I'm just K

✝️ I'm a fanfic writer, just doin' my own thing. current obsessions: -Mcyt -greek mythology -various book series and video games :P ✝️

[k-didathing]

me: *trying to figure out why the Project Hail Mary hyperfixation is hitting me so hard*

my dad: well, let’s think about it. It’s been crafted with intention and care, has a great storyline, endearing characters—

my mom, chiming in from nowhere: also, Grace is hot.

my dad: …………yeah, that doesn’t hurt.

[grithogirl]

on lore-heavy smps, particularly youtube ones like Vampires SMP, there seems to be a sort of HOA-style limitation on builds, or at the very least the lore focus or combat focus draws the players attention away from building quite a bit. and i propose!!! lore heavy smp where players can build offline / record speedbuilds if they like, with zero care for the historical accuracy or matching the smp's theming, imagine vampires smp if between episodes 4 and 5 someone built the burj khalifa, imagine life series if people had megabases spring up between sessions, or the characters just build that shit on screen over the course of the series, yeah there's the death games where we kill eachother for sport and its horrifying, however i have redstone electrical circuitry to install into my mansion, so i will do that whilst i mourn my allies

[luna-azzurra]

A List of SCAR TYPES!!

₊˚⊹⋆ Thin scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Jagged scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Rope-like scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Raised scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Sunken scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Puckered scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Keloid scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Burn scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Surgical scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Slash scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Puncture scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Bite scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Claw mark scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Bullet scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Stab scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Whip scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Lightning-shaped scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Star-shaped scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Crescent scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Cross-hatched scars

₊˚⊹⋆ Acne scars

₊˚⊹⋆ Chickenpox scars

₊˚⊹⋆ Faded scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Pink scar

₊˚⊹⋆ White scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Purple scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Silver scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Dark scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Shiny scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Rough scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Smooth scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Branching scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Spiderweb scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Circular scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Diagonal scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Vertical scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Horizontal scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Stretched scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Contracture scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Hypertrophic scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Atrophic scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Glass scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Rope burn scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Chemical burn scar

₊˚⊹⋆ Frost bite scar

[ceruleanheaven]

[very clearly indulging the urge] im fighting the urge

[the-cassandriad]

i've not written poetry in years (i'm more of a novelist) but i allowed myself some cassandra thoughts (as a treat). i actually had a lot of fun with this and i'm desperate to do more with the idea in the future so we will see.

inspired obviously by my own muses, @two-bees-poetry for the brilliant contrapuntal poems about greek myth, and anne carson, specifically when she talks about cassandra's speech being split in two and her bridging of past and future!

more of my logic in the tags because i'm annoying!

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

you ever think about Alinua's parents?

One day, you find an infant, abandoned. A cloud elf with purple skin and small curls of pink. You and your partner search, you make posters, you ask around; no one can find the child's parents. So you take her in. Decide you are her parents now.

There's a green birthmark on her arm. It takes a little while before you realize what that might mean. Your little one, currently giggling at a particular toy, is the next carrier of the Chimeric Plague. One day, she will bring transformation and pain and death to those around her. She will be transformed into something inhuman in the process. She will die and will take you with her.

You and your partner discuss what to do. Do you move far away from people? Try to find her teachers? The air turns cold in your warm home when your partner wonders if this is why her birth parents left her. There's a part of you that understands this. A much larger part of you would never forgive yourself if you did the same. Your decision is made. Your partner agrees. You will try to give your daughter the best life she can have before she inevitably dies.

Your daughter grows and grows, and the plants grow with her. You both teach her how to meditate through growing plants, how to focus on letting something be what it wants to be. You brush dirt out of her hair and listen to her tell you about all she did that day. The mark on her arm glows faintly. You pray to any god who will listen that she will not suffer in the end.

It isn't until she's old enough to have mastered an old family recipe, old enough to read longer books, old enough to sleep without her favorite stuffed plush, that she finally learns what she is. She's so young, you think as you wipe never ending sobs from your daughter's face, so young as you reassure that you love her so much, so young as she tires out in the arms of her parents and falls asleep.

It's ... difficult for a time. She had dreamed of exploring. Now she mutters of maybe going out into the woods, of how she should stay away from cities. She looks at your neighbors and is afraid, not of them, but of what she may do to them.

