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alfredosauce50 · 3 months ago

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Night at the Museum

[America x reader]

Rating: M Word count: 5, 887 Synopsis: You and Alfred decide to visit New York’s Museum of Natural History for old time’s sake. In a stroke of bad luck, you two get locked in overnight, unaware and unprepared for the dangers lurking within. It’s where history comes alive, and he ends up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a bloodthirsty warlord. The whole time, he’s also wrestling with his feelings for you, and he doesn’t know which is harder. Solipsism: knowledge of anything outside one’s own mind is unsure; the external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist outside the mind.

“The more you know about the past, the better prepared you are for the future.” — Theodore Roosevelt

“Man, we haven’t been here since we were little kids,” Alfred took it all in as he made it inside, to where he was greeted by the skeleton of Tyrannosaurus rex in an awe-inspiring pose. With its head bowed toward the entrance, he and other patrons were greeted by a set of razor-sharp teeth grinning down with a hunger for the ages. “I wonder if anything’s changed. Probably a lot.”

“A bunch of stuff, actually. But it looks like they did a huge revamp on all the wax figures,” You lifted your gaze from a brochure you collected from the front. The museum of natural history wasn’t half as impressive as the Smithsonian, but it had a special place in both of your hearts. “They’re meant to be super realistic now. You know, the whole ‘history comes alive’ pizazz.”

“Huh. Then what would be the difference between here and Madame Tussaud’s?” He glanced at you.

“The people here are worth remembering.”

“Good point.”

As local New Yorkers, it was tradition to come back every once in a while. Yellow cabs, subway crazies, and the best pizza in the world — there was no other city quite like the Big Apple, and you two decided to swing by during your semester break to reconnect with your roots. Needless to say, it was nice to get away from the upbeat chaos of life on campus.

“You think you’re gonna go to Arthur’s Christmas party?” He asked you, peering around the room of American history. There was a shining stagecoach pulled by four black horses, mannequins in confederate and union uniforms with their guns trained at each other, a giant moose, and eagles watching over everything else.

“Well, we kinda have to. Can you imagine how upset he’d be if we didn’t? He’d probably be heartbroken.”

“Yeah, but I get crazy diarrhea every time.” He scoffed, eyes wide as he recalled blowing up the toilet last year.

”You don’t have to remind me.” You shuddered.

“I know, I was just saying. I was thinking we could go somewhere fun,” Alfred gave you an expectant look as he tried to sell you on it. “We could go skating, or just watch a movie back at my place. What do you say?”

“Hm, I don’t know. I’m really craving his scones.”

“Seriously?”

”But not as much as our time together,” You smiled, watching him light up. Taking his hand, you pulled him along and said this with a laugh. “I’d rather go to the dumpster with you than the Met. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.” He softened his gaze. You said that, but the way you held his hand said otherwise. Or was it because you two were that close? Either way, he was starting to go down the pipeline he swore that he wouldn’t.

”Are you okay?” You asked.

”Yeah, I’m fine.” He adjusted his glasses.

“Wanna kiss it better?” You swung his arm playfully.

Alfred glared at you as the only diversion from the fact that he was blushing. It was so like you to say things like that. You were attractive, and you knew it. With your sense of humor, it made for a dangerous game. But he’d been playing it for a while. He covered your entire face with his hand, then pushed you down to a nearby bench in one clean movement.

”Hey!”

“Hey yourself.” Alfred walked off with his hands in his pockets, as cool as a cucumber.

This might’ve been all fun and games with you, but you weren’t the loneliest animal on the planet here. Not that it made his feelings for you any less real. He liked you, and not because you were an idea in his head.

You were real, every strange thought and neuron of your imagination. You could be as sharp as a tack when you wanted to be. He loved your mind and the way it worked, or at least when you weren’t tantalizing him.

“Remember when we were little we used to take baths together?” You sprung up out of the blue.

”Barely.” Alfred exhaled, wildly unprepared for what just came out of your mouth. But before he reacted any further, he reminded himself just who he was talking to. “That’s probably why we did it in the first place. Why?”

You were sleeping over that time, as you always did every Friday after your philosophy class. Your things were strewn all over his bedroom, like a half-eaten cup noodle, some snacks, and the clothes you brought over.

While he browsed the rest of the displays in the room, he let himself get immersed in that particular memory.

That was when you caught up with him again, even having the nerve to smile up at him with ‘hehe’ written all over your face. He glowered down at you, but really, he was just happy that you were by his side again.

You had a thirty second rebound before doing or saying the next pain in the ass thing, but he forgave you even faster than that. And it had been that way since horseshoe crabs were the only thing roaming the Earth.

”You think we could fit in the bathtub?”

“If you’re asking if I wanna take a bath with you, it’s an immediate no. We’re way too old for that.”

“You don’t have to be such a prude,” You mumbled, rolling your head away. “I was just wondering.”

“I’m not a prude.” He grumbled.

“And it’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before.”

“Yeah, when I was little!”

“Can’t imagine it’s grown much since then.”

He glared at the ceiling, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of seeing how embarrassed he was.

As much as he’d like to pull his pants down to prove you wrong, he didn’t. Someone had to uphold a sense of decency around here, even if that person had to be him, the worst possible example of it, if he was one at all.

