#the golden boy

[lonelybread69]

[deadboysheart]

this golden boy wasn't even real, "...he could've been—if i let him."

hellblazer (1988) / josé saramago, cain / ira glass, this american life, "251: brother's keeper" / user nathanielorion, "הבל | hevel" / fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’ / unknown / hera lindsay bird, "mirror traps" / clive barker, the hellbound heart

[your-local-femboy-bitch]

I really wish Dana actually had a full 21 episode s3 because there was so much potential for Hunter as a villain and we didn't get enough of the golden guard.

Like the ending of Any Sport In A Storm was fucking hilarious, the Golden Guard, Right Hand Man of the Emperor just played a game of highschool (american) football with some local kids and smoked the other team. I want that premise so many times over, like Zuko Hunter had 6 episodes and all of S3 and made a cameo in one as like someone who gets texted.

I WANT MORE GOLDEN GUARD, WRITE THOSE FILLER EPISODES AS FANFICS!!!

[blogenana]

My percabies headcanons

Third child: Theodore "Theo" Jason Jackson

Hcs

- Percy & Annabeth are 29 when he is born

- He is 5 years younger than Hope and 3 years younger than Sofia

- is spoilt by his sisters

- curly blonde hair with green eyes

- soft boy & sweetheart - after the storms that are his sisters everyone (the teachers and neighbours) love how gentle he is

- everyone calls him the golden child as he's the only jackson kid never to get in trouble

- but he will always assist his siblings with pranks because he cant say no

- biggest mommas boy

- the most introverted jackson

- gentle spirit and a deep appreciation for nature and art.

- kind

- romantic

- Loves the sea

- He is an artist. Theo loves painting and sketching, especially landscapes and buildings

- wants to be an architect like Annnabeth, as a child he would spend his time watching her work

- All the kids have a pegasus which have grown up with them

[riza-hawks-eye]

Me doing some rough theory-crafting on the fate of the council at the end of Episode 9:

Okay, so a more detailed summary of how I think it’s going to go down:

The question of who in the council lives and dies is more of a writing question really.

Mel can’t have this huge shield that saves everyone because that would make the whole build up and emotion behind episode 9 and Jinx’s decision to fire the rocket pointless.

I’m inclined to believe Mel, Jayce and Viktor will come out of this alive simply because their storylines don’t seem to be finished yet.

Meanwhile, there isn’t any reason to keep the rest of the councillors alive for season 2. Piltover and Zaun are still headed for war, there are people in Noxus who are still after Piltover and its resources and the council don’t really add anything else to the story. Especially as they were largely powerless at the end of season 1. It would be fitting if we see Piltover heading towards a succession crisis just as Zaun has one with the death of Silco.

I think Cassandra is done for. Caitlyn needs a personal stake in her conflict with Jinx and there needs to be a motivation for her to really push back on her pacifist approach to fighting against enemies. Cassandra dying gives more of a personal stake to Vi in having to find Jinx and have her answer for her crimes. Vi was never going to care about some random rich Piltover councillors, but Caitlyn’s mother? that changes things. I think the “no one else needs to get hurt” in the season 2 teaser is both a reference to Cassandra’s death and Caitlyn’s grief surrounding it.

I  think it’s possible that where Jayce and Mel come out fine, Viktor ends up wounded. Having that near death experience makes him rethink his momentary acceptance of his mortality at the end of season 1. Dealing with his injuries might be what leads him to going back to experimenting with the Hextech core. It’s possible that his body get destroyed enough by the explosion that he ends up needing mechanical prosthetics, bringing him closer to becoming the machine herald. 

(Watch me put all this thought into it, and then season 2 comes along and they all just fucking die 🤡)

[rorylovesf1]

well… that was definitely a race. happy for my golden boy max though 🫶

[fidgetspringer-art]

Martin Hart

- He/Him

- 31 years old (August 8th)

- 5’9” (180cm)

- Gay, though extremely closeted

- Cis

Homestead owner, homebody, cowboy.

