#Poultryman | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frozenjokes · 7 months ago

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Please For The Love Of Everything Good, MAKE SOME NEW FRIENDS AND LEAVE ME ALONE. With Love, HotGuy <3 (3/3)

Poultry Man was not the type of bird who liked to speak, or even spoke at all. When Poultry Man had something to say, he did so in the form of egg-based political commentary, usually crimes, but not always. Sometimes when he was pissed off, there wasn’t any commentary at all, just chickens. Gotta keep the people guessing, right? Poultry Man liked elaborate schemes, he liked delivering a message, and he liked chickens.

This was not Poultry Man’s first scavenger hunt, nor would it be his last. CuteGuy the villain was dead (among other aliases), but Poultry Man would live on forever, a shining light in this dank city. A golden egg among other, shittier, stupider eggs- whatever, it didn’t matter. Poultry Man was awesome, and Grian felt awesome as he sat at the end of the abandoned road, waiting. He had his postcards ready, simply waiting for HotGuy to arrive. Today was important. Grian would make it count.

Grian ended up waiting a little longer than he thought he would have to, which he probably should have guessed. HotGuy was known to misread and misinterpret basically anything, and it didn’t matter how neat Grian wrote, dyslexia was one son of a bitch.

But HotGuy did eventually arrive, panting and sweaty, and Grian couldn’t help but chuckle imagining him running from place to place and looking for Poultry Man’s hints. Cute, really. HotGuy lit up when he spotted Poultry Man, perched on the roof of a long broken down car, one that had been here for years, no one bothering to haul it off to the dump. Grian smiled, though HotGuy wouldn’t see it under the mask.

“Poultry Man! It’s- I can’t believe I have the chance to finally meet you! Properly, I mean. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you out and about, hasn’t it.. I know CuteGuy was your friend, but I take it you two probably don’t get along much right now.”

Grian shook his head, writing quickly, then tossing the note at HotGuy’s feet. The cardstock was heavy, so it did go a decent distance instead of fluttering pathetically to the ground like normal paper would; Grian had learned that the hard way. Humiliating. Regardless, HotGuy scrambled to pick up the note, reading with wide eyes.

“You’re still friends? Oh, I’m glad! Really, I am. I was a little worried about you, honestly, but I didn’t want to ask just in case the subject was sensitive. CuteGuy and I.. I mean, I’ve been trying, but he just doesn’t like me very much. We don’t really get along, and I just wish I could change his mind. You see, I really like this guy, Cub’s his name, but he and CuteGuy live together, and I just- CuteGuy hates me! He hates that I like Cub, and doesn’t want us to be in any sort of relationship at all, and I just wish I could show him I’m not all that bad, y’know? I mean..” HotGuy trailed off, looking momentarily hopeful, “He told you I wanted to meet with you, right? Was that recently? Did he do that for me?”

Grian considered him for a moment before nodding, and HotGuy just about melted.

“Oh, you have no idea how happy that makes me. And- and that you wanted to meet me in the first place! CuteGuy said you wouldn’t want to, and that you wouldn’t want to talk to me, and I guess you’re not talking, but you’re here, and I’m thrilled! I hope he told you I don’t want to arrest you or hurt you or anything- I don’t know, I got the impression he thought you’d be offended, but with CuteGuy, it’s a little hard to tell. He’s really defensive on your behalf. When I told him I thought he was a good friend for that he tried to beat the shit out of me. Well, he did beat the shit out of me. But that was also for other reasons. It’s complicated. But you don’t look like you want to kill me, and you guys are friends, so maybe you can put in a good word?”

Grian couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that left his throat, and HotGuy seemed to think that was a good sign, perking up, his already large eyes widening. Yeah. Grian could see where Cub was coming from. Having someone like that look at you like this at all hours of the day? Even a heart as icy and dead as his gave a little. He stopped again to write, throwing the postcard to the ground, and HotGuy scurried forward to pick it up.

