一道 (ichi·dou)


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dragonchaser | chapter fifteen: dragonking. →

farfromdaylight:

The familiar summoning glyphs appeared around Cid, centered on the materia embedded in his body, and swirls of magic extended from him in thick coils, ripping apart anything in their path. Within moments, they had closed into a cocoon around the pilot, and then changed into pure energy that expanded up and out, like it was stretching its limbs. The light was so bright that even Vincent had to turn and shield his eyes for a moment, mirroring Tatsumi, and only when it faded could he look back at the summoned dragon.

It was Bahamut, that much was certain, but he had never seen Bahamut take any form like this one. His scales were the brightest of blues, like the sky on a cloudless day, and yet when he shifted they seemed darker than any night. There was red and gold along his wings, all three pairs of them, and his thick tail was bladed and ridged at the tip, looking sharper than any of Cloud’s swords. There were parts of him that were familiar — the shape of his wings, the sharp angle of his jaw — but Vincent had never seen this particular summon before.

Then his eyes widened. Tatsumi had mentioned fusing summon materia — he had fused the Bahamut materia together, all of the ones AVALANCHE had collected. And as much as he hated the man, Vincent had to admit it might be the only reason Cid had survived the fusion. There had only ever been one Bahamut, after all; he simply appeared to them in different forms, depending on which materia someone used to summon him. He was the king of dragons; his power was far too vast to be held in one materia.

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So, uh, shit goes down.

Also, I need a beta or the sequel is going to take me forever to rewrite. Hit me up if you’re interested in helping out.

No, really, I need a beta. I wrote a 90,000-word draft last year and it’s terrible. I can salvage maybe half of it, but I need to completely rewrite the outline. I really need help. If you’re canon-savvy with FFVII and willing to help me wrangle this fic together I’d love the help.


dragonchaser | chapter fourteen: soulbound. →

farfromdaylight:

Vincent’s hands moved against his will. He had never been this powerless in his life. Not when Hojo had mutilated him, not when his demons changed his form and wreaked havoc, not when Chaos tore his soul to shreds until they became one. Nothing was like watching his body move and not being able to control even the slightest twitch of a finger.

He didn’t stop fighting, not for a moment, but every time he was met with stronger resistance. The spell Tatsumi had him trapped in was like an iron cage with no bars, nothing even to grab on to pull himself out with. He wasn’t cut off from the Planet, but his chaotic energy had nowhere to go, and he couldn’t send the slightest pulse of energy outside his own body.

Vincent tried to focus as much as he could on breaking free, and not what his body was doing, because he wasn’t sure if he could handle the alternative. Cid was unconscious, obviously enhanced from prolonged exposure to mako and more than likely addicted, and though Vincent knew it gave him a better chance of surviving the procedure he found no comfort in it. Tatsumi had him strapping Cid down onto a surgical table, with restraints not unlike ones Vincent remembered, and even if Vincent’s body couldn’t shudder the rest of him was horrified at the sight. If he couldn’t break free — if he couldn’t stop Tatsumi —

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Warning for some gory details in this chapter.

Nearly finished posting this fic.


dragonchaser | chapter thirteen: a meeting of the minds. →

farfromdaylight:

Vincent had never been this deep into Junon Base. Back during the Jenova War, with Meteor hanging over their heads, he’d been here twice. The first he barely remembered, and didn’t care to. Any time spent in Hojo’s care was best forgotten, and he was lucky his teammates — friends, he corrected himself, they had proven themselves his friends that day — had come for him. They could have left him to rot in Hojo’s laboratory like any other specimen, but they’d risked themselves to retrieve him.

He had been a weaker man then, consumed with guilt and the horrors his transformations inflicted upon him. Vincent didn’t consider himself particularly strong now, but he had begun to let things go in the past four years. He would never be the man he was before the coffin, but that was all right. That man had died a long time ago.

