Tumgik
#boxboys
bigb-enthusiast · 13 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Yall dont get them like i do
126 notes · View notes
Text
Sam on the drip.
438 notes · View notes
plinthofmylife · 2 years
Text
my partner and I are building a custom flat and are stuck in our tiny apartment until we move and considering if we should do a series of audio live shows on a weird app while we wait to move...
I’m actually serious tho...my real life resembles Box Boys, should I do an homage?
3 notes · View notes
witchydreamz · 1 year
Text
1 note · View note
friendlycitymovers · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Bugs, boxes and bumpy roads. Nova Scotia bound. Next up, Ottawa x 2 and onto Vancouver. #friendlycitymovers #lordoftheflies #boxboys (at Nova Scotia) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf_s9JBO-yP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
0 notes
whereallthewhumpgoes · 6 months
Text
Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases
"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."
"I belong to myself and only myself."
"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."
(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."
"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."
"I can think for myself and take care of myself."
"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."
"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."
"I am a good person."
"I have a right to be treated with dignity."
"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."
(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."
(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."
"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."
"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."
"I do not need to lie to protect myself."
"I am allowed to love myself."
"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."
(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."
"I am a person, not a pet."
235 notes · View notes
drewwise · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media
3DS eShop friends ❤️
505 notes · View notes
deluxewhump · 29 days
Text
Cam, Alex, Zee: Guilt Rituals
CW: BBU, frat house, bloody nose, marijuana and nicotine, alcoholism mentioned, abuse mentioned, dysfunctional family dynamics mention, multiple whumper household, non sexual intimacy, Cam feels feelings, Alex and Zee do asmr
*Takes place back in the house, Alex’s senior year, Cam’s junior year.
Cameron was smoking less lately, but not out of some noble quest for sobriety. He was actually more convinced than ever that life would be completely unbearable without some sort of chemical buffer.
But there was a huge creeping problem with weed, and it was introspection. He’d switched to another strain, but the problem remained. Every time he’d get high, what should have been a quieter plane of existence slightly above the trench warfare that was his junior year of college turned into a nightmarish mano a mano with himself.
Alcohol was out of the question still. Having an alcoholic parent will ruin certain things for you, most commonly alcohol. He watched his peers get gloriously drunk every weekend with no introspection whatsoever, just shameless extroverted bad behavior, but couldn’t bring himself to touch the stuff. The smell alone made him curdle with disgust. And if he went into it feeling such contempt, such hate, it was surely not going to go anywhere he wanted it to.
But even with weed now, he felt wave after wave of highly specific guilt, overblown and looming beside him like a parade float. It would start with how things ended with his dad, never to be reconciled in death, then bleed into the way he’d treated his mom when she actually reached out to him. Eventually it would spread like the veins of a river delta into all the shit with the boxboy, and Alex, and Dominic.
He could get a hold of himself enough to say fuck Alex and Dominic, for sure, but the guilt about Z2 grew stronger every time, until the pathways in his brain that go to the dank basement of regret and anguish were so well worn it was like he could just slide right down them and end up at the bottom— faster every time. In fact, he’d hit the bottom a while ago and had since started digging.
He tried to asphyxiate it by smoking more, until his hideously loud thoughts melted to nothing and he fell asleep with his throat stuck together and his mouth parched for water, too unwilling to climb back up into consciousness to go get it.
Eventually though, it stayed his hand when he went to smoke. The thoughts were easy enough to keep at bay sober. He was busy with school and work and chapter meetings. Only when he was high did he not have the skill to escape them. He thought longingly of something stronger, but knew he couldn’t fall so far as to indulge in that. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who to ask. It was his resentment for his mother that pushed him away from the siren song of harder drugs, ever since highschool.
So he found himself sober, as on most weeknights now, studying extra for an exam or organizing recruitment workshops with his brothers. Tonight, he talked himself into a small hit. A little hit wouldn’t hurt. He just needed to stop smoking quite so much, his tolerance was too high. One pull would just take the worst of the edge off.
