#they called me jed though...

[kydrogendragon]

"And here we go, Robert Gadling gets ready for his third shot at the pole vault tonight," the announcers call out. Robyn and Orpheus sit on the couch at the Walker's, eyes glued to the television set. Rose, Jed, and Lyta crowd around the living room along with Lucienne and Jessamy and Matthew and even Jo and Rachel. Everyone had come over for the watch party.

"And here he goes. He needs to beat Sam Kendricks's score by at least three tenths if he wants to get a spot on that podium tonight. When we saw him back in Tokyo, he earned himself a silver medal. Let's see if he can earn himself a gold tonight."

Robyn leans closer. He grips the edge of the couch, eyes wide as his father takes a breath and races forward, pole in hand.

"And here he goes! Strong start there, good grip on that pole. Distance is looking good, maybe a bit short and oh!"

Their dad plants the pole down and thrusts himself up, up, up! He curves around the upper bar and...he hits it. He comes falling down, pole and bar alike as he crashes down onto the mat. Robyn deflates.

"Oh. Oh dear. I—" the announcer laughs. "Well, that's just unfortunate. Let's play that back. So you can see here—" the footage pauses as their dad's feet just begin to tip over the upper bar. "—he's got plenty of room here, lots of space up above. Robert is known for his strength and his ability to get good vertical height above that bar. But as he comes down—" the footage continues in slow motion. Their dad curls over the other side of the bar like they've seen him do hundreds of times before. It slows down until it stops right when he hits the bar. Matthew squacks.

"Oh my god!" Rose laughs.

"Oh, he is never living this down," Aunt Jo pipes off.

"So you can—" Even the announcer laughs again. "You can see where he hits the bar. And it's-it's really unfortunate because everything else about this vault was nearly perfect. But it looks like his, uh. Well. His lower half got a bit in the way there."

The camera cuts to their dad standing up from the mat, wincing as he gets to his feet. And then it cuts to Papa in the stands. He's doubled over, whole body shaking, and Robyn knows immediately that he's cracking up.

"Did dad really just hit the bar with his dick?" Robyn asks.

"Robyn!" Lyta cries.

"What! That's what happened, right?"

Jessamy chuckles before patting his head. "Yes, starling. Make sure to tease him about it tonight, okay?"

"There's definitely worse problems to have in life," Matthew laughs.

"Well, I can see now why Dream married him," Lucienne says.

"Please stop talking, I don't want to think about my cousin's junk, please and thank you," chimes Jo.

Orpheus turns to Robyn, frowning. "Dad's not getting a medal, huh?"

Robyn sighs. "No. I don't think so. Maybe in one of the other events, though."

"Hm. That's true."

The camera cuts to their dad, where he's standing at the stands in front of their papa. Dream's face is red from laughter, and even now, he's still giggling. Hob's laughing now, too, pressing a kiss to his lips. Hob whispers something to Dream, who bursts out laughing once more.

"Well, at least he seems to be in good spirits," the commentator says.

"As does his husband," the other chimes.

"Unfortunately for team GB, we won't be seeing any medals out of this event. Let's head over to the Men's Vault now."

"I cannot believe this is how you will be remembered, husband mine," Dream says, running his hand down Hob's chest. They're back at his hotel room, away from the villa for the night, much to Hob's pleasure. Those beds sucked.

"Don't remind me. My damn dick still hurts from that thing. I can't believe that happened. Christ." Dream chuckles, pressing a kiss to his jaw

"Well. Now everyone will know just how...well endowed you are. And how lucky I am to call you mine."

Hob shakes his head with a smile. "Guess you're the real winner from all this, aren't you?"

"If I have you? Then I always am."

Hob wakes up to exactly 46 messages from friends and family and co-workers alike, all commenting on his "performance" last night. Half sent him links to various articles, all labeled something along the lines of "Olympic Athlete Betrayed by his Penis."

Dream nearly pulls a stomach muscle from laughing so hard.

[trick-or-fucking-treat]

The Knife in You Brings Out the Life in Me - Danny Johnson x Reader

Masterlist

Prologue ~

Summary:

Y/n was never close with her cousin Billy and hadn’t seen him in years, but when he shows up at her roadside home, running from the law and with a Stu on his arm, she figures it’s best to let him stay. He wouldn’t.. gut her? Right? Best not take any chances! The real kicker, however, is when their inspiration - the real and original Ghostface - shows up. She has less faith he’ll let her live if she isn’t careful.

"How could this happen? Am I dreaming again? Her body's not moving I'm assuming she's dead"

- The Greatest Story Ever Told, Ice Nine Kills

———

"Fuck, Billy! What'd we do now?" Stu stressed, knife in hand, gesturing wildly.

"Well... our face is on every news station, too many people around here know who we are." Like Stu, Billy still wore his shitty dollar store Ghostface costume, albeit their masks were tossed off to the side. Both were covered in blood, Billy slightly more so, and Billy was trying to keep his cool while Stu made every effort to panic.

"Ok, so.. we need to lie low?"

"Exactly. I have a rich cousin who doesn't live far from here, but still pretty out of the way. She's a recluse, we won't be bothered there... assuming she'll take us in."

After pulling off their first couple murders scot free, Billy and Stu decided they couldn't let the thrill go. Of course it was going to bite them in the ass eventually, but how were they supposed to know karma is a cold hearted bitch? Welp! They sure do now...

Their latest victim managed to get away, and while she didn't see their faces, she was damn sure she knew the killers. The two slash happy teens had taken a hit at another one of their classmates who they weren't too fond of, and they got cocky. Gave a hint hint, wink wink, at who they were behind the masks to scare the poor victim into thinking she was going to get her guts spilled by the guys who sit across the classroom to her in chemistry. It's all part of the thrill!

Except this time the bitch got away and ran to the police.

Stu was quiet for a moment before another thought occurred to him. "What about... you know who..? How will he find us if we drop off the map?"

"For all we know Danny's watching us right now! He's probably laughing about us fucking up.. he'll find us or he won't, that's up to him. Right now we need to get out of dodge."

———

Danny Johnson. The original Ghostface. Billy and Stu thought they were funny copycatting such a famous psycho. He was their role model of sorts.

Things changed when good ol' Jed Olsen started being pally with Billy and Stu, though. He was older. Sort of came out of nowhere. Knew things he shouldn't have known.

At first the pair were worried he knew what they were up to and just needed confirmation before going to the police, but Jed seemed to find it more funny than anything. He had this energy about him that made them cautious.

One night they were getting ready to start stalking another future victim (Miss run-away-and-blab-to-the-police funnily enough) when they got a phone call.

"Do you like scary movies?" The familiar staticky voice had spoken. "Who am I kidding? Of course you do! Why else would you both be starring in one? The question is... are you really the predators? Or are you actually... the prey?" The line had gone dead a moment later.

But when they shared a slightly concerned glance and decided to continue to leave for their midnight hobby, they opened the door to see a matching - though much more pristine mask  - staring back at them.

The Ghostface at the door didn't wear a cheap, scraggly, dollar store Halloween costume like Billy and Stu. He wore thick, black, sturdy material with straps and combat boots. Ohhh fuuuuuck... this guy is serious.

Danny gave them a good scare and let them fear for their lives for a while. Danny's a better killer than them. More experienced. More ruthless, and far more premeditated. But despite planning on killing them at first (they stole his entire thing, they couldn't get away with it, Danny had been planning this for a while) in the moment, he saw potential in them. Also they were a good laugh.

From then on, Danny took them under his wing and turned up when he felt like it to guide them in stalking and nurture their talent for murder.

Danny wasn't typically the kind of guy to help out other killers, especially ones who steal his likeness, but these guys had the same raw psychopathy that Danny sees in himself. And also, what the hell, he gets bored, they buy him free meals, they treat him like a god, what's not love!

And so Billy and Stu met their hero and dedicated their time to someday be as great as him. (Danny knew they'd never live up to him, he can always kill 'em when they get boring).

But now they've fucked up. Their victim got away. Danny's laughing and hiding in a bush somewhere vowing to never let them live it down. And Billy and Stu are hitching a ride to Billy's cousins place, hoping y/n will look past the blood and murder and let them crash for a little while.

———

A/N: ok this is the prologue for my new fic! Now I know I've written fuck all in a long time, and I apologise to anyone who's been waiting on updates to my other fics if you've read any, but I've got to go where the inspiration takes me!

I hope you enjoyed this little intro and please leave a comment if you have any ideas!

Have a great day/night,

~ trick-or-fucking-treat

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Morpheus has had time to adjust to life after his imprisonment. Reunited with his friend, and of course his wife, he focused on his kingdom. However, a new element comes into play. A Vortex. Rose may just be what he needs to find his missing residents.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Angst.

Chapter Nine - Dreams

☆☆☆

"My lord, can I help?" Lucienne asks, walking down the aisle of books in the library. You were sat at one of the tables, writing something down. Morpheus was going through some books beside you.

"Is this everything we have on Rose Walker?"

"And Jed Walker. But I shouldn't think there's anything in those you don't ready know," Lucienne says. She glances at you as she comes to stop between you and Morpheus. "Except perhaps-"

"Except perhaps why she was able to wander into my throne room," Morpheus says. "What do you think? Why did Gault target her brother and not her?"

"Did you read about Unity Kincaid?" Lucienne asks. "The day you were imprisoned, there were people all over the world who fell asleep and could not wake up."

Morpheus looks at you. You drop your gaze. He still feels guilty for that, even though it wasn't his fault.

"Unity Kincaid is the sole survivor of what they called the 'sleepy sickness.' The day you returned, she woke up."

You knew Lucienne meant the only mortal who survived. There would be no record of you among them.

"Rose Walker is her great-dranddaughter."

"Which would seem to suggest that my absence caused the birth of a vortex." Morpheus says.

"Is that not a possibility?"

"Vortexes are naturally occurring phenomena," he tells her. "No one knows why they happen. Not even I know. But I do know they are not caused or created. They simply happen."

You glance up at Dream.

"Then this is all a coincidence? And not an imminent threat?" Lucienne asks.

"My instinct says no, but tonight when Rkse Walker sleeps, I shall see it more clearly. May I?" He asks, taking a book with him.

He doesn't even glance at you as he leaves. You sigh and continue writing. Lucienne looks at you. She wants to say something, but doesn't. She leaves you be.

☆☆☆

You're sitting on the steps of the throne room, you book in your hands. You've finished bringing it up to date. You read over the last entry.

Morpheus had requested you write down your dreams. He wanted them recorded so he may use them if need be. You're not sure what he could do with them. Residents of the Dreaming did not dream themselves. They are the dreams of others.

Tonight, Morpheus would be going to Rose in her dreams to help her locate her brother. He wasn't going to take you with him.

For the first time since you woke, Morpheus was not going to let you come with him to help. He wanted you to simply wait for him.

Footsteps sound down the hall. You look up to find your husband crossing the room toward you.

"I wondered where you had gone."

"I'm here," you reply softly, closing the book.

"Are you done?"

"For now." You hold it out. Morpheus reaches for the book and takes it. He tucks it under his arm, not even glancing at it. His blue eyes do not leave you.

"Will you wait here for me?" He asks.

"That's the idea..."

"You do not sound pleased. Have I done something wrong?"

"No..."

He stares at you. You can see the minor changes in his expression. His brows twitch together slightly. His lips press harder against one another.

"You haven't," you assured him. "Is there nothing I can do to help?"

"I told you-"

"Yes, I know." You cut him off. "I'm helping mkre than I know. It just doesn't feel like it."

A moment of silence passes. Morpheus then sighs softly. "I am sorry I have no other role for you right now. All I ask is that you wait for me."

"Yes... I know."

Nothing else can be said. Morpheus closes the distance between you both and holds his hand out. You reach out and take it, feeling his hand close around yours. He pulls you up to you feet and then brings you closer.

"I love you so much. Do not doubt that."

"I do not."

He looks at you. You can see the want in his eyes. You lean forward and kiss him softly.

"I shall read your dreams when I return."

"Okay..."

Morpheus leans forward and kisses your forehead. He then lets go of you and walks away. You know he is a job to do, but it doesn't make you feel any better.

You still feel hopeless.

☆☆☆

Morpheus goes with Rose through the dreams of her friends. She needs to search for Jed. Normally, he would want you with him, but he couldn't help feeling like you needed rest. Your sudden ability to dream had him worried.

They arrive on a street. A street familiar to Rose. This is where she once lived with her brother, before they were separated.

This is where they found him.

Gault was with him. She had manipulated his dreams to give him good ones. In these dreams, he was The Sandman, a superhero who went out to protect and help.

Morpheus found this amusing.

Rose had managed to get information out of him. The couple who took him in. The rest she would have to figure out on her own. Gault went back to the Dreaming, and Jed woke up.

This was better than nothing. Rose at least had something to go on.

Morpheus just wanted to return to you now and see how you were. He wanted to read about your dreams.

☆☆☆

While Morpheus was gone, you had gone to the Waking. You did not tell Lucienne. She would assume you were resting or working you only intended to be gone for a short while, just while Morpheus was travelling the Dremaing with Rose.

Hob waited for you. He smiled when he saw you approach. He was excited to hear from you, but when he heard how desperate you were to talk to someone, he was eager to help. He knew what you needed.

"Talk to me."

You look at him and think for a moment. You knew Morpheus would be upset if he discovered you and snuck off on your own. You knew how much he worried about you.

"I'm afraid, Hob."

Robert says nothing as he watches you. He sits up a little straighter.

"I've been having dreams. Dreams of things that so far have happened. I fear I've seen something in the future that I cannot change."

"Ahat do you mean?" He asks softly.

You look at him.

"I fear someone is going to get hurt, and it will ruin someone's life. There's this girl who has a gift, and I fear it will result in something terrible happening. I fear my future."

Hob doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry I called on you."

"Don't be sorry." He sighs softly. "Have you told him?"

"Not everything..."

Hob frowns. "You need to be honest and lay down all your fears on the table. It's the only way you can move forward. Especially with him. He adores you, you know? I've seen it in the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, and the way he talks to you. Don't shut him out."

"I know..."

"You're always welcome to come talk to me," Hob assures you. "We're friends."

