crownamedblue
Witness My Ravings
Stereotypically ADD, bisexual, and genderqueer (any/all).
699 posts
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Blog intro:
Hey y’all, I’m a world builder and essayist, so expect that and short stories original content wise. I also play banjo, so I’m tempted to through that in here as well. For my original writing and stuff, it’ll be under the tag “#crowfeatherquill”. I do reblog haiku bot semi-frequently, sorry abt that, but it’s often pretty funny, which will be under the “#thanks hbot” tag.
Much love to my beloved mutuals (I think I have at least 2?),
-CNB
Ps. Yes I do enjoy writing essays as if they were letters, but you can shut the fuck up about it maybe
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hey hey hey
Assigning you a song that makes white people go nuts (from experience)
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And I quote: I found something, it says who’s in charge: me
now who does he think he is
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music journalists: GET READY YOU FUCKING FREAKS..... we;ve got EMO SUPERSTAR dallon weekes with iDKHOW here so put on your EYELINER and RIPPED JEANS..... lets get ANGSTY!!!
dallon weekes in a white blouse, singing over a synth that sounds like sunshine: 🎶 i love my wife and kiiiids.... fuck the guys that wronged me.... i just want a kiiiiss.... 🎶
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Random worldbuilding for nothing in particular: Dwarvish last names.
When dwarvish workers and artisans first came to human cities for work, humans soon noticed that all dwarves seem to have last names ending in the same suffix. Soon enough they put together that these names don't go by families, but by occupation. Blacksmith is a blacksmith, Goldsmith is a goldsmith, a mason is called Stonesmith and carpenter a Woodsmith. And a horse breeder is called a Horsesmith.
(While humans would classify dwarf horses as ponies, dwarvish languages have no separate words for "horse" and "pony" and insist that dwarf horses are called horses since the way humans say "pony" seems degoratory.)
The word that humans previously assumed meant "smith" is simply the dwarvish blanket term for "one who works with their hands to manufacture/maintain." Humans originally started referring to any random dwarf they don't know with simply the suffix in a dismissive "they all have the same names anyway" sort of way, but in dwarfish society addressing someone you don't know in this way, "hey you, Craftsman" is considered perfectly respectable.
Once more dwarf society began to pour into human lands, humans noticed two other types of last names: -Trader, and -Commander. Traders are sellers, peddlers, merchants of all sorts, and while first encountering Silktraders, Goldtraders and Spicetraders might lead one to think that they are a class above -Smiths, they are not. Any street hawker, peddler or common grocer is just as much a -Trader as a merchant of kings is.
There are dwarfish jokes about how a farmer who grows vegetables and then goes to the town to sell them is a Turnip-smith at home but a Turnip-trader in the city, but getting the suffixes mixed up is a serious offense. Calling a dwarvish doctor a "seller of healing" instead of a "crafter of healing" would imply that they do their occupation for financial profit instead of a sacred calling, and is a stab-worthy insult. And they won't stitch you up afterwards.
The -Commander class is as one would expect, for leaders and commanders. The chief of a village or head of a clan is often known as "[clan name] commander", but more often it is the title for military officers and government officials. A centurion is called Hundred-Commander, a higher officer is a Thousand-Commander. The master of a spy network is "Commander of Secrets" and the national chief accountant is "Commander of Coin".
While dwarf societies are technically speaking autocracies with a single leader, humans have yet to reach an agreement about how to translate the leader's title. Most settle for "chief", as king/queen/emperor/empress would require knowing the current ruler's gender, and dwarves consider such information a matter of extreme privacy. The official dwarvish title of the ruler is "folksmith", "one who works with their hands to make/maintain a people".
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My favourite ever graffiti was on a scenic overlook on Mt. Revelstoke in British Columbia. The overlook had a plaque with a drawing of all the mountains you could see from that point. All the mountains were labeled but one, which was left blank, so some intrepid tourist took it upon themselves to scratch into the plaque a name for the unnamed mountain. They named it 'Mt. Beef'. I will always remember Mt. Beef.
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Fuck. I can't do anything right. *pulls my shirt up slightly and you can see a little bit of my abs*
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The abandoned child you’ve taken in sleeps on your lap as the god who gave you immortality softly warns you. “This will hurt.”
#I keep reading stuff like#the child will die eventually#but I’m imagining passing on your immortality
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When ogres travel, they do so in human shape.
They hate doing this. They think it’s beneath them. But they do it anyway.
