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#unethical breeding practices

moved-to-piersgender · 8 months

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Like seriously could you imagine if there was a Normal/Ice Siberan tiger looking cat that produces a slightly fucked up Fire/Ice liger egg if placed in the daycare with a male Pyroar

#LET 👏 KIDS 👏 PRACTICE 👏 UNETHICAL 👏 BREEDING 👏 PRACTICES #Pokemon #Fakemon #Fakemon ideas #Shitpost but also not

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pastries-and-pokemon-cafe · 1 year

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I get a lot of customers coming in and asking me questions about Macaron (my Slurpuff). Lots of people asking me if he's really shiny, if I got him from a breeder, if I bred him myself, the typical fare. His story is a little more complicated than being a designer 'mon bred specifically to be shiny (a practice that I do not condone or support).

I was on vacation in Kalos when I was finishing up culinary school as a little treat for myself, since I wanted to learn from the masters how to make my own Poképuffs and, y'know, just kinda try real Kalos cuisine for myself. I was taking a little hike with Custard for some exercise, when we see an undersized yellow Swirlix in a patch of grass. He had cuts and scrapes all over, and he looked kinda skinny. I didn't see any other Swirlix nearby, and the little guy didn't look very happy or healthy, so I pulled out some of my emergency snacks and offered him an Orange Berry. I was worried he'd be scared and run away back into the grass, but he hopped right over and helped himself to the treat... And then immediately tried to hop into my bag to get at the rest of my snacks. One trip to a Pokémon Center later to check if he was registered to any trainers, and I had an unexpected new friend to bring home with me.

Now Macaron is a healthy Slurpuff who loves nothing more than helping me at the café (and eating). Custard and Macaron are best buds, too. Probably something to do with Custard being there when we found him, and them essentially growing up together as a result. So while I don't support shiny breeding, I do support giving homes to wild shiny 'mons if you stumble across them, because there's a lot of research that shows that they're commonly abandoned by their mothers in the wild for a variety of reasons, most of which boil down to survival instinct. It sucks, but that's nature.

#pokemon #pokeblogging #unreality #slurpuff #shiny pokemon #if i get one more plasma chump coming into my cafe accusing me of supporting unethical breeding practices i will have an aneurysm

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konekoling · 1 year

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Obsessed w how the new furbies look like they've finally began to succumb to their decades of unethical breeding practices

#furby

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why-animals-do-the-thing · 2 years

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I was reminded by a reply that I should probably emphasize this: the Big Cat Public Safety Act literally has an exemption specifically for state colleges and universities. Why? Because there’s two schools with live mascots who live in habitats on campus, and their representatives absolutely would not have supported the bill if it had taken away their college’s cats.

Meet Mike VII at Louisiana State University:

And Leo III at the University of North Alabama:

(Leo III’s mate, Una, passed away a few years ago).

It’s tradition for these schools to have a live mascot, so the bill that *checks notes* is meant to end unethical commercial of big cats had to ensure that they’d still be allowed to have a big cat living next to their stadiums. Luckily neither school takes their mascots to the sidelines of football games anymore, but LSU actually only just stopped that practice in 2017.

These mascot cats have consistently been part of the commercial trade in big cats, although it’s unclear if they will continue to be (even though it’s still legal for these schools to buy their next mascot). Una and Leo III came from a wildlife park in New Hampshire as young cubs, and Mike VII is ostensibly a rescue but the story of the facility he came from doesn’t quite pass the smell test.

Here’s the wild thing. Under the new law, right, most entities that want to keep big cats - like sanctuaries and zoos - have to follow certain rules regarding fencing and breeding restrictions and preventing public contact in order to be allowed to do so. But state schools? Nada. They can buy, sell, and breed without any limits. They could, quite literally, run a tiger puppy-mill or start a cub petting franchise across multiple state universities and it wouldn’t be illegal. Obviously that’s a worst case scenario that’s super unlikely, but it goes to show just how odd it is that these entities have a totally unrestricted exemption. Credible zoological facilities and sanctuaries have to comply with much stricter regulations to prove they’re not exploiting the cats in their care, but for the sake of football, state colleges and universities can do whatever they want!! (sigh). It’s amazing how really specific political interests, such as the culture around football mascots, can result in carve-outs in even bills promoted specifically to create consistent regulations for animal welfare.

