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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 2 months

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Haruka and Michiru as Aylin and Isobel. Y/N? I've never actually played BG3 but I'd love to know your thoughts.

I loved getting this ask right after seeing fanart of that very concept (but the other way around). And I love pondering stuff like this!

Certainly I've rolled this around in my brain as soon as people started calling Aylin and Isobel "the moon lesbians". I absolutely see the vision if it's a kind of more surface-level "cast the BG3 characters as senshi/the senshi as BG3 characters" or writing an AU/crossover in which case that's absolutely and without question the roles they'd get. But I think that going much deeper it starts to break down.

There's neat parallels, absolutely. That iconic romance! That all-consuming devotion! Beyond even death! And the whole dying-and-resurrecting thing, too! And a literal magical girl transformation that will forever be the best scene in the game. We sadly never get to see Aylin and Isobel in combat together the way we do Haruka and Michiru, but they'd make a really neat battle couple, I'm sure. Though their "I fight better when I know my beloved is safe" stuff might get in the way - a fun thing to explore.

And yes, one of them is loud and boisterous and tall and strong and sword-y and loves putting up a front and brushing her own feelings off as irrelevant even when she is suffering horribly. Also has the whole extreme dedication to duty thing going on, good ol' Being A Sword, while being brash and reckless and having a concerning disregard for personal safety. (You can't tell me Haruka wouldn't jump into 500 godawful fights a day, just plain facetanking everything, if she knew she couldn't die.) The other, meanwhile, is a way more subtle fancy princess lady type who seems to be calling a lot of the shots in the relationship.

My darling Isobel says we will stay allied at your side. I am pleased to hear it.

(Never fails to get me - Aylin, you already swore your sword and fealty to me 5 minutes ago, were you just going to dip if Isobel said so?)

She is also very insightful, is "the mage" and is capable of some excellent and on-point snark and verbal cuts, though I can't really see Isobel as being very ~ara (she's also a laughably horrible liar). Selûne actually has a lot of divination-related stuff in her portfolio and Isobel (who already uses mirrors in her iconic ritual we see in the game, and I love love love the setup she has there) doing some augury, scrying, and future-sensing via mirror-gazing would be super on brand.

(The moon, the tides, the sea... I could go places with this. But of course, now I've thought of Umberlee Cleric Michiru and The Seas Are Stormy, and that is a true delight.)

But the one place where it really breaks down for me is probably my very favourite thing to chew on with regards to Michiru, and that is that one iconic line, no matter how seriously you decide to take her words:

A world without Haruka isn't worth saving.

I cannot see Isobel saying anything like this, even as a joke, even as a taunt aimed at a defeated enemy.

Because we see Isobel go through exactly this: she wakes up in a world without Aylin. Against all odds, she is in the exact opposite of the situation they two with their mortal/immortal disparity have discussed and prepared for. She is told her unkillable demigod beloved is somehow dead and she believes this lie fully - we have no indication she ever doubted this. And what does Isobel do?

She makes a stand against the shadows, makes herself a beacon and protector, adamantly refuses to abandon any bit of her faith and her lifelong service to her goddess (even while expressing her dissatisfaction with Selûne's apparent laissez-faire approach there, if pressed), gives her all to set up a shelter and support the people mounting a resistance against her own father. "At any cost," she says, and it all clearly does cost her quite a bit - she is so very visibly exhausted and at the end of her tether when we meet her, but also chooses to be patient and to stay back and support and heal and all that. I feel like Michiru, in this situation, would rather march up to Moonrise and take on the entire army herself in a doomed last stand. Unless, I don't know, maybe a Jaheira-Setsuna situation could help?

All this actually makes me think Isobel has a lot of Hotaru vibes! The goth girl whose antagonist dad is part of leading an entire elaborate evil operation (she's the only thing he has left, she is an obsession, he will keep resurrecting her no matter the cost), being brought back from the dead by him in a weird way and suffering the various consequences of this. She even has an Ominous Cough going on, and her most prominent magical power is shielding and healing. Then, a tadpoled Isobel as a parallel to Mistress 9? You could go places with that.

Looking at the other halves of the couples, Haruka, when she thinks Michiru is dead:

You’re so unfair, Michiru, to leave for a world of your own. Don’t leave me here.

Aylin, in turn, seems to have dealt with Isobel's first death fairly... healthily. I mean, it's hard to say, when the one point of coping comparison we have is Ketheric. Certainly her grief is immense and when she says "I have mourned her these hundred years" it is the most believable thing. If Isobel dies again before they get reunited, we see a more subdued version of Aylin who is extremely duty-focused and determined to soldier on (her epilogue letter guts me) and who gives me that very I Will Never Love Again impression of kind of cutting herself off from the more mortal/human parts of her that Isobel seems very much a tether to (and you could go neat places with this being a parallel to the senshi dealing with having human identities, i.e. Haruka vs Uranus). But we do get some truly chilling stuff from Aylin if Isobel dies after their reunion (as well as a serving of some absolutely heartbreaking "I don't care what happens to me as long as Isobel is safe" right before that).

When I am free, I will destroy you! I will murder you, and your children, and their children beside! I will rip this world apart, plank and beam, until every iota of your being is scalded by my light.

So she is going to make very sure that a world without Isobel is also a world without you, traitor. And after that most thorough vengeance is done? I can't think of anything that bodes well, I'm afraid. But the senshi I could most easily see going down this particular dark route is, well, Michiru, and not Haruka.

Continuing this extremely self-indulgent thought exercise, it reminds me a bit of "every yuri couple is Utena and Anthy if you try hard and believe in yourself" and I'd say let's go for a twist: while they are absolutely nothing alike, Aylin sure makes an interesting Anthy because she's magically imprisoned for an unimaginably long time, has a thousand swords stuck in her over and over again, and she suffers because men objectify her and covet her for her power and what she represents and want to use her, and it seems to be a cycle she is doomed to repeat forever purely because of who she is. Meanwhile, Isobel is, uh, a car? I don't know how far I can stretch this, hahah.

In any case, thank you for this excuse to blather on! Always appreciated. Again, this is peak self-indulgence, and I love it.

#lmao what do i even tag this with #dame aylin #isobel thorm #haruka tenoh #michiru kaioh #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #sailor moon #aylin x isobel #haruka x michiru #oathkeeper replies to things #we have fun here

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stevebabey · 1 year

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part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He��s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !