#d.threads

[containatrocity]

"Robin." It's an exasperated sigh, one the boy beside him mirrors.

"Daddy." He declares, grinning around a caramel apple he's bound to lose another tooth in. "I want... to go scare the people."

"...Empty your pockets, small fry."

"Why!?"

"'cause I know you got a knife in there and if you stab anybody that ain't me it's a felony. Turn 'em out, Babybird." Robin frowns, turning the pockets of his costume out and walking in a circle as Duck pats him down.

"Good boy. Go get 'em- stick close, okay? no further than the booths." He insists after him- his typically watchful eyes and ears tuned to the boy again. He looks good, healthy, happy, and as he knocks rhythmically on Claire's stall, it's with a warm smile only half-obscured by the mask of his costume. "Evenin', Mrs. Lovett." He greets. "Ya look great- keepin' busy?"

@ambercast

#d.threads #d.claire #d.claire03 #d.event04

[dtupdates-archive]

♡—DREAM posted on Threads!

#dt.update #d.threads #dreamwastaken

[ofblackxbirds]

𝕥𝕒𝕘 𝕕𝕦𝕞𝕡 .

✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { space saver } —  ❝ this is a template ❞

#✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Interaction. } — ❝ ᴷⁱˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵗᵗˡᵉˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵛⁱˡ ᵗⁱˡ' ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿʳⁱˢᵉ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Visage. } — ❝ ᴹᵃⁿ ᵃʳᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵐᵉ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Character study. } — ❝ ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢᵉʳᵛᵉ ʷʰⁱˢᵏᵉʸ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉˡˡ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Meme. } — ❝ ᴵ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵇʸ ᶠᵃⁱᵗʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇʸ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Playlist. } — ❝ 'ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃˡʳᵉᵃᵈʸ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ʷᵃʸ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Text. } — ❝ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Answered. } — ❝ ᴵᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵗᵗʳᵃᶜᵗ ᵃ ᶜʳᵒʷᵈ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.Thread Tracker. } — ❝ ᴬⁿᵈ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵇᵘʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ❞ #✘ ‘ﾟ‣ { D.About. } — ❝ ᴳᵃᵍᵍᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ ❞

[dtupdates-archive]

♡—DREAM replied to YouTube on Threads!

#dt.update #d.replies #d.threads #dreamwastaken

[containatrocity]

It's not like Duck means to be... the way he is. It's the way he was raised, maybe, the nurture that exacerbated his nature into something... sharp. The drink makes it easier to bear- the failure, the being trapped like a rat in a cage. He's barely held together, physically and mentally, and as his leg tweaks again, he collapses into the snow and mud below him. "Son of a bitch." He winces, as bottles shatter and his flask skitters across cracked pavement, wreaths and small wooden carvings spilling behind them. "Uncle Sam, I'm gettin' real tired a' dealin' with the aftermath of your shit." He spits, trying to force himself back to his feet- only for his leg to give out beneath him again. He lays back in the melting snow, sighs, as the clouds above see fit to split and spill 'spring showers' against him. He pulls the radio from his hip.

"Hey... If... Man, if anybody's got the time in' em before curfew I... I could use a hand." He chirps into the speaker. "Can't get back up. Leg shit out on me. I'm out by the graveyard... least I'll make it easy on y'all if I'm out here past sundown." He sighs, laying back down and staring up at the sky. "Really it's up t' y'all... Could probably just lay here an' call it a good life, honestly. It's. close t' dusk anyway."

#huntsvillestarter #d.threads

[containatrocity]

He's supposed to be in bed. That was the fact drilled into him, over and over and over again, by his children, and Lucy, and Claire, and Z, and the other rangers and his brothers- some of which were in just the same if not worse shape and still going about their business. He's supposed to be in bed. Laying around. Letting his knee recoup.

Sitting in one place makes him fucking insane.

