#d.musings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

containatrocity · 6 months

Text

Earth Shatterin!

(Or, What the ContainAtrocity muses are up to post Event.)

DUCK has been restricted to bedrest and is doing his level best to recover, with his kids, Claire, Z, and Lucy visiting and sticking around to keep him company, he's gotten in touch with his hobbies a little more than he was willing to over the last while, working on a DND campaign, playing music, and getting back into his favorite video games on his dusty old playstation, to name a few. He misses work, and feels like a burden- but slowing down has done him some good. He can walk short distances, but this has to be supplemented with a cane and his knee brace.

RUSTY has similarly been forced to stay home, largely looked after by Sissy and Cyan, he's agitated with his inability to function as he normally does, making him more snippy/argumentative than he'd like to be. He spends his free time practicing his marksmanship now, much to the chagrin of his niece and Cyan, and has a tendency to push his luck, trying to go back to work, or make his way to help with Reggie's injuries.

ABSINTHE has found himself at a crossroads, untrusting of Raziel and his intentions for the commune he convinced Ondine to take Joei and leave for town, after coming clean about his true nature: He's Abel Fulci, an exorcist, a priest- a weapon, not an unfortunate wanderer. Temptation and anger paint his hours at home, and he's spending a notably larger amount of time at the chapel and the site of his fellow priests' deaths to try and organize thoughts- and avoid the ghost from their past.

CYAN Has been doing his best to restore the intranet around the town between looking after the Boone house and keeping Rusty from running off, and helping Sissy ready up for the winter. He has similarly been working on convincing G to calm down about the earthquake, when Unnamed Garage Band gets back together for a few hours of normalcy.

KB Has once again retreated into the safety of the radio station, but this fact is largely because his home was damaged, some structural issue inside causing the rune to be dysfunctional. As he tries to puzzle out what's going on there, he's thrown himself back into trying to integrate into town- terrified instead that he might die alone, instead of at all. He's returned to doing children's puppet shows and book readings at the libraries on specific weekends.

GABE has retreated into one of his his more harmful beliefs, that he is physically incapable of suffering any harm. He is regularly scratched, bruised, or banged up in various regards, largely from spills and foolishness he could have avoided. Despite this minor backslide, he's doing his best to help with rebuilding efforts, keeping in touch with the weirdlings, Unnamed Garage Band, and Declan between attending to the apartment he shares with Edgar and assisting his roommate with his recovery and looking after the rats, as his hands are still recovering.

MERCY Having a terribly out of character change of heart, he's thrown himself into assisting with the construction efforts around town, and has proven particularly knowledgeable about making the best of minimal, or damaged supplies. While his attitude seems to remain largely self-serving, the earthquake seems to have shaken something less cold loose within him- though navigating his grandiose demeanor and cruel tongue to find it remains difficult.

WREN has stepped into the Deputy Game Warden position to pick up the slack from her father's absence, and has placed her cashier position at the food market on a temporary hold- unless asked to fill in for a coworker. Still prone to overworking herself, she's managed to find a balance, though this is likely due to the constant presence of people in and out of the Romero house lightening her load enough that she feels comfortable enough to actually take some time to herself with her friends- or get some well-needed sleep.

ZIGGY has been assisting with efforts to rebuild, doing his best to attend to the minor issues of the townspeople that mean a lot- damaged belongings that can be fixed with a little care and attention. In the spaces between work, he's been visiting Bri and gathering the courage to ask Nattie to speak with him in private- rather certain he's worked out exactly who she is after their encounter at the festival.

OCTOBER has made himself comfortable at the Commune, using his stature and personality as a cudgel against people foolish enough to ask him to mind his manners or pull his weight. While he's playing along for now, picking up chores as required, he's grown to treat the common areas like his space- simply because no one in the commune is going to stop him. He continues to hover around Quinn- who's association with Raziel means the trio are often seen together- Much to October's general chagrin.

BUTTONS has resumed the roles she's always served, a quiet place to rest, a listening ear, and a problem solver. She has busied herself with providing care packages to the injured of food, sweets, and various other home remedies she can provide, and making certain that the mischief around the people trying to get better is kept at a general minimum. She continues to offer childcare services to those who need them around town, especially those with young children now working to help care for townsfolk, or putting town back in order.

