hihi!! welcome 2 my blog ! U can call me Sana ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)
˚₊‧꒰ა ───────⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹─────── ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
ᢉ𐭩 THIS BLOG IS 18+ !!
ᢉ𐭩 I yume Danny Johnson from Dead By Daylight !
ᢉ𐭩 Will be posting illustrations, drabbles, and headcanons !
ᢉ𐭩 Feel free 2 ask 4 headcanon rqs (Not good at fics..YET...)
ᢉ𐭩 I AM CRINGE I WON'T BE HOLDING BACK...
˚₊‧꒰ა ───────⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹─────── ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
CW: DARK SUBJECTS, NSFW, SUGGESTIVE, VIOLENCE !! I warned you, or whatever !!
DISCLAIMER: I KNOW THE LINES BETWEEN FICTION AND REALITY, I DON’T CONDONE SUCH SUBJECTS IRL IM JUST A FREAK THAT LOVES DARK ROMANCE
˚₊‧꒰ა ───────⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹─────── ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
I’ll be using these tags to help find things more easily !!
Synopsis: Dbd killers with a visually impaired reader.
Characters: Frank Morrison, Hillbilly, Albert Wesker, Deathslinger, Trickster, Knight, Chucky, Jason Voorhees, Pyramid Head, Ghostface, Huntress, Michael Myers.
!!Warnings: Gn reader, unhealthy relationships, murder, obsessive behavior, psychological manipulation, act not too deep!!
A.n: Ughh I feel like I completely fucked this up, it's my first time writing for dbd and even though my mood was getting in the way I was stubborn enough to finish it lol.
Frank Morrison
At first remembering what a complete asshole he is, he'll make fun of you. He'll take your white cane, perform stupid acrobatic tricks with it, and tell you to look at him. "Ah right, my dumbass. You're blind." at this point he can even make fun of himself and his jokes genuinely aren't funny.
You can be sure he'll turn your matches into hell. At some point the disrespect Frank shows you will start spreading to the others too. And when he finds out about it, sorry but he won't be pleased. "You fucking legged idiots aren't ashamed of messing with a blind person!?" he says while running up and driving his knife into someone's back without even looking at who they are. "Pick on someone your own size!"
Frank definitely doesn't consider himself to be in the same category as them. He's an egotistical meathead. Now he'll act as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.
"How many?" he held up two fingers right in front of your face and waited for an answer. "But Frank, I can't see—" He cut you off without a second thought. He was stubborn as a mule. "Yeah, but that doesn't stop you using your brain."
Frowning, you threw out a number without thinking much about it. "One?" There was silence between the two of you. Frank lowered the middle finger he had been showing you and grunted. "No, it was five."
What more is there to say? He's a complete asshole, but a lovable asshole.
Hillbilly
Oh, poor baby. His mind is going to be so thoroughly scrambled. Because of the life he's lived, he's never met a blind person before. At first he'll simply assume you’re clumsy and, without giving it much thought, try to kill you just like he does everyone else. But later during a sudden collision between the two of you, instead of screaming in fear, you reach out and touch whatever you ran into—Max's chest. Then with a small breath and hesitant uncertainty, you murmur "David?" and he just freezes.
His entire life, he'd been forced to endure disgusted stares crawling across his skin, he'd spent years fighting against screams that chased him as though they had a physical form of their own, but none of the pain he had ever experienced could have prepared him for this moment.
Not knowing what to do, he'll hurriedly leave. It won't take long for guilt to settle in after abandoning you there. He'll come back. Assuming you can't really get around on your own, he'll at least hope to guide you somewhere safe and keep you away from the carnage.
Of course, the moment he sees Leon—someone he already can't stand—holding your hand and leading you toward the generators, his mood will sour very quickly.
Deciding to leave you and Leon alone for a while, he'll turn his attention toward another survivor. Hoping to put an end to the battle between his heart and his mind, he'll keep dragging his chainsaw through bone.
Albert Wesker
Wesker wasn't stupid. During a chase, he knew exactly what the stick you were holding in the distance was when he caught sight of it from the corner of his eye. To be honest, he couldn’t help but feel a little curious in that moment. Was the Entity really cruel enough to bring a blind person here?
Still, this was Albert Wesker we were talking about. He never distinguished between the obstacles standing in the way of his victory. And you were no exception. Well, you were for a time...
You were far too kind. Not because you possessed a pure heart, but because you believed fighting with another person would gain you nothing. Perhaps that was why, despite the people who looked down on you and saw you as useless, you never used your blindness as a tool to turn your back on them. No, you caught even the smallest pained whimper like a hunter and continued helping others despite suffering yourself. And that fascinated him. He told himself it was nothing unusual. He had seen plenty of self sacrificing fools like that before, yet he could never stop himself from being drawn to you.
As he came to believe that you were remarkably intelligent and had interesting ideas, his interest in you became increasingly obvious. Which meant he would stop killing you. "Seven minutes...I'll give you only seven minutes." He said it while watching you study his face with eyes that couldn't see, unaware of the excitement shining within them after the familiarity built over such a long time.
If only you could have seen the savage hunger with which those bright eyes looked at you.
Caleb Quinn
One of Caleb's favorite things was targeting survivors from distances where he could truly show off his marksmanship. Naturally, that would make him notice you very quickly. When he aimed at you, instead of checking behind yourself, running and weaving back and forth like the others, he saw you trailing your hands along walls and finding your way through sound.
But the biggest thing that stopped Caleb was something else. The thing he knew best was the smell of helplessness.
He had faced strong opponents and exceptionally skilled ones, even the most dishonorable kinds, but never someone weak and without the chance to see. That went against his cowboy way too much. For a while he would simply watch you from afar, unsure of what to do with you.
Eventually, there would be times when he let you escape. There were moments when he not even allowed you to live during matches he was destined to lose. He tried not to cause unnecessary pain, and that applied not only to killing but to chases as well. While he hunted others directly with his rifle, he would usually take advantage of your condition and catch you with his hands instead.
He would never make you experience the pain of his harpoon even once, because shooting prey that couldn't properly run went against his cowboy pride.
Caleb never forgot what life had taken from him. Because of that, he wouldn't see your blindness as a 'flaw' but as 'one of life's dirty tricks played on you.' and with time, he would even start trying to have conversations with you.
Trickster
You're an insult to his existence. If someone were to come up and ask what he thought of you, he'd give a brief and straightforward answer. The Entity dragged this boring thing here to punish me.
To him, you're a loser. And as if not being able to see him wasn't enough, you're completely indifferent to his insults because you don't even know korean. "찌질이." When he throws one of his knives at you from a record breaking distance while you're running around with the help of your cane, he'll call out after you like that.
His voice is so low and wild that it sounds less like an insult and more like a term of endearment. Ji-woon shouldn't lie to himself, but he absolutely enjoys messing with you. And much like the affection he once accepted from his fans, he'll gradually begin admitting to himself that he likes your presence too.
"너 완전 루저야" (You're a complete loser) As he says it, he'll sign one of his favorite cassette tapes and tuck it into the side of your pants. Ah and if despite not understanding his strange behavior, you approach him politely instead of rudely...Ji-woon will melt. As this sick obsession of his grows over time, he'll begin writing music for you. During matches, he'll always leave you for last and constantly make sure the generators don't get finished so he can spend plenty of time with you.
Eventually, Ji-woon will remember that not being able to see his perfection doesn't stop you from feeling it, and after gently taking hold of your wrists and placing kisses against your palms that tickle your skin, he'll bow his head slightly before you and guide your hands up to his face.
