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theescapismproject · a day ago
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Cardan: I hate fruits that do not live up to their names.
Jude: What?
Cardan: Honeydew, passionfruit, and grapefruit do not live upto their names.
Jude: What type of fruit lives up to its name, then?
Cardan:
Cardan: Orange.
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adams-left-hand · a day ago
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fallingforyou
a short jurdan drabble i wrote in five mins. enjoy!
read here on ao3! kudos and comments are appreciated :))
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The sun rose gently on the horizon of Elfhame outside of the golden briars that grew just outside the royal chambers' windows. Tendrils of sunlight whisked away  the brisk coolness of night and brought daylight into power. Jude rested comfortably on the massive bed inside the chambers. Cardan lay next to her, tired but awake nonetheless. 
These days he tended to wake up sober. He had thrown away the recklessness of a hurtful revel’s serenade and chose to drink quietly while in the company of family and friends. Of course, he was still fanciful and utterly ridiculous, that you simply couldn’t take away from him. He attended the revels still, just with a more controlled manner, as now he had a life he valued and cherished. For once, he didn’t think it was worth risking.
The High King of Elfhame turned his head to look at his sleeping Queen. Her brows were ruffled in the way they always were in slumber: furrowed and scrunched like ruffles on fabric. The planes of the bedsheets spread out around her. Jude always slept with one hand underneath her pillow, where she no doubt kept a dagger clenched in her hand. His Queen, his warrior Queen, who was always willing to fight, even if for nothing.
As though by command, Jude blinked her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the early morning light. Now, she wasn’t a morning person. Anyone close to her would and should know that. She was irritable and sarcastic, unfiltered in the hazy morning air. Cardan had to admit that waking up next to her each morning, watching her wake up, seeing her reaction as she realizes where she is everyday, was his guilty pleasure.
Maybe he was biased seeing as she was his wife and all. But Cardan had gone so long without love that he yearned for it. He yearned for it from his mother and father, from his siblings, for a chance at love again from Nicasia after hers had started to fade. 
He took to cruelty and merciless deeds like a thirsty cat to water. It was a way for him to survive, a devilish solution for an unloved soul. 
Curses from the stars were his birthrights, unruly gifts bestowed upon an unwilling recipient. 
A soft voice shook him from his reverie.
“Cardan?” Jude’s gaze caught onto Cardans and intertwined the two together. Suddenly Cardan couldn’t look away. “What time is it?”
He felt a soft smile creep upon his lips, the corners of his mouth quirking into a grin.
“6 AM, my love,” he replied.
At the pet name, Jude flushed, cheeks turning to an uncommon rosy color. Cardan decided he rather liked it.
Then, the Queen of Elfhame furrowed her brows. “And you woke me up?” She smacked him with a throw pillow, which he valiantly dodged. Together they laughed as one, filling with mirth, basking in the glorifying wake of their love.
For no one can stop them. No one can say that their love was false, that it was wrong, just because one was a fae whilst the other remained a ‘mere’ mortal. That shouldn’t be the cause for segregation or hate. For mortals can be beautiful too, and they are. For love is eternal. It comes in all shapes and forms. And those people who did believe that they were dirty, that their love was wrong, are only mistaking beauty for something much more sinister. 
For they were the High King and Queen of Elfhame. And for they were undoubtedly, stupidly, eternally in love.
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send in fic prompts / requests because damn i miss writing
tagging: @n-minyardss @iambecomeyourvillain @drunk-on-inejs-laughter @confused-as-all-hell @nnazyalensky @weirdoismymiddlename @sagureads @im-someone-i-guess @sw-eetserpent @just-wordsandthoughts @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom @that-intp-gryffindor @thehalfbloodfreak @ whoever else has read tfota
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surpressthefeelz · 2 days ago
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In The Cruel Prince, when Cardan and the gang had pushed Jude and Taryn in the river, Jude says after she fell in she saw Cardan with one foot in the river as if to get a better look, did anyone else ever think that he was about to get in and help???? Because when I first read it I was like “naaahhh” but then we got the “I am not a killer” moment......
