#black and white was the best i could do

[ladyhawke]

Charlie Vickers as Clem Hart THE LOST FLOWERS OF ALICE HART 1.01 “Black Fire Orchid”

[mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers]

The most recent episode of Interview with a Vampire let's us see Lestat's side of the story and see how it compares to Louis' accounting of their relationship. As a result, it reaffirms just how unreliable of a narrator Louis is, but it also further illuminates elements of his character that the director and writers have been playing with since the beginning of the show.

There's this part in the episode where Lestat turns to Louis and apologizes and it's framed with Lestat turned to Louis on one side and Claudia on his other side. They're the angel and devil on Louis' shoulders, but who is the angel and who is the devil? And as my friend said, Armand and Daniel are placed into that same dynamic with Louis later on. We are being asked to decide who to trust, who's telling the truth, who's the good guy, but the fact of unreliability robs us of that decision.

This whole story is about Louis, he's the protagonist, though not the narrator, and he is constantly being pulled in two directions, no matter when or where he is in his story. He's a mind split in two, divided by nature and circumstance. He's vampire and human, owner and owned, father and child, angel and devil. He's both telling the story and being told the story. His history is a story he tells himself, and as we've seen, sometimes that story is not whole.

Louis is the angel who saved Claudia from the fire but he's also the devil who sentenced her to an life of endless torment, the adult trapped in the body of a child. He's the angel who rescued Lestat from his grief and also the devil who abandoned him, who couldn't love him, could only kill and leave him.

He's pulled in two directions, internally and externally at all times and so it's no wonder that he feels the need to confess, first to the priest, then Daniel, and then Daniel again.

He's desperate to be heard, a Black man with power in Jim Crow America who's controlled by his position as someone with a seat at the table but one who will never be considered equal. He doesn't belong to the Black community or the white community, he can't. He acts as a go-between, a bridge, one who is pushed and pulled until he can't take it anymore. He's a fledgling child to an undead father, he's a young queer man discovering his sexual identity with an infinitely experienced partner. He's confessing because he wants to be absolved, that human part of him that was raised Catholic, that child who believed, he wants to be saved. He wants to be seen.

Louis wants to attain a forever life that is morally pure, but he can't. He's been soiled by sin, by "the devil," as he calls Lestat, and he can never be clean again. Deep down, I think he knows this, but he can't stop trying to repent. He tries to self-flagellate by staying with Lestat and then tries to repent by killing him, but can't actually follow through. He follows Claudia to Europe to try and assuage his guilt. He sets himself on fire, attempts to burn himself at the stake, to purify his body, rid himself of the dark gift.

Louis is a man endlessly trying to account for the pain he has caused and he ultimately fails, over and over again, because he can't get rid of what he is. A monster. He's an endlessly hungry monster. He's hungry for love, for respect, for power, for forgiveness, for death. He's a hole that can never be filled. He can never truly acquire any of those things because he will always be punishing himself for wanting and needing them in the first place. He will never truly believe he deserves them and as a result, can't accept them if they are ever offered. He can never be absolved for he has damned himself by accepting the dark gift and thus has tainted himself past the point of saving.

[tunastime]

A Minute in the Morning

so I started playing pokemon legends arceus. crumples to the ground. (2762 words)

In a hazy, rusty morning light, Ingo wakes up.

It’s a slow start—like his office computer, taking a whole ten minutes to finish booting, enough to stir sugar into his morning coffee and dissect his breakfast sandwich into parts. It feels like it takes just about that much time for Ingo to become aware of where he’s lying, which is in bed. Which is not where he fell asleep to begin with, which means that someone lifted him to bed and tucked him in. Which was rather sweet. Because he’s burrowed into the covers like a happy drilbur, keeping the cold from his fingers and toes and nose. He finally blinks his eyes open, and it’s sunrise that fills his room. Not his room. Scratch that. Emmet’s room. No wonder the blankets are so much lighter than he remembers them being. Nevertheless. Happy drilbur. He weasels a little more into the pillow. From either side of him, something moves. It’s slight, if there, but as he cranes his neck, slow and careful, he can see a dark head of hair on one side, and silver-white on the other. 

