#unglorious

[virgothozul]

Dads 💕

[milfglupshitto]

sometimes you find god and it’s “I’m worried that you’re not eating enough” and sometimes it’s “go hit that guy with your car please please please”

[writingwolverina]

The chronic illness is chronic illnessing today, thank you to Laz for taking the brunt of it

[seirosu]

before writing , i want to take some time to share some background context for this interpretation of seiros . without going deep into the specifics of fe3h's lore's timeline , this blog's canon point is approximately somewhere vaguely around imperial year 1 ; or , well over 1000 years prior to the events of fe3h . the adrestian empire exists , although its state is very much so in infancy yet and does not span far beyond enbarr itself and smaller villages in the region .

the official war of heroes starts ~ year 32 , although , the time spanning before was an era of increasing danger within fodlan , filled with skirmishes and conflicts among small groups . perhaps the appearance of seiros and word of the goddess that at one time smited the agarthans stirred those who slither . in any case , the lands are tumultuous yet and conflict is constant ( although awareness to the root of the problem is contained primarily to those close within wilhelm and seiros' close circle ) .

oh shit . i forgot to say : seiros know of nemesis . hates that bitch . but the man's not shown face for a while . he appears and disappears . v sneaky snek . neither have posse'd up enough to actually engage in a war , but they have had conflicts .

the church of seiros as an organization is not quite established yet . its tenets and beliefs are there , and spreading , and many refer to themselves as being followers of seiros in a quasi-religious sense . its an ideology , but not yet an institution . there aren't widespread rituals or places of worship, but there are a set of shared beliefs about the world at large and the belief in the goddess per seiros' prophecies .

aligned with the budding empire , wilhelm and seiros work closely in tandem , essentially sharing the same desire to establish a common set of common ethics/laws to the land , uniting smaller villages and supplying support in defending against the banditry that was intensifying . wilhelm and seiros laid the groundwork in tandem to combat the crime ravaging the fodlan continent , which . . .

anyways , there is a lot to dig into , but this is where i'll leave off for now .

[shelandsorcery]

starting a new sculpture, in three parts so far, all safely stored for the wait till my next sculpting session:

air dry clay truly does have a very long and punishing ugly phase bit I'm starting to trust in my ability to take it farther!

[hollowwhisperings]

Rereading Sansukh (by Determamfadd on AO3) and poking about for Gimli/Legolas fanart (while "Gigolas" is the most commonly used shipname, I used "GimLas" as a tag for a while but have since taken to "GimLeaf"), I have found my Elrond Favouritism to have flared up rather dramatically. I have found myself spiralling in comment sections over Pained Discoveries on what the Amazon Series has gotten up to, the ease with which Celeborn is misnamed to Setting-Breaking Effect, and undoubtedly startled far too many innocent fanfic writers accidentally caught by my wandering thoughts!

so i must warn, after spending so long Away & having last been active in the Meta of Other Fandoms, that i shall be subjecting innocent bystanders to

THE JUSTICE FOR CELEBRIAN AGENDA

since it has been an actual decade since i last read LOTR (let alone The Hobbit) and that, whilst I was somehow dragged inti watching 2/3 of PJ's Hobbit Trilogy, I have only ever managed to watch the FIRST of PJ' LOTR films in its entirety (the films are LONG and almost all the gaiety of the source text is woefully neglected, prompting my younger self to fall asleep to dreams of flapping away with Galadriel's big swooshy sleeves).

given the State of my Memory (vague, confused over what if book canon & what is fanon & what is from action film adaptations), my "Meta" will be Confused and Weird and Possibly Somewhat Satirical.

after all, for all that i dub my Grievance with Live-Action Tolkien adaptions as "Justice For Celebrian!", Celebrian herself is a Character Known Through "Absence": for being without her, every elven-affiliated character is Changed when "reencountered" in The Hobbit & LOTR.

[squigliez]

.

[maniakminis]

What techniques do you use to get your T28 guys to look so magnificently dirty?

I wish you asked this a week ago, I had just finished painting a bunch of Fodder. Luckily for you the backlog is never ending, so I painted some more guys and took pictures!

