littlecorpselady

[littlecorpselady]

there’s still blood in your hair.

[littlecorpselady]

Running out

House of wax (part 1)

Note- admittedly a bit longer than my usual work and more of a observation what'd life in the sinclair house would be like but Bo so yk

Steam floated towards your face, the warmth overwhelming your senses as the hand waving in front of your face moves before your mind can fully process it, instincts are a funny thing. No amounts of evolution could ever cover up what nature had implanted. Pouring the boiling water, the tea bag took its effect as you hummed, settling down the kettle and grabbing the fridge door. No milk, again.

Everything always seemed like it needed replacing in Ambrose, from basic fridge supply to the squeaky doors all around the house. Not that it bothered you, aware enough to know that the nearest shop was a good drive away and Bo didn’t always have time to drive back and forth for the smallest things but now that you think about it, what is he even busy with? Besides obviously his “work” with incoming tourists, it feels like he’s never home, even the side of his bed sits there practically in dust. You were sure from occasions where you’d watch the show for about 20 minutes before losing interest, that the tourists didn’t come every day, only every now and then really. It wouldn’t even always be groups either, sometimes just one person, already a body at times, lifeless when Bo brings them in.

Did he idly work on cars, work on lightbulbs and broken windows around the town? How long does he need to even spend on renovations, the place looked as abounded as it was anyway, nobody rarely even goes in the houses.

So where is he most of the time? Right on cue, the front door swings open and it’s followed up by a heavy set of footsteps. Pushing the fridge door shut, you peek in the doors direction just to find Vincent there, holding the door open for Jonesy to happily trot her way inside. He wasn’t allowed out without either talking to Bo beforehand or having his guidance, like a child. He catches sight of you tilting your head in his direction asking a silent question, something Vincent himself would usually do. He couldn’t help but add it to the list of things you had picked up from being around the place for the last couple of months. After all the kicking and sobs deep into the night, it all fizzled down to acceptance and soon picking up on the small almost unnoticeable habits if it wasn’t for Vincents observative skills after years of silence and solitude. Instead of properly acknowledging your inquisitive look, instead you receive the typical wave of dismissal as he makes his way into the kitchens space with his gaze lowered and body fixated in a slumped position. It was nothing like how his twin walked, Bo moved with pride clouding around him with his posture straight and eyes up. Maybe it was in his nature, maybe it was a habit from years of practiced interactions with tourists. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he had always been that way, forcing a smile and a charm to slither through life getting his way.

Vincent dug through the drawers in search of something, you tapped his shoulder in hopes that this time you’d be properly acknowledged. In response to it, he uses his fingers to indicate he’s looking for the scissors. Turning to your left, he gestured to the bigger pair held up in your right hand upon holding them up to him. He takes then and leans against the counter to snip off a few loose strands off his jumper, it takes him a good two minutes seeing as it properly got caught up in a branch or just ripped up. They were getting old anyway, none of them bought anything new, Bos boots even had a little rip at the front of them from sprinting and hard days filled with ‘work’. The last time any of them bought any new clothes must’ve been Bo, after you arrived and managed to settle down, he handed you a pile of clothes one day after spending weeks wearing his old shirts which he had to force you into wearing. Either he bought them specially with you in mid, the idea you preferred, or they came from the piles of suitcases collecting dust in the old sugar mil. As you re focus in the moment rather than staring off into space, you notice the small rip on the hem of Vincent’s sweater, nothing sewing can’t fix. Again, your hand moves before yourself touching the rip at the hem of his sweater, surprisingly soft to the touch beneath your fingertips.

His blue eye behind its masks socket takes a moment lingering on your hand before meeting your gaze at the same time. “Hold on for a moment.” You turn back to search through the drawers from the top to the bottom ones. It takes a moment before you hopefully pickup a forgotten looking biscuit tin and pop the lid off, the material’s you had hoped for lying there unused for what looks to be centuries.

Vincent leaves momentarily to go and grab a chair to pull into the kitchen. His posture slumped down and hands neatly laid out in front of him on his lap, fingertips lightly fidgeting and picking at the skin around his fingernails whilst watching you sew away. His gaze isn’t judgmental nor is it impatient, the opposite actually, much politer than most you’ve come across, he waited with patience and a more curious gaze almost. The moment was interrupted with the swing of the front door promoting your head to pop up almost suspiciously. It shouldn’t be suspicious; you did nothing out of the ordinary than have an interaction with Vincent longer than a second. His eyes lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary before tilting his head to the side in the same direction where Bo stood, grumpy as ever. Not only grumpy but also tired. He kicks the front door shut with a light kick before heading for the living room, you make a note to lock the front door, even if the chances of having an intruder were next to nothing. Patting Vincent on the leg to gesture you were finished, his eyes slowly go back to you, but he doesn’t move, at least not for a minute. Unbeknownst to you, as his hand reaches halfway out before pausing, stuck on whether it be weird if he continued. After a second, whilst your sat back on your feet and sorting out the contents of the tin with the intent to keep it in your nightstand for past time, his hand is on your hair giving your head a gentle well meaning pat. Despite the initial confusion, you got the point that it was supposed to be a sort of gesture meaning gratitude, his hand pauses after it and retreats by his sides now in a loose fist. You stand up giving him a smile and a “no problem” before taking the tin with you out of the kitchen. Midway through your journey up the stairs, Bo calls out your name from the couch, your name this time and not the usual nickname. Bo raises a brow to the nervous look on your face as you come over to him, sat manspreading comfortably on the couch, one hand patting his right thigh.The moment was nice, enjoyably silent before yet again the front door swung open and this time it was bo

