#prismatic spray

[clickityweasel]

got lazy w this one but....... he got to show off his new spell.......

[utilitycaster]

I was looking ahead at levels 12 and 13 for Bells Hells since I feel we might get a level-up soon (I could be FULLY incorrect about this btw) and anyway, while Imogen probably should take Teleport when she gets level 7 spells, in my heart she should take Prismatic Spray

[dnd-quotes-partynametbd]

X: Hey, we all get to see a rainbow before we’re all murdered 

[rooolt]

yucky girls love contagion dnd 5e (I am yucky girls)

[lovevalley45]

it’s always fun listening to the naddpod eps where nathan is a guest n remembering that man is an ultimate optimizer n thus is constantly pulling the coolest shit out of his ass

[honor-among-thieves]

That D&D session was not great and it was thanks to the dice ofc. I think it kind of sucks when you're in combat in D&D if you fail like five rolls (or in my case, enemies kept beating my spell saves) you're stuck sitting there doing nothing. I excused myself eight minutes early after I ended my turn because my brain was falling out due to how bored and inconsequential my prescence was. I could have skipped the session, SHOULD have skipped the session because I wanted to play Minecraft, but I was a fool.

[shotmrmiller]

Low Key keep thinking abt study abroad college student who takes one of Johnny's sisters place. Like he comes home from deployment and his sisters, mom, and just a stranger is welcoming him home.

(Better if he brought Ghost with him, because he definitely promised Ghost everyone would love him, and now there's a stranger in place, which throws all those promises he made right out the window).

But like the college student is pretty and nice. Gets his mom flowers, helps sisters with makeup, hair, boys etc. So everyone (mostly his sisters) in the family is just eagle eyeing him and telling him off if he tries anything.

His sisters know exactly what Johnny's like. In his youth, he drooled after anything with a pulse, and with those dazzling good looks, he was rarely denied.

But that was back when he was young and dumb, he's a grown man now— even has a doting boyfriend.

So then, why is it that he can't take his eyes off of you? You're nothing special, frankly. He's seen better, had better.

Even so, he can't stop looking at how comely you look in his mam's cooking apron— a pink, frilly bow atrocity— as you shuffle around in the kitchen, helping out with dinner.

Or the way your skin has an ethereal glow to it when under the bright, golden sun as you water the garden— the fine spray of droplets reflecting a prismatic rainbow. Iris sat on the tip of his tongue.

What had been the nail in his metaphorical coffin was how you interacted with his Simon. Unafraid of his height or his surly demeanor. He had introduced himself to you as 'Ghost' with a too firm handshake for your delicate-looking arms, but to his surprise, your grip had been just as solid.

"Like a rock," Simon had noted.

And of course, Simon is too observant. Eyes of a hawk, drinking up minutiae in a matter of seconds. In the late hours of the night, when everyone's gone to bed, Simon's pushing his back against the wall.

He makes quick work of Johnny's jeans, smart fingers undoing the front like it's second nature, and pops open the tiny bottle of lube on the nightstand.

"Seen the way you look at 'er, Johnny."

His protests turn to ash in his tongue when Simon's oil-slick hand fists his length.

"No use lyin' to me. You should know better." A thumb brushes on the delicate skin of his frenulum, a whimper stuck in the back of his throat.

"'S'alrigh'. I think she's pretty as a peach, too."

Oh.

[cadyrocks]

"I can't believe they just killed the rat grinders!"

This sentiment gets, y'know, a little harder to understand after a round 1 psychic scream. Dude just immediately pops off with a 9th level spell whose side effects include an incredibly debilitating stun and blowing your fucking head up if you die from it. Yeah - people talk about Riz being vicious for trying to prevent revivify; this is that principle applied to a massive AoE spell.

And that's not even the scary part! If it weren't for Ice Feast's homebrew, it's entirely plausible that that could have more or less ended the fight on the spot, with the Bad Kids being stunned until they hit an absurdly high intelligence save. This spell is really, really fucked up, and I don't think Brennan would have given it to Reuben if he didn't just provide (and specifically emphasize at the top of the episode!) a homebrew counter to its debilitating negative effects.

When your opponent's secondary spellcaster (their bard!!!) just casually drops a nuke in combat on round one, the time for diplomacy is just straight-up over. You could spend the next round talking to him in the hopes he doesn't follow it up with Prismatic Spray, or you can pound him into the dirt before he murders your friends and helps end the world.

This is a mechanical reality of High-Level DnD combat. Is it ideal for storytelling? Not necessarily. It's part of why I loved Kids On Bikes in Mentopolis. But anyone who thinks the gloves shouldn't have been off after the start of that fight is kidding themselves. This is a fate-of-the-world fight. There just isn't time for diplomacy that may or may not have a snowball's chance in hell of working; you end the fight soon or your opponents will do it for you.

[morallyinept]

Seedling - An Ezra One Shot - Part 3 of the Helianthus Series 🌻

Helianthus Series Masterlist <- It's advisable to read the other parts first so you know what's happening with the story. 🌻

Summary: After a storm ravishes the sunflower field, Ezra senses that the tempest is far from over.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. It’s you, bub. However, Reader has hair and is pregnant.)

Word Count: 4.6k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe. Very smol 🤏🏻 mention of past sexual activities.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here. 

