#CAUGHTAPE. Â Â Indie, selective (mutuals only), and headcanon-expanded portrayal of Danny Johnson / The Ghost Face from Dead By Daylight. As sacrificed by VESSEL (21+, he/him) since 2022.
[ WARNING! ]Â Â This blog is written by an adult for an adult audience. The Ghost Face is a SERIAL KILLER - his backstory and actions will reflect this. I won't water him down for the sake of interaction.
              [ i. PROMPTS ]             [ ii. VERSES ]
[ CAUGHT ON CAMERA ] Â FRANK LANGDON ( @sardonicmd ), FRANK MORRISON ( @bastardstandard ), HENRY EMILY ( @fazbearengineer ), AHRI ( @vulpesse )
[ RULES ]
i. This blog is for adults/21+ only. I do not tag written content — with the exception of headcanons — as such, I will avoid any triggers in direct interactions with you, but read posts with others at your own discretion. Please have any triggers you have listed in your rules alongside your age; I won't follow if these two requirements are not met. My only trigger is sui.cide [ideation].
ii. I'm here to write and develop our characters. Memes do not close and can always be turned into threads without asking. Replies may be slow due to real life, but that doesn't reflect my level of interest. IMs are always open, but dis.cord is reserved for long term mutuals only. Unless told otherwise, I will spam you with memes - you've been warned (never any pressure to respond to them).
iii. I format using a variety of regular and small text; bold and italics; and double spacing between sentences. I'm open to skipping formatting - just let me know. Largely iconless, but don't mind them being used; please don't use gifs though, I find them distracting.
vi. I enjoy shipping as much as the next guy, but do not approach me only out of a desire to ship. Danny is a flirt, but rarely means anything by it beyond leveraging it as a manipulation tactic. I will not follow if there are problems differentiating ic from ooc and/or if the character is a self-insert. Family member OCs will not be followed seeing as Danny is the last member of the Johnson line.
v. I will not follow blogs that write as real people. This extends to masked musicians irrelevant of whether the band presents their masked personas as characters or not.
[ ABOUT ]
name. Daniel "Danny" Johnson
alias. the Ghost Face, Jed Olsen
age. 30-42
gender. Cis male, he/him
orientation. Biromantic bisexual
build. 6'2", endo-mesomorph
eyes. Brown, but will wear colored contacts depending on the alias
hair. Dark brown, nearly black. periodically dyes for long term alias'
occupation. Journalist
notable features. Fakes mannerisms from physical to spoken depending on alias. Almost always wears gloves and long sleeve attire to hide burn scars on his right arm/side.
style. As Ghost Face he wears a cracked/aged looking version of the mask. His costume is custom made by himself and is relatively tight fitting, but made for ease of movement. After he is blessed by the Entity, the straps on his clothing can be manipulated at will like extra limbs.
Formerly known as Jed Olsen, a journalist who got his big break after a string of Ghostface killings in the small town of Roseville. Equipped with a charming smile and a knack for keeping the reader hooked? He was going to go far - or so the news team said until it was their turn to write the final issue of the Ghostface articles: announcing Jed's notice. A humble note left on his emptied out desk reading: "I hope you liked my stories -- I enjoyed bringing them to life. Don't worry, I'm not done."
he was beginning to hate these little escapades ( ... ) better to be enacted alongside the serial killer, but sometimes even that didn't deter wandering eyes or groping hands. his patient usually doesn't thin so easily, but today? a gloved hand winds back, gripping the bare of Echo's exposed midriff, as he Danny steps between him and an overzealous modder.
whereas he loomed over Echo? Danny, boots and all, still had inches on him. dark eyes glowering despite the charming smile. ❝ you'd do well to remember not to touch what isn't yours. ❞ the killer's hand longs for the familiar weight of the knife at his hip, but fear flashes across the modder's face anyway — .
a flicker of confusion. two steps back and hands raised with some mumbled excuses that makes Danny wonder if he might make an exception for his next story ...
âťť come on. âťž turning heel. hand never once leaving Echo; pulling him closer still against him as they continued to look for whatever Echo had dragged them out here for this time. and, then he hears it.
