#lester sinclair thoughts

[loveandmurders]

I can't stop thinking about the song What could have been by Sting.

It happens to perfectly describe Trudy and Bo's relationship.

I am the monster you created

You ripped out all my parts

And worst of all, for me to live

I gotta kill the part of me that saw

That I needed you more

I can't imagine the trauma behind the way Vincent and Bo got physically seperated by Victor. But in a way, Bo is the one who suffered the less, compared to what happened to Vincent's face.

I can't imagine the guilt Bo feels every day though, even if it is not his fault. Deep down, he knows it. Trudy knew it too, but she still never loved him.

She couldn't, even if she would have tried.

She made him angry, she broke him physically and emotionally over and over again, until there was nothing left but a sadistic and violent man.

Even if Bo would have tried to get away from the murders, he couldn't. It was too late, it was his fate, it was what his mother made of him.

And even if he was aware Trudy never loved him, he still safely kept her body inside the church and replayed her funeral over and over again. It may be an attempt to get free from her, to finally let her go and to not desire her love anymore. Or it may be just like when you scratch an old wound and you make it bleed again. He knows he needs her, but he lost her forever and even if she was still alive, even if she could see everything he is doing for her and for her project, she couldn't love him.

Because she didn't have it in her.

And he knows it.

I hope you know we had everything

When you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play what could have been

Oh, what could have been

They could have been a happy family despite everything.

Vincent was the little artist, Bo could have been the responsible big brother and he could have helped the family. Lester could have brought so much light and joy in the family too.

But Victor and Trudy didn't have it in them to be good, even less to be good parents. Their love was toxic and selfish. Maybe they loved each other, but Trudy certainly only loved her art.

More than once Bo cursed his parents, his mother. He just wanted to be loved, he just wanted to be part of something. He was jealous of Vincent, of course. But at the same time, he loved his twin too much and Vincent had always been there for him.

Bo's anger was directed toward his mother. The pain was (and still is) unbearable. He could imagine how life could have been. When she died, he wondered if it wasn't his own hatred and violence who killed her. Maybe everything he felt turned into a disease and destroyed her body like she destroyed him.

Maybe it was her own hatred and violence who killed herself, but Bo never thought about it, because things were always his fault.

In the end, she died and Bo killed Victor.

No one won, and everyone lost.

Why don’t you love who I am?

What we could have been

He used to scream at her, to threaten her, to try and beat her. When he grew up things went worst and even Victor had issues fighting him off. Truth to be told, Bo would have never hurt Trudy. He just needed her to see how hurt he was.

But she didn't care.

Now, every day, he goes seeing her at the church, asking her why she couldn't love him. Everything could have been so much happier, if she had at least been able to pretend. He could have even been a better person. Truth to be told, he didn't particularly enjoy the killing, he just didn't believe he deserved a better life.

His mother told him too many times he was a monster, so it had to be true.

And he loved her so much.

I am your ghost, a fallen angel

You ripped out all my parts

I couldn’t care what invention you made me

'Cause I, I was meant to be yours

And because the boys loved her, worshipped her, they couldn't let go of her work. Vincent didn't want to leave because of his face and because he had to keep going her art. Bo didn't want to leave because he couldn't let go of Vincent and because he wanted his mamma to be proud of him, wherever she was (probably in Hell). Lester left but came back everyday for his big brothers. Trudy never loved Lester either, but she never hurt him, because she didn't care about him at all.

She hated Bo because he was a monster just like her, because she could see her own sins in him, because she could see herself in him. And she hated herself and she hated this stupid and pathetic life she had. She had always wanted more, she wanted to be famous and that was why she forced Vincent to promise him he would keep going her legacy.

She hated her life, but she was scared to die.

And she died painfully.

Vincent cried, Bo didn't but shattered even more, Lester was lost.

Victor went even more insane.

Funny how a woman who had no love was adored by the four men in her life. Such a waste.

I hope you know we had everything

When you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

In the very end, Bo and Vincent die in the House of Wax. Vincent hugs Bo and puts his face where it used to be in their mother's womb. It could have been the metaphor of a new beginning in a better life, but it is just Vincent looking for comfort as he loses everything.

They die because they spent their life wanting to please a woman who broke them; they even die inside of Trudy's legacy. All her creations are gone now, even her boys.

Lester is left alone once again, as if even death forgot about him. He may be lost, but he is the only one who has the chance to get free from this past.

With a bit of luck, Bo and Vincent will never find Trudy in Hell.

Despite everything, they still deserve better.

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

What could have been

[homicidal-slvt]

"I could fix him"

Ok but- what if he could fix me? What if a single hug from him would make it all feel better?

[jamesdegriz]

Sometimes I just want to abandon everything and

Move to the empty town to live with a cute artsy boyfriend and his brothers helping them murder people and makinf art

OR

Take a job as a nanny in a remote part of a country to take care and love an adorable manchild living in the walls

OR

Go camping to the Lake and stay there forever in the cabin with the huge teddy bear of a husband (who sometimes murders people, but it's not important)

[dominik528]

When I first viewed the ending to House of Wax (2005), I thought the revelation of a third brother, which had no foreshadowing other than revealing who exactly was the guy who led the characters to the town in the first place, was pointless, and simply there for the sake of a final twist.

But after reflecting on it, I've theorized that it's meant to show the good, bad, and both, within siblings: Carly Jones and Vincent Sinclair represent the "good," Nick Jones and Bo Sinclair are "bad." And then there's Lester Sinclair, who, while he does lure victims to the town, still appears to have compassion--at least, for his dog (for all we know, it's likely that they killed the litter of puppies, since they were seen as wax figures, and decided to spare the grown one as a pet). Therefore, a sibling who has good and bad in him.

