#and craig is the tallest in her grade

[edenfire]

✨️🎀 Tweek Week - Day 4 - Genderbend 🎀✨️

I know it's tweek week, but I just love craig so much, of course I have to include her!!🥰💗💞 also the background is from the south park mobile game~☆

[littlemountaintownrp]

he’s gonna go play with the Harry Potter kids

Craig has been accepted! Please submit his blog for us to follow!

out of character info

Name/Alias: Sam Pronouns: she/her SAME INFO AS BEFORE Character that you’re applying for: Craig Tucker Favourite ships for your character: Let it happen baby

in character info

Full name: Craig David Tucker  Birthday: May 13th Sexuality, gender, pronouns: gay gay gay, he likes long big cocks, he’s a super super gay (he/him) Age and grade: 18, senior Faceclaim: Declan McKenna Appearance: 

Craig had once been the tallest boy in class. He had come upon his growth spurt in late elementary and early middle school. He had shot up inches over the course of a couple of years, more than most of his peers. That, however, stopped almost immediately coming into high school. Now Craig stands approximately five feet and three inches tall. Most of his classmates are taller than him, something that drives him insane. He is rather convinced he’s due for another growth spurt, soon. Boys went into puberty later and longer than girls, after all? 

At least that’s what they said in health class. But in this fucking town? Who knew what information was correct. He was still hoping for one, though. 

Aside from his short body, Craig thinks he’s an okay looker. Being seventeen, his face has acne peppered beneath freckled skin. A genetic thing, according to his mother’s medical history. It doesn’t bother Craig too much, it’s manageable most days and as far as he’s concerned, doesn’t take much away from his appearance.  As mentioned above, he’s also got freckles on his skin. Not many, the lightest dusting across cheeks and nose that are most prominent in the sun. Adding to his face are two blue eyes, matching another set in his year in one of the most annoying ways possible. Topping it all off is a mop of floppy, dark hair. Craig isn’t one to style it much, mostly letting it go to where it pleases. 

Moving from his head, Craig styles himself in your typical teenage boy fashions. Jeans that fit too tightly (or perhaps this was a typical small gay kid thing? Craig didn’t know nor care, considering everyone in this school was fucking gay now. Stan’s gang couldn’t let him have this one fucking thing?), tee shirts with witty remarks and references to obscure pop culture things, ankle high converse drawn on with silver and black sharpies by friends and boredom alike. 

He’s fairly slim, something Craig likes to call “skinny fat”. His frame is small, but his body is made mostly up of soft chub, especially, Craig notices and cringes at, on his stomach. Probably from too many sugar filled coffee’s from Tweek, the fucking enabler. Especially since the kid tends to bring cupcakes along with it. He can’t say no, he’s not going to be fucking rude here okay? He could easily fix it and tone himself up, get into gymnastics or something but honestly, he couldn’t be bothered to care most days.

More or less, Craig liked his appearance. His legs were longer than most parts of his otherwise short body, and maybe he still had to wear braces, but hey. He was confident enough in how he looked to not really care much about it. He pulled on whatever he could grab most mornings or whatever piqued any sort of interest when he got ready for the day. He didn’t care. Except only enough to try to look effortlessly cool(er than Stab Morsh and his merry band of idiots).

Personality: 

He’s often uncaring, monotonous and unenthused when it comes to his peers and the hobbies of his fellow classmates or the adults in the town. Often times they were thirsty for whatever drama the town had going for it while they were growing up. Things these days were calmer, something he preferred greatly. Calm and steady, just how he liked it. 

Uncaringness aside, it goes deeper than that for Craig. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Craig’s quite emotional when he’s not meaning to be. He’s got a sharp temper, certainly. It comes with being easily annoyed or pestered, after all. Not explosive, or necessarily violent. His words can have a sharp, harsh tone to them, and his insults are rarely veiled. That’s not to say Craig won’t throw a punch now and then. He’s been known to be goaded into a fight every now and then. He grows tired of it quickly, not seeing much point in it. 

It’s not all negative though. The boy has a big heart. When it comes to animals, even Craig can’t stay stone faced. He melts instantly, regardless of whatever the creature is. He prefers the company of animals toward that of other people, that much is clear. Hurt one, or even speak badly to an animal, you’ll hear and ear full and maybe a kick to the crotch from him. Whatever punishment that Craig would see fit at the time of the crime. 

Overall, Craig likes to think of himself as a stone cold bitch with a heart of gold. Maybe that wasn’t the case to everyone else, but damned what they think anyway. They didn’t matter much, Craig had bigger things to worry about…

Like the weird little thing he’s got going on with the whole insomnia and night terror thing.

