#to give a more in depth explanation of like

[cj-writes-things]

Love over Law chapter 5

Series tw: animal death, violence, trauma, parental neglect

~~~

Chapter 1 • Chapter 4

Once they were outside the tunnel, Wolfpaw tentatively mumbled, "Dawnfrost, can I ask you something?"

"What's troubling you?"

"I... I was thinking, my mother doesn't really seem interested in, well, being my mother. She's so... moody and disinterested. Why?"

Dawnfrost sighed heavily, wishing she knew how to answer the young cat's question, how to take the sting from her experience of being virtually rejected. Wolfpaw was bound to have asked this question sooner or later.

"Sparrowthorn... was never a very affectionate cat; it just isn't in her nature. She also didn't take too kindly to responsibility."

Dawnfrost paused, a guilty look crossing her face as she spoke of her daughter in such a way, to her kit no less. But the kit in question deserved an explanation.

"But beyond that, some things happened when she was younger that... changed her," she continued, more gently.

"She became more distant and reckless after that, until eventually she had all but cut ties with me. I worried, if I'm being completely honest, when I found out she was expecting kits. I wish things could have been different for you, but what Sparrowthorn went through, the choices she made, they were beyond my control- some of it remains even beyond my knowledge. I'm sure it's hard to understand, but I want you to know that it has nothing to do with you. It's not your fault, and the rest of the clan and I love you very much."

Wolfpaw's ears were low, her golden eyes downcast. She knew Dawnfrost was trying her best to make her feel better, and she was grateful, but she still felt as though she had more questions than answers. Questions that were heavy in her chest and left a sour taste in her mouth, like some part of her knew the answers might be just as painful as the not knowing.

"Thanks, Grandma," she murmured, nonetheless, slowly sweeping her tail back and forth. She nuzzled her head against the older she-cat, who whispered, "Anytime you need to talk, or have questions to ask, I'm here, okay?"

Wolfpaw nodded, her nose touching Dawnfrost's so the elder could sense the motion. Against her will, she yawned. She couldn't help it; the sun had sunk below the horizon, and she had had an exhausting day. Dawnfrost huffed in faint amusement. "You must be tired, young one. Why don't you go to the apprentice den and rest, maybe talk to your friends before dinner?"

"Okay," came the sleepy response. "Goodbye, Dawnfrost."

"Goodbye, my little warrior."

Wolfpaw trudged over to the stack of hollow logs used by the apprentices as a den, her drowsiness fading as she realized she was about to spend her first night sleeping here instead of in the nursery.

This den wasn't the same as it had been when the elders were young; she had known it had been replaced, but now she was fairly sure she knew why.

The old one must have been torn up by that fox.

She was wondering where the clan had found all the hollow logs when she was startled to see a head poking out of one of them. She quickly recovered though as she recognized her friend; Fawnpaw had been waiting inside to greet her.

"Hi, Fawnpaw."

"Hey Wolfpaw!" the perky young she-cat called. "Welcome to the apprentice den! I already set up your new nest; it's beside mine in this log up here. I hope that's okay."

"That's great, thanks!"

"So, how's apprenticeship treating you?"

"Today was pretty easy; I practiced stalking and cleaned out the elders' bedding. But Duskstar says my training will get harder and harder, so they can make sure I'm 'fully prepared for the challenges I will face in the difficult life of a warrior.'" She did her best to imitate the solemn tone her mentor had used.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty similar to my first day. I think they tell all the apprentices that," Fawnpaw giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, it's a rather dramatic way to put it, isn't it? And as far as I've seen, it doesn't really get that much harder, as long as you pay attention and do as you're told. I bet you'll ace your training, Wolfpaw. You're good at everything."

That got a smile.

"Thanks, Fawn."

The light brown she-cat slowly swished her tail for a moment, thinking.

"So, hey, you want me to give you the tour?" she asked.

Wolfpaw tilted her head and responded, "Sure."

"All right, come on then!"

Fawnpaw leapt down from inside her log and beckoned Wolfpaw to follow her. She circled around to the end of one of the bottom logs of the stack, peering into its dark interior.

"This is where Splinterpaw sleeps; he wanted a log to himself, something about personal space. Kinda stinks for Claypaw though, he would have liked having a... logmate? This one here is his," she pointed at the log next to Splinterpaw's with her nose.

"It gets a little more sunlight. I think Splinterpaw likes the darkness in his, but Claypaw prefers the warmth. It's really nice how there aren't too many apprentices; we each got to choose whichever log we wanted. Anyway, I've been saving a spot for you in my log since we moved in. I think Claypaw was hoping Lilacpaw could share his den, but, well, she's the medicine cat apprentice, so, that's not gonna happen. Kinda sad, I guess. We were both looking forward to you two moving in with us."

Wolfpaw froze.

"Wait, Lilacpaw won't be in the apprentice den?"

Fawnpaw tilted her head, meeting her younger friend's concerned gaze.

"No, silly. Don't you know? She'll sleep in the medicine den with Canyonbreeze," she explained.

"Oh," Wolfpaw muttered, her bushy black tail drooping sadly.

"Yeah, it really sucks," added a voice from behind them.

Wolfpaw whipped her head around to see Claypaw padding over to join the two she-cats. His chipper attitude from before was gone; he seemed pretty upset that he wouldn't be seeing his friend as often as he had hoped.

Wolfpaw knew how he felt. She and Lilacpaw had grown up together. Her mother, Silverbreeze, had been a major part of Wolfpaw's upbringing, and the two kits had come to be more like sisters than just denmates. She sighed, realizing that, for the first time in her short life, she wouldn't be sharing a den with the small gray-and-white cat.

"Hey, cheer up," Fawnpaw said comfortingly, noticing her friend's saddened state. "You've still got us, remember? And it's not like you can't see her everyday. She just won't be sleeping in the same place as us."

"Yeah... I guess you're right."

"Of course I am. Now come on," she said, brightening. "It's time for the clan to eat dinner, and you get to join us and pick your own prey for once!"

"All right, I'm coming. Hey! Wait up!"

Fawnpaw had already turned around and raced toward the center of camp, glancing back as if daring the others to try to beat her to the clearing.

Oh, that's how you wanna play it, huh? Okay, I'm game!

Wolfpaw gathered her legs beneath her and threw herself forward, ignoring the prickle of apprehension in the back of her mind and taking off after Fawnpaw. She shortened the gap between them, her paws flying across the rocky ground. At last she caught up, skidding to a halt just as they reached their destination. It felt unpleasantly familiar.

"Whoa," Fawnpaw panted. "You're still faster than me? Like I said, good at everything."

Wolfpaw, trying not to let her thoughts wander to past races, glanced around at the gathered cats. She saw her mentor sitting across the clearing; with a nod to her fellow apprentices, she dashed over to Duskstar's side.

"Greetings, Wolfpaw. Did you tend to the elders' bedding as you were told?"

The little she-cat dipped her head respectfully. "Yes, Duskstar," she answered.

"Good," the blue-gray tabby purred. "I thought as much. Well, now that your duties for the day are done, you may select something from the fresh-kill pile for dinner."

Wolfpaw padded slowly to the boulder in the center of the clearing where warriors deposited the fruits of their hunts throughout the day, letting her gaze drift over the warriors around her.

Almost everyone was there, except Canyonbreeze and Lilacpaw, who were still in the medicine den, and Goldenbrook, whose minor wounds they were tending. The she-cat had tripped over some rocks while hunting and had scratched herself up. Nothing serious, but she had gone to get checked over just in case.

There was one other cat missing, however. One warrior was unaccounted for, and this particular cat's absence stood out to the young apprentice.

Where are you, Sparrowthorn?

