#hollow milk chocolate

[thriftrescue]

nothing says celebration of the Christian Resurrection... like a TREX

(or a rabbit... for that matter)

[flukeseveryday]

Day 96: it with choco milk (@inlovewithcentipedes) I forgot the prompt said drinking and I’m tired so she’s just holding it

[guppybibi]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 | How does the TF141 love? (as food!)

John Price loves like a plate of carbonara 𓐐

It's one of the most beloved Italian pasta dishes out there, just like how he loves you the most! It's a simple dish yet it's hard to perfect, but you learn not to make the same mistakes afterwards. That's what's so nice about it, it isn't perfect. It never is, but even that is something to be cherished. Some of the choices made are questionable to say the least but he doesn't question them any further, he was one of your choices after all. (i have no idea how this connects to carbonara but do u see my vision, the choices are like ingredients..) Spaghetti is the most common pasta to be used in carbonara, outshining the less frequently used rigatoni & bucatini. And who can blame them? It's a timeless classic, a staple. (Just like you two;3) Spaghetti was notably long as well before shorter lengths gained some popularity! You know what else is long? Your prosperous relationship together! (Let's not talk about the creamy sauce.)

Simon Riley loves like a box of chocolates 🍫

It's assorted too! White, milk, dark, name it all! It's no problem-o! It's a surprise in every bite, or swallow but please chew your food. It's a whole new experience every time, it's thrilling. It could be filled with delectable chocolatey sauce, oozing out once you take the first bite! It's sweetness overload, reminding you of the sweet moments you and him have together. Then, the next chocolate has..nuts! Yum, these are a teensy weensy harder to chew especially if you have the teeth of a grandma..Like how it was just a little bit hard to get Simon to open up, to let you in. But sometimes the chocolates disappoint and have a hollow inside :C

John MacTavish loves like a bucket of popcorn🍿

Corn was domesticated in Mexico, a memorable place for Johnny to say the least. A lot happened there..During the early years, it was popped by hand but as we can see now it's popped by machines. How is that significant? Well, it shows how your relationship evolves. It's being nurtured like a little baby by the two of you after all! It gets more efficient, the both of you doing your own part in smoothing the bumps along the road. It's often eaten at movie theaters and sporting events, and what do those places have in common with this man? One word, fun! (This or he could also be pop rocks to be honest idk)

Kyle Garrick loves like a bowl of strawberries 🍓

A strawberry flower averages 5-7 petals according to a website, if you do the 'he loves me, he loves me not' game–you'll always land on the love one! (He purposely takes out the ones with 6 petals, or he plucks them off individually.) Or if he doesn't have time to do all of that, you guys resort to 'he loves me, he loves me lots' because that's just the wholehearted truth! Though strawberries don't always taste as good as they seem, no? Especially if they're out of season, yuck! Again, there's always some sour ones in the batch, but it's no use crying about it. So, you and him just fix it!

[incorrectbatfam]

If you could create and add a new DC character, what would they be like?

I'm going to tell you about David, and knowing you guys, you'll agree with me when I say he should have his own comic.

David has been my best friend literally since we were 8. He is the only constant I've had through my life. He introduced me to the drums and helped me get a motorcycle after I got my license. We are each other's platonic ride or die. If he asked me to bury a body, I'd do it no question, and I know he'd do the same for me.

That said, I clearly have the braincell in this friendship.

Don't get me wrong, he's smart in certain aspects. He's a talented musician, good athlete, taught himself to fix most plumbing issues, speaks decent Japanese, easily clicks socially, and is super empathetic. But in others, he's like a plate in a knife drawer.

Some highlights from over the years:

He ate the brown paper bag his lunch came in on a field trip

He thought hot chocolate was just cocoa powder (no milk or water) in a mug and the microwave would melt it. His sister had to call the fire department

He gave a stray dog his scarf for warmth and never saw that scarf again

He licked the dust off an XBox controller

He got a speeding ticket outside the DMV literally five minutes after getting his license

He made gender reveal cupcakes to come out to the rest of our friend group when we were 17, but he threw them into a Ziploc and they jostled around his backpack for half a day before lunch

He thought closing a browser tab would get rid of a computer virus

He tried hotboxing his own car while driving

He almost seasoned his food with pepper spray before someone stopped him

He had a tire swing on a tree in his backyard. He decided to stand on it while swinging and smacked his forehead against a branch in front of him. It was literally the most hollow thwock ever, as if confirming his lack of braincells. He then proceeded to get pissed off and punch the tree. He said it was his most gender-affirming experience

He brought me along on a family road trip and used me as a footrest in the car

He frequently writes drum tabs the way he'd write guitar ones (in short the two are very different kinds of sheet music and I'd need three hands to play them). He absolutely knows better. I think he's messing with me at this point

He mistook wasabi powder for matcha

He once got drunk at a frat party, crawled out the lawn of the house, and began eating grass like a cow

I wanted to know what kissing a dude was like out of curiosity and this was before he started physically transitioning, so to make it a more "authentic" experience, he gargled Gatorade beforehand

He tried to make his first battle jacket with washable Crayola markers

He also tried to dye his hair with his sister's watercolors

He's worn the same sweatshirt since he was 14 and I think I can count on one hand how many times I've seen him wash it (I was over at his house a lot)

He's the motherfucker that wears running shorts in the snow

He thought his area code would automatically change when we moved to a new state

He once kicked a soccer ball into an oncoming train

BONUS: when he came out to his parents, they were accepting and while he was at school, his dad mounted a fish on David's bedroom door because men I guess

So yeah, if I worked at DC, I'd insert David in the background of every comic just being his chaotic himbo self. David is beyond space and time. There could be a battle on fucking Oa and David would just be there doing a kickflip. That's who I'd choose.

[gallusrostromegalus]

So I have noticed something very interesting. Gin is buttering up aizen to feed him to the god machine as some premuim petrol. BUT ALSO many powerful souls that die DON't get fed to the god machine. They go to hell because they are powerfull enough that their removal from the world harms the god machine more than feeding them helps it. So my question is, whats up with that?

there's a couple parts to this:

Powerful souls that go to hell because they're powerful ARE STILL feeding The Life Machine- All that power they're off-gassing in Hell is still going into The Life machine- Hell exists more or less as a ringer to squeeze spiritual energy out of souls before sending them back into the cycle to grow again.

It harms The Life machine more to consume a powerful soul in totality because then The Life Machine doesn't get to use that *particualrly good* soul to generate energy it needs again, and again, and again- So someone like Yamamoto is going to go around about a zillion more times, if things go well.

Problem is, things are NOT going well right now- the wheel is jammed and not giving the Life Machine nearly the energy it needs, so it needs an emergency calorie dump while Tech Support works out how to unjam the wheel, which may, technically, involve stopping and starting it again.