The second time had been for the Huge Materia at the Underwater Reactor, and Vincent felt as if he was going just as deep as he descended into the base now. He had never understood just how Shinra had managed to build an underwater reactor in the first place. At the time, he had simply marvelled, and chalked it up to one of the technical advancements that had come during his slumber, but he could barely fathom the amount of manpower it must have taken to build such an installation on the seafloor, let alone how they’d survived.

It was the kind of thing he’d have to ask Cid, he thought, and it made him quicken his pace.

The clone’s trail hadn’t faded, even this far beneath the city. If anything it had just gotten stronger. This wasn’t the first clone to have emerged, Vincent knew, but he hadn’t realized just how many clones he might be dealing with down here. Tatsumi obviously had extensive resources at his disposal, and he had to be prepared for anything.

He gripped his gun tighter. It was a good thing he was at full power. Even his demons knew better than to fight him when it came to something like this. This wasn’t the same Hojo who had bound them to this human vessel, but it didn’t matter. It was all the same to them.

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In which shit goes down. This is one of my favorite chapters.

nearing the end, whoo.


found in translation [ rvb | fic | wash & maine ] →

Wash doesn’t find it so hard to understand Maine, once he gets the hang of it. A look at Wash and Maine’s partnership from the beginning of Project Freelancer through its aftermath.

Thanks to Anne for inspiring me to write this, and for a couple headcanon bits.

This is in some ways a prologue to my S7 AU, which I’ve talked about before. I wanted to write out my headcanon for what their partnership was like back in Freelancer and how Wash learned to understand him so I’d have it handy. 7000 words later, here we are.

The first time you see the giant in your room, you think there’s been a mistake.

You back out of the room, in fact, and go to check the nameplate. This can’t be your room. There’s no way someone that big shares with someone else. You’ve gone and walked into the wrong room and now you’re gonna have to stammer out an apology and it’ll be awkward.

Only no, that’s your name on the panel just outside. It’s not your name, not really, but nobody here’s gonna call you David. No, you’re Agent Washington now, and Agent Washington has a room with Agent Maine.

Who’s, like, six foot ten and staring at you.

You wait for him to say something.

It doesn’t come.

“Hi,” you manage, feebly. You step back into the room and it slides shut behind you. Maine raises an eyebrow. He gives you a once-over, not bothering to hide it. You get the feeling a guy his size doesn’t really need to hide it. Jeez, he’s like, all muscle. No wonder he’s here. Must be the team heavy. You suddenly feel inadequate. In, like, everything.

Right. Introductions. “I’m Wash. Uh— Washington. Which. You know. From the sign.”

Maine snorts.

He still doesn’t say anything. It’s a change from the other Freelancers you’ve met — christ, that guy New York (“Nah, man, just York, it’s not like there’s two of me!”) could talk the ears off corn. He’s alright to be around, for the short while you’ve been here, but it’s overwhelming. It’s all overwhelming.

And now you’re rooming with a behemoth. God, and you thought North Dakota was a big guy. He’s got nothing on Maine.

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dragonchaser | chapter twelve: return service requested. →

farfromdaylight:

"Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again. I’m Cissnei."

The Turk standing before him was familiar, but it wasn’t until she gave him an easy smile that Vincent could place her. It was the same Turk who had been with Veld in Shinra Manor when he’d woken from his slumber, and Vincent allowed himself a half-smile. He had to hand it to Veld, the man knew him well. As much as Vincent knew he would need help with this, he wasn’t happy about it, and having someone he was familiar with put him at ease.

"Likewise," Vincent allowed, stepping aside. The woman slipped past him, and he watched her take in the room with a Turk’s eyes — checking exits, surveying what he’d been doing. He’d left the room much as it came; he’d caught a couple hours of sleep, but mostly he’d used the desk to go over the files he had on Tatsumi and the couch for meditation. Cissnei nodded to herself and placed a thin folder on the desk, mindful not to disturb his work.

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Transition chapter. We’re getting into endgame here.

p short chapter but the next one is where shit goes down so. gotta get through this first!


Wastelancers: Chapter 21 →

anneapocalypse:

Conversation is light over lunch, which gives Wash time to think. Would be downright stupid to ignore how well they get along, how compatible they are. Not just in bed, either; York was a good partner out in the wasteland. Good at following orders, and he’d had more than a few good tricks up his sleeves that Wash wouldn’t have thought of. He’d be good to have around.

But if the sex this morning was any indication, it’s not as simple as sharing a bed. York’s been submitting to him so completely that Wash found himself pushing boundaries just to see what York would take. What he could get away with. And god, was it ever worth it, but— something like this, he’s gotta know. Gotta be sure.

He meets York’s eyes as he’s finishing up his Nuka and holds his gaze. “Hey. About earlier— can I ask you something?”

York meets Wash’s eyes with a raised eyebrow as he downs the last of his cola. “Mm?”

In which Wash and York have The Talk.

There is also a massage.

Sorry for the long delay! We’ve both had a whirlwind of a month, but we’re glad to get back to posting.

This is seriously one of my favorite chapters and I’m really sorry it’s taken so long to post. Because I love it.

More soon, hopefully! The long break has at least given us a chance to do some more writing.


shoot (no regrets) | rvb | wash/south (nsfw) →

South uses Wash. Wash lets himself be used. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t stop Project Freelancer from crashing down around them.

A character study of South through the lens of a relationship with Wash, covering her entire arc.

So here’s the thing. I wrote most of this fic in April 2012. And then it sat there, because season 10 hadn’t aired yet and I needed that piece of canon to get any further. After season 10 I wasn’t particularly inspired, and it’s taken me until now to sit down and finish this.

He knows she’s angry, but then, everyone knows when South is angry. Some of them are good at hiding it — they’ve all learned the hard way to avoid the quiet storm of Carolina’s wrath, the clenched jaw and short, hard orders thrown at anyone who dares to cross her, and Wash is usually the only one crazy enough to try and get through to Maine when he’s pissed off. South is a hurricane, tearing through the barracks with no regard to who or what is in her way until she finds Wash, slamming the door to his room shut behind her and grabbing him by the shirt.

“South? What’s going—”

She doesn’t say a thing, but he gets the message loud and clear in the furious press of her lips to his, silencing him save a muffled groan as she shoves him against the wall, the heavy plates of her armor digging into his skin. He reaches down to start pulling her armor away only for her to pin his wrist to the wall, and strong as he is there’s no overpowering her like this. There’s a moment of resistance, when she pulls back for breath, a half-mumbled what the hell are you— and then she’s devouring his mouth with her own and he stops thinking about anything at all.

It takes nothing for her to push him to his knees, and he’s allowed to pull enough of her armor away to get at the seam of her bodysuit, tongue working against her clit with a mumble of desire. It’s not enough, though, even when her fingers dig so hard into his shoulders that he knows he’ll have bruises later, and she snarls a curse at him as she pushes him back.

“Sorry, I just—”

“You talk too fucking much,” South growls.

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dragonchaser | chapter eleven: biology 101 →

farfromdaylight:

The address was a front. The apartment looked like it hadn’t been lived in for months, maybe even longer. Vincent swore under his breath, but he wasn’t surprised. He was dealing with a Hojo; there was no knowing what kinds of traps he’d have to deal with.

And that meant calling in the Turks.

Reeve had been a great help, that went without question. And there was a certain value in having a uniform and all the regulations that went with it along for the ride; the visit to Fissure earlier had proven that. For all that the WRO was striving to make the world a better place, bureaucracy itself would never change.

But for a man in the shadows, he would need those who made the shadows their business. Veld’s Turks were retired, and Vincent was too, but things were different when Hojos were involved. He’d need help.

Vincent checked over the apartment for listening devices — those, at least, he had familiarized himself with since returning to the world of the living — and, finding none, phoned Veld.

"I need a Turk."

