copicwritesblabberblahs

[copicwritesblabberblahs]

So this is me ranting a bit, but also can we talk about this. So tom's eyes... right? They uh have no pupils, which is great yk awesome, cool, great, but also no one can tell where he's looking???

Like, the amount of times I think about this is probably insane but also HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE? To be able to side-eye someone without them knowing because ma'am, you have no proof. no eyeballs. :)

Just think like Tom and Tord standing side by side both facing the same way and Tord's staring at no-eyed Joe over there because of course he is and Tom's just looking RIGHT BACK AT HIM but he has no idea, so Tord's all like *mouthing* i love you.

YOU WHAT???

HU- WHAT?! YOU.. HOW DID U SEE?????

[copicwritesblabberblahs]

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓

📌TomTord.. (i promise i cAn write other stuff, but also i like them so) uhh separation? losing someone (moving away)? unable to let go.

Basically an overdramaticised version of the "Tord leaves for the big city" scene. With history, duh. (ALSO I WROTE THIS LISTENING TO ROMANTIC HOMOCIDE FORGIVEME-)

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Just like that... he was gone.

A goodbye that seemed to last all but a second was now to mark the end of an era. No choice but to stand beside the others, the ones he left behind, a perfect group of four wittled down to an imcomplete trio of sadness. Tom looked away, he couldn't bear to watch this person—his person—disappear forever into the foggy unknown of 'the real world'.

At least, that's what he had been told. That they were letting him go for a good reason, that it was best for everyone, best for him, best for Tom.

However, Tom couldnt care less. It was something he didnt want to happen, something he would give almost anything to prevent; and it may sound greedy to want to keep this soul to himself, selfish or cruel even. But Tom didnt care.

And neither, it seemed, did Tord.

The picture perfect life Tom once had was being drained of life as the car drove farther and farther. He felt utterly useless to prevent it from occuring, and he felt a horrible sinking feeling as the car grew smaller and smaller in the horizon. There was no hope. Nothing he could do. He was rendered useless, flooded by emotions so strong his knees were tempted to buckle under the weight of his feelings, memories too precious to let go of, flashing by him like a taunting ghost.

The ghost floated away from him, its shimmery opalesence dimming before his very eyes; much like sand escaping through his desperate fingers, unable to capture it as he himself fragmented into the very sands of times which he longed for, a part of him wisping away with the departing ghost.

In a second of desperation, a moment of weakness, Tom's legs sprung into action. His body reacting as he sprinted in the direction of this light, the calls of his name quickly left behind him as he took off.

He was going to catch it. He had to.

In a voice even he barely recognised, he began to yell what sounded like pleads to come back, to turn around, to hear him for god's sake—please. Running like a madman, chasing after the ghostly light that shone over the car that held the only thing he wanted, he realised; the only thing he ever wanted.

Suddenly, the car slowed. It came to a staggering halt, just before the turn that would've taken him away forever. Tom halted as well, huffing from exhaustion as he stopped to watch as the boy himself stepped out of the car.

Tom expected just about anything right now; he was expecting confusion, sadness, understanding, anger even.

The one thing he hadnt expected however, was exactly what began to happen. Tord, the ghost, the light; it started to walk towards him as if it had read his mind, simply acting out a script, written by Tom in the opera of his imagination. Soon, they came face to face again; like many times before, like the many times they will. It was an unspoken conversation, tears and sweat seemed to do the talking for Tom's part as Tord quickly caught on. He broke into a reassuring smile, a tear of his own falling unto his complexion.

Before he knew it, Tom had thrown himself into the light, hands finding solace wrapped around the warmth of his ghost, dressed in red; as it, too, wrapped itself around Tom.

"Stay with me?" Tom heard himself choke out before he realised; distracted by the notion of falling onto his knees in the arms of Tord; his light, his ghost, his person.

"Always" Tord muttered, sighing contently.

