#is tomgreg in the room with us right now?

[lizardsarevcool]

constantly thinking about greg speaking french idgaf!!!!! he’s literally the gay chef from ratatouille like you’re telling me this isn’t tom and greg?

[thegetdownrebooter]

i actually feel so vindicated by tom admitting to being a gold digger because i've been saying that since day one!

[grahamcore]

alright i’ve seen a lot of people disgruntled about the recent tomgreg dynamic and i want to put my two cents in. yes, i agree that it is kind of unbelievable that we went from “would you kiss me” + nero and sporus + forehead kiss + deal with the devil + homoerotic dialogue near constantly with them, on top of whatever the fuck they were doing in that first episode of season four, to pretty much nothing lately.

HOWEVER. i do think there’s a reason for it all that still implies tomgreg in some way shape or form. and i’m not trying to be delusional here with some “here’s how tomgreg can still win” bs because at this point i don’t think they can, but. let’s think about where the story’s going, right. how tomshiv has now been taken off the back burner and brought to the forefront of the plot. if we’re going to really say that tomgreg is real or whatever, then it’s only reasonable that a shift in the tomshiv dynamic means a definite shift with tomgreg must also happen, right?

so here’s what i’m getting at: i do not think it’s mere coincidence that in almost every scene where tomshiv have interacted lately, greg has been right at tom’s side. and though it’s been happening again and again and again, it was the moment when tom finds shiv crying in e6 that cemented this little theory for me. we have tomgreg, greg stooped over by tom’s side and a definite unprofessional amount of personal space between them like always as they enter the room. tom sees shiv, while greg becomes visibly awkward and uncomfortable. but it’s the fact that before tomshiv are free to interact, and ultimately kiss for the first time in who knows how long, greg has to very pointedly leave the room—it is a literal, blatant illustration of how greg is a wedge between them, a weird parody of the other woman. and yes, obviously anyone else would have also left in that moment, because shiv was clearly vulnerable, but it wasn’t just anyone else—it was greg, and that’s the point.

greg is still sporus and tom is still nero and i do believe the writers are showing this to us plain as day. the metaphor has continued with a pregnant shiv who literally fell down the stairs in e4, with the behavior between tomgreg in e1, with tom breaking down and seeking comfort not from his legal wife but from his sporus in e3. it’s in the fact that before tom can return to his relationship with shiv, he has to distance himself from her replacement with all of these little dismissals.

so i do think that this sudden drop off in tomgreg is intentional, and still very much implies that there is/was/could be something between them. we’re getting our tomgreg proof by way of divorce. tom left shiv to be wed to sporus, and now before he can return to his first wife, tomgreg has to come to a natural end. and it is definitely an end, because whether you believe they’re a thing or not, tom’s behavior with greg in the season 3 finale compared to the most recent episodes of season 4 is like night and day. so there it is i think. tomgreg won many battles but at the end of the day, tomshiv is winning the war

[gayspock]

goodness gracious

okay so set the scene im eating fruit and yoggy and granola with an iced coffee. just so youre aware. its 9am. i had a BIGGGG LIE IN bc i dont have work today (bank holiday) so smile

although in truth i wanted to go for my run & watch it as is tradition but it turns on the gym IS closed today booooo

tom will honestly suck the bigest dick in the room its so true

kendall being like "stewy dont hide from me" is seriously like half this website for the past few years. come out stewy. come out to see us. come on? kiss?

ROMAN HAVING AN ABSOLUTE MENTY B and just going to rot at his mams. so real for that. im sorry his MUMS. (booo)

"new jess" YOU SICK FUCK

ishould be saying more on this but im kinda jsut watching i know

do you know whats great. no matter who "comesout on top". we will always get a she-eo ceo <3

cunt i

cunt is

as

cunt does

fantastic....

its. horrfying to watch this bc i know shiv does not come out on top. of course she fucking doesnt. this isnt how it ends.

"i wanna fuck her a little bit" panning over to those sad wet bloodhound eyes of tom's

HELP

LUKAS THE FUNNIEST SEGUE

LUKAS SERIOUSLY WILL FUCK YOU BOTH I THINK . IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE

"we're going to be okay, greg" good heavens

GREG OPENING GOOGLE TRANSLARTE IS SO FUNNY

romans little grunt about that comment on his nuts. fantastic

something fucking tragic as well about tom being chosen bc lukas doesnt want a partnership, he doesnt want ideas, and shivs too full of them when

"he said them to me first" SO. BIG BROTHER.

HE DOESNT WANT IT. ROME NOT WANTING IT. so. real..........

kendall just diving into the water after going back to the pursuit kendall floating on the water kendall drowning in the water with a dead kid ken almost killing himself in the FUCKING WATER

THEIRI MPRESSIONS OF HIM AWWW

HES NOT GOING TO BE CEO I KNOW HE WONT BE BUT GOD FOR A SECOND HERE YOU COULD IMAGINE IT AS A GOOD THING EVEN WHEN IF HE UCKIN DID ITD BE HORRIBLE

NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS ITS HORRIBLE

oh god this scene is fucking . help. eyes watering emoji. sniffling sound.

PETER DONT BE SO BITCHY

OF COURSEEEE WILLA WANTS THE COW PRINT COUCH. SO REAL

SHUT UP WHY ARE THEY .. theres so many nice uufcking. i feel ill. i do feel ill . STOP IT.

DONT CUT TO FUCKING GREG RIGHT NOW THATS INSANE

tom you absolute bitch

theres something about toms timbre when he feigns surpris-

"its you" the fucking venom in her voice

IM REEEEELINGGGGGGG

EXACTLY. HE WENT FOR THE EMPTY SUIT SHIV. AND THATS THE MOST TWISTED PART OF IT. SHIV WOULD ALWAYS HAVE BEEN SEEN AS THE EMPTY SUIT AS A WOMAN BU-

OHHH M GOD HER BITCH WALK COME ON FUCKING

THE MUSIC

GOOD HEAVENS

IM HAVING GOOSE BUMPS

YOU ARE NOT CUTTING FROM SHIVS FUCKING DRAMATIC LITTLE MOMENT TO FUCKING TOMGREG IN THE BATHROOM

YOU FUCKING PRICK-

HIT

GIRLS . ladies . HEY

FIGT

FIGHT

FIGHT

FIGHT

FIGHT

FIGHT

FIGH

PUNCH HIM IN THE CUNT

CAROLINE SNAKINGGGGGG HISS GIRL HISS FOR ME

hi stewyyyyy giggle

cutting to shiv making eyhes at this exchange happening in front of her like uh huhhorrific

