#zestmillaweek

[vanilla0chinchilla]

Zestmilla week day 3: scars Well, that was the other prompt for day 2, so I just did them both, since I didn't have any ideas for day threes original prompts.

This one is a little saucyer, but I still think it's pretty tasteful.

[consistantly-changing]

Zestmilla week day 5: dancing/fighting

Por que no les dos?

[katy-l1988]

Early meeting

“I know you're there, so show yourself,” Carmilla ordered, leaning against the shelf, aware that her balance was beginning to falter. "I would something wait for thou to return to thy seat,” a deep voice replied, as four greenish lanterns emerged from the shadows. “I don’t give a fuck,” Carmilla replied firmly. “Get out at once!”

@tanema123

As I already draw it, I just add the #

[tanema123]

Dear people...

I am proud to announce, that we (zestmilla server) have decided to organise a zestmilla week! We have come together and put a few fun little prompts you can use.

Guidelines at the end.

Prompts:

EARLY MEETING/HISTORY (28.10.)

COMFORT/SCARS (29.10.)

HUMAN AU/MITHYCAL AU (30.10.)

LETTERS/SECRETS (31.10.)

DANCING/FIGHTING (1.11.)

DATE NIGHT/MISTAKES (2.11.)

FREE DAY (3.11.)

Additional guidelines:

All forms of fanwork (gifs, fanart, fanfics, animation, comics, cosplay, etc.) accepted.

Tag the post you make with tag #ZestmillaWeek. (I will reblog as much as I can and see)

NSFW is allowed but please tag as such.

And most importantly... HAVE FUN!!!!

[petitereveusesblog]

Zestmilla day 5: Dancing/Fighting

[missorland]

Yeesssss I’m late for the Zestmilla week!! (I’m late for everything don’t kill me please hehe) This October has been really chaotic but now I have more time and hopefully the inspiration to keep up with the Zestmilla week.

As always my apologies come by the hand of moreeeee headcanooons!

So this is part 3 of my Zestmilla headcanons ;)

Zestial often tries to "modernize" his speech so that people can understand him more easily, but when he gets nervous he forgets and begins to speak unintelligibly. When he proposed to Carmilla, the poor woman did not understand a single word and he had to repeat it several times.

Carmilla's love language is physical contact and acts of service (does protecting her family count as service?) and whenever she can, quality time. Zestial's is basically all of them.

Carmilla spends the day giving orders, after all she is a successful and busy businesswoman, and because of that she lets Zestial decide for her when they go out to dinner, or go to see a movie. Of course he always chooses what he thinks she will like the most.

Something Carmilla always makes time for is taking care of her hair. She loves to keep it healthy, glossy and silky. That's why she has endless hair care products. Zestial once used one of them to wash his body and Carmilla had to excuse him when she was internally trying not to kill him.

Like a good English lord, Zestial adores Carmilla's ways. She is a calm, serene and sober woman. She is very elegant and sophisticated but she is also soft and kind to the people close to her. Of course, as a good Hispanic that she is (I'm not sure if she's Latina or Spanish, so I'll leave it up in the air), she has a passionate side that she shows from time to time. These moments in contrast to her usual calm leave Zestial completely enthralled.

Zestial likes to paint, especially the realistic style. He doesn't like to show his paintings to anyone, but Carmilla found them one day while looking for something at his house and she was so amazed that she asked him to take some home. She took one that Zestial had painted of himself when he was alive, basically because she found him extremely sexy with his goatee, wavy dark hair, and knight's armor.

Zestial has an hyperfixation on Carmilla’s neck and shoulders. The smooth skin, toned muscles and collarbone are too much for him. Of course she knows it and that's why she wears that open neckline.

[zestmillaweek]

As previously announced by @tanema123, the Zestmilla discord server is proud to host Zestmilla Week!

We have come up with a variety of prompts in order to celebrate this fun couple. Guidelines will follow the prompt list.

Prompts:

EARLY MEETING/HISTORY (28.10.)

COMFORT/SCARS (29.10.)

HUMAN AU/MITHYCAL AU (30.10.)

LETTERS/SECRETS (31.10.)

DANCING/FIGHTING (1.11.)

DATE NIGHT/MISTAKES (2.11.)

