DOWN IN THE WILLOW GARDEN

Some people call them a family of hippies, some call them a coven of witches. They’ll tout themselves as herbalists to those who question. But those who have been in Misty Mountain for more than a generation or two, know them for what they really are; kingpins. It all seems too dramatic for a family like theirs. The women are gentle, though quite noticeably in charge. Adorned in long, supple cotton skirts, and usually with a basket full of herbs on their hips. The men are quiet.

[sugarpascals]

In between two tall mountains there's a place they call lonesome ...

Raised deep in the hollers of the Misty Mountain, SUGAR PASCAL could pick out all the healing herbs before she could spell her own name. In her defense, Saretta Jean was a mouthful. But the Pascals had priorities, and memorizing the ABCs weren’t near as important as learning the land. Mamaw woke all the girls up before dawn, took ‘em to walk the fields. It was more of a ritual than it was work…

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[sugarpascals]

why are you so nice to the bankses?

"I'm nice t'everybody who 'members their place."

[sugarpascals]

are you The Killer

"What, like there's just one? You just might be fucked." Sugar paused, drawin' it out.... "And, no. Wouldn't hurt a fly, me."

[sugarpascals]

how do you respond to misandrist allegations?

"Sho' am, and proud of it!" Sugar grinned, barin' her teeth like a threat. "Anyway, quit askin' me 'bout things I gotta get Vesta to define f'r me. Use normal people words!"

[sugarpascals]

FMK: lou, mabel, kiera

"I think the nicest thing somebody could do t'Mabel is just leave her be... But, fuck Kiera and marry Lou, reckon."

[sugarpascals]

If you could say one thing to Calliope, what would it be?

"Well... I dunno. I say lots of things to her, all the time. I guess I'd tell her that th' butterfly milkweed's lookin' real nice this year. I guess I'd tell her just about anythin'." Sugar's expression darkened, "Don't go askin' me things like that!"

[sugarpascals]

FMK: Silas, Calliope, Jenny Jenkins

"I don't typically like ta' hurt women, but I guess you gotta be a person with a soul to be a woman, so... kill Jenny Jenkins, on account a' somethin' already took care a' Silas for me. Marry Callie. Why d'you people ask these hypotheticals, anyway?"

[mistyconfidential]

Well, well, well... It's been a little while since we got to have a little chat, huh? We're all just DYIN' (too soon?) to know what's on your minds over here, so - what do you say to pullin' up a chair, and havin' a good little bout of Front Porch Gossip? Some say it heals the soul!

Here's the deal! You're gonna reblog this post to participate - and then you're gonna grace any little nasty question that comes your way with an HONEST answer... or at least as honest as you can stand to be. And don't you forget to send some questions over for me and my lovely Cherie too - you know we can never resist a little gossip.

[buckwhitaker]

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he plucked up a small jar from the table, turning it over in his hands like he was actually considering buying something. “Ain’t that somethin’—I come lookin’ for a little peace and quiet, and here you go, tryin’ to pry me open like a damn mason jar.” His gaze flicked up, catching that gleam in her eye, sharp as a fishhook. Sugar was always trouble wrapped in silk—spoke sweet, but she knew exactly where to stick the knife. He let the jar settle back onto the table with a soft clink, exhaling through his nose. “Wouldn’t say I’m hidin’ much,” he drawled, voice slow, easy. “Just got folks thinkin’ I know more than I do. And you know how it is—give one answer, they come scratchin’ for another. Like stray dogs smellin’ supper.” His fingers drummed once against the wood, contemplative. “Could be useful, though, that little forgettin’ trick of yours. Might be the only way I get through the week without somebody askin’ me somethin’ I don’t feel like answerin’.”

He let that hang between them, giving her just enough to chew on without actually offering much of anything. Then, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled bill. He held it between his fingers, tapping it lightly against the edge of the booth. “So what’s it cost, then? A couple drops to keep the wolves at bay?” He raised an eyebrow, head tilting just so. “Or do I gotta trade you somethin’ first?” Because if he knew Sugar—and he did—she never let anything go for free.

