Beltane

Written for Ectober 2021 Day 1: Trick vs Treat. This is part of the Exhumed series.

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Danny Fenton walked into the precinct. As often happened when he did this, all attention slowly turned to him. “Hi, Detective Patterson. Have you ever heard of Beltane?”

Patterson took a long swig of coffee through the plastic stir straw, because she felt the need to be at least a little drugged before dealing with whatever this was, and then said, “Is this the kind of thing the whole precinct needs to know about, or is it more specific to me?”

“Mm, not specific to you, but I’m not sure if everyone needs to know about it, yet.”

Despite only select members of the Amity Park police force knowing Danny Fenton had another identity, he’d become a sort of ‘ghost liaison’ for the precinct. Better him than the adult Fentons, who tended to break things even (especially) when they were being careful.

“Actually,” continued Danny, “you might have already noticed some things about it. I mean, it’s seasonal, and Mom and Dad were detecting ectoenergy and ghost activity spikes for events like this before they got the portal up and running. Although, the portal was supposed to stabilize and reduce those spikes… I guess reducing one isn’t bad?”

“Okay,” said Patterson. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to go find Collins?”

“Oh, that might be a good idea.”

“Great,” said Patterson. She turned her head to shout across the room. “McGee. Go find Collins.”

“Still the new guy?” asked Danny, sympathetically.

“It isn’t like we’re a popular posting,” said Patterson, “and, thanks to the ghosts, we don’t really need new people.”

Danny nodded placidly. “I know. But it must be hard for him, don’t you think?”

.

McGee had done his job. He’d discovered the corruption in the Amity Park Police Department and plumbed its depths. The problem was that he could never, ever, report it. Even if they didn’t have a perfectly good cause for it all, what they were ‘hiding’ (and they were only barely doing that) was so ridiculous that McGee had thought he’d gone crazy at first.

Ghosts.

The whole of Amity Park was haunted. Just like it said in those touristy brochures at the front of the local diners.

He stuck his head into the break room. “Collins, Patterson and Fenton want you,” he said.

“In the normal room?” Collins asked, shoving a sugary monstrosity of a donut into his mouth.

“I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

“Normal room then. Great job, McGee.”

McGee rolled his eyes. Great job, he said. As if he’d done anything.

God. What would Halloween be like?

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“So, it’s like, reverse Halloween?” asked Patterson.

“Well, not exactly,” said Danny. He patted Daisy, the department mascot slash corpse sniffing dog who had followed them into the small interview room, gently on the head. “Actually, there are more similarities than differences. Basically, like Halloween, we’re going to get a spike in ectoenergy. Maybe even some ectoplasmic storms. More portals. That kind of thing.” He shrugged. “Most holidays and seasonal divisions have them, you know.”

“So… we’re getting Halloween round two?” asked Collins.

“What do you bet that this is what gets McGee to snap?”

“He’s been here since December,” said Collins. “I think he’s too stubborn to leave.”

“Is he still spying?” asked Danny.

“No,” said Patterson, waving a hand. “He gave up on that, after a while. But there’s a new office bet about whether or not he’ll stay stay, or if he’ll decide to quit. We’re not allowed to join in because we know him too well.”

“Mm,” said Danny.

“I don’t actually know if I feel like I know him that well,” said Collins.

“Well,” said Danny, “it shouldn’t be as extreme as Halloween. Since, I mean, there aren’t as many religious holidays directly associated with death and stuff happening on or around May first. So. Yeah. But the thing is, there are some traditional, er, activities. Spirited activities.”

Collins suppressed a groan, and was glad that Captain Jones wasn’t available today. He and Danny could sling puns at each other for obscenely long periods of time.

“I’ve never noticed ghosts doing anything on May Day,” said Patterson.

“This is only the third year anyone’s even acknowledged that ghosts exist,” said Danny, “so I’m not really all that surprised. But the reason that I came to talk to you guys is that some of the ghosts want to do Beltane stuff. Like the fire blessings. Also, I’ve been told that some of the trees in town are secretly ghost trees, and if we don’t want to deal with another tree army, we need to do some stuff to appease them.”

“Secret ghost trees.”

“My source is very reliable,” said Danny. “Also, while I say ‘we don’t want to deal with it,’ I think we all know who’d be dealing with most of it.”

“You would,” said Patterson.

“Got it in one. Like, I can convince most of the ghosts to either do their Beltane stuff in the Ghost Zone, or somewhere out of the way. They’ll be disappointed, but I can do it. The ghost tree thing, though…”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know,” said Collins, “get rid of the ghost trees?”

“Well, they aren’t really evil ghost trees. Or even really ghost trees. They’re more… ghosts that live in trees?”

“What, like dryads?” asked Collins, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s what I said, but they’re different species, apparently.”

“Okay,” said Patterson, “so. Appeasing the trees. How many trees are we talking about here, and how are we going to appease them?”

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“Okay, so, this is definitely a whole precinct kind of thing,” said Patterson.

“And possibly an ‘all civil servants’ type of thing,” added Collins. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where are we going to get the funding for this?”

“Oh, don’t worry about money,” said Danny. “I’ll just blackmail Vlad, and if that doesn’t work, I can get Mom and Dad to pay for it.”

“What,” said Collins.

“I think this might be a bit beyond your parents’ budget,” said Patterson, “but knock yourself out as far as Masters goes.”

“Well, I guess if it is,” he allowed, dubiously, “I could get the cults to pitch in?”

.

“This is nice,” said Danny. The sky was a bit overcast, which was a shame, but the hundreds of bright flowers and cheerful music more than made up for that.

The May Day celebration was, in Danny’s opinion, a success. At least, this half of it was turning out to be. He’d have to wait and see how the Spirit Bonfires went tonight before he could really make a judgement.

He’d only had to blackmail Vlad a little, too. It turned out that the ‘ruthless businessman’ in Vlad was ludicrously easy to manipulate, and once Danny brought up how a celebration like this one could revitalize local businesses and bring in tourism, he’d caved.

Although, that might have been the threat of an angry tree army. Vlad had definitely come off worse for wear in the last one, on all fronts.

Then, publically putting the Phantom Stamp of Approval (and Necessity Given The Potential Angry Tree Army) on the event had gotten buy-in from his fans and (sigh) the cults. The cults were, in fact, very enthusiastic about their new Holy Day. Danny had made a map of all the places they’d set up booths, and was studiously avoiding them.

Sam and Tucker were doing a walkthrough of that area, now, to check for problems and unadorned thorn trees. They’d arranged to meet up soon.

So, Amity Park was decked out in ribbons and flowers. All of the schools had gotten Maypoles and the day off of classes. Several bands, both human and ghostly, were playing in different parts of town.

It was chaotic, but great.

Danny briefly cut into the street to dodge a pair of college-age men play-fighting with tree branches (a genuinely important tradition symbolizing the battle between winter and summer), then walked through a wall to avoid two ghosts doing the same thing.

Finally, he reached Madame Babazita’s table.

“Hi,” he said, “three readings, please.”

“Three?” she asked. “Just for you?”

