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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

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Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it. You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

“I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment. You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

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nightingalescall · 2 months

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Weight of the World

Kingdom of Ebreau:

prologue|part 1(you are here)|part 2

"You really do look like God."

Zephyr caressed your cheek with his thumb as he smiled lovingly at you. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours before raising his other hand to cup your face.

He stared into your eyes, awestruck before signing blissfully, "You look just like him....". You remained silent at his blatant display of affection. Zephyr continued, nuzzling his nose against yours as he closed his eyes and let out a content chuckle. In an effort to ease the awkwardness you felt from having the saint be so close to you, you adverted your gaze to the side, landing on your and Zephyr's reflection in the standing mirror situated in a corner of your room.

Zephyr was dressed in his usual white robe but today, he had put extra care into his hair and tied it in a low ponytail using a black ribbon. As for you, you had long since changed out of your old blouse and shorts. In fact, the temple gave you a makeover and threw out your old clothes the moment you stepped foot inside the building, saying your current attire was "unsuited for their beloved Messiah". It had been a few days since your "fall from heaven" as the devotees liked to call it but you still clearly remember the absolute bewilderment you felt when the nuns handed you your new clothes. Holding a golden dress with black beads as embellishments around the collar, skirt and hem of the long sleeves, the nuns grinned brightly at you, expectantly waiting for you to try it on. It looked more expensive than your total salary as the guards' errand girl(which wasn't a lot but you still could never imagined spending all that money on one piece of clothing). You declined at first, unable to accept such a gift but the dejected expressions and teary eyes that immediately came onto the faces of the nuns made you reconsider. Reluctantly, you took the dress from their hands. You stepped inside an empty room nearby and changed into the dress. Oddly enough, the dress fitted perfectly. Not too big, not too small. It was a wonder how they matched your measurements so well.

You slowly creaked opened the door, feeling bashful and self-conscious for wearing something so....Different from your usual attire. Your body felt foreign to you as you struggled to walk normally, thinking you should change the way you carry yourself in order to better match the sophisticated aura the dress brings. Feelings of doubt crept into your mind as you began to regret being so gullible to the nuns.

But what's done has been done. The door opened and dozens of eyes snapped towards you as you reappeared from within the room. The staring made you feel even more awkward.

"Does it look weird?" You asked, hoping to divert their attention and save yourself from the uncomfortable silence. Zephyr was the first to move. He immediately came forward and grasped your hands in his. His smile was wide as he answered. "You look wonderful, Messiah." He seemed a bit breathless.

Thud!

You heard something heavy hit the ground and some frantic voices come from behind Zephyr. You peered over his shoulder and saw that a few devotees had fainted.

"Messiah? Are you alright?" Zephyr's voice rang in your ear, cutting your flashback short. As you came back to reality, you saw Zephyr's reflection in the mirror staring back at you, a concerned frown clear on his face.

"Yes. Sorry, I was, um...." You tried to come up with an excuse as you turned your gaze back at him. Your eyes flickered towards his ponytail and a lightbulb lit up in your mind. "I was admiring your new hairstyle."

A bashful smile spread across Zephyr's face the moment you finished your sentence. "Do you like it? I'll tie it up more often if you like." He blushed slightly. Before you could reply, a knock came from the door.

You saw Zephyr's smile drop before he turned away and excused himself to go answer the door. Now with the saint out of your personal space, you could finally breathe again. Even if Zephyr wasn't cruel or strict in any way, his position as saint was still quite daunting. You felt like you needed to be on your best behaviour whenever he's around.

Sighing in relief, you took a seat on the edge of your bed, the soft mattress sinking lightly with the addition of your weight. You stretched and heard your joints pop softly before you reached for the cup of water placed on the bedside table. Bringing the beautifully decorated porcelain cup to your lips, you took a sip.

You held the almost empty cup in the palm of your hands as you stared down at your reflection in the water after you had your fill. Your face came into view and you were once again reminded of how familiar and yet foreign your face was now.

In the water, a pair of golden eyes looked back at you. This was the mark of Calerus. This was what the temple used to determine you were their Messiah. Calerus had given you the same golden eyes he had when he declared you his lamb that day. You are the one and only human in Ebreauan history to ever possess golden eyes. You're the first person to ever resemble their God. Such was the infatuation the devotees held towards your gaze, fawning whenever you even looked in their direction. So far, Zephyr is the only one who could somewhat keep his composure around you.

You stayed seated on your bed, waiting for Zephyr to finished attending to the person who came knocking. It was taking longer than anticipated.

"...me help the Messiah put them on, Saint Zephyr." Your ears perked up at the mention of your name(or your title to be exact) from the doorway. You glanced over at Zephyr and saw he was conversing with a young monk. You leaned back a on your bed, trying to get a better look at him from your position.

The monk seemed to notice movement within his vision and moved his gaze from Zephyr to the inside of your room. You both make eye contact and you finally notice the brown box he was holding in his hand.

A package?

The young monk's voice suddenly echoed through your room, drawing your attention from the box back to him. "M-miss Messiah. H-hello!", he waved enthusiastically at you, a toothy grin plastered on his flushed face. "Please allow me the honor of-" "Thank you, Brother Esten. I'll take it from here." Zephyr suddenly cut him off, snatching the box from the young monk's hand before slamming the door in his face. You jumped, startled as the door closed with a loud bang.

Zephyr walked over to you, holding the box the young monk had delivered, his usual kind smile back on his face. "Sorry that took so long, Messiah. Brother Esten can be a bit stubborn but he is a good soul." He smiled and handed you the box. You took it from his hands as you nodded. "Did he want something?" You asked, shaking the box gently as you tried to guess what was inside based on its weight.

Zephyr shook his head before reaching for the lid of the box. He lifted the lid and revealed the contents inside. A pair of black ballet flats. You raised an eyebrow in confusion.

You didn't order any shoes.

Zephyr simply chuckled at your expression before taking the flats out of the box. "These are a gift from the temple, Miss Messiah. We thought they would go well with your dress." He said as he went down on one knee in front of you. Placing the flats on the floor beside him, he gestured towards your feet.

"May I?"

You hiked up your dress, revealing the old brown boots you've worn even before becoming the guards' errand girl. They've been with you through thick and thin, through stormy and sunny weather so it pained you a bit having to say goodbye to them. Zephyr slowly undid your shoelaces and slipped the boots off your feet. “Brother Esten had asked to help you put on your new shoes but I informed him that I could do it. He was persistent though, insisting that he should be the one to do it.” He began to recall, taking one of the black flats and slipping it onto your foot.

“In his words and I quote, “A lowly task like this shouldn’t be handled by the saint. Let this humble servant of god do it instead.” I, of course, refused.” Zephyr relayed what transpired at the door just now as he slipped on the other shoe and checked if they fitted you.

You nodded, unfazed by his confession. Zephyr had been constantly at your beck and call ever since you became Messiah, lending his aid even when unnecessary. He goes out of his way to serve you and make your new life as comfortable as possible. In addition, you've also noticed that he had taken over the other nuns and monks' jobs of serving you, such as delivering meals, giving you fresh clothes and other menial tasks after a few days of observation. Sometimes it truly feels like he's your servant rather than your colleague.

You take a look at your new flats too, admiring its design. They fitted perfectly just like every other clothing the temple has given to you. "They're very comfortable. Thank you." You thanked Zephyr for helping you put on the shoes despite not needing the assistance. He smiled tenderly at you before reaching out to hold your right foot in his hand. "You're welcome, my Messiah." He pressed a kiss on your foot.

Your eyes widen in surprise at his action. You blushed and adverted your eyes to the side, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. No matter how much time you spend with him, you don't think you could ever get used to his odd affection towards you.

"Miss Messiah..."

You heard Zephyr's voice call for you before feeling some weight on you lap. You looked down and saw he had placed his hands on your lap before resting his chin there. He gazed up at you, a look of concern plastered on his face. "You seem distracted today." He frowned. "I noticed you staring at your cup in a daze just now when I was talking to Brother Esten." Zephyr said as he moved one of his hand from your lap and reached for your hand. He gently rubbed the back of it with his thumb as he continued, "Is something bothering you?".

"Oh..." You let out, not expecting him to point out your habit of daydreaming. They've become more frequent after you came to the temple as Messiah. You just had a lot to think about. Your duties, your future, your new role and now the future of Ebreau as well as the well-being of its citizens. The role of Messiah required you to stand with the people and lead them towards a better life. The sudden drop of weight on your shoulders of being Messiah was a heavy one indeed.

