-Flapping their hands often results in flapping of wings and either creates a gentle breeze and lifts them up a bit or launches them into the sky and creates a gale force wind depending on how hard the flaps are
-Stimming with the wings. Playing with the feathers, wrappings wings around themselves like a blanket, scratching beneath the feathers
-Randomly opening their wings up and flying off when things get too stressful/overstimulating
-Sitting like a perching bird and doing things and/or stimming
-Making a nest out of weighted blankets, soft pillows/sheets, stuffed animals, and stim toys
-Raptor hands and tongue stuck out. Even during flight.
Me, an intellectual:
It's because weather is governed by non-linear differential equations, which are inherently chaotic.
Me, carrying on as you roll your eyes:
That means that the evolution of this system is prone to change greatly with even minor variations of the initial conditions.
Me, following you out of the shop:
This is best exemplified by the infamous "butterfly effect," whereby the wind variation caused by a butterfly flapping its wings in the amazon can supposedly lead to hurricanes across the ocean.
Me, following you down the street:
Thus, while they can collect very detailed data with satellites, weather balloons, on-the-ground measurements, and the like, there's always a certain degree of uncertainty in any attempt to model global weather patterns.
Me, shouting at you after you've broken into a run:
REALLY, UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, I WOULD SAY THAT METEOROLOGISTS ACTUALLY HAVE A FAIRLY IMPRESSIVE TRACK RECORD!
Opening scene: the town of Tull, on the edge of the Mohaine desert. Low-angle shot. A tall black man dressed like a cross between Clint Eastwood and Morpheus is walking swiftly down the dusty street - the camera moves with him. He stops, long coat flapping in a dry wind. Eye-level shot as he squints suspiciously - he has been surrounded by village folk. They’re armed with pitchforks, crowbars, silverware, and a seething, desperate fury. A woman in conspicuously luxurious robes sits atop a wagon, commanding them, a holy book in her hand. Music surges.
With almost no warning, the bloodshed begins. The villagers attack, more like zombies than living people, throwing themselves towards the lone man. In bullet-time, he draws twin pistols from his hips. They’re huge but elegant guns - like Peacemakers on steroids. He lifts the guns and we see him glance around. Time resumes full-speed. It is a massacre - blood sprays across the screen, bodies drop like flies, bullet shells fall like rain. Gore like you’ve never seen before.
Record scratch! The screen freezes on our ‘hero’ shooting with both hands, snarling, a spray of blood frozen inches from his face.
Roland: [a little sheepishly] “Yeahhh… that’s me, Roland of Gilead. Not my proudest moment. You might be wondering how I wound up in this mess. Well, maybe talking about it will be cathartic….”
“If we are to catch the next train, we must tear ourselves away. Captain
Hastings is going to treat me to dinner at the most excellent
restaurant he has discovered which serves the Indian food. It is to this
food that Captain Hastings attributes the improvements of his grey
Murders, Poor finances, a lot of death mention.
The flats of your shoes scraped uncomfortably against the
uneven ground that paved the route towards your shabby apartment. It was a cold
March day with little to no people around at this time. The winds were starting
to pick up with a chill that made the heat rush to the surface of your cheeks
in attempt to warm you up. Posters flapped in the wind, making a sound that
curled your stomach in disgust as you passed by the same picture plastered on
every fence, every wall and every corner. You carried your body with an
astounding amount of heaviness, for each day you continued to live; you were
not living at all. You’ve never known a difference; it had been this way since
before you were born, since before your mother was born and before your
mother’s mother. Some days you wished to
never have been born, it would have been better than being stuck here. Your
hands shoved themselves awkwardly within the confinements of pockets as you
glanced around the perimeter of your surroundings. They were watching, they
were always watching. Whether it be through telescreens, through your own
thoughts, through the posters, the street lamps or the spies. Your life and
much like others shared the same fate as everyone in the past. You were to die,
you were all to die. Though this fact did not frighten you or matter much,
since you were already dead and have been since you were born.
The thunder and pelting rain drowned out every other noise, and emphasized the menacing black storm clouds that engulfed you as you continued to plummet to your untimely demise below. The empty pit in your stomach grew larger and larger with every second that you continued to free fall down to the foreign entity below you. Your arms grasped uselessly at the open sky surrounding you in a futile attempt to gain balance. The harsh strike of lightning was accompanied by the contorted flapping of your dead, birdlike wings, feathers being twisted by the wind. At most you had thirty seconds before you would be reduced to an undignified pile of blood and feathers on the earthen floor below you.
I’m going to die like this.
Tears combined with the relentless onslaught of rain to blind your vision. Your lungs began to fight for air as the chemicals in your brain were released to instill a fight for survival. The suffocation of panic quickly overcame your consciousness, and a shroud of darkness enveloped your mind as the world below you began to close the distance.
“I told you I don’t play games”
The grip around the man’s throat tightened as his attacker threatened him, baring his thin, sharp canines that identified him as a latent monster.
