#im answering this late arent i...

[ganondoodle]

was feeling 'fine' (all things considered) then spent 3 hours daydreaming about oc stuff without moving and inch and now i feel very much not fine, i really cant win can i :(

[mondaymelon]

there I’m actually studying for once I have a math test on monday..math is 2nd period for me

just taking a quick break and my rushed handwriting looks like shit

we absolutely love my math teacher eugh

- 🥦

your handwriting looks so tasty.

let me just take a bite outta that paper let me utilize my chompers to chew that slim sheet let fit my laughing gear around that portion

you go ceneid!! make sure to take lots of breaks and drink water, get some rest if you can. don't be an idiot and get sick again. like me. ahahsafds. dies.

( sfjasdkfj i have math fourth hour and i think my math teacher is actually insane cause he's talked about a medical history of insane people in his family he said that people who think they arent insane are insane then proceeded to tell us that he wasn't insane, we were the crazy ones here )

i actually love him though hes so silly !!!

[littleplantfreak]

kaji would be the perfect bf to kiss silly right before he has to go on patrol or act as grade captain for something bc it would be sm fun to watch him try to compose himself before he gets there and get all frazzled by his friends’ teasing

He can still taste and feel your chapstick and he’s like 😳😤 the entire way there. The red doesn’t leave his face fast enough for him to blame it on the heat or having jogged there so his vice captains know immediately what he was up to if his messed up hair that he keeps trying to push back is anything to go by

[ghastbutlikegay]

dudes ive hit a point with The Horrors:tm: where im unable to convince myself that any of my friends actually like me

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[risingsunresistance]

decision paralysis, i REALLY wanna draw. but do i work on one of the many skyblock doodles i have in mind, my splatoon ocs that literally only i care about, or that sketch of techno and simon that has been unfinished for half a year now

OR do nothing 😎

[garbagesalt]

÷(|) i love *stabs finger into your chesticle, puncturing your heart*

My bell dont have no ding to its dong

¿Sandwich?

Whats your favourite oc? Design or character or plot

Did you watch the winx club at all cuz i never hear anyone bringing them up an dmaybe i left the stove JUST DONT LITE A MATCH

Yo so beauty it make me wanna *bites lip intensely, wiggles it about, strong eye contact, YOU CANT NOT LOOK AWAY*

*lips bitten up cannot talk any more*

FrEeDoM iS wHeRe YoU fEeL fReE

Its just penis, pet

MERRY HOLIDAYS

hahahahahahaha

You have a great mind :)

i don't even have anything to say to this i just. i think puncturing my heart is probably gonna kill me so you're just like, saying the rest of this to me as i die?

oh acrually i do have an answer to sandwich! i never eat sandwich cause gluten free bread is no good

[nuclearnyx]

people who don't use the tags to be sad and vent are so powerful lmao couldn't be me

[pinksweet]

I am the load bearing cock of this fucking clinic.

[uglypastels]

I'm agree with that one anon who has been so patient for a fic update. I'm am too committed to waiting years for an update for the rewrite of ffh on wattpad, and I'll do it until I'm old and have grey hair, so you do what works for you, girl 💓

the commitment of yall ffh wattpad girlies is on another level and i will never be able to truly show just how thankful i am for it

[charliesinfern0]

HELLO AGAIN CHARLIE!!!!!!! 34, 10, 4, 37, 42 for courier six please!!! trying HARD not to ask too too toooo many but i have been SO super curious how your fnv playthrough is going thus far and what your guy is shaping up to be like in your mind :) [additionally i hope the overstimulation has subsided and you can have a nice relaxing day or night!]

OC Asks

HIIIII ^_^ first, thank you for the kind words, im doing a lot better than i was yesterday :3 and my playthrough has been pretty good so far! last night i was trying to tackle the come fly with me quest, and then i got stuck and read a walkthrough and realized i didnt need to complete that quest in order to get the information i need from manny vargas, which wouldve been nice to know beforehand, those nightkin are beating my ass T_T sooo im gonna make my way outta there and back to novac tonight (maybe after i watch the new dunmeshi ep ^_^)

ok, on to the questions!

4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear?

