#A VERY MURRAY CHRISTMAS

[sofiasgirls]

I so not agree with this ranking.

[proverbialschoolmarm]

[thatgeekwiththeclipons]

Happy 52nd Birthday to Academy Award Winning writer, Academy Award Nominated filmmaker Sofia Coppola! ^__^

[pokimoko]

Listening to instrumentals from the silly doo-wee-ooo show is actually something that can be so painful.

[shitandpissworldtour]

Steven Page and Anne Murray are so cute together

[waldojefferss]

A Very Murray Christmas (TV Special 2015)

[highflyerwings]

…

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 21 Prompt: Home and/or Dinner

I honestly think this is my favorite one yet!

Tags: Pre-Relationship Steddie, Eddie Munson Has A Crush On Steve Harrington, Holiday Parties, Overstimulation (the bad kind, not the fun kind), Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart

wc: 2215 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

The holidays were always a quiet affair at the Munsons.

A few gifts, wrapped in week-old copies of the Hawkins Post, placed under a modest tree from Merrill’s. Wayne’s famous (well, famous to Eddie) chocolate chip pancakes in the morning with a questionable amount of syrup and a reheated casserole from Ms. Jenkins down the street for dinner.

No church or family plans, just the two of them, a couple of beers (root beer in Eddie’s case until a few years ago), and whatever movie Eddie had insisted they watch before he turned the TV over to Wayne and the Christmas basketball game.

It was good. Great, even.

Eddie loved his holiday traditions with Wayne.

He did, but sometimes he’d catch sight of Ms. Jenkins welcoming her brood of kids and grandkids into her cluttered trailer or spot Gerald loading the passenger seat of his pickup with toys for his nieces and nephews and wonder what it would be like to have a big family to spend the holidays with.

Turns out, it’s loud.

So, very, loud.

The Hopper-Byers’ new house is bursting at the seams with guests. The entire We Survived The End of the World gang is here along with some guests — Wayne and Ms. Henderson. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair stopped by for about an hour before excusing themselves to finish up holiday shopping (said in a hushed tone to not ruin Santa for Erica — as if she still believes, Eddie had thought). But mostly it was just the usual gang.

Eddie learned, in the form of Dustin’s “you’re being stupid” voice that it's become a tradition for them. Gathering a week before the holidays to pig out on food and dessert, play games, and exchange presents. Celebrate the year coming to an end and them making it.

As the apocalypse gang grew every year, the celebration got bigger and bigger until they were tripping over each other inside of the Byers house. That is, until this year when Joyce and Hopper got their shit together and finally moved into a decent-sized house on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s no Loch Nora mini-mansion, but it works for them — even if it's still a tight fit when everyone is together.

Murray, Joyce, and Ms. Henderson are gathered in the kitchen — arguing over when to take the turkey out of the oven and the proper milk-to-cheese ratio in macaroni casseroles. A small radio sits in the corner, attempting to play Christmas music over the static. That’s the con about living farther out, Eddie supposes.

El and Max have claimed a fold-out table on the outskirts of the kitchen where they’ve been decorating cookies for hours, it seems. El’s simple and artistic, Max’s a chaotic mess of spilled-over frosting and candy sprinkles. (Eddie’s stolen one from each and thinks they’re both delicious much to their delight.)

The den’s been co-opted by Hopper and Wayne, and the TV volume turned all the way up (“We can hear just fine! It’s you kids that are making it hard,” Hopper gruffed when one of them pointed out the volume). They’re switching between basketball games while nursing beers and pretending not to hear the argument going down in the kitchen.

Jonathan and Argyle are hiding out in his room — smoking and trying to drown out the noise with whatever record he managed to pick up from the store he’s working at. Eddie thought about joining him, but the scowl he earned from Wheeler Jr. had him changing course.

The rest of them have taken refuge in the spacious basement. It’s too chaotic for Dungeons & Dragons so the boys and Erica have taken to playing an intense game of Monopoly. The threats he’s heard hurled at each other have been clever and downright terrifying. Way worse than anything they’ve uttered at his DM table. Those heathens.

For some reason, Steve’s taken on the role of the banker. Something about Dustin skimming from the top last time he held the role and played. Now, house rules say the banker has to be an NPC, and well, Steve fits the bill. Unfortunately, he seems to be struggling with the math of it all judging by the scoffs and annoyed eye rolls thrown his way. Eddie would go help, but he doesn’t think he’d be much help. Godspeed, Steve.

