#tactical bomber

[nocternalrandomness]

"Switchblade"

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

Ukrainian engineers have started testing their home-made extended rage, high precision guided bombs by dropping them from the Su-24 Fencer bomber, September 2024. Source: NEWSADER

P.S. According to sources Ukrainian made guided bombs are significantly better. These bombs have a booster, longer range and more powerful explosive charge, that weapons supplied by the West...! These new aerial bombs have high accuracy and can be dropped from other types of combat aircraft as well. Moreover, the Ukrainians are free to use them against Russian forces and infrastructure objects deep inside Russian territory....

[stone-cold-groove]

A McDonnell Douglas F-4C Phantom II.

[postcard-from-the-past]

Martin B-57E Canberra tactical bomber of the U.S. Air Force

Dutch vintage postcard

[jongins-gf]

I fucking LOATHE the proliferation of pop psychology in our current zeitgeist that has watered down the understanding and meaning of these actual psychological terms, leading to their misuse and abuse. I hate how these concepts are reduced to simplistic and contextless definitions that can be applied to almost every NORMAL human interaction, in cutesy and digestible, short social media posts (Instagram, Tiktok, Twitter), in trendy sayings, etc. I especially fucking hate how this shallow understanding lets people weaponize "therapy speech" to use against others to label them as "abusers" and to armchair diagnose them, also as another weapon. Beyond people using pop psychology as an excuse/weapon to be shitty to each other, it also enables abusers by giving them another tool in their arsenal to use and help them gaslight their victims! (And SO much of this misunderstanding stems from huge accounts: not just unqualified normies but also psychologists/therapists who should know better, but I digress.)

For other people like me who have been (falsely) accused of being abusive/an abuser and were feeling bad about it, this post helped me see SO much in understanding actual abuse:

And a lot of these bastardized definitions are ableist and centered around neurotypical societal norms' definition of what is "acceptable"...which leads to even more shaming and ostracization of neurodivergent people and their behavior, like autists and ADHDers (e.x.: being direct and straightforward/blunt in your enthusiasm for someone in the beginning of a relationship is NOT LOVE BOMBING!). Check the replies of this post for the excellent discussion there.

Love bombing is not a euphemism for "too much affection too soon," or "high desire for contact."

"Love bombing" is a term originally used in the context of cults to describe a deliberate and coordinated recruitment method that involved feigning friendship and interest in a potential recruit, via flattery, flirtation, physical affection, and very directed positive attention to everything the recruit says in order to lure them into the cult.

Since cults and abusive relationships operate in similar ways and use similar tactics, love bombing in an interpersonal relationship looks like manufacturing closeness in order to trap someone into a relationship in which the abuser has all the control.

And I know these days there's a million bullshit junky articles out there that make you think this is a symptom of cluster b personality disorders, but there is no way for you to be love bombing somebody without realizing it.

If you are an affectionate person and the level of affection and attention you give makes someone uncomfortable, you are not "accidentally" abusing them.

If you are uncomfortable with the level of affection and attention someone is paying you, they are not de facto abusing you.

Love bombing is about using someone's desire for human connection to fast track them into a situation you control and will feel disinclined to leave.

[attackcopterblog]

CAMFOUR ANNOUNCES CAMFOUR CUSTOMS BOMBER THEME RUGER SR1911

Camfour has announced their latest in the Camfour Customs series with Bomber themed Ruger SR1911. Camfour states “Camfour Proudly Launches a New Camfour Customs Ruger SR1911 Camfour announces the launch of a new Camfour Custom exclusive Ruger SR1911 45ACP with a Bomber theme. The addition of this limited-edition exclusive is the next step in the Camfour Customs line as they continue to expand…

[military1st]

Pentagon M.A.P1 Flight Jacket

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Enjoy free UK delivery and returns! Swift delivery to Ireland, the US, Australia, and across Europe.

[hbmmaster]

Nintendo of America, sometime around 2020 or 2021

NOA translator A: hey so what's the deal with Banzai Bill

NOA translator B: what do you mean?

A: like, why is it called that?

B: well, it's been like that since the 90s. we certainly couldn't call it a Magnum Killer, right?