LEX continues to be the town's cold, silent observer, judging and watching those around him operate. He has made it clear that his services are available to any suffering trauma in the aftermath of the earthquake or people possibly recovering from head injuries, and his touch is notedly gentler in the wake of something fresh. He continues to drink a coffee with a splash of milk and two sugars every morning like clockwork at the diner, and being a general miser.

ROBIN Romero has been tossing things into the big ol' hole in the middle of town. He's pretty sure he's worked out where the bottom is through science. While he stays a good several feet from the edge, his fixation on it seems to be to avoid his upset about his father's 'near-death' experience.

#d.musings #r.musings #a.musings #c.musings #k.musings #g.musings #m.musings #w.musings #v.musings #o.musings #b.musings #l.musings

4 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 6 months

Text

I'm on my way down- Hoping you won't find out I'm about to break now. Got me feeling low. I'm on my way down Pick me ups won't help now. Oh, I'm such a letdown. Got me feeling low.

#d.musings

2 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 9 months

Text

Delirium || Mal

Curses lost to an imminent danger. Touch a razor blade to the sky Like a crutch I need someone to break my Fall in to a place where I belong and Who can tell me where I Want to go?

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!? Grab Robin- grab Wren. Where's Wren, where's Wren- find Wren. Take shelter. The storm will swallow you both whole. She's smart- she'll find safety.

Adrenaline still makes him sick the way it did in Iraq. That cloying sweetness in his mouth and bile in the back of his throat. He sinks down against a wall in the corner of the bank- gives his son a careful once-over. Robin's frightened, shaken, a little, but no worse for wear. Wet, from the rain. Duck sighs, takes the time to shed out of his costume- murmuring to Robin that he can do the same- the fun festival is over- it's time to shelter down- it's bedtime, just like at home, but with the rest of the town.

"Like a sleepover!"

"Mmhm, kiddo, like a sleepover. Here, get comfy an' settled, and I'll get you somethin' to cozy up on." He's not got much on hand- and after a few minutes of searching- He realizes the best they'll do is threadbare carpet and the cape Duck had been wearing- a makeshift bed pad put together for the boy to settle down on.

Robin doesn't seem invested in going to bed, though, and as he settles into place- as Mal strips down to the athletic shirt he'd worn beneath leather and straps- he's abuzz with questions.

"What was that in the sky?"

"Hm?"

"I saw something. in the sky, Daddy. it looked like a blob."

"Clouds, buddy."

"No, no, Daddy I know what clouds look like- this was a thing. It was a big thing and it was looking at us." Heat boils beneath his skin. Overwhelm building in a way it hadn't in years. He knows Robin is right. Gods, he saw it too, something wrong, something greater than simple rotten luck that led to the creatures preying on the town. He wants to shut this down- he has no answers. He can't linger on it, it's liable to make him insane.

"It's just clouds, Robin. Go to bed."

"Is Wren gonna be okay?"

"Your sister'll be fine." He insists. It doesn't sound particularly confident.

"I bet she saw the thing in the sky too. I'll ask her about it tomorrow."

"And I told you, it was clouds." It comes out more biting than he intends- but Robin knows what he saw, and stubborn, dogged dedication to beliefs was what made a romero a romero- so he persists.

"No! I saw it, great big, and high up above us! I saw it! I saw it! I saw it! And I know Wrenny saw it and I know if mommy was here, she'd say she saw it too and-"

"Yeah well your mother ain't FUCKING here, is she, Robin? Mm? She's dead an' gone because she kept stickin her fuckin nose where it didn't belong." His voice raises, just slightly- swearing was common enough- he didn't do it at his kids. Robin seems taken aback for a moment- before he takes a deep breath- shouts.

"I SAW THE THING IN THE SKY, DADDY! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME SAY I DIDN'T!"

It's a split second, a snarl, a still-gentle pair of hands gripping Robin's shoulders suddenly.

