aisling d

night ghost || Shawn mendes

a/n: something to break your heart this fine Monday night.

Thinks he’s seen a ghost but it’s just her again; the shadow of what used to be wafting through his hallway.

For a second his brain tells him to get out of bed and go and check. Go and see if she’s actually there, dressed in one of the t-shirts she stole from him and nothing else, but the duvet acts as handcuffs - locking him to the mattress they once shared.

There were no hard feelings in their break up (or at least, that’s what she thinks) but Shawn’s spent too many sleepless nights thinking about her for her to be fully blameless.

Shawn still remembers when they’d dance through grocery store aisles, remembers how he’d spin her, watching as her hair cascaded around her in a veil like halo.

Shawn remembers having picnics with her and throwing strawberries into her mouth, purposely missing so he could see the way her nose would scrunch together and hear her playful giggle.

Fucking remembers her shoe size, ring size, phone number, the way she dots her I’s and crosses her T’s or the way she smells like peaches when it rains because the water makes her shampoo scent bleed into the air.

He rolls onto his back and rips his eyes away from the hallway that holds her memory, and his eyes find his white ceiling.

Remembers the way she’d curl up into him at 2 in the morning, mumbling about it being too cold and he remembers the way he’d snuggle her shivering body into his heated frame.

He thinks - fleetingly - that the reason she was cold at night was because his dreams about her were stealing her warmth. Maybe that’s why she’s gone, Shawn whispers to himself, like a cup of tea cooling.

He rolls onto his side and lets his eyes find her pillow. Was his pillow once, but as soon as she rested her head on it he knew it would forever be hers. Claimed it like a lion stating her territory - like his heart. Clawed at it with her god damn tears and made it bleed the sound of her laugh - a melody that’ll never leave his brain, no matter how hard he tries.

He feels himself reach over, and before he knows it he’s grabbing at the pillow, pulling the white casing into his bare chest. Doesn’t bring him comfort like it used to, but that’s ok, because he hears her in the hallway again.

He turns, smiling when he sees her frame leaning against the door way. He knows she’s not really there, and she looks a little different - eyes aren’t as bright.

But she smiles like her, smells like her, sounds like her when she says “Shawn, what’re you doing up?”

“Thinking about you again, aren’t I?” Goes Shawn’s reply. Forever thinking about her and for a second it’s all real, she’s back, in his arms as she snuggles her head into his chest. But it’s not the same - she’s warm this time.

anonymous asked:

For Logan-centric fic ideas how about Logan can't do the alphabet without singing the song and he's quite embarrassed about it even though it's an infinitesimal thing. And the others don't know he has this weakness.....until they do? Not much in it, probably, but idk maybe a short little ficlet idea?

I’ll just write that here. I have to sing the alphabet song in my head most times too. I also have to sing the counting songs whenever I have to do multiplication in my head. I know its canon that they don’t go into each others rooms now but I am blatantly ignoring that.

No warnings I can think of.

Logan walked through the memory files, trying to find a specific fact. They tended to get lost in here.

He left short term memory and walked past explicit memory, which was categorized by year and day, into implicit memory, which was alphabetized.

Thomas wracked his brain. He couldn’t remember. What was the name of that show again? What was it?

Logic knew it would be kept under “television” and that some of those files were easier to locate than others. Now uh, T is,

He began singing slowly as he went through the files, his slightly robotic singing becoming absorbed by the drawers upon drawers and boxes upon boxes filled with paper.

“h, i, j, k, lmnop.”

He was concentrating too hard to hear the light footstep behind him.

“q, r, s, t! And a, b, c, d, e!”

There it was. The filing cabinet labeled “Television”

“Were you singing?” Came an exaggerated yet gentle voice.

Logan wheeled around and found himself face to face with Prince, who was wearing a smirk of mild amusement.

Logan quickly gained his composure. “Um, no. i do not sing much.”

Roman let out a charming princely laugh. “Oh, the nerd is so insecure. Alright, if you are so embarrassed about singing the alphabet then I’ll let you. I’m just here for a memory.”

“I am not embarrassed. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Logic said, opening the drawer and starting to flip through it.

