So, you’ve had a long, stressful day? You’ve just gotten home and all you want to do is wind down and relax? Why not pamper yourself? This silky, aromatic bubble bath will give you the recuperating, self care you desperately need just before you snuggle up in your bed for the evening!
- 3 tbsp extra virgin coconut oil - 1 cup of lavender epsom salts - 1 cup of milk (any type you’d prefer)
- 4 bags of chamomile tea
- 5 drops of lavender essential oils - 1 handful of dried rose petals (optional)
1) Before you begin running your water, take a large bowl and set your tea bags in it. Pour boiling water in the bowl, about halfway full, and let your tea bags steep.
2) Begin to run your bath, setting the temperature as high as you can stand (while still maintaining your comfort), and begin adding your coconut oil, letting it dissolve into the water (holding it in your hands and letting the water run over it is best, as to avoid large clumps of oil)
3) Add your epsom salts, using the same technique you used for the coconut oil.
4) Pour in your milk, drop in your essential oils, and your dried rose petals (if you so choose).
5) Once your bath is nearly full, and your tea bags have had enough time to thoroughly steep, pour the tea into your bath water.
6) Lastly, turning off the water, take your dominate hand, and swirl the water with the ingredients as you focus on cleansing yourself of the day’s negative energies, letting the bath become infused with your intent of relaxation, self-care, and calmness.
And now you’re ready to climb in and relax for the next 30 - 45 minutes! Once you’re finished your skin will be softer, and so will your soul, and just in time for bed!
Let’s talk about an Ariel who walks away—limping, mouthing inaudible sailors’ curses, a sea-brine knife in her belt.
Ariel traded her voice for a chance to walk on land. That was the deal: every time she steps, it will feel like being stabbed by knives. She must win the hand of her one true love, or she will die at his wedding day, turn to sea foam, forgotten. The helpful steward tells her to dance for the prince, even though her feet scream each time she steps. Love is pain, the sea witch promised. Devotion calls for blood.
But how about this? When the prince marries another, nothing happens. When Ariel stands over the prince and his fiance the night before their wedding, her sisters’ hard-won knife in hand, she doesn’t decide his happiness is more important than her life. She decides that his happiness is irrelevant. Her curse does not turn on the whims of this boy’s heart.
She does not throw away the knife and throw herself into the sea. She does not bury it in the prince and break her curse—it would not have broken. She leaves them sleeping in what will be their marriage bed and limps into a quiet night, her knife clean in her belt, her heart caught in her throat. Her feet scream, but they ache, too, for the places she has yet to see.
Ariel will not be sea foam or a queen. There is life beyond love. There is love in just living. Her true love will not be married on the morn—the prince will be married then, in glorious splendor, but he had never been why she was here.
Ariel traded her voice for legs to stand on, a chance at another life. When she poked her head above the waves, it wasn’t the handsome biped that she fell for. It was the way the hills rolled, golden in the sun. It was the clouds chasing each other across blue sky, like sea foam you could never reach.
(She does reach it, one day, bouncing around in the back of a blacksmith’s cart, signing jokes to him in between helping to tune his guitar. They crest up a high mountain pass and into the belly of a cloud. Her breath whistles out, swirls water droplets, and she reaches out a hand to touch the sky. Her feet will scream all her life, but after that morning they ache just a little bit less).
I want an Ariel who is in love with a world, not a prince. I don’t want her to be a moral for little girls about what love is supposed to hurt like, about how it is supposed to kill you. Ariel will be one more wandering soul, forgotten. Her voice will live in everything she does. She uses her sisters’ knife to turn a reed into a pipe. She cannot speak, but she still has lungs.
Love is pain, says the old man, when Ariel smiles too wide at sunrises. It’s pain, says the innkeeper, with pity, as Ariel hobbles to a seat, pipe in hand. At least you are beautiful, soothes the country healer who looks over her undamaged feet. The helpful steward had thought she was shy. Dance for the prince even though your feet feel stuck with a hundred knives.
Her feet feel like knives but she goes out dancing in the grass at midnight anyway. She’s never seen stars before. Moonlight reaches down through the depths, but starlight fractures on the surface. Ariel dances for herself.
She goes down to caves and rocky shores. Sometimes she meets with her sisters there. Mouths filled with water cannot speak above the sea, so she drops into the waves and they sing to her, old songs, and she steals breaths of air between the stanzas. She can drown now. She holds her breath. She opens her eyes to the salt and brine.
Ariel uses canes and takes rides on wagons filled with hay, chickens, tomatoes—never fish. She earns coins and paper scraps of money with a conch shell her youngest sister swam up from the depths for her, with her reed pipe, with a lyre from her eldest sister which sounds eerie and high out of the water. The shadow plays she makes on the walls of taverns waver and wriggle like on the sea caves of her childhood, but not because of water’s lap and current. It is the firelight that flickers over her hands.
