#pip calculation

[trading-attitude]

How to Count Pips in Forex Trading Explained in 52 Seconds! 📊

[v-tired-queer]

Using my education for evil today and calculating Phil's due date

Dan said that Phil is three weeks along, and the average healthy pregnancy lasts for around 40-42 weeks. 37 weeks from now is mid-December, when he'd be at 40 weeks, but first time pregnancies tend to go past the due date, which would put the phirth later in December. They were so close to having Phil and the phaby share a birth month

Assuming Phil is exactly 3 weeks today and not 3 weeks + any days, here's what he's looking at:

37 weeks from today: December 15 (40 weeks gestation)

38 weeks from today: December 22 (41 weeks gestation)

39 weeks from today: December 29 (42 weeks gestation, they'd be talking about induction or cesarean at this point)

Low-key impressed that they got the month right, even if the phregnacy runs late

Anyway I hate that my brain latched onto this so y'all have to deal with it too 🩷

[rowanthestrange]

The more I think about the Rani being here, the more it makes sense at least from my personal ‘if you let yourself go hog wild perspective’. Apart from all other things, if you’re a believer in the Rani being a reset Tecteun — with it eventually being forced upon her via a coup etc. just as she’d forced it upon the child(ren) again and again — then fuck man, why wouldn’t you want to use her in this story all about child trauma and the Doctor’s various parental issues?

Imagine we were going down a list of ‘reasons a character might have/have had fears in regards to having a child’. This would be on there, right? Shite mother who tried to make a whole species out of you? As a writer you’d want to poke at that, regardless of whether you’d put it in the series or not, but why not? It just happened. Even if you want to keep it subtext for ease, you’d want to use it. And especially if you did want to keep it subtext and not go into the weeds, you’d want the reset version of her who doesn’t have the baggage except through a lens, to just dabble. Your other evil friend who likes improving species, that you both have a strong affinity for with no real understanding as to why, but she’s smart and you love her.

Now we know we have two more series to go, if we’re stretching the theme and its end-point out (which we may or may not, depends on how he envisioned it, only Russell knows). I’d maybe wonder if Tegan takes over Mel’s roll next time as the returner because of Adric.

[starfall-sea]

aaand im stuck on a boss. the rage one in the outback. i think its solo only. the guy has just like 2k too much health

[pipskippy]

practicing translating w the harmoe radii intro blurb like i know they’re talking about friendship and connection since both moepi and haruki have said many times how they love each other and moepi has said she couldn’t do it without haruki, seeing her smile on stage puts her at ease, etc. and i dont support making comments abt public figures’ sexualities or anything like that but the way its worded really sounds like coming out loll….

[ibullcapitals]

Forex PIP Calculator in India: A Trader’s Essential Tool

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PIP stands for “Percentage in Point” or “Price Interest Point.” It represents the smallest price movement in a currency pair. For most currency pairs, a PIP equals 0.0001, or one-hundredth of a percent.

To read the full blog, click on PIP Calculator India

[sleepy-little-stars]

andy speaks: a very self-indulgent fic 😞 as a humanities girlie, I just rlly want my silly nerdy stem bf ☹️ hot nerdy stem bf pls pls pls come my way 🙏 zayne will have his version of this too!! bcuz muehehe why have one stem bf when u can have two. TWO?! 😻 n poseidon raf is in the drafts 🙂‍↕️

stem bf!caleb who’s such a nerd trapped in a hot guy’s body, it drives you insane. he could be standing in front of you looking all hot with that pilot uniform of his but the moment he opens his mouth? you just wanna jump him there and then. 

“how much do you love me?” caleb hums in response to your question. he has his arms around you, swaying the both of you ever so slightly from side to side. 

“honestly? like about 9.8 meters per second squared. in other words, gravity is pulling me towards you.” he grins before leaning in to kiss your cheek. 

“could’ve just said you love me to the moon and back.”

“flowery words are your thing, sweets. not mine.”

stem!bf caleb who invites you for a date night at his dorm.

you show up with snacks and a list of movies you want to watch with him, such as barbie because you are going to sit him down and explain how barbie is one of the best movies of the century and the message it conveys to women and little girls around the world— wait.. why is he surrounded with legos?

“what’s with the legos?” 

“it’s not just legos, pip. it’s the 7,500 pieces millenium falcon. come on, help me with it.” he pulled you down beside him on the carpet, your legs deposited on top of his lap and an arm enclosing you to his chest.

“so, you invited me here to make me do labor.” you grumbled seemingly annoyed yet the hand reaching out for the building manual says otherwise. caleb merely chuckles at your faux demise, pecking your temple. “don’t worry. we can watch barbie as we build. and.. we’ll do a powerpoint night tomorrow. deal?”

“deal.” and so you spent the entire night wrestling with tiny building blocks to help complete his beloved spaceship. 

stem bf!caleb who keeps every paper plane you give him. when unfolded, the paper is filled with your words of love dedicated to him. 

stem!bf caleb who is your very own human calculator. you always bring him with you during grocery runs so you can easily keep track of the total as you shop. 

“caleb, add this.”

“bread is $2.49.. your current total is now $11.27.”

“thanks, babe. now, let’s go get chips.”

stem!bf caleb who watches all your favorite films or shows in his free times. he remembers all the times you mentioned them in passing. 

“since when did you watch girl, interrupted?” 

“last night. you were talking about it the other day and i didn’t really know how to respond so i watched it. now, tell me all about lisa again. her character was really something— ah!” he got cut off by you throwing your arms around him and peppering his face with kisses.

stem bf! caleb who yaps about science theories during cuddle time. your head is on his chest, his arms tight around you.

“time slows down when the gravity increases. that’s what you call gravitational time dilation. like, imagine you’re on top of a very high mountain. time would pass faster for you than for someone at sea level because the gravity is weaker the farther you are from the center— babe?” caleb looks down, lips quirked upon seeing you dozed off. he pinches your nose, earning a sleepy whine from you. “stop.” 

“you promised to listen to me talk. are you breaking promises now, pip?” caleb leans closer to bite at your cheek, grinning widely when you push his face away. “i’ll let you yap later. nap comes first.”

“is that a promise?” 

“yes.”

“okay. i love you.”

“.. love you too.” 

“good night.”

“hm.”

“you know, einstein’s theory of relativity—” 

“sleep, caleb.” 

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: Brat Enabler Caleb!

Author's Note: The poll ended 50/50, so I made the executive (and very self-indulgent) decision to go with Brat Enabler Caleb! because sometimes I just wanna be spoiled, okay? Please check out the artist! (Artist & Her Ko-fi!)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and I'll fix it!)

CW: AFAB! reader, pet names, penetration, overstimulation, praise, light D/S dynamics, slight dacryphilia, and 'usage' of his bionic arm.

Caleb loves you like it’s coded into him. Like it’s in his blood, his bones, his circuitry.

He does it without effort, like breathing. Like the pulse of a machine: constant, precise, unyielding.

And he’d give you anything. Anything. Just one pout, one whimper, one soft little “Caleb, please”—and he’s dropping whatever he’s doing to hand it over. A brat’s dream. He doesn’t care if it’s indulgent or excessive or unnecessary. If you want it? You get it.

He’s always there. Cooking your favorite meals with one hand while the other; his right, sleek and gleaming with matte black plating—rests on the curve of your hip as you sit on the counter and sneak bites. That arm, the one people used to flinch at, has never once made you nervous. It’s part of him. Him, who tucks you in like you’re something breakable, who lifts you like you weigh nothing, who touches you with inhuman control and completely human care.