[copicwritesblabberblahs]

PILLOW MASSACRE

📌 TomTord story? This is the 3rd part but idrk how I feel about them yet, I just thought this part was funny

Alcohol, hangover

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The first rays of sun hit Tord as they always did, a natural alarm for him to wake up and start his day. Yet, he realised as he began to sit up that he was in fact, not alone. Someone was lying on the latter half of his bed, sleeping soundly. They had apparently not heard Tord's gasp as he noticed this 'second presence'. He hadn't been /that/ drunk, he thought. Sure, he had been arguably tipsy but still not drunk enough to wake up with someone in his bed.

The thought of simply getting up and leaving crossed his mind, maybe it was best to deal with it later, when all of a sudden the figure moved. The person shuffled enough to make their face visible to poor, unsuspecting Tord.

Fuck.

It very quickly dawned on him, as Tom rolled over to his left side and sighed contently. This wasn't even Tord's room. Books thrown everywhere, metal band posters hanging on every wall, a black bass in the farthest corner; this... was Tom's room. His eyes dashed around for any kind of explanation as to why he had woken up in the bed of a man who'd rather jump off a cliff than admit they were actually friends. To top it off, the first tells of a hangover hit Tord like a truck and he was honestly unsure of what to do now.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, causing Tord to jump in surprise.

"Tom? You awake yet?" A concerned voice rang from the other side. A sinking feeling arose in Tord's stomach as he realised it was Edd knocking. "Listen, I get that you're hungover as fuck or whatever, but it's 1 in the goddamn afternoon so, wake up."

I really hope he doesn't, Tord thought.

"..Tord.?" A voice mumbled beside him.

Too late.

"What'r you-.." Tom muttered, slowly propping himself on his elbows. He studied Tord for a bit. Then blinked. Then that 'oh-shit' look dawned on him.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!?" Tom screamed. Within a second, Tord was diving for cover as Tom chucked a pillow aimed for him. He threw his hands over his head as Tom proceeded to beat the shit outta him with a second pillow.

The door flew open, and Edd walked in on what was probably the most confusing scene he had ever come across. Tord was curled up on the floor screaming while Tom was hitting him repeatedly with a pillow. Had it been easier not to burst out into a fit of laughter, Edd wouldn't have collapsed on the spot. It was only then that the pair had even realised that Edd had walked in at all, both stopping to stare as the brunette wheezed incomprehensible phrases.

Cut to 10 minutes later, a broken Edd is dragged down the stairs by Matt, still laughing everytime he tried to explain why he was crying profusely. Eventually, Matt gave up on ever getting anything out of Edd and turned to Tom and Tord, who stood shoulder to shoulder like children being scolded.

"It's nothing Matt. Really. Just another dumb fight." Tom assured him. The brit turned to Tord for moral support if anything, but unfortunately, Tord had zoned out and missed what Tom had even said. He immediately thought Tom had tried to pin everything on him. The only way to survive was to retaliate.

"He started it." Tord blurted out of impulse.

Tom just... looked at him.

"What are you, five?" Matt laughed.

"He did! He whacked me half to death with a pillow!" Tord said indignantly. Then he felt a sharp pain in his side as he realised Tom was nudging him with his elbow.

Oh.

"I-I mean," Tord stuttered "He whacked me half to death sure, but I mean.. y'know it was only HALF-way. So technically, he was tryi- WASN'T trying to kill me. It was- Kinda, s'like, just a normal.. TOTALLY unprovoked y'know.. pillow.... beating."

Grrreaat. Good job Tord, flawless delivery. Though, Matt didn't seem to care. Despite Tord's horrible attempt at lying, the ginger simply sighed heavily, rolled his eyes.. and that was that. Who knew lying was so easy.

Tom took off as well, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Tord wondered if the brit remembered the events of last night, if the explanation for the outcome they woke up to, had struck him yet. Tom had definetly realised something though, Tord saw it in his face before the pillow massacre had begun. What that was exactly; why Tom had woken up with Tord in his bed or why he had even let Tord into his room to begin with; he had no idea. All he knew was that he had to talk to Tom. Clear up any confusion so as to prevent any future pillow attacks.

