Not-so-closeted former Mormon, current Latter-Day Saint. If there's anything you would like to ask me about the Book of Mormon, the Book of Arnold, my time in Uganda or how my life has been, please feel free to ask.
steoremus:Â Invited Dress for these amazing Mormons & Africans tonight! FINALLY Melbourne will get a chance to see their brilliance! CHOOKAS TO ALL! Xoxo @bookofmormonau
((Iâve always had a headcanon that McKinleyâs hell dreams focus on the guilt of normalizing homosexuality to the District 9 Elders. So hereâs a fic?? Based in that?? I guess??? Also sin. Not too graphic, getting back into the swing of writing ff))
Here he was again. McKinley didnât even have to open his eyes to know that he was back. It was a nightly occurrence, but with the new recruitsâ arrival, it had gotten so much worse. The weight on his chest was unnatural, it always was, and he knew that if he tried to yell to wake himself up, he would just be bothering his companion. Thomas deserved better than that, and McKinley knew he deserved these dreams. Punishment from Heavenly Father, thatâs what the Mission President always called it. Reluctantly, McKinley opened his eyes and found himself standing up. The moment of realization hit him with unwanted vertigo, and he quickly placed a hand over his eyes, feeling weak and trying to remind himself that this was a dream.Â
âElder McKinley, are you alright?â
With a gasp, McKinley opened his eyes. He laughed sheepishly at Price, who was extending a worried hand to him. âJust a littleâdizzy, Elder. Nothing to worry about.â What had he been thinking about before?Â
Priceâs extended hand moved to McKinleyâs, taking it away from his forehead. McKinley laughed nervously as he attempted to take his hand back. Price pursed his lips, moving his free hand to rest on McKinleyâs forehead. âYouâre feverish, Elder.â
âIâll say.â McKinley regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but it was so difficult to look away from Price. âIâI, Iâll be fine with a rest. The heatâsây'know.â McKinley laughed nervously as Price led him back to his room. As they entered his room, McKinley only briefly wondered where his mission companion was, and instead focused on the feeling of Priceâs hand on his back.Â
âYour body is a temple, Elder.â The stern tone in Priceâs voice shocked McKinley. He averted his eyes as Price placed hands on his shoulders, letting out a shaky breath at the closeness. âYou canât let your health decline! The doctor here wonât do you any good.â McKinley nodded, letting out a held breath when Price finally moved away. âGet to bed, Elder.â McKinley felt awkward removing his tie with Price standing there, so he merely loosened it and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt before moving his blanket back on his pitifully small bed.Â
âIâm going to rest, Elder Price. You can go.â McKinley smiled at Price before climbing into bed. The silence was deafening, if not only because he knew that Price had not left the room. Settling in under his blanket, McKinley closed his eyes tight and attempted to tell himself that Price had left, that he had just missed the sounds of his footsteps.Â
But, no, McKinley hadnât misheard. Priceâs footsteps rung out over the silence, and McKinley felt his heart stop for a moment. What was he doing? Why was he still here? Andâfor Heavenly Fatherâs sakeâwhy was he walking towards the two beds? McKinley was only able to voice a squeak of concern as Price climbed into the other bed.Â
âElder, can I talk with you for a moment?"Â
McKinley let out his held breath, starting to feel a little light-headed again. "Of course. Always.â It was a hoarse whisper, but McKinley couldnât help himself. Thoughts raced through his mind, and he almost had a heart attack when Price placed his arms around him. The beds were too close, they had always been too close. But with Thomas, it was always okay. But feeling Price pressed up against him, his arms keeping him from leaving. His breath was catching in his chest, Priceâs breath was against the back of his neck.
âIâve been feelingâŚconfused again.â McKinley shivered at the whisper from Price. McKinley was scared to ask for elaboration, but found that his silence was unwelcome. âConfused. Curious.â McKinley was assaulted on two frontsâPriceâs hand fumbling with his shirt and Priceâs lips against his neck.Â
âElder!â It was nothing more than a squeak. Priceâs hand made its way inside of McKinleyâs shirt. Even with the garments on underneath, McKinleyâs skin felt tingly from the touch. He couldnât bring himself to move away, and protested merely in squeaks. His neck was on fire from Priceâs kissesâfrom the occasional lick. It was all McKinley could do to keep from moaning, gluing his eyes shut in the hope that Price would stop. But did he really want him to?
