sideblog for my dmsp writing! i have a few current stories (and honestly i didn't even expect to have one) so i decided to make this. please feel free to send me an ask about my work! comments and rbs appreciated
Day 9(??) of drawing Iron Lung because my feelings about this movie are too extreme to be contained by a single panel so I had to make a comic strip of course!
(But for real, tho. I'm glad Ava finally admitted Simon didn't deserve this at the end because DAMN no one deserves all that. But also, it was such a hollow victory because it was like 'You don't deserve this but you're gonna die alone, irradiated, and oxygen deprived down there anyway'. And she didn't even know about the human corpse amalgamation fish demon!!)
I am watching a mouse make a series of what I can only describe as Fuck Around Choices, and the Find Out is VERY excited to continue this little experiment.
I'm watching my parent's dog Arwen up at their house.
Arwen (Kelpie, 60lbs) is 15(ish?) now and while she has a high prey drive and history of successful hunts, she's also 15 and doesn't give many fucks.
I also have my dogs.
Charleston (Sighthound/pointer mix, 50lbs) is 10 and another proactive carnivore, but he's also JUST finished making his Perfect Couch Nest and doesn't want to get up.
...Herschel (Corgi, 40lbs and extremely tube-shaped) is 5 and has no Prey Drive, but he does have a PLAY Drive, which i found out last time I was up here and found him, having cornered a baby bunny, play-bowing and shaking his ass at it because he just had a Great Time chasing it, now it was the bunny's turn to chase HIM!
Even though all three of these assholes spent all day dragging me hither and yon through the rockies, he still has the endurance of an athenian messenger and still looking for a reason to careen around the house at Mach Fuck.
A Reason has Arrived.
My parent's house is the median age of a US senator, and every year about this time, the local mice start experimenting with sneaking into the house for warmth and snacks.
At 11:14 PM, I noticed a single gray mouse had entered, and was exploring the far side of the living room, which is fully accessible to the dogs, but not in their immediate line of sight.
About a minute in, Charleston notices, but his sole reaction is to look at it, then make very pointed eye contact with me as if to say "Are You Seeing This Shit? Disrespectful." and then curl deeper into his couch nest.
Arwen is very asleep, snoring and farting.
Shortly after that, Herschel noticed The Mouse, mostly because it had meandered into the main part of the living room, possibly lured in by the kibble-heavy scent of Dog Farts.
It had, actually, wandered to within two feet of where Herschel was splooted on the floor, dozing, directly in front of his nose.
Now, I don't now much about Mouse vision, but on average, Herschel is very nearly the same color as my parent's carpet, and does very much resemble a faux-fur throw pillow in shape and texture. Perhaps he is well-camoflaged. Perhaps it is full of tiny rodent hubris.
It is very quiet- quiet as a mouse, even- but it must still smell of one, because the first thing I see is Herschel's nose twitch.
His eyes slowly crack open
Cross to focus
Then very quickly open as he recognizes the shape as A Potential New Friend!
His Nubbin begins to wag
One hind foot goes up
The the other
and he slowly rises to a mere half inch above his previous elevation, and begins to slowly play-stock the mouse.
This is not the subtle maneuver of a camouflaged predator, but the hyper-visible way that Corgi and other herding dogs go "I'm Gonna Getchya! I'm Gonna Getchya!" at sheep and cattle and birthday parties full of toddlers in an attempt to get thin to break into a run so The Chasey Game can begin.
The Mouse noticed that it had been Noticed (TM) but to it's credit, it did not run, but instead was very casually search-ambling back to whence it came, it's ears pointed directly behind it, listening to The Find Out.
Props to the mouse, even though Herschel had significantly closed the distance between them, it was maintaining it's facade well.
...but it has now made the peculiar descision to shelter inside the Wobbler Kong, a hard plastic and heavy toy that is in fact exceptionally bite-proof and may have kibbles in it.
The reason there may be Kibbles in it is that I feed Herschel all his meals in the Wobbler to keep him from bolting his food and/or choking himself, because in order the get the kibbles back out, he must do smack the shit out of the wobbler like so:
He's currently standing, staring at the wobbler, waiting for his New Bestie to come out, but I can see the gears of impatience turning and he may decide to accelerate the mouse's descision-making process.
