#tracy. >> ic.

[oletuslured]

THERE'S A CERTAIN EXPECTATION THAT COMES ABOUT WHEN ENTERING A MATCH WITH A NEWCOMER ON THE SURVIVOR SIDE. The reality of the matter was that sudden exposure meant the lack of firsthand experience and knowledge of how to traverse the logic and space around them. These are matches that either end up in a lucky draw or decisive loss by the manor's unspoken track record. Yet, this expectation is entirely shattered as their survivor group makes a timely four-man escape, with Elise of the veterans being able to keep a seasoned hunter at bay until given a judgment lapse reprieve to allow herself a breakaway toward the opened exit gate. Tracy's still in a bit of shock due to the unexpected turn of events, pawning off her usual mild disposition for one that is brimming with wonder and admiration as she chases after the woman. A woman of science and mathematics is one who strives for an answer, no matter the cost!

"Hey, heeeey! Hold on just a moment, please! You were great out there! But what was it that you were doing with a teapot...?? Can I take a look at its inner mechanisms?!"

starter call ━━ ˟ ⊰ ♡ | tracy - elise | @asea0fmxses

[wickmitz]

every time i reread lackadaisy i become stronger about my conviction that fans are WAY too harsh on mitzi and misunderstand her completely. you go online and see people treating her like satan incarnate when she’s genuinely just a person who’s grieving and lost. her and mordecai are two sides of the same coin and it’s crazy that people are kinder to him ( when he kills people, brutally, all the time and without remorse ) but never to her … like the things i’ve seen people accuse her of is baffling enough to make me wonder if i’m genuinely misreading the text tbh. even her character sheet on the lackadaisy website says this :

cannot stress enough everything we’ve seen from mitzi and know about her, both in the past and present, proves she was a tender hearted sort of person. she is not ruthless or cruel naturally, and has to continuously decide to commit to the harsh edges she’s desperately trying to wear. she’s selfish, yes, and does have her own myriad of flaws -- but she’s hardly some manipulative mastermind with no warmth in her heart. and knowing this makes her arc and her scenes ache all the more for it tbh

[aghostnamedcalamity]

Something for my super cool co-headcanoner @fantein 😎 AU featuring both Mermer and Benji in Mordecai’s life

Little Miss Emery is such a doll to draw! I think she and Benji would get along nicely, albeit a healthy amount of sibling rivalry with their clashing personalities. Mermer would really help Benjamin get outside his shell in situations he’s uncomfortable in, though I think he’d deny emotionally relying on her as they aged. Ive got a bunch of silly little sketches I need to clean up and post at some point.

Mermer belongs to @fantein. Hope you like! ♥️

[oletuslured]

THE FIRST MATCH IS ALWAYS THE HARDEST. The depths of trauma and absolute terror that sinks its fangs deep within the skin, knawing and tearing at one limb from limb as they experience the excruciating pain of death, and yet, have no means of release. The utter cruelty that is strung along with each manor game; the seed that has unwillingly been buried, roots of terror sowed in order to relive the sensation of dying again and again and again. Tracy isn't one of the more resilient types that can sit back and allow the turbulence to bottle up inside, no, there is a certain look of horror that meets her eyes when each slash to kill lands, each splash of blood spills to the ground despite her long stay at the manor thus far. His delirium spins at her heartstrings and tugs her forward, concern etched into the wrinkles of her face as she offers a hand toward him.

"I know you're scared!" The mechanic emphasizes, tone raising in order to settle his shaky disposition and attempt to reason with him despite the ongoing frenzy. A battle with reason and fiction, the shaking hands and the reality of being tethered to this liminal space. "Believe me, I know how crazy this whole thing must be to you! Things like these are par the course of normal and reasonable! But let me help you! It'll be okay! Take a breath!"

It can't be possible.

Can't be, can't be, can't be. Nevermind what his trembling limbs and that nauseating terror are telling him - he knows that he's right. Everything he experienced back then- there's no way it could be anything more than a delusion, right?

He's just finally snapped. It was inevitable that it'd happen one day - he's always been teetering on the edge of madness, and while normally, the thought that he's finally fallen into its abyss would fill him with horror, right now, he clings onto the thought like a lifeline.

More than anything, he wants to escape what he's feeling right now. But he's trapped, and there's nothing he can do - the feeling of death lingers in every corner of his body; he can taste it on his tongue. Is this what it's like... to die?