And right now, he’s using both hands: one warm, flesh and blood; the other cool, mechanical precision; to ruin you in the most delicious ways.

You’re spread out under him, legs trembling, body already gone boneless from orgasm after orgasm. You’ve stopped counting. It doesn’t matter. Caleb never stops at one. Or two. Or three.

His thick cock is buried in you, slow and steady, dragging against the places that make your vision flicker. One hand cradles your jaw; his real one, calloused and gentle. The other, his metal arm; is between your legs, thumb pressed to your clit, writing his name into you in soft, pretty patterns.

C. A. L. E. B.

Over and over again. Cold metal, careful pressure, devastating control.

Your skin is flushed, sticky with sweat. Your hands tremble where they grip at his broad shoulders, desperately trying to ground yourself. One of your legs is hooked over his waist, the other shaking helplessly against the mattress, every muscle twitching with the tension he’s building back up in you.

You're crying now, sobbing openly, your voice gone hoarse from how much you’ve moaned and gasped and begged. But he’s not stopping. He’s adoring. Reverent.

“Fuck Pips,” he groans, voice wrecked with how hard he’s holding back. “You’re everything.”

His thumb strokes another letter and you keen, your hips jerking. “Can’t—Caleb—too much, it’s too—”

“Yes, you can,” he coos, leaning in to kiss your parted lips. His tongue traces yours, measured and possessive, like he has all the time in the world. “You can take it. You are taking it. You always do.”

The flex of his hips deepens; calculated, but heavier now. Like he’s letting himself feel just a little more, just enough to tip you further. You feel him everywhere: inside you, against your clit, in the weight of his chest brushing yours, the tremble in his breath. He smells like sweat and heat and you. “You wanted this, remember? You asked for it. And you know I’d never say no to you.”

You grip at his back, your nails catching on the seam where flesh meets metal. He shudders; groans low in his throat, more sound than word.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, burying his face in your neck. “So pretty when you cry for me. So sweet, you were made for this. Made for me.”

You weep at the reminder—how easy it is with him. How good he is to you. The worship, the rapture, the indulgence of it all. The fact that you don’t even have to earn it. You just have to be.

His robotic hand doesn’t falter. Ever. Each movement is exactly what you need, no more, no less. Meticulous. Devoted.

You can feel it building again; your body tightening, coiling, heat spilling down your spine like liquid fire. Your walls flutter around him, desperate and close and so overstimulated. He feels it. He always does.

His voice drops into a growl, desperate and reverent all at once.

“Give it to me. C’mon, Pips—give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do.

You come again; shaking, sobbing, gripping him like a lifeline. Your cries fill the room, gasping and broken, and he keeps moving, keeps whispering, like your pleasure is something holy.

He was bullying your poor sloppy cunt, but in the sweetest way a man could: just enough to make it mean something, dragging it out so every pulse of pleasure felt personal. A gift he was determined to give you again and again, until you had no words left but his name.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my girl. Mine. Always.”

Only when you’ve gone limp beneath him, body completely undone, does he finally let himself go. His hips stutter, cock twitching deep inside you as he moans your name like a prayer. He stays buried, locked to you, his metal hand stroking your thigh now, pleasant and patient.

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your swollen mouth.

“Breathe, baby,” he says softly, like he didn’t just wreck you with love and machinery and absolute, overwhelming need. “You did so good. My pretty girl.”

And even though you’re trembling, tears drying on your cheeks, the only thing you can do is nod: because it’s true.

Caleb would do anything for you. Break himself in half. Hold you together. Build you a new world with his bare hands.

And you would let him.

Because no one loves like he does.

No one ever will.

[stockexperttrading]

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[champprofit]

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[itzpookiepooh]

ahh I love ur work!! ❤️was wondering if you could do a fic of the lads guys accidentally making mc cry (she hypersensitive) keep up the good work! ❤️❤️❤️

Cry If You Need To

“If you don’t hurry up I’ll go without you.” Xavier teases as he puts his jacket on and grabs the door handle. You rush out with a pout on your face.

“You’d leave without me?” Your waterline filling up. Xavier’s smile drops as he matches your pout.

“I was just joking I’d never leave without you.” He spoke softly wiping at your eyes. He felt bad now, he didn’t mean to make you cry.

He hugged you, rubbing your back gently. After he helped you fix yourself up so you guys could leave. He stood there waiting until you were ready to go. He apologized countless times for making you cry and you forgave every single one.

Caleb was cleaning out the fridge when he came across a plastic bag with your food in it. Did he know it was your food? No. Everything from this week simply slipped his mind. So he threw it away and didn’t think about again until you came home scavenging for it.

“Where’s my food?” You asked him as he sat on the recliner reading a book. He looks up and smiles seeing you appear.

“Food?” He asks genuinely confused. He didn’t remember throwing out food.

“It was in a white bag.” You clarify further. He went pale, he threw it out. You knew immediately as you could feel tears burning your eyes.

“I’m sorry pips.” He quickly spat out before rushing over to hug you. You sobbed in his arms before he agreed to go out and get you whatever you wanted even if it was to replace your original meal.

You were trying to ask Sylus a simple question. Sylus who was in businessman mode. His tone firm and eyes calculating so when you were trying to speak his tone hadn’t changed. He wasn’t annoyed with you or anything, he just didn’t snap out of it. Your eyes watered as his soften. He realized what he had done.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I didn’t realize.” He coos holding you close to him.

“That was so mean.” You whimper into his chest. He pouts a little but you couldn’t see him.

“I know I’m so sorry,” He holds you tightly to reassure you he was here and he meant what he said. If anyone else saw or heard this it was be a massacre. Those sly twins however, got Mephisto to record it and send it to them.

You had been trying to get Zayne’s attention in the best way you could. He was working overtime countlessly. Honestly you were so subtle that he didn’t catch it at all. If he was on the phone and asked you to wait and got sidetracked you wouldn’t bring it up again. All of it caught up to you so you cried.

“What’s wrong my love?” He asks his hand on the small of your back. You sniffled, facing him.

“I want to spend time with you but you’re so busy. It feels like we’re drifting apart.” You whimpered as he consoles you. He felt bad, he hadn’t noticed that you felt this way.

“My apologies. I had no idea, I was so caught up in work I didn’t notice.” He sighs holding you close.

He took off for the weekend so you guys could do anything you wanted. Most of it was enjoying city festivities (eating sweets) but Zayne wasn’t complaining.

Rafayel had a big event to go to and you were his plus one. So upon your request he had to chime into the outfits you tried on. He didn’t like most of them which put you down. You assumed they were all ugly which brought tears to your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” He panics rushing over to you. You dab under your waterline before speaking, “You hate all my outfits.” Your voice cracks.

“I don’t hate them! They don’t go with the event we’re going to. I just want you to be on theme.” He comforts you making eye contact. He wipes your tears away with the pad of his thumbs.

“Really?” You ask as he nods. “Yes really!” He says sincerely as you both hug it out. He made note to watch his criticism carefully.