The reason I am allowing this to happen is that The Mouse is unlikely to come to any harm beyond some environmentally-adaptive trauma, and I am Hoping it hauls ass back to the compost bin where most of them live and tells the colony that there's a very large fucked up little man in the house, fuck that shit, let's stay out here.
I don't know if Psyops work on mice but I feel like it's worth a shot.
After a few minutes of waiting for the mouse to come out, Herschel was getting concerned (bored) and stood up all the way, little paw raised, ready to smack the fun back into this poor creature.
"Ah!" I told him.
As much crime Herschel commits, he's actually quite biddable, and stopped, little paw raised, staring at me before slowly lowering it.
"Good job!" I tell him, and he wiggles with joy. "Figure it out!"
Herschel returns his attention to the wobble, circling and sniffing it with small boofs of excitement, looking bac at me for approval eery so often, before giving the bottom of Wobble the smallest, gentlest push with his nose, which doesn't make it rock, but does scoot it along the carpet.
"Okay!" I tell him, and for the last few minutes he has been slowly scooting the mouse inside the wobble across the living room floor an inch at a time.
This has, however, made charlie actually sit up and watch, so I may need to intervene soon.
I mean my whole life is a funny story but in this particular case, it's funny because while I do not have a broken ankle, I do have a pretty severe sprain, and a new appreciation for the horrors of Wordle.
I'll get there.
Anyway, when we last left off, Herschel was doing the Canine equivalent of Playing Cars with the wobble, scooting it around the living room with his nose, which was enough to wake up both Charlie and Arwen, who were squinting at him with matching expressions of "What is the Ginger Idiot up to now?"
Eventually, Herschel got distracted and paused to get a drink, and I started to get up to rescue the mouse, but before I could walk over to the far side of the Living Room, the mouse made the first move, and stuck it's face out of the treat hole to see if the coast was clear.
...in full view of Charleston, and in the following millisecond, I watched his body and Soul become possessed with the millennia-old instincts of his sighthound ancestors, and the more recent instruction of the cats who raised him, and in a beautifully fluid motion that inspired the poets of old, launched himself out of his decadent nest of couch pillows and quilts, up over the coffee table and about 15 feet across the living room to POUNCE on the Wobble and Mouse.
Fortunately, for the mouse, the Wobble isn't the easiest thing to grab, even if you have opposable thumbs, and instead of acquiring a late-night snack, Charlie instead pressure-launched the wobble across the living room and into the kitchen, where it proceeded to pinball around between the cabinets and dinner table.
Herschel, who loves activities and is also a jealous little brat who hates it when Charlie so much as looks at his toys, retaliated by taking a flying leap onto Charlie's face and the two began to wrassle aggressively while Knocking the wobble and everything else in the kitchen around, including me as I tried to grab the wobble from between them.
Charlie broke away from his brother via the complex tactical strategy of "Use limb superiority to smack him repeatedly in the face", and sprinted out of the kitchen across the house with the look of an animal In Hot Pursuit, Herschel and myself on his heels. When Charlie came to a halt at the back door, there was no mouse to be found, much to everyone's bafflement.
I hear jingling back in the living room.
I return to find Arwen has gotten up, walked the seven and a half feet to where the Wobble is in the hall now, and laid back down, both big Puppy Crime paws on either of the Wobble.
I am walking back, because usually she just wants to lick kibble dust and the occasional forgotten green bean out of it, and am fairly sure the Wobble is Devoid of Mouse, who has escaped to relay news of the modern wolf pack inside the house.
Instead, Arwen opens her mouth wide, turns her entire head sideways, clamps onto the top of the wobble, and twists her neck.
She's learned how to unscrew it.
I sprint back and manage to grab the wobble from her and the other two canines now Baying for Rodent Blood at my feet, and carefully peek inside.
The Mouse is still within the Wobble, plastered to the far side of the container, extraordinarily flat, as though trying to become one with the hard plastic walls. Deciding that it was Traumatized Enough, I taped a paper towel over the opening to trap it but not create an airtight seal and took it out to the yard.