"Boy I done told you what you saw! It was clouds, you're gonna set th' whole town into a panic shoutin' like that-"

"I SAW IT I SAW IT I SAW IT-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT THE THING IN THE SKY. THERE WASN'T A DAMNED THING UP THERE BUT RAINCLOUDS!" It cuts through the quiet- it silences Robin, the boy's lip quivering suddenly- tears pooling in green eyes. "Oh- Bubbin-" Robin yanks away from him, wiping his face with a sleeve and curling up on his makeshift bed. "Robin, I'm sorry I d-"

"...Sometimes I wish you died instead of Mommy." He doesn't recognize the weight of his words- or the fact Duck often wishes the same way. "I won't talk about it no more."

Duck sighs, slumps back against the wall behind him. He waits, sits silent until Robin finally drifts off to sleep.

"You and me both, kid..."

#d.musings

5 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 9 months

Text

Between teeth on a broken jaw // Following a bloodtrail, frothing at the maw.

Mal Romero: Tiefling Rogue.

-Cape style and shoulder armor from img 1 -Mask, hood, and horns from img 2 -Full costume of img 3

Having fashioned his costume (and his kid's costumes) largely on his own, Mal did the leatherworking for his rogue outfit some time ago, by the look of it- pieces he'd made that looked relatively normal on their lonesome given their actual purpose with the opportunity to dress up for the renaissance fair. Using a substantial amount of animal products like bone, horns, antlers and leather, it's a testament to his talent as a hunter as much as a leatherworker- as well as his ability to convince people better at sewing than he is to go along with hairbrained schemes about how there's definitely no way they can ignore him suggesting a Ren Faire at every single town meeting forever.

#d.musings #huntsvilleevent03attire #huntsvilleattire #d.aesthetic

4 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 1 year

Text

THE WHISKEY-SOAKED WARDEN: DUCK ROMERO.

Highs and Lows, are all I know, I don't want to be a fucked up father.

"I'm Mallard Romero. I'm 40 years old, and the game warden for Huntsville. I'm a father of two, and a former military general, serving well until I was in my 30s. It was there I met Rusty Craven- Though I know him as Pete Boone. I'm a born and raised Huntsville native, and my family, the Romeros, are well known and respected among the townsfolk. I am ambivalent toward the Commune, and my most prevalent vice is alcohol."

Name: Mallard Cybil Romero

Aliases: Duck, Ducky, Warden Romero, General Romero, Mal

Age: 40 (May 15th) [Taurus]

Sexuality/Gender: Bisexual Biromantic Cis Male [He/Him]

Personality: Well known for being gruff and blunt, Duck is a hard man to love, and an even more difficult one to get along with without already knowing the fact his exterior belies a kinder, softer underneath. A loving father and loyal friend, Duck's harshness is likely just a defense against his own fears and concerns living in Huntsville. Given opportunity to let his guard down, he is full willing to lay his life down for his friends and often has since 2012. The death of his second wife Ophelia Romero seems to weigh heavily on his mind, making him more paranoid and overprotective of the townsfolk- though her loss doesn't seem to have kept him from his willingness to fall into bed with interested parties after a few shots- oddly charming, once one accepts that his face will likely always look like that.

Occupation: Former US Marine Corp General, heavily decorated with several tours overseas. Current Game Warden for the town of Huntsville, orchestrating and protecting hunting parties for the townsfolk and similarly offering his watchful eye to the people of the Commune, should they need it. Nobody knows the forests like Duck and his crew, after all.

Affiliations: The Townsfolk of Huntsville, The US Marine Corp (veteran), Monongahela Parks and Game.

Scent Profile: The lingering scent of cut cedar and pine sap, something woody and clinging. Faint notes of cigarette smoke, though he hasn't smoked since his son was born, it lingers on his person. The cloying scent of whiskey sticking to his breath, and gun oil on his palms and knuckles.

Aesthetic: A half empty bottle of whiskey and a fully loaded shotgun watching the sun drop low in a rocking chair on the porch of his longtime home. A dimly lit study and a book he's still not finished all these years later, photos of a family he used to have and has only part of now. Cards from his children made with crayons and colored pencils slowly growing more and more coherent taped to a fridge alongside a map tracking the movements of the ghosts that haunt the town.

A jaded man, with shaky hands, holding onto what he can't let go of, and now I'm terrified- that I'm holy ghosted.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST PARADOX.