Well right now in game, my courier is wearing the leather armor with a cowboy hat, but in my mind i imagine them wearing the NCR ranger combat armor because thats what ive seen the courier usually drawn as wearing, also its a pretty cool outfit ^_^ i also think they'd wear things like the red handyman jumpsuit and the ranger vest outfit bc theyre also really cool hehe

also bonus doodle i made while thinking of answers for these lol

10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC?

Pride, or maybe wrath? They do sometimes act a little egotistical, and theyre prone to rage when it comes to dealing with mutant animals and gangs hanging out near the roads in the wasteland (one of their favorite pastimes is standing in the middle of the desert and shooting in a random direction)

34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

They like to think their home away from home (a home they actually don't remember much of) is Goodsprings, so thats where they come back to the most, just to relax for a while, usually by sitting in the saloon and listening to the radio before hitting the trail again. They just like to help people, though the aren't very graceful when doing so lol. They're sort of a jack of all trades, master of none, and sometimes it was only luck that let them make it out mostly unscathed in some situations.

37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do?

Walk off 40 bullets to the chest.

42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? 

Obviously they have a scar from when Benny shot them and the following brain surgery, but they also have lots of calluses on their hands, and a scar on their cheek from tripping and scraping themself on a rock (they are known throughout the mojave for many things, including their clumsiness lol)

[inbabylontheywept]

so i left the mormon church as a teenager (15ish? 16?), but stayed in attendance until i was 20. i was pretty up front about the whole deciding-it-wasnt-true process with my bishop, who frankly took it really well, but it wasnt like i pulled all 150 ward members aside and had a heart to heart with them. anyway, i didnt believe, so at 19 i didnt go on a mission, and while some people in the ward were totally fine with that, others werent. and there was one woman in her late 50s who pulled me aside one day to interrogate me why i hadnt gone on a mission.

"the duty of every young man" she said.

and the thing is, im autistic. and a lot of people assume that when youre autistic, your social skills just arent very good. but thats not exactly true. your Be Polite skills are kind of eh, and they tend to stay that way, but as a sort of survival mechanism your Be Rude skills become amazing simply because you get put in tons of situations where your choices are to Function or Be Polite. and no one can choose Be Polite forever. the world demands function, it merely encourages politeness.

anyway, it can really catch neurotypicals by surprise, because hey, heres this kind of awkward, graceless guy, who stumbles over his words a lot and is very apologetic. hes probably a huge pushover. but i'm only like that when we're playing The Polite Game, because i am frankly kind of bad at it. but when its time to play The Rude Game, i go fucking ham and asking about the not-going-on-a-mission thing is Super Rude. so i said:

"sister hadlock... they wont let me go because i lit-er-ally cannot stop sucking dicks. i dont know why, its just so, so hard."

*dramatic pause*

"also - its very difficult to stop."

anyway, it almost killed her. i think she'd expected to just kind of steamroll me for the entire conversation, but the answer crushed her soul. instead of continuing her interrogation she made a noise like a horse drowning in a bog and left.

to add insult to injury, she went to the bishop after that, thinking he'd chew me out for being an ass, but instead he chewed her out for not minding her own business. then she went to my parents after that, who basically went "yeah, babylon was pretty rude. but youre also pretty rude. what are you, mad that he's better at it than you?"

i really loved that ward.

[butterscotch-brigade]

hi i am a year late but i hope becky sloan and vivienne soan know how many eggs they cracked when Electricity released. I wanna thank nonbinary lesbian milf for making me realize i too am a nonbinary lesbian.

AKSKSKSKSWKSJ SO TRUE!!!!! tysm lesley dhmis for ur impact on the lesbian community uwu

[realignbyredvox]

some of you guys in the notes are missing the point or don't seem to have read the post at all.

"there are no perfect candidates" <- sure, this is true, but we've recently seen picks that aren't just "not perfect" but also don't campaign well (as noted) and don't effectively reach out to the voter base that criticises them.

