#Tracey Pew

[mrbopst]

The Birthday Party - Mick Harvey, Rowland S Howard, Nick Cave, Tracey Pew at the Sunset Marquis Hotel in LA, March 1983.

Photo by David Arnoff

[bandpicfolder]

The Boys Next Door by GAB Archive. Credit the source if reposting.

[papimoore]

Today is April 19th and its my birthday today... Not only that today is The Looney Tunes' 94th Anniversary along with The Simpsons' 37th Anniversary from The Tracey Ullman Show.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Lucky: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

You and Derek head to the church even though it's very late at night. The church should be empty, but it is always open regardless of time, so there could be people inside. Though, when you go inside, it's silent. Father Marks isn't anywhere to be found, but the place isn't completely deserted. There is a woman sitting in one of the pews facing the altar, so her face is turned away from you.

You feel immediate dread coming from her, and you're suddenly scared to be there.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. Um, I'm looking for Father Marks."

The woman doesn't answer, and you know you will never get an answer from her. The candles burning by the altar suddenly go out, and Derek practically jumps ten feet out of his skin. There is no breeze or anything that could blow out all those candles, so Derek kind of clings to you.

"Did you see that? Is there a ghost in here?"

"It doesn't work like that," you whisper. You look at the woman again and realize why you're feeling dread. The woman is dead. You just know. "That woman is dead, Derek."

"How do you know?"

You turn your head and your eyes widen like saucers.

"She's standing right next to you." Derek yelps this time and jumps away from the spot, moving from your right to your left. You can't hold in your laughter even though this is no laughing matter. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."

"I hate you right now," he glares.

"I just know a dead person from a living person. That woman is dead."

You walk closer to the woman with Derek behind you, and you tap her shoulder which causes her to fall onto the pew, proving that she is dead. There is a pentagram carved into her chest just like the others, so you know the unsub was here recently. He must have known you and Derek were going to be here.

He was watching you.

You obviously had to call this in, and what they found out about this woman is shocking. Her name is Maria Lopez. She is thirty-four years old with numerous arrests for solicitation and prostitution just like the others. The only difference is that she was reported missing nine months ago. She's only been dead for seventy-two hours with no signs of sexual assault.

The only way she was kept alive for nine months only to kill her three days ago is because the unsub froze her... and he was eating her. Just like with Tracey, the unsub didn't have time to freeze Tracey before people started looking for her.

Speaking of Tracey, when you got back to the police station with Derek, the test results came back on the soup. There are traces of human DNA in there, and the DNA belonged to Tracey. Everyone turned to look at you once the results were revealed.

"I hate my ability sometimes," you sigh sadly. "I looked at the unsub right in the eyes. I know what he looks like."

You grab a pencil and a piece of paper so you can draw what he looked like. You're no artist, but you're not the worst. You slowly draw everything you remember while the rest of the team speculates about the new information.

"Dr. Fulton confirmed it. Maria Lopez was frozen shortly after her death," Emily confirmed through a third party.

"Well, that explains why we haven't been able to find the other victims. He's keeping everyone frozen somewhere."

"How'd you get the cannibalism?" JJ asks.

"He didn't take them for sex, and he took their legs. He was trying to tell us by feeding fingers to Abbey. The fingers were a message. 'I've killed before' was only part of it. 'I'm eating them' was the other."

"Cannibalism, the greatest taboo. That explains his drive to blame his appetite on an outside force."

"Why would anyone want to eat human flesh?" JJ asks, completely confused about it.

"It's like a sexual urge, a cross-wiring of the two most basic human drives--sustenance and sex," Spencer explains.

Emily's phone rings and he places whoever it is on speakerphone.

"Hey. Garcia, I'm putting you on speaker."

"So, I can't find any patients in Florida who have the charming cocktail of being both a satanist and a cannibal. However, Hazelwood Mental Institution is the place to go when looking for Florida's most dangerous kinds of wackos, and they had a fire in 1998 that destroyed all their records."

"How far away is Hazelwood?" Hotch asks.

"Seventy miles."

"JJ, tell them we're on our way. Reid, let's go."

"Wait, Hotch take this," you say and rip the paper out of the notebook you've been drawing in. "This is our unsub."

Hotch and Spencer leave rather quickly, rushing over to Hazelwood. With the picture you were able to provide, it didn't take long to find the patient that you were looking for. Hotch called Rossi who placed him on speakerphone. Spencer was reading through the journal about the suspected unsub, and all he needs to do is find a name.

"Rossi, we've got something. I need a name, Reid."

"He was admitted after biting a large piece of flesh out of his nine-month-old sister."

"A name," Hotch urges.

"He believes he is possessed by a flesh-eating demon."

"Reid!"

"Floyd Feylinn Ferrel."

"Feylinn? Floyd Feylinn?" Detective Jordan gasps.

