Faery Realm ✨ Hayley Rudolph

Things To Research As A Green Witch MASTERLIST

A green witch is typically a witch who specializes and focuses on natural materials and energies. They are often skilled herbalists and probably enjoys gardening. Like a lot. You might be a baby green witch or an experienced one. Maybe even an eclectic one, no matter what, all is welcome!

I am most certainly not entitled to knowing everything about green witches but I want to help out some people when stuck on not knowing what to research.

As always, enjoy!

gif by @la-petitefille

plants!

edible plants :)

non Edible plants :(

other uses for non edible plants that’s not eating :)

history of herbal witchcraft

herbal brews

aromatherapy

drying flowers/herbs

harvesting flowers/herbs

endangered plants (so you don’t accidently pick them)

medicinal plants/herbs

teas

tinctures

meads

smoke blend recipes

different types of other natural based witches

seasonal magick

when to start sowing

when to reap

wheel of the year

types of plants

types of herbs

what types of animals/insects (bees, butterflies, etc.) do your flowers/herbs attract?

usage for *plant name*’s roots

usage for *plant name*’s stem

usage for *plant name*’s flowers

usage for *plant name*’s leaves

usage for *plant name*’s bark

usage for *plant name*’s seed

plants

what are herb sachets?

pressed flowers <3

smoked herbs

poisonous plants

essential oils

extracts

cacti/succulents

gardening 101 (hehe)

what are some good botanical books?

the fae

candle correspondence to elements

PlAnTs

houseplants

sage (god, I love sage)

lavender

rosemary

basil

chamomile

PLANTS

crystals

aloe vera

tea leaf readings

dear me, I almost forgot to mention plants

feel free to add on, loves!

♡ That naked witch in the woods

It’s my birthday on Monday! Feel free to show me some love! And feel free to pick something special up for me from my wishlist!

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/VQ54TG8PZGNN?ref_=wl_share

It’s my birthday on Monday! Feel free to show me some love! And feel free to pick something special up for me from my wishlist!

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/VQ54TG8PZGNN?ref_=wl_share

M for mildly Mature, read at your own risk! Jude/Cardan Drabble from the Cruel Prince by Holly Black

—

She sees him only in glimpses. A black coat striding around the corner. A distant form on a cantering stallion, stiff and tall. Long, thin fingers curled around a blood-red glass. A flash of pointed teeth.

He lounges on the throne, his boots up, as she entertains a messenger from the Unseelie. He slaps an ambassador for no reason at all, and then sits back to let Jude clean up the mess. He comes drunk to his first feast and, laughing, yanks the tablecloth. The plates and glasses shatter like ice across the marble palace floor.

He has a nixie on his lap when Jude tries to discuss trade with him. Jude ignores the sucking sounds of the nixie kissing his neck as she rattles off the benefits and negatives of possible deals, coolly looking at him as she gives him the various options.

“Do what you want,” he says, slicing the nixie’s dress off with a casual flick of his dagger.

Jude laughs drily. “I wasn’t asking your opinion. I was informing you of mine.”

His hand slips between the nixie’s thighs, and Jude doesn’t react. He says, “Tell me, have you had any contact with Madoc?”

The nixie moans, and he watches Jude, searching for a reaction. She doesn’t give one.

She tells him about her father while he fucks the nixie with his fingers until the nixie squeals and falls back. Jude watches, refusing to give in. He wants her to order him to stop, but Jude hasn’t given him an order since the coronation.

He wants her to leave, but Jude won’t give him the satisfaction of driving her away. This is her palace. For a year and a day.

When she finally leaves, the nixie is gone, and he has heard everything she has done in his name. Every ruling she has made. She leaves when she is good and ready.

—

She fights his knights in the mornings, training. They beat her most mornings, leave her with bruises and stronger muscles. Slowly, she improves. She is faster. She is more instinctual. Her muscles begin to remember battles she hasn’t yet won.

She wakes up angry one morning.

The knight is red-haired and lithe, a scar across his cheek. She doesn’t know his name. He almost knocks her to the ground, but she flips. He isn’t ready. Their swords clash, and he slips past her defenses, nicking her arm.

She gets angrier.

Her sword is a blur, parrying and sliding in, slicing his collarbone. They keep fighting. The knight overcompensates, and she slides into his space. She smashes her forehead in his nose, smashing it. Her knee comes up into his groin. He crumples. She steps on his sword hand, forcing it flat.

He gasps up at her, sputtering, as her own sword comes to rest between the knight’s watery eyes.

She looks up, sees him standing in the door. His black eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted as he stares at her. He feels a sort of fear, she can see. But there is something else in his face, something wild.

