half raccoon

Why are the white people who against Black Panther so bad at lying?

They proudly exclaim how Wakanda (a technologically advanced African country) is just unrealistic. They vehemently spew some racist rhetoric and cry both in person and on social media…

Then when called out? They say “The entire marvel universe is unrealistic so what I’m saying isn’t false it’s just stating facts”…. except no.

There is a movie about a green woman, half alien, talking raccoon, and a animalistic tree flying through space and you praise it AND exclaim how excited you are to see it. A movie about a child who has spider-like abilities doesn’t make you “uncomfortable” even though it deviates from human norm…. a man transforming into a giant green monster doesn’t make you “uncomfortable”.

But the story of an advanced peaceful civilization that doesn’t involve raping, killing, colonization, AND ESPECIALLY white people makes you uncomfortable to the point where you have to voice your opinion?

Save your breath and just say “I don’t like the idea of Black People being great. I don’t like the idea of Black People not depending on white people. I don’t like Black People, period”

Title: Picky Eater
A/N: i am very tired but still clinging to the idea that Virgil loves raccoons that’s the cutest thing
Warnings: Food talk

“Virgil, you have to eat,” Logan groaned in frustration, glaring at the child beside him.  Little Virgil sat in his chair, arms crossed and legs drawn up to his chest.  The plate of chicken, peas, and cornbread sat in front of him, not even picked at.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil whined, reaching up to flick the plate farther away from himself.  “That’s all nasty stuff.”

“How would you know if you won’t even touch it?” Logan asked, pushing the plate back towards the child.

“I can smell it.”  Virgil shoved the plate away once more and tried to hop down, whining at the hand that grabbed his wrist.  “Le’go, Lo!”

“You can leave after you eat ­four pieces of chicken and half of your peas.”

“No!” Virgil cried out, clawing at Logan’s hand.  “I don’t wan’ it!”  He used his feet for leverage, escape plan failing him greatly.  “I don’t want thaaaat!  It’s yuckyyyyy!”

“What’s with all the fuss?” Patton asked, poking his head in. Logan sighed and picked up Virgil, making his way to the moral side.

“He refuses to eat what’s on his plate,” Logan explained, gladly handing Virgil over when the anxious side made grabs for Patton.  

Patton looked at the untouched plate and cooed, looking at Virgil. “Y’know it’d be a shame to have to throw out all that yummy food, Virge.”

“It ain’t yummy; it’s yucky,” Virgil spat, hiding his face in Patton’s shoulder.  “Throw it away!”

“I mean, I’m sure the raccoons would be very thankful for such a feast…”

“Wha…?”  The mention of Virgil’s favorite animal peaked his interest, and now the little side was staring at his plate with narrowed eyes.  “ ‘Coons eat peas?”

“They sure do!  And they looooove chicken and cornbread, too!” Patton said.  He watched the wheels turn in Virgil’s head, grin taking over his face when Virgil made grabs for the plate.  

Logan quickly grabbed the plate off the table and held it out to Virgil, who grabbed a piece of his cut-up chicken with his chubby fingers. Virgil wrinkled his nose before taking a tiny, tiny bite.  He didn’t like it at all…but if raccoons would eat it…

Virgil kept an eye on the other two as he stuffed the chicken in his mouth and grabbed another piece.  Neither of them said a word, luckily, so Virgil took a fistful of peas as well.  

“Don’t want no more,” Virgil said after that handful, disgusted by the taste.  Ew, the raccoons could have peas!  

“That was really good, kiddo!” Patton praised, holding a hand up for a highfive.  Virgil sheepishly put his palm to Patton’s, burying his face in Patton’s shoulder once more.  “You want some milk?”

“Can it have Fruit Loops?”

“It sure can!”

Patton sat Virgil down on the counter and grabbed the Scooby-Doo sippy cup, filling it with milk and grabbing the spice grinder to quickly turn some Fruit Loops into near-dust.  Virgil happily took the cup and stuck the nib in the corner of his mouth, chewing on it as he half-drank.

“Can the raccoons have my leftovers?” Virgil asked.  

Logan was about to protest, but Patton stopped him.  “Me and Lo will make sure they get your leftovers, but you have to go get ready for bed!”

“OK!”  Virgil had Patton set him on the floor, and just like that the little tot took off down the hall towards his room.

“I’m not feeding raccoons, Patton.  Once you feed them, they’ll keep coming back!”

“That’s why you bury the plate in the trash, Lo.”

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A Case of Mistaken Identity

Vanoo. 17989 words. 

Summary: Los Santos was a city riddled with crime, and it was up to Evan and his friends to fix that. By night, he was Bat Owl - a superhero tasked with defending his city from the baddest of the bad, alongside his friends and teammates, Batcoon and Early Bird. By day, he was a mild mannered security guard and loving husband to Brock, the son of a local billionaire entrepreneur.

