#Night At The Museum; Battle At The Smithsonian | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerdallwritey · 1 month ago

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Don't! Cross! This! Line! With Your Hand.

Summary: “I’ll tell you what, they didn’t call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy’ for nothing.” He made to hand you the instrument, then snatched it back just as quickly. “They DIDN’T call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy,’ they called me ‘Astarion the BLOODTHIRSTY, who KILLS whoever doesn’t give Astarion exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it! Which is RIGHT NOW when I had better get my back read out to me!’” You looked at him with wide eyes, trying and nearly failing to withhold a laugh. He was trying to play this game with you. He really was. But you could see how desperately he wanted answers, too. Astarion, in turn, puffed his chest out as if trying to stand his ground. Just a little longer with the teasing, then you’d help him. “That’s what they called you?” you asked. Astarion looked up as if trying to grasp what exactly he should say next. “It was… shorter in Elvish.” OR Astarion asks for help with reading the scars on his back. You give him a hard time in the process. NOTE: This is a crack fic is based on this scene from Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian.

Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Mature Word count: 2.1k CW: strong-ish language, stupidity, Night at the Museum 2 Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3

a/n: I wrote this back in March of 2024, WAAAAAAYYY before I ever posted An Evening to Ourselves. It was never supposed to see the light of day and yet, here we are. I recently reached 300 followers on this account and was encouraged by @vividiana and @khywren to post this crack fic as a celebration of sorts. Here's what I wrote in the google doc I originally wrote this piece in: "I wrote this purely because I love this dumb scene a lot and I thought it was a funny dynamic between Astarion and my Tav. It’s bad. It’s good. It is what it is." Please enjoy!

There it was. Your precious lute. Wood worn from loving hands cradling it through years of song. Haphazardly shoved into the back of a tent with jars full of what you assumed was the blood of wild animals. Rags and other miscellaneous objects thrown on top of it to try and hide it from view. Nothing too heavy though. She’d sing another day.

You KNEW Astarion had taken it. The bastard.

He’d begged you to stop playing when you were working out a tune on the way to the Risen Road. He’d begged you to stop playing when you made your way back to camp. It hardly seemed fair that he would take it and hide it while you were helping Gale with dinner. You couldn’t help that annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes.

Still, he hadn’t destroyed the instrument as he had threatened to do so eloquently. That was something. Though Astarion rarely ever made good on his threats to you or your prized possessions.

Puffing out a short breath to move a strand of hair out of your face, you crouched, doing your best to mimic what your resident rogue might do in this situation. Looking around, Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Strange, given the time of evening - perfect time to ignore everyone and read something he’d picked up on the road - but you couldn’t complain. Here was the perfect time to take back what was rightfully yours.

On your hands and knees you crawled forward, ducking your head under the low flap of his tent. Gently, you removed the debris covering the beloved instrument, and scurried backwards again to make off with your loot.

“Stoooooop-” you heard a familiar voice bellow from the treeline, “-right there, darling.”

Spinning on your heel, you turned to greet an irritated, and shirtless, Astarion. His brows were knit together in a scowl as he marched towards you. Specks of blood littered his skin. He must have just come from a hunt.

“Evening, Astarion,” you chirped innocently. “Were you out hunting for a shirt?”

He ignored your quip and instead got up into your personal space. Thrown off by his proximity, you dropped your guard a bit, allowing him to reach forward and snatch the lute out of your hands.

“Give me that!” you lunged after his hand but he held the instrument out of your reach.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he tisked. “First, you’re going to do something for me.” He turned to give you a look at his back.

You were met with the intricate scar you’d only seen a handful of times before. Once when you’d accidentally come across him washing his shirt in a nearby stream, and another the morning following the Tiefling party after you’d spent the night with him.

The intricate patterns drove a dull ache through your heart. Astarion had mentioned it had been carved into his skin over the course of a single night by his ruthless master, Cazador. You scrunched your nose and scowled at the thought, then softened, feeling sympathy for the man before you. Speaking of-

“I know a few healing spells, but I don’t think they’d help with this,” you said, genuinely.

“Obviously not,” Astarion spat over his shoulder. Then he sighed. “Sorry, I- That’s not what I meant. I was wondering if you could help me read them. The scars. I’ve been trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashimi.”

You crossed your arms and examined his back. You recognized the language of the runes: Infernal. Your eyes zeroed in on the lute in his hand. Might as well have some fun if he insisted on being annoying.

“I’ll help you read your back,” you said, a teasing lilt in your tone, “when you release my lute and give it back to me.”

Astarion turned again to face you and caught a mischievous look in your eye. You saw him mirror it. He knew you’d read the scars for him. But a game was afoot.

He straightened his posture and lifted his head in a way you’d seen him do dozens of times now: I’m better than you. I’m looking down on you. Come here and I’ll snatch you right up.

“I shall release what I want to release the moment I want to release it.”

You snorted. “Great. And I’ll read what I want to read at the exact moment that I want to read it, okay?”

