#Page and sommers

[pretensesoup]

Queer books, day 8/30

The description on Ms. Sebastian's website said, "Agatha Christie, but make it gay," and I was pretty sold by that. Maybe this doesn't need any other tagline?

I'm not a huge Agatha Christie person. (I feel like if you've read my stuff, you will be saying, yes, you clearly have a super hardon for Raymond Chandler and all that down these dark streets stuff, which is absolutely true.) I have read And Then There Were None, which is apparently the bestselling mystery of all time, and also I watched that one Doctor Who episode where she showed up, and really, you don't even need to have done either of those things to like this book.

The book. Okay. In the days following WWII, a shell-shocked doctor and a spy work together to solve a murder. It's an Agatha Christie-style murder, so it happened at a dinner party with a lot of possible suspects, and there's a good amount of walking here and there, having conversations with veiled agendas, spying on the neighbors, etc. But in a subdued way, because this is England--unlike my beloved Chandler, no one comes through the door with a gun.

Key quote: “Cora, you’re going to give the poor man a fit,” Edith remonstrated. “He’s gone as white as a sheet. I’m too old to dig graves in the frozen ground.”

One thing I really liked about this book is that everyone has a secret, but they're basically positive secrets. Unlike in And Then There Were None, where everyone is hiding a murder or a fraud they did in the past, the villagers here are generally good people and the things they're trying to conceal are largely positive. That's a neat little trick, to flip that bit of trope on its head.

Another nice thing about this book is it can be a good gateway to reading gay romance. If you're not totally sure but you want to dive in, this is pretty low heat, and although there is one sex scene, it's very non-explicit. I wouldn't call this a cozy (there is a dead body), but it's gentle. You could probably give this book to your mom, because it's a nice little mystery. (Or, maybe I could? Since she's reading Dionysus, I guess the sky is the limit with her now. Sorry, I'm still not one hundred percent over that.)

Oh, also there's elderly attack lesbians, and I love that. And James (the doctor) and Leo (the spy) just have a very soft, lovely relationship. I don't know. This book makes me want to give them a hug and a sweater. And it turns out that's what I want from literature a lot of the time, so it works well for me.

There is a second book in the series (The Missing Page--did I mention that Leo's last name is Page, so these titles are puns on his name? Yes. It's great.) and apparently a third one planned. I am excited. These make me happy. 10/10, go and read it.

Edit: In my head, Leo Page looks like Callum Keith Rennie circa Due South. I think that's kind of deep cuts and also maybe not canon b/c someone says he has dark hair in the book, but there you go.

[kaleidemaran]

“i’m not wearing your scarf”

[bookbaran]

Even though I generally like this narrator, he's deployed a "sweetheart" in emotional moments several times now, but none of them are anywhere near as devastating as Joel Leslie's "sweetheart" in The Missing Page.

[hussyknee]

Just finished the Page & Sommers novels set just after WW2 and LEO AND JAMES ARE SO CUTE I CANNOT. The whole of Wyncham St. Mary is adorable, Edith and Cora deserve their own series, Wendy is clearly going to grow up and run either the government, a criminal empire or an anarchist underground against Thatcher. I love how the first book is a career criminal turned spy falling in love with a whole community against his better judgement and the second one is a bunch of shifty and unpleasant people gradually becoming more and more human and secrets go from sinister to sheltering. They're almost anti-mystery novels; a mediation on how life can be threaded through and protected with secrets and the collusion of loyal and warm-hearted people. Which is on brand for queer historical fiction. There's as much love and safety within secrets as there can be danger and destruction, and the lies we tell ourselves and ach other can be gently brushed aside and fall away as much as they can be ripped apart. I need several stories of this genre and these characters.

I just cannot enjoy Cat Sebastian after KJ Charles. Her books are good and the smut is very hot but they aren't anywhere as vivid and immersive and clever and colourful as KJC's. Unmasked by Marquess was good, The Ruin of a Rake was better, but I'm now on A Soldier's Scoundrel and just bored. The romances just aren't convincing. Mimi Matthews was much more engaging, for all her inability to stick the landing.

I'm baffled because Cat Sebastian is the second name that gets recced when you ask for queer historical romance. I'm not optimistic about what this might mean for the rest of the authors in the genre. I read Joanna Chambers's Unforgivable, which is a het romance, before trying her mlm books, and good God that was a waste of time. Utterly colourless, annoying characters, absolutely nothing that makes historical fiction appealing as a genre. I take back what I said about professional writing being more consistently well written than fanfic. Clearly I hadn't read enough professional writing.

[le-trash-prince]

If you would like a cozy queer murder mystery to read this winter, I very much recommend Hither, Page by Cat Sebastian.

[poisindonottouch]

Queer reads: Cat Sebastian

Continuing my queer books you should read, for day 23, I bring you Cat Sebastian. 

Cat Sebastian writes historical romances, set in the 18th century, the 19th century, and the 20th century. I prefer her books set in the 20th century, by far. (I’ve read her other books, and I have a soft spot for The Queer Principals of Kit Webb, but I found the other ones... forgettable. Like, I read them all, and can’t remember the plots. So, uh, not my favorite.)

But these ones. These ones are excellent. 

The three Cabot books take place in the 1958 (I think?), 1960, and 1973 set in the US. They follow a person from the politically famous Cabot family (think the Kennedys), and three queer members who don’t quite fit into the family. Tommy Cabot Was Here and Peter Cabot Gets Lost are novellas that are more about the vibes than the plot, but I love everything about them. Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots is a longer novel, and is also heavy on the vibes, light on the plot. But they’re so sweet, and so soft, and the writing is so good. (also, A+ on the spicy scenes). 

