#short story sort of

[burningcheese-merchant]

A Thought About Shadow Milk Cookie

I actually meant to make this post months ago, but I sort of let it fall to the wayside for the sake of other things. Now Blue Gatorade Cookie is coming out tomorrow and I'm like "ahhh shit I'm late" lol. Consider this a sequel/accompanying piece to the Burning Spice Cookie post

Shadow Milk always gave me a bit of the impression of being a Victor Frankenstein type. If you haven't read the book (please do, it's fantastic), then this quote sums up both the character, the story, and my perception of Shadow Milk pretty well:

"Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow."

Knowledge is power. Knowledge is freedom. Equally so, perhaps even MORE so, knowledge is fun. It's fun to learn new things. And with all of this in mind, Shadow Milk did his best to pursue the knowledge he so championed, and share it with the world, whatever it was. You give a man a fish and he eats for a day; you teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. So Shadow Milk made it his mission to teach all men to fish. To teach them to read, to cook, to sew. To teach them magic, to teach them science, to teach them whatever filled the gap between. Perhaps he even went so far as to become a close associate of a certain academy, if not outright being its founder (Blueberry Yogurt Academy theorists, where you at lol). Anything to achieve the ultimate goal of inspiring others to learn and thrive as he does.

But as I said, knowledge is fun. There doesn't necessarily need to be a reason for it. Maybe Shadow Milk never actually needed one; even if there was no one left to teach, he could always teach himself, for he was always his own greatest student. And so whenever he had time, he read every book he could get his hands on. Practiced every spell. Sang every song, recited every poem, memorized every bit of meaningless trivia. Anything and everything to feed his endless hunger for more knowledge. Because it was... fun. It was freeing, to have those little burdens of doubt lifted from his shoulders, however inconsequential they actually were. And - however much he was able to admit it, to himself or to others - it made him feel powerful.

Until he started learning things no one else had before. That no one else could. That no one else should.

Maybe he learned how to peek into people's minds, and saw exactly how vapid, selfish, stupid and cruel so many of us really are beneath the façades we wear. Maybe he uncovered secrets that accidentally tore apart families, scandals that threw governments into chaos, acts of betrayal that may have started wars. Maybe one day, he learned the ultimate truth of the world; who and what cookies were really supposed to be, and what their makers really thought of them. (Not too far off from White Lily, really.)

In his desperation for solutions as well as some semblance of self-comfort, Shadow Milk just kept on learning. Kept searching for answers. Kept acquiring more and more knowledge. Because it was all he ever knew how to do. It was all he believed himself to be good for. But it was never enough. Not only did he never truly find the answers he sought - whether it be because they never existed in the first place, or because whatever he found only made him ask even more questions than before - but he just kept going down more and more rabbit holes. And he couldn't stop himself-

No. That's not true. Of course he could. He just didn't want to. Because knowledge is power, and deep down inside, he was always power-hungry. And besides that, he was just so curious. Morbid curiosity can be a terrible sin. Perhaps a small part of him, one he never wanted to give credence to, relished in being smarter than everyone else. And maybe that same part of him was also hubristic enough to believe he could learn whatever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, just because he could.

Perhaps Shadow Milk tried to sound the alarm, so to speak. Share those great and terrible truths he uncovered with the world. But nobody listened, no matter how much they believed in and respected him otherwise. Because the truth is stranger than fiction, more often than not, and there's only so much strangeness people can tolerate. Knowing this - knowing how foolish people can really be, how quick they are to shun the truth to protect their own feelings - he looked for another answer, like he always does. Shadow Milk always had a fondness for theatrics; he wasn't just a scholar, he was a poet, a playwright, an artist. And thus, it was with these talents and loves of his that he tried to teach people what he knew. He wrote stageplays that became famous. Fantasy novels that became bestsellers. Poems and essays that were read aloud in classrooms. Everything he could throw at the wall with as much panache as possible. Because that's who he is, and that's what people are more likely to listen to. People like bread and circuses, so he gave them a whole bakery and performed every circus act himself.

But it was never enough. Those threads of truth he so carefully wove into the tapestries of his work; no one felt them. Those easter eggs he hid; no one found them. Nobody ever saw what he saw, whether he snuck it into the picture or plastered it right in the center. And so Shadow Milk came to realize that no one ever actually wanted to know the truth, no one ever actually wanted to learn anything, no one ever actually valued knowledge. All people cared about was what they could personally gain from it and nothing more. No higher purpose of any kind. Just what conveniences and inconveniences them.

And what's the point in helping people like that? How do you teach the unteachable?

