As Requested- My Zine About Fat And Plus Size Body Types From Instagram! Happy Drawing Everyone!

as requested- my zine about fat and plus size body types from instagram!💖 happy drawing everyone!

New superhero: Crime Man.

He stops crimes exclusively by comitting crimes. He out-crimes the criminals.

I swear if this is becomes my autistism™️ movie

Do you have any skeletons in your closet?

@sm-baby (sorry to bother) I got bored and made an edit of Mei-Lyn! (Hope you enjoy)

Spent two weeks on this. Enjoy

Oc story post.

Staring, watching, waiting. For what? They weren't sure. How long had they been staring at him for... minutes, hours? They jolt, letting out a gentle gasp, as a hand was placed upon their shoulder. "Paxton," a feminine voice spoke, “You've been staring at that guy for almost 20 minutes now.” They turned their head quickly. Behind them stood Bratti, her coal-black hair shining under the dull fluorescent lights.

“Bratti! Don't...don't creep up on me like that,” they respond, without even a second thought. “You look like a total weirdo.” She chuckled. “I'm sorry. It’s just,” they turn their head back towards the individual sitting alone in the booth. “I feel like I know them from somewhere, Bratti. They look familiar to me.” They said softly, with the expression of someone who was mourning. Who though? Bratti couldn’t be quite sure.

"Paxton," she said once again this time more sternly. “Stop staring at him; You're creeping people out– you’re probably creeping him out – you're creeping me out, man." They whip around, quickly grabbing the petite girl by her shoulders. “Marilyn, this is serious!” they yell, shaking her back and forth. “Get a hold of yourself!” she hollered back, causing a few people in the diner to look back at the cause of the commotion. Snatching their shirt, she drags them to the back, away from the patrons.

At that moment, Paxton felt as if she were their mother. Once to the back, she turned, cupping their face in her hands. “Pax, I know that this is bothering you, but you can't let it interfere with your work like this.”

Sighing, she turned, stepping away. Taking one hand, she ran her fingers through her hair. “Though if it’s causing you enough distress to call me by my 'full' name, then I think we should deal with this problem immediately," she said, crossing her arms. “I think that you should go out there and talk to him.”

“What?! No, I'm not going to go talk to him! That will make things even weirder!” they exclaim, waving their arms in disagreement. “Well, it's better than just staring at him! If anything that makes you look even more weird.”

"I don't—I don’t know what I'm supposed to do!” they stuttered, clearly distressed. “Fine. I'll go talk to him then.” She started to walk off before being stopped by Paxton gripping her shoulder once again.

“No, don't talk to them! You don't even know who it is!” they said. “You don't even know who it is either! You just say you recognize them!” She replied, grabbing their arm.

“Here, how about you go talk to him,” She pulled them in front of her. “And if you don't recognize him, you don't recognize him.”

“No!” they whined, but like that, with a single push, they were kicked out from the back and into the dining area. “Wait Bratti!” It was useless to fight back, for she had already won as soon as the door slammed behind them.

Sighing, they sluggishly walk over to the booth where the young man was sitting. Gently, they placed a hand upon the wooden table, he looked up at them, “Oh, sorry, I'm not ready to order yet."

“No worries, I'm currently on my break.” The young fellow raised an eyebrow. "Oh…?” the man replied.

Paxton pressed their weight against the table “Actually, I was wondering, do you mind if I sit here?" they said, pointing to the seat across from him. The man’s expression changed from confusion to one of discomfort: "Umm, sure, I guess.” He replied, hesitantly. Paxton slowly scooted into the seat in front of the man as he looked back down at his menu.

As they sat, they observed. Observed how his long, messy brown hair fell in front of his face, how his dark brown eyes moved across the page. They remind them of their own eyes. From afar, he had stood out, wearing his jacket indoors with its hood up; yet up close, he looked oh so very ordinary. Maybe it was for those reasons that they had recognized him.

Sitting there, it had crossed their mind that maybe they were mistaken and were just making a huge fool of themselves. They exhaled, releasing the air that had become heavy in their chest. "No, you can do this," They whispered, softly to themself. Shaking their head, they took a deep breath. “Actually, I lied.“ they start. The young man looked up from the laminated sheet yet again. "I—the real reason—" they let out a groan. “ I know you from somewhere don't I?” They blurted out at last.

The man appeared to recede into himself, like a turtle attempting to hide within its shell. “Oh? Do you…?” he spoke, his voice now squeaky. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” they said, with utmost confidence. “What is your name?”

“My…My name? Uhh, Ruben.”

Ruben…

Ruben?...

RUBEN?

A gasp softly escapes their lips. "Ru-Ruben, is that right?" they stammered. "Yes, I'm Ruben," he answered.

“I- This… This may be an…odd question, but what is your last name?” they asked. “Alright, I think that you're getting a little too personal here," he said, now clearly uncomfortable.

Gripping onto the table, they pleaded, "Please." Looking into his eyes, their desperation now evident. The young man sighed.

"Alright, fine." He seemed hesitant, which was understandable. “My last name is-” “Sanders!” A low, husky voice abruptly interrupted the man. Both of them jolted. A tall, slim, and dark woman approached the table the two of them had been sitting at and slammed her palm against the hard wood.

"Sanders, what are you doing? Could you please stop harassing this poor man?” She said, pulling Paxton out of the booth by their wrist. “Go. Get back to work," she ordered, urging them on. She turned to face the man. “I apologize for their behavior; I really don't know what's gotten into them today.”

“Wait… Sanders?” The man asked under his breath, looking as if he misunderstood.

Paxton saw very little to nothing of the man for the remainder of the night. They had just assumed that Lenore had taken his order while they were busing tables. Which was a major disappointment. If they had gotten to take his order, they could have talked to him more and maybe have gotten the information that they wanted. That didn’t matter now, did it? More likely than not, they’d probably never see him again anyway. As they were finishing cleaning up, they caught something white from the corner of their eye.

"Most likely a napkin," they thought. But then it occurred to them, “This place uses brown napkins, not white." they strode over towards the noticeably white piece of paper on the table. Picking it up, it was noticeably lined, like the paper from Paxton’s own notebook– which they used for taking orders. It appeared to be a grocery list, with items such as eggs, milk, bread, snacks, and other various items. What an odd thing to leave behind.

“Why would-” Flipping it over revealed its true purpose. ”Any- oh." It was a shoddy note, as whoever had written it must have been in a hurry. Though despite the chicken scratch it was still quite legible.

The note read:

"To: 'Sanders’, (I take it that's your last name)"

"I haven't met someone else with that last name as well (despite the fact that it is probably fairly common), but that's not the point of this note. I may have misjudged you; I apologize, we might know each other after all. Maybe we could hang out together and get to know one another better? If you’d be up for that, here's my number. 123-555-0199”

-Ruben O. Sanders

They were right all along, it was him. It was really him. They smiled down at the note which now had a few wet spots. Taking their free hand, they wiped away the tears that had formed in their eyes.

“Paxton? Have you finished cleaning? Earlier, you said that you wanted to walk with me to your place.” Bratti called, from the other side of the now-empty diner. “Yes. Sorry, I'm coming.” Gently, they placed the note into their pocket, cherishing it.

“I'll talk to you soon, Brother.” they whispered to no one other than themself. Happily, they strolled over to Bratti with a smile. Together the two of them leave, walking side by side.