Fieri Frames
The Stonewall Inn
Sade Olutola
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Origami Around
$LAYYYTER
đ©” avery cochrane đ©”
hello vonnie
I'd rather be in outer space đž
todays bird
ojovivo
gracie abrams
cherry valley forever
occasionally subtle
Claire Keane
Cosmic Funnies
seen from Canada
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United Kingdom
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seen from United States
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@madlysanecatlady
me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit
mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters
me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: IâM NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU
Hey OP? What the FUCK does this mean?
decay exists as an extant form of life
Thatâs a terrifying answer, have a nice day
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Light reading
On AO3
-
It had been just over three weeks since Frank had fallen into a hole and then set himself about falling again in an entirely different sort of way over the gruff but adorable survivalist whoâd dug it. He'd been a bit, understandably, distracted in the moment, and had been a little vague about what a âfew daysâ meant, but he knew three weeks was probably beyond that threshold.
Ok, fine, he amended more honestly with himself as he smiled, watching Bill concentrate on whatever wild chemistry he was doing to keep the generators running. He'd been very deliberately vague about it because he was damn well aware of the fact that he was already stupidly smitten with Bill before heâd even tasted his cooking. And after that, well, Frank knew he was probably a goner.
Besides. Bill didn't seem all that bothered by Frank's continued presence. In fact, in the evenings after all the chores and perimeter checks were done, Bill seemed quite enthusiastic about Frank's being here. It was clear the poor man had been lonely for far too long. He was just as starved for touch as he was someone to show off his truly remarkable cooking talents to. Still, Frank wasn't about to coast along, trading sex for room and board. Heâd meant what he said, and he had some pride left to protect.
So after careful, meticulous observation that didn't at all involve any inappropriate staring or flirtatious smiles when Bill caught him looking, Frank was confident he knew enough of the garageâs organizational layout to be of some help in picking up after Bill while he worked. It was simple enough for the most part, tools on their neat little racks, the leftover bits and bobs in their own containers in their own drawers, and the plethora of smelly and dangerous looking acids all carefully labelled went into the fridge. Frank could tell Bill was of a meticulous sort; it was likely how heâd survived and even thrived on his own for so long. Everything had its use and its place, and everything made perfect sense.
So it was odd, to say the least, to spy a toppled stack, more a mess really, of comics and magazines in the back seat of Billâs otherwise pristine truck. It must have been something Bill had grabbed quickly on an earlier venture out of his safe compound and simply forgotten about in lieu of more important survival things. Seeing his opportunity to be truly helpful, Frank pulled open the door and leaned into the cab to sweep the dog eared and yellowed packets of pages towards himself.
The first small stack he grabbed contained mostly light reading about country living and farming, smart choices if you needed to learn how to survive out here. But of course, Frank couldn't fathom a time where Bill didn't know everything about survival, so he couldn't quite place why he'd pause in his efficient preparations to grab these. It only took a second, but Frank realised with a frown. It was probably quite lonely out here all by himself; he could easily see Bill grabbing these, hoping to spend a few minutes reading, pretending everything was normal, that everything was ok. Frank often wanted to do the same.
âDon't bother with those,â Billâs gruff yet somehow still sweet voice startled Frank as he dove back in for another stack. He paused, a glossy feeling magazine in his hand and half sat in the seat to turn and look at Bill.
âTheyâll probably be fire kindling in winter,â Bill shrugged. âDonât even know why I grabbed âem.â
Frank smiled at the careful way Bill always tried to seem so fully above it all. It was a self defense mechanism, he recognised, but Frank was hoping he could worm his way past those iron defenses and let him know it was perfectly ok to care about things every once in a while. He turned to sit fully, facing Bill properly, the magazine in his hand moving into his lap without even a glance in its direction.
