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bellasmumblingsandmusings · 4 hours

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What Could Have Been

Chapter One

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 6.6K

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: Yearning Hearts - Forgotten Odes - Eternal Eclipse : Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

Chapter One

The Ancunín Estate played host to a lavish ball, its opulent halls filled with the elite of Baldur's Gate and beyond. Astarion, draped in his most resplendent attire—a meticulously tailored white brocade shirt, its fabric whispering against his skin, embellished with intricate gold embroidery that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight. Long sleeves adorned with delicate ruffles gently caressed his wrists, while his trousers, fashioned from the darkest of cloths, hugged his form with a sleek elegance that bespoke his aristocratic bearing. His polished boots clicked softly against the marble floors as he moved through the throng, every step a silent proclamation of his presence.

Radiating an air of amusement and aloof confidence, Astarion surveyed the festivities from the fringes of the ballroom. Though surrounded by a sea of faces, he stood apart by choice, his demeanor a careful blend of poise and concealed intensity. In the depths of his crimson eyes, a faint glimmer of darkness flickered, a silent promise of the secrets he held close to his heart.

As his gaze swept over the transformed Ancunín Estate—a place once shrouded in shadows and despair under the cruel gaze of his sire’s control, now bathed in the soft glow of candlelight and laughter—Astarion's thoughts turned inexorably to his beloved, Sima. In the midst of the glittering crowd, he longed for her presence, a beacon of light in a sea of pretense and artifice. Yet, beneath his suave exterior, a torrent of emotions churned—a potent mix of desire and determination, longing and regret.

With each polite exchange and forced smile, Astarion concealed not only his emotions, but also the true purpose of this grand affair: to reclaim Sima's heart and soul, to draw her back into his embrace. As he navigated the intricacies of courtly conversation, his mind whirled with plans and strategies, each one crafted with meticulous care to ensnare her in his web of desire and control.

While his desire to reunite with her burned fiercely, he acknowledged the potential necessity of prolonged seduction. Should his former companions dare to impede his designs, he would confront them head-on, employing any means necessary to remove the obstacles obstructing his path. Their tacit acceptance of his ascendancy, coupled with his consummate manipulation and surveillance skills, rendered their opposition insignificant.

The decision to initiate her into full vampirehood weighed heavily on his soul, a testament to the depth of his commitment and the gravity of his desires. Though he recognized the looming shift in their power dynamic, he remained steadfast in his conviction as her eventual master and sire, his resolve unyielding in the face of uncertainty.

Amidst the façade of polite society, Astarion’s now-warmed veins filled with fierce longing, his every thought consumed by the woman who held his heart in her hands. With each passing moment, his anticipation grew, a silent countdown to the moment when he could finally claim his desired prize—Sima, once and for all, by his side.

In these quiet moments between dull conversations and cutting dressing downs, Astarion's mind wandered to the past, a haunting echo overshadowed memories. For all he had gained, the absence of Sima made his triumph incomplete, a bitter reminder of the one thing he desired most but could not yet possess.

The downfall of the Nether Brain marked Astarion's ascension to prominence in Baldur's Gate, a victory that solidified his dominion over the city's underbelly. Freed from the shackles of his former master's influence, he now reigned supreme, his authority unassailable by mortal standards. Through a web of bribery, blackmail, and subterfuge, he exerted his control over the city's key figures, safeguarding his domain and advancing his clandestine agenda. Though the city's rulers tread cautiously around him, recognizing the peril of antagonizing the enigmatic vampire lord, Astarion's pact with Duke Wyll Ravengard ensured his continued autonomy, provided he operated from the shadows.

Astarion was only broken out of his reverie by the announcement of the chamberlain noting the arrivals of heroes of the realm. As the companions made their grand entrance into the hallowed halls of the Ancunín Palace, their camaraderie palpable, Astarion's gaze lingered on Karlach, Gale, and Shadowheart. Intrigued by their seamless bond, he couldn't help but marvel at their unique talents and indispensable roles within the team. Despite his confidence in his ability to best them, the courage and loyalty they displayed to one another was undeniable.

