#sourcing sustainably

[defilerwyrm]

Growth capitalism is a deranged fantasy for lunatics.

Year 1, your business makes a million dollars in profit. Great start!

Year 2, you make another million. Oh no! Your business is failing because you didn't make more than last year!

Okay, say year 2 you make $2 mil. Now you're profitable!

Then year 3 you make $3 mil. Oh no! Your business is failing! But wait, you made more money than last year right? Sure, but you didn't make ENOUGH more than last year so actually your business is actively tanking! Time to sell off shares and dismantle it for parts! You should have made $4 mil in profit to be profitable, you fool!

If you're not making more money every year by an ever-increasing exponent, the business is failing!

Absolute degenerate LUNACY

[worksmarter4yourfuture]

Crafting A Green Business and Marketing Strategy

Crafting a Green Business and Marketing Strategy: Charting a Sustainable Course In today’s world, the call for sustainable and eco-conscious business practices is louder than ever. Entrepreneurs are increasingly recognizing the importance of integrating environmentally friendly initiatives into their operations.  Crafting a Green Business and marketing strategy not only benefits the planet but…

[specimentality]

I need vegans to stop being like “what if it was a dog or cat” as if it is some sort of ‘gotcha.’ It just comes off as attempts to weaponize on xenophobia.

While I agree that there is no inherent moral difference between slaughtering a dog or pig for meat, I lean in the opposite direction than what they’re trying to argue with this comparison. I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with eating any of these species. If they’re raised for meat (and not stolen pets or whatever) it’s no different than other food animals.

Like in some places horse or guinea pig meat is common, and in other places pig or cow meat is taboo. I get that sometimes comments like “what if it was a dog” can be a genuine attempt to shed light on the double standard in what’s acceptable versus taboo in one culture. To point out that it’s morally equivalent to eat either animal.

But like. My answer to that is that it’s morally okay to eat both. Just because one’s culture finds consumption of one taboo doesn’t mean that it’s inherently wrong in some way.

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[fbfh]

pov dating james patrick march

James, placing a MASSIVE diamond ring on your finger: surprise my darling! I had this made especially for you :)

reader: oh my god????

James, with that Gomez Addams kind of affection: do you love it? :)

reader: of course! oh my god, it's gorgeous...

James: It's a 10 carat blood diamond. I had it mined just for you my love :)

reader: oh! oh that's not-

[morganali-art]

Wolchefant Week - Day 2 AU

We all know that one AU - the one where the Exarch accidentally plucks Haurchefant's spirit out of the rift and lands him in the First. It's hardly original, but it definitely makes me feel Some Kind of Way™ :')

[b1g-sh0t-s4lsmn-1997]

even disregarding the mental torment he experienced from encountering some cosmic truth or whatever, thinking about how young spamton (maybe) was when the best time of his life ended and how he's been on the streets with nobody but his demons is just... tragic. It was such a brief time but he's still clinging to its memory more than twenty years later

[feralchaton]

matches

[effable-as-f]

Performing fucked up unethical experiments in Subnautica (I didn’t realize you could see the Kharaa spread in real time until I accidentally introduced it into my fish tank, then I stuck an uninfected peeper into the contaminated tank to see how long it took to be infected)

Turns out that it only takes about 50 seconds for the green pustules to appear (though it took me a bit to get the timer started so it was probably closer to a minute)

[officialbruciewayne]

Waynetech promised an electric car by 2023. I put a deposit down.

Where’s my goddamn electric car Bruce??

Don't ask me, tee hee, I'm just a silly Brucie Goosie.

[wuntrum]

yknow, maybe i need to become the gnc butch in tech that i wanna see (date) in the world

[reasonsforhope]

In southern Africa, leopards have long been harvested for their beautiful spotted furs. These coveted furs are often used in ceremonial regalia by cultural and religious groups in the area, making it difficult to address the dwindling wild cat population in the area.

Bridging the gap between animal conservation and cultural heritage, Panthera — a global wild cat conservation organization — has partnered with area communities and world-class designers to instead distribute synthetic furs for ceremonial garb.

This approach is ground-breaking and shows potential to be replicated in other areas of the world. In fact, new data shows that these initiatives have tripled the leopard population in the region. 

Pictured: Two wild leopards are spotted in southern Africa. Photo courtesy of Panthera.

It started in 2013 when Panthera began its Furs For Life program when it was discovered that members of the Shembe Church were using as many as 15,000 leopard furs during religious gatherings. 

Working with the Shembe community, Panthera created high-quality (and affordable!) synthetic leopard fur capes — amambatha — known as Heritage Furs. Since then, more than 18,500 capes have been distributed. 

In 2019, Panthera extended these efforts with the Saving Spots initiative. The program was created in conjunction with the Barotse Royal Establishment of the Lozi people with the mission to preserve rich cultural traditions and declining wild cat populations.

Every year, hundreds of Lozi community members wear lipatelo, elaborate full-length skirts made of leopard and other animal furs, as well as mishukwe, lion-mane trimmed berets, as they gather for the Kuomboka Festival...

Pictured: Paddlers on the Nalikwanda Royal Barge wearing Heritage Furs.

Since implementing the Saving Spots program, the Barotse Royal Establishment has switched to over 1,350 synthetic fur lipatelo and 600 synthetic fur mishukwe. At a recent Lozi gathering, nearly 70% of participants wore garments of synthetic furs. 

The idea was to maintain the sacred relationship the Lozi people have with these animals. By using a high-accuracy design, these synthetic furs have become trusted regalia to pass through future generations — all without causing harm to the animals they revere.

“It is important to conserve nature. If you don’t take care of nature, then you are headed for doom,” Lubinda Nyaywa, the chairperson of the Mwandi Council District said. “It’s a learning process for our young generations, teaching them that they must preserve, one, their culture, and, two, their natural resources.”

With the support of both the Lozi and Shembe leaders, affordable synthetic furs are gaining increased acceptance and popularity as alternatives to authentic furs. Some groups have even banned the use of authentic wild cat skins at future gatherings.

This, in turn, majorly contributes to the protection and stabilization of wild cat populations in the region.

As mentioned, new data suggests that Saving Spots has helped triple leopard densities in the southern region of Kafue National Park. 

-via Good Good Good, May 4, 2023

[bittsandpieces]

I'm starting to pack in preparation to move and boy. Shout out to natural grocers for the insane number of free reusable grocery bags I've accumulated over the last year and a half, they're gonna save my ass

[notwiselybuttoowell]

[ghostofasecretary]

moving is really bringing out the whole range of human emotion huh

- unnameable tenderness

- energy!!!

- nothing has changed

- i need to run away to change things? but no that wouldn't work

- unloveable??

- i am so loved

- lying face down on the floor (on my bed, not lying down)

- paying for parking.

that's it, that's maximum human emotion

also i made yogurt (woohoo) for the first time but TOO LATE IN THE DAY so i have to stay awake past my bedtime so it can ferment but not too much. curséd

[carcassmuncher]

Weird question, but would breast tissue taste good as a jerky?