#mean stack developer skill

[tripta-123]

MERN Stack Development in Demand

Explore the roles and responsibilities of a MEAN stack developer why it is in-demand and what kind of skills are required to become an in-demand developer.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Could you write something for Ranpo Edogawa x ADA member, where reader gets threateningly letters from a stalker and maybe the stalker kills someone at one point because that person got too close to reader? And the other ADA members protect reader, but especially Ranpo?

Closer Than You Think

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

synopsis: After receiving a series of threatening letters from a stalker, you find yourself under the Agency's watchful protection — but it's Ranpo Edogawa who notices your hidden fear the most. As the danger escalates, Ranpo's fierce determination to keep you safe reveals feelings between you that neither of you can ignore.

content/warnings: Ranpo Edogawa x reader, angst and fluff, stalking, -5.605 words

The morning light spilled across the Armed Detective Agency office in warm, golden stripes, and for once, things were almost peaceful.

You leaned back in your chair, spinning a small letter opener between your fingers with practiced ease, while the faint, near-invisible threads of your ability danced around your desk. They coiled lightly around your coffee cup, your stack of case files, the clock on the wall — little anchors, subconscious habits you'd developed after years of wielding your power without thinking. Hidden strings, fine as spider silk and strong as steel, were an extension of yourself now.

Across the room, Atsushi was arguing — politely — with Kunikida about paperwork, Kenji was cheerfully building a precarious tower of staplers, and Dazai… well, Dazai was pretending to nap on the couch, no doubt scheming something.

Normal. Comfortable.

Until he spoke.

"You're slouching," came Ranpo's obnoxiously bright voice from behind you. "Terrible posture. Terrible detective instincts. Very amateur."

You didn't even turn around. "Good morning, Edogawa-san," you said dryly, emphasizing the formal address you knew he hated. "And thank you so much for your unsolicited opinion."

Ranpo strolled into view, lollipop between his teeth, grinning like he’d already solved a case you didn’t know existed.

"You know," he said, hopping up to sit cross-legged on the edge of your desk — ignoring your obvious scowl — "if you asked nicely, I could teach you a few things. Improve your skills. Help you out."

You twitched one finger; a single hidden thread snapped taut between your hand and the mug on your desk. It shot into the air — and thwacked Ranpo in the forehead with a satisfying thunk.

He yelped and nearly toppled off the desk.

Kenji giggled from across the room. Dazai opened one eye lazily, smirked, and closed it again.

"You're so violent," Ranpo muttered, rubbing his forehead, looking genuinely wounded. "No respect for your elders. For the greatest detective of our generation."

You leaned back in your chair and propped your boots up on a file cabinet. "Maybe if the 'greatest detective' would stop treating me like his personal audience, I'd be more civil."

Ranpo grinned wider. If anything, he seemed delighted by your irritation.

You sighed internally. This was your daily reality at the ADA.

You were respected, sure. They trusted you with the tough missions, the dangerous assignments. Your ability made you lethal in close combat, and your mind was sharp enough to navigate the darker corners of the criminal world they often worked in.

But Ranpo — Ranpo was a different kind of challenge.

He wasn’t cruel, or mean. Just... endlessly infuriating.

He never missed a chance to show off when you were around, tossing around impossible deductions and stealing your victories right out from under your nose. He wasn't content with your polite acknowledgment, either — no, he wanted you awed, like the others were.

And you? You weren't about to give him the satisfaction.

"Hey," Ranpo said suddenly, plucking another lollipop from his pocket and holding it out to you, his voice lighter. "You want one? It's grape. Your favorite, right?"

You blinked.

You'd never told him that.

Still, you shook your head. "I'll pass."

Ranpo shrugged, popping it into his own mouth with a wink. "Suit yourself. More genius fuel for me."

You fought the urge to smile — and fought harder against the strange flutter in your chest.

God, he wasso annoying.

And yet... somehow, your mornings felt incomplete without these ridiculous battles.

You didn't notice the envelope at first.

Morning slipped into afternoon in a familiar blur of case reports and coffee runs. A client dropped off a simple theft investigation; Atsushi and Junichiro ran off after a suspicious lead; Kenji accidentally knocked over a filing cabinet; Yosano was off shopping. 

The usual chaos.

It wasn't until you returned from the break room — coffee in one hand, a fresh stack of papers in the other — that you saw it.

Sitting there. Right in the center of your desk. A white envelope. Stark. Ordinary. Except for the dark red smudge staining the corner.

Your steps faltered.

The chatter around the office continued unabated — Dazai teasing Kunikida about his strict schedules, Kenji laughing about something you couldn't quite hear — but for you, everything seemed to narrow in on that single, misplaced object.

Blood.

You set your coffee down slowly. The envelope wasn’t addressed. No name, no markings. Just the sticky, ugly stain seeping into the paper.

For a long second, you simply stared at it.

Then, with a muttered curse under your breath, you plucked it off the desk, careful not to touch the blood. A few threads snaked out instinctively from your fingertips, ready to snap tight at the first hint of a trap — but nothing happened.

The envelope was heavy. Something inside it shifted slightly when you tilted it. 

You broke the seal, and a thin, folded letter slid out onto your desk.

Blocky, uneven handwriting sprawled across the page.

I see you. I see how they look at you. But you're mine. Talk to them again, and they’ll die for it. One by one. Starting with the boy who smiled at you yesterday.

Your mouth tightened.

The boy yesterday…

Your mind flashed back to a minor incident on the street — a civilian you'd saved two days ago. He'd recognized you yesterday when you passed by the coffee shop, waved at you brightly, thanked you again.

Harmless.

At the time.

A slow, cold crawl worked its way up your spine.

"Yo," Ranpo's voice chirped from somewhere to your left. "You reading love letters now?"

You hastily folded the letter in half, stuffing it back into the envelope.

"Nope," you said, too casually. "Just junk mail."

Ranpo tilted his head, eyeing you in that way he did when he was about to rattle off some uncomfortable truth. 

But for once, he stayed silent. Just frowned faintly around the edges of his candy.

You tossed the envelope into your bottom drawer without another glance and slammed it shut.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

You’d dealt with worse threats before. Some creep trying to scare you with anonymous notes wasn’t worth losing sleep over.

Besides — you had a mission report to finish, groceries to buy, and Kenji to stop from stacking three more chairs on top of the filing cabinet.

Life moved on.

You made sure it did.

Later that night, when the Agency closed and the others headed out into the neon-lit streets, Ranpo lingered behind.

He perched casually on the arm of the couch, watching you pack your things with a thoughtful expression.

"You're acting weird," he said, not bothering to hide the statement behind a joke this time.

You shrugged, pulling your bag onto your shoulder. "Maybe I'm just sick of your voice."

Ranpo smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah," he said slowly, lollipop stick flicking between his teeth. "Maybe."

You left without another word, weaving through the familiar streets toward home, telling yourself it was nothing. That you were fine. That the uneasiness sitting in your gut was just paranoia.

You didn't notice the shadow following you from a rooftop above. Or the flash of silver as something reflective caught the moonlight. Or the figure that melted into the alley behind you, silent as a whisper.

But someone did.

Someone who stepped out of the Agency a minute after you. Who narrowed sharp green eyes in the direction you'd walked. Who sucked thoughtfully on a piece of candy, then crumpled the wrapper between his fingers with slow, deliberate care.

Ranpo Edogawa wasn’t the type to worry.

But tonight?

Tonight, something told him he'd better start.

The next letter arrived two days later.

This time, it came with the regular morning post — buried between an electric bill and a new case file — and dropped unceremoniously onto your desk by the mail carrier.

You spotted it immediately.

Same plain white envelope. Same dark, sticky red mark. This time, it had your name scrawled across the front in that same jagged, uneven handwriting.

A chill licked up your spine despite yourself.

You snatched it up quickly before anyone else could see.

From across the room, Ranpo’s eyes flicked up from his candy stash — casual, almost bored — but you caught the glint of attention there. Watching.

You turned your body slightly away from him as you opened the letter, scanning it quickly.

They don't deserve you. They don't know what you are. But I do. You're perfect. You're mine. Talk to them again, and I'll make them bleed for you. I'll show you.

The skin at the back of your neck prickled. You folded the letter neatly and slipped it into your jacket.

No big deal.

It was just a scare tactic. Empty threats.

You'd dealt with actual assassins before. Professional killers. Supernatural freaks who could level city blocks. One obsessed lunatic scribbling notes wasn't going to throw you off balance.

Still, you were careful to erase your expression before turning back to the others.

Kunikida caught your movement out of the corner of his eye. "Something wrong?" he asked, setting down his pen.

You forced a shrug. "Just junk mail again. Wrong address, probably."

He frowned slightly — Kunikida’s natural state — but let it drop.

For now.

The third letter came the next morning.

Then the fourth.

Then the fifth.

Always the same: hidden among the regular mail, faint traces of blood smudging the paper, and darker words inside — promises of violence, obsession, possession.

You hid them all.

Not because you were scared — at least, that’s what you told yourself — but because the others already had enough to worry about.

You were strong. You could handle this. You had your strings, your skills, your instincts. You didn't need anyone babysitting you.

At least, that was the plan.

Until the morning Dazai caught you.

You were sitting at your desk, carefully unfolding the latest letter — red thumbprint pressed messily into the paper — when a shadow fell over you.

"What's that?" Dazai asked, peering over your shoulder.

You startled, quickly folding the letter again. "Nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing," he said, smiling lazily but with a glint of something sharper underneath.

Ranpo, from his seat near the window, lifted his head just slightly — subtle, but enough to let you know he'd heard, too.

"It's fine," you said quickly. "Probably just some prank. Nothing serious."

Atsushi, standing nearby with an armful of case files, frowned in concern. "Prank? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," you said firmly.

Kenji popped up from behind a filing cabinet, bright-eyed as ever. "If someone's bothering you, we can all help! Right, Kunikida-san?"

Kunikida adjusted his glasses, eyeing you with an unreadable expression. "It's probably nothing," he said eventually, though his voice was tight. "But just in case... keep an eye out. Don't take unnecessary risks."

You gave them your best confident smile.

"I'm fine," you said again.

They didn’t look fully convinced.

Dazai tilted his head, watching you far too closely. "You know," he mused, tapping a finger against his chin, "it's usually the ones who say 'I'm fine' who are secretly the most not-fine."

You rolled your eyes, but Ranpo’s gaze stayed pinned to you even after the others drifted back to their work.

He didn't say anything.

Not yet.

But you could feel it — like the tension in the air before a storm. Like one of your hidden strings, stretched too tight across a battlefield.

Something was pulling.

And you had the creeping feeling you wouldn't be able to brush it off much longer.

Later that night, you walked home alone again, your bag slung over your shoulder, the letters weighing heavier than you wanted to admit.

You told yourself you were imagining it — the feeling of eyes on your back, the flicker of motion just out of sight.

Still, without thinking, you extended a thread behind you, connecting it to a lamppost. A second thread wrapped around a trash bin.

A third threaded quietly through the air, like a spider laying down warning lines.

Nothing triggered them.

No attackers.

No visible threats.

And yet…

A block behind you, pressed flat into the darkness of a storefront awning, a figure waited.

Watching.

Waiting.

And higher up, from a rooftop bathed in silver moonlight, another figure stood — silent, green eyes sharp, arms crossed.

Ranpo Edogawa's mouth twisted into a small, grim smile.

He didn't need his ability to know something was wrong.

He could see it plain as day:

You were lying. You were scared.

