#bo sinclair letter

[small-sinclair]

Letter from Bo Sinclair? Can be anything you come up with. He’s just my favorite. If you need an idea though, I’ll message you some. If that helps.

Hewos!

Let me know if y'all want a Vincent letter!

**********

Darling,

I hope you’re havin’ a good week so far. I’m sorry that I’ve been in the shop more than at home, but I want you to know I’ll be home all weekend. I promise you that much.

Anyways, thank you for fixing my breakfast this week. It’s been busier in Ambrose with the visitors and all, but I want ya to know I enjoyed the food. You always know how to make me smile in the morning… damn, I miss you. I know I'll be back before dinner, if the day permits it, but I enjoy being around ya. Maybe you can bring me some lunch? Ham and Swiss?

I know I never say this as much, but I really do appreciate you being here. You make this house feel like a home, darlin', and it's... it's nice. You bring out the best in me and my brothers. I haven't seen Vincent take his mask off in months when he's around the family. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen him smile? And Lester's been coming home more often just to help you with dinner. For a while, he never came home, but now? He does. Somehow, you bring the family closer... so thank you.

When you come down with my lunch, tell me where you wanna go. You pick dinner tonight. Let me take you out and treat ya right. Let me make up for lost time, sweetheart. If you don't wanna go out and stay in, tell me what you want me to cook. Let me take care of you tonight.

I love you, y/n. Never forget that. I'll love you until my lasts days.

Yours, Bo

P.S.: Don't forget to bring some water for Vincent! Damn hermit needs liquid. Love you heaps. Bo <3

[decaying-church]

Slashers: Loudest to Quietest in Bed

(A/n: SURPRISE I'm not dead lol.)

Slashers x male!reader

Summary: Exactly what it says above, my lovely slasher boys ranked from loudest to quietest.

Warning: smut

Characters (in order of appearance): Stu Macher, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Lenz, Lester Sinclair, Herbert West, Billy Loomis, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewit, Michael Myers.

Loudest: Stu Macher, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Lenz.

Stu is loud in general, from his voice to his personality, he's just a loud person. You didn't expect him to be any different when you were fucking him. He’d whimper and moan and beg so beautifully. His arms wrapped around you as you thrust into him. From beginning to end he was loud.

Brahms is sensitive and touch starved, years of living in a wall will do that to somebody. That sensitivity and a lifetime of being forced to stay quiet made him truly let loose. Palming him through his pants he would hold onto your wrist so tightly, panting and moaning, begging for more. You were very glad that it was only ever the two of you in the house.

It's Billy. We already know he's loud, if you didn't he’ll tell you himself. Laughing and moaning every time you touched him. His voice cracked with every shout he gave.

Loud: Lester Sinclair, Herbert West.

You and Lester are rarely alone, and even if you do get a moment of privacy, the house he shared with his brothers was rarely empty. But he was loud, loud enough to be heard through the walls of their home. You usually have to cover his mouth with your hand, but that's okay, he's into it.

You weren't expecting Herbert to make any noise the first time you fucked. Honestly, you expected him to sit there and wait for you to finish so he could get back to work but you were so very wrong. You barely touched him and he'd let out such a beautiful little noise, it made you want to do it over and over and over again. You were both so caught up with each other that you didn't realize how loud you were being until you heard banging from above and Dan’s familiar voice telling you to quiet down.

Quiet: Billy Loomis, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewit

Billy technically isn't quiet, but he forces himself to be so he's down here. He bites down on his lip, practically holding his breath with how hard he's forcing down any sound. He can't stop all of them but he can stop most. Maybe if you were a little rough with him you’d hear his true volume.

Vincent's vocal cords are damaged, so it's not his choice to be quiet. You make him feel good, very good and he wants to show you that but he can't. That's okay though, you love every last one of his little pants and groans.

Bo is definitely one of those just that think making noise during sex is unmanly. You could literally have your dick so far up his ass that he feels it in his goddamn stomach and he will sit there holding back every little noise. Fucking bastard.

Thomas is just quiet in general. Despite how.. Intimidating his stature may seem, he was always very quiet. He didn't speak much, and when he did it was just so very soft. You didn't mind, it made any noises, any sudden yelps or whimpers all the more enjoyable.

Silent: Michael Myers

He's actually quite loud, but no one will ever believe you..

Likes < reblogs

[sending-love-letters]

Hi i'm suing your creep reader with the Sinclair boys is literally living rent free in my head.

1. Imagine.... The reader so desperate to fuck one of them Bo lets them thigh ride him nude, absolutely degrading them.

2. Now Michael Myers..... Imagine you try to stalk him to catch him in the nude. He knows you're watching. Just to fuck with you he strips down and fondles himself. But the second you try to reach in he's like "nah. Since you wanna watch so bad."

Anyways I'm going to hell, need anything?

I am guilty of charge... 😔

Also, if you go to hell, can you bring me a hell slushy, thanks.

No because that's exactly what would happen! He wouldn't see you deserving of him touching you just yet, you've been nothing but a little freak spying on them all this time. Why should he even indulge you in anything? This is a punishment, something for his amusement alone and he wants to see how low you're willing to stoop down.

Lucky for him, you brought a shovel.

Now dear reader, I'm sorry, but in my story you have no dignity to hold onto to. So, like an obedient pet... you give him a show. Let him hear all the noises freely, and for him only. Or Vince of Les if they're romaing around the house lol

He calls you a depraved freak, a bitch in heat, willing to take anything he gives you. Do you have any shame? Willing to hump on his leg like an animal just like that, no fight whatsoever. You're so desperate it's embarrassing to watch. He just crosses his arms behind the back of his head and watches with a satisfied grin, he doesn't allow you to touch him as well or let's you finish.

Behave nicely and who knows... maybe he'll use your mouth next time.

Also a little extra because I can't help myself:

Boot-riding with Vincent, he's too busy with his art to pay you attention, you want to get off? Go on, grind on his boot and maybe he'll pet your head while you finish. He isn't as mean as Bo, you know.I have found a few bootriding fics with Vin that have been... 😔👌🏼

Dry humping with Lester, he's the one who will most probably let you have your fun, lets you sit on his lap as he stares and holds your waist in place, not letting you move an inch.

♡

And... 👀

That's so him.

If you ever think you have power over him because you're trying to sneak up on him, you're wrong. Like you said, you can watch because he let's you watch. If you try to touch him, firm hand on your shoulder will be your only and last warning as he pushes you down on your knees for you to watch him.

Eyes on him only because you wanted to be a weirdo and stare.

[senanatheskenana]

masterlist

Zhongli comfort letter

FYI these are basically little letters written how i think characters would write them to you. These are just for comfort <3

Also feel free to ask for a specific character if you want to :)

Evermore BATB AU Xiao x reader

pt one

Pt two

 Pt three

Standalones or headcanons/ imagines

Zhongli Fluff Alphabet

Whould genshin characters break the bed?

Xiao Fluff Alphabet

Genshin guys in bed

Genshin Characters’ voiceline about you

Genshin characters with a pregnant SO

What flowers do they get you for Valentine’s day?

With crushes 

Platonic Zhongli and Daughter! Reader

Slashers

Sinclair Twins with Baby Fever

Sinclairs S/O Leaves them: part 1,   part 2

Sinclairs with a single mother S/O

[slasher-male-wife]

I’m having gay thoughts about Bo and Severen. Like Severen and his family travel all around the south right? If they were doing their vampire thing around the 90’s-2000’s they could have gone to Ambrose.

But my head is empty and all I’m thinking about is how much Severen reminds me of Bo and now I’m going to explode from these gay thoughts. Because I’m a man and they’re men and I’m gay and they’re gay no matter what cannon says.

[phntmeii]

♡ Dating Bo and Vincent Sinclair Headcanons:

❝ She always said your talent would make up for what God took away from you. ❝

[SFW Headcanons]

Pairings: Artist!Reader x Vincent Sinclair. FemBimbo!Reader x Bo Sinclair.

Warnings: Slight pervert!Bo Sinclair, Mentions of kidnapping+murders, Manipulation.

A/N: Sinclair Twins are some of my new favs. They are so delectably made I can’t- So here are headcanons BUT with describing what their specific types are instead of keeping it vague. Also, I view Vincent as a selective mute who’s vocal chords are a bit fucked up so he only speaks a few times a day so not a complete mute.

Vincent Headcanons:

✎ Vincent hasn't had any dating experience so much of what he knows is from what Bo has told him which didn't make it interesting in his eyes. But when he sees you, all he wants to do is admire you for whatever reason.

✎ He’d specifically go after you and be the first victim he’d kidnap rather than outright kill.

✎ He tries to convince you he isn’t dangerous (to you) and does little things to prove it. Showing off his drawings, playing music for you, writing notes and letters to you.

✎ Vincent would honestly come off strong because he doesn’t understand how fast or slow a relationship to go. The moment he spotted you, you were already his in his mind.

✎ When you fall for him despite his masked face and silent behaviors, you adjust and get used to him. After all, he wasn’t bad at all. He’d keep you in his room which was tidy and neat as his mother taught him, he’d make sure you were completely taken care of and he was sweet in his little notes.

✎ Vincent’s handwriting is perfect as he was taught to do. His notes would be a little formal but adorable things to find before he slinks away to his studio. “Hello, Y/N. I hope you are adjusting well. :) I wanted to know what foods you like so I can tell Bo to make them. Please write back before lunchtime.”

✎ When he discovers you were an artist as well, he was giddy and excited! Someone who knew what it was like to cycle through ideas and fixate on a project for hours on end.

✎ His few words he’d speak a day would be regarding your own art. No matter what it was, he’d tell Lester to get you the supplies for it and watch over you as you worked.

✎ His ragged and hoarse voice spoken into your ear. “Beautiful…”

✎ He’d randomly gift mini wax sculptures of your favorite animals each week that he worked on between sculptures. Each one better and better than the last.

✎ Vincent thrives on your praise. Sweet boy can’t help but lower his head and blush under his mask at each compliment.

✎ His favorite thing about morning routines were when you’d touch and brush his hair. The massaging at the scalp and tingly feeling he’d get as the brush ran down his black strands felt all too good. He’d also let you do whatever hairstyle you wanted.

✎ Vincent would draw you constantly in his sketchbook. He has pages and pages of different angles of your face, what clothing you wore on a certain day or how you posed during breakfast.

✎ Any and I mean ANY sketches you give him in return? He’s holding onto it like it’s pure gold. He hangs it in his studio where he’s at the most to view it all the time.

✎ Trusts your critiques and observations more than anyone else’s and often asks for your opinion on his pieces.

✎ Doesn’t believe that you like his face without the mask but when he sees you present him with a sketch of his half-mutilated face, he’s stunned. To see him, the truest version of him, as something you deemed worthy to spend time depicting absolutely melts him. He starts to become more willing to remove his mask around you especially if it means he’ll get more drawings like that.

✎ Bo would want so badly to tease Vincent for how he acts around you since Vincent is absolutely infatuated but Bo and Lester find it adorable and are happy Vincent found someone despite everything.

