You’d think they’d’a given us crazies a little more something to have looked forward to.
  Sucked far as I’m thinkin’. Only good thing was the dancin’.

Aasydufij. 

Tommy’s page is undergoing a TON of construction and updating!
Please excuse the mess in the process should you happen to visit his page! <3 

xoxox. 

Apologies, first off for the absence from Tommy!

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Hey guys!
Sorry if I haven’t been posting much on Tommy’s page these past few days, Prom is just coming up for me this Friday and things have been kinda’ conjumbled and whatnot.

I promise I’ll have be back on an upating, most likely by this Saturday (HST - Timezone) and will definitely be muchmuchmuch more active! xD

Should anyone want to para, just message me any questions/details or whatnot, I’m totally up for anything. 

Thanks!
xoxo. 

frankie-davies:

This encounter with dear ol’ Thomas was long overdue. Acquainting himself with his pupil’s lover boy was the proper thing to do. Davies had waited for the right opportunity to make himself be known to the living boy. That chance rose when Davies sighted Tom with nicotine treasures in the common room. The area was vacant save for these two boys: one living and one dead. Davies saw no reason to be discreet. He simply wasn’t in the mood tonight. Timothy was still under the impression that Davies was a living patient. Why not stir things up a little by being upfront about his ghost status to Thomas? Davies didn’t think Thomas would particularly care. Breathing or not, they were all crazy here.

“I’ve been wondering why it’s been more difficult to find cigarettes these days,” Davies mused in light humor. The ghost materialized out of thin air right besides Thomas. Right now, Davies had no sense of “personal space”. He presented himself as a gentleman to most, but with Thomas, Davies was willing to let his more sleazy side (for lack of a better term) surface. Just for fun. He draped an arm over the back of the sofa where Thomas was situated. “I just didn’t know it was you - little Timothy’s Raoul.”

The ghost snapped his fingers to apparate one spare smoke from Thomas’ possession into his hand. “Sharing is caring, Thomas.” He exhaled smoke off the the side. “Isn’t that what they teach you in therapy these days?”

  Tom leaned his head back onto the edge of the couch, letting his lids fall heavy and his golden lashes flutter shut as the nicotine continued to run along his body. One drag, two. The smoke unfurled from his lips, pouring from his nostrils and staining him once more with a deep bitter ash.  A small shiver fought its way to the surface of the blonde’s body, registering and remaking him in a sense. Calm spread over Tommy, his nerves quieted. He sighed. Good. Nerves and thoughts, issues and pain; it was all becoming too much of a constant . Tom didn’t like predictability. He liked change, surprise—if only for his benefit. It kept him on his toes. Kept him young in a world where he had suddenly become too old. 

  The room around him spoke. The air was suddenly heavy, shared. No, that wasn’t right. He was alone. He had been. Tom lifted his head to the voice, eyebrow furrowed and raised as his pewter hues focused and dilated. He had been alone. Tom tilted his chin up lips pursed as he took in the sight of another before him. Raven hair, eyes dark as night themselves. Dramatic yet fitting. Almost inhuman. The other boys smile put the blonde at ease for some reason, perhaps because he recognized it; wore it on days for himself. Tom nodded once slowly, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a small smirk. Out of thin air…Tommy’s mind flickered once more back to Marlena. Same appeal, almost. Dark hair, mischievous demeanor, seductive as hell—Oh yeah, and dead. He’d thought her human, too. She’s locked him in a room, however. Teased and toyed with him. Turned out the lights. Not really something you’d forget. “I play for keeps.” Tom shrugged a bit, pointing his chin toward his newly won prize, licking his lips as he leaned back. “I’m in it all for the games.” He told the newcomer, his smirk broadening as he relaxed further into the couch before him. Little Timothy’s Raoul. Tom’s smile flickered for a moment, head turning in slight to fully face his other. He blinked once. Twice. Picked back up before his absence had been noticed. “Timothy.” He repeated. Raoul. “S’pose you know him, then.” Tom pulled his eyes away for a moment, not knowing how to react to the others closing contact. If he knew Timothy…Perhaps he knew of them both. As one. “What’s it to you?” Tom asked, voice playful, defenses saved for another sentence to come.

  Tom flicked his eyes back up to the others as one of his cigarettes were pulled from his grasp. His hues darkened for a moment, lightening as his smirk broadened at the realization falling over him. This kid could push boundaries. He reminded Tommy of himself, only, more…dead. Unafraid, confident, snarky. Definitely not a bad guy, not a good one, but not bad. Tom pulled his own cigarette up to his lips, shrugging with a small inclination of his head. A subtle motion, a bit of a bow. Appreciation for the amusement the blue hued blonde now found himself in. “Wouldn’t know much ‘bout that,” Tom admitted, throwing the boy a side glance as he exhaled a cloud of ash. “They usually keep me in solitary.” Another smirk, a warning. But why bother warning your conversational partner when they’re already dead? 