The short answer is: Texture Paint, Drybrushing, and Oil Washes. But here's a more in depth tutorial with pictures. For this technique none of the specific colors or brands matter so I'm going to be very general about what to use.

Before priming, I applied texture paint to the the model's coat, and his rifle. The dirt texture on the rifle will help sell the rusty appearance later. For pretty much every different color on the model I will paint it a dark color, then drybrush/rough highlight the same color in a lighter tone over it. Since the majority of the model is his coat, I paint the entire thing dark blue, then drybrush a lighter blue over it.

Next I paint all of the base colors for the rest of the model. Dark Grays for the boots and hat. Brown/Beige for the sash, skull, and hands. Dark brown for the leather and rifle. Dark gold for the shoulders and tassel on the hat. Once dried, I drybrush or dab rough highlights on these same spots with a lighter tone of paint. Light gray for the hat, bright gold for the shoulders and tassels, light beige for the bone. For rusty metallics, I drybrush silver over the brown painted rifle.

Grass tufts are carefully superglued onto the miniature. Do not overglue and be sure to let it dry properly before continuing. Too much glue will fog up the surfaces and ruin the paintjob! The miniature is then varnished with gloss clear coat. Wow, look at that shine!

Now its time for the turnip oil! I have a shade wash I created by mixing Brown, Red, and Black Oil Paints with Mineral Spirits. I mix it thoroughly and test a small drop on a paper towel to make sure its not too thin or too thick. If you've ever spilled Agrax Earthshade, you know the consistency of the wash you're looking for! This is applied over the model to pick out the details like any other shade wash would, as well as give it that really dirty look.

Again, make sure the model was covered in Gloss Clear Coat first as it helps the Oil Wash spread out on the miniature and get into all the recesses. After the model dries, you can dip a cotton swab in Mineral Spirits to reactivate the oil wash and move it around as necessary. If you're happy with how everything looks, apply a final coat of Matte Varnish (Or Gloss or Satin, whatever your preference) to seal your miniature and done!

Ready to die an unglorious death for the Roots! Thanks for the ask, I hope all this makes sense, I've never done a tutorial before. Happy Hobbying! :D

[hikarry]

Why do you like Crowley?

What's your favorite canon thing about him?

And the least favorite thing about him?

If you could put him in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

What's the first song thst comes to mind when you think about him?

I just identify a lot with him, and, cmon. He has a lot of style. And he is a wet sad noodle. How are you supposed not to like him

It's not exactly about him, but I absolutely love that the Bentley is "cursed" with turning everything into Queen. That sounds like my dad's car when I was 12 and I used to take out all the cds and plug my Queen playlist. Brings me back good memories

I don't like how dependent he is on Aziraphale emotionally BUT I get it. I've been there, done that. It's something you learn to control. What happened at the end of season 2 is exactly the type of catalysis he needs to learn not to depend on the angel emotionally and...well, mature emotionally. Sometimes it takes a big fall (ahah, get it? fall? cause it's crowley?) for your to snap out of it and after 6000 years a big fall indeed is needed. Also, this dependability is amazing plot device, so I love it writing wise. But, by real life standards, I don't like it. But I can't judge him

Unglorious Bastards. Long story short, it's a movie about murdering Nazis. 1941 Crowley in that movie? I would probably become pregnant and have a demonic child

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen

[abr]

Il sinistro apprezza Unglorious Bastards: il nazi lo si ammazza come capita, anche coi mezzi viscidi e con l'inganno, non serve giustificazione né onore con loro. Come fossero bacherozzi. Il merito, il fine - lui è nazi, io sono Giusto - sopravanza il metodo, giustifica i mezzi. E' la visione dei propal contro gli ebrei e in generale del fondamentalismo islamico e del wokismo contro l'Occidente o dell'anglo-obey contro la Russia di Putin.

Il Conservatore invece ha capito il messaggio chiave di Apocalypse Now (Cuore di Tenebra di Conrad): "sterminare tutti i bruti" significa ti prego ammazzami, sono diventato come i bruti che volevo sterminare. Il metodo FA il merito, i mezzi sono il fine - io sono la Via, essa è la Vita e anche la Verità.