✎ He would definitely want to do those heart hands or hand holding wax molds with you and keep it on his desk.

Bo Headcanons:

> This man’s perfect woman has to be a bimbo, I’m sorry. Someone who is perfectly stupid to overlook some toxic qualities to him and won’t suspect any of his more… violent hobbies.

> Doesn’t have to be the stereotypical busty, all-pink wearing bimbo but just a pretty but airheaded girl.

> He’d originally plan on killing you when you showed up saying your car broke down. You were pretty but so were some other victims who had come through Ambrose. But that dumb factor? Oh, now he’s all in.

> Absolute charmer and reels you in and away from the rest of your group. He’d keep making up reasons as to why you should stay for longer than lie about where your group went.

> He’d keep you sat in the gas station, seeing you so easily entertained. He’d put on that charming smile and tuck your hair behind your ear. “Seems like everyone left you behind, sweetheart. How about you stay jus’ a bit longer, hm? Still need to fix up that car a’ yours, don’t we?”

> He does absolutely use your ditzy and air-headed nature to his advantage to tease because who is he if not a teasing charmer?

> “Aww, sugar, there ain’t much goin’ on in that pretty little head a’ yours, is there?”

> He has purposefully done something to make you trip so he can catch you and make it into a whole romantic scene.

> Absolutely brags to Vincent and Lester about how perfect his girlfriend is.

> He cannot get enough of you at the end of the day. He may have gone into it looking to just use you but consider yourself a charmer as well because he’s soon completely enraptured.

> He enjoys watching you get ready in the morning. Bo will get distracted himself and end up just watch you do your makeup for ten minutes, admiring how pretty you look for him.

> NOTHING BUT PRINCESS TREATMENT!!! He can be toxic and a tease but he likes to be a gentleman too.

> He’s kneeling to put on your shoes on for you, kissing up your leg as he does. He keeps a hand on your back to guide you as you two walk together. Don’t even think about paying for anything because his hand is already in his pocket, ready to pay.

> Bo spoils you rotten. He can’t help it when you smile so sweetly at him that it’s honestly unfair. Sometimes it’s stuff at the store other times it’s stuff he stole from a victim before they met their end. You wouldn’t know, of course, so it’s always a sweet thing.

> If he’s buying you clothes, he’s picking out the tightest options so he can see your body constantly. He’s already turned on constantly by you but he wants to have you all dolled up for him always.

> Although sometimes it can be annoying to have you be so oblivious, he resists any direct insults or rude names since he knows you’ll take it to heart. He never wants to see you upset.

> He knows how much you love his Southern accent and dials it up to 11 with sweet pet names when he needs you for something.

> “Sweetheart, do me a favor an’ pass me the wrench? S’got the blue handle, honey, you know which one.”

> Favorite thing he’s seen you do is when you stole his clothing and became a mini-Bo. Wearing his hat and a jumpsuit all proud of yourself and he couldn’t help but chuckle and claim you should dress like that more often so people know you’re all his.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting

info;

♡ fandoms; The Boy, House of Wax, Halloween, Hannibal, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, slashers (general), DBD

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Vincent Sinclair, Micheal Myers, Hannibal Lecter, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of blood/violence

The most random array of characters. All 5 are my bfs tho. Also this is written very very informally because it was originally just for myself lol.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire//

> approximateplotofthe movie. jpeg

> honestly you mind your own business once you realize it’s a doll but assume there’s cameras so mostly behave

> you find yourself naturally coddling his doll like a real child when you’re bored, speaking to him constantly

> even though you’re not doing much to upset him, weird things do start happening around the house

> he mostly wants attention

> you leave a note one day

> “dear brahm’s ghost; i’m sorry if i’m not doing a good job as a nanny. i’m really trying my best. I hope we can be friends”

> he scribbles a smiley face on it and you’re a little freaked out / excited

> when he finally shows himself you’re really stunned. but it makes more sense than a genuine ghost

> you’re in such shock that you just. keep going with the evening and make dinner.

> but even once you come to your senses, you end up more sad than scared

> “…they left you all alone. I’m so sorry.”

> he gives you puppy eyes

> “…I won’t do that to you. I promise. I’m staying.”

> he’s even more in love with you than he first thought. even if you’re going to make him shower six times before bed.

> to his chagrin you don’t help him bathe

> but you do kiss him goodnight

Vincent Sinclair//

> bo brings you to him

> at first he’s making some big deal, “special delivery” and all that

> you’re cute

> really cute

> and bo clearly knew you’re the kind of person vincent would like

> but he’s still got a job to do

> damn it

> “h-hey- wait- i can help you—?”

> that makes him hesitate

> “i’m an artist too. i can help with the sculptures. “

> …

>“i’ll be good. promise.”

> he didn’t need much more convincing than that

> bo is surprised he kept you but makes damn sure you’re not escaping

> but you don’t even try because you just feel so deeply for vincent, and he’s so gentle

> you weren’t lying about being an artist so you’re genuinely helpful

> he falls madly in love when you help him resculpt his mask

Micheal Myers //

> Meet because you wrote letters to him

> Not to interview him or as an obsessive fan

> At first out of curiosity, then as a sort of way to vent, because he never responds

> But as it turns out your letters are the only ones he keeps or even opens at this point

> So his psychologist wants you to meet him to see if you can get him to open up- of course there’s a cash incentive

> He doesn’t say a word from the other side of the glass.

> Obviously.

> But you treat it like a normal visit to a friend and just chat mindlessly a while

> And you’re so much tinier and cuter in person

> He wants to stab you so much

> But realizes that if he killed you, he might miss you

> Ew that’s a scary thought

> Still wants to make you scream tho uwu

> He escapes

> Because he’s Micheal Myers that’s what he does

> After his spree he finds himself in your house, bloodsoaked and honestly not all that sure what he’ll do when he sees you

> You don’t even scream, just give a tiny ‘eep’

> “…Micheal?”

> He regrips his knife so he can get it over with. You’ll just tattle

> “Oh gosh- you’re soaked from the rain. And all that blood-let’s get you a shower? I can get you some fresh clothes too,”

> He’s staring down at you in disbelief

> “…what? You thought I’d try and call the cops? I like talking to you.”

> There’s something very wrong with you

> It’s kind of hot

> He puts him knife away and follows you

Hannibal Lecter//

> you’re his patient lol

> at first he doesn’t have much interest in you outside of work

> but god, you’d be such a perfect subject to manipulate with that little authority figure problem you have

> and even though you’re young

> you do recognize some of the finer things in life

> mostly his artwork and cooking. you’re really good at inadvertently stroking his ego

> he starts diving into darker subjects in therapy

> you’re a bit of a morbid person under the sunshine-y exterior

> perfect

> he’s still chipping away at something big you’re keeping from him

> he could do some digging online and through your files but where’s the fun in that

> he gets you tipsy and then starts with the psycho babble

> you finally crack

> you killed some guy that was stalking you years ago

> god that’s hot

> you liked it, at least a little bit

> even hotter

> you licked the blood off your hands and it tasted good

> he’s in love ; good luck leaving

Thomas Hewitt //

> car trouble! it’s always car trouble

> honestly when you rock up to the gas station alone Luda Mae is thinking that it’s a shame the fridge at home is already full

> but you’re the sweetest little customer

> “your name is really pretty ma’am. ever since i was little i decided if i had a daughter, her name would be Audrey Mae”

> new plan, she’s playing matchmaker

> there’s just something about you that’s so gentle

> and mildly off-putting, like the rest of the family

> she brings you out to the farm to see if they have the car parts you need

> and to stay the night, if you really need to

> you run smack dab into Thomas in his old half mask walking in- even Luda expects you to recoil at the least

> instead you turn a bit pink

> “oh gosh- I’m so so sorry sir-“

> Thomas stares at you

> You just shyly introduce yourself, talking enough for both of you

> Luda Mae is already planning the wedding

> “That’s my youngest Tommy- why don’t you show em around? Alright baby?”

> Thomas is a bit hesitant but you’re so little and cute and smell so good—

> He’s already obsessed oops

[charliedawn]

What if the slashers begged you to stay ?

You were on your way to the airport to leave the country when you heard a commotion behind you. You turned around and your eyes widened when you saw your patients forcing a way through the crowd to find you. Your eyes watered when their eyes found you and they all lunged at you—surrounding you.

The Silent Trio:

Michael was the first to get to you. He had a written sign in his hands with only one word written on it in bold letters:

Stay.

You looked at the sign and tried to find the words to answer him.

"Michael…I can’t." You tried to explain.

However, Michael wasn’t in the understanding mood and shoved the sign against your chest as he groaned.

STAY.

It wasn’t a request and your eyes watered. You could see the desperation in his eyes. Michael was not the type to let his emotions show, but here they were. Clear as day. He was begging you to stay. And then, Brahms arrived and wrapped his arms around you as he picked you up. He squeezed you so hard that you felt dizzy as he screamed.

"Y/N ! STAY ! PLEASE !" He started crying against your chest. "DON’T LEAVE US ! DON’T LEAVE ME ! I’LL BE…I’LL BE A GOOD BOY ! THE BEST BOY ! I’LL HELP YOU MORE WITH CHORES AND I…I’LL CLEAN UP AFTER EVERYONE ! I’LL BE SO GOOD ! I PROMISE !"

He was so desperate, it brought tears to your eyes as you hugged him back. He buried his face in your chest and even his mask fell to the ground as he sunk to the floor—begging. He pulled you so close and so tightly that you almost couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, you felt another pair of arms surround the both of you and looked back to see that Jason had joined the hug. You recognised those arms and sighed as tears finally ran down your cheeks. The three of them had found you…Michael. Brahms. And Jason.

"Don’t. Leave. Us." Jason whispered and your heart tightened as you knew that he rarely spoke—but he chose to in order to convince you to stay.

"I have to, Jason." You said and their bear hug almost killed you as the three of them answered in sync.

"Stay."

You closed your eyes and sighed.

At this point, you knew you’d never catch that plane…

The Sinclair Brothers:

Bo was far from stupid and he knew that if he let you go with your suitcase…He would never see you again. He was not one to beg. He didn’t like showing weakness. But, this was a very important moment and he knew if he screwed up, you’d take that plane and never come back. So, he tried. He begged. He begged earnestly as he knew you were a sucker for lost causes…

"Please. Stay. I need you, darlin’. If you want me to get on my knees and beg ? I will." He dropped to his knees and grabbed your thighs tightly. He wanted to pin you down and refused to let go and he buried his face in your stomach.

"Bo. I need to go, darling. Come on." You tried to pry him off—but he wouldn’t let go. And then, things only got worse when Vincent arrived and suddenly hugged you from behind. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and started sobbing. Vincent was far more sensitive than Bo and thought that they had done something to make you want to leave.

They didn’t care about the people around them.

They just knew that they needed to bring you back home.

When you finally came back home with them, you could see the surprise painted all over Lester’s face as he saw you come back. He opened the door and you stood up before addressing him an apologetic look.

"…I am sorry, Lessy. I couldn’t go."

Lester’s shoulders slumped and he smiled sadly. He had helped you escape, but it was all for nothing because you were already a goner.