The final thing is a matter of scale. if we think of souls in terms of calories: >Regular animal/plant soul: One Cheez-it. Not a lot individually, but they add up. >Regular Human Soul: One Chicken Nugget/celery and peanut butter. it's technically a snack, but it's not satisfying on it's own. >Average Shingami, Quincy footsoldier or lesser hollow Soul: Fast-food meal. About as much food at most people really need in a day. >Captain-class Shinigami or Espada-class Hollows or Sternritter: Giant Meal At Grandma's House that leaves you passed out on the couch and the leftovers she sends you home with that feed you for a week. >Aizen, once he fuses with the hollow inside the Hogyoku and achieves his Final Form: Actually eating every last crumb of every last dish at the Family Reunion thanksgiving with four grandmas cooking: Two turkeys, A Standing Rib Roast, A Ham, six kinds of soup, two salads, four types of baked vegetables, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, baked potatoes, potatoes au gratin, popovers, busicuits, rolls and bread, an actual ocean of gravy- and then there's dessert: Apple pie, pumkin pie, pecan pie, cherry pie, chocolate cake, cookies, early christmas cookies, avalanches of whipped cream. And ofc- cider and beer and hot chocolate and coffee and soda and fuck it just drink a whole gallon of milk while you're at it. More food than any human should consume in a whole year, let alone one sitting.

So you can see why Aizen is getting pulled out of the cycle for special treatment. He's gonna be there for The Life Machine to gnaw on for most of the series. And even then, after suffering the most direct and intimate contact anyone can get with what passes for god, The Life Machine may yet choose to send his empty, heavily chewed husk back for another turn because that why waste the seed of a good crop like?

[alwaysxlarrie]

10 fav quotes from fics part 7 !!

another week, another post leggggggooooo

“At least he considered the shag,” he hears Liam mutter to Niall, and Louis kicks his shin for it. -- @nobodymoves

Louis hastily sits down in the chair, knee accidentally brushing against Harry’s, and—fuck. He’s not cut out for this. -- @infinitelymint

Harry’s chocolate milk was gone, but he pretended that it wasn’t to avoid eye contact. -- @2tiedships2

All Harry can think about is the fact that he now owns a butt plug and cuffs. Fuck. -- @kingonafiftymetreroad

“You could actually meet someone normal, your age, have a boyfriend, date them… Maybe not a sugar daddy this time?” Harry ventured cautiously. Nick just scoffed and continued to complain about his counterpart Caroline and everything she had ever done wrong since the beginning of time. -- @becomeawendybird

He better come back soon; the second act is about to start. He better come back, period. Harry doesn’t even know his name, and he fully intends to by the time he leaves this theatre. -- @disgruntledkittenface

Apparently, ‘next time’ means next day and apparently, ‘Harry being able to talk to the others’ means Louis obliging everyone sitting at the table to play along with his version of 20 questions. (Which is actually not really 20 questions, but just means Louis shouting out questions to the rest of them.) -- @brightbluelou

No one has come looking for him the whole time he has been in here, but what can Harry really expect when they’re probably all crowded around each other, laughing, drinking, and eating. They’re probably eating his pretzels right now. Niall probably even suggested it, the bastard. -- @fallinglikethis + @all-these-larrythings

For all intents and purposes, Harry is a cadaver.  -- @londonfoginacup

Seeing as Louis’ perception of Harry was now a living smiley face with endearing dimples, he could actually picture the two of them on a friendlier basis. (Not that it had ever crossed his mind that Harry could eventually hollow those dimpled cheeks to give Louis head at the end of his bed—No, it hadn’t.) -- @broken-beaks

[jjongswannabebae]

< !!experimental!! not sure what this is but i wanted to write, written in 3rd pov. includes some vague smut tw: mention of a bruise (not sh) , food, psychotic behaviour, death (16+) >

dreamer.

She was a dreamer. One that would swing her arms beside her torso to breeze her sweat draped body or clutch her little 90s cassette tape in her hands as she doodled some gibberish listening to same tape over n over hunched over the one of convience store tables

Maybe it was this intriguing petite figure that aroused jays interest. He often think she'd fit in his pocket, that he wanted to take her away forever. And he'd keep her there with him, away from the world.

Call it cliche, but he was the polar opposite. He dragged his feet to a ditch that he made somewhere by the woods by a tree as his house. He'd watch her for days, working behind the counter as she sat on one of the tables everyday to study or draw, or do nothing at all.

She always stayed till closing.

With the same grey sweater wrapped onto her sleek frame, he'd never caught sight of her without the fabric. The mundane banana milk and chocolate bun in her hand that routinely slid over the counter.

A bit strange to eat the same thing everyday but he never uttered a word.

Never got her name.

Just saw a black bruise on her arm one day as her sweater rode up her arm where she distastefully yet hastily rushed to cover it up again.

Maybe that was what flipped the switch for him. He wanted to protect her, he decided swiftly. Striding over to the petite girl, he grabbed her hand and dragged her to his little fort.

Wondering a little that she wasn't frightened at all confirmed his suspicion.

"you're mine now."

Never dared to speak a word, she blinked back dazed. Then a smile peered through with a hearty nod.

She would go home with him after that day, everyday, only leaving for school in the morning and living with him the rest of the time.

She'd adored him, he thought, the way her eyes glimmered at him as he would say something was a major give away. He would always think of these and never voice them, just as she didn't.

She never spoke— he'd always ask about but to get no reply, on numerous occasions he'd try to get her to talk or say a word but she'd only smile and nod her head. Like a broken glass doll she stayed.

being touch starved, she peck a kiss or hang from his arm at her lean waist, feeling the bones often a time, but he chose to focus on making love to her than anything else.

With your rather delicate frame he'd be careful with his thick lather sliding the first thrust and would check up on you, seemingly now and then as he wrecked havoc inside her. It was a dangerous ordeal for her to swing around him for long.

She decided she had enough from this bizarre man and ran off one night as he snored lightly clutching onto the pillow, fooled it was her.

jay lived in an uncertain fit, a small dingy self built tree house per se. No real job or qualifications except the part time behind the counter. No economical stability but atleast he was mentally stable, he'd like to think.

That day he woke with an enormous rumbling and found her somewhere near the store and this time, he took her by hand lightly and back to his house. This time he'd give a kiss on the lips, licking her bottom lip and biting on her neck now and then.

"you know I love you," he said inbetween his kisses as he fiddled with his belt and swung it around her neck for her to hold, he'd think in his self monologue and continued on with his expression of love.

She loves me, she can never leave me.

Some day, on his way back an unambiguous day, he'd find a sweet smell coming from his adobe. He hurried past the unstable steps and barge the door open to find the place deserted and scurried into the only other room, his room.

