#conqueror Minthara

[moonselune]

Dark!BG3 | Back in my arms

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For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

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CW: Coercion, murder, forced memory loss, toxic relationship, power imbalance

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Now you have been found, your lover enjoys having you back in their arms, even if you don't.

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Conqueror Minthara:

Dragged back to Minthara's grand house, you fought and defied at every point, your spirit a fierce flame that refused to be extinguished. The opulent halls, adorned with trophies of her conquests, were a stark contrast to the dungeon you were thrown into for your persistent misbehaviour, you believe the last straw was when you pushed her top commander off of a balcony when they instructed you to get ready for dinner. Dark and cold, the dungeons echoed with the tortured cries of Minthara's other victims, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with despair. Minthara would often visit you, asking if you had were ready to submit to her wholly and every time you kicked dirt at her, that answer enough.

Days turned into weeks, and your defiance remained unbroken. Every time Minthara descended into the darkness to see you, her presence exuding a blend of anger and twisted affection, she would ask if you were ready to behave.

"Have you learned your lesson yet?" she'd inquire, her voice a cruel mockery of concern.

And every time, you would glare at her, your voice hoarse from yelling abure at the guards but nonetheless unwavering. "Never."

She would sigh, a mix of frustration and amusement in her eyes, before leaving you to the darkness once more. She wouldn't tell you this but she wanted you more to herself than she did you wasting away in the dungeons, but she had a point to make.

The conditions in the dungeon were harsh. The damp, the cold, and the lack of proper food began to take their toll. You grew weaker with each passing day, your body starting to betray you even as your spirit remained defiant. The illness came slowly at first—a persistent cough, chills, and then fever. It grew worse, until you could barely move, your strength sapped by the relentless sickness.

When Minthara came to see you one evening, her expression shifted from cruel amusement to something akin to concern. She stood at the threshold of your cell, her eyes narrowed as she took in your weakened form.

"You look terrible," she said, her tone almost gentle. "Are you ready to behave now? To be treated with the care and comfort you once had?"

You managed a weak laugh, shaking your head. "I'd rather die, iblith."

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she turned and left without another word. The days that followed were a blur of fevered dreams and agonizing pain. At the worst of times you would picture the village burniung and at the best of time you remember when you and MInthara were blissfully happy. Though you were starting to confuse the two.

The cries of the tortured around you became a distant hum, replaced by the overwhelming ache of your own suffering. When Minthara next appeared, you were too weak to even lift your head. She knelt beside you, her fingers cool against your burning skin as she checked your pulse.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "You're no use to me dead."

She sighed and stood up, her eyes never leaving your face. You breaths came in choked sputters. Sweat dripped from your brow.

"I can heal you, you know. I can make all this pain go away. All you have to do is obey me, my love. Just submit. Be my wife again."

In your delirium, her words seemed to echo in your mind. The word wife, burned into your brain and the pain, the suffering—it was all too much. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to go back to your fever dream. For the first time, you felt a flicker of desperation, a desire for the agony to end.

As she turned to leave, you pushed your pride aside and found the strength to reach out, your fingers brushing against her boot.

"Wait," you rasped, your voice barely audible. "Please..."

Minthara paused, her eyes widening with surprise and satisfaction. She knelt beside you again, her hand gently lifting your chin so you could meet her gaze.

"Are you ready to behave?" she asked softly. You nodded weakly, the fight draining out of you.

"Yes," you whispered. "Just make it stop. Please."

A triumphant smile spread across her face as she scooped you up effortlessly in her arms, a d as Minthara carried you from the cold, damp dungeon, your body felt like dead weight in her arms.

The journey through the opulent halls of her grand house was a surreal contrast to the darkness you had endured for weeks. Candlelit chandeliers cast flickering shadows on the marble floors, and tapestries depicting her conquests adorned the walls like trophies. You oculdn't help but melt into her arms. The way she held you so securely, the way you nestled into her chest to shy away from the harsh lights of the upper echelons of the house. Despite your weakened state, you couldn't help but notice the admiring glances and whispers of her servants as she passed by, triumphantly displaying her captured prize.

You were taken to a lavishly appointed chamber, where a large marble bath awaited. Minthara gently lowered you into the warm water, the soothing heat seeping into your chilled and feverish body. You leaned back against the edge of the bath, your muscles relaxing for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Minthara knelt beside the bath, her hands cupping water to pour over your hair, washing away the grime and sweat that clung to you. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, her fingers massaging your scalp with a tenderness that seemed at odds with her usual ruthless demeanor.

"I've missed you," she murmured, her voice low and filled with a mixture of possessiveness and longing. "You have no idea how much."

You closed your eyes, the warmth of the water and the rhythmic motion of her hands lulling you into a state of semi-consciousness. The lines between past and present blurred in your fevered mind, memories of happier times intermingling with the pain and suffering of recent weeks.

When the bath was done, Minthara wrapped you in a soft towel and carried you to the large bed at the center of the chamber. She laid you down gently, arranging the pillows behind your head so you could rest comfortably. She sat beside you, her hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.

"You're going to be alright, my love," she whispered, her voice a soothing murmur as if she hadn't inflicted this upon you. "I'll take care of you."

You looked up at her, seeing a vulnerability in her expression that you hadn't witnessed in a long time. It was a stark reminder of the complexity of her emotions, the love and possessiveness twisted with a fierce determination to keep you by her side.

As you lay there, weak and vulnerable, Minthara continued to tend to you. She fetched a healing potion from a nearby table and gently helped you drink it, the magic within it working to ease your fever and heal your weakened body. Her touch was gentle yet possessive, her fingers lingering on your skin as if afraid you might slip away from her again.

"You are my wife. You belong with me," she murmured, her voice a fervent declaration. "You always have and always will."

Her words echoed in your mind, a reminder of the bond that had once been between you, now twisted and tainted by pain and dominance. Yet, in your decrepit state, her presence offered a strange comfort. You were no longer fighting against her, but surrendering to the inevitability of her love.

As Minthara climbed into bed beside you, pulling the covers over both of you, she held you close, her arms a protective cocoon around you. You could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your back, a reassurance of her presence.

"I was a mess when I heard you had ran from me," she whispered in confession, her lips brushing against your ear. "But despite all your misgivings, my love for you has only grown. I can assure you, you will never leave my side again."

Minthara pressed a firm kiss against the side of your head and continued ot hold you. You closed your eyes in resignation, exhaustion finally overtaking you. In the darkness behind your eyelids, you saw flashes of the village burning, of the dungeons and the pain. But with every whisper of affesction and possession from Minthara, the memories blurred before being dispelled completely as you finally submitted to slumber.

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Mother Superior Shadowheart:

You stirred beneath the silk sheets, your sleep fractured by nightmares you couldn’t quite remember upon waking. Night after night, these dreams clawed at your subconscious, filling you with an overwhelming sense of dread and unease.

One particularly restless night, the nightmare was more vivid than ever. You dreamt of dark corridors and whispered voices, of a cruelty that left you breathless with terror. You felt the cold hand of a specter covering your mouth, the oppressive force of its magic twisting your mind and plucking at your emotions like strings on a harp.

You woke with a start, drenched in sweat, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Tears streamed down your cheeks, and your breaths came in shallow gasps. Shadowheart, ever alert, was immediately at your side. She gathered you into her arms, holding you close as you sobbed uncontrollably against her chest.

"Shh, my love," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe now, with me."

Despite her comforting words, a gut-wrenching feeling of unease gnawed at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t shake the sensation that something was profoundly wrong, though you couldn’t place what it was. Your memories were a foggy haze, filled with gaps and inconsistencies that you couldn’t quite grasp. Shadowheart's fingers stroked your hair gently, her touch both possessive and reassuring.

"Everything is okay," she whispered. "As long as you stay by my side, nothing can harm you."

Her words, though meant to comfort, felt like a cage, a reminder of a confinement you couldn’t quite remember but instinctively felt. You tried to push the feeling away, to focus on the warmth of her embrace, but your mind kept returning to that sense of flight or fight, that primal instinct screaming that something was amiss.

"Why do I keep having these dreams?" you asked, your voice trembling with confusion and fear. "Why do I feel like this?"

Shadowheart tightened her hold on you, her eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. "I do not know my love," she lied softly. "But I will protect you from those fears. You belong here, with me."

You nodded, trying to absorb her words and let them comfort you. The love you felt for her was undeniable, an all-encompassing emotion that overshadowed the lingering doubts. Yet, the dreams persisted, and so did the feeling of unease, like a dark shadow lurking just out of sight.

"Do you trust me?" Shadowheart asked, her eyes searching yours.

"Yes," you whispered, though the word felt heavy on your tongue.

"Then rest, my love," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I will keep you safe."

With a sigh, you allowed yourself to be lulled by her soft whispers and tender touch. The warmth of her body against yours and the rhythmic motion of her fingers in your hair slowly eased the tension in your muscles. The unease lingered, a quiet whisper in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t deny the comfort of her presence.

As you drifted back into a fitful sleep, Shadowheart held you tightly, her eyes filled with a possessive determination. She knew the power she held over you, the magic that had twisted your thoughts and memories, binding you to her. And she would use that power to keep you by her side, no matter the cost.

The nights would continue, filled with fragmented dreams and a gnawing sense of unease. But as long as you remained in Shadowheart's arms, you would be safe - you assured yourself. And in the darkness, as sleep claimed you once more, you clung to the love you once felt for her, unaware of the true nature of your captivity, bound by a spell you couldn’t remember but couldn’t escape.

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God of Ambition Gale:

In the realm Gale had created, a place of grandeur and opulence, you found yourself a minor deity—lesser in power and influence, a mere reflection of Gale’s omnipotence. He had promised you a place beside him, but this was not what you envisioned. Your divine essence was that of a muse, yet not the sweet inspiration of art and creativity. Instead, you embodied a point of fixation and obsession, an eternal prisoner of Gale's ideals, your cage gilded and beautiful, yet suffocating.

Gale often held you in his arms, a possessive embrace that felt both tender and imprisoning. Together, you would listen to the prayers of mortals seeking inspiration, productivity, and more than they deserved. These prayers, driven by greed and selfish desire, seemed to amuse him greatly. He relished the thought that many mortals yearned for you, desired the touch of your divine influence, yet you were his alone.

"Listen to them," Gale would murmur, his voice a smooth blend of affection and pride. "They all want you, but they can never have you. You are mine, forever."

You would nod along, feigning agreement, but your heart ached with every passing moment. You were more than just an object of Gale's obsession, a trophy to be displayed. As you listened to the endless stream of prayers, you began to discern a different kind of plea. Hidden among the voices of greed and ambition were the prayers of those trapped in their own gilded cages—mortals who sought freedom from their obsessors, who yearned to break free from the chains of fixation.

In the quiet moments, when Gale's attention wavered, you would grant these desperate souls the strength they needed. You whispered words of encouragement, sent subtle waves of resolve, and instilled a sense of determination within them. You helped them find the courage to fight for their freedom, to succeed where you could not. Each act of defiance against their imprisoning forces became a silent rebellion, a spark of hope that you nurtured from afar.

Gale, in his ambition and arrogance, never realized the true extent of your influence. He was too fixated on having you in his arms, on possessing you completely. He reveled in the knowledge that you belonged to him, oblivious to the silent rebellion you fostered within the hearts of the mortals.

One evening, as he held you close, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your skin, you heard the prayer of a young artist, a woman trapped in an abusive relationship with her mentor. Her plea for strength was raw and heartfelt, a cry for liberation. You closed your eyes, focusing your divine power on her, infusing her with the courage she needed to break free.

"What is it, my love?" Gale asked, sensing your distraction.

"Just a prayer," you replied softly, your voice steady. "A plea for inspiration."

He smiled, satisfied, and pulled you closer. "Good. Let them yearn. Let them desire. They will never have what I possess."

As he drifted off to sleep, his grip loosening, you continued to listen to the prayers of the desperate, the trapped, and the yearning. You granted them strength and resolve, knowing that each act of defiance against their obsessions was a victory, a step toward the freedom you could never attain.

Your existence had become a paradox—a muse of fixation and obsession, yet a silent liberator for those who shared your plight. Gale, blinded by his own ambition and desire, never saw the true extent of your power. He believed he had you completely, but in your heart, you knew that your true legacy lay in the strength you bestowed upon others.

And so, you remained in Gale's arms, a gilded prisoner in his realm, but your spirit roamed free, a beacon of hope for those who dared to dream of liberation.

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Ascended Astarion:

The tavern had become a distant memory, a fleeting glimpse of your former life. Now, you found yourself in a dark, opulent chamber, draped in silks and shadows, a testament to Astarion's newfound power and status. The room was a blend of elegance and darkness, its decor reflecting his taste for the finer things and his ever-present thirst for control. He had claimed you, his most favored spawn, and bestowed upon you the title of his dark consort.

Days blurred into nights as you resisted the monstrous hunger that gnawed at your insides. Astarion indulged your refusal to feed, amused by your stubborn defiance. He offered you the finest blood, collected from the most exquisite of donors, but you turned away each time, determined to cling to the last vestiges of your humanity.

"Such a stubborn little thing," he would murmur, his voice filled with a mixture of irritation and admiration and he would grab your jaw and tilt your head, "But I do love a challenge."

One night, as the full moon cast its eerie light through the tall windows, you found yourself growing weaker. The hunger was a constant, gnawing ache that left you trembling and light-headed. Astarion watched you with a predatory gaze, his patience wearing thin. What was once an amusement turned into an annoyance, you were not fun to play with, collapsed on the floor.

He approached you with a deliberate grace, his movements fluid and precise. Without a word, he scooped you up in his arms, your weakened state rendering you powerless to resist. Though you tried to protest he simply mocked you and carried on forward. He took you to his throne, an imposing structure of dark wood and velvet, and settled you on his lap. Your head resting against his chest as his cold hands caressed your face, tracing the lines of your jaw with an almost tender touch.

"You've tested my patience long enough, my darling," he said softly, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "If you won't drink from a golden chalice, then perhaps straight from the source will suffice."

Your heart raced as you realized what he intended. "Please, Astarion," you pleaded, your voice a trembling whisper. You tried to get away from him to move, but your hunger strike had led you powerless and Astarion held you in his arms with ease. "Don't do this."

Astarion's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He beckoned, and a young adult human was brought before you, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and resignation. The scent of fresh blood filled the air, and your resolve wavered.

"Drink," Astarion commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "You need it, and I will not have my consort wasting away."

The human extended their wrist towards you, the pulse of their heartbeat a siren call to your starving senses. You hesitated, but the hunger was too powerful, too overwhelming to resist any longer. With a reluctant sigh, you grasped the offered wrist and sank your fangs into the tender flesh. The taste of warm, rich blood flooded your mouth, and you drank hungrily, your body reviving with every drop.

Astarion watched with a mixture of satisfaction and possessive delight. His hand stroked your hair as you fed, his touch both comforting and possessive.

"That's it, my dear," he cooed, his voice a dark lullaby. "Drink your fill. You are mine, and I will ensure you are always well taken care of."

As you drank, the human's life essence seeping into you, you felt a twisted sense of relief. The hunger was sated, if only temporarily, and the strength began to return to your limbs. But with it came the inescapable knowledge of your predicament, the realization that you were bound to Astarion in a way that went beyond mere affection or loyalty. You were his, and he would never let you go.

When you finally released the human, they unceremoniously crumpled to the floor, quickly dragged off to be sloppy seconds for the others under Astarion's thrall. You tried to get up to move, but a lidded satiation overtook you as your body took in what it had desired for so long. Astarion pulled you close, his lips brushing your temple in a mockery of tenderness.

"See how good it feels to accept your place, my little love?" he murmured. "You belong to me, and I will always take care of you."

Despite the horror of your situation, a part of you couldn't deny the comfort of his embrace, the seductive pull of his dark promise. As you nestled against him, the room fading into a blur of shadows and silks, you wondered how much of yourself you had lost, and how much more you were willing to surrender to the man you once loved, now a godling born of malice.

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Naturist Halsin:

Days turned into weeks as you settled into the new grove, a pristine yet haunting reflection of the wilds that Halsin now commanded with a fierce and unyielding grip. The routine you adopted was one of quiet resignation, a means of finding solace in the monotony of daily tasks. You busied yourself tending to the grove, your hands working the soil and nurturing the plants that thrived under the druid’s watchful eye. The other druids kept their distance, their silence a tacit acknowledgment of your unique position in Halsin's domain.

Animals, ever-present and vigilant, became your constant companions. Their eyes followed you wherever you went, a silent network of spies ensuring that Halsin always knew your whereabouts. It was a constant reminder of your captivity, their gaze a chain that kept you bound to this new life.

Despite the isolation, you found small moments of escape in the pages of a worn book you had managed to keep hidden. When your chores were done, you would steal away to a secluded meadow, its vibrant flowers and tall grasses offering a brief respite from the ever-watchful eyes of the forest. One afternoon, you lay down in the soft grass, the book resting on your chest as you closed your eyes. The gentle hum of insects and the whisper of the breeze through the trees lulled you into a peaceful slumber.

Hours later, Halsin prowled the grove, a growing sense of unease gnawing at him. He had not seen you for some time, and though his spies assured him you were safe, his heart ached with a fear that you had somehow managed to escape again. His steps quickened, his eyes scanning the surroundings until he finally reached the meadow.

There, nestled among the flowers, he found you. Your face was serene, free from the usual tension and fear that had become your constant companions. Halsin's breath caught in his throat at the sight, a mix of relief and a deep, possessive tenderness washing over him. He approached silently, his movements as fluid and graceful as a predator stalking its prey.

Carefully, he lay down beside you, his arms encircling you with a possessive tenderness. The warmth of his body against yours stirred you from your sleep, and your eyes fluttered open. Panic surged through you as you realized who held you, and you began to struggle against his embrace.

"Hush," Halsin whispered, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. "You’re safe, my heart. I’m here."

Your resistance waned as the exhaustion of your efforts and the gentleness of his voice overpowered your will to fight. You settled back into his arms, your body tense but no longer struggling. Halsin’s fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, a touch that was both reassuring and a reminder of his dominance.

"I worry for you," he said softly, his breath warm against your ear. "When I can't find you, my mind races with fears of losing you again."

"You don't own me, Halsin," you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

He sighed, a sound filled with both frustration and affection. "I don’t wish to own you, but to keep you safe. The world is harsh, and I have seen too much destruction to risk losing what I love most."

A heavy silence settled between you, broken only by the distant call of birds and the rustling of leaves. Despite everything, a part of you yearned for the gentle druid you had once known, the man who had loved nature without resorting to violence.

As you lay there, the meadow’s tranquility enveloping you both, Halsin tightened his hold, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "Rest, my love. I will watch over you."

And so, you closed your eyes once more, surrendering to the inevitability of your situation. In his arms, you found a twisted semblance of peace, a fragile illusion of safety that masked the underlying turmoil. The meadow's beauty was a stark contrast to the darkness that had consumed Halsin’s heart, and as you drifted back to sleep, the boundaries between love and captivity blurred, leaving you in a liminal space of conflicting emotions and quiet despair.

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Did some more Dark!BG3 to warm up my wiritng skills before tackling my inbox. Arranged Marriage! Minthara will be my next piece of own writing up.

Also massive thank you and hello to all of my new followers, I was so worried that going away would cause a quick death to my channel but all the love and support I have been receiving - gods I could cry. Apreciate y'all and hope you enjoyed this - Seluney xox

[bhaalsdeepbat]

i really, really love that lae'zel is DISGUSTED by the idea of ever having to deal with pregnancy, but like. genuinely loves being a mom to Xan. and just loves that baby so much.

[firstknightvulion]

Now, there is some discourse regarding Minthara and her romance. Specifically, that it feels out of character for her to romance a Masculine presenting Tav. I respectfully disagree.

Minthara is all about power. Ya gotta prove yourself to her. Be vicious and direct. She don’t give a hoot about your gender identity, she’s looking at your kill streak.

But it did give me an idea. Minthara has spoken about going back to Menzoberranzan and burning that fucker to the ground to spite Lolth (paraphrasing). My Seladrine Drow Tav (half Drow/half moon elf) would join her because he’s got a hate boner for the religion of Lolth that’s been turgent since his family and friends were killed by a Lolth Warband’s attack on his Eilistraeen compound.

Now, I imagine her first target would be her house. Minthara would want to twist the knife. Make them suffer.

Minthara’s Mother stands in the great hall of her house. Two of her daughters stand by her side. They are the last of their house. Hours before a shadow descended into their home and started systematically killing every living thing inside.

The great doors to the hall fly open with an explosion. Shrapnel and smoke fill the space. A heart beat later, two arrows fly through the air with deadly intent. They find their marks in the two daughters. One is hit through the eye, she drops instantly. The other is struck in the throat. She does not die quickly. She gurgles and grasps at her throat, feebly trying to stop the escaping blood. Her hands fall limp as the sound of deliberate footsteps fill the hall.

Minthara’s Mother looks away from her daughters’ corpses and up at the dark figure walking towards her. It is dressed in Drow leathers, a hood and mask covering the face. Two green eyes stare at her from shadow of the hood.

Minthara’s Mother: What pit spawned you!?

A chuckle is heard from behind the figure, a deep and dangerous sound. Minthara walks in, blood and a wicked smile painting her face.

Minthara: Hello, mother.

MM: Minthara?! You heretical traitor! Why haven’t you had the decency to die?!

Minthara: The Spider Bitch’s webs will burn, mother. The house Baenre will be the first of the kindling.

MM: You would have us become ash for the sake of such blasphemy?! Deeper and deeper you fall into a pit of shame!

Minthara: To feel shame, I would need to feel remorse. I assure you, mother, I feel only joy. The fact that you were cast down by one so low shall keep warm and smiling for many decades to come.

Minthara pulls back the figures hood. The scared face of Drow male greets her. His eyes a green and while sporting the dark skin of a Drow, it is very pale, almost ashen.

Minthara: This male is of the traitors that stole away to the surface to follow Eilistraee!

MM: How?! How were we defeated by such an inferior being?!

Minthara: Stealth is very broken in this game, mother.

Tav: Minthara! The fourth wall!

Minthara: He was conceived by a loving union that bridged the gap between Drow and our surface kin! In the missionary position!

MM: *gasps*

Tav: *giving Minthara a very confused look*

Minthara: He is not only a third son, he is a sixth son! You were beaten by a third son times two!

MM: *clutches her metaphorically pearls*

Tav: *is an only child but knows enough of Menzoberranzan culture to be slightly offended*

Minthara: He is my romantic partner! I treat him as an equal!

Tav, somehow, feels the sensation of someone vomiting in his thoughts.

MM: You disgust the Spider Queen! Next you’ll tell me you don’t even peg him!

Tav: No, she does.

Minthara: Mother, please. I’m a genocidal conqueror, I’m not debased.

Suddenly, Minthara pulls the sword out of the scabbard hanging from Tav’s back. Within a blink of an eye, it is driven through her mother’s chest. Minthara leaves it embedded in her mother’s body half the blade sticking out of her back. With a gasp, she falls over.

Minthara: *kneeling down to whisper in her mother’s ear* The blade is of Eilistraee. Fitting, don’t you think, mother?

Minthara stands, throwing her head back and raising her arms, as if soaking up sunlight. She begins to laugh.

Minthara: The first conquest is done.

