#afghan child

[peopleofafghanistan]

Kyrgyz girls in Afghanistan.

Source: Kate Hallam

[visitafghanistan]

A child peeks through a window in her village in Jar-e Qūdūq, Jawzjan province, in Afghanistan's northwest part of the country. Wrapped in dark cloth is the family stock of bread. Taken on November 16, 2021.

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

From thefriendlycitizen as I requested, here is Star and Sylvie with a fan-daughter created, Sierra.

[1-800-simping]

when u give ur friends their christmas + bday + vday presents

[whimsycore]

I’ll never fuck with the “you don’t owe anyone shit crowd” because I quite literally knew a girl who cut me off and ruined our friend group in high school because I upset her and she was old never explain how or why but I Literally found out through a tumblr message on here that she blamed me for her father being stationed in Afghanistan. Just because I was Muslim.

People who believe they don’t owe anyone anything forget everyone is owed common decency/humanity.

[everydayafghanistan]

Afghan Nuristani boy. #Nuristan #Afghanistan Photo by Samad Jalili @samad_jalilli. #everydayafghanistan #portrait #portraitphotography #everydayeverywhere #boy #child #afghan #portraits #everydaynuristan #red #portrait_vision #everydayasia #hat #photography #photographer #eyes #blue (at Nuristan Afghanistan) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf_uVJhpHce/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[samanthamarkle92]

Some videos I’d like to share with you before I post the latest installment of my Call Of Duty fic. The first is a clip from a great documentary film; don't hesitate to watch the full film! The second is a music video from famous pop star from Afghanistan. Both of these were the inspiration for my OC Amina and her strength and determination for a better life.

[reportwire]

1.1 million Afghan children could face severe malnutrition

1.1 million Afghan children could face severe malnutrition

ISLAMABAD — In Afghanistan, 1.1 million children under the age of 5 will likely face the most severe form of malnutrition this year, according to the U.N., as increasing numbers of hungry, wasting-away children are brought into hospital wards. U.N. and other aid agencies were able to stave off outright famine after the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan last year, rolling out a massive emergency aid…

[tomorrowusa]

Don't risk a rerun of the 2000 election.

In the first presidential election of the 21st century many deluded progressives voted for Green Party candidate Ralph Nader.

Their foolishness gave us eight years of George W. Bush who plagued the country with two recessions (including the Great Recession) and two wars (one totally unnecessary and one which could have been avoided if he heeded an intelligence brief 5 weeks before 9/11).

Oh yeah, Dubya also appointed one conservative and one batshit crazy reactionary to the US Supreme Court. Roberts and Alito are still there.

Paul Waldman of the Washington Post offers some thoughts.

Why leftists should work their hearts out for Biden in 2024

Ask a Democrat with a long memory what the numbers 97,488 and 537 represent, and their face will twist into a grimace. The first is the number of votes Ralph Nader received in Florida in 2000 as the nominee of the Green Party; the second is the margin by which George W. Bush was eventually certified the winner of the state, handing him the White House. Now, with President Biden gearing up for reelection, talk of a spoiler candidate from the left is again in the air. That’s unfortunate, because here’s the truth: The past 2½ years under Biden have been a triumph for progressivism, even if it’s not in most people’s interest to admit it. This was not what most people expected from Biden, who ran as a relative moderate in the 2020 Democratic primary. His nomination was a victory for pragmatism with its eyes directed toward the center. But today, no one can honestly deny that Biden is the most progressive president since at least Lyndon B. Johnson. His judicial appointments are more diverse than those of any of his predecessors. He has directed more resources to combating climate change than any other president. Notwithstanding the opposition from the Supreme Court, his administration has moved aggressively to forgive and restructure student loans.

Three years ago the economy was in horrible shape because of Trump's mishandling of the pandemic. Now unemployment is steadily below 4%, job creation continues to exceed expectations, and wages are rising as unions gain strength. The post-pandemic, post-Afghan War inflation rate has receded to near normal levels; people in the 1970s would have sold their souls for a 3.2% (and dropping) inflation rate. And many of the effects of "Bidenomics" have yet to kick in.

And in a story that is criminally underappreciated, his administration’s policy reaction to the covid-induced recession of 2020 was revolutionary in precisely the ways any good leftist should favor. It embraced massive government intervention to stave off the worst economic impacts, including handing millions of families monthly checks (by expanding the child tax credit), giving all kids in public schools free meals, boosting unemployment insurance and extending health coverage to millions.

It worked. While inflation rose (as it did worldwide), the economy’s recovery has been blisteringly fast. It took more than six years for employment rates to return to what they were before the Great Recession hit in 2008, but we surpassed January 2020 jobs levels by the spring of 2022 — and have kept adding jobs ever since. To the idealistic leftist, that might feel like both old news and a partial victory at best. What about everything supporters of Bernie Sanders have found so thrilling about the Vermont senator’s vision of the future, from universal health care to free college? It’s true Biden was never going to deliver that, but to be honest, neither would Sanders had he been elected president. And that brings me to the heart of how people on the left ought to think about Biden and his reelection.

