Pyrite, they/them. One of these days I'll have a coherent train of thought and then it'll be over for y'all. This is a sideblog because it's marginally less effort than staying active on two entirely separated blogs. Still inconvenient for asking things and following people rip
sooo wish there was a glossary documenting every hermit's fan design evolutions over the years, complete with listed events that influenced the changes and popular headcannon trends...
i might have to start keeping a captain's log of fandom experiences, or something, just to document the current trends, even if i dont end up researching fanart trends of the past.
"June 1st. There's distant storm of MCC discourse on the horizon, but my dashboard is mostly calm. Spotted 5th winged!Grian art with parrot colours this week, good to know their population is still going strong after all these years. On the other hand, Docm77 fanartists seem to be somewhat dropping the black eyes with white irises. A recession indicator for sure."
taking off a mask to reveal what lies beneath as a romantic gesture is overdone, and besides i want to see the romantic or even platonic potential of protecting someone's identity beneath the mask, without any expectation of ever being allowed to see what's under it. picking it up and holding it gently to their face when it's knocked off and they're in danger of being exposed, without trying to catch a glimpse of what they "really" look like under there. throwing yourself in front of them to hide them from view while they put themselves back together without taking advantage or looking back to see what you're protecting. learning to read them by body language, tone of voice, and behaviour so well that you never need to see their face to feel like you know and understand them.
So much shit the DSMP got away with that other SMPs would be way too organized to do. A major character literally died permanently in a huge dramatic moment, something no one on the server had done before, but then the CC decided that the only reason that character was really truly dead is bc it was his third "Canon Death." So we as the community had to piece together how many canon deaths each character probably had and what made a Canon Death "count" meanwhile the other CCs were totally unaware of this storytelling mechanic until their chats started asking about it. Insanity
i will never stop people from hating a minecraft white boy (especially one who drives a tesla) but i do think its funny when i see hermitcraft fans hate grian for "being clique-y" or "ignoring the smaller hermits" . like. you mean the guy who starts server wide games every season? the guy who uploaded a 7 hour world tour? frankly for being one of the most popular guys on the server i think he does try to pull his weight sharing the love. unfortunately theres only so much you can do to try and lure an average grian subscriber into watching joe hills. thats like taking a mcdonalds loving 7 year old to a niche concept restaraunt that only serves meals in the shape of 1:1 scale models. actually this metaphor sucks if i was 7 i would love to eat an edible 1:1 scale pinball machine. i would love that now. post cancelled im organising a joe hills themed pop up café. everyone come with me. see my vision.
INCREDIBLY funny to me that all of the turned vampires have come from Scott like it’s literally just this big bad ancient vampire lord and his fledglings terrorizing this small town and then the weird sad man that he just kinda lets hang out in his house like that one uncle that’s not actually related to anyone
It was never truly quiet on the Isles. The streets were never truly empty. Even in the wee hours of the morning, the sound of laughter and revelry could still be heard almost anywhere you went, music and singing and dancing emanating from the markets and alehouses.
But that was in the center of the island, in the densest part of the city. Here, on the outskirts, where buildings met forest and sea, it was as close to quiet as it ever came.
Finneas was alone. Inigo and Lazuli would curse his foolishness if they knew, but Finn thought they were being overcautious. He was as safe as he reasonably could be, in the midst of pirates. He was still well within Kite territory, and Dante’s ship had departed two days ago, scheduled to return in three weeks. He wanted to enjoy the reprieve, a chance to enjoy the night by himself, without constantly looking over his shoulder.
It wandered the edge of town, hands in its pockets, looking up at the sky. The stars were still visible, but they wouldn’t be for long. Stormclouds were rolling in from just offshore, sure to reach the island in less than an hour. The potential for rain had most people who weren’t partying inside their homes. It still carried its pocketknife with it, it wasn’t stupid, but for once, it wasn’t actually worried about being accosted. It was relaxed.
Of course, if there was one thing in life he’d learned, it was never to let your guard down. He’d become too comfortable ignoring that rule, too used to having other people to watch his back. He’d grown soft.
That was why he didn’t see it coming.
Hands grabbed hold of its shoulders, and slammed its back into the wall. Its head knocked back into the brick, stars spiraling across its vision. It cried out in pain, reaching up to claw the hands off of it. But when its vision cleared, and it saw the face across from it, it froze.
