#god I love bo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

its-monster-mash · 1 year

Text

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.

423 notes · View notes

perigilpin · 1 month

Text

NiteAmor Week: Day 1 | Bite the Hand That Feeds

#nitearmorweek #nitearmor #bo katan kryze #the armorer #the mandalorian #Star Wars #my art #SW #so fucking excited to see everyone’s content this week #bc god I love them !!!#tw: blood #just in case!#wanted to try something a little bit different style wise for day one

45 notes · View notes

pocketpen · 1 year

Text

I love these little entities of destruction

#my art #bo's art #lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanart #rocky rickaby #freckle mcmurray #calvin mcmurray #bro this comic has a death grip on my brain #i saw the pilot and thats what got me into it #and now i just. holy shit #the animation is god tier and the comics are so so pretty too #i love the story #and bro these fucking feral gremlins--#i would protect them with my life (but i honestly dont think they need it)

337 notes · View notes

pedro-pascal · 4 months

Text

some food i had in vietnam

#food #asian food #vietnam #vietnamese food #words cannot express how good all of those were #i already LOVED bun cha but i truly had a love at first sight for cao lau hoi an #it was so freaking fantastic #also i discovered bun bo hue which is definitely a different take on pho but like SOMEHOW better i can’t explain it #and all the phos there were insanely good and if you paid more than 50k VND you were being ripped of which is like 2€#i was shaken. also banh mi are < 1€ this is so crazy to me #god i need to move to asia how can i come back to poland #i cannot live in a country where food is not the most important thing in the world

44 notes · View notes

pocketgalaxies · 7 months

Text

everyone: *making jokes about how beau uses a bo*

beau, who has been living this reality this entire time: are you all really just making this connection?

#the fact that she just stands there while the blacksmith runs off and comes back to tie a little bow on her bo dfkhgksjdf #god i love her #25m c2e48 #sc #critical role #cr2 #cr lb #beauregard lionett #marisha ray

51 notes · View notes

urfrenfishy · 3 months

Text

wowee look at them go!!

creds to: @theauthorinaugust for the hcs :)

#this took longer than it should have #that's my b #but like look at darlin #fuckin gorgeous #i understand samual bucky mcboing boing collins on a spiritual level #AND LOOK AT ASHER #GOD HES SO STUPID I LOVE HIM #and gavin #my husband he can do no wrong ever #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted headcanons #redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asher #redacted darlin #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #redacted fanart

44 notes · View notes

visceravalentines · 2 years

Text

Sinclair Household HCs

My brain...it’s rotting....

COOKING

Vincent cannot cook for shit. Not only that, but he puts milk in his bowl before he pours in the cereal. Unforgivable. Vinny does like to bake, but his success rate is wildly variable. Sometimes his cookies are weapons.

Vinny gets so wrapped up in his work he forgets to eat for hours. Bo will sometimes call him from the station to tell him to go upstairs and eat something. He genuinely likes fruits and vegetables, but he’s not picky and will munch just about anything.

Bo is a survivalist cook. He spent some time parenting his brothers, particularly Lester, and Trudy liked to withhold food as punishment, so he became adept at throwing together something quick.

Processed food is this man’s fuel. Boxed mac & cheese, canned soup, frozen dinners. Can toast a waffle. Can grill a cheese. Can make a pretty damn good sandwich. Has been known to eat the pieces of a thing rather than assembling the thing.

Lester is the chef! You can hand this man a dead skunk, like really dead, and he will present you with the most decadent burgoo you’ve ever had. Also quite the connoisseur of wine. He makes his own and it’s damn good.

Lester has a garbage disposal stomach and appetite. He’s never heard of food poisoning. He’s never met a food he doesn’t like. He’s a particular fan of gas station fare though, stopping on his route for chips, beef jerky, pork rinds, you name it.

Spice tolerance? Vin is the master. Lester is Cajun through-and-through. Bo will insist he is fine even though his face is red and he is pouring sweat. To be fair, he’s got a tolerance above average, but he’s nothing compared to his little brothers.

CLEANING

Lester, it’s Lester.

The man doesn’t mind a little grime. We’ve all seen his truck and his self. But that’s work. He’s got too much to do to worry about a little blood, especially when it spills as fast as he can clean it. When it comes to his living space, having things neat and orderly is like a mental separation for him between work and home.

Makes his bed every goddamn day (when he sleeps in a bed, that is).

Lester takes showers until the hot water runs out and revels in that squeaky clean, guts-less feeling. If you catch him outside the workweek, mans smells delicious, kind of tobacco-y and leathery and woodsy. He does love him some chew, but he’s not gross about it.

