#shaking my head so people know i understand fishbowls aren’t good
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vintage fishbowl charms
#charms#charm bracelet#fish#fishbowl#1k#sealife#shaking my head so people know i understand fishbowls aren’t good
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Lie to Me (Ch. 8 of ?)
Pairings: Loki x Reader
Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)
Words: 1500
Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)
SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug for doing the lord’s work
Requested Tags: @deraniel @iamverity @yasnooshka24 @wegingerangelica @themusingsofmany @dark-night-sky-99 @tarynkauai @stuffandstuff-stuff and the total sweetie @angelicshinigami
“You’ve been speaking with Thor.”
You don’t glance up from the rough sketch of Mjolnir you’re outlining in your notebook. The runes are a bit tricky to replicate precisely. “Um, yeah. How’d you know?”
He gestures to your drawing. “He let you ‘test your worthiness,’ yes?”
You giggle. “Yeah. Nothing happened, obviously.”
The noise of disapproval that he hums catches you off guard. “I’m disappointed, Witling. I would have thought you were more intelligent than to fall for his ploys. I suppose I was wrong.”
That makes you set your pencil down. The Trickster sounds even grumpier than usual. “His ‘ploys’? What, is he gonna lift my fingerprints off the handle to frame me for a crime I didn’t commit?”
The god, while still angry, now looks thoroughly mystified. “What on Asgard is the nonsense tumbling out of your mouth?”
“I- nothing, never mind. Why do you care if I talk to Thor? He’s sweet, and it’s nice to talk to someone and not feel like they’ll bite off my head for breathing in the wrong direction.”
You give him a pointed look, but it flies right over his head. “No, by all means, let the oaf wrap you around his little finger. Because of course, the true Prince of Asgard, mighty god of thunder, would be a much better companion than the snide, corrupt Loki.” There’s so much bitterness in his voice you could drown in it- and something makes you feel he already has.
“Whoa, hey, that’s- a lot of antagonism there. Are you okay?”
He lets his head rest back against the wall behind him in obviously reluctant defeat. “Even on Midgard, that brute is still the chosen one. I should have known the universe would not know impartiality, no matter the realm.”
“Mmm, yeah, life tends to play favorites a lot, and that favorite is rarely you.” You glance up. “I mean, not you, you in particular. Us, I guess?”
“Us. Do not lie to me, mortal; you know nothing of my life.”
“Well, no, I don’t know what it’s like growing up as a magical demigod prince, you’ve got me there. But I do have an older brother. I know how it feels to grow up in the shade of his shadow.” You glance down at your paper, tapping the butt of your pencil thoughtfully on the table. Oh. “That explains a lot, actually,” you murmur.
“Oh, please, by all means, psychoanalyze me into submission. I look forward to hearing your drivel; it is excellent to amuse myself with when sleep is elusive.”
Glaring at him, you throw your pencil across the room in a vague approximation of his location. It bounces off the glass barrier and clatters to the floor, but for once, the Trickster looks shocked and speechless. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be a prince? How about acting like it for once?”
“You would lecture me about being royalty? You said yourself you have no basis for aristocracy!”
“I don’t, but I sure as hell know they act a lot better than you!” Now you’re both staring at the other, unwilling to be the one to look away first. “Look, I get it. You’re angry, and tired, and sad, but that doesn’t give you the right to lash out whenever you want. Stop bleeding on the people who didn’t hurt you.”
“And who might that be?” Once his tone might have frightened you. Yesterday it would have made you annoyed. Today it just makes you… pensive. Because now you have some puzzle pieces that are starting to fit together, and the picture it shows isn’t all that pretty.
“Me. Everyone else at SHIELD. The entire human race you just tried to enslave,” you add. “Thor.”
With a growl, the Trickster’s gaze traps you in your seat with an intensity you haven’t seen before. “Thor Odinson-” he practically spits his name like a curse- “has always been the favorite. The chosen one. Father’s heir, the people’s love, the golden child. Next to him I might as well be as inconsequential as the sand beneath his feet,” he hisses.
“Because Odin made you feel that way, not Thor! Your father is the one who played favorites, Trickster. He’s the one who made Thor his golden child, and gave him a magical hammer, and groomed him to be the heir. Your father may see you as lesser, but by all accounts Thor values you as his equal.” You pause, thinking back to your conversation. “He said he admires you.”
“Lies.”
“You’re the god of lies; I’d hope you’d be able to distinguish when I’m lying to you.” When he doesn’t respond, you get up, walk over to him, and tap on the cell wall. “Hey. You’re literally in a fishbowl, you can’t just avoid me. Am I lying to you?”
His green eyes search your face, thinking, even though he already knows the answer. “No.”
“No. I’m not. He specifically told me that he doesn’t understand your bookish habits-” you smile a little at that- “but he’s proud of your intelligence all the same.”
“Of course. How could he? That blundering idiot can barely string together two coherent sentences.” You can tell he’s aiming for derision in his voice, but his words aren’t nearly as harsh as they were a minute ago.
“Look, from what I’ve read, Asgard is a warrior’s culture, yes? They value strength, and brawn, and muscles, and how hard you can swing a sword. You’re… not that. Sure, I have no doubt you’re a great fighter, but it’s because you think your way through a battle, not go in there guns blazing and overpower your enemy.” You stop and glance at him, wondering if you’ve gone too far, but he’s actually looking at you with some interest. “It’s like asking a fish to climb a tree. You’re completely out of your element; the scales were tipped against you from the start.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, and you think he’s going to throw your words right back in your face. But to your surprise, the god starts laughing. No, it’s not as hearty as Thor’s, and there’s an underlying bitter sweetness to the sound, but it’s a true, honest laugh. Probably the first one you’ve heard from him. “You say the strangest things, Witling.”
Smiling, you scrunch your nose up at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m an oddball, I get it. But I’m also right.”
His eyes are slightly out of focus, as though he’s seeing his life through a new lens. “Perhaps.”
“When you start with the short straw time and time again; when you’re punished for doing things differently even though different is in your DNA… you’re going to get frustrated. And you’re going to get resentful. And eventually, there’s going to be an explosion.” Your expression is resigned as you look at him. “It’s not fair. And I’m sorry that’s what you had to deal with for a thousand years.”
His eyes are more thoughtful than you’ve ever seen them. “I cannot remember a time when someone apologized to me sincerely.”
“Thor probably tried, but he didn’t know how. Words are your thing, not his.”
“Indeed.” He nods to himself, seemingly settling an argument only he can hear. “May I ask you a question, Witling?”
“What? I mean-” you shake off your surprise- “Sure, Loki. Of course you can.”
Something in his expression brightens just a hint, though you’re not sure why. “Do you not prefer Thor to me?”
“Is that what you’re worried about, Trickster? Losing your annoying sidekick?”
Loki rolls his eyes. “You are not my sidekick. At best you are an unfortunate reoccurring side-bit.”
You snort. “Look, I like Thor a lot. He’s friendly, though he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, and very… loud,” you say. “Kinda like a golden retriever. Lots of energy, bounding all over the place, leaping before they look. But I like that I can have a good conversation with you. You think, and you’ve got a sharp tongue, and you’re a bit of an enigma. If Thor is a golden retriever, you’re a witch’s familiar.” You give him a shrug and a smile. “And I’ve always been a cat person, anyways.”
“Color me relieved.”
“You’re the one who asked! Can’t have my favorite god getting jealous now can we?”
“Jealousy over someone implies they are something you covet. You are an annoyance. Thor can gladly take you.”
“In that case, I guess I’ll just go find him.” You gather your stuff, taking your sweet time putting it all away in your bag and watching Loki struggle to find a way to keep you from going. Because he doesn’t want you to go. Not really.
“Witling.”
You look over your shoulder. “Yeeeeeeeees?”
His gaze is very conveniently anywhere but on you. “I will… see you tomorrow?”
There’s a little smile on your face as you respond. “Yeah, Loki. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A/N: I’d say from here on out things take a turn from fluff to more purposeful conversations :)
#loki#Loki Laufeyson#loki x reader#loki x you#marvel fic#marvel fanfiction#reader insert#Thor Odinson#clint barton#tony stark#natasha romanov#Steve Rogers#bruce banner#nick fury#maria hill#Long Reads#longform#slow burn#lie to me#dont lie to me#odin#odin’s a+ parenting#frigga#loki smut#loki fluff#loki imagines
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put me back together vi || quentin beck x reader
chapter six: cut me open, take my heart
a/n: chapter title from ‘’when you walk away’’ by 5sos. i may be taking a short break from this while i figure out where to go from here. i don’t have an exact ending in mind- should it be sad, or happy? or somewhere in between? who knows? not i.
warnings: manipulation, mentions of character death, quentin being a lil bitch, sad mcu scenes mentioned, also (almost) changes to the main plot of the mcu lol that i can’t say here w/out spoiling it. hope ya’ll enjoy.
a/n 2: major liberties taken with the timeline in ffh, the chain of events in ffh, and astral projection. (you’ll see).
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—
(GIF is not mine)
—
stephen answers the phone on the final ring, just before it cuts to voicemail.
‘’ yes? ‘’
‘’ i need to astral project. ‘’
‘’ or hello, as people used to say, ‘’ the sorceror replies drily.
‘’ i don’t have time for pleasantries. this is urgent. how can i do it on my own? ‘’
on the other end of the phone, strange sighs. ‘’ i suppose warning you against it due to the potential dangers of the act is pointless? ‘’
‘’ yep, ‘’ you respond, popping the p.
‘’ and asking you why you need to astral project? ‘’
‘’ i don’t have time. ‘’
‘’ of course you don’t, ‘’ he mutters under his breath, before releasing a breath and turning serious. ‘’ okay. listen carefully, and follow these instructions exactly as i lay them out. ‘’
within thirty minutes, you’re set up and ready to go. taking some steadying breaths you lay in the rectangle of lit candles and close your eyes. focusing on where you want to go.
how long it takes, you can’t be sure. maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours. eventually, the familiar floating sensation overwhelms your senses and when you reopen your eyes, you look down at your prone form on the ground. weird, you think, never getting used to it no matter how many times you do it.
right. you haven’t got long. ten minutes or less, any longer and the more difficult it will be for you to return to your physical form. you focus on the image of quentin in your mind; sparkling eyes, razorblade smile, smooth charm, slick hair. green smoke and fishbowl helmet, thick armour, flowing cape.
you drift through the plane and find yourself in a nondescript building, worn down and aging badly. quentin’s voice reaches your ears, loud and irritated.
‘’ what do you mean a drone was damaged? why didn’t you go and get it? ‘’
a man, bespectacled, behind a mass of computers. ‘’ it won’t matter, mr.beck, the loss won’t be noticable. ‘’
‘’ except, ‘’ the man himself, centre stage, through gritted teeth, ‘’ that peter parker has found that drone and will figure out the truth. ‘’
a cold breeze shifts around you; no. no. no.
‘’ when i have to kill that kid, his blood will be on your hands! ‘’
quentin roars, gone is the soft tenderness you experienced only hours ago, here is pure rage. this is a tantrum in a man, a storm of pure emotion.
‘’ kill that kid. ‘’
peter.
fuck.
you close your eyes and focus on getting back to yourself. the fear and panic creates obstacles, when you return, night has fallen outside - to your horror.
‘’ shit. shit. shit! ‘’
—
how many times can i screw up? you think to yourself, as you wait for quentin in your hotel room.
how many more people can i hurt, by not realising things until it’s too late? you close your eyes as a montage of painful memories plays across the screen of your mind.
steve’s secrets, tony, broken and alone in siberia. stephen and peter, the guardians, fading away to dust in front of your eyes. natasha’s hand slipping from yours on vormir; tony with the gauntlet and the stones swallowing him up in an easy gulp.
your hands start to shake. peter. please be okay. peter has to be okay.
‘’ honey? what’s going on? ‘’
you hadn’t even heard him arriving. you don’t look up, too fearful of what you may see in his face. too fearful of what he may see in your own.
he calls your name softly, worry in his tone. angry voices bite inside you. liar. falsehoods. trickster.
his footsteps grow closer and you raise your head, never opening your eyes.
this is where your illusion shatters. this is where his begins.
—
‘’ quentin beck - formerly employed by tony stark, under the illusion technology department. ‘’
quentin’s blood runs cold.
‘’ fired in 2014, due to instability and potential to become a danger to those around him. ‘’
his jaw clenches tight enough to ache. no. no. he will not let tony stark ruin this for him.
‘’ following beck’s departure from stark industries, tony stark unveils a new therapuetic technique, named BARF - binarily augmented retroframing. ‘’
your eyes open to meet his. brutal, unforgiving, a fire of ice blazing. mouth a harsh snarl, a far cry from the usual kind expression he sees.
‘’ listen to me. i can explain. ‘’
you don’t let him.
‘’ so, hang on. let me see if i’ve got this right, ‘’ you start, ‘’ you work for tony for years. you give your blood, sweat, and tears to a project that is more like, say, your baby, than a project. that’s right, yeah? ‘’
quentin tries to steady his breathing. ‘’ please, just - ‘’
‘’ so, tony fires you. right after you’ve made a big break in your work. cites the reason that you’re not stable enough to keep working on this project. you want to weaponise it. tony doesn’t, having shut down manufacturing of weapons years before. so ... what? you spend the next ten years working on this revenge plot? ‘’
you cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes. ‘’ or do you wait until he’s dead? because you know you can’t actually pull this shit off with him around. that he would figure it out in a nanosecond. because you can just about compete with a child? ‘’
he yells your name, reaching his breaking point.
you ignore him but match the volume. ‘’ did i i get it right, mr. beck? have i missed anything out? ‘’
‘’ you don’t understand and now you won’t listen! ‘’
‘’ i have heard enough from you! ‘’ you laugh, rolling like thunder, low and dangerous. you sober up suddenly. ‘’ the only thing i want you to say? where. is. peter. ‘’
quentin falls silent. you can hear your own heartbeat as he refuses to meet your eyes.
‘’ where is he? ‘’ your tone, edged with desperation, grows aggressive, causing quentin to nearly wince away.
‘’ he had to be dealt with. ‘’ (quentin hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.)
you laugh again, no mirth, just sharp edges. ‘’ don’t. don’t you dare- quentin, where is peter? ‘’
he looks at you with sorrow weighing down his handsome features; features that you now want to punch, hard.
‘’ i’m sorry. it wasn’t supposed to go this way. ‘’
like ice water flooding your veins, everything around you freezes. you shake your head, words failing you.
‘’ you can’t have - you can’t - ‘’
quentin holds up his hands and slowly walks up to you. ‘’ i’m so sorry, ‘’ he repeats, and you’d almost believe him, if you could process anything in this moment.
peter. dead?
you let him down - again.
a ragged breath rips its way from your chest, knees buckling.
‘’ please, let me - ‘’
you rear back when quentin comes close enough to touch. ‘’ no. no. don’t. don’t you fucking - don’t you put a hand on me. you liar. liar. cheat. evil, manipulative, lying- ‘’
‘’ now, now, ‘’ quentin chides, almost hurt, ‘’ that’s not very nice. hmm? like i said - it wasn’t supposed to go like this. poor peter, he just - i tried to get him out of the way but he just. kept. interfering. ‘’ quentin chuckles, in a way that says ‘’i mean, what else was i to do? ‘’
you stare, swallowing down tears.
‘’ it’s a shame, ‘’ quentin sighs, ‘’ because i liked the kid. really, i did, ‘’ he insists, searching your face for something that will let him know you believe his words. ‘’ but, casualties happen. ‘’ he says it so matter-of-factly, you can’t even stop yourself.
he’s lying on his back and your knuckles are burning in the blink of an eye; it’s a good thing for quentin that your powers aren’t on full blast, otherwise the blow most likely would have killed him.
as it is, when he sits back up, stunned, his nose is crooked, streaming blood. he winces furiously when he touches two fingers to the swollen appendage, and then tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth.
‘’ i really wish you hadn’t done that. ‘’
you open your mouth to speak - just as the room falls away beneath you. leaving you stranded in a black box. empty. vacant.
‘’ quentin? ‘’ you call out, trying to keep the anger in your voice. ‘’ quentin, don’t. ‘’ the warning comes as more of a plea and you hate that.
‘’ it’s gonna be okay, honey, ‘’ his voices comes from everywhere and no-where at the same time, disorientating as you get to your feet and stumble around the space. ‘’ don’t worry. you’ll see, soon. you’ll understand. ‘’
a low buzzing begins in the distance. your heart hammers against your chest, panic tightening your throat as breathing grows more and more difficult. ‘’ quentin, please- ‘’ you whisper, brokenly, and he almost wants to cut the scene. end the illusion. have you in his arms again, feel you kiss him, touch him, smile at him.
the buzzing grows louder and he watches you spin around and around as you try to make sense of your surroundings.
you don’t understand, not yet - he has to make you understand.
‘’ it’s gonna be okay, honey, ‘’ he promises a second time, sad and hopeless.
a swarm of wasps descend upon you, you shriek and slap them away, more appearing out of thin air. quentin tries to block out your yells of fear and pleas, ‘’ quentin, stop - stop it! please, stop it! ‘’
it’s okay, he whispers to himself, it’s gonna be okay. he draws out a syringe from a pocket on his hip, approaching you quietly.
you punch the air and twist and turn. trying to escape the flurry of buzzing wings swallowing you whole. one of them stings you, a pinch in your neck. dizziness warps your vision, loosens your limbs, throws the world up in the air.
you drift away into nothingness, peter’s face the last thing you see, in your mind.
quentin’s voice the last thing that you hear. whispering in your ear.
‘’ we’ll get through this, honey. don’t worry. i’m gonna keep you safe. ‘’
—
tag list: @djjffkd @kellzogg @bucky4cap45 @tuliptx @evee550 @stargeek727 @hrrykim @angeli-fucking-cat @glitter-rian
#personall~#quentin beck x reader#quentin beck imagine#mysterio x reader#mysterio imagine#jake gyllenhaal#spiderman#spiderman ffh#tom holland#peter parker#qb:pbmt
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Final installment of FtM Romano woosh
Second part
"That's how I found out about your brother's fear of really tiny fish."
Romano giggled, resisting the urge to cover his mouth. He hated how girly and cute it sounded, but he was slowly working on viewing it in a different light. "Even I didn't know that."
Germany smirked. "Never put anything of his in a fishbowl. You will regret it."
"Veneziano mad is like, you can see the gears turning in his head. Fucking crazy." He giggled again, even more high-pitched. "Sorry," he said after a moment.
"I don't mind." He raised an eyebrow at his sad, no, regretful expression. "What?"
"I'm sorry for being a dick to you for all those years, I should've given you a chance." Romano scratched his cheek, a nervous tick of his. "You're actually not that bad. I guess I understand if you don't forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive, Romano. It was a long time ago when that happened." Germany pulled his hand away before he could leave a noticeable mark on his face. "You're not that bad yourself."
"Well..." He looked away with a grin. "You're still a potato salad bastard."
"Probably." He regarded the slight blush on his sun-kissed cheeks fondly, savoring that he had caused it. He caused it! "I'm over here."
"I'm aware!" Romano poked him in the chest. "You think everything is about you all the time, macho macho man? Please."
"What did you call me?" Germany chuckled, deep and rough. "Is that the best you could come up with?"
"No!" He blushed even harder, feeling like an idiot. "I changed my mind, I hate you. Goodbye." He got up and stormed out.
"Tschüss." He counted down from three on his fingers.
"I forgot something." Romano sat next to him again. "I'll just stay here."
"Whatever you want." Germany flinched back as he was kissed on both cheeks. He really needed to get used to these damn Catholics. "Hello to you too."
"Hi." He punched the air happily. "Who's blushing now, idiota?"
"I suddenly wish you decided to leave and never come back." He pushed him over with an exasperated look. "Does our relationship ever seem odd to you?"
"Not really. I wouldn't have expected you to act like this around anyone, but I'm not complaining." Romano bounced back up. "Don't you act like this around Veneziano?"
Germany inhaled sharply. "I don't think so. He's playful, but I don't really reciprocate it with him. I'm not sure what's different about you and I." Yes he did, he knew very well what the difference between those two were. They weren't the same person.
"I'm the only one to see this side of you? I'm soooooo honored." He draped a hand over his forehead and fell backwards. "Swoon."
He laughed, shaking his head fondly. "Don't die on me."
"Yes sir, Commander." Romano glanced at the clock and grimaced. "Sorry, I've been wearing this thing for over eight hours. Do you mind if I take it off?"
"Go ahead, I can wait." Germany nodded to the bathroom and sighed. He needed to have a talk with Romano about wearing that binder for too long. He could accidentally hurt himself because of it, then what would he do? Everyone made it sound so terrifying when that happened. Major injuries.
No, Germany had to calm down. Romano needed that to feel...right. Normal. But at the same time, didn't wearing it call more attention to something that shouldn't be there? Make the dysphoria worse? He should have a talk with him about the top surgery sometime. That would be one hell of an awkward conversation.
"I'm back." Romano placed the folded article of clothing on the bed. "Feels so much fucking better."
"I'm sure." Germany came up behind him and touched his shoulder blades without thinking.
"Eek!" He squealed, whirling around to face him. "You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing?"
"I um, I thought maybe you were sore." He coughed awkwardly. "Are you?"
Romano eyed him suspiciously, then turned back around. "Si, I am. It happens a lot." He looked down at his feet. "You can touch them, if you want."
"Alright." Germany reached out hesitantly, then gently pressed into the bones.
"Shit," he hissed. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."
"Right, because you're tough and don't cry at the sight of France." He laughed, then turned serious. "Have you been thinking about what I suggested?" He dug the heel of his hand in.
"Oh, that." Romano let out a soft noise of content. "It's just a lot to think about, you know? Mmm, aren't there side effects from taking it? I don't want to fucking mutate or whatever."
Germany snorted. "I doubt you will mutate. It'll make your voice deep and you'll grow facial hair, right? You're talking about side effects like acne or gaining weight."
"I didn't tell you about the specifics." He turned around and narrowed his eyes. "How did you know?"
"Scheiße." He was busted. "I might've done a little research on everything." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, a lot of research. I just wanted to know more about what you were going though, so I can better understand what-"
"Shut the hell up, asshole." Romano sniffled, wiping his nose. "I hate you so much, you know that? So fucking much."
"What? Why?" Germany touched his shoulder. "I thought I was doing good!"
"I hate you so much for making me fall in love with you." He forced out a chuckle and shook his head. "I've never had anyone treat me as well as you have. You're so caring and weird and shit, even though you look like you're a scary guy on steroids. You never questioned me for my choices when others did, you fucking educated yourself. You did things to make me feel I was right and not broken. That's why I hate you."
This wasn't happening, there's no way. Germany opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. No words came out, so he just stood there looking ridiculous. Romano was in love with him. Romano was in love with him. This extremely gorgeous man who had gone through so much chose him, someone he had hated for so long, of all people. It felt great.
"Italians," Germany muttered once he found his voice. "Always so oblivious." His face was so red and hot it was about to burst into flames. Don't have a meltdown like you did with Italy don't have a meltdown like you did with Italy don't
"Who are you calling oblivious, you bastard?!" Romano grabbed him by the collar. "I hope all your potatoes ROT in the field!"
Fuck it. "Please stop talking." He bent down further and gently cupped his face. "I've never done this before, forgive me if I do something wrong." He tilted his head, bringing their lips together.
Uh...
Damn.
This felt nice.
Germany almost sighed in relief when Romano kissed back, a bit shyly. The contrast of his soft lips against his rough ones made him let out an embarrassing coo. He jumped as the Italian wrapped his arms around his waist to pull him even closer. So warm.
"Mmm, wow." Romano slowly pulled away to look at him. "Holy shit."
"Holy shit," Germany echoed. "Was that alright?"
