“We don't support Trump; you're punishing us as well with your boycott!”

This is a common complaint I hear when Americans talk about “Elbows Up!”. It is even true. And it is also regrettable.

Unfortunately, we lack both the ability and incentive to check each and every purchase of an American product to see if the money goes back all the way to only “nice people.” Further, even if it did, those nice people are living in the USA and will be spending the money we give them in the USA. (And this is all beside the point: someone who is genuinely an ally of Canada in this war wouldn't be demanding that Canadians spend their money on them. They'd be fighting their government's policies and trying to effect change. Real allies would be helping us, not complaining about how mean we are.)

Canada is in a state of war with the USA right now. It's a trade war, yes, but war is war. There is an enemy, and, unfortunately, that enemy, for Canadians, is the USA. The enemy is the US government and the policy it’s waging against us. If you support that policy, you’re part of it. If you don’t, your fight is with your government, not with us. It's nothing personal. We just don't feel like sending our money Down South to enrich and bolster the economy of the country that is attacking us.

That you “nice guys” are getting hit by it is... well... warfare.

Let me illustrate this from history. The city of Dresden was filled with refugees and prisoners, mostly, and I can assure you that a large percentage of those (perhaps even the majority!) did not support the ruling party. Yet the Allies still firebombed Dresden as part of their campaign to obliterate the industrial base of the Third Reich.

Wait, I'm talking to Americans. Let me explain.

Dresden is a city in Germany.

Wait, I think that needs clarification too. Germany is a country in Europe. (That's correct: Europe is not a country. Shocking, I know.)

Anyway, Germany did bad things in the 1930s that led to this thing called World War II. (That's a 2 in Roman digits, not “aye aye”.) The Allies were some countries that fought the Nazis.

Wait, the Nazis were the ruling party of Germany in the era we're talking about and were headed by a man named Hitler. (What's that? You knew who the Nazis are? And Hitler? And Trump was voted into power? TWICE!?)

Anyway, Dresden was a city that the Allies turned into a massive firestorm in a literal scorched-earth campaign, killing about 25,000 people, most of whom were probably not supporters of the government.

This is called a parallel. See, in a state of war, sometimes innocent people are the victims. Just like your war with us.

Aren't you glad it's just a few dollars gone from your incomes instead of, you know, Dresden?

Just to be clear, I’m not saying a boycott is a firebomb. I’m saying the opposite. The US has a history of accepting mass civilian death as collateral in its wars. Canadians choosing not to spend their own money in the US is not remotely comparable. You can argue people are entitled to their lives. Nobody is entitled to our money. If you didn’t vote for Trump, take it up with your government.

Keep your elbows up, Canada!

“But she had not the slightest doubt it was him: the dented, shaven skull, the prominent nose, the eyes with the spider’s web of blood vessels and the alcoholic’s washed-out, pale-blue irises. The determined chin with the surprisingly gentle, almost beautiful mouth.”

Nesbø, Jo. “Harry Hole 10 – Police.”

Graphics cards come and go, but text endures. And adventure is forever.

Creating Interactive Fiction with Inform 7 by Aaron A. Reed

#quote

What is the percentage of English people who don't own a flowery teapot of some kind?

Here is a list of things. Lost cats, found Lost pets, unfound A secret lost pet city on the moon Trees that see Restaurants that hear A void that thinks A face, half-seen, just before falling asleep Trembling hands reaching for desparately needed idols. Sandwiches Silence when there should be noise Noise when there should be silence Nothing when you want something Something when you thought there was nothing Clear plastic binder sheets Scented dryer sheets. Rain coming down in sheets. Night. Rest. Sleep. End.

#quotes

There's a sudden urge to make one. The communal kitchen is just down the hall. Just like Mum used to make it, “ ... Melty ... bit chewy in the middle ... three eggs ... “

Improvise. In your store, there's local cheese and a heavy pastry mix. Might work.

Not bad. It didn't rise quite right, in the too small oven. It's stretchy, gooey. And, there's no-one here to share it with. That's wrong. Close your eyes, though, and your fingers can still find their way into the warm cheese. They locate and extract imaginary tinfoil, just one piece. Gently, carefully unfolding nothing, you can almost see Mum's handwriting on the backs of your eyelids, “ ... smart and clever ... always thinking of others ... ” Her pie always hid motivation, message, occasionally rebuke. She'll make you another, one day.

