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afewproblems · 1 year

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Okay, so I couldn't leave this alone so here is a Stranger Things Pride and Prejudice Steddie AU One shot!

There are two truths universally acknowledged, one being that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a spouse, the second is that Stephen Harrington the third is a bastard.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man as Stephen Harrington may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this first truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property and target of some one or other of their daughter or sons, despite the nature of his rather frightful personality.

Now, he was not truly a bastard -not in the way that you may be thinking dear reader, no.

The Harringtons were wed in an opulent ceremony that had not left the lips of the citizens in the surrounding hamlets and towns for nearly a decade. The pair were not particularly well loved, nor were they even reasonably well liked, however, their fortune allowed them considerable influence over the land and much of the people around it. Perhaps, in part, because of the lavish balls and beautiful grounds they were held upon.

A child had been born to Phillip and Emma Harrington upon their third year of marriage, a healthy boy that grew up in wealth and comfort, becoming the very bastard that had plagued Edward's every waking moment with his arrogant manner and beautiful brown eyes.

It was an opinion not only cultivated by several interactions that left Edward puzzled and irritable, but by a troubling anecdote from the affable Lieutenant Hargrove.

To withhold a sizable income, hoarding so much wealth all to one's self for what, for seemingly no reason at all?

When the Munsons survived on a mere two thousand a year to sustain the 7 of them, and with his elderly uncles failing health, he was beginning to worry.

And perhaps worst of all, that he had been the direct cause of his dear sister's broken heart.

Nancy had been devastated when she received the letter from Caroline Buckley, telling her that both the Buckleys, Caroline and her lovely sister Robin, and Harrington were returning to London with no plans to return.

It didn't matter how many times Nancy assured Edward that she was fine, it did not cover up the soft weeping from behind the door of the room she and Ell shared.

William, Dustin, and Ell came to Edward the next day with concerns for their eldest sibling, strong, whip smart, even-tempered Nancy who kept her heart so often sequestered that to hear of her open sorrows left Edward gutted and the youngest siblings morose for days.

He knew this was Stephen's doing, since Colonel Byers had so graciously told him so.

It had been at a sermon, not Edwards idea of an exciting afternoon when there were books to be read, stories to tell, or songs to sing, but it certainly appeased his wonderful friend Chrissy to see her so happy and taken care of, despite her bore of a new husband, Jason.

Byers was an agreeable fellow, Edward was certain there was no reason that he and Harrington should be so close, but the universe was certainly owed at least one mystery, and Byers was good humored enough to find Edward charming - so Edward chose not to examine it too closely.

“So how long do you plan to stay in Kent Colonel?” Edward asks softly, happy for the opportunity to ignore the dry sermon taking place before them.

Jonathan smiles warmly though his gaze remains unbroken, eyes staring straight ahead of him, “As long as Harrington chooses, I’m at his disposal”.

Edward snorts and leans forward to tip his face into the hand balanced on his own knee at the elbow, “Everyone appears to be at his disposal,” he finds Stephen in the crowd easily, there is no mistaking him, “It’s no wonder he doesn’t marry and secure lasting convenience of that kind,” he murmurs, waggling his eyebrows at the Colonel.

Jonathan smiles though it's considerably smaller this time,“They would be lucky,” he says earnestly.

“Really?”

Jonathan nods, “Harrington is a most loyal companion, from what I heard on our journey here, he recently came to the rescue of one of his closest friends just in time.”

Edward sits up, dropping his hand away from his face and turning his body further to face both the Colonel and Stephen, “What happened?”

Jonathan whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “He saved her from an imprudent marriage--”

Edwards' heart rate increases, his palms begin to sweat, “...Who?”

Across the pews he can see Stephen sitting there, dark eyes downcast, long brown hair sweeping over his forehead in gentle waves, but he seems tired, bored, Edward hates him just a little more.

“His closest friend, Robin Buckley”.

Time slows down, it feels as though the world has been plunged into the darkest depths of the ocean and Edward is swimming to the surface, his breathing stutters slightly as he exhales slowly through his nose, “Did Mr. Harrington give a reason for this interference?”

Jonathan nods again, “There were apparently strong objections to the lady,” he says softly, he glances at Edward once before turning forward once more, his expression betraying nothing.

“What kind of objections?” Edward stammers, “Her lack of fortune?”

“No, I think it was her family that was considered unsuitable,”

No…

“So…” Edward whispers, the words slice over his lips and teeth, “he separated them”.

“I believe so, but I know nothing else”.

It had been luck that Byers had no idea who Edward was, who he was to Nancy and who he was to Stephen.

It allowed him ammunition to arm himself with.

His fury knows no bounds, how dare he, how dare this scoundrel, this villain! Edward stalks through the hills outside of town, the distant sounds of thunder and the deep gray clouds painting the skies do not deter him from his path. He breathes deeply and sweeps the long curls away from his face where they’ve escaped from the leather cord tying the locks back. He should have allowed Chrissy to braid it for him like she offered to before they left.

No point now.

Rain begins pattering around him, starting small before suddenly beginning in earnest, he curses under his breath and takes off towards a short stone bridge with a strange monument on the other side, whatever it was, it was at least sheltered.

Edwards chest heaves by the time he reaches the end of the bridge, he brings his hair around to squeeze out the worst of the water, there is no hope for the rest of his clothes, they will need to be hung to dry when he arrives back at Rosings estate to tell Chrissy what he’s learned.

He raises his hands to his face to wipe away the moisture, the Munson family ring glints in the low light and his chest aches with the sight of it.

Oh Nancy.

He hardly notices a figure that walks up the steps, tall, dressed in blue wool that has deepened to a near black with the rain.

Edward gasps and coughs to cover up his short lived fright as he finally notices him, Harrington.

He stands there awkwardly, his normally perfect hair is drenched, flat against his forehead and ears. His nose and cheeks are pink with the cold and there is nothing endearing about this whatsoever.

