Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』(Requests: OPEN)

Danny Johnson | Ghostface 📚

headcanons / character analysis/ drabbles, idk anymore. though, does this count as tome-lore spoilers????

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Danny Johnson is canonically a little shit, hella traumatized but still a little shit. his entire ego depends on whether or not people fear him, he often tries to come off as cool and calculating when in reality he's just... unstably vulnerable, un-grounded, almost animalistic. he can't quite get a strong grip on his emotions, even if he did manage to hold them off, eventually he'll snap (quickly).

he needs to have control, he controls through fear, him killing establishes and further reinforces that control he has over people. however, he also is controlled by fear, he depends on it to feel powerful and worships it. thus, his idolization of slasher icons and hatred towards criticism towards that medium, because it feels personal.

possible type: yande-gire, sado-maso, obssesive.

his dynamic/treatment of you would vary depending on what type MC is, to put it loosely i've separated two settings where his behavior might diverge. that is: lawful MC & serial killer MC.

lawful MC is more of a looser term, you could just be a normal picket-fence civilian, a blue collar worker or part of the force that upheld justice. it'll take longer since he's bidding his time.

maybe you were one of the poor bastards that managed to get on his radar, originally intended to get killed off--- but there was something, just... something about you that made him hesitate. oh no no... he just couldn't, he wanted to see everything, was always he sat on the edge of his seat when it came to you, eager to see what comes next.

it didn't take long until he wanted to shake things up a but, he wanted to take part in the action. slowly but surely, he slithered inside your life as good ol' unassuming jed olsen, he took note of what kinds of people you surrounded yourself with, what characters you sympathized with and he built himself. shaping himself until jet became perfect, jed was your rock on what was the sea-storm of the ghostface murders, he was your everything and then become your nothing, see the utter betrayal in your eyes once he finally reaches the climax and stabs you in the back.

... that was what he assumed what would happen. you didn't like jed. he just couldn't wrap his head around that concept! confusion turned to frustration, then desperation as his stalking and murders now cranked to 11.

then, you began to stalk him back! you wanted to catch him, make him pay for his crimes, punish him. a game of cat and mouse, where the both of you were simultaneously the hunter and the hunted. lucky him that he had experience in that field. he's willing to play for as long as the both of you last, deluding himself that once you're gone, he'll be right back on schedule, ignoring the weird empty feeling and how messy his killings become at the thought of your death.

the power dynamic could be somewhat mutual, but the stakes would lie slightly in his favor due to well, the murders. he depends on you emotionally but wont hesitate to maim you if he feels like he's about to lose his grasp on you. he enjoys the thrill of being hunted but he loves winning even more. he wont kill you! you're too interesting! is what he would tell himself while making the absolute sure to capture your essence in his photography and preserving said pictures with every penny he has. he terrorizes your days with carnage the same way a cat brings you dead birds. he tears the hearts out of his victims and gives them to you as if they were his own, professing his love with each drop of blood he spills.

he's condescending and very dangerous, at first he saw you as below him, a victim, his little mouse. but then, you managed to prove him wrong, all you need is to catch him off guard and then he's all but shroud about his obsession, specially in handcuffs, specially if the tip of his own knife is pointed at his throat instead. he'll follow you to the ends of the world with a knife in hand and he hopes the sentiment is reciprocated. the only way you'll be allowed to die is by the others doing, a romantic hell, become mortal by his hands and remain immortalized in his heart, even if you were to tear it out of his chest and rip it to shreds.

serial killer MC, is interesting, maybe you're new to town since you're on the run, a trusted neighbour or you don't even bother, but he'll meet you faster due to his job.

he's giddy as he snaps more pictures of the gruesome sight. the police lighting frames every reflective surface, sharp against the harsh darkness of the night. so detailed to be called gruesome, but obscured enough that it left more to the imagination. his eyes widened to take in with morbid curiosity the disturbing scene before him, studying like it was an especially fascinating yet gory autopsy, ignoring the complaints of the officers behind him, utterly entranced at the handiwork.

then, he notices it, a detail missed by the policemen. a neat little calling card of yours, so iconic that it became staple of your character and origin of your name. he reaches out to grab it, but is interrupted by the detective nearby, who compliments him for his 'keen eye for finding valuable evidence' as they began to mark it as such. he grit his teeth, but disguises it as a bashful smile as he is dismissed to return home with an escorting police-car to 'ensure his safety and well-being.' right, he almost forgot, curfew.

then, just as his day began to be marked off as over, as soon as he opened the bedroom door he could tell that this bad day was going to get worse, it was cold. the window was open. he's reaching out for his hidden knife until he feels a breath. with a swift motion he is spun around and his face is pressed on the wall with a hand pinning his arms to his back and his own knife to his throat. he can see you from the corner of his vision, and he can see you making a shushing sound, he stares at you, mentally taking pictures and burning them to his memory as his eyes began struggle to keep themselves from closing. and just like you appeared, with the blink of an eye, you're gone, with only the feeling of a nick on his jaw as evidence of your presence.

though, the next day, the murder of an officer of the law and the recent theft of criminal evidence of your last murder was plastered on the newspaper. never delving into the hows and why's, only how gruesome the killing of the victim was.

he'd put you on a pedestal. of both envy and of adoration, he wants to strike the same fear you do on your victims but wishes to be part of the reason you're feared--- you will become his legacy and he will become yours, your deaths intertwined like veins of the same pulse. he swings like a pendulum back and forth between fawning over you and planning to kill you. his feeling would become conflicted but yet so clear to him, red is the color of passion and blood, and he wishes to paint the town with the color of his love. a love so pure it becomes raw like fresh wounds, marking you both to eachother.

he needs you, all of you. your everything. he wants your feelings, attention, violence, identity, mind, body and soul. you have this stabbing grasp on him and he wants to make sure that his feelings are mutual. he was hanging onto a thread, one you strummed and tugged around with careless ease, oblivious--- or perhaps maliciously aware of how many times you played him to your tune. his little puppet strings wrapped around your fingers, but even though he is wrapped around your finger, he doesn't mind... since he could, with just as much ease cut off their circulation.

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shout out to my fellow chaotic-evil gays and ghostface enjoyers, i got a sudden burst of creativity juice. though, i did not intend for this to somehow have the same vibe as those hannibal fanfics--- but hey, at least it fits.