screwlowes

Latest Posts by screwlowes

Leverage: Redemption (2021-present) The Hustler Job (S03E04)

So, I saw this image on Facebook, and it was supposedly showing what Queen Nefertiti would have looked like in real life:

Now, I thought this AI generated garbage was just truly terrible on a number of levels; first off, she looks wayyyyyy too modern - her makeup is very “Hollywood glamour”, she looks airbrushed and de-aged, and as far as I’m aware, Ancient Egyptians didn’t have mascara, glitter-based eyeshadows and lip gloss. Secondly, her features are exceptionally whitewashed in every sense - this is pretty standard for AI as racial bias is prevalent in feeding AI algorithms, but I genuinely thought a depiction of such a known individual would not exhibit such euro-centric features. Thirdly, the outfit was massively desaturated and didn’t take pigment loss into consideration, and while I *do* like the look of the neck attire, it's not at all accurate (plus, again, AI confusion on the detailing is evident).

So, this inspired me to alter the image on the left to be more accurate based off the sculpture’s features. I looked into Ancient Egyptian makeup and looked at references for kohl eyeliner and clay-based facial pigment (rouge was used on cheeks, charcoal-based powder/paste was used to darken and elongate eyebrows), and I looked at pre-existing images of Nefertiti, both her mummy and other reconstructions. While doing this, I found photos of a 3D scanned sculpture made by scientists at the University of Bristol and chose to collage the neck jewellery over the painting (and edited the lighting and shadows as best as I could).

Something I see a lot of in facial recreations of mummies is maintaining the elongated and skinny facial features as seen on preserved bodies - however, fat, muscle and cartilage shrink/disappear post mortem, regardless of preservation quality; Queen Nefertiti had art created of her in life, and these pieces are invaluable to developing an accurate portrayal of her, whether stylistic or realistic in nature.

And hey, while I don't think my adjustments are perfect (especially the neck area), I *do* believe it is a huge improvement to the original image I chose to work on top of.

I really liked working on this project for the last few days, and I think I may continue to work on it further to perfect it. But, until then, I hope you enjoy!

Remember, likes don't help artists but reblogs do!

hello writers.

Don't tell me that!!! 😭

Bad news, y'all

You really gotta write the damn book to become a published author

Neurodivergent assassin who very casually uses their weapons as stim.

Turning on and off the safety of their gun. Tapping and spinning their dagger. Watching the poison in the vial move as they flip in and then back.

Nobody says anything because...well they're an assassin.

Turns on safety, presses trigger, turns off safety repeat.

People around them are in constant fear.

Chewing the end of their poison tipped dagger when they try to figure out a plan.

Wash their hands too much cause they don't like how sticky blood is.

However overtime it becomes a weird single to others.

Everyone is anxious trying to figure something out and they hear a little "click click" and it's just slightly calming to know that they have this person there and they are thinking of a plan.

Someone hands them a drink but it flows just a little too weird and they are like, "hmm that's poison" then chuck it because they have built up immunity.

No table that doesn't have something carved into it.

Never a situation where they don't have enough bullets because this person takes out the cartridge and puts it back as stim.

They take apart their guns and put them back over time being crazy fast and efficient with it.

Just give me a neurodivergent assassin/spy.

😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

This was also for fluff week Day 3: Milestone || Domestic Fluff || "You'll always have me"

Guys hear me out on this.

I’m a writer, and even though this is not my main blog, if I ever become a published author, I am not going to be discouraging fanfiction.

FANFICTION STARTED MY INTEREST IN WRITING.

FANFICTION AUTHORS SPEND A LOT OF TIME POURING THEIR BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS INTO THE FANFIC. THEY DON’T RECEIVE ENOUGH RECOGNITION!!

Thank you for listening to my first rant. (Of probably many others)

“Why does Batman need to be a billionaire?”

“He has to fund the Justice League. They often have a space program.”

“But couldn’t he do more good if he just invested-”

“The Earth is routinely invaded by aliens, gods, and the forces of an extraterrestrial god of tyranny.”

Too many people who are interested in Dionysus worry that he'll reject them if they aren't some flavour of alcoholic, so I say this gently:

PLEASE RESEARCH HIM

Dionysus is so much more than a drunkard wine god who requires your inebriation (he isn't and he doesn't). He's a god of the oppressed, of insanity, of liberation, of death and rebirth, of fertility, and yes, of wine

Dionysus is violence, love, the calm before the storm and the rage within one, the breath before you scream and your roar of victory, communion, ecstasy, dance, utter stillness, anger, joy...

And he will love you no matter what

This post has been rephrased from the original

Sometimes I forget I have free will

Have a turtle Hermes

Anyways, for the people who need it;

The Gods aren’t mad at you. They don’t hate you. They’re not punishing you. They will not do any of those things for nearly any reason. If you’ve not murdered someone, or done something along those lines, you’re safe.