ROMAN

imliterally soryr fuck roman i know so earlier it was like fuck roman but ugh yeah fine hes

whatEVER

do any other LOSERS RELATER DO ANY OTHER LOSERS WHO KNEW THEY NEVER HAD A CHANCE RELATE ANY OTHER LOSERS RELATE, DOES THE "IT COULD HAVE BEEN YOU" BURN MORE THAN THE LOSS ITSELF MAYBE anyway

we need compilations of shiv power walking

the fucking parallels of fucking

OF WHEN LOGAN WAS FUCKING PRESSURRING THEM ALL IN THAT ROOM AND NOW KEN DOING IT NOW YOU BETTER BE SMELLNG YOUR ARMPIT ROMULUS VS THATS FUCKING RIGHT

hi shiv

shiv

I DONT THINK YOU WOULD BE GOOD AT TH

for fucks sake s

shiv get his ass

thats so

THIS FUCKING SHIT LIKE I MIGHT DIE KENDALL HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THAT AS THE PROBLEM KENDALL- HE KILLED SOMEONE GOOD HEAVENS

THATS NOT AN ISSUE IS ANYONE CRAZY

what is worse. killing a kid or lying about killing a kid

SHIV JUST BEING LIKE No................. I LVOE YOU B UT I CANT SOTMACH YOU IS ANYONE FUCKING

THEM HEARING THIS ALL

IM THE ELDEST BOY

IS ANYONE

YOURE NOT

CONNOR IS

holy shit

holy shit

YOU FUCKING C

GHOLY SHIT

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

GUYS

GUYS CAN YOU ALL BE SERIOUS

THIS IS ALWAYS HOW IT WAS GOING TO FUCKING END YOU FUCKING

I FEEL SICK IN THE HEAD

KENDALL

KENDALL WE NEED TO PRACTICE MINDFULNESS NOW

KENDALL

ME WHEN I BURN EVERYTHING ME WHEN I GIVE EVERY PIECE OF MYSELF TO MY BIRTHRIGHT WHEN IM NOT EVEN GOOOD AT IT AND MY SISTER SAYS SO OOOPSIES

WE'RE NOTHINGGGGGGGGGG

i love it when little men get angry. like ahhh! x3 so ferocious. awww. yap yap yap

EVERYONE WHO JUST FUCKING HEARD AL OF THAT IN THE FUCKING OTHER ROOM. KEN. ITS DONE.

ken dont fucking kill uyourself now

ken

we need to be normal right now

TOM ON TOP IS PERHAPS THE MOST NANUSEATIGNG. MY GOD.....

WHY ARE WE GETTING KRANK KONTENT

WHERES KAROLINA. HEAVENS.

GREG BARELY GETTING A FUCKING HANDSHAKE

THEYRE DEAD. KRANK ARE DEAD. OLD CUNTS.

you fucked it man you fucked it man you fucking piece of shit help-H WHY DID YOU JUST FUCKING STIKC TH

OH I FEEL A LITTLE UNWELL . CAN YOU TWO CUT IT OUT FOR 10 FUCKING SECONDS.

OH GOD ITS ENDING NOW ISNT IT

OH GOD

this shit reeks

kendall

KENDALL

GET AWAY FROM THE FUCKING WATER KENDALL

DONT KENDALL YOURSELF YOURE SO SEXY

does anyone else feel fucking unwell i think im gonna sob

[ezlebe]

If you’re still taking Tomgreg commissions: Greg’s dad shows up randomly and gets to meet Tom. Post Italy. Keeping it vague cus I’d love to see where you take it!!

“Greg?” Tom raises a brow at Greg’s loading face, blank eyes fixed across the room, then down at the usual opening bid presentation that’s finally come up on the tablet. “You good? I know it’s short notice, but it’s not that beyond belief.”

“Sorry, um…” Greg says, as he sharply clears his throat and jumps back to life. “Lukas has u-us meeting who?”

“I know, right? An actual king, apparently,” Tom says, tapping the screen, changing the name and date on the front slide, then doing the same down on the footer. “Of some kind of a – a tiny euro-micronation. City state. What the hell ever.”

“Yeah, like okay,” Greg says, dropping his head, quiet a pair of beats, as he rolls his lips together.

“King Levi…” Tom says, swiping through the rest of the slides; good, good, good, bad – hah, don’t want to mention that shitshow of a vendor anymore, do they? “Of Maritou? Something equivalent of Monaco or Andorra, Lichtenstein… Singapore. I guess he’s gay, which Matsson, of course, made a point to tell me in the calendar invite. Dickhead.”

“He’s married,” Greg says, voice lifting with a pitchy disbelief. “Isn’t he?”

“Uh, I literally don’t know him from Adam, Greg,” Tom says, lifting a brow upwards while peeking under his brow to entirely take in Greg’s tetchy, dissatisfied expression, then dropping his eyes back to the screen. He’s not sure what that is about, but maybe he’s got a thing against royalty now, even though that whole thing with that contessa was almost an outright con on his end. “Though he is a king, so if I get swept off my feet, you can’t hold it against me.”

“I could, um… Can you like promise you won’t, actually?”

Tom purposely slows his fingers while dropping the menu down on the screen to print. “I guess?” He sets the tablet aside, as he leans back to check the printer has started going in the middle of the floor. “Are you worried he’s cuter than you?”

Greg purses his mouth, oddly petulant. “Can you just do it?”

“Yes, baby,” Tom says, dropping his voice with sugary condescension, and reaching out to yank lightly at Greg’s tie, then smoothing it across the buttons of his shirt and tucking the tail into his belt. “I solemnly swear not to run away with some man I’ve never met.”

Greg seems even more annoyed that Tom isn’t taking this seriously, which just makes it funnier. It took Tom a year to admit to himself he was into Greg, so what is he expecting here?

“Are you gaining a jealousy streak? I’m kind of into it.”

“No,” Greg mutters, as he looks down and straightens his back to pull his tie from his trousers.

“Come on,” Tom says, reaching out and slipping his jacket off the chair; the printer should be done by now. “Maybe you’ll get the crush, and we’ll have to meet with pistols at dawn.”

Greg makes a markedly bizarre disgusted noise at the back of his throat.

