#Award winning Graphic Designer

[thecatsreaderslibrary]

"Meet Author Deborah Perdue," Who is an Award-Winning Writer and Graphic Designer Featured on The Readers Community at All Author...

SNIPPET: A self-published author and a book designer, Deborah L Perdue is the author of five books. With a B.A. in English, she has been writing ever since childhood. She writes spiritual articles and blog posts on gratitude. She has a daily practice of writing to keep herself engaged and motivated. In her free time, she enjoys taking walks with her dogs, nature, swimming, and artwork. ~All…

[hellomuller]

Thank you Communication Arts!

Mazebook (Dark Horse Direct Edition) will be included in the 64th Communication Arts Design Annual this September.

Special thanks to author Jeff Lemire, editor Daniel Chabon and the Dark Horse Comics team for making this edition a reality.

[branddevelopments]

What Can a Good Graphic Designer Do For You?

Branding is something that businesses take seriously these days. If you want to scale up, you have to work on developing a strong and visible brand on all fronts. This factor of being visible makes it important for business to invest in the visual appeal and messaging of the company. This is part and parcel of marketing and branding, and it requires the aid and expertise of branding agencies in Ireland. Hiring award winning graphic designers in Ireland for developing your brand yields many benefits, some of which shall be discussed in this article.

Developing a consistent brand identity is crucial to increasing customer familiarity and confidence. Graphic designers working for themselves know how important it is to maintain brand consistency in everything from business cards and logos to websites and social media accounts. A strong, identifiable brand identity that appeals to the target audience may be ensured by graphic designers by producing a unified design with dependable aspects like colour schemes and typography.

Graphic design is a broad field that includes anything from user interfaces and digital marketing materials to branding and logo design. Graphic designers frequently focus on particular areas, contributing specialised knowledge that may greatly improve a project's efficacy and quality. For example, a designer with expertise in digital marketing may provide designs that are tailored for social media campaigns, making sure that they are aesthetically pleasing and structured to maximise interaction on several channels. In order to guarantee that your company adheres to the most recent layout design and industry trends, a graphic designer with a focus on website design will also stay current with these developments.

To know more about  Award Winning Graphic Designers  please visit the website.

[cgsketchbook]

Happy New January! Here's some of my personal highlights from last year - From launching my Redbubble store, to winning awards and a whole lot of projects to be proud of! Looking forward to sharing what's coming down the pipeline in 2024 soon!

[creativesplashpune]

Building a Strong Brand Identity through Animated Logos

In the ever-evolving landscape of digital marketing, standing out from the competition is crucial. One innovative way businesses are achieving this is by harnessing the power of animated logos and motion graphics to build a strong brand identity. This blog will explore how these visual elements can enhance your brand’s presence and leave a lasting impression on your audience.

The Rise of Animated Logos and Motion Graphics Animated logos and motion graphics have been around for several years, but recent advances in technology have made them more accessible and versatile than ever. With increasing digital consumption, these dynamic visuals are becoming a must-have in the design toolkit.

An animated logo is a logo that incorporates movement or transformation. This can range from a simple spinning effect to more complex sequences that tell a story. On the other hand, motion graphics are pieces of digital footage that create the illusion of motion, often accompanied by sound. They are a powerful way to convey complex messages in an engaging and digestible format.

The Power of Animated Logos

Animated logos offer several benefits over their static counterparts. Firstly, they capture attention. In a world where consumers are bombarded with information and advertising, an animated logo can break through the noise and grab the viewer’s attention. The movement of an animated logo naturally draws the eye, making it more memorable.

Secondly, animated logos can help to tell a story. Unlike static logos, which are limited to a single image, animated logos can evolve and change, allowing for a narrative to unfold. This can add depth to your brand and evoke emotion in your audience.

Finally, animated logos can communicate your brand’s personality. The style of animation you choose – whether it’s smooth and elegant or bold and energetic – can reflect your brand’s character and values.

The Impact of Motion Graphics

Motion graphics can be a powerful tool for building your brand identity. They can simplify complex information, making it easier for your audience to understand. This is particularly useful for brands that deal with complex products, services, or concepts.

Furthermore, motion graphics can evoke emotion. Through the use of colour, movement, and sound, they can create a mood or atmosphere that resonates with your audience. This emotional connection can foster brand loyalty and encourage engagement. Lastly, motion graphics offer endless creative possibilities. They can be tailored to suit your brand’s aesthetic and can incorporate a variety of elements, including text, images, and 3D models.

Conclusion In conclusion, animated logos and motion graphics offer a dynamic and engaging way to build a strong brand identity. They can capture attention, tell a story, communicate your brand’s personality, simplify complex information, and create an emotional connection with your audience.

As technology continues to evolve and digital consumption continues to rise, the use of these visual elements is set to become increasingly important in the world of digital marketing.

We are here to help you to effectively communicate your story through Animation and Creative Thinking. Whether you’re a small start-up or a large corporation, incorporating animated logos and motion graphics into your branding strategy can help you stand out from the crowd and leave a lasting impression.

Looking to animate your logo Creative Splash can help.

[donotdestroy]

How Can Awards Help Your Company?

1. Recognition: Awards serve as external validation of the agency's creative work and expertise, boosting their reputation within the industry.

2. Credibility: Winning awards can attract new clients and partnerships, as it demonstrates a high level of skill and innovation in the field.

3. Differentiation: Awards help agencies stand out in a competitive market, showcasing their unique approach and creativity.

4. Motivation: Pursuing awards can motivate employees and foster a culture of excellence and innovation within the agency.

5. Portfolio Enhancement: Award-winning projects can be featured in the agency's portfolio, attracting more clients and opportunities.

6. Networking: Awards often come with industry events and ceremonies, providing opportunities to connect with other professionals and potential clients.

7. Financial Benefits: Winning awards can lead to higher fees and more lucrative projects.

In summary, awards can be a valuable tool for creative agencies to gain recognition, credibility, and business opportunities in a highly competitive industry.

By ChatGPT

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 8: The Reunion

“Oh god, look at all these people,” you mutter, looking around the hall the award ceremony from your seat in the developer section, which is full beyond capacity. “Don’t think I’ve seen this many people before.”

The last time you saw so many people was your graduation night at Gotham Academy, but this makes that look like a small office party in comparison.

(There is no need to fret. You have polished your speech to perfection and have rehearsed it so many times you can recite it perfectly in your sleep. And when you are done, all will cheer for you.)

You smile at its words. No matter how uncertain you feel, the Megamycete always has your back. You’d hate to think where you’d be without it.

Well, without the Megamycete, you’d probably be dead.

“Wonder where Alfred is,” you wonder, looking around at the back of the hall. “He said he was coming.”

(We are sure he is here. The butler would swim through shards of broken glass to be here at the biggest triumph of your life.)

You’re so anxious to see the man; it’s been four years since you last saw him in person and you just know he’s going to bring up your lack of visits and probably try to guilt you into visiting since Gotham’s only three hours away, but you intend to stand your ground and go back to Goodsprings tomorrow.

“I hope he likes the suit I got,” you mutter, messing with your collar for the millionth time, not use to wearing such fancy clothes.

(He will. You chose from among millions of choices and made the best choice. Everyone in the room is no doubt in awe of your superior fashion choice.)

The day you were told you were in the running for this award, you drove to Vegas and spent well over an hour at the Men’s Warehouse, looking over and trying on countless suits. The salesman helped a bit, but many people in the Megamycete’s records included many upper class men, men’s fashion designers, and models, so you were more than capable of picking out a tasteful black blazer with a breast pocket perfect for holding your Momma’s pen, a white button up shirt, and matching black pants and dress shoes.

The clothes looked fine on the rack, but wearing them in public for all to see is something you had to psych yourself up for. You feel like a kid playing pretend with his father’s clothes and everyone knows it. Still, you can’t help but feel like a professional and take a little pride in it.

Just then, the lights dim and the audience cheers as the MC steps on stage.

“Hello, everyone,” he says. “Are you ready to kick off the Golden Games?”

The room fills with thunderous applause and cheers, yours among them. You’ve known about this event for years and have never missed watching it. When you first started your game, you fantasized about being at the Gamer’s Gala competing with your fellow developers for the Golden Joystick, but knew there was no chance your first game would ever make it to the first round of voting. Perhaps your second game. Or maybe your third.

