#Tork teaching

[thislovintime]

Photo by Matthew Asner:

“First day of school in 9th grade. I am nervous as hell because it is my first day of high school and it’s all new. I walk into my Social Studies Class and am greeted by the teacher who just happens to be Peter Tork of The Monkees. A guy I watched goofing around on TV religiously as a child was teaching me about the world. He was a tough teacher. We had a thing in his class where he would always think that I wasn’t paying attention. He would always make a point of stopping what he was teaching and say to me, ‘What did I just say`’ I would always answer him correctly and it always seemed to frustrate him. He was very smart and loved to read from Mao’s Little Red Book. I was truly happy for him when The Monkees started touring and he found success again. I took this picture in our schoolyard at New Dimensions High School.” - Matthew Asner (Ed Asner’s son), Facebook, July 1, 2023

“Since September he has been teaching English, math, drama, Eastern philosophy and ‘Rock Band Class’ at Pacific Hills, a private secondary school in Santa Monica, Calif. A college dropout, Peter got the job on the strength of his interview with Dr. Penrod Moss, the school’s director. ‘I like to hire people who are independent and creative,’ Moss said. ‘I was impressed by his personality and his ability to speak.’ […] While Tork the musician still has dreams of one day returning to the rock circuit, Thorkelson the teacher is happily planning his next course, ‘Mao, Marx and Mama.’ ‘I’m doing something important,’ he says. ‘I never do anything less than important.’” - People magazine, April 5, 1976

“For some time, [Tork] said, the students in his high school classes had trouble forgetting their teacher was once a teen idol. ‘Until I gave out a few F’s,’ he added, grinning.” - The Clarion Ledger, November 1, 1979 (x)

“I was a schoolteacher in Southern California, and I taught music as well as academics, and I really very much love to teach, and, and I think that if circumstances show me that I am not to entertain anymore or my entertaining career per se winds down, I would very, very much love to coach young entertainers.” - Peter Tork, Headquarters radio, September 1989

“[A]s a teacher, I realized that in order to teach something well you need to understand what your student is going through as they try to learn.” - Peter Tork, The Journal Times Online, August 12, 2005

On a 2018 blog post at the Monkees Live Almanac, one former student, Mark, commented: “Best high school teacher I ever had […]. Tremendous empathy.” (x)

“I taught English and social studies. And sure, the kids probably saw me as a Monkee, but they got over that in a hurry. Once I lost my temper at the kids, they’d see I was just like all the others — and I probably lost my temper too many times, since I was in an angry state back then. I have a life now, that’s the difference. I have a spiritual core. I’m not Shirley MacLaine but I believe in greater or lesser worlds and consciousness. Most people think of themselves as cut off from each other; others know there’s a connectedness that can be tapped into.” - Peter Tork, The Boston Globe, August 10, 1989

“In the mid-’70s, Tork got jobs teaching English, social studies and music at two private schools in the Los Angeles area. The first job, which he enjoyed, was at ‘a radical progressive school in Santa Monica.’ The second was at a school he describes as ‘a holding tank for budding fascists. I couldn’t hack it. I found more integrity in being a singing waiter’ — his next job.” - Los Angeles Times, October 20, 1992 (x)

More about that next job here.

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #Tork teaching #70s Tork #<3 #long read #Matthew Asner #1975 #1976 #1977 #1978 #1979 #also always so much respect for Peter's unflinching honesty in interviews #this photo... thank you Matthew Asner thank you #The Clarion Ledger #Los Angeles Times #the boston globe #Headquarters Radio #can you queue it

[punkymonkeehat]

Okay, but how about The Monkees in a concert band setting. Which instrument would they all play?

Mike gives hardcore trumpet vibes. Like, Show Mike is like the 3rd trumpet that's chill and Leader like, but not at the level of a lead trumpet player. Like a good player but super relaxed. Real Mike, a total Lead Trumpet Player. Hardcore. I can't NOT see it...

Davy gives off saxophone vibes. I don't know much about him outside of the show, but he really gives alto sax vibes. Cool, really goofy, and all the girls love him. Now there's the two sides of this-- he thinks all the girls him, or the girls really do love him. It's totally the latter. He also seems so mischievous too.

Peter would be in the woodwind family. Like I know he played French horn but the hornets that I've known have been very arrogant or overly confident. He doesn't really fit the personality stereotype imo. I think Show Peter would totally be a bass clarinetist, quiet, really goofy, and just super sweet, but Real Peter would totally be a lead clarinetist or a Bassoonist. Like smart and slightly nerdy, but also very serious in a positive way about his music!

Micky just gives me low brass vibes, period. Show Micky is so a bass trombone/tuba. If you know, you know... as a fellow trombonist, he fits almost too perfectly, especially the absolute hyperactivity and impressions. Real Micky is a Euphonium player through and through. Still goofy fun and totally a low brass person, but much more quiet/calm and a little more contained.

What do you think??

#the monkees #davy jones #michael nesmith #mike nesmith #peter tork #monkees #micky dolenz #monkees in band #being a band kid for 20 years and teaching band and being in band in college #ive seen some shit yall #i wouldve jammed with all of our boys omfg #im also married to a trumpet player. i can tell you that Mike is a true blue lead trumpet guy. its facts. i will fight you.

[80yearoldmanmoodboard]

I drew more Glamiverse Monkees. And there’s lore now I’m not sorry 💖

Let me explain the lore to you;

At some point after the showverse cannon Peter Tork left the Monkees. He moved back to New York and tried to try and get famous however back in California the Monkees finally started getting known. As the 70s roll around and glam gets more popular Micky starts to convince the band to move further into the glam aesthetic. First it’s costumes, then it’s makeup, then it’s reworking their songs for a different sort of rock flavor and as they really figure out their brand they start to take off. Peter is in New York, his musical career has failed but he starts teaching to make money. As the 80s start to come The Monkees are getting more popular as a glam rock band and they show up in New York doing a show for a New York broadcasting company which Peter sees. He remembers the good days and he goes to find the monkees, first talking to Davy (his ex) who is mad at first but finds it difficult to remain like that. He can’t truly hate someone he loves can he? But Davy can’t just take him back. Peter hurt him and besides, Davy and Micky are dating now and have been for a while. Davy ends up talking to Mike about his conundrum and Mikes tenderness only makes it harder for Davy to know what to do. Davy’s heart is just too big for his own good. What’s the solution? What can a man do when he has a boyfriend but still loves his ex and is developing a crush on one of his best friends? I’ll tell you a secret, it’s polyamory

There’s more lore in my head but I’ve exhausted my ability to explain for now, if you’re curious about anything related to my Monkees Glam AU I am entirely willing to answer any questions, just send them my way. ✨sparkle on glamorous people

#the monkees AUs #Glamiverse AU #I told you I’d be talking about this more #please ask me about my Monkees Glam Rock AU #I wanna talk about it #I have not stopped thinking about them since I first drew them #the monkees #davy jones #mike nesmith #peter tork #Micky Dolenz #jork #jolenz #jolenzsmith #jonesmith

[all-the-things-2020]

Further Along the Way - Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Mariana tells Mrs. Shandilon the score.

