#timer!au

[turntechtimegoddess]

00:00:00

« In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.

Dani tries very hard to not look at that timer on her wrist.  She’s someone who has never been keen on relying on silly things such as fate and destiny, and with everyone fervently glancing at their wrist every so often when the number start to tick closer and closer to zero, she’d always thought the numbers were nothing more than something else trying to tell her what to do.  She’s well off in her career, making more money than she knows what to do with, and has a pair of siblings who may as well be her parents alive and well and also in very good health. 

Dani doesn’t want to have a soul mate.  She’s happy by herself.  And if she does get one, she wants it to be a surprise.  But that’s just not how this society works.  

Ignoring the numbers only works so well.  Because at some point Dani is forced to remove her long sleeves, bracelets, or hoodies.  She does shower, after all, and one morning she’d some to the realization amid the hot steam that the timer only had one week left. 

A week!  

Holy fucking balls.  

And the week commenced with Dani falling into the same habit everyone had: watching that damn clock.  

She’s in Los Angeles tonight, where she just so happens to be stripping her outer layer and wiggling her hips up on the stage as the partner DJ takes over for her break.  She tosses the baggy tanktop into the crowd and knows by the resounding screams that she’s definitely not getting that thing back.  Her croptop and leather leggings are all that remains.  And it’s right now, when she’s reaching a hand down into the crowd to pull a random fan up on stage with her that hers finally does reach zero.  

She pauses as a warm hand slides into hers because she’s caught on the numbers on her wrist that have reached the big ‘0’ just now, and slowly slides her eyes over to the face of whom it is that she’s just had the pleasure of meeting.  Of course it would be now, of all times.  No, it couldn’t be over a nice calm cup of coffee, but at work.  Of course.  That’s just how her life is.  

But.  Right now she doesn’t really care, because she can get a good look at him.  He is young - at least younger than her by a couple years.  He’s tall, and lean, with bright blonde hair and a smile that could probably knock a girl off her feet if it were anyone else. 

Funny how that works, since they’re supposedly soul mates and all that jazz.  She can’t see much else because of the strobe lighting, though, but she supposes that leaves her more to appreciate later. 

She wonders if he’s noticed yet as she finishes hauling him up, not taking her eyes off him.  She doesn’t know what to say, and even if she did it would be a bit futile because of how loud the music is; shaking the stage platform.  Her timer is at zero and she can’t even say hello.  

Hilarious.  

Dani just smirks at him, lifting her wrist to point to the line of straight zeroes as if to explain it to him if he has yet to notice.  She winks after, shifting closer and leaning up against him and pressing their bodies flush as if to ask : 'dance with me?' 

[pencil-only]

Countdown

Countdown - JeanMarco one shot based off of this 

I look down at my wrist nervously, the odd band across my wrist that was there since I was born was slowly winding down to zero. 0000 y 00d 00 h 02 m 24 s. When it hits zero, supposedly it’s when I meet my soulmate. Or- at least that’s what everyone else tells me. When I was born my clock was set at 0026 y 00 d 00 h 00 m 00 s. Why 26? It’s painful to think about- many of my friends met their soul mates at 17.. 18.. 19. I guess 26 isn’t that late. But I would have liked to have known my soul mate sooner.. I glance down unconsciously at my wrist again. 0000 y 00 d 00 h 01 m 40 s.

Looking up, I scan the crowd of people around me on the bus. I’m standing, holding on for dear life to the railing as the bus comes to a stop. I’m practically digging my heels into the floor as people slowly file off. At this point I’ve stopped looking at my clock. I’m trying to not get my hopes up. I’m trying not to over think that this person will never come- or they won’t like me.

As I exit the bus, I’m keeping my head down as I’m heading through the terminal. I feel the impact of weight against me as someone knocks me over. I fall back and automatically reach for something to hold onto- dragging the person down with me when I grab their shirt.  

“Holy- what the actual fucking hell!” The voice is loud and annoyed and I can’t help but panic. Not only does it sound like a guy but I've made them mad because I wasn't paying attention.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I-” I squeak out a mangled sentence of apology as I look up to see a man hovering over me. I feel my face grow red because of course- he’s hot. Like really hot. He’s got these sharp hazel eyes and two toned hair, his brows furrowed in a way that I feel like he wears that expression too often. His eyes glance away before his expression suddenly softens and he smiles, locking eyes with me. “Hey.” I hear a purr in his voice.

My heart skips a beat and I can barely reply, “H-Hi..” My eyes fly to my wrist and his is right next to mine. Both clocks read 0000 y 00 d 00 h 00 m 00 s. He’s the one then??

Before I can look back, he already knows what I’m thinking. “I got lucky, and I've never seen so many freckles before..” This is a good thing- he seems to like me. And I clearly like him.