Dante had never looked worse. His hair, which Finn had never seen with so much as a strand out of place, was in complete disarray, his neat ponytail frazzled and undone, sticky with seasalt. His signature jacket was missing, his shirt rumpled and stained, and his eyes were bloodshot, dark bags encircling them. He looked furious.
“Eleven,” he hissed. Finn flinched backwards, but there was nowhere to go. Dante’s hands encircled his throat, squeezing. “I have lost. Eleven fucking ships because of you.” Finn choked, scrabbling at the fingers wrapped around his neck, trying to pry them off. But they wouldn’t budge.
“I- I haven’t- done- anything to you-” it gasped with what little air it could draw in. Black spots were starting to form in its vision.
“Don’t get smart with me!” Dante slammed it into the brick again. Finn cried out. Something warm and wet trickled down its scalp. “Do you know how much money was on those ships? How much my family has lost in the last six months thanks to your little friends? Now I’ve had to explain to my parents why the Amors and an entire pod of sirens have been up our asses every single time we go out to sea.”
…Fuck.
He knew they’d been lying to him when they told him they’d leave it alone. He should have known better. Inigo and Lazuli, individually, could hold a grudge for all eternity. Together, there was nothing in the entire seven seas that could save someone from their wrath.
“You’re going to call them off,” Dante growled, squeezing for emphasis. Finn coughed, trying to slip its fingers under the ones choking him. “You’re going to tell them the next time one of my ships is sunk will be the last time any of them see you alive.”
Oh yeah, that would go over well. Ha.
“I- I can’t-” They wouldn’t listen to it even if it did. They’d hear about this incident and never let Finn go out by itself again, and then they’d probably set the Achuart estate on fire. It had tried, and tried, and tried to convince them it wasn’t worth it. Dante was just too untouchable. All they would do was make things worse. But to no avail. Not even Joanna would take its side.
But of course, that wasn’t the answer Dante wanted. Finn didn’t know why he’d even said it. Only a year ago, he would have agreed to anything, if it meant Dante would leave him alone. Dante was right. He had grown bolder.
Dante threw him to the ground. Finn gasped, heaving for air, blinking away the blotches in his vision. He felt around his neck--tender, probably bruised, but he didn’t think the damage was permanent. When he looked back up, Dante had pulled his pearl-handled pistol from his belt. The same one he’d shot Finn with six months ago.
“Worthless, pathetic animal,” he snarled. “You are nothing. A lowly beast who thought itself worthy to walk among men. I tried to teach you your place. I tried to remind you of what you really are. But no matter what I do, the lesson never seems to stick.” He pulled back the hammer. Finn felt a pit open up in its stomach. It should run. It should get up, scream, do something. But every muscle in its body was frozen, and no amount of effort could make it move.
Dante pointed the barrel of the pistol, right between its eyes. “I guess… I’ll just have to deal with you permanently.”
Fuck. Shit. Fuck. This was it. It was going to die here. They’d finally pushed Dante past his breaking point, just like Finn had always said they would, and now it was going to die.
His mind flashed to his friends. His fellow Kites, Lazuli, Inigo, Neb. Jo. Oh god, Jo. She would blame herself for this. For not looking out for him, for not being there when he needed her. It would destroy her.
It swallowed. Joanna would be fine, it reminded itself. She had Inigo, and Lazuli and Neb. They would look after her. It squeezed its eyes shut, waiting for the blow to come. It would not cry. It would not give Dante that last satisfaction.
From behind them, they heard the click of a gun barrel.
“Step away from him.”
Finn’s heart dropped to his stomach. He knew that voice as well as he knew his own. He opened his eyes, praying that he’d misheard. She couldn’t be here. Not now. If there was any mercy in this world she wouldn’t be here.
But there she was. Standing a few feet away, the golden glow of lantern light haloed around her, holding Inigo’s revolver. Joanna.
No.
Dante paused, lowering his gun to turn around. For a moment, he seemed perplexed by the sight that greeted him. But then he smiled, a wide, mocking thing.