“My friends should get here before mine’s done,” said Danny. Was he channeling some predictive powers? Maybe. Holidays did make his powers weird.

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“I have no idea what your reading is saying,” said Madame Babazita, after fifteen full minutes. “The cards simply aren’t speaking to me today. Also,” she held up an Uno card, “I’m not sure how this even got here.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny, “I just wanted to make sure it was the same as last time.”

.

“Hey! Phantom!” called Ember across the crowd of ghosts that had gathered in the cemetery. Most of them were fire or nature themed. “You’re in for a treat!”

Danny, who had been examining the flowers left on his grave, looked up. “I am?”

Ember draped her arm around Danny’s shoulder. She’d been a lot more friendly with him since the corpse incident. “Sure are.” She stepped up onto the surface of his memorial, pulling him up behind her. Danny shook off a brief chill and looked around.

Ghosts were streaming into the cemetery from various directions, bringing armfuls of flowers with them. Danny could see two, huge bonfire piles of flowers growing near the cemetery gates.

“Are there going to be cows?” asked Danny, who was still fuzzy on the details of the ghostly side of the celebrations.

“I don’t know,” said Ember. “When I’ve seen this done in the GZ there are. Here? Who knows. Maybe we’ll just walk through.”

Danny nodded, unworried. Beltane sure was an interesting holiday.

The last armful of flowers was placed, and every flower in the cemetery caught on fire at once. Including the ones on Danny’s grave. Danny yelped, jumping into flight. As an ice core ghost, he vastly preferred cold to heat.

This went without saying, but fire was very hot.

Ember grabbed his foot, and he almost kicked her. “You knew that was going to happen,” he accused.

“Sure did, babypop,” said Ember, grinning. “Come on, don’t you want to pass through the bonfires?”

Danny eyed the very large bonfires on either side of the cemetery gates. They were lit up with sparks like fireworks, shifting like flowers blooming and withering and blooming again. They were beautiful and impressive, and Danny felt like melting just by looking at them.

“I don’t know…” He wanted to, but… melting…

“Well, if you want to go out the other way and be horribly unlucky for the next year…”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Is that another trick?” he asked.

Ember’s grin grew wider, and she took off towards the gates. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Danny sighed and followed her.

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“Unbelievable,” said McGee. “Absolutely unbelievable.” He gave the elderly cultist a boost into the wagon.

“I know, right?” said Patterson. “All this property damage and a low-key kidnapping,” she gestured to the hapless late night partier who had called the police when the cult got too insistent about their message, “and they didn’t even have the good drugs?” She shook her head. “Not that we ever arrest anyone just for drugs in this town.”

“I did not just hear you say that,” muttered McGee.

“We’ll make an Amity Parker out of you yet,” said Collins, heartily, slamming the back door of the wagon. He thumbed the button on his radio. “Any other disturbances?” he asked.

“No, you’re good to come back,” said the dispatcher.

“What I don’t get,” said McGee, leaning against a nearby wall in a moment of weakness, “is why we aren’t breaking up whatever cult thing is happening in the cemetery.” They’d seen it quite clearly on their way here.

“Because those are ghosts,” said Patterson.

McGee took a deep breath. “The ghosts are having some kind of ritual in the cemetery, and you aren’t worried.”

“Not really, no.”

“I hate it here,” said McGee.

“Do you, though?” asked Collins, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

McGee opened his mouth to snap back that, yes, he did. But…

Hm. Huh.

Collins patted him on the back.

Sanctify - Chapter 7 (Ben SoloxOC AU)

Ben Solo is looking for a new place to call home. When Snoke arrives offering a home, food, community for the simple price of manual labour Ben and a few others jump at the chance to start over. Upon arival at The First Order Ben meets Cora, Snokes daughter. Whilst Ben and Cora grow closer Ben learns the secrets of the town, and Cora has some secrets of her own.

Please leave likes, comments and reblogs if you like it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Warnings: Cult stuff, Religious themes, Mentions of affairs, Implied murder, Torture, Blood, Violence, Drugs

Chapter 7

Cora

After lunch, I left the church and headed home. On my way, I noticed Scott and Daisy engaged in quite an intensive conversation. Daisy was clearly anxious about something, whilst Scott was trying to reassure her. If they didn’t want anybody to eavesdrop on their business, they shouldn’t be talking out in the open. Getting closer, I could hear them better. “We’re leaving tonight, we’ll go out through the woods. They don’t have guards too far out. This isn’t for us Daisy and you know it,” Scott spoke. “I just worry what will happen if we’re caught,” Daisy replied.

Walking past them, they both fell quiet until I was out of earshot. But I had heard what I needed. Turning down the next street, I waited till I was out of sight before gathering my skirt and running back to the church. Father had to know, and they had to be stopped. They would probably expose the flock when they got back to the city. And that would bring unwanted attention.

Father was just leaving the church when I reached him. He knew it was important from my startled expression, leading me back inside the church for privacy. “What is it, Cora?” He asked. “Scott and Daisy. They are planning to leave. Tonight,” I said between breaths, “they said they’d leave through the woods.” “Well, they won’t get far. I’ll gather the elders and have them ready and waiting.”

He turned to leave, but there was another factor he hadn’t thought of. “What about Ben? He’ll know something’s wrong if we’re out after curfew. I can’t distract him from that,” I questioned. “Your right.” Snoke headed to his office, motioning me to follow him. He opened one of the locked cupboards, one that I knew contained things that were only ever used for emergencies.

He handed me a bottle of pills; the label read ‘Temazepam’. “Put two of these in some chamomile tea tonight. Once Ben’s dealt with, you can join us,” Father instructed. Nodding, I pocketed the bottle and left the church. I still had a few hours to kill, and that only made me anxious. The last thing I wanted was Ben finding out the truth and rejecting us. We’d have no choice but to silence him like the others.

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After dinner, I headed over to Ben’s, knocking before entering. Thankfully, it was just him inside. He stood at the sink, finishing washing up after dinner. “Hey,” he greeted. “Hi, how was the rest of your day?” I asked. “Average. Have you guys talked to Poe yet?” Taking a seat in the living room, patting the space on the couch next to me. Ben took the invite.

“Fathers speaking with him now,” I lied. He sighed, obviously worried about that, “I hope it goes well.” “Whatever happens, Ben, you're still welcome here. It would be a shame to see you go.” Ben’s gaze met mine, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was nice to have a moment where we were truly alone, where nobody was watching us, nobody was breathing down our necks and there wasn’t the risk of someone coming in. Something could happen and nobody would know. The longer I looked at him, the more I wanted something to happen.

But I wasn’t here for that kind of distraction. “I’m going to make some tea,” I declared, getting to my feet. “Okay, you need a hand?” “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Vanishing into the kitchen, I boiled the kettle and pulled out the pill bottle. Taking two out, I twisted the capsules until they came free before adding the powder inside to Ben’s cup. Glancing over my shoulder, I made sure he hadn’t come into the kitchen.

Thankfully, I was still alone. Once both cups were full, I took them back to the living room, handing Ben the right one. He thanked me, letting it cool a little longer before taking a sip. “So what’s the deal with you and Armitage?” He asked. I laughed softly; he wouldn’t be asking unless he was interested. “We’re just friends. I know he’d like us to be more, but considering his parentage, that would be impossible,” I explained.

Ben raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. “Armitage was born out of wedlock and, to make matters worse, he was the product of an affair. So father doesn’t deem him a good suitor for me,” I continued. “Wow. I have several questions. One, who in their right mind would want to marry Brendol? And two, who would want to have an affair with Brendol?” He joked. I couldn’t help but laugh, “women who are blind and stupid, apparently. That man is…a real piece of work.” “No kidding, he seems to not like anybody around here.”

Ben drank more of his tea, half of the cup now gone. It shouldn’t be much longer now until it affected him. Ben covered his mouth as he yawned before rubbing at his eyes. We continued chatting, Ben getting more and more tired as the conversation continued. It didn’t feel like an effort to talk to him, conversation just flowed easily, which felt odd considering I was essentially forcing it to keep him distracted. Half an hour later, Ben was asleep, his head resting on the armrest of the couch.

Grabbing a blanket, I covered him to keep him warm, before stroking his hair. Not once did he stir, his breaths soft and even. It was tempting to kiss him, just a small peck on the cheek or forehead, but I knew it would be wrong. My first kiss, regardless of the context, was supposed to be reserved for my husband on our wedding day. But if nobody was around to see me, where was the harm?

Before I could act upon the thought, the front door burst open, and a panicked Poe ran inside. Getting to my feet, I stayed by Ben’s side, still stroking his hair as if he were a pet. “What the fuck have you done to him?” Poe asked. “Shhh. Can’t you see he’s asleep,” I replied mockingly. Poe stepped closer, likely ready to shake Ben awake. Feeling threatened, I dug in my pocket for my blade that I kept on me at all times. Father had gifted it to me when I turned twelve.

Flicking it open, I waited for Poe’s next move. “He isn’t staying here, he’s coming with me,” Poe declared. “I don’t think so. He was the one who ratted you out after all,” I stepped closer, “he wants nothing more to do with you and who can blame him when all you’ve done is drag him down.” “Your lying.” “If that were true, then why is he the only one not being hunted?”

Behind him through the window, I could see some elders had followed him here. It was tempting to scream and make out like he’d hurt me just so that Father would make his death even more painful. Two elders had already made their way inside, restraining Poe whilst he struggled and tried to call for help. Ben didn’t even so much as stir at the sound. The elders took Poe out of the house, restraining him properly with rope. Looking back at Ben, I swept a loose strand of hair out of his face.

After I got rid of the tea, I closed the door behind me and headed towards the woods. Hopefully, I hadn’t completely missed out. Reaching the border of the woods, I found my father, Brendol, Armitage and few other men guarding this end. “Have they been found yet?” I asked. “Not yet, there’s elders waiting for them on the other side should they get that far and there’s others searching for them. How’s Ben?” Father asked. “Sleeping like a baby.”

Father smiled, “good girl. You fail none of the tasks God or I give you.” “May I help in the search?” I asked hesitantly. It was likely I was the only woman currently out of their home and to ask to partake in the hunt was definitely bold of me. This was a man’s job, after all. My father thought about it for a few moments before finally giving in with a nod. “Seeing as you’ve been so helpful lately, you may help, but Armitage is to go with you just in case,” Father explained.

Instead of arguing that I could defend myself if need be, I simply nodded and entered the dark wood with Armitage at my side. There were a few lights ahead from torches, but that was likely the elders and if Scott and Daisy were any kind of smart, they would take a path as far away from the torches as possible. Luckily, I knew these woods inside out and could navigate in the dark easily. Besides, the moonlight was all the light I needed.

“If they are clever, they would know not to stick to the path. But not so far away from it that they would get lost,” I spoke. “They must be miles ahead by now.” “Maybe. Maybe not. Have a little faith, Armi.” He rolled his eyes softly at my smirk, following me off the path. If they were hiding, they would be foolish to hide in a tree, that would make them a sitting duck. They would use the surrounding brush and bushes to hide, that way they could keep moving.

Armitage and I continued deeper into the woods, listening, and looking carefully. Eventually, we came to a clearing where the path split into three new ones. As I was deciding which way to go, I heard a twig snap to our right. Whipping my head in that direction, I spotted Daisy frozen like a deer in the headlights. Not waiting around for Armitage, I bolted towards her, Daisy turning and running from me. Quickly I gained on her, praying internally for some divine intervention to make her trip. Daisy stumbled and quickly lost her footing, tumbling into the dirt.

Before she could get up, I straddled her and pinned her down. Daisy screamed and struggled beneath me as Armitage caught up to us. Flicking open my blade, Daisy struggled more now, trying to punch me. Armitage pinned her wrists down above her head. Scott couldn’t have been with her, otherwise he would have tried to save her by now. Good thing I knew how to draw him out. I dragged the tip of the blade across Daisy’s collar, forcing a shrill scream from her. Birds left the safety of the trees at the sound. The torch lights in the distance turned in our direction. And I’m sure Scott had heard her.

I continued cutting across Daisy’s flesh, drawing more screams from her. The lights had grown closer now, and a rustling could be heard from the nearby bushes. The question was, who would reach us first? Scott or the flock? Looking down at Daisy and the blade in my now bloodied hands, I realized it would be so easy to take her life myself. Her life was in my hands now and one little slip across her throat and it would be all over. Killing must feel good to god as he did it all the time, and we were all created in his image, so there was nothing stopping me. Armitage wouldn’t say a word, he’d let me get away with it.

Before I could silence her, Scott burst through the trees and brush, stunned at the scene before him. He realized all too late that he had run into a trap as the elders reached us. Scott was surrounded and had no choice but to surrender. Both Daisy and Scott were restrained and led out of the woods, leaving Armitage and I alone. Armitage couldn’t take his eyes off me, but for once his expression was unreadable. I couldn’t be sure if he was horrified by me or further entranced.

He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped my cheek clean of blood. The moment was sweet and tender, that all so familiar tension back between us. “You look angelic even with blood on your hands and bathed in moonlight,” he said softly. A soft blush spread across my cheeks at his words, as his hand cupped the cheek he had cleaned. For a moment, I wondered if he would kiss me and if I would let him.

I shouldn’t be encouraging this behaviour when we both knew nothing could come of it. But I didn’t want to stop. A snapping sound in the distance made us pull away from each other, the moment ruined. Likely just an animal or the wind cracking a branch. “We should head back,” I suggested. Armitage nodded, both of us heading back down the path as I continued to clean my hands with his handkerchief. Awkwardly, I glanced at the now bloodied material and back at him. “Keep it. You're better at getting blood out of whites than I am.”

