#tw: death by burning

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Donald Trump died at 4:23 pm on Friday, September 19th, 2025 from severe burns to his cranium.

[stars-bean]

M*A*S*H | 2.14 - "Hot Lips and Empty Arms"

[burninwrath]

I heard some of your subjects talking of how unprofessional it is to have a relationship with your general. What are your thoughts, my liege?

" Oh , do they now? They should know better than that . . . "

[sayruq]

TW: The image below is of a man on fire

The man who set himself on fire outside the Israeli embassy was called Aaron Bushnell. He was 25 years old. He passed away minutes ago, succumbing to his injuries

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Six Becomes Five or the five beasts reacting of the witch killing Reader!cookie who is innocent and not corrupted (with knife instead of fork prison) as a warning punishment for five beasts from their own corrupted to see their love one die. (👉👈 just love the story so much I wonder if it ok for angst)

TW: Death

All you had wanted to do was help them. Advocate for them, say that it couldn't be their faults! It was the Witches who baked them with that power after all, how could they be blamed?

The Witches didn't like that.

It was in full view of the Beasts. You were approaching, already ranting about the Witches, and Shadow Milk Cookie was preparing to finally bring you over to their side-

When a knife fell, piercing you through your stomach.

No one could even react or move for the first few seconds before you collapsed. Eternal Sugar Cookie's scream of your name could be heard all throughout the land as they rushed forward.

There was nothing they could even do. The knife was a creation of the Witches. They weren't stronger than them.

If the Witches thought this would send a message, it did. But a very wrong one. The Beasts weren't going to stop with tormenting the Cookies, oh no.

The Witches were their newest targets, and they were going to rip them limb from limb.

[spacebubblehomebase]

Helllo i Love your art more than i love donuts and thats ALLOT.but my boy lucifer can have babys,like i dont even know how that works!make it make sense! I just wanna say thank you again for curing are boredom👍🏻

You are SO right that is high praise indeed! I'm honored! =D So here. Have a donut! 🍩🍩🍩 As for Luci, let us turn to the world's favorite 700k+ words old man fanfiction that is The Bible (tm) as according to their lore, it's been canonically stated that angels are genderless for they are beings made of the Pure Holy Spirit and- Holy SHIT! What do you know??? Our dear depressed duck dad was an angel himself and in some depictions Lilith is infertile as was her punishment for her freedom! The more you know! -Bubbly💙

(LMAO. My guy's been traumatized. Once is enough XD)

[micr0w4ve]

they aren't talked about enough 💔

[inkyrainstorms]

@via-pantomime behold :D thought you'd appreciate a ping

The Burning Maze HURT so bad, but honestly the tragic irony of Jason's character, the way he was raised to sacrifice everything and everyone in the name of the mission, in the name of the honor of the legion, but he died protecting the people he loved. He chose to protect and chose to leave behind a legacy which was nothing like what he'd been born into. He died into a world numb from sacrifice and made it better, made Apollo PROMISE to change.

He's Jason Grace. He's awesome. And he deserves the world. <3

[k-howlett]

Breaking and Entering | Bruce Wayne(Batman) Xgn!reader pt II

TW: Character Death (Jason Todd), Grief, and eventual age-gap relationship (Bruce is mid-late 40s, reader is 17, soon to be 18)

Rating: Gender Nonspecific, General Audience, SFW

A/N:

Thank you so much for all the love on pt I, I’m so happy to get back into the swing of things.

as always,

with love and healing,

-Lark(ly)

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⊹₊⟡⋆

“I thought you weren’t going to show,” Y/N said as their footsteps crunched softly against the fall leaves. Still in their school uniform, they carried a backpack lazily slung over one shoulder. Jason Todd’s jacket hung loosely around them, its weight a small comfort against Gotham’s persistent gloom.

Bruce’s blue eyes flicked up from where he stood, his gaze sweeping over them. His tall, broad frame dwarfed theirs as he finally spoke. “I told you I’d come.”

“You said you’d consider it. Thats usually code for ‘go fuck yourself’ but in a polite way” they quipped, a playful edge in their voice as they leaned closer to him.