Tom slows out of the elevator, peering across the office floor into Matsson’s office. His initial goal is to scope the ruling monarch out, determine some shallow comment to open on, per usual, but he quickly finds himself at a complete stop. He stares narrowly at the tall man on the other side of the glass, bearing a familiar thin nose, familiar round eyes, and who is inexplicably guffawing at something said by Matsson, then turns to look at the unquestionably younger version hunching just behind him. “I’m going to need an explanation in ten seconds or less.”

“Well.” Greg sighs in that heaving, petulant way. “He’s like sort of my dad.”

Tom slowly reaches up and scratches at a missed patch of stubble under his jaw. “Sort of.”

Greg rolls his lips together.

“You’re a Prince?” Tom says, hearing his voice raise, consequently catching a sidelong glance from a passing aide with a sharp, dismissive glare. “What the fuck, Greg?”

“It’s like barely a real country,” Greg mutters, glancing at Tom and then away, shrugging with a roll of his shoulders forward into a deeper hunch. “Sort of like he’s barely a dad, you know? Like… we don’t talk.”

“Does Lukas know?”

Greg glances toward the office with a pinched moue. “Like, would he care?”

“…No,” Tom says, though he feels like, at the least, he’s tried to have taken earlier advantage of it. “I don’t think you’re quite high enough on his shit list. When was the last time you spoke? To the King.”

Greg curls his nose, as he drops his head with a visible, almost startling vitriol in his scowl. “He tried to call me like a while ago and said it was for Shavuot, but it was, like… right after my Grandpa first took away my inheritance.”

“What one is that?” Tom asks, coming up with nothing on his admittedly small mental Rolodex of Jewish holidays.

Greg glances sidelong at a movement into the office, stepping backward to ineffectively hunch behind an art piece. “I don’t exactly celebrate any of them, you know, but… I guess, it’s the cheesecake one.”

Tom raises his brows, deciding to ignore the hiding for something more pressing: “A cheesecake holiday?”

“Not really, it’s like about the – uh?” Greg briefly holds his tongue between his teeth, staring at nothing between their feet, then glances up with a lift of his shoulder. “Torah, I think? Yeah, like getting the Torah.”

“…Greg,” Tom groans, as much as he’d really prefer to actually ask about how that even leads to any sort of cake, let alone the cheese kind. “This is a big damn secret.”

“I didn’t think it’d ever come up,” Greg says, pulling his usual catchall card with a meek flourish. “I kind of thought you knew? Everyone else knows.”

Tom bites down at his lower lip, tilting his head with a brief, irked curse toward the fact that the Roy’s are so… Roy that their ostensibly destitute cousin being an actual, literal prince isn’t even worth a sideways mention. “So I take it… you’re not eager to go in there?”

“I like would rather not?” Greg says, as his eyes dart sideways to the office, then away, a marked tightening around the edges of them. “It would be. Awkward.”

Tom stares hard, as he exhales slowly between a narrow pinch of his lips.

Greg shrugs into an even tighter hunch, hands shifting around the edges of his phone.

“Well, go on,” Tom says, gesturing with a flick of his hand back toward the elevator bank. Fuck, he’s gotten so soft… like cream cheese; damn it, now he wants cheesecake. “Off you go, Prince Hirsch.”

Greg grabs Tom’s hand out of the air to briefly squeeze the life out of it. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome…” Tom mutters, playing put-upon, as Greg pulls away to scurry backward when an elevator opens for one of many of Matsson’s assistants to exit. Tom turns with a brief gesture at the ceiling, in disbelief of his life for nth time; it’s not exactly bad this time, at least, just damned bizarre.

He’s been waiting for Greg to expand on the family situation himself – a delicate subject, he thought, and it probably is, but a prince? He never could’ve seen that coming, not in like… ever, if he was given thirty years and infinite goddamn guesses.

Tom reaches out and pushes at the door, slow as he can, uneager to step in the middle of a new Roy family mess. He remembers when he was twelve and thought his Aunt’s second husband was an awkward family subject; so, so innocent.

“Tom,” Matsson says, looking up when the creaks, then frowning slightly while his eyes sweep beyond Tom toward the open floor. “You’re missing a half.”

“He’s got his own meeting,” Tom says, raising his brows with a pointed glance to the phone ever so permanently fixed in Lukas’s hand. “You’ll have to compare fictional farms another time.”

“We’ve moved to space,” Lukas says, blandly, “It’s a beta.”

“Of course, space,” Tom says, widening his eyes with a mocking tone. “So fascinating.”

“Levi,” Lukas says, turning to the… giraffe in the room, who’s probably just as tall as Greg, when he’s not making a big parenthesis of himself. “This is Tom Wambsgans.”

Levi turns from Lukas and steps forward, holding out a hand with a polite smile. “Levi Hirsch,” he says, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Tom says, maybe a bit cooler than he intends, but it’s just worse up close, since Levi looks… so much like Greg. It is a bit of awkward new information, since Tom previously also thought Greg looked a bit like Ewan. The whole family is a slew of definitions for daddy issues. Hey, Tom, promise you won’t fuck my dad? Jesus wept.

Lukas sweeps a sideways gesture with a gradual tilt of his head. “You may have heard Tom’s name about elsewhere, but I stuck him back behind the curtain where he came from to keep him out of trouble.”

“Yes, my time at the firm has blessed me with… great opportunities for experience,” Tom says, keeping his expression at what he hopes looks pleasant. He could do without Lukas reminding every single person that comes in that technically he’s been demoted, but he does feel less close than a heart attack than he used to, so it’s a mixed bag. “I do appreciate that in this department I have something I can finish.”

“That’s true,” Levi says, briefly tilting his head with a narrow look, a small, mild smile, but it doesn’t seem to contain any recognition, which is… unexpected. Did he not watch the Senate hearings with his own son?

“So, Lukas texted me you’re looking into some kind of an… expansion?” Tom says, raising his brows and leaning in, as he pulls out the printed out packet from his arm. He hopes he’s doing a good job pretending not to look blatantly like he’s thinking about something else – like the fact that if Levi’s not following Greg’s life, then that means someone told him about the inheritance thing, but Tom doesn’t know Greg’s family well enough to know if it had been Marianne… or Ewan.

“Yes,” Levi says, dropping his chin in a too familiar eager nod. “I am hoping to modernize an existing property on the coast.”

“Sounds exciting?” Tom asks, nodding himself a few times, probably too many, and gesturing at the packet stuck under his elbow with a few pats. “We’ve been very interested in expanding further in Europe since the acquisition.”

