#night at the museum fanfic

[ivorydragoness44]

Ahkmenrah x Reader: Sarcophagus

Word Count: 1,276 Warnings/Notes: Jump scare via Ahkmenrah yelling and the Reader not expecting that at all. Summary: The Reader is cataloging in the museum past closing, they are surprised to see the sarcophagus of the pharaoh Ahmenrah shaking and someone yelling from within it. Will the Reader stay to figure things out, or will a night guard find them first before they can truly help Ahk?

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  The echo of footsteps came and went. Some lingered with more interest than others. It was the usual sound of a museum. Quiet murmuring of the exhibits and the curiosities the guests held for anything unusual or a spark of amazement.   The Museum of Natural History held such wonder. Though the amount of visitors came in few as years went by, that statistic never curved your interest. Which was all the more reason why you found yourself there presently.   You had checked your watch again as it neared the time of closing. But with such interest and focus, it was easy to lose track of time. The object of your gaze for the past couple of hours resided in the Ancient Egyptian exhibit. Within it, the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah and a collection of his belongings, found in his tomb alongside him decades ago.   Sketching in the next hieroglyph into your notebook, you were determined to complete one more row before leaving for the night. It may not be the most exciting task to the others, especially to anyone who noticed, but you enjoyed it. Honestly, you would not be doing it if you dreaded it. Not everyone could say the same, you were thankful that you could.   As the hieroglyphs began to fill another line on the page, you muttered to yourself. It was a thought, that perhaps you should have left enough space on the page between the lines for your translations. At least it was merely a minor inconvenience.

  Unknowingly to you through your mutterings, the golden tablet displayed on the wall above began to glow.   The sun had set. The exhibits within the museum started to awaken for the night. Every night like the one before. You, however, were the only difference. Completely focused, and yet utterly oblivious.   Kneeling down, you inspected the last hieroglyph. Or, at least, the last one to draw for the day. “I can’t believe they took this out of a tomb,” you grumbled to yourself, “I guess it was easier for them to clear out and transport these magnificent archeological finds than create a replica. Display purposes and no doubt—”   “AHHHH!”   “AHH!” You spun onto the floor in fright. Looking for the ongoing source of your initial panic, you saw no one behind you. No one except the sarcophagus. The shaking sarcophagus.

  This was not a case of caffeine jitters or accidentally falling asleep during work. No, the confines of the sarcophagus were indeed yelling and the pins holding the lid on were rattling as fast as your heart.   Had you entered a scene in a horror movie, or was someone pulling an elaborate trick on you? If the latter, you were sure to exchange some professionally heated words with them. Tampering with a mummy that needed proper care to remain well preserved required the utmost respect.   Thinking more about a sneaky trick, you frowned. “Stop shouting.”   All sounds ceased.   Peering around, you expected at least one other person to come jogging into the Temple room to free their colleague. But silence remained.   Slowly, you stood to your feet and walked forward. “I’m crazy.” As you looked down upon the golden face, your breath caught. Could you have been imagining all of this? “Just…don’t scare me this time,” you requested in a small voice.   “My apologies,” a muffled voice spoke earnestly from within the sarcophagus.   “I am crazy,” you sighed. “I’m talking to an ancient mummy in a museum.”   “I am Ahkmenrah. Fourth King of the Fourth King, Ruler of the land of my fathers. Please, release me.”   “And you’re…alive? How?” You asked, absolutely dumbfounded.   “My tablet, it brings life to everything in this museum at night.”   Turning around, you tilted your head curiously. The tablet of Ahkmenrah. Made of solid gold, it was seen as the most prized possession within the entire collection. Even more than the pharaoh himself.   “Why are you trapped? Have you not told either of the night guards?”   Though muffled through his wrappings and his sarcophagus, you could clearly identify sorrow when you heard it.   “I do not truly know. I have called out each night for years, but to no prevail”   “Alright,” you took a steadying breath. Stepping over to your right, you aligned the palms of your hands with the side of the stone slab. It was the original lid to the rectangular coffin, but was placed in such a way to have the decorative face of the sarcophagus on display. “This goes against my better judgement…and my favorite 1999 film.”   Pushing against the heavy block, it hardly budged. With a shift of your feet, you got better footing. “Come on,” you strained, putting as much of your body weight into your effort as possible.   One more try, and your shoe slipped, squeaking beneath you as your chest hit the lid. “Ah,” you winced. Shaking your head slowly, winded. You stood back up/straighter. “I’m sorry—I…I’m not strong enough.”   Ahkmenrah was silent. Not a shake of his voice or embellished lid.   “Maybe I can get a friend of mine, a colleague, to help me tomorrow night,” you offered, making your way back over to his golden likeness. “Would that be all right?”   “Yes. That would be wonderful,” he replied. A lightness that was not in his voice before, shined.   “I don’t want you to feel alone otherwise.”   “Thank you.”

  Before you could add any more to the conversation, you stopped. Footsteps from the hall outside made its way into the room. And then a voice. Polite yet firm in acknowledging your presence.   “It’s past closing,” he announced, making your head snap up in his direction.   “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” you stood straighter, “I guess I just lost track of time.”   The light glinted off of his white hair as he stepped up to the small roped off barricade in front of the case. “Admiring history will do that to you,” he nodded.   “Yes.” Internally, you hesitated, but dared not show it. You were given permission to be there. It was a part of your profession.   His brows rose. “Getting acquainted with the pharaoh?”   “Yes, I just had to admire him for a little while longer—after cataloging the hieroglyphs, of course.”   “Yes, of course.”

  Remembering, you turned around to retrieve your notebook and pen. Hastily, you stashed them away into your bag. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know you gentlemen have a very important job to do.” Standing back up, you avoided taking a glance at Ahkmenrah’s tablet. You were not sure of the night guards’ reasons for keeping the pharaoh locked away, but you did not want to venture into such a conversation at the moment.   “Here, I’ll walk you out,” he offered when you turned back around/toward him.   “Thank you.”   “My pleasure.”   Holding your bag closer to yourself, you quietly walked between the two lines of the pillars. You kept to yourself all the more when eerie crackling sounds from the tall Anubis statues reached your ears. Chills ran over your skin.   Leaving the Temple of Ahkmenrah exhibit, you played the ignorance card hard. With your notebook back in your hand, you kept your eyes down. Trained to the paper in front of your face, you ignored every sound and movement. And as you reached the revolving doors at the front of the museum, you were certain that you could not ‘accidentally’ stay late again. Something was going on in that museum, but no one else knew. You could only hope to find a suitable reason to be near Ahkmenrah after hours again. Your curiosity and perhaps his sanity depended on it.

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Thank you for reading! Be sure to check out my Masterlist for more fanfictions :)

#ahkmenrah #natm fandom #natm #ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah x you #ahkmenrah fanfic #ahkmenrah fanfiction #ahkmenrah insert reader #night at the museum #night at the museum x reader #night at the museum fanfiction #night at the museum fanfic #halloween fanfic #halloween fanfiction #natm ahkmenrah

[allmyocsarebritish]

A passion for exploration

(Known in my notes as ahkaeology)

Pairing: Ahkmenrah X reader

Warnings(?): Grave robbing

A/N: okay okay I know it's really odd that a wednesday blog is now posting for natm but I went down a rabbit hole and I'm afraid I lost the entrance. History nerd has shown through well and truly :')

Also my first multi part fic :D

Title is courtesy of my mate Abi using AI

Ch 1

Grave robbing

Was desecrating the tombs of these once honoured, omnipotent kings of Egypt really something you were willing to do? Had the circumstances preceding the grave robbery been less bleak, the answer would have undoubtedly been an definitive no. These rulers commanded the uptmost respect in life, and here you were, excavating the only memory that remained. There wasn't a day that went by during your expedition in which guilt did not infiltrate your mind, suffocating your conscience and depriving you of any sleep, even before you came close to finding an ancient tomb. But it wasn't like you had any other choice.

Pushing down your gnawing feelings of dread, you trekked on through the Egyptian desert. Rough sand brushed against your lower legs beneath your simple, calf-length skirt, chafing at the skin. You were the only one of the troupe resigned to walking, as the youngest and the lowest class. Astride camels, the two men had a better view of the surrounding plains, though the blank, barren flats stretched on long beyond the horizon.

"The valley of the kings shan't be too far from this place" called Lord Carnarvon, map still in hand.

You held back a scoff, rolling your eyes as you knew he wasn't looking at you. If only he would admit none of you knew where you were going. The only clue you were given was that the gold rich landmark was announced by a grand pyramid at the end of a hollowed valley consisting of a multitude of others. What a shame that this was the Egyptian desert.

Filled with pyramids.

