#*tucks hair behind ears* so there's this dragon age game that came out halfway through wyrdwood
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oxventurequotes · 11 days ago
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johnny: last week you all learned that it's important to make sure that children aren't smuggling severed heads
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rocketonthemoon · 3 years ago
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so the @thebreakfastgod posted these excellent looks yesterday and then I listened to “Test Flight” from the How To Train Your Dragon soundtrack for two hours and entered a fugue state and this happened 
It’s hard to hear.
Between the band doing their best to egg the crowd on, the shouts and jeers and chants from the stands, and the blood making the ringing in her ears pulse a techno beat Kara can barely make out that Alex is speaking. Sam knocks their pads together, raising a brow when Kara meets her eye. A thumbs up with her good hand, a knock and grimace back around her mouth guard is all she has breath for at the moment. Plus Alex is halfway through her motivational speech. She’d hate to interrupt now.
“- and fuck Gotham thinking they can steal this game!” Alex is yelling now, more than her usual bark. Her eyes burn as she looks around the huddle. “This is our house, our game, our title!” The team growls their agreement around her, louder and louder with every word out of their quarterback. “We’re too far to kick and fuck stopping the clock anymore.” Alex locks eyes with Kara. 
Black face paint smears down her cheeks from sweat and Kara knows for a fact Alex is two seconds away from chewing through another mouthguard this season. Kara’s own head throbs. Her wrist aches something fierce from that last tackle. It’s definitely sprained; maybe even fractured since she’s pretty sure she can’t move her thumb. But her sister is giving her the same look she used to when they were kids right before giving the neighbor boys hell.
And Kara feels like she could fly. 
“Run the route,” Alex says, steady and firm. Kara nods. It’s Sam’s turn to get an order as Alex barks out the play - “Super Reign!”
Their yell is almost immediately swallowed by the crowd as they break the huddle. The techno ringing in her ears picks up again, beating faster as her pulse races. A quick glance up at the board only makes it worse. Twenty-three to twenty-seven, Gotham. Third and Ten. Fifteen seconds of play left in the game. And the play clock counts down underneath it all. 
20…
19….
She knows she needs to focus, needs to line up, needs time to set in order for the play to work. But Kara stands unmoving from where the huddle broke and scours the crowd.
It’s dumb. She’s wasting time. She said she wasn’t going to come - she never comes to games. All noise and drunk bros and middle-aged alumni reliving their glory days through adrenaline filled kids slamming into each other on gridiron field… but Kara still searches.
15… 
14…
“Danvers! Move it!”
Brainy’s obnoxious green hat sticks out in a sea of NCU blue and white and Gotham black and gold, Nia hopping from foot to foot next to him. They’re tucked about halfway up the stands behind the home bench, almost obscured by the giant frat bros in front of them. But Kara can just make out the hint of a blue and white beanie, crammed down over dark hair and a maroon scarf pulled up over what Kara knows is an anxiously bitten lip. 
Lena came to watch. 
12…
11…
“Kara!”
She’s half in position when Alex turns to spit fire. The maniacal look is back in Alex’s eyes as she calls out nonsense. Gotham on the other side of the line doesn’t even twitch. Kate Kane’s mouth moves in a smug sneer, taunting Sam with whatever trash talk she’s come up with between plays. 
7…
6…
Sam tilts her head over her shoulder to meet Kara’s gaze. 
5…
“Argo!”
Kara watches Kane’s mouth stop mid-word as Sam sprints backwards towards the pocket. Kara’s almost halfway to the line herself before Alex finishes the word. Her feet set, same time she knows Sam’s do behind her. One second. Two. Gotham’s golden helmets swing back and forth trying to track the last minute change of position. 
“HIKE!”
The ball snaps and Kara’s over the line. No flag, no whistle. She’s free. 
Time starts ticking down what little’s left in the game and Kara knows this is it. In the corner of her vision she sees the line shift. X’s and O’s run colorful arrows as the play runs in her head. A “fake” shovel from Alex to Sam. Gotham takes the bait, following the quarterback as she breaks towards the sideline, trying to stay in the pocket. Kara charges ahead. For a moment, Montoya’s in front of her, confusion plain behind her face mask as she watches something happen behind Kara. It’s just a moment. Kara’s already blowing past, counting in her head. 
