paws folded

Reunions, Of A Sort

A MHA fanfiction. One-shot.

AO3

Summary: A museum Class 1-A visits has an exhibit for older heroes. Toshinori takes a look at the section dedicated to his predecessor, not expecting a comforting talk with a stranger.


The building was large, a high roof making the main area feel more like an indoor stadium than a functional museum. Toshinori had to give a grin when several of his students just stared upwards, some so engrossed that they nearly fell backwards.

“Now that’s how you build a dome,” Sero said, awe in his voice.

Bakugou snorted. “We practice at USJ, and you’re still baffled by a fucking building.”

“Dude, chill,” Kirishima said, grinning and throwing an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders. “It’s never a bad time to appreciate the finer points of, um, architecture.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes.

Aizawa shuffled to the head of the class, hands shoved in his pockets. Everyone quieted down when he raised his voice. “The first and second floors of this building get few visitors on days like today, which should give you the privacy you need to conduct your research.”

Toshinori nodded. “Most of what you need will be here on the first floor, so be sure to look at everything before going up to the second.”

Aizawa waved his hand and the students broke up into groups, several heading directly into the depths of the museum while others consulted a directory. Toshinori watched as the other teacher found a convenient bench and stretched out, pulling a sleeping mask out of his jacket.

“I think I’ll wait on the second floor, if that’s alright,” Toshinori said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Aizawa just grunted and propped up his feet, slipping the mask over his eyes.

Toshinori smiled and shook his head. It didn’t take him long to find his way to the stairs, and he was happy to see that they were wide and well spaced. Normally he would hesitate to use stairs if another option was available - his left hip was warped enough to give him issues shifting his weight - but he was feeling good today, and didn’t want to waste his chance.

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Dog Person [a Barry Allen imagine]

Request: Can you do a Barry imagine we’re his gf is a werewolf and he and the team ask to see her shift into a wolf and barry is trying not to be super giddy (because he is a dog person and no one can tell me otherwise)

a/n: he totally is a dog person /requests closed right now/


Barry’s elbows rest on the metallic desk, fingers curled underneath his chin. A broad smile stretches across his slender face, creating little dimples in his cheeks. Sighing, you frown at how excited the team is; I mean, Cisco’s practically pulling a fangirl moment, waving his hands in front of his chest, and Caitlin is almost jumping up and down. You never should’ve opened your mouth, you realize this now.

Reluctantly, you morph into your wolf form; sleek black fur covering your little body, eyes shifting to a bright electric blue. A squeal leaves your boyfriend, surprising the rest of the team (especially Wally; he’s like ‘wtf?’). His notorious black and white converses pad to where you squat, gray hoodie sleeves pulled over his knuckles, which are in front of his face.

There’s a string of noises from him, followed by a small giddy yelp. Oh my god, your boyfriend is adorable! “She’s a wolf!” he squeaks, peering behind him, face scrunched up. “You’re a wolf!” Barry exclaims, flapping his arms around. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD! This is amazing! Can I hold you?! I’m gonna hold you.”

You’re suddenly scooped up in his arms, pressed firmly against his soft pullover hoodie, paws folded up in the air. If you were in human form, you would be laughing hysterically. “You’re so cute! With your lil…nose and eyes and paws!” Barry giggles, green eyes squinted in happiness as he sways back and forth. Deciding to have some fun, you lick his cheek, making him yelp and giggle harder.

Cisco comes closer, “I wanna pet her too, dude!” he beams, sticking out one of his tan hands.

“No!” Barry yells, shielding your body from the engineer. “She’s my girlfriend.” he pouts, carding his long fingers through your fur. You flinch, enjoying the feeling of him scratching behind your ear. It’s a dog thing.

Putting his hands up in surrender, Cisco steps back with Caitlin. “Touchy…” he mutters under his breath, tapping on the keyboard; Caitlin chuckles quietly.

Continuing to sway, Barry walks around the Cortex with you in his arms. (Wally watches, face twisted in confusion.) “My girlfriend is a werewolf… my girlfriend is a werewolf… this is the best day of my life!” the speedster coos in a sing-song voice, nuzzling his head in your fur. “I fucking love you.”

“Barry, we kind of, erm, need you?” Caitlin says awkwardly, pointing to the screen, “There’s a robbery on thirty”

“Wally can do it, right Kid Flash?” Barry hums, not even looking in his direction. With a nod, Wally is off. You have a feeling you aren’t changing back anytime soon.

FIC: A Bear Frets

Fandom: Critical Role
Characters: Trinket & Zahra Hydris
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,017
Summary: Trinket would do anything to protect Vex. If only she would pick more reasonably-sized foes. Zahra lends an ear to his worries.
Also on: AO3
Notes: For Critical Role Relationship Week. Takes place around episode 56. 


Mostly, the people Trinket travels with understand him.