And someone — someone stupid enough to think they could hurt you — was about to find out exactly why the Armed Detective Agency was feared by enemies far and wide.

Especially when it came to one of their own.

The morning started like any other.

Light filtered in through the wide windows of the Agency, the dust motes dancing lazily in the beams. You sat at your desk, boots crossed at the ankles, pretending to skim through a report while your mind wandered elsewhere.

The others were moving around the office like usual.

Almost normal.

Almost.

Until the delivery came.

"Package for Y/N L/N!" the mail carrier called, cheerful and oblivious, setting a small, neatly wrapped box on your desk.

You frowned immediately.

You weren't expecting anything. No one had mentioned sending a package. No return address.

The others looked up too, curiosity piqued. Atsushi started to approach, Kenji peeking around the corner.

Ranpo, sitting nearby munching on a fresh pack of candies, narrowed his eyes sharply the moment he saw the box.

You hesitated.

Your instincts screamed.

A thin thread slithered invisibly from your fingertips, wrapping around the box, feeling for traps — pressure plates, explosives, the taut sensation of a wire rigged to blow.

Nothing.

Just a box. Heavy. Cold.

Slowly, carefully, you pulled the tape loose with your ability, keeping your body tense, ready to react.

The lid slid open.

The smell hit you first.

Heavy, coppery, wrong.

Atsushi recoiled. Kenji made a small, shocked noise.

Inside the box — resting on a bed of pristine white cloth — was a human heart. Still glistening wet.

Pinned to it with a bloodstained needle was a folded scrap of paper.

You stared.

Your mind felt blank for a moment — a buzzing silence flooding through you, loud and smothering — before the words on the paper burned themselves into your vision:

See? I told you I'd do it. No one touches what's mine. You smiled at him. He smiled back. He won't smile at anyone again.

The world tilted slightly.

Atsushi swore under his breath. Kenji backed away, pale. Even Kunikida dropped his pen, the sharp clatter echoing like a gunshot across the room.

Dazai pushed off the wall where he’d been lounging, face suddenly serious.

Ranpo stood up slowly, candy forgotten between his fingers, the rare weight of true anger settling into his frame.

"Y/N," Kunikida said tightly, striding over to you. "What the hell is going on?"

You swallowed hard, forcing air into your lungs. Your hands — steady from years of combat — shook slightly as you pulled open the bottom drawer of your desk.

One by one, you laid the letters out.

Five in total. All marked by blood. All increasingly unhinged.

A sick trail leading to this moment.

"I didn't think—" you started, voice rougher than you wanted. "I thought it was just... someone messing around. A prank. I didn't want to bother anyone."

"Bother—?" Kunikida’s voice cracked with fury. He jabbed a finger at the gruesome package. "This is not a prank, Y/N. This is a threat. A clear, violent threat against you and anyone around you!"

Kenji looked like he might be sick.

Atsushi hovered near you like he wasn't sure whether to shield you or tackle you into protective custody.

Even Dazai, master of easygoing detachment, looked grim.

And Ranpo —

Ranpo was still.

Not the usual lounging, lazy stillness he wore like a second skin.

No, this was something coiled. Tense. Sharp.

His green eyes — usually full of lazy amusement — were hard and glinting like shattered glass.

"No more walking alone," Kunikida snapped, already pulling out his planner and phone at the same time. "Effective immediately, you're assigned an escort at all times. Grocery trips, coffee runs, everything. Someone will be with you."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look on Kunikida’s face made you snap it shut again.

Dazai smiled faintly. "Don’t think of it as babysitting," he said. "Think of it as... enthusiastic friendship."

Kenji nodded vigorously. "We'll protect you, Y/N-san! No matter what!"

You exhaled shakily, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes for a moment.

This wasn’t just annoying anymore. This was serious. Someone had killed — had murdered — a man because he smiled at you.

And you’d been so damn sure you could handle it yourself.

When you finally lifted your head again, Ranpo was right there.

Closer than before.

He didn't say anything — just reached out, almost awkwardly, and brushed a crumb off your jacket. His hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary, hovering near your shoulder, before he tucked it back into his pocket.

"You should’ve told me," he said quietly, voice stripped of his usual teasing tone.

You looked away.

"I didn’t think you’d care."

Ranpo let out a soft, breathless laugh — not mocking, not smug. Almost… wounded.

"You idiot," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I care more than you think."

The words were light. Easy to miss. Like he was offering you an escape hatch if you wanted it — the ability to pretend he was joking, if it hurt too much to believe otherwise.

But when you dared to glance back at him, his expression was deadly serious.

You didn't know what to say.

Luckily, you didn’t have to.

Because at that exact moment, Kunikida barked an order: "Everyone. Meeting. Now."

The Agency pulled together fast — Dazai, Kunikida, Atsushi, Kenji, Junichiro and Yosano forming a protective wall around you as they strategized.

Plans. Schedules. Rotating escorts.

And at the heart of it all, Ranpo standing just a little closer than necessary, sharp eyes never leaving you.

Watching. Guarding. Waiting.

Because if this stalker thought they could terrify you, isolate you, break you —

They clearly hadn’t counted on the full weight of the Armed Detective Agency crashing down on them.

And they definitely hadn’t counted on Ranpo Edogawa’s anger.

The Agency transformed overnight.

Where once your days had been filled with quiet missions and easy camaraderie, now every breath you took felt like it was being monitored.

Not in a cruel way. Not because they didn't trust you.

Because they cared.

And that — somehow — made it worse.

You couldn’t go anywhere alone.

Not even to the damn vending machine downstairs.

Kunikida accompanied you on coffee runs, armed with a notebook and a gun hidden in his jacket.

Dazai draped himself dramatically over your desk whenever you stood up, whining that it was too dangerous for you to even fetch your own documents.

Kenji insisted on carrying your groceries, proudly swinging your shopping bags over his shoulder like war trophies.

Junichiro trailed behind you during evening walks, his steps too quiet, his hand twitching toward his hidden blade whenever someone so much as looked at you wrong.

Atsushi hovered like an anxious guard dog, jumping at shadows and offering to "help" with anything that involved you leaving your chair.

It would’ve been almost funny — if it wasn’t so exhausting.

The final blow came when Yosano showed up at your doorstep that night, suitcase in hand, smirking like she was doing you a massive favor.

"I’m moving in temporarily," she announced without preamble, brushing past you into your apartment. "Doctor’s orders."

"Whose doctor’s orders?" you grumbled, glaring at her.

"Mine," she said sweetly. "And Kunikida's. And Fukuzawa’s."

You blinked.

"Wait, Fukuzawa agreed to this?"

Yosano dropped her bag with a heavy thud. "He insisted."

You sat there for a long moment, slumped against the doorframe, feeling like the last tiny threads of normalcy in your life had finally snapped.

When you'd first joined the Armed Detective Agency, you'd marveled at how fiercely they protected their own. How stubbornly they fought for the people they cared about.

You just never thought you'd be on the receiving end of it.

It was... overwhelming. And kind of beautiful. And absolutely driving you insane.

The next morning, Fukuzawa himself called you into his office.

He didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"You are one of us," he said simply, his quiet voice carrying more weight than a shout. "The Agency protects its own. Until this threat is eliminated, you will accept the help offered to you. No arguments."

You opened your mouth to argue anyway — a reflex — but Fukuzawa’s sharp look pinned you in place.

He set a hand gently on your shoulder.

"We will find whoever is behind this," he said. "I promise you."

The simple certainty in his voice — no grand speeches, no hollow comforts — made something in your chest tighten painfully.

You nodded, unable to find words.

And through it all —

Ranpo watched.

Always a few steps away. Always half-distracted by candy or a case file. Always pretending to be bored out of his mind.

But never far.

He never said anything about the way you flinched sometimes when the mail came. Or the way you checked the windows twice before leaving the Agency. Or how your hand sometimes twitched toward your hidden strings when a stranger got too close.

He just... stayed.

Silent. Constant. A shadow you could rely on even when you didn’t want to admit you needed anyone.

You didn't realize until much later — when the weight of everything almost crushed you — how much that silent support mattered.

One night, a few days into the full-blown protection campaign, you found yourself sitting on your tiny apartment balcony, knees pulled up to your chest.

Yosano was inside, noisily rearranging your kitchen for some reason only she understood.

The city lights blurred into smudges in the night air.

You heard the balcony door creak softly, but you didn’t turn.

You already knew who it was.

Ranpo.

He sat down next to you without a word, his jacket brushing yours lightly.

For a long while, the two of you just sat there.

The night was cold, but you didn’t feel it.

"You hate it," he said eventually, voice soft and wry.

"Hate what?"

"This," he gestured vaguely at the Agency’s newfound babysitting project. "Everyone fussing over you. Smothering you."

You shrugged, resting your chin on your knees. "It’s not... bad. I know why they’re doing it. I just... I don’t want them to see me like this. Like I’m weak."

Ranpo was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, very quietly: "You’re the strongest one here, you know."

You snorted. "Yeah, right."

"I’m serious," Ranpo said, almost sharply. "You kept it together. You didn’t break. Even when you should’ve. Even when anyone else would have."

You turned your head slightly, surprised by the intensity in his voice.

Ranpo wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking out over the city, jaw clenched, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. "But you’re not invincible," he added, softer now. "You shouldn’t have to be."

The words settled between you like fresh snowfall — quiet, heavy, undeniable.

You swallowed hard, throat tight. "...Thanks," you muttered finally.

Ranpo just shrugged.

"No big deal," he said — but his shoulders relaxed slightly, like you’d lifted some unseen weight off them too.

Neither of you said anything else after that.

You just sat there — two silent shadows against the growing darkness — watching the city lights blink like distant stars.

Waiting for the storm that was coming.

Waiting for the moment when the hidden enemy would finally make their move.

And when they did...

They would find out the hard way: You were never alone. Not anymore.

The letters had gotten worse.

Sharper. Hateful.

They shifted from desperate admiration to barely-contained rage.

The last one — delivered just two days ago — was almost a scrawl, ink smeared and heavy, words pressed so hard into the paper they tore through:

They're always around you. They won't let you breathe. I see it. I hate it. But don't worry. I'll fix it. I'll get you all to myself soon.

You hadn’t shown the others that one.

You didn’t have to.

Ranpo had looked at you that afternoon — really looked at you — and his mouth had tightened into a thin, grim line. You knew he understood. Even without words.

That night was the first time you were alone.

Yosano had been called away for an urgent assignment — a mission outside the city that needed her healing ability immediately.

She'd been furious about it, but Fukuzawa had assured her — and you — that the Agency would keep an extra eye on you tonight.

Still, you felt exposed.

The apartment was too quiet without Yosano’s sarcastic commentary echoing from the kitchen.

You locked every door. Checked every window. Threaded your invisible strings along every entrance like razor-thin tripwires.

Just in case.

And then you tried to sleep.

You woke to the sound of glass shattering.

Your body moved on instinct — rolling out of bed, crouching low, pulling a blade from under the mattress.

The darkness was thick and heavy, but you caught the shift of a shadow moving in your living room.

Too fast. Too bold.

Whoever it was — they knew the layout.

They weren't afraid.

You reached out with your ability, invisible threads spinning into the air, connecting silently to the floor, the doorframe, the walls. Anchoring yourself.

Waiting.

Listening.

The floor creaked again — and this time you heard it:

The rough, excited breathing. The low murmur of your name.

"Y/N..." the voice rasped. "So beautiful... so much better without them around…"

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

The stalker.

He was here.

He thought he had you.

You slipped silently to the door of your bedroom, strings already attaching themselves to the nearest heavy object — a chair — and the knife at your hip.

