#and thank you for making Stranger Things Have Happened happen
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Buttermilk
It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au
Part 3 | masterlist
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It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.
How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you.
It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.
You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.
“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.
“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.
“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”
You swallow. Nod again.
The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”
“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”
“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”
She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before.
It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him.
Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink.
“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.”
Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.
It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this.
The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need.
In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes.
In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm.
It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath.
A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own.
“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers.
You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on.
“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”
John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”
The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric.
When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him.
“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes.
Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together.
“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”
He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat.
Late night rain.
It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles.
You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home.
Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.
“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him.
You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs.
“It’s not…that bad…”
“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.
The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them.
“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer.
“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.
“What?” you ask, confused.
“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”
There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail.
John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum.
You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent.
He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you.
“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe.
You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?”
“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”
“Like where?” you ask dubiously.
“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”
His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now.
You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.”
You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.
“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend.
“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”
“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”
John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze.
“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”
After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall.
The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.
The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep.
He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before.
Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it.
Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down.
You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue.
Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist.
“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine.
“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”
“You hot?” he asks.
The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex.
“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor.
Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed.
It must be the heat making you act this way.
“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”
He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple.
A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin.
“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back.
You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles.
The heat is just—
Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again.
Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat.
It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head.
His palms are slick on your skin.
Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well.
When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest.
“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips.
As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you.
Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest.
“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.
“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”
Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed.
His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way.
Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it.
The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.
When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black.
“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”
“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open.
“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”
You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole.
“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out.
It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath.
That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much.
“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”
“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”
His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you.
A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress.
The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool.
When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit.
“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”
“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest.
Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though.
“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours.
His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another.
“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again.
You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.
#i dont know whats wrong with me ok#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#price/reader#john price x reader#john price x you#price x you#captain john price x reader
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‘tis the damn season.
“so we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend.”
pairing: rafe cameron x pogue! reader
warnings: 18+, SMUT, p in v, fingering, begging, overstimulation, use of babe....let me know if i forget anything lol. ALSO in some places in america, thansgiving eve is literally just a holiday to get drunk in your hometown
your home for the holidays for the first time in years. you've been avoiding rafe, the reason you've been away for so long, but after seeing him again all the old feelings come back. when rafe sends a text one night, you end up in the back of his truck like old times.
i parked my car out front of my childhood home, staring at the old exterior.
somethings never change.
being back in the outer banks felt strange. it has been a while since i have been back, avoiding come home for as long as i can. but with a few begging phone calls from my mom and kiara, here i am.
i knock on my front door and am greeted with a bright smile.
"jj?" i ask, confused.
"welcome home, stranger." he says, with a hug and grabbing my bag.
i walk into my living room and see the pogues, sitting with my mom. a homemade 'welcome home' banner hanging above their heads.
my mom comes over and gives me a big hug. "i thought i would never see this face again." she says with a squeeze.
"boston isn't that far, mom." i tell her but i know she would never leave the outer banks. never in a million years. i turn towards the others and smile. "i wonder who could've put this together?" i say, looking at kiara.
"hey it wasn't all me, pope was the one who brought it up." she says, engulfing me in her arms.
"guilty." pope chimes in, joining the hug. i feel jj and john b join in as well. my family.
we break away and hang out in the living room, catching up.
"don't tell me you went all city on us, y/n." john b pokes fun at me.
"not completely. but it is nice having more things to do than hang on the beach and smoke." i wink.
"who could want more than that?" jj asks, making us all laugh.
"speaking of," kiara starts. "there's a little thanksgiving eve celebration happening at the wreck. just some people from high school. nothing big."
"just a chance to get drunk of our asses and go to dinner the next day hungover." jj says, causing kiara to nudge him.
"what do you say? want to join us?" i look around the room at my friends, all eager waiting for my response. with a sigh, i nod and they all cheer. "thank god, i don't think i could've done that alone."
i smile and nod. it should be fun, it will be. but my brain can't help to wonder if the one person who's kept me away from coming home will be there. no, he wouldn't. not with the pogues. but a part of me can't help but hope to see his face.
───✱*.。:。✱*.:。✧*.。✰*.:。✧*.。:。*.。✱ ───
i fix my sweater in the mirror in my room, my body fidgeting from anxiety. it's been a few days and i still can't shake that feeling from my body about being home. sure, i'm happy but this place holds so many memories. memories i wish to bury. i stare at the photo booth picture tucked into my mirror of him and i. i guess i forgot to hide this with the rest of the stuff. i take it off the mirror and sigh, examining it.
almost four years since it was taken. almost four years since we called it quits. and yet, he still haunts my memories. his presence making itself known through cheap beer at the bar, expensive men's cologne at the mall, exhaust that leaves motorbikes as they ride down the street. he's always there, whether i like it or not.
the sound of a horn breaks me free of my thoughts.
"y/n, they're here!" my mom calls from downstairs.
"coming!" i open my dresser drawer and slip the photo in before racing downstairs. i kiss my mom on the cheek and slip out the door, rushing into the van.
"ready to get fucked up?" jj asks with his devilish smirk.
i roll my eyes and laugh. "let's go."
we pull up to the wreck, it's already dark outside and a slight breeze fills the air. we all hurry in, greeted by familiar faces. my name is called from every direction, old friends from high school or the beach. all my fellow pogues who i know and love. when i'm done making my rounds, i head over to our table. everyone has some drink in their hand, beer or cocktail, and they all smile up at me.
"who would've though little y/n y/l/n would be a pogue celebrity?" pope jokes.
i flip him off and slide in next to john b. kiara hands me a beer and i take a sip. "i'm not a celebrity, i'm just one of the only people from this island who actually made it off."
they all make jokes at my despair, teasing me in any way they could when sarah walks up. i feel my stomach flip and i smile at her. "y/n!" she embraces me. "i'm so happy to see you!"
i hug her back and smile. "me too, sar. how's everything been?"
"the usual but i can't complain." she sits next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. "it's been forever."
"it has." i sigh. "it really has."
we all share stories and laugh around the table. we take shots, chug beer, and play different drinking games. just like old times sake.
"i need another beer." i say with a slight slur in my voice, standing up. "anyone else?" everyone shakes their head as i excuse myself.
i walk up to the bar and wait my turn, twirling my debit card in my hand. it could be the alcohol but i feel content and happy to be home.
"y/n?"
until that moment.
i don't want to turn around, i don't even want to accept my fate in this situation.
i know that voice, i could recognize it in a crowd of millions of people. it was the voice that lingered in my dreams, my thoughts.
i turn around and look at the man.
"rafe."
he looks older, his hair buzzed and some facial hair covering his face. but those eyes. they are the same eyes of the boy i loved.
we stood there, not saying a word. just taking the sight of one another in.
"i didn't know you were home." he says, not breaking eye contact.
i nod, biting my lip. "i am, i got home monday."
he chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "how long you here for?"
"till saturday. then i'm going back to boston." my throat feels scratchy and my face is on fire. i want to be anywhere but here now.
his eyes continue to study me. "two more budweiser's, please." he says to the bartender. i open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "on me, think of it as a welcome home gift."
the bartender hands me the beer and i smile. i turn back to rafe and tip the bottle to him. "thanks."
"no problem." he clinks his bottle to mine. we both take a long sip. my eyes are desperately trying to find a place to land, ending up on the bright sign above the bar. but rafe's are still on me.