Biden has gotten things done. The US economy is doing better than those of almost every other advanced industrialized country.

Our rivals China and Russia are both worse off than they were three years ago. And NATO is not just united, it's growing.

Sadly, we still need to deal with a far right MAGA cult at home who would wreck the country just to get its own way.

Biden may be elderly and unexciting, but that is one of the reasons he won in 2020. Many people just wanted an end to the daily drama of Trump's capricious and incompetent rule by tweet. And a good portion of those people live in places that count greatly in elections – suburbs and exurbs.

Superhero films seem to be slipping in popularity. Hopefully that's a sign that voters are less likely to embrace self-appointed political messiahs to save them from themselves.

Good governance is a steady process – not a collection of magic tricks. Experienced and competent individuals who are not too far removed from the lives of the people they represent are the best people to have in government.

Paul Waldman concludes his column speaking from the heart as a liberal...

I’ve been in and around politics for many years, and even among liberals, I’ve almost always been one of the most liberal people in the room. Yet only since Biden’s election have I realized that I will probably never see a president as liberal as I’d like. It’s not an easy idea to make peace with. But it suggests a different way of thinking about elections — as one necessary step in a long, difficult process. The further you are to the left, the more important Biden’s reelection ought to be to you. It might require emotional (and policy) compromise, but for now, it’s also the most important tool you have to achieve progressive ends.

Exactly. Rightwingers take the long view. It took them 49 years but they eventually got Roe v. Wade overturned. To succeed, we need to look upon politics as an extended marathon rather as one short sprint.

Republicans may currently be bickering, but they will most likely unite behind whichever anti-abortion extremist they nominate.

It's necessary to get the word out now that the only way to defeat climate-denying, abortion-restricting, assault weapon-loving, race-baiting, homophobic Republicans is to vote Democratic.

[peopleofafghanistan]

An Afghan boy looks at a British Royal Marine with Lima Company, 42 Commando, in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, December of 2009.

Source:  John Scott Rafoss of the United States of America.

[visitafghanistan]

A mother dressed in a Burqa holds her child on Wednesday, 03 March 2004, in Parwan province, Afghanistan.

[metamatar]

I saw a lot of people reblog that post bemoaning the death of National Geographic with the picture of Sharbat Gula that graced their cover prominently, and I think its worth considering the role that organisations like NatGeo and its photographers play.

That photo was taken coercively of an 8 year child, the photographer didn't care to find out her name and lied about her story to make her seem more sympathetic and it threatened her life considerably. There's also the dimensions of the exotic oriental being invoked when choosing a green eyed brown girl to represent Afghanistan.

[wineauntie]

WHEN WE MET THE WORLD STILLED – quinn hughes x singer!oc

masterlist

summary: quinn hughes finds himself enamoured by someone he’s convinced is far out of his league.

note: your honour, I love these two!

warnings: none really!

word count: 1.8k+

Juno Blackwood had absolutely zero idea about the logistics of hockey as a sport. In fact, if she hadn't been invited to Rogers Arena to perform the national anthems and a quick interval show, she probably wouldn't have even given the sport a second thought.

Her red-heeled, signature cowboy boots clacked across the cement floor as her head swivelled to look at everything her assigned tour guide, Michael had pointed out. She was half-listening, her thoughts more focused on running through various lyrics for her performance– she hadn't meant to zone out but it had just been so easy to.

"And obviously, we managed to get our hands on a jacket for you to wear for the anthems," the man guiding her spoke, snapping her out of her daze. "We figured the jersey mightn't be up your lane."

Feeling a sudden wave of doubt, Juno glanced down at her beige, afghan jacket that just brushed her knees. She wore one of her typical outfits— her boots, a pair of red wide-leg pants and a loose white shirt with a deep neckline, loosely knotted together in the front. Those paired with a gold belt (that she was certain was a long necklace before) seemed to be one of the only suitable options she'd had in her wardrobe.

She wasn't made for the cold weather in Vancouver or the chilly atmosphere of the hockey arena, she was a summer child, drawn to the sun and its warmth.

"Not that your jacket isn't perfect!" Michael rushed to say in a panic as his eyes bulged. Juno had realised that, once again, she seemed to zone out from the conversation at hand. "It's really nice and all, but I know you expressed interest in some Canucks apparel and—"

"The jacket sounds great," Juno cut in kindly, her ring-clad hand placing itself on top of his waving one. "May I see it?" The man flushed and bobbed his head, rushing forward, as Juno kept her strides long to keep up with him.