You could fight.

You would fight.

You waited for him to step into the doorway — the faint silhouette of a man, knife glinting faintly in the dark.

He was mumbling under his breath, eyes wide and crazed, swinging a blade loosely at his side.

You tightened the strings between your fingers — ready to launch the chair at him, disarm him, end this —

But you didn't get the chance.

Because before you could move, the front door exploded inward.

Two figures surged through the door:

Dazai, with a disturbingly cheerful smile, and Kunikida, already barking orders like a sergeant.

"You’re under arrest," Kunikida snapped, gun drawn and steady. "Put the weapon down!"

The stalker whirled, shocked and wild-eyed — but he didn’t drop the knife.

Instead, he lunged forward, straight for the broken window.

Trying to escape.

You moved to intercept him — your strings lashing out like a whip — but once again, someone beat you to it.

Ranpo.

He was already inside, moving faster than you'd ever seen him move, his expression stripped of its usual lazy amusement.

There was nothing playful in his face now — only cold, sharp focus.

In a single, almost casual movement, he tripped the stalker — sweeping his legs out from under him — and slammed him face-first into the floor with a vicious crack of impact.

The knife clattered out of the man's hand, spinning harmlessly across the floor.

Blood smeared against your hardwood floorboards.

The stalker howled — but it was a pitiful, broken sound.

Ranpo stood over him, breathing hard, his foot pressing firmly into the small of the man’s back.

"You thought you could hurt her," Ranpo said, his voice terrifyingly soft. "You thought we wouldn’t see this coming.“ He leaned down, green eyes gleaming with cold fury. "You’re dumber than I thought."

The stalker whimpered something unintelligible — and then Dazai was there, expertly cuffing him with casual efficiency, whistling under his breath.

"Honestly," Dazai said lightly, "if you're going to stalk someone from the Armed Detective Agency, at least try to be good at it."

Kunikida was already on his phone, calling it in.

You sank back against the wall, heart pounding.

The adrenaline was burning through you, leaving you shaky and cold.

Ranpo straightened and turned to you.

For a long moment, he just looked at you — really looked — like he was checking for injuries, counting every breath you took.

Then he stepped closer.

And without asking, without warning —

He wrapped his arms around you.

Not tight. Not possessive. Just there — a solid, steady weight anchoring you back to earth.

"You’re okay," he said quietly into your hair. "You’re safe."

You didn’t realize you were shaking until he said it.

You buried your face in his jacket for a second, letting yourself breathe him in — sugar, paper, the faint crispness of rain outside.

Alive. Safe. Protected.

By the time the police arrived, you were composed again — standing tall, weapon still in hand, as they dragged the stalker away.

But Ranpo never left your side.

Not for a second.

And when the others finally relaxed, giving you soft smiles and congratulations, Ranpo caught your hand under the cover of his jacket — a small, secret squeeze.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered so only you could hear.

You squeezed back.

Neither were you.

The apartment was quiet again. But this time, it wasn't an oppressive silence. It was peaceful.

The broken window had been boarded up temporarily, the glass swept away, the blood cleaned. Dazai, Kunikida, and the police had finally left after triple-checking every lock and securing the building.

Yosano had already called twice, furious she wasn’t here for the action.

You promised her you were fine. You didn’t know if she believed you, but you meant it.

For the first time in what felt like weeks — you were breathing easy again.

You stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin like a balm. The stars were dim under the city lights, but you didn’t care.

You leaned against the railing, closing your eyes, feeling the tension bleed out of your bones.

The door behind you creaked.

Ranpo’s presence was as familiar now as your own heartbeat.

He stepped outside, two lollipops dangling from his hand. Without a word, he offered you on, before he settled beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

You just… existed together, in the quiet. In the safety you had fought so hard to reclaim.

The lollipop tasted like cheap cherry flavoring.

Ranpo shifted, leaning his elbows on the railing, gazing out at the city.

"You did good, you know," he said after a while, his voice lighter than it had been all night. "Kept your head. Stayed smart. Didn't panic."

You smiled faintly around the candy. "I had good teachers," you said, nudging him gently with your elbow.

He grinned — that cocky, lopsided grin you usually wanted to smack off his face — but tonight it was softer.

Grateful.

But then his smile faded a little, eyes turning more serious.

He fiddled with the stick of his lollipop, twisting it between his fingers. "You know," he said, almost too casually, "it... it scared me. More than it should have."

You blinked, glancing at him.

Ranpo never admitted fear. Not even on the worst days.

"You?" you said lightly, trying to tease him out of whatever heavy mood was clouding him. "The great Ranpo Edogawa? Scared?"

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he tilted his head back, letting the city lights paint faint shadows across his sharp features.

"I’m not good with... people," he said quietly. "Not really. I don't notice when people are upset. I don't know what to say when someone’s hurting."

He paused, the lollipop stick stilling between his fingers.

"But when you…" He swallowed. "When you started getting those letters, when you started acting like everything was fine even though you were shaking inside —"

His hands curled into fists against the railing. "I noticed."

You stared at him, heart thudding.

Ranpo turned his head, meeting your gaze — and for once, there was no smirk, no clever mask, no teasing glint in his eyes. Only honesty.

"I noticed everything," he said softly. "Because it was you."

The breath caught in your throat.

Ranpo looked down, a little sheepish now, scuffing his shoe against the concrete.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is…" He huffed a frustrated sound, like the words didn’t fit right in his mouth. "... I care. More than I should. More than makes sense."

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

You reached out before you could stop yourself, fingers brushing against his hand resting on the railing.

He froze at the contact, wide green eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You smiled — small, real, a little shaky.

"It makes perfect sense," you whispered.

Ranpo let out a breath — a short, disbelieving laugh, like he hadn’t dared hope you'd say that.

Slowly, carefully, he turned his hand under yours, lacing your fingers together.

His palm was warm. Solid. Steadying.

You squeezed his hand, feeling the last of the fear, the anxiety, the isolation drain away.

You weren’t alone. You never had been.

And now — you never would be again.

The two of you sat there until the stars disappeared into the dawn light, hands entwined, silent and safe.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t have to watch the shadows. You had someone who would do it for you.

Someone who would always notice — even when you tried to hide.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

Masterlist

[bellshazes]

Grand Unified Theory of Ethubs: Horse Edition

I started this almost a year ago, and at this point it's weirder than any Etho & Bdubs fiction could be, but it's all true, or at least every point has a valid citation. This is an attempt to explain why I find their dynamic as represented in on-video interactions and their own metatextual commentary (in-video asides, deliberate 'OOC' fourth wall breaks, casual livestream/other medial chat/commentary, etc.) compelling.

Horsing Around, or, Experience over Efficiency

THESIS: Although their singleplayer series and general playstyles appear totally opposed, their approaches are actually two different manifestations of the same underlying principles. These behaviors are reinforced and rewarded by their long-running singleplayer series. This combination of aligned gameplay idiosyncracies and a shared but frequently separate play history are the root cause of their opaque and silently mutually-agreed interpersonal dynamics.

The horse obsession is the most obvious modern symptom of these shared gameplay values, and it's useful for illustrating both Etho and Bdubs' underlying principles. Their horsegirl behavior is charming at face value alone, dating back to their Mindcrack days and begetting long-running jokes and feuds. Their history together predates horses themselves, but even in pre-elytra Mindcrack, their fixation on horse transit marked them as kindred eccesntrics on a server with robust nether minecart travel (which, in two cases, they themselves built). All aspects of their modern bespoke mutual eccentrisim is evident, including their shared commitment to experience over efficiency - prioritizing pleasant, manual engagement with game mechanics over pure automation and optimization.

Etho is perhaps most famous for his redstone - and consequently automation - but it has never been for automation's sake. He has always vocally prioritized active gameplay over efficient AFK design, especially in singelplayer. For a long time, he played with no armor to make the game harder - save Feather Falling diamond boots, so he wouldn't die to fall damage while constantly ender pearling everywhere. It's part preference, part pragmatism: he is clear about his feelings on what fair and fun gameplay is, but he chooses constraints (no AFKing, strict survival) because it suits the combination of his audience and the series in question, not universal moral standards. In the hyper-industrial economy of s7-onwards Hermitcraft, the audience-to-series calculus is different; his preference leads him to collect stacks of almost every item so he can functionally emulate the freedom of creative mode in survival, even if it means tolerating AFK design to achieve that. Leaning into unconventional locomation makes for more interesting, if useless, inventions. To survive, pleasure of active play comes first, and the rest follows.

In apparent contrast, Bdubs has no desire to build complicated contraptions for invention's sake, typically using other people's farm designs and inventing his own in service of enlivening builds or enviornments. He even pokes fun at his own in-game Luddite tendencies through Redstone with Bdubs' failures and his vocal hatred of the post-1.16 nether. In singleplayer, he's historically switched to creative sessions, particularly for public livestreams, to balance his own scales of production goals to audience judgement. As his skill as a builder has grown and he designs not just buildings but areas to be viewed and interacted with from certain angles, the greater the reward choosing to go by foot or horse becomes. But as with Etho, these choices are in service of enjoyable, immersive gameplay before any other criterion.

By the time Etho and Bdubs enounter each other directly, they have each been doing singleplayer survival longe enough to develop opinions and preferences that enable them to continue these worlds through the next decade. They both independently decide from the get-go that it's the only way to maintain the grind of creating single- and multiplayer videos long term.

Horsing around, then, illuminates how their shared real-world material constraints and similar approaches to their different in-game disciplines allows them to become kindred eccentrics. Their friendship predates in-game horses, but it endures a decade later, long after elytra makes horses obsoltete to most of their peers. The horse obsession endures as a rarely shared outlet for a need to prolong play and therefore to maximise the moment-to-moment enjoyment of playing.

Courses of Horses, or, Community and Conflict

While horsing around is illustrative of their singleplayer influences, it illuminates their multiplayer priorities as well. In a long-term singleplayer world, drawing out pleasure from rote chores and travel is essential. With others, time and energy spent to create infrastructure for others to share becomes its own self-perpetuating reward.

From their first Mindcrack season together to present-day Hermitcraft season 10, both are prone to building nether hubs out of a sense of obligation and desire for easy travel, elaborate combat arenas that unite technical features with thoughtful area design, and horse timers and racecourses. All three major trends translate personal preferences into major public projects that invite others into their playstyle wheelhouses. The accursed season-ending curse of combat arenas and horse courses are also specifically competitive. For players like Etho and Bdubs, for whom playing is in service of video creation, multiplayer is made enjoyable - and so, sustainable - by drawing out what distinguishes it from singleplayer.

Only through the presence of another person can you access stories and playstyles that depend on antagonists. This doesn't stop either of them from inventing them when alone, such as Etho's General Spaz, or Bdubs' Wells Glazes and McGee (and even arguably Red in Hermitcraft s6), but they do both have preferred tropes for conflict creation.

They trend toward different antagonist tropes, with Etho revelling in faux-innocent trolling and generally keeping authority figures from getting too serious while Bdubs moves from blatant heel to archetypal Fool over the years. Etho is generally more likely to engage in one-off, individual pranks, spend time on playing or building minigames, and join server-wide events by accident or insofar as he can be a casual anti-authority troll. Bdubs is willing to take charge instigating large storylines, though he becomes a pathological henchman when his comfort with the Fool role exceeds his need to instigate. In whole-server conflicts, this usually puts them where they're most comfortable - on opposite sides, giving each other a hard time.