“what’s wrong sweetheart?” His tone is calm, relaxed even despite that previously grumpy look he came in with. “Nothing, it’s just. Your home tonight?” He smiles and you feel silly for even asking, before you can tell him never mind, he replies “Of course i am, acting like I’m never in.” He leans back, spreading his legs a bit but before you can sit down in his lap, he instead gestures for you to sit on the floor in front of him. Once seated on the floor despite the initial reluctance, he leans forward with one of his hands reaching out to run through your hair. It wash soft beneath his calloused fingers, recently washed as well making it glide and run through his fingers with ease. After about a minute, he grabs a brush from the bedside table, presumably Vincent's neglected brushes before combing it through your hair. The room stilled and your eyes fluttered shut. He was being nice, too nice. It'll run out eventually and you know it will, eventually everything does.

[littlecorpselady]

men are so pretty when they're angry

[littlecorpselady]

my toxic trait is that i’m fully convinced that if the slashers were real, they would let me live

[littlecorpselady]

Just a silly dude

[littlecorpselady]

Belonging

Pairing : Bo x reader part 2

Warnings : stalking, brief smut at the end, Stockholm syndrome, barely proof read

(Pinky promise, will add a link to part 1 eventually)

You were excited upon greeting the morning ahead with newfound productivity for once, packing everything needed for a old fashioned trip through the surrounding forest. That morning you had kicked off the floral sheets and pulled open the curtains all the way inspecting the admirable view surrounding the cabin. No big city traffic and horns blaring but mother nature in its natural state, far away from mass amounts of pollution.

Today's Lousiana heat was especially sticky so a pair of shorts for today wouldn't hurt, your thoughts hummed happily to just yourself before setting out.

Birds chirped freely filling you with a sense of ease. The sun peeped through the leaves, yet ignoring the blarings sun's beams beating gown on your exposed shoulders and legs, you continued aimlesslyforward. Eventually a river comes into view, flowers blooming proudly in a variation of fronts, decorating the scenery along the river, inviting a dip. Settiling on the edge after slipping off your trainers and socks, you take that invitation happily. Your shoulders slumping back without the burden of social pressure or anxiety, no prying eyes to your knowledge.

Leaned against the drivers seat door, Lester watches from a long distance on the road side with a hand resting on his walkie talkie, weighing his choices. Watching the woman sat by the river, mind too far wandered off to notice him. After about a minute or two he continues on with his day, hopping into the drivers seat and slipping out the walkie talkie to bring the new 'tourist' resting not too far from Ambrose to Bos attention. Giving plenty of time to prepare the show.

After enjoying the cool water flow between your toes, you give a good shake before slipping back on your socks and trainers to make your merry way over to the nearby road, hoping a car with stop. Sticking to the roads side for safety, the walk is only a couple of minutes of long before a truck pulls up besides you, not even needing to signal to it to stop as a man in a green cap rolls down his smudged trucks window.

"Need a ride?" He flashes a grin wide enough for it to come off across as just silly rather than creepy.

"If that's okay with you." The moment you answer, he pops open the passenger door and gestures for you to make your way around to it. Hurrying over to it as if he's going to change his mind any second now, you climb in, a foul stench of death greeting you at the door. He must've noticed the way you Instinctively scrunch up your nose because he replies fairly quick.

"Sorry, trucks seen better days!" The statement is followed up with a heartedly chuckle, finding it amusing. It's charming enough for you to wave off and provide a polite smile to the man, even if he has dried up roadkill blood on his cheek.

"It's no problem at all, could be worse. Really."

"Where you heading?" He follows up, already starting up the truck again and driving straight ahead down the long lonesome road, as if with his mind already made up.

"Anywhere your going I guess. Which is?" Yet again he seemed amused with your answers, occasionally turning a gaze in your direction.

"Ain't going nowhere in particular sweetheart. Just picking up and collecting roadkill off the side of the road. Putting food on the table." It seems a bit more obvious to you now with the clarification, his truck stained with grime and decorated in all sorts of trophies from animal bones strung up the the ceiling and a Bowie knife planted in the dashboard. Before you could speak though, he beats you to it.

