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chloeworships · 3 months

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⚠️ Israel 🇮🇱

God said Hamas and the Palestinian Authority should seek Peace with Israel 🇮🇱

UNQUESTIONABLY… UNDOUBTEDLY…

For the love of God, I pray they listen 👂🏾

He also showed me

“Doha” 🇶🇦

Mmmmmhhhhhhmmmmmm.

It’s been revealed to them (Hamas) that what they were told was false.

Let me also re-affirm that Israel has every right to protect herself 🇮🇱

_____________

Ukraine 🇺🇦

I was also shown our Prime Minister with a filter over his image of the Ukrainian flag 🇺🇦 It almost looked as though he was carrying an enormous flag 🇺🇦 waving it around proudly. I’m not entirely sure what this means other than we STILL need to continue to stand with and support Ukraine 🇺🇦 If I receive additional deets, I will update you all.

_____________

The United States 🇺🇸

I had another vision of American 🇺🇸 soldiers putting a flag in the ground. They were so proud 🥲 They won some kind of battle. It was amazing to witness. It felt as though I was right there standing next to them. I saw a woman soldier as well. God is so sweet. He is clearly acknowledging the bravery of women soldiers BUT that’s not just it….

There will be a battle won for American women somewhere, somehow. I’m just not sure in what context.

———————-

Pray 🙏🏾

PS.

Interestingly, I remember the dream I had of the Pope and his face on a calendar with days 📅 I believe I saw the month of May. This was in 2022. At the time, I thought I had mentioned that I wasn’t too sure what that meant but now I understand. In verse 12 it reads

“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a HEART ♥️ of wisdom”.

Which means we should appreciate the life the LORD has given us and not to take it for granted.

Also consider what the LORD has already revealed to us about “hearts” 💕👀

The LORD has NOT spoken to me about Ukraine needing to surrender 🏳️ and I have inquired of him regarding this matter. He will reveal HIS answer at the appropriate time.

Personally, I believe we should never surrender to evil. EVER. But I am not God. He knows better than any of us could.

Also this scripture (Psalm 90) speaks of God’s WRATH along with his MERCY.

I wanted to add, I did not intentionally post the photo of Qatar airlines to confirm this revelation. I thought it was beautiful so I chose it 😅 and now I’m noticing the Psalm speaks of flying away underlined in purple in verse 10. I just cannot babes. WOW wow.

#for the hundredth time #seriously #PEACE ☮️#America 🇺🇸#Israel 🇮🇱#Ukraine 🇺🇦#women soliders #Qatar 🇶🇦

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transmascissues · 3 months

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“trans men don’t have any real safety concerns to worry about” i can’t wear a mask when i go into public bathrooms even though i’m higher risk and bathrooms are some of the easiest places to get sick because i don’t reliably pass when my facial hair is covered and i can’t risk not passing when i use the men’s room, but i also can’t just use the women’s room for safety anymore because i don’t reliably pass as either binary gender anymore. so my only options are to risk getting sick, take my chances with the consequences of not passing, or just never use the bathroom in public (which has its own health risks).

and today, it almost didn’t even matter that i was putting myself in danger to ensure that i passed because, thanks to a faulty lock and a man who didn’t think to knock, i came very close to having my half-naked body exposed to a bathroom full of cis men. if i hadn’t been holding my coat on my lap because there was nowhere in the stall to put it, every single guy waiting in the (very crowded) bathroom would’ve seen that i didn’t have a dick. how well do you think that would’ve gone for me? my money’s on Not Well At All.