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Another prime example of fictional boys being smooth af
Sweet Jude. You are my dearest punishment.
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verdiris · 2 hours ago
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"If I cannot be better than them, I will become so much worse."
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Cardan : I think it's time to get my life in order
Jude narrating : he did not get his life in order instead he got drunk and threatened to fight a racoon with a carrot
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laequiem · 2 days ago
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Why do we talk in whispers?
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Jurdannet Folktober 2021- Day 19. What we do in the shadows @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels
Fandom: The Folk of the Air
Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Rating: explicit
Word count: 4,466
I still haven’t forgotten the taste of her lips, the hair-raising hint of poison, though none of my imaginings are vivid enough to replicate it. I kiss her deep, committing every nuance to memory. Her hands roam my body frantically as she sucks and bites at my lips.
read on ao3
Masterlist • She kills my self-control masterpost
A blur of dark blue gossamer dodges wings and limbs gracefully, making its way towards the dais where I preside. I had not seen this dress since the coronation day, I realize. The dress I had foolishly ordered the tailor to make and send to the Grand General’s house, in hopes that Jude would wear it.
“My seneschal,” I say by way of greeting.
“Your Majesty,” Jude replies, bowing slightly—just for show.
I take her in, from head to toe. I do not bother with subtlety. After all, catching the High King’s eye is a privilege that many in court would kill to have. She straightens against my gaze, as if steeling herself to look professional, but I can see the flush creeping up her chest. I suspected she still wanted me, but for some reason, she has been keeping her distance. To know I still have an effect on her, despite the resentment she has for me, gives me a boost of confidence.
“I would have your first dance of the day,” I tell her. I straighten in my throne and get up, extending an arm to her. “Would you dance with your High King, Jude Duarte?”
Her chestnut eyes narrow, undefined brows creeping closer together. She leaves me hanging for long enough that I wonder if she would dare refuse the King in front of the Court. Thankfully, she puts her gloved hand in mine. I lead her down the stony steps of the dais, down to the large, open area we use as a dance floor.
The music slows, then stops as people evacuate the floor to leave room for the High King and his partner. I give Jude a shallow nod, she curtsies, and the music starts up again.
“I do not know if I trust you to stop me from dancing myself to death,” she says as I place my hand on her waist.
“Then I will join you,” I reply with a smirk. “How amusing would it be for the High King to die from dancing too much?”
Jude breaks character and snorts, a corner of her mouth lifting up. “It would be fitting of you, I suppose.”
Not a laugh, but as much as I ever get from her.
I lead the dance but Jude has no trouble keeping up with me. Her movements are technical, practiced, with no room for improvisation. If revelers join us as we dance, I pay them no mind. All my attention is on Jude, her cinnamon skin flushing with effort, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. We are magnificent—a tornado of blue chiffon and feathers, the cape I was wearing discarded as we twirled.
“You rarely wear dresses at such events,” I say. “I did not think I would see you in this one again.”
Jude rolls her eyes. “I do not have the extensive wardrobe you have, Your Majesty. I cannot only wear pieces once.”
“I did not—” I interrupt myself as I spin her around. “I assumed you had gotten rid of it, after what happened the first time you wore it.”
“What happened?” Her eyes cut into mine, her smile sharp as a blade. “Do you mean the slaughter, or the fact that I kidnapped you?”
I snicker, a very unkingly sound. I quite enjoyed the latter, but there is no universe in which I will admit to that.
“Locke. Your chance at knighthood dying with my brother. My maladroit drunken dancing.”
As the song finishes, she spins again, this time towards me. She stops with her back to my chest and her ass conveniently positioned to feel exactly what effect her dress has on me. Her chest rises and falls quickly, every breath a reminder of how close we are.