We Could Be So Good takes place in New York in 1959, and shows slice of life in the queer world before Stonewall. The two main characters are Nick and Andy, and they’re idiots for each other. I love them so much. I read this book when it popped up on my kindle at 10 PM the day before it was released (thank you time zones) and stayed up till 3 AM reading it. 

The Page & Sommers books are set in the UK post WWII, and are murder mysteries. Agatha Christie, but make it gay, according to Cat Sebastian’s website. Aside from the murder, it’s also sweet and soft, and James and Leo are also idiots about each other. 

If you haven’t read any Cat Sebastian, or you’ve only read the regency books, check these out. They’re so good. 

[kelliealtogether]

MORE PAGE & SOMMERS!!!!!!! AND MORE WE COULD BE SO GOOD UNIVERSE!!!!!!!

[sparkly-skies]

This one is titled "I needed to urgently work on a presentation* so instead**, I somehow spent my whole day doing fuck all instead and the evening listening to Laura's Buam and consequently experiencing the whole spectrum of human emotions over the span of like, four to six songs" and goes out to @mondscheinprinzessin, naturally, for dragging me into this band.

[msommers]

🧱 🐱 🌱 💛 for riya and maeve!

ok i’ve finally found the time to write! thank you for these!! 💜💜 // prompts i’d like to receive

[ 🧱 ] how would you describe your muses’ morality? what are their core values?

RIYA — the strongest feeling she has in this category is her distaste for rules and laws restricting somebody’s freedom, even if that comes from a selfish place of wanting to be free to leave the circle whenever she wants to do whatever’s on her mind,,,,she’ll still stick up for somebody if they’re being confined somewhere. outside of that she has some lofty ideals of heroism due to the many stories she’s heard from her brother of his career as a dragon hunter. has a generally standard sense of right and wrong, won’t hesitate to hop into battle if she thinks somebody’s in need of aid/defending, gigantic blindspot when it comes to the privilege of nobles/royalty and to an extent the mages of her city.

MAEVE — a paragon of Good. passionate and vocal in beliefs of helping those in need, leaving light and beauty behind wherever you go, ushering change into the world for the good of those who are oppressed and abused, encouraging the healing and growth of others, etc etc. has pretty strong feelings when it comes to good/evil and right/wrong and isn’t afraid to speak up about them. thinks that if you root out something evil that it is right to replace it with something good to encourage the spread of that new energy (ie: her buying and renovating cyprian wiley’s hideout into a sanctuary for the women and children of novigrad).

[ 🐱 ] does your muse have pets? did they have pets as a child? how do they feel about animals?

RIYA — i wouldn't be surprised if there were pets around the family estate while she was growing up, not for any particular in-universe reason but because i, tabby, can just see the vibe of the rich family that has multiple pets that the staff ends up spending more time with lmfao there are also likely some cats around the circle. riya is very much a surface-level lover of pets. she likes petting them and sneaking them treats, sometimes playing with them for a little bit, but there's simply no way she's going to be the one taking them on walks or giving them baths etc etc. honestly probably doesn’t think much about animals outside of that. likes the fluffy ones, would quickly walk away from the big ones.

MAEVE — didn't have a pet as a child, unless you count how she helped some others in the village care for their livestock from time to time. years and years and years later when she's living in toussaint i could see her having a few cats and dogs, probably rescues because yeah that checks out. thinks little critters are super cute, fairly afraid of animals on the larger side after her dreadful experience with a griffin.

[ 🌱 ] what themes are relevant to your muse?

RIYA — spoiled brat thrust into harsh reality, there’s no fighting destiny, growth through exposure and experience, embracing responsibility (maybe we’ll see). not much else outside of those atm, which were the initial concepts that became riya to begin with.  

MAEVE — soulmates both fated and created, finding yourself after gaining the freedom to do so, writings as acts of love and altruism, healing, reincarnation, learning to take off the mask, embracing and exploring sensuality, found family, damsel in distress turned competent companion, tagalong chronicler, a million others as is natural in a traveling bard.

[ 💛 ] how empathetic is your muse? how compassionate are they? is this something people expect from them, or are people surprised when they find out how compassionate or empathetic they actually are?

RIYA — i think,,,she has the capacity to learn empathy as she grows, there's some compassion there already (if she's presented with something upsetting directly in front of her) but she has lived such a privileged life for so long that it's hard for her to understand other ways of life. she's been sheltered from the harsh realities of thedas outside of her own bubble in cumberland, she doesn't even know just how bad mages have it because her particular circle is so chill. she certainly doesn't know the struggles of people desperate for food and security, those have been provided since she was a baby. spend 5 minutes with riya and you’re not surprised by her lack of empathy.

MAEVE — overflowing with empathy and compassion that haunts her every day because she's Constantly thinking about how she can help others with the resources she has. that should never surprise anyone, stories of maeve's acts of charity and aid aren't as popular as her published works but they still get around. though it’s probably a little shocking to strangers when one of her first instincts to dangerous beings is to try connecting with them instead of booking it, but it’s earned her friends and saved lives before so she does her best to nurture that instinct instead of training it away as some would probably like her to.

[37sommz-archive]

✼. THRU SPACE 'N TIME | MLIST.

f1 grid x female!driver!oc . . . a series following aston martin driver michaela sommers' journey through the checkered motorsports world.

general warnings.⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀rewriting of history, discussions of racism, sexism, misogyny, infidelity, discrimination, and other mature themes. all pieces will be individually tagged. chapters sorted in chronological order.

MEET MICHAELA SOMMERS⠀⠀. . .⠀⠀

✼.⠀michaela's driver profile. ✼.⠀social media profiles. ✼.⠀meet the team. ✼.⠀grid dynamics. ✼.⠀meet the family.