The head of the skeleton crew that's become of the game and forest recreation board, Duck Romero now oversees the safety of hunting parties and deals with potential animal threats that may move into town from the woods surrounding. He and Rusty Craven provide radios, flashlights, firearms, and other supplies that may be required for hunting parties that either don't own them, or lack the repair skills, or money, required to provide their own. Due to this, and his own paranoia, Duck is one of the few people in town with a substantial backstock of weapons, ammunition, parts, and even explosives, things he gathered in his brief visits home before his long-term deployment in 2012.

One of nine children of Mary-Beth Romero and a number of men, Duck's family is a de-facto matriarchy, raised to be compassionate as he is confident and cutthroat, his children are being taught just the same. 18 year old Wren Romero and 7 year old Robin Romero having lived with their single father since 2017, Duck's alcoholism has long been a cause for concern for the family, made worse in his wife's death and disappearance, he has only recently cleaned up enough to be considered 'responsible' enough to care for his kids, leaning heavily on the kindness of Rusty, the church, and other friends and family to keep them all above water.

As much as he is the respected game warden, he's also well known as the town drunk, belligerent and sick to his core with his vices, it's a common enough sighting to see someone walking Duck back home after one too many to ensure he doesn't meet his end at the brutal hands of a ghost.

#d.threads #d.aesthetic #d.musings #d.headcanons #d.bio #huntsvilleintro #Whiskey Warden;

6 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 11 months

Note

Write me your last words (duck and hawk)

Hawk.

I couldn't figure out the right way to do this, but given that we're not exactly the kind of brothers who... talk, to each other, I guess this'll suffice. I'm sorry. I was a shitty, attention seeking little brother and I know that... left you in the lurch. I'm sorry that I was both the one brother you really... got on with, and also the one who spent most of his time fighting with you. I'm sorry that I'm the reason you wound up stuck here. Maybe it would have been better if we meant it, all those times we said we hated each other. that we wouldn't give a shit if the other one keeled over and died.

I never meant it, at least. You're my brother. And despite it all, I love ya. I've got a fucking porcelain tooth and it's your fault, but I still look at the four wheeler in my garage and remember how much fun we'd been having before I fell out of that desk chair and mulched my face. before you came running to the scene of the crash and begged me 'please ducky don't tell mama!' while trying to bribe me with your allowance for the week. I did tell mom though. Not because I wanted you in trouble, but because I needed a dentist's intervention to pick the shards of my teeth out of my lip, and a doctor to get the chunks of my glasses out of my face. You were a lot nicer to me, the week after, but we still avoided each other. We only got along when we were getting up to trouble. Maybe that's how we were always just. supposed to be.

I'm sorry. I know I was annoying. That you got a degree in medicine around the time I had my first child and that pushed your achievements to the side. That I was some war hero that mom bragged about and you were a doctor who moved away. I'm sorry we ever felt like we were in competition. You're smart. Way smarter than I could have ever hoped to be. Because you're reading this. And I'm dead. I don't know how, maybe I finally just stopped getting lucky. Maybe it was my own stupid fault... No matter what it was, don't hold this against me- I'm really sorry I told on you, after all.

I don't want to ask you to take the kids in. Wren's grown and I know she'd take good care of her brother. But keep them away from Ma. I spent 20 years raising them the exact opposite of the way we were brought up so maybe when they're old and shitty like me and you they'll at least be able to have dinner without getting into a fistfight in the yard.

I didn't like fighting with you. I guess that's stupid to admit, that's... our whole thing, right? But- it's the only thing you would do with me for ages. How many times did I ask you to come out hunting or fishing or just for lunch and you were busy? At least if I pissed you off, we were hanging out. At least if I let you win sometimes, I didn't feel like I'd taken everything from you. You remember when we were teenagers and I tried to talk you into taking a roadtrip with me? I made a tape and everything, and then I totaled the sedan. I guess I've spent most of my life fucking up and making you hate me. I guess I don't blame you.

I'm sorry I hit you with the stock of my gun when you came home. I should have known the only reason you'd come back was because you were worried about me. I got us both stuck here.

When you and Matt get hitched, save me a seat at the table. Pretend I made some stupid speech about when we were kids how I knew you were a hopeless gay just like me. And when you remember you hate me, find some way to make it productive, because I'm not around to beat to shit anymore.

Despite it all, I love you, Hawthorne.

