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cypriathus · 9 months

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For those who stumble upon my account... Hello and how are ya? This is my very first time using Tumblr! You can refer to me as Banana Cat, Yume, Dreamy, Floof or JJ. I'm a genuinely curious individual who sometimes gets obsessed with stuff that I eventually want to get engaged with or stuff that I have no intention of trying out, but I'm very fascinated by it. I'm also just a silly, creative Canadian who's trying to get the most out of life.

My general pronouns are she/her, but I genuinely don't mind you referring to me as they/them and he/him. I will not specify my age publicly due to privacy reasons. If you want to know, just shoot me a DM/message.

Some of my hobbies include writing, drawing, listening to music, reading novels and manga, watching YouTube, occasionally watching movies, TV shows or anime, and baking once in a blue moon. For those wondering what kind of art I do, I've primarily been doing a lot of digital artwork as of now. However, I have been using traditional mediums (acrylic paint, markers, coloured pencils, and regular ol' pencils) for many years now. You can find most of my current artworks that I have shared on my Instagram account (@cypriathus). Before we move on with other stuff about me, some of my interests include psychology, sociology, criminology, law, biology, outer space, mythology, folklore, legends, religion, history, internet mysteries, and lost media.

I listen to a myriad of music artists including:

Muse

Evanescence

Set It Off

The Raven Age

My Chemical Romance

Citizen Soldier

Clarence Clarity

Fall Out Boy

Finger Eleven

Get Scared

Avenged Sevenfold

Infected Musroom and so much more

I have watched a lot of anime and there are still some I need to get around to watching eventually. Some of these anime include:

Cat Soup

Ergo Proxy

FLCL

Perfect Blue

Tokyo Godfathers

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Kaiba

Haibane Renmei

Outlaw Star

Now and Then, Here and There

Serial Experiments Lain

Summer Wars

Belle

Angel's Egg

Most Studio Ghibli movies

Cowboy Bebop

Metropolis

Steamboy

The Tatami Galaxy

Mind Game

Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms

Devilman Crybaby

Mononoke and so much more

Non-anine movies and TV shows that I remember watching:

Breaking Bad franchise

Seven

American History X

Coraline

ParaNorman

Mad God

Schindler's List

Final Space

Cliffhanger

Del Toro's Pinocchio

Tetsuo: The Iron Man

Possum

The Mask

The Wedding Singer

Labyrinth

The Dark Crystal

Midsommar

Hereditary

Scarface

Monty Python and the Holy Grail & Monty Python's Life of Brian

Silence of the Lambs

Popee the Performer

Mr. Stain on Junk Alley

And many more

Some manga and books that I have currently read are:

Homunculus

Chainsaw Man

AKIRA

The Girl from the Other Side: Siúil, a Rún

The Ancient Magus' Bride

Dandadan

Trigun and Trigun Maximum

Bibliomania

Heads

Goodbye, Eri

Look Back

Yogen no Nayuta

Eden: It’s An Endless World

Keyman: The Hand of Judgement

Shigahime

Rojica to Rakkasei

BLAME!

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Animal Farm

The Green Mile

Salem's Lot

Lord of the Flies

The Catcher in the Rye

To Kill a Mockingbird

The Complete Tales of H. P. Lovecraft and more

Do not interact with me if you're one of the following:

Pedophile

Anti-LGBTQ+

Racist

Sexist/misogynistic

Ageist

Ableist

Someone who invalidates a person's pronouns, gender, and/or identity

Someone who supports, participates, tolerates, and/or justifies any of the above.

That's most of the stuff you need to know about me as of now. Anyways, as I mentioned in the description, I plan on using this blog as a way to share various ideas in regards to my own little multiverse. I'm open to listening to your ideas, sharing new ideas, and even constructive criticism! I hope you enjoy your stay here and I can't wait to share my ideas with y'all!