When she has limped and hitched rides so far that no one knows the name of her prince’s kingdom, she meets a travelling blacksmith on the road with an extra seat in his cart and an ear for music. He never asks her to dance for him and she never does. She drops messages in bottles to her sisters, at every river and coastline they come to, and sometimes she finds bottles washed up the shore just for her.
They travel on. When she breathes, these days, her lungs fill with air.
Some nights she wakes, gasping, coughing up black water that never comes. There is something lying heavy on her chest and there always will be.
Somewhere in the ocean, a sea witch thinks she has won. When Ariel walks, she hobbles. Her voice was the sunken treasure of the king’s loveliest daughter, and so when they tell Ariel’s story they say she has been robbed. They say she has been stolen.
She has many instruments because she has many voices—all of them, hers; made by her hands, or gifted from her sisters’ dripping ones. Ariel will sing until the day she dies with every instrument but her vocal cords.
She cannot win it back, the high sweet voice of a merchild who had never blistered her shoulders red with sun, who had never made a barroom rise to its feet to sing along to her strumming fingers. She cannot ever again sing like a girl who has not held a dagger over two sleeping lovers and then decided to spare them. She decided not to wither. She decided to walk on knives for the rest of her life. She cannot win it back, but even if she could, she knows she would not sound the same.
They call her story a tragedy and she rests her aching feet beside the warming hearth. With every new ridge climbed, new river forded, new night sky met, her feet ache a little less. They call her a tragedy, but the blacksmith’s donkey is warm and contrary on cold mornings. The blacksmith’s shoulder is warm under her cheek.
Her feet will always hurt. She has cut out so many parts of her self, traded them up, won twisted promises back and then twisted them herself. She lives with so many curses under her skin, but she lives. They call her story a moral, and maybe it is.
When she breathes, her lungs fill. When she walks, the earth holds her up. There is sun and there is light and she can catch it in her hands. This is love.
You can’t serve an Old fashioned in a coupette glass and you can’t serve a Mojito in a margarita glass. Don’t be an ass, and know you glass. Here is a list of the glassware you have or should have in the bar you work in or your own home bar. Let’s start with the basics…
1. Martini Glass- Used to serve drinks straight up without ice. Most common would be a Martini where the name comes from or the Manhattan.
2. Margarita Glass- A glass stylized like an upside down sombrero should only be used to serve the margarita or any type of margarita variation and nothing else.
3. Pint Glass- Beer and Beer/Cider based mixed drinks. example Black velvet, shandy or Black’n’Tans.
4. Rocks Glass/ Old-Fashioned- Used to serve liquor like good quality vodka or whisk(e)y, and cocktails with ice or neat.Examples of different drinks that go into a rocks glass: Negroni, Old Fashioned, Margarita on the rocks, Sazerac (Neat).
5. Shot Glass- The name itself says it. Used for shots! I imagine everyone knows this and at this point I’m just covering basics for the sake of it.
6. Highball Glass- Used to serve long drinks, aka spirit and mixers, aka highball drinks. Examples are: Screw Driver, Cuba Libre, G&T.
7. Collins Glass- Slightly shorter and wider than the Highball glass, this one is used to serve a good Collins, Fizz, or Rickey.
8. Brandy/ Cognac Glass- Used to serve Brandy/Cognac.Just make sure to swirl hot water inside it before pouring in the spirit. It should be served in a hot glass.
9. Wine Glass- There are different types for white or red wine but this is the standard everyone should be familiar with.
10. Champagne Flute- Used to drink sparkly wine, champagne or serve the following cocktails: French 75, Champagne cocktail.
11. Hurricane Glass- For blended frozen drinks and exotic drinks.
12. Irish Coffee Glass- Thick Glass with a handle used for hot drinks such as the Irish Coffee, Hot Toddy or Hot Buttered Rum.
13. Coupe Glass- The coupette is another great glass with a stem used for ‘straight up’ cocktails like the martini glass. I like to use this one for cocktails containing egg whites.
14. Grappa Glass- Used to enjoy Italian grappa.
15. Absinthe Glass- Thick and beautifully designed glasses used to drink Absinthe. Served with the iconic Absinthe spoon for the sugar.
16. Tiki Glass- There are many types of these glasses around and this is just one of them. They are ceramic and usually depict imagery from Melanesia, Micronesia or Polynesia. They are especially used for ‘Tiki’ style exotic cocktails based on rum blends and fruit juices.