#it took me a solid hour to stop shaking after #like yeah maybe the guy who opened the door would’ve have done anything but what about all the other guys?#i feel like the chances that None of those guys would’ve had a problem with trans people is pretty low #i’m so fucking lucky it didn’t happen but even coming that close was Terrifying #starting to use the men’s room consistently is…a time #but when i do it right i get less weird looks than in the women’s room so it’s not like there’s a better option #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #trans men #transmascs

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inkskinned · 10 months

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you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

#writeblr #this is a mashup of like 3 dates i accidentally went on lol #by that i mean that i was out with a woman on a date in 2 of these situations #and a man just. joined us. and we were too awkward to say anything while he tried to ''date'' me #& one was a longterm friend that i was like. you what????#like he's nice he's a doctor and my mom was SO happy she was like raquel think about it #''it's a perfect love story you grew up together and reconnected as adults and like the same things and he's friends with ur brother #and his sister is one of ur close friends!!!''#yes but alas. he is a boy . she only likes girls. can i make it any more obvious #anyway im tryna write about like the force of male attention being actually incredibly ingrained to women like we are SUPPOSED to like it #it's seen as the only important thing #even if ur gay #and it's a nuanced thing idk #and while rn i i.d. as lesbian #like .... it wouldn't be UNTRUE to say i am probably like ''cusp bisexual'' bc i CAN experience attraction to men bc like .#sexuality is fluid...#don't tell straight ppl tho bc they do not understand the concept that ppl don't necessarily need a solid everlasting label #they're like GET in the BOX #if ur gay & in boston i'm 30 and pretty please come kiss me.#(i usually only date older ppl sorry in advance tho)

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weaver-z · 1 year

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That one post going around that says something like "The line between attraction to femboys and attraction to trans girls is thin!" makes me so uncomfortable. Like. No it's not. That's a very solid line, actually. I can confirm this as a certified lesbian who very much likes trans women.

#the line is pretty solid for most people actually #just clarifying: this post is not about nonbinary transfemmes or genderfluid transfemmes but specifically about binary trans women #(like my pal who was upset about the post in the added screenshot in the reblog)

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cniionnn · 3 months

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Rather late for women's day but here are some Metal Gear ladies! [1/5?]

Maybe I will draw women from the other games too eventually.

#metal gear solid #mgs #naomi hunter #nastasha romanenko #sniper wolf #mei ling #mei ling mgs #meryl silverburgh #women's day

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thejasontoddarchives · 11 months

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This is the core of Jason’s character.

Again they try to hammer in that Jason is brash, arrogant, and reckless; that he jumps before thinking. However you can’t really attribute reckless behavior to arrogance or carelessness when he only ever becomes instinctive during very specific instances. The few times he’s “stepped out of line” or just threw himself into an unknown/dangerous situation it was always to protect someone from predators and sickos. Otherwise, keep in mind the number of times he’s been praised for his intelligence and judgment; for being meticulous, calm, and cooperative.

Batman #424 (1988)

#besides. even when he ‘took things too far' it was never without thinking it through first and understanding why his actions were warranted #not to mention familiarity was a predominant theme in utrh #(aka how clever he was. his timing. improvisation skills.)#jason todd #robin jason #batman 424 #dc #comic panels #‘people only say Jason cares about women and children because of lost days’ somebody didn’t read the robin run I see #also how the fuck is that bodyguard not dead #you see that window to the right of him? that’s a solid brick wall on the other side. not dry wall #if Batman threw him so hard he shot head-first through the building like a bullet there’s no way he could have survived that come on now #no amount of plot armor or the author said he didn't die can make it make sense lol #contrary to popular belief batfleck didn’t actually come out of left field

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rimunagenius · 14 days

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so i dropped two edits in one night… here’s kate with muna😍😍 (my two worlds colliding)

#tumblrpost #writers on tumblr #rimunagenius speaks #kate martin #women’s basketball #wlw #muna #wnba #kate martin edit #solid by muna #she’s so solid #she’s my wife (real)#cry ab it

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gettingcrative · 22 days

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Just some book sketches of my beautiful blonds❤️

#metal gear solid #mgs #mgs fanart #revolver ocelot #adamska #liquid snake #mgs1 #mgsv #blond men are women to me

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trillscienceofficer · 11 hours