Days and days stretched on of travel, and eventually, you stopped counting the sunrises, resigning to the fact that this would only stop when the valley was found, however long that took.

As with most great things, the discovery of the valley occurred at a time when you least expected. You had taken advantage of a small oasis, resting for a few hours and permitting the camels an indulgent drink. Howard Carter dozed beside you, hat pulled low over his face, in order to shield his resting eyes from the blazing fire of the sun. Carnarvon had taken his liberty and ran off, or so you had hoped. No, in fact he was continuing the investigation alone and on foot, clutching a worn, shoddy map, which was twinged a grimey brown with years of filth accumulated around the edges of the paper. He never strayed far, though attempted to work out his bearings, using the wind or some pretentious bullshit you never bothered listening to. No, you were perfectly content drawing in the sand with a stick you had found and claimed an hour or so prior.

You were more than unimpressed when the sketches you had so tediously etched into the sand were scattered by Carnarvon sprinting back to the small camp. Jolted awake, Carter sat up sharply, alarm etched across his features.

"Blimey, good sir! You gave me quite the fright!" He exclaimed as you nodded in agreement.

"Are you alright?" You asked, though your eyes may have given away your disinterest (had either man been paying an ounce of attention).

"Shh!" Carnarvon interrupted your pleasant concern, to which you rolled your eyes and began attempting to recover your drawings. "Carter, good sir! I dare say I've found it. I've discovered the pyramid!"

A bold statement, and not the first time either. No, twice prior you had been dragged into the colossal ancient skyscrapers, only to find they were far from your true destination. Empty of any treasure or historical worth beyond the buildings themselves, you continued on, fruitless. Grand structures were quite an obvious goldmine, and previous grave robbers had left the tombs void of, well, anything.

Though of course, it was more than worth it to explore this fresh discovery, not taking any chances.

Time was of the essence, or so you were told. Camels saddled up in record time, you were hoisted up from your seat on the floor by Carter, borderline dragged up.

"Come, young Y/N, you heard his lordship. We may have found the Valley. Hurry on, now" his words were gentle, still treating you as he had done in your childhood, despite the fact you were now 19. It was something that you both appreciated and hated simultaneously. Howard was kind to you, much more so than Lord Carnarvon, who cared as little for you as you did for him. The mutual disinterested made for some long, awkward silences, and many threats to leave you in an unknown grave.

Still dragging you by the arm, Carter began to untie his camel, before finally letting go of you. The rush was honestly needless, you had been expeditioning for months at the least, what harm would a few mere minutes cause? But the men were adamant, and there was no arguing, especially not from a useless child as yourself.

"Can I at least keep my stick?"

Recieving no reply from Carnarvon and an incredulous stare from Carter, you concluded the answer was yes.

The journey from the oasis to the pyramid was shorter than anticipated, though still rather long. Another day passed, spent entirely wandering through the desert. Exhaustion washed over your entire body, and it was a war every minute to keep your eyes open. But, alas, you must continue, and eventually your trek drew to a close as with further examination, it became clear this pyramid was not what you were searching for.

Disappointment and rage filled Carnarvon upon the realisation that this was, in fact, not the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but rather a singular, sandy pyramid. "Why, there must be some mistake!" He complained impetuantly, always one to shift blame elsewhere. You exchanged a look with Carter, who for once was willing to admit the incompetence of the troupe's leader. After all, what were the chances that a random pyramid would mark the infamous, esteemed valley?

From a distance it appeared mighty, though in fact that was more than likely a mirage caused by the monochromatic nature if the desert. Upon further examination, however, the pyramid was far from the grandeur anticipated by Carnarvon and Carter. Huge gashes and rifts in the brickwork jumped out from metres away. Crumbling brickwork was cratered, resembling a sponge with many holes, as dusty gravel avalanched down the sides of the architecture at every other interval. Overall it was worn and aged, therefore more likely to be looted and barren.

"I do say it's worth taking a look around, my lord." You spoke, addressing him clearly. Carnarvon waved his hand dismissively, wishing you out of his presence.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead child." Did you expect that? No. Did you need to be told twice? Also no. A small grin gracing your features, you took off into the pyramid.

Racing across the gravely surface of the desert, the sand provided a slight level of resistance. Nevertheless, you persevered onwards, stride refusing to falter. Basking in the glorious heat of the warm Egyptian sun's rays casting down on your face, you closed your eyes as you ran, chin tilted upwards. Naturally, this obscured your vision, rendering you blind, and therefore leading you to miss the gaping hole in the ground.

A short squeala of surprise passed your lips as you suddenly found yourself unexpectedly falling through the earth. The drop was rather long, and you landed in a heap on the floor of the dugout with a large thud. You weren't aware of how long you were unconscious, but judging by the severe lack of any source of light, sunset had passed. Pain shot through your body, coarsing through your veins and ricocheting off each of your bones in turn. Head pounding, you groaned slightly, trying to work out what in the hell just happened to you.

Darkness continued to fill the room, prompting you to fish within one of your pockets, pulling out a match and striking it aflame. The hidden chamber was large, that much you could tell even despite the dim lighting. Blinking twice as you began to, very slightly, register your surroundings, you noticed the sheer obscurity of this interior. You'd heard of the saying 'paintings that seemed to follow you around the room', but this gave a new meaning to those words.

No, wait.

Those paintings were moving, and not metaphorically. Eyes widening, you began to notice everything in the tomb writhing like a cluster of cobras. Onyx black cats prowled upon shelves, worn linen bandages slowly unfurling from being bound around each of their limbs. Animated drawings of men, deities and horses alike moved naturally, as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence. Shabti servants, the colour of oxidised copper and ranging from 5-30cm tall formed an army scattered throughout the tomb. Then, slowly, as though delaying the inevitable, your eyes trained upon it.

The sarcophagus.

Shuffling away rapidly, your back hit the decrepit wall of the hidden grave. The embodiment of terror plastered over your face, you watched in horror as the coffin began to violently shake. Your blood ran cold as bangs from the inside began to echo across the acoustic chamber. The rusted hinges were worn and flimsy, and the bolts began to unscrew from their holdings. Padlocks had become frail with ages and popped open, one almost smacking you square in the forehead, to which you responded with a short yelp. For a moment, all movement ceased, as though whatever was inside had begun to listen to the intruder in their grave. You took liberty of the fleeting moment, and began to craft a way out. The quiet was short lived, however, as, with one final, mighty heave, the final lock was broken.

The sarcophagus had been opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, the air thick and suffocating as you watched a wrapped hand emerge from the tomb. The coffin lid was ajar, though it didn't take much pushing to be removed almost entirely. Almost at once, the creatures residing in the grave marched forward, crowding their newly awoken master. Hidden in the shadows, you froze, hoping to remain unseen and ignored, and thus leaving unscathed. Soon enough Carter and Carnarvon were bound to find you?

Right?

A huge open grave couldn't be subtle, you only missed it as you eyes were closed. A stupid decision really, and you mentally cursed yourself.

You remained rooted to the spot on the freezing floor, as the reanimated corpse continued to rise from its grave. Surely this was an affect of your concussion; for all you knew this was just an unconscious dream. Besides, with all the travel in the desert, dehydration had undoubtedly left you delirious. It was at that split second of slight relaxation (if you could call it that) in which you spied the piles of treasure sloping at every corner of the tomb. What could you say - you were a grave robber. Carnarvon would be so proud - if you returned alive that was.

It began to claw at the ancient, frayed linen covering its face, causing your heart to race: it thumped so hard you swore you'd be given away. Praying you didn't go into cardiac arrest, you continued staring bug-eyed as the bandages unfurled in front of you, like the dramatic unveiling of an innovative new invention. Closing your eyes for the second time that day, you winced, raising your arms to shield your face from the horrors you were undoubtedly about to witness. Bile rose in your throat as your mouth drew dry. Images of rancid, rotting flesh peeling off bones flashed through your mind, prompting your whole body to tremble.

'I'm just delirious. Any moment now I'll open my eyes to be met with a chamber of riches.' You thought to yourself. Awoken mummies were the stuff of fairytales, and despite what Carnarvon and Carter believed, you were most certainly not a child.

Your internal monologue was cut short however, interrupted by the gentlest of touches placed on your arm. It prompted you to flinch away instantaneously, a soft whimper escaping. Eyes shooting open, you came face to face with the pharoah himself. And he was not what you had anticipated.

He wasn't the scary mummy you were expecting, he was a teenage kid.

Kind, cerulean eyes rimmed with a smoky black eyeliner stared into your own, azure oceans plagued with concern. Concern for you. Such a colour must have been pricelessly rare, sapphires amongst stones.

