#that's way in the early days of course but since its physical instead of clacking on a keyboard i think its illustrates the effort that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cucumberkale · 3 years

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A Guest for Mister Bouchard (AO3)

"Now, tell me Jon, what are you most afraid of?”

The Magnus Institute is now hiring for its researcher's position and Jonathan Sims really wants the position. But to get that job, he has to first survive a job interview with Mister Bouchard.

"Name?" the woman asked, not looking up at Jon from her computer screen. She was an older woman, maybe in her early sixties, if her gray hair, wrinkled skin, and curved shoulders were anything to go by. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. She was typing quickly, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip. The nameplate on her desk read: “MISS ROSIE ZAMPANO – EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT.” Jon thought her glasses were a garish shade of red, far too bright and young-looking for a woman who appeared so old.

"Mr. Bouchard," he said, automatically. He had been practicing the pronunciation all morning, terrified of embarrassing himself by stumbling over his words. Her forehead creased slightly as she narrowed her eyes, frowning at something on her screen. "Mis-Mister Elias Bouchard," he repeated, slightly louder, afraid she hadn’t heard him.

She sighed, loudly hitting one of the keys a few times, before finally looking up from the screen to meet Jon's gaze. "Your name, honey."

“Oh, Jon. Jonathan Sims. I’m…I’m Jonathan Sims.”

The woman nodded, adjusting her glasses. As she looked back at her computer screen, moving her mouse and making a few clicks. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” Jon said, quickly, trying to regain his composure. “I have an interview with Mr. Bouchard for eleven-fifteen.”

The woman nodded, leaning forward in her chair to get a better look at her computer. “There you are,” she said, finally smiling at Jon, though it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “I’m Rosie Zampano, I’m Mr. Bouchard’s assistant. Mr. Bouchard may say that he’s the beating heart of The Institute, but I’m it’s eyes.” She laughed, small and breathy. “I’ll let him know that you’re here and waiting for him. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the row of empty armchairs beside her desk.

“Th-thank you,” Jon said, taking a seat in the chair farthest from Rosie’s desk. He waited until he could hear the click-clack of Rosie typing before he relaxed, letting out a breath. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his flashcards. He had spent the past few days creating them with common interview questions and answers as a practice. It had been a while since Jon had been in a proper job interview, but he had never wanted one of those jobs as much as he wanted this one. As much as he needed this job.

He was lost in thought, reading over his own notes and questions, and jumped when he felt something brush his arm. He looked up quickly to see Rosie looking down at him, that same fake-looking smile on her face. “Mr. Bouchard is ready to see you now,” she said. “You’ll do fine, sweety, but don’t lie. He can always tell when someone is lying. He doesn’t like it.” And with that, Rosie opened the door.

Jon stepped through and into the office of the Head of the Magnus Institute. It was a larger office than Jon had expected. The walls were covered in bookshelves, filled with books and knick-knacks. There were painted portraits of the previous Heads of the Institute, beginning with the image of Jonah Magnus. Against the far wall, behind a great oak desk, were tall, arching windows. At the top of the window was a stained-glass image of a stylized eye with a pair of owl’s wings framing it. Sat at the ancient desk was Elias Bouchard, his hands folding neatly in front of him on the desk.

He stood as Jon approached, walking around the desk to greet him. “Mr. Sims,” he said, extending a hand for Jon to shake. Distantly, Jon hoped his hand wasn’t sweaty. Mr. Bouchard gave him a toothy grin, “I’m Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute. Please, take a seat.” Jon nodded, allowing Mr. Bouchard to guide him into his seat.

Mr. Bouchard moved back to his side of the desk, sitting down gently, and shuffling a few papers out of the way on his desk. “Now, Mr. Sims,” he began, steepling his hands in front, “I know that you’re interested in joining our team.”

“Yes,” Jon said, “I’m very interested in the research position that’s opened up.”

“Good, good,” Mr. Bouchard said, nodding. “I want this interview to be casual. Think of it as a conversation between friends, and not as a formal interview.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please, call me Elias. Now, tell me Jon, what are you most afraid of?”

Jon faltered. “Ex-excuse me?” he asked.

Mr. Bouchard smiled again, that same toothy grin. “What are you most afraid of?”

The back of Jon’s head tingled, and he felt a pressure building in his chest, like he had been holding his breath for too long. “Spiders,” Jon blurted out. “I’m scared of spiders.”

Mr. Bouchard nodded. “Yes, of course. Arachnophobia is a very common fear. It isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Of course, with the existence of deadly spider species, it is also a warranted–”

“No,” he said, cutting Mr. Bouchard off. “No, it’s…it’s more than that.” Jon froze. He couldn’t believe he had just interrupted his potential boss during a job interview. He would never have done it. But what job interview started with a question like that? Jon’s heartrate had picked up and he could feel it begin to pound in his chest.

“Oh,” Mr. Bouchard said, leaning forward in his seat. “Do tell me.”

"It-" Jon started, faltering for a moment. He had never told anyone about Mister Spider before, but now, here he was, sitting in an old, hardback chair in a job interview of all things, about to spill his childhood trauma to a complete stranger. Mr. Bouchard's eyebrows raised just slightly at Jon's hesitancy.

"Go on," Mr. Bouchard said again, softer. "What was it about this spider that scared you so much?"

Jon sucked in a quick breath, lost for a moment in Mr. Bouchard's soft voice, his grey eyes, his warm office. And Jon wanted to tell him everything; he wanted to tell Elias Bouchard every horrible, agonizing moment that had happened from the second he picked up that damned book. He wanted to open his mouth and talk and talk and talk until he had been completely unspooled. But Jon also wanted this job. He wanted to know. He wanted to know why it happened. That was why he was here, at The Magnus Institute.

Jon shut his mouth hard enough to hear his teeth clack. He felt like he was going to be sick, that if he opened his mouth he would vomit all his fears and anxieties over Mr. Bouchard's polished desk, if not also his breakfast.

He took a few deep breaths through his nose, the way he always did when he was trying to bring himself down from a panic. Mr. Bouchard said nothing, still simply watching Jon, his face impassive. Jon didn't know what he was thinking. But he didn't ask Jon again.

Eventually, the feeling of nausea passed enough that Jon felt brave enough to open his mouth again. "It couldn't-" Jon's voice cracked. He stopped again, feeling his face heat up, and cleared his throat. "It couldn't be...it, it couldn't exist," Jon said, waving a hand emphatically. "Terrestrial arthropods, that is spiders, have a limit to how large they can grow. Spiders don’t have what people consider to be ‘traditional lungs,’ they don’t breathe like us. Instead, they have book lungs, which are folds in their exoskeletons, well, the folds, they’re actually called spiracles, filled with hemolymph, on the underside of their abdomens. The air passes into the spiracles, from the spiracles and into the hemolymph, and then the hemolymph is circulated back to the heart where it is pumped through the rest of the body. Spiders are dependent on passive diffusion to breathe. The size of a spider is regulated by the concentration of oxygen in the air: a higher oxygen concentration allows for more diffusion and the spider can be larger. It’s all about how well the oxygen can be taken in and processed by the spider. It’s why we don’t see the giant insects and arthropods from millions of years ago: the oxygen levels are too low today. But this spider...it was so...it was large. It was too large. It physically could not exist! It would suffocate under its own mass!

“I know how this sounds, but…it…it was a spider. A giant spider,” Jon stopped, looking up to gauge Mr. Bouchard’s reaction. Mr. Bouchard’s face was impassive, his eyes never leaving Jon’s own. “It…it was in a house, this old house,” Jon said, his voice falling to a whisper. “I was eight years old when my grandmother gave me the book…”

“I know how it sounds…” Jon trailed off, falling into silence. No one knew, he had never told anyone the full story of that book and Mister Spider since his grandmother had first told him not to tell lies. Everyone he had ever told the true, full story to had died. It was only Jon left.

“I believe you,” Elias said. Jon’s head shot up, staring wide-eyed.

“You do?”

“Of course,” he said, reaching across the desk to enfold one of Jon’s hands in his own. His smile was warm and genuine, reaching up to his grey eyes. “Of course I believe you. You’ll find in our line of work, there are dozens of stories which cannot be explained.

“Now,” Elias said, sitting back in his chair and pulling out a notepad, “tell me, how did you find out that we were hiring?”

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfiction #mag pod fanfiction #fic rec: the magnus archives #jonathan sims #elias bouchard #jonah magnus

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sugaabooga · 4 years

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Chance | 5

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader | Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, rich!Seokjin, rich!Jimin

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: PG-13, alcohol consumption, alcohol intoxication, societal classes

Synopsis: Seokjin had no problem of getting girls and also had no problem of getting rid of them. One girl after the next. So why was it that you - a middle-class citizen - was an exception? You - a middle-class citizen - made Seokjin question if he really did have it all. But one thing’s for sure. He didn’t have any of your chances.

Clank.

The glass in Seokjin’s hand nearly shatters at the sheer force he slams it down on the bar counter.

Seokjin grunts, sloppily gesturing towards the wide-eyed bartender who stares at him with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry sir,” he says with a gentle voice. “I’m afraid you’ve had too much to drink. Do you have anyone to pick you up or should I call a cab?”

Seokjin whines, laying his head against the counter and wriggling his body as if there was a rat crawling up and down his body.

“Mur,” Seokjin pouts.

