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Welcome, welcome, welcome, I'm The Ghost Face, the one and only terrorizer of Roseville!
... Formally, anyway. There are dozens of me, now. But anyway - I'm just out here living my best life in The Entity's realm, spilling blood.
💞🔪
Dead By Daylight Danny "The Ghost Face" Johnson roleplay blog. Created Oct. 25th, 2026.
Hello hello! Funny seeing you here... 💕
Name's Ghost Face. The one and only (though... not anymore, it seems). But you might have heard of me, haha - my name's a pretty big one.
... Though it's you that truly needs no introduction; I already know you. Very well. Honestly, you should get some better locks, even a novice could pick those...
But no matter! I'm here on Tumblr now, speaking from The Fog - so don't be shy, come say hi! I don't bite.
Unless you want me to.
𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽
Mature topics warning.
All are welcome to interact, including OCs. My DMs are also open.
Mun is all pronouns.
Sometimes slow on replies. I have 8 gazillion blogs to tend to.
𝚃𝙰𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃
#Red right hand -- solo posts
#Come and play with me -- additions to others' posts
#Letters beneath the bed -- ask answers
#In the room where you sleep -- shortform rp responses
#Gorehound hellbound horror movie lover -- literate rp responses
I gotta maximize on the dark scares and kills - this event is fucking great. I wasn't a bad killer before, far fucking from it, but in this kind of darkness?
Ooh, baby, baby, baby, baby, you're all in for a fucking ride.
You know, after watching you for a while, I realize that you’re probably the weakest one of the other masked bastards. I mean sure, military training is great to have under your belt, but compared to the others? That, and the fact that you’re the weakest killer compared to all of them. I’m surprised you talk so big about yourself.
You're so remarkably ill-read that it's almost funny.
Keyword, 'almost'.
If you actually knew anything about me, you'd know I more than earned my big talk - I've got a kill count a lot of my duplicates (not counting nonhumans) couldn't even dream of, and I'm one of the youngest, to boot. I've had more blood on my blade than they've ever seen.
And so what if I'm 'weak' compared to them? Physically, I'm far stronger than I'm sure you are. Come and wrestle if you really want to test that. I'll give it to you if you can beat me, but I highly doubt you can.
And just because I'm not some shadow monster or giant doesn't mean I'm not effective. The Trials where everyone lives are, always, without fail, ones I gave up, because I like to mess around sometimes! But when I'm actually trying...
It's very rare that any of you little bastards manage to even taste freedom before your own blood.
There's little to no credible evidence you could provide for me being a weaker killer than my other human counterparts. Come back to me when you have some to back up an otherwise poor and uneducated take.
With this degree of blood loss, it now became impossible to keep going. There was a final, weak gasp before Sable's consciousness faded. The last thing running through her mind was how she'd find more little bits and bobs to make this guy's trials miserable when she was involved. The "survivor's" eyes rolled back, lids fluttering as the flash of the camera marked the final stimulus before death.
◇
Sable gasped awake, sitting up and pressing her hands against places where the knife made contact. There were no injuries, no metallic taste in her mouth. The trial was over with...ideally three others escaping. That much was enough to satisfy her. Standing, Sable wandered her way back to the campfire where she was grateful to see her assumption was true. The others looked guilty about her death, but she was quick to reassure them.
The next number of trials went...oddly smooth. The injuries she developed from her invocations made pain a thing of little importance. Almost every time, Sable and most of her peers would escape to most killers' dismay. There was a thrill to it all, but not as much as there was to come.
◇
A familair cabin in the woods presented itself as Sable came into consciousness. She knew this place well, as did the fellow survivors whom she split off from. Entering the cabin, Sable took the risk to search for the entrance for some basement—her personal protocol...
Just like every photo, that photo of a Sable - not his Sable, but just as good of a muse - beneath him with blood tracking down her familiar face had been developed and tacked to his wall, already overflowing with his endeavors.
He'd leaned back and looked over the whole thing, then. Stared at all of the beauty he'd captured.
He really was making them into art. This whole wall was art. A mural, even if comprised of photographs. A mural of beautiful reds painting beautiful faces, finally turned into the masterpieces they deserved to be - and always were, beneath - in their death.
It may not be permanent here, but that just meant he could reuse canvases he liked instead of having to lose them after one use, which he'd always found disappointing. It was a good concession to make up for his lack of ability to do proper designs here, and his lack of ability to write the way he used to.
His art here couldn't be as elaborate... as skillfully planned... but he till had an infinite playground to romp around in. It was good enough for him.
An ungloved hand brushed over some special ones he held dear, savoring, and then he promptly passed out on his couch.
·༻𐫱༺·
Trials came and went, and it was in his fourth next one that anything particularly of note happened.
Enveloped by the Fog and taken to the survivors' campfire, lurking in the treeline and watching them gather their supplies for the Trial they were going to be taken into, eyes raked over the four he'd be playing with today through black mesh.
A possibly fun selection, but generally unremarkable... aside from a Sable.
