#I am still building the exterior of the box

[cossmoluck]

FINALLY finished this

turns out soon means one week+ in my little lizard brain, that's cool

anyways!!! meg

megalo don content,,, food

also, as a treat for making myself take so much to finish this, some of my AU lore rambling thing under the cut (warning, pretty long)

in my design, most of his exterior Nitro armor is removable, being an extension of the augument inside his body, which pumps Nitro both through his lungs and bloodstream, crossing from front to back through his torso. His tubes would be attached to certain openings around his body, which could also have 'lids' put on for safe closing. Every area where the Nitro pumps directly into his body would have 'Nitro burn'- a less proeminent glow than the one in his fueled up form. I, as many others also do, like to think that his mask actually comes off (I haven't drawn him unmaksed yet, but I'll get to that too eventually). One headcanon I have is that when you take his medallion in game, what you take is actually his mask and use it.

For his body I went for a slightly leaner strongman build, as he doesn't seem way too bulky in his non-fueled form, but he's still considerably bigger than most others. I tried to give him a 'scarred shark' look, and gave him burn scars on one arm from a misfiring Nitro Fist hit accident

also his hair look so so fluffy in game and for WHAT

(note, this is all to be taken as an AU. i am by no means well versed enough in Fortnite lore to make something close to canon or actual on point headcanons lol,,, tl;dr at the bottom!!)

i feel like the whole theory with Meg and big chuggus being somehow related is true, but not necessarily in the way others present it usually i don't think they're snapshots of each other in any way, i just think that they've been basically created 'for the same purpose', maybe in the different 'realities?' I'm not 100% sure how the zero point reset worked considering Midas was technically the same and all

so let's say Chaos had created the Slurp legends and Slurp creatures back during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict i like to think that Meg might have been created sometime during then too- a more refined variant of the technology used on big chuggus, enough for him not to end up as brain dead as big chuggus himself (sorry big chuggus)

Megalo Don could have been a fleet leader for the naval forces, as he has an overall very reoccurring military theme with his insignia and stuff. Maybe he was hired by Chaos to aid him and willingly allowing Chaos to modify him into the 'perfect leader', boosted by slurp into near perfection I believe his Oasis style would be what his 'original' look was, with Slurp coursing through his pumps instead of Nitro

so how did he turn into the Meg we know? during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict, his crew got destroyed, probably, and they somehow ended up punished to the Pandora's Box, but not dead like Midas, just punished there I like to think that there is not only one Pandora's Box, technically, and that they're basically some sort of even higher security 'prison' for things deemed disasters under certain circumstances, putting mortal beings into their own personal hell. The ones imprisoned in the Pandora's Box arent necessarily 'dead', like shade Midas in the Underworld, but they're not alive in the full sense either. This particular Nitro filled Pandora's Box sprouted there, leaving behind veins of pure Nitro in the depths of the earth through which the Box had erupted.

in the Pandora's Box, stuck in an infinite purgatory loop of fighting and dying, the slurp that fueled his crew quite literally rotted into Nitro, and Megalo Don himself basically 'rusted' from the rot. The Nitro, essence of death, in a way, compared to Slurp, slowly and surely altered Meg's brain, turning him from a calculated leader into a terrifying tyrant, with nihilistic views regarding his crew and conquest, as he saw them all die over and over again… Another case of 'rotten' slurp beings being Sludge, maybe, as he could perhaps be read as a Slurp creature gone 'bad' (slurp to nitro)

Meg's mind got clouded with the only thing he could comprehend anymore- Nitro coursing through his veins, through his ship, through anything in the living hell he experienced in the Pandora's Box. (Ultrakill flesh prison sounding aah) Obtained by conquest or murder, with destruction being the only method he could even comprehend using to get it, his very life seeming to depend on Nitro at that point, and being released into the world again brought him bo purpose than to seize back all of his Nitro and keep fighting more and more

after he and his crew escaped from the Pandora's Box, Meg had intercepted a boat droning the Island from SHADOW, which had went to scout out Helios after Midas' escape from The Underworld, unaware of the Pandora's Box opening right then, and getting caught in the sandstorm. Meg had just the luck to capture Chaos (or a snapshot), the very man who had taken away his humanity and turned him into a (now) Nitro-fueled beast. From them he also took the island plans, which helped his crew settle in as fast as they did, the Redline Rig digging for Nitro the very moment they got there and the Nitrodrome building itself over the abandoned Fencing Fields, repurposing the fizz machinery there into the dome's car destruction traps

i also like to think that Meg has a father/daughters bond with Scarr and the Machinist, with the Machinist maybe being one of the original scientists on Chaos' team, whom had helped him stabilize his new equipment at the time, and Scarr being a dedicated member of his fleet since before getting banished into the Pandora's Box. Initially, both Scarr and the Machinist would have admired him for his courageous leadership and respected him as a leader, but through their decline in the Pandora's Box, their found family bond only strengthened, with the two of them being probably his only subordinates he actually cares about

i also like to imagine that he had made most of the transmissions particularly silly in hopes of having them tune in on either patrol or at the Nitrodrome and make them laugh with the over the top commentary

tl;dr: i headcanon megalo don as an ex-slurp legend made by Chaos who had rotted to nitro in the Pandora's Box. His Oasis style is what he looked like pre-Box. Also the Mechanist and Ringmaster Scarr are his found family daughters

[sodaabaa]

little fox, part two

bruce wayne x OC maia agrees to help bruce. the two of them find that they have more in common than they'd expect.

tw: mentions of familial deaths, grief

masterlist

playlist

As promised, at exactly 7 pm, a sleek, black Bentley arrived outside Maia's apartment in the southernmost part of downtown Gotham. She marveled at the car, rarely did Maia ever drive to work, preferring the subway because of the crazy city traffic. Outside of her job, she was a homebody so she had little need for a car. Regardless, her uncle insisted she have one ‘just in case,’ so they compromised on a used Toyota that now sat on the side of the street, collecting dust. 

A man who looked to be in his seventies stepped out. His polished outfit consisted of well fitting black suit and a pair of black leather gloves. 

“Ms. Fox?” He said in a thick British accent. “That’d be me,” She replied awkwardly, giving the man a little wave.

“Alfred, pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Fox,” He went around to where she stood on the opposite side of the car and opened the door for her.

“Shall we?” He asked, motioning a hand to the car.

She nodded, entering the car and once again, marveling at the interior that was just as luxurious as the exterior had been. Beige seats made from the softest leather, tortoise-shell trim accented the sides – she could get used to this. 

“Master Wayne tells me you’re Lucius’ niece?” Alfred said as he himself entered the car and took off.

“I am, how do you know Luc?” She asked. He’d never mentioned any British friends to her.

“Work,” He said with a knowing smile.

“So you’re in on this whole thing too, huh?” “Indeed I am, Miss.”

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence as they passed through Gotham. She’d never been past the city limits and it seemed that she was in for quite a drive tonight. Bustling streets and towering skyscrapers faded away as they continued into the outskirts of the city.

“Does this even count as Gotham City anymore?” “Partially, there aren’t many residents in the Palisades – they’re still part of the greater Gotham County area though,” He replied. 

She peered out the window, taking in the green landscape she seldom got to see living inside the city. In the distance, she saw what could only be described as a castle (at least in her eyes). Before she could say anything about the building, everything went dark as they entered an underground tunnel. 

“What –” “A secret entrance, Miss. We’re almost there.” 

Secret entrance. That’s a bit dramatic, she thought. “Was that Wayne Manor in the distance?” “Indeed, it was.” 

“He lives there – all alone?” “If you don’t count the staff and me, yes.” 

She hummed in reply, how lonely must it be? Everyone in Gotham knew the tragic tale of the Waynes, carelessly murdered in a mugging right in front of an eight year old Bruce. She stiffened, trying not to recall the memory of hearing about her own parents' death. She did her best to block the memory, the pain. Luckily, their drive came to an abrupt stop, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“We’ve arrived,” Alfred said as he stepped out of the car and walked over to Maia’s side, opening the door for her.

She stepped out into an actual cave. The distant sound of rushing water filled the air. 

As they made their way further inside, she got a closer look at the dimly-lit cave, there was little furnishing the area, only a large black box that sat in the middle of the cave, guard rails on all four sides. Above it hung a simple lightbeam. The box was connected to the driveway they’d just entered through by a narrow, rusty metal bridge. She peered over the sides, a shallow pool of water underneath them. 

Maia scoffed, “He wasn’t kidding when he said batcave.” “No I’m afraid he was not,” Alfred ushered them over the bridge and towards an impressive set up. “Right this way you’ll find we’ve hopefully equipped you with what you’ll need.” Multiple wide monitors sat atop a large metal desk. She took a seat, the monitor coming to life before her. She looked up at Alfred who stared at her expectantly. 

“Um, I think I can take it from here,” She said nervously. 

“Right then, I’ll see to some refreshments,” He chuckled and left her to get started.

She looked around the cave, her leg bouncing up and down rapidly, suddenly wishing Alfred hadn’t left. Was Bruce coming here tonight? Maybe he was giving her some space to do what she needed to do but she felt uneasy regardless. She was casually sitting in the middle of Batman’s lair. This was definitely above her paygrade, Wayne Enterprise employee or not.

Doubt weaseled itself into Maia's mind. What if she couldn’t track Entropy down? She was no stranger to self-doubt. Going to MIT, majoring in a male-dominated field -- she constantly felt as though she didn't belong, like she wasn't as good as her peers. But she pushed through, for the sake of her parents; to make them proud.

She stared at the screen as she cracked her knuckles and sighed, “Here goes nothing.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce rolled his shoulder as he walked into the cave. He’d spent the night taking down a drug trafficking ring, which was an easy task for the most part except for the dozens of men armed with a myriad of weapons – including steel baseball bats. He’d taken one too many hits, the effects of which were finally settling and resulting in a battered and bruised shoulder.

He paused when he heard murmuring. It was almost midnight. He crossed the bridge and saw Maia, her head resting against her crossed arms atop the desk. Her eyes were closed but her brows were furrowed as she spoke unintelligible words. 

He laid a hand on her back, trying his best not to startle her. 

“Maia,” He whispered. He patted her gently when his whispers didn't wake her up.

She jolted awake, clearly disoriented by her whereabouts. When realization dawned on her, she looked up.

“Oh!” She stumbled up but caught herself on the desk before she could fall.

“It’s alright, how long have you been down here – where’s Alfred?” He said, hands reaching out to steady her.

She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, “He, um,” she paused, “He came down a few hours ago to check on my progress."

Bruce nodded, "Have you found anything?"

"They’re good. I wasn’t able to track them down quite yet but I did compile a list of their victims so far and I managed to run it through a pattern recognition system to find connections between them.” “And what did you find?” He asked.

“At first it looked like there wasn’t much aside from their affluent backgrounds and their jobs but then,” She turned to the screen, leaning down to pull up what she found. She pulled up a map showing the homes of each victim. Each address connected to to create a spiral. But it wasn’t just any spiral…

“The Fibonacci spiral?” 

She nodded, turning to look up at Bruce, “and I know who their next target is.” 

Maia pointed to where the next part of the sequence would be. Wayne Tower. 

“They don’t seem to be interested in money since there wasn’t any money taken from any of the other victims. Each victim has been a member of some public entity – City Hall, the police department, even the Gotham District Court.” 

“Wayne Enterprises isn’t a public institution–” Before Bruce could finish, Maia cut in.

“But it funds every level – You provide thousands of dollars in donations to the police department, the District Attorney’s office, and you funded Mayor Loeb’s reelection campaign. I think their ultimate goal is to turn people against the Wayne name and everything it controls – it makes sense from their perspective, your family has a monopoly over this city.” A muscle in Bruce’s jaw ticked as he processed the information. The Waynes certainly had their fair share of rivals and misanthropists – it would take Bruce a considerable amount of time to figure out who’d feel strongly enough against him to go to these lengths. But what was the significance of the Fibonacci sequence? As if Maia had heard his thoughts, she spoke up.

"I was confused about what the sequence meant -- how it related to their cause but then I realized, Entropy is a gradual decline into disorder. The Fibonacci Sequence represents harmony and balance. What if they're trying to restore balance to Gotham by causing chaos, targeting the rich who they believe control the public institutions to spark a revolution?" "Creating chaos and darkness before the dawn," Bruce said.

"A dawn, they no doubt would be in control of," Maia finished.

Bruce ran a hand through his disheveled hair with a sigh. They want Gotham to descend into anarchy -- as if it weren't bad enough as it is.

His gaze returned to Maia, who looked like she wanted to say something more.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

She looked up at him sheepishly, “Since we know who the next target might be – I set up a honeypot.” “A honeypot?” Bruce questioned. 

