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</div><br/><br/>If Peter thought Weasel was pretty in<i>this </i>state, then what did he think of the woman standing next to him?<i>Tinker</i>, was it?<i>Noted</i>. Peter and Tinker. Sitting in a tree? K-I-S-S-I-N-G? First comes love? Then comes marriage? Then comes Weasel in a baby carriage? Something was off here. Far off.<br/><br/>They acted more like brother and sister, for one....<br/><br/>And between the two of them, Weasel was still confused as hell. They were just here to fuck with her, most likely. What kind of a name was Tinker, right? That or they just really didn't know what to make of her, either. The feeling was mutual. In spite of naming her, giving her a home, and now wanting to<i>play, </i>Weasel was no further ahead with her captors. Nor thinking anything good could come of them. She knew better than to believe she had come this far in life to become a<i>family pet</i>. Besides, if sounds too good to be true, it normally is.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)">"Don't you know anything? Weasels don't <i>squeal</i>, Peter."</span></b>She can't help herself. Somewhere inside of her there was a know-it-all who needed to roll her eyes. Again as he wipes her face and she has to act like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to her. Can't let any of them know the truth, which was that Peter was going to become the most important person in her life, and she already knew it. If his hand could inflict pain, and just his sleeve alone could take it away...<i>Then what else could he do?</i>She watches him carefully as he cleans her face, both weary and wanting something from him she can't articulate yet.<i>Importance</i>.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)">"Why couldn't you name me after someone you actually know?"</span></b><br/><br/>And yes, being Peter and Tinker's pet was<i> too good to be true</i>for Weasel. After all, whatever had left her starving, afraid, cold, absolutely<i>desperate</i>when Hook found her had to be worse than this, right?<i>This</i>being Peter's hand suddenly around her throat. Fight or flight jangling her shackles like a cage match about to start. Goddammit she was so tired of fighting for her life.<br/><br/><div style="margin-left: 100px">━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━​</div><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--right lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/f7fbea3703c1ed703a923f0f16b3d564/tumblr_pax8w4Q5P11ww5ym2o1_400.gifv" title="tumblr_pax8w4Q5P11ww5ym2o1_400.gifv">
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</div></div><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)">"Peter... Stop... It..."</span></b>her windpipe expands against his hand. He doesn't let go. Her legs kick. Her fists clench. He doesn't let go. Her eyelids start seeing colours she's never seen before and there's so much spit in her mouth she's drooling, but it's only tight, tighter and tightest with Peter. She knows that now. He just keeps squeezing the words out of her like toothpaste.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)">"Please you're going to... Kill me...</span></b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)">" </span>She can't wait for him to realize he's gone too far, though.<br/><br/>The girl's body suddenly drops like a deadweight in the choke, heavy. One second kicking her feet against the mattress, the next sagging lifelessly in the restraints above her head. Oops. Did Peter even know there was a point of no return, or did he always set out to kill? Now look what he did. It was<b><i>his</i></b>fault Weasel was shattered into a thousand pieces.<b><i>He</i></b>broke and ruined everything nice. Just ask his mom.<br/><br/>Don't worry, unlike her,<i> Weasel was only playing dead.</i><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><i>All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was fun and games. Pop goes the weasel.</i></span><br/>​</div>