Then, how is he alive now? ...When he notices that he's not alone - how long has that woman been standing there? - he's all at once lashing out, twisting around and screaming at her like some furious beast.

"Leave me alone!! You're not real, you can't be!"

@oletuslured ( starter for tracy! )

[loopstagirl]

Midnight Snack

Just a bit of brotherly fluff for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt this week.

Word count: 1000

Scott’s senses were tingling.

With a groan, he threw back the covers and rolled from bed. There was no point trying to go back to sleep now. His brothers always mocked him for his ability to just know when something was wrong, but that didn’t stop them from listening to those same instincts when it suited them.

This wasn’t a collapsing building sort of wrong, though. It was much closer to home.

He padded out of his room on silent feet, not pausing to grab a top. The island was hotter than usual, and he welcomed any breeze he could find.

He pushed open Virgil’s door. A deep snore was his only hint there was someone in the bed. Despite the heatwave, Virgil was still buried under his covers, just the top of his head poking out. Smiling, Scott retreated and shut the door.

Alan was the opposite. Limbs splayed in all directions and lying on top of the covers. His head was thrown back, mouth open, but he, too, was fast asleep. Scott couldn’t resist watching the rise and fall of his chest for a few moments, finding it soothing. But it wasn’t Alan who needed him.

Habit made him open John’s door. Of course, the room was empty. Hovering in the doorway, he touched his watch, sending the faintest vibration up to space. If John was awake, he’d answer. If not, he wouldn’t feel it.

Nothing. His space-bound brother was also lot in dreams, although Scott prayed they were good ones after the few days they’d had.

He didn’t bother checking Gordon’s room. He didn’t need to now he knew the other three were resting. Instead, he stole downstairs, glancing into the lounge as he did so. The automatic lights were off around the pool: Gordon wasn’t out there, either. However sneaky he tried to be, he couldn’t get around the sensors – which was the exact reason their dad had installed them in the first place.

There was a light on, however. It wasn’t really a surprise it was coming from the kitchen. Scott nudged open the door, blinking in the soft glow. Gordon was sat on a bar stool, head resting in his hands, slumped against the table. He didn’t give any sign that he’d heard his big brother, but Scott knew he had. It was harder to sneak up on Gordon than him – and that was saying something.

He slipped onto the seat opposite, waiting. He didn’t say anything, knew he didn’t have to. It took a good ten minutes before Gordon lifted his head. He looked exhausted, red-rimmed eyes and dark bags betraying how much sleep he hadn’t been getting. But more than that, he looked miserable.

“Tell me,” Scott said softly. His tone was a mixture of command and plea, knowing Gordon needed to let whatever it was off his chest.

“It’s just…” Gordon breathed deeply for a few moments. But then he pushed himself into a more upright position and looked Scott in the eye. “So many rescues, lately. Do we even make a difference?”

Scott smiled gently. Gordon was always the lightest of sleepers out of all of them, and no doubt the heat had been keeping him up despite the tiredness caused by the rescues. But while exhaustion may have given voice to his words, it hadn’t planted that thought. Who knew how long this had been bugging Gordon?

“168,” Scott said. Gordon blinked.

“Huh?”

“168 people. That’s how many we’ve had contact with over the last two weeks. Sure, some of them would’ve been fine without us. But you know a lot wouldn’t have been. Especially those fires.”

“168,” Gordon repeated softly. “That’s how many we’ve-,” he trailed off, as if saying it was just too big.

Scott nodded. “Saved, yes. And 38 were you alone when you got that trawler to safety.”

“Well, Virgil-,”

“Gave you a lift there, and that was it. You saved those people, Gordon. You let them go home to their families and loved ones that night. Why don’t you ask them if we make a difference?”

Gordon managed a weak smile. But a shadow was shifting in his eyes. This wouldn’t be the end of it: the next hard spell would bring those same doubts back, for Gordon, or any of the others. But for now, Scott hoped that nightmare had been put to rest for the time being.

He stood up. Gordon looked surprised.

“That’s it? You’re going?”

“While my bed is calling me, no,” Scott said. He crossed the room, grabbing a couple of spoons before opening the freezer. The kitchen tiles were bliss on his bare feet. “There’s something we both need more than sleep right now.”

He heard Gordon shift behind him as he rummaged to the back.

“I’m not in the mood for a beer.”