The Knight
He definitely won't pity you. The moment he finds you he'll take care of you without hesitation, sooner he's rid of you, the better. But somehow, he'll occasionally find himself absentmindedly watching you.
Knight had seen far too many things before. The wounded, maimed, countless people clinging to life in agony despite missing limbs or having their faces completely shattered..He shouldn't have been affected by it and yet, here he was.
Drawn toward the scent of blood, you had reached out to him by following the sounds he made. One hand clung to his arm while you held a medkit in the other, looking at him with quiet concern. You were pathetic enough to mistake him for an injured teammate because of the smell of blood. "Let me help you."
With a grunt from beneath his helmet, he grabbed you by the arm, then shifted his hold to your waist. Ignoring your startled cry and the frightened struggling that came with your sudden realization, he carried you to the hatch.
If we ignore the part where he tossed you into the darkness like a sack of shit, it was actually gentlemanly.
Chucky
"Oh my God, is this shit a gift for me? It isn't even my birthday!" After killing everyone else, Chucky shouted that toward the sky as if someone up there was listening while enjoying the pleasure of finally meeting the new survivor. Damn it, he's going to make fun of you so much that at some point you might genuinely start praying for him to kill you.
"Don't stare at me like that! Although…you don't actually know where you're looking, do you?" Chucky laughed mockingly at you as you stood with your back to the generator, struggling to figure out what was happening around you. He would constantly compare your helplessness to that of a newborn baby, yet he generally wouldn't touch the cane you needed so badly. No, alright maybe he'd take it sometimes but he'd genuinely try not to interfere with it too much. "Well, you can't do anything without that shited thing either, can you? I'm the same way," he said while stroking the knife in his hand as though it were something seductive. "It's as inseparable from me as my dick."
Don't really question Chucky and his philosophy on life. As much of a little shit as he is, he'd definitely look after you too. I mean, come on he's tiny and you're blind! What a great match, right? Sometimes he'd try to play games with you, games that wouldn't hurt you, of course. Things like hide and seek. "My god, you were made for this game, trust me!" he said while punching your leg in an attempt to reassure you. Though what happened a few minutes later didn't really support his words. Taking full advantage of your blindness, he'd practically run circles around your fingertips. "I'm over here…no I'm over here! Look, follow my voice…oops, you walked into a wall! Now that's a classic!"
But the strangest thing is that he'd let you carry him. "RUN AT THAT ASSHOLE! RUNNNN!" To Chucky, you were the body he needed and he was the only eyes you could ever have. How romantic…right?
Jason Voorhees
He learned that you were blind in the worst possible way, at the worst possible time. Jason still carried the fragility and anger born from the bullying he had endured throughout his life deep within his bones. And when he saw the bullying directed at you, he didn't stop to think not even for a moment. He shouldn't have cared, yet despite the command of his mother still echoing in his ears, he immediately strode toward you and without giving the person who had shoved you to the ground a chance to react, grabbed them by the throat and lifted them into the air. Bringing his machete down upon their chest with ruthless force, he would shatter their ribcage.
Behind him, he had already forgotten about you, crawling away from the screams on the ground while crying in fear and searching for your cane. In that moment the only thing he was focused on was the sack of flesh in his hands. With every blow he struck, he remembered the faces of those who had gotten away after what they had done to him. One day he would leave this place, find every last one of them and punish them.
But for now...he let the body in his grasp fall to the ground with a disgusting thud, as though it were nothing. Taking muffled breaths behind his mask, he would finally turn toward you. Without thinking much about it he'd walk over, pick up your cane lying far away from where you were on the ground, then grab you by the arm and haul you to your feet as if you were a rag doll. Ignoring your screams and pleas, he'd place the cane back into your hand and walk away.
He was a victim too, but he would never allow that number to grow.
Pyramid Head
In a single word, he couldn't find anything about you that deserved punishment. The moment he met your eyes—eyes that didn't even know where to look or move in their fear—he lowered the massive sword in his hand.
And your hesitant "Hello?" in response to the deep, rasping breaths coming from him didn't help at all. You were completely unaware of the giant standing before you. He had come here to punish, yet all he could see in you was innocence.
Of course you would be terrified of him. He wasn't a caring or considerate giant. Him constantly grabbing you by the collar, holding your body to drag you somewhere, or forcing you into a seat after depositing you in a corner certainly didn't make things any easier. And that's not even mentioning the touches that left anything for privacy. Still you could see traces of kindness in him. Not only during your own matches with him—even in matches with two killers, he wouldn't allow his partner to lay a finger on you.
He was incredibly possessive. The sound of metal grinding, which once made your heart pound so hard it felt ready to burst from your chest, had become a source of comfort. It was a sign that he was there and while he was there, no one could hurt you. Even friends whose company you missed couldn't get close to you. You had learned a long time ago in the worst way possible, that he would never tolerate anyone making contact with you.
He was very possessive, and all that really meant was getting used to the scent of metal stained with blood and rust.
Ghostface
"Baby, you're holding the flashlight wrong." you quickly turned toward the voice and pointed the flashlight in that direction, but it was no use. Looking at the flashlight aimed directly at his chest, Danny let out a deep sigh. God, you were exhausting. But just as unique. "Hey sweetheart, if you want to blind the killer, you have to point the light at the right place! My face—" the moment you lifted the flashlight toward the sky, he couldn't help but laugh.
"Damn, please don't do that Mr. Blindborn! I can't take on Batman!"
Danny was someone who always found a way to entertain himself, but you were something else entirely. A different kind of flavor—one that melted away on the tongue and left you thirsty, yet somehow made you want more. Danny preferred having control no matter the situation. And what he liked about your blindness was how, sooner or later it could leave you dependent on someone. A lovely little sheep dependent on his guidance.
Of course, he killed you in the beginning. He savored every scream he managed to draw from you. He enjoyed making you hate him, making you fear him, making you become wary of the feeling of being watched that you had grown so used to. And in the end, somehow he made you come back to his arms. He paid no mind to your trembling or your struggles within the tight, warm embrace that surrounded you. He simply locked your bodies together as though the two of you had been lovers since the dawn of the world itself.
To him, this wasn't an unhealthy obsession. No, this was love itself—thing he had never thought he would get to experience. And Danny was starving for it.
Huntress
Ah, you poor baby...that was what flowed from the depths of Anna's mind the thoughts no one ever cared to wonder about—when she first saw you. It's difficult to say what Anna truly thought of you but one thing was certain, it wasn't healthy. Your first match was filled with the terror brought by her dreadful hatchet. Poor you, having only just recognized the sound of it voice, you looked like a dying fawn when the hatchet buried itself into your body.
And this triggered something in her, something powerful enough to overshadow even her desire to kill. You weren't something that needed to be removed—no, you needed to be protected. That was why life had brought you to this cruel, miserable pit. One truth of this place was that pain was inevitable, but whenever you were by Anna's side, she never allowed pain to come near you.
She took your face between her calloused hands, stroked your skin and brushed her fingers over the eyelids of those beautiful eyes that knew nothing of the world around them. She hummed the only lullabies her mother had left behind for her. It didn't matter if you couldn't understand them, her love recognized no language barrier.
Michael Myers
While chasing Laurie, he almost had a heart attack when you suddenly stepped out from around a corner—if that had even been possible. Without thinking, he would have turned you by the shoulder and driven his knife into you. But then he noticed. Michael was a very observant person; it was simply one of the advantages of being a hunter. He saw the dullness in your eyes, that lack of recognition, almost immediately.