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Should I put up the other two parts???

[copicwritesblabberblahs]

DREAM A LIL' DREAM

📌 TomTord (dont like it = just dont read), Very sweet, soft, sexuality awakening? the realisation at least.

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Tord was practically '6"2 of everything girls wanted. Big and well-built, tall and athletic, foreign and mature, well-dressed and charming, ocassionally mean and snarky. He was, as advertised, a total girl magnet. Tord should be well on his way to finding the girl.

Yet, he somehow always found himself hanging out with Tom. His childhood friend just always happened to be there when no one else was. Despite the advantage towards Tord, there seemed to be something... different between them, something that neither one could explain.

They were brought together by yet another boring dinner and both Tom and Tord just felt that they had a more enjoyable time alone. Someplace away from all the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, they both felt that having to withstand the noise of a full house was total and complete torture. So, as they usually did on such occassions, they made their way out to the garden and headed for the big, rusty ventilator beside the house. The roof quickly became the perfect escape for them, as it was easy to climb up to and provided a clear, open space to simply breathe and collect oneself. It was calming. In that moment, the roof began to feel like a small isolated island to the boys, far far away from the commotion of the world; drifting absolutely alone on the calm and infinite ocean of the night sky, stars illuminating the path to escape.

They both enjoyed this notion, and soon began talking each others ears off; the conversation turned more riveting as the moon turned brighter and brighter. God, Tord just found Tom incredibly intriguing. The way he viewed the world was nothing like Tord had ever thought of or even dared think of, peeling back his reality and learning to see the colours in a completely different way was what drew Tord towards Tom in the first place.

It was more than a curious attraction, Tord admired Tom. He adored him. More than he had realised in fact, as he recently found himself thinking of the brit more and more. He would catch himself picturing the brits smile, hearing his rowdy laugh or derisive grunt in times where Tom wasnt even remotely related. Tord continued to ignore the frequency of this, until eventually it was happening so often, that something suddenly.. clicked in his head.

Tord... never stopped thinking about Tom.

Confused by the euphamism, Tord attempted to continue his current conversation with Tom by talking as if he hadnt just unlocked a part of himself he never knew exsisted. Tord never did stop thinking of Tom, and it was only just begining to confuse him. He shouldnt be obsessively thinking of his best friend like he was, it didnt make any sense. It was crazy, right? No, Tord was supposed to be a ladies' man, the ladies' man. He always has, he always will.

Yet... he didnt feel he deserved that title right now. Right now, the most perfect woman doesnt sound half as interesting as the man before him, the guy sitting across from him on their lonely, little island of a roof. This... boy. The boy with all these brilliant ideas and daring plans and dreams and passions. The most beautiful woman sounds like nothing compared to the beauty of the boy before him.

Drenched in a swelling warmth, Tord couldnt help but smile as he continued to listen attentively to the boy with the dreams, his passion etched in the emotions of his words as it took form through his hands and expressions. Tom spoke with pure, colorful feeling and it captured everything Tord had to give and made him want to watch Tom talk and talk and talk until no air is left for his lungs to breathe. In that moment, Tom took a pause in his rant to ask if Tord was okay. All he could manage in response was a small nod and nervous grin, as he was otherwise proccupied dealing with this new and strange feeling infiltrating his heart.

It was an intoxicating feeling, unlike any other Tord had felt. It gave him a strong urge, it made Tord want to gift Tom what no one else could, give his absolute everything; his being and his entirety would be left to Tom, with the same undying passion he so adored about the boy. What he wouldnt give to the boy full of dreams.

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[copicwritesblabberblahs]

AFTERMATH

📌Tord through the aftermath of Eddsworld: The End, mentions of destruction, violence (?), broken home.

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Still, here he stood. The sorrow silence of the past whistling through the wind and showing him what he'd feared the most. A house equally as empty as his heart. It was strange. Fears long left behind, numbness took over as he glided past the wreckage, the ghosts of his past sending a horrible shiver down his soul. His anger reflected in every strike drawn upon the brave house, in every piece of rubble that lay, in every broken picture frame scattered through the remains of what once was a happy, and loving home.

