Hiraeth

<————>

My body feels detached from my soul as my eyeballs crawl to see Thomas standing with a longing look in his eyes. It’s then my lips form a smile, “Tommy, you're all dirty, aha go wash up before suppers done”. He grumps a bit before lugging to the bathroom down the hall, as I stood up from my desk and stumbled into the kitchen checking the steak for its perfect little pinkness, “Perfect” I whispered to myself.

My fingers moved with precision as the blade cut through potatoes like butter, Tommy always had sharp knives. The water next to me on the stove rumbled as I quickly added the cut potatoes to the boil. Thomas looked over with his hands damp, his eyes glanced at the pot before he rubbed his belly.

“When are you not hungry?” I chuckled, his eyebrows raising to say ‘you see the size of me’. I shook my head before removing the steak from the pan, then the onions and mushrooms to add on top of the steak. “Fuck this looks delious, don’t it?” I smiled at my creation as I waited for potatoes so I could eventually mash them. Tommy’s head shook up and down rapidly as he tried snagging a few mushrooms, that was before I had his hand smacked “Hey- Wait Tommy, patience love” my eyes wandered his body and hair before I smiled “give me 8 minutes and ill have a plate set”.

My hands gripped the pot as I mashed the potatoes down and added some green onion. Adding some to Tommy’s plate I set the table and prayed before we started the feast. “Good steak huh?” I gave him a look, a props to the butcher as you’d say. His mask creaked as I saw his eyes smile, somebody was enjoying a yummy supper. My jaw mechanically chewed as I watched birds and cars down below out the window, life was moving forward and I was at peace with Tommy. Then we moved forward and started washing dishes and letting the house rest for the night, just like me and Tommy would, stretching into bed after our night routine.

I stared at his chest, bare and hairy, moving up and down with a perfect calming motion. He stared up at the ceiling just being in the moment, I admired that, his peace and numbness to the world around. His jaw, not clenched but relaxed with the rest of his face, which was bare from the suffocating mask and showed his scars and deformities. “Love you Tommy” I gave a small smile as he turned and held me close “mmm” he hummed to me and let his eyes rest.

My eyes drifted to the window before sitting back at my desk, refusing the comfort of bed. The city was lit during the darker hours as cars moved fast in the slowness of the night, life continued, it was so beautiful. My fingers tapped my phone before I slid my airpods in, gradually turning up music that could touch my heart. “Tommy the night looks nice” I whispered, but never heard a response, then I turned and saw my bed empty, it never held anyone but me.

My heart ached a bit before I let my eyes drift back to the window, life moved forward but…I felt at a standstill just watching, with a feeling of-

———

I haven’t posted in awhile, i haven’t really felt any inspiration especially with school and work. This was just a short story I typed up quickly about Tommy but also more about my feelings right now in life. Little more on a sad side but also strange feelings I’ve never felt much before, I’d like to say it’s loneliness but it’s not true loneliness (or doesn’t feel like it).

I’m not here to sob or type out an essay just to give you something, at least something to make it feel like I’m doing something with I’m by myself.

Anyway, I might do more little things like this but i can’t ever promise anything💀 I’m the type of person who can be certain about anything and too lazy to write or make a new bot. (Ps: I was too lazy to reread so if there’s mistakes don’t bash me too much🙏🏽🥲).

Cutie~.~

Thomas Hewitt’s Father?

Lately, I’ve found myself questioning what Thomas Hewitt’s father would look like. We know Sloane was his biological mom which I can see where he got some traits, but this all makes me wonder who his father was? What job did he work? Did he resemble Thomas more? And why didn’t he go back when Sloane died?

Some ideas of why Tommy’s father may have never been talked about is possibly because Sloane was a single mother and could’ve been raped or had been involved with incest, or even ran away from abuse? Might be far fetched but there has to be a reason why no one spoke about Sloane (not even the hewitt’s) maybe Luda Mae didn’t even want to tell Thomas?

I’d like to hear thoughts about this though.

^ Tommy’s Biological Mummy💕

I have an issue with CapCut. I was in the process of making an edit which I haven’t done for a while but I noticed that I couldn’t download my edit because I didn’t have premium.

