eleonoraalbright

[eleonoraalbright]

An Ill-Timed Confession Part 4

Pairing: Peter Pan x fem!reader (kinda)

Summary: Travels with Snow White go about as well as you’d expect them to, which is to say very bad. Luckily, somebody new offers better company. At least, you hope so…

Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind comments left on the last part!!

Read on AO3 (account needed)

The slippers had been worn ragged and the bottoms were torn open, exposing your feet to sharp sticks and rocks on the rough ground. You winced with every step and would have slowed down or stopped altogether if it wasn’t for the incensed woman tugging on the rope for you to hurry along.

Mouth gagged and hands bound, you shuffled after the stranger wearing Snow White’s skin. No! You chided yourself. It wasn’t right to think about her that way. Somewhere buried deep, deep down inside her was Snow White with all her bravery and kindness.

Somewhere in her there was Mary Margret’s bubbliness and optimism. She yanked on the rope, causing you to trip and smash your head against a rotting log. Your face cracked open the tender wood and met something white and oddly squishy.

Your captor yelled at you to stand up and stop falling. She yanked you upright again and you started walking again, spitting out what might have been beetle larvae. Your head throbbed from the numerous tumbles you had taken and blows it had endured.

Something warm and wet trickled down your temple. As each second passed in her company, it was getting hard and harder to think of this vile person as either Snow White or Mary Margret. She was someone new, utterly transformed by Pan’s curse. 

Yet with every abuse you suffered, it only served to strengthen your resolve to break the curse and free Snow White. If this was the role Pan had forced on her then you shuddered to think what had happened to the others.

You pushed that thought from your mind and focused on taking one step after another. To free everyone, you first had to free yourself which should be done sooner rather than later since Not-Snow-White had less desirable plans for you.

Yesterday when you were still tangled in the rope, she took a long time inspecting your body. She had cut the net and bound your limbs, surveying you up and down, making little comments that did little to alleviate your stress.

You had tried asking her about what she meant, find out what had happened to Granny, and what connection the elderly woman held.

Not-Snow-White gagged you to stop asking questions and simply stroked a flounce on your sleeve, saying, “And you’re already dressed for the part. That’s even better.”

The rest of the day was spent following her as she checked more traps, retrieved whatever dead animal had been caught (only two rabbits), and resetting them. When night had descended she tied you to a tree to ensure you wouldn't escape. 

You slept a handful of hours sporadically, always being woken by a wolf’s howl, rustles in the bushes, Not-Snow-Whites muttering, and nightmares about what awaited at Granny’s. The lack of sleep made it difficult for you to come up with a successful way to flee.

You could wait until the next night to make a run for it before she tied you up again, but there might not be another night spent in the forest. You couldn’t tell how far or close you were from the town and Granny’s. 

Not-Snow-White could take you there before evening when she finished checking her traps. You could wait until her back was turned, looking at one of her snares, and club her on the head.

But that wouldn’t be feasible either because she always bound your feet when she was preoccupied with other things. You could refuse to walk anymore to buy your time but chances were that Not-Snow-White would just start dragging you which would result in more bruises and scrapes.

You were thrust back into the present when a feral yowl broke the otherwise quiet forest. Immediately, answering howls and hoots resounded forth, much too close for comfort.

Figures appeared from bushes and descended down tree trunks to surround you and Not-Snow-White. She drew her bow and ordered you to remain still as she spun in a slow circle to get a good look at them. You scarcely needed three seconds to recognize the dirty, sneering faces. 

The Lost Boys, dressed in their usual rags and animal hides, aimed their spears and clubs at you and your companion. If any of them remembered you, they hid it well. One boy about ten years old or so and wearing a raccoon cap stepped forward to say, “You’re cheating us!”

“I am not!” Not-Snow-White shouted back. You noticed her eyes flickering back and forth among all the boys, determining which ones were a real threat and which ones were weak links. Sweat dotted her forehead and she licked her lips, shifting her weight from her left foot to the right.

You inched closer to her, weighing your options of what to do in a fight. If you fought on Not-Snow-White’s side, she could begin to see you as a true ally and not someone to toss to Granny. 

You couldn’t be confident of that occurring. She could accept your help in one moment, then turn you over to the old woman the next. You couldn’t allow the Lost Boys to capture you.

Although, they weren’t particularly interested in you right now. Not-Snow-White growled when a red-headed boy creeped nearer. “I gave you everything I caught! Everything!”

“We don’t believe you,” the raccoon capped boy said in a sing-song voice. “And you have to pay for it. You remember the rules, right?”

The two parties waited with bated breath for the other to make the first move. The sky rumbled and dark thunder clouds gathered overhead to watch the confrontation down below.

Raindrops began falling, light and almost refreshing at first, then the downpour became heavier and less welcomed to you. It blurred your vision and soaked your clothes. If your gown hadn’t been seen through before, it was now. 

The same boy hurled his spear and yelled, “You made the deal and you knew what’d happen if you broke it. Get her!”

The spear stuck in the tree next to Not-Snow-White’s head. She swiped a leg under your own and you slammed onto the wet ground. You covered your head with your arms in an attempt to make yourself smaller to avoid the fight.

You heard the Lost Boys’ screams and grunts and your captor’s shrieks and twang of a bowstring being released. You army-crawled through the mud and the group of boys ganging up on their victim. 

Now was your chance! You stood up, slipping on your first try, and ran. Tears swelled in the corner of eyes and salt mingled with the fresh water dripping down your face.

Forgive me, Snow. I’ll save you later. I promise. 

And there would be a later. You ran through the forest; dirt turned to slick mud under your ripped slippers, clinging to your feet, begging you to sink deeper into the soil and hide from all your troubles. 

Momentum carried you along, refusing to give in so easily. A small rock hit the side of your head. One of the boys must be pursuing you. It only served to make you go faster.

More rocks hit your shoulder, your back, your calves, until you realized the small white pebbles dotting the ground. Hail replaced rain and came down in relentless, freezing sheets. You could hardly see five feet in you and your body blazed with fire as the hail stung every inch of your skin, leaving no place unmarked.

The very air seemed to burn with every inhale and exhale through your nose. You nearly collided into a tree but swerved out of the way just in time to twist your ankle and fall down a steep slope. You crashed into the underbrush and rolled down until you slid to a stop.

You had to find cover and fast. You wiped your eyes and bumbled along, feeling rather than looking for shelter. The trees in this lower area were thinner and could offer no protection. Eventually, you spotted a cave and went inside.

It wasn’t very deep but there was enough room for you to lay down. You loosened the gag so it hung around your neck rather than blocking your mouth which made breathing easier. Ropes still bound your wrists together, digging into your flesh with each movement however slight.

You tried wriggling out of them, biting them, and snapping them, but nothing would work. You let out a scream of frustration at your current state of helplessness; miserable, wet, body aching all over, hiding in a dank cave like a filthy animal without any friends whatsoever.

You began crying which only made you feel worse about yourself. Tears never helped in these situations. Water leaking from your eyeballs couldn’t give you dry clothes or a warm fire or hot soup or a comfortable bed, but berating yourself for them wouldn’t make them go away either.

You scream again, the noise drowned out by the pounding hail and the crashing thunder, and hit your wrists on the ground as if that would make the rope disappear.

All it did was make fresh bruises blossom on your cold skin.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you curled up in a ball to preserve what little warmth you had. Hiccups punctuated your sobs and sniffles. When the moment of unspeakable fury passed you were left with only despair.

You closed your eyes, deciding sleep was the best remedy to the dull throb growing inside your chest. The hail had stopped and rain took its place, a steady drizzle this time instead of the torrential downpour. 

The sky darkened as evening ended and night took its place. Either you spent too much crying or Pan had sped the day along. It made little difference anyhow.

Eyes tightly shut, you could imagine being back in the Enchanted Forest, snuggled up in the cozy and safe cottage with your family. Rain fell onto the thatched roof, adding to the peaceful ambiance. 

Your father’s voice spoke in a low tone, weaving a new bedtime story to fall asleep to about brave knights on heroic quests to rescue damsels in distress.

Your brother’s voice interrupted to ask a question and your father admonished him for cutting in during the climax. You felt the phantom touch of your father stroking your hair and the kiss he pressed on your forehead as sleep claimed you.

_

Your body was sore and cramped as you woke up which was no surprise given the rigor it had been put through yesterday and sleeping on a cave floor did little to help too.

You stretched, hearing a satisfying pop from your back while lifting your arms on either side of your head and rotated your stiff wrists. You stopped in mid motion when the impossibility of your action fully dawned on your groggy mind.

You looked at your hands to confirm what you felt. Or more accurately did not feel. The rope binding your hands was gone. You searched the cave for it; maybe somehow in your sleep you had slipped it off…?

But no, the rope was gone, vanished into thin air. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and hunched inwards to cover your haggard appearance as much as possible though you knew it was silly and useless to do so.

You glanced up at the cave ceiling, making sure there were no hidden cameras concealed in the shadows. As the logical part of your brain suspected, there wasn’t. Peter Pan didn’t need to rely on modern technology to know where you were when he had magic on his side.

You touched your wrists, eyeing the bruises that served as proof of New Neverland’s barbarity. His message was loud and clear: I’m always watching. Even when you were terribly alone without a friendly face or kind words to help, he was always lurking in the background, keeping track of his special pet amusement. 

Not only did Pan witness your pathetic breakdown last evening, he needed you to know that he did to add to the humiliation. Well if he was hoping for a new bout of tears this morning, he would be sorely disappointed. Mostly because you didn’t have enough energy to cry.

You put Pan in the back of your mind (as much as you could at least) and focused on the most pressing issue: food. Water wouldn’t pose as big of a problem since it could be accessed from the river. 

You could become ill from drinking it but it was the best choice at the moment. As for food… you had your fingers crossed that you hadn’t forgotten all the knowledge you gained from foraging in the Enchanted Forest.

It’d been awhile since that had been a necessity with the grocery stores and restaurants in Storybrooke. Your hand brushed along the damp rock wall as you steeled your nerves for whatever you had to face today. 