Nancy and Robin are there too, sprawled out on the couch and lost in their own little world. Occasionally Robin gets up to flip the record on the record player, but mostly they sit together, gossiping and talking about who knows what in hushed voices. Eddie might understand every little thing about dungeons and hobbits, but girl talk? That’s an alien language if he’s ever seen one.

As for him? Well, he’s hovering in the middle of it all. With Steve occupied, he’s taken on his babysitter role of sorts. Racing up and down the stairs to fetch whatever snacks the gremlins demand, rustling Max and El’s hair on the way in, and nodding at Hopper and Wayne on the way out. He narrowly escapes being sucked into being the official judge for the impromptu Murray vs Ms. Henderson pie off and almost makes it up to Jonathan and Argyle’s room before Dustin is bellowing for him.

It’s fun, mostly.

Getting to see everyone relaxed and having fun. A far cry from the last time they were all together like this back in March.

In some ways, it's what Eddie’s always dreamed it would be like. Being part of a big family, a cog in a never-ending machine of noise and organized chaos.

But it’s also becoming a lot.

Lucas is about to put a hotel on Boardwalk that has everyone shouting and throwing their own pieces at his head. Steve’s trying to keep them under control but it's a losing battle. One that pulls Robin and Nancy from their own little world to join the chaos.

And then there’s even more noise.

A crash from upstairs, the blaring voice of Joe Strummer coming from Jonathan’s room, more shouting, Wayne and Hoppers stopping, and giggles from Max and El.

Suddenly all Eddie can hear is noise.

It gets louder and louder and louder until finally, he’s certain his eardrums are going to explode.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he pushes through the chaos going on upstairs (dropped pies and frosting stains and shouting at TVs) and makes his way onto the wrap-around porch.

The crisp cold air is the first thing that hits him. Like an idiot, he ran out of the house without a coat or scarf or hell, even the warm hat Ms. Henderson knitted for him earlier in the month. He shivers, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arm as he tries to take deep breaths, watching as his warm breath twirls in the breeze.

As his body adjusts, so do his ears. He can still hear the chaos going on inside, but it's muffled now. Distant. He can hear himself think for the first time in hours and for once, it’s nice.

The snow is falling in slow but steady flakes, dusting the backyard in the white. Or, it should be white, but the hoard of Christmas lights decorating the house illuminates the backyard in reds and greens. It’s a real Christmas wonderland out there, now.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and his trusty lighter. The first inhale of nicotine warms him from the inside out, sending the goosebumps packing as he focuses on his steady and slow inhale and exhales.

At some point he zones out, so focused on the snow falling and the repetitive nature of lifting the cigarette to and from his lips that he doesn’t hear the creak of the door or the heavy footsteps that follow until the intruder is standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Figured you might be needing this,” Steve says, hand outstretched with Eddie’s coat.

“Thanks, man.”

They swap, Eddie takes the coat from Steve and Steve takes the lit cigarette from Eddie, keeping it safe while he shimmies his way into the monstrosity that he calls his winter coat. When he’s finally situated in the plaid nightmare, he reaches a hand out ready to take his cigarette back only to find it perched between Steve’s lips.

Oh.

That’s different.

Sure, they’ve smoked together before. Bummed off cigarettes in the ally behind Family Video and in the parking lot of Palace Arcade waiting for the gremlins to be done. But they’ve never shared the same one. Never pressed their lips to the same filter. Felt the dampness of their mouths on their own lips.

“Sorry,” Steve says, lips turning up in a small smile as he removes the cigarette. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Eddie nods, unable to say much else as their fingertips brush when he takes it back. Is it weird if he puts it between his lips right now? Is he supposed to wait a minute? Let Steve’s taste linger for a moment. God, he’s being so weird right now. In the end, he brings the cigarette to his lips and takes the smallest inhale, nearly coughing as the smoke floods his lungs because he’s so distracted by the way the filter feels different now that it’s been in Steve’s mouth — as if that makes any sense.

“You okay? You sort of booked it out of the room.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, before leaning against the banister of the porch. “Yeah, m’good. It just—“

“Got too loud?” Steve supplies, mirroring his position. “I get it. I remember my first holiday dinner. There were a lot less of us in ’83 but shit. It was still so loud.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty loud son of a bitch.” Eddie’s caught off guard by Steve’s snorting. Stealing a glance, he finds Steve lit up in reds and greens, a smile etched on his face so deep he can see the spot where smile lines are going to emerge in the next ten years, catching the way his eyes already wrinkle in the corners. Fuck, he’s beautiful. “But, uh, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house that loud before. Not even when I’m fucking around with the Corroded Coffin boys.”