During this time, you are your partner discover something. You are pregnant. Your daughter looks joyful for a moment, before the horror returns to her face. She refuses to hug you. She says she wants to keep you and the baby safe. It breaks your heart, but you understand. There's a small part of you that flinches when her birthmark glows. You researched the Chimeric Plague. You know she should not have much time left.

One day, you wake up to a quiet home. You rouse your partner, and the note on the kitchen table confirms your worries. Your daughter has left. She took with her some food, some clothes, and a mermaid doll. Her note says it's for the best, to save you both, and the baby. You both wail and sob and weep.

You still think of her. You read everything you can about the Chimeric Plague, trying to find out where she went. If she still lives. If she died peacefully. You hope it was painless. You know it probably wasn't.

[floweroflaurelin]

Wizard of the (Menagerie) Coast 🐸🪄

—

hi I love Padmund so much

[k-didathing]

I recently watched Project Hail Mary, and I also have ATLA on the mind, so I was thinking about how Toph and Rocky would vibe because they “see” in a similar way

this then brought up the very uncomfortable question of could Toph bend Rocky because… rock

[k-didathing]

@hermitadaymay '26 Day 2: Welsknight

Everyone told Wels that he should be happy about all of this. The wars were over, after all. No more fighting to keep you and your lord afloat, no more worrying if you might die in battle. He would now be hailed as a hero, with an entire province to his name.

But that isn’t what Wels wanted. He paced back and forth in his small, walled garden, his mind racing, looking for something, anything, to do. He was tired of all of this pointless bureaucracy, when he could be doing something worth doing.

He stormed back into his house, taking his katana off of its rack and thrusting it into his belt. He went to the large, empty space in his garden, drew his sword with a practiced hand, and began to go through the familiar motions of practicing. His sword cut through the air cleanly and precisely. He preferred to practice the simple forms, perfecting every aspect of the basic movements until he could do them nearly without thinking. But practicing wasn’t the same. There was no intensity, no purpose other than to dispose of the odd criminal here and there. War was difficult and bloody and brutal, sure, but it was all he had known, all he as a samurai was made for. Could he ever return to that again, that sense of purpose and belonging, of fitting just rightly into the shape of the rest of the world?

Shing!

Wels huffed, looking in a bit of awe at the work he had done. He had cut clean through a row of bamboo growing in his garden, the cut perfect and clean.

He heard a slow clapping coming from nearby. He whirled around to face it, his sword at the ready. In front of him was a man with his mouth covered by a scarf, a long, dark robe, and one eye covered with hair of the purest white.

“Now that was impressive,” the man said, seemingly not alarmed by Wels’ blade being pointed at him. “I didn’t know katanas could do that.”

“Well, bamboo is pretty similar to human bone, density wise,” Wels said coolly. “And if you don’t want your bones to end up the same, I suggest you leave.”

“Hey now, I’m just passing through,” the man said, raising his arms not so much in submission as in deflection.

“Passing through the home of a samurai? Y’know, I can’t decide if that’s bravery or foolishness.”

“Eh, maybe both.”

Wels sighed, sheathing his sword. “What do you want, then?”

“I just heard you practicing and was impressed. What kind of swordsman are you?”

“I’m not for hire, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. Well, I guess that doesn’t matter. We don’t do that kind of thing, anyways.”

“‘We’?”

The man stiffened a little. “I mean, I. It’s just me, at the moment. Name’s Etho.” The man held out his hand.

“...Wels.” He hesitated, but shook Etho’s hand. His fingernails were strangely long and dark, a bit like claws. For a moment, something white flashed from within his robe, but flowed back into it, like a tail lashing.

Wel’s eyes narrowed. “What is –”

“Well, nice to meet you! I have to get going, now.” As Etho stepped away, his hair blew away from his face for a moment, and the eye that had previously been covered glowed a vivid red. But before Wels could say anything about it, Etho was gone without a trace.

[k-didathing]

@hermitadaymay '26 Day 1: Zedaph

(HI I'm back in the building with a new fic!!)

Zedaph could feel the void underneath his feet as he stood on the bedrock precipice. It was thick and black and almost smoky – impossible to survive, and unthinkable to penetrate.

And he was going to blow a hole right through it.

“Okay, just one more try,” he said, shaking out his hands and trying to hype himself up.

He started up the redstone. Pistons clicked and shuffled, TNT hissed, and Zedaph made sure to shelter in the correct position. Then he felt the heat of the explosion tear through his trap door, and he began to freefall. He almost had the urge to roll his eyes as he let the void swallow him up and tear him apart with sheer force.