FREE DAY (3.11.)

Additional guidelines:

All forms of fanwork (gifs, fanart, fanfics, animation, comics, cosplay, etc.) accepted.

Tag the post you make with tag #ZestmillaWeek so we can reblog it! You may also submit the post to this account and we will post it and tag you accordingly.

NSFW is allowed but please tag as such.

And most importantly... HAVE FUN!!!!

As a note, we do also have a twitter with the same handle, so if you do not have a twitter but would still like to share it there, let us know!

[ossitb]

Took me a couple more days than anticipated to post due to some personal problems, but it's finally here! The final chapter of this little exercise I started almost two months ago!

I hope you find it as fun to read it was to write for me!

Hopefully, I'll see you again for #zestmillaweek

[vanilla0chinchilla]

Zestmilla week day 2! ...Which I forgot to upload here yesterday. Oops!

After a long, harsh day, Carmilla can always count on Zestial to take care of her. He makes her tea, bakes her some bruschetta and they chat all night long.

[vanilla0chinchilla]

Zestmilla week day 1: First meeting.

I like to imagine that Zestial is much older than Carmilla, like, so much older that he was already established in hell before she died. For a first meeting, I like to imagine her summoning his, or making some kind of deal (not like full out selling her soul) but just something to help her out of a bad situation.

I also had fun going crazy with the colors in this^^

[vanilla0chinchilla]

Zestmilla week day 5: Dancing

I really wanted to draw @tokay-blog 's design for Zestial, okay.

[vanilla0chinchilla]

Zestmilla week day 4: Secrets.

Looks, they're both vampires, and Carmilla's outfit is great for getting to the neck but not so much for covering it.

[consistantly-changing]

Zestmilla week day 2: scars

Zestial is old and he sure didn't become an overlord without a couple scuffles, I think he has fewer scars in number than Carmilla but they're a lot larger than hers because Carmilla was mostly fighting with angelic weaponry, where getting hit means you're probably gonna die, whereas most of Zestial's fights happened before angelic steel so he didn't mind tanking a hit or a few because he knew he'd be able to heal them.

From personal experience working with metal and machines I think Carmilla has a bunch of small scars on her hands and arms from when things went flying (and she has stretch marks because I said so) and Zestial loves that about her. He loves that Carmilla taught herself how to work with something as dangerous as angelic steel and loves to kiss the small scars on her hands, he also loves to kiss her stretch marks, particularly the ones from her pregnancy because they're proof of how hard Carmilla fought for her daughters even before she became an overlord.

[katy-l1988]

Zestmilla week: Day 3

Mythical Au

The Aegean Sea teemed with mythical beasts, but none struck more terror into sailors' hearts than the sirens. Zestial, battle-scarred captain of the royal fleet, had grown up hearing tales of these creatures whispered in taverns and around cooking fires—beings of otherworldly beauty whose voices could reduce the strongest men to helpless puppets.

Their song, it was said, carried on the wind like honey-sweet poison, enchanting crews to steer their ships straight into treacherous reefs. The sirens would watch from their rocky perches, golden hair gleaming in the moonlight, as vessel after vessel splintered against the stones. The lucky ones drowned quickly. The others…Zestial had seen their bones scattered across hidden coves, picked clean by creatures better left unnamed.

As a sworn protector of the realm, Zestial could no longer ignore the mounting deaths. These weren't mere monsters—they were Hades' own servants, released from the Underworld to sow chaos among the living. Each report brought darker news: entire trading fleets vanished, fishing villages found abandoned, their boats rotting at empty docks.

On the night of the new moon, when darkness lay thick as wool across the water, Zestial gathered his most trusted warriors. Two hundred men who had faced hydras and gorgons at his side now stood silent on the deck of his flagship, their bronze armor darkened with soot to dull its shine. Their target was no ordinary siren—they hunted the queen herself, whose voice was said to drive men mad with a single note.

Zestial ran his thumb along the edge of his blessed sword, its celestial bronze gleaming with faint blue light. By dawn, either her head would adorn the palace walls as warning to Hades' other creatures, or his men would join the countless bones littering the seafloor. There would be no middle ground in this hunt.

