ā§ ā SO THE MORNING LIGHT WILL BRING US HOME.
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ā§ ā SO THE MORNING LIGHT WILL BRING US HOME.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā RULES | ABOUT | VERSESĀ

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"Don't laugh," Danny says, shifting his weight so his hip juts out and his mask tilts to the side. "Just another fuckin' costume. Nothing practical about it. At least I'm not the only one stuck in one." He steps forward slowly, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the silk of Ezra's suit. It doesn't suit either of them, and he's sure that's why they're in them now. "You got spades too. That mean you're my date?..." There's no way the Entity couldn't have noticed by now, but the thought still makes his stomach twist. "At least she gave me a good knife, even if it looks as stupid as the rest of it."
ā§ ā Ezra sharply pulls his arm away from Danny's touch, scowling under the golden mask. Even with Dannyāor maybe especially soāhe's temperamental about being touched, and right now, he feels trapped and stiffened in this silk suit. The gilded gold and intricate designs remind him of when the church events and the ritualistic robes that go alongside them. Ezra knew he always looked like shit in them, and he suspects he looks that way now. He feels that way, anyway.
At least for Danny's sake, Ezra isn't laughing. "You look like a pigeon going to the Met," he says. The matching patterns on their suits make Ezra even more tense; at best, it's an embarrassing coincidence that makes them look like a Halloween couple's costume. At worst, it's a fucking taunt.
He should stop seeing Danny. He knows that the Entity knows, can feel her stare through the cracks in the basement wall. If he messes up, the other survivors will know, too. He doesn't consider any of them friends, but he's starting to like some of them. Maybe there's some part of him that wants to be liked, too, and spending all this time with the Ghostface won't help with that.
But he's still here, sitting on the edge of this little cot, watching Danny stand in front of him. He can feel himself softening.
"You better not ask me to dance."
Levels
Stray light, Clarissa M Bonet
āĀ you can make me bleed all you want. i won't scream for you.Ā ā
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Oh, Ezra. You shouldn't have said that.
It excites him, Ezra's last bit of defiance before the light is snuffed out. Danny fantasized about it for fucking months in Roseville before he stepped into the Entity's realm. The Entity robbed him of this ā of Ezra's final moments, of his last breath against the Ghostface's mask ā so it feels like a gift to have him here now, his throat in Danny's hand, a thumb on his cheek that's almost affectionate, his dark hair wet with blood. It's a gift, but it's all wrong, too, because this isn't real. They put Ezra in a pen with the wolves and it's not the same as pinning him down in Roseville, or LA, or wherever the fuck they would end up next.
But it's still Ezra, sweating and defiant beneath him. It's still Ezra whose breathing chokes off when Danny starts to squeeze ā
"No?" The Ghostface asks, leaning in close enough that Ezra could hear him breathe, heavy from the exertion and quick with thrill. "Here I thought you came all this way for me..."
A muffled grunt is the only warning Ezra gets before the knife glints as Danny plunges it into his chest, scraping bone like it'll give Danny the catharsis he's been dreaming of. Ezra doesn't scream, of course, but Danny didn't expect him to. He doesn't cave easily ā that's what makes the kill feel so succulent.
Ezra shouldn't be here. That's all Danny can think as he stabs Ezra again, then again. He should be in this shithole, robbing Danny of the one thing that made it worth it to lose Roseville. He takes his hand off Ezra's neck to push the knife in deeper and tells him exactly what he thinks: "You shouldn't be here." Why the fuck is he here? "But I'm going to make it worth it."
Danny takes a breath like he's trying to calm himself, and sits up. The mask tips down towards Ezra, both languid and furious at the same time. Of course he hasn't cracked yet, but the Ghostface isn't done with him yet. The blood rushes in Danny's ears. "You never knew how to keep your nose out of shit that doesn't concern you, did you? Well, Ezra, now you're here." His fingertips brush Ezra's jaw like a lover's. "In a fucking cage." They grab the bone and squeeze, forcing him to look into the yawning eyes of the Ghostface. "With me."
His wrist jerks, twisting the knife inside Ezra's chest, head tilting as he watches the way Ezra tries to hold himself back, watches the agony bleed into his expression. Then, he watches the light leave Ezra's eyes, watches the spark as it's snuffed out by his darkness.
