an indepedent, private, & selective roleplay blog for danny johnson / jed olsen aka the ghostface from bhvr's dead by daylight. heavily based on my own interpretation of the character. i don't follow first. this blog contains heavily triggering material. this blog is plot only, meaning i won't interact without plotting. written by billy / seth / joe. (25. mexican. he + they)
exclusive with @outshur's portrayal of miles upshur. affiliated with @antlurabbit’s dbd verse.
general content warning and notice: violence, gore, stalking, murder, psychological torture and graphic descriptions of all of the above will be present on this blog along with themes of eldritch horror, cosmic evil and situations that take humanity to it's limits. the nature of the source material is overall just dark and if that is not your vibe this might not be the blog for you. triggers and specifics will be tagged as cw trigger.
danny johnson is a serial killer and just overall a very dark individual, due to the complexities surrounding him and the way he interacts with the world i won't write with anyone without prior plotting. this blog is meant to be highly selective and private and i will be very deliberate with the block button. mun =/= muse. shaking my head everytime he kills someone so you people know that i don't approve of it.
this blog is not a stand in for you to project your ghostface adjacent fantasies, or to stand in for you playing the game. this is my own version of danny with my own thoughts and headcanons adapted into him.
you can find temporary rules here.
general about bullet points.
danny johnson is very cryptic of his past, but he was born into a middle class family and was emotionally neglected. he tried to find ways to stand out and be known for but nothing really stuck. this road paired with an inner darkness and just overall marcabre vision of the world, along with a disconnection from humanity as a whole made him start planning his ultimate masterpiece, written, acted, staged, and told by him.
danny johnson assumes different identities across many cities, leaving a trail of bodies constantly testing and adjusting his practices until he reached the town of roseville.
in rosevill he gets hired as jed olsen, a fun loving american patriot guy with a personality that everyone likes and vast experience with a heavy resume. he immediately starts working as a reporter.
during this time he commits several killings that he ends up using his position to report in the papers, along with interviewing the family members and the police about them.
the police were overalled confused giving the passionate nature of the killings along with no connection between the victims. there was a rage in the way the murders occurred.
once the police are on his trail he reveals himself to have orchestrated the killings and he soons disappears.
the entity took danny, and it didn't take him long to gain it's favor, and he is in his entire element. his very own hunting ground. he derives genuine amusement and pleasure from participating in the trials.
fc is [...]
here are some links regarding the world of the fog as to how i interpret it/see it: the fog. the trials.
her phone, her mace, all out of reach, unless she wants to risk taking her eyes off the serial killer in her apartment to pick it up. unwillingly, she thinks of the crime scene photos from roseville. the amount of blood. the violence. it hadn't bothered her too much then, when it was so far away, just research she was doing into a possible lead for her new documentary. now? now it was literally staring her in the face.
don't. panic. because if you run, then he's gonna catch you, and we all know how that story ends.
"i think you might have the wrong address," she aims to match his casual tone, mostly succeeds in not wavering. in her left hand, she clutches her keys so tightly that her knuckles turn pale. "this isn't exactly the hilton. if you think the water pressure's bad, you should hear the heater clattering at night. it's loud enough to cover up a --" she stops. "it's loud," she finishes, lamely. like she'd done a great job there, not giving him any ideas.
"i hope you didn't come all this way for another interview," she says, and then risks a lie. "usually i'd oblige, but i actually have company coming tonight, so if you don't mind..." and she jerks her head towards the door behind her, like they're friends or something, and he's just overstayed his welcome.
talking to him like a normal person had worked so far. (yeah, when he was in prison!! the rational part of her brain screams.) still, it's her best bet, unless she wants to try shoving the sharp end of her keys into one of his eyes.
danny hears the purse hit the ground but his icy glare does not falter. zarina's expression is a sweet little thing to witness, wished he had his camera. keep that thing on him forever.
zarina makes him laugh. it's a quiet thing. it's as if he can hear the way her heartbeat picks up, he can't realistically he can't but he's seen enough people fear him, usually though. he is wearing the mask, that's the ghost face. this is all danny, and zarina has only seen danny. everything else had been history, photographs, testimonies. nothing like the real deal. he hasn't killed as danny johnson in a long while.
( well that isn't exactly true, he did have to claw officer martin's eyes with a fork. well. he didn't have to but he did and that fucker is dead. easy. dreams do come true for one danny johnson)
"aw, don't be like that zarina. i come aaaaall the way here just to see you and you don't seem that thrilled." his voice is mocking, of course it is. "-don't lie to me, it's not fair. all i've been to you is honest." he sits up, casualty gone. "listen. i don't plan on killing you." anytime soon, he should say. soon. "-not right now anyways. besides, someone's got a book to write or something, right? i wanna read it." words are accentuated with a promise. a threat hiding between sentences. danny isn't one to trust.
i know that in my writings danny is taking his mask off constantly, but i think that him taking off his mask almost always represents something. in the sense that, the mask more than concealing his identiy it's him coming into his role of who the ghost face is, if he takes the mask off and you find yourself getting involved with danny johnson well that's a whole other beast.
same with his name, although i don't think he gives out his name out as easily as he takes the mask off. i think it is much more likely for you to have to FIND OUT his name than him willingly giving that bargaining chip.
