#timer meme

[nefer-seshen]

00:00:00

The timer was one minute before it would reach it’s limits of all zeros. Her whole life she had wondered when it would show her the fate of who she was meant to be with. Thirty seconds were left, sitting in the park as she had been trying to sketch for hours, but couldn’t get her mind off the timer that continued to count down the seconds until her supposed soul mate would encounter her. Was this even true? What if no one came? What if she wasn’t where she was suppose to be to met them. Did that ever happen or was there some force that the timer’s had to make every encounter happen? Magic, no that couldn’t be real, twenty seconds remained. Maybe some amazing sciences that know one could understand? Ten seconds.

Five seconds.

Three. Two. One. Then it happened the timer hit zero and she held her breath as she felt a presences near by. As the honey eyes gazed up they fell on a tall woman who was quite literally breath taking as after a few seconds she had to gasp for air. Was this the one she was suppose to be with or was this just fate playing a harsh joke. Biting her lip as she looked down at her sketch book only to notice that when she thought her focus wasn’t there for sketching she had actually been drawing the female subconsciously. It looked almost like her, but it wasn’t as pretty as the actually woman sitting under the tree. What should she do? Should she get up and talk to her? No wait they were coming towards her, well of course the woman had been standing after she had looked up from the timer, but still. ‘Just breath it’ll be okay, just say hello, be calm. You got this, no you don’t...what are you going to do, just say hello! Say Hello! Ugh, come on!’

[fleetfeetsmartmouth]

00:00:00

       When he was a young child, Hermes asked his mother about the timer on his wrist. She explained explained that it was counting down down to when he met his soul mate. He frowned in response, not sure if he actually wanted one or not. Well, the number was very large, so he had a long to to figure that out he supposed.

       In his adolescence, he was resentful. Not to everything of course, never that. Just of certain and specific things. The timer was one of those things. While he knew the fates controlled everything, he didn’t much enjoy the constant reminder of it. He didn’t like seeing the still high numbers counting down. Some days the timer number too low, other too high. It was conflicting, confusing, and he hated it.

       As an adult, he all but put the timer out of his mind. Centuries of his messenger duties and travel kept him busy, kept him distracted. He wasted his time in the company and beds of others, spending his time as he pleased. He didn’t even noticed that the number was getting lower,                                                                                          lower,                                                                                                 lower.

      His travels took him many places, to different worlds and realms unknown to Olympus. He reveled in the joy of discovery, in meeting new people. In his excitement, he failed to notice the number sliding into the single digits as he landed in a location new to him. He smiled as he introduced himself to Hel. She was a deity of another pantheon and Hermes reveled in meeting someone so similar yet so different. 

      The timer hit 00:00.

                       He didn’t notice.

[solvingthxpuzzle-archive-blog]

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.

Skye looks down at her wrist. 

Five seconds. 

There was only five seconds left until her timer would go off and she would meet her soulmate, her other half. She takes a deep breath and follows Coulson into the large plane. 

Apparently she was going to be working with her soulmate. Suddenly she feels self conscious and as they walk Skye makes sure she looks as presentable as possible, fixing her hair and adjusting the way her shirt looks. 

She hears a voice, accented and male, and before she can stop herself she bumps into said voice, sending both of them to the ground. 

That's when her timer goes off. 

What a great first impression. 

[solvingthxpuzzle-archive-blog]

00:00:00 ((YOLO))

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.

Skye looks down at her wrist and bites at her lip in worry. She had gotten her timer when she was eighteen, illegally, and at the time she had thought that seven years sounded so far away. 

Now it was seven seconds and she was having trouble breathing. 

She watches as the clock counts down, and when it shrills she looks up to see a handsome man, doing a damn fine job of filling out a purple t-shirt. 

"What's up?" 

[postvitampostmortem-blog]

00:00:00

Karkat narrowed his eyes as he made his way down the street, glancing anxiously at his wrist every so often. Today was the day, less than five minutes until he met his soulmate. The troll had always been a sucker for the romance of meeting someone and falling in love, but he'd never really believed it would happen to him.

But then again, who knew.

Four minutes. He chewed his lip as he looked around, watching for someone he knew - or someone he didn't - then decided to head into the coffee shop on the corner. The way he glanced at his wrist as he waited for his drink made it obvious, a couple people around him looking on knowingly.

With only a minute left, he went back out onto the street. So busy watching the seconds tick down, he didn't notice he'd walked right into someone until he had, luckily not spilling his coffee on her.

An internal buzzer went off in the back of his mind just as he met eyes with Aradia, brows shooting up.

Oh.

