Shores of Neverland: Two Sides of the Same
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Two is the beginning of the end. Of course they lived at 14 [their house number on their street], and until Wendy came her mother was the chief one. She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner.
Darling won her was this: Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss. Wendy thought Napoleon could have got it, but I can picture him trying, and then going off in a passion, slamming the door.
Darling used to boast to Wendy that her mother not only loved him but respected him. He was one of those deep ones who know about stocks and shares. Of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that would have made any woman respect him. Darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a Brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces. She drew them when she should have been totting up.
For a week or two after Wendy came it was doubtful whether they would be able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed. Darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honourable, and he sat on the edge of Mrs. Darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses, while she looked at him imploringly. She wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way; his way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at the beginning again.
But she was prejudiced in Wendy's favour, and he was really the grander character of the two. There was the same excitement over John, and Michael had even a narrower squeak; but both were kept, and soon, you might have seen the three of them going in a row to Miss Fulsom's Kindergarten school, accompanied by their nurse. Darling loved to have everything just so, and Mr. Darling had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours; so, of course, they had a nurse.
As they were poor, owing to the amount of milk the children drank, this nurse was a prim Newfoundland dog, called Nana, who had belonged to no one in particular until the Darlings engaged her. She had always thought children important, however, and the Darlings had become acquainted with her in Kensington Gardens, where she spent most of her spare time peeping into perambulators, and was much hated by careless nursemaids, whom she followed to their homes and complained of to their mistresses.
She proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse. How thorough she was at bath-time, and up at any moment of the night if one of her charges made the slightest cry.
Of course her kennel was in the nursery. She had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with and when it needs stocking around your throat. She believed to her last day in old-fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf, and made sounds of contempt over all this new-fangled talk about germs, and so on. It was a lesson in propriety to see her escorting the children to school, walking sedately by their side when they were well behaved, and butting them back into line if they strayed.
On John's footer [in England soccer was called football, "footer" for short] days she never once forgot his sweater, and she usually carried an umbrella in her mouth in case of rain. There is a room in the basement of Miss Fulsom's school where the nurses wait.
They sat on forms, while Nana lay on the floor, but that was the only difference. They affected to ignore her as of an inferior social status to themselves, and she despised their light talk. She resented visits to the nursery from Mrs. Darling's friends, but if they did come she first whipped off Michael's pinafore and put him into the one with blue braiding, and smoothed out Wendy and made a dash at John's hair. No nursery could possibly have been conducted more correctly, and Mr. Darling knew it, yet he sometimes wondered uneasily whether the neighbours talked.
Nana also troubled him in another way. He had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him. Darling would assure him, and then she would sign to the children to be specially nice to father. Lovely dances followed, in which the only other servant, Liza, was sometimes allowed to join. Such a midget she looked in her long skirt and maid's cap, though she had sworn, when engaged, that she would never see ten again. The gaiety of those romps! And gayest of all was Mrs. Darling, who would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was the kiss, and then if you had dashed at her you might have got it.
There never was a simpler happier family until the coming of Peter Pan. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day.
If you could keep awake but of course you can't you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.
I don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island, for the Neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose.
It would be an easy map if that were all, but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needle-work, murders, hangings, verbs that take the dative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine, three-pence for pulling out your tooth yourself, and so on, and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still. Of course the Neverlands vary a good deal. John's, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it.
John lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, Michael in a wigwam, Wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together. John had no friends, Michael had friends at night, Wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents, but on the whole the Neverlands have a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row you could say of them that they have each other's nose, and so forth. On these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles [simple boat].
We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more. Of all delectable islands the Neverland is the snuggest and most compact, not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed. When you play at it by day with the chairs and table-cloth, it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very real. That is why there are night-lights. Occasionally in her travels through her children's minds Mrs.
I have a better idea. With a wicked smile, he looked right at Jean and said, "Her. The Lost Boys, who had all been wild, eager, and whooping, suddenly stopped and stared horrifically at Jean, then confusedly at Pan. The King was grinning with the idea.
Definition of 'two sides of the same coin'
Felix looked at Jean and saw that she was smiling too. It was hard to tell sometimes. Like Pan, Jean could be pretty unpredictable. She sauntered over to Pan, who watched her with a dark intense gaze and he raised his head slightly to prove that he was more than serious. Jean looked up at him for she was about a foot shorter than he, and the glint in her eyes proved to be more mischievous than fearful.
She closed the distance between them while Pan refused to back down. The Lost Boy glanced at one another uncomfortably. They had never seen Mother and Father so close together She bent down at the waist, untying her black boots and slipped them off carelessly to the side, kicking them behind her. Jean leaned in, touching her lips just beneath his left ear lobe and whispered in the most sultry, tempting voice he'd ever heard, and only where he could hear her, "You may be in charge here and make the rules, but we both know just how much i like to bend over backwards to win.
