daemonicdanny-blog

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Danny leant against the frame of his front door, eyebrow raise matching Maddisyn's own. "A little birdy told you it was my birthday?" He shifted slightly, scowling. "Remind me to rip that bird's tongue off before shooting its brains out." Noting the way Maddisyn's gaze travelled from himself to the box she held, he couldn't help but have his own attention drawn to the box. 

Behind him the movie continued to play in the living room, the sounds travelling to the porch. Danny's scowl deepened. This was one of my favourite parts. "That better not be a fuckin'��present," he said warningly, before stepping aside ever so slightly. He wasn't going to let the neighbors see him talking to a girl; he wasn't going to let the neighbors think he was going fucking soft. "Hurry up and get inside. I'm missing my movie." 

All Hallows Eve || Danny + Maddisyn

Leaning back on the wall behind the ledge she was sitting on, Maddisyn raised her eyebrows at his abrupt greetings.  She knew he wasn’t one for conversation however she couldn’t help but shake her head and smirk.

"It is nice to see you too" She said sarcastically and tilted her head to the side. With a small breath she walked into the light a little more, "A little birdy told me that is was your birthday  today…" she said with a small chuckle.  Her fingers loosely dangled by the sides of the reasonably heavy box in her hands.  Her eyes moved from the blonde boy in front of her to the box.  Hoping the creature inside was comfortable and safe. 

[daemonicdanny-blog]

[Danny turned around, apathy in his eyes] And yet it didn't kill you. Shame. Finding you bloated and decaying on the bathroom floor would have been a good way to start my day.

{ near a bathroom }

[Hannah frantically dashed out of the bathroom, books still in hand. Her heart was racing, and her vision was a blur. Trying to calm herself down, she tapped the shoulder of the nearest person.]

Th—there! There’s a spider! In the bathroom! There’s a really big spider in the bathroom! I—it’s really big!

[daemonicdanny-blog]

happy birthday fucker hahahahahaha

(ooc: im sorry this was so lame i wanted to do something im sorry i suck i know)

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Danny was, for the first time in a long, long while, home alone. His father was in Vegas for a week-long bender with old friends from school; his mother had been frightened off by her youngest son several days earlier; and Parker, twin and sharer-of-the-day-of-birth, was nowhere to be seen. 

Needless to say, this was the first birthday Danny had ever enjoyed.

He'd spent it completely they way he'd wanted to: no presents, no birthday wishes -- no birthday anything. Of course, it only meant that he wasn't able to be distracted from the constant reminder that Halloween was tomorrow. The fucking neighbours kept putting up their decorations no matter how many times he tore them down. Still ... at least no one knew today was his birthday. Silver lining, as dull as it may be.

He was sitting on his living room floor, back pressed up against the couch, beer bottle in hand, watching Insidious when he heard the knock on the door. 

"Fuck off," he growled, turning the sound on the television up louder. When he didn't hear footsteps fade, however, Danny made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, his eyes narrowing, and made his way towards the front door. He flung it open with a bang. "What the fuck do you want?"

All Hallows Eve || Danny + Maddisyn

The eve of Halloween had arrived.  The last peaceful night before every child big and small dressed up in not so scary costumes to receive bucket loads of candy.  Seems fun right? Well not for Maddy.  Her whole childhood she had never celebrated nor took any notice of the holiday.  Not only did her parents forbid any forms of horror themes, but in her later years, Maddisyn had never seen the point in slutty costumes and off candy.  It was a poor excuse for a party that normally ended due to the police or a death.  It seems silly, but in most cases it was true. 

Her long blonde hair danced around her face as the soft breeze blew past her, her eyes glued to the over the top decorations plastered across every house in every street.  The long streams of flags, ribbons and pumpkins came to a stop as she came to the very house she had set out to greet.  She couldn’t help but chuckle as she noticed it was the only house in the street with no pumpkin or fake Halloween props.  Knowing she had reached the right house, she gripped the cardboard box in her hands and knocked lightly on the door.  She took a few steps back and leaned sat on the small ledge above the small stairs.  Her eyes darted around, becoming aware of her surroundings.  The small, plain cardboard box placed firmly in her lap.  