At the end of the hallway, a group of three people stood, idly chatting. As Juno's heels clicked and echoed, the group's eyes snapped up to meet her gaze. Her eyes remained lax as she locked eyes with the man who stood between two women. His eyes searched hers, as they softened. Juno examined the man shamelessly, taking in his navy suit and beanie, so unlike the outfit she adorned. Her gaze travelled across his stubble to his sheepish smile and his eyes.

Juno hummed, her lips quirking up as Michael stopped in front of the group with her by his side.

"Juno, this is Charlotte and Andrea, our social team," Michael explained, gesturing towards the two women who stood with their cameras and phones out, yet Juno's eyes lingered on the nameless man. "...and this is Quinn Hughes, Captain of the Canucks."

"It's lovely to meet you guys, I’m Juno." She smiled, moving her gaze away from the man–Quinn, as she shook Andrea and Charlotte's hands first. She paused as she turned to shake Quinn's, his intense stare igniting something within her.

Quinn took her hand carefully, their fingers briefly brushing as he finally cracked a smile.

"I'm going to be showing you around from here on,"

Juno almost melted at the sound of his raspy voice, her head tilting as they kept their hands connected. Realising that she had yet to speak up, she cleared her throat and released her grip.

"Great," she offered up, her eyes flitting to Andrea and Charlotte. "And you guys will be coming along for the trip too?"

"Yes!" Andrea gleamed, her eyes twinkling in excitement. "We have a few things planned, so Quinn will be taking you on a tour of the locker rooms as well as presenting you with a jacket."

Juno's eyes jumped back to Quinn, who seemed to be solely focused on her face. She cleared her throat and folded her arms, trying to block out the cold that infiltrated the arena surrounding her– although the heat stemming from his stare was creeping up her spine in indescribable warming sensation.

"You'll also get to meet some of the other guys and we'll try to linger in the background taking photos as subtly as we can," Andrea finished explaining, recapturing Juno's attention.

"You've got it all planned out," Juno commented appreciatively, "that all sounds perfect." She turned back to Quinn. "Well, I guess you're leading the way, Cap."

Quinn stifled a smile and gestured with his head for her to follow as he began to walk. "We can start with the locker room," he spoke, leading Juno further down the hall as she nodded and followed alongside him.

If Quinn's voice was a song, she wanted to listen to it on repeat because she knew she'd never get tired of it.

Now, Juno was no romantic, but with Quinn? He intrigued her...enraptured her attention and she couldn't place why.

"So, how did you get roped into giving me this tour?" Juno teased, as the media women followed close behind. "Lose a bet or were you sacrificed for the greater good?"

"Neither, fortunately," Quinn remarked, his warm eyes sparking with mirth. "I had to quite literally 'take one for the team' as the captain."

"You poor thing," She grinned, her lip jutting out in mock offence.

"That's not what the guys think," he mused, causing Juno's brows to raise in question. "A few of them begged to take you on the tour themselves." Quinn's confession caught her off guard, and she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, I must be quite the hot ticket item around here," she replied, her tone playful and light, undeterred by his words as they reached the locker room door.

Like a gentleman, Quinn stepped aside and held the door open for her, warning him with a dazzling and warm smile. As Juno stepped inside the locker room, she was immediately hit by the smell of sweat, disinfectant and leather. Quinn was close behind her as she scanned the room taking in the rows of lockers adorned with players' names and numbers.

"So, uh...this is where the magic happens," Quinn sheepishly spoke, his hands in his pockets. "Well, most of the time."

Juno nodded, impressed by the organized chaos of the space. "It's got a winning kind of energy tonight," she remarked, moving closer to one of the lockers to get a better look at the jerseys hanging up.

"Well, I'd hope so," Quinn mumbled as she approached a locker on the far side which was labelled with her name and displayed a vintage, navy Canucks jacket with a red stripe down the sleeves and the logo on the back.

Juno beamed and ran her hand over the material, her fingers caressing the red, feeling rather glad for her coincidentally, coordinating outfit.

Quinn watched Juno with a soft smile, appreciating her genuine excitement, as he took the jacket off of the hanger and passed it over to her.

"Welcome to the team," he teased, handing her the Canucks jacket, the pair deaf to rapid clicking and flash of the cameras behind them.

Juno shrugged off her Afghan coat and hung it up on the hanger before she took the jacket from him, her fingers running over the material.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, slipping it on over her shoulders. It was slightly oversized but was comfortable and warm, two things she loved about clothing.

Quinn nodded, a small smile playing across his lips. "You're welcome," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.

As they stood there, exchanging smiles, Juno couldn't help but feel a flutter erupt in her stomach as her eyes locked on Quinn's. There was something about him that drew her in, further and further.

"Well, how do I look?" Juno radiated a smile, breaking the momentary silence as she twirled.

Quinn watched her with interest, his eyes following her every move. "Looks good on you," he remarked, his voice soft.