History: 

Most histories in this group start off with your average boring “born to blank and blank on a cold stormy night of eighty four…” shit, but not our beloved Craig, here. No, no no no. Craig was conceived not on a cold, stormy winters evening.There was no romantic power outage or rose petals strewn on beds or conception on the first night of a honeymoon. None of that sweet bullshit his mother spilled to him when he was a kid asking questions. He didn’t believe it. But what Craig didn’t know was the truth. A strangely hot, humid April afternoon. The parents of South Park in that strange age wherein some of their friends were getting married or having kids while others weren’t doing much of anything. 

So was the case on that afternoon, wherein Randy Marsh and Laura Tucker ran into one another at the bar. Thomas was at work, Laura bored, Randy drinking from the news of his wife’s second pregnancy. Eventually one glass of wine and a beer turned into several each and a messy quickie in the bathroom that neither probably remembered. 

So was small town life, one supposed. There was always drama behind the scenes and on center stage. 

Well, some time later did Laura notice something strange. A bit of weight gain, a bit of sickness, and nine months later popping out a dark haired, blue eyed baby boy. Her first kid, with her upturned nose and pouty lips. His eyes were stunning, but odd when both she and her husband sported green. What was most unusual was the thick dark hair, and eyebrows to match. It was when Craig was dried and washed and all that good stuff, when Laura took him properly into her arms an ran her fingers through the soft dark hairs that it dawned on it.

Looking up to her husband’s face, Laura’s smile at her first born faltered when it seemed as if both parents realized something. Though their education often lacked when growing up themselves, both knew better. Dark hair didn’t come from two fair haired parents. Was Craig the son of the mailman?

Or someone else? 

It was never spoken of, but from that moment, Thomas never seemed to consider Craig a son of his. There were times, of course, where he treated Craig as if he was nothing short of his own flesh and blood. But it had felt so forced, Craig had sensed better than to really believe it once he started picking up on the small signs. 

When the whole Peru event rolled around as kids, Craig hadn’t been able to help but wonder any number of situations. He could have been adopted, maybe? But that theory died when Craig could fully grasp the idea that his family had little money, especially not enough to support an adoption. Besides there had been birth photos of him, couldn’t have been faked. He’d been in his mother, and there was photo and video evidence to prove it. 

Maybe an affair with a Peruvian man? But his skin was rather pale in colour, and his eyes oddly blue for those men of South America. His connection with Peru and the whole Guinea Pig thing must have just been coincidence. 

As Craig grew, his relationship with his father grew more difficult. Teenage rebellion and back talk made it fall fast, the support he’d had when he was ten and cute and gay long gone as he grew into a small body and showed little interest in anything, let alone anything remotely masculine that wasn’t animals or space. 

Quick enough it descended from screaming matches and slamming doors and groundings, the day Craig took a book and threw it with what might he had at his father. The look in his eye had Craig frozen to floor just long enough he couldn’t resist the back handed smack he’d gotten across the face from his dad. It had snapped him out quick enough, Craig’s voice breaking as he bellowed how much he hated his family, hated his dad, the whole nine yards only to be met with a blow to the gut that he wasn’t Thomas’ son. 

He should have known. He did know. But he didn’t ever really want to hear it. Without thinking, Craig had spat out a harsh “good, I’m not surprised mom never wanted to breed with you.” This time, Craig had been quicker on his feet as he turned and bolted up the stairs to slam his bedroom door shut in his fathers face after he’d been chased to it. The fighting between the two hadn’t stopped since, harsh insults thrown to one another nearly every time they saw one another until it escalated to the point wherein Laura was crying,and Craig was being dragged by the hair, ear, or upper arm to be tossed into his room and the door slammed shut. 

Craig would usually open it a few hour later, backpack stuffed with closed over his should and pig in his pocket, hat on head, to trek over to someone else’s home to spend the night. Until his mother called his phone in tears, the next evening, begging for her baby to come home.

Headcanons:  - A virgin, but he’s lying and say’s he’s not. He’s never even had a real penis near his face. -Works Taco Bell part time -Doesn’t have any desire to go to college, intends to stay in town.

[shortmania]

Hi Shortmania! I send this ask for character design reasons. Do you have any headcanon heights for any of the HA! characters at their "The Patakis" age? I don't need all of them. Just Arnold and Helga will do nicely as a starting point. You can google mrinitialman if you want to look for something to have a better visual representation of what you have in mind Thank you for taking the time to read this regardless.

Well, first of all, thank you for the neat new resource, whoa. That is super helpful and I will definitely be using that in the future.

As for my headcanons, I’m a little nervous to say because I know they’re unpopular, lol. So little disclaimer there, but.

At age 15 (and likely the rest of their lives since growth spurts after 14 (female) and 16 (male) are rare):

FOR COMPARISON:US MALE AVERAGE: 5'9"US FEMALE AVERAGE: 5'4"

Arnold: 5'7"Helga: 5'6"Gerald: 5'10"Phoebe: 5'4"Harold: 5'5"Patty: 5'11"Stinky: 6'3"Sid: 5'6"Rhonda: 5'4"Curly: 5'12"Eugene: 5'3"

And those are the ones I’ve thought about and stand behind. I think most of these are pretty self-explanatory, they’re just based off their parents, but I’ll explain the ones I know most other fans are likely to be confused by. You can skip anything you’re uninterested in, Anon. ❤️I just like to be thorough. 