Ducky.

#d.musings #d.hawk

2 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 1 year

Text

Punchdrunk

A collection of testimonies, from the people who loved him best.

On the back of a school paper, with drawings of dragons and knights locked in fierce battle on the front, 'Ducky R., 7 years old' in scrawled handwriting on its front.

"Mallard seems to be easily distracted in class, but shows an incredible aptitude with music and art. Despite the fact he's loud and requires correction from time to time, he is endlessly helpful, and a pleasure to have as a student."

Another notice comes from a piece of paper from another class, the same dragons and creatures fighting around math tables, these ones adorned with stickers, and crayon.

"Mallard has been improving with his focus in class, but please try to encourage him to focus on work at school, it's difficult to keep him on task, and his eagerness to discuss fantasy cartoons (Dungeon and Dragons, He-Man, and the carebears films, specifically) has derailed him and his classmates numerous times. He is a very bright boy, please ensure he doesn't have his copies of Redwall, Goosebumps, or similar when he comes to school, he has a tendency to focus on them without attention to class at all."

He always got his class work done. He never quite understood why it was a bad thing, he wanted to draw pictures or read. He doesn't do much reading, as he gets older.

On the insert of a cassette tape still lingering in the glovebox of a long-abandoned car in the garage of the Romero house, it's been trapped in there since a fender bender including the boys crunched the front end enough that it damaged the locking mechanism. It's all 90s grunge and classic rock, recorded off the radio in the floor of Duck's bedroom by a fifteen year old boy missing one of his frontmost teeth, after an 'incident' with an office chair and a brother only a year older.

"DUCK AND HIS BROTHERS' SICK ASS ROAD TRIP TUNES FOR WHEN THEY LEAVE THIS SHITHOLE TOWN '97, NOT FOR MOM OR BEAU TO LISTEN TO, YOU GUYS DON'T COUNT!"

They never took that road trip- it cost most of the family's funds to replace Duck's missing tooth, and 'leaving this town in the rearview' became a pipe dream- locked away like a mixtape in the glovebox of a crumpled 1990 Ford.

On the margins of an old character sheet for a tabletop game, scrawled in by a kid of a similar mind and love of the world of fantasy.

"Thanks for inviting me to play with you, Cybil, I'll miss all the adventures, and when the time comes to pay visits back home from college, we'll have to put another table together. P.S. I hope someday, the world's nicer to boys like us, with their heads in the clouds and a taste for the fantastic than it is now. I'm sorry I embarrassed you at lunch. I hope when your senior prom rolls around, you don't have to go stag to make other people happy."

there's yellowing stains of coffee and neon-orange from chip-dirtied fingers on the worn paper, 'MR & JT' written once but erased in the corners. It's an Oath of Love Paladin who survived years at a table. Joey Tompkins never comes home to visit from college, and Duck Romero attends his junior and senior proms with Geanie Sanderson.

It's a letter hidden in a patch in a leather jacket, sewn with thread by drunk teenagers at a concert they snuck out to attend, a letter penned for A 17 year old boy who will be retrieved by his brother once he finds him missing with a new ring of gold in his nose, pupils blown on the thrill of sneaking out, and some drug he'd taken off the tongue of the pretty bisexual girl he'd met at the roller rink a couple towns over while flopped out on some bean-bag chair between her and her girlfriend. He's at home here, with the artists and the queers and the freaks.

"To boys with toilet-teeth and broken elbows who won't let me sign their cast with a heart but will take a pill off my lips. To boys who kiss boys and girls and everyone between and neither- to the fearless waterfowl who's run afoul of any and every authority figure who ever thought to tell him what to do. To the freak who's nose I pierced in a dirty basement and all he did was laugh at the pain and do another shot of whiskey- don't let the world burn you out- you can do that all by yourself."

He's not worn the jacket for years, too broad in the chest and shoulders, now. But it sits in his closet, written on in spraypaint and studded by hand, with the names of friends who he never saw again. The taste of freedom lingers on the back of his tongue now, somewhat bitter. He pierces his own daughter's nose with a sewing needle and an old earring for her birthday because she asks. They dull the pain with a shot of whiskey kept back from before all of this and he remembers a room full of maybe the only people who knew him properly.

