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powderblueblood · 10 months ago

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc! as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER EIGHT — SEWN UP

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summary: you'd need a hacksaw to cut the tension between you and eddie, but that's not your weapon of choice this time around. a newspaper pitch, a patchwork girl and a tasteless prank all work together to make things ever more awkward between you and the boy you keep senselessly calling your friend. content warnings: MINORS DNI, THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR YOUR PURITAN EYES - reader is an ex-bitch on a journey of self-discovery through being an even more specific kind of bitch, angst in the form of an elizabeth munson mention, miscommunication, lacy engaging non-platonically with someone other than eddie, mention of lacy's surname and dad's name, REEFER RICK CAMEO, billy hargrove slander as per, violence, a humiliating prank, smut in the form of public hand stuff (f!receiving), me feeling insane about this chapter word count: 14.3k

Dear Mom,

She hasn’t got warm hands. She hasn’t got the kind of smile that draws people to her. She hasn’t got a kind word for everyone, no matter where they come from. She hasn’t got a lot of patience. She hasn’t got a fixed sense of herself–well, she does kinda. But, not totally. Not yet.

She’s not like you.

Other cheerleaders wore ponytails and they’d bounce. But when she wore a ponytail, it swung like a sword. She used to be cruel and exacting, but now she’s just exacting. She’s honest and observant to a degree that’s, like, almost psycho. She’s a cold front, but she laughs like a lightning strike. I feel like thunder, powerless to do anything but roll after her. Can’t help myself.

She knows what she wants, she thinks. Other days she doesn’t. I keep trying to tell her that’s okay, in ways where I don’t actually have to use the words. My words wouldn’t be as good as her words. Her words burn clean through me like a lit tip of a cigarette.

But she does have your book.

Y’know, I always thought it was kind of creepy the way some guys would try and look for their mom in other girls.

So this might be a good thing. Less Oedipus-y, more ea–…

Shit. I was gonna say something I’m so sure you’d smack me around the head for. But you’re not here to do that. I might be in better shape with this girl if you were.

Anyway. I miss you.

Eddie Munson stands in the midst of an incredibly awkward aftermath.

See, for two people so purportedly self-assured, he in his freakshow roguishness and you in your prim-perfect knife-edge sharpness, you’re both entirely dogshit at acknowledging… well… anything.

You both tried to snap back to normal so quickly, with Wheeler and her science experiment pregnancy scare smashing through the ice. But the water underneath that ice is still freezing cold– and you’re both pretending you’re not gasping for air, pretending like you don’t remember gasping for each other’s lips.

This is totally cool. This is totally fine.

And then Eddie comes to see you at The Bookstore, which has become just as routine as nearly never brushing his hair, and sees you fixing your seller’s tag to your pick of the week. Your face in that arresting, self-conscious smile that he wants to melt off with the blowtorch of his mouth.

It’s The Patchwork Girl of Oz by L. Frank Baum.

Now, he noticed that you would habitually drop writers’ names into conversation like they were your lit professors– Didion said this, Bukowski said that, Bronte yadda, Burroughs yadda. Always some genius-adjacent, formative-thinking, socio-politico-boffo brainwad, more often than not with a substance abuse kick that you romanticized from a safe distance.

But then you unearth this book, a green clothback cover yellowing with age and roughness, red and yellow inlaid titling blasting out a name he ought to know. It makes his visual memory brrrrrrring! like a bright red tomato shaped kitchen timer.

The Patchwork Girl of Oz was with Elizabeth Munson wherever she went. Her records were her plane tickets, her escape to another world, but you couldn’t take your records with you to the hospital. Escaping to Oz was a decent substitute. She must have read it a bajillion times; she even took to calling Wayne Unc Nunkie after the elderly munchkin who only ever had one word for anybody. And whenever Eddie would drop an egg when they were baking or come running through the house with his knees all cut up, she’d coo, “Oh, my li’l Ojo the Unlucky!”

The book lingered everywhere– on the kitchen counter of the house on Pennsylvania,on the vinyl seat of the booth at the now-shuttered Benny’s when she could afford to take Eddie for a treat, on her bedside table.

Up until the end.

It knocks the wind out of Eddie when he sees it on the display shelf. He does a bad job of hiding that.

“What, too shocked to make fun of me?” you say, perching yourself on the rickety stool behind the counter, and your voice betrays a little embarrassment. “That’s a first.”

“I–... huh?” He tears his eyes away from the book long enough to catch the specks of blush high on your cheeks.

“It’s not my usual flavor, I know, but I’m capable of whimsy too.”

“Why that one?” His limbs feel stony like Unc Nunkie’s, as much as he wants to languidly lean over the counter and bother you like he always does.

You shrug, but you tilt the opposite shoulder. A reverse, a peek behind the looking glass. He notices that about you, which goddamn shoulder is your shrugging preference.

“I think it was one of the first books I kept checking out of the library when I was little,” you say, glancing back at the display, “It’s about this poor little kid who has to find a way to reverse a spell on his uncle who’s been turned to stone, and the eponymous patchwork girl is–”

“I know the story.” It comes out a little blunter than Eddie was intending it to. So much so that it knocks you back a beat.

“Oh,” you say shortly, eyes flaring down at the counter. “No need to cut me off mid-stream about it.”

Eddie winces, knowing he’s coming across as weird and stilted but with no idea how to safely climb down. “No, just– I know the story, yeah. My mom…” That is not a safe dismount, dummy! “...she… liked it a lot.”

“Yeah?” your tone stays even, yanked back from him a little. He wants to be like, sorrysorrysorry. “She ever read it to you?”

“A bunch, actually.”

“No shit.” The corners of your mouth tick up. “Wanna hear something super dorky?”

Just the mere invitation of your little smile loosens him up a bit. Eddie twists a ring around his finger, head kicking to his shoulder as his foot kicks to the counter. “Always,” he says, squinting.

You straighten your spine up on your stool and clear your throat. Hand goes over your heart, like you’re about to recite the damn declaration. Your eyes shutter closed.

“Here’s a job for a boy of brains– a drop of oil from a live man’s veins; a six-leaved clover; three nice hairs, from a Woozy’s tail, the book declares; are needed for a magic spell, and water from a pitch-dark well– the yellow wing from a butterfly to find must Ojo also try; and if he gets them without harm, Doc Pipt will make the magic charm; but if he doesn’t get ‘em, Unc…” your crack one eye open. “...will always stand a marble chunk.”

Eddie is silent for… for a while. For a good handful of heartbeats, for a beat so long that makes you knit your brow up, your eyes needling into him. Eddie’s looking at you with rose-colored soft focus. His elbows are eagerly pitched on the counter now, chin in his hands. The last person to recite those words to him was his mom, her voice raspy and tired but still willing to read to him. She hadn’t smelled like herself. It was sad.

And now, your voice, with all its snippy chainmail thrown off, gone all soft and lyrical and dedicated.

He thinks about a littler you, one he could vaguely pick out of a lineup if he really, really tried, criss-cross applesauce and pouring over that book so often that that little spell jams itself into your brain.

The mage before she donned the mink coat.

Eddie is looking at you and can’t force his heart out of his throat.

Well, until he can.

“Ew,” he cringes.

“What?!” you exclaim, your eyes getting all incredulous and kind of mad.

“And they call me a fuckin’ nerd, what the hell was that?” Eddie’s laughing, mocking, not with his whole heart. But it’s enough to make you scoff, irritated with him again.

See, you thought you were being cute and he knows you thought you were being cute. He needs to put you back in a place where you’re marginally unlikeable enough to just be a friend.

Restore the natural order. Don’t think about how he wants to recite that same verse back to you in front of an ordained Elvis in Vegas. Because he would, in a heartbeat. If he wasn’t committed to not being stupid.

Christ, you’re pretty. Christ, he’s gonna do something stupid.

“You are… completely undateable, you know that?” he nods ferociously, eyes trailing you as you cross out from behind the counter and head for a box of books that need to be shelved. All uh-huhs and sure, Eddies. The bell on the front door jangles and a customer passes behind him.

He yells after you, voice traveling down whatever winding path you’ve taken through the stacks. “You with your black and white movies and your twat rock and your Wizard of Oz… baby, what crowd are you even playing to?”

“What crowd am I playing to? What crowd are you playing to?!” you seethe, shuffling the ten-tonne box of books down the aisle with your feet. “Fucking baggie-pushing, guitar-brutalizing, board-game-...maker-...upper!”

“Woah. Wit’s unmatched as usual, Lace.”

This fucking guy. This fucking guy. You try and do one darling little thing, you just recite a little piece of a book his dead mom used to read to him or whatever, and you get verbally bashed! God forbid, god forbid you let the fucking drawbridge down for half a second! This blows!

You’re trying to be less of a bitch, in case you idiots didn’t notice!

It’s kind of inexplicable, how sensitive you’re feeling about this. Could be that since you kissed and since you pinkie-swore with Nancy Wheeler in the bombed-out boys bathroom, you kind of felt as if you were standing on a blade’s edge with Eddie. Not knowing where to put your hands, not knowing how much or how little to joke around. Not entirely happy with your moment of madness at the Ecker trailer. Not entirely happy that it hadn’t happened again.

But you’re not about to apologize. Not to him. Don Rickles in a battle vest over there. Must he always just poke you like that?!

“You’re undateable!” You shove a bunch of books aside on the shelf. “Me, I’m cu–...”

Right through the shelf, a customer stares at you. Your voice dies in your throat because, unfortunately, he’s looking right at you in your flurry of annoyance toward Eddie. And unfortunately, this stranger, he’s a little…

“What were you gonna say?” he asks, closing Gravity’s Rainbow.

“Cute.”

Guy smiles, doesn’t break eye contact with you for a second. He’s wearing a sweater. He looks fresh out of somewhere stone walled with crawling ivy. “I’d attest to that.”

You forget about Eddie– just for a second. Gesturing to Gravity’s Rainbow, you say, “Gonna attempt to finish that?”

“What’s that mean?” His grin is infectious, or maybe you’re just starved for this kind of attention.

“Nothing,” you say, with a little more tongue than you need to, “Just, I don’t know of anyone that’s ever finished that behemoth.”

Well, you don’t know of a lot of people that read the way you do either. But, digression. He raps a knuckle against the cover of the book and for some reason, you feel it in your belly.

“I always finish,” he tells you.

“Do you now?”

That’s the longest you’ve been quiet in a hot minute, and that’s the kind of thing that gets under Eddie’s skin. Chain on his jeans jangling, he starts off into the creaking labyrinth of lined-up bookcases.

“What, did you expire back here or something…” he mutters, a little whine in his tone– play with me, play with me, even though I’m being kind of a dick to you–

He sees you, a book lying lax in your arms, your body swaying to and fro and you’re–

“--talkin’ to yourself, Lacy? Great look. Real honeytrap, if you’re lookin’ to catch some imaginary di–”

“Eddie,” you grit at him, and he spots the whole other human male you’re talking to through the stacks. Well, not just talking to. Not with that body language.

This dude tilts his chin to Eddie. “Hey, man. I remember you. Didn’t you used to sell dimebags in the woods outside school?”

Fire flares in Eddie’s gut. He vaguely recognizes this guy– class of ‘83 or ‘82, not remarkable enough to be hateable but now, he’s certainly collegiate looking enough to be… distracting to you. So, annoying to him.

“Why, man? You lookin’ to buy? Or just cruise some high schooler tail?”

“Eddie!” you hiss again and he scoffs like, really?! You turn back to this… whoever the fuck. “C’mon, I’ll check you out.”

“You’ll check him out, huh?” Eddie sneers, bearing over you as you pass him in the aisle. Body heat breezing right by, face a mask of sheer disgust. Impulse talks; it totally wants to just grab you and throw you behind him and– well, he hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. But he’s creative. Who the fuck even is this guy? Where did he come from?

“That you?” this guy says, jerking his head toward the staff display, toward The Patchwork Girl of Oz. “Lacy?”

“To my friends and co-conspirators,” you say, ringing up that godawful Pynchon book.

“Which one was that guy?” he asks, watching you jot out his receipt on the carbon copy pad because for whatever reason, Ivana’s cash register is from the fucking 1800s and she refuses to upgrade to anything with a thermal printer. “Friend? Co-conspirator? … boyfriend?”

You wrinkle your nose. And don’t exactly answer, but it’s enough confirmation for him.

“Good. Say, why don’t you jot down your number on this thing?” He pushes the receipt back to you. “I can keep you updated on my Pynchon progress. You can… see if I’m good enough to co-conspire with.”

You like this approach. In fact, you love this approach, because you hadn’t been earnestly picked up in… forever. And he has this certain je ne sais quoi about him, something that screams moved out of state for college. You stay grinning, biting your lip for a good breath or two after he leaves the store.

Then Eddie appears in your peripheral, like some terrible harbinger of embarrassment.

“Undateable, huh?” you say, fully aware that he was earwigging on that whole exchange because he’s a nosy bitch and he can’t help himself. Glutton for gossip.

“You don’t have to throw yourself at the first person who walks in the store just to prove a point, baby,” Eddie tells you, this big face of condescension. You want to smack it off him so bad your palms are itching.

You huff and backtrack to where that box of unshelved books sits. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting around.”

—

Ronnie Ecker and Robin Buckley are looking each other in the eye, wolf-whistling furtively when you elbow open the door of the gym.

“You’re flat. I’m telling you you’re flat,” Ronnie’s insisting, an adorable three inches away from Robin’s face.

“I can’t be flat! A mouth whistle cannot be flat!”

It’s marching band practice. You don’t know what the hell goes on in here and you know better than to ask.

“Would you two get a room already?” you call, heels clicking across the glossed wood of the gym. These dorks have all got their feathered hats and bibs on, a kind of half-assed dress rehearsal for some pep rally they’re having on Friday. You missed the bulletin– kind of stopped paying attention, actually. Extracurricular distraction is a hell of a drug.