3… 2… 1… 
She looks back just in time to see Sam launch the ball. Out of the pocket and miles away from the nearest tackle, Sam’s throw is a thing of beauty. An absolute rocket of a pass. One Kara would normally sit back and watch in awe and appreciation if it weren’t for the fact that her lungs were burning with the effort to push her body to the limit to catch up. 
She’s not worried about being caught. Kane’s the only one with the speed to catch her and Kara’s pretty sure she’s fifteen yards back and away. Nothing between her and the rapidly approaching end zone but open field.
Just have to catch it.
The ball arcs down. Kara reaches up, hands flexing open. Her wrist pulses in protesting agony and suddenly something clips at her heels – Kane? Kara doesn’t look so much as shifts slightly to see a flash of black and gold barreling down on her.
And it’s brief. Only a second. But the check on Kane makes Kara fall the barest bit behind the ball flight path. 
It’s just out of reach. Sinking closer and closer to the field. Kane’s almost on her and the end zone is right. There. Kara tries to go faster, tries to push off harder as she runs but there’s just not… enough… time.
Somewhere behind her Sam and Alex scream. The ringing pulse in her ears drops away and the crowd holds their breath.
Kara dives across the end zone line.
Later, they’ll tell Kara how Kate Kane ran like something possessed to catch up with her. They’ll show her replay after replay of her fingers tipping the ball back into the safety of her sticky palm, Kane dives for Kara’s ankles. They’ll ask her over and over again how it feels to make the championship winning catch with only one hand and a leap of faith. 
But lying there in the grass, ball held up over her head and the fans roaring so loud she can barely hear herself pant for breath, Kara can only beam at the sky and wonder if this is what it means to soar.
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gauntie-o-dimm · 5 years ago
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Lambert | You Owe Me
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Prompt: “Go to bed, you’re drunk.”
Word count: 1900+ Warnings: Smut, drunk sex, swearing
My bottom lip slipped in between my teeth as my eyes inspected his face, the crevices, the sprouting beard on his chin, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his drink, his laughter filling my ears as Geralt made a funny remark. I yelped as I felt a harsh kick against my chin, making me aware I was staring. '(Y/n), you there?' I looked over at Ciri, her eyebrows raised. 'It's your turn.' I blinked a few times, realizing that I had a bunch of Gwent cards in my hands, carelessly laying a siege card down. 'You must be kidding me.' Cirilla sighed, putting down even a better card. I gazed at Lambert yet again, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. She followed my gaze, a grunt leaving her. 'I get it, (Y/n), you are in love, but it won't let you win Gwent.' 'It's ten crowns, Ciri. Come on.' I played another card, Ciri nearly banging her head on the table in frustration. 'You aren't even paying attention, it is no fun now!' She laid down her final card. 'Right, I won.' she muttered. I shook my head, showing that I had one card left. 'Now you are just bluffing.' I tilted my head slightly. 'Am I?' I put down the card, revealing the dragon that meant my victory. 'Curses!' Ciri exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.
I laughed lightly, taking the ten crowns she had put on the table, stuffing them in my pouch. 'Better luck next time, and I want your Cleaver card now.' She hesitantly handed me the card, sulking a bit as I put it in my deck. 'Another round?' I suggested, shuffling through my cards to look which ones I missed. 'Of course. I have no more cards to give, but I've got plenty crowns to miss through gambling.' 'Is this gambling?' I asked, raising my eyebrows. Ciri laughed, shrugging. 'I have no idea, but it is fun.' 'Alright, fifty crowns. Bring it on!'
A groan escaped me as I watched how Ciri put my valuable coins in her pouch. 'Did you really think you could win again?' the young woman laughed, grinning like an idiot as she looked at me. I rolled my eyes, resting my head on my hand. 'Wait a minute.' Ciri said, her face turning to the place were the Witchers had been sitting just minutes ago, they were gone. 'Where did they go?' I muttered, Ciri looking up from her pouting position. 'Well, aren't they quick?' 'We must've been too caught up in the game to notice them leaving. Seems they left behind a trail of disaster.' I spoke after raising from my seat, looking around the halls of Kaer Morhen. 'I'll go look for them before they hurt themselves.' I rushed towards the entrance, where a trail of wine was leading me. At least I hoped it was wine... I pushed open the door, spying around, the men nowhere to be seen.
