I found out there’s like 30 minutes of cut content where Faith and Bigby are acting like a couple. I had to act immediately. I will never be the same. Storyboard wip
Three Goblin Art

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Not today Justin
will byers stan first human second

ellievsbear
YOU ARE THE REASON

JVL
tumblr dot com
Sweet Seals For You, Always

⁂
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
hello vonnie
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

izzy's playlists!
taylor price

★
occasionally subtle
Cosmic Funnies

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@suddenlysquelch
I found out there’s like 30 minutes of cut content where Faith and Bigby are acting like a couple. I had to act immediately. I will never be the same. Storyboard wip

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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A relatively messy study/fanart for project hail mary, the last month has really awakened my inner space loving child again
Also fun fact, while drawing Man of war by Radiohead started randomly playing which i think is very veru fitting for this
Bigby Wolf Moodboard!!
Still pretty new to twau as I only just started today 😞 BUT I plan on finishing it later this week!!!
(still experimenting with these moodboards so I feel kinda dumb 😓)
Hello my tumblings. Because I like you guys you’re allowed to see these horrifically messy and ugly storyboards for a quick faithby shitpost I wanted to make
in lve with this omggmg
Had the idea of Rusty doing adult films back in the eighties and made a moodboard

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Rusty picking up a trans runaway on the side of the road
Took this in a more platonic/familial way I hope you don’t mind! I was simply inspired :P
Notes: FTM!reader, Teen!reader and Parental!slasher, transphobia mentioned but not explicit, some religious trauma stuff, technically kidnapping? Justified though! Totally SFW!
Dad Distribution System
It was a mistake to order the binder to your house, and one that you were now paying for. You should’ve gotten it delivered to your friend’s house like she had offered, but you declined. Naively, you’d thought that, as controlling as your mom was, surely she wouldn’t open your mail. Stupid, you thought angrily to yourself now as you trudge along the empty stretch of road.
The sun had set, and the temperature in the arid, Nevada landscape had dropped with it. Wind whipped at your face, stinging your cheeks red at the same time your eyes stung with tears you refused to let fall. You bundle your hoodie tighter around you in an attempt to ward off the chill, but a shudder wracks through you regardless as you stumble along. Miserable, that’s what this is, but anything is better than being in that house.
You’d gotten home from school to a house whose tension hit you like a palpable wall when you stepped through the door. Your mother was sitting at the table with your father, home from work early, and in front of them was that package. The wall of crosses behind them glared angrily at you, as if even the carved wood knew what you were and condemned it. The stilted, cold words from your parents felt like a whip’s lashes, and the final phrase landed like a crown of thorns against your brow: homeschooling. No place to escape. No place to breathe free air. No place to live and be. Only walls that felt too small and a name that isn’t yours are the itching, bone deep wrongness under your skin.
You stumbled out of the door as if in a trance, deaf to them calling your name- not your name- and thinking nothing past keep moving, keep going, run run run. You propel yourself forward now with the same thought, even as the wind beats against you and chills you to your bones.
Then, headlights behind you, and you glance up to see one of the biggest rigs you’ve ever seen come rumbling past you. It kicks up dust from the road and you cough, covering your mouth with your trembling hand to try and shield yourself from the dirt cloud. You keep walking, trying to wave the dust away with your other hand, even as the truck grounds to a halt just ahead of you. You look up into the window as you slowly approach, trying to get a glimpse of who could be inside. The window rolls down as you get closer, and a plume of smoke drifts out.
“You okay, kid?” The trucker inside calls through the window, and though you can’t quite make out his face through the shadows of the truck’s cab, you can practically hear his brow furrow. You know you must look a mess- hair tangled by the wind, eyes watery and face red, with limbs shaking from emotion and cold.
“I’m fine,” you lie, wincing at how weak and wobbly your voice sounds, even to your own ears. He makes a tsking noise, unimpressed by your dishonesty, and tosses his cigarette out his window onto the dusty asphalt. He doesn’t know what it is, but something about you is making his corroded heart break a little. You just look so young. So sad. It makes something in his heart twist.
“Liar,” he grumbles, “Get in, you’re shaking like a chihuahua.” He leans over the console to open the door, and you take a step back, unsure. Stranger Danger, your mind helpfully supplies, but you really are cold, and what do you have left to lose? You shift from foot to foot, worrying your lip as you consider it. He scoffs softly when you hesitate. “Kid, you’ll catch your death out here. Let me get you to the greyhound station.”
The offer seems genuine enough, and you hesitate for only a minute more before nodding shakily and gingerly climbing up into the truck. Desperate times, you suppose. He hums in approval when you clamber into the cab and plop into the passenger’s seat, and he pulls back onto the road once you’ve buckled in. One scarred hand reaches to turn the heat up, and you’re both silent as you defrost.
