#but like in a good way . its like being moved from a fancy hamster cage which is big and nice but still plastic to like.. a proper one with | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

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Uhhh. Ok so I don’t know what this is. It’s certainly not very good. It’s different than what I usually write. I’ll get back to normal stuff soon. I just thought this would be fun.

CW//Pet whump, lab whump, wing whump, medical exams, cages, dehumanization, needle mentions, implied past abuse

Signal hated waiting.

They hated a lot of things. They hated Dr. Natalie Sampson, for one thing.

Actually, that was most of the things they hated. Everything to do with Dr. Sampson. Their lab, their stupid experiments, their exams, or whatever the hell they spent all their time doing. Staring at those screens and hemming and hawing like an idiot.

Signal hated Dr. Sampson, more than anything. And, right at the moment, that was connected very closely to why they hated waiting. As, at the moment, they were specifically waiting for one of the doctor’s medical exams.

They had told them the night before that they were due for another one. Not that it was on a regular schedule or anything, the doctor had simply decided it was time again to shine lights in their eyes and take their blood.

Stupid doctor. Stupid medical exams.

In some small part, Signal wished they didn’t know the exam was coming. Of course, they would have preferred that it didn’t happen at all, but at least then they wouldn’t have to anticipate it. They had spent the whole night trying, without avail, to get some sleep.

They couldn’t stop thinking about what was to come. Being forced onto the exam table and poked and prodded and stuck with needles.

Stupid goddamn doctor!

The thoughts refused to stop overwhelming her, and they knew that there was no point to trying to sleep, then. They got up from her position on the floor, moving to a sitting position, sliding back against the wall. The bars dug into their spine.

That was another thing they hated, they thought, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes.

They hated their cage.

Dr. Sampson always insisted on calling it their ‘room.’ As if it was a cute little bedroom where normal humans got to sleep.

It was a cage. Bedrooms didn’t sit in the corner of laboratories. Bedrooms didn’t have walls made of close-spaced metal bars. Bedrooms didn’t have plastic floors. Even with the padded material covering said floor, it was never exactly comfortable.

Hell, bedrooms had beds! The cage had no such thing, just the mattress-like floor covering. At the very least, the cell had a sort of hiding box, in the corner. That was where Signal sat at the moment-- it was where they generally slept. The only place where the doctor could not see them easily.

Right now, though, the doctor was not here. The lights in the lab had been turned off for the night, leaving Signal feeling safe enough to get up, making their way out of their hiding space, and into the wider cage.

Not that it was exactly big. Ten paces by six, if that. The rest of it was occupied, as well. A sort of modified water fountain in one corner, with the food slot next to it.

In the other corner, Signal had thrown all her ‘toys,’ doing their very best to bury them under the mattress flooring. They didn’t need toys. They were human being, at least partly.

They were human at first glance, at the very least. Two arms, two legs, human face, the works. Hell, they had been a human, at one point. It had been great! They remembered with a sickly sort of nostalgia, how it felt to walk down the street, in public, with other people. Other normal people.

But, then, they had become a ‘specially designated class of protected persons.’ In less fancy words, a human lab rat.

That’s what they were. A lab rat. It was a wonder that Dr. Sampson hadn’t thought to put a hamster wheel in here, too.

The way they looked around the lab, checking for activity, was almost instinctual. They quickly confirmed that there was none-- besides the whirring of computers, running their overnight calculations.

They were safe.

With an aching pain of pins and needles, they shrugged off their outer jacket. Their outer downy feathers pricked up at the sudden change in temperature.

Rolling their shoulders, they let their wings fall from her back. They crackled a moment as they stretched them to their whole length-- a length enough to take up the whole of their cage, if they really tried.

They were a mess. Their wings. Not that they actually belonged to them-- they were just stupid things that had been stuck onto their back one day. Or, grown out of their back. It didn’t matter. Whichever way, they took no ownership of them. They were why they were stuck in here in the first place.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t bemoan the state that had befallen them. At some point, they had started molting, leaving clumps of loose feathers barely hanging on by their tips, crowded out by freshly-grown ones. That didn’t even take into account the dirt, or the fact that her flight feathers were all crutheyd together from having been compressed for so long.

They would clean them if they cared to. But they didn’t. Cleaning their wings wouldn’t get them out of this cage, out of this prison. Out of this lab.

Even though they still ached from prolonged cramps, Signal drew the feathered limbs back into themself. They didn’t want to look at them. By all accounts, they would have been far happier if they would just fall off.