[daemonicdanny-blog]

I know this is a role play blog but do you have any tips on writing dark characters?

OOC:Hello there! With a question like this, I'd definitely need some more pointed and specific questions if I were to actually be able to give you good, solid and proper advice, but from what I've picked up playing Danny and a few others, here's what I can give you and I hope it helps even somewhat.

Don't be afraid to hold back. I do, and I know I do, but it's more because the way I write just never paints the exact picture I want it to. In my head Danny's a lot worse than he ever comes across as being -- but this in and of itself helps me get a much better overall picture to him, which in turn helps me in writing him. Don't dismiss an aspect of the character just because you're not comfortable with it; after all, it's kind of the point.

Round them out!!! Being 'dark' isn't their only trait or aspect, even those characters for whom it may seem it is their only trait. All people have things they like and dislike, everyone's moralistic or amoral or somewhere in between, people won't always react to the same thing in the same way depending on the time of day, their mood, external circumstances. Dark characters fall flat when all you're doing is focussing on their darkness. Make them more human, and then their inhuman actions become all the more terrifying. 

Research. Whenever I'm stuck for an idea of how to play Danny, I research things about psychopathy, about phobias, about serial killers, about horror shows and movies; things that I know would interest and help create my character. Usually I pick up information without even realizing it, and that comes in handy four months later when I'm writing a specific para. 

Utilise their mannerisms/body language/expressions as well as their language. For example, take Twisty from the new American Horror Story series. He's generally considered creepy, and he's had no lines. People are commenting often on the way he walks and holds himself is just as scary (if not more so) than his violent actions and scary mask. His eyes are expressive and if you look closely possibly tell you more about the character than his actions do. Similarly Dandy is all intonation and expression. The way some of his lines are delivered is creepy because of his voice and how he says it, rather than what he says. Remember, a creepy character is more than just their actions and words.

Get into their head. Get to really know your character and the way they think; the way they perceive the world. Getting an insight like that helps you to really paint them as dark for everyone else, and though you may know the reasonings for some of their actions, you don't need to share it with others. Getting to know your character is very, very important, and I stress it completely.

I hope these have helped, somewhat. If you need any other help I'd be more than happy to answer any questions!

PS: If you really want to see a dark character (and ask their wonderful RPer for help), check out this blog! 

[daemonicdanny-blog]

The Consequence || Self Para

Angel Adams, age ten, went missing two days ago.[x]

Inside the little room, though, Fall has already been and gone — Winter is here: dark, cold and desolate, without any remorse or care for those that feel its biting sting or succumb to its harsh conditions. Light filters through the little room by way of a small window hatch up high on the wall. Viewed from the outside, the window is near invisible, located low on the ground and covered by the long and unkempt grass. There’s no other sign that there is a bunker located here, or any sign at all, for that matter, of human activity.

Though there is some light in the room, the grass colors it an eerie green and prevents the majority of it from entering the room. Her eyes have adjusted enough to make out the door and the poorly-carved wooden chair, but that’s all. The room is too dark for her to make out anything of seriousness — anything that would give her an indication of where she is, and of how she can escape.

Her hands are shackled to wall with a pair of tarnished silver handcuffs, the kind one needs a key to unlock. They’re on too tight, and there’s dried flakes of blood from where she’s twisted her wrists trying to loosen the handcuffs up only to have them dig deeper into her skin. She doesn’t know how they’ve been attached to the wall, but however it’s been done, they aren’t moving. Her shoulders ache from the position, a dull burning sensation that’s been her constant companion this last - what, few days? Weeks? Months? She can’t remember how long she’s been here for. 

