Yeoldebard
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That summer, Mason Hill entered a close relationship with Death in all its forms. It started with a ramp ceremony. Not his first, gods no. Soldiers had been dying since the day he arrived at his unit. But it was the first time he stood formation, the first time his body formed a corridor, the first time he watched, as five containers were escorted 100 yards to the waiting aircraft. Five lives ended, five people he didn’t know, but Mason stood for them as they would have stood for him. Life
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The US Army, in its infinite wisdom, decided constant combat was detrimental to the emotional well-being of the American Soldier. The US Army, in its infinite benevolence, decided one week every two months was necessary to get the American Soldier back into fighting spirits. Mason started summer break in a cemetery. He’d been pushing this off. He’d said his goodbyes, said all he needed to say. What was the use in revisiting old traumas? Yet here he was, watching Jack babble on and on to a
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Living on the front lines of a war was surreal. Every time he stepped out of their barn, Mason expected to hear yells going up that the orcs were attacking, that they’d finally reached critical mass. Or worse, he expected to hear nothing at all. Just splitting pain, then nothing. But predictions held true: even the orcs hesitated to fight in the mountains in winter. It made little sense to Mason — snow in Auburn California was about as common as rain in Phoenix Arizona. If water froze over dur
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Mason lost control. But then, he’d never had it to begin with. It started with the airport. He’d assumed they were going to Sacramento; that was the closest airport to their unit. It wasn’t until they’d landed and he disembarked with Wishbone that Mason realised he was in Reno again. “Why?” Braden scoffed. “Unlike a certain dumbass I know, I know better than to report to my unit early. And I know you; you’ll make the same mistake five times just to make sure you got it wrong the first ti
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How was it, when you thought you had nothing more to give, nothing more to lose, the world always found a way to torture you even further? He needed to explain himself. Defend his actions. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to beg for forgiveness for abandoning the only one who’d ever truly loved him. But there was no one left. Mason sat against the wall in their room. He would never know how long he’d been there. Certainly, for the rest of the day, he was left alone. Powerless as C
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They say time heals all wounds. They lied. Five days in Fort Hamilton. Five days of memorising scripts, five days of training with Brutus, learning commands. Bumping into walls. Tripping over steps. Five days of unending pain. “It’s not acting, it’s playing pretend. Think back to when you were a kid, playing war with your friends.” The woman beamed at him encouragingly. Mason stared blankly past her. “Just channel that energy, and aim at the dots.” He stood in front of the blue screen.
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Mason Hill was a private in the US Army. The only thing lower than him in the Army’s eyes were recruits. Privates didn’t make demands. They didn’t get special privileges. A spoiled fundie who had the ear of a congressman, did. Was it selfless duty to volunteer as a VIP’s personal body guard? Was it a sense of obligation that drove a soldier to volunteer for dog poop duty? Or was Braden Cavendish so much of a self-centred asshole that he had to shove his way into Mason’s new-found fame? Mas
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“Leopold Cook?” Methane filled the waiting room. After a while, Leo barely noticed it anymore. The stench had filled his mind, been noticed, then filed away where it could do no more harm. More disconcerting was the disembodied voice in his head. It wasn’t God — surely God wouldn’t question who he was. But the possibility still made him tremble. He yelped as a blue human appeared out of thin air. The man seemed confused as Leo leapt from his chair. Leo knew him. This was the man who’d rais
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The Gold Country Fairgrounds tent city was… disappointing. Nearly forty acres of land, the fairgrounds were home to convention centres, massive stables for cattle, and the rare restroom. Wide open fields were covered by 16-man tents — Mason was not looking forward to the bloodbath that would be trying to coax his tent mates to allow Wishbone inside one. “You have been laying off the brussel sprouts, right?” he muttered. Wishbone wagged. But he needn’t have worried. For in their supreme ben
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They stood in formation before half-empty bleachers. Capped by black berets, pinned by crossed rifles, the latest batch of US army recruits stood in unseasonal heat, fighting sweat, nerves, exhaustion, exultation, as they awaited the final word. “Dismissed.” With one word, they were doomed. With one word, they were elevated. With one word, they were no longer recruits, but infantrymen in the United States Army. Private First Class Mason Hill turned with a smile, gazing down at Sergeant Wis
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March here. Run there. Sound off loud and strong. And never let them know. Another secret shared. Another secret kept. A blue flash. Euphoria. A crash, a breakdown. Quietly, quietly. Lay your shattered soul into bed. The only safe place left. Never let them know. Someone knew. “When’s the funeral?” Wyatt stared at him over a breakfast of eggs, perfectly cooked for once. Somehow, the DFAC had breakfast down to a science. They ached. A fragile connection, cut by unfeeling time. A neces
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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“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
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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
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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
