#she was born for art she was born for love she was born for so much more than what she got | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amatorygirls · 3 days

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GtN and HtN spoilers!! CW: talk of not having control over your body

just randomly thought of this now so excuse my incoherentness or possible ignorance or if anyone has said this before (this is also my first ever tumblr post so sorry for formatting errors), but i was looking at fanart of cytherea the first and just loving it. i realized there’s just something so baroque about her, and i think that’s on purpose. because she’s of the 7th house yes, the emperor’s joy and all that, but also because she’s a woman, and also because she’s dying. she’s expected to be beautiful because of her affiliation and her gender, all while she’s decaying from a disease that she was doomed to be born with and could never escape until it ultimately killed her. wilting away infront of everyone. and the ENTIRE time, she was given roses. roses, the pinnacle of beauty. every single rose she was given had a meaning, a life. and every single rose died. inevitably, wilting away infront of her. reminding her of her own fragile, ‘beautiful’ self. and even after she was dead, she was laid to rest drowned in roses that were modified to stay perpetually fresh, along with her body (i think) ((which of course john would do, after reading nona i’m not surprised)). not even eternally asleep could she catch a break. i think tamsyn muir was saying something here about how the ‘ideal woman is a dead one’. she is silent, still, and malleable. that’s what she pretended to be in canaan house. but i don’t think she ever could truly be. she was too angry. too enraged. also the fact that she became a lyctor in hopes she could be cured but just ended up suffering in a stagnant state of sickness for thousands of years, the fact that she was purposely given this disease. the fact that john LIED. lied to everyone. lied to HER. before her life, during her life, and after her life, things were done to her body without her informed consent. her cancer being almost prophetic, her unknowing improper lyctoral ascension, and the possesion of her empty shell of a body. (also it being used as a medium for pyrrha and wake is a whole other thing) she IS the rage of not having control over your own body. i think, ultimatley, that’s what her character is about. i mean, i’m pretty sure harrow stabbing The Sword™️ INSIDE her unwilling corpse was probably a metaphor or something…

“we take so much. i’m so sorry.”

(again i just thought of this thirty minutes ago so feel free to add anything 🙏) ((i also wonder how this parallels dulcinea and her life but it’s 1 am and i don’t feel like thinking anymore. but i think we’ll learn more about her in alecto.))

the art that inspired this was a beautiful cytherea and harrow drawing by pygmypouter on tumblr!

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kanrix · 2 hours

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After getting back into Moral Orel recently, I stumbled onto your blog while going through the Clay tag and I have to say I love your art of him and the other characters so, so much! Imo I think you managed to capture the tone of the show (especially the vibes of the darker episodes) greatly through your shading and colouring, and it's always nice to see another Clay fan (regardless of how much of a dumpster fire he is, he's still my favorite and is cute so I'm at a crossroads)!

That said, after specifically coming across your househusband and single father drawings of his, I wanted to share an idea I've thought about for the past few days - the idea of Clay just being a single father to Orel alone without Shapey in the picture either bc Bloberta divorced him and left prior to the show started OR bc she died shortly after Orel was born and therefore didn't have Shapey with Stopframe to begin with - and how this would have affected the series overall.

I know this is kinda dark but after rewatching the series and seeing Clay's relationship with his own dad - I can't help but wonder if this would have screwed up Clay's own relationship with Orel even more so than it already is in canon - especially if Clay being the father of the year he is he blamed Orel for Bloberta's divorcing him/Bloberta's death. Additionally, I can't help but think about how Bloberta's not being there would have affected Clay's relationship with Stopframe early on too, you know?

Sorry for the long ask, I just wanted to see your thoughts on this after seeing how well you were able to capture Clay's character through your art; also, I hope you have a great day!

Oh anon, that's a bit hard to imagine. I don't exactly like the thought of killing bloberta off so she probably just got a divorce.

I don't think he's capable of going to "the next level" with Danielle, not yet at least.... But I think this allows for clay and Dan to see each other more often, even though he has to live with the dread that comes after he's more willing to "let go" around dan. The divorce hit him hard, obviously. He feels like it's shameful to also be "the woman" of the house, now that bloberta isn't there.

#ask #anonymous #moral orel #there's more stuff i could say but you know how it is #he already lives with too much shame and disappointment. sure he can go on and on with danielle but god forbid they actually kiss.#he does not want to add more to the pile #raghhh HED FIND MORE WAYS TO RUIN HIS life is what im saying #sigh. i really have to pull up the every clay puppington video #sorry fellas im not me today

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beejunos · 1 day

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SINNERMAN | Alastor x f.reader | part 3.