He found her sat there, perched like an eagle with a listless expression. He smiled, his hand running through her coarse and tangled hair as he admired her deathly hollow face, her favourite sweater in shreds on the flooring that lay beside her.

"i brought you your banana milkshake and chocolate bun!" he added, placing them right beside all the other untouched packs and cartons of the items, some opened and rot, filling the foul air with its rancid smell. The stench of her rotting body was sweet to him. He pushed a smile to her unmoving, still body and laughed a little and whispered a soft "I love you"

All bad seemed good and all the good seemed bad to him, he was insane, psychotic, severely ill it whatever his family and friends called him. but that's okay. her opinion mattered the mos.

She loves him.

Jay loves her.

[wooahaes]

just out of reach

pairing: non-idol!ghost!joshua x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort. kinda angst bc reader's also in love with a ghost.

word count: ~1.0k

warnings: reader has a rough day. love that is likely never to be requited.

daisy's notes: google how do i kiss a ghost

“I’m home.” 

You heard nothing as you called out the words upon arriving home. No partner to warmly greet you and steal a kiss before asking about how your day went, or saying that they ordered dinner tonight. No sound of something pawing its way toward you, barking or meowing for attention at long last. No roommate, either, to ask if you’d bought the thing they asked you to since your way home from work took you right by the grocery store you frequented most. Sometimes, you were glad to live alone. You had less to deal with, although you did have to deal with all of your chores entirely on your own. Other times, it left you the way you felt tonight: hollow and mostly alone. No one to bother you and maybe hug you when you opened up about your rough day, but no one who could give you that warm embrace that you craved in your bones. 

So you decided you’d make a mug of hot chocolate the way one of your friends used to. Ever since you moved to the city a few months ago, life was quieter than it had been before. You’d yet to make friends both in and outside of work, yet to have someone you could open up to… But you made it work. You opened up the cabinets, pulling down a box of instant hot chocolate packets when you noticed the lights beginning to dim and flicker.

You took a break, holding it for a moment, eyes squeezing shut. Right. That annoyance. You slowly breathed out, speaking aloud as you reached for one of your favorite mugs, “Stop.”

The lights returned to normal. You moved to the fridge, opening it up to see if you still had leftover whipped cream, maybe milk, too. Barely a second later, the door was pushed into you, bouncing off. 

You shoved it away. “Quit it.” The mug you left on the counter was pulled away. “I fucking mean it—”

Then you felt a cold breath against the back of your neck. You slammed the fridge shut and turned around. “Go away!” 

All of a sudden, he materialized before you. Joshua. The last man who owned this apartment. You didn’t like recounting the gruesome accident that led to his death, but you were ultimately grateful that you knew them now. The landlord had told you that he merely ‘left one night’ and that he ended up having the apartment repainted due to the state it was left in. Rent was cheaper, though, and you needed a place to stay… So that meant you had to live with this roommate you never asked for. He stared at you with wide eyes, and stepped back, watching as you began to go through the routine of making a half-decent mug of hot chocolate. He’d realized you definitely weren’t playing with him the way you usually did, the grumpy one to his playful nature.

“Sorry,” his voice was soft, and it sent a chill down your spine. Ghosts had this weird edge to this voice, distant and cold. You’d grown used to it, but that initial chill never seemed to leave you considering how… alive Joshua felt most days.

You shrugged it off. Despite snapping at him, you knew that he couldn’t have known how badly today treated you. He told you that life was fuzzier. That sometimes he couldn’t see you clearly, just as you couldn’t always see him. Seeing a picture of him helped, in a weird way: like you were able to recognize Joshua, so he stopped feeling so fuzzy around the edges when you perceived him. But you? You weren’t sure if you would ever stop being hard to see. 

Despite him not existing in a physical form, the wood creaked underneath his feet. He stepped into the space next to you as you stood in the kitchen, drinking your hot chocolate. He peered around you, trying to focus a little further on your features, as if that would tell him what he wanted to know. “What happened?”

You shook your head. “Too much.”

He raised a hand, hesitating for a moment before he reached forward. His touch was cold, but you could feel his fingers brush against your cheek, and it soothed you. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

If you shut your eyes, it felt like he was there just a little more. Like he wasn’t dead. Why had you grown so attached to him…? Neither of you knew why he was stuck there, but the two of you developed a strange sense of something. Not quite friendship anymore, although you would call Joshua a ‘friend’ if you had no other words to describe it. It was as though he knew you intimately, learning more about you over time. Part of it came from the way he used to watch you when you first moved in, the rest was everything you’d told him. He’d told you stories from his own life before the incident happened. People he knew were still alive now. You’d met a few of them, actually. You’d taken a letter you’d ‘found’ to Jeonghan with final words that Joshua had written out beside you, focusing hard enough on a pencil to be able to write it himself. You’d met Seungcheol, too, who showed you pictures of Joshua and Jeonghan when the three of them were in school together. He’d had you deliver something to his mother, too, and introduced yourself as a ‘friend’ despite the word never fitting quite correctly in your mouth.

Joshua was dead. “Friend” was all you’d ever be, and yet the way he looked at you felt… different. The way you felt toward him was different, too.

“Tell me about it,” he said gently. “I’m here.”

Right. If nothing else… Joshua would always be right here.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

[mysticstarlightduck]

Extra 2.0 OC Favorites!

Let's go with Erin Niemand and Indigo "Indie" Lauriel, from What Lurks In The Hollow!

Erin Niemand

Color: Forest Green

Season: Winter

Shoe Choice: Knee-high suede boots

Weapon: Box cutter

Food: Potato and sausage chowder

Drink: Blackberry juice

Style: Dark grey band T-shirts, green flannel long-sleeved shirts (button up), black denim pants

Mode of Transportation: Walking

Animal: Dogs, especially pit bulls (she has one named Cooper)

Pastime: Walking around on the wood trails around Vinethorn Grove and hiking

Breakfast: Sugar-coated cinnamon rolls with latte

Personality: Loner, very introverted.

Songs:

Mockingbird - Enisa

Forgotten - Avril Lavigne

Who's Afraid Of Little Old Me - Taylor Swift

Leave Me Alone - Adam Jensen

City Grown Willow - Jensen Ackles

Indigo "Indie" Lauriel

Color: Mustard Yellow

Seasons: All of Them!!!!

Shoe Choice: Boho leather slippers/sandals with stripped knee high socks, especially in earthy tones

Weapon: Custom taser that she DIY-customized with dollar store rhinestones and glitter

Food: Her Ma's Lasagna

Drink: Detox Smoothies

Style: Hipster chic styles, usually in fall tones, with her signature denim jumper, which she also customized with cloth patches and always a cardigan

Mode of Transportation: Vintage Scooter

Animal: PIGEONS AND SPARROWS

Hobby: Watching conspiracy theory Youtube, reading about niche topics and doing her own conspiracy theory research, especially about UFOs, ghosts/hauntings and cryptids.

