#you're keeping roosters that are pretty but weak or mean

[sassyhazelowl]

Sometimes, on the quail groups, I wonder what exact people do with their quail to get such poor results. Coturnix are not that hard to hatch and raise. They are literally the easiest bird I have on my property. If you have a decent incubator and take basic steps to ensure you have good eggs and good brooder practices, you shouldn't have low hatch rats/high chick mortality. 85-100% hatch rates are fairly easy to obtain with mature hens, good breeding ratios and proper nutrition for the breeders (aka not chicken feed). You shouldn't be having issues with DIS or failure to thrive or wryneck or clubfoot/splayed leg or crossbeak if you put any effort at all into picking and maintaining your breeders well. You shouldn't have to do a lot of hard culling after a few generations let alone 3/4ths of your hatches. Your hatch rates shouldn't be 25-30% from your own eggs.

This is not survival of the fittest - this is negligence and poor husbandry.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Mirror Sex | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 1,075

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! body insecurity, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), lmk if I missed anything

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You had been staring at yourself in the mirror for the past twenty minutes, poking and pulling at different parts of your body. Bradley had been home for a few minutes, you had heard the front door open and him call out your name but you weren’t ready to face him yet. 

“Sweetheart?” There’s a knock on the door before it opens. “Is it my birthday?” He jokes, obviously happy to have found you in nothing but your underwear. You turn to face him, forcing a smile. Bradley was your dream man, he was kind, funny, and one hell of a cook. It didn’t hurt that the Navy had also turned him into two-hundred pounds of pure, tanned muscle. 

“I missed you too, baby,” His brows furrowed, knowing you well enough to know something was off. “I’m fine, Bradley.” 

“No, you’re not,” Bradley started looking you over, concern evident in his eyes. “What is it? Are you hurt?” His touch burned, your self-consciousness eating away at you until you pushed his hands away.

“Lee, just stop for a minute.” He frowned but dropped his hands to his sides. He was worried, you knew that, but you couldn’t get the nasty voice in your head to stop talking. You looked a lot different than you had when you had come to California, different than when you met your loving boyfriend. Most days, you were fine with the change, but there was something about today that had gotten to you.

“I’m going to need you to fill me in here, sweetheart.” Bradley reached for you and this time you let him, he pulled you against his chest. He had showered at work, smelling like the special soap you had bought him. Breathing in the familiar scent, you melted into him. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” 

“Do you think I’m attractive?” You whispered, holding his shirt tight when he tried to pull away. “Don’t look at me, just answer me.” 

“Baby, you’re hot as fuck,” His blunt reply made you laugh, easing a bit of the tension your body had been holding. “What’s this about?” 

“Brain’s being mean,” You mumbled, kissing his chest. “I’m really glad you’re home.” 

Bradley turned you around, your back to his chest. You looked at him in the mirror, admiring his handsome face. He, on the other hand, was watching you. 

“Does my girl need a reminder of how beautiful she is?” 

“Maybe,” You reached up, cupping the back of his neck. Bradley kissed the top of your head.

“You're perfect, baby,” He kissed your neck. “Your smile gets me weak in the knees and these,” He squeezed your breasts. “Well, you know how much I love ‘em. But I’ve got a feeling you’re worried about this,” His large, calloused hands ran over your stomach and you groaned, trying to wrap your arms around yourself but he batted your hands away.

“Lee,”

“Nuh uh, keep your hands on me or at your sides.” You grumbled unhappily but complied.

“You know what I love so much about this part of you?” He ran his hands over your stomach and squeezed your hips, his touch highlighting all of your insecurities. “Means I’m taking good care of you, keeping you fed and happy.” 

“I do love your cooking,” You did. Bradley was an excellent cook, always showing off in the kitchen, recreating any recipe you found on Pinterest wearing a kiss the chef apron. 

His thumbs hooked your underwear, pushing them down far enough until gravity took over. You kicked them to the side, heat pooling at your core, knowing what was coming. All of your earlier insecurities were forgotten as Bradley reached down, a calloused finger slipping between your folds.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, baby,” Bradley ordered you and your eyes snapped up. You watched as Bradley’s fingers moved with precision, finding your clit, making you squirm with desire. “Think you can take me now, sweetheart?” 