Summary: After Sir Pentious’s failed attempt at spying on the hotel, the Vees approach you to make a new deal—a deal that you can’t refuse. Help them take down Alastor, and you will get to kill him again. After all, the great butcher of New Orleans had killed your brother, so it was only fair that you had killed him in return. And you would love to do it again.

Tags: Alastor x f!reader, slow burn, obsessive behaviour, enemies to lovers, spying, murder

PART 1. | PART 2. | AO3

Chapter 3. Brother, oh, brother

August 21st, 1927. New Orleans.

The day had been unusually cold for New Orleans in August, but the radio station quickly turned warm as its employees and their families congregated in its halls to celebrate the station's explosive expansion. The clock had just turned ten o'clock at night, and laughter could be heard blending effortlessly with the music from the live band.

The radio station's celebration occurred in its most splendid room, an old salon converted into a restaurant and lunch room. From the ceiling hung beautiful crystal chandeliers that cast a wonderfully warm glow over the crowd of people mingling all around. The walls were painted in a deep, rich indigo that made the room feel more luxurious and intimate, with dark stained wooden accents and an oak floor. On the ceilings could a faint trace of paint still be seen from a time the ceiling had been painted, but there was no possibility of interpreting what the images were anymore.

You admired the incredible art that hung on the walls as you zigzagged through the people to get to where you thought you had seen your brother. You quickly apologised to anyone you bumped into as you squeezed between groups to avoid disturbing them. Mindful of the cream-coloured dress you had bought with your own money after working long hours as a secretary at the police station, you pressed it close to your body so it never snagged on anything or anyone else. It was the closest thing you would ever come to being considered a flapper. Something you longed for desperately. To be as free as them.

However, that would never be in the cards for you. Born from one of the wealthiest families in New Orleans, it was a miracle that your mother and father had let you work at the police station at all. Like any good daughter, you loved your parents deeply, but sometimes you wished they would loosen their leach on you.

Thankfully, you had your brother, who could get away with anything. As the eldest son, your parents expected him to one day take over the family business, but in the meantime, they let him do whatever he wanted. This led him to now work at the radio station as one of their hosts, but it was only temporary if your father would have a say.

Your brother, Joshua, had always been a wild child. Full of energy and a lust for life that you had never seen in anyone else, and as children, he had always had the nasty habit, according to your mother, of dragging you off into his various adventures. All of these minor adventures constantly ended with both of you coming home with dirt and grass stains all over your white clothes.

These small adventures never really ended, and even now, when both of you were adults, he would often help you escape your parents and their restrictive ways. Joshua frequently talked bout how when he was the head of the family business, he would buy you a one-way ticket to New York just so one of you could be free. But, in the meantime, he would invite you to various events that he and his friends would hold. This time, he had invited you to the event at the radio station.

You continued to squeeze past a larger group where one of the older men laughed rather loudly at one of his jokes before you saw your brother. You called out his name as he started to walk in the other direction. Hearing his name, Joshua quickly spun around and met your gaze with the same boyish smile you had grown up with.

"There she is!" he called and held out his hand to pull you into the group he was talking to. "Everyone, I want you all to meet my little sister."

They all greeted you by saying their own names, and you really tried to remember every single one of them. However, after a long evening of new faces, names, and job titles, it became pretty difficult to remember who was who.

"Where's Alastor? Shouldn't he be here by now?" asked a woman with short red hair as she lit a cigarette. Her emerald green dress sparkled like green stars in the evening light, and you felt a tiny bit jealous since your parents would never allow you to wear anything that beautiful. You had to think of the good family name and reputation, as they would have said.

"Oh, I saw him just a few minutes ago," Joshua answered unhelpfully as he started to look around the crowd. However, he was a short man and could not see that far over the crowd.

"He's dancing, as always," chuckled one of the men beside the redhead as he took her cigarette and used it himself. They looked so lovingly at each other that you had to turn away, for it felt like you were invading their tender moment.

"Ah, there he is. Hey, Alastor! Over here!" shouted Joshua beside you and threw his arm in the air. Waving someone over to your group. Forward stepped maybe the most beautiful man you had ever seen. The description 'Tall, dark and handsome' felt like it was made specifically for him.

Alastor towered over the group but wasn't as lanky as most men his height could be. His broad shoulders and chest balanced him out significantly, creating a statuesque figure that made you think of the marble sculptures of gods and heroes from the old masters. He dragged his hand through his dark brown hair, which was tussled from all the dancing, and you silently wished that it was your hands dragging through his hair just so you could see if it felt as silky as it looked.

