#its vinegar pussy

[autism-freaks]

https://youtu.be/YTo75d2ZV0c?si=MW_WOg7ZTCveATwO

just had a convo with my friend. she mentioned she doesnt like sake cause its sparkling.

“wait, sake is sparkling? what have i been drinking?” i said. because i also dont like sparkling stuff.

i look at the sake bottle ive been drinking from for fun events for the past year. its vinegar.

i’ve been drinking strawberry flavored vinegar.

[charnelhouse]

moments

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2k+ summary: Joel and you in a hotel phone booth. warnings: rough sex. ooc joel loving danger. pain/pleasure for real. biting. oral. A/N: same reader as the one in bad people, but no need to read. Joel Miller Masterlist

His hands on you are unforgiving as he presses your back against the wall. It’s an old telephone booth in a dead hotel. The lobby is a swamp and the standing water taints the air with its own specific rot. 

The booth is nearly dry, though. The space is unforgivably narrow so that your bodies are enfolded together, collapsing like dominoes. He’d pulled you in here with no explanation, but that isn’t new. Joel remains the enigma he’s always been. You trust him even when he’s told you not to. He is noncommittal. He is a constrictor knot. Teflon. If he was tossed into the sea, he’d find the bottom and drag himself ashore. Pissed, but alive.

It's possible that he’s perfectly readable and you're the problem. Maybe, he truly is what he says he is because he has always declared his intentions. 

What do you want, Joel?

What kind of question is that?

Just a question. 

Why don’t you focus on cleaning that gun, okay?

***

Today, he’s got something howling inside of him. His arms are bound around your waist, his nose grazing your jaw before he bites your throat. 

“Joel!” you cry, jerking from the sting of his teeth. 

He draws away, licks the branded skin. “Silent,” he orders. “We don’t want to bring them down on us, yeah?”

Your heart leaps, sliding and catching on your ribs as you dig your fingers into his shoulders. He’d removed his jacket and you can feel how flame-hot his muscles are under his thin black t-shirt. “You don’t think they’re–”

“Quiet,” he repeats as he grabs you under your ass, lifts, and drops you on the small table connected to the wall.

This is so dangerous. This is so dangerous.

Joel catches you by the knees, forces them against his sides. He’s fired up about something, full of vinegar as he begins to undress you. Your jeans are roughly dragged down your legs as he uses his other hand to fiddle with his belt.

You swear you catch the fluttering click outside the glass partition. You hear creaks. Wails. Monsters communicating in the black space, waiting to devour you and yours.

Joel only seems determined. Defiant. Let us almost get torn apart in the name of an orgasm.

You have never met someone so willing to not only flirt with dire situations, but thoroughly fuck them. Joel continuously acts like he wants to die, then turns around and lives.

With his thick fingers, he snags them around the crotch of your panties and yanks them upward so that they scrape and agitate the seam of your cunt. You inhale sharply, smack his chest with an audible thwack, but it only encourages him. He jerks the panties again and the fabric bunches against your clit, stimulates you to the point that you get slicker and release a high-pitched mewl.

“Thatta’ girl.” The corner of his mouth curls smugly and you don’t know what he’s supposed to have won when you’ve already submitted. He releases your underwear before removing them and tucking them into his pocket. They’re probably ruined, anyway. “Take a breath,” he urges as he begins to stroke himself. His cock is an angry thing-thick, pink and beading pre-cum. “You’re working yourself up.”

You listen, inhaling, exhaling, and then another round. You watch the way he’s holding himself as he waits for you to unwind. This is a common occurrence. You get all panicky and overheated because sometimes Joel makes your heart thud at the center of your cunt. It’s too good and it’s frightening.

“There you go,” he soothes as your thighs open of their own volition. You lift your hips, offering yourself plainly. He braces one hand on the table beside you, the other under your ass before guiding himself into you. You feel it make contact, the blunt head smearing the lips of your pussy. He presses forward before angling to the right and then he’s sinking to the hilt.

He groans quietly as his forehead meets yours. He’s wet with sweat, the salt drips. He smells like kerosene and blood. Inside you, there is the heat of him-molten and sharp. He eases back before snapping forward, claiming you in fragments. At one point, he crushes your lips together, stealing your breath just as he drives to the hilt. No give. No inch.

Very Joel.

***

Joel maintains a steady, deliberate rhythm. Each pump of his hips jostles your tits, makes your teeth click. You’re falling, losing sense and then he snatches the nape of your neck and drags you back to him, his tongue licking into your mouth. “You stay with me,” he rumbles as his cock burns a curved line through the channel of your sex. You swear you feel him in your belly. 

