#dead by daylight ghost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skylarsblue · 2 years

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Hi could you do the slashers with a yandere s/o who also happens to kinda brutally kill people? Thanks 😊

(This is the ask where I wrote like, 500 words, and then it deleted itself. The audacity. Also, fun fact, when I redid this it refused to save. So I had to go through and copy/paste everything. I barely managed to do it all before the site crashed again. I might do more of these later on, but for now, I'm only gonna do four of them.) Trigger Warning; Descriptions of murder, blood, & gore, kidnapping(mentioned), stalking(implied) Unhealthy relationships and an unstable (Gender Neutral) Y/N. Barely proofread.

Ghostface; Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson (A sweet-faced & doting lover; A House Spouse)

Danny had been stressed out of his mind. More so than usual. Combinations of his day job and his "passion project" were intense enough most days, tiring but manageable for his twisted mind. Though recently, a new variable had made it increasingly more difficult. Trying to keep his hobby a secret was easy when he wasn't close to anyone, being overly cynical and critical of others made it easy to keep himself socially isolated. Keeping appearances without risk. However, conflict arose when he met someone he genuinely enjoyed the company of. You.

Danny had managed to go years without this kind of outcome. And yet, here he was, straining himself more than usual to try and keep face. All you had done was move across the street. He'd done his usual sleuthing, played his All-American mask, charmed his way into your home. It was meant to be the same thing as before. Yet somehow, against all kinds of barriers and obstacles, you'd wormed his way into his psyche and stuck there. He knew he was fucked when his thoughts would drift off in the middle of writing articles. Especially when his beloved cat decided you were good enough to like. Months of late-night talks on his lawn chairs or inviting him over for coffee and something you had baked. He mentally berated himself for liking your cooking so much. He'd even opened up to you slightly. Complaining about the woman who wouldn't take no for an answer at his job, how it gave him headaches. The way you portrayed yourself would work so well with Jed. Polite, a bit playful, helpful. It almost made Danny jealous, of himself no less. It felt ridiculous and added a tremendous amount of strife to keep you from seeing anything incriminating. He found himself exhausted as he parked in front of his house, rolling his neck, allowing it to crack loudly. The brunet huffed and took a quick glance at your home. He stopped when he noted something…off. Danny knew your schedule to a T, even if it was a bit sporadic sometimes. The typical times you woke up, what you tended to have for breakfast, hell, he knew how you did your laundry. So seeing all the lights off, curtains drawn so tightly, it sent his nerves alight. Curiosity mingling with…worry? "God, I'm pathetic." Danny huffed as he made his way over to your home. He knew every exit, every lock, every shaky window. Your front door being locked didn't deter him at all. It felt odd doing this in his work clothes, however. With skill and practice, he jumped over your small fence and approached the side door that lead into the garage. Its lock was old and rusty, easy to jiggle out of place. The man let himself in. There wasn't a sound he could discern, no TV or kitchen noises. He shook off the idea that he was concerned for you and chalked it up to only being perplexed by the sudden change in your behavior. Even spaced steps lead him to the door that went from the garage to the main portion of your home, as he walked in silently, he could faintly pick out your humming. He carefully stepped down the hallway toward the sound, seemingly from the kitchen. The closer he got the more he could smell the heavy, chemical scent of bleach and peroxide. Turning a corner revealed the only light on in your home was the small light above your sink. One you essentially never used. For once, Danny showed a bit of apprehension as he went to the doorway to your kitchen. His breath hitched at the sight. A half-cleaned scene of carnage. Blood stained the tile and a few spots on the wall. Some spots were pink and streaked, clearly wiped over. Two bottles of bleach sat on your counter. Where he often had morning discussions with you. Caramel brown eyes looked to the corner where a body lay on trash bags. His coworker, the one he'd complained about. Stabbed so many times her torso barely resembled a body anymore. He tore his eyes from the corpse and finally looked at you. Sat on the floor, pleasantly humming a song he'd shown you from a high school mixtape, back turned to him. Wiping up a plethora of blood from your floor. Dressed in one of the aprons he, almost shamefully, had fantasized you in with nothing underneath.