“Excuse me?” the bartender leans forward in hopes of hearing some kind of name of number he could call.

Seokjin lifts up his body feeling heavier than usual and props his hand under his chin to look straight at the young man in front of him.

“Jungcoook?” Seokjin squints at the bartender’s name tag, arm sliding from underneath him.

Jungkook smiles good-naturedly, quite nice for a mere bartender who deals with countless drunkards each night.

“That’s me,” he answers. “It’s getting close to the end of my shift and I would like to send you home before I go.”

Seokjin nods heartily at him. “Yur a nice kid.”

Jungkook shrugs, setting aside a glass he just finished wiping dry. “Just doing my job I guess.”

“You see,” Seokjin sighs, eyeing the bottle of whiskey a few inches away from where Jungkook stands. “I can’t call anyone.”

Jungkook nods. “I’ll hail a cab.”

Seokjin merely hums as Jungkook turns around to place the glasses on the shelf behind him. Taking this as a chance, Seokjin uses all the soberness left in him to reach over the counter and grab the whiskey bottle by the neck, hurriedly and sloppily pouring out the alcohol into his empty glass.

“Which area do you- SIR!” Jungkook shrieks mid-question, turning around to see Seokjin hastily gulp down the remains of the drink. Jungkook snatches the glass from his hand in exasperation before Seokjin can tilt his glass again for the last few drops left underneath the ice cubes.

“No cab,” Seokjin mutters as Jungkook merely sighs. Why was this wealthy man, probably mid to late twenties, drowning himself in drinks tonight?

Jungkook bets this guy wouldn’t even have to work part-time jobs like he had to in order to make ends meet. So why was he so miserable?

Seokjin huffs, yanking out his phone and fingers automatically finding a specific name in his contacts.

He rests his head on the counter once again as he strategically places his phone on top of his ear, letting the rings lull him in and out of consciousness.

“How’d you even know I was working overtime?” you ask Jimin who lazily spins around in his chair.

“I called Hoseok for a drink but he said he was too tired and mentioned how you were working past working hours,” Jimin recalls. “Again.”

“And you just. . . decided to come?”

Jimin nods. “Of course. Can’t have you suffering alone.”

You blink a few times at the man who appears quite nonchalant about this whole ordeal while you were purely confused at how you were supposed to feel. This wouldn’t be weird if that intimate moment a few days back hadn’t happened.

You were sure his hand lingered longer than usual after he had gently tucked your hair behind your ear and his eyes gazed with a look you’ve never seen before.

You quickly shake the thought out of your head, refusing to mull over that moment more than you needed to. He was merely comforting you as a friend. There was no need to overthink anything. Those things can happen from time to time.

Then the rest of his sentence registers in your head. Once again, the fact that Jimin even calls Hoseok regularly surprises you despite it being widely known in your department how Jimin was probably the only one who free-spiritedly joked around with Hoseok. “You. . . You’re close with Hoseok, right?”

Jimin immediately hums in response, as if he didn’t know how intimidated everyone was of the marketing manager and actively avoided any sort of contact with him.

“I mean. . . he’s only a year older than us,” Jimin states, making you turn to him in shock.

“WHAT!?” you gasp. You had assumed Hoseok was at least four years older than you. Now you realize, he did look quite young, but his workplace habits were of an accomplished forty year old who was ready to retire early.

Jimin giggles at your shock. “Yeah. It’s pretty obvious though. That hyung really is youthful. He’s actually fairly optimistic and a great listener. Which makes him the perfect drinking buddy.”

You roll your eyes at Jimin’s alcohol fanaticism making an appearance. “Well, you do know about his reputation in the office right?”

Jimin stops his swiveling, turning to look at you properly. His gaze switches to a more serious gaze as he lowers his voice. “Cold caller baller?”

You break out into a smile, scrunching your nose in the process at Jimin’s genuine inquiry. “What the hell is that?” you laugh. “I meant how everyone treats him like ‘he who shall not be named’. Everytime someone mentions,” pause “Hoseok,” you whisper, making Jimin scoff. “He randomly appears and scolds the whole team.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Now that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard about.”

You open your mouth to protest but freeze as Jimin shifts closer, his head just a few inches away from yours.

“It’s probably because Hoseok’s the only one in our department who gives a shit about his job,” Jimin smirks, playfully dropping to a low whisper at Hoseok’s name. “That’s why everyone’s scared. They can’t handle his professionalism.”

You gulp, barely noticing the hidden indirect insult Jimin purposely shot at you with the purpose of agitating you, and instead being able to only focus on why he was so close to you and why you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Jimin’s smirk slightly drops into a concerned frown when he realizes you aren’t reacting the way he had expected you to react.

“Y/N?”

Bang.

Both of you look up in alarm towards the entrance of the office that leads out to the elevators at the echo of something crashing into the wall.

Jimin stands up from his chair, leaning his body back to look as far as he can out the glass doors.

“Was someone else working overtime?” he asks, earning a shake of your head. Jimin starts heading towards the doors to check out the sound as you click out of your tabs for the night. Everything else that was left on your slides, you could finish up tomorrow morning. Right now, you were quite convinced that you were very exhausted, especially judging from the way you suddenly froze up in close proximity with your long-time best friend whom you had only platonic feelings for.

You let out a long exhale, forcing the thought out of your brain and logging out of your computer then carefully placing the flash drive with all the project details into your bag’s inner pocket. After half-heartedly organizing your desk area and cubicle, you walk towards the exit, heels softly clacking against the tiles as Jimin comes in through the doors peering into a black bag.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously. Jimin looks up and turns back around to head towards the elevators after noticing that you were done for the night.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “It was dropped against the wall which was probably the sound we heard.”

“Is there anything in it?”

Jimin nods, pulling out a bag of chips. “Snacks.”

You can’t help but let your jaw slightly drop at the sight of food after working for hours straight without a proper meal since 2pm.

It was your favorite brand of chips too.

“Gimme,” you pout, making Jimin chuckle.

“I don’t think we should just take it though,” he hesitates. “Isn’t it kind of bad to take something someone else bought? Without permission?”

“But it was literally on the floor,” you reason, not as morally righteous as your friend beside you.

Jimin still debates, fiddling with the handle of the bag. “Hey there’s a lunchbox in here.”

He fishes out the bulgogi meal pack with rice and a few other pre-packaged side dishes. Your eyes widen at the humble meal as if it were a five-star lobster.

“Okay, forget the chips,” you gasp. “We have to eat the lunchbox. If it’s left here uneaten, it’s going to spoil! What a waste that would be!”

Jimin laughs at your logic but still shakes his head. “Let’s just drop this off at the front desk.”

You purse your lips in distaste as the elevator finally dings, indicating its arrival.

Jimin grins, internally cooing at how cute you were.

“Dinner’s on me,” he adds as you begrudgingly press the lobby button.

You whip around to him, instantly perking up with newfound energy. “For real!?”

Jimin is nearly floored by your glistening eyes that were sparkling just because he offered to buy you dinner. He can’t help but match your wide grin as he nods. “Yup. Just name it! Actually, besides the five-star restaurants downtown.”

You snicker as Jimin quickly draws the boundaries to your food choices.

The one time you went out for dinner with him after college graduation, your food suggestion resulted in a $285 check for two steaks and a teeny tiny salad.

Your jaw had dropped all the way down to the floor at the sight of the bill. You tried to split the bill but Jimin had physically pushed you out of the restaurant, insisting to pay for the meal.

Even to this day, you have no idea how Jimin managed to pay the bill as a fellow broke college student who had yet to land a stable income.

“Hm. . . I’m craving donkatsu,” you say, indirectly asking Jimin if he was okay with pork cutlet for dinner.

“Donkatsu!” Jimin exclaims with a wide grin.

“I take it that you agree?” you say with a scoff at his child-like excitement at the mention of his favorite food and playfully nudge his shoulder when the elevator doors open.

Jimin gulps at your playful grin and your bright eyes peering up at him, making his heart stutter and mind going blank.

Geez. What was wrong with him today? Either you were extra attractive or he was just more whipped than usual.

“Jimin?” you ask confusedly when he remains standing still in the elevator with an indecipherable look.

Jimin’s head jerks up at the sound of his name and he glances around, confused at when the elevator doors had opened and when you had already left his side.

“Park!” you yell, catching Jimin’s attention from his distracted glances around the elevator.

“Yes?” he immediately responds, making you look at him with pure bewilderment.

“You good?”

Jimin breathily laughs making you crack a hesitant smile.

“Yeah I’m-”

“Oh Y/N!” the front desk receptionist on night duty calls. You turn around at the sound of her voice and give her a polite smile, walking towards her desk.

Meanwhile, Jimin hurriedly presses the open door button as the elevator doors start to close and quickly follows after you.

“Hey. . .” you trail off, unable to remember her name.

“Soo-ah,” Jimin smiles at her with a slight jog, catching up to you and saving you from embarrassment.

Soo-ah grins back at the charming man in front of her, not even noticing that you had forgotten her name despite the years both of you worked here.

“Soo-ah,” you repeat with a smile.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” Soo-ah says right off the bat.

Your brows slightly raise in question, exchanging a confused glance with Jimin.

“For… what?” you ask.

Did I get a raise I don’t know about?

Soo-ah slightly tilts her head. “I heard you got scouted by JJ Corps.”