"I'm fine. Just a lot to think about especially with how Ebreau is right now." You confessed and sighed, sharing your concerns about the country's current state. Zephyr reached up and cupped your face, making you look at him. "You have a heart of gold, my dear Messiah. I understand that with the way things are presently, you have much to worry about but please remember to not overwork yourself. Too much stress will do no one any good." He stated firmly, his eyes clear and free of doubt, wholeheartedly believing in what he said just now.

You were shaken by his conviction as you fell silent, processing his words. You nodded after a while. "You're right. I'll try my best to manage my anxiety. Thank you, Saint Zephyr." You thanked him, grateful he helped you snap out of it.

Zephyr smiled before leaning in to kiss your cheek. "You're welcome, Messiah. Also, please just call me Zephyr." He pulled back as he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft and warm. "Thank you, Zephyr. You may call me (y/n) too." You smiled back.

For a brief moment, you saw the corner of Zephyr's lips twitched. He suddenly looked down at your lap, avoiding your eyes before taking a deep breath. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his behavior.

Did you say something wrong?

"One would suggest thee to not push the saint's self control too much."

A familiar voice rang inside your head. It was Calerus. You perked up at his sudden presence. "Oh, hello." You thought in your mind. The God of prosperity had a tendency to randomly pop up and speak to you directly through your mind ever since you became his lamb. Sometimes it was advice on what to do as Messiah and sometimes it was just to give one-off comments about the situation at hand. It was the latter this time.

Zephyr suddenly sprang onto his feet, pulling you off the bed by your hands as he did so. Not expecting the sudden pull, you stumbled and fell into his chest. You heard him chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly against him. You looked up from his chest and stared at him, perplexed. Zephyr simply laughed, "Let's take a walk in the garden, Lady (y/n)."

~✟~

The temple's garden was big and well kept. The flowers here bloomed splendidly, attracting little bees and butterflies to come play on their petals. The soft breeze of the afternoon blew gently, weaving through the yellow leaves of the aurum trees lining the walkway through the garden and shaking them lightly. The soft rustling of leaves paired with the running of water from the nearby fountain was a pleasant change in atmosphere that you desperately needed at the moment.

Zephyr walked beside you quietly as he let you bask in the warm afternoon sun and relax yourself. You sauntered through the garden, going off the pathway and inched closer to the various flower beds. You admired the flowers and couldn't help but smile at the sight of them.

It was a welcomed change of pace. You never found yourself to be a flower lover but here you were. Perhaps it was just a lack of exposure to them in the past.

"This is nice." You mumbled, crouching down and observing a butterfly on a purple flower. "What's this flower called?" You pointed at the flower as you turned your gaze up at Zephyr.

Zephyr smiled and joined you, crouching down beside you. "These are meripurlets."He started as he tucked a loose hair of yours behind your ear. "Their flower language is devotion." He smiled.

You raised your eyebrows at his words. "You know flower language?" You tilted your head. Zephyr chuckled, "Just the few that are commonly used around the temple."

You nodded with a brief "I see." and went back to the flowers before you. Their colours were vibrant and its leaves were evergreen, signifying that they are well taken care of. The shade of purple was nearly identical to that of Zephyr' eyes. You stared as you wondered who's in charge of taking care of the garden, awed by their dedication to these flora.

...

"...siah!"

A voice too soft and distant suddenly caught your attention. You couldn't make it what the voice said but it sounded frantic. You looked around the garden as you searched for the source of the voice, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Beside you, Zephyr did the same except instaed of being confused, he seemed more cautious and alert.

"Messiah!"

The voice got louder and closer as you heard it call for you. You turned and looked towards the entrance of the garden. A man waved at you as he ran over, tripping on his feet as he did so. Behind him, you see two guards tailing him closely, screaming at him to stop.

"Sir, stop this at once!"

"This is an act of trespassing and will have you arrested!"

The man ignored their demands as he continued to sprint towards you. As he inched closer, you noticed he looked familiar.

Mr. Citris?

Before you could confirm your suspicion, someone blocked your view, shielding you behind them. It was Zephyr. He kept you behind him, his hand holding onto yours in a tight grip as he watched the man approach.

You heard a thud come from in front of him. You tried to peer over his shoulders to see what was going on but unfortunately, he was too tall even when you went onto your toes.

A familiar voice rang and you confirmed who the man was.

"Saint Zephyr! Please let me see the Messiah!"

Mr. Citris pleaded but Zephyr didn't budge.

"My brother, while the temple is open to all followers of his Lord, Calerus, the garden, however can only be accessed by the devotees of this temple." His voice was deadly cold, unbefitting of his usual warm manner.

"I know, my saint, I know! But please! I'm at my wit's end. Please just let me talk to the Messiah!" Mr. Cirtris begged. He really did sound panicked. What got him so worked up? In your mind, nothing could ever shake Mr. Citris.

Mr. Citris is a farmer who sold fresh produce at the central market. You remembered passing by his stall when you were shopping there a few times. He scared you at first. His tough appearance paired with the ever present scowl on his face, it wasn't just you who felt reluctant to approach him. It was only until after you heard more about him from the guards that you changed your opinion on him.

Mr. Citris lives near the northeast outskirts of Ebreau. There, he has a plot of land where he use to plant his vegetables and fruits. His wife passed from complications of childbirth many years ago so it's just him and his daughter at his home.

However, life seemed to be particularly unfair to him as his one and only daughter suffers from a degenerative muscle disease that causes her to have difficulty moving. She still tries her best to help out her dad in his field but she can only work for so long before the pain kicks in. She's been prescribed some medicine to help slow down the degeneration and ease the pain but from what you heard, the medicine is quite expensive and is an extra burden on them when they can only make enough money to put food on the table each day. However, Mr. Citris somehow made it work by selling his products at the market and doing odd job around the city. Tiring as it is, he was able to make enough to afford the medicine and food for his daughter.

From then on, you invested in his small business when you could and even spread the word of his predicament around so people would consider buying from him more. You're not sure if it helped but at least you've seen an increase in customers at his stall ever since then.

In short, Mr. Citris was a big guy with an even bigger heart. Family was everything to him and you admired the lengths he went to for his daughter.

"My brother, the garden is a private resting place for the devotees and workers of the temple. You're intruding on the Messiah's personal time." From your angle, you could see the frown on Zephyr's face as he looked at the man.

Mr. Citris sounded like he was on the verge of crying as he called for you, hoping you would listen to him from behind Zephyr's back. "Messiah, please give me some of your time! It's about my sick daugther!" That immediately caught your attention. Zephyr continued to shield you behind him.

"Brother, you need to leave."

This time, Mr. Citris was silent and you felt a chill run down your spine at Zephyr's demand.

Zephyr stared him down and once he made sure Mr. Citris had nothing more to say, he ordered. "Guards, please escort this man out." Footsteps sounded as the guards approached Mr. Citris.

"On your feet, sir." One of the guards demanded when Mr. Citris remained unmoving on the ground. "I..." Mr. Citris breathed shakily. The guard who had previously ordered Mr. Citrus to move leaned down and grabbed onto his arm, ready to pull him up. Just as his hand touched Mr. Citris, another appeared, its touch soft but firm in stopping any further action.

You stepped forward, coming out from behind Zephyr's back. Pressing your hand onto the guard's, you stopped him from taking Mr. Citris away.

"Lady (y/n)?" "Messiah?" Zephyr and the guards let out in astonishment.

You kneeled down onto the ground as the guard withdrew his hand from Mr. Citris. Mr. Citris kept his head down, his eyes fixated on the ground. Now on the same eye level as him, you could see the redness at the corner of his eyes.

He was holding back tears.

"..."

Something big must have happened for Mr. Citris to be this desperate.

"Mr. Citris, what happened to your daughter?" You finally asked. Mr. Citris' head suddenly snapped up and stared into your eyes, his own wide in shock, seemingly only noticing your presence after you called for him.

"My Lord..?" Mr. Citris whispered in disbelief, his body trembling. "Sorry?" You asked back, caught of guard by his question.

"C-calerus." A invisible question mark appeared above your head.

"I'm (y/n), Mr. Citris. The Messiah. You asked to see me, no?" You attempted to correct.

"Mes...Messiah?" He repeated as if he was unsure of your dentity even after you told him

"Yes." You nodded and smiled at him, wanting him to believe you. Mr. Citris' mouth stayed shut as he blinked, staring at you as he seemed to ponder something profound.

You lightly coughed and asked again, ignoring his stare. "So, tell me, Mr. Citris, what happened to your daughter?" You wanted to get to the bottom of Mr. Citris sudden visit.

At your question, he snapped out of it, shaking his head as he took a breath. "Y-yes, Messiah....Of course..." He mumbled under his breath before meeting your gaze once more.