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I think that overall I liked season 4 of Discovery more but I'm not gonna lie, I think I enjoyed Rayner as a first officer and he brought something different to the ship, and eventually a solid base to strenghten Michael's captaincy as well, that post-anxiety Saru never really could achieve for me. (Also his deal never included not respecting Michael's authority!) So while I'm not as naive as wanting more seasons of Discovery, because holy shit is the writing not for me at all, I kinda wish I could've seen more of the crew with this season 5 equilibrium (and I hope Michael gets to keep her live-in boyfriend on the ship). I thought the final moments pre-timeskip were a pitch-perfect season finale actually, in a way that other seasons really didn't do for me, and now I'm wondering about all the wacky shenanigans that happened between that and Admiral Burnham.

#dsc #dsc spoilers #i did like more the dynamic between michael and the president in s4 #but rayner does not occupy the same role. hes more of a solid presence having michael's back #and even with my well known penchant for women pissing each other off #someone like rayner as xo was missing imho

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ezlebe · 1 year

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prompt: either of them mistakenly & flippantly says “love u bye” out of habit b4 hanging up the phone (i’ve done this b4 when talking to a random old lady) & chaos ensues

“– and the time slot cannot be changed, but you can give her the contact to Ubon to buy another one,” Tom says, emphasizing the last words, making it easy to tell he’s probably gesturing in that little pinch. “You get all that?”

“Yeah, I… yeah, I can do it,” Greg says, flipping through the day planner with a peek at the corners. He pauses at the sight of a fluorescent orange sticky with a relieved sigh.

“Seriously, do I hear the paper planner?” Tom says, voice pitching bright with mocking amusement. “How old are you – seventy-five?”

“I got it, Tom,” Greg says, again, fully flipping open the planner.

“Good,” Tom says, voice fading on the other end of the line. “Shit. Kerry. I got to go. Bye-bye!”

Greg nods absently, tugging the note out of the edge of the planner, so it peeks through the pages. “Ye-yeah, bye. Love you.”

Tom sputters across the line. “What?”

“What?” Greg echoes, then his own words catch up, and he hurriedly hangs up the phone with a slip of his thumb across the screen. He stares at it in his hand, as his heart thuds, face flashing cold, then hot, as a tingle rushes in a wave across his skin down to his fingertips. He stiffly loosens his grip on the planner to cover his face, bending across his knees.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck, fuck.

Greg is at least is relieved to be out on assignment, as it were; he can’t get cornered in his office with heckles when he’s out here in California. He could, in theory, not even go back… but Tom would come looking, if it came to that, probably? It’s not a real option, either way. He might, at most, push it back a day or two.

It’s especially fucked because Greg has been like so fucking careful, too. He doesn’t touch too much, he’s pretty sure, and he hardly starts up anything himself. He’s been like a total… bro, or whatever, since stumbling into finding out Tom is less conflicted on the rules of it’s-not-gay-if-it’s-a-devil’s-three-way than anything else they could do. He’s like pretty sure, though, Tom has some idea that Greg… prefers him to be there for like completion’s sake? But also that he thinks Greg just gets nervous.

Tom’s always telling him not to get too nervous…

Fuck. Greg is thinking about that now, somehow even less appropriate for his upcoming meeting. It’s a thought that does calm him down in a way, Tom's low voice in his ear, which is nice... though, when taken apart and isolated, it’s just as much of a problem.

Greg looks up with a start at a bell at the opposite end of the hall, straightening his back, as a woman in a bright white power suit exits the nearby elevator. He stands when she closes in on the seating area, and knows he has to bury all this for the next hour, at least, because this is the hard ass ad exec who Tom has had him doing background on the last two days.

“Mr Hirsch?” She says, pasting in on bright, toothy smile while sticking out her hand. “I’m Crista Ball. Welcome to NoHo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Greg says, then clears his throat, forcibly brightening his voice while reaching out to take Crista’s hand. “Call me Greg.”

“Hey,” Tom says, looking up, as Greg enters his office. “Good flight?”