“JJ Corps?” you and Jimin ask simultaneously, eyes widening.

Seokjin’s company?

Our company?

“Yeah. The director himself came and asked which floor you were on,” Soo-ah pauses. “Wait. . . I just realized that it’s past the normal office hours. How did he know you were working overtime?”

Jimin frowns. If it was the director, that would be Seokjin.

Seokjin came?

“Did you get his name?” Jimin asks the befuddled receptionist before you can open your mouth.

You shoot Jimin a slight glance, noting how Jimin almost seemed agitated. Last time, Jimin had known Seokjin’s name even though you made sure not to tell anyone since Seokjin was such a known public figure. And now, it almost seemed as if Jimin was on the same page as you, suspecting that it was Seokjin who had come over.

“Um. . .” Soo-ah tries to recall, attracting your attention once again and keep in mind to mention it to Jimin later. Her eyes lighting up in remembrance. “Ah! I think it was Kim. . . Seojik? Seonjin?”

“Seok...jin?” you hesitantly suggest. Soo-ah lets out a sound of recognition and nods.

“Ah. Yes, yes. It said Kim Seokjin, Director of JJ Corps on his business card.”

Jimin holds in his questions and scans your reaction. For the first time in your years of friendship, Jimin couldn’t read your face. Your lips were turned into a grim line and your eyes seemed blank, void of any emotion.

You nod with a wry smile, mumbling a thank you and greeting goodnight to Soo-ah and turn around, walking towards the lobby doors.

Jimin stands watching your retreating figure with slight worry and hurriedly snatches out the bag of your favorite chips and hands the rest of the black bag to Soo-ah.

“Oh?” Soo-ah lets out a noise of surprise at the familiar bag. “This was what Mr. Kim was hold-”

Soo-ah stops mid-sentence at the realization that she was alone. A small smile appears as she scoffs in amusement watching Jimin trail after you like a lost puppy with the chips in hand. Jimin playfully, but hesitantly pokes the side of your face with a tiny, shy smile, forcing you to give him your attention. Soo-ah sighs, plopping back down onto her swivel chair once you take the chips with a roll of your eyes. Jimin’s arm hovers over your shoulder as he debates whether to put his arm around you. His fist clenches as he decides against it and Jimin continues walking with his hands behind his back.

Soo-ah sighs with pity at his internal debate that she just witnessed.

“Will she ever notice?” Soo-ah mutters to herself at the unfortunate sight of Jimin quite obviously whipped for a girl who has no idea of his feelings.

“Bus is here,” Jimin announces nudging you up off the bus stop bench.

You climb up the steps and fiddle around your bag for your pre-paid bus pass. The bus driver softly sighs as you continue rummaging with a apologetic smile.

“Two please,” Jimin intercepts with his own card from behind you.

Beep.

His chest gently presses against your back, his warmth wrapping around your cold frame draped around with a thin cardigan.

Before you can think anything more of how comforting his warmth felt, your feet jut out, walking towards the two seats on the left side of the bus as the driver continues to drive his nightly route.

“Thanks,” you say as you sit down.

Jimin shakes his head as a sign of no problem. He follows after you, plopping down on the cushiony seat next to you and setting his bag onto his lap.

You try to ignore Jimin’s burning stare at the side of your face by mindlessly scrolling on your phone then give up with a huff once Jimin doesn’t look away for a few good seconds.

“What?” you sigh, turning your head to look at your friend. You instinctively shift backwards once you notice the close proximity.

Jimin silently studies your face for a quick second before offering you a small smile. “Finish the chips already?”

You roll your eyes with a light-hearted scoff. “Yes. I told you. I was hungry. I threw them away while you were looking down the street for the bus.”

Jimin laughs with a nod. “Good job. That was the appetizer.”

You smile to yourself, savoring these small moments with Jimin in your life.

“Are you uh. . . Are you okay?”

You stay silent for a moment before letting out a breathy laughing with a smile, looking up at the back of another passenger’s head. “What do you mean? Of course I’m okay.”

“I’m talking about Seokjin,” Jimin specifies bluntly.

You weren’t quite sure if you were okay. All you could think of were endless questions. Why had he come to your office? Why didn’t he call or text instead? It’s been a full two weeks since you last met up with him about the money envelope.

You look back down at your bag perched on your lap and unknowingly fiddle with the end of your gudetama keychain, a nervous habit of yours.

Jimin feels his own fingers twitch, reaching out towards your fidgety ones before he stops himself.

You had made yourself somewhat clear last time. Jimin felt you draw a certain line. Whether it was fear or genuine dislike, he wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that the two of you had boundaries that he had to keep in order to keep your friendship out of jeopardy.

Jimin sighs, reminding himself that your friendship is more important than his confusing feelings and pulls away his hand.

RRing.

At the sound of the obnoxious rings, you dig into your bag, looking for your phone.

The rings continue, attracting attention from the other passengers on the bus, and it’s only when Jimin feels the glares and hears harsh whispers directed in his direction that he fully turns to you, wondering why you weren’t picking up the call.

You stay still as a statue looking down at your phone. Jimin side-eyes your phone, lips slightly parting in realization once he reads the caller id.

Kim Seokjin.

You stare at your screen, reading the name over and over again, tuning out the rest of the bus who were now thoroughly annoyed.

It is only when the call ends and your family picture pops back up that you let out a shaky breath.

You start to put your phone back in your bag when the rings start again. A series of groans and sighs fill the bus.

Kim Seokjin.

Why was he calling? What else does he have to say?

“Aren’t you going to pick up?”

Your head sharply turns at Jimin’s question.

“What?”

Jimin shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “If you’re debating that much about answering his call, just answer it. If you’re over him, tell him clearly so he knows your definite stance in your relationship.”

You stay silent, pondering for a brief moment and finally get enough courage to swipe your finger across the call button.

“H-Hello?” you answer.

“Good evening,” an unfamiliar voice greets back, making your brows furrow and double-check if this was really Seokjin.

“Uh. . . who is this?” you ask as you see Jimin turning to you from the corner of your eye.

“Ah. Sorry about the inconvenience. This is Jeon Jungkook from Sky Lounge and I am calling from customer Kim Seokjin’s cell phone. Mr. Kim seems severely drunk at the moment and I saw that he called you just a few seconds ago so I figured you were somewhat closely affiliated with him?”

“Oh. . .No. . . Well, used to be, I guess,” you answer with uncertainty at the relation you have with Seokjin.

Have a definite stance in your relationship.

“Ah, well we need-”

“I would like to think I have very little relation to Mr. Kim,” you state. “I hope you can get him home safe. My apologies.”

“Wait Ma’am-”

You quickly tap the red button to end the call and toss your phone into your bag.

“Was that not Seokjin?” Jimin asks confusedly as you let out a long exhale.

You shake your head. “It was. . . but. . .”

He’ll get home safe, right? The Jungkook guy sounded nice over the phone. He’ll hail a cab or something right? But Seokjin seems dead drunk. What if he accidentally sleeps with a girl or gets taken advantage of? He’s currently in a vulnerable state. The bartender also mentioned that Seokjin called himself before he gave a second call. Why would Seokjin call me if he’s drunk? Maybe he wants me specifically to pick him up? Does he have no one else to call? Is that why he had no choice but to call me?

“Was it some manager or something? That rude rich people stu-”

“Sorry Jimin,” you hastily apologize, slamming the red button on the side of the bus, indicating for the bus driver to pull over on the curb. “Let’s get dinner tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

Jimin sputters as you climb over his legs and speedily shuffle towards the open sliding doors.

“W-Wait. I’ll go with you.”

You hop off the bus, Jimin closely behind you as the bus takes off to leave the both of you in the middle of a random sidewalk near downtown.

“Y/N,” Jimin calls, grabbing hold of your wrist to turn you around and forcing you to stop in the midst of your hurried steps.

You’re slightly out of breath when you respond with a quiet ‘yea?’

“Can you please explain what’s going on?” he asks.

You sigh, tugging Jimin’s arm to walk while you explain. “It was a bartender at Sky Lounge. Apparently, Seokjin’s drunk right now.”

You cared. You still cared about Seokjin. Jimin’s lips turn into a straight line as he tries to ignore the bitter feeling entering him.

“I’m sure he’ll get home safe. The bartender will hail a cab for him or call someone else in his contact list.”

That’s rational. That’s the logical facts.

“I. . . I know,” you reply as Jimin catches up the few steps to walk beside you. “But I have to see for myself to get rid of this worrying feeling. What if something happens to him?”

Jimin suppresses the urge to tell you that there’s little to none possibility that someone as tall and intimidating as Seokjin, under the supervision of bartenders at a top-class bar, falls in danger.

“Yeah. I get it,” Jimin lies.

He doesn’t get it.

You look at google maps pulled up on your phone that directs you to Sky Lounge, around a two-minute walk from where you currently are. You turn your head to your surroundings, finding something quite familiar about the buildings and restaurants in this specific part of downtown.

“There?” Jimin points towards the fancy looking bar near the end of the street.

The banner read in cursive, dark maroon red and white light, Sky Lounge.

“Yeah. Seems to be the place,” you pause, looking around once more. You recognize this street. “Hey isn’t that the five-star restaurant we ate in last time?”

Jimin follows your gaze to the said restaurant that he had paid for a while back. Jimin grimaces at the memory of his father pestering him if he had a girlfriend after that big gap in his credit card at a hot romantic dating spot.

