Peter, ya dig, Pete

- ON SEMI HIATUS - Hey, I'm Peter! Bassist. Pianist. Banjoist. Singer-er-ist. Come hang, I don't bite! Keep it friendly though, love and peace, dig? Please read the rules (indie roleplay and ask blog for Peter Tork of The Monkees, multiverse) (I follow non-RP accounts on my personal - aclocktorkorange) (NOT show persona)

[starklainerps-deactivated201505]

if we rp together

sorry for sucking

sorry for never replying ever

but sorry no returns or refunds

you’re stuck with me and my shittyness for life

[its-peter-tork]

// also I never thanked anyone for the support I've had on this blog?? This was a place for me to escape and vent and I met some of my absolute best friends who mean the world to me on this blog. I expected 2 or 3 followers at the most but to have over 300 on an account that isn't even me and just focuses on my writing is like ?? Flattering! I'm really looking to get back into writing and I hope I can get people's attention back eventually but honestly to everyone that took the time to follow this dumb little RP blog i love u and i wish i still had the time to keep up with it but adulting fucks a lotta things up <3

[its-peter-tork]

// how do I even go about setting up a RP acc for OCs like...ive forgotten how to get a blog up and running and im fucking dying to RP with my children

[helen-of-london]

“Oh, my damn schedule? You work around it? Sorry, how many fucking times have I given up assignments to spend time with you on set or on tour? Fucking hypocrite,” Helen hissed, shaking her head in anger as she pushed against him once more, this time her foot making contact with his knee as she swiftly kicked forward.

Once Peter grabbed Helen’s waist though, she broke down. Completely, utterly broke down. At first she squirmed in attempts to make it out of his grasp, but it was too tight. Then she tried clubbing a few loose punches at his side, but they fell flat. Frustrated, sweating, heartbroken, angry- Helen melted. “Fuck you, Peter!” She screamed, collapsing in her arms as she broke down into tears, sobbing heavily as her vision became blurred, seeing only sights of tan skin and a bundle of blonde locks. “Fuck you! Fuck you! I would never do anything like this! Yet you will go nail the next fucking girl you see, because despite all I do, I’m not fucking enough am I?” 

Falling out of Peter’s grip, she crumbled up in the corner of the room, burying her head in her knees as she sobbed, her back heaving up and down with each whimsy breath. “You asshole! You asshole! I left everything you do, and you treat me like shit, just like every other fucking non-committal sweet-talking type!” Helen paused, choking on her tears a few times before letting out a sob-filled, whispered confession- “And to think I thought I’d fucking marry ya. I told my brother and everything. I thought we would have kids and everything. You jackass.”

[its-peter-tork]

It wasn't as if Peter didn't know that what he did was bad. He couldn't stand himself for it. But how could he fix what had already been done?

All of the anger and adrenaline dwindled, fizzled out at the sight of Helen - his whole world, his whole life - shattered on the ground. He exhaled depserately.

"Helen, please....fuck." He was at a loss for words, a rare occasion where Peter waa concerned, and he let his back press against the door, sliding to the floor. He made an attempt to hide behind his hair, tussled and dirty from the unbearable guilt. If it had been anyone else, perhaps he would have been able to snap himself out of it, but Helen? He'd be outright lying if he said he didn't care, he didn't love her, he didn't see as much of a future with her as she saw with him.

"Angel, please. There's nothing I can do to fix what's been done, I know that...you're killing me. Tell me there's something, anything, I can do to make this better. To make it bearable at the least. We can work it out, I know we can, we've been through it all! Shit, Helen, I....argh!"

Peter surrendered to his own voice in frustration, pounding a fist against the floor beside him. He gagged as he felt his emotions rising from his stomach and into his throat.

"I love you."

[pinkcheesegreenghost-deactivate]

i love hearing what people *almost* got named.

my mom almost named me Sheila.

[sicksadfaeiry]

when u get close to someone n u just think ‘i wonder when they will leave’ and ‘it’s gonna rly hurt when they do’

[helen-of-london]

“You’ve made sacrifices? Like what? Being able to not have multiple girlfriends, and only getting to have unattached sex instead? Give me a break. Also, for the record, I made those sacrifices to be with you, yes, but I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you’d act like /this/,” Helen spat, moving towards the door, only to have Peter step in front of it.

Helen looked like a deer trapped in the headlights. Her legs shook, and she was flashbacked to when she was a ten year old in New York, her dad suffering from alcoholism and acting just the same as Peter was right now. Fear took over her face as she stood there, shaking, trying to remain straight-faced.

“I’m leaving, okay? I need to be alone. Just let me /go/,” she hissed, glaring at him. She tried to push him from the door, attempting to grab the handle and twist it, swallowing hard as her body began to heat up from a combination of stress and anger, trapped both in the space with Peter right now and in her surreal flashback. Her eyes were wild with anxiety. “You’re acting like my fucking father, okay?” Helen knew Peter knew what she was talking about, her tone growing desperate. “Just let me /go/, Peter.”