Short I know but my sister graduates tmr so I’m a liiiiiittle behind

[mageofmadness]

CALEB + MC X ONLYFANS PT. 1

(1.2k)‧.ᵎᵎ 📷 ༘ ⋆｡ nsfw [18+] includes: fem!reader. jealous!caleb. sex work, dildos, and explicit sexual content. jerking off caleb will get pervier trust continuation of my other post ! i'd suggest reading that first c:

caleb, of course, says yes.

he could be six feet under the ground, and anything you ask of him, he’ll find a way to make it happen, let alone something like this. what is he meant to do…say no? is he supposed to let you go find someone else to help you? you had given him plenty of outs, saying it might be awkward (to which he vehemently assured you it would not be) or it might be too much or uncomfortable because you’re still a virgin (to which caleb had thought: what the fuck, oh my god).

absolutely not. the thought of someone else having you made his blood boil hot for a whole different reason. you came to him, and him alone, so after you lose a bit of steam, probably taking in caleb’s wide eyes and lack of response as horror or something equally wrong, he very quickly, very loudly, very nonchalantly, says, “of course, pips. anything you need help with, i’m your guy.”

“i’m glad you came to me. we’ll figure it out together.”

later that night, caleb sighs as he sits down at his computer. he stares at the black screen before booting it up, listening to it whirr in the early morning hours. you’re fast asleep in the other room, and his bedroom door is locked. lights off. he’s an expert in all things you, but it still takes him a minute to hunt you down online. scrubbing at his eyes as he reminds himself that this is strictly work. something like that. he wants to help in the best way possible, so he needs to know what they’re working with. caleb’s a hot blooded male, he’s seen a lot of porn in his life.

he crowds closer to the screen as he makes an account, eyes scanning over sex being sold by the dozen. for how often he catches your eye and thinks about fucking you, he’s going into this blind. he’s never crossed that line and has kept it very close to his chest. the front page and what he sees before him is all just bodies. it doesn't do it for him, never really has. it’s legs and cheek and ass but the moment he finds your account amongst lists of others, all beginners luck, caleb closes his eyes.

“appledumpling324.” he curses. “well, that’s fucking cute.”

how you got away with all of this under his nose is an entirely different conversation that needs to be had.

your page finally loads, and he immediately minimizes the the browser. he almost knocks over his pen holder, cursing as he lowers his screen. caleb sits back in his desk chair, closes his computer completely, and actually, doesn’t say a thing. he scrubs two firm hands over his eyes.

by god. 

he’s doing this to help. it means nothing more. it’s him or someone else. you don’t need him to shoot a load off the first time he sees the back of your thighs and what your ass looks like in whatever they’re calling underwear nowadays. a very modest black, they’re simple but hug your hips perfectly and that’s where caleb would grab first.

“fuck this.”

it shows you were online not four hours ago. caleb reads the amount of followers you have, quickly calculating, and his eye twitches. you’re popular. he’s going to have a fucking stroke. he’s a fucking idiot. what the fuck is going on and what is he doing?

it takes a strong man, of which caleb is, to look at what is before him objectively.

yes, he can see it’s all solo content. yes, he can see where others would really like something more. caleb also sees about nine million other guys very politely, he notes, begging for the chance to fuck you. showering you in vain compliments and he wants to laugh because what about your heart? and all that nonsense. these people don’t know you, they could never know you an ounce of the way caleb does, but jealousy is still simmering at he punches at his keyboard. scrolling. getting a beautiful view of your lace covered cunt one second and then you on your knees, camera pointed chin down as you deep throat a baby pink dildo, the next.

the first video he clicks on seems innocent enough, yet caleb’s made the rookie mistake of venturing onto a porn site without checking his volume first.

to his horror, your voice comes through first. the camera work a bit shaky, your face is never shown, he notes with something like approval and pride, but by the time he gets his headphones on and steadies his beating heart, he can only hear the sweetest whimpers. soft, pleasurable moans he’s be able to recognize anywhere. caleb might as well be drooling on his shirt, unable to believe what he’s seeing by the way of you spread out in your bed, the one he shares with you all of the time, face hidden but legs open and that underwear.

caleb’s folded that particular pair of underwear a thousand times and now he’s watching you slip them off as you position yourself over that same baby blue dildo of which he has never seen in this home. 

caleb’s favorite color is blue. his cock twitches in his sweatpants. he’s not an idiot, he’s just madly in love with you and has never found a convenient time to let you know.

a sharp intake of breath makes his eyes focus again, and he clicks out of the video right before your cunt swallows the fake cock whole.

caleb scrolls to the next video and then the next. they’re all amateur, very low quality in the sense that they’re personal. they’ve got an air of innocence to them that belies the you that caleb sees every day and he cannot even deny that while his hand is still outside of his sweats, he’s been palming his cock this entire time. 

in the end, caleb doesn’t even remember why he’s been scrolling through video after video. he’s lost the original plot, the reason he’s found himself in this situation in the first place, and he’s telling himself this is fine because he’s helping and hasn’t busted all over his fist yet. he’s resisted the urge to go wake you up and ask for answers, to figure out why he feels such a sense of…deceit. betrayal. he doesn’t know but caleb gives up. he finally slips a hand into his sweatpants and hisses as he pulls his cock free. gasping at his own touch, his fist is quick. fast. he’s not going to last because the same video has been playing on repeat for god knows how long.

you in the shower. the shower caleb had been in not hours ago. 

with caleb’s body wash in the background, the video is his favorite, he already knows. the way your hands run under the water, caleb knows he could make you feel so much better. he could just do so much, if only you’d let him and this must be cruel punishment. recompense for a past life.

he’s not sure, but caleb comes over his fist with jerky hips. “f–fucking…ah, hah. fuck. sweetheart.” his voice is strained, and he bites down on his sleeve too late, whimpering as his mind drifts to you asleep only a room away.

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ 110.79.140 166.63.63

[vixensdungeon]

Hello, my little woodland critters. Today just for fun I'm going to walk you through the process of generating a character for the original 1974 edition of Dungeons & Dragons. I'm just going to use Men & Magic for this one but might do another one later with the supplements!

First, we get some dice. Three six-sided ones to be exact. I'm actually going to grab some with pips rather than numbers because that feels more authentic. Then, we roll and record their sum, repeating five more times, generating six ability scores. Here we go!

Strength 9 Intelligence 17 Wisdom 12 Constitution 16 Dexterity 13 Charisma 13

Yippee! As a witch these make me very happy indeed.

Next, we'll pick a class to play. Based on the abilities I rolled I'm of course going to pick the magic-user (the witch class didn't exist yet, alas). And as a magic-user, I'm actually allowed to futz with the numbers a bit, removing two points from Wisdom to gain an extra point in Intelligence. This gives us our finalised array, and we can now know the effects of each ability on the character.

Strength 9: no effect Intelligence 18: +10% to earned experience, eight extra languages Wisdom 10: no effect Constitution 16: +1 to each hit die, 100% chance to survive certain spells Dexterity 13: +1 to missile fire Charisma 13: maximum of 5 hirelings with +1 loyalty

Okay, languages. The character speaks the common tongue of the continent she lives in, along with an alignment language. I'm going to pick Neutral as my alignment so that's the language I speak. I also speak eight creature languages, which I'm going to pick later.