The ends of her headband dig into the sides of her skull and, not for the first time, she tries to shake them off. They slip slightly, but her movements are too sluggish to throw them off completely. She hasn’t eaten since she’s been here, and her throat is dry and raw, crying out for something to slake her thirst. Even her eyes feel dry and as though they’re burning — but that would be due to all the crying.

She’s scared and hurt and wants to go home.

But he won’t let her.

He’s sitting there, on the poorly-made chair, and she almost jumps when she realizes it, tears springing already to her eyes. When did he come in? She didn’t see him come in, or hear him. And he definitely wasn’t there earlier … was he?

She can’t discern any details aside from his silhouette, but she knows he’s watching her, gaze dead and soulless, lacking compassion, empathy, remorse. His gaze is cold, colder than this room, and it makes her blood freeze in her veins. She’d watched horror movies with her friends before (despite her parents refusing to allow her to do so, saying she was ‘’too young’’). She thought she knew horror, knew what fear was.

She had been so, so wrong.

His movements aren’t swift like she had expected them to be. From what she’d heard of kidnappers was that they moved quickly, excited, wanting to indulge their desires immediately. But he’s different. He doesn’t rush anything, not even when crossing the room. This, she’s realized, makes it all so much worse. He drags it all out, and her fear increases with every second. There’s a quiet scraping sound that she’s become familiar with over the past few days, and all of a sudden her eyes are burning for another reason altogether.

The room is illuminated by a solitary match, lighting up its holder’s face from beneath, the shadows it casts dancing, mocking her. His gaze locks onto her and she looks away in terror, clenching her eyes shut tightly, as if that would make him go away. 

If I can’t seen him, he can’t see me.

She opens her eyes slowly, and he hasn’t moved. The match still throws a strong-but-centralized light, the flickering flame reflected in his dark eyes. From here his eyes looking completely black — completely soulless.

“Please.” She manages a whisper, her throat sore and screaming in protest. “P-please. Let me go. Please. I won’t — I won’t —“ she falters as he begins to move towards her without any indication that he can even hear her begging. The match dies out and he drops it without hesitation onto her leg. It stings very briefly, the match already going cold, but she knows this isn’t even the beginning. Her red tights are barely even tights anymore - there’s more skin on display than tights, the material burnt and torn and ragged. The arms of her red shirt are in a similar condition. 

He still hasn’t said anything yet, and that scares her more than his outburst earlier - yesterday? the day before? - the day he had thrown her in here. He hadn’t yelled; his voice hadn’t gone louder than fifty-five decibels, but that had been what made it so terrifying. The gruffness of his voice combined with the many expletives and threats that fell from his lips had been enough to give her nightmares. Now she knew what the Boogie Man sounded like, what voice the Monster in her Closet and the Monster in the Dark had. They had his voice.

He hadn’t said much, but somehow she knew that this was different to the kidnappings of young girls she’d seen on television. She couldn’t pinpoint how — after all, she was only ten — but she had been able to tell. He didn’t want her for the same reason all those kidnappers had wanted their victims; he wanted her for his own reasons entirely.

There’s light again, and she realises he’s turned on the small lightbulb above her. It’s not enough to illuminate the room, but it’s just enough to illuminate the two of them. She feels her stomach flip as her gaze takes in the face of her kidnapper, and, dimly, she realises that she’s peed herself out of fear again. If he notices, he doesn’t give any indication of it, instead reaching into the bag he holds and bringing out a lighter. She knows where this is going, and lets out a cry.

His gaze locks with her, and a cold, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corners of her lips. His motions are purposeful yet fluid in their movements as he pulls a cigarette pack from his bags and lights one up, almost as if he’s forgotten she’s there. The acrid smell of smoke mixes with the strong ammonia smell from her piss and it’s enough to make tears spring to her eyes again. “Please,” she begs, voice hoarse and ragged. “I’ll do any-“ her voice cuts off, the last syllable replaced by a choked cry of pain as he holds the lit cigarette to her leg’s bare flesh. It’s the same way he started last time, and naively she wonders if it’s going to be the same again. When she sees the carving knife, however, she knows it’s going to be very different.

