office!au-extras

office antics extras masterpost

just so it’s easier to navigate, because austyn is horrible with her tagging system. i sincerely hope i can keep up with updating this. everything can be found under the office!au extras tag

asks

(extended descriptions, histories, etc), bold indicates ~/+1k words

diagrams

stuff explained

deleted material

Body Party (Oneshot)

Pairing: Jongyu (Junghee/Eunsook)
Word Count: 2064
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Smut, fluff
Warning: None

Look what I wrote instead of working on what I should be working! This really came out of nowhere soooo??? Enjoy??


Eunsook lets out a fond giggle from her spot on her girlfriend’s bed as she watches her fuss around the bedroom trying to set up candles and music.

They have been going out for a while now and when Junghee invites her to her house like every Friday after school, Eunsook doesn’t think much of it. They usually cuddle and makeout while watching movies or have deep conversations about the universe until the wee hours of the morning. It’s only once they’re inside the younger’s house that she realizes her girlfriend’s parents aren’t there and that Junghee is looking at her with a different look in her eyes. It’s like a mixture of anticipation, excitement and maybe even a bit of nervousness.

Eunsook’s not stupid, she quickly puts one and one together but she decides to wait to see how things turn out. It doesn’t take too long before a few sweet kisses turn into a full blown makeout session and when things heat up and Eunsook feels Junghee’s hand creep up under her uniform’s skirt, she stops her. It’s kind of hilarious really, seeing the look of shock on the younger’s face when Eunsook tells her that she wants to go further but she’s never done more than kissing and some clumsy groping before.

Junghee almost jumps off of her with stringed apologies and how she didn’t think she was a virgin and how it should be special and romantic.

Keep reading

Floor map of EXO-MK Systems

Here’s the entirety of minseok’s office map. (not to scale) 

Some trivia:

  • Yixing, Jongdae, Kyungsoo, Jongin, Luhan, Sehun are in cubicles
  • Kris, Junmyeon, Chanyeol, Minseok, and Baekhyun are in regular offices
  • The interns always share spaces with their mentors, for educational purposes
  • The office complex only came with 5 built in offices and Tao’s receptionist desk
  • They had to set up a few cubicles in the center
  • It was a given that Kris and Junmyeon would get two of the office spaces, and so it was a toss up for the other three
  • The third space was agreed to go to the highest earner of the month (excluding Kris and Junmyeon), which is almost always Chanyeol. He makes commission on sales, so he’s really the only one that can change the amount he makes. If he meets his quota, he makes the most. Otherwise it goes to Kyungsoo, who they sometimes drag along on sales trips (he tends to win people over by being himself).
  • They originally played kawi-bawi-bo (rock-paper-scissors) for the other two spots, but Sehun ended up winning one, and so they decided to go with age order. Before Baekhyun was hired, Luhan worked in his room. 
  • Since Baekhyun is from an elite college, and had a bunch of offers from other startups, to entice him, Kris built that he’d get a legit office space into his contract. Since Minseok’s the eldest, Luhan gave up his office. 
Those Magic Extras: Laura

I wanted to show more of teacher Carmilla. And I felt bad after that last one. So here’s a little hollstein. Pre-chapter 10.

The worst days are when Miss Karnstein wears glasses.

You don’t know why it’s especially distracting for you. But Miss Karnstein sometimes wears glasses, these large, square black frames. It should have been dorky, but it’s not. Definitely not.

Focus, Laura. FOCUS. You already failed your last test, and this is a new unit.

Today we’re starting Romeo and Juliet,” Miss Karnstein says, “One of my personal favorites…”

When she’s teaching she sits on top of the teacher’s desk–you never had a teacher do that before. You never had teacher that young before, either. Or with such a perfectly chiselled jaw line…

“Hollis? Hollis?”

Wait, I’m sorry, what?”

People around you laugh, and your cheeks burn.

“Wow, really? You were looking right at me. At least have the decency to look out the window so I know you’re not paying attention.”

The class laughs even louder. “…Sorry,” you mumble, “I’ll answer the question though, what is it?”

“I said, since you’re a thespian yourself, what can you tel me about Romeo and Juliet?”

Um…well, it’s about a guy and a girl…”

“Go on.”

