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melonba11s · 23 days

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This Is You On Drugs (Strade/MC BTD fanfic)

Strade doesn’t like drugs because they can change the way someone acts… But what if he shows them later how they acted?

Contains: Drugging, Filmed Violence, Canon typical violence, blunt force mutilation, gore gender neutral MC, Strade.

Food and drink in Strades house were safe. Strade wasn’t the type to poison people, it was too quick and didn’t give him time to see any reactions he craved.

Drugs would change or inhibit how you reacted too much. He wanted you to be yourself. A true king of encouraging self love and confidence.

So food and drink was safe. Water from the filtered jug in the fridge was safe. The cheese was safe. The cut up bits of steak were safe.

You had no reason to not eat in his house. If you tried to starve yourself he’d eventually force you to eat.

So when you woke up in the middle of the afternoon with a pounding headache, dry mouth, and chronic dizziness you just had to believe you were sick.

You had to be really sick. That was why you couldn’t remember falling asleep in the first place, or even waking up in the morning. You must have slept through the night and well into the day.

Getting up was hard. Your legs felt like cement. But you needed water. Your mouth was so dry.

Stumbling down the hallway, groaning in pain the entire way. It felt like your head was detached from your body, floating on its own towards the kitchen.

The light of everything was too much. You were forced to shield your eyes just to make it to the kitchen, squinting so much your eyes were almost closed.

Actually closing your eyes as you opened the fridge as the cold air hit your face, along with the fluorescent bulb’s shine feeling more like a needle to your skull.

Reaching in, blind, but knowing where that water was, you curled your fingers around the plastic handle.

“Don’t drink that.” A sudden voice, the fridge was closed forcefully. You looked up at Strade, he had a smile on his face… Like he was in on some joke you didn’t get. You rubbed your eyes, frowning.

“I’m thirsty.” you said, a fact made obvious by how dry your voice sounded. A chuckle, and he was pressing something cold into your hands.

You looked down. Bottled water. He never bought bottled water. That’s what the filter on the jug was for.

You didn’t ask questions, you cracked it open and began to chug it. You had been really thirsty. You felt better with every gulp of water.

Strade kept his eyes on you, his grin widening the entire time.

“Feeling better?” he asked, as you finished off the bottle. You nodded.

“Head still hurts… I think I’m sick.” an arm around your shoulders,

“Bet you need some rest then, huh? Come on, sit on the couch with me. You can relax there while I show you something…” He was pushing you towards the living room, still grinning widely.

“Strade…” your voice came out in a whine. “Can’t you show me later? I’m tired…” nothing sounded better than crawling back into bed, maybe with another bottle of water or two.

“Oh come on, Schatzi.” He sounded almost hurt. “This won’t take long!”

You sighed, giving up. Nothing would convince him otherwise when he got pushy like this.

He was admittedly gentle with you, guiding you to the couch, sitting you down against the throw pillows after making sure he fluffed them up a bit.

The TV was on, but for now the screen was black. Strade got comfortable next to you, arm around you again, leaning against you. Despite how terrifying he was, his solid warm form was a comfort you indulged in without restraint. Loving how soft and comfortable it felt to be nestled against him.

He lifted the remote, and pressed play. The screen fizzled a bit, then the picture became clear.

The basement. You jerked in his grip. One of his homemade films.

You definitely couldn’t handle this kind of thing right now.

“Strade-“ You began to protest.

“Hush. Just watch.” he shushed you, smiling at the screen.

A woman was on the ground, slumped against the pole. The camera moved towards her, accompanied by footsteps. It hit you that Strade was actually holding the camera. He usually had it up on a tripod-

“Okay Schatzi! Are you ready?”

You couldn’t recognize the voice responding at first.

“Yeeeaaaahhhh” They dragged out the word, ending it with a bit of a giggle. “You sound like… an ant.” The camera moved over.

It was you. You were wavering on the spot, eyes unfocused. A silly smile plastered on your face.

“What?” the you that was sitting on the couch began to speak. No, that couldn’t be you. You would never stand like that, talk like that, hold a giant sledgehammer like that.

The woman on the floor was beginning to beg, scream, writhe in place.

The Strade behind the camera began to laugh, backing up a bit.

“Go ahead then! Just like I told you! It’s just a fun game, like the ones you play with Ren.”