Shadow Milk likely became bitter (or sour, because lol milk). Maybe he slowly began turning truths against people. Hoarding people's secrets and spilling them randomly, just out of spite (and discreetly, because he wasn't looking to be caught, and nobody was smart enough to catch him anyway). Making puppets and plays depicting people at their absolute worst, and watching them all smile and clap because they fell for it. They fell for his jokes. For his ruse. They didn't notice he was mocking them without a shred of irony or remorse. The only art Shadow Milk became interested in after he succumbed to despair was telling cruel jokes at others' expense and painting pictures for all the Dorian Grays of the world so they can keep lying and pretending they're good and that they're worth something. Because lies are all people really want to hear, right? Because it makes them feel better about their miserable lives?

I'm sure Shadow Milk tried to turn back, even if only once, for just a minute. He's smart, he's wise, he knew what the end of that road looked like. Maybe he sat up all night just arguing with himself about it. About the nature of his work. The meaning of the knowledge he acquired. The meaning of knowledge itself. What was he doing this for, really? What has he EVER done this for? Was it really for others, or for himself? What if he gained all the knowledge in the universe, then what? What would he do after that? What if he did manage to convince people, what then? What if they panic? Turn on each other? Turn on him? Were they really better off not knowing?

Was he just slowly talking himself through that door until it was closed and locked? Did he do so knowingly? Did he delay the inevitable for... for what? Did he even know that?

All the knowledge in the world didn't save Shadow Milk from falling to darkness, nor did it save anyone from the chaos he chose to wreak afterwards. Maybe knowledge never saved anyone from anything. What is knowledge, anyway? What is truth? What is deceit? The more you know, the more you realize you don't know anything at all. Maybe truth and deceit are one and the same. Maybe reality is only what you perceive it to be. Maybe life is a joke. Maybe people should just have fun. Lie all you want. Tell truths just to drive wedges and shatter hopes and dreams. It doesn't matter. It's all the same. There's no way out.

TL;DR: Knowledge is power, but power corrupts. Perhaps not all truths are worth knowing, after all. Be careful with what you learn, and what you know. And be careful not to believe yourself to be smart enough to dictate what truth and lies and knowledge are to others, for no one truly is. That kind of hubris will only lead to disaster.

(I'm sorry if some of this sounds weird or doesn't make full sense. I wanted to get my thoughts out before the update to see if it turns out that anything I say has official merit lol)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

erik will genuinely jump at any chance he can to steal charles' last name and be so catty about it i know this for a fact WHAT is his deal

[Magneto (2011)]

[sentientstump]

i have a (very evil) question to ask... who's your favorite miracle mask character? favorite to draw, favorite to think about, favorite in general? :)

i will let the images speak.....

thank you for the ask! (⁠~⁠‾⁠▿⁠‾⁠)⁠~

[teamjacobthot]

talking w irl bestie abt twilight and he made a good point. if alice can’t see the shapeshifters in her visions then telepathic vampires (or vampires w any psychic abilities really) shouldn’t be able to use their abilities on the wolves either

[reel-fear]

Honestly the funniest thing abt Don't Starve lore is just that Wagstaff made a robot born from someone's death, full of trauma upon having several out of body experiences that started crashing out and then threw it into the nightmare hell word and somehow didn't expect it to become the most bitter evil angry person ever. If my only exposure to humans was Wagstaff honestly I would've turned out worse we're lucky WX hasn't strangled their fellow survivors in their sleep yet.

As far as I know we don't really know when WX became truly evil and honestly I think it would be very interesting to imply idk, being mauled by hounds and tossed around in an uncaring unforgiving world for years with some canon evidence even suggesting they don't remember too much of life before the constant, might've been why they turned out. Like that. Esp I think it says everything WX can confront Wagstaff stare him down but Wagstaff just avoids their gaze, one of these people is guilty [and knows it too] the other is not.

Also Wagstaff's quote for the nightmare throne implying he meant for WX to die in there ='].

WX feeling the need to tell a Wagstaff inspired machine she's better than her creators, telling another to never trust Wagstaff. I think it screams yet another thing Wagstaff tossed the second it became clear it wasn't doing exactly what he wanted [as WX says about some of his machines discarded like trash] rather than him saving the world from an evil robot born evil.

Also makes for an amazing Frankenstein comparison, make life, don't give it a name, be horrified when it has emotional problems, dump it in the woods, oops it came back- [I know that's not exactly what happened but y'know]

[blitz-bi]

I just finishes S2 of Arcane and just, ok, lots of feelings, complicated feelings on how they took the characters. Still a bit salty with Riot with their decision to make arcane 1. Canon, and 2. their main source of champion storytelling, but that’s a rant for another day.