Patient and mellow, friendly and easy to get along with, independent to a fault.

Growing up Martin was the youngest of three boys. He was a small kid and as such his father always thought him to be less than his brothers. He's always been at the mercy of his father and brothers’ bullying.

He's always cared a lot about his appearance and his clothes, which in a small farming town is something that gets noticed. As a result he got singled out at school and picked on mercilessly.

He grows up thinking there is something wrong with him, setting him up for a lifetime of insecurity and a hefty dose of internalised homophobia.

He moves out at seventeen and cuts off contact with his family, after they inevitably find out he's queer.

At eighteen he gets into a motorcycle accident, landing him in the hospital for a long time.

After his accident he’s taken in by the only family member he’s stayed in touch with, his uncle Joel.

Once he’s well enough to be discharged he moves in with his uncle at his small farm outside of town. There he gets a chance to recover and regain some of his independence, though it’s no short process.

Not long after Martin has mostly gotten back on his feet, his uncle suddenly passes away, leaving the farm to Martin.

Martin strives to maintain his independence in any way he can. He grows a lot of his own produce, keeps a small flock of chickens, a dairy cow and a small herd of cattle. All in an effort to avoid leaning too hard on anyone else.

That’s what he does for the next 11 years, content to live a peaceful life at his own pace and at his own terms, surrounded by his animals.

Until he meets the barely contained chaos that is Noah Powell, who teaches him a few things about letting loose a little once in a while.

[asiasaint]

The cultural heritage has been restored. After over half a century, the United States has returned "the Golden Boy" to Thailand. A 900-year-old statue was smuggled out of Thailand by a notorious art dealer, Douglas Latchford, who's running an antiquities trafficking network in Southeast Asia, and spending decades in the possession of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. "The Golden Boy" has a twin statue, visitors can now admire both of them at the National Museum Bangkok.

[bgtem]

Made in La Masia 🔵🔴

[sasukimimochi]

The height was nauseatingly far.

Oh, but what a height it was to fall from.

When he plummeted, he felt the wind whistle past his damaged ears. It was frightening, but in a way, exhilarating. He was in control here. He made this choice.

And when his body impacted the water, he screamed, water threatening to flood his lungs before the pain took him first. But he fought, he struggled. He was going to live, and if he had to, he was going to make it everyone’s problem.

He was going to fight and show the world he at least was worth something. He was worth something. He broke the surface of the water, the icy air gripping his lungs.

and so we have reached our main character, A!Tommy from AHTFF!

I’m posting the art i made for my retired (incomplete) fic AHTFF, since most people agreed that i should post it. it’s a 70k+ 22 ch fic centered on SBI/Fantasy/Found Family, Timeline hopping, and sort of post-exile. Things get absurdly sweet in parts (though there is still a ton of drama and angst) so fair warning the cringe level might be a bit high for you.

Don’t follow me for DSMP content, i’m not producing art for it. I’m posting what i have, then it will be back to MDZS!

more art links under the cut:

See Technoblade here. See R!Wilbur here. See AHTFF!Wilbur/Ghostbur here. See AHTFF!Philza here.

(I don't have any of AHTFF!Tommy, sorry! he wasn't in the fic when I stopped anyway) See AHTFF!Tubbo here. See "AHTFF"Ranboo here. See AHTFF!Bench Trio here [plus Michael].

See AHTFF!Dream here. See AHTFF!George here. See AHTFF!Awesamdude/Sam Nook here. See AHTFF!Quackity / AHTFF!CPTPuffy / AHTFF!BBH here.

See the chibi icon series here [these are free to use as icons with credit].

See original neutral mob for the fic here.

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Cover Project #56—Michael Allred

"The Sandman Cover Project": What would the covers have looked like if created by the issue artists instead of Dave McKean?

I will gradually add all illustrations via the tag “Sandman Cover Project”.

[vierss-herondale]

Happy Birthday, Jace Herondale !!!