17. Buck Mug- Copper mugs used for Buck style cocktails, the most famous being the Moscow Mule.
18. Julep Cup- Iconic metal cup used only for the Kentucky Mint Julep.
19. Sour Glass- These are not used that much anymore, but they were the official ‘Sour’ glass for sour style cocktails.
20. Tasting Glass- Used by spirit connoisseur’s for tasting fine Scotch or Gin for example.
If you enjoyed this article share it with people and hit that like button! Also if you have any questions or want to share your thoughts please comment below. - UM. Thanks guys!
As we go through the year, we collect negative feelings that mute our vibrations and build resentment. This is an accretion: the slow build up or collecting of layers. Like cholesterol in the heart, this emotional accretion blocks your channels and keeps your power from flowing. Now that we are in a new year, it may be the best time for you to banish that accumulation.
What you will need: 1. A medium sized bowl, preferably glass 2. 3 bay leaves 3. 2 - 3 cups of room temperature water 4. 5 ice cubes 5. Sandalwood incense and/or a white candle (in a safe holder)
If it is part of your practice, cast a circle. As you sit with your ingredients before you, centre yourself. Ground yourself in the present moment by focusing on your breath, the sensations of your body, and your connection to the earth.
Begin by lighting the incense, candle, or both. Make sure the flame is just outside of your reach, as you will be moving your power hand and do not want to accidentally knock it over.
Next, pour the water into the bowl and add the ice cubes. Repeat with firm intent:
The old year sees completion I rid myself of accretion Strengthen the new with this one wish Negativity I banish
With your power hand, stir the water in a counterclockwise direction. Focus on sending negative feeling and emotions down your arm, past your fingers, and into the icy water. Continue stirring until you feel you have released the negativity built up over the last year. Withdraw your hand and drop the bay leaves into the swirling water to seal the banishment.
Allow the water to sit until the ice has melted. Extinguish your incense, candle, or both. Carefully take the bowl and its contents outside and to an area not walked over by others, pour out the water and bay leaves. Repeat the chant:
The old year sees completion I rid myself of accretion Strengthen the new with this one wish Negativity I banish
Notes Bay leaf: a sacred herb associated with Cerridwen and associated with the element of fire; it is commonly used in banishment spells Sandalwood: according to lore, sandalwood clears negativity and burning it in the form of incense brings protection and healing White candle: protection and purity
Summary: You and Dean do NOT get along. Until the night that you do.
Warning: smut, anger sex
Word Count: 3200
A/N: Hope y’all enjoy some Dean smut! XOXO
There are two things in the world you really hate: plaid and Dean Winchester.
There are plenty of things that you don’t like, that irritate and annoy you, that you’d rather not deal with. But those are the only two things you actively hate. A store with a window display of plaid clothing is enough to get your blood boiling these days. And Dean? Well, you make sure you never think of Dean. That just tailspins your world into a mess of violent anger for days before it wears off.
So the fact that you are currently wearing one of Dean Winchester’s plaid shirts, listening to him hum along with the radio as he drives you to his motel?
‘A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. Any attempt at finding the bodies was absolutely hopeless. And so there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time, the most dangerous criminal, and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. I shall ever regard him as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever know.’
Set shells along the side of the tub and turn on some relaxing music, related to the sea. Tie the sachet under bath faucet til the tub is full, and then let the herbs float in the water.
Take a few deep breaths, and let your soul join the mermaids in a warm, blue sea. Imagine the water swirling around you, brushing past sea plants and shimmering fish. Let your heart sing with joy along to the mermaids’ songs. Sway you arms in the tub water, each wave that washes over you made of bright shining light that fills you, washing away all fear. Gently apply the scrub, focusing on loving every inch of yourself. Re-open your eyes to your own beauty.
Idk, this is just a summery fluffball of a Sterek getting-together drabble because I’m tired of winter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Derek fundamentally doesn’t understand people who like roller coasters.
He knows such people exist because he’s been standing in line with them for the Blazing Bombardier for half an hour now, but even when he’s looking right at them, it’s hard to believe. Seriously, why. The list of things to do on a Saturday afternoon that don’t involve screaming and trying not to hurl is literally infinite. He could be lounging around in his pjs in his dorm right now and rereading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, just for example. Or working out, or going for a drive to the beach, or watching a movie with Boyd and Erica. (Boyd and Erica are officially his favorite people right now because, unlike his sisters, they understand the basic concept that friends don’t make their friends who lose bets ride the most terrifying invention since clown costumes.)
The line moves forward, and oh god, now Derek can actually see the loading station. The seats are wicked-looking hanging harnesses painted to look like flames. He’s going to be sick before he even sits down in the thing.
Should you fall in love with someone, even in the slightest, your skin becomes marked with vibrant colors that depict the story of your emotions. A tattoo, per say. However, should they or you fall out of love, the bright hues dull to black and the feelings you once had for each other melt away. To many, it’s a blessing to not have to live with the pain of your past. But what’s the point when you have too many reminders–say 27?