Warnings/Triggers: There is mention of a particularly difficult birth, there is blood. I don't want to spoil this entirely for you, but please be assured that the baby is safe and well. This is an angsty part to the story and may be triggering for some.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. 

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: You all know how I feel about Helianthus Ezra, I just love writing him. 😍 There's a final part after this and then the story will be wrapped. 😢🌻

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Part 1- Helianthus | Part 2- Silver

Ezra perambulates through the sunflower field, the verdant stalks towering above him, their heliotropic heads bowed from the onslaught of the recent tempest.

The storm had been particularly ferocious, its gales mercilessly disheveling the heath, leaving behind a landscape of botanical carnage.

The sunflower field became a battleground during the throes; a tumultuous sea of green and gold writhing and thrashing in the grip of the storm.

Lightning streaked across the sky in jagged bolts of white-hot energy, illuminating the darkness with its dazzling brilliance. Thunder rumbled and cracked in the distance, a deep, primal roar that reverberated through the very marrow of the earth.

As the storm battered against the small shack, Ezra had stood at the window, his reflection a pallid ghost and distorted by the rain streaking down the glass. The wind howled like a wounded beast outside, rattling the frail structure and threatening to tear it from its foundations.

You had slumbered, undisturbed in the bed, its fury unabated by the feeble attempts of the sunflowers to withstand its onslaught. In the dim, mirrored light, Ezra's features appeared haggard and worn, his jaw clenched in grim determination, watching as the rain fell in torrents, a deluge that turned the ground to mud and obscured all visibility in a swirling haze of mist and spray.

The wind howled like a banshee, tearing at anything in its path with a savage hunger that knew no bounds. And yet, amidst the chaos and destruction, there was a strange beauty to be found in the storm. The lightning sprites danced across the sky in intricate patterns, illuminating the darkness with its ephemeral light. The rain glistened like diamonds as it fell, casting prismatic reflections on the sodden earth below.

And that familiar sense of peace washed over Ezra’s clammy skin as it prickled, hairs standing tall from the static charge in the air.

He’d wanted to rouse you, to let you observe the spectacular show with him, but as he’d turned to glance at you over his stump, he couldn’t find it within him to disturb your dreams. Your sleeping form, swollen with the weight of late pregnancy, lay bare and naked for him to indulge upon the sight.

He’d rested his giant, calloused palm upon your stomach, feeling the gentle, restless flutter of his unborn child's movements beneath his gentle touch. A commonality he already shared with them, as they both couldn’t sleep through the storm, it appeared. 

This morning, his singular arm operates with methodical precision, despite the growing ache in his shoulder blade, excising the damaged stalks and consigning them to a burgeoning pile, his mind anchored to the laborious task at hand.

The firmament overhead is a pallid, washed-out cerulean, the atmosphere stagnant and humid. The olfactory blend of petrichor and the saccharine fragrance of sunflowers permeates the air, invoking a sense of bucolic tranquillity that belies the previous tumult.

Pausing momentarily, Ezra swipes perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand and surveys the expanse of aureate petals oscillating gently in the tepid breeze. Despite the storm's desolation, the field retains a serene splendour that perpetually soothes his perturbed psyche.

To the untrained eye, the field might have seemed an impenetrable maze, a sprawling expanse of wild helianthus stretching endlessly in every direction. But to Ezra, it’s a familiar terrain, a landscape he’s come to know as intimately as he does your body.

Despite its chaotic appearance, Ezra knows every twist and turn of the sunflower moor, every hidden path and secret clearing amongst the barricade of thick stalks. He’s spent countless hours exploring its winding trails, mapping its contours in his mind until he can navigate its depths with his eyes closed.

The sunflowers crowd in around him, their broad leaves brushing against his arm and legs as he moves, their vibrant petals casting dappled shadows on the ground below. The air is thick with the heady scent of pollen and damp earth, the sounds of buzzing insects and rustling leaves create a busy symphony of life that accompanies him. The sunflowers whisper secrets to him as he passes, their gentle murmurs a comforting reassurance of his place in this untamed world.

Ezra moves with a purposeful gait through them, the stalks towering over him like silent protectors. His single arm works with practised efficiency, experience drawn upon from his prospecting years, cutting away the damaged stalks left in the wake of the storm. Each motion is deliberate, a testament to the countless hours he’s spent adapting to his physical limitations.

His face, weathered and etched with lines of experience and age, bears a look of quiet determination, his dark eyes reflecting both the intensity of his focus and the depth of his thoughts. Ezra pauses momentarily, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, revealing a rugged visage framed by a patchy beard that’s more practical than aesthetic.

His hair, imbued with that stark blonde sliver, slightly dishevelled from the wind and oil slick with perspiration, harbours streaks of gray, evidence of a life hard-lived.

As he surveys the field, he notes the storm’s aftermath: broken stalks, some bent and others entirely uprooted. He bends down, his movements fluid despite his handicap, and gathers a handful of them.

With an air of ingenuity, he sets about repurposing them. The sturdier stalks can be fashioned into rudimentary supports for the younger, weaker plants still standing, while the rest can be broken down for mulch to enrich the soil. 

