#morph boas

[crispysnakes]

24BRxGA

DH VPI T+ Super stripe kids.

[brokenbutunbowed]

He's so very very shy so I brought him downstairs to the couch to explore and get some enrichment. He wasn't sure about it at first but eventually started cruising around all over. My sweet little shy boy. So different from the colubrids that make up the rest of my bunch.

[meerkat-morphs]

[red-eft]

i might get a rosy boa next year but idk what morph i'd get.. curious to see what you guys like :]

(all pics from rosyboamorphs.com)

no results button we die like men

[queenlua]

i hate when i realize i am in fact the best-qualified person to write the stupid lil fanfic that i want to read

[boogiepopmeup]

Bruuuuh

[minanimals]

Pumpkin Patch Tarantula and Robert Seib's "Smashed Pumpkin" Rainbow Boa morph made in collaboration with Trace Hardin of Hardin Herpetologica

[herpsandbirds]

Hello! Do you have any fun critters from Ecuador (especially birds, but really any interesting critters)?

Animales de Ecuador:

As you may know, I worked and lived in Ecuador for a year, and it was one of the best times of my life. Here are some animals that I got to know while I was there...

Many-banded Araçari (Pteroglossus pluricinctus), HE SCREMMM!!!, family Ramphastidae, order Piciformes

photograph by Jeff Dyck

Horned Screamer (Anhima cornuta), family Anhimidae, order Anseriformes, found in central and northern South America

Mainly herbivorous waterfowl, in the same order as ducks and geese, but in a different family.

Screamers prefer to walk/wade through their habitats, instead of swimming. They can swim, but are not as proficient as ducks and geese.

Hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin) aka “Stink Turkey”, family Opisthocomidae, order Opisthocomiformes

The only living member of the bird order Opisthocomiformes.

This leaf-eating bird uses foregut fermentation, in its enlarged crop, to help break down its food. (The ferementation is where the smell comes from, which gives it the name “Pavo Apestoso”)

They live in vegetation at the edges of lakes, streams, and rivers.

The young have 2 small claws on the fronts of the wingsthat help them climb through vegetation.

photograph by Angus Pritchard & Brodie Hopkins Media

Northern Caiman Lizard (Dracaena guianensis), family Teiidae, found across NW and north central South America

Aquatic, feeds on large snails

photograph by Bill Hallier, Nathan Jordan, BryGuy Reptiles

Amazon Basin Emerald Tree Boa (Corallus batesii), family Boidae

This species was once considered to be a population of the Emerald Tree Boa, Corallus caninus, but was made a distinct species in 2009.

photograph by Elson Meneses-Pelayo

Variable Clown Tree Frog (Dendropsophus triangulum) “giraffe morph”, family Hylidae

photograph by Cristian Torica

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Can I request a scenario Boa Hancock reader is chosen as champion to fight against yandere Apollo?

-When Apollo first heard that his opponent was a woman, he wasn’t bothered, he didn’t even look upset! Which was a bit unusual to see, as he was usually so much softer and nicer to women.

-Ares was the one to find out the truth as Apollo was gloating to him, “I have never met a woman that has resisted my charms before. She will forfeit the match once I sweep her off her feet! There’ll be no need for fighting at all!”

-However, that’s exactly why Brunnhilde had chose you as the next fighter, knowing full well that you wouldn’t be swayed by his good looks or charming personality. She had complete faith in you and your skills, something you did give her a small, true smile for.

-You knew what was at stake in this tournament, and the less you had to leave to the men to handle, the better. You knew it was much better to do things yourself.

-Apollo was the first to enter the arena, the cheers of women ringing out all around you, while you were waiting in the backstage area. You knew he was like any other men, toying with women’s hearts.

-You refused to become his newest toy.

-When Heimdall started hyping you up, introducing you as the most beautiful woman in the world, the audience was stunned silent as you walked, seeing that his words were true.

-You were like a vision; someone they would have never come up with in their minds of the most beautiful woman in the world. All their imaginations paled in comparison to the beauty that you held.

-Apollo was even surprised, he had met many stunning beauties in his life, but none seemed to hold a candle to you. And not only were you beautiful, but you radiated confidence, showing your position as the pirate empress you were when you died.

-Apollo was the one gawking at you, stunned by you, and not the other way around, but he was quick to bounce back instantly smiling, his teeth sparkling, smoothing his hair back with his hand, “I must say, Y/N, your beauty is unmatched. You even took my breath away~”

-Expecting you to fall for him, Apollo froze when he started to approach you and you snapped, “Do not approach me, filth!”

-Ooh~ you were just getting better and better as Apollo’s adoration for you grew, seeing that you were spicy.