~~~

Chapter 6

[thatonebipotato]

more of this goober. i am SO inconsistent with and bad at drawing Teekl LMAO

[marklikely]

can i share a secret with you guys the one and only reason why i don't want to see wicked is because i hate how ariana looks in the movie so much that it makes me angry every time i see her in character

[another-atom]

watching the death note jdrama. its so overly serious it's just so funny, somehow even more than the anime (potato chip scene included) which is A LOT.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

actual /gen question bc i really don't know the difference what is the difference of self insert vs like x reader fics ? why do people not like the first one

they’re the same thing in most ways imo… i use them interchangeably!

[wayward-sherlock]

hellooooo wayli my beloved may i request 🍂 for the ask game regarding homesick<33333

LIZA HELLO !!! :D yes you may

🍂 what’s a lyric that sums up the fic?

i’ve been thinking about this one a lot actually 😭 i think “if i could leave, i would have already left” from paul revere by noah kahan actually sums up the fic pretty well (or, the vibes at least)!

homesick ask game

[deathsbecome]

@w3atherwitch: “Oh shit this is violent.”

da.n and ph.il starters part 2 / accepting

Her brow furrows a bit as she looks over at the older girl. "It's an illegal fighting ring. What were you expecting?" Not that Addy had appreciated being threatened into it, but still. And maybe, it's just that the initial shock of seeing a teenager in a place like this, but if Joss did come looking for her, she should know not to hold Addy to regular teenager expectations.

"If you're uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else." Normally she'd brush off people looking for her. It tends to cause too many issues. Is that not how she ended up getting involved here, after all? "I'm not supposed to fight tonight, so I don't have to stick around."

[starlightswait]

what a physical thing anxiety is

[luveline]

could you write bau!reader x aaron, reader is pregnant and baby is so restless and kicking a lot as reader is at her desk working and aaron is the only one who can calm baby down

ty for requesting <3 pregnant!reader, 1k

“Woh,” you mumble, almost clipping your head on your desk as you lean forward. “Oh, my gosh.” 

“What’s wrong, mama?” 

You wave your free hand weakly at Derek, the other to your bump. “Nothing’s wrong, handsome.” 

Derek laughs warmly and stands from his chair. “I don’t believe you. Come on, tell me what’s wrong. Or I’ll go get the big man and he can force it out of you himself.” 

Hotch’s never forced anything out of you, but he has kissed a confession from you before. He could do it again easily. 

You right yourself as the baby’s rampant kicking makes you feel as though you’ll pee your pants. “Derek, there’s some crazy stuff happening inside of me right now.” 

He smiles at you fondly. “I bet there is.” 

“She’s kicking the shit out of me.” Sitting up, your back twinges and relaxes, the weight of your baby bump spreading out. You’re very pregnant and the baby is extremely active. She kicks pretty much 24/7 these last few days, and it’s driving you crazy. “Do you wanna feel?” 

Derek presents his hand for feeling. You stand up, and Derek lays a hand across your bump. You don’t have to move it anywhere: the second he touches you, he can no doubt feel the baby’s aggressiveness. She’s aiming her little feet almost like she knows where your most fragile organs are. 

One rough kick has Derek taking back his hand. “She’s beating you up, mama.” 

“She hates me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Spencer says, twirling in his chair to give one of his innocuous tidbits of information, “babies kick for all sorts of reasons. They kick when they’re hungry, or after you’ve just eaten because of the extra glucose shared via the placenta. Sometimes they kick because they can feel sensation through your skin.” 

Spencer stands up. You raise your brows. “You wanna feel?” you ask. 

He grins and offers his hand. You take it and place it against the baby’s restless feet, smiling at Spencer’s smile, a little enchanted by how fascinated he seems. At Spencer’s touch, she starts to kick quickly like she had been with Derek, and eventually you have to move his hand in the hopes she’ll stop. She slows, but the occasional stretch pokes at your stomach. You can see the distension of her limb even through your shirt. 

“She’s really going for it today,” you say. “Maybe I had too much brown sugar in my oatmeal.” 

“You know babies can tell the difference between hands?” Spencer asks. 

“I sort of guessed,” you say distractedly, rubbing at the baby’s kicking with the crest of your palm. “She doesn’t act like this with Hotch.” 

“Good to know he has that effect on everyone,” Derek says with a laugh. 

“I might go and ask him to make her stop. I’m gonna need a change of clothes if she doesn’t.” 

Derek laughs again, full-bellied, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a pitying hug. “Aw, sweetheart, you’ll be okay. Just two more months and this will all be over.” 

“Well, you never know. The longest overdue pregnancy in human history was almost a hundred days, that’s more than an extra three months.” 

“Spencer!” you say, not truly shouting, but your volume escaping you as the horror of a year long pregnancy sinks in. “Don’t jinx me.” 

Your loud voice, or perhaps Derek’s roaring laughter, draws the attention of JJ and Hotch, who appear from the depths of his office with matching curious expressions. JJ begins down the steps to the bullpen, while Hotch stays at the balcony waiting for an explanation. 

“Baby Hotchner’s giving it large,” Derek says, rubbing your upper arm. 

“She won’t stop,” you complain, relieved to see your stern husband. “Can you come and set her straight?” 

You aren’t always so quick to complain to him, but this is too much. It feels as though she’s about to start doing spin kinks against your spine —it’s honestly the most she’s ever moved. When you were just a few weeks pregnant you’d longed for her to wriggle and show you a sign that she could feel you, but now you’d appreciate a few minutes of calm. 

Hotch follows JJ down obligingly, and he, surrounded by your curious coworkers and colleagues, without any hesitation (but certainly some care), slips his hand under your blouse to feel at his baby’s sharp kicking. He presses against what might be a foot for a few moments, his smile barely hidden, his palm warm. 

“She really is giving it large,” he says, the deep softness of his voice like a signal. 

The baby’s kicks soften, until, barely ten seconds later, they stop. Your spine ceases vibrating, and you can finally stand there without having to press your thighs together. 

“Thank you,” you say, holding Hotch’s elbow. He’s well and truly saved you. 

