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Who's this cool dude

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in the 17th century, ell and matilda had some gorgeous dresses

fun fact! in the 17th century, the rich people wore some amazing clothing that looks very uncomfortable, but that i am in love with

anyhow this century wasn’t only fashion, there was the black plague, which continued for another two hundred years, so a new suit was invented for doctors to wear, that neutralized the putrid odor of sick and dead people with a mask with a very strange design, and covered all their body 

here, have a tom example

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Who lives who dies who tells your story chapter 1

Uhhhh I'm on mobile but my stupid ass doesn't have the app so I'm posting this from my iPhone internet browser and I can't figure out how to put a drop down so I'm really sorry about this lmao "You think someone would do that?" Tori asked. "Do what?" Tamara replied, fidgeting with the collar of her shirt. "Kill someone," the norski replied, lifting her smoking cigarette to her lips. "I mean, Jon never did anything." "He was annoying," Tamara half heartedly countered. "You don't kill someone because they annoy you." "Your brother would," the brunette said in a snarky tone. Tori scowled at that. "Tord's a brat, but he's too much of a wimp to shoot someone." The two girls were sprawled on a hanging chair on Tamara's porch while the sun set over the trees. The small town the girls lived in never got any action until Jon was found dead in his house. Detective Gold ruled out a suicide, and leads had been scarcer than snow on a hot summers day. Which these days were, hot and ruthless. "He was shot, right?" Tamara questioned. "Yes." Tori had written the article for the town newspaper. Despite only being 16 and learning English as a second language, she wrote most of the articles. They were pretty boring, except for this case. The one the whole town was following. "Tom will get pissy if he sees you smoking that." Tamara could already imagine her brother crushing the cigarette under his steel toed boot. "To hell with Tom." "To hell with you." Tori stared off in the distance, as if her companion was not even there. "Who do you think did it?" She asked in a soft voice. "Jesus, Tori, this is so morbid." The words settled in the sticky air, and Tamara would have to say something. Anything. The discussion being morbid had never deterred the girls before. The brunette sat up. "Don't know," she lied. If Tamara had to guess, she would have said Tord. Tord, the trigger happy, violent, lewd, Norwegian. But she couldn't say that to the girl she had a crush on. No, Tori wouldn't let her forget talking shit about her brother. "I think it was Eduardo." "Why?" "He picked on Jon the most." "Everyone picked on Jon." Tamara damn near flinched when she remembered how Tom used to tease him. Tori took a drag on her cigarette, exhaling the smoke. Tamara watched it curl past her red lips. "You really think so?" "Tam, you don't think anyone would kill." "That's not true." "You're too optimistic." "Am not!" Tori rolled her eyes. "Are too! You always try to justify Tom's bar fights." "Those are different." "Different how?" "No one died." "And Tom is your brother. You'd have no reason to think he's in the wrong." "No one wants to believe that someone they love would do -" she paused for a moment, "that," she finished lamely. Tori just shrugged and put out her cigarette. "Well spoken," she said sarcastically. "You know what I meant." The brunette kicked the other girl. Scowling, Tori tried to push Tamara, who just stuck her tongue out. "And when are you leaving?" "Shit!" Tori looked down at her phone. "My dads said to be home by 8:30." She jumped off the chair and strode over to her brick red bike. In the half light, she looked so pretty, brownish blonde hair in a bun with a red crop top and jeans. "Why?" "They're freaked out about the whole Jon bring dead thing," she called over shoulder, hopping onto the bike. Tamara walked inside her house, the screen door slamming behind her. Tam and Tori had been inseparable since 7th grade when Tori moved to the states and spoke little English. They became fast friends when Tamara punched out the kid bullying her and bonded in detention. However, their older brothers, Tom and Tord, had a years old rivalry. They would often beat each other up in some parking lot or hurl insults from the opposite side of the street. The only reason Tamara was still allowed to see her best friend was because Tori's dads, Paul and Patryk, negotiated it. Tamara turned on the AC. Tom wasn't home. He was out playing a gig for money. Ever since their parents had died, Tam and Tom had been on their own. Tamara worked odd jobs that she could never keep for money. Next, she walked into the kitchen and flopped onto the threadbare couch and turned on the old TV. The girl sighed and let her legs hang off the side. She wondered if she should just go to bed instead with her fan on instead of staying in this shitty room. But it was too early for sleep. Who would kill, other than Tord? Despite her best efforts to avert them, all Tamara's thoughts came back to Jon. Jon, dead, alone in his apartment. Deceptive Gold said they found on the floor, face down. A puddle of his own blood had looked around his head. It was morbid. More than morbid, because Jon had just been alive. He was just making some stupid joke or getting into it with Tom as they left church. It hasn't even been a week yet. What would they say at church? It wasn't like nobody knew - everyone found out by the third day. But still, it was a murder, and someone had say something. How awful it must be, to go the way Jon did. Alone in his house until someone snuck in. Tamara wouldn't want to die like that. Hell, Tamara wouldn't want to die. She suddenly felt creeped out and turned up the tv. Maybe sleep wasn't such a bad idea after all.

