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@pinchofdeceit
semi selective and mutuals only blog for shadow milk cookie of cookie run: kingdom. oc, duplicate, multimuse and crossover friendly. 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯. ( they / them. 31. ) established december 2025. minors please do not interact. carrd. spotify. rpcdni.
why are they all trying to make me into a saint? ( oh god! oh god! ) i want to do things. stop turning me into a saint.
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all that said, and pure vanilla is a little confused. he THINKS he understands what shadow milk is actually trying to tell him ― amid the babbling and keeping him at arm's length, it seems as though shadow milk might also be saying i love you in their own way. but the entire whiplash of shadow milk going from incoherent babbling to this entire conversation has his head reeling. he feels like crying too, though pure vanilla isn't sure where that emotion is coming from. at the end of the day, he's just...
exhausted.
it'd been one thing after another for so long, and it's all leading to this moment where they can finally just exist. though he's not entirely sure if shadow milk had fully grasped it, but pure vanilla is going to give it a couple days before trying again. trying to be serious and not serious at the same time is only giving him a headache. but for his own sake, he's choosing to believe that maybe, somehow, he'd reached some part of shadow milk and the two have finally reached a mutual understanding.
"i haven't forgotten," he says, wrapping an arm around shadow milk. "you jumped out of bed out of nowhere though, i'm surprised you're able to remain standing." he smiles, swallowing the pain down again. it's not just about him. it's about both of them. pure vanilla can deal with his emotions later, sorting through this conversation and pulling it apart. he meant every single word he'd said, of course, but the adrenaline is wearing off, the moment's over, and it's back to reality, where the world keeps on turning for both of them.
"come along, bluebird. you still need sleep." so does he, which he WILL get, as soon as shadow milk is asleep. though hopefully this time, pure vanilla can sneak off to his own room and catch at least a couple hours of rest before returning to tend to shadow milk's injuries some more.
he walks shadow milk back to her bed, and carefully lowers her into it. "after we rest more, i would like to treat you to a meal," he offers. "no grand feast, but i'd like to cook for you. it's been some time since either of us had anything with substance, i believe, and it'd be good for the healing journey for us to have some. just name your favorite, and i'll see it done for you."
❝ oh, i'm full of mysteries. ❞ the beast tells him, absentmindedly toying with the ends of pure vanilla's hair. ❝ one of my better qualities. well, one of many — like a single line of text in a novella-length screenplay. but what a line of text it is! ❞ unfortunately, it's at that moment his legs seem to remember just how long he's been standing and they buckle — though shadow milk quickly tries to cover it up by dramatically throwing his arms around pure vanilla's neck and leaning even harder against him. there's a dull throbbing at the base of his spine he's only becoming aware of now, in the absence of all the adrenaline that was so, so helpfully covering it up. bones and bits not accustomed to supporting the beast's weight protesting the mistreatment — it has nothing to do with his injuries or general exhaustion. his body simply wasn't designed to touch the ground.
shadow milk allows pure vanilla to help him back into bed. it's embarrassing — but he tries to preserve some measure of pride by pretending to act like a diva about it. if it comes off like he's simply forcing his other half to bend to his whims, it gives the illusion that the beast has far more control over his circumstances than he actually does. ( eugh, he would sooner get impaled AGAIN than ever admit he can't do it himself. ) ❝ and when, dare i ask, was the last time YOU slept? ❞ a tentacle extends, curling possessively around the cookie's waist. shadow milk accusingly arches a brow as he leans back against the pillows. get over here, idiot, his expression seems to say. the tendril gives an insistent little tug.