He rubs your stomach with his thumb. His dark eyes stay set on your bump. “You’re welcome.” 

“I guess baby just missed her dad,” JJ says. 

You look at Spencer. He doesn’t say anything. “No correction?” you ask. 

“No,” he says, pouting that you’d ask. “Either she missed the sound of his voice, or your reaction to seeing him has calmed her down. That’s not a big difference.” 

“It’s both, I think,” you say, paused by a big yawn. 

“Are you tired?” Hotch asks. 

“Urgently.” You let yourself sag forward toward him, gesturing for Spencer, Derek and JJ to look away. “Thanks for your help, boys, but I need something no one else can give me.” You collapse into Hotch’s chest for a hug. 

The bump is very much in the way, but he reacts accordingly, ushering your chest to his, cheek pressed gently to your forehead. “She’s exhausted you,” he teases under his breath. 

“She really has.” 

“I love how she settles with me,” he says, rubbing your back for a long, slow handful of seconds, before he pulls away enough to grin at you. “But I suppose she gets that from her mother.” 

“You’re very calming.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

[urlocal-limitesshbic]

*.˗ˏˋ Use DEILD to enter the void in secondsˎ˗.*

~featuring a lucid dreamer’s unintended success story I found on YouTube~

Incoming Topics..

*PART 1 <RECAP: What is Deild? >*

*PART 2 < The success story >*

*PART 3 < How to use DEILD for the Void >*

*PART I < What is the DEILD method? > *

If you haven’t read my original post on DEILD I have linked it down below towards the end of this one. I recommend checking it out for an in depth tutorial on the method, but I’ll give a quick explanation here as well-

To put it simply, it is a technique that is traditionally used to get fast and easy lucid dreams. Upon waking you lie still and keep your eyes closed, tricking your body into thinking that you never woke up and then within seconds the dream reforms except now you’re aware in it! You can also create a new dream or you might enter a false awakening which becomes a lucid dream. This method works SO QUICKLY it’s seriously like a LD method shortcut!

I’ve heard of lucid dreamers talking about the void before but after watching a YouTubers video about a lucid dream he had, I realized he actually used the DEILD technique to go straight to the void in SECONDS, unintentionally! Which is something I hadn’t thought about doing before-merging the lucid dream technique WITH 👏🏼 THE VOID 👏🏼 TECHNIQUES!! 👏🏼 So for those of you attempting to enter the void state from a lucid dream, this can be used as a SHORTCUT on top of a SHORTCUT! 🙌🏼 Yes ma’ammmm y’all seriously need to come try this one out because when I say SECONDS I’m talking secondsss-no more waiting 20 minutes for your left brain to turn off, no more long breath work exercises or reality checks or hours of lying still, affirming, no more battling with creating portals-the void can be EFFORTLESS and induced in under a minute.

*PART 2 < The lucid dreamer’s success story> *

There’s this lucid dreamer on YouTube called TIGER123 who posts about lucid dreaming techniques and his own lucid dream experiences- he actually has a video tutorial on DEILD as well (which is linked in my OG DEILD post)

So, I was at work looking for something to watch and saw he posted a new video about a lucid dream he had recently. Well, I can tell you wasn’t expecting him to literally open the video by talking about how he woke up from a regular dream, realized it was the perfect opportunity to perform DEILD and get lucid, and then. AS HE’S PERFORMING DEILD. He enters the void! Just like that. While he was in the void he visualized the dream scene he wanted to be in and he said he was there within 10 seconds. Aka he instantly manifested entering the exact lucid dream he wanted to be in, from the void state.

This is someone who doesn’t believe in shifting or astral projection, wasn’t trying to enter the void, thinks the void is just an unformed lucid dream space that can be used to form a new lucid dream, doesn’t know you can manifest from that state and yet STILL got in and STILL manifested. Since he viewed the void as a place he can form a new lucid dream thats what he did. He still manifested instantly, he just MANIFESTED going from the VS to being in a lucid dream. This should just go to show you guys how REAL the void state is, because someone who doesn’t even know about it and wasn’t trying to get in STILL did it. (SO CAN YOU btw)

The void isn’t a concept created on tumblr. Lucid dreamers have experienced it for years, meditators experience it, yogis, followers of Neville Goddard and multiple religious practices do too; It’s just called by different names and defined differently, but all the experiences describe the same thing. So if tumblr success stories aren’t trustworthy enough to you, or motivating enough-expand your research and find hundreds of stories similar to this one-lucid dreamers thinking it’s just an unformed dream and yogis thinking it’s just a really relaxing deep meditative state etc…

*PART 3< How To Use DEILD to enter the VS> *

I linked the video at the bottom, he doesn’t really talk about the void much or deild because the video is about the actual contents of the dream he had, but the part he does talk about it is right at the beginning, the first 30 seconds or so, if you’re curious in checking it out but this is pretty much what he said about it, written out-

“First I was in a space dream and then I woke up and kind of realized I had just woken up from a dream and was able to stay still and kind of reenter into it and fall back asleep and I ended up in the void. You know that like complete blackness where it’s really easy to reform the dream and since I was there I figured I would just try to go to the beach because when I’m in this void state I can really go anywhere I want. I just reformed the beach and I ended up on the exact beach I was imagining in like 10 seconds.”

So boom. Thats’s it thats ALL. That simple. So here’s the exact steps to do if you want to enter the void through DEILD too and be the next success story:

Before bed: affirm “I will remember to stay still upon awakening. I will effortlessly enter the void using DEILD” or some variation of this (optional)

Visualize yourself waking up, staying still, and entering the void state (optional)

Go to sleep, with the calm certainty that this will work.

Wake up. Keep your eyes closed and lie still

You can keep a blank mind and wait, trusting that your subconscious will induce the void automatically, since you already set the intention the night before

5a. Or right after waking, with your eyes closed you can begin affirming that you are pure consciousnes and imagine yourself already in the void, or imagine yourself sinking gently down into the void state until you are truly there. This method is so effective you should be in the state within a minute or less.

And remember, the void state can’t be forced, just like sleep can’t be forced. All you can do is create the right conditions for it to occur naturally. It’s okay if you don’t get it right away. Focus on trust, not control. Avoid over analyzing whether it’s working while you’re performing the technique, just allow it to flow and happen. You saw he just literally lied still waiting for the dream to form and then he was in. It’s that effortless. Give it a go and report back in the comments 🫶🏼 Happy enteringgg

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Daddy

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Blurb: Joel comes over for dinner but disaster strikes when secrets are discovered.

Warnings: 18+, sexually explicit, use of Daddy and other pet names, age gap, and slight violence.

Authors note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything but inspiration struck and I wrote this silly little blurb to ease back in to things. Enjoy :)

Main Masterlist

- - -

Tonight marks two months of sneaking around with your dads best friend.

Two months of lying about plans, sneaking out of Joel’s house at the ass crack of dawn, and crawling back through your bedroom window before your parents wake up.