“It hurts,” you breathe against his teeth. “You’re too-”

“I know,” he sympathizes. “I know, baby. You’re taking it alright, though. You’re doing fuckin’ good.”

The pain is, of course, secondary. You play this game like all the others. Joel and his rough, frantic fucking. You and your willingness to offer up your body because to have Joel at all feels akin to owning a panther. He’s bad. Nothing like your dead boyfriend, Luke, who would hold your face to his as he made love to you. He’d kiss your breast, worship the place above your heart. He’d lick you between your legs until he managed to pull some tiny, subtle ounce of pleasure from your ugliness.

Joel eats you out like he’s dying. Joel inhales you as if he could devour your sex, consequently leaving you shaking and bruised from his mouth. It’s unnerving that you prefer Joel’s style. 

Am I terrible?

Am I sick?

You realize you want that now. It’s a startling feeling. He’s got the side of his face against your cheek, the constant hum of his gravelly uh uh uh’s blurring through your hair. He’s driving into you punishingly, stretching you into two separate halves. You grasp his shoulders and turn your head, lips sliding against his ear. “Joel…”

He takes a ragged breath before he pecks your jaw as if remembering you’re there. “Yeah?”

“I need you…” you trail off, slightly bulldozed by the pressure of him when he picks up the pace, a vicious snap snap snap of his hips. You’re sweat-slick and overwhelmed. You think you’d be happy being attached to him, growing out of him. Addicted to the way he feels in your cunt. 

You want him to infect you.

You think that’s what your sex is like. Joel and you infect each other until the other burns away.

“Need what, honey?” he rasps. The pet names are few and far between. They are only administered when he’s pussy-drunk or has his cock down your throat.

“I want you to taste me.”

You utter the sentence with some grit to frame it as an order rather than a request. You know it’s because Joel is so far gone right now, he needs a harsh hand. 

He nips your neck as he slows his thrusts. Interested. “You want me to eat your pussy?”

You nod, clenching at his bluntness. Joel rarely speaks like that. But today? He’s on one. You clamp down again, vibrating with a frantic desire for his mouth on you.

“Fuck-you liked that.” He chuckles before slowly dislodging himself from your embrace. “So,” He draws away so you can see him. His face flushed and damp with sweat. His pupils dilated and glinting several shades of brown. He steps back just enough that his cock slips out. He glances down, his hand sliding from your chest, down your belly and to your cunt. Without warning, he shoves two fingers inside you, forcing a yelp from your throat. He slams his other hand over your mouth. 

“I said silent,” he hums as he continues to stare at your entrance that’s plugged full of his fingers. You’re utterly vulnerable: pinned down, thighs open, and your pussy loose and raw from how aggressively he’d been using it. 

“You want me…” He curls his fingers, massaging the inner lining of your walls. Your hips buck. “...to lick your pussy after I’ve just fucked it open?”

He lifts an eyebrow suggestively. His expression is menacing- hungrier than you’ve ever seen it. You’re dazed, completely gone, but his face anchors you. You’ve counted the lines in it’s surface: the scars, the sunspots and the grays. You’d know it in a crowd of thousands.

“Yes-s,” you reply with conviction even though he’s begun scissoring his fingers, jamming to the knuckle with a squelch that would be embarrassing if he didn’t appear so turned on by it. “I want you anyway I can have you.”

He blinks for a moment, seemingly surprised before the look flickers away as quick as it had come. It had been a confession on your part. A damn truth. Joel was incapable of being cracked open or brought to heel. He was hard-obsidian and graphite and the hero in a Greek tragedy. 

From what you had gathered, he had done nothing of note pre-outbreak. He’d been a carpenter. He’d been a father though that revelation had only been mentioned once and by Tommy. He had lived a quiet life and now? He lived with something screaming in his head.

Your own desperation is painted ripe across your face and body. You’ve proven how far you’d go for him, allowing him to fuck you in a condemned hotel that could be crawling with clickers. He’d been so worked up, still shaking from the earlier fight with a couple raiders. 

Come with me.

Why?

Just do it. 

Wordlessly, Joel begins to lower himself to the ground. He allows your legs to fall over his shoulders as he stares openly at your cunt. “Scoot forward, then,” he directs. “Bring it to my face.”

