#lester sinclair

this is the best birthday gift someone could give me,, even though I made it myself

from: me

to: me/anyone

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

You must be one sick mf to actually fall in love with slashers.

Me:

With the slashers ofc

But seriously imma start posting like I got some goddamn common sense, I just sometimes forget

and it’s usually quite loud

another sinclair brothers slice of life. i just love making them fight over petty shit.bold is sign as always.

*

“Look, I said I will tape it for you the next time it is on TV!”

“That isn’t the point though!”

“I know your point and you’re being stupid.”

“I’m being stupid? Turns out you can’t fuckin’ read apparently!”

They’d been going on like this since before dinner was ready and had paused it only once to bicker about Bo’s brisket carving technique, before continuing their main argument over the dinner table.

Since then, the table hasn’t been quiet; the constant rattling of cutlery as it is dropped and picked up again with Vincent’s yelling. Even Bo, who wasn’t one to be parted from a meal, would throw his fork down if he was particularly irate, signing messily but none the less furiously at Vincent, just to drive his point home.

Vincent slammed his own fork down in anger and quickly replied, “I can read, and there wasn’t one thing on that tape that said not to tape over it!”

“Itold you last week not to use that tape!”

“You have a million more tapes, it’s not like you have nothing to watch now!”

“That is not the point,” Bo repeats, “I liked that episode and I told you not to use my shit without asking!”

“Fuck you, you use my things all the time!”

“Like what?”

“My boots are still at the back door because you wore them last week and have not cleaned them!”

“That was for a practical purpose! And,” Bo jabs his fork in Vincent’s direction, “I will clean them. You can’t get my tape back.”

“I can’t believe you’re so hung up about this. Why are you so attached to that episode?”

“Episode of what?” Lester asks. He’s had no idea what this argument was even about seeing as it started before he even arrived at the house. Knowing Bo, there were two options: Star Trek or Knight Rider.

Bo answers Vincent’s question defensively, “I am not ‘attached’! What, is it a crime to enjoy a TV show now?” At the same time, Vincent replies “Star Trek,” to Lester.

Lester nods, though no one is really taking much notice of his opinion on this whole thing.

Bo goes back to his dinner, but keeps talking, “It’s the principle of the thing, Vince.”

“Whatever. I’ll tape it again for you.”

Bo grunts. Vincent grunts back.

Lester sits there in silence, glad that they seem to have come to an agreement, although he doesn’t quite understand what has just happened. He loves his brothers, he does, but their arguments can go around in circles for hours sometimes with no apparent end other than the moment they both get bored of arguing. Lester’s just glad they finally seem content to leave this one be. For now.

“They’re giving me more hours at work,” Lester says, throwing the fact into the room and awaiting a reaction.

“More?” Bo asks, “You’re already out there breakin’ your damn back every day.”

“I - We need the money.”

“We don’t need nothin’ we can’t get elsewhere. You need help wi’ money, you come to us, alright. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s just a couple extra hours, Bo. Aint no harm.”

Bo raises a brow as he chews thoughtfully on his brisket.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. The twins give up their arguing for the night and there’s a steady supply of beers in the fridge.

When it gets late enough and Lester has had his fill of eating the twins’ food, he makes to leave. Bo waves him goodbye from the couch with one hand, taking a swig from his bottle of beer, eyes still trained on the TV.

Vincent walks him to the door. He never normally does that.

“See you 'round, Vince,” Lester says, already opening the door.

Vincent takes a swig from his own beer bottle before putting it down on the side table to speak, glancing behind him to make sure Bo is still watching TV. “While you are out tomorrow, will you get a TV magazine for me? So I can find when that stupid episode is next on.”

Lester scoffs softly, keeping his voice down, “You really gonna coddle him like that?”

“Shut up,” Vincent smirks. “He’ll be on my ass about it if I don’t. ”

Lester shrugs, “Sure thing.” He pats Vincent heartily on the shoulder.

“You either in or you out,” Bo calls, “You’re letting all the heat out.”

“See you, Bo,” Lester calls back, finally setting out into the cold night and heading down the path to his truck.

been an angel all year

ahh i was going to wait until christmas eve to post this, but i got to excited once i finished it !! with great pleasure, i gift this christmas fic to @pharmacykeys !! ahh i hope you enjoy and have a very happy holiday season fem!reader x bo sinclair on christmas eve. and of course some domestic sinclairs content because i cant resist. this is a long one warning for smut.

You could have sworn that time moved differently in Ambrose. No sooner had the leaves started turning brown and drifting sadly from the trees, was the frost settling in every morning. And then, before you knew it, it was nearly Christmas and you’d done nothing to prepare.

It had taken you literally going into the next town over with Bo on a supply run for you to even realise the festive season had arrived. Strings of fair lights lined shopfronts and Christmas music was playing in every goddamn store you walked into.

“Wait,” you said, looking around somewhat bewildered, “Wait, what’s the date?”

Bo shrugs, “How should I know?” But he routes through the pocket of his work trousers and pulls out a quarter for the newspaper rack. He pulls out the paper and looks for the date, “December 21st.”

