#The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning

[thewolffairytaler]

May i request Thomas Hewitt x Child!Reader who was kidnapped(Not by Hewitts). In short, Two kidnappers kidnapped the reader (I don’t know for what reason, u can decide). Thomas finds the reader in the trunk after he killed kidnappers.

Saved or endangered? - oneshot | Thomas Hewitt x child reader

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Summary: There aren't many options for a child to do when they have been kidnapped, much less so when they know that they don't stand a chance against the adults that had committed it to them. So what can they do? The little girl decides to pray, pray for any kind of miracle to save her. And possibly end up in her mother's arms again. Instead, she gets a different stranger with his family that is potentially worse than the traffickers. Even so, his way of handling her so far feels surprisingly comforting and genuine.

Warning: Charlie Hewitt/Sheriff Hoyt, its his dark and gross humour, nothing serious, but its there. I wrote it because I felt like he would say something like that.

The smell of dust and sun-baked asphalt filled the humid Texas air, which hung heavy. It was the kind of heat that warped the already barren landscape, making the world shimmer. The fear was heightened by the oppressive blanket of heat that seemed to be weighing down on her while she was confined in the back of an old white cargo van. A week before, two hard hands and a serviette soaked in chloroform had stopped her innocent playtime at the park, where she had been kidnapped. Her world was now limited to the small, stifling vehicle, and the engine's steady rumbling served as a continual reminder of her powerlessness.

Her captors, two gaunt men with eyes that seemed to hold nothing but a cold calculation, were pacing outside, their voices a low, menacing murmur. She didn’t understand their words, but the tone was enough to send shivers down her spine. They’d been heading north, they’d said, towards some place called North Dakota, where she was to be sold to a wealthy man. The girl was too young to understand how heavy her situation was, but she knew that it was terrible.

The van died on the side of the road after sputtering and coughing. There was something more terrifying about the sudden quiet after that mechanical death than the rumble of the engine. Frustrated, one of the taller, bearded males kicked one of the tires. Their gas supply had run out. John, the shorter of the two and a wiry man with agitated eyes, slammed his fist onto the dashboard. "Damn it all, we're gonna miss our window!" he hissed, his voice laced with panic. Marcus, a towering figure with a cruel sneer, glared at the roadside scenery. "Shut up, John." he growled, "We'll find a station. There's gotta be one around here somewhere." John, despite his unease, knew Marcus was right. As they were trying to get out of the vehicle, John spotted a run-down gas station barely visible in the distance. With a feeling of relief, they pushed the van and walked to the gas station, a relic of a bygone era, its paint faded and peeling.

The petrol station was tucked away in the desert. It was a dilapidated structure that appeared to have been kept intact by sheer effort and stubbornness. An old sign that was almost readable read, "Cele Store." They were met inside by an elderly woman with a severe countenance and sage, perceptive eyes. She was Luda Mae, and despite her advanced age, she moved with a leisurely, purposeful grace. The tension in the air increased as she evaluated the two men, her eyes lingering on their rugged manners. Being used to the hard reality of this remote area of Texas, Luda Mae informed them gently that she was awaiting a fresh supply of petrol. They would have to wait a bit longer, but it wouldn't be long now, she added. The tall man, impatient, barked something at her. Luda Mae, unfazed, just nodded and carried on about her business like the men's discomfort was nothing more than a pesky fly.

The men, now forced to remain in the desolate heat, grew increasingly agitated. Time seemed to stretch on, each second an agonizing eternity for her, trapped in the back of the sweltering van. John, feeling his boredom wearing thin, decided to check on her. He slid open the van's back door, the harsh sunlight flooding the interior. Making the little girl flinch, her wide eyes filled with a fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

"You stay quiet," the man reminded, his face just inches from hers. His breath was foul, and his words were coated in menace. "Not a peep out of you, understand? If you make a sound, you won't get fed for a couple of days. And don't think I'm afraid to do it." He leaned closer, his voice a low growl. His hand hovered near her face. "Remember what I said. No sound."

