#reclaimed wood bar table

[environmentalpavilion]

Transitional Basement Example of a medium-sized transitional look-out basement design with white walls and a typical fireplace on a gray floor.

[realloveormadness]

Transitional Basement - Lookout Example of a medium-sized transitional look-out basement design with white walls and a typical fireplace on a gray floor.

[urbanwoodsgoods]

Craftsman's Choice: Solid Wood Bar Stools for Timeless Elegance

Elevate your home bar or kitchen island with our exquisite wooden bar stools. Handcrafted from the finest solid wood, these stools boast unparalleled durability and charm. The warm tones of the wood add a touch of rustic sophistication to any space, while the sleek design ensures they seamlessly blend with modern or traditional decor. Whether you're enjoying a casual brunch or hosting a soirée, these bar stools offer comfort and style that will endure for years to come. Experience the timeless elegance of craftsmanship with our wooden bar stools. For more information, please visit our website here: https://urbanwoodgoods.com/collections/wooden-bar-stools

[voltronlookbook]

Family Room Home Bar in Denver

Family room - large rustic open concept medium tone wood floor, brown floor and exposed beam family room idea with a bar, white walls and a standard fireplace

[paulinecroze]

Underground Indianapolis An illustration of a sizable arts and crafts basement design with a laminate floor, beige walls, a conventional fireplace, and a stone fireplace

[rachelcharlenel]

Home Bar Single Wall in Philadelphia Example of a mid-sized arts and crafts single-wall medium tone wood floor and brown floor home bar design with shaker cabinets, dark wood cabinets and wood countertops

[championbuttmaster]

Houston Mediterranean Home Bar An illustration of a sizable seated home bar with a large tuscan medium tone wood floor, flat-panel cabinets, black cabinets, brown backsplash, and black countertops.

[lechapardeur]

Transitional Basement - Lookout Basement - large transitional look-out cork floor and brown floor basement idea with beige walls and no fireplace

[migvintof]

U-Shape - Contemporary Home Bar Seated home bar - large contemporary u-shaped gray floor and porcelain tile seated home bar idea with a drop-in sink, flat-panel cabinets, brown cabinets, concrete countertops, brown backsplash, wood backsplash and white countertops

[jouelacommelara]

Home Bar Bar Cart in Minneapolis Image of a small transitional bar cart with a brown floor and carpeting

[mary1in]

Galley - Home Bar

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.5

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: After years of brutal torture by Francis, Y/N finally escaped, fighting her way out of the lab and fleeing into the dense woods. Each step was a struggle, but she knew she couldn't stop. With the guards on her heels, she disappeared into the shadows, determined to reclaim her life.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x (fem!)Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3640

The slums were from now on her home. Y/n had escaped from the clutches of the facility, but the scars of her past- both mental and physical- were still engraved deeply in her body. The nights were the hardest, when the world around her was quiet and the memories screamed the loudest. She lived in a cramped, old apartment, the flickering neon lights outside her window casting shadows on the walls.

It had been weeks since her escape, weeks of hiding and laying low, blending into the filthiness of the city. Here, she was just another face in the crowd, another soul struggling to survive. But she was different. She could feel the darkness within her, the uncontrollable power that surged through her veins. She had to find a way to control it, to suppress it before it consumed her.

Y/n spent her days looking for information, piecing together bits of knowledge about mutants, about powers like hers. She searched through the back alleys and seedy bars, listening to rumors and whispered conversations. Slowly, she began to understand the nature of her abilities, the twisted gift that had been forced upon her. But understanding was not enough. She needed control.

One night, in a ed bar that reeked of sweat and stale beer, Y/n finally found a lead. She had been sitting at the counter, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey, when she overheard a conversation between two men at the next table. They spoke in low tones, their words slurred from alcohol, but Y/n's ears caught every word.

"Essex House... that place was a nightmare," one of the men muttered, his face half-hidden in the shadows. "They did some real messed up shit there."

The other man, a burly figure with a ashen beard, nodded grimly. "I heard they had a way to control mutants. Some kind of device."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She leaned closer, pretending to adjust her coat as she listened.

"Yeah, I know a guy who used to work there," the bearded man continued. "Big guy, real quiet. He hangs around here sometimes."

Y/n did not waste any time. She slid over to their table, her movements smooth. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice low and steady.

The men exchanged a glance, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" the bearded man said, gesturing to the empty seat.

