#it’s vanilla flavour! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebiscuitlabryinth · 8 months ago

Text

Perhaps, if he had bothered to ask for a second opinion, Shadow Milk Cookie would have been told he shouldn't be doing this. Luckily, he hadn't, so he manages to confidently prepare the magic circle with very little concern towards the appropriateness of his own actions.

He steps back to look over it once more, checking for any errors, before finally setting the chalk down. Brushing off the dust from his hands, Shadow Milk admires his handiwork in the light of the crescent moon, his dough crawling with accumulated anticipation.

He noticed it a long time ago, the suffocating blanket of churning emotion that often drapes itself over him, heavy and dark. It isn't his own emotion, he realised that quickly, because it weighs over him instead of burrowing into his chest, and nothing happened to him personally to prompt such tumultuous feelings. This realisation was soon followed by another – namely, that some sort of external being must be the cause, and it must be following him, if its presence is plaguing him so strongly. It comes and it goes, but it always returns, and he is finally going to find out what it is.

So Shadow Milk is looking forward to this. It is his specialty as the holder of the Light of Truth, after all, to reveal unknowns, and this unknown has long become personal.

With the magic circle ready and the moon in the sky, there is no reason for him to wait any longer, so he doesn't. He steps carefully into the circle, making sure not to disturb the lines as he makes his way to the middle, and with a sweep of his robes, he settles down into a sitting position.

This spell is a difficult one because it was found incomplete, the rest of it either lost to time or unfinished. It had taken quite a lot of reworking to finalise something feasible, in between all his other duties. There is also the added caveat of it being a Black Magic spell, but Shadow Milk had found a compromise for that, which is precisely why he chose to perform it under the smiling crescent, mere days away from the new moon, instead of the full moon.

Regardless of the effort required, if everything went well, this spell should allow him to make contact with the being that had been following him, whatever it may be. More specifically, it should open a mental connection, allowing them to have a conversation even if this being was something incapable of speech.

That alone was worth all this effort. After all, Shadow Milk had plenty of questions to ask it.

He plants his hands on the ground, drawing power from the moon tentatively like unspooling a thread. It starts to spill in quicker, wilder, and he makes sure to remain calm as it seems to buzz and writhe through him, focusing on redirecting it into the magic circle. It begins to glow a cold white, and Shadow Milk feels his dough prickling like it is being watched, that familiar presence growing heavier around him like a blanket. He bites down on his excited smile.

Don't worry. Just a little bit more, and we'll finally meet.

Shadow Milk's hands twitch with the force of the magic coursing through him, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as the shadows in the room seem to congeal, growing thicker and pooling out of their hiding spots. They eat away at the magic circle, closing in on Shadow Milk swiftly, and he welcomes them as they eagerly swallow the circle, the floor, the walls, the room, everything.

What happens next is difficult to describe. He doesn't feel the ground fall out from under him, he just realises it is no longer there. It is so dark that it makes no difference if his eyes are open or closed, and they don't seem to adjust no matter how many times he blinks. It only makes the surrounding darkness begin to squirm in strange patterns, as if alive. He suddenly feels strange and cold.

But most importantly, he feels like he is submerged in those restless emotions, his every move weighted like he is underwater. They nearly choke him, stronger than he has ever felt before, and delight bursts in his chest in jarring contrast, thrilled that the spell seems to have worked.

"Hello?" He calls out, his voice echoing in a way that makes his ears ring. For a moment that feels like forever, there is nothing but a deafening silence around to greet him.

And then, he is attacked with blinding light.

Shadow Milk rears back as much as he can manage, instinctively shutting his eyes at the assault, and raises a hand to shield them when he immediately tries to open them again, curious of the source. Squinting past the shade of his palm, he finds dozens of white suns glaring down at him, their light doing nothing to penetrate the overwhelming black of the void.

"How are you here?" A voice calls back, hoarse and whispery and frantic, as if it had never been used before, and Shadow Milk's breath catches.

Upon closer inspection, the suns surrounding him are actually the pupils of a dozen huge eyes, bearing down on him with wide-eyed focus from all sides. Shadow Milk soaks in the attention, joy bubbling nauseatingly in his stomach like soda, his mind running so fast that his thoughts become incomprehensible.

