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Grocery shopping and other boring stuff this morning.

But I'll tell you what's not boring.

Look at them, the Ray/Mikey/Gerard sandwich. Frank in all his scruffy glory. BOB! The fact that yet again Mikey and Gerard have outfits they don't take off their backs.

&them;

I love the video for What a Catch, Donnie. Especially as due to hot spot shield this is the first time I've been able to see MTV USA content.

PATRICK! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I want Patrick to go swim and save Pete :(

HQ version of video if anyone wants it

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

turps33.livejournal.com

Erm, yeah.

Bob doesn't consider himself a violent guy. Sure, if someone gets in his face he'll strike back, but not in any intentionally mean way that's designed to hurt. It's just how he is. Except, of course, when he does strike back to hurt, like when someone is attacking one of his friends. In those moments every protective instinct Bob processes roar to the surface and he'll do anything to keep safe those he loves -- anything.

Bob hunches further inside his hoodie, it's been raining and the floor glistens wetly as he walks, one of his sneakers squeaks with each step and he frowns and wiggles his toes, trying to feel if there are any holes in the sole.

"You'd better get out of here you fucking faggot freak!"

Bob can't see who's shouting, but he knows it can't be good and his skin prickles in an immediate sensation of wrong. Taking his hands out of his hoodie pocket he hurries forward, keeping his footsteps deliberately light.

"We don't want you here! Pansy-assed pervert!"

The shouting is louder now, the tone menacing, different to the shouting they've all become used to, where people yell to hear the sound of their own voice. It makes Bob tense, his heart racing as he turns the corner. Sees the bus still parked at the back of the venue, but instead of the security that should be there, all there is is Gerard. He's standing between the bus entrance and the doors into the club, hands out in a pacifying gesture and eyes wide as he says something to the crowd of men that surround him.

There's at least five, their faces twisted with hate and Gerard's not backing down, just keeps talking, jet black hair falling into his heavily made-up eyes, every movement he makes screaming fear despite the outward sense of calm. Furious, at the lack of security, at people who think this kind of shit is okay, Bob runs forward, yells, "Get away from him!"

Bob's yell has an immediate effect, one of the men pulling back his hand to throw a vicious punch. Bob sees Gerard go down, landing heavily on his knees, before getting straight back up, blood pouring from his nose as he throws himself into the unfair fight. Cursing Gerard, for being stupid, for being brave, for not fucking running, Bob launches himself at the nearest person who's not Gerard. Throws punches, hands clenched into fists as he hits hard and fast.

The thump of skin against skin, liquid splattering against his face, shouts that are nothing but meaningless noise. Bob's head slammed back, Gerard, fighting two men at once.

Then suddenly, someone grabbing him around the waist and pulling him free, yelling, "Bob, get inside. Now!"

Panting for breath, Bob sees that security have arrived at last, one of them almost holding Gerard up as he's taken inside.

From:

turps33.livejournal.com

Furious, Bob gets in a last punch then staggers back as he propelled toward the door and pushed inside, where he finds Gerard slumped against the wall, mouth open as he draws in air, blood still dripping from his nose, his teeth red, a bruise already colouring the side of his face. It makes Bob want to go back outside, get in more punches because no one gets to hurt Gerard like that -- no one.

"Bob." Gerard winces as he straightens, and he reaches out and wraps his hand around Bob's wrist -- Gerard's knuckles are red and his fingers are smeared with blood -- Bob takes a step toward the door, but Gerard shakes his head. "They're not worth it. Come on, you need something for your eye."

"My eye?" Bob reaches up and gently presses his fingertips under his eye, and it's as if every hurt has been suddenly exposed, his face and hands throbbing, his ribs nothing but burning pain.

"You're going to have one hell of a black-eye," Gerard says, examining Bob's face. "We'll have to make it a theme, bruised and broken, we can use make up on Mikey, Frank and Ray."

"As long as Frank gets a cast on his leg, it'll keep the fucker still," Bob says, willing to play along with Gerard self-distraction as he steers him away from the door and the sound of approaching sirens."

"That would work." Gerard walks in silence then, still gripping Bob's wrist, then slows, stops as they approach the room they've been using to relax before the shows, says softly "All I wanted to do was get something from the bus."

Bob pulls Gerard close, says, "I know."

Now, I think I'll do Ray next.