"holy shit, did you see that? is it just me or did that asshole look like fucking Solaris and his fuckbot from back in the day?"
just barely ( ... ) but judging by the sudden tension stitching it's way up Echo's spine? Danny knows he heard it too.
DANNY JOHNSON DIDN'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT RELIGION. about the prayers that waggled from silver tongued "believers" when crosses were condemnation :: about the laws of faith that came in the shape of a belt. the boy before the man had only ever found faith when worshiping at the altar of another with BRUISED KNEES ( ... ) the man thereafter taking his pleasure in making people remember why life was so precious. he'd not deigned to make himself such a contrarian to any belief system since his youth, but the rumors had tickled his fancy — who was he to turn down such a story?
he allowed his presence to come first as a whisper —- . a shadow in the corner of one's vision. a ghoulish visage that haunted a child's slumber as mothers shirked their worries and neglected the looming shadows beneath beds and in cracked closet doors. gloved fingers sooth over the small, wooden totem of a fox that a young woman foolishly granted him ... buying into the charm of a boyish smile and dark eyes.
observing across Ahri's numerous shrines and altars the shape of men, women, and beasts in equal measure. a new journal, bought just for this story, fills quickly and then another. a wolf in man's clothing. he stalks that which he does not understand, but aims to ( for better or worse ). growing well versed in the tales Her acolytes shared amongst one another of the clever she-fox. Danny knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his teeth, his maw, and his bite were bigger ( ... ) but bigger, was not always better. favoring stealth and clever ruses, himself - he wondered if they might be alike in the methods ( in feeding the unending HUNGER that only predators knew ).
it didn't take long for him to recognize that this story was not meant to be about her worshippers, but the earth bride, herself.
it was how he found himself at the edge of the Grove of Dreams. the once winter-colored fox totem now smeared a sickly red. vermilion warmth melting away ivory. beautiful droplets of blood on snow. on his knees again as he waited ( ... ) never knowing someone who liked to play god to not at least make an appearance in the wake of an OFFERING. a heart hand-plucked from between human ribs. an orange divided three ways. citrus and gore. if she was half the woman people claimed her to be? she'd recognize the organ as that of a hunter's. offered up on a platter. signed, bloodily: from the wolf, to the fox.
"never said i did." the touch of danny's hand makes him stall, fingers twitching at his sides as he waits — nothing. just there. it's another moment before jason realizes what he's doing. he takes a slow deep breath, shifting his own gaze to the hand against his chest. "still got one of those. wasn't a donor ... thankfully. not sure it would just grow back."
PERMANENT NERVE DAMAGE RENDERS his touch a little null and void. a more metaphorical case of show me yours and I'll show you mine. "we could always find out." the boyish smile contrary to the cruel words ( even as they lacked any bite ).
gaze shifts from the blade to his, following the invisible line to the scar on his chest. fight or flight begins to rise, but he stays still, not daring to squirm. that's a sign of weakness. "It didn't stick. Don't know what else to tell ya."
"YOU EVER WATCH PET SEMATARY?" dark eyes shifting to Jason's ( ... ) before sheathing the blade. "people don't come back from the dead quite right." stripping off a glove to expose charred skin before pressing the marred flesh of his palm to scarred chest. feeling for a heartbeat ...
Bass tremors thrum through the concrete, heavy, low, alive. The club pulses with neon lights and electric pinks and ultraviolet blues. Echo moves through the crowd like water until he reaches his friend. His contact. She’s dressed in neon pinks and fits in with the vibe of the club. Blonde hair tied back, and she greets Echo with a smile as bright as his own. They hug tight before parting to shout at each other over the music.
He’s dressed in a white croptop— one Danny picked and a pair of snug jeans. A thin, silver chain glints around his waist in the lights. White hair messy, ice blues alight with the reflection of neons. Together, they dance and bounce with the music. There’s no sultry motion, no hint of anything outside of seemingly close friendship. Echo seems light, carefree. They hold hands at one point and shout at one another, bouncing up and down excitedly.
