#animal bite

Shadow Milk Cookie and the other Beasts physically fought the witches. I'm talking a full on war before they were sealed in the tree, they were absolutely wreaking HAVOC on the world as they knew it, and they definitely hurt one of the witches as a result. No, I am not up to date on Witch's Castle lore, and I'm not interested in exploring it at the moment.

Genderfluid. Need I say more? We've already seen the fucker cross-dressing, and he's literally in drag 24/7.

Multi-Lingual Not a very hot take, I assume, because he's literally the previous Fount of Knowledge, so no shit he would know every language and every way to twist it about in order to gain trust. Speaking in someone's mother tongue is bound to lower someone's guard. However, I think he has a tendency towards Latin and Italian because of opera talk. I need him to roll his Rs as he sarcastically goes "Oh! Oh! Bravo, Bravo, BravISSIMO!~"

He is musically talented. Obnoxiously so. Same reasoning as the first, and something that should be obvious but still something I want to talk about because I don't think a lot of people consider it. He would know how to play ANY instrument and can read all the clefts necessary to do it. Considering he is also the Archdeceiver himself, I'd say he could make instruments sound in tune when they had never been tuned in the first place and vice versa. Is he partial to anything in particular? I was almost tempted to give a basic answer like a violin, or a piano, but I thought better. No, Mr. Beast of Deceit loves the ORGAN, simply because of how dramatic and expressive he can be with it. He will absolutely make your instrument sound out of tune for fun.

He can summon his minions out of the shadows! Shadow Milk Cookie can thump his cane on the ground and have Black Sapphire Cookie at his side in two shakes of a lamb's tail. They can hear his call through any shadow anywhere, and as long as he permits it, they can slip through his Other Realm as they please.

If he were a dog, he would be a Borzoi Why? Because they look like a woolly wolf snake. They're long, they have curly hair, and they're a canine. Hence, he would manifest as a borzoi. How would that look? I actually have some art I might share of it.

Huge fan of Ink Blot Tests Similar to tarot cards, the meaning of an ink blot test puts the tester, researcher, psychiatrist, or whoever into the role of control. A role that can be easily used to manipulate someone and deceive them. You see a snarling bear in that blot? Most are supposed to see a laughing baby! You're not normal, that means something really bad happened to you! But that's OK, just listen to Shadow Milk and he'll help you out of these troubling times...

Shadow Milk Cookie knows how to steal & drive stagecoaches/carriages He has done some wild things for the thrill of it. It didn't happen after he was corrupted either, this is a recurring thing for him. Think about the Disney short with Mr. Toad running off with a horse and cart, specifically. He loved the thrill of adventure! That man has put the reigns in his teeth and drifted on hard corners, leaving him nearly teetering into a river. He's always been a wild, wild man.

He calls Pure Vanilla Cookie "Doctor" No notes.

He changes his flavor and texture of dough No one knows what he actually tastes like, because it always changes. One bite, he may have the texture of porcelain, shattering in your teeth and leaving your gums bleeding while tasting like pancakes. Then, he might be as stretchy and chewy as blueberry mochi, but with jame that tastes like kerosene. Other odd flavors and textures I think he'd do: -Pilk(Pepsi Milk) -Cough Syrup -Chalk -Sodium Metal -Graphite -Wafer paper -Acrylic Paint -Glitter Glue -Cardboard -Blueberry leaves -Spoiled milk You will rarely get something normal like Blue Raspberry or Sour Blueberries or Crispy or Cakey. No, he's just a freak, and he lives for spite.

He knows what meat tastes like. Real meat. Not jelly meat, not cake, not cream, not cacao and not jam or marmalade. Meat meat. Blood. Sinew. Bone marrow. I think he quite liked the taste. Now here's where it gets GNARLY. Strap in.

He's venomous. This was developed in tandem with @biscuit-crawl, specifically the idea that his venom is a placebo. What the hell does that mean? That means he essentially gaslights your body into thinking that it is being attacked by a genuine venom on the levels of a gaboon viper, when in reality it's him making you BELIEVE you're succumbing to venom. It's super fucking sick, IMO, and very fitting to him. Another fun avenue to take the venom is that he's truly venomous. It would have a similar effect as gaboon venom. Now, if you don't know what that venom does to a human, allow me to elaborate. Gaboon viper venom is viperid, as their name suggests, which immediately makes it a hemotoxin---something that attacks the blood. It also causes shock and necrosis and local blistering around the bite. Tissue necrosis is the process of organic tissue(skin, flesh, etc) is premature death of those cells. The cells are dying as you're still alive. The blisters Shadow Milk's bite induces are little blue eyes while the necrotizing tissue is becoming some weird shadow sludge. Yes, it is extremely painful, and it is extremely corrosive. Down to bone, baby, you're getting shadow sepsis if you don't hack that thing off. But only to humans. Humans like the witches. Only humans have hemoglobin, all the cookies have jam. They won't be affected by something that damages mammalian tissue and clots blood, they have no blood cells! Am I implying that one of the witches actually died because he bit them during that war?