[devil-doll13]

Some House of Wax/Sinclair Brothers Headcanons I’ve had in my head that I’ve already shared w the server but… The rest of the world deserves to know.

Related to gif, Vincent is the ‘medical expert’ of the house solely because he’s the one who knows the human body/first aid the best. I mean, in the movie we see him stitching up those wounds on what’s-his-face pretty neatly, right? This is also part of the reason why he automatically reaches for Bo during this scene.

Given his birth date was sniffed out by fans before me (1970) and this man looks like he’s a cosplayer sometimes, I truly believe Bo idolised Elvis Presley as a kid, and maybe a bit as an adult as well. He still enjoys listening to rock n’ roll from that era when he’s in a good mood. When he’s in a bad mood, or doing his business™️ in his sex dungeon/basement, that’s when the Marilyn Manson comes on.

All of them have had an alt phase of some sort. For Vincent it was goth, for Bo it was rivethead/industrial rock and for Lester it was grunge.

Les is also down bad fucking horrendous for alt people in general. Yes, he has magazines stuffed down his sofa, yes, they used to be Bo’s.

Bo is allergic to nuts. He also gets really nasty hay fever. I also think possibly him having sensory issues/picky eater could’ve led to meltdowns as we see in the opening. And really, it’s the 1970s/80s do you expect his parents to understand or sympathise?

In contrast, Lester has the constitution of a Greek god somehow and has probably eaten some absolutely vile shit as a kid.

I know most people interpret Vince as sweet and shy but… While I do think he’s more measured and withdrawn compared to Bo, I also think being the ‘favourite’ in terms of being Trudy’s little art prodigy contributed to a sort of spoilt brattiness esp as a kid. (Exhibit A: The ‘Bo Sux’ fridge art in the opening) As an adult, there’s still a sense of entitlement to him. What I’m saying is that he’s an insufferable art nerd lol. He definitely isn’t toothless and his arguments with Bo aren’t necessarily one-sided, he’s just capable of ignoring him when he wants to; he’s used to his twin, after all. While I do think he’s capable of being soft, don’t forget this man killed a woman in cold blood and recorded it. I also think he can get snippy enough during arguments to combat Bo’s generally sharp tongue.

Speaking of which, everyone in the (surviving) family knows ASL. It’s necessary when communicating with Vincent.

Again with how prolific a killer Vincent is, I suspect he may be the one who does the most murder out of all of them. Bo is the handsome ‘face’ of Ambrose, and Vincent is right under the seedy underbelly with a knife, ready to spill guts (and then sew it up again once he’s got them in the workshop). Lester is similar to Bo in that he mostly just guides people toward the town, but I do think he gets his own notions sometimes.

From a more x reader perspective, Bo strikes me as a man who’s most charming when he’s not trying to be. Of course he can put on an act for victims/tourists, but those are just empty words, y’know? Also, has a kinda cheesy side.

I know everyone has Jonesy as Lester’s dog but… I think she’s really Vincent’s. In the movie, she’s always seen with Vin or in the house of wax itself, it’s only when he dies that she goes to Lester. I actually think Les is a cat person (tell me he wouldn’t actually encourage their hunting habits for his own personal collection…) while Vin is a dog person. Also, hot take I think Bo loves snakes and reptiles.

Given that the House of Wax and Ambrose itself is a big ol’ art project, and we’ve seen the state of the church (permanently in the middle of dead ass crusty Trudy’s funeral) I think there may be a sort of difficulty letting go of their past in the brothers, maybe some hoarding as well (I mean we haven’t even seen some of the other houses in Ambrose but this is just speculation). We get the sense that Ambrose is a place where time stands still, forever, until its conservationists finally die. Idk I’m talking out my ass here

[its-monster-mash]

Didn’t Your Momma Ever Tell You not to Talk to Strangers

Bo Sinclair X Reader - Part Three

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Rough Sex(Consensual), Allusion to past non-con(not with Reader)

Part One Part Two

You stir awake, confused with your body aching, in an unfamiliar bed. The last night’s events come back to you when your eyes settle on the man sprawled out on the bed next to you.

Bo.

He looks so peaceful, almost angelic where the light peeks through the heavy curtains and illuminates him. You can’t help but to lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

A sharp inhale, and a soft sigh, and he’s settled deeper into sleep’s embrace. For a moment, you think about settling back into the blankets yourself—it would be so easy to settle into the crook of Bo’s arm—but you’d skipped lunch yesterday, and then missed dinner in favor of satisfying more urgent hungers, so the treacherous bastard that is your stomach forces you to stay awake.

Still though, it’s hard to tear your eyes away from him, now that you have a moment to take in his form in relative stillness.

You know it’s rude to stare, but there’s no one awake to catch you now, so you let your eyes wander over him unreserved—more studying him than anything. Your breath catches in your lungs when you get a good look at his wrists—you’d thought you’d seen scars, but you’d been so preoccupied with the rest of him last night that you didn’t really let it sink in.

You can tell by the thickness and coloration that these are old scars, and you shudder to think of what exactly could have done that to him.

He lets out a small whimper in his sleep, and that reminds you that your little habit is still fucking creepy when the subject of your fascination is asleep—perhaps moreso.

He makes more small sounds of distress, and you wonder if maybe you should wake him—would that be more kind than letting him sleep?

Probably not—he exerted himself quite a bit last night, taking you through round after round of sticky, sweaty, bloody sex—honestly you’re surprised the two of you aren’t sticking to the sheets right now. Smoothing the mess of his hair out of his forehead, you lean in to press another soft kiss to the clammy skin there, and you’re relieved to see him calm, relaxing back into a deep sleep.

