Lᴇᴏɴᴀʀᴅ Sɴᴀʀᴛ ❅ Cᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ Cᴏʟᴅ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
frostyfelon) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
stark_international2017-01-27 02:18 am
frostyfelon) wrote in stark_international2017-01-27 02:18 am
Entry tags:
[Len/Mick] Faith falls hard on our shoulders
"When it rains,
It pours,
There will be blood in the water,
Cold,
To the core,
Faith falls hard on our shoulders,
This is our time,
No turning back,
We could live,
We could live like Legends"
Characters: Leonard Snart and Mick Rory
Slash Warning
Going out in a blaze of glory was only as meaningful as those who remembered it. Once they were gone, all you had after that was a whisper on the lips of the broken hearted. They were tricked into going on this mission, told they were Legends. Legends never die. But, as it turned out, this was a lie. They weren't Legends, they were the opposite. They were expendable cogs in a universe with so many spare parts that it would never miss a few that fell out along the way. That had never bothered Leonard before being told he was a Legend. Funny how you didn't know how badly you wanted something until after it was torn from your grasp. Dangled like a carrot. Once the carrot was gone, why keep running? Because somewhere in your desperate run, you hope deep down that maybe, just maybe, you'll find that carrot again.
Legends. They were ordinary people doing ordinary things that could've just been spare cogs, but something they did changed their function in the machine. Now, when those cogs are lost, the machine splutters. It groans and it aches, it loses some functionality. The entire machine notices the loss of that one cog. That ache of loss will always remind the machine that it used to have that cog, and now it was incomplete. Spare parts could always be jury-rigged into the machine and return it to working order, but it would never be mint again. Because that new cog, though it worked just as well as the old one, it had a different serial number than the rest of the machine. Legends never die.
Except, that's a misleading statement. In order to become a Legend, you must first, die.
"That speedster coulda killed you, Mick. What then?"
"I'd be dead, like you."
Never let it be said that Leonard Snart ever did anything easy. That includes dying. The human body is used to time unfolding linearly. So when that very same body ends up dispersed throughout time, fragments of self lost in memories of the past, present, and future, it should be well and thoroughly lost. Except, when something starts drawing those pieces together, pulling them from the lost folds in time, the body remembers what it's like to be linear again.
So there stands Mick Rory, downing a stolen bottle of liquor straight out of Al Capone's stash, acting as a magnet to pull the pieces of Leonard Snart back together. They manifest as corrupt images. They attach themselves to old memories, old personalities, as they shuffle themselves back together.
"Planning on drinking yourself to death? That seems a bit anti-climactic for the Mick Rory I remember." Snart snarked with a tip of his head and a raise of an eyebrow. But something was different. Like a rubber band snapping back into place, Leonard seemed to recoil. He staggered, reaching out for an empty chair in the cafeteria to catch himself on, but instead, both he and the chair toppled to the ground.
"...Mick?" Blood trickled down over his lips from his nose.
It pours,
There will be blood in the water,
Cold,
To the core,
Faith falls hard on our shoulders,
This is our time,
No turning back,
We could live,
We could live like Legends"
Characters: Leonard Snart and Mick Rory
Slash Warning
Going out in a blaze of glory was only as meaningful as those who remembered it. Once they were gone, all you had after that was a whisper on the lips of the broken hearted. They were tricked into going on this mission, told they were Legends. Legends never die. But, as it turned out, this was a lie. They weren't Legends, they were the opposite. They were expendable cogs in a universe with so many spare parts that it would never miss a few that fell out along the way. That had never bothered Leonard before being told he was a Legend. Funny how you didn't know how badly you wanted something until after it was torn from your grasp. Dangled like a carrot. Once the carrot was gone, why keep running? Because somewhere in your desperate run, you hope deep down that maybe, just maybe, you'll find that carrot again.
Legends. They were ordinary people doing ordinary things that could've just been spare cogs, but something they did changed their function in the machine. Now, when those cogs are lost, the machine splutters. It groans and it aches, it loses some functionality. The entire machine notices the loss of that one cog. That ache of loss will always remind the machine that it used to have that cog, and now it was incomplete. Spare parts could always be jury-rigged into the machine and return it to working order, but it would never be mint again. Because that new cog, though it worked just as well as the old one, it had a different serial number than the rest of the machine. Legends never die.
Except, that's a misleading statement. In order to become a Legend, you must first, die.
"That speedster coulda killed you, Mick. What then?"
"I'd be dead, like you."
Never let it be said that Leonard Snart ever did anything easy. That includes dying. The human body is used to time unfolding linearly. So when that very same body ends up dispersed throughout time, fragments of self lost in memories of the past, present, and future, it should be well and thoroughly lost. Except, when something starts drawing those pieces together, pulling them from the lost folds in time, the body remembers what it's like to be linear again.
So there stands Mick Rory, downing a stolen bottle of liquor straight out of Al Capone's stash, acting as a magnet to pull the pieces of Leonard Snart back together. They manifest as corrupt images. They attach themselves to old memories, old personalities, as they shuffle themselves back together.
"Planning on drinking yourself to death? That seems a bit anti-climactic for the Mick Rory I remember." Snart snarked with a tip of his head and a raise of an eyebrow. But something was different. Like a rubber band snapping back into place, Leonard seemed to recoil. He staggered, reaching out for an empty chair in the cafeteria to catch himself on, but instead, both he and the chair toppled to the ground.
"...Mick?" Blood trickled down over his lips from his nose.