“Well, I doubt that. Your music is very loud.”

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause it's metal, Steve.”

“So I’ve been told,” Steve says, smiling that soft, private smile again.

If Eddie was braver, he’d close the distance between them and press his lips to his. But if this year has taught him anything, it’s that he’s not. Not really. So he lets a quiet fall between them instead. They continue to stand shoulder to shoulder, passing the dwindling cigarette between them despite the pack in Eddie’s pocket being brand new, and watch as the snow steadily starts to pick up.

“You know,” Steve says, then stops.

Eddie turns, watching the gears tick in Steve’s brain as he decides what to say next. It’s magical watching it all pass on his face — the knit of his brows, his pupils dilating and returning to their normal size, letting the hazel shine through. The way his lips open and close like some gasping fish.

“If it ever gets to be too much, you can tell us. Tell me. Hell, I know I need a break after a few hours with those shitheads. Maybe we could come up with a code word or something.”

“A codeword? That’s might nerdy of you, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving his hand through the air as he bites back a chuckle. “But yeah, a code word. It’d be easier to say than “hey it’s too loud and I can’t think” you know. Plus, it would annoy the shit out of Henderson.”

“Well, then. Count me in. You know I love annoying the shit out of that kid. Gotta keep that ego in check somehow.”

They spend the next few minutes going back and forth trying to decide on a word that could work. Steve wants something common — a fruit or a vegetable. Eddie disagrees, saying it has to be something uncommon so they don’t accidentally say it, but common enough that it doesn’t sound weird casually being dropped in conversation.

They wrack their brain, throwing out silly words left and right until there’s a crash from inside. Their heads swivel in tandem toward the source of the noise. A flurry of shadows passes on the other side of the window as Steve shakes his head and sighs.

“Come on,” he says, handing the cigarette back to Eddie. “If we’re not at the table the minute the food gets served, we won’t be eating. The gremlins know no manner.”

Eddie laughs, stubbing out the cigarette on the ashtray precariously balanced on the banister, “Teaching ‘em manners seems like a job for their babysitter.”

“Nah,” Steve snorts. “Maybe one for their Dungeon Master, though.”

Just as the words leave Steve’s lip, there’s a shout from inside followed by another crash.

“Think it might be a job for both of us, actually,” Eddie laughs. “Together?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Steve says. “Together it is.” 

[vilnmelling]

The Matthews-Goldstein-Lipschitz-McNeils

While I make some more alignment charts, voilà, here's my rendition of the Jon Matteson family tree!

Gary and Paul are brothers, and they have an older sister who my sister and I definitely didn't name after Jon himself. There's quite a big age difference between the siblings, with twelve years between Joan and Paul (Gary's somewhere undecided between there).

I've seen many people headcanon Gary as Richie and Trevor's dad, but I just canNOT see that man raising children. Plus, the surnames don't match up. Speaking of surnames, though, Gary changed his on his own accord, purely for his lawyer brand. "Gary Matthews" just didn't have the right ring to it.

Joan has three sons: Trevor, Richard ("Richie") and Daniel. Trevor and Richie are twins (Trevor is eleven minutes older, I don't make the rules). Paul used to be saddled with babysitting the trio, and as a result, he's very close with his nephews, even now that they don't need babysitting anymore. He's especially close with Richie. BONUS: Trevor is the reason Paul had to see Godspell at the rec center. Trev was in it, and he also thought it was awful (in a fun way).

Since Black Friday tells us two of Linda's sons aren't Gerald's, and Lauren has confirmed that Linda and Gary have had at least one affair, we put two and two together and now Gary's the biological father of Trent and Seaton. (Seaton was picked at random, and Trent being Gary's child was just obvious). Whether or not Gary knows this is up to interpretation. It's possible Linda's the only one who knows.

Wallace McNeil and Boy Jerry are brothers and the cousins of Joan, Gary and Paul. Wallace got the f*ck out of Hatchetfield the moment he had the possibility to. Girl Jeri converted Boy Jerry into such deep Christianity, but then he took it further than she ever had.

Due to Lauren confirming Linda and Gary's affair/s (whether it was a joke or not, I take that as canon now), Roman Murray and the Monroe family aren't a part of this family in any official, legitimate way (*cough* looking at you, Gary and his illegitimate children *cough*).

For reasons I hope are obvious, Wiggly isn't included either.

