#white silkie hen

[plusie]

[rockn-rule]

Btw y'all we started hatching some chicken and we have no clue what breed they are because

1. We have an austra white hen, a red faced silkie hen, a Brahma hen, a black australorp/black sex link hen, a barred rock hen, a booted Bantam rooster (white yellow grey), and a black laced gold wyandotte rooster.

And 2. We don't know which eggs are coming from who so 3 of the current chicks are black with speckles and 2 are sorta cinnamon coloured

Honestly it's insane how these guys look and I can't wait to figure out what they are when they're older (current photos ⬇️)

[ah-the-poultry]

More semi old pics

[milkbreadandtadpoles]

stsg x angel

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!

warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited

author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

“Would you suck the strap?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”

“But I’m serious!”

“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”

“I’m not.”

You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”

“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”

“Can you just flip the pancakes?”

“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.

“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”

Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.

“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”

“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“

“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.

Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”

“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“

“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“

“I did drink it.”

“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”

Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”

And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.

That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”

“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.

Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.

But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.

[homeofhousechickens]

I think everyone needs a leghorn in their flock regardless of what kind of flock they have like yeah just put a single white leghorn hen into your silkie flock to keep you on your toes. It's very funny seeing Greenie boss around my serama

[besideprimroseshade]

Chimera Falin x Gen! Reader Headcanons

TW: Nothing really, just fluff, also proofread.

Falin, whose pure white feathers are so silky and soft that you can’t help but snuggle into them.

They’re so amazing, you’re tempted to just sleep forever.

She doesn’t understand your fascination with them, but she now demands that you allow her to pamper you with affection.

She’s so comforting, so sweet, it’s almost hard to believe that this is the same Falin that would crush someone into the ground without hesitation.

Falin’s grown so protective of you, almost like a mother hen of sorts.

You preen her feathers with such gentleness, such care, she can’t help but fall further in love.

You whisper sweet nothings into her ear, your precious Falin.

Thistle is puzzled, but doesn’t question it.

I wrote this at like midnight so it’s not the best but I wanted to write smthn for dunmeshi lmaoo.

[kedreeva]

Hi! 😁 I might soon have the chance to have a garden and I've always wanted to have a few chickens, and I've started some online reasearch about keeping chickens but since you're an expert and I don't trust some of the online sources, do you have any tips for absolute beginners? 😅

I do! You can have a garden, or you can have chickens, but the two are diametrically opposed forces that do not coexist peacefully without fully enclosing one or the other. Chickens can and will obliterate gardens and landscaping if they have access to it, including absolutely destroying mulch patches by helping you spread it all over the yard.

I'll put the rest under a cut ^_^

When you acquire chickens, don't get them from a hatchery, get them from a small breeder you've looked into and spoken with about their actual birds. Hatcheries have poor quality animals, so while you may be getting a "black copper marans," they're not gonna necessarily look very nice, and they're almost certainly not going to lay that nice, deep chocolate marans are known for.

Vs straight from one of the bigger hatcheries pages, photos of their eggs:

You also are NOT going to get the breed qualities of any given breed except maybe some of the production breeds. For example, a Jersey Giant from a reputable breeder will get up to 10-13lbs, which is as big or bigger than my peafowl. Same with Brahmas and Cochins. Hatchery stock you will be lucky to see 6-8lbs, and people are OFTEN disappointed about this kind of thing. Silkies, as another example, can look WILDLY different from a hatchery vs a private breeder. A show quality silkie is a puffball:

Hatcheries also pull skeevy moves like calling easter eggers (mutts that lay blue, green, pink, brown, or white eggs) "americanas" hoping that you mistake it for "ameraucana" the pure breed that lays stark blue eggs. Then they charge you ameraucana prices (like, $25/chick) when they should be charging more like $3-5 a chick. They'll do things like call a marans/barred rock mix a "mystic marans" as if it's a new color morph of a marans chicken instead of a mixed breed mutt they invented to be able to sex their chicks at hatch easier. People get these guys expecting MARANS eggs, and they get tan barred rock eggs. Same can go for temperament and behaviors. You go anywhere that has a group of chicken owners and ask them what their favorite breed is, you will get a range of answers with reasons like "my X is so sweet" while the next person will go "mine's the devil" and if you ask, 9 times out of 10, it's hatchery stock birds. Well bred private breeders often have MUCH more stable temperaments.

vs hatchery stock

Getting from a private breeder also lets you get eggs, which can help you dodge a LOT of disease bullets. There's very little that transfers through the egg, strangely, and some of that is transferred on the surface of the eggs (like mycoplasma) so a quick santizing dip before incubation gets rid of that. I know that hatching them yourself is more of a hassle, but so is losing your flock to newcomers that came in with something entirely avoidable if you'd hatched instead. If your breeder is NPIP certified, they're getting tested for the major egg-traveling problem (pullorum) and a dip will take care of most anything else unless you're super SUPER unlucky.

