Crying Pissing Throwing Up - Blog Posts

for the emotional prompts, any of these for Bo?

" could... could you just hold me, a while? "

" you aren't a monster. "

" why are you still here?! why?! i destroy everything i touch! and yet you still stick around! "

(or Vincent or Lester tbh I love them all equally)

- 🔪

(( My toxic trait is definitely thinking I can write short & simple 'warm ups' ))

And because I have no self control, 🔪 anon:

I give you all 3 Sinclairs :') 🖤

“ Could…could you just hold me, a while? ” with Lester Sinclair

You couldn’t imagine what he felt. Your heart was broken, but Lester’s must have been completely taken from him altogether.

“Lester-”, you try yet again weakly.

“Leave me alone!”, he shouts, snatching his arm away from your touch and drunkenly stumbling forward in the process.

You had never seen him this way. This wasn’t your Lester.

Eyes that were only ever lively and affectionate, now red-rimmed and aggressively rubbed raw from refusing to let the tears escape. It was characteristic for Lester to look disheveled to a certain degree with the work he did, but this was entirely different. This was painful to see.

You felt utterly useless. Your heart ached to change this; to somehow attribute everything to nothing more than a bad dream. But there was nothing more you could do except silently cry and continue attempting to console him in any way he’d allow. You could tell he was finally beginning to break, and you’d be there when it happened no matter how many times he pushed you away.

He hadn't been able to sleep for two whole days now; refusing to eat, and consuming as much alcohol as it would take to let him forget for even a single insufferable moment. You did your best to deny him the bottle where you could, but knowing he'd just leave in his truck to seek it elsewhere worried you more. At least here he had you to make sure he was safe even when anguished out of his mind.

“Goddammit, (y/n)! Just- just fuck off!”, he tries to violently shake you off of him but he’s too weak now, and you know he doesn’t mean it. His words don’t hold the animosity he’d like them to because they’re so filled with suffering.

You only hold onto him tighter as you press your cheek against the straining muscles of his back in anguish. There are no words you can possibly offer him to ease the pain, but you hope your heart which is desperately beating against him, will help console him in some way; remind him that he still wasn’t completely alone.

“Please stop hurting yourself”, you plead sadly, “It…It’d hurt them to see you this way..”

It’s his breaking point. Lester lets out a wail so heart-rending that you’re unprepared; unable to keep hold of him as he slips from your grasp and falls to his knees with his head in his hands. He wants to deny what’s already in front of him so badly. Foolishly reassuring himself they’d walk through the doors of what was left of their childhood home at any moment now.

He’s weeping bitterly, voice hoarse and utterly broken from how much it hurts to keep calling out for them until his cries inevitably quiet into defeated moans. The sun is setting again, and you defeatedly sit next to his shaking form, hot tears unyielding in their passage from both of your exhausted eyes. You lean your head against his shoulder, hoping he won’t resist your touch this time, and he doesn’t. For a while, there’s just silence between you apart from the occasional sniffling that normally accompanies tears. Lester finally unable to hold out against the new reality so cruelly forced on him.

“Let’s get you home, Les”, you softly say.

He nods halfheartedly, feebly allowing you to help him stand and lean against you as you exit the house and get him in the truck. The entire drive is silent apart from the lurching and squeaking the uneven roads pull from Lester’s faithful pick up; you focusing on the familiar rural path towards your shared home, and Lester hollowly staring at nothing in particular out the window.

He’s hurriedly staggering out of the truck and throwing up on the side of the road once you arrive. Two days worth of mental anguish and physical neglect catching up to him all at once now that he was no longer in denial; the contents of his stomach proving to be little else besides liquid and bile from all of the alcohol.

You’re at his side in an instant, placing your hand against his forehead. It’s hot- too hot; his whole body is covered in sweat, and he’s weakly trembling now that the last bit of his strength has just been exerted.

Lester doesn’t process that he’s even in the tub until you’re already scrubbing at his skin with lukewarm water and soap.

“(Y/n)..?”, he groans, “My head-”

“I’m here, honey”, you assure softly while pressing your lips to his warm forehead, “I’m almost finished, we’ll get you changed and into bed, alright?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to focus on the sound of your voice, but you imagine his head is quite delirious from the fever. It hurts you to see him this way; both mentally and physically defeated as he fights to stay awake as best as he can. He’s a sickly pale, with dark circles to accompany his downcast eyes, and all traces of his toothy grin completely erased.