“The 21st?” you repeat, aghast. No way was it nearly Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas and you hadn’t even noticed? “We haven’t even decorated the house or bought – bought any food or,” you miss a beat in realisation, “We don’t have any presents!”

Bo was looking less than impressed as he tried to keep walking up the sidewalk, but you kept stopping in horror each time you realised something else you hadn’t done.

“Look, darlin’, we don’t really ‘do’ Christmas, or any of that crap,” he insists, grabbing your elbow to get you to keep walking. He had a to-do-list today and he didn’t want to be away from town any longer than he had to be.

“Aw, Bo, c’mon! We have to do something,” you complain, but follow him anyway, “I love Christmas! Please, can’t we do something?”

Bo grumbles, not wanting to have this argument right now. Christmas hadn’t been particularly awful for him as a kid, him and his brothers actually did pretty well, but there was always a tension simmering just below the festive façade his family put on that unnerved him. There was too much possibility of something going wrong for his liking.

“Look,” you persist, “I’ll sort it all, you don’t even have to lift a finger. If you let me sort it now while you’re getting the regular supplies then I’ll be finished before we have to start heading home. Deal?”

You look up at him hopefully. You see something cross his face, but you’re not sure what it is.

He hesitates before answering. “Fine.” He goes for his wallet, taking out one of two twenty-dollar bills that is in there.

“Thank you!” you squeal, kissing him on the cheek and practically hopping around as he hands you the money.

“We have a tree and decorations and shit back home, I’ll get ‘em outta the basement if you really want ‘em, so don’t go wastin’ that money. Meet me back at the truck at 4. You come even 1 minute late and there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”

“Message received and understood,” you nodded firmly, before disappearing back down the sidewalk.

Bo watches you for as long as it takes for you to be absorbed by the crowd. He’s really started to regret letting you go off alone.

*

The ride home is probably more fun for you than it is for Bo. You chatter relentlessly about all your favourite things about the festive season and what you used to do as a kid and how the house will look so nice all decorated. Bo, to his credit, listens to you, nodding at appropriate times, but mostly focussing on the road ahead.

*

Despite your excitement, your festive plans are put even further on hold by an unexpected arrival. It took a few days for the atmosphere in town to calm down enough and for Vincent to finish up his new project before you could herd everyone into one place and force them to start enjoying themselves. By then it was December 24th. Christmas Eve.

“Okay,” you start, pacing around the family room in front of the twins who sit sullenly on the couch. You try to give your voice as much authority as possible because that was the only way you got taken seriously around here, “Here’s what’s happening: you two are getting the tree and decorations from the basement, Lester said he’ll be here in a half with the turkey and I will create some –,” you search for the right word, “atmosphere, in here.”

“Alright, Lil’ Miss Bossy,” Bo says. It sounds like he’s complaining but the way he gets up anyway lets you know that he doesn’t mind too much. If he was honest, he’d say he was even a little bit excited. Sure, he didn’t trust for the whole thing not to devolve into a fight (like it so often did when he was a kid), but for now he tried to trick himself. Trick himself into think that maybe, with you in charge, Christmas wouldn’t be too bad.

He tilts his head at his twin and Vincent gets up to follow him down to the tunnels.

You settle down on the recently vacated couch, picking up the stack of cassette tapes you’d located at the back of the video cupboard. Best Christmas Song Compilation. Festive Party Songs. Christmas Hits. So many to choose from, you thought, giggling with excitement.

As you took out one of the tapes and inserted it into the old tape player on the side table, you glanced at your phone, checking to make sure Lester hadn’t text saying a disaster had befallen him.

(The conversation with Lester regarding the turkey had gone something like this:

“Hey, we’re going to have Christmas dinner this year, you’ll come right?”

“Christmas? I dunno, what did Bo say?”

“He’s fine with it, he agreed! It was practically his idea. [Lord forgive you for a little white lie]. So, you’ll come, won’t you, Les?”

“Sure,” you hear the smile break across his face, “Sure, sounds good!”

“Oh, just one thing though,” you add, sweetly, before he hangs up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could get a turkey from somewhere?” Then, quickly adding, “Preferably not one that’s been hit by a 16-wheeler.”

That gets a laugh out of him; a short, surprised one, like a dog bark. “Sure, I think I know a guy that knows a guy who has a turkey farm.”

You don’t question this. “Thanks, you can bring it round on Christmas Eve? And stay the night, if you like.”

“I’ll see you there.”)

Comfortable in the knowledge that Lester had hopefully snagged a turkey from somewhere, you relaxed again, humming along to the first Christmas song that started playing.

Looking around, you realised something was missing. Whistling lowly, you strained to try and hear Jonesy’s feet pattering. She must have gone down to the basement with Vincent, hopefully she wasn’t getting in the way.

It took a while (you supposed if the boys never really ‘did’ Christmas, like Bo had said, then the tree and decorations must be pretty deeply buried amongst the rest of the junk in the tunnels) but eventually you heard a commotion and you wandered down the hall and towards the study.