Juno grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at his compliment. "Thanks," she said, heat rising up her neck. This was so unlike her, she never acted like this with men– or women for that matter!

"Hi guys, could we just grab a photo of the two of you?" Andrea's perky voice asked, infiltrating whatever moment she and Quinn seemed to be sharing.

"Yeah,"

"Of course!"

Quinn and Juno's words overlapped as the two of them scooted closer together. She plastered her biggest smile across her lips, her head tilting as they faced the multiple cameras facing them. They stood for another few minutes before they were allowed to move apart and move on with the tour.

"So, you're performing during one of the intervals tonight, right?" Quinn asked, glancing over at her as they walked.

Juno shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. "I am," she hummed, "three songs during the second interval and then the two anthems before the match."

Quinn nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "Well, we're glad to have you here," he said sincerely, his eyes meeting hers. "And I have a feeling you're going to knock it out of the park tonight." Juno felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, and she couldn't help but return his smile.

"Why thank you, Cap," she joked, successfully hiding the blush she could feel rising to her cheeks as a flutter of excitement turned into a flurry of joy at the thought of performing in front of the crowd later that evening.

"Juno, we're being told to show you where you're sitting and then bring you back in a while to meet some of the players," Andrea read off her phone, her eyes apologetic at the order.

"Alright," Juno hummed before she turned to Quinn for the final time. "Well, Cap, it's been a pleasure, thanks for the tour."

Quinn felt a faint smile grow at her words, a small laugh escaping his lips. "The pleasure's all mine," he nodded, sticking out his hand once again.

As Juno accepted Quinn's hand, she couldn't help but notice the warmth that radiated from his touch. His hand was strong and reassuring, yet surprisingly gentle, despite the toughness of them as their palms met.

For a moment, Juno swore the clocks stopped and the world apart from them fell into the depths of space, leaving the two of them in their bubble. Juno felt another damned flutter erupt in the pit of her stomach, a sensation she couldn't quite explain but couldn't ignore.

As Quinn's thumb brushed over her knuckles, she couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over her. There was something about the way he held her hand – firm yet tender, confident yet gentle, a feeling that seemed to scream safe, as if she had finally found someone who understood her in a way no one else ever had.

Good Lord, Juno needed to take a nap or something. She was becoming soppy and unlike herself.

Pulling away, Juno followed Andrea out of the room, but not before flashing Quinn a dazzling smile, one that was quickly reciprocated by the man.

a/n: oh and this is her outfit + the jacket I envisioned her getting!

[sgtgrunt0331-3]

U.S. Marines from Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 6th Marines, Lance Corporal Chris Sanderson (rear) and Sergeant Travis Dawson (front) protect an Afghan man and his child after Taliban fighters opened fire in the town of Marjah, in Nad Ali district of Helmand province, February 2010.

(Photo by Goran Tomasevic/REUTERS)

[trashmouth-richie]

Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 1: FLICKER

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THR REDLIGHTS

chapter summary: flashbacks provide some insight on our favorite metalhead.

chapter trigger warnings: 18+ only, character death, references to child neglect, upside down references, poor parenting practices, etc, blood, character death, killer reveal.

CH. 4: FAMILY VALUES

1974

The tires on Evil Kneivel’s Stunt Bike trudged through the familiar path of the bare thread carpet in the back bedroom of trailer 8 in Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie was on his stomach, ignoring the rumbling noise from the hollow emptiness in his belly, he pressed his lips together to vibrate a motorcycle sound through his mouth, casually blowing dark curls from his vision. 

An annoyed huff echoed across the thin walls, “This is boring,” Billy snarled, he was laying flat on Eddie’s bed, feet on the wall, throwing up his stretch Armstrong to himself before tossing it across the room, landing with a splat on the broken closet door. 

Eddie pushed himself up from the carpet, the fibers itching through the holes in his jeans and scratching his knees. 

He shrugs, running his tongue through the gap of his latest pulled tooth, “wanna see my guitar?” 

“No,” Billy huffed, his thumb nail catching along the ridges of the zippo lighter he had stolen from Melvalds, lighting a small flame that he quickly extinguished with the flip of the lid. “I wanna do something fun.”

“Alright then, genius,” Eddie scowls, sitting next to Billy on the brown and burgundy ripped threads of an afghan blanket, “what do you have in mind?” 

Billy swings his feet around, landing with ease and standing before his friend, the smirk on Billy’s face was one Eddie knew all too well. 

—

Neil and Al didn’t hear the boys sneak out from the back room, too drunk and elbow deep in “work” to notice their sons had pushed the screen outward and hopped down to the ground. 

“The instructions are clear, Al,” Neil said, his mouth around a can of Pabst, scrubbing a dirty thumbnail through his eyebrow, “here let me see that.” 

Al blows a cloud of smoke into the air, handing over the poorly written note on the back of the Hideout napkin, clad with ketchup stains and spilled coffee. “Don’t know how you can even read this shit.”

“I can read that’s how I can read it dumb fuck,” Neil snapped, grabbing the napkin from him, he looks over the scratchy pen marks, pointing at the instructions again, “see right there, Creel laid it all out for us.” 

“Okay wise ass, but it doesn’t make sense. How the hell are we supposed to break int- into that place without anyone seeing us?” Al puts the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke around the side of his mouth. “It’s under surveillance and the guards are armed.” 

“The guards are armed.” Neil mocks, “Jesus Christ you sound just like a woman, how many cars have we boosted?”

“That’s different, easy. Breaking into a secret government lab? This is above our pay grade, and your skill level.” 

“Yeah and your big brains are why you got fired from the mill right?” 

“Shit,” Al downplays, “they didn’t pay worth a damn, boosting and dealin’ keep my pockets lined just fine.” 

“If only it was enough to keep Liz around right?”

“Don’t say that bitch’s name in this house, I’ll slit your throat and use it for an ashtray, Hargrove.” 

“Ahh shit,” Neil quips, “don’t get your panties wadded up, but back to this,” he says waving the napkin around, “the tunnels, that’s our way in.” 

—-

Eddie’s van is barreling down the highway like a bat out of hell. Nancy hasn’t stopped crying, slowly wiping her tears, with the front of her shirt, sniffling every so often. 

You’re grief stricken, numb to whatever the hell just happened, and what those things even were— and to top it all off, Eddie somehow knows?

Steve is leaning on the center console between you and Eddie, back seat driving and giving him directions on how to get to his house. 

At first Eddie had thought about going to his trailer, he knew his dad and Wayne kept their rifles in the back shed, but decided against it at the last minute, hollering over his shoulder for anyone having an idea of where to go. 

How safe could he keep everyone if his house was bordering on enemy lines? 

—-

1983

The Hargrove’s house was nestled on Cherry. Older but comfortable, a damn sight better than the paper thin walls of the trailer, and the soggy couch that reeked of spilt beer. 

Billy was going on and on about his girlfriends, yes plural. The blonde haired Gina or was it Jenny? And Tanya, the rich one who lived by Steve Harrington. 

Junior year was different for the boys, where Billy excelled in popularity with the jocks being a basketball star, Eddie fell into a different crowd, the Hellfire Club.  

They were still friends, still causing trouble on nights you couldn’t hang out, Billy now refusing entirely to hang out with Eddie when you were around, which you weren’t complaining about. 

Eddie takes another swig of Mt. Dew and continues drawing a rogue for one of the older guys, Nico, in Hellfire. He was only half listening to the way Billy was describing the differences between the girls, body type mostly. 

“If you want in on the action big boy just let me know, Gina loves hearing Metallica play when we steam up the windows in my car if ya know what I mean,” the cigarette hanging limply from his lips wiggled as he spoke, sending ashes down to his black converse. 

Eddie immediately thought of you. He wasn’t sure of his feelings when it came to you but he wondered if you’d be weirded out that Billy was planning to get him a date. How would you feel if he went out with some chick?

The idea of you kissing someone made his stomach turn, and not in a butterfly way. 

Instead of listening to Billy bitch about how much he can’t stand you and how you’re holding Eddie back he just went along with it, “yeah man, sounds good.” 

“Sounds good?” Billy questions, racking the weights he was lifting with a thud, checking his traps in his reflection, shooting a look over his shoulder, “I’m trying to get you laid, dude.” 

Eddie looks up from his seated position in the corner of Billy’s room, his fingers were silvery from shading the lines of his drawing, pinked eraser rubberings littered the front of his new Metallica shirt. “Yeah man, I’m down, what’s her number.” 

Eddie wrote the number on the corner of his paper, barely registering what else Billy was saying, his mind wandering to what kind of shit his dad was up to this time. 

Al was home for a longer stretch than normal this time, but he seemed to spend every waking minute at the Hargrove’s.

Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to think that his dad actually wanted to hangout with him. 

Oh no, Al Munson had his priorities whenever he came back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, and seeing his only son wasn't the top of the list. 

He went to the bar first, picking out the waitress with zero confidence, saying all the right things and tipping her just enough to make her think she was really something. When her shift was over, he’d bring her to a sleazy by-the-hour motel, giving her the ol’ Munson magic and then, when she was in the shower or cleaning up in the bathroom, he’d bolt. Driving to the nearest gas station casino and spending whatever money the waitress had in her purse. 

He’d finally crawl back to Wayne’s when he was bone dry, claiming he was home “for good this time!” And how he, “just wanted to hangout with my boy!” 

Turns out the “hanging out” was going over to Neil’s and getting shitfaced drunk, bringing Eddie to tag along, to prove to his brother that he was a good dad. He failed to mention that Eddie would end up locked in Billy’s room until dawn. 