You smile softly. You sense that Morpheus has returned to the palace. You stand. "I must go."

"Remember, be honest." Hob tells you.

You nod and bid him farewell. You return home.

☆☆☆

Morpheus sits on the throne reading your book. He is reading about your dreams. He brows knit together as he absorbs the words. Something feels like it's missing. Like you're not being honest in some ways.

But why would you ever lie to him?

He hears you enter the room and looks up. His eyes meet yours.

"Your dreams... something is missing."

"I know." You tell him. "I've come to be honest. Did you find Jed?"

"We found his dream."

"Good. I... I have more dreams to tell you."

Morpheus closes the book and beckons you closer. He wants to hold you. You do not move. He frowns.

"Tell me."

You sigh and look up.

"Are you going to hurt someone?" You ask him.

He stares at you.

"Where is Gault?"

"Behind you," he says firmly. You turn and see the nightmare looking at you. You swallow nervously.

"Why did you ask me that?"Morpheus asks.

"I-"

Lucienne enters.

"Do you have any idea what his life is like in the waking world?" Gault asks.

That shiver runs down your spine.

"Humans cannot live in dreams. As long as je stayed there, the child had no life nor the chance for one."

"The boy is abused."

You look up at Gault. The horror of the situation deep in your eyes.

"He's suffering," she tells Morpheus.

"You abused that suffering to build a Dreaming you could rule."

"I had no wish to rule," she states. "I merely wished to be a Dream and not a Nightmare. To inspire rather then to frighten."

"The choice is not yours to make. Qe not choose to be created," Morpheus says. "Nor do we choose how we are made."

"That is true. But we can change."

"No. We are, each of us, born with responsibilities. Even I am not free to choose to be other than I am. Nor is anyone."

You find yourself looking down at the floor.

"If that were true, why did all the other Dreams and Nightmares choose to leave this place when you had gone away?" Gault asks.

"Not all of us chose to leave and nearly all have returned," Lucienne tells her.

"Do you think they came back out of love?" Gault asks her. "Or because they were afraid of what you would do to them if they did not?" Gault looks at Morpheus. "Because I'm not afraid."

"You should be," Dream tells her.

You find it almost hard to breathe as you look at him. Your darling Morpheus wasn't anywhere to be seen. This was the man he was before he ever met you.

Your dreams are coming true.

"A Nightmare's purpose is to reveal a dreamer's fears, that they may face them." Morpheus shadow began to the descend the stairs.

You forced yourself not to look.

"Perhaps a few thousand years in the darkness will reveal your fears."

Gault began to disintegrate into the darkness slowly. "Better that than to make other afraid," she says to him. "Even a Nightmare can dream, my lord."

She goes completely.

You sharply intake a deep breath. Your vision is turning blurry. You move to wipe your eyes quickly.

"You feel her punishment was unjust?" He asks, but you're not sure if he is asking you or Lucienne. Lucienne answers regardless.

"I used to be something else. Before you made me your librarian. We all change, sir. Even you, perhaps. One day."

"Lucienne, I realise that in my absence, you were compelled to make decisions in my stead, and I am grateful to you. But I am back now. You may return to the library."

Lucienne leaves.

You stand there quietly as she goes. You can feel his eyes on you. Neither of you speak until Lucienne is gone completely.

"You asked me if I was going to hurt someone. Is this what you meant?" He asks.

You shake your head.

"Tell me. What did you mean?"

You take a deep breath and look up at him. Your tears were falling. "I think it's me you hurt..."

He looks at you with concern. "You?"

You sniffle softly. "Gault was trying to protect the boy."

"By having him live his best life in a dream. That's not living."

"She was protecting him from his realty."

Morpheus looks at you. "You left the Dreaming while I was gone. Why?"

"How did you...?"

"Why?" He asks again.

"To see Hob."

"Hob? What for?"

You look back at him. "I'm afraid."

He frowns. He doesn't like that. You have no reason to be afraid because he will always look after you.

"Talk to me," he pleads.

"I dreamt you were going to hurt someone, and it came true. I just didn't think it would be me you hurt."

"I do not understand."

You cry softly. Morpheus steps down from the stairs and comes to stand before you. He reaches out to hold you. You let him. He pulls you into his chest and simply holds you against his body.

"I hurt you?"

"You defied Gault her dream."

"She is what I made her to be."

"People change."

"We don't," he says.

"I have. You certainly have."

He goes quiet. You breathe softly in his ear.

"How can I fix your pain?" He asks softly.

You remain quiet for a while and then look up at him. You meet his eyes and hold his gaze firmly.

"You can't."

His expression falls. You free yourself from his grasp and slowly walk away, though it pains you to do so. You need time to think, to figure things out. You needed to make sense of your dreams.

☆☆☆

You walk into the library and pick up some books. You sit down at one of the tables and start sorting through them. Lucienne watches you from where she sits nearby. She watches you open a book and skim through its pages, seemingly searching for something.

Matthew returns from the waking world with news. He perches near Lucienne, but sees you reading hard.

"What's up with her?"

"I don't know," Lucienne replies.

"Anyway, I don't know how she did it, but Rose just got Lyta pregnant."

You look up from your book and stare at the raven.

"What?" Lucienne puts down her quill.

"Apparently, it happened in her dream, and when Lyta woke up-"

"She was still pregnant."

"Very much so."

You look at Lucienne. "Then it's starting?" You ask. She nods at you.

"Rose is weakening the walls between the realms."

"You gonna tell the boss?" Matthew asks.

"No."

"No?"

"It's none of my business." Lucienne adds.

You look down at the book in front of you. You were trying to find answers to your dreams, but you wonder if Rose is simply the answer to them. Now, all you can think about is Morpheus. You feel guilty for walking away like you did.

"Uh, since when?" Matthew asks, bringing your attention back to the conversation.

"Since Lord Morpheus reminded me that I'm merely a librarian and should concern myself with my books from now on."

You look at her. She looks at you.

"He said that?" Matthew asks. "What is wrong with him?"

"Nothing is wrong with him," you say. "He's always been like that. Deep down."

"But he's so sweet with you."

"He's determined to deal with the vortex and the missing Arcana by himself," you say. "Without anyone's help. Not even mine."

Lucienne and Matthew look at you.

"Any news must be reported directly and exclusively to him," Lucienne says after a moment.

"Okay. But can I keep you in the loop?" Matthew asks.

"You'd better not. In his majesty's current mood, he could banish us to the Darkness. As he did, Gault."

"I won't let him," you say, looking at her. Lucienne smiles slightly at you.

"All right, fine. I'll go back to spying on Rose. But you should both make up with him."

"I should make up with him?" Lucienne asks.

"Yes. Now is not the time to be fighting. That goes for you too, my lady," Matthew says, looking at you.

You sigh as you look down again.

"Please?" Matthew begs.

"I'll... talk to him."

"What did he do to you anyway?" The raven asks.

"It's what he's going to do..."

Both Matthew and Lucienne look at you and then at each other. You sigh softly again.

You don't tell them any more.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines - @mouth-whore -

[novelmonger]

Continuing to watch through the Writer/Director commentary of LotR (with Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh) and jotting down any new-to-me information I come across. Here's what I gleaned from TTT:

When they got the New Line logo to put on the movies, it was very old and scratched, so PJ gave it to Weta to touch it up. They joked about how they should bill New Line for it XD

Originally, the studio wanted TTT to start off with a prologue too, with Cate Blanchett narrating what sounds like it was basically going to be a "Previously on..." spiel, even though they didn't like the idea of the prologue in the first one. Thankfully, these three ignored the studio's advice both times XD

The Uruk who says "Manflesh" is also the guy in Sauron's armor in the prologue!

In the scene where the Rohirrim find Theodred, it's not actually raining! They used rain towers for the close-ups, but any wide shots just have CG rain. I would never have guessed!

Andy Serkis did the voices for the Uruk-Hai who says the "maggoty bread" line, and the orc who says, "Yeah, why can't we have some meat?" (The actor in the suit for the latter is, of course, Jed Brophy, who went on to play Nori in the Hobbit movies.)

Somehow it never registered for me that Orlando Bloom has brown eyes, and so he had to wear blue contacts when he played Legolas ^^' But sometimes he wasn't able to wear the contacts (or forgot), so there are some scenes where they had to fix it in post.

PJ called the Treebeard from the animated Bakshi movie "a walking carrot" XD He also said that Treebeard is his favorite character!

The scene with Smeagol killing Deagol was originally going to be a flashback right after Frodo says his name, and then the Nazgul shriek would pull the audience out of the flashback. They decided not to do that for pacing reasons and because we haven't spent much time with Gollum yet, so that's why they put it at the beginning of RotK instead.

Bernard Hill had his son with him on the shoot and would play with him in his downtime on the Edoras set. Puts things into perspective when you hear that he was the one who came up with the line "No parent should have to bury their child."

They were originally looking at Bernard Hill for Gandalf! (I feel like I've probably heard this before, but anyway.)

They filmed a flashback to Aragorn and Arwen's first meeting?! Viggo shaved to make himself look younger, and it was a scene of the two of them "frolicking about the forest." It was originally going to be put in the Lothlorien sequence, but they cut it out in favor of that scene between Aragorn and Boromir, because they decided it was more important to earn Boromir's death scene than to remind the audience of the romance. I agree with that decision, but it would be cool to see that footage! (I say as someone who prefers to skip the TTT Aragorn/Arwen scene entirely XD)

Originally, the warg battle was going to happen at Edoras itself. It was going to be at night, everything was going to be on fire, and ultimately that was going to be the reason everyone evacuated and went to Helm's Deep. Also, a warg was going to be set on fire and end up dragging Aragorn through the streets, and that was going to be how Aragorn would be left for dead. Ultimately, the reason they did it the way they did was because the studio wasn't sure Weta could do a flaming warg (something all three of them laughed about, considering everything Weta did manage to do with flying colors), and because it would have been a nightmare to light the Edoras set at night, because that location was so remote and so windy. Which is why every scene in Edoras takes place in the daytime!

In the scene where Faramir talks about his dream where he saw Boromir in the boat, you can see a sort of pinkish color in the water around Boromir's body. That's because the dye from his shirt (surcoat? idk) was leaking out into the water! XD

When Andy Serkis did ADR for the Forbidden Pool scene, he couldn't manage to sing the song off-key, so they had to use the audio from the motion capture footage XD

They shot some additional footage of Aragorn unconscious on Brego's back, riding past an orc encampment, that they never ended up using.

Theoden was originally going to give a speech to the soldiers in the armory, but Bernard Hill's performance was so inspiring that it defused most of the tension they were trying to build up before the battle, so they took it out. Would love to see that footage!

So the boy Aragorn encourages before the battle ("There is always hope.") was Philippa Boyens' son, who was 13 when they filmed the scene. But by the time they went to do ADR, his voice had broken, so they had to get a different child actor to say his lines.

Aww, the extra who was missing an eye said he always felt self-conscious about his missing eye, so he always wore an eyepatch. But then after they gave him a close-up and the guy saw the movie, he said he felt much better about his appearance! :')

Treebeard's line "I always like going south; it feels like going downhill" was ad-libbed!

When Saruman turns and reacts to all the water pouring in and washing his machinery away, that shot was actually a reaction shot to Wormtongue on top of the tower from the RotK movie that they repurposed for this scene instead, since they hadn't shot any reactions to the flood.

At least at the time of the recording of this audio commentary, the final shot of Gollum, where he's arguing with himself and ultimately decides to lead Frodo and Sam to Shelob, was the longest CG shot in any movie. (I tried to google what the current record is, but couldn't find anything, so if anyone knows, I'd love to hear about it!)

Fran Walsh: "All cinema storytelling, to a degree, is shallow. That's the nature of the medium. You've got two or three hours to present a world and a dense story with a hundred themes and a ton of backstory, in this instance, and 22 characters...so you can only really have the veneer of depth. You really can't have anything that comes close to the depth of the books, or the experience of the books. So I think what we attempted to do was to use the language of the books where we could and to certainly invoke them, the iconic images, where we could, but to keep the storytelling very much...to modernize it, if you like, in terms of cinema language. So we didn't, for example, use the style of storytelling that was in the books between these different after-the-fact storytelling, of Sam and Frodo and then a chunk of the Aragorn story. We completely undercut it. That was a far more immediate and engaging way to connect it to the audience. You can't really hope to satisfy people who adore this book, with the movie. You can only ever give them the sense of what might have been. That's all a film can do. I think, in that sense, films...I mean, they're entertainments. They're just not going to give you the pleasure that a book can give you."

[metal-and-machetes]

The Downward Spiral

—

Jed Olsen isn’t who he says he is.

Ghostface has a thing for the young reporter.

Danny Johnson always takes what he wants.

—

This is a dark Ghostface DBD fanfiction. Content warning:

Stalking

Torture

Sexual violence

Knifeplay

Dubcon/Noncon

Blood kink

Graphic descriptions of violence

A very mean Danny Johnson

Some wound fingering

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. If the above are triggers for you, do not proceed. DBD lore does not suggest Danny is fun or nice, I wrote him as such.

Originally posted on my AO3

—

Listen, I’m not going out tonight. I’m already in my pajamas and I’m just not in the mood.”

“Oh c’mon! Look, I know you’re bummed about your boyfriend breaking up with you, but I really think a girls’ night would do you good!” You sighed. Cass had good intentions, she was just trying to help, but you were just not in the mood tonight.

“It’s not just that. I still think that call was out of character for him. He just sounded… something wasn’t right.” You sighed. “He sounded scared…”

“Need I remind you that he’s the same man who made you cry, on like, multiple occasions. He was a piece of shit, babe. He really isn’t worth your time, he’s not worth any woman’s time.”

She was right. He wasn’t very nice to you. He blew you off, he was always late picking you up for dates, and he was just a jackass. Still though, something just felt off about his message. And then he just… vanished.

“Hellooooo?”

“Sorry, sorry. Hey, and not only that, what about the curfew? Roseville PD will be crashing parties, and I don’t think an office party is an exception.”

