I'm pretty, witty and gay.

fancyfanstuff:

cinnonym:

So, since I’ve never written wishverse before I was extra excited about this - and started way too early in the timeline, oops. Which led me to turn this into a bigger something, divided into several chapters that I’ll post over time. The first comes today, you might have to wait a tad for the next (since I’m super busy working on my supernova fic) but I promise it will come eventually! That said, have fun with this one and let me know if you like the style or if there’s anything you’d like me to change for the next parts. (Especially you, Q, cause this one’s for you!) Hope you enjoy reading:

Emma remembers, and it’s like a film thawing away from her eyes; the green that has been dull and foreign before returning to its usual vibrant variety of nuances, glittering even in the dim shade of the castle, regarding Regina with warmth again, void of the princess’s fear.

Emma remembers, and her tears dry out, the glistening drops there and then gone, replaced by the usual frown as a hand - so pale, so soft, so unlike the rough fingers that Regina dreams of at night - rises to brush away every trace of weakness.

Emma remembers and her spine straightens, unfurls from its bent position on the floor into the proud posture of a woman who has faced much and survived more; her cape adjusting accordingly, somehow morphing from the fur coat of a spoilt princess into the armour of a warrior.

Emma remembers and everything about her changes, soft and amicable becoming sharp-edged and broken, and for a second Regina feels bad about the bottomless relief she’s feeling. Emma is an innocent, collateral damage, who has been forged into a weapon in the name of hope. It’s been Regina’s curse who called for a saviour, all those years ago and now again, even in this fake reality, even in this blueprint of what could have been. And Regina wonders, what if the Evil Queen was right? What if this, the alternate timeline of the Wishverse, as Regina’s calling it in her mind, is what Emma wants, deserves, misses, now that Regina’s burst the bubble? Regina wonders, and she feels sorry, for the cruel ways of fate, for the burden Emma has to carry. And yet…

And yet Regina can’t regret waking her up, can’t do anything except whisper “Emma?” in a voice that is too soft, too telling of her feelings, quivering like her heart does at the sight of the saviour. They say that people don’t appreciate what they have until they lose it, and Regina still feels that loss, the crushing realization that Emma is gone resounding in her mind, thinning out her filter with every echo.

But Emma doesn’t notice, too occupied with looking around her, taking in the floor tiles and the stone walls and the arching windows but not Regina, never Regina. And still her magic stopped the sword, and Regina cannot unsee this moment, this pure terror on Emma’s face when Henry turned on Regina.

“You saved me,” she therefore says helplessly, questioningly, her feet keeping her in place as her heart is aching to tug her forward, to push her towards Emma, to touch her shoulder and say As will I save you. Instead, she can’t move, waits, heart pounding, for Emma to speak, to act, to look up.

She does, eventually, drying her cheeks with a determined frown etched into soft skin, and Regina doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’s already thinking of a way home. Home to a grim future and home to a pirate and home to her death sentence and Regina’s beginning to feel queasy in a way that hasn’t to do with the unfamiliar press of her corset.

Emma talks about Henry, their son, frozen in his crouch, and Regina knows this must be hard on her, a thousand memories in her mind by now, overlapping fractures of time, no Henry and New York Henry and Prince Henry all mingled together, two fake realities and one real, the worst one real.

So it’s not like she’s surprised that Emma’s magic awakened to save him. It was stupid of Regina to assume anything else and she knows it, still her stomach plummets and she has to work hard to keep the small smile in place as she watches Emma. Crimson makes her feel strong, apparently, the lipstick like warpaint in a world where the leather jacket doesn’t exist. It’s not quite fair, she thinks, the way she notices things about Emma, when all the blonde gives are false hopes, encouragement in the form of a smile and a murmured “Thank you” that Regina knows is a sincere one. Because she notices things. And then, just when she smiles in return, ventures to talk -

“Although that was very dark.”

And Regina falters, crumbles because Emma fails to see the bigger picture, the reason behind Regina’s actions. But she forces back her disappointment, manages a somewhat acceptable expression for Emma, who isn’t even looking, busy plucking the sword out of the air where she froze it.

And it’s strange because just like that, Regina has forgiven Emma’s ignorance. She can’t blame the blonde for her blindness when there is more to be considered, more to occupy her thoughts, their thoughts. A sword that is prophesied to kill her for example; entwined with Emma’s fate it looks strangely right, its handle adapted to her grip, its silvery blade reflecting her face. Princess and Saviour and Alive and Dead, Emma is it all at once, and Regina breathes a shuddering sigh at the view.

Emma’s face, however, is flat as she turns and looks at Regina again. “Let’s go stop the real Evil Queen,” she says, and Regina has no choice but to nod, stunned speechless by the one woman she was never meant to fall for.