It took you going to dip the rag in a blood-water bucket for you to notice him. There wasn't a moment of fear or panic. He watched you gasp and then smile sweetly, standing up. "Jed! I didn't know you were coming. I would've cleaned up faster." You said, stepping closer with an aura of peace & joy. Danny looked down at your face. Blown out pupils, a gentle gaze, he could practically hear your pulse. He glanced at the body in the corner. "Oh, right." You speaking made him look back to you. "I know you complained about her, and she was already upsetting me, so I figured I could get rid of her. You already work so hard. She shouldn't be making it any worse." Your explanation was affectionate. As if you'd done him a service… And indeed you had.

"So that's why you were busy today…" Danny smiled, allowing himself to tuck you closer by the waist. He felt bubbling pride at the way you didn't hesitate to melt. "You did a wonderful job, you know that? How about I help you clean up?" He asked softly.

"Then I can reward you."

Leatherface; Thomas Hewitt (A rough-edged soft-souled partner. A protector.)

The Hewitt family was always seen as odd in the tiny town of Fuller. Luda Mae was known as a hardass and Monty certainly seemed a bit off his rocker. Charlie was seen as a jack-ass, pretty rightfully so. But the member of that family that was most rumored about, most insulted, and most disputed? Thomas Hewitt. The baby pulled out of the trash. Luda swore he was her son and would go through hell to defend him. Anyone in Fuller who knew who Thomas was had an opinion, just about every single one of them was negative. It seemed that it was just his existence to be called ugly and stupid for the rest of his life. It got a bit better when he was pulled from school at age fourteen, but the rare time that the family needed to head into town, he could hear the muttering. However, unbeknownst to Thomas, for the longest time, there was one resident who didn't view him that way. Even when you never approached him, your opinion had never changed. You'd viewed Thomas from afar for the longest time. Usually in class when you two were younger. It crushed you when he suddenly stopped showing up. You hadn't forgotten him once despite having yet to see him again. He often plagued your thoughts, even now as a young adult, working for your family. It was easier to do than trying to get a job anywhere else. Cleaning the little shop run by your father now took up a large portion of your time. The world seemed pretty dull. Keeping to yourself and day dreaming about the boy you'd never had the confidence to approach as a child.

And then, like the heavens opened up to hear you, a somewhat familiar woman wandered into the store. Ms.Hewitt. You didn't approach her right away, simply listening to her discuss what she needed from your father. You winced when your father demanded more money. Followed by Luda asking for a favor, it was all the money she had. "I'll cover the rest." You said, setting the broom against the service counter. Luda Mae blinked in awe at the sudden act of kindness and you brushed off your father's arguments. "Just give this woman the food crates, pa. It's not like they're sellin' extra well anyway." You retorted, setting some money in the register before turning to get the cart that held said crates from the back. Luda Mae found herself smiling, though it wasn't very wide, it wasn't any less genuine. "So, how we gettin' these into your truck, Ms.Hewitt?" You asked as you dragged the cart out the door. "Oh, I brought my boy Tommy. He can handle it." She explained. Unbeknownst to her, your heart began to soar.

It was then that you watched the long-lost muse to your dreams get out of the truck. He'd grown so much. At least 6'4" now, if not taller. You swallowed as you watched him saunter over, a mask covering his face. He took only a second to glance at your face before he looked down, almost ashamed. "Well, he seems like he can handle the heavy lifting, that's for sure." You commented almost playfully. It made Thomas's attention flick for a moment. "That he can." Luda replied. Finally, after years, you managed to look Thomas in the eye and give him a smile. Something you used to be so fearful of. "Nice to see you doin' well, Tommy. Missed you when ya left school." You were confident he wouldn't really remember you. Even if he had noticed the quiet kid at the back of the class, your newfound confidence almost made you seem like a new person. Still, you felt the words needed to be said.

