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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

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A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader

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jiilys · 3 years

Text

warm front

featuring The Line, also on ao3 here

“You’re a lot better at this than Ron.” Harry said into the phone.

“Well that’s not hard,” Ginny said, not mentioning how she still occasionally picked up the receiver upside down. “Speaking of, he’s started growing a moustache since you left. It’s ghastly.”

“Oi!” Ron’s voice, annoyed, in the background. Harry grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“It looks like he’s got biscuit crumbs on his upper lip.” Harry laughed, and Millie glared at him from behind the post office counter, “Oh, lovely, he’s giving me the finger.”

“I’ve started growing a bit of a beard actually.”

“Come off it.”

“Feeling left out?” Harry joked

Ginny snorted. “Yes, desperately. Isn’t it hot?”

“Well I think so.”

She laughed, clear and quick, and Harry could imagine her, all limb, leaning against the kitchen cupboard curling the phone wire around her wrist. He’d bought the phone as a bit of joke before he’d left, and then as a joke she’d installed it, and then for a joke he’d rung her, and then this was how they talked now. Arthur had apparently worn a suit when the electrician came to install the power plug.

“Isn’t it hot though? Bill says Australian summers are killers”

Harry looked at Teddy, sat on the post office floor in nothing but shorts sucking an ice-pop. “I’ve been sunburnt in places I never have been before, but it’s mostly fine.”

“Wow, sexy.”

“Bet Ron loved hearing you say that to me.”

“I’m sorry Harry, you want to do what to me? Put that where?”

“Gin-“

“No, we couldn’t in my room, there’s not enough room. Lounge is better, more space. On the dining table.”

Harry could hardly talk. “Stop,” he choked, “He’ll never speak to me again.”

“He left when I said the bit about the lounge, said I was being ‘very immature.’”

Andromeda, desperate to get out, away, gone, bought the land in Australia six months after the war ended. She’d said it was because she’d always liked the heat, but when Harry got there he knew why. He’d never seen anywhere so unlike England, the Australian countryside was all scorched earth, red dirt, dry trees. It could have been a different planet entirely.

He’d followed her six months later to be with Teddy, who at almost a year had hair permanently sunshine yellow, except when it rained it went as grey as concrete. Harry liked the spiders, sand, sunburn of it all. Sometimes, dumbly, he found himself missing sheets of rain, but only when it was so hot he could barely see straight.

Mostly he liked how there was nothing to do there, nowhere he had to be. He was teaching himself how to drive, burying things for Teddy to sniff out (dog nose), going into the tiny town to talk to Ginny on the post office phone, and helping Andromeda build a shed out the back. He’d never used magic less. The days were long and the nights were longer, but it was so different here that that too felt right.

He didn’t know when he’d go home. He kept meaning to set a date and then just didn’t, and then everyone stopped asking. It was stupid, but he felt like he’d know when he was done.

“Dad won’t let me see the phone bill,” Ginny said, picking up on the third ring and not saying hello, “It arrived this morning and he’s been locked in his office all morning with it.”

“Oh, God, I can-“

“Don’t you dare offer to pay for it. I don’t even think it’s that much, I think he’s just trying to recreate the logo at the top or something.”

“I-“

“Stop trying to pay for it- “

“I’m not– “ Harry, who had been, was silent. Then: “Gin, please-“

“No- “

“But- “

“Shut up-“ she said, unbothered, “Mum asked if you got the stuff she sent.”

“I did, the biscuits were excellent. And the tea bags” Harry had cleaned out the tin so Teddy could use it as a hat, which he had been wearing for two days now.

“I told her they already had tea in Australia but she didn’t believe me.”

Harry smiled, “I didn’t mind.”

“She said that even if they did have tea they wouldn’t have English Breakfast, or they would call it something crazy like ‘Australian Outback Breakfast’.”

“How thoughtful of her.”

“Stop being nice about it, it’s ridiculous.”

“It was nice of her.”

“Australian Outback Breakfast, Harry”

“I hate tea and hate that it was graciously sent to me by your mum.” Harry obliged.

“There we go. Killed any snakes yet?”

“Oh yeah, loads. Bears too.”

He could hear her smiling, “Bears, huh?”

“All in your honour.”

“Naturally. Still no success in seducing Millie?”

Harry looked around to the post office reception desk, a stones-throw away from the phone, to where Millie– middle-aged, cardiganed, glasses– was pretending to read the paper and not hate him.

“Haven’t you heard? Wedding’s in the Spring.”

“Damn. Well, we had it good there for a while but true love always wins.”

He laughed, and Millie gave him a look. He waved. She ignored him and went back to the paper.

Ron sent letters, barely legible, by owls that had to be nursed back to health in the bath.

Harry,

Sorry for the writing but I’m on the muggle train because we’re going to Ireland for a few days to stay with her Hermione’s Aunt because she’s ‘dying to meet me’ (???). Anyway, Hermione also says to tell you that Ginny is thinking of cutting a fringe, because apparently that’s important. Apparently girls do that in a crisis, or whatever, she’ll write and explain it.

Ginny is basically living at ours now. The other day she put a Hollyhead Harpies poster up in the living room and when I tried to charm it off all the players screaming at me like Sirius’s fucking mum, so I just moved the cabinet in front of it. Bloody nightmare.

Honestly it isn’t even half bad having her around, she knows all these drinking games and set up your room and sometimes has a go reading over Hermione’s policy reports to the Ministry when I’ve sworn off them. Do not tell her I don’t mind her being round she’ll be annoying about it. I’m getting that Harpies poster off the wall.

Hope Teddy is good and everyone is demanding more photos as usual. All Victorie has to do is chew the carpet around here and everyone gets a bit teary, including me. George jinxed Perce’s glasses into binonoulars the other day and for a weird second everything felt like before and Vic giggled and then George looked like he’d been hit the fucking nightbus. I don’t even know how to explain it– kids really just have no idea about any of it.

Hope Andromeda is good and that the driving is going better. Dad’s framing all of the phone bills he gets which Gin probably already mentioned but I can’t tell you how weird it is to go into my old room and it’s just a bunch of framed bills. Hermione says hello which I’ve already written but she said I didn’t make it clear enough.

We miss you mate. Home soon yeah?

Ron

Often, he thought of the week he’d told them he was leaving. Hermione, drunk, talking to Ginny on the patio of the burrow when she thought everyone was inside. It makes sense, really, she’d said, He’s never been anywhere he wasn’t hunted too. Ron had looked at him and then loudly dropped his firewhiskey and the girls had jumped, turned around, stopped talking, but still. He’s never been anywhere he wasn’t hunted too. Huh.

“How’s driving?”

“Oh, fine. I killed a swan.” Harry said, demoralised. Ginny laughed for a good two minutes.

“What?”

“I hit the wrong pedal and speed up instead of slowing down. I didn’t know what to do so I just moved it off to the side of the road.”

“Ah, the Boy who Lived strikes again.”

“Stop,” He was smiling, “What if Teddy had seen it?”

“He’s not even two. He probably would have thought it was, like, having a lie down or something.”

Harry was laughing now, “A lie down?”

“Yeah, a spontaneous, truck-induced–“

“–Permanent–“

“–Permanent, lie-down. I’m almost jealous now actually.”

Andromeda was in her garden a lot. Getting anything to grow was near impossible, but she wouldn’t stop working at it. She kept saying that soon they’d be able to have a green beans salad, so Harry just drove to a market and stuck a few green beans in the ground to make her laugh. As a sort of joke they’d started calling the land ‘the farm’ even though nothing ever grew here.

They took Teddy to the ocean for the first time and his eyes went blue the second he saw it. The beach where they’d buried Dobby was overcast, water as grey as dishwater, but here the it glittered like glass, blue light come alive. Teddy sat in the shallows, trying to flatten waves with his fists, laughing.