It did, until it didn’t. He abandoned his schoolwork, leaving his weed in the locked drawer of his desk so he wouldn’t be tempted to smoke more, and found himself wandering around the house. They’d implemented a new chore system that was going poorly, and the house was kind of dirty. Not the worst it had ever been, but not as nice as it was when they made Zee do most of the cleaning. That had eventually been voted out, because too many of them felt bad. Not that they were offering to pick up the slack, they just felt bad watching him try to keep up with their sloppiness.
He remembered that vote. Who had suggested it, Alex or Dominic? One of them. He’d voted against the motion, but that wasn’t one of the things that chased him around his own brain at night.
He didn’t realize he was looking for Zee until he found him, sitting on the counter of the bathroom sink holding a wad of toilet paper to his face. He was with Alex, and his nose was bleeding.
Cam paused in the hallway, but not before an old wooden floorboard creaked. Alex looked up into the medicine cabinet mirror and their eyes met. Zee didn’t look to see who it was. He closed his eyes.
“What happened?”
Alex swung the bathroom door wider so he could look at him directly, instead of his reflection. “Why, are you sorry you missed it?”
He was glad for the one hit he’d taken. Even a small chemical buffer was necessary for him to be around Alex Clair. He wasn’t going to get any answers from him, not if he was in a sour mood. But he and Zee had been doing better lately. They had a kind of truce working, only Alex probably didn’t know that. He knew Zee liked Alex better than him, obviously, but he thought maybe their working relationship had come far enough that Alex would see it, despite his near constant self-righteous indignation.
“Z2?” Cam asked, still a full step outside the doorway. “What’s goin’ on?”
Zee opened his eyes and tilted his head down enough to look at him. He grinned almost apologetically under the wad of tissue— alarmingly red in places with bright blood. “Nothing. I think I have allergies or something. Dry sinuses.”
Alex gave Zee a leveling look and Zee returned his gaze to the ceiling to avoid it.
“To the pollen, or Mike and Tyler?” Cam asked
Alex turned his disapproval on him. “The class is missing their clown tonight, huh? Aren’t you usually leading the pack? All the most fucked up incidents I can remember around here were your brainchild. Even before he got here.”
This further confirmed Cam's suspicion that Alex had never liked him, even before they were at odds with the boxboy dilemma. The sting of rejection was familiar. It bothered him less than it used to, but it still added another tally mark somewhere in his head, another scratch in a long line of reasons justifying the nagging disdain he felt for everyone, even the people who are supposed to be his brothers. Supposed to give him a chance.
Alex raised his eyebrows at Cam’s unusual silence. “So, what’s it to you what happened to him this time?”
From his perch on the sink, Zee nudged Alex’s leg with his foot.
“What?” Alex hissed at him, though there was patience right behind the exasperation, a gentleness that did not exist two seconds ago when he was addressing Cam.
“I just wanted to check on you, Zee,” he said, deciding not to answer Alex at all. “Here.” He pushed past Alex and bundled fresh toilet paper into a wad, handing it to Zee. He took the bloodied one from him and threw it in the wastebasket, which was filthy and had not seen a plastic liner in months, if not longer than that.
Zee thanked him with a genuine smile— fleeting and secretive, like he didn’t want Alex to see it but was willing to risk it to make sure Cam did.
He didn’t know if it made it better or worse that Zee had been so receptive to his small changes of heart. It made him feel better on one hand, like if he could repair something as fucked as their relationship to each other he could tell himself it couldn’t have been that bad. On the other hand it made him feel worse. It was that bad. It definitely was. Zee was just short on allies, and possibly a bigger person than he was anyway. He was open to the grudging, embarrassed little kindnesses Cam was willing to offer and was too noble to hold his past actions against him. It made his past behavior look even uglier and smaller.
It made it worse that he’d been so deliberately, calculatedly cruel to him in the first place. Sometimes he wondered if he realized that Z2 was a person at first, and that boxies weren’t all some Frankenstein’s monster, some lobotomized AI in a flesh and blood package. But that wasn’t really true. Of course he knew. Everyone knows, deep down.