“I sing it too.” Roman said, before pacing back up the aisle back to D.

“Disney facts?” Logic asked.

“What else? And I must say, this a rather dull setup. I always thought so.”

“But it is easy to find things.”

Roman gestured to the various files, papers, and boxes that were littering the room. “Memories have a mind of their own, Logic. They don’t bend to your will.”


Sorry for lack of art lately, have some oldish drawings of some of the player characters in the D&D campaign Aisling is a part of which I forgot to upload here. They’re members of the Porcelain Chicken Adventurers; I plan to draw the rest eventually..

Ari - Tiefling Warlock

Gobshank Grendasnatch - Goblin Rogue

Celana - Half-elf Cleric

If you want a commission of your character like this shoot me an ask or email!


I work at the bullseye store. Stocking in the early morning (used to he 4am now its 6). Anyways so we have this practice called The Wave (not to be confused with the machinery forklift thing called the wave that we also have). Where almost all of the stocker people go through the wave areas and just stock one aisle at a time. When they finish an aisle, they move to the next unworked aisle. (Each person gets their own aisle). Well they get yelled at a lot by our manager. She’s a very angry lady who has only gotten angrier since her son was deployed a few months ago.
But anyways, working the wave is the like average thing a stocker at my store does. But I’m no longer one of them. I get to do a more specialised task (usually either bowling C&D or the C&D repacks (sorting boxes into aisles, and sorting items for the C&D labelled aisle respectively)). But after i finish my task i go back and rejoin the wave for the tail end of my shift usually. Its a “privileged” position, meaning my angry manager feels safe in leaving me alone to work because I’ll do it and do it well even without her constantly watching me. I’m similar to the softlines workers except they don’t rejoin the wave at the end unless the finish everything which happens maybe two or three times a year max. Also the electronics guy is similiar.

But there is 1 (technically 2 people but doing the same thing togetherish) position even more “privileged”. My one super close work friend does it every day. Its the main repack carts. They are completely on their own the entire shift, go literally everywhere in the store, and basically never answer to a manager at all unless they really fuck up or something changes. Only the most trusted people get to do the job (its actually really really hard and requires a lot of knowledge about where stuff goes in the store without looking it up or scanning an item with a scanner).
Well today my friend barely stood up ad got in the shower before she started getting sick. She has been sick a lot recently but this is one of the first times it’s been this bad and she had to call off because she couldn’t stand without getting incredibly dizzy and nauseated again.
Well that meant someone had to do her job. And /I/ was the one my manager picked to do it.
It did mean having to do the hard job and also working part of the shift with the other lady who does that job who is an absolute bitch usually, but just being the one who she picked to do that job, I feel incredibly honored. Especially because she easily could have put anyone else there because I’m trained on every single stocking area except electronics (and only partially trained on my friend’s job since i did it exactly once before when the other lady was on vacation in the middle of back to school season ).

Tl;dr: I was picked to do the hard but most trusted job in my work team by my angry manager and now i feel #blessed

Long Way Round - Part 11

Hey everyone!! I’m trying to do better about posting so here’s the next part! Only I almost didn’t want to post this one because I don’t think you guys will like it :( There’s a little more drama ahead for Finn and Rae before a resolution can be reached!!

Anyway, hope you like it… thanks for reading!


Part 11:

Keep reading

otabekyurious  asked:

sheith + 70 if u want to!!!

70. “You’re so beautiful.”

If there was any trace of nervousness, it had all dissipated when Shiro saw Keith walking down the aisle. When he’d said his vows, sincerely from his heart, there was no room for doubt. This is where he was meant to be, with the one he was meant to be with.

Everything around seemed to evaporate for Shiro as they said their words of love and devotion, he could only see Keith.

When they were pronounced married, they didn’t even wait to be told that they may now kiss.

At the reception, both of them found it impossible to talk, everyone else trying to talk to them, pulling them in different directions. Shiro was smiling, but he just wanted this reception in and take Keith up to the honeymoon suite and continue the celebration privately.

