She/they Bisexual Age 25 âĄď¸ đşđ¸ ×˘Öˇ× ×ִ׊ְ×רָ×Öľ× ×Öˇ× đŽđą Free Palestine from Hamas Bipolar 2 Proud service dog handler 𦮠Thomas Sanders once called me crafty. And he is very right. On the autism spectrum. Iâm a fangirl whoâs got an imagination beyond the average human. Minors, please be cautious while visiting this blog. CW+ TW for mentions of disordered eating/ ARFID. Currently working to improve my eating habits through hypnotherapy and exposure therapy! đ My second blog is probably most safe for no cautious browsing since itâs an art blog. Second blog: multifander-is-very-crafty Writing: Multifanderwrites
I am, yes. Iâm autistic, and I have really bad anxiety. I also have trichotillomania (compulsive hair pulling), which the dog will help me with. Sheâll also help me whenever Iâm overstimulated or having a panic attack by doing deep pressure therapy.
Anyway, this is Woodie, which is short for Woodstock. She was born on November 17th, 2024. I was born on October 17th, 2000. Our birthdays are one month apart! If that doesnât scream âmeant for each otherâ, I donât know what does! đ
It should be noted that Iâm not an expert on service animals, so Iâll provide some resources here for anyone who might be interested.
Overview of the ADAâs explanation of what businesses and governments must do to make sure that they do not discriminate against people who u
Psychiatric service dogs help those with mental or emotional disabilities. They perform complex tasks that assist them with everyday life.
Hey all, while we're busy normalizing women with hairy legs, hairy armpits and bushy pubes, let's also normalize women with hairy upper lips, hairy chins, hairy side burns, hairy chests, and all the other places where women are supposedly magically hair-free.
If you ever find yourself unironically saying âthe Jews are weaponizing the holocaustâ I think you have some self reflection to do. To put it mildly.
The quote used on this poster is by Emma Lazarus, from a series of letters she wrote called âEpistle to the Hebrewsâ in the American Hebrew, a Jewish journal. This quote is from 1883. Lazarus, a Sephardic-American Jew, was an advocate for womenâs and Jewish rights and liberation. She is considered a leading âproto-Zionistâ and a prolific poet and thinker in Jewish history.
She wrote this quote referring to the plight of Ashkenazi Jews in Europe during the pogroms. The increase of Jewish refugees and immigrants to America during this time would cause anti-immigration legislation targeting Jews. This was her calling on other American Jews to feel solidarity, to have awareness, and to help the Jews in Europe escape from violent persecution.
Here is the full letter it was included in:
âIn defiance of the hostile construction that may be put upon my words, I do not hesitate to say that our national defect is that we are not "tribal" enough; we have not sufficient solidarity to perceive that when the life and property of a Jew in the uttermost provinces of the Caucuses are attacked, the dignity of a Jew in free America is humiliated. We who are prosperous and independent have not sufficient homogeneity to champion on the ground of a common creed, common stock, a common history, a common heritage of misfortune, the rights of the lowest and poorest Jew-peddler who flees, for life and liberty of thought, from Slavonic mobs. Until we are all free, we are none of us free. But lest we should justify the taunts of our opponents, lest we should become "tribal" and narrow and Judaic rather than humane and cosmopolitan like the anti-Semites of Germany and Jew-baiters of Russia, we ignore and repudiate our unhappy brethren as having no part or share in their misfortunes- until the cup of anguish is held also to our own lips.â
There is no mention of Jewish people on this poster despite the fact you mention itâs an edit of one from ww2. I do not think I should have to explain why Jews are relevant to ww2.
If youâre going to exclude us, dont use a quote written by, for, and about us.
- 21 different flags for Queer identities, plus one straight ally flag. And then also Palestine, where being gay is at best seen as deeply taboo and at worst is legally punishable by public mob lynchings
- Anarcho-communists, but also just anarchists. You know, to replace the United Nations from the original poster
- Ukraine, sure, thatâs great. But itâs weird that the Ukrainian flag doesnât replace the originalâs USSR flag, it replaces the British Raj. Also thereâs still a communist flag in the lineup and Iâm not sure the Ukrainians feel amazing about that
- Antifacists, Black Lives Matter, sure, all good, and finally,
- Luigi Mangione. Just⌠that one guy.
So this new solidarity movement is 75% Queer alliance, 10% anarcho-communists, 3% black people, 3% each of two countries whose geopolitical interests are not aligned, 3% anti-fascists and 3% one man who is in jail.
I just. I dunno I figure Iâd want some workerâs rights flags in there. Some interfaith solidarity maybe. Or more than one single flag for all the worldâs non-white people. If itâs just Queers and Anarchists I donât think weâre ever gonna be free because those those fuckers literally wonât stop infighting to save their lives
Yeah, the minute I saw *the* flag, I knew it was going to be excluding all the âbadâ Jews. Fucking hell, theyâre really speed running the lead up to the Shoah, arenât they? đ¤Śââď¸
Women who you don't like, or you don't politically align with, or who are horrible people, still have the right to see their rapists and abusers face justice and to have their voices heard.
I wish all the âreligion is inherently badâ people who go on to describe issues exclusive to Christianity would understand that their idea of Christianity being analogous to all religion is a very glaring sign that they are still steeped in the Christian hegemony they seem to reject so vehemently
I can literally never make a post about black Jews or black and Jewish solidarity without someone coming onto my posts to tell me how antisemitic black people are. Can yâall chill tf out??? These things are nuanced and none of you have been willing to discuss that nuance in a way that acknowledges the reality of antiblack racism in America
Peter Pan x Autistic!Jewish!Reader (Well⌠Technically, Writer) Head Canons Part Eight- Held Hostage Under The Guise of Protection (NSFW)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen
[CW: Bathing in a cove together (not completely naked), vomiting, hickies, dirty talking, goes without saying but massive age gap between the reader and Peter. TW: Body insecurities, Peter being possessive, panic attacks, self harm, serious Stockholm syndrome, discussions about suicide, discussions about the September 11th attacks (this is relevant for the readerâs backstory), discussions about the Second Intifada (relevant to the readerâs best friendâs backstory). I may or may not have put in some Polin and Byler parallels in here. đ DISCLAIMER: I did not lose any relatives or friends in the 9/11/01 attacks. But I have lost a second cousin to terrorism. Point is, I do not intend to offend anyone who has been personally affected by the tragedy. Any reference to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Also, Bold indicates flashbacks; Bold Italic indicates dialogue in flashbacks]
When you wake up, you feel a cold, wet cloth on your forehead. You notice that you are on a cot⌠that doesnât belong to you. And then, you see the familiar ceiling of Peterâs tent above you. But you do not feel safe here. Before you can say anything about it, Peter himself appears in front of you. Upon seeing you, he freezes. But he smiles with relief. What could he possibly be relieved about? âOh, good,â he says softly, âYouâre awake. I thought that would never happen.â
You moan in pain when you try to sit up.