Send me a 🪣 for made up fandom discourse about our muses.
The fucking smut is so S tier it isn't even funny. There's so much of it, which makes sense because all these two do is fuck and fight. The gore artists are having the field day of a life time. People are finding out new kinks they enjoy from GhostVi/DannyVi shippers every day.
Violet suffers slightly less bog standard fandom misogyny because she's basically the ultimate reader insert for hardcore Ghostface fuckers. Generally plain appearance, snarky but dumb enough to be interested in him. You Know the vibe. And Habit is basically a wide open door to so many tropes common in reader insert fanfic. This also means she gets woefully misinterpreted because everyone's projecting onto her constantly, however.
Even with that in mind though, the overall community for DannyVi is shockingly not super toxic. Everyone's a freak defending their evil "het" ship with their life, so there's not much time for infighting. They stand united against the true enemy: HabitVi shippers.
i can't watch the news without seeing you come up. /+ maren
maren entered danny's life with little fanfare. a click, something shifting into place. she complicates things, a variable that makes things just that little more challenging. but roseville is a place that sleeps with its eyes open, filled with idiots and morons who just really don't fucking get it, they can't see it. so he's allowing this to happen. there's a little emptiness, a hunger in her not so literally in some ways. and see that's fun.
"sure gave them a good scare, didn't i?" he takes the jacket off, throws the keys on the bowl, unmasking in a different way. "-they're fucking loosing their mind, they don't even know where to start." glasses get discarded too, he doesn't need them. it's all part of the costume. he's amused at the situation, a little grin that blossoms unnervingly.
"we will have our pictures done soon. they're drying, we can pick which ones to send together if you want and you can tell me aaaaall about what you heard them say about me." it's a trap, bait, they have an...excursion of sorts coming up. he doesn't know what gets her going yet, what drives up the appetite, but he feels incline to find out. maybe the pictures will do part of the job, danny just wants maren hungry. and then, he wants to see her do her magic.
zarina. he brands her with her own first name, burns her with the casual familiarity of it. she shouldn't have disclosed it. isn't she supposed to be being careful? but what should she have done? introduced herself to this man her age only as ms. kassir like a judgemental schoolteacher? still, it's hard to shake the icy feeling of making a mistake even this early, even before the interview's started. clarice starling you are not, girl.
but he'd requested she call him by his first name too. a nickname, even. danny. why? some transparent attempt at closeness? zarina's been researching her subject for months, but now she thinks about how little anyone actually knows about the infamous ghostface. focus. it doesn't matter. he can call her zarina. he can call her buffy the vampire slayer, as long as he gives her what she needs.
she smiles, too-bright, too-professional, too fake, and depresses the button on her small recorder with an audible click. she doesn't need to glance at her notebook for her first question. she has it prepared.
INTERVIEWER (Z. KASSIR): "it's nice to meet you, danny. let's jump right in, then. i'd like to know how you choose -- (she hesitates) -- chose your victims. the police haven't been able to put together any sort of pattern or profile for the type of people you chose to kill, a fact some critics have chalked up to mere incompetence on their part due to the embarrassment of available evidence. what are they missing?"
nice to meet you. he hates the pleasantries, he can see it...the attitude zarina takes, says a lot about her. wonders what she did to get to this point, this far. a meeting with him, danny gets the sensation that he'll be conducting his own interview, actually. in a way.
he flashes a charming smile, a mask of his own face, how much does she really know. what would take her to walk out? what makes her skin crawl? oh he would love to find out, finally some new meat to stick his knife in. he simply has to set the scene, he's always been good at that.
"brains to start." he tilts his head, chained hands now resting on the table between them. they rattle as he moves. "-the police relies too much on making proflies... i'm like nothing they have ever seen. their little past cases weren't going to do shit. it takes real commiment to do the work i do. those pigs just don't have it in them."
the victims were less targets and more cheap meat that met the requirements. being there and alone. he does not mention the work behind the operation, the things they have yet to find, but two can play games. zarina can think what she likes and danny will just enjoy watching her squirm, watching her break. who knew one could find out new and exciting ways to spend time in maximum security prison?
danny honestly did not think it was going to end this way. it's more of a start actually, zarina's apartment is nice enough. danny hasn't been one for many ammenities. he misses his pictures the most, they're great work. meant to be admired, not to rot away in some archives gathering dust. he doesn't let it get to him, he simply sits on the couch, wearing stolen clothes when the door opens.
usually there is some back window to pry, sneak his way inside, this was however different. no longer the small dainty neighborhoods of roseville the city presented some new challenges, but after maximum security prison anything is welcomed. he has his feet on the table, lounging not because he wants to rest but because he can feel this would worsen zarina's mood once she makes her way into the shared living space.
