*~* During a conversation with Peter through my pendulum, he told me that we got married recently (less than a year ago). I got hyper fixated on the headcanon and decided to write/script what that would be like 💚 *~*

(This ran over 8,000 words so I made it into two parts)

Word Count: 8,111

The apple trees are bulk and hearty with the harvest. Dark crisp apples hang from the thin low hanging branches of the orchard. Not a single apple has fallen and bruises on the ground - just how it should be. It was Peter's magic that kept the apples from falling too soon. After the last harvest of bruised apples, he always bit into a brown bruised apple and hated it. 

I wanted to make Peter a special dessert for tonight, something like an apple crisp or turnover just because. The only thing sweet the boys ever have is honey from the hives or the berries that grow by the river. This could be something special - just for my Peter.

I grab the next dark red fruit I could reach and added it to my basket, where already half a dozen juicy apples waited to be carved and sliced. All I had to get now were to pick the oats from the wheat and grind the cinnamon sticks. I haven't made a bakery dessert in years, not since I came to the island. 

I place the next apple in my basket and stand up to fetch the next one just past my fingertips. I go on tiptoes and strain my arm to at least get a grip on the bottom, but to no avail, it dangles tauntingly beyond my reach. I plop back down on the ground and scowl at the fruit. Fine, I bet you're rotten anyway. I go to move on to the next tree when a tap stops me.

The branch with apple takes pity on me spontaneously and stretches down to my level, almost now offering the fruit to me as an apology. I smirk at the magic and take the fruit delicately.

"Thank you."

The branch comes forward again, like a toddler wanting to show a stranger a new trick it learned. I patiently watch with a smile as the branch begins growing a tiny white and yellow flower - full bloom with a hint of dew. I go to pluck the tree's gift when another set of warm fingers lap over my own. A sense of relaxed excitement trickles over me and I stand still as Peter takes the flower and tucks the stem behind my ear, smiling into my temple the closer he gets. Fresh rain, smoke, and moss fill my sense and my bones become hollow and light.

"Hello, precious," His voice purrs like honey and I bite my lip from sighing in pleasure.  "What plan do you have with those apples? Hopefully not any target practice." His fingers curl the stray hairs from my braid.

"No, I just had a surprise in mind." I gently step away from his smell and warmth to go back to my apples.

Peter's brow quirks in interest and his smile grows sinister. "A surprise? Do tell."

"It's a surprise I'm not telling." I move on to the next tree and grab its ripened red treats. "I just wanted to do something special for you. That's all."

"Just because ... you did something you weren't supposed to?" Peter pulls out his dagger and begins slicing an apple in half.

"Not that I know of ... " I trace the apple in my hands, "I'd probably do something better if I didn't something bad."

Again, his brows have a mind of their own and he leans into the conversation, "I know you would, precious." He offers me the other half of the apple and I take the fruit and sink my teeth into its white flesh. "May I be offered a hint to this surprise?"

"You can eat said surprise."

Peter hums in approval and bites his lip, "And this ... surprise I'll be eating tonight, will it be somehow between your legs?"

The apple piece I had just eaten gets stuck in my throat and I cough. Peter's emotion doesn't change as I nearly choked from his statement. "It's an apple dessert, you pervert - god."

"You bake?" Peter's face lights with curiosity as he continues eating. "I had no idea you could bake."

"I used to do it a lot back - " I stop myself from saying 'home' and correct myself, "back in the Forest. When all I could do was cook and do farm chores. But I made really good apple crisp - it's just hot apple slices in cinnamon and oats. I used to enjoy it a lot as a kid so ... thought I'd make it for you."

Peter's Cheshire smirk and glinting eyes fade and are replaced with softness, "That's sweet of you, dearest." He steps forward from leaning against the tree and gives my cheek a sticky kiss. "I don't deserve your sweetness."

My arm pauses halfway from plucking an apple and I turn to him. His face shows no signs of tease, humor, or concern. His face is completely still and serious, which makes my nerves rise even higher.

"Yes. You do." I say slowly. "You okay?"

Peter just smiles as if he didn't give my heart the ultimate break. "Yes, precious, everything is fine." He tosses his eaten core toward the trees and says after a moment's pause. "I have been thinking lately. Very deep thinking about an important issue."

