“Stay away from my ass. Stay away from my sticks. If anyone touches it my guts are going to fall right out.”

Craig was starting to enjoy the little things about school in a cold mountainous area. The intense heat was harder to get by in back home, especially with the thin air the higher the mountains went. His parents were miles away, as was his nosy sister, stuck in a small town outside of Lima, Peru. Here it was easier to seclude himself, definitely. He even had a single dorm room that he had already decorated with posters, photos, and the few crates of CDs he had. Things were quieter here, and Craig was slowly starting to adjust to life in an entirely new country. It was definitely not easy, but it was all he could really do to avoid feeling too homesick too fast.  And it was hard not to miss home when things got hard. Every day brought along some new cringe worthy task that seemed to require all of his energy. He had almost been kicked out of the financial aid office, stripped of his transfer student status due to a system error ( fixed now, thank god ), and seemed to have gained the favor of an annoying brunet football player ( if that sham of a sport could even be called fútbol ). He didn’t have many friends back home, but he didn’t think having no friends in a completely different place would be so different. It was. And now, he was up far too early, bed head still unbrushed, and on his way to his morning Thursday class. Or, early for him at least. He had slept through his first alarm, and felt just panicked enough to just barely get to school on time. Or, at least that’s what his plan had been. Upon getting to class, he was found seething in front of the door, trying to melt it with laser eyes. Those pink papers on the door were the absolute worst. What kind of professor cancelled class and didn’t send out a fucking email!? UGH. How Craig made it back to his dorm area without crashing into someone was a complete mystery. All he wanted to do now was sleep. Go home, sleep, and listen to something loud on his stereo. All he had to do was park, walk a bit, and boom. All would be done.  But Craig couldn’t have nice things. He had left his simple life back in Peru, apparently. Upon parking, all Craig heard was angry stomping, a rather disgruntled looking kid coming up to him. Why was he shouting? What the fuck did he was parking in his parking spot? Craig put his hands up in mock surrender, a dark brow rising in disbelief.  "Whoa, whoa," he mumbled, Spanish accent just barely noticeable underneath a thick scarf. "Don’t fucking yell. Who yells? And what do you mean, ‘your spot’?"

Already in a frustrated state of mind, Eric gave the stranger a quick glance up and down as he aggressively stepped closer, the fingers of his right hand promptly curling into a fist. One look and he could already figure this punk out. Foreigner, around Eric's age or less, probably of lesser income due to the unknown brand of clothing he was wearing, partially darker skin; whether he was from a different country or not, Eric couldn't tell, but he obviously was not English.  He was also obnoxiously ignorant about what the fuck was going on. Already he could tell that he was not going to like this guy.

Once he reached the stranger, he abruptly stopped walking just a few feet away from the teenager, a reasonable distance which allowed him to be intimidating without getting too close. Unfortunately it seemed that height was going to be a pretty big factor, since Craig was a few solid inches taller than him. Perhaps more, but Eric's perception of space was always a little off. Regardless, he sneered to the other male, unafraid to glare despite the fact that this was their first encounter.

/wheezes

Send ✆ for a morning text

[Text to: Craig T.] Good morning Craig. Would you be interested in coming with me to get some coffee? My treat.

Send ✉ for a text that wasn’t sent

[Text to: Craig T.] Are you free this Saturday?

Send ☎ for a rushed text

[Text to: Craig T.] i suppose you wouldnt happen to know the best way to handle an open wound, would you

Send ☏ for a loving text

[Text to: Craig T.] Believe it or not, I actually felt comfortable in your home.

Send ⁇ for a drunk text

[Text to: Craig T.] i ccant stop thiking anout you[Text to: Craig T.] is that weird

Send ø for a late night text

[Text to: Craig T.] I know you must be sleeping right now in your time zone, but you wouldn’t believe how wonderful the sunrise looks right now.