But Peter sits down on his cot next to you, gently hushes you and takes the cloth off your forehead. âItâs alright, my love,â he says softly as he starts to dab your face with it. âYouâve been running a fever for a while, but Iâve been treating it.â Off your pout, he quips, âIâve done a good job taking care of you since your second day in Neverland, havenât I? I know the very first day was difficult- my fault, obviously- but after that⌠I think I improved. Donât you?â
âYou did this to me,â you say, your voice weak.
Immediately, he shakes his head. âY/N, I promise you that I didnât use magic to do anything other than put you to sleep. The fever came all on its own.â And thatâs the truth. Peter was sure youâd wake up normally after the spell wore off. But when you didnât, it scared him. In all honesty, he thought you were going to die.
âYou stole my life from me. I was with my people-â
âDarling, you heard the pipe. Youâre a Lost Girl. You werenât happy back home.â
âBut my family was there-â
âAnd what did they do for you, hm?â
That question makes you pause.
Peter softens now. âDid they do anything to help you, love?â, he asks with deep concern.
âI canât think, Peter. I donât feel good,â you moan.
He sighs and puts the cold cloth aside. Then he moves your hair away from your face as he gently replies, âJust try.â
Youâre very tired and sick⌠but you can remember how frustrated and tired your parents got after having to take care of you during the worst of your depression. You know itâs probably too harsh⌠but your resentment towards them has grown tenfold since the moment you started to receive the intense affection from Peter. âNo,â you tell him flatly.
Tears appear in Peterâs eyes. With every new tragic fact he learns about you, he finds himself further regretting the torture he put you through when you first met. âThey did nothing for you? Nothing?â, he asks as he tries to hold his tears back.
âNothing that counted.â
He looks down at his feet with a deeply disappointed expression. âSo, I was wrong,â he says softly, âYour family doesnât love you.â
You shrug. Obviously, your family does love you⌠but youâve felt very neglected by them. So you kind of agree with Peter here.
Your boyfriend looks back up at you, leans down and kisses your forehead gently before he says, âWell itâs a good thing I love you. More than anyone ever will. And more than anyone ever can.â
You suddenly feel like youâre going to throw up⌠and not because of what you just heard- shockingly, you actually agree with Peter said. No. Youâre ready to barf for real.
Peter acts quickly, conjuring a bucket and gently helping you sit up. âItâs alright, dear girl,â he soothingly tells you as he gives you the bucket, âdo it in here.â
As soon as your mouth is aligned with the inside of the bucket, out comes your vomit.
Peter rubs your back and holds your hair out of the way, ensuring that youâre comforted and clean. âEasy,â he coos softly.
You throw up about three more times before you collapse back onto the pillow in a fit of sobs.
And all the while, he soothes you with gentle and loving words that heâs certain youâve never heard before. Not from your parents⌠or even from anyone. And that simply breaks his heart. He holds your hand in his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. âAlright, princess,â Peter says as soon as your sobbing fades into silent crying. âJust relax now. Iâll take good care of you, just as I have been.â
You glance towards the tentâs exit as you try to consider your next move.
But Peterâs expression hardens when he clocks your glance. He towers over you and firmly pins your shoulders down with his hands, though his grip doesnât hurt. âIf youâre thinking of escaping⌠forget it,â he growls. âOnce youâre back on your feet, youâre not leaving my sight.â
You tremble and whimper, but quickly swallow the scream threatening to come from your throat. What comes out instead is, thankfully, not vomit. âIâd rather go back in the cage.â
âNever gonna happen,â he quickly replies. âYou know, I never shouldâve put you in there. That was a mistake.â With each sentence that comes next, Peter softens more. His voice turns from harsh back to the kind, gentle, loving one that he uses exclusively for you. âI shouldâve brought you here instead. Lay you down on this very cot. And youâd be warm, and youâd feel welcome.â He removes his left hand from your right shoulder and gently runs his knuckles down your cheek. âIt wouldnât fix anything that Iâd done to you when you first arrived in Neverland but⌠at least youâd see that I truly care for you. And that I love you so, so much.â
You shut your eyes and shake your head. Itâs too much, too frightening for you. All at once, the fear you felt on that very first day returns with a vengeance. But no matter how hard you try⌠you canât stop yourself from crying. Even though itâs not Peterâs intention (as far as you know), what heâs doing to you still feels like torture. Whatâs worse is that he knows you so, so well now⌠and he could use that to hold you over.
But truly⌠he just wants to keep you safe. More than that, he wants you to feel loved by him. However, right now⌠he can see that you feel neither of those things. And thatâs his fault. âOh, no. Please donât cry, love,â he begs as he quickly pulls you up and into his arms.
You canât even fight him, youâre so sick. Maybe you donât want to fight him at all? Iâm so tired, you think to yourself.
As your sobs grow stronger, Peter tightens his grip on you. âIâm so sorry. I promise Iâm not trying to frighten you.â When you donât stop crying, he rubs your back and cradles your head beneath his chin, soothingly hushing you. Eventually, your cries do cease⌠but Peter is certain that the fear is lingering on. He pulls back and cups your cheeks in his hands as he tells you, âYou are safe, and youâll always be safe here. I know you donât feel that way right now, Y/N, but in time you will.â
You sniffle and shut your eyes, feeling your world falling apart for the umpteenth time since you got to this island.
Peter shakes his head and kisses your cheek softly before saying, âLook at me, sweet girl.â When you open your eyes, he gently takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he asks, âBefore that conversation at Skull Rock, did you feel safe with me?â
âMostly,â you reply with a whimper.
He smiles. âGood,â he says as he lets go of your chin. He clears his throat before he conjures up an empty bowl and hands it to you. âYou should really get some fluids in your body now,â he tells you softly. âHow about some soup, hm?â
You shake your head. âI donât like soup.â
Peter sighs and moves your hair over your shoulder to play with it. âY/N, I need you to get better,â he replies sadly. âI know you think I donât care about you⌠but I wonât let you stay ill.â
âThen make me better with magic.â
He shakes his head. âIâm not using magic on you anymore. Itâs wrong,â he says.
You roll your eyes. âYouâre just now realizing that?â
Peter ignores this and continues with, âI need to take care of you the right way. Magic is just an easy fix. And besides⌠maybe thisâll help you trust me more.â
You shake your head again. âI canât trust you ever again.â You avert his gaze as you add, âYouâre so old⌠and so evil.â
While thatâs true- being old and evil, that is- it still hurts to hear⌠especially from you. Regardless, he attempts to reassure you. âOh, princess. Of course you can trust me again. I know Iâm old⌠and evil⌠but I do truly care for you and love you.â After Peter kisses your cheek, he sighs and says, âYou really need soup. So⌠tell me what youâd want to have in the soup, and Iâll make it for you.â
âIâm not eating anything that you give me,â you force out.
He simply shrugs and replies, âThen Iâll force feed it to you. And I highly doubt you want that.â Those words make your face fall⌠which immediately tells Peter that what he said was way too harsh. Either that, or youâve given up on fighting to escape. As happy as the prospect makes him⌠heâd rather not break you to get that. And then⌠you start to shed tears in silence. âY/N, my sweet girl, I just want to take good care of you. Thatâs all,â he tells you softly.
