#bob kelly

[thingsmk1120sayz]

[redtwin]

Up in the Studio.

[finitofreeway]

[notfernintheslighest]

how to abide by the law of bros before hoes when bro happens to be my hoe?

[groovygrub]

any member of The Gang: (does something truly horrendous)

iasip tumblr:

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Wearing dark glasses and carrying a prayer book, Grace Kelly walks unnoticed along Madison Avenue at 81st St. after attending an early Palm Sunday church service, 1955.

Photo: Bob Koller for the NY Daily News via Getty Images

[livesincerely]

“Jack,” Davey murmurs, close enough that he can feel the whisper of his breath against his cheeks. “Apparently you haven’t noticed, but we’ve been dating for years. Tomorrow is our three-year anniversary.”

Jack, who had been swaying towards the warmth of Davey’s body, towards the promise of a kiss, freezes dead in his tracks. “What?”

But Davey just smiles. “Three years,” he repeats calmly.

“No, no, I heard you the first time, I jus’…” Jack shakes his head, hard, as if that with somehow make any of what’s happening make any kind of sense. “What?”

“When’s the last time you had sex with anyone but me?” Davey prompts—impossibly patient, all things considered. “Or went out on a date? Gave someone your number?”

“Not in fuckin’ ages,” Jack sputters, offended at the very thought. “You an’ me, we’ve got a good thing goin’. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t cheat on me?” Davey specifies, tilting his head.

“Course not!”

“Why would it be cheating if we aren’t together?” Davey asks, pointedly.

Jack stares at him, trying to find the riddle hidden in Davey’s question. Because… Because…

“Oh,” he says blankly.

Davey laughs, curling his hands around Jack’s waist. “Oh,” he agrees.

“Three years?” Jack asks weakly.

“Jackie,” Davey sighs, apparently realizing that Jack needs this spelled out to him. “We live together. We share a bedroom. We spent last Christmas at your mom’s house and you introduced me to Charlie’s kids as ‘Uncle David’.”

“Oh,” Jack says again, because it really bears repeating. “How the hell have you managed to put up with my dumbass for three fucking years?”

“It probably helps that I’m madly in love with you,” Davey says, rolling his eyes even as another soft smile curls over his lips.

“Huh,” Jack says. It’s maybe not the best response, but it’s honestly a miracle he manages to say anything at all.

“You’re in love with me too,” Davey helpfully informs him.

“Well, I knew that part,” Jack huffs. Then, “How did you know that?”

“Because I know you,” Davey says, lacing their fingers together. “But feel free to say it aloud any time you like.”

“I love you, too,” Jack murmurs.

Davey’s smile is like the first days of spring: bright like sunshine, full of promise and full of hope.

And the taste of his kiss is even better.

[ladybegood]

Louis Armstrong, Grace Kelly, and Bing Crosby photographed by Bob Willoughby on the set of High Society (1956)

[dokupine]

BAH

[fansiesmemes]

Jack: *to the manhattan newsies* You’re my family and I love you but you’re terrible, you’re all terrible

[ceyfilo]

peter in Späte Rache

ich finde die folge so toll, also wirklich alles daran irgendwie ahsjgwjdg,,, Erstmal wie peter gekidnappt wird (was ja nicht häufig vorkommt), und dass man im Hörspiel in diesen ersten paar Minuten sehr viel reininterpretieren kann, weil man das alles ja nicht deskriptiv erzählt bekommt. Dazu kommen noch Justus’ Stimmungsschwankungen wobei Kelly ihm beim Fall hilft und auch allgemein eine zentrale Rolle spielt. Achso und Kelly und Bob dynamik, ich liebs <33

10/10 folge for me und 10/10 jens schrei mal wieder

[thingsmk1120sayz]

[redtwin]

Vos and Bobby.

[gatabella]

Grace Kelly by Bob Beerman, 1954

[marleneoftheopera]

Portraits from the original Toronto production! Photos by Laird Mackintosh.

Paul Stanley

Kim Stengel

Glenda Balkan

Melissa Dye

Brent Weber

Peter Barnes

Catherine Duff

Tania Parrish

Jill Filion

Donna Kelly

Harriet Chung

Philippa Hayball

Anita Bostok

Samantha Adamson

Mimi Pineau

Deanna Pidwerbeski

Lisa Gaasenbeek

Janet Coates

Gary Krawford

Gerald Isaac

Tim Stiff

Terry Hodges

Paul Mulloy

Brian Duyn

Bob Meilleur

David Playfair

Devin Dalton

Kirk Hansen

John Dodington

Kelly Robertson

[livesincerely]

There’s something calling to him, over the smoke and flames, the people and pavement—a hint of the most delectable smell Eddie’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling.