But here you are, at this prestigious event with your first ever game in top contention for a prize so many covet.

You pinch yourself to make sure you’re awake and are pleased that you’re wide awake.

The ceremony opens up with the Golden Joystick for the Triple-A Game of the Year and awards for their various categories, like story, gameplay, music, graphics, etc.

“Alright, with all the big dogs out of the way, we finally get to the indie games. And boy, was this year a massive success for so many indie developers with over fifty percent of this year’s most anticipated games being indie games! Let’s go over your picks for this year’s Indie Game of the Year.”

You get a look at the trophy you and your peers are competing for: the Golden Joystick. As the name suggests, it’s a trophy in the shape of an old fashioned joystick made up of a gold material. For a moment, you allow yourself to visualize winning it and displaying it in your office. Hell, you had a spot on a shelf made for it when you got the email from the event committee that Salvage Rights was a candidate for Indie Game of the Year, even though voting was still ongoing.

The MC begins going through the list of games with said games and their developers being displayed on one massive screen behind him with the game’s team showing up on the other one. With each game mentioned, you think about your Momma; you can remember being at some awards ceremony years ago when one of her books was up for some fancy prize. Even back then, you could tell she was so nervous about getting up and making a speech in front of so many people and having it broadcast for all to see.

At the time, you didn’t understand because she would’ve been given an award and everyone could see. Unfortunately, she didn’t win and while she said she hope to win it, it was good enough to be considered for it, you were pissed on her behalf over it.

Being here, you understand why she felt that way. While it would be a dream come true to win the Golden Joystick on your first ever game, just being here, among your peers, is more than enough; knowing you’re skilled enough to make a game worthy of being judged among the best is a tremendous honor. Plus, the thought of having to make a speech in front of so many people makes you so nervous, you fear you’ll lose your lunch.

God, you wish your Momma was here. This is the biggest moment in your professional life and having her in the audience would make you feel better.

(We are sure she would give anything to be here for you. Wherever she is, she is no doubt watching this moment with unparalleled anticipation.)

“And last but not least, the game that exploded onto the scene a month ago and made a surprise cameo on the voting polls, Salvage Rights by Gould Games,” the MC announces as your game appears on one screen while you appear on the other, lit up by a spotlight.

You feel your face break out into a blush as the room fills with applause and cheers. To know that so many people hold you and your work in such high regard… it’s humbling to say the least.

You wave back and give them a big smile.

Finally, the room quiets down, allowing the ceremony to continue.

“Ok, everyone, with all the candidates on the board.” The screen on the right of the stage lists all the games and their developers, yours the last on the list. “We opened the polls for all gamers and had a record breaking ten-point-nine million ones this year for the Indie Game of the Year, guys!”

The room once again fills with applause and a girl runs from backstage, delivers him an envelope, and runs off.

“It took the Gala Committee a while to tally the votes, but when all was said and done, it was clear who the winner was.” He opens the envelope and a drumroll plays from the speakers to buildup the moment. As he pulls out the piece of paper inside it, you realize you’re holding your breath and your heart’s stopped due to the anticipation. “The Golden Joystick for Indie Game of the Year goes to…” He looks down at the paper and looks back up. “Salvage Rights by Gould Games!”

Your eyes become wide as saucers as you process the words, your heart resumes beating and your release the breath you’d been holding since the candidates were announced. You then realize you’re bathed in the spotlights as the big screen shows you at your seat; the room fills with applause and cheers, many people near you congratulating you.

You get up and walk to the stage, nodding and clapping hands with many you pass by on your way to claim your award. Finally, you make it on stage and shake hands with the MC, who gives you the Golden Joystick.

(This is the only way this could have ended. You worked tirelessly on your game and did not stop until it was the definition of perfection. You were more worthy than any other for this trophy.)

“Thank you,” you say into the mic, silencing the room. “I just want to thank my fellow game developers, the Committee, and especially the gamers, who gave me the opportunity to be here.” This garners more applause. “I have to say, when I first started working on Salvage Rights, I never in a million years thought I’d be here, in the most prestigious gaming event, receiving the greatest award an indie game can receive, but I guess I was proven wrong.”

The room fills with laughter and you sigh in relief. Good, they seem to be liking your speech.

(As they should. You revised it over a dozen times and practiced it in front of your stuffed toys at least fifty times.)

“When I first got into video games, it was just because I was a kid who was fascinated by being able to play on a DS anytime, anyplace. Now, I’m into video games because they are the new medium of art. Think about it, there are games out there that have stories that would made Shakespeare weep, music worthy of being performed in symphonies, and art styles that should be studied by artists hundred years from now. It’s a medium that transcends all others that have come before it.”

More applause. Good, they like it.

“I first started work on Salvage Rights not long after my fifteenth birthday, nine years to the day that I unfortunately lost my Momma to a drunk driver.” You see many people in the audience take notice at this, clearly not expecting to hear something so tragic. “At the time, I was living in a place that neglected me; from the day I first arrived, I was treated like I didn’t exist and any attempts I made to get their attention was ignored.” Clearly your words resonate with people, because you can see a few people tearing up.

“I had someone there I could rely on, and he made those times more bearable, but he couldn’t get rid of that feeling of loneliness that I had felt for years and all I wanted was for my Momma to walk through that door and take me back home. But no matter how much I hoped and prayed, she never came and my loneliness only got worse with each day.

“My only escape from those days were video games. While in real life, I was a nobody in that house, but I was able to dive into one game where I was a noble hero who was destined to defeat the embodiment of evil, or dive into another game where I tamed the mightiest of beasts and triumph over the strongest of champions, or dive into one game where i could master every life skill possible and bring light to a world facing eternal darkness. It was during those days that I learned that games provided an escape from the confines of reality, if only for a little bit. And that’s when I realized I wanted to create a game that could allow someone to escape reality and become the best version of themselves.”

There’s definitely a couple people on the audience crying at this point.

(You have them eating out of the palm of your hand. Time to reel them in.)

“So, I want to thank each and every one of you, both those in this room and watching across the globe, for giving my game a chance and allowing me to fulfill my dream. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

The room explodes into applause and cheers, even a few whistles. I shake hands with the MC once more walk off stage and cross the room back to your seat, shaking hands and receiving pats on the back the entire time.

(A resounding success,) the Megamycete says as you sit down. (They hung on your every word. After tonight, everyone will know of your talent and many will beg for the opportunity to work on their newest project, offering you the world in exchange for your expertise. As they should.)

“Easy, buddy, you’re gonna give me one hell of an ego at this rate.”

(It is only naturally to think so highly of yourself. Compared to everyone in this room, you are a god.)

The rest of the ceremony features trailers for games releasing in the near future and announcements for new titles, making a note to keep an eye on many of them for you to buy on release or pre-order when they become available.

After the ceremony, you follow the rest of the developers to the Developer’s Lounge, a room that’s lavishly decorated and fully stocked with a wide array of food and drinks being served by a dozen waiters, all of it courtesy of Lex Luthor, who is currently talking to a group of triple-A executives, his bodyguard close behind him; many of your peers and various VIPs are already eating, drinking, and talking with other developers, game journalists (ugh), or their personal guests. You gratefully accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter and make your way around the room, looking around for any sign of Alfred.

“Where is he,” you mutter to yourself, scanning the room.

“Mr. Y/N Gould,” a masculine voice calls out to you, making you turn to the source: a tall, blue eyed man wearing a pair of black framed glasses, a grey jacket over a dark blue tie and light blue button up shirt, navy blue pants, and black loafers.

(We sense a spike in your heart rate. Are you alright?)

Oh, you’re better than alright. Some attractive man knows your name and wants to speak to you.

(You are attracted to this man. This is the first time we have ever experienced infatuation firsthand. We look forward to seeing this interaction unfold.)

“Yes,” you say, managing to find your voice. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” the man responds, raising his hand and you accept.

It’s then you notice the feel of something metallic and when you glance at his hand, you see a gold wedding band.

Damn it.

(We grieve the loss of your potential mate.)

Oh well, always lots of fish in the sea.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Kent?”

“Yes, the Daily Planet was hoping to write an article on the winner of the winner of the Indie Game of the Year. Is there anyway I can talk you into doing an interview?”