Lastly on acquisitions, be prepared to get roosters. If you can't have roosters, be prepared to get them processed for yourself for food, or let the roosters go to food homes. Please please please please. There are so many, many excess roosters. They cannot all go to homes. The rooster to hen ratio in a flock is like 1:9. The rooster to hen ratio in hatching is nearly 1:1. Let someone make use of them. EVEN if you order from a hatchery, and order all pullets, they can make mistakes and send rooster babies. It's not a guarantee! Have a plan in advance! Mentally prepare yourself! Don't be one of Those People making posts in local groups about how you don't want/can't have this rooster but also no one else can eat it either. Chickens are a lot of things. Sometimes food is one of those things.

BEFORE actually acquiring the chickens, locate a vet that will see them. You are GOING to have an issue at some point in their lives, and that's not the time to start looking for a vet, that's the time to already have a vet on hand. In fact if you can support a yearly wellness check on at least one of the birds to test for communicable illnesses (like mycoplasma) and have a good relationship with your vet in advance, that's even better.

As for care, if you plan to contain the chickens, the minimum recommendation for a backyard coop and run varies wildly. For stress purposes, most chickens will find 4 feet of floor space per bird inside the coop adequate, accompanied by 10 square feet of space in a run per bird. Unlike peafowl, it doesn't matter how big the run is, the chickens will be turning the entire thing to bare soil, which is one of the reasons most people don't keep both in the same pens. I literally attempted to keep 2 standard chickens in a 1200 foot pen and they systematically went about destroying everything they could get to.

Most layer feeds are 16% protein; most layer feeds are also /production/ layer feeds, meant to feed production breeds in a space where they get NO other feed except this. If you plan to feed anything other than layer feed to them, like treats or whole foods or scratch grains, then you need to find a higher protein feed for them, because most treats are lower protein than layer feed. Avoid anything produced by Purina or Dumor (which is purina but TSC brand), except MAYBE the organic dumor 5-grain scratch grain, it's well-known as one of the worst quality fowl feeds out there. Check out your local mill and see if they have any options that are better than the big box farm stores. Kalmbach makes good feeds, as does Belstra.

Possibly counterintuitive, but stick with a smaller waterer over a larger waterer. You can keep a larger one around for if you go away for the weekend or something to make it easier on a sitter, but a smaller waterer like a 5-quart or gallon waterer will be easier to clean and make sure that you're giving fresh water more often, plus avoiding mosquitoes growing in it. Waterers can slime up really easily in the summer, so just be prepared to give it a quick swish clean every time you change the water out. Smaller waterers also make it easier to give them medication if you have something that goes in the water, especially since a lot of the water medications are "make fresh daily." Personally I don't bother with heated water bases anymore in the winter, I just have enough waterers to exchange them for a fresh one a couple times daily, while the old one thaws inside the back door on some plastic. The galvanized ones you have to use with the heated bases always got gross fast, with rust and discoloration and the stopper in the bottom always dried out and eventually cracked over the summer when we weren't using them.

Try to avoid straw bedding unless you REALLY trust the source. Straw is mostly for livestock, not poultry. It cannot catch the droppings of poultry the way shavings or sand or other beddings do, meaning the wet gunk drops to the floor under it and/or collects into grossness. It also molds easily, can carry in field parasites (since it's not treated the way shavings are often kiln fired before packaging), and breaks down into shards. I'm not saying you can't ever use it for any reason (I use it in some fashion, and have for over a decade, but not exclusively, and I trust my source, we've never gotten mites or anything, and I'm very careful about which bales I pick out), but if you have a choice, go for the wood substrates, or even for sand. A lot of people put sand in their runs because they can then rake it like kitty litter.

Look into what plants chickens can't have, and check your yard over thoroughly for them before adding chickens. Things like lilac bushes are toxic to them. Tomato and potato plants are nightshades so while they can have the fruits, the leaves and stems can be toxic. Stuff like that.

Lastly.... if anyone ever makes a claim about what something does for a chicken (example: diatomaceous earth, apple cider vinegar, pumpkin seeds, oregano, red pepper flakes, lavender, etc are all things I've seen people claim do all sorts of things from worming birds to curing respiratory infections), ask them for their source. If it's a blog post, ask them for a scientific article. If they can't provide it and you can't find one that backs up what they're saying, maybe reconsider the value of that particular advice. The thing is, the BIG production companies are VERY invested in finding cheap or organic or tricky ways to do WHATEVER it is (treat endo/ectoparasites, treat illness, make bigger or more eggs, change egg yolk color, etc), and they pour money into trying to figure out which old wives tales actually work and which ones don't. And if they haven't been able to prove it to a point where they'll spend money on it as a solution, then chances are REALLY GOOD that it's not a solution at all actually.