They hunted for months across treacherous waters. The sea ran red with the blood of slaughtered merfolk, their scaled bodies and iridescent tails floating in the foam like broken jewels. Zestial's men became efficient killers, learning to stuff their ears with wax and strike before their prey could sing. Each raid left more rocky outcrops silent, more underwater caves empty—but still the queen eluded them.

Hundreds of her kind fell to bronze and steel. Some fought back with tooth and claw, others pleaded for mercy in voices that could shatter marble. Zestial told himself this was justice, that each death brought safety to his people. But in the dark hours before dawn, their faces haunted him—so similar to human women in their final moments, tears mixing with salt spray.

"Captain, there's a storm brewing!" Theron's voice cut through the wind, his weathered face twisted with concern as he gripped the ship's rail. The old sailor had weathered a hundred gales, and Zestial had never seen such fear in his eyes.

"How serious is it?" Zestial's words were nearly lost in a sudden gust that set the rigging shrieking.

"Like nothing I've seen in thirty years at sea, sir." Theron pointed to the horizon where unnatural green clouds boiled up from the water itself. "The waves... they're moving against the wind. This is no natural tempest."

Lightning flashed in impossible colors—white, red, and a sickly shade of gold that left afterimages burned in their vision. Each thunderclap carried echoes of singing, a chorus of dead sirens calling out for vengeance.

"Your orders, sir?" Theron's knuckles were white on his sword hilt. Around them, the crew scrambled to secure lines, their movements frantic but futile against the rising supernatural storm.

Was that the moment Zestial heard it? It wasn’t the siren song he’d been hearing for the past few months, but a low, mournful wail that seemed to rise from the depths of the ocean. It spoke not of seduction or dreams, but of loss and rage so deep it made his bones ache. Drawn to the bow, he peered through the curtains of rain to see a lone figure perched on a distant rock. Unlike his kin, he sported no glistening scales or a handsome façade.

The queen had found them.

"Is that…?" Theron asked.

"Yes, yes it is."

Her scream tore through the night, a sound of pure malevolence that shattered minds and wills alike. Thirty of Zestial's men lurched overboard like puppets, while the rest turned their swords on each other in a frenzy. Blood mixed with rain on the deck as brother fought brother.

But Zestial remained clear-headed—an old war wound had left him nearly deaf years ago, when a Persian explosive had detonated too close to his position. Now, that cursed injury became his shield.

While the queen was lost in her destructive song, he slipped into the churning waters. Fighting against waves that seemed alive with hatred, he circled behind her rocky perch. His waterlogged armor threatened to drag him down, but he pressed on, using each lightning flash to guide his approach. The queen, drunk on her own power and the chaos she'd created, never sensed him climbing up behind her. The celestial bronze blade kissed her throat, silencing her song mid-note. The storm seemed to hold its breath with her.

"Turn. Slowly," Zestial commanded, his voice rough with salt spray.

She complied with an otherworldly grace. Silver hair like moonlit silk cascaded over her face, parting to reveal features that struck him speechless. This was no demon from Hades' realm—her beauty transcended anything mortal or infernal. Her eyes held the depths of ages, luminescent as starlight on still water. Every story he'd been told, every assumption about her origins in the underworld, crumbled before the reality of her presence.

"Come on, soldier… get this over with," she whispered, her voice now stripped of its supernatural power, revealing something achingly human beneath. "Do it!" she commanded, tilting her head to better expose her throat to his blade.

But her defiance cracked like thin ice, revealing layers of pain beneath. In her ancient eyes, Zestial saw not malice but a bone-deep weariness that mirrored his own—the exhaustion of someone who had lost too much to too many wars.

Keeping his blade steady against her throat, Zestial sank to his knees on the rain-slick stone. Their faces drew close enough that he could feel her breath, cold as deep ocean currents, against his skin. Her scent was an intoxicating mixture of sea spray and something older, more primal—like petrichor from the world's first storm. "Is it not enough?" she hissed, her words carrying the weight of a mother's grief. "Having slaughtered my daughters, do you now wish to toy with their mother?"

This close, he could see the delicate patterns in her skin that seemed to shift like sunlight through waves, the subtle glow that emanated from within. His sword hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the maddening desire to lower his blade, to give in to this forbidden fascination.