He was dressed in a beautiful maroon-striped suit that wonderfully complemented his warm brown skin, and a small treacherous part of your mind wondered what colour his skin would take if you dragged your nails over his back or chest.

As he got close enough to join the group, you finally saw his eye colour behind his round glasses. A rich brown that you knew would turn almost golden in the sunlight. The kind of brown eyes that the poets wrote about. A lover's gaze so sweet that it could heal any broken heart. Brown eyes as sweet as honey, brown eyes like a fire-lit light, brown eyes as rich as the depth of earth. He was mysterious, intoxicating, and your heart nearly skipped a beat when he looked down at you with his brilliant smile.

"And who might this charming belle be? I don't think we've met before."

You thought you were going to die the moment Alastor took your hand and placed a featherlight kiss on your knuckles as butterflies erupted in your stomach. Your name felt almost foreign on your lips, but oh so right, leaving his.

Behind you, you could hear your brother snort loudly before he playfully hit Alastors shoulder.

"Settle down; that's my little sister you're flirting with." That statement only made Alastor chuckle before he let go of your hand, and you instantly missed his warmth.

"Alastor? I don't think I've heard your name on the radio. Are you a host or perhaps an audio engineer?" you asked, desperate to continue to talk to the man.

Alastors smile only grew as he looked down at you. From the inside pocket of his suit, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I'm a host, my dear. I host the show after Joshuas," he said as he lit his cigarette and put it to his plush lips. You had to implore a tremendous amount of self-control not to openly stare at his lips and his long fingers as he held the cigarette between his index and middle fingers.

Even his hands are perfection, you thought in despair.

"The Evening Hour? Oh, I've heard about it! You play by far the best jazz in all of New Orleans."

The smile Alastor gave you felt the most genuine he had made all evening. It made you wonder how often he had to smile to hide his true feelings.

The rest of the evening went by in a haze as you continued to talk to Alastor, and it peaked when he asked you to accompany him to a dance. The lights felt brighter, the music forever tied to the memory of Alastor's hand between your shoulder blades. It was a moment in time when you forgot who you were and what life you were expected to live.

For a moment, you were only a girl in the arms of a boy when an infatuation took root in your heart. But all nights end, even the ones that feel like dreams, and soon you were forced to say goodbye to the man with the bewitching smile and beautiful eyes as you and your brother prepared to go home.

The road home was dark and cold as you walked through street after street. It felt lonelier than you expected, for Joshua did not say a single word to you. You hugged your too-thin summer coat around you as you and your brother took the backdoor through the kitchen to your home.

The room was dark and empty, just as both of you had suspected, and the only things you could see were the contours of objects in the light of the moon. Both you and Joshua quickly took off your shoes before you prepared yourselves to tip-toe through the big house.

You were halfway through the kitchen when you heard Joshua whisper your name in the dark. You turned to look at your brother, who was still standing by the door.

"Don't ever talk to Alastor again."

"What? Why?" you asked, shocked because Joshua had never demanded anything of you before, but there was a coldness to his voice that you did not like. He had an odd look on his face that you had never really seen before, and it made you hesitate, for it matched the look your father usually had before taking his anger out on others.

With a forceful tone in his voice, your brother turned to you and said, "Just stay away from him. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something about him that makes me feel uneasy." It wasn’t a plea; it was a demand and the type of demand that left no room for negotiations.

He gave you a quick glance before hastily making his exit from the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Joshua never invited you to the radio station after the celebrations, so you had no real reason to go over there and talk to Alastor. Days turned into weeks, and slowly, you had to accept that your one night with the man would only be that one magical night.

You had, however, no idea that your life would come crashing down on you.

November the 3d, 1927

It has been two long weeks since Joshua went missing, and your mother was beyond distraught. She has secluded herself in her bedroom, allowing only food and drink to be brought in and refusing to speak to anyone else but you. The only words she utters were those of cold certainty - she knows Joshua is dead. But you and your father adamantly refuse to believe her words.

Your father, who has always been a reserved and complicated man, had begun working longer and longer hours, dreading the thought of coming home to what remains of his family. Meanwhile, you were doing your best to keep the family functioning, but the constant worry and sleepless nights were taking their toll.

You tried to hold onto hope that Joshua had just run away, finally fed up with your father's controlling behaviour. But deep down, you know that Joshua would never have left you behind.

He had made you an important promise—to get you out of this town and as far away from your parents as possible. You clung to this promise even as the days dragged on with no news of Joshua's whereabouts. The uncertainty and fear were nearly unbearable, but you refused to give up hope.

November the 7th, 1927

The police came knocking on your family's door in the evening. You had taken the day off from work to care for your mother when one of the policemen you knew from the office asked to talk to your father.