"you okay?" kiara asks as she walks behind rafe. she is my gurdian angel.
"yeah, just waiting for my beer. excuse me." i squeeze past rafe and walk back to my table. i look back at him and smiles. i hate him.
a few drinks more and my ears are ringing. it was loud and everyone was far too drunk. i excuse myself for air outside. there are a few people lingering, smoking cigarettes or waiting for ubers. i smile and take in the nostalgia.
"you know, it would've been nice to know you were home." i hear rafe's voice next to me.
i roll my eyes and look up at him. "oh, would it have been? sorry, i didn't think you'd care." i say coldly. that liquid courage is taking control.
he looks down at me. "and why would i have not cared?"
"hmm, let me think." i put my finger to my chin. "oh, right. 'don't ever contact me again. we're so over. i wish i never met you. blah. blah. blah.' do you want me to go on?" i say to him.
i watch as he processes what i said to him, the words of our last fight. he looks guilty, for once in his life. "that was years ago, y/n. w-we were just kids."
"oh, really? then why haven't i heard from you for the past few years? phone works both ways, rafe." i say, shrugging.
he stands there quietly, i got him.
"how's school been?" he asks, nonchalantly.
"are you for real?" i ask.
"what? i'm being nice." he says.
i huff with frustration. "you are such an ass." i push pass him and walk onto the sidewalk.
"where are you going?" he asks, following after me.
"away from you." i say, not looking back.
i hear him run up behind me and he gently grabs my arm. "y/n. y/n, stop."
i turn to look at him. "what do you want from me, huh? you want to torture me even more?"
he stares at me, hand still on my arm. "what? of course not. y/n, i missed you."
"fuck off." i spit out without thinking.
"you're drunk."
"and you're an asshole." i say, flatly. "you...you fucking broke my heart and you expect me to act like everything is fucking dandy?"
"y/n." he tries to plead his case.
"no, rafe. you don't get to waltz in here and act like everything is okay with us. do you know how much you fucked me over? one day you're telling me you love me and you want to move to boston with me and the next, you're dumping me over the phone." i poke his chest. "i did everything you wanted, i kept what we had between us a secret, i took care of you. and nothing was enough for you."
he looks down at his feet in guilt. "i-i know, i'm sorry. i was...i was fucked up back then. with my dad on my case and the drinking...i wasn't okay. i felt like..." he cut himself off.
"what, rafe? you felt like, what?" i ask.
"like i was going to hold you back, alright?" he raises his voice. "you are too good for this place, for me. i didn't want to hold you back. i loved you too much to do that to you." i stare at him and laugh. "what? what's so fucking funny?"
"you, rafe. you." i sigh. "instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid. we could've worked that out. but you were too scared." i close my eyes and shake my head. "goodbye, rafe."
i walk down the street, hugging my body as the wind blows. a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but there's still that feeling i get whenever i think of him. that feeling that i miss him.
───✱*.。:。✱*.:。✧*.。✰*.:。✧*.。:。*.。✱ ───
thanksgiving flew by, even though i had a hangover that felt like it would last a lifetime.
i helped my mom clean up the kitchen as the pogues did the dishes and took the trash out. just like old times.
once we were done, we sat outside around the bonfire. you would think after yesterday, drinking would come to a halt but jj found a bottle of vodka in the freezer and mixed it with kiara's apple cider. we all enjoyed each other's company but my mind could not help but wander. my last conversation with rafe ringing through my head.
"instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid."
i shake my head and take a sip of my spiked cider. as much as it rang true, there was still that part of me that wonders 'what if?'. the more i thought about it, the more i wanted to pick up my phone.
no, i need to be the bigger person. i'm stronger than that. i can't text him first.
then i felt my phone buzz in my lap.
rafe: hey
i stare at the text and bite my lip. i know i should ignore it, let it go unread. but my fingers work against my brain and type 'hi' back to him. i sit there, eagerly waiting for a response.
rafe: can we talk?
rafe: i'm sorry about last night, i'm a fucking idiot.
rafe: there's so many things i could say to you rn
rafe: but i miss you.
rafe: i wanna see you.
i look around at my friends and sigh, they would be so mad at me for this.
y/n: sure, give me like an hour.
y/n: park down the street at the usual spot.
my friends leave my house, mainly due to me faking another wave of hungover puking. i run upstairs and check myself out in the mirror, i look damn good. when i get his text, i sneak out the backdoor and hurry down the street. i see his truck parked under the big tree, the spot he always parked in.
i open the truck door and hop into the passenger seat. i look over at him, he's still in his dressy clothes. a blue polo that hugged his arms right and khakis that made his thighs look exceptionally big. he knew what he was doing and i can't tell if i hate him or love him for it.
we drive in silence for a bit, his radio playing music faintly. his hands grip the steering wheel as his mind looks like he's on another planet. i play with the ends of my sweatshirt, anxiously waiting for him to do something. anything.
he pulls up to the beach, the spot where we would always come to. it was dark and the waves crashed against the shore loudly. he turns the car off and looks over at me.
"thanks for meeting me." he says simply.
"sure."
"i'm sorry about last night. you went out to have fun and i ruined it, i know i did."
i just nod at him.
"and...you were right. about it all." he sighs, running his hands over his face. "i should've manned up, talked to you about how i was feeling. but you know how i get. i get too in my head and just jump to conclusions. it wasn't fair to you." he looks into my eyes. "these past few years without you have been a living hell and i have only myself to blame."
"are you drunk? high?" i ask.
"w-what?"
"are you not sober?" i ask again.
"i'm sorry, what? of course i'm fucking sober." he says. "why would i not be?"
"rafe cameron...taking accountability? i'm sorry, it just seems so...foreign?" i laugh.
"i'm being serious, y/n."
i laugh again. "oh, i'm sure. and...the sky is green. we live on the planet pluto. aliens exist and so do unicorns!"
he pinches the bridge of his nose. "y/n, i'm telling the truth! god, you always joke around."
"yeah, because i know you." i say to him. "and you would rather eat concrete than admit you are wrong."
"eat concrete?" he asks, with a smirk.
"you know what i mean!" i huff with frustration.
he grabs my hand and stares in my eyes. "y/n, i am fully sober. we are not in another universe, it is not opposite day. i was wrong and i am sorry."
my brain malfunctions as i look into his eyes. "y-you mean it?"
"every word i said."
my brain not working means i experienced a lack of better judgment. i grab rafe by his collar and connect our lips for the first time in years. this kiss, the one i have longed for since i left this place, was the missing puzzle piece i've been searching for in my life. everything seemed to make sense again.
his hands cupped my cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth. he was hungry for me and i wasn't going to stop him because i felt insatiable as well. his hands roamed from my cheeks down to my neck and onto my shoulders.
i needed more.
i climbed onto his lap and straddled him. my arms connected around his neck as he pressed against me. i felt his cock hard against his khakis and i wanted it. i wanted it all. i rubbed myself against him, causing us both to moan.
he continued to kiss me until he broke away and looked at me. his puffy lips formed a cocky smile as he brushed his nose against mine. "you missed me."
"shut up." i was itching for more.
"admit it, you missed me. you missed the way i made you feel." he states.
"rafe, shut up and kiss me, please."
"ah ah ah." he shook his head. "not until you tell me."
