#chronalized

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [10]

What if Danny cannot prevent the nasty burger explosion, but he avoids the evil future version timeline by running.

he flees west, too terrified of running into the well known Superman, Batman and Wonderwoman near the east coast and he just keeps going until he almost crashes.

And it’s there that he sees the destroyed Coast city and meets Hal Jordan as the Spectre.

they can do the spiderman meme at each other.

[vexic929]

Chronal Decay

Chapter 2

Warnings: Hartley being Hartley

Chapter 1: link

Barry hated that Eobard had been right.

Flashpoint had resulted in disaster. Wally, a speedster but nearly dead. Joe, an alcoholic on the brink of losing his job. Cisco, a wealthy tech mogul and a certifiable dick. Caitlin, a pediatric ophthalmologist? And worse, Barry had begun forgetting all of them the way they were before, just as Eobard had warned he would. His parents were alive but...at the cost of everything else.

So, he went back. And broke things further.

Cisco's brother, Dante, was dead and apparently Barry just...hadn't been there for him though he couldn't fathom why. His new (well, not new apparently, but new to him) coworker, Julian, was an asshole who apparently hated Barry as much as Barry hated him. Iris and Joe weren't on speaking terms for some reason he had yet to figure out. God, it was all a mess.

So, he went back. Again.

Jay tried to stop him, had sat him down at a diner on his Earth to explain that he could never put things back the way they were before - the timeline would never be fixed, could never be fixed, not really. But nothing anyone could have said would change his mind. He was just saving Dante - that's it. Cisco deserved that and, anyway, it was only a few months. How much could possibly change?

Everything, apparently.

When Barry entered the Cortex, he wasn't sure what to expect, if he was honest. Everything seemed...normal? Cisco was explaining something to Joe that Joe clearly wasn't following. Iris wasn't present but he hoped that wasn't because Joe was. Caitlin was in the medbay. Hartley was-

Hartley?

Before he could process Hartley's presence, he was interrupted by a boisterous man who looked like Harry but probably was not striding through the doors behind him, a tray of Jitters cups in his hands.

"Sumptuous day!" Definitely not Harry. "Oh, wait- no, on this Earth, I believe you say..."

"Good morning." Cisco supplied with a mildly amused look.

"Good morning!" Not-Harry echoed with a wide grin. "And it is, isn't it? I took the liberty of reading through your ledgers last night. A lot of information to absorb, but let's see how I did."

The man approached him first. "For you, my fleet-of-foot friend...you'd best stick to decaf." He handed it over with a theatrical wink.

Barry forced a laugh as he took the cup. "Probably for the best, yeah."

Not-Harry spun on his heel. "San Francisco!" To Barry's horror, the man put on an obnoxiously terrible French accent. "I have prepared for you a French roast with a touch of creamer."

Cisco grinned in amusement, taking the cup. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!"

Barry wondered if he was always so cheerful as the man glided across the room, handing Joe a cup.

"Detective West. A grounded man. One sugar, no cream. Classic."

Joe chuckled. "Appreciate that."

"Now Caitlin!" Not-Harry twirled theatrically, nearly spilling a cup but recovering it just in time. "White mocha, iced, plenty of whipped cream for our dear doctor with an extra shot of espresso for those sleepless nights of late."

Barry wondered what sleepless nights Caitlin had been having as she took the cup with a tired smile.

"Thanks, HR," she said. Barry wasn't sure if that was the man's name or not.

"And last but never least," he called, walking toward Caitlin's desk where Hartley was seated, typing away at a laptop, "for the maestro of multitasking himself - Hart-and-Soul! Soy cappuccino, half-sweet, dash of cinnamon. Because you, my friend, are a symphony of spice and subtlety."

Hartley met HR's eyes finally, a blank look on his features. Barry held his breath as Hartley took the cup.

Without looking away, without a word, slowly, deliberately Hartley dropped the entire cup into the trash beside him. The paper hit with a soft, wet thunk.

Steam curled faintly upward.

Hartley turned back to his work.

Silence.

"Well!" HR said brightly, voice only cracking a little. "Not a coffee guy, after all. Message received!" He chuckled awkwardly, turning back to the more friendly faces in the Cortex. "Did you know, on my Earth, coffee crop was wiped out by blight? I mean, that's one more reason to stay on this Earth, for the coffee alone."