Astarion huffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Tell me what it says right now or I shall destroy ALL your instruments, starting with the little worn out piece of driftwood here.” He waggled the lute by its neck lamely to punctuate his point.

“It’s spruce!” you feigned offense. “Fine, if you’re not gonna give me back my lute, then I’m never going to help you translate the Infernal on your back.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Infernal… what was that bastard up to?” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

“Good,” you said, leaning forward for the lute.

Astarion tilted back a little, keeping his grip firmly on the lute. You gave him a look of confusion.

“I’ll tell you what, they didn’t call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy’ for nothing.” He made to hand you the instrument, then snatched it back just as quickly. “They DIDN’T call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy,’ they called me ‘Astarion the BLOODTHIRSTY, who KILLS whoever doesn’t give Astarion exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it! Which is RIGHT NOW when I had better get my back read out to me!’”

You looked at him with wide eyes, trying and nearly failing to withhold a laugh. He was trying to play this game with you. He really was. But you could see how desperately he wanted answers, too.

Astarion, in turn, puffed his chest out as if trying to stand his ground.

Just a little longer with the teasing, then you’d help him.

“That’s what they called you?” you asked.

Astarion looked up as if trying to grasp what exactly he should say next. “It was… shorter in Elvish.”

“Great, well, I’ll read your back after you give me back-” you reached forward once more for the lute and your fingers brushed one of the strings, letting out a soft trill.

“How dare you,” Astarion pivoted on his heel away from you. “If you touch that again, I shall kill you right now.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. For all his talk, you knew Astarion would never hurt you intentionally.

He pointed at the lute and continued: “Do not touch this. This is a no touching zone.” He waved his free hand in front of the lute, drawing an invisible barrier through the air.

“Good! Well, then-” you reached out and strummed a few of the strings that were within your reach.

Astarion angled his body to cut you off. “Oh my gods,” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe you reached across like that.”

Again, you tried extremely hard to keep yourself from laughing.

Astarion smiled and kept going. “I can’t even believe it. Oh, gods, I want to kill you right- If I didn’t need you to read my back you’d be- you’d be so dead right now, it would be unbelievable.”

For all his practiced words and charm, he was failing miserably at threatening you articulately. You both knew it but neither of you would be the one to break first.

“Great, but you DO need my help to read your back.”

Astarion used his free hand again to dramatically redraw the barrier between you and his arm holding your lute. “Don’t! Cross! This! Line! With your hand.”

“No-”

“How dare you-”

“What I’m saying is-”

“If you speak again-”

“Nobody else-”

“If you SPEAK again, I’m GOING to kill you. Do you understand?”

You attempted to give an answer to this, but the vampire cut you off gleefully.

“Don’t say any- Oh gods I see you getting ready-”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh my gods! Don’t say anything!”

Sucking in your lips and holding your breath, you did your best to remain nonchalant. Astarion could see you were about to break. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“I shall murder you if you talk again. Now would you please… read what's on my damn back?” He turned once again to show you the pattern in his skin. You took this as your chance to snatch your lute back.

Your hand connected with the instrument. “Okay, after you give this back to me.”

Astarion slowly turned back to you, feigning disbelief and using his free hand to clutch at his chest in mock pain. “You did both! You spoke, and you reached your hand across!” He whipped his arm holding the lute back to his side, forcing you to let go.

“Look,” you said, placing your hands on your hips, “I could do this with you all night, okay?”

“How about this?” Astarion moved his hand to the pegboard of the lute and brought his free hand to the base. He then kicked the back of your knee, making you shift off balance, and finally came around behind you, holding the neck of the lute against your throat. “How about I DON’T kill you right now like I really, REALLY want to, and I give you precisely five seconds to read what’s been carved into my back.”

“Oh my gooooooods,” came another voice. “You two need to stop flirting so loudly around the rest of us.”

Karlach meandered over, dragging her hands down her face indicating she’d heard enough.

“Astarion, the infernal on your back doesn’t say anything specific. It’s part of some larger devilish pact or some shit. I can’t be fucked.”

You both looked to Karlach and then back at each other. Astarion released you from the “threatening” hold he had you in and the pair of you turned to face your tiefling friend.

“Karlach,” Astarion started, “you know how to read?”

The flames that surrounded Karlach’s body burned brightly for a moment. “Of course I know how to read, you absolute twat hat.”

That made you start to laugh in earnest.

“And you, soldier!” Karlach focused her attention on you and you immediately shut up. “If you’re gonna bang fangs, good for you by the way, but if you’re gonna bang fangs, have the decency to keep it down? Some of us are really pent up and can’t do anything about it.”

You cringed inwardly. “So sorry, we’ll keep it down from now on.” you elbowed Astarion.

“Ow! Yes, sure, sorry.”

“Good. Now put a shirt on, fancy boy.” With that, Karlach made her way back to her tent.

The both of you stayed quiet for another moment.

“Still feel like murdering me?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Great. Turn around.” You knelt down in the dirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Turn around,” you repeated.