#games #quote

dang I love investigating the grammar of sign languages

her: Can I do like, the same process as with the transitive verbs, but with “ich”? Like, instead of “give you tea”, to say I (points to her own chest) give you (moves the hand, still pointing to herself, towards me) “ich”? “Ich bin dein” (signs the word “Frau”, mouthing:) “Mädchen”?

me: I mean communication in DGS is pretty flexible and I'm sure the meaning would carry… But I don't know, it sounds a bit off to me, grammatically. Like, you could always phrase it explicitly like, (points to self) “ich” (opens palm, turns towards her and moves in her direction) “deine”. But it does sound a bit distancing because the word for “yours” looks a bit like you're pushing them away…?

her: Yeah I dunno…

me: But that's the word for “yours”. What about this: To make it more romantic you could do it like, (points to self) (open palm moves towards her) (but I keep going until actually touching her chest, smiling, looking into her eyes..)

her: (Points to self) (opens palm, moving towards me: “yours”) (lays her hand on my chest) (keeps inclining towards me) (sits on my lap as we kiss desperately)

Or, on sci-fi as a cousin genre to detective fiction and essay, & fantasy as a cousin to horror and poetry

George Lucas has once claimed that Star Wars is not sci-fi at all, but fantasy. Like him, I dislike expressions like “space opera”; the fact that Star Wars is set in space is incidental, it’s simply fantasy, as much as Gideon the Ninth and other fantasy works set in space. Likewise, J.K. Rowling has denied that Harry Potter is fantasy. As a lifelong fantasy fan and also someone with an aversion to Harry Potter since long before the author came out as a TERF, I agree with her wholeheartedly.

I see sci-fi and fantasy as flavour profiles, as types of cuisine; as types of storytelling that emerged in their respective settings. The fact that I’m much more interested in (lesbian) fantasy than (lesbian) sci-fi has nothing to do with preferring elves to aliens (the only setting preference I apply consistently are the lesbians). It's perfectly possible to write sci-fi about knights and fantasy about laser guns, or about any other setting.

Sci-fi and detective: The joy of learning

Science fiction is about making sense of the world through human reason, investigation, and grit. It's about putting things together; about classifying and analysing and summarising. The prototypical sci-fi hero deals with the conflict by their inventiveness.

That's why sci-fi reads like detective novels—or like essays. The main distinction between the two genres is that in detective fiction the hero is applying human ingenuity to unravel one evil thing (a criminal, or a criminal act)—an antagonist, standing in opposition to the investigator, baffling them; puzzling them. Whereas in sci-fi the hero tries to make sense of the world, generally. Like a, uh, like a scientist.

To continue on how Star Wars is fantasy not sci-fi, consider Star Trek. The series as well as their sequels and expansions are very much textbook sci-fi, but not for the reasons that people often give: not for the space exploration, or the physics, which is pretty much set dressing, mumbo-jumbo technobabble. The “sci” it is a “fi” of is sociology. Star Trek presents you with a number of different social structures—American entrepreneurial sex-tourist adventurers; imaginary Soviet Communists; abstract barbaric Roman empires; autistic people; a distillation of the imagination of Gengis Khan; this and that philosophical experiments, e.g. pure hedonists, pure utilitarianists, literal Dr. Moriarty etc.; then it locks them all together in a laboratory environment (a spaceship, or a planet), in order to run an experiment: Can we all get along? Why or why not? And then it investigates that question, with the same thoroughness of Agatha Christie investigating a crime scene.

A good example of this at a more narrative level, and one of my favourite sci-fi novels, is Embassytown by China Miéville. The narrator constantly throws at you stuff like “Susan was a simile” or “The new Ambassador stepped forward: one of the two men was tall, the other stocky”. You read that you're like, huh, what the hell. What does that mean?? Then you it keep reading and it all makes sense. The pieces fall into reasonability like inflections in a morphological table when you see the pattern. (It should be obvious why I like Embassytown; if Star Trek is sci-fi of sociology, Embassytown is sci-fi of linguistics; it asks the question, “what if language was actually a tool for communication, like laypeople think it is, what would that look like?” and then investigates that question.)