Andromeda sat on a towel by the dunes under an enormous hat, tears running down her face, abruptly laughing when Teddy tried to eat sand or fell over a sandcastle. Harry knew how she felt. Impossible, how two years ago Teddy had two living parents and Harry had been seventeen, dead and walking, and now they were sat on the beach, people they loved dead for real, as Harry and Teddy lined up shells on the shore.

It was three in the morning but Harry snuck in through a backdoor, cloak on, having to jimmy the lock because he forgot his wand. The streets were pitch black, only three streetlights in the whole main street, with two of them not working anyway.

“Why’re you awake?” Ginny said lightning quick, knowing the time difference by heart, and Harry’s chest unlocked. It was stupidly comforting, Ginny’s voice, how she never said hello on the phone because she never learned, how if he really made her laugh she’d hold the receiver away from her, like he wasn’t desperate to hear it.

“I thought I saw Sirius today,” he couldn’t stop himself, “There was a dog on the farm and it was huge and I thought– I forgot he was dead. Isn’t that stupid?”

There was only Ginny’s breath down the phone. Picture: her in the kitchen, gripping the receiver, still. The memory looped in his brain, how Sirius’ name had risen in his throat, how odd it felt there, how long it had been since he’d said it aloud.

“No.” He almost didn’t hear her it’s so quiet, “I went to the shop yesterday and asked Ron if Fred was in the back. I forget too.”

His heart slowed, the memory of the shop: solid and real, running again, made for laughing, rose up, only then he shut his eyes and saw everyone laid out in rows, glassy eyes, and somehow he was walking through the forest again, going to die, but not soon enough–

“Harry.” Ginny’s voice, dragging him back to earth, “You did everything you could. Sirius knew. Everyone knew. No one could have done better.” She sounded so sure, voice as clear as glass, he’d be a fool not to believe her, “It hurts because they loved us. They loved us. That’s the part to remember.”

“You are kidding-!” This time Harry didn’t say hello.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Harpies reserve!” Harry was yelling in the post office and Millie looked appalled, “They’ll promote you in two weeks, you genius, I knew it– “

“I’m sorry I really have no idea who this is.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

“I sent the letter!” Ginny dropped the joke, indignant.

“We spoke two days ago! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me then–”

“–I sent our fastest owl.”

“Marius is currently passed out in the sink–“

Ginny laughed, “I wanted you to get the letter,” she said, finally, “I wanted you to see it. Did you see Madeline McKinnon signed it?”

She sounded like a kid. He grinned. “I did.”

“Best beater this century sent a letter to my house, asking me to be on her team. Madness. The English team are after her you know, it’s all over the Prophet.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to send the letter back because I think that really will finish Marius off.”

“Please, you think I sent the real thing? Dad made twenty copies. He hung two on Ron and Hermione’s fridge and sent one to Aunty Muriel.”

Harry grinned, “You’re brilliant, I’m hanging my copy on the front door, framed.”

“The moving logo may cause problems for the muggles”

“Who cares? I want to tell everyone about this. Chaser for the Harpies–“

“I’m a reserve.”

“For now.” He could hear her smile through the phone, “What did everyone say?”

“Ron said I was a traitor and that he was also proud. Mum cried. Hermione promised to actually watch a game, George reminded me about nicking his broom all that time so technically he was also partly on the team, Bill bought a season pass, Charlie hung a giant Harpies poster in his shite apartment and sent a photo, Luna sent me awful flowers that won’t stop smoking, and Percy called to congratulate me on my admission to the ‘Hollygrove Harps.’”

Harry laughed, “Incredible.”

“Yeah, Perce’s was particularly heartfelt.”

Harry,

I’m sat at the dining table and everyone’s still here, but Mum wanted me to recap Charlie’s birthday dinner right now because she doesn’t want you to miss anything. Hermione also agreed with this mental idea.

Dinner Summary:

Food was good

Hermione tried to explain the electric collage or whatever decides American elections to Dad, it was stupid.

Hermione says it was electoral college not the eccentric cage or whatever I wrote

George got Charlie a life-size model of the Horntail that he almost opened in the house. Mum had a fit.

Dad told a story about how the Muggle Foreign Minister ended up with a bathtub cursed to drown anyone in it.

Ginny wants me to say Percy is wearing a cardigan Millie would be proud of. I do not know what this means. Better not be a sex thing.

Hermione says hello (again she insisted I write this down like it isn’t obvious)

Mum wants me to say we all miss you still (again, obvious)

She also wants to know if you need her to make you any shorts (do not answer this)

Charlie wants to say cheers for the gift – apparently they only do that burn cream in Australia and it’s hard to come by

George doesn’t have anything to say he just wanted to be involved so I’ve written this so he’ll bugger off.

I’m bloody sending this now, I feel like a quick quotes quill (Fleur asks how you are). Have a good one mate.

Home soon yeah?

Ron.

Sometimes, when he was driving home from the post-office just after the sunset, everything sat in the new-dark, he’d remember when he used to be on watch, sat in front of the tent holding Hermione’s wand with everything going wrong, and how only then he’d let himself think about Ginny. Her voice, long laugh, longer legs, telling him to move over, pass the milk, look left, met her later, skip that flashcard, relax, put Luna in as chaser if it all goes arse up– she’s Ravenclaw but I’ll vouch for her. Dumb hours spent on the Quidditch pitch, sun going down, watching her get shot after shot past him like she even needed the practise. C’mon Potter at least try to save these, you’re making Ron look like Wood. Her hair everywhere, laughing, head back, both of them impossibly far from the ground

I really don’t want to die, Harry would think in the dark, wand out, ready for it, I really don’t want to die and miss out on you

Harry,

Sorry I couldn’t call but everything’s been nuts here and I wasn’t sure when I’d get to talk to you. Malcotti’s fucked her ankle so I may actually get put in for a game?? She’s been told to take it easy for a week and we play the Magpies in four days, so?? I’ll let you know when I can call. I’m currently writing this at the post-office desk and running late for practise.

Sidenote: this express owl cost me four galleons so I hope it does a dance on its arrival or at least arrives within the day. Tell Andromeda hello and that I’m still rooting for the green beans. Also, good luck for the driving test!! I’m sure you won’t hit anything living or dead and/or drive into a lake, but also if you do just confund the instructor. I solemnly swear not to tell Hermione.

Thinking of you. Kiss Teddy for me,

Gin

The click of the receiver: “I only have five minutes, we’re about to eat.”

Harry smiled, “How’s home?”

“Absolutely nothing to note. Victorie threw up on Bill yesterday, so that was a joy.”

“Supportive as usual.”

“Hey, I am supportive.” Harry could tell the phone was jammed between her shoulder and her ear, heard a knife on a cutting board, “Supportive of Victorie’s right to throw up on Bill whenever she wants.”

“Are you cooking?”

“I’m cutting potatoes by hand to avoid the lounge because Fleur and Mum are talking about how to discipline children.”

“Sounds tense.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Ron had to pretend to be on the phone with you earlier for ten minutes just to get out of there. He says hi– fuck!”

Harry heard the phone fall, “Ginny?”

A scrambling on the other end, distantly: “You’re bleeding on the potatoes!”

“Hi,” Ginny’s voice, a little breathless, “I cut myself.”

“You alright?” Harry asked, quick-shot.

“Oh, yeah. Just blood. Admirably everyone is showing a lot of concern” (Percy’s voice, distant and mournfully, “well there’s no way we can eat these now”)

He thought about going home sometimes, about the flat with Ron and Hermione he was currently paying for that he’d never lived in, what he’d do back in England. No one had ever come out to visit him here, some unspoken agreement they’d all made to give him space. Except, knowing Ron and Hermione and Mrs Weasley and he’s never been anywhere he wasn’t hunted to it probably was very much spoken, it’s just he wasn’t there for it.

The thing is, if he went home that meant no more seeing Teddy every day, sitting around eating cereal, watching him walk into walls or turn his nails pink, giving him ice cream for lunch and strap him into the truck, driving around the farm doing spins just to make him laugh. Even after all this time Australia was so far from the familiar, every night him and Andromeda sat on the deck lazily casting cooling charms, looking at all the stars.

