#baulder's gate 3

[moonmaiden1996]

A Christmas Cure

Inspired by the fact I have been a little down lately and not really in the festive cheer, but I know our favourite vampire would make it all better.

Astarion wasn’t one for festive cheer. In fact, he found the whole thing rather absurd—humans and their endless traditions of garlands, sweets, and glittering lights. It was all so pointless. Once, in another life, he might have adored it. He dimly recalled moments from his mortal years—glimpses of a hearth decorated with care, laughter echoing through halls adorned with holly. But those memories had long since been buried under centuries of Cazador’s tyranny. To Astarion, Christmas was an insane tradition, only good for an easier prey of a lonely peasant he could take back to his Master. And now it was one holiday he had wholeheartedly refused to partake in.

But then there was you.

The first time he’d seen you throw yourself into Christmas preparations, he had scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all. Yet, as you hummed carols and dragged him into every festivity imaginable, your joy proved utterly infectious. Somehow, the way your face lit up as you hung baubles and baked cookies made it impossible for him to remain aloof.

This year, however, was different. You had been a little down but nothing Christmas could not pull you out of...or so Astarion had thought...

The change had crept in gradually, like frost spreading across the grove outside your makeshift home. You didn’t hum carols under your breath. You hadn’t dragged him to pick out a tree or insisted on baking cookies while he groused about the mess. You’d done it all yourself this time, quietly, almost mechanically. The tree you brought home was thin and scraggly, and the decorations sat in their box, untouched. Save for a few sprigs of greenery, the cabin was seemingly devoid of Christmas cheer.

It wasn’t like you to lose your spark. And while Astarion often rolled his eyes at your endless enthusiasm, seeing you like this—dim, tired—left an ache in his chest.

He decided, begrudgingly, to take matters into his own hands.

-----------

It started with the cookies.

He unearthed a recipe from one of the dusty tomes you kept on the kitchen shelf and set to work with an air of determination. The flour exploded everywhere—somehow. Dough clung stubbornly to his fingers, the counter, and even his hair. After the fifth attempt to pry the sticky mess from a cutter, he flung the offending tool into a far corner of the room.

The results were... less than spectacular. The surviving cookies emerged from the oven burned—each one charred husk of what they should be.

When you wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the distinctly not right smell wafting through the house, you found Astarion standing there, apron askew, a tray of blackened cookies held out as though they were a prize.

“They’re… slightly overdone,” he said with forced cheer, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “But entirely edible, I’m sure… Probably.” He cast a wary glance at the charred edges. “We’ll have Gale try them first, just to be on the safe side.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—your first genuine laugh in days.

-----------

The next day, he turned his attention to the tree.

He took one look at the spindly thing you’d brought home and declared it “an insult to the very idea of Christmas.” Without telling you, he ventured out into the woods, axe gripped firmly in his hand, determined to find something worthy.

Hours later, he returned, dragging a grand fir tree behind him like a victorious hunter parading his prize. Snow dusted his cloak and hair, and his smirk was as sharp as the axe he rested on his shoulder.

“That’s a tree,” you said, blinking.

“Yes, I am aware,” he said smugly. “A proper tree, unlike that poor excuse you brought home.”

The two of you wrestled it into the house, where he set to decorating it with flair. His choices were... eclectic. Baubles, ribbons, and strings of lights were hung in haphazard clusters, each arrangement more chaotic than the last.

When you teased him, he shrugged and said, “It’s art, darling. You wouldn’t understand.”

--------------

Next came the punch.

He knew how much you loved that ridiculous concoction of fizzy wine, cranberries, and oranges, even though he found it utterly baffling. He spent hours perfecting it, slicing oranges into perfect rounds and arranging cranberries on skewers like garnishes. The result was so absurdly over-the-top it bordered on comical.

When he handed you a glass, his grin was teasing but warm. “For you, my love. I present the pinnacle of holiday beverages.”

The taste was just as you remembered—bright and bubbly, a tiny spark of joy in an otherwise gray season.

-------------

The crowning moment came on Christmas Eve.

Astarion swept into the room with an air of command, his silk shirt billowing dramatically around him.

“I have decided,” he announced, “that a proper feast is in order. And I will not tolerate any objections.”

You blinked at him from the loveseat, where you’d burrowed under a blanket for most of the day. “A feast?”

“Yes, a feast,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What is the point of all this festive nonsense if no one is here to admire it? I’ve worked hard and deserve people to come gush over me. I’ve already sent word to the others. They will come.”

By the time evening fell, the house was alive with chatter and laughter. Shadowheart brought mulled wine, Karlach barreled in with s’mores kits and a charred bag of marshmallows, Gale arrived with a platter of enchanted pastries, and even Lae’zel grudgingly contributed a roasted pheasant she’d hunted that morning.

Astarion presided over it all with his signature flair, sipping wine with a theatrical flourish and making biting remarks that were just affectionate enough to avoid offense. He kept an eye on you throughout the evening, his gaze softening every time he caught you smiling.