Fantasy and horror: The thrill of breaching the veil

Fantasy, by contrast is about what lies beyond the realms of human apprehension. While the sci-fi protagonist faces the conflict through reason and inventiveness, the fantasy hero stands before the numinous Itself, and one can only face that by letting go of all attempt at understanding; through body and Providence, through animal and angel, muscle and mystery intuition; through surrender. Frodo at Mt. Doom. Dænerys stepping into the fire. Sword & Sworcery’s hero, the Scythian: Believe.

This is why fantasy is so close to horror, and why both blend and bleed over so frequently. The main distinction between them is that fantasy focuses on the “awe” of the uncognoscible, while horror focuses on the “fear” of It. As the word “awful” reminds us, the two are so closely connected that sometimes they are indistinguishable. Maybe the most quintessential horror story of the most quintessential horror writer is Lovecraft's The Shadow Over Innsmouth, yet the closing lines read more like fantasy than horror:

…The tense extremes of horror are lessening, and I feel queerly drawn toward the unknown sea-deeps instead of fearing them. I hear and do strange things in sleep, and awake with a kind of exaltation instead of terror. I do not believe I need to wait for the full change as most have waited. If I did, my father would probably shut me up in a sanitarium as my poor little cousin is shut up. Stupendous and unheard-of splendours await me below, and I shall seek them soon. Iä-R’lyeh! Cthulhu fhtagn! Iä! Iä! No, I shall not shoot myself—I cannot be made to shoot myself! I shall plan my cousin’s escape from that Canton madhouse, and together we shall go to marvel-shadowed Innsmouth. We shall swim out to that brooding reef in the sea and dive down through black abysses to Cyclopean and many-columned Y’ha-nthlei, and in that lair of the Deep Ones we shall dwell amidst wonder and glory for ever.

The moment you try to explain this you explain it away, it vanishes, like faerie-gold in the morning light. That’s what Harry Potter does, in debasing magic into mundanity; the magic of HP is a thing of newspapers and sports and commercialised doodads; it’s distinctly not magical. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic” is a saying that could only ever be born in the mind of a sci-fi writer; Harry Potter magic doesn’t feel magical precisely because it’s been reduced to nothing but sufficiently advanced technology.

Fantasy is averse to rules, tables, systems of all kinds. If you do X-men–like catalogues of supernatural powers they lose the narrative impact (like e.g. the duel between Gandalf and Saruman in the movie adaptation vs. the original book). What is the list of powers of the One Ring? we don't know. That's the point. It makes people invisible, yes, but as a side-effect; their very bodies are drawn into the numinous, beyond the veil alongside wraiths and horrors. The Ring irresistibly seduces people into being rulers, but how exactly? Do others follow the Wielder of the Ring as if brainwashed, or are they subtly manipulated, or do they bend their knee out of their own accord because you're so powerful that legions are attracted to that? Powerful how? To try to put it in words is to miss the point. What kinds of “spells” exactly can Gandalf do? Wrong question to ask of a miracle.

Fantasy as a cousin to song

In Unweaving the Rainbow, materialist polemicist Richard Dawkins tries to cope with the fact that his favourite poets, Blake and Yeats, are hostile to Dawkins' sensibilities:

Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings. Conquer all mysteries by rule and line. Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine— Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade.

After a long exposition on all the hidden beauties of rainbows as revealed by the analytical efforts of science, Dawkins proposes his main thesis:

Mysteries do not lose their poetry when solved. Quite the contrary; the solution often turns out more beautiful than the puzzle and, in any case, when you have solved one mystery you uncover others, perhaps to inspire greater poetry. […] I shall here limit myself to the untestable speculation that Keats, like Yeats, might have been an even better poet if he had gone to science for some of his inspiration.

Yet his side of things has proven remarkably unable to develop poetry, the true poetry burning in the hearts of things. He has to resort to mystics. Trying to reclaim the fire of a Blake (a poet who, like me, saw the angels up in the trees as a child), he eventually has to kinda give up:

It is not, of course, that science should be declaimed in verse […] Simple, sober clarity will do nicely, letting the facts and the ideas speak for themselves. The poetry is in the science.