"But I know a place called Ambrose. Old but charming, i promise ya." Right on time, he passes a billboard, dusty with age but as clear as day exclaiming "Trudys famous House of wax!" In big letters. Feeling a bit curious, you nod to the strange man and he continues on for a good while, his route memorised.

Pretty soon he pulls up in front of what appears to be a washed out enterence. He gestures ahead indicating the towns up ahead.

"Forgot this ways washed out, mind helping me with the brakes a moment?" He turns to you and from the corner of your eye, you could swear he's undressing you in his own way. A shiver trickles down your spine, crawling into your nerves and setting them all off. Nevertheless you agree but a bit more reluctant this time around.

Getting out of the drivers seat, he makes his way around the truck and surprisingly you manage to trust the process enough for him to open up the passenger door for you.

Realistically it didn't take long but upon some overthinking, it definitely stretched on by a couple of minutes helping the man you learnt to be named "Lester" during a exchange of goodbyes. Turns out there was a town as promised, a rigid sign stating 'Ambrose' confirming it as you passed it. The town is lit up by noise such as distance chatter and the sound of cars, you trusted your ears enough to not question the empty streets. It was a Sunday after all, it wasn't uncommon for small towns to be getting in a few prayers.

Making your way around, although the museum stood proudly in the distance caught your interest first, the gas station attracted you over strongly at the sound of some Marilyn Manson blaring on a radio. Peeking in through the glass, nobody was in sight so pushing open the door which set off the typical bell above, you called in out of curiosity.

"Hello?" No answer despite the music filling the dusty place.

Maybe everyone really is at church today?

Making your way up the road and approaching the church up ahead your path, a man in a dark suit stood leaned against the door with a cigarette being placed between his lips. His hair was neatly slick back and his eyes shined a familiar blue as his head tilted up in your direction upon the gravel crunching underneath your trainers.

"Hey?" You called out, almost immediately regretting the bold approach as his gaze burnt a hole into you.

"I know you, your the man who helped with my car yesterday." He pauses, the suspense following shortly behind him before he nods, allowing you a sigh of relief.

"Names Bo Sweetheart." You almost didn't want to give your name back, not with how smoothly his pet names came, laced with charm.

"Nice meeting you again Bo, names Y/n."

His gaze becomes much more considerable, sizing you up momentarily before flickering his unfinished cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his heel into to gravel before straightening up. Just how you remembered he stood up talk but somehow much more prideful, his look suiting such pride as he extended a hand. Taking it in yours, he damn near engulfs your hand whole in just one shake, his skin calloused with hard physical work and lifes experience under his belt. Stood before him now, you felt amateur assumably a good few years younger than him.

The rest of the day is spent mutually sharing a conversation from outside of the church to the outside of his house. That day unknown to you, today was the first time anybody walked out of Ambrose with their flesh uncoated in layers of thick wax. The first to be able to even set foot back to the outside world and at the same time share a encounter with Bo sinclair.

You beat the moon before it could set to your cabins front door. Greeted by the warm lighbulbs glow as you forgot to switch it off before departure. Dropping the backpack by the front door and sliding the door shut behind you without locking it, your make your way to the kitchen for a much needed cup of tea. It's not like you needed to lock it anyway, besides the little town a short drive away, it wasn't like there was much else around. You were safe you coaxed yourself just once before forgetting about it. The unlocked front door.

You didn't know what compelled you to get up in middle of the night but something did. Something compelled you enough to slip out from the comfort of the floral sheets and make a trip to the curtains. Peeling them open ever so carefully for a peak outside, it took a moment but you did see something. Squinting hard enough, it took the shape of a unmoving truck just parked outside the cabin. With your heart spiking from zero to pure dread, you ducked away from the window to catch a breath. Surely it was just the night playing tricks again. Peeling yourself from the wsll and back to the window, it was definitely a truck but its now you realise the drivers seat looks empty. Or atleast you could swear it is from here. Before anything else, a pair of calloused hands grab from behind. One hand wrapping around muffling your scream and the other holding you tightly by the waist against their chest. Their breathes were slow as gathered by the slow rise and fall of the chest against your pace as their grip over your mouth and nose hardened. Eventually it became too much effort to breath or even see and everything went dark as your body went limp.

Drifting In and out of consciousness, at first you felt yourself being carried down the stairs over what could only be assumed to be a shoulder. Next you felt that rare breeze as if being taken outside, the sound of a truck door opening before your paralysed body was being laid down. Nothing else was taken in before your vision went dark again for another couple of minutes. The next time you opened then was when your body was hoisted over somebodies shoulder like a lousy sack of potatoes, to be carried and tossed to the ground. Up some steps you went before a door was kicked open and shut. This time determined to focus on atleast something and that you did, a brown scruffy pair of worn old boots with a hole starting to form at the front of one of them. From there you watch with a fair amount of concentration as said boots ascend up a wooden staircase up to a hallway.