"you're such an ass." i roll my eyes, trying to catch my breathe.
"yet, here you are, rubbing yourself against me in my truck." he says, kissing my cheek. his lips then go to my ear and down my neck. "i want it all with you, right now, babe. but i need to hear it."
"fine! fuck, i missed you. are you happy?" i groan, needing him.
"very. get in the backseat." he demands. i quickly follow his order, hopping in the back over the seats. he gets out of the truck and opens up the back door, sliding in next to me. "come here." he pulls me back onto his lap and we pick up where we left off. i continue to rub myself against him as he sloppily kisses me. "just like old times." he jokes and i hit his shoulder. "c'mon, don't act like you don't think about it."
"oh, i do. but i bet you think about it more than i do." i smirk.
"probably." he laughs. his fingers fall to the hem of my sweater and he plays with it. "now are we only here to kiss or?"
"why? you wanna fuck me in your truck? just like old times." i say, making fun of what he just said.
"i do, i wanna fuck you right here, right now. it's all i've been wanting to do." he kisses my jawline. "do you want me to fuck you?"
this is what i missed the most, our back and forth.
"yes, rafe. i want you to fuck me." i moan out.
with that, he practically rips my sweater off my body and starts to kiss down my chest. his large hands palm my clothed breast. i bite my lip and let my head fall back, missing the way he affected my body. i felt his hand snake around to the back and unclip my bra quickly.
"show off." i say, out of breathe.
i smirks and connects his lips to my nipple, sucking and licking it. his hand massaging my other. "don't pretend you don't like it."
i smirk and shake my head.
he continues to focus on my tits, going back and forth between the two.
"more." i whisper, eyes clenched shut.
"what was that?" he asked in a teasing tone.
"i need more, rafe. please." i beg.
"look at you all needy for me. i knew you missed me." his hand slipped under my jeans and panties, stopping right at my core. i felt his fingers curl inside me, going in and out. "all wet for me, huh? what a good girl." he pushed in, fingering my cunt, when his thumb found my sensitive bud. he added pressure, circling it, and i felt as though i was seeing stars.
"s-shit." i cry out, moving my hips to try and gain some friction.
"feel good, baby? let me hear how could i make you feel." he picked up his pace and a pornographic moan escaped my lips. it's been forever since someone has made me feel this good. rafe knew my body like it was his own, he knew how to get me going. "there we go, like how my fingers feel?"
"u-uh huh." i nod, mouth hanging open.
his fingers worked their magic, rubbing my clit at a pace that'll make me come undone in no time. "love the way you look on top of me, baby. so fucking sexy." he attached his lips to my tits again and continued fingering me.
i felt on fire.
i place one hand on the window and the other on his shoulder, holding on for dear life. the more he whispered about me and the faster his fingers were going, i was cumming on his fingers before i knew it. i rode out my high, screaming his name. once i was done, i felt him pull his fingers out of my pants, my juices getting all over myself. i stared down at him, trying to catch my breathe, as he popped his fingers into his mouth and sucked.
"just as good as i remember." he cleaned his fingers off and kissed me again. my hands ran down his buff chest and stopped at the bottom of his polo, lifting it up. his gold chain laid against his chiseled body, he was perfect. i felt as though i was in a trance as i began to kiss down his chest. i could feel his groans vibrating in his chest and i smirked because i was the one making him feel this way. "i need to fuck you."
"you need to?" i laugh, kissing lower and lower.
"yes, y/n. i need to bury myself inside of you, please." he pleaded.
"i like when you're the one begging." i bite him lightly, causing him to hiss.
"i bet."
i unbuttoned his khakis and sat up so he could slip them off. his grey boxers were discolored from the precum leaking off his cock. he took his underwear off and his cock sprung out. "i-i don't have protection." he said, mentally cursing himself out.
"well, are you clean?" i ask.
"yes. i-i haven't been with anyone since." he openly admitted.
i felt the darkness overtake my eyes as i lower myself down onto him. his breath hitched as he slipped all the way in. he was deep inside of me, causing a few tears to leave my eyes. but the pain subsided as he started to rock my hips with his hands, moving me back and forth. i picked up the rhythm he started with me and placed my hands on his shoulder to steady myself. i felt the truck rocking back and forth as i did so.
his hands found my ass and rested there. "fuck, i missed your pussy. so good, takes me so well." he kissed my chest as i grinded back and forth.
i felt my finger nails dig into his shoulder as his cock hit all the right spots. i looked down at him and he stared at me in awe, like i was some work of art. "fuck, rafe. you're so big."
i bite my lip as i let my head fall back in pleasure. i ride him fast as i keep saying his name. "shit, y/n. you're such a good girl, you're so hot. you feel so tight."
i connect our lips, i feel his hands tighten around my ass. this means he was close. "i want you to cum in me, rafe." his eyes widen as he opens his mouth to ask for permission. "p-please fill me up. i miss it so much." i say, trying to catch my breathe.
with that, he lets out a groan and my name falls from his lips like a prayer. "y/n." i feel him coming inside me, painting me. it doesn't take long for his thumb to find my clit again. with the extra pressure applied to my overstimulated cunt, i feel my head reeling. the air in the truck is hot, making it almost hard for me to breath. it all feels too much, my body releasing onto rafe yet again.
we sit there, panting with our eyes closed. i rest my head on his sweaty chest and he kisses me gently. he rubs my back, tracing circles into it.
"felt even better than i imagine." he says, his voice gruff.
"you thought about it a lot, huh?" i smirk.
"all the fucking time."
i take him out of me and sit next to him in the truck. the windows are foggy and our hands find each other, holding them. i get a sense of weird nostalgia, from how things used to be with us.
"well that was a thanksgiving to remember." i joke, trying not to feel overwhelmed by what happened.
"'tis the damn season." he replies.
i slowly slip my sweater back on and try to find my pants.
"w-wait." rafe says. "is this...is this it? just a single fuck and you're gone."
i look at him, his eyes pleading with me.
"i go back to boston on saturday rafe, we only have like a day and a half."
i wish we could keep this going, i wish this was how things always were. but i had to think realistically. i have to go back home, i have to move on with my new life.
he grabs my hand and squeezes it. "boston is only an 11 hour drive. hour or two by plane."
"rafe." i say.
"i can't lose you again. i can't, y/n. these past few years have sucked without you. i can't wait until you come home for christmas again. now that i've got you again, i can't risk it."
i sigh and kiss his hand. "i know. i know." i close my eyes and shake my head. "we'll make it work. we almost did it before."
"we can do it again." he smiles sweetly. i kiss his lips gently, laying my hand against his chest.
"you'd do an 11 hour car ride for me?"
"y/n, i'd fucking walk if i have to." he smiles.
i roll my eyes and kiss his cheek. "you're so cheesy."
he lays me back against the truck seats and kisses me. "don't act like it doesn't work for you."
#kaila’s fics₊˚ෆ#rafe cameron₊˚ෆ#obx₊˚ෆ#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x pogue!reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#obx#drew starkey#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron smut
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Haiiii it's me again! Yes me the one who requested for jeonghan drabble. I wanna tell you that you wrote it so beautifully. The last part hit right into my heart. You conveyed every emotion so perfectly. I loved it!
I wanna request for another jeonghan drabble no. 70. Make them be rivals yk enemies to lovers. I love that trope. Oh and if you make jeonghan jealous in that fic it'll be sooo good!