Breakfast: Chocolate Cereal with Milk

Personality: Layback Extrovert

Songs:

Little Talks - Of Monsters & Men

Seven Devils - Florence & The Machine

Riptide -Vance Joy

Ho Hey - The Lumineer

X Games - Au/Ra

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @wyked-ao3, @topazadine @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid @thecomfywriter

@thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @amaiguri

@cherrychiplip @thecomfywriter @thelovelymachinery

@differentnighttale, @leahnardo-da-veggie

[bowlzone]

Today's cereal is South Korean Oreo O's!

Initial Impressions: Ever since I heard murmurings from the wider cereal community that the South Korean Oreo O's are the superior take on the concept, they have been at the top of my review list. This review is a chunky one, so the rest is under the cut!

Before we get into my thoughts on the box, let's take a detour back to the ancient history of the 90s to understand why these Oreo O's hit different. The original US run of Oreo O's happened between 1997 and 2007, when Kraft (who own the rights to Oreos) and Post (who own the rights to the cereal recipe) had an acrimonious break up. Both unwilling to give up their respective half of the Oreo O key, Oreo O's ceased production in the US. However, this was not the end, for another Oreo O was made. Kraft acquired a Korean food company, Dongsuh Foods, who had the rights to distribute Post products and so a perfect loophole was found. As of 2017 you can get Oreo O's in the USA again, but they are not the original recipe. It's my understanding that the closest you can still get to the 1990s Oreo O is the Korean version, which is still based on that classic recipe, or close to it. I have no nostalgia for Oreo Os as, despite living in the US during at least some of that time, my parents outlawed the consumption of sugary cereals with an iron fist. Now, as an adult in charge of my own sugar consumption, I have never been so excited to eat something. They start strong with a box that is truly a piece of art, featuring what can only be described as a milk elemental in cool shades. The interior, a shiny silver bag that comes with an immensely appreciated re-sealing sticker, is a lot hardier than the clear cereal bags I'm used to and tests my feeble upper body strength in opening it. The chocolaty aroma already promises a sublime cereal experience.

Post bowl thoughts: poring these into the bowl I immediately noticed that they are much more restrained with their marshmallow pieces (or marbits) than American cereals typically are, perhaps because they know the cereal pieces themselves can carry the bowl. The relatively tasteless marbits instead add a nice textural component to the bite, instead of being a main flavour. The cereal itself is truly the star of the show here, with a rich chocolate flavouring and a satisfying crunch that lasts the whole way through the bowl, resisting any kind of sog. It's interesting as the main grain used here is corn, but it avoids all of the disappointing hollow nothingness of other modern corn cereals. Combined with the milk they really are reminiscent of an Oreo, if slightly missing the texture of the the cream. The milk left in the bowl is fine, but its main contribution is to the texture of each spoon here, so I'm not left disappointed that the final slurp is missing a certain allure. These have immediately unseated American Oreo O's from my top five cereals list. Without the slightly over the top sweetness that the US ones have, it feels like you could keep eating these for hours and never get sick of them. Despite the almost unreasonable excitement I held in my heart for this bowl, it did not disappoint. A fantastic cereal.

[hungrytummyprompts]

My last meal was 3 pieces of fried chicken, a glass of chocolate milk and a handful of potato wedges 14 hours and 45 minutes ago. It’s 11:15am now I think I’m going to skip breakfast but should I skip lunch too? How long should my poor tummy go without food?

P.S if this makes you uncomfortable please don’t answer! I’m just hungry and horny already

Hmmmm, I'd say definitely skip lunch too. Life just isn't fun without a grumbling hollow tummy, y'know?

What do the rest of you guys think?

[phoebe-delia]

My Pheebs! For the 8 Drarry Nights prompts: decorating for their first holiday living together. Any holiday that brings you joy

YOU BRING ME JOY!!! @basicallyahedgehog!!! Thanks for sending in a prompt, darling.

You do know how much I love you, right? Like. It's so much. So so so so much. You are simply one of my favorites. Here's some Hanukkah softness. It's all dialogue because that's where the muse is taking me today.

Swear to be Overdramatic and True

"Does the 'Happy Hanukkah' banner look straight to you?"

"Yes, love, it looks perfect. And I spread the special confetti you bought out on the table."

"What about the gelt? Remember, Teddy likes dark chocolate and Rosie likes milk chocolate, so let's set out both. Oh, and we probably need more than one dreidel."

"I've got it all set out on the small table in the living room."

"Perfect. I guess that's everyth—oh no, Merlin, Harry, the apple sauce and sour cream for the lackeys!!"

"They're called latkes, love. We've got all that in the fridge, remember?"

"And—have we got enough food?"

"Yes, sweetheart. We've got plenty. Molly's made a brisket."

"Did you give her the—"

"The recipe from the cookbook I found in Godric's Hollow? Yes, I did."

"Er...what about—"

"Draco, darling, c'mere."

*quiet grumbling and soft footsteps*

"It'll be alright. We've got everything we need. It's going to be fun, I promise."

"But—but what if something goes wrong! What if I knock over the menorah, or I mess up the rules for Dreidel, or I eat too much gelt, or I do something that makes them hate me forever and then you realize I'm a fraud and you break up with me and move out."

"Well...most of those things are just, like, understandable mistakes that we could easily fix. But I can promise you that that last one definitely won't happen."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, do you love me?"

"Of course I do. I love you so much."

"Right. And I love you."

"...Yes? And?"

"And nothing. You love me, Draco. You care about me, and you'd never intentionally hurt me. And you might not realize it, but you have formed actual, solid bonds with most of my friends and family. They like you."

"I—no. That's impossible."

"I'm afraid it's true. You and Ron play chess every week. You're the only one Hermione goes to when she wants to have deep, intellectual conversations about magic. You willingly—enthusiastically, even—listened to Arthur teach you about Muggle culture. You helped Molly cook Sunday dinner. You—"

"I get it, Potter, your family likes me."

"They do! And they're right to do so. And so am I. Love, you have got to trust yourself. And if you can't do that, then trust me when I tell you that you are good, Draco Malfoy. You are a good man, with a good heart. And I love you."

*sigh* "I love you too."

"Good then. Do you believe me?"

"I guess."

*scoff* "You guess?"

"Fine. Yes, I believe you, you sappy Gryffindor."

"Good." *Floo chimes* "Oh, good, just in time. Ready, love?"

*taking Harry's hand* "I'm ready."

[theprecuresystem]

Pro-curetember Day 24: Baking/Cooking!

Bonjour~! For today's prompt, I thought I'd give us all a lovely Animal Sweets recipe from Kirakira Pretty Cure A La Mode Episode 37, translated into English~. We'll be looking at the Hamster Pumpkin Pudding recipe! It's noted as a two star difficulty out of three, so keep that in mind.