Bruce rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, and gently nudged them away. “In my case, it means ‘I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep and stretch myself too thin,’” he countered, his tone firm but with a subtle warmth.

Y/N’s eyes drifted to the lilac-colored box in Bruce’s hands, wrapped carefully with a white bow on top. “What’s with the box?” they asked, curiosity piqued.

Bruce handed it to them with a slight nod. “You were right. Titus completely demolished your shoes.”

“Seriously?” They raised an eyebrow, half-amused.

“Mmhm. And Alfred’s rose bush,” Bruce added, rubbing his temples as if the memory itself was a headache.

“Oh… no, that one was definitely me,” Y/N admitted, a bit sheepish.

Bruce looked at them incredulously. “You flattened Alfred’s roses?”

“I, uh, fell off the fence,” they mumbled.

“You climbed my fence?” Bruce’s tone shifted slightly, the disbelief clear in his voice.

“How else do you think I got in? I certainly didn’t just waltz through the front gate,” they said with a small grin, carefully peeling back the paper to reveal a New Balance box. “You got me... dad shoes?”

Bruce’s expression remained neutral, but there was a slight arch to his brow. “Dad shoes?”

“Yeah, you know, the stereotypical dad shoes. The kind you’d wear golfing.”

“I don’t golf in sneakers,” Bruce replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“People do,” they quipped, opening the box to get a better look at the shoes.

“These have excellent arch support,” Bruce pointed out, his voice firm but with an undertone of practicality.

Y/N glanced up at him, a hint of disbelief in their eyes. “Titus ate my Converse, and instead of just replacing them with another pair, you got me... these?”

“They’re durable and better for your knees,” Bruce said, his gaze steady, as if daring them to argue with his logic.

They paused, holding one of the shoes, with a smile. “So, you care about my knee health?”

Bruce met their gaze, his expression unreadable, but his tone was calm. “You’ll thank me when you’re older.”

“I’ll thank you now,” they say with a smile, holding up the shoes. “I think these are pretty neat, even if they’re a little… dated.”

“Dated?” Bruce scoffs, his tone slightly indignant. “They’re the top brand on the S&P.”*

“They’re kinda retro, Wayne.”

“Retro?” Bruce repeats, narrowing his eyes. “How old do you think I am?”

“...When’s your birthday?”

“I’m not disclosing that,” Bruce replies, his tone firm.

“Why not?” they press, amused by his sudden defensiveness.

“Because I don’t do birthdays. And I have a feeling you’d try to surprise me at the office, and I’d rather avoid the attention.”

“You flatter yourself,” they tease, sitting down to try on the shoes.

“You mentioned your birthday is coming up,” Bruce says, slipping the comment in with calculated nonchalance.

“My birthday? You want to know mine but won’t share yours?” they challenge, eyebrows raised.

“Just making conversation,” he replies smoothly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Uh-huh. Well, can we pick a different topic?” they shift their tone, tugging at the laces. “I haven’t celebrated in four years, and I’m not about to start now.”

Bruce pauses, his smirk fading as he meets their gaze. “Fair enough,” he says, the respect in his voice mingling with a hint of understanding. “But if you change your mind, I’m here.”

“You want to celebrate my 18th birthday with me?” they ask, glancing up at him as they tie the right shoe.

“Turning 18 is a milestone,” Bruce states with quiet authority. “Jason never got that chance.”

They shoot him a sharp look. “You’re really going to bring up my best friend—right in front of his grave—to guilt me into celebrating?” There hand gestures at the imposing concrete headstone, as its eye -to-eye with them.

Bruce’s gaze remains steady, unfazed. “It’s not guilt, Y/N. It’s perspective. Life is fragile, and not everyone gets to see their milestones.”

“Mine are limited, and so are yours,” they fire back, a hint of defiance in their tone.

“That’s exactly why they matter,” Bruce responds, his voice calm but firm, emphasizing each word as if it were a lesson.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you so evasive about your birthday, hm?” Y/N asked, their curiosity piqued.

Bruce’s expression remained inscrutable, though a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes. “It’s not evasiveness,” he said firmly. “I just don’t see the point in making a fuss over my birthday.”