'(Y/n), you looking for your man?' Yennefer startled me at her sudden appearance. 'Yes, I am. I didn't notice him leaving and--' 'Come with me, I suspect they are in the same room as my equipment and I feel that it won't end well if they stay there any longer.' I followed Yen upstairs, her suspicions coming true as there were indeed loud noises coming from the area. 'Fiddle the crystals!' Geralt said, his words slurred. I gasped as my eye fell on Lambert, who was wearing one of Yennefer's dresses and a hat that seemed just ridiculous. He smiled as he saw me, approaching me with wobbly knees. 'Ah, (Y/n), baby... Aren't I a pretty guy?' He reached out for my face but his finger nearly poked my eye, so I grabbed his wrist to keep him steady. 'Baby...' he garbled, leaning towards my face. My nose scrunched up at the scent of alcohol that hung around him. 'Go to bed, you're drunk.' 'I don't want to gooo...' he whined, making me roll my eyes. 'Come with me, I will bring you to our room.'
'But (Y/n), you're so pretty...' Lambert shut the door of the bedroom rather disgracefully, it almost fell of its hinges but he didn't seem to notice. His cat eyes had darkened as he walked towards me, fruitlessly trying to grab my hands, but his fingers kept catching air as I avoided his grip. 'Lambert, hush. Let me help you get out of those clothes and get you into bed.' 'Hey (Y/n)... I want to have sssex with you!' I shook my head. 'Sit down.' He did as I said, taking a seat on the bed, nearly falling off it. I walked over to the dresser, taking the carafe of water and pouring it in a glass. 'Here, drink this.' He gulped it down in a few seconds. 'Feel better?' I asked. He nodded, handing back the empty glass. 'Can we have sex now?' I chuckled. 'No, Lambert. Go to sleep.' He stood up, grabbing my arms, the glass falling to the floor and shattering. 'But I am so horny... Look how hard you made me...' He rubbed his boner clumsily against my leg, but to no avail. 'Lambert...' I sighed, pushing against his chest gently. He leaned forward, pressing a sloppy, sweaty kiss in the crook of my neck, making me shudder. 'Lambert.' I spoke, getting a bit annoyed. 'Come here.' I opened the covers for him, patting on the bed. 'Aren't you going to lay down with me?' he pouted as I tucked him in. I smiled, kissing his forehead. 'In a minute. You try to sleep in the meanwhile, yes?' I slipped behind the dressing screen despite his protests and pulled off my clothes. I heard him rummage in the room, but I didn't think much of it. I put on my nightgown before returning to the Witcher, who had somehow managed to get out of his armor. '(Y/n)...' he whined. 'Help, my shirt is stuck!' 'No it isn't, it is right on the floor.' I told him, approaching him before leading him back to the bed. 'But...' 'No buts.' Lambert snorted loudly. 'You said butt!' 'Very funny. Sleep.' I commanded, laying down at my side of the bed. It wasn't long until I felt a palm against my thigh, rubbing up until it rested on my hip. 'Lambert!' I groaned in my pillow. 'Close your eyes!' 'How can I close my eyes if you are so damn pretty?' I pinched the bridge of my nose. 'Please, act like your age once.' 'But I am so horny...' 'Lambert, go fuck yourself.' 'Fiiiine...' He was finally quiet and I rolled on one side, my back facing him before I closed my eyes, smiling a bit as I finally was able to get some rest.