Things like how to clean coops, what feeds to get, what items to use for care, where to source birds, behavioral information etc, that's all stuff you can ask advice on in general public spaces. You'll still get a range of answers, and some of them will be garbage answers, but hardly any of them will do harm to your animals to do or not do. Like, for example, you can use a big waterer or a small waterer, as long as it's clean. You can vary coop and run size and still be fine. You don't have to feed exactly what someone else is feeding for your birds to be fine. You're probably going to try a few breeds before you find the one(s) you like best.

But when it comes to medical info or any kind of "treatment" type stuff? Consult a vet and/or at least look for scientific papers.

And lastly.... chicken math is Real, yo. However many chickens you think you want to get, plan on having the space for double that amount so you don't gotta rebuild anything when you ultimately decide wait, you need a couple more. The bigger space won't hurt them if you don't get more, but it'll be so much easier on you if you do ;)

[simplepotatofarmer]

Been looking through all your chicken posts because it’s actually really interesting to me and it got me thinking. What kind of chicken do you think c!dream would be? Or what kind would he like? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone talk about it before 🤔

this is so up my ally, anon, thank you.

okay, so, there's a few options and some of them range from 'this would be funny' and 'i just think this works'. aesthetically, i'm looking at mostly white chickens since chickens aren't green and i'm going off the main colors of the skin! though honestly black would also work.

first, looks wise and because it'd be funny, i think a white silkie would be fun. the hens genuinely look like white blobs and i've actually drawn c!dream as one of these before simply because they look like a blob!

look at this chicken and tell me you don't see the vision.

as for breeds that i just feel like would be more fitting to him, that takes a little bit of time think about because overall, chickens are.... they're chickens! they can all be filled with rage and they can all be the sweetest little babies, y'know?

there's breeds that are deeply protective like the malay, thai game, and shamo. they were originally bred as fighting birds sadly but then people realized that they're actually just. good birds. they're aggressive towards other chickens sometimes but protective of their own flocks and can be very sweet towards their people. so i do feel like that would be a good choice though aesthetically they don't really match up since white isn't common. i do just love them, though, so i wanted to mention them.

(malay, above) (shamo, below)

another 'i want to mention these guys' moment is the appenzeller spitzhauben. appearance wise, they're more on point (the silver spangled is very cute and i love their combs). and they tend to be energetic and 'flighty'. they love people and their flocks but do spend time alone and despite their small size, they're good foragers who are always alert for predators.

but, being basic, i think my main pick would be a leghorn!

leghorns are wonderful, opinionated birds. they can be deeply friendly but also aggressive when they're annoyed. they're active and agile. they love to move and i've heard people who own them refer to them has having the 'zoomies' and also as 'occasionally insane'. if you get a well-bred one (meaning a heritage not industrial), they can be very tough! they can adapt to confinement but tend to kinda lose their minds a bit. they're also protective of their flock and curious.

i feel like if c!dream was a chicken, he realistically be a leghorn.

(yes, that's a hen, yes, i'm pushing my trans c!dream agenda here)

if i went for sheer funny, i would say salmon faverolle. personality wise they're.... well. most people describe them as 'quirky' or 'silly' and i find that's so accurate and also they're babies but well.

yeah.

[mirrorbuck]

9-1-1 characters as sharks❕🦈

As a shark nerd, I had to. Enjoy! :)

1 - ✭ Bobby ; angel shark

• They spend most of their time hiding in mud and dust

2 - ✭ Athena ; leopard shark

• Their rough skin makes it hard for stuff to settle on them.

3 - ✭ May ; zebra shark

• As they mature, their stripes fade and then become small dark spots, which is why they are often mistaken for leopard sharks

4 - ✭ Hen ; mako shark

• They are very fast and smart sharks

5 - ✭ Karen ; silky shark

• They have a great hearing

6 - ✭ Chimney ; spiny dogfish shark

• They’re quite small

7 - ✭ Maddie ; blue shark

• They will attack if they feel threatened

8 - ✭ Daniel ; whale shark

• Only 10% of whale sharks make it to adulthood

9 - ✭ Buck ; lemon shark

• They are very loyal to their home, are highly social and can be jealous of other lemon sharks. They’ve also been known to help out humans who are lost and in danger

10 - ✭ Eddie ; white tip shark

• They swim away when swimmers or divers approach

11 - ✭ Ravi ; nurse shark

• Really friendly and social

12 - ✭ Albert ; bluntnose six gills shark

• Their ability to handle a variety of temperatures and depths allows them to go wherever they like

13 - ✭ Lucy ; megalodon

• There’s still a lot we don’t know about them

14 - ✭ Josh ; horn shark

• They have a tough exterior and sharp spines to protect themselves

—————

The end 🦈🌊 Thank you for reading <3

[moraymoth]

Chicken update! So we have two new chicks, both silkies. You know those fluffy chickens? Yeah! One of our black hens hatched two. So the white one is Ivory and the black one is Ebony!