"I...It's..." Mr. Citris stuttered, his voice shaking and you saw tears well up again in his eyes. "Take a breath. Slowly now." You patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Mr. Citris breathed in deeply and calmed himself. "My daughter....She has a degenerative muscle disease ever since birth but she has been prescribed some medicine to help with the sickness. They are expensive but I am able to pull together enough money each month to buy them by selling vegetables I've planted on my land at the outskirts of the kingdom." He began to tell and you nodded. Nothing you didn't know of.

He suddenly paused, swallowing as he seemed contemplate something. You raised an eyebrow and ushered for him to continue.

"No need to be hesitant, Mr. Citris. Let me hear it."

Mr. Citris nodded and continued. What you heard next stunned you.

"Recently, my house got attacked. By...by the Casvians." Your eyes went wide at his words. Behind you, you felt Zephyr stiffen.

"Casvians?" You repeated, not believing your ears.

Mr. Citris nodded. "They attacked my house, burned my land and my crops with it. I managed to save my daughter and myself before they got to us." He said mournfully. You listened attentively, nodding each time he looked at you for conformation to carry on.

"We've been living at an inn in the capital for the past 2 weeks but with my land gone, I've lost my main source of income from selling vegetables and fruits on the market. I...I can barely afford food for us both now, let alone...." He trailed off but even with no words spoken, you knew what he was going to say.

He can't buy medicine for his daughter.

You bit the inside of your cheeks. This was a tight spot for Mr. Citris. Food, medicine and now accommodation? Even if he did still have his land, you doubt that'd be enough to afford all three of them.

He said Casvians attacked him but how? You knew Mr. Citris' house was near the boarders between Ebreau and its neighbouring country, Casviren but it couldn't be that close to where he would get caught in the crossfire.

Then, assuming he isn't lying, for the Casvians to attack Mr. Citris' house would only mean either the Casvians are getting bolder or...

Ebreau's defenses are falling.

You clenched your fists as your expression hardened.

The situation may be more dire than you thought.

This kingdom is falling apart. Fast.

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. The state of the kingdom needed to wait for now. First, you need to help Mr. Citris.

You turned back and looked up at Zephyr. "Does the temple have spare money to buy the medicine for his daughter?" You asked, standing back up and facing him. Zephyr was silent as he stared at you, his face unreadable. You felt uneasy at his silence. You glanced downward briefly and saw his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Was he angry?

The thought crossed your mind for a second but you quickly brushed it off. Why would he be? You're helping someone. There was nothing wrong in that.

Right?

Zephyr noticed that you have spotted his curled up fists and quickly release them. He cleared his throat before answering. "While the temple does not lack in terms of money, the Royal family specified that the funds given to us should be spent on strictly temple related matters and nothing more." Zephyr said, his lips turning down into a small frown and his eyes softening in concern.

"Them, is there anyone in the temple with medical training that can help Mr. Citris' daughter?" You refused to give up, searching for another way to help the man.

To your dismay, Zephyr shook his head, a look of sorrow on his soft features. "There are some nuns and monks that have basic medical knowledge but I am not aware of any that are experienced enough to able to take care of someone with this sort of disease."

You bit your lip, your eyebrows knitted together in worry. This was bad. How were you going to solve this...

Just as you were going to begin panicking, Zephyr gave you something that lessened your anxiety. "However, if Mr. Citris likes, he may collect meals from the temple." You tilted your head at his suggestion. Zephyr smiled at you and elaborated. "The temple prepares food for all devotees everyday and most of the time, there will be leftovers. If Mr. Citris doesn't mind, him and his daugther may have the leftovers." Zephyr looked at Mr. Citris behind you. "I know it's not what you wanted but hopefully, it will at least decrease your financial burden." Zephyr added, bowing his head apologetically at Mr. Citris.

You turned and looked back at Mr. Citris. He was staring at you and Zephyr, unmoving and silent.

"I...Thank you, saint. I am grateful. Any help is appreciated." Mr. Citris lowered his head. He sounded... Disappointed.

Everyone fell silent. The light breeze that tickled your face had stopped blowing and the sun that shone brightly had dipped behind the horizon, leaving behind only streaks of its rays as the afternoon turned into evening and soon night. You sighed silently and hung your head like Mr. Citris. You felt so ashamed at your incompetence. As Messiah, the people expected you to lead, to guide, to help but today's encounter showed you that you were still far from fulfilling any of those requirements.

You were Messiah in name.

Power and will?

You can only pray Calerus will give them to you in the future.

Mr. Citris sniffled and the boulder weighing on your heart became heavier. You felt a hand on your shoulder. "You're trying your best, Lady (y/n). Don't blame yourself." Zephyr whispered into your ear. At that, you loosened your fists which you didn't know you were gripping.

Yes, calm down, (y/n). Nothing can be accomplished by moping around.

You inhaled deeply before kneeling back down. Mr. Citris kept his head low, unwilling to meet your gaze. On the ground beneath him, you saw small splotches.

He was crying.

And he didn't want you to see his tears.

Your heart ached at his predicament but what else could you do?

Carefully, you reached for his hands. You clasped them in yours as you pulled them close to you and shut your eyes.

There was nothing left to do but pray.

You mumbled your prayer, loud enough only for you and Mr. Citris to hear.

"Calerus, our lord high above."

Your grip on Mr. Citris' hands tightened.

"A problem arises that cannot be solved by our mortal hands."

I'm sorry, Mr. Citris.

"Please grace us with your mercy and benevolence in this time of need."

I wish I could do more for you.

"Spare the daughter of this follower of yours. Let her pain be subsided. Let her agony be gone."

But, alas, I am a fraud.

"Give the daughter the strength to overcome that which plagues her body. Give the father the strength to overcome that which plagues his mind."

I am only a pawn in Calerus' hands.

"Let your power be seen through this pair of parent and child."

I am at Calerus' mercy.

"Earnestly, we pray."

Clink!

Your eyes snapped opened at the sudden sound.

Clink! Clink!

You looked around, confused at what's making that noise. It sounds like....Coins dropping?

Clink! Clink! Clink!

You gazed down. On the ground between you and Mr. Citris, a few gold coins laid there, some still spinning in place.

Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink!

More appeared, seemingly falling from thin air. They fell rapidly, like they were overflowing from their source. You were perplexed at where they were coming from until you looked at your hands.

Gold coins seeped out from within your sleeves and onto the ground. They flowed like water, their speed and frequency of appearance increasing rampantly.

"What in the..." You gasped as you looked in disbelief. Gold coins were basically pouring out of your sleeves right now.

"Messiah...!" Mr. Critris gasped as he finally lifted his head and saw the scene before him. "I, um," you struggled to find words to say in this situation.

Mr. Citris suddenly bowed down to you, his forehead pressing on the ground. " Thank you, Messiah! Thank you! Thank you! This will be more than enough!" He thanked you before raising his head, a wide smile plastered on his tears stained face. He wiped away his tears, drying his eyes as he continued to thank you. "Messiah! Truly, my Messiah!" He cried, tears of joy (you assume them to be at least) continued to roll down his cheeks despite just wiping them.

The pour of coins slowly calmed down into a drizzle before finally stopping. In front of you, a small pile of gold coins sat on the ground, reflecting the last bits of sunlight and shimmering softly.

You stared in shock at what just happened with a still emotional Mr. Citris kneeling before you, muttering incoherent thank-you's while scooping up the gold coins. Your brain was melting from having to process the weird occurrence. Was that Calerus' answer to your prayers? Or was that your power all along and it was just a matter of you not knowing? Your head was spinning.

A hand suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you onto your feet. You looked back and Zephyr glared at Mr. Citris over your shoulder, a frown tugging on his lips. He pulled you back behind him, pressing you to him so you couldn't do something he didn't expect again.

"Mr. Citris, it seems our gracious Lord has answered your prayers." His tone was cold despite the miraculous event that called for a joyous celebration. "Now that your problems have been solved, I think it's time for you to go back to your daughter, yes?" He questioned, his voice holding a certain persuasiveness and firmness in it, like he wasn't asking but ordering.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you, my Messiah...My saviour...m-my God!" Mr. Citris smiled, looking up at you. His smile grew into a grin as he began to mumble to himself. You grew concerned at his mumbling.

Mr. Citris isn't usually like this...

Before you could ask if he was alright,. Zephyr tugged at your arm and pulled you away from the scene. "Help Mr. Citris collect his money and escort him out of the temple." He ordered the two guards before quickening his place and pulling you away with him.

