#murdersims

You are a detective hot on the trail of a mysterious serial killer... but what happens if he finds you first? Can you escape his clutches, or will you fall victim like so many before you?

—     Wade Curtis     —

“Buddy, talk big game, lose more blood, now hush hush and tell me if you feel it this time!”

Riley flinches, their bloodied hand twitching in the rope that ties it down, spread out along a dark oak table. The table has many puncture marks and slashes. Their arm is just as punctured and sliced, sutured and bandaged, kept carefully clean by their captor. Strade adjusts his cigar in his lips, humming along to an energetic heavy metal song playing from his computer.

A spare cigar rots in ash on the skull shaped ashtray, laid out for Riley by Strade almost 35 minutes ago. As the rolling paper burned to mess, Riley had been stabbed, sliced, and tested in any way Strade could think. Kidnapping is a step up from the usual reaction to sayin’ I can’t feel pain, that I’ll say, Riley muses as the large man positions a knife above the second knuckle on their ring finger. 

A firm chop of metal against oak, and that same feeling. Numb, wetness, and a sense of loss, a sudden emptiness. Riley flinches and groans, but not from pain. More from annoyance. More from the wriggling ghost of flesh where there once was a knuckle. Strade grins. 

“Feel it yet, buddy?” he teases, sounding good-natured and entertained as he taps out his cigar. 

“Nope,” Riley sighs. “Same as I told you before. I just feel all the blood getting on me, but not even that, much. Man- I mean, sir. I told you, I don’t feel pain, none.”

“None,” Strade repeats, giving a dumbfounded expression their way. “Buddy, you kill me, bahaha! You are a riot~”

“Do I wanna be a riot, sir?” they say, deadpanned and staring at the blood gushing from the joint. Strade pauses for a moment, then howls with laughter, hand pressed to his forehead. 

“Riley, liebling. You are just funny enough to kill a killer. Say, buddy. You want a break? Must be tired after a few days of fun.”

Riley’s face furrows into a frown. “Break... how? What, sir, another protein bar?”

Strade shakes his head, grinning, always grinning. “More like... a comfy bed, a home-cooked meal, and a cuddly pet!”

“Um... Well that does sound nice, but like you said, I’m not leavin’.” 

“What if I said... you don’t have to leave to get those things, hm?” Strade says casually, popping open his first aid kit and preparing to suture closed the gaping wound of a stub where a ring finger used to reside. 

“I’d say cutting me up turned you crazy, sir.”

“Maybe it just has, buddy, maybe it just has..” Strade scratches his stubble, looking them over with a smile soft enough for a bedroom. Riley shudders, cold coils up their whip-stung spine. “Say... You like collars much? You were all done-up in bracelets when you came to me. I can give you a gift. Made it just for you, just finished up yesterday!” 

“Gift? From you, man? I don’t know if I trust that.” Riley’s eyes feel heavy. No matter how little pain, a body is a body, and four days of blood loss and little food wears it down quickly. 

“Oh c’mon buddy, I’m a perfectly trustworthy guy! That’s why you told me all about yourself in that bar, yeah? All about how you’ve no friends, no family, no one who would look after you...” Strade strokes their tightly braided hair softly, coming to cup their face, almost loving. Almost possessive. “Riley. I can be that. I could tell, that night, all you wanted, liebse... was someone to finally look after you.”

Riley can’t help it, exhausted from days of torture, so much of them stolen, so much blood. They let the tears well up and spill over, and wail quietly into Strade’s palm. Strade lets out a soft “ohh” and hugs Riley to his chest, petting their dreadlocks in a mockery of care. But to Riley, to Riley it feels just like an old lover’s touch

“Come stay with me and my pet, Riley. Come stay, let me care for you and play with you. Come home and sleep.” Riley sobs and nods, face pressed to Strade’s bloodstained military shirt. Strade holds them until they’re done crying, but behind their back he is still grinning in that same crocodilian way. They are covered in sutured wounds. They are missing three fingers. They are so, so worn. 

DISCORD OFFICALLY ONLINE!

Willkommen in de keller! This is the announcement post for this blog’s kin/fictive server! Though there is a focus on fictionkin and fictional introjects from BTD, TINR, TPOF, and TDDUP, any and all murdersim kin and fictives are welcome!

~~~Features Included~~~

2 general chats!

ASL/BSL video chat room! (since the system hosting the server is speech impaired/deaf)

Art sharing channel!

Sections for other murdersims and murder OCs!

Selfies and cosplay channel!

Pluralkit for systems! (no roleplay use)

Character and source specific hangouts!

The System Zone!

NSFW art channels!

Come join us! Make an intro to be given a role and access to the server.

Happy birthday to my favourite infested biker ♥