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld​

Monthly Reads | June 2019

Happy 28th! Like last month @kingsofeverything is posting your self-recs, so, authors and artists alike hop on over and let her know about your work! As always my eternal thanks go to all you lovely authors who share their work with us ♥ Here are all the fics I read and loved this month:

Tired Tired Sea || MediaWhore || famous/not famous - past alcoholism - recovery - slow burn - strangers to lovers - hurt/comfort - mutual pining - 113k As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

The Cyber Sphere || jacaranda_bloom || Louis/Dermot O'Leary - strangers to lovers - twitter - fluff - 17k The one where Liam likes to think he’s Batman, Dermot has terrible taste in sporting teams, and Louis should really get a cat.

Breaking Through The Atmosphere || dinosaursmate || Space AU - friends to lovers - angst - mild homophobia - 40k Working in recruitment wasn't exactly Louis' lifelong dream, but his job takes him to a far away planet to help build a new civilisation, and a brand new life for himself.

Sisterwives || jaerie || a/b/o - dubious consent - polygamy - religion - implied brainwashing - self-discovery - mpreg - cults - emotional manipulation - 32k This was it, the moment Louis had been waiting for his entire life. Giddy excitement bubbled up as he held hands and stared up at his soon-to-be alpha and husband and grinned. The ceremony was small and simple, but Louis didn’t mind. Fresh flowers pinned into his hair and a brand new outfit was all he needed to feel special in front of their few witnesses. It was just some members of his family and a few of the church elders in attendance as was customary for any marriage beyond the first wife within the faith. First wives were the ones to have elaborate weddings with the whole community involved. An alpha’s first wedding was a celebration of an their coming of age, his first steps into fulfilling God’s prophecy. There were many glories for an omega that came with being a first wife but also many responsibilities. Louis had never aspired to be a first wife or even a second. He wasn’t experienced enough to be the leader of an alpha’s many wives and children and he didn’t think he’d be up to the task. Louis was just fine in the position he was stepping into as the seventh. Or Louis thinks he's getting everything he's ever dreamed of. Harry helps him find what makes him truly happy.

Becoming Us || sweariwouldnt || tv series AU - amrried at first sight - miscommuniaction - 59k Married at First Sight is a television show in which hopefuls looking for The One are matched by experts deeming them to be the perfect match. The twist? They meet each other for the first time at the altar. When they exchange their 'I do's'. And get married for real. One Harry and Louis find each other at the altar. They have five weeks to make or break the set-up marriage.

Si Pudiera Volar || messofgorgeouschaos || historical - a/b/o - fake/pretend relationship - arranged marriage - strangers to lovers - miscommunication - emotional hurt/comfort - 68k When Harry’s fiancé leaves him for his cousin, he looks the other way for the sake of his happiness. He’ll do anything to forget about him, including joining a monastery. It isn’t until his cousin’s former lover, a pirate, appears that he realizes everything is not as it appears, and an honest pirate might be the only person worthy of his heart. Or, a fic loosely based on Corazon Salvaje.

Orion's Belt || LadyLondonderry || Stylinshaw - a/b/o - soulmates - hurt/comfort - 24k Louis and Nick have been in a happy committed relationship for two years, their matching soulmarks on display for the world to see. It’s been them against the world, the alpha/beta singer and radio DJ power duo. All that changes on February 1st, when they wake up to a third matching soulmark. As they say, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Forgive Me This Lie Bigger Than Us || evelynemesis || magic - witch curses - miscommunication - angst - 25k The magic!AU where Louis is cursed to live a life of pain and solitude and Harry just happens to fall in love.

Still Deep In Us || graceling_in_a_suit || fantasy - post-apocalypse - mermaid - mentions of death - mentions of grief - magic - angst - 41k AU. The village Harry has called home his entire life sits on six shaky legs, held aloft from the ocean which claimed the entire world twenty years ago. Harry's just a grieving tinkerer trying to do his best, and Louis is a mermaid that ruins The Village's delicate balance of power (and perhaps, just maybe, wins the heart of a boy).

Hard for me to know i might see you around || Anonymous || Tinder AU - airport - 4k A TINDER AU where Harry swipes left on Louis' joke of a profile, then ends up stuck next to him on a trans-Atlantic flight.

A Long Way From The Top || jaerie || vampires - death - mountaineering - 11k Harry needed to find a purpose in life. Mount Everest wasn't the place he'd expected to find it, but he'd take what he could get. He also hadn't expected to come home with extra baggage.

That Mouth of Yours || Awriterwrites || PWP - 3k “Did I–” Louis panted around the sexiest moan Harry thought he had ever heard (at least since the last time Louis moaned–which was about 5 minutes ago). “Did I ever tell you about that guy that I let rim me at one of Liam’s parties in college?” Something dark and furious unfurled inside Harry, making him pull away from the sweet oblivion that was Louis’ arse. “Wh–” He wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand. “What?” Louis shot a smirk over his shoulder. His hair was a mess and his face was flushed and his eyes were glazed over but he was still himself–still teasing. Still a menace beneath angelic blue eyes and a soft voice. “Just some guy. Never got his name.” He turned his head back toward the pillows, giving a slight shake of his arse in Harry’s face. Not that that wasn’t distracting or anything. A little drool slipped out of Harry’s mouth.

Hello My Name Is Harry || abrighteryellow || famous/ not famous - school reunion - 3k Louis’s 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate – who also happens to be Louis’s long unrequited crush – unexpectedly shows up. A famous/not-famous AU inspired by Chris Evans.

Challenging Nature: A Look Into Male Lactation || jaerie || lactation kink - male lactation - 11k Even taking into account all the bizarre things Harry has subjected himself to in the past for the sake of an article, Harry has received his strangest assignment yet. It comes up as a random misunderstanding in a meeting and builds into a conversation — can men breastfeed? Internet searches reveal documented cases of male lactation popping up at different times throughout history, but are any of them true? Can a man will himself into lactating? Harry has two months to make it happen.

Freaks from the internet || jaerie || lactation kink - male lactation - a/b/o - exes to lovers - smut - milking - 3k Harry sells his breast milk to freaks on the internet. Louis turns out to be one of those freaks. He also happens to be Harry's ex.

Tied to Fate || littlelouishiccups || ghosts - angst - magic - 52k After his estranged father’s death, Harry inherits a castle in England that has belonged to his family for generations and he knows nothing about. When he breaks up with his boyfriend, Harry decides England is the perfect place for a small vacation. He isn’t prepared to meet Louis Tomlinson, a ghost who once lived in the castle and has haunted it for over five hundred years. He’s even more unprepared to fall in love with him.

I Want You S'more || 2tiedships2 || a/b/o - strangers to lovers - humor - fluff - 17k The one where the least alpha-y alpha and the least omega-y omega show that secondary genders aren’t set in stone and sometimes it works when you kinda share that.

His and Mine || glitteredcurls || soulmate-identifying marks - dystopia - mentions of surgery - religious imagery Á symbolism - 66k Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does.

Salvation Let's Their Wings Unfold || twoshipstiedup || fantasy - angels - demons - fluff - humor - 14k Harry is an ex demon who gets banished back to Earth. Louis is an angel who gets sent down there for work. Naturally, they end up together.