“Essentially a trap – a replica of your personal computer systems linked to your Wayne Enterprise accounts. It’ll hopefully lure them in and when it does, it’ll send me an alert.” “Is there something wrong?” She hesitated. He raised his brows in anticipation.

“If the honeypot fails, they’ll know we were onto them. It might spook them…or it’ll anger them. There’s no telling what they’d do out of anger.” Bruce nodded slowly, “So this better work then?”

“Yup,” She said, popping the ‘p.’

Bruce huffed a laugh, “I’m putting my company’s fate in your hands Ms. Fox.”

“It was your choice – not mine, Mr. Wayne.” 

He held her gaze for a moment, admiring her intelligence and intellect. She had stayed here, working tirelessly all night to help him. She managed to figure out the group's agenda and set up a trap -- all in the span of a few hours.

She cleared her throat, snapping the two of them out of their trance. 

“It’s getting late – I’ll have Alfred set up a room for you. Have you eaten yet?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, no I can head home – I’ll call a taxi or something.” Bruce waved a hand, “Not a chance. A taxi in the middle of the night in Gotham?” 

She sighed, reluctant to accept his offer but she gave in. Gotham in the daytime was bustling and full of life but nightfall brought out the worst the city had to offer -- Bruce would be damned if he let her go out there this late.

The two of them made their way up to the manor and caught up with Alfred, filling him in on the details before he went off to prepare a midnight snack. 

Bruce rested back on a plush sofa in one of the manor’s parlors that made for the perfect late night lounging spot. Bruce himself often came here to rest in between patrols. Maia sat across from him, her eyes making their way around the room. She stopped on the painting to the right of them above the marble fireplace.

“Your parents?” She said softly.

Bruce nodded. 

“What were they like?” He drew in a breath.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” She quickly added.

He exhaled, “No it's alright."

He thought for a moment, trying to string together some words that would do his parents justice.

"My father was a doctor – often being the one to clean my scrapes and cuts from playing outside,” He paused, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile, “He was a healer. The kind of person you'd run to for help, certain that he'd always have the right words to say, the perfect remedy to prescribe to make you feel good as new.” 

She nodded, a knowing smile on her face. No doubt she was thinking of her own parents. Bruce wasn’t sure if he should bring it up. He opted to play it safe and stay away from the topic.

Another time, he thought.

"What about your mother?" She asked.

He let out a breathy laugh, “As a kid, I always thought my mother was a queen. She had this regal air to her, always dressed to the nines. But it was her grace and kindness that made her beloved to the people.”

Before he could continue, Alfred came in carrying a tray with an assortment of snacks; fruits, a variety of cheeses, crackers, and cold-cut meats. Grateful for the interruption, Bruce leaned forward to help himself, wincing at the ache in his shoulder.

“Oh, Alfred this is too much,” Maia said.

“Speak for yourself, I need the calories,” He replied in between bites.

Maia laughed, taking a slice of watermelon onto her plate.

“A room’s been prepared for you in the guest wing, Ms. Fox.” "Thank you," She said, looking between the two of them.

Alfred nodded, leaving the two of them be. They ate in comfortable silence.

As Bruce reached forward to place his plate down on the table between them, he hissed in pain and grabbed his shoulder.

"That's the second time you've winced in pain, let me take a look," Maia placed her own plate down and walked over to Bruce before he could protest.

She pressed gently on his shoulder, feeling for dislocated bones or swelling.

"It doesn't feel like anything's misplaced or swollen. Here, let me help you out of your suit so we can see what it looks like underneath." She helped him out of his batsuit, a difficult task to manage since he could barely lift his left shoulder. He sat in front of her, torso fully bare. Bruce suddenly felt too vulnerable -- every scar and bruise fully exposed under the warm lights of the parlor. Bruce watched her wince as she took in his battered skin, running her feather-soft fingertips over the newly formed bruises on his shoulder.

"Alfred!" She called out.

Almost instantly, footsteps could be heard from the hall.

"Is something wrong --" He paused when he saw Bruce's bare chest, "Oh! Master Wayne. Why on earth didn't you say something earlier! I'll fetch some ice."

He left as fast as he arrived.

"I'm alright, really," He said, returning his attention back to Maia.

"You need ice. And rest. And maybe a hospital -- how have you survived all these years?" She rambled, her hands trailed over the scars across the top of his chest. He tried not to shiver under her touch.

"Alfred does a pretty good job at patching me up," He replied.

"I'm serious," Her eyes shone with concern.

He took her hands in his and looked up at her, "I'm fine. I swear."

He held her gaze, both of them unable to look away. Caught in a trance for a second time that night. There was something about her that hypnotized Bruce. Her brown eyes flitted between his, their breaths syncing with each other.

"How hard is it to refill the bloody ice. I swear I'm going to fire somebody one of these days--" Alfred muttered as he returned, snapping them out of their trance.

Bruce inhaled, sitting back, putting some distance between Maia and him. She did the same, stepping back and stumbling into the coffee table behind her.

"No ice but I managed to dig up some packets of peas from the back of the freezer," Alfred said, handing it to Maia.

"Thanks, Alfred. This'll do," Maia replied. She placed the pack gently on Bruce's bruised skin. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as the ice assaulted his sensitive skin.

Maia winced, "Sorry." "It's not a problem," He waved off and took the pack from her. She took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of Bruce, the look of concern still plastered across her face.

"It's late, you should get some sleep." "Are you gonna be okay? I can stay up and help if--" "I'll be fine, I've handled much worse than a few bruises. I'll have Alfred carry me bridal style if it makes you feel better," He laughed, trying to put her worries at bay.

She smiled, amused at the image he painted. Bruce's gaze lingered on her lips, the lack of sleep and the events of the night must have been getting to him.

She cleared her throat and stood up, "Good night then, Mr. Wayne."

He bid her a good night, leaning back on the sofa with a sigh as he watched her leave the parlor. He shut his eyes to get some rest himself but his mind replayed everything that had passed between him and Maia that night. Mesmerized, even by the memory of her.

[blueboxsimulator]

Blue Box Simulator 0.9: The Graphics Update, is already available for PC and Mac

At long last, after months of bugfixing and optimizations for the mobile version which was probably released a bit too early... the latest version of Blue Box Simulator (0.9.33) is already available for desktop!

What's new in version 0.9?

Visual changes:

Migration to the Universal Render Pipeline. It implied redoing every material and custom shader, but in return, it will allow stunning visuals, post-processing effects and...

Bigger on the inside effect! Enable it in Graphics Settings.

Started using Space Graphics Toolkit to improve planets visual quality.

New atmosphere and cloud layers in the Google Earth world scene.

Added subtle animations to some NPCs.

The Cyberman and K9 have a more metallic look.

Updated Io (Jupiter moon) texture.

Changes in Settings:

Removed Render Distance setting, as it would break immersion for little to no performance impact.

Added Render Scale slider, which should actually help with performance!

Separate settings for texture quality and lighting quality in Graphics Settings.

Added Earth Terrain Detail Distance setting in Graphics Settings. Good for detailed landscapes, but the higher the detail distance, the more bandwidth and RAM it will consume.

New settings panel to choose between touch controls and keyboard and mouse controls.

New Features:

Character models on the top of the Cardiff building can now be pushed into the inside of the TARDIS! Yes, materializing around them gets them inside too!

The lighting status of interior windows is now synchronized with exterior windows.

>>Download links<<

What's next?

As of today, I'll start work on version 0.10: The Space Update, a groundbreaking update that will convert this game in no longer just a solar system simulator, but a universe simulator, thanks to the power of the Space Graphics Toolkit asset that I bought which will allow full scale planet terrains, more realistic stars, nebulae, black holes, galaxies, etc.

Let me also mention that developing each small patch can take long days of programming, and although I am juggling this work with other ways to make a living, my income is still well below minimum wage. So, please, spread the word about my Patreon so I can continue releasing updates for many years to come!

[oswednesday]

my gparents house on my dads side is one of the oldest in the city but also built where there was no places around it until much later while not really having "land claim" which is weird and then it burnt down but in that just where theres a lot of fire damage all over but not structural damage like all the plaster walls still intact just completely toasted burnt surface would my gparents bought it in the state and refurbished it because he was an architect like it was his trade and he designed and aided in building a lot of hospitals both in that city and in various places in illinois and nyc <-explaining in some ways why im like this, he was actually well regarded but never widely celebrated which im sure contributed to his strangely frail ego, its one of those things where you either get to be an a-list artitect or you are a neighborhood husband of several children with a stay at home wife in a catholic district larping poverty but you cant be both and he went with the latter making everyones lives miserable and while i have some positive memories it doesnt over shadow his bigotry or unwell behaviors anyway im sure hes dead now and no one has bothered to even inform me which is fine i guess its not like i loved them and they hurt me a bunch and broke my heart with their unrepentant foul behavior but whatever anyway the point of this post is

for a house that size there were a lot of strange nooks and spirit doors like doors leading to no where, narrow hall ways sealed off by walls and stuff like that, it was a big house still is but not like spirit door secret rooms big you know? when they were doing the construction they found a bunch of stuff in the walls, this is normal for a house that age but it was like a large amount like filled boxes like in total there were like at least 30 something doors interior and exterior with like 10 being exterior doors some with zero evidence of ever having a balcony or fire escape on the outside they turned most of those into windows and i had like three of the most like hey paranormal might be real or i need to go on ziprasidone it was also like catty corner cross the street from the catholic church they belonged to at the end of their lives hell maybe theyre still alive and pushing 100 all while smoking and drinking all life long, my greataunt who has Got to be dead also completely uninformed by that smoked all while on an oxygen tank she was an ass but i loved her in the way sometimes an ass at a distance is too cool, well im going to need all the help i can get generics wise so while wretchedly clinging to this earth i am grateful for that

[dani-ellie03]

Dollhouse shenanigans:

With the completion of the porch, the house is done! I can’t promise I won’t keep fiddling with it but for the most part, it’s done.

The knitting basket is made from poster board covered with burlap ribbon, the yarn is ribbon glued into skein-like shapes, and the knitting needles are the pointy end of toothpicks with a bead glued onto them. It’s not quite to scale but hey, I’m new at this, haha. Also, getting the porch swing both level and at the correct height was omgsofrustrating. But it looks nice now, so that’s all that matters. :)

I had a blast with this project! I am giving the dollhouse kit all the credit for how easily the structure itself came together. I had literally no idea what I was doing and I still was able to build the house and have it come out not crooked and looking lovely. The instructions were clear and the materials were cut to fit together perfectly. I’m very glad I spent the extra money at the outset to get this kit instead of the other brand I had my eye on.

I have a couple more miniatures projects in the works because I had so much fun with this one, haha. Not another full 1:12 scale house, though, because I don’t at all have the room to display another one. A 1:12 room box, though, and a couple of 1:24 holiday houses (exterior only because 1:24 is hard to work with for me).

[minecraft-sideblog-tm]

The outline has been made! (featuring the new PearlescentMoon video in the top corner that I’m currently watching while I build lol). 

Going for a bit more of a natural shape than anything really structured tbh. Just kinda of curved it where I needed to while trying to keep roughly the same distance from the existing blocks. Will I regret that when I try to make the glass dome/box/whatever? Possibly... But hey, challenges are fun sometimes!

