#whewww thats an old tag thats not even his story anymore

[swifty-fox]

Writing ask! 5, 14, and 21!

5. a description I'm proud of

from a book WIP of mine. Dom is why i fell so hard for Gale they're very similar lol

Dom hesitates a moment, then scoffs to himself, shrugging his jacket off and tugging his shirt off over his head. Instantly his skin goosepimples and he rests an uneasy hand on his bicep. Marks of a hard life were on his body. Not the excessive violence of movies and books; not the sort of thing that would garner stares, but Dom knew what the scars were from. Which were innocent human fuck-ups and which were inflicted by an angry parent with too much to drink and too little regard for kindness. His hurts didn’t have to leave marks on his skin to linger; a cigarette burn here, the stinging edge of a belt there, it was all headed by dark scriptwork, shocking against the pale skin and freckles of his shoulders.

Hands Off.  No more than the length between the tip of his thumb and the base of his pinky, black ink turned blue and fuzzy with age and lack of care. 

15. that was out of my comfort zone

I don't like casual dialogue very much so

“Why unicorns?”

The question is sudden and random enough that it startles Bucky, he can tell by the way the other man blinks rapidly.

“Huh?”

“Why are unicorns your favorite extinct animal?”

John laughs, his face creasing in a sunny smile, the type of grin he was known for. All encompassing and enough to light up any room. Enough to light up the entire night sky. If they ever figured out how to capture and bottle a John Egan smile they would make millions. 

“What’s not to like about ‘em? They’re horses which are already a noble animal as is, add a giant stabbing horn on top and you’ve got one badass beast. ‘Sides they represent all things good and pure. That’s pretty neat.”

“What on earth do you know about purity John Clarence Egan?”

21. that i liked but had to cut

I don't really work on drafts so I dont tend to cut but uhhh i've got this?? It probably wont make it into Dom's story

“I think I’m fucking my life up.” Dom hugs his knee closer to his chest. 

Arnie glances over his shoulder at him, hand poised in the dirt where he was subtly tracing Dom’s profile in the dirt. Dom pretended not to notice, Arnie pretended he wasn’t aware of Dom noticing. The arrangement suited them both. 

“You’re twenty-six.” Arnie snorts. The scratching in the dirt resumes, a mechanical inhale as he takes a hit of his vape, releasing a cloud of peach-scented vapor into the oncoming sunset. The sacred heart on his right shoulder flexes with his drawing, bared by the sleeveless Fine Ink t-shirt he wore.

Dom makes a disdainful face “You’re twenty-seven.” 

“Yeah,” Arnie loftily waves his twig for emphasis, “And in my whole extra year of experience qualifies me to tell you that you’re in no way fucking your life up this young.” 

A heavy breeze lifts the hair from Dom’s forehead, catches around the neck of his hoodie and tickles the exposed skin on his ankles. He scowls into it “You’re so full of shit.” 

“And you’re a grouch.” Arnie leans back, the knobs of his spine pressing warmly into Dom’s ribs. The tumble of rocks they were sat on reversed their heights, the top of Arnie’s blue curls only reaching to Dom’s shoulder. “Tell me what you think you’re doing so wrong that the next sixty years are a total wash.” 

“Sixty years is generous,” Dom presses his lips against a smile as the other man elbows his thigh. He sighs and shrugs, ashing his cigarette on the rock and tucking the half-used butt into his pocket for later. “I don’t know. I’m spending my life working in a shithole bar, chasing after a brother who doesn’t want me in his life and dodging phone calls from a father who thinks I’m as unstable as the chick from Sharp Objects.”

“I saw that show.” Arnie says idly.

“I read the book.” Dom shrugs again, heavier this time. “I dunno, fuck, I have no aspirations, no goals, no trajectory, I’m just clinging to the idea that I can be this fucking savior to the most stubborn sixteen-year-old to grace this good green earth.” 

“You know,” Arnie says casually, “sometimes I can really tell your mom was from the bible belt.” Dom elbows the back of his head gently. He laughs, tongue between his teeth and loudly enough to echo around the copse of trees they were taking their refuge under. 

“You have friends, a partner, a job, some pretty fun hobbies and you’ve got a goal, even if it is a tough one. Don’t you think that’s enough?” Arnie asks after a beat of silence.