#warm up practice

[achiepy]

[jazzzzzzhands]

More color palettes with Wally!

[rinnysega]

Hey, are you still doing fic/oneshot requests? If so, can you please do one with Legs and Johnny? I'd really like to know their relationship!

Here’s a lil something! 

It was quiet. Too quiet. Without Frankie or Louie around, Johnny and Legs could feel the silence weighing down on their shoulders like bricks. Not even the radio seemed to help much.

It wasn’t every day the two of them were paired up for an assignment together, but per Fat Tony’s request, it was one where the typical bumbling antics of their usual partners would be a liability, so they were tasked to do this one alone. Johnny drove while Legs sat in the passenger seat, flicking a lighter on and off.

The miles passed by without a word from either of them until a car cut them off before heading off on the exit ramp. A mild swear escaped from Johnny’s mouth, but Legs remained quiet as he stared down the back of the van as they passed. Just a civilian mini van with Baby on Board bumper stickers plastered in three places. Overkill.

Johnny must have noticed because the silence broke again. “Shouldn’t drive like that with kids.”

“Dangerous,” Legs agreed.

A bit more silence before Johnny continued. “I got two of my own turning two this year.”

“The twins?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. My lil Biscotti’s gotta be...around four or five by now.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Easter Sunday.”

“Her ma remarry?”

“She’s dating the principal of the elementary school.”

“Ah….”

Legs nodded and the silence once again fell between them.

[colonelrogers]

Just a scribble of a man in a suit U:

[lordlydragon]

To shatter

Watching yourself shatter in to a million pieces is one thing.

But to do it intentionally.

To harm yourself and everyone around with shrapnel of your own making.

Carved from your bones and sharpened with the years you have spent in agony.

Is another thing.

To watch yourself as if you were an actor in this fucked up game of life.

To watch as if you were on the sidelines seeing the hell you walk toward with confidence.

To watch as the orchestra you perfectly conduct along the symphony of someone else’s design crash into chaotic noise.

To watch as the train you conduct masterfully until now fall off the “right track” and on to the track that is being carved into the mountains just seconds before you crash into uncharted territory. Knowing at the end of this path will result in agony.

Feeling guilty when all of those connections, all of those bridges shutter and snap, burn and rage, break, against the hurricane that is you. That is contained with a suffocating, fragile, glass, coffin. To try and contain the hurricane. With splintered glass stained red.

But the release. It was so sweet. To harm instead of fix. To be imperfect instead of perfect. To rage instead of being calm. To make sound instead of being silent. To let your rage shield from harm. To let yourself burn. While the world tells you to d r o w n. To add gasoline to the flames in hell. To encourage the flames to burn higher. To consume more of your flesh. To uncover all of the scars hidden behind flesh and bone.

It feels so sweet this agony. Different from the agony of another’s design. It feels good. To release. To burn until all that is left is ash. To tumble and crumble into sand. Until you desire to burn once again. Turning into glass once again.

To shatter into a million pieces. Each piece broken carelessly. But not with out love. Each piece imperfect. Each piece meant for you and no one else. With jagged edges. Some parts tinted red. Other cloudy from their time drowning.

All put together with no rhyme or reason. Creation without the intent of profit.

Watching yourself shatter because you no longer can handle the pressure, the strain, the agony, of your own or other’s design is one thing.

But to intentionally shatter yourself as an act of love?

That is another thing.

[hexitca]

:)

[hexitca]