"Fucking perfect." He leaned into his chest with a sigh. "Ti amo. Thank you for loving this weird boy."
"You're a man." He felt the front of his uniform grow damp from his tears of joy, but he just nuzzled his nose into his hair. Things were going to be okay.
#i can't write kissing scenes okay#haven't had my first kiss so eh#aph#hetalia#aph Germany#aph FtM!Romano#aph South Italy#aph Romano#Germano#LGBT+#transgender#trans#FtM
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‘Mimic’
Avengers x Female Reader
(Pairing: Steve x Reader)
Chapter 3: You Don’t Have to Stay, but Why Would You Ever Want to Leave?
Summary: Tony, Bruce, and Stephen run tests to try and figure out what’s wrong with Y/n. Some of the other Avengers come and introduce themselves. After hours of trying different things, they finally figure it out and Y/n becomes an Avenger.
Word Count: 4962
a/n: Every chapter is getting longer and longer I don’t know what I’m doing. I really hope you guys like it, it took me forever to write (that’s mostly because I’m in the middle of finals but whatever). If you have any ideas for where I should take this story let me know because I’m open to suggestion and I’d love to hear them! You can reply to this or inbox me or whatever you’d like. If you like the chapter be sure to like and reblog this, I’m working hard on the story and I’d love for as many people who appreciate Marvel to read it as possible! ty again xx
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
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“We have some good news and some neutral news. What do you want to hear first?” Bruce said. It was the morning after your night in quarantine at the Avengers Facility with Steve, Peter, and Wanda. Tony, Stephen, and Bruce had just walked back into the lab. Before anyone could answer, Bruce continued. “You know what? Never mind, I don’t know why I asked. I’m going to do it my way because that the only way that’s going to make sense.”
Tony looked at him and scrunched his face.
You looked from bed to bed at your fellow detainees. It couldn’t be that bad if there wasn’t any bad news, right? Only good and neutral?
Bruce put the clipboard he was holding on the table. “The good news is that you all no longer need to be quarantined.”
Peter hopped out of bed. “Really?!”
Tony patted Bruce on the back. “Yep, all of your results came back fine. You’re not radioactive or anything like that, so the three of you can go back to your normal rooms.”
Steve walked up and leaned his hand on the glass. “Hang on, the three of us?”
The doctor scratched his beard, “That’s what we would call the neutral news. Since we know Y/n isn’t radioactive, we still aren’t sure exactly what’s going on with her. She’ll have to stay here and run some more scenarios until we can figure out what happened.” You nodded to yourself, accepting that this was how the rest of your day was going to go. You were beginning to feel a bit like a lab rat. On the upside, at least you would be able to get out of this fishbowl.
“From a biological standpoint, there are a number of tests we can run and factors we’ll analyze to figure out what was in the explosion and how it made you do what you did,” Bruce said, making his way across the lab towards a panel with a key in hand. “And from a physical standpoint, we’ll try to recreate the situation and see if we can replicate the results.”
Tony chimed in, “But hopefully we don’t and it was a onetime thing. Can you imagine a world with two ‘Wanda’s?”
Wanda sat up, “Hey, you should be so lucky as to have a world with two ‘Wanda’s.” She looked over at you and cocked her head. “Anyway, Y/n would make a great ‘Wanda junior.’”
Bruce unlocked the panel and flipped four switches. As he did, each of the isolations chamber doors slid open one by one and just like that, you were free. The four of you left the cubes and walked out to the middle of the lab. Tony, Bruce, and Stephen walked to separate parts of the lab to get the equipment they were going to need.
Peter’s put his hand on his forehead, “Does the air out here feel different, or am I being dramatic?”
“You’re being dramatic.” Doctor Strange called back from across the room.
Peter shrugged and he and Wanda made their way through the doors and out of the lab, waving goodbye to you on their way out. You waved back, slightly nervous that it was now going to just be you in room with a bunch of scientists. It had been nice having people to talk to and it had been really nice getting to know everyone; you had a lot in common with the two of them.
Steve was still next to you and still shirtless. He was almost so good looking that he was hard to look directly at. Like the sun. He turned to you and broke your train of thought. “I’ll stay here.”
You crossed you arms and suppressed a smile. He really was the nicest guy. “Steve, no. I’ll be fine I promise,” You weren’t so sure, but you were speaking it into existence. “You should go back.”
He was hesitant, “Are you sure? Because I’m perfectly fine just hanging around here…”
“No really, don’t worry about me. Go change your clothes, and get something real to eat, and take a shower.”
“Yeah Steve, please go shower. Also put on a shirt. I insist,” Tony yelled from the far side of the lab.
Steve promptly ignored him. “You’re really sure?”
You nodded, “Yes.”
He resigned, “At least let me bring you something to eat. Whatever you want.”
You raised an eyebrow, “Whatever I want?”
“Anything in the world.”
You thought about it. “A cheeseburger.”
He made a face, “A cheeseburger?”
“What’s wrong with a cheeseburger?”
“Nothing’s wrong with a cheeseburger, I love cheeseburgers. It’s just that when given the choice of any food in the whole world, you picked a cheeseburger.”
“Well what did you want me to say, a lobster dinner?”
“It’s also 9 a.m.”
“I know it’s 9 a.m. But this is America, Steve; and cheeseburgers are like the most American food.” He crossed his arms and smiled as you continued. “You might not be aware, but cheeseburgers can’t tell time so if I want a cheeseburger at 9 a.m., it is my right, if not my obligation to eat one. And as Captain of America, I would have thought you’d understand.”
He shook his head and laughed softly, “You make a solid argument.”
You put your hands on your hips and shrugged. “I’m really just being patriotic.”
Just then, you heard the doors bust open and you both snapped your heads to see three people walk into the room. You recognized them as other members of the Avengers. Steve had told you about all of them; there was the Falcon, the Winter Soldier, and the Black Widow. Sam, a.k.a. Falcon, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled “Hey Cap, stop flirting with the new girl,” to which everyone in the room let out a laugh. Steve’s eyes widened. “He’s like the senior football captain who asks a freshman to prom.”
“I was not—”
“Oh relax man, I’m just playing.”
Steve blushed and looked down at his feet. The three of them stopped in front of you.
The Black Widow hit him playfully on the shoulder, “Well don’t be rude Steve, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Y/n, this is Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, and Bucky Barnes; Nat, Sam, and Bucky, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”
Natasha stuck out her hand and you were about to shake it when you heard Bruce yell “STOP!” You pulled your hand back and Natasha put her hands up like she’d been caught by the cops. “Sorry. You can’t touch her until we’re done with the tests.”
Steve looked from you to Bruce, “I thought you said she was fine.”
“She is fine, she didn’t retain any radiation, but we still don’t know what happened in New York. It’s mostly just a precaution.”
Natasha dropped her hand, “Another time.” Bucky leaned his arm on her shoulder. “We just wanted to make sure ole’ Steve was doing alright. And introduce ourselves to you of course.”
Sam turned back to you, “So, ending up in a radioactive explosion with the half of the Avengers must have put a damper on your weekend plans.”
You looked over at Steve, then around the lab to try to play it off. “I’ll be honest, not my worst Friday night.”
The three of them laughed and waved a ‘see you later’ to you. They greeted the scientists on their way towards the door. Once they got there they stopped and looked back to pause for Steve.
“Well, I’d better get going,” Steve shoved his hands in pockets.
“Yeah,” and even after you said it, he stood in front of you unmoving. He was a few feet away from you, but it still felt so intimate, kind of like you were the only people in the world. At least like you were the only people in the room.
You were abruptly reminded that this was not the case when Tony picked up the pajamas with that had his face on them and threw them at Steve. “Hit the showers, Rogers.”
Steve picked them up sheepishly and gave you a half smile. He walked towards to exit and met the other three Avengers as he walked out the double doors. You tried not to stare but his back muscles were literally insane. You simply did not have the restraint.
“Alright Y/n,” the doctor’s voice called from across the lab. You walked over to him and leaned on a table as he continued. “We’re going to have to give you an MRI if that’s alright with you.”
You looked around the room. “You guys have an MRI machine in here?”
The three men laughed and looked at each other. “We have everything in here,” Bruce said.
Tony cocked his head, “I’m kind of a multi-billionaire, in case you’ve never seen the news.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Well let’s get started, I guess.”
---
“Let’s go through this one more time,” Bruce said looking at a marked-up whiteboard that had been erased and rewritten more times than you could count.
Bruce, Tony, and you were sat in rolley chairs a few feet away from the board. Stephen was leaning on his armrest and had his chin in his hand, Tony was sat back in his chair with his neck thrown back and his eyes looking at the ceiling, and you were slouched in your chair looking at your split ends. You had all been working on this for hours and hours and you still couldn’t figure out what had happened to you in New York. They’d done an MRI, another physical, looked at your tissue samples under a microscope, not to mention you’d unsuccessfully tried moving things with your mind about 50 times, but everything came back normal. You were beginning to think that you’d never get to be an Avenger, or more importantly, that you’d never get to have a movie night with Steve. You sighed. The outlook seemed grim.
Earlier Steve had brought you that cheeseburger he’d promised you because he was a sweet angel baby and was now sitting in a far corner of the lab on beanbag chairs with Sam and Wanda that they’d brought in. The two of them were scrolling through their phones and every once in a while Wanda would lean over and show Sam some meme on her phone, while Steve looked acutely worried, glancing occasionally to where you and the scientists were working. Another thing was that man was just too big to fit in a beanbag chair in the first place.
“We’ve been through it a million times,” Doctor Strange said through gritted teeth.
F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice sounded throughout the lab, “Actually, Y/n has only told the story 23 times.” The doctor gave a look of annoyance and slight disgust to no one in particular but the air.
Bruce waved away the doctor’s negativity but rested his chin on the table in front of him out of tiredness. “Just one more time Y/n. Please.”
You felt bad that you were in the middle of all this business in the first place. Almost like you were guilty of something. Maybe if you had done something differently you wouldn’t be causing the Avengers all this trouble. You nodded you head and began to retell the story once more. You said how you had been walking home when you heard people screaming and ran over to see what was happening, you said how you brought the kid to his mom, and you said how you turned and saw Steve, Wanda, and Peter fighting a bunch of guys in the street.
Tony put his face in his hands. “Banner, we know all of this. We’ve heard it already.”
Bruce barely noticed he’d said anything, “Go on Y/n.”
You stood up and walked around your chair to stretch your legs. “Then the explosion hit, and I got knocked over to the ground, and Wanda came and helped me up, and I tried to shake Steve’s hand and he—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Bruce said lifting his head off the table. “You say you touched Wanda?”
“Yes, she said Wanda pulled her off the ground, just like she said every other time we asked her to tell this story,” Stephen said impatiently.
“Wanda and Steve, come here,” Bruce walked over to an open space in the lab near the glass isolation chambers and waved them over. “Steve, shake Y/n’s hand.”
You were reluctant. “Are you sure? He’s gonna be okay if I do?”
Bruce nodded warmly, assuring you. “Yes.”
Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest and spoke loudly from across the lab, “Probably.”
Bruce snapped his head to Tony and glared. He turned back to you and waited. You looked at Steve and he gave you a small nod, putting his hand out. You gave him a small smile back and slowly reached towards his hand. Your hand hovered next to his for a second before you finally just did it. You breathed a sigh of relief as nothing happened.
Steve shook your hand and smiled, “Pleasure to meet you.”
You tilted your head to the side. “The pleasure is mine.”
Not to take away from the slightly tense situation you were currently engulfed in, but dude had baby soft hands. It was like touching a cloud. And his hands were so big around yours. It wasn’t like you had particularly small hands or anything but WOW.
“Now, Wanda, shake Y/n’s hand.” Steve dropped you hand and took a few steps back. Wanda steped up and reached her hand out. You touched her hand and once again, nothing happened. You were confused. What was different between yesterday and today? “So what, am I cured? Was it just a one-time thing?”
Bruce didn’t seem to hear you. He had that kind of tunnel vision that only scientists get. “Thank you Wanda, you can go back now.” She turned around and walked back to Sam and the beanbags. “Now Steve, shake Y/n’s hand one last time.”
