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I also made a new Rook, who will not have her playthrough for a while because work and also because I need to let things settle a but, but it couldn't be a dragon age game without an OC of mine named for a Lois McMaster Bujold character.

So here we have Nikys Mercar, Shadow Dragon and Tired. Maybe Neve will like this one.

Also pssst. @fivekoboldsinacoat I used a Pax worldstate here. It was fun trying to recreate him. The Inquisitor pajamas continue to be cursed.

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Veilgard will probably never be my favourite, but it is definitely the good sory of flawed in that I want to write fic for it, especially because Grey Warden Hester unwittingly dooming either their lover or their best friend was absolutely fucking excruciating. Also Assan is...they'll find him and he'll be injured but Hester's a Warden and will help him, damnit.

I played both choices, and similar to Dolours's sacrifice in Origins, I think Harding is the one who dies in my 'canon' playhrough of Hester. Heartbreaking. There will be fic of both routes eventually.

Solas continued to have the best dialogue in the whole bloody game, which, as someone who was always Solas-indifferent, I am a bit rueful over. But the last minute double crosses upon double crosses were delightful and appropriate.

The Varric reveals were...at least it gives me a reason (headcanoning or otherwise) why every word Varric said in the infirmary felt dilluted and weird. (And re-contextualises Harding's reactions to everything in the first act rather beautifully). The lore reveals were also often interesting. I have longer thoughts, but the short version: loved the Titans and lyrium and dreaming, did not enjoy Archdemons as the Evanuris's blighted pets.

I also have a years long Isabela/Shathann brain worm that will not let me be. Should I do something with this? Do I have the emotional fortitude? (also while I think a lot of Taash's story is handled well, at least from a gender perspective, what the fuck was that push up scene, Isabela?)

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did they intend to give solas and rook three times the chemistry they gave solas and lavellan in the base inqusition game or am i witnessing the funniest possible thing bioware could've done

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Poor Ista gets her own post

This is the face of a woman who was forced to do important shit in ugly pajamas again. Wasn't even a bug this time!

C'mon, game. You can do a better prosthetic than this. I know Bull, Dagna and Ista together came up with much better shit.

It was still really good to see her, but the line delivery was...definitely something. I'm curious if the Solasmancers get anything extra.

I had to re-load after I chose an option to comment on the Trevalyan family.

Acting Vicount Aveline Vallen?? (I cannot imagine she's thrilled about that). Varric, tell me things.

I did appreciate that she called Harding Lace.

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Just some Hester screen grabs, including the save I made around a particular character conversation because I was not expecting to be quite so directly attacked at 3am.

Hester is probably going to romance Harding and their scenes have the romantic lighting and gorgeous interludes in the conservatory to back that up, but, gotta say: both Rook and Harding looking up (and up) at Taash makes me consider other options and long for poly routes in the game.

A few slightly more spoilery rambles:

The purple/jokey options are, frankly, a bit of a disapointment. (Exception to this: Rook's drawl of "no..." when Emmerich described himself as a "terribly maudlin child." I cackled.)

I felt similarly with the sarcastic options for Ryder in Andromeda, but am having an easier time of it here because Rook seems to have fallen into a very familial relationship with Varric, and my headcanon is that this kid Varric picked up on the road has somehow become his kid (who he tries not to swear in front of, which is the only way I can reconcile "Solas's timing stinks" and "oh crap" in those opening cutcenes). Hester adores everying he represents and is always trying for cool wordplay and charisma and...it's only sometimes landing. And for situations where they feel more confident, like their place (despite everything) in the grey wardens, they default more to strong options. But seriously - let me be caustic, I beg you...

Speaking of grey wardens: I'm glad I picked this for the first origin because the small details they are managing to fit in are quite enjoyable and are also leading to a rather fun adverserial (complimentary) relationship with Davrin, where they have experienced many of the same frustrations and even have similar coping skills, but admitting that would be TERRIBLE for some reason (mostly because Hester is not sure what to make of Davrin's griffon parenting choices).

The Grey Warden origin and Hester's general acceptance of their own eventual blighted death/the ritual elements of Warden life mean they are very at ease in the Necropolis and with Emmerich generally. They're developing a fun friendship and I will absolutely find someone to romance him. (Also, fuck you, Emmerich. You get 10 students in your classes and you're complaining about teaching loads? ...I appreciate whoever wrote that bit.)