Tell me why they started making basic OG features premium?

Things I’ve used for so long now are behind a paywall??? If anyone knows any good editing apps either on computer or iPhone let me know🙏🏽😭

-

Anyway, here’s the edit I managed to get out by screen recording. I apologize deeply for the lack of effort, but I was dead ass so done with the app I almost deleted it (which I will be doing tonight💀).

Finally got it!

Been trying to find a Texas Chainsaw Massacre comic but my city never has any, unless I order which is a fortune✨✨✨

Visiting Toronto and went to The Beguiling and found book 2 which I freaked out about, now I can build more of my tiny collection😝

_

Also might make an edit of Tommy with this Alexisonfire song, been obsessed with it

Thomas Hewitt question!

^ I have a really big idea that Thomas is wearing these bad boys under his pants. I know it’s random but I just thought of it all of a sudden.

The 1960-1950s ads of men’s boxer shorts kinda really make me think like, wasn’t it common for men to have these in the rural areas or at least older men like 30+? Maybe i’m just weird or I find it more attractive especially for men back then to have these on.

~ I’m really going through it😭💀

^ Now this is where the fantasy started…it hasn’t stopped since.

Yummy

I’d like to say this is quite short and morbid, so if you don’t like blood and stuff I’d suggest not reading.

Yes, I did randomly think of this sick shit on the spot and craved to write about something gross and bloody, because that’s Thomas Hewitt right? Anyway, this is quick and simple, maybe I’ll clean it up later and work it into a story, but we’ll see what happens.

[No, I didn't read this over, apologies it's 00:20/12:20pm]

Enjoy🩸

HOT MAN ALERT

Now, after months of internet searching and getting deep into the Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2003-2006. These have to be my…FAVOURITE, images of Thomas.

Show out to the people on Tumblr who do those gifs of Thomas Hewitt cause I deeply enjoy it 💚

~

He’s literally the burliest man I’ve seen, ugh sometimes I wish I could lucid dream.

~

Anyway enjoy another edit of Tommy I did a little while back, I will try to make more since this whole tumblr thing makes me want to edit again.

Haven’t written in so long but lots of people write on here so why not give it another try. I do bounce from one part to another when writing so apologies for that, I’ve been on JanitorAI way too much :)

Hopefully you enjoy this somewhat or get inspiration from it.

~ hiraeth

Slaughterhouse Silence

Sweet, glassy eyes of a cow stared up at the bolt in the cage — innocent, full of life — but you had to kill the damn thing. That was the job. Raise it, feed it, then put it down, red cherry blood running down after the shot. Wiping your apron clean, you turned back to the metal tables. Through the racks of knives and tools, you watched the heavy men move with skill and routine, every motion practiced and precise. Hell, you’d only been here three months, but with your father’s experience behind you, you knew enough: kill the cattle, hang ’em. That was all that mattered.

“Fuckin’ retard, get that goddamn cattle over there!” Paul barked at Hewitt — the odd one among the men.

Hewitt never said much. Hell, he never said anything. A huge man, quiet, with a timid, twitchy demeanour that didn’t match the power behind him. He stood at the table with his hands hanging near his stomach, eyes fixed on you — those steel-blue eyes that never seemed to look away. Then a grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he lumbered toward the carcass you’d just dropped. Without hesitation, he heaved it onto a hook and dragged it over to start cutting.

You lingered, watching. Blood poured from the neck as his blade worked. He sliced with a rough sort of rhythm until the hide peeled free. Head, tail, hooves — each fell with a heavy thud. The floor was sticky, the air hot with iron, but he moved like he belonged in it, like he was born for it. You caught yourself staring too long — admiring, though you’d never admit it. His mask clung eerily close to human likeness, yet not quite, paired with those ragged clothes and pale skin that only showed in flashes.

“Y/N! Fuck are ya doin’? Get killin’, bitch!” Paul’s eyes burned at you.

You jolted, trembling as you turned back to your work. But before you looked away, you caught Hewitt again — still watching you. And you knew it wasn’t just your imagination.