He hugged you.

"…I am glad you didn’t."

The Bastards:

Freddy refused to let go. He tackled you to the ground and you thought he would kill you, but you didn’t expect it when he just held you tightly against him.

"No !" He grabbed your arm and pulled you back into his arms as you attempted to leave. "Please, sweetheart. Don’t leave. Stay. Stay with me. I am an asshole. A bastard. But, fuck. You succeeded in making a man outta me."

He hugged you closer and tears strained his scarred cheeks. He kissed your forehead and you bit back a wince at the feeling of his dry and chapped lips. But, it was the first affectionate kiss that Freddy had ever given to anyone since he was reborn.

He was begging you to stay. And Freddy never begged before.

And then, you saw Pennywise appear behind him with a mischievous grin.

"You staying anyway, pal. I kinda messed up the planes. You ain’t leaving."

Your eyes widened in shock.

"Which one ?"

His smirk grew.

"…All of them."

Your eyes widened as you realised he had set fire to all the planes outside…

Norman Bates:

"Darling. I know I’ve made mistakes. A lot of them. But, I know that letting you into my life wasn’t one. So, please. Stay." Norman said and grabbed your hand before you could leave. He was desperate. He knew he fucked up and wanted you to stay, even though he was perfectly aware of his own sins.

Norman is a wordsmith. He would tell you all the sweetest things just to make you stay.

"You make me better." A lie. A sweet lie just for you. A lie you believed for so long…until you found the skeletons in the closet. Literally. Half a dozen body bags all piled up. You looked at him and sighed before pulling away.

"…If am not making you better. I am making you worse."

You both knew the truth and Norman opened his mouth to deny, but other words came out.

"…Maybe not. But, you give me hope." He confessed and then took your hand before bringing it to his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

"Please…Stay."

And you knew there and then that you were doomed. Because even though you knew he was a monster, you also knew he had you wrapped around his little finger…You would do anything for him. And even though you knew you had to leave, your eyes stared right into his and you couldn’t move.

You both knew you were too attached to leave, and that was you greatest enemy…yourself.

[slashersdaddy]

Slashers Hcs

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lector, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Micheal Myers, Jason Vorhees

Bo Sinclair:

Bo is a quiet partner, if he's happy he's even quieter OR more snarky (no inbetween, hes crazy like that) he will forget things like valentines day, because thety arent something he cares about, but sometimes he will surprise you with small things; Your favorite candy, a candle in the scent you like, jewelry, clothes, ect. He wants you to know he loves you but by god will he make it hard. But if you suffer from fear of abandonment he will do small things to prove he wont leave (he thinks they are small) like getting your name tattooed on his bicep, or letting you leave hickeys on him. Vincent Sinclair:

Vincent is a loving and doting partner, He will leave you gifts like a cat, statuettes of you, photographs, drawings, paintings, a cool rock he found he thinks youd like? its on your bedside table in the morning. He loves you and shows it in every way he can think, candlelit dinners? Check. Gifts for EVERY occasion? Check. Physical affection? Check. Love Letters? Check. He wants you to feel like a god/dess, worshipped by a loyal devotee <3

Lester Sinclair: Golden retriever Boyfriend. Kind of? Hes like a wolf that is loyal to you and his brothers. thats it. but of course he claims that hes all yours. If you ask for it its yours. You like the flannel he was wearing? The next day its cleaned and folded up on your dresser (because he knows the smell of roadkill isnt nice for you) Kisses you all the time, anywhere youll let him, holding your hand all the time. He will bring you fucked up lil things he finds on his daily adventures. He will also let you ride shotgun while he takes the scenic route to talk with you and show you all the pretty landscapes! Hannibal lector: He will rest your head in his lap while he works, gently stroking your hair and humming as he holds you. Hes a quiet affectionate Boyfriend. He will make your favorite tea any time you seem stressed and take 5 minutes to drink a cup of tea with you and talk about nothing in particular, and if you need something so soon as you say the word its done. He will cook and clean and be a house husband and working man for you :3 Billy Loomis: Guard dog boyfriend, do not expect to be able to get out of his sight, this man loves you and would kill any guy/girl who tries to make a move on you. during quiet moments with him he will watch horror movies with you, holding you close as you watch. he loves especially if you get scared so he can pull you into his chest and promise to keep you safe.

Stu Macher: Stu is a golden retriever boyfriend. he wants to make you happy, he will get you anything you request, as soon as you ask for it, if you are AFAB he has an app on his phone that tracks your period and will bring you your favorite snacks and mensural products along with pain killers and gifts the day your period is supposed to start. if you stay over at his place its horror and cuddles, holding you to his chest as he strokes your hair while you are watching the show. he adores you and adores your smile, he will watch sappy romance or comedies with you to make you happy :D

Michael Myers: Michael is a guardian, silent and watching you from afar, or close by. he doesn't talk much- or honestly at all, nor does he care to use ASL, he does however use tiny movements to show his care, little flexes of his hands, tilts of his head, and the occasional hand on your shoulder when he wants you to know he loves you, he's like a cat, leaving gifts at your door, or on your bedside table. its always random things, a knife he though you would like, jewelry, weird things that don't make sense Jason Voorhees: Jason is a big ass teddy bear, he will kiss you all over through his mask, cuddle you, bring you gifts, do things for you, carry you on his back when on walks through the woods, he doesn't want you to be in pain!! He will give you rocks, feathers, flowers, anything nature related, he will sometimes give you jewelry from the victims he thinks will look pretty on you (doesn't matter if your masc. or femme, he will still do it) He wants to keep you safe, so don't expect to be somewhere without him unless its at your house/cabin!

[slashers-and-rats]

Do you think... You could do headcanons for the slashers X a mute/nonverbal reader? Like just how they'd react to that & how they'd adjust to alternate forms of communication and stuff like that (Which slashers are up to you, but if Brahms and the Sinclairs were there I'd start squealing and giggling fr)

rat chat: i will provide but i don’t like bo so I’m leaving him out he’s a BITCH

Slashers with a Non-Verbal GN!Reader

featured slashers: brahms heelshire, vincent sinclair, lester sinclair

Brahms Heelshire :

i think brahms would be a little perplexed at first, especially since you’d start out as the house nanny. one of the rules is to talk to the doll, but you find ways around it. you hum along to music when you feel up for it, and usually leave little letters near the doll. sometimes, during lesson time, you even throw in a little bit about sign language, and pretend to teach the doll new words.

when you first meet brahms outside of the walls, he’s quick to show off the things you taught him while he was watching you. he’s kept all your letters, tucking them away in his pockets so he can carry them around with him, and he poorly mimics the few signs you’ve been showing off. it’s a bit heart warming, despite the odd situation you’re in.

once you two have really settled in with each other, he gets into more of a groove with things. he finds he likes the silence. it’s not like you’re not around, you still amuse him in other ways. he likes that he gets to be the chatty one. he practices reading aloud with you, and you show him how to sign some simple sentences, and you continue writing him little letters that he collects. he even finds an old music box to stick them all inside. he keeps them very safe. they remind him of you.

i don’t really think it would effect him all that much. as long as you give him love and affection in your own ways, he’d be so happy. i think his favourite thing would be making you make other noises. y’know, not words. like he’ll sneak up on you and scare you, and hear you yelp, and he’ll snicker to himself. or when you two are alone, and you make a cute noise, he melts a bit. it’s the little things for him.

Vincent Sinclair :

in my head, vincent is selectively mute, so he’s pretty much immediately on board with you being non-verbal. there’s no questions, there’s no needing to get used to it, you two are just two quiet people. he finds it comforting, if anything, since he’s able to so easily relate to you.

you guys pass notes to each other like you’re exchanging secret messages. it’s especially amusing when you’re around the other brothers, and you’ll slide vincent a note, making the other brothers upset they don’t get to know what you guys are talking about. vincent always keeps these very private. communicating with you is a privilege, not a right, and if you choose to be selective about who you talk to, he is not going to let someone else change that.

you guys learn sign language together. bo never saw the use in teaching vincent, and his mum had tried but he stopped practicing when she had passed. so, he was very rusty, and you had similar experiences. you had tried to learn, but never found much use since the people around you didn’t know anyways. so, when you two met, it became a small hobby between the two of you. you explored the town, found a library with some books on asl, and pretty quickly you two were practicing in his little workshop whenever you had a chance.

i think a lot of your comfort with each other comes from the fact that you guys don’t need words to communicate. you can tell without needing to be told when either of you are upset or frustrated, and it’s easy to see when you’re happy. vincent has memorized all the little details of your expressions to know exactly how you’re feeling, even if you’re not open about it. it’s harder for you, since he wears the mask, but you’ve learned his body posture is a pretty big give away on how he’s feeling. you two just know each other really well.

Lester Sinclair :

lester is pretty used to the idea of people being non-verbal cuz of his brother, so it doesn’t take him as much time as others to get used to it, but there are still some bumps. i think, since he’s such a funny little dude, he finds your silence kinda hard to judge sometimes. he’ll tell a joke, or tell a silly story, and you’ll just crack a smile. he never truly knows what you’re thinking, since you never tell him, and so it takes him awhile to get used to being comfortable with just not always knowing.

i think he’d be someone who immediately does everything he can to be better about it tho. deep down, he really cares. he cares about his family, he cares about the town, he cares about you- he puts as much effort into those things as possible. so, he’ll put in the effort to learn ASL behind your back, and surprise you with it on a date or something.

he likes talking to you, and getting good at knowing what you’d say if you did speak. his favourite joke is to make up a conversation between you both and play both parts, and whenever he says something in your voice, he waits for you to nod or shake your head so he knows if he’s right in his assumption. he’s usually pretty accurate tho, since he watches you a lot.

he really does watch you A LOT. since you guys can’t have conversations about your interests, he just finds other ways to figure it out. while you’re reading, he’ll peek over your shoulder. he’s always a page behind tho, but he still gets an understanding of what you like. when you’re riding with him in his truck, he lets you pick the music, and notes down every song you repeat. when you guys are eating, he watches your face to see what you like and don’t like. he just likes learning about you, even if it isn’t as easy as learning about others.

[sleepingdeath-light]

bo sinclair + segmented smut alphabet ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (part of an event)

letters used ; c / f / k

masterlist(s) ; here

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

C — Cum

anything about cum

Bo is a cocky, sadistic motherfucker and will take any chance to degrade you when you’re being intimate. One of his favourite ways to do this is by finishing onto your face or chest after you go down on him — or, alternatively, by jacking off on his own and having you kneel in front of him with an open mouth just so he can finish on your body. It also doubles as a way to mark you as his in an undeniable way and to reaffirm your role as his submissive.

F — Favourite Position

self explanatory

It’s a close tie between the mating press and doggy style, and Bo will swap between the two depending on his mood (or, more aptly, how much frustration he has to take out on you).