Before you could think much further, your hands clench at his back, pushing away from him with little to none success because all you earn is the tilt of his head. The only petty victory being that at some point you knocked off his cap during his journey up the staircase. The moment he pushes open a bedroom door, he drops you onto your ass onto a bed. Instinctively, you scootch yourself backwards to put as much distance as you can between yourself and..Bo. It's the same man yet again, the charming road side mechanic, the well dressed church goer from yesterday. It all pools into you at once, the realisation and the intense burden of regret.

"Mornin' suger" that once addictive Southern accent suddenly feeling invasive as his previously welcoming smirk takes a much more sinister from right before you. His eyes glinting with cruel promises as he surveyed the paralysed mess laid out before him. Another one of his playthings to pull apart and put back together until he either got bored or it fell apart for Vincent to reconfigure. Another piece of art among many others, condemned to Ambrose until the wax fizzles away into meaningless nothing.

That's how you become the empty vessel you are today, curled up by his bedroom window. Too lost in the pits of your mind to even acknowledge Bos truck parking in front of the house. Too restless to even take notice of the presence lingering behind you until it reaches out. Until he reaches out, resting a hand on your shoulder and lightly shaking it. It was strange. The way he looks at you now, it's different or atleast you think it is. He used to look down at you, not like a human being but much more as if a animal, a mutt. Something he can train and re mold into pure obedience at his side, something he can wrap a collar around and pull it around. Now you could swear up and down there's atleast some interest In his gaze. Lust, curiosity, whatever it was you hoped it came with praise, any form of approval.

In the past, your first couple of weeks here, you would've rather taken a layer of wax to the skin any day than take any affection he had to offer. You don't how it happend but the past you shrivelled up inside, confined and repressed to the back of your mind. Now all you could crave was his hand soothing through your hair and a firm kiss to the forehead, leaving behind his mark. Even if it wasn't visible, you could feel the burn it left in its wake.

Tonight his warm body pressed flush against yours as he pulled you back by the hips against him. Smothered in his praise as he breathed stings of approval by your ear, only for you to hear. In contrast to his approval, his hand are rough all over, proven especially as he pushes your head down impossibly further against the mattress, your cheek melting against the sheets as he rubs a thumb against your core earning a strangled moan. Something about this time felt special, less like the feeling of just being fucked and more like the feeling of being made love to. A slither of belonging creeping inside of you and planting itself as he buried himself forward inside of you once more, his hand pulling you head back as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, one last muffled groan before he eases his tongue past your lips.

For once, it felt real. The sense of belonging and security.

*thanks for reading 🫶

[littlecorpselady]

Beware

A house of wax fanfic part 1

Bo x reader

•Note- Wasn't too sure how to end this and i will write more for part 2.

Enjoy 🫶

Nothing was real anymore.

Not the prying eyes, not the town. Not even yourself some days. You believed in nothing anymore, there was no such thing as god in Ambrose. The church was just a display case, meant for decoration. God wouldn't step foot in it and you would've have either if you knew what was beyond those dusty billboards, withered and exclaiming in false excitement"Trudys famous House of wax!". Famous among the dead, that's for sure.

It always felt like summer in Lousiana, the heat prominent in forms of sweat and restlessness from day to night. The sun hid upon the nights arrival but the heat never shyed away, thriving in its cause of sighs and agonising groans, tossing and kicking the sheets off fussily to no appeal. But there would be a exception once every blue moon, the wind providing some breeze, the kind to make to sigh rather than shiver.

Those kind of sighs usually meant Bo would be at ease for atleast a day or two, something to be appreciative about on that rare instance. He'd kick off his worn boots and plant himself on the couch with a cold one, his free hand either idle in your unkept hair or petting your thigh. Always he'd grow restless after about a few beers and it became anticipated for you, putting down another empty bottle among many others and make his way out to the back porch where grass stretched for miles ahead, standing tall and uncut. He'd grumble incoherently to himself as he slipped a cigarette out and rest it between his chapped lips for that momentary sense of belonging. Sometimes when daring enough, you'd slip yourself into his arms on his lap, imagining yourself somewhere safe. Somewhere secure.

When he wasnt around minutes in hours were spent by the window providing a front seat to the show, staring without a real observation in mind. Too lost in thought to bother with the real world anymore. Vincent came by on occasion, looming gloomily by the doorway, his blue eye over staying it's stay before disappearing off into the night. Either knowing his presence was acknowledged or trying to sneak by without being caught. It wasnt too important to dwell on. You would watch intently from Bos bedroom window as Lester's truck occasionally drove through into town, on his way home when he wasn't knee deep in animal corpses and gore, staining his hands with more than just the innocents blood. Atleast he didn't gague out eyes, atleast he didn't rise suffering for pure sadistic ecstasy unlike bo. He took pride in all of it, sick twisted ecstacy.

If you thought back hard enough, you could almost recount the past in perfect detail how your new present came to me. A time when you were once unshackled both literally and figuratively. Squeezing your eyes shut, hugging yourself comfortably, your mind drifted off into wonderland.