[sugarpascals]

Sugar watched him real close, the kind of look that said she was already two steps ahead, just waiting to see if Buck would bother catchin’ up. "Mm," she hummed, sittin’ back in her chair, arms draping over the sides like a queen on her throne.

"Don't'cha know you gotta be open 'n order f'r the peace and quiet to get in?" she chastised him, watching him a beat before lurching forward to pluck a jar of peppermint paste open. A visual representation of his metaphor. Sugar dipped a finger inside and spread the paste over her gums, screwing the lid tight and holding a finger up to her lips.

Her fingers tapped lazy against the table, a slow, idle rhythm like she was thinkin’ real hard about what his money was worth to her. "Y'think you're gonna spook some wolves with scraps?" Sugar asked, eyes gleaming like she wasn't quite sure if they were talking about the rest of their town or Sugar herself. "Sounds like ya might just be ringin’ the dinner bell."

Let the record show it wasn't innocent 'ole Sugar who brought up the trade, but when Buck asked, her lips grew into a grin befittin' 'a the Cheshire cat. Sugar reached forward, real slow, plucked the bill from his fingers, and held it up between them. Then, just as easy, she let it flutter right back down onto the table.

"A trade," she mused, voice syrupy sweet. "A couple drops... for a little honesty. Nothin’ big, nothin’ that’ll keep y'up at night. Just somethin’ real enough to make it worth my while."

[lieutenantbanks-deactivated2025]

Lulu let out a snort, as though the surprise on top of the basket was a joke. It only took a second before it registered that it wasn't supposed to be funny at all. Sugar had been keeping far too many tabs on her, more than she liked. Though it wasn't much of a secret that Lulu engaged in activity that would lend her to need whatever the hell was in the envelope, it still felt pointed, like there was a reason Sugar thought she might need this now.

Or, for that matter, that Lulu had ever been in a position of an emergency, which she was certain no one but her and the kind people at Planned Parenthood knew about.

"You tryin'a make a statement, Sugar?" she pressed, taking a step toward her. "You think you got somethin' on me?" She'd admitted she was sleeping with Marshall on the phone, but it hadn't felt like something Sugar had taken this seriously. This was meant to catch her off guard.

She was in no place to put herself in the position to have this taken away. Sugar's kindness, or whatever it was, was the one of the only things she had certain in her life. "If you really care so much about what's goin' on, cut the shit and just ask." All the cryptic bullshit in packages was driving her insane, like a language different from the label entirely.

[sugarpascals]

Sugar tilted her head, slow and deliberate, one half of her mouth angled upwards as she sized Lulu up. She was amused at Lulu's attempt to step to her-- if this was an intimidation tactic, Sugar was far from scared. She hadn't grown up wrestlin' her older brothers for nothin', and she knew just where to sink her teeth to make somebody yell 'uncle'. But it would never come down to physical blows, not between Sugar and Lulu.

“Statement?” she echoed, like the word itself was funny. “'f I was makin’ a statement, you’d know it plain. Be a lot louder, for one. Lot less thoughtful, too.”

Sugar closed the rest of the distance between them, dropping a hand on Lulu's shoulder. To the passerby, the light touch'd look innocent. Caring, even. But the gleam in Sugar's eye was tellin' a different story, betraying a twisted delight in the power Sugar had, here. The fact that they both knew Lulu and Major lived off of Sugar's little acts of charity, that they were here at all in large part on account of that very same charity extended by Mamaw years and years ago.

“You ever think maybe I just got a big heart? Maybe I just like to make sure my neighbors got what they need. Maybe I don’t like seein’ folks get caught up in somethin’ they ain’t ready for.” Sugar clicked her tongue, amusement flickering across her face, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “'Sides, ain't there been enough tragedy 'round here lately? Watchin' you waddle 'round that trailer park with a baby bump just might do us in."

She let the words settle between ‘em, tilting her head toward the basket like it was an olive branch. Sugar wasn’t in the habit of explainin’ herself, and she sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now. “Take it or leave it,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet.

