#happy anniversary bg3

[senualothbrok]

Happy anniversary, BG3!

Apologies this is one day late - it just so happened that yesterday (3 August) was also my wedding anniversary. How fitting, that 3 August is the anniversary of my marriage to my real life husband as well as my pixel one! 💜

Many people have said this much more eloquently than I could, but I just wanted to add to the outpouring of gratitude about how much BG3 means to me, and how thankful I am that Larian made this game and created these characters who I have come to know and love like family.

I truly believe that art has the power to redeem, transform and heal. BG3 came into my life like a whirlwind - or a gale, if you will (woo literal Gale pun!) - and I really didn't expect, in my mid-thirties, to be so consumed by a video game that it would bring me back into fandom after 20 years, inspire me to write for passion, catharsis and love, urge me back into therapy to deal with unresolved trauma, and through Gale, show me the love that I truly need.

The thing about BG3 is that it made me feel seen and loved, and it changed me. This has not always been easy, or convenient for my real life, but such is the way of real growth and change.

Great art is a mirror of revelation, a source of strength and comfort, a well of inspiration. It is also a channel for connection. I never expected to find so many friends and make bonds with so many like-minded people and creators through BG3. Authenticity, creativity, imagination - these things are all magical and have the power to heal. And as I have said before on this blog, Gale, BG3, the creativity and community of this fandom have been a lifeline for me through depression, loneliness and despair.

Thank you Larian for creating this piece of art. Thank you to all the friends I have made, everyone on here, all of you who have shared the miracle of creativity with me.

Happy BG3 anniversary everyone 💜🫂

This gorgeous piece of art is by @ria-neearts:

[pursuitseternal]

“Something:” an update to “Our Blood is Thicker,” 🐦‍⬛💞🦇a little something for the Anniversary of BG3

Ascended Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | T | 1.6K

Summary: One year since she found her betrothed in her path, Cordehlia reminisces with heartache and happiness in equal measure.

CW: mentions of their past griefs and traumas, nostalgia

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

One year… a full year since that nautilus crashed, a year since she found her once betrothed elven lordling in her path. Had it been only a year since her heart rent itself apart at finding him again and let their love stitch it back together?

It had also been a year, then, since her life hung precariously in the balance, a life and a love deemed worthy of seven-thousand and seven souls to be his eternal bride. The passage of time had taken their hopeful, youthful Star Elf selves and broken them, refined them, and made them into the adamantine weapons of power they now were—The Ascendant and his Consort. It was days like this, when the summer heat was unbearable along the Sword Coast that she longed most for the emerald foliage and canopies of the Yuirwood.

She longed for the carefree playing in streams and knolls, in mud and sunshine. She missed his violet eyes and her star-kissed silver ones, those long nights of pleasure on the mossy banks of the forest, the feeling of their warm bodies moving more fluidly than the streams just beside them.

She missed their parents, the wizened, knowing smiles her father would give, even the subtle looks of approval his mother, the High Lady, would sneak her way when they were alone.

In all her decades of darkness, pursuing countless foes and splashing herself in their blood, she never once felt homesick. Love sick, yes. Grief stricken, yes. But it wasn’t until his love for her thawed the chill of her hatred and pain that she remembered home.

And now, she lived in a luxury not of her own heritage. Her skin was cold and her teeth were sharp. Her heart no longer raced with the pleasure he coaxed from her still, and it didn’t rap against her ribs in battle or flutter nervously when Astarion smirked at her. It was probably for the best that their past was nearly as eradicated as their own hopes for a life among their people.

She knew their village had left, that everyone journeyed to other reaches of Faerûn or other realms after the death of their High Lord and Lady… their murder in the City and the ultimate decimation of their line had been exacted.

They had been robbed of their rulers, their line… and their prince. Astarion.

It was all pain that should have been so easy to forget in their palace gardens. Leaning against the great oak tree at its heart, she sat with her skirts fanned, a book on her lap. This late summer sun warmed her too much; even back home, she preferred the cool caress of shade.