The Vicomte Graoul de Saucisson – and this is another thing about ogres. Ogres as a species are nobility. There is no such thing as a low-born ogre. There is always room in the ogrish peerage for another vicomte, another prince, another branch to tie to the rotted tree – strode up to the chateau in human shape. The roses in the garden shivered as he passed by. The huge, high doors opened by themselves and he walked through them without a shift in his stride.
When the doors slammed shut behind him, he moved to shrug the shape off his shoulders like a coat.
Then he saw the woman.
He froze. He stared. She stared back.
He slowly pulled the shape back on. “Who are you?” he asked.
She looked mildly appalled. “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing in my home?”
“Your home? This is–” He stopped. He reconsidered. “I am the Vicomte de Saucisson,” he said. “I’m looking for the Marquis de Pamplemousse. He is a… colleague of mine.”
“Oh,” she said. She could’ve looked more abashed. “I’m sorry, monsieur, he’s never mentioned you before. You must be here to share your congratulations, of course, I can fetch him right away.”
“He’s never mentioned you either,” the vicomte did not say. “Of course,” he said. “Congratulations. What about?”
She looked surprised. “Have you not heard? Monsieur, the curse on my husband has been lifted.”
He stared. His lips started to form the words “What curse,” and then there was a sound like a horse falling down a set of stairs and a man he had never seen before wearing the marquis’s clothes came barrelling down the hall.
“Vicomte!” said the man with the marquis’s voice. “My human friend! The curse has been lifted, and I am a human once again!”
He was slightly out of breath when he reached the woman. He clasped her arm and grinned at him with manic desperation. “This is wonderful news! You must be here to share your congratulations!”
“Lie like hell,” said the man’s eyes.
The vicomte stared. “Oh!” he said. “My – human friend! Human once again! Words fail me. After all these–” (there was the slightest hesitation) “–years?”
The woman put her head at an angle and narrowed her eyes at him.
The man walked up, still grinning like a rictus chimpanzee, and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, of course! Darling, me and the vicomte are going to have a manly one-on-one conversation while he shares his congratulations, as we human men are wont to do.” And then with a strength that could only be ogrish, the marquis pulled the vicomte by the shoulder down the hall and into a drawing room.
When the bolt of the lock clicked into place behind them, the man wearing the marquis’s clothes visibly sagged.
“What the hell,” said the vicomte.
“You should’ve sent word ahead that you'd be coming today.”
“I never do.” He gesticulated and tried to conjure a single question out of the swarm buzzing in his brain. “What the hell is going on? Who was that? Why are you pretending to be human? What curse are we talking about?”
The marquis groaned and crumpled into a chair. As he did he shifted out of human shape, clothes magically tailoring themselves to contain his ogrish form. He looked a bit like a moose crossed with a wolf.
“I had a moment of weakness.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a stroke?”
“I got married.”
“And that’s another thing–”
“Graoul, please.” He sighed and put his face in his talons. “Last winter a merchant broke into my home. He stole one of my roses, and in exchange I asked him to send me one of his daughters to be my bride.”
The vicomte nodded. This at least was a sacred and recognizable ogrish custom, and he did like to see the old ways in practice.
“And it was fine! It was perfectly lovely. She’s a wonderful woman, but one night I decided to put on a human shape to change things up in the bedroom, and she lost her mind! Started talking about how I was clearly an enchanted prince and that her love for me must’ve broken some curse and turned me human again! I had no idea how to tell her otherwise, and now I’ve done it for too long to back out.”
The vicomte stared. “Sorry,” he said. “You decided to turn into a human to spice things up in the bedroom, and that was the face you chose?”
The marquis growled. “If I knew I was going to be wearing it for the rest of my life I would’ve gone with something better.”
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You’re a seemingly normal, average 10-year-old child except for one thing: time travelers have been trying to assassinate you for years, and you’re not sure why.
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on the one hand
what is the fucking point of flipping it you pulled it out of the sheath by the handle there’s no goddamn need for that
why even bother having a special spot easiy to reach in your black leather suit for knives if you’re just going to play with them when you take them out
but on the other hand
hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng
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Congratulations! You are now a Magic-User!!
#I was caught between cartomancy and chains#and then I remembered my entire fucking life before this moment#as if there was ever a choice#card suits allllllll the way down
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And bigfoot
Please reblog for a larger sample size.
Frame 352 of the 1967 Patterson–Gimlin film.
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Look at this goofy fucker pretending to be a writer. GET OUTTA HERE
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people need to realise that a poor little meow meow must be a character who has committed atrocities you cannot poor little meow meow a good guy that’s not how this works
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