Peter's Magic Fountain Pen: A Collector's Item for Fountain Pen Lovers

Ink deserves to be inspiring. From the moment you receive it, to when you draw it into your pen, it should remind you of the magic of writing. Ferris Wheel Press created an inspiring set of fountain pen inks, carefully crafted to spur excitement, creativity, and a feeling of absolute joy every time your pen meets paper.

If you are not 100% satisfied with your purchase, you can return the product and get a full refund for the merchandise. You can return a product for up to 30 days from the date you purchased it. Any product you return must be in the same condition you received it and in the original packaging. Please keep the receipt.If you have inked your fountain pen, please contact us for return options.

Peter's Magic Fountain Pen

Download

Bring the Peter Pan statue magically to life with your smartphone, as part of Talking Statues. Simply swipe your phone on the nearby plaque and get a personal call-back from Peter Pan.

The only way to save Tink is to have Jane believe again in magic. The friends set off to find her, but she finds them instead. She suggests playing treasure hunt (as part of Hook's plan to retrieve his treasure in exchange for giving her a ride home), to which Peter agrees. She finds the treasure, but she changes her mind about Hook, but Tootles finds their communication whistle and unknowingly alerts Hook. Peter angrily calls Jane a traitor and warns her that Tink's light is going out. Jane rushes there while Peter and the boys are captured and taken to Hook's ship.

Peter reappears once again in the special Never Land Rescue under the disguise of the mysterious figure known as "The Guardian." Who explains that only the pirate who truly believes in himself can save Never Land from vanishing completely, Jake must break off from the rest of his crew and go alone on a mission to save the Forever Tree, the source of magic throughout all of Never Land.

Peter Pan's real identity was Malcolm, the father of Rumplestiltskin, separated spouse of the Black Fairy (formerly Fiona), the grandfather of Baelfire and Gideon, and the paternal great-grandfather of Henry Mills and one of the great-great-grandfathers of Lucy. Malcolm originally left his son in the care of two spinners, who gave Rumplestiltskin a magical bean to create a portal to leave his careless father. Using the magic bean, Malcolm and Rumplestiltskin traveled to Neverland, a place which Malcolm envisioned in his dreams. Upon arrival, Malcolm discovered he could not fly like in his dreams, and the Shadow told him this is because he did not belong on the island as it was only for children. Realizing that he could not be a child as he was a father, Malcolm forced Rumplestiltskin to be taken home by the Shadow. Malcolm transformed into his younger self, adopting the name of Peter Pan (which he named himself after Rumplestiltskin's doll). The Shadow informed Pan that his youth is limited, and he will die when the hourglass of Skull Rock is complete.

Peter is the lead character in the nighttime spectacular, Disney Dreams!. Here, Peter and Wendy are about to take a flight together when Peter's shadow unleashes some of the magic from the Second Star to the Right. Soon enough, the shadow is captured by some of the Disney Villains, led by Captain Hook. With the help of Tinker Bell, Peter is able to defeat the goons, save his shadow, and restore the star's magic.

The eternal minutes of years cast my soul into a new body, one that was much larger and slow than my soul remembered. That body was led by a series of unfortunate events to a bleak hospital wing where it paced in the hallway like a madman. As I waited for Death to visit my family as it had when I was a child, I recognized it immediately as the worst and best night of my life. It was in that ward, on December 27th, when she appeared as if by magic, right when I needed her most. I remember the time as if the clock is still hovering in front of me bathed in a pall of blue light. It was 7:04 PM. On that exact day, at that exact time, I looked into the soft, brown eyes of the girl who would become my very deepest love.

When I first kissed her, when she finally- after what felt an eternity- floated into my arms, the rest of the world dimmed, its color draining away for the brightness that was this magical fairy. On that day, I forgot the foolish and false importance of wife, house, and job. I forgot the goals of adulthood- or that there was even such a concept as strange and foreign as "grown-up."

She's always been able to pull me, magically casting me about like a toy despite her tiny size and my much greater weight, and age. She need only grab my hand and I could be lifted into the sky on her magical fairy dust laughter.

It isn't what I want to say. Even buried in the tomb-green lights of the funhouse, I wanted to come up with something more meaningful. I wanted to say something like: It's all different now, you're different. My lap is no longer your favorite seat. I can't sleep holding my little girl as she breaths on my chest. I'm no longer your Peter Pan, my love, and it's time for you to be another's Tinker Bell. It's different now, and even if you won't admit it, I have to. That is my role, to tell you that it's okay, that it's time for you to fly away. But I want you to know, my sweet, magical pixie, that I will always be here for you, if ever your wings get tired.

