#final girl danny

[bluerosefox]

Family Resemblance

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I had another 11pm brain worm.

Enjoy

-x-x-

Daniel Wayne, the younger toddler brother of Bruce Wayne and the son of Martha and Thomas Wayne had been kidnapped the night their parents were murdered.

Daniel had been snagged the moment their killer heard people headed to the alley and Bruce in his state of shock didn't realize it until it was far to late and could only scream in horror (from everything) as his baby brother is crying his name. (If you wanna make it even more heart wrenching, make it Danny's first time being able to say Bruce's name right and/or Bruce had said some mean things to Danny earlier after he accidentally broke something of Bruce's, something like 'I wish youd go away' or 'I never wanted a brother, you're such a bother!')

Bruce is being held by Alfred as some police officers are chasing down the Wayne's parents killer while some stay behind to see if they could do something.

Minutes turn to hours and as they wait, praying the police at least found Danny, Bruce is ridden with guilt. From his parents death to allowing his brother to be kidnapped.

Eventually the police return to give Alfred and Bruce the news. And it's not good.

The killer escaped and Danny was nowhere to be found.

And it would take many years before he would be found.

-x-x-

Bruce gets a call from Damian during school hours one day. When he answers he is greeted with Damian demanding him to get to the school and explain himself.

Confused Bruce asks what does he mean and Damian responds with

"The two new students in class today are the spitting images of you and I father! Either they are poorly created clones or you have more hidden blood children!"

-x-x-

Meanwhile the very students being discussed are calling up someone too

"Ellie? Dan? What's wrong? You better not have made too much chaos already, I just paid for the uniforms for that place."

"DAD! I THINK ANOTHER ONE OF THE FRUITLOOPS FAILED CLONES SOMEHOW SURVIVED!"

"What?"

[noxcheshire]

HOT TAKE

But I like the idea of the phantom world being reincarnated into very unexpected people.

Like I still love the idea of Danny being Martha or Thomas.

Or Dani being another clone, or her being Damian, and Sam being Poison Ivy and or Martha, etc.

But I also like the unhinged nonsense of Sam being a clone in the dc world — ideally Kon, and Dani (or Dan) being Bruce, while Vlad is gasp Thomas Wayne.

HEAR ME OUT

JUST HEAR ME OUT

I just think the idea of Danny finding out that in an alternate world he married a nicer and age appropriate Vlad and had the son the guy has been demanding for so long in their world is hilarious.

The absolute mental breakdown that boy will go through: this is my son, and I love him, look at him go being a hero and kicking ass, but holy fucking Ancients above I fucked VLAD —

And on the other hand, can you imagine Bruce’s reaction? To his alternate mom being a sassy teenage boy, his alternate dad being an older guy ‘preying’ on this kid that absolutely HATES the guy, and being an absolute creep while his alt self **gestures to your choosing** is either a tiny girl menace or the biggest and meanest growling ghost that is BARELY tolerating being in the same space as the living.

But they also hate his alternate dad and would punch him into next week with Mom! Danny.

This man will being going THROUGH IT.

[slashthrashandcrash]

The biggest appeal about shipping GhostMeg is that Danny gets to be so fucking annoying

[skin-quality-late-reach]

https://tracy-847.mjcyd.asia/ho/xDzbeiB

[place-process]

https://kimberly-631.mxtkh.fun/th/MrEFkNV

[scvrmqueen]

His Final Girl - Danny Johnson

Pairing: Danny Johnson / Ghost Face x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, blood, gore, trauma

Premise: You survive a brutal encounter with the Ghost Face. After revealing himself as Jed Olsen, your former coworker, Roseville is finally free from the killer’s grasp. Little do they know his work is far from over - and he doesn’t leave survivors. 

AN: Hi y’all! So pleased to introduce my first Danny Johnson piece. This was loosely inspired by the song The Perfect Girl by Mareux. Please like / comment / reblog if you enjoy, your interactions keep me writing! 

They tell you it's a miracle - a true blessing to have survived. To be a final girl.