So no, getting laid wasn’t on Eddie’s mind right now. 

“I told Tommy H to leave you alone, told him I’d fuck his girlfriend again if I caught wind of him messing with you.” Billy said, shoving his chest out proudly. Maybe if he helped Eddie spread his wings, he’d stop getting picked on, but in Billy’s eyes, Eddie brought alot of it on himself sticking up for those fucking nerds he always hung out with. 

The Hargrove kitchen table was covered in the same paperwork they always were when Al came over. Weird haikus, and riddles that were partly solved, a timeline of when and where everything needed to take place, and lastly, a complete blueprint of Lonnie Byers’ house. 

Everything was just about set in stone, the only thing the men couldn’t figure out is why Creel had decided that it had to be Lonnie’s son as the baited sacrifice. And whenever they asked, Creel would say the same thing, “an eye for an eye.” 

—

1986

“Right here,” Steve said, pointing his hand in Eddie’s face and out the window to his big behemoth of a house. 

The kind of house that belonged to a homeowners society, telling you when, where, and how to water and mow your grass. Not the type of neighborhood that housed the brown piece of shit on wheels that was arriving into the Harrington driveway at record speeds. 

Steve fumbled with the door and had to pry Nancy away from the van, she was petrified, her body shaking and tense, beneath his arm. 

Eddie turns to you, tapping you gently on the shoulder and when you don’t move he guides your chin towards him, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes. 

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” His eyes were large and the worry on his face only made you more scared, but he tried to put on a brave face for you, “c’mon, we gotta get inside.” 

Steve’s home was decorated with expensive paintings and gold fixtures. The kind of decor that wasn't available at a mall but ordered from some lavish designer in New York. The living room had vacuum lines in the carpet, as if it were never used. The wood floors in the foyer sparkled from the overhead chandelier, it was a catalog home, looking as if it were staged for a photo 

shoot rather than people actually living in it. 

Nancy’s cries echoed loudly around the empty Harrington home, Steve scooped her up like an infant and carried her down the carpeted steps to the open basement. 

Eddie still wasn’t acting like himself, his eyes were clouded over with something you couldn’t pinpoint, plagued with grief? But you felt reassured when his fingers curled into the spaces between yours as you followed Steve and Nancy to the basement. 

—

NOVEMBER 9, 1983

“You working tonight?” Eddie asks at your locker, ringed fingers working over the corners of a Polaroid of you and him last summer when he tried to teach you how to skateboard. One of his favorite memories. 

“Nope,” you answer from deep inside your locker, looking for the crumbled history notes you swore you still had for todays test, emerging from the locker and hitting your head on the way out, “ow fuck! Nah I’m off tonight, Don closed since Joyce’s son has been gone, why what’s up?” 

Eddie shuts your locker and shifts his worn notebook to his other hand, “it’s Wednesday, the Hawk has free popcorn, thought maybe we could see a movie?”

It wasn’t weird for two friends to go to a movie together, you and Eddie had done it multiple times. Completely casual. Even if the heat from his fingers bumping against yours sent flutters to your stomach and he quickly moved his hand like you were a snake that had bit him, a blush forming on his cheeks. 

“What time?”

“I dunno, seven? Pick ya up at 6:30, that way we can stop and get snacks to sneak some snacks in to go with our free popcorn.” 

His boyish grin was the same from when you were kids, dimple dipped cheeks, and the darkest eyes twinkling with mischievous glee.

The door to Mr. Stanley’s Chem 210 was open and you stopped before going in the classroom to give Eddie your answer, “fine, but I want twizzlers.” 

—

“What the hell do you mean it’s not enough? We did exactly what you said, solved each fucking riddle!” 

The weathered boards of the Creel House groan as a screaming gust of wind slaps loud against the old home, the late winter storm rattled the wooden foundation and pelted the window panes with ice, pinging loudly with each large gale that forced its way through the cracks of the poorly maintained home.

A small fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, wafting dark plumes of smoke into the living room and ashing soot onto the cobweb covered furniture. 

“He makes the rules, I do not, I am simply a messenger, a ves—,” a tattered mitten hand cups around his mouth, acting as a poor excuse for a shield against a barking, wet cough. Lungs burning with each wheeze of oxygen leaving. He clears his throat when the fit is over, wiping his mouth with a moth bitten scarf around his sagging neck, leaving blood behind, “..vessel, I don’t make the rules, Neil.” 

“A what?” Al quizzes, shifting uncomfortably from his left leg to his right, “we delivered that kid exactly where you told us to! The whole town thinks he’s dead! Hawkins PD put out the report last night that a body was found by the quarry.” 

Creel pokes the fire with the blunt end of his cane, crumbling a reddened log into pieces, adding a wadded mass of newspaper, the face of Will Byers’ missing poster front and center, his cherub smile warping with the heated flame. 