“Miss Amor,” he purred. One could almost call his tone amiable, if one were a complete fucking idiot. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet face to face. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Step. Away. From him.” Joanna’s face was tight, determined, but her grip on the pistol was unsteady. She’d never fired a gun before. Never even held one before. She didn’t know how to hold it, how to aim, how to brace for the recoil. She had no idea what she was doing.
Go, Finn begged silently. Run. Don’t get involved. But even as he thought it, he knew it was in vain. He could see the resolve in her stance. And even more, he knew her. There was no world in which she left him to die alone.
Dante observed her quietly, thoughtfully. “Interesting,” he muttered to himself. “And why, pray tell, should I do that?”
Finn met Jo’s eyes. They were uncertain, terrified. He’d called her bluff. All of them knew Joanna had never hurt anyone before. There was no threat she could make that any of them would believe she’d follow through on.
“I won’t let you do this,” she said. It was weak. Her voice was trembling. Finn knew that was all she had.
Dante’s grin widened, amused. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do to stop me?” he asked. “Everyone knows about you. The softest of the Nightingales. The pirate who wouldn’t lift a blade to save her own life.” He inspected his pistol calmly, polishing a smudge with his sleeve. “We both know you won’t fire that gun.”
He turned back to Finn, still on the ground, and raised the pistol once more. It saw Joanna freeze in the corner of its eye, though it couldn’t look away from the barrel of the gun staring it down. Look away, it begged her. She didn’t need to see this.
A loud bang echoed through the air. Finn flinched, recoiling on instinct, but no bullet connected with his skull.
Dante screamed. Joanna stumbled back, taken off guard by the force of the bullet. The shot had been unbalanced and poorly aimed, fired by someone with no experience. But it had still grazed Dante’s arm, and blood wept from the new wound.
Finn gaped. Dante clutched at his arm, stricken. Joanna seemed just as shocked with herself as they were. She looked pale, maybe a bit green. From the beach nearby, a gentle breeze blew past.
Joanna recovered first. She straightened, her resolve hardening, and raised the gun again, rotating the cylinder. Her grip was steady, this time.
“Do not presume to know what I will or will not do,” she said. The tremor in her voice was gone. She stepped closer, and Dante moved back instinctively. “I am a child of the ocean. Her salt runs through my blood. She knows my will as I know Hers, and She gives me the strength to do what is necessary.”
The wind began to pick up, teasing long strands of dark hair free from her braid. Finneas felt the first few drops of rain fall on its cheeks.
“Hear me, Dante Achuart.” Thunder rumbled in the distance. Joanna’s eyes were always bright, even in the dead of night. But now, they seemed to glow. “I place a curse upon you. Upon your bloodline. Upon all who live under the name Achuart, and the generations not yet come.” Did the air crackle with electricity, or was Finn only imagining it? The wind was howling now, almost swallowing up Joanna’s voice. The storm had arrived. “My Mother shall know your names. Your faces. Your blackened hearts. And she shall revile you as I do. No ship, shoreline, or isle will ever be safe for you or your kin again.”
Finn had never seen Dante look like he did now. His face was drained of color, caught between fury and terror as he stared into blue eyes as vibrant as the ocean, standing out in a world whose color was washed away in the rain. And Joanna… She stood, completely undisturbed by the storm raging around her, barely even noticing the wind whipping her hair and her dress. She looked like the creature of legend she was.
“You-” Dante’s mouth opened and closed a few times. Blood was leaking through his fingers, staining his fine shirt. His face grew bright red. “You wretched, insignificant piece of-” He drew his pistol, aiming for her heart.
NO!
Finneas slammed into Dante’s back, bringing them both to the ground. The gun fired, the shot whizzing over Joanna’s head, and Finn grabbed onto it with both hands. They wrestled on the ground, fighting for control of the pistol. Dante was shouting, spit and vitriol flying from his lips, but it was lost in the crash of thunder and blustering gales.
His grip was tight, and Finn’s hands were slick with rainwater. Finn sank its teeth into Dante’s shoulder, as hard as it could. Dante screamed, and the taste of copper flooded its mouth, coating its tongue and teeth, but it only bit down harder. It unsheathed its claws and dug them into his flesh, tighter and tighter, until finally Dante let go of the pistol. Finn snatched it up and released him, kicking and scrabbling away.