Speaking of, the current fun part is that I want to mostly use dark prismarine for the base, but I play on peaceful and can’t just build a guardian farm. And, as you can see if you look close at the nearest side of the outline:

I have already run out of the dark prismarine I had. (it was like 2.5 stacks or so)

Time to go find some ocean monuments and destroy them, I guess! I know dark prismarine is craftable with black dye and thought/hoped maaaybe it was black dye and normal prismarine blocks, but alas it is not apparently. RIP

There’s a monument just out of render distance in the first image, which is roughly facing spawn. On one hand, the closer I get to spawn and 1.17 terrain (which that ocean monument is on), the more I like leaving the terrain and structures intact as much as I can. But on the other hand, like, if I hollow it out but leave the exterior it’d still look intact.......lol

Edit: I posted this, ran back to my bed area, turned around, and am immediately being judge (or made a new friend)

it only took one seed to tame him and now he shall remain there

[artbyrobot]

TheRobotStudio on YouTube is doing an open source robot called "Hope-Light" and inviting his viewers to follow along with his progress . I have decided to follow along, although I will be modifying his designs as I go to customize it more to my liking. He expressed he wants this to be a open source community to advance humanoid robotics development in the DIY space and usher in the wider adoption of humanoid robots in more homes across the world. He's excited for what this can mean for global productivity and quality of life improvements it can bring if executed well. I like this vision. My decision to follow along with his project is to pick up a extra head of steam in my own humanoid robot building projects by utilizing his experience and formal education in robotics engineering as a legit decorated world class humanoid roboticist. A world leader in the field. By following his open source project loosely, I can get a breath of fresh air by skipping past the bang my head against the wall dead-ends and regular difficult hurdles and just get results. Sort of like fast food drive thru. It will be a relief for me. And confidence booster. To see something really happen at a faster pace for a change. Now none of this is to say I'm abandoning my existing projects. They will all go on as planned without interruption. This will be a parallel journey I will share. I will certainly learn a ton and can apply what I learn to my other projects. I will have this Hope - Light robot adaptation be named Dinah. I'll use Eve's base mesh for the external appearance. The two females can look similar in build but have different faces. This robot will use to some extent TheRobotStudio's design philosophy and approach for the Hope-Light project. This means it WILL use metal geared brushed DC servos and it WILL use non-human-like bone structure, but I will still give it human-like realistic silicone skin and it will use the exterior exoskeleton shell of the Eve robot I 3d modeled already. One downside to this Hope-Light parallel implementation is that because it uses metal gearing it will be loud in its operation. So it will never be able to pass for human in public. That's okay though. My other designs are reaching for that aim and my other designs are still the intention for Adam, Eve, and Abel. So that vision remains alive. And will continue. But this noisy robot will still be a great learning experience and capable of doing useful work including helping me build my other robots, chores, manufacturing products, cooking, etc. It will probably do most of the things the Adam, Eve, and Abel robot can do but not be as strong, fast, and articulated. So it will probably not play sports well or do rock climbing or various other serious physical strenuous types of work. But the long list of things it should be able to do is still enough for it to be awesome. A great thing is that it won't be so experimental and outside the box like my previous solo approaches. This one will be designed to a small degree by a real professional so it will happen way faster and more surely than mine. Although I am finding I am changing his design so much it's not really his design at all anymore but my own. However, I still plan to retain a significant number of strategic decisions, placements, and organization following his lead. My other designs are more of a pipe dream shooting for the moon. Going more similar to this open source one designed by a real pro is more of a "sure thing". Not that I don't believe I can achieve my more ambitious designs, but just that they are admittedly a taller order and more crossing fingers about them is all. I really think building a top tier legit walking and talking full humanoid is going to legitimize my journey more in my own eyes and give me a better resume to bring MORE hope toward my own robot builds. Just seems like doing this is a no brainer. I've attached a early design progress image from TheRobotStudio who is currently designing Hope-Lite in Solidworks.

[theretirementstory]

22/09/2024. Bonjour à tous 👋, it’s a cloudy day and not particularly warm at 17c.

The photo above was taken on the 16 October 2017 from the window of the apartment I lived in when I first arrived. The church, Saint Maclou, had been closed since about the 1950’s and was becoming an eyesore. A European Fund provided money to restore the building, to become what, I am still unsure. Obviously with Covid, work was halted and it seemed as if the restored building would never appear. However, a walk to town on Friday, took me past the church and I am pleased to report that the portacabins and shuttering are no longer there and the church looks amazing. It is one of the 12th century churches in town and it’s wonderful to see it come to life again in the 21st century. (See photo below). Apparently, the outside work is complete it is now the interior work that needs to be finished.

As I only had one hospital visit this week, I was going to have more time for ME and the things that I like doing.

I was awaiting the arrival of the man to finish cleaning the exterior walls of my house, on Monday. He had said around 9am but as it was a dull morning he didn’t put in an appearance until 2pm. Anyway, he worked like a good ‘un, as we say where I come from. He didn’t finish until 8pm 😳 any later and I would have left him to it and gone to bed!

Having watched the neighbour two doors up preparing the ground and building breeze block pillars to put a motorised gate on his property I was feeling that I needed to tidy my front garden before the winter arrives. Monique had said she would clear the weeds from the raised bed in the back but to be honest the nettles are almost two foot high and it is really bugging me looking so untidy. Can I wait for her to put in an appearance?

On Friday I seemed to have found someone else’s energy and after two walks I still felt ok, so went outside to clear weeds and cat poop from the potager, then cover it with cardboard. Well that’s the idea, the cardboard is too big and I can’t cut it (am hoping a friendly neighbour will do it for me). The friendly neighbour brought home a bag of bark from the supermarket and having found just short of half a bag in the garage, I set to and spread that out. Well it looks as if I will need a few more bags, plus I found a bag lurking in the bottom of the storage box outside. Anyway, to say it looks a little better is no exaggeration.

Yesterday, I had it in my head to cut back the clematis, it’s never been done which is maybe why I haven’t seen it flower. I cut the roses back by a third and had cut the hydrangea back too (not too harshly). As the garden is a jungle of weeds I thought to try and sort those out. Imagine my surprise when I found the majority of the weeds were actually in my neighbours garden and had just grown high and come through the fence. So now not content with the neighbour on the other side with six foot high nettles which come through into my garden I have the neighbour on the other side with his weeds coming through! He has the front of his hedge (forsythia) all looking spic and span and just behind the forsythia loads of big weeds growing into my garden 🤔.

I messaged the gardener to see if we are coming into the time for grass cutting to end and if it’s time for weed killing (like the ivy under the shrubs). No response as yet.

My friend, Sarah, a fellow Brit who lives in Haute Marne, came to see me on Tuesday. We had a wonderful natter and she had insisted on bringing lunch. We had steamed salmon, green beans with roasted tomatoes and new potatoes, followed by (a bought) succès cake. These cakes are delicious my absolute favourites. It made such a change to see someone different and being English it was easier to converse.

Then it was the day of the hospital visit, of course, being Wednesday the cleaner was here at 9am, it was a quick lunch and then the taxi arrived at 12:45 not 13:00 as had been arranged! Anyway, my blood results were good for haemoglobin and on the rise for platelets. I had my platelet transfusion, two injections and my PICC line cleaned and dressed. It was still 6ish when I got home but at least that was only one day.

I do like to think I can have a lie in, but my tablets start at 7am so I think if I have slept from around 10pm to 6:30ish I have had a good rest.

Friday saw the return of the knitting group but unfortunately I wasn’t there. I got a photo of them all waving to me and I sent one back. I really must write a resignation letter so that I don’t have that pressure on me. I will be sad to give it all up but my heart isn’t in it anymore.

Anie came to see me last evening. She brought me golden raspberries from her garden along with a posy of beautiful flowers. We sat and talked, looked into my garden at the four areas of cyclamen and looking for birds. Monique has been unwell with ongoing pain in her back, sciatic nerve and leg. She said she had been finding it difficult to drive. She is hoping to come and see me this coming week. Lise, the lady who was in charge of the office at HUDA ( the refugee office) had her baby at the beginning of September. A little girl (or not so little) she weighed 4 kilos (8lbs 13oz) at birth 🤔 same weight as one of mine. Her name is Leonore, what a pretty name.

I am pleased that my life seems to be more mine rather than the hospitals. Sometimes I have felt that I have done nothing else but get into taxis and visit hospitals. I feel quite “normal” now I am sure you understand what I mean. I have time to cook and prepare some wonderful meals which is great as I am eating lots!

Last night I made a pizza and I ate half with salad, it was delicious and I was pleased I made it.

“The Recovery Coordinator” and “The Solicitor” have been eating healthily this last week. She messaged to say that she has lost 5lbs in weight and is very pleased. Work has been tough but she did work from home one day.

“The Solicitor” has been taking his lunch to work and thoroughly enjoyed what he has been eating. It’s good to see that they are on a health kick, getting out for walks as well as enjoying fruit and salads.

To be honest I have been eating lots of salad and really enjoying it. When I went to the hospital I had had soup and a sandwich which was quite filling. However at 4pm my stomach started rumbling and I could have done with having something tasty to eat. I am cutting out crisps, I had enjoyed them with a sandwich and they seemed to fill me up but I was conscious of the fat and salt content.

“The Photographer” went to London midweek and his company were very pleased with the photographs he had taken. This weekend he has his children, he took them to get some clothes for autumn and they were telling me what they had bought. My grandson went off to find his hoodie which had Marvel characters on it, then the three year old, quite patiently, explained to his aged grand-mere who each character was. I really wanted to laugh it was total role reversal 😂, he is just so adorable.

Now the music section. The first song is by Prince, it’s “Thieves in the Temple Part II” it was released in 1990. A bit of a change from me really.

The second song, is one I am surprised I haven’t had already, it’s by Labelle, it’s Lady Marmalade from way back in 1974.

Well we are heading into the last week of September, today is the autumnal equinox and here is a fact which has brought back memories of my visit there. “The staircases at the main Maya pyramid, El Castillo, at Chichen Itza, Mexico, are built at a carefully calculated angle which makes it look like a snake of sunlight slithers down the stairs the moment the equinox occurs.”

Well let’s see what the coming week has in store for me. Someone close to me will celebrate a birthday……. to say he has been looking forward to that day is an understatement. We will find out more for the blog next week!

Have a good week until next week!

[fyonnkalnonn]

I've been playing Fate/ Grand Order burning time until Fate/ Extra CCC comes out. I got to the Sixth Singularity in FGO, which, if you're not familiar, is a big chunk of content for FGO. In terms of content, a Singularity is roughly equivalent to a 8-13 episode season of anime. The prologue is mostly world-building, so it doesn't count. The first and second are just absolutely dire And Then They Went Here And Fought This Guy ad naseum. The third Singularity isn't much better, but the structural conceit fits what they were doing more, so it's more fun just by way of having more types of thing happen. The fourth Singularity is a sudden step up thanks to a very different scenario and a brief glimpse of Fate-esque mechanics, if not storytelling. The fifth Singularity is almost entirely Good, like the scenario and scene writers (who I assume are the same people, honestly) really had some Ideas and went for them, just kind of hit their stride in a real way.

And suddenly. Kinoko motherfucking Nasu is writing the Sixth Singularity, making the quality of the scenario and writing leap into the fucking stratosphere. I have like four or five screenshots of the first scene in the Sixth Singularity alone. Stuff is happening! There are a few scenes that are Nasu having to paper over just how casual the characters are about personal information in the personal information intel war death game franchise's gacha adaptation. Characters have relationships with each other, and I don't mean romantically, I mean characters have social roles they play for each other beyond "Hello I'm [teen dragon idol]. Watch how good I am at [teen dragon idol]! Hahahaha the joke is that I'm not good at [teen dragon idol]. I'll be here all week. Oh no, monsters I guess, time for gameplay~"

Characters have real stakes and make real sacrifices. The game finally acknowledges that people die. That's right, it took me getting to level fucking 85 (out of a maximum of 160) before the franchise in which people keep fighting despite being [horrifying physical trauma description redacted] so frequently that there's in-universe terminology for how and why that can happen featured a single human bystander dying. And though it still doesn't have the room to breathe that it should because gacha, the weight of people dying, the weight of the stakes, the horror inherent to the scenario feels real and tangible.

And now... I'm so mad at FGO's engine. They made an engine that can't display three lines of text at the same time, and despite being based on a visual novel franchise, they declined to steal the one iconic move of Type-Moon, the nearly full-screen dimmed text box for description / interiority. Nasu still makes it work sometimes, though because of the format it's not clear when a character is thinking or speaking. (This is also a problem in Fate/ Extra and Fate/ Stay Night, though, so I think Nasu just likes to bleed the edges between interiority and exteriority sometimes.) The other consequence of this is that characters have to do that goofy "verbally describing what's happening" thing which is... like. This is already a text format of storytelling, you're really telling me you can't omit a character name at the top of the message box???

[graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

On names

Emily, Rhoswen Juzou, Toph, Hollis, and now Fable Elliot Hyde. I have never had a name that wholly and truly felt right for all time. It has made the sort of intimate moments where you would expect your name to be an expression of love into awkward, turn-offy, halting messes. Since I got this name, I have felt somewhat trapped in it. My previous names have generally been untethered. I got Rhoswen Juzou from a combination of some hours searching through baby name websites looking for the perfect meaning to replace my deadname - which felt like a coil of ropes that was tying me to my parents and the (mild, but present) religious and homophobia-related trauma of my grade school years - and a fascination with a certain white-haired, traumatized, gender-fluid (I headcanon) ghoul investigator. After a two day binge of Avatar: the Last Airbender (in which i barely ate or slept), i renamed myself Toph, because, though a girl, she was tough and outspoken and had that careful combination of naivety and stony exterior that I wanted for myself (I, too, am glad I got past that), combined with her disability, which made her unique. As someone who vaguely identified as non-binary and used a combination of they/them and he/they pronouns at the time, I struggled with the fact that she was a girl, though my friends helped me to avoid that particular sector of dysphoria quite well.