You sat in fear, disbelief, as you lifted the sledgehammer and began to approach the woman on the floor.

“No.” You said as you began to lift the hammer up. The you on film didn’t hear you, or maybe they just didn’t care.

You could only watch in horror as the hammer came down.

Ankle shattering, skin ripping apart. No. You shouldn’t be strong enough to do that much damage. As the woman on the floor let out an ear piercing scream, blood splattering across the floor, staring at her mangled foot in horror.

“Stop!” You yelled, trying to get up, to turn off the TV. Strade kept a grip on you, his spare hand was unbuckling his belt.

“Don’t be like this, Schatzi.” His voice was in your ear. “You looked so happy, it was almost worth the price of the drugs.”

Drugs. Drugs that he hated. It made you stiff with fear.

Drugs that had altared you, made you not yourself. The kind of thing he never wanted.

You could only watch as the you that was apparently hopped up on some horrid mix began to lift the hammer again.

Kneecap was next, the sound of bone splintering, skin turning into ground beef, your stupid fucking voice continuing to giggle.

“That’s… funny…” The you on camera knelt down, shoving your fingers into the freshly destroyed leg. How easily they slid into the torn tendons and pulverized muscle.

You pulled out a shard of something. The gross sound of wet suction and the woman’s breath hitching between her screams made you want to vomit.

“Uh oh…” You sounded like a complete dunce, looking at the shard of bone in your hand. “I broke it…”

You seemed to be referring to the piece of patella in your palm, staring at it. You dropped it onto the floor, now looking at the camera (or perhaps Strade?) in dissapointed.

“I wanted… Something to give you.” The woman at your feet was breathing heavily. Strade was laughing.

“It’s okay, Schatzi. You’ve given me so much already.” He was cooing, and you hated how it made your slack face light up in a grin.

The woman on the ground seemed to find her voice now.

“YOU’RE A MONSTER.” She wasn’t looking at Strade. She was looking at you.

She was right.

“A SICK FUCK.” Your smile had dropped now, using the hand that wasn’t on the hammer to cover an ear. It made your heart pound, watching this.

The you on camera shaking your head as she continued to yell insults at you. It was comforting, knowing that even while not in your right state, you didn’t want to be called those things-

“SHUT UP.” The drugs were speaking. They had to be. “YOU’RE GIVING ME A HEADACHE.”

No, the drugs were. Realize that. You were begging yourself to realize that as the hammer rose again. The woman was still yelling.

“STOP.” The both of you yelled at the same time. You were frozen in place, but they weren’t. The hammer swung down.

Wet thump, horrid cracking, teeth coming loose. A scream of pain turning into a wet gargle as blood and muscle filled her throat.

Another swing, an eyeball popping open, the inside oozing all over her face as her skull caved in. There were no more screams.

Another swing. Brain exposed, flying from the safety of the cranium, hitting the wall and floor.

You were breathing heavily as you dropped the hammer. Legs shaking, hands twitching, you were looking down at yourself in horror.

“Oh no…” The you on camera said, before looking back at Strade. “I got… really dirty.”

Your front caked in shards of bone, blood, bits of gore and more. You doubled over on the couch, retching.

Strade was laughing next to you, laughing on camera. It echoed and bounced, it was everywhere.

You were dirty. You were filthy. You were diseased.

Strade had turned off the TV as you sat there, rocking back and forth, gagging and trying not to vomit.

“You put on a good show, Schatzi!” He sounded genuine, rubbing your back.

And you hated how it made you feel just a bit better right now.

#boyfriend to death #strade #btd fanfic #boyfriend to death fanfic #strade btd

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melonba11s · 27 days

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I wanna make a treat that’s sweet and full of love,

But I also wanna hide a little bit of love…

#melly oc #melly #melon art

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melonba11s · 1 month

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Chains of Love Chapter 2

CW: Descriptions of extreme filth, choking, violence, threats of violence, manipulation, disassociation.

“You know what would help you stop crying?” his voice broke through her, and she slowly lifted her face from her hands to stare at him. Waylen grinned, grabbing her by her wrist and pulling her off the bed, to her feet.

“Something to do!” She gave a hiccup, continuing to stare him down. His grin twitched a bit.

“See… I get this probably isn’t how you figured you’d meet your boyfriend… There’s probably stuff from your old life that you’re thinking of missing right now.”