❝ mmh. ❞ he hums faintly at the question. for a moment, shadow milk debates on telling pure vanilla he doesn't actually NEED to eat — but why would he ever turn down an opportunity to be pampered? ❝ i want cake. ❞ of course he wants cake. ❝ with fruit. strawberries. none of those yucky raisins you weirdoes eat by the bagful around here. aaand what else, what else, what else... ❞ the beast suddenly snaps his fingers. ❝ tartiflette. life changing stuff in my objectively correct opinion. ever had that before? oh, who am i kidding — of COURSE you haven't. ❞ shadow milk throws an arm over his eyes with an exasperated huff.
after a deliberate pause, he raises the limb — just enough to take a quick little peek at his other half. ❝ ... i guess i'll have to take it upon myself to teach you... ❞ hint, hint.
in a sense, shadow milk is kind of the opposite of those deep sea creatures whose bodies are adapted to existing in conditions where they're perpetually subjected to immense pressure. his body is not made to walk on the ground — he was designed with the intention that he would always float. his legs are vestigial and only there to give him a recognizably cookieish silhouette. while he can stand for short periods of time, his body isn't made to deal with gravity and can't support its own weight. ( the tentacles are also very heavy; they're made of liquid. liquids are incredibly dense. ) if shadow milk does force himself to stand for more than a few moments, it can very quickly become painful — not only because his legs are weak, but also because his entire body isn't accustomed to being subjected to gravity in general. turning off the levitation literally feels like he's slowly being crushed. even when it looks like shadow milk is standing, a lot of the time he's just floating very, very close to the ground.
he can improve on this to a certain degree — the sage of truth is able to stand and walk with only mild discomfort, though that is only because he's made a concerted effort to train his body a la physical therapy. ( his tentacles are also much lighter; the smilk variants all have tentacles based on states of matter and his are gas. ) khaos can walk around without issue, but his anatomy is different and kind of a whole can of worms unto itself.
(trying to give relationship advice) from a narrative perspective i think both of you dying together would be the most emotionally satisfying resolution but i’m guessing that’s not what you want to hear
@phntasmgoria &&. said... eternal sugar is making you take a break, maestro.
❝ now, now, now — i JUST took a fifteen! ❞ anymore break time and he won't be getting paid! ( wait. IS he even getting paid? ... huh. ) ❝ i may look like a beautiful, delicate little flower, but i'm made of sturdier stuff. besides — time is a luxury i DO NOT have, and my work is important! ❞
the wall of floating circles and runes has expanded; it's more complex than ever, now — indecipherable to all but the eyes of the most seasoned experts. not an ounce of space has been wasted; the craftmanship is unparalleled. any average cookie curious enough to take a peek at his work would surely find themselves struck down by the WORST headache in their miserable lives. ( as if one glimpse is enough to fracture simpler minds. ) how oh so very fortunate eternal sugar is nothing of the sort, hmm? maestro's under eyes are always stained dark — something the beast would insist is a deliberate choice to give him the aesthetic of a tortured yet brilliant artist. however, they appear an even deeper violet than usual now, implying the look is less deliberate and more a consequence of all that pesky stress he keeps locked up deepy-deep inside his noggin seeping through to his dough.
ever the showman, maestro doesn't allow a single ounce of fatigue to taint his demeanor. on the contrary, the beast flashes a toothy smile. he straightens his back, pretends to dust off his ruffles and audibly clears his throat. ❝ perhaps a demonstrrration is in order? ❞ yes, yes! surely then she will understand why he can't waste another moment of his precious time lazing around all slothful-like. without waiting for a reply, the beast summons a plushie in his own likeness with a practiced flick of the wrist. he holds it up for eternal sugar to see, wiggling the fingers of his free hand — for dramatic effect, obviously. maestro tosses it over his shoulder.
it sails through the wall of glittery blue light. the symbols ripple harmlessly. flicker green. then, almost immediately return to normal.
the beast turns back to his companion, spreading his arms. he stares at eternal sugar for a moment, wild-eyed and crooked-smiled. there's a pause that drags on just long enough to become awkward. maestro waves his hands.
❝ that was your cue to clap. ❞
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@pinchofdeceit requested a meeting with Espresso Cookie
Espresso was focused on recording notes - this experiments steps and modifications were complex to remove as many variables as possible. He did not realize who had come into his workspace, just that someone had.
