Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Christmas shopping for the Hermits was always a struggle. Honestly, Xisuma felt like the fat man himself doing it.

He'd always preferred to do his Christmas shopping off-server. It felt a bit like cheating if he was to gift the Hermits items from their own shops. And besides, shopping on public servers and multi-server hubs was nice. He liked seeing old friends sometimes. Ex-Hermits or people he knew before.

X pulled out the book the Hermits had left him, summoning it from his inventory. He stopped when he realized it was fifty pages long, setting the book down and putting his head in his hands.

It was going to be one long day.

Sighing, Xisuma picked the book back up, flipping to the first page. His beloved Keralis had requested "your own pretty face", so he didn't have to worry about him. Although he did chuckle at the request, his cheeks flushing under his helmet.

At least he didn't have to worry about buying a gift for him.

Turning the page, he found that Zed, Impulse, and Tango had not understood the assignment. They'd taken up five pages, each one writing their list in a separate colored ink with a color key at the top. They'd seemingly…taken turns writing each item, the bullet points alternating between orange, purple, and blue in no particular pattern. 

The worst part about said list; there was no order. The bullet points were simply ideas written anywhere on the page where they'd fit. Half of Impulse's words curled around other bullets making it a nightmare to read.

The general idea seemed to be quartz, and lots of it. Xisuma assumed it was for redstone or building, but he could never be too sure with those three. Other popular requests from the trio included blankets, an absurd amount of stuffed toys, Tango had requested a pair of stiletto heels, and— did X read that correctly?

Lemons. 

Zedaph had requested lemons.

One-hundred-and-forty-six of them. He'd specified.

Xisuma put the book down again, fighting the urge to pull his helmet off and let himself suffocate in the oxygen, because where the hell would he get one-hundred-and-forty-six lemons? 

Ah. X had stopped right in front of a grocery store. Beans Beans Beans , owned by a friend of the Hermits, Joel Smallishbeans.

He hoped they had lemons.

Upon entering the store, he was faced with a large tower of lemons in a basket in the produce aisle. Bingo. He pushed the cart next to the lemon tower, looking both ways to see if anyone was looking. When the coast appeared clear, X pushed all of the lemons into the cart.

He double-checked the list, making sure that no one else needed any edible goods and pretended not to notice Grian's request for condoms. He very quickly decided he did not want to know.

X let out a sigh of relief as he closed the book, pushing the cart through the check-out line and ignoring the stares of other players. He'd given up by then, pushing a stack of diamonds towards the poor cashier and walking away with his lemons.

Turning the page of the book and vanishing the lemons into his inventory, Xisuma found that Gem was next on the list. And she'd made it quite clear what she wanted. On the page, in big bubble letters, were the words "fancy swords."

What fancy swords she needed X to get off-server, he had no clue. She could very easily craft a sword however she liked. They all had the tools and access to materials.

But the Hermits were his family, and he'd do anything for them. Even if it meant searching hours for someone who would craft swords for Gem.

He currently stood in the line, the weight of the damn lemons and the six-inch stilettos he held for Tango starting to annoy him. He was strong and he could hold them all, and vanishing the items into his inventory decreased the weight to a tenth of what it was before, but hundreds of lemons and rhinestone boots could add up.

Eventually, after half a day of sitting in that damned shop, he was very carefully gifted his swords. Xisuma immediately vanished them into his inventory, eager to protect what he'd just spent a thousand diamonds on.

He hoped she'd like them.

Xisuma mentally checked her off of the list, turning the page again to find Doc's entry. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure he'd be able to find any weapons of mass destruction in any off-server store or mall, but he was sure Doc would probably be able to build his own with some basic TNT or with the use of a wither or two. The man was a genius in terrifying ways.

Ren had asked for drama classes, which X wasn't sure he fully needed. He'd been a king once, and a very dramatic one at that. Although he could probably score a membership at some place.

And he definitely didn't ignore the scribbled out message at the bottom in tiny lettering, "A date with Martyn."  

Xisuma quickly messaged the man in question, grinning as he agreed. He felt like a father who'd just met his son's partner for the first time and immediately liked them. Ren's requests were through, and he could move on to Mumbo.

And Mumbo decided he would not be easy to shop for.

X had one month to learn how to bake eclairs. And he had no idea how to bake, but Mumbo had requested that he make them fresh. Curse him for having taste. He'd also requested six bags of blood. Fucking vampires.

Xisuma was an inch away from throwing the book across the street and bashing his head into the nearest wall.

But the thing is, he would sneak into the nearest medical center and steal bags of blood. Even if he was arrested.

Because the Hermits were his family.

He would bribe a nurse and steal blood bags for them.

Sorry, hospital.

Chapter Text

Ray would never consider himself a sap, not someone who cared about empathy or feelings.

He practically wanted to disregard it all when he set himself aflame amongst the home he grew up in.

Regardless, Ray didn’t care too much about any of the mushy feelings that the people of the human world were so enamored with.

He didn’t get it.

He tried to follow along when Emma shared what she’d overheard about Christmas in the human world from her fancy poetry class.

At Grace Field, Ray got one gift from Mama. His reward for December, she’d clarified.

At Grace Field, the little ones would craft up some shabby ornaments to give to the big kids.

Ray never got any ornaments from anyone other than Emma, who felt bad that the kids didn’t talk to him.

He appreciated her kindness, but in all honesty, it didn’t matter to him.

They would all still be eaten    be thrown away anyway.

The ornaments would be, at least.

So, their first Christmas away from the constant fear of their looming deaths was eventful, to say the least.

Norman spent the month trying to find some sort of meaning behind the holiday, some sort of ritual or ordeal that made such a ruckus in the human world.

Though, after sacrificing hours of sleep, and abandoning Ray and Emma to attend their regular classes, Emma decided it was time for him to snap out of it.

So now, it's Christmas Eve, Emma had dragged Ray into helping her get Norman away from his studies for just a moment.

Ray joked about, remarking how they could let a demon loose in the neighborhood or some other shenanigans.

As the two snuck up upon Norman’s study, he glanced up at them through the glass door.

“Can I help you two?” Norman questioned, softly, his voice ever so gentle.

“Norman… Come on. It’s Christmas Eve. Come watch a movie with us!” Emma whined, making a face at the other in hopes he would break.

“Emma, I just… I want to understand this the best I can so we can enjoy it. Just a little longer.” Norman tried to reason.

“Stupid Norman, it doesn't matter how we spent the holiday. You’ve finally stopped working for a moment only to stuff your nose back in a book.” Ray scoffed.

“Look who’s talking, stupid Ray.” Norman laughed.

“I never said I liked reading. I only did it to make sure-” Ray began, however, he was cut off by Emma’s interruption.

“To make sure we could escape because you love us soo much! We know, Ray!” She laughed.

Ray sighed, annoyed, “Come on, Norman. Take some time for yourself. Everyone else is.” 

“Fine.” He exhaled softly, his tense figure relaxing some.

“Yay!” Emma cheered out in excitement, jumping from where she once stood to barrel into Norman’s side in a large hug. “Come on, Ray made cookies!”

“Oh? What prompted that, Ray? I thought you didn’t like baking, because it didn’t challenge you enough.” Norman snickered to himself.

“It doesn’t, Emma just nearly ripped my ear off asking for them.” Ray remarked, before he paused, glancing over to Emma, who was holding in a laugh.

Then, she whispered, “What ear?” Before she burst out into joyful laughter.

Norman himself basked in it, enjoying the comedic banter between the two, it was comforting.

Ray sighed softly, smiling at Norman’s awkward expression, knowing full well how comfortable he was in their moment, between their family.

Then, for Norman, for Ray, and for Emma, it clicked.

That’s what spending the holidays was about, truly.

Their family.

After all they’d survived, done for each other, and witnessed, they all appreciated a moment, a day even, to revel in their family.

All 38 of them.

Chapter Text

Winter during Third Life would not be easy. Jimmy knew that. 

He was a red life, and the insatiable urge to kill pumped through his arteries. He gripped Scott's hand, tapping his fingers against his husband's palm. The pair of them walked slowly back to their base. 

He was always anxious, especially as the cold wind blew around them. It made him uncomfortable, vulnerable. He couldn't be vulnerable and let down his guard because of some damn cold weather. It was stupid, really. 

But he braved it because he was there. Scott was there.

"I have something to show you," Scott squeezed Jimmy's hand, grinning. What could he possibly be so cheerful about? Maybe he'd gotten them new armor, or potions, or something like that. That would be helpful.

Scott tugged Jimmy along, the wooden fence around their shared base coming into view. He cheerfully opened the gate, pulling his partner to stand next to him on the stepping stones that led to the lake.

Nothing was new.

Huh.

Jimmy had expected something much more, like Scott bringing him to a secret hiding place for rare materials or secret items. But no, their base was the same as it had been when they'd crafted it block-by-block. But Scott seemed excited, so Jimmy let him have it.

Scott let go of his hands, holding his palms out to the water. Jimmy looked toward the gate instinctually, checking behind them for any intruders. He needed to be on his guard and stay on guard.

His fingers tapped at his side, a habit formed out of the anxiety of being a red life. It soothed his nerves, gave him comfort. Jimmy studied Scott's face, his mannerisms. He seemed to be concentrating on something. But what? The man beside him knelt down, dipping his fingertips in the cold water.

Suddenly, as if nature was bending around them, the lake froze over instantly. The murky blue-brown water turned to pale ice, Scott smiling, proud of himself. Jimmy couldn't begin to understand but he wasn't sure if needed to. He grinned, taking Scott's hand again, despite the coldness of it.

"It's safe to step on, see?" Scott carefully stepped out onto the ice, his shoes sliding just a bit. Jimmy gripped his hand. What if Scott fell through? He'd freeze to death and then he'd be a yellow and—

"You should come join me, it's pretty fun," Scott beamed, sliding around on the ice in circles. Join him? On the ice? Was Scott mad?

Jimmy shook his head quite vigorously to get the point across, squeezing Scott's hand tighter. Scott chuckled, taking Jimmy's other hand. 

"C'mon. I've got you, alright?" Scott reassured, sliding his fingers up to grip his partner's wrists. Jimmy let out a shaky breath, the air visible with the cold temperature. He nodded. 

Scott wouldn't hurt him. He would be okay.

Jimmy made slow steps out to the center of the lake, his hands gripping his husband's elbows. Scott held him steady as the pair of them walked, finally making their way to the middle of the ice. Jimmy braced a foot on the frozen stepping stones that remained, although they didn't provide any more support. And he was warm in Scott's arms.

"See? There you go!" Scott grinned, pecking Jimmy's cheek. He felt his face flush, kissing Scott on the tip of the nose in retaliation.

"This isn't so bad," Jimmy let himself say, still holding his death grip on Scott's hands but not leaning on him as heavily. He grew more and more confident on the ice by the second, overcoming his fear of falling through. He trusted Scott.

"Have you ever ice skated?" Scott asked, leading Jimmy across the pond and turning him in circles as they went. They simply slid around in each other's arms, Jimmy letting out happy little laughs as they did.

"No, never have," Jimmy replied simply. Scott led him back to the grass before stepping off of the ice and rummaging through a chest. 

"Well, in theory, I could use wax to fasten these to our shoes and we could try," he said, pulling out a stash of iron ingots. Jimmy was surprised; iron was so valuable and so scarce and Scott was about to waste it for an activity that they'd do together once?

"Are you crazy?" Jimmy asked. "Don't waste our iron on ice skating in this death game." He had to admit, the words were quite influenced by Jimmy's own anxiety. But they couldn't waste resources.

Not when they didn't know if they'd make it to the following week.

Scott pouted, pulling a small box out of the chest; wax. He pulled his shoe off, running two lines of the hot wax over the bottom of it. "But it'll be fun," he whined, curling his fingers in a "come here" gesture.

And Jimmy just couldn't say no to him.

"Fine," he sighed, feeling his fingers tap against his pants on their own. He couldn't stop thinking about the future or survival or if he and Scott would survive without the energy they were just about to throw out.

"That's the spirit," Scott grinned, holding the thin edges of the metal in the wax as it dried. He set the newly formed ice skate down on the chest, repeating the process to his other sneaker before patting the wood next to him. Jimmy sat beside him with a twinge of reluctance, sliding his boots off.

Scott added wax and metal to the bottoms of them, humming a tune as he did. He quickly tied them onto Jimmy's feet when they dried, standing up in his own 'skates'. Jimmy wobbled, unable to balance on the thin metal. Scott held his hands and walked back to the lake with perfect practice, Jimmy struggling behind him just a bit.

Scott gave him a quick kiss on the mouth and ran a hand through his hair, making him flush with love rather than embarrassment. "Good job. Just lean into it, alright, I'm not gonna let go of you."

Ice skating was, surprisingly, quite tricky. Jimmy felt himself physically unable to let go of his husband's forearms, laughing at himself when he stumbled. Scott seemed to move around the lake like a figure skater, perfect practice helping him assist Jimmy,

"I feel so dumb," Jimmy gave Scott a nervous chuckle as he was pulled along into a slow spin. He seemed to be getting the hang of it more quickly than Scott thought he would. He loosened his grip on the man's hands, able to balance and skate quite fast.

"You're doing great, petal, there you go," Scott smiled, leading him across the ice. The act seemed to be like a dance, sliding gracefully around the makeshift rink. 

He took Scott's hand and led the pair of them

in some sort of strange waltz, twirling Scott gracefully, watching him spin quickly and almost

falling when he heard the gate open.

When he heard the gate open.

Someone was there.

Jimmy whirled around instantly, finding a hunched-over Tango trudging down the hill. The blaze looked up at the pair of them on the lake sheepishly, keeping his distance but clearly wanting to talk to them.

"Tango! Hello!" Scott greeted cheerfully, ever so the more positive one. Jimmy kept quiet, knowing he'd probably say something rude he'd regret if he opened his mouth.

"Hi," Tango greeted quietly, staying on the riverbank. "I hope you don't mind if I'm here. The other members of the Crastle keep fighting and I—" Tango cut himself off. "I was wondering if I could stay here for a little bit."

Scott led Jimmy off of the ice, standing in front of the blaze and offered him his hand. "Of course. You can come skate with us, if you'd like."

Tango smiled, eagerly accepting the hand. "I'd love to."

Chapter Text

Most forests were a biting kind of cold, Emma learned. 

The barrier between the house and wherever they were trying to find themselves was a harsh place, trying to kill them mercilessly.

A sharp twinge of fear would glide through her veins alongside her blood, along with prying thoughts that were nagging, and fearfully true.

