A prompt from @optomisticgirl and for @ive-always-been-a-pirate, on the anniversary of her birth (a day early). If you’ve seen Carrie Pilby or read the book, you’ll get what inspired this scene. A slight twist, though, cause there’s no way it would’ve gone that way with Killian and Emma.
James Dean photographed by Roy Schatt, 1954. (via)
“I knew James Dean… as a friend and as a student. He was a disrupter of norms, a bender of rules, a disquieter of calm. Through these photographs I hope to transmit a glimpse of his most insistent, and perhaps eternal, presence.” — Roy Schatt
Summary: A S6 Canon divergence. There’s an irony, she supposes, that something created to pull one into eternal sleep, is now a barrier to any sleep. Her body fights against the maddening exhaustion. She’s just so tired, so fucking tired and she can’t keep going like this.
It made sense, really. After Killian’s explanation that the Sandman is a character in her dream and therefore could only be defeated from within it. They were still struggling, though, with questions of how and why, especially because the sandman’s powers blurred the line between reality and hallucination.
(Especially because the information came from a page randomly appearing in a book.)
Someone was helping them, or relenting in their torture to give Emma a leg up for once. Although, there was always the creeping fear that the intel was false, an answer that leads them into a trap. Her gut says it isn’t, to trust that this is real, but–
“It’s a sleeping curse.” Regina chimes in. They’re all sitting around Emma’s living room - her parents and baby brother, Regina, Henry, Violet, and Killian. Emma’s never had her house as a meeting place to plan their operations before. Even throughout this, they met at Granny’s, or the library, the loft, or the station. It’s a weird feeling, having a home she can share like this. She thinks she wouldn’t mind it if she didn’t feel like she belonged in an episode of The Walking Dead, her brain fried and body slug from sleep deprivation and nightmares that leave her injured without physical proof. “Not like the one I cast. This one’s specific to the sandman. There’s different dream realms too.”
“So we find how to get to the sandman’s dream realm and what? Diplomatically ask him to stop torturing my daughter?” Charming asks.
“Not exactly. See, the realm is specific to Emma and what haunts her. The Sandman is powerful; he can play on the problems in your subconscious. Originally, this was used for good, to give people good dreams and hope. There’s only one other recorded case of a sandman, or sandwoman, using their powers for evil.” Regina pauses, making sure she has her audience’s full attention. “I think I figured out how to get to him though.”
Killian frowns at his Swan’s protest. “Emma, love. Someone has to go.”
“No one is going through this, but me. I can fix it. I can defeat him.”
“No offense, Emma, but you’ve had your chance to fix it and you haven’t. You need our help. You can’t do this alone.” Regina says.
“And what happens if one of you gets hurt or killed in this dream realm? I can’t let you do this. You’re not under the curse. It could hurt you beyond what it does to me.” Poorly veiled panic rises in her voice, the caring words escaping harsh as the pieces of Regina’s plan click. Nightly, she’s suffered the pain of what it feels like to almost die, floating on a line so close she thought she had more than once. A line sewn with pain and adrenaline, regrets, and the overwhelming sensation of burning, sharp and aching in its pursuit to torment her. There were too many unknowns, anyway.
Her eyes find Killian’s, fierce determination masking their brooding anger, and she knows that he will be the one to go under. Unwelcome flashbacks of his demise reappear, the real version and that of her dream; she’s seen him in this realm before and she longs to never experience it again. True love’s kiss has yet to break the Sandman’s grip. What if it’s the same for him? If he doesn’t wake up, or suffers the same fate as she…No. This is supposed to be her job - she’s the savior. They can’t come running to her rescue because she’s too damn weak to do what she was made for. “No. Please, Killian.”
“Swan, you would do the same. Watching you suffer has been the hardest thing I’ve had to face. I’m going under the sleeping curse and you’re going to wake me. And do you know why you’re going to wake me?”
She smiles at him then, lashes fluttering up to meet the blue of his eyes, no longer hooded in anger, but shining with something lighter, happier. “Because we’re true love.”
“Aye. That we are. And true love is the most powerful magic of all.”
Regina pulls a strand of Emma’s hair without warning - earning the Queen a grumbled What the hell - that she laces through one of Mary Margaret’s sewing needles. “I need this to get Hook there. This and the sand that’s in your eyes when you wake up. When you fall asleep, Hook will gather the sand and tether it to this needle. Once he pricks himself with it, he should appear in your dream.”
So they wait. Emma lays her head on the cushion of the couch, face turned away from her expectant audience. They’re hovering, consuming oxygen and producing a sweltering heat. A week ago, she’d have been able to easily fall into sleep’s embrace, but now…
Now her heartbeat quickens, smothering her in doubts and fears, while they watch on.
Thomas being a jerk to James while Thomas keeps getting flustered during it
Thomas adjusted his black leather jacket, what? He was cliche, and he didn’t give a damn. He sat against a tree in the courtyard,a cigarette inbetween his lips, what it wasn’t like he was dumb enough to get high on school grounds. He took a drag, smoke escaping his lips as he blew out, raising an eyebrow when he saw James Madison walking up to him a nervous expression on his face. As usual he was in some pastel sweater and torn up jeans, his hair perfect and a lollipop in his lips.