“Mr. Munson,” Stephen says, the deep timbre of his voice loud over the gentle hum of the cascading rain, “I have struggled in vain, and I can bear it no longer.”

What?

“These last few months have been a torment,” he continues when Edward presents no argument, “I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you, I, I had to see you…” and here he appears to lose his nerve, his mouth opens and closes until he clears his throat and swallows roughly.

“I fought against my better judgment, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth and my rank, the circumstance of all of these things that I am willing to put aside to ask you to end my agony”.

“I don’t understand,” Edwards says, he’s speaking so quickly, it's ridiculous--

“I love you”.

Edward blinks.

“Most ardently,” Stephen says softly, it's nearly indistinguishable from the patter of the rain and the thundering of Edward's heart, “please do me the honor of accepting my hand”.

He was right, it was ridiculous, and rude, it does top Carver’s bumbling attempts at a proposal though which he thought would be near impossible.

“Sir I,” Edward says eventually, haltingly, “I appreciate the struggle you have been through and I am very sorry to have caused you pain,” Edward lies, “believe me, it was unconsciously done”

Stephen’s honey brown eyes close as his expression shutters, “Is this your reply?”

“Yes sir,” Edward bites out.

“Are you,” Stephen says in a near whisper, “are you laughing at me?”

If Edward didn’t hate him so much at this moment he would pity him, the heartfelt confession disappearing into smoke as Edward burns it down.

“No,” and he really isn’t.

“Are you rejecting me?” Stephen says, he finds his voice once more, the volume climbing back above a whisper as a thread of irritation pulls through the words.

You don’t get to be angry, Edward thinks viciously, you get nothing.

“I’m sure that the feelings, as which you have told me, have hindered your regard will help you in overcoming it”.

Stephen blinks and takes one step forward, they are of similar heights, Stephen just slightly taller than himself but he refuses to let the proximity intimidate him, “Might I ask why with so little endeavor to civility I must repulse--”

“And I might as well inquire why you chose to tell me you loved me against your better judgment--” Edward shouts,

“No, believe me--”

“If I was uncivil then that is no excuse,” he speaks over him, the words continue to fall out in bursting shouts that would echo over the hills were it for the thunder and rain around them, “but I have other reasons you know I have!”

“What reasons?” Stephen says as his brow furrows, and Edward wants to shake him.

“Do you think that anything would tempt me to accept the hand of the man that has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

Stephen’s shoulders drop ever so slightly, his expression resigned but still determined.

“Do you deny it Mr. Harrington?” Edward nearly snarls, moving in for the kill, “that you separated a young couple who loved each other, exposing your friend to a world of caprice, and my sister to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind--”

“I do not deny it,” Stephen says softly, his eyes bore into Edwards own, they have not left his face once.

“How could you do it?” Edward whispers, the words are frayed though, jagged as they make their way out.

“Because,” Stephen says, “I believed your sister indifferent”.

He says it so matter-of-factly, as though speaking the truth.

“Indifferent?” Edward scoffs.

“I watched them most carefully and realized that Miss Buckley’s attachment was deeper than that of your sisters--”

“That's because she’s shy!” Edward blurts out, he won’t have this, this blatant attack on Nancy’s character, she means too much to him while Stephen means nothing, the bastard.

“Buckley too is modest and was persuaded that she didn’t feel strongly enough--”

“Because you suggested it!”

They’re shouting now, both of them inching ever closer, clouds of angry breath undulate together in the cool air as they share the space.

“I did it for her own good!”

“My sister hardly shows her true feelings to me, to any of us!” Edwards chest heaves as he realizes what he’s said, he shakes his head and looks away from the stricken expression on Stephens face.

Edward swallows sharply, the words come out smoother than he feels, “I suppose you suspected her, her fortune had some bearing on the matter--”

“No,” Stephen yells, speaking over Edward as he rears back in surprise, “I wouldn’t do your sister the dishonor, though it was suggested that…”

“What was?”

Stephen hesitates for a moment, his eyes flick between Edwards own before he breathes out, “It was made perfectly clear that an advantageous marriage--”

“Did my sister give you that impression?” Edward hisses, taking a step forward of his own.

“No! No, no, there was however, I have to admit, the matter of your family--”

“Our want of connection?”

At this Stephen looks away, his chest rises in barely restrained frustration if the clenching and unclenching fingers mean anything, but Edward presses on, “Miss Buckley didn't seem too concerned about any of that--”

“It was more than that”.

“How sir,” Edward growls, his jaw set and teeth nearly bared.

“It was the lack of propriety shown by your aunt, your younger siblings, and on occasion your uncle”.

“Forgive me,” he says eventually, the words nearly startle Edward after so long with only the quiet hum of the rain around them, “you and your sister I must exempt from these conclusions”.

Edward stops from rolling his eyes, though its a near thing, he takes a deep breath and speaks, “And what about Mr. Hargrove?”

This seems to catch Stephen off guard, he flinches and frowns,“Mr…Hargrove?”

“What excuse can you give for your behavior to him?” Edward continues, leaving his tone sharp and his words biting, he crosses his arms as Stephen strides towards him suddenly.

“You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns!” He grinds out, his brown eyes scanning Edwards own with a sneer.

“He told me of his misfortunes--”

“Oh yes,” Stephen mutters, “his misfortunes have been very great indeed”.

He shakes his head and steps back, rubbing his hand roughly through his wet hair, tossing it out of his eyes, his face drops to the ground as he refuses to look at Edward.

“You have ruined his chances and yet treat him with sarcasm?”

Stephen laughs bitterly and shakes his head, his hands come up to hold his hips with a white knuckle grip, “So this is your opinion of me,” he whispers darkly, he raises his head to meet Edwards gaze once more, “Thank you for explaining so fully, perhaps these offenses might have been overlooked if your pride had not been hurt--”

“My pride?” Edward shouts.

“--by my honesty in admitting reservations about our relationship”.

Stephen scoffs, whipping out a hand to gesture towards Edward, “Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?”