What if we don’t make it?

Where are we even going?

What would Norman want for us?

Does Ray think I’m an idiot? Of course he does.

She yearned to relish in her once naive decisions, to be the adored eldest child to help children tie their shoes or reach for their toys, to not have to grow and mature for once. 

She knew that Norman would want her to live, and she knew that’s why he was so willing to die.

Ray can’t think she’s an idiot. He wouldn’t let her do this if he did. She knew that too.

When her racing thoughts finally decided to calm, allowing Emma a moment of silence, she had only then realized how numb she’d grown to the cold. 

She yearned for the pale white knit sweaters of Grace Field for a moment. 

She wished for the soft cradle of her mother’s hands to ease her worries and allow her to rest.

What she didn’t wish for, was to be killed for her intelligent mind to serve a feast for some ratchet monster, or to raise naive children such as she once was, only to watch the joyfully lived life fade from their pale, loved eyes. 

She’d seen so many of her siblings die, even if she didn’t know it then. 

She had to keep living for them, no matter how cold she was. 

She had all the time in the world, until something killed her, that is. 

As cynical as she’d become, she had to hold a steady mindset to ensure the survival of her family, but God was she cold.

She was cold in the way she couldn’t feel her fingertips when her hands grazed her sides. 

She shivered in the sense that her skin adhered to her ribs, flowing over her figure like a waterfall.

She froze in the idea of her family members, Norman, Ray, even herself, being brutally killed, their memory dying with them; their cold, dead hands unable to write a letter to their living siblings. 

She didn’t know if the deep, biting cold was just from the frosty snow lining the dirt she slept on, or from the dull loneliness of not being able to see a genuine, joyful smile from any of her siblings anymore. 

One day, a day when a chill had covered the forest, like every other evening, Gilda had approached her with a wide grin that Emma didn’t recognize. 

It was… happy, and unafraid.

“I made you something, Emma.” She whispered, her voice raw with positive emotion. 

Emma didn’t have the voice to respond, each fearful thought having dragged away her ability to lie and smile like everything was alright again. She was never good at pretending like nothing was wrong, like Ray did.

She smiled softly, as she presented a soft olive green sweater, loose knots holding its shape and fraying at the edges. 

Gilda pushed the sweater into Emma’s calloused hands, the hands that had taken lives and been stained with red, iron-rich blood and cradled the helpless, grasping the sweater loosely, rubbing her fingers over the seams. 

“Ray said you kept waking up at night shivering. So, I thought I’d practice my sewing skills by making you a sweater. I know they’re not as nice as Mom’s but-” Gilda rambled softly, explaining the gift that weighed on Emma’s heart.

The fabric weighed in her hands, the care that went into it, made her smile. No matter how afraid Emma was, or didn’t admit she was, her family did care.

They loved her, and that alone left her heart warm.

Emma cut her off swiftly, hugging her tightly, letting her blood-stained hands grasp on the people she loved for once, finally knowing that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, hurt them. 

“It’s perfect, Gilda.” She sniffled, crystal tears slipping away from her eyes, falling down her scarred face. 

Sure, she felt tainted in more ways than one, with the people who’d died, the sympathetic stare that Norman gave her as he left her for the final time, the hideous demons that threatened to take away everything she loved, knowing that the woman she trusted with her life was her worst enemy at the moment, and… knowing she could die at any moment, but right here, she felt like she would never have to be cold again.

She felt truly warm inside. 

Chapter Text

The atmosphere of Central Park in the Winter was cold. You'd think that would be its saving grace for the whole year.

But it was sunnier than ever, Gomez discovered, very quickly closing all of the windows in the master bedroom that he and his wife slept in. She was asleep, safe and sound from the bright light.

He strode over to her, leaning his sword neatly against the bed frame. Gomez pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, deciding that maybe he could catch a few more minutes of sleep beside her. She looked so peaceful, her soul not tainted from the damn sunlight outside.

They both much preferred the moonlight.

He slipped under the covers, kicking his shoes off and wrapping himself around her. Gomez quickly busied himself with pressing gentle kisses to her neck, careful not to wake her. She stirred slightly, falling back into her gentle slumber with ease. 

Eventually, Morticia's eyes fluttered open and Gomez kissed her awake, pressing his lips to her neck before cradling her face with his hands. She snaked her hand up his arm to hold his, kissing her husband softly. 

"Good morning, mi querida," he grinned, letting her pull him into her arms. Gomez rested himself on top of her, his hands roaming her body, running down her back. He felt Morticia smile against his lips, something she rarely did. It disappeared quickly though, and discomfort was shown on her face. Gomez needed to find out what it was that disappointed her so intensely so that it could be removed at once.

"Mon cher," she whispered. "It's bright out." She made a face that displayed the very disgust he too felt. 

Gomez pulled the duvet off of his legs, stepping back out of the bed onto the hardwood floor. He closed the curtains with the sword leaning against the bed. Morticia sighed with relief, stepping out of the bed herself and beginning to dress.

Wednesday had never seen such a horrid day.

And she'd seen many horrid days. Almost all of her days were horrid, really.

This one was different. It was too sunny and bright, and every time she looked out a window she gagged at the sight of lights covering the neighbors' houses. Her parents and her grandmother had taught her what the season meant, the twenty-five days of pure pain that had to be endured during the winter season.

It was getting horrible, to the point where she had to shield her eyes when she left the house, choosing not to bury Pugsley in the dirt and snow because she knew they were both terribly allergic to color. Although she didn't mind seeing Pugsley have an allergic reaction, she didn't fancy the days of hives and vomiting that she herself had to endure.

And the damned carolers.

Every Sunday, a group of people would foolishly stand on the doorstep of the Addams' manor and torture the family inside with their endless singing. It had to be some modern method of torture, the cruelest punishment Wednesday had ever heard of. She wouldn't wish that on even her own brothers.

Wednesday trudged down the stairs, making her way to the table for breakfast when she found that no-one else was there, the windows all shut, the smallest amount of light peeking through. Smart behavior on their part.

Then the vomiting started.

The sound echoed throughout the manor, and Wednesday let a smirk spread across her face. She hoped it was Pugsley, although it did sound quite uncomfortable what he seemed to be going through. An allergy attack, she guessed. He'd been foolish enough to look out the window at the colored lights.

She made her way quickly up the stairs, swinging open the door to her brother's bedroom. Lo and behold, he sat in his bed, a bucket at his side. Her mother sat with him, a hand on his forehead. 

"Pugsley," she warned. "You shouldn't have done that, my darling vermin."

"What did he do?" Wednesday asked, having the general idea but wanting to know the details. Maybe she was gathering ideas, maybe she wasn't. Besides, she had a special HAZMAT suit, inky black and shielding her from the colors in the world. Maybe she could put it to use?

"Make a horrible decision, honestly," her father responded. "He went outside in the sunshine. Said it would take too long for the sun to set and insisted on kicking Pubert off of the roof before dinner. Saw the Christmas lights—" Wednesday gagged, grabbing Pugsley's bucket in case she threw up. "—and fainted. I had to get him."

"You've both had reactions, but this is the worst it's ever gotten with your brother," Morticia sighed, crossing her arms. "He's too flushed. Lost his pallor. Such a shame," she frowns.

"How long will it be until I can torture him again?" Wednesday asked, a bit bored. She typically did enjoy seeing her brother suffer, but not when it was something or someone else's doing. 

"A while, paloma. This allergy, it takes lots of time to heal," Gomez explained. Wednesday rolled her eyes.

The doorbell rang just then, loud and clear. Lurch was sent for the door, but the torment had already started. The singing, the off-pitch harmonies, the church women in their forties that sang awfully along with the children. 

Her head pounded at the first note she heard, and she fought off the urge to steal Pugsley's vomit bucket and empty the contents of last night's lizard stew directly into it. She watched her father cover his own ears. Morticia rolled her eyes, no doubt annoyed by the sound.

Grandmama strode into the room, pressing a bottle of liquid to Pugsley's lips. He swallowed it, gagging at the taste. "It'll make him feel better."

Morticia gave her mother-in-law a small smile, letting her son drink the liquid. She took her cold hands off of his forehead to rub her temples, her head beginning to hurt as well.

"Headache?" Grandmama asked. Morticia, Gomez, and Wednesday all nodded in unison while Pugsley took the time to vomit into his bucket once more. Grandmama pressed her lips together, thinking of a solution. A simple potion wouldn't do their discomfort justice.

"I have an idea, and it'll make Pugsley feel better as well." And with that, she rushed out of Pugsley's room and shut the door. Lucifer knew what she'd do. Wednesday hoped it'd be fun.

Morticia had finally been convinced to leave Pugsley's side, Gomez's argument being that 'he could heal on his own and he'd be able to contact us if he needed us.' It was fair enough, and she'd ended up in Gomez's office with her head on her husband's chest, doing something they rarely consciously did and something she even more rarely started: cuddling.

"I'm worried about him, Gomez," she whispered, taking his hand and tracing the knuckles with her thumb. He nodded into her chest, his fingers lacing with hers.

"I know you are, and I am, too. But he's an Addams. He'll be better in no time," Gomez reassured his wife. He gave her a smile, pecking her on the lips. She tried to believe him, but she couldn't stop thinking.

"What if the allergy gets worse? There's going to be colored lights everywhere this month, and it seems like they're getting worse by the year," she frowned. 

"Cara, try not to worry yourself. Mama will make sure he's healed by tonight, okay?" He kissed both of her cheeks and then her mouth, and she couldn't help but let her frown fade. He made it all okay.

"Alright," she said quietly, placing a hand on his chest. 

Just then, Fester ran into the room, an excited grin on his face. He eagerly beckoned the pair of them to follow him, Morticia and Gomez walking close behind the man. He led the pair of them to the balcony, where Wednesday, Mama, and a seemingly much better Pugsley sat. Pubert rested on the edge of the balcony, his little feet swinging off. 

Gomez scooped him up, not wanting to risk anything until he was old enough to walk on his own. Morticia silently thanked him, giving her husband a smile as he coddled the baby boy.

"What's the plan?" Morticia asked, rolling her eyes as the third group of carolers walked up to the door, pulling the bell. Mama only grinned, ushering her and Gomez to stand behind her. Morticia shielded Pugsley's eyes with her hand, not wanting his allergies to be triggered again. She couldn't risk it happening for the second time that day.

As soon as the carolers had ended their first vomit-inducing song, Mama gestured for the six of them to place their hands on the large cauldron in front of them, Thing sneaking up (or rather, down) to lift it. Together, the hot liquid spilled through the air and landed on those wretched people at their doorstep, the singing erupting into screams.

They once said, the first time Morticia had opened the door, that their goal was to "spread the Christmas cheer." Ha.

And besides, who needed 'Christmas cheer' when they had each other? Their family? 

Certainly not the Addamses.

Chapter Text

Across the horizon, against the fiery sun setting along the sky, lie a landscape that could steal one's breath away.

Something else caught Scott’s attention. 

The houses he saw, ranging in beauty from the bleeding heart in the ravine to the wood rot covered boat nestled in the dirt, all gave his nerves a slight shake.

He always had to be aware of these things. 

But one base in particular stood out, one that radiated warmth and comfort. 

The Ranchers were two of a kind, according to Scott. 

He didn’t understand them, how they could be so okay with living and not fear the curses looming above their heads. 

He knew what they could do.

He knew what would happen.

He understood that the two cursed souls forced to damnation by the Watchers would be pried apart by their own destruction.

He’d thought about it before, what’d he’d say to them.

He tried to start with “We’ll all die eventually.” However, that seemed too harsh, like he was trying to equal his experiences with theirs. 

Maybe something more straight to the point, like “You two shouldn’t get your hopes up.” 

No, that seemed too rude. 

After hours of sitting on his balcony, staring at the lit wooden home from afar, he settled on simply ignoring them.

He was a busy man, trying to survive with a crazy ex-soulmate running around, trying to get them killed, while slandering his name.

Yet, something in him yearned to understand their domestic love for each other. 

Some ungodly cold heartedness in him that held all his selfishness and ire needed them to be apart. 

He hated how happy they allowed themselves to be.

Days had passed as he admired their home in every light of day or night. He never noticed the time passing until he registered real conversations, people approaching him. 

The words flew over his head softly, he stared at the Ranch, his brow furrowing at each thought he sorted through.

He felt like he was fighting a war alone, against no one. 

The Ranchers didn’t hate him. 

He didn’t understand why. 

He would hate himself if he was in their position.

He hated them, and every happy thing they stood for. 

He despised how they’d built a routine for themselves while he drowned in his fear and uncertainty. 

He wanted them to hate him.

Why didn’t they hate him?

He was a horrible person.

So, when he received an invitation from the Ranchers into their home? 

He was terrified. 

He had approached the wooden home that he knew from such a distance with caution.

Scott knew where every plank or nail was, he could dismantle it from the inside. 

They couldn’t be happy if they had no house to turn into a comfortable home. 

He knocked on the door, letting his calloused hands rap against the wood. 

“Scott!” Jimmy cheered, swinging the door open and nearly falling himself from the inertia.

“Oh, Jimmy. Hi.” Scott coughed, hiding his own intentions behind a blanket of false emotions. 

“Come on in! Tango’s inside. We wanted to show you something!” Jimmy smiled, gesturing into the house generously. 

“What’s up with you two?” Scott offered.

“Not much other than this. Tango’s been working on it all night. He’s real proud.” Jimmy nodded.

“I know it’ll be a treat. Tango never fails to impress.” He laughed in response.

“Scott! Jimmy! Look! I think I got it!” Tango cheered from his spot, hunched over the furnace.

“Got what?” Scott questioned, as Jimmy shouted in joy, “Really? Let me try!”

Tango grinned as he passed a mug to Jimmy, where they got the supplies for mugs yet not iron armor shocked him.

Jimmy passed the cup to him, smiling softly as their eyes locked for a moment.

Jimmy grabbed a cup of his own, taking a long sip and sighing softly, “That’s perfect, Tangs. I’m so glad you found those.” 

“What’s this?” Scott asked, tilting the cup to examine the viscous liquid. He smelled it carefully, afraid of them attempting to poison him.

“Hot cocoa. Tango 'negotiated’ some chocolate from Grian, whipped up his own recipe.” Jimmy winked, smiling as he held the warm drink close to his chest.

Scott sighed, his heart stuttering slightly in fear.

Pearl would kill him if he let these two poison him here.

He glanced up at the two men, watching expectantly for him to take a sip.