You reached your arm out and Steve shrugged, walking over to you “Alright, but I don’t see how this is—” just before your hands were about to touch, Steve was flipped and thrown back against the glass wall of the isolation chamber by the same reddish stream of energy that came from your hands yesterday. The room was silent. Your hands flew to cover your mouth and your eyes were wide. You looked from Steve, to Wanda, to Tony, Stephen, and Bruce.
Sam finally broke the silence, “So, is Wanda contagious?”
Wanda’s hands flew to the sides of her face and she gasped, “Am I contagious?”
“Of course not.” Tony said. He looked back at Bruce and squinted his eyes with uncertainty, “Right?”
You ran over and kneeled next to Steve. You were about to grab onto his arm to help him up but quickly pulled back realizing that you didn’t know what was going to happen if you touched him again. “I’m so sorry Steve, are you okay?”
With a small groan he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I’m fine, I promise. But wow Y/n, twice in two days?” Sam jogged over and helped him up.
“That’s going to make a great YouTube video,” Tony mocked. “It’s got viral potential.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “What video?”
Tony looked up and pointed around the room. “This is a laboratory, there’s cameras all over the place. For scientific purposes. Motion activated. And I’d certainly call your little fall a motion, wouldn’t you?”
“Hilarious, Tony.”
“No, I was kind of serious, I really do think it’d go viral. Maybe I should be come a YouTuber. A vlogger?”
Wanda pointed both index fingers at Tony in enthusiasm for the idea. “You absolutely should” she gasped.
More than anything, you were still shocked at how Tony could manage to joke about anything and everything at anytime. Your head was still spinning but he seemed as laidback as ever.
Meanwhile, the other two scientists had wholly ignored the short exchange. Stephen looked at Bruce, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bruce raised an eyebrow and the doctor shot up from his chair.
“I know I’m not.” Tony said, hopping up on a lab table. “The science part of ‘STEM’ has never really been my forte. I’m much more of a ‘TEM’ kind of guy.”
Stephen and Bruce were looking at a sample of your skin tissue under a microscope from earlier in the day. As they mumbled to each other and worked on the slide, you sat in a chair a few feet away from everyone tapping your foot anxiously. You tried to listen in but all of the words they were using were way too scientific to mean anything to you. Finally, they turned around to face the rest of the room. Bruce stepped forward, “Alright so we have a hypothesis. Don’t get too excited because it is just that: hypothetical.” Strange turned on a projector that showed a hologram of the tissue you’d all previously examined under the microscope. Half the screen showed the slide at an insanely close distance while the other was a little more zoomed out.
Bruce spoke while Stephen worked on the slide. “This is a sample of Y/n’s skin cells. Now here if we take a sample of Doctor Strange’s skin cells and put it in contact with Y/n’s…” the projector showed the doctor using a tiny instrument to put the samples in contact. The second they touched, you could see changes on the microscopic side of the projection, but nothing on the more zoomed-out side. Bruce motioned to it. “When the cells come into contact there is a change on a microscopic level, a kind of absorbing of the foreign DNA.” He walked to the open space in the lab. “Y/n, Wanda, if you could come over here one more time.” You walked over and met them in the middle. “Y/n can you try to make a little ball of energy with your hands? Like Wanda; Wanda can you show her?”
Wanda twisted and contorted her hands and a little reddish light formed between her fingers. You reluctantly tried the same thing, concentrating the way it seemed like she was and after a second a similar light came from your hands. You gasped and smiled looking up at Wanda and back to your hands. It didn’t feel like it had before, you felt more in control.
“Okay now forgetting about that for a minute, we’re gonna have you touch Doctor Strange.”
You took a step back. “That feels like a bad idea.”
Stephen walked to stand in front of you. “Don’t worry about it. The scientific method and all that” he shrugged.
“Yeah, besides I wanna see this,” Sam jeered from across the lab.
Stephen laid his hand out palm up. You took a deep breath and slowly rested your fingers on his. You waited a moment. Nothing happened. You nodded your head with approval. “Alright well that’s a good thing, nobody went flying across the room this time.”
“So just you Steve.” Sam quipped.
The doctor dropped his hand. “Now step two. Try this.” He waved his hand in a small circle in front of him and that same firey circle he had created the day before was drawn in the air.
You threw your hands up in resignation. “How am I supposed to—” You stopped yourself short. Nothing was really worth arguing at this point. You shook your arms out and focused all your energy on the space in front of your hands. You mirrored the motions that you had seen Stephen make and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath and suddenly your mind was clear. You felt like you were in total control, that for a moment your body couldn’t constrain you. You opened your eyes and watched as your hands began to carve a sparkling circle in the air. You laughed, completely dumbfounded at how you were managing all of this.
You dropped your hands to your side and looked around the room. Sam, Wanda, Steve, and Tony’s jaws were practically on the floor, while Bruce and Stephen were already mumbling to each other and writing on a clipboard.
The laboratory doors swung open and in walked Natasha. “So, what did I miss?” she asked in response to the general vibe the room currently had of a combination of shock and confusion.
Sam took a few steps toward her, “We think the new girl is magic.”
“Magic?” you sputtered. You weren’t too sure what was going on with yourself, but magic?
Steve intervened, “What he means is that we’re not exactly sure what’s going on with her right now.”
Wanda joined the other two and leaned her elbow on Sam’s shoulder. “Really? Because I’m inclined to just leave it at ‘magic’.”
“Yeah, I have no problem with the diagnosis of ‘magic’.” Tony agreed.
This was all very overwhelming. Every part of the past two days had been overwhelming; you weren’t sure how much more you could take. Steve must have been able to sense how you felt because he took a step closer to you and lightly patted your shoulder “Don’t worry about them, Bruce will figure it out. He always does.” You looked up at him and managed an appreciative smile. He dropped his hand and looked down at his feet.
“As a matter of fact, we already have” Bruce beamed as he and Stephen skipped down the steps from the work table to join the rest of you in the center of the lab.
Tony pushed himself up and jogged over to the two men, “Yes we did.” Stephen shot him a glare from the corner of his eye. You and Steve were stood in front of them as Wanda, Sam, and Natasha walked over to hear what they had to say.
“To start out, you should know that all of the tests we’ve run have lead us to believe the changes I’m about to tell you are permanent; at this point at least.” Stephen waved his clipboard in the air as he spoke. “The good news is, as of right now we haven’t detected any negative side effects that might impact you in the long-term, Y/n.”
Natasha looked from doctor to doctor, “So…”
Bruce continued where Stephen left off. “We’ve never seen anything like this before so it’s difficult to explain, but essentially when Y/n’s skin touches another person’s skin, her body… what’s the simplest way to put this… basically “scans” theirs and pinpoints the anomalies and–” He cut himself short, obviously frustrated with how he was explaining it. You leaned in encouraging him to finish. “Well long story short, your DNA temporarily changes allowing you to mimic whatever abilities the person you touched has.”
Natasha nodded, clearly looking for something more. “So…”
Stephen pressed a button on a remote causing the projector to replay the holographic cells they had shown earlier. “Power mimicry.”
Silence. Nobody was quite sure what to say. It was so different from anything else the Avengers had encountered. A couple people were nodding absentmindedly while others cocked their heads, thinking. You were just standing there with eyes wide as could be, wondering what all of this would mean for your future.
Wanda broke the silence, “So, no ‘Wanda junior’?”
“Not really, no ‘Wanda junior’.” Doctor Strange fielded her question. “She can kind of become anyone ‘junior’ depending on who she touches. That’s why she could do your thing after she touched you and why she could do my thing after she touched me.”
You looked up to your side at Steve, and he looked back down at you. You had a feeling that suddenly your whole life was about to change. You guess it already had.
“Well is she ‘in’?” Sam asked. ‘In’ you wondered. Like ‘in’ the Avengers?
Tony walked away the group to a rolley chair in front of a big computer. All of a sudden, he seemed on edge. “She’s could be dangerous.”
“Not as long as she’s on our side” Steve said taking a step in Tony’s direction.
“Then she could be in danger.” Tony swiveled around in his chair. “Look I have nothing against her, really, but we just met her.” He looked at you. “No offence kid, but we don’t know what you’re like, we don’t know if you’d crack under the pressure, it’s just – there’s a lot of factors. It’s hard enough for me putting Peter in the middle of all of this but now having someone else on my conscience?”
Wanda testified, “Peter, Steve, and I spent hours last night talking with her and she’s legit Tony. You three have spent all day with her, I’m sure you can tell.” She walked over so she was standing next to you. “Listen, I know that you guys love to not listen to me, but she really is a good person. In Manhattan we watched her risk her life to help this little kid she’d never met. What else do you need to know?”
She looked back at you and smiled. It was nice to know you already had people on your side. At the same time, you felt bad being at the center of all of this drama.
“Is it okay if I say something? I hate to be causing any sort of trouble. If there was any way I could go back in time and not, I don’t know, be hit with some weird, DNA changing radiation, you have to believe me I would. I really have no issue just going back to New York and pretending like none of this ever happened. The last thing I would want would be to cause any problems between earth’s mightiest heroes.”
Tony pursed his lips for a moment and turned back to the computer, starting to type viciously. You looked around the room hoping someone would say something. Anyone would say anything.
Sam shrugged, “Well I think she should be in.”
Steve nodded his head and grinned, “Me too.”
“I could always use another girl around this place,” Natasha crossed her arms with approval.
“A truer thing has never been said,” Wanda agreed.
“I was always pro-Y/n” said Bruce.
Stephen put his clipboard down. “I’ll be honest, I’m here for the science and was never super invested in this portion of the argument.”
Just then the computer made a small ding and Tony swung his chair to face the lab. “Well first of all this isn’t a democracy, I would like to make that very clear, but I did come to the conclusion that she can stay if she wants to on my own.” You gave a small gasp and grinned ear to ear. You looked over at Wanda and up at Steve who seemed to be trying to suppress his contentment.
Tony pushed himself up and took a few steps toward you. “I’ve already run all the background tests; she is who she says she is, she pays all her taxes, her record is clear so she’s never been arrested for murdering anyone in cold blood –”
You raised an eyebrow jokingly and put your hands on your hips, “Or maybe I’ve just never been caught…”
The Avengers stared at you. Tony narrowed an eye.
You put your hands up, “Obviously kidding! Bad timing? Poor taste? I’ll try to feel out the audience better next time. But no promises.”
“I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. If you say yes, nothing is ever going to be the same for you. There’s no going back.”
Bruce patted Tony on the shoulder and looked to you, “You don’t have to stay—”
Wanda cut in, “-- But why would you ever want to leave?”
You looked from person to person. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you’d be in this position. The opportunity to work alongside the coolest and bravest people on the entire earth? In the entire universe? Not to mention the most beautiful. If things didn’t work out for the Avengers as superheroes, they could all get jobs no problem as supermodels; it had to be something in the water. If you stayed you would get to figure out this new power you had and use it to help people all over the world. Nevermind that you’d get to wake up everyday and see Steve Rogers in the flesh. Maybe you would get to have that movie night. And what if you went back? You’d walk in Monday morning to your boring job and live with your boring roommate in your boring non-Avengers-facility apartment. Was it really even a question?
You nodded your head and smiled. “I’m in.”
Tony clapped his hands. “She’s in! This is gonna be a lot of paperwork. I’ll tell Pepper, she loves paperwork.” He put his hand on your back and led you towards the lab doors.
You looked up at him, “Would I be able to get some gloves? You know, so I can touch Wanda without accidentally throwing someone across the room?”
He nodded, “You want gloves? I can get you gloves. That can be like your thing, you can be ‘glove-girl’.”
Natasha snorted, “Tony, no one’s gonna call her ‘glove-girl’.”
He looked back. “Really? Because I’m Iron Man. Peter’s Spider-Man. These people aren’t super creative when it comes to us.”
You laughed at his remarks. You kind of hoped people didn’t end up calling you ‘glove-girl’. It was pretty lame. At the end of the day though, how bad could it be? You we’re an Avenger.
