Laenor loca come here! I want to tell you something! You should have seen who they tried to set me up! Fuc*ing white boy!!! But I tricked them AND it was HILARIOUS!!
Hi! I’ve been loving your Dragon!Hybrid headcanons!
I was wondering if I please could request headcanons on how each Dragon!Hybrid would react if their partner got injured? I don’t mind the gender specified!
Thank you!
Hiya Anon!
I'm glad you like it. I hope this headcanon will entertain as much as the rest. It was very interesting to write how everyone would react differently, as each has different challenges.
If you ever want to request something again, you can identify yourself as the 😵💫 emoji!
Injuries
Masterlist
Dragon!Hybrid Masterlist
Aegon:
“What’s happened?”
Aegon was out of breath and walking briskly to you. There seems to be a mild panic in his voice; it's a bit higher than usual. You don’t know how he learned you’d gotten yourself into the care of the maester, but he’s here now…
You shake your head as the maester explains how the cut on your forehead was superficial; he ‘tsk,’ rolling his eyes and dismissing the man before he can finish his sentence.
Whilst his help is quick to leave the room, the maester takes his time leaving, and recommends a thousand things for you to do before finally closing the door behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.
The scale adorning his neck now extends to his jaw, his eyes more lizard-y than human. He asks again. “What’s. happened?” This time, panic left its place to anger. It’s your turn to roll your eyes.
“Nothing, truly.”
Was your annoyance justified? Yes. Was it wise to use a tone on Aegon at the current time? Probably not. You watched as a stream of smoke left his mouth, eyes shining and talons sharpening at the tip of his fingers. “Issa prumia…” It sounded both like a threat and a caress. Somehow, that made you shiver; you didn’t know what kind of emotion that reaction came from.
It was not often that Aegon’s temper escaped him; the sight of blood must truly have disturbed him for him to let Sunfyre take control of the situation. You sighed a little, both to control the shake in your limbs and to regain (even just a little bit) some patience, which you were lacking awfully.
“I peeled an apple with a blunt knife.” You let out, softly. The heat of embarrassment flamed through your veins as the words got past your lips.
When all Aegon (Sunfyre?) did was raise an eyebrow, not adding anything, you sighed again. Must you truly embarrass yourself further?
He just stayed silent, eyes locked on you, sometimes going to the bandage on your forehead. Shoulders sinking, you capitulated.
“I guess I made to hard a movement whilst peeling the fruit, and I cut myself with the knife.” You explained further, eyes stubbornly kept over Aegon’s head, on the wall.
Aegon huffed, voice rougher than usual. “You guess?” He chided.
“It wasn’t my intention.” You bite back before taking a breath. All of this wasn’t worth a dragon’s anger. “I won’t do it ag—“
Before you could finish your sentence, Aegon was climbing over your knees, opening your arms from the hug you had self-imposed on your body to tuck himself beneath your chin. A soft, acute purring escaping him.
“So you're fine. I’ll have someone cut your fruit from now on. Hold me now. I’ve missed you.” He orders.
Brat.
Aemond:
You, hurt? Good joke. No, but seriously, it won’t ever happen because he’ll bust that person’s face before they can even think about hurting you. He’ll destroy the walls, the stairs, and eradicate the bees for you.
And if (when) he can’t, he’ll panic.
“What are you doing?” Comes the snarling question from your lover, the previously locked door nearly taken out of its joints as he opened it. You look up from your kneeling position on the ground.
“Cutting through the wood.” You answer truthfully, showing him the knife you were using before he’d rudely taken away said door. The world was fuzzy on the edge of your sight, and you wanted fresh air; that wasn't too much to ask, was it?
“May I ask why?” Aemond’s tone is not less venomous than when he first spoke, but you’ve dealt with him before. Honesty is your best way out of his wrath.
“I was bored, and I’m feeling a lot better.”
Aemond grunts, not convinced by your words (maybe because of the paleness you exhibited or the numerous escape maneuvers you’d pulled throughout the week.) He helped you to stand, even going as far as to pat the dirt out of your clothes before leading you back again to the plush chair near the fire (drats!).