You were still in a daze, astonished by what just transpired. You barely even noticed Zephyr had dragged you towards one of the entrance to the temple that connected with the garden. Only when you both stepped back inside the temple did he let go.

You finally snapped back to reality as the familiar white marble walls and well lit halls came into your view. You raised your hands and stared at them. They seemed fine. Nothing looked different from before....Then, what on earth happened back there?

Another pair of hands came into your peripheral before intertwining your hands in theirs. You looked up and saw Zephyr staring at your hands in his.

"Zephyr?" You raised an eyebrow. He's been acting weird since Mr. Citris came.

You felt him tighten his hold as he breathed shakily. "Lady (y/n)..." He whispered, eyes still glued to your hands.

"Are you alright?" You made no move to pull away from his grasp.

Zephyr was quiet.

"..."

"Zephyr? You're worrying me." You voiced your concerns. Zephyr was really out of it today.

At your words, he raised his head and met your eyes. His signature smile still absent from his face.

"Did you know, Lady (y/n)?" He began.

"Know what?" Zephyr was beginning to confuse you. You thought you had a decent understanding of him now after living together for the past few weeks but...

Maybe there was still more to him than what meets the eye.

"Meripurlets and aurum trees have a symbiotic relationship." He rubbed your hands.

"Meripurlets have short roots which causes them to have a hard time finding water especially during dry seasons. To battle this, they grow near aurum trees which have long roots and can easily absorb water deep within the soil. A meripurlet will penetrate its roots into an aurum tree's to take its water. As such, meripurlets are categorized as a parasitic plant." Zephyr glanced outside towards an aurum tree.

"However, if you look in books, they will say that the relationship between meripurlets and aurum trees is mutualism. Fascinating, no?" A small smile finally crawled onto his face. You couldn't help but feel relieved when you saw it. At least he looked like he was back to normal. Wish the same would apply to his voice though.

"That is because meripurlets only take a small amount of water from aurum trees. Just enough to sustain itself. In return, they give nitrogen they absorbed from the soil to aurum trees to let them grow taller and stronger. Research also found that each meripurlet plant only ever get water from one aurum tree. It doesn't matter if another one is planted beside it, once it chooses one, it will depend on that aurum tree for the rest of its life. A very...devoted flower, don't you agree?" This was interesting and all but you couldn't wrap your head around why Zephyr was telling you all this. He continued on with his rambling.

"Despite all the good they do for each other, did you notice that the meripurlets and aurum trees in the garden are not planted together, Lady (y/n)?" This time, Zephyr tilted his head.

You recalled back to your walk. Indeed, the flowers and trees were separated from each other. You nodded, unsure where this was going to lead.

Zephyr smiled wider. "Well, another fascinating thing about meripurlets is they don't like to share."

"What?" You blurted out.

"When another parasitic plant comes and lives off the aurum tree they had chosen, the meripurlets will suck all the water from the aurum tree and will stop giving the tree its nitrogen supply. Slowly, the aurum tree will wilt and die just like any other host plants in parasitic relationships." Zephyr explained as he stepped closer, brushing his lips against the back of your fingers.

"As for the meripurlet, the excessive water will cause it to rot from within until it eventually dies." His gaze darkened and you unconsciously swallowed nervously.

"The meripurlet would rather kill the aurum tree it tethered itself to than share it with another plant. It would rather die than choose another aurum tree to depend on." Zephyr looked back down, his bangs tickling your hands.

"To this, botanists like to say..."

He leaned in and whispered into your ear.

"Devotion can kill."

~✟~

Done! Another chapter in the bag. Thank you all for the immense support you've shown for the prologue. I didn't expect it to blow up like that especially since it's the first thing I've ever posted here. Thank you again for the support and for waiting for the next chapter!(I'm a slow writer so please bear with me!(´-﹏-`；))

Same thing applies, if you find any problems, please tell me so I can make corrections in order to give everyone the best reading experience!

Taglist

@ursinaw @ceeesxy-blog @deepinballs @vash-yuu @fairy-lenaa @fleurescentlight @surprisemodafakas @cerisearan (you wrote master list but I'm gonna assume you meant tag list. Sorry if I'm wrong(T_T)) @avyannasstuff

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femmefatalevibe · 7 months

Text

Femme Fatale Guide: My Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Pima cotton long-sleeve tees (I like the Supima ones from Everlane for every day)

Contour body suits (I like the Express Bodycon Compression line and Spanx bodysuits in vegan leather/silk)

Silk button downs

Structured cotton button-down

Cashmere sweaters (crewneck, turtleneck, polo neck, etc. – Everlane, Nadaam, and Cuyana are great affordable options)

Zippered knitwear (I like options from Pixie Market, Naadam, COS, Ganni, Helmut Lang, Nanushka, and more)

Black high-waisted tailored trousers (bootcut, flared, and straight leg)

Black high-waisted jeans (straight and bootcut for me!)

Elevated stretch pants (I like the Norma Kamali Boot Pant and Spanx Perfect Pant for this)

Cashmere trouser

Cashmere hoodie

Thick, well-structured black sweatshirt

High-waisted straight-leg leather pants

Long-sleeve black sweater dress

Maxi-length black satin slip dress

Leather/quilted/tweed mini skirt

Long knit skirt (love a co-ord top for this, too)

Perfectly-tailored longline, single-breasted black blazer

Tailored hourglass blazer

Leather blazer

Classic leather moto jacket

Cropped patent leather jacket

Lightweight wool/satin duster coat

Black cotton trench/leather trench coat

Black tweed jacket with elevated hardware

Structured black wool coat

Leather puff jacket

Minimalist white sneakers

Black block-heeled, sleek square-toed/pointy-toe boots

Modern black loafers

Croc-embossed black boot

Black moto/lace-up boot or minimalist platform boot

Stiletto heel, pointy toe black boot (one short and one knee high length to dress up any outfit)

Western-inspired boot

Sleek and sexy black pumps

Structured black tote/shoulder bag

Structured crossbody bag

Small shoulder bag

Novelty/fun top handle bag (beaded, croc-embossed, crystal-embellishments, etc.)

Seamless bras/underwear

Control-top black tights (sheer and opaque)

Comfortable white and black ankle/crew socks

A cashmere, silk, or faux fur everyday scarf

Fingerless gloves

Chunky chain necklaces/bracelets

Delicate gold and silver chains (necklaces and bracelets)

Mixed-metal rings

Diamond-encrusted & cocktail rings

Ear cuffs and threader earrings

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Cashmere or silk loungewear/pajamas

A lace teddy

Cozy slippers

#wardrobe staples #capsule wardrobe #fall wardrobe #fall outfits #personal branding #style tips #style inspiration #black outfit #outfit inspiration #wardrobe design #style inspo #fashion advice #dark femininity #dark feminine energy #femme fatale #brand personality #fashion blog #femmefatalevibe

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dreamgrlarchive · 7 months

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current wardrobe shopping list 💻💕💵:

around this time of year i always like making clothing wishlists for the fall and winter, and my wardrobe naturally shifts for the spring and summer. i always seem to slightly tweak my personal look around this time of year to make sure my wardrobe is true to me! prissy girl 4 life! 💓🍰

tops:

lace bandeaus for layering, feather trimmed button down tops, knitted fuzzy fitted tops, fur trimmed half jackets and crop tops, rhinestone lettered shirts, victoria’s secret off shoulder sweaters, lace camis, off shoulder knitted tops in my color palette, satin button downs, sheer tops, lululemon strawberry milkshake define jacket, fur collar leather jacket, oversized sweaters in pink and black, basic neutral long sleeved cotton tops

bottoms:

microscopic boy shorts with cute details, leather mini skirt, tartan plaid mini skirt, fold over yoga pants, lace trimmed skirt, miss me embellished skinny jeans, denim pleated skirt, houndstooth mini skirt, leather flare pants, fur/feather skirt

dresses + etc.:

ribbed knit bodysuit, pink and black rompers for layering, cotton bodysuits in my color palette, rhinestone skims dresses, hidden cult distressed pink halter dress, skims slip dresses, knit bodysuits, i am gia tracksuits in black and pink, pink jacket and legging set, solid black leggings, gray leggings, pink body by tracy set, black and pink fine girl set, new pink workout set

accessories:

knitted knee high socks, sheer socks, fuzzy beret, baby phat belt, fur headbands, fuzzy leg warmers, lace tights, diamond hair clips

jewelry:

anklets, new pandora charms, body chains, bling nostril hoops, bow ring and necklace, tiara charm bracelet and necklace, diamond encrusted hoops, tiffany toggle choker, dainty tennis bracelets, new cute belly rings

purses:

medium ballerina telfar, hello kitty wallet, heaven sent leopard print wallet, tory burch ella tote, juicy couture wristlet, louis vuitton speedy 30, rhinestone encrusted purse, feather satchel, hello kitty purse, pink puffer tote, victoria’s secret glitter tote, burberry satchel, ruffled pink purse, juicy couture 2022 bowler bag

shoes:

fuzzy boots in pink and gray, black kitten heels, pink closed toe pumps, jelly platform sandals, white fur bearpaw boots, y.r.u. qrystal pink platforms, juicy couture fur slides, total temptress heels, sequin uggs, pink fur platform sandals, sherpa lined pink crocs, sparkly heels, strappy heels, mary janes

#shopping! 💓#i might diy A LOT of this 🤭#my signature look #the prissy girl agenda #my posts

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oliwrites · 9 months

Text

Pretty

pairing: loki x fem!reader

genre: smut and fluff (smuff)

summary: loki came back from asgard and caught you looking at yourself in the mirror, admiring the way your new dress looked on you

warnings: smut (18+), oral (f receiving), praising, unprotected piv (wrap before you tap!!), squirting, cutie lil loki☹️

word count: 1.2k

A/N: if you wanna see the dress click here!!