You donât respond. You canât. Thereâs nothing you could say now. You feel so, so broken now. Perhaps itâs all your fault?
He sighs and holds your cheek, trying his hardest not to cry because seeing you like this is just too much to bear. âPlease just tell me what youâd like in your soup?â, he begs softly.
You sniffle and respond with one word: âChicken.â
Peter smiles and kisses your forehead. âAlright then,â he whispers softly. He lifts up the empty bowl and says, âYou know what to do.â
And you do. Closing your eyes, you picture a bowl of chicken soup, with no vegetables of course. Just the chicken and the broth.
After a few moments, the smell of chicken invades your nostrils. It gets stronger and at a certain point, you swear you feel heat coming from the source of the smell. Sure enough, when you open your eyes⌠you see Peter holding the spoon up to your mouth with broth in it. He sees your hesitation and gently encourages you with, âGo on.â
Slowly, you take the spoon and start eating the soup. âThank you,â you tell him softly when he gives you the bowl.
Peter simply nods and smiles. He watches you eat your soup quietly, wanting to make sure that you donât stop. Not unless you absolutely canât eat any more.
You feel a lot of pressure right now. But you eat as much as you can to appease him. It certainly doesnât help that heâs keeping his eyes on you with a soft expression. Youâre certain that his mood will change the moment you do something wrong. That anxiety causes you to lose your appetite.
This doesnât go unnoticed by your boyfriend, of course. âY/N, is everything alright?â, he asks gently.
You canât answer, your eyes darting around the tent as you start to rock back and forth. This is all so overwhelming, you canât think.
Peter jumps to conclusions, his eyes hardening as he warns, âDonât start plotting an escape.â
You drop the bowl of soup and start to hyperventilate⌠and then cry out in pain because the soup is very hot.
Any anger or frustration that he feels instantly disappears when he sees what just happened. Just as you start to sob, Peter quickly cleans the mess and tends to your burn. âItâs alright, my love,â he whispers.
âIâm having a panic attack,â you tell him, your voice cracking as you struggle to get your breathing under control.
He kisses the top of your head softly and replies, âI know.â But his face becomes stern once more. âAre you plotting an escape right now?â
You look him in the eye as best as you can and shake your head. And thatâs the truth. You have no idea how youâd escape without being killed in the process. And anyway⌠you really do have Stockholm syndrome.
Peter takes your word for it, though thereâs still a part of him that has doubts. But he believes you regardless. âGood,â he says softly. His gaze softens now, eyes showing nothing but concern for you. âWhat brought on this panic attack?â, he asks.
You wrap your arms around yourself, still rocking back and forth. âIâm scared.â
âOf what?â, he asks as he puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer to him.
âMaking you angry.â
He sighs and rubs your arm. âWell, donât worry. Iâm not angry with you at all. But I am very worried about you,â he says before he kisses the top of your head. âI assume you donât want any more soup right now, yeah?â
You nod immediately. In doing so, you catch a whiff of your body odor⌠and you get nauseous immediately. Youâre grateful when Peter quickly grabs what appears to be a fresh bucket and hands it to you. Thank g-d, because youâd probably puke twice in addition to the body odor induced barfing. But luckily, itâs just the one time. As soon as youâre done, you look at him. âI stink,â you say simply, wanting to justify your puking.
But Peter doesnât need you to explain why you threw up. âI know,â he replies with a slight chuckle. But he quickly clears his throat. âI know,â he repeats himself with a more serious tone. He starts to gently play with your hair now, trying to soothe you and himself.
âYou didnât wash me when I was asleep?â, you ask, not realizing how childlike your tone is now.
But Peter does notice. Though he doesnât say anything about it, he unintentionally responds in a fatherly voice. âThat wouldâve been a terrible violation of your body. And as I told you when we first met⌠thatâll never happen here.â Thatâs what makes him realize that heâs speaking to you as though youâre his daughter. It makes him sick.
âI thought everything on this island was your business, including me?â
âYes. But I would never undress you without your consent. Nothing justifies that,â he replies softly, his voice no longer sounding very fatherly. Now, heâs using the tone thatâs reserved for you and only you. And suddenly⌠this voice triggers something deep inside of Peter. Slowly, gently⌠he puts his arms around you and pulls you towards him. His grip is tight but not enough to hurt you. Still, itâs very protective. âIâll never do that to you, Y/N. Ever.â He kisses the top of your head softly before he adds, âYou have my word.â
You find yourself clinging onto him, suddenly finding yourself feeling so, so safe with him again. âWell, I wanna wash up and get out of this dress. Iâm really uncomfortable,â you murmur against his chest.
Peter nods and pulls back to look at you. âAlright then,â he says as he cups your cheeks. âPut your arms around me.â
You furrow your brows in confusion. âWhat?â
âCome on,â he urges you gently.
Hesitantly, you do as he says. He starts to lift you up, which alarms you immediately. âWhoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?â
âPicking you up,â he answers in a nonchalant manner.
âI can walk on my own.â
Peter stops you before you wiggle out his arms. âNo. You canât,â he says urgently. âYouâre too weak-â
âLet me try!â
He shrugs and releases you from his arms. âOkay.â
You stand up on wobbly legs. The world starts to spin⌠and then you stumble and fall to your knees.
Peter stands, picks you up and takes you into his arms bridal style. He sighs and says, âLike I said, youâre too weak.â
Hearing this from him makes you break down in tears. It certainly doesnât help that youâre also suffering from a headache and fever.
Immediately, he can tell that youâve completely misunderstood his statement. And he canât blame you. âY/N, I donât mean that youâre generally weak. I just mean right now, youâre ill and you need to take it easy,â he explains softly. âYouâre actually quite strong. And youâre so brave, and so very clever, and so stubborn.â
You feel guilt washing over you now. Hearing him say all these sweet things is only reminding you of how much you still love him.
âNow then,â he says with the same soft tone, âletâs get you washed up, shall we?â
You nod quietly, your head resting on his chest as he takes you out of his tent. The sound of his heart beating is soothing as always⌠but you desperately wish it wasnât.
Youâre brought out of your thoughts when you see that the camp is empty, save for about five or six Lost Boys. Before you can ask him about it, Peter informs you that he sent them out hunting. âWe were running low on food.â
For a while, neither of you speak. Youâre too uncomfortable; heâs just relishing in these delightful moments where heâs able to hold you in his arms while walking through the jungle. For decades, Peter used to roam Neverland all by himself (not counting the time he spent with the Time Lord, Scarn and Rutherford), and he couldnât share all its beauty with anyone. But now, heâs got you, and heâs ever so glad he can share the islandâs marvels with the girl he holds so dear.
You donât feel like sightseeing. You just want the pain to end. Iâm so tired, I want to die, you canât help thinking. Thereâs something seriously wrong with me.
