#quadruplet pregnancy

[welove-hpb]

Quadruplets!

Quadruplets in her belly

[hyperpregmacy]

Hallo! My name is Macy and I've been a *pretty* long stalker of all things preggo here... sorry...

But!! I'm gonna try and give back some of my own fake pregnancy belly things and just chat with the whole pregnancy community!

Enjoy! <3

[mpregstuff2434]

[weaverpop]

And Jing thought Mocha was a handful during labor, now he's gotta deal with quadruplets!

😅 yup! Usually hospitals don’t do c-sections m unless there are high risks. So, Jing’s gotta go full labor. It’s even worse pain than Mocha’s, because again, the pain killers don’t work.

But! The good thing about the quads is that they don’t take nearly two days! Jope, instead they are only an hour apart total.

…

Yeah Jing was in horrific pain for a while, even after the dilevery. Only upside is the babies were’nt all 12 lbs like mocha was. They were the normal 6-7 pounds, so no tearing this time.

(Gender reveal coming soon ;) )

[mirassicpark]

Hey, my friend had quadruplets in February and obviously needs some financial help right now. Donate if you can, or share <3

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any resources on writing about pregnancy? thanks!

Writing Notes: Pregnancy

No two pregnancies are the same.

Some women have few or mild symptoms during pregnancy.

Many women work their full term and travel while they are pregnant.

Others may have to cut back on their hours or stop working.

Some women require bed rest for a few days or possibly weeks to continue with a healthy pregnancy.

A pregnancy is divided into 3 stages.

These are called trimesters.

Each trimester has its own major milestones.

The first trimester is the most fragile period.

It's when all major organs and systems are formed.

Most birth defects and miscarriages happen during the first trimester.

In the second and third trimester, the fetus is fully formed and grows and matures rapidly.

The trimesters are divided as follows:

First trimester is 0 to 12 weeks.

Second trimester is 13 to 28 weeks.

Third trimester is 29 to 40 weeks.

Some experts use the 42-weeks method divided by 3 trimesters:

The first trimester is 0 to 12 weeks.

The second trimester is 13 to 27 weeks.

The third trimester is 28 to 42 weeks.

Early Signs & Symptoms of Pregnancy

The earliest sign of pregnancy is a missed period for women who have a regular monthly menstrual cycle.

Sometimes, implantation bleeding can occur. This is a bleed very similar to a light period or spotting. Though this is completely normal, you should check with your health-care provider if you experience any bleeding during your pregnancy.

You may also begin experiencing a handful of the symptoms below early on in your pregnancy such as fatigue, nausea or more frequent urination.

Common Pregnancy Symptoms

Morning sickness (nausea or vomiting)

Breast tenderness

Extreme changes in mood

Backaches, leg pain, and other aches and pains

Fatigue

Weight gain or loss

Headaches

Problems sleeping

Problems with urination

Skin and hair changes

Vaginal bleeding in early pregnancy

Vaginal discharge

Constipation

Heartburn

Nosebleeds and bleeding gums

Swelling, varicose veins, and hemorrhoids

Breathing problems

Lower back and pelvic pain

Foot and ankle swelling

Food cravings or food aversions (some foods taste awful)

Read details of these symptoms here.

Second Trimester. While no two pregnancies are the same, some symptoms you may experience during your second trimester include:

Carpal tunnel syndrome — numbness, tingling or weakness in your hand

A line on your skin running from your belly button to your pubic hairline

Patches of darker skin on your face

Lower back and pelvic pain

Darkening areola

Stretch marks along your breasts, abdomen, buttocks and thighs

Third Trimester. While no two pregnancies are the same, some symptoms you may experience during your third trimester include:

Acid reflux (heartburn)

Haemorrhoids

Shortness of breath

Breast tenderness

Protruding belly button

Difficulty sleeping

Swelling in your fingers, face and ankles

Braxton Hicks (false contractions). During your third trimester, you will also experience contractions, which can be a sign of real or false labour. “False labour” pains are called Braxton Hicks and are your body’s way of preparing you for actual labour. They may feel similar to menstrual cramps or a tightening in the abdomen.

There is no medical treatment for Braxton Hicks, but there are some things you can due to ease discomfort, including:

Drinking water

Changing your position (if you are lying down, try going for a walk, and vice versa)

Relaxing by taking a nap, reading a book or listening to calming music

If these do not lessen the pain and if you notice your contractions becoming more frequent or intense, contact your health-care provider.

Multiple Pregnancy

A multiple pregnancy is a pregnancy with 2 or more babies. Some names for these are:

Twins for 2 babies

Triplets for 3 babies

Quadruplets for 4 babies

Quintuplets for 5 babies

Sextuplets for 6 babies

Septuplets for 7 babies

Multiples make up only about 3 in 100 births, but the multiple birth rate is rising. According to the National Center for Health Statistics, the twin birth rate has risen 70% since 1980. It is now 32.6 per 1,000 live births. The birth rate for triplets and other higher-order multiples rose dramatically. But it has slowed since 1998.

Symptoms of Multiple Pregnancy. Women who are pregnant with multiples may have more severe morning sickness or breast tenderness than women who are pregnant with a single fetus. They also may gain weight more quickly. Most multiple pregnancies are discovered during an ultrasound exam.

Common Complication. The most common complication of multiple pregnancy is preterm birth. More than one half of all twins are born preterm. Triplets and more are almost always born preterm.

Preterm: Less than 37 weeks of pregnancy.

Each woman may have slightly different symptoms. But the most common symptoms of multiple pregnancy are:

Uterus is larger than expected for the dates in pregnancy

More morning sickness

Greater appetite

Too much weight gain, especially in early pregnancy

Babies' movements felt in different parts of the stomach at the same time

Going into Labour

Most women give birth between 38 and 41 weeks of pregnancy, but there is no way to know the exact moment you will go into labour.

When labour begins, the cervix dilates and the muscles of the uterus begin to contract at regular intervals and will get closer together over time.

Contractions will feel similar to menstrual cramps, but more intense.

As your uterus contracts, you may feel pain in your back or pelvis and your abdomen will become hard.

When your uterus relaxes, your abdomen will become soft again.

In addition to contractions, some other signs that labour is beginning include:

Lightening (the sensation that the fetus has dropped lower)

Loss of the mucus plug (you will notice an increase in clear or pink discharge)

Water breaking (rupture of membranes)

It is important to note that you might not notice some of these changes before labour begins. If you think you are in labour, contact your health-care provider.

Possible Pregnancy Complications

Common complications include:

Diabetes during pregnancy (gestational diabetes)

High blood pressure during pregnancy (preeclampsia)

Premature or preterm changes in the cervix

Problems with the placenta. It may cover the cervix, pull away from the womb, or not work as well as it should

Vaginal bleeding

Early labor

Your baby is not growing well

Your baby has medical problems

It can be scary to think about possible problems. But it is important to be aware so you can tell your provider if you notice unusual symptoms.

Foods to Avoid During Pregnancy

Unpasteurized milk and foods made with unpasteurized milk (soft cheeses, including feta, queso blanco and fresco, Camembert, brie or blue-veined cheeses—unless labeled “made with pasteurized milk")

Hot dogs and luncheon meats (unless they are heated until steaming hot before serving)

Raw and undercooked seafood, eggs and meat. Do not eat sushi made with raw fish (cooked sushi is safe).

Refrigerated pâté and meat spreads

Refrigerated smoked seafood

Guidelines for Safe Food Handling

Follow these general food safety guidelines when handling and cooking food:

Wash. Rinse all raw produce thoroughly under running tap water before eating, cutting or cooking.

Clean. Wash your hands, knives, countertops and cutting boards after handling and preparing uncooked foods.

Cook. Cook beef, pork or poultry to a safe internal temperature verified by a food thermometer.

Chill. Promptly refrigerate all perishable food.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 Pregnancy Slideshow ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more information I wasn't able to include here in the links above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[haven-is-happy]

14 KIDS????? JOFFREY A KING????

This fic was fucking GOLD (pun intended)

One of a kind, with a one of a kind ending that knocked the fucking wind out of me

The Golden Court (to build an empire)

- Summary: You were taken from the royal court by your father when you were a child. Now you return as a woman grown from exile. A woman that ignites fires in her wake.

- Pairing: Jason Lannister/targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: This is the last chapter. Thank you for sticking with me and this totally self-indulgent story. 😉

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: where we stand

- Tag(s): @scarletdfox @princesstiti14 @idenyimimdenial

The sky over Oldtown burned.

Fire rolled through the heavens, casting a hellish glow upon the ancient spires and the maze of winding streets below. What had once been a city of faith, of prayer, of devotion to the Seven, now lay beneath the shadow of dragons, beneath the wrath of fire and blood.

From the clouds, the view was magnificent—if one had the heart to revel in destruction. The rooftops of Oldtown, white stone and weathered slate, stretched beneath you in perfect vulnerability, waiting to be claimed, to be swallowed whole by the inferno that had come for them.

And you had come.

At your back, Haelle beat her massive wings, each downward thrust sending ripples of turbulence through the sky, the wound from the scorpion bolt now a scar, a memory, a lesson she had learned in blood and fury.

Ahead, Caraxes soared, his sinuous, serpentine form weaving through the thick plumes of smoke, his red scales flashing in the chaotic glow of the city burning beneath them.

Daemon was beside you, his laughter rolling through the night, loud and triumphant, a sound that matched the destruction unfolding below.

"Look at them scatter!" he called, his voice carrying through the crackling heat, through the howling winds. "Like ants fleeing before the boot."

You smirked, gripping the saddle straps tighter, the wind whipping at your hair, at your cloak, at the armor beneath it. "Ants have more sense than these fools," you replied, your voice a breathless thing, laced with exhilaration, with purpose. "They chose this fate when they marched against us."

Daemon turned his head just slightly, his grin wild, his dark violet eyes gleaming with the firelight reflecting off the carnage below. "Then let us give them what they are owed."

He turned, leaning forward against Caraxes’ saddle, his hand tightening against the reins. "Dracarys!"

The command was barely given before Caraxes twisted midair, his maw opening wide—

And the Starry Sept erupted in flame.

The fire rained down in yellow and orange, consuming the great structure in moments, searing its white walls to blackened ruin. The great stained-glass windows shattered, raining down molten shards upon the priests and warriors who had tried to take shelter within.

Screams echoed.

You could hear them from above, rising through the heat, through the smoke, through the despair that had settled over the city like a death shroud.

And yet—

You felt nothing.

No remorse. No hesitation.

Only the certainty that this had to be done.

Haelle shrieked beneath you, her massive, golden eyes locked onto the panicked soldiers attempting to flee from the burning sept, from the dying city, from their crumbling faith.

You exhaled, raising a hand. "Dracarys."

The Nightmare Queen obeyed.

Her fire was different from Caraxes’. It was darker, heavier, black tinged with streaks of gold, thick as oil and just as consuming. Where Caraxes burned in quick, consuming waves, Haelle’s flames lingered, clinging to stone and flesh alike, refusing to be snuffed out.

The fire spread rapidly, licking up the walls of the grand sept, engulfing the once-pristine halls where the High Septon had sat in judgment over kings and lords.

There was no judgment here now.

Only fire.

The streets below had become a scene of chaos.

Men, women, and children ran in every direction, their cries drowned out by the roar of the inferno, by the deep, guttural growls of dragons circling the city, claiming it for their own.

"They will curse our names for centuries," Daemon said, his voice half-lost to the wind, but filled with something dark, something victorious. "The day fire came to Oldtown."

You did not look at him, your gaze still locked on the burning ruins below, on the death throes of a city that had called upon war and found war waiting for them.

"Let them curse us," you murmured. "It will not unburn their gods."

Daemon laughed, throwing his head back, his delight in destruction unmatched. "No, it will not."

Another pass.

Another wave of fire.

Another piece of Oldtown lost to the flames.

And above it all, you and Daemon soared, dragons of ruin, gods of the sky, delivering justice in fire and blood.

The ruins of Oldtown smoldered beneath the ashen sky, the once-grand city now reduced to blackened husks of stone, the air thick with the stench of charred flesh, burnt wood, and the acrid remnants of dragonfire. Smoke still coiled from the ruins, winding its way into the heavens as if carrying the whispers of the dead, a final offering to whatever gods remained in this forsaken place.

Jason rode at the head of the Lannister host, his warhorse stepping cautiously over the debris, hooves sending up small plumes of ash with every slow, deliberate movement. The weight of silence pressed down upon them all—no cries of the dying, no wails of survivors, only the distant, guttural snarls of dragons stalking through the remains.

Beside him, Tyland was eerily quiet, his gaze shifting methodically over what was left of the city, taking in the destruction, the utter annihilation left in the wake of fire and blood. There was no rebuilding this. Oldtown had been cleansed, burned to its bones, its legacy reduced to embers floating on the wind.

And standing in the center of the devastation, amidst the wreckage of what had once been the beating heart of the Faith, were Daemon and you.

Jason saw you first.

You stood tall, your blackened armor still smeared with soot, your silver hair streaked with ash, your face unreadable as you gazed over the ruins. Haelle prowled nearby, her golden-marked tail sweeping lazily through the rubble, her nostrils flaring with the lingering scent of scorched flesh.

Daemon stood beside you, his black cloak shifting in the wind, his eyes shining with cruel satisfaction as he turned at the sound of approaching horses. Caraxes lay coiled further down the avenue, his long, sinuous body draped over the ruins of the Starry Sept, his red scales gleaming dully beneath the haze of smoke.

Jason reined his horse to a stop, his green eyes sweeping over the destruction, the madness, the sheer scope of what had been done.

"By the gods," he muttered, his tone more awe than horror. "You really did it."

You did not move at first.

Your fingers flexed slightly at your sides, your gaze locked on the ashen bones of a once-mighty city, your expression unreadable.

Daemon, however, smirked, stepping forward with all the ease of a man who had just overseen the fall of one of the greatest cities in Westeros and had not a single regret.

"They never saw it coming," he said simply, his tone light, amused even, as if discussing nothing more than a well-played game of cyvasse. "The sept was the first to fall. The rest… well, you can see the rest."

Jason exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping over the still-burning wreckage, before settling on you once more.

"And the Hightowers?" His voice was measured, careful, despite the glint of curiosity beneath it. "Where are they?"

You finally turned to him then, your eyes meeting his, something unreadable flickering behind them.

"Gone," you said simply.

Jason’s brow lifted. "Gone?"

Daemon huffed a low, knowing laugh, turning his attention back toward the ruins, the skeletal remains of the Hightower that had once loomed over Oldtown’s skyline, now nothing more than a collapsed wreck.

"Some burned," Daemon said, his voice casual, detached. "Some fled before the flames reached them."

Tyland, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "And Prince Daeron?" His voice was even, measured, but laced with something darker beneath the calm. "Was he here?"

You hesitated. Only for a moment.

Daemon, however, did not.

"If he was, he’s nothing more than cinders now," Daemon said smoothly, his lips curving into something that was not quite a smile, but not far from it either. "His dragon, however, was not seen. Which means one of two things—either the boy never returned, or he fled like a rat when he saw the flames coming."

Jason tilted his head, studying Daemon’s face, his expression unreadable. "So, we don’t know if he’s dead or alive."

Daemon’s smirk widened slightly. "Does it matter?"

Jason let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he dismounted from his horse, his boots kicking up small clouds of ash as he stepped forward. "It does if he comes back with a dragon to make us answer for this."

Daemon only chuckled. "Then we burn him too."

Tyland remained on his horse, his fingers tight around the reins, his eyes flickering toward you once more. "And you?" His voice was quieter, more searching. "Do you think this war is over?"

You looked at him, then at Jason, then back at the ruins of Oldtown, at the smoke curling against the sky, at the devastation wrought by fire and vengeance.

Finally, you spoke.

"No," you murmured, voice quiet but certain. "Not yet."

The Red Keep was silent as Daemon Targaryen stalked through its halls, his black cloak billowing behind him, his boots striking the polished stone floors with deliberate purpose. The weight of his presence was palpable, the air charged with tension, as if the very walls of the castle could sense the tempest he carried with him.

The news of Oldtown’s fall had reached King’s Landing swiftly—the whispers had spread like wildfire, slipping through the streets, through the halls of the court, until the very air of the Keep was thick with fear, with speculation, with the uneasy knowledge that war had crossed into something far more dangerous.

Daemon knew exactly what he was walking into.

And he welcomed it.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open before him, the great chamber bathed in the muted glow of torches and stained-glass light. At the far end, seated upon the Iron Throne, was Viserys.

His brother looked weary, the sickness that had begun to eat away at him more visible now than ever. His cheeks were gaunt, his hair thinner, his robes slightly too heavy for his frame. But his eyes—

His eyes were clear as they locked onto Daemon.

Beside him, standing in rigid, barely restrained fury, was Otto Hightower.

The Hand’s green-and-gold robes rustled as he stepped forward, his face twisted with barely concealed rage, his voice ringing out the moment Daemon’s boots crossed the threshold.

"Seize him!" Otto bellowed, his voice thunderous, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Seize him for the slaughter he has wrought!"*

The Kingsguard hesitated, their hands on the hilts of their swords, eyes flickering toward the throne, waiting for the command to be given.

But it did not come.

Because Viserys did not speak it.

Instead, the King lifted a tired hand, his expression cold, unreadable.

"No," he said simply.

Otto’s breath hitched, his face flushing with disbelief, with fury, with something perilously close to desperation. "Your Grace—"

"You do not command in this hall, Otto," Viserys interrupted, his voice low but edged with steel. "I am the King. And I have summoned my brother here to answer for his actions—not to be seized like some common criminal."

Daemon smirked, his eyes brilliant with dark amusement as he strode further into the chamber, the weight of the stares upon him only feeding his arrogance.

"Well, well," he drawled, his tone infuriatingly casual. "I had feared my welcome would be... less warm."

Otto turned on him, his face twisted with fury. "You burned Oldtown to the ground!"

Daemon tilted his head. "I did."

"You slaughtered the Faith! You set fire to the Citadel! You have wiped out centuries of knowledge, of history, of—" Otto’s voice choked off, his rage rendering him momentarily breathless.

Daemon only smiled. "And?"

"And?" Otto spat, his fury boiling over. "You have committed an atrocity! You have reduced one of the great seats of Westeros to ash! My family is dead because of you!"

Daemon’s smirk widened, his teeth glinting like a wolf baring its fangs. "Good."

Otto lunged forward, his rage unchecked, but the Kingsguard stepped between them, halting him before he could do something foolish.

Viserys finally rose from his throne, his fingers gripping the armrest, his voice carrying over the chamber. "Enough."

The unease stilled, the air heavy, the rage simmering beneath the surface of the throne room like a coiled serpent.

Daemon merely arched a brow, waiting.

Viserys exhaled slowly, his eyes hardening as he looked at his younger brother. "Tell me why."

Daemon tilted his head slightly, his smirk never quite fading, but his voice carrying an edge that had not been there before.

"They marched against us first," he said, his tone smooth, unwavering. "They came for my daughter. They came for my grandchildren. The Faith raised arms against the Crown, against House Lannister, against Targaryens with dragons. What did you think would happen, brother? That we would kneel? That we would beg for mercy?"

Viserys’ jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Daemon stepped closer, his boots echoing in the silence. "I have burned our enemies before, Viserys. I have made them kneel in blood and fire. You have never had the stomach for it—but do not ask me to pretend that this is anything different. This war started the moment they thought themselves above us. I simply finished what they began."

Otto’s breath came shallow, fast, his entire body vibrating with fury. "You finished nothing," he hissed. "You have ensured that war will consume us whole."

Daemon rolled his eyes. "Oh, spare me your dramatics, Otto. If anything, I have done you a favor—no more scheming, no more whispers from the maesters, no more messages being carried from the Starry Sept to undermine the Crown." He grinned. "No more Hightowers to plot from their tall, ugly tower."

Otto took a step forward, voice low, shaking with fury. "You will answer for this."

Daemon held his gaze.

And then—

He laughed.

A sharp, rich sound, one that echoed through the chamber, dripping with mockery, with amusement, with utter contempt.

"I just did," he said simply.

Viserys exhaled sharply, his hand coming to rub at his temple, his exhaustion plain, his frustration evident. "What of Daeron?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "Was he there?"

Daemon shrugged. "Perhaps. If he was, he’s gone now."

Viserys’ expression darkened. "Did you kill him?"

Daemon’s grin was slow, deliberate. "You tell me, brother. Have you received a raven with his head in a box yet?"

Viserys closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a breath that spoke of deep exhaustion, of the burdens pressing against him like an iron yoke.

"You have started a fire that cannot be put out," he murmured. "You understand this, do you not?"

Daemon stepped forward, his smirk fading, his expression turning sharp, dangerous. "I understand that if you do not choose a side, you will be buried between them, brother."

Viserys met his gaze, his expression unreadable.

And in that moment, the fate of the realm teetered on a knife’s edge.

The private chambers of King Viserys I Targaryen were thick with the scent of burning candles and aged parchment, the heavy drapes drawn tight to keep the whispers of the court from slithering through the cracks in the walls.

Alicent Hightower stood in the center of the chamber, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, her face flushed with the force of her barely restrained fury. Her green silks clung to her form, the fabric wrinkled from the way her fists had clenched at her sides as she had stormed into the room, her anger barely contained within the fragile bones of her body.

Viserys sat in his chair, his weary gaze fixed on the fire, his fingers drumming idly against the armrest. He looked tired, worn thin by the weight of a kingdom tearing itself apart beneath him. But he did not look surprised.

Alicent’s voice shook the room when she finally spoke. "You let him leave."*

Viserys sighed, tilting his head slightly but not yet meeting her gaze. "What would you have had me do, Alicent?" His voice was low, tired, but edged with something firmer beneath the exhaustion. "Chain him in the dungeons? Have him executed?"

Alicent’s hands trembled, her nails biting into her palms, her fury bubbling over like a cauldron left too long over flame. "Yes!" she snapped, her voice rising, raw with grief and rage. "I would have you do something! You sit there, pretending to be a king, while my House—my family—" her voice caught, her throat tightening before she forced the words out, "—burns to ash."

Viserys finally turned to look at her then, his violet eyes shadowed with something unreadable. "Your family raised an army against the Crown." His voice was quieter now, but no less weighted, no less biting. "Did you truly think there would be no consequences?"

Alicent let out a disbelieving laugh, one laced with venom. "Consequences?" She took a step closer, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. "He did not just defeat them, Viserys. He did not just put down their rebellion. He destroyed them. He reduced Oldtown to rubble, he slaughtered my kin like cattle, he sent dragons to devour every man, woman, and child who bore the name Hightower!"

Viserys held her gaze, his expression unreadable, but his silence was an answer in itself.

Alicent’s breath came short, ragged, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirts as she shook her head, as if the very weight of this betrayal was suffocating her. "And my son?" Her voice was quieter now, more dangerous. "Did Daemon kill him, too? Did he send his daughter and her bastard Lannister husbands to do it for him?"

Viserys exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to his temple. "We do not know Daeron’s fate."

"Because no one has seen him since Oldtown burned!" Alicent shouted, her fury laced with something rawer now, something on the verge of breaking. "Do you not care, Viserys? Do you not care that our son may be dead?"

Viserys' expression twisted, his lips pressing into a thin line, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. "Of course I care," he said, his voice low, edged with the rare sharpness of a man who had spent his life avoiding war, only to find it spilling over his feet regardless. "But what would you have me do, Alicent? Would you have me call for war against my own blood? Would you have me send men to die for a battle that has already been lost?"

Alicent let out a breath, stepping closer, her green eyes dark with something dangerous. "They must answer for this," she hissed. "Daemon, his daughter, and her Lannister husbands. They cannot be allowed to walk free after what they have done!"

Viserys shook his head, leaning back in his chair, his fingers curling around the edge of the armrest as if bracing for what was to come. "Daemon does not answer to chains, Alicent." His gaze flickered, his expression hardening. "And neither does my niece."

Alicent stilled, her chest rising and falling sharply, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Viserys continued, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Would you have me call the banners against the Westlands? Would you have me send an army to Casterly Rock to seize Y/N and her Lannister husbands like criminals?"

Alicent’s jaw tightened, but she did not speak.

Viserys' gaze bore into hers, searching, waiting. "Tell me, Alicent. Do you think House Lannister will let her be taken? Do you think Jason Lannister, who now has dragons of his own at his side, will let you have her?"

Alicent’s fingers curled tighter, her nails biting into her skin as rage warred with something colder—reality.

Viserys leaned forward slightly, his expression grim. "You would be calling for a war you cannot win."*

Alicent’s breath hitched, her anger trembling beneath the weight of her grief, her loss, her helplessness.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly powerless.

Her uncle was dead.

Her House was scattered, ruined, burned from history with dragonfire.

Her son was missing, perhaps dead.

And the man she had sworn to stand beside—her husband, her King—

Would do nothing.

The silence dragged between them, thick, suffocating, until at last—

Alicent let out a shuddering breath, her hands trembling at her sides, her fury momentarily stilled but never gone.

She turned toward the door, her movements stiff, her head held high.

But before she left, she spoke.

Her voice was quiet.

But it was cold.

"You are not the King I thought you were, Viserys."

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the dim firelight, the weight of his choices pressing heavier than ever before.

The moon hung heavy over Dragonstone, its silver light casting shadows through the high-arched windows of the great keep. The sea beyond was restless, waves crashing against the black stone cliffs, their rhythm a steady, unrelenting song that had sung for thousands of years.

Inside the chamber, the air was thick with candle smoke and the scent of parchment, of ink and salt, of something heavier that had settled between them like an unspoken weight.

Rhaenyra sat near the open hearth, her gaze fixed on the parchment in her hands, though she had read the words a dozen times already. The message from King’s Landing was brief, cold, and heavy with the weight of war.

Oldtown was gone.

The Faith had fallen.

Daemon and her cousin had burned it to the ground.