Yes.

“Thanks,” you muttered while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You extended the bottle out to Glenn but he shook his head. 

“Try to get Daryl to drink when he gets back.” You cast him a curious look but he only smiled and shuffled forward to catch up with Maggie. 

The sun was beating down violently on your little group, no reprieve from the clutches of its heat. Just like yesterday. Just like the day before. The bushes rustled to your left, but you were too weary to be afraid. You simply rolled your head toward the sound and watched Daryl emerge from the foliage. You gave him a quick once over as he fell in stride beside you but saw no injuries and also no kill to call dinner. 

“You okay?” You offered the water bottle, but he pushed it back to you. 

“M’fine.”

“I haven’t seen you take a single sip in two days, Daryl.” You were trying to scold but your voice only sounded dry and tired. 

“You need it. Lil Asskicker needs it.” Right on cue, the baby on Carl’s back began to fuss. You glanced behind you where Sasha and Michonne were bringing up the rear. The group of walkers were still a ways back but if you stopped, it wouldn’t take them long to catch up. 

Your attention was brought back to Daryl when he stumbled, hissing through his teeth before getting his balance. You said nothing but watched him carefully. He was slightly favoring his right leg. While you could see no blood, you did notice that the red rag that usually hung from his back pocket was wrapped around his shin, just above his boot. 

“Daryl.” You called to him carefully when he looked up from his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. He grunted in reply, and his gaze dropped again. “Are you hurt?” He grunted again. “That’s not an answer.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it.” The archer looked over at you, one eye closed and the other squinted. “Ain’t a big deal.” 

Before you could press him on it, Rick called out for everyone to stop at a bridge. It was time to handle the walkers. 

It didn’t take long. Not a single person was injured and you were back on the road. Daryl was in front of you now, and you were watching him like a hawk. Other than a slight limp, he seemed okay. No better or worse than anyone else right now. 

The group had stopped to rest once the scorching sun had lowered, and Daryl had disappeared to hunt. With a nod to Carol, you ducked away past the bushes to join him. You weren’t great at tracking but he hadn’t been gone long and you had learned a thing or two from him. 

It didn’t take you long to spot him. There was a small cabin that looked like it had been abandoned since before the dead rose. Daryl was standing next to a tree close to the structure, leaning his shoulder against it. You smiled, and quickened your pace until you noticed his crossbow was on the ground at his feet. His right boot wasn’t touching the ground, and he was bent at the waist with his eyes screwed shut and teeth clenched. 

“Daryl?” You called out but he didn’t respond. He was sweating and pale, and as you neared, the smell of sick lingered in the air. “Hey, are you okay?” You placed your hand on his bicep once you were close enough. The archer reacted violently, catching your wrist and slamming your back against the tree with his hunting knife at your throat. Had he really not heard you approaching? His breaths came hard and fast. Those pretty blue eyes of his were filled with pain and anger. “It’s me, Daryl.” 

You watched recognition set in, and he released you with a huff. “The hell ya followin’ me fer?” You let your gaze follow him as he replaced his knife and reached for the crossbow. On the ground, near the weapon, was a puddle of vomit. Your eyes narrowed. 

“Daryl, what’s wrong with you?” You pushed away from the tree and jogged to cut him off. “Really.”

“Leave me ‘lone!” He made to go around you, but you moved to stay in his path. 

“You sick?” He tried the other way with the same results. “Hurt?” He growled deep in his throat, closing his eyes in what appeared to be restraint. You weren’t sure that was really the case. 

“Jus’ lay off, would ya?” He snapped harshly. You reeled, face contorting in anger, but just as you opened your mouth, Daryl’s eyes widened. He listed to the side, crashing hard onto his left knee and began to retch violently. With nothing in his stomach, he only managed to bring up a small amount of bile throughout the ordeal. 

“Daryl!” You grabbed hold of his shoulders just in time to stop him from keeling over into the mess. Falling back onto your ass, you managed to pull the man up against your stomach. He was panting with his eyes screwed shut. “Daryl, what’s going on? The truth.”

It took a moment but the archer finally managed to open one eye and seemed to study you before you felt him simply deflate in your hold. “Snake bit.” You quickly glanced at that old rag around his lower leg. 

“You moron, that’s serious! You could die!” Your hand connected roughly with the front of his shoulder but then held him fast where he was when he tried to struggle away. 