Pan closed his eyes, as though he was having to physically restrain himself from taking her right then and there as he thought of all the times they had fun in his treehouse.
The King and Queen of Neverland Chapter 1: Met His Match, an once upon a time fanfic | FanFiction
The love biting, the nails raking down his back In five seconds, she took off running, leaving nothing but a deep set of female foot prints, and a fragrance of tulips and sea salt water behind. Pan glanced at the boots on the ground and realized why Jean had taken them off; she ran faster bare foot. Caught up in the challenge of finding 'Mother', the aggression of sharpening sticks and hunting for kicks, the boys all shouted in appraisal and war as they all took off at first in one direction then split in different paths to find the girl in the brown skirt. Jean hopped over fallen tree logs, sprinted through the vast forest, kicking up dirt, leaves, pine cones, and anything else that her feet could come in contact with.
She kept a steady pace as she ran fast and hard, the branches flicking her harshly in the face and leaving bitter, stinging scratches on her arms and legs and face. Jean hardly spared the pain any mind; all she knew was that she had to create enough distance between her and the boys so she could take a breather, maybe even take a quick sip from a creek before climbing up one of the trees.
Jean tripped over a rock, hissing when she glanced to see that it had been a sharp one. She gritted her teeth, slapping her knees of the moss and mud then continued at half the pace, waiting for the worst part of the annoying pain to leave her. Jean glanced up at the trees to see the dark night sky, stars bright as ever, and the full moon above even brighter. She grinned as she heard something splashing nearby and recognized she was near the Mermaid Lagoon. Jean sighed and steadily walked forward, following the noise. The mermaids were talking, floating above the surface.
They were beautiful, all of them, in an undeniably annoying way but Jean was more than secure in her own beauty. She stepped out of the clearing and upon seeing her, the mermaids dipped out away from the shore, looking at her with as much suspicion as she deserved. For the most part, Jean was a peach. But her time here in Neverland had brought out a more feral side. She more or less was the hunter but she was not as dangerous as Pan. What made her dangerous was that she accepted Pan's actions; even when he killed some of the Lost Boys, drowning them in Mermaid Lagoon.
She could be the only person who could stop pan from doing something so foul as to killing boys but she could also goad him into doing it too. But that was what made her so terrifying. Jean simply acknowledged them as she jogged slightly to the shore, getting down to her knees and ducking her head under the water to drink in the salty, bitterness of the sea.
It only made her more thirsty but for now, it would do. Jean pulled her head out of water, shaking it left and right and sighed deeply. The chase was going on as long as she could prolong it; Pan would regret sending the boys after her; they would be hunting til morning for her. She gave them all a wink and then ran off. The mermaids watched after her and amongst themselves, they argued how hard it was to hate her and yet they loved her just the same.
That mischievous look on Jean's face, and that crooked smile were to die for. Jean was a peach Jean sat high on a large, thick tree. She crossed a leg over the knee, peeling an apple with her hunting knife as she glanced down to see the flickering lights of burning torches moving around her tree. The Lost Boys had found her trail, but were lost up unto this point. He slowly looked up at the tree. His name was Jake Jean smirked proudly when Jake or Jock was instantly pushed against a tree and Felix was threatening the boy with a spear to his throat.
That's like the tenth time you've brought her up Jean cocked an eyebrow, losing the appeal for her apple and become most involved in the conversation below. Like a protective son over his mother. Jean was smiling as she heard Jack become a hot mess of stutters and frantic babbling as he tried to explain that he was only trying to find Jean to finish the game, but apparently, he'd been a hound dog for the past couple of weeks and Felix, who had become most loyal to Pan and a devout servant of the Queen, was prone to act out of allegiance than friendship.
Mother Jean isn't a trophy to be won or a treat to be gained. You will be careful with your words next time or i will skin your back and make it a rug, do you understand me. Jean raised her eyebrows, impressed, and snickered softly. When the intimidation was finished and Jock appeared to have messed his pants, the scouting party continued as the other boys were eying Jock more carefully. Jean began to move but when she turned her head, she opened her mouth to scream in surprise when a body was blocking her way.
A well-defined, toned arm immediately reached out and the hand connected to it placed its palm over her mouth and shoved her back against the thick bark of the tree. Jean's wide eyes relaxed when she saw that it was Peter Pan; the hunger in his eyes, however, brought about a different tense reaction from her. He glanced down, tilting his head to the side to watch his Lost Boys begin running to a newer, fresher sound and they were out of the clearing.
Jean smiled behind Pan's hand, wondering why he was still muffling her when the 'threat' was long gone. Pan slowly looked at her and she knew his intentions immediately. He replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing her with much wanton and fervor that could possibly be transferred through a kiss. His lips were soft, but needy, and Jean only sharply inhaled when he pulled her down by her legs, her back now on the branch instead of being against the trunk.