Not like him, her love, her lord. He stood near her, gazing down into the pond that collected the bubbling streams of water from the fountain of pure gold. Opulently, impeccably dressed, his silk jacket and pants caught the breeze making that cream, pearlescent material shimmer in the sun. But the gold and silk, the water or the sun itself, none of it was as radiant as him. His fearsome, handsome reflection no doubt shined up at him at his feet, that rakish tilt of his brows, those full, smirking lips rippling and paling in comparison to their original.

He was magnificent, glorious…. Ruthless to his enemies and adoring to his Bride.

The Vampire Ascendant.

It was a far more intimidating title than a mere elven High Lord. Astarion traded in being a prince for the mantle of a Vampire Lord, his ancestral manor now overshadowed by the walls of the Crimson Palace. His wealth was uncountable and ever-growing, untold powers at his command, gifts from the hells and magic beyond what any of the undead should wield.

It was what he deserved after centuries of suffering. But…

What she wouldn’t give for a blanket spread on their mossy bank in the forest, a single bottle of Ithbank to pass between them, the filtered sun above the foliage kissing their naked skin. She closed her eyes, letting the bark of the oak score into her skin through her waif-like dress. The scents of the forest, of nature, came back with instant recall, that soft gurgle of the fountain barely different in pitch from the stream in the glade where Astarion had taken her—

“Cordehlia,” he breathed her name, lips brushing her right ear. A warm hand on her cheek turned her face into his as her crimson eyes fluttered open once more. “My love,” he purred so tenderly, the warm pad of his thumb caressing the gentle arch of her cheek.”Tell me, what do you desire?” his voice was low, a gentle rumble in his chest as he poured all his love down their bond. “What can I do for my dearest?”

“It is nothing,” Cordehlia smiled softly; pulling him to sit beside her, so close their bodies flowed nearly seamlessly from one to the other. “Just thoughts of…”

“Home,” he interrupted. A subtle smirk tweaked his mouth just enough to show a fang. “It’s been a year, you know, since we defeated the Brain…”

His lips whispered against hers. And she whispered back. “A year since I found you on the beach and nearly trussed you up to gut you, you mean…”

“Oh,” he laughed with a husky giggle, “feel free to truss me up any time just to relive it, my love.”

Cordehlia sank her fangs in his bottom lip, making him laugh properly. “Be thankful I let you live long enough to fall back in love with me.”

Astarion broke from their kiss. Where she expected to see that impish glint, that rakish smirk, Cordehlia only saw purity, sincerity. Love. “I am thankful. Everyday,” his words so quiet, even her keen hearing struggled. “Come,” he stood swiftly, pulling her gracefully to her feet. “There’s… something I’d like to show you…”

Making their way inside, they hurried down corridor after cooridor. That nostalgia only deepened. Memories flashed of how these halls festered in darkness and rotted with wickedness under Cazador. She could still smell the dank of the dungeon, still recall the pain of that bastard’s bite as he tried to kill her…

A year ago. A year that passed faster than a blink of an eye. If time was nothing to her existence as an elf, it was less than nothing now that she was undead.

Now that she wandered the bright scarlet and golden halls of their palace. Now that she held the hand of her Sire, their hearts beating as one as his Bride.

She smiled at the word. Bride.

Feeling her thoughts, Astarion paused at the threshold to their rooms. “Oh yes, my Bride, don’t think I didn’t get you a little something to commemorate our union.”

“Always one to spoil me,” she shook her head, leaning in to taste his kiss once more. A sly smile twisted his lips as they pressed together.

The door creaked on its hinges, opening to reveal their bedroom, bathed in blue green light from their windows. Their sanctuary.

Her gaze instantly settled on the box on their bed, a small wooden chest. A nod of his head, a sparkle of childish delight in his crimson eyes, Astarion pulled her closer to it.

Eager fingers lifted the lid, and Cordehlia’s undead heart burst as if it had stopped beating altogether.

A shining silver war helmet, plates once cracked were soldered back together. Intricate designs of feathers spanned the sides, and a great eagle’s head rested on the crown of the helm. She would recognize it anywhere. She had polished it countless times as an elfling, wearing it in their home to pretend to play soldiers and war… a merry laugh coming from the chair by the fire as he watched on…

“Father,” she choked, her musical voice cracking with grief. “Oh, Father,” she breathed again, reverently stroking the eagle feathers and face that was their namesake, Aquillae. Eagle. That same name shined, etched into the back of the armor: Cassius Aquillae, The Great Eagle. Her eyes leaked the tears she could no longer keep at bay, and two warm arms embraced her from behind.