As he ties a bundle of stalks together, a task that takes him several attempts without any ambidextrous assistance, setting them aside for later use, a faint smile touches his cracked lips.

There’s a satisfaction in this work, a connection to the land and its cyclical nature.

Here, amidst the sunflowers and the solitude, Ezra finds a measure of peace, a fleeting but precious respite from the tumultuous life he's previously known. His eyes, ever watchful, scan the horizon, taking in the vast expanse of your new home together. It’s a harsh yet beautiful place, full of potential and promise. 

"Well, my photosynthetic companions," he intones with a melodious lilt, "you've undoubtedly endured quite the maelstrom, haven't you? Yet, we shall prevail, as is our wont."

He straightens up, examining a particularly robust stalk that has survived the storm with only minor damage.

"Observe this stalwart exemplar," he continues to himself, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Resilient and unyielding - there's a certain poetry in this, isn't there? We are felled, we fracture, and yet we rise anew. Such is the ouroboros of life. Fascinating."

He moves to another section of the field, where younger plants have been knocked over by the storm. 

"Fear not," he reassures them, his tone imbued with gentle authority around his Southern inflection. "I'll assist you in regaining your stature. A modicum of support is all that is required, friend."

As Ezra kneels to prop up a particularly fragile bloom, his knees sinking in the softening dirt, his expression softens.

"Ah, a nascent seedling," he says quietly.

Bending down, Ezra cradles the minute plant in his large hand, marvelling at its diminutive size and delicate beauty. The sunflower seedling seems impossibly small, its petals soft and delicate beneath his stubby fingers, its slender stalk barely thicker than a blade of grass.

And yet, despite its size, it radiates a quiet strength and resilience that takes his breath away. For a moment, Ezra simply kneels there, lost in the wonder of the tiny plant he holds in his hand. 

He thinks about the journey that lies ahead for this fledgling, the challenges it will face as it grows and flourishes. And yet, despite the odds stacked against it, it refuses to yield, clinging tenaciously to life with a fierce determination that fills him with stunned awe.

Gently, Ezra strokes the delicate petals of the sunflower, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into each velvety surface. With great care, Ezra plants the seedling back into the earth, tucking it gently into the soft soil and whispering words of encouragement as he does so. 

“Reach for the sun with all your might, little one.”

He vows to watch over it, to safeguard it from harm and help it grow into the magnificent sunflower it’s destined to become.

In much the same way, Ezra feels a similar surge of emotion as he thinks about the impending arrival of his baby. Just as he's cradled the sunflower seedling in his hand, so too will he soon cradle his newborn child, marvelling too at its smallness and fragility, yet knowing that within it lays the potential for boundless strength and tenacity. He's certain of it.

His thoughts drift back to a time when his life had been anything but certain - a time when he roamed the interplanetary as a perplexing scoundrel, a thief, perhaps even an unabashed murderer, for his hands had certainly exhumed the flames of life. A prospector at best, but they’re a shadowy breed full of contempt and a desperation that makes them a threat to anyone they encounter, bewitched by the precious cabochons they seek.

It was a past he had long sought to leave behind, a malignant shadow that lingered at the cells of his consciousness, a constant reminder of the darkness that had once consumed him.

A man shackled by brazen greed and steely ambition. He thought only of himself, heedless of the pain and suffering he left in his wake, beguiled by a gluttonous lust for shiny things plucked from the living womb of the fauna.

He remembers feeling the intense scorch of the intransigent tightening in the upper chambers of his abdomen each time he drew a singular breath in; the gurgling rasp in the back of his throat latching and refusing to go down as he struggled to sit comfortably in the nav seat as the pod ascended from the Green.

The belts were crushing him, cutting into places that were already wide open and sodden, where they ought not to be wide open or sodden.

The rumbles of the pod shook him violently as his only hand gripped the rest in sheer grit and steadying desperation. Every movement ricocheted through him, growing roots inside his weeping core; splintering out into waves of itchy affliction that made him wish he was already dead so he would be out of that Kevva given misery. 

He was a stubborn bastard, akin to wily rodents, and even when presented with the outstretched vice of death, he somehow refused to falter; turning the other cheek even if it was to his own detriment. He was destined to the mercy of Imuon's blade sliding into his sternum like butter.

But a young, blonde-headed smile reassured him from his watery peripherals that he was safe and homeward bound.

He rested, but only for a moment, closing his eyes once more to find himself back in the pod with Cee; the freighter advancing and welcoming them as they docked. They’d smiled at one another with pertinent relief and glistening pearly teeth, and that’s the last memory he has of her. That, and the permanent scars that litter his body.

There was a point of no return and Ezra was pretty convinced he’d crossed into that boundless territory on the precarious cusp of death. There was little else he could do then, but wait for that enveloping cradle to take him from this plain and plop him as a recharged, jellied embryo with an excusably limp, pink cock into the next.

It wasn't as disconcerting as he had imagined. Some harmonious frivolity to it, in fact. 

Those final moments brought about some tranquil peace and everything felt lighter somehow. He was burdenless, entering this world with nothing and leaving with even less as he’d glanced at his missing limb between gluey eyelids. 

He allows himself to indulge in the barbellate tingles that accompany the coldness of his memories as he feels them moving up from his feet.