Final girl. At least that's what the articles have painted you as, no one dared utter the blood-soaked moniker to your face. You became headline news, a gruesome tale reminiscent of the finest slasher movies. "Ghost Face Unmasked," the Roseville Gazette headline read, "Killer Disappears Leaving Only Surviving Victim."

You clenched the newspaper tighter, head swimming as the droning tone of your heart monitor continued to climb. His mask taunted you from the front page and the fresh wounds littering your abdomen throbbed incessantly at the sight.

Five stab wounds to the abdomen - those had been his killing blows. A jagged slice on your throat just beneath your chin. That scar had been incidental, a result of your futile struggling against his unyielding hold. Whispers of astonishment floated around the hospital, shocked that an otherwise meticulous killer completely missed your jugular vein and carotid artery. They didn't understand that it was a calculated move on his part.

"Can't have you bleeding out on me yet, doll face. We haven't even gotten to the good part yet."

You shivered at the memory, fingertips ghosting the gauze on your neck.

Prior to his deliberate unmasking, the Ghost Face was more ghoul than man. He was transcendental, a horrific concept derived from the most sinister ghost stories. He was the dread that permeated moonless evenings, spreading paranoia like wildfire in the inky depths of Roseville. He was the smooth, sultry whispers that promised death and suffering over static-laden phone lines.

But just as Ghost Face had been an entity, Jed Olsen had been just a man. A charming, carefully crafted persona - all effortless grins and placating quips. Roseville adored Jed, hanging off his every word as if the city would collapse without him. Perhaps that was why his enthusiastic interest in the Roseville murders - in Ghost Face - had been overlooked.

Unlike the rest of the Chronicle staff, something about Jed's amiable disposition perturbed you. His wide smiles never quite extended to to his eyes. Those chocolate irises always seemed to conceal something sinister, a darkness that you couldn't quite grasp.

Once when Jed was still shiny and new, before the murders, you had mentioned your strange observation to a coworker. You were met with eyerolls and condescending coos that Jed practically embodied good old American values.

If only you had trusted your instinct.

You had kept Jed at arms length until you couldn't. After the first handful of victims sent the city into a frenzy, the chief editor informed you that the star headliner required some assistance. Evidently, Jed had requested you as a partner specifically. After all, your previous coverage of the Night Stalker conviction had earned you the reputation of an excellent profiler at the Chronicle. 

The phone calls began shortly after your first article with Jed was published. Unlike his other victims who expired within a week, your game of cat and mouse had been dragged out over the span of several months.

“Oh, I like you, kitten,” he had said, his dark low chuckle still echoing in the recesses of your mind. “Let’s see how feisty you still are when I spill those pretty guts.” 

You were a shell of your former self when you returned to work. Though medically cleared, your coworkers seemed to share the sentiment that your recovery was too expedited. 

“You know, Y/n, you can take more time,” your editor had quietly advised, voice barely raised above a whisper as if his words would shatter your fragile existence. “No one will blame you if you’re not ready.” 

Fuck that. Fuck Jed Olsen. You’d be damned if he took this away from you. 

So here you sat, poised at your desk, alert eyes carefully scanning the outline of your latest article. Your coworkers had long since departed, an eerie silence coating the office as the natural light dissipated from your cubicle. Despite your can of mace and pocket knife, a staple of your wardrobe these days, you never felt safe alone anymore. But you couldn’t go home now. You had a deadline to meet, and you worked better without the sympathetic glances of your peers weighing you down. 

And yes, you were aware that working late in the desolate building wasn’t the best decision. In your defense, it had been a month since the incident. What paranoia lingered in your chest was quietly sated by the reminder that Jed was gone. If he wanted to finish you off, correct his unusually sloppy execution, he would have done so by now - your survival was headline news for Christ’s sake. 

Still, you recalled the note he left at his desk following the attack: Don’t worry, I’m not done. 

I’m not done. 