Rating: PG

The Grand Clarvonian Hotel lunchroom was one of those overly posh places with spindly-legged tables and chairs, exquisite lace tablecloths, and hideously ugly porcelain plates. Brisenda Shandilon sat at one of those spindly-legged tables, one with a full view of the entire room … and where everyone in the room could see her. Her cream colored dress draped elegantly off her shoulders; her unnaturally dark hair was swept up in an intricate style woven with pearls and crystals, just this side of overdone.

Mariana felt distinctly underdressed for the venue, but that was probably the whole point of meeting here. Mrs. Shandilon had insisted on “treating” Mariana to lunch at the Grand Clarvonian, knowing full well that the wife of an Academy instructor was highly unlikely to have ever dined there before. The host led Mariana to Brisenda’s table, a disapproving look on his face. Mariana wasn’t sure if it was because of the plain style of her dress, or because she had Cabur bundled in a sling against her chest. Tress had offered to watch him as well as Ad’ika, but Mariana wasn’t ready to part from him for that long.

“Mrs. Djarin,” Brisenda said when they reached the table. She did not deign to stand up, but did offer a limp hand for Mariana to shake.

“Mrs. Shandilon,” Mariana replied with a nod, taking the seat the host held out for her. She shifted Cabur’s sling a bit so that he wasn’t directly between her and the table and she could settle comfortably.

Brisenda raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “If you were unable to find a babysitter, you should have contacted me. We could reschedule.”

“Oh, no,” Mariana said. “It’s fine. I have someone to watch my older son, and I just fed Cabur so he should sleep for awhile. He won’t be a bother.” She pulled the edge of the sling back to peek at him, then tucked it back to shield his face from the lights. She had the distinct feeling that Brisenda had been the sort to hand her baby over to a nursemaid and not look back.

“Very well,” Brisenda said. “Shall we order?” She waved a finger and a waiter appeared at her side like magic. “I think perhaps a light salad of greens, followed by a braised tork filet and creamed noro roots?”

Mariana had no idea what that was, but she smiled and agreed. “That sounds lovely,” she said.

The waiter scurried off and Brisenda folded her hands on top of the table, her lacquered fingernails reflecting the light from the overhead lamps. “So, Mrs. Djarin,” she said. “You wanted to speak to me about something.”

“Yes,” Mariana said, leaning forward slightly. “I want to know why you and your husband are trying to destroy my husband’s career.” She smiled, but stared directly into the other woman’s eyes until she blinked and looked away.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Brisenda said disingenuously.

“Oh, I think you do,” Mariana said. She dropped the smile. “You asked Colonel Braxden to fire him, and he said no. Then you asked that he not be asked back for next year, and Braxden again said no. So now I hear there’s some trumped up charge of immorality being brought against him?” She leaned back. “I’d advise you to tread carefully here, Mrs. Shandilon.”

Brisenda dropped all pretense of friendliness. “Look here,” she said, stabbing at the table with one shiny claw. “I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t think your husband is the sort of person who should be teaching our children. He doesn’t represent the ideals we Clarvonians wish to impart to the next generation.”

“And which ideals would those be?” Mariana asked. “Hatred toward non-humans, like my oldest son? Preferential treatment for those with money and power, like you?”

Brisenda leaned forward, dropping her voice into a nasty hiss. “Clarvos City was better off under the Empire, when we didn’t have to share with outsiders. They take our jobs, they take our profits …”

“They attempt to save your son’s life,” Mariana countered. When Brisenda gave her a confused look, Mariana pressed on. “Klaarmat X’intari could have walked out of that embassy without a scratch on him, but he tried to get Helix and his friend out of there. Because they were part of his squadron, and one of the ideals my husband had tried to impart to his students is that a good soldier never leaves anyone behind. Traat'aliit gar besbe'trayc. Your squad is your weapon.”

Brisenda blinked and sat back slightly. “Oh, you didn’t know that?” Mariana asked sweetly. “That the Bendaski cadet your son relentlessly teased and tortured risked his own life trying to save him? That even though Helix had clearly been shot in the spine, Klaarmat still made sure he was beyond saving before he retreated? I thought you were at the debriefing.”

“I — we were there,” Brisenda said uncertainly. “My husband and I. But I was so distraught over the loss of Helix, I couldn’t pay attention to all the details.”

“And that was your mistake,” Mariana said. “You were so busy feeling sorry for yourself, that you ignored what really happened. Now, listen carefully, because I’m going to tell you what happens next. You are going to drop this ridiculous charge against my husband. I’m not naive enough to believe you’ll ever be gracious enough to thank Cadet X’intari for trying to save your son, or that you’ll try to reverse the board’s xenophobic policies, but you will stop harassing my husband. Do you understand?”

Brisenda’s face hardened. “You don’t tell me what to do,” she said.

“All right, then, I’m strongly suggesting you do what I say,” Mariana said. “Because I’m not going away, and neither is my husband. If you want to continue this charade, all three of the cadets are prepared to testify in front of the board, and so am I. Hell, we’ll go in front of the City Elders if we have to. We have nothing to hide. We’ll tell everyone how the Academy Board is persecuting a teacher simply because they don’t like a member of his family. An innocent, adorable child who hasn’t done anything to anyone.”

“A ‘child’ that isn’t human,” Brisenda said with distaste. “How many people in Clarvos City do you think will sympathize with you?”

“Enough,” Mariana said. “And more elsewhere on the planet. And even more on other planets in the Republic. You see, I can always drop a line to my friend in the Senate. You may have heard of her … Senator Organa of Alderaan?”

The waiter brought their salads and poured glasses of sparkling blue water for them before bowing himself away from the table. Brisenda held her tongue until he was far enough away not to overhear them.

“And what good would that do you?,” she asked, delicately picking up her fork.

Mariana picked up her own fork and smiled. “One word from Organa and there would be a bevy of HoloNet reporters here.” She took a bite of her salad. “Mmm … delicious.”

Brisenda’s eyes narrowed. “Reporters?”

“Oh, yes,” Mariana said brightly. “After Thantos Prime sent troops to assist the Republic, I’m sure there are lots of galactic citizens who would be very interested in learning more about this charming planet.” She took another bite. “And I can think of several planets that would be extremely interested in finding out just how inhospitable Thantos can be for other species. Planets with much stronger voices in the Galactic Senate than Thantos has.”

Brisenda set her fork down with a clatter. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said uncertainly.