Oh well, he thought, pulling the cup to his lips and tasting the experimental drink.

Oh. 

It tasted like being held by a fire or being loved for simply who you were.

It tasted like home.

Like love.

  Oh.

They loved him.

They loved him and all he’d ever done was hate.

And all he saw as he looked up were satisfied smiles.

They were okay with his hatred.

And he hated that.

Chapter Text

Mumbo was pacing.

Christmas was nearing, and he had absolutely no clue what to get his husband. 

It seemed stupid, he'd known this man since they were both nineteen and been married to him for five years. So why couldn't his brain create a good enough idea?

He'd done the basics in previous years: wing grooming kits, snow globes, cheesy mugs and candles, lotions and soaps, the works. Grian wasn't one to ask for things, either, except from Xisuma, who insisted. But the items he put on those lists were all jokes. 

Mumbo liked making gifts for his husband. Every now and again he'd find something nice at a store, on or off-server, and he'd get it. He'd never had any trouble buying things for Grian before.

This Christmas proved to be very different. 

He'd already finished building and wrapping gifts for Scar, his and Grian's fiancé. And he'd done it all on his own as well, not even having to ask Grian for help. Scar would be receiving matching sweaters for him and Jellie, a rare collection of large gems for him to use to decorate Scarland, and more than six romance novels, all dyslexia-friendly. Those were surprisingly hard to come by. But that had been easy.

Scar's gifts sat under the Scarland Christmas tree, along with the ones he himself had gotten Mumbo and Grian, and the gifts Grian had gotten for Scar and him. Both of his partners had finished their Christmas shopping, and it drove him mad.

He felt terrible. He couldn't even think of a Christmas gift for his husband of five years. He fidgeted nervously with his wedding ring, his heart rate having picked up substantially from the moment he started thinking about gifts.

Grian had done so much for him after all those years, and each one that passed Mumbo would give him a gift for Christmas. Every year he'd strived to give his husband something better, and Mumbo had always seemed to exceed his expectations.

But he couldn't even think of a gift for him.

He thought he knew Grian like the back of his hand. He knew every inch of his body and his mind, knowing all there was to know about his husband. But maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe Grian had just accepted his gifts in pity. Mumbo couldn't think and it was driving him insane.

He'd always been teased about being a sad excuse for a husband. He was very much living up to that expectation, wasn't he? Always busy, not even able to think about something to give his partner. Grian had given so much to him.

And even while thinking about a damn Christmas gift, Mumbo felt as though he was taking and not giving back at all.

Taking his time. Taking his love. Taking his gifts and not giving him anything back.

He tugged off his suit coat, throwing it haphazardly onto his desk. He strode over to the door of his workshop, locking it. Mumbo needed a couple of hours to himself. Just to think. To think about what to get Grian! Nothing else, for sure.

But Mumbo's mind was prone to digging rabbit holes that would end in despair. He traced his right thumb along the knuckles of his left hand, something he did when he needed to think. He let out a disappointed sigh. Mumbo wasn't sure if he was more disappointed in the lack of gifts out there in the entirety of the server multiverse or in himself.

He laid his head against the wall, sinking down in his chair. He could practically feel the eyebags under his eyes and the mark of the crease in his brow, but he could care less. His stress would be virtually gone if he could figure out what to get his husband for Christmas.

Quickly he sketched out machines he could build, little portable things that would help Grian in his everyday life. A shulker box that held twice the items, an item sorter that would transport items straight to where Grian needed them from the location he gathered resources.

Not good enough.

Maybe some jewelry? He could craft that on his own. He had diamonds. Maybe a bracelet? Earrings? Grian had his ears pierced, right? Void, why couldn't Mumbo remember when he needed to?

He drew a line through the idea of a set of earrings, the uncertainty of not knowing if his partner's ears were pierced irking him and making him anxious. 

Maybe a necklace? Something thin, but strong enough to withstand the harsh environments Grian loved to build in? That sounded nice. Mumbo quickly sketched out a diamond necklace with a thin iron chain, the gem in the center set in silver. 

Or, actually, he could do one better. Mumbo quickly shaded in the drawing of the gemstone, scratching the word 'diamond' out and replacing it with 'peridot'. The bright green would go nicely with his dark eyes, and it was also the man's birthstone. Grian had never really been one for astrology, and neither had Mumbo, but he liked the sentiment.

Just as he'd finally decided on something, still a bit unsure, Scar walked into the room casually.

Mumbo could've sworn he locked the door.

"Hello, love," Mumbo greeted the man, choosing not to question his fiancé. Scar pressed a quick peck to his lips and moved to sit on the floor, peering over Mumbo's shoulder at all the scratched-out drawings.

Scar gestured to them vaguely. "I can neither tell what this is nor read what you wrote. Describe your obvious problems to me, Mr. GoodTimes."

"Mr. GoodTimes?" Mumbo asked, chuckling. "That's your name."

Scar simply grinned. "And it can be yours, if you want," he said, raising his left hand and wiggling his ring finger. The engagement ring Mumbo had picked out for him looked quite nice under the light of the redstone lamp.

With the entrance of his fiancé into the room, Mumbo felt more calm. He took Scar by the hand, gently squeezing it as he sketched.

"I've been stuck on what to make Grian for Christmas. I sketched out a necklace I wanted to make him, but I'm scared it won't be enough," Mumbo finally confessed. Scar gave him a small smile.

"I struggled with him, too. I don't even remember what I got," he chuckled. His smile turned mischievous after some time, and Mumbo was ever-so-slightly scared about what he was about to say.

"Besides, if it fails, you can always give him me for Christmas!" Scar beamed.

What did that even mean?

"Give him you?" Mumbo asked, not sure if he heard his partner right. He must have misheard,

Nope. Scar nodded. "You can wrap me up in ribbons and I'll walk through the door at the Hermitcraft Christmas party right when you need me to if you want."

Mumbo laughed. No, he was not wrapping Scar in ribbon and letting Grian unwrap him like a damn Christmas gift.

On second thought, he could…

Chapter Text

Well aware of the fact that Tumble Town always had a hot climate, its inhabitants weren’t completely aware of the harsh winters that came with living in the desert.

It was hard to get people to live in a city with limited electricity, frozen over water sources, enemies from all angles, and almost no trade partners.

The holidays were a time of people returning to their families.

And Jimmy’s people had everywhere else to return to.

They never stayed for the holidays.

They stayed because the rent was cheap, and practically no one lived in the town.

The others looked down on his tiny population.

He hated it.

Even his allies made fun of him for it!

So he compiled a list of everything that was wrong with Tumble Town, and he was going to fix it.

1. $$$ water bills
2. too few houses
3. limited electricity
4. stupid god
5. short sheriff (?)

Granted, a few of those things would be quite difficult to achieve.

He wasn’t sure if he could ever rid himself of his narcissistic neighbor or make himself tall again.

But there were things he could do.

More houses could always be built in the heart of the town, and he could dig into the clay in hopes of finding a water source to build a well.

But Jimmy wanted something else.

He wanted to fall asleep in a house warmed by something other than a poorly tended fire.

He wanted his paved roads lit with street lamps instead of candle lit lanterns.

He wanted to embrace the idea of being allowed to want something this holiday season.

He wanted glamorous Christmas lights decorating his whole town.

He wanted people from around the world to come and see the tiny town that got its start with Christmas lights.

So, Jimmy decided that a steady flow of electricity to the town was his new top priority.

Unbeknownst to him, small cotton filled fingers weren’t the best to do electrical work with.

He had set up electrical poles to run the wires up, and into homes across the town.

 However, the metal wires kept falling through his hands, burning him at the touch.

He sat on a tall ladder sulking, petting Norman stressfully with one hand, and bandaging his hands with the other.

Until he heard a voice call out.

“Oi! What’s got the toy sheriff up a pole?” Joel snickered, his voice boomed and shook the desert as he approached.

Jimmy sighed, his mood soured by the scars on his hands and the god in front of him.

“I’m not in the mood for your pathetic banter today, Joel. Just… just go.” He inhaled sharply, fighting frustrated tears in his eyes as he hopped away from his ladder.

“What’s your little project all about? Looks rough.” Joel asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

“Didn’t I just tell you to leave?” Jimmy scoffed, brushing off cat fur from where they stuck to his hands. 

“Can’t you just answer the question?” Joel replied, quickly becoming equally frustrated.

“I don’t owe you anything. Don’t you have more- I don’t know- godly things to do?” Jimmy exhaled softly, brushing his thumb against the edge of his bandages anxiously.

“I don’t, really. I want to know what’s got your stupid town covered in burn marks, I could smell smoke from Stratos.” Joel nodded.

“What? Smoke? From here to Stratos?” Jimmy’s heart fell in his stomach.

Joel’s expression lightened a bit, “Okay, not to Stratos. But Pix did ask me to see what the fiery smell was over here.”

“The smell? What smell? Fire?” Jimmy panicked, frantically looking around for some burning scraps that he wasn’t expecting.

Despite what his imagination told him, Tumble Town was covered in tiny burn marks from sparks flying around. Now that he realized, he noted that his clothes had a majority of the holes, some even burning through the rubber soles of his boots. 

“Oh…” Jimmy whispered, disappointed and upset with the mess he had made out of his prided town. 

An overwhelming feeling of discouragement overcame Jimmy in that moment, tears falling faster than he could account for. 

Before he registered it, he was full on sobbing, if not ugly crying in front of Joel. So much for having any pride, he noted.

Joel froze at the sight, as any person would, and stepped back awkwardly. 

“I wanted it to work out so well, Joel. But my hands keep catching on fire, and now my empire’s covered in burns, and so am I! I just wanted to have some nice lights…” He wailed. 

“Hold on, you managed all this trying to put up lights?” Joel asked, before backtracking, “You don’t have electricity in Tumble Town?” 

Jimmy shook his head, sniffling as wet tears slid down his cloth cheeks.

“You mean, you manage all of this with torches and candles? No redstone? No circuitry?” Joel asked, shocked.

He nodded, shamefully, “The creeper farm has a little. But it took so long. And I was actually made of flesh and blood when I made it.”

“What… prompted you to start messing with it now?” Joel questioned.

Jimmy choked down another sob, “It’s December. And…” He cried, “I wanted to put up Christmas lights.” 

The two sat in a somewhat awkward silence, Jimmy’s burns throbbing beneath the bandages, and Joel feeling quite awful about how awful he’d treated the sheriff through the industrial era of his town. 

He remembered building the first steps of Stratos, pulling together every scrap he could to make what he had work.

No one had ever dared to interfere with the first stepping stones of an empire, not here. 

But, Jimmy wouldn’t know that, would he?

“Let me help you.” Joel offered, his voice weak and vulnerable, just as Jimmy had been with him.

“What?” Jimmy replied.

“You’re going through one of the most important stages of your empire, and we all haven’t been exactly fair to you during all of it.” Joel dragged on.

“What are you talking about?” He asked.

“We all agreed on a grace period to get our empires’ economies stable before we made allies or enemies. But, no one ever heard from you about your empire’s progression. We all agreed that we weren’t going to prank each other until our empires were secure, but yours isn’t. That’s… not right.” 

Jimmy’s face turned to one of betrayal and anger.

“You all had time to set your empires up, and no one told me? And you came after me with your stupid pranks the moment you could even though I wasn’t ready?” He asked, his voice tense and tears staggering. 

“I… uhm. Yeah.” Joel nodded.

“And you never said anything?” 

He shook his head, shamefully aware of what he'd done.

Jimmy sighed, standing up and wiping his tears that had settled into his skin.

“You can start making it up to me by helping me put these wires up.” Jimmy told the other sternly. 

“What?” 

“Get up, take these, and run them to each building.” Jimmy nodded.

Joel shuffled up the ladder, draping wires from to the first pole as the other watched, feeling the guilt fall away slowly as he committed to helping the sheriff. 

Jimmy would’ve loved to say he felt better watching the guilty god progress his empire, but he did feel slightly guilty himself.

His enemy lied to him, it was only natural.

But were they really enemies? Jimmy had to wonder. 

Jimmy felt awkward about the situation, so he did the only thing he knew how to do in this sort of situation, and he flew off to Chromia. 

He would grab some nice Christmas lights while he was there, but he’d be able to see the joy in Scott’s face at the news of something new in Tumble Town, or just at the idea of the holidays in general. 

As Jimmy approached the colorfully glimmering empire, he heard a voice ring out among all else, “Jimmy? What are you doing here?” 

“Scott! Hi!” Jimmy smiled, tripping over his feet, attempting to stick a landing for once. “I was wondering if you had any spare strands of Christmas lights?”

“Christmas lights? What for?” Scott asked, laughing.

“You know, bringing some light to Tumble Town. Making it look nice.” Jimmy offered. 

“Oh? I think I might have some left over from all this.” Scott nodded, gesturing to the empire around them, decorated with a menagerie of colored lights. “Here, I haven’t put the rest up yet, you can take these.” He smiled, sliding a large container of tangled up lights to the sheriff.

“Once I put them up, you should come see.” Jimmy proposed, accepting the lights generously.

“I’ll drop by, I’m sure you won’t disappoint.” Scott smiled.

Jimmy nodded, shooting a rocket and flying back toward his empire, his nerves harping on him anxiously.

As he approached, the burnt smell had definitely been warded off, the burn marks had been scuffed around, but cleaner than before.

More importantly, a light came from the saloon. Multiple street lamps lined the pathways that he paved out months ago.

Lights came from each house, each farm and building that he’d ever built, and they didn’t flicker in the way a freshly lit torch did, no, they shined like electrical lights, just like he wanted. 

The dust bowl looked so much more inhabitable, more homey even. 

He couldn’t tell where Joel had gone until his voice boomed out throughout the bowl.

“How does it look, Jim?” He asked, smiling sincerely.

Tears sprung to Jimmy’s eyes, “It’s perfect, Joel! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He cheered, crying happily.

“You don’t have to thank me. I owed you that at least. Whatcha got there?” Joel reassured, asking softly.

“Christmas lights from Scott’s. I was wondering if you’d help me put them up?” Jimmy asked, “you did say that you owed me one.” 

“And routing electricity through your empire doesn’t count?” Joel added, sarcastically.

“Exactly, come on now. I told Scott he could drop by to see. I want this done before sundown.” Jimmy nodded. 

“Sundown? It’s nearly 5 already!” Joel reacted sharply. 

“Let’s get to work then, stupid god.” Jimmy chuckled.

“Alright then, stupid sheriff.” Joel agreed, beginning to untangle the strands of lights in the box. 