Before you even opened the door you could hear Bo yelling and cursing under his breath. When you walking in, you tried to stifle your laugh but it was no use. Bo was trying to drag the tree up through the hatch whilst, you could only guess, Vincent was trying to push it up from beneath.

Bo turns to you and snaps, “And what’s so goddamn funny?”

You press your lips together tightly but it doesn’t stop your shoulder shaking with laughter. “I’m not laughing, see, not laughing,” you manage.

“Like hell you’re not,” Bo grumbles, but lets it go in favour of returning to his attempts to heave the tree up through the trap door. “Vincent you’re not even trying,” he complains, even though you all know Vincent is far stronger than Bo likes to pretend.

The movement from below stops and you hear a rustling amongst the branches. Your laughter is kickstarted when you see Vincent’s calloused hand squeeze up through the trap door and flip Bo off.

After a long while of pushing and shoving and heaving, and a lot of complaining (though when did the twins do anything together and not complain about it every spare second), the tree, along with the few boxes of decoration, was out of the tunnel and situated in the family room, positioned under your expert direction.

“Now, this is the fun part!” you clap happily, beginning to rifle through the boxes. You pull out strings of fairy-lights and garlands of tinsel. Plastic baubles and evergreen wreaths. At the very bottom of one of the boxes, you find a smaller box, an old cookie tin. It took some prying but you managed to open it, finding inside a nest of smaller, much more intricate wax baubles.

You look over at Vincent, “Vince,” you hold up one of the ornaments, a turtle dove, “Did you make these?”

Both of them look over at you from where they’re sat on the floor. There’s something childish about the way they’re slowly pawing at the decorations as you take them out of the box. They silently bicker over holding one decoration or another, things passed between them as they start to remember the baubles that they’d been most attached too as children.

Vincent shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before signing, “Momma made those, back when we were babies.”

You nodded in response, “You could make more, there’ll be enough room for new ones, I think.”

He shrugs, “Maybe.”

You let it go.

There’s a rapid knocking at the door and you start in surprise. It must be Lester; you leave the twins to poke through the decorations some more and run for the door.

“Lester!” you greet him, pulling him into a hug while dodging the huge turkey he held by his side.

“Happy Christmas,” he smiles, “Well, almost.”

“Happy Christmas!” you gesture towards the turkey, “Thanks for bringing this!”

“No problem, got it cheap off a guy.” You don’t question this.

“Come on in, the twins are in a mood with each other after a tree debacle, go and cheer them up, would you?”

“Annoy them more is more like it,” he shrugs, though he’s still smiling.

You do your best hostess impression and usher him in. He diverts into the kitchen to leave the turkey in the fridge, you’d cleared space for it especially but just looking at it you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. At least you’d be taking it out later to start cooking.

When you go back to the family room, Bo and Vincent have made a start on decorating the tree. Vincent was trying to be careful, while Bo was half-heartedly draping some tinsel around the crooked green branches.

With the music still playing quietly in the background, someone must have turned it down while you were gone, you sway up behind Bo. “You’re doing a good job,” you say, trying to be encouraging.

He’d never admit it, but he liked the praise you gave him. Contrary to that, he muttered, “I ain’t a kid, I don’t need complimentin’ on every lil’ thing.”

“I know,” you shrug, arms circling his waist as you press your nose into the fleece he was wearing. His grandad fleece as you so often teased him.

Maybe you were just imagining it, but a soft air seemed to be spreading through the house, lulling you all into a content silence.

This was momentarily broken when Lester reappeared from the kitchen, a can of beer in his hand. “Merry Christmas!”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Bo scolds, but the harsh tone of his voice is put on, and all of you know it. Bo just doesn’t like to admit when he’s having a good time.

Lester laughs him off anyway and starts root through the musty card board boxes, looking for anything that hadn’t already been claimed by the twins.

Things were going well. Surprisingly well, you might even say.

Bo seems relaxed enough in your arms, his own fingers working to string up one tinsel garland after another that you take a chance and let go of him, going over to the tape deck to turn the volume back up. The next song that comes on is terrible, a cheesy old Christmas song that played nonstop during every festive period of your childhood. It was also your favourite Christmas song.

You try not to squeal out loud, holding back only so much as to not start singing, but you sway happily to the tune, your hips swinging as you look around for the decorations that you’d put aside for yourself. Assured that everyone seemed content to get on with their own decorating, you hung your first baubles on the Sinclair Christmas tree.

*

It takes a few hours, all in all, to finish up. Between singing along with the Christmas music you were in full control of (you’re attempts to hold back going out of the window half way through your favourite song) and taking breaks to force Bo to dance with you, much to the amusements of his brothers, you managed to decorate the tree pretty well, and spruce up the rest of the family room into something festive enough for your liking. Standing back to admire your handy work, you clap happily.

“Great job, boys,” you jokingly praise them. A silly gesture, but they can’t help but feel just a little bit proud about actually doing something nice together for once, without it dissolving into bickering.