To the golden boy! 💛 To the book character that made me rise my love standards maybe a little too much and who taught me that no matter how broken me might feel, we can always heal, we can learn to love again and with our whole heart. That the love from our family and friends is one of the most beautiful and powerful things we can have 💕 And that family is not blood, it's the people who have our backs. Who taught me to be brave and strong for the people we love, but that it's okay to be vulnerable too. That you can be a warrior and an artist and a nerd, everything at the same time. And the most important thing that he taught me: that we can overcome our traumas, we can heal from the pain caused to us and grow to be a good person ♥️🗡️🎹🦁

Jace’s eyes danced, and Clary felt that familiar surge inside her chest, that pull she had felt since the first time she’d ever seen him. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she’d fallen in love with Jace, but there had always been something about him that reminded her of a lion, a wild animal unfettered by rules, the promise of a life of freedom. Never “I can’t,” but always “I can.” Always the risk and the surety, never the fear or the question. —Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

Many people hates Jace, but he has a special place in my heart for everything he taught me while reading his books in my teens. A broken child who grew up to be a happy man, I hope Cassie gives him his happy ending with the love of his life when the last book it's written 🥺♥️

Moodboard for the king’s birthday cause I still have no skills 😌💛

[blamsart]

There was a boy once with hair of burnt leaves and eyes of a grave. He was raised with a straight back and a check in his hands. They called him their golden boy, raised his chin and told him to smile. So he did.

He smiled when he woke up, in the room so big the emptiness was suffocating. He smiled at the empty breakfast table and he smiled at the tutors that knew more of his life than his own parents. He smiled so much that it lost its meaning.

The photographers praised the parents for their behaved son. The shareholders were swayed to his father’s side for being such a good parent. His mother roasted the sons of her friends who couldn’t compare.

As long as he smiled, his father would pat his head and his mother would adjust his tie. But there comes a day in every boy’s life, where one day he wakes up and doesn’t want to smile. That’s when it started, when his smiles became reserved for his dreams. Where he gained glimpses of a different life and where his desires started to form.

When the boy sneered at the family friends, climbed onto the roof, tore his new suits and cut his hair he stopped being so golden. Suddenly the boy was scaling the trees in the backyard, causing crowds of employees to beg him back down. He was feeding the strays with his leftovers and destroying the lawn with a stolen bike his parents didn’t approve of. He was slamming doors and back talking to his father. He was recoiling from his mother’s touch and refusing to wear ties. Worst of all, he made his parents look incapable.

What else could the parents do? They threatened him with his inheritance. They yelled at him. They hit him. They locked him up. And the boy? Ha! He climbed out his bedroom window.

It was late at night, coming back from being gone most of the day, after missing the many superficial meetings asked of him. He used the front door and his mother nearly called the police, thinking it was a beggar. Her son’s clothes were falling off his shoulders. His hair was a mess, his face bloody, his clothes dripping wet, but he was grinning. In his hand, a damp enveloppe. Through it, faintly, you could see the color of bills poke through.

The boy, he’d worked a night shift and he’d never had more fun. In his hands, he held money that he’d earned himself and he couldn’t be prouder. He’d been recognized by people with a hatred for his father, and they jumped him on the way. A scuffle that sent him into the river, but he’d rescued his pay and that was all that mattered.

His mother was speechless and disgusted. His father? He snatched the envelope and pulled out his belt. Get on your knees, he told the boy who’d survived his first street fight. He took the first thing he could be proud of and expected the spirited boy to submit.

There was once a time where this boy admired his father. He built an empire, provided for his family with a house so large he always got lost. When he spoke of his golden son, it sounded like pride. The boy who would succeed his legacy. They would build an immortal dynasty. His son and his son afterwards and so on would follow in their footsteps. But how peculiar, that the more the golden boy learned about his father’s work, the less excited he became for it. A world of cheating, swindling and politics. Of friends waiting to backstab you and of taking money from those who needed it the most. His view of his father changed. This wasn’t an empire he built. This was a pile of bodies. And when the golden boy decided he didn’t want that, his father’s praises and love disappeared.

Get on your knees.