Y/n sat down, fixing them with a piercing gaze. "I couldn't help but overhear. You mentioned Essex House. I'm looking for someone who worked there. A guard, maybe?"

The first man, looked her up and down suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Let's just say I'm looking for answers," Y/n replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If you can help me, I'd appreciate it."

The bearded man scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know his name, but he's usually around here. I'd be careful, though. He doesn't like to be bothered."

"Point him out," Y/n she said, her eyes scanning the bar.

The bearded man nodded toward the far corner, where a large figure sat hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. "That's him."

Y/n followed his gaze and saw the man- a huge, muscled frame with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of violence. He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders hunched over as he downed another shot of whiskey. There was a darkness about him, an aura of danger that warned others to keep their distance.

Y/n thanked the men and made her way toward the bar, her eyes never leaving the figure in the corner. She did not approach him directly, instead choosing to observe him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. 

The man continued to drink heavily, oblivious to the world around him. It was not long before he started to show signs of drunkenness- his movements sloppy, his head nodding as if fighting off sleep.

Now. This was her chance.

Y/n moved swiftly, her steps silent on the worn wooden floor. She slipped behind the man, her hand reaching into her coat to retrieve a small vial of chloroform and a cloth. In one fluid motion, she pressed the cloth over the man's face, her other arm locking around his throat.

The man struggled, his instincts kicking in despite his drunken state, but Y/n was quick and precise. Within seconds, his body went limp, his heavy frame slumping against the bar.

She wasted no time. With the strength born from desperation, Y/n dragged the unconscious man out of the bar, navigating through the back alleys until she reached her hideout.

The basement of an abandoned building, it was cold and damp, the walls lined with old newspapers and broken furniture. She had set up a small, makeshift interrogation room- just a chair and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Y/n tied the man to the chair, securing his wrists and ankles with thick rope. She stood back, her heart pounding as she waited for him to wake up. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, her hands shaking slightly as she paced the room.

Finally, the man moved slightly, his dazed eyes blinking against the harsh light. He groaned, tugging at the ropes before realizing he was restrained. Panic flickered across his face as he looked around, his gaze settling on Y/n, who stood before him with a cold, determined expression.

"What the hell—?" he began, his voice stammered from the lingering effects of the chloroform.

"Shut up," Y/n snapped, stepping closer. "I'm the one asking questions. You're going to answer them."

The man's eyes narrowed, anger replacing his initial fear. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."

"Oh, I think I do," Y/n replied, her voice icy. "You used to work at Essex House. You were a guard there."

The man's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Y/n's patience was wearing thin. She had spent too long hiding, too long searching for answers, to be stonewalled by this brute. She leaned in, her face inches from his, her voice low and menacing.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "I know what they did in that place. The experiments, the torture. I know about the children. If you think I'm bluffing, you're sorely mistaken."

The man's boldness stopped for a moment, but he quickly recovered, sneering at her. "You don't know shit."

Her hand moved faster than he could react, striking him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I said, don't lie to me!" Y/n shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "I know what kind of monster you are. I know what you did to those kids. Now tell me about the device that suppresses mutant powers."

The man spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at her aggressively. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

Y/n's fist connected with his jaw again, this time with more force. The man groaned, his head lolling forward as he struggled to stay conscious.

"You have no idea what I've been through," Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The things I've seen, the pain I've endured. If you think for one second that I won't make you suffer, you're dead wrong. Now, talk."

The man's resolve began to crumble under the weight of her words, the fear returning to his eyes. He took a heavy breath, finally giving in.

"There's a wristband," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was designed to suppress mutant powers. But that place... it's gone. Some kid blew it up, the whole building came down."

Y/n's heart raced as she absorbed his words. "Where can I find one?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for a way out. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"Maybe there's still some in the storage rooms beneath the building. But it's dangerous. The whole place is crawling with security, even now."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. She had what she needed, but the anger still burned within her, the memories of those children haunting her every thought.

"And one more thing," the man added, his voice a broken whisper. "There were others involved in that explosion. A man in a red and black suit... mutants from the X-Men... and some scary guy with a teddy bear."

The mention of the man in the red and black suit made Y/n's blood run cold. Wade. The man responsible for her suffering. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Thank you," she said coldly, before slamming her fist into his face one last time. The man's head snapped back, and he slumped in the chair, unconscious.