You stood in front of the gold embellished mirror as you admired the olive green dress that you just bought with Natasha and Wanda today. The dress reached just above your knees and wrapped around your middle before puffing out slightly at the top to accompany the puffy long sleeves that cinched at your wrists. The neck of your dress was in a low square shape that showed off your collarbones well. You wore a golden locket with a picture of you and your lover, Loki, inside. The pendant sat in between your clavicles, pulling off the dress. You also had a simple pair of small hoops earrings you also got today while you girls went out.

You spread the skirt apart and turned to your side to admire the way the fabric accentuated your ass and made your breasts appear slightly bigger. You adored the way your calves flexed when you put one foot in a tiptoe position and dropped the skirt of the dress down, allowing it to breeze along your thighs once more. You twirled around and fancy the way the fabrics of the dress fly in the created wind you made from your twirl.

“I am looking good,” You say to yourself, giggling at the sight before you. You twirl around again and turn around away from the mirror before just turning your head back as much as possible to glance at your back, you move your hair over your shoulder to get a better view. For the first time in a while, you felt ethereal.

“There’s my pretty girl,” You heard a voice speak from the door across your room. Your head whipped around quickly, to see your boyfriend smiling back at you.

“Loki!” You chirped, running up to him and wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss. You felt his hands smooth down your sides and land on your waist. He smiled into the kiss before pulling back.

“I missed you, my sweet girl,” Loki smiled before gripping on your waist a little harder and pulling you towards him, pressing your chest against his as he bends down and captures your lips once again. You squeak at the sudden action but quickly fall silent as your lips connect with his, “my little mouse,” Loki whispered into the kiss. You reach your hand into his hair, scratching his scalp slightly as he deepens the kiss. His hands travel from your waist to under your thighs. You jump up and wrap your legs around his slutty waist.

He gently places you down on the bed, before stepping back and admiring the view before him. He saw you admiring yourself in the mirror, but instead of interrupting you at first, he watched, amused at the scene before him.

“You’re so pretty, my darling girl,” Loki praised, unbuttoning his emerald green dress shirt before crawling on top of you. You giggled and whispered a quiet thank you.

“So are you. You’re really pretty,” you smile, cupping his cheeks and giving him a peck on the lips before moving to his jaw, down his neck, on his clavicles, and on his chest. You peppered kisses anywhere you could reach. Your nails softly ran up and down his chiseled back as you continued your affection. Loki’s chest vibrated as he let out a content hum.

“I appreciate your compliment, darling, but I was hoping I could show you just how pretty I think you are,” Loki mumbled. You didn’t miss his hands sliding up your thighs and under your dress. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the smile you so desperately wanted to bare.

“Already, my prince? You’re insatiable,” you teased, brushing a piece of his inky, black hair behind his ear.

“Only for you, my love,” Loki quipped, pushing the skirt of your dress up more, and began lowering himself down, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. Once he reached your panties he stopped, “may I?” Loki asked. You nodded and lifted your hips up so he could slide your lace panties down your legs.

“So beautiful,” Loki whispered to himself before diving in. He licked a fat line up your cunt, causing you to moan out and arch your back. Loki threw your legs over his shoulders just to get deeper.

He circled his tongue around your clit as he moved one of his hands to your soaking folds. He pushed two fingers in, starting a steady pace as he continued his oral attack on your clit.

“Fuck! Loki! Yes, yes, yes!” You moaned out, gripping onto his hair for dear life as you felt your orgasm approaching fairly quickly. Loki hummed against you as he continued to eat you like a man starved.

“Soak me, min kjære,” Loki mumbled against you, curling his fingers just right causing you to scream out, your release spraying out of out. Your eyes screwed shut and your back arched as your orgasm quite literally soaked your lover right below you as he just stared at you in awe.

Once your orgasm came to an end your body went limp momentarily. You lifted your head to see Loki’s mouth and chin, chest, and the bedsheets below you absolutely soaked.

“I— I’m sorry,” You stuttered, embarrassed at the mess you made.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it and clearly you enjoyed it too. Now, shall we continue?” Loki smirked, crawling back up your body and magicking away his pants and underwear to reveal his erection that was now firmly placed against the inside of your thigh.

“Please,” you asked simply, tracing all of the ripples and muscles that covered the expanse of his torso. Loki smiled at the sweet yet erotic gesture and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead before slowly sliding himself into you.

“Oh gods… you feel so— ahh… good,” Loki groaned as he slowly began to pump himself in and out of you, “so… tight,” he continued, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“Loki… please…” you moaned out, begging for something you don’t even know what for. Loki raised himself up from the crook of your neck and looked at you with pure lust and adoration, “you’re so pretty,” you smiled, gripping onto his triceps.

Loki didn’t know why, but hearing you say that made him keen. You had called him pretty so many times, why did this feel different? It was… arousing… it made him want to claim you.

“Say that again,” Loki demanded sweetly, hardening his thrusts slightly.

“You’re so so so pretty, my pretty boy,” You moaned out as he pressed that one spot deep inside you, “Fuck! Right there! Yes!” You screamed out, “Keep going, my pretty boy, please!” You exclaimed, raking your nails down his back, wrapping your legs around his waist to deepen his thrusts.

“Cum with me, my love, please…” Loki pleaded, placing a sweet kiss on your lips as the two of you went over the edge. Loki stilled inside of you for a moment as he spilled his seed deep inside your walls, before he continued to help you ride out your high.

Once the waves passed, Loki collapsed on top of you, trying to avoid putting too much weight on you. You played with his hair contently and slightly pouted when you felt him slip out of your used hole.

“I love you, my pretty girl,”

“I love you more, my pretty boy,”

translation(s):

min kjære - my beloved

A/N: i wrote this like hella late at night and i got this idea randomly so ignore any mistakes or bad writing bc i don’t care enough to go back and fix it.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki smut #mcu loki #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki god of mischief #loki series

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months

Text

Pearls.

Synopsis: Raising a child was the hardest thing a mother could do, especially alone.

A/n: I was listening to Pearls by Sade and thought of Alastor’s mother, so I decided to write about it because I feel like no one talks about how much of a godsend that woman is. Everyone’s always talking about Alastor and the reader, or Alastor this and Alastor that , we need to thank the woman who gave us Alastor. (Vivziepop) HIS MOMMA THE SWEETEST WOMAN IN NEW ORLEANS LOUISIANA DAMNIT, anyways hope you guys enjoyed :)

Pearls by Sade

Warnings: Mentions of Cheating, mentions Racism, typical 1900’s - 1930’s stereotypes, NOT AN ALASTOR X READER, just a background one-shot on Alastor and his Momma because we need more of them out here

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

There is a woman in Somalia

Scraping for pearls on the roadside

There's a force stronger than nature

Keeps her will alive

Sylvie tried her hardest. She was raising a son on her own, working anywhere she could. Lord knew things weren’t easy, but what was? Life was hard, and it wasn’t going to go soft on Sylvie just because of her newborn son. If someone would have told her a year ago the man she fell in love with would have left her with a child, she’d have incense all over her all the time.

Alastor’s father was not a bragger. In fact, he hid Sylvie as best as he could. Giving her money every week by midnight, enough to keep her mouth shut, though she would never tell anyone, but not enough money to last her and her son. Babies were expensive, and things were only becoming worth more and more money. Who in their right mind would hire a black woman to work for them? Hell, even showing her face was a bit risky, the only reason she hadn’t been thrown into jail was because of her son. Though she didn’t like admitting this fact.