“A fever and a cold don’t just go away within three days, Qelos.” He chided you coldly, puffing out the cushion of the chair before helping you sit down.
“Maybe it was a small fever? A baby cold?” you tried to convince him again. Humour was your best ally in conditions such as this. It was lies. A cold? Please. The only cold you’ve caught was by being exposed to a botched poisoning (a bad fish) and were forced to ludicrous experiments by the maester to make your illness go quicker (sleeping three nights in a hammock for fresh air in winter.)
Rewarding your tries to humour, however, Aemond’s face lost its edge; a small smile curved his lips, if only for a moment.
“I promise to make up for your lack of entertainment, Qelos. Shall I call for music and refreshments?” He teased, covering your legs with a blanket, and kneeling next to you. His good eye had lost the coldness it usually shined with.
Baela:
Poor baby, you’re hurt? Don’t worry; Baela will take care of you. She’s not one to panic, or, at least, to let it show too much.
“How does it feel?” She’d ask, for the thousandth time (or so it seemed) in the last hour, looking at the bump on your forehead.
She was holding a small bag of ice over it and knew as much as you did that your condition had not changed since you’d ungracefully fallen flat on your face and came back up on your feet with a disoriented spring to your movements. Yet you answered all the same.
“It’s cold, but it seems like my heart has gone back to my chest, as my brain isn’t beating as hard now.”
She hummed softly as the only answer, running her finger through your hair. Baela let her gaze run over your face, lost in her own mind now. You were making it seem as if you hadn’t seen her scramble out of her dragon form when you fell from your seat on her back, and she didn’t comment on the unseemly manner in which you’d fallen. Both parties were happy that way. (Ego : bruised, forehead : bumped, knees scraped, but on equal ground.)
Daemon:
To Daemon, it depends. Did it draw blood? Did you do this to yourself? If you didn’t bleed, walk it off. If someone did this to you?? Blood or not, there’s gonna be hell to pay!
It wasn’t a big deal. Seriously. Some drunk lord was talking smack and waving his knife around, a bit too close to your face. It might have been covert threats; you weren’t really listening. You’d gotten cut. Next thing you know, Daemon is cradling your face in his hands, examining the cut under all it’s angles (it literally just has one!!!), a scowl very present on his face.
You try to whisper comforting words to him. “It’s okay; I’m okay. It’s not deep.” But it seems to only anger him more. A deep, cavernous sound echos in the chamber, shaking you to your core, and making the usually warm atmosphere (colder by the sudden shift of Daemon’s mood) freezing now.
The lord was scrambling, apologies spurting out of his mouth faster than he could breathe; the man was already half up when Daemon spoke. His gaze was still locked on the bleeding cut on your cheek.
“Making such a pretty thing bleed. Tis a distasteful hobby.” He said, growled, at the man. The lord only agreed, probably hoping that it would help his cause.
“It’s nothing.” You tried to soothe your lover again, but Daemon’s gaze snapped to your eyes, his hands once gently cradling your face now becoming more tense, squishing your cheeks a tad to silence you. Not your battle to fight anymore.
Caraxes’ fire burnt in his eyes.
Helaena:
She’ll soothe you to the best of her abilities, but she’s not a maester and thus is no good at healing, except to press something over the blood. That she knows. She might be a bit panicked due to her lack of knowledge.
“I’m fine, my lady.” You laugh quietly, moving your head away from Helaena’s grip.
She was holding her carefully embroidered project to your bloody nose. “How can you be? You’re bleeding!” She told you in a small, huffy voice that she kept for the sleeping children near yourselves.
“This tends to happen when someone opens a door on your nose.” You teased softly, taking her hands in yours to steady her movements.
“I didn’t know you were behind it!” She claims (again) exasperation dripping into her tone, eyes wide. You chuckled, letting one of her hands go to push back a strand of her hair from her face.