“If you’re done, I’m gonna go to sleep,” He sat up and twisted around to fluff up his pillow. You were starting to drift off by then, but he didn’t let you off so easily. “Don’t let me catch you peeking or I’ll molest you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, geez.”

And to think he used to be such a cute kid, kicking his ball over your fence just so he could come over to play. You both grew up since then, and with that, came his awful sense of humor among other things.

But if you asked him, he learned from the best.

“You know the nicest people make the best Nazis?” You asked, walking by a glass display of three wax figures. Sakagawea, a young Shoshone woman who guided Lewis and Clarke on their expedition to the Pacific.

“Do they?” He narrowed his eyes in interest.

“Nice people look the other way and just wanna get along with everybody else.” You said, towing him along. “Have the whole country doing that, plus a heap of propaganda, you could get away with anything.”

“Well, if I was a German, I wouldn’t buy into it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alfred frowned, genuinely offended. “I’m not a freakin’ racist.”

”Being scorned is your kryptonite,” You pointed out, getting him to roll his eyes. So he didn’t like to deviate from standards, and being a raving right-wing was one at the time. “And trust me when I say you would be.”

”That’s why the second amendment exists,” He smiled sagely with a hint of mischief. “If the government was to push some crazy agenda into us, the rednecks wouldn’t have it. We shape society to what we want.”

”What if the society you want isn’t the society someone else wants?” You asked, stopping in front of an exhibit of a male Algonquin warrior. “We all worship something. What’s normal to you might be crazy for someone else.”

”I guess you’re right,” He agreed, gazing upon the person who lived — and believed — in things drastically different than did. His brows came together as he marveled at the man who stood over him, a chief’s son who had been dead for well over a thousand years.

Allen was his name. He had striking scarlet eyes, dark maroon hair, tawny brown skin, and a toned body from a life of hunting and gathering. As he stared out into the middle distance, there was something uncanny about him, like he could come alive at any second, but didn’t.

“What do you think this guy worshipped?” Alfred murmured faintly, strangely captivated by him.

It was humbling to be in the presence of all of these historical figures, but intimidating to imagine them as people who existed. He was a history nut, and one thing he understood was how astonishingly cruel and violent the past could be. From the swashbuckling tales of the Wild West to the burning sands of Ancient Egypt, everything was best enjoyed from the comforts of his modern American home. Or in this case, a museum.

Where all of the exhibits were mere imitations of the long dead and gone, it would take no less than a miracle for any of them to come back to life. Little did he know, a miracle was exactly what he’d be in for tonight.

You two poked around some more, eventually ending up in the Northern European section of the museum. Nothing really stood out to him besides the Vikings, who also caught the attention of the general public.

“This man was the greatest viking to have ever lived. Mathias Densen, the king of Danes,” A guide showed off a wax exhibit to a crowd of tourists. You and Alfred were among them, having taken the liberty to tune in.

Some took pictures, others whispered amongst themselves at the impressive lookalike made to imitate a legend out of the sagas. He had blonde hair swept up in the front in an unruly mane, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. With his arm raised and axe in hand, he was frozen in time, suspended in a pose so natural, it looked like he’d bring it down at any given moment.

“He was the most feared warrior in all of Scandinavia. When he threw an axe at his enemy, he never missed. But all blood and gore aside, he will go down in history as one of the best leaders and explorers of all time.”

”Wouldn’t wanna get him angry, huh?” Alfred gave you a side-eye, returning his gaze to the information plate. That was when he saw a portrait of a woman who was supposedly the only one who could go toe-to-toe with his ruthlessness. “You know, she kinda looks like you.”

”Really?” You leaned over. “I don’t see it.”

”No way. You guys are like twins!” He exclaimed.

“Maybe just the eyes.”

“Maybe she’s your long-lost ancestor or something.”

After another hour of walking around and talking, you and Alfred left to get to the exit. It was approaching closing time, and you two were among the last to leave. A security guard stood near the revolving doors, bidding farewell to guests. But before he could acknowledge you two, Alfred stopped and patted around his shirt.

“Shit, I left my glasses.” He winced.

Neither of you two thought it would’ve been problem to go back and retrieve them at the time. Who would’ve thought they’d made the security so much tighter that it would end up the biggest mistake of your lives?

After sweeping room after room, he eventually found them on the ground next to a bench. Sliding them onto his nose, he picked up a brisk jog as he made his way back downstairs. But by then, it was too late.

“Now let’s get out before we get locked in.”

”Don’t jinx us.”

”Not gonna happen.”

And he said that so confidently too. Because when he pushed at the revolving door, it didn’t budge.

”What’s wrong?” You asked from behind.

“Nothing, just give me a sec…” He rattled it a few more times, but to no avail. Then, he let out a heavy breath as he admitted the one thing he thought could never happen. “… Okay, I think we’re locked in.”

“You’re joking.” You blurted.

You brushed past him to give the door a strong shake, needing that same taste of defeat before believing it yourself. Sure enough, it was locked shut, and would likely stay locked all the way up til morning.

“Oh my God, we are. What are we gonna do?”

”Call the cops.” He suggested, pulling out his phone to dial 9-11. After a few tries, to which he stared at you tensely with it pressed up to his ear, he found that the call kept failing. “Annnnd the cops aren’t picking up.”

“Well, keep trying! Call Arthur or something.”