She walks over to the Matriarch’s throne and sits down.

Minthara: Come, fuck me.

Tav: Now?

Minthara: What better time and place than this? My former house is ended, my mother dead-

Tav: She’s not dead.

Minthara: What?

Tav: Still gurgling.

Minthara: Oh, for the love of-she can’t be long for this world.

Tav: Do you want to wait? I don’t want to pull out the blade in case that kills her. I’ll be hearing about taking the honor of killing the mother for years after.

Minthara: No, I don’t want to wait!

Minthara quickly jogs over and pulls the sword out of her mother’s chest. She plunges it in again, hitting the ground underneath. With pure malice in her eyes, her mother reaches up to clutch Minthara’s leg.

Tav: Wow, she is resilient.

Minthara: Enough of this!

Ripping the sword out of her mother’s chest, Minthara makes a wild swing and cut the Drow’s head clean off. The pair watch it roll down the length of the hall. Before another snarky comment can leave his lips, Minthara’s mouth collides with his. They stand, kissing, amongst the skeleton of Minthara’s old home for several moments.

Minthara: Come, there is a duty to which you must attend.

Tav: You have a thing for thrones, don’t you?

Honestly, I should get an Ao3 account cause my posts are looking like fanfiction chapters.

This post was all to get to that line Minthara says about the sixth son. That and the 4th wall break.

[bloody-kissezz]

Minthara and Coronis, conquerors of Faerun

ultrin sargtlin! Elgg-hor

[ilikedetectives]

I am trying unlock more Minthara dialogues, but I don't know what things she approves.

Hi anon, I'm still early in Act 3. So far I notice she tends to approve things like *spoiler coming*

if the option is take the power for yourself or something similar, take it because she's a conqueror

help the refugees by donating things (really, that got me an inspiration for her) in Act 3

for the dryad thing: the 3 answers are she misses the food, she admires Tav, and let herself be captured

if there is an option to fight or surrender/go to jail (when persuasion isn't available), she prefers fight. If persuasion is there, then go for that first. Basically noble honor system

kill Viconia

she likes it when you impress her (like with the grove)

talk to her after every cutscene of a quest just in case, she usually has a line or two

multiclass her as a bard she has some lines

I'd say Minthara approval is like a mix between Shadowheart and Lae'zel. Another way but may introduce bug is literally edit the approval rating level with mods/ct, but I don't think it will unlock any more dialogue if you're already in a relationship with her tbh.

The game recognizes that you're in a relationship with Minthara after the "I belong only to you" line (don't expect a romance scene there's none which is very lackluster to say the least, she pours her heart out there and not even a hug wth). After that the dryad and the drow twin should recognize you two as a couple, which is how you know. Now if you're already dating someone before (for me it's Shadowheart, my Tav can kiss her anytime), once you agree to be with Minthara, the game will break that relationship and you won't get a chance to talk to that partner (which is very weird because I chose the option that I'd let SH know asdadsas). So when I go talk to Shadowheart, she just went something like "seems your heart has drifted elsewhere, curious." and convo ended, not even a basic "hey I chose Minthara, sorry." So I'm not sure if this is another bug.

[estevnys]

OC Inspo

Guidelines: share something that acts as inspiration for your OC(s)! It could be anything; a moodboard, a collection of pictures, a playlist, a movie, etc. Explaining why you like it as inspiration is optional. Tagged by -> @gothimp !!

i thought i would do some mood boards for my tavs. i also just really like doing color palettes for my characters-- so i included those too!!!!

ophielora of the first circle 🌿☀️🐺

half-elf druid of the land and cleric of mielikki. hero of baldur's gate and general sunshine child.

wren 🧚‍♀️🌩️✨

tiefling warlock of the summer court and stormblood sorcerer. unsung hero of baldur's gate and wife to professor gale dekarios.

alexandros ravensbane🩸⚔️🐦‍⬛

human paladin of conquest / oathbreaker. THE DARK URGE. conqueror of baldur's gate and consort to minthara baenre, the lady of house baenre.

[worddevourer]

So I was thinking about Baldur's Gate, and then I was thinking about Road to El Dorado, because of the Annapantsu covers of some of the songs, and then I was thinking about it being Shadowheart and Karlach, because really, they're the most logical picks for Tulio and Miguel, and I realized some things.

This almost certainly means Chel is Astarion. Found on the run, holding stolen goods, trying very hard to twist things to his advantage.

El Dorado is probably the Druid Grove, because Halsin as Chief Tannabok and Kagha as Tzekel-Kan works too well to pass up.

Cortez probably has to be Ketheric Thorm. Conquering general with a powerful voice is pretty much required to be him.

The odd knock-on effect of this is that while there are no horses in Baldur's gate, we do have a loyal servant to the evil conqueror, who provides deadpan reactions to the chickanery of the main cast, and who can be recruited into the party.

Altivo is Minthara, and I have been coasting on how funny that thought is to me all day.

[justmightyshadows]

Took me awhile but another chapter is ready!

Minthara leaned into the throne as if she’d sat there a million times. Her legs spread wide as she filled the space with her presence, sipping a glass of wine and looking out over the hall. The chairs and benches are strewn across it, the blood covering the walls leaves a haunting view of the lives lost but her eyes are drawn to a large steel door. The door where she entered as a guest, then as a disgraced warrior and finally as a conqueror. The door Muira came in to see her at her lowest point, her meager plea responded to by Umberlee’s spawn. She took a big swig from the goblet, savoring the taste of home that Muira had brought for her some days ago and let her head lean back against the cold stone of the throne. She heard soft footsteps approaching, the echoing clink of metal on stone sang of armor but she made no motion to open her eyes or greet her visitor. They could come to her today, whoever it was, she would not be moved from her seat.

The footsteps stopped in front of her and a pleasing voice spoke from the darkness “I saw you deal the final blow on Ketheric. An enemy destroyed and my ally freed, we make quite the team.” Minthara opened her eyes and gazed down at her, in her heavy fishscale armor, one hand on her hip and the other extended to hold up her trident, a stunning and impressive warrior. She seemed to be without injury and even had a look to her as if she could have battled on for many days, it set Minthara’s lust ablaze to see her so. Muira took off a glimmering helm and placed it on the ground. “Seeing you sitting there has stirred something in me, the throne has given me a view of my tomorrow. Would that you’d be in a throne in Selkarnath. A true lord though must have those who are loyal to them.” She made a show of taking off her gloves, tossed them to fall near the helm “Let me be your first, I have bent the knee for no one in my long life, but today I will bend it for you. Today, I will swear myself to you.” Minthara chuckled, blushed slightly. Muira was always getting under her skin, worming herself into Minthara’s flesh and sitting at her heart. It was too good to be true. “The battle haze has made you speak outside of yourself. Do not make me promises you do not plan to keep or you will know my fury” she joked a bit but felt herself hoping to see the action for herself.

“I do not speak without reason. I refuse to kneel unless moved to do so. You have earned my trust in action and word. By tongue and sword.” She put down the trident and shed her arm greaves and chest piece as she asked with batted brown eyes “May I approach you, my lord?”Minthara’s throat was dry and the wine had started to heat her body up as well, she squirmed on the throne but found herself wearing a smirk that gave aware her desire. “You may.” She managed to squeak out with a bit of feigned nonchalantness. Muira was before her quickly, falling to her knees as she slowly took off Minthara’s armor, undoing the puzzle of straps with ease - each newly exposed body part was kissed and caressed under her lord’s watchful eye. Minthara had not expected such a reception but did not find herself upset, on the contrary her dreams of late had often drifted to this demi-god worshipping her in such a way, her knees bruised from supplication - her mouth ajar begging for entrance. They had taken turns between sleep and meditation the previous night and she had watched with fervor at the shape of her lover’s body. Muira soon had her in her under tunic, she had not put on underwear hoping to feel the lust of battle over her fully. The cold stone of the throne aroused every inch of the exposed skin on her legs. “You return a conqueror my lord. What say you? What does such an act deserve? I can feel the heat of battle on you still. Let me give you release.” Minthara watched as skilled fingers worked their way up to her thighs, her waist to playfully pinch her erect nipples. She let out a quiet moan and answered “A true lord makes deals with their vassals. What do you offer me?” Muira let her tongue slide against the now exposed thighs “Devotion. Adoration. Power. ” Muira looked up with dark brown eyes “What do you offer me then - since we are striking a deal.” Minthara shivered as Muira grazed her inner thigh with sharp teeth. She did not wait for a reply as Minthara racked her head for the right response. Instead Muira pulled her forward on the throne and let her ass hang off the edge just a bit. Minthara pressed her feet into the arms of the throne and gave herself to the sensation of Muira’s tongue. She had started to caress the outer lips and work her way between the folds with in teasing motions. Muira sucked lightly on her clit before taking it gently between her teeth and looking up at her. This woman, she thought to herself, she will devour my body if I’m not careful. She gave a look of approval to Muira, begging even to keep going. She was answered with more adoration, this time the harsh sucks were accompanied with deep breaths of hot air across her. The hum of her voice as she moaned into the exhales vibrated her entire being. She was lost to the world when she heard a familiar patter of feet and rustling of clothes from behind the hallway door. Muira responded to her tensing lifting her to her feet quickly and standing in front of her - she threw on her tunic while they peered deeply into the darkness trying to find the source of the noise. They glanced at each other before Minthara allowed Muira to pick up their belongings and head out. “Let’s take this to the tent then my lord. I would hate to be stopped again.” Muira went to a side door towards camp and pushed against it gingerly. Minthara used her body as a shield to make her way out and deep into the shadows down the hall. Muira on the other hand took a glance behind the door to see their visitors.

Astarion stood against the wall his pants hanging around his ankles, his face a smug statue. He was proud of his conquest and Muira could see why, before him was Wyll his eyes closed as Astarion guided his mouth up and down his cock with rough motions. He jerked his head to tell Muira to leave as he pressed himself into the back of Wyll’s throat. “Don’t stop yet. I’ve barely begun.” He mewled. Muira returned to camp quickly and shed her clothing in the tent under Minthara’s watchful gaze, the hair had been trimmed down since their last encounter but she was sporting a new long scar on her leg. She straddled the drow quickly hoping not to lose the momentum of their embrace. She lifted Minthara’s hip taking in the supple feel of her skin, and rested her ass gracefully on her thigh then pressed forward, rubbing their wet cunts together. The sensation sent Minthara’s eyes backwards her clit was swollen from the feast Muira had before so she was sensitive to rubbing against her lover in such a way. She was already close to her climax when she looked up. Staring up into the concentrated face before her, her heart skipped as she heard a soft whisper. “I love you.” Minthara did not respond instead she reached out to assist, to show, she groped longingly for her lover’s wet warmth but was denied each time with a hard push. The thrusts continued in a rhythmic pattern as Minthara clenched harshly and felt her tensing muscles slide against Muira’s wetness. Muira only seemed more emboldened by the climax, she looked down longingly and whispered in soft tones only slightly audible over the sounds of their bodies slamming together “Tonight I will please my Lord, I will reward you, I will worship you, like only I can.”

The climaxes continued without Muira showing signs of wavering, each time Minthara felt her body lose itself she was sure that would be the last but Muira would continue, her brow furrowed and her body glistening from exertion. The motion never let up, her hips bucked and fell pressing their warmth together for what felt like eternity. The sweat between them became sticky from each passing orgasm. She couldn’t scream, could barely call out. Her legs were like two heavy pieces of stone tired from the onslaught of release.

She closed her eyes and accepted that she would be in an endless state of ecstasy when Muira pressed down into her hands and began to slam her hips forcefully, breathing heavily, she eased out Minthara’s name and looked deep into her eyes. “Minthara. I’m almost there. Please don’t stop me yet.” It would be impossible for this to be her only climax Minthara thought but held her breath as the hard thrusts slowed to ragged pushes her body tensing her legs pressed together and she gave a deep guttural groan of release. She lowered herself limply to Minthara’s side and smiled. Wiping the sweat soaked hair from Minthara’s face. “Am I worthy my lord? To lay by your side?” Minthara let out a harsh laugh and kissed her “You are the only one who is.” Her body felt cold with Muira released from her, she felt empty and even a bit of sadness began to take place at the thought that it was over. She nestled into her neck and pulled the thick blankets over her, she closed her eyes in the act of blinking and was immediately asleep, her body forcing her into a meditative trance before she could protest. Minthara awoke in Muira’s tent, her armor, cleaned and polished, sat in the corner. Her body was covered in a soft healing cream and fine silk bed clothes. There is a tray of fruits and mushrooms sitting near her and for a second she saw the fleeting back of Muira’s servant before she disappeared, in a flash of light.

Before she could investigate further, she noticed the sound of striking metal outside and rose to see Muira training with Lae’zel. They both are shirtless. Glistening bronze of her skin causes her heart to race, she notices the many eyes on Muira and smirks to herself - she knew the others lusted for something they would never have, something that was hers. The sound of their acts must have penetrated the entire camp last night. Muira’s eyes flickered in her direction between a large swing by Lae’zel. She dealt a quick blow to Lae’zel’s hand with a thunderous smack causing her to drop her weapon then pushed hard with her shoulder to knock her down, her trident came to rest at her sparring partners neck who gave a “Tchk” and raised her hand in defeat. She lifted her gently to her feet and laughed. “I will teach you that move later today, I see my love has awoken.” Minthara walked over to them with a swaggering confidence of a satisfied lover and noticed the whining cleric taking an interest in Lae’zels shape. “You have an admirer.” Minthara whispered gently coming to rest her head against Muira’s. “Enjoy your conquest, but beware one who was shown so much prejudice against you.” Lae’zel cast her eyes towards Shadowheart who tried to quickly duck into her tent. “I will leave you then. I have waited for her mind to be unclouded.”

She strutted toward Shadowheart’s tent and enters in a swish of fabric. “She’s still shirtless.” Muira chuckled. Her eyes turn to Minthara “You look well. A new day at your side” She brings Minthara’s hand to her lips and gives it a tender kiss. “I would hate to idle here any longer. I was told we have two new targets in baldurs gate. One that I hear you have intimate knowledge of, a past lover? Jealous, don’t be. But she likes the look of jealousy. Savors the question and the small bit of anger in Muiras words. She is desired.” If I was jealous it wouldn’t last for long. You will put your blade through her throat and quell any such fear. I will talk to dame Aylin on our way, once she has time to be with Isobel. Nothing could take her away at this point.” Muira said with a cool confidence but also a bit of warning. “Then we move onward.” Minthara replied - moving Muira’s hair from her face and leaving a soft kiss on her cheek.

[oathtorn]

// I'm slowly developing Minthara's backstory, but thinking of Nightwarden being a title tied to Minthara's military role and victories, often consisting of raids to the surface. It's why she was specifically chosen by Ketheric and appointed as commander for the Absolute's forces. She knows better than anyone how to lead soldiers and take prisoners.

She's allowed to keep it by Orin, with it being given a new, 'romantic' meaning — she's no longer a conqueror, but a protector and enforcer of her faith. This is, of course, a lie. Pure mockery, an example of Orin's twisted sense of humor. It is why, when she breaks free from the Absolute, Minthara ditches the title entirely. Not only is it no longer accurate, but it has been tainted. Her greatest pride, the result of a lifetime of hard work and excellence... used to ridicule and humiliate her.

[moonselune]

Dark!BG3 | Found you !

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, murder, arson, coercion, forced memory loss,

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

After hiding from your lover due to the person they've become, what happens when they finally find you?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The tranquility of the small, secluded village had been a balm to your wounded, broken soul. Hidden deep within the forest on the surface, it seemed like the perfect place to escape the chaos and bloodshed of the Underdark that had come to define your life with Minthara. For months, you managed to lived in peace, and the horrors of the Underdark and Minthara's ruthless conquest slowly became distant memories. But peace, you learned, is a fleeting, foolish, illusion.

It was a quiet evening when she found you. The sun was setting, casting shadows across the village square. You were tending to a small garden, your hands deep in the earth, when the first screams pierced the air. Your heart lurched, a cold dread settling in your stomach. You looked up to see villagers running, their faces twisted in terror, as dark figures emerged from the surrounding forest.

You immediately recognised them to be Minthara's soldiers, ruthless and efficient, and spreading through the village like a hideous plague. Houses were set ablaze, and those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies quickly put on brutal display, their home, their burning pyre. Panic seized you, and you turned to flee, but it was too late. She stood before you, a dark, imposing figure against the backdrop of burning homes.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" Her voice was a chilling blend of amusement and anger. "There is no place you can go that I cannot find."

Her eyes, once a source of fascination and allure, now bore into you with a cruel, predatory intensity. She advanced slowly, savoring the fear that radiated from you.

"You disappoint me," she said, her voice a venomous whisper. "I thought you were stronger than this, more loyal and that your standards were extraordinarily higher than this."

Minthara gestured with disgust the small homestead you had made for yourself. You tried to speak, to explain, but words failed you. The memory of the person she once was clashed violently with the reality of the monster before you. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.

"I gave you everything," she continued, her voice soft yet seething with underlying fury. "Power, purpose, and a place by my side. And you ran away."

Her hand moved to grip your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "Now, you will watch as everything you tried to build without me burns to the ground."

With a wave of her hand, she commanded her soldiers to bring forth the villagers who had been captured. They were dragged into the square, their faces marked by fear and confusion. You knew them, they had helped you, taken you in, wanting nothing but to see you smile. You struggled against her hold, desperate to help them, but Minthara's grip was unyielding.

"Look at them," she hissed, her lips close to your ear. "They suffer because of you. Because you dared to defy me."

Tears of helpless rage filled your eyes as you watched the villagers, they were killed slowly, painfully. You watched the light drain from their eyes, their pleas for you to do something resonating in your skull. Minthara moved closer to you, her lips trailing up your neck, the touch both intimate and suffocating.

"You will stay with me," she murmured, her voice a dark promise. "You will learn that there is no escape from my will. And in time you will love me."

As she kissed your neck, a gesture that once brought warmth now filled you with a chilling dread, she pulled back and looked deep into your eyes. "Do you see now? You belong to me, and no matter where you go, I will always find you."

The village continued to burn, the flames casting flickering shadows on Minthara's face. She smiled, a cold, triumphant smile, and you knew that your fate was sealed. In her eyes, you saw the reflection of your own helplessness, a stark reminder of the power she wielded and the chains you could never break.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dense forest. You had been on the run for months, trying to escape the clutches of Shadowheart, the Mother Superior of the Sharrans. Her cruelty towards others had finally driven you away, you didn't believe your own excuses for her anymore, and you couldn't bear to see the darkness that had consumed her heart. But no matter how far you ran, you always felt her presence lingering, a shadow that refused to let you go.

One night, while you were sleeping in a small, hidden cave, the best you could do without risking interaction with civilisation, you awoke to the sound of rustling leaves and the feeling of an oppressive force drawing near. Panic surged through you, but before you could react, you felt a cold hand cover your mouth, stifling your scream. Shadowheart's face emerged from the darkness, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" she whispered, her voice a chilling mix of anger and possessiveness. "Did you think I would let you go so easily?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to free yourself, but Shadowheart's grip was unyielding. She muttered an incantation under her breath, and you felt a wave of magical energy wash over you. Your body went limp, and your vision blurred as the world around you faded into darkness.

When you awoke, you were back in the Sharran temple, bound to an ornate chair in Shadowheart's private chamber. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting long shadows on the walls. Shadowheart stood before you, her expression unreadable as she looked upwards, muttering incantations, channeling the power of Shar. Her hands glowed with dark energy as they moved and flicked, as you came to you realised the strange sensation in your mind, as if memories were being played and plucked from your consciousness.

"You left me," she said softly, as she looked down at you, her voice filled with a mix of hurt and determination. "But I can't allow that. I won't allow that."

As the spell took hold, the memories of her cruelty and your subsequent escape began to fade. You tried to resist, to hold on to the truth, but the power was too strong. The love you once felt for Shadowheart, the passion and devotion, surged back to the forefront of your mind, overpowering everything else.

"You belong to me," Shadowheart continued, her eyes fixed on you. "And I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side."

Your head swam with conflicting emotions, but the magic of Shar twisted your thoughts until you could no longer remember why you had left in the first place. Instead, all you could think about was your love and adoration for Shadowheart. The memories of her cruelty were buried deep within your subconscious, replaced by a distorted version of reality where she was your everything.

Finally the darkness fully enveloped you, seeping into every corner of your mind, erasing the memories that had driven you away. You felt your resistance slip with it, replaced by a warm, all-encompassing love for the woman before you.

When you awoke again, you were no longer bound, and you were in Shadowheart's arms, both of you tucked under silk sheets in her lavish private chamber. She was holding you close, her fingers gently stroking your hair. You looked up at her, confusion and love warring within you.

"Shadowheart," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "What happened? Why do I feel... strange?"

She smiled down at you, her eyes soft and filled with love. "You had a bad dream, my love," she said soothingly. "But it's over now. You are safe with me."

You nodded, the memory of the dream already fading. You were with Shadowheart, the woman you loved more than anything. How could you ever have doubted her?

She kissed your forehead, her lips warm and comforting. "Rest now, my love," she whispered. "We have each other, and that is all that matters."

As you closed your eyes, the last remnants of your fear and doubt melted away, replaced by the warming love and trust you felt for Shadowheart. She was your everything, and you would never leave her again.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

You step into your quarters, the familiar, sacred tranquility enveloping you like a comforting shroud. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a silvery glow over the room. As you close the door behind you, a chill runs down your spine—a sensation that is both foreign and unnerving in this place of sanctuary.

Then, you see him.

Gale stands in the center of the room, his presence as imposing and magnetic as ever. His eyes, once filled with mortal passion, now burn with the intensity of a god. He claps slowly, the sound echoing ominously in the silence. "Well done," he says, his voice a smooth blend of admiration and something darker. "To turn to Selûne, of all deities. Clever. So very clever."

You stiffen, every muscle in your body screaming at you to flee, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "Gale," you begin, your voice steadier than you feel. "You shouldn't be here."

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement and irony. "Shouldn't I? You think you can hide from me, even with the Moonmaiden's help? Oh, my dear, it only made me love you more. The cunning, the defiance. It's intoxicating."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a frantic plea for escape. "I don't want to return to you," you say, the words rushing out in a desperate torrent.

His expression softens, but there is a steely resolve in his eyes. "You don't have a choice. I've carved out a place for you in the heavens, a place by my side. It's where you belong."

Panic surges through you, and you turn, racing for the door. But before you can reach it, he is there, materializing in front of you with a god's effortless speed. You crash into him, the impact jarring, but he remains unmoved, his arms encircling you in a grip that is both tender and inescapable.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "And I know you've missed me, too."

You shove him, your hands pushing against his chest with all the strength you can muster. He staggers back, not from the force of your push, but from the sheer surprise of it. And then he laughs again, the sound filling the room like rolling thunder.

"Is this the game you want to play? So be it." he asks, his eyes alight with a fierce, unholy joy. His power surges, the air around him crackling with divine energy. "Maybe I can show you a bit of godly wrath,"

You back away, your mind racing for a plan, a way to escape the inevitable. But even as you retreat, you know that this is a game you cannot win. Gale's love, his obsession, is a force of nature, and he is determined to claim what he believes is rightfully his. The room darkens, the shadows deepening as his power swells, and you realize with a sinking heart that there is no sanctuary left for you—not from him.