"You know him?"

"I sure do. He dropped his last name, though. Is he that obvious?"

"Absolutely. He's not that bright. He believes Satan would protect him from getting caught."

"Garcia, you have an address?" Emily asks her.

"Sending it to you right now."

Floyd's place is exactly what you thought it was going to be. Dark, messy, chaotic, and desolate. The more you, your team, and some SWAT members explored, the more you saw torture racks and devices along with crates that you assume he kept the women in. There is also a freezer in a shed that JJ and Jordan visited, and there were a lot more victims in there that are already dead.

Sheryl is found alive and well inside Floyd's house with only minimal damage, so you're happy you're able to tell her family that she will be coming home. You head down to the basement where Floyd is, and he goes willingly with you back to the station. He didn't say a word the entire ride there or when you placed him inside the interrogation room.

You know he cooked Tracey, but you need a confession out of him in order to charge him. A court could see the side that he was given this soup to give out, so a confession is needed in this case. It's pretty clear that he did it, but you need it on paper as well.

Because you made eye contact with him in the forest, you think it's best if you go in and talk to him. You have his journal that he wrote in whenever he cooked someone and ate them. He wrote down in which ways he didn't like them prepared and in what ways he did. You carry this journal inside the room and take a seat across from him, opening it to the first page.

"Kobe Girl Steak, huh? That's where you massage the meat, right? Floyd, these are some pretty unusual recipes you got here. Have you tried them all?" He refuses to say a word to you. "Come on, talk to me. Which ones did you try?"

"They have a smiley face by them. Others have a frowny face," he finally answers.

"They sure do. Why?"

"They didn't turn out so good."

"Do you hear voices, Floyd? See things that aren't there?" you ask, forgetting about the book for a second.

"I'm not smart, but I have a smart friend who tells me things."

You look around the room and settle on a spot right next to him. He keeps subtly looking in that direction as if someone is there talking to him. You can't see his "friend", but you can pretend like you do to scare him. Based on what Spencer said about him being possessed by a demon, you kind of know what this "friend" looks like.

"Tell me, Floyd, does your friend look tall and very skinny? Maybe horns on his chin and sharp teeth?" The look on Floyd's face tells you that you're right about it. "I've got friends too, Floyd, but the difference between you and me is that I don't listen to them."

You need to get back on track, so you decide to talk about the women he's taken.

"You know, we thought you chose athletically built women because you were attracted to them, but that was only part of it, right? Do you like a woman with a little meat on her bones? It makes for better recipes, doesn't it?"

"The skinny ones take drugs."

"You don't like drug users?"

"They taste funny."

"Where is Tracey Lambert?"

You know where she is, but you wanted him to tell you.

"I'm not supposed to tell you. I'm only supposed to tell Father Marks. I'm gonna stop talking now."

"Okay." You get up and leave the room, turning to Hotch and Rossi. "If we're going to get a confession out of him, we can't tell Father Marks where she is. He can't know."

"He's already on his way over here."

Five minutes later, Father Marks comes through the front door, and you walk over to him to prep him.

"Father, listen, we need you to get him to tell us where Tracey is. He says he will only talk to you, but I will do the talking, okay? All you have to do is sit there and let him talk."

"Okay," he nods.

You bring Father Marks to the interrogation room, and when Floyd sees him, he straightens up a bit. You pull up a chair so Father Marks can sit next to you.

"Floyd, I had to pull some serious strings to get him here. My bosses didn't like the idea at all of sending him in. Now, they're gonna allow him to sit right here and listen, but you're gonna talk to me, okay?" you ask.

"Okay. I've done some really bad things."

"Everybody's done things they're not proud of, Floyd. The only thing that helps is to talk about them and tell other people."

"It doesn't always help."

"Come on, Floyd. I got him here as you asked. Now it's your turn. Tell us. Where is Tracey Lambert?"

"Father, I feel so alone. I feel like God has abandoned me. Why?" Floyd ignored you.

Father Marks looks at you, and you gesture to him that it's okay to speak to him.

"You are not alone, my son. God is in all of us."

"So is Tracey Lambert," he smiles evilly.

That was his way of a confession, and you have it all on tape. You hated doing this to Father Marks, but it was needed.

"You son of a bitch. You son of bitch!"

Father Marks jumps up to attack him, but you're quick on your feet. Rossi, Hotch, and Derek all come barreling into the room to keep Father Marks from beating Floyd to death. Floyd is happy to see this reaction, but Father Marks will forever be scared. You can't let him know you knew this entire time where Tracey was.

Case closed.

Brutal case closed.

You don't encounter cannibals very often, but when they do come around, it's always scary. You never know if what you're eating is truly not human, but you can't always be afraid of what you eat no matter where you are.