ISABELA MY BELOVED.

I have to write so many Merribela and Liadan/Isabela/Fenris Ot3 fics involving Isabela and the Lords of Fortune Now. (Also Isabela/Josephine. I have thoughts). Also, damn right you send cultural artefacts back where they came from, Isabela. You'd better.

Morrigan is also a much more fun cameo here than in Inquisition ("I understand now why he never appreciated it when I explained..." I am dead). Very curious about her skincare routine, though. Isabela's, too.

Lucanis is a delight and, so far, less messy than I imagined. I enjoy the cooking, and am curious about demons in non-mages. His distress at necromancy as undoing good work is fantastic, and I love delivery overall.

Neve hates me forever, at least a little bit. The Treviso/Minrathous choice was a gut-punch and I do wish it had come just a little later - it felt really evil to have to make this choice before I'd even met everyone. Possibly the point. But I'm still not sure how I feel there. Also, I wish Viper was Fenris. Well, maybe not in this playthrough since he'd be in for an even more terrible time than usual, but...c'mon, game.

I want to know all about Bellara and Emmerich's correspondence.

All of Harding's letters are wonderful aaaah

Harding's relationship with Varric makes me happy, and the conversation that she and Hester had about Leliana just gifting nugs everywhere was very well done. I really hope we get to explore more about the Titans/dwarven history, and that Harding's abilities aren't just convenient traversal hacks. I have hope! The letter from Dagna was also great, and Harding in general appears to trigger some truly useless sapphic lines from Rook and I am here for it.

Also! The link between Solas's dagger and Varric's red lyrium idol is intriguing - hope the game sticks the landing, wherever it goes there.

Taash is great and their plotline with their mother has me rather frightened. I knew from about the time their mother misgendered Hester the general direction, but I was not expecting the Neve, Taash, Rook conversation as early as it came up. I had some great options there, though.

...I have had to completely turn off any wider internet commentary on the game because it is getting fucking toxic around gender stuff in a way that I am not surprised by but that is hitting me in all sorts of dark places right now.

I'm only just about to go to Weisshaupt, main plot wise, so nothing has been concluded and the writers may completely drop the ball, but...that conversation meant a lot. ("No one likes being a woman, right?" Taash, dearest...) I probably will have more coherent words on it later.

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Meet Hester Thorne, who I can already tell is going to be a fun sort of disaster.

Recreating Ista was...a challenge (what do you mean I can't rotate the scars, this is important, arrgh) but I've done my best.

All my veilgard posts will be tagged: dav spoilers. Block as needed!

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To say hippo writes good shit is a profound understatement

I'm gonna do some shameless self-promotion, cause VG launches in 5 days so I decided to re-read some of my DA fanfic

ngl, everyone. I wrote some good shit. If you would like to read some good DA shit, click the link. That leads to all my DA fic

And I'm looking for other good DA fics to read, so if you also want to self-promote your stuff, why not make a post like this?

Give me stuff to enjoy!

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Birthday card for a friend, with assistance from Toast. Gouache is new and scary.

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And then there was that time what was meant to be a cute dialogue drabble turned into The Iron Bull offering unexpected dom mentorship at 3am. This fic also makes me think about @dearophelia, who always loved their voices

Nasrin/Vivienne and "important," please?

Send me a “Important” and I’ll write a drabble about one character explaining why the other is so important to them

Change of watch is quiet in the Wastes. Nasrin brings Vivienne out of sleep with a light touch to the arm, fingers light and almost apologetic to the inside of her wrist, eyes firelight bright. 

 “Very well.” Vivienne yawns behind her hand, letting herself ease ground kinks from her back as she stands. 

“All’s still,” Nasrin murmurs. “Nothing poisonous and fanged for the past three hours.” 

“How novel.” 

The huntress’s lips twitch. Vivienne is almost accustomed to noticing these tiny smiles. She keeps watching Nasrin as own body wakes up, the desert chill pricking her skin while Nasrin shucks the more cumbersome of her knives and brushes sand from her clothing. 

“Goodnight,” Nasrin says, and if she does not lay down quite in the place Vivienne has left, then it is close. 

This is all most unnecessary. Vivienne watches the horizon, straining hard for the shift in her friend’s breathing that means sleep. 

“Fais de beaux rêves, marquise.” 