Across from her, Laenor sat, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He had been quiet since she had shown him the letter, his usual ease absent, replaced by something more thoughtful, something heavier.

"Say something," Rhaenyra finally murmured, her voice softer than she intended, laced with something almost hesitant. "You have been silent since you read it."

Laenor let out a slow breath, tilting his head back slightly, his gaze flickering toward the dimly lit ceiling before settling back on her. "What would you have me say, Rhaenyra? That I am surprised?"

She exhaled, setting the parchment aside, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her chair. "No. I suppose not."

Laenor shook his head, shifting slightly, his expression unreadable. "Your cousin has always been…bold." There was no mockery in his voice, only a quiet understanding. "And Daemon? Well, we both know he has never needed an excuse to burn his enemies to ash."

Rhaenyra let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "No, he has not."

A silence stretched between them, the crackling of the fire the only sound that remained.

Laenor watched her for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows against his knees. "What troubles you more?" he asked. "That they did this—or that they succeeded?"

Rhaenyra hesitated.

Because she knew the answer.

She had always admired her cousin. Even as children, they had been drawn to each other—not just by blood, but by something stronger, something unspoken. They had both been heirs to great things, both bound by duty and expectation, both raised knowing that the world would never be kind to them.

And now?

Now, her cousin had taken what was theirs, what was meant for them, and had burned it all to the ground.

And she had won.

The world had watched as Oldtown crumbled beneath dragonfire, as the High Septon and the great halls of the Faith turned to ash.

And no one had stopped her.

Even the King, their King—her father—had done nothing.

"The war is changing, Laenor," she said finally, her voice quiet but sure. "This is no longer just a rebellion. This is something else."

Laenor studied her, his expression unreadable. "You are afraid."

Rhaenyra lifted her chin, but did not deny it. "I am wary."

Laenor exhaled through his nose, leaning back against his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden armrest. "And you should be," he murmured. "Because you are not the only one who sees it. Westeros is watching, and not just from the Crownlands or the Reach."

Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Laenor hesitated for a moment, his lips parting, then pressing back into a thin line before he finally spoke. "There is a rumor," he said carefully, "that Jason Lannister is making his own court in the Westerlands."

Rhaenyra stilled. "His own court?"

Laenor nodded. "Lannisport is swelling with nobles from all across the West. Some say that he means to break the Westerlands from the rest of the realm, that he seeks to rule from Casterly Rock as something more than just Warden of the West."

Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened against the arm of her chair, her mind turning over the implications, the weight of what this could mean.

The Lannisters were powerful—wealthier than any house in Westeros, with an army to rival even the Crown’s. And now, with dragons of their own at their side? With her cousin bound to Jason and Tyland, with Haelle and the other dragons that had been born from her clutch?

The balance of power was shifting.

And Jason Lannister knew it.

Laenor watched her carefully, his fingers steepling together. "If he declares himself separate from the Iron Throne," he murmured, "how do you think the realm will respond?"

Rhaenyra exhaled slowly. "That depends on who stands with him."

Laenor tilted his head slightly. "And if it is your cousin?"

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable, but her mind already racing ahead, already calculating what this meant, what came next.

"Then the realm will burn."

The Year of Fire and Gold (129 AC – 130 AC)

(As recorded in the accounts of Maester Aelric, the letters of Lord Tybolt Marbrand, and the writings of the fool Mushroom, as compiled by Archmaester Vaegon in his later years.)

The Burning of Oldtown and Its Consequences

In the aftermath of the fall of Oldtown, the realm found itself at a crossroads, divided not only by the scars of war but by the ever-growing rift between King Viserys I Targaryen and the noble houses that once called themselves his vassals. It is said that when the first reports of the city’s destruction reached King’s Landing, there was horror and silence in equal measure. The great seat of House Hightower, the Starry Sept—the center of the Faith of the Seven—and the famed Citadel, home to the Maesters of Westeros, had all been reduced to smoldering ruin.

According to Mushroom, who ever thrived on the gossip of the court, it was not Daemon Targaryen alone who took pleasure in the destruction. The Rogue Prince and his daughter, the Princess of the West, had left Oldtown a corpse of a city, its once-great white towers blackened by dragonfire, its streets lined with charred bones and melted steel. When Queen Alicent Hightower heard of her family’s ruin, Mushroom claims she collapsed upon the floor of her chambers, clawing at her throat as if the very air refused to be drawn into her lungs.

Yet, the King did nothing.

King Viserys, ever reluctant to move against his own kin, refused to raise arms against Daemon or his niece. He did not call for war against the West, nor did he punish House Lannister for standing with the princess. Instead, he attempted to mend the wounds with empty words, urging peace where peace had already been consumed by fire.

Otto Hightower, the King’s Hand, was not so forgiving. The Hand, now old and weary, was said to have railed against his king, demanding that Daemon and his daughter be seized and brought to the capital in chains. But Viserys would hear none of it. Some accounts claim that Otto threatened to step down from his position, but the King merely let him, and in his place named Lord Lyonel Strong as Hand once more.

Not all in King’s Landing remained idle, however. Prince Aemond Targaryen, Alicent’s second son, was said to have sworn vengeance for what had been done to his mother’s house. He was seen more frequently in the company of the City Watch, training relentlessly with sword and lance, while his great dragon Vhagar remained a looming shadow above the capital.

But it was not Aemond who would shape the coming year. It was Jason Lannister.

The Formation of the Golden Court

With the destruction of Oldtown, the balance of power in the realm shifted westward. It was not long after that Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, declared what would later be known as the Golden Court.

It is said that atop the ruined battlements of Oldtown, Jason first spoke of the need for the Westerlands to rule itself, to answer to no crown but their own. Though he did not openly declare independence from the Iron Throne, he refused to kneel, stating that House Lannister had paid for its loyalty in blood and that he would no longer be commanded by a king who could not even stop Faith before it was too late.

With his wife, the Princess of the West, at his side, Jason returned to Casterly Rock, and there, under the great banners of his house, he began to forge his own court.

The Golden Court, as it would come to be known, became a gathering place for the powerful lords of the Westerlands—Marbrand, Lefford, Brax, Crakehall, and Reyne all swore their loyalty, declaring that they would rule their own lands as they saw fit, answering to the King in name only. Even Lord Farman of Fair Isle, long a loyal vassal of the Crown, turned his banners to Jason’s cause, offering his fleet to guard the western coast.

And, most notably, dragons now resided within the Rock.

Haelle, the Nightmare Queen, and the hatchlings born of her clutch, now rested within the bowels of the Rock itself, deep in caverns where no scorpion or spear could reach them. It was the first time in history that dragons had made their home in Lannister lands, and with them, Jason Lannister had something no other lord of Westeros could claim—a deterrent even against the Iron Throne itself.

A Realm Fractured

The reactions to the rise of the Golden Court were swift and divided.

In King’s Landing, Queen Alicent raged, demanding that Jason, Tyland and their Targaryen wife be named traitors, that their dragons be put to the sword, their court torn apart. But King Viserys, ever slow to act, remained indecisive. He did not wish to lose the wealth of the Westerlands, nor did he wish to march against his niece, a move that could very well ignite the war he had long sought to prevent.

Meanwhile, in the Vale, Lady Jeyne Arryn watched cautiously, wary of the power growing in the west. The Arryns had long been staunch supporters of Rhaenyra, yet even they could not ignore the strength of House Lannister’s defiance.

At Dragonstone, Rhaenyra received word of the Golden Court with both caution and curiosity. Though she still considered her cousin an ally, it was clear that Jason Lannister’s ambitions stretched further than mere loyalty to her cause. Some of her advisors urged her to seek an alliance with him before he turned his back on the Iron Throne entirely.

And in Dorne, where the Martells had long watched the realm tear itself apart from afar, murmurs spread that perhaps the time had come to seize their own independence further, following the Westerlands in defying the Throne and giving them support.

A year had passed since the fires of Oldtown, and in that time, Westeros had begun to shift.

The war had not yet begun in earnest.

But it would.

It was only a matter of when.

The Years of Gold and Fire (130 AC – 140 AC)

(As recorded in the writings of Archmaester Halys, the letters of Ser Adrian Lannister, and the bawdy recollections of the fool Mushroom, as compiled by Maester Tomas in his later years.)

The Death of a King and the War That Followed

King Viserys I Targaryen died in the year 130 AC, and with him, the last fragile hope of peace that had held the realm together for more than two decades. His death was kept secret by the Queen Dowager, Alicent Hightower, and her allies in the Red Keep for a day and a night, long enough for them to secure their positions before announcing what should have been a seamless succession.

Instead, war erupted.