K — Kinks

some of their kinks

To call Bo ‘kinky’ may just be the understatement of the century as there are very few things that the man wouldn’t be up for (and actively enjoy) at least once or twice. A small list of his favourites would include:

Degradation — if you don’t call the safe word bo can be really fucking brutal with his degrading remarks and no he won’t stop just because you start crying (he gets off on that too and will just get even more cruel in response)

Dominance — there is a 0% chance of you ever getting this man to give up his dominant role for more than a few seconds as a cruel joke, he just loves having complete control over you

Sadism — he’s a serial killer with little regard for human life, so it goes without saying that he has something of a sadistic streak in him (of course he knows your limits and won’t actually go so far as to try and kill you, but he does get off on making you wince, cry out, and weep from pain — bonus points if anything leaves a mark)

Marking Kink — he just likes making sure that anyone that visits ambrose knows that you’re taken without him having to intervene like he did back in the day (of course they’ll die whether or not they flirt with you, but that’s bo’s go to reason as to why he’s so intent on leaving marks on damn near every visible part of your body)

Knife Play — this is just one of the many ways that bo will mark you up in the bedroom, and he has even considered carving his own name into the flesh of your lower stomach just to leave a permanent mark of his ownership on your body, but he’s always safe about it and makes sure that you won’t get seriously hurt during play or after the fact (he may be a sadistic bitch but he doesn’t actually want to kill you)

Bondage — bo fucking loves it when you’re completely and utterly at his mercy and has been known to just leave you tied up in the basement after a lengthy edging session to take care of something or another (he also has a whole photo album dedicated to pictures of you all tied up and nude, but that’s strictly for his eyes only and he’s not above killing someone just for accidentally taking a peek)

CNC — again, he loves it when you’re completely at his mercy so having you playing the perfect victim (crying, screaming for help, trying to run, begging him to stop) while he ties you up, threatens you, and has his way with you really gets his blood pumping (unless you tap out, at which point you’ll get to see a rare glimpse of ‘nice bo’ as he makes sure you’re okay and he hasn’t gone too far)

Humiliation — this ties in really well with his degradation kink and mainly encompasses the physical acts he does to degrade you (one of which being highlighted under the ‘c’ section of this alphabet)

[musclefilia]

COD combine with Slasher which one would be which? Im thinking like Soap - Ghostface, Ghost - michael myers?????

That's actually a really good question...

COD guys as movie slashers

I think König is closest to Vincent Sinclair. I think its pretty obvious why. Both of them are tall, built, socially challenged and like to wear masks to cover their faces. He would probably be a good boyfriend (slashing aside). A total romantic, head over heels. Loves to make little wax sculptures for you.

I see Ghost more as a Jason Voorhees type than Michael Myers. He doesn't really shares that sadism aspect with Michael, and I think Jason captures his cold "get shit done" side. Definitely quick to get attached to the girl he thinks is "the one", and is a bit delusional.

Soap is definitely a Ghost face (I guess there's technically two ghost faces in the movie? but whatever this is fanfiction). Smug, and loves to play with his food. If he found a girl he liked, he would take his time breaking her down. Calling her house, leaving spooky messages, leaving letters and other gifts. Eventually it would lead to him "asking you out" and well, you can imagine however you'd like that to go lol.

Alejandro is TOTALLY Candyman (super underrated slasher). Unlike the standard movie slasher type, he's suave, and comes off as weirdly romantic. Probably has the easiest time "woo-ing" his love interest, after all how could you suspect such a nice handsome man like him of being anything but a gentleman?

Graves reminds me a lot of Bo Sinclair (not sure if he counts as a fully fledged slasher, but who cares). They're both country side pricks, total twins. You'd have to be a strong woman to tolerate him, he'd probably be kind of a shithead, but a loyal shithead.

I can't really think of any for Price or Gaz... If you guys have any idea's send em overr (°◡°♡)

[lebenspurpur]

AN: I literally have posts about other slashers I could work on, but the Vincent obsession keep coming back.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, anxiety, once again not proofread

Groaning, you massage your throbbing temples with two fingers as you stare at the blinding white screen. You can feel your eyes starting to tire from dealing with the blue light of the pc for too long, but it can't be helped. You promised Bo you'd send at least three applications today, and thus far, you're only done with two of them.

Stretching, you let the foot that has been propped up on the chair for way too long fall on the floor and ignore the numb burning of the limb. Only a few more minutes, and then you could start cooking. And then, after some cleaning up and doing dishes, finally you could sleep.

Your eyes wander to the small clock on the bottom of your screen, but the white numbers dance in front of you. Blinking a few times, you try to rid yourself of the sleepiness gathering in them, and when you glance at the numbers again, they're unfortunately all too readable. Already so late, you think to yourself, fingers resting on the keyboard once again, ready to keep typing.

Your head feels foggy, and it takes a lot of discipline to get it to stop fussing and focus on the task at hand. The next few minutes are going to be spent trying to make your personality attractive to yet another employer. The thought depresses and frightens you.

You don't want to work. Not really anyway. But Ambrose needs the money, and you're the only one without a daily occupation. Bo works at the station and deals with the incoming tourists, Vincent has his art and Lester already works the entire day. You don't want to be a burden, no more than you already are.

You know the boys are struggling even if no one tells you anything. Lester is the only one that ever started working somewhere, while Vincent and Bo always rely on others to fill their pockets. The savings they made in good years are slowly dwindling, and your unpaid presence doesn't improve their situation either. Guilt settles in your bones whenever you think about the burden you're putting on the Sinclairs.

A floorboard creaks behind you and with a way too loud and embarrassing shriek, you spin the office chair around, ready to feel a knife twisting a hole into your back.

You're lucky, it's just Vincent who looks almost adorably flustered at being caught sneaking up on you. "Sorry.", he signs after a second or two, but the crinkling of his eye and the slight shifting of the mask tells you that he's not feeling all that apologetic.

"You're going to give me a heart attack one day.", you breathe out, hand splayed over your racing heart. Breathing deeply, you turn the chair around again. Something dark moves in the corner of your eye as Vincent leans over your shoulder, soft breathing brushing against the holes in his mask.

His head tilts once he notices your tense posture and your shaking fingers hovering over the keyboard. Nonetheless, you keep your gaze on the screen, re-reading the same sentence over and over again in hopes that he'll leave you alone again. You know that as soon as Vincent will try to comfort you, the tears will flow and never stop. And you don't want to deal with that right now.

His fingers find your thigh right as you notice the letters in front of your eyes blurring from the fluid in them. Your gaze drops to your lap as he turns the office chair around, crouching down to look at your face. Worry sparks in his azure eye and the hand on your thigh moves to lift your chin.

As his fingers lift your face, you glance up at him, clinging to the familiarity of his masked face with anxiety in your heart.

His sweater-covered arms open a little, an invitation you gladly accept. Sniffling, you slide down the office chair and kneel in front of him, suddenly smaller again.

His arms wrap around you as you throw yourself into them, the woolen sweater scratching your bare face. Vincent smells like smoke and wax and rain, and you hang onto him like a drowning person, hoping that his warmth will encase you.

The artist's hands gently run up and down your back, smoothing out the sobs you cry into his shoulder. A small part of your brain acknowledges that the tears might soil his clothes, but you push it away. Not now.

You don't know how long it takes for you to calm down, but you know that after you're finished, the anxiety has given way to a complete feeling of fatigue. Still, you feel better than you did before.

"Thank you.", your lips brush against the soft skin of Vincent's neck, arms still connected around his torso. The Sinclair hums as an answer, head moving away to tenderly peck your forehead with his wax lips. The loving smile on your face wavers as his hands move from your back, and you nearly pout, until you realize he wants to sign something.

"I think you need to get some rest.", his hands move slowly and emphasized, making sure you get that he's not taking no as an answer.

"But the applications-"

"No buts.", if signing could be stern, Vincent's would fit the description. You give up, not really grieving over the loss of the task.

"Will you join me then?", the hint of a teasing smile grazes your lips.

"If your majesty insists."

"They do.", an affectionate feeling blooms in your chest as his eyes crinkle in a smile and Vincent uses your moment of weakness to stand up and pull you with him. As he tugs you out of the small room, hands intertwined, you finally feel the tiredness catching up to you. The walk to your room seems too long, and you silently thank Vincent for supporting your slumping body.

Yawning, you stumble after the dark-haired man and when you finally reach your shared bed, you swear you've never seen a more glorious sight. Vincent chuckles as you bury yourself in the sheets, pulling off his thick sweater and abandoning it on the floor as he joins you.

The second his arms envelop your torso, your eyes close with a sigh, and you move closer to your lover, trying to get as close as possible. Relaxation settles in your core, a feeling you missed dearly. It's fed by the soft sensations of Vincent's fingertips on your skin.

As your focus turns more and more drowsy and the welcoming arms of sleep come closer and closer, you register Vincent moving while he takes his mask off, and you smile into him. You would be fine.

[myers-meadow]

Meadow's Masterlist for Michael Myers & Thomas Hewitt & The Grabber

My list of works is growing and growing, so I split my masterlist up. Here is the list for the fics I've written for Michael Myers, Bo, Vincent and Lester Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt and The Grabber. Created and last updated on 24-04-2023. All my writing, even the shorter pieces that don't go onto AO3, are reblogged over at @myers-meadow-archive for ease of keeping track and archival purposes.

The link to my list for my other masterlist with Otis Driftwood, other horror writing and several other fandoms is here.

The links are in order of fandom, the newest writings are at the top.

Reblogging my writing is very much appreciated, but reposting it, on any site, is plagiarism.

Michael Myers

Feeding him by accident (sfw, oneshot)

Sunday roast (sfw, oneshot)

With s/o who likes being picked up (request, headcanons)

RZ Michael Myers x female therapist: New urge (heed warnings, oneshot, 18 +)

Wrapped with a ribbon (18 +, heed warnings, oneshot)

Through lace curtains. (18 +, drabble)

Valentine's Day in Smiths Grove (sfw, oneshot)

Care for me, 18 +, heed the warnings for each chapter. part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5 (final)

Stargazing (fluff, sfw, oneshot)

Untitled fluff (sfw, oneshot)

Shapes on his skin (fluff, sfw, oneshot)

Floral and fading (smut, oneshot)

Priest! Michael Myers (RZ) 18 + heed warnings

Bo, Vincent and Lester Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x reader: Planetarium. (angst, comfort, sfw, oneshot)

Multi-chapter fic Vincent x OC x Bo/Poly Sinclairs. The Ambrose Summer Vacation. Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. (ongoing, 18 +)

Vincent Sinclair x gn reader: art and comfort request.

Bo Sinclair x fem OC: Sweet treat. (18 +, oneshot)

Ambrose Boba Tea Shop AU Vincent/Mango boba; Lester/Black milk tea

Vincent x you/female reader x Bo Drabble

Thomas Hewitt

Letter by letter (sfw, oneshot)

Musings of Luda Mae (Sfw)

Kiss your boyfriend (dark, oneshot)

Safe with him (dark, spiritual sequel to Kiss Your Boyfriend, drabble)

The Grabber

Eggs for breakfast (request)

The Grabber x Max's girlfriend: The rhythm of life (heed warnings, one-shot).

