Passion Mousse Cookie is my OC that I’ve been posting about for a long time, but this is finally a drawing of him together with his apprentice, Acerola Juice Cookie!
I really enjoyed making this one, it’s been ages since I did a 100% pencil drawing. I might even digitize it 🤔
How did Passion Mousse get sealed if he has the power of luck? couldn’t he just use his luck to avoid it? So explain to me exactly how his luck works?
Oh, thank you for asking! I admit that’s a question my friends often bring up, so let me explain:
Passion Mousse Cookie’s luck isn’t omnipotent.
While he has an incredible ability to manipulate luck in his favor, he’s far from invincible.
He can still be hurt, struck, and even defeated — as happened during his battle against the ancient heroes, where his body already showed serious cracks from accumulated damage.
His luck mainly works to prevent fatal blows or instant death, but it can't completely stop wear, pain, or gradual weakening over time.
The sealing he suffered was possible exactly because it wasn’t something that would kill him — only imprison him. And by that point, exhausted and worn down by the long battle, he no longer had the strength to resist.
I really liked your drawings! But something that made me super curious about your OC, Passion Mousse, what’s his story? Does he have a past?
Aww, thank you so much for the compliment! ❤
And yes, Passion Mousse Cookie does have a backstory… his past is full of layers! 👀✨
This is a story that happened many years ago, before the fall of the Five Great Heroes, who were created by the witches to protect the world with their Soul Jams. It tells the tale of a being forgotten by time, whose legacy was erased over the centuries. They say the world’s luck is no mere accident, but a reflection of the soul of a single entity: the Fortune Cookie.
Since the beginning of Crispia, there has always been only one of them at a time. When one died, another one would be born. Powerful beings, but not immortal, they lived twice the length of a normal life, but always died of old age. Born from a seed surrounded by golden passion fruit pulp, the Fortune Cookie was the invisible pillar that maintained the balance between luck and misfortune. Kings, sages, wanderers—each of those who came before used this gift with humility, spreading their blessings for the benefit of all civilizations.
But then, he was born:
Passion Mousse Cookie.
From the moment he emerged into the world, there was something different about him. Refined, draped in elegance and etiquette, with an enviable intellect. A tall top hat, a golden cane, a gleaming monocle. A polite knight, a prodigy of his time, with sweet words and a gaze that evaluated every being as if they were a prey, a soul to be gambled with.
He didn’t want to balance luck.
He wanted to control it.
In no time, Passion Mousse Cookie built gambling halls, traveling casinos, and luxurious betting houses. His games were never fair—no one ever won except him. He stole others luck, drained their hope, and created contracts from which he always emerged victorious.
But what began as a game soon became poison. The world’s luck began to crumble. His impact was devastating.
Not only the continent of Crispia, but all of Earthbread started to suffer: crops failed, cities sank into debt, cookies disappeared in dangerous games. Entire regions were plunged into chaos. Misfortune and disaster spread like a plague.
His power and influence grew rapidly, not by strength, but by sheer influence.
Over time, this drew the attention of the Ancient Heroes. After all, the world they were supposed to protect was being threatened by a single selfish and greedy cookie.
At first, they tried peaceful methods: An agreement? A conversation? A game? A bet? A plea?
None of them could convince him. But, of course, they wouldn’t allow Passion Mousse Cookie to finish corrupting the world. If the easy way wasn’t going to work, there was only one solution left: kill him, and wait for a new Cookie of Fortune to be born in his place.
The confrontation was legendary: three days and three nights of battle, in which the Gambler laughed, cackled, injured himself… and survived. Not by strength, but by the sheer bad luck of others.
Passion Mousse Cookie was a prodigy of magic. Even though he wasn’t stronger than the Soul Jam bearers, it was impossible to kill him: every time the final blow approached, the blade would slip, the spell would miss, the ground would give way. His luck was an invisible, unbreakable shield. He would not be killed so easily.
The only solution was sealing him.
The Ancient Heroes used all the power they could muster and finally sealed the Cookie of Fortune. Passion’s body and power were locked inside his own cane, a cursed relic, sealed and buried in silence for ages.
With that, his reign of madness came to an end. And the world, once again, was able to know peace and prosperity.
But time doesn’t stop.
Years and years, countless years passed.
The Ancient Heroes, consumed by corruption, became Beasts. They were sealed by the witches in the Silver Tree.
Centuries passed.
The world changed.
The seal weakened.
New elders rose.
The Black Flour War erupted.
And the seal… cracked.
Forgotten in the depths, a golden-tipped cane lay resting, covered in dust and forgotten. Few noticed, but small leaks of power had long been escaping from its surface.
Then, one day, a fine crack spread across the golden metal. Around it, ancient drawings and seals shone for a moment, as if the very relic was awakening.
Then, from the crack, emerged a confused light, torn between the intense gold of luck and the thick darkness of misfortune. A silhouette began to form, unstable at first, as if the world itself was undecided about allowing its return.
The living incarnation of luck and misfortune,
Passion Mousse Cookie,
was finally free.
He had been imprisoned for ages. And now… something — or someone — had weakened the seal enough for him to break free.
But… who cares about the reason?
There was something more urgent: understand what happened to the world in his absence.
Staggering, he slowly rose with difficulty. Still weak, with a trembling hand, he grabbed the cursed cane, now cracked and dull. His body was broken, still shedding fragments, his energy drained; even standing up required effort.
And then, for the first time in centuries, his hoarse voice echoed through the cold walls around him:
