Hey, BUDDY!

No matter where you meet a stranger, be careful if they are too friendly. Indipendent side blog for Strade from Boyfriend to Death penned by CHARLOTTE. PLEASE READ RULES BEFORE FOLLOWING.

[flosmortis-deactivated20200617]

Lawrence, anytime @verrruckt is in his house:

[created-by-the-creator]

Your choice.

Hammer, or Drill.

Strade belongs to @gatobob / @gurobob ~

[verrruckt]

flosmortis:

– ; Shitshitshit. He never could be subtle when he really needed it, could he? The other quick to take up the space between him and the other side of the room, keeping him away from his pruning knife. Lawrence swallowed as he began to sweat cold, chills running up his spine as he tried to think. He had a few other knives around, primarily for gardening and utility, but none were in easy reach. Some were in the sink, soaking in a bucket of water and vinegar to cleanse the blood and bacteria–his shears were in the back corner behind his fern, behind Strade, but there was no way he would get past the other without a fight. His breath quickens further still and he feels a wash of dizziness, fingers clenching the edge of the plastic longtable.

“…what…  What do you want  to talk about?”

– ; He’d watched people play this game. He’d been on the other end of it many times, wishing any question or qualm had been of genuine interest instead of fear. He wished they had all gone quietly instead of bartered for time. He wished he didn’t trust so much and let them have their moments, the extra seconds to make their peace, before they would turn on him. They feared death. Lawrence didn’t fear the river, but he feared Strade. He had never liked pain.

"That's a good question!"

Truthfully, he hadn't actually thought of something to talk about. It had just been something that he had said to keep Lawrence from panicking, something that clearly had not worked. If Ren had been with him, perhaps his little fox would have been able to come up with an actual conversation piece. Perhaps death would be a decent enough topic? Lawrence seemed fairly familiar with it at least. Perhaps not so much the painful aspect of it, but that was irrelevant. Unlike Lawrence, Strade LOVED pain. The more pain, the better. And if Strade liked it, then it was a good enough conversation piece.

“...You like blood don't you, buddy? You missed a few spots when you were cleaning up it looks like!“

Laughing, Strade waved the knife just a bit, No longer did he seem disappointed, instead now completely cheerful. Scuffing his boot in the direction of the center of the room, Strade would once again laugh.

"I understand! Sometimes I get so excited that I forget to clean up my mess too!"

[filth-cult-deactivated666]

[beg-cry]

🗡️🗡️🗡️

[verrruckt]

@flosmortis

[verrruckt]

flosmortis:

– ; This was not good. It was very not good. He breathes shallow breaths as he moves in closer, shuts the door behind him almost completely and creeps around the edges of the space. He doesn’t want to sit. He knows what will happen if he sits. He’s usually the one giving those directions, after all, to an equally as distressed occupant who was quietly begging for him to let them go. Promising they wouldn’t tell. He knew it was a lie. Like Strade’s kindness was a lie. Like his smile was a lie. Lawrence thinks he might throw up, a knot in his stomach as he stays stuck in the doorway.

– ; He thinks he’s lucky he didn’t eat before now. Every step is slow, eyes on Strade and his smile as he creeps along the edges of the room. He left his pruning knife on one of the tables by the window, didn’t he? He was sure. It wasn’t much, but he just needed a moment. He was far taller than Strade–he could overpower him if he had the chance. Strade was clearly prepared for a fight, but there wasn’t much space to be taking swings. He could knock him out. He could drown him. He could bury him alive and hope no one ever asked about it. He needed Strade to be quiet.

“I’m not going to sit down.”

This wasn't working. Usually, people did what a man with a knife asked of them, but clearly not Lawrence. Noticing his unwillingness to do what he wanted, Strade's line of sight shifted towards where Lawrence was seemingly headed. Oh no. That was not happening. Rising from his seat, knife still in hand, Strade moved towards where he believed Lawrence was headed. He wasn't sure what sort of weapons the other had, nor was he sure what he was truly capable of, but he wasn't about to take any risks. This was HIS game, not Lawrence's.

"Don't make me hurt you, wenig hirsch. I don't want to hurt you."

That was a lie naturally. Strade wanted to hurt everyone, even his closest of friends. That was Strade did after all. He hurt people. And though he and Lawrence were more alike than either of them probably realized, that made little to no difference. With his knife aimed upwards, Strade's stare had once again found itself on Lawrence's frame. If a fight were to break out, there was no telling what would happen. Both had weapons and both were incredibly quick. Though it was true that Lawrence was incredibly strong, more so than his German companion, Strade was sturdier. He could knock people down quite easily, yet not be brought down easily himself. If violence occurred, there was no telling who would come out on top.

“I just want to talk."

[verrruckt]

flosmortis:

– ; Lawrence’s breath catches in his throat as it hitches and burns his lungs. He wants Strade out–he wants him to leave right now but every expletive gets stuck behind his teeth as his body becomes a wind-up of tension. Strade shouldn’t be here. No one should be here! Lawrence’s breath comes faster, his eyes twitching back and forth. Part of him wants to turn around and run, wait it out a few days in the woods and see if Strade abandons his plotting. Abandons Lawrence. But the man’s stare is so absolutely focused on his prey that the blonde man can’t even be sure he’d get far if he ran now.

“No…!” No, he wasn’t happy to see him? No, he shouldn’t be here?

“I–  I need you to leave.”

– ; He wants to know how Strade knew which apartment was his. Which street and what building. He wants to know the things he’s overlooked in the comfort of his daily routine that gave the man enough to foxhole him in a place of comfort. The smile on his face, the gentle patting on his bed, the easy way he addressed him…it was like Strade was having fun. He was enjoying it. Lawrence skirts around the edges near the doorway, inspecting damage and trying to figure out how to take care of this situation. This was a mistake. Strade was going to become another mistake that he’d have to spend the night taking care of, and Lawrence would have to hide him until he could fix the locks on his door. Until he could get rid of the body. He wasn’t even sure he could wait that long–all of his instincts told him Strade was… dangerous.

"Aw, you're not thinking about running are you?"

By the way Lawrence was moving, Strade could tell that he was anxious. Like a deer ready to bolt at any moment. Though... He likely would not get very far. He could run, sure, but Strade practically GOT OFF to fear and anxiety. Eventually, he would catch Lawrence. Eventually, he would make him hurt. But he didn't want Lawrence to run. Not now, anyway. Instead, the German reached behind him, pulled out a decent sized hunting knife, and kept it in his grip as he once again pat the bed.

“And here I thought that we were starting off so well..."

Pretending to pout, Strade continued to stare at Lawrence. Almost as though he hadn't looked at anything else in the room and locked on to the other as soon as he appeared. It was extremely unnerving to say the least, but if Strade was even aware of that fact, he didn't show it.

“Have a seat... Friend.”

[goratrash]

drew a Strade for my btd followers now you better run y'all

[verrruckt]

“Straaaaaaaaaade,” the unusually cheerful boy calls out, throwing his arms around the dangerous man, “How’s my faaaaavorite man in the whole entire world? Are you eating well? Sleeping well? Shitting well?”

Now what was all this about? As far as he knew, the only people who viewed him as being their favorite were the middle aged women he bought tupperware from and then Ren. Naturally Anthony’s over the top demeanor left him feeling rather suspicious, as it was obvious that he fell into neither of those groups of people. Cocking his head to the side slightly, Strade’s eerie demeanor remained unchanging.

“What do you want, liebling?”

[verrruckt]

homosinger:

❝ Strade… ❞ the name falls off his lips so fondly, smile gracing the other as if it was a name he wouldn’t soon forget. That being said he’ll raise his glass to the other, proposing a cheers, ❝ – Well Strade, here’s to good friends, good laughs, and a good night for the both of us! ❞ He then brings said glass to his lips, consuming more of the alcohol within it. He could start to feel the effects the more that he drank, luckily he was still a ways off from being belligerently incoherent ( though he was aiming to get there somewhat ). Hm, the more Anthony looked at his companion, the more he wondered if the two of them could go home together and continue drinking– or have some other kind of fun. He smiles to himself thinking of doing such, yet never knew if this man would be on board.

❝ Here! ❞ He speaks rather suddenly, bright and cheery attitude taking center stage. The male then pulls out his phone and brings out the camera, ❝ Let’s take a photo together! I want this to be a moment I don’t forget! ❞ It was very likely for him to do this when meeting someone new, and it seemed like the two of them were off to a good start friendship-wise, therefore the boy saw no harm in doing such. The brunet scoots in close to the other and raises his phone so it can get a nice shot of the two of them, and almost instinctively does the boy throw his arm around the opposing man, only to flash a peace sign for the picture. He gives the biggest, most genuine grin he can muster, ❝ Ready? – ❞ He asks, only waiting a few moments before taking a photo of them both. Sorry Strade, the boy was determined to get his picture and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, please let him have his fun.

It doesn’t take long for Anthony to bring the phone back down, only scooting away a bit to give the other his personal space. His eyes stay glued to his mobile device as he fumbles with it a bit longer, only to show his new companion the screen a moment or two later, ❝ Awh! Look at us! ❞ The singer comments, the slightest hint of rose on his cheeks, ❝ We look so cute together – ! ❞ He pauses for a second, only to lock his phone and pocket his device, ❝ Strade I’m a little jealous, I can pull off the cute factor quite well but you’re incredibly handsome, ❞ a compliment given and it was only to be one of many, the night was young and there was still so much he could drink, ❝ I know this might be straightforward to say but I’m a little envious of the woman you’ll be taking home tonight, ❞ implying that there was no way Anthony would be in the running for such an activity. Yet he was waiting for the other to say something that might prove him wrong – call it a tactic of his as to see if the chances of him being brought home were in his favor.

If only Anthony knew what sort of man he was dealing with. Strade was the definition of sadistic. For fun, he bound innocent victims, tore into their flesh, and pulled their guts from their body with a smile on his face. Perhaps if Anthony knew that Strade had similar plans for him that night, he would have contacted the authorities or at the very least gotten far away from him. Strade hadn't didn't specifically have any plans in regards to killing Anthony, but very few ever survived the hell that he put them through. Five minutes in, you were practically begging for death. And, given that Strade was Strade, he wouldn't give such release to them so early.

Suddenly realizing that his picture was being taken, Strade grinned and looked as cheerful as he could before relaxing a little to look at the picture. That really was a nice photo-- He would be sure to send it to himself later to keep as a memento of his newest victim should something happen to him.

"A woman? Oh no, you misunderstand! I usually drink alone."

It definitely was not a woman that he would be taking home that night... Though, he had taken one home the night before. Sadly, she didn't last very long. At least, not long enough for his liking. Leaning forward onto the bar, Strade arched a brow.

“You don’t see me talking to any women, do you?”

[verrruckt]

homosinger:

His accent is thick and the bit of foreign language thrown in there came as quite a surprise – German, huh? He swirls the liquid in his glass, eyes cast downward before raising it to his lips for another sip, only to finish off whatever was left. He doesn’t waste another second before flagging the bartender down, quick to order a refill… the man planned to consume at least three or four of these while he could and he was only just starting out. Tonight was going to be a long night…

Well, it was going to be a lot longer than expected, but the boy didn’t know that yet.

❝ Ah, that obvious, huh? ❞ His grin grows to show off pearly whites and hazel hues are directed toward the new company next to him, ❝ Don’t worry, I’m not as upset as you might think I am– just had a bad date is all, ❞ he offers light laughter as his drink arrives, only to grasp it in his hand, ❝ Let me tell you, people are not always as they seem, and I think that’s the lesson to be learned here tonight, ❞ he takes the olive on the toothpick and quickly sticks it into his mouth, biting down and enjoying the taste ( man, he loved olives ).

Eyes trail all over the opposing man’s body and face, taking in all that he presented himself as. He looked like a decent man – and it was more than kind of him to come over and talk to the singer. That thought alone keeps him smiling, ❝ So… are you always this kind to random strangers that you meet, or am I the exception? ❞ He jokes, obviously having his own sort of fun, he knows that’s most likely not the case, yet he couldn’t help but ask and watch the other’s reaction, ❝ – Do you want a refill? I’ll buy, I don’t mind. Oh! And I’m Anthony by the way– it’s a pleasure to meet you! ❞ He then offers a hand, nothing like a friendly handshake to start off the night.

“That’s rough.”

He would respond, his tone fairly laid back yet comforting at the same time. This was a strangth of his, unfortunately. Strade could appear incredibly kind and trusting, and leave you wanting to get to know him. However, once he lured you into a sense of false security, he would strike and leave you completely ruined. How right Anthony had been, however... People were not always as nice as they appeared to be.

"A refill? Oh no! I'm fine. I've got to drive home at some point, you know?"

Laughing a little, Strade then took another swig of his beer before placing it back down on the bar and turning his attention towards his new toy. He wasn't short by any means, but he didn't appear to be overly strong. Which meant, unfortunately for Anthony, that he could be overpowered quite easily. And despite only being five foot eight himself, Strade had the strength of a man who did nothing but lift weights for a living. If things got out of hand at any point, Strade had no doubts that he could end the other's life. Hopefully though, he wouldn't have to end the fun too soon.

Noticing Anthony's hand, Strade quickly took hold of it and gave it a firm shake before giving his name as well.

“I’m Strade. Nice to meet you too, buddy!”

[verrruckt]

flosmortis:

– ; Strade made Lawrence feel… uncomfortable. With himself. Like he couldn’t give enough of his being to Strade, who seemed to eat up every emotion he produced. His cheery demeanor kept the blond fumbling as he tried to keep up with the other’s energy, heart aflutter in his chest. It made his face warm and his fingers twitch, desperate to hold onto the flesh of his ribs and slide his fingers between clear cuts in his countenance. He was heavy and dense – built from the ground up of stone and muscle. He smelled like engine grease and lighter fluid. It made Lawrence feel dizzy.