 Tom stretched his shoulders out bare before his small bedroom mirror. His stitches had finally settled into the sensitive curves above his collarbones. His flesh had accepted them. The snaking centipede of a scar still etched itself into his chest. Disgusting. Tommy tapped his index finger against its center. He could feel the flesh risen there, the lines fighting in all directions. How uneven it had healed. Not like half of his own self infliction’s had ever healed quite to his liking. This scar drew attention. Not like the scars on his shoulder blades born from a lovers will, no, not that kind of attention. Not that kind of reprieve. He’d welcomed those stares, those averted second glances and furrowed brows. This was nothing like that. There was nothing pure, nothing remotely accepting about that scar, and yet; there it was. For all the world to see. His world, mainly. He half considered cutting the defect from his chest, or perhaps letting Timothy cut it from him. He wanted no reminders of torture—less it be of his own.

  It had been days since he’d been with his other. With Timothy. It was highly unusual, even Tom could feel the distance. It shouldn’t have been. Solitary was the usual for the pewter hued blonde. In Chicago, it was all they could offer him, given his ‘condition’. Here, at the Castle, he found himself craving the attention and company of another. Just one, really. All others were of disinterest. They couldn’t keep Tommy’s attention for more than a few moments, for perhaps just a light, the draw of a cigarette. That was all. Tom grabbed a light white patient uniform shirt from his dresser, throwing it over his shoulder and sliding through his ajar door.

  The light on his body was never a welcome sensation. It beat the breaking shadows and shifting night that usually engulfed the Castle—still. Timothy’s room wasn’t far. No introductions, no breaking in, no warning. Tom turned the copper handle, pushing the door open and stepping inside, only turning back to close the door behind him. He pulled the shirt from his shoulders, slipping it over him before letting a smirk spread over his lips, calm, insinuation far from there. He could be real here. Not just a doll on display, a puppet made for talking. He could smile, laugh, joke, and just simply be.

dr-albert-sullivan:

I see….

And yes… you might label it as a ‘rough night’.

What’d you do?

Lose a fight with a bottle’a Whiskey?
Or four…*smirks* 

dr-albert-sullivan:

Oh, hello Tommy. Come to eat the roadkill, I see.

Oooh, *shakes head, smirking* No. Not really a flavour up to my likings, Doc’.

*glances back to the Doctor, tilting his chin forward in slight, assessing the dear Doctor* Rough night? *crosses arms, watching* 

dr-albert-sullivan:

I can’t manage to handle anything the right way.

Feelin’ a bit under the weather there, Doc’?

As for handling things the ‘right’ way, well…Can’t say I don’t disagree with ya’ there. *rolls his shoulders back a bit in a pointed fashion*

henrytheintern:

Oh well… let’s hope the staff isn’t as arrogant as the patients or I will have my work cut out for me… *sighs and rolls his eyes, scratching his neck a bit before reaching into his pockets for a packet of smokes*

I read the rules… These little bastards are allowed, aren’t they?
Please be honest because I really don’t want to get into trouble my first day…

*Shakes head a bit, biting back his smirk* Just don’t get on anyone’s bad side, I guess. Not like you could. You don’t, uh, *pauses, scanning over the other boy once more* Look the type to ‘cause trouble. Or am I missin’ somethin’ ‘bout ya’?

Cigarettes? *laughs a bit, eyeing the boys pack out* Nah, they’re not outlawed or nothin’, hell. I smoke a pack a day, almost. Ain’t nobody said nothin’ to me. *smirks* I do hope you’re keen’ on sharin’? *flicks his chin toward the other, pulling out his own lighter and flashing the flame*

henrytheintern:

*nods as if considering the boy’s words, then just shrugging with the lightest smile playing upon his lips; a bit playful*

Mental institute located on an island. It sounded neat…



So far I’ve only met a few nurses. No doctors. Should I be worried? *laughs*

*Smirks* I thought it sounded cool, too…Then again, *laughs slightly to himself, shrugging* I wasn’t given much of a choice, was I?

I don’t think you’ll have to worry, man. Doc’s, interns, nurses…hell, they all sorta’ stick together. Patients? We kinda luck it alone for mosta’ the time. So, yeah, you’ll be fine. *nods* 

henrytheintern:

Well you know; being a med student requires you to do some internship. Castle Grove just so happened to be close to where I live so I found it convenient. *nods, his smile as confident as ever; not giving away the least hint of there being any other reason for him being there*

But I’m telling you… I doubt I’ll stay in psychiatry.

*Smirks, nodding a bit at the others words, eyes transfixed; reading, analyzing the other in his own way—determining* You picked one hell of a ‘convenient’ place, I’ll give ya’ that. Out of all the gin joints in the world dude, you had to pick this one?

Knowin’ about the other Doctors in this place, I doubt you should stay in Psychiatry, too. *shrugs, a small hinted smirk playing at his lips*