Food.

The cavity inside of you aches from the emptiness, and it’s loud and insistent enough to take precedence over the ache of your muscles, and the bruises he’s left all over your body like a lover’s lipstick.

There’s an old Korn shirt folded up beside your pillow that most definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep—you figure Bo must have left it there for you. You don’t bother to go and find your bra, pulling the soft-worn shirt over your head like a trophy.

Damn.

It’s been a long time since you’ve worn someone else’s clothes, and you relish the way it feels against your skin.

No sense in bothering with bottoms—the shirt is long enough that you’ve worn dresses shorter than it—and you doubt Bo will complain if he’s got easy access when he does wake up.

Especially if he comes downstairs to find you fixing the two of you some breakfast.

He laid down a few ground rules before you fell asleep in his arms last night—you could help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you made enough to share, but under no circumstances were you to go in the basement or to go outside without him.

You’d made fun of him about his Mysterious Basement, and something strange flashed across his eyes before he explained that there was a lot of dangerous old equipment down there that he didn’t want messed with—and that the locals are not the friendliest with outsiders, so it’s just best that you don’t go tryin’ to explore the town without him.

He didn’t need to explain himself to you, though—you’re plenty happy to follow his rules since he’s kind enough to let you stay with him after shit hit a boiling point with Tasha and her annoying little boytoy.

It was her that wanted him to come along after all—but all he’d done was bother you.

She had the fucking nerve to be mad at you for it.

You look forward to stopping in to see Bo every time you make your bi-monthly road trip, but yesterday you’d hoped that reminding Tasha, and Corey, of your crush on Bo would get them both to lay off—but Corey pushed you over the edge.

Maybe Tasha was right—maybe you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger; Bo is still technically a stranger to you, after all—you don’t even know his last name.

But if you’d stayed, you couldn’t guarantee that you’d behave—at least this way you could stay in a house with someone you want to trust—rather than getting kicked out on the side of the road after you inevitably wiped that smirk off of Corey’s face.

You don’t think of yourself as particularly violent—but there’s only so far you can be pushed before something snaps in you, and you know it—it’s just safer for everyone if you stay here with Bo until Tasha can come back without him.

But none of that’s important right now.

Now the pressing issue is getting yourself acquainted with his kitchen—first thing’s first—you’d better get it cleaned up before you start digging around for ingredients. It feels a little tacky to get cooking and then only wash what you used when he’s got so much lying around.

Ooh, better start coffee too, you might need it by the time you’re done cleaning up.

It’s not that you’re judging—you’ve seen worse messes in the college dorms, to be honest—but he never did discuss any kind of rent for your stay, so the least you can do is take care of this much.

You’re washing up the last of the mugs when the sound of the kitchen door startles you, and an equally taken aback man stands in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes that you’re sure match your own.

Bo didn’t tell you anyone else was supposed to show up, but the sheer confusion on the man’s face at the sight of you suggests he’s actually supposed to be here.

“Hey,” you force yourself to start talking, very much wishing you had bothered to find your shorts. “Uh…I’m a—guest—of Bo’s.” You’re suddenly very aware of all the bruises on your body, and you hope to god the man has the decency not to mention them.

You hold your still-soapy hand out for him to shake, and he accepts it a bit awkwardly.

“Blink twice if you’re here against your will.”

For a moment he looks serious, but at the look of utter confusion on your face, he breaks into a wide grin and an easy laugh that makes you feel a whole lot better.

“I’m just foolin’ wit’cha.” He drops his duffel bag to the ground, taking a seat at the table as he studies you. “So you’re Bo’s mysterious girlfriend—heard a lot about you—wasn’t sure you actually existed.”

“Not sure I’d use that word quite yet.” You offer an awkward laugh, turning back to the sink to hopefully hide the way the thought of being something more than just a convenient Fuck Buddy to Bo makes you blush.

“Bo would.” He grins, seeming to relish your discomfort. “Name’s Lester—I’m the baby brother.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smile at him, tugging the hem of your borrowed shirt. “I didn’t know Bo had brothers.” Of course, you don’t actually know very much about Bo to begin with.

“Yeah, there’s two of us—Vincent is Bo’s twin, but uh—I don’t know if you’ll see him any time soon.” Lester squints, squeezing his lips together like he’s suddenly not sure exactly how much he’s supposed to tell you—given Bo apparently hasn’t bothered to fill you in on much of anything.

“Why not? Is he away?” Your brow furrows; it’s really none of your business—but he seemed to offer the information readily enough.

“Vin’s shy—he’s one a’ them reclusive artist types.” He drums his fingers on the table. “He’s real talented though; got a lot a’ work down in our Momma’s ol’ Wax Museum.”

Your eyes light up, and suddenly you find yourself forgetting to be self-conscious. “No kidding; I saw the outside of the Museum when Bo drove me up here, but I haven’t been in.”

His eyes narrow on you, his expression becoming ever-so-slightly hesitant—you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t spent so much time studying body language over the years. “Just how much of the town have you seen?”

“Not a thing,” you admit. “I’ve only ever stopped by to see Bo—and last night he said he doesn’t want me going down into town without him.”

“Oh.” Lester nods slowly, like things are falling into place for him. “Okay, that makes sense.”

You’re about to open your mouth to ask more questions, when Lester perks up. “Hey, you’re the one always bringin’ Bo snacks and stuff—did I interrupt you gettin’ ready to cook breakfast?”

There it is.

“I was just getting the dishes out of the way before I start looking at ingredients.” You dry your hands off on your shirt. “Bo said I could help myself to the kitchen as long as I made enough to share.”