“C’mon,” Alex said, and helped Zee hop down off the counter. “You’re good now.”
“Will you do the thing?” Zee asked him.
“Yeah. Hell yeah. I could use it right now, too.”
“Use what?” he asked, following them.
“Get lost.”
“I have a right to know,” he said lamely, though he sort of did. He had pitched in for Zee, Alex had not. Alex was not, as they sometimes put it, a boxboy shareholder.
But Alex and Zee had history together that he and Zee did not. He knew that. Alex had always tried to protect him, sometimes locking him in his room for fourteen hours at a time and not letting anyone take him out. Cam had objected at first, but because Alex was Alex, everyone else just sort of let it ride. Another reason to hate Alex Clair.
“He can come if he’s quiet,” he overheard Zee.
“He’s not gonna be quiet. He’s incapable.”
“Shut up,” he said ineffectually as he followed them to Alex’s room.
Zee went inside first and sat down on the bed. Alex turned and held onto the door, deciding whether to let him in or not. Cam held two fingers up by his chest in a peace sign. “I’m not gonna be a dick, dude.”
He could tell Alex was skeptical, but shrugged and let him inside. Once he was in, they proceeded to completely ignore him. Alex turned off the light and switched on a blue lava lamp, just like the one Cams’s cousin had in his room growing up. Zee sat cross legged on the bed, watching Alex with trusting expectancy as he went to his laptop and started playing some weird ambient shit. He slid a disposable vape and a pencil off the desk into his hand and joined Zee on the bed.
Cam felt awkward standing, and helped himself to Alex’s computer chair. He spread his legs and swiveled back and forth a few inches, affecting casual comfort even though he’d never been in Alex’s room for more than a second, and never with the lights off.
The two of them sat facing each other on the bed. Zee was propped up by pillows behind him and Alex seemed satisfied without, his spine pin straight and his athletic shoulders relaxed.
“Four counts,” he said, hitting the vape and then handing it to Zee. Zee hit it and set it on his knee. Alex started them off on some breathing ritual; in four counts, hold for four, exhale, hold for four, and then begin again. Cam tried to copy them without them catching on, inhaling quietly when they inhaled and waiting for Alex to give the cue to exhale. It was immediately calming, like Alex had reached to the back of his neck and hit an override button in his brain. He didn’t like it.
“You two just come in here and breathe weird?”
“Another word and you’re out,” Alex warned.
He laughed. “Understood.”
“Try it,” Zee whispered, opening his eyes just long enough to glance over at him.
“I’m good,” he answered, but something in Zee’s eyes made him think he already knew he had been, a moment ago.
“Hands first?” Alex asked.
Zee held out his hands palm up and Alex took them in his, a gesture so intimate but casual that it shocked him more than if Alex had slapped their boxboy in the face.
He held each of Zee’s hands in his as if warming them, rubbing over a wide surface area at first, followed by slower, massaging sweeps of his thumbs over the open palms. He spread each finger and rubbed the length of it, rubbing circles on the finger pads and back down over each knuckle til he reached old callouses, all the way to his wrists. He watched with growing agitation as Zee relaxed visibly.
When he decided he was done, Alex turned Zee’s palms down on his plaid comforter and picked the vape off Zee’s knee, hitting it before placing it between Zee’s lips for him. Zee took a drag without bothering to ever open his eyes.
He then picked up the pencil he’d brought from his desk and Cam made a face, wondering what in the fuck he was possibly going to do with a pencil and also feeling the agitation in his lower belly grow into an ache in his chest, a tingling of his scalp.
“Eyes closed,” Alex said gently, though Zee’s eyes were closed already. He meant it as a reminder to keep them closed, Cam knew instinctively. To stay still. He took the pencil and used it to draw along Zee’s face, using the soft pink eraser on his skin. Cam’s breath caught strangely in his chest. It looked gentle as tracing, light and maybe ticklish but also satisfying. He traced slow ovals around Zee’s face, over his cheeks and up to his hairline, down again beneath his chin. Zee breathed serenely, a grin pulling the corners of his mouth now and then. Alex lifted the eraser tip to do four points instead, tapping down oh so gently on his cheeks, forehead, chin, in first a predictable pattern and then an unpredictable one.