He sits back and moves to stand as I sit up. He offers his hand out to me and I grab it to have him help pull me up. My hand moves to scratch at the side of my head and I finally get a full look at him. I almost, almost laugh when I realize he’s just a little bit shorter than me. He smirks at me with a cocky personality to him. I didn't know what my type is but it certainly is him.

He seems to be looking me over just the same. “So- My name is Jean Kirschstein.” Jean- it sounds french, but it sounds nice. He raises his eyebrows at me that goes along with his smirk. “Yours?”

I break into a smile and laugh softly, “Jean- I’m Marco Bodt.”

“Nice to meet you finally Marco.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, “I was expecting some hot chick but..” He looks me over again, more slowly this time, like he’s trying to figure me out.  “I think I like this better.”

“You..” I breath, a small laugh spilling out, “Are so lame.”

He grins and brings out one hand to grab mine, pulling me along to walk with him, “And?” He raises an eyebrow at me, “Can you deal with that?”

“Mhhmmm.” I make a noise of agreement, awkwardly lacing my fingers with his. “Yea- I think I can.”

It may have been 26 years to find him- but we got the rest of our lives to try and make it up.

[fuckyeahexofics]

Any timer au fics. I have read the beakyoel one by propenal on lj.

Only one I found is: TiMER (Kyungsoo/Kai).

And here’s the Baekhyun/Chanyeol one if anyone else wants to read: Sudden Wholeness.

I don’t think there’s any more to this AU in the fandom (unless there is, please let us know!!)

- ileney

[cyprith]

Okay, but guys. A TiMER!AU.

For those of you who don't know the movie, here. It is a wonderful movie. You can get these little clocks implanted on your wrist (it's easy like a tattoo) that count down until you meet your soul mate.

And the movie does a really neat job exploring that concept because the woman MC is in a relationship with a guy she really likes and she gets the clock sort of to prove that she's on the right track with him, you know? Only, her clock has numbers. She hasn't met her soul mate yet. And she has to decide whether she wants to continue in a relationship with a guy she loves who isn't her soul mate or start looking for some stranger.

But there are also people who fake their clock. They put on little stickers that look like real clocks, but are just timers that say whatever they want.

Can you imagine an AU with Stefan manipulating an un-implanted Mal. She doesn't have a timer. He has a timer that says 0:00. He's like, look! We must have met. You don't need to get a timer, since mine is so unassailably accurate. And she believes him.

Until later she starts to get suspicious so she gets a Timer of her own (feeling silly and spiteful the whole time because obviously it's just going to be zeroed out and she paid all that money for nothing) but HOLY SHIT it has NUMBERS. She hasn't met her soul mate. Stefan lied. And all the little daily heartaches meet this ENORMOUS betrayal and she's just a furious wreck.

And then she meets Diaval.

And her timer starts singing.

[tehcheshirecat]

I got the idea from this post on Tumblr, which is actually based off a movie, TiMER (2009). I didn't post it on FanFiction.Net because it really wasn't based on the movie (although I haven't really seen it, but I have heard of it before). If you guys think I should put it on FF.Net instead, let me know and I will gladly do so.

Anyway... I've already posted this on my blog here, but it was quite hard to read, so I'm putting it on FictionPress.

For those who haven't read it, well, I hope you enjoy my take on the idea. :)

[nobodylikestheotherguy]

00:00:00

IN A UNIVERSE WHERE EVERYONE IS BORN WITH NUMBERS ON THEIR WRISTS COUNTING DOWN TO WHEN THEY’LL MEET THEIR SOULMATE, SEND ME 00:00:00 FOR MY MUSES REACTION TO THEIR NUMBERS HITTING ZERO WHEN THEY MEET YOURS.

    When the time came, Bruce was ill prepared. 

    He hadn’t checked his clock in months, hadn’t even glanced under the hemp band wound around his wrist. Because what was the point? Numbers meant nothing to him now… not since a woman named Betty, and Government funded projects, and Gamma Radiation Bomb Research gone awry.

    Not since the timer on his wrist changed — along with every other part of him — and the chance of a normal life disintegrated into a Gamma Green Haze.

     A couple years spent in vagrancy across India only reinforced the pointlessness of the countdown. To Bruce, it represented the memory of a dream, a set point in time belonging to a man that no longer existed.  For all he knew, the numbers disappeared whenever he lost control…

    So Bruce he wasn’t prepared… wasn’t ready… for a tell-tale tingling beneath the skin on his wrist, the very day S.H.I.E.L.D. unceremoniously dropped him onto an aircraft carrier off the Atlantic coast. The tarmac of the landing strip was hot, and there were people — more people than he’d spoken to in a month — bustling from every corner, like termites engulfing a log. The physicist had been so distracted with the intensity of this new place that any irritant had been dismissed as his general discomfort in helping S.H.I.E.L.D. at all…

But then something changed.