It was a hot day, sweat coating your skin in a thick sheet as you hoovered over the open car hood, letting out a string of frustrated curses. Right in the middle of nowhere as well, your car just had to break down with nothing but tall forest stretching on for miles on end. You were on your way to a inherited cabin from your deceased mothers will, lost out in the forests depths somewhere in the south of America. It's not like you were in a rush but it was still a piss take. Nothing seemed to be off upon first inspection. There was no way there was a gas station for miles around, not unless one fell convinently into your lap, a pity blessing from the man upstairs himself. You could only dream.

A couple of minutes pass of clueless searching for the problem when a voice from behind startles you enough to jump in your skin, one with a honey sweet southern accent. Coated with several tea spoons of suger and charm. "Can I help you ma'am?" You felt like a deer in headlights as you spun around on your heel to straighten up from being bent over the past twenty minutes, putting a face to that picture perfect all American accent. The man before you, towered at somewhere around 6 feet tall, his jawline impressively strong and brunette curls sticking out from beneath a truckers cap stating 'sweet bird 69'. You might as well have had your mouth agap because your words came out before your thoughts. "Yes please!" You chirped earning a honest chuckle from him and a crinkle in the corner of his blue eyes, you melted into a puddle of humiliation for the rest of the encounter. Thankfully he ended up finding what was stuck inside of your car as he took a brief look underneath the hood, he showed you what was stuck but you were just too lost to actually listen. From there you spilled everything, where you were going, your plans, anything to keep up the small talk but eventually he did put a end to it. "Nice meetin' you and all Y/n but I better be headin' off." He grinned as he spoke, and you nodded in admiration. "Of course, thank you for your help."

The rest of the drive back to the cabin felt bizarrely lonely now, unknowing of the rusty old truck not too far behind on your tail. Unknowning as you sleep peacefully unaware in the comforts of your bed, of the truck parked just outside the cabin. Observing the outside of it for a couple of minutes with a arm handing out the open window, tapping against the truck idly before driving off into the night.

[littlecorpselady]

Pov: Derry 🎈

Beep beep Richie

[littlecorpselady]

Chick habit

A house of wax fanfic

-Bo sinclair x reader

-Summary, Reader works at a old roadside bar eventually sharing a conversation with a regular by his truck

A familiar feeling of dread fills your gut to the brim, the jealousy overflowing once more. Her golden locks flowed gracefully even in the wind, her green eyes were enough to send even the most bitter old man into a haze. Her skin was angelic as well as her smile. Nothing crooked, not a single imperfection beneath her nails. You watched momentarily from a safe distance, flashing the man besides her a smile as sweet as honey. Nails digging into your palm, it panged a sour feeling in the pit of your heart. You don't know why you were watching but over the course of regular visits you found yourself noticing him. Every other day he would appear on that stool, calling you over for a good few beers. Besides the usual truckers and odd group of tourists, barely anyone stopped for a drink at the aged bar by the road side. Aging did it no favour, the bathrooms stained with graffiti and walls of the verge of falling apart.

A hour passes and by then they were gone by time you were finished serving another customer. Both the man and the honey sweet woman flirting over a few drinks. You were never gifted with the ability to strike up a conversation, let alone flirt. You could only dream. Nothing but a spectator in somebody else's world.

Finishing up your shift and throwing your back pack on, it was fairly dark outside. The night around you prickling your skin with a cold breeze, and the front scattered with a few motorbikes and trucks. Upon approaching, there was a truck parked next to your car and leaned against said truck was a dark figure. Upon getting a few steps closer, what came into view that that Sam's man, a cigarette in his mouth as he lit on the end. His drag of the cigarette was slow as he lifted his head up, staring off into the distance. He looked thoughtful, his blue eyes fixated on the distance before you came over to your car. Fishing for the car keys somewhere in your cluttered pocket, his voice suddenly fills the silence, his tone casual and volume quiet.

"Never got around to askin' your name."

It was somewhat clear he was speaking to you but a turning around, you just had to check. His expression is expectant, waiting for a answer rather than just a stare.

"Y/n, and you?"

"Names Bo."

Nodding and fully turning to come face to face with who you now know as Bo, he extends a hand to you from his pocket. His hand damn near engulfs yours in one shake, his skin rough from presumably hard work. It's then you catch a glimpse at the scarred skin wrapped around his wrist, but only a glimpse as he retracts his hand.

"Got a couple minutes?"

You nod and soon he's slipping you a cigarette, holding the ligter up to light the cigarette from between your lips. Each in and exhale is taken slowly enough so you can stick around longer with him. He asks you a few questions about yourself, they're fairly casual much like the answers you provide. In return you show interest in his life, asking your own questions. Though he doesn't go into much detail besides being a mechanic in a small town, a quiet life as he calls it. Eventually you get comfortable enough to ask him.

