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thebiscuitlabryinth · 1 month

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In the end, it doesn't matter. His plans, his intentions, his hopes, none of it matters.

In his dreams, it is disturbingly easy for Pure Vanilla to forget that the world is larger than the two of them, full of Cookies with their own plans and motives. In the careful cradle of his dreams, cocooned within Shadow Milk's constant presence, he hadn't even considered that there were other options.

Now, he is forced to confront them, and he can barely pay attention to anything. He isn't sure what happened in the first place, everything moving too quickly for him to process a thing. There is chaos everywhere, a flurry of colours and sounds and happenings whipping around him like a hurricane, the veil of darkness turning it all into a blur. The air is thrumming with unleashed archaic power, pricking his dough like pins and needles, and it all goes straight to his head, making him dizzy.

His grip on his staff is tight, leaning against it as he closes his eyes and borrows its gaze in the hopes of having a clearer view. It is just as indecipherable through his staff though, which means he isn't seeing things – the world really is coming apart at the seams, his nightmares unfurling before him.

And worst of all, Pure Vanilla is awake. He is wide, wide awake and cold with shock.

"There you are!"

Arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, the voice chiming delightedly in his ear. Pure Vanilla pulls away with a violent jerk of his body, not quite having the mind to be surprised that the arms let him, spinning around to face the other.

Shadow Milk stands, practically glowing with giddy joy, in a newly-crafted body of fresh dough, and it is strange to see him so solid. He stretches his arms above his head, leaning from side to side, before turning in a circle with a flourish, as if to show the body off.

"Wonderful, isn't it? And with this, Little Miss Guardian can't lock us back up again so easily! Certainly not with a dirty little trick like patching up some cracks." His voice is jovial, even as irritation flickers over his eyes at the memory of his encounter with White Lily. It disappears quickly, swallowed by tide of something that could almost be taken as childlike excitement. "Ah, it's so fun to have my own body again!"

It's the sort of happiness Pure Vanilla had hoped to see from him, but seeing it now, it just makes his heart ache fiercely, his chest seconds away from caving in. He is beautiful, a fact preserved even through the filter of his staff's eye, and everything is falling apart around him.

"What are you doing?" He asks, hardly more than a whisper, hardly able to manage those words anyway. It isn't the fact that Shadow Milk is out, physically here in front of him that makes him feel queasy. If it were only that, Pure Vanilla suspects he'd match him in his joy. It isn't even that he grabbed the first opportunity to escape, even if it wasn't following Pure Vanilla's plans for negotiation.

It is the upheaval sweeping around him, a complete lack of care for the surroundings and exactly as Shadow Milk was before, that is what hurts. Pure Vanilla had never lied when he said he believed in him.

"Celebrating, of course! This is my greatly anticipated grand return!" Shadow Milk announces cheerfully, taking an overdramatic bow before glancing at Pure Vanilla with a cheeky grin. His eyes glitter like stars, in that way that always mesmerises him. "Come on, Vani, dance with me!"

He reaches for both of Pure Vanilla's hands, not fazed by the fact that one is still holding his staff. He simply traps Pure Vanilla's hand between his and the staff as he pulls him towards him, using the momentum to whirl them around. Pure Vanilla stumbles, and without thinking, he scrambles to hold Shadow Milk back, his stomach and head churning uselessly.

It must show on his face, the horrible turbulance within him, because Shadow Milk's eyes all squint at him, some softly, others teasingly. He lets go of the hand not on his staff, instead wrapping his arm around Pure Vanilla's waist to offer him more stability. "What are you looking so gloomy for? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Not like this, you know that." Pure Vanilla whispers, his now free hand balling into a fist and falling weakly to rest against Shadow Milk's shoulder. His sadness leaks heavy into his tone, but he can't help it, can barely articulate himself. "I wanted you to be better."

Shadow Milk doesn't reply for a moment, still dragging him through the motions of a partner dance. He seems to realise Pure Vanilla isn't planning to open his eyes anytime soon, because his eyes slide over to make contact with him through his staff, his grin simmering down to a smile, still unbearably cheerful. "You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

It's a harmless question, in the grand scheme of things, in the whirlpool of everything happening around them, but it feels like a cracking punch to the stomach. Shadow Milk had seemed reluctant at first, but he had never outright refused his idea. By the end of it, he even seemed to be considering it seriously, but something said as bluntly as that must be his true feelings–

"So you lied to me." Pure Vanilla murmurs hollowly, the cracks in his heart filling with sticky disappointment, all towards himself. He can't bring himself to hate Shadow Milk for acting within his own nature, not when he should have known. "...Of course you did."

