isn’t captain hook and his crew suppose to be a lost boys who escaped and that’s why he’s trying to kill peter pan
…what the actual fuck
I NEVER TRUSTED PETER PAN
nah everything in Peter Pan was fucked up.
Tinkerbell and her fairy buddies were having an orgy when they found baby Peter. Tinks also extremely jealous, tricking one of the Lost Boys into shooting Wendy in the fucking chest.
Peter’s also crazy omnipotent. Like, he “make believes” he’s a doctor, and heals Wendy. When he’s hungry, he pretends to eat imaginary food and his stomach actually gets fuller.
He’s also a dick. He would teach children how to fly but never how to stop, so they’d fly for months on straight without rest or break, and they couldn’t sleep either or they’d stop flying. And when one of Wendy’s brothers actually fell asleep and plummeted into the ocean, Peter laughed his ass off. He only saved him when Wendy begged him too.
okay but that’s the point of Peter Pan. It’s not supposed to glorify never growing up, it’s supposed to show kids why growing up is not only good, but necessary otherwise they’d end up as fucked up as Peter. He never matured, never learned right from wrong, he never listened to his parents because - according to Peter - he ran away as an infant.It’s a tale to teach children that listening to their parents and growing up is good. As far as Tinker Bell goes, if you actually read Peter Pan you would know that fairies only feel one emotion at a time and they feel that emotion very strongly so the orgy? lust. Trying to kill Wendy? Jealousy. She embodies the seven deadly sins and what happens if you let your emotions get the best of you. (And as far as the new fairies series of films making her nicer it’s because you only see the jealous side of her in Peter Pan and you see other sides of her in the series because those movies are about her).
Rant over, you can go back to your regularly scheduled blogging now.
So if Peter Pan shows up in your window. Stab him in the fucking chest kids. You have school tomorrow
Reblogging because I believe this will be important to the Once Upon a Time fandom tomorrow.
It’s more complicated than that. Peter is kind of a tragic hero. He chooses not to grow up, he knows he is incomplete.
I mean, he cut off Hook’s hand because he thought it was a game. He clearly doesn’t know right from wrong. He also only knows the unconditional love of a mother to a child, which is why he thinks everyone wants to be his mother. He also switches sides in a fight just for fun, kill pirates for fun, and “thins” out the Lost Boys when they can’t fit in the tree anymore.
But, like, it wasn’t a cautionary tale to tell you to listen to your parents, it’s a story about death and youth. Why can’t Peter grow up? One of the popular theories is that it’s because he’s dead. J.M. Barrie’s older brother died when Barrie was little and he dressed up in his brother’s clothes to please his mom. His mom - who was always distant, whose love Barrie craved like Peter craves a mom - started crying and said something like “At least my baby will never grow up” and that idea stuck with Barrie forever. Then, as an adult, it’s believed he never slept with his wife because Barrie was just a kid. He was Peter Pan. He was too innocent for that. He befriended the Llewelyn-Davies boys and based Peter Pan off of them and their games. (Fun fact: The boy Peter Pan was named after, Peter Llewelyn-Davies, threw himself under a train). There was also a bunch of stuff about Barrie being in love with The Llewlyn-Davies boys’ mother, but that’s not important here.
People think Peter’s dead because he literally cannot return home. He tried and the window was barred and his parents had replaced him with another baby. Why? Probably because they had lost Peter to the flu. Why does Peter come in through the window? Because of the joke “I once had a bird names Enza. I opened up the window and ‘influenza’.” Because lots of babies died back then form the flu. The Lost Boys are children who fell out of their prams. Odds are babies could not survive falling out of their prams. Peter is liked the pied piper ferrying the souls of young children to the neverland/afterlife. Barrie believed that all children were “gay and heartless” but he didn’t think that was a bad thing.
Also, Hook and his crew are not old lost boys trying to kill Peter. Hook was once a British gentlemen (hinted at to be associated with Charles II and attended Elton) and he is afraid of growing old. His biggest fear is growing old and dying - that is why his nemesis is the embodiment of eternal youth. That is why the crocodile that chases him swallowed a clock and ticks. That is why when Peter finally decided “It’s Hook of me this time” the crocodile has stopped ticking and Peter started (he’s trying to trick them into thinking he’s the croc). At that moment - Peter is time and time has ran out for Hook.