WRITING, HEADCANONS, REQUESTS⠀⠀. . .⠀⠀

✼.⠀come to italy: where, prema saves michaela's career. ✼.⠀glorious red: where, michaela dreads the media. ✼.⠀victorious: where, michaela keeps winning. ✼.⠀invitation: where, michaela makes a promise. ✼.⠀mother, may i: where, michaela and lewis have a chat.

THE WORLD WIDE HUB⠀⠀. . .⠀⠀

✼.⠀michaela sommers signs as ferrari reserve driver (2018). ✼.⠀alfa romeo signs michaela sommers (2018). ✼.⠀f1 veterans voice their opinions (2019). ✼.⠀michaela sommers fires back at christian horner (2022).

TWITTER THUMBS⠀⠀. . .⠀⠀

✼.⠀maple scented: 2024 canadian grand prix recap. ✼.⠀motorsport: 2024 spanish-austrian-british grand prix recap.

EXTRAS⠀⠀. . .⠀⠀

✼.⠀carlos & michaela headcanons. ✼.⠀lewis & michaela headcanons. ✼.⠀drive to survive: s02e01.

✼. view:⠀navigation page⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.

[uwmspeccoll]

It’s Feral Friday! 

This week we’re taking a peek at Poetry Comics: from the Book of Hours by Bianca Stone. Published in 2016 in Warrensburg, Missouri by Pleiades Press, this 79-page collection of Stone’s work stretches the comic medium in a series of intimate and emotionally raw illustrations and panels. Poetry comics (a hybrid, experimental form of both mediums that can be seen in the work of artists such as Julie Delporte, Sommer Browning, and Anders Brekhus Nilsen among others) draw "from the syntax of comics, images, panels, speech balloons, and so on, in order to produce a literary or artistic experience akin to that of traditional poetry." As an unvarnished autobiographical comic with feminist undertones, it is in the lineage of artists like Aline Kominsky-Crumb. But Stone’s poetic approach, which informs her artistic style as well as her writing, injects an unruly tone of existential grappling that echos the illustrations and text of artists more akin to William Blake. 

Pleiades Press is based at the University of Central Missouri. Bianca Stone's work has been published in magazines like The New Yorker, The Atlantic and The Nation. Her poetry collection What is Otherwise Infinite (Tin House, 2022) won the 2023 Vermont Book Award in Poetry. Her other books include The Möbius Strip Club of Grief (Tin House, 2018) and Someone Else’s Wedding Vows (Octopus Books and Tin House, 2014). In 2012 she collaborated with Anne Carson to illustrate her translation of Antigonick.

View more Feral Friday posts.

View more Poetry posts.

View more Comics posts.

--Ana, Special Collections Graduate Intern

[bookbaran]

I wonder why Cat Sebastian chose not to include Page & Sommers in her works page at the end of We Could Be So Good.

[haveyoureadthisqueerbook]

Hither, Page by Cat Sebastian received 166 votes total. 16.9% of respondents answered YES, they have read it. 83.1% of respondents answered NO, they have not read it.

A jaded spy and a shell-shocked country doctor team up to solve a murder in postwar England. James Sommers returned from the war with his nerves in tatters. All he wants is to retreat to the quiet village of his childhood and enjoy the boring, predictable life of a country doctor. The last thing in the world he needs is a handsome stranger who seems to be mixed up with the first violent death the village has seen in years. It certainly doesn't help that this stranger is the first person James has wanted to touch since before the war. The war may be over for the rest of the world, but Leo Page is still busy doing the dirty work for one of the more disreputable branches of the intelligence service. When his boss orders him to cover up a murder, Leo isn't expecting to be sent to a sleepy village. After a week of helping old ladies wind balls of yarn and flirting with a handsome doctor, Leo is in danger of forgetting what he really is and why he's there. He's in danger of feeling things he has no business feeling. A person who burns his identity after every job can't set down roots. As he starts to untangle the mess of secrets and lies that lurk behind the lace curtains of even the most peaceful-seeming of villages, Leo realizes that the truths he's about to uncover will affect his future and those of the man he's growing to care about.

My favorite of Cat Sebastian's series. I'm a sucker for postwar England, what can I say.

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 4: Reader Suggestions

Previous Chapter: Lore Dump

Summary: Things start to get a little strange when The Writer hits the dreaded Writer's Block and looks for some inspiration.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Chaos, SMUT?, Cockblocking?, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Probably a little more lore (just assume that theres gonna be bits of lore everywhere), Criticism of Fanfiction, Analysis of Fanfiction/Fandom, Meta Fiction

Note: This is more of a "filler episode" to establish some of the rules of Eddie and Reader's predicament than anything specifically plot-driven, until the end. You could say that I myself felt a little bit of Writer's Block...not necessarily because I couldn't get anything onto a page but that it wasn't happening for this story in particular. (Coincidental that it happened at this specific chapter. Almost like I planned it that way. Maybe I did.)

So please forgive me if anything feels a little rusty; I'm getting back on this bicycle after a few months of letting it sit in the garage. But I'm happy I get to take it for a spin again. We're in it for the Tour de France now lads! Or we die trying.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You know, in a previous life, if someone told you that you'd be laughing in the face of a bloodthirsty, murderous vampire, you would probably think it was impossible.

That was, unfortunately, the reality you lived in right now.

Red, veiny, monstrous eyes. Sharp fangs. Hissing and roaring.

And you just snickering like an idiot with a death wish.

Probably because you knew it wasn't actually a death wish.

Your arrival in Mystic Falls was an interesting and exciting one. Mainly because of how normal it was.

It was a small town and everyone seemed friendly enough and you were truly ready for it to be a break in the action. Despite it being another so-called "modern" or "futuristic" setting.

