一道 (ichi·dou)


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dragonchaser | chapter nine: interrogations. →

farfromdaylight:

He looked back at the clone, feeling Reeve’s skeptic gaze on his back. He ignored it. He was sure. There was no soul there, nothing for him to take to the Lifestream. It was another empty shell. But the rest of it was real. The clone was agitated, hands fiddling in the cuffs, as if he didn’t know what to do without a cigarette between his fingers. His eyes were bloodshot, sleep-deprived the way Cid would be if he’d been running himself ragged, the way he always did when he was stressed. Between the lack of nicotine and the exhaustion, Vincent was surprised the clone wasn’t more upset.

And then came the curses. “Reeve! Hey! Fucktard! Let me outta this box already! I ain’t a fuckin’ prisoner! When I get my hands on yer little cat I’m gonna stuff him where the sun don’t—”

Reeve cut off the microphone for the interrogation room. “He keeps doing that,” he said, wiping his hand over his face. He turned his back to the room, finally unable to bear the sight. “I… Vincent, when you told me, I never realized…”

"That it would be this real?" Vincent said quietly.

Reeve looked back at him, stricken, and Vincent sighed. He gave the clone one last look and turned away. “The first clone had months to fool you. You were so used to thinking of him as ‘Cid’ that when he was gone, it was like a bad dream. It faded. This nightmare is only beginning.”

Read on AO3 | Read on FF.net

This is my favorite chapter. Also, probably one of the best ones in the fic.

now go read it


dragonchaser | chapter eight: spreading the net. →

farfromdaylight:

Occasionally, Vincent’s friends had asked him what it was like to play host to a group of demons. He had told them little, and had no interest in changing that, but these days, it really wasn’t so bad. Now that he had something of an agreement with each of them — and considering he was Chaos — he thought of them less as parasites on his soul and more as symbiotes. He had never wanted them, certainly, but he had long since given up any hope of getting rid of them, and he had made the best of it.

He could almost smile at the thought, if he was the one who had lips. He never would have imagined he would be thinking like this when he’d first emerged from his coffin.

But things had changed since then. He had changed. Certainly, becoming Chaos’s avatar had had much to do with it. When he had been nothing but its host, an unwilling body bound to its power, there was little he could do but fight against it, and every time he changed had been at as much internal strife as external. Chaos was more than a demon, he was an entity created by the Planet, and Vincent knew now that he had never stood a chance against it.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

Read on AO3 | Read on FF.net

hey look this fic isn’t dead

yeah so i was full of blah for a long time about this fic, but. it IS done, so i might as well finish posting it. i’ll figure out what to do ith the sequel after that.


Wastelancers: Chapter 14 →

anneapocalypse:

In which the boys can’t keep their hands off each other, and Wash enjoys getting his dom on. With lots of dirty talk.

Or: why I insist dom!Wash/sub!York is the greatest thing ever.


Wastelancers: Chapter 13 →

anneapocalypse:

Wash muffles a groan against York’s mouth as he feels the bulge press against his thigh, and when he draws back for breath he smirks right back down at him. To be honest, kissing York is more fun than he thought it would be — every teasing lick, every bite just gets thrown right back at him, and he wouldn’t mind spending time exploring nothing more than his mouth. But York’s been patient, obedient, and Wash is only too happy to reward him.

He drags his lips down York’s jaw as he slides his hands down over his sides, and he bites in just above the edge of his collarbone, lips closing tight to suck another mark. His thumbs flick over York’s nipples as he makes his way down, pressing warm, searching kisses down his chest, and his fingers spread over firm muscles, toned from life in the wastes.

The more time they spend together, the more York seems to hit every last one of his buttons. He smirks up at him from around his navel and slides a palm down to cup York through his pants. Lets him strain against the material, try and grind up against him. Ready as he is to get another taste, he has no intention of letting things go as quickly as they did last night. “Mmm. Knew you’d be this hard. Wanted me that bad, huh?”