The music swelled in the grand foyer, amplifying Astarion's impatience with every passing moment of delay. In a darkened corner, he found himself pinching the bridge of his nose. Though surrounded by the opulent crowd, he watched the clock with a silent urgency, his eyes scanning for Sima's familiar figure amidst the throng. Frustration mounted with each fruitless glance, uncertainty clouding his mind as the night stretched on. Leaning against a wall, he engaged in conversation with an elder spawn, detailing Sima's appearance in hopes of spotting her. Disappointment gnawed at him as the minutes stretched into hours, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. With the looming threat of losing his prize, he sipped from his wine goblet through pursed lips, and his mind turned to prior failures.

Since assuming mastery of the palace, his spawn had multiplied under Astarion's command, a reminder of his past and a reflection of his power. Despite his efforts to train them, each encounter served as a painful reminder of his abuse under Cazador's rule, deepening his unease.

Despite his efforts, Astarion had not succeeded in erasing Sima from his thoughts over the past year. Not even close. He had tried with various lovers, both men and women, and had even attempted in some desperate moments to find solace in the company of his spawn, but they only served as painful reminders of his past abuse at his sire's hand. Each entanglement and empty carnal release deepened his sense of longing for Sima, intensifying the void she had left behind. None could match her beauty, her wit, or her intelligence—none could hold his interest as she had. His frustration and self-disgust clawed at him, his inability to replace her driving him to lash out cruelly at those who sought to fill her void. He was even disgusted with himself for not being able to find anyone better.

The spawn he had sent out to survey slinked back to Astarion, its demeanor anxious. Frustration and worry gnawed at the vampire lord, his jaw gritted and tense as the possibility of her non-arrival cast a dark cloud over his thoughts.

"What now?" Astarion snapped, his annoyance thinly veiled. "She still hasn't shown up?"

The spawn shifted nervously. "No sign of her, Master. We've looked everywhere."

Astarion rolled his eyes, a sneer playing on his lips. "Of course not. Why would she make things easy?"

The spawn swallowed hard, clearly fearful. "Sorry, Master. We've tried our best."

"Clearly not hard enough," Astarion muttered under his breath, a derisive chuckle escaping him. Louder, he said, "Keep looking. And if anyone gets in your way, deal with them. I don't care how."

The spawn nodded frantically. "Yes, Master. We'll find her, I promise."

Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "Just go. I've got better things to do than deal with your incompetence."

As the spawn hurried off to resume its search, Astarion's irritation simmered beneath the surface. The thought of Sima's continued absence grated on his nerves, threatening to ruin his plans. But he refused to let it derail him. Not when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

As the chamberlain's booming voice once again filled the grand hall with its announcement, Astarion's attention snapped away from his swirling frustrations. "The heroes of Baldur's Gate have arrived!" The words echoed through the opulent chamber, drawing everyone's gaze toward the entrance.

His heart lurched as Sima glided into view, her graceful presence accompanied by the towering figure of Wyll, now Duke Ravengard. Astarion's breath caught in his throat, caught off guard by their unexpected arrival. The sight of them together stirred a tempest within him, threatening to engulf him whole.

Surprise gave way to a surge of jealousy and resentment as he watched them approach. The image of Sima by Wyll's side fueled the flames of insecurity that smoldered within him. Despite their truce, Astarion couldn't shake the gnawing suspicion that lingered in the depths of his mind. Was this mere coincidence, or had Wyll orchestrated this meeting deliberately to rattle him?

Standing by the grand staircase, Astarion's grip tightened on the polished railing, his knuckles turning white against the ornate gold and white finery he wore. His narrowed gaze followed Sima and Wyll, his chest tight with the fever of rage which made him feel choked. The thought of them together, of Wyll stealing her away from him, ignited a fierce blaze so profound that he etched its evidence into the wood beneath his nails.

But Astarion was a master of disguise, a performer on life's grand stage. With practiced ease, he forced a mask of indifference onto his features, concealing the storm raging beneath the surface. His jaw clenched with determination, refusing to let his vulnerability show, even as the weight of his emotions threatened to crush him.

This would not be his moment of weakness, not in front of the elite of the Upper City. Astarion straightened his posture, as he suppressed the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He tightened his grip on the goblet in his hand, the nails clinking hard against the delicate crystal. He would not allow Sima, Wyll, or anyone else to see him falter. Not now, not ever.

Across the mass of the prestigious assemblage, Sima battled down her surging fear.