I have a side blog where I roleplay, make moodboards, and post stuff that ain't related to my work: @floofgryph

Links:

Writing request rules

Story plots and major worldbuilding

Main protagonists

Deities

Infernal beings (TBA)

Angels (TBA)

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falco-underscore-77 · 5 months

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Occasionally the biggest headache I get when writing is starting a new arc because I have to figure out how to build momentum from 0 again and I really struggle with that

#writing #creative writing #amatuer writer #actually autistic #adhd #audhd #neurodivergent #creativity

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meepwritessometimes · 4 months

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uhhhhh mafuena royal/painter thing

welcome back to another episode of ‘i wrote fan fiction for a school assignment’. we were given the them of ‘rebellion’ so i uhhhhhhh

it’s not my best work ever but i am happy with it, and it’s not explicitly romantic. it might also be a bit ooc idk man

fic under the cut

The roses glistened with morning dew. Leftover petrichor from last nights’s storm lingered in the air. Ena averted her gaze from the worms stranded on the pavement, bringing her focus back to her canvas. The flowers looked fine, but there was something about the piece that was… lifeless? Unappealing? No, maybe stagnant. Ena’s work had been stagnant lately.

When her father had left for a commission of great importance, he had begrudgingly allowed Ena to complete any small jobs that she “had no chance of screwing up”. So, for the last few days, she had painted a few landscapes, and now a few flowers. The roses were the last order on her small list, so it didn’t really matter if she was happy with how they turned out. Finish the painting, put it on the order table, relax.

Half an hour later, Ena packed up her supplies. The sides of her hands were stained red and orange, the thin layer of paint flaking off a bit as she clutched her brushes with a fist. The sun was nearing its apex, so she had plenty of time to unwind. She arrived at her- well, her father’s -workshop and washed her hands of the day’s work. As the painter dried her hands, she heard the door jungle. Crap, had she left the door open?

“We’re closed, come back tomorrow.” Ena returned to the foyer, only to find a magpie tilting its head at her. It had a scroll in its beak, bearing the unmistakable seal of the royal family. Ena sucked in a sharp breath, snatching it from the bird. She unrolled the scroll. It was addressed to her father, asking him, as talented and famous as he was (Ena scrunched her face), to paint a portrait of the princess for her 18th birthday.

…

This was a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad idea. This was one of the stupidest things Ena had ever done, which was saying something. This very much counted as a decidedly not small job in the slightest that she had a very good chance of screwing up. If she failed this, her father might actually disown her. On the other hand, if she succeeded, he and the rest of the world would have no choice but to acknowledge her ability. It was an opportunity she couldn’t possible pass by, no matter the risk. Which was exactly why she found herself heading to the castle, art supplies in tow.

By the time she had convinced the guards she was here in place of her father and was being escorted to the princess’s room, Ena was trying not to shake. This was actually happening. What the heck.

“Princess Mafuyu, the painter is here.” The guard next to her announced to the door.

“Ah, yes, come in! Thank you Bernard.” (presumably)Mafuyu replied.

“Of course, my liege.” The guard, Bernard, replied.

Ena fidgeted with the strap of her jumper. She couldn’t be this ridiculously formal.

Bernard opened the door, and the artist stepped inside. After glancing around the spotless room, Ena’s eyes landed on her subject (art subject, rather. Technically Ena was the princess’s royal subject). The young woman smiled politely. They were about the same age, but Mafuyu exuded a certain aura of maturity that seemed to add another year or two. She sat poised on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap.

“Is this pose alright?” The princess cocked her head slightly.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Ena pulled her eyes away from Mafuyu, unpacking her supplies.

…

Several hours later, the portrait was more or less complete. Thanks to a large, annoyingly placed window, the light had shifted as the day flew by. As a result, Ena’s shading was inconsistent in places. She sighed, scanning her work again for anything else she should fix. The painted girl stared at her, acrylic eyes hiding layers of imperfections that had been painted over several times. The artist glanced between her work and her subject. The anatomy was fine, she had successfully captured fabric folds and details on the princess’s dress, the background wasn’t distracting… and yet, something still felt off.

Ena looked back up. “You can relax now, you know. I’m basically done.”

Mafuyu nodded, softening her perfect posture a little, though her back remained straighter than Ena’s ever was. Maybe that was the problem. Mafuyu was simply too perfect, and Ena was far too flawed to ever hope to capture her. ..No, that was stupid. Nobody was perfect, not even pretty princesses with impeccable manners and rooms so clean one could see their reflection in the floor.