#big cat public safety act #college mascots #big cats #Mike the tiger #Mike vii #Leo the Lion #Leo iii #the mobile app isn’t letting me embed links but you can double check all the details about these cats on their websites #just Google their names and it’s easy to find

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gutsby · 7 months

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Honey Trap

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Warnings: NSFW. Unprotected p-in-v, breeding kink, some wildly unethical investigative techniques, graphic descriptions of violence and gore. Feral Daryl gone wild (and primal), courtesy of this lovely request.

“In espionage terminology, honeypot and honey trap are terms for an operational practice involving the use of a covert agent, to create a sexual or romantic relationship to compromise a target.”

In your mind, the sex was incidental to the mission.

You didn’t have to feel guilty about fucking the man’s brains out if you never meant to do it in the first place.

That was what you kept telling yourself as he shoved your face into the mattress and continued to pound you senseless. When he yanked your head back and nearly dislodged the hair at the roots with the force of each thrust, leaned in close to your ear and smirked.

“Keep grippin’ like tha’ and I’ll put a fuckin’ baby in ya.”

An honest mistake.

He flipped you onto your back and all but devoured your lips, rutting his hips so hard you thought he might displace your cervix as well. Every inch of your taut, aching walls drew him in and clenched him like a vice. You kissed him back, goaded him on, bounced an obscene cadence over his cock, and almost felt the first inklings of fatigue strain your muscles when he dropped his hand to your clit and started rubbing circles.

“Ah, fuck!” you cried, “Just like that, Daryl.”

An innocent slip of the tongue, really.

The longer these gut-wrenching blows and digital strokes continued, the closer you got to the cusp of your release. Were Daryl possessed of even a modicum of civility, you suspected he might have treated your cunt a little kinder, but frankly, the man was all animal in bed. He was a primal being, so cruelly in tune with his baser nature that every time he fucked you raw it was all tongues, teeth, and trembling lips whispering the filthiest, most repugnant things you’d heard in your life. He’d said it had something to do with him being a hunter by trade; you were never quite convinced of it, but you let him breed you like a rabbit all the same.

Presently, Daryl peered down at you with the haziest, most fucked-out look you’d ever seen grace a man’s features. He’d pushed one of your legs straight up to your chest. Two or three thrusts was all either of you had in you from that point on; with the introduction of this new angle, and that added pressure, you both went spiraling toward climax in a matter of seconds.

You threw your head back on the pillow while Daryl tore out of you, wringing his cock over your stomach until every last drop of him had painted that plane of skin.

You melted into the bed. Daryl sopped up the remains of his arousal with a washcloth, brushed a couple fingertips across your belly, and kissed your navel with affection. Then he collapsed to your left for a spell of silence.

A couple minutes later, as if on cue, you both rose from the bed and started dressing yourselves.

You felt no shame in being the first to light up this time. Tugging the pack of Pall Malls from your back pocket, you stepped outside and went fishing for your lighter.

Your eyes captured the dawn of the fresh day rising low on the outskirts of the field, and you smiled. Stuck one muddied cigarette between your teeth and lowered it to the flame you’d brought to life in the other hand. Then you took a seat on the front stoop, stretched your legs out as far as they would go, and watched the morning take shape before you. You took a contented drag.

Operator would have your head if he could see you now.

This was, without a shadow of a doubt, not part of the plan. The fraternizing, frolicking, even semi-regular fucking of your test subject strayed so far beyond the bounds of this mission, and your own ethical norms, that you’d almost forgotten what you were meant to be doing on that brisk November day.

Operator hadn’t forgotten; his aides had assembled the decoy last night. Half a mile from the comfort and calm of your little log cabin, there lay a steel-jaw bear trap nestled under a pile of bright red leaves—‘Real, real red, remember that, honey’—and above it, a target. A leaf a little larger than the rest would be arranged at the top of the mound with a circle drawn on its front, signaling for someone to step there and ensnare their foot.