Astarion did as he was told and turned to show you his back. You stared for a moment, then took to drawing it in the dusty ground in front of you. When you were done, you patted Astarion’s calf and he turned back to face you.

“What in the hells?” Then, after a moment, “What did he do to me?”

Looking at the runes you’d dutifully copied into the dirt, you weren’t exactly sure what to make of it, apart from what Karlach had already told you. You stayed silent.

“Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.” Disbelief and confusion coated his words.

“You really have no idea what this is?”

“None at all… Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt.”

You rose to stand and joined Astarion by his side.

He sighed. “Whatever he’s left carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me. But if this is part of a contract, it must be powerful. Or valuable. Or both.” Something hungry played in his tone.

You nudged him gently. Come back. “No wonder he wants me back. What have I run off with?”

He spoke more to himself than you. You left his side briefly to rummage through his things not a few feet away from you. You tossed one of his own shirts at him, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“We’ll figure it out,” you walked back to his side. “I promise.”

“Will we?” He searched your eyes. “How… sweet.”

You half smiled, then your eyes trailed down to your lute still in his hand. “Can I have that back now?”

“Not a chance, darling.”

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64-jungle-planks · 10 months ago

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Night at the Museum: Redesigning Characters (Bonus)

Character profile: Napoléon "Le Petit Caporal" Bonaparte

This character is based off of and takes inspiration from the historical Napoleon Bonaparte.

Real Name: Napoléon Bonaparte

Nickname and Meaning: Le Petit Caporal - A term of affection from his soldiers

Age: 40-41 (Late 1809, early 1810)

Time Period: Napoléonic era frace

Family: Josephine de Beauharnais (ex-wife), Marie Louise (wife)+ seven siblings none of which were brought back besides Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte- his nephew

(Headcanons under the cut)

Based on/taken from History:

Pompous

Very overly confident.

Egotistical. He hasn’t seen his own downfall yet and feels he can win more.

On December 2, 1805, in his greatest victory, he defeated the combined Austrian and Russian armies in the Battle of Austerlitz.

signed treaties that created the Grand Duchy of Warsaw

Late 1809, early 1810, Napoléon’s roughly around 40-41

Still loves Josephine, but planning to divorce.

Upset she wasn’t remade alongside him

From Napoléon's memory, Joseph Bonaparte is king of Spain, but isn’t doing well.

Stupidly cute smile

+ Sensitive + Honest + Intelligent - Nepotist - Aggressive - Forgets other people have feelings

My own silly headcanons:

Has put on weight, he’s not used to fighting with it.

Napoléon likes to steal pop-it’s and water wigglers from the gift shop. He always has to have something in his hands to fidget with- normally it’s his gloves or a snuff box or taking apart and cleaning his pistol. Now that he has access to modern fidgets, he likes to taking the green ones.

He also really likes clicking mechanical pencils

He loves inventions that make life better in little ways. Canning food was invented in his life (he’s actually the one who offered a prize of 12,000 francs to improve the food preservation methods that existed at the time which led to canned food being invented) but there was no simple way to open the cans. He loves can openers- taking them with the promise of returning them to just take apart and put back together.

If your gossiping, he obviously eavesdrops. Napoléon cans and will butt into your conversation about someone and listen like you’re saying the most interesting thing in the world. If he can’t come over to you, he will do the lead paint stare at you.

Still acts like he’s emperor.

Originally thought the average height of humans gained a lot of height. He was envious up until he learned whoever created his mold got his height wrong and he’s 5’2”, not 5’7”, then, Napoléon was just pisssed off.

He loves to infodump about his victories and will call over his men to help act them out, sneaking small fibs in to make himself look even better than he already does. If you ask him about his losses, you’ll only get a stare in return and a quick “Non”. (Credit @frombottlealleytotheharbor)

“Hey, do you remember [insert battle he lost]? What was it like?” “…Non.” “But… weren’t you there?” He starts walking away. “Non.” “But—“ “NON!”

He gets into fights with Al because Al is someone who clearly doesn’t respect him. The Capone trio love to tease him - especially Frank and Al. Ralph watches with a grin, which is somehow even more infuriating to Napoléon.

Sometimes getting out of his box, he looks like a well-loved stuffed animal. It takes him a moment to get himself together.

Loves watching true crime and reality TV shows. Isn’t the biggest fan of Horror movies.

Somehow got his hands on a cigarette, absolutely died after one puff. Napoléon threw it onto the ground and stomped off coughing, vowing to never do it again.

He’s so very envious that Al and Ralph had even a bit of time with their sons while they were alive. François Charles was born after the time he was made, and it makes Napoléon feel so homesick and want his kid- one that he doesn’t even know. He absolutely adores Louis Napoleon, who he only met a few times.

Loves ABBA, originally he disliked, but he's grown to like it now that he knows the meaning

I gave him his Laurel wreath just because I thought they were cool and also to show that he's still very pompous and full of himself.

Unfortunately no doodles, I haven't had time!

Étienne Champenois belongs to @lidensword and Gustave Bréant belongs to @all-yn-oween

Frank, Al, Ralph

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