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I just peeped over at the blood oath you’re writing and it was something about wanting to write about me all the time and I just want you to know that I haven’t written about you yet. No. Not really written. Notes and like diary entries, sure, but not, like, an actual thing. I mean there was that sexy zine love letter but you know what I mean. But that’s a good thing. Because the things I write about are bad and sad, and I feel like I have to give those stories a voice before I start cavalierly writing about chowing down on your cock all the time.