emm hai 😽 so yk the burning spice and child!reader fics you have?? can you do something similar with shmilk?? thank you, LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH!!!!!
"𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎, 𝚅𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑"
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-> Platonic! Shadow Milk x reader
-> Warnings: Spoilers for Dominion of the Beasts part two, child neglect, reader is mentioned to have undergone some changes after growing up but appearance is kept vague
-> Word Count: 4k
-> Ehehe thank you for the kkind words!! I have no idea why this took me as long as it did, but I'm happy to finally push it out ehehehe!! Let me tell you, LET ME TELL YOU, that when the dominion of the beasts part two came out and I saw Smc's stiory, i got SO MAD bc I already had the ENTIRE THING WRITTEN OUT, and now I needed to go back and REVISE SOME STUFF!! GAHHH. Also pls note I used a translator + vibes to get the Shakespearean/16th century speak, so please correct me if anything seems wrong. Also, I hc smc as genderfluid, so ye. hehehe.
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The Fount of Knowledge.
Created to spread the wisdom he was born with, born to enlighten the people with his words.
Countless people come to her with questions, hoping to find solace in their time of need; always, she supplies them with the answer, and they are made happy for quite some time.
They enjoy their job- love it, even. Watching people’s expressions shift, from contemplation to joy as the peoples’ knowledge deepens.
Oh, how delightful! How wonderfully delightful!
However, despite the content with his purpose, despite the fact he’s happy, with what he’s been born to do, there’s been something… lingering, in the back of his mind.
A conversation that somebody had with her, so long ago.
If they were to be precise, maybe… hm, two hundred years ago? Yes, yes, that sounds right. His memory is as precise as ever! But anyways, she digresses.
“Fount of Knowledge, Fount of Knowledge!”
Hm?
Stopping in his tracks, he turns to whoever called out his name, eyes catching onto one of his disciples running up to him.
“Oh, thank the Gods I hath found thou!” Once caught up, the disciple stops, hands on their knees as they catch their breath. “I wast-” a cough interrupts them, body hunching over.
“My, my, my my my…” The Fount moves to stand next to the other, a hand placed on their back. “Taketh thy timeth. With thy current being, i imagineth you hath used a lot of energy to receiveth here.”
The other sighs. “You’re much too kind, Fount. I will be fine.” And in no less than ten seconds, they stand straight. “Good now!”
Oh, my… what vigor.
It always surprises her, how people can just- spring back up, after a short rest. Almost as if they never expended every ounce of energy in their body.
“I wanted to talketh to thee about something, Fount of Knowledge,” the smaller one continues, “a matter yond requires thy counsel.”
“Then alloweth us converseth and traverseth, lief disciple. Unless- thou art not in the right state?”
“Thou art much too kind, Fount of Knowledge! I am fine.”
“Well, if thee sayeth so.” The Fount starts back up their wandering across the Blueberry Yogurt Academy. “So what didst thee wanteth to seek my council on?”
The younger one follows from behind. “I… well, tis of mine own peat. Just a few months ago, she hath become an adult, and the lady plans to moveth out anon. I planeth to supp'rt h'r with all mine own heart, but I'm… I have fear. I can’t help but w'rry if an unfortunate happenstance may befall to h'r while she’s away- liketh what if 't be true the lady gets an injury that threatens her entire life? if 't be true people breaketh into h'r home? if 't be true that, in that moment, she’s dying, and I can't beest th're to saveth h'r?” As they speak, their words become hurried, jumbled together to the point The Fount of Knowledge has to strain to understand what they say.
Ah, the relentless tide of emotions. Ever-lasting, but ever-changing. How does the Herald of Change do it?
“And I knoweth not what I ought to do about ‘t,” The disciple continues, a sigh leaving their lips as they attempt to calm themself down.
“I doth not knoweth what doth about these w'rries of mineth. Fount, how…” A pause, lengthy and heavy- stuck in their throat, unable to come out for a while. Yet, it only lasts for a few seconds, the animal crawling out of their throat as they once again speak. “How shall i knoweth the lady'll beest well enow?”
An easy question.