“Damn.” 

The Iron Bull’s low sound of appreciation cuts into the silence the Inquisitor has left behind, and Vivienne glares.  

“Excuse me?” 

A low chuckle, pitched away from the camp. “Hard not to watch, ma’am. I like fireworks. “ He stretches. Vivienne is too aware of him. Too aware of the air on her own skin. 

“You know,” he adds. “Things that go bang.” 

“You are being vile, darling.” 

Leather creaks as he shrugs. “True enough.”

“And I will turn you into something small and easily squashed.” 

“You might,” Bull says. “But you should really work out what to do with the boss’s heart first. Pretty powerful shit, and it’s in your hands.” 

“I don’t know what you are trying to achieve with this conversation.” 

Bull smiles. It’s a peculiarly reassuring expression, even as to wants to throttle him. “I think you do, ma’am.” 

She snorts. “Go on, ben-hassrath. Read me. You’ll find I know all my own corners.” Vivienne lifts her chin. 

“It’s a rush, isn’t it?” Bull says. “Submission? Someone right there, all their guards down. Like the boss. Your Inquisitor. Your Nasrin, who’s felt a thousand rabbit hearts under her hands and is giving you her own?” There is nothing lecherous in his smile now. He is serious, bent forward, hands outspread. “She grows loose when you’re near, doesn’t she? Leans in just a little. Looks so relieved when you take a situation and make it yours. Somewhere she can follow, because she knows you and your rules. That sound about right, ma’am?” 

Vivienne swallows. “I don’t–”

“Nah, you haven’t done anything with it, yet. I know. Just small things. If I ask this, will she do it? If I order this, she will do it. Or maybe she’ll do that she thing she does with your hands. Say please in a way she knows you can hear, even if she’s not sure how she knows yet. “ He grins. “And just because long and drawn out isn’t my thing doesn’t mean it isn’t doing all sorts of good shit for the two of you.”

“That is quite enough.” 

“Hush. You’ll wake her.” 

Vivienne turns, staff raised, arm high enough that the tip presses under his jaw. Ice warring with electricity as the Fade thins and presses into her skin, waiting for the right set of commands. A tug. A strike. 

Bull meets her eyes, then lets his throat fall back in a careful, deliberate arc. Shoulders shaking with silent laughter.  

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” he says, breathless. “Fucking terrifying, because the only thing you can do when handed that much trust is to give your own right back. Ma’am.” 

Vivienne steps back, lowering her staff. “You are insufferable. And not entirely right.” 

“I am a little right, though? I am good. Damn.” 

She does not smile. “I do not know what the Inquisitor and I have between us,” she says. “And it certainly is no business of yours.” 

Bull shifts his weight, eyes serious. “It is if you break her.” he says. “Boss’s been a good friend. Even with all the Andraste shit.” He presses a hand to his chest. “She’s made this name stick, and I’m not going to forget it. What does she call you?” 

“My name,” Vivienne says. “All my names. And I do not break anything precious to me.”   

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Perhaps my first worldstate will be Nasrin's, Vivienne as Divine. I never expected the tie-in cardgame bioware threw together to introduce the Dragon Age Keep would take over my brain the way it did, but taking a bad throw from The Last Court and creating Nasrin was delightful. I love her and Vivienne together. This was one of the last fics I wrote for them. Art my @villnis-archive

The party is delightful. Josephine has not outdone herself–Vivienne expects that none of them have seen the ambassador truly stretch the limits of her capabilities. Some things, even at the end of the world, are too vast. But the pleasantry rolls off her tongue and Josephine accepts it with grace and barely a glance over to the petit-fours that are, if overheard, ragged whispers are to be believed, “Just not quite right, Leliana. Stop laughing.”

“You have more reason to celebrate then the rest of us, madame Vivienne,” Josephine says now, the lights from the chandeliers dripping restored light through her hair and over her skin.

Vivienne smiles. “Perhaps. Things shall be frightfully busy.”

So say I to the one person here who has any right to protest her own workload. The thought is rueful, kept contained. If Josephine suppresses any sardonic looks, the effort does not show on her face.