(He can still be of use to you. By doing this interview, he can help you find you a worthy mate.)

Great, now you have sentient mold trying to play matchmaker. Well, at least you’ll be able to get more people interested in your game. The Daily Planet’s the biggest paper in Metropolis and has decent following around the country.

“I hope you can wait a little while for that interview, Kent.”

You freeze at the new voice, a voice you haven’t heard in over four years. You hope that, somehow, you’ve made some huge mistake and it’s not who you think it is. You then realize that the entire room’s gone silent, sans a few whispers, and now all eyes are on you and the newcomer behind you, Clark chief among them.

You realize that your breathing and your heartbeat have ceased, and the pit of anxiety and fear from earlier has returned, but there’s now rage included in that mix; rage you haven’t felt in over four years. Rage that finally went away when you finally escaped Gotham and put it and Wayne Manor in your rearview mirror.

You feel a hand grasp your left shoulder and out of the corner of your eye, see a tall figure come to a stop to your right. You slowly turn your head to fae the figure and look up to see your worst nightmare: Bruce Fucking Wayne looking down at you, his signature fake ass smile adorning his stupid mug and a champagne flute similar to yours in hand.

He’s dressed far too formal for an event about video games, wearing a designer black suit with matching pants that probably cost more than your car. You can dig through all your memories of the man and never find one instance of the man wearing anything casual. And that smile of his, the one he always flashes to his insufferable blue-blooded friends; you want to punch him so hard in the face that every last tooth shatters, but you manage to put a lid on that urge.

If only just barely.

(What is this shameless heathen doing here,) the Megamycete hisses. (The audacity of this creature to show up on the best night of your life and ruin it. You should kill him. Immediately.)

Right now, you’re really tempted to give him the Joker Treatment.

“I’m afraid Y/N and I have much to talk about.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark stampers out. “Do you know Mr. Gould?”

“I would say so,” he responds in that fake cheery tone he only reserves for galas and paparazzi, those “honeyed words” so disgustingly sweet and fake it makes you want to vomit. Preferably on him. He tries to pull you closer to him, but you’re able to resist it no problem thanks to the Megamycete. “He’s my son.”

And like that, the crowd around you descends into chaos, many of them loudly talking among themselves while others take out their phones and cameras and begin snapping pictures of the two of you, and so many media types are shouting questions towards you and him.

But all that doesn’t really phase you. Right now, you feel as if the world has crumbled around you and now you’re left free falling in an endless void, doomed to spend the rest of eternity in this sort of purgatory.

You’re frozen where you stand, unable to look anywhere else but at the face of the man you hate with your entire being and as you look into those eyes of his, every single memory of your stay at Wayne Manor flashes before your eyes; you’re overwhelmed by the feelings of sadness, loneliness, pain, and humiliation you were forced to deal with during those twelve long, horrible years. Right now, it takes every bit of restraint and willpower you have to not let all the thoughts you have of ripping this bastard’s head off and kicking it so far that every NFL team in the country would offer you fifty million in advance if you signed on with them become reality.

(You should do it. Kill this man. Teach him the meaning of pain. Let him feel all the pain he and his flock have caused you for years and despair. Make him regret ever taking you for granted.)

Ok, your usual voice of reason is now howling for blood. This does not bold well for you.

“Mr. Wayne,” you finally respond, finding the strength to keep your voice steady and not cause a scene (or at least a bigger one than he has already); you brush his hand off your shoulder, making a mental note to burn these clothes (damn it, you paid good money for these). “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, I’m definitely not your son. Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink? Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You should sit down before you make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of all these people.”

His smile falls and you can see the hurt shine in his eyes for a fraction of a second. He’s an expert at concealing his emotions, so for you to do something like that makes you giddy.

“Y/N,” he pathetically responds as he reaches out to you, but you take a step back. “I am—“

“You’re a sperm donor, nothing more, Mr. Wayne,” you hiss, revealing in the hurt expression that breaks out on his face. It’s probably fake, a stunt to pull for the crowd, but you don’t care. You’ve held all these feelings in for years and now that you have the chance to give this son of a bitch a piece of your mind, you’re taking it. “You’re not my dad and I’m sure as hell not your son!”

“Y/N, I know I wasn’t the best father to you, but—“

You lose it at that. All the abuse and misery and neglect you had to deal with from him and his kids for over ten years, and he has the nerve to say he “knows” anything about how you feel? In a swift motion, you throw your champagne at him, dousing his face in the clear-yellowish drink that quickly pours down his neck and soaks his expensive black jacket.

The crowd gasps at this, but you absolutely couldn’t give a shit. This was to be the best night of your life and he had to go and ruin it by daring to show his hideous face and dare to have a conversation with you. Fuck, he probably took Alfred’s place, so you had no one here to share in your big moment, something that makes you even more pissed off.

Throwing your champagne at him only made your rage burn hotter, demanding to inflict as much pain and suffering on this man that you’ve suffered for years. You quickly close the gap between you two, deliver a harsh right hook to the right side of the man’s jaw and follow up by shoving the man as hard as you can (though still holding back a lot of strength so you don’t reveal what you really are), causing him to topple to the floor, landing on his ass.

At this rate, you don’t really care what people say about you after this, all you care about is hurting him. You look down at the pathetic wretch at your feet and love the look of horror and pain etched on his face, reveling in the terror in his eye and the blood dripping from his closed mouth.

(Yes,) the Megamycete screams. (More. More. Make him hurt. Make him bleed. Make him realize who the superior one is.)

“Someone call an ambulance, this asshole’s gonna need one,” you growl, pouncing towards the man who made you lose the best years of your life, ready to pound his face so hard that they’ll have to rely on fingerprints to identify him.

Just then, you’re caught in mid-air and when you look behind you, it’s Clark, his arms wrapped around your waist in a surprisingly strong grip.

“Mr. Gould,” he says in a tone like he’s trying to soothe a startled animal (which isn’t too far off the mark). “Please, control yourself.”

You don’t want to. In front of you is the man who treated you like shit from the day you two met, making you wish you were in the car when your Momma died so that you never met him. This was suppose to be your night — your moment of triumph — and he had to go and ruin it. And you want nothing more than to put this man in a full body cast, and that’s you being generous.

But when you see the look of total shock on his face, and everyone in the crowd who has the same expression, your rage finally cools down. Not because you feel guilty over what you did to Bruce, you were ready to reduce him to a bloody red paste, but because everyone just saw your absolute worst.

You go slack in Clark’s hold and that’s when he finally lets you go, having to command the mold to reinforce your leg bones to keep you standing because without it, you’re ready to collapse form the burst of energy you just burned through.

“Is there a problem here,” Lex says as he emerges from the crowd, Mercy following close behind. He glances down at Bruce and a ghost of a smirk appears on his face.

“I have an axe to grind with him,” you say, doing your best to even out your voice. “I’m sorry for making a scene.”

“What about pushing Mr. Wayne,” Lex asks, motioning to the man.

“No, that’s something I’m very proud of.”

You can see Bruce flinch at that and it makes you feel good.

“Well, it’s always a pleasure to see Bruce Wayne be taken down a peg,” the man chuckles. He then turns to the rest of the crowd. “Alright, show’s over, everyone. Go back to your own business.”

Slowly but surely, the crowd breaks up and the party resumes, but you can definitely tell many of the media types are still looking at you and Bruce and are no doubt chomping at the bit to talk to either of you, many of them furiously typing on their phones, probably texting their bosses and sending whatever pictures and videos they took.

“Mr. Gould, I’d be honored if you would give me a few minutes of your time.” He extends his arm as if you were a woman. “I have much I’d like to talk with you about.”

You discreetly glance down at Bruce, who looks like he’s ready to do to Lex what you did to him a minute ago. You know that Lex is only doing this to piss off Bruce, his biggest business rival, and is probably using you in hopes of getting some speck of dirt on Bruce and maybe even some Wayne Enterprises secrets.

And god damn it if the thought of that doesn’t make you giddy.

“Of course,” you say in a sweet tone of voice, looping your arm in Lex’s. “The honor would be mine.”

He leads you towards a private area of the lounge and as you pass by Bruce, who’s still on the floor, you glance over at him and give him a dirty look, making it clear that you hate his guts and the next time he tries something like this, you won’t hold back.