“That’s a double standard,” Y/N countered, a hint of exasperation in their voice. “For someone so keen on celebrating life, you’re reluctant to acknowledge your own significance.”

“It’s different, Y/N,” Bruce replied, his tone carrying a hint of finality.

“It’s not different,” they shot back, shaking their head. “It’s a matter of acknowledging what’s important. If I’m going to celebrate my milestones, then you should too.”

Bruce sighed, his frustration evident. “Tell you what,” he said reluctantly, “we’ll celebrate yours when it comes around.”

“And?” Y/N prompted, expecting a bit more.

“That’s it,” Bruce said firmly, as if he’d made a decision that should settle the matter.

“That’s not it,” Y/N laughed, a playful glint in their eye. “If I celebrate mine, you’re going to have to celebrate yours.”

“You’re a pain—almost worse than my kids,” Bruce muttered, though there was a trace of affection in his voice.

“They like to celebrate?” Y/N asked, intrigued.

“Dick does,” Bruce admitted. “But no, I meant your stubbornness.”

“Thank you!” Y/N grinned, clearly pleased.

“That’s not a compliment,” Bruce hummed, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, betraying the partial admiration he felt for their persistence.

Y/N finished tying the other shoe and looked down with a playful frown. “I look like I have clown feet,” they complained.

Bruce regarded them with a mix of amusement and practicality. “It’s not about the appearance; it’s about the support,” he said, offering his hand.

Taking his hand, Y/N let him pull them up. Standing a bit taller now with the shoes, they grinned up at him. “So, you got these so I’d be in line with your neck vein?” they teased.

Bruce’s lips twitched slightly, betraying a hint of amusement. “Haha, Very funny, Y/N. I got these because you were headed towards flatfoot. Converse aren’t exactly known for their support.”

“Converse are not terrible shoes,” Y/N countered, still playfully defensive.

“Says who?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“2014 Tumblr,” Y/N replied with a smirk.

Bruce looked puzzled. “I don’t even know what that is, nor do I want to,” he said with a hint of dismissive amusement. “You know you might actually appreciate the comfort once you’ve broken them in.”

“I do appreciate them. I just like giving you a hard time,” Y/N hummed with a playful smile.

Bruce huffed dryly, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you do, kid.”

Y/N bent down to collect the New Balance box and the wrapping paper, carefully shoving it into the large pocket of their bag. As they straightened up, a thought crossed their mind. “You took off work for this?” they asked, a hint of surprise in their voice.

Bruce crossed his arms, his expression neutral but his tone a little more serious. “I can make time when it matters.”

Y/N’s expression softens, and they gently grab Bruce’s hand as they both gaze down at the name etched in stone. “It means a lot,” they say quietly, their voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of their hand. “I know,” he replies, his tone even, though the weight behind his words is unmistakable.

They stand together in silence, the world around them muted by the gravity of their grief. Y/N’s voice trembles as they speak again, “He was my friend.”

“He is,” Bruce responds without hesitation, his eyes still fixed on the grave, the words carrying a quiet, unwavering conviction.

Y/N’s voice falters, thick with emotion. “He was your son.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t waver, but there’s a slight softening in his eyes. “He always will be,” he says, his voice steady, as if stating an unchangeable fact.

Tears well up in Y/N’s eyes, and they blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. “I miss him,” they admit, their voice breaking.

Bruce pulls them into his side, wrapping an arm around their shoulders with a strength that’s both protective and comforting. “I know,” he says, his voice low, the words carrying the weight of shared sorrow. “I miss him too.”

Y/N leans into him, their tears starting to fall as the grief they’ve been holding back overwhelms them. “It never goes away,” they sob, their words muffled against his chest.

Bruce tightens his hold on them, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles against their back. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, his voice calm and measured, though there’s a depth of feeling beneath it that only someone who knows him well would recognize. “But we learn to live with it.”

They stand there for a long moment, Bruce’s presence solid and unwavering, offering them the quiet strength they need. In the silence, there’s a sense of understanding—an unspoken bond.

₊‧⁺ ⊹₊⟡⋆

Damian Wayne prided himself on his situational awareness and keen observation. Lately, his father had been behaving differently—disappearing for hours on Fridays, far more secretive than usual. Damian couldn’t ignore the shift and was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Why are we following Bruce around again?” Tim asked, trailing beside Damian and Dick.