Bo has already left for the kitchen, coming back with an armful of beers. He passes them around before settling down on the couch. He takes the middle seat, with you on his left and Vince on his right. Lester, cracks his beer open, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch. He was the youngest, after all, and had long since resigned himself to the floor when all other seats were taken. He doesn’t mind anyway, he tells you, the first time you had noticed him taking a seat on the floor.

With all your decorating done, you sink contently into Bo’s side. He’s warm and solid and safe and you wonder how you ever felt at home without him. Without any of them.

Bo flicks the TV on and searches the channels until he settles on something. Something he is certain enough wont start an argument.

As the time passes, you see Vincent start to fall asleep at the other end of the couch, his head dropping to his chest now and then before he jolts awake again. You can tell that Bo has noticed too, his eyes darting over to Vincent every time he jolts.

Eventually Bo must start feeling for his twin and he nudges him with a soft elbow. “Vince, go to bed would you? You’re just gonna keep fallin’ asleep on me.”

Vincent looks up blearily, glaring at both at Bo and at you, who leant forward to see past Bo.

“I’m not even tired,” he insisted, though his hands were slow and he still made to get up, uncurling the leg he had tucked beneath him.

“Sure you ain’t,” Lester piped up, but he wasn’t in any position to talk. Even if he hadn’t fallen asleep yet, he was close to it. You could only imagine what time he’d been up that morning, working his last shift before getting Christmas day off.

Vincent stood and shook his can of beer to double check that it was empty before heading off to the kitchen on his way upstairs. He turned to sleepily sign, “Night.”

Lester doesn’t reply, he’s fallen asleep, even after his teasing.

“G’night,” you and Bo reply.

Then just signing, Bo adds briefly, “I love you.”

Vincent nods, repeating the gesture before going upstairs.

Lester leaves not too long after, stumbling just slightly when he stands up. You hold back a giggle. Bo doesn’t, laughing even as his arm shoots out to catch Lester if he really did fall. He pulls his arm back just as quickly when he knows Lester has righted himself.

*

For a while, you and Bo sit in silence, his arm around your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your arm.

Slowly, like you don’t want to startle him, your hand drifts across his chest, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his fleece.

“You getting ideas?” he asks, his large hand, the one not squeezing at you, comes up to cover yours, detaching you from his zipper to lace his fingers through yours.

“Might be,” you smirk, you pull your knee up higher, draping it over Bo’s lap so you can lean into him more fully. You’re feeling restless. The wait on Christmas Eve, on the cusp of Christmas day was always excruciating. Much to your delight, when you glanced at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece, you saw it had just hit midnight. Midnight. Christmas day.

Your hand still twined with Bo’s calloused one, you gestured at the time. “Happy Christmas, Bo.”

His smirk mellowed into a more genuine smile, a soft one like he only gave in the early mornings or late nights. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Do you want your present now?” you ask coyly. Bo knows exactly what the look on your face means and he hates being teased.

“If it is what I think it is, then definitely,” the arm around your shoulders pulls back until his hand is brushing you’re the back of your neck. His grip tightens only slightly and he pulls you in for a kiss.

He starts slow, because everything around him feels slow. Your soft hand in his and your warm body pressing into him. He doesn’t know how he got things so good. Its all coming up roses for Bo Sinclair, you’re your hot lips on his and you’re practically climbing into his lap.

His hands follow your movements, falling to your hips as he slouches down in his seat, gripping you tightly as if you might be going somewhere.

Soon enough, you don’t want it so slow anymore, your hands leave his chest you fumble with the hem of your sweater.

Sure, he thought some lovin’ was his Christmas present, but every present needed a ribbon on top.

At first he doesn’t notice, so insistent he is to return his lips to yours, but when he feels up your waist, over your tits, he pulls back.

Beneath his hands, you’re covered in red lace.

His for-once soft features twisted beautifully into a smirk. He stretched his fingers out over your tits, both thumbs over your nipples as they hardened from the touch. Moving further down, he tugged at the waistband of your pjamas, snapping the elastic against your skin. You yelp; you would have been annoyed, scolded him even, if you weren’t so insistent of him seeing what was underneath.

He pulled your pjamas down as far as he could with you still in his lap. Enough to see the red lace dip down between your legs.

“Lemme see you, darlin’” he patted your thighs, pushing his hips up to make you stand. Quickly you did as he wanted, stripping down to just the red bodysuit you had bought when you were last in town. Twenty dollars could go a long way when you needed it to. You point your toes, stretching up and posing for him. You almost get the giggles at how entranced he is with you, following the

“Oh angel, aren’t you just a perfect lil’ present…” he coos, reaching for your hand to pull you back to him, making you straddle his lap once more. “And all mine.” His lips dance over yours before dropping lower, teeth and tongue tracing your neck before latching onto skin, sucking. He was going to leave a hickey; you just knew it.

At that, you let out a whimper, he always knew exactly what to say – exactly what to do – to get you going.

“All yours,” you return, fingers gripping his fleece as you pulled him into another kiss. Hot and needy when you’d once been slow and savouring.

Before you can even think about it, he’s rolling you over, your back against the worn couch cushions and his weight pressing between your legs.

Keening into him, you moan again, his thigh firm as you try to grind into him.