“And they want to be together, but their families hate each other, right? But they try to be together anyway. And that fixes their feuding families or something.”

“Would you say that Romeo and Juliet is about ‘true love conquering all’?”

“Yes…? No. No, I don’t.” You amend it when you see her face.

“See, there you go.” She hops off the desk. “So, here’s how I want to start. Let’s name every single Romeo and Juliet inspired work we can. I’ll write them down on the marker board. Anything with a Romeo and Juliet plot.”

“Lion King 2?” Perry says, raising her hand.

“West Side Story,” you call out.

“Gnomeo and Juliet!” A boy in the back shouts.

“That one with Leonardo DiCaprio?” Danny suggests.

You all end up covering the entire marker board with names. “Good. Now, here is what I want you to do with these,” she takes an eraser and, in one swipe, gets rid of all of them. “That is the first step of learning this play, ladies and gents. Forget everything you’ve learned from the media–Romeo and Juliet is not about love. At least not in the way they’re portraying it.”

She can be a good teacher when she’s teaching lit she’s actually interested in, and it shows. She paces the front of the room, gesturing with her hands. Kind of cute.

“Juliet was thirteen years old–barely a teenager,” she continues, “Romeo decided he was madly in love with her within five minutes of meeting her, and the feeling was mutual. The whole thing is ridiculous and stupid–and that’s the point. Anyone who tells you that Romeo and Juliet is about how the families should have just let their kids be together is, frankly, illiterate.”

She stops, crossing her arms in front of her chest, lifting her chin slightly. “But lecturing you all on the real meaning is boring. Anyone have any thoughts? Hm? Come on, you’re my honors class, if you’re not getting it I should just go home right now.”

No one answers. Her dark eyes scan the room, running a hand through her hair before she settles on you again.

Why does she always like messing with you? She can’t know, can she? She can’t, right? You’ve been hiding it, at the very least you don’t walk around with a rainbow cape or anything—

“Alright, Laura, redemption time.”

You take a sharp intake of breath. “Um…well…I guess…his message was ‘if it causes a war and might kill people, you might want to choose someone less high maintenance?’”

The class laughs at that.

“Plus–I dunno, isn’t Rosaline Capulet’s niece, or something? Romeo probably gets off on the danger or something.”

Miss Karnstein raises an eyebrow. “Interesting. Not the most articulate of responses, but you’re going in the right direction. The story isn’t about how they loved each other–it was about how they were so stupidly in love they couldn’t see that it wasn’t worth it. It’s really a story above the dangers of putting romantic love over obligation and duty. So, some stuff you should write down…”

Danny and Perry are taking furious notes on either side of you, but you’re too busy resting your chin on your hand, watching her write down notes.

The bell rings.

“Hey, Laura,” you look at her.

“Thank you for actually contributing to the discussion today.”

“Well–I mean, that–generally happens when you’re teacher always calls on you.”

She smirks. “What can I say? I like your answers. They’re cute.”

Is she…? Are we…? No. Do not even go there.

Well…take care!” You dart out of the classroom, hearing Miss Karnstein laughing softly.

Take care. Stupid teenage hormones.

Those Magic Extras: Laura’s Mother

ButBecause I haven’t really gone over the relationship between her and Carmilla. Thank you, anon who suggested it! Also, to be clear–Lilita Morgan is stil called ‘Mrs. Karnstein, because she is still married to Carm’s father. Takes place when Carm is eight. 

She already knows the basics of piano, but I would like my daughter Carmilla to be instilled with a love of the classics.” Mrs. Karnstein says. You nod and smile. She’s a good few inches taller than you–you’re rather short–and she’s not exactly a warm person, so this whole experience is rather intimidating. 

“Absolutely, Mrs. Karnstein. I think it’s great that you’re giving your daughter the opportunity to learn piano–” 

“Oh, she doesn’t want to, but it’s much more productive than her running around trying to act older than she is. Come. She’s in the drawing room.”

They’re so rich that they have a grand piano in the drawing room. You can’t wait to go tell Laura when you pick her up from afternoon kindergarten. She’ll think it’s so funny. 