It is controversial to propose Arnold and Helga end up about the same height–most everybody prefer one of them to be significantly taller than the other–but it’s… just not my preference, for a few reasons. The Shortmans are a tall folk, Craig has confirmed that, but I like to think the males on Stella’s side of the family run a little smaller just because the idea of Arnold tall seems strange. He’s been consistently small throughout his childhood, and even at age eleven didn’t really grow more than maybe an inch or two since the fourth grade. Specifically, I think Arnold’s namesake, Stella’s dad, was the same. That is to say, I think he was a shorter than average dude, and I like to think Arnold strongly resembles him. That’s a baseless personal headcanon, and I acknowledge that. Arnold could be a late bloomer. I just like him a little smol.

On Helga’s end of things, my reasoning is just that… Well, there isn’t really any wrong way to calculate Helga’s height because we know basically nothing about her roots apart from Bob and Miriam. And Miriam appears to be average-ish, maybe above, Bob actually isn’t too too much taller (maybe 3-4 inches, and 2-4 inches shorter than Phil who I imagine is about 5'12"-6'0"), and Olga’s either average or below since she’s noticeably shorter than Miriam, so it’s just easiest for me to headcanon Helga as a couple inches over 5'4". It’s safe, it’s comfortable, it’s funny because it subverts expectations a bit. But I will say this: Miriam’s family is from South Dakota, Bob’s probably is as well, and South Dakota boasts some of the tallest folks in the US. Bob is also some form of Scandinavian – Hungarian, German, Ukrainian, Polish, who knows – and men in those countries tend to float around the benchmark of 5'10", and women an inch or two below the US average. So, Helga could easily be tall. Helga could also be pretty short. I do enjoy it when people portray her as this hulking powerhouse of a woman who could lift Arnold with just one arm, it’s a high quality option I would like to see more of, but my thing is that I’m always trying to a) be realistic, and b) leave room for funny scenarios. And Arnold being literally just one inch taller than Helga and Helga being endlessly salty about it is hilarious to me. 

Apart from all that, I hate to mention this, but: Helga isn’t consistently fed, and when she is fed, it’s usually with crap, so. When kids aren’t fed well or often, they don’t tend to grow quite as much as they might have otherwise. So, that is something to take into account. Moving on now.

About Gerald: thing is, there’s that stereotype of black men being absolute mountains because of basketball and I think that’s probably why most people see Gerald being like six feet, but… Gerald’s dad is a frugal numbers-obsessed business man. He’s nerdy. He’s kinda short. It makes a little bit of sense to me that Gerald might be tall-ish because for a nine-year-old boy, he is fairly big? But eh. I just try to split the difference, to honor both his genes and his onscreen rate of development, and I arrive at a little above average because the thought of Gerald being the sole Tol of his immediate family (taller than Jamie-O, especially) is funny to me, and I will always pick the option that is funny to me.

Aaaand both of Harold’s parents are tiny. I don’t really know why people always draw/write him tall--I guess it’s more attractive? he always refers to himself as big? he’s a part of the hulking bully/gentle giant archetype?--but people forget he’s 13 in-show and actually pretty small for his age. At least compared to, like, fifth and sixth graders. Wolfgang is at least twice his height, and I’m pretty sure Harold is older than him. This show is ridiculously confusing and inconsistent about age and child development, but, well. These are the only points of reference we have, so. Yep. 

I love Patty… That’s it. That’s my reasoning. Let her tower over us all as she rightfully deserves.

I hope this was helpful! You don’t have to agree with me, of course, but I hope I at least gave a fair baseline for you to form your own conclusions. Thanks for caring about my dumb opinion, lol, and best wishes on all your projects.

[leisurelypanda]

Life is Good chapter 17

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11676360/chapters/27588132

There was one thing that Craig wanted to do before Amanda went back to college to finish out her semester and since she was obligated to return on Sunday, that meant that they had to do it on Saturday if they wanted to do it as a family. Craig, of course, was talking about getting a Christmas tree. Not that he told Andrew and Amanda. He wanted to surprise them.

“Why are we driving out to the middle of nowhere?” Amanda said. “If we get lost and have no service, I’m not up for doing any of that survivalist stuff in Long Haul Ice Road Paranormal Ghost Truckers.”

“Relax,” Andrew said. “If we have to do any of that stuff, my bro and I can start a fire.”

“Getting lucky one time when you had camping supplies and dry wood doesn’t count, Pops,” she said. “That was spring time. Have you seen the snow on the ground?”