You don’t know what Bruce wants and why he’s suddenly showed up after four years of your leaving, but chances are he’s only here to serve his own agenda and you want nothing to do with him or his crazy ass family. You have your own life and are finally happy for the first time in years, and you’ll be damned if you’ll allow all your hard work to be destroyed.

If it comes down to it, you’ll wage war against him and the rest of the Bats.

(Yes, clip their wings. Tear them to shreds. Grind them into powder. Tear down everything that they are and leave nothing behind so they are forgotten by the world.)

Bruce watches as you and Lex wonder off to some desolate corner of the lounge, simultaneously plotting an attack on Lex Corp that will hot Luthor hard and replaying his interaction with you, going through millions of different ways that could’ve gone better. Or at least, not ended with you almost tearing him limb from limb, the only thing saving him was Kent’s intervention.

Ok, maybe approaching you like Brucie Wayne, millionaire playboy philanthropist, was a bad idea, but it was the only way he could think of that wouldn’t scare you off. He really thought that talking to you with his usual charm and bravado would’ve at least given him a chance to talk to you.

All it got him was a look into your temper.

Fuck, the look of pure rage and disgust in your eye the entire time you talked to him. Right now, he just wants to curl up and die, but he also wants to scoop you up into his arms, hug you tightly, and beg for your forgiveness, no matter how much of a fool he made of himself or how much you bite, scratch, and hit him.

It’s then he thinks back on you shoving him and it’s then he realizes it doesn’t make any sense. He’s a solid six-foot-two, way taller than you and while he would never call you weak, you definitely aren’t a bodybuilder, so he should’ve been able to withstand your shove no problem. But he’s been fighting against beings with super strength all his adult life, so he knows the difference between a strong human and a Meta.

But you’re not a Meta, right? He’s spent the last twenty-four hours digging up every piece of information he can on you, your medical records from Southern Hills Hospital being one of the first things he delved into. When you were born, you were a healthy baby boy, no signs of illness and certainly no trace of the Meta Gene. He even has your medical records during your time in Gotham (Alfred being the one to take you to all your appointments because he certainly didn’t do it), and everything points to you being in perfect health.

So, how were you able to shove him like that, a man who goes toe-to-toe with the likes of Bane on a regular basis?

“Are you ok, Bruce,” Clark asks, extending his hand to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he responds, brushing the hand aside and getting up on his own.

“Pardon me if I don’t believe that, I could tell you were shaken up by that.”

If there’s one skill Bruce prides himself on, it’s his ability to conceal his emotions, able to hide his true feelings from anyone and everyone, even from telepaths such as Martian Manhunter.

But seeing how his son, his baby boy, feels about him made him forget his control. Him not being able to hide the pain he felt when you lashed out at him, clearly holding a lot of anger and resentment towards him, was one of the few experiences that has shaken him to his core.

“Mr. Wayne,” Vicky Vale says as she emerge from the crowd and approaches them. “Care to make a statement on what just happened?”

It takes everything he has to not let out a groan. Of course, Vicky Vale is always there whenever some drama happens to either him or his children in public. She had a field day with him when he she asked about his bruises and limp he got last time he fought Killer Croc and he had to play it off as some really kinky sex he and some supermodel had.

“Not now, Vicky,” he responds, leading Clark closer to where you and Lex walked off to. “I have a prior engagement with Mr. Kent here.”

“I didn’t know you had a son before Damian,” Clark whispers as they walk.

“Let’s just say I did everything wrong when it came to him,” he responds back, keeping his voice low. “I found out I screwed up and came here to try to make amends. You know how that ended.”

“I know, we all had front row seats to that. Also, I’ve been listening to his and Lex’s conversation the entire time.”

“What’s that bastard saying to him,” he hisses, pissed off beyond words that snake is talking to you, his baby boy.

“So far, Y/N’s just trash talking you, calling you every name in the book and angry that you ruined his big night.”

Bruce winces at that. He knew it’s Alfred you want here to share in your achievement, but he couldn’t miss this night, not when he’s missed so much of your life. To see you, smiling on stage and acting so humble after wining an award as important as that was absolutely mesmerizing.

Of course, your speech hit him like a freight train. He knew he wasn’t the father you deserved, but to hear you talk about your time with him so poorly was more than he was prepared to handle. Of course you miss your mother and he’s glad you think so highly of her, but is there really nothing he can do to make you reconsider giving him another chance? To give his family another chance?

“Lex is now offering to be a benefactor to Gould Games; Y/N have total creative license on all projects and would be given a massive office in one of Metropolis’ premiere high-rises.”

“In exchange for WE secrets, no doubt.”

The thought of you and Lex working together makes him sick. The man is a snake and wouldn’t hesitate to betray you if it benefitted him in any way. If you need money for your new games, he’d be more than happy to do it! You could be a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises with as large a budget as you want, with your choice of office in Wayne Tower or around Gotham. You’d have all the best computers and software that money could buy and if you need to hire more people, you can choose all the people you want and he’d personally arrange for them to be flown to Gotham, ready to work as soon as possible.

“That’s right,” Clark responds. “Don’t worry, he turned him down. Looks like you won’t be losing nay more money to Lex this year.”

“Y/N doesn’t know anything.”

As sad as it is, that’s the truth; you’d been shut out by all of them that you couldn’t give any of his secrets away. Hell, you don’t even know that you’ve been living with Gotham’s vigilantes.

“He’s been kept in the dark about everything,” he mutters as he looks at you, chatting away with Metropolis’ biggest wannabe.

Maybe he should tell you that he and your siblings are Gotham’s vigilantes? Not that it’s any excuse with how they treated you for yeas, but with any hope, it would make you more understanding on why they were always so busy and at least consider talking with them.

Just then, Clark winces at something Lex just said.

“What,” he snaps.

“Lex just invited him for dinner. And based off his tone, he has more in mind than just business.”

And with that, all he can see is red and he’s filled with rage at the bald bastard.

“Bruce, wait,” Clark calls out as he stops over to where you are.

“Bruce,” Lex says with a smirk as he approaches the both of you. “I hope you’re not looking for another beating from Y/N.”

He looks over to you, your expression clearly indicating you’re visualizing beating the hell out of him right now.

“Of course not, I just wanted to extend an invitation to him for dinner. It’s been forever since we had a father-son dinner.”

“We’ve never had dinner together before,” you snarl.

“His loss, I assure you,” Lex responds, giving you a look that makes Bruce want to punch his lights out.

“Y/N has nothing you want, Lex,” Bruce growls, trying to keep his anger from getting the best of him. “Leave him alone.”

“I disagree, Bruce. Y/N is charming, witty, and a delightful to be around.” He has a twinkle in his eye that makes Bruce even angrier. “He definitely takes after his mother.”

Bruce opens his mouth to spit some insult at the fucker, but you intervene.

“Yes, Momma raised me well,” you say, looking right at him before looking back at Lex. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Luthor, but I’m afraid I’m heading back home first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe the next time I’m in the area?”

“I’m certainly hoping that will be soon.” He pulls out a card and hands it to you. “My personal phone number and email. The next time you come to Metropolis, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me and I’ll see to it you’re afforded every luxury this city has to offer.”

“Thank you,” you responded, taking the card and pocketing it. “I certainly hope to visit again soon. Metropolis is way better than Gotham. Hard to believe that cesspit is its sister city.”

He winces hearing your clear disdain for his city, the home of his family. Your rightful home.

“Indeed,” Lex chuckles. “Gotham is so painfully outdated in every respect it’s almost funny. If I had my way, all of its archaic structures would be torn down and replaced for more modern and aesthetically pleasing replacements.”

“That style is Gotham,” Bruce growls, unable to put up with the disrespect of his city. “Gotham has resembled its current form for over a hundred years now. It’s a reflection of its storied past.”

“A storied past of misery and insanity,” you respond. “Gotham isn’t a place where good people end up. It’s a spiderweb that slowly drains everyone within it of all they have, leaving nothing but empty husks behind. Maybe all of it should be torn down.”

You say the words, but all he hears is his voice. When his parents were killed, he felt the same way about Gotham as you do. It took him years to finally shed his hatred and resentment for the city and see its beauty. As much as you’d probably hate to admit it, you really are his son.