Punishment (18 +, heed warnings, drabble)

Birthday headcanons

Male reader headcanons (request, sfw)

Request masochist reader (18 +, heed warnings, oneshot)

Helpful people get rewarded (18 +, heed warnings, oneshot)

Request for apprentice reader (sfw)

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

[venus-haze]

Adam Raised a Cain (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: The Sinclair house is haunted. It always has been and always will be as long as it’s standing. It’s a house you can’t think straight in, always keeping you on edge. The inhabitants are haunted too, and the longer you stay there, the further into the mire you get dragged by a dead woman’s claws and a man who can’t seem to decide whether he hates you or not.

Note: This fic can be considered a companion piece to Howl, though you don’t have to read one to understand what’s going on in the other. The reader is a woman (who gets put through the wringer again) but no other descriptors are used. It should surprise no one that the title comes from a Springsteen song. I’m going with the draft script where Bo killed Trudy, but it’s only mentioned briefly. Also I headcanon the Sinclairs as being Catholic for the drama of it all, so there’s some of that sprinkled throughout, though I want to explore that more at some point. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of self. Unrequited crush (reader on Vincent). Threats of harm to one’s self. Descriptions of body horror on a victim and also parental abuse. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18. 

You didn’t have to meet Trudy Sinclair to know you hated her. Some place between nowhere and eternity, you hoped her incorporeal being ached every time her name was internally cursed upon by you. Her specter loomed throughout Ambrose, a shadow that somehow had a chokehold on your life, but more so on your—captor? boyfriend? fiance? Whatever Bo was to you, he made Trudy your problem too.

The day after Bo brought you up to the house, he made you go back down to Ambrose with him, giving you no indication of what he had planned except to wear black. When he brought you to the church, an odd building you hadn’t noticed before, you wondered if god could even be present in such a place. Regardless, he led you up the aisle, past the wax congregation and up to the coffin that lay before the altar where the wax priest was giving the funeral mass through a recording that played on loop. As if the scenario wasn’t morbid enough, Bo knelt in front of the open casket, and you followed his example, paying your respects to his wax-preserved, deceased mother. 

You’d gone to funerals before, seen relatives and friends done up in open caskets, one last hurrah before becoming food for worms. Trudy had been dead for at least a decade, you knew as much, but for a 10-years-dead bitch, she didn’t look half bad, all things considered. Her manicured hands, long red acrylic fingernails filed into what you could only call claws, were gripping a glass-bead rosary—you doubted she was a pillar of piety. Though, you could see her blonde wig was somewhat ajar, revealing what looked like an entry or exit wound on her temple. You knew better than to ask who shot her. 

Anything you did around the house was under Bo’s scrutiny, and you were constantly compared to Trudy. For a man who seemed to live on microwave dinners before you started cooking, he sure had a lot to say about every meal you prepared. His most common critique was “Ain’t how mama made it.” Especially for Trudy’s recipes, written in a feminine scrawl on discolored index cards that you painstakingly followed to the letter. Her recipes weren’t good, either. Unseasoned slosh despite living in proximity to the capital of Cajun cuisine in the States. 

Bo had seemed glad when you offered to clean up around the house, how quickly it seemed like you’d learned your place within the Sinclair household dynamic. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was with Bo. When you greeted him as expected when he returned home, with a warm kiss and a cold beer, he flew into a rage upon finding you had, in fact, cleaned. He somehow didn’t consider that cleaning involved you organizing belongings and throwing out garbage, ranting about how you can’t touch his stuff and now he can’t find anything. 

Mornings weren’t too bad. In fact, it was when things were most domestic with Bo, when you could best convince yourself that you were in a normal relationship with him. Morning sex with Bo was far tamer by his standards than any other time he’d have sex with you, and sometimes he’d actually kiss you during it. 

Despite technically not being on a schedule, he liked to be out of the house by 9 to work on whatever he did to keep Ambrose up and running. It didn’t matter whether or not you were an early riser, because he inexplicably was, and expected you to cook breakfast for him each day, a hot plate of whatever was in the fridge and a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting at his seat by the time he sauntered downstairs. He’d greet you with a grin and a smack on the ass, as if you two were playful newlyweds.

Though you lived in the house, he didn’t entirely trust you, as he’d wait for you to eat your portion of whatever meal you’d cooked first before digging in. Playing house with Bo was far more stressful than you could’ve expected, though you hoped over time you’d get the hang of it. With the glittering ring adorning your finger, it seemed like he expected you to.

This particular morning was a pan of half a dozen scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. You liked working with the radio on, cooking and cleaning during the day felt far less lonely with another voice around. Only three radio stations got any reception in Ambrose and one of them wasn't even consistent, as you found to your disappointment. Bo’s metal music was a collection of mixtapes made by various victims, which sent a chill down your spine as you briefly considered the implications. With your radio choices being country and oldies, you chose oldies, finding Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday the appropriate soundtrack to your Stepford Wives-esque existence. A lump always formed in your throat whenever Connie Francis came on, no matter the song. She was Trudy’s favorite singer, Bo had informed you one day.

You took your seat next to him, grabbing one of the nearby newspapers. Bo would bring you newspapers or magazines he got from victims. It was how you found out you’d been in Ambrose for nearly three months by the time he let you out from captivity beneath the gas station. At first, you scanned every one for some mention of your disappearance, but gave up hope after a few weeks. Instead, you resigned yourself to ripping recipes out of women’s magazines and preoccupying yourself with crossword puzzles and comic strips.

Still, you found the astrology sections interesting and read yours and Bo’s horoscopes over breakfast each morning. He hated when his was negative, even though he claimed “I don’t believe in that garbage,” so sometimes you’d have to improvise. The news of the world was increasingly foreign to you, and you found the trends and gossip in magazines vapid. 

“Whatcha got today?” he asked through a mouthful of eggs. 

Though the paper was from two days prior, your eyes drifted to your sign. “Luck in love.”

“Damn right, darlin’.”

“Yours says an unexpected stranger will help you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt, shrugging before downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll try to make it back here for lunch, but I probably won’t be home till late tonight. You give Vincent a holler if you need somethin’.”

“Okay, I love you,” you said, as was expected.

He didn’t always say it back, but for some reason, he made you tell him you loved him before he left in the mornings. You wouldn’t fight it, not if it made his mood even remotely better than the mildly-pissed-off to furious states that he seemed to operate under. In that instance, he returned the sentiment with an unknown amount of sincerity, giving you a kiss before leaving his dirty plate and empty coffee mug behind for you to clean. 

You liked taking your time with your chores for the day. It was easier to cope with everything if you kept yourself too busy to start thinking too much. You flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading some of the letters to the editor. 

Creaking stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from the paper, surprised to see Vincent making an appearance so early. He was more of a night owl and seemed to avoid Bo when he could. The first time you met him was awkward as hell, and you still found it difficult to make eye contact with him over it. Bo had been in the middle of fucking you on the kitchen counter when his twin emerged from his basement ‘studio.’ You were mortified, and Vincent seemed to be as well, since he began backtracking until Bo shot him a grin, “Good ‘a time as ever to make introductions.” At least Vincent had the decency to mostly leave you alone since then.

“Morning Vincent,” you said, petting Jonesy as she ran up to your side. “Breakfast’s scrambled eggs.”

He nodded in response, piling the cold eggs on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. You looked down at Jonesy. She was a sweet dog, but you saw her just about as often as you saw Vincent, since she seemed to be his shadow.

“Do you want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

He looked at the coffee pot, considering it for a few moments before shaking his head. Unlike Bo, who drank half a pot of coffee every morning, Vincent would switch between coffee and tea in the mornings, at least the mornings you actually saw him. It wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to disappear for days at a time, though you always cooked enough for him, leaving a plate for him in the fridge.

Bo was a creature of habit, as you’d observed his strange and sometimes disturbing rituals living in the house with him, from drinking a beer as soon as he got home each evening to spending at least an hour visiting Trudy’s casket in church every Sunday at noon. Vincent seemed to do things sporadically, getting so involved in his work that you weren’t sure if he consistently ate let alone showered like he should. You knew they were twins, but even when you first met Vincent, you were aware of how different he was from Bo.

Of course, meeting Lester was nothing short of a shock to the system. You had felt like you were going crazy when you saw the man from the highway who’d directed you and your friends to Ambrose in the first place walk into the house with a friendly smile on his face while you were preparing lunch. Then Bo introduced him as his “kid brother” and Lester congratulated you for “shacking up” with Bo. The experience was dizzying and confusing, especially since you ended up getting along with Lester surprisingly well, having the closest thing to a regular, mundane conversation in months. He didn’t come up to the house very often, though.

Compared to Bo and Vincent, Lester seemed normal enough, though he was still complicit in your suffering and that of everyone else who came through Ambrose. You could barely piece together how it all started, when had their mother’s career warped into the surreal hell you found yourself in? Was it inevitable or avoidable? 

From the news clippings you’d seen throughout the house, Trudy was undoubtedly talented when it came to wax art, but you couldn’t tell whether the grainy, black and white photos of the wax figures she posed with were real, like how your friends ended up. Then again, Ambrose had been a small, bustling town with real people to notice if tourists went missing. Once the highway was built and the sugar mill shut down, everyone left but the Sinclairs. Not that there was anywhere else for them to go, since Dr. Sinclair was practicing medicine unlicensed in Ambrose and Trudy’s skills didn’t have much of a practical application outside of being an eccentric and volatile small town celebrity. 

You noticed that Bo rarely mentioned his father, and when he did, it was only in the context of his mother. There were no stories about playing catch with his old man or going to car shows together. If the myriad of rusted surgical tools laying around the house were any indication, you had a good guess as to how Bo bonded with his father, since Vincent seemed to get most of his mother’s attention. You could practically see Bo–young, devious, and starving for some kind of positive parental attention–kissing up to his father with claims that he wanted to be a doctor just like him someday. He probably ended up with a front row seat to the illegal and risky procedures that Dr. Sinclair performed in the family home. The one time you had to go into the dusty room that was the late Dr. Sinclair’s office, you almost passed out at the sight of the surgical bed that looked far too much like the one you had been strapped to for months beneath the gas station. 

By the time you looked up from the newspaper, not having read a word of the letters to the editor, Vincent was gone, and Jonsey along with him. You sighed, figuring it was about time to start cleaning up from breakfast and get to the laundry list of tasks for around the house. As a result of none of the Sinclair brothers keeping up very good care of the place, there was a lot that had to be done in the way of cleaning. You hated it when you had to point out yet another part of the house that needed repairs to Bo. It was necessary, but you sure as hell didn’t want to push your luck by seeming like you were nagging him. Some days you really thought he was going to call it and either bring you back to the basement or kill you. You weren’t sure which option scared you more. 

After cleaning up from breakfast, you began the task of cleaning out Lester’s old bedroom. He’d assured you that he had taken everything he needed when he moved into his own place and gave you the okay to throw away whatever you found in there. It would be a long undertaking, as you discovered when you first looked in the room, full of junk and smelling rancid. You had a bucket of cleaning supplies that you kept under the kitchen sink, all of which Bo had bought for you under the pretense that if you tried something smart with the cocktail of chemicals, he’d pour bleach down your throat himself. 

