Disclaimer: I do not own "Once Upon A Time", Peter Pan or Felix; the writers of Once do. I do, however, own Gemma Berring, the evil stepmother, the Lost Boys that I created, the evil witch bitch and any other characters other than Pan and Felix.
[A/N: Hello! Tis LoyalToPan from Wattpad. So, I was going to put this fanfiction on this site anyway but on my own time. HOWEVER, Time was not on my side and he rushed the process. As a result, I forgot my password and email which in turn forced my hand to post it on here to finish it. C'est la vie! I don't mind, really. It gives me a chance to fix it. To be honest, it was a bit shitty. Now I get to make it better and not so rushed or cheesy! YAY! And all of you who were following it on Wattpad, I implore you to re-read it because there will be many changes.
And to anyone who is reading this for the first time:
In this fanfiction, you will not be finding Henry of Emma or Snow or Charming, or any of the first half of season 3, for that matter. I got seriously bored and annoyed with those Peter Pan/OC fics with the hunt for Henry. I understand that is how we were introduced to him, but COME ON. It gets annoying reading the same thing over and over but with different situations. Anyway, I also want you to know that Peter isn't Rumple's father in this fic because that's just fucking weird.
Beware there will be the sex and swearing and BY THE GODS will there be licking.
I hope you enjoy your stay. *licks you all*]
Gemma was getting bored. She wasn't used to sitting still for so long. Without thinking, she turned her head to the left to look out the window, which was a big mistake. Mr Connelly released a hiss of breath - which wasn't the first time - and she couldn't help but bite her lip to keep from laughing.
"Sit still, child!" Mr Connelly, the family portrait painter, demanded from behind the canvas before him.
"Kind of hard..." She mumbled.
Gemma turned to looked at Mr Connelly. The light from the sun caused black blobs to alter her sight briefly. When they began to fade away, she could see that Mr Connelly was gripping the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, his glasses rising in the process. Gemma was sitting in a large arm chair in front of a massive, roaring fireplace - despite it being mid-summer - and a family portrait of her, her father, and her stepmother. Mr Connelly took a deep breath and brought his hand away from his face, leaving smudges of paint.
"Ok, darling. Please, oh please, try to sit still for another hour."
Gemma lifted her eyebrows sarcastically and did an exaggerated fake smile for Mr Connelly. He let out an exasperated breath. "Thank you, but you can lessen your smile a bit."
Gemma allowed her cheeks to relax and stared at Mr Connelly while he continued to paint. It was only ten minutes in when Gemma's mind wandered away from the situation and she looked away. Mr Connelly let out a tortured "hopeless!" and threw his paintbrush to the ground before stomping out of the room and, no doubt, the mansion. Gemma could hear her stepmother frantically try to convince Mr Connelly to stay and continue, that Gemma would be good, but he refused. Gemma had her head turned and was covering her mouth, trying to hide her amused smile. She then heard heels storming back into the room, causing her smile to disappear.
"Well! I hope you're happy! He's gone and he refuses to come back! Now what are we going to do, young lady?"
"Come on, Momma! It's not like you can seriously expect me to sit still for hours on end! I can barely sit still for five minutes!"
Mrs Berring had her arms crossed across her chest and was muttering to herself.
"And you're not listening to me..."
"Excuse me?" Her mother snapped her head back at her, enraged. "Go to your room!"
Gemma gaped at her. "You're kidding right?"
"GO TO YOUR ROOM!"
Gemma threw off the knitted blanket that cascaded across her lap and ran up to her room, nearly tripping over her skirts. She heard a scuffling behind her and smiled at the thought that the cooks couldn't hold back her Irish Wolfhound, Geoffrey, any longer. Geoffrey trotted up the stairs beside her loyally. Gemma ran to her room and slammed the door after her dog. She fell on her bed, her face stuffed into a pillow.
"UGH! I hate her!"
Geoffrey jumped onto her bed, laying his head on her arm and whined.
"I wish I could leave, too." She answered him, though she really was just using his whine as a way to voice her thoughts. It was comforting talking to her dog like they were having a real conversation.
His sad eyes stared up at her. He placed a paw on her shoulder, a sign of consolation.
"Oh, Geffy!" She had sat up by now and leaned her head on his, kissing his forehead.
Her bond with Geoffrey had started when he was only a year old. There was an infmaous adult female Irish Wolfhound in the village, though she was a stray. She was a mystery as to how she got there. She just showed up. One day she was shown to be pregnant, how no one could tell. She had a litter of three pups. Two of which died, followed eventually by the mother. Luckily, it was after the lone pup was fully weaned. The pup, which we identify as Geoffrey, soon became a scavenger to survive. A pup who stole food from the market and was quickly labeled "the mutt from Hell".
One day, when Gemma was 10, her father, may he rest in peace, brought her to the village market on Market Day. He felt it was important to personally know the people of the village he was charged to watch over by the king. She was amazed by the townsfolk and their gadgets that she had only read about. They were steam powered and quite effective. Some of the tables had weapons which her father pointed out as a table for hunters, and others were just stuff to help other people throughout the day.
She walked along, looking at the food tables for a snack when she heard a commotion to her right. She looked over to see a dirty, white puppy cowering against the wall with a link of sausages in his mouth and a butcher with the reddest face she had ever seen holding a cleaver up to him. Gemma screamed, dropping her rabbit fur hand muffs and ran to the dog, wrapping her arms around him. The butcher was shocked but his face was quickly coated again with anger.
"Get out of my way, girl! This doesn't concern you!"
She looked over at the butcher through her brunette ringlets, tears pouring down her face. Her father ran over, "Gemma?"
Mr Berring looked at the butcher who still had the cleaver raised at Gemma and the dog. "What's going on?" Her father was pissed, for a lack of a better word.
"I'll tell you what! That girl of yours is getting herself in the middle of things she oughtn't!"
"What is the problem exactly?" Mr Berring said calmly.
"That mutt stole my sausage links and I am getting them back!"
"Is that all?" He raised his eyebrow and held back a smile, but Gemma could see the humour behind his eyes. She hid her smile in the neck of dog. "Well, I shall have to pay for links, then."
"What?" The butcher said stupidly.
"Everyone has to eat." Her father approached the puppy and held his hand out. The pup sniffed and then licked his hand. Mr Berring smiled. "Who does this dog belong to?"
"No one. It's a stray."
Gemma saw something shine behind her father's eyes. "Oh, really?"
Gemma fell asleep to that memory. When she awoke, it was the middle of the night and her bed was empty. "Geffy?" She mumbled, still groggy. She looked over to the window to see said dog resting his front paws on the windowsill and was staring intently at something. "What is it, Geffy?" Gemma got out of bed and and stood next to Geoffrey at the window. She saw a black silhouette fly over a neighbouring house and then through a window. "Oh!"
A couple minutes passed when she saw the silhouette leave the room with a child in its hand.
"Oh, my!" She said.
Geoffrey whined next to her and licked her hand.
"Is-is that a shadow?"