#June pointer

[classicgirlgroups]

RIP Anita Pointer (January 23, 1948 – December 31, 2022)

[jedivoodoochile]

Stevie Nicks, Bonnie Raitt, Annie Lennox, June Pointer Carly Simon, Cheryl Crowe.

[melodiousmonk]

Stevie Nicks, Bonnie Raitt, Annie Lennox, June Pointer, Carly Simon, Sheryl Crow

[phasesphrasesphotos]

The Pointer Sisters

[djrobblog]

Tribute: Anita Pointer’s unsung role in the biggest Black sister act ever; plus her greatest songs as lead singer, ranked

(January 10, 2023).  Doesn’t it seem like the Pointer Sisters, that eclectic group of talented singing siblings out of Oakland, CA whose music has now endured half a century, weren’t always fully appreciated? After all, they were an act that broke the rules of what it meant to be a “girl group”—first in the 1970s and then in the ‘80s—when they very successfully navigated musical genres as…

[krispyweiss]

Pointer Sister Anita Dies at 74

Anita Pointer of the Pointer Sisters died Dec. 31 of cancer, her family said.

She was 74.

“(Anita) was the one that kept all of us close and together for so long,” Pointer’s family said in a statement. “Her love of our family will live on in each of us.”

With Anita, June and Ruth, the Pointer Sisters scored a string of hits including a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Fire” and “Slow Hand,” “I’m so Excited” and “Automatic” among others.

“My favorite sister’s voice, after June,” Arnold McCuller said of Anita Pointer.

Katrina and the Waves toured with the Pointer Sisters in 1985 and the experience stuck with the eponymous frontwoman.

“Anita was so kind and generous with her friendship and guidance to me,” Katrina wrote on Facebook. “I learned a lot standing (on the) side of stage every night watching her amaze and excite the crowd.”

1-1-23

[poptartcrush]

Stevie Nicks, Bonnie Raitt, Annie Lennox, June Pointer, Carly Simon & Sheryl Crow

[akkivee]

posse’s curry track managed to sneak in character plot beats that probably needs to be addressed within canon lol so i was thinking the others are the same and so like

🔴: jiro and saburo needed to get ichiro to talk about his plans with them and even get him to consider different options in order to stay true to who they are

🔵: the usual rio hijinks lol but samatoki and juto worked behind the scenes to stop rio’s madness (he’s crazy m he’s crazy m—)

🟡: posse lol

⚪️: hmmmmm……….

🟠: rosho conducted sasara’s plans, kept rei and sasara on track and got their end goal, rosho doing all the heavy lifting for those two bums pray for rosho y’all lmao

🟣: kuukou be doing too much, pls stop him lol

[superflaminggayelmo]

Slow Hand by The Pointer Sisters. A gorgeous classic

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

The only downside to listening to that chat with Stan Lynch was that it was supposed to be a pick-me-up except that he actually mentioned that he wrote a song for a June Pointer album which reminded me about Anita Pointer and :'( that was. not okay. :'(

Also tbh it was kinda rude to me that Stan was like 'Yeah, we wrote this song for June Pointer and I just thought it was kind of, like...okay? Like it was just okay? Like it wasn't a bad song but it was...fine' Like WAY TO ADMIT YOU DIDN'T REALLY TRY TO WRITE A GREAT SONG FOR HER, MAN. LOL I was initially excited/intrigued when he mentioned the song he co-wrote for June Pointer because I forgot that he did (but I saw his writing credit on that album when I was looking through June Pointer's albums once on Discogs, and I think aside from listening to it once, maybe?, I didn't really find any other info on it or I didn't look at the time), but then when he said that I was like...oh. Well that's kinda shitty. lol

[batifresa]

The Ultimate "Challengers" Timeline

Updated: October 20, 2024

I kept seeing some confusion in the fandom regarding the timeframe of certain events in the film, so I started working on this as a way to clarify theories and map out everything as accurately as possible. If you notice any mistakes, or know of a canon event that I missed, please don't hesitate to let me know!

Relationship-o-metric:

Art and Patrick were friends for approximately 6 years, 6 months and 16 days (2391 days).

Patrick and Tashi were in a relationship for exactly 5 months and 20 days (173 days).

Art and Tashi have been in a relationship for approximately 8 years, 11 months and 19 days (3275 days).

Some pointers and notes:

Art, Tashi and Patrick are all confirmed to be 31 years old in the final script of the film.

Lily is confirmed to be 5 years old in the final script of the film, so she would've been born sometime in 2014.

The American school year starts in mid/late August or early September, and ends in mid/late May or early June, depending on state. We do not know where the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy is located.