“Halsin found it,” he explained. “With the Shadowcurse lifted, all manner of relics were found. But he searched with great care for anything of your father’s.” A small laugh sounded in her ear. “My idea, of course. Don’t give the Druid any more affection or credit than he deserves, my love.”

A wet laugh was his reward for his possessive, bratty humor. As always. Astarion reached for the helmet, lifting it out to reveal two more pieces that instantly struck her in the gut.

Sharp pains of grief again. A bright silver locket, inlaid with golden leaves, and a small teal ring, that crest of its signet shining brighter than the gold it was made of. She didn’t need to look closer to know it was a heart and two daggers slicing cross-crossed through it, a pattern of little stars speckling its background.

The Ancunín crest.

His voice was heavy, his own throat bobbing against the back of her head as he reached around to caress the pieces. “Mother’s locket and Father’s ring… I found these in one of… his… vaults in the Counting House. The trophies claimed from Mother and Father’s murder.” Tenderly, he set the helmet back in the box, closing the lid silently. Then, he pulled her stiff, suffering body into his warm embrace. “Those aren’t my gift, don’t you fret.”

“I should hope not,” she forced a aggrieved laugh. “Still it is… good to have pieces of them, their bodies never put to rest,” she whispered into the cream silk of his jacket.

“We are about to correct that,” he smiled into the top of her head, breathing in her scent, wildflowers and moss. “We are going home.”

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

Gather your Party and Venture Forth

Happy anniversary, BG3. You have been a gift and I will never forget you. Thank you for everything.

[dekariosclan]

*Gale and Tav, sitting together on their balcony in Waterdeep, watching the night sky reflect on the water.*

Gale, kissing Tav and whispering in their ear: Happy one year anniversary, my love. The happiest year of my life—and yours too, I hope?

Tav, squeezing his hand tightly: It’s been everything I’ve ever hoped for. I simply couldn’t ask for anything m—*pointing* Oh! *sitting up straight* Look, fireworks!

Gale: Indeed! What serendipitous timing.

Tara, suddenly yelling from the inner room: MISTER DEKARIOS! *flying in, looking aghast* Sir! Did you do this?! We spoke about this! After the Waukeentide debacle I assured the city council you would not be doing any more rogue illusory magic!

Tav: Tara, it’s fine! Gale didn’t orchestrate this, it’s just a happy coincidence!

*Gale, Tav and Tara watching as the fireworks spell out: I Love You More Than The Stars, Tav! Happy Anniversary From Your Loving Husband, Gale Dekarios.*

Tav and Tara: …

Gale: …

Gale: Who could have done such a thing

[jeeaark]

Have an out-of-the-blue bonus silly because I have no idea where I'd officially put this chronologically.

This would have been Orpheus' life every day if Greygold had ever chosen the patch 6 ending and left with Lae'zel

I swear Greygold and Orpheus are on good terms when I don't draw him.

[wetsocksinbed]

you know what halsin’s only flaw is? The fact he won’t stay with you permanently. That man is literally built brick by brick of what I want in a partner and after everything he’s just “I must leave for I am needed elsewhere” like dude I didn’t fight a shit ton of shadow monsters and have multiple panic attacks while you were out finding some child in an alternate dimension just for you to leave me after we stop the Absolute. Get back here and marry me you son of a bitch

[pixelbots]

🦇🍷🩸 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔬, 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 🩸🍷🦇

thanks to @agrid343 for this conversion that i was finally able to update baldstarion! my life is complete.

[tee-dohrnii]

Happy Anniversary to BG3!!!

Because of BG3, I now have these two constantly spinning in my head

Based off of this ask (thank you anon)

Also if anyone knows how to find and add bass-boosted microwave sound effects to this that'd be swell-

[simp-ly-writes]

Dearest Reader,

I just wanted to say thank you to anyone of you who has taken their time to read a work of mine over this past year and or support my hyper-fixations. It truly means a lot that I get to share my love of a fandom (Stardew Valley, Call of Duty, Hazbin Hotel, Baldurs Gate 3, The Gentlemen 2024, Doctor Who, or to my most recent Smosh/Youtube), and have you support me in some way.