Zedaph jolted upright in his bed, warm and bright in the midday sun. His respawn bed at bedrock must have been destroyed in the explosion. He supposed that was fine, though – he needed a break from the suppressing darkness at the bottom of the world, to clear his head. 

He ran his hand through his hair. The void scars were getting worse, staining his hands pitch black. 

Something about his process wasn’t working. He knew everyone said that it was impossible, but he had heard stories for as long as he could remember about the realm between realms, and how some were able to slip through the cold, deadly void beneath the world into the wider void, where all worlds meet. Surely it was possible to get there somehow, right? Just then, he heard the streaming of rockets, and the clunk of metal boots touching the ground. He slowly got out of bed, checked around the corner, and immediately slammed his body back behind it to hide. 

It was Xisuma.

And Zedaph had a sneaking suspicion for why he came to visit.

Zedaph turned to face him, hiding his void-stained arms behind his back and putting on his best non-suspicious (though probably still suspicious) face. “Oh! Heyyy X!” 

“Hi!” Xisuma responded. “Um, just out of curiosity, are you doing any kind of, I don’t know… experiments that would cause some amount of lag? Or a lot of lag, actually. Like, the moving the foundations and boundaries of the server kind.”

Zedaph’s stomach sank. He could only stand there and look into Xisuma’s visor, dark and purpley with nothing but void behind it. 

Nothing but void…

In that instant, he had an idea. Probably of the horrible and crazy kind, but just crazy enough to work.

“Actually, Xisuma, I was wondering if you could help me with something…”

* * *

“...You do realize how dangerous this is, right?” Xisuma said, displays of void-related technology that Zedaph couldn’t make heads or tails of floating around him. 

“Absolutely,” Zedaph responded, too giddy to fully think of possible ramifications.

“Okay then, if you’re sure. But it’s gonna have to be an in-and-out trip; any longer will do serious damage that I’m not too keen on fixing.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I understand, just let me get in there already!”

“Alright. Here it goes.” Two pinpricks of purplish light began to glow from behind Xisuma’s visor as he typed on the displays. A line of searing purple broke the thick darkness of the void beneath them, splitting into an opening just wide enough for Zedaph to pass through.

Zedaph didn’t even need a cue from Xisuma. He just jumped. But instead of feeling the momentum of freefall building into the force of the void tearing him limb from limb, the falling simply… stopped. He was suddenly suspended in a sparkling, infinite nothing, more vast and beautiful than anything he had ever seen. He wished he could stare at it forever, but he knew realistically that in a moment he would have to leave. He waited for gravity to kick back in, to be surrounded by the normal dimensions of the world again.

But it didn’t come.

“Well,” he said to himself, his words getting swallowed up by the endless nothingness around him. “This isn’t ideal.”

[forswornzine]

Forsworn: An MCYT Zine Interest Check

Forsworn is a medieval-inspired project currently being planned by @grimoiregardens and the mod team that brought you @deadeyezine. This project will be a small, digitally-published, free-to-access zine focused on the bonds, brotherhood & betrayals between characters across MCYT SMPs and series. 🦢

⚔️Interest Check is here!⚔️

We're in the planning stages and eager to learn about possible interest for this project. Details, including a timeline, theme information and more, are to come soon! Interest check closes April 30th.

Follow @forswornzine if you filled out the form to stay tuned!

[deadeyezine]

Hey cowpokes! 🌵 If you enjoyed DEADEYE as much as we enjoyed making it, we are currently planning something new and would love to hear if people are interested. Check it out! 🐎

[lynxexists980]

My toxic trait is that I will never get over wolfwalkers losing whatever the animation category is called at the oscars

[airyal245]

Less angsty treebark for these trying times

[shorkthesharkk]

“All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill you. But first, they must catch you”

- Richard Adam’s, Watership Down

[k-didathing]

come on, someone had to

[k-didathing]

Hi!! I love your story the hand and the hound sm! Could I ask if it was possible to tag me in a comment when you post the next update, whenever that is? I don't want to be a bother, but it is so good and I don't want to miss it

Thank you either way!

Thank you so so much for the kind words!! I could absolutely do that, and I'm glad you like the story -- I worked really hard on it. In addition, if you're looking for somewhere easier to read it, here's the link to it on ao3:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[k-didathing]

The Hand and the Hound — Chapter 7

Martyn followed a frantic path of broken branches and hoofprints in the snow, almost as frantic as Martyn himself. His mind was already beginning to wander, imagining the worst case scenarios, hoping and praying that they wouldn’t come to pass. 