“I thought so,” Levi says, markedly eager, which is somewhat bizarre, but maybe being king means he doesn’t need to negotiate this sort of thing – granted, the first sign toward that was probably how he showed up without warning to begin with to Lukas’ office. “I was quite excited to hear about Waystar coming under new ownership.”

“Bad blood with the Roys?” Tom asks, lifting his voice in a question; he must not do a good imitation of seeming simply curious about it, judging by Lukas’ sidelong look.

“Just ancient history,” Levi says, shrugging with a tip of his head. He hasn’t picked up on anything, clearly, “Men of my ilk always have a… few skeletons here or there.”

Tom raises his brows with a tight, forced laugh. He glances sideways, only to see Lukas has wandered off, which is just typical. “Sure, of course.”

“Nothing criminal, though,” Levi says, glancing across Tom’s head toward Lukas with a somewhat harried press of his lips. He clearly doesn’t know Lukas that well, then, “It shouldn’t pop up regarding this or any investment – I was primarily involved with the… the other side of the family.”

“Oh?” Tom intones, flatly, raising an eyebrow. “You buddies with ol’ Ewan?”

Levi inhales between his teeth with an awkward, pinched mouth that Tom is annoyed to recognize as a typical Greg fibbing face. “Uh, yes. Buddies, hah. As I said… just youthful mistakes that one makes, but I closed the – uh, that chapter of my life a long time ago.”

“Right. …So I have a packet here, just a few in-production examples of what we can do – ” Tom feels off-balance, if somehow also vindictive, as mistake echoes, and drops the packet into Levi’s fumbling, surprised hands. “Better to visit in person, but short notice.”

Levi hums while he starts to flip through the pages. “Oh, this is quite hefty.”

“And not even comprehensive,” Tom says, shoving his hands into his pockets to squeeze against his thighs with a deep nod. “We’ve also got there a… yep, page twelve here is a resort-park in the Mediterranean that opened two months ago. It’s less roller coasters and water slides, more massages and spa baths.”

“Yes, I’ve been. A big change from the Brightstar status quo.”

“Hah. I halfway suggested a spa direction just to… to get my partner to try the cryotherapy,” Tom says, feeling odd referring to Greg neither by his name nor from beside him, where he usually uses him as a somewhat terrible yesman who constantly butts into the pitch with fun facts. “He’s a decade younger than me with twice the joint issues.”

“Joint issues,” Levi repeats, thoughtfully, as his eyes sweep the page, which is just enough to blame him for the lot of it.

“I’ll let you look this over,” Tom says, waving a flat hand at the pictures and buzzwords between them. “Of course, give me a nudge, if you’ve got any questions.”

Levi drops his head with a nod, mouth pursing in thought at the page. “Yes, I… I do think this more luxury direction is just what I was intrigued by.”

“Great,” Tom says, forcefully bright, then drops back a pair of steps. He turns to where Lukas and his determined antisocial obstinacy has crowded the window across the office, walking quickly in his direction.

Lukas looks about like he wants to crawl like Dracula out the window, but stays planted, lifting his chin to bid a greeting. His eyes narrow over Tom’s shoulder, to where Levi is peering at the pages, and then a frown settles his mouth. “Unlike you to ditch a pitch, Wambsgans.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom says, then jerks his head back and somewhat peeks, too, just to make sure he’s not wandered closer to listen in on them. “Do you know who that is?”

“Levi Hirsch, Sitting Monarch of Maritou.”

Tom raises his brows high up his forehead. “Hirsch.”

Lukas does little more than tsk. “I’ve met other Hirsches.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says, keeping his face friendly and his tone low, leaning over into Lukas’ space with a slow raise of his brows. “And how many that have those eyes, that face, and are taller than you?”

Lukas narrows an eye across his office, then glances down at his phone, awkwardly, with a low grunt. “Ah.”

“You weren’t aware?”

Lukas reaches up and scratches at the top of his lip with the back of his thumb, halfway covering his mouth. “I do not always endeavor to make a fool of you…  or, more rarely, Greg.”

“Who King Funsuck over there just called a mistake,” Tom says, feeling his lip curl and forcing it back into a friendly shape.

Lukas glances over with an oddly thoughtful pinch to his mouth. “What a surprisingly impressive pedigree.”

Tom sighs hard through his nose. “Okay, now don’t call him a dog.”

“I’ve heard you call him worse,” Lukas says, evenly and absolutely mortifyingly, as his eyes sweep back toward Tom in his next slow blink. “Haven’t I?”

“You have not,” Tom snaps, then cants away in a short lean and pretends to peer against the uneven skyline. “And even then I don’t say dog.”

“I was thinking a horse, anyway,” Lukas says, lowly dismissive, as if that makes it better, then offering Tom a gradual tilt of his head. “Speaking of, has he asked you to Churchill Downs?”

“To what –?” Tom furrows his brows, sensing something he probably does not want to know, yet still he asks, as he looks at Lukas through their reflections. “The racetrack?”

“It’s racing season soon,” Lukas continues, bewilderingly, gesturing with a flat hand out toward the bay of windows. “I was hoping you’d buy a horse, so we could race.”

Tom stares in moments of disbelief. “No,” he says, having some difficulty keeping his voice lower than a bark while he shakes his head. “No one needs a horse, Lukas, least of all me. Or him. Or you.”

“Problem, gentlemen?”

Tom looks over his shoulder to find Levi towering over them and peering into the conversation with a curious lean. He’s really been looking into the packet, by the creases in the paper, which is now curled against his fingers, and it’s almost a disappointment.

“How do you feel about racing horses, Levi?” Lukas asks, turning on a heel with a sharp jut of his chin.

“They’re an investment, with the right one,” Levi says, slowly, a bemused expression building across his face.

Lukas tilts his head to look at Tom. “I am attempting to… entice Tom’s partner to buy one,” he says, in a rare show of tact, “But Tom can’t see the value.”

Tom narrows his eyes at Lukas’ pointed brow raise, then looks over to Levi with a tense laugh. “It’s not quite my thing.”

“Ah,” Levi intones, then shrugs with an uncanny press of his mouth and a flappy-handed shrug. “Happy spouse, happy house?”

Tom raises his brows back, forcing a grin. “We’ll see.”

“I’ve sent him a reminder,” Lukas says, looking up, as he swipes across his phone.

“I’m not buying any sort of million dollars on four legs,” Tom says, trying to keep his voice somewhat friendly from where he stands between the observing secret king-father and his actual paycheck signer. “Let alone one that someone else rides.”

