#Gavin Ward

[thehardgroove]

a blonde Jo Bench and the rest of the greatest gang

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Bolt Thrower

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

WREAKING HAVOC ON THE DEATH METAL UNDERGROUND WITH IRONBIRDS IN TOW.

PIC(S) INFO: Photos respectfully reposted from @theknightvintage -- Mega spotlight on English death metal band BOLT THROWER, during the band's "War Master" era, performing live at Edwards No.8 in Birmingham, UK, c. 1991.

These shots were reportedly unearthed and shared online only recently, and includes new shots of Jo Bench and Gavin Ward with their B.C. Rich Ironbirds NJ Series guitar/bass guitar.

Source: www.picuki.com/media/3351861813798999037.

[indycarnocontext]

From @vetteldixon

[umseb]

"Silverstone Grand Prix After Party with the guys (from left to right): Christian Horner, Gavin Ward, Michael Manning, Sebastian Vettel, Guillaume Rocquelin, Tim Malyon." - december 15, 2023 📷 @.sebastianvettel / instagram

[cyazurai]

[bizarrobrain]

[faydingrain]

Ginger Salazar

With a satisfied smirk, Honey ended her flame with a quick breath.

“Holy shit…that was you?” Ginger asked.

“Yup! I led that horrid thing inside.”

“You realize you became a legend to the other departments after that, right?”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “Good.”

“Uh…wait,” Gavin uttered. “How did you survive that?”

“His body fell on me, and I guess that was enough for the creature to overlook me and chase after moving targets,” she explained. “And I still got my one rank up.”

A few threw glances at the head witch, receiving confirmation of at least a hint of truth from his unmoving position. “That’s awful…where you grew up, I mean,” Kenny clarified.

She shrugged. “Eh, it’s not the most fucked-up story of my childhood. I’ve got plenty more. Just lemme know after we’re done if you’re interested.”

Bast leaned forward. “I would be fascinated.”

“Bast, no,” someone chided.

“Just lemme know,” she repeated. “For now, that’s enough about me.” She looked expectantly at her fellow mole.

“Mm, I don’t have anything good enough to follow that up though.”

“And? You may have been better off than me, but surely you’ve got something.”

“Ah…well, there was one thing I kinda remember.”

***

“Happy Birthday, Ginger.” Her caretakers were beaming, eager for their little genius to open her gift. They were sure she would adore it.

Not much more enthusiastic than before, the little girl placed the gift before her and tore into the paper. However, as she pulled the lid off the colourless box, she did feel a hint of excitement well up in her stomach.

Aged bronze awaited the light from inside. It was heavy, and cold beneath her fingers. Aside from the fine detail on the rounded object, a small hand-crank protruded from the side.

The adults around her were practically vibrating as she pulled open the weighty cover. A small toy, dressed equal parts ballerina and circus clown, rose to the tip of her toes, centered between Ginger’s reflection staring back at her.

“Do you like it?” One of them asked, unable to read her standard flat expression.

“...Yeah,” she answered. After taking in the little dancer’s stage, her hand felt around for the crank, winding it as far as it would go.

The room filled with a gentle, plinking tune—a somewhat familiar lullaby she remembered a few of the adults humming to themselves. All the while, Ginger couldn’t tear her gaze from the mesmerizing dance of the little toy.

That is, until it came to a stop. She could feel her shoulders sinking at the show’s abrupt conclusion, but felt it improper to start it again so soon.

“She loves it,” she heard the whisper beside her.

“I knew she would,” another murmured back.

“Well,” a third person addressed her, “you can play with it more later, if you’d like. For now, let’s cut the cake.”

Her head whipped up. “Cake.”

“Yes!” The group smiled. “Let’s go enjoy some cake!”

After carefully placing the object on the coffee table, she hopped to her feet for her once-a-year special dessert.

Any spare moment she had, Ginger found that music box in her hands again. Over and over, she wound the crank and played the little melody, watching the dancer spin around and around. Before practice, in the spare time after lunch, right after dinner…hell, she even snuck a flashlight under her bedsheets just to continue observing the fascinating mechanisms of her present as her brown eyes observed her motionless expressions from the mirror.

Her caretakers were surprised by her intense attachment to it, but were glad she was enjoying it so much at least.

And, she would be happy to say that she hyperfixated on that thing until she eventually grew bored or otherwise outgrew it, but no.

After lunch one day, she fled gathering for her usual dose of music box. But when she popped open the lid, the music began playing without her initiation. More than that, her reflection was…different. The silly hat, the frilly outfit, the light makeup and big, red nose…it was reminiscent of the box’s toy ballerina.

Before the lullaby completed, she shut it, rose to her feet, and ran to the bathroom. She climbed up the plastic steps and leaned onto the counter, carefully looking over her features. No silly clothes or strange makeup. Just Ginger and her messy green hair.

The caretakers began calling her name. Stepping down, she would have to save this investigation for after her training.