I’m not - 

The shrill ring of your desk phone swept you from your apprehensive trance. There was that familiar sense of dread. It coated your tongue and lingered on your lips, stinging your wounds and clutching your rapidly beating heart. 

It’s just a phone, you reminded yourself, it’s not him. 

Taking a moment to regulate your breathing, your hand paused over the white receiver. You could let it go to voicemail, you reasoned. The small defiant fire that still raged within you, the flame that refused to be snuffed, argued that he would win if fear controlled your every action. 

“Hello?” You answered, sounding more tremulous than you cared for. A familiar static responded. Attempting to compose yourself and appear unaffected, you asked a bit more firmly, “Hello, may I help you?” 

“Hiya, Y/n.” Click. You slammed the phone down, nearly hyperventilating. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. The authorities had expressed with finite certainty that Jed had skipped town, a hypothesis only further confirmed by his pattern of sporadic relocations. 

When the phone sounded once more, you were determined to ignore it. Sure, it would infuriate him, but if death was knocking at your door, you refused to play his sick game of cat and mouse. Still, a growing rage melded into the tendrils of fear curling around you - a wrathful affliction that accumulated venom in your throat. 

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You spat. The phrase ‘seeing red’ suddenly made perfect sense, as if your fury had extinguished your survival instincts. 

A mirthful chuckle followed in response. Before he could retort further, you ground out through clenched teeth: “We’ve played this little game before, Jed. Couldn’t think of something more original?” 

“Oh, dollface,” he sighed, “keep talking like that and I might just reconsider slicing you from chest to sternum.” 

Your breath hitched, an involuntary reaction at the memory of his steel blade. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he added, “Ah, who am I kidding. Leaving survivors isn’t really my style, Y/n.” 

“Guess you’re not as good as you thought,” you sneered, determined to give him a taste of his own twisted medicine. Experience reminded you that Ghost Face was protective of his meticulously designed reputation - he had to be taken seriously, feared like the boogymen before him. If he was going to get under your skin, then you would be damned if you didn’t do the same. 

“Oh, I think you’ve felt just how good I can be, kitten,” he hissed, voice dripping with a suggestive venom. “Maybe I should refresh your memory? Remind you of just who you were screaming under, begging-”

“Fuck you.” Your interruption lacked the bite you intended, dimmed by the hot tears cumulating over your flushed cheeks. “Fuck you, you psychotic piece of shit,” you rasped, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. 

He groaned - groaned, and the sound churned the pit of your stomach. “So mean, kitten, and after all we’ve been through together.” The spiteful remark you prepared died on your tongue as he continued, “but try as you might to wound me, not even you can ruin my good mood tonight, Y/n. Because I get to watch that pretty blood spill again, I get to hear those delicious little cries of terror again.” 

“Oh, and Y/n?” His voice dipped impossibly lower, his words caressing your ear and sending waves of chills through your body. “It’s Danny, not Jed. Be a good girl and scream that for me while I’m gutting you like a fish.” 

Ice coursed through your veins as the dial tone wailed in your ear. There was no time to spare contemplating the harrowing Deja vu that washed over you. Danny hanging up only meant one thing - 

He’s here. 

But this time, you were prepared. You moved to dial the authorities, reasoning that you could remain put and hold Danny off until their arrival. The police station was only ten minutes away. And if you didn’t bleed out in 30 minutes previously, ten minutes was child’s play. 

That was the plan until the phone line went dead, promptly followed by the office lights cutting out. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, Danny certainly hadn’t lost his flare for the dramatic. 

Fight or flight was a fickle thing. You had always been more inclined toward flight, reasoning that overpowering a killer who had managed to subdue men twice your size wasn’t feasible. Remaining in your cubicle awaiting a gruesome fate was out of the question, you had to at least attempt an escape. 

More knowledgeable after your first brush with the reaper, you knew Danny was out there, poised with that gleaning hunting blade. Concealing the canister of mace in your palm, you stepped out into the darkness.