Though Rhaenyra had long been named heir, the Green faction moved swiftly, crowning Aegon II as King before the Princess could make her claim from Dragonstone. Alicent, ever the dutiful mother, had seen in her son not only a king but also a weapon to wield against those who had wronged her. With Viserys gone, the long-awaited reckoning for Oldtown's destruction had finally come—or so she thought.

It is said that upon learning of his coronation, Aegon II was unmoved by talk of the Faith or the ruins of his mother’s House. Unlike Alicent, who had long seethed over the loss of her uncle, her kin, and her seat of power, Aegon saw greater threats before him—Rhaenyra and her Black Council, Daemon and his growing strength in the Westerlands.

Yet Alicent persisted, demanding justice, demanding that her husband’s bastard niece—as she had taken to calling her in the privacy of her chambers—and her Lannister husbands be punished for their crimes. Aegon was said to have waved a hand and muttered, "If you want her dead, mother, go kill her yourself."

The Dowager Queen did not lead an army herself, but the war she had long desired finally came to pass.

The Westerlands and the Dance of Dragons

The Lannisters did not move at the onset of the war. Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West in all but name, had declared the Golden Court separate from the rule of the Iron Throne, answering to neither Aegon nor Rhaenyra. Some thought he would bend the knee to Aegon when the time came, yet the Lord of the Rock remained unmoved, his loyalty, as ever, tied only to gold, family, and power.

It was his wife, the Targaryen Princess, who shaped the course of the Westerlands in the years to come.

By 130 AC, she had already borne two children, Seraphina and Daemon, yet over the next ten years, her brood swelled to fourteen.

Mushroom, ever crude in his observations, noted that "For every year of war, the Princess of the West birthed two more lions, and if it had lasted longer, we might all have been Lannisters by the end of it."

Five of her pregnancies were twin births, and it remained unknown which of the golden twins sired which children. Some whispered that Tyland fathered the more cunning ones, while Jason fathered the ones who roared the loudest. The only certainty was that none of them were weak.

Though Westerlands remained independent, the war did not pass without its touch. Daemon Targaryen did not return to Rhaenyra’s side in the Crownlands as many had expected. He remained in the West, at the Golden Court, where he had found a place at his daughter’s side, wielding his sword and influence to maintain their power. It was whispered that he had grown fond of his grandchildren, even if he claimed no patience for them.

But where Daemon remained, Haelle reigned.

Haelle, the Nightmare Queen

The Nightmare Queen earned her name thrice over during the war.

Unlike her fellow dragons, who engaged in aerial duels or scorched castles upon command, Haelle answered to no banner but her own. She circled battlefields like a vulture, descending only when the screams had faded, tearing through the corpses with gleaming black fangs.

At the Battle of Tumbleton, where betrayal and slaughter turned the tide of war, it was said that Haelle came upon the field after the carnage had ended. While dragons had battled dragons, and men had torn each other apart, the Nightmare Queen descended from the sky and feasted upon what remained.

According to Lord Unwin Peake, she devoured the carcass of Seasmoke, leaving only scorched bones and splintered ribs as proof that the dragon had ever existed.

It was not only dead men that burned beneath her. Haelle became infamous for attacking ships, seemingly without command, disrupting military operations for both the Greens and the Blacks. She was said to have burned an entire fleet near the Arbor, forcing them to retreat before they could reinforce Aegon's forces in the Riverlands.

"She has no master," Mushroom wrote. "Not her rider, not the Rock, not the throne. She is a beast of her own making, and she has decided she likes the taste of war."

It is uncertain whether the Princess of the West ever attempted to rein in Haelle’s growing hunger. Some believed that she allowed it, knowing that fear of her dragon alone kept the Westerlands unchallenged. Others claimed that she never had control over Haelle to begin with.

The truth, as always, lay somewhere between.

The Fate of the Hightowers and the Fall of the Faith

After the war, when Aegon II lay dead and Aegon III sat upon the throne, the surviving Hightowers attempted to seek justice for their kin.

It was a quiet effort, made not through war but through the courts of King’s Landing, where the last remnants of their house pleaded for vengeance against the Targaryen woman and the Lannisters who had burned Oldtown to ash.

Nothing came of it.

The war had reshaped Westeros, and no man in power wished to reopen old wounds.

The Faith never recovered.

With the Starry Sept destroyed, and its leaders dead or scattered, the power of the High Septon waned. Though the Faith would remain, it would never again hold the same strength.

The Citadel, once the seat of knowledge in Westeros, became a shadow of its former self. Many of the great maesters had perished in the fire, their archives lost, their influence shattered.

What knowledge they attempted to restore was done under the watchful eye of the new order of lords and kings, who did not forget the lessons of the past.

The End of a Decade

By 140 AC, the realm had changed.

The Iron Throne was ruled by a child king, Joffrey I, whose reign was shaped by mourning and shadows. The Riverlands, the Reach, and the Crownlands struggled to rebuild. The North and the Vale remained distant, ever watchful.

And in the West?

The Golden Court still stood, separate from the throne, untouched by the war that had torn the rest of the realm apart.

Its princess was a mother of fourteen, a ruler with two husbands, and a dragon whose very name sent shudders through those who had seen her fly.

And House Lannister?

House Lannister still stood apart from Westeros, standing upon its mountain of gold, a kingdom in all but name.

The chambers within Casterly Rock were grand, carved into the very heart of the mountain itself, where the walls bore the weight of history, of power, of an empire built not by conquest, but by gold. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and candlewax, of perfumed oils spilled across silken sheets, and of the deep, musky fragrance of passion. The warmth of flickering firelight bathed the great bed in amber glow, casting shadows against the carved stone, where two lions had claimed their prize between them.

Jason Lannister’s hands roamed your body with possessive reverence, fingers pressing into the softness of your hips, dragging you down onto him as his golden mane spilled wildly across the pillows. His lips were hot against your throat, teeth grazing against flushed skin, his breath heavy with the satisfaction of a man who took what was his, and knew it was his. His body was still strong, built for war, but here in the confines of your chambers, he wielded himself not as a lord of battle, but as something more primal—a beast, indulgent and unrestrained, gluttonous in his desire for you.

And yet, above you, another presence loomed—one not so easily consumed by reckless pleasure. Tyland was behind you, his chest pressed flush against your back, his fingers tangled in your hair as his breath ghosted along the shell of your ear. Unlike Jason, whose touches were searing, who demanded devotion with each kiss, each bruising grip, Tyland remained forever calculating, a man who played the long game in both love and war. His lips traced along your shoulder, softer, teasing, as though he reveled in the slow unraveling of your composure.

For all their differences, they were the same in this. You had them both, and they had you.

And yet, even in the throes of pleasure, their natures could not be denied.

Jason gripped your thighs tighter, rolling his hips up into yours with a deep, satisfied groan. "You see, brother," he murmured, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips as his gaze flickered toward Tyland. "She was made for this. For us."

Tyland scoffed, his fingers tightening in your hair, tilting your head just enough to force your gaze toward him. "And yet you indulge yourself like a man who has never known restraint after all these years," he mused, voice rich with amusement, but edged with something sharper. "Perhaps you forget that you are not the only one who shares her bed."

Jason laughed, though his grip on you remained firm, unrelenting. "Oh, is that what this is about?" His green eyes gleamed with mischief as his hand trailed up your spine, slow, teasing. "Feeling neglected, dear brother?"

Tyland's lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. "I do not squander what I have," he retorted smoothly. "Unlike you."

Jason let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head before thrusting up into you once more, pulling a strangled gasp from your lips. "Squander?" he mused, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Is that what you call it? Then tell me, Tyland—why do you hold back? Do you fear you might break her?" He leaned in, his teeth nipping at your throat, dragging a moan from your lips. "She is stronger than you think."

Tyland’s grip on your hair tightened, a quiet warning. "I do not need to break her to claim her," he murmured against your skin, his free hand sliding down to your waist, holding you firm. "Unlike you, I do not have to prove my worth through excess."

Jason smirked, though his movements did not slow. "Ah, so that’s what this is," he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw, pressing a kiss there. "Jealousy."

Tyland let out a sharp breath, his fingers flexing against your skin. "I think not."

Jason chuckled, low and rich, his grip shifting as he leaned up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. "You always were too measured," he mused against your lips, his breath hot. "And yet, here you are, with your hands on her, your cock buried in her, just as mine is." His smirk widened. "So tell me, brother—who is the indulgent one now?"

Tyland's patience was thinning. "At least I am not a boor about it."

You let out a sigh, rolling your head back against Tyland’s shoulder, your fingers tangling in Jason’s golden hair, tugging sharply to force his gaze to yours. "If you two are going to bicker like children," you murmured, your voice laced with both amusement and frustration, "I will get up and take a bath alone."

Jason's smirk faltered, his grip on you tightening. "That would be a shame," he mused, his eyes darkening.

Tyland let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Unacceptable."