Send ✘ for a hateful text

[ AH!! ;v; ]

Send ✉ for an 2 AM text

[text] im walkin around outside and theres a star that kind of looks like a rope that cowboys use[text] do you know what constellation it might be

Send ✘ for an unsent text

[text] why the fuck do you hate me so much

Send ☠ for a threatening message

[text] i’ll take a shit on your bed without any sympathy[text] dont even start with me

Send ❤ for a lusty/loving/affectionate message

[text] youre not THAT ugly

Send ♣ for a drunk message

Craig dreaded parties. He had hated parties for as long as he could remember, even dating back to the days of Eric Cartman’s overly extravagant birthday parties. There were too many people, not enough good pizzas, and too high a chance he was going to make some new friends, willing or not.

Why was he even here again? He and Wendy weren’t exactly friends, and the people in his graduating class seemed to be gawking at the fact that he had bothered to come out of the shadows of his room and join them for a night of drinking and sharing narcotics. Why couldn’t they marvel at his sad schoolboy clown costume like normal teenagers? Clyde had helped him out a lot with painting a bright red frown on his mouth and musing his hair in just the right way.

Now, if only said best friend and social crutch would stay in one place, Craig might actually be relaxed enough to have a drink or two. Or ten. Instead, Craig had spent half the night fetching Clyde water bottles and trying to balance out the brunette’s alcohol intake. It was really fucking hard to keep a dutch boy from drinking too damn much. Eventually, Craig had to give up on following Clyde around, exchanging his best friendly duties for a seat in an awkwardly shaped circle, a cup of some kind of cranberry vodka mix in his hand. God, he needed a break.

"Go on, Craig! New guy in the circle has to spin the bottle!"

And, of course, he wasn’t going to get one. Shying away from the bright (and somewhat dilated) eyes of the girls in the circle, Craig flicked the empty glass, hoping to god it would just end on someone he could scare into backing down from any kind of physical contact. And it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Nothing ever went the way Craig wanted it too.

Landing on that stuffy british prince made Craig want to swallow his own tongue. He had heard the blonde open his mouth all of twice, and that was enough for Craig to pass his stony judgement. Gregroy was an asshole. If his free wrist hadn’t been grabbed by a rather giggly Lola , there would’ve been a middle finger sent the blondes way. Getting pulled out of his spot in the circle, Craig tried resisting as both himself and Gregory were pushed into a nearby coat closet. Oh god, was someone walking out of there as they were shoved inside? Ew.

"You’re in there for seven minutes," sang a slurry voice from behind him somewhere. "Try not to kill each other, okay loves?"

With that, Craig’s source of light was cut off with the echoing sound of a door shutting,  a tight click resonating loudly in his ears. They were locked in. Fucking awesome.

The brief amount of time it took for Gregory to be heaved into a closet was so fast that it felt like a giant blur consisting of excited laughs and grabby hands. He, of course, tried to squirm away from the stranger's grasp, insisting that he didn't want to do this with anyone, much less a guy like Craig, but the only response he got was this vague cry of 'Just get it over with' in the far corner of the room. 

Then, the door was closed, and it suddenly grew quiet. 

Though he couldn't see much (except for the slight glimpse of light in the cracks of the doorway) Gregory attempted to glance around, silently hoping that he could get an understanding of the size of the room. Or, better yet, find a light switch. The effort was futile, however, because one slight shift of his weight caused him to brush against Craig. Rather, whom he presumed was Craig. It could have easily been an oversized coat. Either way, the blond promptly returned back to his original stance, muttering an apology under his breath before clearing his throat. Even if he was out of his comfort zone, he refused to seem unnerved.That would just be silly.

Tarot Cards

The Hanged Man: Would you sacrifice your own life to save someone else’s?

Of course. Part of this business that I work in constantly forces me and my allies to risk our lives. Trust is the utmost importance, so I prove my trust by putting their priorities over my own.

Death: If you were able to reincarnate, what would your next life be?

A doctor. Or some sort of politician,…something that would allow me to help others on a large scale. 

The Star: What inspires you?

Relationship Asks

☢ : Character my muse is afraid of