He rises to his feet, faintly aware of Hen calling to him, but it’s a distant concern. Inconsequential.

He follows his nose, stumbling a little over the uneven sections of pavement as he goes, and he’s there’s some primal, instinctive part of him that’s utterly surprised to find Buck at the other end of that mouthwatering scent.

Buck. Of course it’s Buck.

As if feeling Eddie’s eyes on him, Buck glances up from where he’s talking quietly with Bobby, helmet tucked under one arm. His expression brightens, a smile stretching across that gorgeous face.

“Eds!” he says, lifting a hand like he needs to catch Eddie’s attention. Like every molecule of his being isn’t singularly focused on that which is Evan Buckley. “Looks like we’re good to— Whoa!”

Buck smells so fucking good, Eddie notes with a happy sigh, craning to tuck his nose into the space behind Buck’s ear. It’s fucking unfair, is what it is, that he’s been keeping it to himself all this time, hoarding it away when he should know better.

Should know that it’s Eddie’s.

He shifts closer, lifting up on his tiptoes so he can press his mouth to Buck’s jaw, can drag his lips down his neck and shove his face against the hollow of his throat.

Buck makes a noise—low and rough and ragged—and a muscular arm wraps around his waist.

“Eddie,” he says, and god his voice. “What—?”

He wants to shove himself into Buck’s turnout coat right alongside him and live there for the next forever, wants to wear that toasted-cinnamon-sunshine scent like a second skin.

Wants to lap up the taste of it off of Buck’s throat.

“Chim!” Buck yells. “Chim, something’s wrong with Eddie!”

…..

And Eddie knows he’s a possessive, jealous son of a bitch even when he’s not high on inducers, so it’s no surprise to any of them that his hackles are up immediately, his fists tightening around the lapels of Buck’s coat.

But it’s Buck—Buck who’s one of the kindest, gentlest Alphas Eddie’s ever met, Buck, who he’s never seen so much as flash his eyes at anyone, let alone pop a claw or drop his fangs—that bares his teeth snarls, rumbling and furious, cradling Eddie tight to his chest.

And it’s so impossibly hot that Eddie can feel himself getting slick in his pants.

“Buck,” Bobby says firmly. “Keep your head, kid. You don’t want to do anything either of you will regret.”

The next sound that Buck makes is high and wounded. His hands spasm against Eddie’s back, and then he’s taking two huge steps away, his heat—his presence—leaving all at once. Eddie whimpers at the loss.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Buck stammers. His entire face is flushed pink, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing under his collar. “You gotta get him outta here, Bobby, you gotta— I can’t—“

Eddie shakes off Hen’s hand and surges forward, plastering himself back against Buck’s front.

“No,” Eddie pleads, and Buck makes another one of those soft, throaty noises, like the air’s been punched out of him. “No, Buck, don’t leave, don’t—“

“Eds,” Buck says. “It’s— Bobby’s right, you’re not in control right now and—“ He lets out a loud exhale; Eddie feels his breath whisper over his hair. “—and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Eddie insists. “You’d never.”

“Never,” Buck agrees. “Which is why you gotta let me go, let Chim and Hen help you.”

“I don’t want them,” Eddie says. “I want you.”

Buck’s smile is more of a grimace, something horribly sad glinting behind his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

“Eddie,” Hen tries, carefully shuffling forward. “You’re medically compromised, you’re not thinking straight—“

“The only way Buck could hurt me right now is by leaving,” Eddie insists.

He doesn’t understand why none of them are listening. Eddie needs Buck: it’s the simplest fact there is.

“Don’t go,” Eddie continues, nuzzling at Buck’s neck, then leaning in to press a fluttering kiss to his pulse point. “Buck, please—“

Buck groans, a deep, guttural noise, and his hands land ever so gently on either side of Eddie’s rib cage.

“Eddie,” he says, voice tight. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“I’m asking you to come home with me,” Eddie says. “I’m asking you to have my back.”

“Eds—“

“Buck,” Eddie says. “Evan. Come home.”

Buck’s eyes search his face and Eddie knows he’s looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. Eddie meets his gaze squarely, begging him to understand, to see.

“Are you even capable of consenting to anything right now?” Buck asks, to Eddie and to the world at large.

“Well, technically,” Chim starts.

“I’m still in my right mind,” Eddie says, and it’s true but he’s not sure if it will be for much longer. He’s hot all over, desire blistering up his spine, over his thighs, searing his skin, but for all that it's suddenly become as imperative as breathing, wanting Buck is nothing new.

If anything it’s become clearer, the feeling distilled down into its purest essence. He wants Buck now because he always wants Buck.

“I’m still me.”

Buck chews on his lip, resolve weakening.

“Please,” Eddie breathes.