For the next thirty minutes, you both paced around while trying to reach local government services, then friends or loved ones. It slowly became apparent that you two weren’t getting out anytime soon.

You weren’t the type to express it, let alone say it, but you were getting scared and uncomfortable.

So was he, but like hell he’d let it show. Not because he didn’t have the balls to admit it, but it was the last thing you needed right now. You weren’t looking at him, and he knew in an instant that you were on the verge.

“We’re not gonna make it out, are we?”

Alfred was crushed with so much guilt, he couldn’t even react when the lights dimmed, plunging the museum into a pitch-black darkness. His eyes stayed wide with remorse, even when he couldn’t see you anymore.

In that moment, he came over and hugged you as tight as he could, lips pursed in a deep frown. It wasn’t every day that he could hold you like this, but he set aside every shard of his shattered ego to do it.

Even if he had to do it in the dark.

There couldn’t be a better metaphor for his feelings. Alfred had always been too afraid to tell you how he felt, and if he did, he’d do it in a way that was hidden from plain sight. This was one of those times.

It was one thing to admit he was scared. It was another to say he was sorry. But telling you how much you truly meant to him was damn near impossible. So instead of doing any of the above, he let you sleep on him.

He had his back on a cold hard bench while you drifted away. There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight, but this was just his karma. So he stayed like that for the next few hours, to which you began to stir.

“You good?” He asked in a soft murmur.

”Yeah,” You rubbed your eyes. “Just a little thirsty.”

”I’m pretty sure there’s a fountain outside.” He helped you up, putting on his glasses. “I’ll come with you.”

”No, it’s fine.” You sighed, getting up to leave the room.

”Hey,” Alfred softened his gaze, getting you to slow to a stop. He was so exhausted, all of his walls were coming down. And he couldn’t stand to bottle it up inside him any longer. “I’m sorry, okay? This was all my fault.”

”It’s okay. We can’t all be born perfect.” You cracked a smile, walking off. But the happy note only lasted so long once you got to the hallway outside. It was so dark, you could barely see the ground beneath you.

With nothing but the wall lamps to illuminate the empty halls, the institution turned into nothing but a graveyard: a dim labyrinth of the long dead and gone. And like all graveyards, there were ghosts.

The black outline of wax figures lined your peripherals, and you gazed at them nervously as you made your way to the fountain. After a few satisfying gulps, you began making your way back to the room. That was when you heard the echo of footsteps in the distance, too far away to have made sense at the time. Someone was at the end of the hall, and it couldn’t have been Alfred.

“Hello?” You called out to the source.

The shadow of a man appeared around the corner, the details of his wild, upswept hair showing up on the wall. When he revealed himself, he was covered head to toe in thick fur pelts and armor. Your eyes went wide ever so slowly, heart racing as you were struck with this realization. He was a spitting image of the viking you’d seen on display, but he wasn’t just an inanimate statue made of colored wax and glue. He was moving.

Breathing.

He was alive.

Alfred waited patiently for you to come back, though he regretted letting you go out by yourself. It wasn’t like there was anything out there, but you must’ve been afraid under that bravado you showed him. If only he knew how wrong he’d been. As he sat on the bench, the museum slowly came to life. All of its waxy inhabitants, people gone for centuries, returned from the dead.

And the lights came back on, one by one.

The Viking’s chest heaved for the air that hadn’t filled his lungs in eons. And with eyes as blue as the oceans he sailed across, he stared at you like he had just seen a ghost. They had a light in them they never had before, a consciousness, a soul, and you stared right back. But the way he looked at you was like nothing you’d expect. There wasn’t a trace of hostility in his gaze, but something deeply emotional and coherent.

Not that any of that mattered to you.

You split, running from him as fast as you could and with more adrenaline than what you thought was humanly possible. But then again, what you witnessed was a testament to the impossible. The dead walked, and you were trapped in here with hundreds of them. Whipping your head over your shoulder, you let out a frightened cry when you saw him chasing you.

Your screams echoed down the hall, and Alfred felt his blood go cold hearing them. But he forced himself to stand, and without a shred of hesitation, he ran outside to look for you. When you weren’t by the fountain, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. And his face, now whiter than a sheet of paper. Where did you go?

“(F/N)!” He yelled, sprinting down the hall.

But more importantly, what was it that made you scream? Whatever it was, he knew he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you. The lights were now on, and he swore he could hear the tapping of what sounded like hundreds of footsteps. There was something around the corner, or someone, he just never would’ve anticipated it beyond his wildest imagination.

“Where are you?” Once be got around the turn, what he saw put a stopper to his thoughts, derailing them with the most fantastical thing he had ever seen. His eyes flew open, and his mouth went agape so he could let out a shaky breath. “What the hell is going on?”

Swathes of people dressed in cultural adornments and even objects were out and about, talking to each other in languages he couldn’t even begin to decipher. Inuits, African tribesmen, and Edwardian socialites walked along the halls like time had just shattered upon itself. Marble sculptures, copper statues, and other pieces of art were moving about like they weren’t made of some kind of rock. There was even a Terracotta soldier, who was accompanied by a Chinese dragon made entirely out of green jade. Elephants, rhinos, and giraffes passed by in a strangely calm fashion like this wasn’t their first rodeo in the museum. Everyone did, except for him.