He already referred to it as her old life. It made the permanence he was intending cut into her. It had all just been… a few hours ago? yesterday? She didn’t know how long she’d been out.

“But, I bet if you start by keeping your mind off things, you’ll get comfortable real quick and then… there will be no more worries or tears.” Waylen’s words had some finality to them. He picked up the chain from the floor, and Melly noticed just how much of it was piled on the floor near his desk.

There was no clue to how long it was, but the other end was tangled and hooked around the heavy thick leg of his desk. If she pulled it taught, he’d know.

“Come on, I’ll show you what I mean.” Waylen grinned. He opened the door.

The bright light of the hallway filled the room, making her squint against it. The chain quickly grew short, and not wanting to be painfully dragged, Melly took several clumsy steps forward.

Out of his room. Into light that stung her eyes but left a comforting warmth on her skin. The conflicting feelings, for a short moment, made her feel like vomiting.

Every step she took, being led by Waylen, was accompanied by the clink of chains. She could just imagine it unraveling from the pile, allowing her to move farther and farther.

“It should be long enough to let you get to where you need to go.” he grinned. It was clear what he meant by “need to go”.

It wouldn’t let her get anywhere near the door to the outside world. Melly held a hand up to the collar. It wasn’t tight right now, but just feeling its weight against her throat, her adams apple… It felt like it was choking her.

The hallway, the stairs, they were… dusty. very dusty. There were streaks of past handprints on the railing and walls. Cobwebs were beginning to form on the ceiling.

It made the house feel even more cramped.

“Come on, keep following me.” a light tug on her neck made her take several steps forward, very quickly. She nearly bumped into him. He laughed a bit, nervously.

“I’m… not really a clean person. And I can’t really cook.” Melly could tell. She stayed quiet. “So things have gotten kind of bad.”

He brought her around a corner and Melly stopped, in shock, not caring how the chain grew taught for once.

“I thought maybe… It could be your first project, to get you acquainted with the house.”

Trash overflowing. There were two bags full of it next to the trash can. Black and brown splotches were stretching against the opaque white plastic. The trash can itself was drenched in filth, yellows browns and greens, dripping down the sides.

Her mouth was open. She could smell everything. She could taste everything.

Dishes piled in the sink. Old food dried on. A cup filled with what looked like it had once been juice. Now it was brown, sludgy, mold crawling up the sides and on the lip. The counter was taken over by old food, takeout boxes, empty cans of soda some of which had been tipped over and spilled over. The sugary liquid now turned into a sticky oil spill gluing the can and surrounding objects down to what had once been a nice marble countertop.

Her hands were shaking. She was stammering as she stared at it all.

The thing that seemed to be the biggest punch in the gut though was on a space of counter that had clearly been hastily shoved clean, was a bottle of bleach cleaning spray, several rolls of paper towels, boxes of other miscellaneous cleaning supplies… and a set of pastel pink kitchen gloves. Brand new, shiny.

“Aren’t they cute? I thought of you immediately when I saw them!” Waylen picked them up, almost shoving them in her face.

She stared past them. There was a window. A window. A window.

Her world closed into that window. Break it. Scream. Someone would hear.

She took a step around Waylen and one step forward. A window. A window. A window.

And then…

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She clammored at her neck, falling backwards as the choke chain became not just tight, but painful. The unpolished edges cutting into the thin skin of her neck.

“gllk-?!” she thrashed, then wheezed as a foot landed on her chest, planting her down onto the floor, grinding her into it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Waylen asked. He looked scary now. Eyes wide, no smile, no emotion. She stared, her chest hurt, she wasn’t sure if it was because of the bruising stomp on her chest or the lack of air.

And the floor. Part of her mind could only focus on how filthy the floor must be. She tried to arch her back, to at least get some part of her body away from it.

Pain exploding in her ribs as Waylen pressed more of his weight into her, bones bending under his foot.

He stared down at her as she squirmed, gasped for air. It kept getting tighter, Waylen’s arms flexed, the muscles in his bicep bulging as he pulled tighter.

Her head felt light. She could feel blood pounding in her temple, feel veins in her eyes swelling, threatening to burst.

Waylen took his foot off her chest with a deep sigh. Melly’s fingers finally succeeded in pulling the chain loose, and she inhaled deeply. It was a wretched sound, like wind howling through an abandoned home.

It was accompanied by coughing and retching, as bruising and scratches began to form on her neck.

