#untameabletiger

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 muse’s reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.

Jim had never paid the numbers any mind. They were irrelevant, yet more numbers in a world that, to the criminal, spoke to him in data and equations. Why should he care about the numbers on his wrist when there were infinite possible functions waiting for him, probabilities and statistics and strings of binary code?

       Hidden under layers of fabric, the clock counted down.

The criminal pulled the jacket closer around him against the biting chill that had set in over the past couple of weeks. London was prepared for winter, but that didn't make Jim like it any more. He missed the rains of fall, or the occasional clear skies in which he could see the brighter stars.

Turning on his heel, he ran straight into the man behind him, bouncing back and tensing immediately, eyes narrowed. He was about to call out the taller man for standing so close to him when a sharp pain caused a spasm on his left wrist, right where the timer was located. Gasping and hissing between gritted teeth, he grabbed his left wrist in the other hand, looking up at the taller man with renewed curiousity.

[ I don't even know what I'm doing, but hell-- /sets line of potential volunteer muses before ]

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Note: I just resized/cropped/split these gifs, none of the original gifs belong to me.

Example:

           Never trust a stranger. & Jefferson did not like unannounced guests in any way. Even less the shady looking kind of people who did not even belong anywhere near his property, nor Storybrooke.

Meme

♠:Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

Jim rarely spent much time in front of mirrors, only what was necessary to slick his hair back and ensure that not a lock was out of space. Looking into his own face for too long was not a pastime he was not fond of.

        Thus, occasionally, he looked less than perfect.               And he simply couldn't have that.

Stepping out into the sitting room, he held his arms out, raising one eyebrow. The sniper's response was to shake his head and reach out, fingers tracing up the silk of Jim's tie, loosening it a bit and straightening it, fixing the tie pin so none of the strap underneath showed.