-Your eyes were dull but sharp, like you were looking at a pile of garbage, before you spoke, “And your praise means nothing to me, I know I am beautiful. Your empty words will not work on me.”

-Your words quickly had many jeering at you, thinking you were too cocky for your own good. Apollo went to defend you, thinking that you deserved nothing but the upmost praise, but you turned, your hair swirling around you as you looked up at those jeering and instantly, they were blushing, their eyes turning into pulsating hearts as they declared their love for you, both men and women.

-You smirked, turning back to Apollo, one hand coming to your hips as you grounded yourself in your heels as you slowly tilted yourself back, “Their love- their adoration to me- no matter what I do, even if I kill someone, everyone will forgive me! Why? Because I’m beautiful!!”

-The crowd cheered and Heimdall was gushing, “It’s Y/N’s Extreme Looking Down Pose!!!” as you were bent in half, looking down upon him.

-Apollo thought you were amusing, you were just getting better and better in his eyes, you were such a complex individual, so open with your feelings, so unapologetically you!! You were amazing!

-He wanted to know more- no! He wanted to know everything about you! He wanted to know what you liked, disliked, your skin and hair care routine, if you even had one as you were perfection.

-Apollo wanted to know your past, he wanted to be a part of your present, and he wanted to be the only part in your future!!

-You saw his look morphing into something familiar and dark, like how those men, all those years ago, looked at you, when they branded you, when they had treated you so cruelly.

-Your eyes were like ice when you met his gaze, you refused to let any man treat you like that again, you wouldn’t allow it.

-Apollo was fully ready to throw the fight himself, kneeling before you, as if he was worshipping you, rather than the other way around, “My beautiful Y/N, I will forfeit the match to you, if only you allow me to be by your side from this day forward!”

-The other gods were in outrage, hearing his words, shouting at him to not throw the fight to you.

-Your glare seemed to only grow colder, hearing his stipulations as you lifted a hand to your hip, “You men are all alike, demanding things of me as if I owe any of you anything.”

-Apollo was stammering, in shock that you were angry with him, why were you angry?!

-You lifted your hands, making a heart shape as you inhaled deeply, ready to end this in an instant.

-Seeing your determination to fight, Apollo was stunned once more, seeing the fire behind your eyes. Why were you willing to fight? To possibly die?! Did something happen that made you so desperate to fight? Who did it- he would kill them!

-Apollo knew that to get you, he would need to prove himself and defeat you, but not kill you, you were too beautiful, too precious, to be snuffed out.

-He was going to win, so he could keep you safe for the rest of eternity, there by his side.

[crispysnakes]

Peppermelon. She wasn't fired up today, but she was all shed and lovely looking anyway.

[nekronyancer]

They're matching 🖤🐍

What do you think he named her? 👀

(Bbg is a boa constrictor, black devil morph)

[meerkat-morphs]

[morroodle]

Au where instead of all the bs that happens in the show Lloyd is just a weird kid who likes snakes and gets a bunch of em as pets. Maybe a movie au? Idk I just wanted to figure out what types of snakes the serpentine would be.

Lloyd's first snake is Fangtom, a nice regular milksnake. Pretty common type of pet snake. I would have loved to find something venomous but there was just nothing that matched the colors so well and hey Lloyd has to start somewhere.

His second snake would be Skalidor, a pied morph of a rainbow boa (constrictor). Pretty, accurate colors, and a constrictor.

Third is Pythor, a lavender morph kings naked. I had a bit of a hard time with this one since purple isn't exactly a common color in snakes. This is the closest I could get, it looks a bit more like his post being eaten form but close enough.

Fourth is Slithraa, a Blue Racer. Again, blue isn't all that common in snakes, and there certainly aren't any blue snakes with hoods. I tried. This fella is pretty. I chose Slithraa, the first hypnobrai general instead of Skales because of the relationships in the show. Also I think it's funny that when I looked in the shopping section of Google for these guys I just got a bunch of toys and hypnobrai minifigures.

Finally Lloyd's fanciest and most exotic snake: Aciticus the Green Mamba

[addicted2wasps]

He used to fit in the palm of my hand... 🥹

The next photo is him now with my hand for scale. He's a medium sized snake. I haven't measured him in a while, but I think he's around 5½ feet. Not a staggering difference, but he's definitely grown!

I got him on December 5th 2017! I've had him for 7 years!

His name is Indica. He's a boa constrictor, and a sharp sunglow morph (sunglow=albino+hypo).

[kedreeva]

These snakes are from @stygianexotics (photo's posted w/ permission, please visit her page!). They are Saharan Sand Boas, and she's looking to work more with the dark morph. If you happen to be out and about and see a SAHARAN sand boa (how to tell kenyan from saharan) that looks like that and is available, drop me a line so I can pass it along. I REALLY want her to work with this morph, they look amazing in person, and Saharans feel like silk to the touch, and hardly anyone is breeding them because it's difficult, so having someone willing to work with captive breeding to lessen import demand is really good for them.