“Yeah, I thought you called me for backup over an emergency, Damian,” Dick added, crossing his arms as he followed his younger brothers.

“It *is* an emergency!” Damian hissed, his tone sharp. “Father’s acting weird. And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“Weird how? Bruce has always been suspicious and dodgy,” Tim pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Damian.

“It’s different this time!” Damian insisted, his frustration evident.

“Okay, little man, no need to get testy.” Dick ruffled Damian’s hair, a habitual gesture that never failed to annoy him.

“Don’t do that, Grayson,” Damian snapped, swatting Dick’s hand away. There was a significant age gap between them, and Damian always felt the need to assert himself as more than just the youngest.

“Shut up, shut up! They’re right there!” Damian whispered urgently, ducking behind a nearby tombstone.

“Oh hey—Is that Y/N?” Tim asked, squinting at the figures standing in the cemetery. One was unmistakably their father, and the other, a teenager who was familiar to him.

“When you said emergency, I wasn’t expecting lukewarm gossip, Damian,” Dick hummed, leaning casually against the fence, though his eyes betrayed a more serious curiosity.

“Who the hell is Y/N, and why is Father hanging out with them?” Damian growled, narrowing his eyes at the sight.

“I just told you, Y/N Y/L/N, they attend GA with us, they’re two grades above me,” Tim explained, though he knew it wouldn’t satisfy Damian’s questions.

“That doesn’t answer the ‘why,’ Drake,” Damian snapped, his frustration bubbling over.

“Oh wait, whoa whoa—Y/N Y/L/N? Jay’s friend?” Dick’s expression shifted as realization dawned on him.

“Well, that would explain the atmosphere,” Tim said quietly, gesturing to the graveyard.

Damian frowned. He had never met Jason Todd, and the family tragedy surrounding him was something he still struggled to fully grasp. “So?”

“So, the anniversary of his death is coming up,” Dick said, his tone more somber. “They’re probably in mourning.”

Damian’s expression faltered, his usual bravado dimming slightly. The weight of what Dick said hung heavily in the air.

Tim stood silently for a moment, then, without a word, started walking through the fence to join Bruce and Y/N. Dick, catching Tim’s intent, followed, but paused when Damian grabbed his wrist.

“Grayson, where are you going? Where’s he going?” Damian demanded, his voice tinged with confusion.

“We’re already here, Damian. Might as well pay our respects too,” Dick said gently, looking down at his youngest brother.

“He was our brother,” Dick added softly, the words carrying a gravity that Damian couldn’t ignore. “You’re welcome to stay out here if it makes you uncomfortable. But the family is in there.”

Damian hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. “Alfred’s not,” he said indignantly, trying to regain some control of the situation.

“But he would be if he were here,” Dick replied, his voice gentle but firm. “We all mourn in our own way, Damian. You don’t have to go in if you’re not ready.”

Damian’s gaze flicked between Dick and the figures at the gravesite, his usual resolve shaken. After a moment, he released Dick’s wrist, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“Fine,” Damian muttered, his voice quieter now. “But don’t expect me to get all emotional.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dick said with a small smile, giving Damian a reassuring pat on the back before following Tim through the fence.

Damian lingered for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as he watched his brothers join Bruce and Y/N. Then, with a deep breath, he steeled himself and followed, his steps slower, more deliberate. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to fight it.

After all, as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he was starting to understand what it meant to be part of this family.

Tim stepped up beside Y/N, his presence calm and reassuring. He gave them a soft nod of acknowledgment, his eyes flickering with understanding as he noticed the tears and the way they leaned against his father. Tim didn’t need words to convey his support; his silent companionship was enough.

Dick moved to stand beside Bruce, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. A shared look of understanding passed between them, one that spoke volumes without a single word. This moment was heavy, but they had each other, and that made all the difference.

Finally, Damian squeezed between Dick and Bruce, his small frame nestling close to his father’s side. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly at Y/N’s closeness, a flicker of something protective crossing his face. He discreetly clung to Bruce’s sleeve, a silent claim of territory that only someone as observant as Damian would make.