Cass huffed. “We’re the newspaper. I don’t think they’ll shut us down. You know Jed’s supposed to be here too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Jed Olsen. He showed up a few months ago with a stacked portfolio and a ‘winning attitude’ according to the editor in chief. Jed Olsen with his confident smile. Jed Olsen with his dark hair and deep brown eyes. Jed Olsen with the entire office head over heels for him. You weren’t any different. Jed was nice to you, if not a little flirty, Cass pointed out that he seems to hang around your desk and chat with you the most. Jed was, in every way, miles better than your ex boyfriend.

“Tell him I said hi.” You replied. “I’m not leaving my house tonight.”

Cass sighed, defeated that her master plan didn’t get you to leap into your car and speed off to the party. “Okay, we’ll miss you tonight.”

“Have fun, let me know when you get back home.”

The line cut out after you exchanged goodbye and you were once again left in silence. You opened the microwave and tossed a bag of popcorn in, leaning against the counter as the machine heated the snack up and you went through the mail. Junk, junk, junk, bill, bill, coupon. You paused when you got to the Roseville Gazette.

TWO FOUND SLAIN IN ANOTHER HORRIFIC GHOSTFACE MURDER by Jed Olsen.

The screaming ghost mask stared back at you, taunting you, watching you. Jed’s career took off when the Ghostface killings began. The exclusive photos, taken by the murderer himself, certainly helped. But so did the interviews Jed conducted, you’ve seen them, he was so sympathetic and kind to the victims’ friends and family. And he wrote like a god. No one seemed to question how Jed’s ‘insider’ gets him the photos, you don’t think anyone even cares.

You tossed the paper aside and stopped the popcorn, dumping it in a bowl and making your way to the couch and pressing play on the video you rented tonight.

Twenty minutes into the video, the phone rings. You huff and press pause to pick up the line.

“Hello?”

“Hello there.” The voice was male, albeit a little mechanical, but it was over the phone.

“Um, who’s this?”

“Who do you want it to be?”

You scoffed. Seriously? A grown man prank calling? “Okay, you’re either some random man who picked my name out of a phonebook, or you’re one of his friends being a jackass.”

“Can’t say I know who that is, doll.”

“So you just call random numbers? Or did Cass give you my number?” You found a smile pulling at your lips, starting to have a bit of fun with the stranger. Who’s to stop you, really. “Can’t imagine that isn’t something she’d do.”

“What can I say? The curfew had me bored, must’ve dialed the wrong number, but I’m not complaining. What are you up to?” Fuck it. You’ll entertain this.

“Just watching a scary movie I picked up from the video store after work.”

“Oh really? What’s your favorite scary movie?” He inquired. I was practically blushed at the smoothness of his voice.

“Halloween. Personally, I think John Carpenter makes the best horror.”

“Well, he is the Master of Horror. So, you got a name, doll?” I laughed.

“What about your name, mystery man? You called me first.”

The voice chuckled on the other end. “Well, tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine.”

You jumped up onto the counter. “Why should I do that?” A giggle rose in your throat.

A pause.

“I wanna know who I’m looking at.”

Time seemed to freeze. Your heart rate picked up and your breathing became quicker. The giggle died and became bile rising. There was a roaring in your ears and you began to stammer in fear. “Wh-what did you just say?” You misunderstood him, you must have! No one would say that, and if they did, it was just a cruel joke.

“You heard me, sweetheart. I saw you reading the front page. Do you like my work? You’re talking to Roseville’s biggest celebrity.”

No fucking way…

“I’m calling-“

“The cops? They wouldn’t make it in time, they’d find you gutted and I’d be long gone by then, just pictures of me and your pretty corpse.” His voice changed, it wasn’t flirty or sexy anymore, it was downright terrifying. It was aggressive and harsh, no more seduction. He wasn’t toying anymore, he had begun his hunt. “The only thing calling the cops would stop is how long I plan on playing with you.”

“What the hell do you want?” You growled, flinching when a flash went off out of the corner of your eye from the small window above the sink, but when you looked at it, no one was there.

“Heh. Pretty picture. But, won’t you smile for me, doll? I’ll be sending these to the paper in the morning, I want you looking your best for the obituary they write for you.” Ghostface teased.

“Quit playing around, fucker!” You pulled a knife out of the drawer and crept out of the kitchen and into the living room. “C’mon, asshole. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

The man laughed on the other end of the call, tsking at you as if you were a fool. “Well… then it’s a good thing you left the garage door unlocked.”

The dial tone blared in your ear as he hung up, leaving you in silence, the only thing scoring your last few moment was the soundtrack of Halloween 2 playing quietly. You lowered the phone, gripping the knife as your fingers began to sweat. It was too quiet. You scoffed and began to dial 911, but before you could finish dialing, you were tackled by a large figure.

“Fuck!” You thrashed as the two of you wrestled, your foot connecting with his chest and shoving him off of you. You sat up and cursed as the soulless black eyes of Ghostface’s mask bore into you before grabbing the knife and swinging at him, just missing his hand. He tilted his head as you two circled the couch, his hunting knife at the ready like yours.

“You’ve got spirit, doll. I like a challenge. I like a little fight.” His voice was distorted by a modulator, sounding the exact same as the mechanical voice over the phone.

“Fuck you!” You screamed, lunging at the killer and landing a cut on his forearm.

He yelled furiously. “You bitch! If you would just cooperate and lay down and die this wouldn’t be so bad!”

You turned and made a break for the door, hoping, praying, that you could open it and scream and your neighbors would come to your rescue. Instead, a sharp pain bloomed in your back and a scream ripped from your throat as the sharp pain was torn from your back and renewed in your flank. Ghostface’s hand tangled into your hair and your head connected with the wall, leaving you engulfed in darkness.

—

When you came to, your head was pounding. You could feel a dull pressure in your flank and something warm and sticky was running down your scalp, and was the room spinning? What room where you even in? What day is it? Shit… what happened to you?

“Oh look, you live.” You groaned and turned your head towards the mechanical voice. Ghostface was lounged in a plush chair, legs spread as if he were right at home. “You know, you’re a tricky one! Who knew you’d put up a fight!”

Oh right… he caught you…

“What do you want from me…” You slurred, trying to focus on stringing your words together. How concussed where you? Ghostface tilted his head. “Are you going to murder me?”

“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, that part will be quick.” He stood and casually made his way to the side of the bed, gripping the knife that was still jammed into my side. His unoccupied hand clamped over my mouth as he slowly twisted the blade, my muffled screams having little affect on his sympathy as I thrashed and began to cry. Ghostface chuckled. “The part before however, I’ll be taking my sweet time.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you!” You barked, squirming as he ran his leather clad fingers down the column of your throat.

“Sucks that your boyfriend broke up with you, huh?” He teased. “Maybe you wouldn’t have been alone tonight, huh?”

“Wh-How do you know that?”

“Speaking of, have you heard from him lately? I think I saw somewhere in the paper that there were two bodies butchered beyond belief.” Your eyes widened. “Maybe you should’ve gone to the Gazette’s party, but I was counting on you being a recluse instead. You’re so predictable, doll. And a dumb bitch too. You really shouldn’t just go around telling people so much about yourself. That’s dangerous, you never know who exactly you’re talking to.”

“How do you know all of this? The party, the break up, who the hell are you!?” Tears spilled out of the corners of your eyes as Ghostface stroked your hair and stared at you, seemingly taking in your pathetic, half dead state. “Why are you doing this?”

Ghostface remained silent, but his hand rose up towards that mask and you knew what it meant. It meant whatever chance you had of getting out of this alive. It meant you were doomed to end up on the front page of the Gazette. You could see it now, ‘The Ghostface Killer Strikes Again, One Dead’. What you couldn’t foresee was the face behind the screaming plastic mask, because you would have never guessed that Jed Olsen’s brown eyes would be staring back at you. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

“No… No, no, it’s not y- it can’t be you, Jed!” You sobbed as he ran his fingers through the blood on your cheek and examined them. You thrashed against the restraints on your wrists and ankles, desperate to run from him.

“You’re even prettier when you bleed.” You groaned and shake your head as he cleaned the blood away from the leather with his tongue. “Way more satisfying than the look on your ex-boyfriend’s face as he made that phone call to you with a knife to his throat, thought I’d let him go too! Hah!”

“Jed… please don’t do this, please let me go, I won’t tell anyone!” You felt so pathetic begging, but it was all I could do. Jed looked back down at you, a short laugh escaping his lips.

“You won’t tell anyone, huh? I can’t risk it, sweetheart, you’ve seen my face now.” You yelped when he grabbed the knife and ripped it out of your side, examining the way your blood dripped from it. “But our fun is just beginning.”

“Please… I- I’ll- I’ll help you cover up the murders! Please Jed!”

He shushed you softly, stroking your cheek with a gentleness that was almost cruel while his other hand pressed against the wound on my flank. “The more you fight, the harder this will be. You’re going to do everything I tell you, you’re not going to fight, and you’re going to be a good pet. Do you understand?”

“Fuck- Fuck you!” Jed scoffed and jammed his fingers into the wound while holding his hand over your mouth, pulling a weak scream from you. “Jed! Stop! Stop, it hurts!”

“Do you understand now, bitch!?”

You nod reluctantly, gasping when his fingers left the wound. This was it, you were going to die and there was nothing that you could do about it. Worst of all, you liked Jed. He was always nice to you, he was gorgeous, he was smart, he was everything you wished you could have in a man. And even now, even as he played around with you in the cruelest way, he looked ethereal with the eye black and the hood of his outer layer pulled back just enough to let his hair peak through.

“Good pet.” I winced as he patted my cheek a little too aggressively.

“Why are you doing this? Why me? I thought you liked me?”

“Oh doll, I do like you! I think you’re interesting and fun to be around. Why do you think I would hang around you so much at work?” Jed circled the foot of the bed, looking eerily similar to a wolf stalking its prey. “And you were so eager to have my attention.”

“I was being friendly!”

Jed scoffed. “Give me a break, sweetheart. You think you hid it so well, but I didn’t miss the way you blushed, or smiled, or pressed your thighs together when I would lean down over your shoulder to look at what you were working on, my breath on your neck as I praised you. You really enjoyed that.” You gritted your teeth and spat in his face, earning a flinch and an unamused chuckle as he wiped it off. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

He moved like lightning, throwing himself over you and straddling your hips, his buck knife pressed hard against your throat as your eyes went wide in panic. One pull on the knife and you were a goner.

Except there was a part of you, some sick and disgusting part of you, that fucking liked this. Liked the cold, sharp steel biting your skin, liked his weight holding you down, and really liked the press of his bulge against your body. And even more fucked up, you rolled your hips up against it.

“Oh my fucking god. Are you really into this?” Jed leaned down, nearly nose to nose with you. “You little slut, you are into this! Rolling your hips up like a needy little bitch. Want me to take care of that little problem down there for you?”

You whimpered at his cruel words, or maybe you were whimpering because that damn leather felt so good as it glided up your shirt. There was a loud rip as he sliced it off of you, a sadistic grin lighting up his face as he slowly raked his eyes down my body. “Jed I-“

“Danny.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “S-sorry?”

“Name’s Danny. Not Jed.”

This gave you pause, you had so many questions. What else had he lied about? How did he wind up here? Why Roseville? Why choose the Gazette? Why you? “I’m scared… Danny.”

Danny smiled softly and traced your jawline with his knife before stabbing it inches away from your head. “Fear makes pussy taste better.”

You didn’t even get to think before his hand was in your hair and ripping you upward to crash his lips to yours. You whimpered, but didn’t fight, instead you opened your mouth when he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. You were sick in the head. You had to be. But it felt so good when his fingers slid down your body and pinched your nipple between them.

You let him grope you, you let him run his tongue over yours, you let him do whatever he wanted. He lied to you, he tricked you, and goddammit, he was still the single most sexually appealing person you’d ever laid eyes on. He parted from you and pushed you back down, grinning as he rips the knife out off the pillow and cuts your underwear.

You blushed as he raised it to his nose and inhaled before laughing as his knife slipped back into its sheath. “Pretty fucked up that you’re turned on by a stalker with a knife. I’ll be keeping these.” He stuffed them into his pocket before removing his hood, the shroud, and finally his shirt. Your breath caught in your throat as he stretched and ran his fingers through his hair, locking eyes with him. He was lean, not overly muscular, his chest had various scars, scars from when victims probably fought back. He clearly worked out, you presumed he had to with his… line of work. Danny sighed and leaned down. “You gonna be a good pet for me and be still?”

“Yes…”

“Good.” He nipped your earlobe before he began the torturously slow descent down your body. “I’ve been pining after you for months, sweetheart. But that damn boyfriend of yours…” he sucked a harsh bruise onto your neck. “Always getting in the fuckin’ way. It was so annoying.”

You gasped as he reached your breasts, running his tongue over your nipple, the softness briefly interrupted by the coolness of a ball. You looked down to see a silver ball, a piercing. Because of course he would have one.

Danny continued his descent, kissing and biting your hips until he got where he wanted to be. “And what do we have here, hm?”

Your breath hitched as he slid his hands out of the gloves by his teeth and dragged his cold, bare fingers up your thigh until he was just shy of brushing your vulva. Danny watched your legs tense and your body twitch as he finally ran his fingers between your slit.

“I wouldn’t have guessed being strapped down by a stalker would get you so wet, it’s adorable.” You whimpered as Danny leaned in close to your face and circled you clit slowly with his index and middle fingers. “Such a pathetic slut.”

“N-no!” you protested.

“Oh? You’re not a pathetic slut? Is that why you’re trying to grind on my hand?” he taunted.

“Danny please… I won’t tell anyone, we can be done here!” You felt pathetic begging him for mercy. It was weak and pitiful. “Please.”

“Oh do I love hearing you beg. Tell you what, doll, you play nice and cooperate, and I’ll consider… other options. Deal?” You swallowed, biting back a moan as he pressed a little harder on your clit. That was still Jed’s face hovering above yours. You could pretend it was still him. But pretending would involve ignoring the dull ache in your head from when Ghostface slammed you into the wall. Pretending would involve acting as if the pain from the stab wound on your flank from when Ghostface impaled you didn’t exist. And pretending would involve you looking up at the man with eyeblack and Jed’s face was truly Jed. Jed and not Danny. Jed and not Ghostface. “Tick tock, sweetheart. I’m getting an itch, and I don’t think you want to know what kind of itch it is.”

