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Canon Root Beer drinker

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"Gruff, jaded man accidentally adopts feisty child" has got to be one of my favorite genres

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tommy cleaning his nails :3

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tommy talking is trippy lmao

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some stills of tommy from tcm 2003 bts

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Behold the average Michael game💕

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MICHAEL MICHAEL DON'T LEAVE ME HERE UEHHAEUHHGHGHH MICHAEEELLL

((i like to imagine they all live in one big house like the most dysfunctional family/housemates ever :)))

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THE RINGS THE RINGS THE RINGS

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (2003)

behind the scenes

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"Forgive me father for I have sinned" and "sorry daddy I've been naughty" mean the same thing

My point is, we all wanna fuck the priest

NAURRRRR

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Do you wait for Hannibal from both show and movie and you write for Vincent Sinclair, Charles Lee, Ray, or Brahms?

Unfortunately not, at the moment it's only Tommy and RZ Michael <3

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May I add you To my slasher writers list ?

Of course!! <3

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Who’s your favorite slasher?💗💗

Difficult question. It's 100% between Michael and Tommy, I think relationship wise Tommy because he does seem the most likely to have a softer side. Whereas Michael would probably be my favorite in terms of character lore and such.

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Oh coo your also a Sagittarius ?

Im actually a cusp! Sagittarius Scorpio, although my 'main' sign would be Sagittarius yes lol.

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Is 18+ your rating or age?

my age, I do request minors not interact with me personally, but I don't mind if they like, reblog, or comment on my fics.

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>1000 words, detailed descriptions of violence and a (sort of?) mention of s/a (⚠️use of the r word ⚠️), reader is gn! and up to interpretation throughout other than being considerably smaller than thomas and one mention of possibly bearing children. open-ended, so if you prefer angst endings for reader or stockholm, you can choose, it's texas chainsaw massacre, anything that's in either movie is part of the warnings just to be safe. dead dove do not ear, read at your own risk. also this is not proofread in any way, I literally wrote this straight shot right before bed listening to dove (doll ver) on loop and hit post.

READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING

imagine tommy keeping you, not to rape and defile like his uncle assumed, nor for you to bare children like his mama had hoped—but because you're just so nice to look at.

In the first film, tommy can be seen wearing rings, jewelry he's collected from past victims. also with the whole wearing people's faces to mask his own, he obviously has an eye for pretty things. and you're one of them.

It isn't just that of course, plenty of pretty people had come onto the farm, all meeting the same fate. he hadn't spared a dozen or so others, so why would he spare you?

you hadn't flinched at the sight of him, you hadn't run away crying like a child at their first horror maze, you simply smiled at him with those sparkling eyes, an elegant hand giving him a friendly, unbiased wave. you looked at him without prejudice, or preconceived assumptions about his character.

your friends hadn't given him the same courtesy. which is why you were here, chained to the workbench near the chopping block. the block he was using to dismember your traveling companions. a few of them hung from meat hooks, catatonic, their minds were weak and feeble, they broke at the sights in front of them, and despite the agonizing pain of lost limbs and shredded muscle, they were silent and still, waiting for their turn.

death was their only escape, they needed only to wait for it. you could see it in their eyes, each time he'd finish one off and turn to grab the next off a hook, they'd all follow him with pleading eyes. not for mercy, they were far beyond the point of return—but to be next.

your entire body was shaking like a kicked chihuahua. your muscles were all tense, adrenaline begged you to run, flee, to escape death. your silly primal instinct hadn't caught up with your concious. It was an odd feeling, having every possible part of your body screaming at you to run, and choosing to stay still, to betray your instinct with your intelligence. you knew you wouldn't get far.

despite the horrid conditions in the basement, a place where your senses should be overloaded; your ears with the echoes of their screams and the engine of the saw, your eyes with the gory mess, your nose with the pungent smell of iron and rotting flesh, your tongue with the dryness of your mouth from panting, and your body's fatigue from running around for hours—there was nothing but the racing of your heartbeat.

It was all you could hear or feel, and in your mind you could taste and see it as well, you felt the pulse rise all the way into your skull and down to your toes. you felt every rush of blood heat your skin like a furnace, moving past your veins and tissue.

your eyes aimlessly followed his body, unblinking and dry. he was deeply focused on his ‘work’, but he would still glance at you every now and again. you were just so pretty, a decoration in his safe haven, like a deer mounted above the fireplace.

hours had passed in what felt like seconds before he was finished. you hadn't moved.

he nonchalantly came up to you, his much larger hand going to cup your face before he froze. he withdrew his hands, wiping the bloody mess on his apron and washing his hands before he continued his previous action.

you didn't dare move, not even to flinch, as his held your head in your hands.

his thumbs caressed the flesh just under your eyes, rubbing around and about, seemingly fascinated by the way your skin folded and stretched at his will. he made a gesture with his hands, swiping a palm in front of your eyes, an attempt at communicating. when you didn't respond, he huffed frustratedly before letting his thumbs touch your eyelids, forcing them down to close your eyes.

he took your chin in-between two fingers, maneuvering your head in every direction, studying every feature. his thumb pulled your lips apart, showing him your teeth, clenched so hard they might be pushed back underneath your eye sockets.

after a he took some time to study you, you felt his thumbs come back to rest on your eyelids, pulling them open again. this time he studied your iris. he was clearly upset at the lack of light that prevented him from seeing the color clearly, but he looked closely nonetheless.