Her heart raced as she descended the ballroom steps, Wyll's reassuring presence by her side. Despite the ornate decor disguising the past, the echoes of betrayal lingered, too close for comfort. Her ebony curls shone like polished silk, and her dark brown eyes betrayed no hint of intrigue. Her mahogany fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against the intricate fabric of her black gown, the memories of past pain still haunting her every step. Yet, she had made a promise to Shadowheart, a promise that compelled her to confront the past, no matter how painful.

As they descended onto the ballroom floor, Sima glanced at Wyll, his steadfast support bolstering her resolve. She offered him a grateful smile, her eyes reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and determination. His reassuring squeeze on her hand sent a wave of comfort through her, easing the tension coiled in her chest.

"So, still up for being my buffer tonight?" Sima asked Wyll, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness beneath the determined facade.

Wyll nodded, his expression filled with concern. "Of course. Whatever awaits us, Sima, I'll stand by your side. I'll shield you from harm, even if it means bearing it myself."

Sima's shoulders relaxed slightly at his words, a brief moment of solace amidst the swirling chaos of emotions. She leaned into Shadowheart's embrace, exchanging pleasantries with the rest of their companions. Each hug, each shared glance, served as a silent reassurance, a reminder that she was not alone in this battle.

Across the room, Astarion's eyes followed Sima's every move, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She felt his gaze like a physical caress, stirring a heady concoction within her—anger, longing, and a hint of fear.

When Lord Crane, a tiefling nobleman, approached her, Sima accepted his invitation to dance with a bright smile. As they glided across the floor, her movements graceful and fluid, Astarion's gaze bore into them with palpable fury.

As Sima danced with Lord Crane, she exchanged playful banter with him, her movements fluid yet guarded. She chuckled inwardly, desperately hoping that Astarion's attention was diverted elsewhere, perhaps with a newfound companion. His cutting words echoed in her mind, a painful reminder of her perceived expendability. Reflecting on her journey from Amn to Calimport, where she’d honed her skills as a bard while delving deeper into witchcraft and sorcery, she considered offering Lord Crane a tarot card reading. The occult intrigued him, but she remained cautious despite his seemingly benign demeanor.

As Sima exchanged pleasantries, even briefly with Lord Crane, the rampant indignation caused Astarion’s veins on his neck to spike, and he couldn't bear to watch any longer. With a surge of jealousy burning in his chest, he glided through the throng of ball attendees, cutting off Lord Crane and placing a possessive hand on Sima's arm.

"Sima. Might I steal this dance from you?"

Sima felt the sudden warmth of his touch, a stark contrast to the chill of his former embrace as a spawn. She tensed instinctively, her body stiffening under his grasp. Meeting his crimson eyes, she saw a hardness that hadn't been there before, a distant glimmer of something she couldn't quite place. Sima managed a thin smile. "If the Lord Ancunín insists."

As Astarion led her onto the dance floor, she couldn't shake the feeling of being ensnared in a trap of his making.

Astarion responded with a thin smile, his eyes betraying only the briefest hint of hunger. Every word he spoke felt like a half-truth. Despite the changes in him, he still felt an unexplainable pull towards her, a magnetic force that defied logic. "You honor me with your grace," Astarion replied, his voice smooth but strained slightly on the edges.

He guided her into the dance, his touch firm yet oddly chilly. Despite his efforts to maintain a façade of civility, there was an unmistakable edge to his movements, a hint of restraint that belied the intensity of will to possess his former love.

Astarion understood that their bodies could tell a story of their own; their dance held an undercurrent of something darker beneath the surface—a predator sizing up their prey. He drew Sima closer with effortless grace, dancing as he always had, yet there was a subtle shift in his demeanor that felt like a hunter poised to strike.

As Sima danced with Astarion, she felt a broiling fever across her skin—a mixture of rage, betrayal and anxiety. With each step, she fought to maintain a semblance of composure, her movements fluid yet guarded. She glanced at him briefly, then looked over his shoulder, carefully considering her next move. She tried to maintain a distance between them in the dance, but with every subtle attempt to pull away, he gracefully and unwaveringly drew her closer, his grip allowing no refusal.

Astarion pulled her in again, drawing her closer until they seemed to share breath. He could feel her resistance, but he kept his grip, remembering her penchant for these little games. He offered her a half-grin, his eyes glinting with a hungering gleam as they locked onto hers. Despite her attempts to hide it, he could see the fear lurking in the depths of her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over her.