That was, until I heard a deep grunting next to me. 'Lambert?' I opened my eyes, turning on my back. I let out a gasp. The Witcher had pulled off his underwear and had started to jerk himself off... On top of me. 'You told me to go fuck myself.' he slurred, rubbing the precum that had oozed from his tip over his penis. 'Will (Y/n) help daddy out?' 'I am not going to call you daddy.' 'But you're such a good babygirl if you suck my dick.' I facepalmed, rubbing my eyes. 'If I suck your dick will you finally shut up?' Lambert made a sound of agreement. 'We have a deal, then.' 'Pull off your nightgown.' he commanded, his voice laced with the scent of alcohol. He tried to kiss me, but I carefully swatted him away, not really wanting to taste whatever flavor his mouth was now. He was tugging at my shirt and I took it off, revealing my nearly naked body apart from my panties. 'Aah, so pretty...' he uttered, eyeing me up and down. 'Let us just get this over with.' 'Of course, (Y/n)...' his hand went down to grope my breast and I hated that my body was responding to his, even though he was acting totally unattractive and not sexy at all. I rolled my eyes, grabbing his throbbing cock in my hand, caressing it a few times. 'Here, let me straddle you.' I crawled over him as he laid down, ducking in between his legs to press open mouthed kisses on the base of his member, which was slick with my saliva and some precum. 'I like that...' he sighed as I playfully squeezed his testicles, sucking on the head of his penis. I looked him in the eye, for I knew that he liked it when I did that whenever we found ourselves in this kind of situation; it would just get him to orgasm faster, and as much as I tried to withhold myself from growing excited, my panties got wet nevertheless. But I didn't want him to fuck me senseless if he wouldn't remember it by tomorrow morning, so I decided a simple blowjob must suffice, and part of me just hoped that he would fall asleep halfway through and that we could have sex after the hangover he would definitely have tomorrow morning. However, he didn't seem to tire in the slightest.
He grabbed my hair, starting to buck his hips into my face rather ungracefully, and as the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat, his pelvis nearly crashed into my nose every time he thrust upwards, so I had to look out to not get hit and get a nosebleed. I gagged, Lambert groaning lowly. 'Like that, (Y/n), your cunt feels so good...' I frowned, did he really think he was fucking me someplace else right now than he actually was? His eyes were closed as he kept ramming himself upwards, I could feel him pulsating on my tongue as he slid in and out. 'Ah, (Y/n), I am going to cum...' The grip on my hair tightened as from his throat began to grow heavy moans that could be heard through all of Kaer Morhen if he were just a tad louder. I wrapped my lips around his cock, taking over control again by putting a hand around the base, sucking him off firmly. A moment of pure silence as I tipped him over the edge, and a warm, creamy liquid filled my mouth. I swallowed, slightly disgusted by the flavor of his sperm, for he had been eating and drinking horribly today, and boy, that had taken it's consequences when it came to semen. I released his penis as Lambert lost his grip on my hair, smiling like an idiot while he heavily panted, still trying to come down from his high. '(Y/n)...' he mused and I laid down next to him. He wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me into him tightly so his head was resting in my neck. It was far from comfortable, but he was finally asleep. I closed my eyes, drifting off as well
~ We were both far from rested the following morning, and Lambert whined that his head was hurting. Yet I didn't mind that at all, handed him a glass of water alongside some medicine to ease the pain a bit, adding the message, 'You owe me a damn good fuck, Lambert.' 'Shit, I was really drunk last night, wasn't I?' The Witcher chugged down the painkiller. 'You was, the only way I could get you to sleep was to actually satisfy you.' He smiled, his eyes finding mine as his hand slowly rested on the lower of my back. 'I should get drunk more often, then.' I shook my head, swatting him on the chest playfully. The way his eyes flickered as he looked me up and down said enough about how the rest of the day went without me seeing anything but his face hovering above mine.
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the-stick-scribblers · 6 years ago
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Tumby
The neighborhood is half suburbia, half forest, which is maybe why when he screams no one comes looking. 
One hand is occupied by a ring of keys trying to unlock the old car door; the other arm is full of wailing, wriggling four-year old. She hasn't yet noticed the beast on the other side of the street. Gabriel is frozen.
“Mona,” he croaks, eyes locked away from her on the danger. “Love. Shhhhhhh.”
“Tumby!” she wails
“We brought Tumby back to his family. In the woods, remember? The stream?” Gabe keeps his voice low, steady, soothing. The glossy crayon woman on the cover of his wife's favorite parenting book would be proud of his control, given the circumstances.
Mona wails louder.
“Hush,” he tries again, sharper, jiggling her more fiercely. “Shhhhh, sh-shhh,” The keys he fumbles awkwardly in his hand, cold metal biting into his paper cut from church craft time this morning, clanking against his wedding band. He winces at the sound. Mona grabs his ear and tries to kick her way to freedom. He squeezes her tighter but doesn't dare drop the keys. “Mona baby, I'm sorry. I know you miss Tumby. But I need you to be quiet right now. Papa's trying to think.”