Just take it one day at a time and if that’s too much then take it one hour at a time. Stepping out of the cave, you surveyed your surroundings. The sky overhead was cloudy like it’d been the day before and the air crisp and clean.

You spotted some bushes a few yards away and decided that was a good place to start. Every step hurt to take, your feet were still tender after the forced march and wild run. You toed off the ragged slippers since they were impractical in their ruined state anyway. 

To your great delight the bushes had ripe blueberries peaking among their dew heavy leaves. You plucked one to inspect it between your fingers. Deeming it safe, you plopped it into your mouth and reached for another.

Perhaps the comparison of you and a starved bear recently awoken from hibernation is rude but in truth it is the best in describing your activity among the berry bushes.

Your chapped lips were stained dark purple from the berries’ juices and your mud-flecked gown was fast becoming similarly colored from your hasty feeding.

So intent on filling your empty belly, you didn’t notice the cloaked figure creeping closer and closer. You were only made aware of an intruder’s presence when a voice called your name, not five feet away from you.

Whirling around, you saw the person lower a scarlet hood to reveal a familiar face. You stumbled backward into the bushes in an effort to get as far away as possible from Emma Swan. 

If you ran she would catch in an instant, so you scrambled to find a weapon of some sorts to defend yourself with. You grabbed a rock and hurled it at her.

She sidestepped it easily as she held up her hands and cried out, “Wait, don’t! Calm down, calm down!” You tossed a stick which landed uselessly at her feet. “I’m not gonna do anything to you! I’m not under Pan’s mind control!”

Her words gave you pause. “It’s me, Emma. I won’t hurt you. Do you remember me? Do you remember anything?”

“Yes. Pan, the curse, everything. My life in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke. You remember all that too?” 

“Yeah, I do. Well, the Storybrooke stuff I do. I didn’t think anyone else would, but here you are.” She made a vague gesture in your direction. You swallowed and stared at Emma, trying to determine whether or not this was another of Pan’s traps.

She didn’t look much better than you; blood spattered her clothes. Under her cloak she wore a dark blue leather jerkin over a white tunic and brown britches tucked into knee-high boots covered with mud. Strapped to her sides were two wicked long knives.

“Emma���” You had to be a hundred percent this was the real Emma Swan, the savior of the town, the woman who managed to solve a mystery plaguing your heart for so long and helped you find peace with your rotten circumstances while under the Evil Queen’s curse. “

That picture of my dad and brother. When you solved the case, what did I do with it?”

She was puzzled for a moment, then understood your intentions. “You tore it up, but kept the pieces. Last time I saw you’d taped it back together.” She asked her own question, “What’d I tell you when you found out your family skipped town.”

“That you’d been abandoned too. Left on the side of the road, but you’d survived. Made something with your life, so I couldn’t use that as an excuse to drag my feet and cause trouble,” you laughed bitterly.

How very wrong you and Emma had been back then. She had two parents who loved her more than life itself and in a cruel twist of irony you had been the one to abandon your father and brother. Not voluntary, of course, but that hadn’t made a difference.

You stood up, keeping your gaze locked unto hers. Her green eyes are so reminiscent of her mother’s, not only in color but in the spark of fire within them. The fire had blazed with cruelty when Snow White was under Peter Pan’s influence, but in Emma’s no trace of that same savageness could be found.

Emboldened by the warmth and hope filling them instead, you took a tentative step toward her, then launched yourself into her arms. Emma was caught off guard by the unexpected hug but she returned it albeit a little reluctant.

She allowed a full half minute to pass before clearing her throat and disentangling herself from your embrace. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

_

(The previous night)

Peter Pan appeared unaccompanied by the footfalls or heavy breathing to signal his arrival in the cave as an ordinary visitor might. Likewise he crossed to the back of the cave without fear of being heard, confident the constant pitter patter of the rain outside would conceal his presence from his quarry.

He knelt down and scrutinized the pitiful lump huddled up on the ground, drenched and pathetic. Your nightgown was still wet, allowing him to see an outline of your bruised and soiled body. Your hair was tangled, too, and he picked off a grub writhing in the matted mass.

You shivered in your sleep and twitched every so often. He touched the ropes binding your hands and they disappeared without a trace. Pan debated healing the rest of your injuries but decided against it.

Where was the fun in that if you couldn’t feel the fruits of your stupidity and your oh so daring escape? If you had seen that obvious trap, none of this would’ve happened. Then again, it was important you saw how that callow woman you once saw as a friend treated you now. 

You’d soon see how much everyone had changed and how nothing could be done to save the pack of miserable creatures. It’d be a hard lesson to be sure but you’d learn it eventually.

Trust would be given and trust would be broken; an endless cycle to keep you amused for eternity.

Or at least until you broke completely. He pushed a strand of hair from your forehead and kissed it gently. Peter Pan enjoyed seeing your breakdown earlier and looked forward to future tears that would be spilled because of him.

[eleonoraalbright]

Mackled Malaclaws

Pairing: Newt Scamander x fem!reader Summary: One of Newt's creatures comes to your rescue when a bully is tormenting you and Newt. Read on AO3 (account needed)

Dark green bubbles foamed in your cauldron. You glanced up at the black board to see the next step of instruction Professor Prang had written. Today in Potions class, you were brewing Bloodroot Poison.

Due to its deadly effects, all students were wearing dragon hide gloves to protect them if any drops of the potion spilled. Unfortunately for you it made cutting up plangentines much harder than it needed to be.

You set down the knife you were using and dropped the orange fruit wherein the potion started producing screams. You checked the blackboard again to confirm this was supposed to happen. Your ears assured you before your eyes did as the other screams pierced the dungeon.

It was unfortunate a pair of earmuffs had not been provided. You read in your potions’ book that when the screams had become unbearably loud was when you were to add the boiled Mackled Malaclaw tail while waving your wand counterclockwise above it seven times.

You did as such and now waited five minutes before adding the final ingredient. Whilst waiting, you tidied up your table. Your thoughts drifted to Newt; you’d be meeting him after this class near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He told you last period that he had something special and exciting to show you.

You looked forward to it, albeit a bit apprehensive since last time when he showed you something exciting, his newfound ability to cast the Herbifors hex, he accidently ended up casting it at you which caused a variety of flowers to sprout from your body.

Later when you were cured, you joked about it, saying you had never smelled better though Newt was still horrified and apologizing. Chucking at the memory, you noticed that instead of cleaning up their own tables, students were continuously brandishing their wands above their cauldrons.

Even as you made this odd observation Professor Adelphia Prang stalked up to you and demanded in her usual booming voice as to garner the attention of the entire room, “Why are you not following the instructions?”

“I am following the instructions, Professor. It says to wave your wand then to wait-”

“What the book says is outdated as I stated at the beginning of class. You were to copy the commands on the board instead. Were you not paying attention?” She asked impatiently.

Frowning, you recalled no such statement and looked at the blackboard. Your heart sank. There written in chalk were the big letters reading that after adding the Mackled Malaclaw tail you were supposed to wave your wand for the entire five minutes. You picked up your wand and did as you were directed. “I’m sorry Professor Prang, I-”

She held up her hand to stop your excuses and deducted five points from your house for your carelessness. You felt the eyes of everyone on you and wished they’d stop staring. Eventually the five minutes were up, and you studied the blackboard to see the final step.

Add one whole Sanguinaria canadensis to the cauldron. When the potion turns beet red, bottle at once.

Sanguinaria canadensis? What was that? You scanned your table to see anything labeled Sanguinaria canadensis but found nothing. Perhaps you had placed it in the cupboard when you were tidying your workspace.

Walking over to the cupboard, you rifled through the cluttered shelves looking for your last item. You heard the stomping footsteps and before you could retreat saw Professor Prang in the doorway. “You should be finishing your potion now like the rest of the class. Why are you in here?”

You answered calmly, “I’m following your instructions. It says to add Sanguinaria canadensis, so I came here to get it.”

“Don’t you know what Sanguinaria canadensis is?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. She made it sound like you should know. Detecting your uncertainty, Professor Prang grabbed your arms and roughly dragged you over to your cauldron and shouted, “She doesn’t seem to know what Sanguinaria canadensis is though any competent fifth year should. Does someone want to tell her?”

All of the students were done and holding their vials of poison in hand. No one moved until one boy walked to your table with a smug expression on his face and indicated to a small white flower on your cutting board and said with a superior attitude, “That is Sanguinaria canadensis otherwise known as Bloodroot which the poison is named after.”

“Yes, thank you Mr. Dankworth. If she had been studying, she should have known this was the proper name for the plant and proceeded.” Professor Prang eyed you angrily and deducted twenty points from your house.

Completely humiliated, you snatched the flower and plopped it in. Everyone else was dismissed as you bottled the hated potion, wishing you could slip it in your teacher’s pumpkin juice. You handed it to her and started off but stopped when she called out to you. “I expect you to pay better attention in my class or it is likely you’ll receive a T and fail.”

You didn’t turn to face her but muttered a “Yes, Professor.” And ran away from her taunting before you said anything that would warrant a detention.

_

Newt was by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, hunched over a medium sized crate and a small barrel. So focused on the creatures in the crate, he failed to notice you coming up behind him. That was until you gave a huge groan and slammed your bag to the ground, startling him.

He looked up to see a grumpy expression on your face and knew something was wrong. This was further proved when you started pacing around the crate in an agitated manner with your arms crossed.

“What happened?”

With your back turned to him, you stopped pacing and spat out, “Poonany Prang happened.” Newt’s eyes widened at the deprecating nickname of the potions’ professor but said nothing, waiting for you to go on. You remained stubbornly silent.

Tilting your head back to stop the tears building in your eyes, you cursed Prang, Dankworth, and the rest of the other students in potions class. You felt so stupid. You should've heeded what was written on the blackboard and known Sanguinaria canadensis was Bloodroot.

Adelphia Prang and her class had this knack of making you feel exceedingly dense. Her words rang in your ears, mocking you over and over again.

“She doesn’t seem to know what Sanguinaria canadensis is though any competent fifth year should.”