As if she could ever forget how his body made her feel. Sima considered that the sheer proximity of him made her recoil and mourn in equal measure. But fancy footwork couldn't mask cruelty, malice, or arrogance. She reminded herself of this, realizing she had to be extremely cautious. He wasn't a spawn anymore; even her thoughts were not safe from his reach. While Shadowheart may have cast Protection from Evil and Good on her, shielding her from compulsion and charm, she understood she had to guard herself vigilantly tonight.

She remained deliberately silent, recognizing that the stakes of this perilous game had escalated. In this delicate waltz, speaking first meant relinquishing the upper hand.

Astarion took another step, drawing them even closer, his hand clutching her waist. His movements became subtly more aggressive, reminiscent of the deliberate strides of a stalking wolf. His gaze remained fixed on her, and in the lingering silence, she felt his lips caress her neck, his voice barely a whisper.

"Careful , darling. I could be tempted to mistake your silence for acceptance and think you enjoy being this close to me," Astarion warned, his tone laced with amusement.

Sima sharply turned, resisting his lead but managing the step gracefully. Only a master dancer could discern her attitude from the footwork.

"Oh yes, I forgot; deference is your preferred state for all your interactions now, my lord, " she retorted, her tone sharp with sarcasm.

Astarion's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at her comment, his grip tightening on her abdomen. He knew her defiance was just a game, a part of their twisted foreplay.

He smiled at her, his darkening red eyes dangerously glinting. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Would it bother you so much if you found yourself in a state of deference to me, little love?"

Sima practically clawed his shoulder and locked eyes with him as she hissed the words, "I'd rather die, my lord ."

As he’d expected. Disobedience was the essence of Sima; without it, she wouldn't be herself. He could already see she would be an intriguing mate, and her challenge promised to delight him in every way.

Astarion chuckled at her words, squeezing her the curve of her waist harder and pulling her closer to him. He felt the heat of her anger fueling those words. There was a fine line between genuine rebellion and play, and he relished dancing on that edge. Despite her anger, she seemed so vulnerable in his arms. How could he resist playing with her?

He responded with a seductive smirk on his lips, his body tightening against hers.

"And what if I were to command you?"

Sima turned with him hip to hip in a circle, her eyes burning into his, her body graceful and yet cold towards him. "I'd like to see you try your tricks on me. Perhaps I have a few tricks of my own now, my lord ," she growled back.

Every word of dissent from Sima was a powerful turn-on for Astarion. He enjoyed the tension that came with her fighting back so fiercely.

Astarion pulled her into his hips hard for a moment, then pressed his stiff cock against her, as from his lips danced hair's breadth away from her pointed ear. He crooned the next words.

"What if I were to pin you against the wall, my sweet darling? My powerful hands holding you against it, my chest pressed against yours, while I whispered sweet nothings of domination and punishment. That must sound enticing." His voice softened, and his eyes were full of promised intent, yet there was an underlying tenderness to his words. He was enjoying this.

Sima's sigh spoke volumes, her eyes locking onto Astarion's with a mix of boredom and disgust, her body language radiating a sense of readiness. "The greatest mistake you made was thinking I was beneath you. So no, it is decidedly not."

Astarion paused for a moment, genuinely considering her words; his eyes turning into brief slits as he did so. She was not in the slightest below him, and yet the act of her being so defiant made him feel as though she were. At the same time, he was genuinely thrilled to have someone he could play with who was really playing back for once.

"I should hope you don't think I was underestimating you. But very well. Challenge accepted. I look forward to finding out just what your tricks are, sweetheart ."

As Sima continued to follow his lead, her brown eyes glinted with veiled intent. She had a plan, unlike him, and she had no intention of waxing poetic about it. That ridiculous soliloquy after he ascended still lingered in her memory. Perhaps he was intoxicated by power at the time, but who could tell? She smiled, sharp and cold, like a dagger concealed beneath silk.

"Be ready for disappointment."

Astarion's response was immediate. He erased the distance between them, his presence enveloping her. His eyes held hers with an unwavering stare, his breath ghosted against her skin.

As the dance came to an end, Sima's gaze met his, the promise of a contest passing between them. "What is it you used to say during battle? Your rapiers held high, right… Shall we dance ?"

Astarion's eyes flickered with recognition. This was more than just a dance—it was a battle of wills. He no longer sought to woo her; his desire was to possess her, to see her submit to him. His words carried a hint of threat, his arousal fueled by her defiance.

