

---

The next day, you expected to find dozens of missed calls and texts from Doyoung, but your phone was empty. 

Your heart twinged. Not even one measly voicemail from the love of your life? You brushed aside your embarrassment and started off home. 

Before you made it back to your apartment, you bumped into Doyoung in the street. 

He was wearing a long brown coat, one that went down all the way to his ankles. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was all over the place. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

“I came to find you. My phone died and I lost my charger,” Doyoung said, panting. “I’m really sorry about last night.” 

You stared at the pavement, still too embarrassed to meet your husband’s eye. “I thought you’d like the costume… I guess I was wrong.”

Doyoung shook his head. “I don’t like the costume, I like you. I’m sorry I don’t make much of an effort, it’s not because I don’t desire you… because believe me, I do.” 

You met his warm chocolate eyes. In them was nothing but love. 

“I shouldn’t have laughed at you. I’m flattered that you made such an effort, for me! I’m so lucky to be your husband,” he said. 

You suppressed a smile. “That doesn’t make up for the fact that you humiliated me last night.” 

Doyoung sighed. “I know. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Your brows quirked up. “Doing what?” 

Doyoung grinned. He flung his head towards the sky and crossed himself dramatically. Then, he unbuttoned his long coat, and pulled it off his shoulders. 

When you saw what he was wearing underneath, you gasped. 

Doyoung was wearing – if you could call it wearing – your outfit from last night. The tight white shirt strained over his muscled torso, and the tartan skirt sat like a belt across his hips. His legs were very, very bare. He looked absurd. 

You slapped your hand across your mouth, trying not to laugh. 

A passer-by wolf whistled. Doyoung stuck his tongue out at them. 

You ran towards Doyoung and wrapped your arms around him, shielding his front with your body. A woman walking her dog actually tutted at you. A kid said, “Who’s the man in the skirt?” before her mum pulled her away. 

“Stop sticking your arms out!” you hissed. 

“Don’t put me in detention!” Doyoung yelled. 

“You are absolutely mad,” you gasped, covering his mouth with your hand. “You over-the-top, eccentric, amazing man.”

Doyoung smiled, freeing his mouth and pressing his lips to your neck. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

You smacked Doyoung’s butt, earning a yelp. 

“You Catholics,” you said, smirking. “Obsessed with forgiveness. Come back to bed and we’ll see.”

-

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[musetember]

your generation has, like, zero attention span for epic tales

Questies! Welcome to Musetember, our prompt challenge during September based on the Ancient Greek muses and the ways their stories and themes can inspire fanfiction and art. 

We have nine different themed prompts and a special tenth - The Chorus - that invites you to participate through commenting or lists of recommendations.

Unfamiliar with the muses? We’ll take you on a journey through them all. Every muse inspires, but each has a domain that resonates with her the most. Write a story that embodies the muse who speaks to you most strongly, or write something inspired by each one in turn. You can interpret their domains as broadly or as literally as you like; the main thing is to create in whatever way feels best to you. 

Calliope invites you to tell us an epic tale. Whether it’s the final battle between good and evil on Andowyne or a re-telling of an ancient legend from the old gods and heroes of our world, this is your chance to go ageless and big. What’s an epic tale? Classically these were long works like The Odyssey, passed down in stories upon stories. Don’t have the attention span for a tale quite that epic in length? Maybe your tale is epic in scale or ambition, rather than word count.

Melpomene looks deep into your heart and asks you, what is the worst that could happen? The muse of tragedy, she has seen over and over again the ruinous and inescapable paths people create for themselves and the ones they love. How could Sorsha doom her daughter to a loveless marriage? When hope is lost, what survives?

Thalia is here to make you laugh. With her, it’s time to embrace the most ridiculous premises, the silliest goobers and the bawdiest jokes you can imagine. Really revel in the humorous side of Willow, a comedy of errors, even a vaudeville au - just don’t forget that happy ending. 

Erato - more like E-rated! Erato is the muse of erotica, so it’s time to get your smut on. Write a moment of intense passion, of aching desire, of the deepest, horniest bond imaginable. 

Clio is your invitation to look into the past. As the muse of history, she’ll be with you whether you’re exploring the story of the first six fey to be cast out of the Grove, or if you’re deep in the research for a historical au in our world. 

Polyhymnia welcomes you to explore religion and ritual. Speak to us of the Order of the Wyrm, of beliefs that shape the lives of the Bone Reavers… or of Catholic schoolgirls just trying to catch a moment together. 

Euterpe sings. The stage is set and the orchestra is waiting - it’s time to celebrate music. Embrace the inspiration found in song lyrics, in band dynamics, in a brand new video edit, or ask yourself: does Kit really know how to play those instruments in her room?

Terpsichore extends her hand to draw you into a dance. From sexy grinding in a modern au to an aching slow dance in the rain, dance can be about self-expression or tight, rigid control. 

Urania looks far beyond this world and draws your attention to the stars, to the two moons lighting up the sky. The muse of astronomy is as present in the far reaches of the galaxy in a sci-fi au as she is in the constellation of Jade’s freckles.

Finally, we come to the Chorus. In Ancient Greek works, the Chorus often represents a voice speaking to or with the audience, a bridge between the world of the story and the world outside it. The Chorus is vital. Without their commentary, something important is lost from a story. Those who comment on fanfiction as just as important - you readers are part of this challenge too! Tell the writers what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling. Leave a comment on a favourite story that fits the thematic domain of each muse. Write up a rec list for your favourite muse, and share your favourites so that others can discover them and dive in.

Rules and some specific writing challenges below the read more!

Writing Challenges: 

Still needing more inspiration? There are different ways you can approach this. You can write whatever style your heart wants, or you could try your hand at one of these challenges that interpret the muses’ calls in different ways. 

The Fragment Challenge Write a drabble of 100 words, or write multiple drabbles as if they were glimpses into the same story with missing pieces in between. For artists, share a fragment of a work in progress - anything unfinished!

The Epistolary Challenge Write in the form of letters, a diary, newspaper clippings, social media posts… Or how about Nockmaar’s trip advisor?

The Lost Scene Challenge Write or draw a scene we missed out on in canon, or a scene that gives the impression it is part of a longer, unwritten fic.

All of these give you a fun way to explore the things you choose not to tell the audience, and play off the Ancient Greek theme that our muses inspire. 

Rules/FAQ

How long does the challenge last?

From September 1, 2024 until Oct 6, 2024.

How do I share my cool stuff?

If it's a fanwork appropriate for AO3, we'd love it if you added it to the challenge AO3 collection, which will be open until the challenge ends!

What pairings apply? Is this just Tanthamore?

This challenge is open to all Willow fanworks! You can create things for any prompt with any character or characters from Willow, you can write different pairings, you can do whatever you want forever. Just make sure that your fics are tagged appropriately!

Can my work be any rating?

Yes absolutely! Write the most E-rated thing your little heart desires, just tag it as such so readers can decide for themselves what they'd like to engage with.

Can it be any length?

Sure! There is no minimum or maximum word limit.

Does it have to be based in Willow canon?

Nope - it can be canon, canon-divergent, or any kind of AU you would like to write!

Does it have to be finished?

Nope, not at all. If one of the prompts inspires you to start a long fic, you are still totally welcome to add it to the collection during September and carry on working on it after the challenge is over.

[thighzp]

Hawk’s voice, low and thick with drink, said “But you know Tim, he’s always been a good little catholic boy…” The others hummed in confirmation. “Proper prude before I got my hands on him.” The group laughed and someone who Tim couldn’t make out said, “You’ve ruined him, Hawk.” “Hm,” Hawk assented. “Or have I just made a man out of that Staten Island altar boy?” *** OR / AU where Hawk and Tim can be out, Hawk is capable of admitting when he's wrong, and Tim has a Catholic schoolgirl uniform lying around.

Happy Easter, I'm going to Hell in a handbasket!!! this gratuitous smut is dedicated to @fellowstraveling and @christopherlightwoodchasm

(p.s. don't be surprised if you see a scene very similar to this in a certain chaptered fic I am also working on)

[hekateinhell]

Stripper AU 👀

If both Armand and Lestat aren't strippers I'll be very surprised. Daniel bartender maybe? Marius owns the establishment obviously. Louis is a 'good Catholic boy' with 2 stripper boyfriends and is trying to stop his worlds colliding

Just thoughts, just thinking thots...

