i’m going to take down the paypal donate button since i’ve gotten messages from people telling me that it’s faulty.
instead i’m going to rely on linking to my gofundme. details of mine and bangaraangex's situation below. i have less than a week left before we all need…
M-merde … What would I do? This sounds like the next Twilight Zone! I’ll have to pay Rod Serling a special visit in case so that this never comes to pass….
Retire ce que tu viens de dire. If you know what’s good for you.
… Might I request that we stop using my first name? That was a mistake on my part that I would not like to be reminded of. If you would, please. It’s humiliating enough knowing I gave it to someone who continues to rub it in my face to this day.
This is assuming that I would have the patience to take it all off of you. Though judging by your accent … You can keep your scarves and your coats on. Anything but to be bombarded by that Australian aroma of yours.
Honestly, who hasn’t met Scout’s mother? She happened to be a mod for a MILF blog that followed mine.
Very tall. Very.
Oh good lord! Having been reminded of that makes me nauseous just remembering how badly they reek! I take it you haven’t had the chance to smell one! Hard to miss! And when they take off their shirts the stench only gets worse! Courtesy of the outback, HA!
Here ya go.
That was one time. ONE TIME. They were underaged girls, I was only joking, the police almost got involved and … and … I am a man of class! Not some internet creep! I would never-
… and besides, I was promised a topless photo! Think you’re so clever bundling up to look like a rip off of a character from Doctor Who! Ha! A waste of my time.
Err … not to say that I … was looking forward to a … picture of someone’s … MOVING ON!!
(aaah thank you for requesting; I’m such a nerd I’m so intimidated by writing Garrette and Eugene because of how complex their “relationship” is and how amazing you and Inky are and *hyperventilates*)
"You’re sure?" Eugene asked, eyebrow raised. He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric of Garrette’s mask, nails pressing against his exposed throat.
Ever evasive, Garrette smiled coquettishly. “Why wouldn’t I be? This is a courtesy.”
“A courtesy,” the sniper repeated, eyes roving the expanse of the spy’s body perched atop his own, of what he’d already exposed with neither pomp nor circumstance. The heat between them grew to near-unbearable levels, the moment pregnant with confusion and desire in equal measure.
“Never.” Garrette steeled himself and canted his chin upward, urging him onward.