Ingo’s heart swells a fraction too big and too warm for his chest as he sighs out.

Elesa and Emmet haven’t woken up yet, which is a plus. If he were to move too much and move them he might lose the warmth from either side. Elesa’s shoulder rests against the crest of his back, and Emmet’s holding onto his elbow with one hand. The grip is loose at best, but the warmth, both from shoulder to spine and hand to elbow, seeps through him.

It’s blurry. Just everything. It kind of mushes together in his brain, like jam. Or maybe jelly. It doesn’t really matter. If he thinks too hard, his stomach starts to twist in knots, and he’d rather not feel sick while he’s trying to enjoy his morning. He remembers falling asleep while the television played the night prior—nighttime skits and commercials he filtered out until Emmet’s shoulder became the comfiest thing. He supposes that sometime between that point, and the point which he’s just woken up, Elesa came in, and at some other point, he was carted off to bed. It’s nice, though. The blankets make just enough weight over him to soothe ache and anxiety, and it’s warm, and he’s mostly thinking about how nice a cup of coffee sounds right now. Maybe a latte. Something warm. He shuts his eyes again.

The light is surprisingly yellower when he wakes up again. There’s still a warm weight on both sides of him, but it feels different than before. It stretches over him, too, more than just the weighted blanket that’s been added on top of him. He peeks an eye open to find Eelektross slumped over him, his large head curled near Ingo’s shoulder and his similarly large eyes shut as he snores. Ingo snorts, trying to shift to his back with the weight over him, without waking Eelektross. He does after a moment, settling once again, only for Eelektross to huff and fix one, tired eye on his face. Ingo smiles, just a little.

Wriggling a hand free, he pats Eelektross’ forehead, a path well pet and well loved.

“Good morning, you gigantic eel.”

Eelektross trills, nuzzling into Ingo’s hand.

“Mm, yes,” Ingo says. “I’m sure that definitely did not alert Emmet that I am awake, meaning I can’t fake any more sleep. Thank you Eelektross.”

The eel gives a happy sniff.

Ingo snorts.

Typical.

The door cracks open a moment later, the wide eyes of his brother peeking through. He raises his eyebrows, looking over Ingo and Eelektross still in bed. It comes with a little head tilt, something Ingo knows is indicative of an Emmet with a question.

“Sleep well?” he asks. Ingo nods.

“I think so,” he says. “I didn’t realize I’d be carried to bed when I fell asleep.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, eyebrows raising. “I made sure you stayed asleep when we carried you in. You’re a very deep sleeper when you want to be.”

It’s getting better, the gaps in his memory. It’s not enough to trust himself to start his duties as a Subway Boss again, but it's enough to have a few doctor’s appointments and to speak with police and his boss and their coworkers. He’s remembered their pokemon, which is why Eelektross didn’t startle him. And he’s remembered enough for him to fall asleep on Emmet’s shoulder with no care in the world. Enough for life to begin to settle from the chaos. Today is Tuesday, which means Emmet has the day off, and Ingo can tell, even as he reaches to wipe sleep from his eyes, that Emmet is still in his pajamas. He opens the door a little wider, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Ah,” Ingo echoes. “Was it Elesa’s idea to sleep in your room rather than my own?”

“It was,” Emmet concedes, smiling. “But I am Emmet, and I make a very good pillow.”

“You are Emmet and you are a very clingy sleeper,” Ingo says, letting his eyes shut again. Emmet makes a startled noise.

“Go-Go, don’t fall asleep again,” he yaps. “Your breakfast will get cold.”

Slowly, Ingo opens one eye, looking at his brother in the doorway. Eelektross snuffs into his shoulder, wriggling off of him. He grunts as the eel’s weight shifts off, leaving him free, but cooler.