Death didn’t frighten you anymore, you decided. If anything, death would be a reprieve from the horror he afflicted. Still, you were starved for revenge, determined to tear into Ghost Face just as he had you. Any hope for survival was minimal at best. But if you were going down, well, you would drag Danny to hell with you. 

“Come on, Danny,” you cooed, impressed with the smooth, taunting lilt of your voice. “Come fucking get me.” As you approached the entrance to the stairwell, eyes flittering around each shadowed corner, an inky figure emerged. He nearly would have blended into the night if not for the white of the phantom mask. 

Panic briefly seized your chest, though you remained rooted to the linoleum tiles. His head tilted, a mocking wave greeting you as his other gloved hand raised the signature knife. You were certain a gleeful grin was concealed beneath that damned mask. 

“Hi honey, I’m home.” You were briefly jostled by the lack of his voice modulator, taking a moment to soak in the previously comforting voice of Jed - no, Danny. 

There was no one coming to save you this time. The devastating realization nearly strangled you, burned your lungs with a vicious rancor. Danny stepped forward slowly, as if testing to see if you would flee. He was close enough that you could smell the thick leather of his gloves muddled with the coppery waft of previous victims. 

Cautiously, you raised the hand not preoccupied with pepper spray, extending it toward his mask. Further closing the already miniscule distance, your hand grasped at his hood, tugging it down when he made no move to stop you. Holding your breath, you pulled off his mask. A tense silence permeated the air as your gaze scanned his sharp features, heart fluttering at the reveal of those dark, hooded eyes and crimson lips. 

“Why?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. He cocked a perfectly manicured brow, chocolate orbs piercing through you. His face twisted into an expression that reminded you of a lion prepared to devour its prey - a sort of ravenous hunger that made your scars pulse. 

“Because I can,” he responded simply, as if that were all the justification required. You didn’t flinch as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you impossibly closer. He towered above you, head dipping lower so his breath could ghost along your jaw. 

“Because you’re mine.” As if possessed by the intensity of his confession, you didn’t struggle as his lips claimed your own. A guttural moan vibrated through his chest, hips digging into you. The slow ache building in your core prompted you to contemplate that perhaps if things had been different, if you weren’t the final girl of this story, you would willingly follow Danny to the depths of hell. 

Your reverie was interrupted by cool metal piercing the scar tissue of your abdomen. Blinding pain enveloped your senses, a strangled gasp escaping you as those crimson lips continued their bruising course. He allowed you a brief reprieve if only to lower you gently to the cool tile, moving to straddle your waist. The blade retracted before slowly digging in, once again targeting a previous wound. You couldn’t prevent the tormented scream that slipped from you. 

“That’s it, kitten. Let it out, let it all out.” He was taking it slow, dragging out your torture as if punishment for surviving. His knife remained embedded in your stomach, the sting becoming unbearable as a strained giggle tumbled from your lips. Danny’s eyes briefly widened before narrowing, his hand moving to the twist the blade. Hysterical laughter bubbled within you, hand clutching around the mace he had yet to notice. 

“See you in hell, Danny,” you chortled, teeth stained with blood. Sporting the psychotic expression, crimson smeared on your torso and lips, Danny couldn’t help but acknowledge that you had never looked lovelier. His amusement quickly faded as you raised the canister, releasing the toxin into his uncovered eyes. 

“You fucking, bitch!” Taking advantage of his temporary blindness, you gripped the handle of the blade, tearing it out of you with an animalistic scream. Before he could recover, you plunged the blade into Danny’s chest. It took the remainder of your strength to push through the taut muscle, your opposite hand clutching the back of his shoulder to lodge it further in. 

Twin crimson streaks pooled on his lips, a harsh cough spewing the liquid over your face. Ripping the knife from his heart with renewed ferocity, you rolled Danny off you, reveling in the way he slipped to the floor beside you. Blood descended freely from the wound, staining his suit and dripping languidly to the ground below. 

He laughed, the sound fading into a gurgle as blood pooled in his lungs. Unable to move from your spot, you turned your head to bask in the gory scene. Danny was already staring at you, lips upturned in a twisted grin as his hand reached for your own. 