You gritted your teeth, using the edge of your robe to dab your eyes, and tried to contain the emotions boiling inside you. Newt stood up and saw you trembling. He placed a tentative hand on your shoulder.

You clenched your fists in a tight ball and beat them against your forehead, saying in a cracked voice, “I can’t do anything right, Newt. I feel so dumb.”

He took both your wrists and held them to put an end to you hitting yourself. “Tell me what happened in potions.”

Eyes glued to the ground to told him the embarrassment you endured and what Prang said about your incompetence. Newt listened to your story with growing vexation.

“It happens every lesson. Last week she took ten points off because I couldn’t answer what the Scintillation Solution does, and it turns out we haven’t even studied it yet! How was I supposed to know? She always calls on Dankworth to correct me! Why him?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m brilliant at potions and you're not?" You whirled around to see Gideon Dankworth standing behind you with his usual smug look. "You couldn’t tell a Black Fire potion from a Blemish Blitzer potion. Which you know you should really use; your face looks like-”

“Shut up, Dankworth! You’re one to talk with those cavity ridden things in your mouth you call teeth!” You yelled.

Gideon closed his mouth but opened it again to bite back. “Figures you’re out here with Scamander. You else would bother with you than the boy who plays with-” He checked inside the crate at his feet. “Lobsters!”

He picked one up and shook it obnoxiously in your face. Newt stepped forward saying, “I wouldn’t do that if I-” But it was too late, Gideon gave a shriek of agony and dropped the animal to the ground, clutching his thumb to his chest. You saw blood dripping down his front and knew the lobster had bitten him.

You exclaimed, “Oh no, is he okay?”

“No, I’m not.” Gideon whimpered.

“I wasn’t talking to you, you prick. The lobster might have been hurt when it fell.”

Newt gently picked up the creature, inspected it, and placed it back in the crate with the others and said, “He’s not hurt, it’s okay.”

Dankworth glared at the two of you. “What about me? This could become infected you know. I could lose my hand because of that!”

“Grow up and don’t be such a baby.” You retorted, fed up with Gideon and his theatrics.

He ran towards Hogwarts wailing, “I’ll telling on you! You shouldn’t have that box full of dangerous animals.”

You watched as he disappeared into the castle before turning towards Newt. “We should hide these. He’ll snitch on us to the first teacher he meets.”

Newt just smiled and shrugged. “He won’t be able to get us in trouble. Professor Kettleburn gave me them to look after since he’s busy with the Runespoor breeding. We’ll be learning about them next week in Care of Magical Creatures.”

“What are they?”

“Don’t you know?”

You sighed. You were tired of not knowing things people expected you to know. Peering at the green spotted grey ‘lobsters’ you decided they did look familiar. Or at least their tails did. “Are they- are they Malaclaws?”

“Yeah, don’t they look beautiful!” Newt sat down beside the barrel and pulled out a wriggling Crayfish to feed to them.

You thought the Mackled Malaclaw looked ugly but didn’t say that since they bit Dankworth. “Will Madam Lombard be able to heal the bite?” You hoped that she wouldn’t.

“Umm,” Newt hid a small smile. “She’ll be able to stop the bleeding but…”

“But what?”

“Uh, I’d stay away from Gideon if I were you.”

You laughed at his suggestion. “I usually do. He’s a knob.”

“Well, he’ll be an unlucky knob for about a week.” You crouched beside your friend giving him a quizzical look as he went on. “That’s one of the things we’ll learn about Malaclaws, their bite causes its victim to be really unlucky.”

Your mouth dropped open on hearing this astonishing information. Then you threw your head back laughing at Gideon's fate. You did feel a tiny bit sorry for him since everything’ll go wrong for him. Newt grinned and whispered, “Bit daft of him to shake a creature, should’ve known it would protect itself.”

You agreed with him and began feeding the mackled malaclaws. “Maybe I should put one of these on Prang’s seat next time in class.”

“You wouldn't!” Newt cried out. You claimed it was only a joke but he was determined not to leave you alone with one in case you did.

A few minutes passed when neither of you said anything. Then Newt, avoiding eye contact, murmured, “I know you don’t feel like it but you do a lot of things right, you know. And you’re not dumb.”

“Thanks, Newt, for listening and-” You gestured to the crate. “-for the malaclaws.” In a sudden burst of confidence, you pecked him on the cheek. Newt dipped his head down in shyness, feeling a flush creep up his face at your act, and wishing you would repeat it.

[eleonoraalbright]

Words from Antigonick (Sophokles) translated by Anne Carson

[eleonoraalbright]

We've Got to Die, We've Got to Live

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x fem!reader Summary: You were frequently lost in legends, whether they were the local folktales or your own creations. Luke always loved listening to them. Except for one time when you asked once when you asked a peculiar question. Read on AO3 (account needed)

“Have you ever dreamed of flying into the suns to die, Luke?”

“What?” Luke was caught off guard by the sudden question. You two were enjoying a quiet evening on the top of his home’s dome, gazing at the twin sunsets. The suns usually burning yellowing had softened into a deep pink; the blue sky was deepening to purple.

It would’ve been perfect if it weren’t for the wind picking up and blowing dust into his eyes and nose. He needed a few minutes alone with you though, away from his nosy aunt and uncle. 

“Wouldn’t it be an awesome way to go? Soaring up in space and then hurtling toward those blazing fire balls. I’d be remembered then if I did that. The lone girl who challenged the suns, who wanted to defeat them once and for all. To stop their tyranny upon the poor people of her home planet only to lose and succumb to their fiery embrace in the end. 

“I would end up as a legend and parents would tell my story to their children at night as a warning not to think themselves better than the suns. Eventually some little kid, probably a girl, would change it to suit her own taste.

“Maybe make it into a story where I longed to join the suns for all my life and was mocked for it because how could a puny mortal reign in the heavens with them. Finally, taking pity on me and amazed at my fierce devotion to them, the suns would grant me wings to fly and join them in their kingdom.

“It would be a story to inspire everyone stuck in the miserable sand—that they too could achieve wondrous things with the right amount of dedication. That would be beautiful, wouldn’t it. 

“Doubtless, the story would change again and again, but it would last forever in one form or another; passed on by countless tongues to countless generations. My body would be beyond rotted away and no living being would remember my true existence but the tale would live on forever and ever.”

The suns had dipped below the horizon and the blue was quickly fading to black. “See now. They’re so scared that I’d go up there to meet them that they’ve hidden away. I won’t worry though, they’ll be back at dawn to hear more. They always are.”

You stopped monologuing and Luke took a little while to gather his thoughts. He was used to you going off on odd rambles but this one was particularly troublesome. “Why do you have to be alone? And why do you have to die flying into the suns in this legend?”

“I don’t have to be alone”—You squeezed his hand—“We could go together.”

“What if we didn’t die either. What if we went off planet and–and–” Luke struggled to think as creatively as you did on the spot. He saw you open and mouth your and he rushed on before you could interrupt him.

“Ended up on a really important planet and we became a queen and king there and we did great things for the people and they really liked us. Then when we died, when we’re really old, they buried us and…” 

He trailed off, not knowing how to end this less than thrilling tale. Luke would mind being immortalized with you but he surely wanted the story to end better than committing suicide via suns.

You laughed at his apparent helplessness and brought his hand up to your lips and kissed it. He saw stars forming in your eyes, shining as brightly as if they were not mere reflections but as if they were born in your pupils.

“And they built as magnificent a temple as our tomb to honor our deeds to them and our abounding love for each other. Lovers would treat the place as a pilgrimage and light candles and burn incense to gain our attention and favor.

“In a few years some youths would swear to have seen our figures haunting among the temple, always in each other’s arms and never apart. The people would tell everyone how our love went beyond death and they would be right. How’s that?”

“That’s a good ending.” 

“I’m glad you like it, Luke. I don’t think our lives will play out in that exact way, but I’m sure we’ll both end up as legends. We’re destined to. Just as the suns are destined to rise at dawn and set at dusk.”

[eleonoraalbright]

Soon the Sunrise Comes

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader Summary: Wanda is having trouble sleeping, so she sends for you to help her. Read on AO3 (account needed)

Words to comfort Wanda clogged in your throat. She was hurting and it pained you to see her this way. What could you say to make it all better? What could you do to ease her agony? You wrapped your arms around her. You held each other tight, so as to block out everything else. But that couldn’t be done. Wanda’s constant and irritating thoughts would surround her.

Pale moonlight shone through the large windows to illuminate the otherwise dark corridor. It allowed you to scrutinize the paintings of the royals hanging on the walls. The portraits depicting the House of Magnus were many and life-like.

You hurried past one that showed a scowling King Magnus sitting on the golden throne; his eyes seemed to follow those that passed by him. However, your footsteps slowed as you came to a painting of Princess Wanda, her two toddler children, and her brother.

They all congregated around the ornate chair where Wanda was seated. One son stood on her lap, his tiny arms clasped about her neck, his cheek smushed right next to his doting mother’s. Prince Pietro crouched next to them, bouncing her other son on his knee. 

Contented smiles graced everyone’s faces. The artist had perfectly captured this moment of happiness and satisfaction radiating from the subjects. This painting was your favorite, not only for the clear talent expressed in each brush stroke, but for how joyful the princess was.

In the other portraits she was somewhat detached from her family, her demeanor cool and aloof, no merriment could be found in her blank expression. A clock’s chiming alerted you to the ticking time. It was two in the morning, and you couldn’t dawdle here anymore.

Gathering your skirts, you hurried along the hallway. The very woman you had been admiring had requested your presence in her chambers a few minutes ago and it would be poor manners to have her wait for even a second longer. It was your responsibility as her highness’ lady-in-waiting to be ready to respond to her beck and call day or night.

Your brows furrowed in agitation as you approached her door. What could be wrong with Princess Wanda? Often, she had nightmares and needed soothing, but usually it was her devoted brother that quieted her worries. Perhaps, she had trouble falling asleep and needed someone to read a book to her?

When she sent for you last week, she had only wanted you to sit beside her and talk. She was very distressed that night, but soon settled down as you spoke of mundane, everyday things happening in your life. 