If you could help pass this around so more folks have a heads up to help us look, that would be really awesome! Thank you <3

[wordywarriorwrites]

Life Is But A...

Title: Life Is But A... | AO3 | Rating: T

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie is ready to tell his daughter about you...

Warnings: Kissing. Mild-spicy thoughts. Mention of death and medical issues (not explicit).

You’re flipping through the pages of a Little Mermaid coloring book – Cranberry Red crayon at the ready – when you feel a strong hand grip your calf.

“Got a minute?” Frankie’s deep voice rumbles through the air.  

You glance at his daughter and quirk a brow, “You’ll have to ask Her Royal Highness, Princess Isabella. We are very busy, after all.”

The three-year-old little girl, with beguiling brown eyes just like her father’s, looks up from her own artistic endeavors. She cranes her neck, gaze focused on her dad, and seems to consider his request. A purple and pink bejeweled crown perched precariously on her head, lips pursed, and brow furrowed – she’s clearly thinking hard, but it’s not until Frankie says the magic words, “pretty please,” that she finally acquiesces.

It takes only a few moments to scoot the basket of shared crayons closer to her and relinquish your own, much smaller tiara and white, feather boa. You roll your old bones back into order, elbow bumping up against the plastic cup and saucer from an earlier tea party as you move from lying on your stomach to sitting up.

Frankie’s knees pop when he stands, and as you look up at him, your mind immediately switches from coloring inside the lines of Sebastian, Flounder, and Scuttle, to appreciating the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever had the pleasure of digging your nails into. He offers you a small, knowing smile and a hand up, and you admire the strength and the flex of his bicep, your heart stuttering a bit at the way his eyes sweep over you in return. Frankie makes a motion for you to follow him, and you do just that, tiptoeing over toys and around laundry baskets. His long strides eat up the length of the hallway to the master bedroom in no time, and you’re right on his heels, stepping over the threshold when he gestures for you to enter first.

The door is left slightly ajar, allowing you both to hear his daughter and the movie playing in the background. Woody has just called Buzz “a child’s plaything” when he reaches for your hand, guiding you forward until you’re seated at the foot of the neatly made bed.

“Wanna talk to you about something,” Frankie starts.

Spine straightening, you clasp your hands in your lap, “Alright. I’m all ears.”

There’s a discernible shift – the air suddenly a little tense, a bit more serious. Lips pressed into a hard line and eyes dark with an as-yet-to-be-revealed purpose; he paces the small space between the dresser and closet like a caged lion, and you consider asking him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I want to tell her about us,” he says, tone low and certain. “If that’s okay with you?”

Your body is engulfed with a combination of relief and excitement, as well as a hefty dose of nervousness.

You’d agreed from the start that neither one of you wanted to confuse Isabella or cause her any pain. And that pact you and Frankie made was exactly why his daughter – who is currently belting her ABCs with all the power her toddler's lungs possess – still believes you’re simply “a friend of Daddy’s from work.”

In the beginning, it had been a casual thing; more about sex (great, mind-blowing sex) and adult conversation than anything else, really. But as with all things tended to with passion and kindness, it grew, gradually morphing into something more – something significant. You knew about Isabella from day one, met her officially at month three, and then, just like that, Frankie and you were no longer simply dating.

A couple became a trio, and you were given a drawer and space in the medicine cabinet. You had a car seat installed in your sedan and your apartment was no longer a “bachelorette pad,” but a kid-friendly spot for the occasional weekend getaway. Purse staples, like lipstick, gum, and perfume, were replaced with a toddler-friendly gamepad, snacks, and sanitizing wipes. There are boxes of goldfish and teddy grahams in your cabinets, and string cheese and apple slices in the fridge.

You’ve been part of the bedtime routine – helping Isabella get into her pajamas and reading her a story before turning on the nightlight. You know she hides her peas in her potatoes and that she’s allergic to penicillin. You’ve noticed she prefers to wash her hands by herself and favors the giraffe toothbrush over the whale one.

You’ve seen Frankie handle her meltdowns and marvel at her milestones. You know about the handmade bracelet beneath the band of his watch, and that his iPod has more specialized playlists and audiobooks for her than it does for him. You’ve seen the preschool brochures and are aware of the college fund her honorary uncles, Ben, Will, and Santi, have started for her.