She dressed in her best clothes, shined her shoes and kissed her son goodbye, leaving him with her most trusted support, her mother. Sylvies mother knew of her, frivolous activities, to say the least. But, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be there for her daughter any less. Sylvie tried her best to straighten her hair, despite her mother’s warnings not too. She needed to look pretty, tamed, and well kept. Having her large fro wouldn’t land her a job anywhere. She needed to look her best, even if it came off as a desperate attempt to survive. But she needed too.

She stands in front of the mirror, brushing her now straight head of hair as carefully as she could. A red hat sitting perfectly on her hair, her long beige skirt stopping just below her knees. Her long sleeve white shirt embellished with a perfect pearl necklace. Ironically, it wasn’t hers, but her mother’s. Her father had worked hard to get enough money to gift it to her mother. She sighed, mentally hoping that she got this job. It was hardly anything, fifty cents an hour. If she worked every day for a week, four hours the way the ad in the paper said, then she’d have ten dollars a week. With the money from Alastor’s father, that left her with thirty five dollars. The heat alone was forty dollars. She’d be five short, but thankfully living with her mother made things a bit, easier.

“Are you leaving in time?” Sylvie’s mother asks. She stands in the doorway with the small child in her hands, gently rocking him. He’s silent, soft snores flowing through Sylvie’s ears and she smiles. She walks toward her mother, away from the mirror and stops. She reaches out slowly, and her mother gently hands the child to her. She takes her son in her hands and smiles, turning away from her mother while slowly rocking her son. Her mother reaches forward to close the door quietly, letting Sylvie have her time with her son. Sylvie smiles down at him, sitting at the edge of her bed slowly.

“I’ll give you the best life I can.” She whispers, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I promise.”

This is how she's dying

She's dying to survive

Don't know what she's made of

I would like to be that brave

By the time Alastor was five he knew how to read and write fluently. He could read books for days and knew all the latest dances as Sylvie made it her priority to make him versatile. She wanted her son to be the best little man he could, well, little now at least.

“I don’t get it. Romeo was in love with every girl he saw.” Alastor said, adjusting his skeeters to look at her better. She stood at the stove, sliding peppers, onions and a few other spices into the pot in front of her. It had been two years since her mother passed, and she stayed in her house with Alastor, wanting to raise him around love. She knew her mother was looking down on them, and one day, hoped to be with her too.

“Honey, stories aren’t for you to understand. They’re just there to make you think.” She says, swiping her hands over the pot after putting the cutting board down. She smiles and turns to him, stopping her movements. She pinches his cheek before smiling. “From the looks of it, seems like it has you thinking too.” She says, before letting go to walk to the sink. Alastor follows behind her quickly, still speaking.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. Do you think they deserved to be together?” Alastor asked, before Sylvie shrugged, letting the cold water hit her hands. She cleans her hands off, shutting the water quickly before wiping her hands on her towel tucked neatly into the waistband of her apron.

“I think they deserved to be happy, and if that means the two of them being in love then, yes.” Sylvie says, perking up at the music flowing through the radio. Though fairly new, the small box was her favorite thing in the world, and raising Alastor with that love almost made it feel genetic. “Oh look honey, our song is on.” Sylvie says, turning the volume up a bit. Suddenly, Alastor begins dancing quickly in his place, and as Sylvie turns back to him, she finds herself laughing, watching her son dance his heart out all on his own, albeit a bit odd, but he was having fun, and that was what mattered. She danced her way back over to him, holding her hands out for him to grab, which he did, happily spinning around his mother with laughter.

“Oh the food!” Sylvie said through her laughs, walking back over to the pot while Alastor continued to dance until the songs end. He sits on the floor, watching his mother stir the pot, fixing his skeeters.

“What’cha making?” Alastor asked, standing on his tip-toes to see, leaning against the counter.

“Jambalaya.” She said with a wink.

She cries to the heaven above

There is a stone in my heart

She lives a life she didn't choose

And it hurts like brand new shoes

Alastor was eight years old when Sylvie found out his father was married to another woman. He was eight years old when the woman showed up to their home, her two kids with her. He watched the woman yell at his mother in their doorway, her kids behind her as they observed Alastor standing behind his mother.

“You filthy slut! Sleeping with my husband! How dare you?!” The woman screamed, jabbing her finger into Sylvie’s chest. She was in tears, embarrassed, confused, heartbroken and ashamed.

“I didn’t know! He didn’t tell me anything! I never knew you were married or even had kids!” Sylvie defended, an arm in front of Alastor to shield him from her. The woman stoped, looking at Alastor with disgust, before dread washed over her.

“Don’t tell me that boy is his…” She trailed off, voice getting quieter. Sylvie said nothing, turning to Alastor with a sad smile, teary eyed.

“How about you go, go to the sitting room. Okay?” She asked quietly, giving him her best smile. He nodded, giving the woman and her children one more look, before listening to his mother. Once he was out of earshot, Sylvie turned back to the woman and sighed. “Yes, that is his son. He doesn’t come to see us, and he never has.” Sylvie said, before looking at the woman’s children, a boy and a girl. Both were pale, with light blue eyes and lighter hair to match their mother. The boy looked more like Alastor’s father, and Sylvie couldn’t deny the way it hurt to look at him, so she looked away. “He doesn’t come here anymore. I haven’t seen him since I told him I was pregnant. That was eight years ago.” Sylvie said. The woman’s eyes widened.

“Eight years ago?” She asked in a whisper. Sylvie said nothing, smiling at the two kids.

“Please don’t let this tear your home apart.” Sylvie said, her heart going out to the woman’s children. “They don’t deserve that. It was in the past and I-… I’ve moved on.” Sylvie said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. In truth, she had been jumping from job to job at night, while homeschooling Alastor during the day. Paying for good paper, school books. It was bad enough she had been wearing the same clothes for years, only spending money on Alastor. His clothes were larger than him, it was easier to buy them bigger so she didn’t need to keep wasting money on out-grown clothes.

“I see…let’s go children.” The woman said, putting her hands on the children’s shoulders and guiding them down the porch steps, which had been rotting away slowly due to the old wood. When they were finally out of sight, Sylvie shut the door, sighing with a heavy heart. She walked through the halls of the home and to the sitting room, finding Alastor sitting in silence, looking down at his hands, radio playing softly in the background.

“Hey honey.” Sylvie said softly, the boys head looking at her quickly.

“Hi momma.” He said quietly. She gave him a sad smile and sat down next to him.

“You okay?” She asked, and he just sat in silence again, looking down at his hands.

“Who was that?” Alastor asked, and Sylvie just sighed. She knew one day she would have to tell him, but so soon? Sylvie took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on Alastor’s questioning eyes. “Alastor, those children… they’re your father’s, and that woman is their mother,” she began gently, choosing her words with care. “Your father and I share a past that happened before you came into this world. It’s a complicated story, and I’ve been doing my best to shield you from it, wanting to give you a chance at a simpler life.” She paused, gauging his reaction before continuing, “Their family is a part of your history, and while I’ve moved on, it seems the past has a way of catching up with us. I want you to know that whatever happens, we face it together, as a family. You’re the most important thing in my life, Alastor, and nothing will change that.”

Hurts like brand new shoes

There is a woman in Somalia

The sun gives her no mercy

The same sky we lay under

Burns her to the bone

Alastor was ten when the topic of his father came up again. It was after Sylvie and him had come back from groceries. Sylvie was still working multiple jobs at night, leaving at eight once Alastor was tucked into bed and sound. She had begun to sell some of her things, he was growing quicker now. He was up to her shoulder, and he was only ten. Sylvie was average height, five feet and four inches, with Alastor at five feet and two inches. His hair was getting straighter the more he grew, his tight curls softening into looser ones, but still made him handsome nonetheless.

Walking up the stairs to the porch, Sylvie and Alastor stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing two children, around his age, sitting on their front porch chairs, plates of hot food in their hands. Sylvie had remembered them instantly, the boy especially looking like Alastor’s father.

“Hello. May we help you..?” Sylvie asked carefully, Alastor staring the two children down. The girl just frowned and looked to the ground, while the boy stood up. He was the same height as Alastor too.

“We wanted too… speak with you Miss..?” The boy questioned, unsure of Sylvie’s name. She lied on the spot, giving him some dumb white name instead of her own.

“Adam’s.” She said quickly. Alastor said nothing, but his face said it all as he watched his mother open the door to their home, paper bags in hand. Alastor held the rest, all the while staring at the young boy and girl. “Would you like to come in?” She asked the children, and the boy shook his head.