With a wolfish grin, he replied, "With pleasure."

As he pulled her back into his arms, leading her into another dance, this time the intense volta, Sima countered with, "Terms of engagement?"

"My terms: Sima Shoker must submit to Astarion Ancunín and accept his terms of complete submission. If she wishes to be my equal after such a state of complete submission, she will earn it by proving her devotion to me as such. All other terms are non-negotiable at this stage in our relationship."

Sima scoffed as he tightly held her by the waist, guiding her through another turn to maintain appearances. "Spoken like a true former magistrate. Tell me, is there an acre of land, or is there a allotment of chattel? How boring. Let's make it interesting, shall we? You show me all your cards, and I'll show you mine."

Astarion snickered. "If you wish us to be upfront about our intentions, so be it. But if you have no chance to win, don't play at a game . You are mine in every way, my love. A mere mortal with a pathetic few levels of arcane study has no chance against a centuries-old, experienced vampire. You have only two cards to play: to submit or run. Which will it be?"

Sima's smile was sharper than ever before. She had been very busy this year. Very...very busy. She leaned in close to his ear, her lips barely brushing it. "I choose to fight."

Astarion let out a dark chortle.

"Oh, darling... You've made a truly fatal mistake, haven't you? You think, maybe in your hubris, that you can fight me ? I would drink you like milk from a chalice . Your little tricks won't work on me. I know far more secrets and have experienced far worse than you ever could. I know how to fight dirtier than you ever could. Now..."

He whispered with a drawl in her ear, the promise of pleasure hinted.

"Come on. Submit."

As he turned her and dipped her, Sima retorted again, "Now, you played your cards. Let's go back to the terms. Compulsion? Command? Old hat really , but whatever you like. Ahh..one question..very important..your misguided calls for me to submit are what? Prelude to a turn? Is that it?" She leaned into Astarion's pointed ear, each word laced with venom and anger.

"Old hat?! " Astarion replied, the mask of charm falling from his features and anger flashing in his crimson eyes. For the briefest moment, Astarion's fangs revealed themselves before disappearing again behind his lips.

"My terms have not changed, mortal . You will submit to me utterly and completely. And yes, in time, I would turn you into my equal. My beloved. My beautiful, sweet, and powerful vampire consort. But right now...

Astarion leaned close to Sima's ear.

"...You submit. Then you earn it ."

Sima nodded, his words a testament to his changed nature. "So, the same lies as before. Let me guess: I submit, and you turn me into a spawn and then a true vampire. So much for learning from your mistakes. So much for loving me. But that was the real lie, wasn't it?" As she seared the words through pursed lips, he spun and pulled her in, facing him with their arms entangled.

"Let me be clear: I will turn you into a vampire . You will be equal to me. I truly and deeply loved you." Astarion leaned close to Sima's face, his features softening just slightly as his eyes trailed to her lips.

"But I will not let you take advantage of my feelings for you. I need to know I can trust you, Sima. You also need to be able to trust me. And so, we have the terms. You submit first, and then we earn each other. Fair, no ?"

Sima pulled up her chin, defiant and proud. "My, my , you really have everything figured out, don't you?"

Astarion pulled her closer and whispered directly in her ear. His tone was a sensual hiss. " My love, you've no idea ."

Sima grasped Astarion's hand harder as they continued to dance in the ballroom, their tête-à-tête as masterful as any dancer's footwork. "So then, let the games begin. You try to use your tricks on me, your spells, and your vampiric charms. And if I lose, I suppose I lose. Now, let's discuss when I win . I've heard your terms; now hear mine."

Astarion smiled as he spun her into another dip, his eyes flashing with amusement as he trailed his nose over her cleavage, inhaling her jasmine scent. His demeanor was flirtatious, and his grin was devilish. He spoke with a breathy murmur, leaning down to whisper into her ear. "And what terms would those be, my darling?"

As he pulled her back up with a snap, a smile that would shame any devil and wither any cleric was on Sima's lips as she whispered in retaliation, "If I win, you'll let me change you back into a spawn."

Her eyes locked with his, and Astarion could tell behind those chestnut eyes she was completely and brazenly honest.

Astarion's lips parted in a cruel, mocking smile. The challenge was accepted, and the terms were set. There were nothing but the slightest of pauses in between, just long enough to savor the moment.