A: so like is it supposed to be a reference to the banzai charge suicide attack tactic used by the japanese army in world war 2 or is it something else

B: oh dang you're right that probably is what the super mario world localization team was thinking of back in the day. that's pretty messed up

A: should we change the name? ideally to something that isn't associated with war and suicide

B: hmm... how about "Bomber Bill"?

A: yeah, perfect! I can't think of any way in which "bomber" would be associated with any of the things we're trying to distance ourselves from by changing the name from "banzai"

[memecucker]

one of the things thats interesting about George Lucas saying the Rebel Alliance was inspired by the Vietcong is that during the Vietnam War something thats pretty interesting was the success of the Vietnam People's Air Force (which yeah wasnt part of the Vietcong but whatever) in its ability to combat the US Air Force despite being heavily outmanned, outgunned and flying older model aircraft they were able to heavily punch above their weight in a way that even US military sources admit ultimately came down to that the Vietnamese just had the better pilots tactics for much of the war (eg; in December 1966 the Vietnamese airforce was able to down 14 F-105 fighter-bombers with no loses of their own) which interestingly kinda emulates the typical dynamic with Rebel Alliance ships fighting the Empire

i wonder if that was also intentional in anyway bc otoh its kind of a deep cut especially in the 70s but otoh Lucas is confirmed to have the history of air warfare basically be a special interest of his so

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

Ukrainian Air Force Su-24M tactical bomber departing on a strike mission, armed with a pair of French/British-supplied SCALP/Storm Shadow air launched cruise missiles., Ukraine, 2024. Source: OSINTtechnical

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part two

PART I • PART III • PART VI • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+  | ( 3.3k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T W O 🎶 theatre, etta marcus

❝ IS IT EASIER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO START AGAIN? WHEN YOU DON’T WANNA MAKE AMENDS? ❞

‘Stealing a Winnebago’ had been easier than you’d assumed, but the getaway execution went exactly like you thought it would. Absolute disorganized chaos and the way Steve peeled out of the trailer park dumped you into Robin’s lap for the first mile. Made you even more skeptical of whatever half-assed plan these people had frankensteined together and now? You found yourself browsing the clothing section of The War Zone.

What in the hell were they thinking coming here anyway? From Eddie’s retelling of what happened under Lover’s Lake it sounded like not one of them knew anything about hand-to-hand combat, let alone guns. Couldn’t even land a punch, but thought they could handle this? Walls of rifles on display, rounders full of bulletproof gear and cases upon cases of bullets and god, you wanted to leave.

“Hey,” Nancy’s voice pulled your attention away from the tactical vests you were staring at, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked over at you. “If I go over to the counter, you gonna be okay?”

“Oh, totally,” you lied. “Yeah, was gonna go look over here anyway,” and you thumbed over your shoulder at more vests.

“Okay, good.”

She gave you a small Nancy-Wheeler-smile and left you there alone in a sea of camouflage. In the middle of a store you’d never have set foot in before all this and making you second guess yourself. Second guess what was seemingly more and more a stupid decision to go along with all of this and you huffed a sigh in frustration.

“Should’ve stayed in the trailer,” you grumbled under your breath, fighting the urge to just walk out, but apparently you weren’t the only one wandering around all the puke green clothing.

“Huh, didn’t know you had good ideas.”

The sound of Steve’s voice made your hands ball into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms.

“Do you ever have anything nice to say?” you sneered and he had the audacity to be so causal. Didn’t even look up from the tactical vests he was flipping through and tossed one into his cart.

“Not to you I don’t.”

Anger rose in your chest like a pot boiling over, so hot it made your cheeks burn as you glowered over at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” and still he didn’t look at you. Picked a bomber jacket off the rack and piled it on top of his vest and it was the last straw.

Stalking over to his side of the rounder you got right up in his face, dug a finger into his chest and said, “Liar.”

His eyes flickered at your accusation, sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at you and warned, “Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.” And he leaned into your finger. Waited for you to fold. Tsked at your attitude and the sound of it triggered a memory so strong you felt like you’d been sucker punched.

Your second ever interaction with Steve Harrington happened the week before summer break.

You heard it while you were walking back to school from grabbing lunch at the diner. A high, sharp whistle followed by car horn and then—

“Owwww, damn baby!”

And you recognized the voice right away.

