jesic:

— by 魚鬼

poor sad Loki :(

(via octopirecipes)

fucknobility:

goddamnitreddas:

gatheringbones:

stalins-princess:

Nightwitches

for those not in the know, night witches were russian lady bombers who bombed the shit out of german lines in WW2. Thing is though, they had the oldest, noisiest, crappest planes in the entire world. The engines used to conk out halfway through their missions, so they had to climb out on the wings mid flight to restart the props. the planes were also so noisy that to stop germans from hearing them combing and starting up their anti aircraft guns, they’d climb up to a certain height, coast down to german positions, drop their bombs, restart their engines in midair, and get the fuck out of dodge.

their leader flew over 200 missions and was never captured.

HOLY SHIT THIS IS RAD AS FUCK

how can be so cool

(Source: sovietico, via homoerotics)

frightenedrabbits:

#Dean making breakfast for Cas

They don’t always get this, these quiet mornings. Even with the apocalypse diverted, the Leviathans defeated, their lives still run on the steam of the absurd just enough that mornings like these, with lazy awakenings followed by easy evenings, are too few and far between. So they take respite when they can get it, holing up between jobs from time to time in a small bungalow in the backwoods of nowhere that they bought a couple of years back to have some sort of base to stay.

It’s never planned, nor predictable, when they do come, but it’s always a welcomed vacation, of a sort, to resolve to do absolutely nothing for a couple days on end, all three of them laying languidly back with a couple cases of beer and a lifetime worth of sleep to catch up on.

And it gives Dean mornings like this, when dawn is long past and the afternoon is near nascent, and when Sam has gone to town for more stimulating diversion and Cas is still sleeping curled up in their bed. It’s mornings like this when Dean stumbles out of their rumpled sheets, pulls on the nearest pair of jeans (haphazardly discarded with fervour the night before), and staggers down the hall to the kitchen. Blinking into the 11 a. m. sunlight streaming through the back windows, Dean fixes Cas breakfast in bed.

Shuffling lightly about the small space, Dean fixes toast and coffee for two and ambles back towards their small but warm room where a slumbering heap of angel awaits. 

“Made you breakfast’,” Dean drawls as he drops the plate and mugs somewhat gracelessly on the bedside table. The clatter and movement works to wake Cas up, who stretches and peaks above the covers slowly, blue eyes and brown-black hair somewhat crazed and adorable if Dean does say so himself. 

Cupping Castiel’s cheek, Dean leans down to mouth “good mornin’” into his always too-chapped lips.

“Mmm, yes,” Cas replies dazedly, leaning into the kiss softly with a small smile. Yes, yes it was very good indeed.

(Source: pl3ading, via dirtyovercoats)