âEveryone can do with some light reading every so often, Bill,â he told him quietly. âThereâs nothing wrong with getting lost in an article about fruit conserves or whatever and just forgetting that everythingâs gone to hell for a minute.â
Bill didnât appear to have an answer to that. Actually, Frank couldnât tell if he was even really paying attention. Billâs gaze was transfixed on the magazine in Frankâs lap as if it were personally insulting him. As he watched him, Frank noticed a violent shade of red rising up over Billâs beard and into his cheeks. Curious, he lowered his gaze and eyed the chiseled hunk of a man standing scantily clad and alluring on the cover and instantly understood.
âLight reading,â Frank repeated gently with a kind smile. He wasn't judging in the slightest, especially not thinking back to the rather impressive lewd collection of his own heâd had stashed away back in Baltimore. The hard part would be convincing Bill of that fact though.
He put the magazine on the seat behind him, as though to say give that thing no further thought. With a reassuring smile, he reached out and clasped long hands around slightly trembling wrists. âBill, neither of us are Puritans here. I get it. It gets lonely out here.â
Bill pulled himself free, and Frank was worried he was about to turn away and flee. He was readying himself to hold Bill back, to reassure him, but froze when instead Bill reached out to him, cupping the back of his head gently, an odd, wry smile on his face.
âNot anymore,â he said so quietly Frank couldnât be sure heâd heard him say it.
âWhat?â Frank blinked, somewhat stupidly, as Bill moved closer, ducking into the truck with him.
âItâs not lonely here anymore,â he repeated before closing the distance between them.
Frank allowed himself to be gently pushed back into the seat, shoving aside the magazines in the way, probably flinging a few of them under the seats. Frank didnât care, not with the way Bill was kissing him. Actually, he was pretty sure heâd be having a hard time getting himself to care about anything other than this again.
-
It was about a week later when Bill shooed Frank out of the kitchen while he finished up the dishes that he slipped out into the garage to look in the back seat for the magazine. He didnât bother looking very hard for the original one under the seats â there were others to choose from after all. He simply grabbed the most promising looking one and stole back inside.
He waited patiently on the sofa, cuddling into Billâs side when he finally joined him. He grinned sideways at him and held up the magazine. âUp for some light reading?â
The look Bill shot him told Frank there would likely not be much reading involved.
He was right. They barely made it to page two.
Let go, Iâll catch you
Summary
Bill is sick, but he refuses to accept it. Frank, however, will help him understand that he is no longer alone and that he now has someone to lean on.
Notes
Continuing my journey with Bill and FrankâŠ
On AO3
Rating G - 1308 words
"Bill, for the third time, please go to bed."
Frank sighed at his lover's stubbornness. He tried to push him towards the stairs, but Bill would not let him and turned towards Frank. He was struggling to hold himself up against the wall and it was obvious that he could barely stand on his feet. His eyes were shining and his cheeks were flushed with fever, but he stubbornly denied that he was unwell.
when worstie compliments you
watch the whole thing, iâm begging you
this is NUTS
Reblogging this again because I found out heâs actually the drummer in an all-mascot metal band called Charamel.
wait a second
Holy fucking shit dude
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snow days
Paying attention to the little things
On AO3
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Just a bit of paint.
That was really not all that much Frank had asked for. Bill still barely understood why he'd even bothered to fight Frank on his request. Bill had never been one to deny his Frank anything, and he didn't see the point in starting now with something so stupid.
And so heâd mixed up a new battery for the truck, prayed to whatever God may have decided to not forsake them that the gasoline hadnât turned to water yet and ventured out to hardware store.
Much of the paint was a little worse for wear. A lot of it had dried up, leaving sad, dehydrated powders and gunk sitting in the bottoms of their cans. A few of them had been salvageable, however, so Bill dutifully loaded them into the back of the truck with some lawn care tools and paintbrushes. He secured it all down and was about to pop the tailgate closed when a bright pop of colour caught his eye. He sighed. That pot of overgrown garishly yellow flowers was just the kind of useless crap Frank would adore. Flowers were pointless. They were all show and no function. Of course Frank would say something stupid like brightening up a room was far from pointless, and that it was important to appreciate beauty for beauty's sake or something sappy like that. Bill hadnât even finished the thought before several pots of flowers had been loaded safely into the truck.