“And those are the words of a gentleman?” Edward barks out, he steps forward, tilting his chin up just slightly, “from the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, made me realize that you were the last man in the world I would ever be prevailed upon to marry”.

Stephen recoils as though slapped, he takes a step back and then another, his face pales considerably as he raises his hand to pinch his nose briefly before lowering it slowly.

“Forgive me,” he says eventually, the words so soft Edward nearly misses them, “for taking up so much of your time,” he tilts his head slightly towards Edward before turning abruptly on his heel, stalking down the steps and back the way he had come.

Edward stands there, breathing heavily, ignoring the sharp sting and heat behind his eyes as he blinks back frustrated tears.

Damn him.

***

Hours later once Edward had made his way back to Rosings, walking through the mud and the rain, considering the shouting match that had taken place over and over, the words play on a terrible loop in his mind.

Chrissy helps him change out of the cold sopping wet clothes, and starts a fire in the guest room, he ignores the diatribe that Jason begins, gesturing with his bible and at the deluge that continues outside. Edward sits numbly at their kitchen table until Chrissy takes him by the arm back to his room.

He tells her everything, every terrible word, every excuse Stephen lobbed at him while he was gone. Chrissy listens patiently, holding his hand in her smaller ones as he speaks.

“Once I started I couldn’t stop, the words were coming out like bile,” he mutters listlessly. Chrissy wrinkles her nose and stands up from the end of the bed, she crosses over to the small desk against the wall. There atop the glossy brown surface, sitting in the soft glow of the brass candelabra is a letter.

She grabs it with soft hands and walks back towards the bed where Edward is perched curiously.

“He came by earlier,” Chrissy says simply, holding out the paper, “said this was for you, hoped it would clear the air a bit”.

Edward takes it, the letter feels heavy in his hands as he smooths shaking fingers over the seam of the paper and the small wax seal.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Chrissy whispers as she squeezes his shoulder briefly before making her way back to the door, letting it close softly behind her.

Edward takes a deep breath and cracks the seal, unfolding the papers as he begins to read.

‘I'm not going to renew the sentiments which were so disgusting to you, but to address the two offenses you have laid against me.

I had not long been in Hertfordshire before I saw that Miss Buckley preferred your eldest sister. I observed my friend's behavior attentively and I could perceive that her partiality for Miss Munson was beyond what I have ever witnessed in her.

Yet when I observed your sister, I detected no symptom of peculiar regard, and witnessed only the family's coarse appetite for having their children married favorably. And so in London, perhaps erroneously, I persuaded her of the unfitness of the match, citing your sister's coolness towards her. It would not have been the first time her heart had been trampled.

It was unknowingly done and though the motives which governed me, may to you appear naturally insufficient, they were done to protect my closest friend.

Edward rolls his eyes and scoffs but continues reading.

As to the other more serious matter.

As you may not know, my sister, Maxine was adopted as a babe. My parents had always wanted a girl and were not able to conceive a second time. They did, with their wealth and power, manage to find a baby to bring home with no questions asked.

I loved her from the moment she came home. She was my sister, she was ours.

What I’m sure Mr. Hargrove has neglected to tell you, is that he came to us out of the blue claiming a familial relationship to Maxine. Demanding money for his silence, to continue the narrative that the Harringtons had no skeletons in their closets, nothing to hide.

My parents would pay him to the tune of $3000 so he could do as he wished, fritter it away on drink and gambling, but silently.

At first.

Over the years he demanded more money, always more, he was a leach whose thirst was never quenched.

Eventually, at their wits end my parents told him it was over, Maxine was nearly fifteen and they were ready to tell her about her origins. Hargrove would have nothing to hold over their heads if the secret was out.

But perhaps the worst part was that this man, this stranger, had never really been related to Maxine at all. He had been a records clerk in London and stumbled onto the entire plot, sheer terrible circumstance brought this vile man into our midst.

No, and we had found out this appalling truth upon discovering that he had connived a relationship with my sister whom he had persuaded to be in love with and nearly made her consent to an elopement. All under our noses.

At this, Edward nearly drops the letter, he quickly scrambles to grab the paper, bringing it back up to the light. Oh Gods.

His prime objective all this time had been to obtain her inheritance of thirty thousand pounds.

Upon this discovery we nearly killed each other, the only thing stopping the whole mess was Maxine. I will forever regret that she had to see such violence.

I was lucky enough to persuade my sister of her folly. I hope that this goes some way to mitigate my behavior in your eyes. If you doubt my word please have it confirmed by my cousin Colonel Byers.’

The last page falls on the bed, away from Edwards shaking hands. He presses his fingers into his eyes until white sparks dance across his vision.

He doesn’t know what to make of this.

How could he?

Let me know what you think! (special shout out to @flowercrowngods for bouncing a few ideas around about this!)

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #pride and prejudice au #enemies to loves #eddie is elizabeth #steve is darcy #I could probably keep going with this au #this was terribily fun to write but really werid to keep putting edward over and over

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envyadams-vs-me · 2 years

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Okay hear me out-

Pride and Prejudice + Steddie

LIKE!!

Steve being too proud to believe 'the freak' is anything but that, and Eddie believing that Steve is a selfish jerk.

But they're lives get intertwined with the kids and Steve starts to realize that Eddie isn't just a 'freak' and he's been completely enamored with him this whole time. Eddie refuses to believe that Steve is actually a good guy who genuinely loves him, it's gotta be a prank right? So he turns Steve down.

Then Dustin just won't shut up about Steve being a good guy and when Eddie is actually forced to look at the bigger picture he sees a lonely kid who's just playing a role he was forced into.

Then when the pair can hardly stand it anymore they finally end their stubbornness and come together. They're kissing and tears and maybe a few fake gags from the kids. But most importantly they're happy and I'm love.