“No way.” He whispered, glancing left to right as he picked up a jog. If he wasn’t wrong, everything in the museum had come to life. Was he dreaming? He had to be. In his dazed stupor, he ran into a medieval knight. There was a loud clank, and he would’ve winced from how much it hurt if it weren’t for being spoken to.

“Excuse me. Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry!” He blurted. “I’m so sorry.”

”That’s alright! But you look a bit pale there, kid. What seems to be the problem?” The knight questioned, still wearing his helmet and hiding his face. Aside from his silver armor, he wore pure white garments with a blood red cross — the signature outfit of a crusader knight.

“Oh, um, where do I start?” Alfred panted, speaking in a frazzled manner. Funnily enough, this was the straightest he’d been thinking now that someone was talking to him. “Oh, I know! How the hell is everyone and everything in this museum alive right now?”

“I’d normally have a better answer, but I’ve never read anything like this in the Bible,” The other scratched their head through their helmet inquisitively. “Maybe I missed a chapter. But honestly, I’m just as lost as you are.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Bible. The word of God. Haven’t you heard of it?”

”I know what the Bible is!” Alfred raised his voice into a frustrated hiss, but he instantly felt bad for it. “Sorry. I’m talking to a monk, here. I should be more respectful. But never mind that. I’m looking for my friend. I’m worried something happened to her.”

”I could help you look for her!”

“That would be great, thank you.”

”I’m Gilbert. Proud Templar Knight and brother from the Temple of Solomon.” They took off their helmet and held it against their hip, revealing a head of white hair and ruby-red eyes. Then, they outstretched a gloved hand for him with a toothy grin. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Alfred, uh, son of Arthur, and student hailing from New York,” Alfred improvised awkwardly, giving it a slow, disoriented shake. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m talking to a Crusader knight right now.”

“So where did you last see your friend?” Gilbert asked.

Mathias carried you all the way to the other side of the museum, and you thrashed the whole time, begging him to let you go. When he finally put you down, he kept a firm grip on your hand. You were greeted by other Vikings, and just when you thought you’d be sacrificed like a goat, they broke out in wide smiles.

Besides them speaking in old Norse to you, which you had no way of comprehending, they were more than pleasant to you, even offering you some plastic food, which you politely declined. From the way they acted around you, it was like being with an old friend.

It became clear that they had no intention of harming you, but why they brought you here was still a mystery.

”I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you guys are saying,” You interrupted meekly, darting your nervous eyes between them. They stared at you with blank faces before exchanging confused looks with each other. “Could you please let me go? I don’t want any trouble.”

“Where did you run off to? I haven’t seen you all week. I was worried something happened to you,” Mathias spun you to him, hugging you tightly before putting his hands all over you. “You’re speaking in tongues and acting very strange! We need to get you a doctor.”

”I didn’t understand that either.” You sighed.

”It’s worse than I thought. Somebody get Olaf,” The Dane ordered, summoning another Viking to come over. They took your arm and led you off, much to your dismay. “Look after her for me, friend. In the meantime, I have a man to hunt. He’s the one responsible for this.”

”Hey, wait! Where are you taking me?” You exclaimed, glancing back at Mathias as he left. In that precise moment, your best friend’s words replayed in your mind like a tape. You looked just like his wife, and so much that it had the actual guy fooled. “Oh no. Alfred!”

It didn’t take a linguist to know that he was in trouble, but there was nothing you could do. Your companions kept you inside their make-shift hut, treating you as one of their own. They laid you down and spoke to you very slowly, so they must’ve thought you had a concussion. Either way, they weren’t letting you out of their sight.

You just hoped Alfred brushed up on his history, because he’d be needing it tonight.

”Where the hell could she be?” Alfred walked with his newest companion. “We checked everywhere!”

”Actually, we still haven’t checked Northern Europe.” Gilbert corrected, getting the blonde to turn in the direction of said location. But he launched a hand out and grabbed him, pulling him back. “Don’t. It’s suicide.”

”Why?” He frowned.

”It’s occupied by Norse Pagans.” The albino warned, pulling him close for a tantalizing whisper. He glanced around before he continued, almost as if speaking of them would summon them like the devil himself.

”Norse Pagans? You mean Vikings?”

“They came here last week, and it’s been Hell ever since.” Gilbert took his collar as he whispered in a panicked hush. “We sent a missionary up there once, and he came back to us completely dismembered!”

“Oh, fuck.” Alfred dug his hands through his hair, now a nervous wreck as he envisioned the thought. But what made his stomach really churn was the unshakeable thought that it was probably where you were.

For that, he was surprised he hadn’t vomited already. And he almost did when Gilbert went off on a passionate spiel of the Scandinavian heathens and everything they’d done. That was when one appeared at the end of the hall, and it wasn’t just any Scandinavian heathen.

”I mean, he’s okay now, but it was really disturbing.” The other made a face of unease as he recalled the sight. It wasn’t something a person was meant to see in their lifetime, but at least he was in a more dubious position now. “I don’t think they care for God.”

“Dude.”

”What?”

”That’s the Viking I saw earlier today.” Alfred whispered, locking eyes with Mathias who stood no more than three hundred feet away from him. In the next three seconds, the Dane broke into a sprint, charging at him at a terrifying speed like a mad bull. He let out a wheeze, likely the sound of his soul escaping his body. “Aaaand he’s running at us. Well, this has been a good life.”