"Oh no." I take another bite, fully preparing myself for the rant. "Alright. Lay it on me."

"You and I have been courting for some time now." He says so matter of factly it scares me. I stop midchew at the mention of us on his mind and not the island or his pawns. I swallow thickly and lower the apple from my mouth. Alright, not what I was expecting ... "You've been on this island for a long time; and within those years, you've gotten a very tight grip on my heart." I snort in his dedication and his smile agrees with me. "You have earned my trust and I have hoped that I've earned yours. And after all these years; of waking up by your side, fighting by your side, and simply existing in your world, I strongly believe now is the best time to continue our adventure in the next step."

I tighten my hold on my apple half and can't seem to stop my smile from spreading. "Yeah? And what's that step?"

Peter's smile strikes a nerve in my body and I stand waiting as he sheathes his dagger. He raises his hand to summon green smoke and when the smoke clears, a brown rusty box appears. I stare at the box in his offered hands and, by his intended instruction, take it.

"What is it?" I wipe the sticky juice off my trousers so I can touch the box without worry. "Is it a vial of the last pixie dust or something ancient you - "

The rusty lid creaks open and I stand silent in the orchard. On a bed of green moss, sitting polished in the sun sat two gold rings. They looked old and vintage, slightly scratched but shining in the sun as if plucked from a wild river. There were symbols scratched into the band that I had to pick up and observe. The symbols unscramble themselves by my touch and read: Tied for Eternity.

"Oh." I clutch the box a little tighter. "Th - that next step."

Peter chuckles softly from in front of me. "Yes. We've been courting for some time now. And I believe I've earned my title of being your husband, and you of my wife."

"Oh ... " I whisper out loud, almost too scared to believe it. 

Peter Pan, the boy who sold his soul to be young forever. The boy who refused to have responsibilities thrust upon him. The boy who wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life doing whatever he wanted. The boy who refused to believe in love. 

That boy now stands before me with two gold rings.

"Yes." Peter's answer is strong and unyielding like a wall of stone. When he steps closer my world falls to his eyes and touch, his breath, and his body. I bite my lip and nearly drop the ring box if he wasn't there to catch it. "I want to be your husband, Evangeline. And I'm asking you now."

"To ... " I swallow. "To marry you?"

Peter nods. "Yes."

My body shivers and my head swoons with the future Neverland will offer. It wouldn't be any different, it would still be the two of us in love and teasing each other left and right. But the idea, the true reality of being Peter's wife changes it all. Being tied to him for eternity, forAnd being his. Peter's wife, his eternity, his forever. That's how it was when we fell in love, but with the rings, it was locked in, secured with the universe. 

"I thought that was a grown-up thing." I break the moment and Peter chuckles.

"I am over three-hundred years old," he whispers, "I believe 'grown-up' is beyond me, now."

I look back down to the rings in the box and smile, biting my lip to keep in my squeal. I gently shut the box and smile at him, my immortal lover. "Do I say 'I do' here or later?"

The smile that spreads across Peter's lips isn't like any smile I've ever seen, as well as the kiss he gives me under the apple orchard. "Save your vows for tonight, my love." Another kiss and he wraps me in his arms, "For tonight we will make history."

I hold his tunic close to me, inhaling his scent and hiding my pinching smile in his neck. "Tonight?"

"Tonight. Meet me in the grove." Peter breathes the promise between us. "Wear your cleanest tunic." his tease lights my soul on fire and my ribs to alight with butterflies. "And bring your dagger." His smile is child-like and hopeful, blazing with giddy excitement and impatience for the night. 

~

I wasn't sure if I had lost track of the time or if the night had just come too quickly (due to someone's impatience), but the stars were shining and the tides were high soon after I baked the crisp. The bonfire was wild and licking the stars in camp as the lost ones danced and yipped and hollered into the night. A feast of spiced meats, fruits, nuts, and cheeses was given out to everyone, as well as bottles of sweet rum and nectar from the honey flowers. Everyone was in full celebration of the unknown.

I was surprised at Peter's tone when he whispered in my ear, "Don't fill up, my dear, we still have dessert."