Brb crying 😭😭

#i just think their personalities are perfect for Elizabeth and Darcy #steve is darcy #eddie is elizabeth #imagine the rain scene-#it'd be so good!!#might come back to this later #steddie pride and prejudice au #steddie #steddie stranger things #steddie st #steddie drabble

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glitterfang · 6 months

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Heard y’all wanna cry about Eddie and his mom?

#Eddie Munson #Elizabeth Munson #I made her look like Molly tho >:)#Molly Munson

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chronicowboy · 1 year

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#sami rambles #these are all i can remember #but i'm genuinely excited to find out other peoples scenes #911 fox #buddie #rogue one #jyn x cassian #rebelcaptain #crooked kingdom #kanej #buck x eddie #kaz x inej #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin x arthur #pride and prejudice #elizabeth x darcy

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 4 months

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Wayne was there when Eddie was born. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Al was, of course, completely missing. He was a small, pink, angry looking thing. He came out ready to yell at the world, ready to tell his story. When Eddie was placed in his arms, Wayne was ready to listen to whatever he had to say.

"Edward Wayne Munson," Elizabeth said, a tired smile on her face.

"You named him after me," Wayne said, tears filling his eyes.

Elizabeth reached and took his hand. He touch was warm against his, despite how cold the hospital room was.

"You're here," Elizabeth said. "And that means more to me than you could ever know."

Eddie continued to cry loudly, and Wayne smiled. His mama, Eddie's grandmother, had always been a loud. Claimed that she had to speak loudly in order for people to hear her from where she was. It might be that Eddie was the same way. He rocked Eddie and made shushing noises to calm him down. Finally, he brushed a finger against Eddie's soft cheek. Suddenly, Eddie wrapped his tiny hand around his finger, and Wayne's heart nearly burst out of his chest. From that moment on, he knew that Eddie was his boy.

It was the first memory that came to him when Dustin Henderson told him that his boy was gone. Wayne was a quiet man, but in that moment, he wanted to be loud and rage at the world that he would never hold his boy again. And when they told him they found his body, it nearly broke him completely in two.

Now, here he was sitting in the hospital and watching Eddie lay in the bed. His chest was rising and falling, but he wasn't awake. He silently pleaded with anyone who would hear him to let his boy wake up. Wayne knew that Eddie didn't really need him, but that it was Wayne who needed him. Wayne took his hand, and even though he had grown, Eddie's hand still looked so small to him.

"Please, don't go," Wayne whispered and moved to pull his hand back when Eddie's suddenly grabbed his.

"You're here," Eddie croaked.

Wayne's face split into a wide grin, and he let out a sob.

"Always, boy," Wayne said and cupped his face.

Eddie smiled and uttered a word that meant so much to him, a word that he had never called Wayne. It was a word that let Wayne know how much Eddie appreciated his presence.

"Dad."

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #wayne munson #wayne & eddie #good ol' uncle wayne #elizabeth munson #stranger things fanfiction #rueleigh writes

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gatabella · 4 months

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Elizabeth Taylor in Las Vegas by Douglas Kirkland, 1961

#elizabeth taylor #douglas kirkland #eddie fisher

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mistikfir · 8 months

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Elizabeth I (2005)

#perioddramaedit #hugh dancy #hughdancyedit #eddie redmayne #eddieredmayneedit #elizabeth i #tudors #robert devereux #Earl of Essex #southampton #bethmake #mistikfiredit

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powderblueblood · 5 months

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bethy on beale street

eddie tells lacy the story of how al munson and elizabeth franklin met in memphis, tennessee. or, love is a grilled cheese sandwich. (2k) cw: sickening fluff, me making shit up about beale street, al munson is a junior sleaze but is no match for elizabeth franklin and her sunshine smile. taggin @dieaverage & @fracturedarkness x

part of the hellfire & ice universe

"oh, this is pathetic."

you push your lower lip out a little further, gesturing to the blackened thing of jiffy pop with the pitiful enthusiasm of a door-to-door salesman that needs to make one last sale or else she's giving her exhaust pipe a blow job. "eddie."

"was that your dinner?" he asks, gesturing to the failed science experiment in your hand with the cigarette in his.

a couple of incinerated kernels fall out the bottom. you nod, eyes shiny. he rolls his head around on his neck, groaning with a fervor. he's such a fucking sucker.

"fine! get in here-- you're so goddamn lucky wayne's doing overtime--"

"oh, otherwise i'd starve!" you say, brightening up immediately as you hop through the door of the munson trailer.

"otherwise you'd starve."

"emaciated!"

"a dessicated corpse come monday."

and come a few moments later, you're biting into the most heavenly grilled cheese you've ever had. like, really. the cheese is plastic and gooey and dripping and a string of it clings to your chin. eddie, the chef de cuisine, points for you to clear that up. you'd really underestimated what this boy could do with a pan-- you didn't even think he owned a pan.

watching him whip up this little number with the cigarette still dangling from his mouth was... mystifying. if entirely unhygienic. but if that's what you're putting up with for how this thing tastes...

"s's very good," you say with your mouth full.

"don't they teach you not to talk with your mouth full at miss porter's finishing school for prisses?"

you pinch your brow and give him the finger.

"better be careful," eddie says, tone sauteing in warning as he reaches forward and nudges that offending finger back into your little fist, "this is exactly how my parents got together."

your eyes flare as you wipe some grease off your lower lip. eddie rarely talks about his parents, just like you rarely talk about yours-- for a bouquet of reasons. bonding over your shared daddy issues is difficult when they're criminal accomplices-turned-enemies or whatever.

or maybe it's easier. you two just hadn't tried it yet.

"really?"

"tale as old as time," eddie sighs, sitting backwards on one of the two kitchen chairs and picking up the salt and pepper shakers.

"he was a line cook." shake shake. "she was a waitress." shake shake. "he could not leave the state of tennessee. they used no discernible form of birth control and figured that was a good enough reason to say 'i do'."

"how did they end up here?"