“Excuse me, this is a closed–” that’s the voice of Miss Genovese, the band teacher, stomping down from the bleachers in these tragic little loafers with the pleather peeling off. She makes it about halfway toward you, then this exasperated look washes right over her. The teacher dashes for the double doors and you point after her with a freshly painted red index finger. New lease on looking good.

“And that is?”

“Like, the third time in the last hour,” Ronnie shakes her head, taking her flamboyant little hat off. “Biggest running theory is morning sickness.”

What, is pregnancy like, catching or something? you’re about to muse.

“It’s almost contagious, right?” Robin says, tugging at her clip-on collar, “I mean, first your whole thing and now–”

Ronnie doesn't even have a chance to gesture for her to ixnay! before she slams pause on herself, eyes wide and all shit, did I say that out loud?! Your eyes narrow in return. That’s suspicious.

“What whole thing? My whole what?”

Ever and eternally knowing when to call it, Ronnie holds a hand up before Robin can even start to scramble an apology and serve it to you. Panther versus a precious little puppy dog– the fight ain’t even fair.

“Nothing. Scuttlebutt bullshit, the usual,” she rolls her eyes, throws a sympathetic glance to Robin who winces and retreats. Huh.

“What’s going on with you two?” you ask, crossing your legs over the bottom rung of the bleachers.

This actually makes Ronnie’s expression soften a little– her eyes race back in Robin’s direction and you swear you catch a blush. “Also nothing! Compound nothing. Why, does it look like…”

Lips purse into a little satisfied grin. Knew it. Toldja. Point to Lacy. “Looks like whatever you want it to look like.”

Ronnie reaches forward and waves her feathered hat in your face– stop being so observant! You cough in protest– ew, I don’t know where that thing has been!

“Whatever! What brings you to geek church?”

“That’s what they’re calling it now?”

“Stick around, we’ll start speaking in tongues.”

“Satanic Panic bringing about a fun new turn for the pep rally! Put some God back into that wind instrument,” you croon. “No, I actually wanted your thoughts on something.”

Ronnie raises her eyebrows and you feel like you oughta mirror her. You’re not usually one to seek out a second opinion, but the more you’ve gotten to know Ronnie, the more you see that she’ll tell you how it is. Especially now that you’ve dispersed with the whole intimidating it-girl cloud and she’s stopped pretending to be shy.

“I know. I’m shocked too.”

“I’m honored,” she swings her shoulders in girlish delight, “Dish it up, Doevski.”

“Okay, so,” you clap, hiking forward on your creaking bleacher, “I’ve been seeing this guy–”

“--this is the bookstore guy?”

A blink and a beat. “How’d you know about that?”

A face that has Eddie told me with footnotes of and he was kind of jealous scrawled all over it stares back at you. “I ‘unno, maybe I overheard…”

“Doesn’t matter.” You slice a hand through the air, no time for this right now. “Facts are facts, I’ve been hanging out with this guy,” interesting change of phraseology, considering, “and he’s a college guy–”

“If they could see you now.” The royal court of Hawkins, obviously. Older guys are generally an accomplishment. But Ronnie’s half-jesting.

“--I know, shut up. But, he mentioned something that would absolutely rock my college applications is a really, really great–”

“--feature in the Streak?” you’d gasped out in the back of his Ford Cortina (how very European!). College guy’s mouth was on your neck and his hand was inching into your shirt, playing at a faux placket of pearl buttons. Boys can never tell a real button from a fake one, apparently, even if they go to an East Coast school. I mean, shit! You’d gleaned enough information from him over a shake at the diner; relatively well-to-do family that lived near the Wheelers on Maple and kind of underwhelming taste in lit for an English major.

But he maintained eye contact and listened to your witty little bon mots, even if he didn’t… laugh at them. One thing led to another and thus, the backseat college advisory-slash-makeout session.

“Yeah, yeah, they love that shit…” he’d said, moving to your mouth in order to swallow any forthcoming words. But his words had piqued your interest more than his fingers had.

“What about an underdog story?” you said, eyes kind of hazing over in the middle distance.

“Sure, underdog, great…” college guy grabbed ahold of your leg and tugged you into him, “We can talk more about it later, okay?”

“Okay–”

“–okay?”

Ronnie grimaces. “I didn’t need that much detail.”

“Yes, you did.” You stare at her. “I’m a storyteller.”

Ronnie chews the proposal over a little, cheeks kind of bunched up in confusion. Behind her, band geeks badly hide their hickeys and exhibit too-gangly, too-obvious body language. No inspiration to be tapped from there.

“An underdog story… on the society pages? Like, who could you possibly–”

You smile that awful, conniving smile, because you came in here armed. “Ye of little faith.”

“Oh, no,” Ronnie says, and honestly, you’re a little taken aback by that reaction, “Hellfire?”

A shrug pulls your shoulders right up, rapidly on the defense. “Why not, right?”

“Why not– Lacy, you almost guillotined Jeff that one time he asked you.”

True that you hadn’t had the inches of article to spare for Hellfire Club in not-too-ancient history, but, “That was then, this is now! World’s changing– and it’s topical!”

The whole Satanic panic thing really did tickle your funny bone; and you saw yourself having a little fun with that by turning the focus on Hellfire. Subverting Eddie’s cult-leader mythos to show that he is just a kid who might have a propensity for telling a good story, surrounded by other kids who want to get a word in. You’re not looking to turn the tide on his reputation or anything but maybe… y’know. You could do the admirable journalistic thing and scratch the surface a bit. Show what you’ve learned.

It’s a challenge. You love a challenge.

“And it’s a good excuse to get in Eddie’s face,” Ronnie’s voice breaks through.

There is a lonnng beat, one you hold like the last shoes in your size at a sample sale. Your mouth keeps going to make the words yeah, right or it’s not about him! or y’know, something to exonerate you from the notion.

“I know he isn’t…” Ronnie trails off, coming to sit next to you. “that he’s kind of being weird to you right now.”

Go ahead and feign that ignoramus, girl. Shoulders quirking and all.

“Oh. Is he?”

And then Ronnie says maybe the dumbest thing on the planet, regarding the abominable sitch between you and Eddie Munson.

“You should just talk to him.”

“Ecker, there’s fruitless efforts and then there’s barren wasteland,” you scoff, “Guess which category proposing this to Eddie falls into.”

“That’s not what I–”

J’excuse, Ronnie, but you don’t care! Because this isn’t actually about anything other than getting all of those dice-throwing dorks, including Miss Ecker herself, into your damn paper. Okay?

“We have to ambush him! Element of surprise, that’s it,” you smile primly and hop off the bleachers. “I’m just going to show up at Hellfire, photographer in hand and– he won’t have a choice, will he?”

Ronnie’s expression is a mask of reproachfulness. You don’t let it shake you. You’re a cat playing with a now-endless ball of yarn, and you’re unshakeable.

“He’s such a sucker for attention,” you say, tossing your hair, and it sounds a lot more like you’re convincing yourself than anyone else in this echoey gym, “He won’t be able to resist.”

—

Reefer Rick doesn’t call, unless it’s an emergency. All of his communication is inbound, or passed through a shoulder check and a goofy smile at Melvald’s, or a nod of the head across the pool table at The Hideout. He doesn’t frequent there so much, because Bev knows he’s a pool shark and ever since ‘Nam, his ears are a little too sensitive to all that metal racket, man! By all means, rock on, but by then I gotta go rock-a-bye myself to sleep, alright? Anyway, that’s how Eddie knows to ride over to his place, if it’s not through a call he’s placed himself.

You need me, kid, you come and find me.

So when Eddie gets a call that says, “We gotta pow-wow, ese,” his nerves are set on edge. Not that he wasn’t feeling bad enough, what with the fact that some douchebag in a Cortina had picked you up and dropped you off to school the last couple of days. What with the fact he had actively dogged the car down a little bit of the road from the trailer park with his van, resisting every temptation to just run it all the way off into a ditch. And what with the fact he didn’t know what to say to you about that without it coming out in an anti-missive of jealousy! jealousy! jealousy! so what he did say to you was… nothing.

You two can’t maintain a consistent line of communication to save your lives, he realizes. There’s too much left unsaid, and the both of you are too stubborn or too scared to say any of it. Or even think it, in his case! The amount of times he’d had to slap himself sober, his brain going into overdrive thinking, if I had just told her… It’s a ‘friendship’, if you can even call it that, based on barbs and bad behavior and doing things because you know you shouldn’t. For the thrill. Right?

Like. Whatever. It’s not like he’d made tapes of a half dozen Black Sabbath albums because you mentioned you wanted to ‘study up’ on that ‘monster music’ he’s making. It’s not like you’d given him an annotated copy of Still Life with Woodpecker because he wanted to throw some ‘nonsensical curveball shit’ into a later Hellfire campaign.

It’s not like Eddie missed you– he just… should have seen this coming, is all. He’s used to getting left in the dust while people move onto better things, or whatever.

God, Munson, your voice taunts him from somewhere in his hippocampus, need some help nailing yourself to that crucifix?

Anyway, fuck, Rick called him.

Rick had gotten out of lockup about a month ago– some truncated charge or another that Eddie didn’t bother asking too much about, mostly because… well, Rick hadn’t really been himself. Larger and brighter than the sun itself, the great and powerful lion of a man that oozed life ain’t shit if you ain’t havin’ fun energy, Rick had kind of dimmed. Lost a lot of weight while he was inside. Came back a little bit twitchy and fluent in Spanglish, for some reason.

Eddie was worried, because of all the adult figures in his life, Rick was meant to be the one with levity. He’d lost out on a fun uncle when Wayne stepped into his father-figure role. Al was nothing but a dangerous bit player. Rick, he could rely on.

Thinking back to that infamous day when he had gotten loaded at Lipton Landing, before he picked up you and Ronnie, before he… well, you know the rest but, Eddie had sensed that Rick could use the company. He kind of tried to poke it out of him, whatever was wrong. Didn’t work. They had just watched The Godfather in a tense-ish silence and doofed a lot of joints. Sorta freaked him out.

Eddie’s crushing gravel on the descent to the infamously slanted Lipton Landing for his summons. There’s a hum that seems to traverse the window panes, a fond plucking work that could only belong to Link Wray. He puts the van in park and jogs up the steps to the front door, bracing himself for the pungent plume of skunk smoke that always greets him.

“Eduardo,” Rick’s voice curls around the greeting like smoke curls out of his mouth and he yanks Eddie over the threshold. Door slams, arm tightens around his shoulders. “You’re here.”

Rick’s always a handsy sorta guy–not like that!–but this grab makes him seize a little.

“You rang,” Eddie says, voice lilting, “Everything okay?”

Rick clutches him by the shoulders and looks at him for a long, long time. Uncomfortably long. How has he managed to puff on that joint for this long without choking long.

“No.”

And Rick begins a shuffle toward the kitchen. Eddie follows in an awkward half-step, headache threatening to bloom someplace in the back of his skull because he does not know how much more of this vagueness he can take!

“Does it have anything to do with why you called me down here? Because, shit, I would love to get a straight answer out of someone for once!” A mirthless chuckle follows, trying to soften his desperation.

A flick of the refrigerator door and Rick places two beers on his kitchen counter, hands bracing against the surface. “Then let’s sit crooked and talk straight. It’s about your…”

Hss. Eddie takes a notoriously mis-timed sip.

“...neighbor girl.”

Ffflp– Eddie wishes, just one day of his goddamned life, he could act cool at the mention of you. Even the suggestion of the mention of you. But no, he’s got PBR streaming from his nose like a moron and a look on his face that says uh-oh, spaghettio!

“That’s what I was afraid of,” says Rick, taking a knowingly smooth drink from his beer.

With the heel of his hand, Eddie wipes away his spluttering mess and fumbles around for a crumb of nonchalance.

“I don’t know–”

“Eddie,” Rick levels. God, Eddie hates it when adults are adults, and Rick hates having to act the adult even more.

His shoulders drop. “What about her?”

“Well, when I was in the pen–local, I’ll have you know–I got approached by a very interesting man with a proposition I was powerless to refuse.”

With some trepidation, Eddie mumbles, “Oh, yeah?”

“Someone– well, let’s say me and this someone have a friend in common…”

“Rick–” Eddie’s attempting the leveling thing, but he’s not as good at it as Rick is. Or as you are, for that matter. And you’re who he’s attempting to imitate here, even if he won’t admit it.

“--a certain mutual business partner, if you will–”

“Rick.” Eddie tries to punch through the tension with the big man’s name. “It was Lacy’s dad. Right? You can just say it was her dad.”

Rick’s brow sinks into a wrinkle. “...Lacy? The fuck kind of a dumb name is that?”

“It’s a nickname.” Why does Eddie feel defensive.

“The fuck kind of a dumb nickname is that?”

“They call you Reefer Rick.”

“That is a calculated business decision, a calling card if you w–”

“Rick. Can we close in on the point, here?” Ooh! Seems to actually work this time, much to Eddie’s relief. “I only got so many if you wills left in me.”

“Si, pronto,” Rick nods with apologetic understanding; he’s such an empath, this guy, “Long and short of it is, her pops offered me a little bit of cash and some assistance, iffin’ I promised to keep an eye on her.”

“Assistance…?” Eddie murmured out of the side of his mouth. It’s all in the way Rick says it! “Like…” Hand a loose fist. Jerky-jerk.

“Eddie,” Rick chides, “Assistance gettin’ out. In prison, that is just called bein’ sociable. –anyway, I have this conflict of interest, with the whole surveillance thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You.” The way Rick drops it is obviously meant to cause some kinda ripple effect of realization, but Eddie’s still confused.

“So you… didn’t take the money?”

“Huh?” Now Rick’s all confused. “Of course I took the fuckin’ money! What kind of a chump do I look like, man? What I’m getting at is, I knew that rattin’ on her also meant rattin’ on you.”

