#the japanese condition….

[savagegood]

his best running gag

[maybe-boys-do-love]

It's wild that the whole global trend of gay-focused happy ending romance shows and movies has only been going on for *looks at calendar* a measly ten years!

Just ten years ago. 2014. That's when you get the discovery of a market for queer romance series and films with happy endings. That year the OG Love Sick in Thailand came out. Brazil puts out The Way He Looks, which deserves so much more credit than it receives for influencing the aeshtetics of the genre. Looking premieres on HBO, and although it had low ratings, it's an important touchstone. And, despite Nickelodeon’s censorship and shifting the program from tv to its website, the Legend of Korra confirms Korrasami in its season finale.

The next year, in 2015, we get Love Sick season 2, and China, pre-censorship laws has a few options: Happy Together (not the Wong Kar Wai one lol), Mr. X and I, and Falling In Love with a Rival. Canada, premieres Schitt's Creek. In the US, Steven Universe reveals Garnet as a romantic fusion between two female characters, and will proceed to just be so sapphic. Norwegian web series Skam premieres and sets up a gay protagonist for its third season, which will drop in 2016 and entirely change the global media landscape.

Then, 2016! This is the MOMENT. That aforementioned Skam season happens. Japan puts out the film version of Ossan's Love and anime series Yuri!!! on Ice. China has the impactful Addicted Heroine, which directly leads to increased censorship. The US has Moonlight come out and take home the Oscar. In Thailand, GMMTV enters the BL game and Thai BL explodes: Puppy Honey, SOTUS, Water Boyy, Make It Right, plus, the Thai Gay OK Bangkok, which, like its influence, Looking, is more in the queer tradition but introduces two dramatically important directors to the Thai BL industry, Aof and Jojo.

By 2017, Taiwan enters the game with its History series. Korea’s BL industry actually kicks off with Method and Long Time No See. Thailand’s got too many BLs to mention. Call Me By Your Name, though not a happy ending, makes a big splash that will send ripples through the whole genre, and God's Own Country offers a gruff counter-argument to problematic age differences and twink obsessions. This is also the year of Netflix reboot of One Day At a Time bringing some wlw to the screen, and the Disney Channel has a main character come out as ‘gay’ on Andi Mack ( I’m am ready to throw fists with anyone who thinks the Disney Channel aesthetic isn’t a part of current queer culture). And I'd be remiss not to mention the influential cult-following of chaotic web-series The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo: "Sometimes things that are expensive...are worse."

All this happened, and we hadn’t even gotten to Love, Simon, Elite, or ITSAY, yet.

Prior to all this there are some major precursors some of which signaled and primed a receptive market, others influenced the people who'd go on to create the QLs. Japan has a sputtering start in the 2010s with a few BL films (Takumi-Kun, Boys Love, and Jujoun Pure Heart). Most significantly in the American context, you have Glee, and its ending really makes way for the new era that can center gay young people in a world where queerness, due to easy access to digital information, is less novel to the characters. And the QL book and graphic novel landscape was way ahead of the television and film industries, directly creating many of the stories that the latter industries used.

There's plenty of the traditional queer media content (tragic melodramas and independent camp comedies) going on prior to and alongside QL, and there are some outlying queer romance films with happy endings that precede the era but feel very much akin to QL genre tropes and goals, many with a focus on postcolonial and multicultural perspectives (Saving Face, The Wedding Banquet, Big Eden, Maurice, My Beautiful Launderette, and Weekend). I don't mean to suggest that everything I’ve listed ought to be categorized as QL.

Rather, I want to point out how all of these new-era queer romance works are in a big queer global conversation together, in the creation of a new contemporary genre, a genre that has more capacity and thematic interest to include digital technology and normalize cross-cultural relationships than other genres (there's a reason fansubs and web platforms are so easily accepted and integrated to the proliferation of these series).

You're not too late to be part of the conversation. Imagine being alive in the 1960s and 70s and participating in the blossoming of the sci-fi genre. That flowering is where gay romance sits now. Join the party.

[lesbiangiratina]

Hi do you like images. I love images. Heres a little over 100 guilty gear trading cards from the early 2000s. Every character up to xx is accounted for… some more than others. For now. But the average is probably 4 or 5 cards per character. Nearly all of the art is original. Okay have fun :)

[shoku-and-awe]

A very nice treat for cold weather: black kinako "latte"! Kinako is roasted soybean powder, black refers to the type of soybean, and latte just means you mix it with milk; there's no coffee involved.