He knew he couldn't physically harm her. Not yet, anyway. He'd been instructed by the auctioneers that buyers wanted them to come untainted, undamaged, like new. The thought of striking her, of leaving a mark, filled him with a grim frustration. He needed the money, and she was the key. This poor child, so small and fragile, was to be his ticket to a better life, even if he knew that better was only relative. She was trembling as she nodded mutely. Each breath caught in her throat, a strangled sob just inches from escaping. She understood the threat, the unspoken promise of pain and neglect. Her throat was dry, and the lack of food gnawed at her empty stomach, but survival was the only thing that mattered now. She wouldn't risk the man's anger again. He was a monster, she thought, a cruel man who had taken her away from her parents.

The man slammed the van door shut, plunging her back into the darkness and the stifling heat. Her small body trembled, each breath a silent prayer for this nightmare to end. She curled up on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible, as invisible as she could be. She longed for her mother’s warm embrace, for the safety of her own bed, for the familiar world that had been ripped away from her.

The minutes stretched into an eternity, the world reduced to the confines of the stifling van and the constant fear that the man would return. The sound of voices, too, was only a distorted murmur. She yearned for help, for someone to see her, to rescue her, but as the sun beat down on the dusty landscape, hope began to fade slowly like the sun in the horizon, replaced by a cold certainty that she was alone. The gas station, the waiting, the heat; these small elements were all contributing to a chain of events she couldn't comprehend. None of it made any sense. Yet she was smart, she had been taught to be observant, and in her innocent mind, strangera had come to take her away in a van, monsters with mean eyes and a terrible, cruel mouth that promised her pain. As she closed her eyes, she could only pray that she would not die anytime soon.

She did not notice that the pump clicked to a halt, how the van had already been filled with enough gasoline, Marcus paid, quickly returning to the van as John was already in the car. They sped away, the roar of their engine momentarily shattering the eerie silence of the countryside. Neither man noticed that Luda Mae's hand had reached for the old rotary phone on the wall immediately after they left, a grim expression settling on her face as she began to dial a number.

As a rusty police cruiser, its motor still complaining, drove up all the way from a residence outside the deserted town, a cloud of dust billowed. A man wearing a sheriff's outfit emerged, using mirrored sunglasses to conceal his face. Charlie was his name. Although he wasn't a real sheriff, he was good enough at playing the part to fool the few people who saw him. He opened the passenger door with a sly smile on his face. "Come on, Tommy," he rasped, his voice gravelly. He never took off the sheriffs uniform because he liked to pretend he was the law. Thomas, a hulking figure with a disturbingly new face, lumbered out of the vehicle. He moved with a silent, almost predatory grace, his gaze fixed on the trail of the van. "They been getting too greedy, ain't they?" Charlie chuckled, adjusting his fake badge. "Time to trim the herd."

They followed the van, the old patrol car struggling to keep pace, but Charlie knew the terrain well, and he had a shortcut. They weren't that far from Hewitt's home. Once they had the visual of the van stopped on the side of the road, something wasn't right. But Charlie had an idea what had happened and pulled up behind, with the police car headlights shining directly into the back of the van. Marcus, who was already out of the car, started to approach the police vehicle, but then he noticed there was someone else in the car, a giant. He didn't get to process him, though, since Charlie quickly brought Marcus attention to himself. Making the man explain their situation to him. Apparently, after they got their gasoline, their relief was short-lived. A jarring thud, followed by the sickening sound of deflating tires, sent the van careening towards the shoulder. They scrambled out, their faces contorted in disbelief. There were no telltale punctures, no signs of foul play like spike strips. The tires were simply... shredded, as if clawed at by something unseen. A wave of frustration, thick as the muggy air, washed over them. Their carefully laid plans were crumbling, and a creeping sense of unease began to take hold.