One that the principal has an immediate answer to.
Why wouldn’t it be? After all, The Fount of Knowledge is, well, The Fount of Knowledge. They were born with all the knowledge necessary for everybody on this earth. Also, he founded the Blueberry Yogurt Academy! And as any founder does, she has interacted with all walks of life- from newborn babies to seniors on their death beds, she knows exactly how to talk to each kind!
This little disciple doesn’t need to worry, because he has all the answers that anyone could ever want.
“Well,” The virtue starts, “It may beest difficult, but thou just has't to wait and see. Th're’s nay s'rt of guaranteeth f'r situations as thus, so all thee needeth to doth is trusteth thy child to maketh the right decision. They has't grown und'r thy guidance, so most likely, they’ll knoweth how to spread their wings with what you’ve did teach that one. If 't be true something goeth wrong, well, thee can trusteth them to behold f'r thee at which hour t happeneth. Doest mine w’rds make sense?”
The sun rising over the horizon after a harsh winter day, her disciple’s face breaks out into a smile. “Yes, it does.” It’s as if their very being is filled with relief. “Thank you, Fount of Knowledge. You’ve enlightened me.”
For some reason, it’s been living in her head; the way that disciple worried over their child, seeking another for guidance- knowing their little one will be alright, but emotions taking the better of them- made happy at comfort of the kid’s wellbeing, content with the probably future of their safety; dancing around like a jester, singing the tunes of a siren. The memory replays in his mind, baiting him to… something.
What is the thing? What do they want to do? What is taunting them, what is lulling them-?
In their head, made to light, a candle.
I know!
She wishes for a child.
More specifically: to know the experience of watching over one, caring for one, worrying about one.
Sure, she’s interacted with children before- wouldn’t exactly be the head of a school if she didn’t- but she’s never seen them… grow up, in the way that parents do. In the way that disciple seemed to do: on such a personal level, as if they were an extension of the parent.
Which makes The Fount wonder: what would it be like, to raise a child?
What would it feel like?
He doesn't know.
She was never bestowed with that knowledge.
Life, death, and bonds of mortals are all things he knows about; how to interact with them, how to respect them, how to fulfill their potential; but a child? Knowing how to raise one? The emotional weight it holds?
They don’t know.
She doesn’t have that knowledge.
…huh.
How odd.
To be the Fount of Knowledge- supply of it never running out, always flowing, no matter what- yet some of the supply running short, in a certain area. Like a side of a pond blocked off by a dam.
How very, odd.
Why didn’t their creators give them this information? Why is he lacking in this department? To be the Fount of Knowledge is to know everything. Past, present, and future, she’s supposed to have it all, but she doesn’t have this-?!
Well, whatever.
There’s no time like now to learn what raising a child would be like!
Going into the actual parenthood, The Fount of Knowledge would be neglectful.
He treats you how he does his disciples; by taking a backseat in their education but keeping a watchful eye on their progress, always ready to lend a helping hand when they come to him.
However, that’s…well, not exactly how you should raise a child.
When growing, children need an active guide to light the path for them; approached when they are struggling, interacted with quite a lot, and taught even the most basic things.
Pair that with how busy she is with her students, you are oftentimes left to your own devices; wandering around wherever your mother is, holing yourself up in the library, or playing alone in your room; many days are spent with you in solitude.
It’s not all bad, though!
If you initiate plans with them, no matter what those plans may be, your parent will be more than happy to spend time with you! He loves to learn, so being given knowledge of your preferences and what you do on a day-to-day basis is a wonderful activity!
You want to know how to play Knucklebones? Well, she has no sheep bones, but let’s figure something out!
There’s this game called ‘tag’ you want to play? Teach him, and he will play it with you!
She also adores giving out knowledge, so when you ask any questions- even if they sound stupid- she’s more than happy to answer.
Why is this wall blue? It’s because it’s absorbing every color except for blue.
Can you eat this plant? Okay, first of all, why do you want to eat a plant; but no, you can’t eat it- GET THAT AWAY FROM YOUR MOUTH?!