the sensation of breath enveloping your face, forcing you to breathe in the air he had just released, was one you could not describe.

his hands fell to your shoulders and moved downward till he got to your forearms, where he would trace the veins in your arms. when his hand met your wrist, he applied gentle pressure to it, his breath hitching as he felt your blood pulsate. he moved onto your hands now.

his were easily twice the size of yours, if not more. his nails were dull and blunt, the skin much rougher against yours. dried blood cracked underneath his nails and stained his skin a pinkish tone despite his tan. he traced the lines of your palm the same way a palm reader would, take away the tales of life lines and replace them with pure admiration.

he unexpectedly leaned in closer to you, his face now inches, if that, from your own. you kept your gaze ahead as he stared you down.

he brought his masked nose up to the top of your head and sniffed you like a dog, leaning down to your neck to see what else he could smell on you besides your faded fragrance and sweat.

It was only after this action of his that your body responded in any way in nearly 12 hours.

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short little tommy oneshot, small warning of s/a, not graphicly depicted by there's two mentions. typical tcm warnings, death, blood, murder, ect. soft tommy, probably ooc.

You should be disgusted.

You should feel terrified.

And you did, to be fair. But not nearly as much as you should.

Not when that giant had brutalized those bikers who attempted to assault you, and not when he had treated you so gently. Maybe it was the fact that you didn't put up a fight, that instead of struggling to escape him, you reached up for him as a frightened child would. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, rather than beating against him.

You were brought to the same dark, damp, moldy room as the bikers, but he didn't shove a meat hook through your shoulder, he sat you down on an unorganized workbench, sharp tools scattered around on top of it. In front of you was some type of chopping block. The wood was stained with a brownish color in a pooling shape, the sides dripping. Some of it was more red and fresher, and the smell of copper hung stagnant in your senses. It was so heavy you could nearly taste it, and the air being so humid and thick didn't help.

The bikers, they begged you.

They looked directly at you and cried for you to help them as the monster of a man poured gasoline into his chainsaw, the smell of diesel overpowering the smell of copper for the time being. The two men and one woman who had cornered you at that shop, tearing at your clothes until the ‘Sheriff’ stepped in. You simply stared, watched as the man revved the chainsaw and began dismembering them one by one.

By the time he'd finished, he was covered in blood, and he wasn't the only one. You couldn't see his face well, but you heard his breath hitch slightly as he saw how much of a mess he had made on you. He walked to the sink, grabbed a rag you doubted was clean before wetting it, and began wiping the crimson off you. The only sounds you could hear was his breathing, and the drips you could only decipher due to the difference in how heavy they sounded.

Your eyes met his as he gently rubbed the blood off your cheek, his hands holding your jaw still despite you making no attempt to move. He paused his movements to wipe his thumbs under your eyes, the tears that threatened to spill finally falling as he pushed them out. He tilted his head curiously before moving one hand to the back of your head, the other holding your back as he pulled you into his chest. The hug was inexperienced and awkward, but comforting nonetheless. His body heat enveloped you, and somehow, even after watching every moment of his brutal acts, your muscles relaxed, and the tension in your body slowly left with a long exhale.

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Little TCM(TB) WIP I wanted to run by yall. If I made this a mini series, would you guys be interested?

You sat silently as your friends cried beside you at the dinner table. Your eyes were wide and unblinking, your open mouthed breathing was shaky and uneven, your entire body shook as you stared at the stew in front of you. It looked like any other stew, smelled like it as well, it would have made your stomach growl and mouth salivate if you weren't dreadfully aware that there was human flesh in it. You hadn't known Karina well, she was a friend of a friend, in fact, you'd only met her a few days ago when your mutual friend, Tasha, had invited you both on a road trip before you went your separate ways for college.

You and Tasha had been close since before elementary school, your father's being close being a natural branch for you two to become each other's ‘sister from another mister’. You were both violently different, but it seemed opposites attract was more true than you originally thought. Tasha was always a social butterfly, honor roll, swim champion, volunteer work, the perfect student. You, on the other hand, always found it difficult to fit in. You were terribly anxious when it came to social interaction, and only ever truly exceeded in topics you found intriguing, which wasn't often as public school didn't often let you have a creative outlet.

You weren't failing by any means, but in comparison you Tasha? Her 4.0+ GPA showed her natural prowess, while you got mainly C's and B's in anything other than Animal and Environmental Science. You hadn't gone to a single school dance until she forced you to at least attend your senior prom with her, which, not to your surprise, led to her being dragged off by various friend groups, from the stereotypical geeks to the stereotypical jocks. She got along with everyone, whereas you felt too weird for the popular kids and too normal for the weird kids.

But none of that mattered, not now. Not when Tasha was sobbing violently, her normally conventionally attractive face dampened by a waterfall of snot, tears and blood. Her dark brown skin hid the majority of the purple discoloration around her eye, but the swelling made her injury obvious. Her boyfriend, Randy, didn't look much better. His face was bright red, his nose and eyes especially. His teeth were clenched so hard you were sure they'd break as he spit insults at the Sheriff.

Sabrina and Nicole, both friends of Tasha and Karina, were equally distraught. Nicole was a bit worse for wear than Sabrina though, the Sheriff had taken a particular liking to her, which wasn't a good thing. And you only could only guess where Jackson, Randy's brother, was. You had heard him screaming not long ago, too soon for him to join Karina in the pot on the stove, but you hadn't seen him since you saw him run straight into a bear trap, taking his ankle clean off.