On full moons Teddy got in bed with all the curtains open, blinds up, just to look at the moon. He couldn’t sleep unless he saw it. Harry wondered if he ever did anything like that, got pulled towards something of his parents without realising it. Quidditch, probably. Looking for something without knowing, not sure what you were really missing. Teddy’s huge eyes, the moon, and that familiar feeling: Stop, wait, I can’t believe I’ll never see you again. Come back, I wasn’t done yet. I don’t know how to do it without you.

It was pitch-black, four in the morning Queensland time, but it had been the only time she’d had free. Harry was leaning against the booth wall, letting the cloak slip, exhausted. Ginny cleared her throat in an odd way.

“So, you know I hate asking about this. It makes me– I don’t want to be that person” She sounded, wrong, uncomfortable, like white knuckles gripping the receiver, “But everyone’s been asking and I want– when do you think you’ll be coming home?”

Harry was quiet. All this time away– almost a year, eleven months, it occurred to him– and she’d never asked. She was the only one who hadn’t. “Oh, I don’t know. Soon, I guess.”

“Yeah.” She said, unreadable. A beat went past, and Harry could feel the shift, how that was the wrong thing. He could hear her breathing. “Do you want– if you want, we could take a break-“

“No” Harry said, so fast, “No, no I don’t want that. Do you want that?”

“No. No. I just– I don’t want this to be difficult. I don’t want you to feel, like– obligated. If you want like room away from everything I get it. Just tell me– I don’t want– Just tell me.”

Harry’s heart was going into his chest like an endlessly slamming door. How to explain it? You wouldn’t believe the space here, all this room, all this time I have. I didn’t think I’d get it. I want space but never from you.

“I’m not with you because I feel obligated. I’m– That isn’t how I feel. I don’t want space or a break or anything.”

Silence, endless, pouring down the phone. He could be sick. Then, Ginny’s voice: “Okay.”

“I’m coming back to England, Gin. I’m coming back, just, when I’m– when I’m done. I’m coming home. Soon.”

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure that this– that this is still good.”

“It is.” He was so stupid. A war ends and everything finally works out, everyone safe for real, and he goes running to the other side of the world and doesn’t say when he’s coming home. Ginny, at home, getting a phone wired up just to call him. He had no luck for seventeen years and then it all came at once, and now he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I love you,” he said, which he never said because it felt heavy, full of gravity, and he spent all his time trying to make her laugh.

Deep breath. He could hear her shoulders unknotting through the phone. “I love you too.”

“Harry?”

“Ron?”

“Can you hear me? Is this?– how do I know if this is on?”

“It’s on,” Harry said, hurriedly, “Is everything alright?”

“I tried to give Pig a letter for you this morning and he bit me and flew into the window.” Harry started laughing, “So I thought I’d try give him a break.”

Harry pulled himself together, “Yeah maybe that’s for the best. How are you?”

“Oh, the usual. The shop is still nuts so Hermione stopped by to help out on Saturday and ate half a Bile Biscuit thinking it was shortbread– hilarious. George threatened to charge her. If Ginny’s not at a practise she’s at our place drinking all the milk, and Luna came by the other day and threw all the stuff in the fridge out because she said it was infected with ‘Mimilice’. You?”

“The same. Teddy turned his leg into the end of a snake the other day and I had a fit. Andromeda put him in the sink so he couldn’t slither away before phasing back. It’s currently 39 degrees.” Ron laughed.

“God, even your voice sounds hot.”

“Woah, mate. I’m seeing someone and so are you.”

“Ha ha.” Ron said sarcastically, “I wish I could turn this up so everyone in the empty living room could have heard that.”

“Please don’t try to use the speaker phone, you’ll accidentally dial the embassy or something.”

“’Speaker phone’? What could the phone have to say?”

Teddy turned two and Andromeda make him a cake by hand with a spider on it that moved. He blew out the candles and looked bemused, sat in a top Hermione had sent, still holding onto a scrap of ribbon. Harry took him outside and sat him on his Nimbus Seven Series, entirely too long, and Teddy did slow circles while Harry held the end, watching him laugh, tiny hands grasping the handle. Suddenly, like being thrown through a window, Remus was in front of him, standing in the Hogwarts Hallway, breathless and happy, saying his sons name.

The post office has been closing for a good fifteen minutes, but Harry brought the cloak, pretended to leave, then snuck back and picked up the phone again.

“I think I just saw Millie’s husband.”

“You’re kidding.”

“A guy came to pick her up, he had a hat on, she got in the front seat–“

“What kind of hat?”

“I don’t know, normal. Like a normal old-person hat.”

“You didn’t say he was old.”

Harry grinned, “You really thought Millie seemed the type to be with a 25-year-old?”

“Hey, you’re going out with me after all–“

Harry spluttered, “I’m a year older!”

“Year and a half–“

“You’re unbelievable. That is not the same.”

“Just because you like younger women–“

“I don’t like younger women, I like you, or I did until a few minutes ago. I’m now reconsidering.”

“You like me.” Ginny said, not really serious but also deadly so.

Harry smiled, said dryly, “What gave me away?”

Harry had started dreaming of home, the staring in the street, dishes washing themselves in the Burrow, Hogwarts lake dark and silky as eels. He couldn’t tell what had brought this on, only that he was now driving into town every day to talk to Ginny, and now Ron, Hermione, even Neville were coming to the phone.

“They miss you” Andromeda said, unprompted, drinking muggle wine on the deck one night after dinner, “Molly wrote last week asking if you mentioned when you’d be coming back.”

“Oh,” Harry said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. “Do you think you’ll come back?”

The question hung between them. Terrible thought: Teddy never back in England, Teddy growing up where Harry couldn’t see him.

“I will.” She looked back at him, unbearably, and it was everything that went unsaid.

“How?” Harry asked, unthinking.

Andromeda looked back out the window, the pressing dark, the unbearable heat. Even after all this time, making dinner, sitting on the dark deck, weeding the garden, she was still unreadable. Grief undid you in layers.

“Because Nymphadora would want me to.” She said, simply. “Because I want her to think I’m brave.”

The post office shuts for a week because Millie goes out of town, and the place is small enough that that means it’s not open till she gets back. Harry makes it four days before apparating hundreds of miles away, almost splinching himself in the heat, dizzy from lack of practise, and stumbling to a payphone at the side of a highway.

Click. “Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“Yeah, I went out of town to call.”

“Out of town huh? Miss me that much?” Ginny’s voice, joking.

Unbelievably, Harry thought. “Yeah well, Teddy isn’t much of a conversationalist.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that, you’ll knock his confidence.”

“He’ll get past it. How are you?”

“Fine. Well– actually, you won’t believe what happened at practise on Thursday, I hope you’re sitting down–“

“I’m not–” Harry grinned

“Squat then,” Ginny said blithely, “because Jacqueline has actually gone full bonkers–“

“My parents say its incredible “ Hermione’s voice, the only person in his life who spoke in a normal tone on the phone

“Yeah, we’ve been actually.” Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that Teddy had found the Great Ocean Road blindingly boring and had only made it an hour in before him and Andromeda had decided it wasn’t worth the screaming anymore.

“Yeah, Mum and Dad were thinking of coming down, doing it again.”

Harry played along, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She was endearingly fake-casual, “Maybe Ron and I would come too.”

“Ron wants to drive 150 miles along a stretch of boring road with your parents?”

“You didn’t say it was boring.”

“Slip of the tongue,” Harry smiled, “What about the Ministry? And the shop?”

“We’re thinking about doing travelling.”

“The year we spent in a tent in various country-sides not enough?”

“Funnily enough seeing the sights wasn’t top of mind then.”

Harry smiled darkly, “If we’re going travelling let’s do Italy, or America, or something. Soon. Somewhere none of us have ever been.”

Hermione left it a beat too long for it to be a normal silence, “I heard Italy is beautiful, the history there is incredible…”

Harry could almost hear talking to Ron later: “and then he said if we’re going travelling, ‘we’re’, Ron! And ‘soon’! he thinks he’ll be travelling with us ‘soon’!. And Ron, “so you didn’t ask when he’s coming back then?, and then Hermione: “didn’t you hear? soon! He said soon!”