“Wh– why would it…”

“I got eyes everywhere, man. Dig? I’ve seen what’s been happening.”

Eddie’s heart leaps into his larynx. Eyes everywhere. And the truth was, you two had been stupid enough to be a lot of everywhere, thinking your respective trailers were the only hot zones. The Bookstore, the Hawk, Main Street Vinyl, Family Video, the diner, you name a Hawkins establishment and it has probably seen Eddie Munson and Lacy Doevski good-naturedly bickering in its aisles.

He wonders if Rick even had eyes in the Ecker trailer. Ronnie could be a Lipton informant. That girl can hold a secret about as well as Wayne Munson can hold his liquor, which is gracefully.

“Nothing’s been happening, we’re just–”

“Eddie.” Like a bulldozer, this guy. “I know Ivana pretty well. You ain’t hangin’ around that bookstore for the good of your health.”

“So what, you’re gonna–,” Eddie can feel himself starting to scramble, starting to sweat, backed into a corner like a hunted animal, “...tell her dad that we went to the movies a couple of times? That I go to her job, that I– that we’re–”

“What are you?” The way Rick puts it to him– rock, meet hard place. Should this really feel like such a tough question to answer?

“Friends.”

Rick draws up to his full height (tall, mountain man) and looks at him like he just shoved a cream pie into his face.

“It doesn’t matter, okay!” Eddie froths over, like a snapping dog, “We’re barely hanging out– anymore– so you can… you’re not gonna tell him anything, are you?”

Rick’s hands slowly, slowly rise, urging him to calm the yapping. No need to get into such a tizzy. Which Eddie wishes he could believe.

“‘course not, man,” he shakes his head, “Ray Doevski only needs to know what Ray Doevski absolutely needs to know.” Eddie can feel a little more weight behind that sentence than he’d like. “No reason you need to figure into this story.”

“That– that’s it? You’re not gonna tell him about u– about me?”

“You’re in enough of a shitheap as it is, is how I see it.” A beat. Rick takes him in; really takes him in. Feels like an embrace, his stare. Concern uncrinkles the ever-present smile in Rick’s eyes.

“Eddie, you care about this girl?”

Eddie’s mouth attempts to form around an answer, but he’s just blinking into nothing. Does he care about you? Does he care about you? He wants, needs to say no, to pfft you off, but every molecule is screaming otherwise. And Rick can sense it, operating on the extraterrestrial level that he does.

“Then I’m real sorry.”

“For what?”

As if on cue, car wheels on gravel shuck Rick’s attention away from him. His eyeballs jitter in his head, heading for the door– Eddie close behind him. “Sorry for what, Rick–?!”

“Little bit for that, little bit for… this.”

Standing in the window of Rick’s living room, these two watch an offensively red muscle car skew into the driveway, making a mockery of Eddie’s beat up van. The driver’s door pops open and the first thing Eddie clocks is a blinding glint off some brand new aviator sunglasses.

The second is that trademark Munson smile.

—

“This is exciting!” Nancy Wheeler says, kind of flatly but with a conviction buried deep under her curled bangs.

On the table sits two piles of playing cards, one steadily growing and one steadily decreasing.

You two had taken to playing gin rummy when staring at paper layouts became a little too much. Technically, she actually had a say in layout and you were just nosy, but it’s a decent excuse to hang out. Though, both you and Nancy had this incredible tendency to hyperfocus on detail so hard that neither of you could pull the other out far enough to look at the big picture, so one day she tossed a deck of cards your way and said, “Deal!”

“I know,” you say, trying to focus on these melds of suits you’re making– that discard pile is looking poor, “Fresh turn for me, y’know? Less fluffy, more Didion.”

Nancy snorts softly, swapping out a card from her hand. “Who does that make Eddie? Charlie? Or Linda Kasabian?”

A smile dances across your lips and you shrug, reaching for a cigarette before you go for another card. Usually, smoking in the newsroom was prohibited, as it was prohibited on most of Hawkins High grounds, but whenever that deck came out, you felt it was appropriate for at least one of you to be smoking. Gave a kind of Torchy Blane feel to the whole scenario which fit you and Wheeler pret-ty keenly, if you did say so yourself.

“That’s not what I was talking about, though,” Nancy says, poking Fred Benson’s empty mug toward you to use as an ashtray.

Your eyes narrow; this could be a play to distract you from a winning hand.

“It’s not?”

“No…” she puffs out another soft scoff, meeting your eyes over her fan of cards, “I mean the college guy.”

“Why is it exciting?” and you do want to know why Nancy thinks so. She’s a mile wiser beyond her years, even precocious enough to keep in step with you most of the time. You’d like her take.

“Well, it’s what you wanted, right?” she tells you, watching you puff your cigarette and dig into the stock pile. “Somebody older, decidedly not a grabby high school boy– but someone with more experience, both with girls and with being outside of Hawkins. And the fact he goes to Vassar means–”

“He probably eats kitty like a maniac.”

Nancy lets out this full-bodied Merlot of a laugh, only a little color dashing over her cheeks. She’s gotten used to you being provocative on purpose because it gets a laugh out of her. So far grown out of the prude shoes you were sure she was still sporting. You’re proud of her.

“Not exactly what I was getting at but– more sensitive to the female perspective, sure.” But then she registers what you forgot you’d even dropped. “Hold on, probably? You mean you haven’t–...”

You shrug. It’s a little withdrawn on your part.

“Oh,” Nancy says, and seems to be leaning a degree or two towards unsurprised. That ruffles your feathers a little bit. Again, with the frigid thing. You couldn’t shake it.

“No,” you emphasize, shucking your pitiful melds back again. “It's not as if we haven't–done things. I've copped a handful. Time is of the essence, and I take, y'know, a little more time to get there.”

“So no return on investment...?”

"Not... yet."

Nancy almost tosses her cards at you, the way she jabs them through the air. “You? You, the one who’s been preaching Betty Friedman to me, you haven't been getting–”

“Yes, me! Did you not hear me about time and the essence?”

“I know, it’s just– a little surprising.”

There have been exactly three instances of almost you tying your panties to the rearview mirror of college boy’s Ford Cortina, so to speak, and you’ve come out of each one with this desperate echo of oh well! Maybe next time! careening around your skull. Like you’re trying to convince yourself that by virtue of him not being in your grade, this has been a worthwhile way to spend your time. And listen, no misunderstandings here, it has! At least, part of it. It usually starts like this– the two of you grab some shitty diner coffee or some shitty diner food and then he takes you around in his car for a turn or two, admiring that famous Hawkins scenery (see: shuttered businesses and if you’re really lucky, that one mangy fox that feasts on the overflowing trash can near the Big Buy). You talk (you mostly talk) books and movies and say something that should be a hook of conversation but usually ends up with him screwing his face up in amusement and saying something along the lines of, “God, you’re so beyond this place.”

Which, duh. You’ve been saying this. This is the raft upon which your whole identity floats.

The exchange dies in the air and he puts his hand on your leg and that is just… wonderful. He’s a solid B on the kissing GPA, and he’s cute and sort of funny, even if he doesn’t rally back jokes the way you’d… sort of gotten used to. Sometimes he makes a halfway-interesting observation about like, Philip Roth or somebody. But when it comes down to the minute of it, it still feels like going through the motions. Fumble bra strap, catch nail on his zipper, crank back passenger seat to climb in the back. Hey presto, you’ve distractedly jerked off a boy once again.

You are not entirely sold on the fit of his hands on your body, even if he doesn’t look at you like he’s just solved a Rubik’s cube.

In fact, he kind of looks at you like you’re precious. Virginal precious. Innocent precious. Which you’re not totally sold on either.

Nothing about him that makes you fantasize about what his mouth might feel like on you. What your fingers might feel like wound around his curls. His hair doesn’t even curl. There’s just nothing about him that calls for your full attention.

“Think there might be a reason for that?” Nancy, your annoyingly perceptive Nancy, presses. Goddamn intrepid girl reporter. She hasn’t stopped staring at you with that smug little look. You haven’t answered the question. “And it might be… living across the way from you?”

“Tch. What?” you snip. “I’m… having fun. What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles. “Just… gin.”

She lays out her dazzling melds, complete with a measly goddamned three in deadwood cards and you toss your own bullshit hand to the side. A dumb amount of spades that add up to nothing scatter across the desk. An accusatory finger jams in her direction.

“You are a fucking card shark.”

“Nope!” Nancy says, popping her ‘p’, “I just know a really great set when I see one.”

Reaching into Fred’s mug, you crush your cigarette with a little too much force. Now, how would Nancy have a read on that? you think, oblivious to your own obviousness. (Like a neon sign. Like a circus tent.)

You hadn’t even reminded her of the catastrophic events of her thirteenth birthday which led to a whole lot of this awkwardness, which, now that you thought about it, actually implicated her in the crime of you kissing Eddie Munson ‘til you were breathless in Granny Ecker’s closet.

If you hadn’t been born and had a birthday, I wouldn’t be in a spiral over some boy with a curl pattern like a fucking backwoods libertine.

“You’re not clever,” you tell her, but she’s looking at you all cleverly, “Like. You’re clever, but I need you to know that you’re not clever.”

With flicking fingernails, Nancy picks up your discarded cards and folds them neatly back in the deck.

“I’m just saying,” and the tone she takes is a little gentler now, “don’t… let yourself miss out on something just because, I don’t know, the thing you’re currently having fun with is what you think you want. What you feel you want and what you think you want are two very different–”

“This isn’t entirely about me, is it?” you realize, defenses peeling down a little bit. The Nancy and Steve of it all had been looming since your (admittedly triumphant!) visit to the war memorial that was the boy’s bathroom. Still no sign of that place getting fixed, by the by. And ever still, Nancy hadn’t told Steve about their little mission. Many a reason for that, you were led to believe. Not a lot she wanted to dissect, though.

Nancy’s face scrunches up and she stops packing the cards.

“No. But let’s pretend like it is.”

A groan escapes you as you sink back into your chair, a twinge of pain running along your shoulders.

“Nance. This is all so much more complicated than you realize.”

“Try me.”

You toss a hand through your hair, slapping your palm down on the desk.

“Fine. But if I tell you this–”

A hand rises out between the two of you– yours, pinkie extended.

“Not a word,” you press.

Nancy clamps her finger around yours in a way that enforces how super-serious she is about this. The reason your usual reserve doesn’t hold up under that x-ray stare of hers is because you can tell she actually gives a shit. She’s not looking for gossip. She cares. Which is still an entirely alien feeling to you.

So the whole thing spills out. Steve’s party, the record store, getting locked up in Eddie’s trailer and getting locked up in feelings, Roane County Quarry’s incredible acoustics, the friendship that made you fold all the neatly arranged origami parts of yourself out toward him only to realize you had no idea how to fold them back. The kiss. The subsequent awkwardness of said kiss. The college guy. The relative radio silence. The fact that…

“...I don’t feel like myself when he’s not around,” you say, lighting a fourth cigarette off your third. “Isn’t that silly? I spent all this time painting this like, fabulous eggshell of myself then this wild-eyed, smart-mouthed, catastrophic ass smashes it clean open and now–”

“All the college boys couldn’t put you together again,” Nancy nods. “You’re a very beautiful Humpty Dumpty.”

“... does Humpty Dumpty die in the end?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be teaching it to kids.”

“No. They should know. The fall comes for us all.”

There’s a suspended silence. You get this feeling like you’ve emptied your purse on the table and you still can’t find that thing you’re looking for, despite sifting through everything.

“How does that even happen?” you question, biting at the skin on your little finger. Not Humpty Dumpty, the Eddie thing. It comes out idle, but you pray that Nancy, with her feelings scalpel and surgical precision, doesn't decide to answer it.

Instead, she says, “You need a photographer for that piece.”

Thatta girl. Your dimmer switch turns up. “Fred hasn’t even okayed it yet.”

“I’ll deal with William Randolph Hearst, okay?” Nancy says derisively and tosses her eyes to heaven. She pushes her chair back. “Ask Jonathan Byers.”

“He hasn’t taken photos for us in a while,” you remark, eyes searching Nancy. She’s readying herself to leave, so totally dodging this line of questioning before you can even cast it. Clever.

“No, he has not,” she sighs, winding her scarf around her neck, “But he’d be good for this. He knows how to capture action. And his kid brother plays DnD with mine, so this’d be, like… nice for them.”

And this is just as much me making amends with Jonathan Byers as it is you, backwards as it may seem, you nearly hear her say. Or you’re making that up.

Shame Nancy is so dead set on becoming the next Nellie Bly. Under the right circumstances, she’d make a hell of a normal person.

Good thing you prefer freaks.

—

Jonathan Byers is a notoriously hard boy to get a hold of, it turns out. Nancy passed along his number (which, you actually already had but you didn’t bring that little detail up) and when you finally punched it in on the yellowing phone nailed to the wall of your trailer, it rang and rang and rang.

Which, after the fourth time, was just rude. Do the Byers have a thing about not answering the phone, or something?

“Jonathan!” you holler across the parking lot, emerging from the passenger side of Nancy’s car this time.

College guy was decidedly busy and despite the hanging tension, you’d toyed with the idea of asking Eddie for a ride. Alas, the boy in the Dio patched battle vest was nowhere to be seen. His van hadn’t been there since the weekend and he had been MIA from school the last couple of days, actually, which was itching at you.

It also made you miss when you had a goddamn set of wheels at your disposal.

Anyway, Jonathan looks at you with flaring eyes, kind of like you’ve just stuck a shotgun to his snout and there’s no hope of him making a getaway. “Um…”

Now, keep in mind that these are the first words you’ve spoken to him in a measurable high school forever, so his surprise is entirely justified. It’s just not within the beam of your patience right now.