“Oh, so now he’s all about sharing,” Lester huffs, and you can’t help grinning at the way his arms cross like a petulant child. “Greedy bastard won’t let anyone else try the goodies you bring him.” He does his best to look all big and mean and grumpy, and you snort when you realize he’s doing an impression of Bo. “She made it for me—get your own girl.”

“Oh he didn’t,” you laugh. “That’s so rude.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’!” He throws his hands up into the air. “So—you want me to help you find anything? That oughta earn me a seat at the table, right?”

“Sure, Lester.” You smile at him, crossing your arms playfully as you picture Bo hoarding your gifts and calling you his girl. “I’ll bake some muffins if we’ve got the stuff for them—that’s a sharing food.”

“Wow, you are sweet.” He pulls over a chair to climb on, getting a better vantage point to peruse the cabinets. “The hell are you doin’ wit’ Bo?”

“Well, he’s been sweet to me.”

“Sure as hell have,” Bo grumbles, wandering into the kitchen in nothing but boxers and socks.

Your chest tightens at the sight of him, thinking about what Lester had said. “I made coffee—Lester was just helping me find the ingredients I need to make a batch of muffins.”

His expression softens, and he sidles up real close to you, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Coffee, fresh baked muffins, and a pretty girl gettin’ it for me—man could get used to that.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist. “There’s a can ‘a pumpkin in the third cabinet over.”

That’ll occupy Lester for a second; long enough for Bo to lift your shirt up for a quick peek—relishing the marks he’d left on your body—evidence that may as well spell out ‘Bo Sinclair Was Here’. He chuckles when you cover yourself back up at breakneck speed—pleased that he’s the only one you’re eager to go showin’ off for.

He takes a step closer, pinning you between the kitchen counter and his large frame—he relishes the way your hands splay across his chest when he presses a less than innocent kiss under your ear. “Sorry I forgot to tell you we ain’t alone on Laundry Day,” he whispers, his hot breath washing over your ear before he teases you terribly with a lascivious nip. “Otherwise I’d take you right fuckin’ now.”

“Still in the room,” Lester groans in mock irritation, tossing the can of pumpkin at Bo.

He’s fast as lightning when he turns to catch it, and annoyance flashes across his face. “Hey dumbass, you could’a hit her.”

“Oh no way,” Lester laughs. “You wouldn’ta let your girlfriend get hit.” He mocks Bo with an exaggerated show of over the top kissy noises, and Bo whips the can back at him.

“I’m gonna hit you if you keep runnin’ yer damn mouth!” Bo makes the sourest damn expression you’ve ever seen—not unlike a kid in full-tantrum mode—before he picks up Lester’s duffel bag and tosses it to him—a little more gently. “Go do your fuckin’ laundry—shit’s stinkin’ up the place.”

“Oh because roadkill is so much worse than motor oil.” Lester rolls his eyes, but ducks when Bo grabs a mug out of the dish strainer. “It was nice to meet you!” He shoots you one last smile before running off into some other part of the house.

“You guys are such brothers—”

You’re cut off by Bo’s lips on yours, and you gasp when he picks you up and sets your ass down right on the kitchen counter. “Sorry,” he grunts, not sounding remotely sorry. “Couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Bo!” You shriek, weaving your fingers into his hair when he pushes his way between your thighs, his hot tongue dragging through your folds and across your clit.

Your pussy is still sore and swollen from the absolute punishment it took from him last night, so you’re already overstimulated when he slips a finger inside, growling like an animal as he sucks on your clit.

You can’t help squeezing your thighs together around his head, and apparently that was the wrong move, because his mouth leaves your clit in order to bite down hard on the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

He grins when he hears you yelp.

He leans back, taking a good eyeful of you sat up on the counter, your face flushed with need—for him—with only one of his old shirts for modesty. He sees something in your eyes that he’s never been able to simply take from the victims he’s had before.

You want him, and there ain’t a lick of shame in your eyes about it.

He rubs the already bruising spot where he’d bitten you with a careful tenderness, and you hum. “God, you’re just so damn good for me.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You’ve spent exactly one night here—he knows it’s not the time to be laying it on so thick. You ain’t like the other girls—you still like him by choice—he doesn’t want to fuck that up by letting you know just how much of an effect you have on him. How much he’s fixated on you from the very beginning.

He doesn’t want to give you that kind of power over him—he can’t afford to give you a knife to twist.

But God help him, there you go twisting it anyway.

He’d been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t noticed your soft hands creeping up to cup his cheeks—fuck—you always look so fuckin’ sweet when you hold him tender and look into his eyes.

He’s terrified you’re gonna look right into his soul, and that you won’t like what you see.

“Wanna be your good girl,” you whisper, your lips ghosting his before you take his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh Sugar,” he groans, moving his hand between you to rub your clit—taking back at least a little control. “You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You whimper so sweet against his lips, and he drinks it all in. He kisses the corner of your mouth, the curve of your jaw, your throat—lower and lower until he’s once again settled between your legs.

You deserve this. So good for him. The longer he can keep you dumb for his touch the longer he can keep you here and drag out the illusion that he’s the man you want, the man who makes your heart flutter with something other than fear.

Two fingers—you’re already wet enough that he ain’t bothering with just one—curl against the sweet spot inside of you, and your hands are back in his hair as you squirm in his grasp.

“Want you to look at me,” he growls against your clit, before his tongue darts back out to trace his full name.

God.

There’s a desperate hunger in your eyes when they meet his, and he knows that the tears of pleasure pricking at your lashes are all for him.

