Watching The Beginning With Earbuds In So I Can Hear Thomas More Clearly Like A Ghost Hunter Listening

Watching the beginning with earbuds in so I can hear Thomas more clearly like a ghost hunter listening for ghost noises but instead I get an earful of monty shitting his pants and I'm actually not okay

First Meeting - Part Four

((part three here)) ((part five here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92 @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

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You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

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You startle awake as the bed shifts under you, the cozy feeling of warmth leaving your side as your eyes flutter open. With a foggy mind and the aid of the still rising sun, you can make out Thomas sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his mask and trying to adjust it to a more comfortable position.

You rub your eyes a bit, leaning up on your arm as you yawn, "Thomas...?"

He turns back to you, waiting for you to continue.

"What're you doing up so early?"

He reaches out, and it takes you a minute to realize why before placing your hand in his palm.

"C-H-O-R-S."

"This early?" You furrow your brows as you sit up fully, trying to shake the sleepiness from your thoughts.

He nods, standing up.

Not liking the idea of sitting alone in the room all day, quietly hiding from the rest of Thomas' family, you yawn again and ask, "Can I come with you? I could help with the chores, if you'd like..."

He shakes his head quickly, much to your confusion.

"Why not? It can't be that--" You stop in your tracks, your mind becoming more clear as you realize what 'chores' meant, "...Oh. They're not 'normal' chores, are they?"

He shakes his head again, slower this time.

You look down to the bed, picking at the cotton sheets as you're reminded of yesterday's events, saying nothing else as Thomas leaves you alone.

You lay back again, staring up at the ceiling as you feel the fading warmth of the bed underneath you, too awake to be asleep and too tired to be awake.

Your eyes drift closed again as your mind drifts between dreams and reality, conjuring up a half asleep day dream as time marches forward around you.

You barely register the sounds of bedroom doors opening and closing as you continue to rest, only jumping awake when a door slams from down the hall, followed by loud stomping down the stairs.

The world almost spins around you as you sit up, rubbing your eyes as you slowly remember who and where you are.

Your racing heart calms down as you slide to the edge of the bed, letting your bare feet graze against the wooden floor, already warm to the touch thanks to the Texas heat seeping in from the windows and walls.

The sun was well up at this point, kissing the tree tops as it graces the world with unrelenting rays of blistering heat.

You can hear voices drifting from the floorboards, but the words were lost in the air by the time they reached your ears.

You stand, stretching your back, the ache of sleeping outside for almost two months slowly becoming an afterthought as you grab your bag, shifting through the couple of outfits you had to find the cleanest options.

Eventually, you settle on a pair of basketball shorts you stole from one of your best friends years ago, and an old rubber band to tie up the shirt Thomas had lent you the night before.

With nothing else to do, you take a seat on the floor beside your bag, digging through it for a moment before pulling out a small, worn book, most of the pages bent and crumbled from being marked over the years.

You find the latest dog ear, searching for your last spot and resuming your reading.

You weren't sure why you bothered anymore, you practically knew the book by heart at this point, but that never stopped you from flipping to the front page and starting the story over.

As you read, the smell of fresh, homemade food begins drifting in the air, making your stomach rumble and snapping your focus.

Voices still carried from the first story of the house, the loud and obnoxious tone of one voice in particular telling you that Hoyt was home and it wasn't safe to leave the room.

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to focus again as you ignore the growls of stomach, sure that soon enough you'd get something proper to eat.

Sure enough, within the hour the slam of the front door catches your attention once again, the sound of squealing tires following close behind.

You lower your book, listening for any more sounds, the house much quieter now that Hoyt had apparently left.

A few more moments and the soft footsteps shuffling across the hallway becomes clear before Luda Mae opens the bedroom door.

You look up at her from your spot on the floor, book still in your lap.

"Come on and get you some breakfast while Hoyt's out." She practically orders, her voice stern and unforgiving as she turns to leave again.

You stumble as you stand, quickly following behind as to not disobey her.

She leads you down to the kitchen where she already has a full plate made at the table, going to finish washing the dishes as you sit and enjoy your breakfast in silence.

The plate was piled high with food, a large part of it being left uneaten, your stomach still unable to handle such large porportions.

Afterwards, she tasks you with taking the scraps to the barn, a chore that Hoyt often 'forgot' to do that always added onto Thomas' long lists of responsibilities.

"You're gonna earn your place in this house." She tells you, sending you out the back door with an almost full five gallon bucket of old food.

The smell reeks, hitting you in the face as you lug the bucket across the yard, towards the old, worn barn sitting out back.

The animals stir as you come in, unfamiliar and unhappy with your new presence as you drag the bucket in front of the pig pen.

They squeal, darting to the opposite side of their pen as you swing the bucket over the metal fence, dumping the scraps into their trough.

The smell of the rotten food catches their favor as they suddenly forget their fear of you, quickly moving to enjoy their meal.

You sigh, tossing the bucket back towards the front entrance to lay until you were done with your chores.

You head to the opposite side of the barn, pulling open the old feed closet with a yank, the old wooden door scraping harshly against the barn floor.

Inside sit two barrels, a faded blue barrel with its lid tightly closed, and a newer looking black barrel with its lid haphazardly laying on top of it.

Per Luda Mae's instructions, you move the lid off the black barrel, grabbing the old coffee can and scooping up a large amount of corn feed for the chickens.

As you grab the small red bucket, however, you're met with a small furry figure darting out of it and across the top of the feed.

You jump, yelping a little as you pull your hand away, dropping the bucket back into the barrel.