“No thank you Ms. Adam’s, we just wanted to ask you something. Is that alright?” The boy asked. Sylvie nodded slowly, opening the door wider for Alastor to step in. Alastor stood behind Sylvie, curiously watching.

“Oh alright, just a moment please then.” Sylvie said with a small smile, and the boy nodded back to her. Sylvie shut the door, and Alastor turned on his heel to the kitchen.

“Momma, are those the kids you told me about?” He asked, knowing Sylvie, his mother, had given him bits and pieces of his father’s history, his children and life. Sylvie said nothing until the two got to the kitchen, placing the groceries on the counter. Sylvie gave Alastor a thoughtful look, uncertainty clouding her features. "I'm not sure, honey. They didn't mention the reason," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of worry. "It seems they're here with questions or concerns. I'll find out when I talk to them." Alastor, sensing his mother's concern, stepped closer to her. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her in a reassuring hug. Sylvie embraced him back, the shared warmth a silent acknowledgment of their unbreakable bond.

"Alright, Momma. Let me know if you need me," Alastor said, offering his support as Sylvie prepared to face the unexpected visit from his half-siblings. Alastor stood in the kitchen, putting groceries away per Sylvie’s request. Sylvie steps back outside, nodding to the two children.

“So, what can I help you with?”

Long as afternoon shadows

It's gonna take her to get home

Each grain carefully wrapped up

Pearls for her little girl

Alastor moved away from home when he was eighteen, going to New York to pursue his career in journalism. Sylvie supported him fully, saving money every month since he was thirteen for the occasion. She’d have him read her the paper while she made dinner, listening to him talk and perfect his voice.

Recently for his birthday, Sylvie had taken him to see a play. Romeo and Juliet, the first ever ‘complex’ book he’d read, so naturally it was only right his first play follow the same format right?

“Take care of yourself for me, okay honey?” Sylvie asked as she stood at the station with Alastor. He just smiled down at her, watching her dust off his shoulders and straighten his tie.

“I will, don’t worry about me, please.” He said with a smile, allowing her to fix his hair and shift his skeeters, knowing it was just her nerves.

“You know I can’t help it.” She said with a soft smile, hearing the train horn go off again. “Go, before you miss your train.” She said quickly, stepping on her tip toes to kiss him on the cheek before stepping away. To her surprise, her son, who usually truly disliked anyone touching him, embraced her. She smiled and patted his back softly, trying her hardest not to cry right there. “Write me when you get there.” Sylvie said, and Alastor just nodded.

“Love you momma.” He said quietly to her, before he pulled away, a bright smile back on his face. “I’ll write you as soon as I get to the city.” He said, and Sylvie nodded. Watching her son get on the train and leave, adorned in his best suit, brand new as Sylvie had saved so much for it just for this moment.

Sylvie returned home that day, walking into her now empty home with tears in her eyes. She went to her bedroom, opening a small box out from under her bed. Tears streamed down her face as she opened the box, picking up a small bottle from inside, popping the cork off and tracing her finger along the rim. Then, quietly, she spoke to herself.

“s'il vous plaît, ancêtres, protégez-le aussi longtemps que vous le pouvez” ( “please ancestors, protect him for as long as you can”)

In the bustling city of New York, Alastor found that it was a bit easier to land a job, though not much, it was a start. He settled into the fast-paced rhythm of city life, immersing himself in the world of news and media. Soon enough, he climbed his way to the top, changing his accent and becoming so well known his mother listened to his broadcast everyday.

Back home, Sylvie eagerly awaited Alastor’s letters, cherishing every word that bridged the distance between them. The letters became a lifeline, a way for mother and son to stay connected despite the miles.

As Alastor navigated his way through the competitive world of journalism, he found success, but the city’s relentless pace also brought its own set of trials. He was a mixed man, people did not take kindly to that fact. But status meant more than anything and he had the money to get by. With each triumph and setback, he continued to write to Sylvie, sharing his experiences and seeking comfort in her unwavering support.

Their bond, though physically stretched, remained unbroken.

Hallelujah

Alastor was twenty three when he came back home. He had gotten a transfer and began to host his show in Louisiana. Living with his mother hadn’t been a difficult adjustment. In fact, to Alastor, it felt like things had fallen right back into place. Until it hadn’t. As Alastor grew, the shadows of both the roaring twenties and the practice of voodoo cast their complex hues over their lives. Sylvie, a practitioner of voodoo, had passed down the sacred traditions to her son, weaving a tapestry of mysticism and heritage into the fabric of their existence.

In moments of desperation, Alastor found himself drawn to the potent rituals he had learned from his mother. The voodoo practices, once a source of connection and understanding, became a tempting tool to manipulate circumstances in his favor. Alastor, in the pursuit of success and happiness, began using the ancient arts for personal gain, delving into a darker side of the mystic practices.

Sylvie, sensing her son's divergence from the righteous path of voodoo, couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Yet, beneath her disapproval, a mother's unwavering love persisted. She yearned for Alastor's happiness, even if it meant witnessing him tread on ethically murky grounds. Sylvie grappled with the conflict between her teachings and her maternal instincts, understanding that her son's choices were his own to make. However, it was easier to ignore things when the shadows around her home didn’t taunt her, despite her son’s warnings to them. Often times, she’d find him tracing symbols onto his hand during a conversation with someone, always behind his back as he spoke. She’d find small towers made of sticks her backyard sometimes, hanging around tree’s and something’s hiding in bushes. She said nothing, deciding it was his choice, but she’d always cleanse her area, and began to beg the spirits to lead her son in the right direction.

Their home, once a haven of warmth, now harbored the echoes of decisions made in pursuit of desires. Sylvie, despite disapproving of Alastor's misuse of voodoo, remained a steadfast pillar of support. For a mother's love, resilient and unconditional, transcended the boundaries of right and wrong. The tangled threads of voodoo, jazz, and maternal love wove together in the backdrop of their lives, creating a narrative of complexity and nuance.

Hallelujah

It was when Sylvie fell ill that Alastor had begun to change his ways, or partially. Becoming bedridden, Sylvie could no longer do things. Her son had grown into a well respected man, one she loved and cherished so much. But, she feared her time was coming soon and thus could no longer keep him safe anymore. He had done so well as an adult, he made something respectable out of himself. He became someone. Her biggest hope for him had come true, he had made a name for himself, left his mark on the world through radio. She was so proud of him.

In Sylvie’s final days, Alastor found himself torn between the guilt of his previous actions and the desire to make amends. The echoes of the past whispered in his ear, urging him to rectify the missteps that had strained the sacred bond between mother and son. He knew his mother disapproved of the way he used her teachings, but it wasn’t easy living in the world, fighting to make ends meet and fighting for respect.

One evening, as the dim light of a fading sunset painted Sylvie’s room, Alastor made a silent vow to honor his mother’s teachings. With a heavy heart, he delved into the mystic arts not to manipulate fate, but to seek guidance and help. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows as Alastor immersed himself in the rituals he had once misused. He had tried everything, saving money for the best medication, home remedies, having specialists see her, everything.

As Sylvie’s condition worsened, Alastor found solace in being by her side, tending to her needs with a newfound tenderness. The past haunted him, yet the present held the opportunity for redemption. In caring for his ailing mother, Alastor discovered a profound connection that transcended the barriers of time and choices made.

The world outside continued to applaud Alastor’s radio success, unaware of the internal transformation transpiring within him. Sylvie, weakened but perceptive, observed the change in her son with a quiet pride. As Sylvie lay in her bed, the fragility of life evident in her every breath, Alastor approached with a mixture of reverence and regret. The room was adorned with flickering candles, casting an ethereal glow that danced on the walls.

“Mother, I… I’ve come to seek your guidance.” Sylvie, her eyes conveying a deep understanding, nodded weakly.

“Honey, my time here is waning. But I feel a shift within you. Talk to me, what’s wrong?” She asked, tightening her grip on her son’s hand. Alastor hesitated, the weight of his past actions pressing upon him.

“I’ve used the mystic arts for my own gain, tarnished their sanctity. I’ve tried everything to help you- I… I tried so much.” He said, at a loss for words. Silent tears bordered his eyes, Sylvie, though weakened, managed a gentle smile. “I should have listened more, learned more. I should’ve been better.” He said frustrated, angry tears slipping from his eyes and down his cheeks. He looked down, skeeters fogging as he fought his tears, holding onto his mother so tight and afraid to let go. “Is this my fault?” He asked quietly.