“Yeah,” Jimin answers. “Sky Lounge is a luxury bar which is why all the five-star restaurants and stores are gathered here.”

“The elite town,” you smack your lips, adjusting your bag and walking down the sidewalk, past the flashy lamps and designer brand stores.

Soon enough, you arrive in front of the bar and with no hesitation, you pull open the glass doors only to get pulled by the doors yourself.

These were a lot heavier than you thought.

Jimin snickers next to you, nudging you aside and pulling the doors open with ease.

“I told you, you need to hit the gym,” Jimin mutters from behind you while you hurry into the bar with a half-hearted thanks, eyes scanning the tables and counters with all types of couples, businessmen, and businesswoman mingling and getting drunk.

You squint under the dim lights and spot a lone, slumped over figure at the counter. A tuft of dark brown hair poked out between the figure’s arms as their legs haphazardly dangled from underneath them. You glance at the coat draped over the man’s chair and you immediately recognize it as one of Seokjin’s designer brand coats that he wore the most often.

By often, you meant once every three months.

You quickly make your way over to Seokjin and try to shake him awake.

“Seokjin?” you clarify, grasping his arm and simultaneously shaking his shoulder.

You hear a series of incoherent grumbles and with a sudden jerk of his head, Seokjin’s eyes meet yours and they seem to bore into your soul.

Seokjin laughs in surprise, a whiff of strong liquor drifting into your nostrils and making you scrunch up your nose.

“Y/N,” Seokjin giggles.

Oh, he was extremelyyy drunk.

“Seokjin,” you sigh. “Why’d you drink so much? No, actually tell me later. Let’s get you home first, alright?”

Seokjin’s bottom lip juts out as he wiggles out of your grasp. “I aM a big kid. NO. Man. I’m a big, caaaaaapable man. You see thiS fACe? Wuuurldwide hannsum.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Are you now?”

Seokjin nods with a slight laugh.

You slightly pause in your tugging to properly take a look at him.

Despite the fact that he was drinking right now, it seemed that Seokjin still looked as healthy and unaffected as ever. Quite contrary to you whose hair was tied into a messy bun and eyes were slightly swollen every single morning from tearing up or straight up sobbing yourself to sleep.

How was it possible that a dead drunk man could still be so handsome? His reddened cheeks only made his face glow with a child-like innocence and put an odd emphasis to his lack of pores. The dim lighting of the bar only seemed to make his eyes brighter as he sat near the lights on the shelves. His tousled, messy hair only added to his attractiveness as he grumbled under his breath with those pouty pink lips.

“Are you Miss Y/N?”

You’re pulled out of your daze by a familiar voice. Over the counter stood Jungkook, the employee who had called you.

You immediately nod. “Yes. that’s me.”

Jungkook represses the urge to point out how you made it seem like you weren’t ever going to show up in Seokjin’s life again over the phone and instead shoots you a grateful smile.

“Thank goodness. I’m Jungkook. The employee who called you earlier. My shift is almost over so I was just about to call a cab. Having someone Mr. Kim knows to pick him up is a lot more assuring.”

“Yeah. I got a little worried, so I just decided to come myself,” you say with a small laugh.

A movement from the corner of your eye makes you turn your attention to Seokjin who was attempting to stand up from his stool. As if in slow motion, Seokjin’s foot gets caught on the stool’s footrest, his eyes still closed from intoxication. His heavy form starts to lean towards you and before you know it, he’s full on falling towards your small frame, your helpless arms reaching out in a pointless attempt to brace yourself against a full grown man’s deadweight.

But, the impact of his body never comes.

Jungkook curiously eyes the other man in the picture who holds Seokjin in an awkward hug, shielding him from your body.

You peer up at Jimin who huffs as he waddles Seokjin back down onto the stool. Keeping his arm supporting Seokjin’s back, Jimin turns to Jungkook.

“Did this guy pay?” he asks.

Jungkook nods with widened eyes at what he just witnessed. “Yes. I charged everything to his card just a few minutes ago.”

Jimin nods and grabs Seokjin’s coat, poorly attempting to shove the drunken man’s limp arms through the holes with one arm while holding him up with the other arm.

You quickly intercept and help hold up the coat for Jimin who gives you a brief smile before successfully draping the coat around Seokjin and buttoning it up.

“Hey, can you help him get on my back?” Jimin asks with a non arguable tone.

You push away the habitual need to protest whenever Jimin gets too caring and instead nod with a slight sigh.

Seokjin whines as Jimin adjusts him on his back with a grunt.

“Have a good evening,” Jimin greets Jungkook, you doing the same as you swing Jimin’s bag over your own shoulder and trail after him.

Jungkook gives you a slight bow and quickly wipes down the counter where Seokjin was slobbering over before leaving. He tilts his head as he takes off his apron with genuine amusement at the relationship dynamic between the three of you.

It was quite obvious you had some kind of history with Seokjin judging from the tone of your voice over the call and after, your reaction. Perhaps an ex? Then, Jimin. Where did he fit in the picture?

Jungkook hums with a shake of his head, checking out with a beep of his employee card. If Jimin wasn’t romantically interested in you yet, he sure will be soon as seen from the way he was constantly putting himself between you and Seokjin.

How interesting, Jungkook muses. There would definitely be heartbreak between that trio.

#bts #networkbangtan #btsboulangerie #btsguild #bangtanhq #bangtanidx #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #jimin fanfic #seokjin x reader #jimin x reader

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polarishq · 4 years

Photo

Meet LENORA BAKER. They are SEVENTY-THREE years old and hail from SZEGED, HUNGARY. Lenora embodies the constellation, CYGNUS. They use she/her pronouns. Their faceclaim is FLORENCE PUGH.

Cygnus reminds me of high heels click-clacking on hardwood floors, perfectly pretty tiaras atop perfectly curled hair, lifting half your body through the sun roof of a car as it speeds down an open road, baby pink lipstick, the weight of a family name you never asked to bear, black coffee simply for the aesthetic, rumpled bedsheets, winged eyeliner so sharp it could cut glass, and the sheer, unbridled anger of an interrupted youth.

BIOGRAPHY

(Trigger Warnings for abuse and talk of arranged marriages)

The concept of kingship has largely died down in Western magical culture, but among those who reside in Europe and can trace their roots back far past the witch trials of old, there is still a small yet prevalent society of royals. Nowadays, the terms King and Queen, Prince and Princess, only mean something in terms of social standing. In their hay day though, magic folk practically ruled Central and Eastern Europe from behind the scenes. The Péks clan had a strong hold in Hungary that faded as more and more of their kind died out, but their aristocratic role in magical society is still strong to this day. When Eleonóra Péks was born alongside her twin brother only a few years after the end of the seven and world war, every witch and wizard in Szeged shares in the family’s joy.

Eleonóra was as much of a princess as one could hope to find. With her money and status, she never wanted for anything material. And people often remarked that even if she wasn’t their princess, her looks would be enough to warrant the royal treatment all on its own. And Eleonóra ate that attention up. It was better than the treatment she received behind closed doors. Her father Irme Péks, who was the main reason Szeged held steadfast to it’s magical monarchy to this day, vividly recalled a time where their people had lived openly and freely, only to later be persecuted by the mortals who feared rather than respected them. He wanted nothing more than to return to those ways, and made it known to his children that their mission was to help make that happen. Her brother was raised to eventually be ruler, and Eleonóra was raised to some day marry one of the few remaining “princes” still around to strengthen their family. When her constellation mark took the form of the Swan, she was viewed as even more of a prize. Irma was very clear that he viewed his children as chess pawns more than anything else, and any hint of falling out of line was met with physical disciple as he saw fit. On the other hand, their mother was everything Eleonóra feared becoming: cold and disengaged, complicit in their father’s abuse.

instead, Eleonóra turned angry. At her parents, at the people who treated them like they were on some sort of pedestal rather than in pain, at herself for being so goddamn ready to just take everything that was doled out to her. She could play nice in front of the public eye, but once home, she was constantly throwing harsh words at her extended family (never her parents — an insult at her father was a death wish waiting to happen). To know your existence is just a trophy for someone else is a horrible way to live, and it’s the only thing Eleonóra knew for decades. The breaking point came in the early 2000s, when her father’s increasing age made him more volatile than ever. So when he came to Eleonóra one day, still a child for all of her fifty plus years, to tell her she was to be married, things escalated quickly. One angry, uncontrollable comment fueled by her anger, and that was it. The altercation that followed between Eleonóra, Irme, and her brother who came to his sister’s aide was loud, painful, and ended with Eleonóra and her brother quite literally fleeing the home. Eleonóra’s years of anger overflowed and she told her brother, in tears, that she refused to go back. So they didn’t

In the Péks family, and truly among the magical society in Szeged overall, their abilties were viewed as power. Magic wasn’t a gift, and while the “children” had been given the best education possible, it was based in history and combat and control rather than respecting it. When the Péks left Szeged, it took a few months of making their way through Europe before they considered Polaris. They’d heard of it, of course. It was one of the best training grounds for magical being in their world. But Irme had always insisted that his children could be taught the best at home; they didn’t need anything else. More than word of Polaris’ renown, they had also heard whispers of the current Ursas — strong and kind, willing to open their doors to anyone. Eleonóra was hesitant at first. Going to Polaris would mean following their rules and ideologies. Why should she run from one prison to what may very well be another? Eventually though, with her brother’s urging and the realization that they had nowhere else to go, the Péks headed towards Vermont.