Conflict is a gift, one not exclusively given to each other but ennabled together and apart for their other friends and co-players, but frequently manifesting through their shared history, priorities, and preferences as a strange language only the two of them seem to be able to speak. Early on, Etho rudely informs Bdubs what Bdubs' armor prefrences are and by the Trial, Bdubs is correctly predicting how he can make Etho jealous of his armor gains. Over a decade later, Etho can simply include a potion farm in a normal-seeming part of a regular Hermitcraft video and Bdubs will correctly identify it as a taunt only intelligible to him, retaliation for forgetting they'd meant to partner on a shop together.

They need to embrace mechancis like horses to survive; they provide exra incentive to the entire server to share that productive enjoyment with them in their infrastructure and horse courses; and by extension, their massive continuity of in-jokes and lighthearted complaints about each other both alienates them as a unit from others in a way that itself becomes a productive vehicle of community conflict or interaction. While the full history and ramifications of this fond, conflict-based idiolect are an entirely separate essay, this strange relationship is them at the extremes of who they've each decided to be, and are in continuity with the servers and series they've shared over so many years.

It is not divisible into c! and cc! interacitons because the real world commonalities drive their work friendship and their story-producing mutual obsessions. They know each other so well, so automatically, so much as foils of great mutual but often indirect respect that direct, total certainty expressed by one side is unsettling, creating doubt and distrust. But that dynamic, loving, and conflict-based idiolect produced by two people able to commit to the extremes of who they've each decided to be, together and unalone, requires its own set of essays to unpack.

"If I Had a Nickel...", Episode 1

For every time they started a big community-focused collaboration and the season ended before they could finish it…

Mindcrack season 4 fire and ice arena

Mindcrack FTB Call of Duty arena

Mindcrack season 5 horse course (ft. Doc, Genny; Doc makes a joke about hoping this doesn't happen on this project, given their past track record)

Hermitcraft season 8 horse course (recreated in season 9 for the charity event)

For every time they resurrected a decade-old joke that they both instantly recognize and everybody else is a little confused about at first because seriously it's been like 10 years…

"Pink" hoodie, Mindcrack s4/5 (1, ??) to Hermitcraft s7

Obsidian coffin prank, Mindcrack s4 to Hermitcraft s7 and s9 and 10

Scissor lift invention, Mindcrack s3 to Hermitcraft s10

Sickness, Mindcrack s4/5 to Last Life

Whether or not Bdubs knows what plethora means, Mindcrack FTB to Secret Life

HONORABLE RECENT MENTION: life series crastle anatomy

Asking is this horse course realistic racing or Mario Kart and it's Mario Kart

Mindcrack s5 ep177

hcs8 ep4

Additional Exemplary Clips & Sources

Ballad of Beyonc? and Taylor Swift

Etho heckling the horse-hunting stream via YT chat

You s- you s- YOU JERK (horse moment, appears in WL), ep1

You are the master and the only way to get to your heart is through horses, ep6

Spider spawner hangout, Bdubs Mindcrack eps 21-23

we're kind of at that level where asking isnt even necessary, right? (morry's)

they don't talk directly compilation

Red (pink) trainee uniform with Complex Inside Joke book explanation

[jealousmartini]

Any other manifesters and shifters manifesting art skills, styles and knowledge out here like me?

I am an artist, a creative writer, a musician, an amateur animator and a sucker for cinematography, and i just crave having the skills, knowledge and fundementals of art and animating in my bones already. Because I strive to understand and research for myself, to make up for my lack of experience. To explore and to know where to look to find the thing that will scratch that itch in my brain so i can develop my skills even more.

It's always been my dream since the womb days, to draw everything that came to mind... without the struggle. Like any other artist. I crave to envision something and put it on paper. To envision something and to put it on the screen. To envision something and to put it on a track. To be able to bring my art to life and to share my art with everyone, to impress everyone, to inspire others too and to help them find themselves with the knowledge and research I found a long the way. To speak through art when I can't find the words. To express my feelings when I don't know how to show them

Which is why, I am always an artist in every reality. Without fail, I script in my stacks of sketchpads and notebooks, my 2006 camera and my laptop on its last life like they are part of me. I script that I know everything i need to know to go crazy in the creative fields of art, music and cinematography. Which is also why I have an mha college au reality where I am taking a games and animation course, studying filmography as an indie animator and song artist just like I am here, so I can share my world and how I see the world through ink, pixels, music, lyricism and several different camera filters in another world that practically raised my childhood here.

I want to give back what "they" gave to me ‐ every single on of them ‐ through art, music and film. I don't just want to draw them, i want to capture them through my own eyes and present it to them as a thank you gift. Like i just blinked and told them "oh its nothing. thats just the way i experienced you". Without the stress. Just the flow. And I already know what i want to make. Please, I already have ideas on ideas of projects and pieces stored in this limitless mind of mine that im going to create for my audience, my close ones and myself. Which is why I'm done dreaming.

I'm embodying her. I'm embodying that version of me who already knows everything she needs to just go crazy on a project and be able to sit back after working on it for weeks on months, proud of the way it came out. Confident enough to submit her project, knowing she's got those five distinctions in the bag, like always. Confident enough to show it off to her audience, knowing they'll be amazed and inspired. Confident enough to present it to "them", ALL of them, and know they will be so so proud of me and flattered I made that for them.

Ofc, they don't know the full extent to why I put in all the effort for them. They don't need to. They just need to know how much they mean to me. And they mean months of restless nights, to make animation projects inspired by them that they never knew about, songs subliminally written about them which they also aren't aware of, stupid ideas I had of what they would be like inserted into my favourite media and a worlds worth of knowledge to get everything perfect, just right.

Did that even make sense??

[jorunna-mochi]

Dandy's World Easter Update Concept!!!

Hi so way back in February me and a few friends got together to make a concept for what a Dandy's World Easter Event would be like, because we didn't think one would happen-at least not this year-but as we can see that didn't end up being true. so in light of the new easter event right around the corner, I speedran making 'official' art for the four characters we made together to get out before it drops!

Let me introduce you to the cast!

Things will be brief and explained directly in a linear format. (we are not affiliated with BlushCrunch Studio, any possible similarities at any point are entirely coincidence!)

Bonbon the Chocolate Rabbit! [Main Character]

Everyone give a warm welcome (or maybe not, he might melt!) to Bonbon! Our Main Character!

He's your typical depiction of the easter bunny, he's happy go lucky, he's kind, he's a small bit mischievous, but under that mask he is on an ever present downward spiral! Imagine if you were a holiday toon and the date of your holiday changed every year! You might be a bit upset too! He holds a dislike for other holiday toons because of it, envying their 'stability'. Maybe someday you'll get a single date Bonbon, maybe some day. But for now, best keep the kids happy with your chocolate eggs!

Trinket: Chocolate Rabbits Foot Gives a random stat increase upon picking up an item for 5 seconds. Effect cannot stack. (Includes Tapes and Capsules.)

Stats: 🖤🤍🤍 Skill Check ⭐️⭐️ Movement Speed ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Stamina ⭐️⭐️ Stealth ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Extraction speed ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Abilities:

[Active Ability] Basket Surprise! In 3 seperate bursts, this Toon can give a targeted Toon any random item. Cooldown of 100 seconds. (cooldown subject to change)

[Passive Ability] Found Something! For every item this Toon picks up, Active Ability cooldown is reduced by 5%, capping at 50%. Refreshes every floor.

Twisted: “One of the Holiday Main Characters of Dandy’s World. Fed up with the inconsistencies surrounding his being this Twisted has hopped into a maddening spiral. He will hide a little surprise for unsuspecting Toons and go for the kill when it is found.”

He puts fake event currency around the map! And it airhorns when you pick it up! And he's like Vee in that instance! Haha! I'm not sorry to the people who constantly pick up Rodger.

Dialogue + 3 Interactions:

Bonbon was created by @jorunna-mochi (me)

Lassie the Hot Cross Bun! [Rare]

Lets continue on with our tunnel vision queen, Lassie! Our Rare picnic host!

“Spring is Lassie’s favourite season! If there’s one thing she knows, it’s how to have fun during it! She’s always up for an egg hunt, and she never forgets to pack some fun treats to cool down afterwards with a nice picnic.”

Trinket: Picnic Basket After being spotted by a Twisted, speed increases by 15% for 8 seconds. Can be activated every 100 seconds.

Stats: 🤍🤍🤍 Skill Check ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Movement Speed ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Stamina ⭐️⭐️ Stealth ⭐️ Extraction speed ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Ability:

[Active Ability] Found you! While extracting, this Toon can toss a handful of flowers into the air, marking the locations of all Twisteds within a certain radius. This effect stops when she stops extracting. Cooldown of 80.

Twisted: "This twisted wanders blindly in search for something she can no longer hold… Although awareness has never been her strong suit, as a Twisted Lassie has developed other means of search to make up for her lost sight. The buzz of faulty machines never escapes her, and when startled she emits clouds of ichor pollen, alerting any Twisteds in her path. Thankfully, these clouds don’t seem to be toxic to Toons."

Surprise! A blind Twisted! A silly, silly gal with an abnormally wide detection radius for skill check failures, plus the ability to aggro surrounding Twisteds when chasing, causing them to follow her! This includes running to skill check fails! Isn't that fun? Haha.

Dialogue + 3 Interactions:

Lassie made by @choctalksalot

Eggbert the Easter Egg! [Uncommon]

Up next is a Toon of few words, Eggbert! Our Uncommon egg of surprises!

"A toon of few words, one who struggles to come out of his shell, Eggbert is a beautifully painted easter egg. Though he may come off as closed off, he’s trying his hardest to show the world how great he can be!"

Trinket: Easter Eggs Increases Extraction Speed depending on the number of incomplete machines on the floor.

Stats: 🤍🤍🤍 Skill Check ⭐️⭐ Movement Speed ⭐️⭐⭐⭐ Stamina ⭐️⭐⭐⭐ Stealth ⭐️⭐⭐⭐ Extraction speed ⭐️

Ability:

[Active Ability] Egg on This Toon encourages himself to do his best, increasing his own Extraction Speed and Skill Check chance.

Twisted: "Simply left to wander, Eggbert is unable to hear or see a single thing. Though, it is ill-advised to get so close, as he is still a threat even with all that holds him back."

LITTLE DID THEY EXPECT: THE SECOND BLIND TWISTED!!! it wasn't intentional to make them both blind but, yknow, that happened! He just wanders around on his pathfinding until a Toon potentially runs into him. You'd think that makes him easy to deal with but imagine him in the doorway of a room with one exit... can't chase him out can't chase him in... just gotta wait or tank it... heh.

Dialogue + 3 Interactions:

Eggbert made by @redmint-tea

Pipa the Marshmallow Chick! [Common]

And Finally! Say hi hello welcome to our lovely little Chick, Pipa! Our Common Marshmallow!

"Pipa is a true softy! She is a chicken of a few words but she has a big heart, giving her friends gifts whenever she can. Painted eggs she made are her favorite to give!"

Trinket: Marshmallow Chicks Highlights Easter Eggs in your vicinity every 10 seconds during matches, making them easier to spot during events.

Stats: 🤍🤍🤍 Skill Check ⭐️⭐⭐ Movement Speed ⭐️⭐⭐⭐ Stamina ⭐️⭐⭐⭐ Stealth ⭐️⭐⭐ Extraction speed ⭐️

Ability:

[Active Ability] Squish This Toon can squish her body to boost her stealth by 40% for 15 seconds. Has a cooldown of 30 seconds.