He chuckles lowly, letting you writhe for a moment before sitting up, leaving you cold while he pulls his fleece over his head. Making yourself useful, you think, your hands go to his waistband, undoing the fly of his jeans and he shucks them off, as quick as he can without standing up.

He drops back down over you, fingers slipping beneath the lace to press against you. Your hips stutter and he slides through your wetness.

You don’t need to hold back, everyone else in the house is asleep, but you try to anyway. You kiss across his chest to give your mouth something else to do. Kisses turn into bites, which turn into your soothing tongue lapping at the bruises you leave behind.

“Bo, please,” you plead, “D-Don’t you want your present?” You hope the question will provoke him enough to get down to it, to finally give you what you want.

He just chuckles again, “Is this my present, or yours?”

“Yours.” His thumb works your clit and you can barely give your answer before your breath catches in your throat.

“That’s what I thought.” But he removes his hand, leaving you empty, as he pulls down his underwear and lines up against you.

You can stop the sigh of relief that leaves you as he pushes in, sliding in like you were made for him, before you whimper, feeling the stretch as he lets you settle around him. Whilst he waits for you, his hands, long fingers and rough palms, drifts to your neck. A pressure, just slight, against your skin. Your breath hitches, whether from the feeling of his cock inside you or his hand on your throat, you can’t tell anymore.

His hips twitch every time you clench around him, twitching until he builds up a rhythm. The thrusts start shallow and slow, building and building until he’s ponding you into the couch, his hand tightening around your neck, your legs tighter around his waist.

You never want this to end, Bo’s warm panting in your ear, his hands on you. Hands that can hurt but never do.

You don’t realise you’re over the edge until your already there. It feels like falling and his hand release your throat as you gasp for air, hips shaking with want even though you’ve already got it. Already got everything you might ever want. You’ve got Bo.

He shudders when he comes, a low groan in your ear and suddenly, everything is still. He rests against your chest, palming the soft flesh absentmindedly.

“I think I won present giving this year, don’t you?” you mumbled, combing a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

He shrugs, but you can see the smile tug at his lip, “Well, I was the one givin’ really, wasn’t I?”

You lean down enough to press a kiss to his temple, your thighs tightening around him, in an embrace this time.

You’d have to go up to bed soon, but for now you watch as the fairy lights twinkle on the tree and the house settles for the night with a happy family inside.

Me after a long day of thirsting after slashers:

When he’s a murderer with issues:

Brahms Heelshire or something, I dunno I’ve never watched that movie.

When someone tells me that the slashers wouldn’t fall in love with with me and would just kill me the second they saw me:

Me:

Watching the slashers chase, maim and kill people:

Me:

Me, ignoring the fact that the slashers wouldn’t love me and would just kill me:

Lester Sinclair sketches for Orian! :) might post some more doodles today since we’re both on spring break ✌️

grimsecret333:

Would anyone read it?

So I made it- @grimwritesslashers

Nothing bad or sad, just Lester being cute and blushy

And sum butiful y/n

multifandomwritings:

Ok so I made a uquiz :^)

It’s who is your slasher s/o! There are 19 results and it’s kind of long for that reason.

Here’s the link: https://uquiz.com/Lw2e1B

I won’t even lie: I didn’t really proofread the answers because I got confused with the whole thing so x_x If there are mistakes throughout I’m sorry! I tried to make sure results would be pretty accurate though so hope it’s good :))

Otherwise, have fun and I hope you like it ^^ It took me ages lol but it was fun! Would love to hear who you all got and what you think. ^^

Just imagine holding Lester’s face and just peppering kisses everywhere. Like just telling him how adorable he is and how handsome while giving Eskimo kisses as well Just smothering him with love while snuggling in bed, blankets wrapped around each other like a giant burrito

WARNING: Mentions of drug abuse! Violence! Traumatic childhoods! Mentions of Dyslexia!

P.S. I have never taken drugs nor to I encourage them nor do I, to my knowledge, have Dyslexia. Some representations may not be accurate. Nothing on this blog is meant to upset or offend anyone. It’s only for entertainment and a story.

Jonesy jumped out of the truck as Lester shut the door after a long day of work. Night had fallen upon the town the dim lights offering merely an illumination of the surrounding areas.
Jonesy wasted no time rushing to the stairs and pawing against the door. “A'right, a'right Jonesy, I’m comin’.” Lester couldn’t help but smile tiredly. “You hungry, girl?” Lester asked as he pushed the door open.
Jonesy excitedly rushed in.
“Damn girl, you are hungry.” Lester called after her. “Oi! Vincent!? We’re back!” Jonsey rushed back towards Lester as footsteps followed behind. Lester dumped his keys in the bowl and expected to see Vincent. Although he was caught off guard as soon as he looked up. 

Vincent was not who greeted him.
It was you, his older sibling. You were the second youngest of the Sinclair siblings. However you were the most estranged.
The three brothers had remained in the family home as well as their mother’s town of wax. As time went on, Vincent was the one who really finished the town, taking over for her after their mother died.
Meanwhile, no one heard from you. For all they knew, you were dead in a ditch the night you were kicked out. You gave your parents minimal contact twice. Your vague and small responses being the only thing they got from you. They tried to reach out twice but the Sinclair’s always reckoned that you never forgave them for kicking you out. You held everyone at arms length.
No one more than your own family. 