There. The keys settle in his hand, jutting out from between his knuckles. Their car is a classic, gorgeous steel low rider from the sixties that's also prone to deciding not to move any part of it at unpredictable times. Today it has decided to jam it's doors. Getting in and driving into the beast heroically is, unfortunately, off the table.
Equally unfortunately, he left his cell phone inside. He can picture it exactly, nestled lopsided in the mesh of the yellow polka-dot lunch bag Maria bought him as a joke right after his promotion, before he left to take care of Mona; he uses it as an emergency kit. Normally he keeps it in the diaper bag. But the batteries needed replacing and medicines' expiration dates needed to be checked.  It's in the front hall buried under a jumble of hurriedly discarded hangers from their earlier walk to the park. Gabe dropped it right inside the front door while wrestling Mona into her shoes. Which are goners themselves now, at least a hundred feet away, right by the street and nearly on top of the beast's horribly dripping tail.
If he can get to the kit, he can call a ride.
The beast occupies the forest; the houses on this side of the road make up suburbia, linked by dead wooden hands all the way across the valley without a single break. The homeowners’ association takes appearances seriously. Normally, Gabe chafes at the caged simulation. Today it means he'll either need to bring Mona with him past the beast or set her down and leave her alone behind.
She sure wants to get down. Even without shoes her kicking feet are pounding his chest into a mosaic of tender bruises. Gabe's ear, the one Mona's tugging at with all the weight of her little body, is ringing and hot. Despite his dedication to the panic of the moment, he spares a few brain cells to miss the gentle way Mona was when she was three.
It's Tumby's fault, Mona's new voice. That damn lizard.
Maria and he agreed when Mona was born they would be the sort of parents who didn't freak over the small stuff. Who let their little girl get just as dirty as their boy and didn't fuss over things like lizards brought home in muddy pockets. Who kept more encyclopedia's on hand than pink or blue toys. Which is why, although Gabe thought the lizard's purple coloring was freaky and possibly poisonous from the start, he smiled at the kids indulgently and grabbed an empty butter box.
“Who's going to catch it bugs to eat?” he joked, holding out the lid so David could punch holes in the box lid with a screwdriver.
“Mona,” said David.
She nodded, her fists stuffed with brown grass and her chest puffed with the important gravity of being the chosen one during play time. Gabe held out the box so she could drop it into the bottom to make the lizard a bed. Then she dropped the lizard in, rather clumsily, on its head, which was the second sign something was weird. At work he'd always known lizards to be agile bastards.
Mona named it Tumby because it's stomach was a little light blue oval and was bottomless - the lizard liked to eat, and eat until all the bugs on their street disappeared for self-preservation. It outgrew the butter box in a day. It outgrew the shoe box in a week. By ten days, it was the size of a small yappy chihuahua and weighed twice as much. And it learned to climb. Mona forgot to bring it bugs that morning before her play date, and it scurried onto the kitchen counter and fell asleep in the bowl of the scale for most of the afternoon. Gabe found it with its nostrils poking over the edge of half-melted plastic like eyes and he nearly threw the knife in his hand out of fright. He told Maria that night it had to go.
“You're telling the kids,” she said, glasses tipped sideways on her face sensibly. It was such an extremely Maria moment, Gabe kissed her.
Mona thought the whole trip to the stream a great adventure, splashing about in her duck-print boots and tumbling about with David until both of their curls were littered with crunchy leaves. The trip back, she splashed less but chattered more, all about the adventures Tumby would have in the woods. It wasn't until Gabe was putting her to bed that night that the tantrum came as she realized Tumby's adventure was not a temporary one. She howled all night, and for a month straight anytime they took her outside.
Of course she's howling again now. Gabe starts to give in and set her down on habit to send her away to play before he looks up and remembers, right. The beast. Purple and probably a people eater. Most of its body is hidden in the shadows of the trees, so whether or not it can fly is still to be determined. It definitely has at least one horn; short for its size but still at least as big as Gabe's forearm. 
“Mona,” he says, giving in to gravity and setting her on the ground. He keeps his hands looped over her shoulders, so she won't turn around and startle. She sniffles, but quiets. “Papa needs you to listen very, very carefully. Can you do that?”