All you want to do is paint the guest room with Spencer and turn it into a library/office area where you both can enjoy it. You want to be in the moment with Spencer, but you keep thinking back to the time when you made eye contact with Floyd and felt fear as soon as you saw the soup.

"I wish I could say having my gift would get easier, but it never does," you sigh and open your paint can.

"I wish there was something I can do to help."

"You are. Just by being here with me."

"Have you tried talking to Hannah? Maybe talking about it with someone who knows what you're going through might help."

"I would if she'd answer. She must be busy with her new life. Plus, I'd rather not talk about cannibals with my daughter."

You mix the pain to get it ready to be on the walls before picking up the open paint can and bringing it over to Spencer. About halfway to him, you get hit with something you've never gotten hit with before. You stumble back in pain and drop the paint, letting it spill all over the floor. You gasp in pain and double over, and Spencer rushes to you to catch you so you don't fall.

"What's wrong?"

You clutch your chest and look up at him with such fear in your eyes.

"Penelope's been shot," you gasp.

"God sends meat and the devil sends cooks." - Thomas Deloney

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[socially-awkward-skeleton]

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Here's a bit I've been working on for Chapter 18 of American Beasts (still very rough and sorting out ideas but yeah, here ya go):

The helicopter jostled in the cool blue night, as deep as the ocean and begging to swallow her just the same. Stars guided her way to him, like the one in the East, leading her to the king.

She circled over the compound, fires burning for light and for warmth. She could see the warm yellow light from the open church doors spilling out onto the ground, a red carpet beckoning her but she feared to land, feared having to face the labyrinth of fences and white washed buildings again.

But she needed to retrace her steps, to find where she lost herself.

She landed the helicopter but there was no swarming of ants, no legions to pull her kicking and screaming to him. The sounds of the engines being cut would have been enough to alert them, but they all stood down, waiting in their homes as if she had been expected all along.

She walked the same muddy road in, there was no turning back now. No Whitehorse, no Hudson, and to her pleasure, no Burke this time around. Just her, alone, as it always was, as it always had to be.

She entered, a dark stranger in the night, watching him like some sort of voyeur, as he stood shirtless, his hand pressed to the stand beside him. He looked up at the cross on the wall in silence. 

“Have you come back to take me away, Deputy?”

Kit stood there frozen as she faced her foe without support. She had walked into the lion's den without even a stick.

“No.”

“Have you come to kill me?”

Her throat felt dry, nearly impossible to swallow. "I came to talk.”

He turned to face her, but there was no anger, instead he was calm as ever.

A wave of relief crashed over her.

“Then take a seat.”

Her eyes scanned the pew before her, but she was too stiff to sit down. “I’d rather stand.”

Joseph pulled out a small bench and sat down in front of the pulpit. The same laser focus he always had fell directly on her as he waited for her to speak.

“John told me you had visions of me…or about me.”

He bowed his head, hands held out in front of his knees, clasped together as if he were in prayer. The beads around his wrist swaying gently. “The voice told me of a lion, yes. One who had no pride. Who stood alone, in opposition to all. One who had two paths it could walk. One of destruction and chaos, where they would bring forth nothing but pain and death for all. The other one where it would find its family, a place where it could belong. Where it could bring light to the darkness that seeked to swallow all.”

His eyes rose to meet her, watching her from over the yellow lenses with a dead stare, like looking through a frosted window.

“And I’m that lion?”

“Are you not alone?” His head tilted gently to the side.

“Mary May, Tracey, Grace. None of them have anyone either.”

“But you claim its namesake." He pointed his finger at her with authority. "You bear a mark of a beast on you.”

“So a tattoo and a nickname make me chosen? Those things decide what I do next?” Her eyebrow cocked with disbelief. Surely he couldn't be so foolish as to believe those were enough to make her some prophesied figure.

“No. You may be chosen but there is no chosen path. You need to decide that for yourself.”

“What if I just flew away, left you all to fend for yourselves? You said it yourself that sometimes the best thing is to just walk away."

“But you never would, that would be a failure in your eyes, and there’s no room for that in your life, is there?”

Kit sighed and sat down, there was no point in fighting it. He knew her cards and had thrown them down at her feet. He seemed to possess some sort of impossible empathy where he didn't just know her, he felt it all the same.

“Do you know why John is so good at discovering people’s sins? It's not because of the method or the tools. It's because he can see those things which he hates most about himself so clearly in others.” Joseph uncrossed his leg and sat forward. “John is not a good man. Most people are afraid of him, I alone have ever understood him, tried to love him. I think you can understand that. You have your flaws and you refuse to let yourself move past them, you focus on them until they threaten to eat you alive. That is why you were marked with wrath.”

“Not because of all the people I killed?”