“I never said you were to blame, my lady.” You kissed the hand remaining in your, a smirk plastered on your lips, the taste of iron prominent on your tongue.
“Come, let’s get you properly cleaned up; you’ve bled all over your clothes.”
Jacaerys:
As Jace rarely spends time away from you (or has you alone), you don’t often get hurt by accident. Or, if someone hurts you with the intention to do it, that’s another story, and Jace will search for retribution (wait— that’s probably more Vermax, but who knows…)
Head held low, sitting like a child being sermoned as Jace paces around your shared chambers quietly. The maester had only just left, and you had dreaded that situation in which you were now trusted. Objectively, due to the wings that were nervously (angrily) fluttering behind Jace at every step, you knew that he was probably having a heated conversation with Vermax.
Your injury was not bad, per se. It wasn’t good either, and your arm would be in a sling for months to come, but you hadn’t been in any mortal danger. Sure, young Joffrey and little Aegon were playing roughly, but it wasn’t that dramatic!
“Jace…” You spoke softly, deciding to address the elephant in the room quicker so the tension would melt.
“You could’ve hurt yourself worst. How could you think it was a good idea to let the toss you around?” He spat, his eyes burning with a worried fire inside of them. His tone was strained—not entirely Jace, but not wholly Vermax either.
“It’s healthy for young boys to play fighting!” You defended calmly, raising from your seat to approach your lover, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I should like you to remain whole instead.” He scoffed, wrapping his arms around your middle to bring you closer to his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, minding not to place your broken arm in way of more hurt. His body is warmer than usual; the wave of emotions is probably the cause for it.
“I promise to you that I’ll be more careful and mindful,” you added when Jace’s brows furrowed, “of my non-dragon self.”
A churtle escaped the man’s throat, and his arms tightened around you. “Don’t joke around; I’m mad at you.” He huffed, making you smile.
Laenor:
Laenor is more diplomatic than most. He finds that some injuries are good for the built of characters, and so he is not too alarmed when you come back with scraped knees and such. He will spend some time tending to you and comforting you, too. But in no way, shape, or form will it be something that gives him anxiety.
“Are you hurt?” Laenor called down the mat of the (rather large) fishing boat he’d brought you for a small trip as another angry wave crashed on the bow and over the deck. Staggering, you held on to whatever was nearer (and stable enough to help you keep your footing).
“No!” Somehow, your voice went over the sound of the angry sea and angrier skies to meet Laenor’s ears, and with a solanel nod, he dropped to the deck.
“Good.”
Rhaenyra:
Another one who’ll be very zen about the whole ordeal. People get hurt; it’s life. People get attacked; it’s also life. Oh, what’s that? They got fired? They found them dead?? How sad.
“What is it, Beloved?” She called out to you, her nose buried in an important report. She heard the door of the room open and close, the usual smell of your bathing oils giving you up to her sense of smell.
“There’s a new kitchen boy.”
Your answer was short, to the point, accusatory, even, but it didn’t seem to matter to Rhaenyra, as she simply gazed up at you for a second, diving back down into her report afterward.
She took a deep breath, placing the paper down and taking another one, looking utterly unbothered. The golden, shimmering scales on her forearms mired against the walls, lit up by the candles on her desk, but it didn’t bring the smile it usually did. Instead, you crossed your arms against your chest, awaiting an answer.
“Rotation within the staff happens, my heart; it’s hardly something I can control.”
You scoffed a little. “So, it’s not about yesterday’s incident, then?” Rhaenyra looked back at you, eyebrow raised, either quizzically or mockingly; you couldn’t decipher which.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Your eyes narrowed, and you walked closer to her desk, leaning against it to close the distance between both of you further. “The spilled tea? Your threats have been heard loud and clear. Was it not your doing?” You accused her in a cold tone that an untrained ear could mistake for calmness. Rhaenyra only smiled.
Alicunt jus' got worse by the episodes, And the fact that this wasnt the only time she had made Rhaenyra climb those stairs seconds after giving birth.