Bill truly couldn't deny Frank anything. Even the things he didn't ask for.
With a bone-weary sigh, Bill grabbed a watering can and made a mental note to increase the number of rain barrels.
It seemed Bill was becoming one of those people who paid attention to the little things.
Bill/Frank Master list
Aka the Strawberry Lovers
You walked into my life like you had always lived there
Learning your touch
Almost there
Bill x Frank: On Following
Bill is not a man anyone could reasonably consider a natural born âfollowerâ. From early childhood he was always the odd man out in groups and games, the socially awkward kid with solitary hobbies and habits. He buried his secrets deep and let them make him peculiar and standoffish. He grew up to be the quasi-rude neighborhood weirdo with the big house and the shut-in mother, and when his mother died he became even more of a recluse.
Despite what many think about the âtin foil hatâ type that makes up the survivalist community, most members, from the amateur enthusiasts to the right wing nutcases, still do tend to be sociable in their own ways, and congregate in their own unique spaces. And yet, Bill bought his guns and studied bushcraft and pointedly avoided group retreats and attempts to recruit him to any cause or group. He avoided message boards and meetings and radicalization, and refused to listen to anyone besides himself.
And then the world ended and everyone went away and suddenly it wasnât a question of leading or following or joining anything anymore. There was just Bill left, alone to count down the end times in peace.
For a long time there is no one. Then there is Frank.
Bill follows Frank. He has from the first. He had to literally capture the man in a boobytrap to get the drop on him, and even when Frank was stuck at the bottom of a hole with a gun pointed at him, Bill was the one playing catch up, frightfully off balance.
Bill takes Frank home for lunch, in part because he is befuddled by this unexpected event and in the cold light of day simply doesnât know how to say no to something both he and this handsome stranger clearly want, no matter how ill-advised.
He cooks one of his favorite meals, and he tells himself he was going to make it for dinner anyway, that he isnât doing this to impress anyone. And pairing rabbit with a Beaujolais is just common sense.
He serves Frank first⊠itâs only polite to serve the guest first, and himself after. Itâs worth everything to see this stranger beam up at him like Bill had given him a plate full of rubies. If the Beaujolais is a mistake, a clue that Bill doesnât want to obviously broadcast, he still canât bring himself to regret it. Not when Frank sees, understands, and then appears to let it go so easily.
When lunch ends, Frank runs over the piano and all Bill can do is trail behind, too stunned to get ahead of the man rummaging through the piano seat and exposing Billâs secret⊠the big secret, the one that is NOT that he has Linda Ronstadt sheet music.
Frank asks about the girl. Bill tells him the truth, incapable of doing otherwise.
Frank says, âI know.â Of course he knows. He knew before lunch, before the song. Heâs ahead of the curve again, seeing everything Bill has spent his life trying to hide.
Bill is the first upstairs, taking his shower at Frankâs behest, but when he comes out Frank is already naked in his bed, holding within him all the secret knowledge Bill doesnât possess. He leads, Bill follows. Bill learns the secret chord.
Frank stays. He is sunlight and flowers - bold and bright and warm. He careens through Billâs life, dismantling and rebuilding it, and Bill watches it happen, and he doesnât mind all that much.
They still argue, of course. They are two strong and in some ways diametrically opposed personalities.
When they argue, Frank has a tendency to storm out of whatever room theyâre in, and sometimes even the house itself, as if the walls are too small to contain his emotions, all that lives inside of him. Where Billâs first impulse is to retreat to his basement to process things slowly, Frankâs is to be outside, to let himself loose on the big expanse of sky.