“There is my daughter, Carmilla.” Mrs. Karnstein says, opening the door. A little eight year old girl is sitting at the piano, so small that her feet dangling without touching the floor. 

“Carmilla, sit up straight,” Mrs. Karnstein barks. She startles and straightens. 

“…Hello,” she mumbles. You look at her mother. “I think I can take it from here, Mrs. Karnstein.” 

“Good. I’ll be back in about an hour. Let me know if she gives you any…difficulties.” 

“Oh, I’m sure she won’t,” you say brightly, “I think Carmilla and I are going to be friends.” 

You see Carmilla roll her eyes. Mrs. Karnstein walks out and you hear her walking up the stairs. 

“Hello, Carmilla!” You say, trying to look excited. You sit down and look at her, taking out the sheet music and placing it. “My name is Mrs. Summers. Are you ready to get started?” 

She’s pouting. Carmilla runs a hand through dark, wavy, thick hair before unclipping and reclipping the barrette keeping hair out of her eyes. “I don’t wanna learn piano. Mom is making me.” 

“Aw, you don’t want to learn Mozart?” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Bethoven? Bach?” 

“No. I don’t wanna learn how to play any of them.” She crosses her arms and refuses to look at you. You smile. 

“Okay. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Carmilla eyes you suspiciously. “You mean you’ll just go?” 

“Oh, I won’t do that.” You answer, taking the sheet music and putting it into your bag, rifling through your selection. “I was hired to teach you, and that’s what I’m going to do. But I do this because I want to teach children to love music, and you won’t love it if you’re being forced to do music you’re not interested in.” 

“So, what are we going to do…?” 

“I’m finding some music that you’ll be more interested in–here.” You take it out, placing it on the piano. “See this? It’s called ‘I Got Rhythm.’ It’s the first thing I taught my daughter and she absolutely loves it. Maybe you will.” 

“How old is your daughter?”” 

“Four.” 

“I’m not four!” 

“I’ll be happy to tell your mother that you weren’t able to learn something my four year old plays, then.” 

Carmilla glares at you for a moment. “Fine.” 

“Good! I promise, it’s fun. Now, look. You want to keep your hands like this.” You show her. “Now, this is a song by a composer named Gershwin. Have you heard of George Gershwin, Carmilla?” 

“No.” 

“Well, he wrote this song called, ‘I Got Rhythm.’ Let me play it for you, really slowly.” 

As you play it, slowly, you sing softly to yourself. It’s a force of habit. “I’ve got rhythm…I’ve got music…I’ve got my man, who can I for anything more?” You stop and look at her. “Now, your mother told me that you already know how to play, so why don’t you try it? Can you read sheet music?” 

“A little bit?” 

“Try it, then.” 

She stares at the paper, concentrating hard, her little fingers settling on the piano keys. She picks her way through the song and, like you, stars singing it softly. 

“I’ve got rhythm…I’ve got music…I’ve got my man, who can ask for anything more?” She looks at you. “That was right, wasn’t it?” 

You look at her. 

“Mrs. Summers?” 

“…Carmilla, have you ever had voice training?” 

“I’ve done some for opera. I hated it” 

“You have a very nice tone.” 

She blinks, surprised, before running a hand through her hair again. “Um, thanks?” 

You nod to yourself. “…Would you mind doing me a favor?” 

“Depends.” 

“I just want you to do a scale for me.” 

Carmilla places her hands in her lap, pushing on her thighs. “I guess I can?” 

“Good. Now, doe, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, doe…just repeat that when I play the keys again, okay, Carmilla?” 

She tilts her head and copies you. Perfect pitch. You can’t believe how good she is for an eight year old girl. 

“Do you like singing?” You ask casually. 

“Not the way my mom makes me.She tries to make me sing in Italian. It’s so stupid, I don’t even know what I’m saying.” She wrinkles her nose. You smile. 

“Hey, what if I made you a deal?” You ask. Carmilla doesn’t say ‘no’, which you take to be a yes. “You know I’m a vocal teacher too, right? I can teach you to sing, if you want. But with songs you would like. They’ll even be in english. But only if you learn some Mozart pieces.” 

Carmilla doesn’t look convinced. 

“Your mother wants you to learn them, I’ll need to teach you some if you want the vocal lessons.” 