Vex best of all, obviously. He doesn’t know her language—he doesn’t have a language of his own, not really, not the way she understands it—but he knows her, and she knows him. He understands the smallest quirks in her face, what the flick of her eyes means, every twitch of her fingers in midair, the fluctuation of her voice, even if the words are never clear. They’ve never needed language. They’ve always had each other.

But things are different, now, since the dragons came. More complicated than ever before. Trinket finds himself with feelings so snared and tangled that he can’t make sense of them, and, worse, he can’t convey them. Not even to Vex. They grow like a weight in his chest, ache like thorns in his paws, and he can’t shake free of them.

After the black dragon dies, though, and they return to Whitestone, Trinket catches a familiar scent in the air: Zahra.

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Cinque, Dieci, Venti

James designs something important. Jessie distracts him. Find it here on AO3. Rocketshipping, Fluff.

If you liked it, please leave a review on the archive!


It needs to be perfect.

Frowning slightly, James scrubs out a few lines with his eraser, then squints at his unfinished design. The sun is directly overhead now, making it difficult to focus even under the beach umbrella. He rolls his shoulders back a few times to stretch, then carefully redraws the lines.

There, that’s better.

The structure needs to be at least seven feet long, and probably almost as wide. Large enough to accommodate two adults of above-average height, a small but restless cat, and a blue balloon pokémon prone to talking in his sleep. James supposes they’ll sleep in their usual configuration: Jessie on the right, himself on the left, and Meowth sandwiched between them. Wobbuffet will likely want to be as close to his “mother” as possible, so the design will have to allow for some extra space on the right side of the mattress. For the frame, a fallen acacia koa he’d spotted a half-mile from Bewear’s cave will do nicely. For the mattress stuffing, he’ll collect pikipek feathers. According to his guidebook, the woodpecker pokémon will soon begin molting in preparation for their evolution into trumbeak.

“Here! Pass it here!”

Wobbuffet!”

“Pipe down, will ya?!”

James smiles as he continues his work, hearing the distant voices of his little family. Jessie, Wobbuffet, and Mareanie are frolicking in the surf, tossing a large white beach ball back and forth. Meowth floats on an inflatable raft a bit further out, sunglasses on and paws folded neatly on his furry stomach. Mimikyu skulks on the beach a few feet away from the umbrella, clicking ominously and pushing sand into little piles. James tries to ignore the pokémon’s frightening voice, and instead focuses on Wobbuffet’s exuberant cries and Jessie’s screams of laughter. His heartbeat quickens at the sound of her voice, audible even over the winds and the tides.

In Alola, Jessie is happier than he’s ever seen her. His partner is still fiery and assertive, but he hasn’t sensed desperation in her voice or detected loneliness in her eyes since they made their home in the island paradise. She’s more likely to be affectionate with Wobbuffet and to joke with Meowth, and she’s made friends with Mareanie, despite the initial animosity between them. Startlingly, Jessie has even allowed him to take the lead on a few missions… and in another arena as well. James bites his lip, remembering yesterday’s moonlit tryst, her moans of pleasure, the imprint of his fingertips lingering on her thighs.

Perhaps Jessie is happy because she knows now that I am hers and she is mine.

He flushes guiltily, berating himself for the thought. Though the tenderness in his partner’s blue eyes tells him everything he needs to know, Jessie is still reluctant to put her feelings into words. James won’t rush her. He’ll continue to show her in every word and action how much he adores her, and someday soon, she’ll be ready too.

“Are you going to join us, or are you going to waste the whole day on that silly sketchbook?” He lifts his head from his design at the teasing words, and can’t suppress a gasp. The pokémon continue their game in the surf, but Jessie has left the water and is now standing before him in her simple black bikini. She wrings out her wet hair, causing rivulets of seawater to roll down her pale curves. Jessie is some ocean goddess come to captivate and claim him, and James is utterly helpless before her.

“In a minute, Jess,” he manages, feeling his blush return. Jessie basks in the attention, cocking one hip to show off a little more. Her pale skin shimmers in the sunlight, water droplets sparkling like jewels. “I hope you remembered to wear sunscreen,” he says, and Jessie rolls her eyes.

“You worry too much, dear,” she says, crawling under the umbrella and kneeling behind him. She presses her torso flush against his back, her knees on either side of his hips. James dares to place an affectionate hand on one of her smooth thighs, and Jessie winds an arm around his waist in response, pulling him close. Her sharp chin is nestled in the crook of his neck, and tendrils of damp crimson hair soak his shirt.

“What are you working on, anyway?” she asks, peering over his shoulder at the sketched design.

James smiles sidelong at her. “It was supposed to be a surprise.” She pokes him in the side, eliciting a small yelp. “Hey! All right, I’ll tell you. I know I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” Jessie hums contentedly into his neck. She’s always admired his talents for architecture and mechanics, especially because such pursuits have always mystified her.