Instead of under the sheets, Ginger merely plopped the box on top of the comforter. Flashlight bearing down on it, she slowly pried it open once again.

And she was met with the same automatic music and odd reflection. She felt her body and face, the reflection imitating, but found that it was definitely just the mirror being odd.

Hesitantly, she shut the lid. Then opened it again.

It sprung to life, and the reflection had no change.

She closed it. Then opened it again.

No change.

Close. Open.

No change.

Close. Open. A madly-grinning clown stood behind her shoulder.

She whipped around, searching for the intruder only to find none there.

Her gaze returned to the box. Slowly, carefully, she cracked open the lid again just to verify what she had seen, then returned it to her desk.

Nothing.

In the morning, she opened it again. This time, she was taken aback at the sight of herself—or rather, her not-self. The untameable green locks and big brown eyes were not moving with her body, but rather, the same blonde bun and assumedly-blue orbs of the little spinning toy inside. Even her face structure seemed different, as if she’d matured to adulthood overnight.

She reached out to touch her reflection, but as her fingers met the cold glass, a high-pitched, dramatic cackle came from behind her.

Her head whizzed around again. It sounded like evil clowns, but no evil clowns were present. So, she shut it again so she could make it to breakfast.

During her lunchtime music break, she could finally feel something sink in the pit of her stomach. Upon opening the music box and seeing her not-her reflection, there was yet another addendum to the mystery.

Not only had her reflection been replaced with the toy, but it seemed as though…she, herself, replaced the plastic dancer that had once been inside. The piece now had her same hair and eyes, and even a slightly differed skin tone to match, as if it had been molded and painted that way from the beginning.

She shut the box, not daring to open it again, then sped off to her daily duties.

The aged bronze began collecting dust until one of her housemates got into an altercation with another child and was subsequently, “allegedly”, pushed down the bottom few steps, which she definitely deserved.

Her wailing rang throughout the whole house, and none of the adults could seem to calm her, no matter the method.

Finally, Ginger got the idea to run to her room and swipe the music box from her desk. She carefully approached the girl and held out her peace offering.

After at least half an hour, the girl’s sobbing was reduced to sniffles. “Is that…for me?”

“Yeah, since I know you were interested in it.”

She hesitantly accepted the gift, staring at it for several seconds before opening the lid. The music didn’t play automatically. Her face twisted in disgust at seeing the dancer. “Ew, it’s a clown.”

“If you don’t like it, give it to someone else.”

Her mouth formed into a furious pout. “No! You gave it to me, so it’s mine!”

“Then you’re welcome,” Ginger stated firmly, resisting the urge to confess that she just found the brat annoying and wanted to shut her up.

When the adults found out she gave her gift away, they were disappointed, but understood that she no longer desired it. Perhaps next time they may celebrate her day of birth, they can find her a present that she’ll keep with her for years to come.

Something that doesn’t involve evil clowns.

Scaretober 2023

Brisk Wind on a Dark Trail

Midnight Moon

Gargoyle's Watch

Cold Stones in the Fog

Spirits Rising

Haunted House

Witching Hour

Bubbling Cauldron

Candy

Eyes

Spider Silk

Feathers

Tail

Scales

Fangs or Talons

An Offering of Blood

Dark Ritual

Spook Scary Skeletons

Carnivàle Morte

Still-Beating Heart

Sharpened Blade

Mask

Looming Shadows

The Devil's Hand

Monster

Reflection in the Mirror

Rusted Chains

Stitches

Precious Jewels

Incantation

Halloween

Epilogue

[spilladabalia]

Bolt Thrower - Cenotaph

[wehrwolf]

[thehardgroove]

How to make your BC Rich Ironbird look even more Death Metal, with Gavin Ward from BOLT THROWER!

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Bolt Thrower

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

FROM A RELATIVELY CLEAN-CUT UK PUNK ROCKER TO A LONG-HAIRED DEATH METAL MADMAN.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a teenage Gavin Ward, later guitarist and one of two co-founding members of UK early scuzz metallers/death metal band BOLT THROWER, c. early '80s. Note the CRUCIFIX patch on his left jacket sleeve.

ALTARS OF METAL: "You have connected the heavy and "unlifted" doom metal along with death metal. How did you come up with this style of music?"

GAVIN WARD: "Basically we were actually into bands, probably early VOIVOD, SLAYER, probably came up through that and probably through a lot of punk bands, DISCHARGE, EXPLOITED, bands like that and then eventually got into CANDLEMASS, TROUBLE and formed a band with the style that we liked at the start. Probably a little more, some SLAYER ideas, stuff, like that and actually over the years just a category of styles through that."

Sources: www.picuki.com/profile/smash_divisions, Flickr, Pinterest, Altars of Metal, & CVLT Nation.

[sharkboy305]

I think I just need Brett Dalton in general

[capitalisticveins]

GOD I wish we could’ve seen the damn crew reuniting with Freelancer and Gavin after the ward opened after Inversion omfg