“We need to go somewhere.” Ena set her brushes and palette down, taking the canvas off the eisel so she could collapse the latter.

“Where?” Mafuyu tilted her head again.

“Anywhere but here. I can’t paint you properly here.”

“But… you just did, no?” The princess gestured to the portrait, confused.

“No, I didn’t. And I won’t be able to as long as we”re in this lifeless place.” Ena remembered she was in royal quarters. “Uh, not to insult your interior design tastes.” Even though it really was horribly dull and near suffocating.

Mafuyu’s expression flickered for a second before returning to a smile. “We’ll, you’re the artist here, I suppose. Where should we relocate to? The throne room? The dining hall? The gardens?”

“Gardens, sure.” That was the only good option, really. The other two might’ve even been somehow even more smotheringly perfect than the princess’s room.

Mafuyu got up, heading towards the door.

“Actually,” Ena interrupted the movement. “Do you have anything a little less…” She eyes the princess’s dress. “Ornate?”

…

They made their way to the garden, passing a few guards along the way. If they noticed that Mafuyu was wearing her nightgown, they didn’t say anything. To Ena’s dismay, the gardens were flawless too.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Mafuyu smiled. “Everything is in its own perfect spot, exactly where they should be.” The princess spoke as if she was reciting words she’d heard a thousand times.

Ena clenched her fists. “Are you kidding me? It’s stupid! Nothing’s perfect, that’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way, and honestly still am learning. Especially not nature! Plants don’t do… that!” She waved her hands at the rows of flowers, identical one after another, not a single petal astray. “Whoever thought making them all stiff like this was a good idea clearly doesn’t understand the point of gardens.” Ena took a breath and huffed. “My point is, this isn’t gonna work either. We need to get off the castle grounds entirely. This whole place is the problem.”

Mafuyu’s polite smile was wiped clean off her face. ashe stood frozen, eyes darting around before finally landing in the misery that was eye contact right now.

“Uh- crap, um, sorry. Didn’t mean to get so worked up, it’s just been bothering me all afternoon.” Ena turned away, crossing her arms.

“I-“ Mafuyu pulled her hands together by her waist, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t leave the premises, my mother will be terribly worried.”

Ena narrowed her eyes. “Can’t worry if she doesn’t know.” That had been her little brother's response to the same line of reasoning when they were younger. Though, admittedly, asking the princess to sneak away from the queen was another thing entirely.

Mafuyu was conflicted. She gazed at the perfect rows of flowers around the,. then at Ena, and then closed her eyes. “Okay.” It was quiet, but it was enough.

…

Even as soon as they had left through the public exit, people were staring. Ena watched Mafuyu’s face light up whenever anyone looked at them for a few minutes before realizing they should be more subtle.

“Hey, princess, you’re a little too recognizable.” Ena elbowed Mafuyu, who turned her head towards the painter in turn.

“Hm, I suppose that does come with being part of the royal family.” She thought for a moment, then took her ponytail down. It was actually kind of surprising how such a small change made Mafuyu look significantly less like the princess everyone knew.

“Not bad… Here, this’ll make it look a little less like you’re in your pyjamas.” Ena shrugged off her light jacket and handed it to the other.

“Thank you so much, er…”

“Ena. Also, stop smiling like that. People will think you’re weird now that they won’t immediately recognize you as the princess.”

“Oh, alright.” Mafuyu’s face relaxed to neutral, like someone lying down after a long day.

They walked together, the painter lugging her supplies behind her in the usual cart. The sun was now falling from its perch, bathing the world in a soft, warm glow (Huh, Ena hadn't realized it had gotten so late). Mafuyu watched as people walked towards the markets, chattering away with plans for the weekend and playful gossip. Ena tried not to stare, but she still had to properly paint Mafuyu, and every second they relaxed in the fresh evening, that seemed more and more possible.

The two of them didn’t go anywhere busy, just walked through a small park by the market square. There were people sitting on benches enjoying treats from nearby stalls, but nobody playing or causing a ruckus as there would’ve been earlier in the day.