That was the crux of his plan. Easy as pie.

The rest of this project, by contrast, had taken months of dedicated reconnaissance on your part—tracking and trailing behind this guy, your target, Daryl Dixon. You’d been charged with monitoring the man’s every move with painstaking attention and studying his habits, too. Was he a creature of the night or awake first thing in the morning? Was he rash, wise, or flighty, demonstrably equipped to handle life’s ugliest challenges or liable to run at the first sign of trouble? Most importantly, was he a threat to your community back home or a viable asset? That was what Operator wanted to know.

That was what you had set out to find.

The sex was just an unintended byproduct of that pursuit. Hazard of the job, you kept reminding yourself. You hadn’t lost sight of Operator’s goal at all; you’d simply been obliged to take a different route to get there.

As it turned out, Daryl had caught you in the woods just a few short weeks into your covert surveillance scheme, so you’d been forced to improvise.

Stripped of your anonymity and afraid of raising suspicion in the target, you’d tried striking up a friendship with him. It was Daryl that had been the one to tamper with the platonic seal of that liaison. On one particular occasion that found you tracking the same animal, he’d taken you by surprise and knocked you flat on your ass at the riverbank. He dicked you down, marked you up—even sank his teeth into the flesh of your neck while pinning you down—and made it patently clear that you two were a thing from that point forward.

You weren’t keen on monogamy, especially in this cheap and tawdry context, but damn if it wasn’t nice to have a warm, sturdy body next to yours every once in a while. The last month had passed in an amalgam of quiet, comfort, and peace, before eventually giving way to the foreboding sobriety of this morning, as you always knew it would. You found yourself growing sick with fear.

This was the day you made good on your promise to dear old Operator and brought his plan into action.

Shortly, Daryl joined you on the stoop.

“That’ll kill ya someday,” he snorted, watching you take another toke.

Above your head, he beckoned you with two fingers to pass the cigarette his way. You pretended not to hear.

Daryl scoffed.

“I give ya all eight inches of me, and y’can’t spare me a single one’a yers?” he said, tipping his chin to the tobacco product lodged between your lips. Pleading with you now.

“Seven,” you corrected him. You exhaled.

Without another word, you straightened up and started off toward the woods. Daryl stood, seemingly stunned a moment before bounding after you.

“Eight!” he repeated.

You watched the man emerge in your periphery as he started to trot alongside you. A direct line of sight wasn’t required to spy the indignation on his face.

“Six and a half,” you scrunched your nose, passing a quick but deliberate look over his lower half.

Daryl glanced down at his crotch and, for a second, came to wonder if the appendage hanging between his legs had possibly shrunk in the dozen-odd years since he’d measured it last. His gaze strayed to the ground, then his boots, then his groin once more before turning to you. The smirk at your lips was evident from a single look.

“Fuck you.” He bit back a laugh of his own as he gave you a shove.

Musings on Daryl’s penis length turned gradually to other, more routine topics like hunting, fishing, and the four new love bites you’d found scattered down your body that morning—‘Will you please try to control that rabid fuckin’ mouth of yours next time, Dixon?’—and before long, the two of you were deep in a discussion of what the weather would be looking like in the next few weeks.

Daryl was convinced you’d see snow, you insisted it was still too early to tell, and together, you trudged side-by-side over a stretch of land that was just then starting to make your stomach turn. Gleaming red leaves littered the ground.

Daryl lifted his arms above his head to gesticulate something big and broad, telling you storm clouds were sure to start rolling in, when suddenly, you stopped.

“Why don’t we check the traps?” you asked.

Daryl stalled his steps too, turning to you with a puzzled look.

“Which ones?”

You pointed to a patch of crimson-colored foliage down the way. Daryl followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“I dun’ remember settin’ any traps there,” he said. He eyed a cluster of brambles enveloping the spot and sincerely couldn’t recall ever setting foot on the terrain.