It’s his missing smile that impacts you the most; you can’t remember the last time seeing him without it- you swear he even smiles in his sleep. As you finish rinsing his hair out you wonder if you’ll ever see that smile again, or if that too, had passed alongside his brothers.

Fortunately, Lester is still awake despite his exhaustion which helps you to dress him that much easier. He’s sitting on his side of the bed while you carefully dry his hair. Jonesy pads her way inside the room, giving you both a sad whine while she lays down at the foot of the bed and drops her head.

“He’ll be alright, Jonesy”, you coo, “Lester just needs some sleep”

You help Lester get under the sheets once his hair is dry, kissing his temples tenderly. You’re about to step away to hang his towel to dry and pick up the house a little while he falls asleep, but he finds the strength to hold onto your sleeve before you do.

“(Y/n)..?”

“Yes, love?”

“Could…could you just hold me, a while?”, he brokenly asks.

His affectionate requests normally make your heart swell, but his voice is so miserably sad right now that it only breaks instead.

You give him a small, sorrowful smile and nod your head, “Of course”

You’re cradling his head in your arms once you join him under the covers; gently positioning him against your chest to be lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat and find comfort in your warmth. Warmth that means you are here. Warmth that means you are alive, and at his side. You soothingly run your fingers through Lester’s hair until his breathing finally evens out and you’re sure he’s asleep.

“I’ll look after him, boys”, you cry. Hoping somehow, someway, they’d hear you.

You only had each other now.

“ You aren’t a monster. ” with Vincent Sinclair

He kills viciously; often doing so with a sadistic kind of thrill if he’s feeling anything at all to begin with. Paralyzing and waxing the living only ever elicits artistic satisfaction in him, and the violence and death he leaves in his wake don’t ever unnerve him. It seems as though nothing could be able to discompose his cold and collected exterior, but the berserk state he was in now clearly disproved that.

You had seen him. The real him. Something he had wanted to keep from you indefinitely; no doubt, a horrific memory you’d always keep in your mind now. He’s enraged, he’s distraught, he’s disgusted, but not at you. It hadn’t been your fault, and it still wouldn’t have changed his decision to step in and protect you.

Vincent lets out a furious sound made harsh and hoarse by his vocal cords before sending yet another set of tools and wax mask models crashing to the ground.

You could hear the forceful impacts from below, unconsciously flinching every time cherished works of art were destroyed by their own creator. Vincent’s angry, guttural vocals occasionally loud enough to register through the floor.

“It’s my fault”, you finally say weakly

“Nah, it ain’t yer fault..”, Bo whispers uncharacteristically gently.

He continues to bandage your bleeding arm with his brows knit together in frustration. The twins weren’t angry with you, just upset at themselves for ‘letting’ you get hurt. They were relieved your injury hadn’t been more severe, but you becoming hurt was always a sensitive subject for them regardless of the severity.

“But if I wouldn’t have gotten in the way, Vincent wouldn’t have needed to jump in and-”

“And it still ain’t yer fault, (y/n)”, Bo interrupts with an added sternness to his tone that doesn’t last, “Vince jus’ didn’t want t’scare ya since he..likes ya so much. Thought it’d make you see him different.”

You couldn’t forget Vincent’s stunned expression when the man he had defended you from knocked his mask off with his fist in their struggle. It was the most emotion you’d ever seen displayed on his features, and the first time entirely seeing his features at all without artfully sculpted wax to stand in the way.

The animosity that immediately overtook the gentle Vincent you were so used to had admittedly made you tense as he ripped the man apart with his twin blades. Incessantly lacerating with enraged snarls ripping from his throat until the man was nothing more than an unrecognizable mass of red. You had seen him kill before of course, but never like this. This was the first time seeing Vincent kill without the unwavering apathetic exterior that made him look almost indifferent when committing brutal acts.

You were still in the same position on the floor you had been in just before Vincent stepped in; one of your knees defensively propped up, and shaky arms supporting your weight from behind when you had frantically tried to place distance between you and your attacker. You were frozen still from the shock; a sight Vincent mistook for horror directed at his visage, rather than the situation, before escaping you altogether.