“Fuck, Bo,” you whine, wriggling your hips against his face. “Gonna cum.”

“Come on, Baby,” he grunts. “Le’me have it.”

He’s utterly transfixed by the way you try to keep your eyes open when you lose control of your body—like you want to see the man between your legs as he laps up your sweet juices.

It’s a big fuckin’ ego boost, and it goes straight to his head.

Suddenly, he’s standing, looming over you and wrapping a hand around your throat while the other keeps on pettin’ your sweet pussy.

“Bo, please,” you whine, your thighs trembling from the overstimulation. “It’s too much.”

“Bo, please,” he teases you, though he gives you a break long enough to pull his cock free from his boxers, sliding it through your slick before smacking you a couple good times against the clit. “You want this cock, honey?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders while your eyes fixate on where the head of his cock just barely dips into you.

“Words, Sugar,” he insists, the hand on your throat moving to cup your jaw to force you to look him in the eyes. Mistake. His heart flutters at the look of utter need you give him. “You want more than just the tip, you're gonna have to remember your manners.”

“Please, Bo,” you beg, your lip quivering pathetically as you try to will your pretty little head to form thoughts. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Need.

He can’t help himself from sinking into you—‘Need’ feels like a good word when he’s buried deep in the warmth of your sex. He kisses you hard, and he knows damn well his grip on your jaw is gonna bruise—but as long as you keep clinging to him for dear life and moaning so pretty in his mouth he can’t be bothered to care. His tongue traces the curve of your lips, before plunging past your teeth to dance against your own.

“You like tastin’ yourself on me, Sweetheart?”

You nod, stealing another kiss like you can’t help yourself before deigning to speak. “Fuck, Bo, yes.”

One of your hands snakes around to squeeze his throat, and the growl that escapes him is nothing short of feral.

For a split second, he’s enraged that you’d fuckin’ dare, but the manic lust on your face as you choke him is so damn hot he nearly busts right there.

Instead, he pulls out of you, ripping himself from your grasp. You let out a ragged moan from the loss of contact, but he doesn’t give you enough time to be disappointed before grabbing you by the back of the neck and slamming you face down against the table, giving your ass a good hard smack with his free hand.

God damn you’re a filthy slut—wriggling your ass back against him like you’re desperate for it.

Lucky for you, you’re not the only one who’s nasty.

He rams his cock back into your heat, his grip on your neck still forcing your face down into the table as he chases his release like a beast in rut.

He growls in your ear, more animal than man, before taking the lobe between his teeth. “You’re mine, you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Bo!” You shriek, the coil at the core of your pleasure threatening to snap.

“Say you know you’re fuckin’ mine,” he growls. “‘I’m yours, Bo.’” His other hand slips around you to palm your clit roughly, too roughly. “Say. It.”

“I’m YOURS,” you all but sob as you come undone around his cock, body all alight from the too-intense pleasure.

He’s not far behind—his thrusts become erratic, and he doesn’t even care about dragging it out any longer as he explodes inside of you, panting like a dog against your shoulder as your bodies melt into shuddering spasms.

“Damn fuckin’ right.”

He allows himself to slump back into one of the kitchen chairs, dragging you with him with his cock still inside you.

You take his hand to your lips and kiss his knuckles. His heart lurches in his chest.

“Fuck, Bo.” You lean your head back against his shoulder, smiling at him with that blissed out and dumb look on your face. “That’s one way to work up an appetite.”

His hand snakes up to squeeze your titty through his old shirt as he laughs, burying his face in your shoulder.

He can hardly fucking believe you’re real.

[chubbyreaderchan]

So... Like Bo Sinclair has got to be really smart right? Like outside of murder and luring people in. Like I'm guessing he keeps the town literally running. They have to have running water and electricity for at the very least the main house if not the whole town. Plus keep up some form of income between him and Lester, because there's no way they can just rely on tourists for money and food.

I imagine they probably sell parts/scrap the cars that aren't being used for Vincent's art. It's not like he wouldn't leave town too since I think he's the one who ruined the one car in the film.

But like... he's got a lot of skills and it takes a long time to learn most of them. I even wonder if he's the one who rigs the wax sculptures.

[pondslime]

the sinclair brothers reactions to ur circus performance 🎪

Bo Sinclair: You fall off your unicycle and he squints at you and shakes his head. This performance is pathetic. He spent actual money on this shit?? And you can’t even stay on the fuckin’ unicycle! What kinda clown college you attend, huh? Does your mama know she raised an idiot jester? He fails to realize that this was part of your act. Heckles you loudly from the crowd and lights a cigarette in the audience. Has to be escorted kicking and shouting from his seat. Later that night, you find Bo giddily blasting wooden ducks at the carnival arcade. There’s a line gathering behind him because he refuses to let anyone else go. You sidle up to him and compliment his aim. Sans clown-makeup, he doesn’t recognize you. Hits on you aggressively and stupidly. You hazard a glance behind you as he describes his prowess as “All American Made”. The line now stretches behind the circus tent. 

Vincent Sinclair: Watching you intently from the darkened corner of the circus tent, sketching the whole performance. You don’t realize he’s there. After the show, you discover a mysterious and arcane charcoal doodle of yourself taped to your vanity backstage. Your ruffled collar is melting into your skin, and you have hairy spider legs—but there’s no mistaking the resemblance. You’re unsure of how to feel. One of your makeup brushes is missing. That must be a coincidence.

Lester Sinclair: You walk out and he’s immediately slapping his knee and laughing hysterically. You haven’t even done anything yet. Doesn’t matter. He’s cackling so hard he spills his popcorn everywhere. You squirt yourself in the eye with your gag flower lapel and he hoots out an astonished, “You tellin’ me that ain’t a real flower?! Christ on a cracker!” Loudly staggers to his feet to applaud after every joke. Stays after the performance to have you autograph his nasty tank top. Asks for your number through a mouthful of chili dog.