So Mal Romero is not in bed, sat instead at the piano in his front room, bare chest bandaged in strips of white- the bloodstains finally fading from shirts worn over them- the extra laundry still not worth the option to wear one of his usual button-ups, absently plucking away at a piano piece more contemporary than the ones he'd been raised on. More somber than the jazz and country he'd played for Ophelia to sing along to at parties. It's enough to distract him, from the sound of the front door opening, from the footsteps approaching. "...so flood me like atlantic, bandage up the trenches..." He doesn't quite know the words, he doesn't have to. It's on the pause, between a breath, and a key, that he notices a shadow cast on white keys- turning perhaps a bit harder than he should and hissing in a short, pained breath.

"Fuck- Hey, Z. I um. Listen, I know I'm supposed to be in bed but I just..." He smacks fingers on the keys, discordant. "I need a break from taking a break."

@callofthxvoid

#d.threads #d.zarina #d.zarina04 #//i couldn't think of piano pieces i'm literally using a fucking metalcore musician as a fc right now take the fucking sleep token

[dtupdates-archive]

♡—DREAM replied to Bella Poarch on Threads!

#dt.update #d.replies #d.threads #dreamwastaken

[containatrocity]

"There are a thousand other things that need my attention today, and here I am, thumb up my ass, waiting for Hawthorne..." He knows better than to have these discussions at the diner anymore, and so, stood on the front step of his brother's home, he absently watches the joint between his fingers dwindle down, pinching the end out when the deadbolt shifts back. He pushes past his brother as the door opens, dropping himself down in a kitchen chair with a groan. "Well. I'm here." He declares, motioning to himself and leveling grey-green eyes on Hawk. "What was so important you needed me to come over when I'm still in the middle of getting the hunting seasons put around town? Oh, and I've got to mind the orchard, and clean my house-" All things he should have finished already- the opiates leave him hazy- slow him down.

He's high right now, eyes hazy as brows crease over them. "Matt in? Am I about to get ambushed about something for y'all's wedding I was supposed to get together? I done told ya I don't know the difference between eggshell and ivory, I ain't that kinda gay."

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

#d.threads #d.hawk03 #d.hawk

[containatrocity]

"Robin! Sit yer ass down." He's not even watching his son today, the elementary schooler instead zipping between the booths belonging to Wren and her bandmates 'helping' make sales in his own... special way. Duck settles back into his seat, as Robin plants himself at the side of G's booth obediently, Mal shaking his head and turning back to his own work before a familiar face passes by. "Well well, finally decided to grace us with your presence outside a' working hours?" He smiles, picking up the coffee mug beside himself smoothly. "How you keepin' on, Trick?"

Mal's been busy, and he'll never hold it against Tricky that they've not had the time to talk- between being back to work in his full capacity, the orchard in full swing of planting and flowering season and his alarmingly stable romantic life- he's been pretty happy to take the back seat to a lot of things- embrace the peace while he has it- and for Duck, that's being busy. But Tricky's still a brother in arms- a friend he's never once taken for granted. and it's always nice to catch up.

@backmaskcd

#d.threads #d.tricky #d.tricky02 #d.event06

[containatrocity]

"I'm headed t' the faire, daddy!" The Romero house had been alight with activity since early that morning, a blur of color, costumes, and energy as the denizens made haste to be prepared for the Renaissance Faire. It's Wren's voice carrying through the house that makes Mal appear again, his head sticking around the corner of his bedroom door, hands deftly working zippers and belts closed over a half-bared torso. "I'll see y'all there!"

"A'right darlin! Walk safe!" Duck insists, finishing up with his shirt, pulling the cape and armor on and into place over it, the hood tugged up over dark hair and the wicked visage of a wolf's skull grabbed from the dresser beside him. "Robin, buddy, you need help with anything?" He questions, stopping in the hallway until the young boy gives him a negative- that he's almost done, just finding the rest of his nerf darts. "Alright- remember, if you lose any a' them you're shit outta luck, kiddo." His next port of call is downstairs, towering frame appearing in the doorway of the bathroom- blacked out green eyes leveling on Z's gaze in the mirror. "And how're you comin' along there, darlin?"