Hartley rolled his eyes and snapped his laptop shut audibly. "If you stay." He commented, picking up his laptop and brushing roughly past HR to leave the Cortex.

"Hartley-" Caitlin called but Hartley interrupted her without turning back or stopping.

"I'm not going far. Unfortunately."

Caitlin sighed and exchanged a look with Cisco.

"He's going to your workshop," she said at the same time as Cisco said, "he's going to my workshop." with a sort of tired, indignant exasperation.

Barry wasn't sure why, but he followed.

"Hartley!"

Hartley didn't stop or even slow, as though he hadn't heard Barry at all. Barry persisted, following him until he arrived in the workshop and abruptly turned to face Barry, surveying him critically. Barry felt briefly that Hartley could see straight through him.

After several moments, Hartley spoke.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, eyes narrowing before bluntly adding, "I tried to kill you."

Barry tried not to look startled by the proclamation. "I-"

"You don't remember that, do you? Just like you didn't remember HR. Just like you don't remember that I loathe you." Hartley scoffed, continuing further into the room to set up his laptop on a workbench. "We're not friends, Flash. I'm not interested in rekindling whatever camaraderie you remember us having before you fucked everyone over."

Barry tried not to flinch at the harsh rebuff.

"I don't-" Barry hedged but Hartley interrupted.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Allen. You changed the timeline. I may have no idea what exactly you changed for me but I'm certain my circumstances can't have been worse." Hartley turned, sitting on the nearest stool and opening his laptop again. 

Barry wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't defend himself, Hartley was right. He had fucked everyone over. He fidgeted in place, rubbing his palms together as he tried to come up with a passable explanation.

"I...look, Hartley-"

"Save it. You're going to need to work on your acting skills before I'll consider accepting an apology. I doubt you even know what you'd be apologizing for," Hartley said flatly, staring Barry down through his glasses.

Barry blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, throat locked tight around the words. Hartley returned his attention to his work, waving his hand as though swatting away a fly.

"Shoo, Flash."

Barry didn't know what else to do, so he left.

[artuurle]

You will come home one day and realize that they took everything from you, even the ability to recognize yourself in the mirror.

You're just the abandoned shell of someone who was loved. All the people who loved you are dead.

[clawsextended]

@chronal-anomaly asked: [ HEAL ]: sender ends up in the receiver's lap trying to tend to their wounds to the best of their abilities.

it’s a thing to be expected, the cat knows. she doesn’t often receive relief when she asks for it — when she wants to be alone, her request for solitude is often denied. when she’s hurt, when she’s upset, she tries to disappear — and there are just some people she can never seem to disappear from.

half her catsuit is still on and her face is smudged with deep, dark eyeblack, raccoon rings that run down her cheeks in messy streaks. the white tshirt beneath is dotted with a scarlet splotch, a circle that stains itself into a slowly growing oval. teeth set — it’s nothing but blood, the open cut clean and fresh and terrible. she almost snaps at lena’s shoulder, thinks about ripping the meat of her jaw free with a frenzied tug. it’s the panic in her.

“buy a girl — dinner first.”

her instinct to quip kicks in, her words thick as she swallows them with syrupy difficulty. it takes everything in her not to headbutt the other as hard as she can, to buck her off like a bull with an unwanted rider. she’s just a very nervous person, and tempering a nine on the pain scale doesn’t help.

she hisses something low, profane.

[twotriickhoofbea2t]

There's Zombies in the Timestream now. Time Zombies. Zombies made of Time.

[m4uga]

like this for a canon one-liner from your favourite 'loose cannon' ♡

❝ why not, @chronal-anomaly? if anything breaks, you can just buy another from the store. ❞

[byanyan]

@grimesucker sent 🤳 + 5 for:

ㅤbyan's family (biological, adopted, & found); feat. sol, the boyfriend (@lee-sol); lena, the older sister (@chronal-anomaly); ardaka, the parental sibling figure (@apexulansis); kit, the (sort of but not technically) younger sister (@florafound); garrett, the vaguely guardian-esque figure (@gnarledbite); & dox, the mom (@grimesucker)

[black-watchs-cowboy]

@chronal-anomaly Started following you

"Lena!" Cas barked happily as he picked up the smaller brunette and twirled her with ease, chuckling the entire time as he embraced her in a bear hug.