Equipped with yellow rubber gloves and a dozen trash bags, you began cleaning your way through the room. It seemed Lester had developed his knack for taxidermy in his childhood bedroom before moving out, as you found roadkill in various states of preservation in a cardboard box. You shoved it all in a garbage bag, resisting the urge to gag at the smell. 

Despite the monumental cleaning job before you, you were confident in your ability to make the room habitable–for whom, you weren’t exactly sure, but it’d be better than the state it was in. It had gotten to be a little past noon when you decided to go through one more box before taking a break for lunch. You’d set aside some things you found that Bo might want, figuring it best to check with him after the fit he threw when you cleaned his room.

When you opened a small, dusty box in the closet, your eyes widened upon seeing a pistol laying amongst other junk. You weren’t sure if it was even real, let alone usable, but holding it in your hands sent a shockwave through you. Dropping everything, you sprinted into your and Bo’s room, finding a shoebox with a pair of heels you never wore shoved toward the back corner of the closet. Your breath caught in your throat when you heard the front door open, Bo calling for you. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be home. Haphazardly, you threw the gun in the box, pushing it back in place before rushing downstairs.

“What’s kept you so busy?” he asked, regarding you with suspicion.

“Lester’s old room. I lost track of time,” you explained, sweat beading at your forehead.

To your relief, he laughed. “Shit, I don’t even wanna think about what’s in there. If you still got an appetite, I picked up somethin’ to eat while I was in town.”

“That sounds great. Let me wash up,” you said, giving him a kiss before heading into the bathroom.

You turned on the sink, holding your hands under the running water until it was too hot to touch, pulling your stinging hands away and staring at them. Less than five minutes ago, you had a gun in your hands, a get out of jail free card, and now you were going to eat lunch with a man who made your life miserable. 

Bo had already helped himself to one of the burgers he’d bought from McDonald’s the next town over. You sat down in your seat, munching on the cold french fries that had spilled onto the table. The food wasn’t necessarily good, but it gave you some comfort with its familiarity. He was in an unusually good mood, which you were sure wouldn’t last, so you relished in it, allowing yourself the luxury of pretending you were having a normal lunch with your normal boyfriend. He told you a funny story about a woman falling over in a hardware store he’d stopped in for supplies. Sure, it was mean-spirited, but the way Bo told the story had you nearly doubled over.

“You got a great laugh,” he said with a smile. 

“Thank you,” you said, shocked and flattered by the compliment.

His eyes were bright as he looked at you, but it didn’t last. His expression became serious, and he picked up his hat from where he’d placed it on the table. “I better head back out. I’ll see ya later, darlin’.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, kissing your cheek before leaving.

After cleaning up the mess from lunch, long enough to be sure you were in the clear, you raced back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you as you retrieved the shoe box from its hiding spot. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the gun, staring at it in awe.

You bit your lip, silently praying to whatever deity may have been out there that if they could give you one thing, it’d be to not accidentally set off the gun while you tried to figure out whether or not it even had any bullets in it. Of course, as soon as it made some kind of clicking noise, you shoved it back in the box. Vincent was more than likely in his studio, but with how he’d spontaneously make appearances in the house, you didn’t want to take a chance.

As you went back to cleaning Lester’s old room, you tried not to let your discovery burn through your mind. It was so hard not to, though, not when for the first time in months you actually had a chance. You had to plan, knowing better than to be sloppy and impulsive when it came to Bo and Vincent. 

While Bo liked to have his routine, his schedule could be unpredictable, especially if tourists came into town. You avoided Vincent’s studio, but knew it connected to other parts of town through a tunnel system. Both brothers were capable of ending you in an instant. They knew Ambrose’s layout by heart whereas you’d only actually seen the town on a handful of occasions, and very briefly at that.

Noticing the sky getting dark through the window, you set your racing thoughts aside to focus on cleaning. Easier said than done since you dreaded nighttime, the sunset marking the end of the day, when you’d have Bo’s undivided attention. The evening was routine, as he expected you to wait by the door for him with a cold beer and a warm kiss when you heard his truck pull up outside. The two of you would eat while he talked about his day, but from there, it was a crapshoot. It didn’t matter whether his mood was good or bad, you inevitably ended up manhandled into bed at some point in the night to scratch whatever itch he had. 

Bo wouldn’t be back until late, but you weren’t sure what to make for dinner. Sometimes he’d request certain dishes, and others you’d just have to hope he liked whatever you cooked. Even if he complained, he still ate what you served him. 

You headed downstairs, dragging the garbage bags filled with junk behind you. While you still had a ways to go before you’d consider Lester’s old room clean, it was nice seeing evidence of your hard work. Calling out to Vincent, you let him know that you were going to bring the trash out. He’d hear you go out there anyway, but you quickly learned it was a lot less trouble if you let him know beforehand.

The night air was cool as you threw bag after bag into the garbage cans outside the house. You weren’t sure where Bo took everything when he’d load up the back of his truck every week. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed. 

Rushing back into the house and out of the cold, you quickly decided to make some kind of soup, hoping there’d be adequate ingredients for it in the fridge. A major downfall of not being able to get your own groceries meant having to rely on Bo to grab the food you requested and not whatever he felt like throwing into the cart.

Just about everything you needed was in the kitchen, and oddly enough, you felt excited for Bo to come home for dinner, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that loomed over you as you chopped and sautéed vegetables. Things always seemed to balance in Ambrose. Bo’s unusually good mood earlier in the afternoon would be matched with a horrific one when he got home.

You unfortunately experienced such in your stint in the basement dungeon below the gas station, the fresh scars on your body evidence of this. As much as you used to pray for predictability, you hated knowing something horrible was about to happen next. 

The soup was almost to your taste when you heard Bo’s truck pull up outside. Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, you tried to hold out hope, you’d go crazy if you didn’t. 

As soon as you heard the way he stomped up the front steps, you could feel all of the butterflies in your stomach die one by one. The door swung open to reveal Bo, covered in blood and sweat. Whatever victims had come into Ambrose put up a fight he clearly wasn't expecting.

He grabbed the can of beer from you, throwing it across the room, leaving a fresh hole in the drywall. You ran into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and rushed back into the living room, only to find him sitting at the kitchen table.

You pulled up a chair close to him, setting out the first aid kit on the table. At a glance, it seemed like his wounds were mostly superficial, so you assumed most of the blood wasn’t his. Still, there was a decent looking cut on his forehead above his left eye.

“I swear to god this shit’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes,” he mumbled. 

You didn’t respond, trying to carefully pour peroxide onto a cotton ball, only for some of it to spill onto the kitchen floor. 

He grabbed the cotton ball from your hand, pressing it against his forehead as he hissed out, “You sure are too, when all you’re good for is gettin’ fucked. Mama would be rollin’ if she knew a slut like you was in her house.”

Your jaw clenched. You wouldn’t even be in the damn house if it weren’t for him. It wasn’t like you’d invited yourself. He was trying to get a rise out of you, make you feel as awful as he was feeling. That was his M.O. when he was feeling down, drag everyone down with him.

“What? You got somethin’ to say?”

The clock read 13:77 when you reached for the gun you hid in your pocket. Since when did this dress have pockets? Wordlessly, you stood up, firing three shots into Bo’s chest. His expression was almost cartoonish as the chair tilted back and crashed onto the floor, his head rolling away from his body like a bowling ball.

You awoke with a start. The dream seemed so real up until the end. You almost went upstairs to see if Bo was still alive. You had patched him up, and he had made his cruel comments toward you. In reality, the interaction ended with his demanding you sleep on the couch as he wasn’t in the mood to fuck you, and that was the only reason he let you in his bed in the first place. You were nothing short of humiliated and furious when you laid on the couch with a worn out blanket, crying yourself to sleep into one of the smelly throw pillows.

As you shifted, you noticed another blanket in much better condition was on top of you. It felt like some kind of quilt, not that you could tell in the dark. You hated that your broken ass brain made you love Bo regardless of everything he did to you, when clearly Vincent was considerate enough to cover you with a real blanket.

After about an hour or so of tossing and turning, you fell back asleep. With no alarm around, you could only hope to wake up in time to make breakfast for Bo. There were no dreams of gunshots or decapitated heads this time.

A little after six in the morning, you woke up to the sound of Vincent rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. You sighed in relief. Sure, it was earlier than you were used to getting up, but you could possibly sneak a nap in during the afternoon if Bo was out for the day. You hoped he would be. 

You looked at the thick quilt that was covering you, noticing dried bloodstains on it. Other than that, it was in pretty good condition and appeared to be handmade. You wondered who made it, and when. Right away you knew it wasn’t Trudy’s work, all she seemed to have cared about when she was alive was wax sculptures and terrorizing her children. It probably came from a victim, a family heirloom they had brought along with them when their trip ended prematurely in Ambrose. The thought made you push the quilt off of your body.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you were surprised to see Vincent still there. He always made his trips upstairs short and scarce. 

“Thanks for the blanket,” you said.

He hesitated before nodding. 

“Is there anything special you want for breakfast?” 

You watched as he opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms. 

“I figured you must be the one eating the cereal. Bo got so mad when I tried giving him Froot Loops one morning, I just gave up on it,” you said.

Vincent shrugged as he poured the cereal into a bowl with a worn out Snoopy design on it.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

His head shot up in your direction, so quickly it nearly startled you. You recognized him signing ‘No.’

“Well, let me know if I am, okay?” you said. “I–um–I can go, if you want to eat in here.”

He motioned with his thumb toward the basement. Right. Two new victims needed his attention. Still, you found it odd he even ventured upstairs. Usually he’d have to be torn away from his work by Bo, insisting he needed to take a break. Even then, he’d do so quickly and reluctantly until his sculptures were finished. 

You took your time making breakfast but weren’t sure what to expect when you heard Bo coming down the stairs. You’d been on the receiving end of his wrath plenty of times, from blunt knives to bloody fists, you’d taken it all from him–as if you had a choice. Still, he’d never cast you out like that before.

He stood in the doorway almost awkwardly, and you acknowledged his presence with a slight nod. With this, he closed the distance between the two of you, and you tensed up.

“Missed you last night,” Bo said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t banished you to the couch.

Those words were the closest to an apology you were going to get. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’. If he ever uttered that phrase, something would have to be terribly wrong. Everything was your fault anyway. It always was.

You shook your head, giving him a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

That was it. Your apology and admission of wrongdoing tied up neat in a bow for him. Unfortunately, his expression fell, and you wracked your brain for what you left out of your statement. Clean, crisp, and concise, there was nothing wrong with it. Why wasn’t he happy with you doing what was expected? 

He didn’t respond after that, and breakfast was mostly silent. You sure as hell weren’t going to initiate conversation with the man who made what he thought about you more than clear the night before, ruining what had been such a good afternoon that you had been looking forward to him getting home. Trying to pretend with Bo was pointless. He always ran his mouth and ruined it. 

You were relieved when he left for the day and didn’t return until late in the evening. Though you did what was expected, as always, there was a coldness to your actions. In your heart, you’d forgiven him for so much despite him not deserving any of it, but the way he treated you the night before stuck with you more than anything else he’d done. 