“What’s for breakfast?” he says, watching Eelektross wriggle off the bed and toward Emmet. Emmet opens the door a bit further, takes a step back, and hefts the eel into his arms, knees bending with the weight. Ingo watches Emmet giggle to himself, shifting Eelektross in his arms to better wrap around his neck and arms, weight heavy against him. Clearly.

“Pancakes,” Emmet huffs. He’s still smiling, something almost infectious.

“Alright,” Ingo sighs.

“I also cut some fruit.”

“I’m getting up,” Ingo grumbles, rolling onto his side before he peels himself up and into a sit.

“I think Elesa left her nice coffee creamer, also.”

“I’m already up, Em,” Ingo snorts, trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to convince me.”

Emmet laughs again.

“Just adding!” he says cheerily, wobbling off toward the living room. In the open doorway, Ingo can see the sprawl of their living room and kitchen, lit by yellow daylight. Ingo sighs, stretching his arms above his head, twisting around. When the room settles, he stands, and he realizes that the room is warm around him. Emmet must’ve turned the heat on, and it must actually be working. He hums as he combs his hair back, wandering into the bathroom to wash his face.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen table, Emmet is sitting at the table, scrolling on his x-transceiver. He’s changed into a cream-colored, high collared sweater, his hair held back with a small headband. Eelektross is lying across the couch, head resting on the arm. There’s a plate of pancakes sitting in front of Ingo’s seat at the table, and a half-eaten plate in front of Emmet. He looks up as Ingo sits, raising his eyebrows.

“Good morning,” Emmet says. He nudges a cup of coffee toward Ingo. It’s a light brown color—likely the way that Ingo likes it. It helps they like their plain coffee the same way. If it were any other type of coffee, Ingo’s certain there would be some big disagreement—type of milk and way of prep and iced versus hot. But Ingo takes a long sip of hot coffee and nearly sighs in relief. Whatever fancy creamer Elesa buys really does make a plain cup of coffee so much better. He sits, nudging Emmet with his foot under the table.

“What are you reading?” he asks, gesturing with his fork to Emmet’s phone. Emmet holds it up.

“Article on a new electric rail system in Galar.” 

Ingo tilts his head, nodding along.

“Interesting. Any good?”

“Very efficient,” Emmet says, nodding along. He eventually pulls back, setting his phone face down on the table and returning to his pancakes. He takes a large bite, and through it, says:

“Maybe Gear Station should get some upgrades.”

Ingo snorts.

“We’re already quite efficient,” he says. “Do you think our trains could be quicker? Easier to board?”

Emmet shrugs.

“Wishful thinking. They’re already automatically driven, so there isn’t much more, but maybe longer cars to hold more passengers. Our trains are quite small.”

“Sounds expensive,” Ingo says, drinking his coffee. He pulls apart his stack of pancakes, poking at them with his fork.

“Maybe they’ve already got an upgrade in the works,” Emmet says. “It’s been a while since we’ve had an all-staff meeting. Perhaps we should inform the director.”

“Especially since I’ve returned and have about three years to catch up on, mm?”

Emmet smiles. It’s a bit tight, though. Ingo glances away, biting into his tongue. Should’ve kept that thought to himself.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says. “Though I promise you that not much has changed in the last three years.”

Ingo hums. He believes it, that nothing much has shifted. It’s hard to say, obviously, considering he wasn’t there to see it for himself, but his brother was never the type to lie without a reason, and this certainly didn’t have a good one. He takes a large bite of pancake and finds them still warm. It’s a quiet breakfast, between pancakes and coffee and Galvantula sleeping underneath the table. Emmet eventually finishes his food, shoveling large bites of pancake into his mouth as quickly as he can. Ingo watches him swallow with surprising difficulty, reaching for his cup of coffee. It takes a moment for Ingo to stomach the rest of his pancakes. Having this much food is a luxury he had not often afforded a month prior. His stomach still wasn’t used to it.