Maybe they could arrange th-

The thought got no time, no chance to continue. The creak of the lab door felt like a gong, striking Signal’s rib cage, followed quickly by the burst of light that burned their corneas.

In a moment, they were back in her hiding spot, as far back in the corner as they could manage. With no gentleness, this time, they snapped her wings to their back.

Their face fell as they peered out of the box, seeing their jacket strewn across the center of the cage. It was the only thing that helped them forget the stupid feathery things stuck onto their back, but there was no way they was going out to get it, now. Dr. Sampson might see them.

“Good morning, Signal.” That stupid cajoling voice sounded, alongside the telltale sound of the doctor slipping on her lab coat. Had the whole night passed already?

Signal did not reply to the greeting. Stupid doctor. They fucking hated them, why would they talk to them?

“Hm.” The doctor hummed in disappointment. “You left your jacket. And a lot of feathers... Signal, are you molting?”

They turned to face the corner of their hiding box, digging their head down into the soft flooring as deep as it could go.

“You must be. Well, let’s get this exam started as soon as possible, then.”

Signal’s stomach dropped to her feet. They shouldn’t have let out their wings, shouldn’t have left the stupid jacket, should have cleaned up their feathers. They could already practically feel the prodding, poking touch, latex gloves jabbing at every inch of their body.

Touching their wings.

There were a few blissful, or perhaps stomach-churning moments, where Dr. Sampson did not speak. Instead, their footsteps sounded, moving about the lab. Picking up and setting down objects. Preparing to torture their little lab rat.

Whether the wait was nice or terrifying, Signal did not know, but they knew exactly when it was over. The sound of a key pushing into a padlock was all it took to make their feathers stand on end. No no no no no-

The door to their cage creaked open. They tried to wipe their tears on the mattress-like floor-- when had they started crying?

As if it mattered.

“Signal. Come here, bud. It’s time for your exam. I told you last night, remember?”

Signal buried their head deeper, nearly cutting off their own breathing.

“Signal.” The doctor’s voice was firmer, this time. Their heart skipped in their chest. “Come here, now.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Their words were muffled, but must have still been clear enough to be heard.

Dr. Sampson let out a sharp sigh.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting this way, Signal. I don’t want to hurt you, you know that. Just because they hurt you doesn’t mean I will.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

Another sigh.

“I understand you’re upset. This exam is happening whether you want it to or not, and I’m sorry about that. I know you don’t like it. But you know I can’t get you out of there by myself, and Dr. Crane hates to be interrupt-”

Signal was at the cage door in under a second. They moved quickly enough that they nearly lost her footing, but managed to retain it.

Dr. Sampson smiled.

“That’s more like it. Come on, then.”

Despite their cheery tone, Signal knew they had no choice, especially as the slip leash was pulled over their head and made taut about their neck. Not that the leash was really necessary-- just because they’d tried to escape two dozen times before didn’t mean they’d do it again.

Stupid leash and all, Dr. Sampson led them to the exam table in the middle of the room. A cold, metal thing, with a sort of pole sticking up out of its side. The end of the pole was marked with a hook-- a hook which the slip lead’s end was secured to as Signal climbed onto the table, legs dangling off the side.

It may have been the worst part of the whole ordeal, the stupid metal pole that stopped them from lowering their head.

“Let’s get started, then.” The doctor clapped their hands with far too much cheeriness. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel like I want to rip your face off.”

“That’s- Unfortunate.” Their lips pursed together. “Let’s try that again. Physically, how are you feeling?”

“Fine. Is that it?” They strained against the leash a moment. “Can I go now?”

“Hm? Oh, no. This exam is going to take at least an hour, honey.”

Signal’s stomach twisted.

“I’ll start with your wings, so we can talk a bit.”

Somehow, those words made them feel even sicker than before. Still, they didn’t resist as latex-clad hands took up one of their wings, unfurling it until it took up half the lab. The touch made them shiver.

“Your flight feathers are coming back in well. It’s terrible, to think that they clipped them like that...”

“As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” Dr. Sampson spoke through gritted teeth. Signal’s words were getting to them-- at least that was good news. “Signal, why are you upset?”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“You’ve been so stressed out since you got here. I have tried to make you comfortable, but I must say I’m at my wits end.” A touch to a particularly sensitive feather made the winged lab rat flinch. “Are you bored? I can always get you more toys...”

“I don’t want more toys.”