Lastly love you <3333
sore memories
pairing: jeonghan x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "I didn't realize I needed your permission." au: college au | warnings: mentions of sex a/n: hello you are so so sweet! thank you for coming off anon to introduce yourself! I hope you love this as much as mafia!hannie
The party was alive with music, laughter, and too many faces you didn’t care to remember. Somewhere in the haze of flashing lights and sticky floors, you were trying to lose yourself in the evening. The guy in front of you—tall, generic, and charming enough—was speaking, but you weren’t listening. Not really.
Not when you could feel Jeonghan’s gaze burning a hole in the side of your head.
He leaned casually against the far wall, a picture of ease, holding a drink he probably wasn’t even sipping. His dark hair fell just enough into his eyes to look unintentional, and his lips curled in that signature smirk that could both captivate and infuriate. You hated how often it did the latter.
And, like clockwork, it started again—the simmering irritation in your chest, the sense that wherever Jeonghan was, peace was not. It always came back to this—the constant back and forth, the verbal sparring that sparked every time you crossed paths. You’d known Jeonghan for years, and if you could go back and change one thing, it would be meeting him.
It had started your first year of college, at a party much like this one. Jeonghan had been a stranger then, someone with an effortless charm that made people gravitate toward him. He’d introduced himself with that smirk of his, cocky and self-assured in a way that should’ve been a warning. Instead, you’d found yourself drawn to him, his easy banter and sparkling eyes too intriguing to resist.
By the end of the night, you’d ended up in his bed, tangled in his sheets and his laughter. For a fleeting moment, it had felt like something real.
Until you woke up the next morning to find the bed empty. No Jeonghan. Just a hastily scribbled note on his pillow.
“Thanks for the fun. See you around.”
The humiliation had crawled through your chest like a slow burn, leaving behind a simmering anger that hadn’t dulled with time. You’d told yourself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter, but the sting of his absence—and that damned note—had never quite faded.
It wasn’t just the note, though. It was the way Jeonghan acted after, like nothing had happened. Like you were just another face in the crowd. The way he leaned into every conversation with a smirk, always teasing, always too close. Like he enjoyed watching you bristle.
And now, years later, nothing had changed. Except maybe everything had, because the resentment wasn’t enough to drown out the spark that flared every time you locked eyes with him.
You looked away, focusing on the man in front of you. He was tall, his voice smooth, but the words might as well have been water hitting glass. You nodded along out of politeness, sipping your drink and willing yourself to stay in the moment.
But Jeonghan was watching. You could feel it—the subtle weight of his gaze, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.
And, inevitably, he approached. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in pretending to care about whatever the guy was saying. But then came the unmistakable sensation of being under a spotlight, the air around you shifting with his presence.
“Having fun?” His voice was warm honey with a razor’s edge.
Your grip tightened slightly on your cup as you turned to him, your smile thin. “I was.”
Jeonghan chuckled, a low sound that sent an unwanted flicker of heat through you. His eyes roved over you briefly, his gaze lingering like he was assessing your armor. He tilted his head toward the guy who had already started to drift away. “That guy,” he said with mock interest. “He your type?”
You let out a sharp exhale, already bracing for the inevitable headache. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he replied, his smirk widening just enough to betray the lie. His eyes sparkled with something teasing, as though you were his favorite game to play. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who’d settle for boring.”
Your jaw clenched, your nails biting into the plastic of your cup. “And you would know, wouldn’t you?”
For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—too fast to name but heavy enough to make you pause. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual nonchalance. “Touché,” he murmured.
He stepped closer, and you fought the instinct to take a step back. He had a way of closing the space between you with casual arrogance, like the mere act of breathing the same air was his right.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jeonghan pressed, his voice soft but insistent, his dark eyes locking onto yours.
The irritation bubbled over. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” you shot back, your tone sharp enough to cut.
His smirk faltered, just slightly, and you caught the faintest hint of something raw in his expression. His fingers curled around the rim of his cup, tightening before he exhaled slowly. “You don’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend I don’t care.”
For a moment, the noise of the party faded, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You opened your mouth to retort, but the look in his eyes stopped you short. There was something unnervingly honest there, a vulnerability that threw you off balance.
“You don’t get to do this,” you said finally, your voice quieter but no less pointed. “You don’t get to act like you care now.”
Jeonghan ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated motion that sent a few strands falling messily across his forehead. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted, his shoulders dropping as if the weight of his words was too much. “That night—I left because I didn’t know what else to do. I woke up, and it scared the hell out of me how much I wanted to stay. So, I ran. And I’ve regretted it every day since.”
The confession hit like a punch to the gut, your breath catching in your throat. Your fingers tightened around your cup, and you looked away, your vision blurring slightly as the memory of that morning resurfaced.
“You left a note,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
Jeonghan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his jaw tightening. “I know,” he said, his tone softer now, tinged with guilt. “It was a coward’s move. But believe me when I say, it wasn’t because you didn’t matter.”
Your eyes flicked back to him, searching for any sign of insincerity. But his body betrayed no games, no walls. His hands fidgeted with his cup, his posture slightly tense, and for the first time, he didn’t seem so untouchable.
“Why now?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Why are you telling me this now?”
His lips parted, his tongue darting out briefly to wet them before he answered. “Because I’m tired,” he said simply, his shoulders squaring again as if he’d made some unspoken decision. “Tired of pretending I don’t care, tired of seeing you with guys who’ll never know you the way I do.”
His gaze burned into yours, unyielding, and you hated how much you wanted to believe him.
“Say the word,” Jeonghan murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He stepped closer, his hand brushing yours lightly, sending a jolt through your skin. “And I’ll walk away. But don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”
You swallowed hard, the words lodged in your throat as your chest tightened. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your heart warring with your pride.
“You don’t get to break my heart twice,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
The faint tremor in your words made his expression crumble, his hand reaching out hesitantly before falling back to his side. “I won’t,” he said, the conviction in his tone catching you off guard. “Not this time.”
And for the first time in years, the walls you’d built around yourself began to crack.
send me an ask for my drabble game!
#seventeen headcanons#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen#seventeen fluff#svt imagines#jeonghan#yoon jeonghan#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan fanfic#jeonghan x y/n#jeonghan x you#yoon jeonghan x reader#yoon jeonghan fluff#yoon jeonghan fanfic#yoon jeonghan angst#yoon jeonghan x you#jeonghan angst#svt reactions#svt#svt x reader#svt fluff#seventeen fanfic#seventeen angst#seventeen au#tara writes#101 drabble prompt game#user: kwonhs96
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Happy birthday to James Lee Stanley!