…Which reminds me of the kind of person who says that writing aesthetically functional computer code is a type of poetry. The great mystical poets would surely be even better if they were more like me, Richard Dawkins.

Because fantasy lies not in the showing or the learning but in the body-feel, in the evoking, it is naturally close to poetry, to song; even for literature standards, the choice of words matter especially strongly in the case of fantasy—not just for clarity of storytelling but for texture, for musicality.

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colours again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

(George R. R. Martin, in: The Faces of Fantasy, 1996.)

It’s not just that brown and olive aren’t enough, but it’s that it’s not even enough to say it’s blue, yellow and red; it has to be vermilion, gold, indigo. Fantasy writing is the same type of activity as writing poetry, only it’s done in the looser form it takes in the stories told by children, by forgotten folktales, by lunatics and hallucinating mystics; it is a thing of hair-rising unexplainable shadows, of intoxicated dances in the moonlight. So is horror. That’s why for both Tolkien and Lovecraft, the choice of vocabulary is so consequential; the same story told with different words, e.g. a Tolkien with more Latinate and non-Germano-Celtic words, with “potatoes” and “tobacco” for “taters” and “pipeweed”, would plainly not work.

शक्यतांचे दान नको रे स्थिर नात्याचा शाप दे ह्या अनोळखी गर्दी मध्ये एक तरी नवा मित्र दे

काय करु शान पसारा बस थोडासाच मान दे फार जागले दिन आता ह्या दीनास शांत रात्र दे

नको कैक पाहुणे दारी अंतरीचा सहचारी दे श्वेत रात्रींचा विलास ना आर्त स्वप्ना प्रतिसाद दे

शे शृंगारिक शब्दांपेक्षा साधे भिडणारे वाक्य दे अनेकाविध छंद नको मज एक उत्कट वेड दे अशे कोट आस ना मज बस शोधण्याचा ध्यास दे

हा पांगळा विश्वास नको द्यायचा तर नकार दे परखड आणि स्पष्ट दे

I think the sapphics I know can be classified more or less cleanly into those who are attracted to women's bodies, and those who are attracted to women more generally.

The one type feels lust for the female form, in the sense that the secondary sexual characteristics typical of estrogen (curves, thighs, soft skin, breasts, girlsmell etc.) will trigger something in their own body that causes attraction and longing. By contrast, the other type isn't really attracted to bodies at all, but rather to, like, entire human beings with regards to conversation, shared interests, sexual compatibility, trust in bed, mutual kinks etc. They just happen to prefer the company of women for doing those things.

This is different from being ace (in the sense of experiencing no or reduced sexual attraction) because women of the second type can very much define their attraction to other women as sexual in nature. Some I know identify as hypersexual, even. It's just that what they crave in sex isn't the materiality or shape of your body but like, what you can do with them. Maybe there’s already an ace-spec label for this somewhere, I don't know if people have a name for it.

Say, imagine I'm on a tram sitting next to a lover, and some thicc lady waltz by in a minidress exhibiting long, squishy, gloriously bare round thighs. I can immediately think of which of my partners would be drooling alongside with me, and which would be indifferent to the sights—why would anyone be affected in any way by the body of some random stranger who they know nothing about and might not be their type of person at all?, and so on.

Lesbians of the “drooly” variety often have had to struggle with a guilt and doubt stage, like, do I really like boobs or am I just being brainwashed by the overload of male-gazey imagery of a patriarchal society, am I objectifying women and being as bad as men, etc. This reluctance is usually cured when you figure out that a lot of other girls are desperately yearning for some feminine eyes to please ogle their breasts, and for certain other fem-on-fem interactions involving their breasts.

Within the second type of woman, many (but not all!) have described themselves to me as being “functionally lesbians” – like, since she doesn’t care for the body of her partner either way, she would potentially be open to dating men, too. If she ever finds a chill, kind, emotionally mature man who neither pedestalises her nor treats her as therapy-maid etc. Ooor she can just go and date women. So, in practice, lesbian. (Protip: if you want to explore bisexuality but struggle to find men who are cool, there's a lot of them from this country → 🏳️‍⚧️ )