[sneeb-canons]

There is an ongoing argument about what breed Darrel is that just will not die. Soul is dead-certain he's a Rhode Island Red. He's a chicken, he's red, what else could he be?

Mind argues that A. there's so many goddamn breeds of red chickens and B. Darrel's feathers aren't nearly dark enough to be a RIR. His tail feathers are white for fuck's sake, he's clearly a Red Ranger. Soul maintains that Darrel is nowhere near heavy enough to be one.

Heart honestly doesn't have much of a genuine opinion on this, it's not like he can really judge what Darrel looks like. He will, however, set the argument off on purpose for fun. For extra chaos, he sometimes "decides" that Darrel is CLEARLY (insert chicken breed here). The breed in question almost never looks anything like Darrel, Heart just picks the longest/most complicated name and/or what sounds most likely to piss off the other two. The "Darrel is a Splash Frizzle Satin Silkie" incident nearly ended in murder and Heart would do it all again if he could.

All three of them are entirely wrong. Darrel is a simple Red Sex Link cross hen. He's a very pretty one; vibrant red with a white tail, white-mottled wings, and white-tipped hackle feathers, but he's not of any specific breed or "designer" crossbreed. Heart, Mind, and Soul are literally never going to figure out the truth.

Headcanon #328

[twola]

Seven Deadly Sins - III

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Greed: a selfish and excessive desire for more of something than is needed.

➵ AO3 Link

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The champagne burned on the way down. He would never get used to that. He would also never get used to this stupid outfit, trussed up like some prized hen, hair slicked back with pomade and clean-shaven. The lack of weight on his hips where his gun belt should have rested was perturbing.

Fireworks, of all things, burst above him as high-society men and women marveled at the display.

But Arthur is concentrating more on the white-clad servant talking to the Mayor. Dutch also listens over his shoulder.

“Did he just say something about Cornwall?”

Arthur nods at Dutch, whose magnanimous face hardens briefly.

“Find out what. And take her with you,” Dutch tilts his head over to where you stand, watching the fireworks with a few other women, “She’s good at distractions, should you need one.”

Arthur waves off, placing his now empty flute on a tray of a passing butler, ducking away from Dutch, keeping an eye on the white-jacketed servant who was slowly making his way back to the house.

He makes his way toward the group of ladies, where you look positively bored along the outside of the circle, having just downed the champagne in your flute, twirling the glass between your fingers.

Arthur makes eye contact with you as he walks by, and you immediately straighten your posture, placing down the flute on a table behind you and excusing yourself from the other women. You move between onlookers to catch up with Arthur’s quick gait, and as you catch up to him, he grabs your hand, leading you toward the side of the grand mansion.

“What we doin’?” You whisper, and suddenly Arthur stops, grabbing your waist and pulling you against him as he spies over his shoulder up the trellised walkway.

He motions toward the servant from before, who is stepping up the stairs towards a side door of the stately mansion.

“That feller there - he’s the mayor’s man - he was talkin’ bout some dealings with Cornwall and documents. Dutch wants us to look into it.”

The man steps inside the house, and Arthur takes your hand to hurry after him.

“Hol- hold on, not so fast.” You retort with a harsh breath, “I ain’t used to wearing heels like these.”

Indeed, much like how he is dressed to impress feckless men in a tuxedo, clean-shaven and hair slicked back, you were obviously brought along as a piece of eye candy. Your long hair was pulled into an elaborate updo by Mary Beth earlier in the night. Hosea had insisted on bringing you into Saint Denis for a dress, a crimson gown that left your shoulders bare and your décolletage adorned with a fancy necklace stolen from some old woman’s coach outside of town. You frown, gathering the voluminous skirts that flavored from your waist, the silky crimson sheath of your gown laying over white petticoats. 

You’ve been trying to keep your white opera-length gloves clean all night, which was more than obnoxious enough for you.

You wince, rolling your ankle slightly, and Arthur offers you his arm, which you take as you curse these fancy heels that Mary Beth insisted you wear tonight to the bottom of Flat Iron Lake. That’s where you’re sure they will end up, chucked from the coach on the way back to Shady Belle.

Arthur leads you into the side door of the house, hiding behind a doorframe, you listen to the white-frocked servant yell at a scullery maid before he moves toward the stairs up to the second floor. 

Arthur nods down at you, and taking your hand, you quietly follow up to the staircase and bound up the first few stairs. Turning the corner, Arthur quickly pulls you against him, and you gasp as he maneuvers you into the corner of the stairwell, glaring down at you in an obvious attempt to silence you.

He leans down toward your ear, “Stay here.” 