Whatever is shared between them has them wandering off to the bar across the way. They sit down side by side and she orders a drink. Echo doesn’t. She asks the bartender for a napkin and a pen which he’s quick to provide. She jots something down on the napkin and then slides it over to Echo. He nods, folds the napkin, and tucks it away into his pocket. He thanks her, smiling wide and leans in to peck her cheek with a quick kiss. They hug again briefly, then he’s wandering through the crowd and toward the back exit of the club. Echo’s movement quicker than before— seeming to be in a rush.
Danny watches every step and every smile from afar. snapping photos intermittently ( only when he was sure there weren't prying eyes on him ). watching, entranced, as Echo danced alongside the woman as if he hadn't a care in the world ( ... ) as if he'd not slipped out of their house, called home, to see her. he doesn't recognize her, but she clearly knows Echo. knows him well enough, apparently, to hold his hand, to share a drink, and even kiss. he could feel the stomach acid singeing his throat.
as Echo leaves? so, too does Danny. but, not from the club - merely his seat. slipping in amidst the crowds to watch as pretty, neon pink lips seal around the gold-rimmed glass. making his way too her, but dodging her glance to instead lean across the bar. long enough to not make her more suspicious than necessary, but short enough to ensure she'd not polish off the rest of her drink. âťť I'll have what she's having. âťž a sideways nod to his head. sliding the mask up into straightened, blond locks and hazel eyes. sliding cash across the bar before stealing a sideways glance to her. raised brows met with a boyish smile. âťť If you don't mind, of course. Flattery and all that. âťž
he needn't worry about where Echo was going now, whatever had been scratched onto that napkin. he didn't know much about Echo's late night escapades, yet, but he was sure that his property would always make it home before sunrise. before Danny's first alarm sounded, he'd be slipping back home. Echo's night clothes put into the wash alongside Danny's own ( ... ) a clever machine, but not smart enough to outmatch the stalker. the serial killer had never bothered to beat around the bush with him. preferring the more direct method of beating the shit out of the machine. lessons taught the hard way. lessons he'd willfully neglected to remember nowadays, after his little mental refresh.
the two shot the shit. faux smiles and skeptical glances between them both as he pretended to be interested in a word out of her fucking mouth. but, she was a smart girl. she nursed her drink close. just not close enough to notice when Danny drank his own down to match hers or the subtle, little bump to their glasses - switching places just enough to trade.
                      「 @macabrehunter was caught on camera ... 」
              [ ARCANA: THE DEVIL ] A lavish underground nightclub
the bass reverberates through the concrete floor and Danny can feel it in equal measure through his feet and pounding in the back of his skull. dark eyes eclipsed by full moon pupils. surveying the crowds like a predator stalking prey ( ... ) searching gaze guised not by his usual ghoulish visage, but a slick, matte black lens mask. it didn't take long for him to find his target ( it never did, not when it came to Echo ).
he watches. he waits. blackened heart pounding against its bone and sinew cage as his jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache. tucked neatly into a dark corner of an otherwise empty booth. blending in not amongst the crowds of neon dancers and blissed out party-goers, but the creature comfort of shadows that stretched darker still against a faux neon skyline. swallowing thickly as he watched Echo dancing ... dressed in the clothes bought with Danny's own money. pale skin illuminated by strobing lights and glacial blues alight. his smile dimpling as his gaze caught another's. he could imagine the sound of his android's laughter, even from afar — . bodies press too close and Danny shifts in his seat to catch sight of him again - restless until he does.
the killer was careful as he snuck the photograph of the two. mindful to not draw undue attention, but needing to know who it was that had Echo reacting like that. he'd find them and then? he'd kill them.