He felt soothed by proxy, an even more so than with the rhythmic breathing. Yet he was uncomfortable, almost alarmingly so, because it felt like Alex was the author of it, and he couldn't stand Alex, but watching him with Zee was intoxicating. They’d clearly done this little ritual before. If Zee was in half a trance, Alex seemed to be enjoying himself just as much, eyes low and a small smile on his face as he tapped and traced and tapped. Cam thought he would probably be able to hear his own heartbeat if it wasn’t for that music that was playing in the background. He was grateful for it now.
Alex finally stopped, drawing the eraser tip down the sloping bridge of Zee’s nose a few times before taking the pencil away. He squeezed Zee’s left hand, which seemed to tell Zee it was safe to open his eyes. He looked almost drugged, happy, eyes shining and low.
“I could sleep,” he said to Alex, who nodded.
“Go ahead.”
But he turned those glassy eyes toward him instead, knowing and cunning despite their alleged innocence. “You wanna try it, Cameron?”
“I don’t even know what I just watched.”
“You never did anything like that?” Alex asked, uncrossing his legs and stretching over his left hamstring. “It’s just made-up whatever. But if you add the box breathing, it’s pretty powerful. I had to think of some way to calm him down when he first got here. You guys were relentless. He was in fight or flight constantly. It was really bad.”
Cam set his teeth against the accusation, but didn’t drop his eyes from Alex’s level blue gaze. He knew it was bad. He held out his hand for the vape. Alex gave it to him and he pulled deep, lungs filling with candy flavored nicotine. Almost immediately, he felt the head buzz that came with it.
“You mean you want me to do it to you, Zee?”
Zee was nestled in a pile of Alex’s pillows like a housepet. “If you wanted. Or Alex can show you.”
Cam laughed reflexively. He glanced at Alex, who was giving Zee a funny look. “I’ll pass.”
“Yeah, me too, thanks,” Alex said dryly.
“You sure you’re gonna let me near him with a pencil? Or is that considered a weapon?”
“If he wants you to do it,” Alex shrugged, and handed him the pencil. “Whatever.”
Now that it was actually happening, he felt strange. His heart was pounding lightly, like it always did the first time a girl he’d never had before started getting undressed. It’s Z2, he told himself. Get it together. But it was Alex, too, and he was in their space, doing their weird thing. He sat close to Zee as Alex had and felt awkward that he didn’t have a plan for a preamble, like Alex did with the breathing and the hand thing.
“Wanna hold your hand out first?”
Zee did. He started there but with the pencil, tracing the eraser tip lightly over the lines of his palm. Zee smiled and squirmed on an exhale like it was a lot of sensation, and Cam paused. “No?”
“No, yeah,” Zee said, looking at him more directly than he had in the past, whenever Cam was being antagonistic. “It’s good.”
Cam had a sudden, bright memory of holding a fistful of his reddish brown hair as he buzzed the other half off in the bathroom sink. He continued with the pencil tip, like a feather.
Alex flipped onto his back on his bed, casual and composed as always, belonging everywhere he set foot— never awkward, or disliked, or challenged. He watched the two of them serenely as he hit the yellow vape. “Who knew you could act like a normal human being, Cameron?” was his only snipe. It was said in a quiet enough voice that Cam felt he could let it go unchallenged.
“Close your eyes,” he said, ready to trace Zee’s face.
Zee gave him a steady, head-on glance before doing as he asked.
60 notes · View notes
highwaywhump · 2 months
Text
Febuwhump day 2
Tumblr media
soo... probably (definitely) not going to finish this event on time (if at all). my workload suddenly doubled this semester but here's something at least. for febuwhump day 2 i have tried to get to know my nameless guard dog. here's his origin story, starting about 20 years prior to joey's story
CW/TW: captivity, collars/chains, forced drugging, controlled food intake, pet whump/bbu in general
--
“He’s not breaking.” 