And I know that it might sound cringy but I mean it when your comments, suggestions, likes, and reblogs have all made my day better at some point as I hope my stories have brought some light into your own. I still remember my first 10 readers and the barley 5 likes I would get on my posts and to come to nearly 900 of you now is something I will never take for granted. (In all honestly, i don't know why people read my shit half the time lol).

I won't say much more but just thank you all, truly, for reading my silly work and heres to another year of sharing stories and silently screaming over characters.

Your Writer,

Simp-ly :)

[bettydice]

Screenshot repaint of @loquaciousquark's Tavish Gale and Astarion admiring the beauty of the Underdark

[littlelostmabari]

The Wrath of Talos

Happy birthday, BG3! I didn't have anything prepared so I decided to offer a snippet of what could be for Irradessa and Gale after A Touch of Darkness... but it's reader-insert today because that's the vibe I had going.

For the beautiful and wonderful @alpydk, @miradelletarot, @sorceresssundries, @the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep, @gale-force-storm

(continuing the list bc Tumblr is being silly) @mumms-the-word, @weaveandwood

(divider here)

Pairing: Gale x gn!Reader [SFW, angst, hurt/comfort] CW: violent storm imagery, nightmares, PTSD, anxiety/panic Word count: 1.4k

You are a chosen of Talos, and you know that storms are not meant to be enjoyed — only feared. Gale promised to be home before the storm reached the tower, but he's not here and you're forced to prepare for Talos' wrath yourself.

The thunder rolled in with the tide.

It was the storm of the age, if the newsies at the corner in the market could be believed. Anyone with windows facing the water was buying up plywood or protective charms, often both, and storing enough food to get through the next ten-day in case the diviners at Blackstaff were wrong about how terrible the storm would be.

If you were less occupied, you might wonder what the Blackstaff wizards were even doing to let such a storm strike the City of Splendors.

Instead, you were mirroring the terrified preppers and pulling everything you needed for a ten-day into a central room of the tower — one with windows that were only enchanted to reflect the outside weather instead of reaching the outside air. Water. Rations. You'd dragged a pair of spare bedrolls down onto the floor as well, since there was no way you would be able to heft the down mattress through the winding stairways. Sheets, though; those were perfect for covering the windows. Even enchanted, you doubted they were safe from His gaze. Tara found you with a medicine kit under one arm and a supply of canned fish under the other, just as the first rains began to fall.

"What in the heavens are you doing, my dear?" she squawked as you passed her by. Her tail poofed up, and she had to jump up to the staircase railing and flap her wings in indignation just to make room for you to pass.

"Storm," you said hastily, throwing the supplies into the room and then holding the door open for her. "Are you in or out? I'm closing up."

"You needn't worry about the weather, dear, the tower is enchanted six ways to Tenthday. There shan't be any —"

You slam the door behind you and lock it and slide a chair into place beneath the knob. It doesn't matter how many charms Gale has put upon the bricks of this tower, nor whether or not the room you were sitting in was in fact in the Prime Material Plane. You knew better. If He willed it, Talos would have His due.

Storms were never something to be enjoyed, they were only ever something to hide from. Lightning was a weapon, thunder the rolling hooves of steeds approaching with armaments. Sleet and rain was meant to limit vision, clouds meant to prevent sun- and moon-lit protection. You'd served the Lord of Storms for long enough to know that not even his faithful were safe when his ire was raised.

You double check the ties on the windows, fluff up a pair of pillows, and settle in to wait with the sending stone clutched between hands, knuckles white with fear.

----------

He had promised to be home before the storm hit, and the rain on his face and hood is a pounding reminder that he had broken that promise. It was the night after the rains began, and he worries what he would find at home. He bounces between the balls of his feet which squish in the traveling boots not meant for the flash flood he had just waded through. One more thing. It was always one more thing.

A password is uttered too loudly so to be heard over the roar of thunder. A flash of an uneasy smile. An exchange of coin. A waxed bag to hold the raging waters back from pages that would undoubtedly crumble at the first sign of liquid. He had it.