“Um… cramped,” Greg says, as he looks toward the window and the grey sky framing the skyscrapers, and realizes he’s having a little trouble remembering the actual flight. It must have been boring. “Not that, like… eventful, I guess, which makes it good?”

“No news is good news,” Tom says, standing up from his desk with an exaggerated oof. He walks around it, the fingers of one hand lingering on the desk, while the other sweeps out in a gesture toward the floor outside the hall with an upturned palm. “Unless you work here, obviously.”

Greg huffs with an assenting lift of his shoulder. He shifts his bag behind him, when Tom gets close, opening his arms to reciprocate Tom folding him into a loose hug.

“But hey,” Tom says, quietly, turning his head to the side with a press of lips under Greg’s ear. “Welcome back, baby.”

Greg tightens his fingers in Tom’s shirt, trying to pull him closer, but the shirt slips from his grasp. He looks down, furrowing his brow as he realizes Tom’s actually only in a white tee, worn thin and loose around the collarbones. He exhales a low mumble of confusion, looking at Tom, “Did you wear this to the office?”

Tom raises an eyebrow, from where he stands in the middle of his penthouse bedroom. “The office?”

Greg looks over his shoulder at the door, a dark, narrow hall beyond it. “I – I mean –?”

Tom leans in Greg’s face with a smirk and a with a pair of tuts, hands settling wide along Greg’s pelvis. “We couldn’t do this at the office.”

Greg shakes his head to agree, but he’s… He’s still having trouble really holding on. It’s like the fabric and Tom are no more solid than sand.

“Got you all to myself,” Tom continues, wagging his brows, having no trouble on his part for tugging at Greg’s belt. “No one else in the way. Just like I like it.”

“Yo-you do?” Greg asks, hearing his voice lift in a fluster.

Tom laughs under his breath, leaning in, sliding both hands up Greg’s torso, his chest, then curving across his lower jaw. He stares for a few beats, then his mouth curves into an ugly sneer. “No.”

“Shit,” Greg croaks, blinking at the creased pillow under his head. He’s not in New York, at all; he never even got on the plane. He maybe on purpose let his meeting run long, asked the car to take a detour for dinner, and then had them take him back to the hotel once it was solidly two hours after the flight.

He turns over into the pillow with a groan, entertaining the idea of suffocating himself against the cotton and fiber. He slowly continues to roll entirely to the opposite side that he woke up on, grimacing at the way his feet miss against the edge of the mattress, and determinedly counts various light across the city while trying to forget the dream. He feels winded, and too hot, like he’s been out in a run, or something, though the only thing racing is his mind.

It was just a dream. Greg like really doesn’t even… care, because it – It would be sort of a pointless, painful waste of energy. The way it is just is how it is, and he has known that for months.

He’s known since he awkwardly tried to remind Tom he had a lot of life ahead of him, only to get too tipsy, go a little too far, and be drawn into some loosely-labeled fun. It had actually only been a little awkward, at first, until it got very awkward when Tom admitted that he’d partly done it because of Shiv, as he was apparently carrying some kind of bizarre spite that he hadn’t really explained. He then joked it made him disgusting, because he was still married to her, but it felt heavily implied that also was because Greg was Greg, and they were disgusting together.

It gets harder to remember why that’s really so bad every time the situation repeats itself. It doesn’t recur exactly like the first time, but they’ll get just as drunk, and Tom will become especially evocative, settling on a wall or a lounger like it’s a throne, and throw an arm around Greg, squeezing his hip, his ribs, his thighs, and tugging his clothes, while he tells him in sly detail how they might sweet talk someone that Greg’s really only been looking at just to keep from looking at Tom. And then never, ever talk about it. It’s like they both become different people, entirely separate from who they are when they’re sober in daylight.

Greg thinks that he might actually hate drunk-Greg, who is so desperate, though not as much as he hates drunk-Tom, who treats Greg with the possessiveness and condescension of an especially posable doll. Truthfully, though, nothing can really top the hate for how much he still keeps going along knowing it leads exactly nowhere. It leads nowhere, except here, laying in the dark and wishing he had never told Tom that a woman at the bar was looking at them those months ago. He’s a bigger liar than he’s ever been, and the real truth is that he’s always been too good at faking it. His parents must be so proud, all considered.