Matt gave his best man speech, sincere and kind, recounting everything so fondly. Lance was the exact opposite, telling every embarrassing story he could think of, before toasting to their happy life.

“And now,” the DJ announced slowly. “The grooms will share their first dance as husbands.”

The lights dimmed as Shiro led Keith onto the dancefloor. Can’t Fight This Feeling started to play as they joined hands and started swaying.  He could tell Keith was nervous, he wasn’t much of a dancer. In all fairness, neither was he, but he knew more than one way to soothe him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Keith’s cheeks were dusted pale pink. It was very rare that Keith blushed, except when he was really embarrassed or really happy. “Hey, it finally happened. We’re finally here.”

Keith had never been great at expressing his feelings and in the presence of so much love, he seemed a little shy. Perhaps it was that he was overwhelmed in a good way, but it was adorable. And beautiful. Keith was beautiful in every way possible.

Shiro tilted his chin up to meet his loving gaze, “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

Keith’s blush deepened, “Shiro…” he managed to breathe out, not being able to look away. Shiro could see so much love reflecting back at him.

Shiro moved in and their lips touched. Suddenly the song, the guests, and the reception hall faded away. It was just them.

They broke apart, still in their own little world. Their foreheads touched, their eyes both squeezed shut.

“I love you,” Keith whispered.

Shiro smiled, bringing his lips to Keith’s forehead, “I love you too. Forever…”

I’m not used to writing fluffy romance so I’m legit blushing. Honestly I hope you enjoy this babe! 

Can I put my shopping list here?

I would come and get all this after finishing the giveway prizes

In the aisle Art Trade : ( replace all the names by food, tomatoes are recommended, i love tomatoes)

  1. What about  @ksenoir ?
  2. A bit of @mumudesuyo maybe ?
  3. I hope they have some @ayeshiva in stock
  4. If i find some i’ll take a @lunaria-sucrette
  5. Oh and a @loonylein
  6. And its been a while that @llamakoernchen catch my eyes, maybe i had to take one,
  7. Is there any @debgall left?
  8. Excuse me ! Sir excuse me ! Is there some @ondriaprice in this aisle?
  9. @a-i-d-e-n is rare in here, but maybe they received one !
  10. *seek* Raah… I can’t find the @giaddy17
  11. Ah ! Here it is, it was behind the @fayrelynn-trinity, i take the both !
  12. Hum…. A little @chof-art to go with some @suziesamico !
  13. Let’s go check the price of @veroww
  14. The @arr3-arts are very ripe this year I will take some!
  15. Oh my god, the colors of that @redrose04 ! Hop, in my basket !
  16. Hey ! Some @cmms88 will be good with a bit of rice, i take it !
  17. A little @antijero could be good i think…
  18. To finish, a handful of @jorgeva !

Eheh if your name is in my shopping list, you can say in the comment if you’re okey to be in to do an art trade with me, if you don’t want, i’ll cry until the death and forget you, never mind, these are things that happen ! ( And in fact 19 tomatoes is a lot, so if you don’t want to play with me you can totally escape from the basket ;)



I…LOVE Ludwig and Aren in your guy’s RP!!! <3 X///D

Ludwig: “When work is over…zings we’ll be okay, Ich promise”

Aren: “R-really?”

Ludwig: “Ja…we’ll do something special. Just you and Ich”

And I’m just laughing cause El Guaco just cleaned off Tequila’s puke guys X”D Come on guys, stop flirting and take my other gay guac home >8//V You can bang at home after this is through!!

Like…I wanna know more about them soooo much X”D It’s that forbidden love thing that gets meh!!! Especially for Nazi’s ; W ; El Guaco can pretty much do whatever he wants cause he’s a BEAST!! >83 But Ludwig and Aren live in a very strict aisle and I’m here like…”Well damn it!! I gotta root for my German babs - 3 - )9″

Again, love these guys and love your story so far guys XD It’s getting really dark!! TT w TT )9

wheresthewater  asked:

Who would walk the aisle and who would be waiting @ the alter?