“We have all had to do things that were brutal, without mercy, acts of war that few may ever forgive. But we atone, we move forward, we see the benefits of those actions and we prosper. We do not go backwards, stagnate and decay, allowing ourselves to be cannibalised by the actions of our past. Your anger, your need for violence, comes from the things you refuse to let go of. The desperate need to be accepted, to be respected, to be approved of."

Kit shook her head in stunned silence. Another stab at her heart. No one had ever seen so deep into her, past every defense she had, not John, not Jacob, not her own family. But this man, the Father, was the first to truly ever see her for what she really was.

“Tell me about your father, Kit.”

Her brow furrowed. Anger filled her, a pressure gauge coming up to burst. It was always going to come back to him, wasn't it? In the end everything she was came down to how he had made her, how he'd moulded her in his image. Just as God had with Adam and Eve, she was his rib and his original sin, the failure he'd take to his grave and he'd never let her forget it. She'd have to see it in his eyes every day.

“He was a man who never had much time for anyone. His work was his life, it was his whole life. The same way it became mine. He tried – tried to help. But I never met the mark. He had so many lives that looked to him, relied on him. I was one in ten thousand and I was the smallest, with the quietest voice. I thought if I tried harder, was better, that he’d finally see me. He did, but only after I came home. Then I was a disappointment. All scars and ghosts that I could never get rid of. I did everything for him, in his name, everything he asked of me…and he fucking tossed me aside because I could no longer live up to what he wanted.”

Her eyes burned, ached with tears that she had swallowed back for so long, ones she refused to allow to exist. Tears, pain, feelings, love – it was all weakness. And she was anything but. Big girls don't cry, little ones weren't allowed to either. 

[johnpeelsession]

Prayers on fire is so fucking good thank you nick cave thank you rowland s howard thank you tracey pew and the other guy I can't think of

[visible-disappointment]

top 5 bassists go

andy rourke, gaye advert, tracey pew, peter hook, david j

[vmonteiro23a]

The Birthday Party - Mick Harvey, Rowland S Howard, Nick Cave, Tracey Pew at the Sunset Marquis Hotel in LA, March 1983. Photo by David Arnoff

The Birthday Party – Mick Harvey, Rowland S Howard, Nick Cave, Tracey Pew at the Sunset Marquis Hotel in LA, March 1983. Photo by David Arnoff

[angelfiredpod]

the way that i’ve loved them <3 the birthday party shot by david corio.

[rwadical]

[wedig45grave]

The Birthday Party- The Bad Seed (1982)

[chazz-anova]

“ you waited for me? ” whoever you'd like!

thank you love!! I’m gonna do this for my new oc, Antoinette, and Faith ❤❤ So I’m gonna place this scene pre-fc5, also before they get together.

Antoinette Chambers sat in her bedroom, perched in front of an antique mahogany vanity. In her hand she held a silver-handled brush decorated with baroque engravings. She stared intently into the mirror in front of her, meeting her own icy blue stare as the hairbrush combed through her thick ginger tresses. 

As she preened, an alto hum thrummed from her throat. Setting down the brush, she hummed the final notes of a slow melody and gazed upon her reflection. There was a reverence in Ann’s eyes as she regarded herself, a surety that few are able to achieve. 

The woman plucked a tube from the vanity and popped off the cap. Making an ‘o’ with her mouth, she followed the curve of her cupid’s bow with the lipstick and painted her lips a striking red. She rubbed her lips together when she finished and grinned. Her smile was a graceful uptilt of her lips, dimples forming at either side of her cheeks. 

A knock sounded at the door, turning her smile into a scowl almost immediately. Her features creased in a kind of anger as she stood, stalking to the door to see who dared interrupt her ritual. To Antoinette, the process of getting ready for the day and ‘putting on her face’, as she put it, was a holy one. One she was loath to cut short. 

Yanking open the door, her face changed once more- a more neutral mask slipping over the anger that was just there. “Faith.” She said the one word as a greeting and a question, looking down at the woman. 

 At the threshold stood the Siren; she wore an off-white gown that almost touched the floor as she stepped into the room. In her hands she held a large terracotta pot with bells of white flowers spilling out of it. “Annie, I did it! It’s finally finished!” Faith exclaimed as she set the flowerpot on the vanity. 

Ann tried to hold her tongue at having a dirty pot on her priceless mahogany and instead focus on her charge. “What would that be?” She nodded to the flowers. 

“Bliss..” The word fell from the brunette’s mouth in a sigh as she held the ‘s’ with a small hiss. 

Eyebrows raised, Antoinette recalled a conversation the pair had had many months ago. Faith had told her of an idea to splice the genes of different flowers, making a potent hybrid that could induce a kind of trance if all went according to plan. She took a step closer, saying “The Bliss?” 

The other woman nodded excitedly, dancing out of the way and inviting Ann over. “Smell them!” She urged, putting a hand on her arm and coaxing her closer to the blossoms. 