The majority of boarding schools start their academic program in middle school (6th grade). Art and Patrick would've been 11 years old then. We can infer that they either: befriended each other on their first year at the academy, and later asked to be placed together as dorm mates for their second year, or that one (or both) of them started attending the academy a year later (7th grade), though I think that's unlikely.

Stanford follows the quarter system (not semesters). Most students start the academic year in late September (Autumn Quarter), and must complete 12 quarters to graduate.

Stanford also does not revoke athlete scholarships due to injuries. So it is highly likely that, since Tashi couldn't go pro, and she still had her scholarship, she stayed in college until she graduated.

Since Art was playing a Masters 1000 tournament in 2010 (which require a high player ranking), we can assume that he either: left Stanford to go pro at one point, or he was allowed leeway to skip classes and compete professionally.

The film ends on August 4, 2019. They had no idea what was about to happen in December 2019. In 2020, the vast majority of tennis events were cancelled due to the pandemic, so that's a potential topic to tackle in fic, I guess.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 6 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, lots of fluff, Harris and Wayne making us all cry

WC: 1.3k

Divider credit to @saradika

June 1999

“Harris! Lunchtime!” you call out from the kitchen, balancing three plates in your hands, crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly slathered between WonderBread slices atop each one. A gourmet meal, Grandma would have teased, but she wouldn’t deny the simple deliciousness of a PB&J sandwich. 

Eddie saunters in first, taking two of the plates from you and placing them on the dining room table. “Need me to grab anything else?” he asks, watching as you suck peanut butter residue off your thumb. “Like, maybe your boobs?” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest against a faded Corroded Coffin t-shirt. 

You playfully roll your eyes, setting the last plate at your spot. “Could you slice up an apple for Harris? I’ll pour us some lemonade and then get his gift from our room.”

“Puttin’ me to work on Father’s Day weekend,” he grumbles, but the smirk curling his plush lips betrays him. He grabs a Red Delicious from the refrigerator and cuts it into eighths, careful not to nick his ringed fingers. 

You pluck the gift bag from its hiding spot underneath your bed, re-fluffing the yellow tissue paper as though Harris will notice that it’s askew. 

Eddie’s tongue swipes at the apple’s juices on his fingers and calls for your son once more. “Harris! If you don’t get your behind in here now, you won’t get your surprise!”

The TV clicks off instantly. “My surprise?” He races into the kitchen, stopping short and skidding in his socks to avoid colliding with the counter’s edge. “Where’s my surprise?”

“You can open it while you eat lunch,” you reason, swinging the bag between your pinched thumb and forefinger. Harris plops in his seat, takes an enormous bite of his sandwich, and holds out his hand for the present. You relent with a laugh, nerves buzzing as he tears into it. 

Harris is momentarily confused when he pulls out a book, studying the cover intently. “The Berenstain Bears New Baby?” he asks quizzically, looking between you and Eddie for a clue. 

“Why do you think we’d buy you a book about a new baby?” Eddie teases, trying to lead him to the answer. 

You both watch as the proverbial gears turn in the boy’s head, his eyes widening when it clicks. “Am I getting a baby?” A squeal builds up in his throat, the excitement palpable. 

“Mhm. In about five months, you, Harris Munson,” you tell him, poking his chest with your pointer finger, “are going to be a big brother.”

“Mommy’s growing the baby in her belly right now,” Eddie elaborates, beaming as the words resonate with him once again. 

Harris leaps from his chair, bumping into the table and nearly toppling his glass of lemonade in the process, but he hardly notices. “We’re having a baby! We’re having a baby!” He cheers, waving the book high in the air. A slip of paper falls out, floating down to his feet. 

“That’s my latest ultrasound. It shows what the baby looks like and how he or she is growing,” you explain as he picks it up from the floor. 

He squints at it to make heads or tails of the grainy photos. “When do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“At my next appointment in about five weeks.”

He hums in acknowledgment, still focused on the sonogram. “It kinda just looks like a blob,” he says cautiously, as though breaking the news that the fetus in your womb is a gelatinous creature. 

Eddie chuckles, kissing Harris’s wild curls. “Yeah, but it’ll look more like a baby soon, I promise.”

Harris exhales a relieved sigh, launching himself into your arms with a barrage of questions. 

“What are we gonna name it?”

“Is it gonna sleep in my room?”

“Do I have to change its diapers?”

“Are you sure it’s gonna look like a baby?”

It’s your turn to laugh and ruffle his hair. “Slow down there, Har. We can talk about all of that stuff later. Right now,” you lower your voice but keep all of the exuberance, “we need you to do us a super special favor.”