LOUIS THE GOOD CATHOLIC BOY WITH NOT ONE, BUT TWO MALE STRIPPER BOYFRIENDS !!!

Like, how did this happen? How did Louis meet them? Who did he start dating first? Was it smooth sailing or a rocky start full of hurt feelings and self-denial?

Just how many existential crises is this poor man having on a daily basis?

Most importantly: which boyfriend owns the sexy Catholic schoolgirl get-up?

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Trick Or Treat (Bucky x Reader)

Another one for @cockslut-padalecki‘s Eleven Sentence Challenge! Daddy kink + “Maybe if I punish you it’ll help you remember who you belong to next time.” Some degradation thrown in for seasoning. Also, a slutty Catholic schoolgirl costume. Oops?

I was thinking of this as a timestamp to What You Need, aka the Nanny AU, but it stands alone! 

Last one for tonight. Tune in next week for more spooky smutty fun! 

455 words, explicit-ish. 

Bucky answers the door in a thin tee-shirt and pajama pants, adorably rumpled like he’s just been curled up with a book -- granted, it’s much too late for the actual trick-or-treaters -- and he looks stunned when he sees you. Since your semester started, you’ve been talking about taking the train into the city to visit your former boss, but you didn’t tell him you were actually going to do it, and for a moment his silence makes you nervous; then he lets out a low, husky curse, smirking in a way that’s deliciously familiar. 

If you were actually trick-or-treating, this wouldn’t be the best outfit for it: blouse unbuttoned halfway down to your navel; push-up bra giving you some spectacular cleavage; micro-mini plaid skirt barely hiding the fact that you’re not wearing panties underneath, just thigh-highs… “slutty Catholic schoolgirl” has been done to death, but it’s a classic for a reason. 

“Trick or treat,” you say, twisting one pigtail around your finger and giving him a wink.

He makes a rough, wordless noise before tugging you inside by one wrist, and as soon as the deadbolt slides into place, he’s looking you up and down, lips curling into a smirk as he orders, “Do a twirl for me, doll, let me get a look at you… you’re not wearing anything under that skirt, are you?”

The pleats fly up when you spin for him, and the kiss of cool air on your freshly-shaved cunt makes you shiver; then you look at Bucky, taking in the way he’s palming himself through his thin cotton pajama pants, stroking and squeezing — showing off the thick, hard shape of his cock — and your chill feels more like a fever. 

“Is that my treat?” you ask archly, and he barks out a laugh. 

“Not sure you deserve it, if you took the train dressed like that,” he says thoughtfully, backing you up against the door and sliding his palms up your thighs to your bare ass before whispering, “Forgot how shameless you are… maybe I shouldn’t fuck you. Maybe I should just bend you over and spank you until you’re screaming; maybe if I punish you it’ll help you remember who you belong to next time.” He slides two fingers into you, pumping them in and out roughly, and you cling to him, eyes fluttering closed as he growls, “You liked that, didn’t you — everybody looking at you, all dressed up like a whore — can feel how much you liked that, filthy girl.” 

“All for you,” you breathe, and your voice breaks when you confess, “Haven’t even thought about anyone else, since — since we — oh, fuck, please don’t stop — I’m all yours, Daddy.”

[fruitsaladgame]

it's the catholic schoolgirl au no one asked for

[bookish-bogwitch]

Tag Game

Thanks @moodandmist, @ileadacharmedlife, @cutestkilla, and @whatevertheweather for tagging me!

Three ships: Snowbaz, obviously, and they’re actually my first and so far only foray into active fandom / fanfic / conscious shipping.  

First ship: See above. Also I’m pretty sure Prince Caspian and the High King Peter boned in my childhood imagination, but there’s no proof.

Last movie: Emma (2020). Anya Taylor-Joy is great but I otherwise much preferred the 2009 adaptation. It had a better Mr. Knightley and felt much truer to the novel.

Currently watching: Nothin’

Currently reading: @stillmadaboutpetra’s raunchy bakery AU. Omg, the kittens.

Currently consuming: Irish tea with milk.

Currently craving: Warm breezes and flowering trees. The ability to go outside without bundling up.

Favourite colour: olive green, winey reds and purples, gray.

Last song I listened to: Not That Innocent by Britney Spears. Which I don’t think I’d ever deliberately listened to before, but @shemakesmeforget and @facewithoutheart gave me no choice. (I was a literal Catholic schoolgirl when that song dropped. It was intense.)

Sweet, savoury or spicy: I reject your flavor silos. Gimme salty dessert. Gimme sugary meat (like bastilla or stew with dried fruit or jammy barbecue). 

Currently working on: I’m editing a friend’s nonfiction book. One chapter discusses the transatlantic epistolary friendship / scientific partnership of Charles Darwin and American botanist Asa Gray. (In my mind they are in love, but the author refuses to turn his science history into Graydar slash.) And when not editing I am writing fake reviews “by Simon Snow” and working on a Baz POV fic.

I’ll tag @martsonmars and @mostlymaudlin (sorry if you went already and I missed it or just don’t wanna).

[polishksiezniczka]

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Fluff ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Il camerlengo deserves more love ❤

Notes: These take place in an AU where the Cardinal Strauss and Commander Richter are guilty of the attacks on the Vatican. 2K words.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

There are so many things about you Patrick adores: your beautiful, soft smile; the curiosity and warmth your eyes convey; the feminine lilt of your voice. But most of all, he loves you for your heart. The kindness you show towards others makes you an angel in his eyes.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why or why not?)

Despite his vocation to the priesthood, Patrick would love nothing more than to start a family with you. He views the love you share as a gift from God, not something that should be disgraced or vilified. The arbitrary man-made rules of the Church which prevent him from realizing this longing—your own little family—frustrate him to no end.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

With the utmost care and gentleness. He holds you against him, reverently stroking your hair, face, and body with his warm fingers. He especially loves to admire the suppleness of you, softly kissing each and every glorious inch he can reach. While these moments are few, they are precious to him.  

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Because your relationship with Patrick is technically “forbidden,” you can’t go on dates in the normal sense. When he can, Patrick will use the secret passage between the Vatican and Castel Sant’ Angelo to discretely travel to the outside world in order to visit you. Because you really can’t be seen alone with him, you instead spend time with Patrick in your apartment, often cooking dinner, talking, and just enjoying each other’s company. Even if you can’t confess your love to the world yet, all he desires is to spend every moment he can with you.

E = Everything [“You are my ____________.” (e.g. my life, my world)]

“You are my heart.”

“You are my treasure.”

“You are my life’s greatest blessing. You are a gift from God.”

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

When he imagined his life without you. The pain he felt even entertaining the notion was too much for him to bear. He knew he needed to tell you before it was too late.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

This is one of the main reasons you fell in love with Patrick—he is truly the gentlest soul you have ever met. He treats you as if you were a priceless relic, practically worshipping the ground you walk on and swearing to defend you from any harm. Not that he won’t stand up for what he believes—he is a fierce defender of his faith and possesses the ability to inspire millions with his commanding oratory. But the look of love in his eyes when you catch him watching you makes your heart flutter rapidly in your chest like a schoolgirl’s.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Secretly and with all the affection he can possibly give. He especially loves to brush his thumb across the back of your hand, squeeze them lightly, or bring them to his lips when they are intertwined. When you are alone together, he always wants to maintain this type of intimate contact.  

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When you first met Patrick, the always-charming young priest was left speechless. Not only was he enamored of your beauty, he was mesmerized by your intellect and eloquence. At first, he chided himself for such foolish and boy-like thoughts—he was a priest, after all! But after slowly getting to know you, he realized how much you embodied perfection to him: your poise, the uncommon kindness you showed to all those you met, your deep devotion to your Catholic faith. And you couldn’t help but feel the same strong attraction to him.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous much?)

Patrick is not the jealous type—he would never have any reason to be. Your love is built on trust and truthfulness, and he alone holds the key to your heart.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You were the first to kiss Patrick. You had gone to him for guidance after suffering a deeply personal anguish. His words were so gentle and reassuring, you couldn’t help but softly kiss his cheek in gratitude as tears slipped silently from your eyes. You were too numb to even feel ashamed, let alone prepare for Patrick’s response: taking your hand and kissing it lovingly, a gesture meant to assure you your feelings were reciprocated.

Because of Patrick’s profession and his constant presence in the public eye, you can’t be together as often as you’d like. But when you are, you nearly die and go to heaven from his mouth’s attentions alone. Patrick’s kisses are gentle, reverent, and full of love. He is never aggressive or rough; instead, he worships you with his lips, laying them everywhere like a starving man put before a feast.