"Unless the world is ending again - please leave a note on the desk by the door, thank you."
there is a prolonged pause. a shuffle of fabric, the creak of a door — all sounds that might lead one to assume that the oh so MYSTERIOUS intruder simply left without a word. sure, sure, maybe an ordinary cookie who actually CARED about pointless things like boundaries might pack it up when they're CLEARLY unwelcome. ( rude, by the by. whatever happened to good old hospitality? ) fortunately, shadow milk is hardly so boring.
❝ if you wanna get technical, the world is aaalways ending — it's just taking its sweet time. ❞ when the beast finally speaks, his voice is too close for comfort. ❝ ... but i doubt i need to explain entropy to an esteemed scholar such as yourself. anywho, hiii! ❞ he punctuates the greeting by flashing a smile that shows off a mouthful of suddenly-sharp teeth. ❝ ooh little cookie, have i been WAITING to have a one on one chat with yooou! the honor is all yours, i'm sure. ❞ of course, of course! after all, shadow milk IS knowledge. ❝ buut before i crack into THAT can of gummy worms, pause. ❞ the beast suddenly tries to peer over espresso's shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over his notes.
❝ whatcha writing? ❞
"...Perhaps." The broken undine said, The Titaness glanced up, face to face with the Jester.
Icinges full of despair and something hating staring at one's full of chaos and something
"...It would've been easy if I could, but..." But she can't, not when her own body doesn't wish to stay cookie anymore and instead- something ungodly. "...I'm nothing what I once was....a freak if you must."
It hurts for her to say, She stopped denying.
"Enjoying it is something I....haven't condiser.." She glanced down at her Membrane, As she moved her hand, it felt like a lifetime of agony seeing it connected and stick to her jaw.
pulling her arms away fully would extent her jaw to horror-
But she finally glanced up at him, her hands still gripping the trident but she looked more, Like she was listening. "...My world?"
❝ a fuh-REAK? and what, dare i ask, is the problem with THAT? ❞ the beast plucks his own noggin clean from his shoulders. see? she isn't the only one with a few quirks to her anatomy these days. conditions permitting, he would love to start juggling the sucker — sadly, he doesn't want to risk LOSING his head down here! instead, shadow milk settles for holding it out in his palm. ( alas, poor yorick! well, that still feels like a fitting enough reference for his tastes. ) ❝ my dear, normalcy is a social construct created by cookies with not a single crumb of a worthwhile opinion to their names! the oh so ugly truth is, we've all been freaks from the day we were baked! some of us are just better at hiding it. ❞ but what is that, if not another LIE? and trust him — shadow milk knows all about those.
the beast pops his head back on, spinning it around like he's fastening a screw. he then takes a moment to stretch, rubbing his neck and tracing the scar hidden beneath his collar with a thumb. good as newish. ❝ your world. ❞ shadow milk echoes, a melodic lit to his voice. ❝ if there is nothing in this one that behooves you to keep it, t'would it not make sense to start aneeew? seriously, what DO you gain from sitting around here, stewing in your own despair? ❞ the beast clicks his tongue. his sympathy almost sounds genuine. ❝ been there, done that. trust me, bubbles. sometimes, you just have to take control of the narrative for your own sake. ❞
he flashes a smile. ❝ ... and who better to help in such an endeavor than earthbread's greatest playwright, hmm? ❞
enters stage left with a comically large bubble tea in hand, chomping away on a mouthful of tapioca pearls. ( cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. ) ... what? he is ON his fifteen minute BREAK.
hi, hi, good morning everyone! ( insert airhorn sfx here. ) today is actually my birthday so i won't be around too much — but i will have time to hop on later this evening!
anonymous &&. said... khaos, do you feel any guilt over what you did to sylphrena. like, at all.