Now just imagine the family gatherings. Summer barbecues, where Trevor takes every opportunity to reference the Barbecue Monologues. Christmas celebrations that Boy Jerry is specifically asked not to show up to. He shows up anyway — even the time they didn't tell him at whose house they were celebrating. Birthday parties where no one has any idea what to buy the birthday person. What does Paul get Trevor the theater kid? What would Boy Jerry get Richie the anime nerd? What does anyone get Paul the Normal Man?

[shieldofiron]

Billy stumbles in after it’s already dark. Murray used to start complaining about daylight savings time a month before it hit and now that he’s an adult, he gets what his adopted kind of a father was talking about.

The apartment is glowing when he gets home, but he can’t quite manage a warm greeting when he gets through the door.

Steve makes a startled little sound when Billy wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and squeezes.

“Long day? How much did you sell?”

Billy buries his face in Farrah Fawcett scented curls and breathes in deeply.

“Twelve,” Billy muttered, “Or thirteen. Dunno.”

“It’s not even the end of November,” Steve chuckled, “What if the ones you sell die?”

“Then they can come back for another,” Billy mumbles. He’s tired of the pine smell that’s been seeping into his skin. He wants to smell the ocean, but to get there he needs to keep selling Christmas trees by the dozen. “Need you.”

Steve says softly, “Let’s go get tangled up, Tree Boy.”

The apartment isn’t very decorated, just a stop over until they make their California dreaming come true. They may put up a tree but quite frankly Billy’s starting to loathe the sight of them.

Steve tugs him to bed and wraps those long legs around him, happily filling the silence talking about his own mind-numbing day at the video store.

Steve lets Billy play with his hair and run his hands along his back until they’re just a soft puddle of happiness.

[chroniclesofajewishteen]

How my Jewish identity came to be:

I always thought my eye shape was a little weird.

I have a very large crease on the upper lid. I thought oh, that's kinda like east asian eyes. But my eyes look different.

I saw that there was a lot of under-eye puffyness. I thought oh, people use cucumbers to get rid of that. I must be tired. But it was mid-day. The puffyness never went away.

My friends have pretty wide eyes. I thought oh, that's strange. But my mom always told me that society likes big wide-eyed white women. But does that mean society doesn't like me? Does that mean I'm not white?

I had always been told I was white. Well, my mom always told me. My dad shrugged and said "It's complicated. But people will see you as white." I didn't understand why. I knew at some level that being Jewish was an ethnicity, that Jews are from Israel, and that Israel is in the Middle East, but when people saw me they thought I was white. Because I have pale skin and blue eyes.

I have blue eyes because my Dad has blue eyes. His Irish Dad has blue eyes. But my dad's Mom is Jewish. She speaks some Yiddish, and never puts up Christmas decorations, but I had no reason to think that was strange. I knew she gave us presents, even though she doesn't celebrate Christmas like my goy friends do.

We celebrate Christmas because both of my Jewish grandmothers get FOMO during the season. They didn't want to miss out. So when they were kids they would get a little present and say they celebrated it. When they married goyim they had a tree. Now my direct family has a tree.

My mom was told she was ethnically Jewish, but that all religion is dumb and the Quakers were probably onto something with all the acceptance and peace...etc. My dad was told "You are Jewish. Society will either see you as a rich white man or a sneaky brown man. You do not get to choose. The minute you say your grandfather was a man named Murray Goldstein, they will know. You do not get to choose, because society has chosen your race already and the left and the right will never agree on who is right." He never told me exactly this, but it was implied.

On certain tests and forms, they ask you for your race. It always said the same thing: Asian, Black, Native American, White, Mixed, and sometimes they said Pacific Islander. What did I put? My parents put white, but I always knew on some level that wasn't the full truth. I would write "Ashkenazi Jewish" at the bottom and let them decide.

Then October 7th happened. People on the streets said, "Go back to Poland". I was never Polish. My family lived in Ukraine. Did they want me to go back to Ukraine? There is a war there! I would not be safe. I don't have any relatives in Ukraine. My family left at the start of the 20th century. Who would I go to? Where would I go?

When October 7th happened, I thought the world would stand for Israel. I knew it was the Jewish homeland, and I had already been researching Birthright trips a few months before. On my favorite TV show, Black-ish the main character, Dre Johnson said "Jewish kids get to go to Israel, why can't my kid say the N-word?" in that horribly out-of-context quote, I knew it was my homeland. Why did these people say it wasn't?

My younger sister had a babysitter who was Palestinian. Let's call her Fatima. I didn't know that was an ethnicity until I met her. Her mom was a politician there. All Fatima was doing was saying "Get my mom out of Gaza. It's not safe for her." She knew I was Jewish, and she was always nice and supportive. I still follow her on Duolingo.