Let's・La・Mazemaze!

What you'll need

For the Pumpkin Pudding:

1 Baby Pumpkin (This one was a palm-sized sweet and fluffy pumpkin, using about 500g of its innards)

2 Tbsp of Brown Sugar

100ml (3/5 Cup) of Milk

1 Medium Egg

15g (1/2 oz.) of melted, unsalted butter.

A little bit of vanilla oil

For the Caramel Sauce:

30g Granulated sugar

1tsp water

1tbsp boiling water

For the Sweet Pumpkin Hamster Decoration (Makes 6-8):

1/4 pumpkin (about 200g or 7oz)

10g (1/3 oz) unsalted butter

2 tbsp brown sugar

A little cinnamon

2 tbsp beaten egg

2 tbsp katakuriko (You can use potato starch)

6-8 almonds

Chocolate Icing Pen

Yellow Icing Pen

For your pre-preparation step, place baking paper on a baking sheet, and preheat your oven to 200 Celcius (or 392 Fahrenheit).

Step One

Wrap the whole baby pumpkin in plastic wrap, and microwave it in a 600W microwave for about 3 minutes. Remove the plastic wrap, cut off the top third, and remove the seeds and pulp with a spoon.

Step Two

Wrap the container and lid you just made in the plastic wrap again. Microwave once more in a 600W microwave for 1-2 minutes. Remove the plastic wrap, and being careful not to tear the skin, hollow out the container and lid. Note that the microwaved pumpkin will be very hot, so be careful when removing it!

Step Three

Put the hollowed-out pumpkin's flesh (that you removed in step 2) into a blender, along with the brown sugar, milk, eggs, and melted butter. If you don't own a blender, mash the pumpkin flesh thoroughly with a fork, then mix in the other ingredients.

Step Four

Beat your mixture from Step Three in a bowl, and add in the vanilla. Strain the mixture through a sieve once, back into a bowl.

Step Five

Place a steaming plate or dish in a pot filled with water (not the amounts included in the recipe). Place a sheet of baking paper on top, then place the Pumpkin Container you made in Step 2 on top of this. Pour in the pudding mixture you made in step 4, and steam for 2 minutes over high heat, then for 20 minutes over very low heat. Allow it to cool in the pot, then place in the refrigerator to chill. Freshly made pudding is very soft, so letting it cool in the pot without moving it is essential! Main Pudding is done!

Step Six

Time for the caramel sauce! Put granulated sugar and water in a saucepan, stir thoroughly, and then place on medium heat. Shake and tilt the pan to dissolve the sugar, as stirring can make the sugar harden and become gritty. Avoid stirring!

Step Seven

Once it has taken on a deep color, has turned fragrant, and is slightly smoking, turn off the heat and add in the boiling water. Be careful, since steam rises! It's safer to use a container with a handle when adding boiling water. Sauce is done!

Step Eight

Time to make the sweet pumpkin! Remove the seeds and pulp from the quarter pumpkin with a spoon, and remove the skin with a knife, before cutting into bite-sized pieces. If you're young, ask a grown-up for help with the knife! Place the pumpkin on a heat-resistant plate, loosely cover with plastic wrap, and heat in a 600W microwave for 4 minutes.

Step Nine

Put the pumpkin you heated in Step Eight into a bowl, and mash with a whisk. While it's still hot, add the butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and half of the beaten eggs, and mix.

Step Ten

Add the katakuriko (or potato starch) to the mixture you made in Step Nine, bring it together with your hands and divide it into 6-8 equal parts. Shape the hamster's body and hands, as well as some small stars, and arrange the paws in front of the hamster's head on a baking sheet, then brush with the remaining beaten egg. If the mixture is still too soft to shape, add more katakuriko (or potato starch) to adjust it.

Step Eleven

Half the almonds to make small ears, and place them on the pumpkin hamster's head that you made in step 10. Bake in a preheated oven at 200 Celsius (or 392 Fahrenheit) for 8 to 10 minutes, then allow to cool. Be careful when removing them from the oven, as they'll be hot!

Step Twelve

Dip a chocolate pen in hot water and cut the tip, and use it to draw the eyes, nose, and mouth of the hamster on the pumpkin hamster. Use the yellow chocolate pen to draw the eyes and mouth of the jack-o-lantern on the pumpkin container. If it's too difficult to write directly on the pumpkin itself, you can write on a baking sheet and place it in the refrigerator to cool before applying.

Step Thirteen

Place the pumpkin hamster on top of the pumpkin pudding, and the pumpkin stars between its paws. Finish by pouring the caramel sauce over the top, and serving while in the pumpkin container on whatever plate you wish.

This was tough to translate, but I hope you all appreciate the thorough and detailed description of the method of making this hamster pumpkin pudding today! It was a lot of work, but it'll be worth it! Let's all make something tasty in the upcoming months, alright? Régale-toi bien!

Procuretember Event by @pro-curetember

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxxviii // All Saints Are Sinners

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A note is played as a sensor detects that the front door has been pushed open. Low tiks, faint against the loudspeaker muzak, as the soles of his shoes dislodge from sticky stains on the white tiled floor. The ambient hum of fluorescent lights, of the air conditioning, of the coolers scattered all around. Gas stations all have that hum.

He makes for the drink aisle with a laziness to his step, loose straps from his backpack tapping at his chest and arms, eyes unenthusiastically scanning through foggy glass doors. Most of the options strike him as entirely unappealing, while some – chocolate milk, protein shakes, yoghurt – make him nauseous to even consider.

Renee hasn’t been high for a full day. He noticed it on waking up, and it’s only getting worse. That lethargy, the grey filter that slides down across his vision. Drowsiness that expresses itself clearly in the way he moves, as if his body will only operate in slow-motion. Boredom exacerbated, but juxtaposed with revolt at the mere thought of actually doing something about it. The hollowness of all the things which normally feel so vivid. His mood, seeping down through the concrete and the dirt.

When Lazarus dropped him off by his car this morning, Renee talked him into a quick deal before they parted, just fifty grams. The look of concern on Lazarus’ face, the begrudging acceptance, sparked a shame in Renee that’s hard to just brush off. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t cracked open that bag yet - because punishing himself with cocaine withdrawals seems more appropriate. Is that irrational? Probably. But what isn’t?

Goosebumps break out across his arms when he opens the cooler and is rushed with a front of cold air. He picks out a couple different energy drinks. As he makes his way back through the store, he grabs a small container of nuts, as well as a handful of protein bars, haphazardly discarding his pile of items on the counter. He’s pretty sure he’s forgetting something, but his mind is hazy, and he can’t really bring himself to care.