“The boy is hiding somewhere. The creatures can not find him, he is convinced that there is help from our side.” 

“Impossible,” Al scoffed, rubbing the cold of his nose on his sleeve, “I just talked to Chief Hopper at the Hideaway last night, and according to him it’s a closed case, Lonnie and his former ol lady were making funeral arrangements.” 

“What you hear, and what you see, seem different ways to hold the key.”

“Enough with the psychological bullshit!” Neil yelled throwing his beer across the living room, “tell us what he needs from us.” 

The blackened tooth smile creeps onto Creel’s face his red chapped lips split and bleed, and he holds back his cough just long enough to whispers the same fallacy he was given only hours before, in another dimension identical to this one. 

“A son.” 

—

The wind was ripping snow across the streets of Hawkins. The windshield wipers on Eddie’s van had frozen in place, stopping half way in the middle of the windshield, the shitty wipers no match against the freezing, winter rain. 

You were certain that the seat belt in the passenger seat had never been used before tonight, but Eddie was insistent that you wore it, foregoing his own with a you’re kidding right? look. The whites of your knuckles shine bright with each overhead street lamp that dances lazily on the windshield, and Eddie looks over with a laugh.

“Almost there Pebs,” he mumbles, his mouth snug around the filter of a cigarette, a half smirk on his lips, “don’t worry.” 

The storm foiled more plans than just good driving conditions, apparently The Hawk had closed earlier that day when the windchill dipped down to the negatives, Sal ensuring that his employees had plenty of time to get home before the weather took a turn for the worst. Thankfully Family Video was still open, and Eddie’s trailer was empty for the night, save for a couple of beers in the fridge and the heat from an electric blanket. Apparently the manager of Family Video didn’t give a fuck about the roads, neither did the factory. 

You and Eddie were met with the rolling eyes of Steve Harrington as you two shoved each other out of the way to get into the door first, bringing with you a cold gust of wind and chattering teeth.  After securing The Poltergeist and two boxes of peanut M&M’s, you and Eddie were tucked into the tin can death trap on wheels, trekking slowly to Forest Hills Trailer Park. 

The bumpy driveway was nearly covered by the falling ice and snow, causing Eddie to slide into his parking spot, well the front yard, of trailer 8. Before he jiggles the key out of the ignition, a man’s shadow illuminated the front door, the burning end of a cigarette glowing on a presumed inhale, and Eddie mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Stay here, okay?” He says with a shallow voice, his eyes never leaving the front door of the trailer, “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell was his dad doing at home this time? Maybe he was confused, thinking it was Thanksgiving already— probably wondering where the turkey and green bean casserole were. 

The door of the van groans as Eddie pushes it open with his shoe, slamming it shut and hearing the crinkle of built up ice breaking away from the frame. Ice was gathering in his hair as he scurried up the steps, the shadow moving away from the door so Eddie could come inside, and once the threshold was breached, he wasn’t surprised to see his dad standing in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, long fingers wrapped around a can of Wayne’s breakfast PBR.

“There’s my boy,” Al greeted with a false tone of cheer laced in his voice, “only been waiting here for an hour, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, shutting the door tight and shaking his hair free of the elements, “must have lost my schedule on your flight arrival.”

“Watch it,” Al snaps, his eyes are bloodshot and dark rimmed, voice gravelly, “I’m in no mood for your shit tonight, alright?”

Eddie tuts through his teeth and shoulder checks his old man before walking to the living room, pulling the cord from the wall jack, unplugging the tv. Holding it against his hip to bring it to his room.

“What the hell man, I was gonna watch that!” Al yells as Eddie trudges into his room, shoving shit off his dresser with a sweep of his arm, putting the small tv down he turns to find his dad right behind him, glaring menacingly at him, nose to nose. 

“The rabbit ears haven’t worked in months, guess you’ll have to go to Neil’s..”

His insult is cut short as Al grabs him by the lapels of his denim vest, shoving him into the closet door, busting it off the sliding track. 

“Listen to me you little fuck…” Al spits, literally into Eddie’s face, “I said I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, ya got me? I need your fucking help for once in your life, can you manage that?” 

“Get off me,” Eddie sneers back, trying to hide the trembling in his jaw as he grits his teeth, “I’m serious.” 

I'm serious, Dad! Al mocks, shoving Eddie harder into the closet, the splintering wood busting beneath his shoulder blades. “I ain’t ever asked you for nothin’ in your whole damn life, let you live here with Wayne, no rules no nothin’ and now it’s time to pay up. I need a favor.” 

His eyes were shocking in a desperate way, anger riddling his irises. 

Eddie thinks fast to his underwear drawer, the wad of cash shoved into an old sock underneath a sticky playboy, “I don’t sell whatever you’re on, and I don’t have any cash.” 