For once, I actually made this according to the package instructions—with my usual sweet drink of choice, Milo, you need about 2~3 times what the package says—and it turned out perfectly lovely with just a small amount of powder. I think any milk would be fine, but I used soymilk.

Also, I have said before that kinako tastes a bit like peanut butter, but now I think I want to amend that statement: Peanut butter is to kinako as coffee is to black tea. Yeah. I'm going to test that hypothesis for a while and see how it goes.

[eananoor]

The story tells of the destruction of a pure soul in a faithless world.

The Idiot (1951), dir. Akiro Kurasawa referring to his film adaptation of "The Idiot" by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

[athenaismdb]

[roscoehamiltons]

once again a portrait of me after watching f1

[liverpool-enjoyer]

i wanna show gavi my pokemon card collection so bad. i feel like he would pretend to be interested even if he is,,, not interested at all.

[60inchyugiohheadcanons]

On Jōnouchi's ADHD (1.39k words)

This headcanon is probably the longest on this blog; it's some compiled thoughts on how growing up with (undiagnosed) ADHD has affected Jōnouchi. It's halfway between headcanon and fanfiction piece, and was requested by @bloodyscott, whom I kept waiting for too long for a response. I apologise sincerely for the delay.

This headcanon begins below the cut, as it's obscenely long. You may find it more comfortable to read this from the blog page, or on Archive of Our Own (NOTE: tumblr is acting strange. To access the page, copy the link and manually remove the href.li portion and the second https), rather than on your dashboard/search, in terms of formatting and such.

From infancy, Jōnouchi wailed his way out of his crib, out of his room, out of his house—as a baby, he thrashed towards whatever freedom he could find. He loathed the four walls of the crib; he'd scarce room to move. A skin infection brought him, aged 4, to hospital, and the very sight of overrun grey plastic seats and skinny cubicles exhausted him more than his illness had ever threatened to.

In primary school, others’ desks would blend together in a whir. Here he was, stuck, dizzyingly sedentary—the longer he sat, the foggier the world seemed to grow. When he kicked and whined at other children throughout electric lunch breaks, and they shrank from his vitality, he learned to eat alone. As his peers trudged from class in packs, watching the pavement, he sat, sullen, as his father drove him home. Somehow, Katsuhiro had never trusted him not to lose himself in chasing his surrounds. The fabric of the car seat would bite into his shorts, and he’d squirm for the window, squealing towards the noise outside: Birds that cawed; scraps of paper that fluttered and choked on smog. That was a fragile era, when his mother still waited, with dry hands and chipped nails, at home. When his father already stank of beer, but still spoke loudly, deeply, boisterously. Again and again, Jōnouchi’s mother would sit her son down, and write his name, stroke by agonising stroke. She’d recite each mora in time with each character. Yet sound would cluster through his head, and his own name would dissolve amid his mother’s instructions, amid the blaze of sunlight trapped on the windowsill behind her. He would write, and the strokes would come out rushed, mis-ordered, lopsided. 

Iro wa nioedo 

chirinuru wo.

At 10, his father grew quiet, and his mother yet quieter. Silence took up like a plague in Jōnouchi’s head, and swarmed in shapeless formation throughout parched mathematics lessons. Times tables hurled themselves headlong into a skull full of fog, and burst on contact. Are you listening? a teacher asked. How could he listen with a head full of noise, of unspoken words billowing back and forth? He gripped his seat, and glared back. Why should I care, anyway?

When his mother left, his father stopped caring to chaperone him. It had taken Jōnouchi a decade to earn the right to shed his infancy. He resented that it had been this long, so tried to join the huddle of middle schoolers. He told odd stories, and took off, queasy, in front of them. They withdrew their smiles when he approached on the second day. He growled his plaint, and resentment drove him to take the opposite route. He explored back alleys, wallflower convenience stores and dilapidated cinemas; the faster he walked, the more clearly he could see each brick, and the brighter each fleck in the pavement glinted. At speed, he delayed the journey home, and set his eyes on a gorgeous early winter sunset. The colours bellowed, too bold for winter, ungainly and vain. They were glorious.