[walkiingcandle]

do you guys think the sinclair brothers suffer from haunting spirits??

likte

there's no way they dont

in a town

full of dead ppl encased in wax

just a thought

[sluttylittleslashers]

So, what are your thoughts on the Sinclair brothers?

[loveandmurders]

Helloooo, I was wondering if I could request Sinclair sister who struggles with SH?

Hello love, thank you for this request <3 

I really hope you’re doing well and if you need to talk about anything, you can send me a message. Never stay alone if you feel like you’re struggling <3

This request is the most personnal thing I ever wrote on this blog because I did hurt myself for quite a while, and still do sometimes. This is also my darkest post over here. 

Not too sure if I love or hate this work (it had been very hard to write and readproof it before posting), but I still hope you’ll enjoy this in a way that’ll bring you some comfort. <3

And if you needed a sign to stop hurting yourself or not commit suicide today/tonight, this is it.

LET ALL THE ANGER AND HATRED OUT

Warnings: self harming (pulling you hair, bad position, scratching and cuting yourself), self hatred, insecurities, shame, suicidal thoughts, mentions of mental illness, mention of torturing and killing people (the twins’ solution to your SH isn’t a good one but you can’t except more from slashers)

You started to hurt yourself when you were a child.

At first, it was pulling at your hair or taking deliberately positions that would quickly be uncomfortable or hurtful. Thankfully Vincent was always there to stop you pulling at your hair, and Bo was finding way too much comfort in your presence so you always ended up on his lap or close by, that way he was unknowingly preventing you from hurting yourself. And when Lester was noticing how silent you were - which often meant you were going to hurt yourself - he would cheer you up and sleep with you, at night, to look after you.

When you became a teenage girl, you started to understand that you were actually hurting yourself. As a child, it was a subconscious defence mechanism, but as you grew up you realised what you were doing. And if you stopped pulling at your hair and taking bad positions - mostly because you started to enjoy your hair and because you wanted to have a healthy body (so your dad wouldn’t give you some made up painkillers you didn’t know the side effects of), you started to hurt yourself in other ways.

At first, you started to scratch your skin with your nails until you bled. As you continued to grow up in this very toxic family, you started to use a knife or a razor blade on your inner thighs and arms. You always did your best to tend your wounds afterwards, mostly because you didn’t want your brothers to find out. You knew they already had a lot to handle, and you loved to be able to bring them comfort, and not even more burden.

Plus, you felt awful, weak and pathetic afterwards. The more you hurt yourself and the more you hated yourself. It was a vicious circle but you just couldn’t help. It was like a drug. You felt so much better when you were punishing yourself, it felt like you were alive too. But once you were done, you would look at what you did; and you would feel empty sometimes, or you would start crying. Either way, you would mechanically go have a shower and try to patch everything up and burn anything with blood on so no one could know.

You were always putting on long enough sleeves too, because you were ashamed.

More than once you thought about killing yourself too, but you never did for your brothers. You knew how much they loved you, adored you, cherished you. You knew how Bo was always freaking out when you were out of his line of vision, how Vincent always kept an eye on you, how Lester was always looking at you when he made a joke to be sure you were laughing at it. 

So you didn’t commit suicide - to not break your brothers even more than they already were - but you continued to hurt yourself, even in your adulthood. There were better days, better weeks, better months than others. But there were also very dark times. Your lows were awfully low. If you brothers knew you could sometimes feel depressed and unhappy, no matter how much you would always try to hide it behind a smile, they never thought you were using blades against yourself. They always thought they would notice - but they probably were blind by their own insanity and mental illness. They couldn’t imagine that their joyful beloved baby sister could hate herself. How could she when she was the ray of sunshine in their life? When she was the only thing worth living for, even in this bloody and unhappy mess?

It was so easy for you to hurt yourself when you lived in your own flat, you didn’t even have to hide the bloody bandages anymore. But when you agreed to live with your brothers again, a sane part of yourself hoped this would help, hope you would feel better, or hope that the boys would notice something. The bigger part of yourself thought that if you had been able to hide it your whole childhood, you could continue doing it.

But the boys grew up too, they weren’t just angry, vulnerable, violent, desperate, broken teenagers. They were adults who used their own suffering and insanity to find prey, to kill them, to turn them into the main attraction of the town. They also spent several years without seeing you every day, so their eyes on you were more lucid. And if their love for you never wavered, it turned more protective and possessive with time.

That was how Vincent started to notice that some days you seemed to be hiding your arms, or that you were trying to not flinch when Bo would innocently grab you to show you something or have you sit down for a family dinner. He also noticed how long you could stay in the bathroom for a simple shower. Vincent learnt to observe and to stalk people as he grew up, and even though he hated to do anything that could make you feel uncomfortable, he couldn’t let anything happen to you.

He knew something was wrong. 

That day, after lunch, Bo went back to his garage, Lester left for an errand, and you went upstairs for a shower. Vincent stayed in the kitchen, and looked at the clock. 

It was over an hour your were in the bathroom now. 

Deadly silent in there too. 

His instinct was screaming at him to open the door separating the two of you, but he couldn’t do that, so he waited for you right behind it. 

You gasped when you opened the door and found him there, quite surprised and deep inside, a little bit panicked. You still smiled at him “You scared me” you chuckled even though you didn’t understand what he was doing there. You kept the towel you used to stop the bleeding closer to your chest so Vincent wouldn’t see it. You tried to move past him but he blocked you and you frowned.

