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moonselune · 1 day ago

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hiya!

could i ask for the female companions (or just like, the main group of ladies u write for) reactions to tav having hanahaki disease, and then later on finding out the disease is directed at them when tav coughs up petals of their favorite flowers? A little bit of angst is neccessary, because like, the companions would probably assume reader was dying of some exotic virus or poisoning before someone told them what the disease was 🌸🌸

ur more than welcome to ignore if u dont write for uncannon illnesses 🫂

--🃏🌀⭐️ Jester

(P.S!!! if u decide to write for just like, two-three people, then please include bestgirl shadowheart 🖤)

This was so much fun to write !!! I wasn't familiar with it at first but i got so hooked on the idea !

Karlach:

The first time you cough up petals, Karlach doesn't notice. You're quick to hide the evidence, stuffing the delicate fragments of color into your sleeve as her attention is caught by something else in the camp. But as the days go by, the cough worsens, and more petals appear, vibrant and fragile, each one a sharp reminder of your feelings and the love you haven't dared to voice.

Karlach is the first to notice that something is wrong.

"You're coughing a lot lately," she says one morning, her voice filled with concern. Her fiery gaze scans you, her brow furrowed. "You're not catching something nasty, are you? If you keel over, who's gonna keep me sane in this mad world?"

You laugh it off, pretending it's nothing. A bit of dust in the air, a mild allergy, anything to deflect her concern. But Karlach isn't stupid. She watches you closely, and when you excuse yourself from dinner one evening, coughing violently into your hands, she follows.

She finds you behind a tree, bent over, a handful of petals spilling from your mouth. They glimmer softly in the moonlight, the edges of each one perfect, like a cruel mockery of beauty.

"Gods," Karlach whispers, her voice trembling. "What’s happening to you?"

You try to hide the petals, to brush them away, but it’s too late. Karlach rushes to you, her warmth radiating even in the cool night air.

"You’re sick!" she exclaims, gripping your shoulders. Her tail flicks in agitation. "What is this? Poison? A curse? We’ll find Shads, or Gale, or—"

"It’s not that simple," you manage between gasps.

Karlach's panic grows as you begin to explain, haltingly, about Hanahaki Disease. A cruel affliction born from unspoken, unrequited love. Her hands clench into fists, her flames sparking faintly, reflecting her frustration.

"Unrequited love?" she echoes, her voice soft but laced with disbelief. "You mean… you love someone, and you didn’t tell them?"

Your silence is answer enough. Her expression hardens, and for the first time since you’ve known her, Karlach looks genuinely angry—not at you, but at the injustice of the situation.

"Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!" she demands.

You look away, the weight of your emotions heavy on your chest. You’re about to speak when you cough again, violently this time, and petals tumble to the ground. Karlach freezes.

They’re red, vibrant and fiery. Her favorite color. Her favorite flower: crimson dahlias.

It takes her a moment to process, but when she does, her fiery demeanor falters. Her lips part, her eyes widening in realization.

"Wait… me?" she breathes, her voice almost inaudible.

You nod, unable to meet her gaze. The tension stretches between you, unbearable, until you feel Karlach’s hands cup your face, warm and steady. She forces you to look at her, her own eyes shimmering with something unreadable.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

"I didn’t want to burden you," you admit, tears stinging your eyes. "You’ve already been through so much, and I didn’t want to make things harder for you."

Karlach shakes her head, her grip on you tightening. "You idiot," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "Do you think I’d ever let you suffer like this? Do you think you’re a burden to me?"

You start to respond, but she doesn’t let you finish. Instead, she kisses you. It’s fierce and desperate, filled with all the emotions she’s clearly been holding back. Her lips are warm, her flames subdued but still ever-present, wrapping you in a cocoon of heat.

When she finally pulls back, her eyes are blazing—not with fire, but with love.

"I love you," she says, the words spilling from her like a vow. "I’ve been too scared to admit it because I didn’t want to mess this up, but gods… I love you."

You’re left speechless, your heart pounding. The weight in your chest lessens, and for the first time in days, you take a deep, clear breath. No petals.

Karlach notices, a grin spreading across her face despite her tears. "Look at that," she says, laughing softly. "You’re already better."