“That’s why he-?”, you stall, “But I’d love Vincent no matter what he looks like!”

“I know”, Bo nods while finishing up with your arm, “Vince jus’ needs ya t’say it is all”

“But he locked the way in”, you remind Bo looking to the floor from your seat within the small medical room.

“Go through the house of wax”

You couldn’t help the uneasiness eating away at your nerves when you quietly descended into the candlelit basement that was darker than usual. Wax models, masks, and the tools of his craft littered across the floor- many in pieces from what you were able to see in front of you.

“Vincent..?”, you call out to him, carefully choosing your footing.

You couldn’t see much, but you didn’t have to because he was in front of you before you had even registered his initial location.

“Vincent”, you sigh in relief, automatically beginning to wrap your arms around him.

He catches your wrists in his large hands, turning your injured arm towards him to examine. His mask is on again, but you can tell from his visible blue eye he’s regarding you at a distance.

“Bo patched me up, I’m okay”, you whisper tentatively, “…thank you for keeping me safe”

Even with your wrists still in his hands you’re close enough to gently lean your forehead against his chest, pressing your cheek into his familiar warmth. You feel him shift, but instead of embracing you like you’d normally expect him to, he moves you at arm’s length.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Vincent can hardly take your disheartened expression at his withdrawal. But the way you had looked at him, the real him, was something he couldn’t remove from the forefront of his mind. It was agonizing, but he’d still prefer you to be honest than to come to him now and fake that he hadn’t disgusted you.

‘I’m a monster’, he signs

“What?”, you murmur in shock, but he doesn’t retract his words.

‘You saw it too’, he insists, ‘Go. I won’t blame you’

“Vinny? Vincent?”, you’re desperately pulling away from his grasp in order to reach up to cup the sides of his shrouded face in your hands now.

“Look at me, Vincent”, you demand sternly as you delicately turn his head to meet your eyes, “You aren’t a monster. And I could never be scared or disgusted of you. I was only startled at how upset you became- I was worried about you”

It’s hard to tell with so little light surrounding you both, but you can see the tears threatening to spill from his defeated look. You can feel your throat begin to tighten with the onset of your own tears, but it’s important for you to try and keep your voice strong- he needed to hear you.

“Maybe I can’t change the way you see yourself”, you begin gently, slipping your thumbs underneath his mask to touch the skin beneath, “-but you can’t change the way I see you either”

Vincent tenses when he feels you begin to lift the hand crafted veil separating you, but he doesn’t stop you, “And I see only what I love”, you declare quietly once it’s removed and set down.

“I see you”

His tears are freely falling now, and even though he’s much taller than you, you do your best to reach him; gingerly cupping his jaw again to bring his beautiful face down to your lips. You’re kissing the right side of his face with such ardent affection that Vincent swears he can feel his heart swell and stop all at once. It’s easier to kiss him now that he’s keenly leaning into your touch, wrapping his arms around you where they belong. Your lips are featherlight, appreciating every dip and curve of the red scar tissue he was taught to hate so much. You love him. Every part of him.

“-and you are lovely, Vincent”, you breathe.

“ Why are you still here?! Why?! I destroy everything I touch! And yet you still stick around! ”

with Bo Sinclair

“Bo-”

“Let go, I'll do it my damn self, (y/n)”

“Bo, let me help you, you're hurt-”, you attempt again

“I said get yer hands off me! Don’t need ya fuckin’ coddling me like some damn kid!”, he shouts venomously

“Is that what you think this is?”, you reply in disbelief, “Well I’m sorry I care about you too much to let you bleed out on the floor, Bo!”

“Who the hell asked ya t’care?! Always actin' like I goddamn need you- I want ya gone! Get!”, he spats back

“..You don’t mean that”

You had tried to say it firmly, but your own voice betrayed you, making it sound more like you were trying to convince yourself.

So when he had bitterly pushed past you without another word, you swore you felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.

You tried not to take it as personally as he made it sound. Getting into a fight with Bo wasn’t uncommon with the way he struggled to regulate his emotions; one of the more unfortunate results of the abuse he’d received as a child. It didn’t make it right, of course, but your love for him had always made you patient and understanding.

It was beginning to get dark out, but the house suddenly felt far too suffocating in your current emotional state. If Bo’s wound had been more severe, you would have forced yourself to tough out his current mood in order to make sure he was well-tended, but Vincent was home too, and would no doubt keep an eye on him in your brief absence.