For the first time since he regained a physical form, Shadow Milk's smile drops completely, replaced with a fake pout. Though it seems lighthearted, the stars in his eyes spark with annoyance.

"I would never! How could you say such a terrible thing about me, after all we've been through?" Shadow Milk laments with exaggerated sorrow, throwing Pure Vanilla into an awkward twirl as his free hand rests against his own forehead like a hapless maiden. Pure Vanilla's brain seems to scramble at the sudden movement, barely gathering his bearings as Shadow Milk's arm returns to his waist. He thinks he may be sick.

"Remember, I said you could try your little plan out, not that I ever agreed to it." Shadow Milk reminds him in a low croon, lined with condescension. "I even told you I thought it was a stupid idea! I may be the Beast of Deceit, but I never directly lied to you. I'm a little hurt you assumed I did. I thought you knew me better than that!"

And Pure Vanilla can't muster a response to that, spirit growing soggier by the second, because it is true. His hope had led him into assumptions that were misguided, how can he blame Shadow Milk for that?

Somewhere in the background, there is the rumble of an explosion.

"You might have been able to convince me, you know." Shadow Milk adds with a gossamer thin smile, his voice growing more serious. "There was just one eensy-weensy problem with your argument."

Pure Vanilla trips over something behind him with a frazzled yelp, unconsiously gripping Shadow Milk's shoulder as his hat falls off, and Shadow Milk uses the momentum to lower him into a dip, bowing over him as he finally pauses their dance.

"You assumed that I need to be fixed," Shadow Milk spits the words through his teeth with a slight growl, curling his lip disdainfully as he pushes their faces far too close together, "but there's nothing to fix. We paid the price for having power the Witches' themselves gave us, all because of their cowardice and fickleness." He huffs, smiling with a lack of mirth. "Good punishments always teach a lesson, you say, but our punishment was unjust, decided on a whim. What lesson could it possibly teach?"

Pure Vanilla stares at him wordlessly, ears buzzing nervously. He feels vaguely like he is in freefall, his body tensing in anticipation of hitting the ground.

Instead, like a switch is flipped, Shadow Milk's stormy expression clears back into that pleasant merriment.

"But enough about all that," Shadow Milk says with faux politeness as he straightens up smoothly, jerking Pure Vanilla back onto his feet and sweeping him back into a circling dance, "now is the time for celebration! Relax!"

Shadow Milk draws Pure Vanilla even closer to him, almost pressing their bodies together, and Pure Vanilla, despite himself, is struck by the warmth of it. Shadow Milk has always been cold to the touch in his dreams but here, in this new body, he is too warm, radiating a heat that suggests getting too close will burn.

Shadow Milk hums a jaunty tune in his ear as they sway to and fro, and Pure Vanilla's darts his gaze around in an attempt to ground his thoughts. He must focus. He isn't sure where the others are – are the children safe? Where is White Lily? Shadow Milk isn't the only one who escaped, of that he is certain, so it is likely they are surrounded by danger on all sides, and that isn't even taking Dark Enchantress' forces into consideration. But if Shadow Milk is focused on him here, that is at least one less Beast for them to handle.

There you are, he had said when he found him. Shadow Milk had been seeking him out specifically, and surely not just for an innocent dance, so why—

Pure Vanilla glances down with sinking dread and realisation, jam turning cold.

"You're here for the Soul Jam, aren't you?" He murmurs, more to himself than Shadow Milk, but he must hear anyway, because his humming trails off. Pure Vanilla doesn't give him time to process the words though, yanking his staff up and suddenly there is light.

It is an extremely clumsy spell that misses by a mile – Pure Vanilla isn't awfully practised in offensive magic, and on top of that, his dough is shaking with too many emotions – but it does the trick. The bright flash startles Shadow Milk just enough for his grip to loosen, and Pure Vanilla wastes no time in scrambling back and away.

He gets a good few paces away before he is stopped by firm tug on his wrist, almost knocking him over. The beginning of real fear begins to well within him as he looks down to find himself caught by a dozen strings, shimmering like spun silk, all leading back to Shadow Milk's own hands as he approaches through the parting haze.

"I didn't know you had that in you. Bravo!" He laughs as he claps, seeming to be at ease, the attack doing nothing to dampen his mood. He comes to a stop nearby, wrapping the strings around his hand once, twice before pulling Pure Vanilla forward in a long, smooth motion that allows Shadow Milk to tuck his arm behind his back as he leans forward to meet him. "But to answer your question..."