And the worst fucking part of it all? Danny still feels nothing.

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The Big Sleep (1946) dir.Ā Howard Hawks
ā” Ā STUDY Ā : Ā Ezra Dianthe
ā” Ā BASICS.
IS YOUR MUSE TALL Ā / Ā SHORT Ā / Ā AVERAGE ? average height! heās 5'9. ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? yeah heās fine lmao WHATāS THEIR HAIR LIKE ? soft black curls. it can get very fluffy. heāll sometimes style it in different ways, mostly for disguise purposes, and it always looks weird and bad when he does.Ā
DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR Ā / Ā GROOMING ? more time than you might think! thereās a reason why his skin is so clear and soft :) itās not a crazy amount of time in the morning; maybe 10 minutes.Ā
DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE Ā / Ā WHAT OTHERS THINK? also more than you might think. he has pretty low self-esteem, and his appearance isnāt excluded from that.Ā he has a hard time shrugging off peopleās opinions.Ā
ā” Ā PREFERENCES.
INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? FOREST OR BEACH ? PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? ORDER OR ANARCHY ? PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? PEACE OR CONFLICT ? NIGHT OR DAY ? DUSK OR DAWN ? WARMTH OR COLD ? MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ? READING OR PLAYING A GAME ?
ā” Ā QUESTIONNAIRE.
WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSEāS BAD HABITS ?
Poor sense of self-preservation. Heās curious and impulsive, and for all his intelligence, he tends not to think things through.Ā
HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?
Yes. It has affected him very badly :ā)
WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?
The first year anniversary of being drug-free. Climbing up rooftops and drawing the cityscapes. The mornings when heās watched the sun rise and felt ready to face the day.
IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ?
Yes. If heās made up his mind, heās quick to the draw and ruthlessly efficient in the executionāand considering how quickly his thoughts run, he can make up his mind in a matter of moments. But he mostly keeps his hands clean. It may be easy for him, but it isnāt fun.Ā
WHATāS IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?
If heās around people, then his first priority is to get away, whether by physically walking away or freezing the other people out until heās left alone. Once heās alone, then heāll find a corner to tuck himself away in and have a good sob. He doesnāt break down oftenāheās pretty good at keeping himself uprightāso when he does, itās a long night.Ā
IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ?
Yes, but, uh, Ezra does not have a particularly great sense of self-preservation, so do with that as you will.
WHATāS YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEYāRE IN LOVE ?
Soft, relaxed, and open. But also very careful, with what he says and does. He tends to be nervous about āmessing upā, and what his partner will think of him, how things might end. His thoughts arenāt a great place for him to be in, but when heās pulled out of it (and the people he falls in love with tend to be very good at keeping him out of his head), heās loving and affectionate and sweet.Ā
the first rule of detective fiction is that the detective in question should ALWAYS just be the nosiest person alive and never be a cop
hevoyeursā:
Ezra lets him talk. He always has, and it makes Danny wonder if he always will ā how long this will go on for, or if itāll end here, late on a Thursday afternoon. The thought sends a chill of pleasure up his spine. If one of them dies here, if one of them doesnāt get to continue their story ā ⦠The thought is too thrilling to dwell on, so he tucks it away to savour later.
Ezra always lets him talk, right up until the point where he doesnāt. Guess, Ezra says, and leaves Danny with the cheerful little tone that says heās been hung up on. Again. Rage bubbles in his gut, lashing upwards in flames that lick his ribs, and he hits redial before he even knows whatās happening. The bastard turned off his fucking phone. He hung up on Danny and turned off his god damn phone.
How can one man make him feel so much? From fury to pleasure and anticipation, to that one little needle of fear that sticks in him, Ezraās range is remarkable.
Guess, Ezra says, and Dannyās eyes roll towards the ceiling, listening for footsteps he knows he wonāt hear. Ezraās here. He has to be. And heās waiting for Danny.