By the time the sun had set over the desert and the temperatures had plummeted, nearly all of Tumble Town was illuminated by warm Christmas lights, and the only thing on Jimmy’s mind was what else he could do to make the atmosphere more welcoming to its visitors. (He was definitely thinking about investing in some corny decorations.)

A rocket fired in the distance, which caught both his and Joel’s attention. 

“Sheriff? You home?” Scott called out cheerfully, landing just as gracefully. 

“Down here, Scott! We’re finishing up with lights!” Jimmy replied. 

Scott skipped around the corner, shockingly delighted by the sight of the town before him, lit up in a way he’d never seen before. 

“Wow… this all looks amazing.” He gasped.

“You’re welcome, Jim.” Joel remarked. 

“Thank you, Joel.” Jimmy smiled, admiring their work. “Say, do you think we could be allies?”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Joel replied.

Chapter Text

There was so much to do, so much to decorate, so much to build. It stressed Scar out to no end.

Not being able to get blueprints right, having these visions of builds that required insanely expensive materials and he just couldn't build them. It pissed him off, unable to create these beautiful things.

But his partner had eventually convinced him to take a break. Grian had showed up a while ago, leaning against Ellie the elephant and petting her ears. He'd been there for quite some time.

Scar just needed to finish shaping these trees.

"Please don't overwork yourself, Scar," he heard Grian call from behind him. He ignored it.

"Scar," Grian warned. "Come on, let's go back to my base and warm up, alright?" 

Just one more tree.

Just one.

"Scar, please, you need a break. C'mere." Grian's arms were around him and he dropped his shears, the sharp blade hitting his hand as they fell. He jerked his hand back, holding it close to himself. Thank Void his suit for that day was already a dark red.

Scar hissed, leaning into Grian. The man was quick to jump at the opportunity to help him, wrapping his boyfriend's hand in bandages. Immediately he felt better, but he could tell that a break would be very much needed.

"Does it hurt badly, love?" Grian asked, squeezing his hand gently. He led the pair of them all the way to Scar's starter base, insisting they walk the whole journey there. Scar shook his head, flashing Grian a smile.

"It's not terrible, but I don't feel good," Scar admitted, leaning on Grian as the pair of them walked. Grian pressed his lips together before relaxing them, bringing Scar's hand up to his lips and kissing the top of the bandage. He smiled.

"Then I shall kiss you better, Mister Scar," Grian stood on his tiptoes to kiss Scar on the lips, holding both of his hands before letting go to snake them around his waist.

"Thank you, dear." Scar let Grian kiss him, feeling the man smile against his lips. 

"Let's continue our journey, shall we? I have an activity for us," Grian tugged him along, not letting Scar get distracted by anything else as they walked. Grian's grip on him remained firm and it was comforting. He liked it.

It wasn't long before Grian was unlocking the doors of the abandoned tree base with the spare key Scar had given him long ago, and the place felt immediately full of life. Glow berries had grown from the bark of the ceiling, leaving beautiful trails across the wood of the tree house. Vines crept up the walls, some of them emitting light. 

Scar touched the tips of his ears, feeling them still as pointed as ever. He was born and elf and he would stay an elf at heart for all time.

Grian brought him into the kitchen, where a hefty bag of flour and an innocent-looking chicken sat on the counter. Grian let go of Scar to kiss the top of the chicken's head, carefully setting it down on the floor and letting it run off. 

"Good-bye, Mister Remington Senior," Grian waved to the chicken.

"He gives us eggs," Grian explained. "So we can make cookies!" He cheerfully held up Scar's old elven recipe book, to which Scar had to feel himself smile. It had been months since he'd stopped by his old cookie business. It was nice to see that Grian still remembered.

"What recipe should we make today?" Grian asked.

"Elven kisses?" Scar suggested. Grian shook his head, his hands cupping Scar's face gently.

"Nah, I already have enough of those." Their lips connected for a brief second, and Scar grinned into the kiss. Grian already tasted like sugar and butter somehow. Scar silently wondered how much he'd eaten beforehand.

"How about some good old chocolate chip cookies?" Grian asked, flipping the recipe book to the page he needed without even having to look. He walked backwards, letting Scar lift him onto the countertop before flinching.

"Shit, I should not have done that," Scar winced, shaking his hand off. Grian's lips formed a line before he kissed Scar's forehead down to his nose and down to his lips and chin. It did make him feel better, really.

"You said a swear word," Grian pointed out, sounding a bit like a child.

"You've heard me say much worse."

"Still."

Scar rolled his eyes, abandoning Grian on the countertop and moving to get all of the ingredients out of the pantry before realizing they were all there, behind the spot where Mister Remington Senior once sat. He smiled.

He loved his partner.

Grian sat, grinning at him as he dumped the flour into one large bowl, followed by lots of sugar. Scar could practically feel the cavities growing on his teeth by looking at it.

And besides, he didn't need any more sweetness when Grian was right there.

Chapter Text

In the plains of Chromia, proper Christmas trees were hard to come by.

The empire was built from several, more colorful, nether species of wood.

So finding your typical evergreen tree wasn’t exactly.

and Scott wanted one so extravagant that it could be seen from Stratos.

Normally, he would go to Sausage for any of his wood needs.

But he needed a tree, not just wood services.

So, he decided to run by Hermitopia to inquire for a certain landscaper’s assistance.

“Scar? You home?” Scott called out, attempting to scale the upward base known to the empires as Hermitopia.

“Oh, Scott! What brings you here?” Scar asked, swinging down from his space that he’d sectioned out in the mess of stacked up farms. 

“I’m in need of a Christmas tree. I heard that you specialize in terraforming them so I thought I’d swing by.” He responded softly, nodding along with his request.

“How big of a tree are you looking for?” Scar questioned, throwing himself downward haphazardly. 

“Big enough to be a centerpiece for my whole empire. I’ll pay you whatever, name your price, my friend.” Scott offered.

“Alright then, here’s what I’ll do, since we go so far back.” Scar chuckled, “I’ll do it if you get the materials, and I can stay in your empire while I build it.” 

“That’s it? No diamonds?” Scott asked, shocked.

“One diamond? So it doesn’t get around that I’ll terraform Christmas trees all season for no diamonds at all. If G finds out I’m doing this for you, he’ll ask me to terraform the whole Santa’s village.” He smiled. “Let me know where you want it, and when I can start.” 

“Alright, I’ll mark out a spot for it, Thanks, Scar!” Scott agreed, taking off with a rocket and not looking back.

Surely letting the builder into his empire for no cost at all would have no effect on him, right?

Right?

Chapter Text

Morticia had been running out of knitting ideas.

Normally, if she didn't have a clue what to make, she'd just knit another onesie for Pubert or another striped sweater for Pugsley, but she'd gotten a bit tired of making clothing for those two.

And with the drop in temperatures, Morticia decided that the kids needed to experience frostbite at least once in their lives. They couldn't grow up with a lack of near-death experiences. That just wouldn't do.

"'Tish," Morticia heard Gomez call before he strode into the room, smiling. He sat beside her, lifting her into his lap. She turned back and kissed him quickly on the mouth before returning to her knitting, picking up the black yarn. It was a start.

"What are you making this time?" Gomez asked, resting his head on her shoulder. Morticia smiled as he pressed his lips to her neck, gentle kisses.

"I'm honestly not quite sure, Gomez," Morticia frowned. "I'm running out of ideas. Cousin Herbert says that all the arms on the sweaters I make him are too thick, and I always seem to forget that he has four, not three. And Pubert has gotten to the age where he likes to rip my creations apart while he's wearing them."

Gomez pondered for a moment (if you could call kissing his wife's neck more intently pondering), before coming up with an idea. He kissed up the length of her neck before stopping at her ear, moving away.

"You should knit the family Christmas stockings. It could be fun to do those this year, and plus, we're running out of wrapping paper. The only other color we have is red and that doesn't go with the decorations."

"Gomez, when have we ever celebrated Christmas with stockings? We've only ever celebrated Christmas as a family twice and the first time you kept me in our bed the whole day," Morticia pointed out. Gomez had to chuckle, recalling the incident.

"Ah, but I hadn't gotten you a gift and so I resorted to desperate measures."

"Is it really desperate measures if we do it every night?"

"We don't get out the whips every night," Gomez pointed out.

"Oh, well," Morticia shrugged, the sentence completely normal in their relationship. "That's not my point. My point is why would we need stockings?" She turned her head back to look at Gomez again, who shrugged.

"C'mon, 'Tish, it could be fun!" he attempted to convince her, grinning when it worked. She kissed him quickly on the mouth before hooking the yarn onto her hooks and setting to work.

She'd sat there for hours and she'd only gotten through two stockings. Typically she was quick with those kinds of projects, hell, it had taken her minutes to knit Aunt Matilda her newest shawl. Morticia was quick with her fingers.

Of course, there was the added obstacle of Gomez in her lap, his head resting comfortably on her shoulder. Morticia was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep by then, but she didn't really mind. She wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders. 

She could never relax the way he could, sleeping virtually anywhere.

Pugsley ran into the room, Wednesday in tow. He held a large tarantula in his hands, proudly holding the arachnid up for his mother to see. Morticia smiled, setting down her project to take a closer look at the animal. It sat obediently in Pugsley's hand, no wishes to crawl away. 

"Mother! Look! And I trained him, too!" Pugsley grinned, setting the spider on the couch. He made a clicking sound with his tongue and the spider crawled back up his body to sit in his hand. Morticia clapped. It was a wonder what her children could do. Such talent; she couldn't even get her pet spider to stay on a leash when she was a girl. And Pugsley had his pet trained? Impeccable.

"I don't know how he does it. I tried teaching the thing world domination, but it just wouldn't listen," Wednesday sighed, blowing a stray hair out of her face. 

Morticia gave her daughter a soft smile, picking her yarn back up. "I'm sure you'll get there someday, Wednesday," she encouraged. "Training spiders is no easy feat, though."

Wednesday gave Morticia a nod of acknowledgement while Pugsley watched her knit. He picked up the two finished Christmas stockings and made a face. "What the hell are these for?"

"Language, little vermin. And your father—" Morticia gestured to Gomez, his head on her chest. "—has insisted that we have stockings this year for Christmas. I tried to talk him out of it, but he used his 'please' face," Morticia explained.

"Ew," Wednesday remarked simply. Pugsley nodded in agreement.

"Yeah! What are we even gonna do with them, anyway?" Pugsley asked. It made sense that the children wouldn't understand what the stockings were for, Morticia and Gomez had never taught them. 

"We'll put small presents in them. Just you wait and see, Pugsley. They're the perfect size for all the things you want. Concealable bombs, grenades, stronger acid, the works." Pugsley accepted that answer, leaving the room. Wednesday followed, leaving Morticia alone with her husband.

She let out a chuckle when he stirred, kissing Gomez's chin. She finished knitting the third stocking, starting on the fourth. 

With that, he woke up, wrapping his arms around her neck. "Good morning, Querida," he smiled. Morticia kissed him on the cheek, letting him sit in her lap and watch her knit.

"It's half past six, Gomez," Morticia corrected.

"Sorry, let me try again. Good evening , Querida," he tried again. Morticia seemed to accept that, kissing her husband on the lips. 

"Nice nap?" Morticia asked.

"Very," Gomez responded, holding her tight. "You're a nice pillow."

"Thank you?"

"You're very welcome, cara." He kissed her hand, pulling her project towards him unintentionally. "This looks nice."

Morticia smiled, kissing her husband again. "You do have quite good ideas, Gomez. This has been entertaining."

"I always do," he smiled.

Chapter Text

"What's got you all giggly, Scar?" Grian asked, practically demanding an answer. Scar placed a plastic shopping bag on the kitchen counter of their apartment, joining Grian on the couch with something in his hand.

Grian turned his phone off, turning to face Scar, who grinned like a dumbass. Resting in his hand was a candy cane, already unwrapped. Grian could only wonder what he had in store.

"Do you remember the pocky challenge, Grian?" Scar asked, twirling the candy cane between his fingers. Grian remembered it very clearly. He and Scar had done it once and ended up fully making out and that had ended up being the start of a three-year-long relationship with the man.

"Yeah," Grian responded simply. "What's that got to do with that candy cane?"

"Well," Scar started, and Grian could feel his eyes rolling on instinct. Scar laughed, biting off the hooked end of the large candy cane. "I wanted to try that again, but with a candy cane!" 

Grian sighed, grinning. Why not? He crossed his leg over his knee, letting Scar position one end of the candy cane between his lips.

He slid the other end between his teeth.

"Three," Scar started.

"Two," Grian continued.

"One, go!" Scar finished, eagerly biting down on the sugary candy. Grian raced to meet him in the middle, chewing the mint candy. Scar's mouth was closer to Grian's end of the candy cane than his own, and Grian could not let him win. He looked at his partner with determination, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He laid his legs over Scar's lap, moving closer. A distraction.

Grian's plan worked in his favor, and the last bite of candy fell into his mouth as his lips pressed against his boyfriend's. Scar tasted the same as him, his mouth tasting of endless mint. Grian swallowed the candy cane before letting the kiss turn open-mouthed, wrapping his arms around Scar's chest.

He had to pull away for air soon after, much to Scar's dismay. The man pouted, busying himself with kissing Grian's jawline and then kissing his mouth again. The minty flavor of the candy cane had faded slightly, and Scar tasted like himself again.

"That was a nice idea," Scar smiled as he pulled away, at the same time Grian blurted "I won!"

"Hey, that's not fair! You cheated!" Scar fake-pouted, suppressing his laughter.

"I won fair and square," Grian declared.

"You distracted me."

"It's not my fault you get distracted when I sit in your lap. I was merely making myself comfortable," Grian didn't let Scar continue their argument, kissing his lips once more. He held Scar's hand, tracing his knuckles with his thumb.

"Grian?" Scar asked against his lips. Grian made a noise of acknowledgement, a quiet hum. "I have a question to ask you."

Grian pulled off of his lips. "What is it?"

"Do you, uhm, wanna be my boyfriend?" Scar asked, mocking shyness. Grian placed a hand on his chest, grinning and chuckling.

"I thought you'd never ask!" He cuddled into Scar, resting the back of his head against the man's shoulder and picked up the TV remote. Grian turned the TV on, turning back to Scar.

"Do you want to watch some cheesy Hallmark movies? As a first date, of course, because we just started dating five seconds ago?" he asked, beaming.

"Of course I do, G'. You know me so well."

Chapter Text

The Winter Solstice was on its way in eight days. So naturally, the Empires Winter's Ball was happening eight days early. Why, Tango would never understand, but Scott and Jimmy had invited him as their date and he couldn't say no.

He liked dancing. And he liked his boyfriends, so he agreed to go.

Cleo had just finished sewing his suit, a navy blue piece with his usual vest. She had insisted he wear his cloak, and said they'd designed the suit to go with it. Tango couldn't argue with that, he did look nice in it.

Scott had messaged him three hours before the event, asking him to go early to keep him and Jimmy company. Tango packed up his formal outfit and vanished it into his inventory, throwing on a white sweater and his usual grey vest. He pushed his sunglasses higher up on his nose; no matter how cold it was outside on Hermitcraft, the sun insisted on shining bright as ever.

The flight to Grian's base was uneventful. He would meet Grian there and the avian would open the Rift for him to cross, and Scott and Jimmy would greet him with kisses on the cheeks and they'd all go back to Scott's base and cuddle before the ball.

Well. The second part may have been a tad bit of Tango's own wishes, but it might happen, and that was what the blaze was counting on.

Lo and behold, Grian sat on the front porch of his base, his legs swinging back and forth. More than one Christmas ornament had gotten stuck in his feathers and he looked pissed off about it. Tango couldn't help but chuckle.

"'Ello, Tango," Grian called in greeting, hopping off of the ledge and swooping down to the ground. Tango followed him into the cave that made up Grian and Mumbo's shared basement. Tango waved 'hello' to Grumbot. He'd always been nice to the robot.

Tango slipped a couple of notes to the bot as Grian focused on opening the Rift, using magic Tango was sure had the power to obliterate much more than the obsidian obscuring the portal from opening.

And just like that, Tango was off.

He landed in front of the Rift on the Empires side, Scott and Jimmy talking on the bridge ahead of him. Scott's long cyan hair had been braided into an elegant hairdo, held together by a crystal clip adorned with little snowflakes.

Tango walked up to the pair, greeting both Jimmy and Scott with kisses on the cheeks. He tucked a stray strand of hair into Scott's hairdo.

"Oh! I didn't see you there! Hello," Scott kissed Tango's hand, holding it as it drifted down from his hair. Jimmy stepped to Tango's side, admiring the ways he'd changed since they'd first met, even if he'd seen Tango like that a million times.

"I think it's funny that both of my partners have blue hair, and Tango did his after we met," Jimmy commented. 

"Maybe you just have a type," Scott retorted.

"I do not ."

"You do too ."

"Void, you two are toddlers, I swear," Tango chuckled. "Shall we go back to your base, Scott?" Scott nodded, taking his partners by the hands and leading them to Chromia.

The colorful empire was covered in Christmas lights in all colors, and several ice sculptures had popped up. Scott was an ice wizard, after all. 

Tango beamed, tracing the antlers of a reindeer sculpted out of ice with his hands. It didn't feel cold; he was used to working with ice as well. He hardly noticed Scott and Jimmy admiring him the same way he admired the ice sculptures. 

"You're an artist, Scott. This is beautiful," Tango commented. Scott snorted in response.

"What? It's true, y'know. I couldn't have done this in a million years."

"Sure you could," Scott responded. He took Tango's hand, pulling him away from the sculpture. "Let's go inside and get ready for the ball."

"Scott, I need your help," Tango called from the bathroom. He had put on his suit and cloak, fastening the diamond chain at the front. Scott opened the door, wearing just his robe with a thin shirt and his boxers under. Tango watched him flush red.

Scott was definitely checking him out.

And who could blame him? Tango was incredibly happy with how the outfit had come together. The  cream of his undershirt went incredibly well with the navy and baby blue of his suit jacket and pants. He buttoned his vest, opening a small case of jewelry.

"You look amazing. This—" Scott gestured to Tango in circles with his hands. "—is illegal. You're beautiful and I love every part of this."

"Thank you," Tango grinned, letting Scott kiss him on the forehead. "I like how it turned out."

"Like it? I love it," Scott buttoned the collar of Tango's shirt under his cloak, pushing his hood down and fixing stray strands of hair with his pointer finger. "What did you need my help with?"

"Well, I'm not great at making decisions and I can't figure out if I should wear silver or gold jewelry tonight. And since you're good at this stuff…" Tango let himself trail off. He pushed the case of jewelry toward Scott, who picked up each piece and weighed it with his hands.

"Void, I'm not sure either," Scott cringed. "Both would work. May I try something?" Tango nodded. Scott held a necklace around Tango's neck, a thin gold chain with little stars for charms. He then switched it out for a statement silver chain with teardrop diamonds, switching between the two.

"Ugh, they both look so good on you!" Scott faked his annoyance, very clearly staring at Tango. Tango blushed and he felt warmth spread all the way up to the tips of his pointed ears. 

He hollered for Jimmy, the man eagerly rushing into the room and having a near-identical reaction to Scott. He had already changed, wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater and an old blue skirt. He'd switched out his usual brown cowboy for white. He was handsome, if Tango could say so himself.

"What d-do you need my help for?" Jimmy stammered, flushing bright red.

"Tango and I can't decide if he should wear gold or silver jewelry," Scott explained, trying out several different earrings on Tango's ears. Jimmy simply shrugged.

"They both look so good," he said, seeming to attempt to make a decision.

"That's what I said!" Scott exclaimed, switching out Tango's earrings for the fourth time.

"Yeah! So why can't he just wear both?" Jimmy suggested. Scott shook his head, clasping a necklace around Tango's neck. 

"It'll look better if it's just one. But silver, gold, or neither, I think our petal here will look fabulous," Scott grinned, pressing a quick chaste kiss to Tango's lips.

He loved his partners.

Chapter Text

Grian wasn't quite sure what Christmas was about.

Being a Watcher, he hadn't grown up with the idea of Christmas or any other holiday like all of the other Hermits. He had to be taught what the season was about.

And his lovely husbands, Scar and Mumbo had done a great job doing that. Grian's base was finally decorated with colored lights like everyone else's. Mumbo had taught him what they meant and he'd only had a little bit of a frustrated cry in the process. 

Of course, Scar had told him that it was okay if he didn't want to celebrate any holidays. But Grian saw how happy it made the rest of the Hermits when he'd finally gotten himself into the spirit of winter cheer, and he didn't want to give that up. He wanted them to be happy with his choices.

And so he let himself endure the days and nights of pressure that followed, let himself burn himself on countless candles and cut his hands putting up decorations. 

Scar had shown up at his doorstep one day, a little gift box in hand. Grian had quickly ushered him in, not wanting him to freeze out in the cold.

"I got this for you," Scar smiled. "It's just something small, but I thought it'd help you get into the spirit."

Grian tilted his head to the side, confused. "But isn't Christmas on the twenty-fifth? Isn't that when we all give each other gifts?" Mumbo and Scar had told him over and over that the gift giving would start on the twenty-fifth of December. He'd double and triple-checked that he wouldn't get the date wrong and that he had enough presents in mind for the rest of the Hermits.

"Yeah, but I wanted to give this to you early," Scar smiled. "Open it."

Grian followed his instructions, carefully untying the red ribbon and pulling the box open. There, inside it, was a little sprig of mistletoe. 

"Thank you," Grian said, still not sure of what it meant. "Am I supposed to…eat it or something?" He picked the mistletoe up and was about to pop one of the berries into his mouth before Scar stopped him.

"No! It's poisonous if you eat it. You're supposed to hang it up, like this," Scar stepped onto the little stool Grian had to decorate, tying the mistletoe neatly to the ceiling. Then, Scar kissed him, taking him by surprise.

He eagerly wrapped his arms around the man, kissing back. Scar's hand cupped his face, and he chuckled as Grian pulled away.

" That's what the mistletoe's for. When two people stand under mistletoe, they're supposed to kiss," Scar explained. Grian still looked and felt a bit bewildered.

"There's so much I'll never understand about the season of Christmas."

"And there's so much I'll teach you," Scar smiled, pulling his husband into another kiss. 

Yeah, Grian was starting to like this Christmas thing.

Chapter Text

Wednesday Addams wasn't sure what the hell she was expecting when she walked through the door, but it certainly wasn't a dorm full of about a hundred lit candles.

Enid sat in the middle of the floor of their dorm on a cushion she'd stolen from Wednesday's bed. 

Wearing black.

Wednesday felt her cold heart swell with a new feeling: joy. She joined Enid on the floor, the girl grinning. Enid was quick to rest her head on Wednesday's shoulder, busying herself with unbraiding and re-braiding her hair.

"I've missed you a ton, Willa," Enid muttered, brushing Wednesday's bangs from her face. "I've had this planned out for a while now, but we've been so busy with everything that I just haven't had any time." She frowned. Wednesday chuckled, running a hand through Enid's hair.

"You look nice in black, Enid. I can finally look at you without my head hurting. It's nice, I like your face," Wednesday remarked. Enid blushed. Wednesday never gave compliments. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. What inspired you to do all this, anyway? And what's with all the… candles?" Wednesday asked, still a bit puzzled. Enid simply grinned.

"Bianca told me candles would be romantic for a first date. I guess I went a bit overboard?" Enid gave Wednesday a sheepish chuckle. Wednesday simply gave her partner a kiss on the cheek, leaving Enid more stunned than she'd care to ever admit.

"I like it," Wednesday admitted.

The pair of them were content to sit in silence. Wednesday was never much of a talker on their dates, and that was just fine with Enid. It was supposed to be a calm evening, anyway, and she knew Wednesday had had a stressful week. She deserved to relax.

However, a knock interrupted the silence. Enid hopped up, answering the door and coming back seconds later with two plates of steaming hot food in her hands. Baked pork. Not Wednesday's first choice, but she'd accept it.

Enid slid a plate in front of her along with a roll of cutlery she'd definitely taken from the dining hall. Wednesday gave her the biggest smile she could manage: a little smirk. Enid kissed it, picking up her fork to eat.

"Where'd you get this?" Wednesday asked, taking her first bite. It was surprisingly good for such a bland choice of food. Just the right amount of rawness, though.

Enid beamed. "I made it."

Wednesday blinked up at her. "You made this? Where'd you get the ingredients?"

"The kitchen." Wednesday smiled at her more at that. Enid stealing food from the kitchen with the knowledge she'd be banned from the dining hall if she ever did that. How romantic.

"Thank you. I like it," Wednesday replied, monotone, but it was clear how much she appreciated Enid's cooking. The pair of them ate in silence, Enid sharing little stories about her day. 

When they were done, Enid insisted on cuddling into Wednesday's lap, her head resting on her chest. She lazily played with her partner's hair, Wednesday's signature braids taken out fully in favor of space buns, then little ponytails, and finally back to braids.

"Willa?" Enid interrupted the peaceful silence. Wednesday combed a hand through Enid's hair, to which she promptly melted . She chuckled.

"Yes?"

"Will you play for me?" Enid asked, already pulling her girlfriend up and out onto the balcony where her cello resided. Enid knew she couldn't say no to her, and Wednesday sat in front of the instrument, leaning it against her shoulder.

Enid grinned as she played, seating herself on the bench that Wednesday sat on, lazily scratching her back. It was soothing, although a barely-there feeling. Wednesday was typically not a fan of such gentleness, such careful touches, but she'd let it slide for Enid.

When she ran out of sheet music and the song came to a close, the faint sound of Enid snoring was the only sound that filled the air. She'd fallen asleep, slumped against Wednesday. She gave Enid a half-smile, resting her cello back up against the railing, and in a moment's decision, she scooped Enid up into her arms.

She looked quite nice there.

As she laid Enid in her bed—Wednesday's bed—she felt Thing tap on her shoulder. He hopped down onto the table, signing "I helped with the candles. Thank me." Noticeably, he had quite a few more burn marks than before.

Wednesday chuckled. "Thank you, Thing."

And thank you, Enid, she thought. For being here, too.

Chapter Text

The Citadel was cold. It was a simple fact. 

Jimmy waited outside the front doors, regretful that he hadn't worn any heavier jacket than his thin overshirt. He shifted his weight between his feet, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth. He and Tango had arranged this meeting a while ago; Jimmy would stay in his base as they caught up after Secret Life had ended.

Minutes later, Tango swung the doors open. Jimmy let out a shaky breath, mentally thanking the man. His fingertips were numb and he could barely feel his legs, fraying canary wings like deadweights on his back, freezing cold as they lost their feathers. A process that had started ever since he hadn't died first.

"Jimmy, you're turning blue. Come inside," Tango pulled him, sitting next to a fire Tango had set in a little firepit. Jimmy hovered his hands over it, maybe just a bit too close. He could hardly feel the flames licking his skin, anyway.

"Why didn't you come in?" Tango asked, his warm hands on Jimmy's back, brushing out his feathers with his hands. Tango frowned as the skin beneath them began to show, golden feathers drifting to the ground.

"I didn't know I was allowed to," Jimmy mumbled, his jaw barely opening from the cold. The tips of his fingers had gone bright red and then purple and even blue in the creases. His hands shook, attempting to warm himself up.

"Jimmy, you're always allowed in the Citadel whenever you need. I gave you that spare key, didn't I?" Jimmy didn't have the heart to tell him he'd lost it. Tango seemed to shake it off quickly, giving Jimmy a nice big hug. He smiled the best he could, his hands nearing close to the fire.

"Do you want me to draw you a bath?" Tango asked. Jimmy nodded, not wanting to leave the warmth that was his Rancher. Tango sat with him for a few seconds. Or was it minutes? Hours, maybe? Jimmy couldn't tell. 

He pouted when Tango stood up and told him to stay by the fire. The man eventually caved, though, picking Jimmy up into his arms and carrying him to the master bathroom in the living quarters of the Citadel.

"Tango," Jimmy frowned. "I'm a bit worried about my wings. The feathers are falling out."

Tango kissed him on the nose. "It's alright, songbird. I'm sure they'll grow back, maybe even bigger."

"Bigger?" Jimmy tilted his head to the side. His wings had always been a bit frumpy, small and unimpressive compared to that of his cousins. Pearl's were a lovely gradient of white to black, spotted feathers intermingling with solid ones. And Grian's were filled with every color in the rainbow, beautiful red, blue, and gold that caught the eye of every Player he walked past. 

Tango grinned. "Yeah, bigger. Maybe even bigger than Grian's like you've always wanted. And even if they aren't, I'll still love them. Everything will be okay when you're with me, dove. I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'll be here to keep you warm." Tango set Jimmy on the countertop, sprinkling bath salts over the water. "Now let's get you in this bath."