Danny pulled his fingers away from your clit and pressed them into the stab wound, grinning as a scream fell out of your throat. “Okay! Yes! Yes! I’ll cooperate! Please stop!”

He pulled them back out and shoved them knuckle deep into your pussy. Your eyes widened as your blood mixed with the wetness between your legs, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“You like that don’t you, baby?” He grinned in a way that would have been charming, but with all the eyeblack and blood that splattered on his cheek, it was simply sinister. “Maybe you’re sicker in the head than I thought.”

“That’s- fuck- that’s a lot of talk coming from the man who- mmh- who stalks people like a pervert!” you snapped, back arching as he stroked his fingers in that delicious come hither motion.

“I know I’m sick in the head.” Danny leaned in close, breath ghosting over your lips as he growled. “But you’re the one loving every second of this pervert fucking your hole with my fingers.”

“Shut up!” you snapped, gasping as his fingers spread into a v-shape and stretched your walls.

“You act so prim and proper at work.” Danny kissed your jaw bone with a laugh. “You put on this facade of the young and perky reporter with a great boyfriend and a great life. But I know what you need, Princess.” You cried out as his fingers left your pussy. “You need it filthy. You need it rough. You need me.”

Your breath heaved in your chest as he spread his fingers, streetlights gleaming against the juices that webbed between his long fingers.

“Open.”

“Wh-“ he shoved his fingers into your mouth with so much force you gagged. Danny laughed like a maniac.

“That’s it. Lick them clean and I might give you what you want.”

Fuck. His fingers tasted like your pussy and the copper of blood. This was unhinged. What the fuck were you thinking?

“That’s a good pet.” Danny’s fingers slipped from your mouth and he smiled. “Keep it up, maybe I can find a new use for you besides adding to my body count.”

“Danny-“

He ignored the weak cry of his name as he pushed apart your legs, groaning at the slick folds of your pussy, spotted with blood from his handiwork. Speaking of…

You cried out in pain as he brushed the stab wound. “Fucking hell! Stop!” Your cries were only fuel to his desperate longing and lust as his fingers played around in the wound. How long had he dreamed of this? How many days had he gone home, jacked off in his chair, went and killed, only to be back in the shower beating his cock again to you. He was obsessed.

“When I’m through with you, doll…” Danny growled, “I’m going to have you screaming my name, I’ll infect your brain like a parasite. You won’t be able to even comprehend what happened to you. I’ll have you completely cumdrunk.”

You felt breathless when he finally stopped digging around in the wound, your vision was fuzzy, your head was pounding, and yet still, fucking still! Your pussy was soaking.

“Pathetic, really, how wet you get when I play with my marks.” His dark eyes rose to yours. “I think it’s time I get to taste that sweet pussy.”

You whimper as he pressed his lips to your knee, trailing his tongue and that piercing down, down, down until he bit down on your inner thigh. “Fuck! Ow!”

Danny let go and pressed and open mouth kiss to the bite mark. “How I wish I could feel you pull my hair but… I wouldn’t want you thinking up any ways to start fighting.”

He laughed at your anger before his tongue was running up your slit in the blink of an eye. Oh god it was so warm. You gasp and let out a long, low groan as Danny focused his attention on your clit. You moved your hips best you could as his bloody hands gripped them, leaving red stains on your skin. His eyes lifted and he smiled wickedly.

“That’s it baby…” he lapped as your clit. “Make those pretty noises for me.”

You sighed and arched as tears formed in your eyes. Why did you like this? He was a murderer, a psychopath, he was a liar who created this persona to charm and hypnotize. And you fell for it.

Danny growled and nipped roughly at your clit. You look down with a yelp, locking eyes with him as he slightly lifted an eyebrow in a silent warning before fingers slipped in as he circled and massaged the tongue piercing over your clit.

“You,” he began, looking down at his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy before resting his head on your thigh. “better keep your mind from wondering. I’m all you should be fucking looking at.” He punctuated his point with a deep shove of his fingers. “Understand?”

“Fuck! Yes…” Danny grinned and nodded.

“You wanna cum don’t you?” You didn’t respond, just moaned as he stroked your G-spot. “I asked you a question, bitch!”

“Yes… fuck, yes I wanna cum…” Your cheeks burned as you admitted it. He was hot. This was hot. This was gross. He was gross. You reached that point, your legs began to shake and your body tightened as you exploded, cum flowing out onto his fingers. Danny grinned like a wolf, leaning down as his fingers withdrew.

You whimpered as his tongue touched your asshole, dragging all the way up to catch what dripped out. “God fucking damn, you taste so fucking delicious.” His fingers smeared your cum down your chest as he tweaked one nipple, then the other to illicit cries out of you. “I’m going to fuck you so good, you won’t be able to think straight.”

He stood and slowly unzipped his black pants before working it all down and narrowing his eyes at you. “If I take off those restraints, are you going to behave?”

The black around his eyes made them more intense as he sent that threat to my core. “Yes…”

“Yes, what?” he growled.

“Yes sir?”

He smirked and found the knife again, slicing your restraints off your legs before stealing you and cutting the ones from your arms. You hesitated then brought your arms to his shoulders. How could he look so good with your blood splattered on him? You couldn’t deny it any longer, you were grossly into this. You were into him. Even if he wasn’t Jed. Even if he was Ghostface. You were into everything about this. Sure, the blood loss made it easier, but you accepted your fate.

Danny leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was softer, more chaste. His hand drifted down your torso, lifting to grab his cock in his hand, pumping it before he teased the head against your slit.

“Please…”

“Look me in the eyes and try again, sweetheart.” he whispered.

You sighed, lifting your eyes to his and murmured “Please fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.”

Danny laughed then thrusted deep into you. You cried out as he began a brutal pace, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist and your nails digging into his chest. “Fuck, so tight… god dammit!”

You whimpered and arched your back. The wound in your side still bled, you could feel it smear as his hand passed over it to pull a brief cry of pain from you. He grabbed the knife again and pressed it against your throat.

“You’re so lovely, covered in blood.” He purred, pressing harder, eyes darkening as he grinned. Your own eyes widened as he pumped faster, fear taking over as you. Danny groaned. “God, you slut. You just clenched at the thought of his knife slicing you right open.”

Danny moaned as you clinched again, then his eyes sparkled with an idea. He pinned you down at the elbow, exposing your inner bicep, the soft flesh exposed as he brought the hunting knife to the skin.

“No! Danny no please don’t cut me again!” You screamed when the blade bit into the skin, a sob wrenching from your throat as he carved at your arm. Each scream drew a moan from him, for every cut forced a squeeze from you. “Stop! Please! It hurts so fucking much! Fuck you!”

“Aw baby. But you’re squeezing me- fuck- so good.” He thrusted unevenly, clearly close to an orgasm. “Fuck, c’mon sweetheart…”

With one last deep slice, he came, cumming inside you as he practically roared with relief. You started sobbing, blood pouring from your arm and side, that headache that you forgot about coming back with a vengeance. The room was getting fuzzy. It hurt. You didn’t know exactly what it was that hurt the most, but it all hurt.

Danny smiled, slowly pulling out of you, sitting back on his heels and looking down at his handiwork, almost admiring it. He stayed straddling you, then started laughing again. “You know sweetheart… I think I can make a deal for you.”

You gazed up blearily, vision going in and out. “Deal…?”

“I’ll keep you alive… but not here. No… no Im taking you with me.” Danny’s breathing picked up. “It needs you. It needs a survivor. A sacrifice…”

Your brows creased as he raised the knife. “No… you… you said I’ll live!”

“I’m taking you where I’m going. We’re you will be mine forever.” He stabbed down and pierced your heart, ripping the knife out to slash your throat. Blood filled your lungs as you coughed and choked. Your eyes widened as your head lolled, eyes registering what he marred into your arm. ‘MINE’.

As the world faded, Danny’s fingers stroked your hair. “I’ll see you real soon, sweetheart.”

[dayraiser]

listen jedtavius nation i know we love the melodramatic roman octavius who waxes poetic about jed at any given opportunity and emotionally constipated jedediah who is so bad with words that he just goes "hrbghbsf!!!!!!! i!!!! i love he!!!!!! when octy does!!!! does the thing!!!!!"

but have we considered melodramatic roman octavius who can absolutely bust out the longest speech ever about anything else but when it comes to jedediah? sputtering, blushy mess

and what about a jedediah that really can't quite put words to his thoughts or feelings for anything else but when it comes to octavius? hoo boy sit down lad cus youre in for it.

like, look:

Nicky (kid): Jed, how did you know you like, /liked/ Octavius?

Jedediah: Same as I know that the sun's gon' set tomorrow, boy! I'll tell ya now, I ain't never felt nothin' like it before... When he turns and notices me there and his expression changes from this stern glare that's cold and hard like steel to this softer look that feels like a warm blanket on a cold night, or, or like how a good whiskey settles in yer stomach. Then, he calls out to me, and- and, listen, kid- it's like being beckoned to by the sun itself, ya know? I can't quite look at 'im head on, 'cus if I do I feel like I might just burn up and die, seein' all that beauty all at once. I'd die a happy man, though, lemme tell ya...

Nicky:

Nicky: That's cool! A boy gave me a cool rock yesterday and that's why I asked

juxtaposed with

Lancelot: I'm curious, what /do/ you see in that little smelly cowstead?

Octavius: I.

Octavius: Um. He...

Octavius, rapidly shutting down, face extremely flushed: He... hrhgjjhhh..... //////// ;;;;;;;; he.... he make me;;;;;; the warm and the///////// the fuzzy.... hshdhwhdhwkfhjed !!!!! /////////////;;;;;; (curls up into a ball like a pillbug)

Lancelot: Oh dear. Nightguard! I appear to have broken Octavius!

[scvrmqueen]

Oooooo your requests are open <: I was wondering, how do you think Danny would react to another killer going after reader? Like, in a scenario where another killer has reader cornered?

Hi @mamamemequeen, thank you so much for your request! I love this idea! I hope this is okay!  ♡ 

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — Headcanons & one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — Danny Johnson x reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — Blood, gore, stalking, Danny being Danny

Danny is possessive - when he chooses a victim, he is all in.

This man literally spends weeks stalking you. That's weeks of hiding in the shadows learning your routine, taking detailed notes of the layout of your apartment, and crafting the perfect demise.

Not to mention, his sleep schedule is decimated thanks to you. Every waking hour that he isn't running around playing 'Jed Olsen' he's watching you. His pretty little muse.

So, you can imagine that he isn't pleased to find another killer taking up your time. I mean, what are the chances? He's almost a little jealous.

Danny may be calculated when it comes to the hunt, but he is a petulant child when his plans are altered.

Anyone who tries to hurt you has a major death wish. Danny won't let some amateur take what's his.

After all, you're his obsession.

The night had devolved into a fit of madness quicker than you could comprehend. One moment you were leaving work, the humid Florida air clinging to your skin. The next, you were pressed against the rough brick of a secluded alley - a steel blade digging into your neck. Rancid breath enveloped your senses, a demented chuckle escaping the lips hovering above your own.

"No one's gonna hear you scream," the man said, his free hand gliding up the exposed flesh of your thigh. Tears stained your flushed cheeks with the realization of your impending demise. The knife parted from your neck, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he raised it high above you, prepared to feel it slice through your flesh.

But the killing blow never came.

Something warm and wet splattered against your face, your eyes flying open in shock. The man's lifeless gaze greeted you, a knife protruding straight through his neck. The blade was ripped away, his corpse tossed away by the firm grasp of your savior.

Perhaps savior was too generous.

Standing before you was a figure shrouded in black, his face concealed by a theatric white mask. A strained gasp escaped your lips as you recalled the headline in the morning paper depicting the same plastic scream.

"Ghost face," you whispered in disbelief. What were the chances that you escaped the clutches of one demented psychopath only to be thrown to another?

"Very good, bunny," he commended with a mocking lilt. You recognized that alluring voice from the phone calls you had received earlier in the week. "You look so pretty covered in blood."

He stepped forward, his lithe figure towering above you as you attempted to press yourself further against the wall. You whimpered as he leaned down, his knife staining the curves of your jaw crimson.

"You're going to kill me," your voice trembled. Though intended as a question, you were far too aware of the Ghost Face's reputation to suspect an alterative outcome.

"Oh, of course I'm going to kill you doll face," the blade rested under your chin, forcing you to gaze into the black abyss encompassing his eyes. "But not yet. See, our fun has only just started. I just had to make sure no one else took what was mine."

[rinrinp42]

for your snippet prompts: hmm would love to see your take on some clone wars-era QuinObi, platonic or not! perhaps some early days commiserating between Alpha and Quinlan about their shared idiot??

(hope you're doing well, I know we haven’t talked in a long while 🧡)

(I'm doing good and hope you are too!)

!!!  This prompt made me go all gooey!  Have a list of times Obi-Wan made Quinlan's heart race ( though I didn't get Alpha-17 and Quinlan commiserating).  Also Tholme/T’raa Saa and Mace and his tree mom will have to be pried from my cold dead hands so Quinlan gets Little Brother privileges and literally only calls Mace by his first name.

Quinlan nearly dropped the stuffed tooka the younger Initiate had dropped when the Cretchmaster brought in cookies.  The toy was infused with bleak, scary visions. As if it was trying to purge them from the redhead.  Quinlan's heart races with the images, though there's too many and they're too fragmented to tell a story.   They're just the Temple but dark and strange armored figures moving through it.  But… but they're scary, like when his Aunt made him grip the locket…

Quinlan makes up his mind.  He's going to make sure that this Initiate has something good and fun to distract him.  It'll be good for the redhead, he's sure of that.

Quinlan's mouth is dry and his heart races as a wide-eyed Obi-Wan pulled his jacket out of Quinlan's grip.  He had just wanted to stop Obi-Wan and welcome him back.  Master Tholme had said Obi-Wan had stayed behind to help settle some kids away from the fighting on Melida/Daan but what Quinlan just saw was…

Obi-Wan hadn't been hiding with a bunch of Younglings away from the fighting.  He had been leading an army of Younglings to fight against their parents and aunts and uncles and and and 

And Quinlan needs to tell Master Tholme because Obi-Wan needs help.