Little did he know, however, that Brock had a secret identity of his own, and their lives were more intertwined than he previously thought.

(Vanoo Bat Owl and Early Bird AU.)

A/N: Loosely based off of this post from a year ago. 

The city was quiet.

It was rare that Los Santos would be this tranquil and peaceful, but Evan wasn’t going to complain. The absence of sirens was calming and more beautiful than any sound, and he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. The city lights twinkled under the backdrop of the night sky, and the familiar rumble of cars zooming down the streets rose up from underneath them. The ever shining streetlights cast an orange glow on the horizon that drowned out the stars, but the full moon still hung brilliantly and watched over everyone below, emitting a gentle aura of peace that washed over him.

Being a superhero in a city with such a high crime rate meant genuinely peaceful moments were few and far between, and it was refreshing to perch on the edge of a rooftop with his team and bask in the tranquillity while they still had the chance to enjoy it. It was a demanding job, but Evan couldn’t imagine doing anything else that would be even half as rewarding, and it was in moments like this when the city was sleeping soundly without a care in the world that reassured him that the risk was worth it. His body may be littered in bruises and scars, but if the people were safe, then that’s all that mattered to him.

(Read on Ao3)

anonymous asked:

I do like the Henry stories but could you please write a little something about Mulder and Scully being together post season 10 (I just have to believe they made it work 😩). Thank you!

Morning, then night. She drives and drives through threadbare towns and wastelands, the shells of cities. She drives by sunlight, moonlight, neon light. The dog sits in the passenger seat, stoic and staring.

Mulder, half dead or half living, stirs in the back. She’s out of time and there’s no trace of her son still, not a file or chromosome to be had. It’s up to her, then.

A hospital outside Biloxi, abandoned but for glossy raccoons and half feral dogs looting the cafeteria. Scully frees a frightened skunk with a yogurt cup on its snout, feeds her dog bread and cheese. She scrounges a wheelchair from the lobby.

Scully transfuses her blood into his limp form, a terrifying communion that represents her last best hope. She touches the scar at the back of her neck as her strange blood meets his, nourishing him as it did William. She wonders what her body will turn Mulder into, if it doesn’t kill him first.

He doesn’t wake and she wails, she rends her garments and falls to her knees again. She gives him saline and a hundred Hail Marys.

He doesn’t wake and she begs. Eli, Eli, lama sabachtani?

Morning, then night.

Movement beside her in the hospital bed, already sour with mice. Scully startles to alertness.

“Mulder?” Her voice is stone on stone.

He gazes at her, red-eyed, the skin beneath them the color of plums. “It’s you,” he croaks.

“It’s me,” she breathes, joyous and fearful.

“It’s always you.” He manages a smile on his cracked lips.

Scully touches his cheek with something akin to reverence. “Always,” she says, and sees through the window that the night has gone.


While I was rinsing him off that little tiny bone you can see by the baculum fell out of his head. I’m pretty sure it’s one of his inner ear bones? I can hear another one rattling around in there, but I doubt I can get it out.
Glueing in his teeth was a bitch and a half, holy hell. @rissagoosman’s raccoon tooth guide saved my goddamn life. The pictures I had taken previously of his teeth were a big help, but I know I still would have made mistakes without the guide to help me.
We need more tooth guides like that for other species please, vultures.

Hive [1 / 2]

Warnings for mind control (sort…of), slight body horror, and slight gore/animal death (don’t worry, the pig is safe). 

Suggested listening for this chapter: “Hold No Guns” by Death Cab for Cutie.

Part One // Part Two

on AO3

Dipper, unsurprisingly, notices it first.

“Is it just me, or have people been acting…weirder than usual lately?” he asks, from flat on his back on the porch, basking in the heat of the sinking sun and the chill of the water evaporating off of him and the dull, slow ache in all his muscles from running around with Soos ambushing (okay, being ambushed by) Wendy and Mabel with water guns all afternoon. The wood underneath his back is rough and sun-warmed, both splinters and heat slowly working their way into his skin, and from where he lies he can just see a sliver of glaring blue out of the corner of his right eye, past the edge of the sagging porch roof.

“Define ‘weirder than usual’,” Wendy says, from the couch somewhere to Dipper’s left, her voice lazy and languid as the quiet buzz from the trees out ringing the yard. Dipper can’t muster the energy to turn and look at her; he remembers her falling sprawled across the cushions, one arm up over the back. As far as he knows, she hasn’t moved.

“Yeah, Dipper, this is Gravity Falls -” Mabel starts, and Dipper groans.

“That’s why I said 'weirder than usual’, Mabel. Weirder than usual.”

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