He was walking back to the car from the post office one day, Teddy plodding beside him infatuated with a passing goose, with Ginny’s voice still swimming around him, the sound of Ron telling her to shut up, pass the receiver, I’ve got to tell him the Cannons score, and he walked into the travel agents and booked one-way ticket to England for next week. Just like that.

Stupid, really, how he heard their voices all the time (walking in the street, making a sandwich, fixing the plumbing) but had never made the connection. He was in the street like always, hearing the call all again, and thought I wish they were here for real, and then walked into the air-conditioning and pulled out his chequebook. It really was that easy. The goose was still outside when he left holding his ticket, Teddy squirming to get closer to it with a full-on beak that Harry was trying to hide with one hand.

Home soon Harry thought the whole drive home, the thought expanding in his chest, the window open, his hair blowing everywhere– longer than it had ever been. Even when he got back to the farm, told Andromeda (who promised to follow in a year), made dinner, went to bed, he imagined he would feel different. Something huge and unfelt before, but really everything was the the same as ever. He just missed them, is all. He was learning that sometimes love really was that simple, that it was reason enough.

“I read that people sometimes make signs at airports.”

Harry smiled, phone cord wrapped around his palm. “Saying what?”

“Guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t worry, no magic involved. We don’t want to alarm the muggles. Luna asked if she could bring her lion hat but Hermione got intervened.”

“Luna’s coming?”

“Yes, duh. Everyone is. It’s been a year a half.”

Harry, who had had visions of kissing Ginny ridiculously for an hour in front of the plane, adjusted his expectations.

Ginny, as usual, reading his mind: “Don’t worry. I’ve briefed Ron that I’ll still be kissing you senseless so he had better start getting over it.”

Harry grinned, “Bet he loved that.”

“He called me a cocksucker, and then I pointed out that actually I hadn’t been in a year and a half–“

“Gin!”

“–and he said my name exactly like that, yeah.”

Harry couldn’t stop laughing, bright red in the post office for the last time as Millie shushed him, “You are unbelievable.”

“Well, believe me.” she said, dryly, “I’ll be seeing you in 29 hours.”

Harry, also counting, ducked his head, grinning. It turned out all his best luck was waiting at this part of his life, who knew. Thank God, Thank God, Thank God.

“I’m going to be totally unusable, you know. The flight’s twenty-one hours.”

“Yeah, you’re an idiot. I know you’re on a whole no-magic kick but this really is the limit. What are you going to eat?”

“Hermione says they serve eggs and stuff.”

“Wow, really? How?”

Harry considered. “I actually have no idea. Maybe please bring some chips or something to the airport.”

Ginny laughed, the best sound in the world, “Only if you bring me some eggs.”

#sorry this is late sorry to all my unanswered messages i had to post this today i had to get it away from me!!!#hinny #hinny fic #harry potter #ginny weasley #otp: several sunlit days #i have to run everyone is waiting on me sorry everyone i love you all lots i turn 21 in three days who could believe it!!!#carolineswritingtag

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otogetranslations · 5 years

Text

Announcing of Dropping DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE;BLOOD

To sum things up:

Someone leaked the Diabolik Lovers Limited V Edition patch, posting it publicly despite all our warnings and requests. Thus we are following through with our original policy.

We’re stopping every projects related to Diabolik Lovers, including further support for Limited V Edition, and there won’t be a patch for More;Blood.

Collar x Malice Unlimited will still be released, but privately. After all, you guys will get the English version of it from Aksys for the switch next year!

I (the leader of otogetranslations) will still be helping other translators with their projects: Brothers Conflict, Hakuoki SSL. How the patch is gonna be distributed is up to their respective leaders (coquettishcat for Hakuoki SSL, and PassionandBrilliance for Brothers Conflict).

No more Black Wolves Saga. This project I (Reishiki) started by asking permission to use existing translation from orlandoblue @tumblr, Siberia (twitter.com/bakemeatz). The patch of Black Wolves Saga Bloody Nightmare is to be completed soon. But it’s no more.

Read on if you wanted to know what really happened:

As you all know, we released DIABOLIK LOVERS LIMITED V EDITION fan translation patch this August 16th, 2019 for homebrew enabled/hacked Playstation vita, and only for people that have proof or purchasing the game.

There are over 50 people who showed us the proof of purchasing the game and they received the patch for free. All we asked was for you to actually buy the game before you can play it with a hacked playstation vita.

Our 30-people team worked on the patch for 10 months. We only used outsource translation for 8/277 total scripts. Our in-house hacker did the romhacking process, our in-house proofreaders proofed the translation, our recruited translators worked on the translation. Everything was done by us and it’s our team effort. So we have the right to decide how we’re gonna distribute it.

However, on August 20th, 2019. Rojaaalice on reddit r/vitapiracy posted a thread, asking the patch to be given to them for free (without purchasing the game). A lot of people who frequent this subreddit accused us of being Gatekeepers, while all we’re doing is asking for proof of purchasing the game (not the patch, the patch is 100% free). Is buying the game you play wrong? Is asking for a proof of purchasing something you play gatekeeping, when we could have chosen to not share the patch at all in the first place?

I don’t think so.

But, this person, SilicaAndPina (https://twitter.com/SiliCart) is not happy with how we distribute our patch. He said that we should keep the vita hacking scene free, we can’t ask for people to buy anything to be able to get the PATCH that we worked on. He doesn’t play otome games in general, and he doesn’t even know what otome games is.

He started to trick me into giving the patch to him, by making a fake proof of purchase with a cloned gmail account. I noticed the proof was fake and didn’t give it to him. Then he got mad and sent this (WARNING: GORE IMAGE) to me. He stated that he will leak the patch eventually.

He attempted to acquire the patch once again with a different fake proof this time. I also noticed this and we trolled him by sending him a FAKE patch. We left the prologue in English and put ridiculous/crack fanfiction in other parts. He thought it was real and distributed it, declared he has won over us.

He thought he tricked us but no, we weren’t being tricked by his half-assed effort.

Today, August 22nd, there is someone from the DiaLover Fandom that received the real patch sent it over to him. I’m sorry to say that the patch would be leaked eventually, one way or another, because if someone really wants to leak it, they could buy the physical copy, take a photo with it and send it to us. Then they can sell the game to get the money back.

So, we lost.

But to the one that sent the patch to him, lost to the malice of this world, and not to him.

I had envisioned this would happen when I first started the project. So I’m not surprised. I had a small ray of hope this wouldn’t happen so soon, but I was wrong.

As we’ve stated before, we will cease every project translation related to DIABOLIK LOVERS.

No more patches of DIABOLIK LOVERS will be made from us, at least when I’m the leader of that project (as well as the leader of otogetranslations): Reishiki.

I’m proud to say our patch was enjoyed and praised by people that bought the game and received the patch.

I (Reishiki) will still be supporting other translators if they need it, but I won’t start any new project from now on (in which could be AMNESIA LATER/CROWD/WORLD, VARIABLE BARRICADE - these games I completed extracting the texts with our inhouse hacker’s help, and I planned to announce we would start one of these projects soon. But… I’m sorry to say that it’s no more. At least it won’t be made available to the public.)

Thank you everyone for your support.

These are our team members opinions:

JokerTrap-Ran: I think I just lost faith in the community as a whole again, coming back after 4 years. I hope you’re happy! This was really demoralising and I hope ya’ll had fun putting us down like that. I’m not one for drama and honestly I’d very much like to stay out of it considering the bad medicine bashing that happened on otome reddit about 3 years ago. I’ll continue releasing translations for blog’s followers but that’s it. I’m whimsical, and most of my followers know it. I pick things and I drop it all the same.