Jude lets her head droop backwards on my shoulder as we slowly move, looking up to meet my eyes.
“Even… debilitated,” she says, nudging her hips closer to mine. “You are a skilled dancer.”
I groan, my nails digging in the boned corset as I tighten my grip on her waist. Debilitation is the last thing I feel right now. Wicked thing.
She spins to face me again, brown eyes shining with mischievous light.
“Debilitated?” I gasp with mock offense. “You are quite wrong, my seneschal.”
I lean towards her, running my nose up her throat as I breathe her in.
“In fact, I feel quite… vigorous,” I whisper in her ear.
I straighten, rejoicing at the sight of her flushed cheeks.
“It will take more than one dance to render me indisposed,” I tell her as I raise our joined hands. “Will you dance with me again?”
Jude frowns, looking around. A few courtiers hover nearby, surely looking to gain my attention. I don’t care. I meant it when I said I would dance myself to death with her—after all, I cannot lie. My other hand leaves her waist and I grab her chin, turning her face back towards me. Her lips part slightly, as if by reflex, and my cock stirs. Gods, I want to kiss her.
“Ignore them,” I order. “They can dance with me another time. I so rarely have you to myself.”
“Cardan—”
And with her using my name instead of some fancy title, I know I have her. The music starts again before she can protest further. It is much slower now, slow and sensual. I stare at Jude the whole time, and she does the same. By the end of the dance, I’m on edge, the smallest shift of her grip on my shoulder enough to have me clenching my jaw to regain control.
“The cellar,” I grind out. “I will be there shortly.”
I kiss her knuckles and turn away. I do not look to see if she leaves. I have to leave, no matter if she joins me or not.
The guards waste no time escorting me out of the ballroom when I guzzle an entire bottle of wine and fall amongst guests. The display might have been a bit much, however, since they insist on escorting me to my rooms.
I huff in frustration as I close the door behind me.
Then I remember how the Court of Shadow used the underground tunnels to steal from the cellars, the day my family was slaughtered. Tunnels that also connect to my rooms.
I crawl through the tunnels and emerge in one of the storage rooms of the cellars, racks full of bottles. I dust my clothes, straighten my doublet.
I walk out of the storage room to the main area of the cellar, where I am greeted by nothing more than the smell of yeast and drying herbs.
Of course she’s not here. Why did I think she would come? Or maybe she came and left when I took too long to join her.
I rake a hand through my hair, tipping my head towards the ceiling as I sigh dramatically.
I’m so fucking desperate.
I go back to the storage room and grab a bottle of absinthe. The burn of it down my throat heals some of my self-hatred but does nothing for my arousal.
“… Cardan?”
Jude.
I fumble with the bottle as I try to put the cork back on, my fingers apparently too eager to touch, touch, touch to do so. I give up, put the bottle back on the rack, then rush out of the storage room.
I have long accepted that I can pick her out of the largest crowd, a solid body grounded in the earth while the Folk flutter in the wind. There is an otherness to her, like she fell down a rabbit hole and needed to find her way home. I have gone out of my way to help her, just to get her far away from me. But down here, with no one around to buffer her presence and no pretty lights to distract me, I see that she belongs. Wonderland has molded her in its image until there is nothing left but a ruthless queen.
“You came,” I blurt out.
“I was dragged into another dance,” she says simply.
Quickly, I close the distance between us and cradle her face with my hands. A beat passes where neither of us dare move, then Jude moves, one of her hands sliding behind my head and pulling me down to her.
I still haven’t forgotten the taste of her lips, the hair-raising hint of poison, though none of my imaginings are vivid enough to replicate it. I kiss her deep, committing every nuance to memory. Her hands roam my body frantically as she sucks and bites at my lips. She tugs at the buttons of my doublet, but quickly gives up, fists the fabric and tears.
I chuckle against her lips, “I will have to deduct that from your pay.”
Jude pulls away, taking a few steps back until the backs of her knees hit against a barrel.