---
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For those who didn’t know, I recently lost my brother. That’s why I’ve been a bit MIA.
I received this beautiful picture (Dot Art from Australia) from one of my favorite people and readers in the whole world. She has always supported me from the day that I knew of her existence, even if she didn’t understand or agree with what I was writing. Last year, she sent me snowflakes (with words inside) when we didn’t get any snow. This year, we got snow, lol. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I will put it near my desk where I can see it every day (and where all the literal “magic” happens) to make sure that I remember why I love doing what I do. Thank you so much, Falala. I hope you don’t mind me sharing. My Muse is alight with love and gratitude. ❤
I also heard that the royal baby shares a birthday with our Falala. Happy birthday, darling!
Danger—Aussie accent ahead. Turn away now.
Oh, song lyrics in here, too. So, for those who don’t like song lyrics, you might want to skip that part, too.
All other previous disclaimers still apply.
Chapter 80—Melbourne Mischief
ANASTASIA
“You should get a social media page,” Laura says as the four of us are enjoying dinner at the Paradise Restaurant. I look at her like she’s grown five heads.
“I can’t do that,” I reply.
“Why not?”
“Because Christian likes his privacy…” I look over at Christian.
“I didn’t say Christian should get a social media page,” she interjects. “I didn’t even say you and Christian should get a social media page. I said you should get a social media page. No offense, Christian.” To my surprise, my husband doesn’t protest.
“I’m an extension of Christian,” I tell her. “We’re in the public eye a lot—the press, the tabloids… If I sneeze, the gossip rags are printing that I have the flu before someone can say ‘bless you.’” She shakes her head.
“Ana, President Obama has a Twitter page. You need to be on social media. Everything that you’ve told me that you’re trying to do—exposure for your center, your battle with the medical licensing board—you can reach exponentially more people with a social media page.” I shake my head.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, still looking to Christian for backup and getting none. “We need to consult our public relations people.” She frowns again.
“You have to ask your public relations people if you can start an Instagram?” she asks bemused.
“Yes,” I say. “The simplest things can become wildfires if they’re not contained properly.”
“And there’s those monsters again…” she mumbles.
“No, no,” I tell her. “Those aren’t monsters. Those are harsh realities. Just before we came on this trip, we had just put a lawsuit to bed for an idiot who flashed me an offensive tattoo on live radio.”
“Ana,” Laura begins in disbelief, “are you honestly telling me that you two sued someone for having a bad tattoo?”
“No,” Christian finally interjects. “We sued him for being an asshole.”
“Oh, they’re doing that now in the states?” she says. “Maybe I need to go back for a while. There’s a few I’d like to drag through litigation—one in particular…”
“Ovah moi dedd body!” Jaxon says, drawing a chuckle from me and Christian.
“We didn’t sue him because of the tattoo,” I say, bringing the story back around, “But the tattoo started it. I was doing live radio shows for a while—just local stuff, but talking about the Center and my situation with the medical board. This jerk was on one of the highest rated radio shows in Seattle…”
I share the unflattering story of Rossiter flashing me on the air and subsequently assaulting my dad, the “mysterious” beating that led to the defamation suit, and Rossiter finally agreeing to leave town, all without using his name. Laura now frowns deeply and stares at me.
“Who exactly are you guys?” she asks. I sigh. Here we go…
“Take out your phone and Google ‘Christian Grey’ with an ‘e’ and ‘GEH Enterprises.’” She raises a brow.
“Google?” she says incredulously.
“Google,” I reinforce. She shrugs and takes out her phone. After swiping the screen, she taps some words into her phone… and then she’s silent for a solid three minutes.
“I take it you found him,” I say. She raises wide eyes to me.
“Jesus, Ana, this is you?” she asks. I shrug, not quite sure what she’s looking at. “He’s worth more than Jaxon’s whole fucking family! And they’re worth a lot!”
“Yeah, he’s got a penny or two to rub together,” I say.
“A penny?” she says incredulously. “Seriously, Ana?” She turns to Christian. “Industry giant with interests, even here in Australia. How do I not know who he is?”
“Well, I don’t know, but everybody else does,” I lament. “It was actually quite refreshing to be around people who didn’t know who we were.” She whistles and shuts the screen down.
“Well, at least you’re not the mob,” she says as she puts her phone away. Thank God! I didn’t want anything to get weird between us because of who we are.
Our dining experience in Paradise turns out to be just that… an experience, that is. To begin, the restaurant is themed like a garden… the Garden of Eden, if I were to guess. There are people—hosts and hostesses of sorts—interacting with the diners. They’re running around like water sprites or flower children or something, communing with the earth while they engage you in their folly. They have names like Blossom, Idalia, and Apollo, and they greet you at the door or they walk along with the server as he’s bringing you some spacy drink.
Blossom comes along with our first drink, a Frozen Paradise Daiquiri Fishbowl… and yes, it’s really served in a goldfish bowl—with four metal straws. In her spacy little way, she tells us about Paradise. She tells us about the water sprite in the swing hanging from the ceiling that’s about a whole story above us with a train from her dress that hangs all the way down to the floor. She then tells us the plight of the acrobatic fairies dangling from the cage-like crescent moon also hanging precariously from the ceiling. In addition to the servers, I’d say there’s about seven to ten performers that engage diners in conversation and interactive garden play.
The food leaves nothing to be desired. Beautiful, colorful dishes in natural and garden themes are as tasty as they are creative, and the four of us feast and fill on beautifully artistic presentations of exotic and delicious foods that we would never think to order if we weren’t on a luxury cruise, including exquisite cheeses, truffles, and delicacies that I can’t even pronounce, let alone recognize.
Our food has been consumed and our first drink devoured when Apollo follows the second server over to our table with yet another frozen drink. This one is inside of four separate globes with straws inside. It’s some kind of rainbow drink made with multicolor jellybean vodka and lemonade. When the server leaves, I take a sip of my drink while Apollo decides to “mime” out each of our names. He did a mini-dance representing the King of Pop for Jaxon. He crossed his body for Christian, which I thought was strange since Catholics—and not Christians—are known for crossing their body.
Not to be confused with an eagle or a seagull, I scissor my hands at the thumbs and gently flutter my fingers. Apollo immediately guesses a butterfly. Laura just makes a universal sign for the sun, so he calls her Solari. I have no idea why she did that, and I have no idea what physical representation he would have come up with for her name.
The entire establishment is multileveled, and you can explore it from a ramp that spirals around the edge and connects to each level. Once the meal is complete, I decide to stroll up the ramp and observe the goings-on of the establishment. Christian declines the invitation, deciding instead to “watch me walk.” I shrug, take my globe, and begin my stroll around the restaurant and lounge.
“He’s been attentive this evening,” Laura observes when we get to the second level. He’s always attentive, but she’s right… tonight more than usual.
“He has,” I acknowledge while observing the activities on the main floor. “What did you say to him?” I ask before sipping my drink.
“Nothing much,” she says, unfazed. “I think I may have just given him a different perspective of a situation he already knew.” I nod.
“Like you did for me,” I say, raising my eyes to her. She leans on the rail and faces me.
“It’s like I said, Ana,” she says, “same… but different.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Knowing what I know about the two of you now, I understand why he reacted how he did to our conversation. I wish I had known before, but I’m certain that I wouldn’t have handled it differently if I had.”
I’m not sure I’m at all comfortable with her digging into my husband’s brain that way. If you think my monsters are something, you aint seen nothin’ yet!
“Christian is… a strong personality, unwilling to show any weakness, but not incapable of feeling it,” I warn, a little more firmly than I intend.
“I know that, and so does he,” she says, again unfazed. “What I find so remarkable about this relationship is how protective the two of you are of each other. You fight hard, but you love harder. It makes for a very intense relationship, but if you’re not careful, it can also make for a very short lifespan.” I frown deeply.
“Are you talking about us or our relationship?” I ask, somewhat appalled.
“Both,” she says. “Your fires burn hot for each other, but if either or both of you dump all of yourselves into it at the beginning, there’s nothing of you left. Eventually, if you can’t always have that spark—that fire—that you feel right now, you’ll begin to resent each other for not being that person that lit that spark in the first place, and you’ll hate the fact that you lost yourself in the process. And let’s face it—that’s not good for your health, and neither is constantly worrying about the well-being of the other; not trusting their instincts to do and be the right thing, make the right decisions, or know what’s good for them and what’s not. You’re both protectors—even to your own detriment. You need to know when to protect and when to allow yourself to be protected.
“You must find a medium where you settle into happy contentment—where he looks at you the way that he’s looking at you right now not because you’ve detoxed and decompressed and you’re glowing from the spa and you’re wearing a knockout dress, but simply because the atmosphere of the room changed because you’re in it now.
“I don’t know why we met, Ana,” she says, turning back to view the activities below. “I don’t know what brought us together, but you already know that I’m a firm believer in fate and destiny and all things mystical. You meet me and a few days later, you’re highly unnerved by a spiritual disturbance and here I am… and you haven’t seen your shrink in weeks. Coincidence?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I say, never looking at her.
“Let him be him,” she says, her voice comforting, “and you be you. Let life happen and take every advantage or opportunity to be happy. Prepare for the unexpected, but when the bad comes, work your way through it, and when you’re done, rejoice in overcoming it. And Ana, by no means am I telling you to love your husband less. I’m only stressing that you don’t forget to love you in the process. Am I making any sense?” I sigh.
“More than I would like to admit,” I say, moving away from the rail and walking up the ramp a little more. I’m the shrink. I should have known these answers long ago, and it took someone who has no fucking clue whatsoever to help me see the light and get through one of the biggest obstacles I’ve ever had to face. It makes be feel… different… about my profession and how things are handled… how people handle me…
“He adores you,” she says. And I him, I think to myself. “And he knows that we’re talking about him.” I look down at him and see his eyes fixed on me. I lean on the rail again and gaze at him—his sexy new haircut and how good he looks in his slacks and blazer, his shirt open just a bit at the collar… a button or two, I think.
He looks scrumptious, and my mouth waters just looking at him. I run my tongue over my straw, take a drink, then suggestively wipe the corners of my mouth.
“You two could fuck without even touching each other,” Laura observes. Her voice intrudes my thoughts and I look over at her.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I lie, finishing my drink and placing it on the bar-ledge of the railing before beginning my trek back down the ramp.
“I’m sure you do,” she laughs, “and I’m sure you’ve done it more than once.” She falls in step behind me. “Don’t be ashamed of your passion, enjoy it! Most people live their entire lives never once feeling what the two of you feel for each other.”
“You confuse me,” I say when we get to the bottom of the ramp. “In one breath, you warn me about allowing my passion to burn too hard and in the next breath, you tell me not to be ashamed of it and to enjoy it. Which one is it?” She raises a brow at me.
“Don’t you know, doctor?” she asks, and I suddenly feel like I’m talking to Ace’s Smartastic ass again. I turn and begin to walk briskly away from her.
“Ana,” she calls firmly, and I stop, folding my arms and looking at her. I’m a little tipsy from the alcohol… maybe more than a little, but I’m still pissed.
“You don’t like that,” she says, closing the space between us. “Why?”
“I get tired of people assuming that because I’m a psychiatrist that I have all the mental answers. I don’t! If I did, I’d be on a mountain in Tibet somewhere, handing out valuable tidbits of knowledge while people came from all over the world just to hear my wisdom! I certainly wouldn’t be running away from dead people on an island and I certainly wouldn’t be seeing a shrink myself!”
There, I’ve said it. I don’t have all the answers. I never even claimed to have all the answers. Why do people assume that just because I have a Ph.D. and M.D. behind my name that I automatically have all the answers—even to my own problems? It’s infuriating!
“I see,” Laura says coolly. “That was presumptuous of me and I apologize.”
Suddenly, I’m taken aback by that statement. No one who ever expected me to know it all ever apologized to me. They just continued to argue that I should know… even Ace. Now, I’m wishing I had some of my drink left.