And wherever Frank goes, what can Bill do but follow?
He finds himself having screaming matches in the street, and he supposes that makes Frankâs assertion true - their home isnât just their house, itâs everything around them. And fighting or not, Billâs home is wherever Frank is, indoors or out.
He chases after him, day after day, when Frank gets it into his head that they should start jogging.
Itâs just another instance of Frank showing love - like repainting the house or fixing the shops - by paying attention to things. Noticing that Bill gets a bit winded on the stairs sometimes, that heâs a bit older, that he isnât in the habit of denying himself meat and wine. Frank is taking care of Bill and his health.
Bill grumbles, and heâs sweaty and miserable, and thereâs no way he can outpace Frank when they jog. But he follows Frankâs steady pace, wheezing, and watches the movement of Frankâs shoulders, those long, muscled legs carrying him forward⊠and his ass, of course.
He doesnât mind being behind, following. Not if thatâs the view. Not when following leads him to laughter and joy and kisses and strawberries.
He doesnât mind at all.
And he doesnât mind following Frank later, either, when Frank canât run anymore. He doesnât mind when Frank slows down, when he gets sick, when he can barely feed or dress himself without help.
He walks behind the wheelchair, pushing his lover wherever he wants to go. He follows still, the steady hand and slow pace, always just a few steps away.
Itâs a simple enough task to be Frankâs legs, and itâs a worthy role for Bill especially. Those legs carried Frank from Baltimore all the way to Billâs front gate, and they wrapped themselves around Billâs waist and taught him, and they ran bare and strong ahead of Bill in just one of many instances when Frank paid attention and loved and took care of him.
Those legs can rest now. Bill can take over now. Itâs good to be able to do that. He knows it wears on Frank to not be able to run and fuck and express himself the way he used to, and his heart breaks for him. He isnât truly surprised when Frank tells him itâs his last day. He knows what a difficult thing it is to carry this.
But Bill never considers it a burden to push his husbandâs wheelchair. Not at all.
(Heâs crying, but he almost wants to laugh when Frank tells him theyâre going to get married, because only then does he realize that he has privately considered Frank his husband for over ten years now.)
He watches Frank swallow the wine laced with pills, and he considers that sometimes itâs a privilege, a gift to follow. For someone who spent his whole life going against the grain, right now doing exactly what Frank wants, echoing him in a perfect chorus, is the best thing ever.
âOld means weâre still here,â Frank said once, and while no one ever wishes to outlive their beloved, itâs not so bad being the one who follows when you are only ever half a heartbeat behind.
He waits until Frank has drained the last of the wine, waits until Frank commits to this, waits for Frank to lead so that he can follow.
He then carefully, calmly, drinks his own wine. As he does so he is nearly overcome with joy, knowing that his greatest fear will never come to pass.
He will not die before Frank. Neither of them will go through the rest of life, or death, alone.
Always half a step behind.
He doesnât know if there is anything there afterwards for people when they die, a heaven or what have you.
But he knows, as he takes Frank to bed for the last time, that if there is anything after then Frank will most certainly be there, waiting patiently for Bill to catch up.
seeing as how the number of fics in the bill/frank tag has about doubled, I thought I'd make a rec listâșïžđ©·đ
The Wine Bar
A Quiet Storm
I don't remember who I was before you
stay
love will abide (take it on stride)
the painter and his muse
a few more days
abide
lay low the hills
but as I get older I get more afraid
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#joel miller, coffeeâs number one fan.
THE LAST OF US, 01.04 - âPlease Hold To My Hand.â
This face
Is the face of "If I can't find trouble I will create it"
Obviously we're all really focused on the cute/funny/happy daddy-daughter scenes between Joel and Ellie from last night's episode but I haven't seen much conversation about two specific moments: the moment after Ellie shoots and paralyzes Bryan, and the moment in the coffee shop before Joel shows her how to properly hold the pistol.