“Ah- I did get a little distracted, didn’t I? You’re right, you’re right. So- I know you probably won’t answer, but I wanted to ask regardless.. The chickens? The eggs? Where do you get them? And I mean- you probably shouldn’t tell me, full transparency I guess, because I’d probably try to stop you.. Honestly though! I promise it's nothing against you! Well, maybe not nothing- you are committing crimes, but I’m mostly worried about the chickens? The place we bring them to, the sanctuary- they’re happy there! They’re well taken care of and loved. After your.. stunts.. the chickens end up in a good place, and I thought you should know that I care about them. So when I ask, it’s coming from a place of concern for the animals, yeah? I imagine they’re so confused being put in all these random places, having no idea what’s happening or where they’ve ended up.. Wherever you raise them- I’m assuming you raise them- it’s a good place? In our investigation of your activity, we still have no idea where you’re getting them, and I’d just hate to think they’re somewhere underground, unhappy, y’know?”

Grian cocked his head, a visual signal to HotGuy that he was thinking, considering him. That was.. very sweet. Not something Grian would have expected from HotGuy, especially after watching him try to manhandle the chickens Poultry Man had planted, yelling and flailing and generally being far more afraid than should ever be acceptable for someone trying (and failing, miserably) to wrangle chickens. Grian wrote his note, tossing it to the ground.

HotGuy read it aloud this time, “A man after my own heart..” HotGuy trailed off, smiling, and put a hand to his heart as he looked back up. “Of course. That little farm is a great place, Poultry Man, I’m assuming you’ve seen it.” HotGuy paused and Grian nodded, giving a thumbs up to show his approval.

HotGuy looked pleased, continuing, “I just wanted to offer, even though you’ll probably say no.. They would take your chickens, if you wanted to surrender however many you have left. I know it’s mostly eggs with you, and you don’t come around all too frequently, but if you ever decide to give this thing up, or if you can’t care for them anymore, or anything at all, that option is always available for you. Personally, I’d sleep a little easier knowing you weren’t putting live animals in peoples’ houses, but to each their own I guess.”

Grian smiled under the mask, taking a deep breath, “You have nothing to worry about. Well, not the putting chickens in places people don’t want them, I will still be doing that, but the chickens themselves are well taken care of, I can promise you that.”

HotGuy startled at the sound of his voice, jumping to his toes, and Grian couldn’t suppress a laugh, drawing a hand lazily to the beak of his mask as if to try and hide it. Grian was still no good at disguising his voice, so he didn’t bother trying, fastening his hands to the side of his mask and removing it before HotGuy had enough time to process who was actually speaking. HotGuy’s face was worth every anxiety about revealing Poultry Man’s identity.

“Grian!” HotGuy squeaked, a positively delightful sound, “Why are you dressed up as Poultry Man! That- You tricked me! Identity theft is no joke! This is not cool!”

Grian gaped for a moment, mouth opening and closing dumbly, “I- Are you joking.”

“I just told you this is no joke!”

“I am Poultry Man, Scar. HotGuy. Whatever you’re called. I have literally always been Poultry Man.”

“Poultry Man has been around for years!” HotGuy was so genuine, so annoying- Grian was almost offended. Maybe he was offended, actually- What was HotGuy playing at? Was it so impossible to believe he had multiple alter egos?

“Uh, yeah,” Grian finally huffed, rolling his eyes, “So have I.”

“You’re- why?” HotGuy sounded so distressed, so confused, and altogether Grian just couldn’t help but laugh. It was so stupid! He couldn’t stop laughing, arms across his stomach, kicking his feet a bit, talons scratching up the roof of the already beat up car.

“Come on,” Grian wheezed, “Is it really so hard for you to believe?”

“I- Yes! You guys- Poultry Man is noble. Poultry Man is a nuisance, but he has things to say! He has depth. CuteGuy is just a fucking dick!”

“Wow,” Grian drew the world out in fake offense, spreading his wings as he leaned back on the car’s roof, “Maybe you’ve misunderstood Poultry Man all along. Maybe he’s just as evil and uncaring as CuteGuy. They are friends after all, good friends, close.”

“No! CuteGuy was a bad influence on him, that’s all, he just didn’t have many other people to turn to.”

“You know you’re talking about the same person.”

“I- I know that!” HotGuy seethed, like this was quite possibly the most meaningful betrayal he had ever experienced. The little stories he’d made up about Poultry Man, entirely false. It was almost pitiful, really. HotGuy had no idea how to cope, Grian could see it as clearly as the conflict in his face.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Grian crooned, sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, “Did you like him? Look up to him, even? And all this time you had no idea it was all just lil ol’ me.”

