Work Text:
‘Divinity’ was what used to describe Shadow Milk Cookie eons, eons ago.
Cookies would surround him in awe and reverence, their curiosity and hunger to learn had led them before him - The Fount of All Knowledge. His students in the Academy bowed to him in respect whenever he and them crossed paths. Statues of his likeliness scattered the continent - Hair as dark as the night and glittered with a thousand stars, flowy black robes hung gracefully on his lithe frame and all knowing eyes that held the delicate balance of Truth and Deceit, an image of ethereal beauty and utter other-worldliness.
A long forgotten figure. Legacies burnt to ashes and reduced to nothing more than a stain of the past. Beds of Milkcrown flowers still sway woefully in the wind to this day, as if the Fount’s sorrows still bleed.
What greeted him in the reflection of the mirror now was anything but ‘Divinity’.
“Wretched Beast!” They had called him, the words spit out like a curse. “Why did you deceive us?!” They had shout out, betrayal evident in their cries. And he had begged in fear, thrashing and screaming against their grip as the blade of the guillotine fell down-
The Fount of Knowledge had been killed for good, buried under the sand of time and all that was left was Shadow Milk Cookie, the Master of Deceit, clown and starred actor in a play of his own making, the puppeteer and the puppet all simultaneously, a sinner that went against the orders of their very own Gods. He thought bitterly to himself.
So it made it all the more confusing when Pure Vanilla refused to finally put him and his evil schemes to sleep but instead, waxed poetics about how “Everyone deserves a second chance. That includes you, Shadow Milk.” and how he could ‘see the pain in him’ (What a load of nonsense! The blind gnat couldn’t even see the road before him without that staff.)
The defeated Shadow Milk, unfortunately, in the mist of pain and rare vulnerability had foolishly taken the hand offered to him and sent himself straight to the Devil’s den.
“Come on, Shadow Milk…” Pure Vanilla cooed at him like he was an untamed stray cat fighting against the rescue, mirth coloring his gaze a gentle hue. Ridiculous old fool and his stupid- stupid-!! “It’s just some herbal tea I brew ealier - Chamomile. It helps calm your mind. Won’t you grace little ol’ me with your oh-so gracious benevolence and take a sip?” Shadow Milk would kill him someday.
Pure Vanilla, the noble hero, the ever constant presence beside him ever since this little quest of redemption started, was an utter nuisance. Shadow Milk wanted nothing more than to regain back his powers and turn his precious kingdom into his grandiose stage, for chaos and terror to weave the trail he left, the crumbled remains of his beloved subjects to haunt his every waking moment, a true spectacle that was the power of Deceit. Only then would he finally get to see that mask of kindness broke irrevocably - twisted, distorted and shattered into millions and millions of pieces - and all that remained would be pure, unadulterated hatred. As he searched the other’s face and found nothing but sincerity and warmth that sent an unfamiliar sensation down his spin, Hatred would look good on you, he mused, uncertainty clear in his mind.
He should’ve known that nothing good ever, ever happened to him, because as days went by, Pure Vanilla seemed more and more determined in his beliefs that Shadow Milk still had the slimmest chance at something good. Delusions, that what they were. Though I could get used to this. He thought to himself idly as the vision impaired cookie fumbled with braiding his hair. (Pure Vanilla had insisted on bonding with him this way. Shadow Milk had snickered at the idea, but soon having to agree to it after much persistence.) The scent of vanilla lulled him into false security. Even without facing his other half, he could still picture him perfectly in his mind - Pure Vanilla with his hazy eyes squinting in concentration as his scarred fingers detangle the knots in his hair, strands of blonde framing his face just right, the sunlight draping over his form in a soft glow that only served to make him appear more angelic, almost-
‘Divine’, the word tasted bitter on his tongue. Shadow Milk used to be like that once, many, many moons ago. With star glazed hair and intricate black robes, adoring crowds and loving students, of knowledge given out freely. He could have been something else-
No. He shan't doubt himself. The sickly sweet taste of jam coated his tongue, his sharp teeth grazing at the freshly made wound. He would rather spend an eternity in the Oven, than for even a second faltering in his beliefs. He had gone this far now, broken from his cage and demanding freedom. He would not regret it. He wasn’t allowed to regret it, for it would mean that every wound had been meaningless.