He allowed Price this sin. He quieted himself, not quite protesting, but giving him little noises of encouragement. Price kissed up his neck, stopping at his earlobe and passing his tongue over it. McKinley shivered, letting out a gentle moan in return. Price continued, nibbling on his earlobe and licking where he saw fit as he slowly made his way to McKinleyâs crotch. McKinley complied with the unbuttoning of his pants, not realizing how far they were going until Priceâs hand made its way inside the flap of his holy garments. McKinley opened his eyes wide, finally pushing back against Price. But it was too late.Â
âYou wanted this, Elder. You always have.â McKinley found himself unable to moveâdue to fear?âas Price pulled him onto his back. McKinley was scared. This wasnât right. He couldnât move, couldnât protest. As Price moved McKinleyâs clothing away from his arousal, McKinley could only close his eyes. âItâs your fault, Elder.â Warm breath sent a chill up his spine, but he refused to open his eyes. A lick, a shudder. âYouâre corrupting us."Â
That phrase was the trigger. Gasping, McKinley opened his eyes to a scene he recognized all too well. He found his arms held down by what he could only describe as gremlinsâdemons being the correct term--but they just didnât invoke the same feelings as the thought of demons usually did. They were more comical, with big hands and feet, topped off with a crazy look in their eyes. After the realization set in, he noticed the warmth and the wet around his arousal. Bringing his eyes down, he was surprised to find that Price was still the one doing the very sinful act. Homosexual acts were bad in regards to his faith, but blowjobs were pretty much banned. The mixture of the two created a sinfully sweet sense of guilt, one that excited more than inhibited.Â
"ElderâŚâ He tilted his head back, the burning sensation spreading uncomfortably to the whole of his body. This wasnât his usual hell dream, but the concept was the same. The guilt was overwhelming, as it always was, but he felt sick enjoyment over the blowjob. A moan escaped his lips, and McKinley tried to ignore the cackles from the gremlins holding him down. He enjoyed it the most he could, focusing on the feelings of the back of Priceâs tongue against his headâfocusing on the slight vibrations from Priceâs grunts against him. He did his best to ignore the voice in his head, the whispers from the so-called demons, and even the heat that threatened to burn him to a crisp.Â
He came, his head swimming from everything, without a warning. Not that it mattered, anyway. It was a dream, and he felt no guilt in the subsequent coughing from Price. McKinley closed his eyes, attempting to catch his breath in the heat of the air.Â
âYouâve damned us, Elder.â Priceâs voice brought him off his high. McKinley had heard this before, but hearing it in this boyâs voice made his stomach flip. Opening his eyes, McKinley found himself free of the grasp of the gremlins. He sat up, making eye contact with Price. There was still cum on his lips, but McKinley couldnât focus on that for long. âWeâre all confused because of you. If you would have kept your mouth shut, we wouldnât be thinking these things.â McKinley knew it was true. This mantra was pounded into his head from his frequent nightmares, and he couldnât disagree. The scene changed before his eyes, and there were his boys. The elders of District Nine were all before him, engaging in various sinful and sexual acts. Worst of all, it was all his fault. If he had just turned it all off instead of talking about it, he would be okay. They would be okay.Â
McKinley was disgusted in himself, closing his eyes and covering his ears to block out the noise from his fellow elders. Tears streamed down his face as the guilt overcame him, and he let out a pathetic yell of terror as he felt hands on him, grabbing him, gripping him, ripping him apartâ
âElder McKinley!â
He was jostled awake by his companion. Sobbing, he grabbed ahold of Thomas and let himself cry into him. There were other voices, one he recognized as a worried and shaky Church, and another as an equally worried Davis. âNo, Iâm fine. Go back to sleep.â Of course, his voice wasnât strong. He was broken, the hell dreams usually did break him. He hated feeling so shaky, but allowed his companion to move away from him. Looking to the door, the first person he managed to make eye contact with was Price.Â
His stomach flipped, and he literately gagged. Turning away from the Elders in his doorway, and from his companion, McKinley placed a hand over his mouth and tried his hardest not to  throw up. For a large part of the dream, he had assumed it was real. He could still feel the tingling of Priceâs tongue on the back of his neck. He gagged again, clutching his stomach with one hand. What was wrong with him? Why had he given in so easily?