"voting third party throws away your vote/just vote blue to slow our rights being taken away" while one can understand this mindset, that hasn't really been effective either. we all know how tough things have been this year with a blue president. we all know who won the popular vote in 2016. hillary lost by a tiny fraction of a percent for a number of reasons and i don't think it is helpful to blame that on third party voters alone. if you're considering local elections, there are even more factors such as the lack of access to voting for many working class people. if you want to talk about survival, how do you choose between working to eat and live or risking your job to take off to vote?

id also note that the policies of people like bernie, as a salient example, are popular. third party/'unwinnable' candidates' policies can be very popular. instead of saying those that continue to support those policies and show it with their vote (you know, the thing thats supposed to be part of "pushing [the real] candidate left"), why aren't we asking why the popularity of those policies isn't reflected by "pushing them left?"

One of the most obnoxious problems with discussing presidential elections in America is that there are a lot of Democrats who believe that whatever weird swagless homonculus they put before us should win in a landslide because they're the good guys, and they get very angry when they lose and will not listen to ideas like "nominate a better candidate next time" or "run a better campaign next time" or "maybe stop ratfucking your most popular candidate next time."

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

Hi I had to go do stuff hcbcb but yeah! I'd guess the three of them were led to Len's basement separately bc they might overpower him if they were brought together (specifically Piko I feel might be able to get away, Len might get away with bringing Fukase and Ollie together) Also that segways into the fact I was thinking about if parts of Them would be protective of another/comfort them? Like one trying to keep another in a non painful position or having it hide behind them y'know -🌟

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ maybe yes maybe no, there's a lot of different things to consider

and hmmm tho i hadn't really thought abt that... its' consciousness is weird, ofc nobody knows for sure what its' thoughts/emotions are like, but maybe it would be try to be comforting at times ye... in a way it is just trying to make itself feel better, wouldn't want to be collectively unhappy

[lovelookspretty]

waking up to you

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: swearing, pretty safe !! lowkey i rushed thru im sorry LMAO

authors note: okay ik im a little late with an update and its kind of shorter but i wanted to get out a part asap. im rewatching the 100 rn and ugh. anyway if u arent part of the tag list yet, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

previous next

you sit at the small table across from rafe, your fork hovering above your plate, but your attention keeps drifting toward the large window facing the street. you can’t help it. john b and jj were out there earlier, just hanging around.

it didn’t seem like they would come in, but you still feel uneasy. your eyes flicker to the entrance every few minutes, waiting for them to either walk in or disappear.

“stop glancin’ at the damn window, y/n, i can . . . feel your worry from here," rafe mutters, his voice low and rough, but there’s a hint of something softer there. he doesn’t even look up from his plate, just keeps cutting into his food like it’s nothing, but his words hit you harder than they should.

you blink a few times, then drop your gaze to your plate, the food suddenly less appetizing. it’s not like you can explain it to him—that you’re afraid of seeing john b or jj or that they might somehow sense that you’re not the same y/n they used to know. you’re not sure they’d even care, but the thought of facing them right now, of fumbling through some conversation, makes your stomach twist.

still, you force yourself to eat, to appear normal, though the tension buzzing between your shoulders doesn’t fade.

when you and rafe finally step out of the cafe, your eyes immediately search the street for the van. you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you see that it’s gone. maybe they left. maybe they figured it wasn’t worth it. either way, relief washes over you, but it’s fleeting. you get into the car quickly, a little too quickly, as if you’re still afraid they might show up.

rafe slides in beside you, his movements slower, more casual, and turns the key in the ignition. the engine roars to life, but the radio stays off, just like it was earlier.

the drive home is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the car as it rolls down the streets. you stare out the window, trying to keep your mind from spiraling, but the silence feels suffocating. eventually, you speak, your voice hesitant, unsure, “remind me why ward and rose hate me again?”

you regret the question the moment it leaves your mouth. you should know why. y/n would know exactly what’s going on between her and rafe’s parents. but you’re not her, and you need answers.

you hold your breath, waiting for his response, and in your peripheral, you see him furrow his brows, his hand on your thigh loosening like he’s pulling back, even just a little.

for a second, you think you’ve blown it, that he’s going to catch on, but then he speaks.