You nod, letting go of his coat as he turns to quietly ascend the stairs to the top of the landing, his hand staying raised toward you, beckoning you to stay. You hear movement on the floor above you, fast steps moving further away. Arthur waves down for you to join him, and you tiptoe up the stairs and duck into the first room where Arthur stepped into, slowly and quietly closing and latching the door behind you.

It is a large and ornate study, filled with art and books, a writing desk and couch decorated finely and lit with electric sconces. You groan lightly, looking around, thinking to yourself that the amount of finery in this room alone was more than you’ve seen in your life. Probably more than you could steal in your life.

You move closer to the bookshelves, eye on a glint of gold on the shelf. Begging to be touched.

“You heard what Dutch said. Keep your hands to yourself, little thief.” Arthur drawls as he leafs through papers on the ornate writing desk. He has an amused tone as he glances up at you before resuming his search through the documents on the table.

You snort under your breath, rolling your eyes at him. He saw you reach for the gilded letter opener on the shelf, of all the ridiculous things to cover in gold.

“Here we go.” Arthur pulls a document from the desk drawer that he jimmied open. He tucks it into his vest and closes the drawer.

“C’mon, let’s get back downstairs.”

You don’t move. Arthur scowls impatiently as a wicked smile starts to cross your features, your dark lips stained with rouge and eyes darkened with powder. Looking all the bit of a courtesan in some Parisian salon. The low dip of your neckline highlights your cleavage, normally hidden underneath workshirts and jackets.

“Mmm, let Dutch simmer some more. Down there’s his type of game.” You whisper, stepping closer to Arthur, who continues to scowl.

“We don’t have ti-”

Arthur’s voice halts immediately as his eyes widen, and your impish smile grows.

“Yes, we do.”

He lets out a deep breath, stuttering, as his eyes shoot downward. Your white-gloved hand palms his rapidly hardening cock in his trousers.

It takes him a few moments to pull himself together, far too long, in his opinion, but your fingers wrapping around his cock, even through layers of fabric, completely wipes clean the slate of thoughts in his mind.

Arthur blinks, groaning softly as he looks up to the ceiling for a second before looking back down. You're huddled against him, the fabric of your dress rustling against his suit, staring up at him with a satisfied smile, one hand pressed against the hard muscle of his chest, the other fervently stroking his cock.

You lean your head against his shoulder as he shudders, closing his eyes tightly.

“Oh, you’re so good , Arthur.” You whine softly, and he cannot stop a groan from escaping his throat, as one of his hands curls around your hip to take purchase on your rear, squeezing tightly. The other leans back against the built-in bookshelf, holding on for dear life, as if his legs were going to give out beneath him.

“ Jesus -” Arthur spits out, and cannot help put to thrust his hips forward, pressing hard and catching your hand between your bodies, “ Fuck , woman.”

You giggle, pushing back at him and your other hand traces down his chest, down his stomach, to his hips, and pulls at the buttons of his trousers. He squeezes your rear again, as your hand leaves his cock and joins your other one in opening his trousers. Damn this fancy suit and high-society trappings.

Arthur pants, breath coming out in loud huffs as you finally open his black pants, hiking up his starched white shirt to his stomach with one hand as the other encircles his cock.

Christ , he thinks he's seeing stars as you begin to pump your hand, stroking him with increasing pressure with your little fingers wrapped around his length. His hand moves from the bookshelf behind him to cup one of your breasts, squeezing lightly and eliciting a moan from your colored lips. 

Despite your talented hand around his cock, Arthur finally seems to get his bearings, rubbing against the fabric of your dress, pulled tight and fitted around your bosom, and circling his other hand on your rear as he regains his footing, leaning over and taking your lips with his.

“Ah-ah.” You tut, allowing him to kiss you for only a moment before you swat his hand from your bosom, “Stop being greedy. This is my show.”

“ Shit .”

He cannot help but to swear as you start to sink downward, to your knees in front of him. The fabric of your maroon dress rustles as you slowly slide to the floor, keeping your eyes on his the entire time.

You take the length of his steel-hard cock in one of your gloves hands, the other pressed against his hip, and the small amount of skin visible from where his open pants hang.

Arthur groans aloud, his mouth hanging open as you stare up at him, your lips pursing for a moment before you take the blunt head of his cock into your mouth. You suck, softly at first, and one of Arthur’s hands flies to your head, and you narrow your eyes in warning, not to destroy the elaborate coiffure your long hair was styled into. The outlaw immediately retracts his hand, chided.

Your other hand floats to his other hip as you push your head forward, taking him further into your mouth. Arthur lets out a deep breath through his nose, eyes trained on your lips as inch by inch of him disappears into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

Your eyes flutter closed, breathing in through your nose, and push your head closer to his hips. He sucks in an audible breath, exhaling with a needy whine that you had no idea the man was capable of making. Arthur’s hand moves to gently cup your jaw, the slightest pull forward. You push past the discomfort, taking his entire length, your nose pressing against his pubic bone, dusting the chestnut curls at the base of his cock.

