#c: malcom

[singvlcrity-archive]

@tcrgaryens sent:  ❛ I’m decorating the gym for prom tonight, want to help?  

“No sabía que estabas en el comité del baile. ¿Cuántas cosas me has estado ocultando estos meses?” Cuestionó, casi ofendido al enterarse sobre esto hasta ahora. “Pero está bien, te ayudaré.” Aceptó, porque jamás podía decirle que no a su rubia favorita, además no tenía nada que hacer por la tarde y ayudar a decorar no le haría daño. “¿En qué necesitas ayuda?”

[devonte-vern]

“Mr. Malcolm, just the man I was looking for.” Devonte’s smile was wide as he walked into Trax, holding his hand out to dap him up before he leaned his arms on the counter. “I’ve got an idea I need your help with, it’s in the baby stages, one of those brain waves that hit you hard, you know? But listen, what if we started a Black Artist Collective? I’m talking singers, writers, DJs, rappers, painters, fucking sculptors and dancers. Think of that power and just how big that’d be in Rosewood. Let that marinate for a second, I’m gonna go see what you guys got in new releases.” @malcolmhclland​

[theheathercarpe]

closed starter for @tripmasterson

Her neck strained at an extreme angle as she tipped back to insure the last drops of alcohol fell onto her tongue. Giggling to herself, Heather rolled the bottle next to the other two on the bathroom floor. She had chosen one in a far off corner of the facility, clear of anyone’s path this late at night; it was both to deter patients and staff. Getting caught by the staff would end all of her fun or, with her current luck, she’d find some fellow alcoholic patient and they’d come fucking drool at her feet until she gave them a measly bottle cap full. Using the sink for leverage, Heather cracked open the last cooler. Feeling the sweet burn in her throat, warming her insides and unlocking her senses in a way nothing else could, she welcomed the fuzziness like an old friend. It was only 4 small bottles of vodka, a snack compared to her usual intake, but it was enough to satisfy her craving for now. Director Sugar’s prices were relatively decent but she wanted to enact some semblance of self control so she wouldn’t run out of fare anytime soon.

Pacing herself was a foreign concept; she paused down the drink for a quick breath as a small belch passed her lips, making her giggle again. There was a moment where she caught a look at herself in the mirror. She was gorgeous per usual but there was a haziness in her amber eyes that clouded her whole image. But against the stained white walls and under the fluorescent lights, Heather was still a goddess among men.

A sigh escaped her lips before she downed the last few gulps of her drinks. She tossed the glasses into the trash and haphazardly tossed paper towel in bundles on top of the heap. It didn’t matter too much how it looked as long as it wasn’t traced to her necessarily. Slipping out the door, Heather peered down the corridor for a few seconds. The coast was clear so to ease suspicions, Heather took off in a stride that mirrored her own but lacked urgency. Her fingers casually twirled through the ends of her hair, eyes scanning the halls. Heather didn’t think she had dropped her composure though she had a little smile permanently plastered on her lips as she walked. For the night, Heather had traded out her usual pair of heels for a pair of sneakers to avoid drawing attention to herself. Each step was effectively muffled, further concealing her presence.

She practically bounced on her toes as her eyes darted around the halls in a mediocre attempt to slink through the halls. Her senses were slightly down, an unusual facet even while drunk, so when she rounded another corner, Heather collided with something hard against her abdomen. “Oof,” she groaned as pain centered on the point of contact. Her fingers lazily rubbed the spot as her eyes hazily raised to the man before her. Her face relaxed into a warm smile. “Guess I didn’t really see you there. My bad.” The sentence was punctuated by a slow, slightly exaggerated shrug. “Need any help?”