Then her eyes blazed with a fury that could have boiled the sea itself, but behind that rage, she must have seen something in his gaze—the way it lingered too long on her lips, how his breath caught when she moved. A knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"Or perhaps," then, something softened in her gaze as recognition dawned. She leaned closer, her expression a curious mix of disbelief and wonder.

"Now you see?"

"So it’s you,” she murmured. "The man who threw himself from the cliffs… yet somehow lived."

Zestial’s heart pounded, memories flooding back to a distant night when he had nearly met his end. He remembered flinging himself from that ledge, the angry sea swallowing him whole, his broken body washing up on a hidden shore. He had drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of a figure pulling him from the water, cradling him as the tide receded.

“You brought me to shore,” he said, his voice thick with a forgotten ache. He remembered the faint warmth of hands on his skin, the feeling of being cared for—an echo that had lingered in his mind for years, like a ghost of a melody.

"I thought you would forget…but you returned. Always to that same place."

"Always..."

Her voice hardened, and her gaze, once tender, darkened with fury. She pulled away, her hands clenched into fists, trembling with the weight of her anger.

"Of all men, it was you," she spat. "The man I saved, the man I watched return to life—and you repay me by killing my children? Was this your gratitude?"

Zestial’s face fell, a pang of shame piercing him as he met her furious gaze. He tried to speak, but she silenced him with a look of pure loathing.

"Had I known what you would become," she continued, her words biting like salt in a wound, "I would have left you to the sea. Perhaps then, my daughters would still live. Perhaps then, we would have peace."

His voice, heavy with resignation, broke through the silence between them. "If it hadn’t been me, it would have been another," he replied, his tone weary but firm. "The king would never allow sirens to live unchecked. You must know this. You know how men are."

She scoffed, her expression twisted with pain. "And you’re no different. Just another soldier. Another man who’d take everything from us without a thought."

"Don’t speak as if you were innocent," Zestial retorted. "Your daughters have claimed thousands of human lives."

"And humans have taken millions of ours!" she snapped, fury blazing in her eyes. Her voice shook as she continued, each word laced with bitter resentment. "Humans have kills us for sport, for fresh meat, to use our bodies to fulfill their lust. We’ve been hunted for black magic, for promises of eternal life. All we ever did was defend ourselves… defend me. Their mother..."

Then, there was movement behind him. Zestial spun around, raising his sword.

"No, please don’t!" Her voice broke through, filled with desperation.

Two young sirens stood there, barely more than children, their wide eyes staring up at him with a mixture of fear and innocence. They clung to each other, trembling.

"They’re no threat…please, leave them be," she pleaded, her voice softer now, raw with emotion.

Zestial hesitated, then slowly lowered his sword and sheathed it. "They’re the last… aren’t they?"

Zestial took a step closer, gauging her reaction.

“Huh. The king desires your head as a trophy,” he explained, his voice steady but urgent. “But I won’t take your life.”

Her expression softened slightly, but skepticism lingered in her eyes.

“Perhaps a scale,” he suggested, glancing at her shimmering skin. “Or something similar. A piece of you that would convince him of your demise without taking your life. It must be something he can hold, something he can see and touch—a mark that signifies the end of your reign over these waters.”

She considered his words, the storm of emotions swirling within her. “A scale…” she murmured, looking at her daughters. “It would have to be a significant one, one that proves I am no longer here.”

“Yes,” Zestial agreed, a glimmer of hope igniting in his chest. “Just a single scale, and I will ensure you and your daughters remain safe from the madness of men.”

"Alright then."

Zestial returned to his ship, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders. As he stepped onto the deck, the sight of his comrades greeted him. They looked up expectantly, eager to hear of his conquest. He lied effortlessly, spinning a tale of triumph and bravery that they swallowed whole. The sky above them had cleared, and the sea had calmed, reinforcing their belief in his story. With a renewed sense of camaraderie, they set sail for the kingdom, their spirits high.

Once in the grand hall of the palace, Zestial presented the shimmering scale to the king, claiming it as a trophy from the slain siren queen. The ruler's eyes sparkled with greed as he took the scale, placing it into his crown as a precious gem.