The hand on his thigh crawls higher, fingertips dragging up Dannyās stomach and his chest to his neck to feel the pulse, holding his throat loosely like heās thinking of squeezing but hasnāt quite made up his mind yet. He stays like that a moment, eyes moving over the ceiling like he can see through it, and then his hand drops to the arm of his chair where the Ghostface mask rests. Heās partially dressed, and thereās no time to be as prepared as heād like ā too many belts and buckles, Ezra would be on him before Danny could get ready for him (and what a thrill it is, to be the one caught by surprise for a change) ā but heās sure as hell not going to give Ezra anything for free.
Danny pulls the mask on slowly, exhaling into it as he drags his fingers down the clammy plastic. The cloak is on the back of his chair, and Danny drapes it over his shoulders and clasps it across his chest when he stands, finishing by sliding his favourite hunting knife into the sheathe on his thigh.
Itās not perfect, but itāll have to do.
Then, Danny crosses to the door, pushing it open and letting it click into place behind him, the lock mechanism activating automatically. If Ezra wants in, heās going to have to work a little harder. Then, Danny creeps further into his house, ears pricked and the back of his neck tingling.
ā§ ā The phone rings on the bed behind him, and it makes him smileāa quick, pinched smile that no one, not even Danny, could ever see. Itās here and gone in an instant, but itās that smile thatās brought him this far. Danny loves to talk, and Ezra loves to deny him that pleasure.Ā
Ā Ā Ā But by the time heās out in the hallway, heās focused again. He takes the safety off his revolver, and the feeling of the cold metal, knowing that he has six shots ready to go, makes him tense. But thatās not going to help his aim. It doesnāt help the resolve that heās trying to find. Heāll kill the Ghostface tonight. Heāll kill Danny tonight.Ā
Ā Ā Ā What else could he do? Heās got no interest in the police. Danny would be gone before the cars even pulled up to this house. And if, by some lucky chance, they manage to cuff him and slam him behind bars, the stories that Danny could tell about Ezra, the journalists and podcasters and true crime fetishists that would prod for more informationāEzra doesnāt want any of that. Heāll finish this with no fanfare, no photos, no story.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ezraās always been calm in situations like this. Heās been told itās an asset of his; even in the belly of the beast, he can find a place to hide. He can find a way out. He didnāt feel any fear walking into Roseville, brushing against the Ghostface for the first time. Even when the knife was coming down, Ezra never felt that leap of fear in his chest.Ā
Ā Ā Ā So why does he feel it now? As he walks through the cold hallways, he feels his heart pick up. He feels pinpricks on the back of his neck, and looks behind him. Just a hallway. He breathes in for eight seconds, out for eight seconds. His mother taught him thatāshe probably wouldnāt like that heās using it in this situation.Ā
Ā Ā Ā He finds the staircase, overlooking into the foyer. He knows thereās no point in trying to listen; they have that silence in common. But the Ghostface is just quiet, not invisible, and when the black robes creep into view, Ezra feels his fingers tighten around the revolver. He knows he doesnāt have much time before Danny looks behind him.Ā
Ā Ā Ā But he wonāt lift his arm and take aim. Instead, he leans against the bannister and whistles, sharp and commanding. And when heās got the Ghostfaceās attention, he only offers a cocky raise of his eyebrows before he darts away into the hallway.Ā
someone should nickname ezraĀ āsunflowerā. as a treat. for me only.

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[ fragrance ] :flushedsit:
ā§ ā He flinches first when Danny puts his fingers on his neck. It was only yesterday when one of the Legion put a blade through Ezra's neck, and if he thinks too long about it, he can suddenly see the smiling mask and feel the wet blade through his windpipe, over and over again. And just because it's Danny doesn't necessarily make it better. Ezra exhales, trying to keep his body relaxed, not taut and ready to run, the way it always is during trials. He blinks, and his eyes almost want to stay closed, just to let Danny continue however he may like.
He isn't safe anywhere in this realm, not even outside of trials, and not inside Danny's shitty little home here. He's tried to make some cozy where he can: he's conjured up some lights to hover in the corners of the old shack, so they provide some lowlight glow for the both of them. There's something familiar about a place like this: maybe the old television and the scattered tapes, and the cologne that Ezra first smelled in the coats hanging from a Roseville family's closet, minutes before hearing the scream.