"Who are you?" He asks, the question almost bursting right out of his chest with how suddenly it comes. He can't quite look at the eyes directly, with how blindingly bright they are, but he does his best to hedge in quick glances.

There isn't a response, not from the voice or the eyes, but that doesn't deter him. Now Shadow Milk has unshakeable proof that the being is here, capable of conversation, he doesn't need any more encouragement to keep going.

"I'm Shadow Milk Cookie, though you must know that already." He introduces himself with a polite nod of his head, somewhat entertained by the thought of his eldritch companion being shy. When that doesn't garner any meaningful result, he tacks on, lightheartedly, "Isn't it a bit rude to not introduce yourself back?"

The eyes blink at him, the syncopated movement rippling through the nothingness.

"...There is nothing to introduce." The voice replies reluctantly, though it sounds more stable than before, slightly stronger as it curls around him. "I don't have a name anymore."

"You must have a name," Shadow Milk urges with a creeping smile, "or at least something I can call you."

There is another stretch of silence, long enough that Shadow Milk is forced to reconsider his approach, before it is graciously broken by his companion, who must have come to some kind of conclusion.

"You can call me the Beast of Deceit, if you must call me at all." The Beast offers, and if Shadow Milk's attention hadn't already been fully devoted to it, that certainly would have done the trick. "That is all anyone calls me now."

"The Beast of Deceit." Shadow Milk repeats the syllables carefully, tasting them as he brings a hand up to the warm pulse of his Soul Jam. Something clicks pleasantly in his mind, like a perfect solution to an equation that has been bothering him. "Then you're almost like my other half, aren't you? Since Truth and Deceit are direct opposites." The thought is nice enough, he supposes, but more than that, it is intriguing. "Is that why you've been watching me?"

This must be the wrong thing to ask, because the Beast skates past his question entirely, eyes squinting as if pained. "You shouldn't be here."

"And yet, here I am. It took quite a lot of work for me to get here too, so you'll understand that I'm not in a hurry to leave." Shadow Milk explains amicably, hoping that if he was clear with his intentions, the Beast might entertain a more fruitful conversation. He pauses, looking around at the surrounding infinity. "Where is here, anyway?"

"Nowhere you would want to be." The Beast says cryptically, its voice slowly moving, collecting somewhere in front of him. It's a bit disorienting.

"...You aren't very good at holding a conversation, are you?" Shadow Milk sighs, not unkindly but certainly with growing frustration. Still, he has considered this possibility before, of his unknown companion being uncooperative, so he tries again. "Isn't it unfair for you to not answer any of my questions, after following me around for so long? I think I deserve an explanation, at least."

"I have no explanation to give." The Beast's tone is flat. It's… a disappointing response, frankly, but Shadow Milk smiles through it.

"But you can't deny that you are the one who has been following me." He counters, his voice light and pleasant so it doesn't come across too heavily as an accusation. "Your emotions are very palpable, so your presence isn't subtle. There is no mistaking it."

The coiling thickness of those emotions seem to shift around Shadow Milk now, almost self-consciously, but they do not lighten. Such strong negative feelings - he is fascinated by them, the researcher in him wanting to know what exactly could cause them.

The Beast sighs as if it is carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders, and the sound finally settles in front of him entirely as some of the eyes slide closed. The clashing light and dark begins to morph before him, a faint silhouette forming and rising out of the nothingness.

Shadow Milk watches, enraptured, as the shape of a Cookie emerges, dripping with the void itself. He looks battered, wrapped in dishevelled black robes with equally dishevelled dull hair. It is covered by a dark hat shaped like a crown, with what must be his Soul Jam set in the middle, its blue the only splash of colour to be seen. His eyes are covered in a thick black blindfold, and he holds a staff protectively in front of himself with both hands, eerily similar in style to the one Shadow Milk left outside of the magic circle, if not for the vertically oriented eye.

All in all, he does not look intimidating. If anything, he looks like a chess piece.

"I apologise for that, then. I wasn't aware my presence would disturb you so much." The Beast mutters, as if he would prefer not to be speaking, his form not quite fully formed. "But you shouldn't be here. Please leave."