"well, soon as i was let loose upon the world, dad decided he was a little homesick--" eddie's eyelids sag sardonically, "--read, he had to go somewhere and cool off. hawkins is as good a place as any for that, unless you're al munson and trouble draws you in like a fucking electromagnetic force."

there's a beat.

"what part of tennessee?"

he doesn't expect you to ask that. knocks him out of his facetious narration. makes him twist his ring a little, like he's debating whether to tell you or not.

"um. memphis."

you smile, all knowingly. "beale street."

he smiles back, warming back up.

because of course you wouldn't say graceland first.

because you're pretentious and you're psychic, or something, because you're the goddamn oracle of delphi and you'd know to say beale street because...

franklin's diner was on beale street. still could be, eddie doesn't know, because they left memphis when he was still a baby. what he did remember, from what he could remember of his mom and what al rarely trickled into conversation, was that franklin's diner was an institution.

franklin's was beloved. it was the kind of place that slung hash and sausage to people twenty-four hours a day. those people ranged from civilians to cops to politicians to musicians to poets to drunks to degenerates. the hierarchy broke down at franklin's-- everyone was the same. everyone took their hat off at the door and said their pleases and thank yous and ate together. and laughed together. and told stories together.

whoever you were outside of that didn't matter.

so it stood to reason that a man on probation could get a job there.

al munson avoided a stay in the federal correctional institution in good ol' shelby county by the skin of his dazzling midwestern teeth. friends (because friends come by easy for al-- look in any dark, shady corner and there's a friend) had told him to make for franklin's, because not only is there work, but there's work.

and women.

seemed as if back of house was staffed by nothing but a pirate crew of ex-(and soon-to-be)-cons (which ain't a bad transition out of the big house, if you think about it), but front of house?

some of the most dee-vine fading beauties that memphis had to offer. one-time contenders for miss tennessee, each and every one of them, were it not for... the missing teeth, the bum eye, the drinking, the swearing, the smoking, the cussing out the customers.

al, as you can imagine, flourished in this environment. plucky little upstart sleazeball who handled women like don juan by way of some shitstain in indiana no one'd ever heard of? they loved him. cherished him.

and al, a lover of women of any shape, size or moral decrepitude, cherished them right back. in every imaginable way.

("gross." "i know, but stick with me.")

that turned south one sweltering august day when poppy franklin (which is what they called the big man who owned the place) came huffing in after a five-foot-nothing spitfire with a fried blonde dye job.

"y'know what, poppy, fine!" she yelled, her accent ringing through the diner like high, fine crystal tainted by smoke. "you want me as part of the family business, then i am more than happy to oblige-- but i got conditions! if i'm workin' my shift, we are listenin' to my music!"

she grabbed each side of the jukebox like the wheels of a high powered rally car, tongue peeking out the side of her sugar pink lips, eye squinting.

"c'mon, girl," poppy gasped, clutching at the counter. "goddamn ernie ford ain't music?"

"no!" she barked, and she swung around with this megawatt smile that filled her whole face-- filled the whole diner.

"this is music!"

and that first lick of hoodoo man blues rips through the jukebox speakers and the place goes up.

("hoodoo man blues? i don't think i know that." a beat. "what? but you know everything." a lingering kind of look. "i don't know everything! only most of everything." "i'll play it for you." "i'd like that. anyway. as you were.")

so, this little chickie dipped around the back to grab an apron and ran smack bang into al, who'd been ignoring his darla-of-the-week to watch this whole flurry play out via the service window.

she knocked the wind out of him. like, clean deflation.

"he- hey." first time al munson has ever stuttered, ever, on record.

"indiana, right?" she kept on smiling, like it'd hurt to stop, and dug this prefixed name tag out of the apron. "yeah, they said you was pretty."

all al could muster was this huff, like 'heh!' because she was looking at him with these eyes, just picking him apart and putting him back together with this look on her face that felt like the first blast of sunshine out of the joint.

which he knew about, right. so that mattered.

"bethy?" he pointed to the nametag.

"holy crow, and he's literate! you're a real diamond in the rough, there, indiana!"

and she threw her head back and cackled like a hyena and al munson knew he was done for. lights out. game over. see y'all next time! y'all come back soon now!

elizabeth 'bethy' franklin had landed back in memphis after an ill-guided attempt to rebel in nashville. she made it about a month until she became incredibly homesick, because bethy franklin was raised around love and family and music and nashville had the music part and some of the love part, and as much as she wanted to do something completely independent of her family, she missed her people. wasn't her time. so she came back, with a shitty blonde dye job that made a mess of her natural red curls.

and she was as effervescent as she was when she was a kid; always had a smile for everybody, and a dirty joke for everybody she liked. and she insisted on pumping that chicago blues out of the jukebox during every shift, dancing her way around that diner. the customers didn't even give a shit when she messed up their orders-- she was that magnetic.

al spent the next three weeks trying everything he could to take her out.

"bethy, you like ribs?" "you know i do, al, and you know i know every rib joint in town." "bethy, you wanna go for a drive?" "last i saw, i was the only one of us with a car!" "bethy, i just got this record by these dudes, uh, the aces--" "you better not be tryin' to impress me with things i already know, indiana!"

she made him work harder than he'd ever worked in his life-- much to the chagrin of every other waitress in the joint, who he'd tossed by the wayside in pursuit of the heiress to the finest, dirtiest diner on beale street.

the only day that franklin's closed was new year's day. poppy had even made it a longstanding rule that they could finish up early on new year's eve, around eight o'clock, to get at least some of the night's dancin' in.

as if they weren't already sick of each other's company, the diner staff stuck together like a pack of rats, descending on downtown memphis and causing a ruckus in the bars. one favored spot of the franklin family, this little tin roof bar that dealt mostly in country music, even called on bethy by name from the stage.

"well, let's see now-- looks like the prodigal daughter has returned safe and sound from the armpit of our national nudie suit, nashville, tennessee! you goin' git up and give us a tune, miss bethy franklin?"

and again, that voice rung clear but raspy, clean through the room and al’s aching heart, "well, i would, john, but your guitar player's just been kicked out the bar!"