Found My Hallelujah || Anonymous || cruise ship - hurt/comfort - pining - 34k As an engagement gift from his parents, Harry and his fiance receive an all expenses paid cruise trip for two. But one week before they're set to sail, Harry walks in on his fiance cheating on him. Newly single, with the cruise tickets in hand, and his bags already packed, Harry brings along his sister instead. And maybe the cute bartender on the ship might just be the person Harry needs to help him put back together all of his broken pieces.

Under the Moonlight || Anonymous || friends to lovers - fluff - fake/pretend relationship - mutual pining - 15k Harry and Louis have been friends online for years. They've never met despite living only a few hours from one another. One fateful summer a silly little lie, a family vacation and an accidental meet up lead to a week of fake dating on Mallorca. All in all, a holiday Louis won't easily forget.

STRAY: Chapter Four

by J.K. Hogan

Noah let himself inside the house, and turned to look through the peephole to see if he’d been followed. He couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down like that. Beltrane was a harsh city, and he was a young, pretty seventeen year old with parents who barely gave enough of a shit to make sure he was still breathing. He was constantly being targeted by criminals, degenerates, and pedophiles who thought he was younger than he really was, so he knew better than to stop paying attention to his surroundings even for a second.

But there was no sign of the creepy stalker, or the peculiar man with the long blond hair who’d run him off. In fact, the only thing out of place was the very large, white cat that sat on its haunches on the sidewalk across the street, staring straight ahead as if it were watching Noah’s house. It was big for a domesticated cat—he thought it was probably one of those big-boned breeds like a Maine Coon or something—not that Noah new much of anything about cats.

It was odd to see a stray cat out and about. Decades before Noah was born, a disease called hypertoxicosis had ravaged the world’s population, much like the bubonic plague had centuries before. And like the black death had spread by fleas on rats, hypertoxicosis—or the leeching, as it had been called due to the rapid exsanguination from every pore—had been traced back to a certain few breeds of domestic cat. Since cross-breeding was rampant and uncontrolled among strays, there’d been no way to tell which cats carried the leeching gene, so there had been mass extermination of non-purebred and stray cats. The disease had been almost completely eradicated, but most people still wouldn’t touch a cat with a ten foot pole, and many people would still kill them on site. Not Noah though. He liked them. And he knew exactly what it felt like to be stuck in a world that didn’t want him.

Even from such a distance, Noah could see the feline’s big blue eyes blinking at him, as if it somehow knew he was watching. Satisfied that there was no movement out on the street apart from the cat, Noah turned away from the door. The foyer was dark, but then again, his parents had never bothered leaving a light on for him before, so he had no idea why he’d thought they’d start now.

That wasn’t exactly right. When he was little, they’d doted on him like something precious. They’d been good parents, saying and doing all the right things. His mom had been a stay-at-home caregiver for a while, and she’d been great at it, thinking up fun projects for them to work on and taking him places. But slowly, little by little, they had changed. Their eyes faded, and the love in them dissolved until they treated him like nothing but a roommate, or a pet they’d brought home and realized they were stuck with.

When Noah really thought hard about it, he always believed that the tipping point had been when they joined that church. Not that it was like any church Noah had ever seen. They had a building a few streets over, but the real action happened at a facility on fifty acres of former farmland outside the Beltrane city limits. Noah had no idea what happened out there—he wouldn’t attend, which drove an even deeper wedge between himself and his parents—but it sounded just like every description of a cult he’d ever heard of. Like, textbook.

Church of the New Hope was what they called themselves. The “worship leaders” had been trying to get his parents to move out to the main facility for a while now, but they’d held out this long because Noah refused, and he was their responsibility. But he wondered how long that would last. He was already an adult under the laws of the land, age being a mere formality these days, and in a few months, he would be an adult in the eyes of the almost-nonexistent official law.

Shaking his head, Noah shrugged off his backpack and dragged it by the strap as he walked into the living room. In there, only a single lamp was lit. He dropped his bag with a gasp when he realized his parents were sitting in the dim room, rigid and silent.

“Fuck! You guys scared the shit outta me.”

“Language, boy,” Bob Cowan said in a voice so devoid of emotion, it sucked all the air out of the room.

Anxiety sparking nerves all over his body, Noah’s gaze flickered to their feet, where sat two matching suitcases. He licked his lips and made eye contact with his mother. “What’s going on? Mom…” he prompted when she didn’t answer immediately.

When she looked at him, eyes wide and unblinking, she looked through him.

“Dad?”

Noah’s father turned dark eyes on him, the color so like his own. “We’re leaving.”

It was like a bullet to the heart, the way those words punched through Noah, all the more devastating for their dispassion. “You’re going to that commune, aren’t you? The one with the church?”

“Yes,” Emmy Cowan answered, finally making true eye contact. “We are. It’s time.”

“I won’t go with you,” Noah blurted, his voice raising an octave when he had a sudden image of them forcing him into a car and driving him out to some cult.

“We know. You don’t believe the way we do,” Emmy replied with a wealth of censure in her voice.

“We’ve signed the house over to the New Hope,” Bob said. “You can continue living here until they come to claim it for whatever they plan to do with it, but there’s no telling how long that will be so you might want to start thinking about going out on your own—sooner rather than later.”

“Wait, what?”

“They might let you take your proficiencies early, so you can start working.”

“Wait, what? You’d do this? Just leave me, abandon your…child?”

“You’re not our child,” Emmy whispered.

Noah stared at their impassive faces, hoping he’d see something that would make their words make sense. “I don’t understand what that means.”

Bob narrowed his eyes. “It has become obvious that you do not belong with us. We’ve realized the truth—with the help of the church. It became painfully obvious with the way you resisted the Light.”

“T-The truth? Which is w-what?”

“You’re a monster,” Emmy hissed.

Noah gasped and reeled away from the two strangers, parents who were not his parents. He took a step back, then another. His mind whirled with a hundred different thoughts that wouldn’t quite coalesce, because those blank, shadowy faces were etching themselves into his grey matter. He’d remember them for the rest of his life.

When spots swam in his vision, Noah realized he’d stopped breathing. He tried to take a deep breath, but only managed a strangled wheeze. He took one step back, then another, and another, until he felt the doorframe with his fingertips. All but falling through the door, once he was back in the foyer, he turned and scrambled up the creaky staircase to the second floor. Skidding around two corners at top speed, he burst into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Backing up against the decrepit wood, Noah slid down until his bottom hit the floor, where he curled up in a ball, wrapped his arms around his head, and bawled until he couldn’t speak and could barely breathe.

The musty smell of the mildewing carpet invaded his senses, choking the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t move.

You’re not our child.

What did that mean? Maybe they were disowning him. Maybe he was adopted.

Noah guessed it didn’t really matter because they were leaving him. He heard footsteps downstairs. Doors opening and closing. Sounds of objects being moved around, dragged. The final sound of the heavy front door slamming shut. And then he knew.

He was alone.

Noah needed to breathe. He tried to stand up, to open the window, but he couldn't force his extremities to cooperate. He’d heard of this, sometime while studying for his proficiencies, this thing that happened to a person who was traumatized. Hysterical paralysis, they’d called it.