It was a sight he had never seen before. Even people who knew nothing about him would look at him strangely or with concern. But not you. Not with the same indifference you carried.
He swiftly raised the knife until its tip hovered before your eye and waited. Yet the scream and expression of terror he wanted so badly never came. It sent a note of discomfort through his body. Michael wasn't used to not being feared. And he would never, the person hesitantly touched by someone trying to understand the owner of the hand gripping them tightly, letting out a startled breath. He shoved you away harshly.
Without caring that you had fallen, he left. But that would not be your last encounter. And the more often a blow lands, the more it wears away whatever stands before it.
!!Warnings: Gn Reader, toxic romance, obsessive behavior, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murder mentions, ghostface being ghostface, smut, narcissism and generally poor life choices, eng not my native lang!!
!!Wc: per character around 320-750!!
Song Recs: Driving With My Darling, An Unhealthy Obsession, When You Find Me, Лицемер, My Moon My Man, Sinsirella, Me and Mr Wolf, Killer, Megalomaniac, Gallowdance, Fever, The Kill 2.
Doofy Gilmore
You'll only learn that he put the entire city and you—to sleep when he finally decides to leave. Though Doofy knows exactly how to convince you, so he's certain you won't abandon him. Especially after you fell in love with the foolish persona everyone mocked.
Ah, this man is the perfect balance between a green flag and a red flag. Your relationship was so sweet in the beginning that not falling for Doofy was impossible. No matter what anyone said, you couldn't help being drawn to this embarrassingly childish man whose head always seemed to be somewhere in the clouds.
No matter what anyone said, Doofy would never hurt you. The man who stole your heart was so harmless that you could trust him with your eyes closed.
Life with Doofy was strange, but it was never boring. No, Doofy and the word 'boring'' seemed to repel each other like opposite poles. Instead of your dates being in luxurious restaurants as a man might provide, it consisted of sitting at home and watching him incorrectly sweep up the popcorn he had spilled all over the floor. Most men concerned themselves with approving their partner's outfits, but with you it was the opposite—you spent your time laughing as he proudly showed off his police uniform.
Doofy was like the cure to some unknown illness. He always brought you strange yet beautiful gifts made with his own hands. When you noticed people looking at you with pity whenever you went out together, he noticed it too and despite having done nothing wrong, he would try his hardest to make up for it. It was impossible not to fall in love with that effort.
And really, that was exactly how it had to be. Doofy had analyzed you so thoroughly that you wouldn't even realize you were being manipulated. Especially when he straightened his hunched posture, removed his fake mustache, and walked toward you with a lit cigarette in hand—he had already predicted your next move.
He would handle your shock so effortlessly that before you even realized you had accepted what had happened, you'd only then notice that he had already kissed you and that you were sitting beside him in the car he was driving.
That's life—you never know what it will bring. Just yesterday your lover was someone whose cleaning obsessions you were dealing with, now he was a work of art you'd hesitate to look at twice while passing on the street. But don't worry. Just as you had taken good care of him, he would take good care of you. Because you had already proven that you would love him no matter what, and now it was his turn.
Well I wasn't actually going to touch on sexual topics, but it wouldn't feel right to leave them out entirely. No one can convince me that this man wouldn't make use of those old police handcuffs. And unfortunately, because his playful side has mostly faded into the past, you definitely shouldn't underestimate being handcuffed to a bed. Especially when he sits on his knees like a hunter looking at a meal, smoking a cigarette and leans toward you—who are lying there naked and handcuffed—to blow the cigarette smoke right at you.
"Oops, let me clean that up for you." after accidentally spilling cigarette ash onto your stomach, he'd lean down and sensually lick the ashes from your burning skin.
Amber Freeman
Has anyone ever told you that you're dating a ticking time bomb? If not, let me be before she back. On the surface Amber can seem like someone incredibly sweet, loyal and willing to burn the world down for the people she loves. But all she really gives those so called loved ones is a drop of her poison.
She'll act like she hates the thought of you getting hurt and to be honest, that's actually true. Oh and Amber has absolutely no respect for personal space. She'll want to drive you everywhere herself and you won't even be able to say no because of the warmth in that protective attitude of hers. But the truth is, it comes less from being a loving partner and more from her controlling nature.
Being without her is difficult but whenever she isn't around, she'll somehow learn exactly where you went, who you were with and who you talked to down to the very second. And every suspicious thing she does gets swept under the rug with the excuse of, "I care about you."
Amber's obsession is one of her most obvious traits. And if you're in a relationship with her, you're going to have to participate in her obsessions. According to her, the perfect ten out of ten date activity is getting together and attacking people on internet forums over whatever she'sobsessed on at the moment.
Ughh she escalates arguments ridiculously fast. One moment you're calmly talking about something small, and the next she's yelling and tearing the place apart. Still Amber is actually someone who can be handled—you just have to find that particular persuasive language that only she understands.
But to be fair, Amber is fiercely loyal to you. She'd take a bullet for you without a second thought.
I know this isn't ethical at all but for some reason whenever I think about sex with Amber, temperature play immediately comes to mind. Oops you know what I mean. I mean let's give credit where it's due—she died as a hot woman. She absolutely loves dripping warm candle wax onto your body or her in bed. I think it's called wax play or whatever the hell. The way that melted wax lightly burns your or her skin and draws out those small little moans drives her crazy. Or sudden changes in temperature, like tracing ice across your skin and then immediately kissing the same spot with warm breath, overwhelming your senses. Anyway ugh I actually don't like writing for women and I'm not very comfortable with it but at least I tried.
Ethan Landry
Oh my shaylaaa, your lover couldn't even hurt a butterfly. He gets flustered just by seeing you, and while he is hesitating about whether the smiles he offers you are good or not, how can you think he could do something bad.
He is always so polite, shy and respectful toward you. And especially those thoughtful conversations that come along with that sweet shyness. Maybe that's why you never saw him trying to win in arguments, and especially you never noticed how he blamed himself in a way to make you feel guilty. You were practically a blind person looking at it.
But actually, Ethan's mask will fall quite fast. Especially when he makes it clear that he thinks seriously about you, he will talk about this subject to his father one morning at breakfast. And when he is accepted by his father, this kid will practically go and find you skipping with joy.
Though, he doesn't have the intention to just dump all the truth on you with a straight conversation right away. He will definitely hunt you in the night, in the vulnerability brought by a nice bath. The good news is he won't introduce the knife to your organs, the bad news is you learned your lover is the psychopathic serial killer Ghostface. And the even worse news is that you learned the whole family consists of a pack of psychopaths chasing revenge for Richie, who got caught up in the previous Ghostface madness.
As someone sane you will definitely stay silent so that nothing gets shoved up your ass, anyway other than this new truth of Ethan, he doesn't have much harm to you. Yes this still doesn't change the fact that he is a psychopath, but at least he doesn't bite you.
But after he reveals his true face, you will see a horrific grudge and an inferiority complex accumulated over the years underneath that shy love of yours. Whereas in the past, when you were alone in the corners of the rooms and he whispered, "Nobody wants to take me among them," how you used to hug him and want to heal the broken child in your arms.
Even if he tries very hard, you will not be included in his work, of course sooner or later he will go and present the idea to his father and oh get ready for a dinner with your sweet father in law.
Congratulations, when is the wedding? Most likely after graduation. I congratulate your beautiful countryside wedding already.