Her gaze trails from my face down my chest, then lower, and roam slowly back up.
“Worth it,” she mutters, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
I grin at her, then take my chance. I sweep her hair away from her neck. Instinctively, she tips her head to give me access.
“I love when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Jude tries to give her voice the usual bravado, but it trembles with anticipation.
“The same way I look at you,” I say, licking up her throat until I reach her ear. I pull at her lobe with my teeth, then whisper, “Like you want me.”
“Everyone looks at you like that," she breathes out. "You’re the King.”
The words are an echo of what I told her when she asked me to charm Nicasia. But no one else really matters, do they? It has only ever been Jude. Jude and her defiance. Jude and her ambition. Jude and her perishable, disgustingly beautiful mortal body.
“I don’t care who else lusts after me. I only care that you do.”
My hands bracket her hips. I push her further back until she is trapped between the barrel and me, my hips cushioned against her larger ones.
“Yet, you never go to bed alone,” Jude says.
I press my hips against hers, the pressure releasing some of the ache in my painfully hard cock. She gasps almost inaudibly. One of my hands reaches behind her. I trail a finger up her spine and she arches into me.
“Are you jealous, dearest Jude?” I pull at the knot holding her dress together, my other hand still tightly holding her hip. “I could make you my consort.”
Jude rolls her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe me.
“No. This,” she gestures between us, “has to stay secret. Actually, this shouldn’t even happen.”
I drop the laces of her dress. They’re undone, but her dress stays up. I don’t make a move to remove it. I know I am slightly intoxicated, but have I really misinterpreted the situation this badly?
I take a step back. Just as I am about to turn away, she slips a finger under the waistband of my pants and pulls me back towards her.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want this,” she whispers, probably to herself.
In a flash, her hands are on me again, grabbing my ass, pulling my hair. As if she cannot touch enough of me. As if she needs to convince herself this is real.
Jude’s hand roams up my thigh and I gasp as she cups me through my pants before continuing her journey. Up, up, until she reaches my waistband again. Before she can slip her hand in, I grab her wrist.
“Tell me,” I implore.
She only blinks at me. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me you want me.”
Tension ripples between us as I keep my distance, though her closeness pulls me in like the opposite pole of a magnet. I might even be shaking as I hold her hand away from me.
“I could lie,” Jude says, making no move to remove my grip on her wrist.
“Yes, you could.”
Jude guides my hand under her skirts. She presses it against her, so warm and wet even through her underwear.
Raising herself on the tip of her toes, she leans towards my ear and murmurs, “Here is a lie, then: I don’t want you.”
I burn all over, a flush of heat creeping up my chest, to my cheeks. Oh, how I have longed to hear those words, the truth hidden beneath her lie. The knowledge crawls under my skin like the most delicious high, filling the greedy, empty corners of me.
She wants me.
“Fuck, Jude,” I groan.
In a flash, my hands are back on her hips. I flip her around, lifting her skirts up and out of my way, before dropping to my knees behind her. I kiss the back of her thighs, traveling up towards my prize. Through the sheer hose she wears, I see her underwear, soaked through. I press my thumb to the damp spot and she whimpers, wiggling those curvy hips towards me.
“No teasing,” Jude says weakly. “Please.”
It’s as if she knows I cannot resist her begging. I grab her thighs and part her legs further apart.
Jude’s knees shake with restraint as my hands roam up her thighs. As I am about to reach her center, I stop, grab the hose with both hands and rend it. She yelps.
“Now we’re even,” I say, then hook one finger under her underwear and push it aside.
My mouth waters at the sight of her plump lips drenched in the clear sap of her desire. I grab both of her cheeks and spread them apart, giving me a better view of her.
Gods above.
The first lick, from slit to the pucker of her bottom, fills me with feral need. It awakens memories of the first time she let me taste her and of that time behind the dais when I pleased her with my fingers before licking them clean. She’s a delicacy I rarely indulge in, but I doubt an abundance of her would ever get old.