I was about to release it when I looked back to see all three dogs at the door, watching every motion with a laser focus, and realized that they'd scent-trail it back to the main colony. I decided I didn't really feel like dealing with the consequences of Arwen and Charlie teaching Herschel that pinkie mice are made of meat, and opted instead to take the mouse to my car, and drive it a few miles up the road to the nearest meadow for release.
It's a lovely October Night. Temperature in the low 50's, full moon, and the wind blowing through the turning leaves when I get to the meadow, and I take my time going down the embankment from the gravel parking lot of the city park, a bit into the tall grass near the creek that cuts through the meadow, and carefully unscrew the wobble. The mouse is still braced to the inside, so I set the pieces down and wait for it to cautiously start sniffing and delicately step out of the toy, stare up at me for a moment, and then scamper off into the grass.
I look up at the big yellow moon, and for a moment, all is well with the universe.
then there is not quite a noise, and not quite a motion but more of a Disturbance In The Force on the edge of my peripheral vision, and I slowly turn to look.
Also enjoying the Lovely October Night and the associated seasonal changes to its anatomy is one of the last true Megafauna of the Ice Age, which have been making a big comeback in Colorado of late, but I had not realized they'd come out of the mountains and into city limits:
The Bull Moose is maybe 60 feet away from me, and still making up its mind about how it's going to respond to this invasion of it's personal space.
Slowly, I back up the way I came.
The Moose chooses violence, as is it's right, and charges.
I am possessed by ancient instincts much like Charlie was and scramble back up the embankment, into the parking lot, and sprint for the car, which has already endured one moose attack and lived.
Unfortunately, just before I get to the car, I eat shit on the loose gravel, roll, ans slam my ankle into a granite boulder at the edge of the lot with considerable force.
Adrenaline carries me through, and I get back up, run the remaining five very painful steps to the car, and get inside. I start it up, through the brights on to dazzle the moose, and prepare to make a very inadvisable reversal out of the lot.
The moose is only halfway up the embankment, staring with a dull disappointment into my brights, having concluded from my spectacular lack of coordination that I am no threat to it, and it turns back down the small hill.
It's my left ankle, so I can still drive, but I still spend two hours in the Urgent Care to get it looked at and braced, because there are people having Much Worse nights ahead of me, and decide to be grateful that for all my other problems, I am not having their problems, even if there is no Wifi.
I get home, all three dogs stomp as hard as they can on my boot to make sure it's good and sturdy, and I pass out in the recliner like my Dad for a solid five hours, and then got woken up again because Herschel and Arwen were having an argument about who was going to sleep on my leg to fix it next.
Charlie has won.
---
If you'd like to support me and the Gallus Foundation For Fucked Up Ankles, please consider donating to my Ko-fi or subscribing to my Patreon to pre-order the Family Lore: A Lineage Of Absurdity book I'm writing.
So I had to go back and get the Wobble so Herschel could have breakfast, and while poking around in the grass, my sister texted me.
Sister: So I saw the mouse story???
Me: oh god don't tell mom.
Sister: oh no, they'd worry too much.
Sister: ok but if I tell you something you can't tell them, okay?
Me: now what
Sister: were you up at North Shields Pond? The one with the turtle sign?
Me: yeah?
Sister: okay that's just spooky.
Sister: so you know that huge dent in the back of Beyond? (my car, formerly her car)
Me: Yes, it's how I find it in parking lots?
Sister: never tell mom but I didn't back into a Ballard.
Me: oh my God.
Sister: I think it was like 2019, but Arwen had cornered a mouse that climbed into her old puzzle ball so I took it out to the meadow there to release it, and it was suuuuper late at night so I didn't see the moose either...
Me: what the fuck
Sister: I mean I didn't eat shit and fuck up my ankle but that thing hit the car harder than that time I got hit by that pickup.
Me: what the fuck kind of Bethesda-ass glitchy specific trigger videogame cutscene bullshit is this?
Sister: I DON'T KNOW???? MAYBE THE MICE ALL HAVE A TELEPATHIC LINK TO THAT MOOSE SPECIFICALLY??