Jinx’s look, final Battle Look. This.

Is driving me up the wall because I have yet to find a person who has seen this and not immediately thought it looked like the head of Fiddlesticks.

I’ve heard fishbones, scuttle butt, stinky maw, sea monster, etc. But COME ON!!

LOOK at THIS

AND LOOK AT MY BOY

LIKE ESPECIALLY WITH HER HAIR AND HOW IT HANGS OUT AND THE JAGGED TEETH WITH THE EYWS AND HOW IT SORT OF LOOKS HUNCHED

THIS CANNOT BE FROM THE SEED OF MY MADNESS FROM EXPOSURE TO 8 YEARS OF RUNETERRA LORE IT JUST CAN’T

now, is there a logical reason as to why Jinx may be dressing up as the demon of fear born from the first scream of the universe? No? But is Fiddlesticks still a well known folktale/myth that takes many forms all across Runeterra as seen through the short story The Ancient Fear? Yes. Ok. Just.

I genuinely feel like I have 20 cans of energy drinks when I think that maybe Jinx took inspiration from Fiddlesticks into her outfit. Like a colorful prey animal flashing a warning to its predator to be afraid

I don’t know. I’m tired. Did ANYONE see the resemblance?

[the-owl-tree]

pwease frostfur she’s my favorite girl ever i love her

im sorry brightheart ended up taking more focus but i couldnt resist drawing these two

+textless version

[adastraetretro]

"Does it hurt?"

"I'll be okay."

"That isn't what I asked."

[horse-ff]

Makes your favs old when you aren't looking Enjoy the full-on yapfest in the tags, jeezus

[kaleidoru]

Someone's asking of me Is the real Mister Jones Mister One, Two or Three?

[blitzbuckz]

✨I SUPPORT THIS BITCH ✨

[sunsetsentiments]

weird we've never seen percy, annabeth, jason, piper, leo, and nico at camp half-blood at the same time lmao

ik the timeline of events makes it hard for that to happen,, especially including leo,, but why haven't we heard more of all the fun stuff that happens when most of these kids are at camp together lol

like the whole camp eating popcorn as they watch percy and jason have their daily competitions,, annabeth and piper having secret sleepovers,, jason forcing nico to socialize,, etc. etc.

[raylenships]

in my dreams, there's a headstone with your name on it

—a short anderperry fic by raylen

The night after Neil's death, Todd can't sleep. He keeps staring at the empty mattress beside him, tears running freely down his cheeks, with no move to dry them. The grief is weighing him down like a heavy blanket; he’s so exhausted but he can't, for the love of God, close his eyes and rest. It's too goddamn quiet in the dorm room without Neil’s steady breaths to lull him to sleep like they always did.

He twists and turns, contorting into strange shapes that do nothing but offer a painful distraction and still there's no rest for the weary grieving heart. Todd lays flat on his back, fists pressing hard against his eyelids and seriously considering smothering his ragged breathing with Neil's empty pillow. He doesn't do it. He's too much of a coward, always has been, he supposes.

There's a light at the corner of his peripheral vision, the source just out of sight but glowing, warmly. It seems to be the only warm thing in the room. Todd struggles to sit up, heaving a sob as he leans back on his elbows. His pajama sleeve brushes an itch across his arm and he scratches, violently, at it. The light seems to flicker and he lifts his gaze towards the lamp sitting on Neil’s desk.

Instantly, he raises an eyebrow and stares. Huh. The lamp. It looks funny. Weird.

Neil, what have you done to your lamp? He thinks, ridiculously, just before he shoots back up from under his pile of blankets, slamming his head against the headboard of his bed with a thud. Before he has time to process the pain, he hears shuffling from the other side of the room, a sound that breaks through the ringing in his ears. Something lands heavily on the edge of his bed and Neil—Neil—is murmuring softly, anxious words that Todd can't make out just yet. His hands find Neil's wrists—warm against his own cold, clammy palms—and holds on, tightly.

Wild-eyed and gasping for a proper breath, he scans Neil's worried face in front of him, stunned.

"Are you okay?" Neil's asking, over and over again.

Todd exhales, swallowing hard and trying to choke out words.

"You...you died," is the only thing he can manage as he shakes his head, incredulously, at Neil.

"I what?" Neil asks, looking genuinely confused.

His left hand is pressing against the back of Todd’s head, fingers dancing through his tangled hair and searching for an injury. It's somewhat grounding and Todd inhales, closes his eyes, and breathes.

"Good that you're staying with me and not passing out," Neil remarks, the hint of a smile in his voice. "You'll have one hell of a goose egg in the morning though."

"Neil," Todd begins, seriously, his hands still shaking where they continue to grip Neil's wrists. "You died. After the play, your father—god, the self-preserving jerk—don't you remember anything?"

Neil's forehead creases and he looks at Todd as if he’s crazy. The moonlight on his face makes him look almost angelic. Maybe that's what he really is. An angel sent to soothe Todd's grief and help him move on.

"Todd, the play is"—Neil glances at the clock. Two-thirty seven. He turns back to Todd—"tonight."

Todd blinks at him as the reality sets in. He's lived in a dream. Neil is alive, for now, at least. It's a second chance and he's so relieved, it brings a wave of fresh tears to his eyes. They slip down his cheeks, silently, before he even realizes it. Neil makes a noise of distress, shifting closer and bringing gentle palms up to cup Todd’s face. He brushes the back of his hand over Todd’s cheeks, whispers "shhhh" as one would to a child, and Todd sobs all the more because of it, letting his forehead drop, wearily, onto Neil’s shoulder.

"It must've been a terrible nightmare," Neil murmurs, wrapping his arms around a trembling Todd.

Todd relaxes completely into Neil’s embrace, burying his face into his shoulder and clinging to the fabric of his pajama top like a lifeline. He sees the image of himself bent over in the snow, clawing his way down the hill, and screaming "NEIL!" into the cold winter air, fading like smoke. He thanks every god out there for giving them a second chance. Neil will live and so will he, to perform a thousand plays and write a million verses. Todd has never been more sure of anything in his life.

"Don't die on me," he whispers, his voice steadying.

Neil presses a kiss to the edge of his temple.

"I promise I won't. Dead Poets Honor."

Todd smiles.

"See? It's all alright now," Neil murmurs, pulling him closer.

And it really is.

[allforthegayphase]

i agree about cartoonish villians about ravens. most of them being bystanders made sense but all of them being this much of evil? idk. after nora posted about zane with the song watch me burn(?) i waited more from him but maybe we will get more of him in next book. also there was a raven jean texted, jean said he get along well with him and he bacame partners with lyle(?) bc he was getting bullied. im waiting something from them.

i love your takes pls post more<3

Thank you so much I’m very flattered 🥹❤️

Yeah it makes sense to me they’d react violently in certain situations; we can see shades of it in Jean and Kevin too. They’ve been conditioned this way, it’s only logical. But this level of malice in practically every single one of them is just insane 🥸 When they mentioned how Cameron Winter was also apparently very antiblack on top of, you know, having just tried to murder Andrew, I just had to laugh 😭 Like damn they’re all just terrible irredeemable people aren’t they lol

Re: Zane, yeah one of my predictions for TGR was that Zane would have an apology tour and that song Nora posted was giving me that. Then reality hit me in the face 😂 Maybe he appears in the next book but tbh I believe his storyline is wrapped:

Re: Sergio, unfortunately even he was an asshole to Jean at the end of their brief interaction so I don’t really have hopes for him rip:

BUT I do have hopes for Lyle! I talked a bit about him in this post and based on Jean’s account he was also largely a victim of bullying in the Nest. I hope we’ll see more of him, and that he’s not a cartoon villain lmao. Alsooo i just noticed Lyle was number 33… He’s gonna be Jean’s foil I can feel it in my bones 🤞

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The River Has Roots

poetic fable-like novella, reimagining of the twa sisters

about two inseparable sisters who spend their days singing to the willow trees on the banks of a magical river that flows out of faerie

when one rejects a human suitor to instead be with her fey lover, he takes revenge, threatening to separate them forever

arc from netgalley, out march 4!

[frugalkubal]

A Love Drowned in Twilight

Steel rang ‘pon steel as Midnight Hunter and Nocturne Hunter met upon the field, dusk and shadow entwined in cruel fate.

"Yield thee, ere death doth claim thee," Midnight pleaded, blade trembling.

Nocturne smirked, though sorrow lingered in his gaze. "Nay, love. I shall not be the coward between us."

The horn of war did wail—no time for dreams, no space for mercy.

A fatal thrust. A crimson bloom.

Midnight gasped, catching Nocturne as he fell. "Fool," he whispered, voice breaking.

Nocturne smiled, bloodied fingers brushing his cheek. "At last… thou hold’st me."

With a final breath, he was still.

And Midnight Hunter, though victorious, was lost forever.

End.