                                                                   The sky has darkened to an overcast gray as Danny throws the unconscious body into a bush far from where he’d been keeping her. There’s a quiet floomp as the limbs hit the ground, barely cushioned by the shrubbery. The small pale being is almost unrecognisable from the one he’d taken two days earlier. Her devil costume, originally a shirt, tights and tutu of varying shades of red, topped off with a devil’s horns headband from a children’s costume shop, has been torn to shreds, burnt and blackened, and stained red with the girl’s own blood. Her skin is covered in lacerations and varying cuts, and Danny has to admit he’s rather proud of his ingenuity when it came to usual non-conventional weapons and devices. The scratches from the coat hanger are raggedy and almost sure to get infected. He’s not sure the depressions in the girl’s skin will ever fade away completely, but then again he doesn’t want them to disappear. Her face is red and blotchy, circular burns on her cheeks and forehead matching the ones on her thighs and stomach. She’d screamed so much, her throat ripped raw. Danny could have sworn he’d even heard blood running down her throat on occasion due to its dryness. 

He’d lost interest, however, when she’d fainted for the fourth time. Her eyes had rolled to show their whites and her body had gone limp and clammy, her wrists being supported by the handcuffs instead of trying to escape them. He’d taken a break then, ducking out for more alcohol and cigarettes. She was still out of it when he’d returned, but came back to her senses when her scalp had started to burn.

Danny’s gaze lingers on the blistered, bald scalp that, only twelve hours earlier, had been covered by silken blond curls pulled back in a simple ponytail. Fresh blood oozes from a blister popped open by his rough treatment of the body, slowly trickling down onto her forehead. Misshapen and burnt, her eyebrows having been singed off within seconds, it’s unlikely her head will ever look the same — or that her hair will ever grow back. Likewise her eyesight will never be the same. He’d resisted the urge to melt her eyeballs like he’d so wanted to do when she’d started crying again, purely on the basis that if she had no eyes she could never look at him in terror again. But, of course, she doesn’t need sight in both eyes to look at him in terror. Her eyelid is scarred raw, a horrific pink-red color already, and he thinks that maybe that drop of whisky there hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. He’d almost imagined he could hear the sizzle once the match had hit it.

Disfigured beyond recognition, in need of hospitalisation and medical care, but still very much alive, the girl serves as a warning. It had been her costume with which he’d taken offence — the fact that she had glorified and romanticised the devil, Satan himself, Lucifer the Fallen Angel, turning the King of Hell into an unrecognisable spin-off. She’d decided it would be cute to go as the devil, cute to completely demean the very essence of evil. He hadn’t hurt her because it was fun — though he had enjoyed it immensely — but rather because he had been angry at the way she had misappropriated the devil; angry at the way people misappropriated all that was horrific during the month of October. His actions against the girl had been slow and purposeful, intended to cause as much harm and pain as possible. He wasn’t one to act rashly in a situation such as this; rash actions meant mistakes, and mistakes could mean victims dying. 

The sun dips slowly beyond the horizon and a chill air begins to blow through the trees as Danny leaves the girl’s body behind, strewing a few locks of her hair throughout the forest as he goes. Maybe he’ll even leave an anonymous tip as to her whereabouts. She has to be found, has to survive, otherwise his work will have been for naught. After all, what’s the use in emotionally, mentally, and physically scarring someone for life if they’re going to die not long afterwards? Of making someone so completely frightened of you that they soil themselves without even realizing it?

And that’s all Danny wants in life: for people to be afraid of him.

It’s his reason for living. 

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Forsaken || Self Para

16 more days until Halloween.

15 more days until Danny's eighteenth birthday.

He knew it was coming up, that vague remembrance niggling at the back of his mind every time someone mentioned Halloween, and it annoyed him. A lot. Danny hated birthdays; hated the sappy attention; hated the fact that he had to share -- even though he was sharing it with Parker. He hated getting presents (though they were few and far between) because he hated the idea that people thought they knew him. It wasn't as though Danny pretended to be something he wasn't, but the idea still sickened him. No one ever truly knew another person. 