L = Love (Who says I love you first?)

Patrick did. He was running to the helicopter to dispose of the antimatter chamber, willing to sacrifice his life for the safety of the faithful gathered in the Square and his beloved St. Peter’s. As he prepared to take off, he saw you standing on the steps at the entrance to the basilica, tears in your eyes. He silently mouthed to you, “I love you. Pray for me.” You were distraught but could do nothing but nod as tears clouded your vision and watch as he ascended from the plaza into the night sky.    

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

One night you begged Patrick to go for a walk around the city together, like a normal couple would. You couldn’t brush away the romantic childhood notions of strolling through Rome with your beloved. He finally acquiesced to your pleas (your doe eyes and breathy implorations being of great assistance to you) and the two of you slipped quietly out into the dusky night. You frolicked at the Trevi Fountain, gazed at the enormity of the Pantheon, and shared a sweet treat from the gelateria while nestled on a bridge overlooking the Tiber River. Although the ancient city was beautiful, the sight beside him was what truly took his breath away.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Priests are sworn to a life of poverty, so Patrick does not shower you with expensive presents (nor can he afford to). But none of that matters to you because all you care about is Patrick and your love for him. Of his few earthly possessions, Patrick gifted you his late mother’s golden crucifix necklace inlaid with emerald, despite your attempts to dissuade him. He gave you the look of utmost adoration and smiled. “Angelo mio, you are the only one worthy of wearing it.” You wear the necklace every day as a secret declaration of your love for Patrick.  

O = Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

There are two: light pink (it is your favorite color and the color of your favorite flower, the gardenia) and white. White symbolizes purity and peace, as it is the color of the angels, and to Patrick, you are his angel on Earth.  

P = Pet Names (What pet names do they use?)

Angelo mio (“my angel”); cuore mio (“my heart”); mi amore (my love); “beloved”; “dearest”; “my treasure” ; “sweetheart.”

Q = Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

His rosary, made of olive wood grown on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. It was a gift from His Holiness.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Ideally, he would spend the day curled up together on the sofa with you, reading, talking, or just basking in the other’s presence. Two mugs of tea and a plate of delectable pastries you had baked for him would sit on the table but would remain uneaten because of the sustenance you provide to each other. When he cannot be with you, he enjoys spending time in his study, doing research, reading Scripture, or writing his weekly homily.  

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Prayer—he always turns to God and the Saints for guidance.

Naturally, being by your side and in close physical contact immediately quells even his deepest fears. He relishes listening to your soft, sweet voice, lulling him into a sense of profound comfort and eventually, sleep.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Patrick is an intellectual at heart and loved the time he spent in seminary. He is incredibly well-versed in a variety of topics, including literature, history, science, music, art, philosophy, and theology. You could listen to him for hours and never lose interest.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

You. Patrick can be himself around you, let his guard down. He knows that he can tell you anything. Sometimes when he has a lot on his mind (responsibilities, the welfare of his Church, your future together), he simply gazes at you lovingly and observes the subtle movements you make when you’re engrossed in a task like cooking, reading, or playing the piano.

When he’s anxious and you are not around, prayer provides him a deep sense of comfort. He also relishes in your sweet scent—a small vial of your perfume you gifted him.  

V = Vaunt (How do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Vanity is a sin! 😉

But in secret, he loves showing off his Latin skills to you! You find it incredibly sensual when he speaks to you in that ancient tongue.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

On a dreamy spring night, Patrick led you up to a secret balcony near the base of St. Peter’s massive  dome—a hidden observatory shown to him by His Holiness when he was a young boy. The view is breathtaking; you can see the whole city bathed in golden light, the inky blue darkness above cut by the silver caresses of the moon. You turn to Patrick in complete awe and could hardly articulate how beautiful the view was. He pulls you close to him and whispers that he would be happy if he could never see this view again if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with you. You turned to him, overwhelmed with love, your breath hitching at the significance of his words. He then knelt down before you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, of all the blessings God has bestowed upon me, none is more precious than you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew that we were meant to be together, in this place and time.” His eyes were sincere and insistent, his tone earnest as he held your hands tighter and continued: “My mind told me that we could not be together, that my vows of celibacy and chastity forbid this. But my heart tells me that if a love so pure as ours exists, is it not a gift from God, meant to be treasured? And though I may not deserve to understand, all I wish to know and feel is my love for you.” His eyes shone softly with tears.  

“Y/N, my love, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and spend the rest of your life with me? Will you be my wife?”

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Patrick loves the ancient hymns from the early days of the Church, their melodies hauntingly beautiful yet powerful. “Ave Maria” also has a special place in his heart after he heard you singing it softly to yourself one evening while preparing dinner.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Every day! Patrick is so torn between the duties of his priesthood and his intense longing to spend the rest of his life as your husband. He prays to God often about this personal conflict, but finally decides to propose to you before Him alone, indifferent to anyone else’s judgement.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Because Patrick is so easygoing and affectionate, he would do really well with dogs.

Tag: @lemairepstuff @seraferna

[alarriefantasy]

Hi, all! So it seems that the wonderful AO3 user - objectlesson - aka on tumblr as - horsegirlharry - has sadly deleted their fics. I have only a few saved in my files, but there are some I would really love to possess, if anyone has them? I would really appreciate it if you would message me and let me know! :)

Also, I am posting the whole list of amazing stories they shared for our fandom, and I am marking (with an asterisk*) the ones that I have myself, in case anyone else would like them too! <3

Silver White Winters

by objectlesson

In which Louis catches a cloud and pins it down.

Words: 5106, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English

I Must Confess (I Still Believe)

by objectlesson

Louis shrugs, eyes on the road. “You look cute in the blazer, too,” she says nonchalantly, and what the fucking fuck, what is Harry supposed to think?

“You probably do, too, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t even think you own one? Do you ever actually wear the entire uniform?” she asks, deflecting.

“Not since freshman year!” Louis boasts proudly. “They stopped giving me demerits because it’s, like, a lost cause. I literally haven’t seen my blazer in three years, I just borrow Veronica’s when I walk into Mass.” Her grin is very cheeky and bright, and she’s squinting in the sun, aviators pushed up into the overgrown auburn shag of her hair. The horizon is hazy and pink-orange as dark sneaks up on them, the air smelling of sprinkler water and BBQ smoke from people leaching the last warmth of October before summer’s gone for good. Harry feels alive with possibility, eyes watering as she smiles at Louis, unable to stop. She wrinkles her nose like it’ll somehow hide the way it looks on her face to be in love.

Or, Harry is the new girl at an all girl Catholic Girl’s School, and Louis is the unattainable, dashing senior who changes her forever.

Words: 44304, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Powerless (and I Don’t Care It’s Obvious)

by objectlesson

“Oh no, Lou, don’t make me laugh,” he whimpers. His Ribena-purple mouth twists into a glorious, breakable shape, and Louis’s heart stops. He should not be getting turned on by Harry’s full-bladder discomfort, his little twitches, his hips-stuttering. And yet.

Words: 4090, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

The Pink Ghost of Princess Park

by objectlesson

The thought of the vibrator does not go away. It’s sitting there collecting dust all through January, and every time Harry and Louis have to leave town for a press event or a show or to record or what have you, they come back home, and it’s still there, the Pink Ghost of Princess Park, the fucking glittery haunting that Harry cannot stop thinking of Louis stuffing up his arse.

Words: 7556, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Life Saver

by objectlesson

Nerd Boy’s giant, dorky, adorable hand shoots into the air. Louis notices he has chipped red polish on a few of his nails and some tattered friendship-looking bracelets, like the sort you make in camp, and he might hear the distant chime of wedding bells. He thought he didn’t even believe in marriage because it’s, like, oppressive and heteronormative or whatever, but that was before Styles, Harry (Harry Styles!!! What an absurd, wonderful name! What a perfect thing to scrawl in the margins of all his notebooks surrounded in hearts!) appeared in the bio lab at his new school and ruined all his principles forever.

or, Louis is a sweetheart punk with a theater background and a heart of gold, Harry is an inexperienced nerd who plays by the rules. Classmates, lab partners, and eventually friends, what happens when Louis knows he’s in love, but doesn’t know how tell Harry?

Words: 14809, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Even Your Honey Dew

by objectlesson

It probably says something about Harry that he’s so obsessed with another omega’s arse.