"What happend to that girl you were with anyway?"

Bo simply raises a brow from beneath his cap. It's a small gesture but it's enough for you to stumble over yourself.

"The one back in the bar. You left with her didn't you?"

"You were watchin'?"

Immediately you become defensive, trying to shake off the accusation. You pause at the sound of a rumbling chuckle, it practically goes through you as he waves a dismissive hand.

"I'm just kiddin', no worries."

Bo flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the twist of his heel as the chuckle fizzles into just a small grin. He straightens up his posture and shakes his head finally after a moments silence. The goodbye which follows feels too quick, almost rushed despite knowing otherwise. The end of the conversation past due. Yet before he disappears driving off into the night, he leaves you with his phone number. It was scribbled onto a old receipt previously forgotten in the depths of your pocket. The crumpled paper being the evidence you weren't just daydreaming for once.

[littlecorpselady]

More slasher headcannons ♡

Including thomas, stu, asa, art and carrie

Thomas :

-A nu metal enjoyer

-His favourite childhood memories is cooking with Luda

-Poor eyesight but really good hearing

-Always ends up stitching or sewing his clothes back together

Stu :

-Would be a fan of dead meat

-Would constantly argue with strangers online in horror movie debates

-As a kid he'd always steal his parents dvds or find some other ways to watch horror movies

-Owns a few chunky rings

Carrie :

-Loves to practice art (watercolour is her favourite medium)

-A closeted lesbian

-She doesn't get sarcasm but will attempt to laugh or smile along

Art :

-Doesn't like having her hair tied up

-Secretly loves dancing

-Secretly sneaks into circuses for funsies

-loves cartoon characters without mouths who express themselves with gestures

-His hands are dirty and scarred as fuck underneath the gloves

Asa :

-Watches animal life documentaries or has it on in the background whilst he works

-Despises parties or loud events

-Like thomas his eyesight is shit with or without the mask

-Owns almost exclusively simple turtlenecks or sweaters

[littlecorpselady]

Do you have a masterlist?

Not rn, might do soon tho

[littlecorpselady]

Random slasher headcannons

The sinclair brothers, Billy lenz, rusty nail, tiffany valentine

Note - might edit later if I can be bothered

Bo sinclair :

-Snores and dad sneezes really loud

-Holds grudges practially forever, even if it's something really small because he's bitter

-Fairly good at photography

-Used to have interest in playing guitar but lost patience

-a dog person

Tiffany valentine :

-Has always had a massive doll collection especially as a child

-Would absolutely adore monster high dolls

-Prefers black and white horror movie's like whatever happend to baby jane and psycho

-Dogs are ok but she's a much more of a cat person

Vincent sinclair :

-Although sculpting is his favourite form of art he also loves music and literature

-Loves the fabric of wool hence his sweater collection

-Would love Pinterest and he'd have several boards like 'scenery' 'photography'

-Both a cat and a dog person

Lester sinclair :

-Typically listens to country music but secretly also loves pop music

-Lives outside of but not to far from Ambrose in a cabin

-Enjoys watching comedies

-Massive dog person

Billy lenz :

-Beyond touch starved, both in childhood and as a adult

-Sometimes he secretly watches cartoons

-Doesn't like dogs at and they don't like him, it's a unspoken grudge

-Listens to christmas music all year around

Rusty nail :

-Either In his late thirties or early forties

-Doesnt know how to cook at all after years of eating at almost exclusively dinners

-Would absolutely own a cat if he had the ability and time to take care of it

-Loves board and card games

[littlecorpselady]

Rot and decay

House of wax fanfic

♡♡♡

Rain pricked your skin, hair clinging messily to your forehead. Each stumble forward was slow and uncoordinated as your vision grew blurry. There was no home to return to now, just wandering around aimlessly hoping to eventually find a road. The forest stretched for miles around, trees going on endlessly around you. At some point, the stumbling becomes a pathetic attempt at running. Carrying yourself as far as you could go until your eyes grow heavy as well as your body. Soon collapsing against the wet grass, effectively finding a new low.

Two old boots appear in front of you the next time you manage to re gain consciousness. They looked worn down with decades of work.Tilting your head upwards, from your own blurry vision his face seemed obscured but his cap stood out. It was a noticeable green and his wife beater was stained with all sorts. Before you could soak anything else in, everything goes dark again.

All of a sudden your not on the wet grass anymore, instead in a truck now. You must've sat up too quickly because pain shot through your side, hand Instinctively going up to grab at it. Except this time there was bandages in place of the wound. They were loosely wrapped as if done in a hurry, a poor one at that. still beating bleeding out at least. The pain eventually dissolving and fizzing out into sweet numbness. Slowly regaining your senses, it dawned on you just how awfully the truck reaked of rot and decay. The ringing in your ears replaced by the blaring county music from his radio, his hands tapping along rhythmatically with the music as he drove. He must've realised you were up at some point because now he was occasionally glancing back at you, smiling as the two of you lock eyes.