Tommy Hagan. Leaning out the passenger window of Steve’s BMW. Wolf-whistling at you and being a dick and you tried to ignore them, but then they were pulling up next to you and slowing way down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy purred at your back, your mouth twisting into a scowl at the sound of Eddie’s nickname on his tongue. “You need a rid–” he started to ask, but his question cut short when you turned around.

Mouth dropped open in shock for a split second as he realized who you were, Tommy quickly recovered and started to laugh. That obnoxious, hyena-like laugh that made you want to punch him and he smiled and whistled again.

“Shit, Stevie! Who knew the freak had an ass on her!”

“You kiss Carol with that mouth, Tommy?” you shot back, Steve stifling a snicker from the driver’s seat.

“Bet you could do for a kiss, baby,” Tommy tsked, pouted his lips at you and grinned, “Always so damn sour.”

“Yeah? Wanna find out why?” you threatened and it made Tommy grin even wider. Shark-like. Predatory.

“Park it, Stevie,” Tommy didn’t bother looking at his friend, eyes locked on you as he opened the passenger door and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. Walked right up and crowded over you, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, “And what if I do?”

Your stomach lurched, heart leaping into your throat as you stood your ground. You didn’t think he’d take the bait, but you also didn’t shy away. God, you wished Eddie was there. Tilting your chin up in defiance you glared him down.

“Tommy, c’mon man. Just leave it,” you heard Steve’s voice from over Tommy’s shoulder, tinged at the edges with desperation as he ran up on the two of you, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about it, toots?” Tommy pushed again, toes of his shoes knocking against yours as he stepped even closer, towering over you and it hit you like a ton of bricks how in over your head you were.

“Tommy, just leave–”

“I didn’t ask you, Harrington!” Tommy snapped and you took the opportunity.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands, you yanked Tommy down into you and drove your knee into his crotch as hard as you could.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he choked out, folded in half and hands covering his junk as he dry heaved and you took a big step back.

“Coward,” you turned and hurled the word at Steve and watched it land heavy as his face shifted. Brows pinching together and mouth dropped open, but nothing came out as he struggled to say those two little words. I’m sorry. To tell you he wasn’t like his friend, but his silence betrayed him.

“You bitch,” Tommy grunted at you as he tried to straighten up, one hand still over his crotch.

“Don’t move! I’ll–I’ll get you expelled!” you threatened and it made him laugh. A mean, mirthless thing.

“No fuckin’ way. My mom’s on the school board, who’s gonna take your side?”

And you looked back at Steve for a split second, silently asking him to step in and do something, but he stood frozen in place. Still unable to go against his ‘best friend’ and what little belief you had left in him was shattered.

You were done with Steve Harrington.

Shaking your head, you fought back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes and ran up the path to the cafeteria doors. Disappeared behind them with a loud, metallic slam! and left Steve alone to drown in the deafening silence.

Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.

It was like no time had passed, like you were still there in that parking lot with Tommy towering over you and tsking at you just like Steve was doing now, but this time you didn't run away.

“Don’t call me that!” you shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

“Don’t call me a liar!”

“All you do is lie, Harrington! Your entire life was built on lies,” you could see his pulse fluttering against his neck. Watched his jaw tick as he clenched down on the words he wanted so badly to throw at you, but you didn’t give him a chance. “Why are you even here? You don’t give a shit about Eddie. You don’t give a shit about anyone, you’re–”

“Enough!” you flinched as his shout drew the attention of a couple older guys looking at the hunting gear. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? Not a god damn thing,” and the second part was quieter, but they way he held your gaze after punctuated it heavy.

He turned away from you, hastily pushing his cart back toward the cashier counter and walked out the double doors, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Hey, I’m not done!” you shouted after him across the parking lot. Sharp and biting and it made him spin back around, arms flung out at his sides in exasperation.

“Oh, yeah? Fine. What else you got?”

“Well, for one, I’m not going to sit here while you lord around like King Steve. This isn’t high school. No one here gives a shit about any of that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at his old nickname. Sucked in a breath and let it out slow to try and steady himself.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? You’ve been a dick to me since I set foot in Max’s trailer! And honestly? I’m not surprised! You think I don’t remember all the shit you put me through, put us through in school?” you shot back and he opened his eyes to glare over at you.

“Like I said, Princess–”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“–you don’t have any idea what this is. What we’re up against. None. You’re in over your head.”