Scott shot a scathing look over his shoulder. “Since when do we keep beer in the freezer?”

He pulled out his prize, dumping it on the table between them and passing over a spoon. Gordon’s eyes lit up.

“Chocco-chunk,” he half-moaned. “I thought Al had eaten it all.”

Scott winked. “I hid it the last time he was raiding the freezer.”

It was already half eaten. Gordon wasn’t the first to need an emergency sweet treat lately, and Virgil had helped him make a good dent in the ice cream last week.

As Gordon attacked it, smacking his lips in delight at the ice-cold sensation, Scott smiled and prised some out for himself. He wasn’t generally a big ice-cream eater – that was John – but there was something about a middle of the night crisis session where it was the only thing that would do.

As the coldness melted on his tongue and he felt his entire body temperature drop, Scott relaxed. Gordon’s shoulders had softened, his posture had straightened, and the look in his eye gave away Scott wouldn’t be getting much more if he didn’t hurry up.

In other words, back to normal.

[dozydawn]

[blonndiec]

Part 1 of Winter Olympics of Broken Hearts 2026

Ticket To Anywhere🏍️⚡️

“Yellowcard, Arctic Monkeys, and Neon Trees in one lineup? Can’t say no to that.” Beka didn’t even bother asking, just sent the flyer of the event like he already knew Yuri would come—like he already knew what he needed before he did. And he’d bought the tickets, making it impossible for Yuri, now twenty-one, to refuse. But it wasn’t just about the festival or escaping the realities of a global pandemic in 2021.

This wasn’t just an invitation to the concert; it was something else entirely—a ticket to anywhere.

Anywhere away from the noise in his head, the exhaustion pulling him down, and the unanswered questions hanging between him and Beka. After everything, after crossing lines in their friendship that felt blurred but not broken, he didn’t know where they would land. Maybe they’d crash and burn, or maybe they’d stay the same stuck in the maddening in-between.

READ HERE

This one shot ties into all the series and gives a much better understanding on why the intensity of Yuri's current feelings from 'That Old Stupid Proverb About Crying' to 'Ice Between The Gold' and the recent events. Knowing in hindsight everything happening in the future, this bits and pieces of things that happened between them create a bigger picture of all the story. That's why I planned this to be from Yuri's POV (and inspired by the song 'Fast Car' by Tracy Chapman, that I'll adapt into an artwork for this one-shot) and how they took this 'leap' from best friends to more.

[hatigave-a]

@mrstracybond spicy Tracy said : ❛  don't you dare walk away from me when i'm talking to you.  ❜ to Raoul

WOMAN DOES NOT OWN HIM not even when she has her teeth lodged firmly into the supple flesh of his heart, and her nails dug into whatever remains of his soul. The wolf snarls as he takes his leave from her, unimpressed by her words ( he knows she could kill him, but what would be the fun in that ? ) A sharp exhale of breath sounds more than a laugh in the echo of the empty warehouse where he has long since written her name in his own blood on the walls. YOU WOULD NOT DARE STOP ME, is the answer that does not fall from his lips when he turns around to face her as he continues his motions out of the door.

❝ Or what, my precious feral cat ? Will you gut me like a fish and bathe in my blood ? You would miss me before the rot was to set in.❞

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Turning Circles - John and Virgil

Summary: Virgil is a keeper of a many things.

Universe: Ice Skating AU

A/N: For @knyee and @cttagverse . I see you, I know you all want some John, so I hope this delivers. It's not quite Yuri!!! On Ice John, but he was due for a private moment in the AU I keep open for my little ice skating play ground. Thanks to the @the-original-sineater for reading. I wrote this while on the beach, on my phone. So you can blame sand for any errors.

Read on Ao3

*****

For your listening pleasure: music Or here for YT.

At dawn's light and on his way towards drills, the timbre of his piano beckoned him towards the ice rink, familiar chords resounding out of the speakers that surrounded empty stands. Frigid air enveloped Virgil from the moment he pushed the doors open, the chill hitting his bones immediately as his breath became visible in the crisp morning. 

For a moment, he let the melody wash over him. The tune was one he'd wrenched from deep within his soul, and hearing it brought him back to the frantic days of university and the ever pressuring decision of what to do with the rest of his life. The version used in John's last singles free skate was a collaboration with one of his peers, and he'd enhanced the urgent melody with sweeping orchestrals - so powerful and immersive that the heart in his chest thundered the first time Virgil heard it, and every time after. 