“I didn’t- I don’t look up to Poultry Man. I thought I could help him. I wanted to help him. I don’t- I still don’t think he’s a bad guy!”

“Nothing like CuteGuy, cold and sharp and mean, no, no,” Grian teased, “Denial is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“I am serious! It doesn’t matter if Poultry Man and CuteGuy and Grian are all technically the same body, you are not the same people, just like HotGuy and civilian HotGuy are not the same.”

“Uh, pretty sure that’s not true, bud. That’s all just Grian, along with every other pseudonym I’ve held over the years.”

“What- really?” HotGuy stopped short, like this was completely foreign to him, “They’re all the same to you? Wait a minute, there’s more? Is every avian supervillain in this city just you? How many alter egos do you have!?” HotGuy puffed up, and Grian snickered.

“I am so glad you asked! My biggest escapade was probably the whole Mooners cult with Mumbo- do you remember? He was the head of course, but I was his faceless right hand man-“

“You know Mumbo?”

“We are roommates in college. I haven’t talked to him in a while though, and given the ‘retirement,’ I’m assuming he probably wouldn’t want to catch up regardless.”

HotGuy groaned loudly into his hands, “The Mooners were so annoying! Do you even know how much damage you two caused with that? People don’t function right when they don’t sleep!”

“Oh, it was a trip. It was awesome. And don’t think I don’t remember you attending our first couple meetings.”

“Yeah, when I thought it was a fun sleepover event thing- no one sleeps during sleepovers, everyone knows that! You guys were weird and crazy and everyone was partying- it was awesome.”

“Uh huh, and you drew quite a bit of attention to us, thanks for that.”

HotGuy groaned again into his hands and Grian snickered from his perch, pleased.

“Less successful was The Entity, but that was still quite a bit of fun. That massive rock I found just outside of town? It was a cool rock. And suddenly, I’m a prophet! People love a good Horror, and boy did I deliver. Flesh and guts and a horrifying puppet of a man, me. I bet I could have gained a bigger following, but I got bored. Still though, I think my favorite stunt I’ve ever pulled off was blowing up the whole thing and disappearing without a trace. I’m not going to tell you how I got my claws on dynamite, but that whole thing was fucking awesome. In the middle of the night, the whole rock, gone. And after- everyone wanted to know! What happened to The Entity? To its prophet? People were feeling like they missed out, like they wished they could have been there before it all exploded. Maybe it didn’t matter how big the cult was in the first place, but how it will be remembered. You like making history, don’t you, HotGuy?”

“Oh my god.”

“Good story, huh?”

“I just can’t believe that was you. How many costumes do you have? Wasn’t that one like- awfully gorey, right? And you just sat out there covered in- I don’t even want to know.”

Grian preened, incredibly pleased. “It was gross. Cub knows about that one actually, only because I disappeared for like a month. Brought me food when I needed it, though, most of the time I was fine.”

HotGuy sighed, drawing his hands over his face. “Anything else?” He didn’t look particularly like he wanted to know, and Grian’s wings fluttered, deeply content.

“Nothing huge. A long time ago, years actually, I convinced a couple of people they were being haunted by salmon. Pretty funny. I actually brought that back recently, I just tormented this one guy- thought he was cursed by the ocean, it was great. Didn’t make headlines, but sometimes that’s not what matters in life.”

“You are- you’re fucking evil. Recently? When have you even had the time!?”

Grian cackled, trailing off into a snicker, “I make the time. I was also unemployed.”

“Ah. I guess that explains it..” HotGuy sighed, frowning gently, something distinctly distant. Honestly, it didn’t look like he was thinking about Grian at all, which was a little annoying; he’d just confessed to being like five different criminals, if not legal crimes, then surely social ones, and HotGuy didn’t even look like he cared! (And listen, Grian wasn’t some kind of whore for attention, but a little recognition would be nice, yeah? Yeah.) But HotGuy did look back up, some kind of quiet despondency behind those eyes. “And it doesn’t bother you?”

“What? Being a public nuisance? That doesn’t bother me at all.”

“No, your identities I mean. It’s all just.. Grian? Not any more complicated than that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I feel like I’m lying under every name I take.”

