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moonselune · 2 months

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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 !

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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