If you’re having anxiety surrounding it I would take a step back to breathe. The Gods will understand. Remember mundane over magic - I know it can be anxiety inducing when something appears off, but I promise the Gods aren’t mad.

If you’re hearing voices, like I did, that claim to be the Gods and are commanding, persecutory, distressing, or stressful take a deep breath. You’re going to be alright. The Gods aren’t mad at you. You’re not a bad person. If you can, make an appointment with a psychiatrist. You will get through this.

I love you and the Gods do too.

for lady hestia

Finally finished this filet crochet project of the goddess Hestia!

I'm insanely proud of it and it's currently being blocked

Done with a 1.5mm hook, pen for scale below:

Just in time for Valentine’s Day... 💔 

Ready to break up with Google?

So are we!

We’ve rounded up a bunch of privacy-centric alternatives for everything Google.

Check out the full list over on the blog!

- The Ellipsus Team xo

Love without Sex

I’m doing a Philosophy paper on Asexuality. Please reblog if you think Love without Sex is possible! I really need the data. Like if you think love has to have sex.

Why not 🙂‍↕️

biggest reason i make so many flop posts on here is because everything i do reeks of the desperation to make a popular tumblr post. this is deliberate, because it is what protects me from ACTUALLY making a popular tumblr post. so long as i crave it, tumblr fame will never find me. it is only when i turn away, and accept my fate of obscurity, that people will lay their eyes upon me. and it WILL be because i tripped and fell on my stupid face while i was turning

(through gritted teeth) sometimes what's good for your mental health isn't another do nothing day or a little treat sometimes what's good for you is putting in some of the work. Not all of it at once but sometimes you have to finish that essay or at least take the next step or you have to clean your room or at least dust the shelves or you gotta do the laundry or at least put it all in the hamper and it's not fun and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks but you have to because i read a post on the internet that told me that's what being nice to yourself is sometimes

Questions to ask beta readers

General:

Were you confused at any point of the story?

What genre would you say this book is?

When did you put the story down?

Is the ending satisfying?

If you had to cut 3 scenes what would they be?

When did you feel like the story really began?

What was the last book you read before this story?

Characters:

Do you get any of the characters names confused?

Which character is your favorite?

If you had to remove a character who would you and why? (you don't have to remove the character, just make sure their role is meaningful)

Which character do you relate to the most?

Which character do you relate to the least?

Do the characters feel real?

Are character relationships believable?

Are the goals clear and influence the plot?

Are the characters distinct (voice, motivations, etc)

Setting:

Which setting was clearest to you?

Which setting was the most memorable?

Am including enough/too much detail?

Plot and conflict:

Are the internal and external conflicts well defined for the main characters?

Are the internal conflicts and the external conflicts organic and believable?

Are there enough stakes?

Are the plot twists believable but still unexpected?

When I was younger and researching the autism diagnosis criteria and symptoms, I thought “oh I couldn’t POSSIBLY be autistic.” Because when I read “takes everything literally” I thought it literally meant EVERYTHING and I was like “I don’t take EVERYTHING literally, just most things!” And I just realized the other day that it didn’t actually mean EVERYTHING and that was an overstatement.

Is there a chance? 😮

ha?

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot” in their ask box

….well, she’s got the spirit!

My wife and I have a little game we play called "Speaking From Ignorance."

To play Speaking From Ignorance, all you need is a phone with a voice recorder, and another person who knows considerably more or considerably less about a topic than you do. The topic can be anything: from "how to bake a quiche" to "what happens in the Peter Jackson Hobbit movies" to "who is Florence Pugh" to "how does the traveling salesman problem work." All that matters is that one of you has a firm grasp on the material, and one of you absolutely the fuck does not.

Then the person who knows about the topic turns on the recorder, and says to the person who knows barely anything: "Hey - tell me everything you think you know about [X]."

The speaker is then not allowed to ask any questions. Nor is the expert allowed to volunteer any information. The expert is allowed to pipe up with a faintly incredulous "Oh--really? Do you--do you think so?" from time to time, but for the most part, the expert's job is just to sit there and make encouraging sounds while the speaker digs their own grave.

This is never not funny.

The reason you record it is because, very often, the first thing the speaker wants to do after finishing the recording is find out how you actually make a quiche, or whatever. Then you both get to go back and listen to how wrong they were.

We have a small library now of Speaking From Ignorance recordings, and I'm going to be listening to them until I'm eighty.

the suffering never ends

Y'all, It's finally time! I'm on page 159, with 20+ chapters, and I'm here to tell you... The first chapter is edited and ready to be read! Please do bear with me, as this was written probably 2 or 3 years ago, but I hope you enjoy! Now, with no further ado, read on below!