So far, your web of lies hasn’t been tangled and no one suspects a thing. Both of you have been diligent about covering your tracks and avoiding slip ups.

Tonight you set the dinner table with your mom, nonchalant, though listening around the corner as your dad greets his buddy Joel Miller at the door and welcomes him in for dinner.

“The hell happened to you man” your dad asks Joel as he ushers him inside, questioning him about something you can’t see.

Joel answers with a nervous cough but recovers quickly. “Rough day at work, some idiot wasn’t paying attention.”

You play it cool when Joel rounds the corner, joining the cozy dining room behind your father.

Your eyes immediately note the faint purple bruise on the side of his neck, just below where his dark stubble ends.

Shit.

Joel’s eyes find you immediately, an “I told you so” simmering in their depths.

Your face heats and your eyes dart to the floor, nervously tucking a stray stand of hair behind your ear.

You wear your hair up tonight, tendrils framing your face but swept back back into a a ponytail that exposes the length of your neck.

A ponytail like the one Joel had wrapped around his fist and yanked back on less than 24hours ago while he was fucking you deep into the mattress, sweaty and hard.

Growling filthy, toe curling, atrocities in your ear the entire time.

“Come on angel, ” he rasped between labored breaths as he thrusted into you, “tell daddy how good it feels.”

“Fucky, daddy,” you whined into the pillow, voice punctuated by each snap of his hips into you, “so fucking good. I’m so wet, give me more, more, more,” you pleaded until he unloaded into you before collapsing into the sheets together, legs tangled, bodies sweaty and heart rate thundering.

You snap out of your flashback.

Currently, the four of you gather around the table, plates stacked high with a lovely dinner, potatoes, veggies, and a steaming hot roast.

Dutifully, you bow your head and close your eyes as your dad says the prayer, thanking his God for the meal and welfare of his family.

“Amen” you say, like the good girl you are, in unison with everyone else as the prayer comes to an end.

“Daddy, can you pass me the salt?” You say, nodding toward the shakers out your reach.

Your dad reaches for the salt.

So does Joel.

Their fingers brush, coming into contact as they each try to grab the small salt shaker.

Your stomach drops.

Joel stops breathing, freezing in place as he realizes his mistake.

Your dad blinks and you watch as the realization strikes. First, confusion pulls between his brows. Then his eyes dart from Joel’s big brown eyes to yours. Then finally he looks back at the suspiciously small bruise on the side of Joel’s neck. That’s when your father’s face reddens and eyes go wide.

Your mothers fork clatters loudly as it drops onto her plate, the sound piercing the now silent room.

Oh, shit.

Joel’s hand go up, palms facing you father across the table from him, as he attempts to keep the peace. Before he can come up with an explanation your father interjects.

“What the fuck is that on your neck Joel” your father asks, pointing at the now obvious hickey on his neck as he stands up from the table.

Joel rises from his own seat to meet him in stature.

“I told you it happened at work”

“Don’t give me that bullshit Joel” your dad says louder now, hands clenching.

You and your mother watch in silent, awkward horror.

Then your dad’s stare pins you next.

“Didn’t we raise you better than this,” he spits, voice booming. “Running around behind our backs like a tramp. Whoring yourself off to someone old enough to be your fucking father!”

The raised voice and vile language raise Joel’s hackles. He steps ever so slightly infront of you, his body a ready barrier between you and your father.

“Baby” Joel says to you calmly, eyes trained on your father, “why don’t you take your momma into the other room. We’ve got some things to settle.”

You and your mother barely make it out of your seats before your father flies across the table, that pet name his final straw.

Plates clatter, drinks spill, and vegetables go flying across the table and floors of the dining room as the two men collide.

Joel takes a surprise first to the jaw but his sturdy build and sheer mass eat the punch before he throws himself at your father.

As the two of them begin to brawl, your mother wails in shock at the disaster unfolding.

And despite the poor timing, your stomach growls and you can’t help but mourn the fact that you didn’t even get to taste the mashed potato’s tonight.

Damn, you fucking love mashed potatoes.

[ryunumber]

Jimbo (Balatro)?

Jimbo has a Ryu Number of 3/does not have a Ryu Number.

(CORRECTION: Per multiple people, a Balatro crossover update for Don't Starve Together may give Jimbo a Ryu Number.)

(explanation below)

I don't have exact numbers, but I believe Jimbo is the character I've gotten the most requests to find a Ryu Number for since starting the blog, so I think this warrants going a bit more in-depth than normal.

First, I'm going to establish that Jimbo himself is a talking card. More specifically, he is both the literal Joker card that gives you a flat +4 Mult and the talking Joker card that gives you the tutorial and quips about the outcome of your run.

He seems to be unique in this regard; no other card in Balatro talks to you in this way, so while it is possible to obtain multiple copies of any Joker in-game, this flourish is a major defining characteristic of specifically Jimbo.

Next, there's the matter of the "Friends of Jimbo" crossover face card variants. As of the time of this post, there have been 6 Friends of Jimbo updates for a total of 24 properties represented by face cards of certain suits.

I would think that a cursory glance at the rules would make this clear, but I'll state it explicitly: these are not valid appearances by any definition of the existing ruleset. The characters are depicted on literal cards. For this blog's purposes, they have no relevance.

This means that Jimbo is essentially the only character in Balatro at the moment, so the game itself cannot be used for any links.

So has Jimbo been in any other games?

I'm aware of two games that reciprocated the Friends of Jimbo crossover with content updates. The first game is Dave the Diver, whose developers took the wild yet undeniably idiosyncratic move of... just straight up implementing Balatro at a smaller scale as a minigame.

It is called Jimbo's Game, and you can get a copy of the plain Joker that Jimbo ostensibly is, but I don't believe Jimbo ever actually speaks at any point in Dave the Diver, which as stated previously is the one characteristic that really makes Jimbo unique, so I'm not inclined to count the Joker card as an eligible Jimbo appearance.

The second game is Cyberpunk 2077, which gives you a small fetch quest to find Joker cards to get some Balatro-themed cosmetics. The questgiver in question is a fellow named... Jim B.

So no dice there either.

While this is it for reciprocal crossovers, there is one additional appearance I'm aware of: Dungeons & Degenerate Gamblers.

Unlike in Dave the Diver, Jimbo does actually talk in this game, so while you can get multiple copies of Jimbo, I'm willing to overlook that as a mechanical trapping of deckbuilders.

As for whether you can go anywhere from Dungeons & Degenerate Gamblers is... fraught. No other cards talk like Jimbo or have any other characteristic that suggests they're more than a simple playing card. The actual characters you go up against in the rounds themselves are a bit complicated. There's a couple of opponents in the later acts that resemble classical monsters, but the theming and titles they're given makes saying that they're the singular classical monster in question a bit more of a leap than I'm comfortable with.