Chapter Text

The Addamses were never big on celebrating Christmas. It was a season for joy, a season for making big payments on useless stuff. Gomez Addams did that on a daily basis, so what was the point?

That was one of the big changes Wednesday had to get used to in her first year living with Lucas. He had gratefully accepted life in the Addams mansion, but Wednesday's mother-in-law had insisted that they spend the winter holidays somewhere else instead, so they'd bought a cabin. Wednesday didn't get the big deal about Christmas; they'd already celebrated Halloween, the largest holiday for their family.

But she loved Lucas, so she'd do it for him.

She'd immediately shielded her eyes the moment Lucas began to guide her through the bright snow, making sure that there was no color around that could hurt her. Wednesday opened her eyes when she felt him sit her down on what felt like a bed, thankfully decorated in black.

"Thank you," Wednesday said, collapsing into her husband's arms. She was an Addams, but that didn't make her immune to tiredness, believe it or not. Normally, she'd grab a cup of coffee or something, but it was typically too sweet and she needed to avoid restaraunt chains at all costs. The day that she stepped into a Starbucks would be the day Hell froze over.

"Of course, Weds," Lucas pressed a kiss to her temple. He'd thankfully worn black for the journey there, but Wednesday did spot a couple of Christmas sweaters in his luggage. He combed his hands through shoulder-length hair. It had grown out a bit since the wedding, but not enough to put her braids back in. How unfortunate.

"We don't have to do anything while we're here, y'know. There's a load of birds that fly around here. Mainly cardinals, but some others as well."

"What?"

"Target practice," Lucas said simply. Wednesday gave him a bit of a smile. Always so considerate, she loved him. 

"Do you want to do anything? I'm alright if you want to celebrate. I've come to terms with it," Wednesday suggested. Of course, she still wanted to take as little part in the "festivities" as ever, but if Lucas wanted to, she was fine with it.

"Really? There's always lots of color involved," Lucas warned, gesturing to a string of red and green lights that was visible through the trees out the window. Next door neighbors, always so outgoing, so normal.

"I'll wear sunglasses. My father bought me some that shield all color," Wednesday offered. Lucas beamed.

"You'd really do that for me?"

"Yeah. I know how important tradition is to you. It's important to me, too, y'know. You celebrated Halloween the Addams way. I can spare a week of my life for your color and reindeer and perverted old fat men." She played with the collar of his shirt, amused at his bewildered expression.

"Are you talking about Santa Claus?"

"I heard that song you played. 'He sees you when you're sleeping?' Let me know if you want me to get out my crossbow," Wednesday kissed him softly. Lucas chuckled.

"You don't need to defend me from Santa, Weds'," he reassured, combing through his wife's hair with his fingers. "He's not even real."

"Really?" Wednesday asked, and Lucas laughed. She looked a bit like a child when she said it. "Don't laugh at me. My parents would never celebrate such a foolish tradition. I think he'd have a heart attack lying again, too. He almost did when I told him we were getting married."

"I still don't see why you did that. It clearly did not aid in your mother's reaction."

"Go get your goddamn sweater and keep telling me about your strange traditions and maybe we can continue this conversation," Wednesday said simply, sitting up and sliding off of Lucas. He frowned, reluctantly leaving her side.

Wednesday was thankful she'd kept her sunglasses near her, for Lucas came out of their shared bedroom wearing an atrocious blue sweater.

"Not a fan?" He asked, placing a red hat on his head, the brim lined with white fur, a pom-pom hanging from the droopy pointed tip. One of those damned commercialized costume items that Wednesday hated with a passion.

She took a breath to keep her cool, remembering that this was her husband and that she had to learn to be fine with this sort of thing. She loved Lucas, and she'd be just fine watching him wear an eyesore of a sweater and that hat. Definitely.

"What's the next step to this ritual, querido?" Wednesday chose to say, adjusting her sunglasses. Lucas gestured to a plastic grocery bag on the kitchen table and a cardboard box in the corner. It took all of Wednesday's willpower not to dump out the contents of that bag and tie it around her head. Maybe she'd make a neat little bow. Misery.

"We hang up stockings. Right there, above the fireplace," Lucas gestured to where they would go. What? All of it was confusing.

"Like…I take my socks off and nail them to the wall?" Wednesday asked, bewildered. Lucas chuckled, shaking his head before pulling two giant-sized stockings out of the cardboard box. They looked like one of Wednesday's cousins could squeeze into them, but not her or Lucas.

"We hang these up. Then, when Christmas eve comes around, we put small gifts in them," Lucas explained. "Have you actually never heard of this?"

"No, no I haven't, because my family has some sense," Wednesday rolled her eyes, reluctantly taking the oversized stocking out of Lucas' hand. It was made of black felt with her name etched into the center. The top looked as though it had been folded over, the fabric there blood red and lined with little grey skulls.

She almost found it adorable.

"My mom—erm—my mom made these. She asked me to ask you if you liked it?" Lucas shifted his weight. 

"Tell her I do like it. The skulls are a nice touch," Wednesday almost smiled a bit. She could appreciate his traditions like this. "I find it endearing. Thank you, Lucas."

"Of course, Weds," he smiled, walking over to her with a couple of nails in hand. "And we're gonna hammer these in gently. You can do the honors," he offered, passing her the box of nails. "Be as careful as you can, we still want to be able to hang them on it."

Wednesday gently hammered the nail in, careful not to hit too hard and split the wood. She glanced at Lucas' stocking, a dark blue. It had a little red ribbon at the top, used to hang it. Huh, hers didn't have that.

"How do I hang mine?" Wednesday asked. Lucas pinched something inside of the stocking, pulling it out. A little noose made of twine. Wednesday almost smiled again. Alice was so thoughtful, the attention to detail on the stocking was quite amazing!

"There. Perfect," Lucas smiled, taking her hand and stepping back. "Now," he added, "We need a Christmas tree."

"I forgot that was a thing you strange people did," Wednesday cringed. "Does ours have to be so green?"

"Not if it hurts your eyes, Weds," Lucas chuckled. "We can go cut down a dead one from outside. All we need is an ax, did you happen to pack one?" he said, half-jokingly, half-relying on his wife.

Wednesday rushed to the bedroom, coming back with a large ax in hand. "Querido, don't doubt me. I always come prepared."

"Great," Lucas said, a bit surprised that she'd brought it with her. He knew how many deadly weapons she owned, most of them displayed on the wall of their bedroom back at the Addams manor. He walked to the door, swinging it open and allowing her to lead. 

"We want something small enough to fit in the living room," Lucas explained. "How about there?" He gestured to a tree with one single leaf left, cracking at the edges.

"It's perfect." Wednesday raised her ax in the air, swinging it and cutting the top of the tree clean off and leaving a nice stump. She easily lifted up the tree, the higher branches dragging behind her. She wasn't exactly the tallest.

Lucas chuckled as she dragged the tree into the house, and Wednesday glared at him. Her height wasn't her fault. And besides, she was just as capable of killing at the grand height of five-foot-two than anyone else.

"Laugh one more time and this tree can be you, Lucas," she threatened, and her husband found it endearing.

"I'd let you."

"Stop being so sappy and help me put this damn tree up," Wednesday grumbled, struggling a bit to pick it up. Lucas was eager to help, stabilizing the tree on the other side, helping Wednesday balance it.

"You seem really eager about helping me do this Christmas thing now, Wednesday," Lucas pointed out.

"I can like seeing you be happy, I'm not immune to loving you," Wednesday answered. Lucas blushed.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"In that case, can we make hot cocoa and watch Hallmark movies?"

"There's a line and that crosses it. Absolutely not," she rolled her eyes. Lucas chuckled, pulling her in for a quick kiss.

"Worth a shot."

Chapter Text

As the reds turned, Secret Life became chaos. And as the newest member of the Games, Gem had no idea what to expect.

She was on edge. Her head spun, her body ached, and a new feeling pumped through cold blood.

Bloodlust.

Around every corner, in every base, there was a player that needed to die. A player she could stab her sword through the chest of and claim sweet sweet victory as she recruited the dead.

The apocalypse had started weeks ago. And it wouldn't end until each one of them was dead. And she would win. She would take them down, pick them off, one by one by one.

She seethed, curling the blankets around herself and attempting to make sense of the emotions that she felt. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

She laced her hands through her hair, tugging on ginger strands. She wanted to rip it all out, each curl. Maybe it'd be nice to watch them fall to the floor.

Gem didn't even notice she was crying.

It was all too much, every dark thought she had amplified by a thousand. She raised the pillow to her face and screamed, panting after she did so.

[🚥]

Apparently said scream wasn't muffled enough, as a very tired and very worried Scott came running into her cabin, Impulse in tow. Gentle arms fell around her to comfort her, and it took all of her strength not to push them away with a force that could break them. Scott was only trying to help.

"What's wrong?" Impulse asked, sitting on the bed beside her. Her shoulders tensed, and he moved away.

"Red," Gem replied, the word shaky.

"It's alright. Everyone feels like this the first time they go red," Scott comforted. "I've got you, don't you worry."

Gem sniffled, shaking out her curly red hair. She raised her hand to her mouth, biting her nails. Scott placed a pillow in her arms, holding her hand and pulling it out of her mouth.

"You're going to be alright, Gem. We've got you," Impulse whispered, as if making another sound would cause her to break, as if his friend was made of the most fragile glass on Earth.

Gem's sniffles turned quieter, and eventually faded with the help of her friends. They've got her . She would be okay.

Scott smiled, brushing out her hair with his fingers. "Feel any better?" he asked.

Gem nodded, leaning into Impulse, who wrapped his arms around her. He always gave the best hugs. "Sometimes a good cry gets it out. You're doing great, Gem."

Their words were reassuring, comforting. She believed them, if they were the only thing that she could believe. The hunger for blood faded when she was around them. Every time that she could see Scott smile, hear Impulse laugh, Gem knew she'd be alright.

"I have something that could make you feel better," Scott interrupted the moment of silence, standing up. "It's in my base. You guys can come with if you want, or I can bring it here."

Gem stood up, rubbing her nose and wiping her eyes. "I'll come with you."

The surprise turned out to be gingerbread men, imperfectly shaped yet still so perfect. Sixteen bags of cookie icing sat in front of the pan, one for every color in the rainbow and more. 

"I was thinking, so that you could get your anger out—"

"We make gingerbread cookies of each other?" Gem finished. Scott shook his head.

"I was thinking we make gingerbread cookies of our enemies and then we act out their slow and painful deaths, but your idea is great as well," Scott concluded. Gem's face lit up, Impulse looking just a bit scared for her well-being. Then again, she was a red life.

"You have the best ideas, Scott. We don't really have any enemies, though." Except for Scar, who killed her. Though he wasn't her enemy, she could still be unhappy with him…

She grabbed the brown icing, neatly piping curls of hair on the top of the gingerbread man's head. She dotted in two green eyes and set to work on the man's cloak, the cyan, white, and yellow icing running out quickly.

Scott and Impulse watched in amazement as she decorated, ending up with a perfect cartoon of Scar.

When the icing was dry, she held the red in her hand, breaking off pieces of the cookie and replacing once-there limbs with bright red frosting. Once cookie-Scar's arms and legs were gone, she popped its head into her mouth, chewing on the cookie.

"The people that have wronged me taste delicious," Gem grinned.

Chapter Text

That first night in the desert, Grian had to come to terms with something.

He could never have exactly what he wanted. He couldn't ask, couldn't take what wasn't his. It would only hurt him more; it always had. He'd been taken defending what was his. He was still a captive, a beautifully colored bird in a cage, his wings clipped. As if They had taken all of his control.

And They had, hadn't they? He was stuck there, alone, lying awake in the desert. Like Theseus in the Labyrinth. Except there was no minotaur for him to slay. No monster to defeat.

Except for the game itself.

A challenge he had to face alone.

There could only be one winner of Third Life. Not two, not three, not fifteen. Each and every player would be picked off until there was one left. And maybe Grian wasn't even meant to be the one.

He longed for too much. He wanted to win. He needed to escape. Wished for the impossible.

He longed for another. 

Grian had made a foolish decision; a string of foolish decisions, really. He'd let guilt take the better of him and distract him from the real goal. Winning.

But wasn't he human? Couldn't he make the decisions on his own? Couldn't he indulge in his guilt? The feelings?

But he shouldn't. Grian shook his head. He was placed in the game to survive. He'd had a moment of weakness, a moment of pity back there in the village. 

Come to think of it, he could use it to his advantage. Play a game of pretend. Act like he was loyal to the man he'd pledged himself to until the very end, and then he'd break him. 

Scar seemed like an easy one to break, anyway.

Happy-go-lucky, clueless, clumsy. He wasn't playing to win. On the other hand, Grian was. 

He rolled over in his sleep, the December air colder in the desert. He hadn't been counting, but it seemed like it would be near Christmas. 

Why would it matter? There was no reason to celebrate anything in the damned death game. No one to celebrate with , either.

Except, maybe…

The second night in the desert, Grian spent it with Scar. The man had shoved their beds together and insisted that they sleep in one. Said he wanted to be close to Grian. Ha. Grian played into it, resting his head on Scar's shoulder and pretending his shoulders didn't tense up.

He wasn't getting close. He was simply playing the long game. He would act excited every time Scar showed him a new plan or an idea when really it was stupid. 

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. He didn't have friends. He couldn't have friends . At most, he had allies, and even then he would quickly be leaving them in the dust. Cleo, Scott, Jimmy, Bdubs…

Only mere obstacles between Grian and winning the game.

He felt Scar wrap an arm around his waist, his head tentatively resting on Grian's shoulder. He couldn't get attached. This was just another game, another test from the Watchers. He couldn't fall for it.

Not after the first time. Not after he'd gotten himself into that situation.

The third night in the desert, Scar insisted that they do something to celebrate the winter season.

It was still hot as ever in the desert in the mornings, and the only way Grian could even tell that it was anywhere near Christmas was the temperature of the air in the evenings and at night. And the game had begun as December did, so he could assume.

"Grian! We could go see if some of our allies have cocoa beans and then we could make hot cocoa!" Scar suggested. He looked a bit like a child, wide-eyed and pleading for something as simple as a sugary treat. 

"Scar, we need to focus on getting geared up. We can't spend time on hot cocoa ," Grian couldn't believe he heard himself say. He wasn't supposed to help Scar, and for a second it felt like that was exactly what he was doing. Scar looked down at him with puppy dog eyes, and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Grian sighed. "Go get cocoa beans, Scar." 

