Am I the only that thinks Bucky is going to be the more lighthearted one of the two in the Falcon and Winter Soldier series, cause bro:
Sam looks so annoyed in every scene with Bucky. In this gif, he’s stressed, the “I left my oven on and I’m pretty sure that’s my building burning in the distance” kind of stressed and BUCKY LOOKS LIKE AN ACQUAINTANCE HAPPILY JOGGING ALONG AS UNWELCOME MORAL SUPPORT AND IT SEEMS TO BE CONSISTENT WITH THEM. Even when they’re fighting Peter, Bucky doesn’t grow more frustrated he’s kind of just like, “Damn,” and Sam is like, “mOTHERFUC-”
These situations are among the worst Sam has ever been in.
Bucky? Shit, any day Nazis are not electrocuting him is a fucking great day.
someone who doesn’t know shit about good omens please explain this image
Dramatic gay goth dares god to smite him down because of minor inconvenience whilst English major sophisticated gay husband and their children look on.
Excuse me they said someone who didn’t know shit about good omens
I have, for YEARS, genuineYEARS, never understood why one of Crowley and Zira’s ship names was Air Conditioning. And then I saw TODAY, JUNE 12 IN THE YEAR 2 0 1 9 the tag “a/c” AND I HAD THE BIGGEST “ARE YOU SEEEERIOUS” MOMENT ITS BEEN Y E A R S AND I ONLY NOW GOT IT HRHDBDKSJWOBDIBOWBFIDHDKEHFIL-
Also, what’s that line from Dogma?
“No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… than central air.”
Anyway thanks to my habit of voraciously consuming every scrap of info I can find on a new thing, I’ve been going down a rabbit hole of silkworm breeding and genetics recently.
Did ya know that there are lines of silkworm that aren’t just white? That will throw up the darker ‘tiger’ and ‘zebra’ silkworms that are thought to be closer to the ancient wild silkworms? They arose when people began raising silkworms in South Africa, a harsher climate than they are native to, and crossed with a couple of strains from places like India and other southeast asian countries.
They apparently exhibit much more defensive behavior (AKA ‘rearing’ and even trying to nip if startled) and some, apparently, can even still fly short distances. They are also apparently much hardier. BUT they produce rather less silk per cocoon, so they’re not as desirable for silk, but favored by some who raise them as feeders for reptiles. What silk they DO produce, however, can range in shade from ivory to white to pale golds and green-golds, and sometimes even pinkish.
This is a long way around to say that I tracked down someone who got her hands on south african silkworms in the USA (they’re not common here) and ordered 100 South African silkworm eggs.
You use all these words pretending like you thought it over for longer than .02 seconds like I knew where this post was going by the second sentence. 😉 it took me longer to read and reblog this post than it took you to start looking for those eggs, lol.
I MEAN, TRUE
What colour are their wings? Would you ever consider making jewelry from them, once they die? I bought a butterfly wing pendant a few months ago and I love it.
These aren’t mine they’re just off google to show what an adult silk moth looks like.
I’m not really a jewelry crafter, tbh. But if anyone wanted a moth wing I could probably oblige.
The bus rumbled along the road, catching
some of the potholes and taking turns slower than what was probably necessary.
Aziraphale didn’t mind. The world could pass by as fast or as slowly as it
wanted now that the week was over and the apocalypse had fallen flat on its
face.
There would be repercussions, of course. He
knew it. Crowley knew it. The only thing that stood between them and punishment
was time.
It would come.
But, perhaps, it wouldn’t come that night.
He glanced over at Crowley who had managed
to slide half out of his seat, knees tucked high against grey plastic, arms
crossed over his chest. Dark sunglasses were drooping off his nose—still managing
to hide his serpentine eyes—and red hair flopped sleepily over his forehead. The
Demon was breathing slowly, head tilted forward, chin resting against his
chest.
There was a subtle blackness growing around
the edges of his hair. It could have been soot, but each bump sent glittering
light across the patterned texture.
“Crowley,”
Aziraphale murmured, knocking their knees together.
Lurching, Crowley straightened with a half
gasp, half groan. The bones along his neck and back popped when he rolled out
his shoulders.
Scales vanished; sucked back into auburn
hair like rice into a vacuum.
“Whatisit?” The sunglasses had dropped low
enough that Aziraphale could see the dim lights of the bus reflecting off yellow
snake eyes.
Still human enough to blink, at least. That
was a good sign.
The bus rumbled along the road, trees and
shadows passing past the windows. London was still a good ways away.
“Aziraphale?”
“I’m thinking.”
Crowley hummed in the back of his throat
and looked around at the other people on the bus. His body was slumping again,
curling, almost as if it wanted to coil in on itself.
(Perhaps it did, Aziraphale realized. They both
had been through a very long day but Crowley had spent most of it willing
reality to do his bidding. Keeping the Bentley together was enough to make even
an Angel falter and the Demon had managed to drive it from London all the way
to Tadfield.)
Aziraphale pushed the sunglasses back up
onto the bridge of Crowley’s nose—ignoring the grumbled ‘what’reyoudoin’?’—wrapped
his arm around thin shoulders, and pulled his friend down. Perhaps the Demon’s
cheek hit his shoulder a little more roughly than necessary but that was fine.
They’d survive.
They always did.
“Sleep, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, he dug
his fingers into black fabric and let the soft, light power of a miracle flow
over them both. It would help the snake stay human.
For a time.
“I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Omg fic????!!!!!!!! Thank you so much, this is super sweet!!!!