Fatima had a friend who was also one of my sister's babysitters. I'm going to call her Charlotte. Charlotte was a white British woman. She heavily supported the Pro-Palestine cause. She marched in protests and boycotted businesses. She was a goy, and we both knew that. Fatima never protested and was always happy to buy from Starbucks and other Zionist businesses. Charlotte would always listen to me explain B'nai Mitzvahs, but it was clear I was the only Jewish person she knew.

I don't say these things to say that Palestinians can't support the cause, I'm saying this because Fatima didn't, and her white friend did. The fact that Fatima was brown and trying to finish her PhD definitely played into it.

I read Chaim Potok's The Chosen. Its end plot was about the creation of the modern state of Israel. In the end, the characters agreed that after the Holocaust, we deserve to call the land of our ancestors our own. My family agreed with that.

At the time I was really into Pinterest. More specifically, Tumblr screenshots on Pinterest (definitely influenced my decision to come here). After a while, I got more pins on my dash saying "All Zionists are evil. Come to the good side!" That definitely sounded like a cult, so I looked more into it. I saw a lot of people saying "Zionism is killing Palestinians", but I also saw people saying "The official Jewish definition of Zionism is the belief that Israel should exist. 80% of Jews want Israel to exist." The comments were either "Thank you! This is what I have been saying for months!" or "fuck you zionist rat you are killing Palestinians." I looked into it on more trustworthy websites. They usually agreed that it just meant wanting Israel to exist. They also said that Khanisim is the belief that Palestinians must die for Israel to exist. I didn't like that idea. In my Pinterest bio, I put yellow ribbons to support the hostages. I started getting hate messages.

I am here now, and from my bio and previous posts, you can assume my stance on the situation. This post started with me complaining about my eyes and to give you an epilogue, it was today I realized they were Jewish eyes. I love them and would never change them for the world.

If you have any questions regarding this post or me in general you can privately message me. I am a minor though, so don't be creepy. Have a good day!

Also: my other blog is @jewishbiancadiangelo. It's mostly Percy Jackson stuff.

[rosietrace]

Ernest Shelley

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑✞๑ஓ══╗

“No matter what happens…

I swear my heart to you, Wife.”

╚══ஓ๑✞๑ஓ══╝

— Ernest Shelley

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

General Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Full Name — Ernest Adam Shelley

↳ Ernest: Derived from the old high German Ernust, meaning “serious, earnest”. It happens to be the name of Victor Frankenstein's younger brother, Ernest Frankenstein.

↳ Adam: The Hebrew word for “Man”. In the Genesis in the Old testament, Adam was made from the earth by God, said to supposedly be the first human; Adam is also the official name of “Frankenstein’s Monster”.

↳ Shelley: Derived from an English surname that originally derived from a place name meaning, “clearing on a bank” in Old English; The most famous bearers of this surname were Percy Bysshe Shelley, and his wife, Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein.

Japanese ver. — エルネスト アダム シェリー

Romaji ver. — Erunesto Adamu Sherī

Twisted from: The Creature

❐ — The Creature (Lisa Frankenstein/リサ・フランケンシュタイン)

V/A(日本語): Hidenobu Kiuchi (木内 秀信)

↳ voices Victor Van Dort, Corpse Bride

V/A(英語/EN): Chris Sarandon

↳ voices Jack Skellington, The Nightmare before Christmas

Age: 19 (Biologically), ??? (Chronologically)

Birthday: February 14th

Horoscope: Aquarius ♒

Species: Human, Reanimated Corpse

Height: 186 cm

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Sea Green

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/They

Sexuality: Demiromantic

Dominant hand: Right

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Extra Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Homeland: The Queendom of Roses

『 Family:

Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Shelley — “Wife”

William — Older brother †

Viktor — Second older brother †

Lizabeta — Sister-in-law † 』

Dormitory: Terrovania (@terrovaniadorm / @hallowed-delights )

School Year: 3rd

Class: 3-B (seat no. 31)

Club: Literature Club

Best class(es): Music, Literature

Worst class(es): Alchemy, all things scientific

Like(s): Lizzie, piano, sheet music, waltzing, late night walks, dressing up, poetry, writing, calligraphy, axes /j

Dislike(s): Not being around Lizzie, losing a limb, not being able to speak, “electronic devices”, being talked behind his back, Lizzie's stepmother, Lizzie getting hurt, badly written poetry, Rook /j, memories of his parents, literally anything involving the sciences

Hobbies: Tanning /j, pianoforte, writing sheet music, poetry writing/reading, late night walks, late night dancing

Talent(s): Pianoforte, literature, writing sheet music, waltzing, (ax murdering)

Flaw(s): Codependent, overprotective, judgmental, “over emotional”, old fashioned (to some degree)

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Personality

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Ernest is a man of his word. Whatever promises he's made to the people in his life, he'll go take that promise to the grave; for that is how he expresses his loyalty to those he loves and cares for.