Churchâs voice was closer this time. âC'mon, letâs get you outside.â The next thing McKinley knew, Thomas and Churchâhis two closest friendsâwere helping him up on his feet and ushering him outside. The air was still humid, but not strikingly so. The breeze was refreshing, and it took McKinley a few seconds to realize that he was still crying. He muttered an apology, particularly to Church for taking him away from his companion.Â
âWe couldnât wake you up.â Church ignored the apology, placing a reassuring hand on McKinleyâs shoulder. âWe were all incredibly worried."Â McKinley was silent, finally gaining control of his tears. "Was your dream really that bad tonight?â
McKinley only nodded, and all three of them fell into silence, looking up at the stars together. Thomas heard the kinds of things his companion said in his sleep, while McKinley had completely come clean to Church on more than one occasion. They both knew the guilt their friend held onto deep inside.Â
âHeavenly Father still loves you, elder. No matter what.â Church was usually good at cheering McKinley up, but right now he didnât want to think about Heavenly Father. McKinley âshh"ed his friend, laying back on the cool ground and closing his eyes. He let out a breath and steadied himself before explaining to his friends that he was alright and ready to get back to bed. Reluctantly, they went back inside and headed to bed.Â
Schrader held the phone up to his earâit wasnât often that the Mission President called a district. Always written letters, so this must have been urgent. He barely got out his âhelloâ when he heard the tone of his voice, now holding the phone with both of his hands. âWhatâs going on?â
He listened, and turned away from the prying eyes of the other district Elders.
He swallowed, listening to the words of his peer. He shook his head slightly, letting out a small âI donât understand.â And he didnât, and he wouldnât during that phonecall. He felt his heart sink and his stomach drop at his words. Your parents are gone, you have no home to return to, you can stay with me at MTC. None of it really registered with him, but it couldnât have been good. He left on a good note, a 'thank youâ and 'see you thenâ with an attached 'I guessâ at the end, once the call was done.
He stood there, smiled as he handed the phone to their concerned Leader and still avoided eye contact. It made him nervous, and for once, he was grateful that his companion opened his mouth.
âAlrighty, now that thatâs over with, letâs stop playing who can stay quiet the longest and play a game that actually matters?â Neeley had earned a laugh from Davis, a few glances, and a reply.
âWe wonât be playing any games. Weâll be studying, like you should be doing.â Michaels practically huffed with the fierceness of a teenaged girl, moving to his place back on the couch.
Everyone scattered like they usually do, and no one asked Schrader what the call was about. Not until he went to bed, where his companion opened his mouth again.
âWhat was that call all about, man?â
Schrader sighed, undressing and ignoring the question. He didnât ask again, rather, made annoying whining noises until Schrader finally gave him the answer. âI donât know. It was about my parents.â He shrugged, but obviously Neeley thought it was more important than that.
He stressed what was going on, and eventually got the full conversation out of him. He didnât seem phased, until Neeley said it back to him in detail. His parents had left a note on their door, it had been for William when he got back from his mission. They moved, they apologized, they said he would be a great Mormonânot like they had been. The Mission President had offered a place to him for when he returnedâand even seemed to suggest that he would be coming back sooner than later.
Schrader cried that night, and did not sleep. Neeley stayed with him for most of it, unaware that his snoring was slightly comforting to his companion.
Lights out early and in bed on time. That was Michaelsâ routine, as it should have been everyone elses. So imagine his surprise when he woke upânot even ten minutes after he had fallen asleep. He could hear his companion grunting rather loudly, and moving enough in his bed for Michaels to label it âa lotâ. He breathed out, sitting up and looking over to his companion.
He was tossing and turning, laying his head down almost harshly. Heâd stay still, grunt and move again. Michaels opened his mouth.
âZelder, what are you doing.â There was no question, just tired words.
The redhead froze, and then sat up rather quickly. âIâm /sorry/!â He quieted himself. âIâm sorry, I justâIâm not comfortable.â Michaels stared at him, and noticed how panicked he really looked. So he stood up, Zelder grunting again and moving away from him. The dark haired boy reached by him and fluffed his pillow, even ushering him out of the bed and fixing the small sheet. Then, when he was back in bed, put the blanket over him. âNow go to bed.â
He barely got the words out as Zelder laid down, a content âaahhâ escaping his lips as he closed his eyes. After a pause and getting back into his own bed, Zelder murmured a 'thank youâ. Michaels replied, only to hear Zelder gasp gently from being woken up. He sighed gently, staying quiet so that his companion could get back to sleep.