Paused in mere seconds that hold plurry turns within them. Full rotations around many suns and yet all of them failed to dim, refusing to guide the way to convalesce in the ether. 

He’d thought of Kevva in his last moments. An all encompassing entity that Ezra himself has never really understood, refraining from worshipping deities in a polytheistic world he orbits with primal irritation.

Kevva is not some omnipotent being controlling his every move or whim with a joystick, no. She’s a whore in the baths of Luxillion, drinking marsh fruit wine whilst the spend of his cock seeps pearls aplenty from her gaping hole. 

Yes, that’s the last thing he’d see as he drifted off. A magnolious dream of sinking head first into her black hole cunt of honeyed delights from which he’d never resurface.

Ezra chuckles at the absurdity of it all now as he re-plants and digs. Broad shoulders rumbling as he guffaws.

Severely humbled by the loss of his arm, and almost the loss of his life, Ezra casts those historic threads of imitation gold all aside for you.

You’d seen past the auspicious facade he’d erected around himself, peeling back the layers of his snarky defences with a gentle touch and an understanding smile as you fought to salvage what was left of this wounded animal, baring its teeth and hackles at you.

It had taken a long time to tame him, the only star in his heel-face turn, but he’d allowed it. Softening under your every healing touch.

From the moment your eyes had met, Ezra knew that his life would never be quite the same. You’d shown him kindness when he least deserved it, offering him a second chance when all seemed lost.

As he stoops to lift another prostrate stalk, an inexplicable frisson courses through him, eliciting a visceral response that raises the fine hairs on his nape.

He remains motionless, the stalk slipping from his grasp, and stands still, listening.

A strange stillness settles over the field. The usual sounds of the sunflower field - the rustling of leaves, the chirping of insects - fades into an eerie silence.

It’s as if the very air holds its breath, waiting for some unseen event to unfold, akin to a calm before a storm.

And then, as if in response to some silent signal, the sunflowers begin to whisper.

Their voices are soft and melodic, a gentle susurrus that dances on the edge of his consciousness. Ezra can't make out the words, they don’t physically converse with him of course, but their meaning is unsettlingly clear.

There’s no sound, no cry for help, his name is not carried on the breeze with a banshee wail. But a deep, instinctual feeling surges through him - the baby is imminent.

Birdie...

Ezra's cardiac rhythm accelerates. His thoughts race to you, ensconced within the modest shack you’d both meticulously transformed into a comforting domicile as you nested. He’d anticipated this eventuality, had endeavoured to steel himself for it, but now that the moment has arrived, the enormity of his trepidations weigh heavily upon him.

Possessing but one arm, how can he possibly rise to the exigency of this moment? How can he aid you through a convoluted parturition when he struggles to perform even the basics of quotidian tasks with his remaining hand?

He should have made you leave this place with him to the birthing pools. Should’ve insisted upon it, even if it meant dragging you to the pod, kicking and screaming.

Shouldn't have allowed himself to be bewitched by the allure of your creature comforts and reassuring smile.

There was time, fuck there was plenty of time, but he’d let it all slip away. Watched as you whittled him down to nothing but a compliant chromosome giving you anything you wish. 

With each stride, Ezra propels himself forward, his booted feet pounding against the earth in a frenzied rhythm. The golden sea of sunflowers blur past him, their vibrant petals a bokeh of flaxen.

His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, his chest heaving with exertion as he pushes himself to his limits.

Approaching the periphery of the field, stalks battering him in the face, the shack materialises before him, a humble yet resilient structure that's become your shared refuge in your life together.

Ezra breaks into a lopsided sprint, disregarding the pang of discomfort emanating from his truncated shoulder. His mind flits through the compendium of knowledge he’s amassed about childbirth, each fragment of information a cutting reminder of the impending task he’ll have to perform now, and yet it still seems flaccid.

Ezra's heart races as he bursts through the door of your home. The air inside is thick with tension, every corner of the small space illuminated in grey by the dim light outside.

His eyes dart around the room, searching desperately for any sign of you.

“Birdie!”

The erroneous cornucopia of groans that husk from you makes his skin stand on end as it echoes around the shack. And then he sees you, lying on the floor in the corner of the room, your face contorted in pain, your hands clutching at your swollen belly.

You look up at him as he rushes to you, your eyes wide with fear and exhaustion, your lips parting in a silent cry for help.

The room seems to spin around him, the walls closing in as if suffocating him with their oppressive weight.

He feels a surge of panic rising in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him with its intensity like nothing he's ever felt before. There isn't much that terrifies Ezra, he's hardly familiar with this emotion, and yet it paralyses him for a few seconds that feel like an eternity.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with fear and exhaustion, and he comes to you. Flocking to your side where he'll always belong.

"Ezra," you gasp, reaching out for him, fingers grasping like claws at his sweaty skin, "the baby's coming!"

“Look at me,” Ezra says, although, it’s more of a command. “I know, I’m here. I’m your steadfast bulwark, pet. Breathe, like we practised.” He assures. 

“W-Where were you?” You suck in breaths like oxygen is running out of the room fast. 

“Tending to the stalks, the storm has upturned the soil.”

“What… storm?”

He smiles, stroking a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. “You slept through it.”

