MY MOM HAS BEEN MISSING FOR 2 weeks off her meds and they just told me IF YOU LIVE IN DALLAS PLEASE HELP
i just made a really shitty flier and i can email you the doc if you would be willing to put up some fliers. i want to contact dallas news outets too. she has a very recognizable car. please share this as much as possible. im way the heck up north and the rest of my family is also anywhere but dallas idk why she had to go to dallas. apparently she wanted to visit a friend from highschool and never made it. the last place she was seen was Compton Automotive - 10333 Garland Rd and Gus Thomassen rd a week ago, her car was dying and she didnt get it fixed and is probably flat broke so theres a good chance she is in northeast dallas or a motel shelter or hospital. she doesnt seem to have her phone anymore
She has short curly black and grey hair and is somewhat heavy, wears glasses and has green/hazel eyes. she is very funny and awesome most of the time, and probably in a crisis and without money and very at risk to never be seen again. Please at least tell her to call sasha or head back up here and crash w me
YO PSA!!!
If you get a link like this from one of your tumblr buddies, DON’T OPEN IT!!! IT’S NOT THEM THAT SENT IT!!!! IT’LL FUCK UP YOUR TUMBLR AND SEND THE LINK TO OTHERS ON YOUR ACCOUNT. EDIT: Shit! I might have to make a new account. This is screwing up my tumblr and one of my side blogs has been deleted.
Ughhhhhh this fucked up a blog I had been running for 5 years and I lost so many followers and i got locked out of my messenger, my ability to tag things, my whole theme/page setup, access to archives, everything. If you ever get a link like this from me or crying-for-the-moon (personal blog) DON’T CLICK IT. It sends a message to every mutual you have if you let the virus in. This link sent messages to hundreds and hundreds of people from my other blog and fucked up their blogs too. This shit is bad news.
The Qurupeco was new around these parts. He mostly stuck to jungles and forests where safety from larger monsters was a wingstroke away in the dense brush, so it only made sense that he would run into trouble the first time he strayed from his usual stomping grounds. His luck was just like that most of the times.
He had a cousin who lived here in the Misty Peaks– a Crimson who had moved from the Flooded Forest when hunting got a little too rough there. That was the only reason Peco had even dared trek into the mountains. As far as we was concerned, the cold air wasn’t right for a tropical bird such as himself. It was much too chilly when it didn’t need to be.
As such, while most certainly unwanted, this run in with a monster was not entirely unexpected. He had had to deal with this many times during his travels. So he turned to face the speaker and-
He froze. The massive Mizutsune had him pinned with a phantom glare. For a moment he eloquently said nothing in response. The wyvern had met others of the “fated” group, but had never had a face to face encounter with the leviathan, much less one this big. Breaking his silence, the Qurupeco let out an anxious trill, bouncing several steps backwards to get away from the serpentine creature.
“W-well! I’m- um!” Peco said. Great start.
The feathers on his neck and cheeks stood on end as he fluttered back and away from the intense gaze of the Mizutsune. There really wasn’t many places to hide here.
“I am fortunate, aren’t I! Would this happen to be your territory then? I’m… looking for someone?” And stuck the landing. The bird wyvern tensed, prepared to take flight should the need arise. Words and intentions didn’t usually match up.
The last two weeks had been a blur of confusing locations and sensations, sights and sounds shifting and muddling as if they had been dreams. She had been able to get a hold on very little, meaning and consciousness slipping away from her more quickly the harder she tried to hold onto them. Periods of wakefulness had been few and far between in those weeks, interspersed with vague moments of vertigo and flashes of pain that made her wish she had never been awakened at all. With nothing to anchor herself to, the days passed by as a wobbly purgatory.
As such, coming out of her state of sopor was neither a fast nor easy process. Exhaustion clung to her body as though she hadn’t slept in several days. Consciousness was an uphill battle, and as of yet, she still couldn’t find the strength to overcome the first hurdle: moving.
And so she didn’t. She simply laid with her head pillowed, listening to the deafening silence that filled the water and slowly centering herself on her senses. Her body slowly regained mobility and exhaustion settled into her bones as an omnipresent but manageable ache.
Finally opening her eyes, Mirabelle found herself resting in fine sand, unnaturally silky and light to the touch. The water was clear, fading to a deep blue reminiscent of the open ocean on a sunny day, although it certainly shouldn’t be this bright so close to the floor. There was a dizzying moment as the thought flitted through her mind that perhaps she hadn’t made it through those hazy days of disorientation. It was uncomfortably possible that she had been stricken with a fever and had quietly passed into the night. Perhaps this light, featureless plain was her eternity until she was reborn into the world again.