There are also opponents that are pretty undeniable references, but there aren't any that I'm so willing to go out on a limb and say actually are the characters or people they reference.

The Actor, for instance, is clearly based on Picard from TNG, but "Actor" suggests that it's not Picard but Patrick Stewart, and I'm not aware of any eligible Stewart appearances in video games.

(There's also an Alucard, but if he's any specific Alucard, he's Alucard from the Son of Dracula movie, which isn't a lot to work with.)

I'd say the closest thing to a slam dunk in this regard is the titular Rain Man, but unsurprisingly, that doesn't give a lot of options.

So if there is a route for Jimbo as of the time of this post (and you might still believe there is one), it's probably through Dungeons & Degenerate Gamblers, and while it wouldn't be as unambiguous as I'd feel comfortable posting, it would probably be at least defensible.

(The actual takeaway you should have is that the Friends of Jimbo crossovers are emphatically irrelevant to this blog, and if you bring them up I will personally modify your copy of the game to remove every deck except the Abandoned Deck.)

(I know it's a good deck, it's about the principle of the matter.)

[mv1simp]

Into You ♥️

Max Verstappen x Redbull Engineer! Reader

Oh baby, look what you've started, the temperature's rising and is this gonna happen? (Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move)

At 27, you've just been promoted to the role of Redbull's race engineer - a very impressive feat in motorsport for a young woman. There's just one issue though - you secretly had a massive crush on the driver you're meant to be guiding, Max Verstappen. Will you make it through the season before he catches on? (You hope so because goddamn, the HR team were a nightmare to deal with.)

Content includes: fluff, humour, Max and reader are simps for each other, sexual tension, pining, drunk confessions, 3.2k WC

Recently, you'd started having some issues at work. Okay, gun to your head, you'll admit it was more like a single issue - in the shape of a very attractive, 6 foot Dutch racing driver who occasionally had problems with anger management. Sure, it didn’t sound that bad, in fact, someone else would just sit back and enjoy the eye candy the F1 paddock provided! But to truly appreciate the full depth of your embarrassing problem, one needed to unpack all the lore behind it.

After graduating from a prestigious mechanical engineering master's program, you'd been ecstatic about getting to intern at Redbull's F1 racing team, department of aerodynamic design. You'd started working at the company at a very good time, because later that year, their top driver Max Verstappen claims his first WDC at age 24 - only 6 months your junior. A very impressive feat for such a young age - as you admire him from a distance in the garage workshop. And, super hot too, you thought cheekily, whoever wifed him up was sure to be a lucky woman.

Your own hard work hadn't gone unnoticed, and many higher-ups and sponsors alike were curious to see the team who had been behind the championship winning changes to the Redbull car. You'd risen very quickly in the ranks, from intern to permanent technical engineer and then last year to to the innovative research & development department, now involved directly with calling the big shots for what each version of the car would look like and coming face to face with Max for the first time in your career with Redbull.

Unlike the other drivers, Max was genuinely curious about your design process. The way he asked questions, thoughtfully listened to your long explanations and then would give you direct feedback about the exact issues he would have in the trial runs had made you flustered, especially from the full intensity of his blue eyes. No, seriously though, Shakespeare himself would have written poetry if he'd gazed into them. The TikTok creators certainly seem to agree, with all their ocean eyes edits. Not that you had any saved. Anyways, moving on-

You were on the quieter side but Max seemed to know just how to get through to you. It meant that your team had been able to design the most dominating car in F1 history - the RB23, and paired with Max Verstappen it was an unstoppable force, almost like you made it just for me, Max had said, smiling gorgeously at you like some GQ Sports model. You stared back at him incredulously, banana choc chip muffin halfway to your mouth, cause who the hell woke up looking like that, you two were wearing identical Redbull shirts but his looked like it had been personally tailored to fit that broad muscular chest and yours was giving oversized trash bag??

Honestly, you'd hoped that working in closer proximity would humanise him more and you'd lose this silly crush of yours the moment you saw him do some icky rich white boy move. Like maybe he’d donate to Donald Trump's anti vaccine campaign or say guys 🥺 Can’t go to Ibiza this weekend the yacht staff had an emergency, got caught in some Gulf war zone or something? Idk

But when he had knocked on your apartment door when you hadn't shown up to work in two days, and found you crying because your childhood dog had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer across the other side of the world and saying I’m sorry, I know it’s not that big of a deal, I’ll come back tomorrow I promise-

And instead of laughing like you’d expected, he’d cut you off, told you to pack a bag and then driven you all the way to his personal jet. You looked into his beautiful blue eyes while he earnestly begged you to use it so you could make it in time to say goodbye to your Arlo before your parents put him down tonight. And that’s when you realised you were doomed to be hopelessly in love with the younger man. (But also, you had a serious discussion with him about the extreme greenhouse gas emissions from private jet fuel use, we only had one planet, you would be happy to just fly first class instead-)

But when your mentor Newey announced his plans to leave Redbull this year, you had planned on following him - making the exec panic at the thought of losing two of their crucial engineers. They frantically thrown random promotions at you, praying one would stick - and Redbull twitter fans breathed a sigh of relief when you took interest in the role of race engineer and stayed in the company.

You'd been excited about becoming one of Checo's engineers, having trained under the current one for the last few months. But to your horror, one day you arrived on the paddock only to be promptly sat down at a meeting along with the two drivers and be informed that they'd had to switch some things around, GP had an emergency to attend and could you pretty please fill in for the role of Max's race engineer this weekend-

NOPE. You'd announced, standing up and slamming your hands on the table, then realising that might be a touch overdramatic as everyone questioningly looked at you. Why not? Christian Horner demanded suspiciously.

Um, because he's super hot, you fool?! How is a girl meant to focus with him whispering track feels really wet today in her headphones? Were the years of self control to just admire from a distance like a loser and not jeopardise your career just a joke to him?? You don’t blink as your boss stared you down, hoping he could pick up on the thoughts that you’re trying to telepathically communicate. The table remained silent, only interrupted by the noisy slurping of Checo's boba tea. You quickly changed tactics - well, Verstappen is the winning champion, he needs an engineer who has experience working alongside him during the race-

Alas, the object of your affections threw a well intended wrench in your escape plans by adding that you were the perfect person, then, since you'd worked together for years and understood his communication style. Unless - he paused, flashing those deadly baby blues at you - unless the issue is you don't want to work with me?

You'd lasted all of three seconds under his hurt gaze before admitting defeat and accepting the role, slumping down next to him and desperately praying you'd wake up a lesbian tomorrow morning. Max continued to sneak long glances at you through the meeting, leaning around you to grab a pen and then his phone and making you jump each time his strong arm wrapped around your small frame. Across the table, Checo thoughtfully chewed on his boba as he watched you two curiously. Ah, young love.

