#secretsantasnippet2024

[thepenultimateword]

The Un-Gingerbread || Secret Santa 2024

I participated in the Secret Santa writing event again this year! This snippet is for @gingerly-writing! I hope you enjoy! I know you said I could choose just one topic buuuut I ended up kinda combining them all together!

magical girl powers (especially for villains)

something cute and Christmassy turned deadly/bad (Christmas card full of blackmail, evil snow powers, etc)

super niche/useless superpower saves the day

“They’re Christmas cookies,” Hero said blandly.

“They’re suspicious.” Villain tapped the edge of the platter with the tip of their snowflake wand. Little swirls of frost spread over the surface of the plastic wrap, clouding over the little gingerbread faces.

“Some caroler or neighbor or someone trying to be spread Christmas cheer casually left a plate on your doorstep. End of story.”

Hero had never been the imaginative type. It was a little annoying actually: the power of disbelief. One of the only things that had ever rendered Villain powerless. It didn’t always work, especially now that Hero had seen Villain’s work up close so often, but when Hero got thinking too much about the laws of gravity, the improbability of a transformation sequence, the energy mechanics of magic, Villain found themselves dropping like a stone. 

In those moment they just had to hope Hero was close enough to catch them–practically a guarantee–and empathetic enough not say a word to anyone else. …Less likely.

Villain tucked the wand into a reality pocket–Hero was nice enough not mess with that one today-and swished their capelet around them as they turned toward the fridge. The next thing they knew, they were pouring a glass of milk just so they could look away. The hero’s dry gaze already felt like a drain on their powers without this extra dose of exasperation. 

“Look at the clothes,” they said.

Hero raised an eyebrow, but began to peel up the first layer of plastic wrap.

“Don’t unwrap them!” Villain cried, then as Hero’s eyebrow did a higher, more quizzical leap into their hair, “We don’t know what’s in them.”

“I don’t think this shoddy wrap job is keeping in any dangerous toxins,” Hero said.

Villain stomped a heeled shoe. “Don’t say such dangerous things out loud!”

“For that to work the cookies would have to actually be toxic. Which they aren’t.” Hero’s eyes flicked up and down before returning to the cookie plate and the unwrapping process. “Did you seriously do a complete transformation over this?”

Villain warmed a little. They didn’t make a habit of inviting heroes to their apartment, but something about this had shaken them. Something about those sugar pearl eyes peering up at them had felt…wrong. Though they’d claimed, even internally, that Hero was simply the first name to pop into their head, maybe…maybe they’d chosen them on purpose. Maybe they’d wanted a bit of logic to asway their anxiety. To tell them everything was truly alright.

“I’m just being prepared,” Villain said, then nodded at the plate.

The gingerbreadpeople were dressed like them. Not the comfortable, baggy outfits they wore as a civilian but their magical version–silver pompadour shoes with a snowflake sprinkles for the buckles, long icy blue tailcoat and capelet with a carefully iced imitation of the frost pattern emroidery, and whipped ruffles—so many ruffles, in the cravat, in the white undershirt, in the peeking cuffs of the sleeves; the Ginger-Villains even held their wand, complete with silver edible glitter so the snowflake head sparkled in the light.

“Coincidence.”

“Coinci– Hero! That’s me!”

“Yes, and half the city is convinced you’re some sort of ice fairy.” Villain could hear the eyeroll in their tone. “This isn’t the first cookie I’ve seen with your face on it.”

“But they are the first to show up at my door.”

Hero let out an enormous sigh. “Ok, honestly? Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it’s creepy. But I just don’t believe anyone could have figured out who you are let alone where you live. You’re ok. Throw them away if you’re so worried.”

Villain folded their arms poutily. “I’m sure that’s exactly what the sender wants me to do. One moment I’m dumping cookies, the next I have giant radioactive rats breaking down my door.”

They swished their cape again, more dramatically this time, making the full breadth of their displeasure known. 

Hero sighed again. They did that so much it was a wonder they had any breath left.

“Do you want me to take them?”

Villain blinked. “Really?”

“You’re just going keep calling me otherwise, right? And I have no worries about throwing them away in my trash.”

Villain picked up the platter hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt on my behalf…”

“I know it’s Christmas but quit with the fluff. Hand them over.”

Hero thrust out their hand, waving their fingers impatiently. 