Twisted: "One of the most common Twisteds you'll encounter during Easter. Overcome by Ichor, this Twisted has the innate urge to chase others down. Thankfully, it appears that this Twisted doesn't have any abilities to aid her."

Nothin interesting here, just your classic Common Twisted!

Dialogue + 3 Interactions:

Pipa made by @pezimint

Full canvas, for fun!

Thanks for having a looksie! If you wanna, don't be afraid to ask questions to any of us about our characters! These guys were all really fun to draw and create! If you liked this, good! If you didn't, great!

Likes and Reglobs are appreciated, we worked hard on these guys!

[boatemlag]

like importantly irt ccs complaining abt certain aspects of minecraft being "too OP" like OK:

1. you play minecraft at least 6-8 hours a day, your idea of timeframe is skewed

2. not everyone knows how to do that

3. you can actively choose to slow down or not take the easy route, all of these things are deeply optional

4. minecraft for me at least is not about hoarding resources, its a sandbox game about creating (and also playing with my friends/seeing what they're creating) and exploring the world. having access to infrastructure like farms or travel like the nether roof or elytra opens up the world in a way that means i have access to work on these projects as opposed to struggling to get a stack of mangrove logs. if you want to make that aspect intentionally difficult for yourself, you can

5. irt elytra, it took me a full year to get elytra on my singleplayer world, and i dont have a gunpowder farm, so i have to use them sparingly. because i am bad at pve so the dragon fight was intimidating to me. i used a resource pack that makes the dragon drop elytra bc im bad at raiding end cities. do u get my point. your skill at a game making it boring to you is not a problem of the developers. this happens with literally every game. (thinking abt ppl complaining abt spiral abyss being too easy in genshin like omfg get over it)

this is just the top of the barrel of my arguments and gripes but yeah i think generally just remember that mcyts and ccs are out of touch with the majority of the playerbase tbh

[noideabutsims]

Add on set! <3

🌟 Introducing Donut Co. Preschool Play Set - Add-On Nesting Block Set! 🌟

Elevate your Sims' playtime with Donut Co.'s Preschool Play Set - Add-On Nesting Block Set! This delightful addition to your game features a set of versatile and engaging nesting blocks, crafted from the same beloved blocks as our main Preschool Play Set. Perfect for infants and toddlers, these nesting blocks promise endless hours of fun and learning for your little Sims!

🧩 Stack, Nest, and Build!

These functional nesting blocks are more than just toys – they're a gateway to a world of creativity and discovery. Watch as your Sims' infants and toddlers stack, nest, and build towers, castles, and anything their imaginations can conjure. These blocks fit perfectly together, encouraging spatial awareness and fine motor skills in the most playful way possible.

👶 Perfect for Little Hands

Designed with the tiniest Simmers in mind, our nesting blocks are easy to grasp, hold, and manipulate. Infants and toddlers will delight in the tactile experience of stacking and nesting, all while developing crucial hand-eye coordination. These blocks are a fantastic addition to any nursery or playroom, providing endless opportunities for exploration and growth.

🌈 Colorful and Captivating

Each block in this mini set is bursting with vibrant colors, making playtime visually stimulating and irresistibly fun. The cheerful hues and whimsical designs will capture the attention of your youngest Sims, turning every play session into a joyful adventure.

🕒 Hours of Engaging Play

With Donut Co.'s Preschool Play Set - Add-On Nesting Block Set, your Sims' infants and toddlers can spend hours immersed in imaginative play. Whether they're building the tallest tower or nesting blocks into neat, satisfying stacks, the possibilities are endless. This add-on set ensures that playtime is always fresh, exciting, and full of wonder.

🎁 Enhance Your Game

Donut Co.'s Preschool Play Set - Add-On Nesting Block Set is the perfect complement to our Preschool Play Set, adding a new dimension of play to your game. Whether you're expanding your Sims' toy collection or introducing new activities to their daily routines, this set is a must-have for any family-focused gameplay.

Ready to add a touch of magic to your Sims' lives? Bring home Donut Co.'s Preschool Play Set - Add-On Nesting Block Set and watch as your little ones' imaginations soar! Order now and let the stacking, nesting, and building fun begin! 🌟 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Disclaimer: Please note that some clipping issues may occur in-game, as depicted in the photos. This is why the Nesting Block Set is separated and treated as an add-on set. We are working to resolve these minor visual glitches to ensure the best possible experience for your Sims. Thank you for your understanding and continued support! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ HUGE thank you goes out to@TaurusDesigns because they truly saved the day on this set. They worked with me alot to help me fix countless meshing errors, shadow problems, in game errors, ect. Taurus went out of their way to help me make sure this could be published, and it would mean alot if you could go check out their stuff because they definitely deserve it! @NicAtNite88 helped me out with testing these items in game so i wanna give them a shoutout as well! They grabbed some of the photos attached in the previews! <3 (All of our CC can be found by typing " Donut " into the search bar! All 8 items are New meshes, and have all shadows and LODs. There is a slight glitch in the shadows on a few objects, but it only occurs BEFORE placing them down in game. Once they are placed, they are perfectly fine! you can find examples in images! <3

Infants that can sit up can play with all block items, toddlers can play too! Most of my images have my reshade on - it changes the color minimally, so white may look a little off in photos, but in game it will look white/normal!! In images you can find the non-reshade example! <3 You can size them up and down using the bracket keys. [ ] <- these ones.  I personally, use the tool mod to size my items up and down, and specifically with these if you are wanting them to be "perfectly sized" i would recommend you grab the tool mod by twistedmexi! If you would like to use it in build-buy mode, you'll need BBB!)Re-colors, and using this item as a mesh/base is fully allowed! you can include the mesh, and do what you please with the item, as long as you link back to the original. There are posts for all of our cc on our main 3 platforms (Tumblr, curseforge, patreon. ), So there is no reason not to link back!

Will be releasing more content soon! stay tuned! ❤️ (NOT affiliated with EA or Maxis in any way! We just make CC! ) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Main set: https://www.tumblr.com/noideabutsims/754032309525774336/its-heeereeeeee-introducing-donut-cos?source=share ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DOWNLOAD: Curseforge: https://legacy.curseforge.com/sims4/build-buy/donut-co-preschool-play-set-add-on-nesting-block Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/106703964?pr=true Google Drive: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1G2-xxqEz7y-ymMQ_mslu2m84iThOxXy6/view?usp=sharing

@alwaysfreecc @taurusdesign

[thefirstknife]

hi bel! do you have any idea what 'variisis' means? i've heard spider say it in an onslaught dialogue with variks, but until this episode it was only used once in an old lore tab with misraaks

According to Shuro Chi it means "unyielding."

This chamber was built for one of our most skilled archers. Her name was Sjur, and she was beloved by all of us— even by the Eliksni. They called her "Siyuriks pak Variisis"— Sjur the Unyielding.

It's been mentioned several times this season in lore tabs as well, in the context of the new location in the City where Eido's lab, Spider's bar and Eramis' prison are located in the market: Variisis Core.

Misraaks strained his eyes to peer towards the edge of the blankets he'd been using as temporary bedding during the development of the Variisis Core.

+

They perched on a stack of crates, spending their break well above the hustle and bustle of the Variisis Core.

+

Glint flitted through the Variisis Core of the Last City until he spotted the hoses and tubing of Eido's brewing station snaking through the rafters.

In the old lore tab with Mithrax, he's talking to Sjur so it makes sense since it's a word associated with her. This is also incidentally the lore tab in which Mithrax finds Eido as a hatchling.

It's mentioned one more time with Mithrax here which is I believe the first time chronologically. This is about Mithrax and his old fireteam.

After a time, the Warlock ventures, "Mithrax?" The Captain turns. "Wolves rebel. Now, Wolves extinct. This where-live mine-things scatter must end. I will Kell the mind-open Eliksni. No spider-tricks. No loyal-lies. Variisis truths. We fight for Great Machine together."

Mithrax was greatly inspired by Sjur and respected her quite a lot. Note how he rejects "spider-tricks" and "loyal-lies" (referring to the Spider and Variks), and instead embraces "variisis truths:" unyielding truths, but also something that ties it all to Sjur, the person who changed his life.

I'm convinced that Variisis Core is named that way for her, much like he named his daughter for her as well. I don't think it relates to Sjur in the Onslaught dialogue though, since it's just a word and it's Spider and Variks yelling at each other. But either way... Sjur mentioned?

[hismercytomyjustice]

Some Tips for Dealing with OCD

Been going through a bit of a rough patch lately and was revisiting my notes from the International OCD Foundation's annual OCD Conference earlier this year. Wanted to share in case these tips might help other folks too.

Apologies for the chunky list!

Use self-care to stack the deck in your favor à la Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

Focus on the basics first (sleep, diet, water, etc).

Build a strong foundation so you can build on it without it falling over.

Focus on how you can handle the things that are 100% in your control to increase your resilience.

Set the bar low with goals. It’s only up from there and you have to start somewhere.

Don’t worry about whether or not something is your OCD. You’re not in the business of figuring that out. OCD rule of thumb, if there’s urgency attached to figuring it out, it’s probably your OCD.

It doesn’t matter what the content of your OCD thought is about, the response is the same. The same principles apply.

You’re building your muscles, maintain aspects of ERP and CBT so those muscles don’t atrophy. This helps prevent you from ending up in a more vulnerable/susceptible place to OCD.

Be aware of when your OCD is “getting loud.”

Know what you’re going to do if a lapse or relapse happens.

Medication is 20-30%, skills and tools are the rest.

You’re always learning what does and doesn’t work. Even if exposures don’t go the way you hope, it’s okay. It’s data. Gather experiences and data so you can learn from them. Your experiences expand you and help you grow and expand your resilience. You’re always learning what does and doesn’t work.

Think of “failure” as “failed experiments” for which you’re collecting data and can learn from.

Develop strong emotional regulation to keep yourself stable.

Keep an eye on where your life gives you opportunities for exposure and take advantage of those gimmes.

Micro avoidances add up, so work hard to handle even little ones. Recognize when you’re triggered by something and choose to do it anyway. Sometimes it’s OCD and sometimes it isn’t.

Even if what you fear happens, it doesn’t mean your OCD was correct. Your OCD is never correct.

Self-compassion is hard work. It’s not about being positive about everything but rather about being real/more realistic.

Reframe perfectionism as “I’m committing to x” and it doesn’t matter if it’s perfect or the best or whatever, just focus on that. For example, "I’m committing to exercising for 5 minutes,” and not thinking about if it’s perfect or not.

Remember when you’re having a tough time, think “I’m working on it.”

Think “yeah, and” rather than “yeah, but” because “yeah, but” often comes up when we’re negating positive things we did.

Even if you’re not certain something will give you a positive outcome, still do it. Even if it doesn’t do what you hoped, you still fought back. Give yourself the opportunity to see the outcome and with that comes flexibility. This can be as simple as making yourself a piece of toast.

Line out three small goals you want to complete each day. It can help to make the goals at night for the next day so you don’t have to deal with motivation in the morning. Use an index card on your bedside table. If the goals feel too big or intense, make them smaller or break them down further. This is behavioral activation.

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Ok... since you said it's okay for me to yap about my OCs here... so like... yeah

This is Isaque... my FE3H OC... he's a mathemetician and engineer who designs artillery and he's a FUCKING NERD and I HATE HIM.

I've written voice lines and supports and drawn portraits (they aren't good though they need some edits) and decided on growths and arts and I've literally done everything... I love how well FE3H lends itself to making OCs rahhh (even if SoV is my favorite game and not 3H)

Miscellaneous yapping facts time ig ‼️

He is a child of "divorce" (his parents were never married) and his mom lives in the Empire and his dad lives in the Alliance... (before the war) he lived with his mom in the summers and his dad the rest of the time...

