thedesertgod:

peonies-and-nettle:

*Wear velvet, silk, fine fabrics

*Take long baths with milk, honey, and olive oil

*Wear perfume with frankincense or rose or myrrh or neroli

*Wear gold and pearls and precious stones

*Paint your nails red or gold

*Put lavender satchels in your drawers

*Have good posture

*Give yourself a facial massage

*Speak with confidence–no one has the right to overpower your voice

*Rub a body oil into your skin when you get out of the bath

*Use a face oil with your moisturizer

*Wear a watch and be punctual

*Listen to those in need

*Clean and declutter your space

*Smile–but only when you want to

*Braid your hair

*Read novels or folklore/myth or poetry

*Be kind to children–have no sympathy for those who would hurt them

*Use cosmetics with pearl powder

*Go to bed early

*Eat well

*create a vibrator out of bees trapped in a jar

*slaughter only the finest children to the funeral pyres before the statues of Moloch. No royalty should present unfit children to the dark one.

*learn dangerous sorcery so you can have djinn children with legendary wise men

*behead your enemies and then display them to your court on a silver platter as a friendly, decorative reminder of your girl power

*get into a fight with the goddess Aphrodite and start a war that lasts for many years

*Crusade to the East for miraculous relics of magical power towards Constantinople

*Assasinate your younger brother for the throne; he was an annoying piece of shit anyway

*use plenty of crocodile dung when you’re ready to rendevouz with your secret lover of much lower status–no bastard children threatening the lineage this time

*think of how to advise the future king on how to eradicate the unnatural Christian menace slowly killing the empire and sowing disruption among the territories

skepticaloccultist:

Blackthorn, blackthorn, lend me your sting.
Sharp like the wind, the crown of a king.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, deliver me your might.
That I may without question my enemies smite.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, grant me your leave.
The blood of a shadow, a widow’s bereave.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, permit me your sword.
A word that is bound, an ancient reward.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, show me the way,
As the sunsets golden on a path led astray.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, allow me to take,
That weapon you’ve made for protection’s sake.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, give me your word.
That binds us together, in darkness absurd.

Blackthorn, blackthorn, open the gate.
The door that’s a veil of the mind’s altered state.

argumate:

great work requires great procrastination, all wizards know this.