This doesn't mean he will wait until the wedding to touch you. Nope, truthfully I am not sure about the sex subject because honestly I didn't understand him much and didn't care about him in the movie lol. But I think Ethan would love to go back and forth between two extremes. Sometimes he would bury into your neck sobbing and want you to praise him, to say nonsense like "You are so strong Ethan, you are my man" but immediately after, his eyes would roll back and he would pin you to the bed, rubbing how helpless you are into your face and forcing you to completely obey him. What can I say. Watching you tremble against his strength would inflate his ego.
In those famous crowded apartments in the movies, while the other roommates are sitting in the next room,he will catch you in the darkness of the hallway. Pressing you against the wall, he tightly presses his hand over your mouth and prevents your groans. With zero sound brought by the risk of those in the next room hearing and the fear of getting caught, talking only with your eyes, he will keep consuming you between that wall. My suggestion is, don't let him make a habit out of this, otherwise some time you will get caught by his father in his own house.
Roman Bridger
This is the kind of man who'd happily spend every cent he earns on you. He'd never let you lift a finger, never let your hands touch cold water if he could help it. He'd give you anything you wanted. He'd make sure you experienced only the finest, most luxurious things life had to offer. Of course alongside all that, he'd never stop talking about fine art, cinema and culture.
Especially about how criminally underappreciated he is. Unfortunately it doesn't stop there. In the relationship, the spotlight is always on his life and his problems. He still can't move past the fact that he was conceived through rape and honestly I wouldn't recommend bringing up the subject. Things could get ugly very quickly.
And that's not even touching on the wound his mother left behind. He's genuinely troubled and incredibly selfish about it. He won't even care how your day went. As far as he's concerned, it's always about his career, his fights with producers and the stress he's under.
Try approaching him like a mature adult and talking about his neglectful behavior, and you'll discover what a drama queen he really is. The slightest criticism sends him straight into defense mode,he takes offense unbelievably fast. In his mind the world is full of idiots who fail to appreciate his genius—and he'll eventually accuse you of being one of them too.
Alrightt let's ignore all of that for a moment and move on. Roman's massive victim complex is impossible to miss. Being rejected by his mother left him with a wound that never healed. As a result, he desperately wants complete loyalty and dependency from you. Not only that, but he'll deny you even the smallest amount of distance. Let even a tiny gap form between you and he'll immediately label it betrayal.
Truthfully, you tried breaking up with him a few times. The first time he didn't care,he was convinced you'd come back—and you did. The second time, he slammed the door and disappeared for a few days, so you quietly ended things while he was gone but somehow this bastard still managed to come back and win your heart back, bruh.
The third breakup...well let's just say you nearly ended up in a coma. Afterward, you spent an entire week being harassed by calls from unknown numbers. You told yourself they were prank calls, but your brain refused to relax. Eventually one night, Roman showed up at your house—not as your lover but as Ghostface—and a big altercation happened.
That night nearly drove you insane. But fortunately, as much as Roman wanted you dependent on him, he was even more dependent on you. He couldn't function without you, and he had no intention of losing you. All he had to do was rein you in.
He is the client and you are the masterpiece that needs shaping. He'll arrange everything exactly as he wants it—from the angle of the dim lighting in the room, to the tone of the classical music playing in the background, to the color and texture of the sheets destined to be ruined beneath you and on top of you. Don't even bother counting the bruises he'll leave on your body, he'll just add more by the next hour.
The most troublesome part is that, given the opportunity etc so if you can be, he'd absolutely be capable of baby trapping you. Everything you've ever seen about him stems from being an unwanted child, rejected by his mother. He's desperately hungry for a bond of his own blood, his own flesh and bone. And when you finally tell him you're pregnant, he'll be so happy that he can barely contain himself "Finally...I have a real family that's mine. One that will never leave me." he'll pull you into his arms, gently stroking your still flat stomach as he whispers those words to himself.
Stu Macher
Golden retriever energy but completely psychotic. Super fun on dates, but he is more loyal to his best friend than to you. Still that doesn't mean you can't change that, though. You'll just have to win over not only Stu, but Billy too, and convince them that you carry their so-called pain as well.
Unfortunately, both of their asses are glued to each other; you won't just be managing your lover—you'll be dealing with his best friend too. But hey, once they accept you, be ready to learn all of their nastiest secrets.
Stu absolutely has no filter, and once he starts being honest with you, it can become quite a trouble for you. He genuinely tells you everything. If it weren't about pulling out intestines and making death plans, it'd actually be kind of sweet.
Stu can make you laugh constantly. He practically can't sit still around you, the kind of guy who lifts you right off your feet and makes your world stop as if it were nothing. But even underneath Stu's cute jokes, there's something chilling. Especially because he has absolutely no sense of boundaries—during an argument, he might jokingly walk up on you.
Stu's the clown, and you're his queen. Always behind you, always popping out from a corner to cling to you, stealing little laughs from your lips with weird voices and strange tones. And like I said, Stu is way too unfiltered, the complete opposite of Billy. While Billy gets jealous in planned and sneaky ways, Stu would absolutely jump on the person trying to flirt with you in a corner somewhere. You'd never find out about it, though, so it's not that important.
Whatever this man is in normal life, he is the same in bed. Constantly changing positions, tossing you from one side of the bed to the other. He's genuinely unpredictable, and no offense, but he's an absolute animal. No, seriously—Stu gives off a vibe that he'd randomly bite you for no reason.
Fucking in upstairs rooms during parties, coming to fuck you after a murder he committed instead of Billy, and more. Stu isn't picky about the setting at all, as long as the two of you can be wrapped up in each other's arms. And that's not even mentioning how he constantly sticks his tongue out or uses the voice changer to alter his voice while talking dirty.
At one point in your relationship, Billy wanted to hurt you or make you one of the victims in the plan. That was the first time Stu ever raised his voice at Billy.
"No Billy, you can't touch them! We promised!" he shouted, breaking down into tears.
Mickey Altieri
You definitely must be loving common things, even if you don't love them he will find a way to make you love them.
Your dates will mostly pass with going to the best horror movies in theaters and discussing cinema theories until morning. Not to mention his yapyaping about the Stab movie during and after sex. But sometimes...
Sometimes in movie discussions, he defends the violence and the killer like a fanatic, that you fall into the doubt of whether this is a movie fandom or a truly troubled situation. Of coursee you don't have a relationship consisting only of movies.
He will make you live a relationship that everyone in that friend group will envy. He has a charisma that he shows to you separately. He is so flirtatious, energetic and protective that he is actually the exact ideal boyfriend.
He wants the media to think this way in the future too. After all his ultimate goal is to be caught and become the star of the crime world, and you will be the fooled sweet lover of the criminal on the court day. After all with him being a famous person, he expects you to draw the attention too. This means experiencing very hurtful manipulations in your life.
When the time comes and Mickey's mask falls, be ready to meet a pure psychopath who does evil knowingly and willingly. He is not that man you know, the one who took you into his arms and smothered you with kisses. Especially not his sarcastic comments about your stupidity. You will never understand if the stranger in front of you truly loved you or not.
Regarding sex, in my opinion Mickey loves to play the bad guy role in bed. Under the name of this role, you will even experience the shock of getting slapped, I am sorry. Or I am not whatever he has a habit of fucking you in front of the camera. Even if you express that you feel discomfort from this, he will continue to shoot. He knows no mercy on this subject, he even comes and says things like "What, so you want me to go and watch porn? And I thought you wanted me to stay faithful to you."