Grian shrugged, “You are, aren’t you? So am I. Elaborate lies, kinda, all under one central person. I like to dress up and play pretend and cause problems, just like basically everyone else in this godforsaken city. We aren’t special.”

But HotGuy didn’t look satisfied, eyebrows knitting impossibly tight, “I don’t have a central person. I’m not anyone.”

“Your civilian identity?”

“He’s not real either.” HotGuy looked at his feet, and Grian didn’t really know what to do with that, nor did he understand.

“Oh. That’s wild.”

HotGuy made a bit of a strangled noise before squeaking out a small “Yeah?” He fiddled with his hands for a moment, pulling at the fabric of his gloves, “I don’t know, I didn’t realize.. How did you do that? Not feel.. lost.”

Grian’s lip curled, the question invoking a similar reaction as when he would open the fridge to the smell of something rotting, “I can not even begin to tell you how unqualified I am to talk to you about anything at all. That’s a problem for you and your therapist, pal.”

HotGuy looked briefly indignant at that, then deflated, a more unhappy look crossing his face. “I don’t have a therapist.”

“What? Why not?” Grian sat up, just about as genuinely surprised as someone could be at a confession like that. A lot of things he learned about HotGuy made very little sense, but that just may have been the biggest surprise yet.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A pretty straightforward one I think. There’s no way you’re not all sorts of fucked up, not with the sort of bodily trauma you’ve been through and the job you’re currently holding. And you’ve got, like, infinite money. And you never shut up. Why not pay someone to listen to you.”

“I am not ‘all sorts of fucked up,’” HotGuy scoffed, “I am fine. And I don’t have infinite money, geez. I don’t need a therapist.”

“You say that like you’ve got something against therapy. So you’re one of those guys. Ick.”

“I’m not- no, I am not ‘ick.’ I think therapy is great! Therapists help lots of people, probably just as many as I do, I’d say. They’re the real heroes, yeah?”

Grian rolled his eyes, throwing his head back in a sarcastically languid movement, “Oh, let me guess. You’re the type of person who encourages people to go and see a therapist, but when the same thing is said to you, you say something like ‘Ah, no, therapy just isn’t for me.’ Am I right? You don’t need to tell me, I know I’m right.”

“You are not- Listen! It’s just something that doesn’t work for me, okay? Nothing about that is appealing to me.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

Hotguy pursed his lips, defiant. “..No.”

Grian had to laugh, his voice losing its edge in favor of something more genuine, “Dude, you’d probably love it. I’m serious. You’d go crazy for therapy. I mean, it’s hard work sometimes, and it can be a little bit trying, but then you start hating yourself a little less, and if you’re not in the mood one week, there’s still a very nice lady across from you who you can just talk to about whatever you want! I can’t watch The Bachelor anymore, it’s bad for me, and also bad for Cub, but my therapy sessions have never been more derailed. Good times. Fun! Sometimes it feels like therapists don’t know a single thing about anything that isn’t, like, mental health- I swear I’ve explained things to her I was convinced were common knowledge like- a lot. It happens a lot.”

“You don’t.. You just talk about whatever you want?”

“Yeah! Honestly, for the first couple weeks, I don’t think I talked about myself more than three or four times and I was going twice a week. It’s not uncommon. If you want, I can give you the name of the clinic I go to. I like the people there.”

“I.. I don’t know. I don’t really have the time, and I can talk to anyone about anything if I wanted to for free. I don’t know. And my issues are like- pretty intertwined with my identities, which I can’t really talk about.”

“Sure you can. It’s all confidential unless you’re hurting yourself or others, basically. Like, legally confidential. You can tell all you want about your different identities and your therapist can’t say a thing. I don’t tell about my alter egos for obvious reasons, but that’s not where my issues stem from anyway. But lately, I have been dipping my toes into talking about the superhero business, mostly because it’s pretty relevant to the things I’ve been feeling lately.”

“You talk about me?” An innocent question, one that Grian couldn’t help but laugh sharply at.

“Uh, yeah. You come up. We got a little off track for a minute there, but that’s kind of why I’m here in the chicken costume. I’m about to knock your socks off in a minute, seriously. Eugh. I don’t even want to say it. Makes me a little sick to my stomach, honestly, but I brought you all the way out here and revealed basically every misdeed I’ve ever committed to you, so. Surely this won’t be as hard..” Grian trailed off for a moment, pursing his lips, “No. This is harder. This is so much harder.”