[renthony]

i dont even really like it here (im just not a hot-weather girl) but like what do ppl even think 'cutting off' florida would even do to help. like we live here its not like we're the ones responsible for our governor being shit. fash is gonna fash help us stop them instead of using us as a punchline. some people..

Florida's been a punchline for so long now that I think people forget that real, living, breathing people actually live here. All people know about Florida is Florida Man, Disney, and extremely dead jokes from the Bush era about hanging chads (which I genuinely saw someone make the other day, which is just fucking baffling).

I wish I could show people the Florida that I know, full of incredible people and the most beautiful ecosystems I have ever seen. Florida has been absolutely ravaged by its history of colonization and an increasingly fascist state government, but god damn it, it's not "too far gone" to be nurtured and stewarded and loved.

Right now there are organizations fighting for the Everglades and all Florida's wetlands, there are cleanup efforts to help reduce effects of red tide, there are legal battles against sugar corporations and land developers, there are mutual aid networks spanning the entire goddamn state. There are people fighting for the land and for each other. Just in my own city I can name multiple groups dedicated to feeding people, getting clothes and toiletries in the hands of those who need it, fighting for immigration protections, uplifting the marginalized, and waging quiet unglorious war against the system that's currently brutalizing everything.

And god help us, we do it all while getting called "crazy crackheads" and "idiot swamp hicks" by everyone else in the entire fucking world.

[quotidian-oblivion]

✨Out of context lines shitpost Pt. 5✨

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Quo: It is the tireless anguish of readers and their warm cup of tears that keeps me encased in warmth during these cold winter months.

@mispeltnostalgia and Quo apologize for not posting your weekly shitty quotes last week. We were burdened with unglorious homework.

Nogolsta: Quo's keyboard sucks to type= on snd i need the grester public to be awarte of how much i disloke it. The keyboard os a different size to mine so i cannot type nearly as wuickly or accuratly cause it's shit. THanks for comonig to my trd talk.

Quo: Stfu Nog.

But anyway, we're back now! And we present to you: shit we said in class but as the batfam.

~

Tim: Damian accidentally turned into one of his animals and is now pissed off, wet, and in need of a knife.

~

Steph: They looked like they could crush me with their biceps and I'm okay with that.

~

Dick: The digestive sys— Jason: Please don't refer to it as the digestive system of the elevator. I feel like it's gonna fall to the ground and we're gonna be eaten by the building. Dick: That would be an adventure. Jason: Not an adventure I'm willing to participate in

~

Barbara: Do not BODYSHAME MY LAPTOP

~

Steph: Have I ever told you that you’re a bitch? Just a little bit? Cass: *nods while laughing* Steph: Good. Just wanted to check.

~

Tim: I wouldn’t be surprised if you ran away and joined the circus. Damian: I wouldn’t join the circus no. I would join… Damian: Actually, I wouldn’t join anything. I would just be alone in my room and create a cult of my own.

~

Jason: Is it wrong to say that… I don't care. About spelling. Tim: I can spell the longest word in the dictionary! Jason: Please don't— Tim: P-N-E-U-M Jason: *putting head in hands* Oh. No… Tim: O-N-O-U-L-T Jason: Is this what hell is like? Tim: R-A-M-I-C-R-O—

~

Tim: Don't force people to drink tea. Bart: Don't force people to drink… sex? Kon: You guys are weird. Bart: *starts laughing hysterically* Tim: Yeah… No. It's— it's just him. *points at Bart* Bart: *still laughing, nearly falls off chair* Tim: Or maybe not since he's lacking some sleep.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Hi! For the worldbuilding prompts, Galadriel + weaving or fabric crafts? — @emyn-arnens

I am so sorry this too so long @emyn-arnens! I wrote a reply to this and was a bit bashful about it (I suspect crimes against fiber craft techniques have been committed), but I'm finally posting it. Thanks so much for the ask <3

nerwen was very young, when first she asked her father to teach her how to work the wheel. 

