Kingdom Hearts is mostly known for two key reasons: the increasingly convoluted mess of a timeline, and the LGBTQ-skewing elements of the characters and their relationships. Kingdom Hearts is really gay, and the fans definitely seem to know it.
Accepting that you’re not what’s considered “normal” by society is never easy. For me, it was accepting myself as a man romantically attracted to other men. Surrounded by a culture hostile to anybody that didn’t fit the cishet norm, I discovered myself through something very unlikely: otoge, or otome games.
When I was six years old, my mother had a heart attack, thrusting me onto a new path in my life that I didn’t understand the importance of until I was older. In fact, it never really bothered me to care for my mother. It was just a thing that was understood. I didn’t know any different.
Ladykiller in a Bind struck me on a very personal level. I’m a trans woman who is butch enough and scared enough that, while I am out in every other part of my life, I am not out at my workplace. Even coming out to my friends took incredible effort.
While I may reject the concept of wedding dresses both as a feminist and an individual, as a transgender woman I feel differently. Within the form of that gown I see the ideal womanhood of my sister, my mother, and my grandmother that I’ve been denied since my birth. It’s a womanhood I desperately wish to be a part of.
It was me, my mom, and my sister growing up. Like Velvet in Tales of Berseria, I was the middle point of the trio. Unlike Velvet’s family, it wasn’t the youngest I was worried about. It was the oldest—my mom.
Underneath Chise’s still demeanor and all her magic capabilities is a 15-year-old girl with barely enough energy to keep her head above the water. The Ancient Magus’ Bride dresses its narrative with sparkly romance, but Chise’s journey is far more personal. I know it, because it’s my journey too.
Due to the cultural dangers around me, along with my own family’s reservations (my wonderful mother excluded), Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask was a novel that, to me, reflected the violence and anxiety that society perpetrates against LGBTQ people.
It is so rare to find fiction that speaks to your Otherness and to truly connect with it. As a trans woman, I more often than not feel disappointed after opening my soul up to allow for validation and comfort. So perhaps you can imagine the tenderness with which I turned the pages as I read Nagata Kabi’s My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness.
I started watching anime because of cool action scenes and interesting characters, but connected to it for many other reasons. As someone with Selective Mutism, one reason that’s particularly meaningful to me is my personal connection to dandere and kuudere characters: quiet girls who speak very softly, if at all.
LUPIN THE 3rd PART 5 wants to explore Lupin as a folk hero of sorts. Unfortunately, it has very specific ideas about the audience to whom Lupin is a hero, and it doesn’t seem to include queer people.
“Once upon a time…” Those first words of the opening monologue of Revolutionary Girl Utena captivated me. And every time it repeated itself, I learned more about how stories have power.
How do you react when you find out one of the main creative forces behind something you love is, to not mince words, a completely shit person?
Throughout my ever-growing love for all things manga and anime, there have been a lot of pretty good and some downright horrible portrayals of Latinx people.
Last year, Yuri!!! On ICE took the anime community by storm. Whether it was from the passionate portrayal of figure skating, the queer romance, or the sincere way it cared for its characters, it resonated with many. I’m no exception.
I love many things about being a geek: reading or watching different media, researching their histories, and talking to others about it. These activities are viewed as essential to being a geek. But replace the word ‘“geek” with the word “autistic,” and suddenly all the traits that were so readily accepted get read as strange and negative.
As a Southeast Asian, there are days when I wonder if my feelings are real and worth caring about. Where I live, videos blare about what it means to have a family and to be proper husbands and wives. Heterosexual families are the default unit in Asian societies, and going against them is considered not just sexually deviant, but morally wrong.
For a movie to appeal to me as a woman, female characters had to be more than just caricatures and stereotypes. They had to make mistakes and learn from them; they had to have bad hair days. I think that’s why I fell deeply in love with Princess Mononoke when I first saw Lady Eboshi.
