raichett - Tumblr blog

[raichett]

Chemical overreaction / compound fracture

[raichett]

👀

Take only what you can carry comic update !

Drafting done (gonna be 8 pages), and 6/8 have bg complete :D

-vaish titiro

:O

Holy gods, eight pages??

I'm so sincerely flattered I inspired you so, and I wish you all the best completing your comic, and I hope you have a lot of fun with it! o7

[raichett]

Take only what you can carry comic update !

Drafting done (gonna be 8 pages), and 6/8 have bg complete :D

-vaish titiro

:O

Holy gods, eight pages??

I'm so sincerely flattered I inspired you so, and I wish you all the best completing your comic, and I hope you have a lot of fun with it! o7

[raichett]

a stolen moment

Drafted into a war they don't care about, Scar and Grian steal a moment in time.

Content warnings: background war (vaguely referenced with no details), inexcusable fluff with an angsty backdrop, established relationship, handholding.

This can also be found on AO3.

–

A STOLEN MOMENT

“I,” Scar declares dramatically, for all his voice is softened with the burr of impending sleep, “have very cold hands.”

“Cold hands,” Grian repeats, flatly, turning over in his own bunk to catch the glint of light reflecting off Scar’s open eyes in the opposite bunk. There are no windows in the barracks, but the emergency lighting is always on low.

They’re both whispering, voices barely louder than their breaths, and all around them the breathing and rustling and occasional snoring of their fellow drafted soldiers gives the room a constant nighttime soundscape. The war has taught them, quickly, how to sleep when they can, how to hurry up and wait, how to rest even when wired from listening to the bombardments or too-fresh from the battlefield. How to snatch anything and everything good they can while it lasts, for however long it lasts.

“Cold and empty,” Scar expands, mournfully. “You should warm them.”

Grian, rolling his eyes, extracts his hand from under his scratchy blanket, mourning himself the warmth he’d kindled there with his own body heat, and reaches out across the empty space between their narrow bunks. Scar’s hand takes his, grabbing and holding it in mid-air, and they mutually shuffle their grip until it’s comfortable and secure, hanging between their two top bunks and presenting a low ceiling hazard to their compatriots in the bottom bunks.

Scar grins at him, his eyes crinkling. Grian can barely see the movement of his lips in the low light, the shadows pooling at the side of Scar’s nose, the crease of his laugh lines, but he knows that look off by heart, could close his eyes and pull it up, superimpose it on the backs of his eyelids.

“Goodnight, Scar,” he says, already rubbing his cheek and nudging his nose into his pillow to settle in properly.

“Goodnight, Grian,” Scar whispers back, squeezing his hand briefly, not letting go.

After that, somewhere, some time, slipping in like a spy, sleep drags them both down, their grips loosening as their bodies relax. Their fingers are too entwined to unhook, though, and they hold hands until reveille.

[raichett]

Shit man, your writing is insanely good. I felt like I was immediately tugged into the sensations in “a stolen moment”. Like I was completely transported into the scene.

🥺 Aw, thank you! Glad you enjoyed it - it was meant to be an emotionally-charged tiny peek-in scene, and I'm happy that it hit properly for you, despite how short it was <3

[raichett]

in the desert again

[raichett]

a stolen moment

Drafted into a war they don't care about, Scar and Grian steal a moment in time.

Content warnings: background war (vaguely referenced with no details), inexcusable fluff with an angsty backdrop, established relationship, handholding.

This can also be found on AO3.

–

A STOLEN MOMENT

“I,” Scar declares dramatically, for all his voice is softened with the burr of impending sleep, “have very cold hands.”

“Cold hands,” Grian repeats, flatly, turning over in his own bunk to catch the glint of light reflecting off Scar’s open eyes in the opposite bunk. There are no windows in the barracks, but the emergency lighting is always on low.

They’re both whispering, voices barely louder than their breaths, and all around them the breathing and rustling and occasional snoring of their fellow drafted soldiers gives the room a constant nighttime soundscape. The war has taught them, quickly, how to sleep when they can, how to hurry up and wait, how to rest even when wired from listening to the bombardments or too-fresh from the battlefield. How to snatch anything and everything good they can while it lasts, for however long it lasts.

“Cold and empty,” Scar expands, mournfully. “You should warm them.”

Grian, rolling his eyes, extracts his hand from under his scratchy blanket, mourning himself the warmth he’d kindled there with his own body heat, and reaches out across the empty space between their narrow bunks. Scar’s hand takes his, grabbing and holding it in mid-air, and they mutually shuffle their grip until it’s comfortable and secure, hanging between their two top bunks and presenting a low ceiling hazard to their compatriots in the bottom bunks.

Scar grins at him, his eyes crinkling. Grian can barely see the movement of his lips in the low light, the shadows pooling at the side of Scar’s nose, the crease of his laugh lines, but he knows that look off by heart, could close his eyes and pull it up, superimpose it on the backs of his eyelids.

“Goodnight, Scar,” he says, already rubbing his cheek and nudging his nose into his pillow to settle in properly.

“Goodnight, Grian,” Scar whispers back, squeezing his hand briefly, not letting go.

After that, somewhere, some time, slipping in like a spy, sleep drags them both down, their grips loosening as their bodies relax. Their fingers are too entwined to unhook, though, and they hold hands until reveille.

[raichett]

Hands

Here, have some post-Third Life flash fic. Now, this is in a 2nd Person POV narration (from Grian’s perspective) and while this may be the first time posting using this POV as Raichett, I have written in it before and greatly enjoyed doing so. I think that used properly it’s an excellent narrative POV, allowing for evocative and impactful story-telling. Just trust me guys, I know what I’m doing. 

Content warnings: PTSD, self-harming behaviours that are not intentionally self-harming but are still being carried out, trauma-induced dysphoria, and just general angst. It does involve someone finding out and therefore kind of implies they’re going to help post-fic, but it doesn’t spell that course of action out. It should be taken as a given, though. 

EDIT: this flash fic can now be found on AO3 here.

—

HANDS

Keep reading

[raichett]

you cant put me in charge of anything i'll make a poem out of the themes list and i didnt even write 6 out of 7 lines

[raichett]

If i were to hypothetically be drawing a comic of take only what you can carry. Hypothetically. How would scar pick up grian 👉👈 like what kind of carry

-vaish titiro

If one were to, hypothetically speaking, be on the hunt for what I was picturing in my head when I wrote "take only what you can carry", then I would hypothetically answer that it is a nearly but not quite a fireman's carry.

Behold: the closest stock image of the pose I could find.

In my head, Scar's shoulder is pressing into Grian's stomach, and Grian is slightly bent over the shoulder but not entirely (and not nearly enough to be a fireman's carry). Scar has one hand supporting Grian's hip and another higher on his back, at around the middle/just under his shoulder blades. Grian is clutching Scar's shoulders and probably looking down at him in shock.

Grian's legs are not being held, and technically he could very easily kick and flail his way free. He does not.

[raichett]

Ethically Sourced

CEO Scar Goodtimes gets kidnapped by an eco-terrorist (Grian, who else?) seeking to land a blow against Big Nether. But there may be more at work here than first meets the eye...

Content warnings: kidnapping but done light-heartedly, excessive amounts of lava, allusions to capitalism and its effects upon the environment, vexes as demon equivalents >:)

This can also be found on AO3.

–

ETHICALLY SOURCED

The room is large, a huge hall made of dark blocks. Nicely textured, actually: blackstone and basalt and deepslate, some others mixed in there that Scar can’t identify from this distance. The floor is entirely lava, of course, and Scar is standing in a cage suspended above it, held up by huge chains. It’s all very… fantasy-villain-esque. The builder in Scar is impressed.

In front of him his kidnapper stands, a dramatically thin tower rising from the sea of lava below providing him a platform. It’s even got dripstone detailing on it. Now that’s dedication to an aesthetic.

Scar takes off his burgundy jacket and ties it around his waist. It’s hot in here, his human flesh disliking the heat and making it feel like it wants to melt right off of him.

“You know,” Scar says, conversationally, “for a guy who just spent the last few minutes ranting about how the proliferation of lava is causing immense negative effects on the Nether’s eco-system, you sure do seem to be using a lot of lava in this, ah, villain's lair execution room.”

“This lava,” his kidnapper snaps back, “is ethically sourced!”

Scar blinks. “From where?” he asks. He glances down again at the lava below; the amount of it is truly impressive, especially for an Overworld build.

“From a lava farm,” his kidnapper grits out. “You know, dripstone and cauldrons? It’s part of a preservation programme for striders – the lava from the farms is sold to players to stop them from taking from strider habitats. The excess is used to help replenish the dearth and restore the habitats from where they’ve been left barren and empty.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Scar says, honestly. It's good news, though.

His kidnapper scoffs. “I wonder why,” he says, sarcastically. “It’s not at all like there’s a silencing campaign around because ethical farms aren’t in the interests of Big Nether companies. You know,” the man spears Scar with a sharp look, “like the one you work for? As a CEO?”

“Ah, yes,” Scar says, lightly, “that.”

Well, at least he has a motive to assign his kidnapper: eco-terrorism. How delightful! Scar likes his job – or, more accurately, he likes the money his job gives him – but…

Scar grins at his kidnapper, exposing his sharp teeth. He runs his tongue along them, drawing attention, and he watches as his kidnapper’s wings fluff up in an instinctual defensive display. Parrots aren’t exactly a predator in the food chain, not like how vexes are.

His kidnapper’s eyes narrow, his face pulling into a frown. He leans forward, sharp eyes inspecting, but isn’t stupid enough to actually get closer. “… A deal?” he asks, slowly, changing gears.

Scar nods. “Standard, you know,” he says, brimming suddenly with pride. “Ten years of high, high profits – and then their souls are mine. The whole board, that is.” His face splits far too much for most Overworld natives to be comfortable with, not that Scar cares.

“Huh,” his kidnapper says. He tilts his head, shuffles his wings, and then laughs. “Wait – all of them? How far into the deal are you?”

“Seven years,” Scar tells him. “And yeah, all of them. That’s far too good to pass up, I’m sure you understand.”

The man raises his hand to his mouth to muffle his giggles, sudden camaraderie springing forth between them. “So I take it their souls are bound for the sands, then?”

Scar nods. “All the pain they’ve caused? When trapped in the sands their souls will regenerate all of what they’ve destroyed and more. Big Nether isn’t going to be around in a couple of decades, I can promise you that, good sir. But…” Scar smiles, more gentle this time. “All of the effort players like you are putting in is appreciated, too.”

“Thanks,” his kidnapper answers, grimacing and looking frustrated, “we try. I – we really do try. I’m sorry that it isn’t always enough.”

Scar shrugs. “Trying and failing is better than not trying at all,” he assures. “Now, er… could I please get out of this cage? I have paperwork to do, emails to answer, coffee to drink, souls to darken in preparation for reaping, all that good stuff.” Curled inside a human skin like this, he can’t phase through the bars without compromising the homunculus – and he’d really rather avoid having to make a new one. Those things are fiddly.

His kidnapper nods. “One sec,” he says, spreading his wings and swooping off to an opening in one of the walls, landing in the room there and pulling a lever. The lava sea is covered with the sound of clunking pistons. Another lever lowers the cage holding Scar to the newly-created ground.

His kidnapper comes back, keys in hand, and unlocks the cage. “Sorry for the misunderstanding,” he says.

Scar beams. “No harm, no foul,” he replies, stepping out of the cage. “Though I have just one question – two, actually. Two questions.”

“… Go on,” his kidnapper says.

“What’s your name?” Scar asks. He crosses his heart with his index finger, nail scratching lightly at his silk shirt. “I’ll keep silent as a grave about it, promise on my demonic heart.”

His kidnapper hesitates a moment. “Grian,” he answers, finally, and Scar’s tastes the vibrancy of the name on his tongue, sunbeams and gunpowder, sweet and tangy.

“Grian,” Scar repeats, just for that taste again. “And, dearest eco-terrorist extraordinaire Grian… what is your number?”

Grian looks startled. “My number?” he asks.

“Oh, you know, for important reasons,” Scar assures. “Conspiracies, cahoots, coffee dates.” He pulls out his phone and waggles it in the air, hoping that Grian will ignore the cracks in the screen and write them off as Scar being supernaturally strong or something, rather than Scar just being supernaturally clumsy with a tendency to drop his phone down staircases. “What do you say?”

Grian stares at him a moment, assessing, before he answers. “I’m always down for cahoots,” he says, a teasing smile starting to form, “but the coffee date had better be amazing if you want a second.”

“It will be,” Scar says, jubilant. Oh, he can’t wait to see this player again! His soul is so bright and ferocious, his name so delectable – Grian, Scar knows, will be such a fantastic companion. Vexes dream of linking themselves to a soul like Grian’s – and that may be getting a bit ahead of himself, but Scar sees clearly the destination he desires. The only question now is the path that will get him there. “Don’t you worry, Grian, it will be.”

[raichett]

For the ask game, mumscarian and coffee shop + flower shop + tattoo shop au?

(Ask game can be found here).

You wouldn't think that three serial killers all separately menacing the city would somehow manage to all work near each other in their civilian lives, but you would be wrong. Oblivious to the alter-egos of their neighbours, all three of them - Mumbo with his coffee shop, Grian with his tattoo parlour, and Scar with his florist business - live their lives working on the same street by day and taking unknowing turns in stalking the city by night.

They all know that there are other serial killers out there, of course. Their MOs are so different: Grian likes it showy, elaborate break-ins and mysterious eyes painted on walls, Mumbo prefers seeming-accidents that only look suspicious to the discerning eye, and Scar enjoys kills of a more political leaning, some of them outright assassinations. The news is always harping on about one or the other of them, and all of them cannot deny a curiosity.

Scar is not so stupid as to get tattoos of his victims, but he does like the cute tattoo artist who owns the parlour, and he does have a lot of scars that could use some covering up... He gets lilacs and poppies all along his rib cage, and ribs to go with it, so they look like a garden sprouting out of his body. It's a big job, multiple sessions and expensive, but at the end of it he asks the man out for coffee just down the road, and Grian agrees.

Mumbo looks at the obvious date at the table in the corner and thinks wistfully of what it would be like to have someone in his own life - the logistics of that, of course, prevent him from pursuing relationships while he's still got that need for blood aching behind his teeth and under his nails, but a man can dream, right? The two of them, when his back is turned, watch him also.

He meets one of those handsome men sneaking out a window with blood staining his shirt only a couple of nights later, and the body in the back seat of his car saves his life - same business and all that, honour among thieves (and murderers). They dump it together - a faked drowning - and the feverish kiss they share tastes coppery. The next time Mumbo goes out on the hunt, both of the men meet him, and it's the start of something so horrific it bends itself beautiful.

[raichett]

For the ask game, scarian + magical creatures au?? 👁️👁️ what creetures would you assign them as.....

(Ask game can be found here).

Grian is born in a chicken coop (or rather: hatched), and it is quite the shock for the owner of said chickens. The first small yolkless egg of a young pullet rolled under some of the straw and was missed for long enough that a cockatrice hatched from it - with the scaly two-legged body of a wyvern with accompanying wings and the feathery head and neck of a rooster, the hens are sent flurrying at the shocked scream of the woman who would become Grian's mother. It will not be the last time that Grian causes someone to scream with his presence alone, even before his death-eyes are matured enough to actually be fatal when his second eyelids are open.

Scar, meanwhile, is entirely intentional. A deal at a crossroads with a cat demon and a middle-aged witch has a squirming and mewling kitten in his hands, ready to become the familiar he always desired, the familiar he was barred from ever bonding with when he was tossed out of university on grounds of endangerment and lack of ethics. Turns out that deceiving other students into experimental rituals is rather frowned upon.

Grian and Scar first meet when Grian's mother shows up with him in tow at the magical creature clinic in angry despair - the local GP where they have moved to will not take Grian on, despite the fact that he has a good grasp of his humanoid form and is already enrolled in school and is nearly ready to take his Standard Educational Tests (Magical & Mundane). It's discriminatory, his mother says, which it is. Her son is nearly sixteen and has perfect control over his magical traits. Scar, meanwhile, is in a cat carrier, with a silencing spell on his collar and another trapping him in his cat form. He, too, is a person by the law, but he is not registered as one; his master who is his father who is a witch who made a deal has never let him be anything else. Grian's eyes fall upon him in his carrier, and do not look away.

The second time they meet, Grian is sneaking into the backyard of the witch, clever fingers teasing and tugging at the wards, slipping through their threads and closing them up behind. Scar slips out the cat flap, though he can't get past the fence or the hedge, and meets him on the back patio. They talk, as Scar was not allowed to talk before. When Grian leaves, he gifts Scar with a feather to keep. It burns with a warmth where Scar tucks it under his cat bed out of sight, a promise made.

The first person that Grian ever kills is the witch that made the deal for Scar and got more than he bargained for. It is not an accident.

[raichett]

i am going to start a collection

if you have any other posts of this kind please send them to me

[raichett]

send me a pairing + AU and I’ll give you 5+ head canons about it 

[raichett]

elf scar 🌿

[raichett]

🐰!

🐰 = barely intimidating

Ayy, you are apparently (according to previous research) a rare breed, anon! Glad to have you here, being not intimidated :D