… And this is why you remember to log out of tumblr on your phone too.
Not dead, just revising. Will be for foreseeable future. Swearing off tumblr til then. Love to all. Not sure why typing like this.
bbc radio neverwhere characters
↳ david harewood is the marquis de carabas
(Source: anniethedirewolf, via ilikesallydonovan)
Bikers Against Child Abuse make abuse victims feel safe
These tough bikers have a soft spot: aiding child-abuse victims. Anytime, anywhere, for as long as it takes the child to feel safe, these leather-clad guardians will stand tall and strong against the dark, and the fear, and those who seek to harm.
The 11-year-old girl hears the rumble of their motorcycles, rich and deep, long before she sees them. She chews her bottom lip, nervous.
They are coming for her.
The bikers roar into sight, a pack of them, long-haired and tattooed, with heavy boots and leather vests, and some riding double. They circle the usually quiet Gilbert cul-de-sac, and the noise pulls neighbors from behind slatted wood blinds and glossy front doors.
One biker stops at the mouth of the street, parks in the middle of the road and stands guard next to his motorcycle, arms crossed.
The rest back up to the curb in front of the girl’s house, almost in formation, parking side by side. There are 14 motorcycles in all, mostly black and shiny chrome. The bikers rev their engines again before shutting them down.
The sudden silence is deafening. The girl’s mother takes her hand.
The leader of this motorcycle club is a 55-year-old man who has a salt-and-pepper Fu Manchu and wears his hair down past his shoulders. He eases off his 2000 Harley Road King and approaches the little girl.
He is formidable, and intimidating, and he knows it. So he bends low in front of the little girl and puts out his hand, tanned and weathered from the sun and wind: “Hi, I’m Pipes.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says softly, her small hand disappearing in his.
The unruly-looking mob in her driveway is there to help her feel safe again. They are members of the Arizona chapter of Bikers Against Child Abuse International, and they wear their motto on their black leather vests and T-shirts: “No child deserves to live in fear.”
I’ll admit - this made me tear up. I’d never heard of BACA before. Now I want to find the WA and OR chapters, and give them some money. I can’t give them a lot - I live hand-to-mouth - but they deserve my support. Surviving abuse is not - *not* - easy. These bikers have taken on a nearly-impossible task, struggling to make it a little easier. Amazing. Absolutely wonderful.
The bikers aren’t looking for trouble. They are there so the kids don’t feel so alone, or so powerless. Pipes recalls going to court with an 8-year-old boy, and how tiny he looked on the witness stand, his feet dangling a foot off the floor.
“It’s scary enough for an adult to go to court,” he says. “We’re not going to let one of our little wounded kids go alone.”
In court that day, the judge asked the boy, “Are you afraid?” No, the boy said.
Pipes says the judge seemed surprised, and asked, “Why not?”
The boy glanced at Pipes and the other bikers sitting in the front row, two more standing on each side of the courtroom door, and told the judge, “Because my friends are scarier than he is.”
This is the most beautiful, awe-inspiring thing I’ve read in a long time. I wanna write a book about these guys, Jesus Christ. Where’s the blockbuster movie about these badasses?
I’m, honestly, sobbing.
What wonderful, kindhearted people. Once again just proves that you can’t judge a book by its cover.
((I come from a family of bikers. And I just have to say that BACA is an amazing organization. They often participate in rides and fundraisers to benefit local children’s charities, as well as the things mentioned above. This is their website if anyone wants to visit their faq to learn more about their cause :) ))
I love these guys. SO MUCH.
I saw these guys at my mall’s kids’ day recently. Totally awesome!
(via amongablazeoflights)
Pound of Flesh (Live) by Regina Spektor from Live at Bull Moose EP
Did anyone else actually scream when this happened oor
She drinks with Isabela that night. A little too much, and none of it easy to swallow. She hopes they never find out what Corff puts in his barrels and Isabela says she’ll drink to that.
‘Speed griffons,’ Hawke says.
‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘Three goats,’ Hawke says.
‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘And a sheaf of wheat,’ Hawke says.
‘I need more drink to drink to things,’ Isabela replies, turning her mug over, leaving a ring on the stained bartop.
Rings, Hawke thinks. Rings and pretty things. ‘More of your finest, Corff,’ she says. ‘I am wealthy and inebriated and I would prefer more teeth in my ale this time, thank you. They lend it a certain…Orlesian…something…you know what I’m getting at.’
She slumps forward after that, chin on her folded arms.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Isabela says. She does. The mug of half-empty—or is that half-full? Hawke can never remember which one it is, like a big, shiny gold sovereign flipped in the air that hasn’t landed on one side or the other yet—slosh-piss-gutter-water-more-piss lands on the splintery wood and clangs between Hawke’s ears like wedding bells.
‘Urrrrrgnnnnnnngh,’ Hawke says.
‘If I drink to that,’ Isabela replies, ‘then I’ll be making that sound.’
She twirls her fingerless-glove fingers towards Hawke on the bartop like her hands are doing the Remigold.
‘Ooh,’ Hawke says.
‘Now then, duckling,’ Isabela says, ‘I know how it is. Women like that—the big sort with the freckles and the strong hands and the broad shoulders and the freckles and the red hair and the… Where was I?’
‘Women like that.’ Hawke supposes she’s just heaved a dreamy sigh.
‘Women like that,’ Isabela agrees. She shakes her head. ‘They’ll break your heart as easily as they break a ruffian’s neck, that’s what I mean. Pretty things who kiss like barricades and battering rams. Audacious flirts.’
Hawke supposes Isabela’s just heaved a dreamy sigh, too.
‘You?’ Hawke asks.
‘Mm,’ Isabela says. ‘She kissed me once, and I know I’ll never forget it, either.’
‘The minx,’ Hawke says.
‘The siren,’ Isabela agrees.
Hawke supposes they’ve both just heaved a dreamy sigh. For creamy skin and freckles and red hair and fists that could punch an ogre to death, easily, and pained laughter and terrible flirting skills and the bravest, boldest, battering ram of a heart in all of heartbroken Thedas.
‘To Aveline,’ Hawke says.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Isabela replies.
(via salroka)
