#cd's writing

[clockworkdragxn]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt:

“Train with me,” Kevin said, never one to beat around the bush.

“Excuse me?”

“Practice swords with me. Andrew refuses to spar with me and there is only so much progress I can make on my own. I need an opponent. A practice partner.”

Neil was dumbfounded. Out of all the possible topics of this discussion, he didn’t think this would be one. He looked at Andrew, then back at Kevin.

“Why would I do that?” Neil asked.

‘“I’ll teach you in return,” Kevin pushed. “You want to learn, right? You always look at the swords on the wall when you come to the blacksmith shop.”

As far as lies went, it wasn’t a bad one. Neil did like looking at the swords, but he knew Kevin really wanted to remind him that Neil once enjoyed learning swordsmanship years ago. Back when they were kids, Neil liked learning from Kevin because it was a reprise from the more brutal lessons from his father’s underlings. Kevin was the only one who ever made Neil feel like holding a blade could be a display of artistry rather than a means for violence.

But did he still feel that way? Did he really want to be taught by Kevin again?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sure Andrew isn’t sparring with you because he’s worried about your hand,” Neil said.

Kevin snorted. “Andrew is just lazy and contrary. And I’d be using my right hand.”

Once again, Neil was dumbfounded. “You’re going to teach me with your non-dominant hand? Do you even know how to use a sword like that?”

“I could hold my sword in my mouth and still beat you,” Kevin said, voice chilling. “If we start now, you may be able to match my right hand’s skill in ten years.”

“Fuck you, Kevin,” Neil huffed, his smile barely hidden. He wasn’t nearly as insulted as he should be. What could he say? It was refreshing to hear Kevin speak confidently about himself, even at Neil’s expense. It was proof that Riko hadn’t succeeded in breaking his spirit.

“Will you do it or not?” Kevin pressed.

Neil only hesitated a moment more.

“Shit, alright.” Neil turned to Andrew. “Are you going to spectate?”

“Someone has to be there to laugh when you inevitably stab each other,” Andrew said.

It was unlikely that would happen, nevermind that Neil couldn’t even picture Andrew laughing at anything.

“We start today,” Kevin said. “Meet us at the pasture beside Nicky’s barn when you’re done working.”

“Huh? What makes you think you can order me around—and he’s gone.”

“For someone who’s supposed to be worried about himself, you are awfully concerned about other people’s problems,” Andrew said. “First Nicky and now Kevin. You can’t fix their issues as a comfort for failing to fix your own.”

“Who pissed in your breakfast this morning?” Neil grumbled.

[clockworkdragxn]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Preview:

They fell into silence. Neil continued to pet his horse, even as the gears in his mind turned frantically. Andrew thought about telling him to stop worrying, but Neil would probably only stop worrying about his life when he was dead.

“You really should name her,” Neil said suddenly. “Such a powerful, loyal companion deserves at least that from you.”

“You make it sound as if I don’t feed her, wash her, and shovel her shit all the time.”

Neil scoffed. “I know you care for her.”

Andrew opened his mouth to deny it, but Neil’s mouth, as usual, was faster.

“You do,” he said. “Just name her, Andrew.”

“Why are you so pushy?” Andrew sighed as he grabbed the new brush he bought for Nicky out of his bags. He started to brush the horse’s coat, flinging the dust of the road into the air.

“Names have power. They help us remember those important to us and, when bestowed upon others, are acknowledgement of a deep bond.” Neil bent to place a playful kiss on the horse’s muzzle, and Andrew almost fumbled the brush. “Names are also part of your identity. Being nameless...or hating the name others call you...it’s isolating and lonely.”

“Speaking from experience?” Andrew asked.

Neil’s eyes turned distant, the way they did whenever he was remembering some dark memory from his past. Andrew had yet to see Neil make a happy expression when prompted to think about his life.

Andrew understood. A few years ago, Andrew would have been hard-pressed to fish out a happy memory among the puddle of sludge and that made up his childhood. But though his current life was far from perfect, it was more than he once dreamed he would be able to have. From what he could tell, Neil was still drowning in the sludge when Andrew found him in that tower.

“Yes,” he said. Andrew waited to see if he’d say more, but Neil kept his mouth shut tight.

“If you’re so concerned, you name her,” Andrew said carelessly.

Neil’s eyes lit up like two bright blue lanterns. “Can I really?”

A sudden shiver of unease crawled over Andrew’s skin. He couldn’t take the words back. One, because he never said anything he didn’t mean. Two, because Neil looked like Andrew just handed him a priceless gift. Neil’s outright joy blinded Andrew, rendering him powerless to reverse the situation even as Neil’s expression grew mischievous and warned of trouble.

“She’s just a horse. It won't make a difference to her one way or the other,” Andrew bit out.

“Such a rude owner. Why do you put up with him, girl?” Neil pouted. Pouted. He turned the horse’s face so that they were cheek-to-cheek and looking at Andrew.

[clockworkdragxn]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Preview:

The moonlight was made for Andrew, Neil thought. It caught the contours of his face and set his pale skin and hair aglow in silver. He’d noticed when they’d met, that Andrew was good-looking. His jaw was sharp, his nose a strong line between intense eyes. Neil had no idea what Andrew fixated on when he stared out the window, but his gaze hardly wavered.

“Staring,” Andrew said, breaking the silence.

Neil looked away, feeling warm all of a sudden. He sighed and unclasped his cloak, tossing it behind him. The night air was warm, but not as warm as a few weeks ago. Summer was ending soon. The breeze felt good regardless.

Back in the forest, Neil would sometimes sit on his balcony, hair unbound, and gaze into the trees. The clock tower wasn’t as high, but it was a similar feeling. Neil wished he could undo his hair and truly enjoy the gentle wind.

“Why do you come up here?” Neil asked.

Andrew blew out a breath of smoke.

“To reset the clock.”

“Wait, seriously?” Neil asked. “You’re in charge of maintaining the clock?”

“Is that so surprising?” Andrew said dryly.

“Yes—I mean no. I don’t know.”

“Why do you come up here,” Andrew retorted.

And well. That was the real question wasn’t it? He could say it reminded him of the tower. But that wasn’t the truth. He’d promised Andrew the truth.

“You,” Neil said, catching and holding Andrew’s dark gaze. “I think I like your company.”

[clockworkdragxn]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Preview:

He raced with Striker until his lungs burned and his legs gave out beneath him. He hit the grass and rolled, uncaring of the dirt staining his cloak and pants. Neil felt his smile stretching his face and tried to remember the last time he’d felt such unrestrained elation. Gasping for breath, Neil laid on his back and lifted a hand to cast a shadow over his eyes. He spread his fingers wide, an imitation of Striker’s fanned feathers, and watched the sunlight redden the tips of his fingers. His hand flexed, grasping, as if he could possibly hold the sunlight that warmed his palm. Striker descended and landed on his stomach.

“Is this how you feel all the time?” Neil said incredulously. “What the hell are you doing hanging around someone like me, who’s stuck on the ground, doomed to hide like a rabbit?”

Striker pecked at Neil’s ribs, sharp beak pinching despite the layers of cloth covering his skin.

“Ow! Fucking rude,” Neil whined. He patted Striker’s head to calm him down. “I don’t get it, but thanks for sticking with me.”

Striker screeched, one yellow-ringed eye staring at Neil intensely. Neil slid his hand under Striker’s feet and lifted him up. Neil also braced himself and got to his feet, placing Striker on his shoulder.

“We went pretty far. Best start making our way back.”

[clockworkdragxn]

aftg wip wednesday

from WOWM Chapter 9

Wymack nodded and lifted his hand out to Neil, the iron key held in his fingers. Neil stared at it for longer than he probably should have before shakily taking it. The key was cold and heavy in his grip. When he managed to tear his gaze away Neil found Wymack was looking at him carefully. Neil didn’t want Wymack to witness whatever was happening with his expression so he turned away.

“Abby told me you didn’t bring much but she mentioned that she still has your bag at her place. Drop by and pick it up when you get the chance,” Wymack said. “I have to get back to work but feel free to find me if you need anything else.”

Neil knew he should say something, probably ‘thank you’, but his throat was inexplicably thick with emotion Neil didn’t dare identify. He offered Wymack a stiff nod and, attesting to his ability to read the atmosphere, Wymack accepted it without a word and left.

Neil stood alone in his darkening room holding the first real evidence of permanence he’d had in years. The key symbolized everything Neil had given up: ownership, a place to return to, an identity.

He wondered how long he would be able to keep it.

[clockworkdragxn]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt:

“What’s he doing here?” Kevin asked.

“He’s sitting,” Andrew said.

Kevin looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon. “I mean why did you bring him here?”

“To watch him.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t want him here.”

“I don’t care.”

Neil watched them, for once choosing to stay out of it. He tuned them out in favour of examining the shop. There were all kinds of tools and materials all over the place. Completed horse shoes, farm tools, swords, pieces of armour and chains hung from large pegs on the walls. Behind Kevin, a furnace blazed, red hot and smouldering.

By the time Neil looked back at Andrew, he’d sent Kevin back to his station. Andrew grabbed a book off of a chair a few feet away, sat, pulled a stool close with his foot and kicked his feet up. He opened the book and proceeded to ignore everyone else.

What the hell am I doing here? Neil thought.

(fanfic commissions currently open)

[clockworkdragxn]

by Clockworkdragon

Excerpt:

Where the two roads met there was a small town square, in the middle of which stood a large raised statue of a fox, its nose and tail held high in a prideful pose. A copper plaque was set in the stone below it.

‘Fight because you don’t know how to die quietly.’

Neil read the words and felt them sink into his mind like a stone tossed into a lake.

Dan saw him looking at the statue and said, “Ah, that’s kind of our town motto. Wymack said it a few years ago and some of us thought it was cool so we had it engraved.”

Neil swallowed down his tremulous emotions. He’d never fought against anything in his life; not his father’s abuse, not his mother’s authority, nor did he fight for the chance to be something other than Moriyama property. It was always run, run, run. Neil’s feet had never been on the ground long enough for him to plant them in opposition against his enemies. Such a thing was foolish.

Dying quietly or with a defiant scream didn’t matter. Better to not get caught at all.

[clockworkdragxn]

WIP

Xie Lian remained standing in the middle of the room for a while before he dragged himself to the vanity. Though his extravagant robes had been removed, his hair was still intricately styled around golden ornaments, his face still coated in white powder and crimson paint, his neck, wrists and ankles adorned in bands of white jade and gold. He reached up to pull an elegant gold hairpin from where it held brown tresses, but before his fingers touched metal there was a soft knock on the door.

“Enter,” Xie Lian called out, expecting that the visitor was a servant bringing his meal. The boy who entered the room indeed held a silver tray with an arrangement of food, but he was no servant. 

The boy was wearing faded red servant’s clothes, his hair tied in a lopsided ponytail. There was a familiar grin on his face, sitting under mischievous dark eyes. Xie Lian was on his feet before he thought to stand. Hua Cheng managed to put the tray down just as Xie Lian threw himself into his arms.

Hua Cheng caught him effortlessly, strong arms circling Xie Lian’s waist in a ring of devotion. Xie Lian buried his face against Hua Cheng’s cool neck, his entire body shaking with emotion. He wasn’t crying, but it was a near thing.