He has a very expressive face, many people have noted. Though he cannot verbalize his thoughts now, he can convey them through the means of physical emotion.

Though very, very quiet in ways other than his… lack of a voice, Ernest is quite passionate once you get to know him! He finds great passion in what he's good at, and is easily flustered by those — Lizzie, especially — who compliment him for his talents.

It's best to not get ahead of oneself with Ernest, however. He's actually rather sensitive, over-emotional to such a degree that he can't help but shed a few acid tears every now and then; and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to maintain control of them.

He loves and cares wholly, wholeheartedly; and those who dare hurt the people he loves shall meet the inevitable consequences. Ernest's devotion to those he loves knows no bounds, and he isn't afraid of taking certain measures to ensure their safety.

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

Unique Magic: 『 Strange… it is unlisted 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Thoughts on them

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

『 This file is currently unavailable 』

— Maxwell Murray, Ernest's housewarden (Oc by @/terrovaniadorm)

“Peculiar, that he is… oh how I desire to run a test or two on his autonomy… alas, that is not possible. For now.”

— Walton Morrigan, Ernest's dorm mate

“Oh Ernest! He’s… alright! Truth be told.... I knew him before. I was to be engaged to him. He was pleasant but we were only following our parents’ wishes. We came to the conclusion we were incompatible and the marriage fell through. I wonder if he remembers… I’m glad to see him happy.”

— Lilith Winchester, Ernest's dorm mate (Oc by @/starry-night-rose)

“Ernest… How do I even begin? I’ve always felt drawn to him, ever since I saw that bust of him on top of his grave. He was a real piece of work back then, missing an ear, a hand, you know that sort of stuff. He’s a really emotional guy and I relate to that. He let me be myself around him, something I wasn’t able to do for a long time. He’s been there for me for my highs and lows. I think… I think I love him.”

— Elizabeth “Lizzie” Shelley, Ernest's ‘wife’ (Oc by @starry-night-rose)

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══╗

Additional Trivia

╚══ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══╝

✑ Main Theme: The Finale/“We’re simply meant to be” from The Nightmare before Christmas

✑ Backstory: 『 Unnamed Gentleman 』

༝ㅤ･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ.ㅤ⋆ㅤ• 　。·　『✞』

✞ Ernest doesn't remember his name. He likely would have remembered it, had it not been for his unnamed grave.

✞ He, also, doesn't remember his birthday! Lizzie was the one to declare his “new birthday” to be Valentine's Day.

✞ Due to his… predicament, Ernest is unable to verbally communicate; he compromises by communicating with Lizzie with disgruntled grunting, sign language, and writing things down on paper, or on her hand.

✞ Incredibly protective of Lizzie. She gets a papercut and he's treating it like she got stabbed in the abdomen and is taking action in making sure she gets better!

✞ Never quite had a good relationship with his parents… or his brothers.. or just his family, in general; he was — at least — on agreeable terms with his sister-in-law.

✞ While he isn't bad with technology, Ernest doesn't like using it all that much; the most you'll see of him ‘typing’ is him using a typewriter Lizzie got for him.

✞ Almost every single one of Ernest's poems, writings, even the titles of his musical pieces, are dedicated to Lizzie.

✞ A ride or die kind of friend. In Lizzie's case, he's a ride or die “husband”. Oh, she committed a murder? God forbid, women do anything!

✞ Surprisingly feminist for someone born in the 1800s!... He can't help but still have some old fashioned views that he needs to unlearn, however. Fortunately, Lizzie's there to help him along the way.

✞ His face is comically expressive. Anything Rook says that sounds like an attempt at poetry, Ernest's face contorts to making him look like he just developed an aneurysm.

↳ Safe for certain, Ernest really doesn't like Rook 😭

✞ Ernest finds it incredibly reassuring that Lizzie doesn't care that he isn't all that scientific of a man. It was something he was deeply insecure about when he was still alive, something he was ashamed of— and he felt himself fall in love with her even more for her acceptance of him.