We joined the lost ones in their celebration. I sat with Felix and Lucien, listening to their stories and their huntings trips, tales, and fables of funny stories and interesting things the island had offered us. When the moon had climbed to the tips of the tallest trees, Peter's eyes rested heavily on my shoulders as he slipped into the darkness. His eyes whispered attention and I excused myself by his silent request.

I follow the deer trail alone through the forest, unsure as to whether Peter had gone ahead to get whatever he had planned ready, or if he was doing something else under my nose. I take my time, I give him time, and wander the forest and its gifted magic. The fireflies dance above my head and twirl around my ankles, swaying on their own and leading me down the trail. I open my arms and balance on the dried pine and thrive on the adrenaline softly fading from my bones the further I leave the fire and the lost ones behind. The moon guides me to my destiny. The sharp pine needles slice through the pale light, dotting the jungle floor with beams of pure silver and night.

The path winds and twists, curving along the island's thousands of trees and valleys. I've noticed before, that back in the Forest, humankind would pave their paths through trees and valleys, refusing to bend or stretch with the Mother. But on the island, the trails and paths are not made by man and their reckless minds, but with deer of cautious peace. They weave through branches, dip through groves of flowers, and climb cliffs toward the heavens. It's one of the most important details of Peter's island that I adore the most - nothing is destroyed, everything is in perfect balance.

The grove comes into view when I drop from the log bridge and the adrenaline of the drums bursts to life again. Before I can reach the top, something stops me from going further. 

Doubt? Never.

Something stops me, like I had arrived too early or needed to wait, needed to collect my wild thoughts to calm attention. I shut my eyes and feel the warm sweet breeze wrap around me like a pair of slender arms resting on my shoulders. My eyes stay shut even after my command and I stand with the island. The forest becomes quieter, the air becomes sweet, the earth becomes warm and soft under my feet. I stand frozen and still in its arms as it whispers in my ear with the wind.

"Are you ready, my love?" The island asks.

Something in me wants to laugh at its humor, the thought of doubt something humorous in my mind. I knew what it was asking. It was asking if I was ready. If I wanted to walk down that grove to Peter and our eternity. If I needed a moment's peace before the forever thrill of becoming his bride settles my body.

My body hollows and all that is alive inside me is him and the island.

I take a deep breath, stand a little straighter, and say, "Always have been."

The breeze quickly picks up and I force my eyes open. In the moonlight, the clean tunic (by Peter's request) that I had chosen was replaced with white silk. The white gown I had worn at the ball lies back on my bones, like the morning's heavy fog. The train was longer, stretching back into a beautiful river of lace and silk. The sleeves have puff along my shoulders and the cuffs are clean and buttoned. I remain barefoot with ivy leaves and moss wrapped around my toes and more that tangle into my fingers and hair. The stems weave my hair into knots of braids and curls, shaping a crown around my temple. The dagger I had brought with me - by Peter's instruction - lays delicately on my hip in a sheath of crystal and grey.

A glow of light emerges from the grove and I step forward, the white train dragging behind me. Below into the small valley, in the center of the moonflower meadow, was Peter under the altar. He has changed from his green forest tunic and trousers to his same "Lord Kensintong" get-up; a creamy gold corset vest over fancy lush trousers. His feet were bare, too as he stood in the small valley.

My heart jumped and leaped for him. My perfect boy, powerful and sweet, standing with pride. The fireflies grew clustered in the valley, rising from the flowers like coals of flame toward the bowl of silver in the sky.

My lover stands waiting for me, arm outstretched and fingers open. My brain forces my feet to move down the rough stone steps, but before I can listen, I bend down and take a few flush ferns and ivy from the jungle, wrapping them in a bouquet of my island. Peter gives me a look for the gesture, but I shrug. It's tradition.

https://youtu.be/A2ruVe2BYes

I hold the stems of ferns in one hand and hold my skirts in the other, descending down the stone steps, rough and warm under my feet. The air is sweet and warm but my body still shivers. I can feel the gown trail down the steps a few feet behind me, the silk breathing the air and flowing with the whisper of the island's blessing. 