When I listened to The Adventure Zone: Amnesty, I experienced something quite new to me: an explicitly non-binary character. Hollis was tough, implied to be amab, and the leader of a biker gang, but they still showed massive amounts of compassion for their members. They were the healthiest vision I had had for myself up to then, in mid-2020 when I was quite a shut-in and a screen hog who only came out of my room for food. I had the role model I wanted, but before I ever committed to the name, I lost my access to the internet and all of my friends because of complex personal and familial issues that culminated in big trouble for incoming 9th grader me. Left with no electronics besides a bedside alarm as the semester began (my first semester being at a fully online k-12 charter school), and not being allowed to spend much time by myself, I lost much of the identity I had been working so carefully to craft. I was lifeless and bare, always in fight or flight mode. As my attempts at reaching my friends on some of the loneliest nights came crashing down each in succession, I gave up hope of having a life outside of school for the time being. As my relationship with my parents got less tense, I felt more confident about being myself in my online classes over adobe connect. I clung to hope that my pure but inevitably queer insinuations in class chat boxes and my steadily increasing ventures into topics that my parents and I did not agree on in class discussions and assignments would not trip any alarms with the wifi router. I was building myself up from bare without the resources I previously had had laid out before me. And all throughout this, a small part of me was named Hollis. Hundreds of paper sudoku puzzles, secret journaling that never, ever broke streak for nearly 3 years, a stick-and-poke tattoo that I had given myself before my stuff was taken, and that name were what I held fast onto for the year where I did not have a phone. It all felt very dramatic to me as a 14- and 15-year-old, but even now as a freshman in college it affects me profoundly to think and write about.

In 2022, I got my driver’s license shortly after receiving a new phone for my birthday (so they could keep tabs on me and/or make sure I was safe, depending on if you're an optimist or a pessimist I suppose). At first I only ever went to martial arts class, then to the museum where my mother worked, then to hang out with one of my friends who also volunteered at the museum (by hanging out I mean sensual experimentation, which my parents had their suspicions about but I did my best to lie as little as I could without getting in trouble or crafting a huge network of lies like the one I had had before the incident). Then, I got close to another guy at this museum. It is hard to say what specifically compelled me to do things with him. Perhaps it was just a want of experimentation further than what the other guy was comfortable with or wanted, maybe it was hormones. It is also possible that I genuinely thought he was a good person that I could communicate and have a purely sexual and platonic relationship with. That is a long story in itself that I can’t remember a great deal of due to emotional distress from both the relationship and school work overloading me, and witnessing a shooting late that year. To put it succinctly, we experimented physically, dated for a bit near the end, then stopped talking completely.

When we started getting involved was around the same time that I stopped putting labels on love because, to me, they are incredibly limiting. I decided that I must in some way be aromantic because of how friendly and romantic love often blended together for me and the fact that I felt comfortable with kissing some of my friends on the lips, among other things I became all right with as time went on. This was tough for a cishet guy with deep internalized homophobia who wanted a romantic relationship with me at first to understand. He wanted labels and tradition and something that was easy to explain to his parents, and I wanted no part in any of that, but I allowed it to continue likely for reasons aforementioned and because I thought I could make it work, I thought I could fix him (a trait I have worked on and continue to do so!). I have trouble remembering what was whose fault. I think we both tried, at times, and I think neither of us did at other times. Whatever we were doing, we did not have the emotional maturity, clarity of thought, or compatibility for it to work out. One thing I know was on him was his apparent inability to perceive me how I wanted to be seen in terms of my gender identity. To have a deeply sensual and sexual connection with someone and then to be told that “I still have to think of you as female/a woman in order to be sexually attracted to you” (in some other terms I am sure, but that is how I can describe it) is deeply upsetting for someone who was already struggling to strike a balance between putting myself into words and not. I slowly succumbed to labels and fell into traps of his and my own manipulation as our relationship fell apart in early-mid 2023.

I went to college that summer. An hour away from home, which felt way too close. Growing up in the south, the only place I ever wanted to be was out. It was not my dream vision of college, but I have found some of the most important people that I have ever met here. And I met a guy who was instrumental in my rediscovery of myself. He is now my husband. Not legally yet, not married by a minister (his religion is very private to him, and I am agnostic), but, in his words, “God knows it.” And in my words, “spiritually to me honey we're like already married.” I am incredibly lucky to have found him, but that’s not the point here.

When I got to college, these people did not ask me what my gender was. To know my pronouns was enough because it was all they needed to know. They knew it and I knew it. And because of this, I was so much more willing to have long conversations - both with myself and with others - about my gender identity and my sexuality. This was not just a sudden willingness to say “I am non-binary.” This was the ability to have an hours-long conversation where I use as many words to describe how I feel as I could possibly think of. For my gender, I would use “trans,” “masc,” “non-binary,” “gender non-conforming,” “gender queer.” For my sexual, romantic, and friendly attraction, I could describe it as “bi,” “pan,” “omni,” “poly,” “demi,” etc, but I generally would just describe myself as queer. It has a certain vagueness, a strange combination of heft and lightheartedness, and a punk rock feeling of reclamation that makes me feel very at home, but it is still just a word to me. Both of these lists are completely in-comprehensive and yet even the full lists of the words I would use in these conversations are woefully inept when compared to the simple feeling of being this… this THING.

If you would, I’ll ask you to do something for me. Think of those conversations, the millions of blogposts about what it is like to be bisexual, the transmasc experience, think of the dysphoria and the lines of questioning that we nearly all do at some point in our lives once we realize that the questions are there to be asked. Think of the realizations. Think of gender. Think of sexuality. Think of how these are two incomprehensibly small parts of who we are and what we do, even if they seem to take up a lot of our time and thought. Think of what you ate for breakfast. Please, eat breakfast.

Now imagine putting all of this together into one being. Imagine putting everything on a bagel… and then calling it Fable.

That’s me.

At some point in my former relationship, I decided finally that Hollis was too similar to my mother’s name, and it bothered me. My partner, though he almost never actually used my chosen name because of how often he interacted with my mother (I didn't want any slip ups), sat with me for hours listening to me read names and meanings off of a baby name website. We decided on a last name together too because neither of us liked our last names. Hence, I kind of felt like this name had to stick because I was getting so close to the age at which I could legally change it and because I had had my first experience of deciding what my legal name would be as part of a couple.

Quick sidebar - I read Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five around this time, and the concept of Tralfamadorian books absolutely pulled me in. If you are not aware, here are some slight spoilers (that in my opinion are really just fuel to make you want to read the book more): The main character is kidnapped at one point by aliens called Tralfamadorians, which are beings separate from time. They experience literally all of time at all times. They are a wild and beautiful concept in and of themselves, but what I love more are their books. Collections of images, poems, and prose that have nothing to do with one another. On the trip back to Tralfamadore from Earth, which iirc takes 500 (?) years, the main character gets very bored and reads the one human book that they have over and over again before asking if they have any books of their own. One of the aliens explains that even if he could read their language, he would not understand the books. They see and experience every part of these books all at once. Even when they are not reading them, which they always are. Because some version of them at some time (which is always taking place at exactly the same time, all the time) is always doing everything they have ever done and will ever do. I hope you see why I love them so much now.

I want my body to be a Tralfamadorian book of tattoos, scars, and random marks I collect over my lifetime (like stretch marks and cellulite, which I am deeply in love with). I have that wonderful stick-and-poke heart directly over my heart, I have butterflies whose meaning warrants written words of this length just by themselves, and I want a shit ton more. I want a dragon on my right side, climbing up me, mostly because I think it would look sick as fuck. I want bees on my torso, because I love the Earth. I want Be Kind in gothic font on my clavicle. I want an airplane flying around my left thigh and leaving a smoke trail because I love flying (I have my pilot’s certificate). I want a frog dressed up as a barista on my left arm, and my husband wants one dressed up as a mechanic (or whatever career path I end up on by the time we move off together) on his right arm, so they can kiss when we lean up next to each other. I want a hundred more little things, all wrapped in flowering vines. On the areas where a chest compression binder and a nice pair of boxers sit on me, I want it all in color with a stark line of contrast. None of this would be much of a story by itself, but it shows off the work in progress of a fully formed being who contains multitudes when you put it together. And it still isn't even the full story of me! Shit is as hard to put into pictures as it is to put into words, especially for someone who can't draw (like me).

In essence, there is no one word for me. I feel the same about the people that I am close to. Saying their names and people saying my name feels like just a description, an almost arbitrary value assigned to them either by the world or themselves. An approximation. As someone who dabbles in linguistics I find it so deeply fascinating how hard we try to contain such multitudes into a very small collection of letters and how short we inevitably fall most times.

I recently wanted to explain this feeling of detachment from my name to my husband. In fact, I had to. It was important to me that he understood this because hearing my name in deeply intimate moments can be off putting, and I wanted him to know why I react a certain way to that so that we could take away the cause and attack the root of the problem together. I explained that terms of endearment are fine, wonderful even. I know that when he calls me honey, love, devil, cutie, or other similar things, there is never an attempt to grasp at and contain in one word something that cannot be explained in one million words. Even hearing him call me “my fable, my story” is cheesy and joyful rather than disconcerting because it reflects a part of him (the adorable part) rather than who I am and what I am. I feel that a name can be objectifying and reductive if used in a way that tries to capture and define the entirety of someone. I have realized this especially with having a noun for a name, a fun little state of being that I like to call “entirely my fault, and yet wonderful in its own ways.” I have come to enjoy the concept that one of my friends rocks with of having people call them “whatever, as long as you don’t call me late to dinner.” Because what the fuck IS in a name? Multitudes. But what is in a person? An infinite number of multitudes. Fuck yeah.

To speak on love again, I feel that there are as many words for love as there are names of people that you love. And of course, I have already discussed how many names we could put to a single part of a person, much less the person themselves. I have also become more comfortable with the concept of labeling romantic love as such after realizing that I can choose when or if I want to do so. I have free will! Insane. My relationship with my husband helped with this as we went from being friends who were physically involved but neither of us ready for a relationship to being boyfriends over the course of a few months. The moment he asked me out, I put that concept of romantic love back into the air. Whatever way I feel about other people, I know for a fact that I want to be with him, so I decided (pretty recently actually) that that could be my way of defining when my love for someone was romantic: if I want to be with them. in a romantic relationship. seems obvious when I think about it now but it wasn't at all a few months ago.

I have heard people talk about detachment from their names before, but this has always been phrased as a temporary condition which will end as soon as they find the “perfect” name. For me, I know that that perfection does not exist. I know that if I truly had a name that put all of me into one word, this would never be a word that we as humans could speak. We could try and contort our tongues, but we simply couldn’t make the sound. To hear it would melt our brains. To read it would make us go blind.

But I know that I taste it. When I kiss my husband, I can feel what I am, what he is, the separate thing of what we are together. None of it makes sense to say in any mortal language, but I think that that is what makes it beautiful. The fact that it is infallible and untouchable. My husband will never be able to describe exactly who I am because the words do not exist. I think he might know, though, through the countless times he’s seen me in tears over the feeling of his skin and the warmth of being together. Maybe he just knows the person that I am when we are together, it is possible that that’s different from the person I am when we are apart, whether that is intentional or not. If I am different when apart from him, I surely don’t know, and I know that there are multitudes to him that I could not even imagine, the byproduct of him just being a more private person than I am though he would readily answer any question any questions about himself I could pose to him (the problem being that in the infinite abyss of questions, I'd rather just witness the parts of himself that he has offered up. I also can't even fathom the questions I would ask, which obviously presents a problem if I wanted to ask them). The point is that we know enough of each other to know that we are incredibly happy together and to know that we could never find a true name, at least for me, even with all the letters in every alphabet that exists.

Please accept my humble offering unto a conversation that, as far as I know, does not exist beyond the bits of it I have had with my husband and two dear friends. I hope you find the same wonderful sense of being lost in it as I did, and I hope you find joy in knowing yourself however you do.

