Fandom One Shots Book Three

Peter Pan x Little Match Girl!Female!Reader Part Three

It had been years since you had landed in Neverland, Pan's magic was growing weaker. You had become powerful in all your years on Neverland, but you never grew older than the age you had been when you had landed on this island.

You came up on the ridge with the lost boys facing down the heroes, your jobs to distract them while Pan went with the heart of the truest believer. Lighting match you sang the incantation, you pulled the flame up and out creating a wall. Pushing it forwards towards the heroes, the darkly dressed with darker hair woman raised her hands and purple smoke shot forwards to push it back at you. You stretched your arms out in front of you, clapping them together to regain control of the fire before pushing them away splitting the wall of fire. One half went towards the women with a pixie cut of black hair, the other went towards the blond man with a sword who had been grazed by an arrow in the battle prior. She and a blonde woman managed to stop your fire. So, you dropped that match and lit a second. Singing the incantation again, you whipped the winds; Neverland's magic answering your call. Another spell whipped around the ridge and caught the Lost Boys in its clutches. They all dropped to the ground, modified sleeping curse. The wind whipped around you causing the dregs of magic you pulled from the faltering match to shoot out surrounding you. Using a third match you pressed it against the dying second, it lit up and vines shot up and encircled the heroes lifting them up and away stripping them of their weaponry as multiple vines ensnared them.

"You're her." The two words fell from the blonde woman whose hair was about her face, she shook it back. You tilted your head, a smile on your face. "Who am I?" She seemed to consider her words, "Pan's weapon." You tightened your fist, the vines around her tightened, she gasped sharply. "Don't call me that. How dare you call me that." There was a chorus of almost shrieking cries of her name. "He took you, didn't he? The same way he took them." You loosened the vines, nodded once. "You don't want to be here, but you can't leave. What does he have, some sort of spell?" You didn't answer. "He does." She guessed by your silence. "I was supposed to die. He brought me here, I don't want to be here." Emma nodded, "we are going to leave, once we get Henry back. You can come with us, all of you." You dropped the down carefully but did not yet remove the vines. "What's the catch?" The older man with long chin length hair pursed his lips, and the black-haired woman who had magic, muttered, "smart girl."

Back at the camp they had set up, you reunited with Tink. The Lost Boys woke and you had all been introduced. Emma and the witch Regina had gotten their son back. Now it was down to you, to lift Pan's magic off the Island long enough so you could leave, they had shadow so you could use the ship to fly. "I'm not Pan's weapon." Emma smiled, "I know." You looked at the gathered group. "I cannot lift his magic; I don't have that power."

Mary Margaret gave what seemed to be her usual honey sweet smile, "you can, all you need is hope." Regina scoffed, "spare us the hope speech. You think because in her story because she's not a villain, she's going be the hero. She's known pain, suffering and hopelessness. She was left to die by your people, by the people who have preached hope to me at every turn. If anyone here deserves to be the villain, other than myself, hook hand and Gold over there; it's her." Regina looked over at you, still sitting silent by the dying fire. "I know how your story ends." You shrugged, "everybody does." Emma looks over at you, "you know that you're a story?" You narrowed your eyes, "I'm not a story, there are stories about children like me. You know the orphan who dies at the end, so people learn to reach out and help those less fortunate. But I am not a story." Emma moved towards you carefully, she knew how it was being without a family. She sat down beside you, "you are a story in my world." You looked at her, tucking a curl behind your ear. Close up she could see you looked much younger than the young tween you were. "What happens to me?"

Your question lingered; Emma didn't know whether to answer. "I die, don't I?" She nodded, "but you didn't really have magic, you couldn't do what you did back there." You curled in on yourself pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your shins. "What do I do?" Emma pulled out your matches. "You light matches to keep warm on New Year's Eve." She stuck one. "With one match you create a fireplace." She dropped the match, it fizzled out in the damp earth, she struck another. "With another you create a table of food to eat, as if you could see into the house, in front of you." She dropped this one too before striking the third match. "With the third, you were inside the room under a candlelit tree." She dropped the third match before lighting the fourth. She watched as it flickered and looked over at you through the dancing flame. "With the last one you see your grandmother and ask to stay with her. She takes you to heaven." Emma let this flame work its way down the match before dropping into the earth. She watched as your eyes followed the match. "What is my name? In the story?" Emma sighed, "you're simply known as The Little Match Girl."

You scoffed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand, "they couldn't bother to name me." You shot up, pushing yourself away from the villains and heroes gathered. "And you call yourselves heroes." Regina, Gold and Hook all looked disgusted. "I'd thank you to leave us out of it." Gold stated. You stared him down, "you were named because you were to be feared;" you waved a hand at flawless princess Snow White and the perfect Prince Charming, their golden savoir daughter, "they named you because you were to be idealised and worshiped. People like me and the villagers, other characters who were unnamed were used to fulfil an idea or message "I am someone, I have a name. Why wouldn't you name me?" Your voice broke and cracked, you sucked in a sharp breath, the air drying the back of your throat causing you to heave and collapse. The Lost Boys looked down and fiddled with the hems of their clothes.

Regina stepped forwards, "take that pain, take that anger, and use it. Use it as the justice you should have gotten. Use it to wield hope for others. To be the hero you needed then and now. Be your own hero. Do not rely on someone else not one of heroes you have told about all your life because they will only come save you when it suits them. The heroes only ever save the damsel when they will reap riches and rewards, when they will be heralded. Be your own savoir." You raised yourself to your feet and wiped at your eyes, smearing dirt from your fingertips on the apples of your cheeks almost like warpaint the Lost Boys wore. Striking a match you began an incantation, that came easily and sweetly.

"Fire falter and recede,

Let the grass regrow,

I've changed the fates design,

Rethread the strings of hope,

Strings of hope."

There was a flash of multicoloured light, and you felt a lightness, weight fell off your shoulders as the wards around Neverland shifted. You were free. After making your way to the ship from campsite, all of you watched as Regina and Emma forced the shadow into the sail so you could fly away from Neverland and back to where the heroes had come.

Regina came up to where your stood on the bow of the ship. "You know your story may not have given you a name. But your grandmother must have." You shrugged your shoulders; it had been too long since you had been called by your name. You had long since forgotten it, something else lost to Neverland and Peter Pan. Regina lay a confronting hand on your arm. "I think you do remember it; you've just hidden it away so Pan could never find it." You closed your eyes and muttered your new incantation under your breath. Striking a match as you did so, opening your eyes a vision of your grandmother came before you. She smiled lovingly at you, mouthing your name. You blew the match out, wisps of smoke rising from the burnt wood and tips of your fingers.

"My name is......." Regina smiled at you; her eyes watery as she spoke barely above a whisper. "That's a beautiful name, suits you. Although I will admit, I was also fond of the Little Match Girl." You turned back to front as did Regina, facing the way back to Storybrooke and your new ending.