He may also need Quinlan to not just be standing there like an idiot.  So Quinlan slapped a smile on his face that he could only hope Obi-Wan didn't see through and threw his arms around the other Padawan, babbling about some weird twist to the mission he and Master Tholme had been on.

Quinlan lost his breath as Obi-Wan twisted them around and down onto the mat, pinning Quinlan.

The other Senior Padawan smirked down at him, somehow keeping Quinlan in place even though the Kiffer was heavier.

“Hello there,” he said and Quinlan's heart raced.

Oh.

Quinlan ran through the underbelly of Taris, following the Forcebond he and Obi-Wan shared.  His heart tried to lodge itself in his throat as it raced faster than the exercise should make it.  This was supposed to be an easy mission, and a sneaky way of celebrating that brat Anakin turning 13.  Mace had even helped arrange it!  How did Obi-Wan find some weirdo doctor trying to recreate long gone rakghoul plague?

Small gods, Quinlan hoped he would get there in time to help Obi-Wan.  Aayla and Anakin were ransacking the so-called doctor’s upper level apartment while Quinlan was on Obi-Wan Rescue duty.

Which he would not fail at (he hadn't failed at any of his self appointed Obi-Wan duties yet and had no plans on ever doing so).

Quinlan had been on a time sensitive undercover mission on the other side of the galaxy when the Clone Wars started.  It was another 3 months before he had finished up and could head back.  Mace had immediately sent him to Obi-Wan.  Quinlan's experience with undercover work meant he wouldn't end up with a battalion but Mace wanted him to work with some of Obi-Wan’s boys.  There were a few shaping up to be good at the Intelligence aspect (something niggled at the thought of the Clones and Quinlan figured a squad to back him up would help sus it out).

He wanted to see how the Clones reacted before they knew he was a Jedi.  Especially if Obi-Wan was going to spend the war surrounded by them.  Luckily there was a battle that had finished recently so they weren't in the camp where it would have been harder to get close without revealing himself as a Jedi.  He slipped through the bombed out town, pausing now and then to watch the Clones.  And then he found Obi-Wan.

Quinlan paused in the shadow of a building as the sunset bathed Obi-Wan in color and his heart raced at how beautiful he was.

The Force must have been laughing at him and his constant adoration as it gave no warning before the larger clone slide between them staring down Quinlan with a contained sort of menace.  Kriff but he didn't want to fight one of Obi-Wan's boys.

“Alpha-17, please do be careful, Quinlan is a rather talented fighter.”

“Ah Obes, thank you,” he couldn't help answering with a shit-eating grin.

Though his face was hidden, Quinlan was sure the Clone narrowed his eyes at him.  Eh, deserved.

Quinlan stepped into the medbay, heart racing as his eyes settled on Obi-Wan.  His redhead idiot was in the bacta tank but was there and alive.  He had nearly sobbed when he felt the Bond click back into place.  Waltz and Swing had both been startled to see it, but Obi-Wan had assigned the squad to him with such care that they rallied quickly to make the plans to get to Obi-Wan.

“You're still alive?” a voice asked from a bed.

Quinlan looked away from Obi-Wan to see Alpha-17 on a bed.  But very much alive.

“Su cuy’gar,” Quinlan responded cheerfully.  He liked the ornery bastard and was glad both had survived.

Alpha-17 snorted at him and shifted on the bed.  Quinlan didn't think the clone would be back on the front lines.  But there might be something he could do…

Once Obi-Wan was out of the bacta, Quinlan would run it past the two of them.  They needed a paranoid bastard on Kamino to look into… well all of it.

Quinlan's hand slid into Obi-Wan's as the peace treaty was signed by interim Chancellor Mon Motha.  It turns out not having both sides be controlled by a Sith made peace easier to accomplish.  Who knew!

Obi-Wan squeezed his hand and Quinlan's heart raced.  Small gods but he loved him.

[soapyghostie]

Hi! i love reading you little stories about danny ‘jed olsen’ johnson!! I was hoping you could make a post about how he would look, like: many body scars, soft muscular body, or strong and tougher kind of body. Hope you understood what i was asking for, i tried to explain it the best i can! <3

You mean like general headcanons? I did a mixture of both his appearance and his personality if that’s okay. There is a link of a visual of what I think Danny looks like at the very bottom. Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

This man has many scars all over his body from his victims trying to defend themselves, but failed. Where he has scars the most is definitely his legs and chest where victims have landed sharp objects deep past his suit, into his skin. I guess his leather suit can’t protect him all the time. He has a giant scar running right through his left eyebrow. Him being the cocky bastard he is, he loves to show it off to his coworkers and make up an insane story for it. The crazy thing is that they actually believe him. 

His gaze can intimidate anyone. He has these stern yellow eyes that will make you shrink into your skin if he glares at you. However, when he gives someone puppy dog eyes, you can’t resist. There’s no way you can say no to those gorgeous yellow eyes. Additionally, I just wanted to say, his eyes make him look cat-like. 😂 

Danny has a very lean body. He has to be strong so he can overpower his victims. However, he isn’t bulky because he also has to be fast and carrying a ton of muscle will slow him down. He definitely works out a lot. I’d say he runs 7-8 miles and hits the gym at least two hours everyday because, let me tell you, he is definitely shredded. (I’m sorry. This headcanon is definitely the runner coming out of me.) 

Danny has short, but fluffy black hair. He makes sure to keep it silky soft so he can easily run his hands through it. Also, to wow the ladies; he knows women love a man with gorgeous, silky hair. Dingus. 

Dude, this man is literally so silent. He can judge which floorboards creak, which doors squeal when opened, what shadows keep him hidden from sight. It’s insane. Literally a god. 

I think we all have gotten a glimpse of how much of an asshole and narcissist he is. He’s extremely mischievous, confident, and thinks he’s the biggest lady-killer. Spoiler alert! He really isn’t no lady-killer: he can’t even get a lady for the life of him. His cheesy pick-up lines and flirting skills are full of crap. He better be glad he has his looks or he’d get himself slapped across the face. 

Danny is a fantastic photographer. He makes sure that any photo he takes is on point. He’s a perfectionist. If he takes a photo, no matter if it’s for work or snapping photos of victims, it has to be perfect or he scratches it out of his camera roll. 

He is a great writer as well. I don’t know why the Roseville Gazette would hire him if he wasn’t. 🤷‍♀️ Anyways, a fucking unit at punctuation. He uses semicolons way too much than he probably should, just like me, and he knows it too. Hey! If it looks good and sounds good then that is all that matters. He’s also a pretty fast typer and always proofreads his writing at least 4 times before turning it in for publishing. He tends to get all his work done before all his coworkers. 

He keeps a journal where he writes important information about his victims: where they live, their daily routines, and stuff like that. He also sketches out what each and every one of his victims looks like next to his notes. 

He’s pretty cold-hearted and has an obsession for fame and recognition. He wants everyone to know who he is and to fear him. He’s addicted to the fear frozen on his victims faces when he calls them and has dozens of pictures of his victims hidden in his nightstand drawer to use for his articles.

Even though he’s a phenomenal journalist, he doesn’t get paid that much so this man literally lives off of ramen. However, he loves himself a nice home cooked meal: anything that takes a long time to cook to be honest. He would cook if he wasn’t so bad at it. 

He loves himself a good bargain; he loves the power they hold over someone. The moment someone breaks their side of the deal, he can break his and they’re over and done with if you know what I mean. 👀

He loves drama. He’ll listen to all the tea and no one will know he’s listening in either. He’ll start spreading it around to all the other coworkers. Now everyone knows the business. That’s why you never whisper shit while Danny is around because he’ll get a hold of that gossip one way or another. 

Danny Johnson visual

Hey you guys! Just a quick note that I’ll get to your requests on Saturday. This was the easiest request in my inbox so I didn’t have to think about what I wanted to write as much as I have to with other requests. I’m just so exhausted from camp, but I wanted to post something new for you guys to read. I hope you enjoyed it.

[whorrorbellee]

Cherry Waves : two and a half

Ghostface! Danny Johnson x f!reader

Danny just had to save you. He just had to save your poor sad life. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. What was it you wrote in your diary? Your shiny white masked knight in a black shroud? Well how cute. Maybe it was time he kept a pet around.Just to play or course.18+ : eventual smut, themes of suicide (reader attempts), selfharm, sexual content, murder, themes of violence

ao3 prolouge masterlist

 11th August 1992

Roseville sure is something. Hot weather, Sunny skies. Rednecks. Everything I had wanted to avoid until now. Utah was great, born and raised. Left poor pa alone in the farmhouse at nineteen. Burnt to a crisp, the detective said. Goddamn alcoholic could never remember to see if the fire had gone dead before laying his head down on the pillow. Too damn bad. 

Danny Johnson would become Martin Lee the small town photographer somewhere in Arizona, and then I was Jack Mayfield, the slightly deplorable stoner writer in california. But in Pennsylvania Jed Olson was born. Kind hearted, protective. Red blooded american that wanted to uphold traditional family values. The type of guy you'd see a pretty blonde next to with six kids. Jed Olson was perfect and fucking irritating. He was the type of guy you would ask to set up shelves in your apartment. And god i fucking hated it, i still do. At first Jed was sweet, he could lend a hand. Enjoyed a cold one. Then where's your girlfriend Jed? Or maybe you're gay? I've got a daughter you could take out some time? When are you gonna settle down?

So in New York Jed Became colder. But the problem with New york. Half of my work got lost to gang violence and hate crimes, by the time i had figured out who Jed really was, Ghostface had been lost in a lineup of violent Men and petty thefts. So I moved smaller. Florida. Small baptist town wedge between Jacksonville and St. Augustine. You could hardly call it a town, in reality it was a housing estate with ten shops lined up, a couple of offices and three different churches, two within the town and the third connected to a road that led you straight out of roseville and into St.Augustine. It was perfect. Enough crazies to not get caught, drive close enough that someone out of town could come in and kill. And small enough to cause a frenzine. 

So while I was in New York, I took as many freelance photography jobs as I could. Let myself wake up with cheap instant coffee and gouged myself on instant ramen, until I had enough to buy a truck from a guy I knew and road-trip myself down to florida. 

And here I was, a man with very little to say in the matter. Even though I had a way with words. It took me less than five minutes to wedge myself into the crew at roseville gazette. Mike had welcomed me with open arms after I had fooled him with my American values. White picket, 2.5 kids and a cute dog laid out on a plate for him to stuff his face with. 

12 September 1992. 

One month has passed and I'm settled in at last. Work is fine. Writing about lost dogs and people who've found rings along the shore. Work is boring. It's not really my work, well it is.  But not the work I really want to do. In-fact , I'm craving it. I'm not sure how long I'm going to last. Sometimes I just want to take Adam's face and crush it between the wall and the door in the stairwell. And I won't! God I could never. Well I could.  Just not Adam. Adam is great. He's really perfect. He's so anxious and erratic everytime a crime is committed. When I start and I mean really start (not drive to Georgia and kill some rando) he's just going to snap. Linda is great. She keeps to herself and writes pieces about Best places to take your family this (insert month) or should your kids be having sugar?. 

There's a list in my head of who I want to take out. I haven't started watching just yet. Need to get adjusted to the town properly. I've been going on runs every night. Keep the stamina up and find out every slip road and street I can hide on. To the others I'm in a health kick. Waving past dog walkers and drunk teens. James told me he saw me running outside his house and that he'd wanted to get together for an early morning run the next sunday. And now there's a group of us at 6am. I drive to the closest diner after and order the biggest breakfast platter they have. 

Case no: 289 D75   Date: 5th July 1984

Reporting officer: DC Smith

Prepared by: PC Stein

Incident: Fire at the Johnson’s farm house on 4th July 1984 at 11pm . 

Event details: I was attending the 4th of July celebrations with my girlfriend. After the fireworks stopped at around 10:45. The family packed up and I asked if she wanted to head back to mine. We got to the farm house and the place was on fire. The house was practically black. We went to the nearest phone so I could call the emergency services. 

I thought my dad might have gone out. But when the fire was put out, they recovered his body. When I left him he was on the sofa passed out. He usually drinks whiskey. I knew it was him because of the white gold wedding ring around his neck.

30th september 1992

So Mike's niece has officially started her job. Which has ruined all plans of me developing my own photos in the office. I'm sure she couldn't help it. Nepo babied her way into a job. Fresh out college and straight into the office. Didn't even have to have a shitty barista job first. She's shy and slightly skittish. Pays no attention to where she's going. Always tripping over her own feet. The good thing is now we have software to edit photos after mike bought a one year package to see how far it gets us. 

She lives next to me. I passed her in the stairwell and walked behind her on the way home. 

She doesn't crack a smile when I do. Hardly ever reactive. Emotionless. Faked a smile on her first day before curling inward on her desk to jot something down. 

An enigma. Uncharmable .

16th October 1992

I didn't mean to do it. I was just a little rusty. I don't have time for mistakes. And I panicked. I dont panic. I never have. What little humanity I have left in me is reserved for good coffee and books. So I climbed into the wrong window that night. Mine was one over. A complete accident. Someone had swung a brick at my face and knocked me sideways. So I was a little puzzled when the bare apartment I lived in had a shitty two seater armchair and a pretty girl laid on it. And I had nearly turned away. But the pill bottle had glowed under the moonlight and headlights of late night drivers. When I had picked them up and the out of date pills rattled inside. I looked upon the pretty girl who I thought was asleep. Breathing erratic. Eyes rolling to the back of her head. Lying in a puddle of her own sweat. 

Well I just panicked. Picking up her body and rushing to the toilet. Scraped along plastic tiles. My hands held her up by her neck and I shoved two thick fingers down her throat until I had felt her gag. Barely held up by her knees. Watching her puke into the toilet. 

I should've left her there. Let the darkness swallow her up. Swelled in the bathroom. Let the police press a black body bag to her skin. Cracked tiled angel. Another lost to the hidden disease. And I gazed into her eyes, half shut. Her mouth opened as her head fell into the crook of my neck. Soft skin against the rough fabric of my shroud. I felt her heartbeat grow stronger. Poison exiting her body.

So instead I pressed her to the shower wall and washed her body, dressed her in the softest pyjamas I could find. Held her like my own. Held her like Piper wished I would. 