THE GHOST FACE DOESN'T BAT AN EYE. he just breathes in deep ( ... ) and exhales slow from beneath the ghoulish facade. his own gloved hand moving to return the favor - helping himself to a handful of dick, instead. dark pits staring back with the question: are you proud of yourself?
muscles in his arms begin to strain, but that only means he needs to push harder. if he can't handle this then he needs to find some other line of work. muscle is required. however, the touch along his thigh is enough to make him falter — just slightly. there's a shake in his form as he lowers them, taking a moment to pause before he's pushing back up. " maybe you should go find your own. find somethin' to do besides being here. might... do ya some good. " stop trying to distract me. " or find another boss. "
HE FEELS THE TREMBLE BENEATH HIM ( ... ) the quiver to raw muscle. carnivorous maw curled into boyish smile. head rocked back against the broad of Jason's shoulder. ❝ I can feel you shaking for me. ❞ purred as lips turned to tease at the shell of his ear. LAUGHTER lacing his every word. knowing he wasn't some young cheerleader combating society's body weight standards to Jason's football workout routine, but — . ❝ keep going, big boy. ❞
“Don’t do that— it matters and you know it does.” For more than one reason. Danny’s life… and evidence. Echo grunts as he’s lifted, a pained little cry slipping from between bruised lips as he’s hoisted and carried. “No, I’m functional.” Stubbornly, he doesn’t give him a better reading than that. “Danny— please,” Echo sounds strained against the man’s throat. Both arms have come to curl around broad shoulders, clinging as Danny runs. His steps are sloppy, his breaths rough and uneven. Concern floods Echo’s senses. The scent of his lover’s blood. “You’re bleeding, I can smell it.” Echo knows better than to try and stop him mid scramble— but how far is the van? How much is he bleeding? Both hands come to Danny’s cheeks, cradling his face between hands to try and force their eye contact. “Listen to me.”
❝ this is a later conversation. ❞ a warning, breathed low between them. equal parts unwilling and unable to spare more energy than that, let alone for Echo's usual stubbornness. he'd been hit himself — no where vital, but deep enough that he suspected if he didn't get them to safety now? they may not make it back at all. ❝ shut. up. ❞ growled back, knowing Echo would soon realize the source of his bleeding: one of the arms coiled tightly around him.
gaze darting to Echo's face for a split second, enough to give away that the tension in his shoulders wasn't simply out of annoyance or pain, but fear. his fellow Ghost Face was still out there — .
eye contact spared just long enough that Danny didn't see the fallen branch. booted foot ensnared and momentum a bitch. voice modulator making a horrific noise as it failed to emulate the pained scream that ripped from Danny's throat on impact. having successfully turned over enough to have spared Echo, but leaving him in agony as his arm took the impact. Echo forcibly contained as he unconsciously curled in on himself. head rocked forward as his leg blindly kicked at the branch. biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood to mute himself. âťť she will have fucking heard that - . âťž
Their stalker had fallen into their perfectly laid trap. Echo out alone, followed, and then the chase ensued. Danny won but not before he took a blade to the side. Sharp and quick between his ribs. Echo doesn't detect any system damage, just cosmetic and it hurts. The black hoodie hides the blood well except pale fingertips are stained scarlet from touching his side.
Danny draws him close and Echo leans back into him. He pants behind him and he tips his head back, trying to catch a glimpse of dark eyes from behind the mask. He lifts his shirt and hoodie to reveal the wound at his side. "It's shallow," he says softly, voice laced with pain. He tries to turn in Danny's grasp. "Are you-- did they get you anywhere?"
âťť it doesn't matter. âťž yet, Danny's voice comes strained. allowing Echo to turn in his grasp, if only to position him exactly how and where he wants him. blade sheathed. hoisting the smaller up with pained grunt, legs nearly buckling from the added weight, but he bears it. setting a quick pace back to the van. âťť give me - the system run down. were you ... hit anywhere vital? âťž chest rising and falling rough against Echo's own and his footfalls sloppy. âťť hold the light. âťž still, he was making decent time. clearly running off adrenaline alone. the scent of all three's blood thick in the air.
[ BROKE ] for sender to punch receiver hard enough their nose bleeds. (Echo)
Echo + Danny // @caughtape
He’s not as quiet as he thinks he is. Echo freezes when the light cuts on. He turns slow, glacial blues landing on Danny. He never makes it out of the door. Echo is in black pants, black shoes, a long sleeve black hoodie with the hood up. Caught red handed sneaking out— against Danny’s orders.