For equipment, we're going to grab our trusty 3d6 again, roll them, and mulitply by ten to find out how many gold pieces we have. I rolled 10, so I have 100 GP. I'm going to buy a dagger, the only weapon a magic-user is allowed. In addition I will buy 50' of rope, a large sack (for treasure), a leather back pack, a water skin, six torches, a flask of oil, a small silver mirror, a bunch of wolvesbane (in case of werewolves), a bunch of belladonna, and a bug of garlic (in case of vampires, or pizza). Not sure what the belladonna is useful for but you can never be too sure. This leaves me with 48 gold pieces that I will use to buy rations when I'm heading on an expedition of some sort. To calculate my encumbrance, I add my dagger's weight in gold pieces (20) to that of my miscaellanoues equipment (always 80, though a referee is allowed to make sure this stays within reason), for 100 GP of weight. I'm well within the limit for light foot movement, which will likely mean I'll have the responsibility of hauling loot out of the dungeon. Maybe I should invest in a second sack…

As a magic-user of the 1st level, I am titled a Medium, and will require 2,500 experience points to reach 2nd level (Seer). I roll 1 die (six-sided), adding +1 for my Constitution getting a total of 2… Tha'ts how many hits my magic-user can take before death. Let's hope she rolls better on the next level, assuming she survives. She fights with the strength of one man!

I can memorise one 1st level spell for my journey. Not knowing what I might face in the dungeon, I pick something witchy that I think can really save the group's butts: Sleep. All level 1 spells are in my spellbook so I don't need to worry about which ones I can memorise.

And that's pretty much it! Now we just give the character an imaginative name… How about Naiviv?

Onwards to adventure and glory, Naiviv the Medium!

[angellovezz]

You were Younger!Calebs bestfriend, for as long as he could remember you’d been there. Of course as bestfriends you shared the occasional kiss, and as you grew into your bodies, the odd hookup. Of course he was pathetically enthralled with you, he did anything you asked. He’d lied then, made up fake names for fictional girls who didn’t exist. As shocking as it was, even as a horny, hormonal teenage boy, he’d never looked in the direction of another girl, not really. Yours was the only body he cared to know, the only eyes he cared to stare longingly into, the only hair he cared to twirl around his slender fingers. He would’ve given anything then to have you, he was stupid, nervous, a boy.

Colonel!Caleb isn’t that. From the moment he returns from his supposed death, and he sees you again, you know he isn’t the same. Before he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the axis his world just happened to spin around. Now, his eyes are more calculated, more predatory. Even after you start seeing eachother more casually.

Colonel!Caleb has done things, seen things. He’s not the boy you knew, and he loves to remind you. But one thing you know hasn’t changed, is his jealousy. His capacity to feel it. The difference is that now, he does something about it.

You’re a hunter now, he’s proud of you for it, he appreciates that you can take care of yourself when he isn’t around, knowing it makes him worry less. But of course he still worries. What he doesn’t appreciate is the disgusting, degenerate bastard (your coworker) that tried to hit on you, right in front of him.

“Caleb—” you try to reason, really you do, but he doesn’t care for reason. Not when he could be pressing you up against the nearest surface.

“Pips.” He only just barely recognizes that you’d said anything at all, dragging you by your hand into your apartment. He’s frantic, impatient, itching to get you out of your clothes.

As soon as you’re inside he’s all over you, hooking his hands under your thighs, scooping you up with a concerning lack of effort. His mouth pressed shamelessly on yours. It’s sloppy, irresistibly so.

“Caleb— Shoes,” you just barley manage between his onslaught of kisses.

“Don’t care.” He’s practically panting, carrying you to your bedroom. He knew your place like the back of his hand by now. There isn’t a moment between when your upright, and when your back is pressed into your mattress that Caleb isn’t on you. As soon as your head hits the plush surface he’s taking the liberty of unbuttoning your shirt, fingers pulling roughly at the delicate things. He wants to see you, feel you.

“You’re so—..” Having accepted your fate, you reach around your torso to unhook your bra, not wanting him to damage it in his fervour. “Worked up.” You can’t help laughing at him a little. “Is this because of Daniel?” You grin as he pauses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” He murmurs lowly, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.

“Didn’t know you were this serious about me..” you tease, only to gasp out as he nips at your skin.

“You wear my goddamn dog tags around your neck…” He slinks back, kneeling between your legs, pulling his hoodie up over his head. Revealing delicious pale skin, toned muscle, a happy trail that acts like a magnet for all your most sinful thoughts.

“Not serious my ass.” He scoffs.

And Colonel!Caleb shows you just how serious he is, he still is, about the girl he’s loved all his life.

A/n : this was going to be a full length fic, but I started it and couldn’t get the motivation to end it. I hope you like it anyway. Probably going to be writing a lot of lads content coming up here(I hope). How would we feel about a darker theme with Caleb?(I’m obsessed with him).

[ibullcapitals]

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[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 20: An Elf's Rage

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 7.3k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ The world tilts, friends fight friends, and there is no escape from the carnage.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. This time, we’ll take them all out. Starting with this spoiled bitch.’

Cole’s words echoed in your mind as tensions ran high. You saw the elven soldiers around you as they watched on to what their king would do. Cole was in open subordination and that stance alone seemed to shock a good portion of them. The other portion looked surprisingly calm, faces blank as they watched on with calculation in their eyes. The sun beat down through the thin canopy of trees and you could smell the bustling breeze that carried the scent of flowers in the fields beyond the camp. The fields of your old home that happened to be on the verge of being set alight. 

The gleaming steel of Cole’s sword was pointed at you, just a few metres from your body. Within a few moments after Cole threatened you, Aemond moved from your side to be in front of you. His hand had grabbed your forearm and pulled you behind him. The hand left you to then rest on the hilt of his sword, yet he waited to draw it. 

“You will have to pass me first, Cole.” Aemond’s tone was calm but held a weight behind it that you had scarce to ever see. 

“No, you will step aside and let us finish what you could not.” Cole's words were threatening, not unlike anything he had ever said to you. However, this time it was towards his king and in an area so open. Your mind got caught up in his words. Us?

“Careful now,” Aegon pipped up from beside Daeron as he stood with the other elves, “That is your king.” 

Cole let out a strangled laugh and paid Aegon no mind, his eyes staring intently at Aemond, “You’ve been so blind to your own elves' anger at your inaction.”

Aemond made a move to speak, but Cole did not let him, “So many of your people have grown tired. We want them gone.” You were overcome by anger at his sentiment. 

“So this is why you started the taint? Because you could not let anything go?” You had tried to step forward to get nearer to Cole. All notions of self-preservation had left you, but Aemond’s arm which had been ready to seize his sword flew out to keep you behind him. While it warmed your heart at his innate need to protect you, your adrenaline urged you to fight Cole yourself. Truly, it would not go well for you as you had never held a sword in your life. 

“You be silent, scum!” Cole had lost what little composure he had left when you spoke. It was like he was offended at the fact that you thought it was okay to speak to him, to even look in his direction. 

“Say that again.” Aemond challenged. He moved his hand back to the hilt of his sword and squared his shoulders. The disrespect Cole had shown him, especially in front of other soldiers, would not go unpunished. 

“I said that she is a whore,” Cole spat out, “And I do not fight alone.” At those words, many of the elves standing by pulled out their swords as well and aimed them at Aemond. You nearly stumbled back completely. Almost half of the current forces here – which was already a few thousand total – had sided with Cole. This could not have been sudden but rather planned. Bile almost rose to your throat. How long had he been planning this?

In quick succession, the elves turned on their own soldiers and started to attack. They seemed to already know which were on Cole’s side. Aemond unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Cole to block the elf's strike. You yelped as Aemond pushed you back and out of the way. The wound in your side throbbed. You looked around at the chaos around you. Just moments ago everything was alright and now it had crumbled into chaos. 