"You deserve much more, you little piece of shit," Y/n muttered, her voice thick with disgust. She untied him and dragged him out to a nearby street, leaving him there to be found. She had no use for him anymore.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

The ruins of Essex House stood before Y/n like a tombstone, a monument to the atrocities that had taken place within its walls. The once impressive structure was now a gutted shell, its walls burned and crumbling, overtaken by creeping vines and nature's slow reclamation. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot, a fitting aura for a place that had been a living nightmare for so many.

Y/n moved silently through the rubble, her senses heightened, every sound increased in the stillness of the night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the broken ground. 

She had checked out the area earlier, avoiding the main entrances, which were still patrolled by security teams guarding whatever was left in the aftermath of the explosion, a few months ago. She needed to find the storage rooms beneath the building, where the guard had said the wristbands might still be.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked through a craggy opening in the wall, her eyes scanning the darkened interior. The building's skeleton remains were a labyrinth of broken beams and collapsed ceilings, the floors plastered with rubble and shattered glass. Every step was a calculated risk, the floorboards creaking ominously beneath her weight.

Y/n made her way down a long corridor, the walls covered in peeling paint and faded sceneries that had once depicted happy, smiling children- an ironic touch for a place that had been anything but.

Her breath stuck in the throat like there's a blockage as she approached a large door at the end of the corridor, its frame cracked and splintered. The guard's words echoed in her mind, urging her forward. She pushed the door open, and stepped into a vast chamber that had once been a laboratory.

Y/n's breath stopped as her eyes landed on the twisted metal chair in the center of the room. It was unmistakable- a torture device designed to restrain and torment its victims. The cold steel of the torture chair, the searing pain of electric currents coursing through her body. The sight of it brought a wave of nausea crashing over her, memories of her own time in such a chair flooding her mind, the mocking laughter of Francis as he watched her suffer in agony.

Flashback

She was strapped to the chair, her wrists bound with cold, hard metal. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and blood. Francis stood before her, his cold eyes glinting with sadistic glee. He was dressed in his usual black combat gear and white coat, his arms folded as he watched her struggle against the restraints.

"Ready for another round, sweetheart?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling from the aftershocks of the last session. She had lost count of how many times he had done this to her, how many times he had pushed her to the brink of death, only to pull her back and start again.

"Please... no more," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Francis chuckled, his laughter a cruel, grating sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, reaching for the control panel beside the chair. His fingers danced over the buttons, and a low hum filled the air as the machine powered up.

Y/n's eyes widened in fear as the currents of electricity surged through her body, her muscles spasming uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, like being ripped apart from the inside. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, but there was no one to hear her, no one to save her.

Francis watched with detached amusement, his expression one of mild curiosity. "You know, it's fascinating," he mused, his voice calm and measured. "Watching how much pain a person can endure before they break. You're tougher than most, I'll give you that."

Her vision blurred as the pain reached a crescendo, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. But she held on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. She had to survive, had to escape, no matter what it took.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the currents stopped, and Y/n slumped in the chair, her body limp and exhausted. Francis leaned in close, his face inches from hers.

"Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "We'll keep doing this until you learn to behave."

Present

Y/n snapped back to the present, her hands trembling as she stared at the torture chair. The memories were like a vice around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. But she could not afford to break down now, not when she was so close. She forced herself to move, to search the room for the wristband.

The storage room was hidden behind a steel door, half-buried under rubble. Y/n unlocked it with a crowbar she had found earlier, using all her strength to pull the door free. Inside, she found a small, windowless room lined with shelves. Dust coated everything, the air stale and suffocating. She searched through the shelves, her hands moving frantically as she searched for the device.

Finally, her fingers closed around a small, sleek wristband, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. This was it- the device that could suppress her powers, that could give her the control she so desperately needed.

But as she pulled the wristband from the shelf, a shrill alarm pierced the air, the sound reverberating through the building. Panic surged through Y/n as she realized she had triggered a security system, her heart racing as the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the halls.

She had to get out, and fast.

Y/n bolted from the storage room, clutching the wristband tightly in her hand. She sprinted down the corridor, her mind a blur as she searched for an escape route. The footsteps were getting closer, the shouts of guards filling the air.

She spotted a window at the end of the hall, its glass cracked but still intact. Without hesitation, she launched herself at it, her shoulder slamming into the glass. The window shattered with a deafening crash, and Y/n tumbled through the opening, her body twisting in midair.

The world spun around her as she rolled to her feet, glass shards cutting into her skin. But there was no time to stop, no time to recover her injuries. The guards were right behind her.

