#TCm

[bakllori]

RAIN

[cain-sawyer-son-of-the-saw]

/points to my icon and username/ <- And yet....

See, this is why I don't write Drayton as bein' a nice grandpa to the Sawyer kiddos or their mama. He is PISSED in my AU that this happened, even though my romantic OC isn't exactly to blame for it.

I know drayton would freak out if he knew how popular bubba was with the ladies. he does NOT want a little love child running around. that being said I would gladly get my head bashed in by that broomstick for but one Bubba kiss

I wouldn't risk it...

[dat-soldier]

LOOK WHAT YOUR BROTHER DID TO THE DOOR

[miserablemisty]

drawings I did of my favourite final girl

[seey9906]

Drawing chainsaw is a nightmare

[cain-sawyer-son-of-the-saw]

I loved this, this was very in character. <3 But I gotta say, as a native Texan, Texas does not seem to be an "arid desert". ^^' It's more like hills, prairie and lowlands dotted with farms, small towns and cities and peppered with brush, mesquite, dogwood, poplar, tall grasses and a lot of wildflowers like sunflowers, Indian paintbrushes and black-eyed susans, and most especially literal carpets of the state flower, the bluebonnet. Bubba and I's home state is really quite beautiful!!

PART 1: How did every slasher become obsessed with you?

Part 2 Here!

🌹Slashers:

Jason Voorhees / Michael Myers / Pinhead / Vincent and Bo Sinclair / Thomas Hewitt / Bubba Sawyer / Asa Emory.

🌹Warning:

⚠️All headcanons have things that minors cannot read! Read at your own risk!⚠️

🌹🌹GOOD READ! 🌹🌹

🥀On a night of hunting, he would go after you, just as he did with the unfortunate lives that surpassed his patience and path. However, when he got close to the door of your room, he heard you praying for the one you called "the drowned boy" to have peace and find his mother. You cried a lot for the boy. Deep down, he saw that you were different, in his perception, you were someone who didn't see him as a monster and, praying for him, it became clearer. After that scene, he didn't kill you or anything like that, but he watched you until he saw you try to escape the place when you discovered that everyone was dead. A blow to your head and when you woke up, you were with him. With your feet in chains and him hovering over you in curiosity and tenderness. You can't go anywhere now... You're his.

🥀It would be a normal day of killing in Haddonfield, until something broke his routine. In front of his house, there was a jar of sweets, and on top of it a note: "I don't know what you've been through, but you're not a demon to me, Michael. May you find the peace you need. Signed: S/N." He looked at it in confusion. He thought the person was more disturbed than he was, but this triggered him. Congratulations... You're his new obsession. With that, he waited for one day for you to leave something in front of the house and, sure enough, you showed up. Myers analyzed you and took in every detail of you. Two months went by and he kept giving you gifts in secret and you didn't know who they were from. You just thought it was strange and smiled. Michael decided from then on that you were now his and no one else's and whoever came to you would appear on the news as one less person on earth. Michael was just waiting for the right moment to show up to you, and when that happened... You know what would happen.

🥀After you managed to escape from him, you don't know what you just did. You signed your name on Pinhead's dark heart. Even though he had escaped, he had even tried to live his life in the infernal labyrinth, however, nothing made him think that his audacity to face and win would bring you back. Calmly and skillfully, he began to draw up a plan to get you back. Whatever the cost... He might not be one to attack what he wanted head on, but he was strategic. Three years after he escaped, his face still remained in the Infernal Priest's head, he had a plan. A man next to his apartment was seduced by the configuration of the lament and when he opened it, he had an idea and knew that his next door would be taken too... Lying in bed, they felt strange, and when he opened his eyes... He was there... With a victorious smile... You would not escape him now.

🥀After you showed up in town and started praising his waxworks and even defending them from his friends who were making fun of him, he found you intriguing. He analyzed you for a while and waited for the right moment. His curiosity was so great that he began to feel bad for being so obscene, drawing and painting pictures with you in positions that made him delirious. No matter what he did, you wouldn't leave his mind. His new art muse, his perfect sculpture worthy of being among the Greek pantheon. When the time came, he would go with the help of his brother, catch you and lock you up so that no one would praise his great masterpiece anymore.

🥀You were a girl who had no fear and had defied the most insane brother among Vincent. He fell in love with you in a sick way. He would try to convince his brother to kidnap you and have you all to himself. He could kick and punch him, and even shoot him, but he wouldn't give up on you... In the end... You ended up tied to a chair and a gag with him holding your face and saying: "You're going to get used to being mine from now on."

🥀Since the beginning of the hunt, he had liked you. He liked you completely. He wouldn't know what that feeling was, but he never felt alive. All because you praised him when you accidentally took off your leather mask to protect yourself. It's a fact that you did it just to destabilize him and run away, and you succeeded, but the price was high... He couldn't stop thinking about you. So, in the end, you didn't escape, you became his and not only his wife, but the mother of his children.