“I do regret bringing it up, now,” Lukas says, looking over to Levi, clicking his tongue while slowly cocking his head. “If he had asked on his own, Tom would’ve barely questioned it.”

“Not true,” Tom says, glancing down and pulling out his phone, as he feels a buzz at his hip.

10:34am Do you have any thoughts about like horse sports?>>

“Jesus Christ,” Tom mutters, reaching up and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He shoves the phone back away, looking up at Levi with a forced smile. “I apologize, this meeting has gone so far off the rails, it’s in the station lobby.”

“It’s alright,” Levi says, offering a horribly familiar, awkward grin while his head cocks to the side. “Today is more greet, than meet.”

“Ah,” Lukas says, brows going up while he sets his phone to the side with a lengthy inhale. “Now I do see it.”

Levi furrows his brow into a bemused pinch.

Tom’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, rescuing him from coming clean, and he looks down, absolutely unsurprised at the name across the screen. He takes a step away, backing out from between Lukas and Levi with a toothy smile. “Sorry, I have to –”

“Go ahead,” Lukas says, oddly urgent, rather than with his usual sarcastic dismissal in the presence of any sort of phone call.

Tom retreats a few more steps while sweeping to answer the phone. “Hello,” he says, cheerful, holding his face in a smile that he knows irritates Greg when on the phone. “I know you know I’m busy.”

“Do you like need an out?”

Tom stares at the seam of the windows for a beat, then huffs, “I’m not sure Odin would go for it.”

“He – uh, he texted me, so,” Greg says, as a bizarre waterfall sound travels through the speaker, then repeats, but somehow in the opposite – oh, it’s the damned slinky. “I think he feels, like… awkward?”

“Oh, does he?” Tom says, glancing against the reflections to catch Lukas smirking blandly up at Levi. “Aren’t you two just thick as thieves.”

“Tom…” Greg trails off, a familiar quiet, sighing edge to his voice.

Tom rolls his eyes hard. “You’re not getting a fucking horse. It is a living creature, not a toy.”

“Okay, but –”

“No,” Tom interrupts, pulling the phone from his ear to speak perhaps overly loud into the speaker, then immediately taps at the red icon.

10:40AM That was really rude :’(>>

“Other half calls?” Lukas says, superior enough to slap.

“He’s done with his meeting and we’ve got another scheduled,” Tom says, pretending to look at his watch with a sharp raise of an eyebrow. He shakes out his sleeve, looking up at Levi with a smile that stretches at his mouth like stiff putty. “If I could get the technicals of the current property, I could put together a… more tailored proposal to discuss a potential future for the resort? You can keep the offerings packet, of course, look it over in your own time. My email and number are – ” He leans forward to doublecheck, then nods like it was planned, reaching out and pointing at the bottom. “Yep, here on the footer.”

“Thank you for making time, Mr Wambsgans,” Levi says, dropping his head with a narrow-eyed peer to follow the gesture. “I hadn’t planned on dropping in so unannounced, but I passed they building and just had to stop.”

“Tom, please,” Tom says, holding out a hand, again, and offering a brief, barking laugh. “Anything for a king!”

“Yes, well,” Levi says, reaching out with a single, determined shake of Tom’s hand that’s just like the first one. “The annual GDP of Maritou is some less than Waystar, I’ve been told.”

“Hah,” Tom says, tightly, wondering exactly which of his ex-in-laws had said dropped that particular nugget: Logan, or Caroline, or perhaps a precocious Kendall? …It also could’ve just been Connor in a tactless moment.

~

“You’re not going to tell me more about him?” Tom asks, later that night, as he half-watches a Law and Order episode that probably came out while he was in Cornell. He peeks over to Greg, curled up with his tablet, and wets his lips, stretching to knee him in the thigh. “Greg, I’m dying. The curiosity here is like a gut wound.”

Greg shrugs, tightly, “I said we don’t talk.”

“Okay, and –”

“For real, Tom,” Greg interrupts, in an unfamiliar tone, not quite resentful, really, or even unhappy, but balancing at some edge between them, with a dash of weariness thrown in for flavor. “I had like an Instagram once, like in 2016, and he, like… He somehow came up as one of my recommended follows on it? So I deleted it.”

Tom raises then drops his brows.

“He’s just – he’s kind of like my mom, you know, but… but not in a good way, like a way worse way? My mom wasn’t great at like being my mom, but she… You know, she’s my friend. Even when she couldn’t be around, she always like… she called me. She – uh, she likes me as a person, I think?”

Tom slowly nods an awkward agreement. He never really knows what to do when Greg awkwardly talks around his mom being a bit unfit, and now here he is directly addressing it in some way that’s purely: hey, Tom, it was much worse than you thought.

“And I also, maybe –” Greg visibly swallows, as he keeps scrolling at the tablet. “I kind of just hate that I look like – so much like him.”

“Greg,” Tom sighs, feeling some guilt for being unable to get that thought out of his head the whole time he’d been in the office. It was pretty eye-opening, like a comforting portent, though he’s definitely going to hold off on the cracks about Greg’s prematurely greying hair for… a month or so longer. “Baby boy, you look like you. And if –” He briefly pauses, reluctant, “If you don’t want to work with him, I’ll pull in someone… Curtis, maybe.”

“It’s okay,” Greg says, tilting his head, still not looking over, which isn’t much of a sign that he’s being candid. “Kendall had to work with – uh, with Uncle Logan all the time.”

Tom feels his mouth flatten further, while he quirks a brow. “Not a great endorsement.”

“Hey,” Greg says, turning the screen toward Tom, showing a dapple grey posing smartly next to a track. His expression is one of determinedly changing the subject. “Look at this one – she’s called Cover Up.”

“No,” Tom says, reaching out and jabbing at the tablet until it’s turned back over. “Absolutely not.”

“But she’s really pretty,” Greg says, while his eyes widen to about an eleven on the pout scale. “And when she’s old, she can live at the ranch.”

Tom scoffs, lightly, “Over your grandad’s dead body.”

“Probably,” Greg says, tilting his head with another swipe at the screen. He coughs lightly, gradually losing any remnants of his earlier, anxious expression. “We should like still go to the track.”

Tom wonders with a start if Greg would actually crack open his own heart just to gain leeway on getting his way with this horse thing, and lands on a solid, somewhat fond: most likely. “That sounds a lot like: oh, I just want to look at the sad puppies at the ASPCA.”