“Hey Les.” You said quietly.
“W-Well I’ll be damned. What are you doing here?” A smile broke onto Lester’s face. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Call it a surprise visit.” You smiled back before Lester moved forward and hugged you.
You gave the best hugs, that was determined when you were kids. If anyone’s hugs could make things better, it was yours. Too bad Bo’s way of releasing stress was violence. 

As you grew older, the less of a hugger you were. Then again, your cheerful nature faded with it.
Your drug problem started in your teens and when your parents found out, they were livid. However it took the day you destroyed your mother’s work room and everything in it. That was the final straw. They had taken your stash and got rid of it. When you realised, you were furious.
Your father yelled at you to never come back and you did exactly that, even when your parents asked you to return. It was like you had just stopped existing. 

“How have you been?” Lester asked as he pulled back.
You nodded with a small smile. “Good. Clean. Two years sober.” Lester’s smile widened.
“That’s great! How long you staying?”
You shrugged. “I guess it depends how things go here. I heard that…” You trailed off for a moment. “…about ma.”
“Yeah well…that was a while ago now.” Lester scratched the back of his head somewhat uncomfortable. “I know. I just…I had a lot to figure out. I wasn’t even sure if I should be here now.” You admitted.
“I’m glad your here.” Lester reassured you. “Better late than never right?”
You sent him a look. “Don’t think Bo will see it that way." 

Before Lester could reply, there was a creak from the other room and Vincent emerged around the corner. He paused before moving slowly.
You were unable to see behind his mask but his body language showed his surprise and slight unease.
"Hi Vince…” You said quietly.
Vincent wasn’t much of a talker. He could talk but kept to very few words. It was considered difficult for him due to his scars. So his silence wasn’t anything new. “God! We hoped they’d come back for years Vin, after all this time, give ‘em a hug!” Lester said.
You made it easier for Vincent stepping forward and doing most of the work so all he really had to do is wrap his arms around you. He seemed almost afraid to touch you. Vincent hadn’t changed.
After a second you pulled back, recoiling. That hadn’t changed about you either. You always held back on your parents and your brothers.

Once again Jonesy barked, growing excited and bounded into the room.
“Hi Jonesy!” You smiled as the dog rushed towards you for pets and affection. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The room seemed to grow colder.
“Hey, Bo.” You said quietly.
“Ain’t it great!?” Lester asked.
Bo scoffed. “It’s been years.” He said icily.
 "You clean?“ Bo huffed, his hands crossed over his chest. "You better not have brought that shit with you!”
“I haven’t used in years. Get off my ass.” You grumbled.
“Yeah!” Lester nudged Vincent who looked at him. “Two years sober they were tellin’ me!”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Bo snapped at Lester. “They could be fuckin’ lyin’, did you ever think of that!?” Bo turned his attention back to you. “We ain’t got nothin’ for you. We’ve got no money for you. Ma and Pa are dead. You missed the funeral.”
You sighed. “I don’t want your money. I’ve got my own and I’m not using anymore.”
Bo scoffed again. “So why you here then, hm? What brought us to mind? Not like you cared to keep in touch any other time.”
“You want me to leave?” You asked sharply.
“No!” Lester said quickly. “Don’t…Don’t be hasty!” Lester looked at his siblings. “This is what Ma wanted. She wanted (Y/N) home. The family back together!” “Yeah, problem is (Y/N) knew that and decided to hold off until she’s dead.” Bo snapped.
You sighed. “I’ll get going then. Clearly I’m just bothering you.”
Lester pushed Bo’s arm.
“Don’t bother. You came all this way.” Bo said coldly. “How long you stayin’?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t make much plans. Didn’t want to assume I’d be welcome.” You retorted.
Bo didn’t answer and simply walked off. 

Jonesy led you down the narrow corridor.
It was covered in wax, making you wary of possibly slipping. Whilst Jonesy seemed to have no issues.
Vincent turned his head towards you both. Jonesy brushed against Vincent’s leg as she passed him. 
“Hey Vince…” You muttered. Vincent nodded quietly to you in greeting. You looked around the dimly lit workshop that was littered with candles in all corners around the room. 
“Wasn’t this ma’s workshop? It looks so different from before.” 
Vincent nodded again as he began to round up off all of his tools. “Somehow this house looks exactly the same as it did before…yet somehow so different. This room is the most different. Ma liked everything decorated. Her workshop had that horrific flowered wallpaper that looked like something out of the forties.” You smiled. “I hated that wallpaper. Now it’s all gone.”
 Vincent didn’t respond. 
“Are you pissed at me?” You asked him and he looked for his shoulder towards you. You knew you wouldn’t receive an answer but a hint would have been nice. 