"He isn't home right now," you answered hesitantly. Your father hadn't been home in a few days, and you had no idea when he would come home again. You would call his office every evening to ensure he was all right, but from your short phone calls with your father, you could tell he was not doing well.

"Do you know when he will be back?" the officer asked, giving you a look you knew all too well. You saw it all the time in the police station. It was the same sympathetic look newer officers would give families when they had only bad news to deliver.

Pushing your shoulders back, you took a deep breath and asked the question that you did not want the answer to.

"You've found Joshua's body, haven't you?"

The officer heaved a sigh as he looked at you with heavy eyes. A bird could be heard singing its sorrowful song somewhere in the distance as you waited for your colleague's answer.

"A part of Joshua's body was found about five miles outside of the city. Some hunters in the area found him."

"A part?" you asked, shocked. "But if it was a body part you've found, how can you be sure it's Joshua's?"

Your voice rose in pitch with every word you uttered. If only the police had found all of him. If only Joshua had run away and never returned.

"His head. We have found his head."

Ice-cold fear pierced your heart as a piece of your soul died right there, in the hallway of your family home on a Monday evening. Your father refusing to come home, a mother who would never be the same, and all you wished was that you were in New York. Far away from everything.

"I'm sorry to inform you and your family, but your brother was killed by The Butcher."

The butcher, a serial killer who had hunted New Orleans for the past year. Always so far away, jet so near, and now he had spilt his filth all over your family. Destroyed and mutilated your lives. A demon among men.

A demon whose shadow now towered over you, laughing at your weak soul. Laughing at your misery and sorrow.

A monster and everyone knew that monsters were to be hunted like the animals they were.

You would see the end of the butcher if you so died trying.

A little flashback. Oh, how the wide-eyed wonder died fast.

Taglist: @martinys-world @tremendoushearttaco @fairyv-ice @azmosposts @nyx91

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #sinnerman alastor fic

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tsims · 1 day

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ROCKMORE

Pumpkin carving is one of those wishes I love getting, and their little son (Miles!) Got born on Spooky Day!

Checking my spreadsheet I noticed Anton and Clara were part of the sims I've checked for attending therapy, so I sent Clara off for her first appointment with Dr. Eze. I'd imagine they didn't have much to talk about. Even though Anton and Clara smoke weed and take adderall a lot, neither of them are dependent on it (I don't know what I was expecting, I guess I expected vile ventures to have a smaller addiction threshold. I remember only doing drugs twice made a sim addicted when I used Migos' drug mod)

Clara and Anton also love each other a lot, they cue up romantic interactions all the time and possibly already hold the highest number of dates and woohoos even though I've only played with them for two sim weeks so far.

They're making good money with their art, and they keep close enough friends. Clara is close with Omar Ahmed, and they chat a lot on the phone, she also attended a party of his (weird, not sure what they have in common. I suppose in the sims 3 cooking counts as an artsy trait and Omar is a natural cook in the cooking career?), Anton is close to Ijeoma Goldberg, he has 4 skill points in writing he probably got when there was still a writing club in town that Ijeoma ran.

So... I guess I can say they both go to therapy because that's what liberal-minded people who can afford it just do! Lol.

I still have one week with them, and then it's off to the Le Pens to play for a wee bit!

#sims 3 #ts3 gameplay #sims 3 gameplay #sims 3 screenshots #the sims 3 gameplay #ts3 #the sims 3 #Rotational Households

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sistercara · 2 days

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👋

Tell me about Obeka? Are you planning a deck around her or more interested in her lore and art?

using this as a poorly veiled excuse to post my shitty meme i spent a little too long on

big rant below the cut lol

her card itself, however, is so fucking convoluted that reading the card does the opposite of explaining the card and any time you build an obeka brute chronologist deck its like proof reading court documents but i mean that in the most enjoyable way like i fucking love how janky and insane she is

so! i already have an obeka deck and it is one of my favorites she was a one-off character in the first commander legends print. she wasnt an important or returning character, or anyone with much lore, she just had a singular excerpt amongst the hundred or so other one-offs added to that set.

anyway heres that excerpt;

Obeka, Brute Chronologist

Obeka will punch you into next week—literally. An ogre mage who breaks the flow of time through brute force, Obeka isn't concerned with piddling details like causality. A right cross from her will knock the baby teeth right into your mouth, and her uppercut is so powerful, your mother will feel it twenty years ago.