His death prompted a wave of tributes from the huge network of friends cultivated over his lengthy career, with many remembering his gentle nature and habit of sending notes handwritten in blue fountain pen.

This was terrifying news. The few dozen villagers avoided the littlecottage, especially at night-time; and when the pale stranger was seencoming down the mountain path, folded in his black robe and bearingone of his magic tomes beneath his arm, the women pushed theirchildren within doors, and made the sign of the cross.

Nevertheless, it was a child that first made the personal acquaintanceof the magician. The small son of the Widow Etcheverry, a child ofbold and inquisitive disposition, went one evening adventuring intothe unhallowed neighbourhood. He was missing for two hours, duringwhich his mother, in a frenzy of anxiety, had called the neighboursabout her and summoned the priest, who had unhappily been calledaway on business to the town. Suddenly, however, the child reappeared,well and cheerful, with a strange story to tell.

The wizard, setting aside his book, gravely accepted the silver penny,turned it magically into six gold pieces and laid the offering on thetable. Over the oat-cake and the wine he showed a little hesitation,but at length, murmuring:

"You Jack o' Di'monds, you Jack o' Di'monds," said Mark Sambourne,shaking a reproachful head, "I know you of old." He rummaged beneaththe white satin of his costume, panelled with gigantic oblongs andspotted to represent a set of dominoes. "Hang this fancy rig! Where theblazes has the fellow put my pockets? You rob my pocket, yes, yourob-a my pocket, you rob my pocket of silver and go-ho-hold. How muchdo you make it?" He extracted a fountain-pen and a cheque-book.

"By Jove, Mr. Egg!" he exclaimed, "I believe I see what you'regetting at. You mean that if this corkscrew had been made hollow, andcontained a rubber reservoir, inside, like a fountain-pen, filled withpoison, the poison might be made to flow down the hollow shaft bypressure on some sort of plunger arrangement."

Radcott led the way across the Main Quadrangle and through adark little passage at one corner, into the cool shade of the cloisters.Framed by the arcades of ancient stone, the green lawn drowsed tranquillyin the noonday heat. There was no sound but the echo of theirown footsteps, the plash and tinkle of the little fountain and the subduedchirping of chaffinches, as they paced the alternate sunshine andshadow of the pavement. About midway along the north side of thecloisters they came upon another dim little covered passageway, at theentrance to which a police-sergeant was kneeling, examining the groundwith the aid of an electric torch.

Mr. Spiller knew that the cypresses were, in fact, yews, but he did notcorrect her. A little ignorance was becoming in a woman. He glancedfrom the cotoneasters at one side of the fountain to the rhododendrons onthe other, their rainbow flower-trusses sparkling with diamond drops.

"I shall be afraid to give an opinion on anything, after that," saidMrs. Digby, shaking her head. "But whatever you decide to do, I'msure it will be lovely. It was a marvellous idea to think of putting thefountain there. It makes all the difference to the garden."

Mr. Spiller thought she was quite right. And indeed, though thefountain was rather flattered by the name of "ornamental water,"consisting as it did of a marble basin set in the centre of a pool aboutfour feet square, it made a brave show, with its plume of dancing water,fifteen feet high, towering over the smaller shrubs and almost overtoppingthe tall lilacs. And its cooling splash and tinkle soothed the ear onthis pleasant day of early summer.

"No, no," replied Mr. Spiller. "No, it's not expensive. You see, ituses the same water over and over again. Most ingenious. The fountainsin Trafalgar Square work on the same principle, I believe. Of course, Ihad to pay a bit to have it put in, but I think it's worth the money."

"I'm not a millionaire," answered Mr. Spiller, rather shortly. "Butthings might be worse in these times. Of course," he added, morecheerfully, "one has to be careful. I turn the fountain off at night, forinstance, to save leakage and waste."

Betty, she thought, was not over-pleased that Ronald had suggestedbridge. Bridge is not a game that lends itself to the expression of tenderfeeling, and it would perhaps have looked better if Ronald had enticedBetty out to sit in the lilac-scented dusk under the yew-hedge by thefountain. Mrs. Digby was sometimes afraid that Betty was the more inlove of the two. But if Ronald wanted anything he had to have it, ofcourse, and personally, Mrs. Digby enjoyed nothing better than a quietrubber. Besides, the arrangement had the advantage that it got rid ofMr. Gooch. "Don't play bridge," Mr. Gooch was wont to say. "Neverhad time to learn. We didn't play bridge where I was brought up." Herepeated the remark now, and followed it up with a contemptuous snortdirected at Mr. Spiller. 2ff7e9595c