"You boys seem to be having an unlucky day," Charlie boomed, his voice a gravelly rasp, his eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. Marcus, trying to maintain a facade of calm, stammered, "Just a little would be an understatement, this day can not get any worse, officer...?" Charlie chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. "I'm Sheriff Hoyt, and I assure you, there's plenty to worry about." He gestured towards the back of the van with a nod of his head. "Let’s have a look at that cargo you’re carrying, shall we?" John, his nervous energy suddenly shifting into full-blown panic, threw the van into reverse, hoping to escape. Marcus, though, familiar with John's reckless behaviour, threw himself into the van clumsily before the shorter man could even completely drive away.

Charlie, with surprising speed for a man of his age, pulled out his own heavy shotgun, and fired two shots into the already popped left tires, leaving the van quckily loosing it's usage in wheels. The vehicle swerved violently and came to a complete halt. Immediately, Thomas stepped forward, his massive hands gripping the door to the driver’s side, jerking it open and dragging John out, throwing him on the ground like a rag doll. John, still stunned from the sudden violence, scrambled to his feet, but before he could react, Thomas’s heavy fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling. Charlie stepped forward, drawing his knife. He watched how quickly the smaller man’s eyes filled with terror, as he started to beg for his life. “Please... I have family... please." His voice was high pitched and whiny. It didn't matter if it was a lie or not, because in the end, Charlie didn't believe him. “You should have thought of that before trying to outrun the law.” Charlie spat on his face and proceeded to stab him in the gut, twisting the blade with a sickening eagerness. John's screaming was short-lived.

Meanwhile, Thomas had already grabbed Marcus, his strength far exceeding the man’s. He held the man still with a grip like iron, despite Marcus ’s thrashing against him. Charlie stepped back, letting Thomas take over. The sounds of his pleas and struggles only filled the heavy humid air as Thomas pulled out a his hammer. With one heavy thud to the temple, Marcus went silent, his body limp in Thomas’s grasp. Thomas dropped the lifeless form on the ground. Charlie let out a bark of laughter, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Good work, Tommy," he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "Let's get to work." He gestured to Marcus’s body. "Take him out back, I’m sure they're hungry." Thomas hauled the body over his shoulder and started walking towards the car. He dropped the body carelessly at the trunk. He then went back to the van, with a sense of curiosity that was rare for him.

He peered through the window, his eyes scanning the interior, not being able to see anything from the outside because it was a two way mirror, he decided to open up the doors to look for anything of value. The rusty van rattled, its engine a guttural growl that seemed to echo the unease settling in Thomas's gut. He'd become accustomed to the horrors he and his family inflicted, the insane ways of fear and pain they orchestrated. But this… this was different. Wedged between sacks of feed and tools, he saw a tiny figure, no older than four, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, her small mouth gagged with a piece of dirty rag. Her wrists and ankles were bound with frayed rope, leaving angry red marks on her porcelain skin. He stared, a primal confusion warring with the monstrous nature he’d learned to embrace. This wasn't the struggling prey he was used to; she was just… small. He looked away, his gaze darting to his uncle, Thomas grunted, as if asking him what to do.

Charlie, his face a mask of cruel amusement, chuckled a wet, guttural sound that sent a shiver down Thomas’s spine. He leaned forward, his decaying teeth bared in a grotesque parody of a smile, his eyes glinting with a terrifying glee. "Well, boy," he said, his voice raspy and full of malice, "she's a little too fresh for the pot, wouldn't you say? But she'll certainly make a fine woman one day." He reached out a gnarled hand, his fingers brushing lightly against the child's cheek, making her flinch. "Think of it, Tommy, a rare little bird, innocent and a virgin... a perfect girl for any man." The casual cruelty in his voice, the almost transactional way he referred to the little girl, solidified the horror that had been brewing in Thomas. He may understand their terrible games, but this, this innocent life placed in their clutches was a different kind of wrong. He looked back at the little girl, her small body trembling, and a flicker of something unfamiliar – perhaps a twisted form of pity – ignited within the depths of his broken heart.