“Okay? And what, I’m supposed to sit here on my hands and say, ‘It’s fine! Steve Harrington and all his little friends will fix this’?? You’re out of your mind!”

“And you think you can?” he shot back and your heart rate thrummed heavy in your ears.

“You know, Eddie says he trusts you now, but hell if I will. No fucking way,” and as you turned and cut past him back to the Winnebago he had to jog to keep up.

“Hey! Eddie almost killed me! With a fucking beer bottle!”

You huffed a laugh and kept walking, shaking your head at the accusation and incredulous at the lengths he was going to prove his point.

“Why should I believe you?” you called over your shoulder, “You’re probably just gunning for a headline: Steve Harrington, Hero of Hawkins!”

“Headline?? I–are you kidding me? You think I’d do all this for a headline??”

And finally you stopped at the bottom step of the Winnebago and Steve seized his chance.

“You really think I’m that superficial?” he shot at your back, but you didn’t turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge him and he spent what little patience he had left. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

But you were already gone. Frozen in place with the world growing dark. Tree line ahead of you blurring. Unfocused and liquid like water and the ground swam under you as a voice echoed in your mind.

I see you.

The sound of Steve still talking behind you turned to fuzz, crackled like radio static and faded away into ear-splitting silence. Deafening and swallowing you whole and then you felt it. The ground falling out from underneath you and you were drowning in the dark and the voice that echoed in your mind pulled you even deeper.

Resisting will only make it worse.

❝ AND I NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR LIARS OR THE UNIQUELY UNINSPIRED ‘CAUSE I DON’T NEED TO BE DESIRED ❞

Steve glared daggers at your back. Anger hot and fuming and fueled by the fact that you had the nerve to ignore him and god, he wanted to prove you wrong.

“Are you trying to piss me off? Cos its work–” but the words died in his throat as he came around to face you. “Oh. Oh, shit,” with a quick glance over your shoulder he saw everyone else finally coming out of the store and he didn’t wait to call for help.

“Munson!! Eddie!” Steve yelled over your shoulder at your best friend before grabbing your shoulders in his hands and squeezed at them. Leaned down to try and meet your unfocused, far away gaze and when none of it worked he felt his chest grow tight.

Not again.

“Hey, hey! Look at me!" panic clawed its way up his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Stay with me! Munson–hurry up!”

Your eyes were glazed over, tears gathering at the corners as your whole body started to tremble. Breathing stuttered and caught in your throat. Lips parted and trying to pull air in, but it wasn’t enough and Steve felt his hand twitch. Wanted to press it to your cheek to try and ground you, reach you and bring you back, but then Eddie was finally at your side and shoving Steve out of the way.

“Sweetheart! Can you hear me? Shit, shit, shit. What happened?? Honey? Look at me!” Eddie cradled your face in his hands. Did what Steve couldn’t. Voice ratcheted up, his usual low timbre a high pitched thing driven by fear and hearing it doused any remaining anger that had settled into Steve’s chest and replaced it with something else.

With helplessness. Regret. Remorse.

With the slow realization that everything he’d just said to you wasn’t worth it. Remembered how Nancy had yelled at him, just like you, outside of the gym. You’re bullshit! And his throat squeezed with guilt for messing it all up again because he was bullshit. He was a liar and you were right. Had he learned nothing?

He looked at you, your face contorted with fear, and he felt something new flicker within him. A feeling blooming at the pit of his stomach. One he was so certain couldn’t possibly exist when it came to you, but as he stood there watching Eddie try to shake you back from the dark he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Steve, help me!” tears cut down Eddie’s cheeks as he called to him and pulled him hurtling back to Earth. Desperate. Pleading. Begging him to do something and it shook Steve back into action.

Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursed through Steve's body and fought off the fear that had threatened to trap him in choke hold.

“Max, gimme your Walkman!” he shouted over your shoulder.

The rest of the group had started running back to the Winnebago as soon as they’d heard yelling and when Steve asked for the cassette player, Max knew time was running out.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath and broke into a sprint, scrambling to untangle the headphones from around her neck as she hurried to get to you. “Here! It’s still Kate Bush, is that–”

“Doesn’t matter–Munson get these on, hurry!” Steve, snatched the Walkman from Max and crammed it into Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Please, please, please,” fell from Eddie’s lips, desperate, praying that this would work as he fitted the headphones on and pressed them against your ears, “Please.”