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

Appearance

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

Ernest's Tags

#ernest shelley • #『 ernest 🪓 』 • #『 the shelley couple 🪓 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑𓄿๑ஓ══════•°•†

[brokehorrorfan]

James S. "Murr" Murray - best known as one of the Impractical Jokers - and frequent collaborator Darren Wearmouth will publish You Better Watch Out on October 15 via St. Martin's Press.

The 240-page Christmas-themed serial killer thriller will be available in hardcover, e-book, and audio book. Read on for the synopsis.

48 hours until Christmas, Jessica Kane wakes up with blurred vision, ears ringing, and in excruciating pain. A gash in her head and blood running down her face, the last thing she remembers is going for a run and something or someone hitting her in the head. It doesn’t take her long to realize she is trapped in an unknown, deserted town with five other strangers who share similar stories of being attacked and stranded there. Unsure why and how they got there, she knows one thing for certain, she has to find a way out. That becomes nearly impossible when someone is meticulously orchestrating their deaths, one by one, and the only thing Jessica can do is watch the life leave their eyes. The fenced-in town is the killer’s very own playground and there’s nowhere left to hide… she better watch out because she could be next.

Pre-order You Better Watch Out by James S. Murray and Darren Wearmouth.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

reach for the stars

cw. olnf week 2024, pre!release, step 3-4 (step 1 flashback), established!relationship

pairing. sparkling leaves

notes. day 4 of @olnfweek2024. arguably the day i was looking forward to the most because i had a very creative interpretation of the stargazing prompt. i can't believe i've written consistently 4 days in a row for an event week, that's the power of olnf i guess

“Did you know I can hold stars in my hands?” 

“Really?” Tamarack perked up at Nyla’s sudden revelation, raspberry eyes wide in amazement.

“Uh huh!” Nyla grinned, scooting closer to her best friend on the leaf-dappled ground.

It was a good day in Golden Grove. First and foremost, it was Friday, the best of all weekdays. Mrs. Murray played The Nightmare Before Christmas for the last half-hour of class and even passed out cookies. The day was only made better when Mom didn’t mind if Tamarack spent the whole weekend at their place. Until the hour drew for dinner and bedtime near, though, the two girls were content to play in the forest they called a backyard.

It had only been a few months since Nyla and her mother moved to the mountainous town in Oregon but it felt like she’d known Tamarack Baumann her entire life.

“Show me,” Tamarack whispered in awed excitement. Tamarack believed in the magic of the world as easily as she breathed, both of them did. If Nyla could do something as magical as holding stars in her hand, she wanted to see it.

“Alright,” Nyla started coyly, shifting so that she sat in front of Tamarack. “But you have to close your eyes first.”

Tamarack squeezed her eyes shut fiercely, giggling all the while. 

Nyla had met a lot of people in her 10 ーalmost 11!ー years of living.

Some of them had black hair like her and her parents. Some of them had green. Some of the people she met even had hair that was red, pink, purple or peach! But none of them ever had hair that sparkled, Tamarack was the first and only. 

It was amazing.

Nyla had plenty of questions about it ーwhere the sparkles came from, how they never fell off when Tamarack’s grandma brushed themー but Tamarack never had any good answers about it. Her hair just sparkled, that’s all there was to it. It’s something simply Tamarack. Nyla thought that was the answer she liked the most.

“Tada!” Tamarack opened her eyes and excitement turned into surprise as she took in how close their faces were.

“Where are the stars?” Tamarack blinked up at the taller girl.

“I’m holding onto them already,” Nyla beamed, heart fluttering as she held gamboge waves in her hand. They sparkled like a million precious jewels. It’s hard to breathe as Tamarack’s berry-red eyes look up at her, just as shiny as the sparkling hair that frames them. Tamarack Baumann is the prettiest girl in the world, Nyla knew this was the truth in its purest form. No one came close, not even Brittany Taylor who kids like Adrian Woodward swore was the prettiest girl in school. Nyla wiggled her fingers, marveling at every individual speckle that glinted in the process. “I’m holding stars in my hands.”

“That’s my hair, Nyla,” Tamarack giggled, shaking her head gently so as to not snag her hair on Nyla’s fingers. In spite of her protest, Tamarack’s cheeks were flushed. “That’s not a star.”

“Nope,” Nyla emphasized the ‘p’ stubbornly but mirthfully, brushing her thumbs across Tamarack’s fluffy locks. She felt as pink as Tamarack’s cheeks, both of them smiling widely despite their differing views. “I’m holding stars.”