Carmilla’s mouth quirks to the side. She looks so serious that you struggle not to laugh at it. Suddenly, she thrusts a hand at you. 

“Deal.” She answers, “But you better pick good songs.” 

******

You lie and tell Mrs. Karnstein that it’s normal for a child to learn this slowly; in reality you’re only actually using the last ten minutes of class for piano. The rest has been voice training. You’re surprised when Carmilla skips over all of the usual selections you bring for young girls–mostly Disney songs for beginners–and jumps straight into the musical theatre pieces. 

“Carmilla, you are eight, I don’t think your voice is ready for Light in the Piazza.” 

I’m ready, Mrs. Summers, please? My mom is going to be back in, like, ten minutes. I want to try.” 

“Oh, she is, isn’t she? What does she do every Wednesday for an hour anyway…?” 

“Marriage counseling,” Carmilla answers. 

She doesn’t sit at the piano with you anymore; there’s a couch next to it that she sits on for the lessons, and you turn to look at her. “Carmilla, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to voice that out loud–” 

Carmilla shrugs. “I dunno, it’s not a big deal. Lots of parents do that.” 

You realize that you’ve never actually seen her father. 

“Well…I suppose it’s good that your mom and dad are working on being a family again.” 

“Mom says all they do is argue ‘cause my dad’s a ‘lazy irresponsible bum’, but I guess it’s better than when they were yelling in the house all the time.” 

Your heart aches. You imagine what kind of turmoil it would take for Laura to speak so casually about a broken home, vicious fighting, you calling Charles a bum. She’d break before she’d be numb to it. 

You can’t help it–you reach forward and run a hand through her hair. “You are such a brave little girl, Carmilla. I’m sure your mom and dad are really, really proud of how you’re handling things. And I’m proud of you, too.” 

She doesn’t answer; a blush crosses her face and she looks down and mumbles something incoherent. You withdraw your hand and assume it’s a thanks. 

“Let’s placate your mom and learn a few lines of Ode to Joy, okay?” 

Mrs. Karnstein walks in ten minutes later. Carmilla obediently walks up to her, squinting her eyes shut tight as Mrs. Karnstein absently pats her on the head like a dog. 

“Maman, I learned more of Ode to Joy today!” 

“That’s wonderful, dear. Mrs. Summers, here’s your payment for this week and next. I stopped at the bank.” 

You get up and almost fall back down as you are overcome with a rush of dizziness. You have to steady yourself on the piano. 

Wow, that was unpleasant. I’m fine. Sorry.” You regain your composure and accept the money. Mrs. Karnstein walks in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Carmilla, I’ll see you next week, I promise I’ll bring some new–” You’re stopped by a bone crushing hug. 

“Thank you for what you said,” you hear, muffled into your sweater. You smile and return the hug. 

“You deserve to hear it, honey. But my daughter is going to be upset if I’m late picking her up.” 

She lets you go. You pick Laura up, make her dinner. You do some voice lessons for her–she’s only four, they’re really just Disney sing alongs–before tucking her into bed and drawing a bath for yourself. 

Your husband is the one who notices the bruises when he walks in on you changing into another shirt, large, purple ones from the hug you’d been given that afternoon. 

That wasn’t normal. 

******

You should really be home, should really be preparing for what’s next, but you can’t. This is something you need to do, anyway, and it takes your mind off the fact that you have a four year old playing in kindergarten right now. One who you’ll have to sit down with, later, and explain to her something a toddler couldn’t understand and shouldn’t have to understand. 

You knock on the door. Mrs. Karnstein answers. 

“…Good afternoon, Mrs. Summers–” 

“Mrs. Karnstein, I am sorry that this is so sudden, but I have to terminate our contract.” 

You speak with her in hushed tones for the next few minutes. Mrs. Karnstein, to her credit, is understanding; and who wouldn’t be? She even lets you keep the advance she had given you. 

“You’ll need it more than I do. What would you like me to tell Carmilla?” 

You take a breath. “I’d like to see her. And I think we need to talk about her.” As you walk in, you see Carmilla, kicking her feet on the armchair. Mrs. Karnstein gives her a look. She stops. 