Their passion became their communication as not another word was spoken, even when Jean playfully protested, pushing off Pan's advances to move his hands under her skirt. After batting him off a few minutes, Jean was restrained as he took both her wrists in his large hand, placing them above her head in one slick movement. Pan spread her legs the placement of his body between them and with the free hand, he spared no hesitation in placing his fingers along her panty line, sliding them onto the soft material of her underwear to feel the heat radiating through her underwear.
Jean inhaled sharply when he cupped his palm over the only barrier between him and her longing. Her face was strained in an attempt to be silent. After all, the boys below were still hunting for her. Pan smirked-she so desperately wanted to win the game. Something they both had in common; they were incredibly competitive. Jean squeaked and restrained what might have been a needy moan when he teased her entrance, moving his finger tips so lightly in a bit of a 'walk'.
Pan watched her intensely, wanting to savor her look of desperation, desire, and aching for him; how he enjoyed this more than anything in the world. It was almost worth the growing throbbing sensation in his own loins that only seemed to become more painful when he thought of how easy it would be to take her now, to feel himself deep, deep inside of her.
The slickness of her wet pussy, the tightness of her core. He kissed the small area just behind her ear, adding, "they'll find you, not by sight but by ear. You will feel everything i want you to feel. You'll scream when i want you to scream. Jean felt her core tighten with the need of him. And this was just foreplay. Just his words and voice alone could make her wet and needy.
He let go of her wrists and Jean immediately reacted. She was on Pan with his back against the tree, moved there roughly by the hard push instigated. Jean straddled his lap. She was a wild one, Pan already knew. But the sight that followed soon after only made him want her more.
She quickly reached around her shoulders, pulling off her brown dress, and revealing the tanned flesh underneath. Soft shoulders, tanned skin, and the perky nips of round breasts greeted Pan and the longing became an ache. Jean placed her hands around his neck and pushed his head back hard against the bark of the tree; Pan grunted but it passed when she shoved her mouth on his. She kissed him so hard it almost hurt, their lips in a battle for victory, tongues in her mouth. Pan felt her sides, touched her back, touched her stomach then her breasts.
He wasnt gentle as he took in their size-perfect handfuls. He kneaded them hard and roughly like she always wanted, and moved his thumbs around her nips and then over their peaks. Jean moaned once in resolve, and then another time in excitement. Then she moaned in his mouth. Pan wanted her now more than ever. And he wanted her closer. Wanted her skin on his. As though reading his mind, Jean stopped the kiss and began lifting his shirt above his head; he raised his arms so she could finish the deed effortlessly.
Jean's hands greedily washed over his body, touching every part of him: His defined chest and abdomen, his broad shoulders and toned back. Her fingers raked through his hair, and with a vigor, she pulled. Pan chuckled and he took a handful of her hair and pulled it back so her head yanked stagnantly; using this to his advantage, he pushed Jean on her back and he was in control. Jean was moaning, and the sound was music to his ears.
He took one of her hands and placed it between their bodies, down where he was feeling hard and pulsing. Jean smiled when she knew what she was doing to him. He reached under her dress, and Jean gasped when he pulled and ripped her underwear off, tossing it up to the other branches.
Pan got onto his knees, watching a squirming, writhing Jean move desperately, her hips lifting involuntarily to make him work faster. And it was working. Pan pulled down his pants and drawers, freeing himself. Jean opened her legs eagerly and he moved in between them. Jean nearly cried when he moved on top of her ever so slowly, taking his time. Despite his own longing and heavy breathing, he was enjoying her vulnerable state, taking his time to watch her wiggle under him. Jean wasn't having any of that. She lifted her hips to him; her hands moved down to reach his cock and Pan, who was surprised and impressed at her intiative, gasped when she pushed herself onto him It was an odd moment where he wasn't sure which had happened but the slickness of her opening welcomed him easily and took all of him inside without any kind of resistence.
But the moment he was in her all the way down to the base was when he felt the tightness circle his shaft and he moaned He might have wanted her more than he had imagined. Immediately, he began to thrust inside of her. Jean echoed his moans, her legs closing around his waist and making her entrance tighter and he could feel her walls contracting, working with him and against him at the same time.
Pan and Jean had many moments where fucking was almost a pleasant sin of pleasure and agony, but at this moment, the two could feel more agonizing ache and need. Jean roughly kissed him, her fingers snaking behind along his back side and her fingernails digging.
He grabbed her hips, pushing his weight onto her; their hips aligned, their chests pressed together-god, it was glorious. Pan gripped bark of the branch underneath Jean and slammed into her harder, rougher, not holding back as the lady desired and loudly insisted.