His hands clenched into fists. Was this what they did now? Hurt children? He knew his uncle was sick, yet not this disgusting. But then Charlie was laughing again, a harsh, barking sound. "Just kiddin', boy! Just pullin' your leg. We'll take her home, of course, wouldn't want mama worryin'." Relief washed over Thomas, though a knot of unease remained. He knew Luda Mae wouldn't stand for this, not for a second. They had Jedidiah for a reason, no matter how much the boy annoyed them at times. He knew the fury his mother possessed at the mere thought of harming a child, a fury that could rival even his own monstrous strength. It was a line they dared not cross, not if they wanted to avoid the wrath of the female matriarch of their twisted family.

Thomas watched as Charlie used his knife to cut her bindings, along with walking her to their car, and he quickly followed behind. He looked back at the van and then back at the girl. He seemed to be weighing his options, an unusual activity for him. He had never had this kind of dynamic before. He did as he was told, but he was thinking. She was like a small, lost animal, and she needed protection. After Charlie placed the little girl in the back seat, he started the car. Thomas entered and looked at the girl again. Something in that moment shifted in him. Probably for the first time, something Jedidiah couldn't make him feel. He couldn't figure out the words for it, but that was alright. He was never a man of words anyway.

He walked around the other side of the car, opened the door, and, without a word, scooped the little girl up in his massive arms. She was surprisingly light, her small body fitting against his broad chest. The girl whimpered, her small hands clutching at his leather apron, not knowing what was going to happen to her. Thomas held her close, his expression unreadable. He knew, deep down, that she was not meant for the family's table. She was different. He carried her with surprising gentleness, his usual lumbering gait replaced by a cautious stride, as he took her home. Rubbing her back as he did so, making her in return, snuggle for whatever affection she was given.

Author's note: After I wrote this, I just noticed you mentioned you wanted Thomas to find her in the trunk, but hey, he still found her, so that mistake is fine, right? Since you didn't specify which gender to write for the reader, I thought about doing a gender natural at first, but I eventually find it to be a bit difficult, not to mention it would be more interesting if the child was a female, so I took that route of action. Also, I apologise if I did make anybody uncomfortable by writing Charlie's comment. I never liked him as a character, but I'am impressed at how well R. Lee Ermy made him this character that manages to steal the show on his own. Charlie is this character that is hateable, but also surprisingly well written.

[clown-cult]

It would heal me.

[parkvcrs]

Dating Thomas Hewitt Would Include…

WARNING(S): brief mentions of cannibalism, violence, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, restraints, etc.

NOTES: i recently watched ‘the texas chainsaw massacre: the beginning’ for the first time and while i didn’t like the main cast, thomas made it worthwhile. loved every second he was on screen. :))

• You don’t know how exactly, but out of all your friends (Chrissie, Bailey, Dean, and Eric), you were the only one that Thomas showed mercy to and when it came to hurting your well-being— whenever it was brought up, it was always instigated by his Uncle Charlie or “Hoyt”— he seemed always hesitant to do so.

- And if Thomas had to relocate you for some odd reason, he’d be gentle with you. Additionally, he’d go out of his way to bring you food, water, fix your hair to make you look all pretty, and even get a wet rag to wash the dried blood (not yours, thankfully) from your skin. It confuses you how a man coming from a disgusting and cannibalistic family was touching you as if you’d break. He’s strange, but endearingly because if he wasn’t, you’d be a goner.

• In your time in the hands of the Hewitt family, you made friendly conversation with Thomas the most. It took a while to get used to him and while he prefers not to talk, you don’t mind one bit. Since he’s practically out of touch with the rest of the world, you take it as your responsibility to catch him up on music, specifically the songs and bands you like the most, and promise him that you’ll show him every song you’ve mentioned when you get out of your restraints.

- It took some time before you were able to get out of your restraints. After all, you are the family’s captor, they can’t just have you running out of the house now.

- It took an ungodly amount of time before the family put their trust in you and removed your restraints. And to their surprise, you didn’t even try to run away.