I reach the bottom before I could process and make my way across the valley to Peter's outstretched hand. His skin is soft and warm and rough when I slide my fingers into his, perfectly connecting. Like sliding broken pieces of glass together to see the clear image. The image is still flawed, broken, and beyond repair, but that's what we are: beautifully broken pieces finding each other and creating our true image.

The altar is tall now that I've gotten a chance to see it fully. A structure of two wooden poles creating a doorway, ivy and flowers wound themselves up top as if this altar had been here for years, decades, waiting for this exact moment. A skull sits in the middle with antlers erupting from its sides, staring down on us not with fear, but with expectance and calm.

"What happens now?" I whisper between us, realizing then no one was officiating. It was just us in the meadow.

Peter releases my hand after kissing my fingers and pulls out one of the vintage gold rings he showed me this morning. "Evangeline," He says my name like honey, and I melt. He takes my hand again, gently prying my fingers apart to slide the gold onto my finger. "You cannot possess me for I belong to myself." The metal shrinks and perfectly snugs inside at the base of my knuckle. 

"But while we both wish it, I give you which is mine to give. You cannot command me for I am a free soul. I pledge to you, my love, that I will be your eyes into which I smile every morning. I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be your shield for your back, and you for mine." He takes a deep breath that shudders the meadow. "I shall not slander you, nor you me. I shall honor you above all others - god-like and mortal. And when we quarrel and fight, we shall do so in private and tell no stranger our grievances."

He releases my hand and reaches for the dagger b his waist, his dagger, polished and buffed to shine in the moonlight. It's handle aged with scratches and blemishes from fights and needs. He takes the blade and lays it in his hand, offering for me to take it. "This is my wedding vow to you, my Evangeline." He breaths, "This will be a marriage of equals."

His vow sinks into my heart and deeper into my body, finding its way into the deepest parts of my soul and making its home there. Forever now a part of me and my being. I slowly reach for the dagger and take the balanced blade, weathered and well worked. Peter gives me a nod when I am hesitant on the taking.

I shudder and rasp out, "God, how am I gonna top that?"

A drop of rain tickles my head as his chuckle echoes the meadow.

"Why did you give me your dagger?" I whisper, not wanting to ruin his raw pledge.

"It is a sign of a prosperous marriage." He explains, "It was something the Natives did of the island before us. Both partners would exchange their swords for the other's protection. You have my dagger, therefore I will protect you with my blade."

The long knife in my hands is familiar yet unsteady when I yield it. A foreign yet comforting sense came over me as I held his knife; the knife he has used for countless adventures and journeys across the realms. I exchanged my dagger for him, seeing it oddly set into my sheath, looking oddly out of place.

My ring's twin appears in my opposite hand, light and delicate like a dandelion seed compared to his dagger. I clutch it tight, almost afraid it would fly away, and take Peter's hand in mine. When I first held that ring, I didn't know what to say. No words are as meaningful and as compassionate as Peter's own raw vow. 

Then the words came, like waking up to a grassy meadow covered in dew. It was just right there. A vow is a promise of what you will do every day, so as Peter had done for me, I cut open my heart wide and bleed into my words.

"Peter," I say his name aloud into the night. "You've helped me become the person I am today. You've helped me overcome my own fears just as I have helped you overcome yours." I slip the ring over his knuckle, watching it adjust perfectly to his skin. "I will give you my everything. I will be the light you need in your world of shadow. The hand you reach if you fall to your knees. I will give you my body, my soul, and my spirit to help you on your journey." 

I take a step forward and offer the hilt of my silver dagger to him. "That is my marriage vow to you, Peter. This will be a marriage of equals."

"A marriage of equals," Peter echoes, taking the blade and placing it gently into his sheath.

Peter takes both our hands together again between us. The altar's ivy begins to shift and move from the wooden beams, crawling down toward our hands. I catch myself trying to pull away, but Peter's hand tighten around mine and his eyes are open and giving. I stand still at his request and watch the altar's ivy. The strands of thick leaves and moss settle onto our hands, wrapping around our wrists and up to our arms, entangling themselves around our joined hands. Flowers begin to bloom on the ivy as it settles, reflecting the moon's glow; and the fireflies begin clustering around us as before.

"What's happening?" I whisper.