It's a few words from a friend in a wedding card. It's bitter, maybe, and it's the last thing he'd get before leaving for the military.

"I miss the you you used to be. I hope you know what you're doing. I'm sorry nobody saved you when it mattered the most."

He hid it from his wife, and when the time came that they fell apart, he'd burn every last bit of their ceremony in a grand bonfire over a drink and a burger with his brothers. Except the card. With a raised white cake and 'congrats on your marriage' on the front. It sits in a shoebox in a closet now, alongside hundreds of baby photos of Wren taken on polaroids.

It's written on the back of a picture of Duck and his little brothers, a toddler in a carrier strapped to his chest and a camouflage jacket too big for one of them on one of the younger kids. Duck's smile is megawatt, and his hair and beard have grown back some from the short and tight he wears so regularly, Gladiola's arm slung around his shoulders and her hair tied up in braids. It's the most Romero siblings in a photo taken in years.

"Duck, Gee, Phoenix, Talon, Cassius, Robbie and little Wren, Zoo Trip 2006, AKA Duck and the Ducklings."

there's a zoo brochure kept alongside it, with Duck's careful handwriting marking out the animals his siblings want to see the most, and ones they're notedly afraid of, so he can plan a path through the zoo most satisfactory to the younger siblings. Other photos of him on that day appear perhaps haunted- hollow behind green eyes, a man far too young who's seen hell too many times. War built the man who came home from Iraq, it never quite let go.

It's a school project for a 6 year old girl. It's written in messy handwriting, but it's a letter for her daddy. She'll write hundreds, over the next several years, but this one, he's able to come home and receive, deploying mere months later for the last time- she won't see her father again until she's 9. She'll never let up on hope.

"My daddy's a brave knight, and sometimes that means he's not home. Mommy Phelia says he's a soldier but in all my bedtime stories the people who go away to fight bad guys are knights so that's what my daddy is. I miss him a bunch, sometimes we get to have calls on these weird phones, and me and mommy Phelia have special cards that let us go see him sometimes, those are my favorite days. Last time daddy came home he brought me all kinds of presents. I like when daddy's hair grows back and he has a beard, because that means he's not going to leave again for a long time. I don't like getting haircuts because that means he's gonna be gone again and I really want to finish our stories. Only daddy tells the good stories too, grandma and my uncles don't do the voices right, and they always have to use the books."

To this day, Wren Romero wears her hair long- and always trims her dad's hair just slightly too long to be military issue. Duck hates the paradox, for all it's taken from everyone in town. He's grateful, maybe- that he's gotten to watch his kids grow up.

It's in the personal journal of a former combat medic. One his husband still hasn't found the heart to open, the words of a dead man kept pointedly until he became to weak to write. It's codenames, One that a fleeting knowledge of horror would help people parse out.

"Zombie introduced me to the new recruits today, he's calling the youngest 'Ghostface.' There's not a lot to him, but apparently his aptitude for sniping is unmatched, Kid's barely a hundred twenty soaking wet. Told me when we deployed out this time that he's serious about that girl back home- I'm not exactly bothered, I'm used to it- but it's a little bit of a mixed set of messages when that snake tattoo of his is colored now and it's as loud and proud queer as I think you can get without getting kicked out of the corps. He's still a hard ass, of course, but I guess this means he's gonna be less of a physical pain in mine in the barracks. The kid's apparently from his hometown- Zombie's reputation precedes him there- Can't imagine a time he wasn't some cocksure general running a ship so tight you could make a diamond if you shoved coal up his ass, I wonder which version of him I'd like better."

The author of the journal lies dead in Huntsville cemetery 'beloved husband and uncle' on the stone below his name. A carved blue jay sits in the flowers placed there by his husband and niece, a carefully made bird with wings spread- one glued back on. Some of his sweaters live on in Duck's closet. Duck sometimes wonders if he made the right call, all those years ago. But regret isn't a warm sweater- it's the report of a sniper rifle and a 'got your six!' barked over comms- it's a life debt owed to little more than a kid- a kid that took a lover and then begged him on hands and knees for a release from service for both of them- to care for the last bit of family he had left.

Regret is best left in the sands, shifting and hungry. not here. Still he finds time to wonder.