York sinks into the bed just enjoying Wash’s touch and the feeling of being explored, groaning as Wash’s hand curls around him and tilting his hips up almost involuntarily. God it feels good to finally be touched, even through his uncomfortably restrictive fatigues, which, he thinks, Wash really should be getting about ready to tear them off him.

But no, Wash is taking the opportunity to tease him instead and York’s got a feeling that probably serves him right for earlier, and a shiver of anticipation runs down his spine thinking of what Wash can do to him, what he’s going to do. He meets those commanding gray eyes as he grins and shoots back, “Why don’t you get these off me and find out, huh?” Manages to keep the needy edge out of his voice. Mostly.

And Now, The Sex.

it only took what, nearly 50,000 words and two days of knowing each other?

good job, kids. good fucking job.


Wastelancers: Chapter 12 →

Vera’s as professional as always, though Wash doesn’t expect her to keep quiet about the fact that he’d asked for a single room with someone else, but even that thought slips right out of his mind once they’re through the door. Wash has barely dropped his pack when he reaches for York, kissing him good and hard and pushing him right up against the nearest wall.

Just cause he’d asked for a bed doesn’t mean he plans on using it straightaway.

He nips at York’s bottom lip and grins at him when he draws back for breath, not hesitating to run his hands all over him this time. “This about where we were?”

“Something like that,” York murmurs, kicking his knapsack off to the side somewhere and sliding his hands around Wash. Gives his ass a generous, two-handed squeeze. “Yeah, think that’s about it.”

And then his fingers are going for the clasps of Wash’s armor because fuck they’re both wearing way too many clothes and Wash naked against him is something he would like to feel right the fuck now.

God, his mouth feels good. Those little bites, the taste of his tongue. York pushes off the wall to press hard against Wash, and his dick sure as hell remembers where they were.

In which York gets a second taste of the enigma that is Wash. So to speak.


Wastelancers: Chapter 11 →

anneapocalypse:

In which the boys arrive in Rivet City, and Wash has a hang-up.

This is one of our absolute favorite chapters. Yeah sure porn is fun but… character development.


Wastelancers: Chapter 10 →

“Guess that’s better than nothing,” Wash says, more to himself than York. People around here know not to get close to the city itself unless they’re armed to the teeth, but he’s heard enough stories about travellers not heeding the warnings. Saw a guy try to reason with one of them, once. Turned out it wasn’t all that productive reasoning with a super sledge.

Wash checks the charge in his rifle and keeps his rifle at the ready. He’s not going to take any chances. “Right. Most of them stay across the river. Most, not all. If we only run into a half-dozen, consider yourself lucky. I’ll cover you as best I can, but shotgun to the face is still the best strategy.”

“Half dozen?” York repeats, raising an eyebrow. Most he’s ever seen in a pack is three. Muties tend to travel solo or in pairs, at least the ones he’s seen. But they’re scarce up north. Never saw a single one in Queens, didn’t even know they were a thing until he got down past Jersey. Oh there were things in Queens, plenty of ghouls and various other mutants, especially if you were stupid enough to go down into the subways, but not the big green uglies.

Shotgun to the face, well, he can do that, at least. Stocked up on ammo as best he could before they left Moira’s. Wash is checking over his rifle and York eyes him. Doubt he’d bring them this way if he didn’t think they could fight through. His shoulder’s still sore but not incapacitating by any means. Long as he keeps Wash on his left he should be all right.

It occurs to him he might want to remind Wash about the whole left side thing, but on the other hand, he hates to draw attention to a weakness. ‘Specially when things have been going so well. And with the way Wash looked at him this morning, it’s not like he could’ve forgotten. His bad eye’s obvious, the eye itself whited over with scar tissue and a couple jagged lines spidering out over his temple and his cheekbone. Suppose over time they’ll probably fade a bit, but he’ll never have the eye back like it was.

Rather than dwell on that he bites his lower lip just slightly. His mouth’s still tender from last night. It’s nice, a reminder every time he purses his lips.