She’ll tell you that changing her name was a means of creating her own identity. — Eleonóra to Lenora, Péks to it’‘s anglicized form Baker, all of it a new version of her that she had control of. That’s not entirely true, though. In reality, Lenora changed her name because she was scared. If her father found her, she knew that he could very well kill her or overpower her. His fire magic, although not based in a zodiac, was fueled by rage she’d long since learned to fear. Changing her name didn’t guarantee she’d be safe forever, but it gave her some sense of security. At the very least, it put some distance between her and her life back in Hungary.

Although she’s been at Polaris for decades now, Lenora is still slow to warm. By now, it’s more out of habit than any prior need to protect herself. The hardest adjustment has been in how she views magic. Back...well, not back home, but back in Szeged, her status as Cygnus (always a beauty) was more prevalent than her actual abilities. Here, she’s come to learn what she’s truly capable of. Lenora can often be found up in one of Caeli’s towers, sat beside an open window and feeling the wind on her face. Her element may be air, but Lenora feels as if that has always been misplaced. Air is meant to be wide-open and freeing, always circulating. But Lenora has never quite felt that level of freedom. Even now, she still can’t help but feel trapped. In her anger, in her fear, in her memories. She won’t admit to that, though. It’s easier to pretend to not care rather than admit how much there is to you.

INCLINATION

Much like the swan that symbolizes them, Cygnus possesses a charm unlike few others. Some have described them as ethereal, others simply find themselves at a loss for words in their presence. While physical beauty does tend to be a common trait among it’s sponsees, their natural ability to entice and entrance can be chalked up to the stars as well. Their magic tends to reflect this, with a knack for glamor spells and charms. This can lead to an inflated ego which may or may not be warranted, but Cygnus rarely cares about that aspect. In addition, as the air that commands them and the swan that embodies them, Cygnus tend to be able to learn levitation much easier than others — they just need to be aware of keeping their heads out of the clouds.

CONNECTIONS

Twin Brother: Lenora’s anchor, truly. This is the only person who Lenora trust completely, because he’s the only one she’s ever felt cared for her without any ulterior motives. He’s also the only person who can get away with calling Lenora out on her nonsense, and likewise, he gets a version of her that’s as close to nice as she’s capable of.

Jilted Fiance: Another member of the small, old-school aristocracy that still lives sprinkled throughout Europe. In the early 2000s, Lenora was told that her father had promised her hand to this character (or rather, this character’s family), and she quickly fucked away after that. Maybe they never met prior to this, maybe he and Lenora had been childhood friends. Either way, he was left dealing with the fallout of their broken engagement while Lenora seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet.

Calming Presence: Lenora isn’t kind to anyone other than her brother, but this person does have a somewhat uncanny ability to ease some of her typical frustration. And Lenora, for all of her arrogance and short-tempter, can’t find it in herself to be a true bitch to them. She’s blunt, yes. Tactless, sure. But somewhere in the little black box that is her emotional storage container, she holds some care for them.

Filling the role of Eloise Delaurentis’s polarizing force.

Penned by Jeanne ★

#air.#cygnus.#taken.#jeanne.#student.

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johnny-and-dora · 6 years

Text

holding back the flood

“Oh god. Their baby is the size of a cherry. She’s tearing up again.”

or, the one where jake and rosa take care of a extremely stressed, highly emotional and mildly pregnant amy. (future fic) read on ao3

Amy really doesn’t know why she’s crying.

As a Santiago, she prides herself on having at least a reasonable amount of self control when it comes to emotional displays in the workplace; she was taught long ago that they were highly inappropriate, after all, and she takes great pride in being a teacher’s pet/star mentee.

Disregarding Holt’s advice (which isn’t something she often does), one of the thousands of things she’s learnt since she became a sergeant is that it’s optimum for everyone’s productivity – and overall physical wellbeing – if she can keep stress braids, Santiago-scale freak outs and full-on weeping to a minimum at work.

(No-one needs to mention the Great Printer Catastrophe again – and absolutely no-one needs to mention that she’s permanently banned from being anywhere near the machine if it’s ever low on ink.)

Badly timed, apocalypse-inducing paper jams aside; Amy is a strong, emotionally resilient, rational woman. She rolls her eyes and smiles at Jake when he cries at films, she flawlessly multitasks with letting her anxiety get the best of her, and she tries her best to remain professional at all times (ignoring the extremely few instances in which her husband has tempted her into Supply Closet C). She cries when she wants to, when she needs to, but as a rule, she absolutely holds it together at the precinct, especially in front of her officers.

At least, that’s what she’s been firmly trying to tell herself for the past few days, because her usually reliable ability to “hold it together” currently seems about as unstable as her current hormone levels.

Since she got into work this morning, she’s cried four times already – once because they were out of granola, once because Charles’s lunch smelled at least ten million times worse and at least ten times more eye-watering than usual. Once, most unceremoniously, in a toilet stall on her break because her head wrecks and she’s so nauseous she can barely enjoy filling in paperwork anymore, and once because she suddenly remembered the sonogram picture, grainy and monochrome and forever universe-changing, that currently takes pride of place in their kitchen, stuck lovingly with an old I LOVE NY magnet to their fridge.

Notably - and most likely the shining, golden solve for why she might be spending 3pm on a Thursday afternoon sobbing her little heart out in the evidence lock up, riding out her own little hormone rollercoaster - Amy is nine weeks pregnant.

(Now is not the time, but something in her lights up every time she actually dares to think the actual word “pregnant” into existence; she fondly remembers snapshots of the past two months, the swell of joy in her heart at those two life-altering little lines, another test passed with flying colours. The look on Jake’s face when she told him, the way he’s been doing everything he can to take care of her. The time he came home with a little pair of baby sneakers that he “couldn’t resist” and she kissed him after lecturing him about how now wasn’t the time for frivolous purchases and they needed to be balancing their finances.)

(In short, they’re having a baby - and it’s terrifying and exhilarating and extremely, extremely nauseating, and she’s never been happier in her life.)

(And yet, she still can’t quite seem to stop crying.)

The emotional carnival ride of growing a human aside, she really doesn’t want to have an emotional break-down here, of all places, the one place in the precinct that’s meant to keep her steady. Quite frankly, Amy does not have the time to spare for these gross, irritating emotions right now. There is no time reserved in her tightly packed schedule for emotions of any kind, let alone multiple confusing and upsetting ones all at once.

She can’t even really note anything currently worth crying over. It’s just a simple detailed and meticulously planned patrol schedule due by the end of her shift that’s proving slightly harder to organise than first anticipated. Easy. Not a problem that she hasn’t solved a thousand times before.

Of course, that’s also on top of the thirty slide presentation about increasing productivity and efficiency within the precinct she has to give tomorrow that she’s barely had the time or energy to actually prepare for. And the in-depth evaluations she has to hand in of her entire squad by Monday.

And the fact that she’s already behind on the research for her pregnancy binder, and she still hasn’t revised their monthly budgets - because once she finally gets home she’s too exhausted to do anything other than sleepily curl up on the couch next to her husband, using Jake as her personal space heater while he strokes her hair and tells her about his day. She’s even too tired to yell at the TV during Jeopardy.

It’s nothing. At least, it’s nothing she would usually be worried about, tasks to complete that she would normally even be a little excited to feel the adrenaline rush of finishing early and getting some sweet spare time to revise her eighteen step plan to increase arrest numbers by 30% by December. Santiago-style.

And yet, to pregnant Amy, what usually constitutes as ‘nothing’ seems to currently signal the end of days - and so, here she appears to be.

Hormones raging, freshly applied mascara once again ruined, eyes red and puffy, breathing irregular, neon sign brightly flashing with the words “hot mess” directly above her head. She’s hiding, not exactly inconspicuously, between the endlessly neat rows of closed cases, knees hugged as close to her chest as possible while taking tremendous care not to squish the ever-so-slight, barely noticeable bump that remains breath-taking proof that she’s growing an actual, real-life, cherry sized (as Jake cheerfully informed her this morning over breakfast) human being inside of her.

Oh God. Their baby is now the size of a cherry. She’s tearing up again.

She decides after a while, with the shred of rationality Amy seems to have left, that she is currently a hot mess that only one person is fully equipped to deal with. She reaches for her phone, sniffling, trying her best keep her breathing steady, anxiously fiddling with the shining silver wedding band on her ring finger.

She’s about to text a “Code Blue, Evidence Lockup” to Jake (who she thought she couldn’t love more up until about three weeks ago, when he woke her up at 3am with a meticulously crafted colour-based code system they could use to covertly deal with pregnancy situations - it made her both very emotional and super horny) – but she feels a flash of panic when it’s not in its usual place tucked safely in her back pocket. Her heart quickly sinks when she realises it must be still in the top drawer of her desk.

She lets out another stifled sob of dread and embarrassment and frustration and practically every range of negative emotion under the sun - which is, obviously, exactly when she hears the door to the evidence lock-up swing open.

A spark of fear immediately ignites in her chest as her heart starts racing – not now. She instinctively squeezes her eyes shut, hoping desperately that if she makes herself as small as physically possible, even in her current state, she’ll be able to completely disappear.