There was the sound of the thin rubber hitting the floor near her head, and she glanced at the gloves.

“Try them on.” Waylen said. He still had a grip on the chain. His words didn’t sound like a suggestion.

Melly struggled to sit up, laying on her side as she grabbed at the first glove. It slid on easily. A bit big, like kitchen gloves often were.

She stayed on the ground, staring at them. It felt like they were disconnecting her hands from herself. It felt like someone else was moving her fingers as she tested the fit.

The heavy clunk of chain hitting the floor made her jump. She began struggling to her feet, still dizzy from the harsh grip of the chain.

Slowly, she turned to face him, trying not to meet his eyes. Instead she focused on his chin, his slow grin.

“I’m going to be in the next room over, okay? When you’ve done as much as you can, come join me. We’ll order dinner and find something to watch together. Our first date~”

A hand on her shoulder. It was gentle at first, and Melly’s gaze was dragged to his eyes.

Then it tightened, grew rough. Painful.

And just as quickly it was gone as he turned around, leaving her alone in that filthy room.

Melly didn’t know how long she stood there, staring into nothing. Her fingers traced the painful marks he’d left on her shoulder and throat.

He could kill her. He really could easily kill her.

The chain wasn’t only a tether, it made a noise whenever she moved. He’d always have a faint idea of when she was moving, how quickly she was moving, where she was.

And the pain she was in hardwired one thing into her in the moment.

Obedience.

When she listened to him, when she didn’t try to pull anything funny… he hadn’t hurt her. She swallowed, feeling at the chain around her throat. It irritated the fresh scrapes and bruises.

If she didn’t clean up his mess… He’d hurt her again. The options weighed in her mind.

He wasn’t in the same room anymore. She could hear the TV, it sounded like a romantic comedy anime.

She could break the window now. Scream for help. He’d eventually rush in and stop her, but maybe someone would hear and-

The worried bruises around her neck seemed to become a vice.

Who’s to say she would survive long enough to be rescued?

A fresh trash bag unfurled in her hands as she stared at the window.

He said it was love. If she were obedient, let him love her… she should be safe. Gain his trust. Find another way out. The time would have to come eventually.

She picked up an old paper cup from a fast food joint. Her grip crushed it, the lid popping off.

A puff of spores followed the lid, and she whipped her head away, beginning to cough as she shoved it into the bag.

If she didn’t clean like he asked she’d be hurt. If she tried to escape she’d be hurt, possibly killed.

The choice was obvious. Wasn’t it? She swallowed, staring back at the task at hand.

“… trash first.” she told herself, softly. Then reached and picked up an old disposable plate. She stared at it. Ketchup dried and turned into leather stuck to the paper. She folded it in half and then crushed it in her grip, shoving it into the bag as well.

Trash first. Takeout boxes that were except for mice droppings. Spending the time to meticulously fold them so that she could make the most out of a single trash bag.

It was slow work. Peeling up years of unwillingness and lack of care.

Bread crumbs and grains of rice so stale and hard they were more on par with grains of sand.

Mystery liquids that had turned into toxic waste in the cups they inhabited.

The smell. The smell. The smell.

She knew this smell. Raw chicken that had gone slimy. Strawberries that turned into sludge. Sour, sweet, cloyingly thick.

The smell of decay. It chipped away at her senses. She never got used to that smell, it felt like it was sinking into every cell of her body.

Two trash bags filled, she shoved them all out of the kitchen, hopefully near where the exit to the house would be. Waylen would-

She swallowed. That name felt like a lightning strike to her brain. A reminder of why she was here.

… He had been right. Having something to do, a task assigned. It made it easier.

It ler her ignore it all.

She grabbed an old glass of water, watching the sticky film that had formed with age dance across its surface. She wanted to break it, listen to it shatter.

Crack open, become useless.

Like her neck would under Waylen’s grip. Deep breath in as fear caused a horrible prickle across her skin.

She. Set. The Glass. Down.

Without the waste, the kitchen looked. A bit better. Not by much.

She pulled the gloves on tighter, approaching the sink. Move all the dirty dishes out of the sink. Pile them up on the left of it.

Take all the old dishes from the right of the kitchen sink. Move those to the left of the sink too.

She repeated the steps in her head, letting it turn into a melody she could move in rhythm too.