And to no one's surprise the pair of you had made a flawless team, you expertly guiding Max as your engineer instincts took over and him actually listening to your helpful instructions without his usual aggression over the radio. And so when GP announced that his 1 week emergency was now going to be a 6 month break, sorry! - it had been all too easy for Christian Horner to bestow the honour of being Max's primary engineer onto you.

So now, here you sat, before your 4th race with Max, grimly looking on with your chin propped onto interlaced fingers, preparing yourself for his deep, sexy voice that was going to be purring in your ears very soon. The very voice that had become a recurring theme in the dreams you'd been having lately, that and also how he would bite those thick lips of his when he'd stare at you, with his cute little freckle on his top lip-

Why do you look like you're about to go to war, your intern asks bluntly, putting an end to your illicit thoughts and delivering you your triple chocolate caramel frap. Because I am, you hissed, sculling the whole thing in one go. She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. Was this to do with how categorically down bad you are for your precious Maxie?

You proceeded to inform her that if she ever brought up how you'd drunkedly referred to him that one time, you'd have no problem abusing your authority to shaft her on tire service duty for a week. She wisely chose to leave you be in peace, taking your empty cup as she went.

Taking some meditative breaths, you focus on thinking about unsexy things. Like the hydraulics system of the current car needing to be redesigned to better incorporate-

Your thoughts are cut off a second time as another cup is deposited in front of you, this time by none other than Max himself, who's thoughtfully brought you a triple chocolate caramel frap. You stutter out your thanks, not daring to touch more caffeine currently as you already had sweaty palpitations at the sight of him looking so big and muscled in his slutty tight fireproofs. Dear God, had he no shame? They needed to bring back the Victorian era and cover him up, he was going to distract everyone (mainly you.) He frowns slightly, leaning down to your height, and informs you that you didn't have to call him Verstappen, you know, Max is fine-

Wow. And then what would come next? Maxie? And then you asking him for his hand in marriage? No, no, absolutely not - you needed to maintain strict professional boundaries or risk him catching onto your massive crush and promptly be fired. You politely informed him that for the sake of public decorum and the rabid fangirls that were watching your every move as a young female engineer in proximity to their favourite drivers, that you would refer to him as Verstappen, or Mr. Verstappen if he preferred a more formal title?

He'd pouted those lush lips of his and reluctantly agreed that just Verstappen was okay, he supposed. But he much preferred hearing you call him Max, at least when there were no cameras around? What you had done in your past life to now be forced to resist such temptation, you would never know.

So the season went on, you two continuing to be a smashing success and a very popular internet pairing. Not that you'd been paying that much attention! Just a saved TikTok edit here and there of the time Max had called you schatje over the radio after blowing up about a tire malfunction. He’d then sweetly apologised the next lap when you remained unfazed and told him to sort his shit out, babes, Leclerc was right up his ass with a tire and DRS malfunction, yeah? (Twitter had gone crazy. Who knew Max Verstappen responded so well to a 5 foot, slightly older woman giving him orders over the team radio?! You’d instantly been accepted as a replacement for the beloved GP, original gentle domTM to the Dutch driver.)

And perhaps another saved edit of the time he had protectively held you in those big, strong arms of his, guiding your tiny figure through a massive media-frenzied crowd and whispered reassurances in your ear when you couldn’t breathe properly. Or the time he’d bitten a reporter’s head off with the ferocity of a lion after he suggested that as the first female race engineer, you’d acquired your new job through your…feminine wiles.

And maybe just one of when the PR team had made you do one of those ridiculous hot lap videos with him after seeing the online response, and he'd laughed as you screamed out of fear for your life when he cruised at a cool 200km/hr. The aftermath had been brutal, as you weakly stumble out and almost fall flat on your face, only for him to easily pick you up, carrying you bridal style back towards the garage (Truly, this right here was proof God sent his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.)

Nearing the end of the 6 month stint, when GP was due back in to resume his role as Max's race engineer, the Redbull team had decided to take a well deserved weekend trip to Verona, Italy. You’d suspiciously looked at your intern, asking why she’d selected the romantic setting of Romeo & Juliet of all places, to which she replied that just cause you’d chosen to cockblock yourself for eternity with a crush on your coworker the millionaire F1 driver, didn’t mean the rest of them couldn’t get some. Valid point, so you shut up.

So now, here you are, sitting in a romantically lit corner of a cute Italian vineyard with a small group from the engineering division, sloshed after a bottle of red wine and asking them be real, be real, you're telling me none of you have been checked out Max's ass in his fireproofs? Lies.

Across the courtyard, Lando is currently extremely unimpressed with his good friend, 3 time Championship winning, and general terror on the track Max Verstappen. That is because said friend has decided, rather pathetically, to lie on the cobblestone and drunkedly ask the stars why fate was so cruel. Seriously mate, Lando sighs, all this over a silly insta post?

Excuse you, it’s not just any insta post! Max had protested, baby tears in his eyes and face flushed from the four G&Ts he’d drunk. Pulling out his phone, he shows Lando the damning evidence of the pictures you'd uploaded from the group trip with your engineering friends. Look. LOOK. His arm is around her and she used a Lana Del Ray lyric in the caption. Do you have any idea what this means?

The Brit has to resist rolling his eyes at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. The Dutchman continues, never one to miss a chance to maxplain - as he details how it had taken him a a whole 2 months to get him to call you by his first name, and then another 2 months before you'd told him your favourite song was Summertime Sadness, and that even now if he hugged you to celebrate a win you would look like you were about to throw up and furiously speed walk away.

Lando is seriously regretting tagging along to the Redbull trip instead of Carlos's invitation to Mallorca. It was bad enough that the whole train ride Max had been on the phone begging GP to take another 6 month break so that you'd continue to be his engineer, but Lando has had his limit with this simpy pining. Taking his phone out as the maxplaining continued in the background, he shoots a text to your intern, who immediately replies, and within minutes the pair of them have hatched a conniving plan to dump you lovesick fools together while the rest of them make their way into town.

And that’s how you and Max find yourself locked inside the upstairs wine cellar, having been separately tricked with various promises from your scheming friends - only to hear the door click behind you and turn to find each other. It's very romantic and all, soft candlelight and bottles of luxurious Italian wine and a shining full moon visible from the terracotta balcony. Someone had even generously left a speaker in the courtyard, with Lana Del Ray's melodic voice rising upto the second floor. Basically, the worst nightmare for your self control as you prayed for inner strength and avoid looking into Max's dreamy blue eyes. This was definitely some twisted beyond the grave revenge from Shakespeare for you saying he'd write poetry about a F1 driver’s eyes.

Max, though, is all too happy to come right over to you with another freshly opened bottle of wine, drunk and flushed and having zero inhibitions about pulling you into his warm side with a strong arm. You're too buzzed to resist, letting yourself fall against his chest to hear his soothing heartbeat and rest a palm against his hard abs, just this once (The real thing was even better than what you'd imagined.)