Y/N’s gaze shifted to the Wayne siblings, their eyes widening a fraction in surprise to see all of them here. The sight of the entire brood gathered around Jason’s grave added a weight to the moment that they hadn’t expected.

Pennyworth’s steps were light as he approached, his presence as impeccable as ever. Despite his age, Alfred carried himself with a dignity and grace that belied his years. He stood behind the five, a steady pillar of support. “I don’t suppose any of you brought an offering?” he teased lightly, his tone gentle yet playful.

Bruce’s normally stoic eyes softened, a rare warmth bubbling up from his chest as he glanced at Alfred. “Figured that’s your department,” he responded, a hint of affection in his voice.

“White lilies, daffodils, and forget-me-nots,” Alfred announced, setting the beautifully bound bouquet in front of the grave with care. His selection was thoughtful, each flower chosen with intention and meaning.

“It’s quite beautiful… A shame they’ll wither,” Y/N said softly, their voice tinged with melancholy.

“All things wither with time, dear. That doesn’t make them any less meaningful,” Alfred replied with gentle wisdom, his tone reassuring.

Y/N shot Bruce a look, a mix of surprise and familiarity in their eyes. “Someone gave me an eerily similar speech,” they remarked, their lips quirking into a small, knowing smile.

“I did. My wisdom comes from somewhere,” Bruce acknowledged, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience.

Alfred gave a wink and a nod, his expression warm to Y/N before his attention shifts to Dick. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Master Richard,” he said, his tone affectionate.

“Ah, I left Blüdhaven in good hands for the night,” Dick replied with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wouldn’t miss a reunion for the world.”

Bruce’s gaze swept over his family, the people who had become his anchors in this world of shadows and loss. In moments like this, he was reminded of what he fought for—what they all fought for. The past could never be undone, but standing here together, they honored it, even as they looked toward the future.

And for a moment, in the quiet of the cemetery, with the scent of flowers lingering in the air and the presence of loved ones all around, the Wayne family found a fleeting sense of peace.

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆

*(Please note New Balance is not actually on the S&P because its not publicly traded, I just thought it was a comical interaction)

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆

Approx. Word Count: 2,917

pt I - pt II - pt III (coming soon)

//Series Tag List: Available Upon Request!

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆

More About The Blog: ♡

Status Page (2024): Here

[drippywing]

soldier of a child | death of a servant

2024 autumn theme

[ID in Alt]

[sqarletsworldlesswandering]

Angeltober Day 11 - Immolate

"Immolate" - To kill as a sacrifice, especially by fire

Prompts by @ultrainfinitepit

[rottonfishie]

Credits for character desgin: @unlikelylotusagent

TW: Mentions of torture, child abuse, manipulation, burns, mentioned death, the celestial realm treating demons as pets/property.

Nezha - The Demon Child

‐--------------------------------○●○--------------------------

After, The Ten Kings Of Diyu revived Nezha, reconstructing his body with the roots of a lotus flower. He craved revenge against his father after he had burned down the sacrificial temple created in Nezha's honour and expressed his severe distain for Nezha, blaming the child for his misfortunes.

Nezha, with all his anger against his father, grabbed the attention of the Jade Emperor, who swiftly intervened in Nezha's rampage, subduing the demon child before any further damage could be caused. The Jade Emperor dragged Nezha to the celestial realm, kicking and screaming, handing him over to his elder brother, Master Yuzhiqin, in hopes to "tame" the child.

Master Yuzhiqin subdued Nezha's powers by locking bracelets infused with seals around his ankles and wrists that dampened his abilities. He also placed a necklace around Nezha's neck that showed that Nezha is basically owned by the celestial realm. While, Master Yuzhiqin was his "warden," he was his torturer.

Master Yuzhiqin real reason for his torture was because he saw demons as lesser-life forms and wanted to see their limits, and he could achieve that with Nezha's immortality. But, he lied and manipulated Nezha into believing that this was his just punishment for killing Ao Bing and attempting to kill his father.

Master Yuzhiqin attention shifted to Wukong after he was captured by the Celestial Realm, meaning that Nezha's "punishments" lessened. One of these "punishments" was too far, however, and caught the attention of Chang'e and Erlang.