Sure, the bathroom is our quiet escape with our phones behind a locked door. But ALSO watching the votes come in or listening to your friends argue or whatever is NOT improved by a full bladder.
Going pee doesn't fix anything, but having to go to the bathroom even a little bit makes everything ~10-20% worse.
Summary:Â You donât ever want to be the main character. In your town, thatâs deadly. Someone has to warn the new kid.Â
âââ.
Someone has got to tell the new kid in town the Rules.
âHey,â you say.
The new kid looks up at you. Heâs sitting at his desk in the back corner of the classroom, right next to the windows. Itâs a chilly day, but heâs got the window open so that the breeze ruffles his curly, black hair. âWhatâs up? Fern, right?â
âDonât call me by my name,â you snarl. Then, realizing what youâve done, you look over your shoulder. The other teenagers are still looped around the teacherâs desk, trying to get Ms. Slauson to move the test date so they could organize a welcome part for the new kid. âI need to talk to you. Privately.â
The new kid leans back in his chair and studies you. You know what he sees â a completely average high school girl in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a ponytail. Thereâs nothing remarkable about you. He tilts his head. âYou donât look like a bully.â
You frown. âIâm not.â
âYouâre being awfully threatening,â he says in a drawl.
The accent is going to be a problem. Itâs southern and sounds really cool. Honestly, it might be too late for him already.
But you still have to try.
âMeet me on the rooftopâno!â You press the heel of one hand against your eye. Fight it, you tell yourself. Fight it! âMeet me at the supermarket on Western Street. The dairy aisle. After school.â
âOkayâŠ?â
You spin on your heel, head throbbing. Meeting on the rooftop is against the rules. You glance up at the ceiling uneasily. Youâre not usually affected by the compulsion so badly. Are you being targeted?
If you were smart, you wouldnât show up to the meeting. Youâd just let the guy get sucked into the madness on his own.
One minute he was a starving immortal unemployed teenager, and the next he was running a relatively respectable âcrimeâ empire.
If he had to blame someone or something, he would blame his bleeding heart (and his empty stomach)
It all started when Clockwork dumped Danny in this new dimension with nothing but the clothes on his back. He had managed to get back the first couple weeks but he knew his luck wouldnât last. One night, when he was walking back to his crappy apartment (that had âillegalâ written all over it), he heard a scream of terror and pain. When he ran to check it out, he saw some drunk jackass behaving in âungentlemanlyâ ways. He knocked the guy on his ass and helped himself to some of the guyâs cash (hey, strong morals had no place to talk when rent was due). The jackassâs girlfriend invited him over for dinner as thanks.Â
Well rumors spread, and SOMEHOW Danny became known as the guy who would âtake careâ of the more unsavory bunch of people in the neighbor for some cash or food. It later evolved to include information. And maybe a few âliberatingâ of some artifacts that definitely belong back in their home country.
Some of the older street kids joined in (and by the Ancients if these kids are joining in, Dannyâs gonna make sure they are safe, be it with proper housing, equipment, money, and food)
Next thing Danny knows, heâs gotten his own ânicknameâ
Klarion was enjoying his current mission for The Light. He was sent to a small city somewhere in Americaâs Midwest, to retrieve a magical tome that was currently in the hands of an eccentric billionaire. Imagine his surprise, when what he originally believed to be a boring errand, turns into an exciting night, because it turns out this city, Amity Park, reeked of Death magic and was infested with ghosts.
Giggling, the witch boy scratches his familiars chin as his eyes grow wide and his face splits into a mischievous grin. In front of him people were running in various directions, attempting to escape what looked like a giant ghostly cat, being ridden by a young girl.
âOh, Teekl, this town is much more interesting than I originally believed.â
Watching mortals panic, as the ghostly cat destroys part of the street, and damages buildings, Klarion notices some pesky thorns in his side. Young Justice. Scoffing the witch boy decides to continue his mission.
âWell while it was fun watching, I should use this lovely feline as a distraction and continue my mission, donât you agree Teekl.â
What Klarion, Teekl and Young Justice didnât see was a teenage ghost fighting what appeared to be a genie, off in the distance, defeating her, and returning everything to normal.