The boy grabbed the belt and with his other hand, he swung to punch his father. There were things he didn’t know about his father - and those things caught his punch and sent him back. To prove his disappointment and disgust in his own son, he took the envelope of money and brought it to the fireplace.

The money itself was nothing compared to what his parents had. It was pennies, if even that. The money could at most pay a quick meal. A burger and fries. But it was his money. It’s money he dirtied his hands for. He sweated for that money. It was proof that he wasn’t just a golden boy. He could be more. Smiling wasn’t the only thing he was meant to do.

Despite his protests, despite his fight, as his mother cried for them to calm down, he had to watch his father throw that proof into the fire. It burned up, the envelope turning the color of his hair before becoming ash. His father? Backhanded him in the face, a ring to set a mark, and straightened his vest to signify a job well done.

Kneeling before the fireplace, the boy felt the loneliness in his surroundings. Everything around him had so little meaning. He was a stranger, staining the carpet with the dampness from the river. Never had the feeling of being out of place been stronger. Watching the flames lick up its food, he chose something different for himself.

He went to his father’s desk and he grabbed all the papers atop it. He grabbed the pile of ties his mother had handpicked. He ripped out the wallpaper. And he fed it all to the fire. Trails of burning things always so much more important than he was. They lined the house like cracks of a volcano erupting. The flames ate the couches and licked up the curtains. They made the paint peel and the wood crack. The household panicked, his father took notice of him again, but this time the boy was ready.

He protected his already bloodied face and jabbed at his sides, he went for his face and for his chin. And as he sent his father tumbling into the wall, he stood proudly, with the flames blazing behind him. The man looked up at him with a gaze that didn’t recognize him, and blood of his own spurting from his nose and mouth.

His mother, in fear, had pulled out the gun, hands shaking as she pointed it to her son, begging him to stop. The golden boy simply smiled, pointing to his jaw as he tilted it.

“Chin up and smile.”

When the fire brigade arrived to save the house, the arsonist had vanished into the night. The parents had hundreds of pictures of the culprit. A brown-haired boy with a collar and tie perfectly adjusted around his neck. His hair combed back and his face padded with makeup for the cameras. His mouth stretched into a shape that didn't reflect in his eyes.

There was no similarity whatsoever to the messy, bloodied, grinning, burnt boy who ran through the streets. Homeless, disowned, orphaned - yet none could match the confidence and pride that fueled him.

It was time for his own choices now - to find the place he was meant to fit, to make his dreams come true.

[dutchieliciousplans]

Got bored...did these...now where around my house do I stick them up 🤔

I think finally recently owning a printer was a bad idea considering next time my parents gonna come over to mine they will be thinking WTF with all i already done... like I already had to made an excuse for my dad not to go into my kitchen only because I could not be ass nor did i want to explain why I have a picture of an man in his mid 50s posing on my God damn refrigerator 😭😭

[hagsofficial]

snuggl 💛

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, on October 24th, 1988

Freddie Mercury & Montserrat Caballé release 'The Golden Boy'/'The Fallen Priest' single in the UK

"What an experience! It really was a dream come true. And just before we went on stage I couldn’t help wondering if all this was really happening to me. And though I knew I was taking a big chance doing something like that, it gave me such a fantastic rush. I was a wreck, but then so was she. I was bringing her into my rock’n’roll world and so she was shaking like a leaf, and saying, “Will they accept me?” She asked me how we should do it and I said, “Oh, we should just stand there and deliver the song,” which is how operatic recitals are done. I had to sort of restrain myself too. I had to keep in mind that I couldn’t do all my usual balletic stuff; none of those prancy poses, and all that. No, I had to just deliver it - in a fucking tuxedo – which I’d never done in front of an audience before – and just go for it! The atmosphere was amazing"

-Freddie Mercury

A LIFE, IN HIS OWN WORDS, book

👉 'The Golden Boy'/'The Fallen Priest'

Written by: Freddie Mercury, Mike Moran, and Tim Rice (taken from album 'Barcelona', 1988)