"S'good t'see ya darlin', gettin' into trouble? I sure hope so~" The Cowboy teased as he finally set her down, tipping his hat towards her in familiar greeting.

[lctibule]

ㅤeyes flutter open at the sound of the door, his best attempt at rest disturbed by someone who's stopped dead in their tracks on the threshold to the room. lena. the blue glow of her accelerator gives her away in the otherwise dim lighting of one of the med bay's private rooms. —not that his eyes can't see perfectly in the dark anyway.

for a long moment, they simply stare at one another, the hum of the machinery he's hooked up to the only sound to be heard. genji's sure he makes a ghastly sight; deconstructed for routine maintenance, he's little more than a torso, head, and one singular arm, all suspended from a myriad of wires and cables, just hanging there like some body horror nightmare. even the armor plating of the mechanical parts of his body have been removed, revealing the intricate wiring and machinery which keeps him alive and allows him to move. not a lot of people are unlucky enough to see him like this. it could be worse though, he supposes — she could have come by while his lower jaw was removed for cleaning and retuning.

ㅤㅤ" ...you can come in, if you want. "ㅤbreaking the silence with a dash of hesitance, genji nods, gesturing with his sole arm to one of the chairs in the room. he won't blame her if she chooses to turn tail and run instead, though.ㅤ" angela sent you here, didn't she? she mentioned that she had someone else coming in for maintenance today, and that perhaps we should keep one another company. "ㅤhe hadn't been so sure about it then (he's still not entirely sure how he feels about the idea, really) but... of anyone it could have been, he thinks he's glad that it's lena.

ㅤㅤ" i hope that she warned you of what you would be walking in on, at least. —even so, i'm... sorry, if you were alarmed by the sight. "

☾ㅤㅤ@chronal-anomalyㅤㅤㅤ//ㅤㅤㅤlowkey starter call.

[roosinii]

Since Sombra’s Translocator is based on Tracer’s Chronal Harness and the Slipstream teleporter, does that mean that if you destroyed the Translocator after Sombra started teleporting but before she finished, would she be flung into Time a la Tracer? I think Sombra should have Chronal Disassociation . As a consequence treat.

Side Note: There was one fic I saw that featured this, it’s called Shadow by Mizu7

[vexic929]

Chronal Decay

Chapter 1

Warnings: graphic description of injury, failed sacrificial suicide

The time remnant knew what dying felt like.

It wasn't peaceful. It wasn't brave. It wasn't even surprising.

It was static under his skin, white noise in his bloodstream. It was his bones liquefying and his lungs filling with fire. It was the magnetar ripping him inside out. Too fast to scream. Too final to be afraid.

He'd expected it.

He'd meant it.

That was the job - he was the decoy. The one who didn't make it. That was the point.

So when the energy hit him and everything fractured, he didn't fight it. Just closed his eyes and waited for nothing.

But then-

He landed. Hard.

The light cleared. The ground was under him. His lungs convulsed and dragged in breath like broken glass. His heart was still beating. Barely.

He whimpered. A small, startled sound that didn't feel like his. Pain blurred everything - his leg was twisted under him, one hand spasming. His ribs ground together when he tried to move. He couldn't tell if the pavement was wet or if it was his blood.

He wasn't dead.

But he was dying.

And it was going to take longer this way.

He couldn't scream. He couldn't even gasp. He wanted to call for help but he wasn't sure who he meant to call for anyway. Cisco? Caitlin? Barry?

No one was coming. He knew that. He didn't blame them.

To them, he'd vanished in a blaze of light. Atomized. Gone. Maybe they even grieved. Maybe? But he was alone now and the silence felt heavier than the pain.

He thought about Cisco's voice in the Cortex. Caitlin brushing his arm when he got too quiet. The way Iris's eyes crinkled when she laughed. Joe's steady presence. Even Harry's scowl. He'd take any of them now. Someone to hold him. Someone to say goodbye.

But the only sound was his own heartbeat - too fast, unsteady. Fading. Still, he could feel his body trying to knit itself back together.

The pavement scraped his forearms as he rolled to his stomach, dragging his body across the concrete. Every inch felt like a mile. His shoulder throbbed in rhythm with the pulse in his temple.

He didn't even know where he was going. Just away. Just forward.

He didn't recognize the street until he got to it.

Joe's house.

The thought barely registered before something like grief swallowed him whole.