Speaking as a serial top, many bottoms enjoy being aware of my attraction to their bodies but aren't particularly attracted to my body, or to women's bodies generally, at all. Their thing is to lie temptingly and be taken, or to follow orders, or to fail to follow orders and get punished, or whatever it is that does it for that particular woman. This isn't a bad thing for me, it makes me feel like I'm reliving a traditional butch/femme dynamic (with the classic butch top preferring not being touched) and even though I'm not like, a butch, I get good feelings when exploring that dynamic. I'm a sucker for tradition after all x3

And like, it's not that the “conceptual” type of lesbian doesn't make me feel desired too. It's just that they desire other stuff than my body: my company, my conversation, my devotion, my skills in bed, my overly syrupy affectiveness and/or sadism, and so on. But it's still special for me when my physical, carnal, sweaty type of lust can be reciprocated, too; when I put on a slutty dress and can feel her flush and getting distracted from conversation in public, or when greedy soft hands grab my thighs on the way home, or when I'm doing her from behind, and I draw closer and press my breasts against her back and it provokes that little shudder in her hips, that sharp intake of air… Yes I am yearning for her and for her again, yes I'm like that every day, why do you ask…?

Its always emotional to leave, be it township or any other ship But this time it felt particularly difficult to do so Plan of Saturday morning postponed to Sunday morning and eventually to evening And even though brain understands the importance of moving out but sometimes it refuses to comply

Dear Mind, Why do you want to stay When this town has told to move away It did wish us all the best Yet you want to be at rest It does say that we are great But within the boundaries, shall not wait It hopes the city is waiting to embrace With the glamour and grandeur Not caring if you want to choose that blunder It fears being unable to provide for work But 'The Good Place' shouldn't give a fork The city will never feel like home It only provides transactions and dome The town has chosen to act as deaf and mute So do not fight and don't be brute Do not expect a call of return We must have hurt it, to be so stubborn Get ready for the long long journey After the rains, let's hope for the greenary

han taesan x myung jaehyun cw : gay (boys love boys), male pregnant, morning sickness, out of character, etc.

---

Dulu, saat masih duduk di bangku sekolah, Jaehyun kira kata-kata seperti i love you, aku cinta kamu, aku sayang banget sama kamu, adalah bentuk cinta yang paling manis. Dulu, Jaehyun kira kebahagiaan saat ditanya sudah makan belum? Mau pulang bareng? Atau jangan kehujanan ya nanti sakit adalah perhatian yang paling indah. Jaehyun kira saling bertukar kabar dan telfonan dari pagi hingga petang adalah bentuk romantis yang paling menggelitik. Tapi ternyata, saat dewasa Jaehyun sadari bahwa bentuk cinta itu beragam.

Hoekkk

Pagi ini, Jaehyun yang perutnya sudah membesar tidak sengaja muntah diatas kasurnya saat sedang tidur. Memang sejak beberapa jam lalu, tidurnya tidak nyaman dan perasaan tidak enak mulai mengganggu. Jaehyun paksakan tidurnya lebih lama karena ia membutuhkannya, tapi, satu jam kemudian dia malah memuntahkan isi perutnya diatas kasur. Dengan buru-buru, ia berlari menuju kamar mandi dan kembali memuntahkan isi perutnya.

Hoekk

Perutnya tidak enak, rasanya mual sekali, keringat dingin juga mulai membanjiri. Kepalanya berputar tiap kali ia mencoba menatap cermin guna mengecek kondisinya sendiri. Jaehyun terbatuk beberapa kali sebelum kembali memuntahkan cairan dari perutnya.

Jaehyun menangis. Rasanya capek sekali merasakan morning sickness seperti ini. Tak lama, Jaehyun rasakan usapan pelan pada punggung dan tengkuknya dan suara pelan dari suaminya yang sepertinya terbangun karena pergerakannya yang tiba-tiba tadi.

Hoekkk

Jaehyun kembali muntah, Taesan dengan pelan mengusap perut besarnya, sedang tangan kanannya masih setia menepuk punggung suaminya. Jaehyun terisak dan merengek, maka Taesan mengusap air mata yang sudah menganak sungai.

“Sudah?”

“sudah....”

Taesan mengusap dahi dan pipi Jaehyun yang basah lalu menyodorkan segelas air putih untuk berkumur. Setelah selesai berkumur, Taesan membantu Jaehyun melepas piyamanya dan menggantinya dengan yang baru meski si suami kecil itu sempat menolak karena katanya belum mandi.