🥀Bubba didn't know much about life and was shy. But when she was tied to a chair at the dinner table by force, after being captured, she realized that the great man was humiliated by his relatives and so she defended him... Girl... Girl... His young and shy heart was happy to hear that... He managed to break free and escape, however, even under the warning of his relatives, he went after you and managed to catch you. In the arid Texas desert, no one heard your screams... You were now his girlfriend.

🥀He had gone to the vet to see one of his German Shepherds who was feeling unwell, and you were also a patient who was by his side with his sick cat. You started talking to him, saying several things, including that you loved spiders, beetles, museums, art galleries, and especially criminal cases, and that you were fascinated by what the journalists on TV called "The Collector", among other things. When he heard all this, you became his obsession, a rare specimen in his collection. But of course, you wouldn't know that you were talking to the man himself. After six months of watching you, he already had everything in mind, he was strategic... Soon you would be put in the red box and that way, with him, you would stay forever.

© REGIANE NASCIMENTO ©

[taiisiiya2011weez]

I love you💕🎀

[autopsiees]

“hes killing people with chainsaws and eating them!!!!!!!” what no hes not . hes being cozy

[cain-sawyer-son-of-the-saw]

OOC: Yeah, they genuinely don't get that we don't even really care. We're just happy to be staring at Bubba's ass. lol I started playing it recently with my IRL Bubba and like... That was genuinely all I wanted out of the game. And he knew that, so he played as Bubba while I played as Sissy and we ran circles around the living room for a minute while Johnny was just hellbent on killing. lol

posting the video i made on tiktok :3

[typpashi]

Bubba and his chicken 🐔🐔

[lovelymindescape]

Fuller , 1955 : Chapter 6: A Night Like This

Summary: At your house, away from judgmental eyes and schoolyard cruelty, a different kind of silence settles between you and Thomas—gentle, honest, and safe. What begins with lemonade and a sketchbook quietly transforms into something deeper. Beneath soft lamplight and shy glances, a fragile trust begins to bloom.

Setting: School / Readers House – Texas, Late Summer / Early Fall 1955

Characters: Thomas Hewitt (teen), fem!reader,

⚠️Content Warnings: emotional vulnerability, trauma references, quiet intimacy, longing,

E's Notes: English still not my first language, typos are my love language. Please be nice to him or I will cry.

Chapter 5 : Inside the Silence

The classroom buzzes with the usual low-grade chaos of a Friday morning. Chairs scrape across tile, lockers slam, someone in the hallway hollers a curse loud enough to make the teacher sigh before even taking attendance.

You sit in your usual spot by the window, chin resting on your hand. The sunlight creeps in through the dusty glass, casting blurry golden stripes across your desk. You haven’t opened your notebook yet. Because you’re thinking about him.

About the way he sat on your floor last night, fingers curled around a pencil, heart curled somewhere close to yours. About the sketch he left you. The word beneath it.

"Safe."

You touch your chest absently, right where the ache lives. It isn’t a bad ache. Just one that’s heavy with knowing something is shifting. The seat across from you stays empty. It always does—except on test days when someone needs a surface to cheat off of. But then, the door creaks open behind you.

Some heads turn.

Some eyes roll.

You know it’s him before you look. Thomas walks in like he’s made of stone and thorns, his shoulders hunched, the frayed strap of his backpack slipping off one. There’s a new stain on his shirt.

He doesn’t look up. Your heart stutters. He always looks like this at school—guarded and ghost-like. But this time, you know better. You know the warmth behind the silence. The careful way he holds a pencil. The way he squeezed your hand like a promise.The teacher barely glances up.

“Take your seat, Mr. Hewitt.”

Thomas nods once, stiffly, and moves to the back row. But for the briefest second, as he passes you, his arm brushes yours.It’s tiny. Accidental, maybe. But you feel it. And you don’t look back, because you don’t want to embarrass him.

But your whole body is tuned to his presence now.You glance down at your open textbook, pages swimming in equations you don’t understand. And still, you smile. Later, at lunch , you sit outside.

You’re not even sure why you came out here—habit, maybe. Or maybe it’s hope. You bite into an apple, eyes scanning the far corner of the yard where the smokers hang out. You’ve seen him there before, just standing in the shadows, never joining in.

Today, he’s not there. But when you turn, you spot him sitting behind the old gym, half-hidden by the curve of the building. He’s not drawing. Just… there. Knees up, arms folded across them, gaze on the cracks in the pavement.

You walk over slowly, making sure your footsteps are loud enough not to startle him. He looks up. You don’t speak. Just sit beside him, pulling your knees to your chest. A long pause.

This time you give him the note.

"Tommy—if you like, come by after school. I’ll have the movie ready. No rush, just some company.”"