“Hi. Can we chat?” you say, falling in step with him as you head towards the front door. You don’t bother asking for permission, and forgiveness won’t be necessary. “I was hoping you could help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

Blink, blink. Jonathan’s grasping for words– seems to be a lot of that going around lately.

You strike your hand through the air. “Let me put it to you like this– you are going to help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

“Why?” he asks, and it’s prickly.

“Becauuuse,” you draw out, “I need a photographer. And god knows whenever Nicole attempted to work a lens, those snapshots were so out-of-focus they looked like an optical illusion.”

“And, you’re not talking to Nicole right now,” Jonathan nails you, but not totally. In your mind, you revisit flashes of Nicole recounting, in gloriously erroneous detail, those photos Jonathan had taken of Nancy. You had pretended to be scandalized and rolled your eyes, thinking what’s a little peep show among losers.

“Even if I was,” you say, dogging Jonathan all the way to his locker, “I still wouldn’t ask her. This is important to me.”

That avoidant Byers reserve stands strong, with Jonathan grabbing books in hurried succession. He is trying to get away from you, but that’s not happening without an emphatic yes!

“I don’t even really–”

“Take pictures anymore?” you pfft, pointing to his messenger bag, “Twenty bucks says your camera is in there and the film’s half shot.”

“I don’t have twenty bucks.”

“Me neither,” you shrug, “Spent it on that new Echo & the Bunnymen.”

Jonathan hesitates a bit, fingers strumming against his biology textbook. A thread of something long forgotten by the listening booths of Main Street Vinyl tugs between you both, but it’s not weighed down by the prospect of will we kiss about it. He kind of smiles.

“What did you think? I haven’t gotten down to hear it yet.”

You thought it made you want a flowing dress and a place to prance. Like if the more whimsical end of Fleetwood Mac didn’t exhaust you. Those last four tracks snapped your heartstrings like suspenders, with comical aplomb.

“Grandiose! That ‘Killing Moon’ song? It’s got Jonathan Byers written all over it,” you chirp, and mean it. “I’ll make you a copy if you put that camera to work for me.”

He shrugs, but you can see you’re wearing him down. “I’m not much for shooting pep rallies.”

“Liar. Wheeler says you’re top banana in the action shots department,” you counter, “But how about players? I think I want some portraits, too. Non-corny ones.”

“What team?” Jonathan screws up his nose. The distaste for jockery runs deep, and rightfully so.

But you shake your head, face curving into an expression of near excitement.

“No team. Better, and worse, depending on what side of the cafeteria you’re sitting,” your hands splay out, and for god’s sake, you feel like Munson himself, “Hellfire Club.”

Jonathan looks like his record’s skipped. Eyeballs sort of jiggle in his skull and he mouths, oh, like the association of you between Hellfire should mean something. Suspiciously like Nancy, and just suspicious period. Your eyebrows start to inch towards one another.

“What’s that look? Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Um,” he dillies, then dallies, “Sure. Yeah. You know, my kid brother loves DnD.”

Ah, yes. The other Byers boy, the one who’d gone missing all that time ago. You remembered. Actually, you remembered not being able to figure out how you should feel about it– how you should act, other than falling in line with the majority of people who were giving Jonathan shit at the time. You regret that now, with a chill that runs right down to your toes.

“Could be cool for him to see, no?” you try, corner of your mouth lifting, “A little niche in the midst the high school horrors. To look forward to, y’know.”

The look on Jonathan’s face is more than a little bit screaming, that’s rich, coming from you, you were the high school horror. But he shakes it off, because he’s nicer than you are, even though he doesn’t need to be.

“Yeah… whatever you say, Lacy. When do you need me?”

You tell him Friday and he agrees, much to your satisfaction. You’re just about to punch him on the shoulder like teamwork, buddy! before he saves you such a wildly out-of-character display by dodging toward his homeroom.

You sail toward your locker like the bastard that’s risen alongside the cream, only to be greeted by something… strange. Scratches, all around the maudlin gray paintwork of your combination lock. Like it’d been tampered with, or something. A blaze of paranoia burns at the base of your skull, and you instinctively try to recount where your journal is… in your bag. Phew. Fine. This could be… anything.

Fingers reach forward to twist your lock, and with the slightest touch, the door is forced open by a push from the other side. A flash of bright red, then SPLAT. Yellow, SPLAT, blue, SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT! You shriek a real ear-piercing shriek as at least a dozen water balloons spill out of your locker, hitting the floor with an obscene smack. Water dashes everywhere, and you’re barely able to move out of the splash zone in time.

“What the fuck!’

Within seconds, there’s a hubbub and a crowd’s gathering, trading sickening snickers with one another as you peer into the dark of your locker. You gingerly step through the puddle, suede boots irreparably spattered, and yank the door the whole way open. There, sat atop your schoolbooks and a stray water balloon that hadn’t made the fall, is a horribly familiar set of test tubes.

In one of them sits a squirt of blue liquid and that offensive strip of plastic. And scrawled across it in clumsy black marker?

IT’S A FREAK!

Realization hits you like Carol did, making your head swim among all the murmurs of oh my god… and gross! and told you–trailer trash and unconcealed cackles. A voice sparks up like a sizzling ember in a swathe of darkness.

“Where’s your baby daddy at, Lacy? Get tossed in the slammer with your old man?”

The languid tones of none other than Billy All-Balls-No-Brains Hargrove drift by you, sailing right past the back of your head as you stare a hole through the innards of your locker. Then, your stupid hippocampus gears up– Robin, mentioning ‘your whole thing’ while Genovese baby-barfed her guts up, Ronnie urging her to shut the fuck up, even Jonathan Byers was privy to this hot little piece of gossip.

This theory that you were up the spout with Munson Junior Junior.

How many people had seen you, stupid little you, coming out of that drugstore hiking that Advance box over your head like the championship cup? Seen you hopping into Eddie’s van– and out of it, and back in again on what now seemed like countless occasions?

Nobody could have suspected it was Nancy’s test, because nobody saw her. They saw you. That was the whole idea. You just didn’t consider the blowback.

“What’s going on out here?” the softly-coated concern of Ms Kelley rings out in the hallway, doing absolutely nothing to disperse the peanut gallery that’s set up around your locker.

“Lacy?” her voice points to you. Even the goddamn guidance counselor uses your beloved nickname.

You don’t react. You don’t even know what you’re doing until you come to a couple of paces down the hallway, feeling the thin, straining rubber in the palm of your hand. Your footsteps make heavy, wet, slapping noises against the linoleum as you follow the half-slouched shouldered swagger of Billy Hargrove down the hall.

Down, and down, and down towards the boy’s locker room and he doesn’t even register it, and you don’t even register that Ms Kelley is still calling your name–your full name, now–until she’s two dozen paces behind you, losing you in the throng of students making their way to class and you shove past half-dressed seniors in the locker room who guffaw at you in a way that feels like a knife in your gut and you yell, voice shaking–

“Hey Billy!”

And launch the water balloon, making square contact with his smug face.

“Cute fucking prank!”

His reaction, predictably, is way too slowww moooootion for your fucking liking, so you don’t even give him a shot to fully wipe his face off and mumble, “What the fuuuuck is yourrrr probbbblemmm, ssssllluuuutttt…”

You just go for him with the ferocity of a jumping jackal. Hands ball in his stupid sleeveless flannel (it’s winter in Indiana, you West Coast jackass!) and you shove him against the lockers with– well, with the strength only an ex-cheerleader brimming with suffocated rage would have.

Metal clatters and one empty unit even careens over like a big tin domino and you say, “Come up with that idea all by yourself, you fucking nimrod?”

Billy just smirks at you in half-speed, mullet sopping, as if this is a come-on. “I had a little help.”

It occurs to you that right here, right now, you could sell Nancy Wheeler down the river. You could be the you you once were, and you could say, well, primo observation skills, that pregnancy test wasn’t even for me!

But you don’t, because a pinky promise is a fucking pinky promise.

You let go of Billy’s shirt. Step off. “You’re pathetic,” you spit, but it feels more pathetic coming from you. All that molten blood in your veins makes you want to eviscerate him and whoever else was involved in orchestrating this stupid, stupid, stupid prank. But you come up lacking. Fuck!

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you start to rush out of the locker room– but you’ve given Billy a reason now, and he’s gonna follow you.

“Shit, are you crying? Those hormones must have you really messed up, huh?” he faux-croons, the thunk-thunk of his poseur motorcycle boots following you to the back entrance, by the sports equipment. Your eyes are streaming freely now, lashes frantically blinking a path to vision.

But Billy isn’t letting up. And like the Pied Piper of slimeballs, he’s drawing followers– not least of which include Tommy Hagan.

“What about that college dropout you’re banging, Lacy?” his nasally tone slices through Billy’s tarry taunting. “He know you’re knocked up yet?”

“Jesus Christ, Doevski! I’m impressed,” Billy laughs, “Just how many loads are you taking?”

An abandoned baseball bat lies on the ground, having rolled out of the sports closet; instinct behind the wheel of your personal van, you stoop to pick it up and shove through the doors. You can nearly feel the breath of Hargrove and Hagan and all of these horrific, horrific boys with nothing better to do than to torture you hot on the back of your neck.

“Not yours, that’s for fucking sure,” you manage, your voice thick. The bat, at least, feels solid in your hand.

“It’s fun not being frigid, ain’t it, Lacy?” Billy goes on, and you squint against the sunlight as you round the building. “Tell me this, Munson teach you how to suck cock yet? ‘cause if not, I got a little time on my hands.”

Forging ahead, you cross the tarmac of the parking lot. The soft frost hasn’t even totally thawed out yet, sparkling atop the paintwork of Billy’s blue Camaro.

“That a fact, Billy?” you say, tears drying in quick streaks in that brisk morning air, leaving rivets in your made-up face.

You use your momentum to launch one foot onto the hood of Billy’s car, then the other. You nearly slip against the icy exterior, but steady yourself fast. Bat dangling at your side. Stomp. Stomp. You stand on the roof, and turn to face this congregation of assholes. You do not let sense set in, despite it threatening to inch through the white hot flame of your rage.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Billy outright cackles and Hagan and company guffaw along with him.

“Billy,” you sigh, a little breathless from the speed at which you’d booked it from the locker room to the parking lot, and the sheer vigor of your shock, awe and rancor, and everything else, “What the hell am I supposed to do with your limp dick in my mouth? Chew on the fuckin’ thing?”

Billy repeats himself, a touch darker now. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“I’m serious!” you say, a little shrill, a little stomp to punctuate that last word, “One thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!”

Motorcycle boots advance towards you, and you point the bat at him like a broadsword.

“Do not. Come any closer. Or I’m gonna start doing some serious damage to this ugly piece of overcompensation.”

“She’s bluffing,” Hagan crows, and you turn your flaming glare on him. You wish you had a mirror– you wonder if crazy becomes you. Billy takes a pointed step forward and you raise the bat above your, head bracing for action– that’s enough movement for him.

“Gimme that bat, you stupid fucking cunt–!” But Billy’s cut short by a body barrelling into the side of him, knocking him askew. A jangle of denim and leather. The bat slips a little in your grasp.

“Get the fuck off of me Munson–”

“No way to talk to a lady, Billy!” Eddie gasps, tossing Billy back and letting his limbs hang. “You kiss Karen Wheeler with that mouth?”

Billy rounds on him like a triggered animal, spittle flying.

“Some fucking lady!” he snarls, “Got downgraded to that trailer park and now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringin’ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you a–”

Activated, you throw that bat to the fucking wayside and scramble off the fucking car– nobody talks to him like that!

But you’re not fast enough, nobody’s fast enough, nobody can compete with how huge and booming and definite Eddie’s voice sounds when he says, smile glimmering, sun breaking through the bleak midwinter…

“You know what I like about you, Hargrove?”

THKUNCK. Bone to bone, fist meet fucking flesh–

“Nothin’.”

A scuffle goes up, and Eddie can’t even feel the hits of Hargrove’s hands connecting with his face, chest, ribs, wherever– all he can feel are your arms locking in vice around his waist, putting yourself in the eye of the storm in order to yank him back.

—

You got an elbow to the crown of the head, which isn’t too bad, even if you feel like a cartoonish lump should be rising there. But look at these other guys.

Billy with a black eye that’s bulging up rapidly, Eddie with a split lip and more than a couple of scratches on his knuckles. In that fray, he hadn’t exactly considered the implications of punching a guy with all his goddamned rings on. The implications being that shit hurt like hell. There is this radiating pain in his hand, not letting him unfurl his fingers completely.

There’s also this radiating feeling of dread cloaking his entire upper half as you sit three-to-the-wall outside Higgins’ office. You had, in Eddie’s estimation, incredibly bad timing.

See, considering the events of his past week, he was slowly making peace with the fact that he should probably be avoiding you entirely, even if that meant he died a little inside. He should have been doing that from the jump– but you, unbuttoned and reckless now apparently, kept requiring interventions so you didn’t get killed, or worse.

And Eddie couldn’t help himself when it came to you. Especially not when you were standing on top of Billy Hargrove’s sick Camaro, swinging a baseball bat and getting called some shit that no one should ever be calling you.

You’re out of control. Totally unsheathed. End of your rope. Unlaced.

And he’d do just about anything to keep you safe.

Even fuck up his guitar-playing hand. Which is also his…

“I can’t believe you fucking suckerpunched me,” Hargrove mumbles from your left. “With those ugly fucking rings on.”

Eddie can’t help himself, the last shred of propriety knocked out round about the time a knee to the ribs had winded him. “Aw. Billy. Don’t be so hard on yourself–”

“Eddie…,” you start, tone warning in a way that makes him want to pinch you, kind of. He leans towards Hargrove, meaning he’s leaning over you. Hair brushing across your shoulder. You notice that it smells distinctively skunkier than usual. Camping out at Lipton Landing?