A rustle in a bush to their left drew both young women’s attention. The light hitting Mafuyu’s face was gorgeous, but the expression on it was tense. The bush thing moved a little more, until a small black rabbit wiggled its way out from the shrubbery.

“Can’t believe we just got stopped in our tracks by a bun- huh?” Ena watched Mafuyu smile, but not like the polite one from before. This smile was small and tender. Nostalgic, even. This was the Mafuyu Ena wanted to paint.

…

The moment had passed to quickly for Ena to really capture, but she had manages to grab a smaller canvas and start sketching fast enough to get the eyes, which would’ve been the trickiest to do from memory. Mafuyu straightened her back again once she noticed.

“Oh! Are you ready to paint now?” The polite smile returned.

“No- I mean, yes, but stop making that face again.” Ena sighed, sketching hurriedly as the golden light faded. Mafuyu hesitated, but complied.

By the time the sketch was done, it was too dark to start painting. Annoying, since Ena’d had to drag all her paints over here, but it wasn’t like there was much she could do about it now. She only hoped that fleeting instant that Mafuyu truly smiled would stay fresh in her mind’s eye for later.

“I… really should get going.” The princess gazed up at the crescent moon. “Thank you for tonight.” She left too quickly for Ena to respond.

That night, Ena worked tirelessly on the painting of Mafuyu. It was messy, a collage of warm sunset tones, rich purples and light grays from her memory. It was imbued with feelings that were likely more Ena’s than the painting’s, but that was alright. It wasn’t stagnant in the slightest, it wasn’t perfect in the slightest, and Ena was happy with it. Maybe it wasn’t the picture of the flawless princess that had been commissioned. Maybe they’d hang the first portrait up, its lifeless, polite gaze baring down the palace walls, and it would fit right in. Maybe Ena would never have a chance to show Mafuyu the new, better one. But then again, maybe she would.

End

#kinda speedran a good bit of mafuyu’s arc tbh #gahhhh #amatuer writer #project sekai #mafuyu asahina #ena shinonome #mfen #mafuena #pjsk fic

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modernwritercraft · 21 days

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Thoughts?

Does this sound ok? Is it moving too fast or lacking substance to it?

As I lay my head on my arms, I ogle at the woman across the street, completely disregarding my homework. Before I realize it, the streetlights turn on; I should leave, but something roots me in my seat. As darkness continues to fall outside, I spot the woman emerging from the store and securing everything for the evening. Something yells at me to follow her, and I begin haphazardly stuffing my backpack with all my belongings. As the woman begins to walk down the sidewalk, I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Bye Sam, I've got to get back to the dorm before the RA throws a fit." I lie to my friend behind the counter while keeping an eye on the woman. "Bye Jung, be careful on the way back." Sam replied gently, something that I always appreciate about her. As she rounds the nearest corner between the two buildings, I make my way outside. Doesn't she realize how dangerous that is? A stalker or murderer might be nearby, or a rapist, or even... Taking my pale yellow hoodie off, I quickly shove it into my bag. I have to make sure she gets home safely, right? If I wear this, I'll stand out, and I might scare her.

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ihhfhonao3 · 10 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Garyuu Kyouya | Klavier Gavin/Odoroki Housuke | Apollo Justice Characters: Odoroki Housuke | Apollo Justice, Garyuu Kyouya | Klavier Gavin, Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Naruhodou Minuki | Trucy Wright Additional Tags: Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Top Apollo Justice, Bottom Klavier Gavin, Hate Sex, It should be hatefucking, but okay, Hair-pulling, Trucy and Phoenix DO NOT see this happening okay don't worry, Sexual Inexperience, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary:

Apollo was fed up with his rival. Severely fed up, really. As jurists and his coworkers surrounded him outside the courtroom, congratulating him and patting him on the back for winning his latest case, all he could do was force a smile as Prosecutor Gavin’s words echoed in his mind. “Something so small… The stomach to go all the way… Horns are softer than they look…” You probably couldn’t tell just by looking at him, but Apollo was moments away from blind rage internally. Something about Prosecutor Gavin just made Apollo really, REALLY mad. Maybe it was the way he smiled mischievously when Apollo got a penalty. Maybe it was his grand gestures and over-the-top movements. Maybe it was the fact that he slammed the wall behind him when objecting, and NOT the desk he stood at. Or maybe, it was the fact that despite all this, Prosecutor Gavin was still undeniably sexy and made Apollo feel funny whenever he saw him.