You're both laughing and giggling then, hearts full, reminiscing about the season together, the inside jokes on the radio, the side eyes to each other when Horner got too wound up at a meeting, and oh did you hear that the McLaren tireboy was hooking up with the Mercedes oilchecker?

And then your eyes meet his and your homegirl Lana starts singing dear lord when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man (real) and Max is softly brushing your cheek, leaning down as your heated gazes flit to each other's lips-

NOPE! you force yourself to declare, dramatically leaving his arms and contemplating if you could land the jump from the 2nd floor balcony. The Italian wine has made Max demanding though, as he doesn't let you go, grabbing your hand to pull you back like he was Anthony goddamn Bridgerton and wanting to know Why not, was he just imagining the chemistry, did you not find him hot or?

You'd gaped at him. Not hot? Apparently the Italian wine had gotten to you too because you didn't hold back, launching into a tirade of how no, Max, the issue was actually that he was too hot for his own good and did he even know how unfair it had been to be his engineer, pure torture really, you were sure the American military would be adding it to their interrogation tactics. As if it hadn't been bad enough to crush on him from a distance for years but then have to resist falling for him every time you saw him? So, no, you couldn't just give him a casual drunk kiss because you were in love with him!

Max stares at you, initially smug that you apparently found him so irresistibly good looking, but now completely bewildered when you finished ranting. You think - he swallowed. You think that this is just casual? Cause I- cause I'm drunk?

At your nod, he launches into his own maxplaination, brows furrowed, demanding to know how on earth you could think it was just casual, what about when he diligently showed up to every meeting with a banana choc muffin and caramel frappe and his hoodie for you to wear on the chilly mornings, or when he brought two Lana Del Ray VIP tickets the very same day you'd told him you liked her, or when he'd literally called you darling in Dutch over the team radio for the whole world to hear, or how he even sold his private jet and only jetpooled with the others since you told him off?! Seriously, even that old crone Helmut had asked him when you two were going to hard launch!

Your doe eyes go wider and wider at each statement, a pretty flush taking over your own face as your mind boggles at the realisation that apparently, the love of your life felt just as deeply about you. Stuttering, you try to formulate a reply - only to come up with Oh, well, I, uh - you sold your jet? For me?

Max rolls his eyes, but there's nothing except pure adoration on his face as he pulls you back into his warm chest, grinning down at you when you eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Yes, schat, he murmurs gently, the cutest blush painting his cheeks. Because I love you, too. And this time you don't pull away when he finally, finally leans down and meets your lips in a passionate kiss, enjoying the sweet moans he draws out of you as he showcases his numerous talents off the track.

Somewhere, in the middle of a Verona nightclub, your intern gives Lando Norris a firm handshake. Pleasure doing business with you.

_____________________________________________

A/N: A lil sweet fluff for me, this is actually my first fluff piece i think ahaha i've only written like 8 smut pieces in a row!! Hope you enjoyed 💖 and PS thank you ALL for the requests you’ve been sending, been getting them and will work thru them just have a few projects I’m cookin up for u guys hehe xx

[breannasfluff]

The roar of a motorcycle cuts off the conversation and Jason turns to see the bike cruising down the road. It’s a beauty; a long body with an extra seat and multiple chrome pipes. The number 13 is framed on both sides of the chassis. 

“Hey kid,” the rider calls, pulling over to an idle. “Haven’t seen you around in ages.”

“Hi, Johnny! Only back for a few days. How’s Kitty?”

“Complaining I didn’t bring her with but I just wanted a quick look around.”

Jason edges a little closer until he has Johnny’s attention. “I love your bike. Did you customize it?”

“Something like that.” 

Johnny launches into the logistics of the bike and Jason follows along with his explanations. Danny throws in the odd question as well, although his in-depth knowledge of bikes is a lot less. 

The bike is finally turned off and Johnny gets off to walk the two of them around it. Not only is it nice to talk bikes with someone else who understands, but it’s fun to interact with someone…normal. There are no secret identities, no villains, just three guys and a similar interest. 

For Jason, being the Red Hood is an integral part of his life. Just like when he was young, giving up being a vigilante isn’t something he could ever consider. Like this though…well, it’s easy to see the appeal. 

“Welp! I will have returned for your hide!” The voice comes from the air and Jason glances up and does a double take. That's a whole-ass ghost in the air.

Danny throws himself over Johnny’s bike. “Why me?”

“Oh yeah,” Johnny says with too much relish, “I forgot. Skulker followed me out of the portal.”

Read more here

[dunmeshistash]

hi! i apologize if this question is stupid, but why does falin has feathers in her chimera form? she was fused with a dragon, and as far as i can tell, none of the dragon types have feathers. thank you!

Hello! It's not an stupid question at all (no stupid questions here) it's easier to understand why she might have feathers when you remember that reptiles are VERY closely related to birds! Dinosaurs especially! Not that dragons are dinosaurs but they're as close as it gets and Kui seems to agree, in the Korean Q&A someone asked her this same question and her answer was "Dinosaurs had feathers" ofc that Q&A is all word of mouth so anything from it should be taken with a grain of salt but I think it's an answer that makes sense.

Here's a more in depth post about the subject from before that Q&A

So bullet points of explanations why Falin has feathers without being fused to another monster:

Birds and reptiles (especially dinosaurs) are very closely related

Falin's human half is an endotherm meaning she spents energy to generate her own heat so the transformation gave her feathers help her keep warm (As theorized by Laios)

Chimera Falin is a whole new creature made by Thistle, lots of the red dragon changed to fuse with Falin like creating wings and becoming much smaller, Thistle even words it as giving the red dragon a "new form" so changes that weren't originally in the red dragon aren't that absurd (especially since they make a little bit of biological sense)

White dragon seems to have either fur or feathers I cant tell, the AB describes it as fur but in the wings they are like furry textured feathers

This actually made me google that and turns out some birds do have fur like feathers! And one of them is the kiwi, very cute

The only other monster with wings similar to Faligon (feathered and with claws) is the cockatrice which is classified as a serpent separated from the other bird monsters, along with the Basilisk, so two more reptiles with feathers in dungeon meshi

So yeah, I could go on cause I love talking about animals/monsters/dunmeshi but TLDR Thistle probably had enough with the Red Dragon + Falin to create Faligon as she is, there was no need for another monster or anything else

[aventurineswife]

Gepard, Sampo, Ratio, Aventurine and Boothill react that reader has turned into a child by someone or something

From Giant to Child, You Are Still You

Tags: Gepard x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Protective Characters, Humor, Can be ready Romantically or Platonically, Lighthearted, Transformation Chaos, Caretaking, Humor, Character Bonds.

Gepard stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the sight before him. You—his steadfast companion—had somehow been transformed into a small child. Clutching a plush toy you seemed to have conjured out of nowhere, you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your tiny hand reaching out for his.