"The island," Peter says softly, smiling brightly at the leaves tight hold onto each other. "It's giving us its blessing."

The flowers open to reveal tall pink petals and green glowing dust. I gawk at the pixie dust as it sparkles and rises from the petals. The dust begins to float around our hands, alighting the stems and holding our hands together in a firm hold. We watch as the blessing wraps around our hands, glowing bright and brighter until - 

It stops.

It fades away into the leaves and drifts toward our rings, now being the sole container of our blessed marriage. The ivy slithers away from our hands and we are allowed to break apart - which isn't for long.

Peter's smile grows bigger and bigger and he pulls me toward him, "It's done."

"That's it?" I ask, "We're ... "

"Married." Peter confirms, "the island blessed us, it's done." he cups my cheeks and dips me down, kissing me with fervor and passion that I'm knocked off my feet. I curl my fingers into his hair and lean into his touch and heat. "You are my wife, Evangeline."

My face crinkles into happiness. "You are my husband, Peter Pan."

Peter's smile is a beacon of moonlight as his kisses surge me again. My heart leaps with the fireflies as they explode around us, flickering and dancing toward the sky as we savor our bond. And the island knew it, too. 

~

"You know, I half expected afterward we'd just go back to the others or go back to The Delilah and 'contemplate' the marriage." I think out loud and Peter smirks from the picnic blanket, "but this is better."

Peter raises a piece of fruit to his lips and explains, "It is customary that after every wedding that a feast should follow."

"But isn't that for like guests and family?" I wonder as I take a block of cheese from the platter. 

"It's for the wedding party, and that is us." Peter leans on his elbows and kisses me tenderly, smiling in between breaths and cupping my waist. I return his affections and take the grape he offers.

"Our wedding feast, eh?" I look down at the assortment of goods Peter surprised me with after the wedding; cooked and spiced meats, stew, bread, fruits, honey, berries, cheeses, and (for dessert) the apple crisp I made earlier that day. "It's quite a spread."

"While the lost ones have their party and feast, we shall have our own." Peter smirks at his clever plan and continues, "I've already told Felix that we wanted privacy for the night, so if any of the lost ones try to find us, I'm sure Felix will stop them."

"Or the island," I say as the bushes around us thicken on their own. The canopy above us was open and bare to the night sky and moon. The clearing around us was thick with hedges, thorns, and brambles so that no living thing could disrupt our ceremonial feast. I suppose Neverland's blessing goes further than our hand-tangled ritual. "So, what should we do now? Now that we're married, you know." I pop another berry past my lips.

Peter shrugs and leans his elbow on one of the many scattered pillows on our blanket. "We shall do whatever we desire, my love. Tonight, and for however long we like afterward, will be our time."

"You mean like on our honeymoon?" I tease, "Where do you plan on taking me? I thought you disapproved of me leaving the island."

"We're not leaving the island," Peter says as he leans forward, speaking into my lips and fainting tastings like sweet cheese and bitter wine. "You haven't explored all of Neverland yet, my dear. I still have my secrets."

"I thought this was a marriage of equals," I mutter into his mouth. Cheese and wine are a bitterly interesting combo but the softness of his lips stops me from pulling away.

"I didn't say they'd be secrets for long." He puts a kiss on me, again, and again, and again, before uttering the words, "This will be a marriage of equals."

We basked in the love bound by the island in the moonlight, feasting on meats and wine, talking about futures, and teasingly giving us the titles "kings" and "queens." For there aren't any kings or queens in neverland.

Now, just us. 

After our feast is finished and we lay comfortably full in Neverland's light, we abandon our wedding picnic and take each other's arms to stroll the deer trails of our island. I link my arm with his and hold onto my husband, letting the bliss of the memory slosh and sketch itself over and over into my brain, into the very marrow of my skull. I wanted to stay in my wedding dress a little bit longer, I wanted to slow down time on this day, on this night, and stare at my old gold ring. 

Something about the scars and age of it made sense. It comforted me that I wasn't given something flashy and new, something sparkling and untrue. The diamond's glare didn't cover the illusion of our marriage. It was old, raw, and sturdy. That of an old ship that could still float. That of a structure aged with splinters and stands tall against the seasons. That of a river with rocks in its path. 