Aries: turned off spellcheck and never looked back
Taurus: "lol fuck canon"
Gemini: would actually be a pretty good writer if they would stop calling characters by their hair color all the damn time
Cancer: can't imagine a fanfiction where they write their favorite character shagging anyone but their OC
Leo: three words: Throbbing Meat Wand
Vigro: can't describe anything without writing at least 30 fucking adjectives for the same thing in front of it
Libra: "Ohayo, Snape Sensei," Harry-kun said blushing, "You are looking Sugoi today, desu."
Scorpio: Thinks their writing is better & more mature the more times they have the characters curse at & insult each other, no matter how inappropriate (ie. Smurfs)
Sagittarius: "Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears"
Capricorn: has written 10 different fanfics about their most hated character dying within the past month
Aquarius: writes the most anatomically impossible sex you've ever seen
Pisces: "hi this is my first fic sorry i suck at summaries hope you enjoy"
Thomas wiped the tears from his face with his free handâthe other being held by his companion. It was being doctored, sterilized and covered. He had gotten a nasty gash while trying to get out some placements, and they quickly had to postpone and head back to their safehouse. He only really stopped his tears when McKinley placed a kiss on the band-aid, smiling at him.
âThere, all done and fixed and good.â He was very proud of himself, so Thomas decided not to mention that it still hurt. Instead, he asked if they could stay home for the rest of the day. McKinley dropped his arms and gestured toward the couch. âOf /course/ my friend. There is no need for us to rush back in to action. In fact, itâs just us here so whoâs to say anything?â
Thomas allowed himself to laugh, sitting with his companion. They played games, but more importantly, really got to know each other. Talked about why exactly they were there, and agreed to keep it amongst themselves. Thomas found himself hopingâwishing, that they would end up the only Elders in this section of Africa.
On days such as these, McKinley wanted to teach his companion a few steps. It wasnât until they heard that more Mormons were coming that he finally asked. They both knew, as time went on, it would only get more stressful. Thomas kept telling himself, keep your chin up. You got stuck with a guy that actually cares about you.
And heâd smile, agreeing with his companion. Letting him convince him to learn his dance.
Church enjoyed the stars on a normal night, and he was very pleased that they were all able to end the night on such a note. It was almost suffocating, outside of any populated area at night. Of course, it was something suggested for them not to do, which is why he did it in secret up on the roof. When âturning offâ your feelings didnât work, he found that losing himself in this planetâs empty embrace helped calm his mind and center where he should be.
He liked to play with the idea that this planet was that of someone he knew, or possibly Joseph Smith, and that they were all his guests there. In the end he knew that wasnât true, but when he reminded himself they as the human race, sons of God, were guests on this planet, he remembered to act the part.
It was still warm out, with a cool breeze coming by every now and then. It felt nice, he thought, as he wiped his moist forehead. The humidity was far worse than the heat. He pushed his legs out gently and quietly, laying himself down on his back and getting a better view of the infinity he had grown so fond of.
âChurch?â A whispered question from behind him. He didnât move, but raised his hand. He knew it was his companion, the only one who knew and swore not to tell.
Quietly he had made his way next to him, sitting down and looking upward. They stayed in silence for much too long, well aware that it was way past curfew. James raised his hand, placing it on his companions back.
âWeâll make it, Davis. God sent us here.â
He only recieved silence in response, as well as Davis looking over at him. He couldnât read his expression in the dark; in the end, he laid down next to him and James knew he wasnât feeling it either.
This wasnât working; heavy breaths filled his ears, his heartbeat even louder. The sounds of him being out of shape blocked out everything else, but not for the one he was chasing after. The crunching of dirt underneath his feet alerted his companion, who wheeled around in something close to fear.
A moment passed, Cunningham doubled over. Panting. The look on Priceâs face dissolved and he looked away.
Cunningham caught his breath, and stood up straight. âBuddy, heyââ
Price shook his head, wetting his lips. âNo, CunninghamâŚI..â
The shorter of the two already looked heartbroken, but he kept his mouth shut. This was it, wasnât it?
Price looked to him, and smiled, surprising the dark haired boy. âThanks, buddy. I really needed a friend right now.â
He turned to walk away, and Cunningham followed diligently after him, letting Price explain just how they were going to clean the stains off his shirt. He was shaking, so Arnold grabbed his hand. There was a pause, and then breathy laughter.
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