I saw this post by @cosmic-witch and realized… I don’t think I’ve ever seen correspondences written up for types of wine before! So I spent some time and put some together based on their flavors/aromas/etc. Enjoy, wine-loving witches!
Wine in general is associated with happiness, success, love, relationships, and offerings.
Muma Păduriiis an ugly and mean old woman living as a spirit of the forest
. She is an evil witch, the opposite of fairies and literally means “the Mother of the Forest”, though “mumă” is an archaic version of “mamă” (mother).
She lives in a dark, dreadful, hidden little house or in the hollows of old trees, and sometimes goes to the huts of those living near the forest to scare them. If a brave man manages to catch and tie her, she will fulfill a wish. She is also thought to attack children, and because of this, a large variety of spells (descântece in Romanian) are used against her.
In the forest she is a sad mother, mourning, groaning, snorting, howling, because people are cutting her babies, the trees in the forest. She will punish every man whistling or singing through the woods, woodcutters who disregard the rules of the forest, those who collect berries, wild apples and pears, hazelnuts.
You once said that a step towards recovery means I’ll need to break myself into pieces, darling I’ve been trying to put my heart back together. I like to step on myself sometimes, I don’t take compliments well because I don’t think too highly of myself. When you step on the same lego piece everyday even your ego starts to melt a little. You once said that if I find someone to hold my thoughts before I hold their heart– then maybe she’s the one. Or maybe there’s no one out there, who knows, right? We can circle around this a little longer than always, but I’ll always run back to the why. Why do I want to conquer my memories? Each city that I’ve built for them inside of my head is still bright and I’ve not let a single light bulb blow out, I’m so out of it– while thoughtlessly I’ve been reaching out of my head, my heart likes to beat me to it. It says that love can only be achieved if I chase after it. You once said that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Do you still believe in those words? Because if I’m not cruel to myself, I could be cruel to someone else. If I read enough books, do you think I’d finally own a chapter in my own life? If I open up some more, will I close off opportunities for myself to the prospect of loving myself? And what about them? Vanity is my master and I’m a slave. It’s okay to be a little vain sometimes, right? I’ve got it in my veins, maybe I’m the only honest one. You once said that if I trip over the same rock and stub my toe a million times within a week, you’d still say it’s okay. Like falling requires gravity to bend to my whispers. Like drowning demands my lies to swim back to shore. Like dying seeps through my eyes, how can I love if all I’ve got is missing pieces? You once said that a river flows like time and if I’m out of seconds– you’ll just record your voice saying I love you until I finally get it. I remember everything that love has to offer, but never the person. I remember the feeling of infection that is affection. And if I walk alone and get hit by a car, maybe it’s just another story that I won’t write. Some words live in between the lines, I’ve been seeing dualities. Life and death is just a kiss and hug. Black and white, storms and clouds are just pears and apples. Poetry and prose likes to sound sweet, but it’s the bitter bits of me that’s suicidal. Love and hate was born from strangers, so you never knew the difference between the moon and the sun– the lightness of tomorrow likes to coat the darkness of past days. Cigarettes and lung cancer, a dance of smoke that disguises itself as stress free, do you think I’ll die healthy? Drugs and my body, which one will make me feel better if I’ve been sweating for a week? You once said that we’re spinning around in a circle just waiting for someone to stop by– grab my attention and you can have my voice, steal from my hands and you can have my poems, which hurts more to have loved or to not have loved at all? An empty silence that’s so full of itself– I can’t hear myself think inside of my own head. I’ve got file cabinets tagged under read later, but I’m a sucker for love– so I feed into it. You once said if the sky breaks into a brighter day, you’ll be there. That is wishful thinking, my favorite kind. Words can’t give meaning to our story, but we still write. You once said that it has to mean something. Every statement paused long enough for several lifetimes to become real again. It feels like such a long time, but we’re still in love with them in there somewhere. It’s buried. It’s in a coffin, but it’s there and we know it. We can hear it. We can hear it. Fuck, we can hear it. That