“A super special favor?” His face lights up and he leans in to ensure he hears you correctly. 

“Yup. Grampa Wayne still doesn’t know about the baby, and we were hoping you could make a Father’s Day card that helps us tell him.” You watch as he unlatches himself from around you and scampers off to find his art kit. “That was easy enough,” you say to your husband, who affirms this with a smile-laced kiss. 

Eddie shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “To be honest, I was expecting him to be even—”

“I’M GONNA BE A BIG BROTHER!” Harris’s ecstatic shriek interrupts him, compounded with the pounding of his feet as he jumps up and down. 

“There it is.”

You all pile into the car the following afternoon to celebrate Father’s Day at Wayne’s trailer. Harris buckles himself into his booster seat, the homemade card clutched securely in his hand. Eddie rolls down the window, turning the crank until it’s halfway cracked, letting the warm June breeze tickle his face.

From the backseat, Harris whines, “Dad, be careful! I don’t want Grampa’s card to fly out the window.”

“Don’t worry; we’re not going fast. Just taking the backroads.”

He seems to be content with this promise, but you notice his grip tighten just a bit.

Wayne waits for your arrival, stubbing out his cigarette on the trailer steps as soon as he sees you pull in. His naturally stoic expression dissipates into a wide grin and he pushes himself to his feet, tugging on Harris’s door handle as soon as Eddie throws the car in park.

“Happy Father’s Day, Grampa!” Harris shouts, flinging his arms around him. Wayne reciprocates eagerly, holding his grandson in a loving embrace. “Look at your card!”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head in amusement as he stretches his legs out of the car. “Real subtle, Har.”

Wayne takes the piece of construction paper from Harris, retrieving his reading glasses from where they’re hanging out of his breast pocket and sliding them up the bridge of his nose. “Let me see here,” he muses, scanning the drawing in front of him. “A family portrait, huh? This is gonna go right on the fridge.” He starts back towards the front door, but Harris stops him.

“No, Grampa, look!” Harris impatiently points to where he’s drawn your prominently rounded abdomen, much more obvious than your actual burgeoning bump. “That’s Mommy.”

Wayne’s eyebrows raise, glancing between you and Eddie for confirmation before he says anything further. 

“You’re gonna be a grandpa again, Old Man,” Eddie tells him, resting his hand on your stomach and rubbing it gently. “There’ll be another little mischief maker joining us in November.”

“You’re serious?” Wayne’s eyes mist over, visible even behind the lenses. When you nod, rife with emotion, he ambles over for a hug. “Oh, my word. Nearly got me blubberin’ over here.” He pulls back only to rest his glasses atop his head, wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve.

Harris tugs on his grandfather’s free hand. “Dad said you’re gonna change all the poopy diapers.” He giggles, exposing the gap where a tooth is newly missing after weeks of being wiggly.

“Is that so?” Wayne chuckles, looking directly at Eddie before bringing his attention back to Harris. “Well, I’ll tell ya what: I’ll change the baby’s diapers if Dad changes mine once I’m real old.”

Eddie tries to protest, but you cut him off. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

“Nope, no way” your husband argues, waving his arms in disgust, “I’m throwing you in a home the moment you can’t wipe your own–”

“Eddie!” you admonish before he can utter another word.

“I was gonna say ‘tush.’”

--

[leafdragon16]

* slams head through the wall *

Ok so - stop screaming it's just me - so we know Experiment!Wheeljack can growl and hiss and stuff, but can he purr? And/or does he act animalistic in other ways (territorial, gets the zoomies, etc)? (You explored some of this in the chapter where he's staying at the original Autobot outpost, but I keep having Thoughts™ about our favorite gremlin Wrecker so I came here to chat about him😅) Ok that's all, I'll just be going now

* awkwardly pulls head back out of the wall, leaving a hole behind *

[sticks head through the hole you left behind]

Good question! I don’t think he can purr exactly the same way that a cat does, but he definitely can! Much in the same way he growls via grinding the sections of his throat together + engine noise he could probably also purr. So kinda weird sounding but recognizably purring

He also ABSOLUTELY gets the zoomies. He learned how to control it when he was with the Wreckers back on Cybertron, but it still slips out sometimes (like when June found him on the ceiling). Lights and sharp movements attract him, so he would in fact chase a laser pointer. Shockwave probably figured that one out the hard way while making calculations. He naturally walks very quietly and has a tendency to freeze up and try to stalk anything perceived as prey. He also sometimes has the urge to just get up and walk around randomly (which Ratchet also got to see when he caught him sneaking out to check on Bulkhead)

He’s learned to suppress most of the more animalistic urges around other bots. Back when he was on the Jackhammer alone he was quite literally bouncing off the walls, crawling around on the ceiling, biting the leg of his berth, etc.