From that day, you've come to know him as Lester. He was a enthusiastic speaker at times to say the least, but he wasn't so bad. Not at all in comparison to the other two. But in your eyes he became just as bad as them when he betrayed you. At first, you thrived during recovery, speading your days with lester at his cabin. Being fed and being treated not like a animal for once but like a actual human being. Someone deserving of love and to be cherished. The memory now brought nothing but pain, having to relive the betrayal upon remembering it. Recounting the day he drove you to Ambrose, the car ride was eerily silent and he was noticeably distant. If you knew what you know now, you would've thrown yourself out of that truck and ran, as far away as you possibly could.

Time in Ambrose was agonisingly sluggish. Days purposely dragging on, minutes bleeding into hours and then weeks. It become too painful counting the days, giving up on time as a whole. The binds around your wrists and ankles scarring your skin, leaving behind constant reminders. The binds varying from the restraints on Bos gurney and the rope he kept locked away in his drawers. The rope was more uncomfortable but in the long term the restraints left lasting scars. Neither was good for you, but on the occasion hed let you choose between the two, you'd have to pick the gurney. It was always out of mockery. Mocking the lack of control, being under his grasp even when he wasn't around. Bo never said it directly but it was known he adored seeing you helpless, how those watery eyes grow weak with hours of sobbing. It only became more unhealthy with time, a sadistic infatuation even to a point where he was marking you. Cigarette burn marks he'd press hard into your skin, welts and all sorts. Some were by your own hands. Your own nails clawing at your skin. Self inflicted pain reflecting the hurt on the inside. You had escaped your previous life just to fall a fate worst than the last.

[littlecorpselady]

Hi my love!!! I hope you are doing well!

I was wondering if you could write a story (maybe NSFW if that's okay?) about Joy Ride's Rusty Nail (aka my husband 🥹) and a woman called Scarlett, that would be absolutely amazing! But please don't stress if not! 🖤🖤

Hope you are having an amazing day/night!!

-Thank you for being so polite! :> hope you like it

Budweiser and cheap cologne

-Rusty nail request

Summary: after a long drive, scarlett and her friend make a short stop at a road side bar. Scarlett notices a particularly interesting trucker sat alone in a booth.

Rain filled the cars silence with light tapping against the windows. The two sat in utter silence, Scarlett staring off mindlessly out of the window and her friend focused on the road ahead. "Hey look." She gestures up ahead earning the attention of her friend. "Can we stop here for a while? I'm dying for a drink." Without missing a beat, her friend pulls up parking by some other cars in front of the bar.

"Sure, I've been needing a piss anyway."

"Why didn't you just pull over for one earlier?"

She receives a certain look from her friend in response before the awkward moment I'd dismissed and they both step out of the car. At the same time a truck pulls up, parking as her friend tucks away the car keys. On the way in, Scarlett holds the heavy door open for the man behind them. Before he walks straight past she receives a small nod out of recognition, the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne lingering on him as he went past.

She couldn't stop looking over her shoulder back at him. The trucker leaned back in one of the worn out booths, two empty beers settled on front of him and the 3rd one in his hand. With his cap tilted down and the lighting dim, his face remained obscured adding to the mystery to his presence and the curiosity hanging over her. Sure it wasnt suprsing for truckers to come and go, especially to a bar on the side of the road but something seemed different about this one. "Scarlett." Suddenly her friend appears and leans casually against the counter, getting her attention with a light shoulder shake. She turns back giving a absentminded nod and a "Mhm?". "I'm headin' off back home, you coming?". The silence is brief before she shakes her head. A few more drinks couldn't hurt, she'll just hitchhike her way back home. In defence of staying, the past couple of days has been undeniably rough with the workload her boss dropped onto her shoulders and general life. With the shrug of her friends shoulders, she makes her way out without another word leaving Scarlett alone nursing a half empty glass of whiskey.

In a slow repetitive motion, his thumb rubs carefully against the scarred skin of his knuckles, eyeing up the woman across the bar. Now on her own. A minute or two passes and seeing as she's still alone, he rises from the booth. Settiling a few seconds later into the stool besides her. He catches the way she tries to discreetly sneak a peak as he speaks, his deep rumbling voice catching her interest. The order is just another beer, a budweiser this time. "What's your name darling?" Without turning his head, he can feel her eyes, the way she pauses nervously before speaking. "Scarlett."

"Pretty name. Rolls off the tounge nicely." He then repeats the name back, as if testing it out. Warmth pools in her abdomen, staring a bit more shamelessly at his toneless expression. Sure his eyes were still mostly obscured but this close up it was easier to see the lower half of his face. "What's your name?" After a swig of the beer, he settles down the bottle and tilts his head towards her direction. "Names Rusty nail." She nods along despite the odd name, just accepting it for now. He then continues on to gesture behind him back at the door before speaking. "Motels few minutes away if your interested?". Normally she'd decline a strangers advances, but that voice stirred something in the pit of her abdomen. Inclining her enough to accept with a quick nod.