“they don’t hate you,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “they just . . . my dad thinks you’re in it for the money, remember? the cameron wealth. he just doesn’t trust you. and you know how rose is. she just agrees with him as long as she gets her allowance from ward cameron.” there’s a bitterness in his voice when he says his father’s name, like it’s coated in something darker. “seems a bit fucking hypocritical if you ask me.”

in it for the money? the words bounce around your head, disorienting you. you weren’t expecting that. your eyes drop to the dashboard, and you try to wrap your mind around what he’s saying, but it feels wrong. that’s what they think about her. not you. it’s hard to remind yourself of that, to separate yourself from the y/n everyone else knows.

at least, that’s what you think this is. that there was a version of you living in this world, the right version. but something must’ve been two nights ago and there was just . . . you don’t know. you can’t accept that this life is yours. you’ve never lived it.

you hesitate, then whisper, “do you . . . agree with them?”

the question hangs in the air between you, and for a second, you think he’s not going to answer. but then the car comes to a sudden stop as he pulls up in front of the house, slamming on the brakes harder than necessary. he turns toward you, eyes sharp, focused. there’s a pause, a heavy silence.

“no,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “i don’t. you know that.”

you look at him, trying to read his expression, trying to understand why he’s so sure. there’s something there in his eyes, something unspoken that makes your chest tighten. but you don’t push. instead, you just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

you step into the house and the door clicks shut behind you. the echo of your footsteps fades as you make your way upstairs, shoes dangling from your fingers by their backs.

when you reach rafe’s room, you drop the shoes in the closet with a soft thud and let yourself fall back onto the bed. the mattress bounces slightly under your weight, the cool sheets brushing against your skin as you settle in. you fish your phone out of your back pocket, unlocking it with a quick swipe.

a few notifications pop up on the screen—most of them unimportant, just the usual, but two names catch your eye. one from your mother, another two from jj.

your thumb hovers over jj’s messages first, curiosity or maybe just habit pushing you to open them: ‘ hey how u been? ’ followed by another message, ‘ saw u at driftwood lol ’

you grimace. please stop talking to me, you think, and you almost consider typing that out for him, but you just swipe the conversation away. it feels wrong, ignoring him, but it’s safer this way. at least for now.

you tap on your mom’s message, her name flashing up on the screen. it’s a simple ‘ hello? ’ sent after a previous message asking if you wanted to video call tonight. guilt tugs at you for not answering sooner, but you quickly type a response: ‘ i’ll be there ’

you drop the phone onto your chest and close your eyes, the tension slowly leaving your body.

rafe comes into the room just a minute after, dragging his feet as he enters, and flops down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh. he’s on his back, his arms thrown up to rub his eyes. the weight of the day is already too much, you can tell.

you roll onto your side to face him, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a second. he looks tired—more than tired—and for some reason, you feel this sudden pull to comfort him. maybe it’s because you’re realizing that you’re stuck here for longer than you ever imagined, or maybe it’s because, despite everything, there’s something grounding about feeling him next to you. something real.

you slide your hand over his stomach, feeling the firm muscle under his t-shirt, and trail your fingers up to his neck. his skin is warm, smooth.

he smells like fresh ocean air mixed with something expensive—sandalwood, maybe, and a hint of cedar. it’s clean, masculine, and comforting in its own strange way. your hand rests against the side of his face, and you lean in, pressing your cheek lightly to his shoulder, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize it. the scent of him feels like an anchor to this new world, even if you don’t fully belong in it.

rafe’s eyes flutter shut, his face softening under your touch, and after a quiet moment, he murmurs, "i love you."

the words catch you off guard. you blink, your heart skipping for a second as reality slams into you. you don’t really know him—at least not this version of him. not like that. and yet, you have to play the part, don’t you?

“i love you,” you mumble back, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, like they don’t belong to you. but even as they leave your lips, your mind is already spinning, thoughts racing faster than you can keep up.

a million things zip through your head at once—what if this is it? what if you never find a way home? what if you’re stuck here forever, living this life that doesn’t belong to you, loving a man who isn’t really yours?

it’s terrifying—the possibility that you might grow attached to this place, that you might actually start to like it. and then what? if you ever do go home, what happens? will you feel crushed by the weight of leaving it all behind? will you go insane, trying to navigate two lives, two versions of reality?

maybe you have nothing to worry about. maybe everything will work itself out.

but maybe you have everything to worry about.