That day made such a difference. Luda remembered you and anytime she had to make a run to town, with Thomas or not, she'd make sure to clue you in on the family happenings. News about Thomas especially. Never before had someone regarded her son with such kindness, and she was intending to try and keep it. Naturally, word got around Fuller, and you became subject to some public ridicule. Much to your father's annoyance. He took his reputation very seriously, so hearing you had been heading out to the Hewitt house didn't go over well. But, as an adult, he couldn't force you anywhere. You remained there even when Fuller's population began dwindling. Staying in the tiny house about a mile from the Hewitt home despite your family's arguing.

And when the meat plant went out of business, Thomas and Luda were insistent that "Hoyt's" idea stay in the family. That not a word of it reached you. Lest you see Thomas as a monster like everyone else. Charlie & Monty didn't care for you. Harshly opinionated and far from submissive, but Luda refused to get rid of the only person that regarded her precious Tommy with such adoration. And then one day, you showed up unexpectedly, with some canned produce you felt they could use. Staying longer than the family wanted you to. You were about to ask where Thomas was when rapid footsteps and a scream resounded from the basement. Naturally, you turned to look. A bloodied woman arising from the steps and the rev of a chainsaw. Luda felt her heart sink at what you seeing this meant, Hoyt silently rejoiced that this meant he could get rid of you. Thomas was caught off guard by the sight of you, and it gave the fleeing woman ample time to jab him in the thigh with a screwdriver.

"Damnit boy! Pay attention!" Hoyt demanded as the girl went running again. There was nothing in the way of the front door, nearly home free. Bleeding, panicked, but all she had to do was run. She'd be home free.

The sound of something swinging, a blade colliding with bone and tissue, a choking-bubbling sound, and the dripping of blood on wood floor. The house fell oddly silent as the Hewitt family looked at you. Holding an axe grabbed off the wall, the rusted blade implanted deep in the woman's skull, face rather blank. You glanced up at Thomas, then his thigh. With a gasp, you let the body drop and rushed over, disregarding the blood on his hands and the chainsaw he held. "Tommy! Goodness, that's got to hurt like hell! Here, sit down, we need to get that out and disinfected. I don't want you gettin' sick." You insisted, gently pushing him to sit in a dining room chair. Not leaving any time for the family to process what they'd watched you do as you doted over Thomas. Said man however watched you with wide eyes, some of it shock, but so much of it adoration. He'd been so afraid that you'd flee from him if you ever saw what he was doing. Yet you didn't hesitate to keep his family safe and care for him. You pecked his cheek as you got the first aid kit, his breath stuttered in response. "If you're gonna be gettin' your food this way, you're gonna need to be more careful, Tommy. I don't want to see a single drifter put their dirty hands on you again." You said as you held his face tenderly. Whether Monty or Hoyt liked it, you were very clearly staying.

The Shape; Michael Myers (A childhood friend, loyal follower. An Accomplice)

When you arrived in Haddonfield as a kid, the last thing you wanted to do was make friends as your parents so insisted. You'd moved so much and every time you were always rejected by your peers. Then your mother forced you to meet the neighbor's son. A small blond boy, only a year older, with blue eyes so dark they resembled the ocean's abyss. He was offputting and quite frankly rude. Always so blunt the few times he'd spoken. Yet somehow, the universe seemed to shove you two together more and more. Much to your dismay, you found you had far more in common with the boy than you had with anyone else. So you allowed yourself to tolerate him.

Then, with things like bullies, your mother's pressure to live up to her standards, and then your father's growing absence? He seemed to be the only thing stable enough to keep you above water. Finding it easier to cling to him, despite his growing behaviors that clearly caused concern. Overlooking things like pictures of dead animals and ultimately the admission he'd thought of killing someone. It broke you apart the Halloween he finally decided to do it. Having him dragged away from you in a cop's car, sanctioned away from society for over a decade. Not once would your mother allow you to find him, even forced you to leave Haddonfield's safety. The first town you ever genuinely settled in.