I won't make this mistake again.

[positivelybeastly]

X-Men #6

Getting caught up!

Let's go.

Mmm, this is a good page. It's interesting to see Quentin in a kind of melancholy - it's not a state of mind you see him in very often, honestly, and I have to wonder if it's because of what he saw in Ben Liu's head, the fact that Cassandra Nova is on the board now, or just a general ennui about the state of things as an X-Man. Being a teenage firebrand only lasts as long as you're willing to burn, and Quentin's been burning for a while now with very little to show for it.

Also, wow, Idie, you have the eyes of an eagle that you were able to see that girl pulling a Spider-Man tribute - uh, I mean, the Midnight M, or whatever it's called.

Fun fact - this is the first time in this series that someone's directly mentioned Hank's psychotic villain turn from X-Force. Makes sense it would come from Quentin, since he's the only other member of X-Force on the team and he has the most face time with evil Hank, though I have to call bullshit - psycho Beast was a fucking bore.

Cain and Illyana continue to be hilarious bash brothers. I also like Hank being like 'ix-nay on the beheading-ay while the newbies are around to hear you-ay!' while Ben and Jennifer have little shock lines around their heads.

You will not get me to read Marauders volume 2, Jed. You will not.

So, this is a bit early in the run to have a 'this is what you missed in the series so far' scene, though I suppose having new context means they want to put the pieces together in a straightforward way so that no-one's confused going forward. And it's at least being done with character interactions, and not just a rote recitation of facts.

So, you, uh, ever gonna go and be a dad to those Savage Land mutates you fucked around with and made, Max? No? Mmkay.

Really dancing around the hashtag, huh, Scott?

"Maybe if you'd taken better care of your last resident genius instead of treating him like shit and neglecting him, so that he didn't go insane and blow himself up in a homoerotic stupor, you'd be having an easier time of this, but you're stuck with me."

Don't you fucking dare talk shit about quiche, Quentin.

I genuinely love the amount of play Glob is getting in this series. There's such an obvious affection for him that you can't help but be charmed. Also, a rare acknowledgement of Glob's past as a member of the Omega Gang and the fact that he was one of Quentin's very few friends during New X-Men! Love to see it!

There's that patented Scott Summers paranoia.

Also, I have to say, I love what this issue is doing with Illyana and Idie. As far as I know, these characters have barely, or never, interacted before, and there's just such an easy interplay between them that I already want more of - they tease and poke and prod at one another, in a way that feels younger and more vital than the older members of the team, even as Illyana demonstrates what being on a mainline X-Men team for the last 10-15 years does for your knowledge base.

It also really, really makes me happy that Idie is getting as much play as she is. The people who were worried about her being background fodder for this series really couldn't have been more wrong, she's getting a lot of good development and agency here.

It's something that only really shows up when you're reading continuously, but it's visible here - I like the panel composition in this issue, and this series in general, a fair bit. I like the separation of panels to show progression and create distinct scenes while still creating a larger tableau. Good composition makes you notice it, but doesn't pull you out of the experience, it merely serves it.

Also, oh boy, Hank's getting nostalgic again . . . that only ever means he's about to get depressing.

Yeah, that tracks.

Now, I do like this sequence and this conversation, but I have to pick at something that bugs me here, even though I have to wonder if it's intentional or not.

. . . Max, you and Scott were both on Krakoa. You remember that, right? You were dead for a fair bit of it, sure, but you were around long enough to see the start of X-Force. You were a member of the Quiet Council and Scott was the General or whatever of Krakoa.

You had the power to stop him. You don't get to say that you won't allow it when you both already did allow it. It would have been outrageously easy for the both of you to just waltz right up to the Pointe, grab evil Hank by his hair, and kick the shit out of him for being a genocidal maniac, but neither of you did that. None of you did. You allowed him to continue. Worse, you enabled him, you and your little twink 'I Can't Believe It's Not The Maker' Xavier.

And even before that, you hold responsibility for encouraging Hank to loosen his morals and kill people! You were there during the Inhumans vs. X-Men conflict, encouraging him to double cross the Inhumans for mutant gain! And Scott outright told Hank, MULTIPLE TIMES, that the ends justify the means during the Utopia era! Are you going to acknowledge that fact? Are you going to confront the fact that he internalised YOUR methods? Fucking evil Hank's penultimate words before he was atomised were MAGNETO WAS RIGHT, for fuck's sake!

That's why I like that Hank says, 'Of course, of course.' There's a ring of, yeah, sure, whatever to that, that I like. He doesn't say I know, because he doesn't. He's well aware that everyone saw what was happening to him and didn't stop it, that they didn't care enough to intercede, that Scott was too busy fucking Jean and Logan on the regs to care that one of his oldest friends was turning into the lovechild of Josef Mengle and Henry Kissinger.

I need that to become text. I need it. I know that it fucking sucks, Jed MacKay, to have to answer for Ben Percy's sins, but you cannot have dialogue like this and expect it to fly through uncommented on. No-one becomes a monster on their own.

I really do hope that dialogue choice was intentional and that MacKay is willing to interrogate this. Thus far, he hasn't let me down, but I need this to be the first part of a conversation, not the end of it.

Yeah, valid, I wouldn't want to deal with Cortez either.

Hank is very cute here. Like, he's always cute, but he's especially kawaii here. Hims have the teefs.

Yeah, you gotta get on choosing a mutant name quick, or else you'll get stuck with something like Negasonic Teenage Warhead.

Hoo boy. Yeah, this is . . . that would be a problem. I can see why Scott's pissed. Then again, valid for Idie going for forgiveness over permission, as far as she knew, Piper might have been being abused, and the info she has here is pretty important . . .

All right, roll on issue #7!

This was a good issue! I don't know that it needed the whole 'here's what you missed on Glee' segment in the middle, but it was at least done with enough character and verve that it wasn't boring, and the rest of the issue giving everyone some shine and interactions made it more than worth it - plus, it feels as though the plot is finally starting to move, which was a little bit of a concern with the previous issues.

Be there or be square . . .

[ghoulishtomato]

Things I actually LIKE about Kahmunrah Rises Again:

-that bit where Jed and Oct scream like little girls. It is genuinely hilarious and makes me laugh every time

-the "that way- no this way" "but you said THAT way" joke with Laa and Nick. Although if this were live action, that'd go on for another minute and a half with improv

-"Fire bad.." "I know ze feeling 😧"

-Larry and Erica talking to each other trying to figure out what's best for Nick. One thing Night at the Museum knows how to do is let it's characters talk things out in a generally healthy manner (Insert Jed very openly saying, "I don't like it.. it hurts my feelings 🙁" when asked how he feels being called tiny)

-"Of course you guys have done great things- that's why you're in a museum" or however that line goes.

-McPhee is the most faithfully adapted between live action and animation and it's wonderful BAHAHAHJSHA

-also "Mother is my pet name for my hot supermodel girlfriend". SIR IS THAT A MOMMY JOKE

-Jed and Oct are generally the best parts of the movie in my opinion (no I'm not biased). Though Octavius is kinda way more bitchy for some reason and Jed is just "🙂 I'm a silly cowboy, yeehaw".

-Kahmunrah being generally a little more unhinged. I like to think that after hearing that cool ass, "I'm the night guard" quip from Larry before being shoved in the underworld, Kah was like, "That was actually a little cool, I need to think of a bunch of one liners that I can say when I come back to life."

-Teddy is fucking awesome . He's clearly different from live action Teddy and Robin Williams portrayal (Rest in Peace), but it's super fun and entertaining.

-Seth telling Kah he has Daddy Issues

-The animation in the restaurant scene with Larry and Nick. It's so good.

Overall, I think the beginning /first half of the movie is much better than the second half. I'm still upset Night at the MUSEUM 4 spends half it's time not in an actual museum with other exhibits 💀💀 Biggest plunder of the movie.

[seattledaytwo]

hey again, as you can guess it's still the same anon (im gonna sign as 🍒 just in case <3)

I think about chenrich 24/7 too honestly... other than that my mind is empty lol

I LOVE A HC THAT ALEX STILL SUFFERS FROM HER INJURIES even though it's really not fair

I once read a fic (honestly I read every single one on chenrich tag on ao3 so I can call myself an insane expert) where author studies the situation where Alex gets the worst ending possible (no one believes her expect steph, she's single so steph leaves and ALSO ALEX PERMANENTLY INJURED). so yeah, alex ends up with her leg being fucked up, using a wheelchair, than towards the end a cane, I don't remember if she gets to walk properly in the end, but yeah it's dark and mostly depressing. but it gets better after all. AND I REALLY LOVED THIS FIC because it gives so much depth to alex's character and her perception on everything around her.

i would love to see your hcs on future chenrich if you're willing to share, just in case.

btw have you read forget-me-not comics or other side content?

Hi again, Anon!!

There is SO MUCH depth to explore re: what happened to Alex. I think that's one of the game's weakest points, to be honest; it doesn't really give the incident a lot of weight, if that makes sense? Jed confesses, Alex recovers (absurdly quickly), happy ending. But there's SO MUCH there!! Mentally and physically!! The reminders live on her body and will for the rest of her life, not to mention the psychological impacts of knowing all that Jed had done to her family. She can never un-learn that, and it has to just...plague her at first, you know? I think eventually she could make peace and move on, but I wish the game had given that more gravity.

I plan to share some of my future Chenrich HCs at some point! Right now they're all jumbled 😅 They're also RIDICULOUSLY self-indulgent, but hey, that's the fun of it!

I've read 3/4 of the forget-me-not comics and I've skimmed Steph's Story and Heatwaves! I wish I had liked them :// Unfortunately I really struggled with the characterization and storylines. With the exception of Steph's Story, I have a hard time with spinoff content that goes in separate directions. The comics for LIS1 worked because the game lends itself to multiverses. I don't feel that it meshes as well with TC! Alex's cat shirt from forget-me-not does live rent free in my head though 😄

[tryan-a-bex]

gen/any ship "Why are you whispering?”

<3 for the late night call prompts

Ooh, thanks for the great prompt, anon. I’ve had a couple comments lately about how brave my Jed is despite all his trauma, so here’s a little story addressing that. (Cw small mention of canonical child abuse.) (Read on AO3)

“Rose, Rose!” Jed whispered urgently.

“Jeddy? Why are you whispering?” Rose groggily lifted her head from the pillow and stared uncomprehendingly at her alarm clock. “It’s three am.” She sat up and looked at him, hovering nervously at the door to her bedroom.

“I didn’t want to wake up Ara,” Jed whispered. “I heard a noise.”

Rose nodded. She tucked the blankets carefully around Ara and snuck out of the room, closing the door gently so she wouldn’t wake her up.

“Come on, let’s check it out.” She put her arm around Jed and he leaned into her chest. He was so brave during the day, and even in his dreams he was a Knight and Hero. But once in a while, in the darkest part of the night, he had trouble banishing his memories of rats crawling on him in a dark basement, and adults who were supposed to protect him punishing him instead, for the crime of being a child. Rose was glad she was there for those moments, even if it meant she was a bit more tired the next day.

They got to Jed’s room and stood very still, listening for the sound he’d heard.

“It’s gone now,” he announced finally, frustration showing in his voice. Rose was pretty sure he didn’t want to be alone yet.

“Now that we’re up, do you want some warm milk? Or maybe just a cuddle for a while?” she offered.

He looked surprised at the offer, and then thoughtful. “Actually I’m quite tired,” he rubbed his eyes. “Do you think… would it be okay… can you hug me in my bed for a while so I can fall asleep better?”

“Of course, Jeddy,” Rose said warmly. She lay down on his bed and held her arms out, and he stretched out beside her and hugged his teddy bear while she put her arms around him. She calmed her breathing and listened to his follow, and soon she heard him drop off into sleep.

The next thing she knew, Ara was whispering her name. “Rose?”

“Why are you whispering?” she asked blearily.

“I didn’t want to wake Jed up,” Ara explained quietly, “but your alarm went off and you weren’t there.” Rose raised her head groggily and saw Ara hovering by the doorway. She tucked the blankets around Jed and snuck from the room, closing the door gently so she wouldn’t wake him up.

“He had a rough night. Let’s let him sleep in a bit,” she said as they walked back to their room. “Thanks for getting me, though, I’d hate to have been late to my meeting today.”

As they got to their room, Ara turned and took Rose in her arms. “You’re a good sister to him. I’m glad he has you now.” Rose melted tiredly into her embrace.

“Me too.”

[kydrogendragon]

Happy birthday!

I love Lucienne and Gault being sweet to each other, Gault and Jed having adventures together in the Dreaming, and Rose and Barbie if you want (I set them up as a pair in my fic, Life is But a Dream, but then didn’t go any farther with them).

Happy writing!

Sixth prompt of the day!

I initially tried to write a ficlet with all of the above, but couldn't figure out what I wanted to go with it. If you're curious, the general premise I had was Rose teasing Lucienne about when she planned to propose to Gault while they were all in the Dreaming. Gault was off flying around Fiddler's Green with Jed while Lucienne, Rose, and Barbie lounged on a picnic blanket on a hill.

But! Instead, I wrote a thing focusing on Gault and Lucienne since the words for that flowed more. I'd like to finish the other idea I had eventually since I do think it'd be cute, but hopefully this also works!

Thanks a ton for the prompt!!! This was a lot of fun to write. It's vaguely in the same universe as A Waking Nightmare, but just in the sense of "this is how these two got together".

Relationship: Gault/Lucienne Words: 1587 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

“When was the last time you left this place?” Gault asks, trailing behind Lucienne while the former raven snags the misplaced books from shelves and tables. The library of the Dreaming was expansive and ever shifting, though Lucienne never seemed to have issue navigating it. Even Gault, as a Major Arcana, a spot that put her as close to their Lord as a Dream or Nightmare could be, struggled with finding exactly what she wanted in this place.

Lucienne had explained it to her once. She claimed that her role as the Librarian of the Dreaming allowed her control over it to some degree. As Dream was the Dreaming, Lucienne was, partially, the Library as well. When she retired from her position as a Raven and took up the new role as Librarian, their Lord had bestowed upon her a small fraction of his powers so that she could wield this space to it’s fullest potential. And wield it, she did.