“There’s not that much,” he protested. “And you have so little faith in your father, Amanda.”

Craig turned onto a little road with a sign with a Christmas tree on it. They were getting close. The girls and he had gotten their trees from this farm for years. And this early in the season, they would have the best choices, unless they were all taken in the Black Friday rush. Which was doubtful. As soon as he saw the place he turned and parked in the small parking lot.

“We’re cutting a Christmas tree?” Amanda asked with festive cheer. “Like, an actual Christmas tree, not a fake one?”

“An actual Christmas tree, dude,” he said. “We’ll cut it down and everything. Get a picture, even.”

Andrew took his hand and laced their fingers together. “You’re the best, bro.”

“I just figured you’d like for us all to do this together, bro,” he said, touching their foreheads together. “You deserve it. Both of you.”

“Bro, stop, you’re gonna make me cry and then we’ll just run into something cause I can’t see,” he replied, blushing. Because of the cold. Obviously.

“Don’t worry,” Craig said. “I got you bro.”

The girls were already running through the rows and rows of trees looking for the perfect tree. Amanda found one that was beautiful, but Craig said was too tall for his living room. They found another one that was short enough, but had a huge hole on one side. Hazel found one that was also short enough, but the branches were a bit bare. They went through this in quick succession. Trees that were too tall, some that were too short, some that were too thin, some that had really prickly needles. Finally they found one that was short enough to get into the house and put a star on top of that was also fat enough to fit all the ornaments on. Amanda set up her camera on the tripod and got them a few family pictures until she was satisfied, then demanded the pleasure of taking the handsaw to the base of the tree and shouting “timber” as it fell to the ground.

They got home and set it up near the window across from one of the couches in the living room.

“Gotta say Pops,” Amanda said. “It’s nice to have an actual Christmas tree. Too bad I gotta leave tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that, we’re decorating it tonight and getting a picture of it before you go back to college,” Andrew said. “And stop bringing up that you’re leaving, let me live in denial until tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Pops,” she said, giving him a hug. “Now let’s make this thing pretty!”

Thus followed an evening of finding the boxes of Christmas ornaments and arranging them on the tree. Some were broken, as per usual. They figured out pretty quickly that keeping Carl Jr (and more importantly his tail, which was prone to wagging) away from the tree was essential and placing non-breakable ornaments on the lower levels while they were gone. First up were all four “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments, Craig and Andrew gushing over their memories of those precious first Christmases with their daughters rolling their eyes over their cheesiness. Once all those ornaments were safely on the tree, they got started on the rest.

There were stars and horrible child crafted ornaments made of foam and classic colorful glass ornaments. Amanda broke some (accidentally, she claimed). None that were of sentimental value, though. They hung candy canes and strung golden lights through its branches and when that was all done, they covered the tree in tinsel. Finally Craig (because he was the tallest) got up on a step stool and placed a star on the tree and it was done. It was a beautiful sight.

“It’s gonna be a great Christmas this year,” Amanda declared. “I can already tell.”

“I think you’re right, Manda Panda,” Andrew said. ***********************************************************************************************************

The house wasn’t the same without Amanda. The most obvious way, of course, was that Andrew was very obviously in a funk, despite the cheerful Christmas tree. It was like this the first time she left for college a couple months ago. It was a little less pronounced this time by the knowledge that she would be back in a couple weeks for a month long winter break, but he was still a little less responsive, animated, and upbeat.

Craig understood. Sort of. His girls were all pretty young, after all. Even his twins were still in elementary school. They didn’t go away for months on end. Usually just for a weekend. But still, Craig knew that his bro missed his girl. There was nothing to be done but wait for his bro to get it out of his system. It wasn’t easy. How do you get used to someone who’s been your only family being away most of the time?

The weekend after Amanda went back to college, the girls went to Smashley’s house for the weekend. Craig decided to try and help his bro take his mind off of his woes. Through retail therapy. And since the girls were away for the weekend, it was the perfect opportunity to get their Christmas shopping done.

They walked through the doors of the mall and Andrew was suddenly hit with the realization that he had no idea how to shop for a family of athletes. Amanda was more artistic and creative. Most years she was happy with arts and crafts supplies (until she started focusing on photography, that is) or a video game or tv series. Hazel and Briar, however, liked sports. They liked running around outside in sports jerseys and baseball hats and cleats.

This is why I ask people what they want before I go shopping, he thought. Though surprise gifts can be better than the stuff you knew you wanted.

That being said, Andrew had lived with them for a few months, so it was easier to think of something than it would have been if he had been trying to think of something just seeing them a few times a week. Hazel was more bold, adventurous, mischievous, and a bit of a hellion. Briar was more shy, thoughtful, got better grades, and a thinker. Both of them had a competitive streak nurtured through years of playing sports. He might not know how to shop for athletes, but he could work with competitive stuff. They walked into a store lined with toys and games and Andrew walked right to the board game section and picked up a game that he played with his family when he visited.