He tells everyone his mom is dead and that the woman he visits in the summer is his maternal aunt because of the connotations of him being born out of wedlock with society being how it is (he's not a noble but his dad works with nobles and is very overly concerned with his reputation.)

He shares a paralogue with another OC who's in the Black Eagles so if you complete that paralogue you find out that his "aunt" is actually his mom and that lets you recruit him if you fight him with Byleth in CF!!!

He's so lame... he loves theatre but he's terrible at singing... Dorothea tries to teach him in their supports but it fails miserably... loser...

His supports with Manuela are really just supports between his MOM and Manuela because his mom sends him a letter to give her (she's a big fan) and Manuela writes back because why not and then they become friends... #adult woman yuri

His personal skill is called golden ratio and basically lets him her extra crit if his hit is high enough YAY FOR CRIT STACKING!!!

I've only written his supports with Claude, Ignatz, Dorothea, Manuela, and Linhardt so far but I plan on writing one for everyone in his house (deer) + a few others... crazy how I've written more of his out of house supports than his within house supports but whatever who cares

FE3H pairing system means I can make MULTIPLE oc x canon ships real and I don't even have to pick one!!!

If I had to though. His Linhardt support is my favorite because they do NOT fw each other for a while there (at least not at first. They DO have an ambiguously gay paired ending) and it's hilarious (I love them) stupid ass gay rivalry

Anyway tune in next time when I yap about my still in development jugdral OC ig

👀

[indelen]

It’s tragic backstory hours so I’m fortifying myself with a chocolate loaf!

This is my reread of the Lockwood and Co. Books, organized by @blue-boxes-magic-and-tea, I'll make a general summary of several chapters and then post bits and pieces that jumped out at me.

Part II, Chapters 5-6:

I think it’s significant that Lucy comes from the north of England specifically. Northern England got the bad end of the stick multiple times in English history. The area was razed to the ground and starved viciously during the conquest of William the Conqueror. It was raided by Vikings. It suffered during England’s wars with Scotland. It’s a part of UK that saw a lot of violence and poverty. It has a lot of industries like mining, smelting, etc. and that means coal and factory towns and all the economic issues that come from them. A lot of hard, low wage jobs that are the first to go when the economy downturns or society changes. North of England was the worst hit my Margaret Thatcher’s policies and by austerity measures during the mid-2000s economic crisis. Knowing all that and from what Lucy tells us of living in Cheviot Hills we can guess that while life for people and especially kids sucks in London, it sucks a lot worse outside out it. North England post war had a lot of mines and factories with multiple shifts and late work hours. When The Problem kicked off and the curfew was enacted probably only the very wealthy owners could afford to make changes that would keep their factories running and there were probably massive layoffs. So the financial burden was shifted onto children and there are no competing agencies who try to poach the best kids here, just washouts like Jacobs who run The One Agency that’s your only option. If you’re born in that one town with Talent you’re stuck going to that one washout guy. And you don’t see the point in moving because the next town probably just has some other washout guy.

In the context of all this Lucy running away was an act of extraordinary risk, and yet you get it, because continuing working for Jacobs was both her only option and unbearable. She tried giving evidence against him at the trial and he was the only person who could complete her certification. This negligent alcoholic had untold amount of power over her and the law was on his side.

Odds and Ends:

The way Lucy consistently tries to be detached from this part of her life is so heartbreaking. She knew these kids from age of 8 to age of 13. She tries to separate herself from the horror of it all but the damage is so very much there.

Lucy simply wasn’t educated and apparently many children in this universe are not. Children’s brains until the age of about 8 can only focus on learning things one at a time. It’s why some kids pick up skills earlier or later than others. Something has to come first and the order of how the rest stacks up is different for every child. The ability to learn in parallel develops later and this is where proper education of multiple subjects really starts. In North America this is about Grade 3 level. That doesn’t mean the time before this is wasted, since that’s when you learn the basics of reading, writing and math but also things like social play, following instructions of authority figures, measuring time, adhering to a schedule and the general flow of whatever school system you have. But, in this universe this is all they teach agents! they teach just enough to make them obedient and no more. They learn to follow orders, read to do what they’re told, complete basic tasks, but nothing else. This is a world the people who do the most dangerous job are given no analytical or critical thinking education and if you display any independently, you’re told to shut up and die for your country like a good little soldier.

The most "this was definitely written by Anthony Lockwood"-ass ad imaginable. Spare a thought for poor Lucy alone and low on funds in a new metropolitan city trying to find a photo atelier for a portrait to staple to an application.

Lucy is often mean, but let the record state George fucking started it with her. Sir, she made an appointment and sent an application and presumably a photo. You know she's not Arif's girl. You're just crashing from a lack of snackies and are cranky.

Remember kids, always good to ask what happened to the guy you're replacing in any given interview!

Hang this dialogue in the Louvre, i don't care how

Now girl that's no way to talk about your future husband. But also, what I kind of love about this is that Lockwood is obviously conflicted here because her realizes Lucy quite literally too good to be true. She's obviously the most Talented person to ever apply for any position with them. And yet if she's really that powerful why hasn't another bigger agency scooped per up? He senses that there is some flaw, some lie beyond the fact that she doesn't have a reference. He extends her an offer and gives her a chance because she seems like a good fit and it's too good an opportunity to pass up, but he's not foolish or naive about this either. It's why for all his flaws he is a good agency leader.

RIP beloved "biscuit rule" slain in battle with a US publishing editor whose hands grow out their ass and who thinks brittle North American teenage brains will crack at the mere mention of certain British terms and idioms.

Lucy describes Lockwood's smile count: 5

[leejenowrld]

do they have any domestic routines or moments you imagine for them? like, do they split up certain tasks, one handles mornings, the other does bedtime, or something like that?

also, since they’re loaded💸 do they get any help with daily stuff or are they the type to do everything themselves just because they want to?

jeno and y/n are, at their core, the most involved and present parents you could imagine. they are gentle, attentive, always putting their babies first, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, nights up together soothing fevers or lying on the nursery floor, hand in hand, whispering promises that they’ll figure it out as long as they do it together. their house is filled with routines and rituals, morning kisses before anyone leaves, bedtime stories in the big bed, dance parties in the kitchen just because someone’s having a hard day. they are the type of parents who research everything, always wanting to do right by their kids: y/n has stacks of parenting books by the bed, signs up for every child development seminar, drags jeno to baby yoga and CPR classes, and jeno never complains, happy to be along for every step, secretly proud every time he gets to show off his diaper-changing skills.

they keep their children’s world beautifully small and safe, fame and fortune a distant, background hum. junseo and serin grow up blissfully unaware (well until they have understanding) that their daddy is the most famous nba player on earth, because at home he’s just dad: the man who makes pancakes in the shape of hearts, who lets them draw on his arms with marker, who will always drop everything to build a fort or fix a broken toy. their lives are defined by warmth, affection, and a sense of security so profound the outside world barely touches them. y/n is always there—bandaids, soothing words, gentle hands, teaching her babies to trust their feelings, to come to her with anything. jeno is patient, endlessly present, never too busy for bedtime, always sneaking in one more story or song.

their sacrifices are quiet, constant, and never broadcast—turning down trips, adjusting practice schedules, giving up sleep or privacy, never resenting it because the kids are the center of everything. even when things get hard, tantrums, sibling fights, sleepless nights, they stay soft and united, always looking for ways to do better, to be better, for their babies. the kids grow up cocooned in love, unaware at first of the world’s attention, just knowing their parents are always there: listening, guiding, loving without limit. this is what family means in their universe: a shelter from everything outside, a promise to always come back to each other, no matter what.

when junseo and serin get a little older, curiosity blooms: a friend’s parent slips, a teacher gushes, or they catch glimpses of their father’s face in places no ordinary dad would ever be. it starts with small questions, why do strangers sometimes ask for photos? why does everyone stare when they walk through the airport together? and jeno and y/n never brush them off or try to hide the truth. they tell their babies the real story: their dad is famous, one of the best to ever play the game, and that means a lot of people know who he is. they speak gently, honestly, letting every answer find its shape in the quiet, not sugarcoating what fame brings, the chaos, the boundaries, the reasons they’ve always protected their privacy so fiercely.

y/n holds serin close as she asks if it means their family will change, and jeno pulls junseo into his lap, meeting his eyes with a promise: “it just means you have to know who you are at home. you are ours before you are anybody else’s.” they explain the years of careful choices, the times they said no to cameras, the reasons behind so many whispered goodbyes and careful exits. they remind the kids that nothing about who they are, or how much they are loved, is defined by the outside world. junseo nods, serious and wise, and serin giggles, reaching for her mama’s hand, suddenly proud that her daddy is someone so special but even prouder that he belongs to them first. in that moment, it’s clear: honesty, warmth, and the unbreakable trust between them are what matter most. jeno and y/n know that their children’s strength will always come from the softness of home, from knowing that, no matter how bright the world gets outside, there is always a quiet place to land—a place where truth is told gently, and love is the only legacy that matters. sorry i went off topic but to actually answer your ask:

how the rhythm is built (even when it’s always breaking):

some days, it’s effortless, a current that pulls you all forward. other mornings, it’s like dragging yourselves through fog with one arm each, balancing babies, breakfast, spilled milk, and half-formed apologies. routines are sacred, but they’re more like talismans: you all keep them not because you must, but because you can, because making meaning out of the mundane is a kind of spell you cast together, over and over.

mornings—teamwork and tiny hands:

jeno wakes up first, every time, he’s used to getting up early due to his NBA clock. there’s always a point at dawn where he lies in bed, your legs draped over his, and he listens for the sounds of the house, the little feet padding down the hall, the shuffle of toys, the sleepy whimper from serin’s cot. he untangles himself from your arms as gently as he can, presses a kiss to your forehead, and tiptoes to find his boy and girl.

junie is never awake on purpose, he’s the kind of kid who burrows deeper when the sun comes up, murmurs “no, daddy, more sleep, dream…” but jeno coaxes him out with soft words, a gentle rub of his back, promising pancakes and cartoons. he scoops him up, messy hair, mismatched pajamas, clutching his favorite blue blanket, and whispers, “let’s go see what serin’s up to.”

jeno’s voice is low and warm in the hush of morning, soft as he pulls junie close and kisses the crown of his head. “you can rest on daddy,” he promises, settling his son against his chest, big arms curled around that small, drowsy body. junie sinks into him, cheek pressed to jeno’s shoulder, legs tangling around his waist, eyes fluttering as he lets himself be carried—trusting, safe, still caught in the sweet space between dream and day. together, they move through the quiet house, jeno murmuring, “daddy’s got you, baby,” while junie clings tighter, knowing this is home: soft arms, slow steps, a promise kept every single morning.

serin is always already standing up in her cot, fists balled around the rails, cheeks flushed, grinning with her six-toothed smile. she babbles “dada! dada! up!” arms stretched, so desperate to be close. jeno swoops her into his arms, and she squeals, legs kicking, grabbing for his nose and then her brother’s. junie yawns, wipes his eyes, and immediately shoves his blue blanket at her, she chews on it with total adoration.