You both sit there in the moonlight, her holding you close, as the realization of what just happened settles over you. She murmurs softly about how you’ll never go through something like this again, how she’ll always make sure you know exactly how much she cares.

And as her flames flicker softly around you, warming you to your core, you finally feel at peace.

Minthara:

The onset of the illness was slow, creeping into your life like an uninvited guest. You thought little of it at first: a dry cough here, a scratch in your throat there. It was easy to dismiss the signs in the chaos of your travels and battles, especially with Minthara by your side. She was fierce and steadfast, her presence alone enough to anchor you through the storm. But soon the symptoms grew worse.

You began coughing up petals—small, delicate things of an unnervingly familiar hue. White and gold, like the ethereal blooms Minthara kept tucked away in her personal satchel, plucked from her homeland's gardens. Nyvellan blooms, she called them once, her voice tinged with rare fondness as she described their beauty.

The first time Minthara saw you cough up one of these petals, she didn’t say much. A curious glance, a narrowing of her sharp eyes, but no words. It wasn’t until the coughing fits became more frequent, your steps faltering during marches, that her concern began to show.

It was late when Minthara pulled you aside, her voice low and commanding.

"You are not well," she stated, crossing her arms. Her silvery hair caught the moonlight, framing her expression of cold determination. "I have seen warriors collapse from less, and yet you persist in hiding this from me. Enough."

You tried to brush her off, laugh through the faint traces of blood that began to accompany the petals. But Minthara wasn’t having it. She grabbed your arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to root you in place. "Do not test my patience. I have seen death creep into the eyes of the strongest. Do not let it take you without a fight."

Her worry struck a chord in you, but how could you tell her the truth? That the disease blooming in your chest wasn’t some curse or poison but love itself? Love unspoken, unrequited—love for her.

Instead, you deflected.

"It's nothing," you said, your voice hoarse. "Probably just something I ate."

Minthara’s glare could cut through steel. "Do not lie to me."

But you lied anyway.

It wasn’t until days later, when Shadowheart offhandedly mentioned hanahaki disease, that Minthara pieced it together.

"A pitiful affliction," Shadowheart had said, her tone detached. "Born of unspoken longing. Fitting, isn’t it, that it slowly strangles those too cowardly to confess their love?"

Minthara’s heart froze. She didn’t believe in such frivolous maladies—until she did. Until she saw you again, coughing up petals that perfectly matched the flowers she adored.

That night, she confronted you again, but this time her voice was softer. Not pleading, but dangerous in its intensity.

"This is not poison," she said, holding up one of the crumpled petals you’d discarded in secret. Her eyes searched yours, demanding answers. "It is me, isn’t it? These flowers. They are my favorite. Speak plainly. Is this affliction mine to blame?"

Caught, you could only nod.

For the first time, Minthara faltered. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Her sharp, commanding presence softened into something unreadable—a mixture of guilt, disbelief, and something close to regret. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against your cheek, her touch uncharacteristically gentle.

"You fool," she whispered, her voice low and wavering. "You would suffer this? For me?"

You tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked cough. "I didn’t think I had a choice."

Her hands moved to cradle your face, her eyes fierce yet tender. "You always have a choice. But why did you not tell me? Did you think I would cast you aside? That I would not care?"

You hesitated. "I didn’t want to risk losing you. Not when this…this might go away on its own."

Minthara shook her head, her expression hardening into resolve.

"You are a fool," she said again, but this time her voice was filled with something more profound. "But you are my fool. And if this disease takes you, it will not be because I stood idly by."

Without another word, Minthara pressed her lips to yours, the kiss fierce and unyielding. It was both a confession and a command, a declaration that she would not lose you to something as trivial as unspoken feelings.

When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours. "No more hiding. Whatever the outcome, we face it together. And if you think for a moment that you will slip away from me, I will hunt you down in every life to come."

You chuckled, despite the tears welling in your eyes. The tightness in your chest began to ease, the petals in your throat fading into memory. For the first time in weeks, you could breathe.

Minthara stayed by your side that night, her hand never leaving yours, a silent vow in her touch. You realized then that her love, fierce and unyielding as it was, had always been there—waiting for you to see it.