He had to get home.

Gale turns his face up to the clouds above, brown eyes lit up under the heavy gray hood with a burst of lightning from not but a hundred yards away. He clutches the waxed leather bundle tightly to his chest and reaches out a hand. The Weave is only a breath away.

He says your name, takes a deep breath, and teleports home.

----------

Your nightmare is one you have had before. For as many times as you have been here, the landscape is still unfamiliar. Sand-like granules fall underneath your feet as you trudge through a cemetery of upturned obsidian shards. They vary from inches to hundreds of feet tall, and you can only see them with flashes of lightning that strike the tips of them irregularly.

The taste of ozone on your tongue means one thing, and you dive into the sands just in time for a bolt of electricity to instead strike the obsidian shard next to you. It alights with Weave and you glance up to see yourself — prone and pathetic — staring back at you with eyes full of the same lightning that threatens to strike you down. Your reflection stands easily and tilts its head, grinning as they snap a hand to the side and wrangle the next lightning bolt into a spear of sparking blue.

Then the sight is gone and you're left staring into the black glass at your regular reflection, still on the ground and covered in black and brown sand. With the next strike of lightning comes rain, and the sound of someone screaming. Another, and the scream turns into your name, and you find yourself turning towards the sound because that sound means safety and comfort and another thunderous boom, this time without lightning, and the sand reaches up your legs and begins pawing at your waist and shoulders and hands and face and you can't breathe and

Your eyes fly open into darkness, the lights of the room snuffed out by the magic swirling in the air from your connection to Talos. The chair under the door handle has flown across the room, the doors themselves blown off their hinges and now open to the tower. You try to move to remedy, to protect your safe space, your sanctum, but the blankets and bedroll won't let you up. You scramble against them, and they call for you to stay, to calm, to be safe, you're safe, you're safe, my love you are safe!

You recognize that voice. Your eyes drift back to coffee hair and chocolate eyes and olive skin and your face is wet and he is soaked and everything around you is spinning and your forehead finds his shoulder and you crawl as far into him as you can and you weep.

----------

An eternity later, you let go of Gale only long enough for him to shrug off his traveling gear and prestidigitate the moisture from the rest of his clothing. You don't mind that he still smells of his travel. He is home.

Your home is home.

"I am so sorry, my love," he murmurs into your ear as he wraps arms around you once more. He has moved you over to one wall away from the doors or windows, so that he can lean back and hold you across his lap. Your tuck your face into the side of his neck and stifle the next sob. "To say I was delayed is an understatement and ignores the very reality that I promised I would be at your side when the storm front reached the tower. You should never have needed" — you feel him intake a quick breath as if he his holding his own tears back — "I am so terribly sorry that I was not here to protect you from this."

He rocks you in his arms, back with the inhale and forward with the exhale and presses kisses against your forehead and your hairline. He continues his murmurings of how brave you have been and how awful that nightmare seemed and oh how safe you are tucked away in this tower where, with a wave of his hand, the now-unadorned windows show a moonlit night over a field of white flowers blowing in an unseen breeze. You don't see the doors repair and close by themselves, nor a fluffy tail and feathered wings disappearing as they do so, her contribution to your state of mind complete. In here, the winds cannot be heard, the thunder cannot be felt, the lightning cannot flash across your skin. There is only the smell of petrichor and beard oil, the flavor of rosewater Weave, and the arms of your beloved surrounding you.

[botcomplex]

This isn't the 1 year Baldur's Gate III Anniversary art I'm working on that I mentioned in my last post, I've just really wanted to get back into pixel art as of late. Made the Owlbear Cub as a warm-up; hoping to learn more as time goes on!!

[gale-gaze]

[ You have my devoted attention. ]

[wetsocksinbed]

Dark Urge: I have these horrid urges to maim and kill

Everyone: oh god that’s awful

Gale: lol same

[insomnikat-mused]

Lae'zel: I could take him.

Tav: I would take him again.

Lae'zel: What?

Tav: What?

[when there's no more inside thoughts]

[azotho]

Had such a vast, fun and dramatic journey indeed…! Thank you for making this great game👏✨

… And I have like 18400 screenshots now, I've never taken this much of game screenshots ever in my life lol