Peter frowns when he looks down and sees the look on your face. âLove, whatâs wrong?â, he asks, his eyes soft and filled with worry. âYouâre making that sad face again.â
You sniffle and look up at him, then let it slip. âI lied to you.â
The look on his face shifts to anger. âYou do have an escape plan?â, he questions, doing his best to avoid yelling. Thank goodness, heâs successful.
âNo! For fucks sake, Iâm not going to escape!â
He huffs. âYou can never be too careful.â
You groan in slight pain before you clarify, âI lied at Skull Rock.â
Any rage or fury that was on Peterâs face disappears⌠and turns into anticipation. âAbout what?â, he asks, trying to mask his eagerness.
You avert his eyes as you confess, âI do still love you, despite it all.â
His eyes immediately light up, and he has the biggest grin on his face. The vindication he feels is⌠itâs indescribable. âI knew it,â he states in the smuggest voice he can muster⌠because all he really wants to do is jump with joy and laugh. She still loves me! She still loves me, even though she knows the truth now!
âDonât let that go to your head.â
The grin shifts into a smirk now⌠but the love and adoration in his eyes is impossible to hide. âToo late,â he replies smoothly. But when he sees that youâre still crying⌠any joy he felt quickly fades. âWhy does that make you sad, Y/N?â
You canât believe heâs actually asking you such a thing! âBecause youâre awful. Iâm a hostage here-â
âYouâre not a hostage-â
âYes, I am! I have fucking Stockholm Syndrome. And even though I really wanna go home⌠thereâs a big part of me that wants to stay with you,â you sob. âI need you, Peter.â
The words âI need youâ hit Peter like a rock. This past week (or so he thinks) has been very rough for him. Heâs held it together for as long as he could⌠but hearing those words from you⌠it triggers a flood. He doesnât full on sob⌠but he canât be bothered to hold back his tears. Eventually, he catches his breath and tells you, âI need you too.â
Those words linger in your mind⌠but what you say next⌠itâs shocking for both of you. âI wanna have sex with you.â
Peter does a double take when he hears that. âWhat?â
âUmm⌠I want you to take my virginity,â you reply as delicately as you can.
It takes him a moment to think of a response. But when he does⌠it definitely doesnât come out correctly. He shakes his head and says, âNo. No, no, no.â
Youâre pretty certain your eyes are puppy dog like right now. âWhy not? I thought you said that any activity with me would be very appealing. And I got too excited after you gave me those two hickies-â
âNot while youâre ill,â Peter clarifies, hoping this will help you understand.
And it does. âYouâre making an exception to the⌠âno adult activities in Neverland â rule⌠for me?â
He nods and kisses your forehead. âYes, I am making an exception to the rule for you,â he says softly. âAnd I promise Iâll make it as good as I can. Not sure how long Iâll last but⌠weâll see.â
âI donât care as long as itâs with you.â
Peterâs cheeks turn pink when he hears these words. âOh, sweet, sweet Lost Girl,â he chuckles, âmaking me blush.â
You feel pretty proud of yourself for that. But that pride quickly fades into worry when you see him grimacing in pain. âPeter, are you okay?â, you ask softly.
He stops walking, having reached the cove he took you to on your third day here. Placing you on the ground carefully, he sighs and confesses, âErm⌠I havenât been taking very good care of myself in the time youâve been asleep.â
Your eyes widen, your concern for him growing. âWhat?â
He rubs his eyes and sits next to you. âI havenât gotten much sleep, if any. I can barely eat. And probably worst of all⌠I stink too.â He doesnât expect anything from you, which is why heâs so shocked when you throw your arms around him tightly. Reflexively, he puts his arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head softly. âIn my defense⌠I was so afraid you would die. Or worse: that if I left your side, youâd wake up without me there. Youâd be alone⌠and youâd probably think I abandoned you.â
You sniff him, and you donât smell anything wrong with him. He also looks perfectly healthy.
Almost as though he read your mind, Peter informs you, âIâm using magic to hide⌠all my agony. The only person who can see and smell it is me.â He sniffles and wipes away his tears. âSorry,â he whimpers.
You look up at him and cup his cheek. âPeter, Iâm right here. Iâm awake now,â you say. âYou canât torture yourself like that. Youâve been taking care of me all this time, but whenâs the last time you took care of yourself?â
The answer is easy for him. âAfter I laid you down on my cot.â
âSpeaking of, where is my cot?â
He looks down at the ground in slight shame as he says, âI got rid of it. I didnât see the need for it anymore. I just donât want you sleeping on your own, because I thought you would be so lonely. Even with me right across from you.â
You sigh and kiss his cheek. âYouâre right. I just wish youâd asked me first,â you reply.
He shrugs. âIn my defense, I was in a rather emotional and heated state. But thatâs in the past now.â
You nod and let go of him. âWe should wash up now. And I donât mind if you get undressed in front of me. Since Iâll be seeing everything anyway.â
âAlright then,â he replies. âLetâs not spoil anything for each other, keep it modest,â he tells you, referring to the private parts of the two of you.
âYeah,â you say. As you watch Peter stand up and start to take his belt off, an idea crosses your mind. Itâs one concerning your plans to lose your virginity to him. One you hope heâll like. âPeter?â, you ask with a shy voice.
He looks up at you with a soft smile. âYes?â
You gather your courage and then ask, âCan we make a deal?â
He starts to remove his tunic now. âSure,â he answers with that soft, sweet voice, âThough it depends on what it is.â
âIf weâre both better by tomorrow, can we do it?â
âDo what?â, he asks as he finally finishes undressing his torso.
You inhale sharply when you see his naked chest, but you quickly clear your throat to cover up how turned you are now. âHave sex,â you tell him, your voice semi-stable. G-ddammit, heâs so fucking hot.
Peter laughs softly and kneels down in front of you before he responds, âOf course we can.â Then, a caveat: âBut, if thatâs not the case, my love, weâll have to put it off until the day after.â
You look down at your feet and pout sadly. âOkay.â
He gently lifts your chin and kisses your forehead. âDonât worry, Y/N. I promise, you will have your first time. And it will be with me. And if at any point you no longer want that, you tell me. Okay?â
You nod. âYeah. I doubt Iâll stop wanting that but⌠yeah.â
He shrugs as he says, âYou never know.â And as he pets your hair, he drifts towards your face and seductively whispers, âIn any case⌠Iâm very much looking forward to making you feel good. I am going to give you the time of your life.â
You shut your eyes and bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan. Youâre unsuccessful.
He smirks and chuckles. âYouâre thinking about it, arenât you? Thinking about all the wonderful things Iâll be doing to you?â
You nod, and you try really hard not to moan again. But it escapes your throat regardless.
âGood,â Peter intimates, âI want you to think about what itâll feel like when Iâm between those lovely legs of yours. Touching you⌠tasting you⌠moving inside you⌠coming inside you.â
The thought of his mouth on you down there is what makes you give up on suppressing your moans. âOh⌠yes,â you canât help uttering, hoping that it actually happens. Itâs something youâve hoped for ever since you learned about it.