I lap at her with all I have, my tongue flicking her clit in quick circles as my nose probs at her entrance. I am too eager, too hungry to slow down. If she were mine, I would take my time and make her beg. She isn’t, though, and these stolen moments are so few and far between.
Jude reaches back, her hand cupping the back of my head and pushing my face further against her. I groan, the vibrations rattling through her body and making her knees shake.
“I’m so close—” she swears, pulling on my hair to the point of pain.
She pushes me into her even more and I grab the front of her thighs to anchor myself. I give her nub a hard suck and she shatters, a loud gasp hissing out of her as she comes on my mouth. I coax her through it, letting her grind against my face until her orgasm slows down.
Then I keep going. She wants me, she wants me. The thought repeats itself in my head, my mantra for the day. I lick at her, my thirst unquenchable. I swirl my tongue against her clit, push it in her heat, I need to show her what she would get everyday if she were mine—
Jude pulls at my hair, trying to get me away. I growl—actually growl, like some animal—when she manages to separate me from her core.
“Cardan, I—I want—” she whimpers. “I need you in me.”
I would gladly spend my life on my knees for her, but how can I refuse this? I rush up and make quick work of my pants, stepping fully out of them. My cock is harder than ever, leaking precum like it’s my first fuck. I slide my length against her slit, coating myself in her juices.
“Say it again,” I rasp out.
And she indulges me.
“I want you in me,” she whispers.
One hand braced against the barrel under her, the other guiding myself, I breathe deeply. I slowly inch myself in—in part not to hurt her, sure, but mostly because I am more aroused than I have been in months. I am mere seconds away from spilling like a virgin. Jude, though, has no mercy for me. She wiggles her hips back against mine, trying to get me deeper, the greedy thing. I put my hand on her ass to keep her at a distance and look away.
I force myself to breathe deep, trying to calm down. One last deep breath and I look at her again, bent over
for me, all for me
and waiting.
“Cardan,” she whines, the two syllables dripping with impatience and irritation.
I slide in—not too hard, but not slowly either—and watch as her cunt spreads around my cock, eager to take me in.
Jude’s breath hitches as I bottom in, my hips against the soft curve of her ass.
And I move, one hand still on the barrel, the other one squeezing her cheek.
“My Jude,” I whisper. “I missed this.”
I set a slow pace, savoring the softness of her ass every time I fill her completely, the small moans that escape her when I do.
“You feel so fucking good.” I kiss her back, between her shoulder blades where the dress splits to reveal bare skin. “So good.”
“I forgot how talkative you were,” she groans.
“We can change position if you wish to quiet me,” I drawl. “Your hand on my throat sounds delightful, but I do enjoy the view from here.”
Her only answer is to drive her hips backwards, hard, into me. I push her back against the barrel.
“Do not move,” I grunt.
The words are clipped, too harsh. The fact is, I would love for her to move on me, but I doubt I can last if she does. She ignores me, reaching backwards. She reaches between her legs, then mine, and grabs my tail. She pulls on it, hard.
“Harder,” she orders.
I grin and straighten up. My hand leaves the barrel to grab a fistful of her hair. I twirl it against my wrist for good measure and pull, driving my hips hard into her.
Jude moans loud enough to wake the dead, the sound echoing against the brick walls of the cellar.
We fight to set the pace, her grip on my tail pushing me forwards while I pull her back by her hair.
“Fuck, Cardan—” she cries out, pulling my tail harder than before. “Don’t stop!”
My nails dig into her hip and I pray to whichever god will listen that it leaves a mark. With another harsh tug on my tail, her walls pulse around me, contracting as she comes. It’s only then that I feel the distinct drag on my tail where it has been rubbing against her.
She came while grinding on my tail.
I don’t know what does it for me, if it’s the realization that she was using me or the pressure that it puts on my prostate when she pulls my tail so harshly. Either way, I spend into her, her name a chant on my lips.