Jōnouchi came home late. His father glared; fog crashed back down on his shoulders. 

Wa ga yo tare zo 

tsune naran?

A week before she cleared out too few of Katsuhiro’s belongings and packed too few suitcases, Jōnouchi’s mother drove both children two miles to the optometrist. My son, she explained, reads slowly, yet resents reading; it seems he can’t see very well. My daughter’s sight seems clearer, yet she complains of pain. The optometrist forced Jōnouchi to read down a chart of letters; he fidgeted, and, consumed in memories of a lonely lunch break the day prior, passed with flying colours. When the optometrist flashed a light to photograph his eyes, whatever hideous miracle that was, Jōnouchi screamed.

Katsuya Jōnouchi, the optometrist surmised, had perfect acuity of sight. He sought attention, stimulation. Meanwhile, Shizuka Jōnouchi, who had sat entirely still throughout her examination, had more ragged, derelict peripheral vision than her family had anticipated. Untreated, both your children will get much worse.

And in the months after Shizuka Jōnouchi became Shizuka Kawai and Mrs. Jōnouchi became That Bitch Who Never Cared, Katsuya Jōnouchi became horribly aware of how little time he had to be lethargic. He had to survive this schism; yet as he was, he barely felt capable of thinking. He walked, fidgeted, paced to prove to himself that he was a moving, breathing organism. Yet his father’s frustration would brook no exuberance. Long before Katsuhiro fully committed to flinging glass and spurning his son’s misery, Jōnouchi began learning to move silently, slowly, around his father. He memorised which mats snapped and snagged, which bits of fabric hissed when stepped on. He noted which windows opened most quietly. And yet he never managed a perfect, quiet exit. He couldn’t help but be conspicuous; he could only hope to get out too quickly for his father to react. And, to lift the torpor that followed escape, he would run to school, and, after, run back. Never did the sun shine brighter than when he was moving.

Uwi no okuyama

kyou koete.

When he met Hirutani, did he become more violent? No; every punch he threw during his delinquency had waited, kinetic and desperate, for days, months, years. In classrooms, his sole responses to being ordered around had been sullen deference, with sullenness being his sole demonstration of rebellion. Now, threatened with the obsolescence of his ego, of his perceived freedom, he chained himself to violence, over and over. The first time he punched a man in the gut, he found himself shaking. And rather than sink into sallow, domestic remorse, he slathered himself in white rage. And he went back and he went back and he went back, helpless to his own instincts, trying to dredge the noise in his skull out through his fists. No matter how many punches he threw, and no matter how many he received, he could not stop his head from blazing anew the moment he walked away.

Did Duel Monsters afford him any peace? He would be no man’s losing dog; nor would he be confined to dull celebrity. To play as a strategist consigned him to sitting still, committing himself to gambits he could never entirely trust, to moves that demanded a clear head. To play too whimsically would doom him to inferiority. Thus, he gave half his heart to diligence, and half to sheer fortune. Nobody could idolise his kind of folly, nor devalue his kind of skill. This was Jōnouchi’s will—to eschew having to wait in the mire of expectation; to escape the fog of obligation to anyone’s morals but his own. Honour suited him, so long as it was on his meticulous terms. In games of Duel Monsters, he became a knight-errant of sorts: predictably unpredictable, unexpectedly canny, blindly faithful. With this relationship to his own fate laid out so, he could finally draw cards without fearing those next to come. And thus, hyperkinetic, he found a peace in the game. So he played and played until he forgot how long he’d been playing, and Duel Monsters became as second nature.

Asaki yume miji

ei mo suzu.

Two weeks before Jōnouchi’s graduation, Shizuka invited him to her place to dine. Their father was not to join them. Jōnouchi protested, and his desperation died in a pinprick throat. Wisteria spilled itself over the footpath. Each step threatened to plunge, vertiginous, to the ground. 

When Jōnouchi saw his mother, his throat turned to sandpaper. She looked so old.

You cried so much as a baby, she told him. Kicked and screamed to see the world. You weren’t comfortable waiting in your crib—I’d end up coming to you at 4AM, walking you around the perimeter of the house till my heels burned. And you seemed so afraid of all the noises of the night—groaning engines, singing birds. Now, look at you—you’ve grown up so terribly fast.