“Just check it. Please.” Your voice was starting to strain.

Up ahead, you saw an unusually tall stack of red sassafras leaves pooled at the base of a tree. Crowning that mound was a circle in black.

You nudged Daryl’s shoulder.

“Go on,” you urged.

Begrudgingly, he set off. The sounds of his footsteps reached your ears a little louder as he stalked his way through the clearing, evidently less than thrilled to make the trek amongst a swarm of thorns.

You watched him walk, at length, to the locale you’d directed him, and you knew there’d be no animal caught in a snare when he checked it. There’d be no body, no trace, no thing to be discovered beneath that brush, and by the time he’d jerked his head up to sneer that he was right, it would be too late.

You padded over to the pile of sassafras leaves and stared down at that ring of dark ink.

‘Like a burst of little ant bites,’ Operator had told you as he’d fluttered his fingers over your ankle. That was all it was and all it was ever meant to be: a nip at your leg and a couple superficial cuts to your skin. Operator’s right-hand man, a guy by the name of Dwight, had set the trap up himself and had rigged it to where the steel jaws of the thing would clamp your ankle with a lot less force than it normally would, all while giving the appearance of having your calf bit in half.

‘Dixon’s gonna be trippin’ over his nutsack to set you free,’ Operator had predicted, grinning wide as he said it, ‘but Dwight’s got the trap outfitted a little differently—ain’t no pryin’ this thing off your foot without the help of a bona fide professional, see?’

‘It won’t hurt you any— just...tough to take off is all.’ Dwight had added, casting a nervous glance at Operator.

‘Right. Painless.’

Those parting words rang a vicious course in your skull as you stood above the contraption now. Legs shaking something awful and feet refusing to move, you tried to swallow your fears and damn near hurled them all back up when Daryl’s voice broke out a moment later,

“Ain’t nothin’ here!”

Your cue. You lifted your foot.

“Honey?”

No time. He’d spot you any second now.

With all the glamor and ceremony of a person approaching the scaffold, you brought your foot down.

The moment your heel struck the plate—the one you knew was buried deep within those leaves—a pair of springs roused the jaws of the trap in less than an instant and snapped your calf within its teeth even quicker, it seemed. You hardly had the time to react, much less retreat, but when the thing came down and caught you in its grip, you sure as hell knew it had you.

This wasn’t an ant bite, a hornet sting, or a flesh wound from a swarm of horseflies. The trap sailed straight through flesh and bone and made a jarring crunch once its teeth had reconvened across your lower leg. A fragment of your shin splintered out through the skin.

You were screaming bloody murder before your body ever hit the ground.

It was quite possibly the dumbest endeavor you’d ever attempted, but your fingers clawed frantically at the jaws of the trap, trying to pry them apart.

“FUCKING FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

You watched blood jet from rows of jagged puncture wounds.

You heard footsteps thunder ahead, then halt, then give way to the sight of a set of hands thrusting in, joining your efforts to extract the steel from your flesh.

The metal fangs didn’t move.

“Down, down, down, push down— oh God, no, move it there—” Daryl was scrambling, frenziedly trying to tell you to press your foot on the springs to constrict them.

You couldn’t feel your foot, much less move it. You tried jerking your knee upward instead.

Another shriek tore through your chest when every one of your lesions took a hit—unyielding steel shredding more of you than you were of it.

Daryl seized your thigh and eyed your widening gashes.

“Don’t!” he bellowed, far too late but shouting it anyway, “Honey, no, no, please—”

He scarcely knew what he was saying, and you barely heard him. You were draining blood like a stuck pig and losing color in your face even faster. Your head started swimming with the loss of every drop.

Just as you swayed and tried to steady yourself in place, Daryl’s eyes darted to the space right behind you, where a cluster of walkers were shuffling out between the trees.

He clambered for his cross-bow and got back on his feet, moving fast against the pack to start picking them off one-by-one. As he lodged bolts in their brains and took knives to their eyes, you sat there and grabbed your knee, savagely wrestling the steel while red began to flood your vision.