Annie hesitated a moment before lifting one of the white blooms and inhaling its sweet scent. It was almost an instant high; she stepped back as stars swarmed her vision and she felt lightheaded. All her worries vanished for a moment, until she was teleported back to her bedroom. Faith was sitting on the bed now, giving her a beaming smile. Dazed, Antoinette was rendered speechless for a moment. 

“See! Isn’t it wonderful? If the flowers can do that, imagine what I can do with the concentrate from the crop!” Faith stood once more, looking almost bashful as she said “It’s you I have to thank though, I couldn’t have done it without your help.” 

The ginger started to regain her senses as she questioned, “How did I help you?” 

Looking down at the floorboards, the Siren posed a new question, “Do you remember the first service you attended? For the Project, I mean.” Clearly caught off guard, Ann was silent as she thought back to the first time she felt her calling at Eden’s Gate. 

It was a dry summer day, and Antoinette had relished in the Montana heat as she stepped into the newly finished church of Eden’s Gate. Joseph stood at the forefront of the structure, preaching to his flock. His words struck her, and she had found a kindred spirit in the Father. 

Before she could reply, Faith continued, “I do. It was mine, too.” She smiled whimsically, recalling the thought. “Me and Tracey had gone together, just to see what all the fuss was about… I remember- the Father was in the middle of his sermon when the doors opened. I turned around, and there you were. It didn’t look like you’d come for the service, but you sat down at one of the pews in the back and seemed enraptured the whole time.” 

A small smile graced Annie’s features and she nodded, “It was his sermon on when he first heard the Voice, that fateful day in Georgia.” As they spoke of Joseph, a sense of wonder filled their words.

Nodding, the brunette reached her point- “You’re part of the reason I went to the next sermon; of course the Father’s words touched me but… at the end of the service, I sat outside the church and watched everyone filter out. I saw so many changed people that day, but I really hoped to see you.” Faith admitted finally, meeting Antoinette’s eyes. 

“You waited for me?” She asked, unable to contain her surprise. Ann searched the younger woman’s gaze, looking for any flicker of deceit and finding none. 

Her response was quiet, “Yes… I did.”

The two were silent for a moment, and a sort of tension hung in the air around them.

Breaking eye contact after more than a few moments, Antoinette hurriedly turned around and grabbed the pot of Bliss flowers. “We need to show this to Joseph.” She changed the subject quickly, handing off the flowers to the other.

Faith took them, looking down at her creation. The moment was lost, and she responded in an almost dejected tone, “Right now? We don’t know if he’s busy…”

Annie shook her head, walking to the door as she said “This is more important. Let’s go.” Her words were final as she held open the heavy bedroom door, ushering Faith out of the room. With a sigh, the woman followed after her, easing the door shut.

As they made their way to the Father, Antoinette tried to curb all thoughts of this new revelation from Faith. She knew with a cold certainty that no good could come of dwelling on it, her duty was to watch over the Siren, to help her grow into her role. This was a job that could hold no benefits, no matter how tempting.

[horrorempathya]

@absolveres​ :       "Are you still thinking about them?" (faith)

rachel’s  mind  twitches  into  reality,   just  for  a  second,   in  place  of  faith’s.     a  lost,  insecure  little  girl  worried  about  her  brother  john’s  intention.    do  you  question  her  loyalty,  oh  John?     but  it’s  faith  that  smiles,   all  white  teeth,   mesmerizing.     faith  moves  away  from  the  wall  she  was  standing  in  front  of,   one  foot  glides  in  front  of  the  other.   a  little  girl  with  a  dream  to  become  a  dancer,   but  instead  she  became  faith  seed.    faith’s  long  fingers  glide  along  the  pew  as  she  walks  up  to  john.    the  smell  of  bliss  always  softly  surrounding  her.    she  just  has  the  sweet,  strong  smell  with  her.   no  bliss  physically  floating  around  her  because  the  siren  is  truly  here --    she  has  come  to  claim  her  place  as  the  henbane’s  herald.    her  loyalty  remains  in  tact.     rachel  no  longer  things  of  tracey,   rachel  only  has  her  surviving  grasp  around  jade  aldemir  but  nobody  needs  to  know  about  THAT  relationship.

“   ---   i  think  about  them  all  the  time,  my  brother.   ”        voice’s  faith  is  soft,  reeking  of   gentleness  that  just  wins  anyone  over.        “   we  must  never  stop  thinking  about  the  Sinners,  we  will  guide  them,  we  will  love  them,  we  will  baptise  them  and  we  will  train  them  for  the  The  Collapse.   ”       faith  looks  into  john’s  blue  eyes  once,  smile  flickering  before  she  turns  her  back  and  spreads  her  arms  to  the  cult  members  gathered  in  the  church.        “   for  if  we  don’t,  the  Sinners  will  surely  fall  and  we  can  only  do  so  much  to  catch  them.   ”

»    deep starters    /    accepting .