The room trembles as Gale's godly wrath unfurls, the very air around you becoming charged with his immense power. The ground beneath your feet shudders violently, and you can feel the tremors spreading far beyond your quarters. Objects rattle and crash to the floor, and outside, you hear the distant, terrified screams of innocents caught in the wake of his fury.

Lightning arcs across the sky, its blinding flashes followed by deafening cracks of thunder that shake the walls. The cries of the people intensify. You rush to the window, your heart sinking as you witness the chaos unfolding below. Bolts of divine lightning strike indiscriminately, setting buildings ablaze and sending people scrambling for cover.

"Gale, stop this!" you shout, turning back to him, your voice barely audible over the cacophony of destruction. "You're hurting them! Please, stop!"

But his eyes are fixed on you, burning with an intensity that leaves no room for mercy or reason. He steps closer, and the tremors grow stronger, the ground splitting open in jagged fissures. You can feel the raw power emanating from him, an unstoppable force driven by his relentless ambition and obsession.

"Gale, please!" you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "You're killing them! Stop!"

He seems not to hear you, his focus unwavering, his expression unyielding. The room continues to shake, the walls cracking, pieces of the ceiling starting to fall. You drop to your knees, the weight of the situation crushing you, and tears stream down your face as you beg. "Gale, I'm begging you. Stop this madness. I'll go with you. Just please, stop!"

For a moment, the earth stills, the roaring thunder quiets, and the flickering lightning halts. Gale's expression softens as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of triumph and tenderness. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"There," he murmurs, his voice soothing but laced with satisfaction. "Was that so hard?"

Tears stream down your face, your body trembling from the emotional and physical strain. The cries outside have lessened, but the damage is done—buildings lie in ruins, and lives forever changed. He helps you to your feet, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"I never wanted to hurt them," he says softly, his eyes searching yours. "But you needed to understand. You belong with me. And now, you see that."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. The power he wields, the destruction he can cause—it leaves you with no illusions about your fate. With a heavy heart, you nod, resigned to your destiny by his side.

"Good," he says, his smile returning. Placing a tender kiss to your forehead, as if hadn't just thrown a deadly tantrum. "Let's leave this place behind. There's a place I've prepared just for you."

As he leads you away, the ground beneath you begins to heal, the tremors fading into memory. The devastation left in his wake serves as a grim reminder of the price of defiance, and as you take his hand, you know that your life will never be the same.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The tavern was alive with the chaotic energy of revelry—a madness of laughter, music, and clinking tankards that seemed to drown out the troubles of the world. You had sought solace in its bustling atmosphere, hoping the crowd would shield you from the relentless pursuit of your ex lover, a man you used to call your world, now a godling born of malice.

For months, you had managed to elude him, slipping through shadows and distant towns, always one step ahead. But tonight, fate had caught up with you. As you mingled with the merry throng, trying to blend into the sea of faces, a shiver ran down your spine—a sensation you knew all too well.

There he was, leaning casually against a pillar, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sent a chill through your veins. Astarion, now ascended to a dark power beyond mortal comprehension (or so he kept telling you), exuded an aura of dominance and danger. He wore a smirk that promised both pleasure and pain, and it chilled you to the bone.

You tried to slip away, to disappear into the crowd, but he moved with an unnatural speed, cutting off your escape route effortlessly.

"Running again, my dear?" His voice was like velvet over steel, laced with amusement and a hunger that sent a jolt of fear through you.

Before you could react, he pulled you into the swirling dance of the tavern. Around you, oblivious revelers spun and laughed, lost in their own joyous abandon. But your world narrowed to the commanding presence of Astarion, his touch igniting a familiar fire of longing and dread.

"You won't get away this time," he murmured, taking your hand in his cold, firm grasp. As the dance continued, his grip tightened, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along your skin. "You've made me chase you for so long," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "But tonight, you are mine."

Before you could respond, he dipped you low, his lips finding the curve of your neck. The world spun as his fangs sank into your flesh, a sharp pain followed by a heady rush as he began to drink. The room seemed to blur, the sounds of the tavern fading into a distant hum.

Your strength ebbed away with every pull of his lips, the life draining from your body as he fed. When he finally withdrew, his eyes blazed with triumph and possessiveness.

You collapsed into Astarion's arms, the sensation of his cold embrace the last thing you felt before darkness claimed you. He held you close, cradling your lifeless body with a tenderness that belied his monstrous nature

"She’s had a bit too much to drink," he called out to the concerned onlookers, his voice tinged with faux amusement. "Don't worry, I'll take care of my darling fiancée."

The tavern erupted in good-natured cheers and applause, the patrons none the wiser to the sinister truth. Astarion carried you towards the door, the night air cool against your skin as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Did you really think you could escape me, little love? You belong to me forevermore. The gift I am about to give you will ensure that."

His voice, filled with dark promise, was the last thing you heard before the world went black.

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Naturist Halsin:

The rhythmic clattering of the factory machines was your lullaby and your solace. The industrial din was a constant reminder that you were safe, cocooned in the heart of Baldur's Gate, far from the forests and nature that had once felt like home. Now, those same woods were a nightmare, haunted by the shadow of the man you once loved.

Halsin had changed. His belief in the balance between nature and civilization had twisted into a dark crusade. What had started as a noble cause to protect the wilds had turned into an extremist vision, with Halsin determined to return the world to a primal state at any cost. You had watched in horror as he resorted to violence, razing villages, and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Unable to reconcile the gentle druid you knew with the monster he had become, you fled.

Baldur's Gate was your sanctuary. The bustling city, with its stone buildings and cobbled streets, was the furthest you could get from the greenery Halsin now worshipped. You threw yourself into your work at the factory, rarely leaving its grimy confines. The city's heart was far from the forest's edge, making it the safest place you could be.

You awoke in a jostling wagon, the familiar scent of the city replaced by the earthy aroma of the countryside. Panic surged through you as you realized you were on the outskirts of the forest. The attendant, a kindly old man, noticed your distress but dismissed your fears, assuring you that everything would be alright.

"No," you rasped, your voice filled with desperation. "You don't understand. It's not safe here."

The attendant patted your hand, his smile meant to be reassuring but only deepening your sense of dread. "The healer is just a little further. You'll be well taken care of."

As the wagon continued its journey, every rustle of leaves, every whisper of the wind set your nerves on edge. You knew Halsin would find you; he always did. The wagon eventually came to an abrupt halt. The attendant frowned and stepped out to investigate, despite your urgent pleas for him to stay.

"Please," you begged, your voice trembling. "Don't go. It's dangerous."

"Nonsense," he replied with a chuckle. "I'll just see what's blocking the path."

He vanished from view, and the silence that followed was more terrifying than any noise. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes, each one a reminder of the peril you were in. You strained to hear anything - footsteps, voices, anything that could tell you what was happening.

A sudden rustle outside the wagon snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned just in time to see a massive figure emerging from the trees, cloaked in green and brown, a silhouette that was both familiar and terrifying. Halsin. Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached, his eyes dark and intense, the very embodiment of nature's wrath.

The attendant's scream was brief, cut off by a sickening crunch. You felt a wave of nausea, but there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get away. The door of the wagon creaked open, and a towering figure filled the doorway. Halsin's once gentle eyes now burned with an intensity that made your blood run cold. His presence radiated raw, untamed power, and the forest seemed to respond to him, the trees whispering and shifting as if alive.

"There you are," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "I have missed you."

You shrank back, pressing yourself against the far side of the wagon. "Please, Halsin, don’t do this. I had to leave. You’ve changed."

"You shouldn't have run," he said, his voice a dark, velvet caress. "You belong with me, in the wilds."

"No," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Not like this, Halsin. Please."

He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. "The world must return to its natural state," he murmured. "And you will be by my side when it does. I won't let you go, my heart, not again."

You tried to pull away, but your injuries and his strength made it futile. He wrapped you in his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You felt a mix of despair and a twisted sense of comfort in his embrace.

"You’ve been hurt," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I will take care of you."

You wanted to fight, to scream, but your body betrayed you, too weak to resist. As he carried you into the forest, you looked back at the wagon, the nice old man lying lifeless beside it, plants already making their home in his corpse. Tears blurred your vision. You knew there was no escape now. You were back in Halsin's world, a prisoner of his love and twisted vision for the future.

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Something a bit different, but enjoyed writing it, let me know if you want more dark bg3 ! - Seluney xox

P.S Polite reminder that inbox for requests are closed but if you want to just drop in and say hi that fine!

[moonselune]

Seluneyyyy I can’t get over the dark bg3 content!!!! I am absolutely devouring it and am ravenous for more!! 🥵 Especially for Gale, Astarion, and Halsin! SO enchanted with your writing style and everyone is so IC down to the last detail!

Just an idea for a future one—you could base it off of “Just where do you think you’re going?” like an escape attempt or something

Xxx

mwhahahahahha yes yes yes I love this series icl

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Dark!BG3 | Escape Attempt

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, murder, gore, coercion, forced memory loss, entrapment

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Conqueror Minthara:

After weeks of confinement and illness, Minthara's tender care brought you back from the brink (a brink she had pushed you towards but you tried not to dwell on that). Though you were far from fully recovered. One morning, restless and craving some semblance of freedom, you decided to take a walk around the gardens. It was a rare privilege, and one Minthara had permitted as a gesture of goodwill.

The gardens were eerily beautiful, filled with lush, vibrant plants and flowers that contrasted sharply with the gruesome displays of traitors’ corpses hanging from gnarled trees and spikes. Each corpse was a grim reminder of Minthara’s ruthlessness, a warning to any who might consider betrayal. As you walked among them, the air thick with the scent of decay, a rising panic began to claw at your insides.

Your breath quickened, heart pounding in your chest. You could almost see yourself among the corpses, your life snuffed out as easily as theirs had been. The terror grew, feeding on itself, until you were consumed by the overwhelming need to escape.

Without thinking, you turned and began to run, your steps frantic and uneven. You stumbled through the gardens, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and the macabre displays as possible. But in your panic, you collided with a solid figure, the impact jarring you back to reality.

Minthara stood before you, her eyes narrowing with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"Where do you think you are going?" she asked, her voice a soft, dangerous purr.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your mouth dry and your mind blank. You could only think of escape, of getting away from this house, this place, this woman who held your life in her hands. You tried to push past her, but Minthara’s grip was firm and unyielding. She encircled your waist with her arms, pulling you close with an ease that belied her strength.

"Clearly, you are still unwell," she murmured, her breath warm against your ear. "Come, let’s get you back to the garden."

The suggestion was a trigger, and your panic surged again. You struggled against her hold, but she was unmovable. In your desperation, you found yourself nestling closer to her, throwing your face into her shoulder and clinging to her, desperately trying to hide from the sight of the corpses that haunted your vision.

Minthara’s eyes lit up with realization and satisfaction. She understood the source of your panic, and it pleased her. She placed her palm on the back of your head and held you dear to her.

"Oh, my dearest," she whispered, her voice dripping with dark delight. "Are you frightened? You should be. This is what happens to those who defy me."

She held you tighter, her arms a cage you couldn’t escape. Her fingers brushed through your hair soothingly, a stark contrast to the horror around you.

"But you are not like them, are you?" She cooed to you, "You are mine, and I take care of what is mine."

Minthara began to lead you back towards the house, her grip never loosening. You clung to her, your panic attack rendering you helpless, your body trembling against hers. She guided you with a twisted sense of gentleness, her satisfaction evident in the way she held you, in the tone of her voice as she whispered reassurances.

"Shh, shh," she hushed, her lips brushing against your temple. "You are safe with me. As long as you obey, you will never end up like them. Do you understand?"

You nodded weakly, the fight drained from you by your terror and her unyielding presence. Minthara smiled, a cruel, victorious smile, and continued to lead you back into the safety of the house. As you crossed the threshold, the grisly sights of the garden faded from view, but the memory of them remained, a chilling reminder of your place in Minthara’s world.

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Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The dim light of the temple flickered as you slipped from Shadowheart's grasp, your heart pounding in your chest. The shadows that usually comforted you felt suffocating now, and an inexplicable urge to escape overwhelmed you. You didn't know why you needed to run, but the pull was irresistible, like a siren song luring you to freedom.

The more distance you put between yourself and the temple, the lighter you felt. The oppressive weight on your shoulders began to lift, and a clarity you hadn't known in months started to seep into your mind. You moved through the darkened hallways, past ancient statues and altars, each step bringing a sense of liberation.

Finally, you reached the edge of the temple, the threshold to the outside world just a few steps away. The moonlight bathed the entrance in a silvery glow, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Freedom was within your grasp. But as you lifted your foot to take that final step, a voice shattered the serene silence.

"Where do you think you're going?" Shadowheart's voice was panicked, her eyes wide with fear and confusion as she appeared before you, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I… I don't know," you stammered, the urge to run still strong within you. "It just felt right."

Shadowheart's expression softened, but her eyes remained filled with worry. "Please, come back to me," she pleaded, reaching out a hand. "You don't understand what's happening. You need to stay with me."

You hesitated, torn between the instinct to flee and the bond you shared with Shadowheart. You eyed her with confused caution as she stepped closer, her presence commanding yet desperate.

"We belong together," she insisted, her voice a mixture of urgency and affection.

The seconds stretched into an eternity as you stood on the brink of freedom, your mind waging a war with itself. Shadowheart's eyes bored into yours, her desperation palpable. She couldn't afford to lose you—not now, not ever.

Growing impatient, Shadowheart's demeanor shifted. She muttered an incantation under her breath, her fingers weaving a quick, intricate pattern in the air. You felt a wave of magic wash over you, and your vision blurred. Your legs gave out, and darkness claimed you before you could react.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself back in your shared quarters, the familiar surroundings a stark contrast to the freedom you had nearly tasted. Shadowheart sat beside you, her face a mask of concern and relief. She had carried you back, her determination to keep you by her side evident in every action.

"You can't leave," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You belong with me. You belong to me."

You tried to sit up, but the remnants of the spell still weighed heavily on you. Shadowheart gently pushed you back down, her touch both tender and firm.

"Rest now," she urged. "You need to regain your strength."

As you lay there, exhaustion pulling you back into unconsciousness, you couldn't shake the feeling that something vital had been taken from you. The pull to escape still lingered, but for now, there was no running away. You were hers, bound by a connection that you would never understand.

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God of Ambition Gale:

The desire to reconnect with the mortal world had been growing within you for weeks, an insistent whisper in your mind that became impossible to ignore. The material plane called to you, a siren song of simpler times and fleeting pleasures. The idea of feeling the sun on your skin, of walking among ordinary people, filled you with a yearning that bordered on desperation.

You waited for a moment when Gale was deeply engrossed in his divine affairs, a rare instance when his attention was not focused on you. Slipping away from his grand palace, you moved quickly and silently, your heart pounding with both fear and excitement. The portal to the material plane shimmered ahead of you, a gateway to the world you once knew.

Just as you reached the portal, ready to step through and taste freedom once more, a voice, rich and resonant, stopped you in your tracks.

"Where do you think you are going?" Gale's tone was smooth, but there was an undercurrent of displeasure that sent a shiver down your spine. You turned slowly to face him, trying to muster a semblance of calm.

"I just wanted to see the mortal world again, to reconnect with the life I had before," you explained, your voice trembling slightly.

Gale's eyes darkened, a dangerous glint appearing in them. "Mortal life? Those lesser beings are beneath you now. You belong by my side, not mingling with them."

Frustration surged within you, a rebellion against the gilded cage you were trapped in. "I'm going, whether you like it or not," you declared, turning back towards the portal.

A dark chuckle echoed through the air, and Gale's presence seemed to fill the entire space. "Are you really trying to test my powers?" he asked, amusement and a hint of malice lacing his words.

Before you could take another step, the world around you shifted. In a blink, you found yourself back in Gale's throne room, chained to his godly throne. The chains were ornate and shimmering with an unearthly light, but they were unyielding. You pulled and twisted, trying to break free, but the more you struggled, the tighter they became, drawing you closer to Gale.

He sat on the throne, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of possessiveness and irritation.

"You cannot leave me," he said softly, his voice a velvet caress. "You are mine, bound to me in ways you cannot comprehend."

You continued to fight against the chains, your breath coming in ragged gasps, but it was futile. The chains tightened further, the metal biting into your skin, making escape impossible. Gale watched your struggle with a mixture of pity and amusement.

"Why do you resist?" he asked, leaning forward. "I have given you everything—power, immortality, a place by my side. Why do you long for the mundane, the ephemeral?"

"Because it's real," you whispered, tears of frustration and helplessness streaming down your face. "Because it's life."

Gale's expression softened slightly, but his resolve remained unyielding. He stood, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Your life is here now," he said firmly. "With me. Embrace it, or you will only find yourself in more pain."

The chains pulled you even closer to him, until you were practically in his lap, your body pressed against his. He held you there, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive tenderness that made your heart ache.

"You are mine," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Forever."

The reality of your situation settled over you like a suffocating blanket. No matter how much you longed for the mortal world, for the freedom to live as you once had, you were bound to Gale, his power and will inescapable. And as he held you close, whispering words of possession and eternity, you realized that your struggle was not just against the chains that bound you, but against the very essence of your existence by his side.

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Ascended Astarion:

The grand hall of Astarion's palace was bathed in opulence, the glittering chandeliers casting a warm, inviting glow over the sea of influential nobles and highborn guests. The air was thick with the heady scent of fine wines and exotic perfumes, mingling with the sound of laughter and music. Astarion, now an ascended vampire lord, moved gracefully through the crowd, his every gesture a blend of charm and predatory grace. By his side, you played the role of his dark consort, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

Astarion's intention for the evening was clear: to ply his guests with drink and charm, loosening their tongues to reveal their most guarded secrets. His smile was disarming, his laughter infectious, and soon the nobles were clinking glasses, sharing confidences they would never dare speak in the light of day.

"Stay close," Astarion murmured in your ear as he stepped away to engage a prominent lord in conversation. You nodded, your mind racing. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had meticulously planned for weeks.

You slipped onto the lively dance floor, the music and swirling bodies providing the perfect cover. Your eyes scanned the crowd, seeking out the person you had chosen—a mortal who bore a striking resemblance to you. With a quick, practiced motion, you swapped overcoats, draping your ornate garment over their shoulders and taking their simpler attire.

Blending in with the guests, you made your way towards the exit, your heart pounding with each step. The freedom of the material plane called to you like a siren song, and the thought of finally escaping Astarion's gilded cage filled you with a desperate hope. As you approached the noble's carriage, you slipped inside, your breath catching in your throat.

But your relief was short-lived. Sitting opposite you, his eyes gleaming with amusement, was Astarion.

"And where do you think you are going?" he asked, his voice a silken purr.Panic surged through you, and you lunged for the door, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with an unbreakable grip.

"Let me go!" you cried, but Astarion only chuckled, pulling you back into the carriage.

"I must admit, I'm impressed," he said, his tone one of mock admiration. "Such a clever little scheme. But did you truly think I would ever mistake that wretch for you?" His eyes bore into yours, his amusement fading to reveal a flicker of hurt. "You are mine. My dark consort."

"Spawn," you spat, the word filled with venom. "An imitation of your power, forever forced at your feet."

Astarion sighed, his interest in the conversation waning. "You will be a true vampire one day, once you learn to behave." His grip tightened on your wrist. "Clearly, you are in need of more discipline."

With a swift motion, he pulled you from the carriage, leading you back into the palace. The revelry continued, the guests oblivious to your plight as Astarion guided you to his throne. He sat down, pulling you onto his lap with a possessive grip. His lips brushed against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blushed, flustered by the intimacy of his touch. You hated being put on display like this, a taste of your punishment later, you assumed. Though as his lips trailed up your neck, leaving a burning sensation in their wake, your resolve began to waver. The room seemed to close in around you, the sounds of the party fading into a distant hum.

"You belong to me," Astarion murmured against your skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. "And you will learn to accept it."

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Naturist Halsin:

You had been planning your escape from Halsin’s grove for a few weeks now. You could not deny the serene beauty of the druid’s sanctuary had been a temporary refuge, but you knew you couldn't stay. The dense forest that surrounded the grove seemed to close in on you, a reminder that this was not your home. You longed for freedom, for the open road and the chance to leave the past behind.

Tonight, the moonlight cast an ethereal glow over the grove, illuminating the path you intended to take. You moved silently through the shadows, careful not to disturb the sleeping druids and the wildlife. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and excitement as you neared the edge of the grove.

But as you stepped beyond the protective circle of ancient trees, a deep voice cut through the night air, freezing you in your tracks.

"And where do you think you are going?"

You turned slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you faced Halsin. The druid stood tall and imposing, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and disappointment.

"I—I was just going for a walk," you stammered, trying to sound casual.

Halsin chuckled softly, the sound rich and deep. "A walk, you say? At this hour, and with all your belongings packed? Interesting choice."

You swallowed hard, realizing how transparent your lie had been. Halsin's presence was overwhelming, a force of nature unto itself. He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Do you truly think you can deceive me, my heart?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm. "I have watched over you since you arrived here. I know every thought, every plan that crosses your mind."

You tried to back away, but Halsin moved with surprising swiftness, his large hands gently but firmly grasping your wrists. His touch was warm, almost soothing, but the strength behind it was undeniable.

"You cannot run from what binds you here," he murmured, his voice a soothing lull. "Let me show you."

Before you could protest, Halsin began to chant in a language you did not understand. His voice was low and melodic, each word resonating with ancient power. You felt a strange heat building where his fingers gripped your wrists, the warmth intensifying into a searing pain.

You cried out, but Halsin's grip was unyielding. The pain grew, spreading up your arms, as if fire were coursing through your veins. You struggled, attempting to yank your wrists away but it was futile. Halsin was unyielding. The incantation reached its climax, and the burning sensation became unbearable.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain ceased. Halsin released your wrists, and you staggered back, gasping for breath. You looked down and saw intricate floral patterns etched into your skin, glowing faintly in the moonlight.

"What have you done?" you demanded, your voice trembling with fear and anger. Halsin smiled, a serene and knowing smile.

"I have bound you to me," he said simply. "These markings are a part of you now. They will keep you safe, and they will ensure you do not stray far from the protection of the grove, from me,"

You took another step back, turning to run from him but with a mere motion of Halsin’s finger, you felt an invisible force pull you forward. An unseen chain bound to your wrists. You stumbled, falling to your knees before him. The realization hit you like a physical blow—you were bound to him, unable to leave his side.

"Why?" you whispered, tears of frustration and helplessness welling in your eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

Halsin knelt before you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. A thumb brushing a wayward tear from your cheek.

"Because you are important to me, and to the balance of this grove," he said softly. "I cannot let you go, not when you are still in need of guidance and protection."

His touch was tender, and despite your anger and fear, a part of you found comfort in it.

"Stay," he murmured, his voice like a warm blanket enveloping you. "Let me show you the beauty of this world, the peace that can be found in nature’s embrace."

You had no choice but to obey. Bound by his magic, you were a prisoner of his will. Yet as you looked into his eyes, you saw a deep well of kindness and a genuine desire to protect. Perhaps, in time, you would come to understand his reasons - he hoped.

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Hehehehehehehe hope you all enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

[moonselune]

I don't know of you have done something like this, but if not, could you do scenarios for the dark au where tav gets hurt by someone who wants to take their place? Maybe they think they are unworthy? Adore your writing 😊

Ahhh thank you so much !! This was super fun to write !