“Hey, we could like – You could get an old one or something?” Greg says, looking up, again, face bizarrely lighting up at the idea of getting something that can’t race. “I forgot you’re like a rescue guy.”

Tom stares for a beat, irked to feel consideration enter his mind, like the word itself has inspired some mental rendition of Sarah Mclachlan to play between his ears. “…Stop trying to work me over on this.”

Greg uncurls tellingly on the sofa and Tom reflexively spreads his thighs to balance the approaching weight, as Greg crawls on top to straddle him. “You’re like so sweet, Tommy.”

Tom rolls his eyes to the ceiling, away from Greg trying to cuddle slash seduce him into submission. He’s going to pretend this is comfort for the earlier conversation, for his own peace of mind. “Greg.”

“You could make sure it lives the rest of its life like super good, instead of, like – as a pit pony.”

“It’s not working,” Tom says, feeling his tie slip off, peeking sideways while it’s thrown limp across the back of the sofa. “That’s not even a thing anymore.”

“You rescued Mondale,” Greg says, kissing heavy across Tom’s jaw with a low, warm hum. “You rescued me… Rescue a horse, next.”

“I did not rescue you, you are a prince with a quarter billion inheritance,” Tom says, wetting his lips, as his shirt collar pops open, and gives in to slide a hand across Greg’s lower back. “You tricked me into thinking I rescued you. You’re a cuckoo.”

“It’s almost like a third now,” Greg says, earnest, leaning in and kissing at Tom’s neck, then rubbing at the spot with the backs of his knuckles.

Tom snorts loudly, then breaks into an outright laugh that seems to do little to deter Greg’s evident quest to find the perfect place for a hickey. “So wait a couple years and buy this thing yourself.”

Greg pouts palpably into Tom’s throat. “Tom.”

[primaveravenus]

and is this “big turn” in s3 tomgregs relationship as mentioned by nicholas braun in the room with us right now

[successionsideblog]

you know what, if you want a taste of the tomgreg i’m writing here ya go. i’m not spellchecking this and it has no title. here is your taste 

The fallout unravels in a series of afters.  

Fifteen seconds after the press conference ends, Kendall rips up his approved statement and tosses it behind him to the ubiquitous uproar of the roomful of press. He has just killed his father on national television, a new wave patricide for the twenty-first century, and Greg, well, Greg gave him the gun.

Thirty seconds after the press conference ends, Greg follows Kendall down a stretch of hallway like a rescue dog abandoned by the train yard having attached itself to the first person who threw it a bone. His hands are clammy against the yellow manila folder, making sweaty fingerprints against the cheap, Office Depot paper. The skin of his thumb pulls away from the nail with his incessant fidgeting and it stings like hell. Kendall is walking too fast despite his much shorter stride. Jess and Karolina crowd his side, but Kendall barrels past them.

Colourful language is exchanged. Phone calls are made. Greg can barely hear what is being said with the blood rushing from one side of his head to the other. His ears sound like oversized conch shells that swell with the shutter of every flashing camera that follows them past the podium.

“Sorry.” Greg offers them an uncomfortable wave, or what was supposed to be a gesture of apology. “Sorry for the—uh—inconvenience.”

“Alright, Greg, my comrade in arms,” Kendall says, holding out his hand, making a grabby motion. He looks composed, not even a decimal place to the right as nervous or overwhelmed as Greg is. “Sauce me the docs.”

“Right,” Greg says and surrenders them without protest. It feels good to finally let them go after they had been eating away at the argyles in his sock drawer for weeks. “Sorry, um, about the sweat. It’s my flight-or-fight response. I guess my body thinks I might be dying.” 

Kendall ignores him, then passes the documents to an assistant so haphazardly that Greg almost wants to cry out, or at least make everyone in the room go through a strict vetting process before the manila folder can disappear from his sight. His worries are quickly quashed, however, when the folder is ripped open and the distribution of dozens of photocopies begins amongst the Kendall approved reporters waiting in the wings. 

One such reporter, who must have seen Greg hand over the folder, pounces on him, blonde and plasticky in that white-midwestern-Fox-News-anchor sort of way that immediately waives his interest. The foam headed microphone she poises in front of his face is uncomfortably phallic.

“Your name?” she asks.

“Uh, Gregory—”

“Roy?”

“No, Hirsch. I was, um, the one who fucked up—sorry—my testimony in front of Congress? You might have seen me on the front page of Reddit. Wait—are you broadcasting this?”

He gives a statement, then he and Kendall are ushered into another room, stale with the smell of dispensary coffee and complimentary pastries, then a second room where a legal team made up of people Greg has never met pulls Kendall aside. Their conversation is hushed, their faces pinched and wrinkled like globs of malformed Play-Doh. 

Greg stands in the corner, ignoring the urge to lean his forehead against the spackle wall and find his breath. He was privy to Phase 1 of the plan and only Phase 1: get in a helicopter, get on a private jet, transport the super-secret documents, attend the press conference, give Kendall the super-secret documents, watch Kendall hand over the super-secret documents, et cetera. By now, they must be at Phase 2: try not to poop your big boy pants in front of the Wallstreet Journal.

Afterwards, Kendall pats him on the back and tells him to “gear up for the clusterfuck,” so Greg does. They get into separate cars, pulled in separate directions by the tailing reporters. Greg watches the second black car shrink into a dot behind him: Phase 3, which Greg isn’t destined to be a part of, apparently.     

Greg holes up in his apartment with his phone readied and ATN on mute. He waits for the word from Kendall, but it never comes. He paces, showers the corporate stink off him, and changes into sweats. As he towel dries his 100 dollar haircut, his phone pings, then pings again, again, and again. It vibrates against the custom-made coffee table with such force Greg thinks the glass might shatter. 

He snatches it up. A text from Gerri, from Tom, from Shiv, Roman, Karl, Frank, all spouting a thesaurus worth of expletives and a row of question marks, as well as several emojis Greg has trouble deciphering in this context. At the top of his lock screen is a notification for the New York Times article Kendall warned him about yesterday, then the statement he gave to the tabloid in all caps, bold Helvetica font.

“Oh, okay, okay, okay, shit. Shit!”