HotGuy threw him an apprehensive smile, shrugging, “You’re making me nervous, here. I’m not actually wearing any socks, but for the sake of this I’ll pretend.” HotGuy ran a hand through his hair, and Grian couldn’t suppress a small chuckle when tiny amounts of glitter floated down.

“Well, HotGuy, I haven’t been very nice to you.”

HotGuy’s eyes jumped up, his attention sufficiently grabbed. He looked awkward then, the hand returning to his hair. “I.. think I would agree..” He took a quick breath, like he was unsure if that was the right thing to say.

Grian gritted his teeth, then let go, breathing deeply, “I want to change that.”

“Oh!” HotGuy threw his hands up in front of his chest, an unfairly endearing reaction of surprise, his eyes as wide as saucers, “I-I mean- You don’t have to-”

Grian threw his head back in a loud cackle, “Seriously?”

“No! No I didn’t mean that. Sorry- I didn’t know how to react to that. That. This is new for me. Did you stop disliking me? Don’t answer that. I’m confused. I don’t understand. I would like very much if you were nice to me. Well. Nicer. You don’t even have to be nice, but it would be cool if you acted like you hated me a little less.”

Grian waved a hand, silencing the nonsense blabber from a very embarrassed looking HotGuy. “I’ve been treating you unfairly, and it has very little to do with you as a person. You’ll never hear me repeat this, and if you ask anyone I’ll deny it, but I don’t think you’re actually a shitty guy. You’re an alright guy, maybe even less bad than I thought you were before we met properly. Maybe even better than most superheroes, but the bar is low, okay, don’t let that get to your head.” Grian took a breath, and HotGuy just stared, stunned, so when he didn’t say anything, Grian went on.

“Jealousy is a tame word I think. Envy doesn’t feel right either. I was.. deeply, viscerally angry, in all the physically animal ways I can not even begin to describe to you. And that’s not.. gone. It won’t leave, it’s just a part of me and I have to find a way to cope with it that’s not being a massive prick to you and Cub, but mostly you. Because you made a move on him before I even understood what I was feeling, feelings I had never considered before because I had never been afraid of losing him like that. I never had a reason to be so possessive before, because I was the only person.. I don’t know. But I think you understand. I’ve been in love, and didn’t really recognize it because neither of us really had anyone else to love, right?”

HotGuy opened his mouth to speak, but Grian cut him off with a shake of his head, “Don’t. Not yet. I’m not done. Yesterday morning I made this decision, that I was going to take him out and try to win him back, yeah? Delusional things, and I knew just as much, but I couldn’t fight it, I couldn’t let it go, and then yesterday afternoon, it kind of just.. hit me. I don’t want to ‘win him back’ from anyone, or anything like that. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were, selfishly, when we were both lonelier, unhappier people. And then I realized, hey, wait a minute, there’s something I want more than that, more than anything I could ever want for myself. I want Cub to be happy. I want him to step out of his shell, date superheroes, maybe even get his heart broken, as long as he’s living, y’know? And I want to live too, I want to put myself out there and meet people and try things I can’t do when I’m at home. Things I couldn’t do before, when it was just me and Cub, kind of miserable and kind of lonely, just stagnating, y’know?”

“You’re saying a lot of words, Grian, and I’m not understanding most of them.”

Grian chuckled into his hand, then sighed, the smile fading, “Cub didn’t want me to tell you this, but I think it’s important that you know, for transparency’s sake. I love him. And he loves me too, yes, like that. And I told him because I couldn’t keep it a secret, because I just couldn’t handle it anymore, and not because I was trying to force my way between you two, and I want you to believe me, so I’ve been honest, I’ve told you everything, all my secrets, all my crimes. I had no idea how he felt, and I don’t think he knew very much either. We’re so close, you have to understand. It was hard to even see it, not before everything was thrown into question, and suddenly things are changing and you’re feeling and you don’t even know what’s going on. But I think I know what would happen, HotGuy, if we acted on those feelings. If we let everything go back to normal, except maybe with a few more stolen kisses, and really, I mean it when I say a few, we are not the most physically inclined people; more lazy than anything.”

