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This House Is
Haunted 🔪
this is basically a bo sinclair blog, sorry not sorry
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A study dump of Bo and Vincent
I just paused the movie and sketched from the screen, because I just wanted to do something easy while practicing values
(Vincent's study is just me looking at a still of Bo, then looking at a fuzzy screencaps of the 7 seconds of Vincent without his mask, and then going "hmmmmm" and doing my best)
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Bo musings
The blood under his nails would have never bothered him years ago, so used to being unruly and unkempt.
(You say he cleans up nice, but he knows his soul is far from clean, not nearly as polished as yours. His needs to be scoured.)
His veins are grimy and flow with poison. Fortunately, the only anecdote to poison that runs freely in him is you.
He never wanted it to be that way, he wanted to infect anyone he could and make them suffer.
He never wanted the cure to appear, to caught up in destruction and unwilling to see what it was doing to him
Now he craves your tender touch. When he lays under the truck just as he did before you came he find his mind wander to you. The way you walk, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. Oh that smile, that honey sweet smile that makes him sweat. He truly feels like a sinner in church, but refuses to acknowledge that he has sinned because he doesn’t want forgiveness, he only wants you.
The blood under his nails are now excruciatingly prevalent to him, they burn through his skin and he wants to hiss.
Not because it hurts but because it will hurt you.
Every time he walks thought the door he can feel your eyes burn into his skin. Scanning for injuries and blood. Always worrying if it’s his. You only care if it’s his. You have never shed a tear for the tourists, only did you sob into his chest when he bled in front of you.
He doesn’t even know if the blood under his nails is his. He feels a dull ache somewhere in his body, to drained to even care. He only wants to come home to you. To lay on the couch and watch the television illuminate your form as you snuggle into him.
Sometimes, he questions if your real. He says, with a teasing tone, “You are to sweet for this town honey.” But underneath his words lie a truth, in his mind.
He truly believes you are too good for Ambrose, for him.
At times like that, he needs his hands to grip the material of your shirt to make sure you truly are real, and not a figment of his imagination.
You can feel the tension in his muscles as he presses you close to him, his grip never loosens, only tightens
The cotton if his t shirt is soft against your cheek, as his hands ball up the extra fabric of your shirt.
He can feel you turn and look up at him, your chin pressing softly into his chest.
He can’t bring himself to glance down because he knows what you are going to say, what meaning your eyes hold.
Oh those eyes. The eyes that stare so loving at the broken pieces he presents to you. So eager to glue them back together, and make them fit.
Your gaze is the only one that has truly been solicitous. His mothers wasn’t, nor his fathers… nor the victims who stared at his wrists burning to ask what happened, without care for what it has done to him. But you, your gaze held no malice no matter how hard he tried to make you mad at him. No matter how hard he tried to get you to hate him so he didn’t have to feel weak, soft, and loved. He never wanted love, or that’s what he told himself, or maybe it was because his mother and father told him he was unlovable, a monster, a burden. Either way he despised the way his chest tightened when he saw you. He hates how you worked you way into his life, how easily you fit it, how good you make life seem.
He wishes he found you earlier, before he became who he is. He wishes he could have thrown rocks at your window as a teenager to coax you into sneaking out to the outskirts of Ambrose. To sit under the stars with the future ahead of you and ever so gently cradle your face in his hands that haven’t been tainted with blood just yet.
But he will gladly settle for the present if he means you are there in the future. He only asks that you promise him that you will be there.
He promises that he will be there for you, no matter what.
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It was worse for the two boys, left all alone like that. Both ended up in foster homes.
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that middle gif takes me the fuck outtt every time 🤧
The Sinclairs
HOUSE OF WAX (2005)
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Brian Van Holt as Bo Sinclair in House of Wax (2005) 06/??
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Shout out to my number one supporters, the porn accounts.
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he’s actively trying to kill ppl. but at least he practices good trigger discipline i want him to shove the barrel up my ass
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Could you write Bo x insecure S/O (but like super duper extra fluffy). Idk why but Soft Bo is legit the best and not enough ppl write him like that.
Headcanons or dabbles - anything would be great, I trust that you know best.
Anyways, thank you xoxo
Hewos! Hope you like vampires🩵
Bo x plus size fem!y/n
Contains: blood, biting, killing, she/her pronouns used, body shaming (not from Bo), not sure if I like the ending
Welcomed readers: @fluffy-little-demon, @sketchy-rosewitch, @lovely-cryptid
Bo POV:
Bo watched carefully as the new group in town moved through the streets. They were calling out for someone, but wax doesn’t talk back… it never has talked back unless you listen carefully. Still, Bo watched from the shadows in his black suit and tie, his fingers fidgeting with his father’s sun ring. He was busy thinking who was dead, who was art, and who was food.
Then Bo saw her in knee-high jean shorts, bright yellow t-shirt with cute butterflies on it, and a ball cap over her hair. The breeze carried her scent, and it sent shivers down his spine; he found her.
He found his wife.
Reader POV:
As soon as you and your friends entered the House of Wax, a smile crossed formed. Not was the air conditioner running at high to beat the heat, but there was a stair case made out of wax. The art was beautiful and bright, and it was paused in the 70s style.
“Y/n, wait!” You turned your head at Liza. “Look! It’s you!” She and her boyfriend started snickering as she pointed at a pig’s head on the table. “They knew you were coming!”
You hugged yourself as you shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, funny, Liza.” You move farther into the museum and looked at the waxed bookcase. “All of this is made with wax,” you whispered to yourself.