I let go of her hair and I lean forwards on her back, pressing her down into the barrel as I kiss the base of her neck. Until I feel her straighten under me, then wiggle, as if trying to get away.
“Get off—shit, someone’s coming.”
I push myself up and off of her, my seed spilling in thick drops on the floor as I pull out. I grab her wrist and pull her into the storage room with me.
I hear them now, two sets of feet coming down the stairs. Servants, probably here to get some bottles for the revel upstairs.
In the storage room, I push her against the wall. I put my hand against her mouth as my tail wraps around her thigh, lifting her leg to hook it around my waist.
“Can you stay quiet?” I whisper to her, the corners of my mouth tugging up. “You wanted me to be quiet, it’s time you show me how it’s done.”
She nods, her eyes blank as if in a daze. Her cheeks are flushed, her face gleaming with sweat—she looks as she does when she is sparring, something I get to admire from afar some days, but not as often as I would like.
Her lips are plump and so damn kissable, I can’t help myself. I capture her mouth as I enter her again, in one long stroke that makes her gasp in my mouth. Her eyes widen and the blush on her cheeks darken.
I hear some chatter from the main room of the cellar, then snickering. I left my pants out there and the servants found them—now, they will probably go upstairs and try to find who is missing their pants.
As long as they don’t investigate the cellars.
I stay seated in her until I hear the intruders walk up the stairs again, joking about pantless chaps and boring prudes hiding in the cellars.
There is something depraved about being deep in her, with my own seed lubricating my thrusts and spilling out every time I pull out. It satisfies the animalistic compulsion I am burdened with today.
I rut into her like some lowly beast, grabbing at her thighs, her ass, her breasts. Jude’s fingers dig in my back, over wounds that were finally left alone long enough to scar. She clings to me like a vine climbing up a pillar, tendrils creeping into every crack of my defenses and working to chip at my deepest foundation. I kiss her sloppily, lust surging into me every time she is too far gone to kiss me back and only moans in my mouth.
My hand leaves her breast and hooks her other leg around my waist, pushing her harder into the wall. Her nails dig even deeper in my back. Her head is thrown back, gasping at the ceiling as I nip at her throat.
“I told you: it takes more than one dance to incapacitate me.”
Especially with her. Enticing curves, a body built to take up the space it is owed from the world. I want to carve this space for her, to call on my magic and make the land part for her.
“Are you going to come on my cock again, Jude?” I ask darkly. I trace the curve of her ear with my nose. “I want you to.”
I feel her clench around me and smirk against her throat. For all her comments about how much I talk, she seems to be enjoying it. My hips are the only things keeping her against the wall as my hands leave her curves. I reach for her clit with one, while the other grips her jaw to make her look at me.
“I asked—”
“Yes,” she blurts out. “Just… keep talking. Fuck, Cardan—”
“Of course. Do you like your High King’s cock? You’re so fucking wet and still—” I slam into her in a particularly hard trust, “so tight.”
I flick her clitoris in quick circles, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Do you think about this as often as I do? It’s all I dream about,” I confess.
Jude swears, but she doesn’t answer. I can see her eyes watering.
“I can’t stop thinking about our first time. Your cunt stretching around me,” I groan, slowing down my thrusts to calm myself down. “I would kneel everyday for a taste of you. Would you want that? I wish you would.”
I’m so damn close, every thrust is a lesson in restraint. Mercifully, she comes, her head dropping against the wall as her body shakes around me. I follow right after, filling her with my cum once more as my knees wobble under both of our weight. I have to brace my arms against the wall to keep upright, lest I drop her. I bury my face in her hair, memorizing the smell, the texture.
When both our breathing slows, Jude unwraps her legs from my waist and stands. She puts her hands on my chest tentatively, then pushes me away when I refuse to move.
I watch as she straightens her dress.