Master Yuzhiqin tested if any fire could burn Nezha, which trial and error led him to find that the only fire that could burn Nezha was Diyu's flames. This left Nezha with permanent scarring, causing Chang'e to agree to take him with her to the moon. Which is where he stays now.

This agreement was done behind Master Yuzhiqin back by Erlang, Chang'e and somewhat Wukong. However, Master Yuzhiqin doesn't seem to care very much with his hyperfixation being on Wukong.

[nagitothehopelover]

WITCHHH 🫵🫵🫵

[fawcetttweets]

I had a dream and the only part that stuck with me is that someone posted a poll on here asking “what did Fawcetttweets do to you?”. there were five options and each one had exactly 49 votes. The only ones I remember are “killed and ate my dog” “chewed on my dog” and “stole what my second smallest left toe produced”

My initial reaction was a strange mix of disgust at the questions, especially the last one, and a warm fuzzy feeling that someone liked me enough to make a poll about me.

So. What did Fawcetttweets do to you?

[stabbythespaceroomba]

Okay okay okay I know Aeron died by his own sword to his neck, I know we don’t have any other wounds on him canonically

I know people are a fan of ‘he’s such a bad swords man someone took his sword and killed him with it during the battle’

However!!!! I can’t stop thinking about the positioning, the way the sword is stabbed straight up.

I am a strong believer that he was staked to the ground as a message? As a sign of disrespect for daring? To highlight him out when the Lord’s come for their dead?

The sword is a grave marker and a taunt in one.

He’s in the river, but they’ll make sure his body isn’t washed away

The sword has to be pinned into the ground, his neck alone would not keep it straight up like that (even though the screen shows it as the blade’s tip, the physics of it just wouldn’t work to hold it up), which would require a fair bit of force.

There isn’t even that much blood

The neck’s isn’t torn either - it’d be a much fleshier bloodier sight if he was able to fight or move and yet it looks like he didn’t struggle.

Sure you can say that it’s soaked into his doublet? Jerkin? (I really need to refresh my fashion history) But there’s not a lot on the sword, nor in the water around him, you can still see the brooch and pin clear as day.

Was Aeron dead before they pinned him?

He’s mainly covered in mud - you can see it matted in his hair as well. Like he’s been dragged on the ground.

I’m quite sure that’s his cloak underneath him. The weave looks similar from what I can see. And the brooch looks Bracken

The weave of his cloak is rather distinctive and different to other clothes, like Davos’ cloak.

And yet if that IS Aeron’s cloak, he’s both not wearing it and yet the brooch and pin are in place.

-

Really there’s two ways Aeron ended up like that

A - Aeron was already dead. Maybe he’d gotten gutted, maybe he’d hit the back his head against something in the fight. Maybe Davos had relieved him of his sword and wrestled him to the ground in the field while both houses got reinforcements. But Aeron is dead and the scene is arranged in mockery? To literally stake the boundary back into place. First the Bracken cloak spread out, then the Bracken knight atop it and his own sword to mark the boundary as a final mockery????

B - Aeron’s alive when he’s stabbed and he’s most likely held down and into place. He’s recognised as an heir to the Bracken lordship or recognised as an instigator. His hair matts with mud as he tries to thrash free and can’t. The wrestle that gets him on the ground pulled his cloak off and he’s looking up at the person who kills him until they force his head to the side. His eyes close instead of staring up, trying to make something of his death at least on his own terms - he won’t give them the satisfaction of a beseeching gaze.

“You wouldn’t dare” - Aeron would dare and that’s why the Blackwood’s have to make a mockery of him.

And let’s not forget that Davos dies so close to him. An arm flung out in Aeron’s direction. What the fuck is that all about. Did Davos kill Aeron? Did he hold him down or did he try to stop a dishonourable slaughter? Do you think he didn’t know and is dumbfounded and struck down as shock fills him to see Aeron dead or dying like a Blackwood Trophy???

[marcobodtlives]

STOP REMINDING ME THAT ARMIN KNEW WHAT HANGE FELT AS THEY BURNED ALIVE I DON’T NEED THE REMINDER