The cashier, a girl who doesn’t look much older than twenty, gives him a nod in place of a proper greeting, and starts scanning his items. Renee watches her progress, rubbing his eyes, and then his gaze thoughtlessly drifts to the magazine rack next to the counter. Among celebrity gossip and headlines that fill half the front pages, he catches an image of Conrad – that vacation photo the media always uses, taken on some pedestrian road with palm trees in the background. A black person’s arm – Howard’s, presumably - is draped over his shoulders, but their face is cropped out of frame. Conrad looks at ease in that photo, at least more at ease than Renee has ever seen him in person. There’s still an awkwardness to his posture, he clearly doesn’t like having his picture taken; but his smile looks genuine. Next to the picture of Conrad is a stock photo of a man’s silhouette illuminated from above, face obscured in the shadows cast by a hoodie.

Renee swallows, looking away before he can read the actual headline. Behind him, the door chime goes again, and he hears someone walk up behind him. A deep breath, then he clears his throat at the cashier. “Uh. Give me four packs of Marlboro reds as well.”

 The girl looks up. “Do you have an ID I could see for that?”

Renee blinks. Gives the cashier a look.

“We check everybody, sir.”

Renee lets out a dejected sort of breath, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and fishes around in his pocket for his wallet. “Driver’s license alright?”

The girl gives him a patient smile. “Just something with your face on it.”

He holds the card out between two fingers, and can’t help but curse himself at the way his hand is shaking slightly. The girl doesn’t comment on it, though, eyes quickly scanning the card before she nods and turns to the shelves behind her.

As he pays credit and shovels his items into his backpack, Renee feels watched, in a way that’s more than a little intrusive, by the cashier, by the customer behind him, by the camera above the counter, by Conrad, grinning from a tabloid shelf. He shrugs the backpack on, pushing past the customer behind him and heads for the door before the cashier is even halfway through wishing him a good day.

Grey clouds swirl like a layer of cotton above the landscape, too light to threaten rain, but none the less suffocating. The wind blows across the concrete field surrounding the gas station, biting at his skin through the seams of his clothes. Would’ve ruffled his hair a week ago – now the lack makes him shudder more easily. He climbs into the Clio, discarding his backpack on the passenger seat, pulls a cigarette and lights it. He takes the first few drags in silence, listening to how the wind swirls around the car, feeling its miniscule tugs on the carrosserie.

It’s such a cliché, framing the bad guy as a menacing figure cloaked in shadows. Something about that image alone feels like a caricature that serves only the purpose of dehumanizing, othering. People always strip away the understandable parts of evil to avoid having to face it in themselves. They shut their eyes to swallow that pill.

A turn of the keys, and the Clio rustles itself awake. The sound of the old motor is starting to become more reminiscent of a tractor than a car. Cigarette burning between his fingers, Renee pulls out to the gas station’s exit ramp, back onto the highway. He loses himself in driving. Everything else becomes secondary to following his own flow, the mindless weaving in and out of lanes.

But he hasn’t been on the highway for more than five minutes before a loud beep from the dashboard makes him look down. The little light next to the gas indicator has turned on. The needle is deep in the red.

Renee lets out a groan, gritting his teeth tight, clutching the wheel a little harder. “Shit.” He fiddles with the different settings on the turn signal lever, barely keeping the car in the center of his lane as he tries to find the setting that lets him see how many miles he has left. How do you go to a gas station and then forget to get gas?

A couple minutes of fiddling with the lever pass, until he finally gives up. There are no gas stations until he reaches the summer home neighborhood, and the highway is separated by a fenced off median strip, so no U-turns, either. He’s just gonna have to cross his fingers and hope.

His teeth are gritted until he finally reaches his exit, somewhat relieved that if he does get stranded, at least it won’t be on the side of the highway. There’s a red light at the end of the exit ramp, and he cringes at having to rev up the car in first gear to avoid stalling on the incline.

The country road he turns onto is deserted, fields on either side all rows of plowed mud, interspersed with patches of skeletonized trees. Isolated homesteads placed a respectable distance from the road, and the occasional faded colors of a billboard advertising private insurance or heavy farming equipment.

He's a mile in when the dashboard beeps again, and soon after, the car starts to slow down. Renee curses, changing to a lower gear, which seems to work for all of ten seconds, but then it slows again, even as the pedal is pushed to its limit. The tractor-esque likeness of the sound seems to amplify as the engine struggles to keep up. Eventually, it coughs, lets out a spluttery death rattle, and then stalls completely.

Still rolling with the momentum, Renee stomps down the clutch and switches the ignition off and tries to restart it. Uncertain whirring, in a rhythm that makes the whole cabin vibrate, but it never takes. The car creeps to a halt on the side of the road. Renee tries again. And again. On his fourth try, the engine doesn’t even try to stir – nothing happens at all.

Renee pulls the handbrake and sits back, rubbing his face with both hands, pressing his fingers hard over the thin skin of his closed eyelids. Feels like letting out a scream, but all that comes out is a low groan. He sits like that for a full minute, breathing through his nose. Then he lets his hands dump into his lap, staring bleakly out the windshield.

In the distance, a row of trees parting two fields are being pushed sideways by a rough wind, the last stubborn leaves breaking off, dancing across the horizon.

Renee looks at his backpack, jaw working. Grabs it, finds leverage with both thumbs in a small hole by the zipper and forces it apart by pulling on the fabric. From one of the smaller rooms, he pulls out the bag of cocaine, from another, his wallet. Discards the backpack on the passenger side floor with a little more force than necessary. He fishes his phone out of his wallet and balances it flat on his thigh. Nudges a few clumps of powder onto the screen. It’s all automatic at this point, he doesn’t even have to think about what he’s doing. The clumps are broken with a credit card, and two lines are arranged side by side along the length of the phone screen. His hands are shaking as he rolls a five dollar bill into a straw.

He pauses. Feels like throwing up. Feels like strangling himself with the seatbelt. Feels like bashing someone’s skull in. Feels like...

Closing one nostril with his index finger, holding the bill carefully between thumb and middle finger, Renee lifts the phone up, leans down. It’s a familiar feeling, however gross it felt the first time he tried. Like sucking powdered sugar straight into your brain. It appears at the back of the throat, and then you have to swallow it, despite the bitter taste, like you swallow the clots of a heavy nosebleed. Renee leans back, sniffing hard as he rubs his nose, letting out each breath through his mouth. Leans down for the second line, which goes up just as easily, sniffs some more. His throat is already starting to tingle. He licks the remaining powder off the phone, drying the saliva in his jeans.

Slightly breathless, he slumps back against the seat, hand clutched around his phone. Hits the back of his head against the headrest a couple times, scowling at nothing. Stalling won’t do him any good. He grits his teeth as he unlocks the screen, filtering through contacts until he finds Davin’s number. Rests his elbow on the ledge under the side window, leaning his temple against the root of his hand, lifts the phone to his ear.