Part 2… I know it’s been a while - oops - but now the supernova is done, I’ll definitely work on this more regularly. Before you ask, no, I haven’t forgotten about the original prompt although it might seem that way, there’s more to come! And yes, again, this is mainly for you, Q, so if there’s anything you want me to change/include later on, let me know. As for now, I hope you enjoy this:

They poof to the lake where Rumplestiltskin will await them, bean and giggle at the ready. Emma’s hand is at Regina’s arm, the touch so light it’s barely there, yet it ignites a fire beneath Regina’s skin, making her magic billow and swirl in a spiral of dependence and love and nerves and desire and it throws Regina off guard, so much so that she slips when they arrive.

One stone scrapes against another and before she knows it, she has lost her balance and only Emma’s grip, now firm and still so tempting, prevents her from falling over. She has discarded of her Evil Queen costume, the dress and long ponytail shed like a skin that doesn’t fit her anymore, and now her short hair brushes against her jaw as she staggers. If Regina closed her eyes she could imagine that it’s Emma’s fingers ghosting across her skin but Regina doesn’t close her eyes. No, she watches Emma, the way her facial muscles flex as she pulls up her lip in a sort of half-grin, then relax as the smile drops off her face just as quickly, her eyes disappearing behind thick lashes as she casts them down, the way she looks almost ashamed although she’s only glanced at Regina.

“Easy there,” she murmurs, her fingers falling away from Regina’s arm, and although her words are all Saviour, dregs of the Princess still cling to the tone, her voice demure and shy, and Regina takes a double-take but the echo has already faded, replaced by Emma’s tough smile and her crackling energy. Regina frowns but only inwardly, struggling to keep her face devoid of judgement. She needn’t have bothered, Emma’s eyes just flicking over her, their focus on the next step and the next and slowly they make their way around the lake, Regina trailing after Emma and Queens don’t trail but neither do they succumb to emotions so Regina is pretty sure she has lost across the board here.

Emma starts talking after a while, casually, as if she’s merely acknowledging the nice view, but her words carry meaning beyond her tone. She is almost philosophical, honest in a way that is new from her, and Regina can’t help but look at her, and marvel about how much has changed between them. Even if Emma might never be aware of the secret feelings Regina harbours for her, hidden away under layers and layers of denial and fear, the saviour still perceives their relationship as close enough that she trusts Regina. It is enough, Regina tells herself, it has to be enough.

But who’s she lying to these days; the frown appears on her brow even though Emma speaks about pain with a sort of wistfulness that makes it clear that she doesn’t miss her Princess self, the other version of her, the carefree one, that Regina has taken from her. In a way, it’s more sincere an admission than the one in the castle, the one of “very dark,” that sent Regina into desperation for a split second, but even now, Regina’s brow furrows, because no matter what she tells herself, it isn’t enough. Emma’s trust isn’t as sweet as it used to be, not when she can’t even bear to look at Regina, not when some part of Regina, the one that has been stirred awake by the shock moment of she’s gone, wants more, craves more, needs more.

It’s a weak part yet, new-born and helpless in the face of long practiced self control, still Regina averts her eyes, hoping it might stop the truth from spilling out when she speaks.

“Singing Princess Emma isn’t my favourite model,” she says, and she’s trying so hard to make it sound like one of those teasing jokes Emma and she use to play on another, that it comes out way too sincere. Which, of course, makes Emma look up sharply, because “with you, Regina, I always know when you’re lying” and “that makes us unique, or maybe even special” and Regina watches out of the corner of her eyes how crimson lips press into a thin line. She braces herself for the inevitable question, swallows when Emma takes a deep breath - but nothing comes.

Instead Emma says “I didn’t sing,” jumps into meaningless banter instead of the serious conversation Regina was preparing for, and she is almost disappointed, almost angry beneath the relief. Maybe it would have been easier to tackle the issue between them, would have been kinder than the extraordinary ignorance Emma seems to be displaying today. It rattles Regina more than usually, worn out as her sense of reason and her patience are by the trials of the last days, the taxing danger of the real Evil Queen, the realm-hopping, the lack of sleep, the fear for Emma.

So yes, maybe Regina’s tone is a bit snappy when she admits to have asked the Dark One for help, maybe she tries to provoke Emma on purpose, shrugging as if it weren’t a big deal, and yes, maybe she even deserves the scandalized “Regina” she gets in return.

Emma is outraged like only Emma can be, with a trace of wonder and a dash of incomprehension as to why people risk anything for her sake. It’s almost enough to make Regina’s annoyance disperse again because, she reminds herself, if Emma doesn’t even believe a friend would save her at any cost, then how could she understand the concept of love?

And then Emma adds: “What if he’s, like, razing villages or something?” and Regina can’t help but smile, a surge of affection washing over her at the sight of Emma’s saviour-instinct, applying even for fictional people, made of thin air impregnated by a wish. It is so unmistakably Emma that for a split second, Regina’s heart clenches, her self control crumbles, and she is, stupidly, nerve-wreckingly, giddily, overcome by the urge to kiss Emma…

I am overcome by the urge to reblog this. I will not suppress this urge.