#sugarbane

[lifesver]

@sugarbane said: "oh, don't you worry, sunshine," she coos, head tilted to the side. expression unreadable as she studies leland's face. gently, with a tenderness almost deceiving, she wipes blood from his temple with a wet rag. "there's no need to be sad. i can save you. i can show you the way. you believe me, don't you?"

he blinks, glassy-eyed and unfocused. attention flicks between hanging animal bones, and the woman's toothy smile, and the way the walls tilt like funhouse mirrors in his peripherals. his head feels funny. his mouth tastes like copper, and something bitter. must have been the noxious dust the woman had gotten him with. she had skipped after him, relentless, with an off-kilter singsong. until the poison finally brought him to his knees, too dizzy to keep going. he hurts so bad that he's nearly grateful for the numbness crawling through his body.

he nearly laughs, something hysterical and close to total-meltdown. shit, yeah. he's sad. and scared as hell. and at the mercy of this woman. this fucked up family —

❝ what... what do you mean? ❞ he rasps. he doesn't bother trying to fight her gentle motions. it's comforting, in a way. lulls him to some type of dim calmness as she cleans away some of the blood on his face. as his eyes begin to sting with tears, his mind blares the last surviving emergency alarms; you're going to die here! you're going to die, and how can you help your friends if you die?

then, his misty thoughts suggest; maybe if you play along, she won't kill you. vague urgency grips him. ❝ i — i believe you. ❞ leland tries, forcing his eyes up to meet hers. the eerie lights glint back at him in her unreadable gaze. he swallows thickly, and fights to croak out his plea; ❝ ... please just. let us go. ❞ leland sucks in a sharp breath, and swiftly renegotiates; ❝ — let my friends go. i'll do anything. please. ❞ some part of him knows that it's not going to work. that it's pointless, now; deliriously begging for his, and his friends' lives. he just hopes to god they haven't run in with a similar fate.

[mvriigold]

"don't shut me out like this." @ chrissy. maybe perhaps chrissy was snooping around and found some stuff she shouldn't have. (: dead peoples' things.

Too-big teeth worry at the flaking skin of her lower lip - a testament to just how hard Chrissy has been chewing, as of late. When it’s not cannibalising her own lips, she’s picking at her nails: a never ending cycle of light self-mutilation as her world spirals out of her control. Standing at the wardrobe of the rickety old trailer, Chrissy stares at the aged, white lace in her hands, and she bites. After all, there’s no Laura Cunningham around to stop her anymore. To slap her hands apart, to pinch her chin; to tell her it’s unladylike to do such things, and that she’s ruining her appeal to any man that would consider taking her on a date. Ever since Chrissy ran away, found a new home in the dilapidated centre of Texas, she’s never had to endure a round of that scolding again. But some days, it takes a little extra convincing to tell herself she’s that better off here. She’s aware of Sissy’s presence in the room, the way her slight form still manages to take up the space of the doorway. Knows that even though Sissy cares for her, it doesn’t mean she can’t still get into trouble with her. But Chrissy can’t bring herself to speak. Like the centrepiece of the fragile, porcelain music box still sitting in her bedroom back in Indiana, she has to wait for her thoughts to wind themselves to completion before she tries to say a thing. Her teeth dig into her lip, harder. Maybe, she thinks, it’s her own fault for having rooted too far into Sissy’s clothing. Having been told she could get herself a new dress, Chrissy had been a little too eager to search through the fabrics - marvelling at the range of patterns and textures against her fingertips, stolen from countless lives. Different colours, different ages of fabric, all at her perusal. But she’d dug in just a little too far, and her fingertips had brushed against lace. Out of pure curiosity, Chrissy had pulled out the dress to look at it.

And for some reason, the remnants of some poor soul’s wedding night had caused her to freeze.

Maybe it was knowing how close she had come to the same fate. Remembering Jason’s hands on her - his pride and his surety that come the end of their University careers, he’d have Chrissy on his arm.

Still standing there, she finally bites down on her lip hard enough for it to bleed. Salt seeps into her mouth, her thumbs pressing back and forth against the stitching of the gown. It was nothing like the type of dress she would have worn. Nothing like the type she’d have wanted. But some girl had wanted it - had been so happy, probably driving off into the night with her beau.

Or maybe she’d felt just as trapped as Chrissy would have been.

Maybe, in some way, she’d been freed.

Maybe Sissy had freed her too.

“When… when did you get this?” she asks, a moment passing before baby blue eyes raise to Sissy’s own. Her head lifted, Chrissy’s own hair rests free around her shoulders: her restrictive ponytails long since abandoned when she accepted this new life. The dress bunches just slightly in her grip, though she tries not to crease it. Recognising even now, that it deserves to be handled with care and fragility.

“How long ago?”

[luminarot]

@sugarbane said: "well, now. you got a smile that could light up a whole room. you ever been told that before?" sissy's grinning over the top of a cold glass bottle of coke, feet dangling off the chair she occupies. an easy back and forth rhythm to her kicking as she watches. "bet you have. tons. am i right?"

If Patrick had been smiling before, he's absolutely beaming now; warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners, settling somewhere between flattery and humor as he leans against the bar counter. ( He can definitely say he’s had worse introductions. )

Roadside diners like this are about a dime a dozen, popping up along the highways in small towns and pit stops that only sometimes welcome the merry band of hippies into their temporary fold ― but he can always count on a joint like this to have some character, at least. And it’s the little interactions like this that keep Patrick coming back for more, hungry for new experience and chance encounters with all kinds of people. Getting a compliment doesn’t hurt, either.

"Not in so many words, but I think they put something like that in my yearbook," he quips, even though he hadn't stuck around long enough to start signing glossy pages, the ink still drying on the press while his van kicked up a cloud of dust. "Has anyone ever told you you're a real sweet-talker? You sure know how to get on a guy's good side." His head tilts, smile lingering. "What's your name, sunshine?"

[daisybl4ck]

Szóval itt fekszek a földönk kék duzzadt bokával, járni nem tudok. És senkit sem érdeklek annyira hogy elvigyen orvohoz. Mert mindenkinek jobb dolga van és senki sem figyel arra hogy mi van velem. Akkor se vittek el amikor ételmérgezésem volt. Végülis akkor csak annyira szarul voltam hogy ötpercenként hánytam sugarban egész nap. Most meg csak járni nem tudok. De ez még mindig senkit sem érdekel.

[dorka]

Expectation: Majd mennyi tartalmas idot toltunk egyutt a teli szunet utolso napjaiban! Tarsas! Filmek!

Gyerek: lazzal sugarban hany

Ferjem: furdes utan kihuzza a dugot es a viz egy emelettel lejjebb, a konyhaban landol. a mennyezetbol.

ÓKÉ

[saraborbala]

Nagyon szep nagyon kedves nagyok okos nagyon tehetseges nagyon nagyon hanyok sugarban.