You just started walking. Not really bothering to consider a specific direction. It was easy to become distracted with your thoughts; your mind never seeming to rest even when you didn’t feel so emotionally sore.

The night was cool, a welcome change to the humid Louisiana days that often exasperated you, and no doubt, the reason you ended up so far away from Ambrose before you even realized.

“Shit”, you curse under your breath.

How long had you been gone now? The night sky had definitely gotten darker, making the rural path you were currently on look far more threatening than it actually was.

“Time to head back”, you mutter.

You were sure Bo hadn't even noticed your absence to begin with, so you didn’t bother to quicken your leisurely pace.

You listen to the plentiful crickets chirp out their nightly song as your shoes crunch along the dusty path, idly kicking the occasional rock as you go. The scarce fireflies that tease your vision within the tree line make you smile with the way they light up and disappear before lighting up again somewhere entirely different; like a playful game of hide and seek anyone is welcome to join if they only pay enough attention. Hearing the occasional frog pipe up to add loud croaks between the cricket’s steady chorus is also characteristic for this time of night; creating a melody you’re convinced you can no longer sleep without after having lived in Ambrose for so long.

When you enter the familiar little town again, you realize something is wrong. All of the lights are on to brightly illuminate your path- which usually only happens when the boys are in pursuit of victims.

You can hear yelling, but as you run in the direction of it you realize it’s Bo’s voice. You finally see him across the way yelling at Vincent in a manic frenzy when you reach the front of the garage.

“I’m tellin’ you they left goddammit!”, he shouts while roughly shoving off Vincent’s attempts to calm him, “Help me fuckin’ find em!”

“Bo?”, you call out as you near them now, “Bo, what’s wrong?”

His wild blue eyes are in the direction of your voice in an instant. You’re caught off guard when he roughly reaches you and grips your arms against your sides painfully.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ run off like that again, ya hear?!”

He’s shaking your shoulders to make sure his words sink in before he’s crashing his lips against yours with a fervent intensity over and over.

“Bo-”, you mewl in between his passionate assault.

He pointedly ignores you as he moves down to bite and suck on your neck, causing you to gasp heatedly. But just as quickly as he had began to stir you up, he’s now pushing you away; cruelly making you aware of just how much you crave his touch as he firmly stares you down.

“Why’d ya come back”

It's said more like a statement than a question, but the way his brows are knit together in frustration suggests he's genuinely wanting an answer from you.

“I-”, you falter as you try to catch your breath, “What do you mean? I just went for a w-”

“Told you I wanted ya gone, that I didn't need ya- so why are ya still here?!”, he demands now

Your mind is still reeling from the flux emotional intensity you constantly find yourself experiencing with Bo, but you realize he’s not actually angry at you right now.

He’s blaming himself- even hating himself for the way he ends up treating you without meaning to sometimes. But even after all this time, he still can't bring himself to understand why you stay by his side despite it all.

“Because I want to be here, Bo”

"Why?!”, he pressures further, “I destroy everythin' I touch! And yet ya still stick around!- the hell's wrong with you?!"

His words are beginning to lose their edge despite their volume. Hostility giving way to the feelings of inferiority and inadequacy he so desperately fights against every day; feelings cruelly implanted into him by the same people responsible to have raised him with the care and support he deserved.

Raised voices and aggression are only ever fronts to scare off what he really fears most: vulnerability.

“Because I love you”, you admit freely.

You know it hurts him to comprehend how you genuinely mean it, but you don't mind reassuring him of the fact for the rest of your life if necessary.

You close the distance between you gently, almost regarding him like a wounded wild animal as you lift one of his marred wrists to your lips.

“-even when you think you don’t deserve it, or aren’t good enough, I will be here to prove you wrong”, you continue while wrapping your arms around his middle.

You place your chin on his chest to look up at his eyes that have now tiredly settled into a forlorn expression behind blue, “What you were put through…that wasn’t your fault Bo. Which means you can’t blame yourself for everything that happens now, but even so- you still fight against what they forced on you”

“And as long as some part of you keeps wanting to change for the better-”, you continue, reaching up to kiss his solid jawline, “-you can’t possibly be what they tried to make you think you are"