Khikari: For those who thinks that what we have committed is blasphemy and should be shut down for this, great, please take the time to learn Japanese yourself. Or learn to care about other people with emotions for once in you life. Demoralising people who were willing to work endless hours for free with just one condition sure is satisfying, isn’t it? It really hurt all of us. For those who genuinely cared and are saddened by this post, I am sorry and I wish the best for you all. I know that the few doesn’t represent all but this is a massive motivation killer, and I don’t need this drama in my life. From now on, private translations all the way! Also, Silica, attacking an idea is fine, but attacking people with malicious intent is stepping out of line. Enjoy being a rock specimen.

LoliChan195: I hope you are happy with what you have done! We only wanted to bring this out for people that had difficulties playing the game, and also help support Rejet by having more people buy their games. Its people like you that cause all these game companies to go bankrupt! (Also SiliCar, you sick fuck. Who sends pictures like that!? XD you’re probably just some edgy 12yr old XD Besides, who says WE WILL NOT FORGIVE XD what a dumbass! And is it that hard to search on google about the game? Why would we make it so it specifically needs to be the limited edition?!?! ) Seriously, the people who attacked us for putting the rule out are just as bad, like can’t you just wait and buy the game? Or even if u just pirate it, read online translations. Its not that hard!

Hermy: Nothing much to say, except, ya’ll could have totes pirated the game and played it along the translations available on the net. Welp, I hope you don’t dislike that idea too much because that’s what ya’ll gonna need to do if ya’ll wanna play the sequels.

PS: the MB translations available on the net are riddled with errors, but by all means have fun with them :)

Anon: Oh yes, silica? Perhaps you should just lead on with your true intentions next time instead of trying to honey your words and do some "re-con" for dots, yeah?

Marzi: I'm a bit numb to this situation at this point, but it is disheartening to know Silica was so intent on distributing our translations that he didn't stop even when we threatened to cease all translations. It wasn't like he was ever going to play the game - he just felt so personally offended by the fact that we were "gatekeeping" for some reason - which, in my opinion, is a bit of an immature reason to ruin a translation group. You can't argue that we're "unrightfully holding something when we don't have the intellectual rights," when you're bypassing all copyright laws as well in wanting to post it PUBLICALLY. But what's done is done - whoever manages to get a copy of this, I hope you enjoy it. Please know so much effort and passion went into these translations, and that we loved working on this project every bit of the way. If the game leaves you antsy for More Blood well LOL you know who prevented that from happening.

Sonic-nancy-fan: I never knew someone could have such an illogical mindset. Silica/PSSDude made the original base repatch program, and we used one that someone had edited and added to (which Silica was fine with). But, because he made the original one, that means he feels like HE can getekeep all uses of variations of it. This would be like saying people can’t use paper to make a paper airplane because the original creator of paper said no, or you can’t print manga because Gutenberg said no. Also, who in the world thinks they can take a moral high-ground by telling us to promote piracy? Patches are already a sort of grey area, so we were trying to take the most legal method available while still making a patch. I know in modern society, piracy is very common, but I can’t imagine your average person would call us in the wrong for trying to hinder piracy. God forbid we try to get people to buy Diabolik Lovers. I can’t say I’m shocked as I expected it to get leaked sometime. I’m just saddened at certain people’s general hate and unyielding desire to leak it. So, I don’t blame the community as a whole, nor do I feel any malice toward the community (we had a lot of people buy the game and get excited). I’m just mad at very specific spiteful people. Also, if I ever hear someone say “the scene” as much as Silica, I’m going to go nuts. It sounds like something the “cool guy” in an 80’s show would say.

#diabolik lovers #otogetranslations #announcement

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lapetiteaquavita · 4 years

Text

Rainy autumn evening

Why

Persuaded by @my-dyatlov, I publish my first oneshot in English that I write some time ago. Probably full of errors but I have never written that long work in English, so you must forgive me. I hope it got lost in Tumblr trash (even if @kriegsverlobte it's said it's niy that bad 😳)

Ship: Valery Legasov x reader (yeah 🙈)

Genre: Fluff

It was raining. Drop by drop. Thousands of them were falling on the Moscow’s ground, streets and sidewalks. Water was everywhere making everything wet and as cold as cold were souls of men in charge in Soviet Union. Gray shade of sky was similar to the grayness of city. Except few kitschy decorated buildings painted with flashy colours, most of them were nothing but concrete blocks. Skyscrapers were, are and will be inseparable elements of Moscow’s panorama. Finally, they are the symbols of Soviet power and strength. Many of people hated this city for its corruption, demoralisation or failing ideals of communism but yet you loved this city. Or to be more precisely, you loved a man who was living here for most of his life and this man was Valery Legasov.

He had been holding an umbrella for you until you finally fixed your shoes’ buckles. They can be very disturbing, especially when you wear heels during downpour. Neither you, nor Valery wanted you to die by slipping on the puddle.

When everything was done, you two took another walk in the park that was near to his workplace — The Kurchatov Institute. You have always admired his knowledge about all of these physics and chemistry stuff. It is not that you knew nothing about it, because from the day you’ve met you learned a lot, but Valery was always your ideal of scientist — truthful and with passion for his job.

Green leaves on the trees were replaced by colourful ones — red and yellow. Is it coincidence that in Soviet Union there wasn’t any rotten, brown leaves? That there were only these shades that reminded about the mighty state?

"Do you know why we can see these beautiful red leaves?", asked Valery, stopping next to tree which leaves were in shade of Soviet Union flag.

"Because this is how our brain interprets waves of visible light that are long from 650 to 780 nanometres, am I right?", you answered with a bit of doubts in voice.

"Yes, of course. You are absolutely right!". You could see a little smile was appearing on his face at that moment. He was glad that you tried to understand his job by learning the basics of physics and then these more complicated things. You were sacrificing your free time, after a work as a nurse, to discover all of these theorems and being with him from the moment he came back home after hard day of work in the Institute. Valery couldn't imagine more loyal wife than you.

After a while he continued his walk and you followed him because you didn't want to get wet. Especially that you were wearing a blue polka dot dress Valery bought you last year as a birthday gift. You always appreciated his presents, no matter what they were. He could give you (but he wouldn’t since it’s dangerous) fragment of pure uranium and you would be still pleased. Let’s be honest, Valery was the best present that fate could give you and he was the only thing that matter in your life.

As you were walking along concrete pathway it has started to rain heavier and heavier but wind wasn’t much more lighter. Leaves were dancing above the ground like they weren’t scared of the terrible weather.

“Moy dorogoy, maybe we should go home?”, you suggested. Sound made by wind hurt your ears and was one of the sounds you hate, so you immediately decided about coming back home forgetting about grocery shopping you had to do.

“Yes, I think it’s fantastic idea”, Valery agreed with you even if water wasn’t the most dangerous matter in his life. But he knew that you could get cold and sick and it would real catastrophe for him. That's why he hadn't been waiting any longer, he just started to run with you towards your shared flat. It wasn't big, it wasn't small, just average and yet, it was your kingdom where you were a queen of the greatest king — your lovely Valera.

After rushing through few gray, sorrowful streets you finally reached door of your home and you couldn't be any happier. You, as well as Valery, thought your run would never stop. And even when you two were under plain red umbrella, your clothes were wet as ground outside.

"Chert", Valery cursed when he was undressing his jacket. "Even my shirt is damp, amazing". Irony in his last word was very intense. Maybe he wasn't that type of man who need his clothes to be impeccable, but he still liked them neat and dry.

"Love, don't worry", you gave him a kiss on his cold cheek. "They will dry. Now we have other problems"

"Like?", he asked worried.

"We need to get warm", you said while smile was appearing on your face. "I don't want my darling to be sick".

"Me neither. So what? A bath?" Valery suggested.

"A bath". And then, you two went to the bathroom where white tiles decorated the walls. All damp clothes, that you had on yourselves, were thrown into the basket. While you were washing your makeup off, Valery filled the bathtub with hot water. Sweet scent of strawberry shower gel from East Germany was floating in the air. That created ideal conditions for you two to relax. Normally you didn't bath in that luxury but Valery thought about making this evening more special, as a little gratitude for all your kindness and caring heart you showed him. Even after years, he still couldn't understand why you chosen him, meaning nothing scientist, among a lot of better other men. You also didn't understand that, you just loved him with all your heart.