This time, it wasn’t blood but a violent, blinding rage.

“You fucker!” you screeched, raking your fingers over the immotile trap, “Goddamn cocksucking fucker!”

You gripped the thing even tighter in your hands and wrung the metal like it was somebody’s neck—that of Dwight, or Operator, or anyone else to blame for this grotesque horror before you.

They’d set you up. Dwight hadn’t rigged it any safer; he’d boobytrapped the fucking bear snare to make it snap your leg in two. And Operator had given the order. Their goal wasn’t to feign an injury so much as it was to maim you, indelibly, so Daryl would have no choice but to bring you back to his home in Alexandria, and keep you there. You couldn’t believe you’d been so naïve. Every fiber of your being, it seemed, pulsated its wrath beneath your skin.

So wholly immersed in this fit of rage and all but dead below the knee, you shook that rough, bloody stump like it was somehow to blame for your predicament. Heedless of the fluids that came leaking out, of the damage sure to follow, of the sound of Daryl returning beside you in a hurry and begging you to stop.

“Those bastards,” you wept through wet, baring teeth.

Your words barely registered in Daryl’s brain. All he knew was that he needed to prop you up, keep you conscious, and find some materials for a makeshift tourniquet in the next couple minutes. Just as he started to map out that critical move, though, a memory flashed before his mind. Suddenly he was sprinting back across the way he’d came to the bag he’d dropped in the clearing. Almost tripped over his own two feet fumbling to get it open.

You closed your eyes and started to rock back and forth.

“Channel four, do you copy?”

“Dixon to channel four. I have a— a woman in need of emergency help. She’s hurt real bad.”

“Dozen miles out, ‘round Culpeper and Stevensburg.”

You moved your hands from your calf up to the crown of your skull, kneading the skin like it just might banish the waves of nausea and delirium that were starting to take root. Your vision was spinning and dimming each time you chanced to look around you. Colors all bled together.

Your companion kept rattling off names and places and ‘do you copy’s ‘til it seemed he’d turn blue in the face talking into that radio. At length, another voice crackled across the line, and Daryl stopped dead in his tracks,

“Jesus?”

You froze in place too.

In the throes of this blunt trauma-induced hysteria, you sincerely thought Daryl might be talking to a higher power just then. You opened your eyes and tried to wave him over as your body seized with fear. Unfortunately for you, the man was busy barking into the receiver.

“Tell him I ain’—” you whimpered, clawing the air out in front of you, “I ain’t ready.”

Upon seeing your gestures and the poor, frightened look on your face, Daryl stopped once more and dropped to his knees down in front of you.

“’S’wrong?” His eyes already surveying your body for any further signs of harm.

You sniffled, “I ain’t ready to see Jesus just yet.”

“Wh— how come?” Daryl knit his eyebrows together.

“Too many sins on the soul, Saint Peter’ll beat my ass.”

Your mind had worked itself up to a fever pitch at this point, your words coming slurred and near-incoherent. Daryl blinked for a second until it all clicked in his head. Then he said softly, almost wanting to smile,

“We’re not goin’ to meet our Maker, hon, he’s just a friend’a mine.”

“Where’d you find her, Daryl?”

You jumped at the sound of the radio and started to scoot back—dragging the bear trap in tow. Your leg had already gone numb to all sensation, but Daryl saw a thin strip of flesh go peeling off as you moved. He caught your arm and held you firm in place.

“Don’t move, baby,” he pleaded, “Yer just makin’ it worse on yerself.”

Then, to Jesus: “Found her on a— a supply run this morning. Please hurry.”

The man on the other end of the line gave his assent, asked a couple more garbled questions, and shortly ended the conversation. Daryl discarded the radio just as fast and crawled over to take your head in his hands as soon as he did. He shook it fiercely back and forth as your eyelids were just then threatening to close.

“Hey, hey, stay with me, Y/N,” Daryl spoke over and over, patting a desperate measure on your cheeks.

Your complexion was bloodless. Sweat, dirt, saliva, and streaks of garnet red all stained your person in a gory sort of mosaic, too gruesome for Daryl to tear his gaze from.