Scrub the right side counter, creating a clean place for drying dishes to sit. The strong scent of bleach was a welcome one. Paper towels bunched in her hand becoming stained, then the next round soaked, and the final round damp.

The marble counter was gray. It had flecks of white and streaks of black.

The cleanest spoon she could find. Under the dishes, the sink had several different kinds of muck.

Scooping something out of the drain that was almost embryonic. It’s pale brown surface mottled with pink mold spores. It jiggled on the spoon before she let it fall into the fresh trash bag.

Black fuzz with white spots crawling across the rim of the sink. Peeling it up and away, leaving behind shiny stainless steel.

She wished she had a mask. Green bushes of mold. If she sprayed them with water from the sink they broke apart and washed away, down the drain. It was a miracle the drain wasn’t clogged, she thought.

… Would Waylen get her some masks if she asked? She shook her head.

She wouldn’t be around long enough to need masks. She told herself firmly. She was just being obedient for now. His guard would drop eventually. Then she’d be free.

The sink had two compartments. One filled with hot soapy water. It quickly turned brown with clouds of black after the first round of plates.

She drained it and refilled it, continuing her work. Wash. Rinse. Set aside.

Wash. Rinse. Set aside.

Wash. Rinse. Set-

“Melly?” She whipped around, holding a wet plate. Flecks of water flew across the kitchen.

He was back, approaching her. Coming closer.

“You’ve been at it a long time. Want to take a break?” How long had she been cleaning? She looked around. There was still more to do… Another few yards of counter to scrub and scrape. Two more piles of dishes to clean.

She hadn’t even gotten to cleaning out the fridge yet.

“I’m fine.” her voice felt small, words having to squeeze themselves out of a too tight throat. Waylen looked like he was inspecting her work.

“I didn’t think cleaning would take so long…” he admitted, a little sheepishly it appeared.

“It’s easier if you do a bit every day.” Melly replied stiffly, backed up against the sink. “Uhm… If you leave me to it I’ll… Finish this up and then go ahead and clean the fridge tomorrow?”

She braced herself, not sure how he would react to her suggestion.

“That sounds good to me.” A hand wrapped around her wrist, holding it gently. His thumb traced over her pulse.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me, Melly.”

Had he forgotten that he was forcing her to do this? Melly didn’t know. She just shrugged.

“It’s… nothing.” Words felt sticky. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She wanted to ignore her situation again.

Wash. Rinse. Set aside.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

She finished the dishes before she knew it, her method remaining robotic, thoughts monotonous.

Scrape up anything stuck to the counter. Old milk, dried and green. Into the trash.

Spray. Spray. Spray.

Spray down the cleaner, and grab a sponge. One sponge cleaned approximately one third of the counter before it became so filthy it was useless.

It took three sponges to get every last bit up.

She stopped.

The kitchen felt like a different world. It was a nice kitchen. Plenty of counter space. An unused, dusty stove top had become visible with the removal of used dishes.

It felt generic. Empty. No appliances, not even a coffee maker graced the counter. How could a house feel so sickeningly cramped but also so unoccupied at the same time?

She had finished up what she said she would. She spent another minute standing in the kitchen. Wasting time.

Waylen would be expecting her out in the living room soon. The sounds of scrubbing had stopped.

She stared at the window again.

Her feet took her away from it.

#chains of love #waylen #erotic horror

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melonba11s · 1 month

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I love Procreates timelapse function

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melonba11s · 1 month

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Chains of Love Chapter 1

The beginning of a more long form, original project!

Melly is leading a peaceful life, until she’s abducted by Waylen, an obsessive man who believes they were made for each other. He’s delusional, she’s determined to escape. But Waylen isn’t above using violence to get his way, to make her listen. All she has to do is listen.

All she has to do is listen. Understand?

(Each chapter will have its own warnings, a general list of trigger warnings/advertisements though include: Breathplay/asphyxiation, domestic horror, erotic horror, abduction, abductor/abductee, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, non-con, physical abuse, near-death experiences, and mild piss) Current Chapter TW: Abduction.

Luck.

It was something Melly was familiar with.

Lucky pulls when opening blind bags or playing gacha.

Lucky being able to grab the last limited edition sweet from a local confectionary.

Lucky that her online presence allowed her to make enough money to afford a nice apartment. She really only had her part time job at a comic book shop as a sort of hobby, something to add routine to her weeks.