You loved the warm that radiated from his body every time you hugged him. Also at that moment when you were sitting in the bath with him, you didn't care about washing yourself. You just wanted to cuddle with your lovely Valera. To listen his heartbeat that always calmed you. To just be with him. And all of that happened. You couldn't imagine better man than him.

After a while of sitting without any motion, just letting you to lie on his chest, he started to play with a flock of your hair. He always done that in peaceful moments like this. Valery, if he could, he would lie with you next to him for whole eternity. For him nothing could compare with this. Even promotion on a General Secretary position wouldn't be that satisfying as being with you, watching you smile and hearing your laughter. Sometimes he felt like a young boy who fell in love for a first time, but he didn't care. You were the only one person that kept him on the Earth.

But water was getting more and more cold. When you had got goosebumps he decided to get you out of the tub, dry with a towel and wrap in warm, soft bathrobe since you forgot to bring a pyjama for you.

"Lyubimaya, I will make a tea for us. Wait here patiently for me", he said as he had put you off gently on the bedsheets and then put on his pants to not walk around house naked. You just watched his leaving figure to the kitchen where samovar with fantastic tea stood. This one kind of black tea, that Valery was always buying, was your number one. Any other didn't taste that good, any other didn't remind you about love of your life who after few moments brung you a cup of tea as black as graphite is. But you didn't have will to stand up and drink. Actually you were sailing away to the land of dreams. Dreams of your dearest man.

When Valery noticed that you were nearly sleeping, he just lay down next to you and embraced in tight and warm hug as he wanted to protect you from evil. You were the most valuable person in his life and didn't want to lose you.

"Ya lyublyu tebya, Valera", you had said before falling asleep with a little smile on your face.

"Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu".

#chernobyl hbo #chernobyl #valery #valery legasov #legasov #begone #valery legasov x reader #chernobyl fanfic

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nathjonesey-75 · 6 years

Text

Nine Years An Exile : The Dustbowl - Part Three

The nadir of the school experience which nearly finished me off would have had to have been the class assistant whom I only had for around two months towards the end of the school year – clearly without enough time in my classroom to know my habits and quirks. When I distributed subject or homework books to the class, I occasionally threw them lightly towards their tables – or for them to catch. The person in question reported me to the heads of department for throwing a book at a pupil, which at the time; having coped for 75% of the year without an assistant – made me think, I was fine without the new, excessive stress applied by the new addition. I wanted to walk out that day, but unfinished business is unfinished business. I had to finish the year, absurd humiliation or not – and thought I saw the end in sight.

Yet as personally demoralising as that was – the poison cream of a sour crop was the feeling of “we knew this was going to happen” around the city regarding its lack of care for safety. On a larger and more tragic scale than anyone would have wanted. Within touching distance of the finishing line – at the end of the final assessments, which were a new level of fatigue – the long end-of-May weekend brought events beyond heartache for so many. The Villaggio shopping mall disaster of Monday, May 28th, 2012. Inadequate exits in a criminally-managed venue with illegally constructed facilities - brought the deaths of nineteen individuals; thirteen children, three of which were our pupils. One of whom was my pupil, Almudena Fernandez-Travesedo and her little brothers Camilo and Alfonso, along with their friend Isabel Vela, whom I taught mathematics.

I shall never forget the hurried memorial ceremony at the family’s catholic church. Held on the following Wednesday, nine days after the deaths. Naturally, there was a huge overflow of attendees in support. Having to take a large bouquet of flowers to the family after the service and hug both parents was one of the hardest moments of my time in Qatar. As harrowing - was the following media silence and censorship of any coverage or direct focus on the reasons for the tragedy. Completely below the law. But the togetherness and support of parents, teaching staff and assistants in the final month of the term was a proud moment.

By then the experience of living in that land was more than tainted – I had already handed in my resignation (by February we had to indicate our plans for the following year) and had been offered a non-teaching job with my wife-to-be’s company, as a quality assessor, so my staying in the country was to only work as long as she wanted to stay. In another almost spooky twist of fate, on the penultimate week of the school year, on the home stretch – with my sponsorship apparently guaranteed for when I was to return, a married man – the job offer was withdrawn, due to lack of funds. This was a typical characteristic of Qatar – make plans before the financial guarantee, then a collapse of plans. This meant a final day scramble, asking the business manager to ensure the school’s owner would give me a pardon to return after the wedding, as my wife would be working – but I wouldn’t. Literally, five minutes before my final departure from the school, the owner agreed to allow me back into the country. Provided I did not work for another school. How kind. Almost like a Roman emperor, sparing the serfs. I had no plans to work for another school – my mind was as puddled with education as was the law forthright in Doha, so a break from teaching was an absolute must. I left school for the last time in the back of a taxi, thankful to Terry; the principal for ensuring I wasn’t going to live apart from my missus having just got hitched; but also flicking Vs at the school itself out of the back windscreen, against the faceless culture which had developed from my department’s management – and the way it had made me feel.

On a lighter note – one of the demographic populous which was always smiling, always in big groups – probably because they were possibly shipped over together to work for less than I was paid – was the ultra-chipper Philippine retail legion. They were retail. From McDonalds, to expensive Timex watch retailers, to the bar staff at the Irish Bar at the Intercontinental. Always smiling, never really trained in their jobs – but who would have trained them in customer service when no-one knew any? Their almost tribal togetherness (apart from their godliness) was something to be admired. Anyway, waffle over. My last – very last fatty, greasy KFC was on my birthday weekend seven years ago. Two hours before my wife to be arrived. It was she who trained me – off the stuff.

It was memorable because the one thing which had bothered me for the two years since moving there was why their spoken Ps were Fs – and their Fs and Vs - were Bs. Anyway, in my usual end-of-week exhausted “shove any old shite down my throat to fill me before beer o’clock” – I asked for the “Family Bucket”. I know – what a fat bastard. But, my logic was – after beer and for breakfast if needed, there would be relief food. The exchange rate was around £1 sterling to QAR 5.5 riyals. So - ten quid for a family bucket for the weekend. Thinking ahead.

“That’ll be pipty-pibe, riyals sirrrrr.”

I already had the grossly large bucket of Sprite in my hand and was sipping it when he asked me for the pipty-pibe. Except the straw was almost in my windpipe as I spluttered and choked with laughter.

“Cough…cough…how much? ...cough”

“Pipty-pibe riyals, sirrrr.”

Luckily, I handed him the notes from my shaking arm and limped out of KFC with the grease-bucket of chicken legs shuffling under one arm; Sprite bucket under the other. I’d only recently had an ACL reconstruction a week and a half earlier, so how I got out with any breath, or stability in me – I don’t know. I think I got home and was texting friends with my new favourite foreign phrase. Even today, the word fifty-five is often replaced by the pipty-pibe, in conversation (as is the equally-habitual Arabic swapping of verbs in simple questions – ‘how you are?’). Although now, having taught English as a second language – I am aware of the consonant complexities in East Asian languages – some don’t have Fs or Vs in their alphabets or pronunciation at all. For me, it was one of the golden moments of a bizarre few years of learning.

From a mental health perspective, it was the start of a shift towards a more real, and necessary self-critical outlook for me (as if I wasn’t self-critical enough in the first place). Living in a sandy space station; an ether world where values, approach and priorities are constantly questioned due to everything you’ve ever thought or believed – being given new contexts and reasonability. Then returning to your initial thoughts (such as “yes, the reason we have safety measures is because we’ve learned from past tragedies – and not to be total, lazy dickheads”); having been confirmed of their original validities. You see individuals in similar situations to mine, trying to avert the locked-down religious constitution and live, feeling any shade of normal which may be available.

