Okay, so.
I'm not going to drink. I really, really want to, but instead I'm going to fill my wine glass with fruit punch and pretend I'm drinking, because I'm at that awkward point in the 'THIS COULDA BEEN YOUR REALITY' show in my sleep where all relationships are failing. Either because someone got killed (RIP, Ciara and Nadia), or because there's that heroic thing of 'this isn't working but I'm talking shit to end this in order to protect you' crap. The latter was me, because bros before hos. Sort of. Can't have nice things because we're gearing up to fight a big baddy, sorry lover boy.
fkshfsfkj right in the feelsOne thing I am going to boast about, though, is how I took a chainsaw to some ancient fae's sacred tree and cut the bitch up until she handed me over Dyson's love - he gave it up to help Bo in a succubus fight
with her mom, and apparently it was a thing you can put in a bottle? Go figure. Try to diss my humanity again, you old hag, I'm gonna mow your place down with a tractor. Vroom, vroom.
But I guess that also explains the chainsaw that woke up to. Naps are dangerous, and no longer sacred, but I have a chainsaw. The possibilities are endless.