raichett

[raichett]

Had a thought: Grian, if we go with his common fan-interpretation as an avian (i.e. a bird-human hybrid of some variety), wouldn’t have an instinctual fear of heights the same way humans do (because humans + heights = danger of death). For a fully-grown avian, there is no danger. They can fly. Even young ones wouldn’t have much of an awareness of any inherent risk, in the way that toddlers have no concept of their own mortality and give adults heart attacks all the time. 

Now imagine Avian Grian in Third Life, his wings bound or made inaccessible in some way to put him on even footing with everyone else. Maybe he doesn’t even remember he has them. Think of how, in a world where death is around every corner, he doesn’t have the same awareness of risk that his compatriots do. Falls are one of the most common causes of injury, and even a sprained ankle could cause some serious issues in a death game. 

Maybe he made Scar scared for him with his unawareness. It’s so natural to Scar to be aware of heights, and Grian is just not. Is just different.

Maybe he got confused the first time he took fall damage, having expected - something else. He doesn’t know what, but something.

Maybe he saw that crevice in the desert that Scar died in and it just didn’t register. 

And maybe, even at the end, at the edge of that cliff, his instincts wouldn’t let him feel afraid. Maybe he tipped over, knowing that his death was coming, but unable to even touch base with that natural fear all living beings share. Unfeeling.

Maybe he felt a bit like a monster for it.

#self reblog

[raichett]

absolutely terrible horrible atrocious idea: third life animatic but anime tiddy physics apply to a certain shirtless desert warlord. everyone else is animated completely normally but Scar alone looks and moves like a shounen protagonist's secretly pining love interest

#[chef's fingers] the scitties #third life #raichett original

[raichett]

there's something kinda funny to me about certain ways scar tends to be drawn because it's like. okay imagine hypothetically you took a distillation of fanon scar designs and showed it to someone who's never even heard of a minecraft, and asked them what they think this guy might be like. we're ignoring context here, pretend we're showing them a ref sheet. and it's like, alright, here's a rugged looking buff guy. nice abs. lots of scars. he's got a smug grin on his face. very shirtless. he looks like the love interest in a bodice ripper. i bet he's got some dark angsty secret he keeps buried underneath that suave facade. but not buried too deeply, just enough to intrigue.

and then you go watch third life and he is like a cat whose owner keeps desperately trying to make him stop eating plastic.

#lmao #goodtimeswithscar

[raichett]

"Should this be the last?"

i miss desertduo

#fan animatic #scarian #video #oh wow!!

[raichett]

that fucking desert is basically the third member of the scarian polycule at this point

#tell me i'm wrong. you can't #raichett original #scarian #has this been done before? almost certainly

[raichett]

Scarian is so insane. They’re soulmates. They’re sworn enemies. They’re married. They’re divorced. They’re greek tragedies that find comfort in the hands that stab them. They’re the sun and the earth, a god and his follower. They’re participating in psychological warfare at the DMV.

#lmao #scarian #it's true

[raichett]

Chemical overreaction / compound fracture

#fanart #goodtimeswithscar #oh wow #oh i love the colours in this #beautiful

[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

#only if you want to! but i would definitely be interested

[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

#ask

[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.

#self reblog #hey come ready my shortest fic to date it'll take you 3 mins tops :D

[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

#ask

[raichett]

in the desert again

#lmao #scarian #hehehe

[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.

#my writing #scarian #hermitshipping #grian #goodtimeswithscar #flash fic

[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

#self reblog

[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

#owo what could this be #<- guy who wrote the other 6 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.

#ask #👀

[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.”

#self reblog