As he takes your hand in his singular one, something shifts inside him - a primal instinct, a fierce determination to protect.

With a steady hand and a voice filled with reassurance, he whispers words of comfort to you, his touch gentle yet firm as he strokes your sweat-dampened brow. 

And it goes silent for a moment, all except the sounds of him. Ezra reminds you through those quiet murmurs and twitches of his moustached lips that he’s here with you. 

He leaves you momentarily and you pant through the watery vision of him gathering everything he needs and tossing it at your feet. The birthing book is there, his fingers slipping over the tatty, worn pages as he focuses.

You clutch his hand tightly, your knuckles white with the strain. "I can’t bear it," you gasp, your voice a plaintive plea for relief. “It hurts!”

“I won’t goad you about choosing not to seek refuge in the birthing pools…” He mutters with a frown. 

“I can hear you, Ez!" You growl and he smirks. "We can go, we can! Oh Kevva! Ah shit!” You breathe.

"The time has passed, pet. You’re strong," Ezra assures you, his voice a soothing relief, "stronger than you know.”

As Ezra tenderly attends to you, perparing you for the birth, the heavy contractions making you grunt and scream, he can't shake the feeling that something’s amiss.

Your discomfort seems to intensify with each passing moment, your breaths laboured and shallow as you clutch at your swollen belly, your face contorted in agony.

He refers to the pages and the things that should be happening aren't happening.

Though he lacks the expertise of a medical professional, he trusts in his intuition fiercely, a primal instinct that whispers of danger lurking just beyond the veil of uncertainty, and his ears prick up to listen.

He parts your legs, inspecting you carefully as you writhe and contort.

"Pet," he murmurs, his voice a faintly soothing melody amidst the cacophony of your distress, "I suspect the babe may be in an unfavourable position. You haven’t dropped. Let me coax you both into a more propitious alignment."

With a gentle hand and a heart heavy with concern, Ezra guides you through a series of gentle movements, each one designed to encourage the wayward baby to turn.

He helps you try pelvic tilts, inversion techniques, and relaxation exercises, both your efforts a testament to the unwavering resolve in the face of adversity. But it doesn’t work, your incessant cries and grunts aren’t relieved and the pain intensifies. 

And then, amidst the agony and despair, comes the blood - a crimson tide that stains the wooden boards beneath you, a harbinger of danger lurking just beyond the horizon.

Ezra feels that surge of terror rise within him again, threatening to engulf him in its suffocating embrace. There’s so much blood that it stuns him.

“Ezra!” You scream, bloodcurdling and shrill, and it snaps him out of it.

Ezra springs into action, his hand shaking as he fumbles for the meagre supplies at his disposal. He knows that time is of the essence, that every moment wasted brings you both closer to the brink of unthinkable disaster.

"I’m gonna need you to push now, each contraction brings us one step closer to meeting our little one."

“Something’s wrong, Ezra!” You groan, your eyes flitting closed. The emptiness in your voice makes his balls clench up.

“Oi - oi!” He gently taps your face as your eyes glaze over. "You stay with me!" He urges, his eyes blazing with determination.

Bloodied smears from his sticky fingers coat your chin like lacquer as he turns your face, squeezing, to focus on him. 

"Breathe with me," he instructs, his voice a steady rhythm against the cacophony of your suffering. "In... and out... in... and out… Shit. C’mon, Birdie!" He yells.

“Ez-” You falter, your eyes close again as you whisper something he can’t quite catch. 

Ezra's mind races with a brutal knowledge - he has to get the baby out as you can no longer push.

He tears through the pages in the book, finding the right section. The step-by-step images already haunting him.

"Forgive me, pet," he whispers, his voice heavy with regret as he leans in to press a tender kiss to your sweat-glistened forehead. "I promise to make this as quick and painless as possible."

Ezra reaches for a small knife, a tool he’d hoped never to use in such a manner. But now, with yours and the baby’s life hanging in the balance, he knows that he has no choice.

Positioning himself, Ezra takes a deep breath to steady his nerves. 

“Kevva, guide me,” he croaks out to the ceiling.

With a swift, decisive motion, he carefully begins to cut through your flesh, his hand moving with practised precision, movements fueled by a desperate determination to save you both. 

In the depths of his consciousness, he’s transported back to the Green Moon, the air thick with the scent of Aurelac and the promise of riches untold. With a sense of eager anticipation, he’d set out to extract a precious gem from his first blister, his hands steady and sure - when he'd had both of them.

But as he worked, a tremor of uncertainty had crept into his movements, faltering at a crucial moment. And in an instant, the gem had transformed into a sizzling mess of acid, searing his flesh with its toxic touch, and leaving behind a scar that would never fade over the hilt of his knuckles.

Now, as he struggles to deliver his child, Ezra feels the weight of that memory pressing down upon his face, suffocating him - a reminder of his past failures, his shortcomings laid bare for all to see. He couldn’t do it with two hands, how can he do this now with one? 

His eyes flit up to your face, eyes closed and no movement, even though he knows this would be tortuous for you to endure. He’s thankful you can’t feel it, but the concern isn't lost on why that might be. 

But soon the melodious chorus of his daughter's cries reverberate through the confines of the small shack, bringing him back to reality with a sonorous testament to her vitality and resilience.

