Mellea-art-home - Arts

PFP I made for someone a few months ago

Less posts, but not zero so enjoy the queer wholesome furry art.

I was lost, that fact was damn well known hours ago when I got  here, well whatever, or wherever here  was, a bunch of empty rooms, stale halls, and sickly air. I’ve seen places in areas that I cannot understand the placement of. That has been the least of my concerns. I have been choking on this stale brittle air, something that feels more like a plastic spoon than something you can breathe, like every breath is covering your lungs in something.

But it’s all to get away from whatever I saw, it is something I cannot begin to fathom how it exists, a tall dark figure, that seems to balance on thin toothpick like legs bent back and forth with an odd twitch with each step, and the head of an old tube tv that keeps playing static, intermittent with a blaring alert that echo down the open, dead passageways like a threat, reminding me of its power over me. I am hidden trying to regain my breath but that alert has been getting louder for the past minute, and I keep thinking I hear a ticking.

Time has passed, and I have found some kind of school, but it’s just halls, dull white halls, sickly fading yellow walls, and cold dead air. I feel the air biting at me, like a warning that I am not safe, and it is at that moment I hear the ticking, and a light tap following each tick, come from the hall behind me. I know I must move, and it takes all my strength to do so, down a side hall, or at least what I could think is one, I try to stay calm but the alert blares at an ear piercing volume down the solid walls, and I break out into a sprint, whether it was the safest option or not.

I don’t look back, as my blood runs as cold as the air, the ticking is getting louder, and much faster, no matter how many turns the sound from behind me gets closer. I run down another corner, and made the mistake of looking down the hall, I stop breathing in that moment, as the creature stands at the other end of the hall, the screen playing the noise of children laughing, and a distorted voice calls out, “Hide and seek is over now, we found you, he-he-he-he-”The voice started to get more distorted and covered by static before the creature started running.

Life's Price (Bat-Jokes fanfic)

The dark sky overhead was slowly being consumed by the rolling clouds, the full moon slowly being suffocated, dimming the only light on the scene of a densely wooded path. Barely able to see with the light slowly fading, just like his confidence, he ran as fast as he could, the brisk wind biting his face, lungs, burning its way through, and around his body, The wicked trees, now barren of all leaves, cut and grabbed at the edges of his disheveled, once white, button down, and his dark purple dress pants held by a black leather belt, and silver buckle. The weight in his hand was far from his mind, slipping it instinctively towards his right pocket, the more important weight on his mind was a moral one. The feeling of the presence behind him grew, it felt like they were almost there, but not now, not yet, I can’t see them, I need to get away. But the feeling of being watched never left his slender, clearly bruised pale face, and what looked like it was quite clean styled hair, now but a bird's nest of knots, twigs and what dead leaves still lay attached to them. His breath was getting more choked, his guilt clogging his airways, blurring his eyes with tears for only a few seconds, a few seconds that caught his ill equipped dress shoes, throwing him off balance, where he crashed to the forest floor with a hard *Thump*. There was a noticeable spray of needles, dirt and dried leaves, he managed to catch himself bracing with his dominant arm, twisting it to avoid slamming into a nearby rock. As he got up his right arm was in a lot more pain than it was before, with his side starting to stitch, he hobbled onward, with his body aching knowing what he did, before all of this,’ the physical pain is what I deserve by now for what I did to him.’ he muttered to himself, almost choking up again. He had images flash by as the last of the moon's rays peered out from behind the clouds, slowly licking away all his bearings. The wide open garden, with a retaining wall half way down the nearly two acre backyard, the large glass house built for parties, strung up with fairy lights, giving a warm comforting hue of orange and yellow onto sleek brown leather furniture. And the smell, not just of fresh cut grass, but their cologne, the food as expansive as could be. That’s when he remembered the song, the one that was most special, and caused this whole mess, a light calm jazz style, meant for dancing.