Nyla chuckles lightly at the memory as her thumb and index finger toy with a lock of her girlfriend’s hair. Sitting in the living room of Tamarack’s childhood home, watching the Cinderella movie Brandy and Whitney Houston with Tamarack is a far cry from the young girls they once were running amok through the forest. Back then, their responsibilities were few and far in between. Presently, they were simply housesitting for the Baumann elders as they went on a trip to Long Beach to celebrate their 50th anniversary.

I was obsessed with Tam’s hair back then. Watching the soft golden speckles glint in the dim glow of the television, Nyla’s lips curl into a lazy smile. They’re laying in a comfortable position on the convertible couch mattress, Tamarack resting her head on Nyla’s chest. Not much has changed, I guess.

One cool day in autumn, Nyla moved to Golden Grove and was struck with a paper airplane that changed the trajectory of her life forever.

But considering how we were neighbors, we would’ve met eventually. Plus we had school the next day too. Logic is pushed aside for the magic that was their first meeting. Fate had been at work that particular day Tamarack caught sight of a bright-eyed fellow new kid looking for something to throw herself into. Nyla wouldn’t have their first meeting go any other way.

Girls like Tamarack should be met in the forest.

Looking at the soft, sparkling crown that grows from her head, however, Nyla thinks girls like Tamarack can be met under the light of the moon too.

But with how she carries the stars with her wherever she goes, my girl can go wherever she wants. Nyla presses a firm kiss atop Tamarack’s head and her girlfriend giggles, arms squeezing just a firmer. She may have lost a portion of her enthusiastic squeeze but Tamarack still gives the best hugs Nyla’s ever received.

Tamarack shifts so that she is able to look at Nyla properly, a serene smile adorning her face. “Hey you,” she murmurs softly against the sound of Prince Christopher’s parents fussing over the party preparations for his birthday.

“Hey,” Nyla’s fingers run through Tamarack’s chin-length hair without shame.

Tamarack’s eyes squint with a gentle but playful gleam, “you’re not paying attention to the movie are you?”

Nyla doesn’t argue against the observation, “oops,” she says despite sounding not particularly bothered she’s been caught. “Looks like you caught me. Guilty as charged.” We’ve seen this movie a million times anyway. Nyla is sure she could quote it in her sleep. Could sing the songs in perfect harmony, mostly perfect. She only gets to look at Tamarack in this specific moment once and she is going to cherish each and every second.

“And what’s got your mind so preoccupied,” Tamarack inquires dreamily.

“Just stargazing,” Nyla murmurs before pressing their lips together.

not enough people wax poetic about the fact tamarack's hair sparkles, so i decided to go full throttle

[bluespring864]

Andy: “I’m a little bit nervous about this… please go very easy on me. Treat me like I’m a child in there.”

Mary: “A competitive child.”

Andy: "A competitive child, yeah.”

Andy: “I’ve started, for the last couple of years, I’m having sushi for my Christmas lunch.”

Andy: “I got in trouble for it when I suggested it, but it’s my favourite meal, so…”

Mary: “Um. I think… it’s no comment.”

Andy: [giggles]

For context: Andy was saying earlier that the only food he can reliably make is “eggy bagels”

[food needs to simmer]

Andy: “So I’m just leaving this now? That’s one of the things I find difficult in the kitchen… just leaving stuff alone. I always want to be prodding –“

Mary: “Wait a moment, you only do bagels and egg! It’s not too demanding, is it?”

Mary: “I can hear it gently sizzling.”

Andy: “Is that… is that a good thing?”

Mary: "That's a good thing!"

Andy: [smirks]

Andy: “She [Andy's daughter] doesn’t really like the dad jokes. I’ve got an Andy Murray one.... What time does Andy Murray go to bed? ... Tennish.”

Mary [deadpan]: "Tennish. Okay. [to the camerapeople] What's the matter with you?"

Andy: [wheezing with laughter]

Mary: “Could you chop a bit of parsley?”

Andy: “I’m gonna do this so wrong!”

Mary: “You almost look like a chef… in a Christmas jumper.”

Andy: “I’m detecting a bit of sarcasm there, Mary.”

Shirley [Andy’s gran]: “Did you make all that?”

Andy [embellishing the truth]: “Yeah that was all my work.”

Shirley: “Oh my goodness! Can you remember what you did though?”

Mary: “A little bit of finesse… well you do that in your tennis.”

Andy [barely keeping his laughter in check]: “I do, yeah.”

Mary: “Well you’ve been a joy to teach!”

Merry Christmas everyone!

Bonus: This smile.

[waldojefferss]

A Very Murray Christmas (TV Special 2015),