-

this is a child desirous of learning, earwën of the teleri had laughed, when first she beheld her daughter: little nerwen had eyes like an owl, colourless and wide, watchful as she was cradled, tracking every movement and every sound. 

so it was, as she grew; artanis, her mouth pursed, her eyes hungry. earwën held great mastery in the art of the needle, from the making of nets to the impossibly delicate filigree, so thin water gathered in fine drops along the curls and curves of her designs. 

nerwen learned lacemaking from her, and from her aunts and cousins, and most of all from her grandmother, the great master and creator of the art.

the queen of the falmari worked with a hundred pins and hundred bobbins at once, her mind a mathematical marvel; and from a very young age nerwen had been sat beside her, taught how to shape her own thoughts and hands to the creation of a design. 

but the noldor dwelt in far tírion, were beset always by the cool winds that rose from túna; and so too did earwën and arafinwë dwell there often. the garments to be worn in the high city were thicker than the shifting, patterned sea-silks and bold linens of alqualondë; for the weavers of the noldor worked with wool, in the fashion of serinde, the dead queen. 

sewing was a more ancient technique than lace-making, and weaving older than either. it was the way of the noldor, that every maiden go about with their satchel of flax over a shoulder, and at every spare moment be spinning or flashing their long, long needles.

nerwen learned all she could of it, and rhetoric, the arts and the sciences, those fashionable for maidens and those most unlikely. from her father, as well, she learned much - the saw and the varnish, how to speak with living wood and make peace with dead boughs, so they might be of use again. 

 arafinwë’s craft was of making, as most of his kinsmen; but he was a petty and whimsical maker, not taken with great seriousness by any quarter in particular. less learned than his half-brother, and content with his own unglorious projects, and with making certain the projects he showed the world were so few and without distinction that none would be very curious about his craft. 

that was as he preferred. arafinwë, it was said then even by the kind, lacked a great spark of brilliance. nerwen knew the truth, even as a child: her father was wise enough not to cast too much of himself as kindling to make it into a great fire.

his concern was with the things that existed already, and those he held dear; chairs for elenwë's rest as she nursed, clever games for his children. the repairing of old heirlooms and great pieces, and of small things besides: mending the cracks of miniatures, repairing the small link of a small chain. cleaning tarnish and rust, inventing new and simpler mechanisms to repair an old engine. 

from an early age, his daughter chafed at the pretense at humility, but even in her most high-minded years she did not disdain the small wonders he did build, sometimes, for those he loved.

nerwen’s spindle was of rosewood and gold, slow to warm to her touch, perfectly balanced, well-fitted to the hands her small fingers grew into, perfectly fitted to her grasp. her father had built it for her. so too he made her first wheel from the bare bones of new timbers, and metal he worked himself in the forge.

strange were the ways of the house of the king, even among the noldor. nerwen knew this, too - for there was no ancient machine, or spindle, or row of needles to repair, and pass down as inheritance. queen indis did not spin, or sew, or spin; and all the old wheels of the palace had belonged to míriel, crafted by the king to his first queen. none touched them that did not wish prince fëanáro’s wrath. 

in the evening, when her tutors sent her away from the books and evaded her endless questions, nerwen sat by the fountains with her friends. they spun fine wool as they chatted about their lessons and their first fledgling projects, flirting with new crafts and with each other, graceless and coy, laughing swiftly, trying to get the passing swifts and robins to sit on their heads and shoulders for a little while.

and at night, narwen crept through the narrow, secret corridors that bound her father’s house to the king’s palace.

upwards and onwards, through hidden places, reciting prayers to vairë as she went, and crept, and pried open the ancient doors to the closed quarters of the dead queen.

 she ran her hands through the strong frame, still as smooth and glossy as her grandfather had first made it, when the possibility of her life had been nothing in the rightful course of things. from her satchel she brought out the flax she always carried, and setting aside her father’s latest spindle, she sat herself in the bench.

míriel’s wheel was the best of such machines in tírion, but old-fashioned. much better did nerwen love her father’s work! 

but the wood remembered. indis was the best of dancers, and a great singer, and a fine painter, but she did not spin, and taught nothing of that art to the maidens of her house - and so findis did not spin, and lalwen did not; and írissë's craft was for leather and enchantments only.

artanis laid her hands and her claim upon míriel’s wheel. it spoke to her - lent her the cold feeling of cold hands on hers, teaching how to bind work and mind to the same end. the keen memory of mastery, guiding her movements in a small haunting.

nerwen was desirous of learning always, from all the best teachers. no prince would sever her from the perfecting of her crafts; fëanáro’s wrath never found her, but from a young age she loathed him wholly, for it was a thing judged foul and ungenerous, by the falathrim and the noldor alike, to hoard a great treasure away from any grateful eyes.