[awesomeforever]

The Lincoln County News Serving Maine and Lincoln County for over 140 years November 17, 2022 at 9:08 am Evan Houk Frieda and John Hanlon stand behind the counter at Stars Fine Jewelry in Damariscotta on Tuesday, Nov. 15. The husband-and-wife owner-operators started the business in 1994 and simply want to step back, relax, and spend more time at home and traveling around Maine now. (Evan Houk photo) Stars Fine Jewelry, a staple of downtown Damariscotta since 1994, is offering one last Christmas gift to the community before closing — an up to 70% off sale on all the merchandise in the store, co-owner and operator Frieda Hanlon said during an interview on Tuesday, Nov. 15. “Our last Christmas, a big sale, great discounts, but still the same care that we’ve put into it,” Frieda said, noting her and her husband and business partner, John’s, continuous attentiveness to customers. Customers can still visit the store, while supplies last, and pick up one of Stars’ iconic little green boxes wrapped in red ribbon as a holiday gift for that special someone. Frieda said that people would tie the boxes and hide them in Christmas trees. “I can’t tell you how many people said, ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without a little green box from Stars,’” Frieda said as she held back tears, reminiscing about the business. “We warmed ourselves with thinking how many people’s Christmases we made happy.” “This is all of us,” Frieda said. “We created Stars, we did everything here and we loved it.” Frieda and her husband, John Hanlon, have operated the “extremely successful business” for the past 28 years and are simply ready to retire as both are in their 70s. They were essentially the only two full-time employees the entire time they have run the store. The couple wants to relax and spend time at home, and then start to explore their home state, with Bar Harbor being near the top of the list, Frieda said. “We’ve had virtually no time off. We want to enjoy Maine,” Frieda said. “We just want to have a quiet life.” The couple purchased their current building at 65 Main St. in 2004 and gutted the interior. They invested in extensive renovations, including the replacement of three exterior walls and the removal of several sub-floors and two hung ceilings, to get it in shape. Recently, a new roof and new furnace were also installed, Frieda said. The building previously housed Damariscotta Hair Design and the Come Again Shop, which sold jewelry, bags, stationary, glass, Rowantree pottery, and Maine books, according to a “Damariscotta History” column by Marjorie and Calvin Dodge. The building and the “shell” of the business, which would include the locally handcrafted mahogany display cases, other equipment, and the Stars Fine Jewelry name, will be listed for sale with Sotheby’s International Realty, Frieda said. Customers pack Stars Fine Jewelry in downtown Damariscotta for the first night of the store’s retirement sale on Wednesday, Nov. 9. Frieda and John Hanlon, owners and operators since starting the business in 1994, want to step back, relax, and spend more time at home and traveling around Maine. (Evan Houk photo) “If there’s not that perfect fit, we may have to pass and just sell the building,” Frieda said. The business of Stars Fine Jewelry has kept growing year after year and has been thriving since the couple first opened a small shop on Theater Street in 1994, where About Face is currently located. The first sale, of a pair of earrings, was made to Kim Brown, who was pregnant with her daughter, Lydia, at the time. Years later, Lydia’s fiancé, Jonah Cronkhite, would come to Stars to pick out her engagement ring and wedding band, Frieda said. “That little baby bought her engagement ring and wedding band from us,” Frieda said. John and Frieda Hanlon met in London in 1992, where John was a longtime resident. The two married and eventually moved back to Boothbay Harbor, where Frieda’s mother lived. Frieda had bought her first piece of jewelry at

15 and had 12 years of experience in the industry from owning a select secondhand clothing store. The two built the store from the ground up and made it into the success it is today. “We started with no money, we lived with my mother for four years,” Frieda said. The exterior of Stars Fine Jewelry at 65 Main St. in Damariscotta on Tuesday, Nov. 15. Frieda and John Hanlon, owners and operators since starting the business in 1994, have decided to retire and are selling all the inventory at up to 70% off, while supplies last. (Evan Houk photo) John said he had never seen stars so beautiful as in Maine and they were looking for something short elegant, and memorable, so the two decided on the name Stars Fine Jewelry. Frieda said she will miss “the feeling of helping people find something beautiful and meaningful for their occasions in life.” Frieda and John have also taken pride in truly listening to customers and figuring out what they needed. “When people came in here we tried to translate, to really get at, what it is that they really wanted,” Frieda said. Frieda said the most fun was helping out men who came into the store looking like deer in headlights, not sure what to do. “Guys always felt like they were in the wrong place at the wrong time coming into a jewelry store,” Frieda said. “We took pride in trying make, especially our guy customers, relax and laugh.” For more information and current deals, find Stars Fine Jewelry on Facebook. To stay informed on local happenings, sign up for our newsletter! Stay in the loop with all the news, happenings, and goings-on in Lincoln County with our twice-weekly email newsletter! You may unsubscribe at any time. source

[mariasmemo]

Masonry Conservation Accomplished!

With the COVID-19 Pandemic severely slowing the start of the conservation project and supply chain issues, as well as weather, among other things, it has been a long road but we have finally completed the masonry conservation and roof repairs at our historic Maria Mitchell Vestal Street Observatory!

I say “we” but this was the fantastic work of island mason, Wayne Morris.  He has accomplished a great deal and the building is now weather tight, brick and grout are secure, and we have new steel lintels over doors and windows.  It sounds simple doesn’t it?  But, it is not and it has taken a lot of time and care – and all sort of new and interesting issues were revealed as old repairs were removed and things were opened up – things you cannot see until you dig.  Even removing one lintel is a painstaking process – especially on the main floor where you have large stone pieces over each opening that “hide” the original iron (and rusting) lintel beneath.  It’s not everyone who can do a project such as this and the MMA is lucky to have had Wayne Morris.  He’s talented, knows how to think outside the box, and genuinely knows and loves what he does.  He spent a lot of hours grinding up stone to match the 1908 and 1922 grouts and trying to match the color.  Not many will take that time and its important that we do for conservation reasons. I’ve learned some things from him over the years – including to call it “grout.”

I would also like to thank James Lydon and Sons and Daughters for the work to the rubber and copper on the two roofs, and to Jeff Schneider and Ellis and Schneider Electrical for moving the electrical lines so that the mason could get to one of the lintels in the basement.  Apparently, at some point, long ago, they thought it was a good idea to run conduit pipe for electrical wires in FRONT of a cellar window thus negating the possibility of it being opened AND blocking the lintel that Wayne Morris needed to replace!

We still have to clean up the landscape, put in a French drain in front, and paint the windows and wood door – and remove the paint from the original 1908 copper door. Then, the exterior will be complete.  Next up, conservation of the interior which will include conservation of the original 1922 Astronomical Study’s floor and woodwork, painting, the addition of new wood storms on the façade, HVAC, and electrical upgrades.  So, there is more to come – but first we needed to be weather tight!

JNLF

P.S. Not sure what I am going to do.  I’ve worked on several projects here at MMA and at the Coffin School with Wayne Morris.  I keep teasing him we can’t let him go.  Going to miss seeing his truck parked in our front yard at MMA – a parking spot only he could have!

[honestmagpie]

X-ray Raz is VERY cute and we don't appreciate that enough.

"Our Lady of Restraint" and the fact that Hollis' mental sanctuary is in the hospital chapel suggests she might be religious, which I think is a neat little addition.

Actually, aside: I think it's very telling that your controls DON'T invert when Raz is on a levitation ball. By all accounts they should, which tells me that Raz is SUCH an experienced circus performer that he doesn't even have to think about reversing his movement on top of a ball. He just does it automatically because he has so much practice.

The Lady Lucktopus exterior has a great deal of seagull crap in specific high-risk spots which I think is a very funny and niche detail to add that does a good job of adding depth to the scene.

Also I wish I could more closely examine the low-poly distance models for this scene, it's really neat. And the Skybox here is really quite pretty.

I think the Croupier is using the same soundbite as the one from Grim Fandango, which is a very clever little reference.

GOD Hollis' Hot Streak looks good.

The exterior of Hollis' Hot Streak has tentacles and cards wrapping around the world, and even the buildings are wavy like tentacls. Just a real cool note.

There's an X-ray that features a skull with three eye sockets, to indicate a psychic's 'third eye' which is entertaining.

Hollis' high-rollers lounge features a heart motif rather than a sunrise (which I think is what it was before). This because she hasn't been following her heart, and you have to help her realign her thoughts with her heart.

MAN I love the things this game does with gravity and perspective.

"Oh, phew, it's just the morgue."

I suspect Hollis has an 'addictive personality' even though she understands the math behind gambling. All this happened too easily, I bet she'd be into Gacha games and blind boxes, but she wouldn't indulge in them because they're 'a waste of money'. She'd be down for a penny-ante poker game with friends.

I think the maternity ward music has "Rock a bye baby" in its music.

In the Pharmacy at least, we can see that the pharmacy is erupting out of Hollis' mental blockages. I suspect she's very frequently stuck in the same way of thinking, which could be why she struggles to solve the financial issues-- but also why she's known for her steadfast attitude. Hollis never changes, and Hollis has a very straightforward and direct moral compass. All three of her minigames relate to her heart, I suspect she's very head-driven, and might not have ever really been driven by her heart. While Raz definitely tinkered with her problem-solving abilities and muddled things, I think he also helped her handle being more in-tune with her emotions, which might be why she softens up on Raz just a bit in the game.

I wish there was a New Game + Where I could play with all the powers and upgrades I've earned previously unlocked.

The medical nurses are incredibly funny still.

Says the heart: "My doctor told me to stay off this leg. but he's also my boss, and he told me if I miss another race, I'll be fired." I think that indicates Hollis' disregard for her own feelings nicely. The one time she let her feelings override her logic, she made a mistake that ended her medical career. "Who am I to complain? I'm not special." Also the heart is literally a 'broken heart'. Worth noting, the other runners in the cardio race all see Raz as a joker, except the heart who sees Raz as a coach.

I like Adam and Lizzie. They're neat.

The Lady Lucktopus' cards are actually pretty neat, I bet they could be adapted into a real playing card set.

There are some interesting implications to the interns' astral projections turning into thought nodes.

Back to the heart thing, it's interesting that you attack the heart in the Lady Lucktopus' head. Perhaps showing Hollis the difference between "Letting yourself have your feelings" and "Letting your heart rule your head".

Wtf Hollis' hands reach past her knees when she's standing. Psychonauts proportions are so whack, I love them.

Raz being ashamed of himself is still so cute. He's just a littol creatchur.

Poor Sasha has been stuck in the fuckin air vents for HOURS. (Also his codename is Shoehorn because he used to be a cobbler lmao)

I love that milla dresses like she's trying to dress like a secret agent for a halloween party.

Raz is Eggbeater because he messes with so many brains. :)

Norma honey plz fix the bridge of your glasses you will get SO many headaches like that.

The Lady Lucktopus' hallway carpet is actually fantastic and I would like that as an area rug.

I had to learn from the Internet that you could blast the psi drones. Like what is even the point of having them then lmao.

Adam is so cool, actually.

Lizzie has straight-up cryokinesis, does she know how powerful she is??

Sasha's utter disdain for necromancy amuses me greatly.

Hollis being completely correct at her first guess is hilarious.

Poor Sasha never gets answers for why he was stuck in an air vent for HOURS. (Assumed based on the daylight out the window).

"Oh, Sasha. I just don't know who to trust anymore." From Milla. 👀

Sasha is SUCH a dad, bless his heart.

Huh, the lever in his lab with the button prompt no longer has the button prompt. No more "Press Triangle to Razputin" lmao.

He has a recycle bin next to his desk, but no garbage can. Also, a flower in a boot?? A reminder of his parents, perhaps?? Right next to a gold brain trophy that he probably earned by being such a smart cookie. Everyone talks about the lamp in his office, but nobody comments on the SEVEN potted plants he keeps near his desk. :)

Whitlatch just asked for "A background check on that whole circus family" before they even show up. She's just racist against grulovians. >c

Hey if the Psychonauts wants to cut their damn budget they could start with the WHOLE WATER FEATURE in the boss' office, james bond villain-lookin ass...

Truman's... pants. Truman's pants have a brain pattern. Bruh's whole-ass wearing Psychonauts brand pajamas. I know we knew this because mf is wearing a bathrobe, but STILL.

"I have no-one else I can trust." Bitch he's TEN. Would everyone please stop trusting a ten-year-old. I know he saves the world with the regularity of a pokemon trainer but he is STILL TEN.

Raz: "I'll complete this mission with utmost secrecy." [summons the worlds most famous psychonaut in the middle of the HQ lunchroom, yelling about a mole in the psychonauts]

Helmut and Bob's stumps at Whispering Rock are next to each other. :')

The visual of he cabin around Ford seeming to have exploded from Ford as the source sure is something serious.

Cruller has at least one arm tattoo.

I was wrong about the twist villain not saying anything to betray himself. "Do you know who I am?" "I'm telling my dad!"

If you watch him, Raz is VISIBLY more focused when he's standing still balancing on his levitation ball.

"This is just another brain in torment. It needs a Psychonaut to fix it." I like that fake Truman doesn't realize that Psychonauts aren't meant to "Fix" people.

That'll be it for tonight, probably more liveblogging later unless someone hates me for these already lmao.

Replaying Psychonauts 2 for the funzies.

In Loboto's Labyrinth, the last time you visit the trap (right before you relearn levitation from Milla) the exit blocked by a painting has a chandelier hanging above it that looks suspiciously like SOMEONE'S intricate headdress.

[apparitionism]

Sound 6c

I’m putting up parts 6c and 6d, which together form the end of part 6, in rapid succession this evening; combining them would make for an insanely long post, but this is all of a conceptual piece—well, in my head it is; who knows if the connections actually connect, or if I’m really just hitting every point with a too-wordy hammer. Trying to do both too much and not enough? Anyway, I wrote some things down. Cf. Soon, as well as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5a, part 5b, part 5c, part 6a, and part 6b of this.