“You have no idea what I would dare to do, Mrs. Shandilon,” Mariana said. “Just tell your husband to ask the Board to drop the charge and you’ll never have to find out.” She smiled brightly and took another bite of her salad. It really was rather good, but even tastier was the look of defeat on Brisenda’s face.

“Very well,” Brisenda said. “But we’ll be keeping an eye on you and your husband … and that thing you call a son.” She sniffed haughtily and picked up her fork. She took one bite, then pushed the plate away. “I suddenly find I’ve lost my appetite. If you’ll excuse me ….” She stood, dropping her napkin onto her plate. “I’ll leave instructions for the waiter to put the bill on my tab.” She gave Mariana a sarcastic bow and swept from the room.

Several eyes turned toward Mariana once Brisenda had left, but she simply smiled at them and finished her salad. When the waiter returned to clear her plate, she informed him that there was no need to bring the rest of the meal. She drained her glass, dropped a generous tip on the table and asked him to thank Mrs. Shandilon the next time he saw her. She made sure Cabur was still secure in his sling, then left the lunchroom.

“Well, that went well, my darling,” she said to him, stroking his cheek gently so as not to wake him too soon. “Daddy will be proud of us.” Cabur sighed and squirmed a little. “I know, you didn’t do very much,” she went on, “but you give me strength, and you remind me what I’m fighting for, verd'ika.” Little soldier. She smiled to herself as she walked down the street; Din would be pleased to know his son had acquitted himself so well at his first battle.

*******************************************

Mando’a words:

Traat'aliit gar besbe'trayc = The squad is your weapon

verd’ika = private (rank) Can be used affectionately, often to a child; *little soldier* - context is critical.

#the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #pedro pascal character fanfiction #baby yoda #din djarin #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction

[plushkathelindworm]

After the the events of the UR and later saving Vert from the Silencers, Nolo's finally got the chance to sit down and smoke. He deserved it after all that fucking stress, didn't he? Bad for him, Tork happened to be nearby, he's found the boy sitting on the stairs at the backyard of Teku's house.

-Didn't know you're smoking.

The sudden voice of MM almost made Nolo jump and drop the cigarette. He turned back to see Tork leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

-Shit, dude, you've scared me to death!-Teku leader tried to sound feignedly resentfully, but under the MM's stare returned to answer- I've started quite a while ago, after Tone's... you know-Nolo took a deep puff and then slowly exhaled a thick smoke to stop sudden tears,-It kinda helps me with the pain and stress...

Tork nodded understandingly, then went down the stairs to stand beside Nolo.

-Tone didn't like to smoke. Moreover, he'd never want to see you doing this.

-I know, man, but Tone isn't here anymore, the pain is. And besides, this idea wasn't mine, Kurt's introduced me to this type of...stress relief. The throat hurt as hell at first tho.

The corner of Tork's mouth twitched at the mention of Kurt. Of course it's him. Kid shouldn't ever listen to older Wylde at all, but, in the past, Nolo didn't has a chance to get a good role model after Tone's gone. Himself? He was busy pretending like that death wasn't his business.

-Still, there're many other ways more helpful than destroying your lungs.

Nolo chuckled.

-You're gonna play a big brother now and teach me about good and bad things?

-No, I'm gonna punish you first.

Tork stood in front of Nolo and leaned towards his face with a dangerous smirk.

-Here's what we're gonna do,-he spoked as he reached out for the cigarette and snatched it from shocked Teku leader,-From now on, you'll quit smoking and tell Kurt to stop set you such the example. And if I'll ever find out that you've started again, I'll bite his head off first and then yours

With his words Tork's crushed the cigarette into dust without any flinch from burning, more to Nolo's shock. After that he straightened up and walked up the stairs, stopping right before opening the door.

-And if you want to know other ways to deal with the stress, you should talk to Monkey. Trust me, he knows a lot about it.

#acceleracers #nolo pasaro #tork maddox #finally realized that nothing stops me from posting here #especially something Imperfect #hehhehehe baby steps >:}

[jathis]

do you think peter tork could solo goku

I think Peter would convince Goku to sit with him and share some food and nonalcoholic drinks together. He would play music for him and teach Goku how to play the banjo.

[somervillesongwriters]

Interview with upcoming artist (December): Janet Feld

When you're not writing and performing music you teach it, including at the Passim school of music. What's your general approach to teaching? What does teaching bring to your own playing or writing?

Since the 80s, it's been my mission to help people of all ages experience the fact that they don't have to be from the "special talented planet" in order to learn to play music.  As long as someone has the desire and is willing to invest a small amount of time, they can do it.  I teach my students technique and theory in the context of playing specific songs because it's easier and way more fun that way. My private students also learn playing their requested favs. Probably the most important thing I say to my students is that the burden of the learning is on me. If they don't understand something I'm teaching them, that's my problem and never means that they can't learn it.

Teaching completes the creative circle for me.  A huge part of being a teacher is finding the best ways to explain or show students how to play. Doing this requires a delightful creative process.  Since creativity begets creativity, my teaching inspires my evolution as a musician and songwriter, and vice versa.  

I also believe in modeling what I wish for my students:

I believe I can always get better at everything I do, so I'm a lifelong learner.

That journey requires that I allow myself to work through all the normal trainwrecks of the learning curve to get to "the fun zone". You have to let yourself "dare to suck" to get there.

As the Zimbabwean proverb goes, "If you can walk you can dance, if you can talk you can sing."

You've been singing and playing for most of your life. Who were your earliest musical inspirations? What inspired you to write songs?

My mom was my first inspiration. When she was driving somewhere with me and my sisters, she often had us singing rounds to keep us from horsing around or fighting.  I'm the youngest and even when I was pre-school age, I was expected to hold down a part.  Because of that, singing, and more specifically, singing harmony has always been a normal part of my life.  I began studying the piano at the age of 7.  I started playing the guitar the summer before 7th grade because my sister Barb was doing it and I wanted to be like her.  At first, I would sneak into her room and play her guitar.  To avoid WWIII, my mom borrowed a guitar for me from a family member and eventually bought me my own once she was confident I was going to stick with it.

The first songs I learned were from my sister and one of her friends who also played. We also had a Peter, Paul and Mary songbook that I learned from.  One caveat, I would play and sing my favs from that book, but keep singing and stop strumming when there was an F chord LOL.

I had the chance to talk to Peter Yarrow one time at The Kerrville Folk Festival - I told him that when I was first learning to play, that I didn't understand that I wasn't able to make my playing sound like what was on the record because I was hearing both he and Paul Stookey playing.  His reply, "Well, I guess between Paul and I we make one great guitar player."