When Halsin summoned mistletoe to hang from his belt and offered it to all with a booming laugh, Astarion glared daggers at the druid. “If you do not immediately remove that offensive weed and cease this farce, I will reconsider inviting you next year.”

By the time the feast ended, Astarion turned the guests out, citing “the desperate need for solitude” with his usual dramatic flair. Then he bundled you into your favorite chair and lit a roaring fire, its warmth chasing away the winter chill. Stockings hung over the mantle—stockings he’d secretly bought after overhearing your wistful remarks about them. One for you, one for him.

When you saw them, your eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion.

He stepped closer, taking your hands in his. His gaze, usually filled with mischief or scorn, was soft and open. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want to see you smile again.”

Later, as you curled up together, a blanket draped over your legs, Astarion held you close, his cheek resting against your hair.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked teasingly. “For burning the cookies? For forcing you to endure my questionable decorating skills?”

“For trying,” you said, tilting your head to look at him. “For making me feel like Christmas again.”

He smiled—a rare, genuine smile that softened the sharpness of his features. “For you, darling, anything.” Then, with a roll of his eyes, he added, “Though if Halsin brings out that blasted mistletoe again, I may reconsider celebrating entirely.”

“It’s only mistletoe,” you said with a playful shrug. “It’s festive.”

“Hanging it from your belt and asking people to kiss you under it is not festive,” he retorted, his tone as dry as the charred cookies on the counter. His piercing gaze locked on you, exasperated yet brimming with affection.

You grinned. “I dunno, Lae’zel seemed interested.”

Astarion let out an exaggerated groan and threw his hands up. “Urghhh! This is exactly what’s wrong with the holiday! It’s not about peace on earth or goodwill toward men—it’s about how drunk you can get on someone else’s wine and how many partners you can bugger before the New Year! Hardly in the spirit of this bloody holiday.”

You couldn’t help it—the absurdity of his indignation, the overly dramatic flair of his gestures, it all sent you into a fit of laughter. It started as a giggle, soft and hesitant, but quickly grew into a full belly laugh, bubbling out of you uncontrollably.

Astarion froze, staring at you with wide eyes as if you’d just started glowing. Slowly, his expression softened, a mix of wonder and warmth flickering across his face. His lips curved into a smile—small at first, then full and genuine, like he couldn’t resist being swept up in your mirth.

He moved closer, kneeling by your side and brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed that sound,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest.

Still giggling, you leaned into him, the weight of the past days lifting as you felt the warmth of his presence. Astarion wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as though anchoring you to the joy you’d rediscovered.

For a moment, the glow of the fire and the soft twinkle of the Christmas lights seemed to blur together, casting the room in a warm haze. You rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, and let yourself relax completely.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, your laughter subsiding into a contented sigh.

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST.

“Always,” he replied, his voice like a promise, his arms around you a comforting shield against the chill of the season.

I hope you enjoyed this little story, and if you have been feeling a little down, it has made you feel a little better or at least made you smile. Ps we all know Halsin would be that guy at a christmas party :p

[featherwurm]

Thinking about the line below from Karlach - about the smell of fresh laundry reminding her of her mum, in context of just settling in at Elfsong. How's about getting a nice freshly laundered bedsheet for the first time in who knows how long and then dealing with the weird ways that grief creeps up on you and punches you in the throat goin'?

[volno]

the fact that Githyanki is the least picked race for Tavs is a fucking crime, because they have some of the funniest dialogue choices available and my current run is unintentionally hilarious because of it. Here's some personal highlights from act one:

[xavalav]

I'm afraid to look within and find I've become the devil I appear to be.

happy end of wyll month! i spent a while working on this piece and it was actually inspired by this post :D

[willgrahamscock]

GAUNTLET OF SHAR | Astarion vs. Shadowheart.

[catnipfelix]

[phoenix-disorder]

One of my favorite screenshots of Gale. My knight in shining armor.

[eesomepictures]

God's Favourite Princess and the Most Interesting Girl in the World

[smolgloves]

The Little Thief

Meet Thalia: A Tiefling Rogue who fell in love with Lae'zel while on her journey to be rid of the tadpole.

Summary: Lae'zel has to deal with her lover's tomfoolery.

Tw: mentions of death and crushing, some angst, sexual innuendos, and mishandling of a tiny.

"Did you have to steal from that trader?" Lae'zel lifted the tiny tiefling up by the tail. "Was being reduced to the size of a common field mouse worth taking the gold?"

Thalia let out a huff as she stared at her lover. Most would tremble if a giant Githyanki had dangled them hundreds of feet in the air, but Thalia could see the worry behind that fierce glare. She flashed Lae'zel a sly grin. "This is hardly the worst thing that has happened to me."

"Tsk'va, we were supposed to meet with Voss and Orpheus by dawn to discuss our next mission at the creche!" Her nose scrunched up. "I don't even have a place to put you when I dawn my armor."

Thalia let her pink eyes wander down to Lae'zel's toned body, the straps of her leather bra hugging her breasts. A blush heavily formed on her cheeks. “I could think of a few places to put me.”