@callofthxvoid

#d.threads #d.zarina02 #d.event03 #d.zarina

[containatrocity]

"I'm 41, not dead, come on, pitch like ya mean it, damn!" It's been a few hours of chatter and the tell-tale report of a metal bat against a baseball out back of the North ranger station, the staff clearly having decided on a slow day to blow off some steam with America's Pastime, the 'bases' on the ground a set of old almanacs they'd found waterlogged in the storage building a few hours earlier- Duck tapping the bat against the one at his feet. "Hey- Rain's comin' uh- 40 years ago- we should be prepared fer- RUSTY CHRISSAKE." He yanks to the side, the baseball screaming past him and into the glove of the ranger behind him. "Wait a minute!"

"YOU SAID TO PITCH LIKE I MEANT IT!" the other man reminds- reaching up to catch the ball- and at the least, waiting this time for Duck to ready up- the warden's swing catching the ball straight on- and sending it sailing well out of their makeshift diamond. "Well. you're goin' to get that one, Romero." Rusty informs, watching it vanish over the roof of the station proper- Duck already taking off after it.

He tracks it down, but not until it's rolled to a stop beside somebody uninvolved in their game, Duck twirling the bat once and flinging it up across his shoulders to rest his arms. "Hey- I didn't hit ya, did I?" He's not in his usual outfit, dark hair tucked under a baseball cap, chest bare under an unbuttoned jersey, 'Romero' emblazoned across the back over the number 13 and a pair of sweats that had certainly seen better days even today given the stains on gray fabric. "Cleared the whole damn station with that one- I'd say it's a personal best." He laughs. "But I can't take that as a win if I nailed ya with it."

#huntsvillestarter #d.threads

[containatrocity]

"Well g'mornin, sunshine!" Duck greets, a familiar pair of dark braids enough to indicate he's opening the homestead door to Lucy- facing away, by the time he makes it downstairs. "I tell ya, upstairs bedroom and a bad knee ain't exactly the match you'd want 'em to be." 'Sunshine' has always been a little sarcastic, when it came to Lucy- but it was fond at it's core, he was fond of them, at his core- so when green eyes settle on a bruise, fresh, angry- his expression drops, darkens. "Well now." He knows what a punch looks like. "Who went an' gave ya that, darlin?" There's a venom in it-but he shakes it loose, for long enough to step aside, usher Lucy into the house. "Here, c'mon in, you'll catch yer death out here, Winter's gettin' vicious early." He can be vicious as the cold later. "It hurt?" He questions. "Right now, I mean, I know it definitely hurt when it happened."

@ambercast

#d.threads #d.lucy03 #d.lucy

[containatrocity]

"Nah, I'm gonna stand out here. You got this'n." Duck's stood outside the dance hall- specifically, a crawlspace just alongside the gap- another ranger's feet sticking out as they struggle to scoot further in. "Age before beauty, or however the adage goes, and I'm not allowed t' crawl around on th' orders of multiple very lovely and intimidatin' women- so I'll be right here- just don't go grabbin' no babies unless you know they're alone, a'right? I'm gettin' low on bandages and we have nothin' for rabies." He shouts- clearly delighting in finally being on the other side of this sort of struggle as a familiar face walks by. "Ah, Mornin' Roman!" He calls. "How you keepin' on, kid?" He questions. "Don't think I ever properly apologized for Z an' Lu afflictin' you with my presence across th' holidays, draggin' ya to dinner." He chuckles.

"But, ya survived no worse for wear, yeah? My cookin' ain't killed nobody yet." The ranger in the crawspace groans. "Oh. This is Mahoney. She ain't important to the conversation."