“ God almighty”, he grits out, watching you start to bob back and forth, his cock glistening with your saliva.

He cannot help but to thrust his hips forward slightly, groaning aloud as the head of his cock comes into contact with the back of your throat. 

You continue for several moments, wrenching more sweet stuttering sounds from him before squeezing his hips. You pull back and Arthur’s eyes nearly cross when he can make out the faintest ring of lip rouge around the base of his cock.

You retreat, and for a fleeting moment, Arthur watches a thin string of saliva stretch between your wet lips and the glistening head of his cock, groaning as it breaks. You’re climbing back up him, hands at his hips, his waist, his chest, anchoring yourself to him as you stand from your knees.

“C’mere-” you grab one of his hands and pull him away from the bookshelf, and he follows, one hand holding his opened pants up, as you lead him to the fancy couch in the middle of the room. You push him down, and both he and you know that you can only move him with his permission - your small frame against his own.

Arthur grunts as he sits on the couch, spreading his legs as you stand in front of him. His hand automatically moves to his erection, stroking it handily as you lean over, pressing your lips to his. 

A soft laugh escapes you as you lean over him to nip at his bottom lip, and he notices your hand starting to hike up the voluminous skirts covering your legs. Higher, higher, above where your black stockings end below your knees, to the swathe of your pale thighs, and the lacy trim of your bloomers.

With a grin, you straighten up, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bloomers and pulling them, sliding them down your thighs to your knees, where they fall in a puddle on the floor at your feet. Arthur’s left-hand reaches toward your newly bared skin, toward the soft thatch of hair at the jointure of your thighs.

You swat his hand away, and he scowls. 

“I told you, Mister Morgan. Stop bein’ so greedy.”

“Woman, I swear,” Arthur grits his teeth as he strokes his cock there on the couch, “if you don’t get o’er here-”

You cut him off by climbing onto his lap, holding your skirts up with one hand while the other finds purchase on the wooden trim of the back of the couch, behind Arthur’s shoulder. Bracketing his legs between your thighs, you lower yourself down, skin pressing to his, as your skirts fall to cover both of your lower bodies. You roll your hips, letting his cock slip between your folds, finding wet warmth there as you slide it between your legs.

Arthur growls, jutting his hips upward, seeking more pressure, heat, and wetness on his cock. His jaw hangs open as he pants, his hands firmly on the globes of your rear as you grind down on him. A needy, breathy moan escapes him, and you smile and coo in response.

“You want somethin’ there, Arthur?”

He has no idea where your sheer audacity came from. Maybe you’ve always been a spitfire and the times you’ve coupled he just overpowered you. Maybe you’re getting comfortable with this arrangement. Either way, he’s into it.

“I told you before, we don’t have time for you to be drawin’ this out…”

“Alright, alright…” you laugh, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you shift your hips upward, reach under your skirts with your gloved hand, and line his length up before slowly sinking down onto it.

That needy, breathless sound he made before bubbles to the surface again and spills from somewhere deep in his chest as you take him in, inch by inch within your tight warmth, and he’s forced to wonder how he could ever be parted from this ecstasy for long. How he wasn’t inside you constantly. How this is only the third time in months that he’s been enveloped in your hips.

What the hell has he been thinking? Wasting time as he has been…

Arthur is brought back to the world within this gilded room as you bottom out, a high, gasping sigh reaches his ears and he cannot help but to grasp tighter at your rear and push his hips upward, trying to push himself deeper into your cunt, if at all possible. After a moment, you roll your hips, gripping the trim of the couch with both hands, and slide your cunt so he is almost out of your body, only to resheath himself as you push back down.

“ Fuck , Arthur.”

“Keep goin’, keep goin’ girl.” He pants as you repeat the motion. And repeat it again. And again. 

You shove your mouth against his, and he opens his with a throaty moan, his tongue pushing inside your mouth as you continue gyrating in his lap. 

He coaxes a wail from you as he meets your thrusts, hands moving up to your hips and helping slam you back down onto him.

Thank god you had the wherewithal to close the door, as the heavy panting and groaning from the two of you fills the air, along with the rustling of your dress over his suit.

You’re panting, whining , throwing your head back as you stutter over him. Arthur’s hands are true on your hips, keeping them in rhythm as he meets them with short upward thrusts.

“Tha’s it, c’mon-” he pants as you keen, your eyes screwed shut as you feverishly grind down on him.

He would be damned if he found his end before you did. Even with you sucking him off like a whore on your knees, it was everything to keep him from spilling down your throat before. But as you get closer, closer to that point of no return, he realizes he needs to send you over that edge. For his own pleasure.