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

Signal placed their hands on their legs, gripping them until their fingers went numb.

“Then what is it?”

They hadn’t decided on the best snippy answer to that one, but they did not have to come up with one. Instead, the air was filled with the sound of the door again creaking open.

Signal snapped their wings closed, and began desperately scratching at the slip lead around their neck.

“Oh, Dr. Crane. How are you this morning?”

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #wing whump #powered whumpee

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xiolaperry · 5 years

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Of Dogs and Cats

Summary:

Rumplestiltskin, the spinner, was a dog person. The Dark One admired cats. And Mr. Gold was someone else entirely.

(My first fic EVER. Yikes!)

Inspired by the episode "The Cricket Game" and Robert Carlyle's interview for Johnnie Walker's "Walk with Giants" series.

Rated G

Rumplestiltskin, the spinner, was a dog person. He had been ever since his aunties had presented him with a sheepdog when he was 12 years old.

“You've been doing so well,” Aunt Chloris began.

“And working so hard,” Aunt Matilda continued.

“That we've decided to keep more sheep.”

“You're going to need some help taking care of them,” finished Aunt Matilda, as Aunt Chloris rose and stepped outside. Rumplestiltskin was mystified for a moment when she returned with a wriggling sack. Then a small shaggy head poked out of it.

“Is it mine?” he asked, hoping he had not misunderstood, and the puppy was for him to keep.

“Who else is going to help you with the sheep? They're not going to herd themselves!”

“Thanks, Aunties! Does he have a name?”

“No, it's up to you to choose a good name. Names are important,” said Aunt Matilda. “Now run along, take him outside and make friends with him.”

Friends. What Rumplestiltskin wanted more than anything. But who wanted to be friends with the son of the village con-artist? The son he hadn't loved enough to keep. Who would be friends with a boy abandoned with “those two odd women”? Two women, unrelated, living together without need or desire for a man, were regarded with suspicion by the village. Rumplestiltskin never complained. Not when he wasn't invited to join in the other children's games, not when he was ignored on the road.

But now he would have a friend of his own.

“Friend,” he whispered. “That's what your name is. Friend.”

And that is exactly what he became.

Friend lived a good long life, helping with the sheep and being his closest companion. Milah had scoffed at his tears when the sheepdog died. There had been other sheepdogs, of course, but he didn't have the same special connection with them as with Friend. He had a wife to take care of (and try to make friends with), and later on, he had Bae. And Bae was everything.

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Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, no longer enjoyed the company of dogs. They cowered before him, frightened, sensing the Darkness within him. He had tolerated the last sheepdog until Bae left (lost him, he's gone and its YOUR FAULT, his mind always added) and after that, he had sold it along with the remaining sheep. He had a Curse to craft and realms to cross and no desire to care for anything or anyone until he was reunited with Bae.

Rumplestiltskin never used to like cats. He didn't care for their aloof manner. But now as the Dark One, he found himself admiring their sensual grace and glittering eyes. How they could spend hours motionless, waiting for their prey to emerge from a hole. He could see a bit of himself in the cat playing with the mouse, letting it escape only to catch it again before finishing it off with sharp claws and gleaming teeth.

And now his maid, who had turned his world upside down, had brought a cat into the castle. Not just a cat, but a mother cat with kittens. Belle had found them nearly frozen to death, caught in an unseasonably late blizzard. He had his suspicions as to the cause of this spring storm. He had been tinkering with a particularly fiddly potion, and as he liked to remind everyone, all magic comes with a price.

Belle had set them up in the kitchen with a basket and blanket around the corner of the hearth, hidden from view. As if he wouldn't notice. What kind of wizard would not be aware of new creatures entering his home? He waited two days, until Belle started to relax, thinking her small charges might escape his notice. Then he pounced.

“Decided to make some new friends, dearie?” he asked dramatically, appearing directly in front of her in the kitchen. Rumplestiltskin regretted his choice of words the moment they left his mouth, reminding him of the words his aunts used countless years before. He covered his discomfort with a quip: “Or are we low on fresh meat?”

“Rumplestiltskin, please don't make me put them out in the cold,” she said, ignoring his sarcastic comments. “The kittens are so small, and they'd never survive this unnatural storm.”

He affected a disdainful air as he leaned forward to get a better look at them. The mother cat growled and hissed as she hunched over her kittens protectively.

“Please don't be angry,” Belle began to plead.

“I would never be angry with a mother protecting her babies from a monster.”