“Kakak duduk dulu di sofa, biar aku ganti spreinya dulu ya”

Taesan mengusap pipi gembul suaminya lalu mengantarnya ke ruang tamu. Setelah suaminya duduk, Taesan menyalakan televisi dan pergi ke dapur untuk membuatkan minum hangat. Lalu ada segelas teh jahe madu dan cemilan dari buah kering yang sengaja Taesan siapkan untuk Jaehyun.

“Maaf ya, aku juga gak sangka bakalan muntah di kasur...” Jaehyun manyun, hal itu sukses membuat Taesan terkekeh gemas.

“Its ok kak, namanya juga morning sickness. Aku pergi dulu ya, tunggu disini saja ok?” Jaehyun mengangguk setelah Taesan mengecup puncak kepalanya dan pergi untuk mengganti sprei.

---

Lima belas menit berlalu dan hanya ada Jaehyun dengan film kartun yang ditontonnya. Jahe madu ini benar-benar membantu, Jaehyun merasakan nyaman di perutnya yang tadi bergejolak, dan pusingnya perlahan hilang. Ia usap perutnya yang sudah besar itu. Harusnya, katanya sih sudah tidak akan kena morning sickness di usia kandungan segini, tapi mungkin lain untuk kehamilanya. Atau mungkin karena diawal kehamilan, morning sickness menyerang suaminya, jadi di kesempatan kali ini, giliran Jaehyun yang tersiksa.

Jaehyun kira, setiap pagi mendapat pesan hangat disisipkan kata cinta adalah hal romantis yang membuatnya merasa gembira. Tapi ternyata, pemandangan Taesan memisahkan kacang dari bubur ayamnya juga membuat hatinya berdebar. Jaehyun kira, ditanya sudah makan atau belum sudah cukup baginya. Tapi ternyata, menerima daging kepiting dari cangkang yang telah dibuka oleh suaminya juga membuatnya tersipu. Taesan dan jutaan aksi penuh cintanya selalu sukses membuat Jaehyun jatuh cinta lagi dan lagi.

Taesan yang membuatkannya susu dan teh jahe, Taesan yang memisahkan kacang dari bubur ayamnya, Taesan yang memisahkan daging kepiting atau lobster dari cangkangnya, memisahkan daging ikan dari durinya, Taesan yang memotong steaknya hingga menjadi ukuran yang mudah ditelan, Taesan yang selalu tahu apa yang Jaehyun suka dan tidak suka. Di meja makan saja, Jaehyun kenali berbagai cara menyalurkan cinta.

Belum lagi saat makan seperti ini, Jaehyun dan Taesan makan pasta untuk sarapannya, tentu setelah Taesan selesai mengganti sprei. Jaehyun bilang dia ingin makan pasta yang kejunya kuat, maka Taesan segera membuatnya. Tapi namanya orang hamil, moodnya gampang berubah. Sesaat setelah pasta itu masuk mulut, Jaehyun mengernyit tidak suka, bukan karena masakan suaminya tidak enak, namun tiba-tiba ia tidak bisa menelan rasa keju yang terlalu pekat.

Melihat Jaehyun begitu, Taesan segera menadahkan tangannya, dan Jaehyun melepeh disana.

“Gak enak, ya? Maaf ya... Aku gak jago masaknya ya” katanya sambil mengambil tisu untuk mengusap sisian mulut Jaehyun yang belepotan.

Jaehyun menggeleng meski masih merengek kecil, “adek bayinya gak mau makan pasta keju lagi... Maaf yaaa”

Taesan tertawa kecil lalu mengangguk, “gapapa, aku masak yang lain juga kok. Mau ayam kukus jahe? Masih diangetin tapi”

“Mau...”

“Ditunggu sebentar, ya, kakak cantik”

Lalu menu sarapannya tiba-tiba berubah dan nafsu makan Jaehyun meningkat.

