i wish i could have a redo

Forgive Me

Jon: we never should’ve left Winterfell 

Sansa: don’t you wish we could go back to the day we left? 

Jon: how could we know

Jon: we were children 

Jon: *smiling* you were occasionally awful… I’m sure i can’t have been much fun, always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played. 

Sansa: *laughs softly*

Jon: there’s nothing to forgive 

Jon: alright, alright I forgive you

((OOC: when you can’t think of a thread idea but really want to play around with a character so you just redo a scene… I promise there is some GOT stuff in the pipeline though *stares meaningfully at @manseyfuls-patronus and your beautifully cruel mind*))

#HappyScoupsDay  

#에스쿱스따뚜_생일축하해 

a 22 year old gummy bear 

ughhhhhh

my art thing crashed and now my brother is mad at me because i said “nooo!” out loud when it happened (like he never yells at the computer) and now i have to redo like an hour of progress :)))))))))))

Election 2016

When Obama ran for president, they didn’t have to beg us to vote. We were inspired, so we showed up in large numbers (I believe record numbers if I’m not mistaken).

Now with Hillary and Trump, it seems like everywhere I turn someone is urging and pleading with us to register and vote (for Hillary). If you were actually a good candidate, and a good potential president, you wouldn’t have to beg us to participate.

I really wish we could just redo the whole #election2016. Then again, it’s rigged anyway. Smh.

I’m honestly very dissappointed with America right now. I’m hoping she redeems herself in 2017.

I submitted the sketch of this to @underlineau, but after taking another look at the picture to realize that the quality was pretty bad as the camera I used isn’t the best and you couldn’t make out all of the words, so I thought I’d redo it on my tablet. I wish I had a fill tool I could use on the app I have, but I don’t so my hand cramped up after a while of filling in the color.

Anyways, this is the twins (Frisk and Chara), along with a plush Temmie, meeting Dusty and Tem!Frisk. I feel like Dusty would facepalm at Tem!Frisk’s behavoir, and Chara would just sit there acting like they were better than everyone else. Tem!Frisk and Frisk would get along just fine. I’m sure Frisk and Dusty would also get along is Dusty would come say ‘hi’ instead of standing back and facepalming.

(P.S. Frisk can open their eyes, but when they get super happy they end up closing like is seen in this picture. Their eyes are the same colour as Chara’s. {Which is a redish brown})

Well. When I said I wanted my writer’s block gone I didn’t intend on THIS being what I wrote. But I just started writing and writing and this is what happened and I actually should apologize in advance. I have no money so please don’t send me your therapy bills. I obviously took some liberties in this, so whatever. All mistakes are mine (this whole drabble is probably one big mistake). Also, there could be trigger warning in this? Not sure, so proceed with caution.

There are a lot of moments Piper Chapman is not proud of. Moments she wishes she could take back, redo, or erase all together. She’s good at blocking things out, pretending like they don’t exist. Moments like this come more often than not, and this is one of those moments.

The car idles and her hands tremble as she grips the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. This was not how it was supposed to be. This was not supposed to happen. She shouldn’t be in the car right now. She shouldn’t be here. She hates herself.

Across the street is a cemetery, she’s passed it before, a lot of times really, and never really given it much thought. She checked the paper day after day, scanning the obituaries. Praying that she wouldn’t see one. Praying that this was all some sort of nightmare. But then she saw it, Vause. The obituary was short, simple and Piper knew Alex had written it. Probably forced to by her aunt.

Diane Vause departed this life on May 3, 2005. She will be remembered by loved ones as a mother, a friend, a hero. Diane is survived by her daughter and best friend, Alex Vause, a sister, Clara Stephens (Vause) and several nieces and nephews. Diane’s life will be celebrated at–

That’s where Piper stopped. That’s where Piper screamed. That’s where Piper picked up a glass vase and threw it across the room with tears streaming down her face. This is where she became all too aware of that cemetery she had never given any thought to. That’s when she made the stupid, reckless decision to show up, to park across the street. It’s selfish really, she should be up there for Alex, for Diane. She shuts the motor off and hits the steering wheel violently, over and over and over until her hand hurts too much.

She can’t see much. She can see Alex, dressed all in black, and about six other people. None of which Piper knows. None of them probably even that close to Diane. Not like Piper was.

The casket begins to lower and Piper releases a sob. She watches Alex, her face screwed up in a way she’s never seen it before. Piper can count on one hand the times she’s seen Alex cry. She’s never seen her like this. She looks so broken, so upset, so alone. Piper contemplates getting out. Walking over there. Taking Alex in her arms. Telling her she’s sorry and that she’s here and she’ll always be here and that she loves her. But she doesn’t. She watches as Alex turns away, away from the people she has left connecting her to her mother, and walks away. As she gets closer Piper takes in Alex’s appearance, black heels, black dress but Piper’s throat constricts when she notices the leather jacket that Alex pulls tight around her body. She’d seen that jacket before, when Diane wasn’t in her Diner gear, she usually had that jacket on. That was Diane. All Alex has left of her. Alex’s face is a mess, Piper almost doesn’t recognize her, if it wasn’t for the blue streaks in her hair and the glasses, she probably wouldn’t. She looks beat down, tired. Like she hadn’t eaten or slept since she’d been back. She probably hadn’t. Piper punches her thigh and sobs, this is all her fault and as the pain radiates down her leg she wonders when she’ll ever forgive herself. Tears flow freely as she realizes probably never.