You hummed, amusement curling at your lips. "Then move and use me properly, and stop wasting my time."

A sharp grin split Jason’s lips, his eyes gleaming. "Now that, my love, is an order I am happy to obey."

And just like that, their argument was forgotten.

The heat between your bodies was unbearable, the slickness of sweat and passion mingling between where your skin met theirs. The tension of their argument had only added to the fevered urgency in the way they moved now—Jason’s hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements with firm, practiced control, while Tyland’s lips traced the back of your neck, his breath hot, his fingers splayed across your stomach, holding you in place between them. You were caught between fire and steel, between indulgence and precision, between the two men who had claimed you, who had made you theirs in every way that mattered.

Jason drove into you with relentless hunger, his pace unyielding, his hair damp with sweat, his jaw clenched with the effort to hold himself back until he could feel you unravel around him. Tyland, ever measured, matched him stroke for stroke, his grip tightening against you, his movements coaxing, teasing, pulling you further into that unbearable edge where pleasure and agony met in a violent collision.

You felt it building, the tension tightening in your core, spreading like wildfire through your veins, leaving you gasping, trembling, clinging to Jason’s shoulders as your nails raked across his skin, leaving faint red marks against the tanned flesh. Your body arched, muscles coiling, and then—

"Yes," Jason groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction as he felt the first tremors of your release begin to seize you. "That’s it, my love—come apart for us."

Tyland let out a quiet hum of approval, his fingers sliding lower, stroking the most sensitive part of you, pushing you over. "Let go," he murmured against your ear, his voice low, reverent, commanding. "Now."

The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath, leaving you shuddering and moaning, your body clenching around them both as the waves of ecstasy surged through you, consuming you whole. Jason groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as your release pulled him into his own, his pace faltering, breaking apart as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural moan of your name.

"Gods, woman," he breathed, his forehead resting against yours, his body still trembling from the force of it. "You’ll be the death of me."

Tyland followed soon after, his own release more controlled, but no less intense. His breath shuddered against your skin, his grip tightening as he buried himself one final time, releasing deep within you, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. "Perfect," he murmured, almost to himself, his fingers skimming down your body as if memorizing the way you felt beneath him in this moment.

The three of you remained tangled together, breathless, spent, your bodies slick with sweat, the scent of sex thick in the air. Jason, ever indulgent, nipped at your collarbone lazily, his hands still splayed possessively across your hips, as if unwilling to part from you just yet. Tyland, ever calculating, brushed his fingers over your stomach, smearing the mixture of their release against your skin with slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"A sight to behold," he mused, his voice rich with amusement. "A woman truly claimed."

Jason let out a satisfied hum, smirking as he ran a hand through his damp hair. "And yet," he murmured, his lips curling into something wicked, "we still have a bath to attend to, lest the water grows cold."

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "Then perhaps we should move," you teased, though your body still felt heavy with exhaustion, your limbs unwilling to part from their warmth.

Jason grinned, his hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the bed. "Oh no, my love," he purred, carrying you toward the bath. "Let us see if we can tempt you again before the water cools."

And you had no doubt that they would.

The warm water had long since cooled, and the three of you had finally emerged from the bath, skin flushed and softened from the heat. The dampness of steam still clung to the air, perfumed with the oils Jason had insisted upon, the lingering scent of jasmine wrapping around your senses like a second skin. Your hair hung loose, still drying in the open air as you stood upon the balcony, wrapped in a silken robe, gazing out over the gardens of Casterly Rock.

Jason and Tyland flanked you, each holding a goblet of wine, their hair gleaming under the soft afternoon sun. They had been in rare agreement today—both indulgent, both languid, content to simply stand at your side, watching the world below.

And there, in the lush gardens of the Rock, was Daemon.

The Rogue Prince, your father, the man who had once burned Oldtown to the ground at your side, now sat beneath the shade of a sprawling oak, surrounded by a flurry of golden-haired children. The younger ones climbed over him as if he were a great dragon of flesh and bone rather than fire and scale, tugging at his sleeves, chattering excitedly as he bore their weight with the practiced indifference of a man who had known far worse.

Your eldest son, Daemon—named for his grandsire, though he carried more of Jason in his features than the name would suggest—stood beside the tree, watching the younger ones with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. Seraphina, your firstborn daughter, had draped herself along one of the higher branches, her curls spilling over her shoulder as she peered down at the chaos below with an amused glint in her eyes.

One of the youngest twins, barely more than a babe, had all but climbed onto Daemon’s shoulders, yanking at the strands of silver hair that had begun to show streaks of white with age. He merely grunted, adjusting the child’s weight, his free hand reaching out to steady another grandson who had nearly lost his footing in his rush to clamber into his lap.

Jason let out a low chuckle beside you, swirling the wine in his goblet. "He endures it well enough," he mused, tilting his head slightly as he watched the spectacle unfold below. "One would think he resents the swarm of them, but I suspect he enjoys it more than he lets on."

Tyland scoffed softly, sipping his own wine. "Of course he does," he murmured. "Daemon Targaryen does nothing he does not wish to do. If he truly hated it, he would have tossed them off him long ago."

You smiled faintly, watching as Daemon grumbled something under his breath, only for the children to laugh, unafraid, unbothered by the sharpness of his tone.

"He’s softened," you murmured, tilting your head slightly. "Age has not tamed him, but the children have."

Jason smirked, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. "Or perhaps you have," he mused. "He never left after the war. He stayed—for you."

Your eyes flickered to him, your expression unreadable. "For us," you corrected. "For our family."

Tyland hummed, tilting his goblet slightly. "For the Golden Court," he added.

Daemon shifted below, his gaze flickering upward as if he had felt the weight of your eyes upon him. His keen, knowing gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, there was something unreadable in his expression. Then, with the slow ease of a man who had never once bent to another’s will, he smirked.

"Don’t just stand up there like ghosts," he called out, his voice carrying easily through the garden. "Come down before they start climbing up to get you."

Jason let out a bark of laughter, his free hand coming to rest at your lower back. "A fair warning," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "We do have too many of them to keep track of."

You smiled, tipping your goblet against your lips as you gazed down at the sight below.

Yes, perhaps you did.

But you would not have had it any other way.

[starboye]

Baby!daddy vinnie fucking you to get you pregnant again because he thinks you look so beautiful while your growing his children and fucking you again when your three weeks along when he knows he can't get you pregnant again while already being pregnant but fuck does he want to see how big you'd get growing triplets.

—🏎

he will always know he can't get you pregnant again while you're already pregnant but the idea that he could give you triplets in that swollen belly of yours has his mind racing

"vinnie you know i can't get pregnant again right"

"mhm but what would be the harm in trying for twins or triplets"

he always does this thing where he tries to fuck you early in the pregnancy just to see if he can give you more babies, once before he gave you quadruplets and he has never came down from that moment

he brags about it to any and everyone who will listen to him just so people know you will bear all his children and you belong to him

[bwabys-scenarios]

Hey! Goodnight!

Well, I would like to ask for headcanons of Hantengu clones x Wifey reader of how they would be with her pregnant and with the baby

(Ps. I really love your fanfics with the Hantengu clones! ❤)

Hantengu clones x pregnant!wife!reader

SFW/NSFW HCs

Warnings: possessiveness, pregnant sex, oral, creampie(obviously)

Sfw

-once they learn of your pregnancies be prepared to be treated like a QUEEN! I mean they already treat you so well but their affections increase 10x

-Urogi is the most excited and protective, keeps stealing you away to hide you in his nest, though later in your pregnancy he stops and instead builds a nest out of blankets for you at home!

-Aizetsu takes over most of the domestic duties, only allowing you to go to town to get supplies. He also starts taking baths with you more often and massages your sore feet and back.

-Karaku is very invested in baby names and just things about the baby! He helps pick out clothes and builds a crib and pretty much whatever else you want!!

-Sekido acts like he doesn’t care but he secretly cares the most. He absentmindedly places a hand on your tummy and talks to the baby when he thinks you’re asleep.

-speaking of hands on your tummy, you will not go a day without at least two of the clones rubbing your belly and cooing about how big you’re getting.

-they have no idea what to do when you get hormonal, sekido gets kicked out of the house at least once a week for yelling at you because he’s so nervous about your mood

-they are much more gentle with you, especially Urogi, before he’d be a bit rowdy but now when he holds you it feels like he’s handling glass

-they will not hesitate to run out and get whatever food you’re craving(if it’s night)

-you end up having more than one baby, possibly even quadruplets!!

-your children will never want for anything, because their dads spoil them absolutely ROTTEN

NSFW

-okay so they are so much more gentle with you

-all sexual activity stops once you’re 6 months along

-but before that they literally can’t keep their hands off of you

-especially Urogi he goes feral every time he sees you

-Karaku literally can’t go a day without being inside you or you jerking him off!! just so horny for you!!