Blinking heavy, you strained your eyes against the black. Against the suffocating dark you suddenly found yourself in. The stand of vivid, green ash trees lining the parking lot replaced by gnarled branches, dark and leafless. Bright yellow buttercups snuffed out by thick, wet vines that snaked their way across the ground under your feet.

You weren’t in the parking lot of the War Zone anymore, not really, and as you breathed in the sickly, ashen air your heart stopped in your chest.

The Upside Down.

“Eddie? Eddie!” you shouted into the dark, red lightening cracking the sky in two, and when no one answered you knew you were utterly alone.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you thought of Chrissy. Of Fred and Patrick and dread filled your stomach. Utter hopelessness and grief and when you whipped around to run you felt something tangle around your leg. Wrapping up, up, up and pulling you down, down, down.

You braced for it, ready to break your fall with your hands, but you never hit and instead found yourself lifting into the air. Unhinged laughter filling your ears as more vines snaked around your arms and legs and you swore you were going to be sick.

It was

Him.

“Why isn’t it working?? God dammit, work!” Eddie was yelling at the Walkman, his composure unravelling as Chrissy’s last moments flooded his mind. “Is she gonna die? She can’t die!” he pleaded and his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat, “Please don’t let her die!”

“Hey hey, hey! Get a hold of yourself. That’s not gonna happen, okay? It’s gonna work,” Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulders, looked him in the eye and tried to reassure him, but when he glanced over at you he knew he couldn’t make that promise. “Please work,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? You can’t leave. Not yet.

Vecna’s voice was everywhere. Flooding every part of you and you feared you would never feel joy again. Would never escape this. Would be stuck here forever screaming into the void, hanging on Vecna’s every whim.

I would like very much to show you where I’m going. Please, take a seat.

And the vines yanked you down, squeezed tight around your wrists and legs and held you fast against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back.

“Please, let me go!” you pleaded into the dark. “Please, I–” but your mouth went dry as a shadowy figure appeared through the ash. Coming closer and closer in the dark with each heavy step and when it finally stopped, feet at your head, your blood ran cold.

Wet, sinewy skin. Muscles exposed and stretched taut. Eyes that pierced your mind and knew every single one your thoughts. Knew all the dark things spiraling there and made them worse. Clawed at you with spindly, protruding hands and long, dagger-like claws and suffocated you with the smell of something rotten.

Of decay.

Of death.

Reaching a hand down, Vecna held it over your face, inches away from touching you as you struggled against your restraints, but they constricted tighter with your every move.

“Please,” you were crying openly now, tears cutting paths through the ash that had settled on your cheeks, but he ignored you.

I want you to tell your friends, I want you to tell them everything you see. Everything I show you.

“No, please!”

Tell them!

“No, I can’t–”

Tell them everything!

And then your head felt like was being cleaved in two. White hot light fracturing the black sky into thick shards and your screams were the only thing you could hear as Vecna pried open your mind and poured into you his vision for the future...

Hawkins in ruin.

Four gashes in the earth. Cavernous. Hot and angry and full of fire.

Your family. Lying scattered across your lawn. Motionless and still and limbs bent wrong.

Tell them!

Your friends hanging in the air just like Chrissy, Fred, Patrick.

Eyes empty, slack-jawed and lifeless, bones snapped like twigs.

Tell them!

Eddie and Robin and Nancy and Steve and–

“NO!” you screamed, the sound pulled painfully from your lungs as you felt your legs give way and collapsed into yourself.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Steve scrambled to grab hold of your shoulder and barely caught you before your bare knees hit the pavement.

You heard birds chirping. Sunlight filtering through the backs of your eyelids as you kept them squeezed shut, but the air was clean. Smelled fresh and as you slowly opened your eyes you realized you weren’t choking on ash anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve was still holding onto you, your hands pressed into his thighs as you braced yourself, the feeling of nausea overwhelming.

“I saw him,” you whispered, only Steve could hear you and you started to cry.

“Him?” Steve asked unnecessarily, glancing up at Eddie. Hoping, no praying, if he asked maybe you’d give a different answer. One that wouldn’t involve death and the end of the world and everything hinging on this stupid fucking plan, but he knew.

Everyone knew.

Eyes glued on their feet. Arms folded over their chests and uneasy with the weight that had settled over the group.