He loves setting up those professional video cameras he stole from the campus cinema room or backstages into the bedroom, and honestly you still didn't understand how he hasn't been caught. The first moment you get into bed and make out the cameras are not around, it becomes like this time he will truly keep his word and you will have a normal sex, but no. During the relationship he already starts to adjust the camera's angle with his one hand, he will place you right across that lens while you are absent minded with your swollen lips. He gets wild while watching the reflection of your bare skin on the camera,whispering into your ear "Look here baby, look inside the lens. This is our best scene..."
Quinn Bailey
Life is quite fun with this girl who lives sexuality and self confidence to their peaks. She knows well how to make you live the moment, if you are shy definitely be ready to break this by being dragged to parties. Because she is a total party girl and according to her by dating her you already knew what you were getting into.
If only you knew more. Especially that the person you thought was struggling with commitment fears actually made you a dog bound to herself. Unfortunately, I will not talk about the things she does under the name of making you jealous, still she will be the one who always returns to you.
This bitch is someone who can even manage to plan her own death, meaning it is impossible for her not to be a master of crocodile tears and flips. She is from those who could write the book of innocence but has never lived it.
But if there is something that separates her from her brother, it is definitely that if she loves you, she will not include you in her family's blood feud. No, if Quinn loved you, this means you will be at the center of her life. She will put her tooth to her nail, but she will not let her brother's feud reach your hand. She can even fall at odds with her family on this matter.
If it is necessary to talk about Quinn's jealousy, it is extremely too much. You can be sure that she will find even the home address of the person who falls at odds with her. Also Quinn is quite dominant in bed, she is someone who does not like to let the ropes slip from her hand. Be careful and do not get too caught up in her madness.
Danny Johnson
Danny is not clumsy like the others, he does not act stupid, he does not panic. Everything he plans is flawless just like himself. If you are together with him, nothing in your life is a coincidence. In my opinion, you were most likely on his list which consists of people Danny will kill. While he messes things up perfectly as Ghostface in the city you live in, when it is your turn he will just freeze.
First, during the first weeks he will put this forward as being due to insufficient information, as if there is someone he needs to prove himself to, he will lurk on the street at night and attack you in the middle of the road. But he will not kill. While reading the newspaper, his knuckles turned stark white on the mug he holds with anger, he will try to accept what is written.
"THE FIRST VICTIM WHO MANAGED TO ESCAPE ALIVE FROM GHOSTFACE'S ATTACK!"
He will accept that it is his own fault but he will never manage to fix it. Even though he wants to scatter your guts in the middle of the street just to prove to everyone that it is the exact opposite, that everything is under his control, he will not do it.
He must accept it. Danny loved you, you were so much just yourself. You looked like someone who could be found anywhere at first, but as he got to know you, it was as if he was taken under the effect of a spell. And his love will deepen with what he is best at, which is watching. Since he already knows your every habit by heart, he will easily just slide into your life.
Like this Danny is the best listener in your life, you will really like him being so eager to know you, whereas this is beyond nice it is too dark. He will remember even the smallest detail, from your favorite coffee to your sleeping hours.
Speaking of remembering, you have a box full of polaroid pictures with him. From the sweet sticker and effect photos taken in machines before the movie that he would get bored of upon your insistence, to the photos taken by his own self and you. It is almost very sweet, right? Ah if only your lover showed you the photos he keeps for his own private use too. Though don't worry, Danny will actually hide his identity up to a certain point too.
Because the work he does and his life are completely connected to each other. Especially when he changes his identity and takes off for a new city, he will definitely lay out the whole truth since you will come with him too. Honestly he does not have a single gram of fear of the police, he is someone who can play them around his finger very easily too.
The real uncertainty is you. His Ghostface identity is extremely important, he will never accept even the slightest disrespect and please do not make a move or judgment that will not please him. Otherwise, you will become the most brutal case in history of the Ghostface file.
I want to touch upon one more point, Danny is a complete narcissist you have already understood this anyway. Throughout life, he will constantly keep expressing that he can leave you behind as a memory in your hometown at first and abandon you. And when you get sad, he will hug you and tell you not to be a touchy baby.
It is impossible to separate Danny and his camera. It could probably even be his middle name; during the relationship, in those most intimate moments when you take pleasure the most, when your breath catches or your eyes roll back slightly, he suddenly pops the flash. No, no matter how much you whine, he will not delete these he already wrote in his will for the photo album to be buried with himself. Except for grunts and small groans, your lover is very silent in bed, the only thing you can get from him is dirty talks and swear words. Whereas he just wants to hear your voice. Whispering into your ear with that mature, deep voice of his, he will demand even more, he will shower you with orders. If I talk about him and tying, bondage games it will get too longg anyway that is for another time.
Billy Loomis
A complete gaslighter. He manipulates you in such a secret way that you constantly keep doubting yourself. Seriously don't get on his bad side, because Billy could write a thousand page book about how he can make you feel bad.
Your relationship with him is like a cat and mouse game, it always gives this taste from one end to the other. But Billy can have mistakes too, after all he is a human too; especially when he has a lover who is awake and smart enough, it is impossible for him to make mistakes. You will probably notice that he is keeping a secret and when he is caught, he will throw the blame on you by saying, "You don't love me enough."
Breaking up with Billy is not even a matter of question, and if such a thing happened its end would probably be death. But if we assume that he truly loves you, things will change. Actually understanding Billy is not that hard, he just hates everything and everyone in the world because of his mother leaving him because of his father. But if he truly loved you, you would be the only thing that anger wouldn't touch—ahm, I'm not talking about the madness, that is separate.
He will always come from behind you and hug you, rest his chin on your shoulder, play with your hair and whisper words that mix between provocative and sweetness. Billy is an asshole who will learn very quickly wwhich buttons of yours to push and use them in his own favor at the same speed.
Ahh I almost forgot, his best friend Stu is also like the Steve in your relationship. But Billy will draw a bright red line about this. Whenever Stu talks too flirtatiously with you and makes playful touches, he will keep meeting Billy's murderous glares.
You even caught this word between them many times "Don't go near them Stu, they are mine." If only the subject was limited to Stu, if this man cannot tolerate his best friend's attitudes, don't even ask about the others. His eyes are constantly on you in school hallways and events. Billy will always run as a support in the discomforts you experience at school.
Which usually, what a coincidence you will hear that those people became the victims of Ghostface a few days later. Yet you will never understand that Billy did this for you.
Or so I'd say lol.
Can you conclude that he is a normal person from Billy going and isolating you to himself instead of getting angry in every argument, his slight sadism movements in bed, and his dark looks? Unfortunately, Billy will fail the class on this subject. But at least he is good at sex. He will fix your hands above your head and make you repeat his name until your vocal cords burst.
I'm not talking about the roleplays you will do with the Ghostface costume...in those moments, he truly loses control and for a moment you get out of the effect of pleasure and start to worry for your own life.
Jill Roberts
We can definitely call her the most controlling and fame hungry of the bunch. She doesn't see you as a partner, but as an 'accessory' that boosts her own popularity.
At the slightest argument, she immediately declares herself the victim. If you try to separate from her, she can darken your life by telling the whole world that you harmed her. To be honest she tried to manage you and Charlie at the same time for a while, but your different personalities and Charlie's stupidities exhausted her, so she will make the decision to get rid of him in the end. But this doesn't mean you will be her Ghostface partner.