âOh, have you been looking forward to one of these things in particular?â, he purrs softly.
âMmhmm.â
âTell me,â he requests with the same purr.
You whimper as you answer with, âBeing tasted.â
He chuckles and kisses you. âOh, you know about that, do you?â
âYes. Iâve wanted it ever since I found out about it.â
His tongue enters your mouth now, and when he tastes you⌠he finds himself getting hard. âOh. And when did you find out you wanted to be kissed on your cunt, my love?â
Your own tongue enters his mouth, and youâre obsessed with the taste. No wonder everyone likes making out! âWhen I was sixteen,â you reply.
Peter chuckles. âWell then, Iâll have to do that before I take you with my cock, wonât I?â He doesnât allow you to reply. He just moves your hair aside to look at your neck⌠and then he grazes your pulse point with his lips as he says, âSuch a shame your marks are gone.â
âOh, Peter,â you canât help but moan, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him closer to you. âFuck.â
âI donât want you to get too excited, darling. Have to save that for tomorrow, assuming weâre both well enough by then-â
âPlease, Peter, just give me the fucking hickey,â you whimper, suddenly realizing how wet you are now.
He smirks and puts his hands on your hips, steadying you a bit. âWhat was that, love?â, he asks, his voice sounding a bit like a purr. âDo you mind repeating that first part for me?â
You know exactly what heâs talking about, and to your surprise⌠you oblige. âPlease, Peter,â you beg, trying really hard not to plead with him for more. You know heâll remind you of the deal.
He hums with satisfaction and starts to kiss your neck. âI guarantee youâll be saying that to me quite a lot soon,â he tells you right before he sucks at your sensitive skin.
You gasp at the sensation and do all you can to not grind against him. Youâre incredibly grateful for his hands holding your hips for this exact reason.
Peter chuckles against your neck, relishing in how desperate your moans sound. It merely spurs him on⌠though he definitely feels guilty for all this teasing, especially when both of you arenât feeling great physically. But if it distracts from the discomfort youâre both feeling⌠so be it.
âOh. Oh, g-d,â you whimper-moan in pleasure. âPeter, I canât take this anymore. I need you to touch me,â you whine. âI wanna come so bad.â
Thatâs when Peter pulls away and cups your face, his lips swollen and his breathing heavy after all that time giving you a new hickey. âSorry, princess. But weâve got to honor our deal,â he intimates. âSilver lining here though. Now I know how you sound when youâre desperate for me to make you feel good.â
Youâre too busy trying to recover from your hazy state to respond. All you can say is, âPeter, Iâm so wet.â
And he says, âOh, Iâm sure.â He has the biggest smile on his face, so proud of himself for reducing you to a mess of moans. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand⌠and then promptly gets a whiff of his body odor. Disgusted, he pulls his hand back. âAw, shit!â
âWhatâs wrong?â, you ask, unable to stop yourself from touching the spot Peter gave you the new love bite. It sends shivers down your spine.
âI forgot about the stench.â He shudders and starts to hurriedly pull his boots off. âFuck.â
You immediately pull your knees up to your chest and hide your face in your arms, desperately trying not to cry. âIâm sorry,â you whimper.
Peterâs just about to take his pants off when he hears you. When he looks up at you, he realizes that youâre saying that because you think itâs your fault. Which, obviously, isnât the case. Regardless, he walks over to you and kneels down again. âThereâs no need to apologize, princess,â he tells you as he pets your hair. âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
You look up at him with your puppy dog eyes and pout. âBut I feel really bad, Peter-â
He immediately shakes his head and cuts you off. âYou donât need to. Iâm filthy too, remember?â
You nod with tears in your eyes. âI just feel like everything is my fault⌠and I just canât fix it,â you say, your voice cracking.
He cups your cheeks and presses his forehead against yours. âOh, my poor, sweet Lost Girl, thereâs nothing you need to fix. Right now, all you need to do is take off your clothes so you can get cleaned up.â Before he speaks again, he kisses you softly. âDo you think you can do that?â, he asks.
You nod after a few minutes and hug him. âI love you,â you croak.
âI love you too,â he whispers. âNow letâs get out of these clothes and wash up, yeah?â
You silently nod and release him from your arms. You donât wait for him to finish getting his pants off. You just strip down to your underwear and bra (one you conjured up with the power of belief).
Peter has also finished stripping off his clothes. All that remains is his⌠underwear? Boxers? Briefs? Britches? Whatever they are, theyâre concealing his dick. Really, really concealing it. You literally canât even see the outline of it. But youâre grateful that itâs not visible.
âMy eyes are up here, love.â
The sound of Peterâs voice snaps you out of your daze. Heâs completely right. Youâve been staring at his groin this whole time. Immediately, you lift your head and look at him with deep shame as you reflexively say, âSorry.â
He shakes his head and bends down to put his arm under your knees. His other arm goes behind your back as he replies, âY/N, I promise you, I will let you know if you do something that warrants an apology. Right now though, you donât need to apologize for anything.â
âBut I looked-â
He shakes his head and gently says, âShut up.â He lifts you up and then pecks your lips. âI love you.â Another peck. âShut up.â
You do as youâre told and lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes because your head really hurts and you just feel really, really hot. Not the good kind of hot.
Peter sighs and carries you into the water, a small frown on his face because he can practically hear all the self deprecating thoughts in your head. Even after spending so much time with you⌠all the pain you feel never fails to break his heart.
As soon as you feel the cold water on your skin, you moan in relief.
When he hears that sound, he smiles softly and then asks, âThat feel good?â
You open your eyes and look up at him. âMmhmm.â
âVery good,â he replies in his âyouâ voice. He puts you down in the water⌠only to pull you towards him again. âDo you mind if I put you in my lap?â
You shake your head. âNo. Itâs fine,â you answer softly.
Peter kisses the top of your head softly before he sits on the ground of the cove, then gently places you in his lap.
Youâre about to start washing your hair when he grabs your wrist and takes it away from your hair. âWhat are you doing?â, you ask apprehensively.
He takes your locks off of your shoulder and scoops some water into his hand to wet them. âWashing your hair for you.â
You scoff. âI can do that myself just fine.â
He shakes his head. âNo. You canât.â
âYes, I can!â, you insist.
âNo! You canât!â
You flinch at the rising volume in his voice.
Peter sighs and lowers his voice a little before asking, âYour hair pulling, itâs compulsive, yes?â
You nod quietly.
âThen youâre guaranteed to pull it,â he states sternly.
You shake your head. âNo, Iâm not,â you argue softly, now too frightened of angering him.
Although Peter isnât angry, his voice still sounds as such. âYes! You are!â And even if he is scaring you right now, he needs to get his point across. âYouâve proven that time and time again. So until you can prove to me that you wonât, you are not to touch your hair for more than five seconds- No. Better yet, one second. But even then.â He sees that youâre stimming now, so he puts his arms around your waist to try and soothe you. But his tone stays the same. âSo no, you wonât be washing your hair. Or brushing it, or styling it. Iâll do all of that for you. Is that clear?â
You nod as you struggle to stay calm and hold back tears.