The small animal barely darts out of the coffee tin's path, only stopping long enough to try and run up the smooth inside of the barrel and fail.

You move closer again, staring down into the barrel and quickly realizing the small scurrying animal was in fact a small field mouse that snuck in for a snack and got stuck.

You chuckle a little, reaching back down in there, hands cupped as you attempt to catch the frightened creature, "Come here, buddy!"

Your friendly gesture is ignored as the mouse runs faster, not realizing you were simply trying to help.

You chase it around the barrel for a moment, finally managing to cup it in your hands and rescue it from the barrel.

The mouse makes quick work of paying you back, wiggling violently in your hands before chomping down on your thumb, the bite nothing more than a pinch that doesn't break skin.

You ignore it's futile attack, briskly walking out of the back entrance of the barn, carrying the mouse a decent distance away before kneeling down and opening your hands, allowing it to dart away with ease.

You wipe your hands on your basketball shorts and head back to the barn, only to find a chicken sitting on the edge of the open barrel, helping itself.

"Hey, come on now!" You shoo the chicken away, "I can't spend all day keeping you guys out of this thing."

You smile as the chicken flies away dramatically, hitting the floor and running as if you had personally threatened its life.

Taking a hefty scoop from the barrel, you start spreading it across the open barn floor, watching as chickens scatter and fight for the corn.

You toss the coffee can back into the bucket, making sure to secure the lid this time before shutting the heavy wooden door.

Two chores down, one to go. You turn around completely, facing the hen house.

It was a small, brown structure, clearly handmade, but well put together nonetheless. There was a small doorway big enough for you to step through, but you ignored that for the small, chest high cabinet-like, latched doors.

Unlatching the locks, you pull the handle up, the small door swinging open and giving you perfect access to the nests full of eggs.

You start gathering them, collecting them in your shirt to carry.

None of the hens seem to mind, all too focused on the food you just threw out to care that you were stealing their eggs.

You latch the doors back, careful to navigate the barn with a shirt full of eggs, remembering to pick up the scrap bucket on your way back.

You toss the bucket on the ground behind the back door, pulling it open and climbing up the few concrete steps inside and into the kitchen.

"Here," Luda Mae skips the greeting as you come back in, gesturing to a bowl she had set beside the sink, "Put them in here."

You lift your shirt a bit, gently letting the eggs roll into the bowl, careful not to break any.

You let your shirt hang again, looking down as you realize it was now covered in dirt and chicken poop.

"Oh, man..." You tsk, pulling the shirt out to look at it, "I didn't even think about it..."

"It's alright, it'll come clean. Help me wash these eggs." Luda Mae dismisses your concerns, pointing towards the sink full of warm water.

She hands you a rag to use, and goes back to cutting potatoes for dinner.

You work in silence for a while, gently scrubbing the eggs clean and setting them on a dish towel beside the sink to dry, listening to the old music playing on the radio Luda Mae had turned on sometime while you were outside.

"So..." Your curiosity eventually gets the better of you, and you shuffle on your feet as you stare down at the eggs, "How long have y'all lived out here?"

"A long time, darlin'. Too long to count. My daddy owned this place, and his daddy before him. This home's been in our family for generations."

You nod, thinking about her response for a moment, "...Doesn't seem like there's too much out this way."

"Not anymore, no. These days it's just us, and the Millers up the road."

"Really? There's no one else? No one at all?"

She shakes her head, not looking up from the cutting board, "Not since the slaughterhouse shut down. That was the backbone of this town, everyone worked there, even Tommy for a while. But, eventually they started cuttin' corners and it didn't take long for the health department to notice, what with all the people gettin' sick. So, it shut down, and the town left with it."

"So, why stay?" You ask, egg forgotten in hand as you get caught up in her story.

"This is our home, we couldn't give it up, Hell, we couldn't afford to leave even if we wanted to. And poor Thomas, it took years for people just to leave him the hell alone, we couldn't put him through movin' to a whole new town."

"But how can y'all survive out here? What if someone gets hurt, or you need a part for a car, or new clothes or something?"

"We manage just fine." She simply replies.

"...And the murder?" Your voice is quiet as you ask, watching Luda Mae freeze for a moment before continuing.

"Our family does what it needs to do to survive."

"But, why? What could murdering that poor girl possibly provide!?"

"Watch your tone!" She scolds you, glaring at you through her thick glasses, "You will speak ill of this family if you want to stay here!"

You sigh, looking down, "Yes ma'am, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I just... Don't understand. What could y'all possibly gain from it?"

"You'll understand in time." She turns back to the potatoes, seemingly content with your apology but not interested in continuing the conversation.

"Right..." You mutter, turning back to the eggs, deciding to drop the subject for now and focus on the task at hand.

its so scary to put yourself out there but a SINGLE message saying "hi i loved what you made it touched me in some way" makes it all worth it 10000%

Here me out, what if Thomas's s/o dressed up as him for Halloween,

Like what would he do

Honestly, I feel like he'd be really apprehensive about this.

After all, Halloween is the time people dress up as scary or spooky things, and you're the very last person in this world he wants to see him as something to be scared of.

Don't get me wrong, he's well aware of how terrifying he can be. He knows he's scary. But he doesn't want you to think that. He doesn't want you to view him as a monster.

Even if you were to try to explain that you don't find him scary, that it's just for fun, I really can't see him being okay with it. I think it would upset him a lot, especially if you didn't listen to him and did it anyways.

Should I compulsively dye my eyebrows while there's no one to stop me (wrong answers only)

Just straightened my hair so I can dye it and this length is so gender

Something about seeing Thomas' hands and waist in the same frame.