– ; He had only caught him on his way out a few times. Hunched over the sidewalk, arms tight against his body on his way to work. Strade seemed to effortlessly pull him away from the task, making him late ( not that anyone noticed ) and the anxiety of that fact choked him with every inhale. Here, just before dawn, he was free of it at the price of exhaustion. Wanted to crawl into bed and sleep sound until sunset once more. But he opens the door and someone is there. He turns on the light and someone is there, waiting on his bed. He twists his head to look at the lock, at the cracked wood on the door frame, and back to his room and Strade is there. On his bed. In his apartment which was very clearly locked when he left.

“You– you’re not supposed   to be here!”

Strade made everyone uncomfortable in the long run. The way he spoke, his smile that seemed to be plastered on his face... It would have made sense if there was something supernatural about him, but... There wasn't. Strade was a mere man, and nothing more. That twisted, demented energy was something he came up with all on his own with no help from any sort of outside force and that was horrifying. Lawrence wasn't a people person by any means, but surely Strade was one of his least favorites. That, of course, meant very little to Strade. He couldn't be bothered if someone else was uncomfortable, sadly. In fact, he seemed to thrive off of that very emotion. The more uncomfortable one was, the more excited he seemed to be. Truly, he was twisted.

Adjusting his position on Lawrence's bed, Strade then made a sort of patting motion as though he were inviting Lawrence to have a seat. If one didn't know any better, by the way Strade was acting, they would think that it was his house and not Lawrence's.

“But here I am! Are you not happy to see me, buddy? I’m happy to see you.”

[renhanawiki]

strade wearing a "i kill everything i fuck" shirt and lawrence wearing a "i fuck everything i kill" shirt

Law isn’t too thrilled about wearing that..

[verrruckt]

@flosmortis

[verrruckt]

homosinger:

@verrruckt

Talk about date gone horribly wrong – the young man didn’t even want to think about what just happened. First of all, the guy didn’t look ANYTHING like he did in his pictures ( which was a shame because he had a rockin’ bod in those ). Second of all, about ninety percent of the date was just the other guy talking about himself and his hobbies nonstop, only leaving Anthony to nod his head, unable to get a word in edgewise. There were so many things wrong about that date, which is why he had taken himself to a bar, ordered a martini, and sat by his lonesome with a rather disappointed look on his face.

Lips make contact with the liquor and it burns his throat, no one really approaches him for a while and the boy supposes that’s for the best. It’s only when he notices another man nearing him, probably wanting to initiate conversation does the boy finally turn his his head, offering a rather genuine seeming smile ( he didn’t want to appear rude now ).

❝ I could feel your eyes on me for quite a while now, ❞ he jokes, lips curved in such a way that it would warm the hearts of millions, ❝ Are you just gonna’ stand there or are you gonna’ come over and keep me company… lord knows I need it. ❞

Strade was a hunter. Once he set his sights on you, your fate was essentially sealed. The chances of him killing you were incredibly high, but the chances of you losing a limb or an organ beforehand were even higher. He didn't particularly have a type when it came to ' the hunt ', but if one looked particularly down or alone, he had a tendency to drift towards them rather than someone who was, say, in a group or something along that line. That night, however, he hadn't even been really looking for someone to take him with him. He had run out of beer, and not particularly feeling like running to the store, he opted to go to a pub instead. That was when, of course, he spotted the lone man sitting by himself and slowly making work of a martini. Perfect.

Flashing his usual friendly and easy going smile, Strade proceeded to rub the back of his neck with his one free hand and act as though he perhaps had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Taking a seat next to the other, his beer still in hand, the man spoke up; his fairly thick German accent a clear sign of him not being local.

"Aha, Entschuldigung! Sorry. You were looking a little down, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to be left alone or not. What's got you so bummed, buddy?"

[soundtraum]

Visit Original Link

[verrruckt]

sharedskin:

       NERVOUS WAS AN UNDERSTATEMENT.   after his parents’ subsequent deaths  ( SUICIDES? ) he’s been an utter wreck, refusing to eat or sleep until his body is on the verge of collapse, and even then, it’s taken several long-distance calls from Kirie to keep him on track.  sunken gray eyes stare warily at  –  almost through  –  the stranger, thin brows furrowing with concern.          ❛ buddy? ❜   he repeats, confusion giving way to an almost pained expression as he wracks his disjointed memory for this man’s face.  ❛ do you–  have we met ? ❜

“No, I don’t think so. I only moved into town a few weeks ago, I haven’t really met anyone yet.”

Honestly, he had only left his place a few times and that was to get supplies for his basement and for a bit of food. He was much too busy setting things up to do much else. He hadn’t even set out to do what he came to the area for yet. Which was, of course, to continue his kidnap and torture fueled rampage that he had been on for nearly his entire life. Rubbing the back of his neck, looking somewhat embarrassed, he would then speak up again.

“Aha, entschuldigung, I’m Strade.”

[octoberinspo]