“That was… enjoyable.” She smoothes one of the many wrinkles in her skirts, making a point not to look at me.
Ouch.
“That’s it?” I laugh, a veil to hide my pain behind. “Be sure to send my seneschal your comments, she will ensure I improve for next time.”
Jude raises her eyes to glare at me. “There can’t be a next time.”
“Jude—” I raise a hand to reach for her, but lower it immediately, clenching my fist. “Come back to my rooms. Spend the night.”
Her own hand fists in her skirts, undoing the work she has been doing smoothing them. “No. I can’t risk my position.”
“Nobody will know.” I reach for her then, grabbing her hand. My thumb massages the scar in the middle of her palm. “You can command my silence.”
This earns me a small smile, though she still refuses to look at me. “It would save me a few headaches.”
She still hasn’t agreed, however. I hate that I have to say it, to expose myself so, but… I want to spend more time with her. Even if it’s only until the Court wakes up again tomorrow and she has to don her professional mask again.
“Let me care for you.” I bring her hand to my mouth. I make eye contact with her as I lick the scar. “I will clean you up, if you wish.”
In an instant, the blush that had disappeared from her cheeks blooms again.
Jude yanks her hand away, her beautiful face contorted in a snarl. “How vulgar.”
“Is that a yes?” I tease.
It was.
I lead the true ruler of Elfhame to the High King’s chambers. Even if it’s only for the day, the land sings. The bare branches framing the bed bloom with white flowers as we trade kisses in the dark. I leave marks between her thighs, marks I am selfish enough to hope nobody will discover. When I kneel for her again to lick her clean, glow lights shine brighter than ever. When Jude tucks herself against me and I wrap my arms around her, the lights dim on their own, lulling us to a peaceful sleep.
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tag list: @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn
Big thank you to @hazelsheartsworn for beta-ing this and hyping me up, you're part of the reason I'm actually satisfied with a fic for once. 🥺
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asoftspell · 2 days ago
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𝔉𝔬𝔩𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔇𝔞𝔶 𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫 :: 𝔑𝔬𝔴 𝔜𝔬𝔲 ℌ𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰
Was inspired by the amazing @deesketches to draw Nicasia for this prompt - honing my headcanon of her each time I draw her 🦈 will be posting a couple alt versions below 💙
@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels
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quotent-potables · 23 hours ago
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Cardan looks at his reflection in the door of the microwave and adjusts his crown so it's at an angle. I roll my eyes, and he gives me a quick grin.
The Queen of Nothing, book 3 of The Folk of the Air, by Holly Black
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jurdanhell · a day ago
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Hi folks! About a week ago, I broke two thousand followers! That is absolutely insane for the year and a half I’ve been active on this blog and in this fandom. I am grateful for every single one of you, individually, and all the friends I’ve made along the way.
Regretfully, I waited too long to celebrate my 1k milestone when I hit it, and I really want to do something special this time. Which is why, my inbox is entirely open to any and all submissions.
You may send in more than one submission. You can find my prompt masterpost here. Submissions do not need to be taken from the prompt masterpost, but all prompt masterpost submissions must include the list it’s from and any corresponding number.
Submission Requirements
Must be following me
Must reblog this post
All submissions must be sent to my inbox
My inbox will be open to all submissions until Sunday, October 31, 23:59 EST. After this point, my inbox will not be closed, but I cannot guarantee the prompt will be answered.
All posts made by me will be tagged #Jurdanhell’s 2k Celebration.
Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey and sticking around this far. I can’t wait to make many more memories with you all.
Love, Ash
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eerna · 3 months ago
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I can’t tell which of us he’s laughing at.
this was formulated listening to bardcore 
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secretparadiseexpert · 2 days ago
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Remember the scene where jude went to a diner with the roach and ordered black coffee well she did it to be edgy I swear and to think we call cardan the drama queen when jude *I like my coffee with cream and sugar but would drink it black so roach dosent think I am soft * duarte exists
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