He puts his phone on silent and goes to the balcony to smoke a joint, realizes reporters are swarming his building like worker ants in camera-ready makeup and drugstore hair gel, and hurries back inside. He flexes his fists, chews up his lips until they look like a crime scene. He knew what he was getting into when he handed over those two sad, crumpled pages he saved from certain Wambsgans branded death. But maybe not to the extent of being called out for it, or having to face the ridicule of a family he just settled into. He was supposed to be the backup, a co-conspirator behind the scenes, not the second fall guy. He texts Kendall “Hey man, I’m kind of freaking out right now” but gets no reply.

Kendall is persona non grata. As far as Greg knows, he could be holed up in a Soviet-era Siberian bunker somewhere, eating beans from a tin can and waiting out the aftermath.

Greg kicks himself. He should have thought of that.

*

Ten hours after the press conference ends and five hours after the media shitstorm hits peak shit, Greg hears a knock at his door. Half-asleep from a nap he was unaware he was taking, he instinctively reaches for his phone again. The sun is setting, shrinking behind the eyesore of an office building that blocks his view and decreases the property value of his apartment. He grumbles as his phone screen illuminates, stinging his dilated pupils. 

(15) Unread Voicemails from Tom Wambsgans.

“Shit.”

The knocking continues.

“Hey, Greg, open up,” Tom shouts, sing-song in a threatening sort of way. His voice is muffled by the door, the knob twisting back and forth. Greg half-expects an ax to come flying through the wood and plaster. “Greg, I swear to God, open this door or else you are dead to me.”

Greg stumbles over himself, nearly tripping over the edge of his Sherpa rug as he turns on a light. He unlocks the door and yanks it open. The smell of tropical suntan lotion and Armani cologne immediately wafts into his nose, like a bowl of fruit salad left sitting on a department store perfume counter. 

Tom stands there, his fists balled up at his sides like a petulant child waiting for his mother in a long line at the supermarket check-out. His skin is tan and slightly sunburnt around his nose from their time spent in Greece, but his loose-fitting yacht clothes have been replaced by a stark white button-down and an Yves Saint Laurent suit jacket. Greg tries not to notice. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Tom asks. 

His eyes wide, his affectation intensified by his disbelief. He looks angry, jaw jutting out. For a second, Greg thinks Tom might hit him like he has other times Greg has told him something he doesn’t want to hear. But the scale is much bigger, with implications that extend far beyond extramarital activities and open business relationships.

“I, uh, well.” Greg finds his words then loses them, then finds some new ones. “I mean, is it bad?”

“Yeah, Greg, it is. It is very bad.”

Tom pushes past him into the apartment. Greg hesitantly shuts the door behind him, trying not to shrink in on himself. Meanwhile, Tom appears to be near hysteria, halfway between laughing and crying like he was when he first dragged Greg into the death pit. Tom glances out the window where a few straggling news crews remain, then turns to face him.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Tom asks.

“What?” Greg avoids his eyes. “Like—like an apology?”

“Yeah, like an apology.” Tom lets out a humourless, near sociopathic chuckle. “You fucked me over, Greg! You fucked me!” Every consonant is especially harsh when Tom says his name. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “We were this close to all of this going away and poof! Fucking front-page news. I feel like I got caught with my pants down and everyone is laughing at my junk.”

Greg tries not to let the off-colour simile faze him. “Look, Tom, to be fair, I kind of fucked us both.” He takes a step forward to close the room width of space between them. “I mean, I implicated myself as much as I implicated you. But Ken said he would take care of it.”

“Oh, he did, did he? So, what, are you his bitch boy now? First comes corporate scheming then comes marriage?”

Greg makes a face at him, ignoring the jealousy uncomfortably sandwiched between every word. Sometimes he thinks Tom forgets that Shiv, Roman and Kendall are his cousins, like a baby who lacks object permanence for Fortune 500 surnames. 

“Uh, not sure I would use that term but okay.” Greg tries not to pace. “Come on, this is what you wanted in the first place. To come clean, get it all out in the open. Like, it was the right thing to do, right?”

Tom raises his eyebrows, mouth falling open. “You are unbelievable.”

“What?”

“Jesus, Greg. I know it was you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were the one who told Gerri I wanted to hold a press conference, you piece of shit.” The hurt that lines Tom’s face catches Greg off-guard. Tom tries to hide it with a self-satisfied grin, seemingly for having figured it all out, but Greg can see it in his eyes, festering. “So, now you want to claim the moral high ground? You lied to me through your fucking teeth.”

Greg had almost forgotten that had happened. It feels like it was years ago, not months. He was a fish out of water back then—he still is—but he thought it might allow him some wiggle room, help him avoid being caught in the clean-up net, gutted, then served on a platter if cruises ever came out. He supposes he could play the “I was oblivious” card—because he was—but that might not fly considering he just blew a big, shiny rape whistle on Waystar senior management.

“Look, Tom, I’m sorry, like really, I am, but you told me not to trust anyone, least of all you, and then you trusted me? It was your own advice!” Greg raises his hands as if to deny culpability. “So, you know, that, uh, that sounds like a you problem, dude.”

Something shifts in Tom’s expression, the hurt turning to resentment. “Is this unassuming nature of yours, this fresh-scrubbed sincerity, all an act?” Tom asks, gesturing to Greg and all Brobdingnagian six feet and seven inches of him. “Have I been duped, bamboozled, hung out to fucking dry? Again?”

Greg knew Tom would be upset, but this is something else, something that runs deeper than possibly facing jail time. Tom has never been especially easy for Greg to read; he masks his sincerity with deceit and covers up his deceit with generosity, trying to play at the Roy game by Roy rules until his intentions pervert into some sick joke only he’s in on. 

Would you kiss me? What if I asked you to? What if I told you to?

At best, Tom is unpleasant to work for and borderline abusive to his employees. At worst, he’s strangely endearing. If Greg really wanted out from his clutches, he would have used the documents as leverage a long time ago. But Greg feels oddly attached to him still, like a pair of Siamese Twins held together by their liver: an organ that could be severed in two if need be, but Greg would likely miss the feeling of working so close to Tom by virtue of needing to keep their heads above the water before cruises sank them completely. 

“Tom, come on—I just—I want you on my side.” Greg feels pathetic as he inches closet to pleading with Tom, but for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? A second chance? He’s not so sure.

Tom scoffs. “Why? Because I present a tactical advantage? Did Kendall ask you to recruit me?”

Greg would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered nudging Tom over to the Kenstar Gregco team, but Kendall had never given him the rundown on how this was going play out, or which factions the family might divide into. Truthfully, Greg didn’t think that far ahead when Kendall laid out the initial plan. There had been no time for that. 