You hoped to be able to calm the princess again if she was disquieted. Your knuckles rapped gently against the wood and the door opened to reveal Princess Wanda. Her tired face brightened and she drew you into her spacious apartments. She greeted in a soft voice, “Thank you for coming.”

You curtsied and responded, “Of course, your highness. I live to serve the House of Magnus. It is an honor to aid your esteemed self.” The words were practiced and repeated frequently, yet it did not take away from the fact that you meant them. Indeed, it was a privilege to assist her in any way, shape, or form.

From a young age you were groomed to be the princess’ personal servant, to carry out whatever her wants or needs were, to obey and please her until death. And to be her friend if none could be found. 

You liked to believe your bond went deeper than that of just mistress and maid. Though you didn’t know if that feeling was reciprocated. You led her to the couch, so she could recline and tell you what was ailing her.

She fiddled with the hem of her nightgown and said, “I can’t sleep.” She raised her hands to cover her face. “No matter what, I just can’t fall asleep.”

“Is it the nightmares, your highness? Are you afraid to have them again?”

She shook her head. “It’s my head—my mind—it won’t be silent. I keep thinking all these thoughts and they won’t let me rest. Every time I close my eyes, there are these images, always shifting and changing and always terrible. I don’t know what to do about them.”

“Shall I send for the court doctor? I'll get you some lavender tea as well.” You stood up before she dragged you back down with much more force than expected.

She cried out, “No! The doctor’s useless. He might be able to make me sleep with those pills of his, but I hate taking them. My head feels so stuffy and cloudy after I take them. They only work for a few hours. It’s not worth it. And papa…” She trailed off. “Papa will be upset when he hears the news.”

You had to agree with her on the last point. King Magnus never liked to hear that his daughter had yet another fitful night. “The tea then?”

“No. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want lavender tea. I don’t want papa to know. I don’t want the doctor. I don’t want–”

“Permit me, princess, to get your brother. He will want to be by your side. He will be able to help you.” 

Wanda leaned on your shoulder and mumbled, “Pietro. Pietro.” You almost convinced her, but she went on to say, “No. Pietro, my dear brother, is– I don’t want him to fret over me. He has enough burdens already. I don’t want to add to them. I know he argues with papa every day, I know he is tired. He needs more sleep than me. I called you because you have helped me previously. Please, I need you.”

Words to comfort her clogged in your throat. She was hurting and it pained you to see her this way. What could you say to make it all better? What could you do to ease her agony? You wrapped your arms around Wanda. You held each other tight, so as to block out everything else. But that couldn’t be done.

Wanda’s constant and irritating thoughts would surround her. You took her outside onto the balcony. The night air was cool and crickets could be heard chirping not too far off. There was a lovely view of the pleasure gardens and in the distance you could see Genosha's uninhabited beaches.

“Isn’t it nice out here, your highness?” Wanda made a noncommittal sound, clearly not taking in her stunning surroundings. You took her hands into your own. “Princess, can you name five things you see?”

There was a lapse of silence, and you feared she wouldn’t list anything. She sighed, “I see rose bushes. I see a few ships out on the ocean. There’s a guard roaming the garden pathway. A bird’s nesting in that tree. And you.”

“Good. Good. Now name four things you can hear.”

“Crickets. Pietro finds them most annoying, but I quite like them. It wouldn’t be night time without them I think.” She hesitated. “I hear that guard whistling, waves crashing, an owl’s hooting, and… the breeze is rustling the trees.”

“Excellent. What can you smell?”

Wanda let out a small laugh as she caught on to the game. “Um, mostly flowers. The honeysuckle, roses. That’s all I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine. What can you feel?”

Wanda raised your entwined hands. “You.” She dragged a finger across her nightgown. “The fabric. And the floor beneath me. What’s next? Taste?” 

“No, not taste. There aren’t a whole lot of things to taste. Did you know that you never stop tasting your own tongue?”

“No, I didn't.” Wanda grinned and you could tell she felt a little better. You weren’t sure what to do apart from distracting her for the bit of time you spent together. Wanda carried a heavy weight inside her that she didn’t want to share. You didn’t know how you could alleviate her anxieties. 

You pointed up at the star filled sky. “See those three stars that form a triangle? That’s the constellation Octans. Scientists think that one of the stars is actually a giant planet. Those six stars on the horizon make up Tucana. It’s named after the toucan. That one’s the constellation Carina. That bright dot at the edge is Canopus. It’s the brightest star in this hemisphere if my memory serves me well.”

“They’re beautiful though I must say that I don’t see the toucan.” Wanda rested her elbows on the railing. 

“Yes, I don’t understand what the astronomers were thinking when naming these either. Maybe they had big imaginations.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully. “How do you feel about going to bed now? I’ll light one of your favorite candles. Would that be acceptable, your highness? The sunrise will soon come and you need your sleep.”

She rocked back and forth on her heels, considering your offers. She said the next words so quietly that you had to strain your ears to hear them. “Will you stay the night? The entire night, please. I couldn’t bear it if I woke up again and no one was there… please.”

She sounded so frightened, so pitiful, it nearly broke your heart. You would do anything she asked. You would run to the farthest reaches of the earth if she asked. You would swim in the deepest oceans or climb the highest mountain if she requested. No force in the world would stop you from heeding her wishes.

“You need not ask, my princess. Follow me.” 

You led Wanda back inside, lit a hibiscus-scented candle, and slipped in next to her. You were determined to keep a fair-sized distance away from the woman. It wouldn’t be appropriate to become overly familiar with her in her own bed. However, that notion was shattered when Wanda snuggled close to you.

She wrapped her arms around your middle and tucked her head underneath your chin.  “Will you please sing something for me?”

“As you wish.” You sang a lullaby from your childhood that had brought you great comfort and hope it would do the same for her. You twirled one of her curls around your finger, while your other hand stroked her back and inhaled the heavenly smell of her shampoo.

Wanda’s breathing became regular and you could tell that blessed sleep had won her over.  You stayed awake for a little longer, thinking of ways to help her tomorrow. You sleeping with her was only a quick fix, a band-aid. A better solution must be found.

Oh well, that would have to wait until later. Your eyelids were growing heavier and heavier. The sooner you slept the sooner you could wake up before the other maids found you both and start unpleasant rumors. 

_

Children’s laughter woke you. At first you tried to block it out by diving under the covers, but that didn’t work. It then occurred to you why you would be hearing that particular noise.

You peeked out from your warm nest of sheets to see it was late morning. The clock on the far wall alerted you that it was 10:14. You were surprised to see you were not in your own chambers but still in Princess Wanda’s apartments.

You leapt out of bed and raced to the door when the princess’ voice called, “I hope you won’t leave without taking a bit of breakfast.” She sat outside on the balcony in front of a table ladened with food.

Beside her were her twin boys playing with their toys. You attempted to smooth down your messy hair, but to no avail. You curtsied and said, “I beg your pardon, your highness.”

She laughed, “Whatever for?”

“I–I don’t know…”

“Please, have a seat. I wish to talk to you.” She gestured to the second chair. “Tommy, Billy, go start setting up the train tracks in your room now. Mommy will be there in five minutes.”

The boys followed her orders and scampered off, and Wanda poured herself and you some tea. “I wanted to give you a gift.” From her lap, she produced a plain white box and gave it to you.

“Oh, thank you, your highness.” You lifted the lid to see a beautiful silken nightgown, much like the ones the princess wore. You held it to yourself and questioned, “For me?”

“Yes, I can’t have you wearing your work attire when we sleep together.” She laughed again when she saw the confusion and astonishment on your face. “Last night, you were a great source of solace.

You knew exactly what to do and I slept better than I have since I can remember.” She grasped your hand and squeezed it. “I am asking you to become my royal bedmate. Will you?”

You blushed at the title. You weren’t sure if this was the solution you had in mind. In fact, it definitely wasn’t, but how could you refuse her? Especially when she stared at you so, like you solved all her pain and worries. You couldn’t, but at least you could help her through it. “Of course, my princess. I live and desire to serve you.” 

You didn’t regret your decision when she smiled that dazzling smile of hers. And you certainly didn’t regret it during the following nights when it was you and Wanda alone together.

[eleonoraalbright]

Beta Reader Wanted

I've written a 1970's AU One Shot of Luke Skywalker/Reader. It's approximately 3,000 words long and I would appreciate a second pair of eyes on the fic before publishing it to AO3.

Discord is required to have since that's how I'll share it. If you're interested in beta-ing, please leave a comment and I'll message you. And I'd be happy to beta-read something of yours in return too (if I'm familiar with the characters)!

[eleonoraalbright]

Mistakes Made in the Moonlight

Pairing: Peter Pan x fem!reader Summary: You go into the forest to get away from Pan and clear your thoughts. Unfortunately, he follows you to play a game. Read on AO3 (account needed)

You should have been concentrating on removing yourself from this encounter rather than having another staring contest with him. There was no escape. As if it was an automatic reflex, you glanced down to his perfectly formed pink lips and up again to his eyes. Pan saw your quick action and leaned in nearer.

You sat down by the fire where the Lost Boys were dancing around in a mad frenzy. They jumped up and down, flipped in their air, clacking sticks together. Devin performed a complicated jump over one boy, while another slid underneath him.

It was a miracle the three didn't collide. Of course, this was a rare case, there was still a likely chance you would have to bandage some injuries from the merrymaking tonight. Your gaze flickered involuntarily to the music’s source.

Peter Pan sat on a boulder playing his pipe. He must have felt your gaze from across the distance. His eyes met yours. Instead of reverting your gaze as had been your habit when you had previously been caught gazing at the leader of the Lost Boys for longer than necessary, you continued the prolonged eye contact. 

You half expected him to look away, your stare was so strong. He did not. Soon it seemed like you were unable to look at anything but him. Your surroundings all blurred together until you could only see Pan.

Had he cast a spell so you were unable to look away? It sure seemed as much. You began to feel quite feverish and dizzy. Yes, this must be some type of spell he cast on you with dark magic. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. 