No, Charlie's role and ending were already determined long ago. Yours was too; you are the poor and only lover of the sole survivor who escaped the Ghostface attack. While we are on the subject of love and fame, expect Jill to market your relationship on instagram in a flawless perfection that everyone will envy. Yet behind the camera, there is absolutely nothing but rot.
Jill might genuinely be one of the worst partners. What can you expect from someone who doesn't even hesitate to hurt her own body for her goals? She will isolate you from everything in life, you are almost like her own toy.
"They don't understand our love baby, we only need each other." You've heard these words so many times that you don't even question them anymore. Then again, what if you did? Jill was specially created for the victim role.
And to be worshipped—she thinks she was created to be worshipped. Jill is in love with her own image. She loves being in front of a big mirror in the bedroom or watching you worship her body. The more desire you look at her with, the more wild she gets and her lust hits the roof. She completely determines the positions, pace and when you will stop. She loves giving you orders, tying you to the bed or blindfolding you to leave you completely at her mercy. She'll keep leaning into your ear and whispering, "Whose queen am I? Tell me, who are you losing your mind for?"
Richie Kirsch
Just like he did with Sam, he would drop everything and follow you to another city, abandoning his whole life just to be near you and protect you. It's calculated, of course—he knows these grand sacrifices will leave you hopelessly, desperately bound to him.
No matter how chaotic things get, he always plays the part of the most rational, innocent person in the room. He never seems to tire of the act, especially when playing his absolute favorite role: your safe harbor.
But let's be real—Richie is obsessive and unhinged. Then again, who on this list isn't? He is a textbook slave to pop culture, a reddit addict and a narcissist whose mind is always spinning, desperately trying to bend reality into the scripts he writes. Honestly he's the type of madman who wouldn't hesitate to ruin you if it served his plot.
As a chronic internet addict, Richie will meticulously exhume your digital corpse. He'll dig up your forgotten social media accounts, old Reddit threads and even your childhood photos just to decode you. He maps your desires and triggers so perfectly that every surprise feels tailor made. You'll mistake it for a soulmate connection, completely blind to the fact that you've just been professionally stalked. You poor thing.
Sometimes he'll tie you down, leaving you entirely at his mercy. As you gasp for air—caught between adrenaline and a creeping dread—he'll lean in with that sly, cinematic smirk and whisper "Don't take it personally, baby. I'm just doing the scene justice." Richie is a virtuoso at converting fear into raw desire.
He has this specific way of looking at you—a gaze so laced with anxiety and fierce protectiveness that you won't help but believe it with every fiber of your being. You will trust that look with all your heart.
A.n: My first time writing for all of them and it definitely won't be the last. Especially Danny and Doofy just wait for me, you handsome bastards.
warnings.
18+ explicit content. stalking. murder & blood kinks. coercion. yandere. obsessive behavior. fear play. dead dove: do not eat.
danny "jed olsen" johnson | the ghost face / fem!reader
summary.
small town journalist, hungry like a starved fox to make it big in the small town she grew up in gets more than what she bargained for when the notorious killer, nicknamed the ghost, makes a grandiose return to her safe haven.
rather than feeling any sort of fear, her make-shift innocence starts crumbling when she feels her past predatory interest waken anew, and the scar on her stomach from their past exchanges tingle with recognition.
and so the little game of the hound and the ghost begins once more. this time, it might be the last.
read the first chapter here!
or scroll a little further down.
good to have you here!
haven't given this writing thing a go for quite some time and what better way than revisiting my favourite ghostface and making our dear reader suffer a little!
any feedback is appreciated and will be considered. i'm planning on developing this story for a while. this entails the tags will change overtime.
hopefully reader survives this!
of course, that's up to me, so i can just wish you good luck.
art credit: jispooks
chapter one
bark no bite
It was the dead of night in a slow September when you first felt a shift—a familiar chill in the air and along your spine that ran your blood stone cold.
Since your earliest memories of yourself you had a certain knowing flooding your bloodstream that you were destined—for something, anything. A quiet possession fluttering and stirring in the deepest parts and it made you wonder what could possibly reach this far inside you to scratch the itch and need of an ambition unknown even to yourself. You grew up with the little creature uncertainty crawling underneath your skin and settling where comfort was absent.
You took many losses in your life, each one you mourned more than the last. Self-doubt stirred enough in you to make you quiet, observant and reserved to the outside world that you so wished to have in the palm of your hand—such a large appetite was fit for a starving fox such as yourself. You had more ambition than you knew what to do with in a world that felt as though it had never been quite tailored to function just right for you.
The amount of sweat you poured out into the world in the childish hopes of leaving a mark was laughable, and it only served to water the soil. Nothing more.
A girl from a town that was no bigger than her.
You often fantasized—life larger than you. Larger than anything that ever kept you up at night with your eyes glued to your reflection in your bedroo. window wondering whether this body suited you for anything other than being a mere presence. Whether the hours you spent researching academics after being the first in your family to pursue formal education was ever going to amount to anything other than a slip of paper with your shiny name on it, almost like a mockery plastered with gold.
Names ought to give power, you thought.
Yours did nothing.
Yet, life has a way of tipping the balance. All that is needed sometimes is a small shift. A barely noticeable anomaly, a tiny speck in the symmetry of what you'd call normal.
The first time you felt a sort of... spark, yeah, that's how you'd describe it. A little spark, like the one of stars in the night sky where you consciously accept you're looking at a burning body and yet you still squint in subconscious instinct to get closer to it, see it better, feel what it's made of. Moth to a flame.
Your final year as a bachelor in Journalism, with a profile in Criminal Justice. You were fresh into taking your first internships and living in a constant, dull state of stagnancy where you felt all you were destined for was catching small-fry criminals who didn't get loved enough by their mom and so they up and went to rob the corner shop where the seller knew them since a child and simply shook their head and rang the police while said small-fry trembled with adrenaline and fear of being... a criminal?
You could scoff, and you did. It was borderline humiliating—calling yourself a criminal reporter, now graduated and the only semblance of success was in that you hadn't still went off your rockers from the sheer boredom of it. You were all smiles, politeness, consideration and a sense of honor infront of people. The picture perfect charming journalist who occasionally appeared on the small town TV channel to give a rundown, slightly exaggerated at times, of recent criminal activity and whether the perpetrators had been taken into custody. Please rest assured Roseville is safe, for you and your family, and everyone around you.
Was it, though? While people make wishes on falling stars you made a wish on the falling spark inside you. Most likely you wish you hadn't done that. It all starts with a little breeze, a little shift in the air. A little news here and there from people you've seen once or twice—a silent acknowledgement that something was stirring.
Something indeed was.
It was your rise to fame, if you could call it that. Small town journalist and her unfortunate involvement with a notorious serial killer that first left his imprint on Roseville the first year of your university program. When you were still unsure, riddled with doubt. Your only run in with him had been on campus where you saw, briefly but significant, the drag of a cloak and reflection of a mask. Your breath had caught in your throat, a sort of chill taking solace on your skin and you had simply waited. You realised then how small your world was, how your ambition only rampaged in your head where it had a safety barrier cornering it incase something had gone away and the fact of it made you entirely sick. Sicker than the fact that this was where your months long cat and mouse game began that would make you bigger than the meager town you grew up in.
To chase your ambition you learned to put up a farce, and a farce put up for long enough gains sufficient truth to blur the line between lie and reality.