“I always knew you would be my final girl, Y/n.” You smiled, real, genuine, pride swelling in your chest as you lay bleeding out. You did it. Though you would die for this victory, you relished in the knowledge that it would not be in vain. 

You prepared for the ebony tendrils of death to consume you, welcoming the endless expanse of eternal slumber. As your eyes fluttered, consciousness fading, a thick fog enveloped the office. It creeped steadily toward you, wrapping around you and Danny in a suffocating haze. 

You gripped his hand tighter, heaving your final breath. Unprepared for the inevitable realization that your story with Danny was far from over. 

[unfortunatehatlessness]

I love the concept of Banshee!Danny like what a vibe! An immaculate aesthetic! I need a horror movie style fic where the A-listers do dumb shit in the woods and start getting hunted for sport

Then they stumble on Danny being a whole ass cryptid in human form, wailing in warning and trying to save them and they think HE’S going to try to kill them tho they can’t agree if Danny is possessed or if he’s gone Carrie

[cadelinhadomiranha]

Sam loves gardening

She's holding the death flowers

And mourning flowers (at least thats waht pinterest told, im not a flower girl)

I know her dress dosent make sense but I just wanted do draw a pretty dress

[anaflcres]

ana & sonny this fandom doesn’t deserve you </3

[t0xic-sludge]

Dp reboot, but it has an episode where Danny and his friends buy a cheesy horror movie from like the 90s or something and have to try and escape all while being chased by a slasher

[krikeymate]

So I was thinking the other day, and I remembered that one of the only things we know about Christina Carpenter is that she travels for work.

I also happened to remember that New York is one of the most popular destinations for people to travel to for business.

I don't think Christina would actively seek out Sam and Tara if she were in New York, and vice versa. But this is also the Carpenters we're talking about, and with Sam and Tara's luck it's almost a guarantee that they would run each other.

Tara runs into her first. At a bar. We're 5-6 months post-6 and Sam's working a last-minute night shift. Tara's not been sleeping well the past few days, a resurgence of nightmares that she's keeping hidden, triggered by the release of a book on the attacks. Not Gale this time, she actually tried to get it blocked, just a rookie police officer who had the fortune to be involved in all the crime scenes. He's making bank on their misfortune.

She needed a drink, and to not be alone. She thought about calling Chad or Mindy, but they're back home for spring break and they've been having a good time, she doesn't want to spoil their mood. She thought about knocking on Danny's door, but couldn't bring herself to do it, it felt too weird. Running to her sister's boyfriend who she barely knows because she's lonely? That's pathetic. Gale, Kirby, Sidney? They're Sam's friends and support system really, and Sam deserves something that's just hers.

So here she is, drinking alone at a bar, when she meets eyes with a very familiar woman across the room. Oh you have got to be kidding me.

Her mother is here. In New York. Drinking. Right Here, Right Now. What are the chances? Tara looks away and hopes she didn't- nope, she's coming over, she saw me. Fuck.

"Darling," she croons. Oh, we're at that level of drunk are we, the part where she pretends she loves me.

"What are you doing here?" Tara doesn't even bother greeting her, her words are sharp and short.

"Can't a mother just come to see her daughter?" The statement is insincere, dripping with falseness. A million things sit on the tip of Tara's tongue, you have two daughters, remember?; you're not a mother; you're parked out at a bar despite knowing where we live; you're not here for us and I know it. In the end she says nothing, downing the remains of her drink and slipping off the barstool.

As she walks away she hears her mother call out to her. "You've always been ungrateful, you can't even spare 5 minutes for your mother?" Tara returns home feeling worse than before.

~

Sam's doing the grocery shopping when she spots her across the aisle. She's staring at the wine like it holds the secrets to the universe. Maybe it does, maybe that's why she's always spent so much time at the bottom of a bottle. Then Sam snaps out of it and remembers she's in New York, not Woodsboro, and that her mother should not be here. She quickly turns and collides with another shopper. She mutters apologies and hopes she escaped notice. She did not.