"Then it would appear that we have ourselves a little bet, my darling . If you manage to truly best me and take all my tricks off the table, then you may try to make me a spawn again, and I will abide by your terms."

Sima smirked. "And if you win, then you can expect me to, in time, accept true vampirism. You did say I get an adjustment period. How merciful of you ."

"My mercy knows no bounds, love." Astarion dipped her once more, only wanting to inhale that sweet scent again, his lips trailing over the swell of her bosom that he desired to devour. The game had begun.

As he raised her up, Sima let out a haughty breath and looked out to the garden. "How about the hedge maze? See if your charms are up to snuff there. As good a place as any and away from prying eyes."

Astarion nodded, a faint, secretive grin tugging at his lips. His eyes gleamed with wicked fervor. "That is indeed a lovely idea. Come, we'll take a stroll, and then we'll see just how powerful a witch you are."

Sima recoiled from Astarion's touch the moment the dance concluded, as though his grasp had scorched her flesh. She had to bite back on the wrath that welled in her. No, no, she had to be calm . So she smiled slyly and picked up the skirt of her gown.

"After you."

Astarion's smile held firm, a veneer of charm masking the tumultuous sea of emotions churning within him. His grip on her hand tightened, a subtle yet unmistakable assertion of possession as he led her beyond the ornate doors, onto the expansive, well-tended lawn that stretched before them. Bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the manicured grounds of the estate unfolded like a canvas of natural splendor.

In every direction, the gardens sprawled in a tapestry of colors and scents, each bloom murmuring secrets of forgotten romance and whispered promises. Flowerbeds burst with vibrant hues, their petals unfurling in delicate homage to the night. Pathways meandered through the verdant expanse, inviting exploration beneath the starlit sky.

Towering trees stood sentinel along the perimeter, their branches reaching skyward in silent supplication. The gentle rustle of leaves overhead provided a soothing backdrop to their clandestine journey, yet beneath the tranquil facade, a sense of latent danger lingered in the air.

Amidst the evergreen beauty, the maze beckoned from its corner of the estate, a labyrinth of greenery waiting to ensnare the unwary. Though they had yet to enter its twisting passages, its presence loomed large in the moonlit night, a testament to the intrigue that awaited within—a dangerous game of wits and wills, where every step held the potential for betrayal or triumph.

Sima surveyed their pending battlefield, then turned her gaze to Astarion as she retrieved her bag of holding.

"I do hope you don't mind. I'll be ducking behind that hedge to make a change. Running in a gown is l ess than a fair sport ."

In response, Astarion smiled at Sima and spoke with a taunting murmur. "A woman after my own heart."

He released Sima's hand as she dove behind the hedge to change. Astarion leaned against a tree and crossed his legs, his expression relaxed and confident, seemingly content to allow Sima the chance to prepare for their game.

Shortly thereafter, Sima emerged again, the faint rustle of her attire marking her return. Clad in sleek black leathers that hugged her frame snugly, she appeared with an air of quiet confidence. Her laced boots and gloves matched the dark ensemble, while her long, loose black curls danced gently in the breeze. Astarion recognized the outfit immediately—the one she wore on the night they defeated Cazador during his Ascension. Sima raised an eyebrow, a silent gesture of challenge.

Astarion smiled with a hint of amusement at the outfit. The familiar pang of memory from the ritual was unmistakable, but that did not dim the spark of desire that flared in his eyes at her body. He glanced away and spoke with an air of detachment. "I must admit, darling, that I have missed the sight of you in this outfit."

Sima gave him a sharp smile. "Fitting, don't you think? I find it poetic, considering once I win, you'll be going through another change tonight by my magic, per our terms."

"A fitting bit of theater, in truth. One to show how the tables have turned and how the mighty have fallen, " Astarion quipped with unveiled snark as he approached her and cupped her chin, tilting her head up towards his own. His dark red eyes glinted with a certain cruel amusement, as well as lust.

Then his hungry gaze traced the contours of her body, his fingertips lingering tantalizingly close to her skin, as if savoring the anticipation of touch. With a hesitant caress, his hand followed the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, and the line of her arm until it hovered just shy of her elbow, before gently cupping her cheek.

Sima recoiled from his touch once more, as though acid poured from his fingertip, a palpable tension simmering between them. "Shall we? Use your powers to try to ensnare me as I run through the maze. If I resist and make it through the maze, I win. Understood?"