It's a thousand sticky notes in the Northern ranger station, despite him telling the staff they're running out. It's even more stuck to his desk, drawings of him making a sour face, notices from his deputy, the head ranger, and his assistant. It's reminders of things he needs to get done, and 'happy birthday, boss!' with shitty little cakes drawn under them. It is love in words and pictographs and he pretends to hate it, because they're wasting paper. Sometimes he pulls Hobbes and Clara in a little bit tighter when he greets them after rough shifts. He does it more now, after the hoedown.

"HI MR. DUCK. :)" "hey, Zom, saved you some coffee and a slice of cake. oo rah." "Boss there's a raccoon in the walls at the diner again, I told them you'd take care of it." "Mr. duck look I can draw you." "Hey do you think if somebody came into town with a fucked up right leg you guys could trade? It could be a lady. you'd have nice gams Warden D."

He can't bring himself to throw them away anymore. Well aware that a handful of them are already the last remnants of a young man who doesn't get to do something so simple as 'waste office supplies" anymore. They're still stuck to his computer- he's running out of screen space.

#d.musings #d.headcanons #this is not event related but I am insane so it's being posted now anyway

5 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 1 year

Text

Sometimes before it gets better The darkness gets bigger The person that you'd take a bullet for Is the one behind the trigger.

#d.musings

2 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 1 year

Note

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self? (duck)

"That he's not a bad kid."

"He's.... He's an angry kid, a weird kid, one with problems that nobody wanted to help him with- but he's not bad. That... we grow up, you know? And that that clawing want to leave home never goes away, but we find some comfort here eventually. We ain't evil, and that it was wrong of our classmates to act like we were, was worse of the teachers to do the same thing."

"I'd tell him that the day he caught Mr. Tompkins talking about how... the school'd be better off if he walked off into the woods and just didn't come back, wasn't your fault. you were- barely more than a little boy- and the fact he only backpedaled after you started crying, after you got so upset that you damn near threw up in that office was the fault of the adult, not the fifteen year old boy who went home and begged his mom to let him skip the rest of the semester."

"I'd tell him that one day, we wake up, and we're not happy but we're better. That we're a couple wives in, but we wouldn't trade our kids for the world. That we're a pretty okay dad, I think."

"I'd tell him that when he turns 16, and that kid in the cafeteria keeps at him, calling him a monster, a freak, making fun of him for bein' feminine, bein' into dungeons and dragons, havin' two friends and preferrin' the company of a gun and the woods or a guitar and a practice room, when he takes his lunch, and dumps it into the book he saved months and months of lawn mowing money and allowance for, then hits him so hard his glasses sail across the room and into the garbage-"

"That he's not the villain there, that he endured as much as he could, because he already brought so much trouble home to Eddie especially and didn't want to make more trouble. He was defending himself, and it wasn't his fault. We... We weren't a bad kid. And at the end of the day..."

"I'd tell him we deserved better. but someday we... get that better."

"Guess I'd also tell him not to bother wastin' bullets on the freaks who swarm the house the day he gets home, and uh. that he should go easy on the Oxy. We only had the one bottle and I'd kill fer one right now."

#d.musings #d.headcanons

2 notes · View notes

containatrocity · 1 year

Text

Familiar Scars

Gore tw, mentions of kidnapping.

He's never been obvious about it.

"What's your name, kid?" "Tyler..." "Okay, Tyler, well, it's cold out, and it's late, and you're naked as the day you were stitched, so why don't you come on down from there, an' me and you will have some cocoa at th' ranger station?" "Okay." And that had been how it started, hadn't it? A spacy teenage boy close to dark, out in the woods where he didn't belong. Duck had dressed him in clothes too big and made him a spot in the ranger station during his watch. He would have done it for anyone, kind despite his personality and temper- but Tyler was different- he saw the world through a lens that Duck could never pretend to understand, one that saw good in everything he encountered, where Duck himself saw only the cruelty of others, idling below the surface- mankind was capable of just as many horrors as the monsters outside, and Tyler had experienced them. but still he loved the world and the people in it with a fervor that almost made him... jealous.

He's never been obvious about it.