[franksveins]

Mia Goth

[angelxunqin]

beauty in terror

music to watch boys to by lana del rey // on the beach at night alone (2017) dir. hong sang-soo (x) // girl, interrupted screenplay by james mangold (based on the book by susanna kaysen) // dead marilyn (2008) by marlene dumas // why sylvia plath still haunts american culture by james parker (x) // personal diary // white oleander (2002) dir. peter kosminsky // dying: an introduction by howard moss (x)

[mistymountainphantom]

The woman sat motionless, her hands folded on the table as if she had been waiting a long, long time. The dirt beneath her nails, the way the fabric hung off her bones, the dull glaze in her eyes, it spoke of years lost, of something stolen, of a story that had never found its ending. The scent of damp earth clung to her, thick and heavy, like the breath of a grave left half-open.

Sugar’s voice broke the silence, soft but steady, threading through the space between them like a bridge stretched over a chasm. An invitation. A recognition.

The woman did not turn, did not blink, but the air around her thickened, the pressure shifting like the hush before a storm. She felt it coil tight, the aching pull of something that had been waiting too long, unheard, unseen.

Then, a breath - thin and shallow, stirring the dust on the tabletop. And a voice, cracked and distant, as though it had traveled a long way just to be heard.

"You remember me?"

[sugarpascals]

If there was one situation where Sugar observed any kinda unspoken rules about polite society, it was this one-- sat across from the mysterious phantom who was more powerful'n Sugar could even figure. She had about a dozen questions, all written out in the wide-eyed stare she trained on the apparition, but Sugar kept her lips clamped shut 'cept to answer her real nice-like.

"There are just certain faces y'don't forget, ain't that right Lili?" Sugar said, sweet and unassuming except for the kick she sent out under the table. Grippin' the table like it was gonna fly away wasn't gonna do nothin'.

"You were... weren't ya lookin' for somebody, the other night?" Sugar asked the woman, each word enunciated clearly and cautiously, more care put into this interaction than Sugar reckoned she'd called upon for the last five years. "Did'ya end up finding 'em?"

@pinkliqueurs @mistymountainphantom

[paranoeo]

"Bear. It's Bear." His ears perk up at his name, but he's too busy lavishing attention on the newcomer (how exciting, he rarely gets to meet new people!) to focus much on his owner for the time being. He's come a long way since wandering the streets of Honeycutt, a malnourished mutt who snapped at anyone who looked at him. She'd like to think the same could be said for her—gone is the pathetic, wiry little girl, unable to speak or sleep through the night—but what is it that's replaced her?

Kitchen cabinets are relatively devoid of crockery; three mugs, three bowls, three plates. Bit like Goldlilocks, she thinks, now that she's looking at them through a critical gaze, and it stirs up another chuckle deep in her chest, albeit a little lighter than before. "Naw, don't think I'd know how to throw a rager if my life depended on it." Can't say she's not self-aware, at least.

She takes down two mugs and a side plate, leaving them on the table behind her with a clatter, and focuses her attention next on filling up the ancient tea kettle (enamelled, white, fruit decoration almost worn off entirely) and setting it to boil on the stovetop. There's a sleeve of Oreos on the counter, and she grabs them to bring over with her; this kind of hospitality is unfamiliar to her, and it's as if she's just going through the motions, trying to recreate what she can remember from her childhood or tv shows.

"Losin' the run of myself. Hangovers don't sound much fun either." God knows that Mabel could do with letting loose a little, but it's what might happen when she lets loose that scares her. What she might miss when her guard is down, when her senses aren't operating at their best, what might happen when she isn't on constant vigilance. "'Cause I remember what my parents were like with drink, I guess." Her daddy was just a little funny, but her maw was a mean drunk. Maybe that's the difference between beer and spirits; maybe it was a sign of the darker things that would follow.

[sugarpascals]

Sugar let her fingers linger under Bear’s chin a little longer, giving him a scratch before she leaned back in her chair with a small grin. “Bear,” she repeated, “Suits him. Big ol’ thing.” She watched the dog with a quiet appreciation, almost wondering after him. Did dogs have childhoods? Did he remember his mama? Did he miss her? Some days, Sugar felt like it was easier to connect with animals than people. She wondered if Mabel would agree-- figured she would.