”God hasn’t forsaken us yet!” Gilbert unsheathed a gleaming longsword, swinging it in impressive circles.

Mathias launched an axe at him, and it spun through the air so fast, it passed as nothing but a white flash.

It cut Gilbert’s head clean off, getting it to land on the ground with a thump. There was no blood or flesh, just a cross-section of wax where he was decapitated. While he had his face planted on the floor, he said this in a muffled voice. “So that’s what that feels like.”

But Alfred had already fled by then.

He never stuck around to see his friend lose his dignity, much less his own. He whimpered a little as he pumped his legs as fast as he could. He was running on so much adrenaline, his bloodstream may as well have been battery acid. But not everybody could outrun a Viking, and he would’ve eaten it if it weren’t for the arm that shot out from the side, pulling him into a room.

When he turned to the stranger who’d saved him, he recognized him to be the native Algonquin warrior he’d seen earlier that day. Only this time, he was perfectly canny and had an unrivaled sharpness that would end up ensuring his survival. While Mathias ran by outside with his pelts and armor clinking away, Allen put a finger up to his mouth to get him to stay deathly still.

But above all else, quiet.

There they crouched, hidden from plain sight like the watchful forces of nature. In the most tense ten seconds of their lives, they stared at each other, cerulean and scarlet eyes as wide as they could get them. For a moment, Alfred forgot he was being chased, deeply enchanted by the person in front of him. He was quite literally gazing back into history, a thousand years into the past to be precise. But once the coast was clear, he went back to hyperventilating. He was still in shock from everything that just happened, and the first thing he let out was an excited, albeit exasperated gasp.

“Oh my God. You just saved my life. Thank you!”

”Don’t mention it.” Allen took his bow off so he could arm himself with it. Then, he peered outside the door, making sure there weren’t any Vikings in the area. Turning back to the blonde, he pulled an arrow from his quiver without breaking eye contact. “I’ve been tracking that guy for days, and this is the craziest I’ve ever seen him. You have any idea why he would be after you?”

“How should I know? I don’t know the guy personally!” Alfred exclaimed, following him out into the hall.

“You must’ve done something to piss him off.”

”But I didn’t do anything!”

“Then he wouldn’t waste his time chasing you when he’d rather search for his girlfriend.” Allen remarked. “One of my pals can speak his language, and he says he’s been looking for her ever since he got here.”

“Fuck, that’s it. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

They ran to the elevator, to which he pressed the button for the basement. It had always been on the tip of his tongue, but the whirlwind of a night left his head more scrambled than he thought. And now that he had it all pieced together, he came up with a plan to save you.

“I came here with my friend, and she looks exactly like his wife. He must’ve seen us together. But it’s okay, I have an idea. They must have extra wax figures in storage, right? If she’s as important as they say, they must have her tucked away down here somewhere.”

“Okay, so we do a trade-off.”

”Exactly.”

”Smart.” Allen pursed his lips, thoroughly impressed.

The doors slid open and thus, they began their search, sweeping the entire basement for the reason why the museum had turned into a war zone. After an hour or so, Alfred heard someone banging away and calling for help from inside a tall wooden crate. A woman, and she sounded just like you. He and Allen walked up to it, then cracked it open like a treasure chest. Lo and behold, it was your doppelgänger, but dressed in the height of fashion from what was a thousand years ago.

“I think we found our girl.” He murmured in awe.

The three of you got back to the elevator. It was a given that the you from the Viking age was a little hesitant to get into such a tight box, but Allen had a way with body language. He made a few gestures to let you know where he was taking you. What more was that these two men had just broken you out of an even tighter box, so you had no reason not to trust them.

“You know, I meant to ask, but doesn’t it bother you that there is a living, breathing, homicidal axe-wielding maniac running around the museum every night?” Alfred asked, feeling strangely calm now that he sensed that the night’s excitement was coming to an end.

“We’re not alive the way you’re alive,” Allen told him. That was right. As magical as it was to have the museum come to life, it wasn’t real. History had done its course. He spoke with power and humility as he confronted that fact, and for that, he seemed to be at peace. “We’ve had our shot. But you still have yours.”

“I have the craziest chills right now.”

”But also because we’re made of wax.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Alfred laughed a little, turning to him. ”So how come you speak English?”

”I’ve been on display here for years,” Allen grinned, walking out now that the elevator doors opened. They returned to the bustling halls of the Museum of Natural History, where history had really come to life that night. “New York is my home. Always has been.”

”Explains the accent.”

It didn’t take long to track down Mathias again, and when he finally laid eyes on the one he’d been searching for, he turned into an entirely different person. His anger, terror, and everything that made him a legend, had all but melted into a deep emotional coherence.

He was nothing but a man now. A man with his own joys and sorrows like everybody else.

He dropped his ax and ran up to his long-lost love, picking her up and embracing her after what felt like an eternity. He finally found her again after a thousand years, and the scene was quite profound to behold.

But if you asked Alfred, it wasn’t as touching as his reunion with you. He found you in the hall of Northern Europe, holed up in a tent and rubbing your eyes. They were red from crying, and the way you looked at him was something he’d burn in his mind forever. And the way you hugged him, a feeling he’d never get tired of.

”I knew you’d come.” You squeezed him.

“Of course I came,” He squeezed you back, burying his face into the crooked of your neck. “But maybe it’s time that I switch out my glasses for some contact lenses. Don’t wanna keep losing them like I did tonight.”