"Mr. Duck!" "Hey, Ty, just bringin' by some kills we ain't using for the commune." He had held up a bundle of rabbits, and the young man- not a boy anymore, really- had run over, hugged him around the waist. "You behavin' yourself?" "Sure am, Mr. Duck! Here I can help you carry stuff, man." Duck allowed it, passing over a few rolls of pelts and leather, leaving the hanging creatures slung over his shoulder. They'd made the walk around the commune to find Sunflower together, Tyler telling him about his day, Duck happy to listen. It was often a lot of listening, on his part, letting Tyler ramble and ask questions as they occurred to him- and Duck did his best to answer dutifully, when the time came- no matter how odd they may have been. He doesn't stay long- his aid to the commune extends only to his extra catches- not listening to Sunflower preach about safety in numbers, or whatever it is she uses to recruit- and he takes his leave, fluffing Tyler's hair gently. "you be good, now." "Yessir Mr. Duck, sir." Duck knows he means it.

He's never been obvious about it.

"Why do you keep goin' out to help me?" "Because it's the right thing to do, Ty." "You act like you're so mean all the time- you've never been mean to me, man." "Because you haven't earned it... Go to sleep, kid, I've only got 2 hours before I'm back on watch." "Okay. Hey, Mr. Duck?" "Yeah, Tyler?" "I love you man." "......" He learns quickly that Tyler is loose with love and affection, in a way Duck never could be. He never returns the favor in words, but actions, keeping the younger man out of trouble- answering calls to come get him, when he's dissociated somewhere, the association with safety he's garnered with Tyler one he doesn't take lightly. The world had failed him time and again- had him kidnapped then stranded in Huntsville, arrested him in his youth. It's why when he sees him at the hoedown dressed to his best with flowers for Kitty between his own dance with Percy, Duck can't help but smile- watch him love the way he feels like only Tyler can. They're cute, he reasons, and if anybody in this town deserved to be happy, unashamedly, unquestioningly happy- it was Tyler.

He's never been obv- THE DOOR!

Hysterics and chaos. Duck glancing up from where he and Tyler had been conversing- the younger man tucked close to his side- to witness the rush for the door, Rusty abandoning his place to book it with the group- Duck withdrawing his sidearm and starting off behind the swarm desperate to shut the door- only for his knee to tweak because he dares to run. He tries to ignore spires of pain but reaches the door late- just in time to watch ghostly hands grab Tyler by the shoulders and yank him outside- just in time for Alice to collapse into his chest. He takes a moment, to look for his daughter- Where's Wren he wonders, through the madness- spotting exactly what Rusty had been bolting for now- the girl held far away from the madness in the ranger's iron grip-, his hands over her ears. He'd likely been looking for Sissy- but too far from her at the time to help- he'd found Wren instead. It takes only seconds to calm that fear and focus on the moment.

Blood streaks snow and the sound of skin tearing and bone cracking is one he knows well, prepping meat on his own- watching unlucky fools who ignore the town's warnings wander off into the woods at night. But its different here. He wants to go out behind him, wants to throw that door back open and find some way to save what surely was one of the few kind hearts still left in this town. He knows better than to obey that want, holding Alice close and trying his best to comfort an old friend.

Tyler falls quiet. and the beasts lose interest, moving back to stare into windows and whisper to the people inside. Duck's mind goes numb, and he untangles from Alice. He walks to a table, sitting down and reaching down his thigh- unholstering a flask he'd left alone for weeks now. He unscrews the lid now, emptying the contents and trying to focus on the way it burns his throat and chest instead of the way he aches. The screams. The knowledge that when the sun comes up, and the storm passes, it's a friend he'll bury, not some out of town idiot. He wonders for a moment, as tears sting in green eyes, if he should have been more obvious about it.

"Okay. Hey, Mr. Duck?" "Yeah, Tyler?" "I love you man." He grunts, rolls over. It's only when Duck's alarm wakes him, and Tyler is still fast asleep, wrapped in a blanket on a cot hundreds of feet up in the air, that Duck sighs.

"Love you too, kid."

He just hopes he did enough, while he could. "Alright, everybody, show's over." He calls, voice strong despite the way he aches. "Everybody move back from th' door. Don't look out the windows, you know the drill." The least he can do is keep Tyler's memory something comforting.

Not a husk in the snow.

#d.musings #d.headcanons

5 notes · View notes