“What, Vinny?” you asked

Why so long? He signed and your heart dropped. No one ever asked you this, and you didn’t think anyone would notice because the boys were always so busy with everything. When you were a teen, your parents would kick your arse if they heard the water running for too long, but they wouldn’t care otherwise. When you were a teen, Bo was too busy screaming, Vinny being in his own world and Lester trying to get his mother’s attention.

You shrugged “Just did a hair mask, took me longer… Why? Are you checking how long I stay in the bathroom now? It’s kinda creepy, Vince” you replied with a smile, trying to embarrass him so he would leave you alone, but he could see past your lies and noticed how your smile wasn’t reaching your eyes.

You good? What’s going on? He insisted and you bit on your bottom lip.

“Look I don’t know what you’re imagining…” you said as your brother reached for you and you accidentally let the towel fall. You didn’t even look at it, because you knew Vincent would see the blood on it. You looked away actually, feeling so ashamed. Vincent picked the towel up and for an instant he was simply speechless.

He hadn’t known what you were doing in the bathroom, but hurting yourself to the point of making yourself bleed was clearly not what he had imagined. He had thought that maybe you were staring at yourself and hating yourself and insulting yourself, like he often did. But hurting yourself... like that? 

He let the towel go and very carefully and gently he grabbed your arm and he lifted the sleeve up. The sight of the bandages turned his stomach up and down. He had no idea what to do. His heart was breaking. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before either. He should have been smarter for your own sake.

He brought you against his chest and hugged you. You had to resist the urge to cry as you hugged him back.

“I’m fine, Vinny, I’m fine, I swear. I’m sorry about the towel, I’ll go buy a new one” you babbled, as if Vincent was caring about anything else but you. He remembered the hair pulling when you were a kid and he hated how he never thought it could have turned into something worse. “Vinny, please don’t tell Bo” you pleaded. “Or Lester. Please. I’ll stop, I promise” you begged him.

I’m sorry we haven’t noticed before. I’m sorry you never talked to us about it. Vincent replied as he cupped your face. You know we love you more than anything. Tell me what we can do to make this stop. He continued and you started to cry as you shook your head.

“I’m fine. You all have enough to handle with, I don’t want to be a burden. My skin regenerates well, if I put some cream on every morning and night, it’ll be all good soon.” you replied. You didn’t add that you had become quite good at hiding any marks with jewels or clothes.

In your state you hadn’t heard Bo coming inside the house. Vincent did, and even if he understood you wanted to keep this a secret, he needed Bo to watch over you too. Bo heard the two of you talking upstairs so he joined in. He saw the tears dripping down your face and in two big steps he was there, hugging you. He didn’t know what was going on, but he never was able to stand the sight of you crying.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked and you felt like you were going to cry even more. You didn’t answer, and as he was about to ask Vincent, he saw the bloody towel on the ground.

“Are ya hurt?” he instantly asked and he started to check on you with worried gestures and eyes. You gently pushed him away because you felt like you couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t let you do, he brought you closer before freezing when he saw the bandages. With what happened to his wrists, he understood right away. And it felt like a punch in his stomach. His baby sister had been hurting herself all those years and he hadn’t noticed? Like Vincent, guilt instantly creeped inside of him. As your big brothers, their job was to protect you and to make sure you were happy. How could they have failed so badly without realising it? Like Vincent, he hugged you, completely speechless, and you cried even more before pushing the two of them from you.

“This needs to stop” Bo sternly said because he had no idea how to handle the situation, and emotions weren’t his strong suit. You let out a dry laugh that broke their hearts even more.

“Ya think I don’t know that, ya think I’m feelin’ good? It’s been weeks I haven’t needed to, but today I just couldn’t stop. I should’ve been better at work and I haven’t been super nice with Lester yesterday, so I needed to do this. That’s all. I mean we’re all fucked up, so yes I’m hurtin’ myself since I’m a kid, but it’s fine, I survived so far.”

“Love…”

“Ya want to know how bad I can feel? Sometimes I fuckin’ dream I could hurt myself bad enough it would kill me.” The twins’ eyes widened and they both reached for you with pure fear and concern written all over their faces. They couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, and hearing those words coming from your mouth was ripping their hearts from their chests. “But if I never did, it’s because I knew I’d kill ya too. Honestly ya saved me more than once, but I need to hurt myself to feel somethin’, or when I’m angry at myself, or when I feel guilty or stupid or pathetic, or when I’m tired or when I’m feelin’ too lonely.” you explained, and it felt good to be able to say it out loud for the first time in your life.

Your brothers hugged you, lost for words. They both were thinking fast because they couldn’t let you continue hurting yourself like that. After a few instant, something very natural came to them. They just exchanged a look before guiding you to your room, so you could sit on your bed. Vincent sat next to you, stroking your back, as Bo knelt in front of you and he cupped your face in his hands.

“Listen to me, love.” he started and you looked down at him as he stroked your cheeks. “Ya need to let all your anger, your hatred and sufferin’ out, but ya can’t do it on yourself no more. Ya’re important, ya’re loved, and ya’re safe with us. We should’ve seen what ya were doin’ to yourself a long time ago, but now this will change, do ya hear me?”

“How?” you asked as you softly sniffed

“By hurtin’, torturin’ and killin’ people who aren’t ya. I promise ya’ll feel better and we’ll make sure that nothing can happen to ya. Ya know the special room I have in my garage that I never let ya see? There is a chair there, and I’ll tie up anyone ya’d like so ya’d let out everythin’ bad you have inside of ya unto them. How does that sound?”