- In fact, you could always be found following Thomas around like a lost puppy. It was truly a sight to behold. Luda Mae and a few of her friends that she’d invite over for tea would always make jokes about you falling head over heels for the boy whilst his uncle was less than impressed and would always proceed to make fun of Thomas and his condition.

• Thomas isn’t stupid. He knows how much of a scumbag Charlie is, but it’s mainly because of how much you voice on how you don’t feel safe around him, so Thomas protective over you and whenever you feel uncomfortable, you know to come running to him where you can be safe.

• Also… Thomas doesn’t know how to slow dance and while you’re not the best teacher because of your lack of experience, it didn’t make things any less special when you tried to show him the basics.

- It was a very special moment in Thomas’ book, one that he’ll cherish forever, especially when you decided to rest your head on his chest where you could his heart race.

• It shouldn’t go without saying that Thomas is incredibly touch-starved. After a childhood and young-adulthood of being completely touch-starved, he’s had turned into an adult who was both desperate for and terrified of touch.

- You had to ease him into it since he was initially afraid that you’d be rough with him but after reassuring him that there is no reason to be afraid, it’s easy sailing for Thomas. He’s handsy, to say the least. He likes to press his leg against yours when you sit next to each other at dinner, pressing a kiss to your shoulder while he holds you at night, hugging you from behind while you’re working on something, or fixing your hair — even though he knows you don’t need help with something like that…

//////

author’s note: MY BABY MYYYYYY BABY

[horrorfilmgifs]

THOMAS HEWITT The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006) dir. Jonathan Liebesman

[dirtychainsawconfessions]

The urge to take care of Thomas and also fuck him and hear him beg

[tendersugarr]

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006)

[l0nd0n-dunge0n]

Why is graph paper so ridiculously difficult to draw on

[sweeetestcurse]

Andrew Bryniarski as Thomas Hewitt/Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006) 09/??

[vashti-refused]

Thomas Hewitt + AO3 tags

[angry--cucumber]

"I'll be waiting for you"

[horrorhussy]

I saw someone else do this so now I’m doing it, here are some of my favourite horror movies for every year I’ve been alive + a horror movie I share a birthday with <3

2004-2024

[myers-meadow]

Letter by letter. Thomas Hewitt x f reader

Title: Letter by letter

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x fem reader who is not from the USA.

Summary: As part of a school project, Thomas starts exchanging letters with a penpal from oversees. With her, he finds a freedom to be himself, to express himself fully, and his longing to have her near grows ever more. One day, an unexpected guest shows up at the doorstep of the Hewitt's.

Warnings: sfw. canon-typical allusions to the murdering and cannibalism. Implied kidnapping at the end. Written in third person. No name used, written as a reader-insert.

It was years ago that the letters started. One of those projects of the school Thomas went to back then; to have an international pen pal. Some young pupils never got beyond the first letter, shoved the reply in a drawer and forgot about the entire thing, but not Thomas. Despite struggling with writing sometimes; the cramped fingers, the ink stains, the messy handwriting, and his shyness; he pushed through, letter after letter.

It started with that postcard of Fuller he sent with his introduction, purchased from his mama’s store, and his dearest pen pal sent one back of the city she lived close by. Told him some cool history about the buildings in the picture.

When he hit his growth spurt, earlier than the other kids, he quit school and started working at the meat plant. It was a relief to be away from school and the other students, and the work provided him with a sense of purpose. To her, he was able to write about the butchering, about how it felt. About his skills with the cleaver, how he could feel himself grow stronger, that he was so good at it that he could cut through bone with ease, that he could make just as many clean finished chops as his established colleagues. He left out what they called him when they thought he couldn’t hear.

It was exhilarating to Thomas. His dear pen pal, an entire sea away, didn’t know anything about him. The freedom he felt to express himself to someone who knew nothing of the ridicule he faced, who wasn’t able to see what he looked like, didn’t know anything about him other than what he told her. He grew into himself when he wrote to her, free and true.