#klapollo #fanfic #amatuer writer #smut fic #klavier gavin #apollo justice #jsiajdhjepfjnshsudjud this is my first time writing fanfic I hope it isn’t shit #help I’m going through the five stages of grief trying to work up the confidence to post this #here we go

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wallflower-wikipedia · 3 months

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Welcome to Maurtred. A world defined by its constant conflict, and the looming promise of Mutually Assured Destruction.

The story takes the perspective of a pair of young men named Connie and Emil as they desperately try to make honest men of themselves amongst a city rampant with crime and corruption. Chock full of organized crime and hoodlums looking for their next big thrill, Kreights has been a city at war with itself for years.

On a much larger scale, Orovia has been at war with its sister country Reldtstad for just over a year now. It began with Orovia's invention of Guzz, a volatile fuel they now use in every facet of their infrastructure. They refused to reveal the discovery to the rest of Maurtred, instead opting to keep it a complete secret, amassing a Guzz-fuelled military to march on Reldtstads border when ready.

Follow Connie and Emil as they slip deeper into Kreights' criminal underground, uncovering trade secrets and exposing the truth of Orovia's Guzz monopoly.

#synopsis #dieselpunk #writing #story #introduction #help #heeeelp #i need heeeeelp #author #amatuer writer #beans and rice

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cloverlilies · 19 days

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Having ideas for fics but when it's time to start writing, mind becomes blank.

#trying to write is so hard #i've had an idea for a kacchako one ahot for about 2 years and just can't seem to write it down #and a gojo fic i've thinking about for a year and same #no falla #🫠#writing #amatuer writer

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awriternamedphoenix · 8 months

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Untitled poem idea (draft #1)

Crimson blood drips onto a white canvas

Art is born

For art is the blood we bleed

Bit by bit, drip by drip

Until the well has run dry

Until we have given all that we have

Until we are begging for a breath of air, suffocating slowly at the hands of a society forged by hatred and prejudice and loathing until we have been well and truly been crucified, brandished as a warning for those who dare to dream

Is this what it means to leave our mark on the world?

#poetry #literature #writing #writingdraft #wip #poetrydraft #dark academia #queerwriter #amatuer writer #amatuer poet #Nic Mc Shane #A Writer Named Phoenix #Phoenix writes #shitposting #shitpost #my writing

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merylsly · 9 months

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I’m a horror girly now.

not because I missed you

but because I needed to desensitize myself.

I needed to be able to look at a slasher

without you appearing in my mind.

scary movies used to be a source of anxiety

now they’re just background noise.

lately I’ve been hanging out with Jason, Freddy, Michael…

Ghostface.

horror has given me a sense of control;

something you will never have over me.

I admit that I adored what we had,

sometimes I even miss it.

you once said that you would always choose me, and that’s not true, but if it had been…

it would have been an honor.

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ezposts · 2 months

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i look at you and you're like a mystery

a difficult puzzle to solve

you're like a great scent i love but, can't seem to remember the name of

marvelous—yet, frustrating

those butterfly feelings

confusing—yet, tempting

who are you?

why do you make me feel this way?

stop being my mystery

-ez

#personal blog #ezposts #personal posts #amatuer writer #my emotions written #writting how i feel #life writing #romance writing #my writing #writers on tumblr

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thetoastshallbetoastedagain · 7 months

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Another short story :)

Anyband all feedback welcome, thank you!

#amatuer writer #writing #short story #plot twist #medieval #random inspiration

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flansterthefilm · 6 months

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The Museum of Fat Albert

The mega-structure, the mecca, The Museum of Fat Albert.