-when you start producing milk all of the boys want a taste!!

-they can’t help but cum inside you now, expect to be absolutely full of cum at all times

-Aizetsu will just have tears rolling down your face after eating you out for hours on end 😭😭🙏

-sekido gets banned from any sex after month 2 because he’s too big and rough, though you do jerk him off and let him cockwarm you if he promises to be gentle!!

[ericshoney]

Finding out ~ Secret Sister AU

Summary: Nick, Matt and Chris find out they aren't actually triplets, but in fact, quadruplets.

Warnings: possible swearing, nicknames, crying, reunion, random names for adopted parents, talks of adoption, mentions of sickness, money troubles, slight angst with fluff ending.

a/n: you guys asked for a series, here it comes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Nick, Matt and Chris went home for some family time in Boston, they didn't expect to be hit with news like this. The trio knew something was going on, because they were picked up by Justin, that usually only happened near Christmas, so knowing their older brother was home as well, made them confused.

When the brothers got home, they were greeted by their parents and told they needed to talk.

"Is something going on?" Nick asked, breaking the ice.

"We've been keeping something from you guys for a while and now you've turned twenty-one, we've decided it was best to come clean." Jimmy started.

"Nick, Matt and Chris, you aren't actually triplets. Your quadruplets." MaryLou said.

"What?" Matt called.

"Wait, there's another one!" Chris shouted, making his parents laugh slightly.

"You guys have a sister." Their dad admitted.

"Woah." Justin muttered.

"Why are we only finding out now?" Nick asked.

"When I was pregnant with you, I thought I was just having you guys. It wasn't until further into the pregnancy I found out I was having quads. It was an amazing experience and I was very excited. But money was a trouble and we didn't know if we could afford looking after five kids at once. So when you were all born, we made the very hard decision to put your sister up for adoption. She went to a very kind family who we kept in contact with and they told her the truth too." Their mother answered.

"She wants to meet us all. She'll be here in the morning." Jimmy added.

"Wow, that's a lot to take on board." Matt said.

"We understand and we're sorry we kept it from you. Honestly if I could turn back time, I'd never put her up for adoption." Their mother said sadly.

"You had to do what was best, What's her name?" Chris asked.

"Y/n. She kept the Sturniolo too." She answered.