“What’s that, bro?” Craig asked, looking over his shoulder. He was holding a couple of Nerf guns, the kind with the suction cups that stuck to walls. Or people.

“This, bro, is probably one of the best board games ever devised,” Andrew said.

“You think they’ll like it?” he asked.

“I think they’ll become addicted to it,” Andrew said. He also grabbed an expansion so that the five of them could all play the game together. “The question is, are you prepared to deal with your daughters shooting each other with Nerf guns?”

“I might regret this, but they’ll love it. I just hope they don’t break anything,” he said.

“Good luck with that,” Andrew teased.

They went to a digital supply store next and got some new lenses and filters for Amanda, who had wanted to do some experimenting with her photography once the semester was over. Craig looked around at the smart technology, like washers, refrigerators, and such. Andrew grinned. “In case you were hoping to get one for Christmas,” he teased, “I don’t think I can quite afford a new fridge, bro.”

Craig side-eyed him, but grinned back. “Nah bro, I just think it’s crazy that people actually need to buy stuff like this. I mean, I could barely figure out my smartphone when I first got it.”

“I hear you, bro,” he replied.

On the way out, he spotted the Lord of the Rings extended edition box set for Blu-ray complete with commentaries and cast interviews. Andrew eyed it enviously. He’d never been able to find it when he actually had the money to afford it. Taking care of his daughter was always his first priority. He turned away from it hesitantly and went with Craig to purchase their gifts and head home.

[southparkhighrpg]

Craig Tucker - Accepted

Congratulations, Keith! Welcome to South Park High! Remember to send us your account within 48 hours of acceptance! If you ever need time extension to make the account, message the mods.

1. Mun information Preferred Name: Keith or Siicko Age: 18 Pronouns: he/they Timezone: East Coast Time Activity Level(Scale 1-10): varies from 8-10 Discord: Password: (not sure if this is discord password or the phrase from the rules? Which is Eric cartman is a fat ass)

2. Muse Information Muse’s name: Craig Tucker Age: 17 (I have a HC that he got held back a grade ^^) Birthday: January 21 Height: 5’8 Sexuality: gay Gender/Pronouns: male/he/him

3. Personality: Craig has always been known as a bland kind of guy, one who’s easily angered and hard to please which is true unless you manage to get close to him. To his friends he’s a complete different person. He shows his real self to them, the Craig who laughs at Clyde dumb jokes that don’t make sense so hard he snorts, who shows his friends his love without saying it but showing it with small gestures he’s too embarrassed to admit he’s done and the one who is always down to tease and poke fun of his friends but as soon as ANYBODY else does he’s ready to throw hands. He still has a quiet personality and has a hard time opening up to others but if you try hard enough (and manage not to annoy him in the process) he’ll slowly get there. But until then you’ll only see the major asshole who gives everyone shit and flips them the bird.

4. Appearance: Craig grew up not really caring about his appearance so as soon as high school started so did his acne problem. Along with acne and acne scars from picking at them, he has braces to fix his over crowding. His mother is one of the tallest in South Park, along with his biological father, so naturally he’s taller than most his age and yet is still growing. Along with being tall he’s also fairly thin, not super scrawny but about an average surfer kind of body. He inherited his biological fathers tan skin and thick black hair that gets easily knotted so he keeps his hat on as much as possible to avoid brushing it so often. Craig has a more laidback “edgy” style. He refuses to get rid of the early emo hair because he’s too self conscious that he’d look bad in any other hairstyle. He only owns black skinny jeans and maybe a few pairs of sweatpants. His everyday outfit consists of black skinnys, an old worn T-shirt, his blue hoodie and his signature blue hat. On special occasion he’ll wear the only white button up he owns but never a vest or jacket and his ties are always loose.

7. Name at least 5 headcanons: 1. He was diagnosed with Aspergers in middle school but doesn’t like to talk about it because of all the negativity the autistic community gets. 2. His mother and his biological father were once an actual couple until she told him she was pregnant and decided that he wasn’t ready for a family. She then met his new father and they got together and he’s seen Craig as his own son. Craig’s always known this and doesn’t mind not knowing his real dad because to him he already has the best father he could ask for. 3. He is a big fan of documentaries and it’s his dream to film one when he’s older and he could talk about them for ages. 4. He has the worst temper tantrums and will go off on anyone when he’s pissed although he will try and apologize to his close friends. 5. He has an odd relationship with Ruby. He always says “You’re like 8?” because in his heart she will forever be his little sister and he can’t believe she’s growing up. He would never tell her that, he just lets her think its an insult but deep down she knows it too. 6. He has a ‘Memory Wall’ full of photos, ticket stubs, notes, cards and that kind of cute stuff which is also a reason why he doesn’t let anyone who is not his close friend in his room, he gets embarrassed.