With an urgent heave, she lofted herself into the water, wings tossing up sand to suspend like silt around her. Salt water filtered past her gills and she noted the paradoxical stale purity of the water. It lacked the lingering taste of fish and dirt on her senses. This water was stuffy and she missed the motion of the ocean already.
Whipping around, a pump of her wings sent Mirabelle careening through the water. The ache in her body climaxed to a piercing pain in her fin and ribcage as the sudden motion jostled them. She clenched her teeth against a gasp, staring ahead as the water gave way before her. The nothingness resolved into a sudden change.
The ocean floor dropped, becoming what she perceived to be smooth stone slabs and the lighting dimmed to a dull blue. Patches of light glowed along the wall, sitting atop flat slabs of wood and illuminating their immediate vicinity. While she had no idea where she was, anything was better than the nondescript blue desert she had assumed herself to occupy.
As she soared towards it, welcoming the new scenery, the siren barely had time to register a form entering her sight before she slammed into… a forcefield? She didn’t know. Pain tore through her shoulder and ribs on the impact.
She pressed her hands against it (if she focused her eyes right she could see it distorting the water, but there was certainly no word for it), and stared out, piercing yellow stare locking onto the form.
Memory hit her in waves. She was hurt, stabbed through the wing and torn along the ribs by metal from a boat. Blood choked up her gills as she was hauled up towards the surface where she was caught in the glare of-
They threw her into a tub of water, wreathed in pain and soiling the water with the putrid copper taste of her own blood. Frantic with pain she reached out to latch on and shred their arms in retribution, but only managed to collapse back into the fetid murk.
They were different now, sedating her, hauling her out of the water and onto a metal slab, and sewing her shut. She was barely able to thrash as they restrained her and defiled her numb wing with their shining tools.
She woke to roiling waters, bouncing and sloshing with no cause.
They woke her to move her again, pumping sedatives into her veins to calm her keening and flailing, mumbling in crooning voices before allowing her to crash into fresh stale water.
It was like that from then on as they passed her from hand to hand, allowing her to do little other that sleep and nauseate from the constant motion that her body couldn’t source. What an awful two weeks it had been.
Now she stared one down, grinding her teeth and flaring her wings in fury. A blemish in the smooth blue wing caught her eye- that defiling thread they had woven into her. Removing her hand from the barrier in front of her, Mirabelle caught her wing, digging her claws into the flesh around the wound, and ripped downwards, swearing as blood clouded into the water.
Humans had torn her and sewn her back together, and there was no way in Hell she was going to let them soil her body.
I have a lot of time to write and draw while I’m on vacation. If anyone has any suggestions for doodles or drabbles, feel free to send them to me and I’ll see what I can do! I might also reblog a character development prompt or two. I’m very grateful to anyone who will participate!
I have a lot of time to write and draw while I'm on vacation. If anyone has any suggestions for doodles or drabbles, feel free to send them to me and I'll see what I can do! I might also reblog a character development prompt or two. I'm very grateful to anyone who will participate!
Everyone go wish @ask-the-garuga /@yian-ruru a happy birthday! She's soooo old and deserves to be showered with all the love in the world. Please do this for me friends!!
The hunt had gone well– exceptionally so. Leolin’s party members had ruthlessly dismantled any notion that he might be able to escape the festivities that were to follow. And so they had dragged him to the nearest non guild regulated bar that they could find. Mirabelle looked just about as uncomfortable as he felt, but at least she had an excuse; Her best friend was an alcoholic.
The night was cheerfully funded by the head of the caravan they had been recruited by last minute. He played a good host, pushing drinks at his crew, especially the hunters who had “more than earned their drinks,” and making rounds to ensure everyone was having a good time. This night had been nearly two months of tracking and caravan protection in the making and the other hunters seemed bent on making the most of it.
Leolin had politely accepted his drink, and drank slowly. He was entirely uninterested in losing control tonight. He did his best at making amicable conversation with different crewmates and their varying levels of coherency while trying to keep an eye on Mira. She had totally spurned her own drink once the caravan leader had turned his back. Currently she was staring at a spot on the table, resting her forehead against her fist with a look that had the sober people in the room giving her a wide berth.
A hand on his shoulder drew his attention back to the man currently spilling his heart in his drunken stupor. Leolin gave his a gentle smile, carefully removing the hand and replacing it on the table. Something about the lancer seemed to draw people to make confessions. Why? He would never know.
Half an hour saw him chatting with the drunk man’s partner who was apologizing and promising to take him home and put him to bed. He had collapsed on Leolin’s table after nearly throwing up the alcohol he’d indulged in.
It was about that time that any focused he had garnered for the two in front of him was destroyed by a grunt and the clatter of a stool from Mira’s direction.
Leolin whipped his eyes back to his short friend, finding her red faced staring down at the longsword hunter with an empty glass in her hand. He guessed she was spitting off insults, venom dripping from her expression. The man was scrambling to his feet, soaked in alcohol and fuming. It was pretty quickly apparent that his flush was from drinking.