He was back on his feet first, staring at the pistol. There was another bullet in the chamber, the hammer drawn back during their scuffle. Dante climbed to his feet slowly, swaying unsteadily. The blood from his wounds mixed with the water drenching his shirt, a red stain slowly spreading its way down his arm.
Dante lunged for it, and Finn didn’t think. It aimed and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot was lost in the cacophony of the storm. Dante stumbled to a halt, making a choked noise. For a moment, he stood still, his eyes wide. And then, he collapsed. The bullet had struck him directly between his eyes.
For a few, long seconds after, the only noise was the sound of the storm. Finn stared at the corpse at his feet, disbelieving, half waiting for him to get back up. That couldn’t be it. It couldn’t be that simple. His whole life, Dante had been a constant. Horrible, terrifying, inevitable. No matter how long Finn went without seeing him, he always came back. He couldn’t just be… dead. Just like that.
And then it felt a gentle hand on its shoulder, and it all came crashing down. It dropped the gun like it burned, the reality of what it’d just done hitting it like a ton of bricks. It looked up and met Joanna’s eyes. It had killed him. It had killed him.
“Oh god,” he warbled. His throat was starting to close up.
“Finneas?” Jo prompted quietly. It was getting hard to breathe.
“Oh god, what have we done?” He’d broken the peace. And worse, Joanna had been there to witness it. They were going to be exiled from the isles. This was the only home he’d ever known, the only human place Jo had ever been, and they were going to be forced off of it. And it was his fault.
“Finneas. Finn.” Joanna’s voice was firmer now. The rain was starting to slow as the clouds passed over them, the storm going out as quickly as it came. The winds had returned to a gentle breeze, as though in apology for losing its temper. “Look at me. Take a deep breath. We’re going to be okay. No one saw us.”
Finn shook its head, panicked. “No, no--his- his family, they’ll notice he’s missing. They’ll find out, they have money, they have power-”
“So does ours,” Joanna asserted. She took hold of its hands. “The rain will wash away the blood. Inigo will pay people to act as alibis if need be. Lazuli will take care of anyone who tries to say otherwise, and according to Neb, Dante wasn’t even in port. It will be weeks before anyone even notices anything is wrong, and when they do they’ll be searching in the wrong places. No one will ever find out what happened tonight.” Her face was deadly serious. Finn had never seen her look like that. “I swear it.”
Finn swallowed around the rock in his throat. Joanna squeezed his hands softly, her eyes as sincere as ever. He forced himself to nod.
They carried Dante’s body to the edge of the beach. As they approached the shoreline, the waves seemed to climb higher up the sand towards them, as though reaching out in welcome. The water curled around Joanna’s feet, a mother greeting her child.
They laid Dante down in water not even knee high, but the waves enveloped his lifeless body completely, pulling him out to sea far faster than could possibly be natural. In a matter of seconds, Finneas could no longer see it at all. Beside him, Joanna released a long, slow breath.
“It’s done,” she said, staring at the spot Dante had been moments ago. “They’ll never find his body.”
She said it with such conviction, Finn had no choice but to believe her. Joanna’s connection to the ocean was… special. He didn’t know if she could really curse entire bloodlines with its wrath, but whatever its limits, the ocean loved her child. It would do what it could to protect her.
She took hold of his hand. “It’s over,” she whispered.
It’s over.
Dante was dead. Really, truly dead. He would never torment Finn again. Finn would never have to live in fear, checking over its shoulder every time it felt eyes on it again. It… it was free.
A sob ripped its way free from his throat. His knees, suddenly weak, sank into the sand. The water splashed around him, freezing cold, but he didn’t care. Joanna knelt down next to him, her eyes glassy, and wrapped her arms around him. He threw his arms around her without hesitation, and sobbed into her shoulder.
~
Returning to a set of OCs I haven't touched in two years because I was rereading old stuff and decided I wanted to wrap up this arc.
I wanted to make a super detailed Greenhouse build! Why? u may ask, dont know, I just wanted to give it a try and add some nice wooden details in it, and lowkey I feel like I nailed it! I 100% went for the vibes on this one and I really like the final result! Thoughts? Anyway, I hope this serves as inspiration 🙌 If u want u can find the Tutorial and world download here!