He couldn't move his legs, but he had partial control over his arms, so he crawled. Gasping for air, he dragged himself across the room, over the moldering carpet, until he reached his workbench that was situated in front of the window. Noah’s muscles trembled as he hauled himself onto it, sending tools and mechanical parts raining to the floor. With a gasp and a groan, he forced up the sash, dragged his body over the sill, and tumbled out onto the rusted fire escape.

Crisp night air filled his lungs. The mist of light rain settled on his skin like dew on a spider web. Finally, Noah could breathe. And move. But he didn’t. He lay there on the fire escape, staring up at the swirling gray nimbus above him. Breathe. Just breathe.

Noah heard a noise to his left. Barely a whisper. Weary, like moving through molasses, he turned his head and saw the cat. The big white cat that had been staring at his house was padding along the metal railing, impossibly balanced on a surface no more than two inches in width. It blinked at him, waiting.

“You’re a big fella, aren’t you? Surely you belong to somebody or you probably wouldn’t have survived this long, so why are you following me around?” Noah rolled to his side, the cold from the corrugated metal fire escape seeping through his clothes to his skin, and faced the cat. “Don’t you have a home? A family? I don’t. Not anymore.” His voice broke on the last syllable, and dissolved into a sob.

The cat leapt off the railing, landing on silent feet beside Noah. It crouched into a sphinx position and watched him. Unblinking. Still.

Noah sniffled, then rubbed his face with the sleeve of his pullover. “I can stay in this house at least. Until they come and take it.”

The cat remained, so Noah kept talking, saying everything and nothing. “My parents left to join some religious commune. Church of the New Hope. I think it’s a cult, but they don’t much care what I think. They said I wasn’t their child. They said I’m a monster…” His breath hitched. His lips trembled.

“I’m almost a man now. I take my proficiencies in a few weeks. In the eyes of practically everyone, I’m adult enough to survive, except I have nothing. No money, no job, only a temporary roof over my head. The only income I have is from the electronics I build. I can sometimes sell them to people who can’t afford the store-bought kind. Sometimes being the operative word. And you know what else? I’m lying in the rain, pouring out my life story at the feet of a stray cat. Gods, what a mess I am.”

The cat inched closer, crawling with its belly to the floor, approaching cautiously. It obviously decided that Noah posed no threat, because it curled up in the hollow of his stomach, its tail wrapping around its body and face until it was nothing but a furry white ball. Grateful for the warmth of life that penetrated his numbness, Noah drifted off to sleep. It wouldn’t be the last time he slept outside in the rain.

**** 

Weeks later, Noah had abandoned his room upstairs, for the heat of the fireplace on the main level. The central heating had cut off shortly after his parents left, since nobody paid the bill, and the electricity soon followed. It was still a roof, he often told himself when the weather was particularly foul. He was occasionally able to get firewood that people dropped off at the agri-dump, but mostly he burned pieces of furniture or his parents’ books, things that would never get used again.

Noah’s mother had been a gardener and a canner, so he’d had quite a bit of preserved food. That was something that had probably saved his life. He treated himself to a real meal whenever he was able to sell some of his electronics, but he mostly existed on canned vegetables, fruit preserves, and dried meats. It would have to do, because until he passed his proficiencies, he wasn’t legally employable.

He was soldering a circuit chip when the pounding started—heavy fist-falls on the door—and he knew what it meant. The church had come to claim the house. Whether they had plans to rent it out for profit, or to tear it down, he had no clue, but he knew they wouldn’t let him squat there. And something told Noah he shouldn’t be there when they came in.

Turning off his portable torch, he let it cool while he stuffed his tools, safety gear, loose parts, and a few unfinished projects into a wide leather duffel. The torch went in last, and he prayed it was cool enough to not burn a hole in the bag.

The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.

Noah looped the shoulder strap over his head, across his body, and hefted the bag. He dashed up the stairs as fast as his load allowed. He’d taken to keeping his backpack stuffed full of clothes and the few trinkets he couldn’t live without, in case he needed to make a quick exit. His instinct proved correct. After setting the duffel down long enough to shoulder the backpack, he picked it up again, grunting at the weight of it. He’d have to find somewhere safe to stash his gear, and then find somewhere safe to stay the night.

The loud crash from downstairs echoed through the house just as Noah was stuffing his bags through his bedroom window. They’d kicked the door in—they’d had to, because Noah had scraped together enough money to change the lock. He couldn’t say why he felt it was so important that the church people didn’t find him in the house—maybe they’d try to have him arrested for squatting, or worse, try to force him to come with him to their creepy commune. Noah wasn’t sticking around to find out.

His dirty sneakers thudded on the fire escape as he jumped down from his window. He could hear the faceless intruders rummaging around inside the house as he hoisted his bags on his shoulders and descended the rusty stairs. It was dark, as dark as it had been the night that terrifying man had stalked him. Noah vowed to be more aware of his surroundings as he plunged into the emptiness, intent on finding a place to spend the night.

****

Sometimes when I’m in a dream, I know I’m in a dream. From the moment I fall asleep, I dream, straight through until I wake up again. Every night I die a thousand deaths.

Tonight I am me, but someone else. A boy of about ten, with a halo of golden curls. I only know because I catch a glimpse of myself in a store window as I walk down the sidewalk. My pale skin is flushed pink from the whipping wind. It is day, but the streets are shadowy. I sense a presence nearby but I see no one else on the block.

I turn a corner, head down an alley, and stop short. A girl appears before me. Older than me, but not by much. Her hair is dark as midnight, her skin, pale as the moon. I’m intrigued by her, so when she turns to leave, I follow. She leads me around another corner, on another darkened city block. I follow her until I lose my bearings and my surroundings no longer look familiar.

Suddenly she stops, then turns to face me. She smiles, the moonlight glinting off her teeth. She crowds me against the crumbling brick of the side of a building. I think she’s going to kiss me and I am paralyzed. But instead, she sinks her teeth into my neck, and my mind goes blank, my thoughts like quicksand as she sucks the life out of me.