He'd indulged in Scar's desire. He needed to stop doing that. He promised he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. 

There was no way he'd win if he put trust in another player. They were all expendable. Scar was no different. 

As soon as Scar was out of the house, Grian let himself put his head down and sigh. Not a moment of weakness could be spared. He couldn't let his guard down. 

Certainly not for Scar.

The seventh night in the desert, Grian couldn't sleep.

He'd been at Scar's aid for a week, pretending to be at his side. Flashed him smiles and held his hand. He'd even gone as far as to lay his head on Scar's shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist and pretend he didn't wince. 

Scar laid beside him, as he always did. He'd taken to his own side of the bed, though, so Grian had space to himself. Space to think.

His mission. It was going wrong. His thoughts would stray from what he needed them to be, thoughts of emerald eyes that had turned gold, then ruby. Thoughts of a signature smirk and brunet curls polluted his mind, and he couldn't help but glance at Scar, sleeping peacefully.

Throughout the Game, Grian had been thinking. He'd been wanting, been longing, been needing. At first, he thought it was allies. Then, he concluded that it was victory. His hunger wouldn't be soothed until he became the winner of Third Life, last to fall.

Maybe that wasn't true. Maybe he hungered for more than allies or victory. Maybe there was a longing inside his chest, pulsing through his veins. A feeling that made his cheeks flush and his heart beat faster with each passing day, each night.

What if Grian didn't want something? What if he wanted some one?

He laid there, attempting to decipher his feelings. He longed for something he couldn't have. An enemy, maybe. He passed bases, Scar in tow, and felt butterflies rise in his stomach. That could be at the prospect of getting caught in enemy territory, though.

Or he could just be fascinated with the idea of having someone. Nobody in particular, just the idea of defying the rules. Playing to win in a different light.

None of that was true, though. His emotions didn't make sense. A never-ending paradox of contradicting thoughts and emotions ran through him.

Then, as the man beside him rolled over in his sleep, unconsciously holding Grian close to him, Grian realized in fear what could have been happening.

His emotions were dangerous. To him, to his ally, to the server, to the game. He couldn't be feeling the way he did.

So why did it feel so right?

Grian hesitantly held Scar's hand, pressing it to his chest, to his heart.

Love. That emotion, so dangerous in nature, with the power to kill, to manipulate, to destroy, was love.

And Grian realized what he'd wanted, all this time.

He had wanted Scar. Not the idea of Scar, not the idea of an ally, not the idea of a friend or of a lover. Not an idea. A person, flesh and blood and a dopey grin and toned abs and Void Grian was falling.

An even more dangerous thought arose in his mind.

Maybe Scar wanted him, too.

Chapter Text

Dolos sneakily crawled out of his older brother's lap, Ares not paying attention to him at the moment. He and Eris sat skipping stones on the large lily pads in the valley.

He flapped the small fae wings that he had, using them to help him get across the water. His dads had said that the hill was much too steep for him to climb up, and he didn't want to get into any trouble.

Dolos slipped the chew necklace into his mouth, determined. He stepped onto the bridge that led to the little mushroom huts that his family had built. Dada's a good builder, he thought. Pretty bridge. Pretty lanterns.

But he couldn't let himself get distracted. He toddled down the bridge and up the staircase to the huts, a staircase he'd never walked up before. His papa typically carried him, but Papa and Dada couldn't know what he was doing. They wouldn't be happy.

Dolos pushed open the door with all his might, the door opening just enough for him to slip through. He spied a couple of wrapped presents under the tree, a tube of the paper leaning against the wall.

Bingo.

He giggled to himself. Papa didn't like it when he put the wrapping paper in his mouth. It was funny. He tore off a piece, stuffing a large chunk of colored paper into his mouth and chewing on it, adding more and more. He would go show Dada when he was done, get him real annoyed. He always found that funny.

Dolos watched Papa walk towards the bridge, but Ares was quick to keep him occupied. What they talked about, Dolos couldn't tell what, but Papa seemed to enjoy the conversation, so it worked in his favor.

His cover was almost blown when Dada walked in with a batch of carrots, but they had decided to enter through a different door. Dolos was safe.

The three-year-old continued munching on the wrapping paper, humming the lullaby Dada sang to him every night. He didn't really know what most of the words meant, but Dada sang them pretty, so he liked it.

Papa would sing too, on some nights. Those nights were Dolos' favorite. It always sounded so nice when Dada and Papa sang together. Wrapping paper in your mouth didn't make singing easy, though. 

|!|

"Dolos, what're you—" Dolos' papa walked in, tucking hair behind his ears before pinching the bridge of his nose. Dolos giggled, spitting out the paper ball onto the floor.

"Look, Papa! Paper! Paper's yummy," Dolos giggled, hiding behind his hands. His papa rolled his eyes.

"I told you not to eat that, Dodo." Papa brushed red hair out of Dolos' face, making him giggle even more.

"Elda, come here. Our son's doing the thing again," he called. 

"Again?"

"Again."

"Dear coders."

Chapter Text

Grian stretched out his wings, grinning to himself as he flew into his base. He had a master plan for his and Scar's fourth anniversary.

Since it was nearing Christmas, he'd decorate Scarland for Scar. The man always complained about having to do the job but was always so happy to see the lights in his theme park. And Grian liked decorating, so why not lighten the load for his partner?

He'd already gotten out most of the supplies he needed; lights, wreaths, trees, the works. He'd even got Scar a little toy train to go around the Christmas tree in the middle of the park, modeled after Grian's very own G-Train.

All he needed was some ornaments. Grian knew he had some somewhere, generic shapes like balls and stars that he could hang anywhere. Maybe they were in his starter base?

Grian rummaged through the storage closet he'd had in his starter base. He'd already checked though dozens of chest-monsters and found nothing except for a few framed photos of him, Scar, and Mumbo. 

Cute.

He grinned to himself, setting the pictures aside. Maybe he'd set them aside as Mumbo and Scar's Christmas gifts, wrap them in neat little boxes with bows at the top. 

But pictures was not what he was there for. Twisting open the top of yet another shulker box, he found it full of Christmas ornaments, just the ones he was looking for. All shapes and sizes, stars, hearts, little strings of glass, and even a couple that looked like icicles.

Upon continuing to search, Grian found that he had stored away dozens of shulker boxes of Christmas decorations, from garlands to lights to more and more and more ornaments. Seriously, had he bought them in bulks of thousands? Come to think of it, he probably had.

Grian things.

He packed the shulker boxes up, vanishing them into the void of his inventory. Grian spread his wings and made his way all the way to Scarland.

Thankfully (or not-thankfully, Grian missed his boyfriend, thank you very much), Scar had taken some time to relax off-server, which gave Grian plenty time to decorate. The man deserved a vacation. Grian could feel the stress in his shoulders whenever he perched on them.

Coming to a halt in the middle of the theme park, Grian summoned what turned out to be thirty shulker boxes full of decorations and placed them in rows. Twisting the tops of the boxes off one by one, he began to decorate. Grian pulled his sweater off and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.

It was time to decorate.

Why was he doing this to himself? It had been nearly four hours at that point, and no humming of pop Christmas songs could save Grian at that moment.

 His head hurt, there was pounds of fake snow in his wings, his arms and legs burned like the insides of the damn Nether, he was parched, and Grian was ninety-nine percent sure he looked like a fucking lobster by the end of the day.

He stepped back, marveling at whatever mess he'd created. It turned out to not be as bad as he thought it would have been, the large tree in the middle only slightly leaning to the left over the heads of the statues of Scar and Jellie. 

Grian was, once he thought about it, quite proud of what he'd managed to do in one sitting. The tree was nicely decorated; only a few ornaments remained. And there were garlands covered in icicles that hung between the buildings over Main Street.

He'd even covered the castle in lights. It, honestly, looked quite beautiful. All that was missing was the star atop the tree, but he'd wait for Scar. They could do that together.

There were a few blank spots on the tree, but thise could easily be solved. There were only a few ornaments left, after all. Grian vanished them into his inventory and flew up to the spots in the tree, shaking out all the false and real snow from his wings. When Scar came back, he'd better give him a good preen.

Grian hung various ornaments on the tree; a couple of diamonds, various sizes and colors of candy canes, and even one that looked like Jellie. He was surprised there wasn't more of those. It was Scar, after all.

When he finished, there was only one ornament left. He had to squint to see it, it was an intricate design and he'd forgotten his glasses. 

When his eyes finally focused, he realized that it wasn't just a design. No, it was a photo of Grian and Scar as they shared their first kiss, all those years ago. Grian felt his heart melt. He needed to show that one to Scar.

Not all the ornaments needed to go on the tree, after all. Some were just too special.

Chapter Text

Being a blaze hybrid, Tango had never really experienced the winter season like everyone else had. He'd always been warm, scalding hot on most occasions, when all of the other Hermits were shivering in the cold and cuddling for warmth. Whenever they'd decide to all take a break and play in the snow like kids, Tango had to sit on the sidelines. He'd just melt it.

It had always been that way, and that was fine. He could live with it, curled up on his own watching movies with a cup of iced tea to keep him cool. Sometimes he liked those days on his own.

Until Jimmy came along.

The man made sure that Tango was never alone, that he always had a cuddle buddy on his Christmas movie binge-fests. While his friends were outside throwing snowballs or putting snow balls on snow men (Joel and Sausage, every day, making crude snow-people that were strangely detailed. Sometimes Tango wondered if they used each other as models), Jimmy would stay with Tango.

He didn't have to. Tango was just fine on his own, but Jimmy had made it somewhat of a tradition. And he did make the best apple cider. And Tango loved having his Rancher in his lap, lazily playing with his wings as Jimmy cuddled into him for warmth. 

Tango had set up a separate bedroom for Jimmy quite quickly, although the man had slowly and steadily moved into Tango's. And although it was just a tiny single bed tucked into the corner with a dresser Jimmy insisted he have, it was cozy. 

They sat there as Tango sketched out blueprints, new bits and pieces of Decked Out, new levels he may not ever add. It was enjoyable when Jimmy was there, though. He sat behind him, braiding the longest curls of ice blue hair together.

"What's this one gonna be?" Jimmy asked, gesturing to Tango's latest set of blueprints.

"Eh, just a couple of rooms I'd like to add to Deepfrost. This one is supposed to be a little lab room. I'd like to experiment decorating with some of the new flowers, see if I could work them into Decked Out. And this one's a river. I think I'm gonna build something in the middle." Tango said it with a smile, pulling another sheet of paper from the bottom of the stack.

"It's a canary in a cage, but the cage is broken. So the canary gets to spread his wings, y'know? I'm building it for you," And at that, Jimmy felt his heart positively melt. Tango rarely included suggestions into Decked Out, let alone a statue made for Jimmy.

The avian blushed, wings puffing up just a bit. Tango chuckled, setting the blueprints aside and holding Jimmy in his lap. Soft feathers brushed against his chest as Jimmy leaned into him, letting him lace his hands through his hair.

"You've been working hard. Maybe we should relax," Jimmy hummed, pulling up the corner of the blanket. It was almost an offer, and Tango accepted it gratefully, pulling Jimmy under the duvet with him. There they cuddled, Tango's head pressed into blonde curls and Jimmy's forehead nuzzling at his Rancher's bare shoulder.

Eventually, they shed the duvet, Tango radiating enough body heat for the both of them to stay very warm throughout the night. Jimmy wouldn't pass this up for the world. He smiled, sitting up slightly to take a sip of cider. Still warm, he mused. Must be Tango's.

Jimmy chuckled, holding Tango's hand and placing it on his waist, tracing the knuckles with his thumb. He pressed a gentle kiss to the skin of Tango's collarbone, wrapping a leg around his waist as they cuddled into one another. Ice blue waves came undone from Tango's bun, and Jimmy brushed them out of his face to tuck them behind pointed ears.

Tango murmured against his neck, something Jimmy couldn't quite make out. After some time, he realized he'd said "I Love You" in his sleep.

Jimmy beamed, letting his eyes drift shut.

He didn't need the blaze of a fire to keep him warm in the winter months.

He had his own blaze, anyway.

Chapter Text

"Alright, everyone," Xisuma stepped up in front of the large crowd of Hermits. A large red sack sat behind him, full of their gifts. Keralis insisted he wear a Santa hat for the occasion, and he reluctantly agreed.

"I'm not going to pretend the gifts I got in this book were sane this year, but I tried my best," Xisuma cringed as Keralis stepped up, no doubt about to say something strange.

"X-ey Claus does the most for us," he beamed into the microphone, which was, arguably, a normal sentence for Keralis. Xisuma felt his cheeks flush under his helmet, and he wasn't sure if he was flustered by his partner or just the off statement in general. Keralis pressed a long kiss to the cheek of Xisuma's helmet and he rolled his eyes. 'Have a platonic husband', they say. 'It'll be fun,' they say.

"Since you're so loving, Keralis, why don't you help 'X-ey Claus' hand out these presents?" Xisuma watched Keralis step off of the stage, knowing how chaotic it would be to aid in the gift-giving process for twenty-three other Hermits and Jimmy, who had snuck onto the server. Why he was there and how in Void's name he got there, X would never know.

Xisuma pulled a wrapped box out of the sack, reading the name aloud. "Tango," he called, passing the box along to the blaze. He better appreciate it; those damn stilettos had cost him three stacks of diamonds.

He didn't even have to look at the name on the next gift. The plastic bag of wrapped ovals (lemons. It was the voiddamn lemons) could only go to one person. Xisuma really hoped that they were for a Zedvancement or something.

He watches the excitement grow on Zedaph's face as he took the wrapping paper off of each lemon, jumping up onto the stage and hugging Xisuma tight. The voidwalker awkwardly patted Zed's head as the man swayed with him, nearly knocking him over with the initial force of the hug. There were many strange people Xisuma understood, but Mister Zedaph Plays was not one of them.

Scar's gifts were next, all arranged in a pile. Notably, many of them were not from Xisuma. And upon calling the man's name, he realized that Scar was nowhere to be found.

"He's with Mumbo," Grian piped up. "They're putting the finishing touches on whatever they got me." Whatever that meant. With those two, it could be anything from a barge-sized glitter bomb to a living, breathing baby, adopted or…otherwise. 

Xisuma decided not to ask any questions, placing the pile of Scar's gifts on the edge of the stage along with the ones for Mumbo that he could find. The next gift went to BDubs, who'd asked for Scar to bring his horse, Alohomora, back to life. Xisuma did the best he could, gifting him a stuffed life-size plushie that looked like the horse in question. It seemed to be enough, as BDubs nearly cried when he unwrapped the stuffed animal. 