Words: 9512, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

What a Heavenly Way To Die

by objectlesson

She’s thought about it a lot, and two big things seem to be holding her back, aside from the uncontrollable paralysis that overtakes her body every time she so much as tries to sneak a hand under the waistband of Harry’s knickers.

Or, Louis is afraid to do stuff to Harry, who has done a lot of stuff to her.

Words: 8052, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

A Firm Believer and a Warm Receiver

by objectlesson

a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactly surprised or anything.

But then, last week, Harry had his first heat, too.

Or, the omega/omega sleepover fic no one asked for but y'all really, really need.

Words: 10895, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

You’ll Know What Makes The World Turn

by objectlesson

Sometimes, when things are messy and they have more than a few weeks apart, they need the reminder. It’s comforting to have stars to map your course by.

or, Harry’s blue bandana is a day collar.

Words: 4624, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Sing You Butterflies

by objectlesson

Louis stares for a moment before some primal sympathetic force in him activates. He has to help this boy. He can hardly walk, and he seems so young (yet ageless, beyond age, like a sea turtle or a parrot or a tree or something else odd and magical), and on top of all that, he has body glitter clinging to his skin, like that roll-on stuff his sisters used to use as preteens, only pink-gold and twice as thick. It’s, like, professional grade. He’s also wearing grass- and dirt-stained pink silk women’s underwear, so maybe he’s from London. Maybe he’s a drag queen who crawled all the way from a nightclub in Soho just to save Louis from his horribly mundane and woefully heterosexual neighbours out here in the middle of nowhere.

or, Harry’s a clumsy unicorn who accidentally stomps on a witch’s garden and is turned into a human as punishment, so he wanders into a nearby village covered in glitter, still figuring out how to walk on two feet, and meets the fairy-tale-fine Louis, who has to teach him how to live as a human and stop him from eating soap.

Words: 22701, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Holy

by objectlesson

She deserves not to be so goddamned put together all the time. Being in the world’s biggest and highest exposure girlband means she’s never seen without a flat stomach, a spray tan, contouring, eyelash extensions, the whole of her body inescapably toned and plucked and waxed so frequently she genuinely forgot what fucking color her own pubes are. Louis wants to eat burgers and smoke weed and be twenty three. She wants to wake up with Harry and spend the whole day in bed fingering each other because they finally don’t have to have goddamn acrylic nails for once. She wants to grow her pubes out. She wants to lounge around in a posh, red-velvet High Hefner robe.

Or, Louis is dressed like a fucking queen, Harry’s begging please.

Words: 6608, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Only One I Dream Of: A Drabble Collection

by objectlesson

A collection of all the m/m One Direction drabbles and timestamps I’ve written on tumblr, so my readers on here aren’t missing out!

Words: 5164, Chapters: 5/13, Language: English

Diamonds in the Moonlight

by objectlesson

The 70s au where Harry is a rich girl stuck in the suburbs who thinks she loves Shaun Cassidy, and Louis is the skater who breaks into her backyard and changes everything forever.

Words: 16136, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

In the Heat of the Night

by objectlesson

“You’re sleeping with me, obviously,” Harry says then, pausing to regard Louis with a funny expression, nose wrinkled and brows drawn tight. “Don’t tell me you thought that I’d let you freeze out here!? Absolutely not! C’mon, the bedroom’s cozy, I dragged a space heater out.”

Louis wants to protest about as badly as she wants to sleep next to Harry Styles, which is a lot. Too much.

Or, Louis is the only butch in London with a truck and Harry needs to move a couch.

Words: 7726, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Once Upon a Dream

by objectlesson

“M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay. ”

Harry shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, because he can’t fucking say no to Louis.

Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

Words: 16643, Chapters: ½, Language: English

From Now Until Forever

by objectlesson

The girls go to Britney Nite and Louis wears Juicy track pants and Harry is not ok.

Niall takes the pint glass back from Harry and takes a swig, regarding her over the rim knowingly. “You’re nervous,” she observes with a grin. “Because you’re gonna get drunk at a gay bar with Louis, and you haven’t told her yet that you wanna marry her.”

“Oh, my god, stop,” Harry scolds, hiding her face in her hands, everything suddenly hot and shivery. “It’s not that,” she adds, even though it most definitely is.

“Then…you’re excited to see Louis in a schoolgirl skirt and bra? Covered in that body glitter that smells like cotton candy?” Niall presses, waggling her eyebrows, making Harry blush at the mere thought of Louis’s golden skin shimmering and sticky under club lights.

Words: 9223, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Hello, Heaven (you are tunnel-lined with yellow lights

by objectlesson

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, playing dumb as he helps Louis out of his coat before hanging it up. “A new phone charger? Mine’s still broken, the electrical tape didn’t work.”

Louis makes a face at him, all arched brows and tongue pressed into cheek. “Oh a phone charger? Is that what you need?” he quips lightly, voice high and lilting in this sing-song way that’s so, so high and gentle that it’s scary. He’s putting on a show for Harry, and Harry’s thrilled with it, already shivery and hot-cheeked because Louis got him something naughty, and they’re talking about it without really talking about it, wrapping it up in layers of mundanity and domesticity, still so excited to play the role of two Adults living in their new Adult flat in London that they bought with their own money from the X Factor. Harry’s living an unimaginably glamourous life so suddenly, and Louis and his gifts are right in the middle of it, the heart of his every dream.

Or, Louis buys Harry things sometimes.

Words: 2988, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Dream About That Casual Touch

by objectlesson

And that was the first thing Louis noticed about her. Not her nipples, or not only her nipples, anyway, but the fact that she was so confident with her body and didn’t seem to care that her tits were sort of soft and floppy and uneven or that she had a little roll of pudge around her hips that poked over the top of her jeans when she wore crop tops. She wore what she wanted to wear whether or not it was in fashion or technically even flattering; her hair was always messy, she only wore makeup half the time, and she seemed to like heeled boots even if she was already fairly tall and they made her tower over the boys. Louis always thought it was so fucking sexy how unconcerned Harry seemed with what people thought of her, how comfortable she was in her own skin. That by itself seemed like a sort-of gay thing, so Louis kept a remote, careful eye on her, hoping to one day see something else that blipped her radar.

Or, Louis and Harry fuck up two dates before they finally get it right.

Words: 7678, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Smoke Dreams from Smoke Rings

by objectlesson

“When I get a craving?” Louis says, “You have to help me chase it away. Distract me”

Oh. Harry can think of about one hundred different ways to distract Louis Tomlinson. One hundred better uses for his mouth, for example. “Erm,” he squeaks, well aware of the fact that he’s grinning and dimpling and blushing all at once, his whole face a suddenly mortifying warzone of transparent emotion. “How?”

“By hitting my arm as hard as you can,” Louis announces, holding out the arm in question. It bridges the gap between them, stiff and expectant, and Harry stares, not entirely sure if Louis’s being serious, if this is some prank that he isn’t clever enough to understand, or if the promise of touching Louis under any circumstances is so titillating that he just can’t process it. Louis rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie then, revealing his pale inner arm in maddening increments, pushing Harry somewhere between drooling and vomiting, he isn’t sure which. He just knows that his mouth is flooded, and the barely-there ghost of Louis’s veins through his skin is the prettiest thing that he’s ever seen. “Go on, hit me,” Louis orders. “Don’t be shy,”

or, Louis enlists Harry to help him with his bad habit.

Words: 18116, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Black Stars and Endless Seas

by objectlesson

Or, A Star Trek Original Series AU where Lt. Styles is a young science officer on his first away mission, and Louis is the headstrong ensign assigned to his security detail, and maybe they would be able to function together professionally in a normal setting, but not when their shuttlecraft crash-lands and they end up marooned together on an improbably and unfairly beautiful planet.

Words: 32246, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English

Rose Garden Dreams

by objectlesson

Harry thinks it’s a fever-induced delirium, at first. After all, she’s been sick in bed for a full forty-eight hours following the Best and Most Important beach trip of her entire life because fate is a cruel and jealous bitch who doesn’t want Harry to go on a date with the girl of her dreams.

or, Harry is sick and Louis comes to visit her.

Words: 9464, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Palms Reflecting in Your Eyes

by objectlesson

Harry visits Louis at his campus and finds a crop on the wall.

Words: 6496, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Wrap You Up in Daisy Chains

by objectlesson

Ten minutes later, an awkward, long-legged, curly-haired, so pale she’s reflective, and so obviously gay-looking Harry Styles is sitting shotgun next to Louis in a bikini, denim cut-offs, and heart-framed sunnies.