“Mrs. Summers, hi.” 

“Mrs. Karnstein, I need to tell you something.” You sit next to Carmilla. “Mrs. Karnstein, I have been giving your daughter vocal lessons for the past few months. Specifically for musical theatre. She said you wouldn’t approve, but I continued teaching her. Your daughter has a gift, Mrs. Karnstein, one that I have never seen in someone so young–and that was even before she started getting training. I can’t leave without at least trying to convince you that she needs to continue to hone this talent.” 

Carmilla looks terrified, and you have an arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Karnstein narrows her eyes. 

“…If not for your predicament, I would demand a full refund. I would certainly still terminate your employment. Unfortunately, you have beaten me to that. But do not presume to know what is best for someone’s child in the future, Mrs. Summers, just because you have a degree. I trust you will see yourself out.” 

Her high heels make a dull noise as she walks up the carpeted stairs. Carmilla squirms out of your grasp. 

“What do you mean, quitting? And predicament?” 

You look down at your nails and the chips in the white polish. “I…Carmilla, I’m sick. I need to stay home and focus on getting better.” 

Carmilla furrows her brow, appraising you with dark eyes. “That’s adult talk,” she announces. 

“What?” 

“Adult talk. Like when Maman said she and Dad were ‘taking a little break’. You’re really sick, aren’t you?” 

“I–I really shouldn’t–” Your voice catches, and all at once, you’re crying. And it’s strange and rather embarrassing, to have an eight year old, rubbing your back and comforting you, but it happens. 

“I don’t know what to tell my daughter. She’s four. She’s four and she might–might grow up–God, this is so inappropriate to be talking about with one of my students.” 

“Hey, you just quit.” Carmilla answers with a shrug. You force a smile. 

“I guess so.” 

“Look, I’m–my family isn’t exactly–y’know, warm and cuddly. You know Mom. Dad is pretty much the same way.” 

You run a hand down your face, trying to regain some of your composure. 

“And you’re not dead, gosh, calm down. Look, you’re sick, and you need to get better. But you will.” 

Thank you.” 

“And you’re brave,” Carmilla says firmly, “And I’m sure your daughter is going to be really proud of you for fighting so hard. Right?” 

You don’t trust yourself to speak just yet, so you nod. 

“I’m going to miss taking lessons from you, though. And I promise, I will sneak out of the house if I have to, but I am going to keep learning how to sing. And when I get my first Broadway show or something, I’ll send you a Playbill.” 

You smile. “Carmilla, everything I said before was true. You’re gifted, and I know you’ll go far.” You get up. “I’m going to miss you too, honey. You really are a sweet girl.” 

You open the front door and look back at her. “And Carmilla?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Make sure you sign that Playbill.” 

You’re happy that the last image you have of her is her giving you two thumbs up and grinning. 

You wipe a hand on your sleeve, take a deep breathe, shake your head, and walk toward your car. 

It’s time to pick up Laura from kindergarten. 

Cross Your Heart (chapter 14)

Pairing: Oliver/Felicty
Rating: Mature
Summary: Felicity is Oliver’s tutor. High school AU

It’s only homecoming, not prom or anything, so the dance is actually at the school, the gym decorated with streamers and balloons, a DJ set up on one end of the basketball court. Thanks to her mother’s complete inability to operate a camera, combined with Barry’s tendency to never be able to get anywhere on time, the dance is already in full-swing by the time they get there, the gym packed with people, the music blaring and the dance floor full.

Felicity tries not to be too obvious about looking for Oliver, but she can’t help it, craning her neck and peering around the gym for him as soon as she gets inside.

Read chapter 14: AO3 | FF.net

3

So here are three different ways of looking at the relationship dynamics in the office. It’s color coded. yay!