Also, it’s not so much that Peter is omnipotent. All kids basically are in the Neverland. Like, it states that the island looks different to every kid because it’s the land of their dreams and stuff. Also, the island legit freezes when Peter leaves and thaws when he comes back. He’s been there so long he’s not human anymore - but fey. (keep in mind being fey isn’t good, just chaotic neutral). Peter even secretes pixie dust now. The island is so fine tuned with him because he’s one of the only people that stay, that it caters to him. Most likely any child that stayed as long as he did would become omnipotent to an extent.
As for Tinker Bell, the above stated is true. Fairies are so tiny they can only have one emotion at a time - “Tink wasn’t all bad” - and they also have really short lifespans so, like, Tinker Bell isn’t even that important to Peter Pan. He forgets all about her and Hook by the time Wendy is grown up.And the orgies thing is because in the legends fey are known for their revelries.
And it wasn’t so much that Peter was a dick, he just doesn’t know when to stop. He’s a child. He doesn’t know right from wrong. He doesn’t know when to stop playing -cutting Hooks hand off was a game to him. He also has the memory of a child, so odds are he just forgot to teach kids how to stop flying or how to imagine food, etc. He is just carefree, like all children. Everything is a game to him, because he never learned anything else.
But like, no, Peter Pan is not a cautionary tale. Barrie loved his character and the story and brought up a lot of good things in it. He wrote Peter as an exaggeration of a cocky overconfident boy, but, like, Peter wasn’t afraid of death. It says “he felt scared, yet he felt only one shudder run through him when any other person would have felt scared up until death. With his blithe attitude towards death, he says, “To die will be an awfully big adventure”.” and with that Barrie is showing us both a naivety and bravery we possess as children but lose as adults and is basically telling us that we shouldn’t let that go. Like, the point is growing up is inevitable but you don’t have to lose everything.
And so yeah….I’m really passionate about Peter Pan.
I’ve been working on the “Peter is actually dead” theory for a while and oh my gooooood
“There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling
Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.
I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern.
Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for.
She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.
I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body.
Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What is must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save.
Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home.
Maybe she doesn’t.
Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?” and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh.
She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.
Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better.
Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”
Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns.
Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers.
When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just through the brutal wars of one life, but two.
Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand.
A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own.
Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it.
*applies to Cambridge as a joke* *Cambridge accepts me as a joke* *enrolls at Cambridge as a joke* *graduate with a Cambridge degree as a joke* *starts an extremely successful business as a joke* *creates empire for myself as a joke* *enters the press conference of my life* *leans close to microphone* ‘just kidding’ *goes home*
And it’ll be the best punchline in my family’s history…
i’m only 10,000 words in but this still feels like by far the best thing i’ve written. this could be it.
leaky was just the absolute bomb
i mean yes we were being grumpy assholes and rolling our eyes every time people sang going back to hogwarts (A LOT) but i met loads of absolutely wonderful people and the atmosphere was great and everyone was polite and kind…
What if you got the power to talk to animals but it turned out that animals are all aggressively Christian and keep trying to get you to come to youth group
Summary - Blaine’s Saturday job is in his local library in Oxford, England; one day a new customer arrives who breaks all stereotypes, he is neither over the age of sixty, only interested in the computers nor a toddler and Blaine’s calculater brain begins to crack. Somehow HUMMEL, KURT returns to renew both his books and his new friendship and so it goes
Chapter 12- 12?
there is going to be a broadway version of Anastasia
time to prepare for my audition
prompted by coolgleekazoid
Chapter 4/15 + Epilogue
Will eventually be linked to both AO3 and Live-journal
“All that glitters is not gold,
often have you heard that told”
Mine is all the glittering sea,
waves of gold engulfing me,
in the depths all shadows dark,
they do not offer a warning bark,
Have you ever sung to the ocean?
and walked waters with a board?
For the tide’s ears are always open,
as long as it’s pits are clawed.
Needle-like rice and shards of pasta,
Creep into crusted grazes on knees,
That squint with pain on bending,
Aching youth to muster pennies,
Hands cupped in the wishing well.
There are scraps of almost- children,
Slumped in corners of model villages,
Dirty flesh mixed in with lego plastic people,
Invisible to the pointing fingers
Of school tripping crowds, tripping over invisible people.
Girls in home with smoke and monster accusing hands and throats,
Dream of commercial exploits, crumbling flats like rose-tinted castles,
Never think to climb stepladders to lofty doorknobs,
swinging hand-level to those born with stilts like extra feet.
And they call out aspiration like it isn’t on the top shelf of life.
Invisible people live on knees,
While stilted children bow on their way up the beanstalk,
juggling pennies in the street.