Y/n ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she sprinted through the darkened streets. The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, but she did not stop. She could not stop. Not until she was safe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she slowed to a halt, her body aching and exhausted. She had made it. She had escaped, and she had the wristband. But as she stood there, alone in the shadows, the memories of Essex House lingered in her mind, a reminder of the horrors she had endured- and the revenge she would soon unleash.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Y/n sat in her dimly lit hideout, the cold, metal wristband clasped tightly in her hand. She had waited for this moment, the promise of control over her powers finally within her grasp. With a deep breath, she slipped the wristband onto her wrist. A series of tiny, almost inaudible clicks signaled its activation. She felt a slight hum of energy ripple through her body, a sensation that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

"Okay, Y/n," she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a murmur in the silence. "Time to see if this thing really works."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up a small, sharp knife. She took a moment to steel herself before pressing the blade against the palm of her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the knife across her skin, wincing as a thin line of blood welled up. She braced herself for the familiar agony of her powers activating, but to her astonishment, the pain remained localized. The cut did not heal as it usually would.

"It works," she breathed, a mix of relief and awe in her voice. "It actually works."

She wrapped her hand in a bandage, her mind already racing with the possibilities. For the first time in years, she felt like she had a measure of control over her life, over her destiny. She was not just a victim of her circumstances; she could be the master of them.

Over the next two years, Y/n threw herself into training with a passion that bordered on obsession. She perfected her combat skills, mastering various martial arts and weapons. She trained with knives, guns, and swords, each session pushing her limits further. Her hideout became a makeshift dojo, littered with training equipment and weapons of all kinds.

Her reputation in the slums grew as she took on hitman jobs to fund her training. She became a ghost, an unseen force of retribution for those who could not fight back.

One evening, she was approached by a woman with bruised arms and tear-streaked cheeks.

"Please," the woman begged, her voice trembling. "My husband... he beats me. I can't take it anymore. Please, make him stop."

Y/n looked into the woman's eyes, seeing the same helplessness and desperation she had felt so many times before. "What's his name?" she asked quietly.

"Jack. Jack Thompson. He works at the docks," the woman replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded. "Consider it done. He won't hurt you again."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Two years had passed since Y/n had escaped from Francis, two years of relentless training and hard-earned survival. She decided it was time to visit her own grave, a symbolic gesture to honour the person she once was. She made her way to a small flower shop, her mind set on finding the perfect bloom.

As she approached the counter to pay for a single white lily, she saw a woman laughing and chatting with the shopkeeper. The sight made her freeze. It was Vanessa. Alive and well, her smile as bright as ever. Y/n's heart clenched painfully in her chest, pulling her hood that covered her face even more down. She quickly paid for the flower and fled the shop, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger.

She reached her grave, a simple, unadorned headstone with her name etched into the cold marble. The vase next to it was empty.

"I see," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Forgotten and abandoned, even in death."

She knelt down, placing the lily in the empty vase. "I can't remember my old self," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "She truly did die, as well as her trust in you."

Her thoughts turned dark as she slowly stood up. Wade had saved Vanessa, she realized, her mind piecing together the puzzle with cold clarity.

He must have used Cable's time travel device during the Mutant Rehabilitation incident to go back and save her... but he left me to die.

As she turned and walked away from the grave, she could feel a rising tide of hatred surging within her, anger directed at Wade for abandoning her, for choosing Vanessa over her.

Later that evening, Wade approached the same grave. He was dressed in his red and black costume, the weight of his grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders. In his hand, he held a brand-new flower and a polished vase. He had not missed a single visit, always coming back to this lonely, forgotten corner of the cemetery to leave a token of his sorrow and love.

As he knelt down to place the new flower in the vase, he noticed the fresh lily already there, wilting slightly in the cold night air.

"Who...?" Wade muttered to himself, confusion furrowing his brow. He looked around, but the cemetery was empty and silent.

He placed his own flower beside the lily, a pang of sadness piercing his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the grave. "I'm so damn sorry."

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the headstone as if willing it to give him some sort of answer, some sign that she knew he had not given up on her, that he still mourned her every day.

But the silence of the graveyard offered no reunion, only deepened the gap of misunderstanding that was growing between them, unseen and unspoken.

As Y/n made her way back through the slums, her mind was a storm of emotions. She was determined now, fueled by a dark purpose. She had been forgotten, left to rot in the shadows while Wade had moved on, living his best life with Vanessa.