The only person who'd ever remotely been able to completely understand Danny had been Parker, but Parker wasn't going to be around for their birthday -- at least, not that Danny knew of.

Birthdays were pieces of shit that celebrated another year closer to dying decrepit, alone, and lying in a pool of one's own faeces, and Danny would never understand why people looked forward to them so much.

His seventeenth birthday had been spent in solitary, and Danny hadn't even noticed it had been and gone until he'd been released a week or so later. It was just another day that kept the countdown to death slowly ticking. And when Danny died, it wasn't going to be of old age, in a hospital bed, sickly and frail and dependant.

No. He would go out in a blaze of glory -- quite literally, most likely -- and he would take down as many people with him as possible. Danny wanted his name to be synonymous with terror for millennia to come, and if that meant dying at twenty-three in a police shootout after he torched and shot over seventy people and maimed numerous others, all within a four-hour window, then so be it. 

After all, it is better to go down in infamy, than to never go down at all.

October 15, 2014.

15 more days until Danny's eighteenth birthday.

He was sitting on a burial site, the body six feet below having been buried not even four hours previous, playing with his box of matches. This wasn't his favorite place in the cemetery -- that was reserved for Block 14, where patients from the nearby insane asylum had been buried just over two hundred years ago. But Block 14 was now becoming a heritage garden, and Danny couldn't stand to see the graves of the depraved and insane covered up by foliage and flora. 

The flowers and mementos left by loved ones on the gravesite had already been turned into a pile of ash by the boy, and that had satiated his boredom for a good forty-five minutes or so. But now they'd all be burnt and his fingers were itching for something to do. He contemplated digging up the body, taking it to where the wake was being held, and using it to frighten the mourners into having heart attacks of their own, but the idea just didn't seem as appealing as usual.

He knew it was because it was this time of year. Everything always became so boring for him, and he never really knew if it was because it was due to Halloween or his upcoming birthday. A fan of horror and Halloween at any time of the year, Danny had come to slowly -- very, very slowly -- loathe the month of October and all it stood for. Children actively sought out things that frightened them; teenagers suddenly believed themselves to be wholly invincible; and adults were skeptical of any and all real-life horror stories that they came across. In September, a news story about a mass-murderer would have sent them all running for cover, but in October they dismissed it as nothing more than Halloween revelries and media over-hype.

It disgusted him, how easily people could fall into the pretence of liking the terrible and the horrifying; how they celebrated it. Danny didn't want to be celebrated, he didn't want to be remembered fondly by girls in their teens suffering from hybrisophillia. He didn't want to be worshipped -- Danny wanted to be feared. He wanted the very mention of his name to strike terror in the hearts of all who heard it; to turn their blood into ice; to stop their very breathing. He refused to for his legacy to be romanced -- and by gods there would be a legacy.

After all, he'd already started.

A loud giggle brought Danny out of his thoughts and he turned his head to see a passing group of young girls - ten years old, at the most - dressed in various costumes. An angel, a witch, a faerie -- and a devil. They walked past him without a second glance, on their way to a party. The girls, with no adult in sight, talked in excited tones about the candy available and their waiting friends.

A small smile replaced the sour scowl on Danny's face, and he swiftly rose to his feet, his wholly black outfit blending in with the shadows, his booted feet strangely silent.

He'd found his fun for the night.

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Is that the one I wanted to borrow that one time?

[Maddisyn bit her lips softly as she entered her house.  She had almost forgotten that Danny was there with her due to his silence.  After he walked in, she gently shut the door behind him, looking down the dark hall to her empty house.  She chuckled and shook her head at the thought of someone actually being in the house. Her family were rarely home and it had been that way for most of her life.  They spent most of their time at work or at their holiday house on the beach.  Away from her.  Her eyes moved to the snake tank sitting in the loungeroom, automatically feeling comfort.  She had moved it out to the lounge room for natural light and she smiled as she caught glimpse of her snake.  She reached her hand in carefully and lifted the coloured snake out, watching as it wrapped itself around her hand.]