He pinched your face and pleaded hard, voice breaking, “Honey, stay here— I-I need you awake.”

You swallowed and nodded to nothing at all, eyes scanning the skyline and seeing great globs of gray invade your vision. You were bleeding, seeping, oozing that awful red stuff and feeling it pool about your feet, but there, on the horizon, there was little more than tiny spirals of gray. The sight brought Daryl’s prior weather prediction to mind, and presently, you managed a smile.

“Storm’s comin’,” you mumbled.

You weren’t sure when it started or how it arrived, but a rainfall did reach you at length. Daryl had gathered you up in his arms and squeezed you tight to his chest, rocking you side to side and begging you not to die—‘Die? I feel fine’ you’d grumbled as sparks and flames and fairies danced quietly before your eyes—when droplets of moisture came trickling down from the sky.

That rain went from a drizzle to a downpour in a matter of minutes, and all Daryl could do was drag your two bodies under the shade of a tree and hold you to him. You weren’t sure how long you waited there.

Despite your best efforts, you suspected you might have dozed for a minute or two, because when your eyes had snapped back open from what felt like an extra long blink, you heard footsteps shake the earth beneath you. You glanced down with bloodshot, bleary eyes and saw some fabric fastened tight around your leg and a medley of blue, black, and red painted all down your calf.

“Ew,” you said aloud, your consciousness hovering somewhere far above your head. It was like this body wasn’t yours at all—a mere wax-made effigy, and a shitty one at that—so you felt a bit more at liberty to speak your mind.

Frankly, you didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Before you knew it, you were being seized by your arms and legs, and you hardly even questioned it.

“Get the door, Rick, dammit.”

“Watch her foot, watch her foot!”

“Fuck’s sake, I got it.”

From what you could make out, you were being hammock-carried by three burly men who were blinking hard against the sheets of rain coming down and shouting extra loud to be heard over the downpour. At your side was a long-haired, handsome sort of guy with eyes the color of the Mediterranean; at your head, another blue-eyed, bearded stud that could’ve easily been a cop in a past life; at your feet, a terror-stricken, and very shirtless, Daryl, holding a healthy foot in one hand and a mangled, steel-shredded lump in the other.

If you weren’t currently bleeding to death, you almost would’ve reckoned this a lovely time to visit Paris.

The trio eased you into the bed of their battered S-10 Chevy. Your head lolled into the lap of the cop, and Daryl squeezed your hand. Then he stepped back over to help his Fabio dupe of a friend at the foot of the bed, and they slowly brought your leg to rest at an elevated level. The two exchanged a few hushed words.

Your eyelids were feeling especially heavy at this point and nearly primed to close, when all of a sudden, the cop tensed below you.

A rough, calloused hand pushed the strap of your tank top a little to the left—and not at all in the way you were hoping—and sharply, the man’s voice broke out:

“Daryl, she’s been bit.”

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #smut #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine #fanfic

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silima · 1 year

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unethical breeding practices...... let them breathe

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maxknightley · 5 months

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A Ford f-150

The F-150 is a shining example of those memes about "unethical breeding practices in automobiles." Look at this fucking thing:

Hideous grill, disproportionately tiny bed, probably pastes a dozen schoolchildren every time you drive it from your miserable home in the suburbs to your even more miserable office job in the adjacent suburbs.

The only "smashing" here is going to be me putting it out of its misery with a sledgehammer, right before I fuck a '72 Chevrolet C-20 or one of those Jeeps without any doors.

#ask game

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colorteevy · 8 months

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crt televisions are the beautiful result of decades of proper domestication of the cathode ray tube. smart televisions were created by years of rapid unethical breeding practices for the sake of aesthetic and efficiency at the expense of quality and length of life for the species

#crt tv

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lolasimms · 1 year

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can you write a drabble of when ellie and y/n decided they wanted kids😭 like both of them deciding who’s going to carry lila, and what type of procedure they’ll use to conceive, and them picking out their sperm donor and what not <3

mommy & momma

“do you want children, do you want to marry me?”