I’d like to think that spence’s mom would be the one to walk with him down the aisle because honestly she’d be so happy like she’d truly remember this moment despite her illness. & tbh i hope rossi/emily marries them because oh my god can u imagine i’d die I LOVE MY DADS

joonienamjoon  asked:

concept: namjoon taking us to a vintage bookstore and analyzing all of his fave authors for us all in a rap???????


like it probably doesn’t even start that way?? we’re probably just quietly looking through the shelves, touching the spines of second-hand books, thinking about how many people they’ve whispered their stories to. maybe we’re chatting away happily as he peruses the aisles… tbh we’d probably be very distracted bsjbsjbs (because honestly who wouldn’t be, when he looks so so beautiful engrossed in something he loves)

but then imagine him picking out one particular book, his eyes widening and his head suddenly turning to us with that attentive look (i know you know the one!!), “oh? i haven’t seen this anywhere else in a long time!!”

and suddenly he flips through the pages, rapidly enumerating the many things about this book that he loved, telling us about his analysis of specific characters. isn’t a childhood favorite quite like a first love? it affects you in the same way—luring you in little by little, wrapping you in the warmth of beautiful words; taking up so much of your time, sometimes even at night when you know you should be sleeping.

you’d be bright-eyed and smiling as he rambles on happily about the story line, reigning in your impulse to die over his cuteness with every last bit of control you have. and i, rendered impossibly still in my spot, don’t even dare to ask him a single question because suddenly, his story-telling has morphed into that sing-song way he starts a forlorn rap, and then into that desperate, can’t-breathe rollercoaster flow of a climax, and then finally into that gritting-of-the-teeth frustration towards a resolution.

neither of us even needed to have read the book to know what it was about, because the emotions expressed in that spur-of-the-moment, half-rap half-“oh my god guys this was my favorite book!!!” speech probably perfectly encapsulated it.


Normally, Kent would make his rounds at more… savory places. The bottom of his ALDO boots, colored a deep mahogany and fashioned after cognac, pressed reluctantly against the stained tile that lined the Mart-O. With every step, he experienced a shiver run down his spine, fingers twitching reflexively as gusts of stale, air conditioned wind blew past his face by the produce aisle. The bell peppers were bruised. The cabbage was pale. The people were abysmal. His net worth clearly surpassed every crockpot, generic toilet paper roll, and average Joe in the store combined. It was depressing, to say the least.

Brockman’s head throbbed at the nonsensical chatter that decorated the aisle ways. He’d just about abandoned his cart, hope all but lost when he spotted something very, very interesting.

He rolled his cart right next to his former roommate, no other than the James Reagan Bryne, and made certain to cause a collision: small but intrusive as fuck.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you there—“ A feigned gasp, Kent making little attempt to repress his shit eating grin. “J.R.? Well I’ll be!”

The journalist placed his hands squarely on his chiseled hips, head tilted as he gave the man a once-over. “Why am I not surprised you shop here?”

anonymous asked:

what is figging?

Not anything you’d find in the fruit aisle. You’d go a little to the left. 

It’s apparently a butt plug made out of ginger root. I’ve been told it causes a slow climb of burning and sensitivity and eventually just fiery pain and hell. 

No personal experience with it but..

anonymous asked:

🍼 Aisling (for Vicky)

“As you can see, the implantation was a complete success,” Vicky said, leaning back a little to show off her small baby bump. Some time ago she’d asked Aisling to donate some genetic material to help her make a baby, using science and a little magic to make a viable embryo. On the surface she’d said she’d wanted something of a mini me, someone to pass on her tradition of spellcasting, but on subsequent pryings the truth had come out.

See, Vicky already had two sons, the elder scion Isaac and the younger plant mage Ezekiel. On both occasions, Vicky had no recollections of carrying either, and at least for one of them the revelation of what happened wasn’t a pleasant one to remember. In both cases she abandoned the resulting kids to other parties, either due to demonic influence or due to not having a stable power base at the time. As unfeeling as she sometimes pretended to be, she did want at least one pregnancy she could remember, one kid she could say she helped raise. With that, she figured Aisling would be a prime candidate for co-mother given her deceptively dizzying intellect and insatiable curiosity.

“Booze and smokes are in storage, don’t worry.”