“Frequently,” Lucienne replies, pulling one of the misplaced books from her cart and slotting it between it’s brothers on the shelf in front of her. “I do often bring reports to Lord Morpheus, after all. I am not confined to this space, you know.” She hears Gault’s sigh behind her before she sees the flash of color to her side. Gault follows her, walking backwards beside the cart. Lucienne shoots her a look, raised brow and all, wile she continues her duties.

“You know,” Gault says, picking up one of the abandoned books and turning it in her hands. “Doing tasks for our Lord wasn’t what I meant. When what the last time you left this place on your own accord?”

The answer, Lucienne knows, is a very long time. So long, in fact, she’s unsure when exactly that was. Not nearly as far back as her position as raven, but not much sooner than it, either, she suspects. She blinks, refusing to look upon Gault’s knowing expression, and instead focuses on her work. She slots a book into position, her finger trailing along the spine as she pushes the hardback into place.

She just catches the roll of Gault’s eyes as she wheels the cart forward. They descend, expectedly for Lucienne, unexpectedly for Gault, who stumbles over her feet at the sudden shift in elevation. She falls over, her back colliding with the now stable flooring of the Library. Lucienne smirks as she wheels past the prone Nightmare.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Gault called from her spot on the floor. Lucienne looks over her shoulder, a face of perfect innocence.

“Me? Never. The floor was always that way.” She turns back as Gault huffs and pushes herself up off the hardwood floors. They’ve made their way into one of the offshoots of the main library. Here, the hallway is narrower and the ceiling reaches just a head taller than their Lord’s usual form size. Torches line the walls, illuminating the corridor in golden, flickering light. If Lucienne was being truthful, it was these smaller sectors of the Library that she enjoyed the most. They were rarely visited by anyone, dream and nightmares or dreamers alike. This particular hallway was devoted to the finished collections of Swedish Shower Thoughts circa 1940 to 2040.

“If I asked you to join me for a scroll through the gardens, would you say yes?” Gault’s voice echoed against the stone ceilings. The grip on the book in Lucienne’s hand tightened. She looks down, eyes trailing over the leather bound edges. A stroll through the garden, inherently, wasn’t a bad idea. The weather was fair as their Lord was in a decent mood as of late and she knew that Mervyn had recently completed the renovations to the pergola beside the pond which would make for a most excellent sitting spot. No, the garden wasn’t the thing that made Lucienne pause.

Gault was. Or rather, what Gault wanted was the cause for her hesitation. It was clear, after the numerous visits she had made to the Library in recent months, that there was something more than simple friendship under the surface. Lucienne wasn’t blind to the clear flirting or prolonged looks. And she would be lying if she said there weren’t times her own eyes lingered a touch too long. Mutual attraction wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it existed in the first place.

Lucienne was the Librarian of the Dreaming. She was a former raven to Dream of the Endless and, most critically, was kept nearly as busy as her lordship was. And Gault… Gault was a jovial spirit who completed her work with artistry and efficiency. She helped care and raise the young dreams and nightmares and saw such beauty and potential in both this realm and the Waking. Gault was worthy of her title as Major Arcana. She was the best of them. And what Gault needed was not someone who has been compared to Lord Morpheus in more ways than one.

No, she should deny her request for the stoll in the garden. She should deny any such requests in the future until Gault takes the hint and finds someone more compatible, more deserving of her. She sighs, slotting the book in place, before turning to meet Gault’s gaze.

“Okay.”

The gardens, as expected, were wonderful out. The flowers were just starting to bloom and the air was clean and crisp. Lucienne couldn’t help but notice the tension in her shoulders began to dissipate as they walked through the rows of flowering hedges.

They chatted while they walked, mostly of work, though Gault did tell stories of the most recent nightmares she’d partaken in. Apparently, there had been some debate on who was responsible for a string of serial nightmares: herself or the Corinthian. Lucienne did not envy Gault for having to deal with that mess. The Corinthian, while an effective Nightmare and particularly favored by their Lord (though Lucienne knows well he would deny such claims), was not fun to work with on a professional level.

Gault stopped just beside a section of flower, a variety of Daisy that exists solely in the Dreaming, and plucks one from it’s stem. Lucienne watches as she raises the golden flower to her nose and sniffs. She hums, clearly pleased by the scent, before turning to face Lucienne. She stares for a moment, her eyes flicking between the side of her head and back to her gaze.

Then, it clicks, when Gault leans forward and slots the flower between her ear. Lucienne can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine as Gault’s touch. She is warm. Her fingers are warm as they caress the side of her face once the flower is secured.

“There,” she says, letting her arm fall back to her side. “Something pretty for someone pretty.” Lucienne smiles, shaking her head as he looks away. She can feel heat in her cheeks.

“Is that the best line you have? You are trying to woo a librarian, after all.” She replies, gazing down at the junction of stone and grass beside their feet.

“Guess I’ll just have to study some more. Is there a book on good pick-up lines somewhere in that expansive library of yours?”

Lucienne looks up, her eyes meeting the soft gaze on Gault’s face. She feels her heart skip in her chest followed immediately by a heaviness, a lead weight of guilt inside her. She doesn’t realize she’s speaking until it’s too late.

“You should not want me,” she nearly yells. “I will not have the time to devote to you as I would like. As you would deserve. I will put our Lord and the Dreaming above us, above you and above me. I cannot be the spontaneous partner or even, truly, a most affectionate one. I have only know my work, my books, and my Lord for so many centuries that I do not know how to know another. You deserve more than me, Gault.”

She is silent, staring down at Lucienne with such sadness in her eyes that she is certain she has some to the same conclusion as herself. That a relationship between them would be pointless. Instead, she slowly raises her hands and cups Lucienne’s cheeks.

“Good think I’m more than fine with just following you around while you work,” Gault says, leaning forward to press a feather light kiss to Lucienne’s forehead. It is the most touch she has experienced in so long. She only realizes she has whimpered when Gault chuckles against her skin. “We have all the time in the world. I can learn to wait while you figure it all out. As a friend or as more. I just want you, Lucienne.”

She lets out a shuddering breath which quickly turns into a shaky, teary laugh. Gault wraps her arms around her form and pulls her close to her iridescent chest. They are a perfect height, Lucienne thinks, as she feels Gault’s chin rest on the top of her head. She winds her own arms around Gault’s waist, letting herself enjoy the moment. There’s a steady thrum from under her skin. Not a heart, not truly, for most of the dreamthings here do not have hearts, but rather the core of them. It pulses with power, hers even stronger than most for her status as an Arcana.

“Okay,” she finally says, her voice muffled against Gault’s body. “Just… be patient with me?”

“For you, my dear librarian? Of course.”

[kaydreamer]

Mole Rats and Other Delicacies

The morning sun glowed through the windows of the switching tower, landing softly upon Hope’s eyelids and bringing the promise of warmth despite the chilly morning mist. She lay there, cosy and comfortable, smiling as she heard Hancock snoring lightly from the couch. Trying to convince herself she wasn’t being the slightest bit creepy, she peeked out over the lip of her blankets to look at him. The sight made her giggle under her breath, and she felt a little guilty for taking the bed. He was far too long for the couch, his head propped on one arm rest and his knees hooked over the opposite, leaving his feet to dangle in the air.

A toe poked through a hole in his sock.

He looked adorable, but if that had been her, she’d have woken all kinds of stiff. If she didn’t have a giant crush on him, she’d have offered to share the bed… but she did have a giant crush on him, and her self-control, delicate at the best of times, only stretched so far.

It still wasn’t very fair though. They’d take turns, she decided. Next time, he’d have the bed.

Hope didn’t much want to leave the warmth of her blankets, but apparently Oberland Station had other ideas. Given the relative scarcity of alarm clocks in the apocalypse, sunlight had become the universal signal for everything and everyone to wake. Voices rose from the small farm plot and the little row of shops, while louder, more distant voices carried from the far end of the settlement. The bass moaning of brahmin told her that was probably the caravans leaving.

After the comments she’d overheard last night, good riddance to them.

With a small groan, Hope sat up and stretched, Dogmeat thumping his tail from where he was curled up by her feet. She shimmied into her vault suit, zipping it up as Hancock’s gentle snoring stuttered and stopped. He opened his eyes, then quickly scrunched them up again.

“Mrmph… ya catch the brand on the brahmin that stomped my head last night?”

Hope picked up his hat and dropped it gently over his face. “I think that brahmin came in a bottle,” she teased. “Or several.”

He straightened the hat as he stood and stretched, his groan punctuated with several bone-popping crackles.

“Sorry,” said Hope. “It’s your turn for the bed next time we find one.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” said Hancock, stifling a yawn and shooting her a sleepy-eyed wink. “Wouldn’t dream of denying a gorgeous woman her beauty sleep.”

Their first task of the day was the radio. The man Valerie had mentioned, Jed, was already sitting at the desk in the downstairs room of the switching tower. He was the same man who’d invited them back for drinks at the station house, and he hooted with laughter when he caught a glimpse of Hancock’s bleary-eyed expression.

“Thought you ghouls had super-strength and healing powers?”

“Apparently they don’t stretch to fuckin’ hangovers,” said Hancock, deadpan, wincing when that comment earned him another loud hoot from Jed.

“My ma always used to say a hangover was the Devil’s party favour,” said Jed, his moustache twitching. “Never did like the drink, my ma. What can I do for you both this mornin’?”

“I need to update your radio map with Goodneighbor’s call frequency, and test the signal strength,” said Hope. “And radio ahead to Sanctuary as well, so I can tell them I’m on my way back.”

Jed stood up and gestured to the radio on the desk. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Want me to bring you both some breakfast?”

“I like this settlement,” said Hancock, after Jed delivered two bowls of steaming porridge topped with mutfruit jam. He’d perched himself on the desk next to Hope, legs swinging as he lifted a spoonful to his mouth. “I usually head north by Bunker Hill, but this place is way better.”

“What’s out at Bunker Hill?” asked Hope, as she copied Goodneighbor’s call frequency onto a rough, hand-drawn map of the Commonwealth.

“Biggest trade hub outside of Diamond City,” said Hancock. “And almost as far up its own ass. All the caravans pass through there. You’ll wanna know ‘em eventually, but I think the Minutemen’ll be a hard sell.”

Hope pursed her lips as she folded up the map and placed it back into its drawer. “Let me guess. They also have the best security in the Commonwealth?”

“Nope. Bunker Hill pays off the raiders instead of just shooting ‘em.” He looked at Hope, a wry grin on his lips. “Now where’s the sport in that?”

Hope chuckled, grabbing her bowl of porridge and humming at the taste of the mutfruit jam. “So if the Minutemen were to, say… wipe out the raiders?”

“I like the way you think, sunshine.”

They finished their porridge, passing the bowls down to Dogmeat, then Hope tuned the radio to the call frequency for Graygarden, a little further north along the train line.

“Graygarden, this is Oberland Station. General Hope speaking. Anyone there?”

It was answered after a few attempts by a sultry robotic voice. “Why hello, darling, it’s so good to hear from you!”

Hancock smothered a snort.

“Supervisor White, hi,” said Hope. “Can you pass a message along the relay? Destination, Sanctuary.”

“Of course I can, darling. What’s the message?”

“That I’m on my way back up,” said Hope. “I’ll stop in at each settlement along the way. Also, Goodneighbor have agreed to join our radio relay, so our range now covers most of Downtown Boston. I’ll update the radio maps as I pass through.”

“Wonderful! I’ll pass that along right away. What was it they used to say in the old spy films? Over and out?”

“Over and out,” said Hope.

Hancock smirked. “That the next settlement we’re visiting?”

“Yeah. It’s… unique.”

“What’dya think’d happen if we introduced the bot with that voice to Kleo?”

Hope laughed, slapping him lightly as she rose from her chair and offered him the radio. He sat, tuning the dial for Goodneighbor.

“Hey Goodneighbor, this is Hancock. Anyone awake yet, or is all this fresh air and sunshine gettin’ to me already?”

A few seconds passed before a clatter came across the speakers, followed by Fahrenheit’s voice.

“What the fuck, Hancock, it’s the crack of dawn. Again.”

“Yeah believe me, I’m feelin’ it. I’m at Oberland, just wanted to test the radio signal. You got time to jot down their call frequency so Goodneighbor can get in on the fun?”

“Does it have to be right now? I’m in the middle of-”

“Fahrenheit…?” came the very distinct, crooning tone of Magnolia, the Flower of the Third Rail.

If Hancock’s eyes flew any wider, they’d have popped from their sockets. He opened his mouth, shook his head, closed it, then tried again.

“If you’re, ah… entertainin’, I can call back later.”

The silence that stretched between them was both hilarious and excruciating.

“Call back later.” Her voice was replaced by a hiss of static.

Hope, who had clapped her hand over her mouth, removed it to release a peal of giggles. Hancock looked up at her, a wonky grin on his face.

“Magnolia. Fuckin’… Magnolia. I would not have guessed that,” he said, shaking his head. “Not in a million years.” He stood up. “I need a beer. And,” he winked at her, “I need to win back last night’s poker caps by cookin’ ya the best mole rat you’ll ever eat.”

Hope’s giggles snagged in a grimace as she followed him toward the dining shack.

While Hancock cooked, Hope helped. She helped him, and she helped the Oberland settlers. At first, as he was pulling an improbable amount of spice pouches from his over-stuffed backpack, he’d asked her to pick a few mutfruit. A few became all of them when it was clear a number of trees were ready to harvest. She bought Hancock an armful, then ran back to help with the small farm.

Once the picking was done, she returned to a dining shack suffused with the sweet scent of boiling mutfruit, and the gruesome sight of Hancock butchering mole rat flesh, dropping bits of offal into Dogmeats’s ecstatic maw.

She left quickly to help with something else.

Hope found herself oiling rail car doors, fixing a leak in the water purifier, clearing the station house gutters and, at one point, helping to repair an old jukebox someone had hauled in and stowed in a workshop made of shipping containers at the back of the settlement. All things her father, as handy as he was stubborn, had taught her to do.

She tried hard not to think of that, swallowing down a lump in her throat.