The crescendo and fall, like waves from a brass sea, then the orchestral string building behind as all lay low, the memories took over the times he’d heard this song, the visions grew just like the waves from the music. He had backed up seeing it come closer, and closer, trying to run until the music all paused for just a moment before the next burst of energy, but what rang out was not the drums and brass blaring energy and life into the room, not at first but a shot rang through the air as he stood there shaking, and just coming to his senses, ‘John?!’ a silky deep voice called out in a stern, but concerned tone. Shaking more, looking in surprise at the gun in his hand, not sure what to make of it, looking around at everyone, flushing barely muttered, “B-b-b-Bruce…” he tried to hold out a hand but hesitated, pulling back, whispering “I’m sorry…” turning and running out, and trying to escape everyone, ignoring the calls for him to come back, despite the pleading he could hear, John kept running. The memory was on repeat, more specifically the pleading he heard to come back, he knew he couldn’t go back, he didn’t even process if he injured someone, but he knew that the visions were what kept him from being able to be there, and improve, have a normal life, Now only small beams were poking through the thin parts of the cloud veil, but on his knees he fell at the edge of a small clearing, hiding a gazebo in the center, made of old wood, and ancient stone carved into eight sides. John hobbled over to the several stairs to get into the relatively spacious interior, where he collapsed on the far edge up against the cool brick wall, as the trees began rustling from the wind, with the weathering mimicking him, there started a drizzle, and then it picked up as he began to weep, pulling the gun from is pocket. He sat one leg up, back pressed against the cool uneven stones of the gazebo wall, his arms bleeding, along with his chest from the tiny knife-like ends of the branches which ripped his shirt and skin. Being almost unable to breathe between the emotions overwhelming him, and catching his breath, he didn’t hear the steps approaching, or the taps of dress shoes on the stone steps growing closer till they stopped at the top. Bruce walked up the few steps out of breath and soaked, adjusting himself to look across at John, cut and bruised, barely able to move his arm, as he tries to aim the weapon on himself, where he sees the tears rushing down his face, weakly saying with cracks in his voice, “I-I’m so so s-sorry Bruce, y-you should have..” he starts to cough, doubling over, and starts to shake, and becomes incapable of moving the arm holding the pistol, clearly straining, and desperately trying to move his arm, as Bruce walks over. “You-you know, I can’t function, you know this is what’s best, so I’m not a risk again, I c-can’t be helped!” John’s voice breaking, and sounding more manic. “W-what else could there be for me, this is the only logical way to deal with someone who is such a threat like me, R-right?” John, straining a pleading face, looked up to Bruce, standing right above him. Bruce simply got onto one knee, hand on the gun, threw it away, holding John's face in his other large, strong, and reliable hand, and said, “I wouldn’t even think it a possibility, my love, it’s something we must work together on, and you can improve.” A hopeful smile played across Bruce’s face, pained, but hopeful staring into Johns eyes, They at last embraced each other, thinking of the future as the rain poured around them, making the most of their new found time together, where John soon fell asleep on Bruce’s shoulder, as they waited for rain to pass to leave and dry off, and see about working their new life.

Did this on paper, tried to fix it in digital, arguably worse, because I didn’t plan to coloring the entire piece. 

Pt. 1

This I write as the last words to be heard by my hand, and to attest to the atrocities of which I have bore witness to. I must be clear, no answers will come to you, or comfort learning what I have seen and know now. I was damned long before taking that job researching things that man had best left alone. But to get to explaining what happened we must understand who I am, god I must be honest, I am but a shell of a man, let alone far and away from the same person I was where this story starts us.

I had grown up in a small everybody knows everybody town in New England, quaint idyllic life for most people nowadays. I had been raised in a relatively religious household, little more than Easter church, and prayer before meals as a young lad. I had a fascination with religions, and mythologies, going through from Greek, to Norse, and even some Eastern mythologies where I could find content in my small town library.

This led me to being enamored in learning about the bizarre and occult secrets like Paganism in my mid-teens, familiarizing myself with all the little details, I guess this is also how my desire for being a historian started. I worked hard through my teens, always the odd one, somewhere between the school nerd, and goth, both envied and hated, and now only one of those may be true for those who know me, knew feels more apt after that last job.