8. Write two decent sized paragraphs that shows how you would portray your muse: It was a warm clear day in Denver and Craig still couldn’t believe he was here. His favorite band had finally decided to tour by his hometown and he’d be a fool not to go. He worked extra shifts at work and even did odd ball jobs around town. The place was uncomfortably packed with strangers but for once that didn’t even matter to him. He could barely contain his excitement, running around buying over priced shirts and drinks, trying to find the perfect spot. He’s never felt like this around anybody except for his friends and certainly not in public and he loved it. Once he fount the spot he impatiently waited for the event to start and once it did that’s when the real fun started. He yelled along with the lyrics and jumped around with everyone around him practically sweating gallons but he didn’t mind. He was having the best time of his life and he would hold on to this moment for the rest of his life. After the show was over he bolted his way around crowds to meet the band in person. Dodging around other fans and concert volunteers he finally managed to find the line to the meet and greet table. His heart was beating faster the closer he got until he finally was up next. He was an awkward mess the whole time, with sweaty handshakes and mumbled words of appreciation but he did manage to get their signatures and a photograph with the band. After it was over and he had to move along to let others enjoy the bands time he couldn’t help feel embarrassed for showing so much awkward adoration for people he doesn’t even know but the way they showed appreciation back for his support and the kindness they gave off was just enough to replace it with happiness. Words could not describe how amazing he felt and he most definitely could not wait to brag about it to his friends when he got home.

9. Chose 4 electives from this list if your muse is in high school, your muse will get 2 of them as it is randomized on what they will get Spanish, Photography, broadcasting and painting

[buildingabetterm3]

I remember being fat all my life. From a very young age, I was always a size much bigger than my friends at justice or Limited too, or gap or whatever. How did this become my life, like kids have some of the fastest metabolisms known to man, and it takes a LOT to get a kid fat, but hey, I’ve always been really good at defying odds. But how or why was I cursed with a slow metabolism and a willingness not to run. And believe me, I tried. I played soccer from the time I was able to “run” which was super early on in my life. Then, around the age of, oh I don’t know 6, I hit my first growth spurt. And what do they do with the tallest girl in peewee soccer you might ask? Well, they make her goalie. Now if you’re new to this planet, you might not know that soccer is one of, if not the most popular sport around the world. And if you do now the sport, which I’m assuming you do, you would know that there is the one person in the back of the net that stands pretty much still the entire games, screaming and waving their mickey mouse looking hands all around. Goalies, as far as travel soccer was concerned, did not run much. Or do much at all for that matter. So, the majority of my childhood I played “sports” by just sitting in the back of the net, or standing on the eighteen-yard line, thinking I was the most athletic person in the world. Then came middle school, this point in someone’s life is the most *gasp* hormonal part of their life? What?? Noo? Really? Never would have guessed.  I spent most of middle school with the same 24 kids I had grown up with my entire life, always standing 3rd to last in line for church, because surprise, I’M TALL; And tall did not mean pretty in middle school.  Granted yes, everyone had an extremely rough phase in middle school, and if you’re saying that you didn’t then you’re lying through your teeth. So, I was the last of the grade to hit puberty (and yes I know this because you don’t know anything about no boundaries until you’ve went to a catholic grammar/middle school with the same kids for 10 years of your life) and that was a nightmare in itself. Because see, while all these girls had started to get “real” boobs starting in like 6th grade, your girl was still rockin’ those limited too cloth “bras” that did little to hide the fact that I had the body shape of a box. Then finally once I *cough* ya know, it was like a new me, my boobs came in overnight, I finally had a waistline, and now life could get better right? Wrong.  With this came the insecurities, the comments at pool parties where I should “cover up” because “no one wants to see that” ( btw slapped the shit out of this kid and it made me feel awesome), the comments asking if I could even see my feet, about my shirts being too tight. Everything a 14-year-old girl does not want to hear at this critical time in her life. Not to mention, while I love my mother, she was not the best influence on my mental health at this time, constantly telling me I should work out, getting me a personal trainer at 13, etc. While everything she did was meant in good spirits, the comments and her actions made it feel like I was nowhere the type of daughter she had wanted me to be, and that began to take a toll on my mental health. High school is where I struggled the most with myself. Between self-harming, developing what I know now as depression, joining Jenny Craig, subsequently developing an eating disorder due to this. Starving myself to fit into prom dresses, making myself throw up time and time again when my costumes from the plays I was in were too tight, or I couldn’t get my ass into a prom dress. I vividly remember sitting in the dressing room of the prom shop sobbing my eyes out because nothing fit. There were days where I didn’t want to wake up, where I wanted to cut the fat off, days where I tried, and days where there was no hope. I don’t like to talk about this, because knowing what I know now, I should have been getting professional help a long time ago, but I had people in my life at this point who essentially made my depression something to be put on the back-burner, and made me feel like there was no reasoning for me to be feeling this way, but hey, they were my friends right? They wanted the best for me right? Wrong. College helped a little, I’ve grown into a happy person who realizes that there are a lot of bad things that have happened to her in the past. I have my amazing friends, my incredible boyfriend, my sorority sisters, and everyone under the sun telling me I am this happy and strong person that has been through so much but has come out the other side of it all for the better. But that is not the whole story, and that’s why I’m writing this. To tell you that it’s still fucking hard. Every single day is harder than the last because I look into the mirror and I hate the person I see. I have good days, and I have bad days. I have days where I don’t want to and cannot leave my bed because the sheer thought of interacting with other people is terrifying. I hate the idea of walking around campus, and seeing all these beautiful women who are significantly smaller than me prettier than me, happier than me, walking around in their clothes that I would have no chance of fitting into. And that’s what happened to me today. Today I cried. Today I sat in front of my mirror and I cried about my weight. I cried because of the way I look, and the way that I see myself. I cried because of my stretch marks. I cried because of my boobs. I cried because of my flab, rolls, my hair, my face, my lack of jawline, all of it. This all started because I saw a video of a woman who was trying on clothes on YouTube, as one does when they’ve lost control of their life, and she mentions that she’s a size 16. And now my heart starts to pound because, I’m a size 16, and, at least in my perception this woman is much larger than me. But that’s not the case. I went right over to the mirror and looked at myself and I collapsed. I look absolutely disgusting. I hate every single thing about the girl in the mirror. She has worked hard for years and years and no results. She has been through so much but there are no results, physically, to show for it.  Understand that this has been my struggle for my entire life, and to finally come to terms that the way you see yourself is most likely the way other people see you is a devastating thing. Like how do you explain that to 12year old you, that you’re going to end up looking like the “house” your mom said you would if you didn’t start losing weight. I hate every single aspect of the way I look and I don’t know where to start to change myself. My happiness is superficial and everything I’ve worked towards in the past 4 years has been for naught. I don’t want to die, but I don’t know how to live. How can someone who looks like me possibly be happy with themselves? I mean seriously? It has taken me a long time to “accept” myself, but I don’t want to do that anymore. Why is it so hard to love the skin your in? why does my brain not produce enough fucking serotonin and makes me hate myself in every aspect of the word. Why is it that there are a million and one people I my life that want to help me, but I don’t want to speak a single one? And I know we live in one of the most body-positive times of existence, with models like Ashley Graham and Iskra Lawrence breaking down walls as to what the standard definition of beautiful is. But I don’t want that. What I want more than anything are the little things. I want to be able to share clothes with my roommates. I want to be able to walk through the quad and not feel judged. I want to be able to buy a shirt that’s not XL and confidently wear it. I want to not have to hide my body behind people when I take pictures with them. I want to be able to online shop and not have to search for the plus size clothing. I want to be able to wear fucking rain boots that will fit around my calf, and not get extended sizing. I want to be happy. I think today is a good day to start trying.