“No way!” You gushed. “I like the way you look now.”

”Yeah?” He smiled rosily. From that outburst alone, he knew you’d forgiven him for everything that happened. But from the sound of things, you had a much easier time than he did. On the way home, he enthused you on the people he met and his close brushes with death.

“You ever hear of a term called solipsism?” You asked.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” He shook his head.

“It’s the concept that everything around you doesn’t exist and is made up by your own mind,” You explained, stopping him in the middle of the street. It was dawn by then, and the rising sun cast a golden glow over your tender smile. “But if everything around me is just my imagination, you’re the best thing I’ve come up with.”

His eyes went wide, shocked by how sweet you just were. Just like that, everything he ever pined away for didn’t matter anymore. He was worth more to you than an adventure of a lifetime because he was that adventure. But at the same time, Alfred fell even harder for you, and it showed in the way his gaze softened.

”Right back at you, sport.”

#Ghost of Jealousy Reprised??? Ain’t no way #request #alfredosauce50 #update #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #hetalia x reader #hetalia fanfic #axis powers hetalia #aph america #americaxreader #america x reader #hws america #fantasy #supernatural #night at the museum #crossover

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forthegothicheroine · 3 months ago

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Ah, Waxwork (1988)! The epitome of "I didn't say it was good, I said I liked it." A trashy horror comedy which became infamous among a very specific community of monster fuckers: those too hardcore for Edward Cullen and too squeamish for Pinhead.

I was going to just make a bullet-point list of my thoughts upon rewatch, but there's too much to say, so you lucky people get a full recap!

Our protagonist is Mark, a rich boy who for some reason attends community college. He lives under the thumb of his ridiculous sitcom-villain mother, and has to rely upon his butler sneaking him coffee and cigarettes. I suppose we're seeing what Bruce Wayne's life would be like in a world without alley muggings.

Mark getting sexually rejected will be a running theme in this movie, so let's meet the women who will be doing the rejecting: China and Sarah! These college classmates of his are that improbably 80s horror movie duo, the evil slut and the sweet virgin who are for some unexplained reason besties. China has exchanged Mark for a football player, and she smokes and wears sunglasses and comments on boy's bodies while Sarah acts mildly scandalized. They walk to school, discussing boys and just how promiscuous is too promiscuous, when they see something at the side of the street- a new Waxwork house!

Little do they know what darkness and delight await them inside.

Isn't this a bit outdated, the girls ask each other? You're telling me, I respond, as a former actress at a tourist attraction that was next door to Madame Tussaud's, I have no idea who buys tickets.

They are welcomed at the door by holy shit, David Warner? I really hope he filmed this directly back to back with The Company of Wolves. David Warner invites them to come to a special private opening with a group of up to six people- any more would be too crowded! And China, apparently having nothing better to do as a sexy party girl in the 1980s, agrees. Thus, the rest of the friend group is roped in to attending.

Mark is there, mostly to be hurt whenever China talks about how much fun she's having sleeping with guys who aren't him. There's a dating couple who will show up now and again late in the movie but don't really matter. There are, of course, China and Sarah. And then-

Oh my god. I hadn't seen Twin Peaks yet when I first saw this movie, but oh my god, that's Bobby from Twin Peaks. Doing the same movement tics and vocal cadence that he did as Bobby from Twin Peaks. This is so distracting, you have no idea how much.

Anyway, the gang go to the waxwork house and speaking of Twin Peaks, they are greeted by a small man doing the Peter Dinklage bit from Living in Oblivion ("Make it weird, put a dwarf in it!") We don't have too much time to dell on that, though. The kids hang out for a bit so China has more time to sexually insult Mark, and then they are finally allowed into the wax museum itself.

The waxwork is, all in all, actually pretty cool! It's a bunch of scenes from "history", by which we mean classic pre-80s horror movies. There's the Mummy, there's the Invisible Man, there's Audrey II, there's Jack the Ripper. Keep in mind that all of these exhibits, not just Jack the Ripper, will later prove to have been taken directly from real life events. The sequel muddies this with horror movie scenes that take place in alternate dimensions in a cosmos that weirdly resembles Moorcock's Eternal Champion mythos, but we're not talking about the sequel right now.

I wish I could write a novelization of this movie and just go nuts on the worldbuilding. My speculations would make for an epic of Tolkienesque length.

Bobby from Twin Peaks is the first to go exactly where you're expecting: into an exhibit to get killed. He stumbles into a scene from the Wolf Man (which oddly enough looks a bit like the 2010 Wolf Man but they're obviously trying to do either the original Universal or Hammer version.) He bitches about this, how it must be a hologram and a super lame one at that because there are, like, no girls in bikinis or anything, just some dick in a cabin telling him to run for his life!

(Put a pin in that, by the way.)

He should have listened. But hey, someone has to be the first bit of canon fodder.

The Wolf Man is, of all people, John Rhys-Meyers! He pleads with Bobby to run, but it's too late- his transformation has begun! This is not a bad werewolf look, as practical effects go; he's got a snout and everything. The extremely long ears are what bother me. I felt this way in the Into the Woods movie as well- Johnny Depp just looked like a really sleazy rabbit. But this Wolf Man is a real deal monster, and while Bobby cowers after taking a flesh wound, he sets upon a pair of hunters who have tracked him down, ripping the younger one in half straight through the head.