“Ain’t about money, or horse, Eddie boy, you remember my friend, the one that lives in the old house on Morehead?” 

Eddie thinks back to all the “friends” Al had ever introduced him to. There was Bud the one who owned the bowling alley in Bridgeport that had a fake eye and an gnarly looking scar on his face from a dog bite, Willy Jack who helped take the plates off of the van and scratch up the VIN number when they stole it from that scrap yard north of town, he even painted it any color Eddie wanted, but somehow the friend he was talking about wasn’t registering. 

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie shakes his head no. “Doesn’t matter,” Al said all too quick, “his son has been missin’ see, for years, and we need your boys’ help finding him.” 

“Who’s we?” Eddie asks, finally wiggling free from his dads hands, straightening his jacket, “and why the fuck do I need to find him?” 

A closed fist breaks through the paneled wall next to his chin, “enough with the questions Eddie goddamnit! I need you on this, and you’re not gonna tell me ‘no’ you understand me?” 

Eddie had never hated his dad more than he did at this moment. If he were older he’d swing a fist into his gut, knock his lights out once and for all, but he didn’t dare, shoulders slumped and the weight of the world and all its guilt piled onto him. He had no idea what kind of shit his dad was getting him into, only the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong, and the only thing he could do was nod his head, agreeing to lend his trembling hand. 

Across town on Cherry lane, Neil Hargrove was having the same friendly little “discussion” with Billy, but the conversation was different, lighter, happier, and the two Hargrove men seemed to be on the same page for once in their lives. 

—

OCT. 1986

The Harrington’s basement was set up much like the Wheeler’s but on a grander scale. Large tv tucked behind an oak cabinet,, a beige leather couch that seemed to stretch across the entire living room area, a surround sound system in each corner,  two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Setting Nancy down on the plus couch and covering her small form with a wool blanket, Steve opens a closet door and wrangles out a new set of golf clubs, leaning them against the wall, and running his hair through his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a mental list of household objects that could be used as a weapon. 

The phone rings noisily in one of the bedrooms and Steve leaves to answer it. 

Eddie still has your fingers between his, his rings leaving small indents but you don’t mind, it’s a comfort. He’s muttering to himself, in a tone only he can hear, biting the nails on his right hand with grinding clicks of his teeth. Looking at you his expression falters for a split second, trying to put on a calming mask, nonchalant-like even though inside he was screaming. 

It wouldn’t be long before the Demodogs came, especially if the Demogorgons were out, would he be looking for him? Wondering where he has been? Why he’s been gone? 

He guides you to the couch, a grand gesture with his nail bitten hand, grabbing a blanket and putting it around you. 

Steve emerges from the back bedroom, a tiny bit of relief in his eyes, “that was Robin, they’re on their way here, I guess they barely made it out.” 

You wince at the thought of everyone dead at the carnival, the way Argyle’s body was ripped to shreds, the howling cackle from Creel, the way he stood with his arms in a welcoming hug, just an hour ago you were convinced you were going to kiss your best friend, now the majority of Hawkins was dead. 

Steve turns to Eddie, with wide searching eyes, fumbling for the right words but failing, “I need answers man, right now.” 

—

Robin hangs up the phone, blood drying on her fingers from when she tripped over the gaping carcass of Tammy Thompson, her face covered with streaks of dirt and god knows what else, “ Let’s go! Everyone’s at St—”

A stinging in her spine brings heat, warm and dripping, then fiery hot, a hand on her shoulder she turns to see his maniacal eyes, the blood from the gash on his head now trickling into his mouth, white pearls stained in ruby. 

“I did you a solid Rob, killed that bitch for you—didn’t even think twice about it, because we’re friends,”  blood now trickling down her back into the waist of her scoops ahoy uniform shorts, she garbles a breath cusping on the breath of a question. 

“shh,” he reassures, wiping tears from her freckles lined cheeks, extracting the knife from the well in her back, he helps her lie down gently, “this isn’t going to kill you, it’s just temporary you see? I can’t have any distractions, I can’t let you get in my way, but don’t worry!”

 He moves to rip the phone cord from its hook, “I’ve done so much research on this meticulously studying over books on ways to cut the human body, what would hurt the worst, the least, the angle of the knife  was just right, I guess I could be wrong,” he scratches his head, the whites of his eyes rolling as the smell of blood starts to work him up, an ache he can’t scratch, “hmm… take care, yeah? I’ll be back.” 

A pool of blood blossoms from Robin’s back, flowing into the blue carpet fibers of her room— in tandem with the slow blink of her eyelashes meeting. 

The ignition of his car engine backfires with a gunshot noise, the bloody knife he used to kill the others laid gently on the leather of his passenger seat. 

Driving down the desolate streets of Hawkins, he looks in the rearview mirror, and for the first time, Jonathan Byers likes what he sees. 

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