People surge and swell around them, leaving drifts of conversation behind. Dagna stares at refracted light through a wineglass, leaning back against Sera, who stands with arms looped through the other woman’s and a softer expression on her face than Vivienne has ever seen. Her free hand tugs at a tablecloth, careful mountains of glassware creaking ominously as the fabric shifts. Leliana had ordered clear space along with tonight’s musicians in a fit of whimsy, and Varric and Cassandra are carefully not dancing. They stand close, shoulder pressed to arm, eyes anywhere but each other. Cullen attempts to blend in with one of the old armour sets against a far wall, and Vivienne wonders, for as much time as it takes for her to check his movement and swallow some of her drink, when the Templar stopped being the first person she noticed in any shared space.

The Inqusitor, patches of new-healed skin still showing raw across her cheeks and the backs of her hands under her wealth of light, has a hand resting on the ersatz Blackwall’s shoulder, lips pinched as he offers words Vivienne cannot quite pick out over the crush. They, she thinks, looking at the shape of Narsin's mouth, are speaking Orlesian.

Bull raises a tankard in her direction. Vivienne bites back a sigh.

“Madame?”

“Forgive me, darling. I find myself distracted. It is a lovely party.”

A tucked-up smile from the ambassador. “I should rescue the punch table from Sera. Please excuse me.”

“Good luck,” Vivienne says. “For my part, I—”

—Nasrin is heading toward the door, brushing off curious hands and thanks with increasing fervour the closer she comes to her destination. Her head is up, her colour high, and Vivienne almost laughs. It’s an old walk. The kind the marquise would have had tutors for, that Vivienne had learned from need.

Eyes front. Shoulders back. Move like the world cannot touch you, darling.

“A moment of your time, Inquisitor?”

She is smiling as she steps in front of Nasrin, the corners of her mouth aching from the effort of keeping things seemly. Nasrin startles at her voice, eyes widening.

“I thought—you said there were preparations,” she stammers, back resting against the doorway that leads from the great hall to her chambers.

“Honestly, my dear.” Easy to move a hand, let it brace on the stone just by Nasrin’s face. “These are preparations. And I would never miss your party.”

“I don’t think I could say the same.”

Vivienne laughs, eyes moving as Nasrin swallows. She wants to catch each tiny movement. “I know. Still, I would like a word.”

“I—of course.” Nasrin turns, still within the light cage made by Vivienne’s body, and the door opens under her hands. They both step through.

 “You have been avoiding me, my dear.”

Nasrin does not want to die. The effort of not dying over the past few months shows in every twinge of muscle, each curl of pain that ghosts the bones of her arms, her fingers and the back of her skull, the straight bones each leg. But she thinks she might, with Vivienne in her space, hands wrapped fast about her own as she draws Nasrin out into the balcony.

“I—”

“—I know why, marquise. And it is all right.”

Nasrin swallows. “Do you?” she asks. “Is it?”

“I was not fair to you, over the wyvern. The cure for my Bastien.” Pain flickers across her face, clear even though Nasrin is turned into the glare of the setting sun. “I would do everything again, of course,” she says. “But I am aware of—”

“—he is important to you,” Nasrin says. Not was. Importance does not care about bodies. She tugs at the ring she wears on a chain that hangs to the base of her throat. The thank you gift for dangerous alchemy that did not do its job. “I would always help. I—”

“—you care for me, darling,” Vivienne says. “A great deal.”

The floor is solid. Good stone. Old as gods. It shouldn’t be. “This is what you want to talk about?”

“You have made me Divine,” Vivienne says, head tilted to the side. “Not solely you, of course. But your influence has allowed me to find doors I did not know could be opened. As I’d hoped. And I have helped you a great deal, of course. Your own fear of magic is considerably—”

“—are you babbling, madame?”

“—I care. Very much.”

Nasrin has too much skin. Clothing rasps, and if she looks up, if she sees the small, soft smile that graces Vivienne’s face, she is unsure if she will ever breathe again. A whimper is caught up in her throat along with all her air.

Vivienne’s hands move to her cheeks, fingertips blooming cold as the anchor in Nasrin’s left hand flares in response to the small magic. Nasrin feels it trickling through her skin. Her lips part.

“Breathe, my dear,” Vivienne says, stern. “If you insist I must then you ought return in kind.”

Nasrin turns her face into the other woman’s touch, Her lower lip grazes a fingertip, sticking in a shock of pain as cold flares into heat. She gasps. Vivienne closes her eyes.

With an effort, Nasrin pulls back, unable to stop herself from running her tongue over her lower lip. “Why tell me now?” she asks.