A shrill whinny sounded nearby – a jolting cry of sheer panic that startled both Martyn and Colin. Shortly after, a mare with a rich brown coat emerged from the brush with a frantic look in her eyes.

Ren’s horse. 

Heather was a mess, with burrs and thorns sticking to her mane, and her back hoof snagged on a rope that dragged a large, heavy mass behind her.

“Easy,” Martyn whispered, dismounting Colin and cautiously approaching the frightened mare. He stroked her nose until she calmed a little, then set about untangling her foot. Behind her was the corpse of a stag, its dark eyes staring into nothing, all tangled up in ropes. 

Maybe she just got spooked, Martyn reasoned. By a harmless wild animal or something. Maybe Ren just lost control.

Without warning, an ear-splitting explosion shook the trees violently, causing the earth beneath Martyn’s feet to tremble. Heather squealed and bolted for the palacade, and Martyn just barely managed to stop Colin from doing the same.

Shortly thereafter, Martyn heard hoofbeats crunching in his direction, and Scar and Grian emerged from the trees, a look of distress written on their faces.

“Martyn,” Scar huffed. “Thank goodness you’re here — I don’t know what happened — Ren — he —“

Martyn stalked closer to Scar, turning his face into a stern, placid mask. “Take me to him.”

Martyn swung his leg over Colin’s saddle and followed behind Scar and Grian, until they reached a tree, half-uprooted, its bark charred and its branches still smoldering.

And another.

And another.

He dismounted Colin and grasped his reins tightly in his fist, seemingly the only thing binding him to reality.

A memory came to mind, from when Martyn had wandered all the way to the Desert Kingdom. He had been in a large crowd during an arena fight between a wanted fugitive and a desert creeper.

Well. It wasn’t much of a fight.

More like an execution.

The man charged at the creeper, probably not sure what else to do. Or maybe he knew it was futile, and just wanted to get it over with. The creeper smoked, crackled, and completely obliterated the both of them. There was nothing left – no blood, no guts, nothing. Just a massive, gaping hole.

And that’s precisely what Martyn stood on the edge of. 

No. This couldn’t be right. If Ren was here, he must have escaped. He must have done something – he couldn’t be – Martyn didn’t even want to think the word.

Scar put his hand on Martyn’s shoulder. Martyn would have shoved it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stare into the crater.

“There was nothing I could do,” Scar said. “By the time I realized what was happening… it had already happened.”

“Get out,” Martyn snarled, now finding his voice.

Scar leaned in closer. “Excuse me?”

“Get out of my kingdom, you bastard!”

Scar stumbled back, startled for only a moment. “Hey, hey! Let’s all calm down for a moment. And don’t go around throwing out accusations! We’re allies now, remember? Surely your King told you.”

“Yeah, and some ally you’ve been so far,” Martyn snapped, gesturing towards the crater.

“Um, Scar?” Grian said. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

“Yes, of course,” Scar said.

“Martyn, can you give us a moment alone?”

“I — sure.” Martyn went far away enough that they would have a sense of privacy, but close enough that he could still hear.

“Okay, first of all, we’re not technically allies until fealty is sworn,” Grian said firmly. “And second of all, your whole plan is never gonna work if he’s gonna be all riled up like that.”

“But I was trying to take advantage of him! Y’know, set him on edge.”

“Well, he’s gonna take advantage of us if he’s gonna be on our backs the whole time!” Grian sighed. “How about this: we give him some time to settle down, get things back in order. Then we’ll see about making any more moves.”

“Okay, fine.” Scar approached Martyn, a cunning but warm smile on his face, his eyes sharp and shining. “Martyn! I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, so to speak. I too grieve the loss of your King, and I understand how this could be a difficult time for your Kingdom. So how about we give you some time to reorganize, y’know, get you into a real position of power. Let’s say… ‘til the end of Spring. Then maybe we could see about some vassalage?”

Martyn planted his feet. The idea of being in charge of everything Martyn’s stomach churn, and the idea of swearing homage with Scar even more so. But as much as he hated being Scar’s ally, he knew being enemies would have even more devastating consequences. 

“So be it,” Martyn growled.

Scar clapped his hands together. “Great! Lovely! We’ll be heading back by tomorrow.”

As Scar mounted his horse, he gave Martyn a final, teasing smirk. “Long live the King.”

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