A smug smirk dripped onto his lips. You were almost certain he knew the effects he had on you. To escape these unwanted desires swirling within, you pinched your arm hard. It worked.

You looked back at the dancing Lost Boys who were blissfully unaware of the moment shared between you and Pan. You were afraid that if you stood up, you would keel over. You were a bit scared to look back at Pan, convinced his eyes were still trained on your figure. It was unbearable.

You steadied yourself the best you could and stood up. You moved along the edge of the camp’s clearing and walked into the jungle, pushing past the dense foliage. You paused once you were a good distance from the camp, leaned against a tree, and closed your eyes. 

You took in deep breaths of the cool night air and dug your nails into the tree bark. It wasn't good to harbor these feelings for Peter Pan. You didn't need to be a genius to know it wouldn't end well.

Either he would find out and mock you to no end, or he would pretend to return your feelings and crush your heart (metaphorically or literally). These feelings must be buried deep, deep inside you.

Something was wrong in the dark forest. At first you could put your finger on it. You could hear the beasts’ far away howls that roamed Neverland, the crickets nearby, and the Lost Boys trampling the forest floor.

Then it hit you; the music from Pan's pipe was gone. Dread crept over you. Something was about to happen, and chances were it wouldn’t be good. You straightened your stance and marched to your tent, hoping to retreat to its safety. 

A voice from behind stopped you in your tracks. “Where are you off to in such a rush?” Pan was also leaning against a tree, his pipes dangling from his belt. 

You answered in an unconvincing tone. “My tent. I need to sleep.”

“You seemed plenty alert a few seconds ago.” He quirked an eyebrow up in amusement. He took a step closer. 

You wondered if he was insinuating your response to locking eyes with him. You took a step back. “Well, now I'm tired.”

“Shame. You’ll be missed at the festivities.” He took a step closer.

You looked back through the tree branches at the Lost Boys who were still dancing even without Pan's pipe playing. “They seem pretty preoccupied. I doubt they’ll care much whether I’m there or not.”

"Oh, but I will." Pan took yet another step closer. You retreated and backed into a tree trunk. Your previous feverishness returned a thousand times stronger. You weren’t in the right mental state to converse with him.

A different emotion gradually replaced your dread. A hazy memory jumped to the forefront of your mind from a past life; something similar to this situation but with less hazard to your life with teasing smiles and careless laughter. No one was laughing here and now.

This was very, very bad. You should have been concentrating on removing yourself from this encounter rather than having another staring contest with him. There was no escape.

As if it was an automatic reflex, you glanced down to his perfectly formed pink lips and up again to his eyes. Pan saw your quick action and leaned in nearer. His fingers stroked your cheek causing your breath to hitch. You gulped to contain the scream bubbling up—whether it be from terror or excitement you didn’t know.

Then to your horror and delight his pinkie finger dipped lower and began to trace your lips. Your bottom lip trembled at the contact. This was a nightmare and a dream come true all wrapped up into one.

He whispered, “I would miss you a great deal.” Slight tremors ran down your body at his soft-spoken words. He would miss you a great deal? Some small corner of your mind shouted at you for being gullible.

This was all some elaborate plot Pan had concocted for his own sick entertainment. Perhaps he had grown tired of pitting the Lost Boys against each other in barbaric games or tormenting the mermaids with spears and wicked spells. 

He had turned to teasing you in this intimate manner. You wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t give in. “I want to leave Neverland.” The words popped out before you had time to process them. 

Peter gripped your chin not at all gently. A cold glint gleamed in his eyes and a taunting smile etched his mouth. “But you can’t. Not without my permission.” He was correct, he always was. “Why would you say that? Why would that thought even enter your pretty little head?” Your reply lodged in your throat. 

An angry host of butterflies swarmed in your stomach. You would either have to throw them up or they would eat their way out alive. Your breath came out in quiet, short gasps.

You had to at least pretend to have some dignity left. “This isn’t–” Your legs wobbled and were in danger of collapsing underneath you.

Acknowledging your poor sense of balance at the moment, Pan placed a hand on your waist to stabilize you. His touch did not help whatsoever to calm your racing mind. He placed his other hand at the base of your neck, bringing you closer.

The sensation was somehow painful and exhilarating all at once. His lips weren’t far from yours yet the gap seemed too much of a distance to close. Did you want it to be closed or should you be grateful for the space apart?

“You ought to finish your sentences,” he admonished.  

Your heart had left its proper place in your chest and was slowly rising up your windpipe to clog your airways and made it difficult to speak in a steady, unbothered manner. Your voice was strained as you said, “This isn’t good for us.” 

“That’s what makes it all the more tempting, doesn’t it?”

It was a compelling argument. Or maybe it wasn’t…? You weren't thinking rationally at this moment to be honest. More pressing issues were crowding your thoughts, namely the fact that Pan was pressing his body closer to yours. You sighed rather than spoke, “I suppose you’re correct.”

“I always am.”

You said nothing; agreeing with Pan would only provide him with more satisfaction and disagreeing with him would end in your ruin. You remained in that spot for what seemed an eternity with his hands on you.

It was as though his palms were burning against your skin; if he ever took them off you would surely find burnt flesh in their place. Why didn’t he move? What was his trick now? 

Maybe Pan was waiting for your next words or actions to dictate what he would do? No, that was a laughable prospect. Peter Pan was always in control of the situation, always knew the next moves his opponent would play.

He never failed in succeeding in whatever game was his new fancy. Then you saw it. You saw his unspoken dare in his searing hot touch, in the curve of his smirk, in the mischievous glint of his eyes. 

Pan knew what thoughts were running through your mind and he wanted to see if you had the courage to initiate the next step. You recognized the confidence he had in predicting your cowardliness, shrinking from him like a scared rabbit.

You couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t be right all the time. You decided to prove him wrong. You wrapped your arms around Pan’s neck and kissed him. His lips merged with your own quite easily as he reciprocated your impulsiveness. 

They were softer than you had imagined, not that you had often daydream about what they were like but the thought had occurred once or twice (a week). Peter held your waist in an iron grip; you wouldn’t be surprised if he left a mark.

In fact, Peter seemed intent on marking you. His mouth abandoned your swollen lips in favor of a thorough exploration of your neck. You were eager to do the same but were foiled by Peter claiming your lips again.

All too soon Peter withdrew and you leaned forward to join them again but a firm hand on your chest stopped you. “Look at you. So needy. So desperate for my touch.”

He fingered the dark bruise marring your neck. “I look forward to our next tryst. I'll give you a necklace to be proud of.” Without a goodbye or a kiss farewell, Peter disappeared and you were alone with only the moon and stars for company.

You slid down to the ground with the rough bark against your back. You were still breathing hard from your kiss with Pan. The thought was preposterous that he had not only allowed you to kiss him but had returned it as well!

Surely the whole thing had to be a vivid hallucination brought on by some weird berries the Lost Boys snuck into your meal at dinner. Pan’s words punctured that hope. This was nothing more than a terrifying, new game he decided to play.

He knew the sappy sentiments you harbored for him and jumped on the opportunity it provided to play with your feelings. This would undoubtedly end in heartbreak and bloodshed and there was little you could do to stop it from happening. 

As if to confirm your worst suspicions, the haunting melody from Pan’s pipe echoed through the forest and reverberated through your body. A knife in the back would be better than caught in his deadly, carnal snare. A quick, painless death was preferable, but Pan always did like to play with his food before devouring it.

[eleonoraalbright]

What Fanfic Should I Post?

What ONE SHOT would y'all be most interested on July 4TH?

[eleonoraalbright]

Cuddles in a Thunderstorm

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x fem!reader Summary: During the night, a terrible thunderstorm wreaks havoc outside the X-Mansion. Mutually scared of the blinding lightning and booming thunder, you and Peter comfort each other.

There was a gentle pitter-patter of rain on the mansion's roof. A lamp in the far corner was on, emitting a soft glow of light around your room. You contemplated turning it off, but that would mean getting up from your snug nest of covers and it was very, very comfortable in bed. It would be a shame to arise and ruin such a nice moment.

Burrowing your head into a fluffy pillow, you decided to leave it as it was. Sleep would soon claim you to dance in delightful dreams of your subconscious' wonderous imaginings. The rain fell harder and the wind howled in a violent temper in the frigid darkness.

More likely than not a few trees would fall down during the night; one might even block the road. However, that would be dealt with in the morning. You were not worried about the storm raging on Xavier's grounds. The school had survived more terrible incidents in the past.

A little water would not damage the manor. Just as your eyes were fluttering close, a streak of jagged lightning flashed across the outside of the window, brilliant enough to be visible through the curtains. Two seconds later, a terrible crack of thunder resounded overhead in the skies.

You bolted straight up, startled at the booming noise. The rain pounded against the walls with a new force that felt like it would shatter them. The gale was so intense that for a while it seemed it would pick up the entire mansion as if in a tornado. You pulled the blankets closer, knowing full well that they offered no real protection. 

The lights went out, adding to your growing fear. All thought of sleep was driven from your mind as the storm's fury increased. You crawled out of bed, shivering as your bare feet came into contact with the cold floor.

Walking to the ornate dresser, you opened the bottom drawer where your X-Men uniform was stored. You moved it aside to reveal a tattered looking teddy bear. It had once been well stuffed and clean. Now it was quite shabby, an eye was missing and a large amount of stuffing had been lost over a long period of time.

That didn't matter though. This gift was a constant comfort through the hardest parts of your life. The reason you had stowed it away was to save it from being further worn down. You hugged it tightly and scurried back to the safety of your warm bed.

Lightning slashed the heavens, and you prepared yourself for the thunder to follow. It was louder this time if that was possible. You ducked under the covers. You did not count yourself as one to be afraid of thunderstorms, but this tempest would scare even Ororo.

Clutching your bear, you reconsidered the chances of your home being destroyed. You attempted to move to the middle of the bed and were surprised when you bumped shoulders with someone. You screamed, leaped off, and threw your hapless toy animal at the trespasser's face. A muffled "ow" came from the person. 

"Peter?" You asked, recognizing his voice.