She smirked at Mabel’s honesty, tipping her head to the side. “Yeah, well, I don’t reckon I’d trust ya to throw one neither,” she teased, eyes glinting with amusement. “But I don't get a lotta... social invitations," Sugar said, 'cause it was a fact.

When Mabel set the mugs down with a clatter, Sugar let the playfulness simmer down into something softer. She listened, really listened, hand idly tracing Bear's wiry fur. “Mmm,” she hummed in understanding. She figured a lot of folks had their reasons for stayin’ away from drink, and Mabel’s? They made sense. But Sugar never was very good at this part-- the playin' nice, or bein' honest.

She tapped her fingers lightly against the wood of the table. “Ain't just drink that'll make ya lose run of y'self... could be gamblin', or fightin', or..." Sugar took a tentative look around the cabin, at the back of the door littered with just about a dozen kinda locks. Whether they were to keep everybody out or to keep Mabel in, Sugar wasn't so clear. "Hidin'."

[majorbanks]

If Major felt like he had any choice in the matter, he'd probably book it the other way... Sugar Pascal had always had this, like, strange sort of power over him though. A power that most of the Pascals seemed to hold over the Banks' boy - call it fear, but Major would never admit to it.

The scenarios ran through his head at lightning speed: If he ignored her, would there be consequences? If he sneered, and waved her off... Would he be the next body found in the snow? Major didn't know, and he didn't feel like finding out. So, instead of fleeing, he made the reluctant trudge over. It'd be done soon enough, right? "Work," He answered simply - then shook his head around the rest of the answer. Might as well give up the gun before she went prying herself. "Lookin' for work. Just about been fired from every job back in Misty, so..." It was true, and wasn't exactly a secret. Besides, he figured if Sugar knew he was looking, the news might just get around. "I'm tryin' my chances out here. No runnin' involved."

Major looked around. He didn't like spending more time around Sugar than he had to, but he still found himself asking, "How's the booth?"

[sugarpascals]

Sugar let out a low whistle, leaning forward on her elbows against the booth. “You goin' for some kinda record? Most folks gotta at least try to be that unemployable.” Her tone was all saccharine amusement, but there was a keen edge behind her eyes, watchin’ him close like she was sizing him up.

She dragged her fingers through a neat row of salves and dried out herbs, rearranging them to keep her hands busy. Sugar thought for a long moment, turnin' over in her mind if Mamaw would be mad... And ultimately decidin' she was far enough from the hollers to worry too much about her family. She tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “If you’re really lookin’ for work, I could use an extra set of hands ‘round on the Honeycutt side 'a things. We get mighty busy, and I reckon you’re desperate enough to consider it.”

Sugar let that sink in for a moment, watching to see if he’d flinch at the idea of bein’ even more indebted her. Then, like she was just indulging herself, she threw in, “Wouldn’t even have to fire you, neither. You’d quit on your own soon as you realized you can’t keep up.”

[buckwhitaker]

Buck had been walking the rows of the Honeycutt Farmer's Market, trying to get some fresh air and maybe clear his head. The sun was starting to dip low, casting long shadows over the stalls, and he had half a mind to call it a day when he heard Sugar’s voice cutting through the noise. He squinted over at her booth, trying to make out her figure in the sea of people.

"Somethin' like that," he said, straightening up a bit, a slow drawl escaping him as he took in her posture—bare feet, one hand on her hip, the other shielding her eyes from the sun. She had that look, that mix of curiosity and mischief.

"Figured I’d come see what kinda snake oil you’re peddlin’ today," he added with a small shrug, though there was a playful edge to his tone. "Maybe pick up somethin’ to keep the nosy folk off my back. Hell, I've been doin' more 'splainin' lately than I ever have in my life. This town’s too damn small for secrets."

His eyes flicked down to the bottles and jars spread out on the table, each filled with something he probably couldn't pronounce. "Or maybe you got somethin’ that’ll keep people from knockin’ on my damn door, asking questions ‘bout things I ain’t got answers to." He leaned in a bit, scanning the labels, though he wasn’t sure he believed half the stuff printed on them.