The house smells faintly of fresh bread and wood polish, a comforting scent that wraps around you as you move through the rooms. It’s late afternoon, and the sun’s rays slip low through the kitchen window, painting golden stripes across the checked linoleum floor.

You stand by the stove, the worn enamel kettle whistling softly as the water reaches a boil. Carefully, you scoop popcorn kernels into the heavy-bottomed pot, lowering the lid and setting the heat just right.

Soon, the familiar pop, pop, pop begins, filling the room with a warm, buttery aroma that reminds you of simpler times — Saturday afternoons, family gatherings, and laughter.

Your hands move almost automatically, tidying the living room with gentle care. The lace curtains flutter slightly in the breeze from the open window, the soft clatter of dishes from the kitchen next door filtering through the thin walls.

You straighten the cushions on the couch, smoothing the knitted blanket with a careful hand. The lamp on the side table glows dimly under the shade, casting a soft pool of light over the room. On the shelf nearby, the small movie projector waits patiently.

You arrange the reels in order, their metal cases cool and heavy in your hands. You take a moment to dust the lens, blowing away specks of dust that might spoil the picture.

Finishing your preparations, you sit by the window, watching the street outside. The children’s laughter echoes faintly as they play hopscotch and marbles on the cracked pavement.

Soon, you think. Soon you’ll not be alone anymore.

You hadn’t let yourself hope much after that. It was easier that way. So when the knock comes just past sundown, soft and uneven against the screen door, your heart lifts in a way you weren’t ready for. You open it and there he is.

You didn’t expect him to show up again so soon.

The porch light throws a gold halo over his shoulders, and he looks unsure again—thumbs hooked in his overall straps, head ducked slightly like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

But you don’t. “Hey,” you say, smiling. “You came.” He nods once. You step aside, and he moves into the house, quieter than the evening breeze. You gesture toward the living room.

“I got popcorn, and I picked something not scary. I figured you’ve had enough of that in real life.” He gives a silent breath of a laugh—shoulders twitching just enough to countand settles on the floor again, back against the couch. Same spot as the other day.

You curl up on the cushions behind him, legs tucked underneath. The movie starts. It’s old and sweet and a little bit boring, and you don’t really care. Because most of the time, you’re not watching the screen. You’re watching the soft way his shoulders rise and fall.

The way his eyes dart between the screen and the room, like he’s trying to memorize it all. The way he edges a little closer to the couch cushion every time the movie cuts to black. Eventually, your hand slips down beside him, fingers relaxed but open.

Not touching.

Just there.

You don’t look when he notices. But you feel the moment his hand shifts slightly—so slightly—and his pinky brushes yours. Neither of you moves away. The movie plays on. You think maybe he’s watching it now, but when you glance down, his head is tilted back slightly.

He’s looking up at you.

Not in a way that asks permission.

Just in a way that says he’s still trying to understand why this feels okay. You smile.

“I like having you here.” He blinks. Stares a little longer. Then—without reaching for his notepad, without hiding behind ink or excuses—he nods.

Just once.

And your chest aches in the best way.You both go quiet after that. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… quiet. You finish the movie in silence, pinkies still linked, the rest of your hands barely brushing. It’s the lightest kind of touch, but it feels like gravity.

By the time the credits roll, your eyes are heavy. You shift to lie against the arm of the couch, your head sinking into a throw pillow. Thomas doesn’t move much, just tilts to the side a little until his shoulder rests lightly against your knee.

Eventually, he slides down into a more curled position, back still to the couch, arms loosely folded. You let your hand drift off the edge of the cushion.

It finds his again.

You’re not sure who falls asleep first.

But when you wake sometime past midnight, the room hushed and glowing faintly from the TV’s still running, and Tommy's Head is laying against your leg with your fingers are still tangled in his.

And for once, it feels like the quiet is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

TBC: Chapter 7

Taglist: @dogrrrrr @thewolffairytaler @night-shadowblood-writes2 @iloved1lfs0 @richietoziers-world @reka13

[impeakcharacterdesign]

Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

[welcome2campcrystal]

someone PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEEEE MAKE LEATHERFACE X PINHEAD ART BEFORE I CRASH OUT💔

[cain-sawyer-son-of-the-saw]

OOC: YEP!!! This happened to me, too. This exactly. I actually couldn't even look at posters of TCM as a kid because I was SO AFRAID of him. Afraid to see what he looked like. But then one day when I was 28/29 years old... The Merkins brought us "Friends With No Faces" and it hit me like a TRAIN. Like... "DAMN, HE REALLY GOT EYES AND LIPS LIKE THAT?!". Yes. Yes he DO.

Me as a child: leatherface? He wears human faces!? Eww!!

Me now: ....

I want you.

[clown-cult]

Stop drawing/writing the Leatherfaces as skinny. That is the devil whispering to you.