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Dark!BG3 | Replacement

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader only noticeable in Wyll's though

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The dark silence of the Underdark gardens wrapped around you like a shroud, broken only by the echo of your own hurried footsteps. The recent fight with Minthara had left you frustrated, her possessive nature grating at you until you’d finally stormed off. You knew it would unsettle her; Minthara wasn’t one to let anyone, least of all you, slip from her grasp so easily. Still, you had hoped she’d give you a moment to breathe. As you heard footsteps approaching, you rolled your eyes, assuming she had come after you, too possessive to let even a single disagreement take you from her.

But something felt wrong.

The figure moving toward you was silent, controlled—lacking Minthara’s usual predatory grace. You barely had time to react before you saw a glint of steel, and a sharp pain seared across your side. You stumbled backward, clutching the wound, blood slipping through your fingers. As you looked up, your gaze met with the cold, disdainful eyes of Minthara’s second in command, the drow who had always regarded you with thinly veiled contempt. Her smile was a twisted thing, cold and malicious.

“Surprised?” she sneered, moving closer, her weapon dripping with your blood. “You really thought Minthara would care about some pet who has no place here? I’m going to end this—make it look like you couldn’t handle the Underdark after all. That you tried to escape. Minthara will believe it. She’ll have no choice but to move on.”

A chill ran through you as you realized the depth of her envy. This wasn’t just hatred; it was the envy of someone who despised what you had with Minthara, resenting that Minthara would choose you over anyone else. She stepped forward again, preparing to strike. But before she could make contact, you shoved her back with all the strength you could muster, sending her stumbling.

She staggered, then stopped short as her back hit something solid.

No… someone.

The second-in-command whirled around, eyes widening in horror as she came face-to-face with Minthara herself, who stood in the shadowed path with a deadly calm. Minthara’s gaze was dark, her face set into an expression of quiet, simmering rage that made the air feel even colder. Her eyes flicked from her subordinate’s trembling form to the blood dripping from your wound, taking in the entire scene in an instant.

“It’s not what—” the second-in-command stammered, scrambling for words, but Minthara cut her off with a look that could freeze fire.

“Silence.” Her voice was low, yet filled with an icy fury that sent a shiver down your spine. She reached out with a quick, brutal motion, grabbing her second-in-command by the throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off any attempt at explanation. The drow gasped for air, her eyes wide with terror as Minthara’s grip tightened, her nails digging into the delicate skin of her neck.

Minthara leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper.

“You thought you could lay a hand on what belongs to me? You dared to assume you had any right to touch them?” With a powerful surge, Minthara threw her to the ground, her movements sharp and precise, her eyes blazing with an almost unhinged rage. “You’ll wish for death before I’m done with you.”

The second-in-command lay incapacitated, her body twitching as Minthara’s magic left her unable to move, trapped in a state of suspended agony. Only then did Minthara turn her attention to you, her expression softening slightly as she moved toward you with an almost predatory care. She knelt beside you, her hand reaching out to steady you as she examined the wound on your side.

“You were hurt,” she murmured, a faint trace of anger still lacing her tone, but there was something else, too—a flicker of concern beneath the dark fury. She ran a gentle hand over your wound, applying enough pressure to stem the bleeding, her touch unexpectedly tender.

Despite the pain, you found yourself laughing, a soft chuckle that echoed through the silence.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me out of your sight,” you managed, your voice laced with irony. “Couldn’t lose control over me for even a moment, could you?”

Minthara’s eyes met yours, a dangerous glint in them, but there was something close to satisfaction there too.

“And a good thing it was,” she replied, her lips curving into a dark smile. “Or perhaps I would’ve had to hunt down the fool who thought they could steal you from me.”

Her hand moved from your wound to cradle your face, her thumb tracing your cheek in a gesture that was both possessive and strangely affectionate.

“You belong to me,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “No one else. Don’t ever forget that.”

She helped you to your feet, her arm around your waist, her grip both a support and a reminder of her control. You leaned into her touch, feeling the strength in her hold, the unyielding protection that came with her possessive love.

Behind you, her second-in-command lay helpless, bound by Minthara’s spell, and you knew without a doubt that her fate would be brutal. You didn’t need to watch to know that Minthara’s punishment would be swift and merciless. She would make an example out of her former subordinate, a warning to anyone who dared threaten what was hers.

As Minthara led you back through the garden, her hand firm around you, you felt a mixture of relief and resignation. She had saved your life, yes, but the possessiveness that drove her had been there all along, the dark and consuming love that wouldn’t allow you even a moment of freedom. She had saved you, but it was all to preserve what she saw as hers.

The pain in your side pulsed, but Minthara’s hand remained steady on your waist, her grip almost comforting in its possessiveness. In her twisted mind, her actions were justified. She had protected you, saved you from harm—she would do anything to keep you, even if that meant wrapping you tighter in her control.

As you walked together, you glanced up at her, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of something soft in her gaze. But then her expression shifted, her smile dark and triumphant. In her mind, she had won; she had kept you safe, defeated any threat to her claim on you.

And as she led you deeper into her realm, into the shadows where you would remain by her side, you knew that you would always be hers.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The courtyard of the cloister was cloaked in the muted gray light of early morning, shadows creeping along the stone walls as you squared off against your opponent. You took in the young Sharran before you, an ambitious acolyte whose eyes gleamed with a familiar hunger—a dangerous mix of ambition and jealousy.

You’d noticed their glances toward Shadowheart, the way they lingered when she walked past, barely concealing the devotion in their gaze. It was almost amusing to you, for no one in this cloister could threaten the place you held at her side. The memory gaps may have left holes in your mind, but your body moved with sharp, instinctual precision, honed through countless battles. You didn’t need memory to remind you that you were one of the best.

You circled each other, fists raised, and the acolyte’s stance was confident, too confident. You could feel the arrogance radiating from them, and it made you chuckle under your breath. They thought they were someone to be feared, someone with the skill to challenge you. And yet, as the fight began, it was clear they had underestimated your reflexes, your raw power.

Blow after blow, you dodged, struck, and blocked with a near-effortless grace that left them seething. It was obvious now they were outmatched, but there was no sign of retreat in their eyes. Instead, their lips curled into a sneer, and they muttered something under their breath—something too low for you to hear, but the bitterness was evident. And then, with a swift, practiced motion, they reached inside their cloak and pulled out a dagger, its blade glinting sharply in the dim light.

You felt a flicker of surprise. This was supposed to be a sparring match, nothing more, and yet they’d brought a knife into the fight. You tensed, muscles coiling as your eyes narrowed on the blade in their hand.

“So,” they taunted, their voice laced with venom, “the Mother Superior’s pet isn’t as sharp as she used to be. Gaps in memory, isn’t it? She doesn’t tell you everything, does she? How does it feel to be kept like a mindless tool, only good for taking orders?” They circled closer, eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “You don’t belong by her side. You’re just… convenient. Nothing more.”

The words stung, gnawing at the back of your mind. It was true that there were holes in your memories, pieces that didn’t quite fit, details that you couldn’t fully recall. But you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to let them take root. Whatever was missing, whatever had been forgotten, it didn’t matter. You were here, and you were hers. That was all that mattered.

But the Sharran sensed your hesitation, a flash of doubt, and they pressed their advantage, lunging forward with the dagger. You dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air, but their relentless attacks began to push you back. You caught glimpses of their smirk, their taunting gaze, as if they were relishing every missed block, every moment of weakness.

And then, in a swift, brutal move, they managed to slip through your guard, the dagger cutting across your arm. You hissed in pain, blood dripping from the fresh wound, and you staggered back, feeling the weight of the fight suddenly shift. They saw the opening, and their eyes lit up with a triumphant gleam. They lunged forward again, the dagger poised for the killing blow.

But just as the blade was about to strike, they stopped—frozen in place, eyes wide with terror. Their limbs were rigid, locked in a stance of helpless fury, and a faint, dark aura shimmered around them. You looked up, following the line of their terrified gaze, and saw her.

Shadowheart stood at the edge of the courtyard, her eyes blazing with fury, her hand raised in a silent spell. With a flick of her wrist, the Sharran acolyte’s head twisted sharply, an audible snap echoing through the air as their body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

For a moment, the only sound was your own ragged breathing as Shadowheart strode forward, her expression a cold mask of wrath. She didn’t even glance at the fallen acolyte, her focus entirely on you. She knelt beside you, her hands gentle as they traced over the wound on your arm, her fingers glowing with a faint healing light.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft, a sharp contrast to the deadly fury she had just displayed.

You nodded, your gaze flicking between her and the lifeless body nearby.

“They… they mentioned something about gaps in my memory,” you said cautiously, searching her eyes. “They said I don’t belong here. That I don’t know the whole truth.”

A shadow passed over her face, and for a moment, her grip on your arm tightened slightly. But then she softened, her fingers brushing over your skin as if to soothe the hurt beyond the physical wound.

“They were just trying to weaken you, to plant seeds of doubt in your mind,” she replied, her voice steady and calm. “Your place is here, with me. By my side. You belong nowhere else.”

She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto yours with a fierce intensity. “The gaps in your memory… they’re a consequence of the life you had before. A life that no longer matters. I saved you from that. I brought you here, to the cloister, where you can be who you’re meant to be. With me.”

The warmth of her magic seeped into your wound, and you felt the pain ebb away, replaced by a comforting numbness. The lingering doubt in your mind was overshadowed by the strength of her conviction, her unwavering belief in the path she had set for you. Shadowheart was your anchor, your guiding star, and you could feel the weight of her possessive devotion wrapping around you, a reminder that whatever had come before no longer held any power over you.

You managed a small smile, nodding as you reached up to brush a hand over her cheek, feeling the coolness of her skin.

“I trust you,” you murmured. “And I’m grateful to be by your side.”

She returned your smile, her gaze softening as she covered your hand with her own.

“Good. Because that’s exactly where you belong.” She cast one last, dismissive glance at the body of the acolyte, her lips curling in distaste. “No one else will threaten you. They don’t deserve to stand in your shadow.”

As she helped you to your feet, her arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you back to the cloister, the doubt faded away entirely. Whatever shadows lingered in your past, whatever memories had been lost, it didn’t matter. You were hers, and she was yours, and no one would ever take that from you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

The dim candlelight of the summoning chamber cast flickering shadows over the cold stone walls, and the air was thick with incense and chanting. You shifted slightly, testing the limits of the runic circle that bound you in place, but every movement was met with an oppressive, invisible force, pressing down on you with unyielding weight.

As the realization settled in, your initial smirk of amusement at this mortal’s audacity faded, replaced by a gnawing unease. It was almost laughable how easily they had managed to capture you; Gale’s control over your divine power left you vulnerable, deliberately kept weak to prevent you from ever fully escaping his grasp. And now, as you felt your strength ebbing, you understood the gravity of your situation.

The follower knelt before you, a zealous glint in their eyes as they recited incantations, their voice laced with fervor. Dressed in elaborate robes, they wore talismans devoted to Gale, symbols of their fanatical devotion etched into every surface of the summoning chamber. The entire place was a shrine to ambition itself, each detail meticulously designed to honor your god—and your captor.

The follower finally lifted their gaze to you, a manic smile stretching across their face.

"You don’t deserve him," they hissed, their tone a poisonous mix of reverence and disdain. "You’re a weak god, nothing more than a hollow vessel given power by him. But me…" They leaned forward, their voice trembling with adoration. "I could worship him in ways you never could. Gale deserves undivided devotion, unbroken ambition. Not… someone as faint and powerless as you."

You opened your mouth to respond, to laugh off their words, but the runes pulsed, and with each pulse, you felt a new wave of your strength drain, seeping out of you and into the lines of the ritual. Your heart sank. This wasn’t just a simple binding. It was a siphoning—a slow, deliberate draw on your power, meant to weaken you enough to fuel the summoning of Gale himself.

They took a step closer, their eyes wide with triumph as they watched the light fading in your eyes.

"How does it feel, I wonder, knowing your own god keeps you shackled like a plaything? To be so close to greatness, yet to never truly be allowed to touch it?" They tilted their head, enjoying your silence, interpreting it as surrender.

And for a moment, there was fear in you. Not for yourself but for the terrible emptiness left behind as your power faded—a hollow reminder of Gale’s relentless control. You knew he saw you as his own, a piece of his ambition that could never exist independently, even as a god. This mortal, in their arrogance, had taken advantage of that very control, and now you were helpless in a way that gnawed at you.

The ritual circle blazed with renewed energy, and the room shook as a presence took form in the air—a dark, powerful force pressing down on everything within the chamber. The candle flames flickered and bowed as if in reverence, and a sudden silence swallowed the chanting, the air itself holding its breath as Gale stepped into the room, his very presence swallowing up all light and sound.

The follower fell to their knees, eyes wide with reverence and ecstasy.

"My lord!" they whispered, their voice filled with adoration as they reached out toward him. "I have shown you my devotion, captured this… pretender, to prove my worth. I am yours, my lord. Take me in place of—"

Gale’s gaze shifted from you to his devotee, a glint of curiosity sparking in his dark eyes as he studied them. His expression was unreadable, his face set into that unsettlingly calm mask he wore whenever he assessed someone who had piqued his interest. For a moment, the acolyte seemed to believe they had earned his favor, their face glowing with hope as they knelt before him.

But then Gale’s eyes narrowed, and a chill swept over the room as his expression darkened.

“You misunderstand your place,” he said, his voice soft, the calm tone belying the fury simmering beneath it. "You, a mere follower, believed yourself capable of taking what is mine?" He took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving the trembling form before him. "Did you think that capturing a god under my domain would earn my favor? Or did you simply seek to undermine me, thinking yourself worthy of such… ambition?"

The follower’s eyes widened in terror as they tried to back away, words of apology tumbling from their lips, but Gale’s power was already wrapping around them, a dark, suffocating force that held them immobile.

“It seems you lack an understanding of devotion," Gale continued, his voice chilling in its softness. "Let me show you what happens to those who overstep their bounds."

With a flick of his wrist, the follower’s body seized up, their breath catching in their throat as they gasped, unable to move. Gale’s magic seemed to compress around them, their bones creaking as his power slowly crushed the life from them, his face a mask of calm detachment. Their eyes rolled back in agony, their limbs contorting as Gale made his judgment swift and final, using them as an example of ambition misguided.

And then, in a flash, it was over. The follower’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground, leaving a chilling silence in the air.

Gale finally turned his attention to you, his expression softening as he regarded you, though the possessiveness in his gaze was as strong as ever. He stepped into the circle, effortlessly dispersing the runes with a wave of his hand, releasing you from the binding that had held you so helplessly in place. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek with a strange tenderness, his touch a reminder of both his power and his control over you.

“Fear not, my muse,” he murmured, his voice rich with dark affection. “No one else will touch what belongs to me. Not even those who worship me.”

You nodded, your head dipping in a gesture of submission, knowing that he would take no other answer. Gale smiled, his thumb tracing your jawline with possessive satisfaction, and he pulled you close, his hand settling at the back of your neck.

“You are bound to me,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with command. “Your power is mine to grant or withhold, and none shall touch it, or you, without my will.”

And with that, he led you from the chamber, the empty remains of his follower a silent warning to any who dared question the place he had carved out for you in his unyielding ambition. Gale was your god, your captor, and your guardian all in one—and no one would come between you and his dark, consuming love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The sunlight was unforgiving, searing down on your skin the instant you were thrown into it. Agony flared as the delicate warding spell that had protected you disintegrated, leaving you exposed to the relentless rays of the sun. Pain consumed you, blinding and unbearable as your flesh burned, blistering and cracking in mere seconds.

You stumbled, gasping as the raw heat seared through muscle and bone. You tried to scream, but your voice died in your throat, choked out by the fire consuming you. The world was blurring in and out, and through the haze of agony, you could make out the blurred silhouette of your attacker, smirking from the safety of the shadows just inside the door, watching with satisfaction as you writhed.

The spawn had been relentless in their ambition, and it was only in that agonizing moment that you finally understood just how deeply their envy ran. They thought themselves worthy of Astarion’s favor, the one destined to be his dark consort, and they had waited for the right opportunity, the chance to strip you of your place by his side.

Your vision dimmed as the fire ate away at you, the edges of consciousness fading. You barely registered the door bursting open again or the cold shadow that swept over you as hands—cold, firm hands—gripped you and pulled you away from the merciless light. The next thing you felt was the cool press of stone beneath you, the oppressive heat gone, and then… nothing. There was nothing but pain and darkness.

Through the haze, you felt something pressed to your lips—warm and metallic, filling your senses with the rich, familiar scent of blood. Instinctively, you drank, the sensation grounding you, soothing the burning wounds with each pull. Slowly, the pain dulled, replaced by a distant, comforting hum. Your senses began to return, the blurry edges of the room coming into focus as you felt the charred skin mending, painfully knitting back together as life returned to your broken form.

As you finally blinked the haze from your eyes, you found yourself staring up at Astarion’s face, his crimson eyes softened with an uncharacteristic tenderness, though his mouth was drawn into a taut line. His hand cupped your cheek as if you were something fragile, his thumb brushing over the fresh, healed skin where burns had marred it only moments ago. He was murmuring softly, words flowing over you in a tone both soothing and possessive, though you could hardly process them in your dazed state.

“It’s all right, my sweet,” he cooed, his voice low and warm as he leaned over you, his face barely inches from yours. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone harm you, not like that.”

You blinked, slowly looking past him, only to freeze as the full scene came into focus. Scattered around you were bloodied remains—the spawn, or rather, what was left of them, was strewn across the room. Their limbs had been torn from their body, reduced to a gruesome pile of parts on the cold stone floor. The once-confident smirk you had seen on their face was gone, replaced now by a horrified stillness in their lifeless eyes.

Astarion’s grip on you tightened as he followed your gaze, his expression darkening.

“Oh, don’t waste your energy on them,” he murmured, his tone smooth but edged with a chilling coldness. He tilted your face back to him, forcing your gaze to meet his. “They thought they could take what’s mine, dared to strip you of the protection I gave you, to hurt you. But they forgot one simple thing.”

His hand traced down from your cheek to your throat, where his fingers rested possessively, feeling the steady pulse of your blood.

“You’re mine. Body, soul, and everything in between,” he whispered, his voice a velvet command. “No one else could ever take your place.”

The fear, the agony, the helplessness of moments ago seemed to fade as he held you, his arms wrapped around you with a fierce protectiveness. His fingers stroked through your hair as he continued to murmur assurances, the words as binding as a spell, each one a reaffirmation of your place at his side. There was no room for doubt; in his arms, you were shielded from the pain, shielded from everything but his absolute, consuming devotion.

“They all think they’re special, my dear,” he said, casting a disdainful glance at the remains. “But they’re not like you, none of them. You, my sweet, are the only one worthy of my power, my attention. You belong to me—and I to you.” He smiled, a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he brushed a lock of hair back from your face. "And I won’t let anyone interfere with that."

You managed a weak nod, leaning into his touch as he continued to hold you close. The last vestiges of the agony you had endured melted away, leaving only the soft, possessive murmur of his voice, the steady rhythm of his fingers tracing over your skin, as he soothed and calmed you back from the brink. He was your anchor, your constant, and in this moment, his power was a shield around you.

As he held you, the remnants of his wrath still lingering in his gaze, you knew that no one else would ever challenge your place beside him. Astarion had made his stance clear in the most brutal way possible, a warning to any who would dare cross him—and a reminder to you that, no matter what, he would always keep you close, bound to him in his dark, all-encompassing love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The grove was quiet, the leaves whispering softly as a gentle breeze passed through, but that night, something felt amiss. Halsin lay beside you, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, and assumed you were simply exhausted from the long day spent in the forest. He smiled, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and closed his own eyes, content to rest with you beside him. But when he stirred from sleep later in the night, something had changed. A low, strangled sound pulled him from his slumber, and in the faint moonlight, he saw your body trembling, the tremors rolling through you like a shiver from the deepest cold.

You weren’t asleep; you were convulsing, and a dark glisten of sweat clung to your brow. Alarm shot through Halsin, who immediately recognized the signs of poison—a potent, slow-working concoction he’d seen used in rare cases within the grove.

His mind raced as he searched for the antidote, pulling it from his stores and carefully administering it, tilting your head back to help you drink, whispering words of encouragement as he steadied your shaking hands.

After a few agonizing moments, the worst of your spasms subsided, and your breathing leveled out. Weak and shaken, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, trying to focus. Halsin kept his gaze soft, filled with concern but tinged with a growing anger simmering beneath. He held you close as you regained your strength, his hand a steady presence on your back.

Once you could stand, Halsin supported you, guiding you from your resting place out into the heart of the grove. Under the canopy of starlit leaves, he called upon the druids, summoning them with a low, commanding tone. His voice reverberated through the grove, uncharacteristically severe, and one by one, the druids gathered in the clearing, forming a loose circle around you both.

Halsin’s protective arm around your shoulders lent you strength as you looked at each of their faces, searching for the one who had betrayed you.

Though your hands still trembled, your gaze hardened as you focused on a single figure at the edge of the circle, a druid whose stance was too stiff, whose eyes averted yours. The poisoner looked back at you, a faint glint of resentment flashing in their eyes before they began to back away, inching toward the cover of the trees. Without hesitation, you raised a shaky hand, pointing directly at them.

"It’s… it’s them," you whispered, your voice weak but sure.

The druid’s face twisted with fear and defiance, and in one swift motion, they turned, making a desperate break toward the edge of the grove, hoping to escape into the shadows.

But Halsin would not allow them to flee. His jaw tightened, his fury coming to the surface in an uncharacteristic, brutal wave. With a single gesture, he summoned thick, thorned vines from the earth.

They erupted from the soil with a life of their own, coiling like serpents as they slithered after the fleeing druid. The vines caught up quickly, wrapping around the traitor’s legs and yanking them down to the ground, winding up over their body with fierce intent.

The thorned vines tightened, digging into flesh, piercing through clothing and skin alike. Blood began to pool, dark and stark against the earthy ground, as the vines tore through, showing no mercy. The grove seemed to hold its breath, watching as the very nature that the traitor had twisted for their own purposes now turned on them. Halsin’s gaze was unyielding as he watched, his expression set, the compassion he usually reserved for his people absent.

The druid let out a strangled cry as the thorns pressed deeper, breaking skin and severing tendons, each tightening coil met with a gory result. Their blood soaked into the earth, nourishing it, just as Halsin had intended, a grotesque reminder of what happened to those who threatened his own. For him, this act was justice—a stark, undeniable message to any who might dare undermine the safety of his grove or his kin.

Finally, as the druid’s life slipped away, Halsin released his hold, the vines loosening and receding back into the ground, leaving only silence and the faint scent of blood on the forest floor.

When it was over, he turned to you, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"You are safe now," he said, his voice a blend of calm and the fierce protectiveness that had driven him to act so ruthlessly. “No one will harm you here again.”

Though you were shaken, you found strength in his touch, nodding as he pulled you close, his embrace as unyielding as the very nature he had summoned to protect you. The grove was a place of sanctuary, of balance—and Halsin had shown that he would stop at nothing to keep it that way, even if it meant spilling blood into the very soil he had sworn to protect.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

The opulence of the ballroom shimmered around you, chandeliers casting warm light over the swirling dancers, the ornate fabrics, and glittering jewels. You held your head high beside the Grand Duke, finding solace in the joy of the night despite the whispers that trailed in your wake. Nobles murmured, their words carrying faintly over the music. Most of it you had learned to ignore, but tonight, the gossip felt sharp and unrelenting. Snippets of conversation floated past, just loud enough to reach your ears.