Clanging swords against one another rose with a fervour. Elves fought with senseless and reckless abandon, cutting into one another. Guttural screams rose above the clanking metal, intermixing with the sounds of dented armour and cut skin.

Aemond and Cole were locked in on one another. You could not help but be entranced, stuck in awe at the sight in front of you. The way they fought with such skill and precision outmatched any you had ever seen. It was a dance of wrath; born from one friend's growing discontent and the other’s betrayal. 

While Aemond was distracted, an elf from the sidelines came at you with his sword raised. You had no means of protecting yourself, no weapon to even try. You wished, with all your might, that you had learned how to fight for yourself. In all your years, you had learned to live by yourself – but fighting had never been an option. 

The elf, just moments from you, had suddenly stopped as a piece of steel burst forth from his throat. He choked on his blood, the squelching sound being driven into your head and forced to rest there forever in blistering torment. The steel slowly receded and left his throat, causing the elf’s body to tumble to the ground. Aegon stood there, looking at his sword as if he were in shock at what he had done. 

Too soon after that one attack came another. This time from behind you and Aegon would not be able to intervene. Aemond, amid his fight with Cole, seemed to still be keeping a close watch on you. He lunged forward and struck down the elf coming straight at you, but unfortunately, it left him vulnerable and Cole swooped in. The elf’s sword made a brutal downward chop toward Aemond’s side with nothing but unbridled brutality behind it. Cole seemed lost in his indignation towards the King and struck with rage rather than precision. 

Aemond stumbled to the ground, his knees hitting the solid dirt. His sword fell from his grasp and Cole swung his longsword down. Aemond was able to roll to his side away from it and let out a grunt. Cole began to scream as he swung his sword with reckless abandon, each time he hit the dirt, Aemond managed to dodge the swings. Eventually, as Cole paused for a second to breathe, Aemond kicked out his leg and knocked Cole to the ground. Cole grunted loudly as his body, covered in hard armour, hit the ground with a loud thump. 

You watched on, now between Daeron and Aegon for safety, as Aemond and Cole used their firsts to strike blows at one another. They tossed and turned in the trampled shortgrass. Each movement caught a ray from the sun on their now dirtied armour. It was all snarls and bunched-up firsts as they fought. 

More elves came to try and strike at you, each being taken out by Daeron or Aegon. You never wanted to feel this helpless again in your life. If you had any chance of survival, you would not suffer this again. You would learn to defend yourself. The brutality in front of you compounded. It was like hell had opened, spilling chaos from its yoke. 

In your moment of distraction as you watched Daeron plung a sword through a weak spot in an elf’s armour and into his belly, you heard a strangled shout. The voice, so instilled in your bones had never made that sound. The world seemed to slow as you turned and saw a dagger in Aemond’s stomach. There was a small opening in his armour, and Cole had taken advantage of it. The hilt looked a lot like the one that Cole had used to stab you. Aemond’s head hit the ground and he lost his strength. 

Cole kneeled above Aemond. He tilted his head up to the sky, letting the rays hit his face and closed his eyes in victory. His arms were outstretched as if he accomplished all that he had ever wanted. Your eyes slipped to Daeron who was near you and currently fighting an elf. There, resting on his hip, was a sheathed knife. It was not large but had enough of a blade to create damage. You surged forward, no thought in your head other than pure desperation to protect the elf you loved. It did not matter if you had no experience; you would die trying. 

You took it from Daeron's waist causing him to turn to you in surprise. You made your way towards Aemond, seeing his eye closed in pain. In the haze of the fight, his eyepatch had slipped off and you could see the intensifying blue of the sapphire that replaced his destroyed eye. You knew it was a sapphire, he had told you so those weeks ago by the campfire the two of you shared. Yet, he never showed you. That would require a level of vulnerability you did not think he could display. Now, here, seeing him wounded on the ground with his eye so exposed made you think of the memory you saw of when the human prince had attacked him and taken his eye. 

Both times, Aemond was forced to fight someone he thought of like family; always ending in a piece of himself, a part of his soul, being ripped from him and exposed. 

While Cole was celebrating an early victory, you found a spot on his neck that his armour did not cover and you used all your might to drive it into the side. You had come from behind him. With the chaos of everything around, noises louder than ever, he had not heard you. If it was any other scenario, you would not stand a chance against the seasoned warrior. It had been a cowardly move on your part, but again, he had stabbed you first. 

It was only natural you would return the favour with similar cowardice to mock his own. 

Cole choked and scrambled off Aemond as his hands reached up to try and stop the blood from pooling forth. His body convulsed and he scrambled away. He finally looked at you. The amount of gratification that came off of you at the look of realization in his eyes felt almost evil if it was not for the given circumstances. The discovery that he had been bested by a human in more ways than one shot through him. His eyes shone with anger, confusion, malice, and even fear.

With a gargle, faint words came from Cole’s last breath, “For the order.” 

His body crumbled to the ground. As much as you wanted to relish in that moment, your fear for Aemond took control over the carnal side of you that wished to fight. You turned to Aemond and knelt down beside him. Your hands took hold of the wound to block the blood. He looked up at you with a haze in his eyes, as if unsure that you were there. 

“Aegon! Daeron!” Your voice was hoarse, seeping with despair. The two brothers saw you on the ground with Aemond and instantly moved into action. They whistled out for soldiers that eventually formed a perfect circle to protect the royals. All around camp the elves had taken their stances on who they wished to fight for. None of it mattered to you, Cole had this planned coup for a long time with the amount of supporters he had. 

Aegon and Daeron crouched beside you at their brother who had gradually started to weaken. Your hands shook as you tried to staunch the blood. There was nothing around to help. No medical supplies or even any herbs within the immediate area. You tried with all your might to hold back tears, but they silently trailed down your face and carved red lines in the skin. 

“Daeron. What,” You choked out, “What can we do?” You pleaded. It was like all your skills as a healer left your body at seeing him mortally wounded. All Daeron gave you was a solemn look in return. His eyes communicated what he could not do vocally; there was nothing either of you could do to help Aemond. That confirmation caused your shoulders to shake as you sucked in a deep breath. 

Aemond’s wound was serious. It was shaking to see such a strong-willed and powerful being be reduced to nothing but an injured creature. He was the king. Countless tales and bard songs – even in your kingdom – spoke with a fearful reverence at his might and success on the battlefield. Elves were immortal, but still susceptible to death. That you knew all too well in the eyes of your patients. The fleeting of their soul was something you recognized. 

That is why it petrified you to see that same look on Aemond. 

The barrage of elves still threatened to break through the protective circle. Daeron and Aegon had no choice but to join in the fight and left you with Aemond. You were breathing heavily by then, short inhales and exhales made your head feel fuzzy. The surrounding slaughter, a symphony of clanging metal, shouts, screams, and spilled blood intensified the pounding that began to build up in your skull. 

You were trying to think of anything that could work to help Aemond, but nothing came. 

His voice, quiet but heard, reached out to you. Aemond had muttered your name, his one eye trained on your face. You shuffled to rest on your legs and lifted his head to be on your lap. If you could do one thing, it would be to offer him comfort as he slipped from the land of the living. 

“We match,” He croaked out. You furrowed your brows, but all he did was tilt his head to look down at the dagger in his abdomen. He was speaking of both his and your injury. 