It stood before me as I observed from the parking lot, near speechless at the scale of it all. Only one story high high and yet glistening in the Ohio sunlight in its gold plated glory. The tops of the building domed, emulating a castle of a mythical world. The sign glowing, blinding me more than the sun’s puny light ever could, reading “Fat Alb rt Museum”. The lights of the first E had been burnt out but that wasn’t an issue, the rest of what captured my attention more than made up for it. Large agape double doors, both ten feet tall, greeted all those who dare have their minds warped by the treasure trove of knowledge that lay within. I would be one of those who dared, I would get to feel the pleasure of my favorite cartoon character.

The contrast between the indoor region of the complex was as palpable as it could get without it being visible. The blistering heat of the midwestern summer, tainted as it was by omnipresent greenhouse gasses, met a worthy foe in the form of the air conditioning that had been built in. The force of hundreds of hydrogen bombs blasted through the many thousands of vents allowing for a cool seventy degrees fahrenheit to permeate throughout the museum. All this led to my distraction at the lobby, what a sight.

A large open rotunda, a circular desk at its center. On either side of the desk, large inflatables of the cast of the show, the show of Fat Albert stood tall.

The clerk within this semi-circle desk looked dead inside. Her hair was uncombed and frizzed to hell. Her glasses were sliding down her face as did her skin, warped with her age. What stood out the most was the lack of others in the lobby.

As much as I looked around my eyes never landed on another soul barring the woman. Less of a wait to see the numerous exhibits I supposed. Still, the echoes of my footsteps bouncing around were notes of confusion as I walked.

The purchase of the ticket was swift. As I requested a day ticket the lady looked at me with her cold, dead eyes. Eyes that lived so many lives, eyes that weren’t happy in the life they did not find themselves in. She didn’t speak as she rang me up and this made me doubt that she even could. His lips sat pursed upon her face. They looked swelled, so much so that the possibility that her ability to open them was met with dubiousness as I pondered. When she handed me the stubs that’d get me in I took note of her hand, lord her hands. So boney, saying “skin and bones” would do a disservice to the slenderness of the digits. Liver spots dotted her hand and they shook, the weight of the ticket being almost too much to handle on her own in this frail age. What did they do to you?

As a boy I had seen these eyes before. My great aunt, mother’s side, fought in Vietnam during the war. However, whereas her compatriots fought with guns and planes, she stood behind friendly lines, she was a nurse. Seldom did she speak of her experience during her years of lucidity, haunted by whatever it was she saw while there. And these years brought intrigue, my younger self, oblivious to horrors, asked her again and again what it was she saw while overseas. And, of course, she never answered, why would she? It wasn't until her mind began to slip in what ended up becoming the latter days of her life. Diseases ate away at her brain. Trapped in a shriveled husk of a cranium, her memories forced her way out and they found themselves exiting through mouth as she spoke. Sometimes they’d come back, sometimes they were out permanently. She was relieved by what she had done, what she had seen. The injuries of the men, those she saved and those she had let slip. Cursed with the knowledge of the extent that which humans have the capacity to operate on. The look of this lady that I would never know was that of my great aunt.

What did they do to you?

Beyond the desk, the inflatables, was the ticket taker. In keeping with the trend of machines replacing the human work force, the being that would authorize my entrance was an automaton. A cutout of Rudy, legs bent, one hand on his hip and the other outstretched, a slit in it to feed my ticket into. And that’s what I did, and as I did the small, waist high gates opened and allowed me passage.

The astonishment that would’ve taken over my eyes and my attention had been hindered by the visions of my long deceased relative in the vestige of that woman. I stood at the precipice of a long hall, longer than it had any right to be, I could see this through my admiration for Fat Albert. I doubted that anything that originated from a show like Fat Albert could warrant a hall of this size, even if all of the accompanying Cosby Kids were represented.

Again my footsteps acted as notes. Echoing through the hall, not another being in sight, no clothes to absorb the sound.

On both sides of my body I saw artifacts encased in glass, artifacts I wouldn’t have expected to be physical.