Shadow Milk reaches up to grab the clasp that holds his Soul Jam as Pure Vanilla strains against the strings, knowing that despite any fondness he might have for him, he had never planned to let him have this. He braces for it to be ripped off, he braces for it to be gently pried away for him – he isn't sure which would be worse.

He does not brace for Shadow Milk to bend down and press a delicate kiss against its smooth surface.

"I'm here for the Soul Jam and you." He smirks against it, eyes flicking up from its sapphire shine to Pure Vanilla's stunned face, frozen in place. "That shouldn't be a surprise to you, after all our time spent together."

"You must be joking." Pure Vanilla chokes out before he can say any more, voice stuffy with conflicting emotions, gripping his staff so tightly he's distantly worried it may snap. His head is swimming, so much so that he worries he will faint, even though he's never been prone to it. "You don't mean that."

"I do." Shadow Milk replies with breezy confidence, his expression falling neutral as he straightens up just enough to press their foreheads together. It is not quite as impactful with Pure Vanilla seeing through his staff, but the contact between their dough still burns. "I like you. So, because I like you, I've come to collect everything."

Pure Vanilla is seeing through his staff, so he knows he is not imagining the solemn furrow of his brow, the slight pinch of his mouth, the lifetimes behind his eyes, the lifetimes he has fallen for. He is sure, almost instinctively, that he is telling the truth, and the mere thought makes his insides collapse into themselves like an agonising supernova.

"Please," he begs helplessly, strangely hoarse, abandoning his staff's eye and welcoming the darkness, unable to look anymore, "don't do this to me. It's–"

–cruel, but the word gets stuck in his throat. It is an accidental cruelty, and it hurts, hurts more than anything else, more than words can describe, even more than the all-encompassing ache of Dark Enchantress' first appearance, and the realisation that she shared White Lily's shadow. At least, then, Dark Enchantress was clear in her hatred, never allowing an opportunity for hope to fester. For all the pain that caused, the distance kept his head clearer.

But what is he meant to do now, knowing that Shadow Milk Cookie, for all he has done and will do, is sincere when he says he likes him? It is an irony that burdens him like a curse, but he almost wishes that it was a lie. It would be painful either way, but surely being tricked outright and mocked for it would be easier to cut clean from, to compartmentalise.

An ugly, painful sob rattles through his chest, and he bites down on it before it can leave his mouth, shoulders curling inwards like a wilting plant. Shadow Milk's arms loop around them, weighing them down further.

"Look at me." He calls, calm and low and stern, a professor's tone, and Pure Vanilla shudders with another swallowed sob.

"Look at me, Pure Vanilla." He repeats, a little louder, but it is the use of his name that catches his attention like a snare. Shadow Milk doesn't often use his proper name, not when it is just the two of them.

Pure Vanilla finally opens his own eyes, slowly and with difficulty, gummy with unshed tears and unable to make out anything beyond colourful shapes. Shadow Milk's face takes up his whole vision either way, and it makes his pain worsen. He can't look at him, not now, with everything that makes up Pure Vanilla jumbled into a mess and the world around them jumbled to match.

Surprising himself, Pure Vanilla sluggishly shifts to bury his face in Shadow Milk's shoulder, his shaking hands dropping his staff to clumsily grip his back in tight fistfuls. It surprises Shadow Milk too, judging by his slight jolt, but his arms tighten like a noose around his neck, pulling him close into a hug.

"You're awful." Pure Vanilla croaks, muffled and aching, squeezing his eyes shut again and soaking in the searing heat of the other, eating him alive.

Between them, the Virtue of Knowledge hums discordantly, its fractured pieces reunited at last. Shadow Milk chuckles, a sound Pure Vanilla feels rather than hears.

"If I'm awful," he says lightly, rocking them from side to side in a soothing rhythm, "then you must be too."

fin.

#sorry in advance guys. this one is An Experience!#unfortunately the things i'm good at are Torment and Emotions so here we are #also i wanted the ending to be ambigious because this was meant to focus on the relationship #rather than the surrounding. apocalypse. so you can imagine what happens next as whatever you want :)#shadowvanilla #pureshadow #vanilla milkshake #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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insane-control-room · 12 days

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altar

Joey comes to ask for forgiveness. He says he's sorry. Henry doesn't think that's enough.