Lae’zel lifted her up to be eye level with her. The scowl on her face only deepened. “I would break you.”

Thalia gave her a smirk. “Not a bad way to go.”

“Chk! Focus k’chakhi!” She spat out. “We must find a way to reverse this! Otherwise you would be of no use in battle.”

Numbness began to settle into the tip of her tail, the strain from holding her weight was taking its toll on her. The tiefling locked pleading eyes to her. “Lae'zel… can I not be held like a rat caught by Astarion anymore… I might lose my tail.”

She didn't utter a word, but Thalia could hear the softest of gasps before she set her down on her open palm, Thalia immediately grabbed her tail and rubbed it, feeling the prickly sensation fading away.

“Alright, now that I'm not dangling bait, we can figure this out.” She said with a chuckle.

“I should have been there!” Lae'zel growled, her long fingers slightly curled around Thalia's petite frame. “I would have sliced that scammer before he even had time to even think about hexing you!”

It was easy to brush off her predicament, being a rogue; Thalia usually didn't have issues hiding from people when she needed to, if anything, being this small could make sneaking off even easier! But seeing the concern in her lover's eyes made her realize how much stress she would be in. The constant fear of something going wrong, all it would take is one slip or one step and Thalia would be done for. Even the most vigilant warrior can slip up from time to time.

“Hey, it'll be okay.” She scooted closer to her thumb to rest her head on the pad, a callus brushed against her forehead but Thalia didn't mind. It served as a reminder that her partner spent years fighting. “We'll find a way out of this; we always do.”

“zhak vo’n’fynh duj.” Lae'zel softened upon hearing Thalia's words, she ran a nail through her dark hair. “We have faced challenges far greater than this, you are right.”

“There we go.” Thalia pressed soft kisses to the gith's thumb.

“Come, we must go to Voss and Orpheus. Perhaps they can help you with this little problem, until then, you will stay by my side while you're stuck in this fragile form.”

Thalia chuckled, while she may not fear this new perspective of the world, it was all the more comforting to know that Lae'zel was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure she was safe. “Lead the way, my love.”

[cylo]

when wyll sees my tav's new haircut for the final act.

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

I guess there’s an alternative way to read it (there always is) but I actually think a Tav/Durge who kicks Ascended Astarion in the balls has managed the herculean feat of being way worse than the evil vampire lord.

It’s like this: you help him damn over 7,000 people to eternal torment in the hells, then agree to become his spawn. To celebrate, you guys have sex because now is the first time in months he feels safe enough to do so. And he feels safe with you, because you have always helped him, and he thinks you two are in agreement!

So after all that, you kick him in the balls and act like he’s the evil one?!

That’s an absolutely stone cold betrayal. Especially because it happens after sex. Especially if you think AA has just buried his trauma instead of healing from it! So to summarise… you assaulted your partner after sleeping with him under false pretences?! Cool, you just managed to make me take the evil guy’s side because that is way messed up.

Like damn, I would pitch a fit and leave too!

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION

I played all the dragon age games and now I finished Baulder's Gate 3 and I really enjoyed it despite not being too happy with Act 3 and how some of the characters have less content.

After playing BG3, I came to the realization that I believe both games should exist and one should not copy/imitate the other. I would personally miss all the companion banter if they got rid of it.

I believe people should let Dragon Age be Dragon Age and let Baulder's Gate 3 be Baulder's Gate 3. BioWare does some things better than Larian. Larian does some things better than BioWare. THEY DO NOT HAVE TO BE THE SAME.

And so help me if I see another post about the BG3 Studio need to take over Bioware, I am going to go off. I heard enough of that during the Witcher 3's heyday

Mod Note: Since you mentioned Witcher 3, I am going to share something. I used to get these massive manifesto sized submissions about how CD Projekt Red should take over Bioware. (I deleted them of course) I've received quite a few of them all the way to the release of Cyberpunk 2077. I have not received one since. I think many learned a difficult lesson that making shrines for companies for not being like the other companies really isn't a good thing because in the long run they will eventually end up doing the same things other companies do. And I have deleted about ten submissions about how Larian should take over Bioware. One was 2300 words

[featherwurm]

Karlach - Infernal Engine Exhaust Diagram

Thinking about diagrams* - maybe I'll go back in and do something more detailed later, but I was just thinking about connecting veins to exhaust. Gave her a dual cylinder engine this time, since it looks more like a heart than a single cylinder one. Also gave her short hair and two horns - probably not long after healing up from surgery. Whatever devil drew this had some hint of artistic interest, putting some detail into the face.

(Infernal script is just loose notes.

*I like diagrams. Maps too.

[volno]

I can't seem to make fanart for this game unless it's also a shitpost.

[viablemess]

I made more. Follow the baulder's gate color palettes hashtag as I add to this.

[pikaglove]

Everytime my uncle sends me a conservative post on fb messenger, I respond with a bg3 meme because he's not going to understand it. Here are some I have sent so far:

He only responded to the goostarian one saying lol