[daemonicdanny-blog]

[Danny barely noticed that they'd arrived at Maddisyn's house; barely even registered the fact that this was actually the first house he'd ever been invited in to. It was with a macabre curiosity that he listened to her angry remembrance, vaguely wondering what exactly would happen if that anger were to boil over] 

[Maddy glanced up to see her neighbouring houses and shrugged] I don’t want to spend more time in that fucking detention room then I already have too.  [She stopped when she came to her front gate, opening it slowly as they walked through.] Plus… Last time I bought her to school there was a rampage in the girl’s bathrooms and by the time I got there in time to see the main event, the groundsman was holding her by the neck about to put her in a plastic bag and there is no fucking way on this shit hole planet I will let them do that to her again! [She explained as she unlocked her front door, anger stirring through her voice as the image of the man placing her snake in the bag flooded her mind.]

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Go inform your parents of your upcoming homicide? Sure, if you want.

Won't change anything.

…

I…I should go. 

[daemonicdanny-blog]

[There was a long silence wherein Danny never took his gaze off of Pascal, watching him, studying him. Finally, the smallest of smirks flitted across the blond's face, his thirst for fear satiated for now] Make sure you do, Reynolds. 'Cause if you don't get it cut, I'll burn it all off your skull as you sleep. Probably burn your skin off, too. Burn you up. Burn you up all gone."

Pascal gave a small, nervous smile as he began to back towards the door. “O-Oh… Um… Well, m-maybe I’ll get it cut t-then…” He found that his breaths were coming out more shallow than he intended and he cleared his throat a bit to cover it up just as his back hit the wall, causing him to flinch. He gasped, not taking his eyes off of Danny as he adjusted himself. “I-I uh… should p… probably be getting to class n… now.”

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Who said I wanted anything from you? I just needed your name so I know the obituary to look out for when I kill you.

I’m Oliver.

What exactly do you want from me?

[daemonicdanny-blog]

No.

You gonna tell me your name, or do I have to fucking guess it?

Okay…

Are we done?

[daemonicdanny-blog]

"Growing it out?" Danny cast his mind back to a year ago, when his own hair had been clipped short and its natural brunet color. Now, it was shaggy and blond -- just like Parker's. He preferred his hair that way, but it didn't mean it had to like it on others. "I don't like it," he said, playing with the box of matches. The one he held was dangerously close to dying out, but that didn't phase him. "It's too long."

His eyes widened in fear and with shaking hands he instantly began feeling the tips of his hair whilst eyeing the match. He stood up from his chair in a jumble of legs, clinging to his sketchbook and holding it to his chest as he backed around the chair to have some distance between the two of them. “U-Uh, n… no thank you… I uhm… g-growing it out,” he smiled sheepishly, but his smile faded almost instantly back into his expression of horror.

[daemonicdanny-blog]

[He took the proffered cigarette gladly, taking a long drag on it] So why the fuck don't you?

[With a small chuckle she noticed he had caught up to her.  With a reasonable pace, they had managed to walk through the hallways and out the front gate.  As they walked out, Maddy glanced back with a small smirk, pulling out a cigerette from her jacket pocket.  She light it up and took a large drag.] Fuck that place… [She breathed out and shook her head, holding out the cigerette offering it to him. She glancing up ahead, seeing her street approaching.  She didn’t notice that they were walking in the middle of the street.] I would bring her to school with me everyday if I could… [She mumbled quietly]

[daemonicdanny-blog]

Jigsaw? Are you seriously fucking comparing me to that cancer-riddled fuck? He couldn't even kill himself properly, the pathetic shit.

Oh… Well, no thanks Jigsaw, I rather just um… 

Eric wheezes and shuffles slightly away.

[daemonicdanny-blog]

school supply list:

headphones

portable charger

knife