You could die. You could burn up and die, but, instead, you follow instruction. He doesn’t tiptoe around it, doesn’t tease or taunt. No, Joel just shoves his head between your legs and begins to lap at your cunt. His calloused, broad hands engulf you. One latched to your hip and the other against your throat as he pins you to the wooden wall of the booth. The blunt nails of his fingers skate your skin as he wiggles his tongue through your folds before sucking your clit between his lips. His beard catches on your inner thighs, his mustache tickling your mound as his nose digs into tender flesh. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, the pleasure swelling inside your core, turning over and over until it threatens to bolt. You knock your head back against the wall and the pain is welcome, it sobers you enough that you can look down and watch Joel eat you out. His lashes long as pen strokes, his tongue bulldozing through your nerve endings as he hauls you to the edge. He works a little harder, latches to your cunt. He suckles and slurps, messy and indecent, but everything about Joel is messy. His hand clamps more firmly around your throat, his other holding your hip down. Come for me. It says. Come now. 

You do, legs trembling as your pelvis lurches against his chin. He eases away, wiping his mouth and you feel empty. Detached. It wasn’t enough. That scares you.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading as you reach for him. He stands, cock stiff and red jutting against his belly. You can see the patch of olive skin beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He steps back, grabs you harshly by the ass and drags you to the edge of the table. 

Silently, he fists his cock before guiding it back into your pussy. You’re so wet, it’s obscene. Your sex is swollen and sensitive and he jams himself all the way until he can’t go further. You’re all loose and slack, a doll without its strings. But Joel maneuvers you until he can fit himself.

“Good girl.” You think he says. You don’t know-can barely hear shit, but the sound of him working his cock into you. He rocks his hips in short snaps until your body once more accommodates him. 

He touches your cheek. “Don’t fade out, honey. We’re not done.”

He shoves your knees against your chest, effectively bending you in half. Immediately, he tilts his pelvis, fucks up into you, which makes the head of his beautiful dick bump against your cervix. You wince, bite the inside of your mouth, before you open your eyes and find his - dark and bold as pitch black night. They pierce your face, demanding your attention. His lips curl before he lowers his gaze to where you’re joined. You follow, mesmerized by the silver of his belt buckle clacking against the table, the shiny hairs at his groin and how slick his shaft is as he repeatedly shoves it inside you before ripping it back. 

He lowers his mouth to your breast and proceeds to sink his teeth into your chest. He claims the place Luke used to kiss-to love. Joel bites the skin above your heart before soothing it with his tongue. You shiver, throwing your arms around his neck to keep him closer. 

“I love it,” you praise him, breath warm in his ear. “I love it.”

You’re on fire-thrumming like a thousand-volt plug, but you can’t move an inch. You can only allow him to take you, dragging you like a violent tide and hope he’ll bring you to shore. 

[hairscare]

now i dont like the term pussy as an insult and i think ive only ever said it once or twice in my entire life so know that i dont say this lightly. whoever made the recipe for lays salt and vinegar chips is a goddamn loser pussy because where the fuck is the vinegar. little freako loser cant even handle more than one drop of vinegar in the entire bag go fuck yourself. your mouth should be burning your tongue should be patchy and enflamed after eating a bag of salt and vinegar. you bite into a lays potato chip and its like chaste missionary sex go kill yourself

[sleeping-in-his-grave]

pick   five   vines   that   best   characterize   your   muse   . repost     ,     do  not  reblog     .

Originally posted by julla

sometimes

noice fookin cornfield

everybody knows shit's-fucked

huh ok

i wanna be a cowboy baby

Bonus: The Chaotic Snake Brothers

its vinegar pussy

i want to see my little boy (the cat is bombproof lol)

you play it you get a 100 million dollars

you're no good duck (the duck is stolas or something idk)

please don't stop the music

tagged by: i stole it lol

tagging: @second-wife-playbook, @helluvaoutlaw, @wrathstricken, @spidersins, and anyone else who hasn’t already! 

[detective-inspector-her]

Six Hours Back On The Job Incorrect Quotes

Valkyrie: Gregory likes to win. When he was 8, a little Club Scout friend of his bragged they could sell the most cookies. Valkyrie: Damned if Gregory didn't walk the neighbourhood till he got blisters on his feet, and won by 10 boxes. Valkyrie: The best part is, that Gregory wasn't even a Club Scout.

Valkyrie: And what did we learn, Gregory? Gregory: Tackling someone isn’t the correct response to being asked a simple question.

Valkyrie: I am a responsible adult! Gregory: raises brow Valkyrie: I am an adult.

