#queer joy is so contagious it just lights up my heart and I feel like life is worth living again
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them <3
#queer joy is so contagious it just lights up my heart and I feel like life is worth living again#me when god?#shubh mangal zyada saavdhan#desiblr
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i wonder if he knows he's all i think about at night
summary: spencer pinning after derek, even though derek is in love with penelope
pairing: spencer reid x derek morgan (moreid)
word count: 917
a/n: all credits to Teardrops On My Guitar belong to Taylor Swift
☆。*。☆。
A particular set of dark brown eyes looked at him from across the bullpen. Bright and full of joy and mischievousness. Matched with a contagious smile. One of the many reasons why Spencer loved his best friend. The well-built man walked over to Spencer with two coffee mugs in hand. Derek handed the scrawny man his favorite Star Trek mug. Coffee with lots of milk and sugar. Just how he liked it. Spencer thanked him, with a small smile tugging on his face.
“No problem, pretty boy.” Derek said. Spencer’s heart stopped for a second and a light flushed appeared on his cheeks when Derek called him that. Pretty boy. The curly-haired man never got called nicknames until he met Derek Morgan. Every time he got called a nickname by Derek, Spencer fumbled over his words and became shyer around the one he yearned for. He tried. The young man tried to become more confident and lessen his mumbling of words. But how could he? When that’s how he naturally acted around the man he loved.
Drew looks at me
I fake a smile so he won't see
That I want and I'm needing
Everything that we should be
Spencer wondered why. Why did he feel this way for his best friend? I’m mad at you. For making fall for you. I’m mad at myself. Why did I let myself fall for you? These thoughts intruded the young man. So much so, he laid in his bed, wide awake at 3 AM. Every waking moment, his heart aches for Derek to be in his arms. To be his.
Whenever Spencer started to infodump on a topic, Derek would stay and listen. And that made the young man seen and heard, and made him fall even more with his best friend. From his infectious smile to his wise-crack jokes, Spencer felt lucky to call Derek his best friend. But, he felt unlucky to fall for him. Because Derek Morgan being in love with someone else. The one and only Penelope Garcia.
I'll bet she's beautiful, that girl he talks about
And she's got everything that I have to live without
The mousy-haired man listened to Derek talk about his baby girl. His god-given solace. Every day Spencer felt his heart chip away, piece by piece, and all he could do was be a supportive friend. A friend who fell in love with his friend who didn’t see what was right in front of him. Pinning after a man who himself was pinning after a girl. Silly, wasn’t it? But how can Spencer stop loving him, when his heart made him fall more for him.
Drew talks to me
I laugh 'cause it's so damn funny
That I can't even see
Anyone when he's with me
Penelope came over to the two men and rewarded them with bear hugs. Spencer noticed that the hug between Derek and Penelope was a bit longer than usual. His smile may say one thing, but his sad brown eyes said something less. Why not me? Spencer sighed and walked away from the “couple” and prepared himself for the morning briefing.
Spencer sat across from Derek at the round table. He tried to pay attention to the case but his eyes always wandered to the man in front of him. A few minutes went by and Spencer was snapped out of his daze by JJ calling for his name.
“Spencer, you okay?” JJ asked. Spencer mumbled over his words in embarrassment.
“Yeah- uh… I’m fine. Totally okay.” the young man kicked himself mentally for almost giving himself away. After Hotch said “Wheels up in 20”, everyone dispersed from the room to get ready for the flight. The only one left was Spencer. He sighed and thought about Derek. He wanted to push the thoughts out of his brain to focus on the case. But how can he when the memories still were all in his head, in burning red.
He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar
The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star
He's the song in the car
I keep singing, don't know why I do…
He was in love with his best friend for years and not once did Spencer tell Derek how he felt about him. Secrets shouldn’t exist in friendships. But the young man was afraid of rejection. Fear. Abandonment. He did not want to lose a friend. Spencer’s heart deeply hurt as he could not bring himself to say the words. I love you, Derek. Forever and always. But moving on from him was impossible.