His hockey skates slung over his left shoulder, Virgil stepped quietly to his right to disappear into the bleachers while he watched his brother perform. He'd always understood the path his brother had chosen. John wrote poetry on ice, expressed his heart with his blades and the movement of his silhouette. While he and his siblings found a family among their teammates, John's journey had been a solitary one. It hadn't initially been such a lonely one.

On the ice, absorbed wholly in the muscle memory of his program, John switched his edge in a flurry of footwork. He made it look like he could float along the edges, but Virgil knew every movement was an incredible feat of strength and dexterity.

Virgil's heart accelerated a beat before the music did; he recognized the cues of John's program and he was quickly approaching that moment. When, in front of thousands, John's power failed him and he'd fallen. Virgil wouldn't admit it aloud, but he always blinked and held back a hiss every time his brother propelled himself upward to defy gravity. He hadn't seen when John missed his Quad Lutz during competition, but he remembered the gasp of the audience.

Today, he couldn't bring himself to look away. 

Curiosity kept his eyes focused on every movement. John's skating was different, just as expressive as always, but without the stress of the score, it seemed more authentic and genuine. And though he didn't know he had anyone watching, John's art had every bit of Virgil's soul tingling as he felt himself connect with the emotions of his music made whole by the dance. 

John's heart was in it - in a way Virgil hadn't seen since John first took to the ice. 

He switched to his back, outside edge to prepare for the launch upward, his opposite leg extended with the toe pick poised…

… and planted. 

It wasn't even a breath. 

Virgil lost count of the rotations in the airtime, but John returned to the Earth, landing back on the foot he'd launched from. Not even a tremble, and in the air he went again. Toe loop, Virgil remembered  - another that used the toe pick. 

His next big element was a spin, but before then he completed a small series of moves, footwork that carried him from one part to the next. And in them, Virgil recognized the influence of Penny, the sequence altered just slightly to suit the influence of dance on his brother's career. And the effect of his dance partner's friendship on his life. 

They both had been so desperate for that second chance, not quite ready to lose the love of their sport. Though it had been close, for both of them. 

Virgil had to believe, in his core, that there had been a reason. That theirs would be a story of overcoming. 

Close to the end now, John swung his momentum around, spinning, and spinning, until he pushed himself intentionally out and away from an invisible force - the last artistic element of his program as the single note echoed uncompleted. 

Virgil had written it that way so that the piece encouraged the listener to question if it was really over. And John had choreographed it to express just that - the chaos of a mind and body spinning until it came out on the other side.  Away from something? Towards something new? It was interpretation, but Virgil knew which one he believed. 

John's breath heaved loudly in the silence, and he dropped down to his knees with the end of the program. Virgil turned to leave, feeling suddenly like he'd been intruding on a private moment, even though he'd seen John perform hundreds of times before. But as his hand came to rest on the door, he heard a muffled sob from the figure on the ice. 

John looked up as Virgil turned back, the piercing green sharp and proud and swirling with emotions John only really shared through his artistry for those who had the perspective to listen -  which is why, instead of leaving, Virgil knew he was welcomed to approach. He stepped carefully across the ice since he was still wearing his boots and offered a hand to help him back up.

[antisphinx]

DEEPER

[oletuslured]

♫ - Luca & Tracy pwease...

send me your favorite song and I’ll write a starter inspired by it ! Alternatively, send ♫ for me to choose a song. | accepting teehee @celestiialnotes

SEASONS CHANGE MERCILESSLY AND WITHOUT WARNING; THE ONLY CONSTANT FACTOR OF KEEPING TRACK OF PASSING TIME IN AN OTHERWISE INDECIPHERABLE GRAVITATIONAL PULL THAT THE MANOR HAD TO OFFER. The arrival of winter paints the windows with fog and nips at the skin in prickling cold. Tracy herself has been anticipating the spike in climate, as is a yearly tradition, by growing out her hair into ponytail length in preparation for the temperature drop. Normally rolled-up sleeves and cuffs are pushed back down to cover once bare skin, and she warms up her coffee to even more scolding temperatures to keep any residual chills at bay. Everything about it is so typical - the way she retreats to the basement to prod at some project or another, the clinking of tools in the dead of the night, as well as the icing of a heart that comes in much more emotionally loaded seasonal blues.