Cry, he thought. It would, after all, be the most humane reaction to losing all which mattered.

Still, here he stood. Numbness engulfing his senses and rendering him useless, still forgotten legs taking him to where he guessed was his destination. The idea of walking under the hallway arc that had yet to be crossed alone was one he had never thought to be realised. That was, until he did, on that fateful night the hallway had been crossed.

Crossed by a small boy, angry at the world for letting him down everytime he had the nerve to place his trust in it. Crossed by a blinded eye, under the dangerous influence of hate with no light at the end of a long-winding tunnel. Crossed by a coward, a cold-blooded murderer who resulted in nothing but to fight fire with fire; yet coughing on the very smoke that blinded him from what he had become. The boy who watched his whole world go up in flames.

Still, here he stood.

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[copicwritesblabberblahs]

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

📌Short Highschool Tord fic with mentions of: Foster care system, absent parents, abandonment, manipulation, kinda angsty, slight personality dissociation.

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He was evil incarnate. It seemed, since life no longer had any effect on him, that destroying it for others was the only thing left for Tord. He had always wondered since a young age on how a human being could ever harm another human being, it shouldn’t be possible to feel such evil in your heart... should it?

Well, the answer came handed to him as a 7-year-old on one fateful Thursday. Losing your parents in a shopping mall is something everyone goes through as a kid; but finding out that your parents never bothered to find you again? You could say Tord had a valid reason to hate the world. It was just another example of how much life sucked, and sometimes you don’t have to be happy or settle into everything that happens to you, no matter how many times people tell you that everything will be okay and that foster care is a safe, happy space. It was nothing like anyone told poor 7-year-old Tord, nothing like he told himself it would be like. He spent the next 8 years hopping from one shitty place to another just wishing it all to be over, when suddenly he had to start at yet another high school. Primrose Highschool.

Something about this place sounded different to Tord. Sure, it was just a hoity toity billionaire school where rich parents sent their spoiled, rotten, embarrassments. To Tord however, it sounded like a new start. A real new start, someplace far far away where no one knew about his stupid, miserable life. Not a single soul knew about his fake family and broken past; and no one would ever know. He walked through the doors pledging to never reveal the side of his life that dragged him down so deeply, he would never again let his guard down like he had or let some shitty nobody near the towering walls he had built, he would never let anything, or anyone hurt him ever again.

And it worked.

Tord built himself a new person. He spent a year meticulously planning and creating the perfect boy with the perfect life. If his foster home experiences had taught him anything, it was how to lie without a hitch. So, he started with one small fib, a simple untruth, a miscarriage of information. A lie. He spread one after another, after another, after another until he had successfully spread his illusion to any ear that mattered at his small, pathetic school. Swirling around the chaos ensued, Tord watched gleefully as cliques and groups burned, shattered, and crashed flying to the ground 'till all that remained was to collect the broken pieces up off the ground and keep them all for himself. He got himself a starting spot on the Basketball team, School Sports captaincy, and head of the Student Sports Committee and of the Student Council; not to mention his School and Class Captaincy, on top of being the public face of all the school recruitment campaigns. He had taken control of all important aspects of his school and practically had the power to get a student expelled or have their entire life destroyed at his word.

Fear and admiration spread through the halls; knowledge of his raw power was essential to survive at Primrose High. Tord had built himself an empire from the ashes of his destruction, and what once was a school soon became his own impenetrable fortress. Reaching forward to control and watch over his puppets, Tord finally smiled. He felt something that he knew wasn’t exactly happiness but felt as close as he had ever come in 8 years. It was an intoxicating, fever of a feeling that made him smile sickly as he looked down on his fellow students begging for his forgiveness, worshipping his every move, and hanging onto his every word.

Tord was triumphantly and victoriously evil.

Tord was poison incarnate.

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