He's the time taken up, but there's never enough
And he's all that I need to fall into
Drew looks at me
I fake a smile so he won't see
Even though they were both profilers, Spencer wore his best fake smile, to hide his love and hurt he had for his friend. Soon, the young FBI agent has to learn to let go of his feelings for Derek Morgan. The Stark Trek coffee mug was left on the wooden table. Standing up from his chair, the young man walked out of the briefing room, readying himself for the case. Spencer took his jacket, go bag, and leather crossbody bag from his desk. He walked out of the BAU’s glass doors, heading for the car to be taken to the airway strip. He mulled over the case details in order to forget the one who intruded his mind.
taglist: @queer-rambling / @voidreid / @homosexualyearning / @babey-jj / @ssaemxlyprentxss / @pumpkin-goob / @iconicc / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @purelyprentiss / @heavenlydevil / @gaymemeaesthetic / @haleymalaffey
#honeys stories#crimimal minds#spencer reid x derek morgan#derek morgan x penelope garcia#moreid#moreid fanfic#moreid fanfiction#morcia#morcia fanfic#morcia fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#userablake#usercosmic#userlainey#usertiana#userhj
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[Earth is a tormentingly beautiful place.]
Fuck, if I've had a humbling month.. another crack in my heart just opened up super wide.
I'm reconnecting with life.
• I've been practising counselling teens at placement. Some suicidal, some having gender identity issues, but most of them just very mature/ articulate/ self-aware. I learn so much, and the older I get, the more I'm out of touch and want the younger gens to educate me. I think about the teens struggles a lot, and how to best navigate helping them.
• I tapped into the city's energy last week, at night. Just curious to see where the world is at.. and battling my own unknown anxieties and needing to go out. I used to transit the city almost daily, very familiar, now it's been years and it was too much energy for me. Such chaotic, desperate, vulnerable energies. Some beautiful moments: a gender queer couple embracing, reflections of lights and night-life on the river, teenagers freely roaming on scooters, drunk people laughing in the streets. People desperately seeking connection, in a hostile environment. And a very painful moment to observe.. a beggar on his hands and knees, head down, begging, right in front of wealthy bars and partygoers, oblivious and desperate to avoid their own realities with booze. It made me cry. The city is a metaphor. The city is sick. I was looking at our concrete structures, and hostile spaces, and the only welcoming spots being the capitalist food joints that come with a price to exist in the space. Makes me reflect on how we've come to this point in time as a collective.
• My addiction counselling lessons are so fascinating. So much engaging content. I can't stop reading one of the recommended books. It's giving me insight into the origins of pain.. addiction is a psychological-cultural issue. Makes me reflect on my own trauma triggered addictions of avoidance and over eating.
● Working with disabled clients in support work has strangely helped me more than I thought it would. I've been living my life with stress and anxiety, and I get to sit with some by a window, just idly enjoying the slowness of time stretch out. An extended breath inserted into my otherwise busy lungs. Or walk slowly to match the pace of other clients with walkers, which forces me to appreciate the details of our world. Or experience the joy of human connection from meeting people from all walks of life. Despite debilitating issues, the joy exuding from these people is humbling and contagious.
● My grandmother died and I've been healing the mother wound all the way up. Feeling my heart split wide open after having a heart-to-heart with my mother, about her direct grief. When my mum said "death is like a rebirth, my mother may have given me life, but we are all present in aiding life travel to the next beyond". That blew my mind. I felt so much love burst open from my mum finally admitting her own mother wounds, wishing she could have confronted her mother with her honest truth, and wishing she also could have forgiven any hurts and resentment, and just given her mother love. Hearing the powerless child in my mums voice brought me to tears. Hearing her talk about how important it is to give the love to those present now, and giving each other such affirming words and loving sentiments burst my heart further. Sharing how we both have said in our own time that "death really forces us to rethink living". My heart felt so full. I also have to figure out how to help with the funeral arrangements which are overseas and we will probably be present in a Zoom call. We want there to be a choir, and I'm probably going to read a statement from the heart. We may need a translation for those present as my Estonian's not great. It's tapping a little further into my cultural roots wound. Sidenote- we laughed at how we've had symbols of grandma visit us. A bird flew in mums dining room and sat at a chair. And I've had my laundry basket fall on the floor twice by itself. Mum did ask grandma (in spirit) to send signs to us.