His golden, tanned hand had felt cold and lifeless against your arm, yet the heat it had radiated was electrifying, continuing to shoot jolts throughout your entire body. His skin was soft and smooth, betraying the fact that this royal had almost certainly never worked a day in his life.

Slightly unruly brown curls and a toned slender figure - he was actually rather cute.

"Are you alright? You seem a little... Lost?" He queried, to which you seemed unable to form a response.

"I- what.. who? What's going on?" You managed, stumbling over your words as your voice cracked slightly.

He gave a small smile, clearly sympathetic of your utter confusion, before gesturing at a golden tablet, as though that were supposed to help you in any way. Noting your expression of utter bewilderment, the undead Pharaoh elaborated.

"That's my tablet, blessed by Khonsu himself. It holds the power to awake the dead at night," he gestures to himself and the cats, who stared at you, blinking and unsure whether it would be safe for them to approach. Then, he pointed to the paintings in the walls and dragged his finger towards the mass of shabti dolls, both of which watched you with the same confusion. "Along with anything else resembling a life form that finds it's way into the presence of the tablet."

"Right." You answered, holding your head and still in shock.

"You needn't be afraid, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, that is a relief." You swallowed thickly.

He hummed in response, smiling with an amused frown at the fact you feared him.

"So, who exactly are you?" You asked after a short yet not uncomfortable silence.

His lavish outfit betrayed the royal status he claimed in life, only accentuated by the Red Crown, or Deshret supporting a golden snake - the symbol of monarchy- resting atop his sarcophagus. Around his neck fastened a Usekh collar, adorned with teal and umber jewels and beads, and topped with golden accents. Sleeves of cloth draped over his arms, the fibres of the fabric woven with pure gold. The metallic shine of the element was evident in the chromatic sheen of the cape resting over the Pharoah's shoulders. At his waist there hung a Shendyt kilt, fastened with a cloth belt, also elaborately decorated. Beautiful gold jewellery decorated his figure, your eyes drawn in particular to the stunning gold bracelet cuffs he supported on either wrist, encrusted with gemstones, potentially aquamarine or topaz. Once again your attention was drawn to his face.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And you are...?"

Stunned into silence for a moment by the regality of the ancient king before you, you blinked and paused briefly before answering.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"So, Y/N, what are you doing in my grave?" Ahkmenrah asked you, barely trying to surpress an amused smile. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to form a lie. This ruler seemed nice, and regardless, you couldn't exactly tell him you were intent on raiding his tomb for riches.

"It was an accident. Really, it was. I was running, and, well, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going."

"Clearly." He smirked. "Why were you in the desert though? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't appear to be Egyptian."

"What? Oh, no I'm not. I'm English. I came out in an expedition with two other men; Lord Carnarvon and Carter. They're archaeologists." You winced at the manufactured truth. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was what the men claimed to be. Though all your troupe really planned to accomplish was glorified tomb-raiding, a fact that made you sick.

"And they left you here?" Ahkmenrah questioned incredulously, unable to fathom why on earth they would abandon you like this.

"Well, no. Not exactly. They allowed me to go check out the pyramid about 10 yards south, but, as o said, I fell down a hole." You blushed again, this time due to your own stupidity and clumsiness. This was not how to earn the respect of an esteemed king.

Ahkmenrah frowned. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Uh. I don't actually know, I was unconscious for a short time. Or possibly a long time, that I'm not sure of either."

Concern once again crossed the young Pharoah's face. "You poor thing! Are you alright? You're not concussed, are you?"

"Probably." You shrugged, further alarming him.

The next few hours were spent talking to Ahk, discussing everything from the legal affairs of ancient Egypt to the cats that accompanied him in his tomb. Over the course of the night, the two of you had grown closer, both in terms of friendship and literal distance. Most of the other inhabitants of the grave had deemed you safe, returning to their regular routine, and the most curious of the mummified cats, an (aptly) Egyptian mau apparently named Tivali, had become rather taken to you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with you, and you slumped against Ahk's shoulder. Revelling in his presence, contentment washed over you as, for the first time on your quest, you relaxed, finally at ease. Perhaps it was delirium, but in your sleepy state you swore you felt his fingertips grace against your cheek, the ghost of his lips pressing gently against your temple.

"Sleep well, my dear."

#night at the museum #natm #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #egypt #ancient egypt #history #egyptology #archaeology #natm fandom #natm fanfiction #natm fic #night at the museum fanfic #natm au #egyptian pharaoh

[that-irishman-fan]

night at the museum jedtavius as dads to a daughter headcanons!

[ Full credit to the owners of the GIF and Night At The Museum, none of these characters are mine in any way! ]

FANDOM: Night At The Museum, 2006

GENRE: Headcanons, parenting au, LGBTQIA+, and fluff!

SYNOPSIS: What's its like being the daughter of Jedidiah and Octavius!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Female coded reader, angst at some parts, and minor swearing, this is meant to be fluffy!

Notes: I started these headcanons with a daughter/female reader in mind, since that's how the idea popped into my head—but I am already planning out two other parts for a son/male coded reader and for a gender neutral set in the future. I realize it would be unfair to not follow up with similar ones, since I understand my audience is absolutely not exclusively women. So, keep a watch for parts two and three to come soon!

I also want to note quickly that there will be some worldbuilding sections I've included—just adding in some extra exhibits we don't see in the first movie as a sort of behind the scenes slash for plot thing. With that said, let's dive right in!

• Let's start by establishing your role in this situation. You'd be one of the full sized models on display, much like Teddy Roosevelt and Sacagawea ( take your choice as to what historical period, it doesn't really make a difference ). You arrived a while ago as a part of a brand new exhibit meant to reignite interest in the museum. Discombobulated, frightened, and frankly lonely, you searched for friends in this strange new place. It ended up being Jedidiah, the cowboy, and Octavius, the Roman general. Both were already lovers when you came around.

• Jedidiah and Octavius wanted to try their hand at raising kids together. But because of their plight of being tiny models, they'd given up on it. Your arrival was a dream come true. You three quickly had a found family dynamic, and sure enough they took you in as their daughter. You are perfect in their eyes in every way, an answer to all their prayers.

• They'd be your gay dads, with Teddy as a grandfather, Ahkmenrah an older brother, Sacagawea a mother figure, Attila the cool uncle, and all the others your friends. Soon, you found your place amongst the others.

• Both have their own pet names for you. Jedidiah calls you little lady, missy, and pumpkin. Octavius calls you mea columba ( my dove in Latin, since I have two years of it under my belt ), darling, and my princess. You call them by their actual names, or 'daddy' for Jed and 'father' for Octavius.

• I like to think they'd put emphasis on immersing you in their respective cultures. Giving you the best of both worlds, the Wild West and the Roman Empire.

• Jedidiah would show you all the classic cowboy staples— gunfights, rodeo, catching robbers, and playing songs by the campfire. You love it when he dazzles you with stories of outlaws, broncos, and especially cowgirls.

• Octavius would let you watch his army train, teaching you military strategy; not only that, but also attending senate meetings, participating in banquets, and telling you Roman myths and legends. If you gave your best shot at any of it, they'd be so proud of you. Just having your interest is reward enough, but if you actually did it yourself? They might just die of happiness right on the spot.

• Your dads love to hear about anything and everything that you're passionate about too! Please talk to them about whatever makes you excited, and they'll be as enthusiastic as you. They make a point to be interested since you try so hard for them.

• I get the vibe that Jedtavius are more free range parents in the sense that you're allowed to go anywhere in the museum you like. Outside is off limits, of course, which you understand. However, they are old fashioned. Not to the point of chaperoning, but cautious regardless. Jedidiah and Octavius are believers in women being treated with the utmost respect, they're very chivalrous. As such, they'll be on top of things to make sure you don't get hurt. With that said, they trust you to be responsible in your own right. They're just protective, you're their sweet baby girl after all. And God forbid anyone dare to lay a finger on you the wrong way.

• When morning comes, its hard for you to return to your place. You feel empty, almost lost, knowing you'll be gawked at come daylight. By yourself without them there. Sometimes, this can bubble up into small episodes. You'll feel resentful, crying bitter tears at times or just angry on others. Jedidiah and Octavius wouldn't leave your side until you were calm, both comforting you without a hint of judgment.

• " Aw, pumpkin, don't cry. S'alright, yer Daddy ain't goin' nowhere. We'll be right back where ya found us, ya hear? " Jedidiah would coo to you.

• " No more tears, fear not. It will pass once again as it always does. Our brave girl, my little princess. " Octavius would add on, gentle as his husband.

• Every night, the minute you'd come to life, you'd run as fast as you could to the Diorama Room to be reunited with them. They're your haven, your home, your safety net. After long days of noisy crowds and superficial cares, you're revitalized in their presence. And Jedidiah and Octavius are delighted to see you again, the hole in their hearts filled when your face appears.