THE 7 SIGNS YOU'RE IN A CULT

😕THE 7 SIGNS YOU'RE IN A CULT🙁 The Seven Signs You're in a Cult A former member of a tight-knit college prayer group describes his community's disintegration—and how one of its members ended up dead. Bethany Deaton in 2008. Boze Herrington/The Atlantic BOZE HERRINGTON JUN 18, 2014 U.S. November 2, 2012, was a beautiful Friday in Kansas City—clear and cool and sunny. I had spent the afternoon reading in the library at an unaccredited college affiliated with the International House of Prayer, an evangelical Christian organization commonly referred to as IHOP (no relation to the restaurant). Around 6 pm, I got a call from my friend Hannah*. “I found out something that’s truly devastating. I didn’t want to tell you this way, but I want you to know,” she said. “Bethany Leidlein committed suicide on Tuesday.” I was shocked. For seven years, I had spent hours every day with Bethany, eating and talking and praying. We had been best friends. She was 27, newly married; she had just completed her nursing degree. I felt like she would always be part of my life. Now, she was gone. For three weeks, Hannah and I had been trying to contact leaders at IHOP about a prayer group that we, Bethany, and many of our friends had been part of—a small, independent community that drew on IHOP's teachings. In February, I had been formally excommunicated, and Hannah had left in June. Looking in from the outside, both of us saw the group differently than we had when we were part of it: We saw it as a cult. Several years ago, the founder of IHOP, Mike Bickle, created a list of seven ways to recognize the difference between a religious community and a cult. Written down, the signs seem clear: 1. Opposing critical thinking 2. Isolating members and penalizing them for leaving 3. Emphasizing special doctrines outside scripture 4. Seeking inappropriate loyalty to their leaders 5. Dishonoring the family unit 6. Crossing Biblical boundaries of behavior (versus sexual purity and personal ownership) 7. Separation from the Church But when it’s your friends, your faith, your community, it’s not so obvious. For several years, roughly two dozen people, all younger than thirty, had been living together in Kansas City, Missouri, and following the leadership of Tyler Deaton, one of our classmates from Southwestern University in Texas. In the summer of 2012, Tyler had married Bethany; by the fall, she was dead. What started as a dorm-room prayer group had devolved into something much darker. * * * I met Bethany and Tyler during the week of their freshman orientation in 2005. Small, with a heart-shaped face and bright blue eyes, Bethany’s effortless wit and warm presence quickly attracted a devoted group of friends. She often spoke about the “glories of the world” and its wonders over brunch in the dining hall. We bonded over our shared love of stories and would often stay up late discussing our dreams of becoming great novelists and joining the ranks of our literary heroes. One day during that first week, I found Tyler in the school’s chapel. He was seated at the piano, the late-afternoon sunlight illuminating his dark eyes and hair as he swayed back and forth, stomping the pedals and singing a popular evangelical chorus in a voice full of heartache and passion: Your love is extravagant Your friendship, it is intimate I feel like I’m moving to the rhythm of your grace Your fragrance is intoxicating In the secret place Because your love is extravagant At the end of the song, he came over and introduced himself. Something about the nasally pitch of his voice made me wonder if he was gay. A few months later I would work up the courage to ask him; the question offended him so much that I didn’t bring it up again until the end of that year, when he conceded that he had been “struggling with same-sex attraction” for years. That semester, we became close friends. Early on, I felt as though Tyler often tried to manipulate people into doing what he wanted, but he was also a committed Christian, zealous and humble. Inspired by his sensitivity toward others and bravery in confronting his personal demons, I learned to ignore my initial reservations and trust him. Our prayer group became an enchanted sphere where supernatural things seemed to happen all the time. Two years later, in the summer of 2007, Tyler returned from a trip to Pakistan and announced that God was going to launch a spiritual revolution on our campus. Those of us who knew him well were surprised by the changes in his personality. He had always been extraordinarily perceptive, but now this ability had reached uncanny levels. He could describe conversations he wasn’t involved in that were taking place on the other side of campus. He said God was always speaking. He claimed he could tell what we were thinking, when we were sinning; he said he could feel in his own body what God felt about us. When I found out he and Bethany were meeting every night for prayer with their two roommates, June and Justin*, I begged them to let me join. It was discouraging to see some of my best and only friends at Southwestern sharing an experience from which I was excluded; I wanted to belong to their group. I was lonely and bored, and I wanted to experience something extraordinary before I left school: a mystery to solve, a battle to fight, a romantic quest, like the heroes in the stories I had read. All my favorite songs and stories ended with some powerful and often tragic moment of catharsis. I wanted college to end like that. If it didn’t, my life would be boring, anti-climactic … normal. I had always imagined my life in terms of a story, and now Tyler was offering me the chance to be a part of one. He had developed a distinctly Charismatic vocabulary of “spiritual warfare” and claimed he was communicating directly with God. He said the five of us had been chosen for a dangerous but important mission: changing the nature and understanding of Christianity on our campus. Like the characters of Morpheus or Hagrid, he became our escort into a secret community where evil was battled at close quarters and darkness lurked around every corner. That first semester was exhilarating. Our prayer experiences were very emotional; sometimes, we wept. Though I still secretly had doubts about the authenticity of the group’s beliefs, I was profoundly moved by the courage and loyalty my friends were showing towards one another. It felt like being in an epic adventure, in which each of the main characters bravely faces his or her own weaknesses while bonding together in the heat of battle. Bethany continued to be my closest friend in the group. We confided in one another—including our mild doubts about the group. One night in early November, a few of the group members tried to “heal” a girl with cerebral palsy, even pulling her out of her wheelchair and dragging her around the chapel. Word quickly spread around campus that the girl had been miraculously healed, but I told Bethany I wasn’t convinced that anything really unusual had happened. Near the end of November, she admitted she had feelings for Tyler. She said God had told her they were going to be married, once he was fully healed of his struggle with homosexuality. During vacations, we would discuss this for hours. She cried regularly. RELATED STORY The Vigilante of Clallam County Around this time, Tyler attended an IHOP conference. At the four-day gathering in Kansas City, Missouri, where the movement is based, he joined 25,000 other young people to pray for spiritual revival on college campuses throughout America. He heard the evangelical leader Lou Engle share a dream he’d had, in which college students were cutting off the heads of their professors, suggesting the end of the “spirit of intellectualism” that gripped academia. He heard Bickle declare that God was raising up a prophetic generation that would perform “signs and wonders,” and numerous stories of angelic visitations. After Tyler returned from the conference, his experiences with the supernatural seemed to intensify dramatically. As we walked across campus, he would see an army of demons carrying banners in front of the library. At the end of January, God revealed to him that his calling in life was to be an apostle and train God’s “final people.” When Bethany and June insisted that we find mentors who could train us and brought us to visit a Christian couple who lived nearby, Tyler “discerned” that the husband was living in “graphic sexual sin.” Somehow, when he said this, the rest of us realized we had all been feeling the same thing. We never went back. I was profoundly affected by IHOP’s teachings. I began to seriously consider the possibility that we were living in the last generation. The teachers and staff all had a message for the students: Everything we thought we knew about the world was wrong. We had been poisoned by a liberal culture teaching seductive lies about “love” and “compassion” that the devil was using to prepare his end-times deception. Before joining the prayer group, I had been a fairly tolerant person. Now I was different. I was belligerent toward my gay and atheist friends. I picked fights and insulted them viciously. But I felt justified; I thought they were blind to God’s truth. As the prayer group expanded, it became an enchanted sphere where supernatural things seemed to be happening all the time. I began having ominous dreams in which the school was flooded and taken over by monsters. Once, we found a candy wrapper in the ceiling of one of our members, Micah Moore; we burned it, because God showed us that it had been used to practice witchcraft. In the everyday