Lucky that her shift at said part time job was over so she could finally relax. She had a great evening planned. Crack open a soda from the fridge, open a bag of chips, and lay down across the couch to binge that new season of anime she’d been putting off.

Unlucky.

Something she was equally familiar with.

Fumbling with her keys, nearly dropping them as she stood outside her apartment door.

Unlucky.

Too absorbed in getting inside she neglected her surroundings, not aware of someone approaching from behind.

Unlucky.

Putting the key in and turning the wrong way first.

Unlucky.

Feeling an arm around her waist, tugging her back. She dropped her keys, and let out a short scream.

Something soft pressed against her face to muffle her scream. She thrashed against the solid wall of a human behind her.

The rag was damp. It smelt like a dentists office, slightly sweet too.

It was cutting off her breathing as well as her voice.

She curled her hands into fists, beating against the person behind her, trying to turn and get a look at them.

“Calm down, Calm down.” His voice was soft. Husky. “Just breathe.”

She couldn’t breathe.

She gasped into the rag, desperate. The microfiber sucked in. It felt unpleasant against her tongue, the sweet smell of it amplifying as she tasted the chemical on her tongue.

She was feeling dizzy. She needed to breathe.

Her door was right in front of her. She reached out for it, desperate to grab the handle.

Just grab the handle. Just turn the knob. Just go inside and get away from this man.

The rest of the world was fading but she could still see the door knob.

Her fingers stretched in vain for it, brushing against it’s smooth metal surface.

They slid off of it, as her hand dropped to her side.

“That’s it, just… calm down.” That voice was speaking again. It sounded so far away.

Far away. Far away. He was so far away now. She must have been able to get inside. Away from him.

She could relax now. She closed her eyes.

Something wasn’t right.

Those were the first thoughts her fog filled mind could come up with. She was in bed, waking up after what felt like a nap.

Some kind of nightmare. Someone grabbing her, holding her close, covering her mouth and nose, dragging her away after she had just gotten off of work.

Shit, did she have work today?

Melly reached out with a hand, feeling around for her phone, intent on checking the time. It was normal for her to nap after work, and she always needed a reminder of what day it was when she eventually woke up.

No phone. Had it fallen off the bed?

The bed felt different.

Melly opened her eyes, squinting. It was dim in the room. Someone was typing. She rolled over onto her back, hearing the clink of metal way too close. Something cold pressed into her throat.

The typing stopped. Melly’s eyes had flown wide open now, flying to sit up and take in her surroundings.

An unfamiliar room. An unfamiliar bed. A hand grabbed at the cold chain around her throat, a pit opened up in her stomach immediately.

An unfamiliar man, turned towards her, sitting in a computer chair. The back light made his features difficult to make out at first, but Melly still stared, hand gripping the chain around her throat in fear.

He was smiling. It was a big smile. He had big, friendly eyes. Melly squinted, leaning forward to try and make out more of him.

“Did I wake you?” Were his first words. A husky, gentle voice.

“N… No…” She had woken up on her own. He stood up. He was tall, he had to have at least a foot on her. Heavy-set, thick, pale blue eyes.

He was handsome, with a scruffy beard and dark hair.

“Sorry, you must be frightened.” He let out a slow laugh. “My name’s Waylen.”

Waylen. A name to a face. It set a small part of her at ease. Until he approached, carefully stepping over a chain across the floor.

Her eyes followed it, and with a horrendously sickening feeling she realized it led right up to the small chain around her throat.

“Ah, that. I can’t have you trying to run away.” He was explaining it as if it made perfect sense. Like she was a dog he’d taken in, intent on keeping as a pet. Not knowing what was for her own good.

“I’m actually really glad. About the choke chain, I mean.” he gestured, going on. “It took some struggling, and I ended up having to fuck with it a bit to get it to fit but. It shouldn’t be able to come off! Not unless you break it.”

“Wh-Who are you?” He was acting so familiar. Like they’d met before. Waylen grinned.

”I just told you my name, Silly!” He was close now, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Melly held his gaze, scooting back to press herself against the wall.

“I suppose you want to know the rest though… Well, Melly.”

He knew her name.

“See, a while ago I found you online. I gotta say… you’re even cuter in person!” He was waiting, looking at her expectantly. Did he want a reply?

“Th-Thank you…?” The thank you felt dry on her tongue. He laughed again, low, slow, deep.