“I’d love to stay and continue this riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have an appointment across town. He turns to his bodyguard. “Mercy, ready the car.” She nods and leaves. “And Y/N, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in my city. Perhaps you’d allow me the honor of taking you to the airport myself?”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Luthor,” you say, giving that bastard a smile that makes his blood boil.

“Please, call me Lex.”

“Ok, Lex,” you say with a chuckle.

Oh, he’s going to make Luthor suffer for this. When he gets back to the Batcave, he’s going to plant so many viruses into Luthor’s systems, he’ll spend months recovering a single piece of data.

Finally, the man walks away, leaving you and him alone at last.

“I’ll say this only once, Mr. Wayne,” you say in a tone that shows you mean business. “So listen close: I don’t know what you’re doing here or what you hoped to achieve here, but stay away from me. I’m finally happy for the first time in years and I won’t allow you to fuck it up for me.”

He winces at your words. And the fact that you’re calling him “Mr. Wayne,” like he’s a stranger (though with how he treated you for over ten years, that’s not too far from the truth). He knows that he has no right to be called “dad” or “father,” but you can’t even call him by his name like your siblings do? Do you really hate him that much?

“Y/N, please—“

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, cutting him off. “This is your only warning: stay away from me. I’m not weak like I was when I was first dragged to Gotham. Keep butting in where you don’t belong and I’ll personally reunite you with your parents.”

You go to walk away, but he grabs you by your shoulder. You quickly snap your head to look at him, your expression so full of hate and disgust. He knows this isn’t helping his case, but he can’t let you leave like this; he needs to keep you here so he can talk to you, to beg you for just a few minutes of your time.

You grab his hand with yours and begin squeezing so hard his hand begins to throb and he has to fight to hide his expression of pain from the crowd.

Not only do you not look you visit the gym, but this type of strength is something beyond what a normal human is capable of. Just what secrets do you have?

He meets your gaze and he has to suppress the fear he feels when looking in your eyes. There’s hate in them, no doubt about that, but there’s something else in them. Something dark. It also doesn’t help that you have his mother’s eyes and seeing them look at him that way cuts him to his core.

You shove his hand away from you and you storm off, ignoring as a dozen journalists come up to you and leaving him to stand there, watching you walk away from him and ignoring the throbbing of his hand.

“You ok,” Clark asks after walking up to him.

“No,” he mutters. He looks down at the camera in the Kryptonian’s hand. “Did you take any pictures of him during the ceremony?”

“Yeah,” the reporter responds, holding it up. “I was in the press section of the audience. I got a couple good shots.”

“Send them to me,” he orders while walking off.

Many reporters try to talk to him, but he doesn’t spare them a second glance. Right now, all that matters is planning his next move. You’ve made it very clear that you resent them for how they treated you while you lived with them and while he understands that perfectly, you need to understand that he’s your father and his children are your siblings.

He’s happy that you’ve made a life for yourself in Nevada and are successful in your career as a video game developer, but you’re a Wayne and all Waynes belong in Gotham, under his roof.

He gets his phone out and tells his children to be ready for a family meeting as soon as he returns in the morning. As much as he wants to find a way to bring you back to the fold on his own, he can’t do it alone. With any luck, your siblings will be able to reach you. Hell, he might have to call on Alfred to help bring you home.

He will uncover everything about you (including whatever what you just did) and when he does, he’ll use that knowledge to make you realize you’re son and your rightful place is by his side, where he can keep an eye on you and shield you from the dangers of this world.

One way or another, you’ll come back to Gotham and when you do, he and you’ll siblings will shower you in the love you deserve. And after that, they’ll throw the biggest gala ever, with you as the centerpiece, and show you off as the most important member of the Wayne Family; all of Gotham elite will climb over one another in hopes of courting you, but he and you siblings will never allow them to come anywhere close to you as you won’t need anyone but them to keep you company.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes or what he has to do, he’ll learn your secrets (as is his birthright) and lead you back to where you belong.

Even if he has to drag you back home by your ankles.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @v0idl1nq @diejager @solelifauna @bunbunbread @ratchetprime211 @ellaprime7 @fantasyhopperhea @exactlynumberonekryptonite @bellethesleepypotato @roseytheteacup @orbitingtraveler @lunaluz432

[rad-batson]

The Batkids and The Arts (Feral Edition)

They’re all musical theatre nerds. Every single one of them. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass, Jason, Steph, Tim, Duke, Damian. They go see Broadway shows together then don’t stop talking about it for like a week. It is the one bonding activity they will never pass up.

Jason and Steph once entered a ballroom dancing competition and won after some pompous rich kids insulted their moves during a gala. Since then, they’ve entered a competition every month or so just for fun. (And for the prize money :P)

Tim is an avid believer that Culinary Art is one of The Arts. (Can he cook? Absolutely not. It was Bernard that convinced him, but he stands by it.)

Duke talks through every single movie he watches. He always promises to be quiet at the beginning, but then he gets too excited and whispers commentary to the people around him. This habit has since bled into the entire family. They are no longer welcome at the local AMC.

Every single one of them is pretentious about something.

Dick is pretentious about any and all performance arts featured at the circus. Once, someone made a joke about going to “Clown School” and Dick screamed at them about how not even their pinky would have the privilege of being admitted into clown school.

Jason is pretentious about classic literature. They can no longer tell if his jokes and references to Shakespeare and Jane Austen are correct or if he’s just fucking with them.

Cass gets pretentious about martial arts being a performance art. She is also pretentious about ballet being a martial art. She could kill a man in fifth position without losing her balance, and that’s a fucking fact.

Stephanie is very good at acting pretentious about the arts. She absorbs everything she’s learned from the rest of the bat family’s interests then pretends to be pretentious about it to mock them while sneaking in just enough correct information so no one can call her out on it. (Her true interest is graphic design.)

Tim has no professional experience with photography, but he will be pretentious about it like he knows everything. (Bruce: Tim, why is there a filter on this evidence photo you took? Tim: I thought it looked nicer that way. Really makes the blood splatter pop.)

Duke isn’t exactly pretentious about writing, but he will lay down his life for the Oxford comma. (Bruce didn’t use it until Duke called the punctuation in his mission reports “insulting.” He now uses it.)

Damian is pretentious about studio art. If he ever hears his family or friends say, “I don’t get it,” at an art museum, he will make them look at it for five minutes as he explains in painstaking detail what’s so revolutionary about it.

The kids decided to take an improv class together once for their undercover work while Bruce and Alfred were out of town. It was so fun that they still play improv games when they’re bored.

Cass is secretly a metalhead.

Whenever one of the younger kids needs to write an English paper, they will just walk up to Jason, riddle off a dumb opinion about the book or poem they had to read, and record whatever Jason ends up lecturing them about. The most recent incident resulted in an award-winning paper about how the theory that William Shakespeare never wrote his own work is deeply rooted in classism.

Damian always has paint under his nails. It just never comes out.

Dick has personally taught everyone in the family how to do The Perfect Backflip. They all get a little ceremony once they’ve mastered it. There is cake.

Whenever Cass is standing around with nothing to do, she’ll practice her foot positions for ballet. The others always notice and follow her lead.

Jason: dramatically recites a poem in the living room Steph: starts beatboxing

Steph is always the first to find typos or continuity errors in a book, play, or movie. She doesn’t intend to; it’s just second nature to her. (She is now Duke’s official proofreader.)

Duke: So how’d you like the movie? Damian: I really loved the mise-en-scène, especially during the breakfast scene and that one shot near the end with the warehouse doors. Duke: *nods thoughtfully* Everyone Else Leaving the Theater: wtf is a meez on sen?

When Duke is finished writing something and wants to share it with his family, he’ll give it to Jason and Cass first.

Jason and Duke have frequent passionate arguments discussions about who is the best poet. Never bring up Dickinson, Poe, Shakespeare, Hughes, Plath, Wilde, Kipling, Sappho, or Angelou in their vicinity unless you want to start it up again.

Damian is surprisingly good at acting. Too good.

Dick knows your music taste before you do. He has a carefully curated playlist for every single family member, every possible combination of family members, and every possible mood at the ready.

They can and will correct anyone who mistakes Gothic architecture for Victorian or Gothic Revival and vice versa. (It’s really a Gotham thing.)