Your hips roll and your head is thrown back and you sigh in ecstasy as you tighten around him, he leans forward, hands on your lower back, pushing you down on him as you ride out your orgasm.

Arthur’s hands move your hips slowly over his, a smug grin spreading across his face. Finally, for the first time since you ran your little fingers down his cock, does he feel like he’s gained back some semblance of control.

He leans forward and nips at the shell of your ear before his hot breath upon it makes you shiver, “C’mon, we ain’t done yet.”

You whine, oversensitive, burying your head into the crook of his neck. He juts his hips upward in a half-hearted thrust, and the noise escaping your mouth verges on desperate.

“Up, wanna fuck you on the rich man’s desk,” Arthur grunts haughtily, and you pull back with a laugh, a sly smile on your face as you regain your bearings. You pull off of him, both of you gasping softly at the loss of him in your core. Standing up from his lap, his hands remain on your hips as your legs shake from your release. A mirthful chuckle bubbles from his chest as he stands up as well, one hand back to his pants to keep them up. Arthur moves his hand from your hip and playfully swats at your rear, urging you back to the writing desk that he had been rifling through at the beginning of this escapade.

Your skirts rustle, and you bend over quickly to grab your bloomers from the floor and tuck them into your bosom, between your breasts. Your heels click against the lacquered floor as you walk toward the desk, and you begin to turn around to face your outlaw until his hands find you again. He pushes you until your hips bump against the table, and your hands fly to the desk’s surface to stop yourself from falling forward. 

“Arthur-!” You gasp in surprise, but further complaint is cut off as the man presses himself against you, forcing you to bend over, his arms encircling your shoulders and his breath against your neck as both of you bend over the table. He rolls his hips shortly against you, and his hardness hasn’t abided at all.

You’re guided down to your elbows, and one of Arthur’s large hands starts gathering the bottom of your skirts, crumpling them in lustful fists, the maroon gown and hidden white petticoat drawing upward.

The back of your legs are slowly bared to him, black stockings ending above your knee, and the paleness of your thighs as he flips the fabric up. He grunts as he draws your skirt clean over your hips, allowing it to collect at your waist, fanning out over the desk you’re sprawled out on.

His hands are greedy, moving to squeeze at your pert rear, and you shiver as one of his rough hands works downward, a finger trailing down your goosebumped skin to the folds of your cunt, obscenely wet from when you rode him on the couch.

“A-Arthur, don’t-”

“Don’t what ?” He replies harshly in your ear, laying on top of you again and taking that finger to press shallowly inside your swollen opening. 

“T-tease me.” You grit out, unable to do much more than push your hips backward slightly onto his hand, but cruelly, he pulls his hand back from your core, and you whine in frustration as he places it back on your hip.

“Whatchu want, darlin’? Y’want my cock again?” Arthur grunts, and you feel the blunt, hot head of his cock press against your skin. You buck against him weakly.

“ Please. ”

He acquiesces to your plea.

Arthur slides his hard cock in between your folds and snaps his hips forward to bury himself within your cunt. He cannot help the groan that spills from him and is egged on by the high gasp you give as you place your cheek down on the desk as he begins to rock his hips back and forth.

His hands, rough and calloused and warm, encircle your hips as he drives into you, the wet noises of your bodies coming together would be embarrassing if either of you had any semblance of dignity.

Of course, you didn’t. Arthur has you bent over a writing desk in the mayor’s office, fucking you as if his life depended on it, your skirts hiked over your rear, and his pants falling to his knees.

He yanks on the stupid white bow tie constricting his neck, letting it fall open as he grunts. He leans over you again, moving one of the hands on your hips down, down, pushing skirts aside and reaching for the nub just above where he pierces you. He quickly finds it, and you keen .

“There we go.”

“St-stop… A-Arthur, it’s too much.” You cry, your legs shaking against his as he slams his hips hard against yours. His hand underneath your skirts circles your clit and you feel like you could die from the pleasure.

“Nuh-uh. Need another one from ya.” He grunts in your ear as you whine. His other hand moves from your hip to your lower back as he continues to grind his hips into your rear, the desk shaking with the movement.

Arthur covers your mouth as you scream, your cunt clenching so hard around his cock that he slams himself forward once and wrenches himself from you, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He grasps his cockhead in his hand, coming in sticky globs over his fingers, trying to save both your dress and his suit from the mess.

As the two of you pant, he gently places his large hand on your hips as he stands up, rubbing softly. He gently extricates himself from you, pulling your skirts to cover you as you lay panting on the table, utterly wrecked. He pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping his spend from his hand. He stuffs his softening cock back into his pants as he pulls them up and retucks his dress shirt in, trying to look more dinner party and less debauchery.

“Enough for you, Arthur?” You chuckle between heavy breaths. You push yourself to your elbows before looking back at him with the mischievous glint in your eyes from before. 

He works at retying the bow tie at his neck.