Lae'zel:

The coughs had started small—more of an inconvenience than anything else. You’d wave off the concerned glances from your companions, brushing away any inquiries with vague excuses about dry air or a minor illness. But as days turned into weeks, the fits worsened. They wracked your body with enough force to double you over, your hand pressed against your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. It wasn’t long before blood mixed with petals—delicate, crimson-edged petals, almost too beautiful to belong to something so cruel.

Lae’zel was the first to grow frustrated.

“You are a fool,” she hissed one evening, crossing her arms as you coughed into a cloth. "You weaken yourself and the group. If you cannot fight, you should return to camp and rest."

The accusation stung, though you knew it came from her fear—her inability to understand vulnerability. You’d seen it before, but this time it carried weight. This time, her words were tinged with genuine worry, buried under her gruff demeanor. You nodded weakly and promised to take care of yourself, hoping she wouldn’t press further.

It was during a sparring session that everything came to a head. You’d insisted on training despite Shadowheart’s protests and Lae’zel’s pointed glares. Your blade clashed with hers, the metallic ring echoing through the clearing. But midway through the exchange, a sharp pain tore through your chest. You staggered, clutching at your ribs, and fell to your knees as another violent cough erupted.

“Get up,” Lae’zel barked, stepping closer. “The enemy will not show you mercy for—”

Her voice trailed off as a cluster of blood-streaked petals spilled from your lips, scattering across the dirt like some grotesque offering. Her yellow eyes widened in shock, and for once, Lae’zel was silent. Shadowheart, drawn by the commotion, rushed over.

“What in the hells—” she started but froze at the sight of the petals. She exchanged a grave look with Lae’zel.

“Poison,” Lae’zel declared, her voice tight with anger. “Some coward has infected them. Or perhaps it is a curse?”

Shadowheart knelt beside you, examining the petals. “It’s not poison. This—this is something else. We need to get them to camp.”

Lae’zel didn’t argue. She hoisted you into her arms with ease, her grip firm but gentle as she carried you back. The others gathered around, their faces etched with concern, but Lae’zel barked at them to clear the way. Her jaw was set, her eyes flickering with a mix of anger and fear as she laid you down by the fire.

The petals kept coming, your breaths shallow and labored as the group deliberated. Gale, ever the scholar, was the one to piece it together. He explained the condition in hushed tones, his eyes full of pity as he spoke of unrequited love and its devastating consequences. Lae’zel’s face darkened.

“Love?” she spat, as though the word itself was a curse. “You are telling me this is some… weakness of the heart? That they are dying because of… affection?”

Her voice cracked at the end, betraying her confusion and anguish. She turned to you, crouching down so that her eyes met yours.

“Who?” she demanded, her tone sharp but her hands trembling as they hovered near your shoulder. “Who has done this to you?”

You tried to speak, but another cough interrupted, this one bringing up a single petal—a vivid red one with golden streaks. It fluttered down into Lae’zel’s palm, and she stared at it, her breath catching. It was a githyanki blossom. Her favorite flower.

The realization struck her like a blow. She froze, her eyes darting between the petal and your face.

“You…” she whispered, the word barely audible. “This… is for me?”

When you nodded weakly, her expression crumbled. For a moment, she seemed utterly lost, grappling with emotions she had no training to face. Then, without warning, she surged to her feet, pacing like a caged animal.

“This is madness,” she growled. “You should have spoken! You should have told me!”

Shadowheart, standing nearby, interjected. “Perhaps if you didn’t make yourself so unapproachable—”

“Silence, Shar worshiper!” Lae’zel snapped, her voice trembling. She turned back to you, her fists clenched at her sides. “Do you truly think so little of me? That I would let you die for… this?”

Lae’zel refused to leave your side after that. She barked orders at the others, demanding remedies and research. But more than that, she softened in her own way. She sat close to you, her hand hovering near yours as though afraid to touch. When the coughing fits came, she steadied you with surprising gentleness, her sharp tongue dulled by guilt and worry.

One night, when the camp was quiet, she spoke.

“You will not die from this,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered. “I will not allow it. If your heart is weak, then I will strengthen it. If it is pain you fear, then I will bear it with you.”

It wasn’t a confession—not exactly. But it was enough. For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. And as Lae’zel settled beside you, her fingers brushing against yours, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this battle could be won.