@queen-of-hobgobblers @deadandgaysetanta @redkarmakai

Chapter 1

Florentine

"So, the wounded hero finally dares to stand, eh? I'm almost impressed" the sneer in his words is unmistakable, though my vision seems impaired. My muscles quiver as I rise to face him. Muddy droplets drip from some long-forgotten wound. A sharp, excruciating pain flashes through my leg, centering around my kneecap. I brush it off, because I have to. I have a duty, and what am I if not successful? Who am I if I can’t even protect these people who venerate me? I stand and turn to face my attacker, steel in my heart and fire in my eyes. Their smirk ignites a simmering mix of hatred and envy. Why should they be the one to walk away with their life intact? Why don’t they have to sit and suffer in silence as their other half climbs a ladder so tall that the gods in the sky must crane their heads merely to catch a passing glimpse? Rage pulses behind my eyes, begging for cruel release.

Everything's red. His hand. The ground. The blood red dagger, forsaken long before. The sky. I can't think, can’t hear, can’t see. All that runs in my head is what went wrong. It was fine, we were fine. Everything was good. We were peaceful. Until that day. That horrid day that ripped us apart and set us on our separate, yet morbidly entwined, paths. A voice drones in the background, that one that haunts my dreams and comforts my nightmares. The ground shakes, morphing the landscape. The sky turns black and the trees fluctuate with a wonderlandian determination. The ground twists and tumbles in my eyes, falling away as I attempt to push myself up. My hands scrabble against the softening dirt and I let a grunt escape my lips. His thunderous eyes pierce my heart when his head whips toward me. His mouth moves, but the words don’t register in my ringing ears at first.

I launch myself toward his misty figure. He's waiting, baiting me. I know this. But some things are more important than playing a game. My fist flies past its mark on my first try. A haunting chuckle infuriates me further. I press him, swinging my fists with less accuracy, but I fight harder and harder, I strike and coax more and more and more until he's backed against a wide-trunked oak, trapped between wood and flesh. Blood, beautiful, glorious, shimmering blood, floods down his face as I stand triumphant over theim. Their previous courage dissipates faster than the winds he tries to command. Finally, I hold all the cards. I can be the one to finish a fight, the one to leave them broken, cowering on the ground, weak and worthless in the eyes of the once adoring, now cautious public.

My eyes shut, as a way to preserve this perfect, wonderful scene in my memory. I open them, punching in front where he should be, but the scenery has changed. No longer am I in a mournful wood, surrounded by splintered trees and freshly slaughtered rodents, but rather a village. Run-down huts flood my peripheral, and a young boy looks up at me. He grins, and I stumble back at the mania in his eyes and the blood on his teeth. His golden hair is matted, but his shoes shine with care and polish and his hands have never known a day of work.

"Hey, mister! That was one nice punch you got there! Look, it even made me bleed!" The bloodlust in his eyes is unmistakable, and I collapse to my knees while my younger self drones on about my attack. It was all a dream. Just a dream. Always so close, and yet they’re always one step further. The town is still decrepit, the villain is still on the loose, and I'm still the one to blame for it all. The one who let him go, let him break me a thousandfold just for a sense of my past life. How?! How could I have been so blind?! So…

The sound of my voice breaks the trance of misery and I allow tears to flood my face, my all-too-real facial incisions burning. The sobs that wrench from my body surprise even myself with the desperate plea behind it. My screams are swirling and writhing with the pain that only a truly tortured soul can contain. Horrid, deep sobs wrack my body while thorny vines, red as blood, climb up my shuddering form. The pain cuts me to the bone, but I don’t care. It grounds me. No, what I beg for is a floundering force of strength who long since abandoned me. I scream, louder than I ever have, louder than I thought I could. Even when the tears stop flowing, dry, throaty sobs and screams rack my soul and the vines tighten, clasping at my throat. Air. I need air. There's no air. A name, unintelligible, shrieks out of my mouth. I cry for him, want him, need him. I need their kind eyes, the prim distaste they hold for everyone but me. I need his voice, his heart, his love and lust. My lone earring, a silver, triadic swirl, dangles. It shines as if a beacon might, glowing with false promises. The vines know what I want, what I need. They guide my hand, tearing the piece of jewelry down, flinging it, getting lost in the heartbreak of first love, first trust, and first pain. The screams have become comforting. I know them. I know pain, and I welcome it. Grey shadows creep into my sight, and I gladly welcome them, too. They encompass my vision, and I lean into the cold, slate shadows, reminiscent of stones chilled by a frosty winter air.

"USELESS!"

I've reached page 143, so the time to vote is nigh: once I reach 150, do you guys want

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

There needs to be more cosplayers like this.

seeing straight men be disgusted by booktok smut recommenders has actually radicalized me to the side of booktok smut recommenders. girls your taste may be atrocious but i will never disparage you for exposing mainstream discourse to the concept of soaking through your underwear. spent my whole life listening to men talk about penises it’s about time they get jumpscared by women talking about pussy in crude detail on social media. go forth and goon my warriors