“Y-you know, smoking is a horrible habit.” He stammered out, his eyes on the ground and smirking at James, suddenly looping his fingers in the belt loop, pulling him towards him, the boy stumbling, Thomas standing up so he collided with his body. Looking down at the smaller man, he blew a ring of smoke in his face, smirking when he began to cough. But then he kept coughing and Thomas’ eyes widened.
“Fuck, are you okay?” He quickly bent down, checking the boy over, freezing when the coughing turned to laughter and James stepped away.
“I knew you had a heart.” He beamed and Thomas’ eyes narrowed, stepping forward, freezing when James went on his tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“Have a nice day!” He called over his shoulder, waving goodbye. Thomas watched him go, quite fascinated with the sway of his hips.
a glowing, grinning face illuminated by stage lights at a favorite band’s concert– hands flapping out of rhythm to the songs– feet tapping out perfect time.
a closed mouth, a blank face, a cold stare– nothing is wrong. everything is just right. the light looks beautiful filtering through the leaves in the trees, it’s quiet, it’s warm.
a bookshelf full of finished books, all of one series. the spines on all of them are well-worn, the pages are yellow and stained and smell like home, like happiness. they are loved, and loved again, and loved again, each time by the same owner, each time in a deeper way.
a single song on repeat, each time the beat moves in a different way, each time the lyrics mean something new, each time the voice singing along gets louder.
a familiar sweater with torn up sleeves inching over the wrist, pilling lining, faded words over bright color. it’s well past it’s prime, but the thread stays bound together.
Big sweaters, worn out sweaters, patched up sweaters, one sweater that he grew out of four years ago but now uses as a pillowcase
Sirius decides one year that it’ll be hilarious to get Remus an ugly Christmas sweater; he buys one with reindeer and snowflakes at a Muggle shop and enchants it to make the reindeer dance and the snowflakes spell out dirty words.
He, James, and Peter figure Remus will just laugh and shove it in the bottom of his trunk when he unwraps it, never to be seen again.
Remus does not take the sweater off for three days.
After that, it joins in the rotation of all his regular sweaters, even well into February.
The Marauders do a sort of Secret Santa for Valentines trying to get each other the most ridiculous presents they can okay FIGHT ME
Anyways Peter pulls Remus’ name
And what do you buy Remus for Valentines?
Remus, who they know not to buy anything too expensive for because he’ll feel bad he can’t reciprocate, even if he hides it
Remus, who already has a seemingly unending stash of candy under his bed and really doesn’t need any more
Remus, who is still wearing that stupid Christmas sweater it is bloody February
So obviously he gets Remus a neon pink sweater with heart-shaped sequins sewn on along the sleeves and cupids in diapers knitted onto the front
Remus pulls it on immediately and does not understand why he gets weird looks when he wears it
Everyone must be jealous
(What does “poof” mean anyways, and why did James hex someone for calling Remus that?)
Come his birthday, he is gifted with four of the ugliest sweaters ever to have been created
Horrifying mixtures of colors and patterns and are that supposed to be kittens?
There’s one each from James, Peter, and Sirius, and one that the Marauders took turns knitting over the past few weeks
Remus wears it proudly and perfects his Cooling Charm so that he can keep wearing them as it gets warmer outside
But after that it becomes a tradition; every chance they get, and sometimes for no reason whatsoever, the Marauders will buy him ugly sweaters
One summer James and Sirius find a tea cozy with little arms like a sweater and send it to Remus, who doesn’t have a tea pot but loves it anyways
It gets to the point where they only send him ugly sweaters for no reason, but on his birthday and Christmas they actually get him nice ones
Wool and something made of soft, chunky yarn, and one navy blue cashmere sweater from Sirius that’s been enchanted to show whatever constellations are in the sky at all times
Remus actually wears this one the least, because he’s afraid of something happening to it; it becomes his comforting, night-in-only sweater, and is the only one that no one else is allowed to borrow
Sirius loves to hold Remus when he’s wearing the stupid thing, all soft and bundled up in bed with him, Sirius’ head on Remus’ chest and Remus admonishing him not to drool on his nice jumper
Remus loves this sweater the best, both because it’s his nicest, most comfortable, and because Sirius gave it to him
He would rather not think of the implications of that just now
But as the years go by and the sweaters get torn and thrown out or given away to a stranger on a cold day, Remus keeps that one
Even years later, when Sirius is in Azkaban and everyone else is dead and Remus has burned every gift Sirius ever gave him, tossed them all in a great blazing fire in the middle of the night, he can’t bear to get rid of this one
He still has it, still holds it sometimes and traces the stars that are starting to fade, almost twenty years after they were first spelled on in the first place
okay this was supposed to be a cute thing about Remus loving ugly sweaters and haha i’m crying whatever
a lot of cuddles,
movie nights, eskimo kisses,
actually any types of kisses,
wearing his large shirts and torn sweaters,
: “babe, i’m hungry.” : : “seth, you just ate.” :
becoming close friends w/ both the cullens + wolf pack ,
lazy days & him always being over protective.