“That’s not funny, Aemond.” You reprimanded through tears. 

A faint smile, one you had never seen on him, graced his lips. “I like it when you say my name...” He said with a look in his eye similar to the one you would see between Amara and Liriel. 

Amara and Liriel…

There was a single solution that could save Aemond, but proposing such a thing was preposterous. You remembered, in the first week of your stay in the kingdom, the wedded couple telling you of elf marriages. They could be romantic or platonic, but each had the characteristic of the binding of souls which helped rebuild the body. Maybe his wound could… 

No. 

Absolutely and unequivocally no. 

But what other options were there? What other path was there to take save for watching him bleed out in front of you? 

“Aemond,” Your hands put more pressure on his wound to slow the blood flow. The warmth of his blood was more intense than the small rays of sun that penetrated through the treetops. 

“There is one thing I could do, but –” You were so conflicted in telling him, but it was worth it to at least try, “Take a part of my soul.”  

His eye squinted and the lucidity he was drifting out of came back at your suggestion. He tried to sit up more but grunted in pain. The wound was just small enough to give him time to slowly bleed out. Cruel, but it gave you more time to likely convince him to even do this. 

“What?” 

“It would heal your wound, right?” You questioned. 

Aemond shook his head from side to side, “Yes, but–” 

“Then do it.” You voiced with determination. It would hurt you. You loved him and nothing would pain you more to be so close to him, but not be loved in return. Not allowed to truly be with him. However, that was infinitely better than never seeing him again. Being his friend over watching him die was the best option. 

“You would do that?” Aemond enquired. 

“But would you? Bind yourself to a being you hate?” Your tone bordered between seriousness and a jest. However, Aemond was not looking at you with laughter in his gaze. There was a gentleness there, a vulnerability exposed as he lay helpless on the ground. 

He sighed, “I never hated you. I hated that I couldn’t.” His words struck you so deeply that you had no other recourse than to stare at him. Was it you that was hallucinating? Had you died to Cole and all of this was some sort of manically charged last surge of your mind before it faded? 

Aemond lifted one of his hands to move and grip the hilt of the dagger in his stomach. You put yours over his to stop him as he tried to pull it out. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” 

“We’ll need a blade,” Aemond grunted, “If we are to do this.” You understood what he was saying. If you did the ceremony, the wound would begin to rapidly heal; having a knife in the way would be ghastly. A knife was also needed for the ceremony. It was fitting that the same steel used in an attempt to kill you both would be what intertwined your souls.

A sick jest from the gods, perhaps. Even sicker as you knew Aemond was only doing this because he had to, not because he wanted to. 

He sucked in a breath before pulling the blade out. You immediately covered the wound with one of your hands, but knew it was futile. The warmth of his blood, the sheer heat of it, overwhelmed you. 

“Hold,” Aemond winced, “Hold out your hand, rūklon.” You obeyed and gave him your free hand. It was already covered in his blood. He took the edge of the blade and cut a long thin line on your palm. He shakily handed you the dagger before holding out his hand for you to do the same. You gripped his hand, which was significantly larger than yours, and cut down the length of his palm. His fingers twitched just slightly at the pain. 

His cut hand took your cut one and you could feel the blood mixing. 

“Are you sure?” Aemond asked you again. You thought for a moment. It might have been the adrenaline from recent events or the throbbing in your side from your still-weakened state that influenced your decision. Truly, however, you simply could not and did not wish to live a life without him, even if you knew he did not return such affections. 

“Yes.” You told him. He nodded at your words. 

“Repeat after me,” Aemond said. He began to speak in the Old Valyrian Elvish language. You did not understand the words but listened intently so you could repeat them.

“Ondoso ānogar, ondoso ñelly, ondoso soul. Ēva morghon, iksi hae mēre.” He muttered the words while looking into your eyes. You took them in and began to repeat the words back to him. Your voice stuttered multiple times and you felt embarrassed, but you managed to finish. When you were done, Aemond tried to pull himself up, but you stopped him from over-exerting himself. 

Your cut hands were still joined and he used his other hand, also covered in blood from holding his injury, to reach up and cup your face. You could feel the wetness on your cheek but paid it no mind. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked. Your head tilted up and down in confirmation. Your faces were just inches apart and he leaned in slowly. It was like your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt his lips just brush over yours. The skin was soft and quickly the two of you sunk into it. It was tentative at first, full of a delicate nature that sharply contrasted with the ongoing battle. While entirely new for you, it felt familiar; as if it was something you had experienced your whole life. Your heart began to thrum louder than the thunder of the soldier's footfalls on the ground. 

A buzzing feeling started at your joined hands and spread through your body. Aemond’s hold on your face cradled you sweetly and his thumb made back-and-forth motions against your cheekbones. You felt his lips move against yours one last time before pulling away. You had to blink a few times to get your mind back in control of your body that had slipped into a daze. 

The look in Aemond’s eye was tender, “Avy jorrāelan.” He spoke. 

“Avy-” 

“No,” Aemond interrupted you, “That is not part of the ceremony. It’s…” He trailed off. His hand left your face, but his other one did not leave your hand. 

All at once, the two of you let out winces in sync. You felt a terrible, sharp pain in your side where your wound had been before it disappeared. Any sensation of pain that you had and the feeling of the stitches against your skin was gone. Your gaze moved down to Aemond's wound and was immediately surprised that it was gone. Through the small gap in his armour and the tear in the fabric, thick blood still clung to the area. Yet, the wound was gone. 

You were suddenly aware of the fighting around you again and proceeded to move on shaking legs. Slowly, you were able to get up. Aemond, as if never hurt in the first place, moved up and grabbed his sword that had laid disregarded on the ground. He stared down at Cole’s limp body just a short distance from you. The emotions that battled in the storm of his blue eye were hard to grasp; pain, regret, and fondness were the ones that came easy, but others were likely left a mystery that only the elves could feel in their centuries of wisdom. 

Despite the hate you felt for Cole, you were saddened that his death struck Aemond so strongly.

Turning around, you saw that Daeron and Aegon had moved back inside the circle, having stopped fighting. You could tell, by the fact that Aemond had not stopped holding your hand, that they saw what had just happened. The brothers moved forward to speak to their king. 

“Brothers,” Aemond addressed them both. His eye squinted and the scar on his face crinkled as he studied the fighting outside the circle of guards, “You are to get the Queen back to the castle safely.”

Queen?

Your mind stuttered as you struggled to absorb what he had said. You did not sign up for that. It had not even crossed your mind. Surely, one had to be qualified to take up such a position. There were no qualifications in your past to even merit a spot as a lady, let alone a damn Queen. 

“Yes,” Both Daeron and Aegon responded. 

“What?” Your voice fell on deaf ears as the three elves ignored your protests. 

“Bar the gates, do not trust anyone else to keep her safe. Do you hear me?” Aemond’s voice boomed with authority as he stared his brothers down. He adjusted his grip on his sword, glancing every few seconds at the fighting elves.

“Of course,” Daeron responded while he turned to scout for a possible escape route. 

Aemond nodded to Aegon and spoke, “I will stay behind and end this.” 

“Are you serious? You were nearly killed!” You argued. Aemond tugged on your connected hands to have you face him fully. He removed his hold to place his hands on your shoulders. 