Futuristic to you, at least. Still a bit stuck in your 1985 mindset, 2009 seemed beyond your imagination. More than the 90s had been, or 2004. Still not as bad as when one of the Writers shoved you onto the USS Enterprise so you could woo Bones McCoy. And certainly not 100 Trillion years in the future, at the end of the Universe with The Doctor.

Still, you were happy for a change of pace. So you chugged into town with your trusty Beetle like you usually did, until you made it to the large house on Maple Street that was the new residence of your supposed "college best friend," Jenna Sommers.

You liked Jenna, actually. She was sweet and funny and hated the hoity-toity elites of the town's Founding Families. She dragged you to all the Historical Society events just to have an ally, and those nights were always a hoot. You'd gossip about the mayor's affair with so-and-so, drink free booze til you saw double, and stuff your tiny handbags with their expensive hors d'oeuvres.

After years of traveling through various universes, and over analyzing your friendships back in Port Geneva, she was a breath of fresh air and someone you truly cherished.

She also set you up with her boyfriend's best frenemy--her words, not yours--Damon Salvatore.

And he seemed fine.

Great, actually.

A normal, sarcastically funny, suave, handsome sort of guy who took you out a few times and always behaved like a gentleman, and kissed better than anyone you'd ever kissed before.

Until this very moment, where the penny dropped, and he roared in your face with his fangs.

And you just laughed in his.

Because of course he was a vampire.

Of course you couldn't have a nice, normal thing.

Once.

Ever.

December 1985

If Eddie thought his life had been out of control before, it was safe to say that the moment he realized that it was being controlled by some Writer in another universe, it only got worse.

For a few days, there had been a break in the madness.

Well, there were some things that still fucked with Eddie's head.

Some of the posters on his walls were for bands he didn't like, his collection of exclusively DC comics became an array of Marvel titles, and his stash of porn...needless to say it was full of shit he'd never even thought about before.

He still jerked off to it, though. What else was he gonna do? Not jerk off?

But there were no out-of-body feelings, no wacky spectacles in class, no unexpected emergencies. The trailer even stayed clean for a whole week; it was a godsend.

"Does that mean it's all over?" Eddie asked when you'd arrived at his trailer for a night in.

"Unfortunately not," you sighed. "I don't know the ins and outs of it. Sometimes the story proceeds as planned. Sometimes you get long stretches of time where nothing happens. You've heard of Writer's Block? Maybe they're having trouble trying to figure out what's next for us."

"Why don't they just give up?" he huffed. "Leave us alone."

"Would you give up if you were trying to figure out some complicated plot for Hellfire?"

"Yeah, but that's different. It's just DnD. These are our lives that this asshole is playing with."

"And what if, somewhere, Agrithor the Invincible is real and getting mad because Jeff rolled a Nat 1 on a medicine check and now he has dysentery."

Eddie didn't know if he was cranky because you were right, or a little more in love with you because you had been listening to him rant about Hellfire.

"It's a learning curve," you continued. "It gets weird when you start to think of your life like a story someone is writing, waiting for the next thing to happen. Trust me. I learned that the hard way."

"So what should I do? Just go with the flow?"

"You need to, otherwise you start second guessing what's real and what isn't with everything."

"Hmmm..." He tilted his head from side to side considering your words. What's real and what isn't. A loaded statement in this predicament the two of you found yourselves in.

"So let's just enjoy our night in," you said with finality. "What's the plan? Fraggle Rock and fooling around?" You glanced around him to the setup on the coffee table. VHS tapes and cans of soda and a bowl of popcorn.

Eddie felt his cheeks getting hot with embarrassment.

"Speaking of what's real...I, uh, thought it might be fun for us to watch a few episodes of Port Geneva?"

You looked at him like he'd grown a second head; your brows raised in question, mouth dropping open in shock.

"I just...have some questions about things that didn't really make sense," he was quick to explain. "Continuity errors. Who better to ask than someone who was there?"

It took a second, but you broke down into laughter and you threw your hands up in defeat.

"You know what, as long as you order us pizza too, fuck it. Fine! Let's see what all the commotion is about."

That had been the last truly fun night for a little while--

His tapes were paused more than they played because you kept getting up to rant about scenes you disagreed with, or stories that the producers of the show simply got wrong, or key scenes that had been cut altogether.

Every time you'd get up and shout and talk with your hands and point at him to get him to understand...he loved you more and more...

--and Eddie felt bad for not taking advantage of the normalcy for as long as he could.

Because things started getting weird.

First Christmas had come, and it had been a joy.

Munson Christmases were simple affairs. More of a day for hearty food and relaxation than for any traditions or celebrations. You'd of course joined in, along with Granny Ecker, who lamented over Ronnie not being able to come home for the holiday.

Both Granny and Wayne had conspired to get you and Eddie under the mistletoe though, and had ooh'd and ahh'd when your lips met several times over the course of the night.

But Eddie looked forward to New Year's a little more than Christmas; he and the guys typically shot fireworks at the quarry and TP'd all of the jocks' houses in the middle of the night. You'd had similar New Years celebrations with your friends back in Port Geneva, so he figured it would be a treat for you to join them.

Except New Year's Eve never came.

On what was supposed to be the 31st, Eddie slept in, anticipating he'd be up all night with you and the guys. He got his backpack ready with supplies and walked out of his bedroom, only to find Wayne in the kitchen cooking.

"Did we have plans I forgot about?" he asked his uncle.

Wayne crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him.

"You getting sick, kid?" he asked. "Don't know how you could forget about Christmas."

Christmas?!

"But it's," Eddie scoffed, "it's New Years' Eve."

Wayne opened his mouth to respond when there was a knock at the door, and after a beat, you walked in with several grocery bags in hand.