The four brothers nodded and decided to go rest in their rooms, all taking in the new information, knowing the next morning they'd met their sister.

~~~

At ten o'clock the next morning, there was a knock at the door. MaryLou went to open it and when she saw a girl with bright blue eyes and long brown hair, she instantly knew.

"Hi." You called softly.

"Hi honey. Come in." Your birth mother replied.

You stepped into the house and instantly felt warm. You looked around and smiled at the cozy home.

"I want to start off by saying sorry, I feel horrible about giving you up." MaryLou said.

"I'm not upset. Jacky and Luke told me everything and I fully understand. It's not everyday you suddenly have quads." You said, making her smile.

"You look just like your brothers." She then said, hugging you tightly.

You smiled and felt tears in your eyes. You loved your adopted parents you really did, but this was the woman who gave birth to you. It was even more special.

"Come, your dad and brothers through here." She said, taking your hand.

You followed your mum into the living room, where you saw who you assumed was your dad and brothers. Three of which looked very similar to you.

"Fuck you look just like Matt!" One shouted.

"That's Jimmy, your dad. That's Justin, your older brother and those are you quad brothers. Nick, Matt and Chris." Your mum introduced.

You gave a wave and realised it was Chris who made the comment. Each came over and gave you a warm hug, making you feel even more at home.

"I hope you can forgive us, sweetheart." You dad said, wrapping his arms around you.

"I was never angry or upset in the first place. It was something I understood and knew one day I'd get to meet you all. Honestly wasn't expecting the mirror images though." You replied, making him laugh.

"What were you told by your....um....careers?" Matt asked.

"My adopted parents, Jacky and Luke. They told me that I was adopted when I was ten. Said my birth name is Y/n Sturniolo and they didn't feel it was right to take that away from me, so I never took their last name. They said my birth parents were close to them and still in touch to this day. I kept every birthday card you sent me." You answered, looking at your parents, who both smiled wide.

"They also said I had brothers, but never that I was a quad." You continued.

They nodded and asked you more questions about yourself, wanting to know more about you. Chris then perked up and asked a very important question.

"Am I older than her?" He asked excitedly.

"Yes honey, two minutes older." Your mum answered.

Chris cheered, making you all laugh as he hugged you tightly, something that shocked you a bit.

"Finally a little sister!" He shouted.

"By two minutes, bud." You responded.

"Still." He responded, sticking his tongue out.

"Are we sure?" Matt called, making you laugh.

"Yes honey." MaryLou assured.

You smiled and continued talking with your birth family, feeling happy about being reunited and welcomed into their arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

@lgbtq-girl @mattsfavbigtitties @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @sturniolo-fann

[fem-boy-toy]

Well I did promise... 👉👈

What do you think?🫃🥺

[lees-chaotic-brain]

How would jjk men react to reader being pregnant with quadruplets?

Feat. Gojo, Yuta, Inumaki, Nanami, Megumi, Itadori (all characters are aged up)

Note: I did headcanons for this request because there were so many characters I wanted to include, and it would get a little boring to write the same scenario out in a full fledged fic like seven times. However, if there are one or two that you want me to turn into proper fics lmk!! I had to do research on pregnancy for this bc it's been awhile since my high school health class

CW: pregnancy, implied thoughts of abortion ig, mentions of fear regarding labor, AFAB reader bc, yk, pregnancy, one singular swear word

Word Count: 1.2k

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Gojo

I feel like Gojo would think you were joking at first, and wouldn’t believe you until you got frustrated and he finally realized you were being for real. He would have mixed emotions. On one hand, he was excited to have a big family and a house full of laughter and love. On the other hand, he was afraid, because more babies meant more defenseless mini-people for him to protect.

He had only known that he was going to be a father of quadruplets a few minutes ago, but he already knew that it would destroy him if he ever lost one of them. That he would gladly give his life for them. And then there was the matter of you. He already knew that childbirth was difficult for women, but quadruplets?? Childbirth was something that even he couldn’t protect you from and that terrified him. 

After a serious discussion in which he made sure you were okay with the added risks and you continuously reassured him that this was what you wanted, he settled down and began imagining a future for your family. Until he realized that he would have to share your love with four little gremlins who would surely take after their clingy father. Then it suddenly seemed less appealing.

Yuta

Baby boy would be shooketh. Because he’s sorry please don’t be mad at him and oh you’re not mad at him and the two of you are having quadruplets well technically you are but he’s the dad and oh god what if he’s not good at being a dad and-

You would have to calm him down as he fell into a downward spiral. Once you had properly reassured him, and he had fully absorbed the information he was ecstatic. He has always wanted a big family, and together the two of you were making that dream come true. Cuddling up to you he would thank you for loving him and gifting him with the many kids he had always dreamed of having.

He for sure would be the type to rub your stomach and whisper sweet nothings to the growing babies in your womb, telling them how much daddy loves them and how excited he is to meet them.

He would also start baby-proofing every square inch of your house before you had even started your second trimester.

Inumaki

He would be in shock. Because he put- wait how many??? babies in you. There was no way he heard you right. There was no way that you were pregnant with quadruplets. Because, wait, he didn't sign up for this! Yeah, he wanted tons of kids, but four babies at a time was a lot. And the strain it would have on your body was concerning as well. 

After he stopped opening and closing his mouth as he gaped at you, he managed to organize his thoughts. First he wanted to make sure you even wanted that many kids because, well, it wouldn’t be easy to give birth to or take care of that many. Once you had reassured him that you were, in fact, sure that you wanted to go through with the pregnancy and that you were prepared for whatever the future held for your not-so-little family he took a moment to process his own emotions.

At first he was conflicted. Sure he was excited, but he held his own private reservations. What if something went wrong during labor? What if he wasn’t cut out to be the parent of one kid, let alone four. But as the months sped by and your stomach grew, the anticipation grew, until one day he let go of any and all trepidation and allowed himself to be optimistic.

He also bought tons of matching onesies for the whole family.

Nanami

Ever the responsible adult and caring husband, first he sat you down and had a serious discussion about the pros and cons of having quadruplets, and whether or not the risks were worth it. Deep down he was thrilled, but he wanted to make sure the two of you were on the same page and understood what continuing meant.

Once the two of you had established you were going to see this through, and it was something the two of you wanted his planning would begin. First came the research. He thoroughly educated himself on everything regarding pregnancy, learning everything he needed to do to ensure your comfort and the healthy birth of his children.

Expect a special diet plan that fulfills the needs of you and your unborn children in the healthiest way possible, essential oil massages, weekly check-ups starting your second trimester, vitamin gummies and more.

He also would begin saving up because raising four children would be expensive. Would for sure have a whole financial plan set up and college savings accounts set up for each of his children within a week of his learning.

Megumi

Honestly, he wouldn’t have super strong feelings about it. He wanted to be a dad, but he didn’t care if it was one, four, or one hundred. He just wanted to have kids with you, and beyond that as long as you were happy he was too. 

So when you told him, his only response was asking you what you thought about it. When you told him you were excited, he was excited too. He had wanted to build his own family for as long as he could remember, and you were helping him reach his dream. What more could he ask for? The only other thing that mattered to him was that his children had siblings. As a kid he had resented Tsumiki, but as an adult he couldn’t imagine the loneliness he would have experienced growing up without her. So yeah. If you were happy, and his children would have siblings so they would never have to walk through life alone, he was content.

There was nothing more he wanted in life than your love and a family with you.

Itadori

Kids!!! He had wanted a ton of kids, so this was perfect! You were happy with it, so even better! He sees it as a four-in-one deal, and is over the moon. His golden retriever personality becomes even worse when you’re pregnant. Like, this man is at your side 24/7.

Constantly following you around, looking at you with big pleading eyes as he begs to cuddle in bed with you so he can talk to your stomach.

Oh my god talking to your stomach. This man would talk to your stomach more than he talks to you. Asking what your kids want to be named. Telling your unborn babies about his day. That he loves them and can’t wait to meet them. Describes all the fun things the six of you are going to do once they’re born. Definitely tries cuddling your stomach because he ‘wants to know what it feels like to hold his children.’

Also is a little shit that constantly asks ‘are they coming yet? Why not??’

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Mammalia - Cingulata

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order are the xenarthran mammals, Cingulata, commonly called “armadillos”. There are only two surviving families within Cingulata: Chlamyphoridae and Dasypodidae.

The most characteristic trait of armadillos is their dorsal armor that is formed by osteoderms: plates of dermal bone covered in relatively small, overlapping, keratinized, epidermal scales called scutes. Most species have rigid shields over the shoulders and hips, with three to nine bands separated by flexible skin covering the back and flanks, as well as a cap of armor atop their heads. Only two species, the Brazilian Three-banded Armadillo (Tolypeutes tricinctus) (see gif below) and the Southern Three-banded Armadillo (Tolypeutes matacus), are able to curl into a complete ball to defend themselves. All other species run to their burrow or wedge themselves into a crevice or surface as tightly as they can, protecting their vulnerable underbelly. Because they lack significant hair covering, armadillos are particularly sensitive to climate and are therefore most active during summer nights and winter days. Due to their low fat storage, they spend most of their activity foraging for food, which primarily consists of insects (mainly ants and termites), small reptiles, amphibians, carrion, and plants. They have very poor eyesight and instead rely on their keen sense of smell and enhanced hearing to locate buried insects and detect predators.

Armadillos dig burrows to provide safety from predators, harsh weather, and a safe place to raise their young. Some armadillos may construct above-ground shelters using dried grass. Others may use the abandoned burrows of other wildlife. Armadillos are typically solitary and do not share their burrows with other adults, with males and females only meeting to mate. Many species are able to delay implantation so that pregnancies only happen during ideal conditions. Most members of the genus Dasypus give birth to identical quadruplets, but other species may have litter sizes that range from 1 to 10. The young, called pups, are born with soft, leathery armor which hardens within a few weeks. Three-banded armadillos can roll into a ball within hours of birth. They reach sexual maturity in three to twelve months, depending on the species.

The cingulate order originated in South America during the Paleocene epoch about 66 to 56 million years ago, and due to the continent's former isolation remained confined to it during most of the Cenozoic. However, the formation of a land bridge allowed many members of the order to migrate to southern North America during the Pliocene or early Pleistocene.

Propaganda under the cut:

The Nine-banded Armadillo (Dasypus novemcintus) (image 1) is commonly used in the study of leprosy due to its unique ability to contract the disease. They are the only species, other than humans, known to be able to contract leprosy.

The Nine-banded Armadillo is native to North, Central, and South America, making it the most widespread of all the armadillos. They are also the only armadillo species native to the United States.

Nine-banded Armadillos and some other Dasypus armadillos have a unique form of reproduction. A single egg is fertilized, but implantation is delayed for three to four months to ensure the young will not be born during an unfavorable time. Once the zygote does implant in the uterus, a gestation period of four months occurs, after which the zygote splits into four identical embryos. Each of the four embryos has a separate amnion and umbilical cord, but all four are attached to a common placenta. After birth, the quadruplets remain in the burrow, living off the mother's milk for about three months. They then begin to forage with the mother, eventually leaving after six months to a year.

The Nine-banded Armadillo was made the state mammal of Texas in 1995, with some resistance. Many Texans still consider the armadillo a pest due to it digging through yards for insects, and it is often seen dead on the roadside (as if people making gardens and roads through its habitat is the armadillo’s fault).

The Nine-banded Armadillo (Dasypus novemcinctus) is predicted to migrate to more North Eastern portions of the United States as climate change worsens.

Many animals use the abandoned burrows or Dasypus armadillos, including skunks, cotton rats, Burrowing Owls (Athene cunicularia), Pine Snakes (Pituophis melanoleucus), and rattlesnakes. The Fan-tailed Warbler (Basileuterus lachrymosus) habitually follows armadillos to feed on insects and other invertebrates displaced by them.

Armadillos are fully capable of climbing, swimming, and jumping. Dasypus species have a unique ability to build up an oxygen debt and hold their breath for up to 6 minutes. This allows them to cross streams and ponds underwater by simply walking or running along the bottom. If the water body is too large for this, Dasypus species can instead gulp in air, inflating their stomachs and intestines and increasing buoyancy. This allows them to float and more easily swim across the water.

The Greater Long-nosed Armadillo (Dasypus kappleri) is poorly known to science and has been studied very little, but is well known by the Matsés People, an indigenous tribe from the upper Amazon basin, who were able to tell researchers a great deal about the animals.

The Giant Armadillo (Priodontes maximus) (image 4) is the largest living species of armadillo, with an average length of 75–100 cm (2.6–3.25 feet), and the tail adding another 50 cm (1.7 feet). They typically weigh around 18.7–32.5 kg (41–72 lb) when fully grown, however a 54 kg (119 lb) specimen has been weighed in the wild and captive specimens have been weighed up to 80 kg (180 lb). Giant Armadillos live in South America, ranging throughout as far south as northern Argentina, and are classified as vulnerable to extinction.

The extinct glyptodonts were the largest armadillos in history, with the largest glyptodonts like Doedicurus reaching a height of 1.5 metres (4.9 ft) and 4 metres (13 ft) in length, with a body mass of over two tonnes. Unlike other armadillo families with more flexible armor, glyptodonts had a turtle-like shells of fused osteoderms. Some glyptodonts had clubbed tails, similar to ankylosaurid dinosaurs. They went extinct shortly after Paleo-Indians migrated to the Americas.

On the other hand, the smallest living armadillo is the rarely seen Pink Fairy Armadillo (Chlamyphorus truncatus) (image 2). The Pink Fairy Armadillo is on average 90–115 mm (3.5–4.5 in) long, and typically weighs about 120 g (4.2 oz). They are fossorial, and can bury themselves in a matter of seconds, using their specialized claws to dig into sandy or loamy soils.

The Pichi or Dwarf Armadillo (Zaedyus pichiy) is the only armadillo known to hibernate. Like many hibernating animals, they build up considerable fat reserves before entering their winter burrows, where they remain from May to August. During hibernation, their body temperature drops from its normal value of about 35 °C (95 °F) to just 14 °C (57 °F). In addition to true hibernation, Pichis also enter a period of daily torpor, lasting up to four hours each night, during which their body temperature can drop to as low as 24 °C (75 °F).

The Screaming Hairy Armadillo (Chaetophractus vellerosus) (image 3) gets its common name from its defensive squeal when handled, which is not without reason. This armadillo is heavily hunted for its meat in parts of the Chaco region in Bolivia. It is at times considered an agricultural pest and killed by hunting dogs. The carapace is particularly sought for making charangos, a South American musical instrument akin to a lute.

The male Andean Hairy Armadillo (Chaetophractus nationi) has the longest penis, in proportion to body size, of any mammal.

Because Brazilian Three-banded Armadillos (Tolypeutes tricinctus) (gif above) can roll into a ball, they do not dig burrows or shelters for defense. When they need to rest, they do so under bushes.

When threatened, Brazilian Three-banded Armadillos occasionally do not seal their armor completely, but wait until they are touched. Then they quickly snap shut in an effort to startle the predator.

The Brazilian Three-banded Armadillo was the mascot of the 2014 FIFA World Cup, hosted by Brazil.