#variousmethodsofescaape

blah , blah , blah , something about george washington . while the teacher is still talking , bender leans over to aleister , waving the book in emphasis . ‘ hey , you wanna see a guy with elephantitis of the nuts ? ’ he whispers a bit too loudly , flashing the page at the other . ‘ it’s pretty tasty , ’

Hello, friends ( if you can still remember me after what feels like eternity, that is...)

I’m genuinely sorry for the lack of communication and my end. However, things have been quite hectic on my end, which likely won’t change anytime soon. Be that as it may, I’m hoping to get back into writing and roleplaying soon as I miss it most ardently. And you, of course. 

Perhaps there’s still a soul out there who’s interested in threading with me? 

Take care, and I hope to see you soon. c:

like this post for a starter

The war was becoming a dire situation of staying just half a step ahead of the enemy. Operation Sea Lion was rumoured to be close at hand, though the details of it were few and far between. There was a growing dependence on technology and infiltrating the technology of the enemy.

Which may have been the very reason Aleister received a summons to Buckingham Palace with the briefing that her superior technological skills were to be put to use on the telephone system within the Palace. The King and Queen were rarely to be found there, but on this one occasion, upon entry to the main receiving room, the staff were startled to find the King sat there pouring over a paper that described the events of a rally in Berlin just the day before.

Now accustomed to meeting members of the public, Aleister was not dismissed and instead invited in by the King himself.

TV screen flickering in the dark, lights first dimmed and then turned off entirely, limbs tangled up in a cocoon of duvets and blankets – that should’ve been their evening. Just an easy gesture and time spent together, huddled closely into one another. Neither her warmth nor her presence could soothe him today, could lessen the restless twitch in his hands and the half-hearted act of becoming a carefree poseur at ease with everything. He’d long since abandoned the plot, much less what had been happening on the screen for the past hour. In lieu of salted popcorn and booming laughter, there was something else he needed: it was simple, and yet panic pooled into him at the thought. Asking for touch, for intimacy – it still formed a lump in his throat, one he didn’t know how to shift, still believing that he had no right to be here, with her, and to rely on somebody anew.

So when he rested his head on her lap, ignoring his legs dangling off the couch, he did so reluctantly and slowly, as if to wait for her to shove him away.