The ostracizing never really was a concern for me, as much as it was my parents, but given my performance in school being near top of the school by graduation, they never seemed to approach me about their concerns directly, but I could hear them talking through the walls at night. They did congratulate me soon after graduation when I had managed to get a scholarship into a quite prestigious college for a major in history.

And this is where my life started proper, I had to move a number of hours away, and lived in a dorm with three other students. We managed to get along quite well given all of us seemed to be out of state, and in different courses, one was in music, one business, and another in forensics. We managed to become drinking buddies at the frat parties that were hosted around, even getting into young trouble by dipping into the local bars, and on more than one occasion banned for upwards of a month.

All this to say get to where things properly start, with the professor for history, a man at the time was quite young compared to the other professors in the school, it felt like night and day between him and the teacher next door, one side with a late thirties man, well kept dark hair and quite the surprising energy about him, and the other side a man who seemed to have more hair on his thin arms than his head. The history teacher was Dr. Myard Hammond, he was an expert in the esoteric, and less savory details of history, human, and as I came to find out, inhuman knowledge. 

Given my passion and striking fondness for the subject I spent many off periods throughout the first two years discussing the very macabre and obscure histories of the world, including religions on their societies. 

It wasn’t until my second year, December had fallen and we were just about a week out from Christmas break, the students were either taking Midterms or burning out from them, so the bars were quite alive that night, I was out with my roommates and as the lot of them talk about heading back for the night. They all had their various reasons between their own tests coming up, or lack of sleep biting at them for proper repose they left.

I stayed seated at the booth, finishing my drink, figuring that if nothing else I should also get some repose, burning myself to finish a few classes worth of studying for a number of overlapping test days ahead. I had just about finished when looking up I saw Dr. Hammond enter, the only tell the door was opened was a quick biting wind from the frosty air outside, the place was too lively and loud to hear the small bell above the door ring.

I motioned him over as he looked around, and I noticed that even under his large coat, he was a disheveled man, I could see the bags under his eyes, unkempt hair, wrinkled dress shirt poking out the bottom untucked. He seemed skittish, surprised someone would recognise him almost, and I soon came to find out why once he tentatively sat down, confirming nobody else was coming back to sit there. He ended up getting some strong liquor and kept looking into his glass most of the while.

I by this point was at least mostly intoxicated, with some wits still about me, asked jovially of his day, unaware of his tense nature.

He mumbled to himself some, then looked up at me, and even through the alcohol I saw the eyes of a desperate man, he was half the man I saw just a day before, and when he spoke all the energy that had been so pervasive through all his classes was now gone, he made no sense at the time, talking of some place he called the ‘sunken city’. I pressed if he was talking of Atlantis, and what that has to do with anything.

He had slapped his hand on the table, just barely shaking the drinks and said, ‘God damn, I know Atlantis, but where, by the Dead Gods Where! They have been found from the deep Amazon, to the deep Sahara, where did you slimy Bastards hide the last key.’ his voice was unusually sharp, and edged, and seemed to be talking to himself more than me.

The East Road

I will warn you traveler, don’t walk the road east of the city at sunset towards the forest. You may laugh and doubt, but that way lies a reality I cannot fathom, I do not know why, or how it exists. By all laws of sanity and what is known it shouldn’t be there, but yet, if you dare walk that path the road will stretch, the lamps will stretch over the road like choking fingers and the houses will wane, the sky now dark and the moon a faint red will be all you see. The forest will never come, the end of that street will not come, but you will hear a call, an alert to get inside. Listen close traveler, do not enter any house, do not look behind you, do not run, walk forward, do not stop. I pray dear traveler that you are not cursed to see that which I have, keep walking and once you reach the bridge, Close Your Eyes. Do not open them, you will feel something behind you, never turn back. You will hear the alarm blare in your ears, do not turn. You must never trip, you must never turn back, you must never open your eyes. If you make it this far, you must hold your breath, and pray. Never open your eyes.