#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.

[handfulofmuses]

Smart move though. Guy can blast you with roar? Just keep his mouth shut.

[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

Stylish and versatile Pentagon M.A.P1 Flight Jacket has a trendy knit rib collar, cuffs and waistband, YKK main zipper, zipped hands pockets and a multifunctional inner pocket.

Crafted from durable 4-way stretch fabric with DWR coating for ultimate comfort and ease of movement.

Find out more at Military 1st online store.

The UK customers: https://mil1.st/PM1FJBUK

The rest of the world: https://mil1.st/PM1FJBUS

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

[grem-archive]

@sundownridge thank you for the inquiry! I've answered what I could. The headcanon I would truly love to share in relation to Alfred's pilot activities in World War II I don't have the confidence to put out into the world. At least not right now.

But gonna be real, I think tired me was far too confident in posting this drawing!! But now you're asking me to talk about my special interest. There is far too much under the cut. You have been warned.

So, gonna make a disclaimer. I made choices regarding his jacket based on old photos of my great-grandfather and his crew, his plane, and other assorted texts and photos he kept/received from his flight buddies. 2 AM me was not about to fabricate WWII USAAF organization, so my hand was informed by pre-existing knowledge. Just spent a couple hours digging through my great-grandfather's records and things he collected for some of this. And checking my dragon's hoard of sources and PDFs and notes.

We'll start with the Eighth Air Force patch on Mr. Jones' shoulder here :D First off, The Eighth Air Force is a numbered air force (NAF) of the AFGSC and is still around today, but it was established on February 22, 1944, after the redesignation of the VIII Bomber Command. This command was one of the USAAF combat air forces in the European Theatre of WWII, engaged mainly in Northern Europe, whose detachment in England was based out of RAF Daws Hills. The "Mighty Eighth" was the first strategic air force that the United States would activate (activated January 28, 1942). The Mighty 8th is made up of Bombardment Groups, Fighter Groups, and Reconnaissance Groups, to name a few of the operations a NAF runs - all of these encompassed by Bomb or Fighter 'Wings'. I'll just go down the hierarchy that I've slotted Alfred into:

-- -- -- -- --

4th Combat Bombardment Wing (Heavy) - Division Symbol: Square.

I cannot find a picture of the proper insigne, but going a step down from the Eighth Air Force brings us to the 4th Bombardment Wing. Constituted October 19, 1940, then activated (as we know it) June 7, 1942, the 4th Wing was moved to England sometime in Aug-Sep 1942, being then assigned to the 8th AAF. It went unmanned until January 1943, having groups assigned to it and beginning combat operations in May with its first attack on an aircraft factory at Regensburg - at which point it was redesignated the 4th Combat Bombardment Wing (Heavy). This Heavy (H) designation denotes the classification of aircraft flown by the Wing, which was the "heavy" bombers, the Boeing B-17 and Consolidated B-24. Because of reorganization in September 1943, the 4th Wing becomes part of the 3rd Bomb Division. This is confusing to explain - so accept my words with a grain of salt.

But now we know what type of aircraft that OP believes Alfred would have been flying. Either the B-17 or B-24. Personally I go with the B-17.

-- -- -- -- --

The 94th Bombardment Group (Heavy) was originally trained for overseas operations flying the B-17 Flying Fortress, flying with the motto: "Cunning-Rugged-Courageous."* Group Letter: Insignia Blue 'A' (over a White Square). Identifiers: Entire tail & horizontal stabilizers of aircraft painted yellow & a red tail band + red chevron on the wings (sources murky on the latter).

Encompassing the 331st, 332nd, 333rd, and 410th Bombardment Squadrons, the 94th Bomb Group operated out of Rougham Airfield at Bury St. Edmunds, England. This was chiefly a strategic bombing group that focused on targeting infrastructure. Flying their first mission on June 13, 1943, they bombed an airdrome at St. Omer, but otherwise aimed for ports, factories, and shipyards. ((OP has a chronophotographic sequence of a mickey run on a ball bearing factory in Kassel, shot from B-17G #42-10935 "The Gremlin's Hotel".)) The 94th Bomb Group would participate in significant operations such as Big Week, D-Day, and the Battle of the Bulge, among other things. After V-E Day, the 94th was assigned to airlifts over Germany, after which it would be returned to the United States and deactivated-reactivated more than once and in several different forms before becoming the 94th Operations Group. Flying C-130s, the 94th OG continues to serve in the modern day.

*Rarely cited with the motto "Cunning-Rugged-Outrageous" or "Results Count".

-- -- -- -- --

Finally, we get to the squadrons. But I would like to dispel some misconceptions on aircraft and pilots. The common belief is that one pilot/crew is assigned to a single aircraft - this is not the case. An aircraft might have a pilot's name on the canopy rail or fuselage, but this does not mean the pilot will always fly that plane. To use my own Grampa as an example, while we know that he was often the pilot of #42-102935 "The Gremlin's Hotel" (denoted as "935" on papers), we have several records of him flying other aircraft, such as #42-102456 "Shady Lady" and others. This can make tracking individual servicemen and aircraft difficult when your expectation is that one pilot flies only one plane.

And service members may be moved around due to vacancies or the needs of the greater organization. At some point, Grampa was transferred from the 331st to the 333rd, though we don't know why. We have pictures of him in his jacket, which bears the insigne of the 331st BS, but we have images of him and his crew where the rest of the men are wearing the insigne of the 333rd BS. They must have lost their pilot and needed a replacement. It was this example that I used as reasoning for giving Alfred two different squadron patches. Again, I colored those at approximately 2:00 in the morning, so I think I was on autopilot - excuse my pun - and gave him these very patches because I wasn't about to go down the rabbit hole to find others. These patches are what I know off the top of my head at any given moment.

Emblem of the 331st Bombardment Squadron - theatre-made. Squadron Code: 'QE'. Squadron Identifiers: Blue engine cowlings.

Emblem of the 333rd Bombardment Squadron. Squadron Code: 'TS'. Squadron Identifiers: Green engine cowlings.

I have to admit that there is not much individual history available on either of these. I have spent a lot of time searching, however, some of the records are either lost or not publicly available. I admit that I haven't been doing as much research as I used to, but I have a list of people I've been meaning to contact on both of these squadrons. Someday I would like to research the 332nd & 410th Squadrons as well, since they were as much a part of the 94th as the squads I know.

[wip] we do a little bit of drawing

[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

[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

[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! ♥️

[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"