“I have told you before,” says Vivienne. “But sometimes we deserve something explicit, don’t you think?”

Who can think?

Vivienne is not done. She reaches out again, one hand twining with Nasrin’s marked one. “Thanks to our efforts,” she says, “I am going to be exceptionally busy. But I did not want you to ever—I had a concern you might—” she breaks off. “You must never doubt me, Inquisitor.”

“Nasrin,” says Nasrin.

“Your pardon?”

“Please,” she whispers, and the sound is so much smaller than it should be that Nasrin is surprised it isn’t lost under the sound of her own heartbeat. “I am just my name, with you,” she says. She lifts her free hand, palm up. “And perhaps this?”

“Your right hand?”

“Yours,” Nasrin says. “If you are the next Divine.”

Slowly, Vivienne drops Nasrin’s left hand and reaches for the chain around her neck. She tugs. The metal snaps as she does, a small line of pain on Nasrin’s skin, but she does not move. She keeps staring up at the mage as she picks up the gold ring she had crafted with careful fingers.

Nasrin raises her right hand.

They are both silent as Vivienne slides the ring onto the forth finger there. Her eyes are intent as she lowers her head, and Nasrin swallows another gasp as Vivienne lets her lips drag across the knuckles. Acceptance and promise, understood in touch.

“Kiss me,” Vivienne says, voice fainter than Nasrin has ever heard. “Kiss me and seal it, Nasrin.”

For the rest of this ridiculous love story, you can read Marquise on AO3

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People enjoyed the Merrill sketch so I colored it…

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one of my favourite 'canon' pieces with Ista, mostly because I can still hear some of this dialogue

“Wanna dance?”, Inquizzy plus LI of your choice.

A final party, the grand ballroom of the Winter Palace done up in blues and golds and Inquisition heraldry that made Ista want to laugh or burn something down. 

(”Orlais shall never say we saw you off poorly, Inquisitor.” The empress’s voice cool as Ista did her best not fall flat on her face as the exalted council dispersed behind them. 

Whispers and footsteps on tile. Rosemary and bruised violets. Ringed hands reaching out toward Ista, scrabbling for an arm that was no longer there. 

That might have been the the drugs. There had been a few of those.  

“Orlais can say what it likes,” she said.  “It usually does.”)

Orlais chose the grand farewell. Strings and gleam and sideways looks. 

“I keep expecting one of them to come up to me and just…quietly let me know,” she said, managing a grin. “’Why, my lady former inquizeetor, were you aware you ave, euh, meesplaced your arm?! I know a grand jeweler in Val Royeaux…’” 

“Right,” Varric said, eyes bright. “Whatever drugs they gave you so you could walk into this mess? I want some.” 

“Varric.” 

Ista didn’t turn to see what disguised expression graced Cassandra’s face. She’d fall,  and Varric’s name in the Seeker’s mouth filled in the details well enough. 

“It’s all right, Cassandra,” she said. “This is all a bit ludicrous.” 

Warmth at her back. A slow, steady grip as Bull fisted his hand in the hair  Josephine had so carefully pinned up for the occasion. Ista bit her lip. Half scold, half groan. 

“I’ve got you,” he said. He had an arm braved about her, free hand at her hip. Ista listened to the crowd rustle. 

(”A qunari? Still. After all of this?” 

“I have a cousin at Skyhold. You would not believe what they did with a chandelier.”) 

“Bull,” she muttered. “I think I’m supposed to be looking fierce and untouchable.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Probably.” 

“They’re looking at you,” Bull said. Each word heavy. Distinct. Her skin pricked on syllables.  “They keep looking at you, and you hate it.”

Blood in her ears. She closed her eyes, flushing at the halting strangeness of fingers curling where there were none, all the muscles in her neck and upper arm working to complete the impossible movement. It nearly broke through the mix of embrium, dawn lotus and sleep that covered her nerves in a fragile second skin. 

“Not new,” she whispered. 

“It is, a bit. So’s the shame.” 

“I don’t--” 

The hand at her waist moved. Skirted up until he gripped her shoulder. Skimmed down again until he lightly gripped her truncated upper arm. 

Blood in her mouth. Bull’s voice, low and ceaseless. 

I’ve got you. Good, kadan. 