So Shadow Milk steeled his resolve, and let his hatred stew.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Pure Vanilla had a magnetic pull to him, as if the luminescence of his being wasn’t enough to draw attention. His shameless affection was an infectious thing, a parasite that wormed its way into Shadow Milk’s veins and rendered his brain useless. Vile, disgusting, nauseatingly revolting kindness. The urge to bash his head against the cream-colored wall in the castle was growing more and more tempting each time he saw the adoring expression on the other’s face.
The last few days had been unusually uneventful. Pure Vanilla had managed to distract him into picking up his paint brushes and making hideous portraits of the healer to hang in the halls, in place of terrorizing the local residents and playing pranks on the castle maids. Then the usual poking and prodding into business that he wasn’t meant to be in had put him in quite a good mood. It had seemed strange to him, in a moment of clarity, that he was actually enjoying himself in a place surrounded by cookies far too innocent for the like of him.
He played tricks for the children that would marvel at anything slightly interesting. He (reluctantly) accompanied Pure Vanilla to go to the markets. He sat down with back exposed to his Other Half, feeling the other cookie’s hands hovering over his scars. He had felt content, unknowingly, with banters and games of wits and shared debates under the watchful gaze of the Moon herself.
“Ah, the Lilies are in full bloom!” During one of their many nightly strolls through the garden, Pure Vanilla exclaimed with a soft clap of his hands, peering over to take a closer look. “Such pleasant aroma really does calm the troubled mind, much like the presence of an old friend. What of you, bluebird?” I’d rather they all wither right under your very gaze. Shadow Milk wanted to say, but the words died in his throat. Pure Vanilla was looking at him, soft milky blue and yellow meeting cyan and navy, the endless patience and compassion directed at him was almost overflowing and for a brief second-
The strange feelings he had been ignoring pierced into this fragile peace between them both. The scene of lilies turned cloying. The world tilted from its axis. Shadow Milk felt dreads pooling in his stomach. And like a coward, he fled.
Things had been going too well, too well. In the darkest corner of his Other Realm where Pure Vanilla’s light couldn’t reach, Shadow Milk curled into himself in a feeble attempt at self-soothing, laying flat on the floor. His breathing was erratic, his vision blurred and focused onto nothing. The cold seeped into his dough, forming frost cocooning his pitiful form. Sharp nails cut into jagged dough frantically, staining them with red jam. The sting was almost enough to break through the haze in his mind, almost enough to drown out the incessant noises in his mind.
Because everything had been wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong. A creature of eternal Darkness basked itself under the warmth of the sun, and found itself burnt to nothing but ashes.
How dare he? How dare Pure Vanilla looks at him like that? He wanted to so badly claw into his own ribcage and tear apart his bleeding heart until it was nothing more than a grotesque puddle of jam. I will pry open his dough and climb under his skin. Break his limbs and tie strings to his heart. Rip apart his delicate face and gentle smile until his hope decayed and his love turned venom.
This was all he was. All charms and glamour and wits, and nothing underneath but rot and destruction, a cage devoid of light. Corruption festered inside his body and mind like a plague, words meant to spread seeds of hope honed to cut and bruise and kill. Pure Vanilla had dare looked at him like something precious, like one might gaze upon the face of a lover, like the sea yearning to touch the moon, like a thousand words remained unsaid yet perfectly felt.
He felt deadly ill, like there was bile stuck in his throat. Shadow Milk leered over and retched out nothing but air, his insides churning and burning hot. Once the revered Fount of All Knowledge, then to the Beast of Deceit sowing discord throughout the land, he had never been this pathetic. A tattered puppet with its strings cut and forgot how to perform.
All these days, he had done nothing but wasting his time on useless sentiments, instead of working on regaining his strength. Fooling around like this was where he belonged, like he wasn’t a Beast with sins heavier than that of thousands souls. Like they didn’t want his head hung proudly on a gold-plated stand, displayed as another trophy of Pure Vanilla’s heroic deeds-
“Shadow Milk Cookie”
A warmth intruded his chain of thought. The scent of sweet vanilla and fresh wood, of comfort and safety embraced him. Since when did he start associating it with safety? He briefly mulled over it before his brain could register the arms wrapping around him. “Let us go home, bluebird.” The disembodied voice rang soothingly in his ears, his nails were being pried apart from the abused dough. “You have had a rough day. Let’s get you to rest.”