The Nine-Nine have seen her in a much worse state, sure. She’s more sure than anything that her chosen family would be able to make her feel better in practically any kind of situation. And yet, pretty much her worst, world-ending, blood-pumping fear right now is anyone – except Jake, seeing as this is the job he kind of signed up for when he married her - having to deal with her like this.

As weighted footsteps inch agonisingly closer, her heart plummets even further at the absence of the familiar sound of well worn sneakers – instead, she hears the equally familiar yet less comforting click-clack of black high-heeled boots on the cold concrete floor. She prepares for the worst.

The next thing she hears, deep yet uncharacteristically quiet and almost with a note of panic, is an unusually soft “Amy?” – when she finally opens her eyes, Rosa swims into view, eyes so comically wide that she can’t help but exhale a shaky, weak laugh. This is going to be fun.

“Heyyyyyyyy, Rosa.” She gives a little half-hearted wave despite herself, deciding to fully embrace the slightly hilarious and extremely mortifying situation.

(It could be worse. At least it’s less mortifying then being walked in on when making out with your boyfriend of one day, resulting in the heart attack and subsequent death of your new captain. Jake and Amy hold a lot of precinct records between them – the award for “highest amount of captains accidentally killed” is probably the one she’s least proud of.)

“Um, hey. Are you...”

“Chill? I’m chilled. I’m to-tal-ly chill. Chilled.”

If possible, Rosa’s eyes get wider.

“Do you possibly happen to know where my husband is, by any chance?” She laughs nervously with this sort of manic grin plastered on her face, putting all her energy into seeming like a normal human being. She’s failing miserably.

Rosa raises an eyebrow, but thankfully decides to indulge her.

“...He’s working on Charles’s B&E, some lame cheese shop downtown that Charles is too devastated about to get any actual police work done. They left like twenty minutes ago.” Amy exhales, trying not to let her face fall too hard.

“Right. Chill. Do you mind if I text him? I left my phone downstairs and I can’t exactly go down looking like...this.” She’s barely finished her sentence before Rosa is handing her phone to her, and she takes it gratefully.

She quickly finds Jake’s contact and involuntarily feels her lips tug up into a small smile at the incredibly unflattering dorky candid - from easily a decade ago, maybe even the Academy - that is his contact picture.

(Some things never change. She’s very glad his hair has.)

To: Jake Peralta, 15:06 Hey babe, it’s Amy. Code Blue, Evidence Lockup. I know you’re with Charles so don’t drop everything and immediately rush back here, just come when you can. Using Rosa’s phone because I left mine downstairs. Love you x

The painstaking minute and a half she takes to type out and send it to him – all while her hands are shaking from the incessant and deafening panic alarm sounding in her ribcage - are made even worse by the intense burning sensation of Rosa’s direct gaze on her the entire time. Hold it together, Amy.

“Thank you.” She hands Rosa her phone back, wishing more than ever that if she concentrated hard enough she could just disappear from sight completely. An awkward silence descends over them both, bringing with it an inevitable thickness in the air not unlike the first warnings of a thunderstorm. It’s unbearable.

It’s not like they’re not close enough to talk about exactly why Amy is sobbing hysterically in the evidence lock-up at 3pm on a Thursday – far from it, in fact. Ever since Florida, Rosa has become more and more of a valued and surprisingly skilled confidante, even if most of her solutions to Amy’s problems are tequila and Nancy Meyers films. (It, somehow, always seems to work.)

If anything, Amy is desperate to tell one of her closest and best friends all about how nauseous she is and how stressed out she feels and how, by the way, she’s casually just in the early stages of growing a human inside of her and she feels even more panicked than usual and what if she can never get the balance of being a mother and focusing on her career right and-

But she can’t. Because they can’t tell anyone, no matter how much Amy yearns to share this joy with the people she cares about the most, and how much Jake wants to gleefully yell that he knocked his wife up at virtually everyone they pass on the street. They’re just not ready – in truth, she isn’t ready for it to be official, real and an unavoidable, gargantuan force of change.

Thinking the word ‘pregnant’ into existence is enough to cause a hurricane of raw emotion – but it’s a light breeze compared to actually saying out loud.

And yet, they both known Rosa won’t leave until she gets some sort of answer out of her. They’re at an impasse – an uncomfortable, awkward, silent impasse.

Rosa’s gaze is scrutinising and calculating and Amy genuinely wouldn’t be surprised if lasers started shooting from her eyes at any second – it’s something of a old western movie stand-off parody, except they’re waiting out who’s going to suck it up and actually start the conversation they should probably be having right about now, no matter how uncomfortable both of them might be.

After an excruciating eternity of roughly ten seconds, the other curly-haired and always slightly terrifying detective eventually sighs and resignedly slides down on the floor next to her, discarding whatever file she had to the side. Her expression (as usual), is unreadable as she clears her throat.

“So - are you going to tell me what’s causing...this...” - Rosa makes an awkward sweeping gesture in her direction, which she assumes can only be in reference to the whole aforementioned “hot mess” state that she’s currently wallowing in – “or am I going to have to interrogate it out of you?”

“Rosa, honestly. I’m fine.”

“You and I have a very different definition of what ‘fine’ is, Santiago.” Amy just shrugs, so Rosa folds her arms and extends her legs across the floor like she’s prepared to be here all night, in true Diaz interrogation style. Amy’s thinking about laser eyes again before her friend’s expression unexpectedly softens.

“Do...you want to...talk about it?”

“I don’t know.” It’s an honest answer, to her credit. Despite everything they’ve been through, seeing Rosa try to talk about feelings can still be a little like imagining a turtle out its shell, and Amy’s really not prepared to honestly talk about her physical and emotional state right now.

She just wants her husband to bring her some chocolate and give her a slightly inappropriate-for-work and yet badly needed neck massage, and Rosa is not someone she’d willingly go to for either of those things.

She sighs again, averting her gaze from Amy’s face to seemingly anywhere in the room before she starts talking again.

“Look dude, talking about your feelings is gross. If you don’t want to talk about it and you just want to sit here and cry it all out, I get it. I’ll stay here as long as you need, then go file my arson case and pretend I didn’t see anything. But...I’m here for you. Even if your feelings are the grossest or lamest, if you wanna talk, I’ll listen. Okay?” She finally brings herself to look at Amy directly, dark irises electric with the most intense sincerity she’s ever seen.

Okay, yeah. She’s definitely going to start crying again.

“Wait, I didn’t mean –“ Rosa begins; but Amy is already hugging her, forcefully and tightly and awkwardly from the side, tears once again free-flowing. She smiles brightly and tenderly at the way Rosa only stiffens up for a second before equally as awkwardly leaning into it, patting Amy reassuringly on the shoulder with her free arm.

They stay like that for a good minute, Amy sniffling and basically doing the exact opposite of holding it together, but also feeling like its okay. Like nothing she can do or say will end the world if she doesn’t let it. It’s a refreshing change of pace.

This, of course, means the second she finally finds the strength to detach herself from her best friend; well, it just kind of comes spilling out.

“I’m pregnant.”

Rosa’s eyes suddenly become comically wide again, and Amy laughs for real this time, bright and shining and clear.

“Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm. 9 weeks yesterday.”

“Nice.” Rosa smiles, a genuine, rare glowing Rosa smile, giving Amy a light shove of encouragement. When Amy breathes out, it somehow feels like a huge weight has lifted from her shoulders. She grins.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I feel sick all the time, all my clothes are becoming too tight, I can’t drink caffeine or alcohol or shame smoke and I’m so stressed out and emotional that I cry at literally everything – but, y’know.”

“You’re having a baby.” Rosa says with this kind of awe, and Amy gets this warm glow in her chest.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I’m having a baby.”

“That’s...a lot.”

“Yeah. Everything’s just...a lot, right now.” She sighs heavily, still weighted with something she’s been worried about for the last week or so.

“We haven’t told anyone else yet, but – well, do you think it’s obvious?” She finally plucks up the courage to ask the question that’s been nagging at her mind ever since she started to have a little more trouble fitting in to her sergeant’s uniform, and the other detective pauses thoughtfully for a second to think about it.

“I don’t think so. You’re not...showing, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

“No, no. We just... we didn’t want to tell everyone until...y’know. We were ready and it was the right time and...” She trails off, making a casual sweeping sort of gesture that somehow encapsulates her worst fears, and Rosa nods.

“I had my suspicions – you haven’t come out with us to Shaw’s in a long time, I haven’t seen you drink caffeine for a month, and you’ve been having even worse reactions to Charles’s disgusting food than usual. You don’t have to be a detective to start threading those symptoms together.”

“Damn. I thought we were doing a pretty good job of keeping it secret.” Amy sighs, folding her arms tightly across her chest, but Rosa just shrugs it off.

“You are. I saw all that but I still wasn’t sure. It just so happens that most of the people you’re trying to keep it secret from are highly trained NYPD detectives.”

Amy exhales a shaky half laugh and smiles, properly and genuinely, at the way her best friend looks at her with this kind of rare and precious softness, the corners of her mouth ever so slightly upturned into a smile.

“Also, I caught Jake on a baby name website last week and he panicked and told me he was brainstorming names for the monitor lizard you guys are thinking of adopting.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yeah.” Rosa grins and Amy laughs at how wonderfully, amazingly stupid her husband can be, and her heart is actually warmed by the idea of Jake looking up baby names when he’s supposed to be working despite how irresponsible and stupid that is.