Unfortunately for him, his brothers are disasters.

Vinny is the most single-minded person in the state of Louisiana. The project in front of him is all he can see or think about. He leaves tools everywhere. He sets candles down, forgets about them, leaves them burning until someone blows them out before they light something on fire. He genuinely does not see the mess (same tbh).

His workshop looks like a bomb went off, but it all makes perfect sense to him. He can find you anything in two seconds. If you put it “where it goes,” he will never find it again.

Vincent has wax lodged permanently beneath his fingernails and there’s always a microscopic film of it on his skin. His hands are very soft from it though. Sometimes he goes for a while without showering because art. He also has a solid skincare routine pressed upon him by Mother Trudy. Wax does not breathe, so he has to keep his face clean and moisturized.

The other thing he is meticulous about is his hair. We never see it in the movie, but I like to think he keeps it pulled back a lot of the time while working. He doesn’t mind it in his face, but getting wax out of it is a nightmare. Lester isn’t often around to help him, and Bo told him if he ever made him do it again he’d shave his head. Vinny smells generally like art supplies, kind of sweet and woody, but his hair smells like nice shampoo.

Bo is the opposite of Lester. He is neat at work and a slob at home. His garage is always swept, every little screw and gear organized and accounted for, his truck washed once a week like clockwork. At the house though, man’s leaving dishes in the same place for weeks, crumbs galore, dirty and clean laundry all over the floor.

Every so often, the mess gets to him and he goes on a cleaning tirade. It gets the work done, but he’s a nightmare to deal with if you get in his way.

Bo himself is pretty well-kept. He wears clean underwear every day goddammit. Despite being a mechanic, he hates having dirty nails, so he will give himself a manicure on Sundays. Don’t you fucking dare look at him like that. Smells like motor oil, leather, cigarettes, and that good sweat. Only wears cologne on special occasions, like funerals.

HOME LIFE, ESP. WEEKENDS

Bo is the one who makes runs into town for supplies. Vincent would rather die than leave Ambrose, and Lester attracts too much attention between the smell, the slight lack of social skills, and his tendency to describe the innards of animals at the slightest provocation. Bo attracts his own kind of attention, but he’s adept at deflecting it.

Lester doesn’t often sleep at the house. He has a bedroom, but he also has a neat little shack in the woods, and that’s where he spends most of the week. It’s not that he doesn’t love his brothers; it’s that he likes his space, his freedom.

He comes home on the weekends, sometimes early on Fridays. This is when most of the housekeeping gets done, but he doesn’t mind a bit.

Friday night is boys’ night. Isn’t every night boys’ night? Yes. Does this matter? No.

All three of them are wicked good at pool. Like, stupid good. Games between the brothers are either over fast, or last an hour. There’s also a fair bit of poker. The currency at stake takes the form of small bones (animal, human, whatever), nuts from the garage, matches, or loser shots.

Speaking of which, the Sinclairs can hold their booze. In addition to his wine endeavors, Lester makes some facefucking moonshine and rotgut whisky. The night usually starts with cheap beer and ends with Bo talking REALLY LOUD, LIKE SO LOUD. HE’S NOT YELLING, HE’S JUST LIKE THIS.

Vincent gets everyone water and stops drinking hours before the other two because he’s smart, although he can absolutely drink you under the table if given the chance. Lester gets loopy and ends up falling asleep in uncomfortable positions.

Bo doesn’t typically get belligerent, but it is a possibility. He usually gets uncharacteristically sentimental. He smiles a lot more. Sometimes he gets real quiet. When this happens, his brothers put on music or start telling stories about happy memories to keep him out of the dark places in his head.

Saturday mornings are often bleak and silent affairs.

In a longtime tradition, Saturdays are spent on yardwork. There are a lot of yards in Ambrose, lots of planter boxes, and they all need to be kept presentable. Picture all three Sinclairs mowing lawns with or without white t-shirts. Yeah.

Sunday is for putting the house back into a reasonable state of affairs. The amount of laundry these men generate is abominable. No one likes dusting, hence all the cobwebs.

Attendance at Sunday dinners is non-negotiable. Shirts tucked in, all three of them. Bo and Vincent will often help Lester cook. This is not, in fact, helpful. None of the brothers are particularly religious anymore, but they alternate saying grace before they eat.

When Monday morning comes, Bo always has coffee made before Lester leaves at the ass crack of dawn. It happens to be decent. Lester takes a thermos for the road, Bo has a cup before he leaves the house, and he brings Vinny an insulated cup in his workshop, so that even when he forgets it’s there, it’s warm for him when he remembers.