Testing. Drowning out the crowd and even their friends as Ista raised her chin. Tried to keep her head. Shuddering as the hand in her hair grew tighter, making her scalp prickle at the new stretch.  

“This is me,” Bull said. “Enjoying you still being not dead.”

“And making a spectacle.” 

“That, too. Wanna dance?”  

“For once in my life,” Ista said, wondering at the crack in her voice, the tears that felt like they were one wrong breath away as Bull’s hand left her hair in a scatter of gold pins while the other still kept that gentle grip on her arm.  “I might.” she leaned up. Let her lips brush the base of his throat. The base of his jaw.  

“I’ll probably fall on my face afterward, though. Fair warning.”

“Kadan,” Bull said. “You’re safe.” 

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I'm still trying to work out who will be my inquisitor for the first veilgard playthrough. Not sure if it's going to be Ista, Fidan, or Nasrin (or even Pax and Xanthe? Aaargh) but I'm sharing some writing and art for each so I can get back into their headspace. Trespasser continued to be an amazing installement for a left-handed inquisitor with balance issues.

Opening this with the non-spoilery but rather lovely look at Cassandra’s approving face. 

Ow, my heart. So much of Trespasser was lovely. Not perfect, I know, but things just clicked with Ista. 

Keep reading

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Ista Trevelyan sketch outfit commissions for hornkerling! She’s an older rift mage with cerebral palsy and she was so much fun to design for, I’m so glad I got to work with her!

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reblogging because this brings me joy nearly 10 years later.

I know, I know. I commission a lot of art for Ista. But I’ve never commissioned her with Bull before and @tevinterllama did the most incredible job. The back-and-forth emails leading up to and following this art are full of exclamations, but I was running out of ways to say: look, look them, the sneak!romantic dorks…

Ista’s scars. Bull’s missing fingers. The stretch of muscle of her arm being held that way, both of them knowing exactly how much her body can take and pushing it a little further, even in simple gestures. Bull braces as he pulls. Her thumb at his cheek is the result of a thousand tiny movements. 

(also, she’s blushing a little and I’m dying.) 

Jackie, thank you so much for your patience and the care and effort you put into this. 

Also, a shoutout to @neotericwitch, as Ista is wearing one of the outfits they designed for her, and everything is awesome. 

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This show has been one of my quiet happy spaces over the past few years and because I was away from tumblr for so long I didn't know people talked about it!

Link click is glorious, I have this show's soundtrack on a loop, and the reviewer writes beautifully.

Link Click has always been that feminist show with the queer lens for me.

The first season is largely slice-of-life, a poignant close-up of ordinary lives. The majority of episodes would introduce us to complex, realistic women characters: cool, badass, and/or oppressed and tragic because of patriarchal forces (and rancid men). Mothers, little girls, students, women with disabilities, capable employees, small business entrepreneurs—even sapphics.

Through photographs, Cheng Xiaoshi travels back in time to fulfill simple requests by clients. (He and his business partner and roommate, Lu Guang, run the little Time Photo Studio—with help from their landlady and friend, Qiao Ling.) When Cheng Xiaoshi dives back in tome, he often experiences firsthand what these women characters experience, through their bodies. With Lu Guang’s guidance, he grapples with scummy men and gets out of sticky situations. The protagonists are just cis men who casually get it. The entire thing is unlike anything I’ve seen in the realm of anime.

(And I’m glad it’s a donghua instead.)

There’s a deep, endless connection between the protagonists, Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang, that can be easily read as queer … but also an intense platonic friendship between men instead (which some watchers have unfortunately weaponized). Or something that doesn’t quite fit into either category. Perhaps it’s an almost-something. Something that is constantly in a process of becoming (but never quite there). Something that maybe even transcends queerplatonism. (Perhaps it doesn’t need to be specified as just one thing.) I think it’s beautiful however you look at it.

(I personally want them to kiss and become an “official” couple, and it would be wonderful—and much-needed!—cannon rep. But even if there weren’t any censorship laws, I think this story doesn’t need them to be explicitly romantically involved.)

The creators said that the two protagonists were written as men because it would’ve been impossible to write the same story with a man and a woman without the pressures of a looming romance. Ultimately, I think that his choice to avoid comphet media expectations gave us something so much richer than a regular stereotypical romance. (They also made the Heaven Official’s Blessing donghua, which is in some ways more romantic than the achillean source novel. There’s very little chance that the queercoding in Link Click—where every detail is meticulously placed—is unintentional.)