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Another interrogation. Stuff’s going down.

hey look it’s this thing i’m posting more


dragonchaser | chapter ten: fissure →

farfromdaylight:

Vincent never quite knew what to make of Junon. In his day, it had been a small fishing village and port of little note; now, it was one of the largest and most important military installations in the world. The first time he’d even seen the Shinra base, he had had to ask what exactly it was. The idea that a city could be made of so much metal was completely foreign to him, no matter what he had heard of the plans for the Plate above Midgar’s villages in his day.

But it was thirty years later, and Junon was a different place. The water was still polluted, though less so than it was when the reactor was still powered, and most people still lived up in the base rather than down in the village, preferring the comfort and security its metal walls provided no matter what troubles it endured. Junon had depended utterly on the mako reactor for power, and much of the oil reserves Barret’s teams had found in the past few years had been redirected here in order to power Junon’s factories. With Midgar in ruins, and Edge still a young settlement, Junon was the only real remainder of Shinra’s technological advancements, and the WRO had made good use of them.

It made sense, then, for materia research to spring up here. According to Veld’s notes, a group called Fissure had sprung up in Junon within the past year with the same basic goals as MateriaWorks — they sought to augment the city’s power needs with materia. Instead of using spells, though, they had turned to materia fusion, and right now, they were the best lead Vincent had.

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Been a while since I updated. Have a chapter.


love me tomorrow [wash/york | nsfw | rvb/halo/edge of tomorrow] →

You have seen Agent York die three hundred sixty-four times, and you still haven’t figured out how to save him.

Timeloop fic based on elements from the film Edge of Tomorrow, and merging Red vs Blue with Halo 2.

So I never write in second-person but idk it worked for this fic. Also: this was written after I went and saw Edge of Tomorrow, then played some Halo 2. You ever see a movie and then immediately try and fit your OTP into it? Yeah. This is that kind of fic. Happy with how this came out, though.

You have seen Agent York die three hundred sixty-four times, and you still haven’t figured out how to save him.

It might be more than that, but you’re starting to lose count and you don’t think you can stay sane if you do lose track, so you’re sticking with that number. You think it’s been over a year. It feels longer. Feels like a lifetime.

“Can’t remember the last time I saw Earth,” North says next to you. “How ‘bout you, Wash?”

You don’t respond. You gave that up a hundred loops ago.

===

You’re not positive how it happened, but you’ve got a pretty good guess by now, and guesses are all you have until you figure this out. If you can figure this out.

It was the Covenant carrier making the slipspace jump in-atmosphere, and the fucking Grunt who shot a plasma burst at you at just the right second, right as you’d set off an E.M.P. Whatever it was that happened that set you on this thing, this repeating loop — it’s gotta be related to that. Nothing else makes sense.

It’s not like you haven’t had time to think about it.

You still don’t really get the science behind it. FILSS tried to explain it to you a couple of times, when you convinced her what was going on, but you’ve never really had a head for science and you don’t really care to. All you know is that you’d gotten thrown back to the Mother of Invention three hours before the call came to head to Earth. Before Project Freelancer was reassigned from a secret special ops unit to front-line defense.

You’d thought all you had to do was find the Grunt to stop it from happening — to stop the day from resetting every time the Covenant carrier made the jump. Wasn’t like it was hard, getting back there. You’ve always had a good memory. Didn’t matter. Even with the Grunt dead, you’d ended up flung back to the Invention the second the carrier spun up their slipspace drives.

Then you’d figured it was your E.M.P. — that all you had to do was keep from using it. You’d been taking out a Wraith the first time, frying it so Maine could jump on the back and punch it until it exploded, and it’d been easy to just not use your equipment. But you’d gotten flung back to the ship all the same. And no matter how many times you’d tried to recreate the conditions that got you here, it never mattered.

So you decided to just take out the slipspace drive. And in three hundred sixty attempts, you haven’t managed to stop it.

Oh, the first few times you tried to tell anyone they thought you were crazy. If the situation wasn’t so dire, you’d almost thought the Director was going to lock you up and psychoanalyze you. No, you had had to be more careful, relying on only those Freelancers you could trust.

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