#12daysofdethmas

Dec. 22: A gag gift or the perfect present

i kinda did both? lol

for the ‘visiting the family’ dethmas prompt :) bring ur big scary bf so ur family won’t fuck with you

Dethmas Dec. 18th - Inspired by a holiday song/carol

12 Days of Dethmas - December 18th: Inspired by a Holiday Song/Carol

Dethmas 2021 Day 1: Excited for the season or being a Scrooge

It's eggnogg season, baby! WooOoo!! 🕺

The kitchen was a disaster when Murderface stumbled there in search of a midnight snack. Truthfully it was always kind of a disaster, but now everything was covered in a layer of flour as if a sudden blizzard had swept through. Sprinkles stuck to the bottoms of his bare feet as he rifled through the cabinets, the tantalizing smell of baking causing his stomach to rumble loudly. A mostly empty tub of dollar store frosting sat open on the counter and Murderface scooped out a dollop with his finger, popping the digit into his mouth and loudly sucking the sugary paste.

"Oh boy. That is... that's just pathetic." 

He jumped at the sound of Nathan's voice, spinning to defend himself, but the frontman wasn't in the kitchen.

"Yeh. Shoulda seen'im making up dose cookies. Singin' and dancin' around like a Keebler elf."

Following the voices of his bandmates, Murderface rounded the corner to the living room, peeking between Nathan and Pickles to what was indeed a pitiful sight. Splayed out like a scarecrow, Skwisgaar snored quietly, their young rhythm guitarist curled into a ball with his head pillowed on the Swede's bony hip. A smear of flour decorated Toki's nose and clutched in his hand was a wrinkled scrap of paper, scrawled with crayon. Behind them on the wall was a line of—

"Isch that my schock?"

The derision in his voice made the question come out louder than he'd intended, making Pickles and Nathan jump and Skwisgaar snort awake.

"That'sch my...thosche are all our schocks. Why are they nailed to the wall?"

Following his gaze, Skwisgaar glanced at the row of hosiery hanging overhead. "Euughh, ja dat...Toki dids dat, cuz we ain't gots no stockings to hangs up."

"Stockings?" Nathan grunted.

"For de presents. He wantsed to stay up and... meets...Santa." he trailed off, eyes falling to Toki on the couch.

"Yeeuchh…"

Pickles squatted to gently pry the page from Toki's grip, shaking his head as he smoothed the crinkles. "S'all in Norwegian." 

"Did you tell him he's not real? How old is this kid again? Shouldn't he, you know, have outgrown that shit?" Nathan pawed at the plate of cookies, selecting a snowman shape doused in green and red sugar crystals. An avalanche of crumbs fell over the front of his shirt as he chewed.

"Nej, didn't seems right. Little dildoes was so excitesed."

Though he would never say as much out loud, Murderface remembered those days. Granted, he was much younger than Toki when he'd stopped believing in the fat man, but there were a handful of early years when he'd been in exactly this position, drooling on his grandparents' plastic covered sofa, a tray of milk and fig newtons set out on the coffee table. The magic didn't last, especially watching his classmates return to school with shiny new toys when all Claus had brought him were socks and underwear. Stella had teased that maybe he was on the naughty list, so he'd decided to earn it.

Joke'sch on you now, huh old lady? 

He didn't know a lot about Toki—the kid was still fairly new, and impossible to understand, to boot—but watching Nathan scoop the guitarist up from the couch and carry him off to bed like a child stirred something in him. The little twerp probably didn't deserve to have his dumb gay heart broken come morning. While the rest of the band was distracted, Murderface stomped into his boots and slipped out the front door.

This late on Christmas Eve his options were limited, and the eight entire dollars to his name didn't help either, but he managed to fill a hand basket at CVS before they closed up. The apartment was blessedly quiet when he returned, and he set to work.

"Oh wowee! He cames, he really dids!"

The jubilant cry roused him what felt like twenty minutes after his head hit the pillow, and Murderface rolled over with every intention of sleeping until at least the afternoon.

"Wakes up, pals! Dere ams presents from Santa! He must have likesed my cookies." 

"Nyeh, Toki, shaddap! Its naht even six yet!"

"But, Pickle! It Santa! He brought—"

"TOKI, I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS UNHOLY—"

"Dere present for you toos, Nat'an!"

"...wait. Really?"

So much for sleeping in. Murderface trudged into the front room, last again to join his bandmates where they stood examining the trimmings he'd slapped together. A strand of gold foil garland hung in loops from the ceiling fan, and assorted red and green baubles were hooked into the strings of the mini blinds. Between the tv antenna stood a small honeycomb paper pine tree, topped with a shiny silver star.

"Dood. Whet the hell happened?"

Toki danced around the room, a gleeful smile splitting his face. "Santa came! Look!" In his arms, he held the socks that had previously been mounted to the wall. "He bring everyone a gifts!"

Toki passed the footwear back to their owners, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed with excitement, then flopped onto the couch next to Skwisgaar to enjoy his own present. Cellophane crinkled as Toki slipped the wrapper from the strip of balsa wood.

"Says it ams an aero-planes?" He turned it in his fingers, brows drawing in confusion. 

"You have to build it." Murderface supplied, flushing when the rest looked in his direction. "I mean, I asschume. Whatever. I looksch like junk." He crossed his arms and turned away.

"Its not junk! I loves it!"

"It'll juscht break as schoon asch you throw it. Might asch well toss it out."

"Shut up, Moidaface! I ams gonna builds it and keeps it forever."

"Fine, schuit yourschelf."

Nathan and Skwisgaar exchanged a skeptical glance, the blonde shrugging and twirling the candy cane between his lips into a sharp point. Murderface hoped their silence meant they wouldn't question the alleged Christmas miracle that had occurred in their shabby shithole. A freckled arm landed across his shoulders, anchoring him before he could retreat.

"Hey, you gaht frosting on yer face."

His cheeks blazed as he swiped an arm over his mouth and Pickles laughed.

Mordhaus office party!

.

It had been ages since Charles had felt so at home. The Church was peaceful and lovely, but this, Mordhaus, was home. There was nothing like it.

"You gotta come around more often, Charlie."

He always had a hard time saying no to Pickles, and he smiled. "I'll try," he said.

"Not good enough." Pickles had his arm tossed around Charles's shoulders, as he had all night, keeping him held close. "Just 'cause you got a Santa Claus beard now doesn't mean you get to only show up at Christmas, dude."

"My beard is magnificent," Charles shot back, though he could do nothing to fight back his smile. "There's nothing Santa-like about it."

Pickles was soon laughing, too. "You sure about that?" he teased.

He was sure about it, actually. Why, just earlier that evening, Pickles had been going on and on about how good he looked. The Church didn't give him the kind of attention Pickles did. Charles desperately missed it. This long-distance thing was tougher than he had expected.

"Honestly," Pickles was saying, "I like it. Bet it feels nice." He gave Charles a little wink. "Y'know, everyone's down here. No one's gonna notice if he disappear for a while."