“He will.” 
“60 says he won’t.” 
“90 says he will.” 
“Shut up, both of you.” 
The two junior handlers snap their mouths shut, turning away from the monitor and towards senior handler Kerry. He’s leaning back in his office chair, unbothered, flipping through a quarterly report on customer success rates. His numbers are good, as usual. In fact, there’s an upwards trend. If it continues like this over the summer, there will undoubtedly be another raise beginning to rear its head from the deep, deep waters of this facility. 
Kerry glances at the monitor. Nothing’s changed since he glanced at it last, 20 minutes ago. Nearly nothing’s changed since the feed started rolling, six days ago. He returns to his paperwork again, after sparing a pointed look at his two supposed protegees. They both hurriedly look down at their own paperwork, studying training manuals, only sneaking glances at the monitor when they don’t think Kerry’s looking. But he sees them every time. He absentmindedly clicks his pen and longingly recalls the days when corporal punishment in the workplace - in this workplace, at least - was still allowed. 
They sit for another hour or so before Kerry announces that they’ll break for lunch with a grunt, and the junior handlers scurry off to the cafeteria while he unpacks his own meticulously made sandwich. The little domestic taking up space in his laundry room sure knows her stuff, he thinks as he angles the monitor a little, finally allowing himself a closer look now that the twin idiots are gone. 
The idea of pets taking on the role as personal security isn’t new, at least not in practice. Rich assholes who think the world revolves around them have always wanted dedicated security. The Guard Dog type, however, is quite new. The specimen on the monitor is only the third generation, and a young generation at that. He was brought in only two weeks ago, a mean fucker just dishonorably discharged, with a glint in his eye and blood on his knuckles. 
Well. A tether slightly too high up on the wall and a high-powered cold water hose took care of at least one of those problems. As for his unpleasant disposition … Kerry was doing something about that right now. Had been, for the last six days. And the project was just beginning to bear the flowers which eventually would become fruits. 
The previous two generations had been too volatile, too easy to make lash out, and not only at potential threats. WRU could only pay out so much hush money before the media had started to notice. The third generation had to be perfect, and Kerry was one of a small group of handlers who had been served the task. A delicate mission to snuff out every little spark and flame inside the beasts and then create new, tailor-made gas flames in their wake, perfectly controllable and able to be extinguished by the flick of a verbal switch. A killer robot of flesh and blood. 
The monitor showed 603-014 sitting against the wall, arms around his bowed head, very slightly shifting his weight back and forth. Kerry almost thought he could see a crescent shape in the floor surrounding him, as if his pacing (of which there was less and less, these days) had created a track in the floor. The nine feet of chain extending from his collar to a ring in the wall contained him like a mean junkyard dog at the end of a rope. 
He hadn’t been outside the crescent in a week, much less outside his cell. 
In the same period, he hadn’t seen a single other human. Nothing but the same four white walls and his own tethered body. After two days of screaming and crying and cursing and begging he’d lost his voice, and it was still only a hoarse and gravelly whimpering that would come through the speakers if Kerry decided to turn on the sound. 
He glanced at his watch. It was soon time for 014’s daily prescribed five hour nap and his allotted 1300 calories - served in a dog bowl, of course. The two goons could do it, he figured, as he considered his own reuben sandwich, which seemed too good to leave right now. As if summoned by his thoughts, the two of them shuffled into his office, each holding a steaming hot styrofoam container. 
“Great timing,” Kerry announced, not even allowing them time to set their food down. “Time for some practical training. 014 needs his daily rest and nourishment.” 
“Handler Kerry-!”
“I trust you remember where the respiratory gear is,” he broke them off merrily as he reached for the control board mounted on his desk, which controlled every environmental condition in every cell he was responsible for. As they begrudgingly set their food down and removed themselves from his office, he found the right switch and pushed it down. The big lug would be sleeping blissfully in a few minutes, and Kerry would get to watch his mentees undoubtedly fuck up even the simple task of correctly fitting a gas mask on themselves before entering a room filled with anesthetic gas. 
