#hooray happy postmorteming

[gregkinz]

“Hey, Greg,”

“How did you get up here?” Greg balks, completely upended. “I wasn’t even home?”

“Your doorman let me up,” Tom tells him, clambering off the floor, “well, he saw me and didn’t stop me from coming up, anyway.”

Greg doesn’t know how to feel about his doorman recognizing Tom, nauseous, mostly.

He shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t be here, Tom,”

“You’ve been ditching work, avoiding me, ignoring all my calls, what was I supposed to do?”

Greg huffs as he shoves past Tom, trying to get into his apartment.

“Come over, obviously,” he mutters under his breath.

Really, he should be excited, he missed Tom and he had a shitty night with Kendall, but all he feels is annoyed.

Damn, it he’s thinking, now I can’t smoke.

#i DID get it done before season 4 #tomgreg #greg hirsch #tom wambsgans #my fics #postmortem ending!!!! the last postmorteming #happy succession sunday here's this #i left a really sappy note on there about how much i appreciate you guys #and how the feedback i've gotten on this fic is so suprising and wonderful #and i want to thank all of you for sticking with me even though i'm crazy and bad at updating timely #thank you all for reading and for caring and for listening to me ramble #this could technically be a late tg week entry bc they do hug #ok go read!!!! it's so long but that's okay bc it's the final part and i got excited #hooray happy postmorteming

[hypertextdog]

no, no. i'm a POSTSTER. it's diff. and you would NEVER understand. YOU'RE a poster. at best. and a Poseur at avg. iff we're being real. you die cause of organs and your heirs get material things -- whatever. like that will last. ever heard of "half life" idiot ? no yea no no yea no definitely yea no yea no but like entropy? you know entropyyea. yea,yea thats the idea. yea the thermodynamic kind not the informatic. yea. i mean in some dialectical s they're actually different,manifestations of the same idea. but yea soWHEREAS i die cause of adventurous happy-go-lucky attitude and drafts fly out from in me like confetti -- i die in public, blood and chunks everywhere and outside snd 100, 120 children all frilly and well dressed and bored out of their minds, hip hip hooray and they explode from their picnic blankets and apple orchard Jamborees and dying greatgrandparents hospital embraces, they come to where my corpse is littering out draft after draft into the public water supply drafts like "making a beautiful girl argue for her right to listen to t swift and if she uses even 1 fallacy i hijack the flight we r on", uncaptioned link to decade old mystery ytp "scout [tf2] gets gaylifted" with only a "#real" to its.name, higher level stuff like "me when i see a hottie: hey cream puff, see some thing you like / him: ugh / hot guy but not to me (narrating sultry as he types a tweet super slow with his meatfingers): Never read marx, but I lowkey and sincerely think i got the gist ffom Bluey / hottie: NEED😻 / me: ugh" too and that sort fo thing. and the children catch them -- the posts -- like bubbles or dandelion, they're the talk of the town, they trade them like gogos crazy bones, they all go out to recess and leave notes on my posts, and even after i am gone i am loved. and i have left behind a blogger's legacy. and you leave behind, what?-- years from now. cash? house?. yea. whereas tormented boarding school youth, hampered + still moving on from squilliam in 2023, clambering inside following 1oclock bells? they make frantic desperate deals of my posts like on last 2mins of sharktank, after my late drafts are banned for proving a "distraction in class" -- lie groaning hungry for postmortem notes and faves in the dark bottom drawer of the teachers desk. and the invisible hand of my postster's legacy, my guardian posting angel reaches down and compels a junior boardingschool misbehaveant, blond and bracesed and he doesnt understand what hes getting himself into, to sneak inside with phoneflashlight during lunch or labor day or yes perhaps even schoolclosed for prolonged duetoweatherconditions. and Eric locates these moribund posts while urbexing, and photocopies and uploads them to his living blog on the night and in fact at the very moment of the first ever "poster's eclipse" in lgbt history. such that within days, my dead ass goes viral