RATED: T - suggestive comments/behavior, uncomfortable situations

WARNINGS: Emotional hurt, tied hands

Length: medium (1750 words)

Ao3 link here. REMINDER: you must be signed into Ao3 to read my work on the platform due to AI scrapers targeting my work.

inspired by this drawing by @twinktor-frankenstein :) go check it out its great :D

Joey stared at the man around the corner, his heart rate accelerating as he observed him. Henry was resting in a hammock, one leg off the side so that he could rock himself as he relaxed. Joey stared, and bit his lip, slowly finding that he was losing his nerve. He was about to slip away when an eye opened, immediately fixing on him.

A wave of panic crashed over Joey, and he made a move to disintegrate and disappear, but it was too late for him. Henry had made it to him in less than five bounds, his calloused, firm hand wrapping around Joey’s exposed forearm.

“Joey,” he greeted, smiling, but there was something uncomfortably cold about the flash of his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

Joey stared at him once again, throat dry, hands trembling. Henry’s smile was still bland and neutral, but with a frigid emptiness laying beneath it. It made Joey quite uncomfortable, rather perturbed by the lack of emotion on his old friend’s face. He looked at him quietly, brows furrowed as they stared at one another in silence.

Henry’s hand tightened sharply on Joey’s arm.

“I asked you a question. I expect you to answer,” he spoke slowly, clearly, that low voice making Joey want to tremble. “What are you doing here, Joey?”

“I… I wanted to…” Joey looked to the floor, finally breaking his gaze from the other man. He steeled himself with a breath, though still could not bring himself to look at Henry. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me, Henry.”

“Forgive you,” Henry repeated, staring at him. His smile made his soul ache painfully, yearn to escape. “You’re here to ask me to forgive you.”

“Yes.” Joey said, simple and soft. “I am.”

He was not sure what he was expecting. A punch in the face, maybe. Being shoved away with the door closing in front of him. Maybe even a good kick between the legs.

Joey was not expecting laughter. It was low and amused, tranquil but with some darkness lingering on the edges of the mirth. It made Joey’s lungs constrict. Henry released his arm at last, and folded his arms as he looked at Joey, raising an eyebrow.

“Forgiveness,” he commented, “Is less-”

“For the person you’re apologizing to, and more for yourself, I know,” Joey restrained himself from snapping at him. “Stop messing with me, Stein, and take me seriously. I’m sorry for what I did, okay? For all of this. It never should have gone down like this, and I never should have dragged you down with me- what are you doing.”

Henry sighed, raising an eyebrow as he lifted the tie he had pulled from beneath his collar. Joey, unsure of what the man was playing at, frowned. Henry put his hand out, gesturing with four fingers once for Joey to put his arms forward.

Joey did so, and was baffled by the loop Henry tightened around his wrists. It was loose, though, but Henry’s firm hand came to Joey’s arm once again when he tried to pull away out of instinct. A vague sense of alarm rippled through him, but he was confident that Henry would not harm him, resulting in a conflicted meld of emotions.

“Henry-”

“On your knees.” Henry calmly demanded. Joey stared at him, and watched Henry’s eyes harden. Swallowing harshly, he opened his mouth to protest, only for Henry to cut him off again. “Do you want to be forgiven or not? Show me you mean it.”

Joey’s mouth closed slowly, and he hesitated, glancing to the floor again. It came closer as he knelt down slowly, discomfited but trying to put on a brave face (he was failing miserably at that, and they both knew it). As he moved down, the fabric of the tie tightened around his wrists, and honestly, he felt like crying, though he ignored that urge as hard as he could.

“Okay, Joey,” Henry smiled at him again. “That was a good start. Try again.”

“Try- try what?” Joey asked, confused and upset. Henry’s smile relaxed him just a touch, encouraging. Joey wracked his empty head, shaking it in an attempt to figure out what Henry wanted from him. “You want me to apologize again?”

Henry did not reply with words, only smiling once more. Joey took a deep breath.

“I’d like to apologize,” he started, his voice tight. He paused, clearing his throat to loosen his words. “For everything I’ve done to harm you, and- and everyone else. But, you first. You didn’t deserv- hey!”

Henry, his hand still on the end of the tie, had yanked on Joey’s arms with it, making him pitch forwards off balance. To add insult to injury, Henry’s jacket suddenly landed on his head, blocking his vision entirely as he landed harshly on his hands. He scrambled back onto his haunches as he yanked down the jacket over his face, opening his mouth to give Henry a piece of his mind- only for it to go dry immediately.

Henry’s shirt had been partially opened, and Joey struggled to keep his eyes from dipping between the fabric and onto his chest. Henry’s hands were on the straps of his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders deliberately, still smiling down at Joey.