Valkyrie, skipping rocks on a lake with Gregory: It’s such a beautiful evening. Gregory: Yeah, it is. Gregory: whispering Take that you fucking lake.

Gregory: I wanna die. Valkyrie: We all do, you aren't special!

Valkyrie: Could you maybe just like… stab me… right in the gut. Just REALLY twist it in there. ‘Cause that honestly seems less painful than this conversation.

Valkyrie: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly."

Valkyrie: When I was your age- Gregory, mocking Valkyrie: When I was your height. Valkyrie: Valkyrie: Listen here you little shit-

Gregory: Can you recommend a book that'll make me cry? Valkyrie: General Mathematics 8th Grade Edition.

Valkyrie: Why don't humans have a specific noise that means "there are bees here, let's leave immediately." Why are elephants more advanced than us. Gregory: We do have a specific noise for it. It sounds like this: Gregory: "There are bees here, let's leave immediately."

Valkyrie: Am I a good person? No. But do I try to be better every single day? Also no.

Freddy, when Valkyrie walks in: Oh, hey, I'm just making pizza. Freddy: accidentally smacks Gregory in the face with the baking sheet

Gregory: Are you a cuddler? Freddy: I'm a machine of death and destruction. Gregory: Freddy: …Yeah, I'm a cuddler.

Freddy: If you water water, it grows. Gregory: …What. Valkyrie: He's got a point.

Valkyrie: I got an idea! Freddy: Does it involve breaking the law? Valkyrie: By now don’t you think that’s a given? Freddy: I was just trying to be optimistic. Valkyrie: Don’t bother.

Valkyrie: Life is like Gregory. It's short.

Freddy: Didn't you die?! Valkyrie: That was weeks ago, dude. Things change.

Gregory: Hey, can I get a sip of that water? Valkyrie: It’s not water. Gregory: Vodka! I like your sty- Valkyrie: It’s vinegar. Gregory: …What? Valkyrie: It's vinegar, PUSSY.

Gregory and Valkyrie are in a car teetering on the edge of a cliff Gregory: oh my god, Valkyrie, backwards! Valkyrie: Really, Gregory? I thought I might go forwards into the river, I thought that would be a fun thing to do.

Gregory: Valkyrie is restricted to decaf for the rest of this adventure.

Valkyrie: I'm going to take a shower, I'll be right back. Gregory: Why are you telling me this, I don't care. Gregory, right after Valkyrie leaves the room: I miss her already.

Gregory: Valkyrie just said "I have an appetite for destruction" and then she reached down and untied my shoe.

Valkyrie: Freddy, you need to calm down. Freddy, slamming his fists on the table: BUT HOW CAN IT BE "BIRTHDAY CAKE" FLAVOR IF A BIRTHDAY CAKE CAN BE ANY FLAVOR?!

Gregory: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”. Gregory: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

[joy-haver]

My birthday is coming.

Gift Ideas; For the Woman Who is already In Everything

A real sword. Long, sharp.

More free slippers

A better shovel

machetes, no plastic on the handles

Tractional bows, long arrows

A hunting rifle, ammunition

A place to shoot them.

Every medicinal native plant

A baby

Chickens

Every edible native plant

More handmade pottery that has function

Religious texts

Books of anarchy, already broken in

A still

A spinning wheel

Wood. Always wood

Clay.

Tall sturdy baskets

All the many vinegars

Booze of any kind

Shoes. Real shoes. The kind that are supportive. That you can maintain and repair.

Wool.

Cordage of every kind of cording plant.

Willow wands.

Fiber spun from strings that pluck the song of the birds and the leaves.

Elderberry, dried.

Button down jean dress.

Pockets added on to many things.

A new corset.

A prayer to finally say how I feel about the sun.

A teacher.

Skirts that are long and flowing and cotton and fit me.

Warm wet pussy.

Sourdough bread.

Homemade cheese.

Stillness.

A mind that flows like water and a pen that writes on its own.

A pen that fits my hands.

Pillowcases, cotton.

Kumbucha, low sugar, ginger or cucumber preferred.

A key to the out building where god has locked away the font of grace.

Forgiveness, from within.

To know the means and the does-not-ends.

A ceramic tea kettle that’s strong and subtle.

Supple breasts.

Deer bones.

Animal hide.

A well fit dress.

A swimming hole to kiss you in.

A song that records itself.

A jam session.

A record player.

Records to put in it.

A new hat,

Or an old one.

A Mardi Gras outfit like those men who walk on horses.

An end to everything that the law calls justice.

Justice, the art of making things right.

Love.

Feeling alive.