Or, Harry and Louis and a too-small bathing suit.

Words: 10613, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

To Keep the Night From Ending

by objectlesson

It doesn’t always feel real to kiss in the dark, Harry guesses. He wants it to feel real. He wants it to be the realest thing, burnt indelibly into his skin.

Or, Harry and Louis take a night swim.

Words: 5036, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Good Enough to Eat

by objectlesson

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, shuffling. “You won’t give me shit for it? It’s sorta weird.”

“No,” Louis breathes. “Promise.”

“Okay. I just…fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. “So, like…I love rimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” he admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled.

It takes Louis a few seconds to process, to mentally rifle through his Pornhub search history and remember what rimming even is; Harry has him so stupid he can’t keep stuff straight. His ears ring, and then it hits him, and, oh, fuck. His stomach turns and tightens so quickly he’s gasping, an audible and shameful scrape of air in the dark. “You…really?” he chokes out.

Or, Harry is convinced he’s never gonna be able to try his favorite porn fantasy on a real boy, and Louis offers to remedy this.

Words: 6722, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Grenadine Sunshine

by objectlesson

Harry’s only sixteen, it shows right now, and Louis wants…he wants so many things. He wants to taste the faint, sugary ghost of lip gloss, he wants to cup Harry’s face between his palms and swipe the shimmery wet shadows from beneath his eyes. He wants to show him everything he knows, even though he doesn’t know anything about this, about kissing boys or flirting with them or doing their makeup or even showing them it’s okay to want to wear makeup in the first place. Still, Louis just wants, wants and wants and wants. It’s what Harry does to him.

Words: 18067, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Only Angel

by objectlesson

Louis pops his hip out, looking down at Harry from beneath the cut of his fringe sassily. “How do I look?”

Harry…Harry doesn’t have words, not really. He sits there on the floor with a half-hard cock, gazing up at this taller, scarier version of Louis with wide eyes. “Like I want you to spin-kick me in the face,” he admits after a moment, shakily inhaling. “You look…really good.”

Or, Louis finds a pair of heels that fit, and Harry wants to be ruined, as per usual.

Words: 6599, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Someone Who Knows How To Ride

by objectlesson

Harry gives Louis a lap dance. Or, at least, he tries to.

Words: 5114, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Copper Kiss

by objectlesson

Harry’s not allowed to fly back to the UK without marks to remember Louis by.

Words: 4604, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

You Drive Me Crazy ( I Just Can’t Sleep)

by objectlesson

The first time Louis ends up in Harry’s bed is a total accident.

Words: 18520, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Christmas Without You

by objectlesson

It’s Christmas Eve and Harry misses Louis so badly he might be going little crazy.

Words: 5639, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Vinyl and Lace

by objectlesson

Harry tries on a skirt in the X Factor dressing room as a joke. Louis doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Words: 7541, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Touch of My Hand

by objectlesson

Words: 3104, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Tour Bus Sex, Bus Sex, PWP, Up All Night Tour, Uan era, Canon Compliant, baby boyfriends in love, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Established Relationship

Born to Make You Happy

by objectlesson

Harry makes a quiet vow to himself that he will be the very best girlfriend Louis has ever had, even if he never actually gets to be Louis’s girlfriend.

Words: 25662, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Taste of a Poison Paradise

by objectlesson

Louis notices Harry’s mouth right away.

Words: 9894, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

A Little Love (is better than none)

by objectlesson

It’s supposed to be no strings attached sex, but Harry’s in love with beauty and tragedy and Louis Tomlinson so there might actually a few strings they’re not talking about.

Or, alternately, the four times they fuck and don’t kiss, and one time they fuck and do (with a few more times thrown in because I’m a mess and know how to write short fics).

Words: 15074, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Take Me Under the Blue

by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction. 

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It��s sort of a long story.

Words: 19011, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

[missjanjie]

68W with Crygi would be adorable. Also I don’t know if we have a name for it so excuse if this is the wrong categorisation but 4Z or 5Z with sportsdoll in the catholic schoolgirl Jan/accidentally summoned demon Nicky au?

ok so, i may have misread this massively and thats my fault, as for some reason i got mixed up and thought you were talking about the jan/nicky/crystal schoolgirl/demon au i wrote a little while back and ended up writing a continuation of that. whoopsie

5. “Well, I’ve got nothing left to lose.” / Z. Other

-

“Crystaaaaaaal,” Jan whined, hanging upside down off of her bed. “I’m bored. I can’t sleep.”

Crystal sighed and sat up. It was three in the morning during one of their weekend ‘sleepovers’ and, admittedly not surprisingly, neither of them had any desire to actually sleep. “Me too,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “What d’you wanna do?”

“Well…” Jan pulled herself upright. “I was thinking… maybe we could summon Nicky again.”

Her brows rose. It had been nearly a month since the encounter in the bathroom and neither of them had stopped thinking about it. How could they? It was the single hottest thing they had experienced in their young lives and while they were perfectly happy with their sex life, they had been chasing that high ever since. “Well, I’ve got nothing left to lose,” she decided after a moment.

Jan perked right up and got out of bed, rifling through her drawer until she found the bra Nicky had etched the summoning spell into. She turned her lamp on and sat on the edge of her bed, whispering the incantation. But nothing happened, leaving both of them perplexed.

“Wait!” Crystal suddenly perked up. “Last time you summoned her, we were fucking, so just like, moan while you say it.”

“That… actually makes sense,” she conceded, this time reading the chant through breathy moans, which Crystal helped elicit by sucking on her neck and rubbing her clit through her pajama shorts.

This time, the room went pitch black, and when the lamp flickered back on, that and the moonlight brought Nicky into their field of vision. “It worked!” the two of them whispered excitedly.

Nicky smirked and looked the two of them over. “Janice, Crystal, long time no see,” she purred. “To what do I owe the honor of your summons?”

“We were bored.”

“And horny.”

Nicky laughed softly. “They’re always so honest at this age,” she mused. “Very well, I’ve got time to kill,” she decided, unzipping her little black dress and letting it pool around her ankles, stepping out of her pumps and removing her bra and panties as well, then looked at the two expectantly. “Well? Don’t make me wait.”

Jan and Crystal scrambled to get out of their pajamas, tossing them aside, then looked up at Nicky for her guidance.

“So cute,” she chuckled. “You, on your back,” she said to Crystal, then turned to Jan. “You, all fours,” she instructed, then waited for them to oblige. She got up behind Jan. “You take care of your girlfriend while I make you feel good,” she purred before licking a slow stripe along her folds.

Jan let out a moan, but was quick to follow her instructions, nestling her head between Crystal’s thighs, going right to work licking and sucking on her clit, though it was a bit hard to focus with the sensation of Nicky’s serpent tongue thrusting inside of her with otherworldly skill.

Crystal didn’t mind, she laid back and moaned, tangling her hand in Jan’s hair to help guide her, pressing her hips up to urge her on.

Nicky smirked, listening to how the two girls whimpered and whined while she focused her attention on getting Jan off. And it wasn’t long after that that she could feel her body jerking and trembling and she held her tight so she could ride out her orgasm. “Good girl. Go on, focus on making Crystal come,” she gently coached her.

And Jan obliged as eagerly as she’d been the whole time, using her tongue and fingers to work her girlfriend over the edge, humming in satisfaction and easing off once she was certain she was spent. “Gosh, I think once we’re done with school, we’ll be summoning you a lot more.”

“Yes, once you get past the sacrilege of it all,” Nicky chuckled. “Either way, you know how to find me.”

[writeofmind]

Miss Roseanne Park is really that kind of person that goes to church every Sunday and loved by all karens but also kneels before you because she wants to be a good girl for you. 🥺 -💕 Ps: maybe I’m hallucinating a catholic boarding school au for Miss Roseanne...

we have the same dirty mind then, anonnie, bc not to give ~spoilers ~ but that’s what my plan was for the schoolgirl au LOL

[emotchalla]

Tempt You - I.