You also know about Isabella’s mother – have listened with a heavy heart as Frankie told you stories about their complicated past and too short-lived time together. You know the circumstances that took her away from them – the unknown, undiagnosed cardiomyopathy that snatched a mother from a five-month-old baby girl who needed her. You have smiled, lash line brimming – honored to be asked to help decorate a frame for a photograph of the very woman with whom Isabella shares the same chin and nose. It’s buttercup yellow, decorated with assorted beads and shells, and it has held a place of prominence on the nightstand ever since she got her big girl bed, which you and Frankie built together.

Isabella refers to you by your call sign, Hawk, and will “kree” excitedly whenever she runs to greet you. To her, you’re a playmate. A grown-up friend. You fix broken helicopters and sometimes sneak her cookies before dinner. You show up for movies on weekends and occasionally pick her up from daycare if Daddy is running late. The two of you work as a team to beat Frankie at Don’t Break the Ice and Go Fish. Bumper bowling and band-aids. Flus and fairy tales. Pinkie promises and potty training.  

“What’re you thinking?” Frankie asks.

There’s a hole in the knee of your jeans, and you tug at a loose thread until it begins to unravel. “Is she ready?” you wonder, winding the string around your finger and pulling hard until it comes free. “Are you? Really?”

Frankie reaches for your hands. Yanks you to your feet. You meet his gaze, finding an unwavering sureness that somehow steadies you and makes the butterflies in your stomach take flight. Eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth quirked, he switches his hold to your upper arms, giving you a squeeze and little shake for good measure. It’s all silent, affectionate admonishment for what he clearly thinks are very silly questions, but still, he follows up with a tender kiss to your forehead and softly spoken assurances.   

“I’ve been working up the courage to ask you since her birthday two months ago,” he admits. “And Isabella is braver than you, me, and her uncles combined.”

It’s an assertion you can’t argue with because it’s so very, very true, so, you don’t. You just smile and nod, which prompts a hug that brings forth tears, and then, Frankie’s kissing you – gentle pecks on your damp cheeks that morph into a lip lock full of relief and love and unrestrained happiness.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of chores and games and nap time that’s more about reading books and cuddling than actual napping. Frankie oversees the grill, while you and Isabella, sous chef extraordinaire, put a tray of fries and tater tots in the oven and set the table. Halfway through dinner is when he broaches the subject, reaching for your hand and holding it tightly while he tries to explain in toddler-friendly, simple terms that you’re more than a friend.

“You understand what I’m trying to say, querida?” Frankie finally asks.

“Daddy loves Hawk,” she chirps, swiping her index finger through a glob of ketchup and bringing it to her mouth. “Duh.”

You let out a burst of surprised laughter, and that, combined with Frankie’s admonishingly bemused, “Oh, mija!” makes Isabella kick her feet and giggle wildly. She dances in her booster seat, and as she worries a fry between her teeth and pulls the cheese off her bite-sized cuts of burger, you can’t help but smile because you adore her.

A bite of food. A sip of milk. After she’s declared she’s full and can eat no more, it’s bathtime. You do the dishes while Frankie has the fun, undoubtedly overindulging on the bubbles and toys. Row, Row, Row Your Boat echoes off the bathroom walls, but in this version, life isn’t a dream – it’s a bowl of spaghetti. You join back up with them in time to see the exciting saga that is hair combing and teeth brushing before the three of you head into Isabella’s room to get her dressed for bed.

“Daddy read,” she insists as her head pops through the shirt collar of her moon and star-themed pajamas. “Hawk tuck.”  

Two books, a potty break, and another book. Then, she’s conked out, with her favorite stuffed moose in her arms and owl-patterned sheets up around her shoulders. Frankie asks you to stay the night, and you say yes, the two of you spending what remains of your evening on the couch, chatting about everything and nothing, silently agreeing that the “what now” conversation can wait for another day. By the time you climb into bed beside him, your heart is full to bursting and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Daddy loves Hawk,” he mimics with a snort. “That kid… Already actin’ like she knows everything.”

“Can’t imagine where she gets that from,” you quip.  

He grunts, mockingly indignant, and waits for you to stretch out beside him before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. Nosing your hairline, he takes in a deep breath before exhaling a contented hum into the quiet, comfortable space between the two of you. You adjust your pillow, and when Frankie kisses you, it’s soft and sleepy, his mouth and bristly moustache brushing languidly against your lips and chin.

“I do love you,” Frankie rasps.

“I know,” you sigh. “And I love you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, “You’re my bowl of spaghetti.”  

For a moment, he looks at you – all tired-eyes and quizzical brow – but it comes to him eventually, and when you start lightly humming the song, he groans low in his throat and gives your ass a playful swat.

“You know what?” he challenges.

You jut your chin, “What?”

A pause. A sigh. Another kiss – one that sizzles and lingers until he slowly pulls away.

“You’re my bowl of spaghetti, too.”