“I- I said I wasn’t lying. I- I swear,” the hostage choked out, clawing at his assaulter’s wrists in a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure against his throat.
“You willingly came here, among the den of vampires, risking your life to tell me a shitty, useless piece of information like that and expect me to believe it?” The inhuman eyes narrowed as the attacker raised the man against the wall, his shorter legs kicking in desperation.
“I- s-saw her with my own eyes” the man strained his voice as he wheezed for air.
“Too bad for you I don’t believe something until I see it for myself.” His grip tightened in an attempt to fatally suffocate his victim, but seconds before the oxygen was cut off entirely, a panicked knock came at the metal door sealing off the abandoned, empty room.
The grip around the victim’s neck released as the taller man sighed disappointedly and ruffled his neon crimson hair.
“What in God’s name is it now?” The man turned away from the gasping heap on the ground as he walked to the door, “I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed unless the place is on fire or money is falling from the sky.”
“About that sir,” the recipient on the other side of the door croaked nervously. The red-haired man swung the iron door open as the henchman continued.
“we’ve found her.”
The vampire’s face morphed from one of mischievous anger to one of seriousness in an instant.
“We located the fallen angel.”
A/N:So this is my first series! I’ve written a few drabbles here and there that I’ve posted to my old blog but I’ve decided to begin anew! (rip me) Things are somewhat complicated/confusing in the beginning but I promise everything will be explained in due time. (Thought the world could be made better with s’more vampire!Chanyeol, and my brain decided to say “Why stop there?” and made reader an angelic being so ENJOY) <3
UPDATE: If anyone has any questions concerning the setting, I got the inspiration from the Monster and Lotto MV’s so feel free to watch those if you’re confused~
I imagine that at some point after the Last Battle there was a gathering of Aes Sedai, like a group of them going on a trip or something, and Moiraine was there. And all the Warders were sitting on their horses scowling at everything and trying to look menacing but nondescript in their color shifting cloaks that almost melt into the background (you know, like Warders do), and in their middle is Thom Merrilin with his cloak of a hundred colors flapping in the wind while he’s playing his harp and singing a ballad about love and adventure, and all the other Warders look like they are trying to keep their distance but in reality they are enjoying his singing and are trying to get closer to him so they can listen better.
Okay, so I’m doing something a bit different here. I’ve let this run away with me a little, so it’s now a short series.
I was wondering if i could request a Jensen x Fan Reader fic were they meet at
a con. There they keep running into each other. Thank You.
I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is
completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any
different, this is purely for entertainment.
“Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless
as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.”
Lauren Oliver, Delirium
Your heart beat inexplicably fast within your chest as you drove
through the unfamiliar streets. Fidgeting with your fingers to stop the shaking
wasn’t helping much.
You’d been planning for this weekend for months. Saving
every penny, making cutbacks, even selling your old textbooks to purchase
tickets to the convention. You and your best friend made the trip together; you
even managed to stay at the convention hotel for the weekend. The both of you
had been fans of the show for years. Coming to your first convention together
was probably the most thrilling thing that had happened to the two of you, considering
the town you came from was about the size of your little finger. When you
arrived on Friday morning, Y/f/n squealed as you both leapt out of the car in
the parking garage and bounced on your feet with excitement. You quickly
gathered your bags out of the trunk of your car.
Hakyeon: hanging up your laundry outside on the balcony where it flaps in the wind and the sound echos like whispers through the open door. laughing as you both grab the same clothespin. you can see hints of his face through the shirts and sheets that block you. every time you catch a flash of his face, he’s smiling.
Ken: running through unexpected downpours with only your hands to cover your heads. the heaviness of water seeping through your clothes, but the laughter that comes with seeing his hair stick up in weird places. walking through the dew, the smell of rain lingering on your noses, he tells you he’ll bring an umbrella next time.
Leo: cardigans, because jackets are too warm to wear now. getting lost in two separate books in an obscure outside cafe nestled between two busy shops and locking eyes only when the waiter comes over with a refill of your drinks. he smiles when you order your spring time favorite, again and he does the same.
Hongbin: farmers markets coming into town, trucks of fresh fruit and vegetables, homemade honey and jam. you’re still not sure how to pick the most ripest of the bunch, but it’s enough to fill your basket up with his favorites and feed each other peaches on your way home.
Ravi: forgetting that it’s past seven o’clock because the sun is still out. the chilly breeze is the only thing that reminds you two. walking home together instead of waiting for the bus, he drapes his arm around your shoulder and it’s enough to keep you warm - no scarf or mittens needed.
Hyuk: finally seeing clouds in the sky and being able to match their shapes up to places and people and things, holding hands without gloves on and feeling his warm skin against yours. he sees a cloud in the sky and says it looks like one of the hyungs, you turn to see it, but all you feel are his lips against your cheek.