“What I should have said is that we’re human and we have to find happiness wherever we can. You and Christian find extreme happiness in your passion. Go with that, but in the process, please remember who Ana is. Go ahead and get lost in the passion… just don’t lose yourself completely. Does that make sense?”
That’s the same thing Michelangelo said to me when I talked to him about the whole submissive thing a while back. Now, Laura’s saying it, too… and Christian said something the other night about our scene, but my head is too cloudy to remember it right now.
“Can we please stop with the serious talk I need to have some fun,” I say almost in one breath. Laura smiles and as if on cue, Apollo meets us at the bottom of the ramp.
“Butterfly, Solaris, come.” I frown at first as he takes our hands and leads us through the clouds.
“Fly, Butterfly,” he says as he mimics the gesture I did earlier to denote my name, so I fly. He leads me and Laura to the stage and instructs her to “shine” because the flowers need sunlight to grow and the birds and butterflies need sunlight to flourish. On the other side of the stage is the girl who said something yesterday about my hickeys. She’s some kind of bird.
I won’t fuck with your flight if you don’t fuck with mine.
Luckily, we all have fun fluttering around the Garden of Eden in Paradise and there’s no need for a butterfly to take a bite out of a bird’s ass because she stays on her side of the garden.
It’s late when we emerge from Paradise, and it’s clear that Laura and Jaxon are feeling a bit amorous.
“Whadya sy we call it a noight, love?” Jaxon says suggestively to his wife.
“I’d say you lead, and I’ll follow,” she replies coquettishly. They turn their attention to us.
“Whaht’s tha plan foh tomorrow?” Jaxon asks. “OI see ya didn’t book any excuhrsions.”
“Well,” Christian says, “we’re just going to see what sites we can in the city. You know we’ll be debarking in Melbourne.”
“Yeah,” Laura whines with a frown and her shoulders fall. “That makes me sad. It was really great sailing with you guys, Ana,” she adds trying to hide her disappointment. “Do you know what time you’ll be leaving the ship?” Christian and I look at each other and he shrugs.
“Not really sure,” he says. “I guess we’ll wake whenever the sun wakes us, then have breakfast and leave after that.”
“Whoi don’t we meet fah brekky?” Jaxon says. “Have one lahst meal befoh ya shove off?”
“Oh, that sounds so depressing,” Laura says, “but let’s. I’ll help you set up a Facebook and Twitter page so that we can keep in touch.” I raise my brow at her. “You don’t have to use your real name. Just let me know if you decide to change it.” I nod.
“Okay, that sounds like a plan. Christian?” I say.
“How’s 10:00?” he asks.
Pehrfect!” Jaxon says. “We’ll see yah in tha mohrnin’.”
Once a slightly distressed Laura heads off to be comforted by her husband, Christian takes my hand and leads me through the deck and outside.
“We should think about planning a trip to Italy,” he says softly. “You know I wanted to go this summer, but with Pops’ passing…”
“It couldn’t be avoided,” I interrupt. “The family had to be together.” He looks at me and nods.
“You’re so beautiful, Butterfly,” he says just above a whisper. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me?”
“Yes, Christian, I do,” I reply just as softly. His brow furrows as he pushes his fingers into my hair and cups the side of my face.
“Do you really?” he asks a bit more earnestly. “Do you really know that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without you? That I’m not just saying that?”
Laura’s words choose this moment to come back to me, about losing yourself in the other person. We’ll have to talk about that… but now isn’t the time.
“Yes, my darling,” I say softly, “I do know.” I cup his opposite cheek with my hand. “I know.” He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. I feel his fear and uncertainty. I don’t know what Laura said to him, but I need him to know that this is where I want to be.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what’s next for us, Christian,” I say softly, “for our family.” He raises his gaze to mine. “The future doesn’t seem so scary anymore…”
And it really doesn’t.
“No?” he says, somewhat surprised. I shake my head.
“No,” I reinforce. “I mean the unknown will always be a little frightening, but it’s not terrifying. I know I can handle it… and I know that we can conquer anything as long as we work together.” His lips form a flat line.
“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to mine again, “as long as we work together.”
I feel his caution, but I don’t know what’s causing it. I’m wondering what Laura said to him and if that’s why he’s feeling so rudderless. I pull back from him and meet his gaze again, giving him a reassuring smile.
“I like this look,” I say, running my fingers through the extremely short but soft waves in his hair. “I think you should keep it.”
“I thought you might not like it,” he says, running his own hand over his cut. “I know how you like to play with my hair.” I tighten my fingers in the short strands and he stifles a gasp.
“I still can,” I point out, “but I may have to get used to not seeing the JBF look you have when you grab at it yourself.”
“If you can grab it, I can grab it,” he proclaims. Our gazes lock and he leans down and presses a soft and sensual kiss to my lips, his tongue caressing mine just once and sparking a small fire inside of me.
“Come,” he breathes. “Let’s go gaze at the stars for our last night aboard.”
He leads me to the very top deck—the “adults only” deck. There’s no one up here, but there are chaises around for lounging and enjoying the view. I haven’t seen many children on this cruise, but apparently, they’re not allowed on this deck.
Christian removes his blazer and reclines on the chaise, gesturing for me to come to him. I sit on his lap and after a bit of adjustment, nestle myself sideways between his legs, after which he drapes his jacket around my body. I settle into the warmth and look at the sky. It’s amazing to me how the Australia night sky looks so much different than the Seattle night sky. It’s all connected… isn’t it the same sky after all?
Then I put that Ph.D. mind to work. Even though it’s the same sky, the constellations that Seattle sees at midnight in December are definitely going to be different than the constellations that Australia sees at midnight in December. Same sky, different constellations.
“Same, but different,” I say softly.
“Hmm?” Christian says, his voice content. Well, I can’t leave that hanging out there, especially not knowing what Laura said to him.
“I was just admiring the clear sky and thinking that it looks so much different than the Seattle sky at night. I’m not into astronomy, but I wonder if we ever get this sky during the course of the year.”
“Hmm,’ he says again. “That’s a good question. Without a bunch of charts and diagrams, that’s something we’ll probably never know. For all we know, this particular sky may not show up on our side of the world until noon.” I twist my lips.
“You’re right…” hence the comment, same, but different… like you and me.
“What made you think of that?” he asks.
“Just the fact that the sky looks so different, but it’s the same sky,” I tell him. “This may sound silly, but it reminds me of that song from An American Tail.” I look up at him and see absolutely no recognition in his eyes. Okay, I forgot. This is the man who hasn’t met many fairytales or cartoons—none at all, in fact, before me.
“An American Tail is about a family of Russian mice who travel to America for a better life…”
“Oh, a Disney movie,” he says, some realization in his voice. Close enough.
“A cartoon, yes,” I say. “During the ride, Fievel—one of the mice—gets thrown from the ship. He manages to make it to New York, but now he’s separated from his family. The entire story is about Fievel trying to reunite with his family, but while his mother and father think he’s dead, his sister is convinced that he’s still alive. At some point in the movie, Fievel and his sister Tanya are both looking at the night sky and singing the song, Somewhere Out There…”
“Wait,” he interrupts. “That song came from a cartoon?” he asks. I chuckle.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Fievel and Tanya are looking at the night sky in different parts of New York saying that even though they’re apart, they might be wishing on the same bright star and…”
“Sleeping underneath the same big sky,” he finishes. I look up at him and smile.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Wow,” he says incredulously. “I wonder how many other songs came from cartoons that I never knew about.”
“Well, let me think,” I say, trying to scan through my brain and think of the songs that I know. “Colors of the Wind by Vanessa Williams…”
“Which one did that come from?”
“Pocahontas,” I reply. “Remember Grandmother Willow, the tree behind the door in the twins’ room that creeped you out when you first saw it?”
“Yeah… oh, yeah, Pocahontas,” he says.
“A Whole New World by um… Regina Belle and Peabo Bryson,” I continue. He frowns and shakes his head. “I can show you the world shining, shimmering splendid…”
Still no recognition comes across my husband’s face, so I sing the chorus…
“A whole new world, a dazzling place I never knew…”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard that,” he says finally.
“That’s from Alladin, the cartoon with the big blue genie. You’ll definitely have to see that one now that Robin Williams is gone.” He frowns.
“What does Alladin have to do with Robin Williams?” he asks.
“He was the voice of the big, blue genie,” I say. My husband’s mouth forms an “o.”
“Circle of Life, Elton John,” I continue, attempting to get away from the morbid, “The Lion King.”
“Geez, I feel so out of touch,” he says.
“Don’t,” I comfort him. “There’s no way for you to know this at this point until you had children. Wait until you get to the really old stuff, like Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” He twists his lips.
“Oh, come on,” he jibes. “That’s just some word kids made up.” I release a high-pitched scoff.
“No, it’s not! It’s a song from Mary Poppins!” I correct him.
“Mary… I don’t believe you!” he protests. “Sing it!” I immediately break into song.
“It’s Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious. If you say it loud enough, you’ll always sound precocious. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Um-dittle-ittl-ittl-um-dittle-I, Um-dittle-ittl-ittl-um-dittle-I…”
“Okay! Okay! I believe you!” he stops me. I can’t help but laugh, because if you’ve never heard the song before, it goes so fast that it can be kind of shocking. I lay my head on his lap and look up at the stars again once I’ve contained my laughter.
“You’re a great mom,” he says softly. “Our children are so lucky.” I put my hand on his chest and push off of him so that I can look in his eyes.
“They have a great dad, too, Christian,” I say. “You’re kind, generous, protective to a fault… and you love them…”
“But I left them…” he interjects, “and you.” I swallow hard and take in a deep breath.
“And hopefully, you’ve seen the err of your ways and you’ll never do it again,” I reply. He gazes at me for a long moment.
“I’ll never do it again,” he whispers. Here’s hoping…
“Good,” I say, and lean up and kiss him softly. Our gazes lock when I pull away, and he pulls me to him and kisses me earnestly.
Remember that spark that I referenced earlier? Yeah, it’s a full-blown blaze now! He’s grabbing my ass and groping my breast; his tongue is plunging into my mouth, exploring every crevice as he holds me captive against his body. I can barely breathe as he devours me like a starving man and I’m powerless to his will.
We neck on the upper deck for what feels like hours until I’m so aflame that I could fuck him right out here in the open. Then, he tells me that he just needs to hold me—like he did that night in Anguilla. Part of me wants to stomp and pout—why didn’t he tell me this before he got me all worked up? And then I think about it. We’ve fucked for like half the trip. I can keep my hormones in check for at least a night.
Alright, Mr. Grey. I’ll behave myself and snuggle.
CHRISTIAN
My wife is looking flawless in a black and white fitted striped maxi-dress as we head to breakfast on Friday morning. Her original hickeys have faded a bit, but she has a new, smaller one on the other side. She displays them like badges of honor with her back and shoulders bare. I think she looks simply scrumptious.
So as not to look like a total toad next to my exquisite wife, I go with a Beckham-esque look with black jeans and a black button-up. I leave Jason to get our bags off the ship and to the jet, which should already be at Tullamarine Airport, and Lawrence will accompany us for the day. He has decided to wear a suit today, and I assume that Jason may have had a talk with him about his effectiveness in Sydney.
We meet Jaxon and Laura at the Bistro for breakfast since Butterfly liked it the last time we ate here.
“You two are a really handsome couple,” Laura says when we enter the restaurant. “Your security looks really sharp today. What’s the plan?”
“So far, we’ve only made plans to see the Melbourne Aquarium,” Butterfly says. “Not sure where to go from there.”
“Don’t be afryed to ahsk the locals what’s poppin’ ta’dy,” Jaxon says. “OI can sy check out Fed Square. Lots ta do and see thehre. St. Paul’s Cathedral is a soite, or the Austraylian Centah of the Moving Image. And thehre’s lots of street aht if yah touh the city on foot. Ohr you cahn tayke a look around Queen Victohria Mahrket or Luna Pahrk.”
I got most of that… I think.
Laura helps Butterfly set up a Facebook and Instagram page under and assumed name with the option to change it once we talk to Mac about the implications of a social media presence.