● I put myself out there to make friends from online groups. Women from different age groups. I was hesitant at first but after some group exercise, a coffee and chat, it was clear how complex each of their lives were.. and I'd been too judgemental at first. I felt good. Connected. I'm a hermit so this was a good exercise to break my self-belief of low self-esteem or uncertainty. I had so much energy for the rest of the day. Which is so odd considering the constant anxiety and fatigue. Nourishing my pain, so I dont isolate or get my "fix" from eating.
● I'm hyperfixating on gut health. I've probably been wounding my belly, with bad foods, which has contributed to not being well mentally. So I've been researching and eating nourishing foods that is helping with my gut and mental health. Nourishing my body, so I don't self-harm blindly with cheap food.
I've been reflecting a lot. Learning a lot. Taking care of myself better. Meeting friends in unlikely places. Learning to connect to my humanity. Heal my trauma slowly. And be open to life. It's a really beautiful place.
Tormentingly beautiful.
Maybe all the healing of myself can help heal the world. Heal the micro, ripple the macro. Make the positive changes in my immediate environment. Upend capitalism. Re-empower myself. Y'know, the good stuff. I'm actually not afraid. I can literally do anything I put my mind to. There's so much healing needed, and so much potential in the thoughts and ideas I have.. it doesn't have to be the way it always has. I know in my heart life finds it's strength. I know I can do this. We can all, do this, individually, and collectively. We are so powerful.
Listen to Devin Townsend's- Snuggles album. Meditative and beautiful.
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Report Back. Notes from the Gathering
The Allied Media Conference this year brought me back to Detroit. I only visited once in December 2015 to vision a structure for CEPA (then, el Semillero) and sketch a pathway in time to its launch with Adela Nieves. Facilitated by the fabulous adrienne maree brown, we created a deep intentional container for the organization by sharing vulnerabilities. We had hard talks amidst laughter, art and grounding—our relationship to money, our way of relating in moments of crisis vs. at our best, our energies, passions, skills and interests—and used them to establish preliminary guidelines for managing conflict, for resourcing, for assuming roles and identifying gaps in the organization. Even then, these two womyn of color who were early transplants to the city of Detroit, gave me a sense of the deep commitment and clarity that surrounds those who have been part of the movement to wage love in response to crisis.
As a Sponsored Project of Allied Media (webpage coming soon), I’d been wanting to get to the conference—but it wasn’t until Adela herself, alongside Sofia Gallisá and Teresa Basilio, planned a solidarity gathering between Island and Detroit/Diaspora to share experiences and strategies for fighting emergency control that are emergent on the island in the form of a fiscal control board—that I made it back. If you want a summary of topics covered at the day-long encounter, read this. The goal of this entry is to play in the intersection(s) between Puerto Rican gathering and the larger conference. In it, you’ll find reflections of questions I have been carrying around since then related to building CEPA and weaving together a practice-based community-a dreamspace for healing.
Hiding. First Encounter.
I arrive to the airport, buoyant, excited. To my surprise, the waiting area outside the gate is filled with others also enroute to the conference. Immediately, I feel a surge of anxiety—los corillitos son algo famoso de la isla and I briefly feel suffocated. I stay on the edges, connecting with those who aren’t fully a part of this dynamic.
But as we left behind the island geography, the stories and dynamics also loosened. We blend(ed) in our shared devotion and conviction that finding alternative pathways forward in these times meant connecting to the diaspora. I wondered how long it would last. Expecting the worst is one of the tendencies I’m trying to shift.