“--honestly! You’re no sucker!” he implores, eyes shining in jest, “You totally had that coming!”

You hear Billy seething from his end, Eddie snickering from his and launch a well-timed arm in front of both of them before they can snap at it again.

“Cut it out, assholes! This is becoming increasingly more pigheaded.”

“And you’re the voice of perfect reason now, huh?” Eddie sneers, not giving you much breathing room. “Where’s the bat at, Babe Ruth?”

“In the parking lot, waiting to finish you off,” you grit back, nearly nose-to-nose with him, because you don’t know how to digest the guilt of his aching fingers.

“What are you mad at me for?” Eddie hisses, a smirk threatening to break his scowl, because he doesn’t know how not to provoke you.

“Knocking her up, probably,” Billy mumbles from the side.

“Shut up, Hargrove!” you both snap, eyes never leaving one another.

Higgins’ door creaks open and a quietly livid Ms Kelley says, “Lacy.” She jerks her head, motioning for you to up and at ‘em. You do, but not without one last look at Eddie, cradling his hand. Round, bottomless irises meet yours for a moment, then dart away with an impact that thickens your throat.

His poor hand, you find yourself thinking.

“He needs an ice pack…” you find yourself mumbling, Kelley shuffling you into Higgins’ office. The principal sits behind his beat-up desk, fingers steepled. You absently wonder if he’s been campaigning for a new, shinier, possibly more oaken desk because this doesn’t paint the picture of threatening figurehead that he so clearly wants you to tremble under.

You accidentally kick the thing, crossing your legs as you sit. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” Higgins declares. Here we fucking go.

“Permission to state my case?” you attempt. This hadn’t been your first time in the principal’s office; minor classroom infractions, a saccharine we’ll do everything to help that we can after your dad’s arraignment, but this time was certainly the worst.

“Denied,” he shoots you down.

“Permission to submit a plea of temporary insanity, then,” you try, patting at the sore spot on the crown of your head. “You know this doesn’t bode with my track record. You think I climbed on top of Billy Hargrove’s car completely compos mentis? Please.”

A tense silence from Higgins’ and Kelley’s end.

“You saw what Hargrove did, didn’t you? That disgusting prank?”

Again, nada.

“I’m a honor student, for Chrissake!” you exclaim, and Kelley plucks herself from the windowsill behind Higgins’ desk.

“Were an honor student, Ms Doevski,” she corrects. “Your grades have been slipping since– the events of the last couple of months. You’ve dropped cheerleading, you’ve made really puzzling false claims about peer tutoring, you…”

“Yes! Yes, the events of the last couple of months, if by which you mean familial imprisonment, then yes, I’ve been a little distracted!”

Higgins kicks back in his seat just as you hitch forward in yours, too angry to be pleading but too desperate to defy. His turn to mutter here we fucking go.

“I can turn this around,” redirected to Ms Kelley and her ever-sympathetic expression, “I can turn this around.”

“College applications deadlines are within touching distance, Lacy.” She of little faith.

“I know that!” As if your hands aren’t itching every time college guy mentions Ithaca or… wherever the fuck it is he goes. As if that isn’t a crack in the assuredness that you were going to take flight out of this town in a spectacular fashion.

“Ladies– can we dispense with the hysteria and deal with the here and now?” Higgins insists and you and Kelley, despite your opposition, share a look.

World class, this guy. Top of his field, asshole-wise.

“Two week suspension should do it,” he says, jotting something down.

You open your mouth in protest and Kelley quells you– you’re in no position to start bargaining down.

“Technically, she didn’t do anything,” and for good measure, but pressed, “Sir.”

“She climbed on top of that boy’s car with a baseball bat!” Higgins barks; now who’s hysteric?! “She had intent to do harm!”

“It was justified.” You can’t help yourself.

Kelley stares him down, and that woman’s charm is something that should be studied in a fucking lab, because he relents right away.

“Two weeks of Saturday detention, then. Christ. Am I going soft?”

You shake your head, all the knots in your body releasing just a little bit. You try to dig out what’s left of your once-famously refined charm, while simultaneously dashing towards the door before he can change his mind.

“Au contraire. You’re a paragon of masculinity, sir. Regan could take a hint. Door open or closed?”

Higgins grimaces. “Send in Hargrove. Tell Munson he’s suspended. I don’t have time for both of those pricks today.”

Eddie’s voice travels through the crack in the door. “I heard that, sir.” A beat. “I miss you, sir.”

You bite back a deeply reluctant laugh and jerk your head toward Billy. You’re up, champ.

Then, it’s the two of you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. Alone, save for the ever watchful jam jar eyes of Janice the secretary. Eddie is still nestling one hand in the other like it’s a baby bird with a broken wing. Shit, you really hope it isn’t broken.

“You’re suspended. They told me to tell you.” It’s a statement made to turkey-stuff the silence more than anything.

The way Eddie lolls his head back makes you want to reach out and push it in the opposite direction. You don’t know why.

“You’re a regular town crier, ain’t ya.”

“Hear ye, hear ye.”

A leaden pause. Your hearts might have thumped both in time just now.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.

“No leaving school grounds,” Janice unhelpfully squawks.

Eddie gets up, drawing himself to his full height. Your eyelids flutter. There’s a little purple around that cut on his lip, which you bet is starting to throb something awful. You feel dwarfed beside him, and he uses his good hand to turn you by the shoulder and shuffle you past the nosy secretary’s post.

“I meant the sick bay, Janice,” Eddie pelts, giving each vowel sound a hard flick. “I’m wounded. And she’s apparently pregnant. Or didn’t you hear?”

—

The nurse’s office is tiny and cramped, smelling of bleach with a glaring fluorescent overhead. Eddie has a hard time figuring out why anyone would come here to feel better. Especially given that Nurse Lydia is barely ever present.

Eddie carpes the opportunity to slam himself down on her rolling saddle chair, gliding into your path as you try and snoop around for first aid materials.

“I don’t think you should be driving that thing,” you remark, “You could be concussed. You’re acting concussed.”

“It’s keeping me awake!”

Eddie watches you, digging through drawers and pulling out tongue depressors, your teeth making an indent into your bottom lip. Your eyes are doing that darty thing, quietly frantic in place of an apology. You don’t know how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me. Instead, you’re acting like he’s bleeding out.

“Lace, just wait for the professional.”

The clip of your nickname makes you toss your stare over your shoulder, hardness framing your eyes like mascaraed lashes. Eddie stops rolling around at once.

“I am the goddamn professional, as far as you’re concerned.” Your little chin jerks towards the exam table that’s beat into the corner of the room. “Get on the bed.”

Whack-a-mole. Woodpecker. Other euphemisms for his cock developing a pulse. Eddie has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping.

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”

Scoffing out a little fuck you!, you go about scrambling together supplies and Eddie obediently launches himself onto the bed, the ancient thing creaking beneath him. When you finally approach him, you seem to be holding a lot of alcohol pads.

The look before you admit to a shortcoming is one he wants framed. You always flick your eyes around like a guilty cartoon character, like Betty Boop on her way to gaining a doctorate in the pretentiousness of the English language, and pout. Lean your neck in, like you’re swearing him to secrecy.

“I actually don’t know anything about first aid. Beyond the rudimentaries.”

Eddie chuckles. “You were a cheerleader. You were getting thrown in the air a whole bunch, if I recall. Feels like you should know how to like, resuscitate.”

“Rudimentaries, I said!” and you grab his injured hand a little roughly, alcohol pad torn out and ready, “Like, I obviously know alcohol disinfects a wound, ice for a bruise… I don’t know how to, like, reset a bone. Besides…”

You inch closer to him now, wiping at his torn and tender knuckles a little too carefully. They’re just stupid cuts, Eddie thinks, his breath beginning to shallow.

“...that Cat People remake was premiering at the Hawk the day we had first aid training. Like I was going to miss that.”

He can feel heat radiating off your body, a core change for cold little you. Feel the fabric of your skirt brush the rip in his jeans. A little choked, he mumbles, “Cat People is a remake?”

“Based on the 1942 original,” you nod, flicking the tiny used pad in the nearby trash can. “I like it. But I like that David Bowie song more.”

“That song sucks.”

“You’re injured and wrong. What a shame.” Your fingers close around Eddie’s wrist and slowly, slowly press his forearm to his chest. “Keep that elevated.”

“It’s not broken,” and he’s staring at the quiet tremble in your bottom lip.

“Could be sprained,” head cast down again, tearing open another pad, and he can smell your hair, “Does it hurt?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, because he’s waiting for you to look back up. Because he thinks he’s going to carpe something else.

You fall for it, and your eyes sucker him in. He feels weak in the joints. You repeat yourself. “Does it hurt, Eddie?”

He just nods, boyishly. Nearly passes out when your fingertips tilt his face towards the light. Skin buzzing underneath them, you peering at his mouth like you know what you’re doing. The slit in his lip feels raw and strained.

“This’ll hurt, too,” you murmur, and he feels your breath against his jaw. A sharp prick from the alcohol against his cut doesn’t make him wince– worse. As you swipe the cotton against his bottom lip, he whimpers. Unh.

Oxygen stops short in your throat, hearing that. That noise. It sends a wave of motion through your lower body. You’re leaning awfully close to him, closer than you need to be. In fact, his knees are settled either side of your hips. How did that happen. When did that happen. How did you allow this.

How are you allowing your fingertip to trace against his lip, alcohol evaporating without a hope or a prayer. How are you allowing yourself to look at him through the fan of your lashes, his injured hand still obediently propped against his chest. His good hand pressing into your lower back.

You taste the vagueness of the disinfectant on his lips as he presses them into yours.

Jerking back, you’re not far enough away from him to create a distance that matters. All you see are Eddie’s eyes, flickering open, apologetic in themselves. About to tell you he’s sorry.

No.

Hands fly, one woven in the curls at the base of his skull as you kiss up into him, tongue an impolite peak. This is not the closet; this is arguably far more dangerous, with the nurse’s door still open a courteous gap. This is the harsh light of day. This is Eddie’s hand moving your skirt further up the curve of your ass.

He’s grabbing onto you as best a one-armed man can, and your hand travels in turn. A jagged, fevered path drawing up his thigh until, under your palm, is the hard outline of him. The pressure of your hand over the denim-bound curvature of his cock makes him groan sharply, the sound pressed against your cheek.

Face angles back for a look at him. Because this is bad, mindless, reckless, stupid. And he’s always worth a look.

You spot a tiny speck of blood on the pink of his lip from where his cut had split.

And your curious tongue flicks at it.

Eddie’s eyes flare. You, unable to unglue your stare from his, suck his lightly bleeding lip between yours. Fragile. Crushable.

He did this for you.

No one’s ever cared, or known you enough, to do something like that for you.

Desire moves you like a shockwave and your hand leaves his crotch to help you clamber onto the exam table, clamber into Eddie’s lap.

Downright idiotic.

You cast a glance to the door, Eddie’s fraught breath puffing against your neck.

Thought you were a smart girl.

You look right into his face, the poster boy for sheer distraction, pre-occupation, skin-searing annoyance, nervous charm, surprising wit, magnetism, oh my… and feel his fingers edging far past the hem of your skirt, past the binding top of the thigh-highs you’re wearing because it’s fucking laundry day and stopping at the gusset of your panties.

He can feel how wet you are.

Lips a breath away from each other, one set bleeding, one set housing a gasp. Eddie nudges his forehead against yours, the both of you blind to consequence.

“Just friends, right?” His breath is jagged and unconvinced, and your hips kick toward his hand.

You do not answer.

Unbruised fingers push the fabric covering your radiating heat aside and you have to tighten your grip around the back of his neck so as not to tumble over. Eddie is not deft, because this isn’t the moment to be deft. He plunges two fingers into the plush of your pussy and looks to you with pleading eyes. Eyes that say, is this good, eyes that say, don’t make a sound.

You nod in the affirmative to both and he drags his digits out slowly. Rhythm picks up and you’re clenching around Eddie’s hand in a matter of minutes, lower muscles seizing and het-up moans being gratefully swallowed by him. Pad of his thumb moves to create rough, clumsy friction against your clit that elicits a sharp, high, wanton ah! from you, grinding against him in an unquenchable search for more.

“Does he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?”

Eddie’s eyes keep searching you for approval and you’ve lost the ability to appease or deny him– all you know is the blind, nonsensical want that’s pouring out of you is being lapped up. Lapped up. His tongue, you want his tongue everywhere, but it’s working at your earlobe, your neck, sucking, whispering, “Just friends? Lacy?”

And when you cum, it’s fast and hard and suffocating, an achievement you’re close to angry at him for– because no one has ever been able to break you apart that fast.

Or at all.

He can never know. He’d be so insufferable about it… some bare fragment of a thought passes through your brain, synapses busy firing elsewhere.

You’re rocking against him through the crest, pressing your forehead to his with such a force that you’re frightened it’ll splinter, you’re murmuring, “Eddie… Eddie, d–hmn, fuck…”

And you can tell by the way he’s attempting to press his body against you that he wishes he hadn’t bust that stupid fucking hand of his, so he could hold you properly– and you’re right. You’re right, you’re always fucking right, but you told him to keep it elevated and he’s going to do what you say.

He’s got no choice when it comes to you.

He needs you safe. Needs you happy. No matter what.

Which is why he’s got to pull this bullshit move.

Eddie is patient and watches you regain a little consciousness, faster than he’s sure you’d like. He extracts his hand and, sticky with you still, wipes it on the thigh of his jeans. Heart thundering in his ears, he tugs you into one more breathless kiss and wonders if you can still taste the rust sharpness of his cut in between your lips. He’s strangled himself against cumming up till this point, and this doesn’t help matters. An imperceptible spot of pre-fun lies in his lap but the thing is, the really fucked thing is–

Eddie gently shoves you away, mind silently babbling for the right thing to say. I’m sorry is something you’d see right through, get off is too harsh, oopsie is too fucking whimsical–

But you, ever-perceptive you, you realize your place. Knock yourself back into reality so fiercely that he’s afraid it’ll bruise you, lovely, awe-inspiring you that just softened into his hands like that. You clumsily clamber off the exam table in a hot flash of rejection, which– no, god, no, he doesn’t mean that…

“I–”

“No, I know,” you grit, prickly all over. Thumbing at the edge of your blurred lipstick. “I know. I certainly know.”