Your cool attitude toward him thawed over the next few days, getting into the normal routine as he graciously allowed you to share a bed with him again after three nights of roughing it alone, him in his bed and you on the old couch that made your back hurt. Three nights wasn’t even that long, but somehow the separation had made him insatiable, as he practically devoured you as soon as you stepped foot in his room. Hours had passed by the time he finally stopped–your wrists were bruised, lip bleeding profusely, salty tear tracks drying out the delicate skin on your face. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Even though there weren’t as many tourists coming through Ambrose, and even during the “busy season” they were few and far between, Bo almost always had something to do in the wax town or errands to run in the next town over. Lester had come by to visit more often, which lifted your mood. Conversations with him tended to be on the lighter side.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a look at your old room? There’s still a lot of stuff in there,” you said.

“Most of it ain’t mine. I’ve lived on my own for a long time now,” he answered.

“How far is your place from here?”

“Few miles. Maybe you can visit soon.”

What you wouldn’t give to spend a few hours outside Ambrose, even if it was at Lester’s house. You were dying for a change of scenery. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll have to ask Bo.”

“I can’t see him sayin’ no. He’s got a real soft spot for ya.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you gave Lester a smile before letting him steer the conversation elsewhere. What the fuck about your split lip indicated anything soft was going on with Bo? You didn’t want to begin thinking about how he treated his other partners. You nearly laughed at yourself–as if Bo considered you remotely equal to him. Besides, your affection had shifted toward his twin not long after the blanket incident.

When you weren’t cleaning Lester’s old room or doing routine chores around the house, you’d hang out downstairs with Vincent. You asked him several times if you were bothering him, but as no victims had come through Ambrose in a few weeks, he wasn’t as busy. He worked on projects that had fallen to the wayside in the urgency of creating with his living subjects. 

The studio was silent, save for the opera music, but sometimes you’d have long, rambling, mostly one-sided conversations. After months of giving short answers to Bo in fear of his temper, it was nice to vocalize what you were thinking, mundane observations and surface-level feelings. 

You knew what Vincent had done, what he was capable of, but when you’d watch him work, shaping and molding the wax like it was second nature, you couldn’t help but admire his artistry. His hands were big and strong like Bo’s, but there was a softness to them. You wondered what they’d feel like on your skin, if he’d hold you, caress you with the gentleness that Bo was deeply lacking. 

If Bo was aware you had been spending your free time with Vincent, he didn’t say anything about it. Sometimes you’d look at Bo, trying to imagine his face on Vincent’s body. You’d only ever seen Vincent with his mask on, and there were no photos of him maskless anywhere in the house. You wondered if his expressions would be like Bo’s, if he could channel the same meanness his twin did. In the part of your mind that was still a hopeless romantic, you pictured him looking at you fondly. 

To your dismay, a victim had come to Ambrose, which meant you wouldn’t see Vincent for some time. As much as you allowed yourself the silly fantasies in your head and tried to romanticize him as an artist, you knew you’d never be able to stomach that overwhelming aspect of his craft. He was just as much of a killer as Bo, but you never had to witness such.

It was only a matter of time. You knew that, but you didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did. 

You decided to make shrimp fried rice for dinner, having a craving for Chinese food and finding a promising recipe in a magazine Bo had given you. The dish was almost done when you heard an unusual noise coming from the basement. Victims usually struggled before Vincent subdued them, but this sounded different. 

As you considered whether or not to investigate, a frantic footfall that definitely wasn’t Vincent’s became louder as they ascended the stairs. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

The person before you hardly looked human, and you froze at the sight of him until he uttered a garbled “Help!”

Immobilized by fear, you couldn’t do anything but scream at the sight of the grotesque man before you. Nude and completely hairless, his body was littered with fresh wounds that had been inflicted and stitched up by Vincent. 

You scrambled backward, falling on your ass as you heard Vincent storming up the stairs. He grabbed the pan that was on the stove and followed the man into the living room. You could hear their struggle from your spot on the floor until there was a clang and a disgusting gurgling noise. The sound of the pan crashing to the ground made you jump. 

Vincent grunted, not sparing you so much as a glance while he dragged the man back downstairs. You tried not to throw up at the sight of the raw, burnt skin on the man’s head. 

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together enough to stand up. Cautiously, you walked over to the door frame, feeling your stomach churn at the mess on the floor. At a loss for how to begin cleaning it up, you grabbed your tub of cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and hoped they’d do the job. 

Your hands shook as you put on the yellow rubber gloves. You tried to use the broom and dustpan to sweep up the fried rice on the floor, only finding it stuck to the bristles because of the blood it had been mixed with in the scuffle. Gagging, you pulled the clump off and threw it into the dust pan. A combination of cleaning sprays at least masked the rancid smell with bleach and lemon, and you coughed every few minutes as you used sponges and paper towels to clean the floor.

Besides yours and your friends’ victimization in Ambrose, you’d never been directly confronted with what the Sinclair brothers did. Bo rarely allowed you to leave the house, and Vincent’s subjects were brought to his studio through the various trap doors and tunnels beneath the town. You’d certainly heard things, but seeing the worst of it for yourself was harrowing. 

You scrubbed the floor frantically as you heard Bo’s truck pull up, trying to think of how you were going to explain what had happened in his absence, the snafu in the dinner he expected when he’d come home. Your brain seemed to short circuit as you tried to decide whether to keep cleaning or make a run to the fridge and grab him a beer. 

The front door swung open, and Bo’s rare good mood collapsed at the scene before him. You didn’t dare acknowledge his presence, too afraid to speak. You weren’t even sure if you could.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bo asked, observing you cleaning the mess of blood and fried rice on the floor.

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you pointed toward the kitchen. “Vincent—“

“Darlin’, go upstairs,” Bo said. 

You looked at the floor and then back up to him. 

He grabbed your arm and helped you onto your feet. “Y/N, I want you to go upstairs. Now.”

His rare use of your name caught your attention, and something in you snapped. Calling you by your name as if he knew you, as if he hadn’t made sure Y/N was long dead by the time he let you out of that basement. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and ran upstairs, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you curled up on his bed and began sobbing.

Sure, the incident scared you, and you felt guilty for not doing more to help the man. The feeling that most overwhelmed you, however, was heartbreak. It was stupid to have conjured up a romanticized version of Vincent in your mind, yet it was alarmingly easy to do so when you never witnessed any of his brutality firsthand. He was as violent as Bo, cruel too, but it manifested differently. You wailed at the crushing weight of the realization that you wouldn’t have been better off if he found you first. You would have ended up just like the man in the kitchen, your former friends, everyone else in Ambrose. He wouldn’t have saved you. He wouldn’t have given you a second thought. 

As much as Bo made your life hell, at least you were still alive. After years of feeling average and overlooked, he saw something worthwhile in you, worth keeping around—or maybe you were just desperate and weak enough for him to break you so easily. You wanted to claw your insides out for loving him anyway. 

“Doll?” Bo asked tentatively by the doorframe, the first time he ever seemed remotely nervous around you. 

You quickly gave up trying to respond coherently, rolling over and screaming into his pillow until your throat hurt and your head ached. It wasn’t fair. You tried so hard to show him you deserved to be in his house, in his bed, and it never seemed like enough. 

When you looked at him through hazy, tear-filled eyes, you expected to see that all too familiar smug expression on his face whenever you cried. Instead, he was sending next to the bed, his eyebrows furrowed in the closest thing to concern you figured he could manage. 

“You got spooked, huh?” he asked softly.

A pained noise came from your throat in response. No shit. You wished he would take the initiative to hold you, to comfort you. You knew better than to hope he cared about you, but at least he could pretend. Instead, to your further disappointment, you had to be the one to initiate any kind of tenderness.

Feeling pathetic as ever, you uttered, “Will you just hold me?” 

He sighed, his heavy footfall punctuating his reluctant non-answer. The mattress dipped as he got onto it, wrapping his strong arms around you as he gave you an imitation of the comfort you craved. You buried your face in his chest. His emotional constipation wasn’t entirely his fault. The affection and care that most people grew up with in one way or another had almost no presence in Bo’s upbringing, his wrists and ankles were evidence of that. 

Speculation and “what if’s” did you no good, though. No amount of empathizing with him could ever undo a fraction of what he’d done to you, not to mention the dozens of other people who met their end in Ambrose. Suddenly, you felt disgusted by his touch, regretting your request for it in the first place. It was insincere, disingenuous, a way to placate you until next time, and the time after that, and after that, too. Sobs wracked through your body again as you considered going through this song and dance again for the rest of your life, however short or long that would be. To your dismay, he held you closer.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. The room was pitch black when Bo shook you awake, claiming you started screaming. You had no reason to doubt him. Despite the darkness and false sense of calm, you had trouble falling back asleep.

The following morning, panic rushed through you when you awoke late in the day, Bo nowhere in sight. All you could think about was how pissed he’d be that you hadn’t started breakfast for him yet. You practically sprinted out the bedroom door and almost fell down the stairs in your rush to the kitchen. 

He was already leaning against the messy counter, eating some concoction he’d made for breakfast directly from the frying pan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him attempt to cook. By the looks of it, you could understand why he left that to you.

“Bo, I’m so sorry. I overslept—“

“Don’t worry about it, darl’,” he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t made it clear in the past that this was one of the few tasks your survival hinged on. “Why don’t you take it easy today. I’ll even bring home somethin’ so you don’t have to cook dinner.”

“Thank you,” you uttered in disbelief.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, setting down the frying pan as if he had a boss who’d chew him out if he was late for work. “I gotta get goin’. I’ll check on ya later.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his—chaste, routine, robotic. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quickly.

Just like that, he left without incident. Reluctantly, you grabbed the frying pan—a different one from the night before, thankfully—he’d just set down, regarding the slop he’d cooked for himself with apprehension. You weren’t sure if it was edible enough for Jonesy to finish. Deciding to spare the dog from Bo’s attempt at cooking, you dumped what was left of the food in the garbage and while washing the pan, considered what to make yourself for breakfast. You ended up making plain toast before trudging your way back upstairs to yours and Bo’s shared bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you dug your shoebox out of the closet and opened it, staring at the pistol that was nestled between your heels. The damn thing had been burning a hole in your conscience for weeks. It kept you on edge, yet was a source of comfort. You knew it wouldn’t last. It’d only be a matter of time before Bo found it, and you tried not to think about what he’d do to you then. 

After all, anyone else in your situation would have acted as soon as they found the gun. Instead you sat on it, telling yourself it wasn’t the right time, that you needed to plan more. It was all lies. Bo’s undivided attention was torture, but it was all yours. 

Besides, going back to a “normal” life after your months in Ambrose would be a struggle in itself. After the pity wore off, people would regard you with frustration for not getting over it fast enough. You’d seen as much with acquaintances who’d gone through traumatic events. The rest of your life would be punctuated with regular therapy sessions and taking a cocktail of medications to curb the nightmares and PTSD from your experiences. It sounded exhausting, and you were already so tired. You’d rather be broken with Bo than broken on your own.

You spent the next few hours lying in bed, considering where to go from there. Having been confronted with the worst of the Sinclair family, brutal and cruel and ruthless, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you too. 