And Shadow Milk, once again, took the hand that was offered to him in his numbing haze.
It was that same hand that patiently held his hand and led him back to his room, in the Vanilla castle.
It was that same hand that draped a blanket over him, closing the curtains and making sure no light could shine through.
The same hand that belonged to Pure Vanilla and Pure Vanilla only, who healed his wounds and held all his cracks. Pure Vanilla, who smelled of warm honey and truth and hope and healing. Pure Vanilla, who was looking at him with a tingle of sadness and understanding so deep it made his hollow heart ached painfully, desperate to escape his ribs and reach the light. Pure Vanilla, who reached out to him despite all the gnaws and scratches and bruises his claws left behind. Pure Vanilla PureVanillaPureVanillaPureVanillaPureVanilla-
Something must have torn through his already fractured mask, because Pure Vanilla gazed down on him with heartbreak so prominent it threatened to swallow him whole.
“I am not going anywhere” A hand came up to shield his eyes. “Please, my dearest, trust me.” Golden locks tickled his face as he felt something warm pressed against his burning forehead.
A kiss.
A tenderness so intimate that it stung his eyes.
You are making a deadly, horrifying mistake. He wanted to tell him. You will regret ever believing I was meant for something gentle.
Pure Vanilla didn’t get to hear it, as he hummed a quiet tune, the sound a distant but steady company. The warmth on his eyes had moved to his scalp, and he felt sleep pulling him into a dull, dreamless rest.
The next time his consciousness returned, it was to the pleasant aroma of Chamomile tea and Vanilla scented candles.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Pure Vanilla’s kindness would be his downfall. Shadow Milk tuned out the conversation shared between the healer and an unfamiliar cretin that he couldn’t bother to remember. Ever since that day of his little slip-up, they had settled into an almost domestic peace, with him becoming desensitized to the virus that was Unconditional Love. The other never brought up what happened, and for that, Shadow Milk was generous enough to leave his merry band alone for 2 days after. At least he valued his life, he sneered mentally.
We can understand each other like no one else can.
The half-baked fool had said back then in the fight at the Spire, all earnestly and doe-eyed as if it was the most natural, normal thing on Earthbread. And maybe, it might have been.
To his people, Pure Vanilla was a beacon of Truth. A hero true in every sense of the word. A leader whose light shines so bright he was more ‘legend’ than ‘cookie’. A steady pillar against the terrifying forces of Darkness that plagued the lands. He was virtuous, compassionate, attentive and considerate to any cookie past his way, a truly humble image of everything good molded into the shape of a cookie.
Only to him, Shadow Milk knew, he was something more. A dirty liar, a hypocrite, a self-deprecating, pathetic gnat, a thief, a bleeding heart ridden with guilt and savior-complex so heavy it could drown any cookie with a weaker will, a fool who looked at him and deemed him worth loving, who willingly invited him on his pedestal and kept him close.
So, naturally, it was Shadow Milk’s job to pull him down into the deepest of abyss, to have the other's cries of anguish matching his own. To know of each other's ugliness so intimately and still decide to stay. Two halves of a Soul both equally rotten and damaged all the same. Light and Dark so intricately intertwined in a dance that they both knew by heart. Infatuation and obsession mingled into an addicting poison that neither could seem to refuse. They were one and the same, yet so fascinatingly opposite. True Soulmates, as proposed by the will of the Witches. No one could pull them apart, forever unable to escape from the other’s shadow.
While he was deep in thought, Pure Vanilla had finished with the conversation and was approaching him now, the lovely smile on his face widened a fraction more genuine at the sight of him. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Shadow Milk allowed himself a ghost of something sincere to pass through his expression in a fleeting moment. Pure Vanilla must have caught it, judging by the slight freeze in his steps and heterochromia eyes staring at him in awe.
He could get used to this, just for a while.