âGood girl,â he whispers as he removes his arms from around your waist, then nudges your chin up. âLean back,â he commands softly.
You do as youâre told. You feel so frightened now. So overwhelmed. So⌠ashamed. You made him upset again. Whatâs wrong with me? Why canât I do anything right?!
But heâs not the least bit angry. Heâs just really, really scared of losing you. As he begins to wash your hair, he kisses your cheek. âI love you,â he whispers in your ear. Because he really, truly does. And he doesnât want you to think otherwise.
You donât say it back. You canât say anything. Youâre just⌠so shell shocked by what youâve been told. Your autonomy is being taken away little by little⌠and thereâs nothing you can do to stop it.
âItâs not forever, Y/N. Itâs just until you can prove to me that you wonât hurt yourself,â you hear Peter reassure you. âAnd you can still wash your body. I trust you donât need help with that.â
But thatâs the thing: you can still hurt yourself⌠and thatâs exactly what you do now. And youâve hurt yourself this way before. So youâre pretty used to the pain. Your nails are pretty short from being bitten, and theyâre sharp⌠which means they can damage your skin if you scratch hard enough.
As subtly as you can, you cut horizontal lines across the skin on your right arm. Youâve never been able to draw blood- youâd have to use a knife for that- but you can damn well try. After all⌠youâve been a very bad girl lately. You deserve to be punished, and putting yourself through this kind of pain is better than having your freedom taken away from you by the boy you love.
Said boy has just finished washing your hair when he hears you sniffling. âY/N, what are you doing?â, he asks with concern.
âNothing.â
âNo. No, you are doing something,â he says, his voice sounding very, very serious. He puts his hand on your shoulder to try and get a better look. âLet me see.â
âNo,â you tell him as you tug your shoulder out of his grasp.
âLet me see.â
âNo,â you repeat with a whimper as you cut faster now.
This only makes him more worried. âShow me. Show me what youâre doing.â
âItâs- Itâs nothing, Peter. I promise-â
Peter hates to raise his voice with you. Especially when youâre already so, so afraid and very clearly on the verge of a panic attack. But heâs run out of patience⌠and your safety is at risk. âSHOW ME WHAT YOUâRE DOING!â, he shouts.
Heâs right in your ear, which makes you feel extra scared. And it hurts your ears a bit as well because itâs so, so loud. You flinch for both of these reasons. However, you do stop with the cutting and reveal your arm to him. But youâre so frightened, youâre trembling and it takes you a minute to lift your arm up to show him.
As soon as he sees the red marks on your arm, his eyes widen in horror. And then his expression softens as he gently orders you, âTurn around. Face me now.â
You shake your head and shut your eyes. Tears stream down your cheeks now, your trembling getting worse every second.
But Peter asks once more. âDarling, please, turn around and look at me?â His voice is soft and filled with only kindness⌠but so, so much sadness as well. Shouldnât be a surprise that heâs sad, since heâs just caught his girlfriend hurting herself⌠again. Only this time, itâs via a method he didnât realize she used.
Youâre so, so scared of being yelled at again, so you force yourself to shift your body towards him. You open your eyes and expect to see Peterâs angry expression.
But instead⌠you see the opposite. Heâs frowning and has tears in his eyes. Peter sighs as he gently grabs your arm and inspects the scratches. âWhy have you done this?â, he asks softly, still looking down at the red lines on your skin.
Youâre sobbing now, so frightened to tell him anything. One wrong word and youâre dead. Why say anything if itâll just make things worse?
He looks up at your face now, cupping your cheeks and kissing your forehead softly. âOh, you poor sweet angel. I didnât realize you were hurting this badly,â he says, wiping away your tears. âNow why would you do this to yourself, hmm?â
âBecause I made you angry again⌠and I canât seem to do anything right. Iâm a mistake,â you cry.
He shakes his head and says, âMy dear girl, you are not a mistake. And I am far from angry at you. Like I said before we left camp, Iâm just⌠so worried about you.â
âSo youâre taking away my autonomy because youâre worried about me?!â
The accusation shocks him to his core, and heâs quiet for a moment before he shakes his head and softly cries, âNo.â He says it again, then adds, âYou still have freedom, Y/N. Like Iâve told you so many times, youâre not a prisoner here. Youâre under my protection. Iâd rather let the hourglass run out than lose you.â
âI-â
Peterâs got tears streaming down his cheeks now. Heâs really, really crying. âPlease,â he begs, âYou need to hear this. Itâs important.â
You sigh and let him say his piece.
âDo you know how lonely I was before you came here? I know I said I was doing fine on my own⌠but the truth is, all Iâve been doing lately is business related to getting Henryâs heart. Iâve been so stressed and so frightened⌠Iâve forgotten how to be a boy.â
You donât realize it but your hand is heading towards your hair.
But Peter takes it in his and holds it while he continues speaking. âWhen you came to Neverland, I thought you were going to be just like every other unwelcome visitor Iâd send away, or kill⌠or lock up until they were of use to me.â He kisses your hand before he goes on to say, âBut then you started to pull your hair, and you were so quiet⌠and so frightened. And when you started crying⌠thatâs when you broke my heart. The more I learned about all the pain you have- the pain you put yourself through- the more I wanted to protect you. And comfort you. And then I saw how beautiful you really are⌠and how lonely you feel.â He sighs and kisses your cheek. âYou were so, so lonely⌠far more than I was. And I think thatâs when the, er⌠rapid love kicked in.â
You have no idea where heâs going with this⌠but you keep listening anyway.
âY/N, do you remember when I told you I was going to make you a Lost Girl?â
You nod.
âI said something before that. Do you remember what it was?â
You shake your head.
Peter strokes your cheek and then tells you, âI said that I wouldâve probably fallen in love with you even without that rapid love.â He smiles weakly as he sighs, âAnd guess what?â
You shake your head again, not wanting to believe him⌠because youâre so unlovable. Hell, he probably just agreed to have sex with you because he pities you. âNo,â you whimper softly. âNo.â
But his next words say otherwise. âYes,â he replies as he puts his head on your shoulder and pulls you into a hug. âI have. And I love you so, so much.â He presses a soft kiss on your new hickey before he whispers, âSo much.â He tightens his grip on you now. âPlease, please donât leave me. I canât lose you. Not after all the time weâve spent together.â
The pain comes rushing back now, and all these emotions are not helping. âPeter, my head hurts,â you cry quietly.
He pulls back now, deciding that youâve been out of bed for too long. âAlright. Letâs get dressed and head back.â
You rub your forehead and add, âI feel hot.â
âOh, sweet girl.â He waves his hand, cleaning you both up instantly. Itâs only after that that he scoops you into his arms and carries you out of the water to the spot where your clothes are.