He tried to act like nothing was different, even though he knew. What he actually wanted to do was kiss her like they did in the movies, but that would be stupid. His life wasn't a movie.

What if her timer hadn't run out like his had? What if it was one-sided, if he was meant to be alone forever, pining after the girl who chose someone else? It would be fitting, he supposed.

"Hey, long time no see."

After a moment of silence, he bit his lip, threw caution to the wind, caught her hand and squeezed almost nervously - asked without words if her timer had run down too, if they were actually going to try this, if she was okay with him holding her hand.

[nobodylikestheotherguy]

00:00:00 [cries laughing into the sunset]

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.

// I love/hate you. This got long and super awkward, I don’t even know! 

          Bruce missed the exact moment his Timer hit zero.

    Not because he wasn’t there, but because he wasn’t… Conscious, per say.  The physicist had learned (the hard way) that when the Other Guy took control of their shared body, the numbers on his wrist stopped counting down. They might cease to exist entirely, though no one had ever been able to get close enough to inform Bruce one way or the other. He wasn’t entirely sure why this happened (except to be certain that there would never, ever be a soulmate for the Hulk), but he knew it meant that he wasn’t fully capable of calculating the date or time that the counter might actually reach zero.

    Which was why, when he awoke from another episode with a distinctive tingling itch beneath the skin of his inner arm, Bruce was rightfully confused. His body, aside from the alarming state of his wrist, felt much the same as it did after every slip in control — overly tender and loose in the joints, like a marionette that had been put together poorly and couldn’t be trusted to sustain its own weight.

    While Bruce was mentally cataloguing whether moving would lead to more or less pain, a stranger leant into his eyeline. The man was weathered in a way that suited him well, pale eyes staring at Banner with a sort of wary exasperation, as if he’d already proved a disappointment. The stranger was… hairy, Bruce thought…. sporting muttonchop sideburns that seemed far longer than should be normal. He chewed a cigar with the absent-mindedness of someone who was accustomed to smoking.

    Staring back at him, Bruce’s mind spun hazily, and his inner wrist itched.

                  He blinked up at the unknown man and thought,                                                                          …this is a joke, right?

    "…um." The physicist finally croaked, belatedly shifting a hand to preserve his modesty (as if the world hadn’t already gotten an eyeful). Why was the stranger just staring at him like that? Attempting to clear brick dust and god-knew-what-else from his throat, Bruce defaulted to the same question he always asked, “…did I… hurt anyone?”

    The stranger appeared unharmed, at least. Bruce eyed the brightly colored outfit he wore, brows wrinkling. A hero, then… but no one he’d recognize. Slowly bracing his hand beneath him, Banner shifted into a sitting position and glanced around. He exhaled, relieved to find himself in a dense forest. Good, that was… good. Rural meant less collateral damage…

    The physicist lifted his free hand to comb at his hair, the curls tangled by pine needles and wind. Instead, he was arrested by the sight of his zeroed clock, glaringly obvious on the pale skin of his pulse-point. Glancing from his wrist to the stranger (the only person available for possibly a hundred miles), Bruce silently resigned himself to further disappointment. He doubted this man would care much for soulmates, even if he hadn’t just witnessed his potential mate rampaging as an enormous green monster.

    Dropping his gaze, Bruce gave up on making a good impression. He slumped both hands into his lap self consciously and glared at his feet,

                                                    “…I don’t suppose you have any pants?”

[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?” 

[agentoxygenarchived-blog]

00:00:00

Charlie asked to have her timer removed when she received her prognosis, but Mom wouldn’t hear of it.

"You have a week left, Charlie," Mom insisted, stroking a hand down the column of her back and closing the other hand around Charlie’s wrist—around her timer. "At least give the poor kid a chance. If their timer goes blank, they’ll spend the rest of their life wondering."

So she relented. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll meet them, tell them what’s up, and get mine removed. It doesn’t matter. They’re gonna die alone anyway.”

What Charlie didn’t anticipate was to find her soulmate while actively hiding from them. As the numbers on her timer dwindled she secluded herself in her little apartment, watching positive female-driven comedies to make herself feel better about the cement clogging her lungs and the noise of sirens outside her window. 

Then the window crashed inward, and Spider Man, of all futzing people, tumbled through.

"Hey!" she shrieked, jumping off the couch and falling on her ass in an effort to get away from scattering glass. "What the hell?!"

"Sorry!" he groaned. "Ah, crap, ow, I’m sorry! Hey, I know a guy, he’ll fix it, okay? Right now I gotta—"

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

They looked down at their wrists and Charlie’s mouth fell open. “You should go,” she said numbly, and didn't look up again until she was sure he was gone.