“It’s the bed you asked for,” James admits, his voice shaky despite himself. Jessie’s heart jumps in her chest. That was her James, unfailingly loyal and infinitely capable of the deepest, most enduring type of love. No one has ever taken care of her like this; she’s always been too afraid to let them. But now…

She swallows, trying in vain to dispel the tightness in her throat. “Fit for a princess?” she tries to tease, but the words are choked and watery.

James lifts her left hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. “No. A queen.”

“Oh, James.” Jessie can’t bear the moisture welling in her eyes. With gentle fingertips, she turns his head to meet hers and kisses him, the design forgotten in his lap.

Jessie tastes like lipstick and saltwater, and James can’t get enough. He wonders fleetingly if Meowth is watching before he surrenders completely to the feeling of Jessie’s velvet mouth on his. When her soft tongue slips past his parted lips to lick at his own, he melts into her embrace, tangling one hand in her damp hair. The kiss is over far too soon, and when he whines a little at the loss of contact, she chuckles and kisses him again, slow and deep and sweet.

James sucks gently at Jessie’s lower lip as they pull apart, enjoying her soft moan. She pecks his cheek, then rises to her feet, brushing sand from her knees. Her cheeks are pink, and he knows it has little to do with the sun and wind.

“James?” she asks, smirking.

“Yes, dear?”

“About the bed. Make sure it’s sturdy.” She grins at his dumbstruck expression, then turns and runs back into the surf to join the others. James can do nothing but flop onto his back under the umbrella, nearly catatonic with joy.

She’ll be the death of me. But what a way to go.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: a youthful looking brown tiger/tabby cat is laying on her back, paws folded elegantly across her chest, eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. she is laying on a sheet with a bird of paradise design. she looks like the happiest, most content kitty. one ear is sticking out and one is folded under her head as she naps, but she doesn’t seem to mind.]

This is Isis. My ex and I adopted her from GAIN the animal shelter in Guam. She fell in love with me and is the best thing my ex ever did for me. If I’m home she’s either circling my feet or in my lap. ❤

Isis submitted by @tiddysprinklesx will be supporting a shelter of her human’s choice!

Reblog, like, and reply between today, May 13, 12 PM EST and Saturday, May 20, 11:59 PM PST to get Isis the most notes and a donation to a shelter of her human’s choosing!

New Year is coming! :)

Are you ready for the New Year holidays?

My Dog Was Lost for Three Days. What Came Back Wasn't My Dog.

As a kid, I was raised in a small fishing community on the Eastern side of Canada, surrounded by the gulf of Saint Lawrence and the Boreal Forest. The entirety of the land was close to 4000 foot square with an even smaller number of residents sprawled out over “main street”, the main road running straight through our little town, and farming houses spread widely between areas of trees that were changed to domestic residential homes when agriculture stopped being profitable. In total, our community is surrounded by a vast expanse of ocean, and a seemingly endless barrage of trees that’s spread over 55% of Canada’s entire country. I spent most of my life hunting in those woods, so you can imagine my joy when my parents got me a “hunting dog”.

Sandy was a Shetland Sheepdog, and while they were more fit to be herding and tracking sheep over grassy plains rather than rabbits and deer through dense forest, it didn’t stop me from taking him with me on every excursion I possibly could. Sandy had been by my side for enough hunting trips that he’d grown accustomed to waking up just before breaking daylight, and on a few occasions helped track down small game like squirrels and rabbits through considerably large areas of forest.

Sandy wasn’t my property, and wasn’t treated like he “belonged” to me. Sandy was a member of the family, my best companion, and my truest friend. I think fondly back on all the times he’d sit in the front seat of the truck without being told, ready to go for a walk in whatever part of the forest I took him to. I can honestly say that there will never be a dog that will fill the void Sandy left in my life. I find that dog lovers relate to that sentiment more than others.

It was October 30th, the first day of deer hunting season. I had been talking with my family about taking Sandy, my hunting gear, and some essentials to one of the cabins my Grandfather owned in his heyday off an unmarked road a few hundred miles into the wilderness for a few days. This was met with a lot of protesting, but nothing could stop me from getting in some time looking for wild game in an area that wasn’t already picked clean by illegal hunters earlier on in the month. Everything was packed into the old blue ford, Sandy included, and a few hours of driving later we were setting up camp in one of my Grandfather’s secluded old cabins.

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The Weak Spined, Part II

Barnyard mice always get trampled
by horses. The warm hay,
the dropped grain all they want.
Running on paws folded in on themselves,
frostbitten so severely by something outside
of their control.
Sharp-fanged snakes tell them to run in and
fetch their midnight snacks.
Sharp-fanged snakes slither in and
eat their carcasses off the floor.

~m.a