“Where is Elesa?” Ingo asks after a beat. Emmet talks through a mouthful of pancake and strawberry and maple syrup. 

“Mm, she had four battle appointments today, but she’ll be back around. Probably before two.”

Emmet is the first to finish, setting all his dishes together as he stands. He moves around Ingo as Ingo finishes, collecting dishes and setting everything in the sink. As Ingo stands to pass him his plate, he asks:

“Did you have a plan today?

“Mm?” Emmet hums. “No, not particularly. Why? Is there something you wanted to do?”

Ingo frowns, face pulling.

“Well,” he starts. “I was thinking—”

“Ah,” Emmet interjects. “Your first mistake—”

“I was thinking,” Ingo continues, narrowing his eyes. “That it might be a good idea for us to visit Elesa. I need to ask her for a new coat.”

“Mm!” Emmet startles, turning toward him. His face brightens. “That’s right! You do need a new coat. Good thing she’ll be over later, mm?”

Ingo nods. He fetches his coffee mug, pouring another cup of black coffee to balance the sweetened dregs. He leans back against the counter right as Emmet goes to hand him a dish to put away. They work in tandem for a moment, pausing as Ingo works to finish his coffee.

It’s a slow morning, 8:45am, and Ingo gazes back at his bed with longing.

It’s just. When’s the last time he had such a good sleep, right? On a bed that soft? He’d gotten so used to tatami mats and the grass and canvas laid out on the ground and here was a bed, with thick fluffy blankets and several large pillows and another person taking up space. It was very—stop it, Ingo—it’s comfortable. He hands Emmet his coffee mug.

“Ingo,” Emmet says.

Ingo hums. His eyes have drifted to the couch. Maybe standing is a little hard today. He should sit, shouldn’t he?

“Is my brother still up there?” Emmet asks, tapping Ingo’s head. Ingo startles as he does, turning to him.

“I would hope so,” he says. “Otherwise I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Not here, obviously” Emmet says. He finishes rinsing Ingo’s mug, setting it top down on the drying mat. “Though I’m not entirely sure you’re all there right now, are you?”

“Trying,” Ingo hums. “Too much going on.”

Emmet hums, a bit of a laugh showing through.

“You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I won’t,” Ingo promises.

“I don’t believe you,” Emmet says, shutting off the sink. The clean dishes sit on the rack, dripping water. Emmet wipes his hands with a dish towel. “You know, you should be resting if your engine isn’t working at full capacity. Rest is very important”

“Can’t be a well oiled machine with nowhere to go,” Ingo says, folding his arms. “I don’t understand why I don’t have the energy to move anymore.”

“Does the why matter?” Emmet asks. He’s leaning against the counter now, a mirror to Ingo, like he often was to Emmet. It was a natural progression—one following after the other, a mirror, a shadow, a doppleganger.

“It matters a little,” Ingo shrugs. “It matters to me. It gives me a reason.”

“Your reason is that you’ve gone through a lot,” Emmet says, pushing away from the counter. He scoops up his x-transceiver from the table, moving around it and through the apartment as he talks. “Your reason is that your body is playing catch-up with the world around you.”

“Maybe,” Ingo huffs.

“I am Emmet,” says his brother. “I am tired. I don’t sleep well. Do you think it’s my fault that I’m tired and don’t sleep well?”

Ingo grits his teeth. He hates this part—ever since they were little, Emmet would flip this hypocritical card, showing Ingo exactly how stupid he was sounding. It was good, for the most part, because Emmet was right and next time Emmet did the same thing, Ingo could follow suit with that card. But it was so annoying watching it now, watching Emmet throw open the blinds and shimmy open the window for the fire escape. A tinged-cool spring breeze filters in through the open window, tossing the curtains aside. Emmet keeps moving as Ingo thinks, the gears in his head turning slowly, still dulled with sleep. 

