🌸I am socially awkward 🌸 🌺|| Reblog/ Personal blog [I am 22 y/o] ||🌺 ||Any Pronoun|| 🌹🌸Very quiet🌸 🍂🌻🍂 || Current hyperfixation: Dinosaurs n sky:cotl || 🐾|| (temp link spot ) https://rooster-foot.tumblr.com/post/178067823498/links ||🐾 🌹|| User name is a tribute to the asshole rooster who crippled my foot once ||🌹
In which the farmer is not quite human. Pt 2: Willy
Willy pulled his old wool coat a little closer to his chest. That battered old flannel had seen more years than some of the younger folk in town. They just didn’t make coats like that anymore. The ocean air was bitingly cold. The fish weren’t really biting today, but he’d stay out until dinner time. He wasn’t the type of man to mix up his routine; even when the fish were being stubborn. The ocean never claimed to be predictable, or even kind. It owed him nothing. Willy simply knew how to withstand the tide.
He doesn’t notice the sound of rhythmic footsteps over the crashing waves. The farmer approaches.
“Ahoy there, Lass,” Willy says gruffly, nodding at her as she walks up.
The farmer smiled at him. She wasn’t much of a talker, that girl. Usually, she just nods or shakes her head, unless she’s really got something to say. Her tanned skin and calloused hands echoed her occupation. Through sheer willpower she managed to jumpstart the local economy through her farming, mining, foraging, and of course her fishing. The farmer was a good fisherman. Well. Fisherwoman, he supposed. She recently got hitched to Robin’s son, the sickly lad. They seemed happy though.
“It’s late,” Willy says, rebaiting his hook for the umpteenth time, “don’t you farmer have to get up early?”
With another smile, the farmer just shrugged. Young people. Never stop long enough to hear themselves think, Willy supposed. Though perhaps the farmer girl wasn’t quite the same.
Another cold breeze swept over the waters. Willy bit back a shiver.
The farmer did not react to the cold. In fact, she was in a thin knit shirt, not equipped with sleeves, and decorated with a pattern reminiscent of a ribcage. That and a pair of baggy cargo pants. It was hardly winter attire. She didn’t have on so much as a hat or a pair of gloves, yet here she was, fishing beside him.
She threw her line in the water, without even baiting it. She just cast her line. Granted, it was excellent cast, going an impressive number of yards out. But still, it was a plain hook. She wouldn’t catch a damn thing.
“Come on, Lass. No bait?” Willy said with a raised an eyebrow.
The farmer stretched her neck, keeping a careful watch on her line. “Forgot it,” she said simply.
Willy shook his head; he’d taught her better than that. Maybe the cold was getting to her head. She was never going to catch any—
The farmer began to get a sharp pull on her line, carefully, masterfully even, she began reeling in a fish with precision. In less than a minute she held aloft an albacore. A massive one.
Willy stared at her.
“… good catch,” Willy said after a long pause.
She just nodded once, before throwing another baitless hook into the water. Willy just watched her, not exactly paying much attention to his own line anymore. Sure, the farmer was an odd little duck, and he was fond of her, but sometimes …
Sometimes he wasn’t so sure what she was. He can only chalk up so many things to the fact she used to be a city girl. City girls don’t spend six hours digging up clay on the beach for no apparent reason. They don’t fell half a forest in an afternoon, or remain forever untouched by the elements or fatigue. Harvey once told him at Gus’s that occasionally she’ll collapse in the mines, covered in slime and monster blood. She’ll return in the morning more often than not. It’s the only time either of them had ever seen her anything other than wide awake and energized,
Willy snaps out of his thoughts when he sees her rummaging in her bag out of the corner of his eyes. The farmer pulls out an uncovered bowl of soup and a raw leek. She quickly devours both things. Willy doesn’t ask any questions. If there are answers to be given, it isn’t his business.
They fish in silence, with Willy scoring a catch and the farmer catching six more fish of her own.
He’s done asking questions. She’s a great fishing companion. She respects the water. Willy’s leaving it there.
«.. In the night sky of winter, there is a bright star only visible from this valley. No one knows why this is... but in times of old people would come from far and wide to see it. They believed that anyone who laid eyes on the Winter Star would be blessed with good fortune..»
The life cycle of Merfolk, despite their vast dimorphism, is quite similar. Most Mermaid species are egg layers, with a very small minority being livebearers. The Merfolk life cycle begins as an egg, embryo, larvae, fry, juvenile and ultimately adult. While a Mermaid is a formidable predator it too is quite vulnerable in it’s young life.
While Merfolk are largely kept at a healthy distance and were once feared by seafarers they have become synonymous with livestock or game in certain parts of the world. Mermaid Roe has long been known for it’s medicinal, cosmetic and culinary properties and purposes. Also known as “Edible Pearls”, the harvesting of mermaid eggs is a common practice. There is some debate as to whether or not Merfolk are deemed sentient, however their roe offers far too much of a commodity for the issue to be pressed.
First teeth….now hands!
-Other than being extra spindly, pearl has pretty average hands
-Garnet’s nails are much thicker and harder than human fingernails
-Amethyst n Jasper both have like, retractable kitty claws goin on
-Lapis has no fingernails
These are probably pretty close To Scale with eachother..so, yeah, huge cheeto paws over there (could be bigger)
Fuck it, adding on: This is why it's frustrating to see criminal defense lawyers getting a bad rep.
The right to a fair trial is a human right. In practice, a fair trial necessitates a lawyer. This means that even if somebody committed the worst crimes you could possibly imagine, they still deserve a lawyer.
Somebody has to defend them as a matter of human rights. As one of my professors said, way back in my first semester at uni: "Everybody deserves to have somebody in their corner."
nb the source of criminal defense attorneys getting a bad rep is always, always copaganda. same with the incredibly bullshit narrative of “if you didn’t do anything wrong then why do you need a lawyer?” the purpose of both these terrible stupid pro-cop arguments are to deny you your legal rights.
It completely blows my mind we still have oil painters. It feels like the height of luxury to have the joys of impressionism, modern art movements, and then people doing this the same as they ever were, making paintings that could be taken out of an art history textbook if you forget for a moment that mason jars might not have looked exactly like that
discoholicmusic
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