“What happened to you?” he murmured, crouching down to your level. He couldn’t hide the worry etched into his features. He was a soldier, trained to face terrifying monsters, but this? This was entirely out of his depth.

You tilted your head, giving him a toothy grin. “Gepard, you look funny! Your armor is so shiny!”

He couldn't help but chuckle despite the situation. “Well, at least your spirit hasn’t changed.” He reached out, gently patting your head, careful not to startle you. His mind raced, trying to think of a way to reverse this transformation. Until then, he swore to himself he’d protect you even more fiercely than before.

For now, though, he’d carry you on his shoulder and let you tug at his hair, your laughter bringing a rare lightness to his heart.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Sampo’s teasing voice broke through the silence as he crouched down to inspect the tiny version of you tugging at his coat. “My favorite customer has shrunk! How did this happen? Was it some experiment gone wrong, or did you just decide being an adult wasn’t worth the hassle?”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t my fault! Someone did this to me!”

Sampo smirked, ruffling your hair in an almost brotherly way. “Relax, kiddo, I’ll get you back to normal…eventually. But in the meantime, imagine the opportunities! You’re smaller, sneakier—this could work in my favor.”

You glared up at him, your tiny stature doing little to make it intimidating. “Sampo, this isn’t funny!”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s a little funny,” he chuckled, scooping you up into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. Besides, you’re too adorable for anyone to resist now.” He winked.

Despite his lighthearted tone, Sampo kept a close watch on you. As much as he liked to joke, the thought of you being in danger in this vulnerable state didn’t sit right with him. Whoever caused this had better be ready for a reckoning—Sampo Koski style.

Ratio stared down at you, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. “This has to be some kind of joke,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How, exactly, did you manage to turn into a child? Was it a poorly thought-out experiment? Some unstable phenomenon?”

You blinked up at him, hugging his leg for comfort. “I didn’t mean to! Fix it, Ratio!”

He sighed, kneeling to your level. “This complicates things. I can’t have you running around in this state. You’ll break something—or worse, touch my research.” His sharp tone made you shrink back, but his expression softened when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said quickly, awkwardly patting your head. “I’ll figure it out.” He picked you up, carefully cradling you as if you were made of glass.

While he worked to reverse the transformation, Ratio found himself unexpectedly entertained by your childlike curiosity. You tugged at the straps of his vest, asking endless questions about the glowing gadgets in his lab. To his surprise, he found himself answering, even if the explanations went over your head.

For all his protests, Ratio’s protective nature shone through. He kept you close, determined to return you to normal—but not without muttering under his breath about the trials of babysitting.

The opulent suite was alive with the faint hum of energy panels and the clinking of Aventurine’s rings as he flipped a coin lazily between his fingers. Seated at a velvet chaise, he seemed the epitome of nonchalance, but his sharp eyes flicked over the room with calculated precision. He never truly relaxed.

Until you came bursting in—or rather, toddled in.

The sound of small feet padding across the marbled floor drew his attention, and the coin stopped mid-air as he caught it deftly. His smirk faltered.

"Well, well," he said, sliding off the chaise and crouching to your level. His voice was syrupy, teasing, but there was a hint of genuine confusion behind it. "What do we have here? Did you get lost on your way to daycare, darling?"

You tilted your head up at him, your now tiny face scrunched in distress. "A-Aventurine, it’s me!"

His smile froze. For a moment, his flamboyant mask cracked, and genuine alarm flickered across his features. Then, in true Aventurine fashion, he burst out laughing, though it was an uneasy sound.

"Oh, you must be joking!" he exclaimed, standing abruptly and running a hand through his hair. "No, wait—this isn’t a joke, is it?" His eyes locked onto yours, scanning for some sign of trickery.

"I don’t know what happened!" you wailed, tugging at his pant leg. "One minute I was normal, and now I’m—this!"

Aventurine crouched again, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his chin. "Fascinating. You’re—what? Cursed? Experimented on? Fell into some eldritch goo, perhaps?" His words were light, but his tone betrayed his rising concern.

"I don’t know!" you replied, stomping your tiny foot.

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "No need to throw a tantrum. We’ll figure this out. But first—" He scooped you up with surprising ease, spinning you around as if assessing a new casino trinket. "Look at you! You’re adorable! Almost makes me wish I could shrink down and start over myself."

You scowled, your childlike pout only adding to the adorableness. "Aventurine!"

He sighed dramatically, setting you down on the chaise. "Fine, fine. I’ll help you fix this. But you owe me big time, darling. Babysitting isn’t in my job description."

Despite his usual carefree attitude, Aventurine’s actions were swift and decisive as he began making calls and weaving his web of connections to find out what—or who—had caused this. Every so often, he glanced your way, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Guess it’s my turn to be the responsible adult..." he muttered under his breath.

The sound of spurs clinking against the metallic floor echoed through the dimly lit saloon-like cantina. Boothill leaned against the bar, his hat tilted low over his white hair, a toothy grin flashing as he polished one of his pistols.

Then the sound of soft, uneven footsteps reached his ears. They were far too light to belong to one of the Galaxy Rangers or any of the usual drunks who frequented the place. He straightened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

When you stumbled into view—half your usual size, your tiny hands gripping the edge of a table for balance—Boothill froze.

“...Sugar?” His voice was rough, skeptical. He crouched slightly, his red scarf brushing the floor. “The fudge happened to you?”

“It’s me!” you squeaked, tears welling up in your now much smaller eyes.

Boothill blinked. “No kiddin’.” He stood straight, one hand on his hip, the other scratching the back of his head. “Well, ain’t this somethin’. You look like a calf that wandered outta the pen.”

You glared at him, though the effect was more precious than intimidating. “Boothill, stop joking! This is serious!”

He let out a low whistle, crouching again so you could see his shark-like grin. “Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket. Just...how’d this happen? Someone shrink ray ya? Drink somethin’ funky?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, stamping your little foot. “One minute I was fine, and the next—poof!”

Boothill’s grin faded, replaced by a contemplative look as he reached out, ruffling your hair gently with his mechanical fingers. “Alright, darlin’. Don’t you worry none. We’ll get ya fixed up.” He stood, drawing one of his pistols with a dramatic flourish. “But first, let’s figure out who’s behind this. You reckon it’s the IPC? Wouldn’t put it past those varmints to mess with folks like this.”

You shook your head, sniffling. “I don’t know…”

Boothill sighed, holstering his gun before scooping you up in one arm. “Guess you’ll just hafta stick with ol’ Boothill for a bit. Hope you ain’t too squirmy, kiddo.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, Boothill’s protective side shone through as he carried you out of the cantina, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. “Don’t fret,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Ain’t nothin’ out there that can outdraw me. We’ll get ya back to normal in no time.”

You buried your face in his scarf, finding comfort in its warmth. Boothill’s grin returned, this time softer, as he adjusted his hat.

“Reckon you’re lucky to have me, huh?” he teased, spurs clinking as he strode confidently into the unknown.