• On to happier things now. Jedtavius are always ready to shower you in affection. I feel Jedidiah is the gruff type, his love language being praise, affirmations, and encouragement over physical gestures. Octavius is the opposite, being very tactile. For him, it's offering you hugs, soft touches, and gentle kisses. It's really ironic considering these guys are warriors in their own ways. Two macho men who are such softies for you.

• If you don't like physical contact, though, they respect that boundary completely. They're both so loving and supportive that you never have to worry about feeling neglected.

• The size difference poses an issue. You three have learned to work around it through trial and error. They may be small, but they have big hearts and an endless amount of love to give. You're definitely their soft spots, one could say weaknesses, but they have no shame over it. Not when it's you.

• I can imagine them being saddened by your insecurities, not able to understand why you don't see how special you are. It's not disappointment at you, rather pity for you. And they're quick to reassure you, genuine in every possible sense of the word.

• " Why's our precious lil' Y/N so down in the dumps? Ya know I hate seein' a frown on that dad gum pretty face of yers. Talk to us, why're ya beatin' up on yerself so hard? " Jedidiah would say, sitting you down in front of his diorama. At your shoulder level, he'd stand next to you, putting a tiny hand on your cheek.

• And you'd tell them everything on your mind. All the things bothering you. Neither of them would interrupt you once, letting you speak. Nor would they try to discount any of your feelings. But it does pain them to see you so sad.

• " We would not lie to you, daughter. When I say you are fairer than Venus, cleverer than Minerva, and braver than Diana, I mean it. For you are beautiful, you are intelligent, and you are strong. Most of all, you are you, as you are meant to be. " Octavius would tell you, his dark eyes adoring. His lips would touch your hand as if to further make his point.

• " And yer our girl no matter what. Yer daddy and yer father love ya, missy, even when ya go gettin' yerself into trouble. We wouldn't want nobody else as our daughter, yer all we could ever ask for. " Jedidiah would grin, patting you on your shoulder.

• Okay, now onto the stuff relatively separate from Jedtavius. In your free time when you're not hanging out with your dads, you get into plenty of mischief on your own with your fellow museum residents.

• Playing with Dexter and Rex in the Hall of African Mammals, surrounded by the jungle setting. The lions, elephant, gazelles, ostrich, and zebras don't mind you for some reason, and they're quite tame around you. You like to climb the display trees, cuddling with the snakes or swinging around with the monkeys. And playing fetch with Rex in the front lobby is always fun too.

• Teddy would take you on hunts, throwing you on the back of his horse. If you really wanted to, he'd even teach you to ride. Jedidiah was enormously proud when you showed up in the Diorama Room like an equestrian show rider.

• Sacagawea and you communicate through sign language. She likes to tell you many stories of her travels with Lewis and Clark, as well as legends from her own culture. You intently listen to each one, always raptured by the brilliant way she breathes life into the old tales.

• One time you tried to help the Neanderthals light their fire. It wasn't successful, but they welcomed you as a member of their family. You don't understand most of what they say, though you're always kind to them.

• Attila would teach you swordfighting, passing down all his wisdom as a master warrior. You two love to spar, often quite viciously to the point that Larry Daley has to tell you two to knock it off before you lop off each other's heads. Both you and Attila would be fascinated by magic tricks too, eager for Larry to show you a new one every shift he takes.

• Before he released Ahkmenrah from his sarcophagus prison, you made an effort to visit the pharaoh so he wasn't lonely. You two chatted well into the night about whatever came to mind; but you had a penchant for stories of his past in Ancient Egypt. You two have a platonic relationship characterized by him being wiser, more experienced, and far more worldly than you, your big brother who you've got wrapped around your finger.

• You also like to hang out in the other exhibits too. Watching the blue whale float idly in the Marine Room, singing its beautiful songs and you doing the same for it. You've danced to many a sea shanty with the model pirates, the favorite of Captain Blackbeard. The Kushite kings, Babylonian priests, Celtic bards, noble samurai, and Viking chieftains also enjoy your company, fascinated by your wits and amicable nature.

• I headcanon that the models can hear and see their surroundings during the day, they just can't interact with them in their frozen states. You've seen thousands of faces before in all your years in the museum, but the one you always like to see is that of Dr. McPhee, the curator. He's fussy, arrogant, and pompous from what you've heard, but you couldn't help your crush on him. You wished to get to know him more. For him to see you.

• Overall, life is fantastic for you in the museum. You've got Jedidiah and Octavius, all your friends, and a great big world in one small place to call your own.

Well, that's all I've got for right now! I hope I've done this justice. It was such a cool idea, and I couldn't resist dropping everything to jot down my thoughts on it. Once again, I am planning two other parts so as to be more inclusive to my fellow menfolk and out of the binary peeps! If you want to be included in a tag list for anything Night At The Museum or my other content, please drop a comment, and I'll add you from now on! Please have a fantastic rest of your week, and thank you SO much for all your likes, reblogs, comments, and interactions. It means the world to me!

#night at the museum franchise #night at the museum #jedediah natm #octavius natm #jedtavius #natm jedtavius #jedediah and octavius #jedidiah x octavius #night at the museum fanfic #night at the museum headcanons #my writing

[ancientpersacom]

Ight jedtavius angsters and Ahk is an honorary Daley enjoyers come get y’all’s juice.

#night at the museum #natm #night at the museum fanfic #natm fanfiction #ahkmenrah #jedediah smith #gaius octavius #jedtavius #larry daley #Nick Daley #jedediah natm #octavius natm #natm au #natm larry #natm jedediah #natm ahkmenrah #natm octavius

[rivstyx]

Hey! Could I please ask for a NatM fic recommendation? I don't like oneshots or pwp so Idk where to start tbh

YES of course you can my dear anon! it sounds like you're looking for longer, more plotty stories, so here are some fics that may fit that description:

The Barn Raising by PoetryInMotion (7,463 words)

The Old West's barn has been demolished by a fetch-related accident. When they get a new one, the Western denizens throw a good old-fashioned barn-raising party. Jedediah decides to invite Octavius (and both secretly hope that they can kindle a romance between the do-si-do and the two-step).

some classic fluff. if you grew up a yeehaw like me, you'll love the little touches of Western culture; if not, you can still appreciate how damn cute this fic is

Down Then Left by mournwiththemoon (36,024 words, incomplete)

Octavius is balls deep in the closet and a mild midlife crisis. Jedediah just wants to fix the elevator. AKA the corporate loser x mechanical engineer AU that literally nobody asked for.

modern AU that i'm obsessed with. octavius is a sad divorced sandbag, jed is an obnoxious wannabe country singer, and i love them both with all my heart

He Loves Me Not by orphan_account (25,820 words)

Jed stumbles across a stack of unsent/unfinished love letters from Octavius to an unknown person in the museum. Jed sets out to find out who. Not because he’s jealous. No, not all.

big romcom vibes. it's not miscommunication, but it's not not miscommunication

if this was a cowboy movie (i'd give you my boots) by Liviapenn (10,180 words)

There are secret articles in our treaties with the gods, of more importance than all the rest, which the historian can never know.' -- Henry David Thoreau. This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. -- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

ok this one only sort of fits the bill, but i love it too much not to rec it. it follows jed and octavius as they walk back from the car wreck in movie 1 and tell each other stories about their pasts

living beyond your years (acting out all their fears) by Riv_Styx (16,447 words)

“Go,” Octavius repeated. “Run. I am with you.” Jedediah did the one thing he never thought he was capable of doing. The thing he would have sooner died than chosen of his own accord. He ran. Secret of the Tomb AU. Octavius doesn't make it out of Pompeii; angry and grieving, Jedediah goes home alone. Meanwhile, for Octavius, his whole world changes overnight. The new museum is thriving on the magic of the tablet, but it's not where he belongs. It's going to be a long way home.

oh look a familiar name!

my heart will stop in joy by HungryOnMain (12,433 words, incomplete)

A temporary exhibit, on display at the AMNH for a limited time, brings forth a vengeful force from the past. Terrible, painful memories bubble up from the depths of the minds of everyone on display. They can be taken, and joy restored - for a price.

dark, fucked up, and utterly addicting. i eagerly await every serving. this one says "hey, forget kahmunrah - what else could tablet magic possibly do in the wrong hands?"