Pebbles bounced against the sidewalk, caught between the concrete and the rubber soles of boots dragging across the pavement. The movement was slow and the sound was reminiscent of a modern romantic defeat, another tally to add to the chalkboard. Another inked reminder that would be incomplete on a pale skin canvas.
A single finger rose to itch at the back of a studded ear, scratching just above the intricate black swirls of patterned water that was splayed over a neck. The owner of this design–and the 27 others cluttering his skin–wasn’t a lost cause or a serial romantic as many had come to believe. But potentially the most unlucky man in the world.
There were many others like him, decorated in dozens of these brandishes to signify their accomplishments in a manner akin to a trophy shelf. Their skin was littered with these marks of past lovers who were only intended to become blackened symbols. However, hoarding tattoos of ones he adored was not a game to him like it was to others; he feared the attention and judgment that his ink gave him.
He was enamored by people and their stories, the things they had to say and the words that they would whisper to him. Falling for them was simply a side effect of his own curiosity that he had no control over, as the patterns would only appear when the emotions were mutual. People were drawn to him, not for the art etched into him, but for his elegant thoughts and charming words.
Ive been thinking about creating a Dragon Age themed blog based around recipes, as if the author is travelling around Thedas like Brother Genetvi and writing a cook book based on his local discoveries. A Taste of Thedas, im thinking of calling it. The only problem is that I work nights, am often very tired, and so would not be able to keep up a regular schedule for posts. Do you think I should go for it anyway?
Here is an example of what I have in mind -
A Taste of Thedas: Cullen Skink.
Despite sounding like a character from the esteemed author Varric Tethras's Hard in Hightown, Cullen Skink is a smoked haddock soup from the town of Honnleath, in South-West Ferelden. Somewhere between a fish soup and a stew, it is hearty, creamy, and wholesome, much like the Commander of the Inquisition it is named after. Locals consider it to be one of Ferelden’s national treasures, and, after sampling it, it is difficult to argue.
Originally simply known as, ‘Skink’, it was renamed, ‘Cullen Skink’ in honour of the Commander of the Inquisition, whose hometown this dish hails from.
Cullen Skink, as it were, is a meal in a bowl and a very good one, too. I could push the boat out and tell you that you need Kinloch Haddock to really do it justice, but I wouldnt be so cruel. Any smoked white fish will do in a pinch. You could even use a mix of white and smoked cod. You do, however, need the smoked fish to give it it’s distinctive special flavour. It is a perfect winter warmer, or a good dish on a wet summers day.
Keep left over mashed potato to make this. It’s a good use up.
Ingredients 750 mls / 1.6 pints full fat milk or a mix of milk and cream if you are feeling decadent.
A small handful of chopped parsley (reserving the stalks).
1 bay leaf.
12 black peppercorns.
450 gms /1lb Smoked haddock fillets or any firm white smoked fish or a mix of smoked and plain fish. Whatever you have or whatever you fancy.
5ogms/ 2oz butter.
1 medium onion chopped.
2 scallions finely chopped.
200gms/8 oz buttered mashed potato.
Salt and Pepper.
Chopped parsley and four poached eggs.
Method Pour the milk into a saucepan large enough to accommodate the fish. Add in the bay leaf, peppercorns, parsley stalks and fish. Bring to the boil and simmer for five minutes. Remove from the heat and allow to infuse for five minutes or more.
Remove the fish, strain the poaching liquid and reserve. Flake the poached fish removing any skin and bones.
While the fish is poaching heat the butter in another saucepan and fry the onion until soft but not brown.
Then stir in the strained poaching liquid, then the mashed potatoes until you have a thick creamy consistency.
Add the chopped parsley leaves, chopped scallions and the flaked fish and simmer for another 4-5 minutes. Season well with black pepper and salt if needed. Pour into serving bowls and garnish with chopped parsley and a poached egg.
Poached Eggs You can of course poach the eggs in a saucepan of boiling water. A short cut is to put boiling water and a little vinegar into a microwavable dish. Make sure the water is enough to cover the eggs well. Put on a high heat in a closed pan for a minute to make sure the water is good and hot. Swirl the water and drop in the egg and cook for five minutes per egg. They will not cook a great deal after removal but will keep hot.
During a stopover in Skyhold I asked the Commander to add a few comments for the book, unfortunately the good Commander merely grunted, “I dont like haddock”, in a rather brisk tone.
Ah well, c'est la vie, as they say in Orlais.
Admittedly im not a natural writer, and I have no artistic skills to speak of, so im a little unsure of proceeding with this. What do you think?
Hey, we think this looks amazing and should go for it! Please either give suggestions in the comments or message them directly!