“Ain’t gon’ die. S’jus’ a copperhead.” He tried to sit up again and this time you let him. He nodded gratefully once he was shoulder to shoulder with you. “Got bit ‘fore, when I’s ‘bout 10. It won’ kill me but it’ll suck fer a day or two.”

You stared at him, not sure what you were feeling. You were angry that he had hidden this from the group, from you. You were worried that he was or would become dehydrated or the wound would be infected, both were very likely and equally as dangerous. You were sad that he would rather suffer alone than worry anyone even when he was in such a state. 

“Quit starin’ at me like tha’. Told ya, I’ll be fine.”

You nodded, looking down at your boots. You had to think of something. Daryl simply couldn’t keep going like this, disappearing ‘in search of water and food’ when he really just needed a break. You glanced at him again, leaning back on his hands with his head tilted toward the sky. His expression was riddled with pain, even though he was trying not to show it. You knew better. 

Over his shoulder, you saw the little cabin. It wasn’t the ideal solution but maybe one you could make work. “You cleared that yet?”

Daryl followed your gaze and shook his head. “Nah. Didn’ have a chance ‘fore my stomach crawled outta my throat.”

“Wait here.” 

“The hell ya doin’, Y/N?”

You pulled your knife from the sheath on your thigh and marched toward the structure. “Solving a couple of problems.”

The cabin had been blessedly void of walkers. It was small but large enough to shelter your family from the sun for at least a day or two. It was easy enough to talk Rick into stopping the fruitless march toward nothing. At least the group could stay put while you took care of Daryl, under the guise of being out for the night to hunt. 

He had been surprisingly pliant when you dragged him away. Finding a spot to camp for the night was simple. Far enough away for members not to venture in search of you, yet close enough to run for help if things got worse. You had taken all of the water that could be spared, leaving enough for the proper care of Judith and Carl. You hated leaving so little for the adults, but Daryl would surely die without it, closer than anyone to dehydration with the excess sweating and vomiting. 

You sat next to his outstretched leg, carefully pouring the smallest amount of water over the two punctures he had finally let you take a look at. Just to the right of his shin, the wound was swollen and angry, more in thanks to the venom than to infection. If you could manage to keep it clean, you could probably avoid that. 

You taped a square of gauze over the bite, thankful that you had at least that in your own bag. Keeping it covered was best for the time being. It could get air when the venom wasn’t doing a number on the archer. 

You worried about tissue damage, but that was a bridge you’d have to cross when you came to it. For now, keeping him alive was the most important thing. 

“Drink.” You titled the canteen against his lips, holding fast to his chin with the other hand when he tried to turn away. 

“The kid—”

“Has enough. I promise. I wouldn’t have taken it if it meant she or Carl had to do without.” He seemed to accept that, parting his lips for the smallest of swallows. You wished you had more and didn’t have to be so greedy with each offering. He had taken the ibuprofen you had managed to nab out of Michonne’s bag. That should provide a bit of relief from the pain while aiding in the reduction of the inflammation. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. 

“You should get some rest.” You placed your back against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with him. He didn’t look very comfortable but it wasn’t unlike Daryl to sleep sitting up. Sometimes, you think he preferred it. Regardless, he was sick and in pain, so you tried to make him as comfortable as possible. “Why don’t you lay on my lap?”

Daryl opened one eye and rolled his head toward you, blinking away the sweat that burned and obstructed his vision. You thought he might argue or turn you down flat, but he instead shifted with a groan and pillowed his head on your thighs. A true testament to how horrible he was feeling. 

“Better?” You questioned quietly, running your fingers through his damp hair. He hummed, his eyes once again closed. You could see the way they pinched at the outer corners and wished you could do something more for the pain. He’d been bitten while trying to find food and water for your group; trying to take care of everyone else. Always putting himself last. 

There was a content sigh that brought you from your thoughts. You hadn’t realized that you had begun to scratch and knead his scalp, but the way he seemed to melt against you ensured that you continued. His shallow breaths evened out and deepened after a few more moments, an indicator that he was finally giving his body the rest it so desperately needed. 

He would be okay. You knew that now. But if you could offer him some comfort and peace for just one night, you’d massage his scalp until your fingers bled. Daryl, rough around the edges and tough as nails, would bend over backwards to ensure the safety of each one of you. Anyone in the group would do the same for him if he’d allow it. But he didn’t. He chose to suffer in silence until you stumbled across him and forced his hand. 

But he’d allowed you into his space and trusted you enough to fall into a deep, healing sleep while you watched over him. He would be safe and cared for, and you’d make sure he knew that he could depend on this— on you — and drop his walls. He could let you in and be vulnerable. 

You’d be damned if you’d take that for granted.