Back at the motel, he wasted no time tugging down and tossing her panties aside. Pressing his palm against her pussy, rubbing firmly as she rubbed at his straining hard on. Soon sliding down onto his knees as she settled down on the edge of the bed, pushing her legs wide and pressing face first into her core. Slowly, his tounge dragged across her slit, leaving behind a sloppy trail of saliva. His hand trembled excitedly parting her folds to get another dragged out lick this time at her clit whilst his cap is knocked off aside and her hand runs through his hair, grasping and tugging at it. She whined as he repeatedly pressed his tounge flat against her clit, letting out a deep groan against her pussy. Pulling back after a few minutes to watch the wriggling of her hips as he violently toyed with her clit and pressed his digits against the g spot. The moaning becoming more needy as she came close to Cumming before whining at the loss of stimulation as he slides his fingers out.

Slowly, a sadistic grin comes to Rustys face as he rises up from the floor to his feet. Taking his time unbuckling and sliding his belt from its loops as he spoke, shoving her back down on the mattress "Not yet Darlin'. You'll have earn it first."

[littlecorpselady]

Requests/asks are open. 🫶

*Note- still trying to improve on writing skills

[littlecorpselady]

Coney island baby

House of wax fanfic - part 3

Content: Stockholm syndrome, mentions of Vincent, mostly focused on readers mindset tbh

Note- didn't really proofread sooo :p

You spent hours scrubbing just as you did wandering around. The walls around weren't as grimy or old as the last ones but they still confined you. Just in a bigger space. It was hard to tell what bothered you more, the silence or the isolation. Besides the odd run in with Vincent, you have yet to see anybody else. The odd attempt to try to interact with Vincent when he isn't busy wasn't worth the silent glare you received in return. It was hard to tell whether or not the silence was a choice or something permanent. It wasn't like you cared all that much anyway, coping was just difficult. Said coping consisted of reading one of the multiple books laid around the house, usually the cover had to be dusted off first or scrubbing at the hard woods blood stains. Occasionally though, youd flip through the old Polaroids to get the picture of Bos upbringing. They displayed various general activities, playing on the piano and with legos along side his brother but the stuff you found told a different story. Specially the highchairs in the museum, something you stumbled upon whilst Bo worked on a broken light in the other room. The restraints were painted with dry blood and scratch marks. It was easy to put the pieces together, the highchairs spoke enough volumes for themselves.

The heavy sound of the gravel crunching outside, snaps you hard into reality again. Interrupting your session of daydreaming as the front door swings open and in steps a disgruntled Bo. The door is kicked shut behind him without being locked, not really necessary anyway considering the circumstances.

It's hard to tell whether or not he noticed you or he's just plain ignoring you but Bo walks right past into the kitchen. His hand clings to his side where blood seeps through the overalls. The grumbles are followed up by several curses as he sloppily tends to it. Pouring disinfectant on it and soon yanking open drawers until he finds the painkillers. From a distance it was hard not to watch, it was a sight you would have soaked in happily just not too long ago. Now you couldn't help but feel a pang of pity tug at you watching him like this. Almost tempting enough to offer help, maybe reassurance. Almost. Instead just watching as he stumbles off out of sight to do god knows what. Nowadays all you did was watch, sit idly by the side lines taking in whatever bo did. Watching him chase down tourists from the living room window or sometimes when you were allowed in the garage watching him work under a rusty old car. Not only did you watch but you also admired him. It was hard not to at times even if you forced your own thoughts to shame yourself for it. No amount of shame could stop these thoughts from flowing through. It was almost a infection, disgusting and spreading. It spread rapidly, each day becoming harder to cope with reality. It was too much to accept at times. Sometimes despite the shame which followed, it was just so much easier to let your eyes squeeze shut. Pretend there was nothing wrong, nothing off with your life. The warm sheets of his bed feeding into your delusion, the strong scent of his cologne and the lingering cigarette smell.

He disappeared that night to go smoke away the pain in his side. Slowly blowing the smoke out and watching it fade off into nothing. Shifting his focus to watching the pale night sky as you settled down besides him, unsure and slow. His eyes only flicker over momentarily before returning to the sky. Barely a recognising the presence settled by his side but enough to let you know you were atleast acknowledged this time around. Clasping your palms together tightly and following his mindless gaze, the few seconds passing by begins to feel stretched out. Nothing interrupts the silence either, atleast not until the cigarette is stubbed out and he rises to his feet. "Comin' in?" After a moment, you nod and rise up to your feet as well. The porch light flickering off with the flip of the switch and Bos hand ushering you inside. Resting on your lower back before sliding over to your side and pulling you close besides him. Instead of his hand leaving a clinging cold mark, his touch felt almost warm. Warm enough to be mistaken for tenderness, the sweet embrace of being loved.