"Samantha."

You've gotta be kidding me.

Her mother approaches, and Sam sighs, letting out a weary "hello mom, what are you doing here?" Christina tuts, displeased with her words, as usual.

"So rude. Tara was the same. She's really developed an attitude since you came back, she used to be such a good girl." Sam does her best to keep her face blank, to not react to her words. Tara hasn't mentioned anything about their mother recently, let alone speaking to her, then again, she hasn't mentioned much of anything at all. She's been spending spring break moping around the apartment, something that just 6 months ago would have been a relief, for Sam to know where she was all the time. Now it's a concern.

She ignores the dig at herself, but won't let the slight against her sister go uncontested. "Tara is a wonderful person and if she had an attitude with you, I'm sure it was for a good reason."

Her mother scoffs. "Yes, you would say that, wouldn't you. So, aren't you going to invite me around? I would like to see where my wayward daughters are squatting these days."

Sam has the strong urge to tell her mother to fuck off, but bites her tongue instead. She speaks in as polite a tone as possible, "another time maybe. I've got a lot of things to do today."

Christina glances down at the grocery cart, eyes roving over the contents. She hums, picking up the carton of ice cream. "This is what you're feeding your sister is it? No wonder she's getting fat."

Sam snatches it back from her hands and throws it back down into the cart. She snarls out a "goodbye mother" and stalks off before she gives in to the urge to start throwing punches.

[goldenbloodytears]

I would really like to know more about Sam, without spoiling the plot of future projects what can you say about her and Danny in the asks 2, 3, 9, 10, 14 and 15?

Also if Sam was a character of the scream franchise which one would she be?

Send by Mx. 👍

2. How do they treat themselves when they're feeling sad?

Sam's go to is to put on Elton John (most likely Honky Chateau—I can probably write a small piece on how Rocket Man can be seen as a metaphor for gay alienation) and then probably get a big tub of ice cream going. She’s not a stranger to depressive spirals, but sad and depressed are not quite the same thing—she deals with sad a lot better than depressed I would say.

With Danny… I think he tends to bypass sad and go straight to irritated. I’m a big believer in old man Johnson toxic masculinity indoctrination, so Danny probably lowkey thinks crying is for weaklings (and women). I think he might result to trying to calm himself with a couple drinks if for some reason he can’t immediately fix the problem that is causing him to be sad/irritated… however, said combo is more likely to lower his inhibition… and that’s when you’re probably more likely to get an impromptu murder (in comparison to his more planned stories).

3. What parts of themselves do they tend to hide?

Sam tends to hide her sexuality. Or at least attempt to. She lives in a small town, and the gossip mill would surely have a field day with the local English lady reporter turning out to be a “lesbian” (because bisexuals don’t exist in 1994 /sarcasm). The result is where she’s inoffensive enough to not cause outright homophobic drama, but she’s not exactly living the best life she could be either… especially when she’s partly trying to play nice for a family that aren’t nearly as accepting as they could be.

Danny hides himself. To be clearer, I’ve been considering whether his usage of personas happen to allow him to connect with an element of himself that has long been suppressed by his old man’s teachings. This is kind of a half-baked thought that I need to think about more. It’s a bit like being a method actor, an inherent element of performance. Think about how many seemingly outgoing and over confident performers are actually rather introverted (and not just because of paparazzi hounds)… also consider how people tend to act more freely when anonymous, for good or ill. Danny hides a lot of himself, he hides his literal self as Danny, but also other elements. His sexuality just like Sam, since being a bisexual man in the 90s is just… asking for trouble. However, he’s so strongly manifested in his expected gender roles as a masculine military brat that you wouldn’t even guess he might be queer unless you went for some crazy extreme like the fact he tends to dress well on average. I don’t think his personas suddenly act flaming (just to be clear) but he’s a little bit nicer, way more talkative, a little bit goofier/nerdier and I don’t think it’s entirely an act (although he believes it is and will tell you so).