“Henry,” Joey mouthed, looking up at him with wide eyes. He fought the liquid that threatened to build up within them, blinking rapidly and it went away. Henry’s blank smile stung like wasp bites. “I’m sor-”

“Are you?” Henry asked calmly, with an icy edge as he removed his suspenders. He sighed as he snapped them between his hands, making Joey flinch at the twang. “Are you truly sorry, Joey?”

“I am,” Joey tried to keep a whine out of his tone, getting more stressed, watching the suspenders twirl around Henry’s hands. At least it was a distraction from his chest; as lined with muscle as it was. Feeling warmth trickle into his face, Joey looked away. “Really.”

“Are you, now?” Henry asked quietly, snapping the metal tipped straps once again. Joey could not meet his eye. “Joey. Look at me.”

He glanced up, and then broke his gaze again, face blazing with shame.

“Joey.”

He repressed a shiver as the suspender strap came under his jaw, forcing him to look up at Henry once again. The metal clasps of the suspenders were strikingly cold, bringing forth the shudder Joey tried to hide. Mercifully, Henry tossed aside the suspenders upon noting the uncertain discomfort with which Joey was eyeing them, but he made no comment on it. Joey bit his lip as he watched the arch of the elastic. Slowly, he managed to look back at Henry.

“I-” Joey swallowed down his nerves again. Joey’s eyes strained to remain on Henry’s form, focusing as hard as he could on his eyes. He mumbled his next words. “I said that I was sorry.”

“Said?” Henry laughed again. It was like ice on his arms, causing goosebumps to rise up. “You said. There’s just a small problem with that, Joey. You say a lot of things. Make a lot of promises. Talk up a pretty picture. It’s rare that you deliver on it- like you are right now.”

Joey’s mouth was full of cotton; dry, stiff and unable to say a single word in his defense. Half lidded, Henry’s eyes came to his mouth, and then his hand did, a gentle caress on his jaw slipping up to a grip on his mouth.

“Do you think that you’re able to get whatever you ask for?” Henry laughed, eyes crinkling with humor. Joey did not know what he found so funny. “You said you’re sorry. Do you really think you deserve forgiveness, Joey?”

Joey kept quiet. He did not really think that way, but knew that saying anything was not going to be a good idea. There also was the fact that Henry’s strong hold on his face prevented him from saying anything coherent, anyways. Joey’s hands tightened on his own knees, digging crescents in the fabric with his nails.

“Said,” Henry scoffed, though his voice was sunshine; and he leaned even closer, starry smile even brighter than before. “Maybe you should try begging instead.”

Now the tears began to drip. Henry jerked his hand away from Joey as though his skin burned him. Staring down at him, his smile was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Joey choked, sniffling as he tried to keep his roiling emotions under control. “Please, please, please forgive me. If you don’t, at least say so. I’m trying, I promise, I’m trying to make it count. Henry, please forgive me!”

“Joey-”

“I’m sorry that our studio wasn’t working out, and I’m sorry that I put more on you than you could take, and I’m sorry that I didn’t know where to stop,” Joey went on, sobbing harshly. The crushing weight of his failures felt like shackles on his wrists, tied to the heavy chains with naught but Henry’s tie. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please forgive me for everything I’ve done to wrong you. Please. I- I am begging you, Henry. I’ll keep begging you until you believe me. Please, please….”

“Joey….”

“I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Joey looked up at him miserably through his streaming tears. “I’m sorry that I don’t know… please, give me a chance. Please. I’ll- I’ll do anything, just say it, please-”

“Okay- okay- I-” Henry looked down at him with a torn look, smile completely gone, jarringly made uncomfortable by his own demands. After a moment of shifting where he stood, he knelt down and put his hands on Joey’s shoulders. “Maybe that was a little cruel of me. We’re both in this hell.”

Joey looked at him with the saddest, wettest eyes Henry had ever seen. Henry quickly spoke to try to get rid of them.

“I can’t forgive you,” he said quietly. Joey’s gaze broke away again, and his tears restarted. Henry lifted his head despite the fact his tears burned his hands. “Not yet, okay? If I see you really mean it-”

It was Henry’s turn to be cut off, Joey’s bound arms coming down over his shoulders in an awkward, but tight, hug.

Henry slowly hugged him back as he cried.

“It’s okay, Joey,” Henry soothed, though they both knew it was not okay. “You’ll make it. I believe I can forgive you, one day.”

Joey almost believed him.