Reality, for you, became calculated, carefully curated to appeal to you and your morbid interest in being recognized as an entity, more than human, that people cannot hide from. Your contribution to the Ghost case was invaluable, you were seen as the reporter who didn't think twice before going head first into shark infested waters. Turns out you had a knack for finding shit out, and people needed you for it. When was the last time you were ever needed?
A sort of predatory interest fed greedily on the satisfaction of the scales always being tipped in your favor as you unraveled cold cases and revelled in your own bloody success.
The Roseville Hound—you found it quite ridiculous, in all fairness, a nickname you certainly doubted would inspire fear in the criminals you pursued, but you thought better than to be picky with the consequences of your glory.
With glory comes ghosts.
You remember his words to you on the rainy night, long in the past, when your pursuit of the killer first reported in a Roseville Gazette issue went as wrong as anything can go wrong on a rainy night. You were stupid, defenseless and most of all—you quickly found that a single mistake had gotten you pressed against a police car away from the sight of the police force and reporters, a cold blade and a cruel, breathy chuckle running down the side of your neck as a message before he slipped away into the woods, never to be seen again for years to come.
You had let him get away, and not because you chose to. You were out of control.
Although he moved like a ghost, he was living proof of the breach in your defense, a pulsing point of vulnerability he was able to press on with half the effort it took you to even find anything remotely traceable. Everything you knew about him felt as if it was deliberately placed by him, every meeting orchestrated.
He was far more calculating than you ever were—it was an unnatural and ghastly competition where he pulled the strings just enough to have them graze over your skin prickling with reluctance. It was a twisted game you were pulled into, more than you ever bargained for. Forced to play the martyr bait due to his sick obsession with you because as long as you kept him entertained the victim count would significantly decrease.
Little notes on your desk complimenting you.
A bouquet of white roses on your doorstep after each murder as an accusation for not paying enough attention to him.
Luring you out to places where he could chase you and reward you with a week of peace if you managed to get away. The scar on your stomach still remembers your last confrontation—date, as he called it.
The Hound and the Ghost.
Always one step ahead of you, beating you in your own predatory games for months and months and months until you felt as though you were never a threat to begin with. He made you feel small. Your scales of justice and glory began tipping an inch to the right where he always stood in your shadow, unrelenting.
It would be far more accurate to say he was the one who always found you, not the opposite.
You played a dangerous game with him and at moments you questioned your own moral compass. What, exactly, was important to you in this investigation? The safety of people, the ghoulish interest of a sick-minded individual with hands bloodier than anyone's you know? Or the kick you got each time he slipped and left you more than he initially intended? A silent reminder he was human too—that behind that silly mask was a man starved, maybe as starved as you. Yet when you snapped out of your grandeur delusions you generally felt a sense of shame for having leveled yourself with such a gruesome criminal. You shouldn't have a single connecting link to him, but then again, you shouldn't many things.
Except on a rainy September night, your little game was cut short. It seemed little more than a shattered fantasy when you thought you had him cornered, pressed to the wall. It was the end of the Ghost that tortured you so. You needed to put a finish to your little game before your walls slipped further and you got a taste of something more dangerous that you already had an inkling would become a living thing that needed constant feeding. It was the sense of triumph you felt before the blade on your neck and your heart shrunk with how wavering your greatness felt.
“Think you're hot shit now, huh, pup? The headline I’ll make of you one day will be hard to forget.”
Everyone thought it was the end of it. And it should’ve been. He wasn’t your concern anymore and you were still needed by people. Your sanctuary was upheld and you thought better than to look for a killer who only let himself be found when he thought it entertaining. You let yourself forget—maybe that was your first mistake? Or it had been the years in which you matured, got a new outlook on the life you built for yourself. Stopped wishing for a world bigger than you, and simply lived as big as you allowed yourself to be. You felt grounded, competent and unwavering in the resolve of the previously starved animal you harbored inside you that now served a purpose greater than false ambition.
You let the Ghost and the memory remain a scar that at times reminded you how perilous lusting over what's not yours can be.
The grip you had on your newspaper tightened almost unnoticeably, steadying your breaths as you’ve learned among the years.
Three found dead on the campus of Atlas University, Roseville.
Accident, or premeditated murder?
Your eyes struggled to stay in focus while scanning the article’s title on your computer screen. The chill along your spine seemed to grow claws as your whole body went stiff—was it him? No, he most definitely had made his escape out of Roseville, that is how these psychopaths are presumed to function. He got too close to getting caught last time, he wouldn’t risk it. Is it a copycat?
Your mind was racing with possibilities and, for the first time, none of them thrilled you. On one hand you knew better than to give hasty opinions on newly opened cases, but the details of the gruesome murders had been far too familiar for comfort.
The article had been written by Jed Olsen, the new, and somewhat, annoyingly, rivaling journalist for the Roseville Gazette. A cunning and charming man with a sort of puppy look that was hard to say no to. Naive, but resourceful with how far his mouth could run when he wanted information—in that he was useful but that is as much credit as you’re willing to give him. Or, however much you were capable in that moment where you felt the bile rise to your throat in subconscious warning that something was wrong.
If someone asked you about Jed Olsen you wouldn't have much to say. You don't let people close enough, and it didn't help that your observations note the slight deceit in his cheerful nature and the discomfort in your belly when you had to be in his presence for long. He didn't give you any conscious, sensible reasoning to avoid him, but your intuition has saved your skin more times than you can count over the years. Better safe than sorry.
He sure made it all the more hard when he, you presumed, noticed your tendency to avoid him. He noticed too much for your liking, but so did you.
Jed knew your schedule almost to a T under the pretense of gaining valuable experience from the head journalist of Roseville Gazette herself. Ma'am, please don't file a report on me. I mean— of course I might have overstepped some personal boundaries, but listen, let's grab a coffee this weekend—
To put it nicely, he was a pain in the ass.
You liked your solitude, could think better in it. And most of all, you couldn't have your new assistant, so you liked to call him, snooping about your sacred premises when you performed your duties that were more or less discouraged by the head chief. You had an odd way of finding scoop and unraveling its twisted knots that regular reporters would undoubtedly avoid to dodge possible life threatening scenarios.
Jed, frustratingly so, seemed to be no better.
The maddening, and uncomfortable, difference between the two of you, however, was that where you were calculating the danger and consciously putting yourself infront of the lion's den to get some sense of the criminal's mind—he was doing it almost as though it was a game. He was always sickeningly confident and all honey dripping smiles while he struggled and stuttered to explain why he comes back from questionings with a black eye and slightly torn collar in the exact time you were the only one remaining in the office and would be morally obliged to tend to your assistant.
"You should see the other guy." He would say with a slight slur as you wiped the blood from his mouth with an alcohol pad, keeping the biggest possible physical distance as if he was contagious with some part of his personality you wished not to catch. "Anyhow, got the lil' bird to talk. Wanna hear it, ma'am? Got the whole scoop for ya."
Your eyes were still scanning the article, a little absent mindedly as your phone rang, the little hairs on your neck standing up. You took note of the caller ID—Jed (Work)—and hesitantly picked up as if it was Ghost himself who had called you.
“You’re reading it, right?” A cheerful tone echoed across the line.
“You sound far too entertained. Surely even a dimwit such as yourself can understand this could mean something.”
“Ouch, ma’am—” he audibly winced, and you could imagine him rubbing his own chest in makeshift pain. His dramatic mannerisms had been engraved into your mind for the short time you've known him, and whether it was a phone call or eye to eye meeting made no difference to you. “You sure know how to twist a knife into a wound. Wrong occupation?"