A twisted sense of revenge began to take root in her heart, and she knew that the next time she crossed paths with Wade, it would be on her terms. And when that day came, there would be a reckoning.

[golvio]

It was a bit of whiplash going from The Damsel to The Beast, particularly since the jumping off point I picked was stabbing her when she was gnawing her arm off (you very pointedly ignore that instead of recoiling in disgust to lock in Damsel or Witch). However...in retrospect, it kind of makes sense that the Damsel, Witch, and Beast routes can branch off of the same place.

All three routes deal with themes of dehumanization. Damsel is dehumanization through idealization, where she remains person-shaped, but loses a lot of what made her "her" in Chapter 1 in favor of being someone who could "make you happy." Witch is dehumanization through contempt or exploitation, where you either consciously betray her or just give up on her as soon as the Narrator pushes back, and she takes on some of the Beast's features but still remains partly human. With the Beast, it's total dehumanization through the reflexive disgust response brought on by seeing her gnaw her own limb off like a trapped animal. You get a glimpse of her as something other than human, and you become fixated on that, totally rejecting her until you mold her into something that's just as inhuman as you think she is. If you double down, she eventually becomes so dehumanized by the feedback loop of your treatment of her that she fully becomes an animal and loses the ability to speak.

That's why I think it's important that the two ways that the Beast seems to end on a more positive note (barring the secret ending you're unlikely to get the first time where you pick the exactly correct set of choices that get you to free her while playing dead) is by either her forcing you to understand her by "making you a part of her" (by eating you, which later causes you to "become her" so much that the two of you reintegrate into The Wild), or by you trying to talk to her once she becomes The Den and gets trapped in the little burrow leading upwards. Instinct alone can keep you alive, and territorial aggression can vanquish a predator, but it can't break the cycle of violence you've trapped yourselves in. Only reason and compassion can do that. You have to get in touch with your own humanity again to help her get in touch with hers.

There's also this theme of "regression"/"neglect" in her cabin. Her Chapter II cabin changes the least compared to the other Princess', but its change is marked by abandonment and decay as the cabin is reclaimed by nature and worn down by the elements. The wooden beams are beginning to fall apart with and termites have crept in to eat the table. It's as if the "default" cabin and the Princess herself are abandoning their humanity. In the Den, the cabin regresses to a crude Flintstones-style hut made of rocks or earth, and the table fully regresses to the stump of the fallen tree its wood was presumably harvested from. The Princess, too, regresses to a more primal form, losing her ability to speak and becoming a creature of pure appetite and predatory aggression.

In Chapter II, Beast gets a "nicer enclosure" in the basement more suited to her new form's needs, but in Chapter III, even though the exterior of the Den's cabin becomes a proper jungle, the room she's in becomes a dark pit completely devoid of light that she can't escape, filled with mold and decay, with her body becoming emaciated now that she's capable of starving, as she's become painfully aware of her own appetites. She becomes like a neglected exotic pet, left to waste away in the corner of a cramped, filthy cage. The tips of her new antlers are covered in blood, as if she's shedding velvet or they erupted suddenly and painfully from her own forehead, suggesting this transformation was a painful one.

It's...unnerving to see her become this. Even if she's more powerful, the only way she has to communicate with us is through her eyes. The only way she can think of to get us to let her out of the cabin is by devouring us. It's not even that she's actually hungry for our flesh, it's just that she wants to leave together, because she knows she can't leave alone. That urge to connect with us is still there, that need to make a bond of trust is still required for her to leave, it's just all warped by how inhuman we've made her.

It's also interesting to see that you can get to The Wild through either the Beast or the Witch. I didn't fully commit to Wild yet, as I'm saving that for a later playthrough where I knock out a lot of Chapter IIIs I didn't get to see during my first two times, but I think it'd make the most sense for me to approach it from the Beast's chapter, both through the themes of consumption/absorption, but also because it'll give me an opportunity to talk to her and gain new insights, given that she's not as talkative while she's trying to hunt you the first time around.