As goofy as it is, Waxwork gets pretty damn gory.

The older hunter, who's clearly supposed to be Peter Cushing as Van Helsing, ends his reign of terror with a silver bullet. And when the wounded Bobby starts to transform as well, Van Helsing puts a stop to that with a second shot. Fade out to the waxwork exhibit, which now has a half-transformed victim beside the Wolf Man.

So much for Bobby. But eh, fuck 'im, he wasn't much of a character. China, on the other hand...

China notices a display with a particularly handsome villain. She takes a step over the velvet rope to take a closer look, and thus seals her fate.

(Side note: I don't know if I'd survive the movie or be first to get killed, because I would be going "But we're not supposed to touch the exhibits!" the whole time.)

China emerges into a Christopher Lee-worthy dark castle, wearing a white prom dress that's good enough period attire for this sort of movie. Thus begins the Dracula sequence, the first reason this movie has a very specific cult following.

As a teen in the '00s, I frequented web rings of blogs that reviewed old science fiction movies. There was one sight which was dedicated to cataloging every vampire movie the author could find- her favorites were The Lost Boys, Mr. Vampire and Interview with the Vampire- and she listed this as the single sexiest depiction of Dracula on film. Naturally, I spent the next several pre-streaming era years hunting down a VHS.

And who do we have playing sexy Dracula? In yet another 'you're not gonna believe this' casting choice, Miles "How Much Keefe" O'Keefe! The man known to all MSTies as Ator, and to other shlock aficionados as Tarzan! I have no idea why they cast him, but you know what? That barbarian warrior cleans up pretty damn well.

China is too stunned by her surroundings to quibble, and takes the part of a gothic heroine staying at the castle, whose fiance "unfortunately had to leave just now." Dracula introduces her to his lovely lady friends and his brooding adult son Stephan, and serves her a meal of steak tartar in salty red sauce, the suggestive setup for a rather gruesome payoff later.

In-character, Sarah is cornered in her room by Stephan, who says that his father wants her for himself and that he'd be banished from the castle if it was known he put his hands on her first- but before he can get past the fangs-out stage of his assault, she flees down the hallway, as far as she can run, until she reaches a room out of a Saw movie poster, half-dungeon and half-kitchen.

Her fiancee- that is, the fiancee in whatever real-life story she stepped into- is chained up, with one leg gruesomely cut down to the bone to serve to his captors and his own unknowing bride. China tries and fails to unchain him while he runs her through a quick explanation of what vampires are and how to kill him, just in time for Stephan to catch up with her.

China is surprisingly heroic in this scene, given how completely unsympathetic the movie had set her up to be. Son of Dracula goes down with a cross burned into his forehead, while she takes out a few Brides via wine bottles through the chest. When the chained up fiancee turns, though, she flees, sobbing, though the castle, her white gown covered in blood.

"Going somewhere, my beauty?" Dracula asks. She turns and looks into his eyes- and now it is too late. She falls under his hypnotic trance, and he lowers her to the floor, ending her human life in an ecstatic kiss.

It's a better way to go than she would have gotten in most other dumb horror movies of this era.

Mark- remember Mark?- has finally noticed that two of his friends (such as they are) have gone missing. He figures they must have gone off to hook up, but that doesn't feel right- for some reason, he knows that Bobby is the one man that China would never ever want to fuck. Sarah is less concerned, as she's focused on a statue of the Marquis de Sade looking like a sexy pirate. When Mark does get her to leave with him, he shoots his shot, but Sarah says that while he's a nice guy and she likes him a lot, she's looking for something...different.

Sarah's whole deal, as you may have guessed, is that she's a virgin at least in part because she can only be satisfied by BDSM, a desire she learned about through secretively reading de Sade but has no contemporary sex ed language to talk about. To the film's credit, this very Clive Barker plotline isn't used to make her unsympathetic or deserving of death, but rather to enhance the theme of Mark getting sexually rejected.

(Also, Mark paid his ESL housekeeper to write an essay for him, which was demanded by a history professor who was weirdly into Hitler. To his dismay, the essay read "I do not like dictators. They do the shouting and wear the small mustaches."

Well. She's not wrong.)

When China and Bobby fail to reappear the next day, Mark and Sarah go off to investigate. A mean cop tells them that lots of people have recently gone missing, and ends up investigating on his own- an investigation that ends with him being killed by the Mummy while the theme from Swan Lake plays in the background. (The title music in Universal's original Mummy and Dracula! The music I walked down the aisle to at my wedding! It's a little detail I liked.)

China's jock boyfriend also shows up to get killed by the Phantom of the Opera, while David Warner shakes his head in surprise to learn that he knew the character from a movie. "They'll make a movie of anything these days!" he says. However, I found myself focusing on the brief close-up where we saw that the Phantom had a mustache. A well-maintained mustache. Half-covered by a half-mask. Does he shave and maintain it on the deformed side, too? These are the kind of questions my novelization would go into.

Mark and Sarah get a quick rundown on everything from a professorly type of guy in a wheelchair who's basically the Criminologist from Rocky Horror. He tells them that via something something dark magic, victims are being given to evil men who are long dead to revive them and then something something destroy the world. For all I joke, it is my fondest dream to be this kind guy- a librarian who could give the protagonist exactly the book they need to fight Dracula.