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Uhhhhhhh I need to move all my shit over from a03 to here but I'm so lazy??? Also my main tomtord fic is not turning out how I wanted it to :/ anyone I'll probably put who lives who dies who tells your story since I actually like that. I'm working on a ww1 au thing which should be up soon

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And The Clock Stops Ticking

"Man alone chimes the hour. And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures. A fear of time running out." —Mitch Albom, The Time Keeper

19 years, 7 months, and 20 days. It wasn't enough.

19 years, 7 months, and 20 days. It wasn't enough.

Tom had never counted time before. It had never occurred to him to mark down the passing months of track minutes. He assumed that death wouldn't catch up to him yet. Any young, healthy man would've thought the same way. He had time. Always time.

Time to grow up. To start a family. To fall in love and get married. But here he was, dying. It was the only thing Tom could think about. Who could survive a shot to the chest, one that probably went through his lung and collapsed it? Blood was flooding it right now. He was choking on it, hot and sticky as it flowed down his throat from - God, he didn't even know. At this point every part of him bled. His vision flashed in and out and Tom could feel the tears running down his face. The rest of his body was covered in crusted dirt and more of the awful blood. He'd always hated the site of. It used to freak him out so much that Tom had thrown up the first time he saw it spilling from a persons mangled body.

"What's wrong with you?" The general asked. "A little blood get you upset?"

It wasn't a little blood. That dreaded liquid was darkening the person's corpse. The poor man looked as if he'd gotten run over by a tank, and it was by far the ghastliest thing he'd ever seen.

It wasn't fair, Tom thought. Those fucking politicians, cowards, sat in their offices safely and made decisions, and young men with their whole lives ahead of them got slaughtered. And for what? Who cared about Germany? The soldiers over there were just as scared as he was.

The looks on their eyes paralleled the ones of the allied soldiers. They were panicky, afraid of the death and violence that shrouded them like mist.

The last time they saw each other was at the train station. Tom was about to leave for the war in his new uniform, and Tord told him he looked like a dirty dish towel in it. This time he sounded almost melancholy, and it was the saddest he had ever looked. Tom had just smiled and poked fun at him for not joining up. Only a matter of time before the draft got him too.

What if he hadn't been drafted, if this hadn't happened? What would he do then with all that free time. He should have made his life more memorable. Goofing off in class and getting kicked out of various boarding schools wasn't how he wanted to be remembered.

"Poor Tom," they'd say at his grave.

"He was an alcoholic," someone would add. "Did you know that?"

The rest of the crowd would gasp and murmur amongst themselves. The only ones who would really care were Edd, Matt, and Tord.

Matt was missing in action. It didn't mean dead, Tom reminded himself. Just gone for a while. He wasn't sure where Tord was, but Edd was in a hospital. The mustard gas had done a number on him, but he was slowly regaining his health. Tom would be the first to die, assuming Matt was still alive. The first to have a notice sent home that would leave his mother sobbing and his father wondering if this could have been avoided.

Could it? If the archduke hadn't been killed, if Germany never went to Austro-Hungaria's aid, if only-

If only he had time.

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Time for the fic dump

Alright guys time to deposit my shit 

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Hey

Hi I’m Max and this is my dumb blog. You can you writing requests if u want idk