Any Weather (series) by EwokRae22 (151,470 words)

On a lucky break from McPhee, Larry brings the exhibits on a winter vacation north of New York. He has everything prepared, or at least that’s what he tells himself. Because nothing can stop Jedediah and Octavius’s useless and oh-so-tiny longing for each other, not even the snow.

a fandom classic! the series follows jed and octavius through some wild adventures and features some genuinely heart-wrenching twists

Cacoethes (series) by Anonymous (25,927 words)

A deeper look into Jedediah and Octavius's experiences during Battle of the Smithsonian, and a look at what could have happened after the end.

take the hourglass scene from natm 2 and turn the homosexuality up to eleven, and you've got cacoethes - though the rest of the works in the series are definitely worth the read!

hope this helps! :D

#riv recs #natm #jedtavius #natm fic #natm fanfic #natm fanfiction #natm fandom #night at the museum #night at the museum fic #night at the museum fanfic #night at the museum fanfiction #night at the museum fandom

[quitepossiblybamboozled]

jedediah Isekai chapter 2 is now out <3

in this chapter, Jedediah is reunited with his brother, Ira, and meets the nephew named for him.

#maple gabs #jay jabbers #jay writes #natm jedediah #jedediah smith #natm #night at the museum jedediah #night at the museum fanfic

[maples-pages]

"I know..." the blond begins, staring up at the starless sky, "...we said we wouldn't talk 'bout it," Octavius' heart skips, "but if you hadta pick one, what was the worst thing about bein' with me?"

Octavius looks out at the street again and swallows. "Just one?" he asks, and he knows that Jed can hear the sobriety in his voice despite the moonshine they've been drinking.

Jed snorts in an attempt to dispel the tension. "Yeah, asshole, just one."

The windowsill down the hall from Sacagawea's exhibit has become their nightly spot in the year since Ahkmenrah's release.  Sometimes someone will open the window for them, offer them a brief gust of nighttime air, but usually they sit and stare through the panes.

Jed says it makes him feel like he's stuck in the fairytale with Rapunzel, stuck in a place so high off the ground with only a window to look out of.

"Well, not only a window," Octavius says, a vague shrug lifting his shoulders as a light breeze slips through the tiny gap one of the Civil War mannequins opened for them.  "We do have an entire museum the size of Rome to explore."  Comparatively, Octavius reminds himself, and only in physical size.  There are only so many exhibits to see, after all, and most of them leave their displays during the night, so it can be hard to really know what some things are meant to be.

"What's that movie you like so well?" Jed asks, squeezing through the tiny gap and praising the mannequin's foresight to hold it open with a pencil between the swinging frames.  "Notre Dame, somethin'?"

Octavius takes a moment to consider his response.  He knows why Jed has mentioned this movie.  "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," he says, following his friend through the gap.

"And what's that thing Frollo says?  In the church?" Jed continues, reaching inside his vest and bringing out a flask.  The chilly night wind may be enjoyable compared to the stale air conditioning of the museum, but it's more bearable with a bit of booze to warm their cheeks.  He takes a nip from the flask and offers it to the General.  Octavius takes it and swallows a swig, if only to soften the blow of Jed's next words.  "'A pretty prison, but still a prison’?"

"Magnificent," Octavius corrects, looking down at the flask in his hands.  "'You've chosen a magnificent prison, but it is a prison nonetheless.'  That's the line."  Jedediah nods.  "Although, I feel that is a bit harsh for this place," Octavius tries.

Jed huffs a laugh through his nose and takes a heavy seat against the window frame.  "A conqueror with nothin' t' conquer," Jed says, gesturing to his companion, "an' I'm an explorer with no explorin' t' do."  The blond shakes his head.  "Nah, 'Tavius, this is a prison, like it or not."

Octavius eyes his friend briefly, then takes another drink and sits next to him.  "Well, if I am to be imprisoned...I'd rather it be in your company."

The two look at each other for a moment and stare, and Jed shakes his head before leaning to snatch the flask back.  "Take that damn thing off, wouldja?" he gripes, sipping from their shared drink.  "I can't take you seriously with a toothbrush on your head."

Octavius balks at the cowboy's words―"Fur trapper!  I ain't a cowboy, alright―ain't even from here!" Jed had said once―but a half-offended laugh makes its way out before he obliges.  "Well, then, you should take your hat off, should you not?" he asks, raking his fingers through his hair and relishing in the relief the breeze offers as it cools his sweat-soaked hair.

"Nnnnope!" Jed declares as he sets the flask between them.  "My hat's stylish."

Octavius rolls his eyes and draws one knee up to rest his arm on as he looks out at the city.

After a long silence, Jed takes a breath, then pauses and sighs.  Octavius looks over at him with a raised brow.  "I know..." the blond begins, staring up at the starless sky, "...we said we wouldn't talk 'bout it," Octavius' heart skips, "but if you hadta pick one, what was the worst thing about bein' with me?"

Octavius looks out at the street again and swallows.  "Just one?" he asks, and he knows that Jed can hear the sobriety in his voice despite the moonshine they've been drinking.

Jed snorts in an attempt to dispel the tension.  "Yeah, asshole, just one."

Octavius' jaw flexes as he mulls over his answer.  "I suppose..." he takes a breath and sighs, shaking his head, "...the fact that I am...no longer allowed to know you in that way."

Jed looks over, and Octavius can feel his stare.  "Wha'd'ya mean?"

Octavius reaches for the flask and takes a larger gulp this time before setting it down again.  "I know you, Jedediah.  In ways that no one else ever will.  I know your confusions, your frustrations, the level of determination you have when attempting any task...but so does everyone who meets you."  Octavius looks down at his armor with a wry shake of his head.  "No one else knows the way..." he takes a deep breath, "...the way your hair smells at the precise moment the magic takes hold, or what it feels like to hold you as it fades in the morning.  No one else knows about the elation you felt alongside your brother when he got his first gray hair.  No one has seen you fall apart over his deaths the way I have.  No one else..."  Octavius shakes his head as he trails off.  "And I am no longer the one who should be allowed to know these things," he finally says with a slight shrug.  "So, yes, that would be...the worst thing about having been with you, Jedediah.  The fact that it is over."

There's a long stretch of silence between them, then, and Jedediah looks straight across the street and into the darkened windows of an apartment.  Or, well, they think it's an apartment, anyway.  They still haven't been able to pin down who lives there.

"Is this..." Jedediah's voice is hoarse when it interrupts the quiet, and he clears his throat before he continues, "...hurtin' you, too, 'Tavius?"

Octavius nods without speaking, but Jed knows the answer without looking at him, anyway.

"Then what the hell are we doin'?" Jed asks, and Octavius thinks he's never sounded more broken.

Octavius shakes his head and says, "I don't know."

#jay writes #natm jedtavius #my writing #night at the museum #night at the museum fanfic #natm #natm octavius #natm jedediah #I have posted this on my main blog but I'm posting my favorite pieces here too #likes are great but reblogs are better

[consumedbyfeels-reblogs]

Freedom Isn't always a good thing - Chapter 1 - consumed_by_feels - Loki (TV 2021) [Archive of Our Own]

In honor of the Loki season 2 trailer here is a crack fic I wrote after season 1. I honestly don't know what was going through my mind when I wrote it but here you go. I do however remember that I almost made a similar one that was a Cars crossover but decided against it. So that's something I guess. Anyway enjoy or don't. I won't be offended if you don't like it. It's very cringe. I have no excuses for this one.

#loki series #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #loki x mobius #lokius #night at the museum #jedediah and octavius #jedtavius #fanfic #loki fanfic #night at the museum fanfic #crossover fanfiction

[iiep-wop]

Leading off from my previous post, have a compilation I made of him being my favourite dramatic lil' guy

#hes so silly #i think we should bring back silly Octavius in fanfic #hes just so sarcastic and mean (in the best way possible) in fanfics now #and i miss this stupid little guy #i mean he is the exact same level of idiot as Jed is #in a /pos way #(not hating on stern octavius he's pretty cool too) #night at the museum #natm octavius #jedtavius #natm

[wtf-is-sleep-even]

Y'ALL

PLEASE WRITE MORE OF JEDEDIAH AND OCTAVIUS ON FIRST DATES BEING AWKWARD TURTLEDUCKS PLEASE ITS THE BEST

CULTURAL DIFFERENCES

CUL👏TUR👏AL👏 DIF👏FER👏EN👏CES👏

JED IS A COWBOY WITH WESTERN/SOUTHERN STANDARDS AND CUSTOMS. USE THEM! PLEASE!

WE BECOME COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PEOPLE ON FIRST DATES.

TAKING OFF HATS, KISSING HANDS, CASUAL COMPLIMENTS, OPENING DOORS, FLOWERS, ALL OF IT

MAKE OCTAVIUS DO A DOUBLE TAKE ON THE FIRST DATE OR SO HELP ME-

#jedtavius #jedediah #natm octavius #night at the museum #nighttime rambling #fanfic #i need more #please please please

[creative-chaos-apparently]

Julia frew up again.