Despite their neglect, they love you. She cares about you, and would do anything to keep you safe and healthy. He loves you so much it hurts his heart, that whenever he thinks about you for an extended period of time, he starts crying. She cares about you so much, she would do anything to keep you healthy.
However, neglect is still neglect, and as time goes on, it only gets worse.
Questions you ask receive shorter answers: how do you sing ‘Veni Creator Spiritus’? Oh, here are the notes. Your tooth fell out? Wash out the blood. Why are you so hungry all the time? Growthspurt.
At one point, all of your days are spent alone. The Fount no longer lingers around, no longer comes at your call, no longer observes you. Now, the only company you have is yourself; all the learning you want now has to be done by you.
Please know it’s not on purpose. Your parent does not wish to make you go unnoticed, but there’s so many people coming to him, demanding answers to questions, swarming him for the anguish in their minds that can be solved by just a little looking. Yet, no matter what response she gives, when she provides the most logical, they just… deny it
“You’re no Fount!” His students spit, “You’re just a poser! A liar! You’re not ‘englightening us’, you’re just trying to trick us!”
Now, rumors have started to spread. Insults get worse, names are called, and no matter how much the holder of the Light of Knowledge tries, these lies have become fact.
His words are no longer taken for the truth.
But isn’t that the point of his existence? For others to hear her gospel? To be enlightened? If what they say is no longer what is right, if they can’t bless any more people with their knowledge, then what do they do now?
What is her purpose?
Has it worn out?
The thought makes their mind twist.
No, no, that can’t be the case. It can’t be. He was made for this; he can’t be useless at the only thing he was created for.
Unless…
Coiling around his mind.
That thing was used differently.
Using their knowledge to make everyone content, instead of distraught. Not forcing the bitter truth down people’s throats, but honey, instead… maybe that way, her purpose can be fulfilled. Maybe that way, she can make everyone happy!
It’s a perfect plan, a flawless plan! Why didn’t they think of this sooner?!
“Father?”
Hunched on the floor, scrolls upon scrolls laying by their knees, hair spread out and floating around, is the holder of the Light of Knowledge. Her expression cast by shadow, the only thing truly visible is her hair, glowing in the abyss of her room. It moves about- mindless, aimless, unfocused- like a jellyfish letting itself be carried by the current.
“Art thou well?”
Echoing from the doors of their chambers, a voice he recognizes.
Their hair drops. The stars in it flicker, wane.
His head snaps to where you stand; at the entrance of her space, blocking out light from the hallway.
You.
“...yes,” steady, slow- hesitant. Unbelieving of the sight before them. “I am… fine. Why art thee here?”
Your figure shifts. “I am… unable to catch but a wink, mother, and so, I come to thee for aid.”
Another troubled soul, coming for my help.
Her hair collects to form the same shape it’s usually at: triple tails, ‘a snake’s hood’, as some people call it. He stands and, as he’s always done, turns to you with a smile that reaches just far enough to convince people it reaches his eyes.
All the same.
“Not able to slumber?” He questions, “Didst thee tryeth the tea I brought?”
You pause. Move back, a bit. “No, I… has’t not, and I wanteth not to.”
“Oh?” Carefully, they frown; a gentle one, not meant to express disappointment, but rather, concern. “Then what doth thee wanteth? Essential oils? Or haply a walketh? A cov'r f'r thy eyes is sure to holp, too.”
Their suggestions are met with silence. The moment before a candle is lit, the second before an idea is formed. If she could guess, you’re likely chewing on the inside of your cheek. Thinking, pondering. It’s clear you are hesitant, but they suppose it’ll be fine.
In the end, always without fail, you find your voice.
“I wish for thy company.”
…company?
A pause.
Eyes widen, pupils shrink.
A breath.
Grip on the staff tightening, nails digging into skin.
My company.
A laugh bursts from their lips- shrill, grainy, and ugly. A noise much unlike them, belonging more to the Sugar of Happiness, rather than them.
But how can she help it?
One of the holders of the Virtues, a divine emissary of the gods, the closest thing to one? Able to bliss anyone with anything they desire, and target ask for company?
A friend?