Her lower lip trembles and there are watery beads stuck in the baby hairs around her face. She's looking everywhere except at him. Still, eventually she sniffles, wipes her little hand across her eyes, and nods.
“Thank you, Mona. Papa forgot his phone and needs to go back inside. But there's a...” How much to say, how to say it without setting her off again? “There's a snake on the path and it's camouflaged, so I am going to carry you so you don't accidentally step on it. Understand?”
“There's a...snake?”
“Yes.”
“What color?”
Gabe smooths her flyaway hair and plants a kiss at her temple. “Brown. It blends in with the sidewalk.”
She clings to him so he can't pull away from her. “I wanna see.”
Kids. Was David this circular when he was Mona's age? Gabe can't remember, and it's only been three years. The eternal enemy of parents everywhere, time. “I'll point it out as we walk past, if it's still there.”
“Okay,” says Mona. And just like that she's calm again, nearly her pre-lizard self.
Gabe hoists her up again so she's tucked neatly against his shoulder and as sturdy as he can manage with one arm. He peeks his head out around the edge of the garage, gauging the distance. The dragon's body doesn't move. Its green eye - the same size as their Mercedes's hubcap - is closed, although thin smoke trails from its nostrils. Shudders threaten Gabe's grip. He blinks, long and slow, makes his panic a game for Mona and counts with her to ten. They take one step out, and then -
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the neighbor's front door open.
Bernadette is the sort of woman Gabe and his friends would have called a wicked witch and meant something mean by it, when they were children. She wears frayed, mismatched skirts, sending patchouli thick thorough the air with every step; she has flyaway hair, has the best garden on the block, and is older than everyone else in nearly the whole damn city, too. Her eyesight left her about the same time as her late husband, fifteen or so years ago. Her hearing lingers on halfway. Mona is still against his shoulder, but Gabe feels his heart rate pick up again.
“Bernadette,” he calls, loud as he dares. She doesn't look up. She doesn't look across the street, either.
There's a pebble near his shoe from the gravel driveway, dragged in by some forgotten romp. He nudges it sideways until he can lean down without dropping Mona, then tosses it at Bernadette's porch. It misses and clangs against the drain pipe on the other side.
“David, what sort of trouble are you up to today?” She's turned away the wrong direction, but her voice is the strongest part of her, and it carries. Too many years as an actress followed by too few years with anyone interesting to talk to but boisterous kids. 
Gabe finds another pebble, dances it to his side, throws it. This time it hits her wooden stairs. He calls again, “Bernadette!”
“I moved the keys to the garage, David, you won't be able to find them before I find you,” she says to the wrong house beside her.
“David's in school, Bernadette. It's Gabe and Mona.”
“Bullshit. David is far too naughty not to be suspended.”
“Bernadette, I'm sorry but now is really not the time. There's a -”
“No time for me, huh? He gets it from his father.”
Gabe sucks in a deep whistling breath through his front teeth. “Mona and I are stuck out here in the garage. I don't have my phone. Can you call - no!” She has finally turned around the right way and is starting down her steps. ”Don't come out further, it's dangerous -”
“It's only mud.”
“There's a -” Well, that is the question isn't it. “There's an animal.” You think. You guess. “Across the road. It's been watching us, but we can't get in the car and we can't get inside. Bernadette I need you to call someone.”
“You want me to call the police?” Bernadette doesn't trust the police, and says it again loud as she can every time Maria's brother comes to visit to rub it in. If he needed Bernadette to call the police, he wouldn't even bother to ask.
But animal control won't have anything for this beast, either. “Try the fire department. Tell them, uh -” Gabe eyes the trees across the road, the way the beast's head blends flat against the treetops. “Tell them they'll need extra ladders.”
“What kinda animal are they after, anyway?” Bernadette grumbles. “A monkey?”
Mona wriggles warningly, and yells, “Snake!”
Gabe bites down on the inside of his cheek. “Just call them,” he whispers towards Bernadette like he's on a stage.
“Suit yourself,” Bernadette says to the nearby flower box, and goes back inside. The screen door bangs shut behind her.