A/N: Hello it’s me your neighborhood “I will have as many WIPs as I want” ass bitch back at it again with a new fic! I have not been enough of a Peaky Blinders whore on this blog and that is unfortunate because this show has owned my ass for the past 3 years. I’m particularly obsessed with one Mr. Michael Gray, and this AU is actually my own personal headcannon I’ve had stewing around in my brain for a while. It’s also loosely based on the summer I studied abroad in London and my desire to go back there! (This version of the reader is very very similar to me.) I got inspired to jot some sentences down a few days ago, and while I was traveling this weekend a bunch of it just sprawled out of me and well, here you go! This fic is inspired by “Tempt You (Evocatio)” by Nothing But Thieves, which you can listen to here. I suggest listening to the song at some point in this fic because it’s pretty integral to the way I see Michael’s perspective on this relationship. Alright let me shut up so you can get on with reading. 

**All my works are written with a Black or POC reader in mind, because I am one myself, but all readers welcome!**

Pairing: Modern!Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

Summary: Modern!Michael Gray AU. Michael Gray has everything he wants. He’s the owner and senior partner of his own law firm; he’s paved his own path away from the family business. He’s past the wild, drunken nights and cocaine benders, the bloody noses and knife wounds and the fucking Catholics. And then he meets you. Suddenly Michael realizes that he doesn’t have everything after all. 

Warnings: Swearing, Excessive flirting, Sexual tension, Michael gives off very strong sugar daddy vibes, Fluff...for now

Word Count: 3.2k+

series masterlist | main masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here | listen to “tempt you (evocatio)” here

There are a pair of eyes watching you. Warm, bright, and the prettiest shade of green with flecks of blue and gold and brown too. They’re curious eyes, ones that have been on you sine the stranger they belong to entered the Starbucks across the street from your job. He smiles softly as he watches you watch him observe you. You look up to catch his gaze and he winks. Shit. You quickly look back down at the script in front of you. You can still feel the heat of his stare as you pretend to study your lines, neglecting the obvious truth that you’d been distracted by this man from the moment he walked in. 

He’s beautiful. Dangerously so, unbridled youth mixed with the right touch of reckless mischief, and a hint of danger. He’s more than his suit suggests he is. He all but smells of wealth, and your eyes glaze over with the thought of how much money it might have cost to buy that dark blue Giorgio Armani suit and sleek black Rolex. You’ve been watching him too. He clearly takes care of himself and seems to enjoy doing it. You can picture it all: the fancy tailors, exclusive barbers, personal drivers and chauffeurs, a butler, even. What you wouldn’t give to have a life light that, to not worry about your next meal or skip out on A/C for the summer to split your rent costs in half. You dropped nearly everything to move to London, and the job you’d secured at Shakespeare’s Globe wasn’t enough for you tp pay for rent and grad school tuition. You let yourself get lost in the fantasy you’ve created about this stranger, the idea of being able to live comfortably. It’s something you desire with every part of you. 

You bite your lip as you daydream, oblivious to the fact that the stranger has left his table and approached yours. He stands and watches you for a second, amused by how easily you seem to preoccupy yourself. You’re not like other women he’s met, he knows that already. And he’s quickly overcome by the desire to know everything there is to know about you, from your favorite movies to the way you take your tea. You sigh as you start to upset yourself with so much wishful thinking, causing the stranger to chuckle, a deep rumble vibrating through his chest. You jerk your head up toward the sound to be met with those beautiful green eyes, except they’re right across from you.

“Hello,” he says with a soft smile.

“H-Hi,” you stammer, completely caught off guard.

He’s even prettier up close. He gestures toward your neglected script.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot of lines to memorize. You’re an actor, then?”

You nod.

“Yes,” you answer. “Well, trying to be,” you correct.

He frowns.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m in school for acting, but I haven’t done much actual work apart from the scenes I’m assigned in class. I’m prepping for an audition, actually.”

You cut yourself off before you start to ramble, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind. He looks at you expectantly, like he wants to know if you’ve finished your thought. You bite your lip to hold back the sea of worries threatening to push back your lips. This man doesn’t need to know how terrified you are about auditioning, the possibility that all of this—applying to RADA, getting accepted, moving to London, all of it—would end up being a massive failure.

“You’re an actor if you act, yeah?” he asks, and your heart flutters at the kindness in his voice.

“Y-Yeah, I guess you’re right.” you say, aiming to infuse more confidence in your voice. 

He’s intimidating, but you won’t fold that easily. 

“I often am,” he hums before gesturing toward the seat across from yours. “May I join you?”

You almost do a double take. 

“Me?” you ask, not bothering to hide the shock in your voice.

The stranger smiles at you.

“Yes, you,” he answers, giving you that same smile.

“Sure.”

He slides the chair out from under the table before seating himself across from you.

“What play are you auditioning for?”

“Hamlet at the RSC,” you begin. “One of my professors at RADA knows the director and she told me that she thinks I may have a shot at being cast. I think it’s a fucking long shot but she’s scarily confident in me so I’m pushing myself to do it even though I’m terrified and—oh my god I’m so sorry! I was about to start going off the rails.”

He shakes his head. Up until you stopped yourself he’d been hanging on to your every word. 

“Don’t apologize, Miss…” he falters.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I completely forgot to tell you my name.”

“It’s quite alright, Miss Y/N. I neglected to tell you mine as well,” he chuckles.

Almost immediately, you feel a familiar heat building in the pit of your stomach with the sound of his laugh. There’s no denying how attractive he is. You’d be kidding yourself to even try.

“I’m Michael,” he says, extending a hand across the table.

You reach out to shake it, but he pulls your hand toward his mouth instead, pressing a kiss to the skin. 

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N,” he murmurs before releasing your hand from his grip.

Those green eyes are still fixed on yours and you resist the urge to flush and giggle uncontrollably like a schoolgirl. He’s a charmer, this one. You echo his pleasure of making your acquaintance, and Michael nods toward your script again. 

“What part are you auditioning for?”

You frown and look down at your hands. Should you tell him? Would he laugh and tell you that you were right to worry? Would he shake his head and wish you luck, pitying you all the while?”

“Y/N?” he calls.

You look up to find his eyes still fiercely trained on you. 

“What part are you auditioning for, love?”

“Hamlet,” you whisper. then brace yourself for his laughter.

Michael only looks at you with that curious interest from before.

“You must be quite the actress, then.”

That was not what you were expecting him to say.

“Huh?”

Michael smiles softly at you. He was right about you being different. Here you were, probably one of the most talented people he had ever met, and he can’t detect an ounce of arrogance from you. It was a nice change of pace from the world he was used to—one filled with people who would do anything to get ahead, even if that mean destroying a life. You’re nothing like that. You’re kind, humble. A touch insecure, he can tell, but adorably soft around the edges. You remind him of beautiful summer nights in the country, scenes from his boyhood after the orphanage, before he became a man committed only to his business. You’re something akin to home. 

“You got into RADA, did you not?” Michael asks.

You nod.

“And you’re not from here, yeah?”

Michael already knows this but he wants to hear where you’re from, from your own mouth. 

“No, from the States,” you answer. “Chicago.”

“Ahh, the Windy City,” he hums. “One of my favorites.”

This makes your eyes light up and the smile that crosses your lips is stunning. Michael decides right there that he wants to make you do that many, many times. 

“When’s the last time you’ve been?” you ask.

“It’s been too long, I’m afraid. Although, I’ve been looking for a reason to go back.”

You don’t miss the subtle drop in his voice, the veiled suggestive nature imbedded within. You dare to look in his eyes and find that they’re just as intense as before, but there’s something else hidden there. A desire that matches yours.

“Well, if you feel inspired to take a visit, I think you should. Who knows, we could see each other there, too.”

“I’d quite like that,” he says, and his gaze is so intense that you have to break away to look anywhere else. Just for a moment. You reach toward your teacup to find it empty. You must have drained it earlier without recognizing. 

“Would you like another one?”

You look up to find Michael nodding at your empty teacup.

“Oh, Michael, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

He smirks at you before reaching across the table to grab the empty cup from your hands. 

“I promise you, Y/N, it won’t set me back. It’s just a cup of tea, love.”

You nod, unable to meet his beautiful eyes. You don’t know if he’s trying to woo you on purpose but he’s doing a damned good job regardless.

“Thank you, Michael,” you manage to mutter.

He smiles at you again.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

Michael knows the answer to this as well. He’d noticed your teacup and your head buried in that script as soon as he walked in, but he doesn’t want to let on how he’d been taken with you almost immediately. Not yet. 

“No,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “I needed the caffeine to power through these lines but I kind of forgot about food if I’m being honest.”