Wait-Wait-Wait-Wait-Wait... so they're still doing the Addam and Seasmoke bond but Laenor is still alive? Is that how dragonbonds work? I was under the assumption only death broke their bonds, does intent also work? Can dragonriders just reject their bonds? Why wouldn't Seasmoke follow Laenor? We see he isn't kept in chains, and dragons don't need maps, they seemingly can sense their riders, right? Even if couldn't follow, wouldn't he just wait for Laenor? like that dog in Japan whose owner died
First ever Saturday Hot Takes post, let’s go!!! Requests for clarification or elaboration are always welcome. You know where to find me, and my anonymous asks are on if you’re feeling shy.
We’re kicking things off today with some Corlys theories, (mostly) surrounding his relationship with his kids.
Laena was always Corlys’s favorite kid, even if he did make more of a conscious effort to try and spend as much time training and getting to know Laenor as possible. She was the sort of kid who was always following him or her mother around as much as possible when she was little, asking about 5000 questions a day, and he was very enthusiastic about encouraging her curiosity, often answering those questions with little excursions around the island or by pulling out maps or drawing little illustrations to help explain.
To that end: Corlys is a surprisingly good artist. He learned from drawing his own maps, convinced the existing ones wouldn’t be as good or accurate as whatever he could make to send home to show his latest adventure. This began on his first voyage at all of 6 with some rather crudely drawn maps of the route to Pentos and some borderline stick figure level drawings of what he saw there, and only got better with time and practice. There is a sketchbook he keeps aboard The Sea Snake when sailing full of his drawings of his favorite sites from all his adventures that he will pull out to show the children during story time or just to show off to his men. There is a second sketchbook that nobody but him gets to see that’s exclusively drawings of Rhaenys. Long voyages get lonely.
Seasmoke hatching was a very difficult day in High Tide, mostly because Laena was very jealous of her little brother’s egg hatching and both Corlys and Rhaenys trying to balance their pride in Laenor’s dragon hatching with reassuring her. Eventually, it was decided that Rhaenys would sit with her and commiserate with tales of how she eventually claimed Meleys and helping to plan which of the unclaimed dragons she might like to try with first when she was a little older since it seemed to be making the most headway, and Corlys would take Laenor out for the afternoon to celebrate. This led to a rather entertaining sight for the small folk living around High Tide of Seasmoke sitting on Laenor’s shoulder while he rode around Spicetown on his father’s shoulders, eagerly explaining where and what everything was.
Corlys hated the idea of Laena claiming Vhagar, mostly because he was worried about all the ways it could go wrong. This turned into a series of bribes beginning when she was young, ranging from trying to convince Rhaenys to fly to Dragonstone and find more eggs for her to try and hatch to commissioning several ships to try and bribe her into learning sailing instead. None of them worked (though both she and Laenor did sit through many lessons on the ins and outs of sailing over the years). After she claimed Vhagar though, he was thrilled, both because of his pride at Laena claiming a Conqueror’s dragon and because he enjoyed how much it scared some of the boys who had been trying to get her attention before her betrothal was formalized.
At some point around his betrothal to Rhaenyra, Laenor had a rather intense conversation with his father about his preferences and sexuality. He was extremely worried about it going wrong, or that Corlys wouldn’t understand and would just insist he could get over it, and only really did it at his mother’s insistence since she could tell he was rather worked up over it. Of course, he was right that Corlys didn’t fully understand but it wasn’t for the reasons he thought it would be. Mostly, he took the stance that ‘Everyone goes through that phase when young, especially sailors given how long you wind up cooped up on a ship between ports with no one but your men for company. Once you’re married, it’s no more relevant than any other affairs you may have had or lovers you might have taken before you said your vows.’ Laenor never could bring himself to have a second conversation on the subject with his father after he was married and began figuring out that the second part of his stance didn’t apply quite so well as the first did, even if it was always a bit of a comfort knowing that Corlys never saw his preferences as an inherently bad thing like so many others did, only a bit inconvenient once the matters of heirs and court gossip came into play.