Dumb Donald’s wool beanie and the orange cap of Rudy, the microphone that Fat Albert himself would sing into in the intro of every episode. The memorabilia was astounding to say the least. Each item I saw exceeded the quality of the last. The offputting sounds of my lone footsteps were drowned out by the tenacity of those who put together the museum. Every little item, down to the shoes Mushmouth wore and the slide Dennis ruined, was accounted for. My neurons were being fried by the rate of the internal fire raging in my head.

As a boy I would watch this show, this show with Fat Albert, and clap in delight as my favorite group of kids would find fun things to do together and find new solutions to tough problems. Every moral fiber of my body owes its existence and reinforcement to Fat Albert and those Cosby Kids.

The television, playing worn out VHS tapes and scratched DVDs, often was my only companion during the long nights. My parents worked late into the evening to make ends meet and hadn’t any siblings to speak of. So in the absence of anyone else I imprinted on whatever old cartoons we had laying around. Home release media was my first target of admiration, but it was Fat Albert and his shenanigans that was my first true love.

So it’s no wonder that the joy and euphoria of this place hit me like a dump truck filled to the brim with lead. I could have spent hours simply rummaging through the exhibits and taking it all in if it weren’t for the allure of whatever it was that I could next see. The only true consequence of this desire to see all on display was the speed at which I reached the end of the hall.

Contrary to my belief the hall didn’t twist or turn in order to fashion itself into a loop, something to guide the guests back to the lobby after a day well spent. It just… ended. Ended in a set of double doors, far less grand than the ones at the front entrance. They look like they’d be more at home in a restaurant’s back area, somewhere where the dingey nature of them couldn’t be seen by the public. Atop the doors sat a sign that read “UNDER RECONSTRUCTION”. Beneath the letters that had been crossed out was “CONSIDERATION”. A room under reconsideration rather than reconstruction was an oddity

I looked back at the hall I had just walked, then to the door, then back to the hall. No one in sight. Not a single person who cared enough to walk down. However this also meant that there wasn’t a single person to see me trespass. I paid for my tickets, it was only fair that I see more of what this place had to offer, sign be damned.

The doors opened slowly, the rusted hinges screaming as they did so. Neglect was the likely culprit. The “reconsideration” this section was being put under should have remained a reconstruction, or rather just a construction as this room was near barren. All that inhabited it was a glass casing, like the hall before it. However this casing was separated from the wall, it just sat square in what must’ve been the center of the room. I couldn’t be certain as to where it sight exactly, the room was dark, dark enough for the case in the center of a circle of light shining from a single lamp above, to be the only thing visible.

I walked, my footsteps did not echo.

I could hear my own breaths as they cautiously left my body. The cool climate of the rest of the museum had left me, and in its place was the warm stuffiness of where I found myself then. Humidity overtook me, just seconds in and I began to sweat from my brow.

Flight logs. Brown Hornet related handkerchiefs, an image of Fat Albert with an old man… Jeffery Epstein.

No… no… no no no no.

My eyes widened, being irritated by the wind of my heavy breaths. I stepped back from the case as I tried to muster the slightest peep from my lips, something to prove to myself that I could control the situation, something to prove that whatever happens could be handled.

Something from behind the case, a noise. The opening of a door hinges like the one from behind me. I stepped back further, nearing the exit, getting ready to make my escape at the slightest sign of danger.

Footsteps, not echoing, approaching me, from behind the case to the left. Large ones, a large man no doubt.

From behind the case emerged him: Fat Albert.

He saw the look of pure fear that had washed over my face. I could only assume that he knew that I knew too much. He reached his hand out.

“Hey kid…” he spoke to me in his deep, rough voice. “You ever wanted to meet Kevin Spacey?”

At near the speed of sound I whipped my body around and darted out the door. I sprinted down the hall, past all the artifacts I had once considered the highlight of my day, now painful reminders of the man I had once idolized. The absurd length of the hallway was being noticed by me now, it felt like I should’ve been at the exit by now, no avail.

But eventually I did, strafing left to avoid the center desk in the lobby. I took one last look at the clerk. Her boney hand reached out as her face gave me the impression that she’d been aware of everything and was here against her will. No matter, I needed to leave.

I still think about that place, The Museum of Fat Albert.

#fat albert #short story #jeffery epstein #comedic #horror #fiction #amatuer writer

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