Also a PSA: Tumblr friend @shipsbecomearmadas is working hard to raise funds for the Kaleidoscope Youth Center (http://www.kycohio.org/), which serves LGBTQIA+ kids in Columbus, Ohio. The group is trying to get Ellen’s attention, and you can help by tweeting or blogging about the center and tagging it “#4Ellen”. (I’ll mention too that wherever you are, if you have a local youth center, they most likely could use any help you can give.)

Sound 6c

Myka had never bothered much with Christmas when she lived alone; she was content for it to be nothing more than a quiet day. Very near silent, and possibly even holy, though religion had, and has, occupied her thoughts only when relevant to translation or teaching. Abigail, who has apparently (and incongruously, as far as Myka is concerned) gone to church every Sunday of her entire life, takes great delight in calling Myka a godless commie. Pete doesn’t call Myka a godless commie, but he does go with Abigail to church now, her interdenominational Chinese Christian church in D.C. “They look at me like I’m a zoo animal,” he once confided to Myka, and then he said, with slight puzzlement, “Weird to be the different one. But I guess I do look like a zoo animal, sitting there with everybody. Probably sound like one too; you know I can’t sing, but Abigail pokes me when I just mouth along with the hymns. I think she does it so they’ll laugh at me and not hate me.”

“Is it working?” Myka asked.

“Well, they laugh. Real quiet, but they laugh.”

“Is that okay with you?”

He frowned, just a little. “Course it is. What kind of guy am I if it’s not?”

“A not-Pete kind of guy,” Myka had assured him.

Pete’s on her mind this afternoon because she’s wrapping his Christmas present: a New York Mets baseball cap. Christina has decided that the Mets are her team, given that last year was their first year in the league and it was also her first year paying close attention to baseball, so Pete takes her to games whenever he and Abigail visit New York during the season. When Myka had wondered aloud what to get him, “a Mets hat” had been Christina’s immediate suggestion.

“Will it be okay for him to wear a New York hat in Washington?” Myka asked.

“The Senators left, so I bet nobody there even cares about baseball anymore. But also I bet it wouldn’t matter to Pete anyway.”

Of course it wouldn’t. Because Pete is a Pete kind of guy.

To wrap the present, Myka is sitting on the floor, next to the tree, because Christina is taking up most of the table with the newspaper. Christina generally doesn’t have time to read the paper before school, so that is one of her rewards for finishing her homework in the afternoons. But while she’s always intent, she isn’t always as intent as she is this day, this unremarkable, not-yet-Christmas Tuesday. She has the newspaper open in front of her, and she’s gone to get the dictionary too; she is on her knees in the chair, her whole body hunching over their small table as she reads, consults the dictionary, then reads some more.

Myka doesn’t begrudge her the table space, because she is enjoying being near the tree, breathing in green and outdoors; while she can’t imagine ever calling Colorado home again, this pine scrapes with familiarity through her lungs. They don’t have enough tree here for the smell itself to go deep, but she’ll take shallow, because it signifies her having won once again an argument she and Helena have now had for three Christmases: Helena says she wants to buy one of the popular aluminum trees, and Myka objects, based both on Colorado and on “where could we possibly store it?” Then Christina tells her mother that it’s an aluminum tree, not an aluminium one, because they are Americans now; Helena objects that she is not in fact an American, so she will continue to say “aluminium tree”; and Myka says it doesn’t matter how anybody pronounces it anyway because it isn’t a tree.

The first time Myka won this argument, in 1961, Helena had stepped back and regarded their newly decorated, blessedly nonmetallic tree. She had at that point declared that if there was no chance of real modernity, she would at least like said tree to be flocked. “Fake snow,” Myka had sighed, “on a real tree?” But the next day Helena brought home an aerosol can of the stuff, saying that Myka did not need to trouble herself over it, that she herself would deal with the application. “Tomorrow, though,” she’d yawned.

Myka had been the first one up and out of bed the following morning. She walked into the living room and caught sight of the tree. She blinked. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked again. But no, the sight stayed the same: the bottom two-thirds of the tree—the still-decorated tree—seemed to have been dolloped with melting strawberry ice cream. She stood in front of the tree for some time, trying to formulate a thought.

“Helena, could you come here?” she called.

Helena grumbled, from their bedroom, “I don’t want to get up yet.”

“I really would appreciate it if you would come here and tell me what you see.”

She emerged, buttoning her robe, muttering “fine, fine,” blinking. She leaned against Myka, nuzzling brief and warm into her neck. Then she stood straight up, facing the tree. She blinked some more. “You want me to tell you what I see.”

“Yes and no,” Myka said, “or maybe I mean yes or no. Depending on what you tell me.”

“Hm. I see that I have made two errors.”

“Two errors, you say.”

“Yes. First, I failed to attend to the color of the spray I purchased. In my defense, I don’t suppose I had any idea it came in colors other than white.”

“It’s fake snow,” Myka reminded her. That was met with a heavy sigh that did not do much to disguise an underlying growl, and Myka chuckled. “And your second error?”

“Second—well, technically first, chronologically—I had a child. Who I believe is now lurking in the hallway, and who might as well come here and regard, with shame, what she has inflicted upon our tree and ornaments.”

Christina walked to the tree and sighed. “I wanted to surprise you.” This said with remorse, but also with something a little like pride.

“You did do that,” Myka had to concede.

“Quite successfully,” Helena said. “And you managed to do this in the night without waking us, which is also a bit of a surprise.”

“I didn’t turn the light on. So I guess I couldn’t see the color in the dark. Also I couldn’t reach all the way up the tree either. Are you mad?”

“About your not being able to reach all the way up the tree? Actually, I’m not at all angry about that, because at least some of the decorations were spared a pinkening.”

Myka said, “I wonder if it comes off. The pinkening, I mean.”

Christina pulled a formerly shiny gold metal ball from the tree. She rubbed at its dried pink drips of flocking with her thumb.

So yes, Christmas was once a quiet day, a day with which Myka never much bothered. But now Christmas is something else again, something that is signified, for her and for Helena and especially for Christina, by the removing of pink-encrusted ornaments from their various protective boxes and newspaper swaddlings and the placing of them, as the finishing touches, on their tree.

Myka raises a hand to the ornament nearest her, a plastic Santa who looks as if he’d been minding his own business on the sidewalk, only to be splashed by a taxi driving through a puddle of melted cotton candy. His pink imperfection clashes terribly with his red coat, and Myka feels more than a little silly for how that makes her heart swell. He’d look even more ridiculous if he were hanging from an aluminum—or aluminium—branch... but Myka suspects her heart would swell just the same.

“Myka,” Christina says from the table. Her voice is querulous, a little jar to Myka’s Santa-inspired sentimentality.

“Christina,” Myka answers back. She will later reflect that she should somehow have known what had Christina concerned, but fate had made her take just one glance at the newspaper that morning. She’d glanced at it again, just the front page, just above the fold, when she arrived home. She hadn’t known. She couldn’t have known... but that was no excuse.

“You and Mom.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t see what’s coming.

“Are you sick.”

“Sick. Sick?” And still she doesn’t see what’s coming. “We had those bad colds, but that was last month.”

“No. Not colds. Sick with.” Christina looks down at the paper. “An incurable, congenital disorder.”

Myka stands up, walks to the table. Christina has the paper open, but now she flips to the front page—the front page, it’s below the fold, but the front page—and reads the headline out loud: “Growth of Overt Homosexuality in City Provokes Wide Concern.” Christina stumbles, just a bit, in that out-loud reading, over the “sexuality” part of “homosexuality.”

This is the kind of situation Helena was made for, as a parent; she would know the right words to say to either defuse it or dismiss it entirely. Myka is... not a parent, so she cannot have been made for any situation as a parent. But her footing is in any case far less secure, not just because they don’t talk very much about this with Christina, not directly, but also because Myka herself tries not to think about it very much. Not directly. Except when she’s forced to. Except when things happen.

But all right, this newspaper article has now happened. Myka reads the front-page portion. It doesn’t seem so bad, despite the headline; it’s about the state liquor authority revoking licenses of so-called “homosexual haunts.” She nods and Christina turns to the continuing page—and there the article seems to go on forever, columns upon columns. Christina points to a particular section: “Out of the Shadows,” the subhead reads, and Myka braces herself. She scans the text there: apparently the best argument that the “organized homophile movement” can muster is that, just as Christina had quoted, homosexuality is “an incurable, congenital disorder”—which in turn would mean that homosexuals should be considered “just another minority.” Analytical psychiatrists, on the other hand, say it’s the result of “ill-adjusted parents.” Which for some reason means it can be “cured.”

Myka asks, “Have you read the whole thing?”

Christina nods.

“Will you give me a minute to read it too, so I know what we’re talking about?”

Christina nods again. It isn’t her fully nervous nod. Myka takes that as a genuine okay for her to go ahead.

But as Myka starts to read, Christina executes a seemingly aimless wander over to the record player. She puts on... she puts on the Drifters. Their 1962 LP, the second side, and Myka now knows that Christina is more upset than she wants to say out loud, because if she is starting with the second side? Helena plays on every track, and the songs themselves do not matter in the slightest: what’s important is that Christina knows she is hearing her mother.

She comes back to Myka, who is now sitting at the table; she stands behind Myka’s chair and drapes herself over Myka’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” Myka says, and Christina nods against her neck. She doesn’t move away, though. At no point while Myka reads does Christina move away.

The article deals mainly with men, where they go, how they talk to each other, why they act as they do. Women are worth almost no mention, and Myka comes close to convincing herself: This is not about me. This is not about Helena. This is not about me, and it is not about Helena. It is not about us.

But one section, despite its male focus, rips the ground from under her tentative self-persuasion. It’s subheaded “Impossible Dream.” It begins, “Many homosexuals dream of forming a permanent attachment that would give them the sense of social and emotional stability that others derive from heterosexual marriage but few achieve it.”

It is the kind of bald statement that she seems always to be trying to tell herself is untrue, but here it is, in the newspaper. Everyone in the entire city read this today. Everyone in the city read that her life and Helena’s, their life together, is impossible... the ten-year-old who shares that life, she is a warm mantle of worry still clasping Myka’s shoulders but now slipped down, plastered against her side, as Myka looks at this newspaper on this table at which they impossibly eat breakfast, lunch, dinner.

“Okay,” she tells Christina when she’s through. “I read it. What are you thinking?”

“You’re not sick,” Christina says.

“I don’t think so.”

Now the words tumble out. “Okay, but then the people in the article who say you’re not sick, the ones who say it’s just that you have weird parents, if your father is hostile and your mother is... I can’t remember what it said about mothers, but they say you can be cured, but how can you be cured of something if you’re not sick with anything in the first place? That doesn’t make sense.”

She really is a very smart girl. “Not much sense,” Myka agrees.

“But do you want to be?”

“Want to be what?”

“Cured.”

How to explain the difference between what you want and what you want? Not that Myka can even explain that to herself, so she goes ahead with the response that had jumped into her head: “But that would mean I wouldn’t love your mom anymore.”

“I know what it means,” Christina says, with a hint of resentment. “Is it what you want?”

Smart girl. Discerning girl. “I want to love her forever,” Myka says. It’s as true as any of the other contradictorily true things she could say, but she does have to stop herself from adding “in an ideal world.” There’s only so much truth you can tell a ten-year-old. Even this ten-year-old.

“Forever?”

There’s both hope and certainty in that word: “do you mean it” crossed with “of course you mean it.” Myka has heard the same collision in Helena’s voice. She’s never known how to give Helena the right answer, and she has no better intuition here. “I do want to,” she tries.

“Is that what Mom wants too?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.” Christina tightens her grip on Myka, a dramatic grasp of a hug, then lets go. “I think I’ll go read now.”

“Okay. What are you reading?”

“I’m not sure. I have about three or four library books.” Feigned disinterest, a lack of precision: she’s finished talking about this. But then she cocks her head, listening to the music. “Rudy isn’t sick either.” Most singers and musicians with whom Helena works, Christina can take or leave. She’s polite to all of them, of course, because Helena would never let her get away with anything less. But a select few—and this seems to have nothing to do with how famous they are, or even how talented—she adores. Rudy Lewis is among those select few, and in this case, the devotion is mutual. He always asks after her, and when he sees her, he declares “there’s that baby!”, which never fails to accelerate Christina’s usually slow smile.

“Rudy isn’t sick either,” Myka says. “Rudy is as sweet to you as I’ve ever seen anybody be, plus he sings like an angel, and he gets a huge kick out of your mom. I don’t think anybody who does all those things could be sick.”