When youâre set down on the ground, you close your eyes and picture one of the presents you got for your birthday this year. When you open your eyes, you see the Disney pajama set in front of you and you smile. Immediately, you pull them on. Before you pull on the top, you change into a more comfortable bra so you can sleep better but still keep your breasts hidden from Peter.
Speaking of whom, heâs just finished putting his pants and boots back on (magically washed, of course) when he sees what youâre wearing. âOh, those look comfy,â he comments with his âyouâ voice.
âArenât they cute?â, you ask through your pain.
He smiles as he answers, âWhy, yes, they are.â
âThey were a gift from Sarahâs parents,â you tell him with a sad smile.
Peter tilts his head and looks at you with a puzzled expression as he asks, âWhoâs Sarah?â
You sigh and then respond with as much composure as you can, âMy best friend who⌠jumped.â
The realization hits him harder than a punch to the gut⌠and he wishes heâd understood sooner! âOh,â he sighs with sorrow. âYou two must have been so close then.â
You nod, watching him put the rest of his clothes back on as you explain, âWell, the reason we were best friends was because our moms met at Mommy & Me.â
While Peter is carrying you back to the camp, you go on to tell him about how Sarahâs family became incredibly close with your own; how the stars aligned when your parents realized that Sarahâs parents went to the same synagogue as you; how you both made every effort to attend the same schools, and especially the same classes; how you two would act out the entire Peter Pan story in full costume (youâd be Peter, Sarah would be Wendy).
âYou could almost call that foreshadowing,â Peter quips when you tell him about that last bit. âYou played your own future boyfriend.â
You giggle before you agree. âI guess so.â
He allows you to continue telling him about your bond with Sarah. By the time youâve gotten back to the camp, youâve just finished talking about your bânai mitzvot⌠and now youâre about to tell him about the hardships you both faced (in your case, still facing). As he lays you on the cot, you divulge how Sarah comforted you after losing your uncle on September 11th⌠which you need to explain to Peter since he doesnât know about it.
âUncle Issac worked in the South Tower of the World Trade Center. He was on the 70th floor, so⌠he had enough time to say goodbye to his wife- my Aunt Leslie- and my mom- his sister,â you tell him. âWhen my family and Sarahâs visited New York that summer to see my cousins⌠we surprised Uncle Issac at work. That office is gone now,â you say, still trying to process this even after four years. âHe jumped out of the tower. It was either that, or burn to death.â
But now⌠youâre at the point youâve dreaded talking about: the lead up to Sarahâs suicide.
âThereâs a lot of bullies at our school. Mean girls, yes⌠but a ton of⌠horrendous boys as well.â
Peter freezes when he hears this. Oh no, he thinks to himself. Please donât tell me she was physically harmed by them? Please, gods!
You continue, âThey made life our lives hell. But it was a lot worse for Sarah.â Everything comes rushing back as you recount it all. âHer mother is from Israel, so⌠she faced way more antisemitism than me.â
The look of rage in his eyes says everything you need to know⌠and youâre glad heâs feeling rage.
âThereâs this boy, Evan, whoâs pretty notorious for not facing the consequences of his actions. And itâs all because his mom donates a ton of money to the school, and his dad is on the school board. The first time the principal tried to expel Evan, his bitch of a mother- as my mom and I like to call her- threatened to sue the school district and pull all future donations. The worst punishment heâs ever gotten was in house suspension for a month. And that was only one time.â
Peter continues to listen to this, an idea forming in his head⌠and itâs one heâs not going to tell you about. But itâll be very beneficial for you in the long run.
âAnyway, heâs been in our lives since middle school. Heâs made my life and the rest of Sarahâs life hell that entire time,â you say with a venomous tone. âWhen the Second Intifada broke out, Evan covered her entire locker with red paint and scrawled the words âbaby killerâ on it with his finger.â
âAnd what did he do to you?â, he asks with a slight growl.
You sigh and reply, âNot much⌠until the Twin Towers were attacked and destroyed.â
He furrows his brows in confusion.
âThereâs this conspiracy theory that the Jews were behind the attacks.â
âYou werenât though-â
âI know⌠but there are people who think that we were.â You canât help trembling at the memories of him taunting you. âEvan kept following me around school- he followed me to my house sometimes- and heâd always ask one question. Why did I kill him?â
âYour Uncle Issac?â
You nod.
âThis⌠fucker!â Peter groans. âY/N, Iâm so sorry youâve had to deal with-â
âIt gets worse.â You take a deep breath. âAbout a month and a half ago, Sarah and I were at our homecoming party, which was at the Troubadour. Whenever we were at an event for school- or on a field trip- weâd always go to the bathroom together. Itâs a thing girls do for safety.â
He nods, indicating that he understands. But his fury is growing as he hears more.
âExcept⌠that night, the one time we didnât go with each other to the bathroom⌠something bad happened to her.â
Iâll be fine, Sarah had said. Itâs just changing a tampon. It takes, like, five seconds.
âShe was on her period, and she needed to take care of herself. She said sheâd be okay by herself, and that sheâd be quick.â
You waited, and waited⌠and waited. But you felt a growing sense of dread within you⌠and something in your gut was telling you that there was something wrong. You tried to ignore it⌠but eventually, after half an hour, you couldnât take it anymore.
âUsually, whenever I feel particularly anxious, I try to ignore it.â
Peter can already tell where this is headed⌠and he doesnât like it. Itâs only affirming that he needs to put his plan into action.
âI waited thirty minutes⌠and then I couldnât wait anymore.â
Sarah?, you called softly as you opened the door to the girlsâ bathroom.
âWhen I went in⌠I saw⌠her tampon on the floor⌠and her underwear.â
Heâs shaking with rage now.
Iâm in here, Sarah answered from the handicapped stall.
You could hear the sniffles from her⌠which only added to your anxiety.
âI opened up the door to the stall⌠and she was on the floor⌠and her clothes-â You shut your eyes and put your hands over them.
âHe didnât,â he says with gritted teeth.
You sob and reply, âHe did.â
It was rape. The evidence was right in front of you but you couldnât believe it. There was cum on Sarahâs thighs, leaking from her vagina⌠along with blood. Not just uterine lining⌠but actual blood. Her dress was ruined by all of that liquid, but what was even worse was that it was torn.
What happened?, you asked as you got on your knees beside your best friend.
Evan came in, Sarah explained through tears, and he didnât leave. Not until he finished. He kept telling me that I deserved it. He was too strong, Y/N. I couldnât stop it.
âIt was my fault-â
Peter pulls you into his arms and hugs you like your life depends on it. âNo. No, my love. The only one at fault is Evan.â
You had a panic attack that night⌠and Sarah didnât blame you for having one. All she did was lie to her parents, calling them on the phone by the front desk. Something happened and I need to stay at Y/Nâs house tonight. Iâll be home in the morning, she said.
âI stayed with her with her while she showered in my bathroom. I helped her clean up. She was on birth control for her period, so we werenât too worried about pregnancy. I remember Sarah telling me that Evan said he was clean.â
This confuses Peter. âClean?â
âIt means you donât have any sexually transmitted diseases or infections,â you explain.