“It can be really helpful to you,” Laura says. “It’s a great way to connect if it’s done correctly… like us.”
“Here, take my email and my cell number,” Butterfly says. Laura nods.
“I’m so accustomed to social media, I forgot those were options,” she laughs, pulling out her cell phone.
We feast on a breakfast of gourmet French toast made with cinnamon-brown-sugar brioche and served with syrup and fresh fruit; apple-cinnamon crepes topped with apple compote and vanilla yogurt; seafood crepes made with baby shrimp, fish, surimi, and mushrooms in a velouté sauce; flat iron steak with tarragon-Hollandaise sauce; corned beef hash and eggs; sweet potato French fries, Café Mocha, and Mimosas.
Jaxon tells us about going to Melbourne strictly to visit his mom’s grave. He doesn’t tour the city at all to avoid running into his overly snobby relatives.
“OI’d love foh them ta meet you,” he says before taking a bite of his steak. “Thaht wood cuhrtainly tyke the wind outta thehr sayls!”
“I wouldn’t mind making the trip with you,” I tell him once I swallow some of my seafood crepe. He shakes his head.
“OI think it’d be an exsahcoise in futility,” he says. “Some people ahre jes too fahr gone.” I nod and devour more of this delicious seafood crepe. Jesus, Gail or Ms. Solomon may have to find a recipe for this.
We dawdle as long as we can before we finish our breakfast and move to debark the ship. Jason has taken care of packing our things and double-checking the cabin to be sure everything is leaving the ship with us. I had to pull a lot of strings for us to be able to debark in Melbourne. First, I was supposed to get the request to the cruise line a week before we took our trip… in writing! I hit the antiquated fax machine the day before we flew out to Sidney. I needed—and received—a response the same day.
Getting off the ship in Melbourne instead of sailing back to Sidney was a little costly and a bit of a trial. We had four people who had to “check out” of the cruise much like you check out of a hotel. If I hadn’t, they would have listed the four of us as missing passengers. Luckily, when we flew out of the states and into Australia, our passports were already stamped. So, we didn’t have the hassle of having the cruise line vouch for us and handle our immigration issues because we were already stamped in.
I did, however, have to pay for the entire cruise for four people as well as an additional fine for each of us to get off the boat even though we didn’t cruise for the last two days of the trip. It’s not that the money is any big issue, but I am a bit miffed at our travel agent who insisted that Barossa Valley was an absolute must to see wine country…
The entire goddamn continent is wine country!
For the reaction that Butterfly had to Port Arthur, we could have skipped that part of the trip and toured the Tamar Valley or any of the numerous other locations that boast wine tours. I’m sure that my wife would have much rather been traipsing through rows of fresh grapes, tasting delicious wines, cheeses, and truffles, and enjoying an education on Shirazes, Cabernets, and Rieslings than trying to shake off the burdensome spirits of the dead!
The trip and itinerary through the Barossa Valley are the only part of the trip that was actually planned for us. I believe the agent is getting some kind of kickback for booking it. It better be a-fucking-mazing or I’m reaming her a fucking new one when we get back to Seattle. I’m already going to take a bite out of her ass for what is clearly a set-up. I’m sure that there are other ports we could have visited besides Port Arthur, and I’m not happy about that at all.
When I’ve signed every possible form and nodded a hundred times that I understood that we had to make our own way back to Sydney—or in our case, home—I send Jason on his way to the airport to secure the jet and to get us and our luggage to Adelaide later this evening. Once again, Lawrence stays with me and Butterfly. Once we’re on Melbourne soil, Jaxon and I bid one another a heartfelt and fond farewell with promises and intentions of seeing each other again. Tearing Laura and Butterfly apart, however, is proving to be a Herculean feat!
“I feel like I’m saying goodbye to one of my sisters,” Laura sniffs. Butterfly smiles.
“Then we’ll just have to make sure that we see each other again, won’t we?” my wife says. Laura nods, still in Butterfly’s arms.
“You take care of yourself,” she says, her voice cracking, “and don’t forget our talk.”
“I won’t forget,” Butterfly says, “not a word.” They hug again before they release and Butterfly hugs Jaxon goodbye. I wrap my arms around Laura.
“I won’t forget either,” I say quietly in her ear. She scoffs a sob.
“Take care of her,” she whispers. “She adores you, and she’ll do anything for you. Treasure that and make sure she knows that you do.” I pull away from her and look into her tear-filled eyes.
“Excellent advice that I intend to take,” I say softly before placing a gentle kiss on her tear-stained cheek.
“Ay!” Jaxon barks. “Don’t ya be givin’ ahll ma smooches awy!” He moves closer to us. “Goh grope yah own woife!” Laura chuckles.
“He wasn’t groping me,” she protests.
“OI saw the mate with a handful o’ me Lahrie!” Jaxon jibes. “Thaht’s gropin’ as far as OI’m concuhned! And the kissies on yah cheek! Whaht wass’at?”
Laura raises her brow and shakes her head. That’s when I realize that this performance is strictly the stop his “Laurie’s” crying.
“My apologies, sir,” I say, placing my hand on my chest and mocking extreme contrition.
“OI’ll let ya sloide this toime,” Jaxon says, pointing a finger at me, “but don’t let it happen again!”
We quickly part ways to keep Laura from weeping again and flag a taxi to our first destination, the Sea Life Melbourne Aquarium. Butterfly doesn’t get to the aquarium anymore, and it used to be one of her favorite pastimes. I knew for certain that we would visit this place the moment I knew that Melbourne would be one of our ports of call.
Once we pass the admissions counter, we go down this colorful hallway to a darkened room and a large round glass tank—very large, like nearly the size of the room. It’s called the Bay of Rays—as in sting rays—and it’s a 360-degree tank that looks almost like the bottom of the ocean and you can walk around it and see the different fish inside. I’m more than a little squeamish of sting rays.
“Be careful, baby,” I say as she leans over into the tank to get a closer look. She looks up at me.
“They’re very gentle, Christian,” she consoles, but I’m not convinced.
“Isn’t… didn’t… Isn’t that what killed the Crocodile Hunter?” I say quietly, so that the nearby children don’t hear my question. Butterfly stands.
“Well, yes, but that was different,” she says softly, also aware of the children around her. “First, he was in the wild submerged in the water with the thing. Second, from nose to barb, that stingray was longer than you are tall, and it felt threatened. I’m sure these specimens are accustomed to people. And third, I don’t want to be that close to a stingray. So, keep your shirt on, Mr. Grey.”
I guess I shouldn’t be too afraid of these specimens. They’re coexisting just fine with several other fish in the large, circular tank. The children don’t seem to be intimidated at all, but I can’t help it. We’re talking about my beautiful Butterfly here. I can’t discount the fact that a beloved conservationist and zoologist was killed by one of these things.
They look like they actually have fins instead of barbs, though, and when they swim to the side of the tank, they look like they’re smiling at you. As long as she doesn’t get into the tank with the damn things and they stay on that side of the glass, I guess I’ll be okay.
Our next stop is the Rockpools. Now, even though there is no deadly sea life in this area, it’s interactive, which means that you can stick your hand in the tank. Butterfly quickly takes advantage of this opportunity, seizing the moment to touch “sea stars” and shark eggs. No thank you.
“What’s the difference between a sea star and a star fish?” I ask the young guy on the other side of the exhibit.
“There’s no difference,” he tells me. “A sea star has a calcified skin that protects them from most predators, but they’re often called starfish when they’re not fish at all. They’re simply invertebrates with no backbones, like sea urchins and sponges. Would you like to hold one, sir?” I put my hand up and shake my head.
“Oh, no thank you,” I tell him. “I’ll just take pictures of the beautiful nature lover here,” I say, as I snap a picture of Butterfly closely examining a red and yellow star fish, er… I mean, sea star.
The Ancient Ocean provides information on prehistoric sea life, including some specimens that are still around, like the mudskippers and the pig-nosed turtles. My wife is totally immersed in the display, awed by the large teeth on the outside of the tank, said to be the actual size of the prehistoric Megladon. I’m not as enraptured by the whole experience as she is. However, I take great joy in watching her have so much fun, so we could spend the entire day here for all I care.
We take an escalator to the lower level, where we find the Coral Caves and the Art Aquarium. Now, the Coral Caves were nice to see, with all the nemo fish painted on the wall, but the shining moment for me is the Art Aquarium. My very adult wife with two twin children at home sits down at the child-sized table and colors a picture of a fish. I take several pictures in case she wants to later deny this moment… but it gets better. You scan this picture into some high-tech projector video whatever thingy and you wait for a minute and what happens?
Your fish appears on the screen—a simulated fish tank with fish on it that other “kids” have colored—and your fish is alive and swimming in the tank! I thought my wife was going to lose her mind.
There’s even one portion of the aquarium that talks about crabs. Here, we find a large crab shell—the ones the hermit crab carries on its back. There are several facts about crabs all over the wall, including crabs in tanks and the unforgettable fact that a crab can grow a limb back if it loses one. What’s more unforgettable is Butterfly’s interaction with the crab shells on the floor. One is pretty large—about three feet or so—with a glass crab inside, strictly for show. The other is larger, maybe four or four and a half feet round and empty.
My wife crawls inside of the damn thing.
I take several pictures of her crouched inside that thing… just in case she gets stuck, so that I can show our children. No such luck—my wife is a rubber band.
“Now, that’s probably the ugliest thing I’ve seen today,” Butterfly says when she sees the Japanese Spider Crab.
“The day is young, my dear,” I reply, and she swats my arm.
Down a flight of stairs we go to yet another sublevel where we find the Shipwreck Explorer and its guardians, the lionfish. Butterfly is once again mesmerized by this unique fish that I find somewhat unattractive.
“You like that thing?” I ask surprised.
“It’s interesting,” she says. I raise a brow.
“Maybe you’ve found a new favorite fish.” She rubbernecks to me and frowns.
“And replace Marty? Never!” she declares. I laugh.
“I’m sure Marty appreciates your loyalty.” I say as we proceed over to the Mermaid Garden.
Here’s where I discover that the stingrays in the Bay of Rays were not the ones to be concerned about. The ones with the killer barbs are more contained—in large tanks not accessible to the public like the open tank in the first room. However, they’re in this gigantor panoramic Oceanarium with harmless statues of mermaids in various poses as well as not-so-harmless massive sharks and huge stingrays, one of them so large that it basically takes up the entire ceiling above us.
Oh, by the way, idiots—er, I mean, people can choose to scuba dive with the sharks, which is exactly what one idiot is doing along with a guide or something while we watch. I don’t care how tame they are in captivity. You’ve got to be three eggs short a dozen to choose to swim with Jaws, much less pay to do it.
Did I mention that these things are in a very dark room that’s pretty much a 360-degree tank that leads to a tunnel where these things are floating all around us and swimming over our heads?
“Well, I’m thoroughly creeped out,” I say. My wife looks over at me.
“Christian, you really need to chill out,” she says in a soft, scolding voice. “The fish in the open stingray tank were more likely to get us than these are.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say as I hurry through the tunnel. My wife, on the other hand, dawdles inside the death tube, communing with the fish and gazing into the “ocean” depths as if she would sink into it and become one with it if she could. I take a picture of her looking so ethereal with her hands pressed against the glass and mesmerized by the fish inside. Then I have to think of something playful to say to snap her out of this faraway look that she often gets when she stares at the water… because it scares me.
“I’m going to change your nickname from Butterfly to Ariel,” I say. She turns to me.
“You remembered,” she says, dreamily and somewhat surprised. Yes, I remembered. I don’t know how I remembered, but I did. It’s a little factoid that was probably stashed back into the recesses of my mind along with the fate of the Gingerbread Man that my mind dug out when I needed a quick and relatable distraction.
“Wonders never cease,” I say, having drawn her daydreaming away from the blue depths. “Just don’t expect me to remember the words to Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” Come out of there now, please, I think to myself as I hold my hand out to her.
“Well, it wouldn’t suit me,” she says, taking my hand. “In theory, a mermaid is a beautiful creature, but she has dragged many men to their deaths. Not only that, but as much as it soothes me, I can’t breathe underwater.”