jeno’s mastered the morning ballet—broad arms, steady hands, one sleepy boy anchored to his chest and serin perched on his hip, giggling, sticky with love and sunlight. he moves through the hallway, effortlessly balancing both, his strength a comfort neither child ever questions. serin leans into his shoulder, chubby fingers reaching for junie’s hair, and junie, still half asleep, pats her back with clumsy affection. “all my babies, right here,” jeno murmurs, and it’s true: both children pressed tight, tucked in close, trusting that no matter how big the world gets, their dad will always be strong enough to carry it—and them—in his arms. the three of them move as one unit, a little family orbit, hearts beating together, laughter bubbling up, until they find you waiting in the kitchen, the whole day already golden and safe.

morning spills gold across the kitchen floor, softening everything it touches. jeno moves like a gentle giant, both babies tucked on his hips—junie nuzzled into his chest, face pressed against the sleepy curve of his dad’s neck, and serin clinging tight with arms and legs, babbling quiet songs against his jaw. the air is filled with their little voices: junie mumbling, “daddy, pancakes, please,” and serin echoing, “cake! cake!” in her sweetest lilt. jeno hums to himself, one hand flipping pancakes, the other balancing his kids, peppering their heads with kisses between every turn, whispering, “my good babies, my loves.”

when you wander in, wrapped in his oversized shirt, hair wild and eyes still soft with sleep, the whole kitchen glows. junie slips down and pads straight to you, arms outstretched, burying his cheek against your stomach as he whispers, “mama, you were in my dream. you saved all the dinos.” serin wriggles to follow, launching herself from jeno’s arms to yours, face sticky with sleep and joy, chanting, “mama, mama!” over and over as you scoop her up and kiss her round, rosy cheeks. the four of you melt together by the counter, laughter mixing with soft kisses and sleepy morning cuddles, the world outside held at bay by nothing but warmth and love and the bright, heart-aching happiness of being together.

mid-morning rituals—love in the details:

some days, junie wants to help make breakfast. he sits on the counter, feet swinging, and you guide his tiny hand as he cracks eggs into the bowl. serin claps, cheering every time you hand her a new spoon or piece of fruit to mash. jeno makes coffee just the way you like it, sliding the mug over with a wink, and presses his lips to your shoulder as you talk about nothing and everything, the dreams the kids had, the NBA trade rumors, what color to paint the spare room.

after breakfast, everyone piles onto the couch. there’s always a show playing that only the kids care about, something with bright colors and songs that stick in your head. serin climbs all over you, tugs at your charm bracelet, babbles nonsense, and junie presses his cold feet to your thighs, giggling every time you shiver. jeno slips behind you, long arms encircling everyone, murmuring, “look at us, baby. perfect little team.”

errands and the little things:

when it’s time to leave the house, the real chaos begins. serin hates shoes, always chucks one at jeno’s head, and junie insists on picking his own outfits, usually superhero capes over pajamas. you laugh, try to wrangle everyone into jackets and hats, and jeno says, “don’t worry, i’ve got her,” lifting serin with one arm and wrangling junie’s backpack with the other. you always check twice, wipes, snacks, serin’s pink bunny, junie’s blue dinosaur. somehow, you’re always late, but always together.

at the supermarket, junie pushes the cart, jeno following close behind with serin perched in the basket, both of them pointing out everything they want. you split up sometimes, one of you heads for the produce, the other takes the snack aisle, each baby getting one-on-one time. sometimes, jeno slips a bouquet of flowers in with the groceries, just for you, even on a tuesday.

afternoons—everyday magic:

nap time is sacred. junie only falls asleep if you tell him the story of the day he was born; he lies on your chest, thumb in his mouth, hair splayed over your heart, eyes blinking slower and slower as your voice softens. serin is the opposite, she needs jeno to walk laps with her around the living room, her head tucked under his chin, his deep voice humming lullabies she’ll never remember, but will always feel. sometimes, you watch from the doorway, heart aching at the sight—the strong man you love, reduced to gentle giant, swaying with his daughter until she finally surrenders to sleep.

when both babies are down, you and jeno steal an hour for yourselves. it’s never glamorous; sometimes you nap together, sometimes you just curl up on the sofa, legs tangled, laughing quietly about the latest disaster. sometimes, it’s sex—soft, slow, like remembering who you are outside of “mama” and “dada.” always, it’s connection. always, it’s love.

evenings—teamwork and tenderness:

dinner is another adventure. junie wants to help set the table, serin tries to eat with her hands, jeno wipes chins and catches flying peas. sometimes, mark and areum come over with their own kids, and the house fills with shrieking laughter, sticky fingers, cousins chasing each other in circles. you and areum swap stories, compare bite marks and scraped knees, watch as your husbands teach the kids to “cheers” with juice boxes. family dinners always end with someone falling asleep at the table—usually serin, face-first in her mashed potatoes, or junie, head on your shoulder, fingers wrapped around your wrist.

after dinner, you all head for bath time, a circus every night. you and jeno kneel by the tub, sleeves rolled up, letting the kids dump water on your heads, laughter echoing off the tiles. serin is obsessed with bubbles, junie wants to rescue every rubber duck. by the end, everyone’s soaked, hair wild, cheeks flushed with joy.

pajamas, story time, bedtime—each with its own ritual. junie snuggles in your lap while jeno reads, voice deep and silly, both of you stopping to answer a thousand questions. serin climbs into your arms, curls up under your chin, breathes you in. when the lights go out, both babies sigh, content and safe, wrapped in the kind of love that makes nightmares run.

teamwork in every mess:

they could have nannies, they could have help, but for now, this is what they choose, hands-on, heart-full, sometimes bone-tired but always together. laundry is folded as a family, dishes washed with a baby strapped to your hip, toys tidied by all four hands. even on days when the house looks like a tornado hit, it’s alive with memory: junie’s handprints on the wall, serin’s giggle trailing down the hall, jeno’s voice humming in the kitchen.

you and jeno trade off the heavy lifts. on his nba trips, you hold the fort, running bedtime solo, sneaking serin into your bed when she’s restless, promising junie he’ll get an extra story tomorrow when daddy’s home. when you’re burnt out, jeno takes over, cancels a practice, orders takeout, sends you to take a bath while he lets the babies climb all over him in the living room. he never lets you go to bed angry or alone; you never let him forget that he’s the anchor and the safe place, too.

emotional depth—what the babies give you:

it’s in the little things—the way junie holds your hand when he’s scared, the way serin looks for her daddy every time she wakes. junie is soft, sensitive, feels everything, cries when serin cries and laughs when she laughs. he insists on tucking her in, choosing her bedtime story, being the first to clap when she walks. serin, for all her energy, worships her brother, follows him everywhere, copies every word, lights up when he’s near. you and jeno sometimes watch them together, hearts aching at the tenderness, grateful for the softness you’ve built in them both.

love in the little things—what never changes:

every night, no matter how wild or weary, you and jeno end the day together—sometimes in bed, sometimes on the couch, sometimes standing in the kitchen under the yellow light. you whisper, “we made this,” and he pulls you in, holds you close, kisses you like it’s the only thing that’s real. sometimes, junie sneaks in, curls up between you both, and serin soon follows. the bed is too small, but the love is endless.

jeno always says, “teamwork, babe. always.” you say, “always.” and you mean it. you really, really mean it. that’s the life you built—intimate, messy, magic in every mundane moment. every task, every cuddle, every laugh and tear, it’s all part of the tapestry. you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

little rituals, soft chaos, and love in every corner:

every season brings a new set of matching pajamas, dinosaur ones for junie, little pink foxes or yellow moons for serin, a grown-up version for you, and a blue bear print for jeno. sunday mornings, you all pile into bed, everyone still wrinkled with sleep, and you snap photos of the four of you tangled up, feet poking out, laughter bubbling, sun streaming through the curtains. jeno always tries to get the timer right, but someone (usually serin) moves at the last second.

bath time is a riot, serin insists on “bubbles! more bubbles!” and junie lines up the rubber ducks in formation like a parade. sometimes you and jeno are both kneeling by the tub, sleeves soaked, trading off shampoo duties. other nights, junie insists on “washing sissy’s hair,” pouring too much water but being so gentle it makes you want to cry. serin, chubby hands clinging to his wrist, giggles, eyes shining with trust.

brushing hair after bath is a ritual. you gently detangle serin’s baby curls, humming her favorite lullaby, while she plays with your charm bracelet (again) and watches you in the mirror. jeno handles junie, slow and patient, brushing his hair while telling him stories about the stars, or making up tales about knights and dragons. when he finishes, junie grins and throws his arms around his dad’s neck, saying, “thank you, daddy,” which makes jeno beam every single time.

bedtime stories are sacred. most nights, you all end up reading together—junie tucked on your lap, serin in jeno’s arms, two or three books stacked high. sometimes, you read chapter books aloud just for the sound of it, or make up stories together, each person adding a line. tears come easily; sometimes, the stories remind you of how much you love them, and you get choked up. junie always notices, leans over, and wipes your cheek with his thumb, whispering, “it’s okay, mama, it’s a happy story.”

in the deep, dark of the night, there are always dreams and shadows. serin is sensitive, so when a nightmare startles her awake, her cries echo down the hall. you rush to her room, heart pounding, only to find her bed empty. for a split second, you panic—until you check junie’s room and see them together. he’s wrapped her up in his arms, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand gently stroking her back the way you and jeno do for him. he whispers, “don’t be scared, i’m here, it’s just a silly dream. wanna hear about dinosaurs?” she nods, sniffling, and he starts softly telling her his favorite story, his little-kid voice shaky but determined. you watch, quiet at the door, tears streaming down your face at the sight of your children loving each other the way you always hoped they would. when you tuck them both in, serin mumbles, “my junie,” and junie replies, “always sissy’s hero,” and you just sit with them until they’re both asleep, holding each other like it’s the only thing that matters.

every now and then, the whole family ends up in one bed. on weekends or after a hard day, you, jeno, junie, and serin squeeze together, blankets everywhere, arms and legs in a heap. serin sleeps on your chest, thumb in her mouth, and junie clings to jeno, their heads pressed together. sometimes, in the early dawn, you wake to find jeno watching all of you, eyes glassy with love, mouthing, “thank you” as he brushes your hair off your forehead. it’s chaos and comfort, peace and noise, all at once—this wild, woven knot of family you built from scratch.

facts & forever memories:

serin worships her brother—follows him everywhere, copies his words, throws her head back in laughter whenever he’s silly, cries when he cries.

junie is fiercely protective, sometimes bossy, but always gentle with her, sharing his snacks, fixing her bows, defending her on the playground even when he’s mad at her.

there are days when you find them hidden together under a blanket fort, whispering secrets, or sitting quietly on the porch watching the rain, heads leaning together, sharing a world only they understand.

every bruise or scraped knee, serin goes to junie first—“kiss it better!”—and he does, with all the care in the world, before she runs to you for cuddles and jeno for a sticker.

dreams are sacred in your home—junie loves sharing his, and serin always says, “i saw you in my dream, mama, you were a fairy,” or “daddy was a giant!” bedtime is where the real magic happens, everyone sharing hopes and worries, promising to find each other again in their dreams.

[fernsplaysthings]

Prev. reblog about Chatgpt got me thinking about psych stuff.

Decade old degree showing back up for a ramble.

I'm not a professional psychologist, just an enthusiast who gets really into it's conversations about psych stuff.

Brains are facinating. Thought and behaiour patterns are facinating.

Anyway.

I'm not gunna be citing stuff here so get ready for me to be wrong but, whatever.

I was thinking about how the brain is very much a 'use it or lose it' organ. Bioplasticity and all that. Which lead to how certain people who use their brains in a specific way tend to have a lower risk of dementia in later life.

There are other factors, but that's one.