“Can you believe they let her into the ballroom at his side?” one of them whispered with a haughty laugh. “She looks more suited to a servant’s position,” sneered another, their words laced with contempt. You clenched your hands at your sides, taking steady breaths to brush off their malice. But then, their murmurs grew darker.

“I heard the Grand Duke only keeps her around for amusement. How long, I wonder, until he tires of her?” someone murmured, laughing softly. “It would be such a scandal if she were to just… disappear, wouldn’t it?”

Their venomous words stung in a way that you hadn’t anticipated, pressing upon a wound that you had tried to bury. You excused yourself, weaving through the crowd until you found the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars twinkled overhead, their beauty a quiet comfort against the bitterness of the nobles’ words. You leaned against the balustrade, the city lights below calming you, giving you a moment’s peace. But that peace was short-lived.

Behind you, the same group of nobles had followed, lingering just by the doorway. One of them tittered, their tone thick with false innocence.

“Out here on the balcony, alone?” another mocked, their tone feigning concern. “Careful, dear. You wouldn’t want to lose your balance.”

You turned to leave, but they circled around, blocking your path with thinly veiled malice. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intent as they crowded closer, nudging you further out toward the edge of the balcony. Your pulse quickened as your back met the cold stone of the balustrade, the space behind you yawning into open air.

“Oh, no need to look so frightened. We’re simply having a little chat,” one of them cooed, their smirk betraying their intent. They pressed closer, each small movement edging you nearer to the ledge.

Then, a voice rang out, slicing through the tension like a knife:

“Enough.” Wyll’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable, sharp edge beneath it that cut the air like steel. The nobles immediately straightened, stepping back from you, their sneers evaporating as they turned to face the Grand Duke himself.

“We were only talking to her, Your Grace,” one of them stammered, their tone suddenly meek. “No harm intended.”

Wyll’s gaze was dark, his eyes smoldering as he took in the scene, his jaw set and expression unreadable. He looked at you, his expression softening for a moment.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentler, the protective undercurrent unmistakable. You swallowed, brushing off the fear that had crept in.

“Yes, Wyll. I’m fine,” you replied, trying to steady your voice.

But he didn’t release his hard gaze from the group of nobles before him. His mouth curved slightly, a hint of a chilling smile playing at his lips as he issued his next command: “Jump. Off. The. Balcony.”

The nobles’ eyes widened, shock rippling through their features. One of them dared a weak laugh, disbelief clear in their tone. “Your Grace, we were only—”

Wyll’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of cold steel. “You heard me,” he said, his tone low and final, his gaze unwavering as he pointed toward the balcony’s edge. “If you think it’s amusing to dangle someone on the edge, let’s see how you enjoy it.”

You placed a hand on his arm, trying to dissuade him. “Wyll, it’s not necessary,” you murmured softly. “They were… they were just being cruel.”

He turned to you, his eyes softening as he spoke, but the resolve remained.

“No one threatens what is mine,” he replied, his words more promise than explanation. “No one.”

He looked back at the nobles, who now trembled under his gaze, each one of them calculating their next move. They understood the Grand Duke’s reputation well—his ruthlessness and sadistic side were spoken of in hushed tones among court circles, and none of them were willing to test his patience further.

With shared glances of terror, one by one, they stepped up to the edge, each steeling themselves before casting nervous glances back at Wyll. They preferred to take their chances with the fall than face his wrath.

With a reluctant step backward, the first noble swung a leg over the edge, preparing to lower themselves down rather than leap, followed by the others, each descending with as much dignity as they could muster. Their terrified breaths and grunts of effort echoed faintly as they made their way down to the ground below. Each fall was punctuated with a sickening thud that made your stomach lurch each time.

When the last of them was gone, Wyll turned back to you, his expression softening again. He reached out, brushing a gentle hand against your cheek, his voice lowering to a soothing murmur. “No one will ever make you feel less than what you are, not while I am here. Do you understand?”

You nodded, his touch grounding you, the earlier fear beginning to fade. Wyll wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close, his gaze lingering protectively as he looked back over the balcony, ensuring that no one was there to help any unfortunate survivors, he wanted to let them rot, let the world see what happens to those who threaten what is his.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Okay so no cambions in this, I'm going to add them when I finish their catch ups because I kind of follow a narrative with these and I have not fully fleshed out their narritives yet. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[moonselune]

You're dark bg3 stuff is amazing, what do you think about the reader getting sick and them ever over reacting or not reacting

Separate idea: Them dressing up with reader like a doll not a person showing how they think about them.

Okay okay, so I did a mix of injured reader and ill reader, feel free to send in the separate idea as an additional request !

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Help (Please don't) !

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, murder, arson, coercion, forced memory loss, illness, injury,

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Whether out of defiance or out of poor luck, you are in need of healing, how do they react to this?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The injury happened quickly, too quickly for you to react. In the chaos of the skirmish, a blade had sliced across your side, leaving a deep, ragged gash. You had snuck out of the House and landed yourself in some trouble. You knew Minthara would be furious if she found out, so you did the only thing you could think of: you hid it.

Back in your quarters, you bandaged the wound as best as you could, gritting your teeth against the searing pain. You knew it wasn't enough, but you hoped it would hold until the bleeding stopped. You went about your restricted duties, ignoring the throbbing pain in your side. As the day went on, however, the wound worsened, the edges growing inflamed and hot to the touch. You moved stiffly, every step a reminder of the injury you were concealing.

Minthara was perceptive, always watching, always aware. So it was only a matter of time before she noticed.

As you were preparing for bed, she entered your shared room. Her eyes immediately zeroed in on the blood seeping through your bandages and staining your clothes. Her expression turned from curiosity to fury in an instant.

“What is this?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “Why did you not tell me?”

You tried to straighten up, to look composed, but the pain was too much. “It’s nothing. I can handle it.”

Minthara crossed the room in a flash, her eyes blazing with anger and something else—something that looked dangerously like panic. She grabbed your arm, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Clearly, you cannot,” she hissed, tearing the bandage away with a swift, angry motion. The sight of the infected wound made her pale. “Why did you hide this from me?”

“I didn’t want your help,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minthara’s eyes softened for a brief moment, a flicker of something almost tender passing through them. She barked orders to the servants to bring hot water and clean cloths, her hands never leaving your arm.

“Minthara, I’m fine,” you tried again, but she silenced you with a glare that could have melted stone.

“Do not speak,” she commanded, her voice cold and unyielding. “You will only make it worse.”

The servants arrived quickly, setting down the supplies before hastily retreating from the room. Minthara’s fingers were surprisingly gentle as she cleaned the wound, her touch precise despite the anger simmering in her eyes. She applied a healing salve, the warmth of the magic easing the pain slightly.

“Y/N, really, why did you not tell me?” she asked again, her voice quieter now but no less insistent.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t want you to see me as weak.”

“You are mine,” she said quietly, her eyes locking onto yours. “Your pain, your wounds—they are my concern. Do not hide anything from me again.”

“I can take care of myself,” you insisted, a weak attempt at retaining some form of independence. “I don’t need you to—”

“Enough,” she interrupted, her voice brooking no argument. “You are not in a position to argue.”

She helped you lie down, her hands lingering on your skin as she pulled the covers over you. You tried to resist, to show that you were still strong, still independent, but the pain and exhaustion were too much. You sank back into the pillows, your body trembling with the effort.

“Rest now,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “You need to heal, and I will ensure that you do.”

She sat by your side, her hand resting lightly on your arm. Her presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the power she held over you. You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of safety in her presence. Minthara’s fierce protectiveness was a double-edged sword, but for now, it was a comfort you were willing to accept.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

Falling ill in the shadowy sanctum of Shadowheart's temple was an unexpected and grueling ordeal. The illness had come on suddenly, a vicious fever that left you weak and disoriented. Shadowheart, usually composed and stoic, transformed into a flurry of anxious care and vigilant oversight, treating you as if you were a fragile, precious doll.

Her concern was overwhelming. She scarcely left your side, tending to your every need with meticulous care, administering potions and checking your temperature frequently. Her eyes, usually cold and calculating, were filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

One evening, feeling a fleeting burst of strength, you decided to leave your bed. The air in the room felt stifling, and you yearned for the cool breeze of the temple gardens. You managed to slip out of bed, your legs trembling with the effort, and slowly made your way towards the door.

You had barely reached the threshold when you heard Shadowheart's voice, sharp and filled with a mixture of relief and anger. "What do you think you are doing out of bed?"

Before you could respond, she was at your side, her grip firm but not painful as she took your arm and began to guide you back to your quarters.

"You need to rest," she scolded, her voice low and intense. "You are far too weak to be wandering around."

As she practically dragged you back to your bed, she continued her lecture. "Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You could have collapsed, or worse! The fever could have spiked again, and I might not have been there in time to help you."

You tried to protest, to explain that you just needed a bit of fresh air, but she cut you off, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. "No. You are to stay in bed until you are fully recovered. I cannot lose you. Do you understand?"

Her words were both a command and a plea. You nodded, feeling the weight of her worry and care pressing down on you. As she helped you back into bed, her touch was gentle, but her eyes were filled with a steely resolve. Shadowheart sat beside you, her hand resting on your forehead to check for any signs of fever.

"I am doing this for your own good," she said softly, her voice a mixture of exasperation and tenderness. "You mean too much to me to take any risks with your health."

You sighed, realizing that any resistance would be futile. "I understand," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satisfied, she nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Good. Now rest. I'll be right here if you need anything."

As you lay back, exhaustion overtaking you once more, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. Shadowheart's protectiveness was suffocating, yet her care was undeniable. Despite her strictness, there was a deep affection in her actions, a need to keep you safe at all costs.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to relax, the comfort of her presence soothing the lingering anxiety. Shadowheart remained by your side, her vigilant watch never faltering, determined to see you through this illness and ensure your recovery.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

Gale's realm, an ethereal expanse of arcane wonders and mystical beauty, had become a gilded cage. After days of being chained to his godly throne, you were finally released, left to wander the opulent halls while he attended to some mortal matters. Boredom gnawed at you as you meandered through the labyrinthine corridors, the silence broken only by the distant hum of magical energies.

Your exploration led you to a dimly lit chamber filled with ancient artifacts and relics. Curious, you began to examine them, marveling at the power and history they held. One object, in particular, caught your eye—a small, intricately designed amulet pulsating with a faint, eerie glow. Drawn to its strange allure, you picked it up, feeling a sudden jolt of energy course through you.

Almost immediately, you knew something was wrong. The amulet's energy began to leech into you, draining your power and leaving you feeling weak and disoriented. Panic set in as your vision blurred, your legs giving way beneath you. You collapsed to the floor, the amulet still clutched in your hand, its malevolent power sapping your strength.

As darkness closed in, you heard Gale’s voice, a mixture of shock and fury, echoing through the chamber. You tried to call out to him, but the words died in your throat as unconsciousness claimed you.

When you finally woke, you found yourself in your ethereal bed, the soft, shimmering sheets cool against your skin. Gale was beside you, his expression one of intense concentration and worry as he tended to you with meticulous care. His hands moved with practiced precision, channeling restorative magic into your weakened body.

"You scared me," Gale admitted, his voice a low murmur. "Although you couldn't die, you would have been imprisoned in that cursed object. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

You managed a weak smile, the familiar tenderness in his eyes reminding you of the mortal Gale you had once known. It made him more bearable, a fleeting glimpse of the man he used to be.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice still shaky. "It’s good to see you care."

He looked at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You are precious to me, more than you know. Losing you would have been unbearable."

For a moment, the godly arrogance faded, replaced by genuine concern and affection. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, his expression hardened once more.

"I never should have let you out of the chains," he said, his tone now cold and commanding. "Clearly, you cannot be trusted on your own."

The warmth you had seen in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a god. The fleeting moment of vulnerability was gone, and you realized that the Gale you had once known was buried deep beneath layers of power and control.

You nodded, feeling a pang of sadness. These glimpses of the man he used to be were all you had left, and you would have to savor them whenever they appeared.

As he continued to tend to you, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his magic wash over you. For now, you would accept his care, knowing that the moments of tenderness, however rare, were a precious reminder of the love that had once existed between you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

Finding yourself alone for the first time in weeks, you eagerly seized the opportunity to venture into the city. The palace, with its grandiose rooms and oppressive atmosphere, had begun to feel like a gilded cage. You longed for a taste of freedom, a moment to reconnect with the world outside Astarion's watchful gaze. Disguised in a cloak and moving through the busy streets, you enjoyed the anonymity that the city offered, if only for a short while.

However, the city held dangers you hadn't anticipated. You had barely turned down a quiet alley when a figure emerged from the shadows. A member of the Gur, a survivor of the massacre Astarion had orchestrated, stood before you. His eyes were filled with a burning hatred, and before you could react, he lunged, driving a wooden stake towards you. It was intended for your heart but in your surprise you had managed to twist away, but the stake drove into your leg instead. The pain was immediate and excruciating, and you collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

"You'll pay for what he did," the Gur spat, his voice trembling with rage. "All of you will."

Summoning every ounce of strength, you managed to fend him off just enough to escape. Bleeding and limping, you made your way back to the palace, each step a searing agony. When you finally stumbled through the grand doors, you were barely conscious, the loss of blood and pain clouding your vision.

Astarion was immediately at your side, his usual composed demeanor shattered by the sight of you.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice a mix of fury and panic.

You could barely speak, each breath a struggle. "Gur… attacked me," you managed to gasp.

Astarion face contorted in fury and quickly scooped you up in his arms and carried you to a nearby chaise. He crouched and inspected the wooden stake.

" Y'know...this wouldn't… be a problem if… if you made me a true vampire… like you promised." You managed to get out, your leg throbbing in agony. Astarion's eyes flashed with anger, and he let out a low, frustrated growl.

"Not this again," he snapped. "I don't have time for your petty complaints."

Before you could argue further, Astarion raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Instantly, darkness engulfed you as you lost consciousness.

When you awoke, you were back in the opulent bedroom you shared with Astarion, lying on the soft bed. The stake was gone, and the wound in your leg had been meticulously cleaned and bandaged. Astarion sat beside you, his expression unreadable as he watched you stir.

"You're awake," he said quietly, his tone lacking its usual sharpness. "Good. I was beginning to worry."

You tried to sit up, but Astarion gently pushed you back down. "Don't move. The wound is still healing."

"You knocked me out," you said, the accusation clear in your voice.

Astarion sighed, a flicker of regret crossing his features. "I had to. You were manic, and I needed to get the stake out without causing more damage."

"Maybe I wouldn't be so 'manic' if you kept your promises," you retorted, your voice weak but defiant.

Astarion's eyes darkened, and he looked away. "I will make you a true vampire, but you must trust me. Everything in its time."

You wanted to argue, to demand more, but the exhaustion and pain were overwhelming. Instead, you closed your eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. Astarion's hand rested on yours, a rare gesture of genuine comfort.

"Rest now," he said softly. "You're safe here. I'll ensure nothing like this happens again."

Despite your anger and frustration, you couldn't deny the relief of being back in the palace, away from the dangers of the city. As you drifted back into a fitful sleep, you wondered if you would ever truly be free of Astarion's control or if you were forever destined to be his dark consort, caught in a web of promises and power.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The allure of the forbidden part of the forest was too strong to resist. Despite Halsin’s stern warnings about the dangers lurking within, you couldn't help but venture into its depths, driven by curiosity and a need to prove your independence. The trees grew denser, their branches interwoven like a living labyrinth, and an eerie silence pervaded the air.

You were careful at first, stepping lightly and avoiding any obvious dangers. But your caution wasn't enough. As you pushed past a particularly dense thicket, you felt a sharp sting on your hand. Looking down, you saw a deep scratch from a thorn-covered vine, the flesh around the wound already starting to swell and turn an angry red. Panic set in as the pain intensified, and you knew immediately that the thorn was poisonous.

Reluctant to face Halsin's inevitable scolding, you stumbled back to the grove, clutching your throbbing hand. Desperation drove you to his work area, where you began to tear through his meticulously organized supplies, searching for an antidote or anti-toxin. Herbs and vials clattered to the ground, your movements growing more frantic with each passing second.

"What do you think you're doing?" Halsin's voice, calm but laced with amusement, startled you. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation.

You quickly hid your injured hand behind your back, trying to compose yourself. "Nothing, just… looking for something."

Halsin's eyes narrowed as he took in the mess you'd made. "Is that so? Show me your hand."

You shook your head, backing away slightly. "It's nothing, really."

He sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. "You can't fool me. Show me your hand, now."

You tried to make a break for it, but Halsin was quicker. With a firm grip, he pulled your hand from behind your back, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the inflamed wound.

"I warned you about that part of the forest," he scolded, his tone a blend of frustration and concern. "Why must you always ignore my advice?"

You winced, both from the pain and his reprimand. "I just… I wanted to see for myself."

Halsin shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he examined the wound. "You're fortunate it wasn't something more deadly."

With practiced ease, he began to mix herbs and apply a salve to your hand, his touch gentle despite his stern expression. The relief was almost immediate, the burning pain subsiding as the antidote took effect.

"You need to be more careful," Halsin lectured, his voice softer now. "I may be able to heal you, but there are some things even I can't fix if you continue to be reckless."

You nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to you."

He finished bandaging your hand and looked at you, his eyes softening. "Just promise me you'll be more cautious in the future. I don't want to see you hurt."

"I promise," you said, genuinely contrite.

Halsin gave a small nod, satisfied for the moment, he brought up your injured hand to hiss lips and pressed a kiss to them. "Good. Now, return to our bed, you need rest."

"But I- Halsin!" Halsin, fed up of your combatance carried you over his shoulder, leaving the mess of his work area behind him as he carried you to your bed.

You tried to protest, to wriggle out of his grip but his hold on you was strong. He placed you down on the array of furs and pillows and before you could realise what he was doing he had already wildshaped into his bear form. He pinned your chest with a large paw and quickly settled, not excactly on top of you, but there was no way you would be able to leave. Sleep soon took you ,and you didn't put it past Halsin to have put something in the salve he used to treat your wound to have caused it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This series has been going so well and thank you so much everyone for your continued support! - Seluney xox

[moonselune]

dark bg3 companions accidentally hurting their love 😩

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Accidents

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, injury, forced memory loss

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The hall was filled with raucous laughter and the smell of roasted meat and strong wine, the boisterous aftermath of another successful raid. Minthara was at the center of it all, reveling in the praise and cheers of her loyal soldiers, basking in the spoils of a hard-won victory. Her presence was as fierce as her reputation, a conqueror at her finest—sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, laughing and tossing back drinks with an unrestrained joy that made her seem, for once, utterly at ease.

In the spirit of the celebration, she reached over, her gaze finding yours in the crowd, the glint in her eyes unmistakable. Before you could react, she pulled you toward her, her arm firm and unyielding as she drew you in close. The pull was sudden, and as she guided you onto her lap with possessive ease, your ankle snagged on the edge of the tablecloth, twisting in a way that sent a searing pain up your leg. You bit back a wince, unwilling to disrupt her moment of triumph, choosing instead to let the discomfort settle quietly beneath the noise of the celebration.

She continued to laugh and boast with her allies, her arm securely around you as if declaring to all who watched that you belonged to her alone. Her hand rested on your waist, fingers pressing into your side, her gaze frequently shifting to you with an unmistakable glint of pride. You bore the twinge of pain, focusing instead on her joy, your heart warmed by the rare sight of her unguarded smile, the way she seemed almost softened by the glow of victory.

It wasn’t until later, when the festivities began to wind down, that the pain in your ankle became harder to ignore. Minthara rose to her feet, signaling that it was time to return, her soldiers parting as she strode forward, her energy still humming from the high of celebration. She glanced back over her shoulder, motioning for you to follow.

You stood, trying to put weight on the injured ankle, but a sharp, burning pain shot up your leg, and you staggered slightly, clutching onto the edge of the table to steady yourself. Minthara turned, her brow furrowing as she noticed your hesitation.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was tinged with impatience, though her eyes were keen, picking up on your pained expression. You forced a smile, waving her off.

"Just… give me a moment," you said, trying to brace yourself, wincing as you shifted to balance on your uninjured foot. Her gaze sharpened, her annoyance fading as something else took its place. She moved closer, her presence grounding, though her expression was unreadable.

"Who did this to you?" she demanded, her voice a dark growl as her gaze swept over the room, ready to find the source of your discomfort.

You couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly, rolling your eyes in spite of the pain.

"You did, Minthara," you replied, a hint of amusement slipping into your voice. Her eyes widened slightly, and for a fleeting moment, something almost like guilt crossed her face. She looked down at your ankle, her expression turning uncharacteristically soft, her fingers brushing against your shoulder as if grounding herself.

“I… I see.” Her voice was low, almost hesitant. She swallowed, her jaw clenching, and then, with a surprising gentleness, she reached down, sweeping you up into her arms before you could protest.

The movement was swift but careful, her hold firm yet tender as she held you close against her chest, her gaze unwavering.

“I’m awful, aren’t I?” she murmured, a note of remorse slipping into her tone as she carried you out of the hall. The sounds of laughter and feasting faded behind you as she moved toward your quarters, her expression serious, brow furrowed in thought. “I should have been more careful. You… deserve better than my careless handling.”

You didn't respond, relishing in the fact that for once Minthara openly admitted fault in what seemed like an age. She seemed genuinely distressed, her gaze flickering between your face and the path ahead as she continued to hold you with a rare, almost reverent, care.

As she entered the quiet privacy of your chambers, she carefully lowered you onto the bed, making sure to avoid jostling your injured ankle. She knelt at your side, her eyes searching yours as if to ensure you truly were alright, her fingers brushing your hair back with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

“Rest here,” she commanded softly, though her voice held none of its usual edge. “I’ll fetch some bandages. And I’ll be here all night. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

And there was the Minthara you knew, possessive, paranoid. You reached out, catching her hand before she could pull away, a soft smile on your lips. “Minthara, it’s alright. Truly. It was just an accident.”

But she shook her head, her expression resolute.

“I was careless. I could have hurt you worse,” she murmured, her voice low, as if confessing some dark crime. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you because of me.”

Her fingers lingered over yours, the possessiveness returning to her gaze as her thumb brushed over your knuckles, her eyes intense, almost fervent.

“I will make it right,” she promised, her tone resolute. She leaned in, pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if sealing a vow. You felt her warmth, the steadiness of her presence grounding you, her arms wrapping around you with a fierce protectiveness. As she pulled back, she met your gaze, the intensity in her eyes mingling with a tenderness that was so rarely revealed.

For the rest of the night, she stayed by your side, tending to your injury with an attentiveness that bordered on devotion. She brought cool cloths and soothing salves, her hands gentle as she applied them, her fingers brushing along your ankle with the utmost care. Every so often, her gaze would drift to your face, as if needing to reassure herself that you were truly alright.