Exactly my point.
“So at least I don’t have to worry about you leaving me to become King Triton’s mistress,” I jest. She chuckles.
“No, dear,” she says mirthfully, “I’ll keep my feet planted firmly on dry land.”
So, back up the ramp we go to the Crocodile Lair and the Coral Atoll. The Croc Lair… yeah. For starters, there’s a pretty big replica of a fossilized crocodile in the lobby. Upon closer examination, I can’t help but wonder if this thing isn’t some kind of distant cousin to the big ass fucker in the lair! This monster is so big that you’re wondering how the hell did they get him in there and who the fuck feeds him. Fucking hell, while we’re talking, what the fuck do they feed him?
“What the fuck is that?” I murmur to my wife without moving my lips.
“Um, dear, you’re in a crocodile’s lair,” my wife says. “That would be a crocodile.”
“I know what it is!” I quietly snap at her, affronted. “I mean, what the fuck is it?” My wife facepalms herself.
“Come on,” she says, leading me over to the information wall on the beast.
His name is Pinjarra and supposedly, his body is ten times the size of his head. If that’s the case, that thing has a pretty big head! I think somebody miscalculated. He’s about 16 feet long, weighs nearly 1700 pounds, and he’s older than I am. Yeah, what the fuck does he eat? That’s probably why he’s in there by himself… he ate all the other crocodiles!
Oh, and when they’re sitting around with their mouths open like they’re about to chow down on dinner but nothing’s in their mouths, they’re panting like dogs to cool themselves down. How cute… not!
The Coral Atoll is harmless enough. It’s a giant circular and concave tank full of extremely colorful and diverse variations of coral and a variety of fish and sea life, including a green moray eel and several blue fish that my wife keeps referring to as Dory.
Up we go again to yet another level of this never-ending expedition, where we’re able to look down into the lair of the 16-foot monstrosity that we left on the floor below. No thanks, I’ve seen enough of you, buddy.
More to my liking was the Rainforest Adventure. This is a huge tank something like the Bay of Rays, only bigger… and it looks more natural because there are rocks and plants inside, trees with vines draping and extending to one another, and tanks in the walls that either look like caves or are painted with tropical backdrops that mimic the forest
This room is much more calming than just about any room in the aquarium… for me, anyway, except maybe the coral exhibits.
Butterfly wanders around the exhibit leaving me to my own vices. I guess she figures there’s nothing to really creep me out in here.
She figures correctly.
I enjoy being in here and seeing the different harmless species of fauna of this portion of the rainforest, not to mention that it’s very colorful and inviting in here. There’s a very harmless-looking sea turtle or three in the large tank, accompanied by lungfish—so named, I discover, because they’re the only species of fish that can actually breathe air. One school of thought is that the lungfish, which actually has lungs and can live to be 50 years old, is the missing link between humans and fish.
I’ve never dug into or studied evolution as such, and I honestly couldn’t say which school of thought I’m more particular to—that of evolution vs. Creation, that is. I have to say that I ultimately believe that there’s a greater power in the universe, I’m just not really sure how to identify it. I’ve never been particularly religious, but if I had to answer the question, “Is there a God,” I would have to say that my answer would be, “Yes.”
As far as evolution is concerned and the ideas that dinosaurs once roamed the earth and that man was once a water-dwelling being who decided to crawl out of the water, mysteriously grow bones, and become land creatures, I don’t know about all that. I know what the science books say and all that, but I guess if I had to put my theories into words that I would say that life and man came from a combination of both evolution and creation.
It’s too much for me to ponder on a trip to the aquarium. Why does vacation always send me on some kind of introspective spiral? Greece, Anguilla, the MONA, Port Arthur… well, Port Arthur did a number on us both. I guess I can ponder the relationship between man and a prehistoric fish without any problem after that experience!
There’s so much to see in the Rainforest exhibit—frogs, crabs, turtles, and large green snakes that my wife avoids like the plague. Probably the most menacing little guy in the entire display was Boyd’s Forest Dragon, menacing only because he gave Butterfly a little fright. He’s a reptile—very colorful—but he was perched on a branch inside one of the caves and gave her the willies.
There appeared to be fishing poles of some kind attached to the outside of the large circle exhibit, but we never found out what they were for.
We take the escalator back down to the ground floor and I discover that we’re finally on our last leg of our journey. It was educational and informative, even a bit interesting, but it seemed to take forever! I wouldn’t be surprised to find that it’s time to board the plane once we leave this place.
At the foot of the escalator is the Seahorse Pier. Now this is a bit of an extraordinary experience. I’ve always known that seahorses were a thing, but I didn’t know that there were other variations of them. I also never knew that there are these things called sea dragons.
“Butterfly! C’mere, look at this!” I exclaim with the excitement of a third grader. She comes over and examines the new world with me.
The sea horses are easily distinguishable by their familiar shape, but they come in so many sizes and colors. I find myself particularly drawn to a dramatic orange sea horse, just because I’ve never seen them in that color before.
But the sea dragons! Some of them are just long, slender little creatures of different colors that vary in length—some may have a small hump, like a beginning sea horse; others may have a slightly fatter body. The really remarkable ones are the leafy ones! They look like random, stray, leafy pieces of flora in the water. It’s fascinating!
Also in this exhibit is the chameleon of the sea, the giant cuttlefish. He’s a bit of an ugly guy, but he can change the color and texture of his skin to match his surroundings even though he can’t see color. I find that kind of curious. How does he change if he can’t see colors? As it turns out, the tiny nerves and cells in its body can “see” the environment and change colors.
To the left of us is a doorway that leads to the Bay of Rays, so I know we’re back where we started from. However, to the right of us is a movie theater that’s showing a 4D version of a movie called Ice Age.
4D… what the hell does that look like.
“I’ve heard of this. Is this one of the movies I need to see?” I ask my wife. She twists her lips.
“Well, first, it’s a series,” she says. “There’s about four of them out right now. Second, I’m not really sure if this feature is part of the series as I personally haven’t seen them all. And third, nah, you don’t really need to see it if you don’t want to. It’s cute, but not really a classic.”
I nod. No Ice Age for me. I’ve got enough to keep up with.
Speaking of the Ice Age, our last exhibit before we see daylight is the Penguin Playground. Nothing really special here—we just get to watch the penguins frolic and play in a recreation of their natural habitat. We watch the King Penguins with their yellow beaks and chest and impressive size. The King Penguins are smart because if you put something colorful up to the glass, they’ll follow it through the water. Not to be outdone, the gentoo penguins who are known to be the champion swimmers of the two species will follow the colors with even more balletic precision. Though we don’t see any at the aquarium, we’ve come to discover that there are places here in Melbourne, too, where the fairy penguins come in to nest after sunset.
“Jesus, it’s bright as hell out here!” Butterfly says, searching through her bag. I happened to ask one of the cashiers in the gift shop which direction would be best for us to go once we left the aquarium, as I’ve completely forgotten everything Jaxon suggested at breakfast.
“Well, ya got a coupla choices,” she had said. “Ya can take tha 30 strayte down ta Fed Squeh ohr ya can take Weeliams down to Queen Vic.”
She pulls out what looks like a tourist map and shows me in a “you-are-here” type of way where we are and where she’s suggesting that we go.
“Fed Squeh is nice and all—thehr’s lots to see, but you moight want to wayte til dahk, unless ya got tickets to an event or something…” which I don’t. “I prefer Queen Vic duhring this time of day.”
“Queen Vic” is Queen Victoria Market. Both destinations are extremely close, and her description makes me think that there’s not necessarily anything we’d want to see at Federation Square before sundown. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know, but that’s the impression I got. So, when Butterfly finally locates and dons her Jackie-O’s, I look down at my little map and make a decision.
“Where to now?” she says.
Queen Vic it is.
A/N: If, for some reason, you live under a proverbial rock, the Crocodile Hunter was Steve Irwin, world-renowned Australian Zookeeper and conservationist. He had a televised nature program; he owned a zoo in Australia; and I’m told that he was in Dr. Doolittle and Happy Feet. I had seen clips of what I called his crazy antics with animals and he had a lot of close calls. I hope I didn’t offend anyone with that “under a rock” comment, but I didn’t really keep up with the guy and even I knew the day he died. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Irwin#Death
For anyone who may not know, Ariel is of course the main character in The Little Mermaid.
The new question and answer thread is always open for questions about the story. Be sure to read it and please adhere to the rules when asking questions. You can find it on the left, second from last on the menu or you can click HERE.
There has been yet another development where if you feel the need to talk to fellow readers about personal issues, you need a sounding board, you want to vent about something in your life, please feel free to visit the link on the left in the menu entitled “Do You Need To Talk.” No subject is taboo. I just ask that you approach the link with respect for those who have concerns as well as those who respond. You can also get to the link by clicking HERE.
The Australia Picture Board can be found here: https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/raising-grey-the-trip-to-australia/ and the pictures from today’s chapter are in the “Luxury Cruise Ship” and “Melborne” sections.
And of course, the regular Pinterest board is here: https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/raising-grey/
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Raising Grey: Chapter 80—Melbourne Mischief For those who didn't know, I recently lost my brother. That's why I've been a bit MIA.
#Ana Grey#Ana Steele#Anastasia Grey#Anastasia Rose Steele#Anastasia Steele#Australia#Becoming Dr. Grey#BG Holmes#Bronze Goddess#Butterfly#butterfly saga#Christian Grey#Cruise#Dr. Grey#Dr. Steele#Fanfiction#Fiction#Goddess#Love#love and handcuffs#Lynn#Melbourne#Mending Dr. Steele#Paging Dr Steele#Raising Grey
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A 5-step battle on loneliness
I’m lonely, but I know we all are. There’s no magical tip or amount of anti-depressants that can magically fix loneliness and this list is no different.
1. Look around you
People that are not acquaintances with loneliness on a regular basis aren’t bad people, they’re just not the people that you should actively look for in this step. Look at the corners of the room you’re in right now: Who barely glances upwards? Whose head seems filled with a million things or none at all? Are they making the same face you’re making as you read this right now?
Sometimes I feel like I’m in an empty fishbowl - does that make sense? Find someone that whatever you feel makes sense to. Find that person. Hug that person. Grab a cup of coffee with that person. It’s okay to have friends and still feel lonely, but having this person makes step two a little easier and you know, better to feel lonely together than alone, right?
2. Open your mouth
I don’t know about you but I’m a verbal processor. Ask anyone - I once deprived someone from going to the bathroom for 3 hours because I wouldn’t stop talking. Maybe it’s good that I’ve picked up writing, then.
Being open and allowing yourself to be vulnerable, especially to someone who at some level understands you, is a good thing. Even if that person might not be your friend. The next time some stranger walks by you with their southern charm and asks you how you are, answer them truthfully. “Not well.” “I could be better.” “Okay, but sometimes I feel lonely.”
You never really know what they’re going to say. Even if they don’t say anything remotely helpful or even genuine, there is nothing you can lose. In fact, it’s probably better to be transparent about your loneliness then allowing it to consume you. Being lonely is not a shameful secret. It is okay if someone finds out. Talking about it can help you process what are the root causes behind your loneliness, or even what you (and/or them) can do to make it better.
3. Try Acai
It’s okay if you don’t own any lululemons, you are allowed to walk into that store and order yourself an acai bowl or kale smoothie or whatever you freaking want to. Even if you can’t pronounce it! (It’s ah-sigh-ee by the way) This could be anything. Eat something from somewhere you’ve never heard of today. Go to a pottery class. Find a new artist to listen to. Read a teenage romance book. Doing something different shakes things up a little bit. Sure, it doesn’t necessarily defeat your loneliness, but this list isn’t about that. Loneliness comes partly when you’re bored or obviously, alone, but most of the time that has to do with yourself. I could be surrounded by my closest friends and still feel lonely. Do something a teeny bit different, look at yourself a teeny bit different. Add some spice.
4. Make a list of what you can do to combat loneliness
So, we know where I am right?
5. Do it
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