you sit up slowly from the bed, careful not to disturb rafe as he drifts deeper into sleep. you slip away from him quietly, your feet making no sound as you pad across the room to his desk. sitting down, you lean forward, resting your elbows on the cool surface, and run your fingers through your hair. you’re tired—bone-tired—but sleep feels far away, unreachable. you need something, anything, to distract you.

your eyes open lazily, glancing at the surface of the desk. it's clean, organized, too neat, really, for someone like rafe. there’s not much on it aside from a few pieces of mail. you sift through them halfheartedly—most of it is boring stuff, some bank letters, a couple of magazines.

some are even addressed to you. they’re opened already, though, and there’s nothing of importance. not that you expected there to be.

pushing yourself up from the desk, you wander around the room. it’s yours too, right? or at least it feels that way, with how much space you apparently take up.

your fingers trail along the dresser, the faint creaking of the drawer breaking the silence as you pull it open. inside, neatly folded, are your clothes—well, her clothes. the y/n from this universe. it feels strange, surreal, knowing this other version of you needed extra room for her things. maybe she had more stuff and she just wanted more space.

your mind drifts back to what rafe said earlier. that ward and rose didn’t like you. didn’t trust you. they thought you were just after their money, like some kind of gold digger. you snort at the thought—it’s ironic, really. considering how ward and rafe were obsessed with finding literal treasure in the show. maybe everyone in this family, including her, were a little too focused on gold.

closing the drawer, you step toward the closet, opening it just as carefully. it’s split down the middle, half filled with rafe’s clothes, the other half with yours. the dresser must’ve just been for overflow.

you shake your head, closing it softly and moving back toward the bed, your gaze trailing toward your phone. it's sitting on the bed next to rafe, tempting you, but the thought of waking him just to grab it doesn’t feel worth it.

you sit down on the floor instead, crossing your legs and staring blankly at the room around you. bored. that’s all you are—bored and stuck.

your choices are limited. you can’t go downstairs and risk running into ward or rose, can’t hang out with anyone yet, and leaving for a drive without telling rafe seems . . . wrong. maybe this universe’s y/n felt the same way. maybe she felt isolated here, bored out of her mind. maybe she lost it at some point. maybe—

god, stop, you think to yourself, shaking your head.

you stare at the floor for a while, trying to focus on the wood grain beneath your fingers, but your gaze eventually drifts to something under the bed. boxes, mostly, a couple of old board games, but something else catches your attention. something wedged between two boxes.

curious, you lean down and reach for it, your fingers brushing against the cover of what looks like a journal. you pull it out, wiping a thin layer of dust from the top as you grimace. “gross,” you mutter under your breath. guess rafe doesn’t clean under the bed often.

lying down on your stomach, you run your hand along the outside of the journal. it’s worn but intact, the pages thick and sturdy under your fingertips. you never took rafe as the journaling type���he doesn’t seem like someone who would sit down and pour his thoughts onto paper. but here it is, in your hands. something personal. something that might give you a glimpse into his mind, this world, this version of him.

you hesitate for a moment, staring at the journal as your thumb traces the edge of it.

you open it, flipping past the first few pages with a lazy flick of your fingers. the familiar scent of old paper wafts up, and you wrinkle your nose at it. laying your head on your fist, you hold the journal open with one hand, skimming the neat, familiar handwriting.

it’s strange seeing rafe’s thoughts laid out like this—stranger still because you never imagined him as someone who would keep a journal at all.

but he does. and he’s detailed.

each page is filled top to bottom, crammed with his thoughts, feelings, and observations. day after day, entry after entry. it’s more than you expected, almost overwhelming in its depth. he didn’t just write about major events or things that stood out—no, he captured everything. the small details. the mundane moments. he seemed obsessed with recording every second of his life.

as you glance at the dates, your brows furrow. the entries are more recent than you thought they’d be. flipping back to the beginning of the journal, you see that it starts in early may. a sharp contrast to what you remember from your own life—your real life—where you had left in the middle of september. it’s jarring. maybe time works differently here.

and then, something else catches your attention: the handwriting.

it’s familiar. too familiar. not just because it’s rafe’s, but because there’s something about the way the letters curve, the way the words flow across the page.

you sit up a little straighter, squinting as you begin to properly read through the entries. your eyes scan the first entry dated may 12.