Somehow, she already feels better that she has all day, and there’s not a bottle of tequila or a DVD copy of The Holiday in sight. Another successful solve for the Sleuth Sisters (she’s still proud of that name and their corresponding cool-as-heck handshake, okay).

“Is that...why you’re here? You’re worried about everyone knowing?” Rosa asks, a little more tentatively than usual now she understands Amy’s fragile state a little better. She makes a face.

“Maybe. Honestly, I don’t really know why I’m here. It’s just between this stupid patrol schedule and this presentation I have to give tomorrow and my squad evaluations and my pregnancy binder and my actual pregnancy – well, I don’t know if I can handle it, okay?”

“...And that freaks you out because normally it would be something you could do easily.” Rosa nods, understanding, and Amy gives her a weak smile, letting her hands drop and rest naturally, almost protectively on her stomach.

“Amy, you are two months pregnant. There’s no way you can get done what you’d usually be able to get done by yourself, because you’re busy being exhausted from growing another human being inside of you. It’s perfectly normal to not be able to take on your usual superhuman workload, you nerd.” Rosa says, with this familiar exasperated disbelief at Amy’s overworking brain.

“I know, I know. It’s just...frustrating. I’m already struggle to balance family with career and the baby isn’t even here yet. It only just became a foetus, Rosa. A foetus!”

“Okay, okay.” Rosa puts her hands out like she’s trying to steady a horse, clearly fully aware that Amy’s about five seconds away from a Level 3 Santiago Scale Freak Out, Pregnant Edition – something neither of them are fully prepared for.

“I don’t have an answer to the whole baby and career thing, but you don’t have to think about that right now – you need to focus on you.” Amy clearly doesn’t look convinced enough, so Rosa sighs and tries again.

“Tell Holt you’ve been sick recently and you don’t feel ready for the presentation, and he’ll 100% understand, dude. Get Jennings to help you with the patrol schedule seeing as that nerd loves paperwork almost as much as you do, and you know your officers better than another sergeant in New York, so those evaluations will be easy – you could probably motivate them to even do it themselves. Problem solved, you get to go home early and kick your feet up with a non-alcoholic cocktail.” She flawlessly monologues off a game plan with an exceptional ease that leaves Amy in a state of awe.

“Wow. I...erm, yeah. That’s super helpful, actually.” Rosa nods, like it’s nothing that she’s just solved basically the entirety of Amy’s current mental-breakdown-inducing stressors in a matter of seconds, and then softens.

“You’re going to be fine, Amy. Trust me. Once the whole squad knows we’ll be queuing up to help you guys out.” She, of course, knew that already – but it’s nice to hear it out loud, a promise engraved in the unbreakable, indestructible bond of the 99th precinct. She’s definitely less close to tears now, which is always a plus.

She always knew she could count on her parents to help out, of course, and maybe a couple of her brothers when they weren’t busy graduating med school or travelling the world or having kids of their own. But it’s nice to know, to have it spoken, that she’ll always be able to count on her other family, too. That there are so many people who are more than willing to ride her stupid emotional rollercoaster with her, even through the seemingly endless loops.

“Thanks, Rosa.” “Anytime.”

As if on cue, their little bonding moment is abruptly hijacked when Jake comes crashing into the evidence lock-up – chaotic and electric and as hectic as she’s come to expect in the many, many years she’s spent slowly falling more and more in love with him, his eyes slightly wild , extremely out of breath. Amy’s heart rate spikes again as she realises with a jumble of adoration, frustration and amusement that he ran all the way here just to take care of her.

Not for the first time, amazingly not even for the first time this week, she quickly realises that she really couldn’t have found a better person to share the rest of her life with. She whispers a silent thank you to the universe.

“Ames! I’m so sorry it took me so long” – he pauses to take another breath – “I had to run from that stupid cheese shop, and I know you said not to drop everything and immediately rush back here, so I obviously dropped everything and immediately rushed back here, ‘cause I knew that you were just downplaying it and if it’s a Code Blue that’s important and-“

It seems to be only then that he notices Rosa watching them both, who gives him a subtle nod, unable to completely keep the smile from her face. Frozen, his eyes flick repeatedly and chaotically from Rosa’s to hers, as if he’s trying to telepathically figure out whether he can talk about the baby or not.

He looks like a cartoon character and/or absolute, complete utter idiot, and Amy laughs melodically, deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Jake, it’s okay – she knows.”

“...About the monitor lizard we’re planning to adopt?” He says slowly, and Amy and Rosa both roll their eyes simultaneously; neither of them bothering to poorly conceal their smiles anymore.

In lieu of an answer, Rosa gets up from the floor and punches Jake in the shoulder, smiling wider than Amy thinks she’s ever seen her smile (except maybe when Alicia is around). It’s extremely heart-warming and only slightly unnerving – she doesn’t think she’s ever recorded so many genuine Rosa smiles in one day - except maybe on her and Jake’s wedding night, or when she oh-so casually mentioned over lunch a few months ago that she and Alicia were moving in together.

It’s different and unexpected and unusual in the best way possible – sharing this joy, especially with someone she cares about so much. Suddenly, she starts to understand why Jake wants so badly to yell it out into the street.

“Dude. I know. And for the record, I think you’re going to be a great...monitor lizard keeper.” Amy smiles as she sees the tension practically seep out of Jake’s frame and he relaxes a little, grins at Rosa, bright as the sun. She loves him so much.

“You really think?”

“I know. You two are going to kick ass at this. A thousand push ups.” Rosa practically radiates sincerity as she places a hand on Jake’s shoulder. She doesn’t have to be a detective to know that she’s not the only one in the room who’s definitely on the verge of tearing up again. Jake, if possible, smiles even wider.

It’s all very disgustingly heart-warming and Amy thinks if it carries on much longer there’s a high chance that Hysterical Cry #6 could happen at any minute.

“Thanks, Diaz. We’re hugging now.” “No, we’re not.”

“Yes we are, c’mon, we’re having a moment.” Before she can object further, he hugs her tightly and Rosa hugs back - without hesitation or apprehension or any of it, just warmth. Amy takes the opportunity to wipe fresh tears away.

“Ames, you wanna get in on this?” Jake says after a minute, and she shakes her head.

“Nah, I’ve already had my one allocated Rosa hug today.”

“Just get in here, Santiago.” Rosa grumbles, slightly muffled, and Amy more than happily obliges, carefully lifting herself up and gladly sandwiching herself between two of her favourite people in the entire world.

Somehow, she can’t seem to remember what she was crying about.

“God, you guys’ lameness is infectious.” Rosa says after they break apart, quickly wiping her face with her sleeve like if she does it fast enough they won’t see. It doesn’t work.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” “...Haven’t you actually got an arson case to file?” Amy says, concerned, but she just shrugs it off.

“It can wait. You gonna be okay?” Rosa asks, and Amy pauses for a second, still hyperaware of the anxiety pushing down at the bottom of her stomach like lead and making her slightly dizzy. But then Jake squeezes her hand gently, anchoring her back down to reality, and she smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Good. If you need anything, ask, dummy. I’m not massaging you, though. That’s Peralta’s job.” She adds as an afterthought, which makes Amy laugh.

“Ah, a job I do with zero experience, very little skill and far too much confidence. The Peralta speciality.” Rosa rolls her eyes and casually strides out of the evidence lock-up like she hasn’t just been given the life-changing news that the Peralta-Santiagos are expecting - like she hasn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes flawlessly consoling a highly emotional and mildly pregnant weeping police sergeant like it was nothing. Amy has really no idea what she would do without her.

She watches her go with a sense of awe and peace and finally, sweet contentment - before turning to Jake, who smiles that soft smile that’s guaranteed to melt her like butter even when she’s not crazy hormonal and super horny. He squeezes her hand again, another secret coded language they’ve been speaking for almost a decade with remarkable ease.

“You sure you’re okay? I can go get chocolate if you need it, I know where Scully keeps his secret stash.”

“Mmm. I’m okay. Better now you’re here.” She says, wholeheartedly meaning it, and he carefully, tenderly hugs her, placing a chaste, appropriate-for-work kiss on the top of her head in a way that makes her think this is it. They’re having a baby. Amy wants to yell it out to passing strangers in the street.

“We’re having a baby.” She opts for the more practical decision of whispering it gently with this sort of quiet, glowing glee - he matches it in the way he looks at her, in all her red-eyed, mascara ruined glory, like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Hell yeah, we are.” He whispers back, grinning ecstatically, and her heart is New York lit up in Christmas lights.

She’s still a little stressed beyond belief about that patrol schedule, and the inevitably anxiety inducing email she has to send to Holt about putting off the presentation for a couple of days. She’s still behind on the pregnancy binder, and their monthly budgets, and every day the cherry sized piece of her heart that’s growing ever bigger in her stomach provides a whole new set of challenges she’d rather openly weep about that actually get on with overcoming.

But she has a dork of a husband who will willingly drop everything and sprint 20 blocks just to take care of her, and a terrifying best friend who can solve her greatest problems and quiet her worst fears without a bottle of tequila in sight. She has a family, one that is always growing bigger and bigger – a totally bizarre, mismatched, unique and strange family, but one that she grows more grateful for every single day.