Michael nods. He’ll have to work on that with you. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You watch as he walks toward the front counter, peering at the pastries behind a glass case before heading to the register. You watch the barista at the register blush as Michael opens his mouth to order, and you fight to suppress a giggle at the bored expression on his face. He knows how attractive he is; you’re sure of that. You wonder how often he encounters people who forget how to function when he’s around. 

Michael’s eyes find yours as he waits for your order, and he shoots a boyish wink at you before gesturing toward your lines. You shake your head and mock yawn. He grins. He’s just as eager to get back to the table and keep talking to you as you are for him to return. You relax into your seat as you watch him and sigh contentedly. You have no idea what the hell is going on, but you’re not complaining. Michael watches impatiently as the same barista from earlier fumbles her way through your order. Poor girl; you’d probably react just the same if you were in her place. She keeps batting her eyelashes and asking if he needs anything, to which he huffs in annoyance and scowls at her. It’s a reluctant game of cat and mouse, and you wonder if Michael might not be fond of attention. Eventually, the barista is able to get your order together, and you watch Michael pull a twenty pound note out of his wallet to slide across the counter to her. She all but faints at the sight of it, and you shake your head as Michael rolls his eyes and starts toward you. 

“I apologize for whatever the hell that was,” he greets, setting a fresh cup of tea and a chocolate-filled croissant in front of you.

“I thought it was cute. You’re cute when you’re flustered, that is,” you say, already reaching for the croissant.

Michael’s eyes are bright as he smirks at you.

“You think I’m cute?”

You roll your eyes at him.

“You obviously know you are.”

He chuckles. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever considered myself ‘cute’ in my life,” he jokes, relief settling into his skin as he watches you eat. 

“Well you can lie to yourself all you want but I said what I said.”

Michael’s eyebrows raise. So you have got a mouth on you after all. 

“Oh, is it like that?”

You watch as his tongue darts out to lick along his bottom lip and briefly lose yourself at the thought of having that same tongue somewhere else. 

“Thank you for entertaining the obviously infatuated barista to get me something to eat,” you say sincerely, and the mood shifts.

You are so unbelievably sweet, Michael thinks. He wants to corrupt you. Not yet, he tells himself. Not yet. Michael asks you more about how you made it to London, and you talk him through the whirlwind of your life post-undergrad. You had always intended on becoming a professional actor, but the road was hard and nothing was certain. You’d bounced around between part-time jobs to help your dad around the house as you transitioned into postgrad life, but you knew that wasn’t where you wanted to be. In your sophomore year of college, you got the opportunity to study Shakespeare in London for the summer and since then, you’d wanted to return: for grad school this time. You went out on a limb and applied to the Royal Academy of the Dramatic Arts—one of the hardest acting schools in London, let alone the world, to get into—and by some grace of god, you were admitted. You moved at once. Packed up your few belongings and took a one-way flight to London, your fancy new student visa gripped tightly in your hand. You wormed your way into a position as an administrative assistant at Shakespeare’s Globe, but had yet to land an acting gig whose stipend might help ease the burden of your constantly accumulating bills. You were one of the only Americans in your program, and while you were well-liked, you felt like you always had to prove yourself. It was a lot of pressure. 

“No wonder you’re so stressed about this audition,” Michael mutters, his beautiful face set in a frown.

You shrug. 

“If I get it, it’ll be amazing but if not I’ll figure something out. I have to.”

You look down at your teacup, keeping your eyes trained on the dark liquid to prevent budding tears from falling. Michael sighs. He takes the time to think about what he’s planning to offer, and measures his words. He doesn’t want to scare you off, but he wants to help. 

“Y/N, I—”

A shrill ring cuts him off. Michael rolls his eyes and pulls a cell phone from his pocket. He taps the screen before pressing it to his ear.

“Gray,” he answers.

You watch as he gets pulled into what is obviously a work call. He glances over at your half-eaten croissant.

Eat, he mouths.

“So bossy,” you whisper, picking up the pastry.

Brat, he mouths again, watching you start to eat the rest of the croissant. His assistant, Finn—also his younger cousin—was calling to remind him about a meeting with a client he’d definitely forgotten, and he couldn’t be bothered to care about it when you were sat in front of him. 

“I’ll be back to the office soon, Finn,” he groans. “We can talk about it there.”

Finn must say something snarky because Michael laughs before muttering ‘fuck off,’ and hanging up. 

“Sorry about that, love,” he apologizes. 

You shake your head.

“You’re a busy man I assume?”

He chuckles to himself. 

“You don’t know the half of it.”

You take the last bite of your croissant, and Michael hums to himself, happy that you’ve gotten something on your stomach. He clears his throat.

“I wanted to ask you something, Y/N.”

You smile at him before taking a sip of tea.

“Shoot.”

“What would you say if I offered to help out with your bills?”

You nearly choke on your tea.

“If you what?”

“Well, I was thinking earlier—when you were talking about school and making rent—that if I helped you out with that bit, things could be a little easier on you.”

He blushes crimson when he says it, green eyes searching yours. You shake your head.

“Michael, I could never pay you back for that.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I want to help you, Y/N.”

You sigh. 

“Can I…can I think about it? This is all a little…”

“Overwhelming?” he suggests.

“Yes,” you breathe. 

He smiles at you. 

“Take all the time you need, love.”

He reaches across the table to take your hand in his. 

“Let me build you something better, Y/N,” he whispers. 

You know that if you look into his eyes right now you will combust. You need to relieve the tension somehow. 

“You know,” you joke. “Sugar daddies are supposed to be old.”

Michael roars with laughter and you can’t help but giggle along wit him as people’s heads turn in your direction, the entirety of Starbucks now focused on your table tucked in the back corner. Even the flirty barista watches the two of you, eyeing your hand clasped in Michael’s, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin. 

“Is that what I’d be?” he asks, amused.

You giggle again.

“Pretty much.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m much more of a ‘sir’ than a ‘daddy,’ but I’ll play your game, sweet thing.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as his words take their effect on you. You look up to find him watching you, awaiting your next move. Before you can respond, his phone cuts through the conversation again.

“Fucking hell, Finn,” he growls, before he silences the ringer. 

“Can I see you again?” he asks, eyes back on yours. 

“I’d like that.”

“What are you doing Saturday night?”

A small smile crosses your lips as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Going out with you.”

He grins at you before pulling his hand away from yours to grab his phone. He hands it to you. 

“Put your number in there. I’ll text you.”

You nod and type in your number before handing the phone back to him. He moves to stand up from the table, and your disappointment must show on your face because he smiles down at you. 

“I gotta head back to the office before Finn bloody tracks me down and drags me there himself,” he apologizes, reaching for the suit jacket he’d strung across the back of the chair.

You watch the fabric of his shirt flex and stretch around taut muscle as he shrugs the jacket on, and Michael doesn’t miss the way your teeth graze that plump bottom lip of yours. He’s just as attracted to you as you are to him, and he wants to tell Finn to piss off and spend the rest of the day chauffeuring you around the city and spoiling you absolutely rotten. It’s been a long time since he’s wanted someone like this, and Michael is thrilled that it’s you. He reaches down to cup your cheek in his hand.

“I’ll text you, yeah?”

You nod. Michael pulls away from you and gets his wallet from his pocket. He pulls out a business card and slides it over to you. He gives you one last wink before he’s gone, out of the Starbucks and into the busy London afternoon. You bring your teacup to your lips. The liquid inside has since grown cold but there’s a fire ablaze within you. Michael fucking Gray.

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[didanawisgi]

written by Terry Newman

“Remember when the scariest kid in your neighborhood was the football jock who terrorized the high school with his minions in tow, and got bailed out by his rich parents when he went too far? Or it was the gothic malcontent with the switchblade and the swagger. Either way, what made these high-status alphas so terrifying was that they came at you in numbers. They travelled in packs. This has been our narrative, in the stories we tell—from Henry Bowers in Stephen King’s It, to Biff Tannen in Back to the Future, to Billy Hargrove in Stranger Things, central-casting bullies attracted followers. They belonged.

As any grade eight schoolgirl who’s been bullied off Instagram can attest, this stereotype still holds. But when it comes to the most dangerous and sociopathic actors, the opposite is true. All three of the young mass shooters who terrorized the United States in recent nationally reported scenes of carnage—Connor Betts in Dayton, Ohio; Patrick Crusius in El Paso, Texas; and Santino William Legan in Gilroy, California—acted alone. The old image of the bully as locker-room alpha or goth leader now seems passé. Often, it is the kid who used to be the fictional protagonist, the social outcast, the member of the Losers Club from It, whose face now appears on our screens with a nightmarish empty stare.