Could he afford to tell her how even now, he bit down the urge to kick and scream, to launch himself, all fists and sparks, onto his tormentors? No; so, all night, he gripped his glass as tight as he could. The cold lingered and itched on his palms for days. Holding onto things, it seemed, was not so difficult as he’d once believed.

[rilakkumax]

I wonder which country will be next・・・

Bon voyage！！

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Explore More Items

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https://buyee.jp/mercari/search?seller=385888257

[chanzilla123]

Ahhhhh, my CDs finally came home!

[variantia]

‘ Hello ! My name is FRISK. What’s yours ? ’

… Oh, they’re using JSL ! Their small hands are moving pretty rapidly, along with mouthing. Hopefully the other person understands them. If not … well, maybe their voice will cooperate today !

[haru-chi]

I finally got to buy and read the new chapter so

Some thoughts (spoilers) ahead:

I really loved Morio's story and the significant it holds on many front that worth digging deeper into more :)

Can we get more Seiji and Madara interaction please ?? IT'S GOLD !!!

Seiji : haha Mr. Cat you were like a hero just now.

Madara : On the other hand, you're not acting like yourself trying to save a stranger.

Or

Madara : if you're not after the treasure then why are you wandering around like an idiot.

Seiji : how rude, despite what it looks like I'm still doing my job as Kuro Misa.

hmmm Seiji made it sound like he's searching for this dangerous tool so NOT to fall into the hand of the wrong people than to use it for himself ?? "Once you watched a lot of things unfold before your eyes you realize how troublesome the magic tools can be"

So Shinobu collecting magic tools for their sentimental value or what's inside them to watch those feelings crush before her eyes ?? Or am I understanding this wrongly ?? ..... Shinobu dear if that's true then that's pretty twisted that I don't know how to describe it :)

Shinobu doesn't want Clara to learn about what she did here .. Clara is a big fan of Kuro Misa ... hmmmm .. something is fishy here BUT THEN WE DIDN'T GET ANYTHINH NEW ABOUT CLARA ... STILL A BIG MYSTERY !!

waaait !!! Is the magic tool Seiji searching for the creepy 6 eyed mask that appeared in Natori's cousin arc ??? THE PLOT HAS THICKEN!!! Oooh ooooooooh !!!!! (Need to process this cuz alot of ideas is popping into my head right now like no other)

So, Seiji confirmed that even if someone join the Matoba clan and they aren't related by blood they would still suffer from the Matoba curse unlike what we saw in Morio case ...

So is Matoba clan the only exception to the rule ? Or is this depending on the yokai itself ? Hmmmm interesting info this bit ...

Tanuma's smile and happiness that he talked to a Yokai and speaking to Natsume about it full of joy is bringing tears into my eyes ... how can you tell him afterward that this yokai was evil in the end T^T

While I thought that Seiji protect the picture for his sister's sake it turned out he did it because his father adores this picture !!! Seiji really love his father and I'm feeling things right now T^T

Seiji stop with those hits that I never saw coming .. I just can't you idiot and my head is having ideas that ... aaaa

And wait ... that also kinda prove that his father loved his sister too .... oh ... ummmm ... wait .... >> lost in thoughts and pain ><

WAS THAT PICTURE REIKO ???? AND SHE WAS HAVING A GENTLE SMILE ON HER FACE !!!

WAAAAAIT !!!

How am I supposed to process this info ??? What does it mean ?? How did it come here ?? Is it one of Morio belonging ?? Or is it a picture by a famous artist ?? is Natsume's grandpa an artist ?? Since this an auction related to exorcist does that further proof that Reiko or Natsume's grandpa related to this world ?? WAIT I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS THAT NEED ANSWERING TO BE MIDORIKAWA-SENSEI !!!!! DON'T END THIS ARC LIKE THAT PLEASE !!!!

I read this chapter while I'm not in my best of condition so I might understand some things wrongly since I wasn't too focused while reading (must reread it) but what a read full of emotions and info to process .... what is Midorikawa-sensei cooking exactly ?? the plot has thicken indeed.

[inferior-fairy]

I don't know if I've ever cried at a movie as much as I have Everest (2015), the movie about the '96 disaster that claimed the lives of 8 mountaineers

[mars-ipan]

worst part of echolalia is the urge to mimic accents. i am gonna get my ass beat one day

[dayasan]

By complete coincidence the new bookstore in my town had THIS