“No,” Ingo says shortly, watching Emmet rearrange coasters on the coffee table, setting game controllers back into their docks. “I don’t think anything is your fault.”

“Well now you are just flattering me, Go-Go.”

“Don’t say that flattery never got anyone anywhere,” Ingo says, pointing at him, waving his finger. Emmet laughs.

“My point is,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “You’re allowed to rest. We can figure out the steps from there, right? Even if we’re sitting on the couch to do it.”

Ingo sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Even if I fall asleep?”

Emmet nods, still smiling a little.

“I will wake you if you do.”

Ingo huffs out a laugh, feeling the edges of his mouth quirk up. As Emmet sits on the soft, corduroy couch, Ingo feels himself pulled forward, as if recalled, to sit beside him. He brings his knees up as he settles into his familiar spot between the back and arm of the couch. 

“Do you promise you’ll shake me awake?” Ingo says, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Emmet scrunches his nose.

“Yes,” he says, knocking his knuckles into Ingo’s knee. “I do. But I’m going to watch Alakazam! so you can think without my talking.”

Ingo nods. The television hums to life quietly in the background.

Emmet always watches Alakazam! at 9am. At least, when he can catch it. Ingo watches the last few minutes of the previous game show, something quiet and low despite the flash of colors and excited spread of energy. As the show starts, he watches Emmet’s face shift, that serious pull to his mouth and the furrow of his eyebrows that Ingo only sees when they’re battling. To see that spark again, not knowing how long it’s been gone, turns a question in Ingo’s mind.

“Emmet,” he says.

“Yes, I am Emmet,” Emmet says. “You are Ingo. What do you need?”

“I think I've got an idea of what I want to do today.”

Emmet turns his head a bit, looking at Ingo mostly out of the corner of his eye. His eyes flick back and forth between Ingo’s face and the television, waiting for his program to start.

“Mm?” Emmet asks. Ingo smiles a bit, a laugh stuck behind his teeth.

He sees the glint in Emmet’s eye before he even asks his question.

“What about a pokemon battle?”

[theonewhowails]

in my head this is how Divine Inspiration works

[mitamicah]

Jere, Jukka and the dancers at Böle Arena, 5.4.24 (my potato pictures)

[willowways]

While it’s important to not let the ( suspected; not yet convicted) shooters politics overshadow what he did it’s weird how many people believe that the revolution will begin with people of color and other minorities “getting over themselves” and keeping their mouths shut about his views altogether

[sskk-manifesto]

And so the big sskk shortage begins (no sskk for the next 15 episodes) (and the sskk episode coming after kind of sucks)

[starrysilvalley]

Hello, welcome to my funny little corner of tumblr! I’m Starry Silvalley, or just Starry or Silvalley/Silvally is fine. This isn’t my main account, but a secondary one to dump all the stuff I wrote about a dystopian Pokémon Unova storyline, which I’ve currently dubbed as Spectrum. What originally was a writing challenge for myself to write a Pokémon Unova game storyline turned into a passion project I hope to actually write and share with people who may be interested. If dystopian Pokémon AUs interest you, you’re welcome to stick around! If interested in my original works, you can check out my linktree here!

As of right now, most of my drawings for this project are sketches. I’m a full-time worker in summer and a full-time student the rest of the year, so finding time to draw digitally has been difficult. I normally love doing full digital illustrations, and I may have some every now and then, but right now I’m most efficient in traditional illustrations.

Below is the premise of this storyline! I will post more information and drawings as time goes on, I have a lot already made for this project :)

✨⭐️✨

Spectrum: Premise

Welcome to post-war New Unova, far into the future of the events of Pokémon Black and White 2. Several decades have passed since the end of a traumatic and painful war with Galar and other regions, New Unova has only just begun to find a new order and peace. Aided by the leadership of current Champion Harlan and the most technologically advanced defense system built by his predecessor/father, New Unova embraces a time of tranquility and safety not yet seen. The region has cut itself off from almost all regions other than allies like Alola and Paldea, but is a small cost for rebuilding the spirit and foundation of Unova.