My other early musical inspirations include The Beatles, Petula Clark, Pete Seeger, Broadway musicals, Carole King and Carly Simon. Also, me and my neighborhood friends used to pretend to be The Monkees, and later, The Partridge Family.  I played Peter Tork in the former, Danny Bonaduce in the latter.  Later on I would discover Joni Mitchell, Bonnie Raitt, Dan Fogelberg, CSNY, Steely Dan, Heart, Holly Near and Cris Williamson.

One of my high school besties was a songwriter and my original inspiration for beginning to write my own.  Because she was my age and also a girl, it occurred to me that maybe I could do it too. I wrote my first song at 17 and never looked back.

You've been a solo singer-songwriter for awhile; what inspired the move to perform with a trio? How is the performing experience different than playing solo?

The evolution of The Secret Sauce has been totally organic.  It started just after Esther and I had got vaccinated in the spring of 2021 and were jamming at her house for the first time in forever. I had booked some outdoor house concerts that summer and invited her to join me, inspired by a conversation we were having about how it's more fun to perform with others vs. solo. 

When I booked a gig for us at Club Passim in November of 2021, I invited Jackie to play fiddle on a couple of songs.  

At our first rehearsal, Jackie's accompaniment on my songs made me weep with joy.  After playing a part she'd created on one of Esther's songs, Esther exclaimed, "Jackie, you're the secret sauce!". After that show, Esther and I agreed that the fun we'd had was how we'd always wanted to feel playing gigs and we invited Jackie to join us permanently.

At some of our rehearsals, we spend more time laughing than playing music. And when we play, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

I've mostly played solo during my career and enjoyed being part of a couple of other trios and bands.  The Secret Sauce is my fav experience to date.

When you play solo, you don't have to coordinate with anyone else about rehearsal time or split the gig money.  It also eliminates the potential for personal drama.  With The Secret Sauce, there's zero drama and tons of fun. Plus, we love each other's songs.  Because of that, the rehearsal time is a joy and any gig money feels like a bonus. Also, I've been a harmony junkie since those first singing fests in my mom's 3 speed Rambler.  Singing three part harmony is a fix I'd prefer not to live without.

Janet will be playing on Saturday, December 3rd, 7:30 p.m., in the Somerville Songwriter Sessions, along with Esther Friedman and Jackie Damsky (the other members of Secret Sauce) and host Terry Kitchen at the Somerville Armory Cafe, 191 Highland Ave, Somerville MA. (Great music, great food, free parking.) $15 suggested donation. Questions? [email protected]

#songwriting #somerville #livemusic #somervillearmory #songwriters #somervillema #songwriter #somervillesongwriters #somervillesongwritersessions #music #janetfeld

[nityarawal]

10/2/22

Her Name Isn't "Nothing!"

Did You Read The

Anastasia Series? 

About The Woman

Who Lived In The Woods?

She Tells You Everything!

How To Farm!

Make Honey!

Gather Bees-

Live Off The Land!

In a Daksha!

She Has Wisdom!

Harmony!

With Nature!

Gardening

Mandalas!

Communing With The Land

No Veils!

No Burqas!

No Boiled Down

To "Nothingness."

Just A Beautiful Mom!

Teaching One Man

To Record Her Laws,

Vows,

Only Devoted

To Nature, God and Him:

Trinity.

What Does A Woman

Want?

What Does A Woman

Need?

Just Her Place In

"Nature,"

Carved Out!

To Make History!

If You Want Our

DNA! 

So Bad! 

Don't Clone Us!

And Meddle With

Our Genes!

Drugs Destroy

Everything!

But Paris, #FreeBritney

And I

Will Suck Your Seeds!

We'll Urinate On

Our Royal Plants!

Goddesses!

You Can Feed 

With Our Estrogen!

Progesterone Will

Balance

Out The Ladies!

Lace Your Herbs! 🌿 

With Juniper

And Manzanita Berries!

Sage and Turmeric!

Drink Blueberry Pomegranate Juice! 

Cover Your Body With 

Vicksburg Vapor Rub!

Turpentine Eucalyptus

Release Impurities!

Drink Garlic Lemon Shakes!

De-Worm Your Brains!

And Especially

Your Bowels!

For The Little Gut

Stores More "Intelligence,"

Than The Whole

American Army!!!

Teach Your Lads

How To Eat! Cook and Sprout!

Self Sufficiency!

Teach 'Em How to Cleanse! 

Their Colons!

Ears!

Mouths!

Teach 'Em How To Abstain

From Hookers And Drugs

Who

Kill Gentlemen!

Trafficking!

Investors! 

In California!

Homeowners!

Divorcees! 

Gigolos' Hookin!

Militia, Attys, Doctors! Judges 

Officers Failed!

#FreeBritney And Me!

Tork Laws Evaluating!

Fires; ACLU Wants

To Know Why Anne

Heche Was Murdered? 

Burned & OD'd

On Fentanyl

By The Hospital

Paramedics

Morality Police

Working For The District 

Attorney!

International Women

Journalists!

Want To Know!

United Nations!

Investigate Meghan Markle

And Domestic Violence

Terrorism!

Racism

With Morality Police! And Attorneys!

Diana In England and Iran!

Naya Rivera!

Neilia Biden!

Why Was

Message Amini

Murdered?

And 1st Lady

Ivana Trump?

A 20 year Old For Her Hair?

Moms Of Iran 🇮🇷 

And Tehrangeles 🐻 🇺🇸 

Afghanistan 🇦🇫 

And The United Kingdom 🇬🇧 

Will Be Heard!

#Mothers4NaturalLaw

Scarves Are Burned!

Singin' Aloha!

Tulsi- Peace!

Like We've Always Done!

Since The '60's! 

Maybe For 100's Of

Years More!

If We Knew Our

Native Languages,

We'd Sing More!

Before They're Obliterated!

In The United States,

In Another

Hollocoast! 

War!

Or Genocide!

Silencing.org 

Persians Say:

No More "Shhhhing!"

Islamic Republic

#PrinceOfPegging

"Putin" Royals,

You've Taken It Too Far!

We Say "Peace!" 

Tulsi!

The Pope Backs you!

Dalai Lama Too!

We Hold Our Grounds!

No More Veils!

No More "Nothingness!"

Her Name Isn't "Nothing!"

No More War!

No More Detentions!

Not In China!

Not In US

Divorce Courts!

Not In Ukraine!

Not In Iran!

And Not In Space X

Federal Prisons

Home Schools!

For Rape!

Transing Eunuchs

In Persian Jails!

No!

No!

No!

No More!

No More!

Attacks on our Council Women

LGBT Communities!

Oathkeepers!

Habib Police!

Put 'Em to Rest!

Amore! 

We Choose Love!

We Choose Family!

We Choose Freedom!

We Choose Mom!

#WeHeardYou 

Iran!

#WeHeardYou 

Amore!

#WeHeardYou

I Love You

Iran

Amore!