Also, the higher someone is on a chart, the more influence they hold.

| Occupational Hierarchy |

  • This basically outlines who reports to who. 
  • Minseok’s line of work loosely relates to marketing, so I just stuck him under Kris. 
  • Bigger companies traditionally have a structure that’s like CEO->VPs->Director->Middle Manager(s)->Engineers. This is an oversimplification, especially since the last three start to get muddled depending on the company. But since EXMKS only has 12 employees, they don’t have the resources for VPs, Middle Managers, and Engineers, so Junmyeon smashed them together. 
  • Each engineer is in charge of his own project, which is like a particular section of the software program they’re working on. I haven’t thought this through yet, and I’m not sure I ever will because then I would have an idea for a company and I would ditch writing and become a CEO. Yeah. And make money. Yeah.
  • Tao directly reports to Junmyeon, but since he’s not really a project leader, he’s not on the same level as the five engineers.
  • And yes, Kris actually reports to Junmyeon. 

| Social Hierarchy |

  • This is kind of an outline of who listens to who, while attempting to preserve some of the occupational hierarchy format.  
  • Abridged: everyone listens to Kris.
  • Yes, Jongin holds a lot of influence over Kyungsoo. 
  • Baekhyun’s sphere of n00b immunity is basically a way to show that since he’s a new recruit they haven’t vetted him out yet.  They’re just waiting to see how…influential(?) he is, or how much sway/respect he can command over other people. (Also he still respects Junmyeon, so he hasn’t caught onto the real social hierarchy yet).

| Luhan’s modified social hierachy |

  • He’s very confident in his abilities. 
  • Everything below Kris and Luhan is a valid interpretation of the social hierarchy.  
  • One way to look at it is that it’s the projected future hierarchy.
Those Magic Extras: Laura

Takes place literally immediately after the end of chap 19. Ya’ll wanted to know what Carm sang, here you go. 

Hey, tonight this song is dedicated to you, okay?” 

You can’t even react. You can only watch her walk away, share a conversation briefly with Miss Schraeder, and then head up to the microphone with her guitar. 

Since The Incident, and your tentative return to okay terms, you have tried to convince yourself that at least you’re over her now. It feels very much like before you admitted you had a crush on her the first time. 

Which means you know you’re not really over it. 

“…Okay. Hey everyone. So, it’s been almost five years since I played here. I hope I’m not too rusty. Or that anyone here remembers me, because that would be kind of embarrassing.” 

There’s rippled of laughter around the room. Miss Karnstein smiles. 

“My name is Carmilla, and I promised I’d dedicate this first song to a friend. She knows who she is…now, I wasn’t planning on doing this song, so bear with me.” 

She shifts a little in her seat; she’s smiling slightly as she settles her fingers on the strings. As she begins the first few chords you can’t stop the smile as you roll your eyes. Really? Really? 

“What’s that playing on the radio? 

Why do I start swaying to and fro? 

I have never heard that song before, 

But if I don’t hear anymore, 

Still familiar to me. 

Sends a thrill right through me. 

Cause those chords remind me of the night that I first fell in love with you.” 

She looks right at you for a moment as she’s singing, and you grin, tapping the table lightly to the beat. It’s such a goofy song choice you can’t possibly feel all embarrassed and blushy over it. 

You imagine what would happen if your mom was alive. Would you have come out to her? Well, yeah. Mom would have had no problem with it. You know Dad wouldn’t–not in a ‘I’m disowning you kind of way’, anyway–but mostly you’ve been avoiding it because you know he’d try really hard to be supportive and end up making things super awkward. 

But Mom would listen. And treat her the same as if she was talking about a boy. 

Hey, Mom, guess what. There’s this girl I have a crush on, and she sang a song for me. 

Of course, there’s the tiny fact that she’s your teacher, which you’re not so sure about. 

As the bass is soundin’ 

And the drums are poundin’ 

The beating of my broken heart, 

Will climb to first place on the charts.” 

She belts the last few lines, and everyone politely claps. You feel like your face is starting to hurt, you’re smiling so much, but you don’t care. The time you spent not talking to her kind of sucked. 

Like Miss Karnstein said about you–it’s pretty much impossible to stay mad at her for that long. 

Miss Karnstein raises a hand, smiling. “Thanks guys. Thanks. Hopefully my friend will appreciate that one…looks like she does.” 

She raises an eyebrow in your direction with a smirk. Okay, this time you do blush. 

Miss Schraeder looks back at you. At first you get nervous, because she knows, and that has to make her uncomfortable. 

But she doesn’t look uncomfortable. She gives you a smile and a polite wave before looking back at Miss Karnstein. 