#any weather jedtavius #night at the museum #jedtavius #my fanfics #my art #jedediah and octavius #shitpost #natm #I know I’m not the first person to do this drawing of them but I had to join

[anika-ann]

A Night at the Museum (A.B.)

Type: one-shot, fluffiest fluff; canon-divergence from Defending Jacob

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader  WC: 5000

Summary: You always loved wandering through your museum after closing time – there was something so peaceful about it, a new layer of beauty to space and all the art that adorned the walls.

Tonight however, the peace is interrupted by a charming handsome man who has no business to be there… will you throw him out?

Warnings: 18+ for allusions to smut, TOOTH. ROTTING. FLUFF., uncomplete list to keep some mystique - so read at your own risk (but no supernatural elements)

A/N: a story dedicated to lovely @chase-your-dreams-away ✨, to everyone who enjoys a tooth-rotting fluff and to all you lovelies who support my writing shenanigans - you know who you are, giving me love and life 💕 Happy Holidays, if you celebrate! // divider by @firefly-graphics

Every single step you took felt so light it was almost as if you were floating.

The endless beauty adorning the walls, the soft intimate lights reserved for occasional night visiting hours only accentuating the already romantic atmosphere of the art museum, walking through the halls and galleries equalled a magnificent experience that made your soul shiver and yet feel at peace. You let the serenity wash over you as you roamed the art museum, already having helped usher the lingering visitors outside. The sound of your heels echoed in the vast galleries, your eyes drawn from one beautiful piece of art to another, even as you had seen them all a hundred times.

There were simply sights in this world that would never get old, you mused, a small smile playing on your lips, a slow steady pace bringing you to another section – and having you freeze in your step.

Just standing there without a care for the outside world, apparently immersed in admiring a painting – one of favourite, you realized distantly – stood a man. A man who most definitely did not worked here.  Your heart skipped a beat.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out lowly, anything louder than a that feeling wrong in the otherwise quiet gallery. “It’s after hours. You can’t be here.”

He startled too at the first sound of your voice – his head snapped to you, piercing but kind blue eyes wide with surprise, as if you brought him down from a haze, from a deep thought; from thorough appreciation of art. You would have smiled at that, since you knew the feeling too well, but you were too distracted by the man’s handsome face.

Awfully, unbearably handsome, with a ruffle of dark hair and a clearly well-kept beard, a dark blue suit that only highlighting his beautiful eyes, hands slipping from his pockets as he straightened upon facing you; his biceps bulged a bit with that movement, visible even under the suit jacket. There was a good-natured expression on his face, a pleasant note in his voice as he responded on the same volume, if not slightly quieter.

“Oh. Sorry.”

His voice was as lovely to hear as his face was to look at; almost like he had belonged here, the central piece among the sea of art, a sculpture capturing the peak of a man crafted by talented hands of the old masters.

As you walked closer to him, your chest ached a little; he wasn’t just handsome. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And while that didn’t authorise him to be here, it sure made your approach more amicable. You were only human, after all.

“I was actually heading out,” he continued, “but I just… got a little caught up in admiring the art.”

The corners of your lips rose involuntarily. You could see that easily happening to anyone – it was after all a painting close to your own heart and soul. Some might call it too simple – an image of hands, one larger, rougher than the other, held out palm up to the other, softer, smaller one, fingertips barely brushing, the mahogany brown background with a few lighter strokes of brush adding an aura of warmth. But its simplicity and what some would call imperfections were deceiving.

Many would argue that hundreds of art students all over the world drew a hand study every day. Masterfully executed or not, this particular piece of art could indeed be called plain; but it wasn’t. As things stood, the painting was no Creation of Adam, your all-time favourite, but it had earned a rightful place in the art gallery and n your heart, and it wasn’t only because of how old the painting was or who had created it.

If you were being honest, you were never able to quite put your finger on why, but it always tended to touch something deep inside you. So truly, you understood the man perfectly.

He had no business being here so late – and yet. Perhaps for his pretty face and his breathtaking physique indeed, perhaps for his warm gaze having returned to the painting with curious, soft eyes – you couldn’t just have him dragged away, keen on hearing his insight instead.

“How so?” you inquired.

His gaze snapped back to you, surprised. He examined you for a bit, as if he couldn’t figure out whether you were asking or just bidding your time before security found you, but in the end, he just smiled, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, I couldn’t say. I don’t know the first thing about art, so I can’t even appreciate it properly-“

“Of course you can,” you interrupted him, regretting your hastiness when his eyes widened, watching you intently. You smiled apologetically, gaze dropping before it returned to the painting, the sight of the beautiful man too much – and you were used to looking at art every day. “What I mean is… sure, the knowledge of history of art and art technique can help you recognize a painting’s value to the world, but not its value to yourself.”

You cringed internally; you sounded like a fool, a pretentious one at that, contradicting your own words. And yet, his voice was soft when he spoke again without a hint of offense.

“I’ll take your word for it… but still. Might help to have a guide… what do you like about this painting?” he asked, gaze returning to the art in question. “That is, if you like it at all.”

“I like it a lot, actually. It’s one of my favourites.”

“How so?” he echoed your earlier words, something about the way his gaze flickered to you making you feel warm all over. He sounded genuinely curious. About what you thought. He seemed interested in your very personal insight; and in the intimate lightening of the gallery, you reluctantly gave in, all too aware of how close you seemed to stand now, side by side, barely two feet apart.

“I like how it makes me feel. I like wondering what made the artist capture this particular moment in time – not sooner, not later. Not when the hands touch further or part completely. And what the moment even is. All that wondering just leaves a lasting impression.”

“Yeah… I suppose that’s what I could say as well,” he mused, tilting his head slightly to side as he considered your words. “Tell me more.”

It wasn’t an order – despite the wording, it sounded more like a plea. Something pleasing hummed in your chest, a gentle stroke to your ego.

“It’s the position of the hands. Hands can be so expressive, we can say so much with them, with a touch. And I don’t mean it in the sense of sign language, where people literally use them to form words agreed upon earlier, but… they can convey feelings, capture so much more than words themselves often can,” you tried to explain, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You sounded like a crazy person who read Jane Austen too much – and you were all too aware. You often couldn’t help it, when you talked about art – but the poor man didn’t sign up for this. You chuckled bashfully. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” he opposed, causing you to risk a side-way glance. His gaze lost nothing of its warmth, quite the opposite; his lips melted in a gentle smile and he was certainly paying more attention to you than the painting. You’d lie if you said it wasn’t flattering. And the electricity you seemed to feel in the air sure wasn’t unpleasant either. “I never thought of it this way, but I certainly cannot argue with that. And I argue for living.”

“Ah. A lawyer then?” you said, his hands rising in surrender in response.

He had really nice and big hands. Someone should paint them. And he should put them on me.

“Guilty as charged.”

“And with a sense of humour, I see.”

There was something a little shy and definitely intimate about his laugh, his gaze firmly on yours. “I have been told I only have old man jokes these days.”

“Well, that’s just rude. You should have that person arrested for such insult.”

“That’s not how this works.” He was laughing again, crinkles around his eyes. He had such a gentle laugh, quiet, fitting for the space. “Now… what do you think is happening here then?” he beckoned to the painting.

You pursed your lips, accepting his prompt.

“Well, that’s one of the things I love about it so much – it can be whatever you want it to be. A man and a woman… there’s this atmosphere of longing. Tenderness to the touch. Uncertainty, as if they aren’t sure if they are allowed. The man especially. Maybe they are future lovers…” You felt your cheeks heat, blush spreading as the man’s eyes flickered to yours. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a goodbye.”

“How do you figure?”

“The blurry lines,” you whispered, your smile turning dreamy. You truly did love this piece – it conveyed so much emotion, offered so many interpretations. Made you feel so much. “They’re not accidental – the moment is hazy. Maybe it’s a memory, a painful one, a memory of a goodbye smeared by unshed tears. Maybe it’s a dream – dreaming about what can’t be, no matter what the heart desires.”

“Wishful thinking,” he murmured under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he’s an artist asking his muse to be let into her favour.”

Your head snapped to him in surprise; but for once, he kept looking at the painting. Still, your breath caught; that definitely was a lovely interpretation.

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

Your gaze returned to the painting, even as your gaze was drawn to him instead, distracted, your thoughts consumed by the image of his handsome profile and the well-fitting suit – and those damn hands. He stood even closer now, slightly behind you; you could almost feel his warm breath on your cheek, the woodsy tones of his cologne wrapping around you like a blanket. You could get in trouble, lingering here, with him – but deep down, you felt you’d happily do so. And probably thank him for it.