_____________________ ୨୧ _______________________

౨ৎ After two years of being married the two of you felt like something was missing.

౨ৎ You both knew having children was a huge responsibility, but you also knew it was something you both really wanted.

౨ৎ At first the two of you considered adoption, as it would be nice to take in a child and raise them.

౨ৎ But due to unethical practices and the long process you decided against it.

౨ৎ Naturally, the next option was to consider artificial insemination.

౨ৎ The two of you discussed it a lot and came to the conclusion that you’d be the one to carry.

౨ৎ Ellie wasn’t against carrying whatsoever, you were just more interested in experiencing a pregnancy and she wanted to give you that opportunity.

౨ৎ The two of you found an anonymous donor at the sperm bank who matched her some of her features.

౨ৎ Her green eyes, dark auburn hair and skin tone. Since it would be your egg in use, you’d hoped the child could be a mix of you two.

౨ৎ She was very strict on you during the preparation leading up to the insemination.

౨ৎ Your doctor advised you eat healthy, refrain from drinking alcohol, avoid stress and take prenatals daily. Ellie took this as a challenge.

౨ৎ She took her role as your partner very seriously, bossing you around and watching you like a hawk.

౨ৎ She wouldn’t so much as let you have a sip of wine, coffee or do anything that could cause you stress or anxiety.

౨ৎ Finally a few weeks after the insemination she’d woken up to you eating a can of raw sardines and that’s when she knew.

౨ৎ Before you could even kiss her good morning she was dragging you into the bathroom to take a pregnancy test.

౨ৎ If you thought she was protective during the trying process, she was insufferable during the pregnancy.

౨ৎ You knew it was out of love but at times got annoyed at how little she allowed you to do.

౨ৎ Calls you her baby mama in-front of everyone and casually tells people you’re carrying her baby inside of you.

౨ৎ “I’m momma and you’re mommy.” She tells you one evening and you like the idea.

౨ৎ She goes into full nesting mode and can’t stop herself from ordering furniture and toys in bulk.

౨ৎ You’ll be sitting on the couch, bowl of popcorn and pickles resting on your ever growing bump and hear the doorbell ring.

౨ৎ To your dismay it’s another package for Mrs. Ellie Williams. This time it was a 5 pack of animal onesies, An assorted box of pacifiers, plushies and bath towels.

౨ৎ When the two of you find out you’re having a girl Ellie’s over the moon and can’t wait to be a girl mom.

౨ৎ She buys a book of “unique baby girl names” and insists the two of you read it every night before bed.

౨ৎ Obsessed with your pregnant body and kind of develops a breeding kink throughout the last few months of your pregnancy.

౨ৎ “Gonna fuck another baby into you right after this one” She blurts as your riding her one evening.

౨ৎ Can’t get enough of your boobs now even though she’d always been obsessed with them.

౨ৎ Whenever they’re achy she offers to massage them but that usually ends up with the two of you fucking.

౨ৎ By the final month of your pregnancy the two of you are more than ready for your daughter to get here.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #reader x ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #reader x ellie #female reader x ellie williams #ellie williams headcanons #mom ellie

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blackbackedjackal · 1 year

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What are some actual problems in the animal product industry?

I'm mostly familiar with fur farming so that's what I'll comment on.

A big concern of mine is that because ARA campaigns against people using or farming fur there's been a decline in the public's trust of fur products in countries that traditionally had good animal welfare standards. This has caused an uptick in fur being farmed in places where the animal welfare laws aren't as regulated, so you're seeing many more unethical farms being able to sell furs cheaply to markets that buy fur for textile. The quality of the fur doesn't matter as much as in the clothing market, so the animals are raised to be as big as possible, exceeding thier healthy sizes and weights to produce as much fur on one animal as possible.