It would be lunch and a show.
--
@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps @whumplr-reader @considerablecolors @dustypinetree @snakebites-and-ink
16 notes · View notes
starfeycomet · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
The HAL Laboratory logo, but the eggs are Kirby, Qbby and Jobski
98 notes · View notes
teomori-shi · 3 months
Text
Some traffic life headcanons!! Mostly Grian.
3rdlife desert duo are scorpions. They have scorpion tales, horns (because I like them) (Grian has pointy and Scar has ram-like horns) and Scar has... how is it called? Like a scorpion armor on his chest. I don't really know the correct way to call it.
Scars horns appear on his yellow life, Grians - on green and the grow up when he turns yellow. Red life Scar has cool grey horns and a ring with a purple stone on it as a present from Gria. Or a promise. Red life Grian only has one horn, the other one is broken in half.
Lastlife Grian has bone wings and a halo. It breaks when he turns red and both wings and halo go black after summoning a wither. Impulse's demon horns turned from gold to black and Martyn got black circles under his eyes.
Lastlife Scar is a snow leopard and Joel is a lynx! Lizzie is a white cat with brown-red calico. After BigB and Cleo's... incident... Her red spots turned grey.
Doublelife desert duo are cats! Scar is a jungle cat and Gria is dumb cat orange cat. And Ren and B are dogs. I don't know dog breeds very well... I kinda feel like Ren is a lambardor. Lambramdor. Labdaror. Eeh. Let me Google it. Labrador! And BigB would be a calm soft friendly dog. Please dog people send help lol.
I don't have much about limitedlife (even though it's my second favourite lol) but Bad Boys could be vexes. That would be fun!
And secretlife roomates are WOLVES and I have A BRAINROT. PLEASE. I'M INSANE. it FITS THEM.
15 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
This is a still from Sam’s drip animation. So you guys can see it in full :3
269 notes · View notes
whumpinthepot · 1 year
Note
For the WIP asks, 10, 23, 31, and 33? For a WIP or WIPs of your choice (or Rats Race if you can’t decide!)?
-verkja
@verkja I love <<<33 thank you. From this game.
Gonna keep going with rats race since thats my main focus right now ^_^
10. Share a song that makes you think of your WIP.
Ain’t No Crying by Derivakat
23. Characters with the best dynamic?
Well I do like Abby and Ratty’s dynamic it can get quite confusing and sometimes frustrating to write because Ratty acts differently than you would expect towards Abby. It looks OOC until you realize that it's stockholm syndrome and always has been… (Abby is Ratty’s stalker)
My favourite dynamic is probably Mouse and Clarence because they are just babies, and its not something ive seen in much writing before. Its just another form of stockholm syndrome though oml, I may have a problem… (Clarence is Mouse’s pet)
31. Favorite line from your WIP?
This is hard because I’m not fond of my writing 😭 so I chose the first one I thought of:
The rest of the night was calm enough, they played with their “Sister” as Mum had labeled her. Sister or not, Ratty at least knew not to take it out on a child. So play they did. Mouse seemed almost as upset as Ratty was, it puzzled them but she wasn’t ready to talk about it they supposed…
33. What are your favorite tropes you use in your WIP?
Ough ummm, kidnapping, memory loss, brainwashing, unstable antagonist, protective big sibling, morally grey characters, held captive, drugging, queer rep… Apparently stockholm syndrome 😅
Its a double edged sword though because a lot of things I enjoy writing about can squick me out when reading depending on how its done (Stockholm syndrome and pet whump for example are big ones)
3 notes · View notes
aadrawings · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media
takin’ a slice of the pie
74 notes · View notes
the-brawl-girl · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
What is "death" to a box who somehow keeps on "dying", yet usually comes back despite all odds?
Someone to run far, FAR away from.
(The outfits are totally not a reference to a movie or anything.)
63 notes · View notes
akfamilyhome · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Kirby Turns 30 And Has A Midlife Crisis, coming soon to a Nintendo Switch near you
122 notes · View notes