---

Taesan punya banyak cara menyalurkan cintanya. Tidak hanya lewat kata-kata namun lewat gerak tubuhnya. Ini hari Minggu, Taesan tidak bekerja, begitu juga Jaehyun. Namun, siang ini ia harus memeriksa powerpoint yang akan disampaikan teamnya di rapat bulanan esok hari. Taesan duduk lesehan diatas karpet bulu di ruang tengah, sedangkan Jaehyun duduk di sofa sebelah kirinya. Tangan kanan Taesan stand by diatas laptopnya sedangkan tangan kirinya memijat halus kaki Jaehyun yang katanya pegal dan terlihat membengkak, ya, namanya juga orang hamil.

Taesan juga senantiasa menggandeng tangan Jaehyun saat berjalan, mengangkat sedikit perutnya saat Jaehyun pegal, melindungi kepala Jaehyun agar tidak terbentur benda apapun, dan masih banyak gestur lain yang membuat Jaehyun merasa aman dalam dekapannya.

Setiap Jaehyun ingin bermanja, Taesan dengan senang hati membuka tangannya. Membiarkannya duduk diatas pangkuannya, mengusap punggungnya dan mengecup keningnya hingga Jaehyun terlelap.

Selama hamil, Jaehyun tidak diikut sertakan dalam hal mengurus rumah. Semuanya Taesan yang kerjakan. Taesan juga suami yang siap dan sigap. Ia banyak belajar tentang kehamilan, ia belajar menjadi orang tua, mendaftarkan Jaehyun berbagai kegiatan orang hamil, dan tidak pernah absen jika sudah saatnya mengontrol kandungan.

Jaehyun kadang merasa kecil. Ia merasa cintanya tidak cukup besar untuk Taesan, tapi Taesan selalu bilang semuanya cukup, ia merasa dicintai oleh suaminya. Maka, Jaehyun berusaha semaksimal mungkin untuk menjadi pasangan yang baik untuk Taesan.

Dulu, orang di sekitar Jaehyun akan sebal jika anaknya lahir mirip si ayah ketimbang ibunya yang mengandungnya selama sembilan bulan.

Tapi bagi Jaehyun, rasanya sebuah kado besar yang paling menakjubkan jika anaknya mirip Taesan seratus persen. Karena siapa yang tidak bangga jika ia berhasil melahirkan duplikat cintanya? Bayangkan bangun tidur, kamu melihat wajah orang yang paling kamu cintai di dunia ini dalam versi kecil yang masih polos tanpa dosa berada di sebelahmu? Masa sih hatimu tidak menghangat saat melihatnya? Bayangkan memiliki dua Taesan dalam hidupmu? Bayangkan memiliki buah cinta dari orang yang cintanya tidak pernah lekang oleh waktu? Ah... Jaehyun siap menukar nyawa untuk keluarganya. Keluarga hangat yang dibangun susah payah oleh keduanya. Keluarga kecil yang siap mengenalkan pada dunia bahwa cinta banyak jenisnya.

It's generally hard for a Japanese porn performer to be allowed to transition into mainstream TV, but there seems to be a bit of a tradition of AV actresses being cast as femme fatales in tokusatsu, of all things:

– Nanase Rika (Beauty Zonnette, Gekisō Sentai Carranger) – Jō Asami (Shibolena in Denji Sentai Megaranger; Hizumina in Megaranger vs. Seiju Sentai Gingaman) – Nishida Momoko (NeziSophia in Denji Sentai Megaranger) – Oikawa Nao (Wasp Woman in several Kamen Riders; Water Pollution Minister Kegalesia in Engine Sentai Go-Onger; Alisa in UltraSeven X) – Hara Saori/Matsunoi Miyabi (Amily from GARO) – Yume Nikaido / Ai Hongo (Ichigo Daifuku in Yodonna) (yes, the yuri one) – Moe Amatsuka (Macaron in Yodonna)

Also Natsukawa Misuzu has done two songs for the soundtrack of Mirai Sentai Timeranger.

I still plan to write more on my series about early videogame lesbians, but today I want to highlight this enemy character from the Castlevania series who, like many early trans characters, started her existence as an unfunny bigoted joke, but then transcended the meanness by the sheer presence and glory of her gender. I'm talking about the Icy Chick, the Evil Ghost who Transitioned, the Snow Fairy herself: Frozen Half, from Castlevania: Symphony of the Night.

The description reads: “An evil New Half spirit who wields power over ice. A minion of Galamoth.”