“You are NOT a monster.”

“No need for flattery, they can stay. We have too many rodents anyway.”

She moved close to him and took his hand the way she had when he had gifted her the library. He felt that fluttery feeling inside and his black heart flipped in his chest. If he didn't know better, he'd think there was something like affection in her gaze. Time to remind her who he was.

“Belle,” he said in a low tone, looking into her eyes.

“Yes, Rumplestiltskin?” she answered breathlessly.

“I'd better not find any cat shit in my castle or they WILL be dinner.” And with that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

And then the terrible day came when Belle was gone (DEAD and YOUR FAULT), and all he was left with was a chipped cup, a broken heart and a family of cats in the kitchen.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr. Gold had an iron-clad clause in his rental agreements- no pets. No dog nails scratching hardwood floors. No cats pissing in corners when some lazy tenant forgot to clean its overflowing litter box. No rodents escaping and chewing holes in the wall. No ferrets stinking up the place. No pets. Period. Full stop.

Of course, everyone thought their pet was special.

“Precious never barks!”

“Ollie always uses the litter box!”

“You'll never even know they're here!”

“How could you be so heartless as to make a child give up his beloved hamster?!”

Sweet talking, groveling, tears. It didn't matter, the end was always the same. He'd produce a copy of the standard rental agreement from his suit pocket as if by magic, and he'd threaten eviction. And then David Nolan would have a new resident at the animal shelter.

He knew they said he was heartless. A monster. They conveniently forgot that they signed an agreement, and he was only enforcing his right to protect his property from damage.

If Mr. Gold had a close friend (which he did not), he might have told them that there was one pet for which he might be tempted to make an exception: a chameleon.

His childhood in Glasgow had been dark, poor. His father had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge his son. Not with sweets, not with toys, not with affection, not even with his time. His mother was gone and he had no memories of her. He was mostly left to look after himself.

When he was about eight, he made friends with a neighbor in the apartment building. And the neighbor had a chameleon. He would sit enthralled for hours, watching it change to blend into the wallpaper, floor, or upholstery. Gold began to take responsibility for its care. He cleaned its cage every day and gave it fresh water. Looked for crickets and other bugs to give to it. He would hold the lizard in his hand, stroking it gently with one finger as he told it his secrets. He poured all his love that had nowhere else to go into the chameleon. His friend.

And then Malcolm came home one evening and announced that there had been some trouble, and it was time to move on. Immediately. In an hour they and their meager belongings were gone. He shed tears thinking of the chameleon, and his father hit him and told him to stop being a baby. And that was that.

Gold thought of that chameleon often over the years. Thought of it as he blended into his surroundings, unnoticed, amassing money and power. He occasionally thought of himself as a chameleon, adapting and changing to any situation to achieve his goals, first in Glasgow and then the States. Sometimes in a rare flight of fancy, he would wonder what happened to the chameleon. Had it ever escaped? Had it met up with another lizard and set up a wee family?

And now he was in Storybrooke with wealth and power and no need to blend in (unless he wanted to).

The chameleon popped in his mind when he saw the blonde. She caught his eye, vibrant. A bit flashy for his tastes, no fading into the wallpaper for her.

“Swan. Emma Swan,” he heard her say as she signed the register.

It was a punch to the gut. It took everything in him not to reel from the blow. Everything not to crumble under the flood of memory. The trinity of Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, and Mr. Gold ached with loss. Two thoughts rose like large silver bubbles in the flood of his drowning mind.

Bae.

Belle.

He forced words from his mouth, “Emma. What a lovely name.”

As he turned, another thought came to him. It was nothing when compared to his initial agony of remembrance, but it was painful none the less.

The chameleon had never existed.

#rumplestiltskin #belle #ouat fanfiction #my first fanfic #terrified #rumbelle #but more rumple than belle

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theparrotfarm124-blog · 5 years

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The Parrot Farm | Parrots for sale, Birds For sale, Parrot Eggs for sale

Your great aunt died and somehow decided to leave her farm to you. Maybe she felt a bond because your mother was the closest thing she had to a daughter. But even after sixty years, the house is still in good condition and not too out-of-date. You decide to live there and try to fulfill your dream of becoming a novelist. But you'll want an excuse to move away from the computer every so often. And last night, your father suggested you put some of the money your great aunt left you to start some kind of side business. The house has this huge screened in porch, and you think raising parrots would be the perfect answer. But, what are you going to need for in parrot cages?

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