Normally Bradley could spend hours on foreplay, working you over so well you had tears in your eyes, barely able to think anything at all before he finally slipped inside of you, and for good reason too. There was a reason his callsign was Rooster and it wasn’t just because he was an annoyingly early riser. 

“I can take it,” Bradley chuckled at your breathy reply, bending you easily over the bathroom counter. You spread your feet apart, giving him easier access. You watched Bradley unbuckle his belt and push off his jeans, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart. Hands on the counter,” You braced yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in anticipation. Your moan filled the bathroom as Bradley worked two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out of you at a quick pace that already had your knees shaking. “You look so pretty like this, needy for me,” Bradley kissed the back of your neck. 

“Lee,” You panted, widening your stance. He pulled out his fingers but before you could whine, he pushed into you. “Fuck.” Your eyes fluttered shut, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Bradley surrounding you, filling you, it was all consuming.

“Look in the mirror, baby, look at how pretty you are while I fuck you,” Bradley was thrusting into you at an excruciating pace, making it hard to keep your eyes open but you tried your best. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, baby.”

“I love you,” He smiled, his pace not faltering.

“I love every single part of you, tell me what you are, baby,” Your hands slipped on the counter, your front collapsing against the cool surface but the change in angle felt too good to care. You kept your eyes on the mirror, looking at your blissed out expression, the way your hair stuck to your forehead, and the way Bradley was watching you with love and adoration. “Answer me, baby, what are you? How does my girl look?”

“Beau- ah, fuck, beautiful.” 

“That’s right, baby, you’re beautiful.” He found your clit, sending your nerves into a frenzy, “Come for me, baby.”

“Lee,” You cried out, body shaking as Bradley fucked you through your orgasm before spilling inside of you, your name on his lips. 

“Hey, babe?” Bradley asked after a minute, his voice light and teasing, still laying over you as you both caught your breath. “Do you feel bonita?” 

“I hate you.” 

Taglist: @wanderingsoul6261 @halflifejess @kyemna @alipap3 @yutangwl @teacupsandtopgun @glenpowellluver @closetspngirl @that-one-fangirl69 @starshinegrl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @sarah-bear706318 @shanimallina87 @atuman @carolina-on-my-mind03 @winelover27 @hookslove1592

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 3

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1720

The One I Want Masterlist

---

Jake Seresin is a wizard. Or a mind-reader. Or some creature with wildly sensitive hearing. You’re sure of it. 

In the month since you moved into the apartment, your only moments alone come when you lock yourself in your bedroom. Otherwise, Jake is near you—sitting next to you, looking at you, talking to you. If your door opens, he follows not five seconds later. If you sit down at the island with your breakfast of bland cereal, he enters the kitchen within two minutes to prepare his own meal; the same meal every morning. Eggs, Canadian bacon, and a protein shake. If you dare to switch the television on, turns out he’s been meaning to watch that show for weeks. You had no idea he was into movie special effects competitions. 

It isn’t irritating, exactly—though, it wouldn’t shock you if others experiencing similar treatment would feel that way. You just can’t figure him out. He’s unfigure-outable. You’re pretty sure that’s a thing. If not, Jake Seresin just brought it into existence. And here you thought you were the mystery. 

“So I was thinking,” he says. 

You close your book without a second thought, having barely read and retained a line in the last fifteen minutes anyway. From the moment he came out of his room and plopped down on the couch—his leg bouncing and eyes trained ahead on nothing—you’ve been waiting for him to snap the tense band of silence between you.

His fingers clasp together, thumbs subtly twiddling when he finally looks over to you. “Maybe you could meet my friends. They’ve asked about you, and you’ve already met Nat so it’s really only the guys.”

That was perhaps one of the last things you imagined he would say. You’ve heard very little of his friends. They’re also pilots. His team. They all have weird nicknames. Half of those nicknames are animals. 

There are other tidbits Jake casually mentioned as well. Coyote is his closest friend. There’s a Rooster who recently found himself a chick. A Bob and a Phoenix—who you learned is Nat—are particularly attached. 