9. What are their insecurities?

Sam is insecure about many things at the start of the story. This isn’t really a plot spoiler. She’s insecure about the fact both her brothers are married with kids, she’s insecure about the fact she’s queer, she’s insecure about her relationship with her girlfriend. She’s insecure about her future in the province she was born in—quick history lesson, in 1994 Quebec proposed a provincial referendum to decide whether the citizens of Quebec largely supported the idea of Quebec becoming its own sovereign country to be voted on in 1995. There was a major divide along language lines with English speaking Quebecers largely supporting the federalist Canadian position (No) while the French-speaking Québécois generally supported the sovreignist Yes side. There was a large exodus of English speaking Quebecers from the province around this time, settling in Ontario and Alberta primarily. You had small towns with flourishing English populations suddenly lose multiple families which had lived there for generations only for the towns to become much more French. This is the situation Sam finds herself facing, working as a local English newspaper which is now struggling as a result of less readership… so honestly she’s even kinda insecure about the future of her job too, period, lol.

I think Danny’s insecurities would require a whole post of their own, however, I’ve briefly touched on one of them in question 15.

10. What are their emotional triggers?

For Sam: curiosity, fear, frustration.

For Danny: boredom, frustration, praise.

I’m not entirely sure what this question is asking so I’ve kinda listed the emotions that I think are most likely to motivate them to do something for good or worse.

14. What kind of people do they tend to gravitate towards?

Sam tends to gravitate towards people with big personalities. She’s a much more subdued person and kinda lives vicariously through them. She’s intrigued by the promise of life outside small town Quebec, so it’s very easy to get her attention with stories of travel. She has a major obsession with this random cold case that happened when she was a teenager, to the point that everyone thinks she’s a little bit weird for it, and in this way she’s also drawn to people that will put up with this particular quirk. I think you can already see where I’m going with this.

Danny, like a true confidence trickster, is drawn to people most likely to believe his bullshit. This doesn’t mean he looks for idiots, he’s still a bit of a wannabe academic blowhard in spirit and as such I think he’s still drawn to people who profess at least a bit of a braincell…. But it’s the trust element. He’s looking for people who want to believe what he says. He’s also looking for people who think he’s cool. Even if he’s Jed or persona #632.

So when taking these tendencies together, you can already kind of start to see how Danny and Sam compliment each other in terms of the people they are seeking. They’re both looking for somebody who’s going to gas them up—feed their egos and hope for the future.

15. What do they like/dislike about themselves?

Sam likes her skills as a journalist, she feels like her stubbornness is a useful trait. She wishes she was better at being more traditionally feminine. She dislikes her height, at 5’10” she towers over a lot of guys and it’s worse if she wears heels.

I feel like we all have a rough idea of what Danny “likes” about himself, so I’ll focus on what he dislikes. His emotionality. He knows he can be impulsive, and he thinks feelings like fear, anger, and sadness are not particularly useful for himself when he’s supposed to be this killer who goes around murdering in the night. If he could be a mindless killer, I’m sure he would do so.

Bonus: What character in Scream would Sam be?

Hmmm, that’s a very good question. I think I would need to do a complete series rewatch to really pin it down but I think she would kinda be a weird proxy if you were to mix Gail and Dewey together (she’s their forbidden baby). She has a lot of Gail’s tenacious journalism qualities but she’s a lot nicer, similar to Dewey. Her brother Chris is also a cop, so she’s a little bit functional to Tatum in a way.

[slashthrashandcrash]

@dilophosauridae455 i like the Bug Man.............he will be assimilated into my own Daniel Son of John brainrot..................

[nxmeolvides]

Ana baby I'm so sorry that your sister's boyfriend you've never met and some random woman searching for her lost son are either more driven to find your sister or more successful in it.

[myfriendtheghost]

had a GVF dream last night and naturally in my dream I had to log onto tumblr and tell everyone about my experience

so here I am fulfilling the prophecy