The low dial tone, dragging across the ground once, twice, before there’s a click, a muted shuffling. Renee bounces his heel against the floormat.

There’s a faint thud, like a door closing, before Davin speaks. “Yeah?”

“My car broke down,” Renee says. Winces, but keeps his voice even. “I ran out of gas, I mean. I just need a hand.”

There’s a brief silence, and then Davin lets out a sharp sort of sigh. “How do you expect me to…?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Renee bites, “Figure something out. I mean it, man, I’m stuck in the middle of… piss-all nowhere.”

Davin lets out an exasperated breath. “I don’t have a car, Renee.”

“Then find one. I’m not walking four fuckin’ hours.”

Another silence, longer this time. A deep breath. “Alright. Send me your coordinates, then.”

Renee sniffs. “Shall do.”

A split second after he has ended the call, Renee tosses the phone onto the dashboard, leaning forward, running his hands over his head. Why’s it taking so long to kick in, anyway? Two lines usually get his heart beating in no time. He’s not that tolerant, is he?

Seeping through the dirt, like the roots of a tree clawing to get a proper hold of the earth, or the fluid that leaks out of a decomposing coffin. It strikes Renee as a natural law of sorts. Gravity, but not in the physical sense.  

They see him like an alien, a stereotype. They attribute his actions to something inhuman and foreign, something unrecognizable. A nightmare, a monster. A hooded figure in the dark. Evil as something extraordinary.

It’s actually pissing him off, how delusional people choose to be. The mental gymnastics they have to employ to stay blind. While Conrad sees the good in all people, Renee sees the spiteful, the malicious, the selfishness everybody tries so damn hard to deny. He sees the egocentric note that carries every act of altruism, the spite and jealousy that accompanies every form of love. Ambition is a euphemism for greed, justice always stems from a sense of superiority. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is holy. Once you start digging past the surface, the only direction you can go is down.

Despite the lightness of the clouds, a few small specs of rain have scattered on the windshield. Renee lights another smoke, watching it slowly collect and bleed down the glass. Something inside him is returning, he can feel it. It’s been hell for a while, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe Conrad got his claws into him after all. That naïveté played tricks, in its own subtle, insidious ways. Renee forgot himself in a moment of weakness, and he ended up sharing the delusion. But evil is universal to the point of banality. Despite Conrad’s insistence, there’s nothing extraordinary about what Renee has done, or about his drives. Renee only stands out for honesty.

Davin’s greed is blatant. As is Lazarus’ willful negligence, entirely unjustified despite his efforts to deal conscientiously. Even Conrad himself, so keen to keep up a façade of innocence, gets that hateful look in his eyes, and his attempts to humanize himself occasionally get marred by a vengeful, sadistic desire.

A gun or a knife, hm? Or something else…?

Gun.

Where? …Where would you shoot me?

Head.

That’s the thing: You have to own it, don’t you?

Renee chuckles lightly to himself. Leans back against the headrest, eyes closed. Maybe it’s the coke creeping in, but it feels like a veil has been lifted.

The man he was six months ago, before all of this, before he even met Davin, is still in there. Renee can feel him. That carefree, fuck-all attitude, the easy way he carried himself, the deep sense of independence, remorseless freedom. His head got clouded by the fog of uncertainty, but he can lift himself out of it easily enough. It’s all so straightforward.

You just have to own it.

💵

Thirty minutes pass. The peak of the high, Renee spends pacing for a hundred yards up and down the country road, wind chill biting at his face, but muted under the familiar sense of euphoria. Once it starts to dip, around the forty-five minute mark, he climbs back into his car and chases with another line, smaller this time, nothing crazy. Sits with his knee bumping against the steering wheel, hands kept warm in his pockets, just enjoying the sensations of being, for a while. The way his heart beats, the way the air feels in his lungs, the numbness of his throat, the back of his tongue. He feels as easy and light as he does resilient, self-assured. Exquisitely fucked up and powerful. He feels like himself.

He sees the car coming from a mile away. A small, dark dot on the horizon that slowly rides the waves of the landscape. A sedan. Renee recognizes the typical design of a Mercedes long before he can make out the logo on the front grill – something about pareidolia, the expressions that cars make. Mercedes always look vaguely pissed off. As it pulls up on the opposite side of the road, Renee can’t help but marvel a bit. No scratches or dents in the warm gray lacquer, shiny wheel rims, tinted windows in the back. The kind of car you can tell has leather seats before you even take a look inside.

Bracing his door against the impact of the wind, Renee steps out on the road in the same moment Davin does. The few strands of hair that aren’t caught in the bun on the back of Davin’s head are instead whipped about his face. The collar of his coat is turned up.

Renee lights a smoke, then points to the Mercedes with the cigarette. “I didn’t think you could hotwire cars that new.”

As Davin shuts the door, he looks at the car briefly. “You can’t,” he concedes. And he holds up his hand, wiggling a key between his fingers.

Renee frowns. “It’s yours?”

“It’s a rental. For now, at least. You reminded me why it might be a good idea to have a second car available.”

He walks toward the back of the car and pops the trunk open, pulls out a red gas canister and a funnel. Hands both to Renee, who, much to his own quiet dismay, has to throw the fresh cigarette away before he takes them.

As he fumbles with the gas cap on the Clio and sets up the funnel, Davin stands a few paces away, watching. Renee can’t help his stomach from churning at that feeling, as if every movement he makes is being noted, jotted down. The stench of gasoline fumes soon serve as a distraction, as he pours the clear, yellowish liquid down the funnel. “Listen, I, ah…” He clears his throat. “I had a bit of a mental breakdown yesterday. After I left, I mean.”

He glances up at Davin, who has only raised a brow in response.

“I don’t really know what happened, it’s just… been a crazy couple weeks, you know? I think it’s been building. But it’s all good, I’m fine now.”

Davin snorts, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Looks into the distance for a moment, lips pursed. When he looks back at Renee, his expression is solemn. “I couldn’t have done this alone. So as much as I hate having to rely on other people, I have to rely on you. I have to be able to trust you.”

Renee grimaces. “You can,” he says. “You can, dude. I just freaked out a bit, but I’m back in business, I’m feeling it. I’ll do whatever.” 

 Davin nods slowly. Markedly doesn’t say anything.

For once, the ominous silence doesn’t really bother Renee, at least not to any greater extent. Although brief, he said his piece, so now it’s no longer on him.

The last few drops of gasoline are shaken off the canister, then the funnel. Renee screws the cap back in place, handing canister and funnel to Davin before he ducks into the passenger seat of the Clio, without shutting the door.

On the first turn of the key, the engine rustles awake.

Renee shoots a wide grin up at Davin. “We’re so back, baby.”