"Hey guys," you greeted cheerfully. "Merry Christmas!"

Wayne repeated the sentiment and motioned for Eddie to go and help you.

"M-Merry, uh, Christmas sweetheart," he said with heavy sarcasm as he reached your side. You shot Eddie a very pointed stare. "What's going on?"

"Just go with the flow," you muttered to him, leaving no time for explanation before you and Wayne started chatting.

So that's exactly what he did.

And truly, there wasn't anything wrong about having a second Christmas.

You'd baked cookies and he'd helped you decorate them; you kissed icing off the tip of his nose and then he'd serenaded you and Wayne with carols on his guitar while It's a Wonderful Life played in the background. He honestly had so much fun, all of his complaints and questions got put to the wayside

It was the fact that the following day brought yet another Christmas.

"Alright," he demanded when you'd arrived to make popcorn garlands with him. "What the hell is going on?"

"A time loop." You explained. "A request loop, actually. The Writer must have asked for Holiday-themed requests from their readers to get themselves out of their slump. Not the first time I've been through this."

"And everyone chose Christmas?" he scoffed. "Damn, these people are boring. Halloween is the best holiday, obviously!"

"Obviously," you laughed.

"Or April Fool's Day!"

"It must be December in their world too." You cupped his face in your hands. "Listen, request loops suck and they're boring. But trust me, you got lucky that it's just holidays. It could be worse."

So of course it got worse.

Because Eddie Munson could never get so lucky as fate taking it easy on him.

The requests didn't stop with Holidays--although, it had been a nauseating gauntlet of Christmases and Thanksgivings, with one Valentine's Day and a 4th of July thrown in for good measure--they extended to other things too.

Eddie had woken up one morning with the word "faucet" stuck in his head.

No rhyme or reason.

Just "faucet."

He suspected that The Writer had something to do with it, especially as he felt a strange anticipation to interject the word into conversation at some point in the day. Like he was compelled to say it in every sentence and every conversation, but none of them felt right.

Only when Dave had gone to get a drink from the water fountain and had stuck his entire mouth on the spigot did Eddie get any relief.

"Fuck Dave, you don't know how many germs are on that faucet?" he practically gasped as the weight on his chest and his mind finally alleviated.

It happened again a few days later. An insatiable need to talk about "root beer floats" all throughout the day, until the evening when he picked you up for a date.

It had been a great date, sure, but he hated root beer.

Finally, it was the word "alluring." Not one that was usually a part of his vocabulary, but this Writer seemed to want to teach Eddie a lesson by using some fancy word.

This time, the key word was said to you during a steamy make out session on your couch. Eddie's lips traveled down the column of your throat, sucking at your pulse, and he told you how alluring you were. Your moan was delicious, and no matter how true the statement was or how much he wanted to continue, he simply couldn't find the desire to.

The moment felt tainted. All of them did. No matter how funny or sweet or hot they were; the knowledge that he was just a puppet on the Writer's strings was a sour feeling and he just couldn't shake it.

You held him in your arms as he lamented about the lack of control he felt.

"I'm sorry," you whispered into his hair as you rubbed soothing circles over his back and shoulders. "I wish I could make it better. I wish I could make it all go away."

Eddie was just so overcome with emotions and feeling so unlike himself that he asked, "what if you could?"

You paused your movements and strained to look at him, confused.

"What...what do you mean?"

"I don't..." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't know what I mean."

Yes he did.

The thoughts had begun to form the moment the words exited his mouth, until they were a tempest swirling in his mind.

"Ok," you simply dismissed, and then continued your attentions.

"Actually," he couldn't stop himself then. He pushed himself away from you and stared directly into your eyes. "I...this all started because you came to Hawkins. So maybe...maybe if you tried to leave."

He immediately saw the heartbreak in your eyes, and he knew he fucked up.

"Do you want me to leave?" you questioned softly.

Everything inside of him screamed no. Of course he didn't want you to leave. In fact, he wanted the opposite of that; he wanted you to stay with him forever. He'd been willing to sell his soul to the devil just for the chance to have you, have someone who understood him the way you did.

He was just...so...tired.

So tired in that moment, he could only focus on his own desperation. His own feelings. He hadn't even thought to consider yours.

"I just...have you ever tried to leave?" he wondered. "You said you get in your car and you come to all of these worlds; that's how you travel into these stories. Have you ever tried to get back into your car and leave? Back to Port Geneva?"

"I don't," you shook your head rapidly, hands held up in front of your face as though you were trying to manifest a physical version of the idea just so you could conceptualize it. "I don't even know how I could. Or where I would go? How to get there?"

"You said that there were times when you got to go back."

"But I'd just end up there," you explained. "I've never decided on my own that it was time to go. I don't have a map."

"Maybe that'd be the end of it all," Eddie grabbed your hands in his. "That's the key to breaking the cycle. If you decided that you wanted to leave, if you tried to go home, the Writer would be compelled to give up and our lives could both go back to normal."

Your eyes darted between his, and you calmly repeated the question, "Eddie do you want me to leave?"

He hesitated so you continued.

"You said we were in this together. You said you'd help keep me grounded and I would do the same for you." You took a deep breath and repeated yourself for a third time. "Do you want me to leave?"

It was an eternity of waiting before he finally answered.

"No, of course not." You pulled your gaze away from his, your face crumpling in a way that made his heart ache. "I just figured...it was just an idea. And it couldn't hurt to try."

He tried to talk, tried to explain himself, and went on rambling for minutes on end. He even stood up and started pacing, hands running through his hair anxiously.

He cursed the Writer for doing this to you, cursed the Writer's Block for putting the two of you in this kind of a position in the first place. Cursed the Gods and Devils for making such an inescapable Hell in the first place.

He hoped the more he talked the more you'd see his frustration, his side of things.

Or at the very least, you'd try to fight him. Yell at him. Tell him he was wrong.

But you just nodded along, refusing to look at him.

It's a learning curve, you'd told him.

Because you'd been through this a million times before, lived this nightmarish life that he was now getting to experience for the first time. Shit, you'd even loved people before you'd come here and started having feelings for him.

Loved and lost and left. Whether you wanted to or not.

He thought he'd understood that. You had thought that he thought he'd understood.

But maybe he didn't. If he thought that getting you to go was the magic solution.

He realized, in that second that he stared at you and you stared at the floor, that this life wasn't the only learning curve for him.

And he wasn't the only one with something to learn either.

You both needed to adapt.

It's a learning curve.

He decided, with a soft kiss to the side of your head and a "see you later sweetheart," that it was better to leave and give you both the space to think and adapt, instead of just standing there digging himself into a deeper hole.

It would get better.

It had to.

But who knew what tomorrow would bring?

He was on a stage playing for a crowd of thousands.

It wasn't the biggest venue they played but it was the only sold out show on the tour.

They were all singing along with him, cheering. His friends, his bandmates, surrounding him and supporting him.

The lights were blinding, he was sweating, and his fingers tapped against the fretboard rapidly until it felt like they would bleed.

He played the last few notes of the song and then threw his arm up in the air with a flourish, all to the backdrop of their cheers.

He saw his face on shirts in the crowd, saw his name, heard them chant his name.

"Eddie...Eddie...Eddie..."

He basked in the majesty of it all, so far from his meek beginnings, so far from Hawkins. If he really thought about it, he didn't even feel like himself anymore. He felt like more.

It felt great.

It felt powerful.

And it was everything he ever wanted.

He pulled the earpiece from his ear and spoke into the microphone as Dave and Jeff threw picks into the crowd.

"Thank you guys...you've been great." He laughed as they cheered for him again. "Port Geneva is one of our favorite places to play. It feels like a little bit of home away from home. The best shows, the best crowds. The best food. Anyone else going to Bonnie's after the show?"

There was a roar of applause again.

"Maybe we'll see you there. It's the main reason we keep coming back here. I always get the Number 7 on Rosemary Bread."

There was a lone boo from the pit; he pulled the mike from the stand and took a few steps to the edge of the stage, eyeing the people for the source of said boo.

There was a couple; a handsome, conventional-looking guy with very neatly combed hair, who wore a flannel over a tee from their first tour. And a girl, pretty--main character pretty--with a hand-written poster in her hands...scolding her boyfriend under her breath.

Bingo.

"We don't like hecklers at our show but if you have a better order than mine I think you need to share it with the class," Eddie grinned at them. There was something familiar about the guy...and the girl...he just couldn't place where he'd seen them before. He shook off the feeling. "Come on, I won't bite."

"If you're not getting the Bonnie Special," the guy shouted up at him, "then you're not doing it right."

The crowd around them boo'd but Eddie stopped them.

"No, no," he chuckled. "I like a guy who knows what he wants. Very metal of you man. What's your name?"

"Patrick."

"Nice to meet you Patrick. I'm Eddie." The crowd laughed. "But seriously no Rosemary bread? That's ok. More for me."

He put the earpiece back in and turned back to the guys, ready to do what he did best: keep playing.

---

Once the show was over, he and the guys indeed made a stop at Bonnie's.

The little sandwich shop was overrun with fans wanting to meet them. He shook hands and signed autographs, as people snapped pictures of them at the counter, ordering a veritable feast to-go.

Then when they got their food and Eddie's hunger got to be too great for him to wait anymore, they were sped back to their hotel.

He wished his bandmates and their manager a goodnight before ducking into his room and bolting the door behind him. He took a few steps in and flipped the light switch on.

And there, sprawled out on the bed, was a different sort of feast.

The true object of Eddie's hunger: you.

You in perfectly paired, borderline scandalous lingerie, hair and makeup impeccable, staring at him with a mirroring hunger in your eyes.

"Hey rockstar," you greeted with a predatory grin. "Kept me waiting long enough."

"Wouldn't you believe it," he smirked at you and gestured to the takeout bag in his hand. "They were out of Rosemary bread."

"That's what happens when you shout your order to a crowd of your biggest fans."

"Funny I didn't see you there."

"How else would I know that you told them your sandwich order?" you teased.

"Didn't hear you either."

"I'll scream your name tonight," you batted your lashes at him. "You'll make sure of that, big boy."

Oh yeah, it was always a boost to his ego when he got you to sing for him, scream for him.

He tossed the bag onto the dresser--for later--and then closed the distance so he could devour you.

His lips went straight for your collarbone, hands exploring your curves, eager to make you squeal; meanwhile, you made quick work of his clothes. His belt was gone instantaneously with a sharp snap, your fingers made quick work of the fly of his jeans, then you reached up to shove his jacket from his shoulders.

God, he'd been fantasizing about you for years--knew your body better than he knew his thanks to countless hours wasted on the tapes from the adult section of Family Video--and it had been a surprise to see your familiar face in the pit at that very first show in Port Geneva.

Or maybe a gift from whatever god or devil was out there.

He'd sought you out after the show and it had been instant chemistry. You both couldn't stop fawning over one another, even though it might've been a little bit more awkward on your part. But you certainly weren't shy about it.

"The rockstar and the porn star," you joked as you split that infamous Number 7 at Bonnie's after your first night together. "A real power couple."

But now it was a handful of years later, and that's exactly what you were. Names forever entwined together in gossip magazines and on each others lips--not to mention the lips of every man and woman who wanted to fuck both of you, even though that likelihood was a big fat zero.

Yeah the sex was great, but it was more than that.