"As you wish, darling." Astarion's gaze burned with a volatile mixture of malice and desire, undeterred by her evasive maneuvers. His confidence radiated in his stance, an aura of arrogance underscored by the promise of challenge.

"Ready yourself. I shall give you a fair warning; I shall not go easy on you."

Sima met his gaze with unyielding resolve, her eyes reflecting a steely determination. "Five-minute head start?"

"Five minutes is fair, I suppose. A sporting headstart for my bride-to-be. I'd suggest using your time constructively" Astarion quipped, his arrogance and pettiness unwavering in the moment.

Sima turned without a word, but as she reached the frame entrance of the maze, an unusual sincerity colored her tone. "Do you remember when I told you that you deserved better after 200 years of torment? Do you remember when I told you to do the ritual, thinking that was freedom?"

A hint of tenderness softened Astarion's expression as he listened to her words. "I do remember, yes. What of it?"

Sima's gaze softened, revealing a depth of emotion. "I was wrong."

A flicker of surprise crossed Astarion's features. "Wrong how, darling?"

Sima's eyes seemed to penetrate his soul. "You're not free; you're not even trapped. The ritual destroyed you. So, I was wrong."

Astarion's expression contorted with scorn and frustration, the weight of her words bearing down on him. Despite knowing the truth in her words, he couldn't afford to falter now. Amidst the tempest of emotions, the ember of his resolve burned brighter. "So...how do you solve this paradox of logic, darling? What would make me whole? What would solve the mystery of me, oh wise and powerful witch ?"

"What I promised, once I win, of course. I could even bring you mortality, or just reverse this mess. Like I said, it's been a very long and busy year." Sima adjusted a glove, as if the answer was more than evident, even with an air of nonchalance.

"And when you lose, will you allow me the same opportunity to fix you ?" A glint of defiance flashed in Astarion's eyes as he spoke, his tone laced with determination. The prospect of defeat was one he couldn’t allow in his mind.

"You wanted a true vampire and an equal. The terms are set... Not having second thoughts, are we ?" Sima cooed, the words a reminder of that fateful night, so long ago when he had tried to coerce her into becoming his spawn. Stung by the memory, Sima gritted her teeth.

"Absolutely not. And I have a feeling that neither of us is bluffing, are we?" A wry smile played on Astarion's lips as he watched Sima disappear into the maze's depths.

"I'll see you in 5 minutes."

With a determined stride, Sima silently ventured into the darkness of the hedge maze.

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ryoshudoodles · 9 hours

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The Plushū Diaries

This is a long post about the plushie I made as a beginner and just me venting about the process. Just skip this is you don't like long posts. Also I will probably mix up UK and US English a lot here. The usual Internet learning experience.

Canto 1- I can (not) make a plushie myself

So... As you may gather from the existence of this blog, I love Ryōshū a very normal amount. And like many other PM fans, I wanted a plushie of my best girl.

Two problems arise.

Independently made plushies made by commission are EXPENSIVE (For a very valid reason, this things take AGES to make and require a lot of work and skill.).

And

All the "Mass" produced ones by indie designers that I saw had animal ears or features, which I don't really like.

So, Sunday at around 10:00 pm, I, in all my wisdom, say to myself "I want it! So I'll make it!" I already had some material from a previous failed attempt, so might as well use them.

I dug up the doll skeleton and the body I had and stuffed that thing. By then it was already late and I had to work on Monday so, to bed I went.

Canto 2- The Real Start

By morning on the following day, I had already gotten over the Idea of making a plushie myself. Too much work. Too little skill. Like any other good little ADHD demon, I am allergic to completing my own projects and I jump from new idea to new idea too quickly to get anything done.

So, imagine my shock when at 11:00 pm I get that little itch to just make the thing. That little night owl brain magic that happens when everyone else is asleep and you are just now deciding to be productive.

So I grab the body, my embroidery thread and a bathtub of coffee and I just started.

Luckily I already had a pattern that a friend printed out for me two years ago. But then, the mistakes also started.

Mistake 1- Improv

I had no idea what I wanted to make. I had a design that I had painted In photoshop before but I didn't have that materials nor skills for that. So I made a simpler one on the spot. I don't own a printer. I don't have transfer paper. So... like a person with a very aesthetically pleasing smooth brain, I just drew the design STRAIGHT ON THE FABRIC with BRIGHT red pen.