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart was not easily rattled. She had been raised to endure, to press through pain and uncertainty without hesitation. But the moment you doubled over during your trek through the forest, coughing violently into your hands, she froze. The sound was raw, wet, and pained in a way that made even her steel-hardened heart skip a beat.

“Are you all right?” she asked, rushing to your side.

You waved her off weakly, insisting it was nothing, but the look in your eyes betrayed your discomfort. Shadowheart’s sharp gaze caught the faint smear of crimson staining your lips—and the delicate purple-black petals now scattered across your palm.

“What…?” Her breath hitched as she plucked one of the petals from your hand. “This—this isn’t normal. Did something poison you? Were you attacked without me noticing?” Her voice was firm, but beneath it lay a thread of panic.

You shook your head, trying to speak between coughs. “It’s… not poison.”

Her brows furrowed as she pocketed the petal, her mind already racing through her repertoire of healing spells and herbs.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what it is. I—” She cut herself off, her voice cracking. “We need to get back to camp. You’re not dying. I won’t allow it.”

She practically carried you back, her protective instincts on high alert. In her eyes, the scenario only worsened. Each cough brought more petals, each more beautiful and eerie than the last. It wasn’t until she had you bundled in your bedroll, her hands glowing faintly with divine magic as she tried every healing spell she knew, that someone finally spoke the words that sent a chill through her.

“It’s not poison or sickness,” Gale said, his tone grave as he looked between the two of you. “It’s… hanahaki.”

“Hanahaki?” Shadowheart repeated, her hands pausing mid-incantation. “What is that? And why does it sound so ridiculous?”

“It’s a condition of the heart,” Gale explained carefully. “Unrequited love, to be specific. The afflicted cough up petals of flowers tied to their feelings. If left unresolved… well, it can be fatal.”

Shadowheart stiffened as the words sank in. She turned her gaze back to you, her mouth set in a grim line.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You could have—” She faltered, realization dawning. “You didn’t want anyone to know.”

You avoided her eyes, coughing weakly into the crook of your arm. More night orchid petals spilled forth, vivid and delicate, as if mocking the tension in the air.

Shadowheart stared at them, her mind whirling. Night orchids. Her favorite flower. The one she kept tucked in the pages of her journal, drawn in the margins of her maps. The one she had murmured about wistfully one night when you asked her about the things she loved, and she’d been just vulnerable enough to tell you.

Her heart sank.

“It’s me,” she whispered. “Isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, but the look on your face was enough. The admission hung heavy in the air, a silent confirmation that felt like a blow to her chest.

Shadowheart rose abruptly, pacing to the edge of the campfire. She pressed her hands to her temples, struggling to make sense of the storm of emotions inside her.

“I thought you were dying,” she said finally, her voice low and trembling. “I thought I was going to lose you. And now I find out you’re—” She turned to look at you, her face etched with guilt and frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you give me the chance to—”

She stopped herself again, shaking her head.

You reached out, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t want to burden you. It wasn’t your responsibility—”

Shadowheart cut you off, kneeling in front of you, her hands clutching yours with a fierce determination.

“Stop. Just stop. You’re not a burden, and this—” She gestured to the petals strewn between you. “This isn’t just some fleeting crush, is it?”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Then you should have told me,” she said, her voice softening. “Because the thought of losing you—whether to some disease or your own silence—is more than I can bear.”

Her hand cupped your cheek, her touch tentative but steady.

“You’re the one who pulled me back from the brink of doubt and despair more times than I can count. Let me do the same for you. Let me…” She hesitated, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Let me love you, as much as you clearly love me.”

Your breath hitched as her lips brushed against yours, tender and unhurried. The moment felt like a balm, soothing the ache in your chest and quelling the petals that had plagued you.

When she pulled back, a faint smile played on her lips. “There. Now you can stop coughing up flowers, though I wouldn’t mind if they were just for decoration next time.”

You laughed softly, the weight in your chest lifting for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Shadowheart pressed her forehead to yours, her voice a quiet murmur.

“No more secrets, all right? No more suffering alone.”

Jaheira:

The first time you coughed blood in Jaheira’s presence, she dismissed it as overexertion. After all, the path you walked—fighting relentless foes, delving into cursed crypts, and pushing yourselves to the brink for the good of the realm—didn’t leave much room for tenderness or rest. You both wore your wounds like a second skin. She handed you a rag, her expression a mix of mild annoyance and concern.