He already knows whatâs coming next. âThatâs why Sarah jumped?â, he asks in the least angry voice he possibly can.
âYes. It was two weeks after the assault.â You pull back and tell him, âEvan came up to me when I was in the front office at school waiting for my parents⌠and he told me that he was glad Sarah was dead. âOne less oven dodger in the worldâ, he said.â
Peter desperately wants to murder that boy now.
But youâre not finished yet. âI was all alone. My grades fell⌠I stopped talking to most of my other friends. I couldnât talk to my parents because I was so scared theyâd ask me questions about the suicide.â
He softens, tucking some hair behind your ear. âMy poor girl,â he murmurs.
âThe day before my birthday- a Friday- I was at school. I forgot my textbook for French class, so I went to my locker to get it.â You put your head on your boyfriendâs chest, so desperate for comfort. âAfter I closed my locker, I turned around and saw Evan right in front of me.â
Again, Peter can already tell where this is going.
âI tried to run⌠but he pinned me against the lockers and caged me between his legs. He had this terrifying smile on his face⌠and then he said, âHappy almost birthday, cunt. It better be the last one. Cuz if I see you here on Monday, Iâm gonna fuck you in the ass until you bleed to death, right here in front of everybody. And donât go crying to your parents. Donât go crying to anyone. Cuz theyâll never believe you. Just like they never wouldâve believed your genocidal friend.â That was the last thing he said to me before he walked away.â
Peterâs arms tighten as his protectiveness grows. âFuck,â he mumbles under his breath.
âI didnât have a plan, Peter. I still donât.â You hug him back. âI celebrated my birthday like Iâd never celebrated it before⌠but then I remembered that it had to be my last one. I didnât know what to do.â You sigh heavily. âAnd then I realized that the answer was right in front of me. Uncle Isaac jumped⌠Sarah jumped⌠so I jumped too.â
He smiles and pulls back to cup your cheeks. âExcept you didnât die. You came here instead.â He kisses your forehead softly. âAnd itâs a good thing youâre here now⌠cos youâre safe⌠and Iâll make sure that no one ever, ever hurts you.â
You kiss his lips and tell him, âI love you, Peter.â
âI love you too, Y/N,â he whispers before he takes your hands and kisses them too. âYou need to sleep if you want to⌠lose it to me tomorrow night,â he tells you seductively, slowly trailing his hand down to your cunt. Cupping it, he smirks and then says, âIâll kissing this first⌠per your request.â
You hold back a moan⌠but then another moan escapes you, only itâs from the sickness.
He takes his hand away. âBut only if youâre well enough,â he says as he gently pushes you down, placing a fresh cold cloth on your forehead. âI hope your dreams are filled with joy⌠and that Iâm in them.â
âIâm definitely having a wet dream tonight,â you flirt as you start feeling drowsy.
Peter shakes his head and lays next to you, removing the cloaking spell that covered his agony. âNo, love,â he replies, âI mean, I hope all your dreams about me make you feel safe.â
You turn your head to look at him⌠and then you see the dark circles underneath his eyes. âPeter-â
He shakes his head and hushes you softly, putting his arm around you and placing your head on his chest. âIâll be alright. I promise. Letâs just sleep now⌠yeah?â, he asks, his voice getting quieter with each word.
You nod, closing your eyes and yawning.
Peter relaxes after you become limp. âGood girl,â he says softly. He waits for his own subconscious to overtake him⌠but as he waits, he continues to develop his plan.
That boy will never know peace again, he thinks with his signature cruel smirk before sleep finally comes to him. Peter Pan never fails.
[Hi. Took a while⌠but I hope this was worth the wait. Also, apologies for the lack of gifs this time. Just a heads up that this story will be extended for plot reasons]
iâm so glad i started writing when i was young enough not to care that i was bad otherwise i absolutely would not have persevered long enough to become a good writer
I've been thinking about this a lot recently. There was something really special about being able to write with such reckless abandon when I was 10 years old.
Was it good? God no, of course not. The story didn't make sense, the writing was all over the place, I didn't understand sentence structures, characters were not consistent, there were unexplained loopholes and impossible, not-realistic things everywhere...
But I was writing completely unrestrained by knowledge, rules, and even the idea of what "good" writing was. I didn't worry about not finishing anything, I just wreaked havoc in whatever I felt like doing, patted myself on the back and moved on without cleaning up.
So it wasn't good writing. Not in any measure that we would judge writing by, but it was inspired. It was wild and free and absolutely magical in a way that only someone unburdened by wisdom and convention could actually write.
And I don't know, I just find that really poignant.
I also remember being 13 and posting my writing on Figment back when it was a thing. I got a very kind, and well-articulated review talking about how my plot was completely unrealistic, how this would never ever happen in real life and that I needed to do more research to make a coherent story. And they were right, it was a very valid piece of criticism. I'd probably say the same thing myself at this point.
But I also kind of want to go back in time and grab this person by the arms and say "that's not the point"! This was a story that I wrote with my friend as we giggled about all of these crazy ideas and how they were so freaking cool and we actually wrote it and it turned out even cooler that we thought.
The point was never to make it a good story, or a coherent plot, or have it be grounded in realism or even for it to be someone else to read. The point was for it to exist, for us to go absolutely wild with unrealistic ideas that we would never actually write now that we are much more experienced and knowledgeable writers, because we could and because it was fun.
I have so much more to say, but this is getting long so I'll wrap it up with this: I am so thankful that I got to experience this as a beginner writer without ever receiving criticism (constructive or not), or looking into any writing advice because I feel like it was such an important part of my development as a writer.
I started the Mixiverse when I was eleven. I didnât know how big it would get or how long it would last. It didnât even start off as OUAT canon divergence, nor did it have any elements of The Office or Doctor Who in it! It didnât have a name back then either!
It literally just started with the thought, âWhat if all these children were taken out of their stories, met each other, and then had to work together to get home?â
Here are those children! As you can see, we have Katniss Everdeen, Dorothy Gale, Gavroche, Wicket the Ewok, Cindel Towani, Alice Kingsleigh, Annie the little orphan, Peter Pevensie, Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie, and, of course, Lucy Pevensie!
Of course, when I first developed the idea, the group consisted of a lot more characters in addition to the ones you see in the collage
And then, as I kept going with the idea, I started thinking deeper about the relationship between Katniss and Dorothy. This was when I was watching OUAT and anxiously awaiting the fourth season (which I decided to write fanfic for⌠and thus, the Mixiverse really began taking shape)⌠and it clicked. They looked very much like sisters⌠and so, I made them sisters!
Fourteen years later, I am still working on this intensely complicated but incredibly fun story! Are all the storylines good? Hell no! But thatâs what I like about it! This is like an actual franchise, except itâs not run by people who are interested in monetary gain or profit or what have you. I get nothing from this series other than being entertained by my own work. Doubt I need to explain it but this is sort of my way of exerting control when I encounter things in my life that I have zero control over.