Your homemade mosquito repellent.

Help pulling privet.

You to learn to sew.

Me to learn to listen.

Us to learn to stretch the day.

A night to sleep under the stars in Coden.

A trip to the country.

A kite to fly.

Stars, bright, peering out of the darkness.

To build a boat and sail the ocean.

Lao Tzu’s hand to hold,

A hug from Le Guin.

A moment at the grave of my Maw maw,

More kinship from my kin.

Found family to finally be more family than acquaintance.

A visit from all of my online friends.

An antique bed frame of solid wood, with four posts and a canopy to hide in.

Long handled pruners, stronger than bodark.

Something to make me sleepy after dark.

Internal temperance.

A tattoo.

Ideas for them.

The perfect stick for an atlatl.

A prefect stick to walk with.

The wisdom of the ages.

An anarchy inside of me that comes to be religion.

The ability to accept it.

The ability to stop talking, and just listen.

[cowvboyenema]

hey yo can i get a sip of that water? its not water VODKAAAA i like your styleits vinegar what? its vinegar PUSSY

[abandonedsdjfhcvndfbv]

Do we dtill care about favorite vinse. one of my favorited. Was the cani hava sip of your water This isntn water Vodka! i like yr style Its vinegar pussy . stimulated my mind back then. What would it be like to drink vinegar?

[klunk-icecreamkitty-mayhem]

'Its vinegar, pussy' has gotten weirder.

why wont you eat a raw egg you wuss

Fuck you i'll eat one

[sarenhale]

The Arihel/Magnai rivalry is so strong at this point that even Magnai tweeting something like 'I hate vinegar' will have Arihel replying 'So what? Can't drink vinegar, pussy idiot? Lol' under it

[judecopeart]

This is a happy tree friends art account now you all can go home /j

2nd pic is a reference to Nothing Left to Lose bc thats a Flynn (fl/ppy) song thank u

[hyah-lian]

THE VINEGAR how could i not think of that yess another important item to have

Honestly I could see Sky being confused and concerned the most!! Because I don't imagine it being too terribly commonplace on Skyloft, and he is just kind of thrown to the wolves and left to fend for himself on the surface AFAIK without much information on how to handle things down there. I think he'd be the most willing to help and have the most questionable options to offer because he did X thing and recovered but it was just coincidence or pure luck. BUT he is willing to learn and unlearn his incorrect assumptions.

BIG AGGREE with Wars. I could also see him being more cautious of it because of the effects of "shell shock" he's seen with his soldiers but the pros outweigh the cons and he'd understand that imo

Also also meme brain just ran with that one Vine of "Hey bro can I have a sip of water?" It's not water "nice, vodka!" No its vinegar "what" it's vinegar, pussy

And just imagining Hyrule having and just drinking a bottle of vinegar..... shudder but a mood.

Back to your first part of the post too, I think other Links might be shocked at Time just doing a shrug "Okay, be safe then. Let me know if you need help walking straight later" kind of attitude to it and he tells them about the chateau romani stuff

I like how you think and how your brain works and how you present your ideas yesyesyesyesyessssssss

I hesitate to wonder the mess in reference and am not thinking further on other option bc fears but i understandnif u have a different train of thought I am choosing to believe he straight up wind-wrecked the inside of a bar they either snuck him into or that had no real age of majority for drinking with the wind waker and then in that giddy sort of energized drunk mixed up everyone's belongings while he should have been sleeping

Look, none of the chain would care if Wind have a flask of rum on his belt. Or if he swears like a sailor for that matter. So many of them be going questing at the tender young age of fucking ten, some underage drinking would be the least of their problems. Especially not Time, because don't tell me you didn't enjoy some Chateau Romani in Termina, and you're what, 11?

[whovillebutslutty]

god bless my mom for pretending she didn't catch me straining our pickle juice

[yeet-the-nugget]

Klaus: Hey bro, can I get a sip of that water 

Five: It’s not water

Klaus: Vodka! I like your style. 

Five: It’s vinegar

Klaus: What?

Five: It’s vinegar. Pussy 

[joy-haver]

Gift Ideas; For the Woman Who is Already In Everything

More well fitting slippers. Size 12.

A better shovel.

Machetes, no plastic on the handles.

Tractional bows, long arrows.

A hunting rifle, ammunition.

A place to shoot them.

Every medicinal native plant.

A baby.

Chickens.

Every edible native plant.

More handmade pottery that has function.

Religious texts.

Books of anarchy, already broken in. Softcover.

A still.

A spinning wheel.