As he beholds her delicate features, framed by wisps of dark hair and cherubic cheeks, Ezra feels an overwhelming surge of veneration wash over him - a dulia for the miracle of life, for the boundless depths of human love, for the inexorable march of time itself.

It winds him in the gut completely.

He can see it, he’s certain of it; an image beyond her so deftly branded into his retinas, but the wires running neurons and receptors in his brain are far too preoccupied to process it fully.

No, they’ll save that undulating horror for him to endure again later when another moment of coherence can slip in between the suffocating momentum of the grunts and screams of the wriggly life in his lap, before they furrow into the meat between his ribs to take up permanent residence. 

He can feel it creep on the hairs on the back of his neck despite them being saturated from the heat now burning him up. Feels how his balls retreat hastily into his body to seek shelter from the harsh reality he's now bolstered in.

He can still feel his missing fingers, wiggle them even.

He knows it now, knows that every brush of death that licked so lewdly at him before, every time he bled out and inhaled the diaphanous spores leaking into his helmet to lay the foundations of a suffocating moss over his tissue paper lungs, was to get here.

Right to this moment. 

"A seedling..." He whispers. He lays his daughter in his lap, cutting the cord that tethers her to you.

With each breath her pudgy, little face takes, she seems to breathe life into the very essence of his being, infusing his soul with a newfound sense of purpose and meaning.

And in that sacred communion between father and daughter, Ezra finds solace amidst the chaos of a fretful existence, a respite from the tumultuous currents of fate.

Shivering, yet drenched with sweat, and with a voice hushed, he whispers choked words of welcome to his daughter, each syllable a tender offering of devotion and his affection, for that's all he has to give. 

"Welcome to the world, Niblet," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

A small prick of a smile crooks at the side of his mouth ready to flourish into a full inveigle beam. "Oh, you are magnificent beyond measure.”

A tiny hand curls around his finger and his eyes are bloodshot and watery; gulping like a marine fish out of water on the blue planet he remembers as a child.

His throat is a cragged wasteland; parched and tight. He licks around his teeth, but his gums are a rough pastiche of pink, tasteless clay. 

A few deep sighs lap around him and Ezra is back to facing his current mare’s nest, where he’s spent far too much time with his own thoughts, lost in an alternate reality of obscure sorrow and maudlin soliloquies, waiting for the veil to pull.

“Look, Birdie-"

But as he seeks to share in the moment of elation with you, his gaze flickers upward to meet your eyes, only to find them obscured by your closed lids still. 

A cold shiver runs down Ezra's spine as he observes the unmoving of you, arms limp at your sides, blood pooling at your centre.

There’s no verbal response, and he can no longer feel his own body connected to the ground.

He places his daughter in a bundle of cloths on the floor at your side, every instinct in him telling him not to let her go. She needs the contact, she needs the warmth from him and love that he has threatening to overspill at any moment. It's too much. He can't do this.

He needs you. She needs you.

With his trembling hand, he reaches out to touch your cheek, his blood smeared fingers brushing against your cooling skin in a desperate bid for reassurance.

“B-Birdie?”

Final Part - Helianthus Pumilus

Thank you so much for reading this Ezra story. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please, if you enjoy my writing, don't forget to re-blog so others can enjoy it too. It means so much to me. Thank you so much! 🖤

SERIES MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[justcallmesakira]

Pleaseee, could you do valentine event fluff 10 prompt with Chuuya?💗💗

''Why do I need a expensive perfume when i have your scent?''

Prompt 10 (fluff)

Sypnosis: You bought chuuya a very expensive perfume for your date tonight, but theres something else he craves more then a mere scent..

Chuuya x reader

Warnings: none!

A/N: Hi anonieee!! i am so glad you requested sorry this took some time i am currently very sick! Hope you will like it <3

Now playing- Diet mountain dew by Lana dey rey

⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

You had a date with Chuuya today. Since valentines is coming soon why not visit a brand new restaurant with your lover? Chuuya loved ravishing and spoiling you whether it with dates or expensive items.

You were walking inside a mall to look for a special gift for Chuuya. He always wore a velvety perfume on him which always made an impact on you which he did not know.

You loved the air he carried when he entered a room

So why not buy him something? For all the things he did for you, his doll, his love and his sweetheart.

The shop you entered was very neat and expensive looking. There were various perfumes, designer bags, cosmetics etc.

All of the perfume bottles were bland but one caught your eye, a red and pink rhinestone embroided bottle with a wispy smell of roses. ''What a lovely combination...'' you thought as you asked one of the staff to get you this in an elegant bag with a satin pink ribbon tied around it.

When you went up to pay for the perfume you realised you have chuuyas credit card with you and was about to take it out but took out yours instead and payed it was sort of expensive.

You skipped out of the store happily of course you would buy him more things but for now you wanted to be more classy.

After that you bought a dignified pearly pink dress and bought a matching set of earrings with his card, He would pout if you didnt use his card.

Back at home

You got ready, with that dress you bought, A pretty and raspy one. However the thing you were excited most was giving chuuya the perfume you bought for him today.

It was almost 7 o` clock and you were adding touch ups to your glistening face with a muted salmon pink lip gloss.