“Vecna.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[that-house]

December 3rd, 2031 – Sixty degrees, clear skies, and a nice southeasterly breeze. It was a beautiful day to lay siege to Dallas. It was a good thing the weather was nice, because everything else about the operation looked rough. Marian couldn’t wait.

Dallas was a classic Texan fortress-city, two rings of forty foot tall concrete walls with a killing field in between, bristling with anti-aircraft cannon. The ground-facing defenses were a little less thorough, but a few machine guns would make quick work of any infantry charge and Dallas had more than a few machine guns.

“We aren’t being paid enough,” Suzy griped. She was crouching in the shade, alternatingly blowing a bubble of gum and taking swigs out of a bottle whose contents were hidden by a paper bag.

“We’re mercenaries. Get used to it.” Marian hoisted her gun onto her shoulder. “Besides, they don’t exactly expect us to succeed.”

“Oh, are we leading a suicide charge? I wasn’t paying attention to the Duke.” Suzy was never paying attention, but the benefits of having her around outweighed the drawbacks. Most days, at least.

“Pretty much.”

“Did the guys we’re with know this was a suicide charge?”

Marion looked around at the Jeep the Duke of Austin had hastily assigned the duo to. The soldiers suddenly all looked a bit green around the gills. “I’m guessing not. Chin up, boys! Auntie Marian won’t let any harm come to you.”

One of the men, a lieutenant, managed to find his voice. “Why are we here?”

“The Duke hopes that we’ll die loud enough that Dallas won’t notice his bombers taking out the emplaced guns. Doesn’t strike me as very sound tactics, but hey, he’s got manpower to make up for what he lacks in brains.”

Silence in the back of the Jeep.

Marian continued, mostly to fuck with them. “And don’t think the tanks’ll be any help. See those big fancy guns up on the wall? Those are lonestar guns. You boys seen lonestar guns?”

“Yeah.”

“So you get the idea. But hey, cheer up! It’s not every day you get to storm the best-defended city in the state!”

The man slowly came to a revelation a long time coming. “You’re insane,” he said.

“Insane was my father’s name. Please, call me Marian Typhoon.”

Suzy cackled. “That was terrible.”

The soldiers looked between the two women, now realizing they were both mad. “How are you two so calm?”

Marian didn’t answer for a moment, looking out at the slowly-approaching walls of Dallas. The lonestar guns’ targeting algorithms would start flagging the vehicles soon. “Suzy, how far out are we?”

“About a mile and a half.” Suzy busied herself checking over her rifle.

“Now, boys, I’m gonna explain two concepts very quickly, so you’d best pay attention. The KL-90 fully automatic sniper rifle, sometimes called “Le Papillon,” was something of a failure, because for some reason those glorious Frenchmen decided to make it fire 1200 rounds per minute, giving it a tendency to dump the entire mag into one poor fucker. Only six were ever made, and nowadays they’re just museum pieces. In 2026, the American military plunged into the deep end of bioweaponry and concocted a little something known as the ‘vampire virus,’ which proved pretty damn lethal in 99.99% of cases. The 0.01% that survived were problematic enough that the program shut down, and all information about it was expunged from the record.”

Marion patted Suzy affectionately on the head. “Now you might be wondering how those two disparate pieces of information might happen to overlap, and if you boys just sit pretty for a moment I reckon you’ll be able to connect the dots. Suzy?”

The last surviving vampire, Suzy Nines, slotted the magazine into her KL-90 fully automatic sniper rifle, and squinted out at the Dallas walls. She squeezed the trigger, the barrel swinging into a wild blur of motion as the sound of gunfire filled the air. “Machine gunners down. Reloading.”

Marian patted the hapless lieutenant on the shoulder. “Come along, boys. Auntie Marian’s got a city to take.”

[cod-dump]

Your teen au has me in a chokehold so I thought I would add something to it

Gaz, Ghost, and Farah steal each other’s clothes all the time like one day Gaz could walk in wearing Ghosts favorite band tee or Farah wearing Gaz’s iconic hat or ghost stealing a pair of socks from Farah

They also do this with price and Nikolai

At some point everyone has worn price’s fishing hat (I think it might be more of a bucket hat) ghost has worn Nikolai’s combat boots (they’re the same shoe size) Farah wears price’s T shirts and Gaz like to do a combo and wear price’s pants and Nikolai’s shirts

Nikolai at first didn’t like his stuff being stolen until one day everyone was wearing something from Nikolai and he just chose defeat.