me

[hfwtrp-blog]

Token Black

MUN INFORMATION

Nickname: daaaaiiiissyy. 

Age: 24.

Tumblr URL: fuckmitzvah, still

Timezone: CST

Triggers: none, trigger me daddy uwu

  Secondary Character: eric cartman exclusively thank

MUSE INFORMATION

Muse’s name: Token Malik Black.

Age: 17.

Birthday: June 20th, 1999.

Height: 6’8”

Sexuality: Seriously hasn’t even thought about it. Probably Straight?

Occupation: None– Student.

Headcanons:

– Token doesn’t do music anymore. Nowadays, he actually abhors the concept of performing. He used to like it a lot, he really did– It had been an unexpected release for him. His parents had never pushed music so much since it was near impossible for him to make anything real out of himself from it. They taught him the prerequisite piano, but only because studies showed that learning to read music helped discipline the brain and prepare it for exams. But when that whole singing debacle turned out to be nothing, and Faith +1 was just a fucked up attempting at “winning” something by one Eric Cartman, the Blacks determined a music career was out of the cards. After all, if he’d been truly good, opportunities would have presented themselves from such experiences– The Blacks don’t exactly tolerate failure. So, he doesn’t perform anymore. Doesn’t want to. Hates it.

  – Speaking of, the Blacks are incredibly overbearing parents. As such, Token’s entire life has been planned for him already. They know where he’s going to college– Columbia or Harvard– , when he’s going to apply – August 14th at the latest– and once he gets there, he knows what he’s going to do– Engineering or Business. He knows what he’s going to eat on the first Monday in June, just like he knows what he’s going to wear next week. He doesn’t just live in a carefully organized home, he’s practically the posterchild for Helicopter Parenting. They aren’t bad, they aren’t abusive– They just… Want their child to succeed. And if that means dictating what he eats and wears, then so be it. They’ve been that way their entire life, pushing Token to be his best, their best. And that’s good, right? Parents should demand the best out of their children, and as kids it’s what they owe for the gift of life. Token’s not bitter about it at all. Haha.