[a-ferins-fire]

To My Jaybird. I fainted again today and had to sit in the back again. My magic is taking a toll on me. By the time you return i will try to stay upright. It hurts to move again. Writing these letters gets more strenuous each day, and Florence is hiring me an at home doctor. Shes scared for me. I don't have much to tell you today other than my worsening medical condition. I'm just glad your getting better again. The doctor starts tomorrow. We'll see how he does. I'm far past saving. but maybe the world will hurt less with him around. I'm sorry for worrying you from the minute you breathe again. But I feel the need to informs you of things now, because i'll never know when the last time ill talk to you will be. I've come to the conclusion that without you I feel worse, but when i'm with you I act worse. our fights still fresh in my mind. I need you, Jayson. I love you. -Love your wife, MayMay (Malenia) Ferin

|Florence, a name he'd heard mentioned before. Florence did not like him, he understood that. He felt a bit glad to have someone looking out for her, even if he knew it showed how terrible of a job he's been doing. It was important to be informed about important things (that's a part of an admiral's job), like those he should look after's conditions.|

|He needed to see her. He knew that wouldn't happen. Still, he wished he could fight with her again, to hear her loudly. Fights were easy to fill with raw emotion, it showed you who someone was in the worst way almost, but seeing his wife in unglory and anguish would be better then seeing her entrapped to her bed by some condition. Seeing her at all would also suffice.|

|He wishes one of those fights ended worse slightly. He wishes one of those would have ended them, one says the wrong thing or makes an uncareful move and they split apart, just so they wouldn't be chained by old memories of love. He loved her, it was as true as he could be, that's why he wished they would have fallen out of it long ago. Things might have been better that way.|

[stardust-in-your-eyes]

Aftermath

….ten days.

It’s been …ten days. Or at least it will be, if I can manage to breathe again, my muscles slowly contracting and relaxing, unwillingly setting in motion this useless thing, breathe in-breathe out…in-out…again again again….

My arms are shaking, wrapped as they are around my knees drawn to my chest, as if my mind is molding my body into *his* image, trying to hold on to *him* for one. second. longer. I still haven’t cleaned off the dried blood from under my left fingernails, the same blood crusting on my right shoulder. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and I couldn’t care less if the marks of my nails into my own flesh will be visible another ten days from now – assuming death is so cruel as not to want me by then.

There is no blood on my right hand. I can barely feel it, my fingers clutching onto the now cold metal. But it’s all that I have left of *him* – the thought makes my eyes burn with what would have been tears, if I could shed any – they seemed to be frozen, dead, how fitting. A teaspoon. How can a teaspoon be all that I have left of *him*?.....My chest hurts, and I crawl deeper into myself, my dried, chaffed lips parted around a silent gasp.

“Miss Star…you have to eat,” Mogi touches my shoulder, making me flinch. Like *he* once did under Aizawa’s hand….Everything everything everything, every fucking thing reminds me of *him*, and it seems so fucking wrong for my lungs to keep inflating and deflating like some hideous toads while *he* ….., for my heart to keep squirming uselessly in my chest while *he*….

Mogi leaves the plate. Of course he does. He’s always been the best at tedious and unglorious tasks, hasn’t he. I can see it in his eyes that he’s hurting too, and I love him for it. But he doesn’t understand. None of them do. Their lives go on, the light in their eyes dimmed and clouded for a second by the fear of being next, or by the regret of seeing *his* life taken away so soon. But they don’t understand that it was not only *his* heart that stopped ten days ago….

“…and we have to plan our next move,” Light Yagami’s voice cuts through the air, cold and sharp like a dagger to the chest. He’s too close. Way too close. He’s sitting in *his* chair, in front of the unblinking wall of monitors …I can’t breathe.