He turns away, disappears back into the castle they share.

—

He tries to provoke her. He enjoys getting under her skin. He fucks in front of her. He offers her faerie food, and then bites into it so that she watches the red juices run down his lips.

He begins inviting Taryn and Locke to the castle, partying with them. Taryn gets too drunk on faerie fruit while Locke watches.

Jude is forced to send Taryn home. She is spinning and skipping and somehow still in it enough to hurl insults. Locke follows, laughing. Jude stands at the door, to angry to show her anxiety as her sister disappears into the night.

She turns back, her mouth open, and she can see the gleam in his eyes.

He wants her to give him an order. He sees she is about to, and the smirk is already forming.

She understands, for the first time, how power makes you powerless. This time, he has nothing to lose. This time, she has the power.

And to use it would be to let him win.

To use it would mean he had power over her.

—

She is tired. Everything went wrong that day. There were a thousand problems, a thousand complaints. Everybody wants her energy, her decisions, her guidance, and nobody likes what they hear.

She needs him to sign a contract, and cannot find him in the cellars where he likes to get plastered or the parlors where he lounges and breaks things. She knocks on his door.

“Come in,” he says.

He is standing in the window, naked. There is nothing intimate about his nakedness. He is too chiseled, to perfectly, smoothly pale. Like a statue that feels no touch. He looks cold.

He is smirking by the time her eyes reach his face, satisfied with the hesitation in her step, the way she loses her train of thought.

His smirk burns her. She is too tired for these games.

“Can you sign this?” she asks.

He walks towards her, takes the contract without touching her hand and places it against the wall. He bites his thumb and slices the skin, signing his name with a swirl of his bloody thumb.

He grabs her chin harshly. “You’re a mess today.” He lets go, leaving a smear of blood. His fingers weren’t cold at all. They burn her skin. “Look at you,” he says harshly. “Worn out already. Mortals don’t have the stamina. But you wanted to rule, and rule you do.” He laughs. “Oh, what they say about you when you can’t hear. And what they say to your face.” He chuckles slightly. “This is what you asked for, Jude.”

She stiffens, and her body brushes against him. She jerks back, but he is still there, in her space.

“Pathetic, they call you. Weak.”

They don’t call her weak. They call her Kingmaker. She knows this, but in his voice, it feels true. She feels weak. She is going to order him–

“Hopeless,” he adds.

– she is going to make him obey, make him shut up, she isn’t weak, “I’m not weak. I have power over you,” and oh he gleams. To verbalize the threat was a display of weakness, and she knows it.

She will order him to be quiet, she won’t let him speak for a week. She will, she will, she opens her mouth. She orders, “Kiss me.”

His eyes are feral as he moves in, joyful and violent. His lips touch hers. She has lost.

dycefic:

writing-prompt-s:

Two identical infants lay in the cradle. “One you bore, the other is a Changeling. Choose wisely,” the Fae’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I’m taking both my children,” the mother said defiantly.

Once upon a time there was a peasant woman who was unhappy because she had no children. She was happy in all other things – her husband was kind and loving, and they owned their farm and had food and money enough. But she longed for children.

She went to church and prayed for a child every Sunday, but no child came. She went to every midwife and wise woman for miles around, and followed all their advice, but no child came.

So at last, though she knew of the dangers, she drew her brown woolen shawl over her head and on Midsummer’s Eve she went out to the forest, to a certain clearing, and dropped a copper penny and a lock of her hair into the old well there, and she wished for a child.

“You know,” a voice said behind her, a low and cunning voice, a voice that had a coax and a wheedle and a sly laugh all mixed up in it together, “that there will be a price to pay later.”

She did not turn to look at the creature. She knew better. “I know it,” she said, still staring into the well. “And I also know that I may set conditions.”

“That is true,” the creature said, after a moment, and there was less laugh in its voice now. It wasn’t pleased that she knew that. “What condition do you set? A boy child? A lucky one?”

“That the child will come to no harm,” she said, lifting her head to stare into the woods. “Whether I succeed in paying your price, or passing your test, or not, the child will not suffer. It will not die, or be hurt, or cursed with ill luck or any other thing. No harm of any kind.”

“Ahhhhh.” The sound was long and low, between a sigh and a hum. “Yes. That is a fair condition. Whatever price there is, whatever test there is, it will be for you and you alone.” A long, slender hand extended into her sight, almost human save for the skin, as pale a green as a new leaf. The hand held a pear, ripe and sweet, though the pears were nowhere ripe yet. “Eat this,” the voice said, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her eyes straight ahead. “All of it, on your way home. Before you enter your own gate, plant the core of it beside the gate, where the ground is soft and rich. You will have what you ask for.”

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