Eddie dares to look at you and you dare to look back at him. His lips looking worse off from you, but at the very least kissed. At the very least kissed, but you could cry with the empty feeling inside you. A cavern of a girl. You nod curtly, like this is the conclusion of a particularly charged run-in of acquaintances, not like you wanted him to swallow you whole moments ago.

Slipping out of the nurse’s office, you run right into the myth that is Nurse Lydia.

She looks tan.

“He’s,” you struggle, “He’s waiting for you.”

—

Cheating out sick from school and taking a shift at The Bookstore following the latest in a series of apparently neverending aftershocks was probably not the smartest call– but hell, you’re fresh out of smart calls.

Ivana smells a rat, and she doesn’t take to rats lightly, so she gives you your space.

The morning ticks on at a pace that feels supernatural; like you’re witnessing outside of your body, like you can’t orient yourself in the right direction. You attempt to arrange and rearrange poets from alcoholic to puritan. You sell someone a copy of The Fountainhead without giving them their free blistering evisceration of Ayn Rand.

You’re at a loss. A shameful, dangling loss that almost makes you feel pious. Like you should go to confession.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned… I let my one-time best friend, current-cloudy object of my affection get beat up for me then bring me to climax in the nurses’ office.

You retread the same sentence in your over-thumbed copy of Save Me the Waltz like a table corner you keep stubbing your toe on.

We couldn’t go on indefinitely being swept off our feet.

You said it, Alabama. Something’s got to land.

And, because someone down there wants you dead, land it does.

The bell of the store’s door clashes upon opening, and all of the energy draws toward one magnetic point. A shock of silver hair, standing on end catches the lamplight, glowing almost eerily.

You feel a zzzzip of static. The air feels charged.

He doesn’t face you right away. Kind of slinks into the place, edging along the shelves.

“Say, Lacy. Ballpark me somethin’,” his Southern drawl is barely contained within the Midwestern flatlands of his accent, bursting through the baseline like a corpse that hasn’t been buried deep enough. “How long… do you think…” His fingers tap along the worn spines of the display, creeping closer to the counter, “...it would take… to read all these books?”

The lilt of his voice is so familiar that you recognize it instantly. Even the way your name falls out of his mouth. Like a funhouse mirror, a distortion of a voice you’d come to…

Well. Let’s not get into that. Let’s get into this.

A roguish smile with a couple decades of road wear on it and a tacky Hawkins High class ring on his finger. You could’ve sworn Eddie told you he dropped out.

“How many years in the big house with nothin’ better to do?” He finally stops and pivots on his heel. The way he looks you over makes you nauseous and lightheaded, like he took a long, long sip out of you. Jammed a straw in your jugular and sucked.

Lot of blood play happening ‘round these parts.

“Hello, Al.”

“Hello, sweetheart. You filled out.”

author's notes: christ alive. i mean WELCOME BACK! i really missed you guys. happy new year, thank you for keeping me on the level with writing this chapter, it was so much FUCKING harder than i anticipated! was it too much warped angst? are the feelings complicated? does the pope shit in the woods?!!!!! you betcha. anyway, be seated for today's lesson - "less oedipus-y, more ea--..." there is an ending to that joke that i felt was too crass for the moment but if you can guess it you win a prize - the patchwork girl of oz is the seventh book in the wizard of oz series by l. frank baum! obviously. it's actually a laugh riot, you should check it out. scraps, the eponymous patchwork girl, is a full tilt lunatic who's kind of a bit of me. but theoretically, the patchwork girl made out of a thousand different scraps of everything else... bit of lacy innit - the mage in the mink coat is self referential lmao we've gotten to THAT point in the story - gravity's rainbow is a book that guys i dated used to recommend to me constantly which is like infinite jest for people who are ran through - i'm really fucking with college guy at this point, making him drive a ford cortina. because i think it is ugly - the plot of the annotated book that lacy gives eddie, still life with woodpecker by tom robbins, is... interesting eye emoji eye emoji. tom robbins also wrote even cowgirls get the blues which was adapted into a feature film starring, say it with me, robin's mom - the link wray song that soundtracked the lipton landing visit in question - "charlie? or linda kasabian?" go ahead and read the white album by joan didion for me wouldja buddyroo, just like lacy and nancy already have - fun fact, i played a two person game of gin rummy with myself to get into the mindset for this chapter. i suck at it - torchy blane is another one of my pre-code wonders-- glenda farrell plays an intrepid newspaperwoman, and this character actually went on to inspire lois lane from superman - and I KNOW some of you are going to be mad at lacy for fucking college guy, but... shit happens when you're a booksmart lovedumb eighteen year old that can't face up to her feelings! i don't wanna hear it! - fred benson i love you baby! i'm almost sorry i called you william randolph hearst, newspaper magnate and all around lunatic and the inspo behind the diss track citizen kane, but i'm not! - nancy wheeler has a photo of nellie bly in her locker where a photo of her beau should be - so echo & the bunnymen's 1984 album ocean rain is obviously most famous for the killing moon (jonathan byers you ARE my donnie darko) but may i point your attention to motherfucking seven seas - OH YOU KNOW I (EDDIE) HAD TO DO IT TO 'EM. this was shameless but i've had this in my heart for over ten years babe - for the purposes of this timeline, you know eddie is keeping higgins in pills. which is why he hasn't been kicked out of hawkins high so fast his lunchbox would combust - nurse ratched, obviously from one flew over the cuckoo's nest and that ill-fated ryan murphy series....tf was that...but also from this fucking sick tune! - save me the waltz is by zelda fitzgerald! my loves, thanks for hanging in for this chapter. i know it was a wait, but i hope you enjoyed! i also know it was a little more angsty pants than my usual fare-- but look baby. we need grist for the mill, okay? as always, reblogs, comments and likes are FIERCELY appreciated! love u all so much. my little hellcats. to die by your side etc

#e. munson by powder #published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #rmr when i used to write 4k chapters.... god be with the days #anyway i love these fuckheads

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driftwork · 1 year ago

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names, most surnames (2)

Allow me to apologize again for this partial list of names in the library, titles available on request…