“….Get out of his chair.” My words seem wrong to my own ears, voice crackled and hoarse. “Get out of his chair.”

He looks at me with that impossibly smug look he has been unable to wipe off his face for the last….almost ten days.

“Excuse me, Miss…Star?”

Something snaps in me, a tight coil of pain and rage and murder and what-s-that-feeling-when-you-have-nothing-to-lose. I suddenly stand up, untangling from the armchair *he* had chosen for me – and Yagami recoils. Good.

“Get out of his chair, I said. Get OUT-“ I shove him hard, and he falls to the floor, the thud a sickening echo. “You don’t get to touch it!!” I snarl, protecting that chair with my very body, the way I had failed to protect him. Yagami scuttles away from me, retreating on all fours like I’m some sort of wild animal – and he’s not wrong. Teeth bared, chest heaving – I have never been less human.

“Miss Star….please try to calm down…” Aizawa approaches me, like you would try to appease a rabid dog, hand outstretched. “We’re all….”

“YOU’re all a bunch of cowards!” I want to roar, to shatter their eardrums and make their eyes bleed. “You’re all a bunch of spineless, useless cowards who let him die!!”

….There. I said it. The word hangs heavily from my lips, making me want to gag and vomit its poison out of me, and perhaps I would finally wake up from this horror of a wasteland. But I don’t do any of that, I don’t gag, I don’t vomit, and I certainly don’t wake up. No, what I do is break. Ten days’ worth of tears crash over me all at once, and the world disappears for one merciful moment as I simply fold in his chair like a piece of overworked origami.

L! I scream in my mind, L! and L! and L! until even my mind loses its voice, silence sticking to me like the insidious strands of a spider web, my body all curled up in a chair too big for me. “L…,” I finally whisper to myself, to the him-within-myself. “If you ever felt anything for me, pull me where you are…”

….in the upper right corner, a forgotten surveillance camera blinks once, twice….like an eye blinking back an unwelcome emotion. Then it slowly reorients itself, and somewhere, somewhere, a slender, pale hand  reaching towards a screen, as if to wipe a tear with his thumb.

[elwenyere]

I’m not a labor history expert, but it’s hot labor summer, and I’m thinking a lot about what’s involved in forming a union, in getting a Collective Bargaining Agreement, in negotiating a contract, and in organizing a strike. The conditions for doing any of the above depend on your local context, and in the U.S.A. (which is the context in which I’ve been in a union) that includes both national and state laws.

Strikes are one labor tactic among many, and in the U.S.A. they’re not legally protected for all workers at all times. Some unions have contracts that include no-strike clauses, for example, which indicate that workers walking off the job while under contract would constitute a breach in that contract; so the most common time to see large-scale economic strikes is during the period when a union is renegotiating their contract. From what I understand, this year WGA, SAG-AFTRA, and the DGA were all renegotiating contracts: the DGA reached an agreement on a new contract (with an 87% approval margin), while the WGA and SAG-AFTRA authorized strikes (each with record 98% approval margins) to gain leverage in their ongoing negotiations (striking to gain an economic concession.

Of course, workers can decide to engage in a strike or walkout that’s not legally protected. Public-school teachers have done this in states like West Virginia, Kentucky, and Oklahoma, where government employees are not protected by the labor laws guaranteeing the right to strike. Those workers won many of the gains they were after, and they did so in part because they had strength in numbers and a necessary, hard-to-replace form of labor to withhold. Employers in the U.S.A. are allowed to fire workers for engaging in unprotected strikes, and they can replace workers (or withhold pay and/or benefits) even during protected “economic” strikes (i.e. those strikes where workers are seeking to gain an economic concession rather than to protest an unfair labor condition), so a union or other organized body of workers collects information from its members to assess whether a strike would strengthen or weaken their bargaining position. 

All of these considerations are at play when we think about what it would take to organize a general strike. Baby steps toward that goal include looking into what forms of labor organization exist in your field/area, joining a picket line if there’s one near you, and donating to strike funds that support workers dealing with withheld wages/benefits or the inability to take new jobs. 

There is power in a union, and it takes a lot of people a lot of long, careful, often-unglorious work to build that power and use it.