Personally I think if he cut loose in the Autobot base it would go something like this

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompthagoreum Theorum. Cheers to ya'll for still following along despite it being, you know, June.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) 23: apology (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

At first, partially because it's 6am, neither of them recognise what Rosie is actually saying. But it's clearly directed at Sherlock, who looks at John from the table with an eyebrow raised.

John shrugs. 'What was that, sweetheart?'

She helpfully points at Sherlock. 'Say sorry!'

'Oh ba--balderdash,' John says. 'There was an episode of that Australian programme about apologising, I didn't think--'

'Be sorry, Sherlock!'

Sherlock looks merely amused. 'What for, Miss Rosamund?'

She moves her pointer finger to John, but her accusatory gaze stays on Sherlock. 'You ate banana.'

'I… ate your father's banana without asking?'

She nods decisively. 'Say sorry.'

'I'm very sorry, John. I shall ask next time before doing anything nefarious with your banana.'

How they manage to keep straight faces, John has no idea, but they deserve an Olympic sodding medal in parenting for it.

'She's not even old enough to really get the concept of apologising,' he says as it occurs to him. 'I can't--'

'Nonsense, she's brilliant. Aren't you?' This last is to Rosie, obviously, as he clears away her cereal bowl.

John rolls his eyes. 'Oh, so now you're in favour of emotional intelligence.'

'When it applies to my--' He smothers a wince, John is certain of it, but rallies immediately. '--my young flatmate, here, absolutely.'

He stands before John can say anything else. 'Time to be off, yes?'

'Sherlock,' he starts a few minutes later, but they're halfway out the door and he knows he's being cowardly.

Sure enough, Sherlock waves it off. 'You're for pickup today, correct?' John nods. 'Good. I've that case, have to go make several witnesses cry.'

John hides a grin, in case his newly-pious daughter is paying attention. 'Try not to get arrested, yeah?'

'I make no promises,' Sherlock calls back as he heads off down the pavement.

---

'John,' Sherlock says that night, once he's changed clothes and washed the distinct aroma of back alley rubbish off himself while John put Rosie to bed. 'You could take a turn from your daughter about the apologising. Be a good example.' His voice is light, but careful. Only a little bit mocking.

John, who is standing in the kitchen making coffee and around whom Sherlock has just reached to avail himself of the biscuits, is certain he didn't hear correctly. 'I beg your pardon.'

'No, you don't.'

John stares at him, mouth a little open. 'This? Coming from you?'

'Who knows you better?'

'No, I mean-- You never apologise.'

'Implying you yourself are a model for showing regret?'

John can practically hear the 'zing' of the direct hit, and it irks him. 'Fine, I apologise for nothing!' He stops. 'No, that's not true, I apologise for some things. A few things. Several things. I apologise for about half of the things!'

'That doesn't even make sense, you realise.'

'Shut up.' He pulls Sherlock to him. 'Shut up, you absolute wanker.' He drags their mouths together for a surprisingly filthy kiss considering how tired they both ought to be.

John has a suspicion, though, and he breaks the kiss. 'What's this really about?'

'Don't know what you mean,' Sherlock says against the skin of John's jaw.

'Sherlock…' He swallows, considers pulling back but isn't sure he'd be able to get through this if eye contact is involved. 'You know she's yours, right?'

Sherlock stills, his cheek brushing John's, and John feels him close his eyes. 'John, you mustn't say things that aren't true.'

'Oh for--' John does pull back, then, pulling on the back of Sherlock's neck and keeping him in check so he can't escape. He waits until Sherlock's focused on his face, on his nose today. 'Here's the thing: You're right. Beyond, you know, the big-- Beyond what we've worked out in therapy, I'm shit at apologising. I'll work on it for Rosie, and for you. Starting with--' He takes a deep breath. 'I'm really bloody sorry I ever gave you the impression I didn't want you as Rosie's father.' He sees and feels Sherlock's sharp inhale. 'I just thought you knew that you already are.' 

'John.' The air leaves Sherlock's body in a stream, warm and damp on John's skin. 'You're serious?' he asks, doubt small but lingering in his voice. 

John clears his throat, breaking their gaze to look down at Sherlock's collar. 'I asked-- Well, the papers have been drawn up, and I owe your brother now which will only come back to bite us in the arse, but--' 

Sherlock's mouth captures his in a desperate kiss, and John finds himself held so tightly he actually feels his heels parting from the lino.