“[I] worked in a nightclub called The Shadow. And I think it was late June [1964] that the Phoenix Singers came through, and Peter [Tork] was in the band, he was the banjo player in — behind the group… And he and I hit it off, and that Monday night, we did an impromptu show together, we just played a couple of tunes, you know, and had a good time, and stayed friends. And then when I opened a club in 1965, there was no place to play in the winter in that area — Virginia Beach, Norfolk… So I opened a club on my own with two friends, we called it The Folk Ghetto, and I contacted Peter in New York City and said, ‘I wanna hire you to come down here for a week and be the headlining act.’ Which he did. […] [H]e was fantastic. He was so good. […] Anyhow, we became friends, and we were friends ever since. [...] And I can tell you that he’s been one of my best friends for my entire life. And one of the more generous people I’ve ever known. And just to give you a window into the kind of guy he was, he would come off a Monkees tour where everything was handled, you know, they would take care of his tickets, they’d take care of his room, they’d carry his instruments, they’d carry his bags, he just had to show up at the airport and they gave him the, you know, the ace treatment. And then he comes off a tour like that and he gets in a rented Dodge with me and we drive around the country playing little rooms, which we filled to the max because it’s Peter Tork, and then he demands that, because I booked all the dates, I take a booking fee off the top. And then he demands that we split the door. He, I mean, you know, he didn’t have to do that. [...] We would hang out, and I said, ‘Peter, I noticed that all the other Monkees have solo albums. Why don’t you have a solo album?’ And he said, ‘Well, I just never got around to it.’ I said, ‘Well, you know, I have a label, I have national distribution, and I have a studio.’ I said, ‘Why don’t we make a record and we’ll try, you know, we’ll shop it to the majors and if nobody picks it up, we can still put it out on my label. So there’s no doubt about it, we’re making a record that’s coming out.’ And he said, ‘Okay.’ So we worked on it about four months, and at the end of the four months, he said, ‘You know what, James? I don’t want to shop it. I want it on your label.’ So I got to put Peter Tork on my label without, you know, paying a huge upfront thing to have a world-famous celebrity on my label. You know, he just said, ‘No, let’s do it with you, man.’ He was, he was great, he was just a great guy, you know [...] He was, he was just my best friend, you know. And a great spirit." - James Lee Stanley, Tales of the Road Warriors, March 7, 2019 (x)
“James is about my oldest friend. No, make that my friend of longest standing. I worked with him once before, in my early days, and I thought, as a result of that experience, that it would be very good for me to work with him again [on Stranger Things Have Happened].” - Peter Tork, Beachwood Confidential newsletter, 1995
“My personal thanks to James, I have my first album, after all these many moons. How far freakin’ out, man. I waited a long time to work with him again. Thanks beyond words, buddy. Thanks, too, to those who stuck by me. Love to all, Peter” - Stranger Things Have Happened 1994 liner notes
“In a nutshell, Peter and I are really good friends. Working with Peter, well, he’s like one of the best men on the planet.” - James Lee Stanley, Sacramento Bee, April 20, 1997
“James and I have a lot of fun playing as a tandem. We don’t just wail on the guitar in unison; we’re very articulate… I’ll be playing a light backbeat or playing the big bass strings while James plays filigrees. A lot is going on when we play together, and then James does his originals during his set… I love working with the Monkees, and I love working with James. I have the best of both worlds.” - Peter Tork, The Record, January 19, 2001
“Tork later confided in his brother Nick that Stanley had given him his life back. ‘I wept when I heard that,’ Stanley says.” - Stranger Things Have Happened 2020 reissue liner notes
#Peter Tork#James Lee Stanley#Two Man Band#1990s#90s Tork#Tork quotes#<3#<333#happy birthday James and thank you for being such a wonderful and supportive friend to Peter#and thank you for making Stranger Things Have Happened happen#and Two Man Band#and everything else#long read#'thanks beyond words buddy'#'thanks too to those who stuck by me'#<3 Peter#😭#The Phoenix Singers#1964#1965#1997#1994#1995#2020#2019#Sacramento Bee#Beachwood Confidential Newsletter#The Record (newspaper)#Tales of the Road Warriors#can you queue it
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Robin chose Steve. Robin made the conscious and deliberate decision that she could and would trust Steve. She already liked him! She had fun working and bantering with him! They were already on their way to being weird little bffs and the torture just expedited the process. Steve chose Robin just the same! He thinks she's fun and cool and likes her so much! He chose to be honest and open with her too, putting himself out there.
Even though their interests on the surface level don't match why wouldn't they share them? Steve clearly caves when Robin wants to watch a movie he doesn't think he'll like, Robin can watch a March madness game or five.
Stop trying to take away their bond oh my god people can be close to more than one person!!! Their best friend doesn't have to be dismissive or mean or whatever in order for a romance to be special to them!
#if i have to see another fic or whatever that makes it seem like robin doesnt give a shit about what steve likes and talkes about im going#to scream and maybe even rampage#its nice to sit down and have someone who knows explain who the players are and what the stakes for this particular game!!#just because yall seem to not think anyone can be nutral towards sports doesnt mean people aren't#literally why is it so hard to believe robin would like to hear steve talk as much as steve likes to hear her talk#i am so close to telling some steddie shippers to not look at steve or robin or their friendship because some of yall do Not get it.#its like you can see them go 'have to make sure eddie is the most perfect specialest boy for steve...well that means robin doesn't Get Him '#or 'robin ignores him/dismisses his interests/isnt told everything happening in his life' like okay dont ever touch them again thanks#robin is steves specialest sunshine cupcake goober girl. steve is robins bestest happy times sweet funnyman. dont u dare take that away.#omce again tsgs longer than the post but ah well.#stobin#platonic stobin#robin buckley#steve harrington#stranger things#finda's rambles#steve and robin#this is a scheduled post just to jazz things up i guess#but seriously some of yall need to STOP MESSIGN WITH STOBIN
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"Didn't appreciate?" The words were repeated back to herself unsure of what was happening. "Who appreciates a stranger touching them at all?" He wasn't wrong, the touch had caught her off guard and left her a bit off her game the day before. It was something that she had shaken off with last night's rude awakenings. She wouldn't make that mistake again, she'd make sure he'd make it out alive, she wouldn't let her guard down and she wouldn't let him down.
The way he shook his head at her, upset her for a moment but she had to remind herself of everything she learned since arriving here. There was so much already going wrong for him, she needed to stop being one of the things fighting against him she was here to help. Despite calling him on his previous promise, guilt knotted in her. She hated this. As he moved she started to walk over to help him like she had last night only to find herself stopping in her tracks as he looked her over. Whenever anyone looked her up and down she knew how to play, how to move and place herself to make them like what they saw, but it felt different right now. She didn't know what he was thinking. Her breath caught in her throat awaiting what he had to say, only to find herself giving him a soft smile. "Thanks."
Rolling her eyes at the cinnamon sugar comment, like she could ever forget that he was allergic to that, she began to make her way to the door. "I think I saw some in the kitchen. Let me get one for you and a cup of coffee. And then we'll talk before I head out." Before he could say anything, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It would give her time to think over how to say things nicely.
As the coffee brewed, she took the same ingredients from last night, minus the chocolate to make a muffin in a mug instead. Granted it would be a lot plainer than the chocolate one from last night, it would still be what he wanted. After the coffee and the muffin were ready she took a deep breath and headed up to talk to him. As much as she hated having to work with someone else, this was his case.
Had someone tried to save her from Jennifer as a kid, she would have hoped they had someone helping them to make sure it had happened. As much as she pretended to not care, she did. It was why she took on people's cases when they came to her at barely a payable wage. She kept the office floating with all her old aliases saved stashes for now. She was their last resort and knew that she needed to help however she could. Settling with her best friend had been the worst thing to happen to her.