A celebration erupted, filled with feasting and revelry that lasted for days and nights. The hall echoed with laughter and music, yet Zestial felt an unsettling emptiness gnawing at him, a discontent that shadowed the joy around him. As the days turned into nights, he began to notice something disturbing—many of the soldiers who had participated in the expedition started to disappear during the nights of celebration. At first, it seemed like nothing more than drunken escapades, but as more and more faces grew absent, Zestial’s unease deepened. He was the only one who sensed that something was amiss, while his fellow revelers remained blissfully ignorant.

One night, amid the laughter and clinking of goblets, he heard a familiar, haunting laughter that stirred something deep within him. It was the same laughter that had echoed through the chaos of the storm, a sound that cut through the haze of merriment like a blade. He turned, hope fluttering in his chest, only to be met by the haze of celebration and the faces of revelers, oblivious to the growing shadows.

Disappointed and increasingly suspicious, Zestial decided to leave the festivities behind. The joyous noise became a dull roar in his ears as he stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his skin, refreshing yet filled with tension. Just as he began to collect his thoughts, he felt a presence behind him. Instinctively, he raised his sword, ready for whatever threat lay in the shadows. But as he turned, he was met with a chilling sight: the queen stood there, her mouth stained with blood, an unsettling smile playing on her lips.

“Good to see you, Captain,” she purred, her voice a seductive blend of danger and allure.

"How...?" he stammered, surprise etching his features as he struggled to comprehend her presence in the heart of the royal stronghold.

She laughed, a melodious sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Did you really think I was bound to the sea? I can walk as you do, captain. The waters do not confine me; they only enhance what I am."

"But why are you here? What do you want from me?"

"From you? Nothing. I just came to claim your soldiers' debts."

Zestial's brow furrowed in confusion. "Debts?"

"Each life taken in my waters has a price, Captain. You already paid, but they haven't."

He felt a chill run down his spine. "You mean to take revenge?"

"Not revenge—retribution," she clarified, her gaze unwavering.

Zestial's expression hardened as he contemplated her proposal. "What if I offered to pay their debt with my life?"

She laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent shivers down his spine. "You think too highly of yourself, Captain. Your life isn’t worth the weight of a single scale from my daughters."

He clenched his fists, desperation driving him to find another way. "Then what if I offered to be your slave? I would serve you, and only you. I would give you everything—my loyalty, my labor. A home, food, riches… I would dedicate my life to you and your daughters."

Her laughter faded, replaced by an intrigued glint in her eyes. "A bold offer, indeed. But what makes you think I would want a human as a servant?"

"I can be useful," he insisted, stepping closer, urgency in his voice. "I know the ways of men, their weaknesses. I can help you navigate their world. Together, we could forge an alliance, one that could protect your kind from further slaughter."

The queen studied him, her lips curling into a thoughtful smirk. "You would willingly give up your freedom for a chance to save your comrades? How noble."

"Not noble—practical," he replied, feeling the weight of her gaze. "If I can secure peace between our peoples, perhaps I can prevent more bloodshed. And if I must pay for their sins with my own life, so be it."

She considered his words, her expression shifting as she contemplated the implications. "Very well, Captain. I accept your offer. But remember this: once you enter my service, there is no turning back. Your life will belong to me, and I will decide your fate."

Zestial nodded, determination filling him. "I understand. But I will not falter in my commitment to you."

"Then we have a deal," she said, a glimmer of satisfaction in her voice. "Now, go and retrieve what is owed. Your journey begins now, my devoted servant."

Pd: If you want to know more, I could write more.

[tanema123]

Zestmilla week

Day 4 - Secrets

There is a theory that Carmilla might be a fallen. There is so many anfics about that one. So I went with it for day 4... That and golden blood is cool. 8P

[consistantly-changing]

Zestmilla week day 1: Early meeting

Due to my exam schedule everything will be posted a week late, I was originally going to add a crowd but I hate backgrounds so instead I messed around with layers of darkness

Not their first meeting but perhaps their second. This is from around the 1910s, fashion for the overlords remains a display of power even in the modern day but for newer overlords (as Carmilla was here), staying up to date with fashion was far more important than it was for anyone or anytime else. For older overlords like Zestial, out of date fashion was a testament to their age rather than being seen as impoverished or out of touch, whereas at this time Carmilla didn't have the reputation to protect her from being able to attend high society events in her own style.