-

Clawing off your apron and shoving it in the locker was always the best part, especially after being forced to stay late and clean as punishment — all because you were “slacking” for a single minute. Before leaving, you glanced down the other row of lockers and spotted Hewitt standing there, just breathing, still as stone.

Your right boot slammed against the metal by accident, and his head snapped toward you. You froze, staring back. For five long minutes, neither of you moved — just watching each other. Finally, you forced a small smile.

“Just saying bye. See you around, Hewitt.”

A little wave, and you were gone, then he followed, taking the same turns as you, and speeding up when you did. By the time you got to your car, he slammed into you. Bodies clashed, your clawing and scratching did little to nothing. Your screams ripped from your throat as he tried to grab at you. He played along, small teeth sat on his bottom lip, creating a disgusting smile, but then he put his calloused hand over your mouth, keeping you quiet. Footsteps walked past before he let his hand drag slowly from your lips, to your neck, then your chest, gripping onto your baby blue blouse. “Hewitt-” you grunted, kicking him hard in the crotch, which got him to topple over you, but as you rolled over trying to desperately crawl away, his hand gripped your ankle tight before pulling you slowly towards him. Your eyes stared at his while he held that smile, his hand rubbing his apron, lingering around his crotch.

-

His thick fingers fumbled with his apron as he let it drop to the side; his hands came to his pants, which he unzipped, showing off white briefs that made your eyes widen; you knew what was happening. 

He pushed his hands roughly onto your jeans, rubbing the light blue material before he popped off the button. Your dry throat swallowed down saliva that formed, but it didn’t relieve you; it just made it drier. His breathing was heavy and smelt off as he unzipped the jeans to reveal a black bow on laced panties. He made a quick inhale in shock as he pulled the jeans down more, taking seconds until he was lying down with one leg bent up, rubbing and licking down there. The moon blurred with the stars as you gripped the hair on his mask, attempting to take it off, but his hands grabbed yours so tightly you let go. Trying to get him off failed each time, but you didn’t give up; you just kept trembling and weakly hitting his head. Hewitt snapped his head up at you suddenly and sat on his knees, pulling his pants down with his briefs. You couldn’t look but saw it anyway, a probably 4-inch pale uncut cock, your eyes making him grunt and stroke his cock roughly and clumsily. His touch caught you off guard as his fingers dragged your lace panties down, splitting your lips apart to immediately force his cock into you. He missed the first time, which made you yelp, but the second time, he got it in, and you groaned in pain. He smiled at your sounds and awkwardly thrust into you before pulling out all the way just to force himself back in. He didn’t even know how to have sex, but decided to fucking rape you, what a psycho.

When his cock came out, you grabbed it, twisting it before his fist slammed the side of your skull, making the night sky fuzzy and high-pitched sounds in your ears. Grabbing onto his shoulders for support and letting him continue unwillingly, you started to feel good. He went faster and grunted manically. “Uh, Jesus,” you mumbled, letting your hand slide up to your cross necklace, gripping it for the last bit of innocence you had. When your hands let go and fell on your head, he groaned, and warmth spread inside you rapidly. 

He didn’t even stop to enjoy the moment, just let semen drip off his uncut penis. You stared at his parts for a moment before his blue eyes connected with you, which made him stand up to pull his briefs and pants up. He tied his apron back on and bent down, putting your panties on along with your jeans. He thumped over to your car and opened the door before coming back to hold you and set you in the driver's seat. Hewitt quietly shut the door and lingered his eyes on you before slumping forward and walking away. He slipped through the trees into the darkness that also spread in your vision from exhaustion. Hewitt, the only name you say in this forgotten shithole town, “what a horrible man you are,” you whispered to yourself.

I have no idea what to even post here but I’ll start with something I’ve been doing for a little while…ta da ~edits~

Also here’s a little bit about myself~

I’ve become a huge fan of Thomas Hewitt (2003-2006 movie versions), I’m really into motorcycles, anything vintage and country, and I’m also an army gal.

I will provide you with my secret which isn’t so secret but if you’re into definitely drop by:

(ps: ignore the CapCut logo, my rusty ass editing forgot to remove it)