Well, if Hero really wanted the creepy cookies, who was Villain to stop them. They were a grown, capable adult who knew how to take care of themselves, and they were enemies anyways, so Villain didn’t need to feel guilty at all if–

Villain’s thoughts stopped short, plate half extended. The platter trembled a little in their fist.

“Are you really so freaked out that you’re shaking?” Hero said.

“I-I’m not.”

Something on the platter was moving. 

As the first Ginger-Villain rose to its feet, all Villain and Hero could do was stare. 

When the second one popped up, Villain threw the platter across the room.

The decorative plastic cracked against the wall, and about two dozen cookies scattered every direction.

The wall clock ticked a second of peace, and then the cookies were back up, faces smudges, bodies cracked, or a gory scene of cookie arms and legs and sugar pearl eyes littering the tile.

One cookie who was lucky enough to escape the throw with no more damage than a lost eye and a smeared tailcoat waddled determinedly forward while several others limped or dragged themselves behind.

Villain cursed. "What is happening?"

"It's not real. it's not real. it's not real," Hero muttered like a ritual beside them. But the cookies were real. And whatever disbelief Hero had been suspending was broken.

Fine. If Hero was going to be useless... Villain reached into the air and yanked their wand out of its pocket and back into reality.

They flicked the wand once, sending a pale coating of slick ice over the living cookies, stiffening their limbs and freezing them to the spot.

"There," Villain said, letting out a slow exhale. "Now I think we should burn--"

Crack.

Crick, crack.

Crick, crack, crackle, crack.

Steam wafted up from each cookie, and as they pressed forward, little fissures spread up the weakened ice-coating.

"Are they...getting hotter?" Villain said.

The embroidery detailing and facial features dripped down the cookie's bodies as they moved pooling in little sweet puddles at their feet. A few cookies picked up the nearby limbs and melded them into the now soft stumps.

"That shouldn't be as disturbing as it is," Hero muttered.

"Ok, I was going easy on you all because you're made of flour," Villain said, "but why don't you try escaping this?"

Villain swished their wand in a circle, this time encapuslating the cookies in a large, solid ball of ice.

Crack.

Villain conjured another layer.

Crick, crack.

Another.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Another.

The ice ball grew and grew, but for every layer of ice Villain threw up, the cracking only seemed to quicken.

Great billowing clouds of steam filled the room, obscuring the ice prison from view and Villain backed warily toward the living room, grabbing Hero's arm as they went.

There was one final crack; ice shot around the room like shattered glass and a wave of chilly water washed across the floor, seeping through the seams of their shoes.

As the cookies had heated in their prison, they'd mushed together, replacing two dozen zombieish Ginger-Villains with one enormous, thoroughly burnt Ginger-Creature. One beady sugar pearl stared down at them from the gooey burnt icing face.

"Hero, do something!" Villain shouted, digging their nails into the hero's arm.

Hero paused their muttered chant long enough to roar, "I'm trying!"

"What, a walking cookie is too realistic for you?"

"It reminds me of a horror movie! It's hard to disbelieve in things that have that sort of hold in my mind!"

The Ginger-Creature stepped toward them.

Villain waved their wand toward the pool of water on the floor, freezing it into a slick sheet. Unfortunately, they hadn't thought about their own half-submerged feet. As they attempted another step back, they found their blocky heels frozen to the floor.

The creature slipped a little with its next step, but ultimately its heating power left indents in the ice wherever its giant feet moved.

Villain lurched back, but the attempt was fruitless.

"Take off your shoes!" Hero cried, already in their socks and crouching down at Villain's feet and fumbling with the intricate snowflake buckles.

"They're magic shoes," Villain choked. "They don't come off."

"Then detransform! Do something! It's coming!"

Villain grabbed Hero by either side of their face, forcing them to look up at them.

"Hero, I need you're annoying, unimaginative, logical brain to start asking the big questions right now."

Hero stared at them wide-eyed. "I...I..."

"Come on! You always think of something aggravating! Like...how can this cookie see us when its eye is just sugar? How does the light pass through? And even if it does, how is that light processed? Does it have a cookie brain? That doesn't make any sense."

"How can it heat itself?" Hero said, voice a little trembly. "Nothing in gingerbread can conduce its own heat."

"Yeah, and why did the cookies have heat powers anyway when they were supposed to be copies of me?"