❤️ 

Nitya Nella Azam Davigo Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

https://linksharing.samsungcloud.com/r8x4A42XnkGH

[thislovintime]

Onstage, 1967; in London, January 1968 (photos 3 & 4 by Jeff Hochberg/Icon and Image via Getty Images).

“[Peter] has almost always the look of patient resignation worn under the make-up of great clowns, and his face arranges itself into any number of humorous attitudes with the ease of a bendy doll… screwed up like an unwanted love letter or innocent as a boy accused of scrumping apples. His mouth is soft and sweet, and there is both shrewdness and kindness in his small, searching eyes. Utterly relaxed himself, he hates what he calls ‘the presence of paranoia.’ ‘I hate being in the same room with lots of uptight people. I have to leave if the atmosphere isn’t relaxed, then I try to work out later why it upset me.’ […] Peter uses long words in the way that some people are compulsive punners. ‘I grew up with this tremendous vocabulary, and I don’t seem able to shake it off. I wish I could. It would speed up conversation!’ Explaining his failure to complete his education with a philosophical ‘the only school is life itself,’ he enlarged on this by saying: ‘I flunked out from school because I didn’t care. I couldn’t stand the way education was being given in my school or any other school. I wanted desperately to learn, but I was too interested and I kept drifting off into daydreams. Some of the teachers understood, but they couldn’t save me from being thrown out. Grades are the thing. Education is being made as dull as a cold fish. ‘What we need are imaginative schools like your Summer Hill, where kids can learn whatever they want to, and have some choice in the pace they will set. Education needs to live, not come out of stuffy books.’[...] ‘Concerts are the most important thing to us. After all, you can put a voice and words down in the recording studio, but how do you put a smile on record?’” - article by June Southworth, Fabulous 208, January 17, 1968

Speaking of education and teaching: more about Peter's time teaching in the 1970s in older posts.

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #60s Tork #1967 #1968 #The Monkees #Monkees #long read #Carleton College #Tork teaching #(sorry about the watermark being flipped... but I had to flip that image) #can you queue it

[bearseokie]

flashback (M)

— Every time you touch a relic of your lover, you get vivid daydreams of your time spent with Chan while configuring the future.

DETAILS — [ 18+ | drabble | 1k ] PAIRING — time-traveler! heochan x gender-neutral! reader GENRES — romance, smut, angst WARNINGS — time skips back and forth, longing, if you’re confused: good. A/N — this idea was originally an entire fic idea, but I’m testing the waters here!

victon m.list | navi

Eclectic, Chan was like a cloud over the full moon. Every cave and crevice once seen by your own eyes, the form of grey fluff covered over each speck until only darkness caressed you lightly. His touch warm like the sun until the star delved towards the other side of the earth, he was only with you for so long.

“In a matter of days,-” His back collided with the wall as he spoke, eyes glistening in the ascending dawn. “-our time will be up, my love.”

The heat from his bare body was still sheathing within the sheets beside you. Your hand glided over the soft cotton, his scent bringing a lump in your throat as you attempted to swallow it down. Your eyes blinked heavily, the hard beat of your heart in your chest aching as the same fabric turned cold. He was nowhere in sight - Chan long lost to the past, but still protruding inside your present like a mirage.

“And there isn’t anything we can do about it?” you wondered.

He had crept to you, his muse - reasoning, through limericks along sheets of paper. They were your only message of his existence, that your dreams were real and not hallucinations. His handwriting fondful to your sight, the pages were stained with his cologne and tears, trifled by his occupation. A man designed to leap through time, year by year, centuries passing, your face the only thing keeping him afloat.

“I’m afraid not.” Fluffed hair torked by his lanky fingers, you felt the same hand make contact with your cheek. His enlightened irises were always engulfed by your reflection, all that he could bear, but the sorrow in his blown pupils made you lift from the mattress.

“Chan, what are we to do?”

It was only when his soft lips collided with yours that the world seemed to settle, his long locks feathered through your own fingers to keep him pressed against you. He was a breath of fresh air at any given moment you were surrounded by a suffocating atmosphere. All questions pushed until later, his moments were always true to one belief: we have now.

Soft kisses peppered against your lips and cascading down your jawline to meet your neck, Chan knew every little spot that had you craving more. Light licks of his tongue lingering at your nape made you mewl, his soft breaths fanning across your skin enough to lull you to sleep. Eyes fluttering shut with his warm skin turning feverish with every kitten lick to your collar bones, he gravitated towards where you wanted him most.

A twinge in your guts releasing butterflies, his eyes peered up at you through long lashes. Irises immune to most emotions from the power within him, the lust he gained from you always shown through. You were like a placebo to him, fixed with the idea that all could heal if he took you, but it was just a decoy. Releasing heavy breaths, his hand collided between your thighs to pleasure you.

Middle fingers pressing into the fabric of the thin clothing you wore, your back arched at his touch. A whimper of his name, his palm met with the small stain of your arousal pooling through the article, a groan passing his plump lips. He wanted to rip the clothes from your body, teach you how to love properly, but his shuddering skin renounced his form above you.

Time and time again, the clicks of the clock on the wall would hit their marks. He would be forced to leave you, match the time on his watch to the letters in the mail - taking his leave without the slightest bit of discourse. Just as his mysterious occupation, all that told you of his travels would disappear with him. You would find sheets of torn note pages with marked numbers, collecting them one by one.

Your fingers pressed into the dull remnants, brows knitted and tears thick as they fell from your eyes. The matter was more than you knew, tracing each number with the tip of your thumb. One - your first kiss. The fast pace of his heart where your hand laid against his chest, keeping him close. Two - the first time he shifted from nowhere right before your eyes. A blow of wind that could cause hysterics to the universe, the sparkles of gold that surrounded him - him. Three - when he told you what he was. How he was forced into a world even he didn’t comprehend, the one he would give up if it meant he was beside you every day, but that’s not how the world works. Four - the extravagant feeling of his lips against you in more ways than one. Five - his golden irises flashing for the last time, his body swept away by the watch on his wrist.

Each tear formed against another, the tears slipping down your cheeks dripping onto your clothes as you sniffled. The cold top of the table scattered your emotions more than the numbers themselves, index fingers gliding the pieces together like it was a puzzle. Your tongue matched with the corner of your mouth, much like Chan’s did when he tore them so indicatively. A message from him that would reach you when you needed it most. The tape between your fingers linked them one by one, the numbers melding together like a work of art that only the artist could understand. The connections, the memories, Chan’s words whispered into your ear every chance he had to hold you: all written in their own code.

The drawer of his nightstand, never delved into in respect of his own privacy, but the remedy you needed. The metal handle between your fingers pulled open to reveal the treasures of the space, darkened by the room as his lamp turned on in tandem with your squinting eyes. The gold in your palm, similar to what you had seen over and over - nearly the exact watch as his, but only your own. His code.