You swipe the ornate letter opener from before and tuck it into your voluminous skirts. He doesn’t see you grab it.

“I dunno. You did say I’m a greedy man.”

[ah-the-poultry]

[proshippers-against-censorship]

you got roosters..? can I sse 👉👈

payment in advance

I'll get you better pics tomorrow, but here's some sucky ones from today / over the weekend.

I know the coop looks a bit small, but it's really only for nighttime / bad weather...plus there was no anticipation of suddenly adding like, ten more chickens in from a neighbor.

That big, stereotypical roo is Lord Faarquad. That fluffy white silky bantam in the last pic was King Cloudpuff. One of the black hens are Lucifeather, the other is Asmoodeus.

Somewhere in the last pic is the three dickhead roos, don't have a pic of the final, new dude, Cupcake.

The others have names too but I'm way too tired to try to put a comprehensive list together.

But yeah. Flock of 25, soon to be 22. Good times. Lots of eggs.

[tailsbeth-writes]

I'll take anything but the spa day, so your choice within the other options! And RWRB please, I suddenly need all the RWRB summer fics!

Thank for this, I decided on Firstprince and drinks at the hotel bar. Maybe I'll continue the holiday/summer theme next week! They try a bit of role play in this... Find this on Ao3 here 🍹

Henry fiddled with the pastel coloured bracelets on his wrist, feeling over the beads that read ‘J+N’. It had been a hell of a hen do weekend or bachelorette weekend as he’d been corrected several times. After all the bizarre games and bar hopping though, he was glad Alex had suggested an extra couple of nights at the resort just for them. Although what he suggested next, filled Henry with a smidge of anxiety but mostly excitement.

The sun was setting over Ibiza as he sat at the bar, nursing a large glass of white wine. He swivelled on the stool, crossing one leg over the over then switching legs. He had borrowed a purple silky shirt of Percy’s and slicked his hair back. It was the best they could do on short notice. He checked his phone, Alex was taking his sweet time. Henry huffed and looked around the bar in hopes his husband would appear. 

‘Hey there, handsome.’ A high tone made Henry turn back to the bar and his mouth fell open. Alex was grinning at him, or well it wasn’t quite Alex as he knew him. 

He was wearing a black strappy gown which he believed to be Nora’s, a red bikini sneaking out across his chest. His height was helped by a pair of black wedge sandals and instead of his dark curls, he was wearing a long brown wig. Henry studied his face, his eyes were lined and his ridiculous eyelashes were somehow longer. His lips were coated in a brick red lipstick that made Henry want to lick them. 

‘You okay there?’ 

Henry cleared his throat, taking a large mouthful of wine. 

‘All the better for your pretty face. What brings you here…erm… all on your own?’ Henry hesitated, putting on the authoritative tone Alex requested. 

‘Well, actually I’m here with my boyfriend.’ 

‘He shouldn’t have let you leave his sight, who knows what trouble you could get into…’

Alex giggled and it broke Henry’s brain. A bartender comes over to take their order, looking at them both with a curious gaze. 

‘Another wine, and for the lady?’ Henry looked to Alex expectantly, who put his hand on his chest. 

‘Well aren’t you a sweetheart? I’ll take vodka and fresh orange please.’ 

The bartender made their drinks as the pair took each other in, Henry could see Alex’s eyes wander to his chest. There were more buttons open than closed on his shirt. The bartender placed their drinks down and moved on to the next customer. Alex leaned in, sucking through a straw, his eyes never leaving Henry’s. Henry’s hand laid on the bar, Alex’s fingers walked up it. 

‘You know, I should warn you… vodka makes me kind of… randy?’ His brows raised with the last word and that’s when Henry lost it. He leaned in so only Alex could hear him.

‘I need you in our room right now before I do something frowned upon in public.’ 

Alex bit his lip before straightening up and downing his drink. Henry wiped a bit of the condensation next to Alex’s lip with his thumb as he slid off the stool. He was surprised his legs weren’t complete goo. Alex let a gasp out as Henry’s hand wrapped around his waist and guided them out of the bar.

‘I should warn you, my boyfriend is a really sexy, strong prince. He won’t be happy about this…’

Henry chuckled as they waited on the elevator. 

‘I think I can handle him, sweetheart.’ 

The doors opened to an empty elevator and Henry had never been happier. 

[homeofhousechickens]

I really miss Twinkle today. Most of yall probably don't remember him, I lost him in 2020

He was just so big and cuddly, he was bright white and so clean all the time. He was really sweet with little hens and young cockerels. I used to think he choked or something but since both his sons also had issues I think it was just something related to his own genetics and stuff. Silkies are just really fragile due to their vaulted skull as well and I had an aggressive large fowl hen at the time so I think that might have contributed. I don't think it was his breeders fault and he offered to replace him for free but who could replace my Twinkle?