Tim: How dare you call The Grand Budapest Hotel the best prison break movie when it’s clearly The Shawshank Redemption! Jason: Well, as someone who’s BEEN TO PRISON, I think I should know! Dick: It’s clearly Chicken Run! You’re all just Chicken-ist. Duke: But what about Midnight Express?! That one’s so good! Steph: Has anyone mentioned Toy Story 3 yet? No? Damian, watching from the sidelines: I liked Escape from Alcatraz. Cass: Same.

There are several art pieces in the manor that have been positioned directly over top of bullet holes and other suspicious damages.

Damian and Duke made an animated short film once for the Gotham Film Festival. Dick and Cass were their models for the concept art. Tim did historical research. Jason helped Duke edit the storyboard, and Steph was the continuity supervisor. It was about a British super spy working for MI6 that saved the world in the late 70’s. It was titled Agent A.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: February 2024

Happy February 29th. A day that only happens once every four years deserves something special, so let’s dive right in.

ComicScene Awards win!

Good Omens: The Official (and Ineffable) Graphic Novel won the award for Best Crowdfunder at the ComicScene Awards! We want to say a huge THANK YOU; it’s an award voted for entirely by comics fans, so we appreciate the continued enthusiasm and championing of the Kickstarter. You can read more about the award here. A nice companion to the Comedy.co.uk Award win for Season 2 as Best TV Comedy Drama, and the British Film Designers Guild Planet Positive Award. Wahoo.

PledgeManager.

We’re happy to say that the PledgeManager launch is coming in a few weeks. With our monthly update in March, we’re planning to move to the next stage of the campaign: here you’ll be able to add your shipping addresses, pay for shipping, and add any additional items that you might have missed during the campaign. We’ll have FAQs available once it is launched.

Now to the new stuff…

Ready to rep the world’s best antiquarian and unusual bookshop? The first of our A.Z. Fell & Co merch has arrived: bookmarks are here and looking tip top. 

Our A.Z. Fell sample socks have, ironically, gone walkabout before we got a picture, however, here's a very quick snap of the Crowley pair.

Artwork, artwork and… some more artwork.

The prints keep on coming and this time we’ve got four in one. Behold, Anna Morozova’s take on the four horsewomen of the apocalypse in one glorious image:

The large-scale map of Tadfield (and the rest of the planet) by Julien Labit is underway, so here are a couple of sneak peeks at different locales from the world of Good Omens in their earlier design stages:

When we say it’s large-scale, wait until you see the full one. Huge! So much to explore.

And, in terms of artwork, we’ll end on a few inked previews from the graphic novel by Colleen Doran of our favourite Angel and Demon:

And… how would we describe it? A little mishap regarding losing the antichrist?

More pins.

You didn't think we could go this whole update without pins, did you? You can see updates of the pins outside of Kickstarter at goodomenshq.com. But for now, here's a few:

Future items…

Another ongoing thanks for sharing what you’d like to see in the eventual Good Omens merch store. We’ll have a few new things available via the PledgeManager directly from your suggestions - mainly alternative designs and variants for some add ons, with ambitions for plenty more on the official store. The list you’ve helped us put together is quite ambitious, but we’re up to the challenge *looks up how to make actual angel wings* 

(joking… we think?)

Moving forward, piece by piece. 

p.s. Another little preview.

Until next time.

[picardsims]

Picardsims' 3k CAS Challenge

Sooooo I hit 3000 followers!! In order to celebrate, I invite everyone to participate in my little CAS challenge/contest!!!

Rules: Pick an apartment with a backstory that speaks to you (or multiple) and make a sim/family (your pick on whether you want to make the whole family or just one sim) who could live there. CC allowed, anything is allowed really. In two weeks (so, 22nd of April) I'll pick 3 of my favorites to get a prize! If you win, you can tell me any 3 build-buy items and I'll make them for you! (deco, unless it's something I 100% know how to make functional :>) In order for me to see it use the tag #picardsims3k (and tag me!! I'll see it sooner probably but I'll look at everything in the tag promise) Without further ado:

Apartment #1: Ro Kaya 62/1

Sims: 2 This apartment belongs to an elderly… couple? Two friends? Nobody knows and they're too scared to ask. You can find the tenants of this apartment in the hallway or on their balcony, keeping tabs on the neighborhood. Nothing gets past them. If you get on their good side, you will get invited for tea and get treated to fascinating stories from the past.

Apartment #2: Ro Kaya 62/2

Sims: 5 Is there enough space in this apartment for this married couple, their twins and their toddler? Definitely not. However, they just finished renovating it when they got pregnant (may or may not have been an accident), so it's not like they're going to move now… How long can the parents survive sharing their bedroom with their little one?

Apartment #3: Ro Kaya 62/3

Sims: 1 Their whole life, this Sim has wanted to be an artist. That didn't sit right with their straightlaced doctor parents, who refused to support them through art school. On impulse they moved to Tomarang and befriended a local painter, who allowed them to stay in their old apartment. Now that they're an award-winning graphic designer, their parents are finally trying to reconnect. Will they let them back in? Or is their chosen family the only one in their heart?

Apartment #4: Ro Kaya 64/1

Sims: 2 A single father raising a teenage daughter… What could go wrong? He's obsessed with plants, she loves gaming with her friends. She's mad he keeps putting plants in her room, he's mad she keeps putting laundry on the floor. However, no matter how hard they fight, there's nothing a midnight session of making pancakes together cannot fix.

Apartment #5: Ro Kaya 64/2

Sims: 2 After their grandmother passed, moving into her apartment was a dream come true for this Sim. Not so much for their partner. You see, grandma ran a very popular bakery, and they're supposed to inherit the business — sounds great, except they don't like baking all that much. One partner whose entire life has revolved around cakes and cookies, one partner who only uses the oven to make frozen pizza — can they handle the challenge? Or will their relationship crumble like bread with too much flour?

Apartment #6: Ro Kaya 64/3

Sims: 5 Two couples and one single person, this apartment sure is crowded. However, when you're just starting college, that doesn't sound all that bad — the rent is low, and there's always someone to party with! However, they'll soon learn it's not all loud music and cheap drinks — there's a line for the bathroom and you're never sure whose turn it is to vacuum (not yours though, that's for sure).

Remember: the tag is #picardsims3k, the deadline for the prize is 22nd of April (feel free to keep it going longer though!) and I'm incredibly thankful for each and every person who follows me (I am not kidding though dm me pictures of those pets I know you have them)

Enjoy! kotpicard

[queer-ragnelle]

Camelot (2011) | Created by Michael Hirst & Chris Chibnall

Arthurian Film List | Arthurian Show List | Movie review below the cut ⤦

Star Rating: 10/10

Content Warning: graphic nudity & sexuality, heavy gore, torture, rape

Overview: Full disclosure, I'm hella biased. I watched this every week while it aired back in 2011. But having re-watched the series again numerous times since then, I stand by my love for it. If there was anything I would add, it would be dogs. Where are the puppies?! The costume designer for this show went on to win awards for her work on The Tudors, all the acting is prenominal, the set designs, the score and sound design, the writing is just insanely good. Even when I don't agree with all narrative choices, I'm convinced to appreciate them here. Eva Green is by far my favorite Morgan and James Purefoy my favorite Lot. I wasn't born queer, their intense sex scenes with blood oaths and body hair queerified me. Who said that. Anyway the biggest thing to praise about this show is how abundantly and well it centers women's stories. Igraine, Guinevere, Morgan, Vivian, Sebile, Bridget. You're all really amazing. I support women's rights and women's wrongs.

Synopsis: Morgan returns from her many years at the nunnery and is immediately rejected by Uther and her step mother Igraine. She vows vengeance and returns to the castle later in the guise of a child to secretly poison the king. As Uther lays dying, Merlin gets him to sign over his kingship to the son he never met. The show then transitions to Arthur, who has been raised along side foster-brother Kay by their loving parents in ignorance they are not fully brothers. Merlin shows up and spills the beans, taking Arthur and Kay with him to Camelot, an old crumbling castle they need to rebuild as the center of a great city. There, Uther's old knights, including Lancelot Leontes and his fiancée Guinevere, wait for them. Meanwhile Morgan turns castle Pendragon inside out to remake it for her own liking, including bringing on Vivian as her messenger and handmaiden, and Sebile the nun as her advisor. She also allies herself with King Lot intending to claim the throne of Britain for herself. Morgan and Arthur must battle for the right to take their father King Uther's place.