  – Typically level-headed, Token has gotten exceptionally good at biting his tongue. The importance of not being a cliche in this little mountain town has been impressed upon him since he was a child– Sympathize with ignorance, attempt to explain wrongdoing, but don’t cause a fuss. The ‘Angry Black Man’ trope is all too common, and in bumfuck towns like South Park, it’s important to avoid those if he wants to get the admiration of his teachers that he needs to get into college. Shooting up to be the tallest one in class did him no favors. But that doesn’t mean that Token doesn’t feel anger. He actually does. A lot. Racist shit is like candy do these fucking hicks, and every time it makes him snarl. Every time someone even vaguely says that he’s “not like other folks ‘like him’,“ it makes him mad. Furious. But he represses it. He shoves it deep, deep down into an itty bitty ball and doesn’t ever fuck with it. Because he has an Ivy League to go to, and he can’t afford fucking it up. – Token doesn’t make friends easily. This isn’t because he’s anti-social or because he gets anxious when meeting new folks– Actually, more than half the time he doesn’t worry about meeting new people because if they’re in South Park he already doesn’t exactly have time for them– But rather because he isn’t good at judging others. His life is a carefully constructed tower of success, and one wrong friend can bring that entirely down. That said, he’s still intensely loyal to Craig, Tweek, and Clyde. Having been friends with them for so long, any sort of wrongdoing they might do is easily overlooked, and he frequently forgives them for grievances that he would turn a scornful nose to, if it were anyone else. – Token’s music varies pretty wildly– From James Brown to Beyonce. But nine times out of ten, you can catch him listening to spoken word songs. Essentially poems, but with beats behind them, they give him a chance to feel like he’s being heard, like his anger is felt by someone, even if it isn’t. Even if they’re random artists on Spotify or Youtube, he can feel like he is fucking known by someone, anyone. But he doesn’t listen to that stuff loudly. He keeps it off of his phone, erases his music history, doesn’t play it in his car or where anyone else could hear it– Including his parents. He’s got a playlist of Taylor Swift garbage on standby to swipe over to so no one hears him listening to angry music. So, most likely people just think he has shitty taste. Which, y’know, fine. He’s not salty about it or anything.

Sample para: Token breathed deeply through his nose, eyelids drooping as he watched the teacher fumble with the new, fancy, computerized whiteboard. Normally, it’d be a riot and a half, watching this poor woman fumble and mutter and curse under her breath, manual in hand, as she struggled with technology that not even the ‘Tech Support’ from the library could offer. But, as it was, he was just tired. He’d be called up in a second– He usually was. With anything from Overhead problems or document retrieval from email servers, at least once a day, some teacher decided they needed Token’s help. Truthfully, he didn’t know why. Surely there were more actively-Techie kids at South Park? Kevin Stoley, for one. But no. He’d done one report using Meteorology equipment one time in fifth grade, and suddenly he’s the ‘Tech Kid’. Dimly, he wondered if it was some sort of… No. Man, how could he construe that into a race thing? Sad that he was probably right, but still, that was fucked up. Wrinkling his nose with his own fucking thought process, Token shook his head to clear his mind, tapping the eraser of his pencil against his paper. Only vaguely was he aware of the other students turning to look at him, expectantly. Still, he didn’t respond with anything except his eyebrows quirking up, eyes focusing again on the drama unfolding ahead of him.

  Damn it… The teacher was looking at him, desperate, plaintive look in her eyes. He’d seen that look before. Smile tight against his teeth, Token nodded, unfolding himself from his desk and slowly making his way up. He squinted at the tablet in her hands as she hurriedly explained what it was supposed to be doing– “This chart is supposed to go up there so we can do it as a class, and you know they haven’t a clue what they’re doing, giving this to me. No training, no warning, just boom! Here I am, figure it out, Wiley…” She continued to go on, but Token gently took the tablet from her hands. “It looks like you need to have the screen-sharing app installed,” Token murmured. He’d deduced as much from the little error message that blipped onto the screen as he attempted to share the screen. The message had read: ‘SHARING INACTIVE, PLEASE UPDATE SMARTBOARD APPLICATION’. He made quick work of opening the App Store and searching for the correct app, installing it before handing it back to the much-smaller Wiley. “Here ya go.” Wiley gasped, then groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, the– Of course it would be something so simple. You can sit down now, Token,” She groaned, turning back towards the board. Nodding shortly, Token turned and made the arduous task of sitting down comfortably again. Not that there was much comfortable about a desk for a guy who was all legs. He settled to have them in the aisle. And then he returned to staring at the abyss, ignoring the furtive glances from the other students. Well, there was his once a day quota.

Extra: u wot m8 I am away until the 3/11 but I want to post this now at least!