When Ellie shoots Bryan, and after Joel regains his breath, there's a few brief seconds where it is very clear Joel would love nothing more than to pull her into his arms and soothe her clearly panicked mind. (First kill or not, on Ellie's behalf.) You can see he's physically holding himself back from trying to comfort her, because he's just not there yet.
But then we get them in the coffee shop. And he's still not ready to be physical with this girl who's so much different than his Sarah but still so much like her, this little thing who needs him to help her and to protect her and to save her from the horrors. So what does he do, when he can't just hold her close and promise her it's okay?
He apologizes. He tells her she shouldn't have to go through this. And even when Ellie says it wasn't her first time, nothing changes. He doesn't change how he reacts. He simply realizes that the best way to help her is to show her. And he finally allows himself a moment of physical comfort in the only way he knows howâby helping her to protect herself just in case the next Bryan succeeds.
And my god, if that's not a father's love⊠I don't know what is.
Something that gets me about the scene where Joel tells Ellie to stay low and hide in the hole - the way he says "they're not going to hit you. Listen to me." because Ellie is rightfully on high alert, but she's not scared. She's looking to Joel for what to do, but she knows there is something to be done. She's stressed but not panicking.
Those words are for Joel. He's willing this into the universe. They're not going to hit you. That's not going to happen again. It hasn't occurred to Ellie that they might hit her, not really. That's not a reality to her, just a theoretical possibility. It's Joel this matters to. It's Joel who's desperate. Look at me. They're not going to hit you. This time, we make it. This story has a different ending because I said so.
Something I really love about The Last Of Us are these subtle little moments that showcase the real intelligence required for survival.
Bill wearing his hat in the dark during that shootout to keep the rainwater out of his eyes.
Bill didn't get shot because he was standing out in the open. The flamethrowers would have been too bright for the gunmen to see him. He was shot because he gave away his position when he yelled.
Joel seeing the bleach on top of the refrigerator, which is what made him think to look in the fridge for battery components.
Tess's skill with social engineering warranting an entire post of its own.
Ellie noticing Joel's hearing being shot on his right.
Honestly basically everything Bill did.
Like, they earned it, and you can see it in so many little moments.
Then you have Frank, who fell in a hole, and won the apocalypse. And I respect this dichotomy SO MUCH.
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A Quiet Storm - A Bill/Frank Fic
(Read on ao3)
âI still canât believe you have a coffee maker.â
They were the first words spoken into the usually-quiet kitchen at just after dawn on day four.
Bill grunted in the affirmative, enough to acknowledge that he had been spoken to but not enough to carry on a conversation. Something Frank was quickly learning was his default in most situations.
âA working coffee maker. With fancy artisan beans. In the apocalypse,â Frank chuckled as he sipped from his cup. âI really have heard it all now.â
He felt rather than saw Bill begin to bustle around behind him, gathering the makings of breakfast.
âThought you mighta left,â he said suddenly, so quiet that Frank almost didnât hear him.
He froze, cup halfway to his lips.
âWhat?â
Bill shrugged, his back still turned to him as he lit the stove.
âI woke up andâŠâ he trailed off, clearing his throat, the sizzle of fried onions filling the air.
You werenât there went unsaid but not unheard.
Okok something I noticed about ep3 of TLOUâwhen Bill and Frank are finished eating, Frank notices the piano, and he asks, âdo you know how much this is worth?â
And Bill says, âcurrently, nothing.â
Because to him, in the middle of the apocalypse, things only have worth if theyâre useful. But Frank, even after years of just surviving, still sees the value in music, in art, in things that are there only because they are beautiful.
And then we see them grow old, the house fills with flowers and art and paintings, and I like to think that Bill slowly comes to see how valuable all these beautiful little things are. Because theyâre how we show love
Bill saw how happy painting and gardening made Frank and immediately went out and returned with a truck and trailer full of pigments and seeds and you will never convince me otherwise.