'Sherlock,' John manages when they break briefly for air.

'Sorry, right,' Sherlock says, very near sheepishly, and loosens his grip.

'Don't be sorry, just, you know.' He tilts his head to indicate the hallway. 'Come to bed with me?'

Sherlock's eyes darken with a combination of lust and merriment. 'Where I can do nefarious things to your banana?'

John groans, then turns away and starts down the hall. 'Oh God, dad jokes now? I have so many regrets.'

'No, you don't.'

John smirks and holds the bedroom door open. 'No, I really, really don't.'

[ <3 ]

[poppy-metal]

not you wanting the details re:ball sucking 😳 ngl it was the tip of the iceberg bc now he puts his fingers in my mouth while he eats my cunt and wraps his hand around my throat when he fucks me 🙂‍↕️ in my pampered princess era ✨

but now i’m thinking about citygirl!reader’s return to the small town to care for her ailing grandma, the ranch, and her one year old blonde baby girl. her rich husband ofc has to stay in connecticut doing what rich men do and as much as he loves her, he cannot imagine giving up their estate for farmland, golfing with the bros for a hard’s day work with the ranch hands, and vintage italian reds for american brewed ales. so with a kiss to the top of your head and continued access to his bank to care for the farm and granny, he sends you off with his daughter—the second love of his life.

you, on the other hand, are about to burst into tears at the idea of your little girl being near her daddy for the first time. the daddy that wants nothing to do with you and nothing to do with her. but as granny taught you, grit your teeth and keep straight on.

art can’t even begin to describe the whirlwind of emotions plaguing his every being when he sees you on that front porch, white linen dress billowing in the wind, a pitcher of peach iced tea in one hand, and a baby that’s the spitting image of him on the other hip. the bright smile on your face as you pour the tea into every ranch hand’s cup. the laugh that travels straight into his ears whenever a ranch hand makes a fool of themselves trying to make his baby smile. when he makes his way up to you, glass in hand, he tries to avert your eyes, but that means he’s looking right down at his daughter. he can feel your gaze on him. “hi, little one,” he says quietly, using his pointer finger to softly rub her cheek. she coos and nuzzles into his touch. “just like mama,” he says softly, just loud enough for only you to hear.

“you’re the first one to make her smile all day,” you say. art can’t quite place the tone of your voice: outwardly genial, but there’s a touch of apprehension, sadness, and wonder. he can’t help but feel himself open that box he tucked away two years ago and taste that familiar bittersweetness of loving you all over again, and he sees the future he could’ve had.

there’s a certain shyness in your interactions over the course of this summer; with your husband back east and lucy off in cambodia on a mission, it’s so easy to pretend the two of you aren’t married to other people. it’s almost silly. this man has fucked you every way imaginable, broken your heart more times you can count, but the way he cares for you, granny, and your—and his—daughter makes it feel all more new, more intimate.

he doesn’t touch you until the middle of june. it’s an especially rough heatwave that ravages the town, and you give the entire ranch a break for the day. granny is getting better, stronger. the single window a/c unit was moved to her bedroom, so your daughter sleeps in a crib with her grandma. your room is sweltering, but that doesn’t stop you and art from being entangled with each other. it was innocent at first: you and him kissing for hours, hands roaming but never reaching for the places that could escalate it. his body is sticky against yours, but you like the feeling of knowing that you can’t distinguish where you end and where he begins. and when it does escalate?

he doesn’t even fuck you. he just licks at your cunt until the sun rises; his fingers are in you, in your mouth, wrapped around your neck. your pillowcase are wet from your tears. his chin and your sheets are wet from you. and not once this entire night did he let you touch him, let him touch himself.

(finished my first week of teacher training and began setting up my classroom and the chairs and tables are sooooo itty bitty for my three year olds 🥺 but dw ranchhand!art will be making appearances in your inbox even once i’m teaching full time bc citygirl!reader and him deserve it 🙂‍↕️)

- 🤠

cowboy anon whenever I am down you came to pick me up, I swear <///////33333 I love mutual cheating. sigh. so romantic. art eating your cunt like a starved man because he's missed this - it's the his pussy. Jim looking up at you from between your legs, not letting you cum until you tell him who your pussy belongs to - it's reminiscent of the time he fucked you in the haystack the day before you fled, when he made you admit you loved him and couldn't even say it back - you'd thought he was the cruelst man alive at the time, but now you can see how much he needs to hear it.

like he's drowning and your confessions are the air in his lungs. you grip his hair and tell him you've always been his, always will be - and despite how much he's hurt you, your body will always be his too. his to do with what he wants. you couldn't deny him if you tried.