For the next eight months, with the help of my wife’s generous tax-free salary, being able to listen to BBC 6 Music for inspiration and having sun - I sat and wrote a book (no, it didn’t materialise into anything special, but the experience and idea was nice), but struggled with where I was in the world. It all felt morally wrong, unyielding, socially and career-wise – plus didn’t fill me with hope as far as people were concerned. Hence writing the poem and being pushed to post it online so soon. There was no work available – not for the want of trying – but I saw that correspondence via email response didn’t actually exist. Almost as though it were a new phenomenon, with not everyone (outside major corporations) on board. Postal addresses had only just been created, so the circulation of mail was also in its infancy.

If I can advise anyone with expatriate life and juggling with mental health in this part of the world, it is to do your homework before moving there. More and more people do move there now, mistakenly expecting an extensive busman’s holiday. Cater for your own interests – if you are adventurous and embrace all cultures, including those with undemocratic social inequalities and corruption (with a pinch of salt) – it may be a blast for you. It is unquestionably more of a family environment than for a single person. I saw plenty of people having the times of their lives there. Most of the time, these were mothers in comfortable positions, enjoying seeing their kids grow in mostly safe environments (compounds of villas, usually with swimming pools, subsidised by their husband’s employers) with many other mothers in the same position. But like Marmite, or Vegemite (as I was about to find out); it isn’t for everyone.

#expatlife #mental health awareness week #culture clashes #depression #anxiety #bipolar #ocd #suicide #work #tragedy #health and safety

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jasminaparade · 6 years

Text

IT'S A BLESSING AND A CURSE BEING A(N) (ASIAN) SECOND-GENERATION IMMIGRANT

Scrolling through Instagram this morning, I came across a beautiful photo of a European town. I double-tapped on the image and then scanned over the caption. “XYZ location is such a beautiful town to visit although it was swarming with (Asian) tourists.” It made me undo my double tap.

All of a sudden, I was full of rage. Just the one word – Asian. In brackets. I wanted to angrily type a response to the Instagrammer – why do you feel the need to distinctively highlight the tourists as “Asian”? Would you have said the exact same thing if the location was swarming with British or American tourists or white people in general? I have no idea of the Instagrammer’s thought process when they were typing this caption and I know it was no direct insult to me personally. Yet, I still felt angry and hurt; similar feelings I’ve felt in the past. And it made me reflect on several of my past experiences, how these encounters have made me feel over time and how I’ve come to deal with it as I get older.

Do we still live in a world where we continue to define or emphasise stereotypes in the media? Unfortunately, yes. History has shaped social conceptions and misconceptions of race. The rituals and traditions of cultures and sub-cultures are more globally exposed thus positive and negative stereotypes have become more prominent and pervasive. Society exacerbates these stereotypes in the media, in films and in the news. I don’t believe that all representations are intentional, whether accurate or inaccurate, complimentary or belittling. H&M recently received public backlash for an advert showing a black child in a green hoodie bearing the slogan “Coolest monkey in the jungle”. The retailer publicly apologized and withdrew the images. The beauty and the ugliness of language and imagery allows opportunity for semantics and insinuations where one can tread a fine line between a careless insult and deliberate racial abuse.

I am Asian. There’s no doubt about it. I have a Chinese name, my family hand out red packets during celebratory occasions, we burn paper money at our ancestors’ graves and boy, do we know how to eat! But I’m also Australian. An identity and culture which I more strongly identify with than with my Asian heritage. I live for days spent at the beach in my ‘cozzie’, playing beer pong with my mates and eating Vegemite on toast. I’ll devour smashed avo at brunch and I’m a down right snob about my flat white.

I’m a second-generation immigrant. My parents are Chinese, as are my grandparents who fled Mao’s reign in the 1950s for the warm shores of Fiji. My parents were born and raised in Fiji but immigrated to Australia in the mid-1980s. My parents’ families speak different dialects. English is their third language and they speak, read and write it fluently. When my parents met, they communicated in English as this was their common language. My brothers and I were born and raised in Australia. English is our first language.

I’m often asked whether I speak any Chinese. Unfortunately it’s only a handful of Cantonese words that hardly appease my maternal grandmother. A while ago, I asked my mother why she didn’t send my brothers and I to Chinese school when we were kids. She simply replied, “They wouldn’t take you. Unless you had a basic speaking level, they wouldn’t accept you at the school”. My parents’ reasoning was that if we were to live in Australia, assimilation would be easier if we could speak the official language of their adopted country.

At primary school and high school, I didn’t have any Asian friends. We lived in an area predominantly occupied by Anglo-Saxons. My childhood included piano lessons, playing netball and participating in Little Athletics under the Aussie sun. I’ve never dated Asian boys. Not because I was actively avoiding them but because I genuinely didn’t know any. My Oriental social circle was certainly lacking until my corporate career when Asian colleagues would comment “Jasmine, you can hardly call yourself Asian!”

I’ve referred to myself as a banana; yellow on the outside, white on the inside. Perhaps a mild form of self-deprecation, this analogy speaks truth for myself and perhaps my second-generation Asian immigrant peers. I oscillate between exhaustion and bemusement at strangers’ fascination of my distinct lack of Chinese language skills despite my appearance. I’ve learned to choose my battles and to pointedly ignore snide remarks.

Negative stereotypes are the ones that always seem to stick in our minds and once there, it’s difficult to remove or alter. Asians make cheap products. Asians are dirty polluters. Asians take photos of their food. Asians travel in large groups and flood large tourist cities. Asians are bad drivers. Asians make peace signs in all their photos. Asian parents are strict and make their kids study all the time. Asians slurp their food.

Admittedly, there are times when I cringe at the sight of a fellow Asian fuelling a negative stereotype. Is this hypocritical? Of course it is. Can one be racist of their own race? I would argue yes, particularly if one actively fights the stereotypes attached to their race because they themselves don’t want to be associated with such characteristics. Dealing with ignorant people who attach stereotypes to you and who have the temerity to mock you based on how you look is demoralising and tiresome.

Boys pulled their eyes sideways and wagged their heads at me in the playground. Friends have defended me from racial slurs at band camp. I’ve had my Australian citizenship and visa eligibility questioned at a scroungy pub in Bristol. I get tired of hagglers in foreign cities crying “Ni Hao!”. I’ve been handed a Japanese landing card on board a Jetstar flight and a Korean tourist information brochure was stuffed into my hand upon arrival in Zagreb. Recently, I was yelled at in the streets of Amsterdam, “Fuck off China bitch! Leave here and die!”. I do think the man was drunk (let’s give him the benefit of the doubt) but drunkenness is never an acceptable reason nor an excuse for racism. If anything, when a person is sozzled, their true feelings and opinions are voiced.

I’d be one of the first to raise my hand and admit to a lack of general knowledge of my Asian peers, the health of its economy or of our history spanning thousands of years and countless traditions and customs. What you may or may not know is that the invention of gunpowder is attributed to the Chinese. Asians gave us dumplings, fried rice and sushi. Chinese tourists currently contribute approximately AUD $9 billion to Australia’s national economy, with this figure set to increase to around AUD $13 billion by 2020. There are now 637 Asian billionaires, outnumbering fellow billionaires in the United States and Europe. Asia produced Jack Ma and Alibaba and China’s potential as the world’s next major superpower has been long debated.

Yes, it now sounds that I’m leaping to the defence of my Eastern counterparts but how can one not take a stand after years of bearing the brunt of stereotypes irrevocably tied to me based on how I look? Just because I have slanty eyes and take pictures of my food doesn’t mean that I automatically like eating chicken feet and drinking bubble tea (I don’t like chicken feet or bubble tea).

There have been times where I have tried to downplay my “Asian-ness” and other moments when I have staunchly defended it. Accepting my background and figuring out who I am, my identity and how I fit in has been and continues to be a steep learning curve. Despite there being arguable gaps in my Chinese-icity and my past encounters with racist behaviour, I consider myself blessed to feel an affinity to two cultures. I celebrate Chinese New Year and Australia Day. I’ll happily feast on char siu bao, siu mei and wonton one day and carve up a steak with a schooner the next. I’ll always be exasperated when assumptions are made about me based on certain Asian stereotypes but I also roll my eyes when native English speakers in adulthood (still) don’t know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’ as well as ‘their’ and ‘they’re’. And don’t even get me started on the use of the apostrophe.