She stayed by your side until you drifted into sleep, her presence a steady anchor. And as she held your hand, she whispered a final, unspoken assurance: you were hers, and she would ensure that from now on, her strength would be the shield that protected you—not the force that could ever bring you harm.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The tension in the Sharran cloister was palpable, a dark cloud of rage swirling around Mother Superior Shadowheart as she discovered the Selûnite infiltrators had wormed their way into her carefully curated ranks. Her voice, usually measured and velvety in its coldness, now cut like shards of ice through the dark hallways as she ordered the intruders dragged before her. She wasted no time in beginning their punishment, her fury unleashed with the force of a storm. Her piercing gaze was alight with indignation, every movement sharp, purposeful, as she struck with words and weapons alike, her litany of scathing threats echoing through the chambers.

You had followed her, a silent support lingering at the edge of the room, watching as she punished each Selûnite spy, the atmosphere heavy with her righteous wrath. But Shadowheart was too absorbed in her task to notice you there in the shadows. The Sharrans around her, caught in the whirlwind of her anger, cowered, trembling under her glare as she drove her fury into anyone unfortunate enough to stand too close.

In the chaos, you stepped forward, hoping to soothe her anger before it spilled further, to reach out and ground her. But in her rage, Shadowheart was like a coiled snake, her senses honed to nothing but aggression. She didn’t see you. When you tried to place a calming hand on her shoulder, she spun around, lashing out with a fierce backhand intended for the trembling initiate behind you, her armored hand colliding brutally with your ribs.

A sharp, blinding pain bloomed through your side, and you stumbled back, clutching at the bruising that spread beneath your skin. You barely managed to keep your balance, and though you opened your mouth to call her name, your breath hitched, unable to muster the words. Your world narrowed to the throbbing ache of her unintended blow, and the way the weight of her fury washed over you. But you knew better than to show weakness in the cloister, especially amidst the volatile punishment Shadowheart was delivering.

So, you slipped back, cradling your ribs, slipping through the shadowed halls toward her chambers where you could nurse your injury alone. Your vision swam slightly from the pain, and the distance seemed longer than usual. When you finally arrived, you collapsed against her bed, taking steady breaths and wincing as you traced the outline of the bruised ribs with trembling fingers.

Much later, Shadowheart found you there, slumped against her bed, her expression snapping instantly from cold fury to impatient irritation.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she closed the chamber door behind her, stalking closer. “I told you I wanted you by my side, not off skulking around like—” Her words cut off as she took in the way you held yourself, favoring your side, the paleness of your face, the strain in your eyes.

The irritation faded instantly, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the bruise forming beneath your clothes. The hardness in her gaze softened, her mouth parting as she realized the truth. A flicker of something like guilt flashed in her eyes as she reached out, her fingers brushing over your side where her blow had landed. She knelt beside you, her hands tender as she gently traced the bruised area, a softness in her touch that was so rare, so achingly vulnerable.

“I did this… didn’t I?” she whispered, her voice low, almost as if confessing a sin. Her fingers hovered just above your injury, gentle but not daring to press against the tender skin. You nodded, seeing the way the admission weighed on her, how it quieted the storm she’d been carrying, leaving behind only remorse. Shadowheart’s expression twisted, her jaw clenching as if she were berating herself.

“I didn’t know…” she murmured, the words catching as she struggled to find her voice. Her thumb traced a delicate line over the bruise, her touch feather-light, as if afraid of causing further harm. Her fingers brushed along your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that felt raw, exposed.

You managed a faint, reassuring smile, but she could see the pain you tried to mask, the tremble in your breaths as you held yourself steady. Shadowheart’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the fierce Mother Superior was gone, leaving only the woman behind the title, the woman who cared for you, who held you in her own strange, possessive way.

“Let me help,” she whispered, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. She reached for a vial of salve from a nearby cabinet, her movements steady, controlled, but her hand shook slightly as she unscrewed the lid. She applied the balm with delicate precision, her fingers tracing gentle circles along your bruises, her touch soothing. The coolness of the salve seeped into your skin, easing the pain, and she moved with a care so tender it was almost painful to watch.

As she worked, Shadowheart’s gaze remained fixed on you, her brows drawn together in an expression of quiet regret, the darkness in her eyes softened by a rare vulnerability. Her fingers lingered over the bruised area, as if making amends for the unintended pain she’d caused. Once she finished, she reached up, her hand cradling the back of your head as she guided you against her, her other arm wrapping around you in a fierce, protective embrace.

She held you like that for a long moment, her face buried in the crook of your neck, her breath warm against your skin. Her voice was a soft murmur against your ear, as if afraid the walls might hear her confession.

“I would never knowingly hurt you,” she whispered, the words laced with a raw sincerity. “You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded, returning her embrace, feeling her fingers tighten against you as if anchoring herself. In her arms, you felt her regret, her apology expressed in the protective hold she refused to release. She leaned back slightly, her thumb grazing your cheek, her gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on reverent.

“If anyone else had dared lay a hand on you…” Her voice trailed off, her tone darkening, and her jaw clenched with the ferocity of her possessiveness, a flicker of her old wrath briefly reemerging.

But as she looked at you, her face softened again, a vulnerability lingering in her gaze. She brought her forehead to rest against yours, her fingers tangling gently in your hair.

“No one will ever hurt you again, not in my cloister, not even I.” she murmured, a vow sealed in the tender brush of her lips against your temple.

She drew back, her hand lingering on your cheek, her gaze still fixed on you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. You began to feel the cold familiar tendrils of her magic, picking through your brain, your memories, and a part of you knew that this would all be just a bad dream in a few moments. Shadowheart would ensure that.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambirion Gale:

Gale’s realm shimmered in its usual opulence, his pride woven into every corner of his sanctum. He was pacing, speaking passionately as he demonstrated a new spell’s power, his hands crackling with an arcane energy that danced dangerously close to his skin. You had seen his arrogance before—heard the confident lilt in his voice, the unspoken superiority that often coated his words. But tonight, it was stronger, almost ferocious. The spell flickered dangerously close to you, and you shifted back instinctively.

“Careful, Gale,” you warned, knowing well enough when his confidence outpaced his control. But he barely heard you, lost in his own musings, his gaze bright with that intense, single-minded fervor. With a twist of his wrist, he let the energy spiral outward, only to miscalculate—just slightly, just enough.

The spell hit you, a searing pain ripping through your side as you staggered backward. The light around you dimmed as the agony wracked through your body, leaving you breathless, crumpled to the floor. You pressed your hand to your side, feeling the wet warmth of blood soaking through your fingers.

Gale’s voice stilled, and his eyes snapped to yours, widening in disbelief. For the first time, his arrogance shattered, his usual composure breaking as he took in the sight of you, his lover—injured, by his hand.

“No, I… I didn’t mean to…” he murmured, his voice faltering. He moved toward you, his steps uncertain. You saw the shock in his face, the momentary disbelief that something he had wrought could actually hurt you. But as he knelt beside you, his fingers hovering over your wound, you felt anger coil within you, fueled by the pain, by his blinding pride.

“Didn’t mean to?” you bit out, voice trembling with pain and fury. “Gale, you were so wrapped up in showing off that you didn’t even realize what you were doing. This is what happens when you’re too arrogant to listen to anyone but yourself.”

Your words cut through the silence, and his face flinched, his usually steadfast gaze flickering. He tried to reply, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“Do you even care, Gale?” you continued, the frustration spilling over as you gripped your side. “Or am I just another piece in your game of ambition, another part of your grand design?”

A shadow crossed his face, a painful truth perhaps, one he might not even admit to himself. But there was still that flicker of arrogance in his gaze, buried under his momentary regret. He tried to reach for you, but you jerked away, ignoring the pain it caused, the vulnerability that came with pulling back.

“This is what your ambition costs, Gale. The people you claim to care about? They’re expendable, so long as they serve your vision, your grand schemes. Or am I wrong?” You forced yourself to hold his gaze, daring him to deny it, to pretend that you were any different from the countless others he had left in his wake.

For a moment, he faltered, his hand clenched as he fought for the right words. But even as his expression softened, there was an edge of defiance there, a refusal to admit that you might be right.

“You’re not expendable,” he said quietly, his hand hovering near yours. “I do care… deeply. This was a mistake, and I regret it.”

But you saw the way his gaze hardened slightly, the way that brief glimpse of vulnerability closed off, locked away beneath his familiar mask of confidence. You knew what that look meant—that even if he felt regret in this moment, it wouldn’t change his path. He wouldn’t turn from his ambition, from the power he craved.

“Then prove it, Gale,” you whispered, your voice laced with a bitter edge. “If you truly regret it, then change. Stop treating me like a tool for your ambition, stop pushing everything else aside for your pride. Show me you’re capable of putting someone else above yourself.”

His mouth opened, but no words came. He looked at you with a strained expression, his hand finally reaching to rest gently on your shoulder. His eyes softened with something close to remorse, but you saw the conflict there—the part of him that couldn’t give up what he was, what he had strived for all his life.

“I… can’t promise that,” he finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But I’ll heal you. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean more to me than anyone else ever has.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wincing at the pain that shot through your side.

“You’d still choose yourself,” you replied. It wasn’t a question—it was a fact, and one you knew would always stand between you.

His jaw tightened, and he cast his gaze away, unable to meet your eyes. Even as he laid a healing spell over your wound, mending the skin, you felt the cold distance growing, the realization that, for all his words, he would always choose his ambition, his power. His fingers brushed your cheek, a gesture meant to be comforting, yet laced with a possessive weight.

“I’ll protect you,” he said, a vow laced with conviction. But beneath it, you sensed his underlying need for control, his desire to keep you tethered to him, regardless of the pain he might cause.

As he stood and helped you to your feet, his expression softened slightly, his voice tender.

“I need you by my side. But remember,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your hand, “to be with me means to accept the risks that come with my ambitions. Nothing I do is without purpose.”

And though he held you close, you knew: in his heart, Gale was a god driven by ambition, by pride. He would always walk the path he had chosen, no matter who stumbled or fell beside him.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The dungeon echoed with harsh cries and the sound of Astarion’s laughter—cold, indulgent, the kind that chilled you to your core, no matter how long you had been by his side. His spawn was on his knees before him, trembling under Astarion’s merciless gaze. You knew better than to intervene, staying back while Astarion taught yet another 'lesson' to one of his underlings. This one had failed him in some small, inconsequential way, though that never mattered much when it came to his punishments.

You watched, keeping your distance, but then his tone shifted. Astarion’s eyes glittered with malice, and he raised his hand. The spawn flinched, recoiling instinctively as Astarion’s power flared to life, sparking through the darkened chamber. In the momentary thrill of control, he sent a pulse of energy forward, forgetting you were even there.

Before you could react, the force hit you, knocking you back against the cold stone wall. The shock ripped through your body, leaving you breathless, your head spinning from the unexpected blow. Pain radiated from your shoulder, and you clutched it, sinking to one knee as you tried to steady yourself.

It took a moment for Astarion to realize what had happened. When he did, his eyes widened, the spark of sadistic pleasure dimming as he turned to you. He took in the sight of you, disheveled and hurt, a faint bruise already forming where his magic had struck you. His amusement vanished in an instant.

“Oh… my sweet,” he murmured, his voice slipping into a gentler tone. He crossed the room in an instant, dismissing the spawn with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Look at you, injured on my account. How careless of me.” He reached out, fingers skimming over your shoulder with a delicate touch, his gaze filled with a rare and almost tender regret.

You tried to wave him off, still catching your breath. “It’s fine, Astarion. I know it wasn’t intentional…”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, his tone far softer than before, as if soothing a wounded animal. “It was entirely my fault. And I will make it up to you.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, guiding you carefully to your feet, his touch lingering as he steadied you. He pulled you close, his grip gentle but possessive, as though he needed to reassure himself of your presence.

“Come,” he said, leading you with an air of quiet resolve. “I’ve hurt you, my love, and I cannot have that. Not even by accident.” His voice softened into something dangerously sweet. “Allow me to make amends.”

Before you could protest, he whisked you away to his lavish quarters. Within moments, he had you resting on a velvet chaise, summoning a myriad of luxurious gifts to your side. Silks, jewelry, dark, fragrant wine—anything he thought would bring a glimmer of joy to your eyes. He touched your shoulder gently, his hand brushing over the bruise with surprising care.

“Here,” he whispered, offering a glass of the finest wine, crimson and rich. He tilted the glass to your lips, watching as you sipped, his expression attentive, eyes darkening as they traced every line of discomfort on your face. “Only the best for you, my precious,” he murmured, letting his fingers ghost down your neck.

As you looked at him, it became clear that this apology was more than words. This was Astarion’s way of spoiling you, of showing his remorse through the only way he knew how—possessive affection and opulence, ensuring you felt nothing less than adored. He knelt beside you, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Please, indulge me,” he said, a faintly pleading note in his voice, one that might have seemed foreign had you not recognized the subtle vulnerability in it. “Let me shower you in everything that I am, as an apology for my careless mistake.”

Even as he lavished you with attention, draping you in furs and pressing soft, almost reverent kisses to your forehead, he still possessed that intensity, the dark, possessive gleam that never left his gaze. Every touch, every gift, reminded you of the lengths he would go to keep you close, to keep you firmly under his watch.

Finally, he brushed his thumb over the bruise, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity.

“I can’t stand the thought of you being harmed, least of all by me,” he murmured, his hand drifting to cradle your cheek. “I’ve taken you into my world, my life—and I swear, you will be cherished, protected, spoiled… whatever it takes.”

And though you felt the sincerity in his regret, you knew—deep down—that this was still the same Astarion, the one who ascended, the one who wielded his love with an iron grip. His remorse was genuine, his regret almost touching, but it didn’t change the possessive hunger that lingered beneath, the unyielding desire that he used to bind you to him.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Halsin:

The remains of the town smoldered around you, charred wood and scorched earth stretching as far as the eye could see. Halsin’s wrath had torn through the place like a storm, fueled by his unyielding belief in protecting nature at any cost. You had seen his anger before, watched as he dealt swift justice to those who abused the land, but you had never anticipated just how far his fury could reach.

You staggered, clutching your side where a jagged cut ran from your ribs down to your hip, a remnant of the debris flung from one of his brutal spells. Pain radiated through you as you tried to catch your breath, the acrid scent of smoke filling your lungs. Halsin turned to you, his eyes widening in horror when he finally noticed the blood staining your clothes, the way you struggled to stand.

“By Silvanus… what happened?” He was at your side in an instant, his hands hovering over you as though afraid to touch, his gaze flickering with panic. “Did I…?” His words faltered as he pieced it together, his expression crumbling with guilt.

“Yes, Halsin,” you rasped, fighting against the pain. “You didn’t see me—too caught up in destroying everything around us.” His face fell further, regret etched into his features. He reached out to you, pulling you gently to sit on a fallen tree trunk, his hands trembling as he pressed a healing spell over your injury. Relief washed over you, though the ache remained, a phantom pain that mirrored the destruction surrounding you.

“I didn’t mean to harm you,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. His brow was furrowed, and he searched your face as if hoping to see some glimmer of forgiveness. “You… you didn’t deserve this.”

You sighed, the words bubbling to the surface before you could stop them. “Halsin, the pain you feel for me right now? That’s what the town felt. That’s the suffering you brought to every single person here.”

His expression hardened slightly, and he shook his head.

“No,” he replied firmly, as though he couldn’t allow himself to entertain the idea. “They brought this upon themselves. They polluted the rivers, they stripped the land bare… they threatened the forest, threatened the very balance of life.” His hand tightened over yours, his gaze holding an intense, unyielding conviction. “But you? You are innocent in all this. You did nothing to deserve harm.”

“Halsin,” you pressed, meeting his gaze with a quiet intensity, “those people… they weren’t all responsible. Some were just… caught in the crossfire.”

He closed his eyes, as if to block out your words, his jaw clenching in defiance.

“They allowed it to happen,” he said after a moment, his tone steady and resolute. “They reaped what they sowed. Nature’s wrath is a fair balance, and sometimes, it must be delivered without mercy.”

Your heart sank at his words, seeing how deeply his ideology ran, how it had begun to blind him to anything beyond his duty to nature. His thumb brushed over your hand, a gentler expression surfacing as he looked at you with regret.

“But you are different,” he insisted, his voice softening. “You’re a part of me, a part of my heart… I would never willingly let you suffer.” His hand rested gently over your injured side, his touch feather-light as if afraid of causing you further pain. “This… this was a terrible accident, a mistake. Let me care for you.”

He gathered you in his arms, holding you close, murmuring words of apology and soothing promises that it would never happen again. You tried to squirm against him, show your displeasure, but you were too injured, too in pain. Halsin urges you to rest, holding you tighter, his embrace was warm, and terribly comforting. But his earlier words echoed in your mind, stopping you from falling into the sense of false security he so wanted to keep you in. It was a reminder of the fervent, unyielding belief that lay beneath his love for you. He cared deeply—perhaps too deeply—but you saw now that his vision of justice and protection left little room for compromise.

Even as he held you, cradling you with the utmost tenderness, you felt a creeping sense of unease. Because while he might regret hurting you, his view of the world remained unchanged and they would suffer for it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

The argument had started as a murmur in the grand halls, a mere whisper of discontent between you and Wyll. But now, it had grown louder, echoing through the room as your voice rose, frustration simmering into anger. Wyll’s usual charm and restraint had slipped away, revealing the uncompromising intensity that lay beneath, the dark possessiveness he had tried so hard to keep veiled.

“I don’t want to live like this, Wyll!” you shouted, exasperated. “I can’t even take a single step outside these walls without guards watching my every move. This isn’t freedom; it’s a gilded cage.”

His eyes darkened, and he reached for you, his hand catching your arm with an unyielding grip.

“I’m doing this because I love you,” he said, his voice low and fervent, as if he could simply will you to understand the depth of his feelings through his words alone. “Don’t you see? The world is filled with dangers. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. I need to keep you safe—don’t you understand that?”

His hand on your arm tightened as he spoke, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive intensity that bordered on painful. His gaze was fierce, a blend of desperation and resolve, as if he believed that by holding you tightly enough, he could mold you into a version of yourself that would fit within the confines of his devotion.

“Wyll, you’re hurting me,” you tried to say, your voice strained, but he was too caught up in his tirade to notice. His other hand grasped your shoulder, his thumb pressing into the curve of your collarbone as he pulled you closer, his words pouring out in a fervent rush.

“All I do is for you,” he insisted, his voice taking on a pleading edge. “Everything I have—this title, this power—is nothing without you by my side. You’re mine, and I can’t… I won’t let anyone take you away.”

But as his grip tightened further, you felt a sharp pain, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You tried to turn your face away, biting back the protest that rose in your throat, unwilling to escalate the tension. But he caught sight of your tears, and suddenly, his words faltered, his intensity shattering like glass.

The shift in him was immediate, his entire demeanor crumbling as if he had been struck. His grip slackened instantly, and his gaze dropped from your face to the floor, his expression one of dawning horror. Without a word, he dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist, and he buried his face against your stomach, his embrace now gentle, almost reverent.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, the words choked with remorse. “I didn’t mean to… I would never want to hurt you.” His voice trembled, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your clothing, holding on as if afraid you might slip away. “Please, forgive me,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper, repeating the words like a mantra, as if he could somehow absolve himself through sheer repetition.

He looked up, his face stricken, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading as he clung to you, a broken look crossing his features. The proud, powerful Grand Duke was gone, replaced by a man brought to his knees, stripped of his armor and his strength by the weight of his own actions.

You hesitated, your hand hovering uncertainly above his head before finally resting it in his hair, running your fingers through it in a soothing motion. He let out a shuddering breath, his grip loosening further as he melted into your touch, his shoulders slumping in relief at even the slightest gesture of forgiveness.

“I was… wrong,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be the reason you shed a single tear. I swear to you, I will do better. Just… please don’t leave me.”

He pressed his forehead to your stomach, clinging to you like a lifeline, his remorse palpable as he held onto you. And though your heart ached from the pain of his earlier touch, you couldn’t help but soften, your fingers running gently over his head as he continued to hold you with all the desperation of a man who had come face to face with his own demons.

You felt his arms wrap more gently around your waist, his head pressed to your middle as if he could somehow anchor himself there, seeking solace in your presence, his breath shaky but steadying with each passing second. For a moment, he was silent, simply holding you, his words falling away as he pressed a gentle, almost reverent kiss to the fabric of your clothing, an unspoken promise to mend what he had broken.

And as he knelt there, humbled and vulnerable at your feet, you could see that beneath the dark possessiveness lay a fractured, desperate love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ooooo I really tried to make it very accidental which is why some of them may seem similar premices. Anyway hope you guys enjoyed this - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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[moonselune]

I don’t know if this request works within the “canon” of the dark bg3 stuff but could there be something of them having a sort of “am I the baddie? No of course not!” moment. Like Mother Superior SH realizing her memory wipes have started to erase things she liked about her partner, but then still justifying it anyway.

omg this is all i could think about

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Am I the Villain?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The grand hall is ablaze with light, the flicker of candles dancing off the gleaming armor of the elite and the polished stone walls. Minthara walks with you at her side, her usual commanding presence dominating the room, as she surveys the other attendees. A celebration of her most recent victory, another success in her endless conquest, and yet tonight, something weighs on her.

You’re standing beside her, dressed impeccably in her colors, red and black, a jeweled collar gleaming at your throat—a symbol of her possession. Your eyes, once so defiant, are now soft, almost distant, and Minthara can’t help but notice how different you’ve become. You stay close, your body language careful and measured, as if you’re constantly attuned to her, never straying too far.

But something nags at her tonight, a strange sense of unease that she’s never felt before. She watches you carefully, the way you hold yourself, the way you respond to the others at the gala with polite, but hollow words. The life you once had—the fire, the rebellion—it’s all been snuffed out, and for a moment, Minthara wonders if she’s gone too far.

She remembers the nights of resistance, the fight you used to put up, the venom in your words when you defied her. Back then, it thrilled her—your spirit, your defiance. But over time, she broke you down, bit by bit, until you were hers in every sense of the word. And now, here you are, completely loyal, utterly devoted, always at her side.

But is this what she truly wanted?

Her thoughts are interrupted when she notices how you glance up at her, a look of absolute obedience in your eyes. The way you move closer to her, as if seeking her approval, as if your very presence is tethered to her will. It’s an instinct now, a habit ingrained so deeply in you that it’s second nature. And for a fleeting moment, Minthara feels a pang of guilt. Had she damaged you beyond repair? Had she stripped away too much of who you were?

Her gaze softens as she watches you. There’s no fight left in you, no spark of rebellion, just complete submission. She knows she’s the reason for it—her relentless control, her possessiveness. Maybe she should feel guilty. Maybe this is her fault.

But then, as she watches you greet a lord with a curt nod, your eyes immediately flicking back to hers for approval, something inside her shifts. The guilt begins to fade, replaced by something darker, something more possessive. You belong to her now, completely. Every glance, every word, every breath you take is in service to her. You’ll never leave her.

The thought fills her with a twisted sense of satisfaction. She watches you move through the crowd, always keeping an eye on her, always staying within reach, and she realizes that this—this loyalty, this obedience—is exactly what she wanted all along.

You catch her gaze again, and she smiles. A slow, predatory smile that makes your heart flutter with a mixture of fear and devotion. She beckons you closer with a subtle gesture, and without hesitation, you obey, moving to her side as if you were born to be there.

As you approach, Minthara places a hand on your arm, pulling you just a little closer, her fingers brushing against your skin. She looks down at you, her eyes filled with something possessive, something deeply satisfied.