"You don't look like much of a beast to me." Shadow Milk comments warmly, extending the friendly compliment in the hopes of distracting the Beast from his complete lack of intention to leave. Even so, his words are genuine. "That title doesn't fit you at all."

The Beast frowns, ducking his head lower. "Don't act so familiar with me. I am called the Beast of Deceit for a reason." He hisses, but it holds no malice, only tiredness. Then, after a beat, he repeats, firmer than before. "Please leave."

The title really doesn't suit him, though. Shadow Milk ponders this for a moment, before mentally renaming him as the King instead. A poor excuse for a king, perhaps, but that still felt far more appropriate than a beast.

"...Will you really not tell me anything?" Shadow Milk asks finally, growing more subdued. "You must know, since you have been following me, that I have worked hard to be able to contact you like this."

"I have nothing to tell, I have already told you that." The King reminds him quietly, unimpressed, turning his head away. "I apologise for your wasted time, but it was unnecessary to begin with." Then, after a beat, he repeats, an attempt at a lacklustre command. "Please leave."

Shadow Milk hums under his breath, pondering this too. This isn't going exactly how he had hoped, that is true, but to call his time wasted is completely incorrect. On the contrary, all this encounter has done is make his curiosity peak, even more invested in this mystery than he was before.

Maybe it was for the best that the King refused to tell him anything. Thinking about it now, wouldn't that have been too simple? It is more fun to unravel some things himself, and Shadow Milk is certainly capable of uncovering the truth behind this odd apparition.

It is his virtue, after all.

"...Alright." Shadow Milk nods, taking one last lingering look at the King, before closing his eyes. "If you insist, I'll leave."

The King doesn't reply. That's fine. Shadow Milk focuses on searching himself internally for the tether to his physical body, for the anchor that is the magic circle. Since this is his first time casting this spell, and the way the magic twists is unfamiliar, it admittedly takes him a moment to get a hold of it, but he does.

Concentrating on that anchor, he calls himself back to his body.

Much like leaving, returning is just as hard to describe. There is no jolt, or impact. Everything simply returns – his senses, the floor beneath him, the sound of the wind outside the window – from one moment to the next. He shudders as he gets reacquainted with his body, or rather, his body gets reacquainted with him.

The chaos of those negative emotions are awfully thick in the air, squeezing around him tightly like they hope to crumble him. Shadow Milk relaxes into it, releasing his grip on the flow of magic and the spell itself, and opens his eyes.

There, in front of him, the King is suspended in the air above the outer edge of the circle, unmoving. His form flickers, translucent and blurring at the edges. Slowly, unnervingly slowly like he doesn't know how to use it properly, he turns his head.

"...What is this?" The King whispers, the words almost dissolving into the ambient noise, his grip on his staff visibly tightening.

"The spell I used to make contact with you forged a connection between us." Shadow Milk says patiently, making sure his expression is open and welcoming, the same one he uses when introducing himself to new students. "If my presence could be projected to wherever we were previously, then naturally your presence can be projected here too. It's only fair, since you were watching me anyway, weren't you?"

Shadow Milk rises to his feet, brushing dust off his robes with both hands. The King says nothing, but he can practically feel the frown directed at him.

"I understand if you don't want to tell me anything. That's okay!" Shadow Milk assures, lifting his gaze back to that blindfold, that staff, that Soul Jam, near identical to his own. His curiosity burns.

"You don't have to tell me," he smiles like a promise, "I'll find out for myself."

#i had a lot of fun writing this!! i love writing varying flavours of the most dysfunctional dynamics ever witnessed #special thanks to umbra of umbralvessel fame for enduring my mad ramblings on this au #my partner in crime and no1 enabler fr <3 #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #shadowvanilla #pureshadow #vanilla milkshake #swap au #the biscuit library

159 notes · View notes

theonceandfuturequeenoftarts · 6 months ago

Text

Sometimes when Harry looks at Tom, he's reminded of a lesson one of his muggle teachers gave on reptiles. Chameleons that can change their skin colour to blend into their surroundings or anoles that shed their tails to distract a predator and escape – adapting in order to survive, no matter what it takes.