The opening of the penthouse`s door opens

"Dear, I am home. hope you are ready.'' Your eyes dart form the vanity mirror to the open door and his leaning figure against the doorframe.

"Oh chuuya!! I see you are ready just a moment please.'' you said trying to tie a satin ribbon around your neck. Chuuyas eye widen in curiosity but it returns to a soft smirk as he walks over to your sitting posture.

"Here let me tie it" Chuuya breathed out with his head atop of yours and his gloved hands tying the ribbon around your neck into a fancy ribbon.

You can feel his body warmth from behind.

Finally he finished and he took a prismatic glass bottled perfume from the perfume set on the white table and sprayed it on your collarbone, taking in he fragrance. You stood up.

"Chuuya...I bought a gift for you" you spit out while taking out a small bag with the perfume inside, Chuuyas eye widen in happiness and chuckles.

"Doll, you didnt had to you know..?" he says before reaching for the bag and taking out the perfume from the bag. His eyes meet the satin strip tied neatly around the neck of the bottle. ''Sweetheart,,, did you use your money to buy this?" He asks calmly with his heterochromic orbs eyeing your facial expressions to which you only nodded

"Well it was a gift!'' You reply anxiously.

Chuuya leans closer to you and gently pushes you against the vanity table with his hands caging you in his space but keeps a safe distance.

''Why do i need expensive perfumes when i have your scent''

Chuuyas voice breathes out with his face leaning into yours with a serious look in his eyes. You can feel his breathe on your collarbone and his lips slightly nibbling on the place where he sprayed the perfume.

"Now lets get going, dressed up all pretty for me cant let that go to waste now can we?'' he leaned back letting your flustered hot body relax before taking your purse and following him out the apartment.

Ever since then you took extra note on which perfume he is using.

A/N: ugh *cough cough* because of my cold perfume prob smells like rotten airplane food

[gavamont]

A wizard that uses a really long kaleidoscope as their magic staff.

The wiz gonna cast you a prismatic SPRAY

Every type of damages you’ll feel toDAY

Then he’ll hit you with a full strength rainbow RAY

And after that your ass will be instantly GAY

[utilitycaster]

Level-up post: Bells Hells L13

girl help usually I draft these well in advance but I forgot about this one so it's going to be a little shorter and probably less pithy. Anyway as always: corrections on errors appreciated, but if I didn't list every single possible spell or feat someone could take then that's because I don't care. And, because we do the level-ups like this rather than at the end of a session, this will include L14 speculation. Without further ado:

Everyone's proficiency bonus goes up to +5, and the non-multiclassed full spellcasters (Imogen and FCG) get access to 7th level spells.

Chetney: Chetney took another level in Blood Hunter, granting him an ASI/Feat. On the one hand, his wisdom score is odd and so an ASI to that makes sense. On the other hand fuck WIS forever and ever amen; CON, STR, and INT are all way more important for him and for this party. Orym can perceive enough for everyone. L13 Blood Hunter is a nice one that grants him an additional use of blood maledict, as well as the Brand of Tethering which is both thematically appropriate for the campaign and could REALLY ruin Ludinus's day.

Laudna: Another sorcerer level, which grants her more metamagic, and Marisha said in the video she'd be taking Empowered Spell. She also learns another spell up to 5th level, and another cantrip. Frankly I have no idea for cantrips since between two casting classes with cantrips, her subclasses, and spell sniper, she is Cantrips Georg, but Seeming and Teleportation Circle are both pragmatic options that would help the party; Creation and Insect Plague are both aesthetically apt; and Dominate Person, while coming from her sorcery, does have that touch of Delilah. Looking forward I must admit that warlock is infinitely more useful and interesting but it's probably wiser to get 6th level spells.

FCG: FCG's main improvement here is access to 7th level spells; these are pretty great for clerics. I am personally a fan of Divine Word, and Plane Shift seems likely quite useful, but Regenerate and Resurrection are good to have available. L14 for clerics is quiet and simply improves their ability to destroy undead, as is 15, which grants them 8th level spells.

Fearne: Fearne took a 10th level in Druid, granting her another cantrip and another 5th level spell. She gets Cauterizing Flames, which is a little like Wither and Bloom or some of the Circle of the Shepherd features: when a small or larger creature dies within 30 feet of her or Little Mister, she can use a reaction to either heal a creature within 30 feet of the dead creature, or deal fire damage to it. This may become immediately useful if we're fighting Liliana or Otohan. I am hoping she levels up to 11 in Druid at the next level up, which would give her Transport via Plants and Wind Walk access, making the party a little less reliant on Keyleth. As for her cantrip, I'm thinking Druidcraft would be fun since she doesn't have it and it's been so useful on Ruidus.

Imogen: Imogen gets 7th level spells, of which Teleport is a clear winner, particularly since FCG can take Plane Shift, but there are some of my favorite damage/fuckery spells in there (Prismatic Spray, Reverse Gravity, and Delayed Blast Fireball). Level 14 gives her Revelation in Flesh. I must admit I'd be more psyched about this if she'd leaned into the slime aspects of the subclass, but I am interested in seeing how it gets modified because I don't think she should get the swim speed if she won't grow weird cilia and gills; the other features can stay though.