These recent shooters fit a similar profile. They were outsiders, all seemingly socially awkward, who became emboldened through fringe online communities that act as mutual-support societies for violent malcontents. This phenomenon is fuelled by hate, guns, mental illness and ideological extremism. But there is another factor at play here, too. Before a youth makes the decision to murder, before the gun is stashed in his backpack, before his state of mental health is so deteriorated that he commits the unthinkable, what has happened to him? It’s important to remember that these murders are also, in most cases, suicides.

In his 2008 article School Shooting as a Culturally Enforced Way of Expressing Suicidal Hostile Intentions, psychiatrist Antonio Preti summarized existing research on school shootings to the effect that “suicidal intent was found in most cases for which there was detailed information on the assailants.” The research also indicated that “among students, homicide perpetrators were more than twice as likely as their victims to have been bullied by their peers, and also were described as loners and poorly integrated into school activities…In most of the ascertained cases, perpetrators prepared a well-organized plan, and often communicated details about it to acquaintances or friends, who failed to report threats because they did not consider them serious or were embarrassed or ignorant of where to go for help. The most antisocial peers sometimes approved the plan, sharing the same anger against the stated target of violence.”

Preti’s article predated the rise of some of the most notorious web sites—including 8chan, which was shut down this week after several mass shootings were linked to its users. But the nihilistic phenomenon these killers represent predates modern social-media culture. Indeed, it predates digital communication, and even broadcast media more generally.

In 1897, French sociologist Émile Durkheim noted that suicides overall were increasing in society. But there were differences among the affected populations, he noticed. Men were more likely than women to commit suicide—though the chances decreased if the man was married and had children. Durkheim observed that social groups that were more religious exhibited lower suicide rates. (Catholics were less likely to commit suicide than Protestants, for instance.) Durkheim also noted that many people who killed themselves were young, and that the prevalence of such suicides was linked to their level of social integration: When a person felt little sense of connection or belonging, he could be led to question the value of his existence and end his life.

Durkheim labelled this form of suicide as “anomic” (others being “egoistic,” “altruistic” and “fatalistic”). Durkheim believed that these feelings of anomie assert themselves with special force at moments when society is undergoing social, political or economic upheaval—especially if such upheavals result in immediate and severe changes to everyday life.

Durkheim came from a long line of devout Jews. His father, grandfather and great grandfather had all been rabbis. And so even though he chose to pursue an academic career, his experiences taught him to respect the mental and psychological support that religious communities supplied to their members, as well as the role that ritual plays in the regulation of social behavior. In the absence of such regulation, he believed, individuals and even whole societies were at risk of falling into a state of anomie, whereby common values and meanings fall by the wayside. The resulting void doesn’t provide people with a sense of freedom, but rather rootlessness and despair.

Durkheim’s thesis has largely stood the test of time, though other scholars have reformulated it for modern audiences. In his 1955 book The Sane Society, for instance, Erich Fromm wrote that, “in the nineteenth century, the problem was that God is dead. In the twentieth century, the problem is that man is dead.” He described the twentieth century as a period of “schizoid-self alienation,” and worried that men would destroy “their world and themselves because they cannot stand any longer the boredom of a meaningless life.”

In her 2004 book Rampage: The Social Roots of School Shootings, Katherine Newman described findings gleaned from over 100 interviews in Arkansas and Kentucky. The male adolescent shooters at the center of her study, she concluded, “shared a belief that demonstrating strength by planned attacks on their respective institutions with (too) easily available guns would somehow mitigate their unbearable feelings of inadequacy as males and bring longed-for respect from peers.” Ten years later, in a 2014 article titled The Socioemotional Foundations of Suicide: A Microsociological View of Durkheim’s Suicide, sociologists Seth Abrutyn and Anna Mueller set out to update Durkheim’s theory about how social integration and moral regulation affect suicidality. “The greater degree to which individuals feel they have failed to meet expectations and others fail to ‘reintegrate’ them, the greater the feelings of shame and, therefore, anomie,” they concluded. “The risk of suicidal thoughts, attempts, and completions, in addition to violent aggression toward specific or random others, is a positive function of the intensity, persistence, and pervasiveness of identity, role, or status-based shame and anomie.”

Writing in the 1890s, Durkheim was highly conscious of all the ways that industrial capitalism corroded traditional forms of social regulation in society, often at the expense of religious—and even governmental—authorities. (“Depuis un siècle, en effet, le progrès économique a principalement consisté à affranchir les relations industrielles de toute réglementation. Jusqu’à des temps récents, tout un système de pouvoirs moraux avait pour fonction de les discipliner…En effet, la religion a perdu la plus grande partie de son Empire. Le pouvoir gouvernemental, au lieu d’être le régulateur de la vie économique, en est devenu l’instrument et le serviteur.”) But if he were to visit us in 2019, Durkheim would be surprised at the extent to which once-dominant ideas with no connection to economics have been marginalized as regressive and hateful—such as nationalism, patriotism and even masculinity.

This is one reason why so many people now feel unmoored. As Canadian science fiction writer Donald Kingsbury eloquently put it in his novel Courtship Rite, “Tradition is a set of solutions for which we have forgotten the problems. Throw away the solution and you get the problem back.” Faith in god, country and manhood might be seen as regressive by modern lights. But insofar as they were holding back male anomie, we perhaps neglected to consider what damage would be done if we discredited those ideas before finding replacements.

In the history of our species, there has never been (to the knowledge of modern scholars) a human society that did not express belief in some sort of supernatural force—which suggests that we are programmed by a need to believe in something bigger than ourselves. Sociologist Max Weber warned in 1919 that “science deals with facts. It can’t tell us what to do or what’s important.” This is to say that while the scientific revolution did a good job of helping us explain and harness the natural world, it did nothing to fill the god-shaped hole that Blaise Pascal identified in the 17th-century: “What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace? This he tries in vain to fill with everything around him, seeking in things that are not there the help he cannot find in those that are, though none can help, since this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God himself.”

If we are to resign ourselves to the fact that “God himself” isn’t going to intercede any time soon, then we are left with the ordinary tools of policy, such as Robert Putnam outlined in his famous 2000 book, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of the American Community, in which he pointed to the value of “the connections among individuals’ social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them.” These connections could be strengthened, Putnam argued, through improved civics education, more extra-curricular activities for youth, smaller schools, family-oriented workplaces, a more enlightened approach to urbanism, technology that reinforces rather than replaces face-to-face interaction, as well as a decentralization of political power. These recommendations were written 19 years ago, before Facebook, Twitter or 4chan existed. It would be interesting to know how he would revise his recommendations now that we have a better appreciation for the massive effects of digital culture on our social dynamics.

In a 2017 article I wrote, titled Towards a Theory of Virtual Sentiments, I argued that real-time empathy generation often requires some degree of eye contact—which is hard to generate through online interaction. Moreover, it is shockingly easy to get worked up into a rage when you are interacting with an online avatar of a person you have never met. Simply put, the more we physically see each other, the less likely we are to be awful to each other. As Louis CK said in an interview about youth and technology, “They don’t look at people when they talk to them and they don’t build empathy. You know, kids are mean, and it’s cause they’re trying it out. They look at a kid and they go, ‘You’re fat,’ and then they see the kid’s face scrunch up and they go, ‘Oh, that doesn’t feel good to make a person do that.’ But when they write ‘You’re fat’ [online] then they just go, ‘Mmm, that was fun, I like that.’” Even putting aside the extreme cases of forums that cater to homicidal shooters, I remain unconvinced that any community that exists primarily in online form can be a force for long-term good. Perhaps more time offline is a good start for anyone seeking to enhance “the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness.”

Do we need a new nationalism? A new religion? What common human project can we collectively embrace that gives a sense of mission to everyone, regardless of skin color, religion, economic class or ideology? It would be presumptuous for me to suggest I have the answers. All I know is that men who see human life as meaningless are symptoms of a larger sense of anomie that, in less dramatic and destructive form, increasingly grips us all.”

Terry Newman is currently an MA student in the Sociology Department at Concordia University in Montreal. Her SSHRC-funded research is on the candidate controversies that took place during the 2015 Canadian federal election. She is also a Teaching Assistant in Concordia’s Engineering Department. She tweets from @tlnewmanmtl. She is the author of the Quillette article Through the Looking Glass at Concordia University.