college world of exams and choir concerts and dining-hall meals, these episodes seemed outlandish—and to outsiders, maybe even disturbing. But within the Gnostic dream world of our small Charismatic enclave, they seemed perfectly normal. By the end of the next semester, several of us were already making plans to move to Kansas City. * * * I was kicked out of the prayer group for the first time a year and a half later. Roughly two dozen of us were now living together in group houses in Missouri, sharing our money and working part-time jobs while we attended classes at IHOP University. Three nights a week, we worshipped together. Tyler and other members of the group claimed I had a “wicked heart, prone to self-protection, anger, unforgiveness, and hate” and a “malicious, accusatory, group-rejecting, self-protective hatred towards most people.” After an intense night of confrontation in the fall of 2010, the group stopped speaking to me. I continued to live in the house, but I was completely isolated. Why did I stay? I was conflicted. All of my friends said I had a serious problem—so serious that I had been effectively quarantined. These were my closest friends in the world. I began to wonder if they might be right. Maybe I truly was hateful, malicious—wicked. I no longer trusted by own instincts. I was belligerent toward my gay and atheist friends. But I felt justified; they were blind to God’s truth. When my boss saw that I was depressed and had stopped eating, she contacted one of the senior leaders at IHOP University. We met, and I described my living situation. “Hold on,” he said, in a very serious voice. “Are you being shunned as a punishment?” With his guidance, I emailed Tyler and asked if I could return; under pressure from IHOP University’s leaders, he consented. The group threw a huge party in my honor, but within a few days, I began to wish I had never come back. Tyler now said he could sense when a person was sinning. “There’s nothing you’ve done for a long time that doesn’t have sin in it,” he explained to me. Under his mandatory system of “behavioral modifications,” as he called them, the entire group was being rapidly restructured. People were giving up their nicknames, distancing themselves from their romantic partners, and taking breaks from their music or families—anything to which they had developed “idolatrous attachments.” I was forbidden from reading and writing, prohibited from having serious conversations with the girls, and forced to wear new clothes, which Tyler picked out for me. The group was being run like a military boot camp, with chores and activities to keep us occupied virtually every hour of the day. The girls would wake up around seven to clean their house before the guys came over for lunch. During the afternoon, some of us would go to class at IHOP University while others worked or prayed. Around five, we would reconvene at one of the houses to prepare dinner. We would eat between 6:00 pm and 7:30 pm and then spend several hours praying or singing. Once every few weeks, there was even a surprise evacuation drill. We had prophecy time at least three nights a week. During these sessions, the group would sit in silence and listen for the whisper of God’s spirit. Everyone said similar things, although they often ended up being proven wrong later. Those who disagreed were called out for being arrogant and rebellious and were forced to repent. By the end of that summer, even the slightest gesture, no matter how innocent, could be misconstrued as evidence of demonic influence. One night in August, Tyler and June both had dreams in which God “revealed” that my individuality was endangering the community. As a precaution, I was isolated, and two of the boys kept constant watch over me. I could be reprimanded for scratching another man’s back, for sitting with a blanket over my legs, for looking at someone the wrong way. Once, Micah accused me of manipulating someone into coming over and hugging me. The group decided I should be forbidden from reading and writing. After a woman in the group had her bedroom door and Bible taken away from her, she complained to IHOP. The organization’s leaders met with Tyler and warned him that his group was becoming “cult-like.” Tyler began having regular meetings with them. He was ordered to quit punishing people and stop mandating that the students in our group come to his Saturday worship session rather than IHOP University’s mandatory meeting. And I was beginning to face my own doubts. My questions about the group had been accumulating for years, but one night, I heard the group praying against me in the next room. That moment helped me admit something to myself, something big: They weren’t actually hearing the voice of God. My friends and I were all being whipped into a frenzy by the delirious tonic of prophecy and persecution fantasies. The week after Bethany and Tyler’s engagement in February 2012, the men came to me and asked me to leave the community. At first I was distraught. If I moved out, I would be walking away from all my best friends. I had hoped I could push the group in a more positive direction. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was time for me to go. On the first day of April, I moved out. The rest of the group was forbidden from contacting me, and I wasn’t invited to the wedding. * * * Bethany Deaton and the author in 2008. (Boze Herrington/The Atlantic) The weeks after Bethany’s death were among the blackest of my life. One of my dearest and best friends was dead, and I couldn’t accept the explanation that she had killed herself two months into a marriage she had been looking forward to for years. Even the logistics of grieving were complicated; on the day of her visitation, Tyler tried to have me removed from the funeral home. Meanwhile, IHOP sent several leaders to investigate the prayer community. It took them only a couple of hours with the group on the night after Bethany’s death to conclude that Tyler was leading a cult. The boys who still lived with Tyler were asked to move out immediately, and current and former members were questioned. And then they interrogated Micah, the person who had been charged with guarding me during one of my periods of isolation from the group. During questioning, he broke down and confessed that he had suffocated Bethany. He later said Tyler had told him to commit the murder, saying he “had it in him to do it.” The next day—the day of Bethany’s funeral in Arlington, Texas—he drove to the police station and turned himself in. There, he told a lurid tale: He and other men in the group had sexual relationships with Tyler, and together, they had ritually assaulted Bethany. She had been killed, Micah said, because they were afraid she would tell her therapist about the assaults. This raised intense questions in the IHOP community, and Bickle and others held information sessions to address them. When one student asked how this kind of dangerous group could have existed with hardly anyone noticing, they explained that my friends and I were transplants from Texas who had developed an intense loyalty to one another and a spiritual leader who operated in secrecy. “There were people there who should have had careers," he said. “They had degrees, law degrees. But they had given up their goals for the vision of this one man.” He reminded the students that Judas had spent three years in the company of Jesus and his disciples without anyone suspecting the wickedness he was capable of. Tyler was the product of a phenomenally twisted system. Talking to members of the IHOP community, I get the impression that they want to forget what happened. If only they had read their Bibles more, I hear them saying. If only they had paid more attention to Bickle’s teachings. If only they hadn’t been led astray by their secular college environment. If only... I believe the movement's leaders have encouraged the perception that we were not “real, born-again Christians”—Tyler was not dangerous because of his grandiose delusions, they say, but because of his “evil homosexual agenda.” Though some of the group’s former members remained part of the prophetic movement, I mentally checked out after Bethany’s death. I joined a church in a liturgical tradition and formed a new circle of friends, many of whom had also left IHOP. I began to rethink my views on homosexuality and other marginalized groups. I also underwent counseling with IHOP leaders. During this process, I tried to renounce what I saw as harmful beliefs, including the conviction that our group had been messengers called to battle the forces of the anti-Christ. To my surprise and dismay, they told me, “No, Tyler was right about that. You need to pray out loud for God to show you your calling.” In other words, our group’s biggest crime wasn’t an excess of zeal—it was not being zealous enough. It seems to me that our community was not exceptional, given the high-intensity spiritual environment we were part of. Tyler was not an isolated individual, but the product of a phenomenally twisted system. It’s unclear who is responsible for Bethany's death. Micah's trial is set for this November. He has recanted his confession; his lawyer said his statements were made by “a distraught and confused young man under extreme psychological pressure.” Tyler has not been charged in the case. But it is clear that when Bethany died, she was part of a community shrouded in fear and hatred, a community where those who spoke out were treated as though they didn’t exist. Their loves, desires, opinions, feelings, and whole personalities were invalidated, all in the name of God.