Danny had just defeated Desiree, capped the Fenton thermos, and was looking for a place to detransform as the ghost genieâs wishes disappeared. He had noticed some superheroes fighting one of Desireeâs granted wishes and wondering why they were here. Sighing Danny notices where he is. Of course, his fight had to end in the back of fruit loopâs mayoral mansion, just his luck. He quickly ducked into an alleyway to change back.
Once back to his normal self, the young halfa heard yelling, and what sounded like a fight going on.
âI literally just defeated Desiree, and already another ghost appears.â Danny grumbles as he sticks his head out from the alleyway, and to his surprise it is not a ghost wreaking havoc on Amity, but a teenage boy, wearing a suit, glowing hands, and hair shaped into devil horns. The cute guy was taunting Vlad and Danny need to know.
Checking the streets, no one was around, the young halfa dashes through the open gates and crouches behind a bush.
âI do not care who you are, leave this property at once.â Vlad commands, glaring down his opponent.
âOh quiet. You are interfering with my fun.â The young man says. âNow look what youâve done. The Justice babies are here.â
Danny watched as Vlad was picked up by a guy in yellow and red spandex and is carried away in a flash.
âWhat are you doing here Klarion? Why are you attacking these people?â A young man with glowing tattoos askes.
âWouldnât you like to know water boy!â Klarion responds, raising his glowing palms, getting ready to attack.
Danny watches in amazement as Klarion fights the group of teenagers. Standing up, he leans on a near by tree and just watches the battle unfold.
No one noticed him until he let out a laugh at some of the banter going on. ââAster.â Who says âasterâ?â the teen wheezes, as all eyes turn to him.
Klarion glances at the boy. âAnd who are you supposed to be? Another wannabe hero trying to stop me?â
Danny rolled his shoulder getting ready for a fight. âAlrighty. If you want to fight, Iâll fight you, and if I win letâs go on a date?â The halfa askes, smirking at Klarion.
Everyone froze. No one new what to do or how to react. It was Danny who broke the silence he made. âWell can I get an answer?â
Klarion regains his composure. âAlright Fine! But if I win, Iâll make you a grave!â
âAw, youâre making me a grave already?! How sweet of you!â A hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks, but before they could continue, Danny is roughly picked up and is zoomed out of their by the same guy, who grabbed Vlad.
âHey, kid that was super dangerous what you did. You need to stay out of it and let those of us who are trained take care of this.â
Before he even had a chance to respond, the speedster zipped back to the fight, leaving Danny on the other side of town. Determined to return to the fight, Danny whips his head around searching for a safe place to transform. It took a bit to find a spot, but he eventually did. Changing back into his ghost form, Phantom raced back to the mayoral mansion, and the fight that was raging, making sure to turn invisible on the way.
By the time Danny made it back, the fight had ended, and Klarion was now where to be seen. The team of teenage heroes was nowhere to be seen, doing who knows what, but left a destroyed lawn for Vlad to deal with.
Disappointed Danny turned to leave but notices an orange tabby, looking worse for wear staring at him. Floating down, still invisible, the catâs eyes following his every move. He kneels in front of the feline, slowly offering his hand for the cat to smell, trying his best not to startle the poor thing. The cat sniffs his hand and butts its head against it, shocking the poor ghost boy. Most animals hated him, especially in his ghost form, feeling uneasy around a half dead guy. This cat was different. They were special.
Danny gently scooped up the injured cat, holding them gently in his arms, heading towards the nearest vet.
Klarion had succeeded in his mission of obtaining the tome for The Light, but at a heavy cost to himself.
Teekl had emerged from the Mayorâs Mansion having successfully gotten the book, only to be seen by the junior justice babies. They divided their attacks between him and his beloved familiar. In the end he was able to grab the book as he a Teekl were separated by a blast. Deciding to lead the heroes away and return for his beloved feline, Klarion took to the sky. Once he knew it was safe to return, the witch boy began his search for Teekl.
It had been three days and Klarion had not found her yet. Anger and worry clouded his vision, as he continued his search.
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