The train of thought is jarringly interrupted by a sharp thwack hitting the door. Then another. And Greg reaches out to tap the lamp, squinting towards it, and then back to the door. He stumbles up, once he fully grasps it’s knocking, and that it’s getting louder by the second.

“Just a – One, uh – one moment, please,” he says, clearing his throat, and he nearly falls across the table alongside the suite sofa. He fumbles at the door, thankful that it makes the knocking stop, and slowly peeks out a narrow crack.

He quickly opens the door wider, squinting blearily down at Tom, who’s standing in the harsh light of the hotel hallway. He’s in shirtsleeves with a wrinkled jacket over his arm, has sunglasses on his head, and he… He didn’t even wait a day to fly out. He didn’t even wait half a day – is he tracking Greg, in a very literal sense?

“You skipped out on your flight,” Tom says, rather than any sort of greeting. He shoves past Greg, though the door and scratching at his brow while moving across the suite. “Very mature.”

“It was a-a meeting conflict issue, I didn’t – ” Greg shakes his head once with a hard swallow. “It like wasn’t a deliberate skipping.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom says, now scrubbing a hand entirely across his face. He settles in front of the window, chin resting on a fist. “Whatever you say.”

Greg lifts his hands slowly across his elbows, squeezing into the joints.

“Look, bud, it was just a little faux pas, you –”

“Can we not – ” Greg inhales tight, as the words rasp from his throat, “Not talk about it?”

Tom peeks over his shoulder, mouth flattening, as his eyes gradually narrow over a count of seconds. He clicks his tongue, as he looks back toward the city outside the window.

Greg has gone through a lot of… phases when it comes to Tom, all shifting blends of attracted, and agitated, and attached, and ambivalent, and altogether it’s the most keyed-up he’s felt about anyone. He doesn’t like getting forced into thinking directly about it, and he especially doesn’t want Tom thinking about it.

Mostly.

A tiny, impetuous part of Greg wishes that he would just say something.

Tom turns around entirely, dropping his hands with a shake that goes through to his fingertips. He steps in closer, making some face that’s probably condescending, but too shadowed against the dim bedside lamp to really tell. “Your call.”

Greg agrees with a hard swallow and a jerky drop of his chin.

Tom stands silently for another beat, then abruptly leans up to slip a hand around Greg, tugging him into one-armed slap on the back. “Hey, buck up.”

Greg suddenly can't help the way his shoulders immediately roll forward and hunch, his hands pushing weakly at the loose wrinkles of Tom’s shirt. It feels too much like the dream, of something under his hands and with soft whispered affection, only now it’s solid, and he literally chokes at the thought, breath trapped at the back of his throat.

Tom goes markedly still for a pair of tense beats, then exhales lengthy and low between them. “Okay,” he murmurs, palm settling warm and heavy across the back of Greg’s head. “Okay.”

Greg gradually presses his face entirely across Tom’s shoulder. “I’m like…” He says, voice barely above a murmur. “Tired, Tom.”

Tom is quiet for a few long seconds, then gives a jerky nod against the side of Greg’s head. “It’s… It is the ass of dawn.”

“Yeah, um – wh-why are you here?” Greg asks, and maybe that’s not what he meant, but it is a little more crazy. He’s aware enough that, between the traffic and the air time, Tom must have gotten a flight at like the minute Greg didn’t step off his own, so it’s almost 7AM for both of them, only Tom probably hasn’t had any sleep. “I was like scheduled for tomorrow?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Tom says, rubbing his thumb hard and distracting into the curve of Greg’s scalp.

“It does, though,” Greg insists, grudgingly pulling back, forcing himself to release Tom’s shirt from his stiff grip. He looks down into what he can see of Tom’s face, but it’s just the slope of his nose and the upturn of his lashes, too shadowed to read. “You have like stuff to do.”