Simultaneously, these unethical farms and businesses are aware of the bad press that ARA groups have spread about the industry, and will sell off other byproducts that aren't as heavily scrutinized or regulated as fur. Many mislabeled blue fox skulls are being sold worldwide (often illegally) by oddities dealers that come from these farms as well as oils and fertilizers and other byproducts of fur farming. It's easy to tell if an animal was unhealthy due to the condition of the pelt, but when the fur is processes as wool or part of the animal people may not recognize came from a fur farm is distributed, it still funds these poorly regulated places.

Meanwhile, the farmers and workers who are being harassed are ones who are generally compliant with WelFur standards, meaning that their farms are up to the current welfare codes in place. It's causing many good farms to go out of business or in some cases close down due to entire states or countries banning fur farming or the use of fur products.

So now good farms are being held accountable for bad practices done at other farms, and it's becoming more and more difficult to find places that do hold up to ethical animal husbandry standards. It's also promoting the use of plastics to make faux fur products which are far worse for the environment then just using fur. And due to the scrutiny many farmers face, it's becoming less worth it for them to sell thier animals as pelts and instead sell them to the exotic pet trade (i.e. people like saveafox who buys foxes directly from an unethical fur farm with bad breeding practices).

It's bad because it feels like there's very little room for changes and improvements to the fur industry because of the chokehold ARA groups have on the public's understanding of fur farming. For example, I'd like to see more ethical breeding practices done based on studying certain color generics and how they effect the health of certain species (we know some color mutations also cause genetic issues with certain species and I would like to have more information as to why that happens and how it can be avoided). However, it's difficult to discuss topics like that and push for change within the industry because most fur farms have to be extremely cautious with who they discuss thier practices to. ARAs will often lie to them to infiltrate thier farms to "expose" them by fabricating lies or stealing and releasing thier animals.

#and that's just the tip of the iceberg #fur farming #don't even get me started on the meat industry #ask

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is-the-snake-video-cute · 8 months

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is New England Reptile a reputable YT channel?

Not really.

NERD (New England Reptile Distributors) is traditionally a very well-respected name in the herp community, but it's gotten to the point where I'm just extremely uncomfortable with their content. The understanding of snake body language and behavior on the channel is excellent, literally couldn't do better myself, but there are big things to be aware of:

In-house surgery on venomous snakes. I know facilities who keep hot snakes need to do some medical care in-house. There are many logistical concerns when taking hot snakes to the vet. That is not an excuse to perform any medical procedures more intense than, say, removing stuck eyecaps.

Unethical breeding practices, especially when it comes to spider complex ball pythons.

I recommend a great deal of caution with their videos.

#reptile youtube #reptile creator rankings

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bignosebaby · 9 months

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Good news for animals in captivity in Canada!

The Jane Goodall act was introduced to the Canadian senate originally in 2020 and again in 2022. It represents some of the strongest legislation for animal protection in the world for species and contains new legal protections for captive big cats, bears, wolves, seals, sea lions, walruses, certain primates, and dangerous reptiles, such as crocodiles and giant pythons. If it passes, the bill will:

Phase out elephant captivity in Canada. Elephants are complex and intelligent animals that require large social groups and often do poorly in captivity, so this would mean an effective end to the practice nation wide.

Ban new captivity at roadside zoos for big cats, bears, wolves, seals, sea lions, walruses, certain primates, and dangerous reptiles. No more private owners profiting off of wild animals kept in unethical conditions!

Require permits for individuals and organizations to acquire or breed big cats and other species.

Create a new designation for Jane Goodall Act ‘animal care organizations,’ including zoos, aquariums and sanctuaries. An effective form of accreditation to make it easier to support appropriate care for captive animals.

It would also support action against wildlife trafficking and improving the conditions of animals currently in captivity. Read more about the act here.

As of June 8, 2023 the bill has passed its first vote in the Senate.

#zoos #jane goodall #cdnpoli #animal welfare #animals #good news #canadian politics

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screamingsquamousthings · 10 months

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wobbledogs players are a unique brand of gaming sadists they will commit unknowable atrocities of unethical breeding practices and then call it some shit like "automatic water fountain"

#wobbledogs

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spacedustmantis · 8 months

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settling a dispute

#buggy thoughts #buggy life

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