Remember that pin I had you put in the Wolf Man pleading with Bobby to run? That brings up the question of what this movie considers "evil men". The Wolf Man really didn't want to kill anybody, but his body was taken over by the curse! And what about Audrey II? I'll grant that the plant sure was a dick, but was he a man? And what about all the ghouls in the zombie exhibit? The first time I watched this I also quibbled about the Marquis de Sade being here alongside actual murders, but I'll let that slide this time- the sheer scale of his imagination for evil was impressive enough, even if he didn't get to do most of it.

Mark and Sarah go to burn the waxwork down, but the temptation to fuck the Marquis is too much and Sarah just willingly goes right into his wax exhibit. Mark falls into the zombie exhibit, where it goes black and white in a pastiche of Night of the Living Dead as he fights off walking corpses and crawling disembodied hands.

Sarah has a better time. Now we see the second part of why this movie has a very specific cult reputation.

The Marquis de Sade, as portrayed in Waxwork, is dashing man with long dark hair, a puffy shirt open to reveal a very hair chest, wearing leather boots and gloves and always carrying a whip. He is entertaining a man (blonde and similarly good-looking, played by the director) whom he calls "your majesty", who will later to be revealed as Prince George of England, the future George IV. This struck me as absolutely hilarious.

For the prince's entertainment, he offers the sole virgin in his stable of beauties- Sarah, of course, stepping forward to have her arms affixed over her head proudly and eagerly. He leans in and whispers his intentions to Sarah- to whip her bloody, hand her over to George and his men for their enjoyment, then torture her to death- and she kisses him and swoons into her chains.

This scene is interesting because of how it's shot. There's no nudity in this movie- the only skin Sarah proceeds to expose is her back. I don't want to use terms like "male gaze" or "female gaze" because the former is a greater scale film theory term and the latter isn't really a term outside of tumblr, but this scene and the one with Dracula are presented as bodice rippers. Whether or not women went to see this movie, let alone enjoyed it, both scenes but especially the one with Sarah and de Sade are portrayed as female sexual fantasies. We don't see much of Sarah's body, but we see many close-ups of her face, perspiring and biting her lip as she waits for each sting of the whip.

Britain's "Video Nasties" list from 1984 banned many gory horror movies as obscene. Waxwork has far less gore than Evil Dead or Bay of Blood. As far as I know, it has never been banned under any obscenity laws.

By the time Mark (remember Mark?) gets out of his exhibit and into Sarah's, we are told that she has taken more whipping than any other woman the Marquis has ever seen, and enjoyed every bit of it. Mark saves her, but she pushes him away and runs back to the Marquis, kneeling at his foot and grasping at his boot. No, she protests, she wants to stay here! Smirking at the polo-clad dork from the future, de Sade said the line that dropped my jaw to the floor when I first saw this in my impressionable youth.

"Don't be angry just because she had her first orgasm at the end of a whip and not by your touch!"

Somehow not shriveling up and dying from that insult, Mark persuades Sarah that they should go because this setup did kill their friends and Your Mind Makes it Real and ugh, fine, Sarah will go back and save the world if she really has to. de Sade promises Mark that they'll meet again, though. ("How much did the Marquis de Sade know about this whole time and/or dimension traveling thing?" is another great question I would have expounded on in my novelization.)

But the kids have not yet saved the day, and their two friends from the very beginning are sacrificed in their places. The stars are right, the sacrifices have been made, and it's time for all the monsters and assorted villains to come to life and something something destroy the world! Thankfully, backup has arrived in the form of the wheelchair-bound expert from before and a while gang of his elderly and heroic friends, including Mark's totally-not-Alfred butler. Let the big chaotic fight scene commence!

Blood sprays left and right. Mark kills a zombified former friend, and weeps when his butler kills the vampirized China. Sarah tosses the small minion guy right into Audrey II. Dracula gets perhaps the lamest death onscreen he's ever had, surpassing even Scars of Dracula where he was randomly hit by lightning.

And the Marquis de Sade, who apparently is quite the swashbuckler, is flitting around with rapier and whip, having a grand old time. (At least it's better than what he supposedly did during the storming of the Bastille...) He beats Mark easily in combat, but makes the mistake of doing a gloating monologue before driving his blade through the boy's throat, giving Sarah the chance to break his spine with an ax. Let's hope Mark appreciates the sacrifice.

David Warner still must be confronted, however. Mark demands to know why he wants to destroy the world, and he smiles and responds "Somebody has to."

I guess you can't argue with that.

The elderly gentlemen give their lives to kill Warner, and the whole building goes up in flames. The only survivors are Mark, Sarah and a crawling disembodied hand who is off to set up the events of the sequel. Mark and Sarah embrace, but nothing more, at least not until the sequel.

Is Waxwork good? No. Is it scary? Some of the gory bits did make me wince. Is it funny? Sometimes on purpose, sometimes probably not on purpose. Is it offensive? We see a brief glimpse of what looks like a very racist tableau with an evil witch doctor or something, the role of the small minion is not exactly a great part, and China and Sarah were plucked right from the virgin-whore archetype with only somewhat more depth.

But do I watch it, fascinated, as if it is an esoteric text containing the secret alchemical formula for gold? I sure do.

#horror movies #waxwork

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