little beating that isn’t ours, it’s always theirs. And that’s my fear, you once said that maybe that’s my fate– I’m supposed to cling onto that strand of innocence, of who I used to be, to remember what it feels like to feel, it has to mean something. Giving meaning to nothing, my favorite pastime. Giving something to someone, the only way that I’ve been living. You once said that until I learn to keep more for myself, I’ll always end up in square one– alone, but as long as I’ve got you, it’s not true, right? Some thoughts like to sleep alone, that’s not one of them. Hold onto that piece of us, the poetic storm that is joy. Keep your kindness to a burn, a stretched out sunrise screaming your name is my simmer. I know about nothing and that’s my one redeeming quality. I know that I don’t know shit, and that’s why I write like this. I know that I don’t love like I used to, and that’s why I love like this. I know that I’m not the same person from last year, and that’s why my guilt likes to trip up. I know that I’m no longer in love with her, but I can’t seem to explain the empty feeling unless I spell her name backwards under a star somewhere that I can’t touch. I know that I’m still messed up, but I’m just taking advantage of my youth. You once said some people will get over you in a week, but it’ll take you a lifetime to get over someone. If forever is a drug then I’ve overdosed. If always is a lie then I’ll take the beautiful. If never is more and a secret is sore– then I’m sorry about the words that didn’t stop, I am trying. I am always trying. You once said that if we kiss the ocean long enough, the mountains will answer. I’ve buried my love letters on the highest mountain and emptied my heart into my art. If I live long enough to spread my wings, do you think I’d still be condemned? Life is too short to live in the past, but I can’t stop asking about my what ifs. Love is too long to just be over, but I’ll just keep painting over it with a new layer of red. If you’re still reading, then I’m still writing. This yin and yang battle of ours has no meaning. Tortured souls live in the canvas and I’ve seen enough chains– I shall be unbound someday. You once said I love you– darling, that’s the only fucking truth that I believe in. You once said that soulmates aren’t always lovers– I guess it’s just you. You once said that flowers don’t just bloom, they wilt– so I guess I’m just withered. You once said that if you had your way, I’d own the universe. You don’t get it. When you became my best friend, I got it.
carrying extra pounds
on the bigger side
out of shape
abundant bloated blob of chunky chubby
heft lush mass
mountainous padded plump plush rotund
round, rounded, rounded out softened swollen, swelled up
midsection padding paunch
love handles mound muffin top
rolls, fat rolls, side rolls
stretch marks swells of fat underbelly
WHAT BELLIES DO
bounce bow out bulge out
sink soften stick out
ghosting fingertips over
hands sink in
rest hand on
rub circles /draw circles
And you’re not looking forward to the fighting and the manhandling that might involve. But DON’T WORRY FRIENDS. Let me show you my secret weapon:
Motherfucking BABY FOOD. The secret to smuggling medicine into your little scream child and making them think it’s the greatest gift you’ve ever given them. And also the secret to training your healthy bird to see the medicine dropper as a vehicle for treats instead of medicine. Just choose their favorite fruit or veggie in baby food form. In this house the favorites are bananas, apples, pears, and sweet potatoes.
(I can’t find the source anymore, but make sure you don’t get the combo flavors. The idea behind this is the combo flavors have more ingredients and potentially something not good for your birds. This banana baby food only contains two ingredients: bananas and a little bit of lemon juice.)
Summary: Your cousin needs help with her adorable 2-year-old.
Paring: Steve x Reader
Warnings: Kids and loads and loads of fuffly
“Are you sure that you three are going to be okay?” You look into your cousins’ eyes and nod. You understand that she is worried about leaving her daughter with you and Steve for the whole afternoon, it’s the first time since her divorce that she is going out and she is looking for excuses not to “Of course, how many times have I watched Kate? Go have fun on your date.”
“It is not a date and are you sure that Steve is not gonna mind? He works so much and this is his free time…” You don’t let her finish “Of course it is a date, he asked you for coffee and cake, and in my book that is a date. About Steve, don’t worry he loves kids.”
You are not sure if this is true, you and Steve never talked about having kids or even kids in general in your eight-month relationship. But how bad can it be? In the worst case, he spends all day locked in the room while you play with a toddler.