The money for the expensive international stamps he squirreled away from his salary at the meat plant – shrugging his shoulders when the family made a comment about it. None had tried to touch this aspect of his life. Luda Mae especially saw his excitement as a new letter arrived and was glad for it.

She was named after a love song, she said, and she was just a year younger than him. Her birthday was on the cusp of spring into summer and each year it was as if he felt the approach of it like a flower emerging from its bud. He was fifteen when she wrote that he could call her a nickname – even if it may be because he kept misspelling her long, foreign name, it didn’t matter. She was a writer, a poet, after going to school for as long as her parents could afford to send her, she worked as a typist at a firm she never named. She often sent him little excerpts from stories she was working on, which he praised even if he didn’t understand entirely what they were about. After all, she took the time to translate them into English so he could read them. It made him feel special. Appreciated. As if his opinions really mattered to her.   

Even despite his struggles to word himself, it seemed she understood him. He knew it was impossible, but wanted desperately for it to be true. His daily life couldn’t be further from hers. After all, she wouldn’t feel the same satisfaction when cutting a bull’s throat, or feel the ache in her muscles, the words echoing in his head, after a day of work. At the same time, he doesn’t have hands stained with ink or broken nails from the force he hit the keys of the typing machine with.

The frequency of the letters increased and by now Thomas must be one of the only ones keeping Fuller’s postman in business. There were flowers in ink around his name in the greeting of the newer letters. After he was done reading a verse from the bible before bed, he read with her most recent letter to commit it to memory, as he did with them all. Did she reread his letters to her too? He hoped so. And as he laid down in bed, curtains still open so he could stare at the stars, he thought of her. Of a warm body beside his own. What would her voice sound like, her accent? How would his name sound on her lips?

It was barely a week later, and the postman handed him a new letter. Thomas ripped it open, reading it as he stood on the lawn, thinking that the work could wait. After all, the tourists were already dead. Their firsts… And there was no going back now. It meant many things for Thomas and the family – one of which was: no more work at the meat plant. No more insults. His eyes racked over the letter greedily. His confidence had grown since taking his first human life, and he felt he could do anything. He couldn’t wait to tell her that things had changed – leaving out the unsavoury bits, of course. Stalking inside and up the stairs, he sat down on his bed to write his response.

The day after, the doorbell sounded just after noon. Unlikely to be a neighbour as there weren’t any for miles. Tourists then? Thomas grunted as he remembered he was the only one home, and slammed the cleaver down into the wooden table. Wiping his hands on his filthy apron, he threw it off as he marched up the stairs. As he swung the door open, the most unlikely sight stood in front of him. It was her. How did she get here? The angels must have blessed him. Just to look at her, to have her close enough to touch was more than he’d ever hoped for. He stared and stared, eyes wide, as she introduced herself. Voice sweeter than honey.

She said her name, pronounced differently from how he’d said it in his head, and then: “I’m so sorry to be a bother, but is Tommy home perhaps? I’d love to see him.”

It fell silent, as he stared at her, expecting her to fade like a mirage. As he saw her falter, he scrambled, gesturing to himself. Out of his back pocket he grabbed the recent letter, he liked rereading it so he kept it with him, and showed her. Then pointed from his name to himself. Regretting how gross he must look, hands not even washed, tie crooked, sweaty from the heat in the basement. Not that she looked any less sweaty, but she still looked like an angel.

“Tommy, it’s you!” she said, instead, and hugged him. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment. Is it unexpected? I sent you a letter but it may not have arrived yet. Can I come in?”

Of course, he let her, with his heart beating out of his chest. Now that she was here, there was no single possibility in his mind that she’d ever leave again.

[noahsworld96]

what SZA said

[rositaa01xxr]

>>>>>>>>>🤍<<<<<<<<<

Tommy, my beloved 🥹🫶🏻

[dirtychainsawconfessions]

It's concerning how many times I've thought about being railed by Thomas, it's more concerning how all these thoughts take place in that disgusting basement

[horrororman]

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning was released on October 6, 2006.

#TheTexasChainsawMassacre

#RLeeErmey

#horror