It was knowing one another. Caring for one another. Especially when you were both in an industry where there was little-to-none of either of those things at all.

You'd known for a while; Eddie had found out the hard way.

That's what kept him coming back to you, coming back to a small town with a venue barely-big-enough for the band's rising fame.

Because it was your home, and you were Eddie's.

Home.

It was exactly what he thought as you pushed your panties aside and he sunk into you, wet and waiting and oh-so-deliciously tight.

"Fuck," he swore against your mouth, "I missed you."

"M-missed you too," you panted right back, squirming beneath him, waiting for him to move.

Of course, Eddie was an asshole and let you wait. Let you suffer. Shit he let himself suffer, just to savor being this close with you.

He knew once he got started, he wouldn't stop until it was over.

So he'd hold out for that one last little bit, because he knew before long, he'd be leaving home behind once again.

He wasn't a man known for patience though, and before long he began to move.

He bucked into you, kissed you, squeezed you, lavished you with attention until you were one.

It was a crescendo of feelings when he got to have you like this, his lips spilling promises before he spilled himself inside you.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love yo--

Eddie woke up with a gasp, heart racing and a wet spot growing in his boxers.

There was heavy pounding at the side door, someone slamming thier fist against it over and over again.

"Shit," he cursed. "Shit, shit, shit."

He jumped out of bed, and looked down at himself, wincing at the mixture of his embarrassment, his cum-full underwear and his rapidly-softening cock.

"Eddie, it's me," you called through the door and he froze in panic. "I know you just had a wet dream. Can you open up? It's cold out here."

How the hell did you know that?

He waddled out of his room and to the adjacent door and then let you in. You--coat thrown over your pajamas, feet in fuzzy slippers--pushed past him and headed straight for the kitchen.

"We need to talk!" You told him urgently.

"Uh," he called after you. "Can I, uh..." He gestured down at himself.

You pivoted on your heel, and then glanced from his face, down to his crotch.

Your face cycled through an array of warring emotions before it settled on bashfulness.

"Sure," you squeaked. "I'll...uh...make coffee."

Eddie locked himself in the bathroom for several minutes, listening to you bang around in the kitchen as he cleaned himself up and changed.

By the time he walked out, you were sitting at the little table, biting your nails, as two mugs sat in front of you invitingly.

"How did you know about my dream?" he asked immediately as he fell into the seat opposite you.

"Because I had one too," you said in an obvious tone.

He immediately felt his cheeks get hot, and he grabbed the steaming cup of coffee to take a sip, the scalding liquid not nearly as bad as the feelings that burned through him.

"I know...things weren't great last night," you stared once his attention was back on you, "but if shit like that's going to happen--"

"And what exactly was that?"

"That was our Writer finding their inspiration again," you explained. "Probably from one of those pesky requests. For an alternate universe. We can't exactly be...in other places. Yeah sometimes it happens, but when there's already an established world like this one...where I'm here in Hawkins...alternate universes happen in dreams."

"And are they always..." He waved his hand as he looked for the word.

"Pornographic?" The tension between you broke and two of you laughed, all worry melting instantly. "No...not always. But, uh, I guess it doesn't exactly bode well if our Writer found their inspiration for us in that AU."

Eddie swallowed hard and felt his face heat up again, for a different reason this time.

"It wasn't that bad," he muttered and you shook your head at him with a fond chuckle.

"No," you replied. "It wasn't. But, uh, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't see me naked without...I don't know, me being the one to show you."

The realization hit him too, that all of that...was all of that...was that all against both of your wills?

Sort of?

Kind of?

"It's ok," you assured him, seeing the conflict taking over his features. "I, uh...it happens a lot differently for us if either of us didn't actually want to have sex."

"Got it," he nodded, a little relieved that meant you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. But then he paused as he realized the implication...and what that meant for you in the past.

He was about to ask, to check and see if you were ok, but you quickly moved back to the original topic.

"If the Writer has found inspiration again," you began. "That means we need to be on the same page. We need to work together and support each other, because who knows what they have in store for us.

"There are a million types of stories out there. Daring adventures, fluffy romances, angsty heartbreaks. It's a bitch to deal with, honestly. We already know that this Writer wants us together, and they've already thrown wrenches into our relationship. With Steve...and Chrissy...plus the sheer unpredictability, if this dream was anything to go by...it's going to be difficult.

"So you need to be prepared," you said with a tone of finality. "We can't...you can't do what you did earlier. You've gotta keep your cool. There's no escaping this. For either of us. And you can't really fight it, but if you try to, there's definitely ways that it could make things worse for us. There's no way we can stop this until it's over. Until the story this Writer wants to tell is complete."

You reached across the table and covered Eddie's hands with your own.

"I know it's hard and I know it sucks for your world to be turned upside down," you told him gently. "But you need to hold it together. You need to listen to me, trust me. Otherwise there's no telling what might happen."

Your eyes were full of desperation, full of care, and as much as he wanted to question things--question everything--he knew now was not the time or the place.

So he assured you, without a hint of doubt or question in his voice, "I trust you."

Then he turned his hands so your fingers could twine together, and he squeezed.

"And don't worry," he smiled. "You can trust me too."

Next Chapter: Friends to Lovers

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

[eroselless]

❦ elle or ellie. twenty-three. she/her. colombian.

❦ currently obsessed with some dudes that drive fast cars. 

I write a lot of +18 content, minors dni 

❦ info about requesting:

my request are currently open. however, it might take me a bit to get some time since i can get a little busy with schoolwork for uni.

feel free to request anything for F1, HOTD, Harry Potter, or any other tags you see floating around my page!

❦ I do not post on any other platforms. If you see my work plagiarized anywhere else, please let me know!