I don't have a series on early videogame trans women because there's not a lot of them, and they have been discussed elsewhere. The oldest I know of is Catherine/Birdetta/Birdo (1987~1988), the pink dinosaur from Super Mario, followed by drag queen Tessy LaFemme, the damsel-in-distress that you rescue as lesbian butch detective Tracy McDyke in the seminal Caper in the Castro (1988)—it's lovely how the very first cis lesbian and human transfem characters were in a relationship of deep companionship while fighting capitalists. Then we get sex-worker-coded and beloved sex icon Poison from Final Fight (1989), and Yasmin, the trans girlfriend of the cis guy protagonist in cyberpunk RPG Circuit's Edge (1990).

But I haven't seen much discussion of Castlevania's Frozen Half (1997, but with roots in 1990). As a Brazilian I had the privilege of playing Akumajō Dracula-kun (today fan translated as “Kid Dracula”) on the Famicom, and I did catch the reference to the boss Galamoth in Symphony of the Night, but somehow this absolutely amazing girl and her implied development went right over my head. I only found out about her recently, and only because the wikis explicitly pointed it out.

Dracula-kun was Konami's own parody of the Castlevania series, back when it had barely even become a “series”. You play as young boy Dracula saving Earth from evil galactic conqueror Galamoth, because it's your Earth and you are going to be its evil conqueror. There's lots of fun jokes and cute references in this fun little game, but one of the jokes is grossly queerphobic. You might have heard of the Japanese folkloric creature Snow Woman (“yuki-onna”), a beautiful, snow-white ethereal lady who appears in winter promising a bit of warmth only to lure men (and, presumably, lesbians) into a deathly icy embrace. Well Dracula-kun has yuki-okama enemies, instead of yuki-onna. “Okama” is a gender identity somewhat close to the Latina travesti or, a bit more distantly, to crossdressers or drag queens: someone assigned male who dresses with fem clothes and performs an exaggerated femininity. The intended joke being that instead of an alluring snow-woman you're getting some funny snow-transvestite. The low resolution of the Famicom spared us from a mean caricature with a beard shadow or something, but the manual illustration made the joke clear.

Then many years later, in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night for the Playstation 1, there's a beautiful ice witch enemy called Frozen Half, and the in-game lore describes her as a servant of Galamoth—that is, she's working for the alien endboss from Dracula-kun, rather than under Dracula like all other enemies—and still I failed to connect the dots.

Frozen Half's ultimate power, “Saidai Power” (“Ultimate Power”), rains huge chunks of ice on the head of protagonist Alucard. In retrospect, we can see that her voice is intended as a perceptibly transfem voice. Video from completezukan.jp.

The word “half”, or more precisely “new half” (in English in the original), is an outdated Japanese term for trans women, in the sense of someone who has gone through medical feminisation procedures to transition from their assigned gender. This blue-haired lady is none other than the yuki-okama from Dracula-kun! Despite being an intangible spirit she got (ectoplasmatic?) HRT in the time between the two games, and I’m happy for her and I love her.

My last post was concerned with a regex crate I was writing, which does perform quite well. Now I have revived a side project of mine, namely creating a custom operating system. This is a long-term project that I'll come back to every now and then.

Before this week-long coding spree, I had only written a few primitives like a lock-free queue and object pool, a basic interface to interact with the Limine bootloader, as well as a bare-bones bootable image that prints some text on serial post and displays a yellow line on the screen.

During the week, I have made a lot of progress, specifically: – A lot of designing is now done. Heaps of notes regarding general process and task architecture, the syscall interface, memory subsystem... – A build and macro system that splits the system into components that can be configured in many different ways. – A basic memory management system for the pre-kernel stage, which is tested upon boot. – The larger part of a small message-passing dynamic memory manager. – More primitives, like interface and process-safety traits, thread-local storage, physical addresses, page tables...

I don't intend to move fast with this one yet. An operating system is a big piece of software but the first stages of creating one are especially delicate, since one has to make a lot of decisions that will later impact how the project will unfurl. Right now I have about 4500 lines of Rust code and a general idea of what I want to do with them.

My first goal is to make a kernel that can be booted and do some serious memory management. I would like it to be configurable as either a microkernel or monolithic kernel, which may sound like a bizarre design decision but it's something I had wanted to explore. I'll keep posting about this project in the future.