Final Thoughts: This show really has it all. It's a tragedy it was cancelled after a single season. There was so much set up that will never get pay off. I cry every day. The homoeroticism between Kay and Gawain going unfulfilled haunts me. Read Exiled From Camelot by Cherith Baldry to get your fix but damn I'm so sad we didn't see more of them in a second season. HUGE SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING but it set up that Guinevere was pregnant with Galahad and would take the bloody seat of the Round Table where Leontes was meant to sit, meanwhile Morgan was pregnant with Mordred in a last bid for power after she was finally revealed to Arthur as a threat. GO WATCH!!!!!!!

[mybeingthere]

Sophie Wake, British artist, lives and works in Ashburton, Devon, UK.

She explains:

"I graduated from Brighton University, with a BA Hons in Graphic Design / Illustration and worked for many years as a busy freelance illustrator. Today, I respond to the rhythms of meditation and ancient tree tea ceremony which has become a fundamental companion to my creative approach."

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

During my conversation with Richard Hanania about the 2019 Academy Award-winning film Parasite, I talked about how viewers and critics were quick to assume that Parasite was about a rich family and a poor family.

It shows how little people know about class.

This is how the director of the movie, Bong Joon Ho, characterized the Kim family:

“The father has accumulated numerous business failures, the mother who trained as an athlete has never found particular success, and the son and daughter have failed the university entrance exam on multiple occasions.”

This is not the profile of a poor or working class family. The Kims are not poor, they are failed middle class.

This is why, in an early scene in the movie, they were so bad at folding those pizza boxes.

In high school, I worked at an Italian restaurant as a busboy and dishwasher.

In his terrific memoir on slum tourism, Down and Out in Paris and London, George Orwell uses the French term plongeur—a person employed to wash dishes and carry out other menial tasks in a restaurant or hotel—to describe his occupation as he was struggling in Paris.

Plongeur sounds much better than “bus boy.”

Anyway, my coworkers in the pizza station were, like the rest of us in the back of the restaurant, guys from fucked up families. They drove beat-up motorcycles and had long hair and tattoos, or were stoners or community college dropouts whose highlight of the week was getting paid on Friday and drinking away the weekend.

The girls mostly worked as servers, and were generally more put together. Though there was plenty of binge drinking and drug use among them as well. Many restaurants function like this, with sweaty guys in the back cooking food and scrubbing pans and the cheerful women up front, serving food and interacting with patrons.

Guys I worked with could fold a pizza box with their eyes closed while stoned out of their minds.

So the Parasite scene didn’t make sense to me at first, until I realized what I was seeing.

Working class people would figure out how to fold pizza boxes and do it fine. Bitter middle class people think they’re too good for it.

The Kims middle class origins also explains why they were able to seamlessly interact with the well-to-do Park family (more on them soon).

Skeptical viewers have questioned why the Kim son had a friend who studied in a university. And why the Kim son was able to teach English to the Park daughter so well despite his poor background.

And astute critics have wondered how it’s possible that the Kim daughter who is obviously adept at graphic design (forging her art credentials) and interacts easily with the Parks came from a poor family.

The Kim son and daughter were raised by middle class parents, that’s why.

The Kim family represents a great fear of affluent people, including film critics: Downward mobility.

The Kims are middle class people who slipped down the economic ladder. The Parks are middle class people who ascended the economic ladder.

The Park mother is easily duped by the Kim daughter’s discussions of art and its therapeutic powers. This is because the Park mother is a philistine who doesn’t actually know that much about art. She’s not from some well-bred old money family. She and her husband have only recently arrived at their current economic station.

Parasite is not about entrenched class divisions. It’s not about a poor family and a rich family. It’s about a downwardly mobile middle class family and an upwardly mobile one.

Which is why resentment builds and explodes into violence. Envy is reserved for those who are similar to ourselves.

Working class people are generally not envious of the very rich. Nobody I knew growing up hated Bill Gates or Hollywood celebrities. They mostly envied well off people in town. People who had big houses or had a boat docked at the Shasta Marina.

Who envies the actual rich? Upper middle class people.

People tend to envy and resent those close to their social strata.

In his fascinating book Envy: a theory of social behaviour, the sociologist Helmut Schoeck wrote:

“The best means of protection against the envy of a neighbor is to drive a Rolls-Royce instead of a car only slightly better than his...overwhelming and astounding inequality arouses far less envy than minimal inequality.”

There are a couple of reasons for why resentment and envy are strongest for those nearest to us.

First, there's proximity.

Working class people work for, and take orders from, upper middle class professionals. This (sort of) describes the relationship between the Kims and the Parks in Parasite.

But upper middle class professionals work for, and report to, the very rich. We never see the father of the Park family at his job, interacting with much wealthier colleagues.

The second reason people reserve scorn for those close to our social strata is that they remind them of their failings.

When people have expectations for their lives that are not met, but they see others similar to themselves achieve the same things they desire, they experience resentment and anger.

This is why people feel the most schadenfreude, joy from seeing others’ misfortune, when the person experiencing the misfortune is similar to themselves.

Other research has revealed that similarity and domain relevance are key predictors of malicious envy.

This means that a person who is similar to ourselves and who is successful in a field we also aspire to do well in is especially likely to trigger feelings of resentment and a desire to take destructive action to sabotage them.

This is why critics and the chattering classes loved Parasite. The film allowed them to identify with resentful middle class people who are down on their luck, under the guise of sympathizing with the poor.

Parasite allowed identification with resentment and envy to masquerade as compassion.

[branddevelopments]

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[cgsketchbook]

Blimey oh crikey - I can now update my resume to "award winning designer!" 🤩

Huge congratulations to the whole team of fabulous people who put this book together and a massive thank you for the librarians championing this title! 🥳

https://x.com/uksla/status/1727702274225426865?s=20

[mochie85]

Congratulations!!🎉🎈🍾

Could you please do fluff prompt 48 You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” with Tom and shorter reader?

Falling Star

1K Masterlist One-shot Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: It's Hollywood's biggest night and Tom is hoping to win more than just an Oscar. A/N: Part of my 1k Celebration and @the-slumberparty week 3 writing challenge: Something New. I've never written short-reader trope before. Thank you to @lokisgoodgirl for being my BETA reader and @michelleleewise for some great ideas. I don't know how I could continue to write without your ladies' endless support 😘😘😘. And thank you to @huntress-artemiss for the request. Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female Reader Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Fluff Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Tom looked into the mirror as he rinsed the suds off his hands. Shaking off the excess water, he reached for a towel and dried them. He looked straight into his eyes, trying to keep the nervousness at bay.

It’s a big night for you. You’re going to do fine. You’re probably not going to win anyway, Tom sighed. Just focus on one thing and the rest of the night will go smoothly.

He ran his hands through his hair and pinched his bow tie one last time before he made his way out into the lobby. Focus on one thing, he repeated in his head.

These award shows always leave him a nervous wreck. He never expects to win. When he does, of course, it’s great, but then it brings on a whole new emotion of excitement and anxiety.

When he doesn’t win, it tends to be worse. He has to find that right balance of remorse and humbleness so that the media doesn’t portray him in an evil lie.

Oh, he could read the tabloids now, “And the Oscar goes to…, not Tom Hiddleston.” Or “Hiddles angry that he didn’t win his Oscar. Pictures and commentary on page 3.” He laughed about it internally, a smile on his face as he fixed his cufflinks.

“Come on man. Took you long enough,” Chris exclaimed patting his back. “I think they stuck most of us in the same row.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. It’d be nice to see some familiar faces again.” Tom recounted the last time he saw anyone from The Avengers movie. The movie that brought together and cemented the friendship of seven individuals.

“I think Scarlet wants you to sit next to her.”

“Oh no. Does she?” Tom fretted.

“What?” Chris wondered.

“She’s been trying to set me up with one of her acquaintances,” Tom rolled his eyes.

“She can be quite persistent,” Hemsworth laughed.

Tom sighed as he accompanied Chris across the massive lobby. The plush red carpet matched the dramatic drapes hung from the ceiling. At the end of the hall was a grand staircase leading upstairs to the auditorium's main entrance.