As much as you wanted to sleep, you were afraid to, unsure of what nightmares await if you closed your eyes for too long. Instead, you stared at the wall and thought over everything that happened in the past 24 hours, replaying the incident over in your mind.

Rage filled your chest at the thought of Vincent, who hadn’t paid you any mind since the previous night, not even to check on you. He never did. At least Bo felt bad enough to give you the day off, even though he had no involvement in the incident. You couldn’t believe you had convinced yourself Vincent cared about you. It was always you initiating conversations, making yourself at home in his studio, thinking he might enjoy the company. He was only tolerating you for Bo’s sake.

Your lip trembled as you considered how lonely you felt. If one of them didn’t kill you, loneliness would do it eventually. After all, if you were going to be in such a fucked up situation, couldn’t you have the slightest bit of happiness to make your survival worth it.

Bo returned home not long after the sky became dark. While you went downstairs to meet him, you didn’t rush. You half expected him to be annoyed with you for not having a beer in hand for him, but instead, his expression lit up when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen. 

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bo said with a smile as he put his arm around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you with a gleam in his eye that you hesitated to identify as adoration. You assumed too much of Vincent and found out the hard way that you were wrong. In your hours of wallowing, you came to the conclusion that if Bo didn’t love you, you’d rather be dead. 

“I wasn’t sure what ya wanted, so I went a little crazy,” he said, gesturing to the three Olive Garden takeout bags on the counter. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten today.”

“I need to get something from upstairs first,” you said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “‘Course, just be quick. Food’ll get cold before ya know it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before making your ascent upstairs. As soon as you walked back into the bedroom, you exhaled, trying to ground yourself despite your thoughts doing laps around your brain. No more talking yourself out of it. If you were going to stay with Bo, you needed him to know you were serious, that you couldn’t take the hot and cold attitude anymore. Either he wanted you, or he didn’t.

Opening the shoe box, you stared at the gun for what must have been a few minutes too long, because you flinched in shock when you heard Bo calling for you from downstairs. Grabbing the gun, you felt adrenaline rush through you as you went back downstairs with it in your hand. You almost wanted to go ahead and fire it just to see what would happen. 

His eyes widened, jaw clenched upon seeing you holding the gun. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it while I was cleaning.”

You cocked the gun, and his chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he got up from the table, lip curled in a sneer. When you lifted the gun to your temple, however, determination seemed to leave his body as he froze in place.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, and we can talk.”

Your voice was loud and uneven as you demanded an answer. “Do you love me?”

“I—what is this about?”

“I can’t go back to a normal life now. I can’t fucking leave here, but I can’t keep saying ‘I love you’ to a man who doesn’t mean it when he says it back,” you said. 

It was the most you’d spoken to him since he brought you down to that basement all those months ago. Used to brief answers from you, the severity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on him. His hands were half raised as he inched toward you, the handler shit out of luck without a taser or tranquilizer to subdue the lion that had escaped its cage.

“I don’t want you to blow your brains out in our kitchen, doll. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, just put the gun down,” he said, trying not to raise his voice despite the bulging veins in his neck indicating how bad he wanted to scream at you.

Our kitchen. You were holding a gun to your own head and that was the best he could do. Then again, if he really didn’t give a shit, he could have called Vincent up to help, though you’d be dead by the time his twin reached the kitchen. Perhaps he wanted to do it himself, already having your death elaborately planned out and unwilling for you to take that from him. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Our kitchen would do.

He jolted as you slammed the gun down on the table, rattling the silverware. His eyes widened as he looked from it to you. Holding his gaze, you lifted your hand from the weapon and took a step back. 

He wasted no time grabbing it, nostrils flaring as he pushed you back into the counter. The cold barrel of the gun pressed beneath your chin so you held eye contact with him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, a scowl on his handsome face, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline rush. “Givin’ me half a fuckin’ heart attack while I’m tryin’ to eat my goddamn dinner. I wouldn’t go to none ‘a this trouble if I didn’t love you—“

His rant was muffled by your mouth on his, your hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his Adam’s apple. He growled into your mouth, setting the gun down on the counter to pull you closer in what was more teeth and tongue to be considered a kiss. 

“You don’t got any other secrets you’re keepin’ from me, do ya?” he asked almost breathlessly as he pulled away from your lips far too soon for your liking.

You shook your head. “That was it.”

“Where’d you hide it?”

“Shoebox in the closet.”

His eyes widened at your response. He hadn’t expected you to have it in the first place, but especially not under his nose the whole time. You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, probably a mix of both. Yet the fact that you had plenty of chances to use it and never so much as pointed it at him spoke to the desperate devotion you had for him. God, you might as well have just recited your wedding vows.

He licked his lips, “Maybe I can let ya help me out in town sometimes.”

“You mean it?”

“‘S long as you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

You knew what he meant. Being in the house meant you wouldn’t have to deal with victims directly. He hadn’t brought any up to the house for as long as you’d been there. The last you knew of was your friend who had disappeared with him to pick up a part he claimed was delivered there instead of the gas station. This was always coming, your complicit involvement in the Sinclairs’ disturbing cruelty in the name of art or legacy or something.

“Don’t make me kill anyone, please,” you implored, eyes glassy as you teared up.

“It ain’t as bad as people say. The first time makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Like when you killed her?”

He grinned, giving you a kiss. “Remember what I said when I first brought you up here? I knew I got lucky with you.”

He knew what you were thinking. It wasn’t the act itself that scared you, but rather the possibility that you would like it, that just like him it would be something you did with no remorse. 

“One day,” he whispered, voice husky as his blue eyes bore deep into yours, “one day you’re gonna do it too. You’re gonna wanna do it.”

Your voice was barely audible as you answered, “I know.”

“It’ll be the best feelin’ you’ve ever had in your life, doll. I promise.”

[slasher-male-wife]

Slashers on Valentines day

Happy Valentines day everyone. I'm single so I don't really have anyone to celebrate with but who cares when I still get chocolate and can watch a campy slasher movie centered around the holiday. This is kind of a random selection of slashers including Danny because he's my baby girl and I saw really cute Valentines day themed fan art of him. Anyway I hope y'all enjoy <3

Includes: Hannibal Lecter, Harry Warden, Candyman, The Sinclair brothers, Amanda Young and, Danny Johnson

Warnings: Mentions of murder and gore kind of

Hannibal Lecter

He's obviously cooking for you today. You're not to step foot into the kitchen because he's taking care of all of it himself. You're getting spoiled today and that's final.

He's going to buy you something expensive that you'll love. It might be a ring or a new bag, maybe an entirely new outfit. Whatever he sees fit to give you. He doesn't expect you to get him anything but if you do he's very thankful.

He's probably taking you to the opera with him. Something high brow and fancy for his lovely s/o, nothing but the best for you on a very special day.

I can see him spending the evening drawing you too. You're probably in his study, drinking wine and doing something relaxing while he sketches you and recites love poems.

Harry Warden

He's going to be busy murdering people on Valentines day so he's not going to be able to do much of anything with you.

But he is going to bring you whatever he thinks you'll like. Flowers, chocolate, a card addressed to one of his victims, whatever he finds he's giving you.

He doesn't really enjoy having decorations up for Valentines day. Having pink and red themed decor is fine with him but explicit Valentines day decorations aren't his jam.

While he isn't there on the actual day, he's going to be there after Valentines day and that's when he's going to shower you with love and affection.

Candyman

It's going to a very romantic day overall for you. Lots of your favorite flowers around your house/apartments waiting for you when you wake up. Maybe some chocolate but probably a little honeycomb too.

He's going to steal you all of the gifts he gets you. Mostly expensive jewelry he thinks you'll like or you've pointed out to him.

Oh and he is most definitely writing you a love letter pages long, listing off every detail of why he loves you and what he would do for you.

Of course he's going to be spending the entire day with you. You're not going out but you're going to enjoy time spent with him in your house together.

Vincent Sinclair

He's going to give you whatever gifts he can make/get you for the occasion. He doesn't have access to most traditional things for Valentines day so it might just be a painting or a love letter, but he's trying ok?

He wants to spend the entire day with you. He usually spends a lot of time with you anyway but especially on this special day. He'll keep Bo away so he doesn't make stupid comments about you two, and Lester won't bother you at all.

He might want to try slow dancing with you since he's never done it before and he sees couples do it in romance movies all of the time. He might suck at it but he doesn't really care because it's with you.

He's going to end the day with a nice dinner between the two of you. He pulled out an old cook book to use for this and he did a pretty good job at cooking it too.

Lester Sinclair

He's going to get you all of the stereotypical gifts, chocolate, flowers, a card, etc. He just loves you so much and he wants to spoil you every once and awhile you know?

He's going to take you out to an actual town where the two of you can really be a couple. You're probably just going to be walking/driving around and getting dinner but it's the thought that counts.

Lots of physical affection too. Like he wants to always have a hand on you today. He thinks that he can't fully express how much he loves outside of giving you hugs, kissing you, holding your hand, etc.

He's probably taking pictures of all of this. I can see him being a sentimental person so spending a special day with you is something that he's going to want to document.

Bo Sinclair

He thinks the whole idea of the day is stupid. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to do something special with you for Valentines day. He can be a gentleman when he wants to and today is one of those days.

He'll probably get you flowers. Nothing too special, he'd ask Vincent what flowers to get if he doesn't know your favorite flowers are. I feel like Vincent could go off on a big thing about the different meanings of flowers but he knows Bo doesn't care so he'll just say roses.

I feel like he would maybe get you a ring that matches one of his. Partly to sell the idea that you're married to victims, partly because he's a possessive guy and likes the idea of you always being reminded who you're dating.

He also expects you to be romantic. He knows you can't do much because you can't leave town without him but he still expects you to do something like cook him something special or write him a love letter if you're that kind of person.

Amanda Young

She also thinks Valentines day is stupid. She's never been much of a romantic and probably has never been in a healthy romantic relationship, let alone an actual relationship.

Like Bo she's still getting you something. If you're like her she's getting you a gothic box of chocolate and maybe flowers (They do sell gothic boxes of chocolate and I'm in love with them).

She will happily go out to dinner with you. She somewhat expects you to plan it and pay for at least half of the dinner. I can see her getting dressed up if it's a more fancy restaurant and looking so pretty.

She's also going to rub it in Hoffmans face that she has a partner who loves her and that she got spoiled while he probably sat home alone doing whatever he does.

Danny Johnson

He's going to make a scrap book of all of his favorite pictures of you and share it with you. Pointing out the ones he likes the best or ones with fun stories behind them.

Because he's an obsessive little shit he knows all of your favorite things and he's going to get them for you. Expect to find your favorite flowers, candy, drink, etc on your kitchen table in the morning.

Maybe does a romantic photo shoot with you. He wants to pick out some aspects of it but will let you pick out outfits to wear. He's going to spend half the time actually taking pictures and half posing you so he has an excuse to touch you.

If you're as morbid and crazy as him then he's going to get you an actual heart. It might be human, it might be an animals heart he got at the butcher, ok it's probably a real heart that he says is an animals.