"Yeah, it's me. You didn't have to hit me." In the dark, you could barely see him as he laid back down. Preoccupied with your own panic, you had not been aware of Peter zooming into your room.

"Oh no, are you okay?"

 "It'll take more than that to take me out."

"Not you. My bear, he could've gotten hurt by flying into your big head." You collected the stuffie, grabbed a flashlight by the nightstand and clicked it on. Peter squinted in the sudden brightness.

His hair was an utter mess, sticking up at odd points. It would be a total nightmare to comb it tomorrow, that was if he tried to brush it. He wore a rumpled 'The Who' shirt. You settled next to your boyfriend's side. 

"Hmp, good to know you care more about an inanimate object," he huffed.

"Don't be such a grumpy pants. You're nice to have around too." You patted his cheek. 

He eyed what you were wearing and said, "Isn't that my Led Zeppelin t-shirt?"

You replied, "Oh, I forgot I put it on. And yes, it was yours. It's mine now. I can't believe you just noticed. I took it, like, a month ago."

"I guess it doesn't matter. You look hotter in it anyways." He shrugged and gathered the comforter around himself. 

A crash of thunder made you both jump and cuddle closer together. You were reminded of the tempestuous downpour taking place. You turned your head so that the tips of your noses were touching. "Peter, what're you doing here?"

"I... wanted to make sure you were okay?" His tone was hesitant, reluctant to share the truth. More lighting and thunder ensued and Peter squeezed your hand.

You teased, "Are you scared, Maximoff?" You did not know this fact about him. It had never come up and you never thought to ask. One time Peter did confide that when he was younger, he had an irrational phobia of salamanders but had outgrown it.

Peter waited for a few moments then answered, "Not if you're there to protect me." 

You smiled at his cheesiness, and ran your fingers through his tangled hair, feeling less frightened. You leaned to whisper in his ear, "Stay here tonight?"

"Thought you'd never ask." He spread out to take over most of the bed. You didn't mind. He snuggled into your tender embrace. His breathing was measured, his chest moved up and down, up and down.

You pressed a single kiss to his temple. It took a while for you to doze off to slumberland but that was not a problem. The lightning and thunder had lost its terrifying quality.

The storm still wailed on through the night, begging entrance to the cozy inside, but nothing else mattered except Peter. You could withstand anything, including a thunderstorm, if he was by your side. You mumbled an "I love you" and Peter returned the precious words. 

[eleonoraalbright]

Once I saw this comment on TikTok that seemed Tumblr-level thirsty:

tumblr be the one place people will openly thirst over luke skywalker like you don't get this shit on tiktok i see stuff like "aw he's so cute and silly" on my fyp and then open my dashboard in public and get hit right away with an emmy award winning 1,400 word long one shot that someone poured their entire fucking soul into because one singular anon asked if luke would like foreplay

[eleonoraalbright]

What Fanfic should I post next?

What ONE SHOT would y'all be most interested in reading next Friday?

[eleonoraalbright]

Two Teenagers on Tatooine

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x fem!reader Summary: You spill your heart out to Luke while drunk.

“Those blue eyes or pretty hair. Tell me how many times I've dreamed of running my fingers through his hair, huh? I sure can't. Gotta be more than a hundred. He's gonna do great things, I tell ya. Great things. He's gonna leave me in the dust. And I'd be happy to eat his dust. Do ya think he'd remember me when he’s off and done great things?”

“You’re not supposed to be here this late, ya know,” Luke said to himself underneath his mask while welding. You sent him an incredulous look over your shoulder from the workbench.

You stopped fixing the repulsorlift to spin around and get a better look at him. Luke also quit working to take off his mask. His lips were turned upward in a teasing smile and a glint of mischief glimmered in his eyes. You shrugged and matched his humor.

“Well, since you picked me up in your landspeeder and we took it apart for repairs and still haven’t finished it, yet I can’t really go back home, can I? Unless you’re suggesting that I walk back with bandits and raiders lurking after dark?”

“No, no, you’re right! What kinda a friend would I be to let you do that?” Luke shook his head, blond hair waving slightly, and set down his tool. 

“My thoughts exactly, Skywalker. ‘Sides I probably wouldn’t make it ten steps before I collapsed from exhaustion. Whattya say we stop here for the night and finish in the morning.” Taking off your gloves, you wiped your brow. “The repulsorlift needs to recalibrate anyway. And in the meantime, we can have some fun.”

Luke’s lips pulled downward in a pretend pout. “You mean you haven’t already been having fun?”

“What I mean is that we can have even more fun.” You glanced up the stairway to make sure no one else was around. No need to have pesky adults ruin a good time. You jumped off your seat and crouched down to rustle through your knapsack. You pulled out a glass jug of electric blue liquid and revealed it to the curious farmboy. 

He gasped, “Spotchka! How’d ya get it?”

You smiled at his surprise and replied, “I saved up for months and when I showed the coin to Tam he couldn’t refuse to do business with me.” You tugged the cork off and drank a mouthful. Immediately, a searing but pleasant pain ran down your throat.

“Wooh! That’s gotta kick to it!” You handed the jug to Luke’s outstretched hand. He quaffed a sizable amount and had a similar reaction. 

An undetermined amount of time went by as the Spotchka was passed back and forth. It didn’t take long for you to feel the alcohol’s effects. Your head was light and airy; all troublesome thoughts disappeared to be replaced by happier musings, and a heavy, comforting weight pressed down on your chest, causing you to lay down on the couch. 

Luke was swaying slightly where he sat on the floor. The bottle was nearly empty now. He tilted the jug upside down and licked the last few drops. Shaking it a few times to make absolutely sure it was really all gone, Luke tossed it aside.

He didn’t think he had ever consumed this much alcohol in this short of a period of time. His uncle had given him a sip of moonshine at the dinner table under careful supervision, but Luke had never felt this… good before. Was that normal? 

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts swimming around in there, he found himself becoming dizzy. Instead of stretching down the ground like he intended to do, his back hit the floor with more force than he expected.

Luke recalled a distant memory from when he was shopping with Aunt Beru. Across the market, he had seen a man stumbling about and mumbling incoherently with a bottle in his hand. 

Even at that young age, Luke was grossed out by the drool dribbling down the man’s chin. He tugged on his aunt's skirt and pointed at the odd man to ask her why he was acting so funny.

She explained the man had been indulging in too many ‘spirits’. Later, he was set down for a talk with his aunt and uncle about the dangers of over drinking. With his vision blurring, Luke thought maybe he should’ve paid more attention to them.

Luke could hear some sort of buzzing sound coming from his left. He turned his head to see the source and rubbed his eyes. You were talking, mouth moving animatedly and waving your arms around. Luke struggled to focus on your words but soon discovered it was well worth the effort.

“You know Luke, you're the bright spot in my life. Brighter than even the suns. It's true. You're one of my reasons for getting up in the mornings. The fact that I get to see your face every day—that smile—I wouldn't trade that for anything. Not even the chance to get off this barren kriffin’ wasteland. That's how much you mean. I love ya.

“Not only like a friend either. And I wish you—I wish you thought the same. He consumes my every waking moment. I love him. More than I can bear sometimes. My heart when he's with me feels like it's gonna beat right outta my chest when I'm near him. But it breaks too cause he only thinks about leaving this stupid planet which I can't blame him.

Luke was perplexed from the switch from second person to third person, but then guessed that, in your inebriated state, you had forgotten who you were speaking to. This oughta be good.  

“I'd leave if I could take him with me. If he'd have me. He's– He's not perfect by any means. He's stubborn, cocky, whiny, the dumbest crap comes outta his mouth sometimes. But he's kind. He listens to me. He helps me. I think it was love at first sight when he helped me with my broken speeder in the dune sea. He's got that special thing—that aura—around him that just pulls you in. 

“I need to get closer to him. If I were any braver, I'd march up to him and kiss him flat on that stupid mouth of his. Then he'd absolutely know what I think about him. He'd know. Then I'd pray he loved me too. He won't though. I'm just his friend. It's a curse and a gift. I get to be with him, but not in that way. I can barely stand to be around him, yet I can barely stand not to be around him. 

“It's torture and he's going about his business none the wiser. Not giving a second thought about li’l ol’ me. I'd tell him straight to his face if I had any courage, but I’d– well I'd do something if he hated me for telling him. Not sure what though. Probably throw myself to a Krayt dragon. End my suffering once and for all. 

“Feels like a weight on my chest carrying all these thoughts and feelings and everything for him, and him not caring two bits. Oh, Luke, if you knew how much you affected me... I don't know what you'd do, but... I don't know... What'd you think, sir? Should I tell that handsome boy how much I'd love for him to kiss me? How I want him. 

“How I crave to be in his orbit yet hate it too somehow. I don't know. What do I know? Nuffin' except I... Luke is my bright spot. My golden ray of sunshine. My one and only. My... nothing. I got no right to call him mine. He's no object. He is a beautiful human being. No, he’s got to be more than that. No... he is human. He can't be. No mortal has his looks or charm. 

“Those blue eyes or pretty hair. Tell me how many times I've dreamed of running my fingers through his hair, huh? I sure can't. Gotta be more than a hundred. He's gonna do great things, I tell ya. Great things. He's gonna leave me in the dust. And I'd be happy to eat his dust. Do ya think he'd remember me when he’s off and done great things? 

“That childhood friend from Tatooine from a lifetime ago. I'd never forget him. Never. Not even amnesia could rip his memory from my mind. C'mon I've been doing all the yapping, chatting, the tongue flagging—huh—wagging I mean. What do you say I should do? You seem to be the wise, sage person here. 

“What should I do, huh? Should I write him a letter? Or should I do something more drastic to get it through that thick skull of his that I want his body on mine. That I want to know every single detail about him. Oh, Luke if only... if only.” 

Your head sagged to the side and your eyes widened to see the boy not more than a few steps away from you with his mouth hanging open. Huh. So that’s who you were talking to.

Nevertheless, you needed to finish the last of your speech. “Do you know that it's because of you, Luke, that I think there's a higher power in the universe. There's no possible way you are the product of evolutionary chance. You're too perfect. You're too… sculpted. 