After a moment Vincent shook his head and turned around. Vincent had always been the more understanding one, even if you knew he was keeping a lot of his thoughts to himself. That was just Vincent. He didn’t want to argue. Ever.
You thought it best to change the subject.
“Do you remember when we used to have sleep overs?” You asked. “The living room looked huge back then. You, me and Bo would sleep on the living room floor and Lester would beg ma to let him join. He was so excited when Ma finally thought him old enough to join in.” You smiled as you smiled down at Jonesy and scratched the back of her ear.
Vincent silently nodded as he cleaned his carving tools of the solidifying wax. “I was looking at it earlier. I found some of your old statues. Even after all of this time, they’re still so cool.” You said as you lifted your gaze. “So you guys have been keeping this place going? You’ve definitely added to it, Vince.” He nodded in reply before turning to look at you.
“Ma would be proud to know one of us carried on her work. I think she’d be glad it was you. The artist of the kids.” You smiled at him.
Vincent looked at you with the mention of his mother and nodded slightly, a small nod of appreciation.
“You certainly did her talents justice along with your own.”
Vincent pointed at you.
“Me? What about me?” You asked.
Vincent looked for a scrap piece of paper and a pencil.
'What have you been doing?’ 
You stood up and peaked over his shoulder. “Oh. There’s really not much to tell, Vince. I got clean. I was working a few jobs to rent a place. Keep me off the streets, you know?”
Vincent began writing again. 'How long have you been sober?’
“Two years.” You replied. “Two years and nine months, if you want specifics.” 'Ma and Pa would have been happy with that. I’m proud of you.’
You cracked a smile at Vince. “I don’t think they’d think very much of it, not to me anyway but…it means a lot that you’re proud of me, my big brother.” You smiled fondly.
Vincent stared at you through his mask for a moment before he turned to the paper again. 'Have you been alone all this time?’
You nodded with a small shrug. “It’s not so bad after a while. You get used to it.” Vincent shook his head before quickly writing again. ‘You shouldn’t have to get used to it.’
“Really Vince, it’s fine. I made my choices and got the consequences. I’m only sorry that I wasn’t around for the rest of our childhood and I’m sorry that it took me so long to get clean.” You said softly. 

Vincent lifted his arms slightly in question. Silently asking permission to hug you. “Oh boy, the hugging.” You sighed with a smile. “Sure but it’s our secret. Lester finds out you’ve had two and he’ll whine for the next twenty years.” You hummed in amusement as Vincent pulled you slowly into him by your shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him. The hug made you realise how much you had missed Vincent’s hugs. Now that he was closer, you could hear the slightly wheeze and whistles of him breathing through his mouth.
To your surprise you heard a tiny croak.
“Stay.”
You felt the vibrations on your shoulder.
You hadn’t heard Vincent’s voice in years and it was enough to bring a lump to your throat.
“I don’t know if it’s that easy, Vince.” You replied quietly and you felt him squeeze you slightly. 

You were taking a moment of quiet in the night as you thought over your interaction with Vincent and how much you had missed him. It was interrupted by the door behind you being kicked open and Jonesy rushing past you.
“Don’t run off girl!” Lester called out to the dog who began sniffing the grass. You looked behind you to see Lester meet your gaze with a grin. “You not cold out here?”
“This? Cold?” You scoffed. “Hardly. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” You teased.
“Maybe…at least fifteen years ago.” Lester replied and the two of you chuckled. “So what do you think of the place, hm?” Lester sat beside you. “Some of it really hasn’t changed much. Ma’s workshop was completely different. I…haven’t really looked at my old room though.” You admitted. “Can’t bring myself to look. Bad memories.” “It ain’t all that bad. We got good ol’ Jonsey now too. She certainly livens up the place when she wants to.”
You turned to Lester. “You know what our childhood was like…” You looked at Lester. “It was shit.”
“I could imagine worse…i’d say we turned out jus’ fine.” Lester shrugged. “Lester, our brothers are killing people and turning them into wax figures in our ma’s honour and literally own nothing but a town of wax.” You deadpanned. Lester shrugged again. “Don’t explain why you left though.”
“We’ve been through this.” You sighed.
“Not when they kicked you out. When you never came back and didn’t so much as call. They reported you missin’ and everythin’.” Lester pressed.
“I dunno.” You answered quietly. “I saw my way out and just…took it.” You turned your gaze to Lester. “Do you remember what I was like with school?”
“Hell yeah. That was a shit show. Pa and Ma was always on your ass.”
“Yeah, he thought I was lazy and a brat.” You responded. “It took me moving to the big city to discover that it wasn’t me being difficult. I have Dyslexia. How could our parents never have thought about that? I cried for hours because I couldn’t understand math questions that were under my age level. How I was also getting through things so slow no matter how hard I tried.” You nodded behind you towards the door. “Bo clearly has problems. He always did and our parents were shit at dealing with it.”
“So you left because of the ol’ folks eh?” Lester asked.
“I left because I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. I wasn’t on the drugs for fun. I was on the drugs because they kept me awake so I could keep up with you guys.” You huffed slightly.
 After a moment of silence as you sucked your teeth.
You spoke. “Bo was the problem child, I was the child that screwed everything up, Vin was the golden child and you…” You paused. “…you were almost invisible, Les.”
You had thought it for years, remembered it for as long as you could remember but saying it out loud brought an icy chill within you. You didn’t want it to be said. Now that you had said it, you wished you’d have taken that to the grave. Yet Lester remained unbothered by the statement, his expression somewhat content with it. “I still had you, Vince and Bo. Although I lost you that night Pa kicked you out. I think we all lost you.”
You didn’t respond, instead lowering your head. Then Lester nudged you. “C'mon, let’s get back inside and watch some TV whilst Bo ain’t around to be up our asses about it.”
You cracked a small smile. “Sure. What are we watchin’?” You asked as Lester called for Jonesy. She wasted no time running back inside. 