But every bit of that information you figured he was simply spilling to fill moments where you were in the same room but not speaking. Or perhaps it’s some method to draw out feelings of trust so you might participate in his little game of show and tell. In his eyes is always the hope that you’ll share something of your own, but you have yet to find the courage or need to do so. 

“Oh,” you reply, trying to gather the correct words to turn him down. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really up to meeting a group of people today.”

You hate the way his face falls. Like a puppy denied a treat. But it lasts only a second as another thought brightens the green hue of his irises. 

“What if we went somewhere? You and me.”

“What?”

His body shifts on the couch, more of him now facing you. He’s wearing a shirt today. He’s been wearing shirts around you since you made the request weeks ago, but they’re weak at disguising the body underneath. Thin fabric pulled tight like a second skin. 

“You said no bars,” he continues. “How do you feel about diners?”

—

It’s an odd image—Jake framed in this setting. He’s all lean muscle and neatly styled hair with a clean-shaven jawline surrounded by greasy food and booths so old their plastic seats are cracking. As others watch him—particularly the hostess who cannot for her life keep from glancing his way every thirty seconds—he watches you. Says nothing; just watches until the waitress returns to set a few plates and mugs in front of you both. 

“There you go, kids,” she says. She’s older, and her hair is done up in a style that hasn’t followed the turning of the decades, but you like that it suits her; that she hasn’t paid attention to the change around her, or simply doesn’t care. With her hands on her hips, she says, “Now Jake, if I knew you were bringing a girlfriend I would’ve set aside some of that pie you like.”

Your eyes bug so much they could’ve fallen right onto the table, but Jake chuckles, smiling at you before directing it to the waitress. “Don’t spook her, Mags,” he teases. Then, “This is my new roommate.”

Her lips form an ‘O’ that holds for a few seconds too long before she blinks and tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t work out with the other one, honey?”

“Not so much, no.”

“Well, that’s just fine. I wasn’t a fan.” Mags takes a breath and straightens out her little apron; a costume element you’d rather die than wear, but much like her hair, Mags seems to take pride in it. You can’t fault her for that. You wish you could find a job you enjoy. Or a job at all. She shoots you a grin; nothing like the rehearsed smiles from someone in a customer service job, but a genuine curve of the lips that creates a warm little ball in your chest. “You, on the other hand, look like such a sweetheart. So be good to my Jake here.”

You don’t have the opportunity to disappoint her because she doesn’t wait for a response. Be good to her Jake. Not an ask. A demand. An unspoken ‘or else’ hanging in the air. And though she’s got at least forty years on you, you’re pretty sure she’s spry enough to follow through on her sneaky threats. 

Mags squeezes Jake’s shoulder and departs, leaving you in a confused state of mixed energies. Shock and discomfort radiate off of you like heat waves, meeting the cool calmness emanating from a beaming Jake. 

“Will you tell me more about yourself now?” he asks. 

Shaking off the questionable tone of the older woman, you reconnect yourself to the man in front of you. His words soak in; another unexpected curveball Jake has thrown you within one day. His friends want to meet you, and now your personal details are on his mind. What would come next? Does he want to know the last time you were thoroughly kissed? Your high school GPA? Height and weight? If so, he’s going to be terribly disappointed. 

Steaming, wispy tendrils invade your vision, and you finally register the blueberry hint hitting your nostrils. Jake had whispered the order to Mags with the explanation that he already knew what you wanted. And being the mind-reading wizard you’re convinced he is, on a menu of nearly one hundred items he magically happened to pick something you enjoy. 

You hold yourself back from digging in, instead meeting his eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think free pancakes are a good trade for my life story?”

He slowly slides a mug closer to you. “I got you coffee as well.”

When you raise an unenthused brow, Jake sighs. 

“Fine. You’re leaving me no other choice than to guess,” he says. “But if I get it right, will you be honest?”

With a snort, you pick up your fork and take your first bite of the sweet fluffy cake. It’s undeniably delicious. Fucking wizard. “Sure,” you say, and akin to a child, Jake’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. 