Nowadays, almost everything is on social media. Every move, every photo, every word is scrutinised. If you’re going to share your opinion, that’s fine. You’re well within your rights. I just ask that you take a pinch of compassion, a few spoons of empathy, a cup of respect and a dose of common sense (this ingredient may be a bit harder to source) before stirring with some objectivity and clicking ‘Share’. If you choose not to follow this method, no doubt people will tell you anyhow whether they like your recipe or not.

The one thing I am most grateful for in life is my education. I can never thank my parents enough for granting me the privilege of an education in a first-world economy. But it wasn’t just the opportunity to learn how to read and to write. They also gifted me with the courage to embrace my Chinese ethnicity and the strength to fly the nest and take on the world. They never tried to deny or squash out the Asian-ness and have led by example. There will always be haters in the world but you need to pick yourself up and forge ahead. Don’t feel malevolent towards those who consciously or unconsciously speak or act in a prejudiced manner. Don’t wish them ill-fortune but wish for them to learn empathy and compassion.

This world is not perfect and neither am I. I am grateful to have been born in an era whereby societal norms, attitudes, views and expectations have rapidly progressed in the realms of gender equality, feminism and the legalization of gay marriage. I’m thankful to live in a time in which multiculturalism, diversity and globalization is on the rise. There are more cross-cultural relationships, flexible working arrangements are not unheard of, and fathers can be stay-at-home dads. Racism, sexism and other forms of prejudice will always exist. The exposure to biased news, propaganda or the influence of another’s views and beliefs can incite fear and ignorance. But if modern day society has proven anything, it has demonstrated that governments and institutions can affect change. People can affect change. Views and attitudes can shift but there also needs to be a willingness to be open-minded and accepting of difference.

When I eventually visit my homeland, I endeavour to take an open mind with me. I hope to fully embrace my origins and immerse myself in Chinese culture, without forsaking my ties to Australian culture. I feel sad knowing that many Chinese traditions and customs will die with my generation. It’s likely that my children will be half-Chinese and they will know even less than me. But should they be subject to even half the intolerance and ill-will that I have endured, I hope that they will be imbued with the strength, courage and tenacity to deal with the stereotypes and labels attached to being a (half-Asian) third-generation immigrant.

#Asian #Immigrant #second-generation #personal story

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valntinemorgenstern · 7 years

Text

my experience teacher training

so i just finished a year of teacher training, and i now have a pgce in secondary english

and i’m writing this not with the intention of putting ppl off this career, but more for myself, in an attempt to rationalise what has otherwise been a traumatic and intensely stressful year that i am keen to never have to repeat ever again

it’s amazing that i’ve reached this point? i almost quit this training course about 4 times throughout the year, though it must be said that i don’t think all trainees have had as negative an experience as i have had; i think i have been particularly unlucky. and the reason i say that is because so much of teacher training is, by nature of the fact that you’re placed in a school with a mentor -- unregulated and unmanaged -- it is pure pot luck where you get placed and who you’re put with. you are trained, as a teacher, by those individuals, and you have to toe their line and mould yourself to their standards. my major problem this year has not been the teaching, or the kids, but the ppl i was (forced) to work with.

one of the hardest things was having to work with ppl who are, in most ways, ideologically opposed to me in terms of their work ethic and view on how best to teach english; being subordinate to ppl who evidently know far less about their subject than i do (and i don’t say that from a position of arrogance, but sheer painful fact) and trying to fit in with the teaching culture of ‘professionalism’. i had 2 complaints filed against me this year by my 2 mentors: both times for ‘unprofessional’ behaviour. the first occasion was because i disclosed to my mentor that i was struggling with the workload (working 13 hr days and also keeping up a part time job on weekends) and because she was suggesting (for instance) that i just ‘spend less time planning lessons’ without considering how that would compromise the already-not-fantastic standard of my lessons, and i explained this to her (though not in so many words). she perceived this as me not being ‘pro-active’ and ‘negative’ and ‘resistant to advice’. later on, she told me that it was ok if i was exhausted, because ‘that’s what teacher training is about. [i] should be exhausted. because that’s what people notice and what looks good when it comes to getting jobs’.

after that, she filed her ‘concerns’ about me to the director of my course. after this point, i did not dare tell her about any struggles i was having (which is allegedly what mentors are supposed to be for?). my other mentor, at my main placement, who was by comparison far better -- was still generally patronising and very temperamental. if i didn’t have a lesson plan to him by a certain time the day before, he would tell me off for it. he filed a complaint against me for being unprofessional because i wasn’t ‘communicating’ i.e. me (politely - i even invited other ppl to check this email) questioning him wanting me to make a lesson plan for a cover lesson that he wouldn’t ever teach; that i was questioning this he thought was incredibly arrogant. even though i apologised for his (imagined) offence, i went about my daily business avoiding him (he wouldn’t even say hello to me in the staff room).

shitty, unsupportive, unapproachable, patronising, immature, and toxic mentors to one side -- the daily grind of delivering a lesson (which had taken 2 hours to plan) and then receiving feedback on it which was essentially 85% negativity on how it didn’t meet teacher standards and how -- at this point i should have done this, or that wasn’t explained clearly, and at that point you should have stepped in -- was not just demoralising, but i think the worst pummelling i’ve had to my personal self-confidence in a very, very long time (made me feel like i was 9 years old again, being bullied in school). where other trainees would receive feedback that would last 5 mins or so, my sessions would last half an hour where the teacher would go through with a fine toothcomb everything that was wrong in my lesson. in those feedback sessions, teachers i worked with were apparently baffled at my ‘defensive body-language’ and affronted by the way that I often asked them ‘what would you have done?’ because so many teachers had apparently noticed that i didn’t take feedback well, one of the directors of my course spoke to me about it. she said that i needed to have ‘more resilience’ and was concerned that ‘i didn’t enjoy receiving feedback’ and this was negatively impacting the way i was being received as a professional. i explained about how i felt a lot of my feedback was negative, rather than positive, and this meant that i didn’t particularly like it (how ridiculous of me!). she ignored the problems i threw up about certain teachers and mentors i was having to work with and instead focused on how i could make myself more ‘positive’ and determined to work on advice, rather than dread hearing it. (of course, the problem is me, not them. as always.)

at various points throughout the year, when i was considering quitting, and particularly at the darkest point in my second placement, the only thing that got me through the days was the thought that my shitty mentor(s) would have won if i had quit. the only time when i received something near understanding and support was when i was forced to tell them (and i disliked disclosing to them anything about my personal life) that my dad had been diagnosed with cancer. and oh! suddenly! forget about the fact that they could see the stress of teaching had taken a huge mental and physical toll on me. (i have been more ill this year than i ever have in my life; my depression was getting so bad that it forced me for the first time to seek professional help.) suddenly, yes, we’ll do anything we can to help! though this was mostly an empty promise. one time, when i taught possibly the worst observed lesson ever (because of advice the host teacher had given me on how to plan it) they persisted on giving me horrible feedback, even when i was sitting there in floods of tears. apparently, this was their version of being compassionate and accommodating.

there are some properly arrogant, soulless, and toxic people in teaching. by no means not all of them, no, and as i said i think i’ve been particularly unlucky -- but it’s surprising how it does seem to be a career that attracts so many people of the same breed. and so many people stuck in their ways; people who are deeply ignorant and have very retrograde views on education and society. don’t get me wrong, i’ve also met some lovely people, but sadly, i haven’t been able to work with them very much. despite how miserable this year has been for me, there have been positive things i’ve wrought out of it -- mostly around my social skills and my ability to perform in front of lots of people and pretend confidence. but mostly, i’m looking forward to this summer, to a chance to get back to reading and writing (that has mostly been sacrificed in the otherwise all-consuming workload of this year) and a chance to start healing.

#personal: teaching

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