He drew himself up, stalking towards the short huntress who squared her shoulders and screwed her face into a scowl. Mira was crowded back into her table, seething as she raised a finger and opened her mouth to continue her barrage. Only to be cut off as he grabbed her wrist and forced his lips onto hers.
Leolin’s body reacted before his mind. He cleared the distance in four long strides and socked the other hunter in the jaw. The lancer neatly placed himself between Mirabelle and her assailant, shoving him back roughly.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He hissed, not giving the other a chance to speak. He was vaguely aware of the immediate area falling silent at the outburst from the mild-mannered hunter. “Are you just that bad at reading signals or are you just stupid? If I were you, I’d be careful what I did next.”
The drunk hunter nursed his jaw, glaring at the uninvited intrusion to his night. He opened his mouth to respond but shut it with an audible click as he picked up the malice radiating from Leolin.
“I thought a thrown drink was a pretty clear signal, but if you need me to reiterate in a way that you can understand: You’re a scummy human being and you should go home before I report you to the Guild for assaulting one of their hunters.”
He paled at that and shrunk back from Leolin, glancing around for support but finding little. The head of the caravan swept in, grabbing the shoulder of the hunter and pulling him a ways off. Satisfied, Leolin turned back to Mira who was openly gaping at him.
“Let me take you to Syl’s house. You’ve clearly wanted to leave since we got here.” He said, tone softening. Blinking, she meekly nodded and followed him to the door.
Mirabelle hadn’t needed help, of that Leolin was sure. He’d seen her handle situations like that before and a knee to the man’s crotch had probably been her next move, but the set of her shoulders and the lash of her tongue had reminded him so much of Annie that he had moved on instinct.
No no-name hunter was going to touch his friend like that and get away unscathed.
As they reached Sylvies home and Leolin bid Mira a good night, he promised himself that he’d look out for her as he had with Annie, even if that meant acting out a bit sometimes. He’d bake her some scones and check on her in the morning to balance his out his outburst.
Her footsteps faltered for the first time since she snuck through the grand front gates of her family’s manor at dawn.
The folks of the caravan hadn’t asked any questions when she had offered them a small sum of zenny this afternoon and asked to be dropped off in the next big city they passed through. They had simply accepted the money and shooed her off to wait near their cargo load. For all they knew she was a young musician looking to find her way in a big city. They probably got all sorts of young adults tagging along from villages.
From her seat on a cargo box, Mirabelle had dimly watched workers flit about, careful not to bother anyone or get in the way. Her family wouldn’t start to wonder where she was until perhaps late afternoon. They were rather used to her disappearing every now and again with little word as to where she was going, but she usually returned before they sent anyone in search for her. That fact didn’t keep her from twitching every time a member of the caravan brushed by her. They paid her little mind.
She had little to do until they departed in the evening, thus spent the day carefully checking her belongings and shifting from place to place, eventually settling down in a shaded pile of hay near the stables with a barn cat who was happy to occupy her attention. But after several anxious hours, the carts were packed and the crew was beginning to take their places in the procession.
Now she stood in front of the last cart, knuckles white around the handle of her violin case. This was the threshold to the rest of her life– or rather the beginning of her life. She could finally be rid of the vise her family had around her. She could finally breathe without fear of ridicule.
And yet this small step was so difficult.
Mirabelle was shedding the shackles of her past that, while painful, still held some distorted and perverted notion of comfort. Perhaps that’s what complacency felt like. Regardless of the name, the feeling was still there niggling, uncertainty at the edges of her confidence. Once she got into the cart there was no turning back.
A hand on her back startled her from her mulling. She must have been standing there for longer than she thought.
She whirled to face her sudden companion, eyes wide but managing to meet their gaze. She was met the soft, amused expression of the hunter who was acting as an escort for the caravan. The young man had a gentle crinkle to his eyes and scrunched his nose as he laughed at her slowly solidifying confusion.
“I can see that this must be your first time away from home, but we really need to get going. So if you’re going to get in, now would be a good time to do it,” he said, tone firm, but good-natured. “You’ll be fine. Just gotta take that first step.”
With that he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and made his way to his place on the first cart.
Mira startled out of stupor and took a breath. Hold for one beat, then two. She exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly, then heaved herself up into the back of the wagon.
The hunter was right. She could do this. No looking back, no hesitating, and certainly no regrets. And as the caravan jolted into motion, she didn’t. There was only the future to define her now, no matter where this literal and metaphorical road took her.
Rolling into the falling darkness in the back of a shoddy wagon that was a far cry from the fine carriages of her home, she allowed herself a small, bittersweet smile that was only for herself.