The cologne makes Danny's fingers warm and damp against the pulse of Ezra's neck, and he feels the shiver travel down his spine, painful and warm. Ezra is so still and so careful, with only his eyes, dark and tired, watching Danny. He does not move until Danny starts to move his hand away, and that's when Ezra catches him, with a decisive grab, almost like Danny's in trouble.
"It's not going to be good," Ezra mutters, "if I go back to the others smelling like you." He runs his fingers down the back of Danny's hand; in just this time in the realm alone, he's found himself so comfortable in the dips and grooves of Danny's hands, and maybe the rest of him, too.
Ezra touches down Danny's wrist, then up his arm and across his back. He finds one of the tassels hanging from the back of the Ghostface costume, and he runs his fingers down the length of it. He twirls the tassel around, fidgets with it, leans closer to Danny, just inches from his face.
"What are you doing to me?" he asks softly, with no accusation, no resistance. He kisses the corner of Danny's mouth, then the other, with a soft tsk. "Damn."
"Ah-ah-ah," the Ghostface's voice is teasing and light over the phone, like they're just having a pleasant afternoon chat. "We're gonna play a little game instead, Ezra. It's called: you try and find me ā and right now, you're very, very cold."
ā§ ā He'd found Anabel Morgan dead in the kitchen. His tracking was correct; he was able to read the Ghostface's clues and trace the aim of his knife. But he was just too slow to the draw. He was only able to catch her husband's grief-stricken yell when he came home. Ezra hid behind a door and tried to steel his own regret.
And now he doesn't know where Mr. Morgan is. He has to assume he's still alive: Ghostface is theatrical. He'd make sure Ezra sees. His hand is tight around the cell phone, and he's half the mind to throw it down the stairwell. But that's not how this works. Ezra knows that will only make the night bloodier.
He grits his teeth, and his anger stews in his silence. He doesn't want to be clever. He doesn't want to play. He finds a closet and throws the door open, ready to shoot, but it's just boxes and coats. He shuts it with a loud slam and regrets the way it rings through the house, shakes the walls. His work has always been quiet. Not a sound, not a trace. But now a schoolteacher's been fucking stabbed, and he knows it's his own fault for bringing the Ghostface here to Los Angeles.
He bites back his instincts. That anger's threatening to demand Mr. Morgan's location or curse down the phone at Ghostface. But that, too, is not how this works. He takes a deep breath and turns around, looking down the long hallway. All those fucking closed doors. He'd shoot through all of them if he was certain that Mr. Morgan wasn't behind one of them, but he isn't certain, and he doesn't try.
He cautiously steps forward, and he feels a shiver on the back of his neck, like he's being watched. He dares to look behind him, and he sees nothing. He opens another door, ready to shootāit's just a bathroom. He flicks the lights on. Not even a silhouette behind the shower curtain.
He's really starting to think he needs better hobbies. Ezra steps back into the hallway. "Warmer yet?" he asks with a scathing venom.
without fail this song always makes me think of ezra dianthe noir film opening
ā§ ā plotting/starter call?Ā
ā§ ā plotting/starter call?Ā

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Prior to becoming a cleric of the Morninglord, Ezra worked several other jobs. As a teenager, he helped his mother run her store (an alchemy shop in his main verse, and a witchy crystal/herb/tea shop in modern verses). He was not very good at it, but it was mostly for her to keep an eye on him and give him a place to hang out after school. After he graduated high school, he worked days as a cornerstore clerk and nights as a dishwasher. It was enough to make ends meet, but Ezra scarcely remembers that period of time, thanks to drugs and depression.Ā
Joining the church (and carrying out some of their seedier tasks) also gave him the biggest paychecks heād ever seen in his life. With a sudden wealth that he didnāt know what to do with, Ezra saved most of it. He still lives well below his means, especially since those means arenāt exactly above-board. But while he remains frugal, he likes to splurge on some nicer things. His first big (and a little impulsive) purchase was a 1960s Pontiac. He doesnāt mind spending a little more money on soft blankets, leather shoes, cologne, fresh produce, sketchbooks with nice thick pages. Not exactly the definition of luxury for most people, but Ezra doesnāt take his money for granted.
ā§ ā He cuts a mooncake in quarters and takes his portion. Help yourself! Happy Lunar New Year!