“I don’t know, Bo…” you weren’t sure you were able to hurt someone else other than yourself. You had never been a bully, and you weren’t a killer.

“Let’s try, love, even just once, okay?” Bo insisted so you looked up at Vincent who nodded. You thought about it for a few moments before nodding and both the twins relaxed. They really hoped it would help like it “helped” them. They also promised themselves to keep a very close eye on you, because you were far too important for them.

And everyday they reminded you that:

You are loved.

You are not alone.

You are important.

You are safe.

You deserve better.

Taglist:

@feathery-ass

@g0thl3zz

@erasable-mustache  

@cavern-creature

@peachycupotea  

[homicidal-slvt]

I just want to fuck the unimaginable horror. Is that too much to ask for?

[bos-basement]

ahhhhhhh i finally finished reading the script (link here, also if you know of any other scripts from earlier or later in production plz send, i would like to read those too)

and here are some of my notes!

bo sustains a knee injury, as well as the headlight getting busted here, in a cut intro you can view some of here, this would also be the only time he is shown to kill someone

nick is two years younger then carly, so they arent twins

paige wanted to marry blake instead of her being pregnent (which still doesnt matter in the end, seriously why was this her character detail?)

script implies its vincent at the campsite due to his laboured breathing, but bts implies that lester broke the fanbelt (i think its vincent cuz why would he have daltons camera?)

the roadkill pit is 8 foot deep and 50 feet in diameter

town used to be called Athelston, also used to be a mining town instead of having a sugar mill

lester fully enjoys being sadistic to carly and wade lmao

movie theater says its playing body snatchers lol

script takes into account louisiana heat (as well as infrastructure) for the house of wax

both bo and lester have a cb radio, def how they communicate about victims, also fake detour signs to lure people into town

the line about how carly could win the beauty pageant gets way darker when you know the victim from the cut intro was made into that wax figure

bo says trudy wanted to make a town of wax in his spiel to wade and carly, is this also a lie? also adds more credence to the theory that trudy also killed

victor and trudy switch places in the story, victor dies by house fire (full on lie which shows the story is at least not all true) and trudy kills herself

bo wouldve asked wade to help him in the house if he didnt need to go piss, bo had zero thought into killing them lmao

continuing he prolly talked to vince about a plan while wade and carly waited for him at the gas station

wade puts up more of a fight, very glad the movie didnt, that bitch deserved to get got cuz of all his snooping

carly escapes into a house (lesters mayhaps 👀 prolly not tho lol) instead of the church, she also gets a hit on bos hand

also escapes into community pool where bo catches her

jonesy is prolly vincents, she sleeps in the basement while he works on wade

"Bo (mocking) : What happened to Wade?" hes so silly goofy 🥰🤪😚

dalton and nick dont have a conversion about how nick took the blame for him

script makes a typo and calls nick wade for a line

dalton is the one to check out the gas station and talk with bo, bo leads him to the house of wax

ok i have to talk about the fanbelt now cuz wtf is up with it? bo has a 15 inch in a drawer at the shop, but like no one can appreciate the dramatic irony except us and him?? what would he have done if wade had a 16 or 14 inch?? do they only go after cars with 15 inch fanbelts????

ALSO!!! would he have just let wade and carly go if they had found the 15 inch????? BO IS FUCKING STUPID AND I LOVE HIM

AND!!!! ALSO!!!! as @hollabackgrl pointed out in her alternate scenarios post, what would have happened if lester/vincent stole the fanbelt out of blakes truck?? seriously bo lucked into wade having a 15 inch 😒

bo uses he/him pronouns for jonesy 😔😔 sad day for us girl jonesy truthers 😔😔😔

also the script keeps calling her "The Mongrel" so mean to her 😔😔😔 (p.s. where did we get the name jonesy??? like did the fandom just agree on that name or is it in some extras in the dvd? /gen)

nick is abke to go into the snack store? grocery store? and finds a deer that wade hit at the start in the back, id like to believe that its because lester was going to cook it but its infested with rats, so why keep it and not throw it into the pit?

dalton finds wade in the basement instead of being displayed

vincent has steeled toed boots, nice :)

nicks still the one to free carly, there just no confrontatiom with bo

nick and carly go into the church still

script mentions shotgun wound in trudys head, so some of bos story is true,,, maybe?

paige does a strip tease but vince slices at her shoe? lmao

nick and carly run into a looney toons showing instead of "whatever happened to baby jane"

diversity win! the murderous twins that incase people in wax dont discriminate on who dies!

bo and vincent hadnt been seperated until 3-4 years old??

bos able to get both arrows out, movie bo needs to step up his game 😒😒 /j

i love how the script characterizes vincent as super pissed about everything

switch board has a label for chimney smoke??? how tf does that work???

bo and vincent never argue in the kitchen, in fact it seems as though theyre more in tune with eachother

we gotta cancel nick, he hits jonesy with a wax arm >:[

bos feelings towards trudy vexes me and i hate it

vincents scars are described differently, having actually been scarred over

carly aggitates bo by saying trudy hated him (which he hates?? seriously what tf goes on in his head) and saying he killed her instead of trying to get vincent on her side by saying bo manipulated him (which is bs anyway but i'll get to that in my analysis on the movie 😌😌)

And thats it! actual deep thoughts and analysis will come when i rewatch the movie and pause every frame /hj (will add link here when that happens) but thats everything i found interesting about the script and what all changed from it to the actual movie, im open to discussing in the comments or my dms ^^

[bloodnhunny]

i crave my wet rat man so carnally

[crumb]

Damon Herriman at the 2023 exhibition for artist Carla Ruffino — Dec 9th, 2023