amis, acker kathy, ackroyd peter, abbey edward, aldiss brian, alcott louisa, m. anonymous, aldiss brian editor, ackroyd peter, allende isabel, acker kathy, adair gilbert, adams richard, asimov isaac, alcott louisa m., austen jane, azhayev vasili, asimov isaac, austen jane, ableman paul, amis martin, atwood marga,ret adams richard, abish walter, burroughs edgar rice, benn melissa, butler samuel, blyton enid, beckett samuel, beckett samuel, blyton enid, billington rachel, burnford. sheila, burroughs edgar r,ice bentley phyllis, burney francis, burroughs edgar rice, burroughs edgar rice, compton-burnett ivy, bryant arthur, burchard johann, bryant arthur, brame charlotte, bryant arthur, boll heinrich, buckeridge ant,hony boston l.m., buchan john, brightwen mrs illustrated by f carruthers gold, bronte charlotte, bradbury ray, banks lynne reid, barr pat, betto fre,i baxter stephen, banks iain, bronte charlotte, bryant arthur, banks iain m illustrated by nick day, bradbury malcolm, bell adrian, ballantyne r,.m. balzac honore de, benson e.f, barth richard, barrie j.m, bainbridge beryl, bronte emily, ballard j.g, bronte charl,otte borden mary, black lionel , bellow saul, introduced b,y j. michael walton wilde oscar, salgado gamini, ready stuart, besier rudolf, salgado gamini, euripides, euripides, williams t,ennessee sophocles, ionesco. eugene, ibsen henrick, marillier chri,stabel jonson ben, bennett alan, ionesco eugene, brenton. howard, stoppard tom, pinter harold, aristophanes, arnold mathew, daisenberger j.a., stoppard tom, eliot t.s., creeley rob,ert chaucer geoffrey - edited by walter w. skeat, cronin a. j., carr j. l., cooper edmu,nd colette, chevalier tracy, cosse laurence, christopher joh,n chatwin bruce, collingwood h, cather willa, cattieuchlan, crane stephen, calvino italo, collier eric, cela camilo c,ela crichton micheal, carpino f. brancaccio di, comrie margaret s., chabon michael, crofts freeman wills, carre john le, crace jim, michael co,x and r. a. gilbert cheever john, cardetti raphael, coolidge clark, chevallier gabr,ial coxe harmon george, cronin a. j., cheyney peter, conway hugh, cullum ridgwell, christian catherine, crace jim, crace jim, dickens charles, dickens charles, dunn nell, defoe dani,el bernheim emmanuele, doctorow e.l., chesterton g. k., donleavy j.p., bronte charlotte, duggan alfred, delany samuel r. - petaja emil, durrell gerald, dallek robert, dickens charles, dickens charles, dalby richard ed,. dickens charles, chang jung, delacorta, dickens ch,arles dickens charles, conan-doyle arthur, du maurier daphne, dostoyevsky f.m, durrant valentine, durrant valentine, donoso jose, delillo don, delillo don, defoe daniel, defoe daniel, duke neville, colette, camus albert, cheever john, egan frank, eastwood helen, england barry, duke of windsor, eden emily, egan greg, edwardson ake, franken rose, fowles john, frzer douglas, fielding henry, frankau gilbert, featherstone don,ald fyson j.g., fitzgerald f. scott, fyfield francis, fletcher h.l.v., ford madox ford, fuentes carlos, fuentes carlos, fossum karin, fielding henry, fielding henry, fox gardner f., forester c.s., flaubert gustave, forsyth frederick, fitchett w.h., faulkner willi,am gallico paul, garfeld leon, galsworthy john, gaskin catherine, goldring douglas, greene graham, fletcher j. s., goldsmith olive,r grey zane, faulkner william, grisham john, greene graham, green f.l., delany samuel r, fenn george manville, gide andre, grimwood jon courtenay , gordimer nadine, grisham john, greene graham, greene graham, grass gunter, galsworthy john, gray malcolm, gou xiaolu, goldsmith oliver, greene graham, harsch rick, hill weldon, hall radclyffe, hibbert christopher, hanley james, hemingway ernest, hardy thomas, horvath odon von, conan-doyle arthu,r scott-giles c.w., kollings ken, herbert a.p., houellebecq m,ichel hawes james, holt anne, hopkins r. thurston, huxley aldous, hawkins paula, holwell william, indridason arnaldur, inoue yasushi, ishiguro kazuo, houellebecq michel, hesse hermann, hemingway erne,st hamilton peter f., howard cecil, hyland ann, jewett sara,h orne - with a preface by willa cather joinville & villehardouin, jelinek elfriede, james m. r., jonke gert, moyle j.b. (translator) - justinian, johns capt. w.e., jerome jerome k, jenkins elizabet,h jenkins elizabeth, james m. r., kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kerr j. lennox, kipling rudyard, kilvert rev francis, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kent nora, kipling rudyard, king stephen, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, khadra yasmina, khadra yasmina, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, lovell ann, koontz dean, lucas-philli,ps c.e. kafka franz, leyner marx, linklater eric, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kennard mrs. edward, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, kipling rudyard, leskov nikolai, leyner mark, lewis norman, carre john le, lee laurie, kilver francis - edited william plover, leyner mark, laver james, lear edward, lever charles, laing e.t., carre john le, longmate norma,n lane jane, lewycka marina, baker margaret, llwelyn davis w,eeks forestier-walker and bor wenstrom o. edmund and harlock walter e., rensschler eric, st. claire byrne muriel, day mabel (edited by), linklater eric, linklater eric, linklater eric, martel yann, lewis c. s., lee laurie, longford elizabeth, lewis c. s., mason a.e.w, maupassant guy de, maclean alistair, masters john, reich-ranicki marcel, melwood mary, mathews basil, mackenzie fait,h compton maxwell w. b., macleod m kathleen, mcwilliam candia, mee arthur, marquez gabriel garcia mendoza plinio apuleyo, maurois andre, maclean alistair, mankowitz wolf, masefield john, marryat captain, macnamara brinsley, morris william, murdoch iris, mandelstam. osip, morris william, murdoch iris, mustoe anne, morris william, morris william, bradbury ray, gifford barry, miller henry, maturin charles, millet lydia, mitchison naomi, michener james, mcewan ian, miln lousie, jordan mitford mary russell, menglong feng, munthe. alex, moran lord, nicholl charles, new yorker the editors, oppenheim e.phillips, o'neill jamie, oppenheim e.phillips, nin anais, nairne a, hughes-pa,rry j. powell anthony, ponsonby d.a., price anthony, pangborn edgar, pollard velma, priestley j.b, barry n. malzberg & bill pronzini, powell anthony, nabokov vladimir, porter sheena, peacock thomas love, pratchett terry ian ,stewart and jack cohen powell anthony, percy w. s., needham violet, raymond diana, russo richard, rice margery spring, rabelais, reed thom,as baines russ joanna, remarque erich maria, pearson hesketh, rezzori gregor v,on rolfe fr- frederick baron corvo, sayers dorothy l. sayers (translator), renault mary, raphael frede,ric phillips adam, robertson e.arnot, pavic milorad, robinson heath, rendell ruth, read miss, robinson heath, rice elmer, rackham arthur, rutley c. bernard, renault mary, steinbeck joh,n smith alexander mccall, spyris johanna, sabatini rafael, spalding francis, stables gordon, camus albert, sinclair upton, stowe harriet b,eecher shem samuel, sienkiewicz henryk, swift jonathan, samuel maurice, scott sir walter, scott paul, stowe harriet beecher, scott sir walter, skinner john, sterne laurence, sewell anna, stevenson d.,e. sitwell edith, strang herbert, surtees r. s., sidney sir phi,llip stout william, sigurdardottir yrsa, solzhenitsyn alexander, scott sir walter, stephenson neil, self will, styron william, scott sir walte,r scott sir walter, scott sir walter, slavicsek bill, sebold alice, smith f seymour, slaughter frank, seth vkram, trollope jo,anna henry fielding, trevelyan g. m., thelwell normal, trevor elleston, thompson flora, thompson flora, tey josephine, tyler j.e.a., tutton diana, tuchman barbara, tolkien j.r.r, duke of windso,r wheatley dennis, wilkinson gerald, wells h.g, rawnsley c,.f. and wright robert white patrick, winchester simon, waugh evelyn, wodehouse p.g,. walsh j. m., welles orson, wood mrs henry, wren p.c, waugh auberon, white. t. h., white t. h., westo kjell, webster jason, wain john, quin b. g., westall rob,ert white t.h, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, westerfield sc,ott wodehouse p.g, zweig stefan, wodehouse p.g, urquhart r.e., wyndham john, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, waugh evelyn, wallace edgar, vine barbara, white patrick, virgil, vesaas tarjei, varesi valerio, vine barbara, updike john, young francis brett, vaizey george, wilde oscar, verne jules, wheatley dennis, updike john, markham mrs, vine barbara, vine barbara, kilvert rev francis, kilvert rev francis, new towns act 1946 -, leyser henrietta, perry anderson malcolm bull jan breman rob lucas david simpson rachel malik alexander zevin marco d'eramo, shaw george bernard, shaw george bernard, shakespeare william, shaw george bernard, shakespeare william, shaw george bernard, shaw bernard, shakespeare william, shaw bernard, shakespeare w,illiam shaw george bernard, shaw bernard, shaw george bernard, shaw george bernard, shaw bernard, sturgess keith (edited), euripides, matsumoto ,seicho lewis naomi, lang andrew, goethe, aristop,hanes pevsner nicholas, alvarez a., de la mare walter, larkin phillip, townsend sue, kyd thomas, euripides, lawrence d,. h. anderson w.e.k., marvell andrew, allan c.f., de la mare ,walter illustrated by edward ardizzone mitchell tony, plath sylvia, hobbs jack and hobbs margaret, spender stephen, whittier john greenleaf, millay edna st. vincent, bridges robert, steakley james , arkell reginald, thompson francis, arkell reginald, townsend sue, stamp l. dudley, keats john, farmer john s. , gollancz sir isr,ael and day mabel and serjeantson mary s hood thomas, milton john, walsh michae,l (editor) barkow al, british sociological association, burgess tyrrell, bentley michael, braudel fernand, de botton alain, ardrey robert, barrow r. h., bennett joan, aylward j. d., albert marvin h., alford violet, ali ayaan hirsi, cookson mrs. nesfield, cecil david, cudlipp hugh, conway gregory j., ccta, beard patten, clarke mike, deighton k, doyle clare, cottrell leonard, the ecologist, ellis chri, furmston m.p. and simpson a.w.b, elton lord, arellano ro,bert williams reese, brandys kazimierz, rich adrienne, lee laurie, khorsandi shappi, midgley mary, blackburn robin , butler samuel, butler samuel, burroughs william s, brooke nichlas, d.s.pugh d.j.hi,ckman c.r.hinings moliere, hamilton ronald, hill christopher, hackforth-jones g,ilbert hartley john, hervey h.e., kynaston david, herrmann paul, gregory otto, clay a.j. mackenzie, gombrick e.h. and kris k, kingsmill hugh, lloyd christopher, jarvns matt, labour party research department, jacob e. f., krake ken, longmate norman, golding louis, jackson major ,donovan james philip, lethbridge t. c., liechti elaine, ladurie emmanue,l le roy morris desmond, malina f.j, p.m., mundy, john h. carroll noel , middleton john , perniola mario, maxton james, paz octavio, menzies gavin, plaskitt harold and jrdan percy, woodward c. vann, rowntree b.seebohm and lavers g.r., weill herman n., wellman paul i, victor weybrigh,t and henry blackman sell scruton roger, smith j.c., taylor g. rattray, the times, thompson james westfall, taylor arthur, kulke hermann and rothermund dietmar, thomas mary, diamond jared, bacigalupi paolo, johnston william r., woods william, woodward sir llewellyn, shaw josephine, williams christopher, sidebotham helen m., williamson james a., tuchman barbara, smith wm. dr. (on the plan of), tafuri manfredo, bussi michel, rose richard , rawlinson george, rayner robert m., tisserand robert, ibsen henrick, ackroyd peter, powys t. f., sansom william, byatt a.s., bertrand a. and guillaumin a., bryant arthur, palgrave francis t., trewin j.c, morton a. l., mathews hazel, c. johnson a. h., gregory e. w., brogan d.w, tuchman bar,bara howard elizabeth jane, howard elizabeth jane, kerr philip , burton mauric,e borman tracy, kumar manjit, bryant arthur, moers ellen, simpson jacqueline, longmate norman, leasor james, piggott derek, lewycka marina, duncan f. martin and duncan l.t., armstrong karen, rankin nicholas, catton eleanor, harrison harry and stover leon e., prose francine, jacob naomi, lovell terry, webb marion st.john, sheppard elizabeth sara, dickinson g. lowes, king laurie r, hawthorne james, levy yank, ley wilfre,d rooke kelman janet harvey and rev theodore wood, agar winifred and others, blom eric, house rich,ard field robert, van loon hendrick, hayward gallery, eitlinger l.d. a,nd holloway r.g. fougasse and mccullough, davison philip, turnbull agnes sligh, harrison sidney, ashley maurice, oakeshott w. ewart, steingarten jeffrey, linna vaino, brecht bertholt, benni stefano, winbolt s. e., plumb j. h., bryson bill, prebble john, knight margeret, quarrie bruce, spry constance, squires patricia, smith ali, hadley tes,sa eng tan twan, virno paolo, wilson sloan, campbell alan, cumming charles, pedly robin, clegg alec and megson barbara, holt john, laurie peter, motley john lothrop, beumarchais repertoire general du theatre francais, de la mare walter. mackenzie compton. farjeon elea,nor lord dunsany blackwood algernon etc... betz, bjork samuel, campbell alan, archer thomas ,and amelia hutchinson stirling dollimore jonathan and sinfield alan, deegan denise, holdsworth r.v., durband alan, douglas lloyd c., ash william, dyer gillian and baehr helen, lindop audrey erskine, percival maciver, bellamy h.s., robbe-grillet alain, frith henry, barnett richard, bumpus t. francis, bartholomews, harrow school, martin george, hayward gallery, ducros louis, defrates joan,na ali tariq, lowry malcom (edited by harver briet and margerie bonner lowry), colour, robinso,n francis benton dr micheal j., rankin robert, leonard. jonathan norton, edey maitland a., trippet frank, norton-taylor duncan, hamblin dora jane, edey maitland a., hicks jim, knauth. percy, dancona p and aeschlimann e, urwin e.c., joyce graham, leslie doris, oakeshott w. ewart, department of scial, and administrative studies oxford university grossman vasily, sinclair andrew, quennell marjorie and c.h.b, smith alexander mccall, crispen edmund, kipling rudyard, oscar wilde mervyn peake, proust marcel illustrated, by phillipe julian proust marcel, chesterton g. k., kipling rudyard, ardrey robert, pakenham elizabeth, bradford ernle, kohn george childs, mcmahon katherine, introduced by j. michael walton, allegro j.m., leakey richard e. lewin roger, sobel dava, lancaster john, ferguson neil, westlake mike, proust marcel ,illustrated by phillipe julian euripides, corvo frederick baron, ambler eric (editor), peacock thomas love, hamilton edward, schiller eric, rabelais, barnes ju,lian manchetter jean-patrick, indridason arnaldur, macculloch j.a., holwe w.v. and p,ountney m.t. burnell r.d., symons julian, kipling rudyard and balestier wolcott, farmer bernard j., macaulay rose, fisher h.a.l., winston richard, eliot george, cairncross alec, disraeli benjamin, litvinoff emanuel, cotterell arthur , peynet raymond, mitchison naomi , trevelyan g. m., ibsen henrick, euripides, thayer george, white patrick, froissart, muir anne ross, acton lord, fisher h.a.l., innes arthur d,. innes hammond, acton lord, trevelyan g. m., stein gertrude, minister of health and the secretary of state for scotland, royal commission on local government in england, committee on the management of local government, committee on the management of local government, committee on the management of local government, soros george, ullman james ramsey, girls own paper, girls own paper, fowles john and horvat frank, moore gerald, whyte william, h. taylor a. j.p., whitelock dorothy, zdenek marilee, valentine c. w., walker kenneth, thompson e. p., ward barbara and dubos rene, wedgewood c.v., robertson alec and stevens denis, ackroyd peter, aira cesar, aira cesar, skinner paul , johnson samuel, drinkwater john, wilson daniel h, stross charles, ackroyd peter, hoeg peter, aylett stev,e oman carola, jelinek elfriede, rohan zina, roberts ada,m vandermeer jeff, vandermeer jeff, vandermeer jeff, miske karim, russell sarah, naipal v.s., carrington neil. brodies notes, freeman anthony, corvo frederick baron, aylett steve, lovegrove james, baudouin charles, green miranda, gilliland alan, gll anton, hendy phil,lip kunstler junger, toulouse-lautrec henri (t.w. earp and g.w. stonier (translated into english by).), jefferson alan, richardson joy, lyons lewis, mathews john and mathews caitlin, pratchett terry, pratchett terry ,and baxter stephen robbe-grillet alain, west paul, pratchett terry and briggs stephen, mccaffery juliet, robert marcel and parmeggiani luigi - ilo-, storr vernon f., pratchett terry, mann philip, morris mary and o'conner larry , pratchett terry and baxter stephen, mcphee john, kightly char,les reeves compton, picard gilbert charles(editor), strong roy, clifton-tay,lor alex rupp gordon, tullii marci, goldsmith oliver, pinnow hermann, millington mal, atwood margaret, dickens charles, sterne laurence, everyman, caeser caius julius, wells h.g, kempis tho,mas a wynne pamela, pepys samuel, sterne laurence, scott sir walter, balzac honore de, jones edmund d., du maurier daphne, hutchinson lucy, weyman stanley j., browning robert, shakespeare william, chesterton cecil, stevenson r.l, trollope anthony, conan-doyle arthur, osborne charles, bresson robert, chalres pictet de geneva, lambourne nigel and renoir, parker steve, thomas graham stuart, watkin david, hill ian, hlasko ma,rek lee harper, kureishi hanif, boyle t. coraghessan, gombrowicz witold, gombrowicz witold, gombrowicz witold, gombrowicz witold, gombrowicz witold, gombrowicz witold, gombrowicz witold, montergueil g., liu ken, robbe-grillet alain, banks iain, hobb robin, murphy derv,la gooch steve, dallek robert, giordano mario, tourtellot arth,ur bernon mcewan ian, orton joe, stoppard tom, stoppard tom, dorfman ariel, clifforfd leech, gerlech lynne, mishima. yukio, kurkov andrey, sante luc, robbe-grillet alain, heinlein robert, shute nevil, benacquista tonino, carofiglio gianrico, powers richard, steer john, johnson b.s., edgeworth maria, lowry malcolm, lowry malcolm, willis roy , le queux william, committee on the ,management of local government delillo don, perry sarah, expenditure committee (trade and industry sub-committee), pratchett terry, jencks charles, ewing julia horatia, vandermeer jeff, carpentier alejo, acker kathy, sudjic deyan, lindsey martin, reitz deneys, tolkien j.r.r, tolkien j.r.r, tolkien j.r.r, tolkien j.r.r, tolkien j.r.r, tolkien j.r.r, eggers dave, yurick sol, emecheta buchi, bryson bill, bryson bill, smollet tobi,as kapitanial thomas, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, wodehouse p.g, stengers isabelle, browning. robert, walbank f. alan (,ed1ted and arranged by) roberts adam, kipling rudyard, ruskin john,