Her breath grew heavy, her nails digging into his side as she tried to push past.

[its-peter-tork]

“I’ve focused everything on you, Helen, I work around you and your damn schedule all the time!” He knew that perhaps he was being a little harsh, but once his defenses were up, Peter had a sharper tongue than anyone he knew. 

The sight of Helen’s terrified expression and trembling limbs caused his stomach to churn, and he looked away. He didn’t know what to do; he knew if he let Helen past that door, she had the stubornness and willpower to never speak to him again, and he couldn’t deal with that. He winced, partially at Helen’s desperate voice and partially at her sharp little nails cutting into his sides. He was angry, he didn’t know how else to express it; the blonde grabbed Helen’s waist tightly, pushing her against the wall, eyes gleaming.  “You’re not leaving me! After everything we’ve been through, you won’t leave me because of one mistake!” 

[helen-of-london]

He wasn’t even denying it. Anger coursed through Helen’s veins- she was furious. Helen’s temper didn’t lash up often, but when it did- boy, did everyone want to run from her sight. Helen scowled as Peter reached down to touch her cheek, flinching as her instant reflex was to bat his hand away.

“Don’t /touch/ me,” she hissed, eyebrows furrowed together as her chest heaved up and down, her breathing growing heavy. Her hazels showed just how pissed she was, her cheeks turning pink.

“Don’t /fucking/ touch me again,” she said, repeating herself. She took a deep breath in, then blowing up at him.

“Who the hell do you think you are, anyways?! I fucking left my job in London to move to California for you. I wake up everyday to make you breakfast before going to work. I do everything for you. I left everything behind for you. I ignore what the papers say, I just focus on what’s going on between /us/ and only us. But still, I’m not enough for you?! What kind of fucking expectations do you have?! For me to quit everything to be your sex slave? For me to be okay with you doing all of this? You don’t deserve /anything/. You’re pathetic, I hope you know that.”

“I cannot fucking believe you,” she muttered, looking him square in the eye. Her eyes expressed a level of just how upset she was, her bottom lip quivering as if she were about to cry. She stayed still for a moment, staring up at him before she lifted up her hand, delivering a swift slap across his face.

“Just get away from me,” she said, turning on her heel and quickly rushing out of the room, grabbing her keys and coat on the way.

[its-peter-tork]

“Helen you’re overreacting.” The blonde insisted. “You don’t do any of that for me, you do it for yourself. I have no doubt that if you really, really didn’t want to be with me, you’d do none of that. You can take care of yourself. So why do you keep coming back to me? You think I use you for sex? I’ve sacrificed as much for this relationship as you have.”  Peter’s mind was still swimming in the aftermath of the alcohol, his words coming out without thought, not knowing where he was going with his little speech. He stared at Helen, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t fucking cry.” 

Peter reeled back from the slap, mouth agape in shock.  “Where do you think you’re going, kid?” He questioned intimidatingly, standing in front of the door. He didn’t know what he was doing but he couldn’t just stand there and watch her leave, at least not until he could think straight enough to understand why. 

[helen-of-london]

Happy munday from my makeup free self and my primark guy joggers

[its-peter-tork]

//can i have your body

[helen-of-london]

@its-peter-tork

It was the night after Peter’s wild birthday bash, and beer cans and napkins littered the floor, making it hard for the New Yorker to storm from her bedroom into the sunroom, where she saw Peter lounged in a hammock, quietly reading a Kerouac novel. Usually, Helen would have found this image endearing, but this time, she was straight up livid.

“Peter, what the /hell/ is this?” Helen hissed at him, dangling a lacy black bra from the fingertips of her right hand, glowering at the Californian. Her hazels shot furious daggers at him, her stance solid, her expression fierce; the only thing giving away just how much the discovery had upset Helen was her teeth gnawing nervously and rapidly at her bottom lip.

“I cannot /fucking/ believe you. Y’know, when I found this in the bedroom, I thought hey, maybe someone just wandered in- but, oh, then I remembered we /locked/ the doors.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spat, her voice raising as angry tears pierced her eyes. “Y’know, I didn’t think it was worth listening to all the rumors about you, I thought it was just a load of bullshit. But clearly, I’m wrong.”

Helen tossed the bra onto the ground by Peter, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her stomach, her bottom lip shaking. She vowed herself to /not/ break down before she left the room.

“I’m moving out.”

[its-peter-tork]

Peter nearly always soothed the dull ache of his hangovers with a good book, and this morning was no exception. He sat quietly, absorbed in the paragraphs on the pages, until Helen stormed into the room, making his body jolt in momentary shock.  His muscles relaxed again at the sound of the girl’s voice, the tone of it not sinking in completely at first.  “What the hell is wha-” he began, stopping in his tracks to stare at the underwear hanging from his girlfriend’s finger. Ah, man.  The boy sighed exasperatedly, running his fingers through the greasy locks of hair hanging over his eyes. He didn't know what to say.  Granted, it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, which made it all the worse. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt Helen, he just didn’t understand - to him, sex was sex and love was love and one did not equal the other. Sex just wasn’t a big deal. But the quivering of his girlfriend’s bottom lip and the tears pricking her eyes caused his chest to wrench.  “You’re what?”  The first words he could manage to muster. He didn’t even take into account the rest of Helen’s words. “You, I mean...move out? You can’t.” He lifted his body from the hammock and stood over Helen, reaching out his hand to gently touch her cheek. 