[urbanwoodsgoods]

Rustic Charm: Handcrafted Reclaimed Wood Dining Table

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[cambion-companion]

“Everyone at the table was doing their best to ignore tension that was thick enough to cut with a knife. King Viserys stood weakly in the centre of the two warring families, almost pleading them to put their divisions to an end. You were sat with Aemond at your side with his hand clasped tightly around your own, helping to ground him in that moment. You could see the strain in his shoulders at his discomfort of the situation. Your other hand rested along the bottom of your swollen belly of 9 moons, fingers gently pushing into it to ease your own discomfort. Beginning as the petitions for Driftmark began, waves of cramps had been attacking you in more frequent bursts. You were just deeming it as a physical reaction to your worry for Aemond and the stress of the unpredictable aura which had accompanied Daemon since his arrival. The protectiveness of your husband had been marvelled at around court since your pregnancy was announced, but today you did not want to burden him with worries for you, wanting to be a solace for him in the traumatic memories bound to arise with the presence of his estranged family. Neither you nor Aemond spoke much, even to one another, as the meal progressed and the toasts were made, content in eachothers silent presence. The cramping was growing more frequent as the time passed and the pain in which it brought had you leaning your head back against the chair, eyes screwed shut tight and ignoring the scenes around you. You did not know how long your mind had wandered, at one point you felt Aemond’s hand leave your own, feeling him stand from his change but unable to process what he was doing, before long reclaiming your hand tighter now. You were beginning to think it best you returned to your chambers, a strong wave of pain causing you to grip the edge of the table tightly, nails scratching into the wood. Aemond was away from your side again now, raised voices surrounded you but there was a pounding of blood in your ears and your head was swimming in the pain. Somehow you managed to bring yourself to your feet, the shouting still taking place around you. Softly calling for your husband through gritted teeth, you did not feel him return to your side, vision too blurry to see where he was. A hand was quickly at your back when your legs buckled in pain, Alicent’s smaller hand came softly onto your face before she appeared in your vision, Aemond stood to her side while he worriedly reached out for you. All noise around the room had seemingly ceased and the number of blurry figures within had lessened. You made out a call of “Fetch a maester” as Aemond took his grandsires place steadying you, pulling gently to lean your back against his chest as your nails still dug into the table. “When did the pain begin, my dear” Alicent calmly asked as the rushing in your ears subsided. “It comes in waves, beginning during the petition” Aemond gently swept you up into his arms, walking briskly from the room followed by his mother, “Child certainly knows when to make an entrance.” Aemond whispered teasingly in your ear as he pressed his lips to your temple, though you weren’t entirely sure his implications. Upon entering your shared chambers, you were gently placed in the centre of yours and Aemond’s bed, with both your husband and his mother on either side of you; a flurry of movement swept around your rooms for hours but the pain kept you oblivious to the majority of everything that took place around you bar for the comforting words and presence of your husband and mother in law. It was hours before the haze finally lifted from your mind, as the small blanketed bundle was placed into your arms, Aemond softly reaching to stroke the soft white hair peaking from beneath. “A princess, your Grace”. Aemond’s lips met your forehead as he whispered “Aerea” and you smiled nodding at him, eyes locked on the little bundle you held.”

Sorry I didn’t think I’d word vomit for that long, just had that scenario in my head for days and wanted free of it 😂

Love this!!

[baileys-3]

Secret Dating Era Chapter Chapter 46 now Online on AO3

The Mid-Wilshire-Team goes to a restaurant. And yes it goes how you think it goes. Or not?

Sneak Peak:

Nyla had reserved a table for their group at a restaurant that offers a mix of good Mexican food, exclusive bar service, tasteful decor, and a cozy atmosphere. In the end, they all arrived together as the group had been waiting for Lucy outside a paintball arena, even though she took the longest to get ready – all thanks to his revenge shots. Oh, he's definitely going to be in trouble for that; he can't wait – because nobody was about to leave her behind and head to the restaurant. That's just not how they do things, 'cause, you know, teamwork and all.

The host greets their little Mid-Wilshire family at the entrance and leads them to their table. They walk through the massive space that was cleverly split into many small areas using room dividers, plants, and various decorations. The real showstopper, though, is the large U-shaped bar located roughly in the middle. The walls are filled with various bottles of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. Behind the counter, even though it's still early, the joint's already buzzing with two bartenders working their magic, crafting cocktails, and putting on a bit of a show.

They finally make it to their table, made from reclaimed wooden planks that clearly have seen some action in their past life. It's got its fair share of dents, grooves, and scratches, but that only adds to its unique rustic charm. Four benches surround it, all in the same style and decked with comfy cushions.

Celina trails up behind the waitress so she's the first to reach the table. She runs her hand over the worn wood and can't help but gush, "This is freakin' awesome. Turning something old into something new? The energy here... dang, it's off the charts."