“Thanks,” you manage at last, curled in on yourself in the seat as if trying to take up as little space as possible. He waves away the thanks with a dismissive hand.
“Wasn’t gonna let you freeze out there,” he says, before giving you a sidelong glance. His stare burns into you, and you shiver from something other than cold: vulnerability. “What are you runnin’ from, anyway?”
You don’t want to answer, at first. You don’t know this man, he’s just some guy taking you to the bus station. You don’t owe him an explanation, especially not when the answer makes you feel ill. But, goddamnit, you’re tired of feeling alone with all this. You’re tired of having no one to talk to about how hard it’s been to exist in a house filled with vindictive, oppressive air.
So you break, and you tell the trucker everything. He just listens, not saying anything as you vent until you’re nearly breathless with the emotion pouring out of you.
“So I’m leaving Nevada. I’ll head to California, or somewhere far away,” you finish, feeling vaguely like you’ve just run a marathon. It’s silent in the truck for a long moment, the only noise the rumbling of big tires against asphalt. Then:
“You’re gonna let those fools run you out of the state?” He scoffs. “Christ, you kids are so dramatic.” You open your mouth to defend yourself- who the hell is this guy to judge you? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know your life. How dare he call you dramatic when you’re just trying to live freely! How dare he condescend to you just because you’re in highschool! Being in highschool is hard! Navigating your identity on top of all the other highschool shit is hard! Being trans in a world that refuses to show you empathy is really fuckin hard!
Before you can say any of that, though, he ruffles your hair with a scarred hand, and the strength behind his big mitt nearly tips your head forward. “C’mon, kiddo, you’re stickin’ with me and we’re getting ice cream.” His tone holds something close to fondness- almost as if he’s talking to a particularly stubborn dog- and before you can even think about arguing, the truck is rumbling on toward the closest Baskin’ Robbins.
Rusty, privately, considers what the consequences would be of roadhauling those “parents” of yours.
You seem like a good enough kid, and his house has been feeling empty without the pitter patter of little feet he’d been fruitlessly dreaming of. He’s starting to seriously consider emptying out one of the old rooms in his place so you don’t have to scurry away like a sad little mouse.
He’ll take care of you, he decides as the truck hisses down the road. He’ll keep you. A chip off the ol’ block. A son. Ice cream, first, and then home. A home he’ll guarantee is safe, where you can breathe free air.
It’s only later, when you’re absentmindedly licking a double scoop on a waffle cone, that a question occurs to you: did you just get kidnapped, or adopted?
BIGBY WOLF X GN!READER
summary: a long day at work leaves you and bigby exhausted. what better way to spend that time then some last minute decisions and cuddles?
warnings: very mild smut!
tags: fluff, comfort, oral (m!receiving), mild smut, very mild, they stop halfway thru, impulsive decisions, bigby too tired to keep gooning 💔 reader and bigby are to sleepy to goon. reader doesnt like being ignored…
w/c: 1,687
a/n: first public post ever… im sorry if it sucks…☹️ (NOT BETAREAD!!!!)
TWAU bigby request for valentines day…💝
had a cute idea with him and reader (whos on the younger side, much more playful and energetic when it comes to things) celebrating with him
and they get a cupcake, just to celebrate. its going good until reader smashes the cupcake against his nose and mouth, giggling and cackling when he kind of just sits there like “fr 😐”
IDK i thought itd be cute
happy valentines day i hope its amazing and well 💝 mwah mwah
hiii happy valentine’s day to you too!! thanks for sending this in (im excited to write the silly wolf man, i’ve been obsessed with TWAU lately lol & i hope he’s not too out of character in this). i hope you enjoy<3
★ w/c: 600 words ★ cw: nothing ! just fluff :) peachy's valentine's event<3
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
Bigby never really understood the mundy tradition of Valentine’s day. He’d see them giving flowers and treats to their loved ones, exchanging gifts and cards. There were even a handful of fables (namely Beauty and Beast) that got into the spirit, but he never really was one of them…that is until meeting you.
That’s why when you thought of getting some sweets and spending the day together, he didn’t hesitate to agree.
“Does anything strike your fancy?” You ask him in a playfully joking tone, glancing through the window as he opens the door to the bakery.
“I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve had anything sweet, really,” he replies.
The two of you walk into the building and he looks over the display. The case is filled with an assortment of cakes, brownies, chocolates, and pastries, and the building smells like pure sugar and delight. Your eyes light up as you look over each and every option.
It makes him smile a bit at how you look at the desserts with such childlike glee. Then, your head careens around to smile at him.
“I’m thinking cupcakes. You?”
“If you want cupcakes. We’ll get cupcakes.”
Bigby pays at the counter with a couple bills and you two take a taxi back to the Woodlands.
fine, you want the butcher? come on
the butcher