He spoke again before he gathered your wits, a warm smile in his voice. “Could be a lonely artist who set his eyes on the most beautiful of women…”

You felt the back of his hand brush yours. No accident; a lover’s caress. You felt tingles spread thought your whole body from the point of contact, your heart thundering in your chest even as it shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have such an effect on you. Not after two years of much more intimate touches, teasing brushes of his fingertips, his palms roaming your body firmly, his lips appreciating every inch of your skin. A simple touch of a hand shouldn’t have made you shiver, but it did. With Andy, it always did. Especially when he talked like that, your face growing warmer by the second at his praise. Because it was clear he was no longer talking about the painting on the wall. Not when he ran his fingers over the back of your hand before turning it so your own hand slipped into his easily, and squeezed.

“…and was somehow insanely lucky that she accepted when he asked her out two years ago. And ever since then, his life’s been full of happiness he thought was no longer in cards for him. How’s that for knowledge of history?” he asked cheekily now, full grin spreading on his lips as he pulled lightly on your hand to spin you around to face him, his free hand already cupping your cheek as you giggled, letting the façade fall.

“You’re a charmer and a flatterer,” you muttered as he leaned in for a kiss, palm cradling your face and guiding you closer to his lips, soft whiskers tickling your face as your lips finally met.

His hand released yours, sneaking around your waist instead, deepening the kiss, making your toes curl in your pumps even after having received thousands kisses like this from him.

You had met pretty much like this – with you working late and him charming your wits out of you and having you lose yourself in his beautiful blues, mesmerized by his almost startlingly handsome face, even if he had been the one who had got a bit lost in the museum complex. Sparks flew, hearts fluttered, hands wandered – much sooner than they ever had in your previous relationship. But the whirlwind of passion was wrapped in an intimacy on an emotional level too – you had never fallen so fast, body, mind and soul, but Andy Barber was simply special. Bless his heart, he hadn’t really known much about art back then – but he had a quick mind and willingness to learn, eager to listen to you as you talked about your long-life love, watching you with a curious adoring gaze, a patient smile on his lips.

He told you he’d pick you up after work so you could celebrate the two-year anniversary of your first date. So as soon as you shoed away the last visitors, you hurried to the staff room to freshen up at least a bit. Andy hadn’t told you where he would take you up until two hours ago – where he called you on your short break to inform you that he was, in fact, a sneak who had an exceptional way with words.

Bribing your colleagues with god-knows-what, he had arranged for you to have the museum for yourselves up until midnight – a private tour with the softened lights saved for the evening, likely wandering hand in hand, beauty surrounding you as well as love. You had no doubt he had brought refreshments too, having left work right after lunch, probably preparing one of his excellent recipes; the premise of spending your special night like this with him had you giddy and soft for the rest of your shift. So when you saw him standing there like that, you couldn’t help but re-act your first encounter for a bit – but you didn’t expect him to lean into it so fully, letting you relive the awe of a handsome stranger being so impressed by whatever you had to say.

The nip of teeth on your lower lip brought you back to reality, heat swirling in your belly, having you press into Andy’s firm body further, not an inch left between you just as it should be, especially since your head was already beginning to spin with the lack of oxygen.

He was the one to retreat, smiling against your lips, nose caressing yours, your palms smoothening over his shoulders lovingly.

“You started it,” he opposed, pecking your lips again and then once more for a good measure, a little breathless himself. When you met his gaze, you saw nothing but adoration in his eyes. “I simply played along. …hi, by the way.”

You chuckled and returned his greeting, meeting his lips once more.

“Hi stranger. Happy anniversary.”

His smile was almost blinding as he tucked the lose strand of your hair behind your ear, fingertips stroking your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes roaming your face so attentively – as if he was admiring what had been no doubt etched into his memory by now – that your felt your skin heat up again, gaze lowering timidly. “You’re beautiful. I love you.”

I love you. It was a simple admission – but that didn’t mean it still didn’t send your heart flutter, especially when he looked at you as if you were the single most precious piece of art in the whole complex.

“I love you too—what?” you questioned, when his eyes suddenly flickered behind you, back to the painting, and a frown twisted his features.

“There’s something missing,” he mused, causing your chest to spasm with panic. You spun on your heels and escaped his embrace so fast you nearly toppled over. Your eyes frantically searched for any sign of what was wrong – a missing plate with description? Had piece of the golden frame broken away? A- “I do like the painting, but it’s just… it’s missing something.”

You huffed out a breath of relief, turning back to Andy swiftly, hitting his chest with the back of your hand, earning a burst of silent laughter.

“Sorry-“

“You are not! Don’t do that, Andrew!” you whisper-yelled, your ribcage actually aching a bit from the sudden scare. “I’d be in real trouble if there was something missing, you know that! But do enlighten me, Mr. I Don’t Know The First Thing About Art. What is missing here?”

He had the decency to look a tiniest bit guilty as he gently touched your shoulders, spinning you back to the painting, wrapping his arm over your middle to pull you flush to his front.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful. I know you love this one. But I… I think finally figured out what the scene is about,” he explained slowly, voice dropping back to a whisper, only a trace of gentle laughter in his pleasant timbre.

“Oh?” you inquired nonchalantly, still pouting a bit even as your exasperation evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. You could get fired if something got lost on your watch, so that was a mean joke – but you should have known better. You had known him for two years now after all.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, guiding your hands to lay on your stomach, placing one of his warm palms over them, chin resting on your shoulder. “Well, obviously, they are a man and a woman.”

“Is that how you win all the cases at court? With your excellent observation skills and dead-on-point arguments, Mr. Obvious?”

Andy continued, unbothered by your snarky teasing.

“And he’s an old, maybe a little dorky man, who is crazy in love with this gorgeous woman with passion for art…”

The corners of your lips twitched as you turned your head to him, nose nudging his cheek as you understood where this was going. “You’re not that old… but you’re plenty sappy for sure.”

“Who said I was talking about us?” he teased, squeezing your hands again as he nudged you to look forward again despite your prolonged ‘riiiight’. “But he’s a little bit like the artist, asking a muse for her favour… he’d feel like the luckiest man on Earth if she’d allow him.”

You leaned your weight back onto Andy’s warm body, tilting your head, as a full smile spread on your lips along with the sweetest warmth curling in your heart.

“Well… I know you said it’s not us, but… if it were, he wouldn’t have to ask. He’s already plenty in her favour.”

You let your eyes slip shut, revelling in the feeling of being in the arms of the man you loved, almost tasting his own affection for you on your tongue, feeling it float in the air. You felt at peace; safe, warm and loved. Nothing could measure up to the serenity of the moment. Whatever Andy had planned for you two, as nice as it no doubt was, it didn’t matter much – you could just stay like this for hours, with his lips occasionally reaching to kiss your cheek, your temple.

“I adore you, Andrew Stephen Barber,” you sighed. “Sappy and all.”

His chest rumbled behind you as he hummed, his finger softly stroking your hand, pulling you somehow even closer to him. “Well perhaps he’s asking something else then.”

You felt your eyebrows rise, eyes fluttering open, smile still plastered on your face – you were probably grinning like a loon at this point.

“What’s he asking then? And what was that thing you said was missing?”

He caressed your fingers again. You felt him gulp behind you before he straightened and took your left hand, bringing it to your shoulder, to his lips, his hold on you never faltering.

“Maybe he’s asking if he could gain her favour forever.”

You chuckled breathlessly. Sap. For someone who had already been married once, even if mostly for convenience of an unplanned child, and then got divorced, he sure stayed a romantic.

“Forever is a long time,” you hummed noncommittally, not at all opposed to the idea though.

Andy was without doubt your Prince Charming in a three-piece suit, the wishful image of a happily ever after having crossed your mind more than once. With him, forever sounded sweet – and entirely plausible.

“Yeah, I know. But I want to try my luck asking anyway.”

That was the only warning you got before Andy suddenly released you from his embrace and used the gentle hold he still had on your left hand to turn you to face him, the strangest expression on his face.

Adoration. Affection. Worry. A nervous smile.

Nervous? What reason-

The realization slammed into you the very second Andy began to drop to one knee, a voiceless ‘oh my god’ knocked out of you along with your breath. A little blue box held up in his free palm, he gazed up at you as you watched him with wide eyes already filling with tears.

God, had you had any capacity to do so, you’d feel like a dumbass for not figuring out sooner what all his talk had meant. Why the missing thing. Why this was the painting he decided to stand in front of, this one among hundred others that adorned the walls of this place. Why the hand that had been right under his had been your left one, the whole time, and he hadn’t been caressing all your fingers. He had been – perhaps subconsciously – tracing a line of a ring which he hoped to put on your ring finger.