[thefcther-blog1]

“Sacrifice.” The word echoes in the small church his congregation has filled that night. Ever since his arrest for preaching in an area--and on topics--that the local government did not appreciate, Joseph had been forced to preach his sermons in more . . . humble . . . locations. Not that he minded. This simple wooden church with its ten pews in total created an intimate atmosphere. He liked it. He felt connected to his congregation in a way that a large church couldn’t afford him. 

His followers fill the pews. Some sit in the aisle. Others stand against the wall to listen to his word. He even has a few sitting on the stage around his feet. There’s more outside--looking in through the door and windows. His mic is attached to speakers outside, so those gathered there can hear, too. It’s a special night. Besides his usual Sunday evening sermon, they’ve put together a dinner to share together. 

As a family.

“Scripture is laden with sacrifice,” Joseph continues. “It is God’s favorite way to test a soul’s strength in its faith for Him. Sacrifice of flesh, of coin, of joy, of comfort, and of blood. We are all sacrificing something for someone. Even now. All of you, gathered here, are sacrificing your time to listen to me. A sacrifice both I and our Heavenly Father appreciate.” A smile, rare, touches his lips, shifts the carefully groomed beard on his chin. “But you sacrifice for others who do not appreciate, too. Your body, your sweat, your happiness, your very soul, sometimes. To your employment. To the government. What do they give you in return?”

Joseph pauses, letting them think on the question for a time. “Money!” someone says.

“Money that leaves your pocket almost immediately,” Joseph corrects gently. “To the government, in fact. To creature comforts that you can build yourself. To food that you can grow yourself. You don’t need money. It’s a lie. And thus the sacrifice is a lie. Tell me, children, what does the government do for you?”

Another pause, hesitant, before someone says nervously, “protection?”

“Can you not protect yourself?” Joseph replies. “Can you not learn to protect yourself? Can you not rely on your neighbors--those gathered here with you--to protect you? You sacrifice for them. And you receive nothing that you cannot already do for yourself.” His gaze falls to a newcomer, a woman, brought to them by one he knows as Tracey. Joseph makes a mental note to speak with her. He prefers to look into the eyes of all new members of his flock--to take measure of their soul and see if the Voice has anything to say about them.

“God asks you to sacrifice. But he doesn’t offer nothing in return. In Jeremiah 29:11, the Lord tells us this, ‘For I know the plans that I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.’“ Joseph moves along the edge of his stage, mindful of not treading on those sitting there. “Sacrifice for our Lord, and He will only give back a reward ten times the value. Give up your sweat. Give up your love. Give up your ties to earthly pleasures and comforts. Give up your life even. “John 15:13 reminds us, ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’” 

Joseph lifted his white bible encrusted with the symbol he once saw in a dream. “Think about the sacrifices that you are prepared to make for our Lord, my children. And think about the rewards that you shall receive in return. Now, let’s turn to the sacrifice of good chicken that have been provided by our very own Mr. and Mrs. Ramer.” Another smile, this one directed at the farmer couple that had graced them with the bounty that they were about to receive. There was an appreciative chuckle among the congregation as they clapped, and then made their way outside to the tables. 

Shaking a few hands, he whispered a few words of gratitude, before his steps took him to the newest member of the flock. “Good evening, my child,” Joseph murmured, extending his hand to her, both to shake it in greeting and to help her onto her feet. “What name does my newest congregational member own?” he asked her, eyes soft behind his sunglasses. 

@sirensbliss

[spideythotsblog]

The Day Your Life Changes

Characters: Tom Holland, Y/n

Song: Come away with me by Tracey Chattaway  _____________________

The double doors in front of you will open in thirty seconds.

In thirty seconds your life changes forever. In thirty seconds everything you once knew is over. In thirty seconds you start your new life.

Twenty seconds.

You breathe, remembering that’s important. Staying alive would be nice.

Ten seconds.

You start to panic, the smile fades and you look behind you. Your eyes meet a warm familiar smile that somehow makes it all seem okay. That makes it all seem worth it. All this waiting, it’s finally done.

Five.

You’re here.

One.

The doors open and all eyes are on you. But you’re only looking at one pair of eyes.

You made it.

You start walking. The stupidest decision you ever made was to walk alone. Considering their was no one to walk you, you didn’t have much of a choice. But you didn’t really mind, you felt so comfortable and that was because you were looking at him, and he was staring right back.

You could see his eyes welling up a bit.

Damn you, Tom. Stop it, you’ll make me cry. You think to yourself, plastering a smile on your face but that doesn’t conceal the tears that are starting to stream down your face.

You hear the clicks of cameras from all angles and the quiet whispers about your dress, the music the pianist is playing ties it all together.