“…I need to meet a contact. That's all.” Echo says softly, glassy eyes searching Danny’s. He creeps closer and Echo doesn’t move. It’ll be worse if he moves— if he runs.
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Echo won’t lie to him but he’s not exactly disclosing any information. And Danny’s hand snaps out, gripping his arm to tug him close and instinctively, Echo’s opposite hand hits his hard and breaks the contact. Easily removing himself from Danny’s grasp.
His eyes are wide— terrified. As if he can’t believe he just did that. “Wait—” Echo doesn’t get another word out. Danny’s punch lands with a brutal crack to his nose. Flesh against synthetic skin. Echo’s head snaps backward and he stumbles back and hits the door with another crack. He slides to the floor, a hand pressed against his face as bright crimson blooms along his upper lip and from his nose. It pours out between pale fingers. Echo doesn’t breathe.
He should run.
He could fight back, he realizes.
Icy blues tip up and there’s something changed within them. Echo shifts back to a stand with his face blood smeared, chin and lips slick with it. He spits in Danny’s face, his blood spattering.
The silence is suffocating, and Echo stands there, voice barely audible as he hisses a low warning. “Careful, Danny.”
Despite Echo thinking he was clever enough to have eluded Danny's notice? He was all too aware of the android's late night escapades. in the dark of the night when the little shit thought he would be safe and free of his notice.
Danny always did prefer film, but DSLRs had their uses ( ... ) including catching people red handed.
the very same footage that was now laid out in picture format on the counter. Echo's frame caught, frame by frame, as he slipped through the doorway. the last remaining Johnson didn't have much in the way of rules — even from the start of their relationship — but, they existed for a reason. to keep him safe and in control. and, if it was two things the man didn't waver on? it was self preservation and control. the latter slipping through gloved hands as Echo's own bats his off from his forearm. Echo looks terrified; Danny looks stunned.
he watches as Echo stumbles back. as pretty, pale skin blooms a sickly red ... and something changes. they both knew that the android had killed before.
dark eyes, pupils blown, squeeze shut as synth blood splatters his face. as barking mad laughter overtakes him and leather-laced fingers slick warm and wet. âťť you won't hurt me in any way that matters, Echo. âťž slipped between his lips ( ... ) sucking them lewd and licking them clean as he leveled his stare with rebellious blues. âťť you belong to me and not because I purchased you. âťž closing the distance between them. booted step by booted step. this time, his hand doesn't maim, doesn't injure, but cradles. clutching his jaw and lapping the blood from his lips. âťť you belong to me, because you love me. âťž kissing sweetly, possessively.
is this a game of cat and mouse or has it become something else entirely? a back and forth, teasing each other with touches and words that hardly have meaning — trading punches and kicks for giggles, it's been... fun. if one can call it that.
the contracts lately have been a breeze ... or as he would call it: boring. where's the chase — the fulfillment? lately none of them have been satisfying his excitement and he's left disappointed, dragging himself into his apartment. today, however, he's dragging himself into danny's. why? to be a pest. body collapses onto the couch with a huff, mask being thrown to the side as he makes himself comfortable.
a minute of silence on his part before he's grinning and calling out. " you know, you should make some food. i'm hungry. "
HE'S NOT SURE HOW OR WHY JASON KNOWS WHERE HE LIVES ( ... ) but, that was a question for another time. No ghoulish visage to hide behind this time. head canting as he watched his fellow Fixer make himself at home. dropping onto the couch in apparent retaliation for Danny's previous visit during the man's work out.
closing the distance rather than making his way to the kitchen some like some DOMESTIC HOUSEWIFE. a gloved hand slipped in at the roots of dark hair. deceptively tender as they carded upwards. only revealing his true motive as fingers fisted into the wealth of longer locks and knuckles bit against roots to yank Jason's head back against the couch. acid-laced hues coming face to face not with the Ghostface's mask or even Danny's own, but rather the lens of his camera — .
snap - ! Jason could consider himself lucky that Danny valued not washing out the photo over being petty enough to use the flash. âťť you should really learn to knock. âťž