So, are you guys trying to be friends now…? Okay. You can try that. You are a mature eighteen year old. Whose crush is sitting at an open mike, with a leather jacket and a guitar and dark eyeliner and…

“Okay, so I’m going to get somewhat serious for a moment, ladies and gents. Ell, this one is for you.” 

She takes another breath, looking somewhat more nervous, before playing again. 

The dawn is breaking. 

A light shining through.  

You’re barely waking, 

And I’m tangled up in you.” 

She has her eyes closed as she sings, smiling softly. The whole scene looks like something from an indie movie or something. As her hair falls off her shoulders as she looks down at the floor, you realize for the first time that Miss Karnstein really is beautiful. You already knew she was attractive, you already knew she was sexy, but you’d never seen her singing like this, and it’s beautiful.  

It also kind of hurts. Because this song isn’t for you. It’s for Miss Schraeder, whose face you can’t see, but you can see Miss Karnstein’s. And she’s looking right at her when she opens her eyes. 

Even the best fall down sometimes. 

Even the stars refuse to shine. 

Out of the doubt that fills my mind, 

I finally find you and I…” She makes one final, long strum of the chords. “Collide.” 

The crowd claps again. Miss Karnstein thanks the audience again, picking up the guitar and sitting down at the table. Miss Schraeder shifts so you can see the side of her face. She’s beaming, whispering something low in her girlfriend’s ear. Miss Karnstein smiles and puts an arm around her. 

You can’t take this anymore. You get up. 

“Hey, Laura!” Miss Karnstein waves at you. You stop. “What’d you think of the song?” 

“Oh. It was great, Miss Karnstein. Thank you. And, uh, thanks for…um, I mean, hi, Miss Schraeder.” 

“Laura, hi,” she answers, “You ready for tech week?” 

“Easy tech week, bad show,” you answer, “So, no. That’s what Mrs. Spielsdorf always said.” 

Miss Schraeder laughs. “Oh my God, of course I remember that. Remember, Carmilla?” 

“You know what I remember? The first year I did tech week I got my foot caught in one of the auditorium folding seats. 

Miss Schraeder laughs and presses a kiss to the side of her. 

They’re cute, you admit. 

You guess that’s the first stop of getting over it. 

“And, Laura, hey,” Miss Karnstein grabs your arm, “The song make you feel better? You know…about…tech week.” 

Mom’s birthday. 

“Yeah. A little.” 

“Good. You know, I’ll do it for you anytime. I know tech week has to be really stressful.” 

“You definitely helped.” 

“Have a good night.” 

“You too.” 

So, getting over her. Never mind. 

5 sentence fic

Regina and Emma – #15 Silence  (requested by delirious-comfort)

It’s the quiet that is slowly breaking Regina.

She’s used to solitude, has been lonely most of her life. But usually it was the feeling of being alone in a crowd, people walking around her but not actually seeing her. But since they returned to this world, sans memories, with Snow’s pregnancy the only real indication of time passing, she has been spending less and less time with the Charmings and more of it alone, in an empty house that used to be filled with her son’s laughter. (And yelling. And anger. And if she could have him back she doesn’t care, she’d go through it all again just to see him.)

For the hundredth time (thousandth? She lost count a long time ago) her memory drifts back to Maleficent. Needles and potions and ‘takes the edge off,’ and she’s never been one to medicate away her pain with anything stronger than alcohol but the temptation to do so is terrifying in it’s own right.

It’s late, darkness has fallen outside and the rain which had fallen earlier has stopped. The sound of an old engine doesn’t register as more than an annoyance. It’s probably just the neighbor  (Hudson? Hansen? Something like that, anyway, a grumpy old guy with dark hair and a gruff attitude) playing with those old classic cars of his again.

The doorbell rings. Regina nearly jumps out of her skin.

She’s mentally calculating the odds that it’s a) Snow here to drive her nuts, or b) another towns person with a bone to pick as she walks down the stairs. When she opens the door, she freezes.

“Hi,” says Emma. She’s wearing a skirt, not skin tight jeans, and there’s something different about her eyes, softer, but the blonde curls and red leather are achingly familiar. “What do you know about memory potions?”