You reach the altar, still looking into the same eyes you fell in love with years ago. Never did you once dare dream this far into the future. Never did you once dare to think you were going to be making a family. Never did you once think you would be in love like this.

Not like this.

They talk about love in books and in movies but it doesn’t compare to the actual thing. It’s truly a blessing to be able to love someone so much it hurts, to love someone so much that just hearing their voice can make you the happiest person alive. To love someone so goddamn much that you would get up in front of all your friends and family and pronounce your love and dedicate your life to someone.

They don’t mention how good it feels. Not in the slightest.

“We are gathered here today…” The man began from your left.

To be honest, you stopped listening. You were looking so deep into his eyes you couldn’t focus on anything else. His cheeks were wet with tears and you (out of habit) reached up and wiped them dry. Not caring who saw, he didn’t so neither did you.

Tom had to signal you with his eyes to make you refocus on what the man was saying, because apparently he was talking to you.

“I believe you both prepared vows?”

We both said yes quietly and he motioned for Tom to begin first.

He took a breath, then began, not breaking eye contact with you.

"I will kill the spiders, maybe with a squeal and a few tears but I will kill them. I will share my fries with you when you have finished all of yours and are still hungry. I will eat the pineapple on the pizza because I know you hate it, and I love it. I will kiss the papercuts, and the door-slammed fingers, and the counter-bumped hip,”

The sound of people chuckling filled the room as he took a pause. You couldn’t contain your smile, and neither could he.

“I will always try my hardest to not get annoyed when you whisper questions or comments during movies, especially when you try to get spoilers from me, and no, now that we are married you still can’t get them. I will always be the big spoon, I will let you win at wrestling. Sometimes. Other times I will not. I’ll send you random ‘I love you’ texts and leave you silly gifts. Not always, never on schedule. Just when I think you need one, or a million. I will check your tire pressure, and sue the buttons on your shirts, or at least try. I will hold your hand. I love you, I will love you, I always have loved you.”

You could feel the tears on your face and you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. Tom half smiled and put his little paper away in his back pocket, taking your hands in his again. Hearing people sniffle and chuckled in the pews below you both was refreshing.

Now it was your turn.

“I promise to be your best friend. To have your back no matter what. To let you fight your own battles but to tap in when needed. I promise to share the covers, no matter how much of a hog I can be. I promise to leave you hot water after a shower. To love your family like they were my own. I promise to make sure we got to Disneyland as often as we can. I will try not to nudge you for things that may result in you losing your job, keyword try. I promise to try new experiences with you as long as it doesn’t involve pineapple pizza, because lets face it that's gross. I promise to put your happiness before mine. But above all, I promise to love you and to never leave you. For you, Thomas Stanley Holland are my soulmate.”

More sniffling came from the crowd and yourself. You hadn’t realized you were crying as hard as you were. Tears of happiness of course.  

“Well, I think it’s time to do it then, shall we?”

Tom and you both let out a laugh that you didn’t know you were holding in. You felt a sense of relief. You were happy. Completely and utterly happy.

“I now pronounce you,” Three words. Three words and you’re life is changed forever. You looked to the man, he was also smiling wide.

“Husband and Wife.”

Everyone cheers. “You may now kiss the bride.” Looking back to Tom, he was the only person in the room. He bent down and you could feel his lips on yours, you swear you could but…. they were gone. He was gone. It was dark and cold again.

You woke in a sweat. Your heart beating as fast as it could possibly be going. It was a dream.

A memory.

A memory so far pushed to the back of your mind it panicked you to wonder why you had dreamed about it. Tom was dead. He was gone. He has been gone for nearly three months.

Automatically, your hand reached for his side of the bed. You were met with cold sheets and you snaked your hand back fast, pulling it up to your chest as the tears began to fall.

You started to feel guilty. Who knows hwy but you felt guilty that you were still upset. Everyone says that its normal and it will soon pass but this seems never ending. 

A never ending cycle of missing him. A never ending cycle of him being gone.

You’re life had lost it’s sunshine, you lost your best friend. You lost everything you had that day. That stupid effing day he decided to get out of bed. You wished he had stayed in bed that day, you want it more than anything. 

But you let him go.

You let him get into his car. 

You let him drive away.

And the day that was a perfectly normal Wednesday morning with partly sunny skies and a nice breeze was the worst day of your life.

The day you lost your everything. 

The day you became a widow. 

[ashleyjouharphotowords]

‘The vibrancy and vitality of the color grey’. 

A piece written for the Superstock Agency on how and why sixty is the new thirty.

“You can’t avoid getting older, but you don’t have to get old,” said George Burns, the well-known comedian and centenarian a few years ago.

Ageing is all in the mind. Seniors aren’t counting their time away, begrudging the march of Father Time; instead they are looking forward, thinking about everything they still want to do and achieve in life.