“Bet you wished it was made outta chocolate!” Marty, Liza’s boyfriend, laughed, his friends joining you.
You bit back your tongue and kept looking at the art and pieces. Under you, the floor creaked and cracked.
“Hear that?” One of his friends whispered, making you pause. “Oh, it’s not an earthquake— it’s just y/n walking around!”
Guess we know what broke the camel’s back.
You spun on your heels and hurried towards the door to find that mechanic—
When you opened the door, you bumped into a strong chest and stumbled back. You looked up to see a man dressed all in black with smoothed back from grease, and you could smell smoke and oil over his clothing, but it had a old country boy feeling to it.
He was startled that you were running out as soon as he was about to lay out his words for you in sugar, that was until Liza shouted, “Look out for Rhino!” Then they laughed you out, pushing past him and took off to the car shop.
He looks between your run and at the group. As much as he wanted to rip out all of their throats with his teeth, he decided against it. Instead, he put his fingers in his mouth. His whistle echoed throughout the building, and it silenced the laughter. Their eyes looked at him as he loosened his tie and pulled down his cuffs. His ocean blue eyes shimmered as they faded to a burning fire red, eyes twitching in anger. How dare they say that about you…
His boots echoed as he walked into the room. He turns, closes the door, and locks it. “Vincent!” Bo snapped, jolting the group’s shoulders. He takes off his jacket and throws his tie. His red eyes burned brighter, a snarl leaving him as he watched the group coward away.
As soon as he saw Vincent, he felt his fangs showing. “Now, we don’ take kindly t’folks like yourself.” As he talked, his boots echoed as he walked towards the group. They looked like cowardly sheep by the way the moved closer together. Bo could’ve laughed at the way the bigger one was trying to protect Liza. “Be a shame, though. To waste good food lik’ yer-selfs.”
“You’re-you’re a—“
“Aw, sweetheart,” Bo hummed, his drawl heavy as he and his brother corner the group. “Vampires lik’ us are rare. So… consider you lucky to see us.”
Vincent placed a hand over the mouth of one three men and lifted his mask. Long, pearly fangs showed before his bit down hard on his neck. Bo smiled as their screams echoed.
Let the games begin.
***************
You were crying in the church next to the waxed statues in the pews. You found out that they were bodies real fast, but you didn’t seem to care much as your cries echoed around the church. You didn’t know how long were you crying in a ball behind the casket. You heard the whispers and murmurs on the tape reply twice already.
Then you hear the door open and boots clicking towards the casket. “Darlin’?” The man called. “Darlin’? Ya in here?” He didn’t wait for you to answer as he rounds the coffin and finds you curled into your lap crying. He frowns and sits next to you. “Now, why is a beautiful creature like you cryin’?”
“I’m-I’m not beautiful,” you cried. “I’m fat and ugly and-and—“
“An’ t’right size to show some lovin’,” he interrupted, saying those words like it’s a fact.
“You’re just saying that to-to be nice,” you sniffled. “You don’t mean it.”
He chuckles and leans back on his mother’s coffin. “Nah, honey. Can’t lie in front of my mama.” You glanced at him, and your eyes grow wide as you saw his hands and neck covered in dried blood. “Mama didn’t raise a liar,” he drawls. “I swear to ya, honeybee,” he glanced at you and flashed you a smile. His white canine s longer than normal… but you weren’t afraid. “I think ya t’prettiest thin’ I’ve ever seen. Shit, ya put ol’ Ms. Ambrose to shame.”
You laughed at his comment and shook your head. “Bet you charm all the ladies.”
“Yeah, I do,” he answers, “but I reckon I found myself an angel righ’ here.”
You look at him up and down. “Are you… flirting?”
“Am I doin’ good?” He leans forward and looks up at the altar. “I hope ‘m doin’ good.” He looks around and sighs softly. “I bet you saw the people…”
“The waxed graves?” You wiped your eyes. “Yeah. But it doesn’t scare me. I just… just needed to cry. Besides,” you lowered your eyes, “I’m a rhino.” Then you rolled your eyes. “And a southern vampire is going to kill me.”
Bo shook his head and moved to be kneeling in front of you. He took both your hands and said, “Darlin’, what do you want?”
“What—?”
“What do I need to give ya?” Bo asked again. “The stars? Moon? Shit, ‘ll give ya my dead-beating heart! Anythin’ just to see ya smile.”
“How about your name?” You asked, feeling how sticky his hands were from blood.
“Bo,” he said, bringing up your hand and kissed it. “Bo Sinclair.”
“Y/n,” you said, smiling. “I’m y/n.” Then your smile fell. “You going to kill me now?”
He shakes his head. “Be a shame if I did.” He stands and offered you help. “Wanna take you home, sugar. Wanna show you off to every person an’ my brothers. You’re just so damn cute an’ beautiful.”
You looked at him and the blood on his chin. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart,” he whispered. You didn’t hesitate as you took his hand. “I’ll treat you so right everyday.”
“Everyday?”
Your hopeful eyes, your voice… Bo is falling apart for you so fast. “I swear to ya, y/n. Now, come on— Vince’s wanna t’meet ya.”
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i would literally run up to him, poke that cute little scrunch in his nose, then run for my life 🏃♀️ 🏃♀️ 🏃♀️
good morning thinking about sleepy bo sinclair and how grumpy he’d be and how his curls would be sticking up in all directions while he stands at the kitchen counter with no shirt on and flannel pajama pants and eating a bowl of cereal with a scowl on his pretty face.
“cheer up bo, it’s a beautiful day out.”
“don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.”
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