[its-peter-tork]

tbh: you're the type of person i can see trying to climb a tree to get coconuts at 4 am

To be honest that's Mick

[its-peter-tork]

tbh: you're a weird kid and remind me of a toucan

I don't know what I think of this

[ditty-diego]

I was playing piano at the Golden Bear for Steve Stills and Ron Long who were called The Buffalo Fish. Steve was my buddy from Greenwich Village; we knew each other because we were the kids who looked alike. When I was on the way out, Steve called me over and said, ‘Peter, I’ve just met a guy who is doing a TV show based on A Hard Day’s Night. You should try it out.’ I dismissed the idea, ‘Yeah, yeah.’ He said, ‘Peter, this is Steve. You should really go try out for this thing.’ ‘Oh, alright.’ So I got on the bus in Huntington Beach and schlepped all the was to Hollywood for the auditions. Up until then, I hadn’t done anything except for a couple of hootenannies at the Troubadour, where, incidentally, I met Mike. I thought that because I knew Steve Stills, and he knew Bob Rafelson, that I was going to get special entree [sic] into the audition process. I walked in—‘Take a seat, please.’ I waited like everybody else. Mike came in and said, ‘Hello, Peter.’ One kid did get special treatment. Davy Jones walked through, like the owned the place. But I’ve grown to love him now. I do.

Peter Tork, “Hey, Hey, We’re The Monkees” (Bronson)

[its-peter-tork]

Looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll: Micky Dolenz

Looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you: Davy Jones

Looks like a cinnamon roll and is a cinnamon roll: Peter Tork

Looks like he could kill you and will kill you: Mike Nesmith

[its-peter-tork]

Peter was unusually quiet- and to be honest, it worried Helen.Quiet for once in her life, Helen's foot tapped impatiently against the barstool, staring absentmindedly into space. Once the scraping of chopsticks stopped on Peter's end, she looked over- seeing him look over, lightly biting his lip. Her eyes widened- oh shit, she missed his lips. Her mouth hanging open slightly, trapped in thoughts, her eyes studied his lips, looking up to meet his gaze afterwards trying to cover it up with a smile

Peter could see Helen eyeing him up, reading her like a book. It wasn’t especially hard, after all, assuming they were both thinking the same thing. The last thing he wanted to do was freak her out, or scare her off; she’d only just come back. He knew it’d be stupid, anyway, they were doing just fine getting over each other and to reignite the passion would make it ten times harder all over again. They were doing just fine getting over each other. That’s what he told himself. But, God, looking at his ex in the low amber light of the sunset flowing through his picture windows, he knew that he was anything but fine. “Fuck this.” He said aloud, stepping towards the girl and grabbing her cheeks roughly, pressing his lips to hers, animalistic. 

[its-peter-tork]

"Yeah, I believe that," Helen snickered, giving his back a pat as he hopped down. Taking out Lo Mein, Helen slurped up noodles, giggling, before standing up and cracking her back, yawning. As she heard Peter, she grinned, coming over and ruffling his hair up jokingly before turning her back to the counter, looking slowly around and nodding to herself. "Thanks, man." Turning around, she smiled at him. "I missed it, honestly. It's a nice place."

Peter turned his head to smile softly at the girl. “Thank you.” He nodded subtly, flipping his bangs from his eyes and turning back to his food, rolling up the sleeves on his white button up shirt. The next 20 minutes passed in awkward silence, Peter eating quietly, the tension in the room building as the pair both dwelled on what was left of their relationship. The blonde stared at the countertop as he finished off the last of his food, wiping his fingers on a paper towel and tossing it into the now empty food tray. He turned back to the girl who had finished her share before him, scratching the back of his neck anxiously and gnawing on his bottom lip. 

[its-peter-tork]

A grin danced on Helen's lips watching as he chowed down, hopping up at the barstool at the counter and peering into the bag, grabbing a box and some chopsticks. "Y'know, I think the word is nerd. Intellectual... intellectual is someone like me." She snickered, rolling her eyes to emphasize her sarcasm. Looking up, she broke into a giggle as she saw a trail of white rice finding it's way out of Peter's mouth and down his shirt. "Uh, hey there, you've got a little something."

Peter attempted to mimic Helen childishly, losing his food in the process. “I did that on purpose.” He insisted, his attempts at seeming cool futile. He wiped away the rice, hopping off the counter to stand over it instead, elbows on the countertop and fingers working away at a spring roll absent mindedly. “Welcome back.”