“Find me.”

#victonwriters #victon #victon drabble #victon au #victon chan #heochan #heochan drabble #heochan imagine #heochan scenarios #victon imagines #victon scenarios #victon x reader #heochan x reader #victon romance #victon smut #heochan smut #victon chan smut #victon chan imagines #victon chan scenarios #victon fanfic #drabble: flashback #mature #word drabbles #victon.drabble

[60schickgroovy]

Beach Volleyball

(Micky)

              I was laying on the beach trying to get some sun with my best friend.  It was a perfect day, there were a few puffy clouds rolling lazily across the noonday sky the sun bounced off the rolling waves and the hot sand.  I felt it soak into my amber skin and I couldn’t help but smile.  The only sounds were lapping water, rustling wind and the distant calls of seagulls. Then, suddenly, the peace was broken by loud laughter.  “Davy, she looked like a vampire!”  “Yea, man! How do you expect us to not end up in trouble when you’re off making out with monsters?”  We both glanced at the noisy passersby.  Four young men carrying beach gear were talking animatedly and, not so subtly, looking back at us!  There was a short one, in a red speedo who had a cute British accent, one with dark blonde hair and a sweet smile, a tall one with a southern accent and green wool hat… in the middle of august!  And the last one… wow.  He was tall with curly brown hair and his laugh was contagious.  

              They stopped a few yards away from us and settled in.  “Wow.” Ash whispered.  “I know.”  I said. I tried not to stare as they tossed a beach ball around.  My heart leapt as the guy with the curly hair kept looking my way.  Every time he caught me peeking he’d try to flex his muscles or toss the ball really high.  I blushed at how bad he was at showing off and how it was still, absolutely, working!  I was so excited but I didn’t know what to do, I was so nervous!  “Ona, he’s checking you out!”  I smirked to myself.  We both sat up on our elbows and the curly haired guy shot me a cheeky wink. I decided to be bold, I slid my sunglasses down my nose and looked at him through half lidded eyes, then I waved coyly with an innocent smile.  He stopped in his tracks and his eyes went wide.  We held each other’s gaze for a moment, unfortunately my flirting had distracted him from his game and he was abruptly knocked to the ground by a flying beach ball to the head!  Aisling and I fell over laughing, but tried to cover it up quickly to save his pride.

              I was happy they came by today, I was wearing my cutest burgundy swimsuit, it complimented my long black hair and my make-up was on-point.  A few minutes later one of the guys approached us.  I felt my stomach do a flip as I looked up.  “Hello, Ladies!”  He was even cuter close up and that grin…, “Hi, there.”  I said.  “Hey.” I could feel Ash nudge me with her toe as she said it, but I ignored her.  “Um, so we were wondering if you girls would like to join us for a friendly game of beach volleyball?  I’m Micky by the way.”  “We’d love to, Micky.”  “Yea, that sounds like fun.”  I went to get up and tried not to fluster as I watched him extend his hand to me. “Thank you.”  I smiled.  “My pleasure!”  He said with a goofy grin and a half bow.  He kept hold of my hand as he led me over to where the boys were waiting. “Micky are you going to introduce us to your pretty friends?”  The British guy asked him.  I watched him become animated and goofy again, “Ahem, ladies, may I present Lord David Jones, King Peter Tork and Sir Michael Nesmith.”  The boys waved and bowed in turns, it was too cute.  “I’m Aisling!”  She smiled and waved flirtatiously, eyeing Peter, who blushed and grinned.  “I’m Iona.” I said, feeling a little on the spot.  “Wow!”  I turned to Micky who wore a lopsided grin that made my knees weak.  “That’s beautiful.”  “Thank you.” Davy shook his head and cleared his throat, “So are we gonna play or aren’t we?”  “Yea, let’s do it!!”  We approached the net and Micky caught up to me, “I haven’t really played volleyball before. Is it hard?”  I watched my feet, a little embarrassed about agreeing to a game I’d never played before.  He put an arm around me and I felt the blood rush to my face.  “No way!  You’ve never played?  You’ll love it.  I’ll teach you!”  I smiled meeting his gaze, “Well, if you’re going to teach me…”  His eyes held my gaze, occasionally flicking down to lips. His own were slightly parted and the space between us felt like miles and nothing at the same time.  “Okay, Ladies, pick your teams!”  Ash nodded to me and I grinned, then I paused, do I pick Micky?  Or is that too eager… Screw it!  “Micky! You’re with me!”  He ran over to join me on the far court.  He unzipped his jacket and cast it aside, all that was left was his matching swim trunks.  It took all my strength not to flat out stare.  Ash chose Peter and I chose Mike.  “Who gets the ball first?”  Ash asked everyone, though she was looking at Peter.  “Let’s choose for it!”  Davy said and the boy all sprinted to the net.  “Odd finger’s it!”  Mike said. We watched with interest as they counted off and showed either one or two fingers.  “Ooo!  Look I won!” I looked around as everyone got ready and tried to mimic their poses.  “What do I do?”  I whispered to Micky.  “Oh! Okay you want to hit the ball like this,” he bumped an imaginary ball, “This,” he set it, “or this!” he spiked the air.  “You want it to hit the sand on their side of the net, but not on ours!”  “Okay!”

              Mike tossed the ball in the air and bumped it over the net, Davy caught it with a set and I watched it come flying right at me! I tied to remember what Micky showed me but my bump was an utter failure the ball hit the sand and rolled under the net to the other side.  I blushed a little as Micky hopped over, “Sorry.”  “Hey, don’t worry about it!  You’re really close just put your thumbs…”  I didn’t hear a word he said after that.  He stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me and moving my fingers gently.  I felt his chest against my back and his arms around me.  His hands were so big and strong around mine, I felt hot flush on my cheeks as his lips spoke softly next to my ear.  “You see?”  He asked cheerfully.  “Mm hm.” I nodded as my breath caught in my throat.  He ran back to his place and I tried to recompose myself.  The game was way more flirtatious than I think it is meant to be. Davy picked Ash up once so she could spike the ball onto our court and soon a round didn’t go by where one of us wasn’t lifted off our feet.  Then there was the general clumsiness.  We kept bumping into the guys!  Ash was definitely worse than me, I knew it was basically all fake and it just seemed silly.  I rolled my eyes as she and Peter fell over and wound up in a tangled heap in the sand. “Hup!”  Davy spiked the ball and I ran after it, the adrenaline pumping in my ears made me deaf to the surrounding world, which must be how I ended up crashing right into Micky!  My eyes shut instinctively and when I opened them I was face to face with him.  I was blushing horribly.  I was laying on top of him in a very compromising position. I felt his chest muscles pressed against mine and our legs were tangled together.  My dark hair fell around our faces as he looked at me.  My heart fluttered, his eyes were wide and they sparkled as they looked right into me.  I hardly knew this man but as I looked at that wonderful expression on his face I just wanted to stay there forever.  Someone cleared their throat and I jumped off of him, smiling to show I was okay, but I wasn’t.  I was feeling a lot of weird and new feelings.  