"Look Wally," she said started as she made her way back into the room. Settling the mug of coffee and the muffin in a mug on the nightstand next to the bed she crossed he arms and said her piece. "I don't think you're taking this seriously. You're not taking me seriously. Not only can I handle myself I am really good at what I do. You have a kid and an agent out there and I am here to help. Now," She sat on the edge of the bed. "I am walking out there today and I am going to accidentally bump into Nolan, whether you like it or not. And I am going to do what I do best. What I know to do since I," was a kid, she stopped herself. "For a really long time. Now I need you to level with me and tell me what it is you need me to get from him to save this kid. Because as I see it the kid is priority one. If you tell me to not help in anyway, that I need to just 'enjoy myself' then I will leave. And I mean leave back to my office. If you don't let me help then what is the purpose of me being here, Wally? Why the hell ask me to come in the first place?"
Sighing, she stood up. "So, tell me. Am I packing my things and leaving or am I going out there to do what I know how to do? "
"Well, forgive me if I've misread it but didn't seem like it was just unexpected but more like a visceral reaction." At this point he was hopped up on pain meds that he could have read her coming home looking like she did wrong. "Almost like you didn't appreciate the foreign touch." Now he was speaking to his pillow as he rearranged it the proper way. Maybe she wasn't as closed off as she seemed to have him believe.
"No. There's no need. I just wanted the name." Wally was quick to shake his head. More like he needed that name. Things had just gotten complicated for him. Even more so than having that rookie out on the field fucking him up. Which he couldn"t help but think it was Karina's doing. He should have stayed home he began to think. "You're right. Take the day and explore. It is your vacation." Getting himself into trouble was one thing, bringing Elizabeth into it was another. Karina was still riding him over this mission that he needed time to let things cool off. The last thing he needed was to alert her to something else going wrong. As it was this report was going to have a lot redacted. He wasn't going to risk Karina knowing about Liz now that things had gotten a little out of hand with his injuries and a copycat.
As he shifted to his side he kept from screaming out in pain. This was when he finally looked up at her. The dress she had on made him stop and stare a little too long. She looked ethereal. Emerald hues sparkled as they looked at her in the dress. Well, her in general. He was quiet for a moment, smile he gave her was small yet gentle. "You look nice."
"Mm no thank you." he shook his head. Frustration was clear on his features as he still couldn't lift his left arm but he'd manage. At least this time it wasn't his spine. "If I can shuffle my way around I'll review some documents while you're out and about. If I remember the password that is. Enjoy your day, truly." He tried sounding as sincere as possible, actually wanting her to do what she was promised she would get to do. "If you don't mind, could you bring me back a muffin. Not blueberry and not anything with cinnamon sugar. I'll pay you back for it." He needed time to think and force himself to move through the pain. He could not go back looking like this. Karina would for sure pull him off with one of her bullshit reasons.
#v. main | elizabeth#eh im used to this site not ever doing what i want it to do lol#also!!!#this could lead to that idea you had.... lol
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I say this with the deepest sense of hatred imaginable, fuck this article
#‘read more’ no I don’t think I will#hey google why was this a recommended article. wanna tell me why that is. wanna tell me why you thought I’d like this shit#there’s a difference between an opinion piece and literal ableism lmao fuck you man#this especially hits a nerve for me because I was a quote unquote snobby kid who was really just autistic#yeah hate to break it to you but I wasn’t locking myself in my room everyday and destroying things and screaming because I was bored#it was because I had debilitating anxiety and sensory overload that I didn’t understand or know how to deal with#pretty funny how the ‘snobby’ behavior stopped almost the second I got on meds and learned coping skills. huh. interesting#actually fuck this by the way this makes me so angry I can’t even verbalize it#yes there are kids who are just Being Kids. but ever stop to consider that maybe they’re going through something they can’t verbalize#saying that autistic behaviors are bratty is So fucking damaging. ppl will internalize it and turn that stress towards themselves#meltdowns that would’ve otherwise been outward get internalized and start self destructive behavior#my fucking source? points at myself#and using the term ‘functioning’ also pisses me the hell off#yeah I’m ‘high functioning’ until I’m Not and I can’t talk or move#also Nobody is just handing out autism diagnoses left and right to random kids who are defiant sometimes#my brother in Christ I would like to see a source for that. where’s the proof that this is happening other than rising autism rates#fuck you fuck you and most importantly actually just plain fuck you#I’ve been treated like shit by total strangers because I have selective mutism. that shit is traumatic#I wasn’t fucking Misbehaving when an old fuck starting publically yelling at me and berating me because I didn’t say hi back to him#I wasnt being ‘defiant’ when I could barely leave my fucking room for weeks afterwards and had panic attacks every fucking day#why the fuck would anyone let this article be published#tw ableism#so sorry for not being ladylike! it’s not the Victorian era you dipshit! I’m not trying to be rude I am autistic#but apparently autism doesn’t work like that so oh ok I guess I’m just a bad person. thanks for confirming my suspicions
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Picture this.
Stevie on the most fucking perfect killer queen dress you could ever think about, Robbie and them decided on going to see a drag performance and then fuck around a little, dance and be so fucking fabolous and pretty and all
AND
Robin isn't there, she's running late. Why didn't he pick her up? Well, Robs was staying at Chrissy's and she was dropping them. As Steve's sent a message to Chris and she told her that she already left Robbie there, so Stevie went to check out outside.
Robs there, uncomfortable, searching a way to enter the club, their eyes scanning the street, fear on her eyes.
Steve sees there's a man with her, has them by her wrist and is awfully close
What a fucking dumbass
AND THEN BAM
Steve does that shit they did on the Russian base you know, the think that he picked up that thing and hit the Russian guard
But
Now it's her heel they quickly put in his own hand in two seconds and hit the man in the face once they see Robin being touched
And she thinks "not again" because they didn't know what happened to Robin in the Russian base but he can imagine
So he knocks out the man with her heel
"I get you're jealous because she pulls more girls than you would never but there's no need to be an asshole" And then she spits on the man eye "ya infertil ass, next one I'm gonna rip your balls and make me earrings with them"
And then she switches back as their sweet self "Are ya okay Robs?"
"Perfectly fine Stevie"
Robin's eyes goes from scared and empty to fondly and full of love as she looks at Steve. Stevie smiles softly and takes of their face a stroke of hair.
" 'm glad, wanna enter again?" Steve offers their hand and his soulmate takes it as they enter the club, Nelly Furtado singing Maneater as they do
And it's fucking epic
And they rule.
#they/she robin <3#I'm a believer of enby stevie = enby robs#it just makes sense#of course they give each other their gender when they don't want it#the sillies <3#ANYWAYS#I think we all agree that something happened to robin on the russian base#But guys#today I'm going to start a new movement#we must all forget about stranger things#like yeah thanks for giving me the characters but now they don't belong to ya (and the assholes on there 🤢🤢)#so#I propose#we all enter in collective delirium and create a Robs and Stevie chaotic series#that's gonna be the new canon.#no more steve from stranger things#but stevie from the squad#the squad because#they're duplicated#and as they have to personalities each other because gender#they're four#you know#(I have a problem I know and I'm sorry)#anyways#dio shit#steve harrington#robin buckley#should we change their names like on arsene vs sherly#or should I say herly#genderfluid steve harrington
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you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one!
oh. oh.