@endlessreruns

#d.threads #d.roman #d.roman01

[containatrocity]

"Oooooh the traitor returns!" It's a greeting bellowed from the very back desk of Station Alpha, Duck's familiar dust-covered cowboy boots kicked up on the top of it and his hat pulled down over his face. It's almost impressive, the fact he seems to have identified Trick by little more than a sliver of a ranger uniform from beneath his hat, lifting it up and sitting it back in place a moment later, flicking the front up. "Rust's doing a sweep if you're here to annoy him about something work related. They keeping you in line down at South Station or are they letting you run riot undoin' all my hard work?" It's sarcastic, playful as it always is. Duck seems to be the only one in right now, the actual rangers likely out making their morning and afternoon sweeps of the forest or hunting on their own- the game warden often left to sit around by himself.

"It's gonna be so much colder soon! And you're a migratory bird- so it's bad luck you-" Rusty's voice chimes behind Tricky in the doorway of the ranger station, the man absently conversing with a bird tucked into his jacket, peeping softly, snuggled against the biting wind. "Oh- Hey Trick- what brings you up? Business 'er pleasure?"

"Boy you ain't had a pleasure call since ya grew into yer beergut." Duck snorts, watching as Rusty throws a pencil at his head- only to wiff, and miss by a mile. "Missed." He mocks, drumming his hands on his desk in front of him. "Mockin' you boys aside, what brings you in, ain't it your day off, soldier?"

@backmaskcd

#d.threads #d.tricky #d.tricky01 #r.threads #r.tricky #r.tricky01 #//woah a whole 2 muses in a thread look me go

[containatrocity]

If anybody asked him, this was exactly what it was- a trip to check in on his brother- on his niece, more than anything, with leftovers from his own busy home for the duo and Dodger. If he was honest with himself, it was an effort to get away from home. He needed air, space, some kind of breakaway from being doted on and treated like he might break if someone bumped him too hard. It's not hard to adapt to the cane, the brace. It's just a pain to need them at all. He lifts the end of it to knock on the door gently, rapping at the base of the door with polished wood. "Nicky! You in? The station told me they made ya stay your ass home today, figured I'd bring somethin' to eat by, check in on you and squirt!"

In the further back part of his head, something else nags, it's got the voice of a gossiping church lady. It's the voice of his first wife and their mother and it's his own all at the same time, hissing that he's only here to try and measure up, because somebody said in a miserable rag that he was second choice. Because some part of him believes it. He shuts it down as capably as he can, knocking again. "Phoenix! Yer gonna freeze yer poor injured brother to death on your porch! And worse than that, yer gonna waste chili an' these leftover biscuits!"

@firecaptainphoenix

#d.threads #d.phoenix #d.phoenix02

[containatrocity]

"HI UNCLE MATT!" Duck winces slightly as Robin declares the presence of someone they know before he can remind him that even if they're outside- he should probably still use his inside voice. "Uncle Matt- Uncle Matt look I'm Chunky."

"Chucky, buddy, Chucky. I mean, maybe you're a little chunky too. But that's fuel for the chaos, nothin' wrong with it." He drops one hand down, places it atop Robin's head and holds him in place. "Hey Matt." He greets himself after a minute. "As ya can see, me an' the mini-me are keepin' each other on the straight an' narrow tonight." His costume isn't exactly the 'straight and narrow' interpretation of his character, the white shirt across his chest open almost entirely- the mask shaped oddly- to sit over his scars, instead of mirroring the phantom himself. "You an' Hawk plannin' on gettin' in on the pumpkin contest? Me an Robin 're supposed t' catch up with Z here soon and do some carvin'- I just uh. need a few minutes with him unarmed." He declares, Robin practically vibrating in place beside Mal. "He's been downin' candy apples since noon- he might eventually vibrate so fast he clips outta the bounds a' reality an he has his instructions fer bringin' back help." He's more himself, if the joke is any indicator.

@wanderinglcst

#d.threads #d.matt #d.matt03 #d.event04