toss platform

the world is yours and you can’t refuse it

In which Damian wants to be an adult, accidentally stumbles into friendship with some dumb ten-year-old half-alien kid, and maybe finds appreciation for the kid still in him too. 

Friendship fluff 

Damian Wayne is not a kid.

He lets Grayson call him “kiddo,” sure. And much to his dismay, there have been times when he, Pennyworth, or Father carried him to his bedroom after he dozed off somewhere else in the Wayne Manor. And he lost his last ba–deciduous tooth more recently than he liked. But that doesn’t make him a kid.

Damian’s earliest memories are being pushed to climb mountains, taught how to fling swords into an opponent’s gut, and told, time and time again, of the legacy he will fulfill. Visceral violence and blood. There was never a time for childhood. At least not one in the traditional sense that everyone else seems to describe.

Besides, he’s thirteen. Surely that adolescent age is finally old enough to be considered on his way to adulthood, his lack of growth spurt and still-high-pitched voice be damned.

Jon Kent, the half-alien, on the other hand? Is perhaps the biggest kid he’s ever known.

Keep reading

@welabitchek​ shall be cut DOWN.

“ Marie thinks it’s a bunch’a CRAP. She does her job because she WANTS to, not because some whiny crybaby told her to! If there was a GOD, even HE wouldn’t be able to choose where Marie goes! “

“ …But are YOU saying that Marie is DREAMING? ‘Cause that’s not true. She has a very firm grasp on reality - and these BEASTS have to be HUNTED! That’s just the way it has to be! “

Namba Hatch bullet points

Haven’t done one of these in a while, but since it’ll be probably the end of the month before I can write up all of the tour, here’s a few tidbits.

They had a hanamichi! This took the form of a second stage jutting into the front section. Had we realized day 1, we would’ve homed in on it. As it was, day 2, even though my tickets weren’t quite as good, ended up 2nd row near the right corner (as you face it). Fantastic view when they were on it.

Kiiyan’s cut his hair. I am sad to see the length go, but he’s got it done in something like an asymmetrical bob and it looks great on him.

He and e-zuka were on FIRE. Seriously, their vocal/playing intensity went to 11 both days.

Shin came out to play on the hanamichi Sunday, playing the metal platform, tossing things into the audience. Stealing one of e-zuka’s signature moves, where he “attacks” the audience with his guitar (bazan!) and we all pretend to get bowled over (uaaaah!). He forgot to say anything the first time so the group to that side of the stage weren’t really prepared. So they got a second chance after the rest of us.  e-zuka had done this on the hanamichi during his opening MC each day … so felt compelled to do it again when he came out for his solo. Heh.

During msc, Kiiyan sat down on the opposite site and encouraged an RG to “motto, motto” whatever she was doing. He looked sheepish about it as he stood up.

Three Sundays being 2nd row … three Sundays of having Kiiyan stand there and show off his belly to my area. A girl could get spoiled by that, oh yes.

He added hip thrusts to Punky Funky Love, which was quite amusing. And while Brush the Scar Lemon wasn’t as sexy as Sendai (where he managed, despite being sick and disoriented, to be absolutely amazing on BtSL) but he was a spinning, kicking dervish. It was *amazing*.

They squeezed “move on! ibaramichi” into the 1st encore, so we got an extra song both days. And dang, it was awesome. The audience was so pumped to hear it.

e-zuka told us we have to wait for G12 for Endless Summer and Koi wa mirage.

Takita apparently got mistaken for an AV actor by some young guy at the train station. XD

Don’t want the tour to be over, but can’t wait for Thursday/Friday!

When I  first visited Tashkent, in 1928, a conference of Communist women was announcing: “Our members in backward villages are being violated, tortured and murdered. But this year we must finish the hideous veil; this must be the historic year.” Shocking incidents gave point to this resolution. A girl from a Tashknet school gave her  vacation to agitating for women’s rights in her home village. Her dismembered body was sent back to school in a cart bearing the words: “That for your women’s freedom.” Another woman had refused the attentions of a landlord and married a Communist peasant; a gang of eighteen men, stirred up by the landlord, violated her in the eighth month of pregnancy and threw her body in the river.

Poems were written by women to express their struggle. When Zulfia Khan, a fighter for freedom was burned alive by the mullahs, the women of her village wrote a lament:

“O, woman, the world will not forget your fight for freedom! Your flame– let them not think that it consumed you. The flame in which you burned is a torch in our hands.”

The citadel of orthodox oppression was “Holy Bokhara”. Here, a dramatic unveiling was organised. Word was spread that “something spectacular” would occur on International Women’s Day, March 8. Mass meetings of women were held in many parts of the city on that day, and women speakers urged that everyone “unveil all at once.” Women then marched to the platform,tossed their veils before the speakers and went to parade the streets. Tribunes had been set up where government leaders greeted the women. Other women joined the parade from their homes and tossed their veils to the tribunes. That parade broke the veil tradition in Holy Bokhara. Many women, of course, donned veils again before facing their angry husbands. But the veil from that time on appeared less and less.

Soviet power used many weapons for the freeing of women. Education, propaganda, law all had their place. Big public trials were held of husbands who murdered wives; the pressure of the new propaganda confirmed judges who gave the death sentence for what old custom had not considered crime. The most important weapon for freeing women was, as in Russia proper, the new industrialisation.

I visited a new silk mill in Old Bokhara. Its director, a pale, exhausted man, driving without sleep to build a new industry, told me the mill was not expected to be profitable for a long time. “We are training village women into a new staff for future silk mills of Turkestan. Our mill is the consciously applied force which broke the veiling of women; we demand that women unveil in their mill.”

Girl textile workers wrote songs on the new meaning of life when they exchanged the veil for the Russian head-dress, the kerchief.

“When I took the road to the factory, I found there a new kerchief, A red kerchief, a silk kerchief, Brought with my own hand’s labour! The roar of the factory is in me. It gives me rhythm. It gives me energy.”

—  New People, The Stalin Era (1956), Anna Louise Strong