Wood. Always wood.

Clay.

Tall sturdy baskets.

All the many vinegars.

Booze of any kind.

Shoes, Real shoes, The kind that are supportive, That you can maintain and repair, Size 12.

Wool.

Cordage of every kind of cording plant.

Willow wands.

Fiber spun from strings that pluck the song of the birds and the leaves.

Elderberry, dried.

Button down jean dress.

Pockets added on to many things.

A new corset.

A prayer to finally say how I feel about the sun.

A teacher.

Skirts that are long and flowing and cotton and fit me.

Warm wet pussy.

Sourdough bread.

Homemade cheese.

Stillness.

A mind that flows like water and a pen that writes on its own.

A pen that fits my hands.

Pillowcases, cotton.

Kumbucha, low sugar, ginger or cucumber preferred.

A key to the out building where god has locked away the font of grace.

Forgiveness, from within.

To know the means and the does-not-ends.

A ceramic tea kettle that’s strong and subtle.

Supple breasts.

Deer bones.

Animal hide.

A well fit dress.

A swimming hole to kiss you in.

A song that records itself.

A jam session.

A record player.

Records to put in it.

A new hat,

Or an old one.

A Mardi Gras outfit like those men who walk on horses.

An end to everything that the law calls justice.

Justice, the art of making things right.

Love.

Feeling alive.

Your homemade mosquito repellent.

Help pulling privet.

You to learn to sew.

Me to learn to listen.

Us to learn to stretch the day.

A night to sleep under the stars in Coden.

A trip to the country.

A kite to fly.

Stars, bright, peering out of the darkness.

To build a boat and sail the ocean.

Lao Tzu’s hand to hold.

A hug from Le Guin.

A moment at the grave of my MawMaw.

More kinship from my kin.

Found family to finally be more family than acquaintance.

A visit from all of my online friends.

An antique bed frame of solid wood, with four posts and a canopy to hide in.

Long handled pruners, stronger than bodark.

Something to make me sleepy after dark.

Internal temperance.

A tattoo.

Ideas for them.

The perfect stick for an atlatl.

A perfect stick to walk with, never hewn, beaver cut.

The wisdom of the ages.

An anarchy inside of me that comes to be religion.

The ability to accept it.

The ability to stop talking, and just listen.

A nice wooden box to keep all my seeds in.

Wall shelves.

Tall shelves.

Someone to remind me of the woodworking that has left me.

Earthsea, Le guin. Soft cover.

Le guin. Anything. Soft cover.

Knowing how to tell apart all my oaks.

Discernment of my hickories.

Taxonomies of my pine trees.

A watercolor canvas big enough to make my walls a mural, or tapestry.

The concentration to complete it.

Hand pruners, good enough to pass on to my children.

Better speakers for my tv.

A sermon that says all I want the world to be, but does it succinctly, completely, in fullness of being.

A hand carved paddle by which to steer this pirogue.

For you to grow a pumpkin, an old variety.

Embroidery.

Long thin elegant drop earrings.

A necklace that suits me.

Decor that I can love with all my heart and never fills me with emptiness or plastic or loathing.

Your art, framed and completed.

Help installing shelves.

A mulberry tree (native).

Acres, close by.

A good time sleeping at night.

The bones of old Joe cane.

No longer being afraid of parades.

chaung tzu, translated by brook ziporyn.

Chisels.

Planes.

Good rulers.

A knife to skin with.

A knife to flesh with.

Tea diffuser.

The coolest lamp.

Warm light bulbs.

Rewire my house.

Replace the back spigot.

A hide drum.

Sugar free butter scotch candies, bulk order.

A box set of Septimus Heap, by Angie Sage.

Jewelry I actually want, to put in this box.

A planting of river cane.

A dobro, one worth playing.

A slide that fits my hands.

A new bedroom trash can.

Help finishing my chicken coup.

A cowboy hat, old (size 7.5)

A cowboy hat, new (size 7.5)

100 real loofahs to scrub with.

A case to display every nut native to alabama.

A few good seed nuts for each of them.

A matching linen bed spread.

Streaming service log ins.

Repair for my saws.

Every sharp thing.

Someone to sharpen them.

Hand drills like the old men’s old men used.

A real sword. Long, sharp.

A home that you are willing to defend.

No more domination.

No more destruction of the land.

A love for one another.

Your hand.

In my hands.

You to stay here.

You to not move away again and again.

This to be a place.

That we can survive in.

[sar-ai]

This is my first time making one of these. Can’t you tell??