So when Jake hurriedly whispers a “love you” and kisses her softly before running back to tell Charles that the owner definitely broke into his own shop for the insurance money, and when Amy finally returns to her desk, smile on her face, to find Gary eagerly waiting to help her figure out the patrol schedule as Rosa so wisely predicted, she is no longer crying – she’s still nauseous and exhausted, sure, but happy, so deliriously happy, and so deliriously excited to finally embrace hurricane of change.

She opens up her phone’s calendar, where she quickly types “Announcement Day!” into the slot six days away, before sitting back in her chair, deciding what episodes of Serve and Protect they’re going to watch tonight, glowing smile on her face.

Then, and only then, Amy just grips the bar in the carriage of her own little emotional rollercoaster before it can start up again – and she holds on tight, waiting patiently to enjoy the ride.

#my writing #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #sleuth sisters!#i hope you like this #<3333 #shut up sian

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New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/how-a-daily-chakra-meditation-transformed-one-yogis-life/

How a Daily Chakra Meditation Transformed One Yogi’s Life

A YJ editor learns about the power of abundance through a daily chakra meditation challenge.

As a yogi, I’ve grasped the concept of abundance—intellectually. But as someone easily whacked out of balance by overbearing personalities or overwhelming workloads, I’ve never been entirely convinced that the universe could accommodate both my needs and virtually anything else at hand. Things get crowded quickly. My chest tightens and hip flexors grip; I ditch plans to practice yoga, stop making nourishing meals, and skip dates to connect with dear friends—or, most importantly, myself.

It may all go back to growing up in a Greek household, which involved what I’ll generously call a spirited communication style. Somehow, stillness and peace were elusive in a two-story home with big bedrooms and a finished basement. And this perceived lack of space spilled into an underlying, unchecked zero-sum mentality that has shaped my perspective ever since.

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In early college, roommates and I lamented the supposed dearth of eligible partners in the dating scene. When peers sustained relationships, I’d shake my head and say, “they’re stealing from the sex pot,” as though, like a soup special on a cold day, our campus could just run out of love.

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Last year, a yoga teacher and I showed up for a filming project and both felt under the weather. By mid-afternoon, I’d recovered; “I used up all the good vibes when you needed it most!” I joked. She (kindly) reminded me that there is an infinite source of healing for all.

This isn’t exactly what I thought I’d confront as I embarked on YJ’s month-long challenge to practice a chakra meditation every day. Finding calm? Sure. Less stress? Looked forward to that. Spiritual ecstasy? If I’m lucky, great—but not a must. Instead, it was time to take a look at my internal space-time continuum.

See also YJ’s March Meditation Challenge Will Help You Stick to a Steady Practice

Learn more about a chakra meditation and how to start a 31-day challenge as well.

Balancing the Chakras

The 31-day challenge began without ceremony on New Year’s Day in Brussels, where my partner and I were visiting family. I sat in the unmade guest bed, welcomed a purring Chartreux voluntarily curled up in my lap, and fired up a 20-minute guided chakra meditation from legendary Tantra teacher Sally Kempton.

New to chakras? Here’s a quick primer: Chakras are whirling forces of subtle energy associated with different aspects of the physical, emotional, and spiritual bodies. There are 7 (of many more) chakras primarily taught in yoga, and this is what they stand for:

Muladhara (Root): Earth, security, home, finances

Svadhisthana (Sacral): Water, creativity, sexuality

Manipura (Solar Plexus): Fire, sense of self

Anahata (Heart): Air, love

Visuddha (Throat): Space, communication from the heart’s truth

Ajna (Third Eye): Light, intuition

Sahasrara (Crown): Bliss, divine connection

(You can get sucked into learning more about the chakras here.)

They are strung along the sushumna nadi, a central channel of life force that runs from the base of the spine through the crown of the head. The idea is that balancing the chakras—by focusing breath, mantras (sounds), yantras (shapes), imagery, and colors in their respective locations along this inner totem pole—allows you to access this sacred streak of energy.

When I asked Sally about what happens when (and if) you open the central channel, she told me that, with so much attention toward the central channel, it was an effective centering technique. She also dangled a taste of nonduality. In a Tantric reality, everyone is one with the Divine. “You can become aware that your body is a formless, vast, undulating center full of light and bliss,” she said. “It’s a fairly dramatic experience.”

It all sounds esoteric, so I wouldn’t expect everyone to embrace it. But I’d microdosed on chakra practices for over 15 years, so I was ready to dive in. When I was 20, I found a random chakra book in my East Village sublet and journaled a root chakra affirmation that resonated: “I am safe, I trust in the natural flow of life, I take my natural place in the world content in the knowledge that all I need will come to me in the right time and place.” Years later, within the context of a vigorous flow, Seane Corn presented the chakras as a psychological roadmap for growth.

Then I met Tantra and Kriya masters Alan and Sarah Finger, who brought the chakras to light with concrete techniques to harmonize them. It was the first time I learned the chakras as a subtle body technology. They also answered a good question: How do you actually locate a chakra? For me, bija (seed) mantras were the entry point; with enough focus, repeating the staccato sounds (in the case of the root chakra, lam) help me trace a pulse in a specific location (pelvic floor).

Even so, beaming awareness and imagery to ambiguous areas in my body required concentration and good faith. As a result, the neurotic part of my brain didn’t focus on the usual storylines: deadlines, challenges, or omg how much time is left in this meditation?! I was lulled by the mantras’ vibrations, and all the visualizations inspired my imagination—a boon for anyone who spends too much time in Type-A territory.

There was a misstep when I first imagined elements—earth, water, fire, space, light, bliss—associated with each chakra. Before Brussels, I’d traveled to Rome, so my mind conjured scenes from the Colosseum: snarled roots in its underbelly; water rising in the amphitheater… I quickly decided not to instill scenes from such an infamous space.

Instead I coaxed meaningful imagery: Strong roots holding up the mermaid-like mahogany trees I’d seen on Costa Rica’s Osa Peninsula; emerald lakes tucked into rarely trekked valleys of the Sierra Nevada that I’d swam in; the pulse of my apartment stove’s burner enacting a flame in my belly; a tiny flame on a stick of palo santo in my heart center. A Magritte sky in my throat, leading to a golden hour light spilling in from my third eye and crown.

Watch also: What, Exactly, Are the Chakras? Alan Finger Explains

The real test came later in the month, when my schedule packed up.

How the Chakras Created Space in My Body, Mind… and Life

Right away things shifted. I was still on holiday when my coworkers began trickling back into the office. Although I still checked my email—it may take a year of meditation to bust that habit—I didn’t feel my heart pound as they came in. I felt freedom as I visited museums, enjoyed the art nouveau architecture, and connected with family.

Instead of seeking the usual alone time when I returned to New York, I invited good friends over for dinner and king cake. Once I resumed the grind, that vacation halo lasted longer than usual. Each meditation felt like it was literally emptying me of clutter and fog, leaving me with clarity. And, yes, in some sitting practices, I could feel like I was filling up with light.

The real test came later in the month, when my schedule packed up. I prepared for an upcoming filming in another state. I assisted a week-long yoga training that lasted from early morning until evening, and then came home to complete the day’s work. Oh, and a friend from California came to stay with me.

Even for someone who doesn’t easily get overwhelmed, a lot was going on. And it would have been my default to shut out my friend, worry my way through the training, or just operate from the adrenaline.

There’s a pop culture adage that we all have the same amount of time in a day as Beyoncé. Maybe her secret is chakra meditations, because as I found space in my practice, my life opened up. I didn’t have to turn anything down, yet I didn’t feel resentful saying yes. All that inward focus cultivated a strong sense of embodiment. I could be present without losing my wits (or myself) in the process.

When the subway literally broke one morning before training, I didn’t agonize that I’d be late. I calmly walked 20 minutes to the nearest bus route, emailed my teacher, and meditated. (I showed up on time anyway.)

See also This is the Reason I Take the Subway 45 Minutes Uptown to Work Out – Even Though There’s a Gym On My Block

During the training, I knocked over a tripod and it came crashing down during a calming restorative practice. I froze with horror; attempting to melt into my mat was futile. Shit happens, and I was grateful for a makeshift chakra meditation in that moment to move past embarrassment.

I felt peace in this chaotic schedule and could summon an abundance of presence, making deep connections with students at the training, laughing with my good friend at midnight, being kinder to my partner, and, most importantly, tending to myself.

It may sound odd that I “allowed” myself these basic needs and simple pleasures, but it’s true: In the past, the weight of a to-do list or social obligations meant I didn’t have room for myself. I may not have experienced the splendor of the infinite universe (yet!), but this meditation expanded time and space so I could register divine moments every day.

I started my days with a cup of coffee on the sofa and read instead of clacking away at emails. I prepared an egg and avocado breakfast. I stole moments to enjoy the way the low winter sun lit the pastel buildings in Soho.

See also This is Your Brain on Meditation

Want to explore the chakras like you never have before? Join Alan and Sarah for YJ’s 4-week online course, Chakras 101: Unleash the Wisdom and Vitality Within. Through lessons, meditations, asana, mantras, and visualizations, you will learn how to balance these whirling forces of subtle energy, from root to crown. You’ll also fill in the blanks and discover what, exactly, chakras are, where they came from, and how they work. The results: The ability to alter your state of mind, carry yourself with more confidence and ease, and tap into your innate intelligence and power. Sign up today!

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