Alex walks slowly, lifeless, and Piper watches, helpless, until she sees something that makes her ignite the engine and throw the car into drive. Alex stops, looks up at the sky and Piper knows she’s cursing whoever did this, whoever took her mom. Took Piper. But then she pulls this pink scarf out of the inside pocket of Diane’s jacket and Piper knows she has to get out. If she didn’t get out she’s never leave. Alex buries her face in the scarf and Piper remembers when Alex plucked the scarf off a random street cart in Tahiti and wrapped it around her and grabbed Piper’s arm and ran as Piper protested about paying for the scarf and Alex just gave her classic response of “Fuck them!” And her smile was so contagious and the thrill of breaking a rule was so intoxicating that Piper just went with it. Alex told her she looked hot wearing the scarf, that it brought out her eyes and ever since Piper never left anywhere without it. Until that last day, apparently. Alex had kept it. Held on to it, held on to Piper and if Piper hadn’t have drove away she would have never let her go, and she had to. She had to get as far away from the cemetery, away from the love of her life, away from a piece of herself.

Months went by, seasons changed but Piper remained just a shell of herself. She went through the motions day by day not really living. Her phone wallpaper was still of her and Alex in Cambodia, Diane’s to favorite picture, or so she had said. Piper hadn’t been back to the cemetery since that day and why she was there now she didn’t know. She just needed someone to talk to. Diane was always good at that. Piper walked through the cemetery, leaves rustling by as Piper tried to pinpoint where she was. She passed head stone after head stone and finally she stopped as she read Vause and collapsed to her knees. Alex had really out done herself, Diane’s was by far the most elaborate of the headstones and Piper traced the letters of Diane’s name with her fingers, her throat closing in on her, her lip quivered, “Hi. It’s me.”

Piper cried, really cried, for the first time since that day. Repeating the words “I’m so sorry,” over and over and over again into the silence.

“You must hate me,” Piper sniffed, “I hate me.” And Piper spilled her guts to Diane, something she had done many times before, told her how she screwed up, how much she missed Alex, how much she loved her. Piper wiped her hand across her nose, “I always told you I’d watch out for her, Id keep her safe and I let you down.” Piper got up and walked away but found herself back in the same spot often, bringing Diane flowers, telling her stories of her and Alex, how much she missed her. She always cried, her hand pressed against the headstone as she sobbed until she dry heaved.

It was summer when Piper last visited Diane. She brought her her her usual flowers and sat Indian style on the grass, sighing because the air felt so heavy, the weight of what she had to say crushing her. But Diane always listened, she never judged. “I met someone,” Piper held her breath like she expected some sort of response. She exhaled. “I know. His name’s Larry. He’s a really great guy he’s just….” Piper looked up to the sky for answers, none came. “He’s not Alex. No one is. But I have to do this. I have to let her go.” Piper choked on the lump in the throat. “I have to let you go.” Her finger slid across the V on the headstone and she got up, full of apologies and as she walked away Piper added this moment as one to file away in the farthest corner of her mind, one to forget, to erase, to pretend never happened.

HOLY SHIT DO YOU SEE THIS!??!??! THIS IS ME IN LONDON MEETING TOM MILSOM. TOM FUCKING MILSOM. Not only do i admire his work solo and in Chameleon Circuit, he is also a big part of the reason i have the courage to share some of my writing. When i met him, he was in a resturant eating lunch with his mum and i was definetley not going to intrupt him , seeing as it was a nice place and i was just shopping with my family in the joined store for tea. But my brother wouldnt stop bugging me and even offered to go with me after seeing how much of a wreck i was. When we went and he explained to the seating person, and she saw me shaking and wringing my hands like an idiot, she smiled knowingly and let us pass her. After my brother asked him if he was who i thought he was, because i was too nervous to talk, and he said yes with  a smile, i took a shaky step towards him and was greeted by a ray of sunshine, i apologized profusley for interrupting him, and then talked for a bit. He asked me my name, where i was from, ect. When i asked for his picture he seemed happy to oblige. i felt a mixture of terror and elation the entire time, and he was just incredibly nice. Because of my anxiety, its hard for me to meet new people, and this almost killed me. But he was lovely and it was really really great after all.

I Wish It Was You [Part 2]

You were meant to be with the name engraved on your wrist, Luke, but after you met Ashton, you didn’t want to be with your soulmate.
Part 2 to my imagine for 5sos-writing-things

[Part 1]

Luke.

His smile grew as he heard the introduction. He was elated, while I wished the ground could swallow me whole. “Hi,” he repeated. I glanced at Ashton before looking back at Luke.

“Hi,” I replied. I suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable and stressed. While I was alone with Ashton I wanted nothing more than to always have him in my life and for him to be my soulmate, but the name never changed. And now I come to find he will always be in my life, but as my soulmates’ bandmate and friend. This isn’t what I wanted. Could I get a redo?

“We’ll let you two have some time alone,’ Ashton announced, refusing to look at me. He and Calum took their pizza and left the room along with Michael, closing the door behind them. Luke and I stared at each other.

Keep reading

“Uh, excuse me – can I ask for your advice?” Simon had turned around to the person closest to him out of instinct, having drabbled with two different type of night lamps for over five minutes now. “I’m going to redo my daughter’s room later for her three year old birthday and I’m trying to find something in the middle of childish, and yet mature enough to grow into for another three years. Blend furniture with decorations. Does that even sound wise or should I just keep it childish all together? I really wish I could ask her but you know… it’s a surprise.”