‘ 05/12

i don’t know why i’m even bothering to write this down. everyone says journaling is supposed to help or whatever, but all i feel is frustrated. it’s like everyone around me has it together, and i’m the one constantly getting in my own way. or maybe they’re the ones in my way. i don’t know. it’s hard to tell these days.

i’m trying, though. i think? i mean, isn’t this part of trying to get better? to work through my issues instead of ignoring them? i just don’t get why it feels like such a chore. i’ve spent so long pretending everything’s fine, so maybe that’s why this whole “self-reflection” thing is pissing me off. i’m not used to it. i’m not used to being told that i need to change, when i feel like i’ve been doing fine. they’re the ones who need to stop acting like i’m the problem. i’m not perfect, sure, but who is?

whatever. maybe i’m just overthinking it. i know i need to be better, but it’s hard when people keep pushing me into a corner, expecting me to react the same way i always have. i don’t want to be that person anymore, but it’s like, what’s the point of trying to change when no one’s even going to notice? or worse—they’re gonna keep treating me like i’m the same person no matter what i do.

i don’t know. this is stupid. but maybe it’ll help if i keep writing. or maybe not. we’ll see. ’

you blink at the page, your brow furrowing in confusion. why is rafe trying to change? change from what?

you try to shake off the unease and flip through the pages, skipping a few until you reach another entry. this one’s dated august 3rd.

‘ 08/03

i swear, sometimes i feel like no matter how hard i try, people just refuse to see it. today was fucking awful. jj and i got into it again, and i don’t even know how it got so bad so fast. i’ve been trying to be better. i’ve been trying to show up, to listen, to be the kind of friend everyone says i should be. but jj? he just doesn’t get it. he always wants to bring up the past, like i haven’t already said sorry a million times. like i haven’t tried to make up for everything. what more do they want from me?*

and the worst part is, he made me feel like i’m the bad guy. like i’m still the same selfish, narcissistic person from months ago. but i’m not. or at least, i’m trying not to be. but how am i supposed to change when people like him just won’t let me? he said i’ve been a bad friend. me? a bad friend? maybe i haven’t been perfect, but who has? i’m doing the best i can, and it’s not like everyone else is a saint. but no, it’s always me who gets the blame.

honestly, i think jj just made everything worse. i was starting to feel like i was making progress, and now? i don’t know. i feel like i’m back to square one. all i wanted was to fix things, to show i’ve changed, and instead i’m just stuck here, trying to explain myself to someone who clearly doesn’t care.

whatever. i’m done trying to explain myself. if people don’t want to see that i’m trying, then that’s their problem, not mine. ’

your heart races as you read the entry. wait . . . this is familiar. the mention of jj. hold on.

you flip through a smaller chunk of pages, eager to find the last written entry, and stop on september 17.

‘ 09/17

i’ve done everything i can. i’ve changed. i know i’ve changed, but no one else seems to think so. it’s like no matter what i do, i’m still the same person in their eyes. the selfish one, the one who only cares about herself. it’s not fair. i’ve been working so hard to be better, to be different. but every time i walk into a room, it’s like they’re waiting for me to mess up again. waiting for me to be the person they’ve decided i am.

i just wish they’d give me a break. i’m not that person anymore. or at least, i’m trying not to be. it’s exhausting, having to prove myself over and over again. i thought things would be different by now. i thought people would see that i’m not the same. but all i get are those looks. like i’ve done something unforgivable. like i’m still the villain in their story, no matter how hard i’ve tried to rewrite mine.

i don’t know what else to do. i’m tired of fighting for people to see me. maybe i’ll never be enough for them. maybe they’re just waiting for me to screw up again, to prove that i haven’t changed at all. but i have. i have changed. i know it.

god, i just wish i could do something big. something to show them all at once that i’m not who i used to be. i’m better now. i just don’t know how to make them believe it. ’

your blood runs cold as you read the last line. panic surges through you, and you glance around the room as if seeking an escape. you scan the pages, your eyes racing over the words, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

you were absolutely wrong. this isn’t rafe’s journal.

this is hers.

@v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @httpsdrewstarkey @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull @cali-888 @coquettajob @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @cold-soup1223 @inaluvrsworld @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @drewsephrry @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account