“And he doesn’t want to be cured either, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” Myka says, but here, she is skirting an outright lie. Because Rudy might not be sick, but he does have his problems. And some of those problems do arise from the fact that he... isn’t sick. But here, too, there’s only so much truth you can tell a ten-year-old. Myka suspects that Rudy, as well as most of the people she knows who aren’t sick, would not volunteer to be cured. But she does wonder what they would say about it, what she herself and even Helena would say about it, if they woke up one morning and found themselves cured—or rather, found themselves not like this. Like everyone else instead.

“That’s good,” Christina says. “I wouldn’t want him to be different. I really am going to read now. I have A Wrinkle in Time again, and I got Ice Station Zebra and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold for the first time.” Over the summer, she had developed a fondness for spy thrillers, in spite of needing to look up what seemed to be every other word. Myka and Helena both found this new preference a little alarming, but it sent Abigail into hysterics. “Like mother, like daughter... no, I mean, like this person, like this person’s kid!” she had chortled.

Now Christina takes the dictionary from the table, tucking it under her arm. She likes to read books in her room. Newspapers on the table, books in her room, and she leaves Myka sitting there, still staring at the columns upon columns of the article.

She can’t decide how much to tell Helena about it, or even if she should bring it up in the first place. Given how invested Christina had been, she most likely should tell it all, including about their conversation, but on the other hand, Christina seems to have wanted to put the issue to bed. Although that may have been just with Myka... but of course it isn’t as if the problem won’t come up again in some other equally unexpected way...

Helena opens the door to the apartment, interrupting Myka’s choice-making. She sets her violin case and handbag down, and then she asks, with a twitch in her voice, “Did Christina read the newspaper today?”

“You know she did. She always does.”

“Did you?”

“I hadn’t. But then she asked me whether you and I are sick.” Helena’s posture slackens. “So yes, then, I did.”

“Lovely.” It’s a sharp word. Helena comes to the table, looks down at the newspaper, doesn’t touch it. In fact she crosses her arms at it. “Why is this necessary?” She might be asking the paper itself, interrogating it about its unacceptable behavior.

“Part of it is news. About the State Liquor Authority.”

“But why the rest of it.”

“You don’t really want an answer.”

“I’m not really asking a question.” She directs her attention now at Myka. “And I hope you bear in mind: not impossible. A dream, yes, and every now and then a nightmare, but not impossible.” Because of course she would know which part of the article had threatened to overpower Myka. And maybe it had had that effect on Helena too, at first, but now her shoulders are square: that’s anger, not hesitation or doubt.

They both notice that Christina has slunk up the hallway and is hanging there, uncharacteristically reluctant to interrupt.

“Come here, you,” Helena says, and Christina flies at her. She used to wrap her arms around Helena’s legs. Now, taller, she hugs Helena around the waist. Shoulders will be next... when she grows, it’s fast. Dramatic spurts, just like Myka remembers from her own childhood. Helena asks her, “Are you all right?’

“Mostly all right. But.”

“But?” Now Helena does sound a little uncertain, and Myka, too, braces for Christina’s answer.

“I’m too old to go to Macy’s and sit on Santa’s lap tonight like we were going to.”

Helena breathes a bit. Then she says, “You had hardly any Christmas at all for the first five years of your life. Please indulge me.”

Christina sighs. She says, “Okay, Mom”: not fully graceful in her acquiescence, but graceful enough. She is showing that she is all right.

“You’re the one who likes tradition,” Myka tells Christina, this perceptive girl who knows her mother well enough to know when she, too, needs reassurance... in fact Christina may have objected to the excursion just so she could acquiesce.

“Myka, I’m ten,” Christina groans. Well, then again, maybe not.

But everything is all right. They eat their dinner—fried eggs, bacon, toast, because eating breakfast at night is different, but it binds them together in its difference—atop the opened newspaper, making a mess of it, dropping crumbs, letting yolk dribble, setting bacon down just to watch the fat-stains blight the type.

Then they go to Macy’s. It’s as overwhelming as it is every year; this year, though, the fact that they are just three small parts of the teeming crowds and silver-belling holiday racket seems to mean they could be any three people at all. That they can be any three people.

But at a certain point, Myka turns to say something to Helena, and Helena... looks odd. There’s a little dampness at her temples, and her breathing is a strange not-quite-pant. Some sort of delayed shock reaction? “What is it?” Myka asks.

“Winter wonderland,” Helena says.

It takes Myka a second or two to realize that that carol is drifting through the bechristmased store. “What about it?”

“That’s the song. Well, not this version of course, but—on Phil’s Christmas record, I told you. I played it over a hundred times. And listened to it... uncountable. I can’t stand it. I need some air.” She bolts away, saying, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Christina looks at Myka, and Myka reads that look immediately. “Oh, no. You’re talking to Santa so we can tell her that you did.”

“Can’t we say the line was too long?”

“Only if it is. But you know she wouldn’t believe us anyway, so you’re stuck.”

“I’m ten,” Christina insists, but that’s the last objection she offers.

When Myka and Christina emerge onto the sidewalk, Helena is clapping her hands against the chill of the evening.

“You could’ve come back in,” Christina informs her, as they begin to walk toward the subway. “The song ended.”

Helena ignores this. “Did you ask Father Christmas to bring you anything in particular?”

“I asked Santa. Because I’m an American. I asked him for a Vac-U-Form.”

Myka says, “He was a little confounded. Apparently she’s the first girl to ask for one.”

“I don’t see what joy any boy or girl would derive from what is essentially a plastic foundry. And why on earth do you continue to want toys that will burn the house down?” Helena asks. But she puts her arm around Christina and drops a kiss on her head.

“It’s not even really a toy. Like you said, it’s a foundry.” Christina utters the word with evident pleasure. “Besides, the only thing I’ve ever burned is my own hand, with the sulfuric acid. And only one time.”

Helena declares, “That is, from my perspective, a distinction without a difference. Certainly in terms of damage.” At which Christina sighs.

Myka would put her arm around Helena and drop a kiss on her head, but she settles for laughing at her. “Never let it be said that you avoided hyperbole. Nobody was happy about that burned hand, but I think from almost everybody else’s perspective that’s a distinction with a pretty big difference. Even in terms of damage.”

“My hand did hurt though,” Christina says.

“I know it did,” Myka assures her.

“Hyperbole,” Helena huffs.

The subway is warm. On it, they are just three people.

****

Myka and Helena put Christina to bed together. Most nights, one or the other will take the lead, but tonight they are together.

Christina says to her mother, in the middle of the yawn that followed her insistence that she was not tired, “Myka says she hopes you want to love her forever. Do you?”

Helena says, “Of course I do.” She is all business, as if no more factual a statement could be issued. Christina relaxes—she’d been holding her head a bit up, off of her pillow, but now the feathers give way with the tiniest of exhalations—and Myka wishes that she too were ten, to be able to hear that voice and believe in its infallibility. “Now,” Helena says, with no change in tone, “are you still concerned about that ridiculous newspaper article? Tell me the truth.”

“You’re not sick,” Christina says.

“Not to the best of my knowledge.”

“But Immigration might feel like they have better knowledge. Right?” She doesn’t say this with any guile, but Myka suspects she’s been thinking it out for some time.

“You’re very clever. All I can tell you is that some people hold certain misinformed beliefs. Where those come into conflict with ours... well. We will face what we must, if and when we must. In the meantime, shall I let you know if I begin to feel ill?” Again, the tone says do not concern yourself, and again Myka wants to believe her. Christina believes her enough to nod. “All right, then,” Helena says. “Myka and I will retire to our bed that is not a sickbed, and you will sleep well.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“You say that as if you are addressing someone in this room, and yet I see only Myka and myself.” She leans down and kisses Christina’s forehead, then takes Myka’s hand and kisses it—and that too says do not concern yourself. “Vac-U-Form. What are we to do with you?”

“Make sure Santa knows I want one.”

Helena’s tone doesn’t change, but her smile deepens. “I don’t know who that is either, so I could not possibly convey the message.”

Myka laughs. “See, knock-knock, that’s why we had to go to Macy’s.”

“I’m ten,” Christina insists, but with little force. She blinks a very slow blink. She yawns again.

TBC

[travissimblr]

Sunset Valley - Fixed and Renovated.  World Download

Sunset Valley Renewal

What is this?

-Sunset Valley map edited in CAW to group all of the new community lots from all the expansion into their own neighborhood.  Original road layout is still in place just a few extra lots added. -Relocated Most of the expansion community Lots that EA took absolutely no effort to place within the world.  Almost all of the EA Expansion lots were facing the wrong direction, incorrect lot sizes etc.  Now they are all in one location with the exception of the Equestrian lot as its requires a large lot so that lot has been left in its original location.  ( I might update this in the future by adding a new lot within CAW) -Multiple Residential lots have been relocated in order to accommodate the new Community lots but all of the original EA lots/families are still within the world. -Fixed many of the ugly roof lines of the original EA builds. -Every House has been "toned down" with more neutral colors inside.  No more mustard and olive green bathrooms and kitchens! -Multiple houses have been redesigned to a more functional floor plan.  For Example: Plus Plus no longer has that ugly tree house looking addition to the back of the house.  It now resembles a colonial style two story home. -Most homes have had their exterior colors either changed or toned down from their Crayola box colors.

I have to say this is to my tastes.  I admit I am a fan of blues and grays so there might be a bit of a common theme with some lots.  I did go out of my comfort zone quite a bit however and used some color.  Overall this is a drastic improvement over the vanilla game while trying to keep the same feel of the original Sunset Valley.

** I have all of the expansion packs and some stuff packs installed.  I also own some store content but I don't think any of it was used.  This isn’t necessary to use this world.  If you start the game and see some missing windows etc that just means you don't have that expansion/pack.  You can just replace whats missing.  The game world will still work fine. **

**Scroll for File and Pics **

The Pics...

This is an Example of how EA added Expansion pack lots into the game.  The building is facing the wrong direction and placed in an odd location on the map.

 New Commercial District with most of the Expansion pack lots.  Fire Station, Clubs, Laundromat, Consignment Store etc.

Before....

After...

Interior Before.....  So much Mustard and Olive green... Yuck!

After.  Neutral colors and doesn’t make your eyeballs hurt.

Before... I don’t even know what this is lol

After... Removed that weird diagonal bit, rotated the lot cleaned up the roof lines.

Before....

After.  Because everyone loves a grungy trailer.

FILE:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/4bj3icoveb1l756/Sunset%20Valley%20Renewal.zip?dl=0

Installation:

Please read through these instructions carefully.  Most people should understand how to do this but I prefer not having to answer questions on what should be very simple instructions.

1.  Unzip the file to a separate folder.  You should see a file called Sunset Valley Renewal.Sims3Pack (World File) and a folder called Sunset Valley Renewal.sims3 (Game Save)

2.  Copy the Sunset Valley Renewal.Sims3Pack to you Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Downloads.  In Windows 10/11 you can just open up File Explorer and in the left bar you will see "Documents"  otherwise it will be copied to X:\Users\(Your Windows Login Name)\Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Downloads.  Keep the Sims 3 Folder open as you will need this again in a few steps.

3.  Open The sims 3 launcher (S3Launcher.exe).  Click on Downloads.  If you copied the world file to the correct location you should see Sunset Valley Renewal there.  Click on the check box to the left of the name and click install.  A box will pop up.  Wait for it to finish installing.  Close the box and then close the launcher.

4.  Next you will need to install my save game in order to have the world be populated.  Otherwise if you start a new game the world will be empty.  All of the lots will be there but there will be no sims in any of the houses.

5.  Copy the folder Sunset Valley Renewal.sims3 to Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Saves.  Be sure to copy the entire folder over not just the files inside of the folder.

6.  Now you're done!  If you copied the save game correctly when you start the game you should see a new save called Sunset Valley Renewal.  Load this up and you're good to go.  Do not start a New Game with the world or the world will be unpopulated!  Of course you can always play with the world unpopulated and populate it with your own sims but if you want it populated use the save.

7.  Another note...  If you want to be able to start a new game in this world in the future after loading into the world Save As and rename it to whatever you want that way in the future you will be able to use my save to start fresh in Sunset Valley again.

Thanks and Enjoy!

**Please feel free to share this, all I ask is that you link back to this post for the file.**

[sopebubbles]

Chapter 9

<- master list ->

At 33 weeks, you may notice baby's kicks hurt more.

Chapter summary: Yn deals with the fallout of the recent announcement.

Warnings: little bit of hurt, some comfort. Mostly just yn in her feels.

WC: 3k

Despite their schedule becoming much more intense starting the day after your 'relationship' was confirmed, Jimin insists on you staying at his apartment while you recover, refusing to let you return to work until you feel...well, as good as you can feel at seven months pregnant. He even took a note from your doctor to your supervisor and told him not to contact you until you were better. Every night he heads straight home from practice to check on you, in addition to the messages and phone calls both he and Jeongguk send you when they have short breaks. Muster is approaching soon, and in addition to needing to perfect their two night performance, the boys have numerous photo shoots and other preparations to make before Festa begins.