(P.s ghost has accidentally wore one of Alex’s shirts because he thought that’s it was Gaz’s and when Price questioned him about it he said the first thing that’s came to mind and it’s was that’s the shirt belonged to soap.)

-🫠

Thief (teen!Ghost au)

———

Living in a house of three teenagers meant no one’s clothes were safe. They mostly stole from each other, sometimes out if spite, sometimes because they couldn’t find anything they wanted to wear. Or because they simply just want whatever it is that had caught their eye.

“SIMON THOSE ARE MY SOCKS!”

“YOU LEFT FUZZY SOCKS UNGUARDED AND YOU’RE SURPRISED I GRABBED THEM?”

Nikolai was used to the yelling over stolen clothes given the kids were starting to gravitate towards stealing John’s clothes… which meant his were next. He just knew one of them were going to grab something of his, he’s seen Simon eying his bomber jacket.

“Simon, no.”

He’s thankful for being practically immune to Simon’s tactical puppy eyes by this point, much to the kid’s annoyance. Unless he was genuinely upset, nothing he could do would get Nik to bow.

“Niiiiik, pleeaaasssseeeee— I wanna look good for Johnny on our date!”

Nik snorts, “You could be covered in horseshit and that boy would still look at you like you hung the stars.”

Simon tries to argue but Nik reached over and flicked his nose, the boy jerking away and shutting his mouth in response. The glare that followed made Nik remember who he was dealing with: Simon Price.

Simon said nothing more as he stalked away into the house, Nik certain he just invoked the boy’s wrath. He wasn’t scared but he was worried because Simon could get creative… and spiteful. So he was sure to tuck his jacket away in his SUV before settling down with John in bed that night to watch a movie. Nik was close to falling asleep, John was already tucked into his side, completely oblivious to the movie by this point but refusing to fall asleep.

If it had happened a moment later, he wouldn’t have caught it. It wasn’t a noticeable sound by any means, but Nik noticed. He knew what it was too— His car door being shut as quietly as possible. He felt his eye twitch, eyes looking over to where his keys rested on the dresser.

That brat broke into my car.

Nik, of course, was angry that someone broke into his SUV… but he was also a bit proud that Simon was the one to do it successfully without setting off the alarm.

Nik carefully slid out of bed, John grumbling at him leaving before he flopped over where Nik was laying and almost instantly fell asleep. Nik just snorts before he went to slid his boots on, quickly discovering that they were missing. He blinked before he realized where they were.

“Oh, so we raised a thief,” John made a curious grunt at that, a sign that he heard Nik say something, but the fact he just went back to sleep showed that he didn’t register any of Nik’s words.

He ended up grabbing some tennis shoes before leaving, determined to figure what Simon was up to. He had to grab one of John’s jackets considering he knows his bomber had been snatched. He went out to his SUV, glaring at the apparently undisturbed vehicle. Simon was nowhere in sight and Nik had no choice but to wait for him to come back… Well, he did have a choice but he didn’t feel like tracking down the kid.

So he returned to bed, deciding that he’ll have a chat with Simon in the morning.

Nik was the first up, heading straight to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He noticed that his boots had been returned so Nik assumed his jacket had also been returned. A second time Simon had managed to get into Nik’s SUV without setting off the alarm. Where did he learn to do that? From his friends?

Nikolai was deep in thought, glaring at the brewing coffee pot as John walked into the kitchen with a yawn. He was greeted with a kiss to his shoulder before John went to grab mugs for the coffee.

“What did that brewer do to you?” John joked as he slid Nik’s favorite mug on the counter in front of him.

“Hm? Oh, nothing I’m just thinking.”

“Well, don’t think too hard or you’ll scare the thing into not wanting to work.”

“Eh, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“… On a second thought, break it. I need a new one, anyways… especially after the ramen incident with Simon.”

Nikolai snickers, hearing someone come down the stairs with a light yet heavy step. Farah, barely awake, walks into the kitchen a grunts a ‘morning’ before sitting down into a chair.

“Is the coffee ready?”

“Farah-“

“I’m an adult!”