#don’t think i’ve read this kim addonizio poem and it just blindsided me like a truck thank you so much#i. oh god. like yeah.#pour me shitfaced into your car i feel like you own a comforter extremely dysfunctional only in surface details like which person was the#black hole and the distant spark in space that might’ve been a star there’s something too with unrelenting mist / many-headed mist / missed#who knew mis(t)/sed had undone so many. while you keep an eye on the burner here’s hoping this flame doesn’t go out#the flame as in the spark as in don’t let me have pinned my hopes on you to watch it burn out again but also me. like please let me not go#and i think there’s something there too with the repetitive ‘i have just met you’ and i already love you that reminds me both of a story#colman domingo told abt meeting his partner i cry everytime i hear it right when he says ‘i think i love u &you’re about to change my life’#and i KNOW there’s another poem. and i feel like it maybe has a dog and it talks about how they don’t even know you but they love you#OH IT’S ALSO. OH MY GOD THAT’S IT. i mean not exactly so maybe i have read this before & it’s what has been haunting me for so long but#the opening line to tim seibles naïve is ‘i love you but i don’t know you’ - mennonite woman#the odds of that dog poem being a carl phillips poem is non-zero btw. his poems about dogs make me see shrimp colors (bertuzzi thesis)#ANYWAY. agreed. this is incredibly hockey and incredibly hurtful because they DO bond like this in 0.0001 seconds because if you can’t#you’re fucked. you have to just find somebody and fall in love with them and it’s the salmon and the triple cream brie like they got taken#out to some fancy meet the donors team night in their suits and one of them is dealing with a heartbreak and a trade and are the things#they think true or are they just missing what the used to have. jamie who used to empty and refill the ice tray YES sorry i have been a#little bit thinking that about the trevor dealing so poorly with the breakup and i wish i had another narrative (which i do) but it fits#trade deadline tragedy#and also the formation of a codependent rookies like. two guys that get drafted and brought up together and suddenly they’re doing#everything together and it’s your first time in the big show and none of your old college friends understand because they’re not there#and you can’t get it. like you think you know but they can’t understand and the loneliness and it IS guys taking care of each other#(alexa play harriet by hey rosetta! but specifically the bridge) and it’s just. i just!!! trying to fill up the missing pieces of your life#like i cannot convey WHOMST i am trying to pin this narrative to this is going to rotate for a long while i think#because it’s not a wild i fell in love with you at first sight it’s a you were kind to me when i was broken. and i love you for that.#like who is FALLING APART &happens to fall into someone else’s arms. purely for the partygirl aspect the devil (old hrpf) says ‘13 bennguin#who among us hasn’t fallen mildly briefly brilliantly in love with a stranger and imagined a future where you get everything you want#sometimes we love people for who they are and sometimes we love them for what we’re not and sometimes for who we think they’ll be#this was a very long way to say thank you for sharing <3 i will also be making this about my hockey guys <3#OH MY GOD IT’S DPAIRS. WHO’S BEEN THROUGH SEVERAL DPAIRS#nonny <3
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Me reading the whole Flight of Icarus tag just to find some person mentioning the only fucking piece of information i will take as canon be like:
I JUST WANT TO KNOW FREAK REAL NAME DAMMIT
#flight of icarus#please someone have mercy of my poor soul#also i need to know the characterization of the Corroded Coffin boys#they are my babies#please tell me they didnt make them dirty#other than that im not interested in the other parts#hold on im lying#tell me what happen with the love of my life Wayne Munson#thats it#that's literally all i care about the book thank you#eddie munson#gareth emerson#omg i just realized gareth's fanon lastname might be dead by now#my carefully crafted hc are fucking dying in front of me#jeff stranger things#gareth stranger things#unnamed freak#<- not for too long baby dont worry i got ya'#please be Frank please be Frank please be Frank please be Frank please be Frank please be Frank please be Frank please be Frank#corroded coffin
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Fish you are so good at building to me your the Bdubs of people I know
Pheo ;w; ty
#its odd because i generally dislike being compared to hermitcraft members#specifically when its from people who dont know me#because a lot of the time when youre being constantly compared to professional builders it can feel almost shallow as a compliment#because when random people do it theyre looking at your work and turning it into the work of another person#when its a stranger its less about what ive created and more about this other person who i may not even know#but the fact that youve been my friend and mutual for so long changes this#and also the fact that you chose bdubs as your specific link means so much to me#because hes where i get the majority of my technique and ethic from#so the compliment feels deeper#if you had said grian i probably wouldnt have been the same#partially because im pretentious as hell when it comes to him and the fact that he isnt where i draw inspiration from#and the fact that tou specified 'of the people i know' also means a lot to me#because its not putting me on any relative level compared to bdubs its just stating that my style is a sucessful reflection of sorts to his#though obv with his many years and age and technique he can build circles around me#thas not the point#on the other hand of the comparing to hc memebers thing i understand it completely#most people who see my work are very likely ti be in that fandom#and their first impression is often 'hey! this thing reminds me of other thing that i enjoy! it makes me happy!'#which is great but not really the intended purpose of the build you know#im not making it to be like other people im making it for me and to realise my creativity or whatever#i do get annoyed when people compare my jokes or my actions to youtubers though#like no sometimes things happen with unique circumstances and unique jokes#anyway not important at all#um basically pheo; thank you for this compliment it means a lot to me#i just also happen to have spent time exploring my opinions on compliments like this and how i like to be seen as an artist and this#happens to be the perfect example#and the compliment wouldnt have been as meaningful if it was coming from someone other than you#i probably looked way too deep into this but it gave me time to appreciate it#pheostag#fishasks
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I follow you because you’re literally an amazing writer, and you seem like such a genuinely kind person but im also terrified to talk to you. 💕
whaaaat? 😭 you’re too kind nonnie oh my gosh!!
i know i just made a ton of jokes of how people should be afraid of me but i promise i don’t bite!!! i pinky swear!!! (i’m on several leashes of several people with a muzzle on so i really am not allowed to bite) no no but genuinely. my dms and inbox are always open i promise 😭🖤 i love making friends
#thank u ily#the worst that can happen is i spam you with like 50 angst ideas and we scream about them#just ask people like andy or roe or myo#the people in question who have me on leashes are roe and myo#and audrey#all seriousness: i love making friends in this fandom#in ALL the fandoms#bg3 AND stranger things
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Doing an OK job beating my shame, self doubt, and low self confidence to be curb today.
#acceptance helps#i hate doing it but also thanking my brain also helping#being like “its ok you are just trying to make sure thing that always used to happen doesn't happen again”#i don't really like self talk a lot even though im good at it when its negative self talk#gotta gas myself up a lot and often#talked to people on dating sites or at least sent a first message which I dont really love dating sites slash apps#but they're a great way to practice low stakes socialization with strangers and have mostly neutral to positive experiences
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Nobody asked but white supremacy is the reason why white women are obsessed with true crime.
So when chattel slavery was becoming cemented in the United States and other European areas, the idea of biological race and racial hierarchy emerged to justify the generational enslavement of Africans and the genocide of indigenous people. Africans and other non-whites were labeled as less developed, more susceptible to their "primal urges" and committing sex crimes and therefore needed to be controlled by white men. Specifically to protect white women.
White supremacy is typically framed as necessary to 'protect' (read: control) white women, the mothers of the next generation of whites. They must be protected from "sexually voracious black men" (read: miscegenation and mixed race children). So white supremacy operates on the myth that white women are constantly under threat of sexual violence and must be protected by white men.