Michael's presence remained a key fixture in your life well into adulthood. Never straying from the idea that he'd come back to you. Leading you back to Haddonfield, leading a bland life, a lonesome one. Why bother knowing anyone else when they weren't him?

And then Halloween came once again. Immediately followed by bloodshed, life broadcasts of new bodies being found, the ramblings of a doctor swearing he knew who was behind it all. You'd been out at the time. Leaving a job's late shift, weaving past giddy children on the sidewalk. You loved Halloween and it always ached to experience it alone again. It was when you turned to take a shortcut that you felt the weight of a stare fall on your shoulders. One so oddly familiar and distinct. Turning revealed an impossibly tall man, broad shoulders, dressed in a stained mechanic's suit and a white mask. A bloodied knife in his hands. Fight or flight arose, steadying yourself to run, only for something particular to catch your eye. His knife. A large switchblade with a decorated handle, blue and black. One that used to settle in the hands of your best friend. "Michael?" You uttered under your breath.

He staggered when you unconsciously rose your bracelet. As if to rest if he'd remember it. And it worked, he didn't kill you. Though he certainly wasn't the Michael he was when you were kids, it didn't matter in the slightest. Despite every change, enough stayed the same to ignite the flame in your chest. You snuck him into your home, patched up wounds, and scrubbed away evidence. Managing to keep him safe under your roof even as he continued his rampage. You knew fully what he was doing. You didn't care. Not when you, out of all the people he'd killed mercilessly, you were the one allowed to wash his hair. Make him food, clean his suit, sharpen his knife. He allowed you to see his unmasked face, lean into his side with a movie playing, see the faint playful side that he swore he lost long ago.

But he was on the run, and with the continued homicides, people were bound to go poking around. One of them being a rather snoopy neighbor, a man who'd shown interest in your aloof nature. Mysterious, as he called it. He was pushy and never seemed to take a hint or a no. Hence how why he ended up in your house, allowing himself in despite your attempt to stop him at the door. Ruining a perfect night with Michael.

"You need to leave." You insisted again, gritted teeth and burning anger. "Oh relax, I'm just checking in on you! There's been a maniac going around stabbing people, you live all alone. Don't you want someone around to protect you?" It was more a statement than a genuine question. You clenched your fists and ground your teeth together. Anxiety high. Michael was still in the house, if this idiot saw him, it could mean the end of your peaceful moments with the man you'd built a life around. "I don't need anything from you. Get out." You repeated. Your neighbor scoffed a little laugh. Turning around casually. "Man, it's almost like you want to get murdered..." His voice trailed off and his shoulders tensed as his gaze fell on the Shape. Standing at the end of the hall. Mask and all. Your blood pressure rose with your adrenaline as the realization settled over your neighbor. It all went so quickly. Michael took a step forward and your neighbor turned to run. You did the same, but not for the same reason. The fool neared the front door only to be stopped by what you held in your hand. Having cut him off via using your kitchen. His throat landed right into a sharpened blade kept on the counter from dinner. Your heartbeat filled your ears as life left the man's body, sliding off the knife and falling back on the floor, face now permanently locked in a state of fear. You stood with shaky breaths and a tight grip on the knife. Slowly rising your gaze to look at Michael who stood in front of you, taking in what you'd just done. There was no guilt. He watched you take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Mikey, can you get rid of him? Far from here? I can't have the cops seeing anything like this near you..." You asked, voice a saccharine whisper. Michael raised his chin slightly before stepping forward. Like the man weighed nothing, he picked the corpse up and hoisted it over his shoulder. Your posture relaxed and you graced him with a smile. "I'll have brownies for you when you get back." This didn't change anything. He'd still have a safe place with you. No one would take him, not again. Not ever again.

The Problem Child; Bo Sinclair (An unassuming face, sadistic urges. An Actor.)