“I was… concerned,” Tom says, briefly wringing his hands, then again dropping them to his sides in loose fists. “That you may have overcorrected in some way.”

Greg shakes his head, as he rubs deep into one of his eyes with the heel of a hand. He can’t really guess what that could mean, and decides not to try – he overcorrected? He didn’t take a six hour red-eye.

“Can I, like… just go back to bed?” he mutters, into the curve of his own palm, attempting not to look directly at Tom while his stomach threatens to tighten in upset. “If we apparently don’t have anything to talk about?”

Tom exhales a harsh, predictably irked breath that’s close to a scoff.

“I know you… uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot, anyway?” Greg says, carefully, as he manages to pull away entirely from Tom to take a few steps toward the bed on what feel like lead feet. He had piled the more… decorative pillows on the side he wasn’t using, but now he starts to move them toward the sofa. “But you need like a couple hours, Tom.”

Tom makes a soft, pitchy noise, entirely unfamiliar, so somewhat worrying.

Greg looks back, and it’s easier to see Tom’s face from this angle of the lamp; he’s got his sunglasses in his hands, flipping at the arms, and is staring at the pillows like he’s never seen one. Greg realizes with a discomforting yank under his sternum that he’s assuming way too much, Tom probably wants and should get his own room, and that’s even in some way why they’re both even standing here, as he squeezes at the last pillow he’s got in his hand.

Tom drops the sunglasses with a clack to the coffee table. “You know… how much I hate to admit when you’ve got a point.”

Greg manages a nod, as he swallows thickly, throwing that last pillow to the pile. He wets his lips, as he turns his head back down at the bed, anxiously listening to Tom undress behind him. He hears the clatter of a belt joining the sunglasses, then a thunk that’s probably a watch, while heat flares unbidden across his nape and the backs of his ears.

He tries to seem unbothered, as he tucks himself away best he can back under the too-thin blanket while keeping his breath in even, conscious counts. He stays stiffly on his side, listening to a pad of footsteps around the bed, then feels Tom slip in beside with a barely there displacement of the mattress and the bedclothes. He does peek open his eyes for a split second, catching that Tom is entirely down to his boxers, and his undershirt nowhere to be seen.

Tom unceremoniously leans over Greg, across the mattress, and it takes both forever and a split second to realize he’s tapping the light. It goes brighter, then brighter, prompting grumbles, until finally the room is dark. He doesn’t actually move away, once he’s finished, but stays pressed close to Greg on his side, too, settling his reaching arm lightly across Greg’s shoulder with an unintelligible murmur under his breath.

Greg carefully rests his nose into the hollow of Tom’s shoulder, warm and solid, inhaling against the bare skin. He tries but can’t think of a time they’ve just laid together. He’s then struck unwelcomingly with the memory of the Tom in the dream, pretending at being fond, before sharply becoming mocking; it makes Greg turn his head away, trying to pretend he didn’t do anything at all, even though he knows the dream was less real than anything else – particularly, how Tom is in bed with him, and just him, even if it’s only because he’s such a… a control freak that he’ll take a whole cross-country flight.

They lay there for a long while, until the principal concern keeping Greg awake is the low buzz of the fridge in the kitchenette. He’s less hyper aware of Tom, mostly comfortable, exhaustion bringing him near to dozing across the arm under his chin.

Tom abruptly exhales a loud, shuddering breath, breaking the quiet, as his chest deflates against Greg. “You, too.”

Greg peeks open his eyes, glancing up the bed, then hurriedly squeezes them shut.

“That’s what I should’ve said,” Tom continues, in a voice barely above a murmur.

#tomgreg #sort of a S4E1 speculation so there's not any actual solid spoilers but there is talk of encounters with nameless women #nameless because none actually appear not because greg never remembers their names to be clear #could in a super loose sense count toward another prompt i have with jealous greg but this is more melancholic than active jealous so

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