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[midgetmoth]

That recent ask made my day

I've meant to follow you for a while now, I've been seeing your abso-freaking-lutely adorable au critters on my dash for a while, and apparently I haven't followed you until now??

I love how you draw the little guys, and how cute they all are together

I think Dark should get some chocolate milk too, or perhaps some ketchup should he prefer. Idk, he might be a teriyaki or garlic person like me

And attempting to feed him might be somewhat lethal

But regardless, I really wanna try and draw them myself sometime

Adds to my ever growing list of things I mean to draw...

Awe! I'm so flattered by all of this. When I started posting my sticks, I didn't think I'd gain so much attention. I've been stalking a few other creators - lovingly of course, around the site here. I haven't used Tumblr like this before, normally being the "watcher" and not really the "maker" of most content.

My sticks are my own little spin on Alan's story, it's more of a comfort project I suppose. I try to include others and share my art, making sure never to upset anyone.

I'm so glad you like them! They like you too - at least uh, everyone but the older Hollow pair. Chosen Star and Dark Moon take time to trust others, so all this attention has gotten them distant. They're nice though, when not being easily frightened by new things!

[hyejinkim]

Well, maybe this is not anyone's request but and only as my own desire to introduce the character I created inspired by the AU 'Lilith's descendants'.

Disclaimer :

Everything I write is the physical body of the artificial and there is no further intention or justification in the character profile that I created, all are just ffictio.

''In truth, words alone are insufficient to build trust, as mere statements without evidence or substance carry no weight and hold little meaning. Trust is best established through actions and tangible proof, rather than relying solely on empty promises or hollow assertions."

Character sheet :

Biological Information

Name : Lillian

Aliase : Daughter of Lilith, Lady Hyejin, Jin. Lord Asmodeus close friend.

Species : Vampire (Pure Blood)

Birthday : November, 8th.

Sign : Scorpio (♏)

Age : 19-20

Relatives: Mr & Mrs Kim (Adoptive parents)

                Bio Parents (Presumably deceased)

Occupation : Artis & Designer.

Affiliation : College student S1 at Tokyo University of the Arts (Geidai)

Homeland : Japan 🇯🇵

Status : Walking Corpse/Undead

Mental Illness : Depression, ADHD, Anxiety

Sexuality : Demisexuality & Sopiosexual

Voiced By : Nana Mizuki

Physical Description

Eye colour : Magenta (Normal). Crimson (when she drank human blood, also when she angry).

Hair colour : Brownish black

Height : 170 Cm

Weight : 53 Kg

Bust/Body type : D Cup, Curvy.

Gender : Females

Core fear: Of being abandoned or without support.

Core desire: To find security and support.

ABILITIES :

Basic vampire abilities : Immortality, Superhuman strength, Enhanced speed and agility, Healing factor, Hypnotic abilities, Shape-shifting, Enhanced senses, Immunity to conventional weapons/Resist Disease/Resist Poison. Exceptional self-control, Scale walls, Teleportation.

Source : https://www.quora.com/What-are-vampire-powers

SPECIAL ABILITY :

Telepathy, Elemental Manipulation, Animal Control, Telekinesis, Supernatural blood, Vampire Manipulation, Painting Magic.

Source : https://www.quora.com/What-are-vampire-powers

Source :

https://blackclover.fandom.com/wiki/Painting_Magic

PACT WITH : Asmodeus

PREFERENCES

Hobbies : Listening to classical music, drawing-painting-sculpting, sleeping, visiting old cemeteries and abandoned places.

Pet peeves : People prying into her affairs

                    Crowded place

                    Human (In general)

Favorite food : Blood (Type O), wine and dark chocolate.

Least favorite food : Food/Blood that has an unpleasant ordor, colour, taste or raw, milk.

Talent : Drawing-Painting

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE :

''With ethereal grace, she stands at a stately 5'7', her bewitching beauty commanding admiration with her captivating grace. Her slender yet curvaceous form is further accentuated by her long, wavy hair, which cascades to her waist length in a waterfall of midnight black tresses. Her pale, smooth complexion stands in stark contrast to the dark beauty mark beneath her left eye, set like a precious gem among her porcelain facades. Her hair parts smoothly in the center, possesses a unique allure—her rare pink pupil slices peering through thin pupils, hinting at hidden depths within her alluring mystique.'

Her Pro And Con :

Pro :

An lady with elegance and detail would likely be described as introspective, creative, and empathetic. She is a highly emotional person, often seeking to understand and connect with others on a deep level. She has a strong sense of intuition, which she trusts implicitly. Her imagination is vast and vibrant, often filled with ideas and possibilities. She is likely to have a unique style and grace, often preferring elegant and classic pieces. Her presence would exude a certain captivating allure, combining her inner depth with her outer . She is marked by her intense loyalty, deep emotional intelligence, and fierce determination. She is fiercely protective of those she cares for and will go to great lengths to defend and support them. Her passion and drive make her an inspiring and powerful force to be reckoned with.

In moments that demand rationality and doubt, she is a bastion of logic and skepticism, carefully scrutinizing her surroundings. Her intuition guides her, and whenever her gut feeling alerts her to something amiss or out of place, she instinctively relies on it, as it has never led her astray. What surprises many is her wisdom and maturity, which, though occasionally obscured by her emotional nature, often manifest in astute observations and profound insights. Despite her sensitivity, she possesses a remarkable ability to navigate the complexities of life with grace and sagacity.

Con :

This lady with elegance and refinement may have a tendency to be overly sensitive and easily wounded. She might be plagued with self-doubt and insecurity, especially when confronted with criticism or conflict. Her high degree of empathy and emotional intensity can sometimes lead to feelings of overwhelming emotional fatigue and burnout. She can also be prone to indecision, investing too much time in understanding her own emotions before making decisions. It's not uncommon for her to struggle with enforcing boundaries with her loved ones or closest friends and often puts the needs of others before her own. She can be quite possessive and jealous, and her intense emotions can sometimes lead her to act impulsively.

Despite her tendency to seek certain authority figures and structures, she often harbors a sense of skepticism and caution. This wariness is rooted in her past  experiences in foster care, particularly with the caretakers and previous foster parents she had in her childhood. As a result, she has developed a guarded attitude towards authority figures, especially men, and finds herself caught in a cycle of searching for something or someone to believe in while simultaneously maintaining a distance and reluctance to get too close.

Even so, if she has been deeply hurt or betrayed, her vindictive and petty nature may manifest. She will not hesitate to act coldly and distantly, even going as far as cutting off contact with said individuals who have wronged her. She may view such connections as mistakes and lessons learned, and while there may be a bitter-sweetness to the loss of these people from her life, she is willing to let them go if necessary to protect herself and maintain her emotional well-being, even if it means harboring a grudge or taking small revenges against them.