He ignores his own food and drink to once again watch you. Observing. Your eyes to your lips to your neck and back again. When he comes to a conclusion, he leans back in the booth. “You are a fan of the beach and before you die you intend to live in every beach town this country has to offer for at least two months each.”

Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, since it appears that I am wrong, I’m going to say yes I am kidding because I’m very funny like that.” He stares some more, eyes narrowing. “You’re searching for a long-lost family member.”

“No.”

“You are only attracted to Navy men and thought you’d travel to a hub.”

Again, as he likes to do, he leaves you lacking words for a moment. “That better be another one of your ‘I’m very funny like that’ attempts,” you eventually manage to say. “And you know I wasn’t aware this was a Navy town.”

Jake nods and then leans forward in his seat, arms overlapping on the linoleum tabletop. You can sense the sudden shift; a new energy. The glint in his eye doesn't quite go with the steady seriousness of his voice. Like mismatched puzzle pieces. “So you’re not attracted to Navy men?” he asks. 

Your head jerks back to regain the distance he lessened. “Not exclusively.”

“Damn,” he replies, full playful tone back in place. “I wanted to at least get that part right.”

There’s another bright smile from him. A wink. You look to your right to find Mags' watchful gaze; motherly and hopeful.

After another swallow of pancake, you say, “Alright, you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines. 

When you shake your head, he picks up his fork and begins to poke at the eggs on his plate, and you bask in the silence of his disappointment. Peace and quiet, with the exception of the diners surrounding you. No questions. No attempted agonizing small talk. You have a moment to breathe. 

It’s not until you’re halfway through your food and the coffee is nearly drained that Jake lifts his head. 

“I’m going to figure you out,” he says with an unwelcome note of determination. 

Your eyes snap up. 

The feeling behind his statement is hard to nail down. You would’ve said delving into your history was something fun for him to do. Something to pass the time with the new person in his home. But now it comes off more like a need. A little prick in his side that he can’t shake. 

You so badly want to be wrong in your interpretation. You want him to give up; to surrender to your stubbornness. Ideally, sooner rather than later. 

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. Nothing about him—not his breath, not his stare—stutters at your response. Instead, he returns with, “But I want to.”

---

A/N: Sorry it's a little short. Next chapter will be labeled 3.5 and will be from Jake's POV.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @coldmuffinbanditshoe

[dykeishheart]

I'm sure others have made this sort of addition but none have crossed my dash so. As a person who's spent a majority of her life around chickens, this is a pretty normal issue to need solving. It usually happens if the chickens are permanent coop mates or in the stages of development before releasing free range birds and all the birds take up too much overall space in their enclosure.

In a coop too small, there will arise a pecking order (literally the origin of this phrase) that determines chicken hierarchy. Rhode Island Red birds are notoriously aggressive and usually end up high on this list, and among their favorite victims are fancy breeds that die by being looked at funny or those super fat white ones that have been bred for meat. Dominant birds (usually a hen actually) will peck at the weaker ones until they leave, and since the whole point of a coop is not being able to leave, the weak ones will often lose eyes or just straight up get killed and eaten by other birds. It's pretty gruesome, and if it happens you should seriously consider letting the birds be free range if possible or just expand the coop in any way you can. This can also happen if roosters make up too much of your overall chicken population and they fight over breeding rights. Ideally, there should be one rooster for every seven to eight hens if you're planning on letting them nest to hatch. If you're just eating the eggs or selling them and you're not planning on slaughtering birds, only keep roosters around for free roam birds because that helps with flock defense.

I've never used this spray and can't attest to how well it works or how humane it is to use on birds. What I can say is that chicken cannibalism is usually a sign of poor coop conditions or unchecked injuries in your birds, and if you're having so many chickens get killed on a regular enough basis to need this product as a non-industrial scale chicken farmer, you're doing something seriously wrong and need to reevaluate your husbandry. Chicken cannibalism is a sign of problems left unsolved going to extremes in the majority of cases, and in the few that aren't it probably means there's an avian disease going around and you have bigger problems that will have to be taken up with your state wildlife commission.

hey chicken people are you okay