"i can play." and al munson stepped up to the plate, to the stage, and he held that gibson like it was excalibur and he'd just yanked the sword out of that goddamned stone.

"you can play?"

"anything you want."

bethy covered the microphone and stared al down with a challenge. "long-legged guitar pickin' man."

which sounded like an insult, but he ripped them first couple chords off like it was nothing.

("and the crowd went up?" "and the crowd went up.")

she could sing, that girl. al too, but she had a voice like a nightingale. and she had him singing that same stupid song as midnight approached, sucking down cigarettes outside the bar. then, twenty minutes to go-time, bethy materialized in front of al and said--

"i could eat."

which is a terrific thing to say to a line cook, especially one that has since decided he would sacrifice the world and its riches just for a minute alone with you.

"bethy franklin, i'm gonna make you a grilled cheese so good, you're gonna ask my father for my hand in marriage."

so they high-tailed in back to their diner, down the street, breaking in with bethy's spare set of keys. al fired up the grill with white bread and all-american cheese on hand and bethy fired up the jukebox and danced herself around the kitchen to where do you go to, my lovely.

("oh, wow." "yeah, thought that might tickle your sensibilities.")

in about ten minutes flat, al was watching bethy insistently pick her sandwich up from his spatula, even though he was insisting she'd burn those pretty hands.

"these hands are fireproof, indiana. they can survive anythin'."

"they gonna survive how good that grilled cheese is, bethy?"

and bethy didn't hold back. she let her eyes roll right back in her head, humming out her mm-mm-mm! credit where credit's due. ate the whole thing in three bites.

"it's elizabeth, by the way."

al looked confused, but something on her face told him to remember this. the eyes that were usually sparkling with light had dimmed a touch; a more intimate setting of her gaze, if you will.

"that nickname. been drivin' me crazy my whole life. kinda... whassa word, diminutive, y'know? i like my name-- it's big and solid and important, don't you think?"

al shook his head and took elizabeth in. the whole big shining beacon of her, the one he'd let himself be burned right up in. singed, to a crisp. moth, meet flame. you get the idea.

and he said, "only one way we could make that name sound better."

"how'zat?" she asked.

and he said, "if we made it elizabeth munson."

and elizabeth smiled again, because she was always goddamn smiling, and said, "what's your daddy's number?"

back in the room.

you exhale big, and eddie's watching your reaction for... he doesn't really know what. he digs around for a cigarette and offers you one.

"this what you're like in hellfire club?" you ask, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs. "because that was a hell of a story."

"good point. not enough grilled cheese motifs in my campaigns, lacy, i really oughta write that down somewhere..."

"no, i mean it. you're good."

the compliment sort of hangs between you. eddie's not quite sure how to handle it-- he doesn't have asbestos fingers like his mom did.

you look at him for what feels like an excruciatingly long time.

"i think you're like her," is what you finally say, and it feels like when you do that thing where you play with the tension of a situation like a cat with a mouse.

eddie's chest immediately tightens. eyelids stutter. he tries his damnedest to brush it off, but he's leaning in, the way he always does with you. he can't not give. he can't resist, not when it's you.

"i think it's the smile." you say, biting at the tip of your little finger. "provided what you told me is not complete unverified bullshit."

"hold on." and he's up and out of his chair, searching around for his jeans that he'd discarded earlier (yeah, he's walking around in his own damn boxers, it's his damn trailer, grow up (you're being very grown up about it)).

he slides a photo that he keeps in his wallet toward you, leaning over you.

it's a young woman, can't be more than 21, with a little baby that has a shock of dark curly hair. her dark roots are growing out a little. she's beaming toward the camera like her life depends on it.

eddie watches you as you study it, all considered and pouty like you get when you study anything. you hold the photo up right next to his face.

"now smile."

he smiles.

"bigger."

he stretches the corners of his mouth way out.

"just as i thought. identical."

pink colors his cheeks, just a little.

"a couple of all-american cheesers."

#e. munson by powder #blurbs #hai brainrot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #al munson #elizabeth munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #ish??? i guess??? i'm running out of relevant tags #published by powder #l. doevski by powder

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mcyt-daycare · 1 month

Text

TW: mentions abuse

-Jimmy and Lizzie are from a very rich family that lives by the bay, they are sent to the daycare to be spared from boring adult things

-Joel's family doesnt like him very much so sends him to the daycare to get him out of there sights for a bit, he knows this but chooses to ignore it, also doesn't tell anyone

-Scott is from a very rich (but abusive) family and at 7 his big brother Xornoth took him and now they live together, Scott is at the daycare because Xornoth works full time

-Joey's parents are criminals and leave him at the daycare so they can do illigal things, he doesn't know this

-Kathrine lives in a cottage in the forest with her dad, he leaves her at the daycare so she isn't lonely

-Shubble has a normal family, her parents just both work full time jobs

-False switches between her mom's house and dad's house, they just want her out of their hair, so they send her to the daycare, she think's she's here to make friends

-Oli is new to the town and his only friend is Pixl, his parents own the circus in town and think he's too young to participate, so they send him to the daycare

-Pixl's parents are full time archaeologists, but they love him dearly

-Sausage is at the daycare so he doesn't get hurt by blacksmith stuff, no mom, just a dad (Eddie)

-Fwhip and Gem are at the daycare because their parents don't like them, and don't want them touching their inventions, Gem knows this, Fwhip is 4…

Here is some family things on all the Empires smp kiddos! Ages/species coming soon!