❝ guilt? ❞ he echoes the word with deliberate slowness — like a sommelier sampling a particularly rare and distinguished vintage. khaos exhales a soft huff. ❝ why would i ever feel guilt? it was self defense! ❞ well, partially. the maiming was entirely a deliberate act of malice — but was it WRONG? as a god, khaos is naturally above something so mundane and inconsequential as matters of petty morality. he alone decides what is right and what is wrong, as is his divine privilege. ( although really, if you think about it, he's more or less been doing THAT all along! ) ❝ let's not forget, sylphrena was the one who picked a fight with me the moment she STOLE my BEASTS... i only repaid her audacity in kind. ❞ he could have done worse. he was planning to.
... but he didn't.
the beast turned god raises a hand. one of the eyes dotting his tentacles pulls away, floating over to his upturned palm and forming into a familiar, black orb. after a moment, its dark surface ripples like a pool of disturbed water — flickering with colors, shapes, movement. it shows a first person perspective, like a film shot through khaos' own eyes. sylphrena's face. his claws carving through her dough. the sounds it makes are muffled, yet unmistakable — a whimper of agony, the parasite's scream, his own rapturous laughter. the scene rewinds, then replays. again. and again. and again. khaos watches, his expression perfectly blank. ( almost a little too blank to be anything less than deliberate. )
❝ the scene was beginning to drag, so i left. try not to read into it too much — sometimes the door is just blue. ❞ the orb's surface goes dark; he crushes it in his hand, cutting a whine short. he doesn't want to hear that sound anymore. ❝ ... i just thought it would be more satisfying than that. ❞
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tasteful doodles for modifications to the palace lay scattered around him, abandoned and unfinished. unfortunately THAT project has been relegated to the back burner until further notice — he has more pressing matters to attend to. ( yes, even more pressing than the wasp room. surprisingly, such things do exist! ) the current subject of the beast's attention is an intricate set of interconnected circles comprised of odd symbols and runes floating in the air before him. where shadow milk drags his finger, it leaves a trail — blue and glittery, like a gel pen whose ink never got the memo on that whole gravity business. occasionally, he pauses. flitting back a short distance, shadow milk stares at his work in progress. sometimes he may run a hand through his hair or click his tongue. once or twice he licks his thumb, before drifting back over to scrub away part of the spell and etch something new in its place. rinse and repeat, until the wall of glittering sigils stretch from one side of the room to the next.
it's ugly. a bloated, needlessly complex mess practically begging to be trimmed down — buuut most rough drafts are. the important part is making sure that it works.
if it does, he won't have to worry about anyone catching him by surprise ever again.
@prestideception &&. said... "Mae-Mae, it's prrrrrride month! You know what that means."
❝ huh. what. ❞ frog blinks.
❝ sooo, you want us to spread gay misinformation and chaos and tomfoolery of all shapes and forms? ❞
"Glue trap."
❝ GLUE TRAP IT IS! ❞
"Just so long as you don't forget the jelly bacoooooon~! Though in the interest of not getting immediately ourselves throttled instantly..."
"Perrrrrhaps we skip the part where a random anon deprives Burning Spice of his haircing and just bring a frying pan."
❝ but of course! it wouldn't be a prrroper breakfast sandwich without it! ❞
❝ i suppose in the name of food safety and keeping all of our limbs in the right sockets, i shall CONCEDE to the frying pan... the REAL challenge is keeping him still. personally, i'm thinkin' a nice, heat resistant glue. ❞
"Ohhhh that egg's definitely cooking, Mae-Mae. Ifffff my previous cheese-related exploits with a Balding Spice Cookie were of any indication~"
❝ OOH! a-great minds think alike, it seems! ❞ he supposes they dooo technically have the same brain. ❝ but why stop there? let's throw in a bagel — we could make a sandwich! ❞
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saw the original image and had a vision.
HE QUITS, by the way. if that wasn't obvious. save your own doughs! or don't.