“Andy-”

“Sweetheart… I’m supposed to be great with words, but now when you’re actually facing me when I kneel here, they all… disappeared. But know that I love you. I love you with everything I am, with my whole heart. I will never understand art as well as you do, but I promise I’ll never stop trying and never stop listening, because I want to understand everything you love. I promise I will always do all I can to stay in your favour, in the favour of a woman who might as well be a muse herself,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes turning glassy as a huge lump grew in your throat, several tears escaping you and rolling down your cheeks even as you were biting your lip – as not to cry, a not to laugh giddily.

He wanted to marry you. He wanted to spend the rest of your lives with you and he wanted to make it as tangible as possible. He made this damn moment all about you, a true promise, a true testimony that he meant what he was saying. You bit your tongue hard as not to blurt out your answer before he could even ask the question.

He choked a little as he said your full name, thumb pressing to the edge of the box for it to open and reveal a no doubt beautiful ring – but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it, not when his lips twitched in a smile, his hand a little clammy as he still held yours. Or perhaps it only felt that way because your own were trembling, your heart threatening to beat its way out of your chest?

“Will you marry me?” he asked at last, finishing the question with a wide grin as you started to nod halfway through, the yes escaping a little too loud in the enormous room, the echo drowned in Andy’s relieved laugh, his hands – indeed shaking – slipping the ring on your ring finger meticulously before rising to his feet and framing your face with his palms and smashing his lips to yours, a grin to a grin, salty tears to salty tears.

Your fingers found purchase into his locks, holding onto him for dear life as he kissed you with vigour, nearly bending you backwards in half, one hand gripping your nape, the other moving to your lower back instead for better balance as he continued to steal your breath all for himself, an insistent press of his lips tasting like heaven and a promise of happiness.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips. “I love you.” A kiss to your nose. “I love you so fucking much-“

You giggled against his lips, returning the affection as much as you could, your heart pounding in your chest, pressed against Andy’s ribcage – his heart was racing too, as if he had run a marathon or argued the case of his life in front of a full courtroom.

“I love you too-“

“Thank you-“

You laughed breathlessly, yelping when his hands slipped under your thighs and he lifted you to up to spin you around, a brilliant smile on his face.

“You’re a sneak, Andrew Barber,” you teased him, the world still spinning even as he set you down, taking both of your hands to place a tender kiss to your fingers.

It was the first time you actually took a proper look at the shiny ring – and your breath caught in your throat, eyes burning, nose tingling with fresh tears.

“Andy…”

It was gorgeous – and most definitely not a mindlessly picked piece of jewellery with the biggest diamond in a ten-mile radius to show off. No. Much like he had shown dedication to the proposal itself – you were getting married, holy damn, Andy just PROPOSED – he must have put plenty of thought into choosing what was to adorn your finger for hopefully a very long time; forever even. Delicate but intricate in design, a bigger centre stone with what seemed to be a thousand of tiny gemstones surrounding it as a halo in an unpredictable but beautiful pattern. He must have spent a fortune on it – it was a piece of art itself. Probably one of a kind.

Just like the gem of a man who now stood in front of you with a mix of pride and bashfulness in his expression as you admired your new accessory – a new promise.

You met his gaze, eyes probably shining brighter than the ring.

“It’s gorgeous,” you sighed, unable to resist and leaning in for another kiss, hoping to pour all your gratitude and delight into his lips. “I see what you did here, Andy. Thank you… and I really really adore you, you have no idea. I’m the lucky one.”

He shook his head with a grin, nudging your nose with his, hugging you close. “Let’s agree to disagree, sweetheart…”

A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. “Mr. Barber… are you already disagreeing with your future wife?”

Judging by certain sensation against your belly, you weren’t the only one who felt a shot of euphoria through your veins when you said it; Andy’s pupils dilated, gaze flickering to your lips, this time with less than sweet intent, hand wandering from your lower back to the globes of your ass instead.

You giggled and let him pull you to him until you realized the direction you were facing – not. Because like this, Andy’s hand appreciating your ass was perfectly visible to the camera.

“Andy, wait-“

“I wouldn’t dare to disagree… guess we can both thank to our lucky stars then…” he muttered, completely ignoring your protest, lips nearing yours, suddenly painfully slow, butterflies fluttering in your stomach despite the rational voice in he back of your head that your really shouldn’t give in. But how when his palm sprawled further, long fingers reaching to your quickly heating centre.

“An-“

He swallowed your noise of protest and plea at once, your knees buckling an inch when he stroked over your covered slit.

 “Celebrate with me?” he whispered against your lips, his hips rutting against yours making you whimper.

“Andy, the cameras-“

“-are off, I bribed the guard, I swear-“ he cut you off as his other hand slipped under your pencil skirt,  already tracing the line of your panties on your thigh.

“Andy-“ you whined as his lips retreated only to pepper soft slow kisses down the column of your throat, your head tilting back on its own volition as your body craved his touch, your core now throbbing. He’d better not be joking about the cameras, otherwise you really would-

“Come on, love, you gonna let me pin you to the wall like the masterpiece you are deserves?” he whispered and it was a terrible, terrible line, but he nipped at your pulse point and your feet obliged as he back you into the wall, fingers pushing the soaked fabric of your underwear to side, finding your hot and wet and waiting for him. A groan escaped his lips, his hard cock rutting into you as his fingertips teased your slit. “Gonna let me paint you all pretty with my cum, like a good little wife?”

“Jesus, Andy-“

“Gonna say yes to me one more time today, won’t you?” he demanded huskily, a knowing teasing lull to his voice as he kissed you again, letting you taste his sinful smile. He knew you would. You could never tell him no, not when you knew what awaited you was pure bliss, a loving but no less filthy ecstasy.

It was wrong. It was beautiful. It was insane and you’d happily take the leap. You were getting married. What other answer was there, especially with such a reward in your reach?

“Yes,” you sighed, head hitting the wall lightly, the hard warm planes of Andy’s body indeed pinning you in place, right between two damn exquisite painting. “Yes, I will.”

And then, because that beautiful bastard seducing you in the least appropriate place deserved a retaliation, you breathed out the last coherent words you could form before Andy made you forget how to do so:

“I will always say yes to my husband.”

Misc characters masterlist

Full masterlist

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed 🥰

Once again, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate 💕

Headboard info: framed picture from this artist (edited) - https://displate.com/displate/5918780, gif from Tenor

#r #andy barber x reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber x you #andy barber #defending acob au #andy barber fluff #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #a night at the museum #anika ann #gift fic

[pineapple-coffee]

:)

#I could write essays/fanfics on both of their backstories #as an ahkmenrah and a larry stan I can confirm this is true #night at the museum #natm #ahkmenrah #rami malek #natm ahkmenrah #natm larry #larry daley #elliott’s ramblings

[ancientpersacom]

bbBSVEIEK I FORGOT TO POST THIS YESTERDAY- n e ways I made a lil oneshot for the Ahk enjoyers. Specifically the trans ones.

#night at the museum #natm #ahkmenrah natm #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #natm fanfic #night at the museum fanfic

[rivstyx]

no better recommendation for an angst writer than the comments, right?

anyway, hi, I'm River! i've done eleven Good Omens fics, including a five-part outsider POV series for which i'm best known, and five Our Flag Means Death fics.

and these days I’m writing about the little gay people from night at the museum! you can find all my NATM stuff here, but I'd also like to highlight promise a future I can come back to, my enemies-to-lovers soulmate AU and longest work to date. its sequel, i am the silence (i am the call), is now in progress, so keep an eye out for that!

other things I do:

- compile a NATM fic rec list, which you can find here or via the link in my blog header on desktop

- mod NATMweek.tumblr.com

- co-run a Discord server for adult NATM fans, which you can join here

- i have a website

for my writing, the tag is #riv writes; for my art, #riv draws; my super-short flash fics, #minific, project information, #riv updates; promise and silence updates, #promise a future I can come back to and #i am the silence; content for my OCs, #riv’s ocs; and… phew! I think that’s everything.

thanks for stopping by!

#I apologize in advance #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #our flag means death fanfiction #our flag means death fanfic #our flag means death fic #night at the museum fanfiction #night at the museum fanfic #night at the museum fic #ofmd fic #natm fic #riv writes #riv draws #riv updates #natm fandom #updated 7/24/23

[fdrsamericanflagduckfloaty]

I AM GOING F U C K I N G INSANE OVER THIS VIDEO?!?!? HELLO?!?!?!?

WATCH IT??? PLEASE???

IM GONNA SCREAM

#so much fanfic motivation #TEDDY'S PARTS ARE MAKING ME GO NUTS 😭 #night at the museum #Oh my GOD man #*sighs in tagging* #tagging is a pain sometimes do you know that #natm larry #larry daley #natm ahkmenrah #natm jedediah #natm octavius #natm teddy roosevelt #natm sacagawea #stan her btw #natm attila #Youtube