“So cute… See, we share a lot of interests you know. I fell in love as soon as I saw you. The more I followed you though, the more I realized just how… pointless your life must be.”

Melly had her jaw clenched hard enough it was starting to ache as she stared at him. She had no idea what to say, her mind was running a blank.

“Every week, you post photos of yourself in suggestive poses and clothes, reviewing sweets and desserts, all for a bit of money.” Waylen kept going, as if unaware he had lost her. Melly’s gaze began to wander, looking around the room for the way out.

It was messy. Wrappers and trash covered the floor, and every surface. There was an overflowing basket of laundry near the door, the bright light of a sunlit hallway peeking in from under the door. A way out had to be that way.

“It got me thinking, Melly.” He said her name, forcefully capturing her complete attention again. “… We really are perfect for eachother.” He was leaning close, he had a dopey, lovestruck grin on his face.

“Wh-What?” Melly found her words again, bringing her knees to her chest to hug them close. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. Her mouth was hanging open, but it felt like she couldn’t suck in air or push out a scream.

Unfamiliarity and shock had done its job of knocking the wind out of her.

“Well, I don’t like to brag really, but I do have quite a bit of money to my name.” Waylen sat up straight, grinning in pride. “Several years ago I created software that’s pretty popular. Anti-Virus software that also blocks ads, phishing, etcetera.”

He looked very happy with himself, explaining his achievement.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away. My point is, I make more than enough to provide for you. I know you like to cook, and you can do that for me, as well as clean up the house! We like the same manga, anime, video games. You can do all that here in your free time! I’ll take care of everything else. Sounds great, doesn’t it?”

He looked like he had just told her she won the lottery. Expecting celebration, thanks, relief. He was huge, if he stood up he’d tower over her. He had to be twice her size, at least.

What was she, when faced with him?

Small. Weak. Scared.

“H-How did you find me? I’ve never posted where I live or any defining features…” she trailed off, it was the main question she had. Waylen’s eyes lit up.

“Oh! It was really quiet easy.” He took his phone out of his pocket, tapping a few icons on the screen and scrolling for a bit. He pulled up a photo from her SelfieGenie profile.

four months, two weeks, six days, and sixteen hours ago. The down to the hour timing of the photo was on full display.

“See this? The description says you drove two hours to get to this bakery!”

Sasha’s Sweets and Treats. Two hours away from her apartment. It had been worth it for that luscious cinnamon dulce de leche cake.

“So I went ahead, found the bakery, and looked at cities within a two hour travel time radius!”

It hadn’t been worth it. Melly could only sit frozen.

“Only two of the cities I found had airports nearby.” Waylen continued to explain. “Flight paths are public knowledge, you know?”

She didn’t know that.

“I thought… maybe I was getting a bit obsessive here.” he rubbed his chin, still grinning to himself. “I had to wait until you uploaded a video. Then I watched to see if I could hear a plane overhead. The moment I did, It was as simple as punching in the day you uploaded and matching a flight path with the time!”

He shook his head.

“That really only got me that far though if you were indeed uploading within an hour of shooting your videos though. I nearly quit, you know?”

She wished she had. She was breaking out in a sweat, her hair sticking to her cheeks and the back of her neck. Her skin felt prickly.

“But… Then you had that livestream. Remember? The one where you wore that super cute cropped hoodie? Your belly looked so cute in it…” He reached forward.

Knee’s knocked apart by his impending hand, Melly could only sit stiffly as he grabbed a handful of her stomach, giving it a squeeze. It didn’t hurt, but she felt like he was singing her skin off with his grip.

“So soft…” he whispered, losing himself as he played with her stomach fat for a moment.

“p-please stop…” she finally spoke up, lifting a hand to rest it on his. To push it off.

He let go. And then gripped her hand, pulling her forward, close, face to face. Melly swallowed thickly. He was beginning to speak faster.

“I had a list of flight patterns for the city I suspected was yours. I waited. It was like you were calling for me. Telling me to keep going, that you were nearly mine. ” His breath smelt like fast food and coffee. It made her nose wrinkle, it felt like it was choking her out again. More powerful than chloroform.

He sat back a bit, sighing, as if recalling the happiest memory of his life.

“I was lucky. I was really lucky. I had to take some time to prepare, but I had you.” His expression fell flat for a moment, his eyes squinting at her suddenly.