That myth becomes baked into the public consciousness, many unaware of the origin or even that the idea is there. It even becomes less racially based, but there is still a common belief that white women are inherently vulnerable to violent crime. Especially among white women. To be fair, it's difficult to not internalize an idea that you are not exactly aware of but is still seeped in every interaction and bit of advice. Don't wander off, don't talk to strangers, don't go out alone or late at night, cover your body, hold your keys between your fingers, take self defense, watch your drink, don't be under the influence. Your body is soft and valuable and delicate and you must protect it.
This idea of vulnerability is reinforced in the news media, which chooses to focus on stories which fit this particular narrative of white women's vulnerability. Missing white women syndrome. This subconscious belief has saturated society. White women develop an outsized fear of death by violent crime. So what do they do? They embrace it. They eat up stories of families like theirs and the deaths of women like them.
It's been suggested that experiencing that fear of violence in the controlled environment true crime provides can be cathartic, somewhat like watching a horror film. There is also a sense of justice and closure felt when the perpetrator of that crime is punished.
In conclusion; White women love true crime because it's a coping mechanism for their deeply embedded fear of violence which was established and is upheld by white supremacy.
#statistically white women are the least likely to be victims of violent crime. they can be and all victims need support but white women are#just not as vulnerable as society makes them out to be. and it becomes the standard of behavior and treatment for women of all races#women don't need control and protection they need empowerment and for men to treat them like goddamn human beings.#i kno im using binary language but u tell me how to better word this. the binary is fake tho. all the little stranger danger things got to#me. walk away from the street don't walk too close to unknown men I'm not afraid of my community!!! no one should be!!!!#we should not fear each other. i understand that violence and assault are real things that happen to people all the time but it's much more#likely to happen to men and women of color. they deserve love and support and real effective change. and white women shouldn't have to#be afraid and feel vulnerable. we need legitimate efforts to address and prevent random violence#not fearmongering and the offloading of responsibility onto potential victims. anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk#why am i talking#maybe I'll use this one day#i wrote this at 2am don't @me. i am right tho. i also like me some ethically filmed#true crime content. it needs to be tasteful though. and people need to be normal about it.
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hell day today and i'm only two hours into my EIGHT HOUR SHIFT
#9 to 5 by dolly parton starts playing in the background..#literally had to open up shop alone 2day and also was entirely alone for the first 45 min. of my shift so that was already a negative start#to the day + i heard that i can't have my break later than two thirty which is very bad for me bc 1) there'll be a lot of ppl all around me#when i'm eating which i already dislike and 2) like 85% of ppl taking their break around that time are VERY noisy eaters so even worse and#then 3) it'll be really loud in the room as well bc everyone's talking loudly and eating and the cutlery's clanging against plates and such#and also some ppl have actual full-blown arguments with each other in the break room bc half the ppl here hate each other's guts so more#negatives to the day and then on top of that we've had sooooo many annoying customers already today who r just. intent on making u stressed#out and upset and literally will tell u to your face to 'do your job better' like bro...i can easily tell you haven't worked in retail....#also someone hung their clothes on the rack outside the fitting rooms which is where u hang ur clothes when you're DONE fitting them & don'#want them bc they don't fit or don't sit right or u just don't rlly like them after all so if clothes are hanging there we the ppl working#there WILL take them and hang them back in their original places what did u expect to happen?? anyway someone hung the clothes they had#tried on already and did want there and i reached out to take them bc like. that's what we do here..we hang the clothes on the 'discard#rack' back in the store bc else the rack gets stuffed and the woman literally grabbed my arm and said 'those are mine what do u think you'r#doing' LIKE?????? GIRL THE RACK'S THERE FOR A REASONNNN ofc i'm going to assume u don't want them anymore if they're hanging there that's#why it's called the DISCARD rack....also how am i to know those specific clothes are yours HONESTLYYYYYY STFU AND GET OFF ME#ALSO some dude was like (to his child but like. looking at me while he said it.) 'this guy needs a haircut doesn't he' bc my hair is kinda#long and apparently i passed today. LIKE 1st of all kind of a rude thing to say to a stranger innit 2nd of all setting a great example to#your child there just casually commenting on other ppl's looks like that👍 3rd of all jokes on you you wouldn't consider me a guy if#you Knew most likely. thanks for that little zing of glee much obliged <3 but also man just piss off will you. 4th of all my hair isn't eve#that long....like the ends of it are just shy of my shoulders wdym LONG if u knew the long-haired guys i know you'd faint.#anyway. great start of the day. i still have six more hours to go 🥴#ALSO no surprise this always happens but my legs already hurt SOOOOOOOO BADDDDDD :(((((((((((#r.txt
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Peter Tork and J&R Music World staff, 1995.
“The J&R Music World staff rallied around Peter Tork as the former Monkee visited the lower Manhattan superstore to promote his new album, ‘Stranger Things Have Happened’ on Beachwood Records. Shown, from left, are Loren Polans, J&R manager; Jim Drzik, J&R assistant manager, pop store; Jay Rosen, J&R assistant manager, pop store; Doug Diaz, J&R head music boyer; Rich Kueton, J&R indie buyer; Charlie Bagarozza, J&R store manager; Mary Jane Glaser, J&R video buyer; Tork; Sue Vovsi, J&R GM; Baby Rupnarain, J&R marketing; and Burt Goldstein, president of Big Daddy, which distributes the Tork album.” - Billboard, July 22, 1995
A fan shared a photo from this event on Twitter, here.
"[W]e would hang out, and I said, ‘Peter, I noticed that all the other Monkees have solo albums. Why don’t you have a solo album?’ And he said, ‘Well, I just never got around to it.’ I said, ‘Well, you know, I have a label, I have national distribution, and I have a studio.’ I said, ‘Why don’t we make a record and we’ll try, you know, we’ll shop it to the majors and if nobody picks it up, we can still put it out on my label. So there’s no doubt about it, we’re making a record that’s coming out.’ And he said, ‘Okay.’ So we worked on it about four months, and at the end of the four months, he said, ‘You know what, James? I don’t want to shop it. I want it on your label.’" - James Lee Stanley, Tales of the Road Warriors, March 2019 (x)
"‘I want some ambiguity — not straight moon-June-spoon-lovey-dovey,’ Tork says of his music." - Chicago Tribune, January 19, 1996 (x)
Q: “Why, after all this time, do we finally have the first Peter Tork CD?” Peter Tork: “I don’t know. Shouldn’t I have ever put one out? Oh, you mean why did it take me so long? I don’t exactly know… I needed James and he couldn’t help as long as I lived in the San Francisco Bay area. That’s one thing. I suppose, too, that until recently, I wasn’t equipped psychologically.” - Beachwood Confidential Newsletter, 1995 (x)
“My personal thanks to James, I have my first album, after all these many moons. How far freakin’ out, man. I waited a long time to work with him again. Thanks beyond words, buddy. Thanks, too, to those who stuck by me. Love to all, Peter” - Stranger Things Have Happened 1994 liner notes (x)
#Peter Tork#Stranger Things Have Happened#1995#90s Tork#Tork quotes#Tork fan photos#<3#long read#Tork songs#James Lee Stanley#thank you endlessly to James for making Peter's solo album a reality#Billboard Magazine#Tales of the Road Warriors#Beachwood Confidential Newsletter#Chicago Tribune#can you queue it
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