People are living longer nowadays. The Boomers have a larger disposable income. They are retired, or semi-retired so they have more time on their hands and the choice of what to do with all that time. They are fitter, more active and have a younger outlook.

Don’t forget that in the Sixties, when huge social and cultural shifts occurred and men and women no longer dressed like their parents as soon as they turned 21, they expressed themselves through music, art, sex and fashion. Those folk that were responsible for the Sixties revolution are now in their seventies. Times may have changed but their outlook hasn’t. Don’t underestimate their vibrant joy for life - and image usage capturing this should be about attitude and spirit, not age.

A good example of this came from retail giant Marks & Spencer in the UK. It has made older women feel proud about the stage they are at in life and recently ran a fashion campaign celebrating these strong women and their achievements. With notable figures like Emma Thompson, Tracey Emin, Helen Mirren and Annie Lennox featuring in the photographs, they made their point clearly and stylishly and were shot by another notable older female, Annie Leibovitz.

According to AARP, nearly 10,000 adults turn 65 every day. This group of sexagenarians has over forty-five times the net worth of their younger counterparts. That’s a lot of potential for marketers to target.

Senior consumers want to see marketing showing moments of fun, energy and adventure. And despite what younger generations may believe, they are also eager consumers of technology. According to the Pew Research Center, ‘The 74+ demographic is the fastest growing among social networks.’

Research conducted by ‘Pragma’, the Retail and Commercial Strategy Consultants, says many see ‘growing older’ as a positive, as they have more time for experiences and what they want to do with their time.

 These folk are redefining ageing. They are taking risks, travelling the world, returning to study, being entrepreneurial and starting second careers. Their kids have flown the nest, so they are enjoying rich cultural lives, moving back to cities to be near theatres, galleries and museums and because they don’t feel old - they still feel like they are in their thirties or forties - they have no interest in slowing down.

Gransnet.com revealed recently in research conducted through its subscribers that 30% of over fifties say that they respond well to ads that make them feel something - ads that are funny, sad or surprising.

These seniors are choosy customers who are wiser, more rational and less influenced by fashion and trends than younger consumers. Imagery and marketing messages need to be subtle and engaging, showing independence, a freedom of spirit and a sense of adventure, capturing emotional truths, caught moments and credible casting. All underpinned by concepts around Vitality, Wisdom, Experience, Energy, Enthusiasm, Adventure, Fun, Love and Togetherness.

Many usages of this imagery are within the healthcare industry, conveying a positive, upbeat approach to life, health and vitality. Others may be cross-generational family images celebrating key milestone moments such as birthdays, anniversaries and weddings. This shows the family unit representing dependability, longevity and resilience in these tough economic and political times.

Other popular imagery usages are in business, with seniors of all ethnicities, shapes and sizes, featuring in regular business pictures as part of the workforce - as well as in top management positions. And then there are the more unusual, artisan, craft-based businesses too, where the presence of a skilled, more mature worker/owner communicates key concepts around Tradition, Quality and Heritage.

However, British Vogue’s beauty and lifestyle director Jessica Diner, says, “In 2019, women over 50 remain conspicuous by their absence in the beauty and fashion industries, as well as the wider media landscape. Age discrimination most definitely still exists, both consciously and unconsciously, leaving many women feeling excluded and invisible.”

Presenting an elegant middle finger to those who think age is a barrier, May’s issue of British Vogue features octogenarian Jane Fonda along with a celebration of the creativity and talent of older women. Fonda says “It’s important to understand that older women are the fastest growing demographic in the whole world. It’s time to recognize our value.”

The ‘Non-Issue Issue’, as Vogue has billed it, is published in partnership with French cosmetics company L’Oréal Paris. Fitness fanatic Fonda joins the likes of Helen Mirren in the magazine that editor-in-chief Edward Enninful, who has made it clear he wants to make fashion more inclusive, describes as proving that “a person’s age will always be a more intriguing, nuanced and inspiring factor than a simple number could ever suggest."

For imagery, communications and content to really resonate with seniors, there has to be a tangible benefit, like all effective advertising.

Maria Garrido, CEO of Havas X says it needs to help, inform and educate. For content to be more relevant, it needs to focus on important lifestyle elements such as staying healthy, staying connected, love and relationships, travel and experiences. With a keen interest in technology, when they have a positive experience with a product or service, 68% of seniors say they share it with their social networks.

Being in good physical shape is one of three top priorities for 41% of seniors. The second is staying in touch with what is going on in the world, identified by 77%.  

The third priority, according to 46% is ‘having people in my life who really care about me’.

There is a huge still untapped opportunity to turn silver into gold. Whatever you call the over fifties - older, mature or senior, ageing ain’t what it used to be. 

Thank goodness!