#namefallen

[geneticmisfit]

@namefallen

Miss Nebula I don’t feel so good

[caustis-arc]

         ‘ i’ll have to run home for a change of clothes. ’

he’s barely out of the bedroom before he’s speaking, apologetic and yes! sheepish! about what he’s wearing. the rundown: a white v-neck tee tucked into gray sweatpants (the elastic rolled under with the curve of his waist), pedicured bare feet, and a head of hair that’s gone too long without taming.

         ‘ the kids spilled something on my pajamas. ’ he’s pink. ‘ this was all i had. ’

@namefallen!

[twiinning-blog]

     “have you went to see my sister yet?”

// @namefallen

[scriose]

         ‘ tea? ’ he’s still wearing pajamas and bedhead when lyra walks into the kitchen, so there’s no shame in having been delayed a bit by jet lag. he lifts his mug and quirks his lips in greeting. ‘ assam for me, but there’s a collection in the cabinet. your pick. ’

@namefallen  won a free trip to ireland!

[sexistterm-blog]

@namefallen.  —  cont.

“oh don’t– do that.” it’s three empty wine bottles and half a romantic comedy until rebecca suddenly brings this up. out of thin air, too. lyra considers comparing this to a magician’s feat, but knows that there’s gotta be some kind of weight to rebecca’s words. the healer’s hands fall onto the satin pajama covered legs that currently rest upon lyra’s lap, palms running back and forth in an attempt to ease her. “i think… i think you’re swell. and honestly?” she leans in, reaches far enough to boop the other woman’s nose (though, let’s face it, she’s drunk and ends up tapping right below rebecca’s eye) and grins. “you buy… really good wine. it’s a good enough incentive to bother with you just a while longer.”

Rebecca bends her knees and digs her heels into couch past Lyra’s thighs. She scoots forward on her ass and tips her forehead gracelessly into her friend’s shoulder. She doesn’t pay the failed-boop any attention beyond a smile that fails to reach the eye. ( Shouldn’t drinking have made this better? )

         “You’re gonna hate me,” she says. “You’re gonna hate me, yeah, I’m gonna make that happen. You’ll hate me.”

[caustis-arc]

not only do lyra’s touches fail to register these days, but lesley has begun  ---  began, a long time ago  ---  to return each without thinking. she’s got a hand on his elbow, and after a moment, he takes a slight turn so that he can brush a thumb over her knuckles.

         ‘ we gotta get the fuck outta dodge for a while, ’ he says, finally winding down from a longwinded complaint. ‘ anywhere you want to visit? ’

@namefallen !

[scriose]

         ‘ doctor? doctor, yes? ’ sorry, lyra, he’s not addressing you by title  ---  he’s just making sure you are one ( this particular injury is severe enough to have his memory playing tricks ). he’s also dripping blood onto the foyer floor. ‘ what can you do with this? ’

@namefallen.  /  sc.

[caustis-arc]

         “Lesley Causer here  ---  local business owner and cat enthusiast.”

@namefallen.  —  it’s always sunny in the district of columbia.