“Kendall has nothing to do with this,” Greg says, motioning between them. “The documents were a favour. I was just doing Kendall a favour.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom grits his teeth. “You used me, Greg. You were a featherless chick, trying to fly from the nest, and I took you under my wing! Now you want to significantly alter the pecking order?” He shakes his head. “All you Roys are the same. Like a piss of leeches in cashmere turtlenecks and cable-knit sweaters.”

Greg feels the urge to tell Tom he’s technically not a Roy, but it would be fallacious. Tom isn’t one either, not really. They’re both nameless actors on the outskirts of the freak show, one of them a clown that married into the circus, and the other a clown that has trace amounts of circus in his blood. This was their choice.

“I’m indebted to you, Tom, I really am.” Greg reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. Even though they’re barely touching, he can feel his body heat radiating from beneath his primly ironed Oxford. “Look, what can I do?”

Tom goes quiet, glancing at where Greg has made contact. For a moment, Greg naively thinks they have reached some sort of understanding. His hopes are quickly dashed.

“Alright, Greg,” Tom says, his performative smugness returning. “You can tell me where Kendall is for starters.”

“Kendall?”

“Yes, Kendall. Come on, where is our quasi-Dmitri Karamazov? Has he gone AWOL or is he out roaming the streets covered in blood with three thousand rubles clutched in his tiny fist?”

Greg narrows his eyes at Tom, dropping his hand from his shoulder. “Okay—um—no? And I don’t know where he is. He kind of went dark on me.” 

“Oh, so you two are in cahoots but not really in cahoots?”

Greg ignores how pleased Tom sounds. “Is everyone back yet?”

“We flew in a couple of hours ago.”

“And?”

“Oh, they’re beyond pissed. Your balls will be in a little brass box on Logan’s desk come morning.” 

“Makes sense, I guess,” Greg says but he doesn’t really believe it. Tom is just playing the game again, trying to intimidate him with lowbrow banter fit for any fraternity hazing ritual. It only signifies that Greg has passed the threshold of what is expected of him again because, in actuality, Logan is in a worse spot than anyone. Except maybe Kendall who has to deal with the consequences of putting him there. “So, where do you stand? In all of this.”

Tom snorts, but he looks unsure. “Oh, please. Stop with this which-side-are-you-on bullcrap. You sound like a fifth-grader picking teams for kickball.”

“Hey, I’m being serious. Like, what do you owe Logan? What do I owe him? I mean, I owe you more than anything,” Greg says and the compliment makes his back teeth ache. “I want you there—here—like, I want you to play on my team. Or you could, maybe, play both sides. You know, do a little undercover. It could be like a James Bond, Q type situation.”

“Greg, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“How? How is that ridiculous?”

Tom just shakes his head. The sadness Greg had taken note of before returns to his face. Greg knows Tom has a responsibility to Shiv, and whichever way Shiv goes he has to follow. Greg was just hoping their alliances had yet to be decided, but it sounds like she has made up her mind, so Tom has too. No game plan, no strategizing, no conspiratorial comradery. Greg feels stopped in his tracks, pushed to the outskirts by someone who has always tried to bring him in.

Tom heads towards the door, removing his phone from his back pocket. “Keep in touch.”

It sounds like a threat and a promise rolled into one.

[togansweep]

Vi, I've been meaning to ask - what would be ur top 5 songs that you'd like to edit Tomgreg to? (Nothing that you've already done - but would like to do maybe?)

oooh good question! okay so I have this really long playlist with songs I wanna use for amvs, but this is my top 5 for tomgreg right now. (I also have some ideas for tom in general & tomshiv). mostly oldies because it's so much fun editing tomgreg to songs tom would listen to himself, like I can picture him listening to these and being like "greg...🥲" (and the same with some songs & shiv but we're talking about tomgreg now)

1. don't you want me - the human league

I was listening to my 80s playlist last week and this song came up and I was like OH TOMGREG. SAFE ROOM SCENE. AAAH. I picked you out, I shook you up, and turned you around / turned you into someone new is VERY tomgreg. but the whole song is honestly. I already kind of planned it out in my head, probably gonna make & upload it somewhere this week. (also the fact that it's a duet so I can have tom parts & greg parts is great, really excited for this one)

2. cloudbusting - kate bush

I LOVE kate bush and this song is so dramatic and the lyrics are so very tom: you're like my yo-yo / that glowed in the dark / what made it special / made it dangerous so I bury it / and forget; hello repression hours. and you looked too small / in their big black car / to be a threat to the men in power is literally greg aaaaaaah

3. handle with care - traveling wilburys

again, the lyrics are very much tom: been stuck in airports, terrorized / sent to meetings, hypnotized / overexposed, commercialized / handle me with care and I feel like this is something tom would listen to and be like "this song is just like me fr"

4. cruel to be kind - nick lowe

something from greg's pov for a change, whaaaat (I usually make amvs from tom's pov because he lives in my brain rent free so it's easier to connect songs to him, I also understand him better and he's unhinged which is more fun to edit lol). I feel like this song captures greg's confusion about tom's mood swings very well: though you say you're my friend / I'm at my wits' end / you say your love is bonafide / but that don't coincide with the the things you do / and when I ask you to be nice / you say you've gotta be cruel to be kind / in the right measure

5. funny little frog - belle and sebastian

the PINING. unrequited tomgreg is something I'm kinda obsessed with, I mean yes I'd love to see them be evil together but I also love tragedy & drama & tbh I enjoy seeing tom sad. basically the singer of this song sings this whole dramatic love confession (you're my fashion tip, a living museum / I'd pay to visit you on rainy sundays etc.) and then at the end he's like I'll maybe tell you all about it someday...

there's a lot more + all the great suggestions my followers sent me + half of lana del rey's discography.

I also have a bunch of songs for tom in general: running on ice by billy joel, grace kelly by mika, charmless man by blur, the man by the killers... and I'm goin' down by bruce springsteen, the dangling conversation by simon & garfunkel, losing my religion by R.E.M. & our perfect disease by the wombats for tomshiv (tomshiv makes me sad as fuck though which is why I don't edit them that often, I really have to be in the mood for it)

so yeah I'm not nearly out of inspiration haha. actually I realized that tom is basically my muse because he inspires pretty much all of my edits and I haven't been in such a huge creative flow in years haha.

(be warned: if anyone steals any of my ideas I'll break their legs. but first we'll have a sleepover.)