“Does that make sense? There must be a deity or deities out there somewhere who created you with perfection in mind. Your face must have been crafted with the utmost care and love to turn out so.”

“So what?”

“So perfect! I'm probably not helping your ego, am I? You're already full of yourself.”

“I'd rather be full of you.”

“Full of me?” Your mind immediately jumped to somewhere naughty. “That could be easily m-mis-” You grappled with finding the right word. “Misconstrued, Mr. Skywalker. You ought to be more careful with your phrasing, huh?”

“I meant what I said… I said what I meant. I mean… uh… It’s the truth and you should hear it.” Luke stumbled from one end of the room to the other to reach you where you were lying on the couch and clumsily claimed your lips with his. It was awkward and not at all what Luke envisioned his first kiss with you would be but that didn’t stop him. 

He felt one of your hands trail down his body while the other grasped the back of his head, pulling his hair. As much as he was enjoying it, Luke broke off the kiss to get a good look at you.

Your lips were still parted and your breath smelled like the slightly sweet spotchka. Your eyes never left him. His fingers touched your cheek, drawing swirling patterns across the skin. “Do you really mean it? Do you really love me? Do I really mean all that to you?”

You remained silent for several seconds and Luke was sure his heart would shatter into a thousand pieces if you said no. He would throw himself to the sand people if you took it back or worse if it was all a hallucination conjured up by the alcohol. 

With his body dead, his spirit would wander the vast dune sea, haunting the place you had lived. Parents would tell his story to their children of the dangers of over consuming alcohol. There was still a buzzing in his head but that didn’t block your words reaching his ears. “I meant every word, Luke. Every word.” 

He let out a huge sigh and kissed you again more forcefully this time. He said, “I love you too. I didn’t know you also loved me.”

“What can I say, Skywalker, I’m good at keeping that part under wraps. At least I was.”

Luke's legs dangled over the edge of the couch and he squirmed against your body. There wasn’t enough space. “Wanna go up to my room? Sure would beat this couch.”

“I think that's a lovely idea. Almost as lovely as you are.” 

Grinning like an idiot at your compliment, Luke rolled off the couch and crashed to the floor. You laughed at his smooth moves and he mumbled for you to hush up but that didn’t deter you from expressing your amusement.

He helped you up and arm-in-arm you both stumbled up the stairs to the outdoor courtyard. You placed a hand on Luke’s chest to stop him from walking. “Look.”  You jerked your chin up to the clear night sky. Millions of pinpoints of lights brighten the black abyss above.

Two shooting stars passed into view before disappearing into the horizon. You leaned on him and stared up, wondering if maybe it was a sign. A tiny bit of sense was leaking into your brain. You remembered you and Luke were just two teenagers on Tatooine. 

The galaxy was a much bigger place than this little hole in the desert but it didn’t feel like that. You knew little of love but you wouldn’t take back your confession because it didn’t matter.

“Luke, we’re both drunk out of kriffin’ minds… Are either of us gonna remember this in the morning? Will it matter?” You already came to your conclusion but wanted his perspective. 

“I’ll remember. I’ll never forget your words as long as I live. And in the morning, I’ll tell you how much I love you again. And the day after that and the day after that. Til we’re in our graves.”

“That’s an awfully big commitment.”

“You’re worth it.” 

A cool breeze swept through the courtyard causing you to huddle closer to Luke. You listened to his heartbeat steadily. It’s a calming sound, soothing future worries. Everything else besides him seemed to drift away into a haze. You could be plain crazy or hopeful (maybe both) but you believed him.

[eleonoraalbright]

[eleonoraalbright]

An Ill-Timed Confession Part 3

Pairing: Peter Pan x fem!reader (kinda)

Summary:  Peter Pan sets the final touches on his New Neverland. You wake up in your new home.

Other Parts: Part 1, Part2, _ Part 4

Warnings: Two characters get their tongues cut off but it's not graphic.

A/N: Thank you so much for the comments left on Part 2!! They are very much appreciated and are probably the only reason I got pt 3 out at all.

Taglist: @callsignwidow @aaicaa @midnightmisses @riordanness @rainbow-fartz @liliandz18 @munchingonthatass @cheese10001

To say that this whole experience was perfect and pleasurable for Peter Pan would be a gross understatement. He would be hard pressed to pinpoint any instance in his life when he had ever been filled with such joy.

He would even go as far to say that the entire town of Storybrooke and her population falling under his curse was better than soaring through the skies surrounded by shimmering pixie dust. 

Hmm, he dwelled on the thought for a moment, genuinely weighing the amount of happiness he garnered from each of them. After a few seconds of thorough deliberation, he decided that conquering those sniveling so-called heroes and ‘reformed’ villains was the slightest bit more enjoyable than flying. Reminding his toady spawn of his rightful place was particularly satisfying. 

For far too long Rumple had paraded about with his borrowed magic tricks, thinking himself the most powerful and feared sorcerer in the realms. Pan had squashed his son’s ego and regained his own status as the rightful Ruler of Neverland when his enemies had tried to take it away from him.

No one ever again would make that mistake. Not unless they also wanted their home absorbed into Neverland. Pan had been smiling nonstop since he nabbed the scroll from that pathetic excuse for a queen and the occasional burst of laughter slipped past his lips and echoed through his new domain.

Pan teleported from one place to another to see the fruits of his triumphs. Once ordinary towns folks were now as savage and filthy as the animals they once hunted in the Enchanted Forest. Chaos erupted in the streets and the people accepted their new personas and roles. 

Once proud and untouchable villains succumbed to their defeat and hid from the people they had lorded their power over. Best of all was the change that had overtaken the self-righteous heroes. Pan teleported from treetop to treetop, delighting in the transformation of one of the heroes that had invaded his previous island.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen, thought Pan as he watched the man stumble in the woods like a drunkard, disconcerted from the spell that had distorted his perception of reality. 

It was magnificent to behold. Still, there was a better sight Pan wanted to indulge in. In less than a blink of an eye, Pan appeared in a quiet glade. If it was possible his smile grew larger and more vindictive.

Pan crept closer to you sleeping form like a predator stalking its prey, not that stealthiness mattered in this situation. You were cast in a deep, dreamless sleep until he saw fit to release you from it. Pan wanted everything to be in place once you woke up.

Each and every piece on the board had to be in its proper position before you witnessed the destruction and mania unfolding. His sharp eyes roved over your figure, taking in every single detail offered by your motionless body.

He had to admit to himself that you were a very pretty creature, but beauty did not equal brains. What a stupid, stupid thing you were. It honestly baffled him at certain times; however, he was grateful for your utter foolishness. 

Assuming control of this pitiful part of the world would not have been half as much fun had you not disclosed your admiration of him. Several minutes passed as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest; it was an almost hypnotic sight. Pan shook himself from the trance and left. There was so much needed to be done before his favorite doll awoke. The first item of the list concerned the Lost Boys. 

Now if there were any people stupider than you, it was that group of dunderheads! Peter could no longer put off correcting their mistakes. His boys had to be punished for ratting him out. What idiots, thinking he failed and they could find homes and families who loved them.

There were harsh penalties for their actions; it couldn’t be anything simple like shredding their shadows from their bodies. It was one of the most painful experiences a person could endure but it was over much too quickly for Pan’s liking.

Doubtless he would do that at the very end, but the traitors must undergo a living hell at his hands first before their souls escape his clutches by disappearing into the afterlife. He stepped into a clearing in the forest and called out for them.

Like ticks emerging from a dead beast, the boys scrambled down trees and popped up from bushes to surround him. A few seemed dazed by the events, others were stony-faced as ever, but most had enough wits about them to realize that their punishment was inevitable and approaching swiftly. 

He allowed for a full minute of silence to pass as he threaded among his once loyal followers. None dared to catch his gaze but none ran away either. Pan almost wished someone would try to escape his wrath. It would make their torture funnier and serve as a better reminder for the rest.

Alas, the cowards seemed to have grown a semblance of a backbone in his presence. What filthy hypocrites—always loudly proclaiming to Neverland’s enemies that to cross Peter Pan meant death and any attempt to undermine his authority was useless. 

They revealed their true colors in the end. Jumping ship at the first opportunity they saw to get off the island to so-called loving families. To even think that he would ever lose was preposterous!

Peter Pan Never Fails is a saying in Neverland for a reason and to forget was a dangerous thing to do and now was the time for the Lost Boys to learn why. Before his demise, Felix had provided information on the specific ones to who ratted him out to the heroes: Box and Jacob. 

They would serve as a warning to their fellow Lost boys to what happened to those who betrayed him. Pan stopped in front of Box; a small boy frozen as a ten-year-old for countless decades.

Upon arrival at Neverland, he had refused to give his real name, and the others decided to call him that unusual nickname because the Shadow had carried him in a cardboard box. What an imaginative group of halfwits he led. Trembling, the boy stared down at the ground. 

“Box, anything you want to tell me?” The boy shook his head back and forth frantically. “Really? Why not? Cat got your tongue? It seemed loose enough when you mouthed off to Emma Swan about my Thinking Tree, did it not?”

Tears formed in his Box’s eyes as he cried aloud, “No! Never Pan! They forced me to do it! Honest, I swear!” He walked backward to put more distance between him and his leader but was held in place by two other boys. The circle became tighter about Pan and Box. They smelled blood in the water and knew better than to stand in the way of Pan and his victim. 

Now it was Pan’s turn to shake his head though it was in mock disappointment this time. Bending over, he grabbed the knife from the boy’s belt and twirled it around. “Spare me your lies. Tell me who else told them where to find me. Tell me and you’ll be rewarded.”

Box breathed hard and glanced at Jacob who was at the outer rim of the circle and pointed. “It was him! He tattled on you!” Jacob didn’t waste any time running. He hardly got ten steps before a group of other Lost Boys caught up to him and hauled him back to Pan. 