“I’ll be fine. It's you that I worry about. Go home and work on that cure, yes?” His voice had calmed significantly from his previous demanding tone. You could do nothing but nod, too focused on the care reflected on his face and the fact that you could feel some of his emotions. It came with the ceremony and you knew it, but it still surprised you. To feel part of another’s emotions was incredibly weird.

You nodded in confirmation and he gave you a tight-lipped smile, “Good.” He quickly kissed your forehead. It happened so fast that you almost did not perceive it. He let your hand go after giving it a tight squeeze. He pushed you gently towards Aegon. 

When Aegon grabbed you to leave, Aemond stopped him, “Brother…” There was fear behind his eye as it darted between Aegon and you. He was scared for you, terrified for your safety. It was odd for someone to be worried about your safety. It had been so long since that happened.

Aegon did not need any words and understood his worry, “I know. She'll be safe.” They both bowed their heads once before Aegon tugged on your forearm to make you follow behind him. You wanted to keep watching Aemond but had to turn away. The last you saw of his figure was him moving to the other side of the circle and going to leave the lines of protection to join in on the fight. 

The guards dispersed and then made a smaller formation around you, Aegon, and Daeron. Your group cut through the elves around you on their journey to the edge of camp. When you had come in, you were on a horse and that time had passed by quickly, but walking it now you could truly see how vast the elvish army was. A chill went down your spine when you realized that this was not even the full army. They were still waiting for legions from the outer corners of their kingdom. 

In due course, your group had made it to the surrounding edge of the camp where many horses stood about, fighting against the ties that kept them near the ongoing chaos. Through a mess of confusion, Aegon had lifted you onto one of the horses and got on one for himself. Daeron and Aegon flanked both of your sides while the other guards that helped you mounted other horses. 

From there, reluctantly, you could do nothing but look back as your horses fled the scene. You wished, desperately, to catch a glimpse of Aemond for any reassurance that he was alright, but could see nothing. 

Blood.

All you could see was blood. 

Your group had arrived back at the castle no less than an hour ago. Since then, you had run to the laboratory with Daeron to make sure all of the brews were alright and if the other healers had been doing their work. You were all still waiting for them to finish, as the potions were on the very brink of being ready. The other healers were excused. You could not remember what Daeron told them, only that you were incredibly relieved when they left the room. 

Looking down at your hands, you could see Aemond’s blood on them. It had cooled and begun to congeal with bits stuck under your fingernails like dirt after a long day of tending to growing herbs. They shook as you tried to wipe away the blood. Turning to a shelf of vials, you could see your dishevelled image in the reflection. Aemond’s bloody handprint had taken over a large portion of your face. In your state of panic, you tried to swipe it off but only managed to add more blood that had come from your hands. 

You began to hyperventilate. The carnage you had witnessed was nothing you had ever seen before. You were lucky enough to grow up in a period of centuries of peace. Precarious peace, but there nonetheless. Two hands shot out to hold yours still. Through the fog of your vision, you saw Aegon looking at you with worry. 

“You there, little lady?” He slowly guided you to one of the tables, where a bowl of water and some disregarded scraps of fabric were. “You’re alright, you’re safe now.” 

“What if this is just the beginning of his blood that is spilt?” You whispered. Aegon had trouble hearing and leaned in, but you could not repeat it. Your mind was running at speeds that you could not catch up with. Aemond was in danger, imminent danger. His soldiers had turned on him. Who was there left to trust?

Aegon had picked up a rag and dipped it into the water. He carefully ran it over the planes of your face. His fingers would ring out the water after washing the blood off and he repeated the process slowly and calmly. When your face was clear, he submerged your hands into the bowl of water and began to clean them off. 

“He’ll… he’ll be alright, won’t he?” You began to ramble, “Ridiculous, selfish of me to worry about only his safety when there are countless sick people in need of saving and soldiers laying down their lives at this very moment.” He had to grip your hands to keep them still as they had begun to shake again. Daeron silently worked a few tables away, potting doses of the potion into vials to distribute to the patients in the hall. 

Aegon thought for a moment before responding, “It is not ridiculous at all to worry about the people you love. You do love my brother, right?” He began to pick under your nails to get the last of the blood out. 

“More than anything.” Your response was immediate and full of truth. 

“Good.” Aegon nodded while focused on your nails, “He needs that in his life. Deserves it.” While his words were appreciative, there was a look of yearning on his face; a deep form of pain that could only stem from some kind of loneliness. 

“I know those feelings are not returned, but I will treasure him regardless.” You wanted to reassure Aegon that despite the desperate nature of your hasty ceremony to keep him alive, there was still care there. While you did not know what you were entirely signing up for, you would do your best to care for Aemond and the kingdom. You may be human, but you were comforted by your achievement of discovering the cure. Surely, that of all things, has won over the hearts and minds of the elven folk enough to grant you an easy transition into your new position. 

Aegon let out a short laugh at your words. He dropped your freshly cleaned hands and looked you in the eyes, “In all your genius skills, the obvious always seems to evade you.” 

Aegon gestured to Daeron who was now standing at the door and calling in some of the other healers. You looked at the filled vials and somehow nothing felt real. It felt like an out-of-body experience. It had not been more than three moons since you were hunched over at a desk in your tiny home in the village, struggling to put together your father’s research. Now, the cure was in front of you and you knew it worked. 

While your heart tugged towards Aemond and the need to know he was safe, your duty was to remain here and begin curing the patients. With time, you could move on and work on the rest of the taint that stained the land. For now, you will fix what you have control over and pray to any and all gods out there that they keep Aemond safe. 

It had been hours of back and forth between the laboratory and the sick hall. There were constant rotations of elves brewing more potions and giving the finished ones to patients. It would gradually heal them, but that period varied from patient to patient. Some had gotten up to walk, while others still lay in a state of pain – though they thankfully described a gradual gentle relief making its way through their body. 

You had wanted to help with making more brews, but Daeron had stopped you. Making the blood sacrifice and dealing with the loss of energy was a requirement to brew it as the mortua terra flower would take from the host. However, according to Daeron, you could not do that anymore. Your soul was tied to Aemonds, therefore any dark magic would not just suck at your soul, but his as well. It would be unfair to the bond you now shared to weaken it in any way. 

Time was spent moving from patient to patient, giving doses to the ones who had yet to receive any and taking notes on the ones who had. It was incredible to see the wiry darkness of the taint start to fade from the patient's skin. The dark purple, almost black bruises that formed on the skin faded over time. The volume of coughing had gone down significantly and it was the longest period between having to summon guards to carry a fresh corpse out of the hall.

On the way to your next patient, you passed by an empty bed. A sharp stinging pain shot through your heart. It was unfamiliar to not see Lyra sitting in that bed and be greeted by her smile. You were too late to save her; which may be one of your worst regrets. It would be a guilt you shall hold for as long as you live. 

You had just made it to your next patient when the two large grand doors of the hall creaked as they opened. You were frozen in your spot as two guards came in to push the doors open further. 

Standing there, battered and bloody, was Aemond. He had sheathed his sword. His armour was scratched, with some of the metal being dented. It was covered in dirt, grass, blood, and some burn marks. You had no idea how the hell burn marks would have ended up on his armour, but only that it must have gotten worse after you left. His eyepatch was put on again, also dirtied. However, he was still standing – that fact alone hit you with more relief than you had ever felt. 

His eye scanned feverishly about the hall in search of something. He had a frantic glint in his eye. You stood up from your crouched position beside the patient's bed and it immediately alerted him to where you were. When he spotted you, you could see the tension in his shoulders ease as they slumped down. His lips parted like he lost his breath. You could see his frame was veiled with exhaustion.