Oh, what a simple ask! So simple it’s almost stupid! He- oh- oh, gods! Her stomach hurts, oh- oh, this is absolutely, so-!
You make a sound; strangled, fingers squeezing your neck. “Why doth thou laugh, mother? Is my request funny to you? Doth thee bethink i'm joking?!” So angry, so hurt. Trembling at the edges, a spooked bison preparing to attack.
Ah-
The Fount is quick to snap out of it, “Nay, I bethink not yond!” She steps towards you, hands reaching out. “I do not think thou jest, dear one, I do not. I wast only taken aback by thy requesteth.” They cup your face.
From up close, they can see it better: features turned down, tears brimming at your eyes- ah, jeez, you’re really upset.
“‘Taken aback’? How?” Clogged pipes.
Your parent chuckles, “T's just… so simple, t hath caught me off guardeth. Th're’s nothing wrong with thy requesteth, I gage.”
“I… see.” Said in such a way you don’t like the answer, yet accepting it.
Before you could ask anything else- press her- she changes the topic. “But anyways! Thee wanted mine own company, right? Then alloweth me to ent'rtain thee, until the cure of sleep comes to thou!”
“Oh, I wisheth not to beest ent'rtained, I just wisheth f'r thee to sitteth next to me, and talk- liketh how we didst.”
‘How we didst.’
No longer an activity, but a memory.
No longer an interest, but something to look back on.
As if you’ve grown out of it.
They take a closer look at you.
Now that she thinks about it… since when have you grown so much?
You’ve developed enough to fit your eyes. You’ve gotten taller than you were a few decades ago. You’ve changed to the point the texture of your skin is different.
What… happened? How could this slip past him? How could the growth of your knowledge be unknown?
Something in her chest sets itself. Heavy, rough.
That old, rehearsed smile melts into something they cannot put a name on.
“Of course.” An arm wrapping around you, your mother brings you to her bed and sets you down, soon sitting next to you. “What doth thee wanteth to converse about?”
“Well…” You lean into them. “To beest honest, I knoweth not” Bigger than you were, but still able to fit within their arm. Just like before. “I'm not one to starteth conv'rsations.”
“In yond case, doth thee has't any inquiries? I knoweth thee used to has't many, at which thee w're young'r”
Your expression twitches. Anger? Sadness? It’s gone before The Fount can put a label to it. “Nay, I doth not.”
“I… see.”
What does he say?
Dancing at the tip of their tongue, a fickle thing, unable to grab a hold before it disappears from their grasping hands.
For the first time in his life, he’s at a loss for words.
She doesn’t know what to say or what to do; how to cheer you up or how to figure out what’s going on in your mind; where your mind has gone or where you’ve been these past few years.
Just like those other people who, upon hearing the answer they don’t like: accuse her of being a liar, fall into the depths of despair, or try to tear everything around them apart. They can’t think of anything to make it better.
But it’d be the others’ fault, wouldn’t it? They can’t be happy with what they’re given, can’t be content that not every one of their stupid questions have an answer. Instead, they always have to blame him for it, to attack him for it! Ungrateful people…
“Father?”
She’s snapped out of her trance. “Yes?”
“What ails thee?”
I shouldn't bid thee, is their first thought, If 't I bid the sooth, thee too, anger shall befall thee.
Yet, looking at you; eyes so wide and curious, lips parted in wonder… you bear the same expression you did so many years ago.
They cannot help it, the words slipping out from him. “Tell me, art thou happy with thy life?
You pause, blink, and widen your eyes. Your shoulders tense, body moving away from your parent.
Why?
He isn’t a snake: in the meadows, waiting for a helpless lamb to come by and pounce on the poor soul; he isn’t like that at all.
So why do you move away from them? Just like everybody else?
They don’t notice the way their grip has tightened, the way their eyes have started to bore into yours, the way they bide for a chance to attack.
Eventually, your answer comes. “To give thee the truth, nay.”
Canines tear into her stomach.
“I am… unsatisfied, with a part of my life. All my questions have been answered, except for one. And I do not wish to bother you, as you are busy, but as the years pass, it only continues to gnaw on my mind.”