#god i just #i just love them all so much #take me to ambrose #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax #house of wax fanfiction #bo sinclair fanfiction #vincent sinclair fanfiction #lester sinclair fanfiction #house of wax headcanon #bo sinclair headcanons #vincent sinclair headcanons #lester sinclair headcanons #my writing #slasher headcanons

623 notes · View notes

yumedoca · 11 months

Text

LESGOOOO, MORE CUTE URUSEI MERCH ILLUSTRATIONS!!

#urusei yatsura #うる星やつら #urusei yatsura 2022 #ataru moroboshi #lum #shutaro mendo #shinobu miyake #ten #sakura #ran #benten #oyuki #rei #kotatsu neko #b-bo #god i love them sm #uy merch

55 notes · View notes

kodicrome-212 · 1 year

Text

Just watched heroes of Mandalor and…

#that invention is just so gruesome oh my god Sabine what the fuck #and what she decided to go out and name it oh my god #I’m a big fan of her and I know that she deeply regrets it obviously #this isn’t Sabine slander I love her #the clone wars #satine kryze #sabine wren #specter 5 #star wars rebels #bo katan kryze #star wars #kodicrome makes memes

118 notes · View notes

its-monster-mash · 1 year

Text

Sinclair Brothers Headcanons - Angst

I’m fresh off of a House of Wax rewatch and I come bearing headcanons

• Self-Appointed Eldest Brother

• Suffers migraines as a result of the separation surgery, but no one ever considered the side effects Bo may have faced since he wasn’t the twin who was left visibly scarred. This is why he had the meltdowns he did as a kid.

• Taught by his mother that the migraines are a punishment from God for being an awful child.

• Since he grew up being told how awful he was, he has a skewed moral compass because he feels like if he’s Bad no matter what he does he may as well do whatever he wants. In a strange way, he feels good when he does bad things because he feels like he’s doing what’s always been expected of him.

• Fights fights fights. His dad being a “Disgraced Doctor” and his mom going insane(and also having a strange job before that) kids made fun of his family a lot. This, of course, extended to Vincent.

• Beat other kids bloody for picking on Vincent—when he finally got caught, it was the first time he was ever treated like he did something GOOD by his parents; so he learned that being violent was A Good Thing™️ as long as it was to protect the family.

• Didn’t like Vincent going anywhere without him because how could he protect him if he wasn’t there?

• Especially after their parents died and the town started falling apart, Bo felt like it was HIS job to protect his brothers.

• Hurt that Lester doesn’t want to live with them full time; he feels like it’s something personal against him.

• He doesn’t mention Lester when he gives his speeches about ‘The Sinclair Family’ not because he’s got anything against him, but because deep down he knows that someday they’re going to get caught. He knows there’ll be no getting out of it for him and Vincent, but he hopes that the less he implicates Lester the more likely his baby brother is to be spared The Chair.

• Always used to feel like it would be any day that they’d get caught, and he used to want it. Years ago he used to feel like getting caught and having Ambrose make Headlines would be the culmination of their mother’s dream. Now, he’s just tired of it all—it’s a chore—it’s Vincent’s whole life’s work. Bo no longer wants to be caught, he just wants to hold on to what he’s got left.

• Bo is Autistic, but he’s had to do so much masking because nobody cared about his needs. He’s got a lot of rituals he does every day, involving counting all the Wax Sculptures in town, and making sure all the air conditioning is running several times a day for fear that the wax will melt. He thinks he doesn’t have a talent like Vincent does, but he’s actually an incredibly skilled mechanic who can fix just about anything with the barest of supplies. He just never got any praise for it, so it felt like it didn’t count.

• He attends his mother’s Funeral Service every Sunday.

• So much religious trauma. Fervently believes that God is real and he hates him personally for some crime of his birth. This man believes everything his mother ever said. Christian in the “I will fistfight God in the Parking Lot” sense, the “When I die I hope I get the chance to scream at God for being a shitty Father before he sends me to Hell” sense.

• “Why would you make me this way?” Religious Trauma.

Vincent

• “A Pleasure to Have in Class”

• He actually CAN talk, he just doesn’t prefer to because he’s self-conscious about the way he sounds due to his deformity, and also as a result of the childhood trauma of watching Bo be abused—it was safer to be the Quiet Son.

• He’s Autistic, but flew under the radar because most people assume he’s non-verbal due to his deformity. He’s EXTREMELY specific about the kind of material he puts on his body, and he actually prefers the way his clothes feel if they’ve got a film of wax on them.

• Wax is as much a special interest for him as it is a lifeline. His art made his mother “love” him, so he poured his all into it. She made him feel like that was all there was to life for him—now it’s just about all he knows.