              We had shifted spots so that I was now in the front right position and I thought this was a bad plan, I still wasn’t very good and they knew it.  The ball flew back and forth and I saw it fly at Davy who was preparing to spike it down in front of me.  As his hand hit the ball I leapt forward, the world moved in slow motion as I threw my hands out in front of me, clasped together.  I felt the smack against my thumbs and wrists and watched the ball change directions.  Mike spiked it over the net as my stomach hit the sand.  That was it, we won the game.  I heard the loud cheers from either side of the net as I was lifted off the ground and onto the shoulders of Micky and Mike.   They pumped their fists and everyone cheered, I looked down at Micky and smirked as he shot me a cheeky wink.  

              A little while later, Davy had followed a girl down the beach, Mike was reading, Peter and Ash were in the water and Micky and I were laying on beach towels together.  “…and that’s how we will meet the aliens.”  I finished smiling at him.  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl as smart as you, Ona.”  I blushed looking away, tracing patterns on the towel. Suddenly I felt the soft brush of fingers on my cheek and I looked up to find his face so close to mine.  He glanced at my lips and my eyes closed as he leaned in.  My heart was beating in my ears and there were fireworks in my brain.  The kiss was sweet and soft, he could be crazy and energetic, but with me he was sincere and kind.  When I talked to him I felt like the only person in the room.  I felt his hand on my side as mine went to cup his cheek. The kiss sped up quickly, he tugged at my lips turning his head to bring us closer.  When our lips breathlessly parted we rested our foreheads together, smiles plastered to our faces.  “Hey, Ona? Would you want to go dancing with me on Friday?”  I laughed heartily, how could I not, he asked me as though we hadn’t just made out!  “I’d love to, Micky.”  Relief washed over him as we shared a smile and that was my favorite day at the beach.

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*I don’t own the Monkees or anything under their brand, I just wrote this story*

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This one is for my wonderful friend @jdarcy25​!  Thanks for being awesome, Honey!

Also, for people who are unfamiliar with Irish names:

Iona (eye - own - uh)

Aisling (ash - ling)

#the monkees #monkee #monkees #the monkees imagine #monkees imagine #monkee imagine #Micky Dolenz imagine #micky dolenz #peter tork #mike nesmith #davy jones #cute #sexy cute #cute guys #cute guy #cuddles #peace and love #peace love and understanding #beach #tan #tanning #beach volleyball #monkeecreations #60s rock

[geneclarksboobs]

Happy Birthday to Mike and Davy!!!

To celebrate I shall give the Funkee Monkee side of tumblr a compilation of cursed images

Here we have the elusive shadow Mike

Predator Mike is out for...something

Say hello to bald Davy

Davy almost dies

Buff Peter

Teacher Tork teaches you about Eastern Philosphy

Werewolf Micky mid transformation

Im not entirely sure what this is

Or this

Have a wonderful new year. May the angel monkees bless you.

#the monkees #davy jones #mike nesmith #micky dolenz #peter tork #cursed images

[nakedpersimmon]

Deeply saddened to report the passing of Monkees TV show director Jim Frawley, at the age of 82. In his autobiography, I'm A Believer, Micky credits Jim with teaching the Monkees improv, and helping him personally feel more comfortable with the art form. It was under Jim's deft direction that we were given two of the most memorable Monkees episodes--"Fairy Tale" and "The Devil and Peter Tork"--and it is because of the freshness and life that he brought that the show has remained alive for so many years.

RIP, Jim Frawley. Thank you for all that you have given us.  ❤️  [x]

#jim frawley #james frawley #the monkees #micky dolenz #mike nesmith #davy jones #peter tork #monkees television show #rip #<3

[onewheelwonders]

I just,

I met Peter Tork and Mickey Dolenz when I was 18. It was a wonderful experience and I will always remeber how sweet Peter was.

I think he realized how nervous I was feeling, and he made it so easy to talk to him.

He will be so missed, because he was so loved. Thanks for teaching me about consonant sounds

#peter tork #mickey dolenz #mike nesmith #davy jones #the monkees

[aswegcalong]

I Know What I Know (Jork)

Title: I Know What I Know Pairing: Jork Rating: R for language, G for content Warnings: emotional as all fuck Summary: while on a break from recording Good Times, Peter thinks back on all the good times he shared with Davy Jones and all the memories he holds close to his heart. Word Count: 1.9K  Author’s Note: I cried all over my keyboard while writing this, it’s so emotional but so good. The pain none of us asked for. 

Wattpad ao3 Twitter

Everything was going swimmingly for the boys as they recorded Good Times. They’d all put in so much time and effort to make sure this album was everything they wanted it to be and more, they couldn’t let anyone down, not after fifty years of having been a band of long-haired weirdos.

“Hey, I’m gonna record this track real quick, you guys can listen but the backing tracks are already laid down for it,” Mike told Micky and Peter as they set down their instruments, gathering their music and things as they prepared for what was next.

“Sounds good,” Micky replied for the both of them as they stood up from their seats, both men making their way out of the vocal studio and to the listening room as Mike gathered his things for this next track.

Micky and Peter each grabbed a set of headphones to listen as Mike settled down for the track and once their producer gave the nod, they were ready to go. Mike laid down a beautiful track, having told them before that the title was I Know What I Know but not having told them much about it. There was emotion, there was power, it was so raw - unlike some of Mike’s previous songs he’d written for the boys.

Within minutes, the track was done. In a usual Nesmith fashion, Mike nailed it one take and had requested no layering on the vocals, it was meant to be gentle, soft, raw, full of emotion - it meant something to him.

“Sounded spot on, Nez, nailed it. How about we all take a long lunch and we’ll return later to finish today’s tracks?” The producer offered the boys, all three of them nodding in agreement at his offer.

“That was a trip Michael,” Micky said softly as they all gathered in the tight hallway, “I loved it. I felt every moment of it.”

“Good, that’s what I was going for. See yous all later,” The tall Texan said as he turned on his heels and left for his car.

“I’ll catch you later, Mick,” Peter said softly before turning and heading in the opposite direction, looking for an empty studio to gather his thoughts in.

Something about I Know What I Know stirred something deep within him, something he hadn’t let himself feel in years. Longing, emptiness, loneliness, loss, everything he felt at the funeral of his longtime friend David Jones.

Peter sat down in the booth once he’d found an empty one, enjoying the quiet and stillness of the room as the lyrics he’d just heard rang through his mind.

I know what I know And what I know Is I know nothing Without you

“I know nothing without you here, David,” Peter mumbled softly as he let his head hang in his hands.