He had found another horse that looked like Alohomora, but BDubs seemed content with the plushie, so he wasn't sure if he needed it. He'd also requested a figure of Sheriff Jimmy, also "life size". Xisuma chuckled at the fact that it was only one block tall, making the canary hybrid stomp away, pissed.

Only things that could happen at Hermit Christmas.

Just then, Mumbo finally decided to show up, three large boxes in hand. 

"Oh, are we doing Christmas already? Sorry, I had to get Grian his gifts," he cringed. "Gri', you, erm, might want to come here and get this yourself. I think it goes with what X was supposed to get you?"

Considering Grian had put down condoms on his list, Xisuma was a little scared for his life. Maybe he was right about the baby thing. Or something like that.

Grian choked on his own spit at that comment, excusing himself as he made his way through the crowd. He turned bright red when Scar flew in from above him, wearing the same dress he'd worn last year. It looked impossibly smaller, considering it barely reached his mid-thighs on its own. He'd grown out of the damn thing.

He put his head in his hands, stepping up to the microphone. 

"Christmas is meant to be family friendly, y'know," he pointed out to no avail. Xisuma made eye contact with Mumbo, signaling his distress. Mumbo, thankfully, forced Grian off of Scar when he was finished taking the miles of ribbon off of him. 

"Scar, come get your gifts, Mumbo, you as well," Xisuma pointed at the piles of presents on the edge of the stage with his foot, continuing to read out names. Cleo was next, her gift one from BDubs and Scar. A mug that read '#1 Mom'. They only looked a little pissed about it, actually accepting the gift from their 'children'.

Christmas gift passing and unwrapping went on for a while, Xisuma's arms growing tired. Keralis ended up helping him, dubbing himself Mrs. Claus. Xisuma was getting too tired to care about the shenanigans by that point. All he needed to do was get these final presents passed out to the Hermits and he'd be able to finally rest and relax on Christmas Day. 

The final gifts in the bag belonged to Gem and Ren, Gem gratefully accepting her swords and immediately engaging in a sword fight with Etho, who lost said fight miserably. Xisuma chuckled at their antics, glad to see them both having fun even if it was a safety hazard to everyone around them.

Ren's gifts both came in the form of IOUs, two slips of paper in a little box. The first was relatively normal— "IOU one semester at Mojang Drama Academy—Xisuma :)" Ren grinned, seeming excited to finally revive his high school theater career.

The second slip of paper, however, seemed to make the werewolf's heart melt. Xisuma smiled as Ren beamed, being the only one to know what it said.

"IOU one coffee date—martyn. 12/25, 6101 Vex Ave." 

"X…" Ren flushed bright red, holding the paper to his chest. His tail wagged furiously. "You did it. You found him."

"I did. Anything for a Hermit. And with the gifts done, let the festivities begin!" Xisuma dismissed the crowd, noting how quickly Scar, Mumbo, and Grian left. 

As the crowd dispersed, Keralis turned to him, throwing his arms around his husband happily. 

"You're my gift," Keralis grinned. "Your face."

Xisuma blushed. "Really?"

The man before him chuckled. "Yeah. That's what I wrote down, remember?"

Damn, he forgot about that.

Chapter Text

“Dude, is the costume really necessary?” Joel had asked.

Christmas in Stratos was different than it was in other empires.

Their traditions weren’t well established, which resulted in Joel sulking in a Santa costume on the islands above his empire.

Frankly, Jimmy was the only one who thought it was funny.

“It’s fine, Joel. You’ll live.” Jimmy snickered under his breath, “You are so lucky that I’m not making you wear this to Fwhip’s christmas party later.”

“I am not! ” Joel shrieked, his cheeks a bright cherry red at the suggestion.

“You’re doing this for your son, Joel. Lighten up.” Jimmy teased, adjusting the fake beard on the god.

“And all the other kids, I know.” Joel groaned.

“They’ll love you, Joel. They love you whether or not you have presents, it’ll be fine.” Jimmy smiled.

“This is embarrassing, Jim. I hate this so much.” Joel shouted, his voice vibrating through the landscape.

“Come on, you can’t complain. Look at me. ” Jimmy gestured to the tattered elf costume that Scott had helped him throw together last minute. “We’ll be late if you don’t pick up the pace too, let’s go.” 

Needless to say, around 200 kids from each empire (apart from Jimmy’s) were enamored with their Santa get-up and ran around in circles in excitement as the other emperors cheered them on from behind.

“You didn’t tell me that this costume was making an appearance with Santa Joel.” Scott snickered, poking fun at the sheriff, who in turn was plain mortified.

“Joel said it would look funny if the sheriff was following Santa around from empire to empire. You know how kids are.” Jimmy replied.

“Do not call me Santa Joel, I will throw something at you.” Joel barked, as a young Chromian boy had run back home from their conversation.

“You’re in my empire, Santa Joel. Watch your tone.” Scott laughed, amused with how… helpless the scene in front of him appeared.

Jimmy’s comm buzzed, distracting him from any predetermined embarrassment, and he laughed out loud when he saw the message.

“Fwhip wants to know if Santa Joel can make an appearance at his party tonight.” He read aloud, Joel groaned, dragging down the skin on his face in embarrassment.

“Absolutely not.” Joel hissed, scratching his chin where the fake white beard rubbed against the regular fake one he wore.

“He says he’ll pay you handsomely for it.” Jimmy offered.

“Gold?” Joel asked.

“Solid blocks.” Jimmy nodded.

“He’s so lucky I need more gold for the stratosphere, otherwise, I’d never set foot outside in this stupid bloody costume again.” Joel groaned.

Chapter Text

Christmas in the Rancher household hadn't always been jolly, as all those carols say it should be. But with the addition of their young daughter, Rev, it was much better.

Rev had made sure to launch herself onto her mama, dada, and papa's bed the second she woke up. She had just turned four and was very excited for Christmas, as all four-year-olds are.

Scott was the first to wake up to her antics, seeing as he hardly slept anyway. He was quick to take the little girl into his arms and help her calm down, although her excitement made him smile. He sat up, pulling the toddler into his arms.

"Hello, little blossom," he greeted, kissing along her hairline and around her face as she giggled. 

“Hi, Mama!” She laughed, bumping their heads together as she climbed over him, and falling into place in between her dads. 

Tango groaned at the impact of taking a toddler’s foot to his head at 8 in the morning. 

“Hi, Dada!” The girl cheered, bouncing around in their bed excitedly. 

Scott laughed, “Come on, Flower. Let’s go get Dada some coffee so he won’t miss you opening all your gifts from Santa.”

Rev tilted her head at her Mama’s request, resorting to lying next to her Papa so she didn’t have to carry hot mugs. It worked well, as Scott left her with Jimmy while he went to get Tango a mug of coffee.

"Papa," Rev asked, tapping Jimmy on the nose. "D'you think I got somethin' cool from Santy Claus?" she continued, eagerly awaiting an answer.

"Of course you did, little blossom. You were a very good girl this year, I'm sure Santa is so proud of you," Jimmy ruffled his daughter's hair, tucking pale blue curls behind her ears. Her hair was growing nicely, waves reaching her shoulders. Those days, she looked a lot like Tango. It was cute.

Scott returned with three mugs in one hand, passing them out to his lovers. Tango took his mug of coffee gratefully, sipping it. "Dada? How you drink that?" Rev asked curiously. "I try?"

Tango shook his head. "No, coffee isn't for little girls, hun. It's for Dada and Mama and Papa, okay?" Rev seemed to accept that, wedging her thumbnail between her teeth.

"Wha' about Uncy Impy an' Auntie Zeddy? Do they gets coffee?"

"Yeah, lots of grown-ups get coffee. But you get to drink coffee when you grow up. Right now, you're just a little girl, so you can't have it. It's not yummy," Scott added, sipping his tea. He'd never favored the taste of coffee.

"Mama drinkin' tea," Rev observed. "I has tea?"

Scott chuckled, walking towards his toddler from where he stood on the wall. "You can try a sip of tea," he pressed the rim of the cup to Rev's lips. "But just today, because it's Christmas."

Rev took a nice big sip, but immediately spit the liquid out…all over the floor. She happened to share Tango's blaze heritage, so the heat wasn't an issue, but she seemed to not like the taste.

"Ick," she frowned, curling into Jimmy to escape the tea in Scott's mug. 

"Yeah, it's not super yummy, is it, little bloom?" Scott chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. 

"Nuh–uh," Rev shook her head. She glanced over at Tango, who had already drained his mug of most of its coffee. "Dada up yet? We open presen'?"

Tango gave his daughter a smile, sitting up. "Yeah, I'm up now, kiddo," He ran a hand through his hair, tugging down the corner of the duvet so that he could climb out. He walked to the other side of the bed, scooping Rev into his arms from behind. That earned a giggle from the small girl as she kicked her legs. She was adorable.

"Alright, c'mon, let's go downstairs so Revie can open her presents from Santa!" Rev seemed to like that, letting Tango carry her down and curling into his chest. She played with the buttons at the top of his shirt, a matching plaid set of Christmas pajamas that Scott had picked out.

Jimmy gasped in mock-surprise at the amount of gifts that sat by the fireplace (he'd placed them there) and turned to Rev, ruffling her hair. "Oh, goodness! Look at all those presents from Santa, Revie! You have been a good girl this year, good job!"

Rev giggled, bursting out of her Dada's arms to run to her presents.

"Let's get unwrapping, shall we?" Scott asked, sitting down to watch his daughter. Jimmy and Tango sat down at his sides, Tango losing his burst of energy and cuddling into Scott's arms.

They may have had their struggles, but the existence of one more little Rancher made everything just a little more jolly.

Chapter Text

One year, one month and twenty-six days. And counting.

That was how many days Gomez got to lay by his wife's side, how many days he'd be able to kiss her on the lips each morning as he woke up. How many days the pair of them had been joined together signified by the rings on their fingers. 

"Tish," he smiled, brushing over her knuckles with his lips. "Good evening, my dearest."

"Gomez," she warned. "You're crushing me." He was quick to roll off of her, although he left his head on her chest. He kissed her collarbone all the way up to her neck, busying himself with pressing even more kisses to it.

"Better, 'Tish?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her bare waist as they laid there. His beauty in nothing but the boxers she stole from him and an old T-shirt that was too small for him by then. She nodded, lacing her hands through his hair and scratching his scalp with her nails.

It was soothing, the nails just sharp enough to leave lines of red in his skin and draw blood if she pressed in a little more. He let himself relax,  wrapping the duvet around the pair of them as he began to doze off.

"How long have we been married, mon cher?" she asked him in curiosity. Morticia tucked her hair over her shoulder and let him play with it. She chuckled as he gathered it into a ponytail and kissed the soft strands.

"Nearly fourteen months by now, querida," he replied. "We must do something to celebrate.

Morticia gave him a chuckle. "Gomez, fourteen months isn't something people typically celebrate. The next special milestone would be next year," she reminded him.

Gomez looked up at her. "Fourteen months is the most amount of time anyone's ever talked to me, Tish. Addams blood or otherwise," Gomez kissed her knuckles again, marveling at the ring he'd put on her finger. "No one's ever expected me to have a partner for more than a month before. We've been married for fourteen."

"You're not the man you were before. You've changed, love," Morticia pointed out, combing his hair with her fingers.

"I was a woman before," Gomez shot back.

"And you were also a womanizing whore."

"I still am, to some degree," Gomez looked somewhat proud of himself, puffing up his chest and tossing his short curls.

"You better not be or this marriage ends tonight," Morticia threatened. Gomez laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Never, cara mia. We shall always be joined together, you and I. I promised to never leave you. Not even death can separate us," He pushed himself up to kiss her slow, holding the sides of Morticia's face as they did so.

"You're stuck with me," she mumbled against his lips, and Gomez felt her grinning.

"As if it were with glue. You and I, Tish, bound in unity."

Chapter Text

As the air cooled in the desert, the cold became more and more noticeable and to a degree, unbearable. Grian was cold even in his three layers and his woolen poncho.

Of course, he could get closer to Scar, who was warmer. 

What? No. He couldn't do that. He wasn't allowed ro be close.

Oh, fuck it. He could spare one night to lose himself, one night of weakness. It would be a one-time thing. He told himself that over and over as he slid closer to Scar, tentatively wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders.

Grian shivered in the cold air, but Scar was warm. The man beside him groaned in his sleep, and Grian pulled away. Scar didn't need to know how close he was. 

But would it hurt?

Scar's arm instinctively wrapped around Grian's shoulders and pulled him in, and Grian let him. He let Scar comb gentle fingers through his hair as he slept, let him place a hand on the small of his back and rub the area between his wings in circles. Grian's breath hitched, but he couldn't let it show.

A new kind of feeling bubbled up in his chest. Grian slid his hand atop Scar's, running his thumb over the man's knuckles. He caught himself glancing up at Scar's face every so often, memorizing his features. The angle of his jawline, his face dotted with freckles, each and every scar that adorned his skin. 

There was one big one, one that crept all the way from his jaw down to the waistband of his pants. It spanned across his back as well. That one was the newest. The explosion. It hurt Grian to look at.

Mindlessly, he felt his thumb drift to Scar's wrist, closing his eyes and feeling the thud-thud of the man's pulse. He let himself get lost in it, let himself remember that Scar was okay and that he was yellow and not red .

Maybe Scar wasn't the problem, though. Maybe Grian was.

He had to get away, had to detach himself from this man before he let down his guard for more than just the night. Grian was supposed to be playing a game. A game inside of the Game that they were all forced to play, all fourteen of them. Every last player knew it to be true.

But did Scar? Scar had been eager to allow Grian into his home; and biting his lip Grian realized, his heart. He hadn't asked any questions when Grian pleaded to be his ally and begged for forgiveness. He seemed to be enjoying Grian's company.

It made that game frustrating. How was he supposed to build a wall around himself and let go of his feelings when Scar was right there with that goddamn reassuring smile? How was he supposed to shut off his human feelings when Scar displayed his own so eagerly?

Feelings of friendship. Of trust. 

Of love.

Love was a difficult thing in Third Life. Everyone was playing to win the game. Win or die: you had to choose. Would you play for fun or would you care?

That was the difference between them, wasn't it? Scar played for fun. Grian was the one that cared.

Maybe that's what made Scar so desirable.

And maybe that was why Grian couldn't have him.