Repeated failures in accounting for a coherent report-back end with clusters organized around water. It seems prescient. Could there be anything more central to the questions of our survival and collective liberation?
Water is ____
We.
Yasmin opened up the Puerto Rico panel with a poetic inquiry into our status as a people. We (the revolutionary) are and have always been charco crossers. So, too is our work. To touch both multiple places at once. To be fluid, and massive and unifying like the sea. She knows what it is to be broken and wants to take us to another geography, where creating space for expertise in all forms but in her talk, she hints to the continual repair (in NY, my soul was broken. Here in Moca, it’s finally healed. But (now) my body is broke down).
Life.
Monica Lewis Patrick—awakens the fluid parts of me and I cry. I learn of the BOUNTY of the water supply in Detroit—21% of all surface freshwater in US—and later, flint. The switch that left all water in the area affected. The lines themselves contaminated. You can’t just change sources back and boom. The families who create crisis and then are nominated to end it show another part of the cycle. You’ve got to claim that island is your island.
I remember the water dilemma in Puerto Rico. In the coming storm, it’s drought that I fear. Drought of course, will likely accompany shut-offs. The extremes grow every day. Torrential stormy days in June //The kinds that come after your insides, knock things down in the apartment//followed by days so hot everything moving sweats.
I sit with a farmer + filmmaker at a friend’s bday party later and listen to a shocking scenario: Can you imagine a 5-year drought here Meli? What would we do on this island if the rivers dried up? I don’t have the answer. But I yearn to get into a space where I can begin practicing the answer.
Cyclical.
The formula is more or less the same everywhere that capitalism and colonialism have reigned: Red land + black labor = white wealth (TY Antonio for putting it so clearly).
Beyond it, the connections are less visible.
Our collective liberation stories look so different.And that’s nothing new.
Those at the margins, drawing on the life-work and worlds of black feminists, queer subjectivities and poverty are grateful for the diaspora’s clarity.
There is little space in the agenda for real talk.So much to do.
And that’s nothing new.
We have to face each other. Move light years beyond this knot(s) that took 500 + years to tie.
Rebirth.
We can all see it, I realize. We all want to shift it. Change form.
Models are helpful so I am grateful for the inspiration and joy of the self-determination projects we visited across the city.rooted in place.
In unlearning and detangling links
slavery and subsistence.
Past and future (sankofa)
here and there.
As Antonio talked of population decline and to my surprise, I wept. Those who hear my story and look at me strangely when I tell them of my move and ask, “Aren’t you moving in the wrong direction?” Depends on the endpoint, I guess.
A friend sitting beside me hugged me. We had been surviving a tense distance over the small shit. This reminder helped us to compost it. To remember that despite the odds, we had decided to return and that we were here deciding and preparing for another world.
All of this was encapsulated in the joyful convergence of media makers, social justice warriors, creative energy and healing spirits. Where I drew inspiration and contagious love to continue the work of crafting holistic, (r)evolutionary tactics. Decolonizing. You are my other self.
What I found so deeply renewing about the conference was the attention to the things I intend. Tbh, I can feel a little crazy out here in Puerto Rico. To spend days resonating with others committed to healing justice, waging love—focusing on relationships, on somatic practices for the long haul—was a gift I can’t fully express. I also learned techniques for listening to wisdom you weren’t expecting in moments of upset, nightmare or despair. To bringing emotional care to the frontlines of large-scale mobilizations, to writing stories that are also accessible, that center the joy of our practices, facilitating collective self-governance. To becoming my own oracle and casting spells for liberation.
Having returned to the frustration of searching for our pilot, I try to remember what an energetic heart-space can create//How short a time it can take for something wonderful to happen//the importance of intention
For now, I am keeping my eyes on the crossing. Searching for others who have decided to transform and who would work together to rescue and reconstruct fragments from the recesses of the sea. Shifting, translating and becoming.
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