I Used To Know But I'm Not Sure Now What I Was Made For What Was I Made For?

Tobias from The Amazing World of Gumball gives me MCU Flash Thompson vibes for some reason.

Thank you to everyone who got me to 1000 likes!

When you can’t remember that really great sentence you wrote in your head five minutes ago but you can remember that really stupid thing you did ten years ago on a random Tuesday

I'm pretty.

That's what they tell me. People like me, they like my face. They say I'm beautiful. But it is as they say: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Those are not my eyes.

For when I see myself, I see a horrendous amalgamation. I stare into my reflection and I see the rot of a hateful person. I always wonder how people can see beauty in that face. The fat in my cheeks, the uncanniness of my face, the creepiness of my big eyes, my oily nose, my big chapped lips, my cheeks filled with imperfection. I don't have awful break outs, I don't have awful acne.

I can say I'm thankful for that.

But sometimes, there would be a too red spot in my cheek, or a red dot accompanied by two others. Sometimes my pores look too big. My lips, chapped and dry and ugly as I am on the inside.

They say I'm pretty.

I say thank you, but I don't see it.

I know what lies beneath that deceptive beauty that I cannot see. What lies underneath is hideous, repugnant person whose heart is filled with hatred that it drips out of every pore on her skin, rotting her teeth, wrinkling her skin, greying her hair. Her hatred so abundant that it fats her up.

She's ugly.

I'm ugly.

Why can no one see that?

The ugliness she harbors, why can no see that!?

Pretty? Is this what beauty is? The cruel, violent, angry thoughts that floods her mind constantly until she hallows herself out with how deep she buries her hatred and her anger and her emotions; she buries it so deeply that she digs the hole to the other side of her and it drips out for the entire world to see.

I can't see that "pretty" that they speak of. How can they say I'm pretty? When I lash out, when I speak with vitriol lining my every word, when I stare with swirling storms of vexation. What is pretty in my ugliness? What is beautiful about my hatred?

How can they see beauty in me, when all I see is every single negative thing to exist in the world in every piece of me?

They don't know me.

They are so blind as to who I am, to what I am, that they can see my being in rose. And I wish they will never take off those glasses. I cannot bear for them to see what lies beyond the rose hue of their view.

I'm pretty, they say.

It makes my skin crawl with disgust, my mind cloud with disbelief, yet it warms my heart, makes my stomach giddy. I am giddy. I am disgusted. I am an amalgamation of contrast, of duality. I smile, say thank you. While the monster that is my reflection stares at me, a constant reminder that I am an imposter of beauty.

I'm pretty, they say.

And I pray,

That in their eyes, it stays that way.

I feel like I’ve read this fanfic before, I just cannot remember the title of it

Draco Malfoy: you look like shit, Weasley.

Ron Weasley: **smirks** but still fuckable, right?

My twin OC's. Sora, the one with short hair, is the younger twin. And Hana, the one with longer hair, is the older twin.

aw, i actually feel really bad for flash.

he’s in a really bad place right now, both literally (because he’s in fucking hell) and metaphorically, because he’s just been broken down and called out for his worst insecurities. he thinks he’s nothing without the symbiote. and that’s obviously not true, but in this situation, there’s really not much he can do to prove that.

ideally, flash would use this low point as a learning experience. he would mope around and cry for a bit, but then ultimately start walking on his own two feet (i swear to god pun not intended) and doing stuff on his own exclusively as flash thompson, to prove to himself that he is a person with worth, and that he’s more than capable even without the symbiote.

but he doesn’t get that luxury. in this awful situation, where he literally has to fight against the forces of hell, he has no choice but to rebond with the symbiote. he has no choice but to do something that only serves to reinforce what the priest was saying about him. that flash thompson is a worthless man who can’t do anything on his own.

just look at his face in the bottom right, he looks so sad and defeated. he doesn’t even hesitate to rebond with the symbiote. he just sticks his hand out with an empty look on his face, like he doesn’t care anymore, completely accepting every terrible thing that’s just been said about him. it really is torture.

That feeling when you're drawing a female and it looks like a dude

When you drawing a male and it becomes a female...