“No, never dear.” Sylvie said shaking her head softly. “I know you tried your best. All will be okay. I taught you well, raised a good man. You will get everything you want and more in this life, I promise you.” She said weakly, coughing a bit with the tissue in her hand. Finally she calmed down, speaking again. “The world is a stage. Make it your own.” She said smiling at him, and he just chuckled. She sighed and spoke again. “Life is a tapestry, my love. We learn, we grow. I know you are hurting.” She said, placing her hand weakly on his chest, but she continued. “I know you missed out on so much. So much I tried to give you, but you turned out so wonderful, so special. You did not disappoint, and I would do it all again to love you dear.” She said, hand cradling his cheek. “Don’t stop living when I’m gone.” She said to him, and he nodded, teary eyed, holding onto her hand.

“I love you momma.” He said, smiling sadly as he cried to her. Sylvie just smiled back, tears welling in her own eyes as she held onto him. She sat up slowly, beckoning Alastor to lean closer. She placed a kiss on his forehead with shaky hands, pulling away with a smile.

“I love you too honey.” She whispered.

As Sylvie’s final breaths approached, Alastor held her hand, seeking solace in the fragile yet profound connection they had forged. The room, filled with the scent of candles and the soft strains of jazz, became a sanctuary for a son bidding farewell to his guiding light.

The final moments with Sylvie became a sacred passage, where Alastor whispered words of love and gratitude, promising to carry forward the legacy she had bestowed upon him. As the room filled with a bittersweet melody of jazz playing softly in the background, Alastor prepared to face a world without his guiding light, determined to walk a path worthy of her memory.

She cries to the heaven above

There is a stone in my heart

She lives in a world she didn't choose

And it hurts like brand new shoes

Hurts like brand new shoes

#hazbin alastor #hazbin demon #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #human alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader

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llumimoon · 6 months

Text

making an AU based off a show based off a doll line means I go WAY TOO HARD on trying to figure out the fits.

here are the designs for the Ever After High AU !!! :D the story this time around is like. WAY too complicated to explain in one post but like the super duper summarized version is this:

For generations the citizens of Ever After have been following the tradition of signing a magical contract in the Storybook of Legends promising to relive their parents' fairytales to keep the stories alive. But there's a bit of an uproar when the newest Evil Queen in ages refuses to follow her destiny and things start to get a little complicated as the students at Ever After High realize that maybe not everything has been played by the book in the past. When Normal breaks a magic mirror he REALLY wasn't supposed to find, his life and story are thrown into chaos. Add in some wildcard Wonderlandians and now nothing's going according to the script. Is a happily ever after really possible?

The AU doesn't follow the show to an exact T, we mostly borrowed some elements and the initial Raven and Apple conflict so there's quite a lot of surprises in store :3c

(EAH AU made by @rindomness, @kaseyskat, and I!! <3 :])

Edit: more designs

image description under the cut

[ID: Four Images of dndads season 2 characters in an Ever After High AU, the first two images being design pages and the last two being doodle pages.

Image 1: A character line up of three designs, from left to right Scary Marlowe, Normal Oak, and Hermie Unworthy. They are each labeled with the fairytale characters they represent, from left to right Evil Queen, Snow White, and Mad Hatter. Hermie has a speech bubble that says "Hello ~ Audience! (yes you looking here)". On the far left Scary stands with her left hand on her hip and her right hand resting palm up with swirlfs of magenta and purple magic coming up from it. She has a serious look on her face and is wearing black mascara and purple eyeshadow. Her hair is various shades of purple to pink and is put up in a side ponytail with a spiky silver hair accessory along with a silver chain around her forehead. She is wearing a black cape with a magenta underside and a sleeveless ankle length dress and long fishnet gloves. The dress has a fishnet neckline and a purple jewel with silver wings on her chest that connects to the hood of her cape. There are chains that connect on he bottom of the jewl to loop around her back. She is wearing a black corset with silver lacing and the bottom of the corset is embellished with silver feathers and a stylized silver crow head. The skirt has a slit down the right leg that is connected with a silver chain and has a dark purple mesh layer on the top half of it. She is wearing black leggings underneath and platform ankle boots that are also decorated with mesh, chains, and lace. She has spiky silver bracelets and fingerless gloves on the back of her hand that connect to a silver ring with a purple gem on her middle finger. To her right stands Normal who is at shoulder length height to Scary and stands up to Hermie's eyes on his left. Normal stands with his right hand up holding a red apple and his left hand playfully posed out by his side. He is smiling cheerfully with an open mouth and has one green and one brown eye. He is wearinf a small tilted red and gold heart shaped crown with a teal bow on the bottom. He has short curly brown hair. He is wearing a white high collared shirt with long sleeves, lace details, and puffy teal shoulders. He has a short red cape attached to a big red bow with gold trip on his chest and a gold apple brooch in the center. He has a brown belt with a gold buckle and gold chains connected to the belt loops. He has puffy teal shorts with three red slits on each side and a white lace trim. He has sheer white tights with white vertical strips and red and white boots with gold detailing and a brown heel. To his left stands Hermie who has his right hand holding a teacup filled with tea at his stomach and his right hand is up to wave at the viewer. He is smirking and has teal hair with various turquoise and pink highlights. He is wearing a purple and magenta striped hat wirh a teal polkadot bow. He also is wearing teal glasses with a circle and square frame with purple and pink lenses and a rose gold glasses chain. He has a striped teal vest that has a long coat tail with pink and purple detailing on the underside. He has a rose gold pocket watch in his vest pocket and a purple and magenta bow on his chest. The collared shirt underneath is a light striped pink and lavender with puffy sleeves that turn into big circle sleeves with a lace trim. He has pink and purple gloves with a magenta ribbon around his wrists. His skirt is mid thigh length and has three layers, the top layer is magenta and has teal and purple polkadots, the second layer is vertically striped with pink and lavender, and the bottom layer is lavender lace, and the whole skirt has rose gold detailing. He has thigh high horizontally striped socks with lace trim and teal, pink, and purple heel boots with purple bows and laces.

Image 2: A character lineup of two designs, zoomed in so that the lower legs are cut off. Link is on the left labeled Prince Charming while Taylor is on the right labeled Queen of Hearts. Taylor has a mischievous smile on his face and his fist in the air as he shouts "Off with their heads!" while Link has one hand up to stifle a laugh and a fond expression and the other hand rests on the hilt of his sword on his belt. Link is dressed in white and gold princely attire that matches Normal's color scheme and a similar but longer red cape and a teal belt sash. He has gold shoulder tassels and a simple golden crown. Taylor has red streaks in his hair and two heart shaped space buns. He also has a golden crown with red heart shaped gems on them, a heart card earring, and a red collar with a heart lock charm. His dress has a high white neck collar that goes around the back of his head and connects to a short jacket with puffy red and black striped sleeves and a white lace trim and golden heart lapel pins connected by a chain. The dress has a sweetheart neckline and is split down to his waist in a V shape in order to mimics the appearance of a white heart on his top. The dress then flares out into a big poofy skirt that has frills at the bottom and has big red and black stripes on it. A sheer top skirt has a white and gold checkered diamond pattern on it. He also has white and red striped tights and black mary janes with a red heel and a golden heart clasp. He's also holding a golden staff with a red heart jewl at the top.

Image 3: A dark grey doodle page on a light grey background. Normal is standing with an exasperated expression on his face and is squatting with his arms out shouting "Am I the only one who cares about following our destinies!?". In the bottom left corner Link os holding Taylor in a princess carry, the both of them grinning with their eyes closed. An arrow is pointing at Link that is labeled 'was supposed to be Norm's prince'. Scary is in the bottom right turned toward Normal with her tongue sticking out and her middle finger up. Her bangs obscure her face. Hermie is in the top right looking at the viewer with his hand cupped toward his face saying "Don't worry, he'll figure it out" with a knowing smile. His eyes are obscured by his glasses.

Image 4: A dark grey doodle page on a light grey background with a sequence of events that go from left to right down the page. Normal is looking desperately up at Scary and clutching an injured arm while Scary looks concernedly down at Normal with her hands hovering. Behind her stands Hermie who's in a intense thinking pose with a hand on his chin. Scary says "Norm what-" and is interrupted by Normal saying "I need your help. I didn't know where else to go." Hermie has a thought bubble above his head that says "Is this im the script?" The next section has Hermie snapping with his eyes closed saying "I'll make it a comedy then, that'll fix it." The next section shows a loud bang on the door behind Normal who looks surprised and the section after has someone outside the door say "Oh thank GOD," while Normal sighs in relief. The last section has Scary with a frustrated look on her face and her hands up with magic energy coming up saying in all caps "Ok what the fuck is going on." /end ID]