Without wasting a moment, you placed your notebook down on a nearby tray and bunched up the skirts of your dress in your hands to make a rapid move toward him. You speed walked down the centre aisle past the beds of sick patients and healers. They had all turned to look at their king but shied away when you were walking towards him. One thing you liked about elves was their tenacity in providing privacy when needed. 

You had finally reached him but paused, unsure of what to do. What do you do? Should you hug him? He was your husband, surprisingly so. It felt inappropriate to do so, especially in front of the elves. Despite being married, it was not exactly a wanted union. It had been born out of desperation rather than love. 

Aemond did not speak, just stared at you with a certain fondness you could not pinpoint. After being in the hall for hours and tending to elves, you were running on muscle memory alone.

In your mind, you saw him as another wounded patient that needed tending to. However, you wished for more privacy. 

You reached out and grabbed his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and then pulled him out of the hall. The two of you silently walked down the torch-lit hallways of the castle and towards your room. 

You released your hold to open your door and usher him into the room. The hearth had been lit to keep the room cool. You could only guess that it was sometime in the middle of the night. Both of your bodies were wrecked with exhaustion. Before Aemond could even think to sit down, you stopped him. He would need to take off his armour if you were to assess and care for his injuries. 

Aemond grunted in pain and tried to take off his right pauldron, but struggled to keep his arm up. You gently swatted his hand away and took over. Your fingers nimbly took off the metal from his shoulders, almost touching the skin of his neck that was exposed by removing the piece. 

You worked in silence, the moment too oddly intimate to speak. You were taking off his outer layer of armour, slowly stripping the soldier away and revealing Aemond underneath. Again, he seemed to always be watching you. Your cheeks heated up under his gaze and you struggled to keep your nerves from making you shake. Each piece of metal weighed more than expected and you could not help but marvel at the strength he possessed. To be able to carry such weight and still fight was a feat. 

Once the metal had been laid out in a pile, you moved on to taking the chainmail off and then the under gambeson. Aemond was left in just his leather boots, pants, and a thin linen shirt. You guided him to a chair and watched as his exhausted body slumped into the seat and his eye closed. He rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and put his chin in his hand. His chest heaved with deep breaths. 

You collected some things in your room that would be needed to help him. Various rags, a bowl of water, salve, and bandages were carefully laid on a small circular table placed beside the padded chair. You stood in front of him awkwardly. In order to clean his wounds, you would need to remove his tattered shirt. 

“Um, I’ll need you to…” Your voice trailed off. Aemond opened his eye and looked at you before moving on to grab the hem of his shirt. He pulled it up partway but got stuck near the shoulders. You could already see large bruises forming on his torso. You helped him take it off and discarded it next to the pile of armour on the ground. 

Your feet carried you back to the door to the room and you opened the door, leaned out, and spoke to a guard stationed in the hallway, “I’ll need some male clothing, could you task a handmaid nearby?” The guard silently nodded and left. You closed the door again and walked back to where Aemond sat and dragged a stool so you could sit down. 

Once on the stool, you soaked the rags and began to work. You started on one arm and began to clean it and then applied a salve to larger cuts. It was difficult to not ogle the lithe muscles of his skin, especially the ones that composed his torso. Aemond trained daily and that habit showed by the nature of his body. You moved onto the other arm. Once that was done, you started at his upper chest. The whole time, he watched you through his half-lidded eye. You swallowed down saliva that had pooled in your mouth and continued your job. 

“They’re cleaning up the bodies now…” Aemond trailed off. You knew what he meant. At this moment, countless elf corpses were being dealt with. Their bodies thrown onto carts to be buried or burned. 

“It’s over?” You questioned as you meticulously wiped away dried blood patches. 

“No,” Aemond muttered, “I don’t know how many were working for Cole. They could still be here in the castle and are most definitely posted throughout the kingdom.” 

You nodded at his words and pulled away to clean the rag in the water. The hearth fire crackled and sputtered while the wood snapped piece by piece. Even in the warmth of the room, the water was cold and trickled off of the rag. 

“I’m sorry for not believing you. When you came to me about Cole…” Aemond told you. Your fight was still fresh. The anger and insults hurled at one another that morning echoed in your mind. If you had simply stayed in your room and talked with him, how much different would things be? You would have never gone to your lab and Cole would not have tried to kill you. Though, he likely would have tried some other time.

“You had every right to not believe me. He was your close friend. I’m only new here, Cole has known you for longer.” You gave him a half-smile and went back to dragging the cloth across his chest. Aemond’s hand went up to grab yours and stop your movements. 

“Yes, but…” He paused. He was battling with himself to speak more, “We have to talk about–” Sharp knocking sounded on your door and you quickly shot out of your seat and away from Aemond. You do not know why you were so eager to get away from him. Perhaps it was fear in what he wished to speak to you about. 

The deal had been met. 

You knew that you were to stay in the kingdom for a year or until there was a cure. The cure had been made and now you have extended past your welcome here. Maybe he would have you sent back home. That thought alone pained you. After all, why would a human be allowed to stay with the elves?

However, you were also technically the Queen. You had married Aemond – despite his likely wariness of it all. Yet, you were unsure of your place here. 

You opened the door and spotted a handmaiden with folded clothes in her arms. You muttered words of thanks, took the clothing, and closed the door. Aemond watched closely as you walked back to him. You held out the clothing to him and refused to look at his form. If you did, you knew that the heat would come back to your face and a redness would coat your skin. There was no need to make Aemond any more uncomfortable than he was. 

Your arms extended and Aemond grabbed the clothes from you. His fingers brushed yours and you felt a jolt trail up both arms. You skirted away and held your hands behind your back. You wanted to curse yourself out for acting so distant. You were closer than ever, souls bonded, yet you could not get through the wall between you two. There was something there, unspoken and present, that prevented you two from being on the same page. 

“It’s best that you get some rest. Fighting for so long has drained you.” You spoke. Aemond stood up from the chair and placed the clothing down where he had sat. 

“About us, we–” 

“The people need their king right now. Eat, sleep, and get ready for tomorrow.” There were still elves among his people who likely sympathized with Cole and his cause. It would be a challenge to find them all and interrogate them for answers. You also could not stand there, exhausted, and have Aemond tell you that your arrangement was only one of convenience.

Your heart would not be able to take his rejection. You had only just lived, that would surely be what would kill you. 

You decided to let him change in your room and took the initiative to leave. When you had finally opened the door with the mission to go back to the laboratory, Aemond had called out your name. Your gaze shifted to him. He stood there, his face was a mix between yearning and dejection. 

“You need to rest as well.” 

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile, “I will rest when all of my patients are cured.” With those words, you closed the door to give him privacy. 

Epilogue: An Elf's Devotion Preview

“I feel as though I owe you an explanation,” Aemond spoke as the two of you began to waltz across the floor with the other dancing elves. 

“An explanation?” You questioned. Aemond’s eye was scanning the room. You could see it in his stance, he wanted to talk about something. Deeply. However, his posture held hints of nervousness.

“I know our union may have been done in haste, but I need you to know that,” Aemond licked his lips, took a deep breath in, and locked his eye on you, “I–” He huffed. You could feel his fingers tighten just slightly as his gaze swept to the floor. You were unsure of how to proceed. You had never seen him in this state.  

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