Yeoldebard

The door closed. Silence. Tense, nervous silence. Mason knelt down, unclipping Wishbone’s leash. Removing his vest. Folding them, setting them on a dresser. Next, his shoes. Laces tied and tucked — it was ingrained at this point. Next… next… what was next? What else could he do that would stave off- A bed squeaked. They’d gotten two beds, naturally; a single bed would have raised so many questions no one wanted asked… or answered. Mason turned. Wyatt was removing his own shoes. A rep

Anvil. Omaha. Church. Somehow Mason survived it all. Somehow, no one tried to kill him again. Somehow, he was assigned squad leader. Early days, late nights. Writing letters for his companions. Talking them into pushing forward, encouraging them not to give in. Forcing himself to do better, be stronger, faster. His squad was improving. Morale was shining bright. And Mason was miserable. He’d done this all before, sure. He’d muddled through. He’d done as expected. He’d been perfectly, pai

Mason finally got to see the infamous 30th AG. He’d been through this hell twice already. He’d be just fine. Off the bus. Toe the line in the dark. Try not to look too tired — that would come later. Drill sergeants came up, talked shit. Mason handed over his phone like a good boy — he’d at least had the courtesy to send Braden a text while on the bus, letting him know Mason would be beyond all help for the next… fuck, he didn’t know how long. That did not bode well. Eyes on Wishbone. Spittle

Week 4. He wasn’t talking to Jack. Garrett never talked to Jack to begin with. Mason was starting to see miniscule cracks in his cheer. Served him right. How many times did he have to tell Jack he didn’t need his help hooking up? If Mason wanted to fuck, that was what Sakis was for. He didn’t. End of story. And Mark. Mason saw him once or twice, roaming the DFAC, doing his laundry. There was no “hello”, no apology for the whole situation. If anything, Mark acted like he didn’t even exist.

He’d moved his clothes. Jeisa stared at his closet, warmth bubbling in his chest. Leo was moving back into his room. Something had changed, hopefully for the better. But with this new closeness, Jeisa could redouble his efforts, really show Leo just how much the human meant to him. Starting small. “I’ve been seeing a healer,” Jeisa said as they prepared for bed. Devin was already tucked in, a night light glowing softly from his room. Jeisa hoped he’d stay there. It had been a while since D

Days of lectures, cramming months of knowledge into a few short weeks. Afternoons filled with study, desperately trying to improve. Nights sneaking around under the glow of red light, deconstructing and reconstructing spells. Pressure mounted. Enthralled with an actual bathroom for once, Sakis kept encouraging Mason to find new ways to fuck him. Waste of time. Jack dragged him out for another milkshake. They devolved into a discussion about the pros and cons of opera vs baroque vs romantic mus

Mason’s hand was coated with a generous layer of grease. Trapped in the bathroom with his pants pooled around his ankles, the Summoner reached forward, and ran a finger up Sakis’ backside. He had finally caved. Sakis was right; this room was the most privacy they were ever likely to have in the army. For months now, Mason had been offering blowjobs to the Erotes, offering orgasms in return for power. He had neglected any other form of sex, out of both necessity and desire. Well, necessity wa

Three in the morning. And they were on the move already. Mason peered out the bus window into the floodlit darkness that was Fort Sill. He couldn’t say he’d miss this place. Then again, he’d never really committed to making the best of the place. Scraping by, trying to avoid notice as much as possible, that was more his style, even if it hadn’t quite worked. His wandering eyes caught a hint of motion. A dark hoodie, concealing the face of one spoiled fundie, hidden just out of sight. Or he w

Compared to the rest of basic training, the following week was a breeze. That didn’t mean it was easy. Uniforms were washed and rewashed. Dress uniforms were fitted. Rifles were taken apart, scrubbed, put back together, then taken apart and scrubbed again. Gas masks were cleaned out over and over until Sergeant Amos was satisfied. Sunday. Mason sat with his back to a wall, listening to quiet music. No earbuds — he had to keep the volume down low. Yet somehow, it wasn’t low enough. “Who t

Rain. It poured down on them, making a miserable two mile walk even more agonising. Mason adjusted the crate on his left shoulder. It felt like it was filled with rocks, though he knew it was probably just ammunition or something useful like that. He didn’t even have the luxury of slowing down — the entire platoon was rushing to deliver supplies to the “front lines”. Day 1 of the Forge. The more he walked, the more Mason wished his squad had been chosen for recon. To jog down a road, free

He wasn’t recycled. But that didn’t relax Mason in the slightest. For the next week, he did everything he could to excel. From the classroom where they studied VID, to the field where they practiced battle drills, Mason fought for every inch of progress. By Sunday, he was drained. But life didn’t stop just because he was exhausted. Sure, they got an extra hour of sleep. Sure, they didn’t have training of any sort. They still had to clean the barracks, clean their rifles, fight each other for l

“Well well. Look who finally learned to use all four eyes.” “How late did you stay up to think that one up?” Braden and Mason scowled at each other as they walked through the brush. For the first time, they carried their standard issued rifles into the field, though their magazines were all loaded with blanks. It was still a heady feeling — Mason had passed his qualifications only a day before Anvil, scraping just under the wire to join the platoon on the field training exercise. And now h

Warmth comforted him as he woke up. A weight hugged him, soft, fuzzy. Leo’s eye cracked open, staring into Jeisa’s green orbs. His breath caught. The two stared at each other, neither daring to move. “You… you seemed to… like this, when we were in that puddle,” Jeisa muttered. He squirmed, knee prodding into Leo’s bladder. It made Leo painfully aware that he had to pee… and his hand had been caressing the tiger’s bare ass. Still, he didn’t move. He was touching Jeisa… cuddling with Jeisa

Rifle parts lay in organised chaos. Each glistened with lube, cleaned as thoroughly as Mason could manage, and then some. A bore brush scratched lightly through the barrel, scraping out nonexistent debris. For his third or fourth pass, he was almost certain nothing was coming out. But the action itself was soothing. Certainly more soothing than trying to remember how to put all this crap back together. But put it together, he must. Heavy bootsteps walked down the line. Sergeant Amos peered d

“This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.” “Wrong branch, dumbass.” Mason snorted, even as he gripped the rubber duck in experienced hands. Thank fuck for deific fuckery — if he hadn’t received that magical training for his AR-15, he’d probably be freaking out just holding this prop rifle. It certainly felt real enough, even if it was painted bright red. The weight was definitely noticeable over a five-mile ruck into the “wilderness”. Braden seemed less enthused by t