Both traitors were forced to their knees. Box was openly crying now and struggling against his captors while Jacob was rambling excuses and the others started to jeer at them. Pan raised a hand and a spurt of magic everyone to shut up. “I’m afraid you two never learned the lesson that silence is worth its weight in gold. You’ll pay for that. Hold out their tongues.” 

Both boys screamed and fought which prolonged the whole process and made it messier but Pan didn’t mind; the punishment had to fit the crime. He gave a signal to Lost Boys and they started to kick and punch the two huddled bodies crumpled on the ground. After that was done, he ordered, “You four build a cage. You two make sure Jacob goes nowhere. The rest of you will start setting up camp.” 

They all began their activities they were assigned but stopped when a tall red-headed boy asked, “What about Box?”

He looked down at the boy. “Let him be. Let him wander off or stay. It’s his choice. Oh, I almost forgot about his reward.” He dropped his knife next to him. “There. You’d do best to keep that, Box. I might borrow it later.”

A beat passed as the Lost Boys stared at their fallen friends, writhing on the ground, coughing up their own blood. Pan knew this image would stain their brains for years to come. “All of you get to work!” 

When they did as such, Pan turned on his heel and disappeared. There was a certain shift in the air that alerted him that a special someone was awakening. The time had come for the crowning glory to be placed upon this magnificent achievement. He settled himself in the branches of an oak tree and watched as you woke up in your new home.

Somewhere above was the sound of the breeze swirling through the forest’s leaves and the accompanying trill of songbirds. Warm sunlight filtered past the canopy and cast soft rays on your face, gently caressing you into a conscious state.

Your eyes fluttered open, then shut once more as you yawned. You swiveled your head from side to side to take in your surroundings. You were laying upon a stone altar in a small clearing and in all directions spread a green tranquil forest. 

Something was wrong. Something tugged at the back of your mind, heavy and foreboding. The delightful harmony and atmosphere were shattered into a dozen shards as memories pierced the haze clouding your thoughts.

You bolted straight up, hand slapping against the stone slab, and shouted, “Pan!” Covering your mouth, your gaze darted about to and fro in case anything or anyone had heard your exclamation. It was silent. 

You remembered everything! All the events leading up to this utter disaster were carved into your mind with painful clarity: the party only two nights ago when you made your confession, the unfortunate realization, switching the bodies, the hope that bloomed when the day was almost saved, and the crushing defeat that transpired afterwards. Pan won. You were in his land, the new Neverland, where he was sole master and everyone else were pawns.

There was an uncomfortable, tightening sensation in your chest. Something was blocking your airflow, making breathing difficult. You quickly began exhaling and inhaling through your mouth, maybe a bit too fast.

Your head became fuzzy and your surroundings took on a dream-like quality. Nothing was real; therefore, nothing could harm you, right? No, that wasn’t the way to think now. You had to be rational and stop hyperventilating, though it was easier said than done.

What helped you break out of this heightened panic state was the dawning comprehension of how vulnerable you were. If you were going to die, it wasn’t going to be because you were too distracted crying to realize the danger.

You were probably going to die in a much stupider way thank you very much, like strangled by your own trap or drowning in a puddle somehow. The ideas made you chuckle for better or for worse. Were you already going mad?

It didn’t matter, not yet at least. The important thing to do was to make a plan. The future never seemed as bleak when there was a plan to follow. There was a rustle in the bushes a few feet to the right. You tensed and waited for a minute but nothing happened.

Sighing, you forced yourself to relax. It wouldn’t be smart to jump at every stir or movement in the environment; your energy would become too depleted too soon.  Another cool breeze swept through the glade, causing you to shiver and notice your clothing. You wore a loose, straight-hanging white dress with ruffled elbow length sleeves.

It might’ve been nice to wear if you were going to bed in the 1780’s but not for surviving in the wilderness in modern times. You crossed your arms over your chest and hunched inward, gritting your teeth and cursing Pan. He must’ve found it enormously amusing to dress you up in such a way.

A pretty doll out of place in the cold woods with only a nightgown to shield her from the harsh elements (not that the elements were all too harsh today). It would take more than that to intimidate you… maybe.

You looked around the area, half expecting a group of Lost Boys to jump into view with spears and clubs to carry you off to their leader at this very instant. Except for the forest’s usual ambiance, all was quiet. You didn’t know how long it would remain that way. 

Best to find a suitable hiding place before night fell. You hopped off the stone altar and onto the ground. You glanced to your left and were surprised that you had not seen the Wishing Well just a couple of paces away.

Perhaps, it shouldn’t since the structure blended in with the neighboring foliage. Thorny vines and spiky leaves entwined themselves around the octagonal base and wounded up the pillars to the top.

You walked over to the well, taking in the dismal sight. A place where once magic was birthed and wishes were granted was spoiled as the spot marking Storybrooke's bitter end. It was a sad scene to witness, even the plaque which told of the well’s magical powers was overtaken by thorns. If only there had been someone to stop Pan’s curse in time, then this never would’ve happened. 

Magic! 

There was no use in lamenting what could not be undone, but what if the curse was reversible? In fact, you knew it was! You laughed aloud at how easy the solution was. True Love’s Kiss could break any curse! It had broken the Evil Queen’s, so why couldn’t it do the same for the Pied Piper’s?

All you had to do was to get David and Mary Margret together and they’d probably suck each other’s faces off. Hell, it could work if one of Henry’s mothers pecked her son on the cheek. All you had to do was find the others. 

Everyone was most likely separated, so the hardest part would be gathering the necessary people. Pan would’ve made sure that everyone would be spread out far and wide. You glanced up at the Sun’s position in the sky. You had about five more hours of good sunlight left. Time to get started.

The first step was to make a shelter for the night. The night could be spent here, but you could travel and gather supplies at the same time. Besides, you didn’t like the look of that altar; it looked like the type of thing where an animal would be sacrificed. 

The further you were away from it the brighter the future shone. The landmark that was the Wishing Well allowed you to know you were located in the Storybrooke Wilderness Park which meant you were a good two hours walk from the town.

You would bet your non-existence britches that Pan had stowed someone or multiple people in Storybrooke. There was also a chance David or Mary Margret would end up near the t(r)oll bridge. 

If the curse somehow knew your peculiar connection to the well, then it was possible the curse would know of theirs to the bridge. It was feasible to believe Pan’s curse had sent the heroes and villains to destinations that held a special place in their hearts.

You began your march to town, careful to pace yourself and practice situational awareness. You should check the library for Bell, the pawn shop for Mr. Gold, and the play castle for Henry. It suddenly occurred to you the passage of time. How long had you been asleep on the altar? 

Decades could have stretched on while you were locked in sleep’s embrace, but you chose not to believe that because the other would've figured out a solution. It must’ve been mere minutes or hours instead.

If there was one upside to your unfortunate clothing then, it would be that it was light and airy for traveling, but that would soon turn into a problem when the Sun set. Nights in Maine could be chilly, and a lack of warm clothing would not help in regulating your temperature. 

Also, the gown was a bit too thin for your liking. You pressed the fabric close to your body and determined that it was thankfully not see through. At least, you had that. Pan’s choice in footwear was abhorrent.

The slippers you wore were delicate and flimsy, better suited for strolling palace halls than trekking through a forest’s uneven terrain. You could feel every pebble and twig under foot. When you reached town, you decided to raid any shops for appropriate clothes and gear. 

You would feel more confident if you faced whatever Pan had up his sleeve if you weren’t wearing what he wanted. You wondered what tricks he was concocting. He allowed people to keep their memories and this would lead to some type of new torment, but what?

He probably thought his victims knowing what was wrong but being powerless to change anything would cause despair and madness. You snorted. Little did he know the stuff you were made out of or the others too. It would take more than that to drag you down. 

You supposed that was the advantage of disclosing your schoolgirl crush towards Pan; he took you for a simple-minded lovestruck fool. It was an advantage you would happily exploit.

Wouldn’t it be rich to lord it over his handsome face when he lost (and he would lose) at how you used his prejudice to orchestrate his downfall. It was easy to envision how everything would play out. He would be angry at his thinking so low of you and—

You were yanked out of your promising daydreams. One second you were on your feet striding with a purpose, next you were hanging in midair, trapped in a net. Damnation, this must’ve been one of the Lost Boy’s traps. Oh, the irony. You were too busy thinking about your future to focus on your present struggles. You almost deserved it. A figure appeared from behind a tree. 

The person, whose face was hidden beneath a cloak, cut the rope and you dropped onto the hard ground, still tangled in the net. You attempted to not look like defenseless prey, but it was awkward to manage that when caught like one. An arrow was pointed at your face. The figure threw back the hood and never had you been so relieved to see the pale face and green eyes of Snow White before.

You nearly didn’t recognize her. The woman’s face was smeared with mud, her ebony hair was a rat’s nest with bits of twigs and leaves sticking out, but you supposed you couldn’t look much better either. You gasped, a fresh smile forming its way onto your lips, “Mary Margret! It’s you! This is great, I thought–”

“Shut up!” She kicked you in the ribs, knocking the wind out of you. Curling up into a ball, you stared up wide-eyed at the person you once considered an ally and friend. She gazed down at your form, a severe expression hardening her features. You had never recalled her being so cruel before. 

“M-Mary Margret, you don’t understand. It’s me. I survived the curse, I just woke up a while ago.” 

“Who’s Mary Margret? What are you blathering about?” She continued to point the arrow at you. No flicker of recognition could be found on her face. Your fingers tightened around the ropes, comprehension dawning on you. She didn’t remember.

The woman standing above you, threatening your life, had no idea who she truly was. This was what Pan meant. You had imagined something terrible when he said ‘special treat’, but this was worse than you ever could have realized. 

Only you retained your memories.

[eleonoraalbright]

hi! i’m just wondering if you’re ever going to do a part three to An Ill-Timed Confession ? I’m obsessed

Hello Anon!

Thanks for asking, yes, I’ve written a part three to An Ill-Timed Confession. It’ll be posted within the day!

[eleonoraalbright]

I love how the novelization of A New Hope basically introduces Luke like: "Luke was 20 years old and insecure."

What a relatable protagonist

[eleonoraalbright]

screaming i love this sm

idk anymore.