#jimmy solidarity #ldshadowlady #joel smallishbeans #scott smajor #xornoth #joey graceffa #katherine elizabeth #shubble #falsesymmetry #oli theorionsound #pixlriffs #mythical sausage #eddie #fwhip #geminitay #tw: abuse

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putting-eddie-munson-in-places · 27 days

Note

Put Eddie Munson in Pride & Prejudice (2005) please

oh to be elizabeth bennet in this moment

#eddie munson #stranger things #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #mr. darcy #pride and prejudice #pride and predjudice 2005

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weirdlookindog · 4 months

Text

The Mummy's Shroud (1967)

#the mummy's shroud #eddie powell #elizabeth sellars #john phillips #1967 #1960s horror #1960s movies #john gilling #hammer films #hammer horror

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incorrect-esmp-quotes · 5 months

Text

Gem: C'mon, let’s get go- what happened to your door?!

Katherine: My parents took it away because I’m grounded.

Gem: That's… disturbing.

#incorrect empires smp quotes #incorrect empires quotes #incorrect empires smp #incorrect empires #incorrect quotes #empires smp #empires smp season 2 #empires season 2 #empires s2 #geminitay #katherine elizabeth gaming #katherine elizabeth #source: ed edd n eddy

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word-wytch · 5 months

Text

warm vanilla sugar.

Little Eddie and his mom, Elizabeth, bake Christmas cookies together. [2k]

CW: tooth-rotting fluff, depictions of poverty, angst over paternal absence

December 24th 1971

Philadelphia Street was quiet on Christmas Eve. It was always pretty quiet in the dead of winter, especially once the sun went down. Nothing but the wind rustling through the glittering branches under the street lamps.

But if you listened closely just outside the smallest house—the Munson’s house—there was music. There almost always was. Crackling and popping, the spinning record warmed the house with carols sung by Ella Fitzgerald this time. Tinsel glittered in the light of the colored bulbs on the little fake tree by the large front window. Behind the house there was a light as well, glowing warmly from the small kitchen window in front of the sink.

Perched on a chair at the counter with hands barely as big as the plastic cookie cutter, Eddie made his first big impression, stamping the dough in the shape of a snowman. He peeled it back with wondrous satisfaction, eagerly stamping another in the middle of the flour-dusted canvass, and another above it in frantic succession.

“Easy there, big guy,” came a voice from beside him; warm and sweet like honey on toast. A pale hand blotched with green food coloring intercepted, lifting the plastic from the dough before Eddie could get his grips on it again. “Gotta keep ‘em close together, we’ll get more cookies that way,” Elizabeth said with a wink. “Like this.” Gingerly, she lined the snowman up beside one of its kin, upside down so that the large bottom tessellated snugly beside the top hat of the other.

Sudden laughter erupted out of her son: bright, bubbling, and contagious.

“What’re you gigglin’ about?” She punctuated the question with a teasing poke at his ribs.

Eddie pointed a trembling little finger at the scene, biting back his snicker enough for words to make it out. “His butt’s in his faaace!” He doubled over at his own joke, as if saying it out loud made it twice as funny.

Elizabeth shook her head with a soft smirk at her son—the comedian—whose laughter was sweeter than any song she’d ever heard. His cheeks were pink from it, dimpled and squishy like the dough under her rolling pin. Tempting enough to take a bite.

“What, like this?” She dove in, blowing raspberries against his chubby cheeks as he squirmed in her arms. His laughter erupted in squeals. “MmmooO—HAHA—mmmm!” Eddiesqueaked in a few gasps between laughs. It was a merciless onslaught; locked in a bear hug while fingers tickled his ribs. When Elizabeth was finally satisfied, she loosened her grip, pulling him into a hug with a soothing hand at his back to calm him down.

Sucking in deep, ragged breaths, his chin nestled into her shoulder, into her long, strawberry blonde hair. She’d styled it extra today; half-up in a clip with those swooping curtain bangs framing her face. It was rare she had anywhere to be but at home, but that wouldn’t stop her from feeling like Bridgette Bardot on Christmas Eve. Hairspray was her secret weapon. It was cheap and always on hand. With it, she could transform into whoever she wanted.

The scent of hairspray—of her—enveloped Eddie just like her arms. Warm like sheets freshly dried in the sun. More comforting than anything on Earth. Her hand rubbed loving circles into his green sweater while his own sticky fingers tangled into the oatmeal knit of hers. Finally Eddie let go, hands trailing the belt of her belled blue jeans as he steadied his stocking feet on the chair.

All calmed down, she nodded toward the cookie cutter. “Ok, go on and press it now.”

White plastic sunk into the dough, and Eddie beamed up at his mom with a smile that could outshine the moon, even with a few missing teeth.

“Good job! See it’s cold out there so they’ve gotta snuggle up real close to stay warm,” she said with a giggle, giving Eddie a side-squeeze. Before his hands could press another cookie, hers found the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling the flour and crumbs of dough caught in the knit up and away until they sat snugly below his elbows. “There you go, much better. Think you can handle it, big guy?” Elizabeth asked, turning back to her bowl of frosting on the counter.

“Okay Mommy,” he said, gripping the back of the chair for balance before finding the cookie cutter again. With careful precision, he hovered the snowman over the dough close enough to touch mittens with the one beside it before pressing down. “Good job!” He heard her coo, and that was all he needed.

It was good to see him like this, so preoccupied with the project in front of him that he hadn’t even glanced at the front door. He’d been watching it a lot lately. Even more as the days grew closer to the big one. Green blotches of food coloring stretched into trails beneath Elizabeth’s spatula as she blended the dye into the crisco and margarine mixture, tucking the metal bowl against her chest for leverage. When blended to a smooth, pale green, she set it beside the red and white ones. Sighing sharply, she glanced over her shoulder at the porch light shining through the glass. Still no shadow, no sound of heavy boots. Only the crooning of Ella Fitzgerald, swinging along with her band to “Sleigh Ride” in the living room.

“I goooot it!” Eddie chirped proudly, holding up a snowman by the hat in his small fist as its doughy body drooped towards the floor.

“Oh sweetie! Here, let’s get a pan.” Rushing to the oven, she snatched a well-loved baking sheet from atop the burners, pivoting to bring it under Eddie’s outstretched arm just in time. The dough hit the pan with a dull thud. The snowballs had stretched to droopy ovals, twice as long as all the others. Tiny grip marks dented the hat. Eddie—proud creator—beamed down upon its gooey form.