The mechanic sits on the floor of the basement with her doll seated right across from her, wrench in hand tightening a loose bolt for the umpteenth time that was sustained from one of the neverending attacks from the Hunters to undo the work her and her father have done. With each blow, does it feel pain? Will a Mechanic's doll experience death too? Tracy smiles grimly. She thinks it's closer to December than it is farther - the Baron allowing some merriment in festivities as decorations for the season appear from seemingly nowhere and dress the manor's interior. But she can't find the room to be happy in this fourth year of her stay in the manor. It's irrational to feel lonely with all the people who have joined her since her own arrival. And yet, she does. But there's no compelling force to take action in her depression; meaningless in their entrapment of hunt or be hunted. Sheep in a wolf pack's game. Even that was meaningless. They all had no choice but to live, despite the teeth that ripped them apart limb from limb on a weekly basis.

The wrench drops to the floor as she moves forward to take Milo into her arms, laughing bitterly as tears begin to stream down her face. The cold radiating off steel counterbalances the yearning for warmth that comes with Tracy's embrace, resting her forehead on the shoulder of the robot and shutting her eyes. There is no pain, only an empty void that drips darkness into her blood like an IV.

"Milo, do you hate being fixed up like this and forced to succumb to the manor games too?" Silence is the only response that comes with her question in the empty basement. She hugs the doll tighter. "I'm sorry, I've been cruel to you. But it'll be okay, I'm here for you. We're in this together. It'll be fine once you're patched up, right?"

(After all, nothing's going to change anyway.)

Gehenna 🎶🎶// Tracy - Luca // @celestiialnotes

[the-acid-pear]

enjoying archiving characters. taking them to the back and shooting them.

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

need a notebook to write down the heirachy of the order actually

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Song of the Ice Reaver

I am the one who brought them back.

I am Raggart, I am telling you this.

Snow upon snow cancels the signals of ice

Over the snow the sun bleeds whiteness

In cold light forever unbearable.

And if I do not tell you this

The snow descends on the deeds of heroes

And their strength in my singing

Lies down in a core of frost, rising no more

No more as the lost breath crumbles.

Seven they were from the hot lands

(I am the one who brought them back)

Four swordsmen sworn in the North

The elf-woman Laurana

The dwarf from the floes of stone

The kender small-boned as a hawk.

Riding three blades they came to the tunnel

To the throat of the only castle.

Down among Thanoi, the old guardians

Where their swordsmen carved hot air

Finding tendon, finding bone

As the tunnels melted red.

Down upon minotaur, upon ice bear

And the swords whistled again

Bright on the corner of madness

The tunnel knee-high in arms

In claws, in unspeakable things

As the swordsmen descended

Bright steam freezing behind them.

Then to the chambers at the castle heart

Where Feal-thas awaited, lord of dragons and wolves

Armored in white that is nothing

That covers the ice as the sun bleeds whiteness.

And he called on the wolves, the baby-stealers

Who suckled on murder in the lairs of ancestors.

Around the heroes a circle of knives, of craving

As the wolves stalked, in their master's eye.

And Aran the first to break the circle

Hot wind at the throat of Feal-thas

Brought down and unraveled

In the reel of the hunt perfected.

Brian the next when the sword of the wolf lord

Sent him seeking the warm lands.

All stood frozen in the wheel of razors

All stood frozen except for Laurana.

Blind in a hot light flashing the crown of the mind

Where death melts in a diving sun

She takes up the Ice Reaver

And over the boil of wolves, over the slaughter

Bearing a blade of ice, bearing darkness

She opened the throat of the wolf lord

And the wolves fell silent as the head collapsed.

The rest is short in the telling.

Destroying the eggs, the violent get of the dragons

A tunnel of scales and ordure

Followed into the terrible larder

Followed further, followed to treasure.

There the orb danced blue, danced white

Swelled like a heart in its endless beating

(They let me hold it, I brought them back).

Out from the tunnel, blood on blood under the ice

Bearing their own incredible burden

The young knights silent and tattered

They came, five now only

The kender last, small pockets bulging.

I am Raggart, I am telling you this.

I am the one who brought them back.

"DragonLance Chronicles: Dragons of Winter Night" - Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

[tenarcana]

"Nnh?" a slow blink, as the person asks him about his claws. "Aye? T'is real claws. Be careful, t'ough. I use 'em te get a snack from people. Which, ye c'n ask abou'. Ain't much hidin' it, see."

@stellafortunae starter call