When Damian first came to live in the Manor, he liked to hide in the attic so he wouldn’t have to talk with anyone if he didn’t want to. Since then, he’s made it more homey- bringing up art supplies, blankets, pillows; it’s his sanctuary. Alfred pretends he doesn’t know about it but sometimes “forgets” a plate of cookies near the entrance every once in a while
I’m making this post because I see so many people blindly idolizing Jack Kilmer and he hasn’t done anything to deserve the amount of respect or fans that he has. Jack Kilmer took a picture “reenacting” basically mocking the death of River Phoenix. If you don’t know who River is he was an AMAZING actor, musician, and environmental/ animal rights activist. He also looks a bit like Jack Kilmer so people are always comparing them. On October 31st, 1993, River overdosed and died having seizures outside the viper room in West Hollywood. In the picture you can see Jack Kilmer laying on the ground playing dead outside the viper room. That’s not a coincidence. Jack Kilmer is seriously trash and beyond disrespectful. That was a really shitty thing to do and it wasn’t even remotely funny. I can’t believe someone who works in the same industry that admires River so much can do a shitty thing like this and people can still respect him. This picture is also his Instagram icon for crying out loud!!!! The next time you want to compare River Phoenix to Jack Kilmer and say they look so much alike or “Jack is the modern day River Phoenix” PLEASE DON’T. He doesn’t deserve to be compared to River and he obviously doesn’t even respect him.
Yesterday Meg, Plum, Jes, and I, climbed out the window of a run down and abandoned apartment in the middle of the city, and out the most rickety fire escape you could imagine ! (It felt a little like romping around the attic as kids! Superb!)
Photo by @jescasins on instagram !
[image: screenshot of a tumblr post. “let’s test something, if trump goes full-on hitler, would you actually be willing to hide the persecuted within your own home? as in literally within your house, in your basement, in your attic.”]
[image: obnoxiously sparkly gif that reads “sounds like Performative Allyship ™ but ok…” by @faunaandforests]
like, trump is already doing this. trump’s administration is already persecuting people, threatening them, denying them safety and home. people are already being deported and detained. so there’s no “let’s test something.” this is now.
and uh, i don’t know what this post is hoping to accomplish, or what it’s… what it’s testing. like, testing your ability to feel good about yourself for work you didn’t do? testing your capacity to proclaim your good intentions regarding The Persecuted ™ while simultaneously disavowing any threat to yourself?
testing your ability to draw complex connections between historical events? testing your ability to recognize that qualifying trump as either “full-on hitler” or not enables complacency about everything trump does that doesn’t exactly match hitler?
and like you… don’t get to say this. you don’t get to say this and also exclude jews from your politics and ignore rising anti-semitic violence. you don’t get to say this and ignore undocumented immigrants and what they say about their needs and struggles and lives. you don’t get to make people’s marginalization and oppression into something about you, about your grace and humbleness in letting Those People (”the persecuted” is really getting to me, that linguistic choice is just. shitty and dehumanizing) into your home while simultaneously disenfranchising them by turning them into helpless victims for you to save
Betsy the oven. She gave everything she had. She fed them for so long, such delicious things.
The NEW oven. It’s like a nuclear reactor of love and friendship and everything baked in it will radiate love and friendship. Well, it’s part Bitty’s talent, and part the fact that it was given as an obscene gesture of love.
The ugly green couch. Yeah it’s old and moldy but it feels like putting that super worn pair of pajama pants that are stained and full of holes but are the comfiest thing ever. Chowder takes the BEST naps on it. Bitty has no idea because he never sat on the thing.
Señor Bunny. He watches over Bitty’s sleep and dreams.
The BE BETTER poster. I didn’t say they were all GOOD magical properties. That poster multiplied Jack’s anxiety every time he read the message, like a spell.
The attic. That’s where the ghosts feel more comfortable. Well, that’s also where Ransom sleeps.
The Kitchen curtains. Will allow the sunlight to strategically hit handsome hockey players covered in flour so poor gay southern boys can get dramatic revelations.
The electrical wiring. Hasn’t caught fire yet.
The pucks above Bitty’s door. Those are the pucks of Johnson’s shutouts, they actively shut out most negative energies. Johnson, of course, knew what he was doing. Bitty doesn’t need more negative emotions than the narrative gives him.
The Beyoncé posters have the strongest spells of strength and fabulousness you can find, and Bitty’s room is plastered in them. (Johnson will tell you that, as the protagonist, Bitty needs all the protective spells he can get.)
Too much pain to be reinvoked. It was like taking pictures from the attic, cleaning
away the dust and finding the colors still vibrant. And the pictures should have been
portraits of dead ancestors and they were pictures of us.
It is so appropriate to color hope yellow, like that sun we seldom saw. And as I begin to copy from the old memorandum journals that I kept for so long, a title comes as if inspired.Open the Window and Stand in the Sunshine.Yet, I hesitate to name our story that. For I think of us more as flowers in the attic. Paper flowers. Born so brightly colored, and fading duller through all those long, grim, dreary, nightmarish days when we were held prisoners of hope, and kept captives by greed. But, we were never to color even one of our paper blossoms yellow.
I’ve been here before. Years ago. When it was new I didn’t
understand the process of chaos. Bedlam broke into my home by way of lapse in
judgement and I didn’t have enough dry towels to seal the leaks. Skin moulded to
my bones beneath wet cloth. I waited.
Weight settled like dust in an attic. Residing there like an
apparition. But ghosts aren’t stable and if the chain gets rattled they become
dybbuks and will not leave unless offered proper sacrifices. So my body reeked
of supplication for many days.
It rained last night. I wonder if it refreshed the air, but
I haven’t gone outside to check. It might have been acidic instead.
(This is my entry for Poe Party’s transmedia project. The prompt was weapon, but because I’m me, I made it a Wellenore story as well. This also contains some purely pulled-from-my-ass speculation for the next episode, so feel free to dismiss this AU. And with that out of the way, on with the show!)