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Snapshots of fear
Maybe this is what you deserve
patron saints of one-way trips.
iron lung
iron lung, eh?
cool movie, I liked it
oh, library thing, how i love and adore you despite you being inhabited by forty-year-olds who have been using the site for 27 years

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am i the only one who thinks robert would be a huge dad rock fan?
ok so this might just be me projecting, but hear me out…
ofcourse we all know robert dad wasnt around much, and how chase would take his place most nights, but what if there was something robert inherited from his dad that wasnt *just* the suit?
yea thats right…his music.
now these examples of dad rock are what my dad have showed me, but i still think theyre quite fitting since ive drawn robert in a third eye blind shirt))
like seether, or three days grace in the rise of 2000’s rock music? cage the elephant self titled expanded album (entirely me projecting. im sorry i just love cage the elephant)
some of the killers and foo fighters…nirvana for nostalgia purposes.
(robert made the mistake of listening to blink 182 thinking he just found the most niche band in existence when he was like 14)
red hot chili peppers ofcourse.
like maybe its the one thing robert has left of his dad rather then a select few memories. how his dad would tap his shoulder in the car and tell him theyll get takeout if he can guess whos singing on the radio…
was this an excuse for me to post music i like? yeah. do i also heavily believe in this hc? also yeah.
(maybe some birthdays chase would gift him cds, (he still owns them to this day. theyre somewhere in those damn boxes…))
(chase also teases him in the office during his shift)
“you still listen to those pieces of shits?”
“yeah 😑 bro, what about it.”
krok finds humans disgusting. at least, that's what he tries to convince himself. afab!reader. nsfw. mdni! drabble.
Pores, hair, skin — they were filthy. Organics were an insult to evolution and an affront to nature. He stands by that even if he's not a decepticon anymore. Partly because the prejudice's always been there. And he'd be giving them too much credit to say it's some kind of hatred. Indifference was more like it. He couldn't care less about fleshies. About you.
Then again, words were much easier to believe when his body wasn't reacting to the sight of you wiping your brow with the back of your palm. Your chest, heaving up, down, up down to intake air. Sweat, dripping past your neck and down the fabric of your —