In Season 2, I loved the shift in genre from slice of life to thriller. It was a nifty choice. It’s respectful towards Season 1 in that it’s not trying to compete with something that’s already perfect, but instead complements it with something new with a touch of the old. The plot was an absolute mindfuck—but flawless. There was a surprising emphasis in hand-to-hand combat scenes … and they were so good (especially the tag team moments—and the moves by women? incredible). This is coming from someone who usually is never interested in that kind of action. The art of the show is (perhaps intentionally) grungy and rough around the edges. (The character design is incredible, though, and is compared with Devilman Crybaby.) The animation wasn’t always the strong suit, but those fistfights were impeccable, and satisfying. I, too, want to punch misogynists in the face.

While the opening and ending songs are always dark, the background music shifts from a relaxing lo-fi to more suspenseful in Season 2. The OP and ED sequences are truly works of art with narratives of their own (more on that later). The lyrics of each song is entwined with a desperate pining—not unlike that in Banana Fish. The literally rewound sequence (in both visuals and song) in the second OP is devastating to me. So, so beautiful and just a wild choice.

I’m now excited to see another genre shift for Season 3. I hope it’s not the same kind of cat-and-mouse thriller, and it certainly won’t be wholesome slice-of-life. We know now that this show was written further in advance than our wildest imaginings—So perhaps next we’ll have more of a heartfelt narrative as we follow Lu Guang. Something that sweeps us along with a sense of inevitability, unfolding gently.

I hope it has a happy ending.

MAJOR SPOILERS GOING FORWARD (mainly just me being not at all normal about ShiGuang)

I think there was this scene in Season 1 that indicated that Cheng Xiaoshi had feelings for Qiao Ling—Don’t quote me on that, but I expected that to develop in Season 2. I was thrilled to find that the writers seemed to promptly forget all about it instead. (Maybe it was to stave off the gay shippers for the sake of censorship in the first place? Who knows. If anything, we love to see a disaster bisexual.)

In Season 1, we saw an emotionally intimate, split-screen moment between Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi in bed (separated by both space and time). They are then contrasted against an (heavily implied) older domestic sapphic couple running a noodle business. With Qiao Ling, they certainly form a family. But you can tell—as several other characters repeatedly point out—these two men are especially “important” to each other.

It’s driven home really well, too—Everytime something happened to Lu Guang, I would instantly worry about how losing him might affect Cheng Xiaoshi, and vice versa. Their worlds revolve around each other.

And so, in Season 2: Cheng Xiaoshi knowing Lu Guang’s phone password, the tackle (the entire fandom went feral), the domestic memories Cheng Xiaoshi cried over, Cheng Xiaoshi exclaiming the more familiar “Guang!” in a moment of concern, and the way Lu Guang SCREAMED when Cheng Xiaoshi was shot (chills!). A shot Cheng Xiaoshi asking Lu Guang to not overexert himself.

The way Cheng Xiaoshi is impulsive about time travel until it comes to Lu Guang’s sake, and Lu Guang is so cautious … until it comes to Cheng Xiaoshi’s life. The man literally is ripping time/space apart to make sure he doesn’t lose Cheng Xiaoshi. (The “one gay man vs the fabric of space and time” Season 3 trailer memes have been both funny and distressing in these trying times.)

The OP (where they reach for each other, star-crossed) and ED (where they are compared to a man who loses his wife and invents time traveling to bring her back). The countless shots (the gorgeous rotating arc pans!) of the two as mirror images of one another, with colours, outfits, narrative, even identical wounds. Like passing ships in the night. If anything, the new season is so much gayer than I expected. I loved it.

The word “time”, written as ShiGuang, appears both in the title of the anime (Shiguang Dailiren, —Time Agents) and their photo studio (Shiguang Zhaoxiang Guan). To my delight, it’s also grown to become their ship name. The wordplay is just another way that the donghua is written in layers upon layers, but at it’s core it’s about two people who are inexplicably linked through space and time—except we don’t know if it’s by choice or fate (or both). But there’s always a fragility that permeates it, the uneasy feeling that the connection—or link—is as fleeting as the clap used to create it.

If that isn’t an epic, heart-wrenching romance, I’m not sure what is.

[hornkerling]

being on tumblr for a long time but never reading homestuck like