You sigh. Long and hefty, no doubt releasing a burden upon your shoulders. “I am… unsatisfied, with a parteth of mine own life. All mine own questions has't been answ'red, except f'r one. And I doth not wisheth to both'r thee, as thou art busy, but as the years passeth, t only continues to gnaw on mine own mind.”
Another question?
“I has't look in ev'ry booketh thou has't given me, and I cannot findeth ‘t. Whenever I asketh pe'rs, they cannot giveth me the answ'r i seeketh. I hath tried forgetting ‘t, I very much has't, fath'r, but ‘t won’t wend hence. ”
Another pointless question, in which his Knowledge is useless?
“It’s coequal plagu'd mine own slumb'r, and- I didn’t wanteth to cometh to thee f'r this, but-”
Just like everyone else? Expecting their knowledge to solve everything?
Promptly, you bite your lip, and look away. “...Nev'rmind.”
Relief swells up in his chest.
It’s an ugly, guilty, feeling. A misshapen predator rearing its face, a snake coiling around its mind.
How disgusting, they are. To feel happy at not fulfilling her duty.
“I am just happy to beest in thy company. ‘T hast been awhile since I couldst.” Leaning back into him, you smile. Small, soft, shaky. Like a mask with too many cracks to properly hide what’s beneath.
Seeing this, a thought comes to The Fount.
When was the last time you smiled?
She can’t remember.
In their mind, a pit forms. Reaching, sinking, hollowing.
Is she so neglectful of a father, that she cannot remember the last time you smiled?
“‘T very much hast,” He whispers, “F'r now, allow us to bask in each oth'r’s presence, well now?”
“...Alright.” As if the tension from before didn’t exist, you sink into her arms. Come a few minutes, and you are sound asleep.
Your chest rises and falls at a steady pace, expression of a newborn babe’s.
If only you were one.
She brushes a hand against your face.
Forever happy, forever ignorant.
He notices the bags under your eyes.
Yet, you cannot stay that way.
They start to rub those dark spots.
Much like my disciples, you are a curious little thing.
As if they are simply a stain.
Soon, your curiosity will get the better of you, and you will ask the question you withheld yourself from.
Something to be washed away.
And many more will come, stupid ones.
Yet, they do not.
Maybe you won’t ask them. But at the end of the day, you are a mere mortal. You’ve asked them many simple questions before.
Despite her hopes, nothing changed.
I don’t know.
They stay there.
You are still my child, though, and I love you all the same.
It’s all the same.
And I have neglected you for long enough.
But what should she do, to change it? The main issue is all the other people, taking up his time, leaving none for him to watch you, to spend time with you. What can they do?
Lie, the corners of his mind whisper, Plunge deceit into this w'rld, spread lies to maketh ev'ryone occupied with what is right and what is not.
Surprisingly, they find themself listening to those murmurs.
Like a baby listening to the coos of their mother, the Fount of Knowledge leans into the voices of deceit, finding themself lulled by them. A lullaby, making them feel so at peace.
If everyone were to turn to deceit, would it make them feel peace, too?
Would it make you feel at peace?
She looks at you.
Sleeping so soundly, without a care in the world. If you were to ask him more questions, would that expression of yours go away? That tranquility?
No.
He doesn’t want that to happen.
They can’t let that happen.
I shall lie.
Her heart jumps to her throat.
I shall shield your eyes, from what is the truth.
Something rushes through the blood in his veins.
I shall make you, and everyone else (myself, they mean to say; myself, because everyone else does not matter anymore), happy.
On his face, comes a smile.
Perhaps this… is what everyone wanted, in the end.
Well, if that’s the case, then so be it!
Let this world plunge into chaos, let its people become mad with joy! Truths will become lies, and lies will become facts! He shall be this world’s new word of the Gods!
And you…
Fingers pinch at your cheek.
You, too, shall become a puppet of Deceit. For too long has he neglected your truth, your happiness. No longer will you be alone, no longer will you be sad.
From now on, you’ll be with your dear old dad!
Doesn’t that sound nice?!