     Bruce stumbled out of the way of two official looking servicemen, neither of them sparing him a glance as they marched by. Lifting his palm to shade his eyes from the sun, the physicist paused when his wrist twinged again. Banner’s attention shifted to the worn fiber cuff that hid his counter from view. He stared for a long moment, mouth twisted into a frown.

    “…what..” He murmured, tentatively lowering his arm and touching his figners along the hemp band, working a finger beneath the stained material. The tan line revealed was startling, but not so much as the zeroes he could see appearing from left to right.

    “Oh…oh No…” The physicist breathed a small, hysterical laugh, his eyes darting up and then down again. Oh, God. Not here. Not now. What was Bruce Banner supposed to do if his soulmate (how? How was that even possible?? ) worked for the very organization that would see him in a cage??

    Panicking, the scientist swallowed harshly. He clenched his fist and willed his pulse to slow, drawing in a steady breath. A soulmate changed nothing. Bruce couldn’t be trusted with his own life, let alone someone else. It would be… cruel to hold whomever this was to a silly number on his skin.

    Clenching his teeth in determination, Bruce yanked off the wrist cuff, quick and ruthless, like he was pulling off a band-aid. He stared at the dwindling number in amazement, his gaze swinging up and around him as he staggered once more. He was staring at the retreating back of a female pilot when he heard a voice greet him.

                        “Dr. Banner.”

          Glancing at his wrist, Bruce swallowed. He turned, steeling himself as he looked up.          But never, in all his life, could he have anticipated….

                                                                                            “— y-you.”

      Clamping his palm over his mouth to stifle his surprise, Bruce stared at Steve Rogers with wide, glassy eyes. Something inside him broke open, but he kept it carefully contained, just as he kept the inside of his wrist hidden. 

                    God, what a cosmic joke.

    The Captain mentioned the cube,  and Banner forcibly drew his mind back to things far more important than the fate of his timer. He sucked in a ragged breath, hopeful and terrified at once.

                                        “…is…. Is that the only word on me?” 

[regnumverus]

His visits to Erebor were hardly accented by great occurences. The most noteworthy fact was mostly the peace between the Elves and the Dwarves, they were trading after all. And so the Elvenking displayed a haughty politeness which was as real as a feverish dream. The Halls delighted Thranduil more than their inhabitants, they were glorious and bright, a masterful building inside the mountain. The air round the elvish convoy arriving was not hostile but definitely frosty. Thranduil knew that Thrór did not request any merry enthusiasm, they got along, they did not require more. They were gliding over the stonern floor like bright phantoms of ancient times. His wrist however kept mockingly pulsating, yes the King would almost call it painful. He had not graced this timer with a glance for a long time, for decades. Thranduil desired no soulmate, needed none. His mate was gone and his will to bind with anything but his forest along with her. Yet the signs were unmistakeble and very irritating. Here? In Erebor? The moment the numbers reached a low theme, he knew what it meant. A Dwarf, his soulmate. By every Vala willing to listen, this could not be true. The gaze of an Elf was sharp and keen, superior and soon Thranduil spotted the Dwarf acting out of line the most. The one who had to share his current expirience for their gazes were almost identical, pure shock. Who was this one? A child, barely bearded, startled, fleeing. Pursing the fine lips, the Elvenking considered following, yet such he could not. The audience with Thrór was of greater importance, the pain in his wrist pushed out of his mind for now. Later however, Thranduil inquired, cautiously, fluidly. "Pray tell. Who was the one leaving the halls?" And Thrór proudly named him Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, his grandchild. And Thranduil smiled, menacing, bitter. He made his way to the prince's chambers, now finally giving in to the throbbing in his wrist.

[ailelie]

the spn timer!au i want to read

so, I was reading a timer!au in which the timers are natural, rather than chosen and that really made me want an actual timer!au of SPN in which Dean only gets his timer because maybe a girlfriend thinks it'd be romantic if they got theirs and both were already at zero (or he was drunk; or Sam wanted one and asked Dean to go with him or something--Jess was Sam's soul mate and the old timer constantly mocks him now), but when Dean gets his, it says he has 65-70 years before he meets his soul mate. So he thinks it is broken and eventually view it as a stupid mistake. He uses it as a clock, becoming a pro at remembering the string of numbers and calculating time by counting down, and as a way to get a few one-night-stands. Overall, the dumb thing is a crock and, given his line of work, he'll probably be dead before he meets his soul mate, so it doesn't matter anyway.

Dean just wasn't counting on 40 years in hell (40 years he could count and measure and he remembers the exact numbers when he took up the knife; he remembers the numbers counting down and both dreading and lustily anticipating getting the soul of his soul mate under his knife), or on angels.