Gabe and Mona both jump. She nestles deeper into his shoulder, resuming her kicking with half-hearted attention. Behind the car in the corner of the garage is a tidy, tiny workstation with a short stool the kids like to swivel around on while he works on the car's problem of the week. It's cozy, and good for getting energy out, and most importantly out of sight. The beast - dragon, probably, although thinking its name feels akin to blasphemy, surreal and scary and brave all at once - flicks its tail and takes out two young trees. Gabe sinks back into the garage and sets Mona firmly on the stool. She looks at him with narrowed eyes, confused.
“Papa is going to go watch out for the snake. It's poisonous, and Miss Bernadette is calling for help. I want you to sit here and be safe until I come back, okay?”
Mona considers this. She stands on the stool and uses her leverage on Gabe's shoulders to see past him to the front yard; whatever she sees, she's sits back down again with a satisfying thump, and nods. The creak of the stool spinning around and around follows Gabe back to the entrance. It keeps him grounded. He has to stand at the furthest edge of the garage, away from and out of Mona's sight, to see the road and wave down the help. It's probably an unnecessary gesture. Anyone with functioning eyes should be able to see what the call was about. But Gabe still doesn't quite believe his own. He tries to blink one eye at a time because if he closes both eyes at once, he'll open them to find the dragon is gone, and spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. 
Bernadette's screen door slams open again against the peeling slats. When she steps back out, she hasn't got her phone. Instead, she's toting a rifle tall as she is, and holding it like she means business. She leans it tottering on the steps' railing and turns the long way around to face Gabe. “What did she say this animal is? Snake?”
“Did you call the fire department?” Gabe is going to have to schedule his annual doctor's appointment sooner rather than later. There's got to be some sort of lasting damage from adrenaline this high, this long. “Bernadette, please tell me you called.”
“What's those firemen going to do about a snake? You may never have done a day in the country in your life, but used to we took care of these things with a shovel.” She's reached the bottom of the steps, shaking the railing so the gun tips down after her. Across the road the dragon's unblinking eye rotates sideways until it's laser focused on Bernadette. The smoke coming from its nostrils is flecked with blue and purple embers. Where each one brushes against a leaf, a tree branch catches fire.
Gabe is halfway across the yard in pursuit of Bernadette before he stops. Arms too empty, shoulders too light. Mona. He turns around and runs back to the garage.
It's silent, and dim. He reaches the stool - no Mona. He looks under the car, and then panics, because the garage is too small and there's nowhere else to hide. He should know better, it's parenting 101, never leave your child unattended or they could get hurt. They could die. (“All those sharp tools!” chides his mother in his brain. “All those sharp talons!”)
Back to the yard, squinting against the sudden glare of day and patchwork fires. Looking at the shadows of the grass, the steps, the road, looking for a splash of purple color. There - Mona, waddling alongside Bernadette, leading her in a mostly straight path towards the dragon with her mouth spread wide, baring every crooked baby tooth. A look of pure glee on her face.
Gabe blacks out. He comes to with Mona cradled tight and kicking in his arms, Bernadette behind him ignoring every tenant of gun safety and trying to use the gun to force her way around. Gabe looks up. The dragon looks down. They're both standing nose to nose, breathing in the glowing smoke.
“Mona,” Gabe hisses. “Bernadette. Don't. Move.”
Something about his tone makes them both pause for the first time all day, or maybe the smoke has made him sound harsher than he intends. They both look up, following his gaze.
And let out twin gasps as they both finally see the dragon up close. Not entirely, because it was too large and too camouflaged even from the other side of the street, but in uncanny detail - eyes slitted like a cat's, scales the size of roofing tiles and so black they look purple in the light of the fires. Fine white streams of smoke are permanently etched around the dragon's jaw like whiskers. Well, at least Gabe can cross hallucinations off his list of symptoms he'll be bringing to the doctor if he survives this day.
Bang! A gunshot rings out, flat and startling. Mona screams. Then she bites down on Gabe's arm so hard she draws blood. Gabe's blood mingles with something dark and sticky, the same color of the dragon's scales - the dragon's blood? - and he has to press his hand up in his shirt to stop the flow. And he has to drop Mona. She immediately takes off.
“Mona!” he yells after her.
She runs towards the beast, arms outstretched, ignoring Gabe, still screaming.
“Tumby!”
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