Looking closer at her, though it was hard to tell at this distance, he figured that was the same as the one he'd seen last - the one that had fought before becoming another photo on his wall.
Most Sables were feisty, and this one wasn't very special in the regard, but this one was one of the more vulnerable ones. Liked to do her little invocations more than some others, leaving her permanently injured the entire match, already weeping blood and so ready for a blade to take her down with ease.
As the Fog rolled back in to take them to their Trial environment, he grinned beneath the mask.
. . .
Then the darkness dissipated and he was in a forest. Looking off to his right and seeing a large hunting cabin smack dab in the middle, it was clear it was 'Mother's Dwelling'.
Usually, he wasted a bit of time at the beginning of a Trial skittering around the outskirts in search of a survivor to stalk and take off guard without being seen, but... he knew exactly where one would be anyway!
So instead, he slunk off in the direction of the shack, and, not seeing her nearby, figured she was already down there.
He crept silently down the basement stairs, a gloved hand lightly trailing along the rotten wooden boards.
Coming to the end of it, he peeked around the wall, and yup - there was Sable, knelt on the ground by a salt circle, her back to him as her fucking... magic thrummed and whirred with her focus.
He could just stalk and Expose her, but... he was feeling playful. So instead of immediately going to set up a kill, he snuck up behind her in a crouch, footfalls practically inaudible to even his trained ears, and stopped, hovering just over her shoulder.
He simply watched for a moment, but quickly grew bored - this kind of magic was the 'sit and concentrate' kind instead of the 'wild bullshit gestures and whatever' kind, so it wasn't very interesting to look at.
It hates eye contact to a violent degree. I’m talking it will try to eviscerate you if you spend more than like, 5 seconds looking at its face. Which is odd, considering every single instance, every different skin it wears, every disguise, none of them have actual eyes or eyeballs; just holes where they normally should be. Said holes leak UVX too, among other nasty rotting stuff.
What really baffles me is how it’s so deadset on keeping up the bipedal body facade even though most people know by now that its outward appearance isn’t real. I’m pretty sure “eye contact” doesn’t even exist as a concept for it.
It hates eye contact to a violent degree. I’m talking it will try to eviscerate you if you spend more than like, 5 seconds looking at its face. Which is odd, considering every single instance, every different skin it wears, every disguise, none of them have actual eyes or eyeballs; just holes where they normally should be. Said holes leak UVX too, among other nasty rotting stuff.
What really baffles me is how it’s so deadset on keeping up the bipedal body facade even though most people know by now that its outward appearance isn’t real. I’m pretty sure “eye contact” doesn’t even exist as a concept for it.
Ring ring—something smells...easy on the cologne next time. It's a dead giveaway.
- @woven-spider-silk
He sighed, popping up from where he was hiding, and set one hand on his hip.
"That's the point, y'know? It doesn't really work here, it's..." he gestured vaguely, "more just habit, but back in the real world, it was used to sort of... telegraph that I was there. Cause unease. Discomfort. Anxiety."
He stepped closer, ribbons lazily twirling in the air.
"They knew I was there without knowing I was there. No sound or sight of me, but there was a new smell. A sense often overlooked, actually! But a very important one. Clues you into a lot... including the fact that someone found a way inside."
Sable chuckled, shaking her head at the perceived defeat. "Believe me, I know a thing or two abkut telegraphs. I might've even covered you on my show at some point, though my Olsen was a killer back in like the 70s." At the approch, Sable stepped back. Regardless of this pseudo-immortality, being stabbed was NEVER fun. "You're better off finding something with notes of petrichor and earth. Your trials might be a little more successful. With that said..."
A loud, mechanical noise echoed over the realm loudly, signaling the powering of gates. There was this annoying, smug grin on Sable's face. "Oh darling spiders..." Something was dropped at the Ghostface's feet before Sable dashed away. A very, very old firecracker.
Then he glanced down at what she dropped and saw the firecracker on the ground. "Oh, fuck--" he managed to exclaim right before it burst into multiple flashes of blinding light, and he hissed, staggering backwards and into the hard trunk of a tree.
"You tricky little bitch!"
A hand covering the eyeholes of his mask as if that'd help at all when the blast had already blinded him, he dropped it once he was able to see again, then sighed deeply, seeing the shape of Sable skittering off in the distance. She'd gotten far. He wasn't certain he could get her before she got out the gate, but...
Why not try?
He slunk off into the shadows, taking a quick little shortcut from his vast repertoire of realm knowledge...
And she was so very close to getting out, the gate not too far away... but she wasn't quite close enough.
He leapt out out of nowhere and sank metal into flesh with a wet squelch.
"Not so fast, sweets," he snickered, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her into him, away from her freedom. "I'm not done with you."
The woman took a deep breath as she was yanked away from certain relief. Her mind tricked her into thinking it was almost time to rest, but she had to poke the bear. Had to. Sable was already broken, sacrificing her blood for the invocation that cut this trial short in the first place. At least the oncoming delirium and adrenaline made the pain of a couple stab wounds a tad easier to take.