“Oh wow, he’s—he’s a very tall snowman now!” Elizabeth exclaimed, sealing her snicker behind her twitching pink lips. She set the pan down in front of her mixing bowls. “Here, let me show you a trick, watch this.” Coming up behind him, she reached around his shoulder to pinch a corner of the dough. With a slow, upward pull, it became lace, leaving only the snowmen scattered on the large wooden cutting board. “See, like magic!”

And it was. Magic to see those umber saucers filled with wonder, to see her own eyes reflected back. But it wasn’t long before his tiny hands grew eager again, grabbing at a doughy body. “Woah—woah,” she clasped his wrist and his clutch slowly released. “We’re gonna use a spatula this time ok? It’ll be safer that way.” For the snowmen.

The oven was already warm. It had been for an hour now, just warming up the kitchen. Cookies were a great excuse for that. Sometimes in the dead of winter, when cold crept in through the single pane windows, Elizabeth would light up the old Magic Chef and leave the thick, enamel door hanging open. It would warm the whole kitchen, living room too. Sometimes she and Eddie would pull up chairs, wrap themselves in blankets, and pretend like they were roasting marshmallows. Cranking the thermostat was too expensive, but they could afford a fantasy.

Snowman cookies went in the oven this time, and by the time they came out, Eddie had a whole batch of Christmas trees ready to go. Steam rose from the snowmen as they cooled on the rack, and Elizabeth rolled out the dough for the Santa ones next. Even in the warmer-than-usual kitchen, it didn’t take long before the snowmen were cool enough to frost.

Eddie was ready, holding the loaded butterknife tight in his grip. It descended with a plop on a snowman, and a haphazard jerking of the knife left it thick on the bottom and thin on the top. Eddie picked it up, poking out his tongue in concentration as he tried his best to spread it, but the pressure from the knife snapped the head clean off. It fell to the cutting board with a clatter of crumbs. “Noooo!” he wailed.

Elizabeth tossed her head back with a chuckle as sweet as molasses. “Some must be sacrificed,” she said with a wink, picking up the head. Gently, she took the butterknife out of his grip, grabbing a dollop of frosting from the bowl before giving it a generous smear. She handed it to Eddie. “Guess we’re gonna have to eat ‘im, huh?”

He didn’t waste a beat, stuffing it into his mouth in one eager bite. His crumb-dusted smile was enough to warm the whole house. Leaning against the counter with a soft chuckle, Elizabeth took a bite of the body. It was still a little warm, the dough flaking ever so slightly beneath the glob of sweet vanilla that her teeth left marks in. Grabbing her half-full coffee mug from beside a dirty mixing bowl, she chased it with a cold sip. “How ‘bout I frost and you decorate, big guy?”

Eddie was happy to do anything that involved sugar. Happy to lick it off his fingers, happy to bury his hands in the sprinkles—transferred to bowls for more accurate decorating after the plastic shakers left more on the tray than the cookies. Still, Eddie was more than generous, grabbing handfuls and releasing them in hills atop the frosting.

“Mommy you think Santa’s gonna see my list?” Santa and list were challenging words without front teeth, but he managed.

She paused as a sinking feeling crept into her stomach. Staring down at the long, half-frosted snowman in her hands—darker than the others and fragile due to its thinness—she took a deep breath before answering. “Yes baby, it’s right on the coffee table.”

Rainbow sprinkles clung to his fingers as he released another pile, leaving behind colored dots on his palms. “We’re gonna have to give him extra cookies so he brings everything.”

Twinging, she glanced at the door. “Baby, you know sometimes Santa and his elves get real busy and gotta make sure they have enough presents for everybody. Means he can only pick one or two things from each person’s list, you see.” Let alone a whole dang person.

Eddie frowned, gnawing his lip as he stared down at all his hard work. “But he’s magic.”

Elizabeth set down the cookie, folding her arms across her well-worn floral apron with a heavy sigh. “I know, baby.” But he don’t work miracles. Staring into the bowl of frosting, her mind drifted back to the bedroom closet where two wrapped gifts lay tucked away. On the shelf above the coat rack was a dwindling bundle of cash in a brown paper bag. It was all Al had left behind three months ago when he said he’d be gone only one. She’d made it stretch, but barely. Elizabeth Munson wasn’t going to let that dampen the occasion though. Not today, not ever. Brightening her eyes, she turned to face her son. “But you know what? Christmas is really ‘bout appreciating what you got already.”

Eddie looked down at the snowmen, at their white bellies full of rainbow sprinkles. A few sprinkles dropped from his sticky palms as his shoulders began to slump, but suddenly a finger lifted his chin; soft as a peach and blotted with green food coloring. Suddenly he was staring into his favorite set of eyes, warmer than Tennessee whiskey.

Elizabeth cupped his sweet face, rubbing her thumbs along the apples of his cheeks. “You know what I appreciate?”

“Wha-?” was all he could mumble from between her palms.

“You.” She planted a big kiss on his forehead.

Her smile was infectious, and before Eddie knew it, one was cracking across his face too—crooked and toothless. His sticky fingers found her wrists, lowering them softly to free his cheeks. He had something important to say. “I ‘preciate you too Mommy.”

Elizabeth Munson had a smile like the sun; radiant and warm even on the coldest days. Because when Elizabeth Munson was happy, the whole entire world was happy.

And Eddie was no exception.

______

A/N: I might have gone through half a box of tissues to bring you this.

I might do more little vignettes like this. I just love Elizabeth Munson so much and it was really fun to develop her character more and give her a sweet moment with her boy.

✨ If you enjoyed this, please let me know! Your feedback keeps me writing and sharing helps others find it too! ✨

📖 MASTERLIST 🖋️AO3 ☕️ KO-FI

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #elizabeth munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #flight of icarus #eddie and elizabeth

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