❦ I've been going through a bit of a dry spell so my masterlist might look a little sparse. all my writing is linked below!

[aegon targaryen]

SOMMER HOUSE- modern!HOTD AU

[carlos sainz]

TOA LA NOCHE ESTABA LOCA POR PROBARTE

[lando norris]

LAY UR HANDS ON ME I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME - pt 2 OF LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME

[charles leclerc]

UNDERNEATH YOUR CLOTHES

[series]

PATO - charles leclerc x reader , carlos sainz x reader SOMEBODY ELSE -lando norris x reader

Artwork

cs55 cl16

If you want to support my writing you can buy me a coffee over on Ko-Fi

Discontinued works

Sebastian Stan

Hopelessly Devoted [one] [two]

Bucky Barnes

Red Swan [prologue] [one]

Ethan Dolan

Life saver [one shot]

In the center of the ring [one shot]

Grayson Dolan

"I love you, please don't leave me..." [blurb]

Linger [one shot]

The floor is lava [one shot]

Shawn Mendes

Señorita [one]

[cinnamontails-ff]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @roguishcat ❤ I love getting to chat about these things.

When did you start writing?

I know this sounds cheesy, but the answer is probably as soon as I could hold a pen. My grandma still has stacks of little stories I wrote (and illustrated ...) when I was a kid. Very cute, but I'm glad I gave up on drawing in the meantime.

I've been writing on and off ever since, but it wasn't until I was in my mid twenties that I decided I'd actively pursue a career in writing. I wrote a few original novels, none of which were ever successful in the world of traditional publishing, then got into fanfiction as a way of rekindling my joy. Once I'm done with my current fic, I'm ready to try with traditional publishing again. Maybe it'll work this time, maybe not, but I guess the bottom line is that I'll always write in some capacity.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really like stories that are a little unsettling. Not horror, per se (I'm a coward), but those underlying creepy vibes, especially when they come wrapped up in beautiful language and actually end up culminating in something cool toward the end of the story. "Uprooted" by Naomi Novik comes to mind, "The Devil and the Dark Water" by Stuart Turton, and "Portrait of the Pale Elf" by @larvasmoon.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Terry Pratchett is the person who first sold me on the English language. Prior to his books, I'd never seen anyone use English in such a fun, cheeky yet poignant way, and it's definitely something I find myself emulating (all while hopefully putting my own spin on it). I have been compared to him a few times and it's always made my day.

Oh, and I guess Stephen Sommers because people compare my fic to "The Mummy" a lot. Which honestly, is just as flattering.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

At my desk, with a mechanical keyboard. Not because I'm a hipster but because I have absolutely destroyed my laptop's keyboard and then the shop where I'd buy the replacement keys stopped selling my model and I refuse to replace the whole laptop.

I need a sense of quiet when I write. Usually, I write early in the morning before I go to work, and it's honestly my favorite time of the day. It's dark and quiet, I'm all alone, and the day still feels so fresh and full of possibility. I cannot write in public; I find it too distracting. Occasionally, when I'm very in the zone, I'll edit at work but it's never quite as productive.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Go and hunt that bitch down. I know many people love romanticizing their craft and if it helps them to light scented candles or play aesthetic playlists - go for it! For me, the most powerful tool is routine. Knowing that every morning I will sit down and I will write, whether I feel like it or not. Sometimes I drag my feet the whole time, sometimes things click into place and suddenly, I'm having the best time ever. But I will always put words on the page and for me, there's no better feeling than having written (past tense).

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

You probably know this, but I really, really love stories where a regular guy/gal saves the day. It makes me so happy to see the evil vampire lord taken out by the mousy accountant, the fountain pen striking harder than the sword. I think it's because I like to read about real people. People that you could have met in real life, that seem simple on the outside, but have all this strength locked up inside. It's why I dislike stories with picture perfect beauty goddesses that always have the perfect quip, always take out their opponents with 1 blow because they're just that special.

Normal people are special, too. You just need to look a little harder to see.

What is your reason for writing?

I believe it was Brandon Sanderson who said "Stories are like real life but with the boring parts removed". That has really resonated with me. I think the beautiful thing about stories is that they can portray very real issues and conflicts in a way that is infinitely more satisfying because it's all been arranged just so. It can give you closure, it can make you see something in an entirely new light without feeling confrontational. It's like a really, really good conversation with the author and I hope that's what my writing feels like as well.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Two things. I love when readers point out specific lines they enjoyed and I love it when they tell me they reread my work. The term "comfort read" makes me particularly happy because that's exactly how I reread my favorite stories as well.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I think the most important part to me is that my stories feel real. I dislike pretentious, over-the-top writing where you can tell the author is trying super hard to sound clever or sexy or just drowns you in heaps of cheap, undeserved drama that never leads anywhere. With my stories, I want things to feel earned. Natural. Maybe you wouldn't have made those choices, but it makes sense that these characters would have and now we're looking at the very real consequences of their actions.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character voice, specifically in 3rd person limited. My favorite type of narration because I love getting into a character's head and making you see things through their eyes.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I think every writer struggles with their confidence here and there. I've gone through so many cycles in the past 1.5 years, it's kind of crazy. Going from constant failure in the world of publishing to writing your very first fanfiction just for fun and then having it blow up out of nowhere, all these people showering you in praise, only for the vast majority of them to disappear immediately afterward is a lot to process. We write for ourselves, yes, but as a writer, you can't help but take reader responses to heart. Fortunately, I've never let it influence what I write or how I write; it really only affects my mental state. I know what I like to read and those are the stories I am going to tell, whether they're successful or not.

Aww, this was fun! Tagging @larvasmoon @davenswitcher @pickel182 @karinamay @pouroverpaloma ❤ ❤ ❤