“You’ve done well tonight,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, meant only for your ears. “You’re always so perfect, always so loyal.”

You look up at her, a small, strained smile on your lips, and she can see the exhaustion in your eyes. But there’s no defiance there, no resistance. Only acceptance.

Minthara tightens her grip on your arm, her gaze softening as she leans down to press a kiss to your temple.

“You’ll never leave me,” she whispers, more to herself than to you, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact. One she’s ensured.

For a brief moment, the flicker of guilt tries to rise again, but it’s drowned out by the sheer satisfaction of having you completely, utterly hers. She doesn’t feel bad anymore. Why should she? You’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by her side, forever.

With that, she straightens, her grip loosening slightly, though she keeps you close. The night continues, the sounds of the gala fading into the background as Minthara allows herself to bask in the sense of control, of ownership. And as you stand there, ever obedient, ever loyal, she knows she made the right choice.

You’re hers, after all. Always.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

Mother Superior Shadowheart watches you from the edge of the room, her dark, piercing eyes following your every move. You’re sitting by the hearth, quietly stitching a piece of fabric, your once defiant spirit all but extinguished. It should comfort her—this docile, pliant version of you. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? The perfect companion, loyal and obedient, devoted to her in every way. She has molded you, stripped away every rebellious thought, wiped every memory that threatened her control over you, until there was nothing left but submission.

And yet, as she watches you now, there’s an uneasy feeling gnawing at her. There’s something missing. A spark, a fire, a certain light in your eyes that used to challenge her. She remembers the way you used to argue with her, your quick wit and sharp tongue, the way you’d make her feel alive even in your defiance. Now, you simply nod and smile, never questioning, never pushing back. It’s what she wanted, but the satisfaction is hollow.

Shadowheart clenches her fist, feeling the familiar weight of guilt creep up on her, though she shoves it back down where it belongs. No, this is what has to be done. Without the memory wipes, you wouldn’t be here at all. You would have left her long ago, and she couldn’t—she wouldn’t allow that. She had to take control, had to make you forget, for your own sake and hers. If you remembered how things once were, the things you used to say, the way you used to resist her… you’d run.

“You’re quiet today,” she finally says, her voice soft, careful. She crosses the room, standing behind you and placing her hands on your shoulders. You stiffen slightly under her touch, just for a moment, but then you relax, leaning into her, as if the act is second nature.

“I’m just… thinking,” you reply, your voice almost too soft, too distant. There’s a wistfulness in it, something she doesn’t like. What are you thinking about? What parts of your old self are trying to claw their way back?

Shadowheart bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering a little too long.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” she asks, but her voice holds a warning, a silent threat that you might not even recognize anymore.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I was thinking about… something. I don’t quite remember.”

Shadowheart’s heart clenches. Something you don’t remember. Of course, you don’t. She made sure of that. The memory wipes have been thorough, meticulous, erasing anything that could ever give you a reason to defy her again. But in doing so, she’s started to erase things she liked about you—things she loved. She straightens up, trying to shake off the unease crawling up her spine.

“Good,” she murmurs, though it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself. “There’s no need to dwell on the past.”

But the truth gnaws at her. How much of you has she lost in this process? How many parts of the person she fell in love with are gone forever? She tries to recall the way you used to laugh, the way your eyes used to light up with mischief, the way you used to challenge her in ways that no one else dared. Now, all of that is gone—erased, as if it never existed.

But it had to be done. You would have left her. You would have abandoned her, just like everyone else. She had no choice. If you remembered the fights, the times you tried to escape, the moments of rebellion… you’d hate her. You’d leave her. She couldn’t allow that.

“I’m happy,” you say softly, almost mechanically, as if the words are rehearsed. “I’m glad to be here, with you.”

Shadowheart winces, and she quickly moves to sit beside you, taking your hands in hers. She forces a smile, trying to reassure herself that this is what she wants.

“You are exactly where you’re meant to be,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “With me.”

You look at her, that empty, vacant smile still on your lips, and it makes her stomach turn. There’s no fire, no spark, no defiance. Just hollow obedience. She once loved the way you’d look at her with fury in your eyes, how you’d challenge her authority, forcing her to assert control. Now, you’re just… complacent.

But she justifies it, as she always does. Without the memory wipes, you’d leave her. You’d run far away, and she couldn’t bear that. She tells herself it’s necessary, that you’re better off this way. You’re safe, protected, and she has you. That’s all that matters.

Shadowheart lifts your chin gently, making you meet her gaze.

“I love you,” she says, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if you truly understand those words anymore, or if they’re just another script you’ve been forced to follow.

“I love you too,” you reply automatically, your voice devoid of the passion it once held.

She leans in, kissing you deeply, trying to summon the old fire that used to burn between you, but it feels one-sided now. You kiss her back, but there’s no intensity, no heat, just a practiced motion. She pulls away, her chest tight, and she knows—deep down—that she’s destroyed something beautiful.

But it’s too late now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

Gale watches you move through his realm, his eyes tracing your every step. His once-human heart, now swollen with divine power, beats with an unsettling calm. He sees you—the god of the muse, the very embodiment of inspiration, grace, and passion—now reduced to something far more hollow. There is no spark left in your eyes, no flicker of the joy you once carried. Your movements are slow, mechanical, as if your purpose has long since evaporated, leaving you to wander aimlessly through the gilded labyrinth that Gale has constructed. His perfect world, made for you.

He knows what he’s done, of course. He sees it in your detachment, in the way your gaze drifts as though searching for something beyond the realm he has meticulously crafted. He sees it in the way your hands no longer create, no longer breathe life into the world. But he also knows why he did it. He tells himself it was necessary—that this was the only way to protect you, to preserve you as his forever.

You are his muse, his divine inspiration, but more importantly, you are his. You belong to him in the same way this realm does, in the same way the power of the Weave now bends to his will. Without you, what would this godhood mean? His ambitions would be empty. He cannot allow you to leave, to break free from his grasp, even if it means crushing the very essence that made you who you are.

“Come here,” Gale commands softly, his voice reverberating through the golden halls like a whisper of thunder. You hesitate for a moment, though not out of defiance, but from the weight of knowing what comes next. Your feet carry you to him as if on strings, compelled by more than just obedience. You stand before him, head slightly lowered, your once-proud form now a shadow of the muse that had once inspired entire realms.

Gale’s eyes bore into you, hungry, searching for something—some sign that your love for him has not faded, that you are still his. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, fingers cold and pulsing with the untamed magic he now controls.

“Tell me,” he says, his tone deceptively gentle, but you feel the underlying edge to it. “How much do you love me?”

Your heart stirs in dread, though your expression remains carefully neutral. You know exactly what he is asking. There is a quiet warning in his words, an unspoken promise of what he will do to the mortal realm if your answer displeases him. You have seen the devastation he is capable of, how easily he reshapes existence to suit his desires. His ambition knows no bounds. You, better than anyone, know how little it would take for him to unmake entire worlds just to punish you for a single misstep.

So, you answer him, your voice soft but steady.

“I am devoted to you, Gale,” you say, each word deliberate, each syllable spoken with the careful precision of someone walking a razor’s edge. “I love you. I adore you.”

For a moment, there is silence. His eyes search yours, as though he’s trying to find something deeper behind your words. You wonder if he sees the truth—the emptiness behind your declaration, the lifeless devotion you now perform like an act, all to keep him from destroying everything. But Gale smiles, and for a terrifying moment, you know he believes you.

“Yes,” he whispers, his smile widening as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I know you do. I knew it from the moment I bound us together.”

In his mind, your love justifies everything. It justifies the suffocating control he’s exerted over you, the gilded cage he’s built, and the countless lives that have been lost in his pursuit of power. It justifies the endless, obsessive need to keep you at his side, to shape you into the perfect companion—no matter how much of yourself he has stripped away in the process.

He brushes a lock of hair from your face, his touch reverent, as though he’s still captivated by the thought of what you once were. But you are no longer his muse. You are his prisoner.

“You see,” Gale continues, his voice low and soothing, “this was all for us. For you. I couldn’t risk losing you, not to the whims of fate or time, or to your own will.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, and you can feel the weight of his power thrumming beneath his skin. “No one will ever love you the way I do. No one will ever understand you as I do.”

You nod, even as the void in your chest grows heavier, more suffocating. You are trapped, bound by both his love and his madness. The realm around you feels like a beautiful prison, a perfect world in which you are a mere ornament—a shadow of your former self, kept only because you once inspired the god who now holds you.

And Gale, in his arrogance, in his infinite ambition, believes that this is enough. That this twisted devotion, this corrupted love, is the highest form of worship.

As you stand there, locked in his embrace, you cannot help but wonder how much longer you can pretend. How much longer you can wear this mask of adoration before the last remnants of yourself are lost forever.

But for now, you tell him what he needs to hear. You tell him that you love him. Because to do otherwise would be to unleash the full fury of a god, and the world cannot afford that. Neither can you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

Astarion leans against a crumbling wall, sat on a nearby crate, watching you with a quiet, almost predatory satisfaction as you tear through the night, drenched in bloodlust. He would have preferred more opulent surroundings but you had become ravenous after a meeting at a fellow noble's house. The moonlight filters through the shadows of the alley, illuminating the grotesque scene unfolding before him. Bodies litter the ground, drained of life, their faces frozen in expressions of terror as your fangs sink into another helpless victim. You are unstoppable, a whirlwind of violence and hunger, your eyes wild with the mania of the hunt, your hands stained red with the life you have stolen.

At first, Astarion feels a twisted sense of pride. This is what he wanted, after all. To make you like him—an apex predator, free from the chains of morality and guilt that once held you back. The two of you, together, are gods among mortals, unstoppable in your pursuit of power and blood. He remembers when you would hesitate, how your face would twist in sorrow even as you killed a simple goblin, trying to justify your actions to yourself. You used to care, used to flinch at the thought of taking a life.

But now? Now you are something else entirely. He watches as you throw aside a body, your lips stained with fresh blood, your eyes burning with the same insatiable hunger he once saw in himself. You’ve become the perfect reflection of him, the monster he always knew you could be. And yet, as the frenzy continues, something unexpected stirs within him.

At first, it’s just a fleeting thought—a brief flicker of memory. He recalls the way your face would soften after a fight, how you would stand over the bodies of your enemies, your eyes clouded with guilt. You’d tell him, in quiet whispers, how you never wanted this. How you feared becoming like him. It used to annoy him, how you clung to that sliver of humanity, as though it were some precious treasure. But now, as he watches the carnage, that memory claws its way to the surface, unbidden.

Look at you now.

The sound of your laughter, unhinged and wild, echoes through the blood-soaked street, and Astarion feels something twist inside him. His gaze follows your every movement as you finish off the last of your victims, blood dripping from your lips, your body swaying with the exhaustion of the frenzy. You’ve taken more lives tonight than you can count, and Astarion can see it—the mania burning through you, consuming you. You’re lost in it, no longer in control, just a vessel for the hunger that now defines you.

And it’s then that it hits him: he has done this to you.

A flicker of regret rises in him, sharp and unexpected. It’s not that he regrets the power he’s given you or the freedom to revel in your darkest desires. No, it’s something deeper. He remembers how you used to be—how you used to fight to keep your heart intact, even when it hurt you. He watches the way your hands tremble, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, from the sheer mania that has taken hold of you.

It’s gone now, that humanity you once clung to. He’s broken you. Turned you into a creature of blood and death, a reflection of his own cruelty. And for the briefest of moments, Astarion feels a pang of something close to sorrow.

But then it’s gone—washed away as you collapse at his feet, utterly spent. Your body, drenched in blood, crumples to the ground, and before he can react, your head falls gently into his lap. You look up at him, your chest heaving with exhaustion, eyes glassy from the high of the hunt, and in that moment, whatever flicker of regret he felt vanishes.

Because this—this is where you belong. At his feet. You, the once-innocent soul who balked at the thought of killing, who feared the very darkness that now consumes you. You are his now, entirely, just as he always wanted. Your humanity is gone, and in its place, there is only devotion—to him, to the hunger, to the night.

Astarion smiles, his fingers brushing lightly against your blood-soaked hair as he gazes down at you with a mix of possessiveness and dark satisfaction. You are perfect. His perfect creature, shaped and molded by his hand. Whatever regret he had felt is meaningless now, drowned out by the reality of what you’ve become.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, though there is a sinister undertone to it. “You’ve finally embraced what you are, my love. Doesn’t it feel… freeing?”

You don’t respond, still too exhausted from the bloodshed, but your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s no need for words; he sees it in your gaze—the surrender, the acceptance. You’re his now, irrevocably and utterly. Astarion knows that whatever small piece of you once resisted him is gone, devoured by the darkness he helped unleash.

He tilts your chin up, his thumb gently brushing the corner of your bloodied lips, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. “This is where you belong,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “At my side. By my feet. There’s nowhere else for you now.”

And in the stillness that follows, as the bodies of the slain lie cold and lifeless around you, Astarion knows that he has won. Whatever part of you he might have mourned is insignificant compared to the power he now holds over you. You are bound to him in every sense—by blood, by darkness, by the very madness that he has instilled in you.

He feels no regret anymore. Only pride.

The regret was a fleeting ghost, and now it is gone, replaced by the absolute certainty that you belong to him.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

Halsin stood quietly in the shadows of the grove, watching you as you tended to the small group of animals you had rescued. You moved among them with a gentle care, hands stroking their fur, whispering soft reassurances. A faint smile played on your lips, a reflection of the compassion you still held in your heart, but something was wrong. He could see it. It was in the way your hands trembled, the slight stiffness in your posture, the way your eyes—though focused on the creatures before you—seemed distant, as if they were seeing something far away.

And then, there were the tears.

They slipped from your eyes silently, trailing down your cheeks like rain. You weren’t sobbing, nor were you visibly distressed. It was as if your body had decided to release the sorrow on its own, without your permission. You didn’t wipe them away or acknowledge them, instead choosing to ignore them entirely, continuing your work as though nothing was wrong.

But Halsin knew better. He could feel the ache beneath your surface, could see it in the way your smile faltered when you thought no one was watching. He had imprisoned you here in the grove, telling himself it was for the best—that you belonged to nature, that this was where you were meant to be, where he could keep you safe from the chaos and destruction of the world beyond. But now, as he watched you tend to the animals with a hollow, mechanical grace, he realized just how deeply that decision had affected you.

Your mind had shut down, he realized. It was coping, retreating inward, while your body simply went through the motions. The tears were your soul’s quiet cry, one you couldn’t bring yourself to voice. It was easier to focus on the animals, on the routine of caring for them, than to confront the prison that this grove had become.

A slight pang of regret stirred in Halsin’s heart, unsettling him. He had never meant to break your spirit like this. He had only wanted to protect you, to ensure that you stayed close to the wilds, where you could be one with the natural world. But had he gone too far? Had he mistaken control for love?

Just then, a small fawn stumbled beside you, its legs weak, its body trembling. You knelt beside it, your hands moving with practiced care, trying to find the source of its distress. But something was wrong. Despite your efforts, the fawn’s breathing remained labored, and its small body continued to tremble under your touch. Panic flickered across your face, and for the first time, your composure wavered.

Without hesitation, you stood, your eyes wide with worry, and you sprinted towards Halsin, desperation lacing your voice.

“Halsin, please! I don’t know what’s wrong with the fawn—I can’t help it!” Your breath was quick, your heart pounding, as you looked up at him, eyes wide with a raw, vulnerable need.

Halsin blinked, the regret he had felt a moment ago slipping from his mind as he moved toward the fawn, laying his hands gently upon its quivering body. With a soft incantation, he channeled the magic of the natural world into the creature, healing its ailment with the simple touch of his hand. The fawn let out a soft breath, its body relaxing as the magic took hold, its eyes now clear and calm.

You exhaled in relief, tears still streaming down your cheeks, but now they were different—born from gratitude, not grief. You turned to Halsin, your face breaking into a genuine smile as you stepped closer to him.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you. You saved it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to still around Halsin. The warmth of your lips on his cheek, the way you looked at him with such trust, such deep reliance—it stirred something deep within him. Whatever regret he had felt, whatever doubt had briefly flickered in his heart, was now gone. In this moment, he was reminded of why he had done what he had—why he had brought you here, why he had kept you close.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was giving you a life where you could be safe, where you could rely on him, where you could find solace in the wild, away from the chaos of the world that had threatened to tear you apart. You might not see it now, but in time, you would come to understand. This was where you belonged, with the creatures of the forest, with him.

You needed him, and that need justified everything.

Halsin’s large hand came up to cup your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the tear that still clung to your skin.

“You’re welcome, my heart,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me to help you. Always.”

He pulled you into an embrace, and though he could feel the stiffness in your body, the hesitation that lingered beneath the surface, he ignored it. You were here, in his arms, in the grove, and that was enough.

It had to be enough.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

Wyll strode down the hall with purpose, the weight of his title as Grand Duke pressing heavily upon his shoulders. He had dealt with emissaries, council meetings, and the ever-growing burden of ruling Baldur’s Gate, but his thoughts always drifted back to you. His spouse. His love. The one he had claimed as his, by any means necessary. To him, it had been an act of devotion—a way to protect you from the dangers of the world, to shield you from harm. His love for you was absolute, consuming, and he believed that it justified everything.

As he approached your chambers, the sound of muffled sobbing reached his ears. His brow furrowed, and a sense of unease began to settle in his chest. Something was wrong. Without thinking, he pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. His eyes immediately fell upon you, sitting on the edge of the bed, your shoulders trembling with the force of your silent sobs. Your hands were clutching a piece of fabric, as though trying to anchor yourself, and tears streamed down your face unchecked.

Wyll’s heart lurched at the sight, and he rushed to your side. "What is it? What’s wrong?" he demanded, his voice filled with concern but laced with an edge of possessiveness. He hated seeing you like this—broken, fragile. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had made sure you would be safe, protected, loved.

You gasped, startled by his sudden presence, and immediately tried to pull yourself together. You wiped at your face in a near-hysterical fashion, your movements frantic and clumsy as you struggled to hide your tears.

"Wyll—no, it’s nothing. I’m fine," you said, your voice strained, a weak smile plastered across your tear-streaked face. “I wasn’t expecting you—”

But Wyll wasn’t having any of it. His eyes darkened with frustration, his hand reaching out to stop you as you tried to stand and walk away from him. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you back toward him.

"Don’t lie to me," he said, his voice low and commanding. He wasn’t going to let you slip away, not like this. Not when you were clearly hurting.

You stumbled slightly as he pulled you to face him, his other hand gently but insistently tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. That’s when he saw it—the fear in your eyes. The way your breath hitched in your chest, the way your body stiffened under his touch. The raw, unspoken terror that you were trying so desperately to hide. His heart clenched at the realization. You were scared of him.

He hadn’t wanted this. He had taken you, yes— locked you away from the dangers of the world outside—but he had done it all for love. For you. To protect you. But now, as he stared into your tear-filled eyes, the truth was impossible to ignore. You were broken, fractured under the weight of his possessive love, and it was his doing.

A pang of regret stirred in his chest, an unfamiliar ache as he loosened his grip on your wrist. He had taken too much from you, pushed you too far, and now he could see the consequences etched across your face.

“Tell me what's wrong,” he murmured, his voice suddenly softer, as if trying to soothe the very wound he had caused.

But you shook your head quickly, panic flashing in your eyes as you tried to brush off his concern. “It’s nothing, Wyll, really. I—it’s just the pressure- yes, the pressure of it all. The responsibility of being your spouse, of being by your side all the time. It’s overwhelming sometimes, but I’m fine. I’m glad you’re here. You make it better.”

Your words were rushed, and Wyll could tell you were lying, though he wasn’t sure if it was to protect yourself or to keep him from feeling guilty. Maybe it was both. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care if you were telling the truth or not, because in the next moment, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. Your embrace was tight, desperate, as though you were clinging to him for stability, for some sense of safety amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Wyll hesitated for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you firmly against his chest. He could feel your body trembling against his, your heart beating rapidly, and despite the regret that had momentarily flickered in his heart, it quickly began to fade. As he held you close, as he felt your warmth against him, all of his doubts and guilt melted away.

You needed him. You belonged to him. And in that embrace, he found the justification he had always clung to. Whatever pain you felt, whatever fear you harbored, it was all necessary. Because without him, where would you be? Lost, vulnerable, exposed to the dangers of the world. He had saved you, claimed you, and ensured that no one else could ever hurt you. He was your protector, your keeper. Your everything.

Wyll tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he whispered into your hair.

"I’ll always be here for you, my love, no matter what.” His voice was soothing, even as his heart swelled with possessiveness. He wasn’t going to let you go—not ever. Whatever regret he had felt was gone now, replaced by the certainty that he had done the right thing. He had to keep you close, had to keep you under his control. Because if he didn’t, if you left him, the world would tear you apart.

You held him tighter, your face buried in his chest, and Wyll closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. This was right. This was how it was meant to be. You, in his arms, relying on him, needing him.

And as he held you, any lingering remorse faded into nothingness, drowned by the all-consuming love—and control—he had over you. He believed, deep down, that this was for the best. For you. For both of you.

Because in Wyll’s mind, love justified everything. Even the chains he had bound you with.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This was so fun but also so soul crushing to write, poor darlings, they will never catch a break. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[moonselune]

Hello! Could I request a pregnant reader running away from the Dark ending characters to protect their unborn baby? Sort of an alternative scenario where the dark characters don’t know their darling is pregnant and they successfully manage to run away and hide with their child for a few years before they’re both found again by their yandere?

So glad requests are finally open!!!!!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Bye, Bye, Baby/Baby, Goodbye

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader, childbirth, mass murder, arson,

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Song rec: Bye Bye Baby

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

It had taken every ounce of strength you possessed to leave Minthara, but your pregnancy had propelled you forward. Each moment of your escape was a dangerous gamble, every step a silent prayer, relying on old allies and, for the first time, even the enemies of the Baenre estate to help you vanish into the world above. You'd known the risks, the chance that Minthara’s dark reach might find you anywhere, but when you finally stepped into the light of the surface world, the chill of fear faded, replaced by something warmer, something you hadn’t felt in years. Freedom.

In that quiet, sunlit village, you built a new life. It wasn’t grand or luxurious, but it was wholly yours, unburdened by the constant dread of Minthara’s ambition and possessive cruelty. It was a simple existence, but peace had always been elusive for you, and here, you had finally grasped it.

And when your daughter was born, small and soft and untainted by any darkness, you felt a strength bloom within you that was fiercer than any resolve you had known before. She was innocent, untouched by Minthara’s world, a part of you that you would fiercely protect. In her small face, you saw the promise of a life unshadowed by fear. She became your joy, your purpose, and the villagers who took you in became a family, treating her as a precious miracle. For the first time, you felt safe.

Life became a quiet rhythm: tending to her, letting her laugh at the birds that flew outside your window, and feeling her small fingers tug at your hair as she babbled with wonder at every new thing. In the peaceful warmth of the village, the sounds of morning birds and evening lullabies replaced the echo of Baenre’s cold vicious halls. It felt safe enough, at times, that you dared let yourself relax. You would take small naps in the afternoons, letting sleep claim you while she lay in her cradle.

It was on one of those afternoons, feeling content and unburdened, that you allowed yourself to truly sleep. It was a mistake.