[sugarpascals]

Sugar’s grin curled up slow, like a cat stretchin’ in the sun. “Ain't you supposed to be a nice boy?” She placed a dramatic hand over her chest, feigning deep offense. “Got no snake oil on this table, Bucky, just good, honest remedies. Pascal family-certified.”

Her hand dropped, and she leaned forward, palms braced against the worn wood of the booth. “Y'know...” Sugar’s eyes gleamed, the kind of look that meant trouble. “I do have a tincture that makes a person mighty forgetful. A few drops in the right cup, and suddenly they ain’t so concerned ‘bout whatever it was they came knockin’ for.”

She reached down, plucked up a dark glass bottle, and spun it slow between her fingers. “Course,” she added, tilting her head, “if you’re askin’ me, it ain’t the questions that’ll get you in trouble. It’s the answers.”

She let that sit a beat before setting the bottle back down, chin propped on her hand as she studied him. “So tell me, Buck—what exactly have you been explainin’ lately? ‘Cause you wouldn’t be stalkin’ ‘round my booth, askin’ for somethin’ to shut people up ‘less you got somethin’ worth hidin’.” It was a fat chance in hell he'd actually tell Sugar anything of substance, but... she banked on the little clues she'd pick up from his response-- after all, there was just as much to learn in what was said as what wasn't.

[lieutenantbanks-deactivated2025]

Happy wasn't a word Lulu would've used to describe her feelings upon ever seeing any of the Pascals, least of all Sugar. The unfortunate sense of relief she couldn't deny was an unfortunate consequence of their arrangement that Lulu couldn't bear to admit even to herself, least of all the girl across the bar.

If she had to pick between the two, Lulu would choose grinning and bearing it every time.

Her choice reflected in the tight-lipped smile as she took the glass, dumped the ice in the sink, and placed it on the washer. "On the house." A metaphorical olive branch that would hopefully get her benefactor believing that she was grateful. The gratitude would come when Sugar had left her alone with the basket of goods to keep the Banks siblings afloat; the consequence of having to deal with her donor wasn't a friendship she was particularly thankful for.

"You been in my trailer?" she pressed, on Sugar's heels as they headed toward the parking lot. She didn't happen to leave a note in her trailer, did she? With how much she'd already pressed her luck, Lulu kept the accusation to herself; she didn't have many secrets of her own she cared for the whole town knowing, anyway.

The note read an ingredient the blonde had never heard of before, looking from the envelope, to Sugar, and back. "That even English?"

[sugarpascals]

"I paid your brother a visit," she informed Lulu, tone indignant like she could make out Lulu's accusation on her face. "Don't worry, y'ain't got nothin' I wanna steal."

Sugar let out a short laugh, the kind that barely made it past her throat—more air than sound, more amused than anything else. She leaned a hip against the car, arms folding as she watched Lulu stare at that envelope like it might bite her. “Don't know,” she said, tapping the paper with one lazy finger. “English, French, Latin—'s all the same no matter what language you dress it up in.”

Sugar let the moment stretch just long enough, let Lulu sit in it, before adding, almost too casual, “It’s emergency contraception, y'know what that is?” Sugar’s voice was syrup-smooth, but there was somethin’ in it, somethin’ just a little too pointed.

A pause. A smirk. “Don’t look so surprised—I do pay attention.”

Sure, it was a shot in the dark. An assumption based on the rumors that so often accompanied the name Lulu Banks around town. Suger knew her 'old friend' wasn't exactly a prude, and she knew for damn sure Lulu was in no position to be havin' a kid.

Sugar reached into the basket, pulled out the loaf of rosemary bread, and turned it over in her hands like she was appraising it, like she hadn’t watched Mama bake the damn thing just hours ago. “Just in case... outta the kindness of my heart," Sugar laid it on thick, fluttering her eyelashes like the picture of innocence. "‘Less you prefer leavin’ it up to fate.” She shot Lulu a look, sharp and knowing.