Harry is himself, to a fault. He spent so long beaten down and trying to disappear so he wouldn’t draw his relatives’ ire that he now refuses to hide or apologise for who he is and what he wants. It probably helps that his wants are pretty basic – good food, good friends, a warm, comfortable place to live, someone to love him – and that he inherited the money and name to easily achieve them.

Tom, on the other hand, is so used to being smoke and mirrors and disguising what he wants and what he is in order to pretend to be what others want or need.

He’d been unapologetically (and tyrannically) himself in his childhood, his magic giving him the power to exert his will over others. But Tom is brilliant and a quick learner, and his first interaction with Dumbledore, which he’d described late one night to Harry when the shadows hid both their faces, had proven a subtler touch might be needed.

Now, Tom reflects other peoples’ desires back at them in order to draw them in, and deflects the conversation away from himself so he never has to clearly define his own position. He doesn’t change himself, but everyone seems to believe Tom is on their side – that they’re on the same page. And because of his power and charm and good looks, everyone wants Tom on their side.

Harry has seen this happen many, many times, and he’s still in awe of how Tom affably manipulates those around him into doing what he wants. How Tom determines what someone wants, says just enough to convince them he does too without committing to anything, and twists that connection into a shape that best suits him.

In fact, the only reason Harry believes Tom actually likes him is because Tom never pretends to be what he thinks Harry wants him to be. Tom is petty and says cruel things and lets Harry see him when he’s less than perfectly put together. And Harry treasures each of Tom’s sharp edges, because he’s the only one who gets to see him as he is. He hoards each truth and preference that Tom chooses to share with him like a squirrel preparing for a long, hard winter.

The trouble comes when people talk to Harry about Tom. By virtue of association, Harry’s had to learn to deflect and prevaricate and lie, though he’s still not very good at it. He does a lot of nodding and smiling and making thoughtful “hmm” sounds as people ask him what Tom thinks of this or that. It’s easier than keeping Tom’s machinations straight in his head.

There are moments when Harry isn’t sure Tom even knows who he is at his core. He is so meticulous about his public persona that Harry doubts anyone else knows which foods Tom actually likes (given the chance, Tom would eat ice cream every day), or what he actually thinks about quidditch (he finds it unbearably dull), or what he thinks of muggles (he’ll never be fond of them due to his treatment as a child, but he doesn��t particularly care beyond that) or muggleborns (new blood is necessary for the magical world to continue, but the mages with the deepest pockets are the most bigoted and ‘traditional’) or purebloods (gullible).

And after the tenth meal of eating foods he doesn’t like, or the fifth quidditch match or ministry event or pureblood soirée in a week, or the nth political tapdance before the Wizengamot, pretending to represent everyone’s interests at once without alienating anyone – and quietly getting his own agenda voted through – Harry has to wonder how Tom stays sane. How it all seems worth it. It certainly doesn’t to Harry.

But that’s Tom. Ambitious to a fault, and willing to sacrifice almost anything in order to achieve his goals.

And whatever other people might think, Harry’s not naive. He knows there’s a chance Tom is lying to him, too. He knows it’s possible – even likely – that Tom figured out that the best way to get Harry on his side would be to give him the best illusion of the truth. Show him some darkness and Harry will believe he’s getting honesty. He’s made his peace with this and decided he’d rather give Tom the benefit of the doubt and be a fool than abandon the other man when he’d chosen to be vulnerable with Harry.

So, when Harry brings home Indian takeaway and offers Tom a bite of his rogan josh, only for Tom to casually say, “I don’t really like lamb,” Harry is fascinated and utterly thrilled.

Especially since he’d seen Tom eat lamb chops at a dinner party two weeks ago with nary a moment of hesitation or complaint.

Harry makes sure to leave plenty of the chicken tikka masala for Tom and mentally notes this new preference down. He’s collected a new fact about Tom.

He spends the rest of the meal with a silly little grin on his face.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #same timeline au #established relationship #introspective #character study (kind of)#fluff #tom's favourite ice cream flavour is rum raisin #harry judges him for it being an old person flavour #harry has no room to judge because his favourite is vanilla #because the first ice cream he ever tried was vanilla and it was the best thing he'd ever tasted

108 notes · View notes