"hello."
oh zarina, stupidly curious zarina. with her questions and her drive, it's a quaint little game that danny finds himself participating in. he's thought about killing her in a million of different ways already, has thought about how she would sound screaming. but for once, reality surpases the bloodlust, it must simply wait. and wait danny does. hands linked resting on his lap when he hears her footsteps.
"you have terrible water pressure." he starts, casual, uninterested. barely holding back the smile that threatens to break his perfect composure. "-and your window lock is shit." this is simply another way to continue their game. whatever it is that zarina wants, chasing a ghost. it's fine, danny can indulge her. he followed her all the way here. that must mean something.
what’s one incredibly mundane skill your muse is secretly really good at? (don’t say photography we all know that one)
i love how you FORBADE me giving me an answer, i think danny is good at i think he is good at collaging and arts and crafts, he is like so serious about clippings and cutting things right. i think that is so cute i can't believe he uses that for evil.
he'd been watching her. mask on. going about her life, her day, camera in hand. she had asked for this. once, a long time ago somewhere when their thing started to turn sweet, rotten. when it became about satisfying urges so deep that ran red. he's indulging himself more than he is indulging her, it's all very much a happy accident. she gets pissy when he does this to someone else, and wet when she's at the center of it. knife deep. and danny doesn't want the fun to end. not quite.
he is pretty good at playing this game. cat and mouse. or alternative, trap and rabbit. he'll make his presence known soon enough, sometime after her shower. now he just lurks, planning his entry route, surely through a door that's been left unlocked.
She had asked for this, quite earnestly in fact, in between kisses along his neck. She hadn't needed to beg for it, but did all the same — stroking his ego, making a show of herself. Like a prey animal flaying its own skin, giving way to the delicate organs within. Eat me, I am begging you to eat me.
The sole detractor throughout her day is the feeling of being watched. She can't shake it, so she tries to make it part of her excitement rather than a mild disappointment that she will be less surprised than she wants. It guides her to leave herself open the whole day. On her way to work, on her smoke break, trying to focus on drinks and conversation in between the growing arousal gnawing at the base of her gut. If she didn't enjoy the act itself so much, she might even say the anticipation is better.
There is a safety in this, twisted as that may be. Her cravings existed long before Danny stepped in to take up the mantle and occasionally, they'd get so intense they'd make her do something stupid, impulsive. This is more controlled than any mistake she's made in the past and that needs to count for something. The subtle grin on her face as she walks home instead of taking the bus, navigating unlit alleyways and back streets with a measured excitement — it all has to count for something.
Violet gets home and leaves the door unlocked as she slips inside. Everything she does is careless, now, blinds open and window treated to a show of her stripping herself free of her uniform before slipping off into the shower. Even there, she is buzzing, can't seem to catch a break. She makes quick work of the actual washing — being caught with shampoo in her hair sounds miserable — and tries to quell herself. Remind herself that she's playing the role of Helpless Victim, not Screwed Up Sicko.
She exits with a towel wrapped loosely around her body. Any other day, she'd settle right in with a movie. Tonight, her collection of grindhouse horror and indie bids bordering on snuff feels too on the nose. While pondering, she dries off. Slips into a t-shirt five times her size, probably stolen from an ex-boyfriend and gets comfortable in bed with a book. The words on the page may as well be alphabet soup to her fuzzy brain, but she can't just sit around and wait — no matter how badly she wants to.
the energy is palpable, the beating of a familiar drum. a heart is such an easy thing to stop, he tends to be a little brutal with his handling of it. he takes pictures, saves them. has the habit of showing them off to her later, after the fact. it's such a unique little window of normalcy, danny would find a dead thing alluring, it's the dead thing that makes violet feel more like a person to him. technicalities and such.
he blends into the dark corners of the outside of her room. he can see her dressing up, wet from the shower. the anticipation drives him up a wall, there's a moment just before a kill where danny feels alive, he feels real. hunter knife in hand. and a perfect deep, deep breath.
if he made a guess he would guess she is buzzing, underneath all that, it's funny to him how invested she seems to be, how she gets off on this, not just the sex. the violence, they're alike in that way. how they want to drown in it. he dials her number and waits for her to pick up.
"hey." it doesn't sound like him, it never does with that mask on. "-what are you reading?" and he doesn't need to do this much with her, but he does it anyways. calls her not because it will make her scared but because it will get her wet. it's all alive and part of the silly little game.