You awoke, not to the warmth of your small bed, but to the touch of silk sheets. No longer were you wrapped up in the knitted jumper your elderly neighbour had made you but the finest robes the Underdark could offer. The comforting scent of home had been replaced by the stale, heavy air you had left behind. Your eyes flew open in panic, and terror surged through your veins as the truth settled over you. The bed, the cottage, the life you had built—it was all gone. You were back within the Baenre estate, its dark silence pressing down on you like a nightmare.

You staggered to your feet, the terror clawing at your chest, but only one thought filled your mind: your daughter. You tore through the familiar, hated halls, shouting her name, your heart pounding as you passed door after door, corridor after corridor, each one empty and devoid of life. No warmth, no gentle light from the village. Only darkness and the cold.

Then, in the dim light of Minthara’s chambers, you saw her.

Your daughter, barely a few months old, sat on Minthara’s lap, her small hands reaching out, curious, to touch the dark fabric of Minthara’s robes. Minthara’s face held a strange gentleness—a softness you once trusted, now contorted into something twisted and terrifying. She murmured to the child, her tone almost affectionate, the sound catching in your ears like broken glass.

"Your mama had a little… lapse. She thought she could leave us,” Minthara cooed, her words soft, her gaze never leaving your child. “But it’s alright now. She’s returned to where she belongs, where you belong, my love."

Her eyes lifted, meeting yours, a cold gleam in them. She gave you a pitying, patronizing smile, as though you were nothing more than a child caught in a foolish game. Your legs felt like lead, each step heavy as you stumbled into the room, desperate and helpless.

“Minthara…please,” you choked, reaching out, your voice thin and trembling. “Give her back to me.”

Minthara’s smile grew sharper, and she shifted your daughter on her lap, as though she were cradling a prize, a possession that was irrevocably hers.

“You weren’t well, darling. Call it pre-partum delusions, if you will. Motherhood…does things to the mind.” Her voice was calm, patronizing, almost soothing, and each word sank into you like a blade. “But rest assured, I’ll make sure this never happens again. You’ll be protected, watched over.”

A heavy, cold weight settled over you as she dismissed everything you had fought for as if it were nothing but a passing illness. She was rewriting your escape as nothing more than a fit of irrationality, a lapse in judgment, the precious life you’d built reduced to a fevered dream. She continued, her tone sharp, each word a stone that buried your resolve.

“Rest assured that I’ve forgiven you. I understand what might have driven you to this… lapse.” She reached down, brushing a strand of hair from the child’s forehead with a delicate hand as though you weren’t standing there, each word diminishing you. "But worry not, you two will never leave again. I’ll see to it myself.”

You took a step forward, trembling, your gaze shifting from Minthara’s possessive hand on your child to her eyes, which held no warmth, only an unyielding, terrible love. “Minthara… please, I was only trying to protect her from—”

“Protect?” she interrupted, her voice slicing through the air like a whip. “You were confused. You were delusional.” Her voice softened, taking on a chilling gentleness. “But I know it was only fear that drove you to such… irrational behavior. Now, our family is whole again. Our baby will grow up in both of her mothers' embrace."

Her voice left no room for protest, and when you tried to step forward again, she shifted your daughter further away, holding her closer, her gaze hardening with an unspoken threat. Your protests died on your lips as you curled in on yourself.

“Now,” she continued, her voice soft, almost soothing, “you will stay here with us, and in time, you will understand that this—this is the only place you need to be.” Her eyes softened with a chilling, twisted affection. “You and our daughter, bound together in this family. You’ll see it’s what’s best.”

A shudder of helplessness ran through you as you realized there was no escape. Not now, not ever. Minthara’s control was unbreakable, her possession over you, over your daughter, as absolute as the stone walls that surrounded you. She had taken everything and redefined it under her own iron will, trapping you within a nightmare disguised as love.

Your daughter gurgled, reaching for you, her small, trusting eyes unaware of the darkness that loomed. As Minthara held her close, her fingers brushing the child’s cheek with a cruel tenderness, you felt the weight of her claim settle over you—a cage you could never escape. And as you looked into Minthara’s eyes, you knew she would never let you go.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The news had settled within you like a quiet revelation, a blooming certainty despite the fog of your fractured memories. You were pregnant, carrying Shadowheart's child. It was surreal and daunting, your memories of her a shattered mirror, fragments of affection and fear intertwined. But as soon as you felt the life stirring within you, something undeniable broke free—a fierce, protective instinct you hadn’t felt before. Whatever your past held, this future, this child, needed something else—somewhere safer than the Sharran cloister’s shadowed halls.

Days turned to weeks as you hid the truth from Shadowheart, burying your own memories further, blending into the routines she expected of you. Finally, in the dead of night, you slipped away, cradling your belly and the life within it, guided only by that need to protect, even as your own mind’s certainty waned. Exhaustion and the pain of fleeing left you breathless, but you pressed on, slipping past the cloister’s walls and through the wilderness, seeking the solace you knew lay elsewhere.

It was through sheer resilience that you found the Selunite community—a hidden sanctuary of gentle souls who embraced you without question, taking you in like the family you barely remembered. Their kindness was a balm, a healing force that soothed you as you neared the end of your pregnancy. And when the time came, their hands and prayers guided you through childbirth, their soft words of encouragement weaving through your pain. Finally, you held your daughter, her small face serene, a spark of light in the world that had been so dark.

Those first few days passed in a haze of wonder and exhaustion, their gentle care enveloping you as you recovered. You felt a faint glimmer of hope as you watched your daughter sleep in your arms, her little face peaceful, untouched by the fear that had followed you for so long. For the first time, you thought you might truly be free.

But then, the peace broke, the night pierced by screams and the clash of steel. Panic surged within you as you heard footsteps rushing through the halls, the murmur of prayers abruptly silenced. Sharran chants echoed against stone walls, a sound you knew too well. Shadows poured through the sanctuary, cutting down the Selunites one by one, the scent of blood thickening in the air. You held your child closer, frantically searching for a way to flee, but it was too late.

A familiar, chilling voice sounded behind you, and your blood froze.

“There you are,” Shadowheart murmured, her voice like silk, threaded with a dark satisfaction. She moved closer, her gaze fixed on your daughter with a haunting reverence, as if drawn by the innocent life you held. “Oh, look at her… what a beauty you’ve brought into the world.”

Her tone was deceptively soft, the twisted affection almost comforting if not for the malice that laced it. She extended a gloved hand, her fingertips grazing your daughter’s cheek with a gentleness that felt all wrong.

Instinctively, you pulled your child closer, your grip tightening, and Shadowheart’s gaze flicked to you. There was no anger, only an unsettling calm, her expression laced with twisted forgiveness.

“You ran,” she continued, her voice almost reproachful, as if she were scolding a disobedient child. “But it’s alright now. You’ve returned to me, to Shar’s embrace, and you’ve brought with you this… gift.”

Your heart pounded as you struggled to muster any courage to speak, but the words choked in your throat. Around you, the once-peaceful sanctuary was littered with the fallen, the Selunites lying motionless, their sanctuary now desecrated. Shadowheart’s followers moved silently, clearing away what remained of the Selunite resistance, their faces cold, their hands stained with blood. This was their version of mercy—Shar’s mercy, as Shadowheart would call it.

“All is forgiven,” she whispered, her lips curving into a smile that was both tender and terrible. “You see, even the Selunites now lie within Shar’s embrace. They fought so hard, didn’t they?” She reached out, her fingers gently touching your cheek, her gaze softening as if this massacre were an offering just for you. “But now, you and our child are home.”

“Shadowheart… please,” you finally managed to whisper, desperation fraying your voice as you held your daughter close. “We don’t… we don’t belong here. She deserves a life free of this darkness.”

Her smile faltered only for a heartbeat before she let out a soft, almost sympathetic laugh.

“No, my love. This is the only life we deserve—Shar has granted us purpose, blessed us with a future. And you were simply lost for a while, caught up in the false comforts of the light.” Her hand moved to cup the back of your head, her thumb tracing a slow, comforting path along your temple. “But I’ve forgiven you. And now, you willl be home again, and we can forget all about this.”

Your stomach lurched, though you couldn't place why, you just had an instinctual feeling that it had something to do with your broken mind. The remnants of your defiance withered under her touch, your heart heavy with dread as you realized there was no escape. You will return to the shadows, with your child, where Shar reigned, and would serve as your babe's twisted godmother. And there was nothing you could do about it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

The realization of your pregnancy struck you like a fever. Gale’s child—the product of the god of ambition’s indomitable will and your own caged heart—was growing within you. In that moment, you knew with certainty that whatever this child’s fate was meant to be, it would not unfold within Gale’s far-reaching grasp. The image of your child, bound by his ambition, molded into his vision of perfection, was enough to fuel your resolve. Determined to give your child a life beyond Gale's expectations, you tapped into your powers, cloaking yourself from his omniscient gaze and retreating into the mortal plane.

You found refuge within a hidden sect of your most devout followers, a sanctuary devoted to you in secret, where your faithful tended to your every need. You shielded them from Gale's prying eyes, weaving spells of concealment and drawing from your diminishing godly strength to protect them. You could feel Gale’s influence faintly brushing against your barriers, but for once, it was within your control. Your powers fortified with the growing life inside of you.

Months passed in tense quietude, but at last, your child was born, a tiny, fragile spark of life cradled in your arms. Your followers revered the newborn daughter, honoring the life that defied a god’s ambition and revered you for your defiance, vowing to protect this small, unknowing child. Yet as the days passed, you felt the dread looming over you—Gale’s influence was inescapable. The sense of his presence prickled at the edges of your consciousness, as if he were a shadow waiting to fall.

One evening, as you sat within the dim light of your sanctuary, you looked at your newborn, heart heavy with the choice that lay before you. You would entrust your daughter to your followers, let them raise them in secret and keep them far from the ambitions of her father. It was for her own protection, her only chance at freedom. Yet, as you gazed into your child’s innocent eyes, a new realization crept into your heart: you couldn't bear the thought of letting go.

Tears filled your eyes as the weight of your decision crushed you. How could you abandon her? The life you wanted her to live—untouched by divinity, free from expectation—seemed just out of reach. Sobs wracked your body as you clutched her closer, your resolve dissolving beneath the tidal wave of grief. You wanted to protect her, but giving her up felt like losing a part of yourself.

A gentle touch brushed your shoulder, and you turned, expecting to see your high priestess. But as your tear-filled gaze met familiar eyes, your breath hitched in horror.

Gale stood before you, his expression one of sympathy, yet his eyes shone with a satisfaction that was chilling. Clad in your priestess’s robes, his disguise melted away, revealing the truth you had dreaded. He had been here all along, watching, waiting for you to come to your senses.

"My love," he murmured, his voice like honeyed silk, soothing even as it constricted around your freedom, "you didn’t think I would let you face this alone, did you?"

You shrank back, clutching your daughter protectively, your mind racing with fear not for yourself, but for her. His gaze drifted to the child, and you could feel his mind already shaping her future, his plans and ambitions seeping into the air around you. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, eyes gleaming with pride.

"Look at what you’ve created," he said softly, though his words held a dark undercurrent. "Our daughter. You were merely testing my resolve, weren't you? Testing my devotion to you and to our legacy. My ambition."

The air grew thick with his presence, oppressive and unyielding, as his hand tightened ever so slightly, rooting you in place. It wasn’t a request—it was an assertion, an unyielding truth in Gale’s mind that could not be challenged. He saw your devotion wavering and offered his own hand as a reminder, his grip unbreakable. You saw in his gaze the merciless edge of his ambition, a refusal to let anything—anyone—be outside of his control.

Stricken by fear, you forced yourself to nod, murmuring broken assurances.

"Yes, Gale," you whispered, voice trembling, "it was just… a test. I… I needed to be sure."

Satisfied, Gale smiled, his hand brushing your hair gently.

"Then all is well," he said, his tone rich with the contentment of victory. "Now, return to my realm, and let me help you raise our child as she’s meant to be—she is ours, after all."

Bound by his grip, by the weight of your followers’ lives and the fragile life of your daughter, you surrendered. He led you back, your daughter cradled against you, and you walked in silence, already haunted by the future that awaited her. You had once dreamed of freedom for her, but under Gale’s ambition, you knew that dream had faded into shadows.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The discovery of your pregnancy had shaken you to your core. The idea of raising a child under Astarion's rule—within his twisted, blood-soaked world—was more terrifying than any threat you’d ever faced. Quietly, with every ounce of resolve you had left, you’d slipped away from him, vanishing into the shadows of the Underdark, determined to keep your child safe from his corrupted influence. Away from Astarion, you’d managed to carve out a small, hidden life for yourself, filled with the quiet joys of early motherhood. You nourished your child, watched over them, and, for a few precious months, knew peace. You allowed yourself to believe that, maybe, you’d succeeded in keeping them safe.

But that dream shattered the day you returned from gathering food, your child nestled in your arms, only to find Astarion sitting casually at the worn kitchen table, a ghostly figure of elegance against the dimly lit and modest surroundings. His crimson gaze fixed on you as he toyed with an empty goblet, his fingers tracing its rim with a nonchalant menace.

"Darling," he purred, voice dripping with amusement as he looked up at you, eyes flashing with a possessive intensity, "did you truly think I wouldn’t find you?"

He laughed, a soft, dangerous sound that filled the silence. You held your child closer, feeling your heart thunder beneath your ribs as you took in the sight of him, seated in the home you had desperately tried to keep hidden. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to escape, but you knew Astarion far too well. Running now would be useless. With no other choice, you drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

"What do you want?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper. He laughed again, standing and brushing down his pristine attire as though your question was absurd.

"What do I want?" he echoed, approaching with that chilling, gliding grace. "Isn't it obvious, my love? I came to retrieve what’s mine." His eyes glinted with a terrible amusement as he drew closer, his gaze drifting to the child in your arms. "Now, let me see them."

When he reached out, you instinctively tightened your hold, taking a step back, your body tensing at the idea of his touch on your child. The defiance only made him smile, a mockery of indulgence flashing across his face. With a small, irritated sigh, he rolled his eyes.

"Please, my dear," he said, his tone carrying an edge of impatience. "I’m not here to harm my heir… or the mother of my heir. I’d expect a little trust."

Unwilling but with no other options, you reluctantly loosened your hold, feeling your stomach twist as he gently lifted the child from your arms. He held them with surprising care, the barest hint of a smile gracing his face as he looked down at the small bundle. A strange light entered his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, there was an almost genuine affection there, albeit twisted by his possessive pride.

"Ah," he murmured softly to the child, his voice low and soft. "Such a marvelous life awaits you, little one. An entire world, ripe for the taking… as soon as your mother," he glanced at you with a smirk, "comes to her senses."

You felt a prickle of fear at his words, understanding the layered meaning beneath them. You took a cautious step toward him, trying to keep your tone steady. "Astarion… please, they deserve a chance at a real life. Not… this."

His smile hardened, his gaze cutting.

"Don’t be foolish," he replied, his voice like a caress tainted with steel. "A 'real life?' You were trying to raise my heir in squalor and shadows." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, the patronizing look in his eyes making your heart sink. "I’ll forgive your little rebellion, darling, but don't presume to know what's best."

Before you could speak, you felt something, some spell overtake you, and your vision began to swim. Your legs went weak, your world turning fuzzy at the edges as you felt your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you saw was Astarion’s mocking smile, and the last thing you heard was his cool voice murmuring, "Shh, it’ll all be over soon."

Darkness closed in, and when you awoke, you were back in Astarion’s palace, in his chambers, the opulence surrounding you an all-too-familiar prison. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, of inescapable control, as though you’d never left. Disoriented, you pushed yourself up, your mind racing.

The sound of a soft coo drew your attention, and your heart leapt as you saw your child in a gilded crib nearby, eyes wide with innocent curiosity. Relief washed over you—but only for a moment. The door creaked open, and Astarion stepped in, his gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of satisfaction and delight. He watched you for a beat, savoring the moment as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with quiet despair.

“See?” he murmured, gesturing to the luxurious room, to the crib. “Isn’t this a better life for our heir?”

You knew better than to argue, seeing the unyielding determination in his eyes. He wouldn’t be swayed by your pleas or logic. Any trace of freedom you’d tasted had evaporated, replaced by a chilling realization: this was your life now, and your child’s.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

Discovering you were carrying Halsin’s child had ignited a fierce urgency within you, a determination to protect them from the dark path Halsin had fallen into. You’d once loved him deeply, but as his views became increasingly extreme, his disdain for humankind palpable, you could no longer bear the thought of raising a child under his fervent ideology. With a heavy heart, you fled, finding refuge in a small druidic grove whose members welcomed you and promised to shield you from Halsin’s reach.

Months passed, and there, surrounded by trees and healing herbs, you gave birth. The grove offered peace, and you cherished the tranquil days, breathing in the clean air as you held your child close. You’d finally begun to believe you were safe, that your child might actually have a chance at a balanced life, away from Halsin's dominating influence. In this secluded grove, hidden away, life settled into a gentle rhythm, each day weaving hope and new beginnings.

But that illusion shattered in the dark hours of one quiet night.

The scent of smoke drifted through the air, thick and suffocating. You woke with a jolt, alarm shooting through you. Heart racing, you turned to the cot beside you, only to find it empty. A pang of panic sliced through your chest as you frantically searched the room, praying you’d somehow missed them in the dim light. But the cot remained empty, and dread clawed at your throat.

Barefoot and disheveled, you tore through the grove, ignoring the flames licking at branches, the heat scorching your skin. The acrid smell of burning wood and flesh choked you, but all that mattered was your child. You screamed their name into the chaos, your voice breaking with desperation as you stumbled over the fallen bodies of your new druid family, their lifeless forms strewn across the sacred earth.

The world around you blurred, reduced to a single, primal purpose—find your child.

At the grove’s edge, just past the smoldering ruins of what had been your sanctuary, you saw him. Halsin stood there, towering and blood-streaked, his face framed by the firelight. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. In his arms, nestled against his chest, was your child, unharmed and gazing up at him in quiet wonder.

Halsin looked down at them with a serene expression, cooing softly as he rocked them gently, whispering words you couldn’t make out over the roar of the flames. His hands, still stained with the blood of those who had offered you refuge, held your child as if they were the most precious treasure in the world.

Without thinking, you stumbled toward him, heart shattering as you reached for your child. He looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a strange mix of affection and pity.

“Our little one was waiting for me,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost soothing. “You must know by now—this was always meant to be.”

You were shaking, your fingers numb as you took the baby from his arms, clutching them desperately to your chest as if they were your lifeline. Tears spilled from your eyes, your body wracked with silent sobs as you stared at Halsin, the man you once loved and now feared beyond measure.

“Why, Halsin?” you choked out, voice barely a whisper. “Why would you do this?”

His gaze softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder with the same tenderness that had once comforted you.

“You lost your way, my love,” he said, as if explaining something simple to a child. “But it’s all forgiven now. You and our child are where you’re meant to be. Under my protection, with nature’s blessing. I had to save you from the lies they fed you here.”

You felt his grip tighten ever so slightly, a possessive strength beneath the facade of tenderness. His touch, once reassuring, now felt like a shackle, holding you firmly in place.

“For the greater good,” he murmured, his voice a low, almost reverent whisper. “You’ll understand, in time.”

Your mind felt trapped, your body frozen as you held your child, and all you could manage was a shaky nod. Because deep down, you knew: there was no escaping him now. As Halsin guided you back through the charred remains of the grove, his arm wrapped protectively around you, you realized you had no choice but to submit—to the man who believed he was saving you, even as he bound you to his twisted vision of the world.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

You’d felt a bittersweet sense of liberation the day you’d finally made it out of the Grand Duke’s clutches, a freedom carved out of sheer determination and love for the life growing within you. After months of moving cautiously, you had finally managed to reach Waterdeep, a sprawling city where you could blend into the crowds, creating a new identity for yourself and your child. You’d found a small home, modest yet cozy, and the months after the birth of your baby were a blissful exhaustion—nights spent rocking them to sleep, days filled with laughter and quiet joy. Here, Wyll’s shadow couldn’t reach you, or so you thought.

One lazy afternoon, while your baby napped, exhaustion overtook you, and you drifted off on the sofa. The next thing you knew, soft cries from the nursery roused you. You sat up quickly, your heart lurching in that familiar pang of maternal worry mixed with relief; your child’s cries were already softening, and you thought perhaps they’d just drift off again.

But as you approached the nursery, a strange, cold feeling gripped your heart. The quiet that greeted you felt unnatural, too calm, too steady. You pushed open the door and froze.

Wyll was sitting in the rocking chair, cradling your child with a gentle sway, his gaze wholly absorbed by the small bundle in his arms. He looked so at ease, as if he had always been here, always part of this quiet life you had so carefully built away from him. He was murmuring softly, his deep voice filled with adoration.

“You’re as pretty as your mother, you know that?” he cooed, his thumb gently brushing your baby’s tiny fingers. “Just as lovely… just as perfect.”

A chill ran through you, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Taking a steadying breath, you stepped forward, keeping your voice as calm as you could manage.

“Wyll,” you said, your voice just above a whisper, “you need to leave. You don’t belong here.”

But Wyll didn’t look up, his attention solely on the child, his child. He didn’t acknowledge your words—only continued to rock, a faint smile gracing his lips as he murmured to the baby.

“We need to leave soon, darling,” he said, his tone light, almost cheerful. “We have a carriage waiting for us, for our family.” His gaze finally drifted to you, and his eyes softened. “I know these past months have been difficult, darling. Pregnancy, childbirth… it’s exhausting, and sometimes it clouds the mind.” His voice was soothing, patronizing in its gentleness. “But that’s why I’m here now.”

You tried again, fighting to keep your voice calm, though each word came with a barely restrained tremor.

“No, Wyll. I’m not going back with you. This is my home now. Our home,” you emphasized, your hand protectively reaching out for your baby. “You need to understand that we’re not returning to your city, to your… rule.”

For the briefest moment, a flicker of something dark crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a sympathetic smile. He shifted the baby gently in his arms and rose from the chair, stepping toward you.

“You poor thing,” he murmured, voice thick with faux sympathy. “Sleepless nights, the overwhelming worry… it’s clouded your judgment. But that’s all right. That’s why I came myself, to bring you home, where you belong.”

Each word cut deeper as he dismissed your pleas. He walked toward you, and you tensed, stepping back on instinct. But as you moved, the quiet rustle of armor drew your attention to the door, where two of Wyll’s royal guards stood, their stoic gazes fixed on you, blocking any hope of escape. Wyll stepped closer, his eyes warm but resolute.

“We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.” His arms closed around you and the baby, his touch firm, unyielding, as he held both of you close. “It’s time to go home.”

You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you glanced down at your child, nestled contentedly in his arms, unaware of the tension in the room, of the silent battle being waged.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking as you looked up at Wyll. “Please let us stay. This is what’s best for our child. Can’t you see that?”

But Wyll only smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “It’s all right. We’ll have you feeling yourself again in no time. You just need rest, stability… me.” He lifted your chin, his gaze steady and calm. “Now, enough of these dramatics. Your carriage awaits.”

Helplessly, you watched as he signaled to his guards, his arm protectively around you as they escorted you both out. Each step away from the life you had built felt like a surrender, the world you had carved out of hope and freedom slipping further and further away.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Oooh this was delicious to write, I love this dynamic and this request was just *chef's kiss* - so thank you so much and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

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