At least… that’s what the citizens thought until the eve of the fortieth annual Pokémon League Tournament. A series of events sparks a new wave of uncertainty in the balance of Unova’s order. A new group known as the Golden Spiral has risen in protest of the Pokémon League and the excessive use of the P.A.M defense system. An odd dark stone is stolen from the careful watch of a mysterious figure and now lies in the grasp of a fugitive who lost his memories seven years prior. If it weren’t enough, a young girl with long green hair disrupts a protest by calming what was believed to be an untamable Hydregion, bringing attention to a lineage believed long since disintegrated. With new journeys beginning and old missions resuming, the 40th Unova Pokémon Gym Tournament will witness the region remain sturdier than ever or collapse under the hubris of its citizens.

Here are the two main characters of this storyline— young Una and her primary guardian, Emmet. Una is the equivalent of the female player character if this were an actual in-game storyline. I’ll probably share more about them in a separate post :) For now, thanks for stopping by!

[florida3exclamationpoints]

I have to pick my magic band for Disney and unfortunately little customizable things like this are my favorite things ever so this is one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make in my life

[mythhp]

Lil rant from absorbing the absurd politics on tumblr, featuring Harry Potter discourse

People who are pro-Snape and anti-characters-who-say-anything-negative-about-Snape linger on how he was bullied and overlook (or at least minimise) how he was a Death Eater.

It overlooks the minutiae of being a Death Eater that we don't see - how suffered, yes, but he chose hate, chose to follow and directly support a bigoted terrorist, knowing the plan was to strip people of their rights; how he killed people, tortured people, for that end. Even if he came to regret it later, those are things he did.

I have seen some of these people also say that anybody who voted for Trump is evil. Anybody who didn't vote at all, or voted third party, is responsible for anything bad the government does in the next 4 years. It is your fault, they say, and I will never forgive you.

You can see the cognitive dissonance there, right?

[churchboi666]

Chat you know what that means-

F I S H 🗣️🐟

[bravewolfvesperia]

/ list of actual interaction tragedies:

i don't have a mileena to interact with

i don't have a zephyr to interact with

i don't have the other white lions to interact with

i don't have a vicious to interact with

living the yuri gacha tragedy.

[robotpussy]

hm the diversity everybody seems to be ok with (all white cast and a token) is what forced diversity actually is, not when the best person for a lead role just so happens to not be white/mostly not white cast but we all know what people mean by "forced diversity" so I'm not gonna lament too much anymore

[krimsonwings]

I hope that, in light of his increased popularity because of the movie, that Miguel O’Hara shows up in more Spider-Man media. Like, outside of the Spider-verse movie trilogy.

I see him a lot in his white suit on random merch, usually in the background, but amongst Peter and Miles. Sometimes with Gwen and Anya too.

Marvel has had no problem de-aging characters for media purposes before. Peter has been aged up n down all over the place, and even Tony Stark has been de-aged for a cartoon before, so it’d be cool to see a younger Miguel heroing alongside Miles n Peter.

I could see a teen Miguel getting trapped in the past due to some plot-related future shenanigans. The implication of how he obtained his spider half would be more horrific since he’s younger, but that can be alluded to and left to fanfiction if needed. (But is important to his character and shouldn’t be removed or diluted!)

I just wanna see a teen Miguel having some fun with Peter n Miles (while still being our favorite sarcastic ass).

[gaylittleguys]

it’s actually so fucked up and evil that random white npcs from bg3 that show up twice got more dedicated fans than Wyll

[peoplearepeoplearepretty]

Chester Bennington!

This was a tough one but i really wanted to do smth for him, Linkin Park was a huge part of my growing up and i saw some videos of shows and i just knew i had to

Hope is an acceptable tribute!