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Alicent Hightower + art

The Green Gown, Thomas Edwin Mostyn The King’s Daughter, Eduard Veith Camille (The Woman in the Green Dress), Claude Monet The Green Dress, William McGregor Paxton

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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S01E07 | Driftmark

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You (2018)

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I post The Northman a lot don't I

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gouache painting of my canceled wife

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White Oleander- Janet Fitch/  I.B. Vyache/ Shot Glass- A.R. Ammons/ / tumblr user Filmnoirsbian/

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I watched ”Thoroughbreds”.

Not sure what I thought of it but it left an impression

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polygon 01f “white scarf” - source

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This has been my joker

I was born hungry, what do I need? | Alicent Hightower x Cannibalism

They say power devours, but before the crown touched her brow, Alicent had already eaten herself alive. Every impulse, every ache, every version of the girl she once was, chewed to pieces and swallowed to keep her father’s voice in her mouth.

She is the sacrificial lamb. The girl devoured by her own hunger, her silence, her grief. The one who swallowed every scream before it could leave her mouth. Who carved herself into the shape others demanded and called it virtue.

She is the tragedy that comes when you’re told you must be good to deserve love, but in the end no one ever plans to love you anyway.

She lives like a saint and suffers like a sinner. But there is no salvation for women like her, only silence.

She was never allowed to be a girl. Not in the way Rhaenyra was: wild, laughing, free and full of a boiling rage.

Alicent’s girlhood ended when her father began grooming her for the king. Polished and pliable, sent to read scripture to a grieving man, told to wear her mother’s dress, smile at him and comfort a man twice her age.

She was fed to the crown before she even bled.

And she learns early that any kind of desire is dangerous, and wanting anything is weakness.

So she eats her own longing. Swallows it whole. Bit by bit, the girl becomes less real, less present. She is digestible now. Palatable. Hollow.

And when Rhaenyra gets to rage against her cage. Alicent is taught to love hers, like a lamb in a slaughter house.

And no one bleeds more quietly than Alicent Hightower.

We watch her pick her nails until they bleed.

Alicent hurts herself to feel something. To control something. To punish herself because of something.

It’s a ritual. A way to stay present in a life where her body, her time, and her love are no longer hers. Where silence is survival, and pain is proof she still exists inside the costume they’ve sewn her into.

But the real self-harm is quieter, crueler: staying in the marriage, bearing children she cannot protect, feeding a system that would rather bury her alive than let her speak her own name.

But in the end at the same time she bleeds, she holds the knife.

She thinks if she’s devout enough, she won’t be punished for the parts of herself she had to kill.

Alicent doesn’t wear religion like armor. She wears it like chains.

She clings to the Faith of the Seven because it tells her what is right, nd if she does everything right, maybe the gods will see her.

Maybe they will save her. Maybe it won’t hurt forever.

But religion doesn’t give her peac, on the contrary It gives her rules. And the Gods that she prays to save her tells her that obedience is godliness, and suffering is womanhood. It teaches her that silence is holy, and desire is sin.

She wears the Star of the Seven like a brand. She speaks of virtue like scripture. But what she’s really doing is begging for forgiveness, for surviving, for wanting. And for still remembering how sweet her girlhood days tasted like.

I love the bones of you. & Grief is a condition to motherhood.

Alicent does not get to become a mother. She is made into one.

Her body and womb are made into a weapon, and her children are currency.

She does not name them from love, she names them from duty. She loves them at the same time she can't even bare to look at them without wanting to tear her skin apart.

And she does not raise Aegon with warmth. She raises him with fear, because love never protected her, and fear is all she has ever known.

What have they become? Is it because of her?

Still she defends the system that used her. Because if she admits it was all wrong, then what was the suffering for? So she cannot afford to break, and then she breaks her children instead.

And in the end she is not a mother devoted to that word, she is a maternal sacrifice carved from an ever consuming regret and grief.

Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?

She used the rules as an armor made out of "ladylike-virtues", such as being obedient, quiet, loyal and modest.

She believes in them because to disbelieve would mean admitting her life has been a cage, and she locked the door herself.

Alicent becomes the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect queen and the dutiful mother. She upholds the institution that devoured her. She lectures Rhaenyra on virtue not because she believes in it, but also because it’s the only ground she has left to stand on.

And at what cost?

Her righteousness is not conviction. It’s a sign of desperation to dig her nails into something and turn the tide into her favor. To let everyone know that her sacrifice was worth it, for everyone to see that she did what she had to because it was more than expected of her. It was necessary.

She eats the lies and vomits them up as gospel. Because if she’s not right, then she’s just alone... then all the suffering all the tearing herself apart was for nothing.

You're so handsome when I'm all over your mouth I tried to be good, am I no good?

And what is love if not some soul crushing devotion and a violent carnal desire?

Alicent loved Rhaenyra. Not in a convetional best-friends way,it was not clean, or sweet or safe.

She loved her like a prayer whispered through gritted teeth. She loved her with her whole body and wasn’t allowed to name it.

And then Alicent got married to her lover's father and had to chose survival.

But she never stopped looking. Never stopped grieving. And the obsession isn’t hatred, it’s hunger. And hunger hurts (But starving works).

Alicent watches Rhaenyra become everything she was never allowed to be, and she even tried to catch up to her long lost girlhood just to be dissapointed again.

Isn't a bit of freedom to chose what she ever wanted? Is she making the right choices?

It's a torturous process to be the one in control and the one to feed what has always been hungry. But the hunger never dies, it grows and grows and it's unbearable... All she had and all she had experimented it wasn't what she was hungry for.

We all have a hunger, she just didn't have the words or the freedom to speak or act at such.

And it killed her. Slowly. Bitterly.

Alicent doesn’t want Rhaenyra dead, she wants her back.

Come with me.

But is it too late?

She doesn’t just miss Rhaenyra, she mourns her. And her love for Rhaenyra is rotted inside her when it wasn't returned the way she needed. So she buried it under righteousness, and devoured it when she needed the most.

Alicent Hightower is not evil, or weak, or cold.

She is a woman who devoured every soft part of herself just to survive. And now she lives in the hollow she carved out, wearing skin that no longer fits.

She speaks with the voice of her father, she walks with the crown as a chain, and still, somewhere deep inside her, the girl is screaming.

In the end Alicent is both the meal and the mouth. And she’s starving.

There’s nothing left of her now but bones dressed in a fine dress and duty, but if you listen closely, you can still hear the girl crying from inside the woman’s stomach.

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rhaenicent art that ive already posted but took down to fix up.

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my bisexual queen i never doubted you

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Have any of you watched that newest episode of Yellowjackets? Unrelated follow up, is anyone having vivid fantasies of being pinned down and forced to eat their own flesh by a woman covered in blood?

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I stand with my canceled wife !!

Let them think what they must. I am at last myself… with no ambition greater than to walk where I please and to breathe the open air. To die unremarked and unnoticed. || Ophelia (1851-52) by John Everett Millais, oil on canvas