Grian stopped himself, realizing HotGuy was looking a bit pale. “Maybe I should cut to the chase. We talked it over for a long time and we both agree we don’t want things to be the way they were before. We don’t want to stagnate and rot away, to have each other, but nothing else, y’know? And I’m afraid of change. I’m afraid of you. But I want to let you in. And he wants you too.”

“Like- Like a polycule?”

“I- No! No-” Grian had to laugh, too startled to do much else, “I guess I could have worded that a little better. No, I mean you and Cub. I think you and Cub should have the chance to love each other, if you still want that.”

“I’m poly, Grian.”

“Goodness- Scar, please, not necessary,” Grian covered his face, struggling to contain his laughter, mostly bubbling up from nerves now, which unfortunately, was painfully obvious, “You don’t love me, and I mean it when I say I don’t want to get in the way. I want you to have this. I want Cub to have this.”

“I could love you. I think I could.”

Grian stared, possibly gaping, though he had no idea. He might have been flustered if his brain hadn’t factory reset itself right then and there. At some point he remembered to breathe, and had to take a couple of moments to do that in silence.

When there was sufficient air in his lungs, he looked up. “But you don’t. And I don’t love you either. And that’s okay, Scar. That’s okay.” Grian felt his voice buckle, the first and last warning he was going to cry, and damn it he didn’t want to, he really hadn’t wanted to cry, but he hadn’t been prepared for this, he was not prepared to be forgiven like it was effortless, to be told he could be loved.

“Grian I- fuck it-” To Grian’s great alarm, HotGuy began to fiddle with his mask, a motion Grian recognized from HotGuy’s first meeting with Cub.

“Whoa! No, no! Don’t- Don’t do anything you’re going to regret, please!” Grian hopped off the car, waving his arms, but HotGuy didn’t listen, breaths coming harshly from his nose. Grian couldn’t stop him before the mask was off, though, even with his face fully bared, Grian didn’t see anything that particularly shocked him. He still didn’t recognize HotGuy from anyone he’d seen on the street, which made perfect sense. Civilian HotGuy probably blended right in. Though a few things stood out, like his eyes, the same striking green as his brother’s, and a few scars that were obscured by the mask, though, that was no surprise. But HotGuy seemed distressed at Grian’s non-reaction, looking near panic as he jumped back.

“Do you- makeup wipes, do you have makeup wipes?”

His panic was infectious, Grian fumbling over his words, “Not on me, I don’t just carry them around.”

“I don’t either!” HotGuy hissed before making a decisive noise, rubbing at his face with his gloved hands instead. “Whatever.”

“HotGuy- Scar, please, you don’t have to do this-” Grian wanted to pull HotGuy’s hands away, but at the same time, couldn’t bring himself to touch the other, “This feels bad, Scar.” But HotGuy didn’t stop, fingers raking over the places where he had covered up scars. And other spots too, where he seemed to have meticulously sculpted lines across his face that just weren’t real- Grian had never noticed, it was so well done.

“I don’t want this anymore! I don’t want to be a secret! I want to be like you, I want you to know me!” But still, Grian was too distressed with this display to properly look at him, which only seemed to upset HotGuy further, growing more and more hysterical, “Grian!”

“I don’t know what you want, HotGuy!”

“Grian, please!” And that was different. Distinctly, world-rockingly different, that was not HotGuy’s voice. That was not HotGuy.

Grian was pretty sure he yelled, soft and then loudly, very loudly, a violent crescendo as he backpedaled anywhere away, away, get away, at all costs get away from the man using Micah’s voice, from Micah in HotGuy’s uniform, frantic and frightened, but above all else, deeply, deeply relieved.

Tripping on flapping wings, it took a second for Grian to be airborne, screaming his distress all the way into the sky, movements uneven and exhausting, but panic did little else but put him in the clouds, flying anywhere as long as it was away.

Poultry Man was a chicken, afterall.

by the way, if you are one of the people reading only this specific story (as indicated by the 3/3) and are interested to know more or what happens next, there is more, and there will be more after this, and you can find all of it on ao3 here

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #hermitfic #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan #cubfan135 #scarian #cubscar #cubscarian #convexian #hotguy #cuteguy #poultryman #poultry man #hermitshipping

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