Joe's house. His home. Or it had been, once.

He collapsed at the edge of the walkway, body curled tight, sobs tearing from his throat even though he couldn't cry. He was too dehydrated. Too burned. His suit was burned in patches, boots melted to his calves. He couldn't feel one foot.

He'd made it this far, he just wanted someone to find him now. Iris maybe. Joe. Cisco. Wally. Anyone.

Instead, he looked up, and there he was.

Barry - the original, whole, uninjured - stood frozen just in front of the house. The time remnant's chest clenched.

He knew that look. That grief. That terrible resolve.

"No," the remnant rasped. The sound was barely audible. His arms trembled under him. "No, no, no-"

He tried to move. His spine screamed. His knees buckled. He clawed forward anyway, leaving a smear of blood across the sidewalk.

The remnant's vision blurred. He tried again, scraping his broken limbs across the pavement. He needed to reach him. Needed to stop him.

But Barry didn't look back. He ran.

A streak of lightning vanished into the air and the time stream warped open in his wake.

The remnant cried out - not a word, just a ragged, desperate sound - and surged forward on sheer instinct.

If Barry changed the timeline, everything might break. The team, their victory, the entire reason he'd been created in the first place.

So he ran too.

The time stream caught him, pulling him up and in. For one suspended second, he thought he might make it, hand outstretched to grab Barry and pull him back.

Then it came.

The Time Wraith.

It didn't scream. It didn't warn. It just was - a shadow that sucked the light and warmth out of everything around it. And it was fast.

He felt the cold first. Then the pain.

Its hand grabbed his face where the cowl had been burned away, its fingers cutting into his skin like knives made of ice. Something in his cheekbone snapped and the muscles seemed to melt. He heard something pop like it had pulled something out of place. The vision in his right eye flickered out.

He screamed.

Not just from the pain but from the fear, the knowledge that something was suddenly very wrong. For a split second he thought Barry might look back at the noise. He didn't.

The remnant tore away, wrenching his body back through the edges of the time stream. It spat him out hard, somewhere dark and cold. He crashed into the ground, retching - his remaining vision doubled, then tripled, then narrowed to a pinhole.

His hand shook as he brought it to his face.

Raw. Agonizing. Wet. Gone.

Dead tissue spread from his hairline down his neck and across his ear. It burned from the inside in a way that told him it would never stop burning.

The remnant lay on his side in the dark, shaking.

He didn't know what part of time he'd landed in. He didn't know if Barry had changed the timeline. He didn't know if he would survive the night.

All he knew was that he didn't want to die alone and afraid.

[metamorphiisis]

@chronal-anomaly

Lena Oxton is a woman of petite height, made seemingly smaller in the welted, crumpled blankets of a medbay bed. Someone had set her off spiralling in a verbal malady, eyes locked to a frenzy towards something unseen in ad infinitum. Sacrifices have always been a staple necessity in the route to Discovery, iterations of failure coagulating the building blocks to success. For all that Oxton has been borne to witness, to discover, it is a shame that she has been cursed the same fate as Apollo's Cassandra, tongue vexed in a frenetic mania and mind scorned to bouts of salt. It is bizarre to think that this is an experiment that has been forbidden to be recreated. The Russians sends a Dog hurtling into orbit; The Americans respond by launching a human being onto the barren dust of the moon.

When, she thinks dully, Did humanity become so timid?

The plastic shell of a pen clacks against a clipboard. Moira drags a nail down a stack of emptied checkboxes, the scrawl of a doctor's chicken-scratching entailing mental statuses by the hour in ball point blues. Her gaze flicks up.

The glaze of a sedative is clearing from the pilot's system, clouded eyes teetering away from non-response towards a slow bleed of cognizance. Moira slots the paperwork back into the footboard. Her shoes click as she sidles broadside to the bed, palm loosely cradling a wrist behind her back. She busies herself by replacing the hanging IV bag, eyes the disfigured masses of color stretched within down the slope of her nose.

"Sleep well?"

[clawsextended]

@chronal-anomaly asked: She draped her arms around the cat, nestled on the couch, the punctuated smell of ozone that chased her accelerator determining her presence long before the physical presence of weight at her back. Indeed, it was likely the ding of her name preregistered at the door that precedes her arrival that alerted the cat. Lena rested her chin on the cat's head, watching TV with her before breaking the simple silence.