“I saw you working, you know. That part time job…” A landline.

“M-My job! They’ll wonder why I’m not showing up! They’ll-”

“No they won’t.” the clink of a chain. He had it in his grip. A small tug.

Smooth polished links of metal ran cleanly against each other. The small chain around her throat shrunk like a slipknot. She leaned close, instinctively to prevent it from growing painfully tight.

Waylen was staring at her, same flat expression.

“They don’t care about you, Melly. To them, you’re just a body that shows up to put books on the shelf and boners in the customers pants.Why else would they let a girl as cute as you work in some dirty little comic shop?”

Melly scrambled to find an answer, moving her mouth wordlessly.

“You don’t have to worry about that job anymore. I’ll take good care of you.” He grinned, moving in. Scruffy cheek. Soft lips.

Both felt like a venomous sting as he kissed her cheek. He pulled himself back, staring at her. His eyes were full of love.

Her’s were full of tears. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kick him. Hit him.

A single hot tear trickled down her face, dripping off her chin. Then more came, and she could only hide her face in her hands as she began to sob.

“I’m glad you aren’t fighting me, Melly. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt you to get you to listen.”

#Chains of Love #Original story #Erotic Horror #Domestic Horror #Original Characters

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melonba11s · 1 month

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filthy. filthy. filthy. filthy.

#Waylen #Chains of Love #My Art

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melonba11s · 1 month

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sneak peak at him, sorry for the cat, had to censor the penis for tumblr.

Everything is just WIPS atm

Gonna post something original soon.

Erotic Horror, featuring Melly and my own Murder Man, Waylen.

#waylen

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melonba11s · 1 month

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Gonna post something original soon.

Erotic Horror, featuring Melly and my own Murder Man, Waylen.

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melonba11s · 2 months

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A Public Apology

I would like to start this by saying that I am sorry. I am sorry for my words in the past that have hurt others.

I will not be naming any names for the sake of privacy, and so that these people can hopefully have some peace. I do not want anyone to be hurt.

In mid-January of 2023, in the now closed Patreon Server for YKMET, A person posted a black and white doodle of a character. I was not looking closely and referred to what I saw in part the drawing as a “blob monster”. I was corrected, told that it was a drawing of the person's natural hair texture from behind. I did not read the tone of the conversation correctly, and thought everything was taken in stride as a mistake that could be joked about.

The next day, the same person who posted the drawing was talking about Marten, a character from a Webcomic called Facility. This character is known for having black shadow-like hallucinations.

I made a joke, stating that Marten may mistake the person's hair for one of his hallucinations.

Immediately the person asked me to stop. I deleted the comment. I then instantly DM’d them an apology.

My apology was not a good one. I apologized for “being cringe on main”. My words made it clear that I did not understand how hurtful and racially charged my comment was. No more words were exchanged between me and the person afterwards. I knew I had hurt them, and told myself I would watch what I said from here on out, but failed to say this to the person I’d hurt or to anyone else.

It was only when it was brought back up a year later, in January 2024, did I realize just how hurtful my words must have been. I realized the horribly racist connotations of what I said.

I made another apology, this one public, but failed to say what I did. I can’t hide what I did. To censor myself and hide what I did is the same thing as acting as though it never happened.

But it did.

What I said about this person’s hair was unacceptable and racist. It came from a place of ignorance.

There were also statements about me making offensive remarks on Jamaican culture or making fun of someone for being Jamaican.

I do need to state that I do not remember anything about my remarks on Jamaican culture.

What I remember when it came to topics of Jamaica was talking about Jamaican food and how I wanted to try some, as I had never had it before.

However, I can understand that I could just be forgetting what I said that was hurtful and bigoted because it did not affect me. So I apologize again, and I will continue to educate myself on other cultures, and learn to think before I speak, and when I do speak, ask questions and not just make statements.

I do not want to remain an ignorant person. I want to learn. I want to grow. And most of all, I want to show that I am sorry for what I said.

If the person I hurt happens to read this, I am sorry. I regret what I said. If I could take back the hurt I caused you, I would.

I won’t ask for your forgiveness.

All I hope for you is that you are surrounded by people who treat you with more kindness, understanding and respect than I did.

Again, I am sorry. I cannot excuse my words. I can only apologize for them, and learn from my mistakes so that I can be a better friend in the future.

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