Obeka wants nothing more than to live an enjoyable life full of earthly pleasures and knock-down, drag-out fights. Good and bad are of little interest to her, as her only concern is if something sounds fun. She lives exclusively in the moment, and if that moment goes south, she'll beat it out of existence. If you get in her way, consider your wish that you were never born granted.

like--can i be or marry this character holy shit????

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houseofpendragons · 1 day

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New Ideas for HOTD Alicent Fashion pt.2

So technically the last one I did for Alicent was apart of a Rhaenyra one, but for continuity sake this is my second outfit redesign for a younger Queen Alicent Hightower.

The dress in question we’re changing is one that will be changed in both scenes it’s worn. One will be a new dress entirely but the other will be just mentally recreating it to look more like the concept art.

The scenes are the dismissal of her father as Hand & The confrontation between she and Rhaenyra about the rumor that had her father dismissed:

I actually love this❤️❤️❤️ it’s just missing a little something, so when comparing these two pics:

If you notice these look exactly the same, except the black is darker, perhaps a velvet, the gold embroidery is more in the form of a design and brighter. The necklace is also more regal looking, bigger than the ones we saw her wear in her girlhood as a noble Lady. Those are the things they should’ve kept for the design of the dress in this scene, she’d look more like an actual Targaryen royal of the time. No offense but the dress that made the cut is kinda bland in tone.

The hair as well, she went for a jeweled hairnet to back to her girlhood hairstyles, precisely why I wish they would’ve kept the braided jeweled crown. It makes her seem more mature (despite her not being but jewelry can be a mask just as much as makeup sometimes) and more royal. She could even still keep it in this half held up hairdo just with the jeweled braided crown/twist added into it:

And the last thing about it the to want to say, the cape would’ve been awesome to see and it would’ve fit the scene. It was raining and she had a man carrying an umbrella for her, I think she’d have that cool ass cape too. Again makes her look more regal, more queen like, more mature.

The next time she wears it that I’d like to change, when she confronted Rhaenyra. A tense scene.

However at this point in time is when she is the most conflicted between her marriage to her husband and her “duty” to her house. I feel she’d reflect that in a representation of both houses. More so red, almost as if adding green was an afterthought, bc I rather think it would be a last minute decision for Alicent to add a green sash or piece of fabric to her usually Targaryen adoption in appearance. A way to feel close to her father by wearing the colors of the house she was born from (just like I headcanon she wore blue as a child to feel close to her mother; Helena Cuy, look it up where I go on a whole rant).

That in mind, imagine something similar to this:

The green being held in place at her neck, Targaryen dragon scales but in gold (perhaps a subtle nod toward Sunfyre/Aegon), it comes to wrap around her waist like a belt, tied at one side the remainder of the green fabric falls free on her left side of her hips down side by side the red dress. Also from the neckline, a half cape of green coming to cover her right side, thin gold chains reaching out from the neckline to hide beneath the half cape.

The red dress underneath would suit the summer climate/warmer climate of the time in the Red Keep, it’s just the right shade of Targaryen red, not to mention the red dress isn’t what really makes the dress but really what is meant to catch ur eye is that she’s wearing green for the first time in a long time. It meant to be hinting at her internal battles. Ofc her cleavage wouldn’t be exposed as depicted so it’s have a higher neckline, perhaps some simple gold and/or black embroidery to enhance it a bit.

Her hair would be something else to consider, thinking back to how we want it to be more mature and queen like. So perhaps a head peace or a jeweled net?

A mixture of these two would suffice:

The first picture is my favorite one and the main inspo for how I’d have done her hair, the pearls, the way her hair is twisted at the top with her bun being kept nice and beautiful in a net. The only thing I’d add from the second photo is the gold lace around the edges of the net, as well as the braid surrounding that as a whole. I’d also take the bands and add them loosely to the bottom part of her hair left down.

As for jewelry, they could’ve taken inspo from actual royal jewels. Something like this for Alicent:

Like I said the look starting originally as her traditional Targaryen Queen attire, with her Hightower symbolism added as an afterthought. Some small pearls could be added between diamond to go more with the pearls in her hair (although I think I might see some pearls in there but I might be dumb).

As for the earrings they could be something like this:

Again incorporating pearls into them or straight up replacing the diamonds entirely.

It’s just Queenly. It’s appeasing to the eyes. And it’s what I expect people to design royal fashion as to look like in period/historical dramas when you’ve proven yourself not concerned with accuracy or if it is a style fantasy gown.

#house of the dragon #hotd #alicent hightower #team black #team green sympathizer #asoiaf #fire and blood #hotd fashion #hotd costumes #hotd season 1 #hotd s1 #young alicent hightower #queen alicent hightower #lady alicent #princess rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #otto hightower #anti viserys i targaryen

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