The two friends stood in line waiting to ascend the stairs as photographers and reporters lined the banisters calling out their names, hoping to get an interview. Tom tried to drown out the noise. He tried to focus on one thing before he went crazy, and his anxiety took over. Tom took a deep breath. Just focus on one thing, he chanted in his head.

He opened his eyes and focused on the first thing he saw, an intricate design of beadwork and crystal that was in front of him. Tiny gold stars were scattered on a black sateen gown. They clustered at the top hem of the dress and sporadically fell towards the bottom. The back of the gown was secured by a beaded pin of a crescent moon, gracing your bare lower back. The whole gown looked like star fall plummeting in the night sky.

“Chris,” Tom whispered. “Is this whom I think it is?” Tom stared hard at your graceful figure. Not once taking his eyes off you. Chris gazed hard at you trying to see whom Tom was talking about.

“Ayee...yup. Yes, that’s her.”

“Didn’t she win the Oscar last year for…”

“Yes. I believe she did.” Chris mused.

“Is she up for anything tonight?”

“I think she’s presenting, actually.”

You gathered your dress, preparing to walk up the imposing staircase. Looking around you making sure you were not going to trip on your own outfit, you held your left hand out to steady yourself as you took that first step.

Tom, sensing you needed help, took your outstretched hand. “May I escort you up the stairs?”

The sudden voice and unexpected contact must have shocked you. You looked up at him with a startled expression and a blush on your face. A small smile graced his lips as he noted the sparkle in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you whispered, as photographers flashed their cameras at your interaction. Tom held your hand firmly as you gathered the rest of your dress in your other hand. Focused on making each step, Tom held on to you tightly, becoming the anchor you needed in such a cumbersome gown. “They must have altered this dress three times already just for me. But they can’t seem to get the length right. Even with me in heels,” you admitted shyly.

Tom laughed, finally noticing the height difference between you two. He was so used to towering over everyone, he never really gave it much thought.  “Well, it looks lovely on you. You look beautiful tonight.” You looked up suddenly at his compliment. Heat radiating down your skin. Your eyes arrested his thoughts and hitched his breathing, making him at a loss for words.

“The…uh…the dress. The dress is quite beautiful. Oh, not to say that you’re not beautiful. You are! You’re beautiful. In the dress. Oh, God. Please tell me I haven’t botched this up completely?” He stuttered, hiding his face in his palm. You laughed and squeezed his hand.

You almost fumbled at the top step, if it weren’t for him holding on to you so securely. “Thank you,” you said once again, and he reluctantly let go of you. “Good luck tonight. I hope you win,” you said, cheering him on.

“Thank you. You, too. Me too. I-I mean I hope so,” Tom stumbled on his words. You smiled at him once again, heading inside, leaving him to stare after you.

“Smooth,” Chris said, clapping Tom on his shoulder. “Real smooth.”

“Ugh, I’m a complete knob!”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t think she noticed,” Chris said laughing.

Inside, the auditorium was stuffy and pompous. Two hours of everyone with their forged smiles and mock interests. Scarlet did manage to get Tom to sit next to her. She mentioned a friend of a friend who’s a writer for a late-night talk show in Los Angeles. Tom tried his best to be courteous but not commit to anything serious.

Minutes. Hours. They seem to drag by as the night continued up until it was time to announce Best Female Performance in a Leading Role. Tom knew you weren’t nominated for anything tonight, but that didn’t stop him from wondering where you were.

Were you sitting somewhere in the audience with other nominees? Or perhaps you were backstage mingling with some of tonight’s winners. It wouldn’t be long now till they got to the category he was nominated for, which made him nervous.

The heat in the room suddenly increased tenfold and the noise of the audience started to echo in his mind. Their clapping died down as the winner was announced and accepted her award. Focus on one thing. Focus on one thing. He closed his eyes as he took a lungful of air in. Breathing slowly.

Exhaling, Tom opened his eyes and suddenly everything else disappeared. Every sound went silent. Every light dimmed, focusing on a central spotlight on stage. And all he could see was you.

You walked out, unaccompanied, to the soundtrack of your award-winning movie. Tom watched you carefully, knowing full well that you were anxious about your dress and stumbling. With a cool look and a smile on your face, you hid your anxiety about tripping. You demonstrated exactly why you were worthy of that Oscar last year. Carefully taking a calculated step toward the podium and ignoring your long, imposing gown.

“Last year, I was very fortunate to stand up on this very stage and accept the award for Best Female Performance in a Leading Role…”

Tom tried to focus on you, instead of the nagging anxiety that was wracking his brain. Your gown had taken on a different hue under the bright spotlights. It had turned to a rich navy blue. The sequences on the stars shone brighter, glittering to gather everyone’s attention.

“This evening will be another night of firsts for me as I present the award for Best Male Performance in a Leading Role.” Tom was awestruck as he watched you on stage. Your smile was charming, and your laughter was contagious.

Tom heard you say his name twice that night. Once when you were reading the nominees. And the next, when you announced that he won. Chris and Scarlett patted him on the back and tried to wake him from his stupor.

“Mate, you better get up there,” Chris whispered, hugging him on his way. Tom was mesmerized. He couldn’t believe that he won. His nervousness threatened to eat him up whole as he stood up and made his way onstage. He remained focused on you instead, clapping for him as he made his way up more stairs.  You handed him his statue along with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

All at once, he faced the audience and didn’t know what to say. “I- uh…” Tom held on to the statue tightly and looked back at you.  You gave him a reassuring smile and he found that your calming presence helped alleviate his anxiety. “I wasn’t expecting to win tonight. Forgive me, I had no speech prepared,” Tom continued as the audience laughed.

He concluded his speech with thanks to the Academy, other nominees, and his friends and family for all their support.  

After a rousing applause, he made his way to follow you off the stage. He’d hoped to escort you like earlier and have another intimate moment with you. As you turned, your foot caught on the front of the dress causing you to fall forward.

In a heroic move, Tom sprinted to your side and caught you. His arms wrapped around your waist as you turned right-side up. He lunged forward before you fell to the floor, cradling your head.

There was a collective gasp from the audience as they watched the scene unfold. A heated blush spread throughout your body.

“Are you all right?” he asked, alarmed.

“Oh, my God. Yes! Thank you,” you stuttered, holding onto his lapels tightly.

“Of course, darling,” he said as he helped you stand back up.

“You seemed to be saving me a great deal tonight,” you gave him an apologetic look as you ran your hands over your dress. Tom offered his arm, and you gladly took it, hoping you wouldn’t trip again. “Oh, God. I’m so embarrassed. I must’ve looked like an idiot out there.”

“Nonsense, you look magnificent,” Tom replied, kissing your hand.

Tom sat in the dining area of the hotel room. Bright morning light shone through the windows as he read the newspapers and magazines sent to the room, along with the room service. It seemed that all anyone talked about was your tumble from last night and how he caught you. Rumors began to spread as everyone gave their opinions on the matter.

“Did Hiddleston win more than just an Oscar last night?” “Secret Relationship: How long have they been together?” “Was it staged?” These were not the headlines he was expecting to read this morning. A small smile crept on his face seeing all the pictures from different angles.

A soft moan stole his attention as you wrapped your arms around from behind him. “Come back to bed.” You gently kissed his neck, and he could still smell the lingering perfume in your hair.

“I ordered breakfast for us, darling,” he said with a soft whimper.

“How very thoughtful of you,” you teased. Tom grabbed your arm and pulled you around to sit on his lap. He noted that you were wearing nothing but his dress shirt from last night. The sleeves were rolled up and the tails sat just at your knees. You were swimming in his shirt, a look that he was starting to like more and more. Your tousled morning hair reminded him of the carnal way you both took each other last night.

“…Unnhh…” you moaned as he hoisted you against the wall. “Take this infernal dress off me. Please.” “With pleasure,” he snarled.

You sat with your legs over the handrest of the chair as you picked up the papers and read them. A scowl formed on your face the more you read. “I’m sorry, Tom. All this over me falling. I didn’t mean to take away from your big night.”

“That’s quite all right darling. As far as I’m concerned they can keep reporting it all they want.”

You looked at him through your lashes. His tall frame and long arms surround you, cherishing you.

“Why?” you asked coyly.

“Because in every picture, I get to see that mesmerizing look on your face.”

“What look?” you provoked.

“The same look I had on my face when I caught you.”

“And what was that?” you giggled.

“Like you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

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