Orym: In addition to having the stupidest passive perception score on the moon, he also gains another use of indomitable. Level 14 gives him an ASI/Feat and really he can't go wrong here; because he got feats from his pact I'm thinking an ASI to CON to make him even more of a tank would be fun, but fighters get so many feats that he can really go nuts.

Ashton: Base barbarian ability of Brutal Critical goes up to 2 dice from 1, giving them the ability to do more damage when they crit. Eyes peeled for his next level-up, when he gets his final Path of Fundamental Chaos feature!

[dnd-quotes-partynametbd]

Kenaz: [X’s PC] was a big ask, I get it. [Annahael’s PC] was just making a bad decision worse

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

🛡 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Cathedral Armor
Armor (breastplate), very rare (requires attunement by a cleric or paladin) ___ The front of this magic armor is covered in a panel of stained glass. Attuning to the armor causes the design of the glass to change to depict your deity, oaths, or similar divine order. You have a +2 bonus to AC while wearing this armor. While wearing the armor, you can use an action to cast the "prismatic spray" spell from it, using your spell save DC. Alternatively, you can cast this spell as part of using your Channel Divinity. The Channel Divinity must require an action to use, and you choose whether the spell is cast before or after the effects of the Channel Divinity resolve. If your deity is aligned to a particular damage type, such as fire or lightning, you can choose that damage type's respective color, instead of rolling a d8 to determine it, as part of casting the spell from the armor. The armor can't be used to cast this spell again until the next dawn. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[teambyler]

"Byler Endgame, One Episode at a Time" - s5e1

Plot beats and scenes leading to a Byler endgame, one episode at a time, for Season 5 of Stranger Things. (This is just for fun! I have no insider knowledge!)

Also see Part 0, where I explain what I think a Byler Endgame has to address.

s5e1

Since we’re going back to s1 themes, a shadowy U.S. government organization is involved. It wants to contain and study the hellscape in Hawkins. People are ordered out of parts of Hawkins. The Byers don’t have a home in Hawkins. Joyce stays at Hopper’s, with Jonathan too probably (Ted wouldn’t let Nancy’s boyfriend sleep in the house. He’s perfectly fine with “Mike’s friend Will” though!)

When Will arrives, he asks to stay in Mike’s basement. Mike says it’s cold and uncomfortable and he doesn’t have to. Will says he’s fine, he prefers a quiet place to do art, he likes that it’s where they played D&D... “We get to play D&D again, yes?” “Of course!” Mike insists on putting a bed in there, etc. Will is fine with the couch. The whole time Will is trying to be cool, trying to get over loving his straight best friend.

Will walks into Mike’s room, to see that Mike has framed the D&D painting and is hanging it on the wall. Mike: “This is a really nice present you gave.” Will’s in shock… does he know? It becomes clear Mike just thinks Will and El talked about what to put in a gift they were both to give Mike, while things were still good between him and El. “It’s too bad things went south so quickly…” Mike shares that he and El aren’t seeing each other. Will looks at the painting, thoughts racing… Mike says he doesn’t know what’s going on with El because after the pizza shop he thought they were official again, but she’s still being cold toward him.

Will sleeps on the basement couch, remembering their "Crazy together" conversation. He cries quietly.

After coaxing Lucas who’s spending time at the hospital with Max, the Hellfire Club play D&D in Mike’s basement. Dustin is the dungeon master. It’s a very feel-good, “the party is back together” scene. Will’s so happy to be playing D&D with Mike and is sitting next to him. In the game, Will risks his life to cast prismatic spray and save the group. The spell fails. In the game, Mike risks his life to protect Will. Will is blushing and it feels kinda romantic.

“A PLOT” SHENANIGANS. Will is rubbing his neck a lot and this is a Will-focused season. (There’s a million ways the A plot can go down so I won’t even try!)

School was disrupted by the events of s4. Bullies with nothing better to do target the Hellfire Club members, blaming them for recent events. Bully #1 lost a loved one when the hellfire opened. The party has to split up to get away from them. Bully #1 corners Will and says he hopes he gets AIDS. Will is terrified and once he’s alone starts crying.

Jonathan senses Will is really down. He invites Robin over. She arrives and kisses Vickie goodbye in front of Will. Will is shocked. Jonathan leaves the room, and Robin and Will connect. Will asks what it’s like to come out. Robin says some people shunned her, but others like Steve and Jonathan didn’t. She found out who her real friends were: “I got to have friends who love me for being me.” Will cry-smiles and thinks about this. Robin says to tell the people you trust the most.

Joyce and El are at Hopper’s cabin. Will looks like he's ready to tell both of them. But he waits for El to step out. Will sits down next to mom and comes out to her. Will: “Do you still love me?” She goes into Mama Bear mode: “Of course I do!” She hugs him. She's heartbroken to think Will didn't know how she'd answer. “Look at me Will. I’ve GONE TO HELL AND BACK FOR YOU WILL. I’ll do it again! I will always, ALWAYS love you.” They have a big ugly-cry hug.

FOLLOW ME for the next part of “Byler Endgame, One Episode at a Time”!

Part 0 (what a Byler endgame needs to address) Next episode

-teambyler

[rukafais]

Leveling up my bard and putting Prismatic Spray into his 7th level spell section because I want him to be the most annoying motherfucker in the room