ellis john, hinton michael, chamoiseau patrick, martinez guillermo, willis connie, nemirovsky irene, rhys jean, joyce james, delillo don, mantel hilary, parker k. j., parker k. j., parker k. j., wilhelm richard, topol jachym, perez-reverte arturo, mcevoy j.p. and zarat,e oscar atwood margaret, sloterdijk peter, unit for research on the urban environment, perry steve, anderson kevin j, zahn timothy, hambly barbara, massey d, tucker paul hayes, anderson kevin j., smith p. robert, semprun jorge, crace jim, reynolds ingrid and nicholson charles, reynolds ingrid and nicholson charles bell ann, carre john le, grossman lev, tallis frank, hornby nick, tallis frank, newberry linda, coelho paulo, bryson bill, harris joann,e bond terance james, hopkins gerard manley, haviaras stratis, hoban russell, benson peter, pears iain, gray robert, wiggins todd, price richard, perez-reverte arturo, hoeg peter, flaubert gu,stave ivan illich irving k zola john mcknight, runyon damon, frei max, chaponnie,re paul fischer tibor, reynolds alastair, asher neal, vallois g. ,n. morton h.v., kalweit holger, gibbons stanley, brookmyre christ,opher holt anne, hemingway ernest, surtees r. s., reeves-stevens, judith and garfield kipling rudyard, gane chriss and sarson trish, hodgson joan, saadawi ahmed, barnes julian, hadley tessa, pratchett terry and baxter stephen, hijuelos oscar, johnson kenneth and lsbeth marguerite, phillips jayne anne, aylett steve, kube-mcdowell, michael p. tyers kathy, daley brian, wolverton dave, allen roger mac,bride mcintyre vonda, anderson kevin j, smith l. neil, zahn timothy, zahn timothy, zahn timothy, hamilton peter f., wells h.g, waugh evelyn, hughes roberts, earnshaw brian, confucius alfre,dd doeblin bates h.e, leuchenburg william e., gibson william, gibson william, twining william and miers david, terence morris and angus stewart, tolkien j.r.r, stewart. mary, corvo frederick baron, aldiss brian editor, perez-reverte arturo, king ronald, harris sam, harris sam, harris sam and hawaz maajid, klein richard, nabokov vladimir, lowell robert, euripides, harris sam, maugham w.somerset, pynchon thomas, nabokov vladimir, chand meira, jardine lisa, jardine lisa, reynolds alaistair, sartre jean-paul, gifford barry, de teran lisa st aubin, lanchester john, chen da, kafka franz, frei max, lefebrve noemi, mcewan ian, gray john, gray john, clowes daniel, foucault miche,l gray john, kant immanuel, ferrante elena, chambers becky, levy roger, claudel phillippe, dick philip k, wray j. jackso,n pratchett terry and baxter stephen, chambers becky, fiske john and hartley john, hebdige dick, maitland f.w., dick philip k, butler samuel, butler samuel, butler samuel, murdoch iris, murdoch iris, murdoch iris, pratchett terry and baxter stephen, glass rodge, de chirico george, hornby nick, lethem jonathan, coetzee j. m., millar martin, stallman richa,rd m. parrinder patrick, gombrowicz witold, hornby nick, hornby nick, gee maggie, dixey anne, hawes james, maconie 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valentino chance wolf dan davis, jim valentino chance wolf dan davis, mckillip patricia a., du maurier daphne, elgin suzanne haden, de teran lisa st aub,in collingwood r. g., winterson jeanette, carmody isobelle, perry steve, egan doris, moorcock michael, gaiman neil, gilden mel, larry niven jerry pounelle micheal flynn, eddings david, cooper louise, weaver micheal, claremont chris, hamilton laurell k., kepler lars, nothomb amel,ie staig laurence, wood anthony, murrary linda, kaveney roz di,tor plato, cumming elizabeth and kaplan wendy, reiss johanna, glover jonatha,n goodman nelson, plato, carmody isobelle, wilson robert cha,rles wilson robert charles, wilson robert charles, johnson george, kepler lars, brookmyre christopher, jordan robert, kinsella sophie, jewell lisa, parent gail, gibson williams, kinsella sophie, carofiglio gianr,ico hesse hermann, nesbo jo, duane diane, higginson wi,lliam j. ferguson margaret. salter mary jo. stallworthy jon, evanovich janet, evanovich janet, 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(edited by), rankin robert, rankin robert, mccaffery anne, evanovich janet, mccaffery anne, yoshimto ray - clamp nanase ohkawa, brookmyre christopher, allen roger macbride, pratchett terry, anderson kevin j. (edited by), connolly joseph, cherryh c.j., cadigan pat, mccaffery anne, divakaruni chit,ra banerjee zappa moon unit, vernadsky vladimir i, mackesy serena, waterhose keith, hines barry, golding william, keenan joe, ironside vi,rginia cullimore claudine, kawabata yasunari, motter dean and lark michael, mccaffery anne, mccaffery anne, mccaffery anne, packard vance, moore gerald, furey maggie, furey maggie, mccaffery anne, duane diane, gaiman neil, brown dan, furey maggie, lindsay dougl,as scott-giles c. w., modesitt jr l. e., bronte charlotte, murdoch iris, streatfield noel, leiris michel, bronte emily, williams ursu,la moray ecke wolfgang, pratchett terry, mclean lenny, edwards-jones, imogen nesser hakan, mcintyre vonda, fisk nicholas, evanovich jane,t tey josephine, robbe-grillet alain, aeschylus, baudrillar,d jean baudrillard jean, pagels heinz r., sen amartya, sen amartya, caputo john d., rossini, corey james a., holt tom, kube-mcdowell michael p., sweterlitsch tom, wolfe tom, 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beckett chris, roth philip, marshall smith michael, armesto felipe fernandez, almond david, bolano robert,o goscinny f - uderzo a, goscinny f - uderzo a, lowe helen, arnott jake, reynolds alaistair, frith r. j., lena levinas ousmane sidibe gabrial piterberg kristen surek franco moretti tom mertes jan breman emilie bickerton, anderson perry, anderson perry, watkins susan, watkins susan, watkins susan, watkins susan, watkins susan, watkins susan, watkins susan, watkins susan, higgins jack, hoban russell, rolfe fr- fred,erick baron corvo busby f.m, kepler lars, barnes julian, machiavelli ni,ccolo sebald w.g, priest christopher, martin sean, gibson gary, banks iain m, gibson gary, gibson gary, gibson gary, gibson gary, gibson gary, mclellan david, grady james, tilley patrick, van vogt a.e, boyd william, swartz richar,d bennett alan, cortazar julio, anders charlie jane, lowe helen, stagg guy, banks iain, banks iain m illustrated by nick day, banks iain m, banks iain m, flint james, larsson 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eastland sam, kadare ismail, hertzberg max, grancsay stephen v., mcintyre vonda, kafka franz, piketty thomas, greene harris, butcher jim, ordnance survey, brodie bernard and fawn, kornbluth c. m., bull emma, seigel martin, imlah mick, thomas edward, maclean alista,ir de giovanni maurizio, banks iain m, banks iain m, banks iain, corey james a., corey james a., carver raymond, mason paul, reynolds alaistair, lagercrantz david, lagercrantz david, shakespeare willia,m brooks rosetta , brooks rosetta , grant richard, scudder bernar,d (translator) bull emma, eliot george, kadrey richard, lowry malcolm, de la motte anders, aaronovitch ben (cartmel williamson renne), dick lesley, herbert fran,k setterfield diane, lyall gavin, carr caleb, mcintyre vo,nda groening matt, groening matt, dark horse comics, groening matt, greene graham, gunn kirsty, klein rachel, bussi michel, wiltshire professor patricia, collins bridget, ford ford madox, bishop micheal, brandao ignazio de loyola, kube-mcdowell 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reig rafael, lawrence d. ,h. vinge vernor, brown eric, grimwood jon courtenay, stross charles, maddox tom, ellis bret easton, de teran lisa st aubin, aldiss brian, fleming jim and wilson peter lamborn, kepler lars, roslund and hellstrom, kepler lars, cartmel andrew, ripley mike, lyotard jean-francois, stross chalres, kristjansson snorri, king laurie r, powell gareth l., costantino maria, various, mosley walter, brown eric, brown eric, nespolo matias, king laurie r, le carre john, cheever john, campbell john w. , ferman edward l. , oatmeal matthew inman, le carre john, niven larry, zetford tully, ripley mike, le carre joh,n boardman tom, candlish louise, gombrich e.h., shaw george be,rnard jones diana wynne, kennedy emma, jones ruth, gardiner be,cky wainwright martin , bates stephen , meer malik, sylvain dom,inique paolini christopher, bourdain anthony, horowitz anthony, hugo victor, hesse hermann, tolstoy leo, hawtree christopher graham greene, hilbig wolfgang, barnes julian, kundera milan, zafron carlos ruiz, grimwood jon courte,nay bellow saul, isherwood christopher, clark alan, dahl roald, lotringer sylvere, pullman phillip, galgut damon, paolini chris,topher cresswell helen, jones sadie, christie agatha, doyle a.conan, robinson geoffrey, hodges andrew, sylvain dominique, dostoevsky f.m, martin george r.r., moore christopher, hacker katerina, o'flynn catherin,e cervantes miguel de, kavenna joanna, one direction, austen jane g,rahame-smith seth conan-doyle arthur, lessing doris, wakeman rick, conan-doyle a,rthur conan-doyle arthur, gaskall mrs, hansen essa, trapani gina, lore pittacus, upward edward, lively penelope, morrison grant, ennis garth, ellis warren, morrison grant, ennis garth, moyes jojo, simsion graeme, shea dave and holzschlag molly e., cederholm dan, martin george r.r., macdonald kyle, feist raymond, upward edward, levi primo, stross charles, sjowall maj and wahloo per, krauss rosalind, bataille georges, queneau raymond, blackwood algernon, arnold n. scott, leckie ann, cobley michael, levy david, bywater mic,hael brennan marie, fuller steve, fuller steve, fuller steve, tom taylor , jeremy rapack , mik s miller, tom taylor , bruno redondo , ball philip, morden simon, conan-doyle a,rthur pratchett terry, lovegrove james, sartre jean-paul, simenon georges, allan nina, plato, brown eric, cumming cha,rles moore christopher, mieville china, genna giuseppe, aldiss brian, davidson lionel, adams douglas, russell eric frank, vance jack, cobley michael, cobley michael, furst alan, judd alan, king laurie r, gaiman neil, saint-exupery antoine de, aldiss brian, acker kathy, woolf virgina, mordern s. j., meaney john, anthony piers, christie agatha, smith cordwainer, smith cordwainer, dickson gordon, brin david, davidson lionel, cottrell leonard, rushdie salman, le carre john, brown eric, sayers doro,thy l. brown eric, szerb antal, szerb antal, von schrirac,h ferdinand barthelme donald, shakespeare william, jerome jerome k, kipling rudyard, duras marguerite, pavese cesare, ackroyd peter, tilly charles, thorton tim, reynolds alaistair, von arnim elizabeth, land nick, mackay robin, gould stephen jay, gould stephen jay, mackay robin, veal damion, wolfendale peter, ball philip, castoriadis ,cornelius chomsky. noam, dyson freeman, waldrop n. mitchell, wyatt sir thomas, watson james d., macrae donald g, larsson stieg, noon jeff, rowbotham sheila & segal lynne & wainwright hilary, carrion jorge, hilbig wolfgang, fermor patrick l,eigh parveeb adams beverly brown elizabeth cowie, parikka jussi, pelevin victor, kurkov andrey, introduced by j. michael walton, jones steve, russ joanna, bennett jane, morgan dan, hannah dolan elizabeth dowsett emma grange, judge dredd!, sayers doroth,y l. sayers cox edward, vickers sally, nykanen harri, matheson richa,rd jenkins martin and swift jonathan, fleming ian, o'brien flann myles na gopaleen, gieysztor aleksander et al..., de beauvoir simone, sayers dorothy l., sayers dorothy l., de la mare walter, marnham patrick, cumming charles, enger thomas, sayers doroth,y l. lebor adam, dick philip k, naylor doug, amis martin, priest christopher, makine andrei, pratchett terry, carofiglio gianr,ico s. c. kaines smith, grenier jean, lessing doris, pratchett terr,y vickers sally, pratchett terry, pratchett terry, pratchett terry, pratchett terry, pratchett terry, pratchett terry, pratchett terry, akerman chantal, kevin eastman peter laird dave sim, tremain rose, hustvedt siri, evanovich janet, nesser hakan, cage john, van vogt a,.e karlsson jonas, lethem jonathan, singer peter, tuck rchard, leach edmund, floridi luciano, floridi luciano, rose mark (edito,r) skolimowski henryk, kunzru hari, sexton ed, arden kath,erine milanovic branko, helen pluckrose and james lindsey, pinker steven, brooks rosetta, zizek slavoj, keene jogn, fox jeremy, collins jef,f myerson george, fox dominic, pallant kathryn, haggard william, haggard william, haggard william, henshaw lee, golumbia dav,id dawkins richard, dawkins richard, dawkins richard, kaplan robert, balestrini nanni and moroni primo, watkins susan, watkins susan, barry max, weir andy, kadrey richard, mcauley paul j., mcauley paul j., mcauley paul j., mcauley paul j., mcauley paul j., mcauley paul j., mcdonald ian, mcdonald ian, mcdonald ian, cavanaugh wil,liam t. corina john, lee yoon ha, unt mati, simcox ad,am ripellino angelo maria, morgan richard, setterfield diane, morgan richard, stross chalres, garner alan, bassini giorgio, jennings luke, jennings luke, jennings luke, mordern s. j., novick naomi, novick naomi, macleod ken, reynolds alaistair, reynolds alaistair, afary janet and anderson kevin b, quignard pascal, queneau raymond, arrighi giovanni, niffenegger audrey, quignard pascal, conklin groff, gibson william, quignard pascal, quignard pascal, atkinson anthon,y b zelazny roger, karl frederick and hamalian leo (edits), modiano patrick, foer jonathan sa,fran chekov anton, garnier pascal, thiongó ngugi wa, crussi f. gonzale,z forrest richard, delany samuel r., cadigan pat, damasio anto,nio damasio antonio, ackroyd peter, evans i. o. (editor), mcdevitt jack, van vogt a.e, stross charles, hamilton edward, pratchett terry, herbert frank, appia adolphe, king laurie r, brown eric, clifton mark and riley frank, mordern s. j., russell eric frank, kuttner henry, robson justina, tchaikovsky adrian, robson justina, mattelart armand and michelle delcourt xavier, dick philip k, cherryh c.j., pohl frederick and kornbluth c. m., graeber david, graeber david, robin blackburn, stiegler bernard, stiegler bernard and derrida jacques, llansol maria gabriela, benkler yochai, robinson kim stanley, anderson poul, jeter k. w., king lily, moorcock michael , leon donna, silverberg ,robert pratt tim, mcarthur maxine, moorcock michael , stephenson neil, carver jeffrey a., van vogt a.e, wollheim donald a. (editor), simenon georges, clarke arthur, mossman keith, okuda michea, and denise, gibson william, daly mary, sterling bruce , rankin ian, evans peter, j. coleman gabriella, edmund spencer, edmund spencer, patrick hamilit,on alexander moszkowski, jane austen, alexander moszkowski, christine brooke rose, helmuth plessner, zubrowsky

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