“Don’t overdo it, cub. Even the strongest vines snap if pulled too tight.”

You laughed weakly, brushing it off. She was right. You’d been too tired lately, your chest tightening painfully when she was near, your thoughts a whirl of what you could never tell her. Not when her heart still ached for the one she had lost. Khalid.

But the petals were harder to ignore.

The first bloom came late one evening around the campfire. A fit of coughing wracked your body, doubling you over. The others froze, their mirth over a shared story dissolving into alarm. Gale leaned in, brow furrowed, while Shadowheart grabbed her satchel of healing supplies. It was Jaheira, however, who knelt beside you, one hand on your back as you heaved.

When the petals tumbled from your lips, delicate and speckled with blood, silence fell. Gale reached for one, his fingers trembling slightly as he studied it.

“This… isn’t natural,” he murmured, as though afraid of the implications. Jaheira’s hand tightened on your shoulder.

“What have you gotten yourself into? Poison? A curse?” Her voice was stern, masking the fear in her eyes. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, your throat raw. The petals scattered like confessions across the ground, their soft beauty at odds with the horror they represented.

Jaheira rose swiftly, commanding the group with her usual authority. “We find the source of this affliction. Now. Shadowheart, Halsin, assist me.”

For days, she worked tirelessly, gathering herbs and consulting every healer and scholar the group encountered. Her demeanor was sharp and businesslike, but her eyes betrayed her turmoil whenever you coughed again—when more petals spilled forth, vivid and soft, like tiny betrayals of your body. Every time she pressed you for answers, your silence wounded her further.

You wished you could tell her. But how could you confess that she was the reason? That the petals bore the hues of her favorite flower: deep golden marigolds, vibrant even in death. The disease fed on your unspoken love, choking you with everything you couldn’t say.

It was a quiet night when the truth finally came out. You’d coughed yourself awake, stumbling from your tent to avoid disturbing the others. The air was cool, the stars an uncaring audience as you doubled over by the stream, petals and blood pooling in your hands.

“For the love of the nine hells,” Jaheira’s voice was low but carried the weight of thunder.

She’d followed you, her arms crossed, though her face was shadowed with worry. She strode to you, her hand gripping your arm to steady you.

“Enough of this.” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I’ve seen death take too many. I won’t watch it take you—not like this.”

You tried to pull away, but her grip held firm. “Jaheira, it’s not something you can fix.”

Her eyes narrowed, anger flaring. “Everything can be fixed. You’re not dying on my watch. I—” She stopped, her gaze falling to the marigold petals now stained red in the moonlight. Her lips parted slightly, and the silence between you grew sharp, tense.

“…These flowers…” Her voice was softer now, unsure. “Where have I seen these before?”

Her hand dropped from your arm as though burned. For a long moment, she stared at you, her usual composure stripped away. The realization hit her like a storm.

“Y/N…” she began, her voice unsteady. “This disease… it’s caused by—”

“Unrequited love,” you finished, the words tasting like ash. “It’s you, Jaheira. It’s always been you.”

She didn’t speak at first, her expression unreadable. For the first time, you saw cracks in her armor—the guilt, the grief, the love she’d buried for so long beneath duty and survival. She turned away, her shoulders trembling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s not your burden to bear,” you replied. “You’ve lost so much already. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She whirled back to you, her eyes blazing. “And letting this kill you? That doesn’t hurt me?”

Your chest tightened further, the weight of her words heavier than the disease. “What could you have done? You don’t feel the same, Jaheira. And that’s fine. I’ll… I’ll live with it.”

“Clearly, you won’t,” she snapped, though her voice cracked at the end. She stepped closer, her hand brushing your cheek—hesitant, as though afraid you’d disappear. “You should have told me. You’re an idiot. A selfless, reckless idiot.”

Her touch was warm, grounding you even as your world spun.

“Jaheira…”

She sighed, pulling back. “I won’t lie to you. My heart is… complicated. But you? You mean more to me than I have allowed myself to admit.” Her gaze softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “I won’t let you die for such a foolish thing as loving me. We’ll find a way to heal this. Together.”

As i said previously this was so so fun to play with as a concept and can definitely see myself writing it for the boys as well. Hope you guys enjoyed it as well ! - Seluney xox

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