“Not in the mood for jokes, Jed.” you uttered.
“Fourty-seven stabs across the three bodies.” You could hear rustling on the other line, the sound of a lighter and a barely audible puff. From your line he could only hear your knee bouncing until it hit the bottom of your desk and tipped your cup over, spilling its contents across your lap—drawing out a mumble of something between shit and fuck from you.
“Shitfuck is right, I mean, a little unclassy. Could show a little respect for the bodies.” Jed observed in, according to him, good taste and a completely sensible and polite approach to murders. “Do you thi—”
“Do you think it’s him?” You interrupted him, unable to focus on his tasteless report. Your blood stirred and reached your ears in a coalesce of panic and twisted chance at doing what you should’ve done a long time ago. Your scar panged in recognition. No one except you know what you went through, you covered it well enough to the point where it became a memory far enough to be scarcely visible. Jed wasn’t about to be the first one to find out.
He must’ve heard the little shake in your voice as he sharply exhaled, scrambling with a stutter. “Let’s not get hasty, alright? Could be any fella, really, who’s to say?” Another puff. “Though, wouldn’t it be a lil’ nice if it was him? Makes a good headline. Ghost returns to town. Could be our first case solved together."
The single pale, fluorescent light in your bedroom glimmered across your desk, light dancing on the spilled water as your mind swirled with opportunity, primal fear and a sort of excitement. Were you as sick in the head as the Ghost once left you? Could he have left something of himself within you? How else would you explain these feelings—and if you were to choose someone to lay the blame on for how wayward they were, who else would it fall on?
Did you even want to get involved?
Did you have a choice?
You had an inkling crawling in the back of your mind—allowed yourself the idea that if it was him you would eventually be pulled back into his game. You also allowed yourself a moment of familiar, yet long forgotten and immature confidence.
“Thought he’d be smarter than to walk back into the wolves’ den.” You slipped out of your skirt while supporting your phone on your shoulder, pressed against your cheek, still indulging in a string of curses at the inconvenience, “Lucking out twice seems unlikely even for a psycho killer like him.”
Jed was silent for a moment, “Luck, huh,” you heard a thud on the line but before you could ask what that was, he spoke once more, “We could all use some.” The switch up in his voice made you pause for a second, but he wasn’t a stranger to wavering moods. In the same manner, he suddenly perked up again, “Made a mess? You two might be more alike than you think. You need to be in the mind of a killer to catch one.”
That drew a breathless laugh from you, “I would prefer not to be compared to him, Mr. Olsen, my thanks. And how did you know? Can see me or something?” You found it a miracle to be able to joke around still, but the feeling of not being alone this time gave you a false sense of comfort that you revelled in for the time being. No one had ever offered to get involved with the freaks you did—cowardly, yet understandable all the same. You hadn't much to lose and you didn't reckon you yourself counted as a worthy bargaining token.
“Only what you show me.” You heard presumably the last puff, the faint sound of rubbing his cigarette out transmitting over the line. Being observant is a habit that is seldom forgotten.
Before you were forced to indulge him and his ambiguity, you intercepted with a thought that you had to admit was not the greatest idea you’ve ever had—
“We will wait for him to make the first move. He got our attention, and now he will act. He works in patterns—a flashy entrance begs for an audience. An audience begs for mistakes.”
Jed chuckled quietly, “You sound as if you know him personally.”
You wish you couldn’t have sounded like that, “Enough to know that even if it is not him, someone like that wants to get noticed.” This time I won't let him slip away, you thought. "And, Olsen, next time? Let me write the report. Your structure is, putting it nicely, lacking."
You weren't sure whether this momentary fog was put up by the you from a past in which you didn't think to return to, or the you from this present with alerting, pulsing danger that showed itself in the crevices of what by your standards had been peaceful little Roseville.
You also weren't sure if the shiver under your skin warranted worry, or a sick little excitement that bubbled in your belly.
Jed was on the other line, one hand holding the phone, the other one, bloodied and dripping from squeezing the cup in his hand a little too hard to the point of breaking, an amused expression gracing his features and a smile too wide to seem natural.
The way you spoke about the Ghost, he felt a little jealous, admittedly. If you were this fond of cruelty, why did he have to hold back so much? He was so nice and caring, offered to drive you home every day he saw you at the office. And all he got in return was you, clearly unnerved, pulling away from him for reasons unbeknownst to him.
Yet here you were, opening up to him on the phone, could hear you shuffle out of your clothes while you talked about a psycho killer you were infamous for dealing with years ago and that alone gave him ideas.
I choose to ignore danny’s fuckass haircut in his ID photo. it was getting too long and in the way so he cut it himself with kitchen scissors before that photo but it has since grown out. please stop making me look at it
Idea that popped up in my head, but imagine Danny meeting repressed cannibal reader.
Reader has urges but tries to ignore it just so that they can live life normally but Danny being the bad influence he is, coaxes reader more and more into indulging in their tendencies.
Like just imagine Danny sneaking into their house and giving them “offerings” just like a hand or leg and this just makes reader spiral.
Danny just being sickeningly kind to reader like, “it’s okay sweetheart, it’s just your human nature.”
cw for stalking, mention of murder, for once Ghostface isn't the one doing the stalking
You have a stalker. That much is undeniable. The creepy phonecalls, detailed descriptions of what you'd done during the day, sometimes an odd sound came in from outside during the long nights left you wondering if this'd be the last night you'd sleep in your own bed, and you hoped the sock covered bat would be enough to keep you safe, should they get bold and break in.
Why this Ghostface, as the caller introduced themself as, chose you, you weren't sure, but at the same time it was pointless to wonder, people don't need a reason.
Of course your exhaustion was evident, as well as the fearful glances over your shoulder, wondering if they were somewhere in the crowd. Outside you were a target but at least you weren't alone, surely, should they act, someone would see something, someone would help.
And he? Your dear friend, the monster in disguise?
He wasn't happy with the copycat who'd stolen his look and decided it'd be wise to torment you with it.
Unacceptable, of course, all of it. But what better way to spend his time than to be a knight clad in cloak armor for you?
Slowly the phonecalls stopped. The noises were just animals rummaging through trashcans. And a gory scene in the newspapers, detailing the death of some poor soul found in the woods, brutally murdered and abandoned, though the people's opinion soon changed when it evidence of the stalking spree was uncovered. The people celabrated the death of Ghostface, thinking themself free of the terror, unaware they'd celebrated the death of a cheap knockoff.
And there was something you kept to yourself, told no one of, a letter that had appeared on your doorstep the same day the body was discovered.
"You don't have to worry your pretty little head about them anymore, dollface ;)
Having Danny as my daily brain worm got me overthinking all what I know (or more specifically, what I remember) of him, between time to time I go see his in-game description, but the other day I just saw a gameplay (and fell asleep while that bc of a fucked up sleep schedule) but after that I started thinking, well, overthinking to be more honest
I have seen that often people takes the breathing and asthma thing (forgot what it was) as confirmation of Danny being asthmatic, but I think he just choose to not speak
So for me, that Danny doesn't have voice lines in part to show how much of a big deal he wants to represent Ghostface like
He wants to leave it clear to his victims, how much in danger they are
It doesn't matter if they will live to count the horror they where into, not only for being with a killer, but for who it was, for who was taking their life
And the silence was part of the game, to chase the victim as an animal, a primitive silence.
Words are out of what it means, the Ghostface's presence is it all.
dirt eater @questionablem0rality - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