"How did it know how to shape itself? It's messed up, but it's still sort of a person. Do all the cookies have a sense of humanity? Do they have separate thoughts? Or are they one cookie hivemind?"

The smell of burnt sugar and ginger was suffocating now. Villain could feel the heat wafting off it as it's burnt foot came into view a mere couple of feet away.

Hero spread their arms out in front of Villain and looked up into the towering cookie's face. “You're not real.”

The gingerbread froze in place. It's entire body shuddered, and then abruptly it crumbled into a pile of blackened cookie dust. The sugar pearl rolled across the floor and into Villain's knee.

They both stared in silence.

Then Villain laughed.

They couldn’t help it. Emotional response maybe. They just laughed and laughed and went weak against Hero's side, grasping for balance around their waist. Hero hugged them with one arm around the head. Villain wasn't sure if they even knew they were doing it, or if the simply needed as much support after that conclusion as Villain did.

"I did it," Hero gasped.

"You did it!" Villain said giddily. "You're so boring, you fantastic stick in the mud you!"

Villain picked up the sugar pearl, rolling it between their thumb and forefinger a couple times, before popping it triumphantly in their mouth. As soon, as the sweetness hit their tongue, words sprang across their mind unprompted.

Merry Christmas, Villain. I'm sorry you didn't like my treat. My next one will be better.

[snowshowerwriting]

Wooden Coffin || Secret Santa Snippet

I hope this is to your liking, @serickswrites! Not much winter spirit but there's quite a bit of whump in it :) Enjoy your day!

Content Warning: Buried alive, past abuse/imprisonment, slow asphyxiation (?)

The first breath was fine, but they could feel the still, musty air.

The second breath was panicked, accompanied by the full darkness that settled around them. Their eyes were open but only darkness greeted them. There'd be no comfort here.

"The air will last for 50 minutes," Their friend told them before the mission. "We'll get you within twenty, thirty minutes at most. So don't panic, ok? Everyone will make it back alive and well. That includes you." The gentle voice of their friend lulled them into comfort, into accepting the role of bait for this mission. "For the better," they were told, a hand on their face and one on their beating heart.

Everything felt too loud in this silence. Each breath, every brush against the wooden coffin felt like grating chalk against a board. Every thought wormed itself into their brain.

First, it was whether or not their rescue would get here in time. Of course, they would. My friends wouldn't lie to me, they reassured themself. This healing they've done, all this recovering wouldn't be for naught. I'm fine, they'll get here. A mantra began in their mind whilst they recalled their memories with their current friends. They'll be found.

The sweet thoughts lasted for a few minutes before their memories turned sour as they reached further back into their mind. The first time at this camp wasn't pretty. They were dragged to the middle as prisoners with a few others. The little company they had dwindled down till they were the only plaything here. They've seen everything, the poison in every word and the cruelty in every action. That's particularly why this plan worked so well. The captors would've been distracted between all the flaunting and malicious jests at their own expense. They knew the habits and rituals, how traitors were made fools and buried alive. Traditions stayed traditions here. Their head spun at the thoughts and memories. They weren't just laying the coffin, it felt as though they were suspended in the air. Frozen in time for just a moment before reality came crashing down.

Gods, how long would it take their friends to get here? It had been ten, maybe thirteen minutes since they had woken up. They held back a hoarse sob, feeling at the wooden coffin around them. Every sound felt muted, but so damn loud.

Please, please, please. They didn't know who they were begging to. Maybe it was the figures that began to emerge in the darkness. The eyes from the deepest pits of hell stared down at them, and the smiles carved into the creatures had a sickening familiarity. They reminded themselves that it wasn't their captors, but every ounce of logical thinking was beginning to ebb away.

Their rescue wouldn't make it on time. Between all the panicked thoughts, the sudden realization had them shuffling around in the coffin. They had to get out, right now. The stale air felt rancid now. Closing their eyes made no difference, not when there wasn't even an inkling of light. Please, please, please. Fingernails scratched at the wooden boards around them, but the pain never quite registered. The shadowed creature danced in their vision, even after shutting their eyes tight. The air felt tight, rancid, and heavy. They could feel their eyes getting heavy and choked back a sob.

Between their panicked thoughts and the sound of their blood rushing in their ears, they swore they heard something on the other side of the coffin. Please, please, please. Was that their friend? Please, please, please.