Sure, they’d fought a few times. Nothing was easy on the set of The Monkees, but despite their age gap, they’d bonded quickly. Peter took Davy under his wing to teach him things Davy had no concept of knowing as a 19-year-old boy fresh to “The Colonies.”

I know what I see And what I see Is I see nothing Without you

“I miss you every fucking day,” Peter mumbled into his hands, hyperaware all of the sudden that the “first official” anniversary of Davy’s death was coming up soon. The leap year date make things wonky, leaving Peter to not really dwell on it for too long when it late February/early March came around every year, but this year, February 2016, gave him more than enough time to think about it, even forgetting his own 75th birthday to help plan a remembrance party for his favourite Manchester Cowboy.

Alone I am With waiting heart Alone I am A world apart

Peter wasn’t quite ready for his own death, his youngest child being 19 herself and he wanted to see as much of her life as he could, yet the thought of going on without Davy - especially when they were recording a track of his today - was more than enough to make him consider that 75 was long enough to have lived. He no longer had his friend, his companion, his lover.

I know what I have And what I have Is I have nothing Without you

It was their little secret, their little moment between them. Their moments of experimenting with one another in ways forbidden by those around them. Sure, Peter’d been with more than enough girls in his lifetime to satisfy any carnal hunger deep within, but he and Davy did more than just fuck, somehow, for two friends experimenting with each other during their times with drugs and their times between shows, they’d loved. Peter really did feel like he had nothing without Davy in his life, he couldn’t just call him up and chat for hours like they’d enjoyed doing, he couldn’t just hop on a plane and go visit his longtime friend, he could only hear what was left of his voice when he’d take a trip down memory lane and listen to one of the old albums, Pool It! being one of his favourites to look back on for Davy’s voice, he had his body in old music videos, romps and photos, but he couldn’t hug his friend again. He had nothing.

I know what I feel And what I feel Is I feel nothing Without you

“I feel nothing, I see nothing, I’ve grown numb to all of this bullshit,” Peter mumbled to himself as he let the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He didn’t bother trying to hide it anymore - he knew he was alone in here and he knew he had plenty of time before anyone would come looking for him - he let himself hurt. With a wet face, tears falling into his grey/white stubble, he thought back on their first and only physical fight.

He rubbed the tips of his fingers over his left cheekbone, feeling the ghost of the bruise Davy had landed there with his “nutter.” He laughed softly, trying to hold himself together as he remembered the next day, the way Davy kissed his cheek softly and whispered sweet apologies when Peter was the one that had done the most damage. He thought about how Davy had promised to make it up to him and he declined, knowing nothing would ease the guilt he carried for sending his near-on best friend and lover to the “A&E knock off bullshit” for stitches.

Alone I am Unspoken words Alone I am Unseen, unheard

He was in a soundproof room, he could cry as hard as he wanted to as he remembered David Thomas Jones, remembering all the good times he’d shared with the younger lad.

He let himself truly go, letting out full sobs as he longed for Davy back in his life. He longed to hear Davy’s inarticulate Manchester accent tell him all about the horse show he’d just been to that past weekend, he’d longed to hear about how he’d celebrated his 70th birthday back home with all his family in England, he longed to hear “Pe-tah!” shouted one more time across a room as Peter did something off or goofy.

My heart is my heart And it is my heart That is hopeless Without you

He thought about the first time Davy had come to him, the first time Davy had really come on to him. He hadn’t believed it at the time - it took him days to wrap his head around it - Davy Jones, the teen heartthrob, wanted him, dummy Peter Tork.

Every touch, every caress, every gentle movement between them, it was cherished, it was full of love, it was everything Peter had looked for in a wife but he had never truly found again as much as he did love his wives and lovers when they were in his life.

He’d never tell anyone, the boys, his children, his wives, or future lovers about the times they shared, and he was hopeless, hopelessly in love with a man who was taken from the joy of life far too soon for anyone’s liking.

I love what I love And what I love Is I love all things About you

Everything about Davy had been wonderful. He was too kind for his own good. They said that Peter was kind to a fault, but those people had never spent enough time with Davy.

“I wish I’d told you, one last time,” Peter mumbled, his voice broken and thick as he spoke through the sobs, “I love you, David, I always have loved you.”

Davy was the kind heart that helped him realise his drinking had gone too far, the kind heart that helped him see that the amount of grass he’d smoke wasn’t good for him and that a rail of white was nothing but an addiction fuelled by loneliness and money. Davy would call him up, would check up on him, would encourage him to find healthier habits, help him remember all the good times they’d shared without copious amounts of drugs in their systems, and when Davy’s wife wasn’t around they’d mumble about their moments alone.

Someone alone Always dreams of The perfect one Someone in love

“Someone in love, I’m just a lovesick fool,” Peter near on whimpered as he let the sobs rack through his body.

Davy was the perfect one, the perfect man. His wives hadn’t seen it until it was too late, and he’d failed to notice it soon enough in life to stick around longer around the scene. Their own demons had torn them apart for years, causing band fueds and unnecessary hate and anger to pull them even farther apart.

“The perfect one, the perfect one,” Peter mumbled over and over to himself as he thought about Davy.

I know what I know I see what I see I love what I love It’s you that I love

“It is you, it is you that I love,” Peter mumbled, throwing his head back towards the sky as if Davy’s spirit could hear him.

It was rare for Peter to show this much emotion, he was good at masking tragedy behind warm eyes and a tight embrace, but this time he was alone, he was on his own, he couldn’t tell the boys where he’d gone off to this lunch break. How do you explain yeah, sorry, I just went off to have a good cry over our old pal Davy Jones, nothing abnormal, just a normal Thursday no need to worry about me guys.

With nothing but good memories and regret coursing through his body, Peter let it out. He let himself feel, he let himself miss his favourite Manchester Cowboy, his favourite Capricorn, his favourite friend, his world, his everything. He pulled out his necklace, wrapping it tightly around his fingers as he held on to the one physical piece of Davy he had with him - a set of love beads Davy had gifted him Christmas of 1969.

They’d shown up in the mail, nothing extravagant, but something just the same and they meant the world to Peter. He’d worn them almost every day since 1971 under every shirt he’d ever worn to remember the memories he shared with his former bandmate.

“It’s you that I love, I know nothing without you. I miss you every fucking day. Hope you’re thriving out there in the beyond, spending time with your Dad and prancing to Daydream Believer like it’s 1967 again and we don’t have a care in the world. I love you Mr Manchester Marauder,” Peter whispered to the ceiling as if Davy was right there next to him to hear it.

And what I love, is I love all things about you...

#the monkees #peter tork #davy jones #good times #ao3 #ao3 update #wattpad #wattpad update #jork #my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #emotional #one shot