"Are you sure you're ready," Jimin asks for the fifth time as you argue about returning to work the next day, the Monday following your accident.

"Yes, Jimin! I'm perfectly fine! My head doesn't even hurt. And I need to go to work while I still can," you sigh, amazed you still have a job at all.

"Fine, but you don't have to go home. Stay here tonight, and I'll drive you to work in the morning." He's been trying to get you to stop packing for the last ten minutes.

"Don't you have to go in at like, five am tomorrow?" You look at him skeptically.

"Not tomorrow. Photo shoot! We have to get beauty rest, so I don't have to show up until 8:30."

"Jimin-"

But he just pouts at you. "Please, Y/N. I'm too tired to drive you back to your apartment tonight. And what if you fall down your stairs again or worse. Please."

You groan loudly. "Fine! I'll stay," you grumble, sitting yourself down on the bed with a pout over your fading independence.

The next day you dress yourself in the outfit you were wearing when you went to the hospital, since they're the only work clothes you have with you. The ride to the HYBE building is quiet, neither of you really being morning people. You're shocked that as you enter the lobby you're instructed to attend a meeting with your boss. Jimin can see by the look on your face that this is a surprise to you, and since he's a little early he decides to go with you. You end up riding in the elevator with Hoseok, who gives Jimin an odd look when he stays in the elevator with you instead of getting off at their floor.

You try to take deep breaths to keep yourself calm in spite of what you know is coming. You've been anticipating this outcome for months, and honestly it was only a matter of time.

"I don't think I'll be in here for very long," you tell Jimin under your breath as you arrive at the door.

"I can-"

"No, please. It will be less humiliating if I go through it alone," you insist, your hand on the doorknob.

"But you shouldn't-"

"Jimin, one way or another, this was bound to happen. Just accept it." Despite your cool exterior you're terrified. Yes, you'd been expecting this. And yes, you had more help now than when you initially started to prepare yourself for this end. But it didn't make the prospect of being a new single mother and unemployed any less scary. How would you ever get back on your feet? And with a scandal like this, who in the industry would ever hire you? You give Jimin one last emotionless half smile before you turn the handle and enter the executive producer's office.

"Have a seat, Y/N," Jimin hears the man say before the door closes. Jimin stands against the wall by the door, leaning his head back and hoping you're wrong.

"You must know why you're here, Y/N," your boss says to you as you slowly walk toward the seat, tearing your eyes away from the box on a side table that has your name on it.

"I can imagine, sir," you say, trying not to sound weak even though you probably do.

"You're being fired from the company for breaching your contract by having relations with one of the idols," he explains simply.

"Yes, sir," you reply just as flatly. There's no point in arguing or denying it. Jimin said as much the other night to millions of people. Even if it was all a lie, the allegation was no less true.

"I'm really impressed that you were able to keep the secret for so long. Truly no one suspected. Even when everyone wanted to know who your baby's father was, you wouldn't tell. Two whole years…" the man sounds truly confounded at how you could have kept it hidden. Clearly he only knows the cover up and not the truth. That made sense. The company would want to keep the secret buried as deep as possible.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted to...deceive anyone. I really loved my job." Your voice turns small, but you manage to keep back tears and maintain a little of your dignity.

"Listen, if it were up to me, I wouldn't care. You're great at your job, and you've always been an asset to the team, at least until recently. But it is in your contract, and it is company policy, so my hands are tied. This comes from the higher ups." At least he's honest as he tries to shift the blame to someone else.

You say nothing. You understand. You're being punished and what's more, you need to be made an example of. "Your stuff was packed up last week," he says after you remain silent, and he points to the box with your name on it.

"I suppose it's time to go then?" Truthfully, you're desperate to get out of his office so you don't have to maintain your composure anymore.

"You have fifteen minutes to exit the building, in case there's anyone you want to say goodbye to."

There isn't. A year ago, when you were on good terms with all your colleagues, you might have, but now you don't want to see their faces and hear their whispers as you go. Awkwardly you pick up the box, trying to adjust it against your bump.

Jimin is still waiting outside the office with a guilty expression on his soft features. He's quick to grab the box from you as you struggle with it.

"Did they really just fire you?" He questions after you close the door. You merely nod. "I'll try to talk to them, see if you can come back."

You shake your head. "It's over Jimin. I have to go home." You reach to take the box, but he pulls it out of your reach and perches it on his outside hip. Then he takes out his phone and sends off a quick message before shoving his phone back in his pocket and following you into the elevator.

Once you're back in the garage, Jimin walks you to his car and places your box in his trunk.

"Can you drive?" He asks calmly, standing outside the car with you.

"I'll just take a cab," you tell him.

"Nonsense. Just take my car. I'll have one of the guys drop me off at your place later and I'll drive it home." You raise your eyebrows at him, questioning if he really wants you to drive his expensive car, but he only responds by pressing the keys into your palm. "Wait," he tells you before you can walk over to the driver's side.

"Why?"

Just then the elevator dings and Jeongguk walks toward you, his makeup already done.

"What's going on? You're late," Jeongguk scolds Jimin, as if his tardiness is even a surprise.

"They just fired Y/N," Jimin informs him.

Jeongguk runs his hand through his hair, which would surely make the stylist groan. "Shit. Y/N, I'm so sorry."

You want to roll your eyes at him and remind him that you told him before the two of you hooked up that you couldn't because of the company. But it's all just too much effort and all you really want at the moment is to go home and wallow over a situation that has become so entirely out of your control.

"So, here's the thing. I want Y/N to move in with me," Jimin says suddenly.

"What?" You and Jeongguk ask in unison, both equally astonished.

"I know that sounds crazy, but Jeongguk, even you said that she shouldn't stay there. It's too small for you and the baby, and I really don't think we need to fight for the hundredth time about those stairs. Once the baby comes, it will make it easier for Jeongguk to spend time with the baby and nothing will look suspicious." It all sounds perfectly reasonable, but that doesn't make you like it.

"Why doesn't she just come live with me?" Jeongguk offers.

"Because I'm her boyfriend," Jimin counters. Jeongguk gives him an inquisitive look with one eyebrow raised, but you don't notice.

"Once again, do I get any say in this?" If you weren't so tired already you might yell.

Jimin turns to look at your face and takes a step closer. "Y/N, I know that it must feel like one more blow to your independence, but think about Mochi. Do you really want to struggle that hard just to prove a point to yourself?"

"Maybe I do!" You fire back. "God, it's like I'm just a baby oven to you or something. It's all about the baby? What about me? How much of my life are you willing to take from me?" The composure you've been holding onto by your teeth finally cracks.

Jimin sighs, feeling truly regretful for the position he's put you in. He knows deep down that if he hadn't forced his way into your life then you might still have a chance to hold on to the parts of it you loved so much. On the other hand maybe you'd be in more trouble. There's no way for him to know. He can only try to help.

His soft eyes meet yours as he rests his hands on your shoulders. "Y/N, I know it feels like you're losing a lot and I don't blame you for being upset. I don't even blame you if you hate me for it. Look, if you're really mad at me, I won't even stay there. I'll go back to the dorms and you can stay there by yourself. I just want to make sure you're safe. It isn't only about the baby."

There's something about when Jimin gazes at you like that that completely melts your will. You fucking hate it. Your shoulders slump in resignation because it's no use fighting him.

The little bastard smiles weakly at you. "Go home and pack your things, but don't work too hard, okay. There's no rush. Just be sure you have some things to take with you tonight." His hands rub into your shoulders and you almost feel soothed.

"Fine," you grumble, but let him pull you into a gentle hug and tell you everything will be alright before he lets you go.

When you arrive at your apartment you climb the stairs very carefully until you reach your door. Inside, the lonely space feels almost foreign to you. You've spent countless nights alone here in the past few years. And it isn't as if you didn't have alone time while you were at Jimin's. It's like your loneliness has painted the walls here, like the smell of it has seeped into the carpets. You wonder if the next tenants will be able to smell it. Maybe leaving won't be so hard after all. Sure, you felt bitter for losing, but when you look around at what you're giving up, it's easy to realize that it wasn't much anyway.

You're not quick to rush into packing, though. You don't have that much anyway, and you're sure you deserve a good cry first. You've been holding back for a whole hour, so as soon as you sink into your couch you let it go. There's no one to disturb anyway, no one to hear you but Mochi. When you think of the ways you're failing your child you let those tears flow too. You'd truly believed months ago that you could do this all alone, and even though you know involving the guys in your lives will be best for your baby, you can't help feeling that you're not the strong mother they need after all. But you promise to put your pride away for their sake anyway.

"I wouldn't do any of this if I didn't love you," you promise to your belly as your tears continue to fall.

You let yourself wallow on your couch until lunch time, when you finally drag yourself up to make lunch for you and Mochi, only to realize you have no fresh food in the house, most of the vegetables you had last week having spoiled in your absence. Minutes later as you're scrolling through your phone for take out to order, a knock comes to your door. Of course, Jimin didn't forget about you, having your food delivered to the apartment instead of your office. Honestly his obsessive way of caring for you might be creepy if it wasn't so touching and ultimately very helpful. He seemed to always anticipate your needs. A new wave of guilt washes over you as you realize how ungrateful you might appear to him.

After lunch you begin to pack your things away, and you are right. It doesn't take you long. Your wardrobe is small, fitting easily in your two suitcases. Your kitchen is packed away easily into a few boxes that have been sitting in one corner of your apartment for a rainy day that finally came, and you decide you'll take it with you because you know Jimin has almost nothing in his kitchen in the form of food or pots to cook it in. Lastly is your small collection of books and movies and a few knick knacks that you own. With breaks and a short nap in between so you don't tire yourself too much, you're just finishing when you receive a text from Jimin saying that they're on their way. You assume he means him and Jeongguk, so you're surprised when he arrives a little past nine with Hoseok and Taehyung too.

"What can we help with?" Taehyung offers immediately and enthusiastically, as if he isn't tired after the hours of rehearsal they had after their photo shoot.

"Um, I guess just take these down to the car," you shrug.

"This is it?" Taehyung questions, looking around and the fairly small collection of boxes. You simply nod.

"My whole wardrobe…" Hoseok starts.

"Wouldn't fit in this entire apartment," Jeongguk finishes with a shake of his head.

"No it wouldn't, Jeonggukkie," Hoseok smiles brightly.

Without a word, Jimin merely picks up your suitcases to take down to his car.

"Oh, Jimin," Hoseok says flirtatiously as Jimin's muscles flex, lifting the cases. "Oh, so strong Jimin-ah."

"Shut up, Hobi hyung," Jimin mutters, trying to hide the blush that always creeps onto his cheeks when his hyung behaves like this. It's something you've witnessed countless times, both in person and through the screen as you've watched BTS over so many years. You're secretly relieved that it's such a natural part of their interaction that you won't have to miss it.

You wait patiently as they each pick up some of your belongings and carry them down the stairs to their cars.

"Is there anything else?" Jimin asks, trying to hide the way his breathing has become labored.

You shake your head. "Just the furniture, but there's really no place for it at your apartment so I'll just have someone pick it up to be donated," you shrug.

"Are you sure? If there's something you want, I'll make room for it." Jimin's being sweet, wanting to make sure you're comfortable, but you have no particular attachment to these things and you let them go with a shake of your head.

"Are you ready to go then?" Jimin asks.

"Can I just have a minute?" You request. It sounds dumb to say you want to say goodbye to the place, so you keep that bit to yourself.

"We'll get a head start to your place," Taehyung says to Jimin and the other three boys leave you two alone. Jimin turns to leave as well, since you'll be driving your own car to his apartment but your voice stops him.

"Will you stay?" You ask quietly, reaching a hand out for his arm. Of course he nods and stands silently by your side as you look around the barren place. "I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful, Jimin. I know you're saving us. It just hurts that...this is the last thing I'll ever have that was just mine, pathetic as it is… as I am." You wrap your hands under your growing belly. "Mochi will be with us soon, and everything is going to change forever. And I'm happy and excited, but I'm nervous, too," you admit.

"I don't want you to feel like I'm saving you, Y/N. That's not why I'm doing this." He looks at the worry coloring your features and he can't fight the urge to hold you. His hug provides you with comfort you'd been needing all day long and didn't even know it. "I know that you could do this by yourself, if you had to, but I desperately want you not to have to. You deserve better than that. I'm sure it's not how you pictured your life going, and I'm not the guy you want. But I can at least try to offer you the best I can."

You want to argue, but you don't know what to say. You give him a final squeeze and shuffle out of his embrace so you can grab your purse and your keys and lead Jimin out of your apartment for the last time.

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