“miss me, claws?”

cat’s lounging in her good old fashioned safe house. brown eyes watch the glowing box in front of her — microwave beeps a couple times, once and twice, a reminder. the hot pocket’s been forgotten for ten minutes now.

temples are throbbing. insomnia headache setting in, combined with the standard rough and tumble of a job gone… well, really just a job.

and then that warm, hot smell. eyes flick up — the name identifies her, and then, further, that warm, warm, warmth speeding all kinds of lovely around her. she settles into a smile that turns into a beam, a split lip twitching with the force of the expression.

“more than anything in the whole world, maybe, speedy.”

[quick-drawn]

Salutes. "Commander Colton Cassidy."

"Not you again..."

"Don't you have better things to do...CORPORAL?"

[shouga-nai]

What are some of the biggest things that ramattra struggles with? Does he have any anxieties or fears? Are they obvious? Or does he keep them hidden?

" History will forgive me, even if you cannot. "

One could say he might be a little too comfortable with solitude. Seemingly so in the way he drowns himself in work amid peace and quiet. No infuriating arguments and criticisms from peers who do not quite share his perspective. One could get so much done without such distractions, in silence so profound that it's deafening.

He thought of Lanet while diligently building the army she had wanted. Lanet... who he had considered a close ally, and who was killed while enacting his plans. That thought never left him. Haunted him. Was it guilt? Sorrow? Regret? Hard to tell as he works harder still, presses onwards despite everything to make sure her sacrifice would not be in vain, nor repeated.

However, those who truly knew him might be able to tell that in reality, he was falling apart.

He hated the silence. He hated feeling excruciatingly lonely. Only to have accepted the fact that it was the path he had chosen. That someone like him ⎯ a liberator, a revolutionary ⎯ is simply destined to be alone.

Because the biggest thing Ramattra struggles with would arguably be his very own sentience. He cares. He cares too much, it hurts. Very much so that even though he knew the chance to speak face-to-face with Aurora was not possible in this lifetime, he had never failed to ask one futile question each and every day—

Why..?

[byanyan]

"I posted bail. C'mon, let's go home." listen it popped into my skull

ㅤㅤ" you—? "ㅤthe question dies on their tongue before they can finish it. from there, their mouth closes, then opens again. this repeats a few times, but no further sound ever comes out. in the end, they keep it closed and simply nod. rising from their seat (they hadn't been shoved into a cell this time, thank god. probably because it's been a busy night in the station and they're the only minor in here. for once, the cops weren't complete assholes), they grab for their discarded sweater and begin following close on lena's tail.

an odd sense of guilt gnaws at them from somewhere in the pit of their stomach. they don't know why, since it's not like they asked lena to come down here and bail them out. in fact, when offered their phone call, they'd downright refused it. " i got no one t' call, " they'd said, right before spitting at the officer's feet.

...she doesn't seem thrilled about it, but she came. she's here. she's spent her own damn money to get them out of here, and byan... isn't sure of how to feel about it. isn't sure of what to say. trailing along a step or two behind at lena's side, they remain silent, anxious hands twisting the hoodie they hold in front of themself like it's the only thing on earth keeping them grounded in this moment.

out the doors, down the steps; the chilly night air nips at the exposed skin of their arms, but still byan just keeps twisting and turning and pulling at their sweater.

ㅤㅤ" didn't hafta do that. "ㅤa proper sentence is finally muttered once they're about a block away from the station, their gaze fixed on the sidewalk.ㅤ" i was 'boutta make a break for it. "ㅤa lie. they'd certainly been contemplating it, had perhaps been biding their time until the moment was right, but it wasn't something that would have happened in the next moment had lena not shown up.ㅤ" woulda been fine on my own. "

why? the question sits on the tip of their tongue, begging to be asked — why come down here? why waste your cash? why? — but byan swallows it down again and again, shaking their head in visible frustration.

ㅤㅤ" 'f you're plannin' on holdin' this over my head 'n usin' it as leverage for somethin', it ain't gonna work. "ㅤit's the only possible reason they can think of that lena would have done this, the only reason anyone had ever willingly bailed them out before. the thought brings an added heat to their voice, raising it from their previous mutter. they can feel a faint sting in the corner of their eyes, which only angers them further.

ㅤㅤ" i didn't ask for ya to come down here. i didn't ask for your help! "