Snooping is a very bad habit and something most parents taught their children to never ever do. Bo’s parents were no different in this. However they snooped to find your drugs all those years ago and if he were to believe a single word you said about being clean, he’d have no issue doing the same. He unzipped your bag and began to search. 

You lashed out in rage against your parents when you recognised the drugs were gone and you did the only thing that made sense in that time.
Rationale was long gone with your sobriety.
You destroyed your mother’s workspace and left nothing untouched. 

It felt good to destroy every little bit of what had your mother’s attention and heart. It felt good knowing it would hurt her like she had hurt you.
However that feeling didn’t stay as well as your high.
Soon your body would have been itching for that high once more.
Until then, you’d have to face the consequences of your actions and that same good feeling you had was long gone having since turned into a pit in your stomach. 

“What have you done…?” Your mother put a hand to her chest.
Hours upon hours of work in ruins beyond repair. “What have you done!?” She demanded louder this time through clenched teeth, this time almost in pain. Her heart ached for the loss of her work. In the midst of your tears you pleaded with her. “You’re gonna forgive me, ma!? Please, you’re gonna forgive me though!?” She didn’t answer you as she held back tears of sheer heartbreak. It was that night that your father kicked you out. Your mother too upset to do much else than watch. 

You found Bo leaning on the frame of the porch, smoking a cigarette, later into the night, his back to you. He did nothing to imply he knew you were there but given the state of your belongings, that didn’t really matter.
“Satisfied?”
Bo turned at the sound of your tired question. He simply looked at you and you continued. “What? You think i don’t know when you ransack my stuff? A kind of art our family never perfected, leaving things undisturbed. Sure you put it back but it’s a mess.”
“I had to be sure who came back here tonight. My younger sibling or the addict who looks like them.” Bo brought his cigarette to his lips.  
“I get it Bo, really I do. Given the shit i’ve done, it’s not out from the imagination.” You replied as you moved to stand beside him.
“You got bigger things to explain anyway.” Bo said somewhat coldly. You stayed quiet as he continued. “Ma’s funeral. You weren’t there. Weren’t at Pa’s either.”
“I wasn’t ready.” You said.
“Bullshit! Ma wanted you home for years and you didn’t so much as call.”
“They kicked me out and I was an addict. Don’t kick out your kids and expect them to come running back to you. I couldn’t trust them anymore.”
“Because they threw out your drugs?” Bo asked incredulously.
“Because they threw me out!” You retorted. “Anything could have happened to me from the moment I was out that door and they fucking knew it! Not that it was much worse anyway. Our parents actually did a good job preparing me for the violence. Even you couldn’t disagree with that.”
“For believing in discipline?” Bo retorted.
“Bo…” You said quietly. “…they hurt you.”
“They have my respect for that now as a man.” He retorted.
“It’s not right and it’s not okay. You were a child and they hurt you. They hurt me.” You said. “You and I were the problem kids remember? I wasn’t good enough in school and you couldn’t behave. You got scars and I got a drug problem.”
Bo was quiet for a moment. “So that’s why you used? Because they were tough on you for school?”
“I have Dyslexia. It impacts my ability to learn. I wasn’t a bad kid. I wasn’t stupid. If our parents paid attention they’d have had a clue, maybe even help you.”
“You can’t-”
You cut Bo off before he could finish. “Dad was a fucking doctor, Bo. If he paid attention to his kids, he’d notice that he had two kids that needed help. Instead he and ma tied you down to a fucking highchair and taped you to it. You bled, Bo. You still have the scars.” You paused with a frustrated sigh. “No I didn’t go to the funeral. Maybe I should have been there for you. I get that. Even you can understand that if I felt my absence punished them, they deserved it. I was hurting long before they kicked me out. That night was when they lost me for good and I was left on my own. I got out of that, withoutthem.”
“Then why did you come back?” Bo asked.
“Can’t choose your family Bo…but I can choose to have you in my life. I get it if you don’t but I’d like to know my brothers again.”
“Even knowing what we do?” He asked.
You sighed. “Doesn’t being a Sinclair mean to never have a normal life?”
Bo chuckled. “Kinda does doesn’t it?” You couldn’t help but smile.
“If you’re staying…” Bo began. “you’re staying. You’re not welcome to come and go as you please.”
“I don’t need to go away anymore.” You said softly. “I figured everything out. All that was left to do was to come home.”