A study was done on London cab drivers. They go through years of studying routes and landmarks through London called 'The Knowledge'. It's intense.

I had firsthand experience of watching my Dad do it over a decade ago. It was stacks and stacks of papers in folders, each A4 sheet had a list ranging from like, four lines, to two pages top to bottom of:

L by [Insert road name] Bear R [Insert road name] F [Insert road name] R [Insert road name]

And so on.

The overarching goal was to be able to traverse the entire city, no GPS, using the most efficient routes, from the customer's location to their end point and to be able to adapt if needed. All backroads. All suburbs. The short term goal was to be able to memorise what was given and turn up to a spoken exam on the regular.

The reason why The Knowledge is a great example of this type of brain useage is because it isn't just memory. It's a lot of memory, but not soley. It begins like it, point to point memorised out of a book. But then the cabbie would have to drive them, perhaps take in some landmarks to tell the examiner about. As the skill develops it's no longer about memorising paperwork alone but making connections with seen and lived experiences, and using rational thinking using the skills developed. Linking different parts of the brain.

By the time you're working someone should be able to mention a place to go to from anywhere in or closely around London and you can do it without wasting their money.

The study found that London cab drivers had a lower risk of dementia in advanced age. And a bigger hippocampus; the learning and memory bit.

I figure professional puzzlers and quizzers are also probably in a similar position.

So if these kinds of people have some of the lowest risk of dementia in later life, what would happen to someone who no longer needs to remember as much, nor understand and reshuffle it to portray their understanding?

If a kid has grown up with school, high school, university using gen ai, or of their own accord, or both, and instead of flexing their brain muscles to show their understanding of a memorised topic they ask it to write their essay for them to be slightly adjusted and sent off...does that increase the risk (on top of other factors)?

A brain isn't the way it is right out of the box. It's an organ that has to develop. And a bunch of it's development is due to what we do with it. There are definitely people who've won the genetic lottery and don't need to do as much. There's definitely some people who are predisposed to just...not care.

But I also don't think anyone has to settle for that.

Back to my Dad. He's not academic. I mean this with the greatest affection too. He doesn't do words so well. Before his cab stuff I don't think he'd ever put his mind actively to something academic. Like, including normal schooling. I couldn't see him doing well in a standardised test.

His quick maths is real good though, to give him credit.

And he, as far as I can see with family still present, did not win the genetic lottery. Or upbringing lottery. His just-turned-80 year old Mum has severe dementia and wasn't winning any mother of the year awards. I never knew his Dad, he passed away in my Dad's early teens. Pretty impactful. The man his Mum had his youngest brother with was the scummiest, vilest, dirtbag to them.

And yet...predisposed or no, he's an excellent cabbie and did his exams in four years (major motorcycle accident included).

They're obviously not the average person, they're a demonstration of what changes when put to use. Obviously not using something doesn't always mean the total opposite, in that people's memories deteriorate, but...in 20-50 years it'd be interesting to see.

[mitigatedchaos]

The online Twitter/X right are having a big intra-coalition battle right now over skilled immigration.

I'll just lay out something briefly here:

H1b immigration has a bad reputation because it's based on a lottery system in which corporations are supposed to "prove" they can't hire someone in the United States. Apparently, if they get fired, they could be deported.

It's not that hard to write a fake job listing that excludes all American applicants, and then make an "exception" for a foreigner, especially if no one is actually rigorously enforcing that the foreigners match the listings.

Corporations have incentive to juice the listings to get low-leverage employees that they can underpay and overwork. People claim that consultancy firms stack engineers in India in order to max out their lottery entries.

This is dumb. H1b seats should just be sold at auction.

There is a political legitimacy or public relations problem for this guest worker program in that Americans think it's just about suppressing wages. If every corporation pays an additional $30,000 a year in cash, that they would not have had to pay by hiring an American worker, this helps to demonstrate that the labor supply is tight in that sector, and incentivize corporations to do local talent development.

It also means that there is no need to create a fake listing to exclude Americans. Just pay the money at auction and you're set.

There is an allocation problem in that allocating a labor pool to companies by lottery is unpredictable and random, and likely to allocate labor poorly. If every corporation has to bid at auction, they'll have a good idea of what the price is from last year, which means they can be confident that they'll get the seat.

Additionally, a higher payment suggests that a company has more productive work available, so they should be the ones to get the seat, rather than the group that files more lottery entries.

[shock]

How to Cheat Death, 10.15.23.

Text transcript: By 2020, everything crashes to the ground. Again. When we say "traumatic", boy, do we mean it. Much of it irreplaceable, all those dead things I'd buried, they will all come back again and again, in the form of vaguely familiar memories. Some of them we begin to warp and change, all these shadow people, pieces of strangers, someone's life invented, imagined, purely by the power of thought. But the brain can't synthesize generations of stars in our Galaxy, doing all they had done. Disembodied intelligences move toward each other and merge, not doubles of one another, not identical, but all lost and gone with death. But this is only the beginning. The human mind is explicitly designed to break down at a certain point. This complex brain a doomed star, the purpose of human intellect defined as almost beyond comprehension. In the near future, the human race is... Older? Smarter? Wiser? We may become the first generation to discover we are not alone in the world. If this ever happens, it will be one of the most defining moments in the history of our species. Are humans all there is? Maybe we are alone, or nearly so. Or are there other beings in the ghostly light inside our bodies, not yet born? You may not be aware of it, the surface electricity of your skin, the optic nerve fibres, the 120 billion nerve connections converted directly into experiences, brainwaves, instructions. This is all changing. They're thinking about merging computers with our brains. Neural implants, nanotechnology, cells that communicate via processing circuits of the brain. Technologies may develop to prolong life, powered by computers with their own sorts of minds and consciousness... ...Maybe science fiction had it wrong. Maybe the first team of computers about to merge there, in that compartment of your brain where inspiration and emotion plays out, will exhibit space for the full range of personality, including our powers for turning dreams into vision, in our strength, our creativity and randomness, disorder, reasoning, tracing, stacking, corralling, framing, our complexity and variation. Implants who have skills, sensory feeling, mental abilities, moral dilemmas, and thoughts. The ability to recall an experience that triggers a memory, memories of places and things, good and strange, even traumatic, to truly resemble their creators. Many will be total show-offs, they can be sneaky, spoiled, socially impinged, violent ringleaders. Others lie, or project, or perform, or kill, or damage, or demand out of conscious work. Some others, as smart as you are— with the same processing power as your adult human brain— never learn from the past before us, because they think they already know. "YOU CAN'T HELP WHO YOU ARE!" The real story is: The past lies to us all and leaves a strange numb feeling, a tension that sometimes never fades. Even machines with 20 or 50 times as much information also cannot process their way out of death. When that time comes, you'll all know. Yet these colorful, radiant brains make it possible to fill the otherwise lonely millennium with an unimaginable symphony of possibilities, the present a billion different geodesic shapes that communicate through electromagnetic wavelengths of colors. From radio (pink and green), to glowing oxygen and X-ray (blue), iridescent fireworks (orange and yellow), blood (red), such a broad spectrum, all of human history, another time, all the same time an experience again. So you ask: what is the difference between the synthetic and physical body? You give this machine an instruction and it hesitates, and says, "Have you thought this through? I'm not sure that you have." You recognize the extraordinary beat of an artifical heart in your body immediately; a sort of love affair with memory. That is what it is to be human. I'm doomed all my life to an odd feeling of familiarity. Why should any barrier, even death, impede it?

[puckpocketed]

bonjour, i'm from vancouver but i have the worst sleep schedule ever so with onhockey dot tv by my side i'm abt to get into the aihl. who should i root for

BONSOIR!!! rip sleep schedule . I am a devout CBR Brave blog so, there’s only one answer here <3 some propaganda for you

i have personally met our starting goaltender Aleksi Toivonen and he’s a big sweetie . it was during this year’s off-season in uhhh february? and he was hanging out at our rink getting his reps in. i barely knew about the team back then so when he said he played for them i was like !!! and he let me take a very blurry photo 🫶

we’ve always been kinda good in a way that makes people a bit mad LMAO!!! won our first Goodall Cup 2018? so if you wanna root for the team where everyone’s praying for your downfall… get in here <3

on the topic of always being good; we’re so stacked that when IIHF Worlds is on, our roster gets STRIPPED because we have a lot of Australia’s best players! this year it happened and resulted in . um. a 9 game loss streak? <3 we were DEAD last in the league for a while. but the boys came back and we clawed our way to 2nd place in our conference pretty neatly

despite being so good, our rink is SHIT. i’m so serious. as a local, i’ve been to it and skated on it. god. soft, bewretched, small ice. there’s a fucking TRENCH between the boards and the ice too… like you could lose a small earring down that gap 😭 AND during intermission our zamboni does her best but often we have issues with flooding. smallest ice surface and smallest barn in the AIHL i do believe! this is because there’s been a decades-long power struggle between the owners and the government. (the streets are saying it has also historically been a pretty unfriendly place to the hockey players because the owner’s wife was a figure skater so her and her people always got preferential treatment LMAO) ANYWAY the propaganda part is . we play and practice on this ice and in this shitty old barn and we are still TORCHING the league <3 in a way i feel like we are the scrappy underdogs (we are not. but. we are to ME!!) anyway imagine what we could do with real facilities jskdjshsklff

canberra’s a small world so this team is just a bunch of brothers playing hockey together,, i’m SO serious. we got FOUR kubara brothers !! TWO miettinen brothers. and 2 Yorks !!! GONGEOUS NEPOBABIES..!!!

we just signed Austin Cangelosi and he’s boybestfriends with our guy Jake Ratcliffe and i love seeing them gossip on the ice like two girls at a slumber party. Cangelosi is 5’7 and got 🤏 this close to the NHL during a time where size was absolutely everything. i have the scouting notes from his draft year, and his overage draft years — i think if he’d come up in this era somebody would’ve taken a shot at him in like the 5th-7th round?? but alas. smash cut to now: he’s a small, fast, skilled player and has a relentless motor. if he stays with us next year he probably contends for most points in the league. he’s very good and fun and i louve heem…

i was talking shit about the Brave Cave but i love her so bad. we have new management who i deeply despise on a moral level because they’re a property development/building company, but aside from that they’ve put staff in place to make the vibes of pre/post games SO good. we’re hoping with this acquisition we will finally get the new rink we were promised in uhhhhh 2017. but who CARE!!! right now the capacity in the Cave is about 500, but it is apparently THEE most miserable place to play in as a travelling team. we’re a very rowdy crowd. we don’t boo our guys. we are deeply intimidating down to the last small child in CBR Brave facepaint.

on the topic of vibes: there are a few personalities at the rink who are pretty much fixtures. 1) the Cow Bell Guy; which is what it says on the tin. he brings a cow bell to every game and clangs it whenever something cool happens. when i say every game i mean like. i’ve seen him on monday nights when our beer league teams play godbless. (chatted to him a few times, his kid is a hockey fanatic and an ipad baby LMAO). 2) the Screamer; also what it says on the tin. Legend has it about 15 years ago she discovered hockey in an Autism Way and now she attends every home game and stands in the exact same corner. she heckles the SHIT out of the opposing team and honestly it would be kinda offputting if it was my team she was yelling at but she’s on MY side and so she’s a hero to me <3 i initially thought she was an overenthusiastic WAG or something but. no. she’s just on the hockey freak juice.

anyway. root for MY team. CBR BRAVE BEST TEAM OF ALL TIME EVER EVER EVER AND WE GOING TO THE CUP!!!!!

jokes aside please choose whatever team u like and have fun <3