Mistake 2 - The bright red pen

At the start it wasn't much of an issue just something to mark the design because I don't have a tearaway stabilizer.

By the end of this saga, those smooth clear lines had bled SO MUCH I could no longer tell the difference between te guide and random stains. Oh! And you can also see the guidelines from the outside of the doll. Cool.

Mistake, the third - The felt hair

This doesn't seem like a mistake, but trust me, It will haunt the narrative.

Mistake forever after - Hubris

It took... around 1 hour to line up everything correctly on the embroidery ring? Why? Because I am stupid, that's why.

During this first day I decided that I didn't need to use pins. I could just put it on the ring by eyeballing it. How bad can it be?

I was a fool. There's a reason why professionals use them, and there's a reason why some people sew some pieces temporarily during certain steps of the process before finally attaching them together. Pins truly are unsung heroes.

Canto 3- The unembroidered

So... embroidery. Embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines and no stabilizer is HARD. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines, no stabilizer and you are a total beginner is maddening.

I watched someone do it by hand on YouTube before and I tried to mimic the process as much as I could. It didn't help much. Youtube tutorials can only do so much to compensate my lack of experience.

By the time I had done one eye I was already seeing problems. My stitches were all scattered to the four winds. They were all going in different directions. Some of them were too far apart or too close to others. The lines in the back of the doll were piling up and there were more knots in the thread than in your average omegaverse fic.

I went colour by colour. First black since I needed it to line the hair and it was the most used colour, then white just for the little highlights and finally red.

(Funny thing, the number of this red thread of this brand is 666 wich is kinda funny for miss hellscreen over here.)

After the red thread it finally started to look kinda decent (by beginner standards)

Canto 4 - Revenge of the felt hair

After all the embroidery was done it was finally time to get her off the ring and sew the parts together.

For those unaware, the regular soft plushie material, Minky, is really lightweight and very thin. Felt... isn't thin. And when you are sewing a plushie head with may parts and layers, all those millimeters of fabric pile up really quickly. One layer of felt is easy to pierce with a needle. Five layers? Not so much. Several needles were broken in the process of joining the front of the head with the back. I do not own a sewing machine. I did all of this shit by hand.

Thank god for the tetanus vaccine. When I say this little creature has my blood, sweat and tears, I MEAN IT.

The curse of the felt hair didn't end there.

Now that the head was done, it was time to stuff it.

Naturally, I had to rip parts of the stuffing to get it inside the head and around the skeleton. This sent bits and pieces of the thing flying everywhere. My room is FILTHY. And the felt hair got the worst of it. All those little dusts and microfibers stuck to it like a fly in a web. As I write this I am still trying to rip out bits of stuffing without damaging the felt. It is horrible. My girl is DIRTY.

(Also, plushie heads take WAY more stuffing than I thought. Holy shit.)

Finally, on the last day, it was time to attach the body to the head and sew the back of the hair. (I should have done that before but... more layers of felt. Broken needles. You know... nheeeeeee)

So, with a lot of fear in my heart I ladder stitched those bastards together and mocked up a decent enough pattern for the back of the hair. And just like that.... she is done.

Canto 5- The Plushie Defining

So... what did I learn?

Use pins. Stitch things temporarily with an obvious visible line that you can cut out after and test things before committing to a permanent stitch. If you are a beginner, like me, and are afraid to sew pieces together because you don't want to ruin your embroidered parts that you spent SO LONG working on, do this before.

Fuck felt.

Don't use a bright red pen.

Mess up. Make your plushie. Make it ugly. If you hate making bodies like me, buy one made and practice the head. Despite everything, I love my asymmetrical girl a lot. Like... I made this little bastard. She is MINE and I made her. This never stops being magical. It's a nice feeling.

And I did it without specific materials.

Some cheap threads, a body you can probably make too, some felt I found at the discount bin and random needles. That was all. No tearaway stabilizer, no sewing machine, no printer, no embroidery machine. The minky fabric is the only thing that was more of an investment. The rest is pretty accessible.

Do you know that post that says "Everything worth doing is worth doing poorly." Yeah, that applies to artistic projects. Go for it! Just... don't start with something hard like a human... Christ sake that was a nightmare.

I'm probably still gonna get a better plushie of her in the future, but for now, this is my baby.

Goodnight Tri-state area.

#not a doodle #long post

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