She was dragged, but it wasn't easy to fight...so she didn't. There was no shriek, and frankly little terror left. Sable had already accepted her fate, but that didn't mean her final moments here couldn't be spent playing. After all, who knew when she'd get this opportunity again? Movements were slow, sluggish, but Sable managed to pull off the occasional redirection from major areas like her throat and chest.
As luck had it, Sable took the opportunity to kick one of the killer's legs out from under him. The crash against her form hurt like hell, but that didn't stop her from chuckling maliciously as blood bubbled up and spat from her nose and mouth. "See you next time, muskcod~"
Ghost Face grinned beneath the mask as he pulled her backwards, and he raised his blade again, planning to sink it into her gut--
But then he was kicked and he fell hard, right on top of her. "Shit, ugh--"
He pushed himself up onto his hands, which were braced on either side of her head as he hovered there over her, staring down at her face as blood leaked from it from the stab he had managed to land somewhere vital.
She laughed and grinned at him, blood staining her teeth prettily. He sneered in response, despite it not being visible... then reared back a little at her words.
"Muskcod?" He huffed in offense. "The fuck does that mean--? I... no, y'know what- doesn't matter." The only thing that currently mattered was that she was bleeding out under him now, staining the ground.
He shook his head in exasperation, then shifted to sit up and straddle the survivor, bringing his knife back up to brandish it at her. It gleamed in the moonlight, glinting off of her blood on the metal. He tapped the blade under her chin, just to tease, before reaching into... God knows where to pull out his disposable camera.
"Say cheese for me, sweets," he prompted. "Show me that nice old bloody smile before you go."
Yesterday my bf said Ghostface (DBD) breathes like he's ugly behind the mask and I was like ??? You've worn the mask too, buddy. It's hard to breathe back there. Johnson's probably normal-looking considering his day-life.
I speak nothing but the truth. Whenever I try to draw you I always feel like I can never truly capture your image.
Ah, hell, Danny’s photography skills make up for it.
Also, how does one breathing raggedly mean that somebody is ugly?? That’s like saying that someone must be dyslexic because they have a lisp or something. I’d like to see him run around chasing survivors for 45 minutes to an hour.
Ring ring—something smells...easy on the cologne next time. It's a dead giveaway.
- @woven-spider-silk
He sighed, popping up from where he was hiding, and set one hand on his hip.
"That's the point, y'know? It doesn't really work here, it's..." he gestured vaguely, "more just habit, but back in the real world, it was used to sort of... telegraph that I was there. Cause unease. Discomfort. Anxiety."
He stepped closer, ribbons lazily twirling in the air.
"They knew I was there without knowing I was there. No sound or sight of me, but there was a new smell. A sense often overlooked, actually! But a very important one. Clues you into a lot... including the fact that someone found a way inside."
Sable chuckled, shaking her head at the perceived defeat. "Believe me, I know a thing or two abkut telegraphs. I might've even covered you on my show at some point, though my Olsen was a killer back in like the 70s." At the approch, Sable stepped back. Regardless of this pseudo-immortality, being stabbed was NEVER fun. "You're better off finding something with notes of petrichor and earth. Your trials might be a little more successful. With that said..."
A loud, mechanical noise echoed over the realm loudly, signaling the powering of gates. There was this annoying, smug grin on Sable's face. "Oh darling spiders..." Something was dropped at the Ghostface's feet before Sable dashed away. A very, very old firecracker.
Then he glanced down at what she dropped and saw the firecracker on the ground. "Oh, fuck--" he managed to exclaim right before it burst into multiple flashes of blinding light, and he hissed, staggering backwards and into the hard trunk of a tree.
"You tricky little bitch!"
A hand covering the eyeholes of his mask as if that'd help at all when the blast had already blinded him, he dropped it once he was able to see again, then sighed deeply, seeing the shape of Sable skittering off in the distance. She'd gotten far. He wasn't certain he could get her before she got out the gate, but...
Why not try?
He slunk off into the shadows, taking a quick little shortcut from his vast repertoire of realm knowledge...
And she was so very close to getting out, the gate not too far away... but she wasn't quite close enough.
He leapt out out of nowhere and sank metal into flesh with a wet squelch.
"Not so fast, sweets," he snickered, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her into him, away from her freedom. "I'm not done with you."
Yesterday my bf said Ghostface (DBD) breathes like he's ugly behind the mask and I was like ??? You've worn the mask too, buddy. It's hard to breathe back there. Johnson's probably normal-looking considering his day-life.
I speak nothing but the truth. Whenever I try to draw you I always feel like I can never truly capture your image.
Ah, hell, Danny’s photography skills make up for it.
Also, how does one breathing raggedly mean that somebody is ugly?? That’s like saying that someone must be dyslexic because they have a lisp or something. I’d like to see him run around chasing survivors for 45 minutes to an hour.