“If we’re lucky,” Wash says again. He’s usually straight and to the point, as a rule, but there’s an even heavier weight in his voice now. Sure, he can deal with mutants fine himself, but they’re easier with two, so long as they come prepared. He’s seen too many people get fucked over by a pack of mutants to take any chances.

In which Wash and York take a leisurely stroll through the wasteland. And by leisurely I mean fight some mutants, because this is a Fallout AU, come on.


punishandenslavesuckers:

have you read my fic of this

No, but…

image

Here: stack overflow. All of the fics in my Anamnesis series touch on these topics, but stack overflow is the one I’m proudest of, and the one that I think hits those notes the best.


Wastelancers: Chapter 9 →

anneapocalypse:

York leans back against the wall, letting his breath out slowly, but manages a quick smile in Wash’s direction. “Medic too, huh? Anything you’re not good at?”

The burn’s starting, crawling through him like fire and he swallows and tips his head forward again. Pulls his knees up to rest his arm across them while the medicine drips into him. Turns his head away from Wash as another wave of dizziness hits him. Be a shame to have a night as good as last night and then puke on the guy first thing in the morning.

Really wouldn’t mind having another night like last night. Better not push things, though. For all he knows that was a one-time thing to Wash, and frankly he’s enjoyed traveling with him well enough whether it happens again or not.

Still, if a one-time thing becomes a two- or three-time thing York sure isn’t going to complain.

“What, you want me to ruin the surprise?” Wash raises an eyebrow, but it’s all too easy to grin back down at him. Good thing York’s easy to talk to. It’s not something he requires out of his travelling partners — fuck knows Maine never offers anything — but it’s nice all the same.

Taking Rad-Away’s never pleasant. Course, getting irradiated in the first place isn’t fun either. But unless you manage to find someplace to hang up the bag, it’s a hell of a thing doing it by yourself, and it can be just as awkward with another person. This is an easier quiet, even if Wash knows damn well what they’ve got hanging unsaid between them.

Hard not to think about it. Hard not to get hard thinking about it. But he can handle this. He’s got it under control.

In which York deals with rad-sickness and both guys ignore the elephant in the room. For a while.

(Don’t worry, they won’t last long.)


Wastelancers: Chapter 8 →

It doesn’t take much, just remembering Wash’s hands going to unbutton his pants, even — same hands steady on the trigger of a rifle, quick fingers disarming a mine, it doesn’t take much to imagine those fingers spread over his hips. Not much of a stretch to remember that authoritative voice giving him orders and imagine that same voice low and purposeful in his ear.

Okay, York’s not usually this easy, but it really has been a while since he was with anybody.

This is good enough though, running his tongue over his palm and slipping his hand under the blanket to curl his fingers around himself and stroke slowly, settling into a rhythm and focusing on his breathing, keeping as quiet as he can.

—-

Wash has always been a light sleeper. It was drilled into all of them in the vault, until he could wake up at any time he needed to. Out in the wastes, it’s saved his ass more than once. Being able to wake at the sound of something approaching isn’t just a handy skill, it’s one he relies on.

Never really changes when he gets in a building, either. Far as Wash is concerned, every last person out there could turn on him at any point. His armor’s not bulletproof by a long stretch. Between that and the creatures who don’t discriminate at all, and he’ll take a few less hours of shut-eye if it means he’ll still wake up the next morning.

But he doesn’t usually wake up to the sound of someone breathing.

Not sure if he can call it breathing, ‘cause there’s a catch in it that isn’t natural at all. He knows what people sound like when they’re asleep, snoring or not. Those gasps for breath might be soft, but they’re not quiet. Not to him.

And not when they’re coming from the next bed.

Wash hasn’t been asleep long enough to really be out of it. More like he just drifted off for a while. But all the same he’s not expecting to hear that particular set of sounds. He’s got needs of his own, he knows damn well what it is.

Question is what it’s about.

He doesn’t shift on the bed. Not just yet. Could be that York’s already a good ways on, and it’s not really any of his business. But he remembers that look. Remembers what he’d said.

This might be worth letting a little less sleep for.

In which we finally earn that Explicit rating. B)