• He’s EXTREMELY pretentious about his art and his process—it has to be absolutely PERFECT or he hates it. If he’s interrupted during a bought of creative mania he will sulk for a week. If he’s not good at a new skill IMMEDIATELY he hates it—which is why he cannot cook.

• Very much a “You Wouldn’t Understand” artist. “Nobody gets me.”

• The reason he doesn’t put as much care into HIS mask as he does his sculptures, is because his body heat coupled with the heat from his workshop makes the wax too malleable to hold the fine details well, so he’d just rather not bother. He made a detailed mask based on Bo’s face exactly ONCE, and it pissed him off so badly when he kept losing detail that he destroyed it himself just to have a little peace.

• The detailed mask actually hurt his feelings more than seeing his bare face, because when he first made it it looked “Like he should have”, but it was never perfect because of the way his body heat would soften it.

• Absolutely furious whenever anything happens to his art—doesn’t check as often as Bo does because he once saw a rat crawl out of a hole it chewed in the eye of one of the sculptures, and the resultant smell of the open rot made him vomit on the spot.

• Enjoys killing more than Bo does. He doesn’t really care about hurting people—that part isn’t a thrill for him, but he does prefer strangers to be dead. He’s so used to working with dead bodies that it’s much more peaceful for him if people who AREN’T family just die. Sculpting on a living body is a special Hell reserved for “tourists” who vandalize his art.

• He is well aware of how over-protective Bo is of him. Sometimes it annoys him, but he also knows it’s one of the few ways Bo knows how to show that he cares. Since Bo has always protected him, and survived everything their parents did to him, Vincent sort of sees Bo as indestructible, untouchable, so it’s alarming to see him injured.

• Vincent is genuinely afraid of what would happen if Bo weren’t around—he doesn’t know how to take care of any of the myriad of technical things Bo does, and Vincent knows that without the air conditioning, every creation he’s ever made will melt in the Louisiana heat.

• Vincent is an atheist. He tolerates Bo’s God Talk because he’s aware that God was a weapon used against Bo as a child for being the “Bad Son”. He knows Bo is trying to be comforting when he quotes their mother, so he doesn’t throw it in his face. Can’t believe in a God who would allow them to do the things they do to people. “The only God in Ambrose is Me”.

Lester

• The Forgotten Youngest Child.

• Being the brother who isn’t a twin—having no deformity and lacking Bo’s behavioral issues, Lester was forgotten and neglected a lot as a child—to the point where he’d just go wander off into the woods alone so at least he wouldn’t have to watch his parents ignore him. With the added benefit of not having to hear Bo’s outbursts.

• Really good at building traps, and ate a lot of squirrels when he was growing up, because Trudy and Vincent would sometimes forget to feed him. Really kind of raised himself.

• Came to terms with the abuse and neglect he and his brothers suffered much more fully after their parents passed—he never really felt very attached to his parents, so he didn’t feel the need to carry out Trudy’s dream.

• The most Aware™️ that the killing his family does is wrong, hence his speech about how easy it is to “Get Used To” all kinds of things. It’s just the life Trudy raised them into. He thinks it’s sad that his brothers are still perpetuating her goals, but what can ya do? They’re his brothers.

• He doesn’t spend a lot of time in the Sinclair home—preferring his little place in the woods—because there’s a lot of bad memories in that house and he doesn’t believe in letting himself fester in the past.

• Still visits every couple of weeks when he does his laundry—usually Bo gets takeout when he knows Lester’s coming up so they can have a family meal. Lester actually prefers his own hunted/foraged cooking, but he enjoys getting to actually have some family time with his brothers, so he chokes down what’s usually fast food, because he knows Bo’s trying.

• He doesn’t actually participate in the killings, but he is the one that rigged the animatronics in Ambrose—he’s actually a hell of an engineer, though he’s never been to school for it.

• The animatronic puppies are his favorite, and he modeled them after Jonesy.

• He’s actually pretty well adjusted, all things considered. He’s just happily living his life in the woods—he does wish things were different for his brothers, but he knows they’re in too deep now, so he just looks out for them as best he can.

• He guts the cellphones of his brothers’ victims both to disable any tracking functions and to use the parts for his animatronics.

#sinclair brothers #Bo Sinclair #Vincent Sinclair #Lester Sinclair #Sinclair brothers Headcanons #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax (2005)#mypost #your honor I love them #I’m still going to be writing up a post unpacking my feelings about the movie #but these are the headcanons I have after watching it #because GOD I love these men #and I love to suffer

231 notes · View notes