Out of all three Sinclairs, Beauregard was the one that left the most for his own wants. Lester had to leave for his job daily, but it was rare to catch him strolling through the neighboring cities just to enjoy himself. And of course, Vincent never left. Bo liked to stay in Ambrose but every once in and while it got stuffy. So heading off to a bar or small diner was what he usually did. A small moment to himself to enjoy himself. It was there that he met you. A new bartender at a small biker bar. With a shiny smile and a good sense of humor, he didn't see any reason he couldn't indulge in a bit of conversation with you. Turning up his charm and dusting away his secretive sadism. Of course, he was a little surprised when one day you wandered into town. He didn't notice until you entered his shop. He left the garage and saw you perched up on the counter, flipping through a magazine he knew he had hidden in his truck. Then again, he bought it in an average corner store, you could've just bought one of the same copy. You glanced up and gave him a smile. "Pleasure seein' you again, stranger. How's business been?" You asked charmingly. You didn't allow him to answer though. "Pretty slow probably, last person to come by was two weeks ago, yeah?" Bo blinked at the comment. It was true, but how you'd known that was beyond him. He shook it off as a fluke. "Yeah, you need somethin' done, sweetheart?" He questioned. You nodded. "Oil check and a new set of front tires. Weirdest thing happened, looks like someone jabbed at them. Crazy huh?" You replied. Bo swallowed and nodded. He mumbled something about you bringing your car around, a bit of a struggle with such low air in the back tires but you managed fine. Bo went into raising your car. He wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping up like he was actually going to fix your car. You were alone, it would've been easy to just deal with you now. Though, he supposed it wouldn't hurt keeping you alive a little longer. You were good with conversation. So, you made yourself comfortable seated on one of the tables in his garage. You kept up a conversation while flipping through that magazine, little mutterings about things that had been happening since he last showed up at the bar. As Bo went to take off your tires, propping the car up off the ground, you began speaking about the wax museum.

"It's really impressive, yeah? The entire building is wax. Not to mention in this heat? Your brother's got to be stressed trying to maintain it." You said. Bo paused and his shoulders tensed. He glanced behind him. "Pardon?" He asked, a suspicious glare falling over his face. You looked up from the crinkled pages with a calm smile. "Vincent's his name yeah? You two make quite the impressive duo, really. Gotta say though. I think your methods are a bit more favorable. Maybe that's just the gun though. Y'all been hurtin' for bases though. You can't seem to keep'em, huh? Just last week you had this pretty lil' red head so close to comin' home with ya." Your jovial tone and calm smile sent Bo on edge. Something rather difficult to do. His fist clenched around the X-wrench he held, patiently waiting for you to finish so he could just...whack you? Probably a poor plan but it was the best he had. "Honestly, I was surprised. But can't say I wasn't a lil' happy when she marched her happy ass away from you. Playin' hard to get and all? Annoying, right? Especially when I'm sure your brother could use her as a, hm, maybe a nun in the church? Or do you think she'd fit better as a cashier in the boutique?" You leaned forward a bit. Bo's eyebrow raised and his grip on the tool loosened a bit. Now more curious than on edge. You hummed at his lack of verbal response. Just then, a sound signaled from the back of your car, making Bo's gaze snap to it. He then glanced back at you with shock. You merely shrugged. "Eh, I'm sure you two can figure it out." Bo didn't respond to you as he popped the trunk. Barely conscious and bound, the redhead he'd failed to lure back to town. He looked back at you again as you picked up the magazine. "Oh, and by the way? The lock on your truck is a bit shotty on the back left door. Might wanna work on that." You added cheekily. After a moment to process everything that had just been laid out, Bo gave a little amused huff. He shut the trunk of your car and shook his head. "Darlin', you seem a bit off your rocker." He spoke. "Crazy even." You threw your hands up in mock surrender. "Only for you, big guy.~" The edge to your tone made his blood burn. He sighed and adjusted his hat. "Well if that's the case, maybe I can talk my brother into keepin' ya. After all, you've been a big help" He smirked at the way your pupils expanded. Bo was a playboy, he'd been able to charm just about anyone he wanted. But the crazier the person, the more fun it was.