Nikolai could hear the boys moving around upstairs, knowing that they probably won’t come down until they smell food. Nik hums before he pours himself a cup of coffee, blowing on it as he steps away from the coffee maker.

“I need to check my email.”

No one said anything as he left, heading upstairs to have a talk with Simon. He knocked on Kyle’s door as he passed, “Go help your dad with breakfast.”

A tired whine was his immediate response, “Niiiik-“

“I could do it, and burn everything. Or Farah can do it and make it spicy-“

Kyle liked spice, Nik liked spice and so did John— Farah’s spice tolerance was terrifying. John handled it better than the rest of them but it would be a lot for breakfast. Kyle left his room rather quickly, almost slipping down the stairs in the process.

“Slow, Kyle!”

“I’m fine!”

Nik makes sure Kyle gets down the stairs safely before he moved on to Simon’s room. He knocked on the door, a muffled grunt and Riley barking answering him a moment later. Nik opens the door and there was Simon, buried under his mountain of blankets and Riley in his play pen, jumping around with his tail wagging when he saw Nik. Nik closed the door and sipped his coffee before he set it on the TV stand.

Simon poked his head out from under the blankets, hair poking everywhere and worn eyeliner that he clearly forgot to wipe off smeared around his eyes. He stared at Nik in confusion while Nik just leaned on his door with a knowing smirk. Simon blinked before his eyes widened, sitting up quickly and throwing a few blankets to the floor as he did.

“M-morning, Nik…”

“Late night?”

Simon’s eyes flickered to his closet before he forces himself to look at Nik, “No…”

“Hmm… You sure?”

Nik moved towards the closet and Simon scrambled off the bed to grab him. Nik groaned when Simon grabbed him around the middle, when did he get so big? He used to be just a tiny boy, where did this guy come from?

Nik wrestled Simon for a moment, trying to pry him off so he can get to the closet. He managed to throw Simon back on his bed, freezing for a moment because he was certain Simon was going to bounce off and into the wall. Thankfully he didn’t, stunning him and allowing Nikolai to swing open his closet door.

“Oh? What’s this? My jacket!?”

Nik grabs his bomber jacket, presenting it to Simon. Simon was pale, eying his door and window. Nik tucked his jacket under his arm before he made a face at Simon, waiting for him to start talking.

“I snuck out last night to go to a party with Johnny.”

Nik blinked, “A party?”

Simon was not a party kid. Sure, he hung out with Alejandro and their friends but Nik couldn’t recall them ever partying.

“Yea— I wanted to look cool so I borrowed your jacket!”

“And my boots.”

Simon gawks, truly horrified that Nik knew about the boots, “I-I brought them back! Please don’t tell Dad!”

Nik stares at him, looking to the whining Riley before he steps over to Simon, “Fine, I won’t tell your dad… if you tell me where you learned how to break into cars.”

“I-I-“

“Was it that hooligan friend of yours?”

Simon lightens up, “Ale doesn’t like it when you call him that.”

“Well, that’s what he is so he should get over it.”

Simon snorts, “No, it wasn’t Ale… Uh-“

“Simon-“

“… It was Johnny.”

Nik makes a face, “Johnny? Your good little Catholic boyfriend?”

“His dad’s a mechanic so he knows how to poke around cars.”

“And he taught you how to do it?”

Simon wouldn’t meet Nik’s eyes, fear in his eyes. Nikolai just huffed, truly impressed, “That’s a keeper.”

Simon blinked and looked up at Nik, “What?”

“That boy managed to get you to sit down and learn something new! You’re so hard to teach new things, let alone wiring and car mechanics! He’s a keeper!”

Simon bites lip, holding back a big smile. Riley finally let out a loud, high pitched bark, tired of being ignored. Nik reaches over and tries to smooth and tame Simon’s hair before his grabbed Simon’s ear in a pinch.

“OW! NIK!”

“That’s for stealing my shit. Now go take Riley out before he explodes.”

Simon jumps up and goes to get Riley, Nik opening the door and letting the boy run through with the squirming puppy. Simon went down the stairs at a nerve-racking speed before he took Riley to the back door to let him into the back garden. Breakfast was almost done, Kyle and John just waiting for Nik and Simon to join Farah at the table.

“What was with the thumping upstairs?”

Nik just grinned, “Waking up Simon.”