It is raw, powerful, and equal.

We are scarred, broken, and damaged beyond perfect repair. We are shatters of broken glass that have somehow managed to find their connecting piece. 

We wander and walk through the island, exploring the unknown and untouched. Peter leads me to a shallow river between two cliffs drowned in moss and life. In our bare feet and dressing gowns, we head into the shallow river and explore its nooks and crannies. The waterfall behind us trickles like that of an abandoned faucet not securely shut. He cups his hand and pools the crystal fresh drops and offers the first sip to me. I drink the spring from his palm and offer the same to him. My train and edges of my gown get drenched in the spring, but somehow do not stain with mud or dirt.

When we've explored the shallow river and climbed from the cliff, we continue walking through mountains and valleys, stopping every so often to feast on the berries and nuts of the island. We laugh, talk, love, and cherish the island at our feet. 

(I know this is a very long chapter 😅 If you need to pause or get something to eat/drink you can mark this as a stopping point. Please go drink some water ❤️)

(TBH It's just smut from here)

We come across a familiar part of the jungle in our walk, stumbling upon a familiar grove and paths to the wide old willow tree, where the wreckage of our Delilah sits aglow. Peter leads me up the winding staircase of roots and moss to the deck. The slightly slanted ship was glowing with lanterns of fireflies and candles scattered among the rails and clean surfaces a candle could rest on.

"Did you do this?" I whisper to him.

"Tonight is a night of celebration," He offers his hand, and when I step down from the railing he quickly scoops my legs so I lay bridal style in his arms. "I thought it would be a pleasant surprise."

I cling to his neck and accept his kiss, "It is," I cup his cheek and trail my fingers down his skin, feeling the small bumps and memorizing the softness. "Thank you."

When his forehead touches mine, I'm back to feeling lighter than air. Peter takes me down the small stairs to the living quarters, where he sets me down on the layers of carpet and squeaky wood floorboards. Our home is that of the upper deck; scattered with candles and even - oddly - clean and tidy. Even Peter's side of the Living Space is clean and put away. When I turn to him for an explanation, he just smiles and repeats, "This is a night of celebration."

Callie and Rufio are found near the fire, snoozing away with empty bowls of their feast. I step forward to wake them or at least scratch their spots into bliss, but Peter gently stops me with a hand on my waist.

"They won't wake until morning. I slipped poppies into their dinners so they may sleeper longer." He whispers.

"Why?" I whisper back, eyeing them both as Peter slowly takes me away to the curtained bedroom. 

"So we may have our evening in peace."

The bedroom, as the Living Space, is clean and tidy with candles and flowers. The bed is made of soft quilts and furs for the chillier months and the silk curtain around the entire bed is open and soft in the candle's light. 

"If you wish to sleep and nothing more I will find that evenly satisfying," Peter says softly, his fingers trailing down my arms and fingers. "Tonight is our night, we may do whatever we please without consequence."

I don't turn around at his request, I reach up to hold his hand by my shoulder, the one agonizingly teasing my buttons and cuffs. I wanted to lay with him - in sleep and in love - because this would be the first of many nights. The first night we lay together with our daggers and rings. This night has already become memorable, nothing could do opposite its effects.

"I want to lay with you, but not in sleep." I reach up and begin unbuttoning my cuffs. 

His brow does not quirk in interest. He does not smile or frown or ask if I may change my mind. He stands in the flickering candlelight, faces still and soft. I wonder if he was the one who only wanted sleep and nothing more, and I begin to reconsider my answer and button my cuffs again.

Then, Peter shuts the privacy curtains of our bedroom and finally says, "Are you sure, my love?"

I raise my hand, showing the two buttons I've popped. "I'll need help getting undressed. This thing has a thousand buttons."

*~* (PRT 2 is basically going to be just smut and the aftermath of the wedding.) A part of me had this gut feeling that our wedding would have been really intimate and private, being Peter wouldn't want that big flashy type of wedding - and it's also Neverland. And in my shifting DR, I've always imagined Neverland being something so much more than just an island, but a part of Peter and its own divine being. So that's why I added the "unbreakable vow" reference."

** PRT 2 WILL BE UP SOON **