When the lunch bell rang, Hope found Hancock sharing the kitchen with Tess, who had set last night’s tato soup back up to warm. They were kneading bread rolls and quarrelling amiably about which mix of herbs should go on roast brahmin.

As the dining hall began to fill with hungry settlers, Tess shooed him out with two bowls of soup and fresh rolls for himself and Hope. They ate with everyone else, before someone asked Hope if she had any experience fixing broken boilers. The appeal of a warm shower saw her inhale her soup and leave Hancock to entertain himself for the afternoon.

Mole rat was delicious, but Hancock knew it was at its best the longer you cooked it. He’d spent the morning carefully butchering the whole animal for the settlement - no sense in wasting good meat when you had somewhere to store it - which left the afternoon free to cook it. He couldn’t wait to see Hope’s reaction. This was going to be the most satisfying fifty caps he’d ever made.

Once the meat was boiling in a large pot of water and brahmin milk, he left it to stew, returning to the radio room in the switching tower. He was itching to speak to Fahrenheit after that morning’s little revelation. He wore a devious grin as her voice crackled over the speaker.

“Hancock. Not. A. Word.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m keepin’ my words for when I can tease ya face to face.”

“Fuck off.”

“Nice catch though, I gotta say,” he said, swinging on his chair. “Where’d ya learn to pull a dame like that? Couldn’t have been little old me.”

“I will shoot you.”

Hancock scoffed. “Not right now, ya won’t.”

“Fine. I’ll hang up on you.”

“Wait! Wait. I’ll lay off.” He chuckled. “It’s just funny. All these years I thought ya didn’t have eyeballs, turns out they were just glued to the hottest woman in all of fuckin’ Goodneighbor. I’m almost proud.”

There was silence for a moment before Fahrenheit replied. “Is this seriously why you called back?”

Hancock chortled. “It’s, like, ninety percent the reason. How’s everythin’ else in town?”

“Still a few mutterings about Bobbi. Nothing to worry about, just the regular bitching from the idiots you’d expect.”

That sobered Hancock up pretty quickly. He dropped his chair back to the floor. “Yeah… guess that makes sense.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing to worry about,” Fahrenheit repeated, stern. She must have caught the change in his tone. “Everyone whose opinion matters knows she crossed a line.”

“Did she?” Hancock spoke quietly. “It wasn’t Goodneighbor’s strongroom. It was mine.”

“And you’re the mayor,” said Fahrenheit. “An injury to you is an injury to Goodneighbor. That’s how this works, you know that.”

Hancock answered with a reluctant grunt. “Guess I just… wish it shook out differently.”

“You offed Finn for threatening newcomers. I didn’t see a guilt trip over that, Hancock. Bobbi making you look weak threatens you, which threatens all of us. Your whole town.”

“I know that.” Hancock was getting annoyed now. “I made the hard call, didn’t I? Sent you out there to stop her, knowing what might happen. I’m allowed to feel bad about it.”

Another long pause. “...Yeah. Guess you are. Sorry.”

“S alright,” said Hancock. “You’re lookin’ out for me. It’s sweet.” He smiled. “Guess that must be what Magnolia sees in ya, huh?”

Fahrenheit groaned, but when she spoke, he could tell by the sound of her words that she spoke through a smile as well. “See ya ‘round, Hancock.”

Something was slightly off about Hancock’s mood when Hope returned to the dining shack that evening, elated by the fact her successful attempt to fix Oberland Station’s boiler had earned them both warm showers. He’d seemed happy enough, teasing her about whether they’d have to share a single shower since she’d done all the work, but something in his smile seemed strained. 

“Are you okay?” asked Hope.

The strained smile fell away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… somethin’ Fahrenheit mentioned. Talk about it later?”

Hope nodded, patting his shoulder and leaning over to sniff the mole rat chunks bubbling in a thick, purple mutfruit glaze. “I have to admit… that actually smells really nice.”

Hancock smirked. “Ya got those caps handy?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s still a mole rat. The sauce smells nice, but the meat probably tastes like baby vomit.”

Hancock looked absolutely horrified. “That’s… specific.”

Hope laughed. “Spend enough time around a baby, you’ll learn for yourself.”

“No thank you,” said Hancock, with a shudder.

Mole rat did not, in fact, taste like baby vomit. 

Mole rat tasted of chicken, but with the tender, satisfying, mouth-coating texture of slow-cooked lamb. And the glaze Hancock had made was exquisite, a perfect balance of sweet mutfruit, salt, and whatever spices he’d used from the small apothecary he’d brought with him. Hope had squealed around her first mouthful, her toes dancing under the table as Hancock beamed at her.

“Guess I owe you fifty caps,” she said between mouthfuls. They were sitting at a table with the other settlers, enjoying dinner as a group. Tess shot Hope a curious look. “I… thought mole rat would be gross,” she explained. “Hancock bet me fifty caps he could make me like it.”

Tess laughed. “Oh, he got you good. It’s one of the nicer meats. Usually a bit gamier than this though.” She looked at him. “How’d you get this flavour?”

“Ya soak it in milk,” he said, looking very pleased with himself. “I used some while I was stewing’ it. Little trick I learned ages back.”

“This is the second thing you’ve cooked for me that’s tasted like absolute heaven” said Hope. “How’d you learn to cook like this?”

“It ain’t much different from cookin’ chems, really,” said Hancock, grinning when he saw a few raised eyebrows around the table. “It’s just knowin’ what ingredients go together and how to work ‘em so they taste good. Daisy taught me most of it. The cookin', not the chems. We made a deal early on, after I became mayor. I let her use the kitchen in the Statehouse whenever she wants, and she’d teach me how to cook whatever it was she was makin’.”

“Daisy’s so sweet,” said Hope.

“When she ain’t actin’ like she’s my damn grandma.” Hancock rolled his eyes, but his smile was as warm as the steam rising from his bowl.

Now firmly convinced that Hancock knew what he was talking about, Hope was excited to learn what other non-obvious animals were tasty. She knew brahmin and radstag were good, and she’d already developed a liking for mirelurk - they tasted exactly like the crabs they’d mutated from, and their eggs, when scrambled, were fishy but pleasant. Now, she was learning that stingwing meat could be sliced up thin and used as a sharp garnish, that radscorpion flesh was slightly sweet, with a unique, numbing spiciness, that yao guai was disgusting, bloatfly was disgusting and would probably poison her, and that while radroaches may have a vomit-inducing texture, they were very rich when boiled down into a thick brown sauce.

She also learned that rad chicken and rad rabbit were highly prized, but uncommon - their small size and lack of meat made them inefficient to farm compared to the bulky, docile, and apparently quick-breeding brahmin.

They were also goddamn escape artists, Valerie had told her, with a look of profound irritation. She’d tried breeding a small coop of rad chickens once. They’d sawed their way through their wire enclosure with their beaks, and their talons could scratch through wooden floors within a night.

"Never again," Valerie swore.

Their evening ended far earlier than the previous night. Whatever was weighing on Hancock’s mood was still there. His pride at the meal had given way to melancholy, and he sat quietly, listening to the conversations around him and rarely jumping in. When he declined the invitation back to the station house, Hope excused herself as well, following him back to the switching tower and flopping lead-limbed onto the couch. The long day of manual labour had taken its toll, and she found herself glad it was just the two of them.

Hancock caught her eye as he sat beside her, all pretence at joviality gone as gloom hung like cobwebs on his face.

Hope angled herself toward him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah... it ain’t anything bad.” he replied, not looking okay at all. He pulled a Tato Hills cigarette from his pocket and lit it, passing it to Hope after sucking in a long breath of mellow smoke. “Just you, taking care of Bobbi. I ain’t proud of havin’ to put you through that. That sort of dictatorial shit… ain’t usually my style.”

His words struck Hope as strange. Hancock hadn’t put her through anything - Bobbi’s actions had been her own, and it was Hope’s own naiveté which had caught her in the middle of it. Why would he blame himself? Something sharp snagged at her heart as she remembered how sorrowful he’d been on the night of Bobbi’s betrayal. How he’d turned his heavy hat in his hands as his roguish charisma cracked, revealing a conflicted man second-guessing his own leadership.

“Hey,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “You seem awfully torn up over Bobbi. Was there… something between you?”

Hancock shook his head. “Nah, nothin’ like that. I just hate seein’ people like me use their sway to do that kinda harm.” He sounded tired. Hope passed the cigarette back to him, and he took another long drag from it.

She tried not to imagine how the burden of leadership might one day place that same weight upon her own shoulders. It certainly seemed to weigh heavy on his.

Hancock leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as the mellow smoke hit his lungs. It was calming, but it did little to loosen the knot in his heart. He glanced at Hope. She was looking at him with concern painted all through her pretty blue eyes, and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. She was so sweet. He liked her so much.

He wanted her to understand.

He sucked in another lungful of smoke, steeling his nerves. He’d heard the people of Goodneighbor tell this tale a hundred times - how their dashing mayor had claimed his title in a blaze of glory after a night of violent chaos. It was a story he let others tell, and rarely told himself.

He rarely told it, because it began with the single lowest moment of shame in his whole, sorry life.

"That sorta bull’s the whole reason I became mayor in the first place," he said. "Some ass named Vic ran the town for I dunno how long before that. Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggy-bank. He had this goon squad he’d use to keep people in line. Every so often he’d let them off the leash, go blow off some steam on the populace at large. Folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters? We got it bad." A shudder ran down his back as his face twisted with regret. "There was one night, some drifter said somethin’ to them. They cracked him open like a can of cram on the pavement. And we all just stood there. Did nothin’."

Hancock hung his head, the memory still vivid as the night itself. Hope said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, too cowardly to face the disappointment he feared must be painted across her face. His breath hitched as she laid one of her hands over his, gentle and steadying. He blinked away a sudden stinging at the corners of his eyes, and continued.

"We were all so terrified, we couldn’t even bring ourselves to move until it was all over. I felt like less than nothing. Afterwards, I got so high, I blacked out completely. When I finally came to, I was on the floor of the Old Statehouse, right in front of the clothes of John Hancock." A small smile began breaking through the shroud of remorse. "John Hancock… first American hoodlum and defender of the people. I might’ve still been high, but those clothes… spoke to me. Told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put ‘em on, and started a new life. As 'Hancock'." He sat up a little straighter and glanced at Hope. She was staring at him with rapt attention. "After that, I went clean for a bit, got organised, convinced Kleo to loan me some hardware. Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins. Started trainin’. Next time Vic’s boys went on their tear, we’d be ready for ‘em."

Hope grinned. "The fact that you’re standing here and Vic isn’t would suggest things went well?"

Hancock leaned back with a smile of his own, sucking in a breath through the . He felt a little more relaxed now he'd reached the point in the story he was actually proud of. "Oh yeah. So, the night of, we all got loaded. Let Vic’s boys get good and hammered… and burst from the windows and rooftops where we’d been hiding. They never even saw it coming. We didn’t have to fire a shot. We didn’t have to…" his smile turned vicious, "but we sure fuckin’ did. It was a massacre. Once we’d mopped up, we strolled right into Vic’s quarters in the Statehouse, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him off the balcony." Hancock took a deep breath, the intensity of the moment flooding back to him. "And there I am. Gun in hand, draped in Hancock’s duds, lookin’ at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say somethin’. The first time I said ‘em, they didn’t even feel like my words. ‘Of the people, for the people,’ was my inagural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day." His eyes met Hope's. "And from then on, I vowed I’d never stand by and watch, ever again."

“That’s incredible, Hancock,” said Hope, her voice breathy. She was gazing at him with what looked like awe. “No wonder your community love you so much. You’re a hero.”

Hancock was, momentarily, lost for words. That was not the reaction he was expecting. He cleared his throat, somewhat abashed. "Dunno about that," he said, rubbing his neck. "I just hope you get where I'm comin’ from. I ain’t out to bring harm to anyone that didn’t earn it."

"You don't think Bobbi earned it?" asked Hope, softly.

"She earned it when she shot at Fahrenheit." Hancock narrowed his eyes. "And for ropin' you in when ya had no idea what she was really plannin'. That's just low. But stealin' from me? That shit ain't a capital offence." He sighed. "I just wish it all went down different."

"If I'm honest..." Hope looked down, fidgeting, "so do I. She didn't seem like that bad of a person until it all went sideways."

"She wasn't." Hancock stood with a long sigh. "I don't blame ya, if you're worried. I'm damn grateful ya took her out before she could shoot Fahrenheit. I'm just sorry ya got mixed up in it." He offered her a hand. "C'mon, lets get some shuteye. I'll feel better come mornin'."

Hope shot Hancock a grin as she stretched out along the couch, just as he'd done the night before. "Speaking of fair," she said, closing her eyes. "Bed's yours. Goodnight, Hancock."

Hancock shook his head. "Oh, no ya don't." He leaned down, scooping her into his arms as she shrieked, then dropped her wriggling body onto the far more comfortable-looking bed. She glared up at him, flushed, a crooked smile cracking through the look of the mock indignation she was trying to maintain.

"That's cheating."

"Nah." He winked at her. "That's just me bein' a gentleman."

Later, as Hope lay unfairly warm and comfortable beneath the blankets, Hancock’s story replayed in her mind. She could picture it so easily - him standing on the Old Statehouse balcony, a fist raised skyward, the people of Goodneighbor roaring below as a tyrant was deposed. She’d been right about him. He didn’t just remind her of the freedom fighters she admired - he was one. And then he’d stepped up and ran the town he’d freed for… did he say ten years? Even though the burden of that responsibility clearly weighed on him.

But was still one thing which confused her. She understood his regret about how things had ended with Bobbi. She shared it. But she didn’t understand why he burdened himself with the blame for her being there.

Unless…

“Did you know?” Hope asked the darkness. “That Bobbi was up to something?”

The darkness was silent for several seconds.

“I did.” Hancock’s confession hung heavy in the gloom. “Knew she’d dragged you into it, too. Didn’t tell ya because it would’a tipped her off. She was shrewd.” He shifted on the couch, the rustling sound quiet in the stillness of the night. “I’m not proud of it.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Hope. “I get it.”

“I won’t be leavin’ ya in the dark like that again.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “That’s a promise.”

First Chapter

Chapter 8

Chapter 10: COMING SOON